#not sure if/when I will write anything new but we will see.

[kawoala]

🐰   ⤷ sugawara koushi ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

“will you still love me when i’m no longer young and beautiful? will you still love me when i’ve got nothing but my aching soul?”

⊂ word count ; .7k (710)

⊂ content warning ; based on ‘young and beautiful’ by lana del rey 、trying something new! (writing for suga) 、insecure!reader 、suga is a good boyfriend 、 alcohol consumption.

You don’t recognize the person in the mirror. Your eyes dart all over your face, taking note of the faint freckles scattered around your face— caused by lack of sunscreen, no doubt— smile lines, crows feet, eye bags.

You pull at the skin, smoothing it out and squishing it together. Tears sting at the backs of your eyes. Do you really look like this to other people? Are bartenders just being polite when they ask to see your ID?

You glance down at the counter, eyeing the makeup wipes, then tear them open forcefully and begin wiping off your makeup. Hot tears roll down your cheeks. You choke on your sobs, attempting to stay quiet out of respect for the other people in the house.

“Y/n?” There’s a knock at the door. A familiar voice. “Are you okay? We’re about to start another round of Quiplash.”

You stop for a moment, staring at yourself in the mirror. You hold the makeup wipe against your face, frozen. What are you supposed to say? You’re already thinking of a lie to tell.

“Um, hello?”

You swallow hard, pushing your sobs down. “I— Sorry, I’ll be out in a, uh, second. I don’t— I think I’m gonna go to sleep. I don’t feel too hot.”

“Oh, what’s wrong? Do you need ibuprofen? Pepto bismol? Anything?”

You take a shaky deep breath, letting your eyes fall shut.

“Can I come in?” The doorknob rattles, making you flinch, but you don’t move. “Y/n, seriously, what’s wrong? You’re kind of freaking me out.”

The urgency in his voice is what makes you move. Slowly but surely, you unlock the door and twist the doorknob. Koushi stands there, simply just staring at you. His eyes scan your face wildly, taking in your half removed makeup, the red blotches around your eyes.

“I’m getting ugly,” you whisper to him.

His brows furrow and he takes a step forward. You stumble back and he shuts the door behind him. “What?” He asks, pure confusion lacing his tone.

You turn back to the mirror, the tears starting back up again. “Look,” you say, pointing to the mirror. “Look at my wrinkles, Kou. My eyebags, my crows feet.” You shake your head, pulling at your skin once again. “I’m getting old, I’m getting ugly, I’m—”

“Completely and utterly insane,” he interrupts you. He makes his way over to you, bow standing behind you. His brows are still furrowed, but the confusion has been replaced with a look of frustration. “You are beautiful, Y/n. The most beautiful girl I’ve ever met in my entire life. Your eye bags and wrinkles do not represent how beautiful you are.” He puts his hands on your hips and turns you to face him. “You are smart and kind and funny and— Y/n, you are insanely gorgeous.”

You frown at him.

“Stop that.” He cracks a small smile and places his forehead against yours. “Your eye bags are a sign of how dedicated you are. We both know they’re from staying up late, studying, right? Dedication.” He pulls away and kisses your cheek.

“And your crows feet? They show how much of a joyful person you are. Your smile is beautiful. I’d do anything to see that pretty smile of yours.” Another kiss, this time to your nose.

“But—”

“No.” He shakes his head. “No buts, Y/n. You’re beautiful.”

You press your lips together and take a deep breath.

“Say it.”

“Say it?” You repeat, pinching your brows together. “Say what?”

“Say you’re beautiful.”

You blink at him a couple times. The look of determination is throwing you off a little bit. If you look hard enough, you can still see flashes of first year koushi. Nervous, quiet, small. This koushi is different. He’s still nervous, still hilarious, still handsome, but he’s different. More confident. Louder, when necessary.

“I’m beautiful,” you whisper. He raises his brows and you know he wants you to say it louder. “I’m beautiful.”

Another small smile graces his face. “Good.” He kisses your forehead and leans back. “Do you want ibuprofen? Crying gives you headaches.”

You frown again, but this time it’s to stop the tears. He knows you so well, you could collapse right now.

[danishphoner]

The Last Shadow Puppets: fulfilling your kinkiest fantasies

Alex Turner and Miles Kane stand on one side of the success of The Last Shadow Puppets, who played Open'er Festival. On the other, you can see multitudes of fans trying to find evidence of the so-called ‘bromance’ of their favourites. And they, as if out of spite, only provoke further fantasies of their admirers. Even during the interview, they talked to me about fulfilling their kinkiest fantasies. See what else I managed to talk to them about!

Written by Katarzyna Gawęska Originally translated by everybodytriesbeinghuman on Tumblr

Translation below

Your duet is comparable to John Lennon and Paul McCartney’s, Steven Tyler and Joe Perry’s. Let’s start from compliments – what do you appreciate most in a teamwork?

MK: I think, it won’t be anything new, if I say, it’s thanks to Alex that our every song is so polished – no one else could make them better. Thanks to him, I am trying to push my own boundaries and, to be honest, I wouldn’t be so eager to do that without Alex. I suppose both of us could say that about our teamwork. We just understand in what creative direction each of us is heading towards. It’s difficult to explain, because we don’t need words to describe our thoughts, which melody each one is working on, which song he’s trying to make – cheerful or sad. I don’t know how it works – it’s just that sort of chemistry between us.

How is your work different from the Arctic Monkeys one or from your solo career, Miles?

MK: When I’m working solo, I’m sad, because I turn into a little frightened boy.

AT: When we are working on The Last Shadow Puppets records, we don’t know who's going to sing what. And because of that, we surely have to change our ways of writing, we don’t know everything from the get-go. It’s easier for me to write a song aimed towards myself – I’m writing a certain lyric, melody and I know I am going to sing it, so I’m already aware of my own possibilities. And the way Miles plays the guitar gets me really excited – his music takes me into a whole new world. When it disappears, this excitement is gone. It may sound like working with AM wouldn’t give me any satisfaction – I want to highlight it isn’t like that. With Miles, it’s just… different.

MK: I remember, one time Alex came up to me and said, “I want to see how you spit, while singing >>sick puppy<< in >>Bad Habits<<”. I called him a madman afterwards.

AT: Yeah…

MK: But he was right. No one else would say something like that to me, It was beautiful.

AT: You see, Kasia, I just tell Miles about my fantasies, and he tries to fulfill them, even when they are very kinky, like in that case.

Alex, you just explained, why your fans are suspecting you two of having a romance. You are very close to each other, but an artist needs a little more space and freedom to create, right?

MK: While making this record, we gave each other lots of space. EYCTE is the last song which we wrote. It was created from other unfinished pieces. It was supposed to be thousands of different tunes, but we made it into a one. Before I came into the studio, Alex sent me a demo on which he played the organs and then added different lyrics to it. That’s how it came out, and it’s a great example that Alex had a lot of space. When we played this song, I felt like I’ve never heard it before, which obviously wasn’t true. I was listening to the same thing as before but in a completely different form. And because of that, I started to feel excited again.

“EYCTE” is also your album’s title. Did you give your fans what they were expecting?

AT: Definitely! We hid it behind a red curtain, and underneath is everything they desired.

And what were your expectations for this record?

MK: We tried to bring something fresh into our work. We wanted to make this album different from the previous one. In some way, we got over with it and decided to not force things. It’s just me and Alex, that’s how we are and we don’t wanna change. And I think it turned out very well.

Your album cover turned out very well as well. When people see it, they want to give it a listen.

AT: I think when an artist decides to put something on the album cover or its booklet, they do it in order to show the listeners exactly what they’re gonna get from it. Actually, I don’t really know why I just said that, because it’s pretty obvious. Sorry, I’ll stop binding my time. Let’s say I made six albums, maybe five of them succeeded. The photography on the cover is a dancing Tina Turner. I’ve discovered it a few years ago and immediately thought it would fit perfectly, especially after changing the background to gold. There is a lot of grace in this picture, which is an element in TLSP’s music. It’s a dynamic portrait, which reflects our work brilliantly. As you may have noticed, it’s hard for me to describe some spectrums. Right now, I don’t know how to explain the fact that this cover is an amazing picture. The emotions you start to feel when you see it. Well, you’ve mentioned it by yourself, and I’m very glad you’ve noticed something so wonderful. I can only hope that more people will follow your thinking, and this cover picture will eventually make them listen to it. And yeah, maybe the sounds won’t disappoint them, either.

When I am listening to your tunes, I feel relaxed and calm. Then it hits me and I start wondering how it had come, if the lyrics are so aggressive and sexual. What does going from one extreme to another bring to your work?

AT: Another interesting thing you’ve noticed! It’s incredible that someone gets what’s happening inside my head! I’m telling you how it is. I very often find myself thinking that if the lyric drags on the right and the music on the left, then if we make both of those elements function we’ll create a balance. None of the elements will lean too much on it’s side, because it will be balanced by the opposite. Despite that I won’t generalize and in the “Bad Habits” case it’s the other way around – everything is dragged to the one side. I mean, there are some bows, which create a totally different impression of what our band is like. Not all the time everything has to be black and white – grays in our music are also very welcome. Personally, I’d rather listen for the rest of my life to what you’ve mentioned: meeting extremes in any song. I love that feeling when I turn on a tune and I think I know where how it’s all gonna go, and then the creator shows that he's playing with me and that, in reality, I know nothing. I don’t like predictable tunes.

Talking about lyrics, I couldn’t resist asking. Alex, there are very little lyric-writers better than you. People describe your style as poetic yet simple. Personally, I would agree with that. But how you would describe your writing style?

AT: You ask questions, which require thinking! Maybe… No, that’s not it. Or maybe… That one not as well…

Miles, maybe you’ll try to help him?

MK: For me it’s easy. Alex’s lyrics are like attempts to cross the Nile river on a raft. That’s how surreal they seem to me.

[Laughs] I think that’s the best comparison out there.

AT: [Laughs] Miles has a talent.

MK: No need to thank!

AT: And I still don’t know how to answer it. Miles handled it good, and I think that you [Miles] would describe me better than I could myself.

I’ll let go of descriptions, but I’ll ask you about the general sound of the album. Do you pay lots of attention to the technical side of making music? This album doesn’t seem modern, it’s more like…

AT: Something from the future?

I planned to say, like something from a few decades back, but your different perspective seems very interesting.

AT: [Laughs] We cut a deal then! But it’s a really fascinating situation! We were very excited that for the first record to make everything in an old-fashioned way. This time we weren’t so stubborn about making it so retro-like. We didn’t cut it off completely, but it just wasn’t as important. There are some old-fashion sounds on this record, but if you hear them on the radio, you’ll notice they sound modern. But I get your point! So remember that we still get excited over old amplifiers and such [laugh].

I know that you make new music all the time, so any plans for a new album?

AT: Oh yeah, absolutely! It’s like our… resolution. Resolution to make a new record. Now we are considering various options, we think a lot about the direction we should head to. I am working on a melodic scenario. Yeah, yeah, yeah. We won’t disappear that easily.

[whatdidtheydotomygirljinx]

the problem is that it's so hard to really analyze anything about arcane, and draw any conclusions about the story, because of the way it was written and conceived in the first place.

to the people who're like "yeah season 2 was bad, but season 1 was a MASTERPIECE in story writing and PERFECT in every way", that's just not true. the cracks were already there in season 1. there's multiple things, especially overarching ones, that just don't add up, and several ways that the story progresses that seem like odd choices. the thing was that, to me, the rest of it was all so good... the small details, the contained scenes were so well done, so detailed, so touching, that i really believed that maybe those cracks were just hiccups after all, and it's not a big deal, and maybe they'll even make a lot more sense and all get tied up with a nice little bow in season 2 (ha)

to me, at this point, it seems obvious that the way season 1 came into being was that these three idiots (who should never be allowed to write anything ever again) wrote a script, that was so terrible that riot had to bring in help to fix it for them (cause they were that incapable) and then someone got handed their slop and told "save this as much as you can, but keep the main points the same", and save it THEY DID! but the overarching plot is still the original one. which is why there's this dissonance all across it.

season 1 often seems like it's trying to tell two different stories at once. the example that comes easiest to me is jinx's transformation from powder to jinx post time skip. to the people i know irl who watched it, me included, the difference between these two is jarring, to the point that it just doesn't seem realistic that powder would change that much. this is what most people's reaction to her transformation was. like, sure, she changed... but jinx is almost a completely different person. and we can sit here and analyze all we want, and say yeah, but look, in ep2 min37, powder laughs when an enforcer is hurt, so that shows that she is indeed attracted to violence even at this age, but like... first of all, im at this point fully convinced that these details were put in specifically for that, to attenuate the valley that is between powder's character and jinx's, and I also honestly feel embarrassed that i even have to do all of this at all.

other notable examples are whatever is going on between jinx and silco in their relationship. like, yeah, he was actually a good father to her... but actually, there's something weird going on between them... but actually, no... he was better than vander, but actually he was worse than vander and was actually the cause of everything bad in jinx's life..... and on, and on, because the literal story itself never actually makes up its mind on what it wants the relationship between these two characters to be. same as it never makes up its mind on whether powder was a cute, innocent kid who was just manipulated by silco, or if powder was born like that and was just looking for an opportunity to release her inner jinx. same way as it never makes up its mind on whether vi is a devoted sister, who would do anything to get powder back, as she herself says, or if she actually thinks this new enforcer chick she just met is kinda cooler, as her actual actions would indicate. does silco adopt jinx because he sees himself in her, or does he intend to use her as a weapon and then later on grows to actually care about her? there comes a point where "this is a complex story" just becomes an excuse for "we were actually working with three different ideas at once and we never really decided on which one we were gonna do and we kinda just prayed it would all work out somehow"

the one thing that arcane season 2 has on season 1 is that it doesn't suffer from any of these weird identity issues. it's bad and simplistic but it's bad and simplistic in its entirety and it doesn't ever seem interested in being anything else. the story has no continuity or congruence issues, except of course for the ghost of season 1 that haunts it, and especially haunts the writers, who so far have displayed nothing but dismay for the story that actually made this show so acclaimed, and have done all they could to bury it as much as possible in season 2.

now, personally, im a big death of the author truther. even more so in cases like these, where we're dealing with teams of people. power struggles happen in studios, and in writing rooms, and at every level of production. and these three people that have taken credit don't seem like the most emotionally (or intellectually) mature individuals.

so, to solve all these issues, just know that when im discussing or analyzing arcane, im going off the interpretation of the events that serves the story the most, and that leads to the most meaningful narrative and the one that is most worth telling. all of this weird lee and overton slop that snuck in im gonna be completely ignoring.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Based on your last post- how would you handle a villain Adrien arc? Would it be from the get-go, or would you have him change sides somewhere along the line? Would it be of his own choice and motivations, or would he be coerced into it? (Or some mix of the two where he disagrees with the method his father does things but goes along because he has the same motive, his mom?)

(Post in question)

Villain Adrien is an incredibly hard sell for me. I can only think of one fic that felt reasonably in character and I think it only worked because it starts after Gabriel's defeat, so you don't have to actually see Adrien being evil. Anything that actually tries to show Adrien willingly hurting others just doesn't work. It doesn't feel like Adrien. Lashing out in the moment might* fit him, but prolonged villainy? Nope. You'd have to take his character through a damnation arc to make it fit. While canon has set him up for one, I don't particularly want to see that. Canon Adrien has suffered enough.

So why would I suggest villain Adrien as a solution?

I have actually spent a good deal of time trying to figure out how to make Adrien work as a villain because it's a semi-popular premise and I enjoy a writing challenge. After a lot of thought, I have a solution that I think would work. I will probably never write this fic, but the basic ideas are simple enough that I can explain the first act and why I think it would work as a way to take Miraculous beyond the Gabriel conflict.

The story would start in much the same way we already see in Origins. Gabriel activates the butterfly, leading to Fu choosing Marinette and Adrien. The big difference is that, this time around, Gabriel and Emilie tell Adrien almost everything. Adrien knows that his mother is in a coma, that the miraculous exist, and that a wish can fix everything. He just doesn't know that the wish has a downside because Gabriel didn't share that little detail. So, when Adrien gets his miraculous, he sees this as a way to fix everything. Just like in canon, he doesn't let Plagg explain everything. Instead, Adrien immediately transforms and seeks out his partner only, this time, he tries to get her earrings off of her. She knows that's a bad thing and runs away, leaving him confused. He goes to his father who is able to get his hands on the ring long enough to command Plagg's silence about the wish's downsides, ensuring Adrien is kept in the dark.

This leads to a short arc where Gabriel uses akumas to draw Ladybug out so her and Chat Noir can "talk" or something along those lines, but it doesn't go well and Adrien isn't okay with attacking the city. It isn't long before he switches sides and Gabriel is defeated, but the damage is done re Ladynoir. Marinette gets to do her "Adrien is evil" first impression, but while it's still a misunderstanding, it's not a minor one that can be solved with an umbrella in the rain. Fu is much more understanding and forgiving, so he doesn't take the black cat back, leading into a wider story where Adrien and Marinette have to fight a new evil while Marinette struggles to see past her first impression. So it's not so much evil Adrien so much as misguided and manipulated Adrien who has to win his Lady's trust and prove that he really is a hero while also working through his own guilt about everything that happened with his father.

*Quick note: canon has Adrien lash out in anger, so I can't say it's wrong to write him like that, but I think it's a massive misstep writing wise. The black cat's power set needs to be in the hands of someone who doesn't lash out in anger. Harsh words, sure, but cataclysms? Hard no. Season five made Adrien come across as totally unsuited to his powers.

[ohgodimafraud]

christmas bonus - ser/irei - m/ob p/sycho

cw: nsfw, allergy snz, kink reveal, ~4.6k

kink!seri/zawa

hiiiiii @silversinfinity im ur secret santa. <33 i really hope u like this. im very grateful to call u my friend. i tried to write more but did not want to get too sappy in the a/n ily!!! merry early christmas

The day had started out with more promise than most days for Reigen Arataka and his wallet. One of his regular clients was so pleased with the last aroma express experience, that she’d promised him a Christmas bonus. Reigen had expected, well, cash, but as per usual, reality was a bitch and left him in a state of disillusionment. 

The large potted pine tree stood proudly in front of the window and he forced a smile as he took in the sight of it again. Forgive him if he was still wary of trees. It would always be too soon, but the customer’s smile was so wide and genuine that it deepened her crow's feet and Reigen couldn’t find it in himself to make her feel bad for trying to do something nice.

“Thank you so much,” he said to her with a slight bow, face contorting in psychic pain as he looked again at the incriminating path of needles all over the floor as if he hadn't just vacuumed yesterday.

“I hope you like it. It’s one of our best pines.”  

“Oh, it’s wonderful.” 

“I’m so glad,” she said, with her hands clasped together, “I’ll be sure to tell my friends all about your company and your fine services.” She gave him a wink as if her husband weren’t waiting outside in the truck he’d used to bring over the tree. Regardless, Reigen quickly shook her hand and offered her multiple business cards to distribute before she could pull away. 

They exchanged a few additional pleasantries before she left, leaving him alone with the tree. He began looking at it from a few different angles to gauge its potential, wondering all the while if he even had enough items to decorate it properly. It took up a lot of space but also wasn’t overly invasive at the same time. He supposed he could work with this. 

Decorating for Christmas would probably draw people into the store, and perhaps the real bonus would be that it would bring in business. He exhaled and pounded his fist to his palm in resolve. He hadn’t decorated the store for Christmas since his first year at Spirits and Such, but figured he had no excuse now that he had a tree, so he went into the closet and pulled out an old dusty storage bin. 

As he returned to the lobby, the door jingled and he set the bin on the table so he could give his full attention to filling in Serizawa on the current situation.

“Hey,” Serizawa greeted him with a handsome smile and set two hot cups from the nearby cafe down on the table. In his peripherals, he noticed a large green blur and turned his head to get a proper view of the new addition. “Oh… I see we have a tree now.” 

“We do,” Reigen said, pointing at him with enthusiasm. “Get ready, Katsuya, I have a new special project coming your way…” He paused to smirk at the slight blush from his partner in business and more at the still somewhat new use of his first name in the office. After he'd created enough suspense, he gestured towards the tree. “We’re gonna decorate this thing.”

“I thought you wanted me to balance the checkbook tonight.”

“Ah, but…” Reigen trailed off, brow furrowed as he started to feel an itch prickling at the back of his sinus cavity. When it didn’t subside, he raised a finger and ducked into his inner elbow to sneeze. “HGSCHhx’ue!”

“Bless you.” 

“Thank you. Oh…wait…” He squinted as he quickly realized he wasn't done and took a step back, turning away from Serizawa to sneeze again, the sound loud and resounding in spite of his attempts to muffle it against his sleeve. The hairs on the back of Serizawa’s neck stood up as he stood there, unable to do anything but watch and listen. “IhhGSCHh’ew!  h-hehH… EHDSCHhu! Ah, sorry, this lid’s pretty dusty.” 

Figuring that would be the end of it, Serizawa hummed sympathetically and averted his gaze while Reigen unpacked the bin while sniffling and wriggling his nose. He subtly flexed his thighs and put his hands in his pockets and tried not to let the sound echo in his mind on repeat against his instincts to want to remember it for later. A few deep breaths, and the sensation passed for now.

Reigen produced a tangled mess of red garland and string lights and placed it on the table, too preoccupied to notice the way Serizawa’s posture had stiffened. As he unpacked globe ornaments wrapped in tissue paper, he added, “Anyway, we can do that later. I already took the box out, and unpacked it, so…”

Serizawa sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He’d already forgotten what they’d been discussing merely a minute ago and was too distracted to make an argument about priorities; in all honesty, he’d need a few moments to be able to focus on anything important at all. 

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt that much to wait on it,” he conceded. “I’ve actually never really done Christmas decorations. Seems like fun.”

“That’s the spirit.” Reigen clasped his shoulder and let his hand linger. “We could make some origami ornaments out of our old paperwork.”

“I…” Serizawa started, palms raised apologetically, “I can try but I’ve never really done that before. Also, some of that we need for taxes.”

“We have some old fliers that never got sent out.” Reigen waved his hand dismissively and continued to think out loud. “I can do ninja stars and cranes at least, but we’ll figure it out later. I only have a limited amount of actual ornaments, we don’t want it looking too half-assed, y’know?”

“Do you think this will bring people in?”

“Yep, the general public loves festivity during these dark, dark times, plus it’s a good photo opportunity. Even if it doesn’t, we can take a company photo and send it out to our regulars.” He rambled on, sniffling a few more times as the itch hadn’t yet been quashed. Serizawa considered offering him a tissue, but didn’t want to embarrass him. Finally, he noticed the cup on the table and grinned. “Oh, what’d you get me?”

“They had new matcha lattes with vanilla.”

“Thank you,” Reigen said emphatically and brought the cup to his lips, taking a careful sip. “It’s good, really sweet…like you.” 

“I’m glad you like it.” Serizawa bit his inner cheek at the compliment and rather than respond directly, distracted himself with his own drink and sat beside Reigen on the couch. He watched him untangle the string lights from the garland, hands moving haphazardly until one of the knots came undone. 

“We can start with this.” Reigen gave him a triumphant grin like he’d won a settlement in a small claims court. 

Serizawa nodded. Reigen made swift work out of the detangling process, and was nearly done when he suddenly paused, his shoulders raised, his brow furrowed. For a moment, Serziawa wondered if he’d changed his mind or if something was wrong with the wire, but then his breath hitched again and he only recognized the wavering gasp as a predecessor to a desperate sneeze as it happened in real time. 

“heh’IHGSHHhyue!” This time Reigen was late with bringing his sleeve up, and he was able to catch a glimpse of the way his upper lip curled and the bridge of his nose wrinkled from the intensity of the itch, indicating he wasn’t done.

“Bless you,” Serizawa said, barely getting the words out before it happened again.

“hH’GHSCHhue!-”  This time managing to cover it more effectively, though the sneeze itself failed to relieve him at all.

“Bless—“

“Heh’EHDjtSHHu! Hahh.” Reigen sniffled quickly, and cuffed his sleeve over his nose to prevent any leakage, only to struggle against another sneeze, and through his fluttering eyelids caught Serizawa’s gaze. “ehH…sorry. Just a s-second…h-hh! hehH’DtSHHhew!” 

Serizawa was sure that if he said bless you again that the desire would spill out into his tone, so he swallowed the dry lump in his throat, tried not to look at the way the sneezes had left a dark gray spatter along his sleeve, and asked, “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine, thanks.” Reigen sniffled hard and nodded again and rubbed his septum up and down with a hooked finger. He took a deep breath and sighed. “Excuse me. I don’t know what got into me there.” 

Serizawa crossed his legs and tried to ignore the way he sniffled for the rest of the process of separating the lights from the garland, but it was impossible as his problem grew with each one. When the lights were finally untangled, Reigen coiled the wire over his arm. Serizawa was mesmerized by the way his nose continued to scrunch as it fought off the lingering irritation, but the longer he looked, the more the blood rushed south, so he studied the ornaments on the table. Reigen was right, these probably weren’t enough to completely decorate the whole tree, but he figured they didn’t have to do the parts that weren’t visible. 

“Anyway, uh, wanna help me hang them up?” Reigen asked, punctuating the question with a quick sniffle. He was swinging the plug back and forth, and as if he were hypnotized, Serizawa nodded. He was about to use his abilities when Reigen plugged in the lights and started wrapping it around the base of the tree, pausing to hurriedly sneeze again, poorly containing it against his sleeve, and leaving another visibly damp spot when he pulled away. 

“Bless you,” Serizawa said just as breathlessly. It wasn’t too unusual for Reigen to have this prolonged of a sneezing fit, but they were generally exclusive to times when the pollen count was high or he’d caught a cold. Even when he dusted around the office it generally only triggered a sneeze or two. Yes, he was counting. 

Reigen still wasn’t done. His nose wrinkled as he vainly tried to avoid a repeat performance to no avail. “heDSHhh’huh! eHehh-!…Ahem. Excuse me.”  

That one had sounded particularly harsh and throat scraping, broadcasting the fact that the itch was so potent that it had spread to the roof of his mouth. With a concerned frown, Serizawa moved to grab the tissue box off of the desk. It was a good enough excuse to turn away and calm himself down enough to face him again. 

“Here,” he said, holding out the box. 

Reigen shook his head. “I should be done now,” he claimed. 

Serizawa gave him a skeptical look when he immediately sniffled again and rubbed his nose aggressively, but to his credit, his wavering breaths were unyielding sans the arousal they cultivated. The tree shook as he continued dressing it in lights. Serizawa watched, figuring he’d jump in if Reigen couldn’t reach the top, but in spite of his invitation to help, he seemed to have it under control and likely needed a few moments to collect himself too. His hands moved efficiently, rarely faltering on the branches. He was more than halfway finished when he suddenly cursed, head snapping back as if he were pained. 

“What’s wrong?” Serizawa asked, noting the way he was gritting his teeth and closing his eyes. “Did you stick yourself?” 

He quickly realized how naive his question was when he heard a sudden telltale gasp.

“nGKtSHhuue! hehH’KNGtzsh!” Reigen answered with a set of poorly stifled sneezes hastily aimed into his shoulder. His eyes were watery as he entirely let go of the lights and left them in a state of limbo to grab a bunch of tissues which he hurriedly shoved into his nose. He’d only managed a pitchy gasp before erupting into a full blown fit. “hhH’IGHshhu! hH’ISHHhew-! H’DZTsshew! hh-hihH-! Hh’NGT’tuh! Oh by god.”

“Bless you.” Before he could second guess himself, Serizawa placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him and gave it a gentle squeeze. A look at his face told him he was trying to ignore the unrelenting itch that had been bothering him this whole time. Serizawa’s face softened when Reigen rubbed his eyes. “Hey, will you answer me honestly?”

Reigen nodded, his lips parted as he breathed slowly through his mouth to starve off the tickle. He’d ended up popping his ears with the last attempted stifle.

“Are you catching a cold?” he asked gently, his arousal subsiding in favor of making sure he was actually okay. 

“No, nhhoh. -hGKSHhu!” Reigen caught another sneeze with the soaked wad of tissues and finally resigned himself to shrugging off the hand on his shoulder and turning away to blow his nose. “I mean, I don’t think so. I’m just…itchy.”

“Really?” Serizawa couldn’t help but give him a skeptical look. 

“Yeah, It’s a real pain, but it’s nothing serious. I—” 

He cut himself off when Serizawa put a palm to his forehead, gently pushing up his bangs and revealing the healed scar by his hairline. Aside from glowing cheeks and a Reigen-typical amount of sweat on his forehead, he felt no signs of fever, though it was always possible he’d taken an aspirin. He let his eyes linger just for a moment at the way Reigen rubbed his nose with his knuckle, their hands brushing briefly. When he raised an eyebrow, Reigen elaborated. 

“I swear I was fine when I woke up, and all day really. It’s definitely just allergies.” He held his palms up defensively, somewhere between touched and embarrassed to have someone paying this close attention to him. Serizawa had caught him with a fever once at work and had never let him forget it; he didn’t think he could live down being forcibly escorted home again. 

Though plausible, Serizawa had to wonder what could be setting him off in the beginning of winter. Maybe some dust had really gotten up his nose, after all. There really was a coat of dust on the plastic bin, after all.

Just when Serizawa thought his mind couldn’t get further into the gutter, he noticed a tear forming in the corner of Reigen’s eye and before it could travel down his cheek gently thumbed it away until he was framing his face with his palms. When Reigen leaned into the touch, he obviously felt the erection poking into his hip and Serizawa caught a microexpression of genuine surprise cross his face before it settled to a more flirtatious one.

“Okay, I’ll bite.” Reigen smirked and looked up at him through his lashes. “What’s got you all riled up, hm?”

“You,” he said honestly. Then he leaned in and kissed him. Their lips met clumsily at first before falling into a somewhat experimental rhythm as Reigen tried to breathe through his mouth in between kisses. 

Reigen anchored his hands around the back of Serizawa’s neck and moved closer until their bodies were flush. He could feel the way Serizawa’s erection pressed into him, further confirming his arousal and inspiring his own. Just as he was about to ask about it, he could feel his nose start to itch and run again. 

“Sorry.” Reigen abruptly pulled away and sniffled frantically and gestured to the tissue box. He gave a hurried chuckle and explained, “I’m kind of a mess.”

“Ah, here,” Serizawa said, retrieving the tissues, sheepishly adding, “I forgot where we were for a second there.”

“To be fair, it is after hours, so...” Reigen pulled some tissues and swiftly blew his nose, looking up with a microexpression of self consciousness that Serizawa was beginning to notice more and more. Tongue in cheek, he added, “Just don’t file any sexual harassment claims, yeah?” 

Serizawa rolled his eyes, remembering how Reigen had him sign a relationship disclosure form when they’d started dating. It was framed in his bedroom. Well, it was a studio apartment, but it was on the wall next to the bed. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” 

Reigen shrugged. “Anyway,” he started, one of his eyebrows disappeared behind the shade of his bangs. “I’m curious.”

Serizawa stiffened in anticipation. Oh god. Of course he’d wonder. Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t—  

“What about this is doing it for you? It’s not like you have a thing for sneezing or something, do you?” he joked. 

The silence on Serizawa’s end along with the look of mortification was more telling than a simple yes would have been. His brain scrambled to think of a response, but nothing came to mind. Instead, he gave an apologetic smile and nodded. 

“Wait-! Wait..Really?” Reigen also blushed, looking like he was about to eat his shoe. For once, he seemed speechless.

“Yeah…” Serizawa said, gauging his reaction over the pounding in his ears. The floor could swallow him up and he’d accept his fate easily. “If that’s too weird, I understand.”

“What?” Reigen asked incredulously, placing his hands on Serizawa’s hips and pulling him in by the belt loops on his pants. “You think I’d draw the line at something like that?” He leaned in close so his lips ghosted the shell of his ear and murmured his desire to know more into his ear. “It’s sweet. I like seeing you all riled up.”

A chill traveled down Serizawa’s spine in contrast to the overwhelming heat his body was both producing and withstanding somehow. He relaxed into Reigen’s touch. “What do you want to know?”

“Hm. Everything.” He tapped his chin. “Here’s a softball first, though. What would happen if I sneezed again right now?” 

Serizawa’s erection throbbed and he was sure the arousal was written all over him, and he made no attempt to hide it. 

“Oh, is talking about it enough to get you going?” Reigen drank in the look in Serizawa’s eyes, the redness and sweat on his face, the way his posture had shifted, the bulge in his pants. He palmed him and felt him over his pants, the friction only fanning the flames as he deliberated. “Y’know, I do really have to sneeze again. I was actually trying to hold back because, well, y’know. I didn’t wanna gross you out or anything.”

Serizawa was suddenly all too aware of his body, of the fit of his pants, of the way he was starting to burn up. “I…Should we really do this here?” 

“Eh, the tree’s blocking the window and the door’s locked.” Reigen smiled. “What do you say, Katsuya?”

Serizawa nodded, hand framing Reigen’s cheek and traveling to pull him in by the hair for another kiss. Reigen smirked into his lips and yanked his belt undone with one hand and making quick work of lowering his pants. He pulled away for a moment to lower the band of Serizawa’s boxers enough to free his cock, watching hungrily as it bobbed up and down briefly before settling upright. 

“Something tells me you’re not gonna last long enough to go to the back room,” Reigen whispered. 

With that, Serizawa grabbed him by the collar and claimed his lips again, emboldened by the lack of reason to downplay how deeply his lust ran. He pushed Reigen down onto the couch and straddled his lap, kissing him on his mouth, jawline, then loosened his tie to teethe at the sensitive skin of his neck in a way he’d learned makes him moan. Their clothes half off, he paused to look up as Reigen’s nostrils flared in irritation. They’d already adopted a pink hue. 

“Why don’t you tell me what you want?” Reigen asked coyly, his hand wrapping around his shaft and lightly stroking it. They were impatiently half dressed and dripping. “I wanna hear you say it, Katsuya.” He inadvertently left no room for him to answer as he sniffled a little too sharply and immediately crumpled into a sneeze, squashing his nose against the back of his opposite wrist. “Hh’GTzSHhew!” 

“Fuck, bless you…” Serizawa breathed. He groaned as he leaned into Reigen’s hand, chasing any amount of friction.

“Oh, you really liked that,” Reigen purred through his congestion. He continued to mouth off, consonants rounded with congestion as if Serizawa needed more of a reminder of how desperately allergic he was. “Too bad we didn’t…heh-! h’eiSHhiew!- sndff! We didn’t finish decorating yet. I know you’ve been saying that we shouldn’t go onto the next project before finishing the first all week and all.” Hot pre rolled down to Reigen’s hand as he tightened his grip and jerked his cock, giving him only a small taste of bliss before teasingly letting go. 

Serizawa’s eyes rolled back as he groaned in arousal and figuring it would be faster than attempting to argue with Reigen even in this playful and intimate context quickly waved his hand and finished hanging the lights with his powers and then added the garland and ornaments for good measure. “There. Now there’s nothing in the way.”

“Look at that.” Reigen whistled. He hadn’t expected him to actually do that, and looked at him with awe and batted his eyes. “Wonder what we could do with all this extra time…” 

Serizawa leaned into Reigen’s ear and said in a hushed tone, “You’re driving me crazy. I want you to touch me more. And harder. And…” he trailed off, losing the courage to complete that sentence. 

“You’re driving me crazy too, baby.” Reigen guided Serizawa’s hand down to his lap to show just how much he is enjoying himself, before returning his attention to playing with Serizawa. He was overly sensitive, and every glide of Reigen’s hand kept him from being able to form a singular coherent thought. “You can tell me.”

“I want you to sneeze on me,” Serizawa admitted, managing to look him in the eyes. There was no trace of mockery in his expression, though there was some amusement.

“It’s funny, I was worried about doing that by accident before.” Reigen kissed him and lightly bit his lower lip, tugging it back a bit before releasing it and praising him. “Didn’t realize this would be such a turn on for you. I’m glad you told me. Kind of a win-win if you ask me.”

Serizawa let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding and slowly undid the buttons on Reigen’s shirt. He felt up his bare chest, noting how it was expanding unevenly and looked up to see his face scrunching up in irritation, wide eyes struggling against the reflex to flutter shut. “Let me see?”

“Are you hehh-! Are you sure?” He sniffled and scrunched up his nose to try to fend it off longer, determined to extend the anticipation as much as possible this time.

“Yeah...please,” he said, breathlessly bucking into Reigen’s hand. They’d only just started and he was inches away from finishing. His expression itself was enough to do him in. 

“hh-hhH-! I’m gonna snheeze-!” In a mix of compliance and an inability to hold himself back any further, Reigen sneezed uncovered, spray lightly misting over his exposed cock. “hH’EDSHhhew!” Serizawa moaned loudly, his cock twitching in Reigen’s tight grip. His vision blurred as he watched Reigen throw his head back, just long enough to gear up for another wrenching sneeze and give his cock another clench. “hdSHHhiew-! hehhH…hh-iHDSChhew!”

Serizawa made a guttural noise as he came harder than he’d ever come before and outright moaned in bliss at the skillful way Reigen leaned in and lapped up the molten liquid with his tongue. He was sure that even if he weren’t gripping him, he’d come anyway. 

“You’re so fucking hot, Arataka…” Serizawa said, as he slowly descended from that high. 

When he glanced down at the way Reigen was stroking him gently and milking out as many remaining waves of pleasure as possible, he noticed a few pink bumps on his hand and grabbed it to take it into his own for closer inspection. 

“You’re starting to break out in hives,” Serizawa murmured, kissing his wrist, noticing the way Reigen’s eyes widened, a stray tear rolling down his cheek. Serizawa thumbed it away gently, furrowed his brow in thought and added, “You’re allergic to the tree, aren’t you?”

For a moment, Reigen didn’t respond, his expression blank. He looked at the tree for a moment, then back at Serizawa and raised an eyebrow. “If I am, I guess I’ll have to keep it year-round, huh?”

“Arataka…” As horny as the thought made Serizawa, he managed to give him a look of disapproval. Reigen attempted to tug his hand back, breath hitching, but Serizawa didn’t release his hold, instead, pinning his hands down to the cushion and kissing him again. “Can I have you?”

“Yh-“ Reigen opened his mouth to respond but sneezed again instead. “ihH’SCxHHhew!” This time it was so obviously congested that Serizawa brought the box of tissues over and pulled some out for him. 

“Bless you.” Serizawa pushed up his hair and kissed the scar near his hairline. His nose was an irritated red with a pair of puffy eyes to match, sitting there a completely unabashed allergic mess.  

Reigen hid the lower half of his face behind the tissues and blew his nose. He was disheveled, his shirt wrinkled, suit jacket discarded, tie haphazardly hung around his shoulders. When he pulled the tissue back there was still a sheen to the underside of his nose and down his philtrum. He coughed into his fist, his poor nostrils flaring from the force. 

“Was that too much?” Serizawa wrung his hands. “We should get you some antihistamines.” 

Reigen, to his surprise, chuckled. Even his laugh sounded dampened with congestion and he quickly had to grab another tissue to pinch off the threat of mess spilling out. “I’ve honestly never enjoyed having an allergy attack this much.” He rubbed Serizawa’s back tenderly. Reassuringly, he added, “I really like everything we’re doing and I’ll definitely take some later, but I’m good to keep going. I’ll…y'know, let you know if I need to stop.”

Serizawa hummed in suspicion. 

“Promise.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” He kissed him softly and maneuvered down to attend to his cock, kissing him below his navel and up the base of his cock, smiling as he drew out a needy keen from Reign. After additional teasing, he began sucking him off and listening to the moans and expletives spilling freely from his mouth. He was always so vocal during sex, and between that, his throbbing cock, the look of submission, hands in Serizawa’s hair, and the little sniffles in between, Serizawa had to fight to keep his own dick from respawning.

“You’re so fucking good baby.” He moaned as Serizawa took him in deeper, tongue gliding over his shaft. His lips were tight and his grip on Serizawa’s hair tightened. “Shit, Katsuya. Don’t stop. I’m getting really…huh…close.”

Serizawa hummed around his throbbing cock and sped up, tightening his lips until Reigen gasped and yanked his hair and thrusted into his mouth, sweet and thick cum spilling down his throat as he huskily groaned his name and swore out a string of curses that barely made sense. God, he loved him. 

“I love you too,” Serizawa responded, sporting a surprised but genuinely happy smile. Evidently, Reigen hadn’t meant to say that aloud, because he went red like a tomato.

“Well…I was gonna buy some mistletoe and set the mood better before saying that,” Reigen mumbled under his breath, panting as he returned to earth. “I guess this works, though.”

Serizawa pulled Reigen in close and kissed him again, more tenderly this time. Reigen returned it quickly, hands roaming over Serizawa’s back as if he couldn’t get close enough, so it was surprising when he randomly pulled away when their tongues had just started touching.

“hKNdTCH!” He stifled a sneeze into Serizawa’s neck. 

“Bless you.” Serizawa kissed the crown of his head and fixed Reigen’s suit jacket. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”

[bubybubsters]

Fruit Skewers, Laced Drinks, and the Whole Shabang

A/n: @tsunami-of-tears I AM YOUR SECRET SANTA!! ik crazy right! Anyway here’s your mix of angst, a lil bit of fun, and vague holiday spirit! I HOPE YOU LIKE IT LOL but it fine if u dont…

MERRY CHRISTMASSS or HAPPY SOLSTICE.

thank you @acotargiftexchange for hosting this lovely event.

word count: 2.1k

Eris POV

Most people don’t think of the spymaster of the Night Court as an avoidant person. In fact, when people do think of him it’s often when they’re committing a crime or sitting in shadows that look like they’re moving, or even seeing him on the street and finding him pretty.

Well Eris found the spymaster to be a very avoidant male. Yes, he was good looking and smart and the whole package. But Eris found he sucked and communicating. Not even in the normal way people sucked at communicating, in a way that he didn’t even try to talk about anything. All the spymaster did was kiss Eris’s weak spot until the heir gave in and stopped trying to make a half-decent conversation. 

Then again, Eris supposed one could defend Azriel’s actions. Considering their families, their past, the rejection of same sex relationships in the Autumn court, Beron, Morrigan, and every other little detail. 

However, none of that changed what had happened a few years ago at the solstice court meeting. The two of them had had a little too much to drink and got a little carried away. The night had ended with Azriel in Eris’s bed and the morning after the cold air from a very open balcony window had greeted Eris the moment he woke up. 

And still, a decade later, they hadn’t said a word about it. What they had done was fuck so much that Eris had found more new kinks he didn’t know about in ten years than he’d found in a century.

“What in the cauldren has you sighing every few seconds?” Eris blinked, his mother’s voice pulling him from his thoughts. Shit, he was still in the dining room eating dinner with his mother. Well, she was eating; his food was untouched.

“Sorry.” 

“What’s up with you?”

“Noth-.” He was cut off by a single raised brow that spoke volumes. “It's a romantic problem…”

His mother smiled. “With the shadowsinger, yes?”

Eris grunted in confirmation, choosing to not question how she knew about his so-called “relationship.”

“What’s wrong? Obvious problems excluded, of course.” Her words dragged a bitter smile to his lips as he thought of what he should say. He could tell her the truth and simultaneously put her in danger if anyone found out. Or he could lie. The fact that the choice he made came so easily concerned him to no end.

“He won’t talk unless it relates to court problems. All he wants to do when we’re alone is have sex.”

His mother grinned. “I never thought I’d see the day you complained about too much sex. Guess there’s a first time for everything.”

Eris grumbled something unintelligible and rolled his eyes.

“In all seriousness, find a time and place to talk. One where it’s too public to do anything but it’s just private enough to have a conversation. Also you need a reason he can’t leave. For example, if Rhysand assigned him to stay by your side and make sure you don’t do anything stupid. The best chance you’ll get to do this is at the annual solstice high lord meeting. Since everyone knows Beron won’t want to come considering it’s basically just a party… You’ll have to go in his stead and someone from each court will likely be watching you because nobody trusts the autumn court.“

Eris raised his hand, trying to stop the flow of information. “Perhaps, write it down?”

His mother chuckled. “Y’know I’m actually preparing you for your high lord duties. You really can’t be seen taking notes during a high lord meeting; it shows weakness.”

Eris rolled his eyes. “Stop teasing, we both know Beron doesn’t remember shit. He just does whatever he wants.”

“Yes, but you wish to be a better High Lord than him. Can’t do that if you copy him.”

“Well since I’ll be such a better high lord than Beron, it won’t be considered weak to take notes.”

His mother shook her head, a smile dancing on her lips.“I’ll write it down, but you just need to trust yourself.”

Eris said nothing. He knew he couldn’t trust himself around Azriel. It always led to him giving into the spymaster’s whim.

Az POV

“OY AZRIELLL!!”

He barely refrained from groaning as Cassian pulled the curtains aside and sunlight came streaming in.

“Go away.”

“BUT TODAY’S THE PARTYYYY!! YOU AGREED TO LET FEYRE, NESTA, AND ELAIN DRESS YOU UP IF YOU LOST AT CHESS. AND YOU LOSTTTTT!!”

“Because you all cheated.”

“You never said we couldn’t!” Cassian is practically singing as he dances around Azriel’s bed, trying to prod him awake.

Azriel groaned. “I’ll be up in 30. Now get out.”

Cassian pouted but ultimately decided to leave before Azriel could change his mind and argue that he would have won if they hadn’t fed him too many bottles of Rhysand’s expensive wine and cheated. 

Fifteen minutes later, Azriel warily dragged himself from bed. Normally, he would be fine, in fact he could be a morning bird. But all the wine he’d drank last night seemed to have caused a pounding headache that he doubted would get better.

He took a quick shower and dressed in casual black clothes before heading out. On his way to the River House he grabbed a pastry and jumped off a random balcony.

Letting himself freefall, Azriel’s thoughts wandered to forbidden territory. Eris would be at the party tonight. The fireling’s scent was ingrained in Azriel’s mind- smoke and crisp autumn leaves. 

Azriel sighed. He knew Eris wanted to talk, it was devastatingly obvious. The hurt that flashed in those amber eyes whenever Azriel brushed him off seemed an ever prominent companion in his day to day life. But it just wouldn’t work. Eris was going to be High Lord and Azriel was… well Azriel.

“He’s here!”

His high lady’s voice floated through the air, effectively cutting his thoughts short. He landed and glowered at Cassian.

“The party is at 8 in the evening.”

“Yes and?”

“It does not take twelve hours to get me ready.

Feyre cut in, “Of course it doesn’t. But do you really think we have things prepared? This bet was last minute and made drunkenly at around two am.”

“All the more reason we should agree to not do it.”

“Nope! Just an excuse to go shopping.”

Azriel groaned but a slight smile played on his lips, maybe he could use this distraction from Eris.

Eris POV

At precisely 8pm Eris and his advisors winnowed to the dawn court. Ever since that High Lord meeting during the war, the dawn court had been all the high lords preferred spot to meet. Eris wasn’t sure why but it was fine with him, just as long as nobody was in his court. 

They were greeted by a female that showed them to a dimly lit ballroom. Most of the other High Lord’s were already mingling and Eris spotted Vivian, Mor and Feyre. Azriel’s probably here then. Good.

Eris sighed, dismissing his advisors and heading for the food table. Picking up a skewer of grapefruit and some unidentified berries, Eris dove in. One could argue the only reason he came to these parties was for the food. More often than not, his first thought was complaining about the autumn court food. It wasn’t bad, in fact, Eris loved the spices and bold flavors, but after a few centuries, you occasionally long for something else.

Something refreshing. 

A light touch to his thigh urged him to pause his munching and look down. One if Azriel’s shadows was curled around his leg, seemingly looking up at him with puppy eyes. 

Eris suppressed a smile and looked around to find the shadowsinger already watching him from a dark corner. He did a double take, blinking in disbelief at what he saw. Azriel, the feared spymaster of the night court was wearing a light blue t-shirt and loose, frilly, white pants. And he looked good. Eris hesitated, grabbed another fruit skewer and headed his way.

“Fireling,” Azriel greeted, plucking the extra fruit skewer from his hand.

Eris made a sound of protest, mouth stuffed with food. “Was mine.” 

“You look like a toddler given access to his favorite candy store at these parties.”

Eris frowned, waving his hand, trying to get his rebuttal across without opening his mouth.

Azriel chuckled, biting into the stolen skewer. He groaned in satisfaction, gobbling down the rest of the skewer before Eris could finish his.

“What in the world are you wearing?”

“It was a bet.” Azriel waved his stick where fruit was seconds before. “These are good.”

“Did all that food just disappear?”

“It was good.”

“You’ve never had them before? These parties have been going on for a decade.”

“I’m usually too distracted by you.”

Eris chokes on his last piece of fruit. “Huh?”

Azriels lips twitched, “That wasn’t very heir like.” He tutts, wagging a finger. “The rumors seem to be true, you’re gonna be overthrown by a brother.”

Eris raises a brow. “Firstly, you cannot be talking, have you seen yourself in those clothes? Besides wouldn’t you miss me, beloved spymaster of the feared Night Court?” He leaned closer, lips almost brushing Azriel’s ear. “After all, you do seem to have taken a particular liking to me. Or shall I say, a liking to fu-”

Azriel clamped a hand over his mouth. “Not here,” he hisses.

“Where else then?” Eris sticks his tongue out, liking the scarred hand covering his mouth. “All you wanna do is fuck whenever we’re alone. So why not speak here? Your shadows can ensure nobody hears us.”

Azriel frowns. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.” Eris raises a brow as if to say, do tell. “We should stop.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s never going to work out and we don’t seem to have any special connection. It’s also a hassle since we’re from different courts and it really would be convenient for both of us if we stopped. Besides, if you really need pleasure that badly, there are some wonderful places across Prythian that could serve one’s needs.

Eris gawked at Azriel. His jaw was practically on the floor in shock and his body had gone slack. Azriel, the guy who never talked and always convinced Eris to fuck was the one calling off this ‘situantionship.’ Adding that the one time he did talk was to inform Eris of good pleasure houses. Well, sorry mother, guess you wrote that down for nothing.

“Right, like you weren’t the one practically leaping on me every time. But by all means, go ahead, end us. It’s not like anyone else will ever understand you like I do. And of course we aren’t mates because why would the mother put someone like you with someone like me.” Eris finishes his last sentence off with a growl, teeth bared.

Azriel’s brows twitch, “What is that supposed to mean? Am I not good enough for a future High Lord?”

Eris shakes his head, attempting to stop the sudden feeling of emptiness in his heart. He turned form the male and his bright clothes.

“Whatever Azriel. I’m done with you.”

Az POV

Okay, so he might have messed up. He’d basically called Eris not special and not worth the hassle. He’d also said he knew a lot of good pleasure houses, which wasn’t a lie, he did. But the male he’d been fucking for the past decade probably didn’t want to hear that, even though they hadn’t said they were exclusive. Not that that was an excuse. All in all, Azriel regretted everything. Especially since the moment the red-haired heir had left, a beautiful, deafening, snap, echoed in his ears. 

The other side of the bond was foggy which made Azriel assume Eris had absolutely no idea. Great. That was not helpful in his current position. What was he supposed to do? Go up to Eris and say, ‘by the way, we’re mates! Sorry for saying we have no special connection, could we reconcile?’

Azriel sighed, deciding to get a drink. He approached a rose-gold cup with a pink-tinged liquid inside. After sniffing it, he downed the drink in one gulp. The liquid fogged his head, making it hard to think. But it tasted good. Like the pumpkin spice lattes that Eris would sometimes give him. He hummed, going to grab another cup.

He stopped, a sudden realization settling in. He had taken the first cup, nobody else had drank one all night. He knew because Thesan always said that once a drink was out, it was out.  Azriel slowly looked up. People were watching him, eyes drilling into his skull. Shit. What the fuck was that drink?

‘Whatever Azriel. I’m done with you.’

Azriel’s head shot up. That was Eris’s voice, those were his words, his tone, his accent. It was Eris yet Eris wasn’t even in this room. 

What the fuck?

‘I’m done with you.’

Azriel hissed softly. This was bad. Hearing voices was a sure sign of 1. crazyiness, 2. in this case, a love potion, 3. being cursed. It was most likely the second option, which was definitely not ideal. 

A small crowd of onlookers gathered, seemingly waiting for a reaction.

Azriel’s shadows surrounded him, almost laughing at their master. He couldn’t even blame them if they took Eris’s side in this matter. Sure, Eris had said some horrible things but at the end of the day, Azriel was the one to start the whole situation to begin with. 

So he closed his eyes, and let his shadows control wherever he goes, just as long as it’s out of this damn room. 

The only thing?

He didn’t expect to land right on top of a half-asleep Eris Vanserra.

dividers by @saradika

lol idk i like it- I tried to leave an open ending…

[ilikekidsshows]

I see what you're getting at, like, everything is nuanced, let's not generalize everyone who uses a specific approach to discussing stories, and so on, but, while I can't be sure of the anon's intentions, my intention with the post was to specifically talk about the refusal to engage with what is going on in the story, what has always been going on, and shutting down emotional reactions to it because they aren't analytical enough.

"Dismissing these kinds of fandom reactions only when they veer into the negative direction showcases the real motivation of the “it’s all just the writing” crowd. I need to dissociate from the show’s story in order to discuss why Marinette is still so beloved by the fandom, because I just can’t feel that way about her anymore. Similarly, the people dissociating from the story in order to explain why fans are disappointed and outraged by the story, can’t see anything worth getting upset about in the show."

I am talking about people who completely disengage from the idea that the show and its protagonist could be in the wrong. Of course there are people who still enjoy the show while feeling it needs some changes in its very makeup. But there are also people who refuse to see the problems as anything other "temporary bad writing", who think we just have to watch longer and the show will be good again.

I'm a writer myself. I have a master's degree in English literature. I know how to engage with writing in an analytical way, and have, in fact, done so over several of the things I also complain about. However, I'm also a member of the audience, and I watch and read stories to experience feelings. If a story fails to invoke specific feelings in me, it's failed as a story, same thing if I'd eaten food I didn't enjoy. I don't need to say "use this specific amount of these seasonings" to get that across, I can just say "there was too much ginger". Like, yeah, the former is more useful to the cook, but I'm not saying this stuff to the cook/writers, or even to the fans who say stuff like "Marinette is just a victim of bad writing and not wanting to see her own screen is wrong because of that". I'm saying this to the people reading my blog, who are also annoyed at seeing this stuff and want to vent.

Simply put, I am done with constantly excusing this show. New followers who are here only for my salt phase don't know this, but I used to defend this show so hard before the retool. I granted Marinette's character so much grace and good faith because I could see what the show was going for, only for the writers to increase those aspects of Marinette's character that I had to excuse in order to enjoy her on screen. This hasn't happened with any other character to this degree, except Chloé, who I was never that attached to, so I don't think it's hypocritical when I claim Marinette specifically has been made unenjoyable as a character, because I can't even watch past episodes with her, without seeing those character flaws that would later be glorified after the retool, because, as I said in the beginning, Marinette's character hasn't changed, the narrative around her character has.

Sure, I could write a hundred essays on how I think Miraculous' story could be more engaging, how it could more easily invoke the feelings I don't feel while watching it. But, at this point, what is the point? I don't feel like jumping through Marinette-shielding hoops again in order to engage in discussions with the fandom proper. I'm done with that. I feel like it doesn't matter how kindly or analytically anyone picks apart this show, because nothing is going to change. It's so hard to care about that kind of stuff anymore. I'm just tired, disappointed and angry and I'm dealing with it by ranting angrily. I'm pretty sure the same applies to my anons. There's a reason I call this blog a support group. It's tongue-in-cheek, but accurate. We're all just trying to cope in our own ways.

I get that alot of people go with the approach of "every Miraculous character is deeply screwed by the writers, so it's a writing problem" but at this point this feels like deflecting from the real problem

No shit stories and their characters are written by writers, but so many blogs I see now that go with that approach imo keep on dismissing the point of the problems people are pissed about because "well the characters aren't real, so I'm superior for saying it's the writers fault"

Guys, we KNOW they are fictional characters, you're not unique. But what is happening is that I get less and less out of the analysis posts from these blogs because they're beating around the damn bush especially when it comes to Marinette.

Yes, every character is screwed by the writing but Marinette has been retooled into the self-serving center of the universe who gets by though damn technicalities. This writing pattern is 2 disastrous seasons in, SHE IS THE PROBLEM.

You can try and sugarcoat that however you like by saying that Marinette is a fictional character so its the writers fault, but that doesn't change that Marinette's CHARACTER & WRITING is still the source of all the problems and that stories are being told to get emotional reactions. That's the entire purpose of a story.

No, I don't think people are doing it right by approaching all of Miraculous on a mere meta level. That's not how a story is supposed to be read. The meta level is an additional one on top of the emotional one, not the "rational way" to consume media.

And imo the analysis blogs I see around so much deliver less and less analysis posts I can do anything with. They are so caught up in explaining that the characters aren't to blame but the writers that they sideline why people are feeling the way they do.

There is this persistent dissonance in their posts about how apparently no amount of bad writing can change a character when that's just... objectively incorrect. Marinette for example is SUPPOSED to be compassionate and a thoughtful hero and partner/ leader to Cat Noir. Marinette in Canon though by this point is straight up NOT anymore.

But in their posts it's basically said that if people say that, then that makes them irrational because on a meta level the execution and effect of the writing is apparently irrelevant. Distant meta is king and the only rational way to engage with this story.

And I just don't see the point in that.

The outcome and the emotional effect of the writing is what actually matters. Not the intention behind it (no wonder people are using that excuse to defend Marinette's character. It's another variant of "but she MEANT well"). If Marinette is by now a toxic and even abusive partner and leader to be suck with, then that's the fucking damage the writing did. And said damage is DONE. That's her character NOW. Talk about the theory behind it however you like, the character CONCEPT is not Canon compliant anymore, and nothing is gonna change that besides facing the deeply rooted damage that has been done, analysing those on an EMOTIONAL level so you can then course correct the CANON character through the necessary development into becoming what the character was initially supposed to be.

Call me a dick, but just saying "the characters aren't real" is not a productive way of going about this dumpster fire anymore.

---

Another thing to take into account about the “it’s just bad writing” approach is that, like, it’s not like the way Marinette herself is being written has changed that much. What changed is how the narrative and other characters react to her and her behavior. Marinette has always been self-important, self-serving and self-obsessed, but these used to be treated as character flaws, signs of her immaturity and naivete she’d need to grow out of. Now we’re being told she’s flawless, actually, and has never done anything wrong ever and none of her mistakes were her fault. 

Like, I’ve recently been familiarizing myself more with the “my dear diary” teen drama genre, and it really is more of a dramedy genre if anything. Most of these series will have a self-important, self-serving and self-obsessed protagonist and the entire narrative is filtered through their self-centered world-view, because we’re basically reading their diary where they vent about things that annoy or excite them. Now comes the kicker: the “comedy” of the dramedy comes from how comically over the top these protagonists are when they clearly and obviously misrepresent their lives and themselves to the audience. Miraculous is leaning very heavily into this downright selfish protagonist archetype, but actually wants you to agree with the protagonist when you can see, with your own eyes, because this is a different medium, that the world isn’t nearly as unfair to our protagonist as she claims.

Here’s another kicker: if you aren’t laughing at the joke or projecting yourself onto the protagonist, you’re most likely gonna hate the protagonist of most “my dear diary” books. They tend to be the most opinion-splitting characters in their own fandoms, with readers either loving them or outright despising them.

Dismissing these kinds of fandom reactions only when they veer into the negative direction showcases the real motivation of the “it’s all just the writing” crowd. I need to dissociate from the show’s story in order to discuss why Marinette is still so beloved by the fandom, because I just can’t feel that way about her anymore. Similarly, the people dissociating from the story in order to explain why fans are disappointed and outraged by the story, can’t see anything worth getting upset about in the show. They think it’s all okay. They’re not approaching the show purely logically, they are still emotionally invested, they still like the show. Of course the seemingly logical approach to fandom unrest seems to just be defending Marinette and the show, because it is.

It’s basically a way to retreat from the criticism. Like, the accusations of Marinette being a stalker used to be easily sidelined with “it’s just a joke you don’t like” until they made it a sign of canonical mental instability. It was a way to say: "this is a silly thing to be upset about". Now we’re sidelining the abuse apologia with “it’s just bad writing, that’s not what Marinette’s character is”. What these people are actually saying is: “she’s made up, so my made up version of Marinette in my head didn’t do that.” Like, when you have to deny canon exists, your analysis isn’t analysis anymore; it’s headcanons at the very least, completely made up at most.

[uniiiquehecrt]

Voice actors are NOT the same as actors.

It takes a specific kind of skill-set and training to be able to warp and meld the voice. It takes a certain kind of talent and dedication to hone that talent into the ability to meld the voice and invoke emotion with one's voice alone. Actors are used to using their voice secondarily to their body language and their facial expressions. It's all mirrored back on camera. They do have nuance. But it's a different kind of nuance and a different kind of training to produce that nuance.

Voice actors might get their likeness transposed on their character's design, and maybe their mannerisms might seep into the character's animation. But when it's all said and done: their presence is in their voice. They are bringing a character to life, showing that emotion in their voice, trying to keep a specific accent, drawl, pitch, tone in that voice and keep it consistent for their recording sessions.

The voice actor is like a classically trained musician who can play first chair in a competitive, world-renown orchestra. The actor (who fills the voice actor's role) is like a moot who played violin in beginner and intermediate high school orchestra and thinks they can get into Juilliard with that 2-4 years of experience.

This doesn't mean that the HS orchestra moot can't play. They can even be really good at it. Maybe they won competitions and sat first chair. But they are not in the same league as the person who's been training their whole lives and lives and breathes to hone their craft using the instrument and all of the training they've ever acquired to perfect it. They are not meant for the same roles. They are not in the same caliber. You do not hire the HS equivalent when you want to play complex music in a competitive orchestra.

Actors are not the same as voice actors.

And furthermore, actors - especially big name actors - taking the roles of animated characters for big budget films or TV pilots makes no sense anyways when - at least in the case of TV pilots - there's not a point to hiring a big budget actors anyways. That money could be used elsewhere (like paying your animators), and the talent that is brought onto the screen for X character could then be hired on to voice said character no recasting required.

I wouldn't say voice acting as a profession is in danger exactly, but it's certainly being disrespected and overlooked for celebrity clout, and this has ALWAYS been an issue. Shoot, even Robin Williams knew that much - which is why he tried so hard not to be used as a marketing chess piece for Aladdin and got royally pissed off when it happened anyways. People shouldn't go to any movie (but especially not animated films) because "oh famous actor is in it". People should go because it's a good movie and the voice acting is good.

People who honest to god think that voice actors are replaceable because "oh well anyone can voice act" or "I like xyz celebrity so naturally it'll be good" ... Honestly I just wish you'd reassess your priorities because you're missing the point and are part of the problem.

Voice Actors ≠ Actors.

[celtrist]

Why does Vassago already have merch, we haven't even met him yet

[icewindandboringhorror]

Apparently I can meet my goal of roughly 400,000 words in 6 months if I just somehow write at least 2,200 words a day ghbjh... Almost 2,500 today... huzzah...

[berryblu-soda]

Anyways update i just didnt bother to post earlier:

fr God is good and the whole car crash my parents got into last week was so incredibly mild in terms of injuries!!!! worst was a bruised knee im pretty sure

ALSO-

*taps mic* HUG YOUR FREAKING LOVED ONES OR SO HELP ME!!!!!!!

[carcarrot]

alright we're okay. it's all going to work out and happen. ive got my short film idea. i just have to make it absolutely perfect and then we're good to go

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[therealbeachfox]

Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

00000

So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

00000

They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

00000

When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

[inkskinned]

you said you were stuck in a time loop, which was fine. i feel like late-stage capitalism has us all in a time loop, ammiright? you came barging in at 5:33. in the morning. i hadn't even processed the idea of coffee.

but you had this look of utter panic in your eyes. terror like the ocean. you grabbed my cheeks. im in a time loop.

i don't know why in movies the first reaction is to deny it. when someone is panicking like that, it's not appropriate to ask them to calm down. it didn't matter if i believed it, what mattered was that you believed it so much that it was consuming you.

so here we are. i pour you some of the dark roast. "you look like utter and entire hell," i say.

you push your fingers into your eyes. "you always say that."

i try to think of something funny to say that i wouldn't have said on previous time loops, but jokes don't land without the proper timing (lol). "remind me to think -"

"-yeah, of a joke that only works in the future. and before you say anything, i know you're pissed i just stole your punchline." you bolt the coffee, which is wild. it's very hot. you don't seem to notice.

i blow on mine to cool it down. i both am very pissed at you and also i can't see you in this amount of panic without wanting to help. but i'm also not really sure what we are, not since i saw you kiss her like that, no offense. it just was like, kind of rude when you knew i liked you.

and besides. i'm just like, barely a person. i write omegaverse fanfiction. i love the concept of a time loop, but what the fuck am i gonna do? send an alpha in there? i open my mouth.

you point at me. "you're about to ask why me. and then say some disparaging shit about yourself. i'm just a nerd who plays dnd or something. that self-own is slightly different each time." you sigh. "i know you think you can't really help me. i don't know who can help me. i only came to you because you fucking believe me." you check your watch, sigh, and throw your head back. you cover your eyes with one hand. "i've come here on 26 separate revolutions," you say. "you have believed me every time. and yeah, i have no idea how you fit into this but i just -" you sigh again. "i just like fucking talking to someone about it."

"do you need more cof-" i start, but you're already holding the empty cup out. i frown at it. "you're not getting any more until you promise not to bolt this one like an animal."

you laugh a little and sit up, pushing your hair out of your face. "okay, that's new dialogue. but to be fair to you, i'm not usually this rude. i'm still pretty new at all of this." you check your watch again. another sigh. i guess you're cruising for a personal best in the Sigh Olympics.

i almost tell you im not an NPC but i've played enough video games to know i'm very much an NPC. i pour you another cup. "so what happens in the loop?"

"really bad explosion." you mutter into the mug. you put your elbows on the table (rude) and bury your face in your arms like an angsty teenager. one hand floats up while you talk, because evidently you literally can't talk without your hands. "i have to save the day and there's this bomb and i have no bomb training and it keeps moving, you know."

"do i die?"

you peek up from your arms. "yeah. bigtime. you keep trying to run or stay or do anything and you always super die."

"oh."

"to be fair, like, everyone dies in it though.... so you're in good company."

i hate that you make me laugh. i hate that being around you always feels tingly and strange, this electric tension between us. something that is evidently (given how you stuck your tongue down a stranger's throat literally 3 days ago) (well. 3 for me) super one-sided. i take a sip of my coffee and close my eyes.

i die today, i guess. a little spark of panic starts at the top of my hands and starts whipping up my wrists.

"shit," you say. you look at your watch and jump to your feet. "i have to go. if i can come back, i will. i am still trying to figure out when is best to do everything, you know? the order of stuff. maybe morning isn't good for us."

i look up at you and think about how you keep kissing me in the back of my car and in alleyways and in the dark. and i can never fucking get a read on you. and i also think about how incredibly panicked you look. how broken. how long have you been doing this? "i don't want to die," i say.

you glance downwards. "well, you're not really dead, you'll come back in the loop."

"but i will have died." my hands are shaking. i am trying really hard to stay calm.

you push your hands through your hair again. "i really have to go. i will have this discussion with the next version of you, though. it is like, something i am thinking about."

"but i don't get a next version," i say. i don't really have the language for this, because i haven't had 26 tries with you. i only have my memories: you, a week ago. drunk and telling me you loved me in my ear. you, kissing her anyway. you, months ago, throwing up on my birthday, whispering to me i ruin everything i touch, always, over and over. please don't ask. i can't ever fucking have that be you.

i run my finger along the rim of the mug. "i don't want to die in this one."

you seem baffled by this. "i get that but - time will reset, you'll be fine, you won't even remember we talked about this."

"but i know now." i stand up too. "i have to live the rest of this day knowing i could die. knowing i probably am going to."

"you could always die, to be fair."

i feel my hands get out of control. "earlier, you said i always say a different insult about myself. what if you're just going through different parallel universes and those are all just different - but real - versions of myself? what if you're not in a time loop, you're in a fucking universe loop?"

"if it helps, i've wondered this too. also, you're hot in all of them. if that helps."

i point at you. "no flirting. i'm trying to figure out if i die today."

"who's flirting?" you catch my wild hands and give me that long, perfect smile. like we're in this together. "i won't let ya die." you check your watch and sigh again. "well. maybe not this time."

i grit my teeth. you are so not making quips at me while i try to explain the existential dread i'm having. "does the time loop reset if i fucking kill you?"

"honestly i don't know how long it continues after i die, because i just wake up. it could be that the loop goes until the explosion for everyone, and we're all in the loop, or it could be that when i die, the loop restarts. when i die i wake up, is all."

i pull away from you and stalk into the kitchen and start doing all 3 of my dishes. "okay, first, you know i was joking. and secondly, this is exactly my point. you don't know if this is just a parallel universe. maybe in the ones where you died, the explosion happened and nobody reset and it's just you travelling." i have to stop and push the heel of my palm into my eyeball. "... how often have you died?"

i look at you. you look at me. you give me this very sad, halfway smile and a little what can ya do shrug. something in that action seems so old and weary that i want to burst into tears.

"i have to go," you say. "really. for real. there's this family of five i save from getting into a car crash. and i know it's like oh but we're all gonna die in the explosion anyway, what's the point. and..." you shrug again. "it matters to me, is all. at least i saved them for now. at least i saved anything."

you pad over to me and wrap me in a tight hug. you always seem so tall against me. i feel your cheek rest against the top of my head for a moment. for a second, it's just us, and the space is warm, and my heart is a little broken hare.

you leave me there, and i stand in my stupid badly lit kitchen with my stupid mugs. i think about you. i start texting my mom that she needs to get out of the city, but it feels pointless.

i don't know what to do. tomorrow is the same day for you. but i have to prepare to die in my today.

[roastedoatmilk]

Arcane Women Strap Hcs

characters: sevika, vi, caitlyn, mel, ambessa

A/N barely proofread sorry, also my first time writing for arcane please be kind 🙈 i hope y’all enjoy lmk your thoughts :)

Sevika

first things first she has a dark purple strap i’m talking almost the same color that shimmer is and boy does she know how to use it

whenever she pulls the strap out be prepared to not be able to walk the next day

she prefers to fuck you in missionary but if she had to choose a different position it would be fucking you from the bottom, she just loves to be able to see your face while she pleasures you

her strap game is DIABOLICAL, she always makes sure to hit that spot inside you that makes you let out a squeal and causes your toes to curl

honestly she could just cum from fucking you alone but if you feel up to it once she’s done with you she loves when you eat her out after

“that’s it baby, you’re taking me so well just a little more”

Vi

vi screams black strap to me like it just makes sense

she prefers to fuck you slow and DEEP, i’m talking girly lifts your hips off the bed and grips them so hard that you can feel bruises form

shes so cocky about it too like she knows she’s good

vi’s another one that could cum from pleasuring you alone and 9/10 times she does, however the one time she doesn’t she will literally sit on your face once you’re well enough to take care of her

“that feel good pretty girl ? yeah i know it does, you’re always so good for me”

Caitlyn

dark blue strap sorry yall i don’t make the rules

caitlyn loves when you’re on top and she’s fucking you from below

she revels in the sight of you falling apart above her while she’s gripping your hips guiding you

she’s 100% a brat tamer and you can’t tell me any different

“oh darling is it too much ? you shouldn’t have behaved like that if you didn’t want me to fuck you like this”

Mel

HEAR YE HEAR YE she has a gold strap idc idc

mel also likes it when you’re on top however she prefers to gently guide your movements while she praises you

don’t let that mislead you tho shes a HUGE tease

she can and will make you edge yourself until you’re literally crying begging her to let you cum

“ my love you look so beautiful when you ask nicely like that, go ahead and take what you need”

Ambessa

ruby red strap that’s all imma say

the cruelest of the bunch, she’s not afraid to leave you dry while she takes what she needs

another brat tamer yall you love to see it

she doesn’t make love she FUCKS, be prepared to constantly be buying new headboards

she makes you suck on her strap NEXTTTTT

“sweet girl did you think i’m finished with you ? no no we aren’t done until you can’t remember anything but my name”