#nothing wrong here :) just look the other way and let us uphold the status quo :)

[confused-stars]

Disco Elysium quote I think about the most and will probably drive me insane

The Kingdom of Conscience will be exactly as it is now. Moralists don't really *have* beliefs. Sometimes they stumble on one, like on a child's toy left on the carpet. The toy must be put away immediately. And the child reprimanded. Centrism isn't change -- not even incremental change. It is *control*. Over yourself and the world. Exercise it. Look up at the sky, at the dark shapes of Coalition airships hanging there. Ask yourself: is there something sinister in moralism? And then answer: no. God is in his heaven. Everything is normal on Earth.

[stillness-in-green]

If it's any consolation, I'm sure that the Advisors and the rest of the MLA (Re-Destro, Trumpet, Geten) will show back up sooner than the final arc, just because we're going into Year 2 and the students would find great 1 on 1 or team opponents with the Advisors. Re-Destro and Geten are heavy hitters (and Geten could be tied to Dabi, Shoto and all that somehow) and they were locked up with Mr. Compress and Machia, but who do you want to see first from the Advisors?

Thanks, anon; I certainly do hope we'll get to see more of them.  Admittedly, my main concern is that I so liked what was going on with the Paranormal Liberation Front that even if we do see all of the MLA types again, if it's only in the context of speedbump battles for the students, that's still going to be a letdown.  Better than nothing, to be sure, but I really do want them to join back up with the League, even a League that's confused and out of sorts under All For One's hand.  I love RD's big spiritual-awakening-flavored crush on Shigaraki, the cross-organization tensions and relationships, just as much as I love the depth the MLA brings to the world outside of just what's going on with the heroes.

I'm fairly frustrated with how the MLA fared during and after the raid, largely because it's awfully hard not to conclude that, if what we have right now is all the erstwhile-MLA are ever going to come to, Shigaraki would have been significantly better off if he'd just killed them all and shacked up with Ujiko for four months.  And that would be such a waste!  The end of My Villain Academia was such an enormous triumph for Shigaraki! I want his victory to amount to something more than what we've seen, something that shows that both his strength and his mercy will pay off for him in the long-term, will be a concrete benefit to him rather than, with the benefit of hindsight, the reason everything went so wrong.

Particularly with Re-Destro, since Horikoshi saw fit to have Dark Shadow all but one-shot the man, and Edgeshot defeat him off-panel, it's really not going to mean much to me for him to have a big fight with students unconnected to anything else.  The drama's rather gone out of it at this point.  That's particularly the case since, if he's no longer connected to Shigaraki's plot, it's that much easier for him to just be off-paneled and forgotten about.  But, if Rikiya gets looped back in with the League, if his gratitude and admiration of Shigaraki mean he still has a role to play in Shigaraki's arc, that makes it much easier to get invested in any fights that role will lead him to. Ditto the MLA more broadly; it's categorically ridiculous to present that organization with the kinds of numbers, breadth of influence and legitimate grievances they have, only to try to sweep them back under the rug exactly like Shigaraki accuses heroes of doing with everyone they can't save. 

To say the least, I'm pretty invested.  But I appreciate your consolations and am trying to hold out hope that we'll get some good stuff with them yet!

My anxieties aside, and to hit the other portion of your ask--who would I like to see first among the Advisors?--hit the jump:

(All nicknames and shorthand are taken from this post.) 

Well, it'd be nice if they could all get at least as much to do as the Eight Bullets back during the Hassaikai arc, seeing as they got a similar splash page spread introducing all their faces.  There are considerably more than eight of them, of course, but even if they never get more attention than e.g. Galvanize or the hose-faced guy who iced Midnight did, at least then we'd have some idea of their power sets and at least one angle on their personality.

Assuming we aren’t going to get full breakdowns on every single one of them, there are still four things I'd really like to see happen with the MLA/the Advisors: the student fights we're expecting, the jailbreaks we're being told about, the reunion with the League I'm praying for, and for literally anyone in the in-world media to try and get their side of the story.

Student Fights: Seeing the guy who killed Midnight again is as sure a bet as any of these get.  Momo is an important enough character, with enough sustained arc, that she will have to get something else to do before the series is over.  Taking command of a group battle against real opponents--ones with more responsiveness and agency than Gigantomachia--would be in-line with what she's been moving towards so far.  I would, however, love it if that fight would be more challenging than a straightforward battle of tactics.

I headcanon Hose Face and Scarecrow as, respectively, an ex-con and a dude with physical disabilities--both people who have ample reason to want to change the series' status quo irt human rights abuses in prison and overly restrictive quirk use laws.  I'm not expecting the canon to validate me on what amount to wild guesses, of course, but I want those Advisors in particular to have motivations more nuanced than, "They're quirk supremacists; who cares why they're willing to put their lives on the line over this?"

A feel-good revenge match in which a bunch of teenagers lay the smack down on characters whose humanity the audience is asked neither to know nor care about would be lazy, and counterproductive to the series' current thematic concerns. Give Momo her victory, by all means, but don't give it to her easy.  A confrontation like this would be a good way for the less central Class A students to begin wrestling with the question of who, exactly, heroes "save" and what it is that people need to be saved from, exactly the way Deku and Uraraka and Shouto are now wrestling with these questions.

As far as other fights go, I'd also love to see Brand and The Question pop up again. They're probably the two I'm most curious about purely in terms of what their quirks are.  Why does The Question wear a mask, and what's he like that he wound up in Mr. Compress's chain of command?  And with Brand, what kind of quirk does he have that's powerful enough to land him a ranked position in the Guerilla Warfare Regiment but indirect enough that he fights with a sword?

Prison Breaks: I wouldn't expect this to be particularly involved, probably more of an aside than anything, but I want the Bindi Ladies to spring Hole Punch Face, thus getting us an angle on what's going on with that particular trio.  Aviator Teeth can come too because I want at least some hints about what his deal is.

I'd also love to watch Horikoshi even attempt to retroactively justify some of the logistics of the single-day capture and subsequent detention of 17,000 super-powered, combat-trained people.*  I mean, I don't think there are any feasible explanations for that, but I'd be curious to see what he'd come up with, especially if every possible answer just makes Hero Society look worse! We have only ever seen Tartarus as an example of the prison conditions in this country; I'd love to hear more, and an MLA-focused jailbreak would be a great way to show it.

PLF Reunion: Of course, my number one thing to see with a reunion is Re-Destro being just as dismayed as Spinner is over Tomura's possession.  I crave more serious attention being paid to Rikiya's profound awe over Shigaraki's freedom, and would love to see his reaction to Shigaraki apparently losing that freedom.

Aside from the obvious, though, if the PLF does start piecing itself back together, I expect to see Sanctum again, given the attention he's gotten so far, and the fact that he's now the highest-ranked member of the Tactics Regiment.  It'd be great to get some explanation for how he can possibly be "the longest-serving member of the Liberation Army," given that the Army was generations old already when Re-Destro was just a child.  (If we do get that information, I imagine my own explanation will be jossed hugely, so I would also be happy to take time with Sanctum that doesn't explain the discrepancy but also doesn't invalidate my headcanon.)  

In the context of the regiments reforming, I'd also like to see Nimble and Aster, both because this manga needs more women, and because I'd like to see more of how Spinner and Toga interact with the people they were nominally commanding.

Media Attention: Trumpet's my number one hope here--the lack of any look into the state of the government in HeroAca Japan has been a total let-down since his introduction**, but I was particularly annoyed that the last time we saw him he was smiling (albeit in a fairly haggard way), giving me hope that we might next see him doing his part to portray all of this in a light that would sway public opinion.  And then literally one chapter later, we get prison guards talking about how the Hearts & Minds Party, a perfectly legitimized political party with representation on the national level, has been perfunctorily dissolved less than twelve hours from when the raid started.  How is there even an argument that the system heroes were upholding desperately needs to change?

I'm very tired of the media in BNHA only ever showing up to beg for/demand that heroes tell them what’s going on, particularly those damn press conferences. Journalists do investigative work! Newspapers employ reporters to actively seek out news!  Reporters in free countries don't just sit around waiting for the government or heads of major industries to graciously hand them press releases!  For heaven's sake, Trumpet was the head of a major political party.  People should be foaming at the mouth trying to get a statement from him!  

Especially with public trust in heroes breaking down, there should absolutely be intrepid reporters out there looking to get to the bottom of any of the layered conspiracies the public's just been hit with and told to just write-off as a bump in the road on the return to normalcy.

Anyway, Trumpet's the obvious choice, but if I could be sure the manga would validate my headcanons about Nimble and Scarecrow's disabilities, I'd be happy to put them in this position, too.  Trucker Toad would be another good candidate, if there's any basis to my idea that he is or used to be a transport driver who's seen a lot of the country outside the areas e.g. the Top Ten Heroes are patrolling.  He's obviously a good candidate for getting back to that idea of anti-heteromorph bias, too.  But really, I'd take anyone who can give a cogent explanation of the MLA's position on self-determination and the various ways Hero Society has exacerbated quirk-based discrimination.

Anyway, that's about where my thoughts are on where I hope the MLA people are and what we might see of them.  Thanks for the ask!

--------------

*Or as many as 100,000 more than that, depending on how through the statement, "Their bases around the country were also attacked, and their supporters rounded up," was meant to be.  An influx of 116K people, incidentally, would triple Japan's current carceral population.

**Why! Why would you introduce a politician and then never even glance at your setting's political situation??

[notebook-13]

…Look, I know nobody really cares about Overhaul’s characterization, but I spent enough time puzzling over wtf is his deal while I was watching the anime that I may as well make a post about it. Especially considering how he’s come up in recent chapters in relation to Twice and Hawks, one thing that strikes me about Overhaul is that he wants to be normal, and to accomplish that, he tries to change the world instead of himself.

On the surface, Overhaul’s goal was to establish himself and the Hassaikai as the rulers of the underworld using the anti-quirk serum, thereby repaying the “debt” he owed the Hassaikai boss for giving him a home, but I think there’s more going on.

Overhaul’s goal was to eradicate the belief that human lives have inherent value. He planned to do this by destroying quirks, since he perceived them as the basis of people’s belief that they matter.

Since Overhaul’s dialogue is confusing, here are two other translations of his lines:

“Because people are endowed with these things called ‘quirks,’ they can dream. Dream that maybe they can be someone that matters…they’re all sick in the head! So wipe that smile off your face! Thanks to the power of that girl you were trying to save, everything you’ve worked so hard to cultivate…has just been reduced to naught!” (Ch152, mangastream)

“The diseased…have been given quirks, and that lets them dream. Thinking you can actually become something is an illness of the mind. It’s funny! With the power of that girl you’ve come to save, everything you’ve worked to cultivate…has now gone to waste!” (Ep74, Funimation subs)

Basically, people want to matter, and they use their quirks (symbolizing individuality, and human deviation more broadly) as proof to say they do. So when Mirio loses his quirk, Overhaul’s reaction isn’t, you’re cured, you’ve been purified, you’re normal now. His reaction is, now you are worth nothing, you are a good-for-nothing deku, the illusion of value your life held is gone, everything you held dear was actually a lie.

I think that’s why Overhaul can use his quirk with impunity without seeing the hypocrisy. He essentially views people as infected mice infatuated with their own disease, but he knows better! He knows everyone is worthless! So he’s the only one who’s immune to this mental disease of ~being special~, he doesn’t get any delusions of grandeur, he’s the only one great enough to change the world—etc. When Shigaraki removes his quirk, Overhaul’s illusions are torn away the way he was expecting from Mirio.

But Mirio stands up to Overhaul and asserts that he still chooses to find value in his life without depending on whether he has a quirk. That’s the underlying reason why Overhaul is repulsed by heroism: it’s built on the ideal that people matter, their suffering is bad, they deserve to be saved, and so forth.

These are concepts Overhaul resoundingly rejects, for reasons never explicitly stated, but I think a fair interpretation is to say Overhaul’s noticed that he’s different from other people, and he’s afraid it means there’s something wrong with him. This fear is on par with an existential terror, so he can’t acknowledge it directly, but it drives him to go above and beyond to prove he is a normal person who does belong in the Hassaikai, specifically, and in society more generally.

First, for context:

^^ Regardless of how the yakuza are in reality, in Japanese pop culture their image is two-faced. They can be chivalrous gangsters (honorable criminals who offer shelter to outcasts and uphold the vestiges of samurai culture) or they can be villains (relentless hypocrites who prey on outcasts and commit staggering violence). Even down to the clothes they wear, the boss and Overhaul embody these two yakuza archetypes, and accordingly, they can’t coexist.

At the core of their power struggle is what it means to be a yakuza, and whether Overhaul belongs as one.

This reaches its climax when Overhaul tells the boss about torturing Eri, and the boss tells him it’s time for him to leave the Hassaikai. Overhaul puts the boss in a coma because he can’t bear to be rejected and branded a deviant for his cruelty (“straying from humanity,” “soulless heresy,” “how little do you think of people?”). The boss pretty much outright tells him there’s something wrong with him.

Overhaul never talks about why he thinks so lowly of people. It could be any tragic event in his life, whatever went down before he met the boss, sure, or even just the simple fact that his quirk enables him to disassemble and reassemble people like objects, but I think the answers are in the material Horikoshi emphasizes: in his relationship with the boss, whom Overhaul fixated on as a kid.

The feature that strikes me most in Overhaul’s relationship with the boss is the (lack of) acceptance between them. Overhaul seeks the unconditional acceptance the boss offered him as a child so intensely that I can’t help but think there’s a deeper motive: validation. The “debt” Overhaul feels is an imprecise label for his discomfort; he feels pressured to earn his place in the yakuza because, on some level, he recognizes that he doesn’t belong here among chivalrous gangsters. He consequently overcompensates, though going to such extremes just underscores he is different, but he wants to win the boss’s validation that badly because, without it, Overhaul feels like a freak. He’s afraid that there’s something wrong with him. This emerges most pointedly in his “germophobia.”

Given that he 1) literally breaks into hives and flies into murderous rage when he’s touched, 2) considers heroism and quirks to be a disease, and 3) breaks into hives multiple times purely from the force of his emotions—I think his phobia shouldn’t be taken at face value.

In some way, Overhaul is “allergic” to society. He doesn’t belong in this world, among these cultural values, which is why he seeks to change society.

“return humanity to normal”

^^ Overhaul wants to change the world to match his version of normal, and, remarkably, the fact that he believes it’s more feasible to change the world than to change himself says leagues about how immutable he believes his differentness is. By destroying quirks, Overhaul wants to make everyone the same: worthless. He resents that other people even want to be different because feeling like there’s something wrong with him is his greatest fear.

Shigaraki is Overhaul’s main foil, but…there’s a reason why Twice introduces him.

Twice (narrating): There’s no place for insane guys like me in society. As for the people who heroes like to save…yeah, they’re always the good, virtuous ones. Anyway, I finally accepted me for me and decided to make myself useful to the League of Villains because I wanna be okay with being me. What I’m searching for now is other people just as crazy as I am. The aimless wackos looking for a place to belong… [Overhaul debuts, complaining that he’s surrounded by sickness] Twice: (staring at Overhaul) But now those nutjobs are starting to carve out a place for themselves in this world. Twice: “Okay… To ask…or not to ask?!” Twice: Whether it’s us or the heroes, everyone’s starting to take on a different look nowadays. Knowing who you are is what really matters. Who you wanna become…what you wanna do… It’s real, real important.

Ch115, viz.

Twice’s narration frames Overhaul as someone who’s just as freakish as he is, and it foreshadows “a place to belong” as a key theme of Overhaul’s arc—a theme that Overhaul’s first flashback (to when he met the boss) cements. Overhaul wants somewhere to be accepted and belong precisely because he’s a “crazy wacko” with no place in society. Usurping the boss is Overhaul’s attempt to carve out a place for himself in the world, to fashion the Hassaikai (and society at large) in his image.

Twice’s narration also highlights how Overhaul doesn’t know who he is or what he wants, and consequently, he turns out to be a humungous hypocrite who can’t uphold even a single of the principles he professes. He double-crosses the boss, he isn’t sure if he wants to commodify quirks or eliminate them, and he can’t accept that he, like everyone, is worthless. He’s so afraid that there’s something wrong with him that he instead insists that everyone else is “sick,” everyone else is wrong, not him, he’s the only normal person. Unlike the LoV, who are more or less okay with being outcasts, Overhaul sets out to correct this difference because he can’t bear it.

…And Twice’s foiling underscores Overhaul’s lack of emotional attachments. It’s ludicrous to think Twice would ever lock Shigaraki away and then release him after Twice’s clones have toppled society. Overhaul’s interest in the boss is as a source of validation to help him repress his fear that he’s abnormal, not in the boss as a human person with feelings.

While fighting Deku and Eri, Overhaul recalls putting the boss in a coma. He follows up his flashback with these lines:

Overhaul: “None of you are looking at the big picture here!! What I’m annihilating is the world itself!! Its very structure!! So a pathetic little would-be hero driven by his emotions…reaching out for whatever petty sense of justice he stumbles across [meaning the status quo]…can’t stop me!!”

Ch158, viz.

The “none of you” is very telling—Overhaul is referring to the boss as well as Deku. He resents the boss, and his resentment of heroes is partly a sublimation of that—both Deku and the boss are driven by compassion Overhaul lacks, which disturbs him, so he needs to lash out and tell himself that his motivator, "logic,” is normal.

But regardless of the underlying reason, his most important motivators are that he doesn’t value human lives, and that he feels alienation because, on some level, he fears there’s something wrong with him for that. (<– the boss basically tells him so, by spurning him for being cruel.)

^^ When Deku delivers his final blow, knocking off Overhaul’s mask and sending him crashing to the ground, Horikoshi reveals Overhaul’s face for the first time. It’s a plain face; the mask hides no quirk-related anomaly; ironically, Overhaul’s "remedy” to his phobia (the plague mask, to stop himself from breathing the same air as others) makes him look like more of a weirdo than if he went without it.

His flashback here gives us a glimpse of what it is that inspires Overhaul. Overhaul remembers walking in the rain in the boss—a memory that prompts him to make a last stand…but also, a memory that causes him to break out into hives. Once you look, it’s clear he has no hives before he remembers it.

This is a positive memory, but it’s also an intensely negative one.

Because, deep down, Overhaul knows the boss will never thank him again. Out of buried resentment for the way the boss withheld his acceptance and made Overhaul feel like a freak, Overhaul made a point to trash everything the boss loved—he turned the Hassaikai into villainous bastards and carelessly offs the boss’s devotees, he followed through on his evil plan to use Eri as the base for his anti-quirk serum, and he, uh, put the boss into a coma. He even rejected the name “Chisaki,” the name of the strange man who tried to be a yakuza but whom the boss discarded anyways, and named himself after his quirk in order to “remake” himself into someone new. Clearly, like everyone else, he’s invested in his quirk as a crucial aspect of his identity –.–

But embracing his “true nature” isn’t enough when Overhaul knows that the boss will never accept him again, when he is still different, which is why Overhaul wants the world to change to match his views on humanity, so that he’s normal.

Another time Overhaul spontaneously breaks out into hives is when Shigaraki leaves him.

No hives when Compress and Shigaraki touch him to remove his arms. Overhaul seems to be in shock. But Shigaraki’s words finally penetrate.

“You should just sit back and watch!! Have a nice life!”

“I just want to repay the debt I owe you. So please, just sit back…and watch.”

It’s these words from Shigaraki that prompt Overhaul to break out into hives, probably because, by sheer luck, Shigaraki quotes Overhaul’s last words to the boss. Before putting the boss in a coma, Overhaul told him to sit back and watch—one problem with that being, obviously, that someone in a coma can’t watch. So (again by sheer luck) Shigaraki actually does Overhaul one better and fulfills his words better than he did.

Similarly, Shigaraki is stealing Overhaul’s life’s work—just like how Overhaul stole the boss’s life’s work, the Hassaikai—and Overhaul’s quirk, just like how Overhaul stole Mirio’s…but Shigaraki steals them better than Overhaul did. It’s Overhaul’s lofty ambition to use the quirk serum change the world, to establish himself as normal and at the center of his new society, that serves as the basis of Overhaul’s self-esteem.…and it’s Overhaul’s quirk that gives Overhaul his name.

By removing his quirk, Shigaraki strips Overhaul of the name he gave himself. He’s no longer Overhaul, and he’s not even the boss’s man “Chisaki” anymore—he’s the nameless child on the streets whom everybody shuns. The outcast, the reject, someone who can only sit on the sidelines and helplessly watch.

Overhaul’s arc ends on the contrast between them. Overhaul is introduced as the mature, more methodical villain who threatens to supplant Shigaraki as AfO’s successor, but the story unmasks him as an irredeemable, reprehensible hypocrite who can’t stand by anything. Shigaraki, however, proves he’ll stand for what little ground he ekes out, and he copes with his resentment over his outsider status by openly acknowledging it and bonding with fellow outcasts to forge their own home. 

Ultimately, I think the core of Overhaul’s character boils down to 1) he doesn’t believe that people matter, 2) he feels intense alienation and isolation, and 3) he’s afraid he’s abnormal. How those three things interrelate, which of them is cause and which is effect, is flexible. I figure his hatred of quirks stems from one of these, probably (1).

Power is another consideration, one that I didn’t look at in my analysis since I think his thirst for power is his attempt to belong/alleviate his sense of abnormality by gaining status. And, though I think Overhaul is framed as a sociopath-like person whose lack of empathy is innate, I think there could be a solid characterization made for his extreme lack of empathy being a consequence of nurture, like he feels like a freak due to a childhood tragedy.

Miscellaneous Overhaul details;

Overhaul doesn’t seem to break out into hives when he touches dirty inanimate objects, like the floor; his phobia of “dirtiness” is focused on people.

His phobia is implied to have escalated or begun during adulthood. He didn’t seem to wear a mask as a kid, nor did he seem to break into hives before the canon timeline (Overhaul has no hives in any of his flashbacks, even when he’s cutting Eri or surrounded by gore).

Overhaul begins to wear his plague mask after a major argument with the boss over proper conduct for a yakuza.

Despite being Overhaul’s father-figure, the boss called him “Chisaki” instead of “Kai”—he might’ve been too traditional/stuffy to use Overhaul’s given name even when he was just a kid.

Mirio reminds Overhaul of the boss, which is why their fight gets so personal.

Overhaul hates Eri so much because they’re similar—both are “aberrations” who don’t belong. Eri is emphasized as a mutation who was rejected by even her mom, and the boss explicitly links their quirks…except that Eri has what he wants: the boss’s acceptance and a “normal” compassionate disposition, the latter of which he viciously leverages against her in order to punish her for it.

And also like…by virtue of being a young, little, helpless, sweet girl, meaning that she’s the perfect victim heroes always want to save more than anything, her life is disproportionately valuable to people, and that’s the sort of sentimental value Overhaul wants to destroy.

More reading;

If you somehow want to read even more about Overhaul, I only vaguely remember what these analyses are about bc it’s been a while since I last saw them, but each of these should have an interesting perspective on him.

Youtube video “The Beauty of Kai Chisaki” about the Buddhist context of Overhaul and the Shie Hassaikai.

A second youtube video called “Eri’s Quirk Explained with Philosophy” (about Overhaul, Eri, and the return to innocence) are both worth checking out. 

^^ I won’t link them directly because I’ve heard tumblr filters posts with external links out of searches.

Overhaul lost because people cared about his victims.

Linkspooky interprets Overhaul’s phobia as evidence of his repressed guilt, and they’ve also compared him and Shigaraki.

This conversation about Overhaul’s motives.

[miracul0us-multishipper]

Welcome to the back (Part 8)

First Chapter  Previous Chapter  Next Chapter

- - -

Ooooooh, the sweet smell of Angst in the evening.

- - -

“Adrien, look, about this-“, she started, guilt settling in her stomach, but Adrien shook his head and she fell silent.

“I didn’t call you out here because I wanted to interrupt you, just then.”

She looked up, surprised.

“Really? Then... What’s the matter?”

Adrien fidgeted.

“It’s... more general than what you were about to say. Actually, I’m a little worried.”

He stilled, crossing his arms but still not meeting her eyes.

“I thought we were in this together, you and I.”

Marinette blushed at his words, not really realizing their meaning yet.

“You and I? O-of course we are! Wait, I mean... wait. What do you mean?”

He relaxed a little, finally looking at her.

“I mean Lila’s... situation. I thought we had agreed that we wouldn’t expose her.”

“I didn’t-“

“Not only that Ladybug thing, Marinette. Her general situation shouldn’t be discussed with anyone, not even in private.”

Her blood ran cold all of a sudden, and so did her voice.

“If ‘situation’ refers to her compulsive lying and manipulating of others, you can be relieved. I didn’t say anything, just like you wanted.”

She didn’t know she could sound this icy, and from the looks of it, neither did Adrien. Maybe Felix was rubbing off on her.

“Then how does Felix know? He’s been mean to her since the moment he joined our class.” Adrien challenged her answer and she scoffed, surprised at her sudden attitude towards him.

“Maybe because Lila isn’t as slick as she thinks and Felix, unlike others, actually makes use of his brain!” she snapped back. Adrien took a step backwards, startled by her sudden outburst. She tried to reign her emotions in a little, while he decided to switch tactics.

“Look, I didn’t mean to blame you for anything. I’m sorry if I came off as rude.”

She breathed deeply and nodded. Of course he didn’t. He was Adrien! He was the kindest person in the world.

“I know, it’s... fine.” She had to force the last word out. “You’re not rude.”

He rubbed his neck, emerald eyes glinting with uncertainty.

“It’s just that... I’m worried. Felix has a habit of getting others into trouble, and you’ve been around him all the time recently. I fear that if you keep this up, he might try to set you against Lila.”

“Actually, Lila’s pretty good at that on her o-“

“Think about it! You’ve been doing a lot less with Alya too. He’s alienating you from your friends, and as long as you are so close with him, you let him.”

“I’m sorry, what-“

“No, no! You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, really.” Adrien quickly interrupted her, completely misinterpreted what she’d been about to say. He was only getting started. “He’s got a way of getting under one’s skin. But you’re, well, you! Our everyday Ladybug. I’m sure you can fix this in no time, and everything’s going to be like before again.

He smiled.

“When he wasn’t here yet.”

She blinked. Twice. A sharp pain in her palms alarmed her that she was clenching her fists, nails digging into her skin, but she couldn’t look away from the self-satisfied look on Adriens face. Doubtlessly patting himself on the shoulder for being such a good friend, protecting her like this. A small voice tried to remind her that this was Adrien, that he always only wanted to help, that she loved him, but this voice was getting smaller and smaller. Drowned out by the rush of blood in her ears, the outrage over his words because how dare he, how dare he talk like this to her, over her friend! Adrien wasn’t acting like a friend at all, she realized, and he hadn’t been for weeks. He was only supportive when it suited him, only concerned when his version of “peace” was at stake, only speaking up when it came to upholding the status quo.

“I don’t want things to be like before.”, she pressed out slowly, just to silence her own thoughts. Adrien’s face fell.

“What? Why?”

She looked him straight into his obliviously shocked eyes.

“Because I wasn’t happy before. Because Felix is my friend, and unlike you, he’s not afraid to act like one. Because if I don’t have a single person left to vent to about Lila, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

“But... you have me, don’t you?”

He was so painfully convinced of his righteousness. For the first time, she found it annoying instead of admirable.

“No, I don’t! You’re saying one thing and doing the other! You’re so scared of conflict you’d rather let Lila walk all over me then stand up to her!”

“She isn’t hurting any-“

“She is, Adrien, why don’t you see that? She’s hurting me! She’s hurting Felix! She’s using our friends for petty ego boosts, stealing from Felix, threatening me, lying about me a-and you sit there and do nothing! That’s not what a friend does!”

He looked at her, flabbergasted. Something like realization flashed in his eyes and his shoulders dropped. Marinette almost sighed in relief. He was listening. Thinking about it. Surely he understood now. Things would finally change, they could finally tell the truth. Everything could be alright again; different, sure, but alright.

So when Adrien looked up again, his words were like a punch in the face.

“He’s already got you wrapped around his finger, doesn’t he?”

He looked like a kicked puppy. She felt like one.

(The window opened, flooding his lair with daylight.)

Her fingers clenched around the strap of her bag, just to keep them from shaking.

“What did you say?!”

(Disappointment, disillusionment. Heartbreak as well. More than powerful enough for his akuma.)

“Marinette, please don’t-“

“What is wrong with you? Is it so hard for you to believe that Felix might just want to be my friend? Do you hate him that much or do you just think I’m too boring to be friends with?”

(The butterfly’s wings darkened, heavy with a young girl’s sorrow.)

“I’m the only one who saw through Lila from day one, yet you think I am the one being manipulated? By Felix of all people?!”

(“Go, my little akuma, and spread the darkness you carry.”)

She took a step back and turned away. Her shoulders were shaking and she pressed her hand to her mouth, just to silence her erratic breathing. She wouldn’t cry now. She wouldn’t.

“You’re such a hypocrite, Adrien!”, she spat out. She felt like her chest was wrapped in chains, constricting painfully and shattering the feelings she had cared for so deeply. It hurt! It hurt so much, and every look at Adrien would only amplify that. She had to leave.

Before he could say another word, she stormed off, leaving him utterly shocked.

Marinette had never talked to him like that. She’d never looked at him like that, and she certainly never fought with him like that. He had never seen her this furious, not with Chloé and not even with Lila. If she was this angry... maybe he really had done something wrong?

“Marinette, where are- Agreste?”

Felix had opened the door, looking around for Marinette. When he only found Adrien, his face darkened.

“Where is Marinette? What did you do?”

What... had he done?

Anger rose up in his chest. This wasn’t his fault! It couldn’t be, it couldn’t be that he had made Marinette this upset! No, he realized. Someone else was to blame.

“This is your fault!”, he snarled at Felix. “You always do this!”

“I do what?!”

“You wreck havoc everywhere you go! You can never forgive people! You do everything to set others against them! You don’t care for good intentions and you warp situations until you are the victim! Marinette is my friend, and you are taking that from me!”

He gestured after Marinette.

“Do you have any idea what friendship means to me? What going to a normal and peaceful school means to me? And you- you’re just ruining that! For what? A petty grudge that I tried to help you with your dad?! General hate on every living person?! Why are you smearing Marinette against- Where are you going?”

Felix had stopped listening halfway through and instead followed Adrien’s gesture, in the direction Marinette had run off to. Now he was already on the stairs to the yard, ignoring Adrien’s rant as if he were a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“I’m trying to talk to you!”, Adrien shouted after him, angrier than he had ever been before. “Where are you going?!”

“Trying to be a better friend than you are.”, was the brisk reply. “And the way it looks, that won’t be a challenge at all.”

-

Felix found Marinette in a janitor’s closet. How she had fit in there was beyond him, for as soon as he opened the door, she fell out and against him. For a moment he thought he saw something red dash into her purse, but the tears in her eyes captured his attention before he could think more about it.

“S-sorry!”, she stammered and took a step back, cheeks red and glistening with tears. “I was just- I wanted- You shouldn’t-“

“Stop it.” he mumbled. He had followed her with the vague need to offer comfort for whatever Agreste had said, but now that he was here...

She looked devastated. Utterly heartbroken. And he had no idea how to fix that.

“What happened?”, he asked helplessly. Wrong question. Immediately, more tears began to run down her face and she let out a sob.

“No, no, no, you don’t have to answer!”, he desperately tried to save his attempt. “I’ll just... It will be alright, okay? It’s going to be better.”

He patted her back with one hand, at a loss for what else he was supposed to do, and hectically rummaged through his briefcase. He had handkerchiefs somewhere, hadn’t he?

There was one full of black stains from when his pen had spilled ink this morning, there was his thermos, his favorite pen... he let everything drop on the ground when he finally found a new pack of tissues. He’d made a mess, and he hated disorder, but right now he hated the sight of Marinette’s tears even more.

“Here”, he offered her the tissue, which she promptly accepted. Her breathing calmed down a bit.

“Thank... Thank you.”

Bluebell eyes trained on the ground, her hands fidgeted with the tissue as she tried to erase all evidence of her breakdown.

He only nodded. Formalities felt out of place now.

“Whatever it was that he said,” he started carefully, “it’s not true. And you don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

You deserve the world and more.

“If I can do something,”

Anything.

“To make it better, please tell me.”

I don’t know to help.

She sniffled, still looking at the ground. But her hand was moving, towards him and between his torso and arm, until she painstakingly lead her arm to his back, pulling him closer. Her other hand mirrored the movement and came to rest at the back of his neck, freezing him on the spot. When she buried her face in his shoulder, he wondered briefly if he should be breathing now, before brushing the thought aside. He didn’t have the time to worry about oxygen when he had to figure out what to do with his hands. How did hugs work, why couldn’t he remember, why was her hair so soft and oh, if the scent of baked goods that always clung to her didn’t make him all too happy to start breathing again.

“Just... just hold me, okay?”

Her voice was so thin, stifled by sadness and heartbreak. It made his brain short circuit, his hands moved on their own accord to pull her closer. Stroking her back and burying his face in her hair were the most natural thing in the world, all of a sudden.

They stayed like that for a while. The bell rang and neither of them moved. Marinette was calmer now, her obvious desperation fading into a quiet sadness.

“Talk to me.”, Felix all but begged her after some time. “Please. Tell me what’s wrong.”

What was going on inside her head?

Her grip around him tightened.

“He... I thought I knew... him. But I don’t. A-and it hurts.”

She inhaled sharply.

“I did so much, all the time. And now... it feels so wasted.”

She coughed, probably meaning to let out a bitter laugh.

“Isn’t that horrible of me?”

“No.”, he emphasized. “No, Marinette.”

He knew her well enough to say she wouldn’t feel this way if Adrien had simply rejected her. Then she would have moved on, though it might have taken some time.

But Adrien hadn’t rejected her. No, he had disappointed her. Whatever he had said had made Marinette second-guess everything she’d done for him – which was a lot. So much time and effort she had given, so many opportunities she had sacrificed... only to realize he hadn’t deserved it, didn’t appreciate anything of it.

“Adrien thinks I’m breaking my promise.”

Felix thought he should break Adrien’s jaw.

“He doesn’t care if that promise is breaking me.”, she murmured into his shirt and he shook his head.

“You don’t owe him anything, especially not if it’s hurting you.”

His eyes closed and he sighed.

“Marinette, you are...”, he struggled to find the right word, “... miraculous.”

She stiffened, but he wasn’t finished yet.

“You give more than you need to, even to people like Chloé. And with her, it actually kind of worked. But not every one will be appreciative of your efforts, no matter how much of your... your light you want to share. They’ll just keep on taking, maybe just because they don’t know any better. But it’s not your responsibility to fix them.”

He grasped her shoulders and cautiously separated them, even though part of him wanted to never let go. Her eyes were too... dispirited for someone who was usually sparking with energy. He kept eye contact anyway, needing her to understand.

“You’re the most generous person I know, just because you enjoy caring so much. It’s what I... what I adore about you. But Marinette, listen.”

He took her hands between his.

“It’s okay if you want to care for yourself, too. Don’t let yourself be used.”

She cast her eyes down, as if he had reminded her of something.

“He...”, she started. “He said you are using me.”

He watched her expression, fearing what he might find.

“Do you believe him?”

“No”

The answer was so swift, so confident he didn’t doubt it for second. His heart missed a few beats, before starting to race at doubled speed.

“Then... why are you so sad?”, he tried to drown his far too fast pulse out. She looked up again.

“Because he believes it. He doesn’t trust me. And the worst thing is, I can see how he treats our other friends. Why would I be any different? He wouldn’t care if you truly were manipulating me, as long as you were polite about it.”

She was right, but he doubted she wanted him to confirm it.

“It’s pathetic.”, she whispered. “I hate feeling like this. I hate it.”

He understood. God knew, the first fourteen years of his life had made him feel just like this.

“I know.”, he said honestly. “It’s going to-“

He froze. The hairs at his neck rose and a fluttering sound reached his ears. Was that...?

“Watch out!”, he shouted and pulled Marinette away, just when a purple glowing butterfly went for her earrings. It missed her by centimeters at most, and immediately followed her.

“Don’t touch it!”, Marinette yelled, letting go of his hand to dodge another attempt of the akuma.

“I can handle this!”

He jumped backwards when it came closer to him by accident, having missed Marinette once again. He’d never seen an akuma, only read about attacks on the Internet. And now one was targeting Marinette. One of the most dangerous creatures in the world was targeting Marinette.

Only because of Adrien.

“No!”

He got back to his feet and grabbed Marinette’s hand, pulling her behind him. He wouldn’t let this happen!

But just when the Akuma tried again, she managed to escape his arm and jump in front of him.

“Marinette!”

“I can hold it off!”, she declared with fervor. Her face was still tear-stained, but her posture was proud and her eyes determined. She planted herself between him and the butterfly, spreading her arms like a physical barrier.

“Trust me!”, she pleaded when he moved to pull her away, and he stopped mid-movement. She wasn’t looking at him, eyes fixed on the threat that was suspended above them. It had stopped its advance, even started to retreat.

“I can do this.”

“What are you doing?”, he hissed, scrambling for something - anything - he could throw at the corrupted insect. His fingers closed around the pen he’d dropped when he’d searched for tissues, his favorite. The one Cordelia had bought him for his birthday, the one Rossi had stolen, the one Marinette had helped him repair the last weekend. The one he’d gladly sacrifice if it meant she was safe.

But... whatever Marinette was doing, it worked.

“Hawkmoth only has power over me if I yield it to him.”, Marinette said calmly, her eyes following the akuma. In this moment she was no clumsy, funny student. No. As fierce and concentrated as she was, she could have been Ladybug herself right now.

“His power needs me to lose control of my emotions.”

Her glare alone could keep every villain at a safe distance, he learned.

“He needs people at their lowest.”, she breathed in. “But I can always find a solution.”

She breathed out.

“He can only use the openings I give him.”

Maybe he’d imagined it, but for a moment she looked as if she were smiling.

“And I’ll give him nothing.”

Finally, the akuma changed its course, flying over the yard in search of a new victim. Felix noticed his hands were shaking.

“How did you do that?”, he whispered. He didn’t know if she could hear the awe in his voice.

Her hands lowered to her sides and she turned to him.

“I... stay positive, I guess. No matter what life throws at me. I already did this a few times now, after all.”

His face fell, shocked.

A few times...? She’d had to fight off a creature that no one else had resisted yet, and this wasn’t even the first time?!

His hands clenched to fists when he remembered how she had looked just a few seconds ago. Tears on her face, eyes ablaze with pain and holding onto him as if her life depended on it. What if she’d felt like this before? Maybe it hadn’t even been Adrien that had torn her down, maybe Césaire had simply pushed her a bit too far, or Lila had lied about her one time to often.

And he hadn’t been here yet. Had she faced the other akumas alone? Had she hid away like now, abandoned by those she gave everything for?

“Felix?”

He didn’t hear her, only clenched his fists until the cap of his pen dug into his skin.

“Felix, d-don’t get upset now, you hear me? It’s alright, I swear it’s- Felix!”

A sudden heat in his palm made him look down, just as purple lights clouded his vision. The pen in his hand had turned black, he noticed, before his perception was torn into every direction at once.

“Sentiquill,” a voice called him, the word resonating in his mind, “I am Hawkmoth.”

He couldn’t hear properly; his attention was split between the darkness spreading through his head and the girl that clung to him. Saying words he didn’t understand, in a voice that was caught between soothing and panicking.

“I will allow you to use the darkness other’s hide inside, concealed from view.”, the other voice continued and he blinked, trying to remember what he was doing. Marinette. Why was she crying?

“If you bring me Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s Miraculous,’ I will grant you the power to stand sentinel over those you love,” new words seeped into his consciousness, “and to punish those who hurt them.”

He didn’t understand, only knew that Marinette was here, she was in pain, and he didn’t know how to help.

“Do you accept my offer?”

His arms closed around Marinette, trying to shield her from what had made her cry. It wasn’t enough, was never enough, he couldn’t help her because he needed more power, more strength and she would do everything for him as well, wouldn’t she?

His lips formed “yes” on their own, and the darkness in his head took over.

With a last, scared glance at Marinette, Felix faded into black.

And Sentiquill opened his eyes.

- - -

Mwahahaha!

@crazycookie13o @a-6-yearold-inside @sinfulfoxbeast @kuroko26 @sternsneeze @zeyheartstaylor @elliecake5 @kristycocopop @yamadochie @sofmimis @enigmaticagitator @offically-over-it @earth-demon @juhavs @omgelisahagemanuniverse @owllover132 @kaydenth3gayden @janaikam @mewwitch @bluerosette23 @fanboy7794 @slytherin-batbitch @fanatic-kay @shadowberrybinch @angstyrastuff @loosescrewslefty @im-here-for-the-content @lexysama @anonymouse-thoughts @chxtons @ilseofskadi @fafik7 @bloody-no-kissu @himevampirechan @goldenmoonbeam @chrismarium @akiyukiko @heaven428 @magnitude101999 @jazzybabycakes @edith-of-the-moon @ayuchan07 @orrabbit @karin-ochibi-chan @queersnake @maddrag @theonemagic @clumsy-owl-4178 @viverse @sizzling-fairy-oil @a-marlene-s @hanabiri @shine-brightandbeautiful @sleepyconspirator @wonderbreadnicoinwonderland @cxndy-stxrs @ginamariepotterhead 

[humble-wayside-flower]

Right Side Wrong (X)

Songs for Marin and Matthias Magwood // City With No Sky Pt. 2  (Marin on the left, Matthias on the right)

*~*~*

I’ll Be Your Mirror - Lowland Hum (A song for parallel universes and for someone who is so different but also very much the same)

When you think the night has seen your mind That inside you’re twisted and unkind Let me stand to show that you are blind Please put down your hands ‘Cause I see you

Secret for the Mad - Dodie (Sort of my song for Marin <3 You have to go through the hard stuff to get to the better stuff, but someday this will all make sense) 

I’ve got a secret for the mad In a little bit of time it won’t hurt so bad And I get that I don’t get it But you will burn right now, but then you won’t regret it

Close to Home - Vienna Teng (Home, Home, Home. It’s important to them both, but especially so to Marin. Learning to let go of the physical home, but also maybe the ideological home, and trying to build a new one, while stumbling upon the way.)

Lay your head where they hold Hide the demarcations of your soul And play your silent scream role Harmonize your own worth to what you show Normalized and nowhere close to home

O Magnum Mysterium - Morten Lauridsen (”The singing is slightly discordant, not quite right, unsettling to listen to. Through the making of music that sounds as pained as they feel inside do the priestexes of the Silent One grieve their dead… The dissonance resolves into a more traditional chord; the voices finish in something still sad, but more at peace.” --This is the song I’ve imagined in this spot from the moment that session ended. While it isn’t really a mournful song, there was never going to be another one that fit this part better in my head.)

Latin Choral Piece

Can’t Go Back - The Crane Wives (The ever present mantra, it’s not fair. It’s not fair because this was my home too, and my friend too, and no you don’t get to kick me out of my own home, I won’t leave. Except you do, and you do.) 

Cause you can’t go back, darling The time has come for moving on You can’t be always trying to dig up What you’ve already buried You’ve got to carry carry carry on

Prelude - Tessa Violet (A song for Nora. For two people with walls they haven’t fully broken down. A song for wanting to know more about who a person is behind the things a person does. A song for offering friendship, and a song for hesitance that is hard to get past.) 

I’m insecure Of that I’m sure Don’t need a counselor or seminar to see And even when it’s only you and me There seems to be Somethin’ that you keep behind your teeth

The Loneliness Waltz - The Ballroom Thieves (A song for Raye. For two people in the same boat, even when the oceans are different. A song for wanting other people to want you so badly that you never quite learn to stop giving yourself to people who are not paying attention. A song for picking yourself up again and again anyways.)

We are frivolous with our hearts Watch them bend till they break Then we pick up the parts Yeah, we give, we take We save and condemn And we live just to love again

We’re Not Different - Lo-Fang (A song for Yani Shae. For the weird sensation of looking at a person, and feeling like you’re looking at a distorted mirror. The same but different. Different but the same. I have a lot of thoughts about Yani and Marin and the act of having faith in a deity that is all about random chance, but that’s a whole other post.) 

You look at me but don’t see what I see I’m different But we’re not different Take this plant To feel how I feel Now we’re different But we’re not different Not so different

Leviathan - Dirt Poor Robins (World Eater Vibes- Adara Style. Tbh, the song I wanted to put here wasn’t on spotify, so this was the next best choice. A song for an entity that is threatening all of reality, but no one has ever seen it, and also you only really know it exists because your parallel universe selves told you it did. A song for world destruction as a ticking time bomb with a broken read out.) 

Here I lie in the dark and deep For a thousand years I’ve been asleep Far removed from the walls that rage Undisturbed by the earthquakes And I wait, I wait

Saint Bernard - Lincoln (A song about faith, and about losing it, and finding it, and losing it, and keeping it, and knowing that you’ll never really be able to extract it from yourself without cutting out a vital part of yourself. Marin is struggling with the loss of her home, but even more so with this loss of purpose. She’s just pushing forward and hoping for something to grab onto again.) 

I said “Make me love myself, so that I might love you” Don’t make me a liar, ‘cause I swear to God When I said it, I thought it was true 

In Darkness - Lowland Hum (A song for parallel universes, for someone who is very much the same, but also so different)

Forest of my mind Calm and slow and know comfort of the darkness Knowing you I am more myself but not a self I know; One from somewhere else

Guiltless - Dodie (I have a lot of thoughts about Mattie and their family, and the worries that come with growing up in an environment that is not affirming of who you are and that upholds the status quo to a fault. How do you figure out what parts of you are really you, and what parts are the ones you need to let go or outgrow?)

Oh but I’m not bitter, I’m just tired No use getting angry at the way that you’re wired And I could never let you know (Ooh, you’d never get it) And now I’m the one who can’t let go (Ooh don’t say it’s genetic)

The Hymn of Acxiom - Vienna Teng (A song for being cursed, and the ever present inkling that you are not quite alone in your own head. A song for being cursed, and abruptly understanding in the most gut wrenching way that you are absolutely not alone in your own head, not one bit.) 

Somebody hears you. You know that. You know that. Somebody hears you. You know that inside. Someone is learning the colors of all your moods, to (Say the right thing and) show that you’re understood

Nox Aurumque - Eric Whitacre (I cheated a little bit on this one and used a different composer, albeit still a Latin choral piece. I liked that this piece had an eeriness to it that contrasted with the lighter nature of O Magnum Mysterium. Also the title translates to Night and Gold, which seemed fitting.) 

Latin Choral Piece

Curses - The Crane Wives (The world eater is the one that burns, but their walls are still unstable. Will their friends still be here when the walls burn down? They hope so.) 

Every word I say is kindling But the smoke clears when you’re around Won’t you stay with me, my darling When my walls start burning down, down, down? 

Honest - Tessa Violet (A song for Sheridan. A song for two people who just want to be wanted, who have problems with self sacrifice, and who are learning that you need to lean on other people. It’s okay, their shoulder is here.) 

Here’s the truth My strength ain’t bein’ honest I mostly work from wanting to be wanted And if there’s somethin’ else, well I don’t know if I got it, got it And come the night, I’m never really solid

Trouble - The Ballroom Thieves (A song for Raleigh. For two people who can’t stop getting into trouble with each other. In many ways the two are complete opposites, but in another life they might not have been so different. For the boy who welcomes trouble with the smile of an old friend.) 

I’m terrified of my heart Its hunger for whatever it may want The way it stops and starts Yeah it may saunter into war Trouble doesn’t keep a civil score

Silver Peak - Lo-Fang (A song for Lukas. It took me ages to decide on one for him, and I’m still not totally happy with this choice. I feel like it captures the danger that his helping our party has put him in though, and the frenetic energy of everything that went down during the cult ceremony. I am so sorry that you got sucked into this world eater and blood hunter stuff. You’re a cool dude, and thank you again for the fork.) 

Instrumental

But Never a Key - Dirt Poor Robins (World Eater Vibes- Aillgate Style. It’s all about the fire imagery baby. And the imagery of someone slowly coming undone at the seams. A song for the slow ascent of a burning god that could unravel all of reality. A song for not being sure how to stop this yet. A song for being afraid of losing control of your body and mind again. Also that good good warlock shit.) 

You’re wound up too tightly  So frayed and unsightly  Pulling on your own strings You’re unraveling How can a cure now be found? With no outside threat Just a fire in your chest And you’re melting All over everything 

How I Survived Bobby Mackey’s Personal Hell - Lincoln (This song isn’t quite perfect, but the frenetic energy of it feels really right, especially in the aftermath of the cult ceremony. Mattie is looking for answers, but they’re also just looking for distraction. And control. Some control over these magic powers they suddenly have access too would be great too. A song for anxious waiting.)  

Nothing says I miss you quite like “I’m running out of time” Nothing says I hate you now like Getting sweat stains on a knife I am killing time with a razor blade

[xx-thedarklord-xx]

Thine Enemy is Sweet (Part 7)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five , Part 6

“I’m assuming you want to go to a Muggle bar?”

The bitter tone surprised Harry enough that he paused half-way through locking the classroom door.

“Not if you don’t want to.”

He was confused. Malfoy was fine with the students, so why wouldn’t he be okay with Muggles?

The tip of Malfoy’s Oxfords rubbed against the wall and his confusion increased.

“If we go to a Wizard bar I’m going to be recognized.”

“So am I.”

Malfoy’s shoulders tensed before he looked up at the ceiling. Harry felt like he was missing something.

“People don’t want to be seen with me, Potter.”

His heart sunk and when Malfoy closed his eyes, Harry felt the urge to comfort him—briefly—before he thought better of it.

“I do.”

A harsh scoff was his reply, and Malfoy still wouldn’t look at him. “Don’t pretend, I’m used to it. We can go to a Muggle bar.”  

When Malfoy tried to move past him, Harry pushed back until Malfoy was pressed against the wall and caged between a hand on each side of his head.

“I won’t pretend to know what you face every day,” Harry whispered. Malfoy’s eyes were on his chin and for some reason, that bothered him. He wanted Malfoy to look at him.

“I don’t know the things you have been told or will be told, but I meant what I said. I don’t mind being seen with you. If I did, I wouldn’t have asked you to be my fake boyfriend.”

“Unforeseen consequences can never be factored in,” Malfoy said softly, almost too softly. “Desires can cloud judgement.”

“You think being seen with you is compromising my judgement?”

Malfoy shrugged but said nothing, and that was the true sign that something was wrong. When did Malfoy ever stay silent?

“I don’t bring good headlines, I don’t bring good conversations, I don’t bring good energy and I surely don’t bring good company.”

“Who the fuck said that?”

When Malfoy’s shoulders tensed further, Harry knew.

“Nott said that, didn’t he?”

Malfoy tried to push Harry back, but he wouldn’t budge, not when it was all making sense.

“Potter—”

“He told me I was unattainable,” Harry muttered and when grey eyes finally glanced up, he couldn’t take it and looked away.

“Said that I was too good, put me on a higher standard, one that he never matched. I was suddenly something made to be seen—a prize. I couldn’t have bad days, I couldn’t be something other than what everyone always thinks of me.

“Do you know how restrictive that is? Society sees me as someone who saved them, they see someone who can’t do any wrong and to them, I am unattainable because they don’t know me, however badly they want to. I face that every day, and then I had to come home and face it too.”

Malfoy’s hand slid up Harry’s neck to grip his jaw hard enough to force him to look. No emotions but there was an intensity there, something he couldn’t look away from.

“Human nature is to mess up,” Malfoy whispered.

“I didn’t get to,” Harry said. “And the ironic part of it was that he said I made him feel like he couldn’t make mistakes, that I was the one who made him feel like he had to act perfect. I’ve never been perfect, Malfoy, never.”

“Oh, that, I do know.”

Harry’s shoulders shook as he tried not to laugh but he couldn’t withhold it.

“I want to be able to mess up,” Harry mumbled. “I want to be able to stumble and it be okay. I want to be able to right wrongs instead of living a lie. Because who he saw wasn’t me and he refused to try at all.”

Malfoy let go of his jaw slowly, far too slowly to not take notice before he stepped forward and placed his forehead against Harry’s.

“You can’t always right a wrong, I should know” Malfoy said, and he could feel Malfoy’s eyelashes press into his skin. “But you should be allowed to try.”

“And you’re allowed to be who are wherever you want to.”

Malfoy arched a brow, almost as if it was a challenge. “Even if I’m crass, abrasive, blunt, and pessimistic?”

“I happen to like that about you.”

“You like something about me?” Malfoy teased and Harry rolled his eyes.

“Not anymore.”

Malfoy smirked but it was far softer than usual and very close to a smile.

“This fake relationship is full opposites,” Malfoy said. “I was never good enough and you were too good.”

Harry wanted to purse his lips, but they were too close for it to not cross some boundaries.

“Except the defining factors are from a right fucking bellend and we are more than his descriptions.”  

This time, there was no smirk, there was only a smile, but it was empowering to see, Harry thought. “Let’s define ourselves.”

“Yeah,” Malfoy murmured; voice still so soft. “I like that, I get to be the only voice that matters.”

“And hey,” Harry began as he stepped back. “I can always take some of your not good enough and you can have some of my too good—we’ll even each other out.”  

“I always wanted some good in me.” The sarcasm was teasing in a way, and he didn’t think Malfoy could be so intriguing.

“Oh?” Harry’s brows rose. “How deep?”

There was silence before Malfoy groaned and shoved him to the side.

“You just had to ruin it, didn’t you?”

“It was a serious question!” Harry yelled as he ran after Malfoy who had jogged to get away from him. “If Nott was right, and I do have too much good in me, then it’s just waiting to come out. I’m just saying that could go quite far—”

“I don’t want to hear about the length of your prick, Potter.”

“Does that mean you want to see it?”

He dodged a stinging hex only to yelp when he tripped over Malfoy’s strategically placed foot.

“I was just kidding!”

“You’re a real pain,” Malfoy growled, and Harry wondered if there was any fondness in it.

“Sometimes.”

“You also talk to much.”

“I always thought it was the opposite.”

Malfoy crossed his arms and arched a brow.

“You like to mess with me.”

“That, I will agree to, spot on.”

He had to dodge another stinging hex, but it was worth it.

“So,” Harry said when Malfoy started walking again. “What kind of bar are we going to?”

Malfoy tensed and he almost wished he hadn’t asked.

“I figured we could go to the Three Broomsticks.”

Pride. Harry was proud of Malfoy, and as weird as it was to be proud of his partner in crime, he was.

“Good, I can show you off then.”

Malfoy spun around and it caused Harry to almost run into him.

“Show me off?”

“You deserve that, Malfoy. You deserve to be treated right, and I don’t know how many shitty people you have been with but fake boyfriend or not, I have standards to uphold.”

“And if I don’t want that?”

“Then I won’t.”

Malfoy looked at him, really looked at him and Harry didn’t know what there was to see. Before he could say anything, Malfoy took his hand and the crack of an apparation surrounded him.

“You really need to stop that,” Harry snarled. “You’ll hurt me at this rate.”

Malfoy didn’t say anything; his hand was still gripping Harry’s and there was a peculiar look on his face.

“No, I know how to keep you safe.”

Keep him safe? “People look to me to protect them.”

“I don’t need protection, Potter.”

“And you think I do?”

“I think you’d like to not have to worry about protecting anyone. I think you’d like someone to look out for you instead.”

“Is that you offering?” The hold on his hand tightened.

“Maybe,” whispered Malfoy as he pulled Harry forward but continued to hold his hand as they walked down Hogsmeade. “A trade. You show me off and I take care of you.”

No one had really ever taken care of him before. Part of that was how others perceived him and also the status quo of feeling like he could never stop being responsible for everyone else.

“Weird fake relationship, huh?”

“Yeah,” Malfoy agreed. “Weird has always been taboo for me though.” Malfoy turned the handle of the Three Broomsticks, took a deep breath and pushed.

“I think it’s about time I change that, don’t you?”

A few heads turned toward the door on instinct, those that recognized them did a double take and he knew the news would spread like wildfire.

Malfoy chose stools at the bar versus a table and it was probably for the best if they wanted to avoid seeing all the stares, but confrontational wise, it wasn’t good—their backs were turned and undefended.

“What can I get for you boys?” Rosmerta asked, eyes narrowing on people behind them.

“Gin for me,” Harry said as the urge to turn around increased when her eyes narrowed further. He wasn’t stupid, he could tell it had to do with Malfoy.

“And for you, love?” Rosmerta asked as she slid Harry’s glass with no warning and some of the drink sloshed over the rim.

“Firewhisky.”

“My kind of guy.” There was a fondness to her that had certainly never been directed at Harry before, and he came in once a week!

“Add a splash of exploding ale, will you?” Malfoy called after her when she turned to leave.

Harry grimaced at the combination. Exploding ale was strong.  

“Rough night?” Rosmerta asked over her shoulder, eyes on Malfoy. “I haven’t seen you drink that since you were nineteen.”

“What?” Harry looked between them. He hadn’t known they were friends. Malfoy had used an unforgivable on her.

“I wasn’t sure you remembered that,” Malfoy grabbed Harry’s glass and downed half of it. “You were drunk.”

“Hey!” Harry snatched his drink back and scooted away the best he could.

“I’m never drunk,” Rosmerta argued as she set down Malfoy’s glass. It was smoking and Harry didn’t trust it. Who combined exploding ale with anything?

“What brings you here?” She continued, one hand on her hip. “You always make me see you at the club.”

“His strip club?” Harry asked, mouth an inch away from the rim.

“Why? I enjoy the ladies just as much as you would.” Her hands were crossed, and he raised his own in defeat. He hadn’t meant anything by it.

“I’m just curious is all.”

“What he means,” Malfoy drawled as his drink gave off several loud pops and liquid splashed outward. “Is that he’s nosy.”

“That too,” Harry agreed with a nod and a wink.

Rosmerta looked between them and for the first time in a while, she smiled.

“Draco worked for me one summer.”

“What?” Harry shook his head. “I didn’t know that.”

“It was right out of Hogwarts,” Malfoy shrugged. “Heard you took a year off to travel.”

“So you did read up on me,” Harry teased. When Malfoy’s ears turned pink again, he couldn’t help the smug grin that tugged at his lips.

“It was in the papers, Potter. Front page, not like I could avoid your ugly mug if I wanted to.”

“Do you honestly believe the bullshit that comes out of your mouth, or just expect me to?”

Malfoy kicked him in the leg—hard.

“You take what I give you.”

“Was that an innuendo? Or an order? Because I can take orders.”

“Potter,” Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Alright, alright,” Harry conceded as he placed his chin on the heel of his palm. “Continue on.”

“I wanted to make amends,” Malfoy whispered as Rosmerta was flagged down for a refill by a patron. “I wasn’t sure she’d want to see me.”

“And she hired you?”

Malfoy snorted so harshly that Harry could see ripples in the Firewhisky, gross.

“She said if I was sorry, truly sorry, then I had to prove it. Scammed me into free labour, that’s what happened.”

“Free my arse,” Rosmerta yelled halfway down the bar. “You kept your tips.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because people were just dying to tip me.”

“Well,” She lifted her hands. “I got something out of it.”

“She taught me a lot,” Malfoy whispered as he watched Rosmerta fill several orders back to back easily. “I saw how much she puts into this place, the care, the love and seeing people give it back made me want that too.”

“And that somehow made you want to open a strip club?”

Malfoy smirked over the rim before he downed nearly all of it in one go. “No. I wanted a business, something that was mine, something my family had no claim over.”

“And?” Harry asked impatiently.

“There was a girl,” Malfoy placed the drink down with a scrunch of his nose. “She would stop by some nights after her shift at a Muggle strip club. I was curious enough to see a show after she invited me.”

“Was it how you thought it would be?”

“More.” Malfoy’s eyes lit up before he folded his arms on the counter and placed his head in the middle. “She sure could dance, Potter. Never saw anything like it before. I was fascinated. At first, I thought I was thinking with my prick, you know?”

“I didn’t know you were into girls too.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Malfoy tried to wink but he closed both eyes. Harry had to wonder if he was tipsy already.

“I asked her to teach me. It was hard, harder than it looks. The body strength required is more than it seems, you need to have stage presence and a charisma that draws people in. Some of it has to be natural and not learned.”

“Did you work with her? At the club?”

“Nah, I wanted to but the thought of what my father would say held me back.”  Malfoy glared and it made his nose scrunch up further. “But it was enough to make me want to do something. I never had that before. The urge for something that was my own interests.”

“That’s sad.”

“That’s life,” Malfoy tried to grab his drink but missed the first attempt. “I told my father I wanted to run my own business and he put me into business classes for it. My guess is he thought I wanted to do something to better the Malfoy name, or something that would somehow benefit him.”

That, Harry, could see. Lucius Malfoy was someone who only ever considered himself first.

“Right before I graduated with my business certificate, I pulled out the money from the Black Vault and—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what?”

“Regulus left me money,” Malfoy continued with a glare. “I always wondered why. I never even met him; I was just a baby when he disappeared.”

Regulus. The thought of him always hurt. Regulus was someone who got to right wrongs, but no one ever knew about it.

“It was enough for a deposit, and I pulled out a loan for the rest.”

Malfoy and a loan didn’t sound right to Harry. Oxymoron.

“Of course, my father found out,” Malfoy laughed hollowly. “Threw a fit and said he wouldn’t fund it. Came as a shock when I told him he wasn’t going to. I didn’t want a sickle from him. I told him he could disown me and show the world what kind of father he really was.”

Harry let out a whistle. As far as he knew, Lucius had never disowned Malfoy.

“Mother calmed him down, said to think of what people would say.”

Disgust was all Harry could feel. Some people shouldn’t have kids.

“That was her way of supporting me.”

It didn’t sound like it to him, but what did he know? “So he came around?”

Malfoy pounded the counter with his fist as he laughed. “Please. He would never. Sure, he offered to pay off my loan but I’m not stupid. I’d rather be in debt a million times over with the Goblins than to ever owe him a single thing.”

“Why?”

“Slytherins demand repayment for the things you never want to give up.”

Another riddle. Of course there was.

“Was it easy? Your business?”

“No.” Malfoy’s fists clenched. “People don’t respect what I do, what the people who work for me do and it can be hell. Sex work is a valid career and it doesn’t get the understanding we deserve and it sure as hell gets treated like a dirty secret. What kills me the most is that some of the people who say shit during the day are the very people who come see us at night.

“Took a few years but I got there, slowly and surely I got my business. Added a bar and used what Rosmerta taught me. I taught those who wanted to stop working the streets learn how to dance and I found a family among them all.”

“It sounds nice,” Harry whispered. “Finding family among co-workers.”

“You don’t have co-workers,” Malfoy’s forehead wrinkled.

“I know, why do you think I said it!”

“Do you think you’ll hire someone to help?”

Harry frowned at his empty glass. “With what money?”

Malfoy sat up suddenly, so sudden that he grabbed his head and let out a groan. He truly was a lightweight.

“Let’s petition the Wizengamot, or we could sue the Ministry. I like the second option better.”

“I’m not going to sue anyone,” Harry laughed. “You’re drunk.”

“I take offence to that.” Malfoy raised a finger but ended up inspecting it instead of whatever he was going to do with it. “And I said we, didn’t I? Or did I only think it?”

“No, you said we,” Harry said slowly. “I just assumed you meant me and was just drunk.”

“I’m not drunk!” The protest came several beats too late and it helped his case none. “I meant we since you’re my boyfriend.”

“Is that so?”

Harry startled when he caught sight of, Turner, a reporter for the Prophet. “Go away.”

“Yeah,” Malfoy jabbed his finger but missed and hit Harry. “You write mean stuff and that’s not okay.”

Turner pulled out a quill and smiled unpleasantly. “Is that so, would you like to give a statement about that?”

“Yes,” Malfoy sat up straighter. “I would. I think you are a piece of—”

“No,” Harry interrupted with a hand in the air. “He has nothing to say to you and neither do I.”

Turner put away her quill with a huff and he knew that she’d not leave easily. “You both are public figures, Mister Potter, I’m doing my civic duty here.”

“Civic duty,” Harry scoffed. “It’s your duty to harass us?”

“I wouldn’t call it harassment.”

“I would,” Malfoy argued with eyes so narrowed Harry doubted he could see through them. “You wait outside my club and bombard my employees despite them asking not to.”

“Oh?” Harry crossed his arms. “His club is private property. You can’t do that.”

Turner leaned forward into Harry’s personal space and it made his skin crawl. “You think the Ministry cares about Malfoy or his club? With the things that happen there and who he is?”

“Piss off,” said Harry as he leaned away from her. His back hit Malfoy’s chest and arms wrapped around his stomach.

“Yeah, what Harry said.”

Harry. He almost jerked at his name coming from Malfoy.

Turner hummed as she stared at them. “Alright, I’ll leave. I know when I’m not wanted.”

Malfoy snorted hard enough that Harry could feel the air hit his hair—lovely.

“I got what I wanted anyway.” It was dramatic exit, but he didn’t expect anything else from someone who worked for the Prophet.

“Was that supposed to be foreboding?” Malfoy whispered.

The corner of Harry’s lips lifted as Malfoy began to rub his stomach. “Yeah, I think so. What are you doing?”

“I don’t know.” He didn’t have to look to know that Malfoy was frowning, it was audible in his voice. “Do you want me to stop?” The hand rubbing gentle circles on Harry’s stomach stopped.”

“No.” Harry grabbed Malfoy’s hand and moved it for him. “I don’t think so.”

“Alright.” The whisper was louder than it should have been, but Harry didn’t mind, not when he was comfortable—well, as comfortable as one could be stretched over a bar stool and half on top of someone else.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Harry asked after a pleasant silence.

“I said that to you,” Malfoy said, voice sleepy.

“You did.” Harry was horribly endeared. “Because you wanted to spend time with me.”

“Shh, don’t give away secrets.”

A grin tugged at his lips and he decided that tipsy Malfoy was alright. “I won’t.”

“Wait,” Malfoy said loud enough to make Harry jerk upward. “Does that mean you want to spend time with me?”

“Perhaps.”

“This doesn’t mean I want to see your cock.”

Harry laughed loudly and Malfoy’s arms tightened. “I wasn’t offering.”

“Oh.” It sounded disappointed and it would be nice if Malfoy could pick a side. “Then let’s go.”

“Malfoy wait—” Harry ended up sprawled on the floor when Malfoy tried to move them both.

“This is not how I imagined my night would turn out,” Harry whispered into the floor, but when Malfoy’s light airy laugh carried over, he thought it wasn’t so bad.

“I think you are the drunk one,” Malfoy said when Harry managed to pick himself up and drag them outside. “Drunk people fall over.”

“I love that you are ignoring that you were the one at fault.”

“I’m never wrong.”

“Of course you aren’t.”

Malfoy preened and he didn’t have the heart to tell him it was sarcasm.

“Where are we going?” Malfoy asked when Harry directed them to the public floo sector on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. “The apparation points are the other direction.”

“We’re going to my place.”

A dramatic gasp could be heard before Malfoy came to a full stop. “You do want sex.”

“Will you quit?” Harry growled as he pulled Malfoy with him. “I promise to respect your virtues. You can sleep in the guest bedroom.”

“Is it nice?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it does!”

Maybe he should have just let Rosmerta handle Malfoy.

“Don’t throw up, please,” Harry warned as he stepped into the fireplace. “It won’t match the décor.”

“That was a joke,” Malfoy said when they landed. “A bad one.”

“Eat shit.”

“I preferred the arse one better.”

“I bet you do,” Harry teased but Malfoy wasn’t paying him any attention.

“You can sit on the couch or I can show you the guest bedroom. But first I have to make a firecall.”

“To who?”

“Now who is the nosy one?”

“Always been you, Potter.”

Harry ignored him as he threw in floo powder and waited for the connection to be approved on the other end. “We can’t let Turner be the only one to report on us. Her story can ruin the whole plan. Which you’d know that if you weren’t drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.” Malfoy collapsed on the sofa, mouth pressed into the fabric and the whole sentence was muffled.

“Who are you getting to tell a different story?”

“The best reporter I know.”

“Harry!” The pleasant tone was familiar, and it brought a smile to his face.

“Luna, I’ve missed you.”

-TBC-

-----

Hello! Finally glad to post this. I do hope you like it! I edited it before I got super tired so I’m hoping it still reads the same as I remember. I will probably be asleep by the time Gigi wakes up so I didn’t ask for a beta, all mistakes are mine but you should still give her love anyway. I will start tagging when I wake up. 

[themiscyra1983]

The Elephant In The Room

Let me preface all this by saying I do not have time for assholes. If you come at me with insults and contempt, I will block you.

The other day on Twitter I said the Harry Potter books aren’t good. I said this to a friend but I guess some people just keep an eye out for whatever Harry Potter shit pops up on Twitter and/or the algorithm just likes to spit in people’s eyes because hoooo boy people saw and lost their minds. I blocked two people over it because they decided to be assholes, and had a somewhat terse conversation with someone who was more politely insistent before going, finally, “I’m glad you find joy in something I no longer care for” and putting an end to the conversation.

It’s no particular secret that I’m in the fandom, and prior to J.K. Rowling going full, ‘no plausible deniability here’ transphobe, I’d bought my share of official merch. Frankly I should have stopped that sooner, but it took getting figuratively slapped in the face multiple times before I finally admitted Rowling’s ignorance carried a distinct air of willfulness and malice. Anyway I still HAVE the stuff I bought before, the Ravenclaw crap, the wands I was collecting (no more of that, I fear, though I’d hoped to pick up Tonks and Ginny’s wands at least before I brought an end to it), the Ravenclaw goblet I was gifted from a friend who bought it before JKR passed the plausibly just clueless horizon. There is still much in the world that I love, but much of that love comes now from the creations of others, and I cannot in good conscience spend money in ways that directly benefit Rowling’s financial empire.

And the Harry Potter books are not, in my view, good books. I’ve felt that for a while now. I’ll go a step further: I think they’re dangerous stories to tell children; I think I would be uncomfortable reading them to any children I might have. They are not stories that should be viewed without a critical eye. I loved them as a teenager. I’ve grown more uncomfortable with them - and, as with Twilight, far more comfortable with how critically thinking fans have transformed the work - as time has passed.

This actually has very little to do with the fact that, well...Rowling is not the best writer. Listen. I’m a Power Rangers fan. I’ve watched every incarnation of Star Trek, and every single movie. I have no problem with trashy fiction. You will find me rooting around in the garbage with the finest raccoons. But that is part of it, yes; there are flaws in the craft of it, and I don’t feel that, inherently, we needn’t judge children’s fiction by adult standards. I would argue that the very BEST children’s fiction is also excellent by adult standards. But this is the least of my concerns.

Here are my actual concerns.

Rowling wants credit for declaring Dumbledore gay after the fact, for saying Hogwarts is a safe space for all students in ways not reinforced (and in fact actively contradicted) by the text, for cheering the fan-created same-sex marriage of Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan, but she doesn’t want to take the creative risks that go along with that. When she had the opportunity, with the Fantastic Beasts movies, to make that subtext text, she and her cronies outright declined it. At every opportunity she has shied away from actually putting her high-minded ideas to the page. This is a cowardly choice at best.

Further, Dumbledore’s only canonical love interest (and it is not clear whether the love was requited) was a pretty fascist with whom he fell in, politically, for a time. I get it, we’ve all had crushes on terrible people. But this is literally his one and only love, requited or not, and after he defeats Grindelwald he is left to pine away for the remainder of his days. The one gay love story in the books - if you tilt your head, and squint, and accept Rowling’s word for it - is a tragic one that leaves one man in prison and another celibate and alone and, increasingly, a manipulative bastard who upholds the status quo.

There’s nothing wrong with a tragic love story. I’ve enjoyed quite a few. But when this - THIS - is what you hold up as a triumph of representation, in the absence of ANYTHING else...no. No cookies for you.

Let’s also talk about how I don’t feel Rowling wrote Dumbledore or approaches him with a critical eye. There is NO excuse for leaving a child in an abusive home. No, fuck your blood wards. You’re telling me that Albus Dumbledore - ALBUS DUMBLEDORE - could not devise protections better than leaving Harry with abusive relatives who despised him and everything he stood for? Then, too, when Dumbledore did intervene in Harry’s life, he did so with full knowledge that he was setting Harry up to be a sacrificial lamb, AND WITH THIS SPECIFIC END IN MIND. None of this is acceptable. Dumbledore is a fucking manipulative, abusive bastard who uses people and throws them away, and the fact that it WORKED OUT for Harry does not absolve him of his crimes.

Moving on, and bear in mind I’m still getting my steam up on this whole rant: Seamus Finnegan. Seamus Finnegan is the one canonically, obviously Irish character in the books, named quite stereotypically, but more importantly, in the books and movies, is shown to be interested in (a) liquor and (b) making things explode. He’s REALLY GOOD at making things explode. Do I need to explain why it’s problematic for the one Irish character to blow things up all the time? He also does this in defense of UK wizardry’s status quo, so, you know, even if you were all IRISH FREEDOM FIGHTER YEAH, I assure you he is not that guy.

There is an entire species of sapient magical creatures who exist solely to serve witches and wizards. Hogwarts is run on slave labor and most of the finest wizard families hold slaves. But it’s all right! Only one of them has ever, in the context of the books, wished to be emancipated, and everyone else views Dobby as a weirdo for wishing to be free, and paid for his labor. Dobby, incidentally, later lays down his life for the wizarding savior who tricked his master into freeing him. The only other emancipated house elf we see in the books, Winky, spends her time in a state of drunken depression, rendering her useless and scarcely capable even of caring for herself. She wished to remain enslaved, do you see, and was helpless without the benevolent guidance of her master.

There’s fan work that has tried to address this by exploring a mystically symbiotic relationship between house elves and wizards and witches, and yes, yes, J.K. Rowling is drawing on European folklore here, but let’s not give her credit, okay?

Goblins. Goblins! Goblins have a long history of being antisemitic stereotypes to begin with (hence why I have seen multiple Jews on Tumblr push back HARD on ‘goblincore’), but J.K. Rowling just...right. They’re short, ugly, have hooked noses, generally look like antisemitic cartoon figures. They are locked out of power but control all the wizarding world’s banking, and do so in very usurious ways, for example charging wizards to hold their money, etc. Now this might be an interesting commentary on how Jews have historically been oppressed and forced into fields that goyim felt themselves too ‘pure’ to work in, were it not for the fact that Rowling’s fantasy Jews LITERALLY AREN’T HUMAN, and more, ARE ACTUALLY GREEDY, CONNIVING, AND WILLING TO BETRAY YOU AGAINST THEIR OWN SELF-INTEREST FOR PERSONAL GAIN. FUCKING GOBLINS, MAN.

Then there’s the travesty of Magic in North America, which disrespected the intelligence of Native Americans (none of them figured out you could point a stick at something to make the magic go until white people showed up to help, apparently, but don’t worry, they’re really CLOSE TO NATURE and GOOD AT NATURAL MAGIC), disrespected the beliefs of specific peoples (no, skinwalkers aren’t just misunderstood shapechanging wizards and witches smeared by the greedy and ignorant, you’re whitesplaining actual mythology to the people who hold it sacred), made the ONE wizarding school in America white with an appropriated Native veneer, and generally just...Did Not Get America. As bad as the UK Wizarding World is, Rowling demonstrated complete IGNORANCE regarding the long history of what we now call North America, ignorance of even modern American culture (there’s a reason why American fans particularly tend to ignore the idea that wizardry is locked down tight behind a wall of secrecy here), ignorance and disrespect toward Native populations, and an unwillingness to do the research necessary to do this shit right.

There’s more. There’s blood purity, and gender politics, and Severus Snape’s portrayal, and all kinds of shit that grates, and I’m just tired.

Writers make mistakes. it happens. But Rowling does not recognize her mistakes. She does not seek to make amends. She just barrels on with her shitty opinions, regardless of who she hurts.

it is at the point where I am no longer even willing to thank her for graciously allowing us to play in her sandbox. We don’t need her blessing; the OTW has done far more for fanfic than she has. And it is, indeed, beginning to grate on me that people constantly try to apply Harry Potter metaphors to real life and real politics. As my friend Doc often says, find another book.

I love butterbeer (or at least the knockoffs available outside the Universal parks), I still read fanfic sometimes, I still like to play with ideas like the Harry Potter movies as performed by Muppets, with Dan Radcliffe as Snape and Tom Felton as Lucius. I’m glad the movies brought us a generation of actors, mentored by performers like Alan Rickman and Maggie Smith and so many others, who have gone on to bigger and better things. Much of my merch is packed away, but I still hold on to some of it because it has new meaning for me in light of fanwork, or because (in the case of my Ravenclaw hat and scarf) it’s warm, winters here are cold, I don’t want to buy new shit, leave me alone.

I am accustomed to seeing fans turn trash into treasure. I’ve tried to do it myself. But I feel, quite strongly, that the original text in this case is trash. it is radioactive, stinky trash. You won’t persuade me otherwise, and I’m done apologizing for it. If Rowling wants me to respect her and her work again, she’ll have to earn it, but I’m very trans and she low-key hates my kind, so even if I weren’t a random reader I wouldn’t be holding my breath.

And I really, really need to emphasize to you all that it is okay if people don’t like a given work of fiction. It is okay if people HATE that piece of fiction. You don’t need to change the minds of everyone around you. You absolutely will not succeed in doing so. Please, I’m begging you, make peace with that - and please, I’m begging you, even if you like something, try to consider it critically.

[jackoshadows]

Jon and Arya

Seeing him go beyond the wall back to something true, something honest, something pure with these people he was always told he belongs with - the Free Folk - it felt to me like he was finally free.- Kit Harington

Yeah, absolutely. The idea is really that he stops and he looks back, and then the main title starts, and it's the idea of a new beginning. It's supposed to be positive and yeah, like you said, the fact that there are children around and [other] people — he's not just by himself -  Ramin Djawadi

In the end, I think Jon and Arya embody ‘A Dream Of Spring’ on the show and I am finally at peace with that for my favorite characters.

The characters who want power and want to rule end up in charge of a Westeros that will no doubt descent pretty soon into civil war, chaos, manipulations and power plays as Bran sits in his chair day dreaming, Bronn steals all the money in the coffers for his own personal endeavors, Dorne and the Iron Islands break off and continue raiding and attacking the rest of the 7K and Sansa all alone up North struggling to keep the North running with her ‘weather vane’ lords probably trying to overthrow her behind her back.  We ended up with the status quo. After all, Westeros was stable for just 15 years under Robert Baratheon before everything went to hell. There is no longer the Targaryen ‘nuclear/dragon deterrent’ to maintain peace. 

The final scenes of the small council moving around chairs and sitting down to talk business as usual and Sansa in the dark/gloomy great hall being hailed and surrounded by a bunch of disloyal ‘weather vane’ lords is in stark contrast to the characters who are actually free of this mess.

Jon and Arya, on the show, are ‘A Dream of Spring’. New beginnings. Jon finally having something pure and honest. There is no  back-stabbing and betrayal here. He is not a bastard, a king, a lord. He is accepted as just a man, for who he is, by the free folk, a people he loves. He finally belongs - something he has wanted all his life. He is surrounded by the likes of loyal Tormund and someone he considers part of himself - Ghost.

It’s the same with Arya. She too realizes that Westeros is a not so nice place and that the North/WF is no longer what it was under Ned Stark.  The teachings of her father that she remembers and upholds no longer holds true under the new ruler who thinks that Ned is stupid and easily breaks oaths sworn in front of the Old Gods. Nymeria is roaming around free and untethered and Arya realizes that she wants the same. Arya’s story in the last two seasons reminds me of this little scene between two characters Ashford and Naomi on the TV show The Expanse and a beautiful bit of dialogue where they talk about nostalgia:

Ashford :I miss my old crew too.  "Tynan" was a good ship, good people.

Naomi: Why did you leave them?

Ashford: I outgrew them, the way you outgrew your old ship. But then something happens, doesn't it? Hm? Makes us forget. Remember only the good times, and we start thinking, oh, maybe we can get them back, be who we used to be, or the prettied-up version we remember.

Naomi: It's not so wrong to try.

Ashford: Nah, it never works. You let nostalgia trick you, and you'll regret it badly.

The brothers that she loves dearly are no longer in WF and it’s just a sister that she has nothing in common with. The place and the home that Arya loved and wished for is not what Arya gets when she finally makes it back home on the show. D&D’s North on the show from season 5 onwards is completely different - they are no different to any of the other kingdoms. They supported the Boltons against the Starks, they are constantly disloyal - Glover even refuses to fight with the Starks against the White Walkers despite Sansa pleading for his help. They are xenophobic and ungrateful. There is nothing special about the North anymore - they are just as miserable and traitorous as the rest. All these things?

The North remembers

Our way is the Old Way

The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.

No longer holds true in the New North on the show.

And in the end it’s Jon and Arya - the characters that most embody Ned and eschew power and all the tribulations that come with it -  who finally close behind these chapters of their lives and dream of spring.

And considering that we are never going to get the last book and an ending for these characters from GRRM, I am satisfied with this ending for my two favorite characters in the books. Go forth and be happy! The End. 

[kalesandfails]

shit collection

Early on in Trump’s campaign, lo these many interminable months ago, I stopped listening to the man talk. Among the good, hard changes I am white-knuckling it through is the bumpy transition from actively seeking out those beliefs that are most offensive and hurtful — to prove I’m tough? to “see both sides”? — and hoarding them, close to my chest, in a tight clammy fist, in my pocket: my own little shit collection.

Everything from the decades-old shade thrown at my J.C. Penny’s outfits to the low-key belief of the most important men in my life that while it’s not exactly my fault, these unpleasant sexual encounters I didn’t want, I kind of consented, didn’t I, insofar as I didn’t fight hard enough to stop them: all of it was thoughtfully curated in my growing collection of shit, until about age twenty -five, when I put up a big sign like that at my local library: We are no longer accepting donations. Thank you.

Up til then, however, I heard these things and didn’t like how it felt to hear them, so naturally I defended myself by meditating on them, like a samurai meditating on his own death. This is what being strong meant to me as a child and a young adult: training yourself to live with intolerable feelings. If something feels bad, that’s a sign you’re weak, so why try to make them stop when you could just tough it out and become stronger?

This is not (just)  material for my therapist’s to-do list: this belief system is also critical to maintaining the current political status quo. No one wants to be the pussy who says, this is a hurtful belief, this belief that children should go hungry or drug addicts be humiliated or disabled people see their lives eroded as programs like Medicare and Medicaid are cut. The salient point that both the words Trump says, such as belittling someone’s recently dead father, and the things he does, such as cutting health care and food and education in order to build a unasked-for wall, are cruel, is recast as a bunch of millennial whining that that’s not nice, because we can shame his critics then. And in doing so, we can reinforce a belief  that the expectation that human beings care about one another, rather than hurt others and then justify it - which is to say, that human beings resist abuse rather than enact it — is a sign of weakness, that this “outrage culture” is the problem, and that the systemic and violent oppression of vulnerable populations that generates outrage is not.

So, historically, I’ve just paid attention to other things.  I attend to my mind the way a more effectively socialized woman might attend to her skin, but with fewer “must-have” products, and a key step in the process is the one where I flat-out refuse to invite in any additional shit. We are no longer accepting shit donations. Thank you.

While this is happening, though, the person peddling shit is an increasingly vocal and powerful determinant of public policy and national discourse. What he says “doesn’t matter” insofar as it is most often either untrue, irrelevant, or incoherent; but it does matter in the sense that people’s lives are being hurt in concrete ways by his petty bullshit. And so my efforts to sidestep the “hard truth” he proposes with every shitspray he opens his mouth or his Twitter feed to spew — the belief that human beings, the things we believe in, and the people we love, are all meaningless shit and so it doesn’t matter what we do — may be an understandable effort to preserve my mind castle from a nonstop bullshit invasion, but it is also an act of fear.

I have been protecting myself at the expense of people whose material existence depends on the rejection of this “truth”: that we are all shit and nothing matters, or its fundamentalist iteration, which was more successfully instilled in me than anything else I believe: we are all shit and nothing matters (except Jesus).

That belief, I think, explains Trump’s deep appeal to Christians. Fundamentalism Christianity, in my experience, is almost entirely about the worthlessness of humanity and the inherently suspect nature of the things humans love, and really not at all about the Jesus corollary.  A faith that insistently bludgeons children with stories upholding a dad willing to kill his son as an exemplar of its values is entirely in keeping with a leader who hears about fifty one people, including a three-year-old child, gunned down in their place of worship, and turns his attention to sketch comedians who made fun of him.

It’s not enough to ignore Trump. You have to be willing to say — lovingly, because asserting the value of human beings is a loving act: the president may be saying x, but I believe y.

As in, he may believe that human beings establish their value through their proximity to wealth, or power, but I believe the intrinsic value of every human being.

As in, he may think that violence and hate are effective strategies to get what you want, but I think that there’s nothing worth attaining that requires them.

As in, he may think that he’s won, that the things that I’ve built my life around — service, working hard, trying my best to love others and to be fair — are all jokes, but I believe that these things matter, even when we seem bent on institutionalizing their opposites.

I think millennials react so strongly to Trump because Trump highlights how the values that we were taught mattered actually were  not so important to the people who taught them to us. We were taught that racism is evil, but then our parents and pastors elected a racist who incites violence against brown people, takes our money for a White Guy Wall, took out a full page ad aimed at putting innocent teenagers in jail because their skin color spoke louder to him than the fact that they were exonerated. Because we we told that girls and boys were equal, but our parents listened to him gleefully recall sexually humiliating a woman attempting to do her job, celebrating that fact that his money lets him hurt women, and then refusing to apologize for it. Because we were told being honest and working hard matters, but then our third grade teacher voted for someone who lies so often that his critics are chastised for being petty and “beating a dead horse”, since “that’s just Trump” and why are we still talking about this?

But here’s the thing. Your mom and dad and paster and aunt, they can think whatever they want. Maybe they told you that you shouldn’t hurt people, and they didn’t really care about it; maybe they kind of think lying is okay and here you wasted all this time and stayed in so many recesses internalizing that it wasn’t. Maybe you looked up to them for teaching you it wasn’t. And here we are.

But you’re not obligated to resolve that cognitive dissonance.

Racism is wrong, and white people don’t get to decide whether or not something is racism.

Rape is wrong, and there is no justification for it.

Cruelty is wrong, no matter who embodies it, what nice thing they said about you, or how much money you owe them.

We don’t always have to watch Trump; he’s doing us all the favor of spewing hateful and gratuitous bullshit about dead senators right now, and I imagine whatever your agenda today, you ain’t got time for that. I don’t think we’re obligated to “know our enemy”. And Trump’s not the enemy anyway. What we’re fighting against is the belief in the inherent worthlessness of humanity and the use of that belief to maintain economic and political power, and you don’t have to listen to the president to become intimately acquainted with that belief. Innumerable school principals, churchgoers, and bullies stand eager to acquaint you with it.

But when it’s your dad, your boss, your patient, listen to these horrible things, even if they are unpleasant to hear. Then you can say: this person thinks x, but I think y. They will try to engage you in discussion, because if they are good people, they probably know that being a child being “illegal” doesn’t mean it’s okay to hurt them, that Islam is no more a violent religion than is Christianity, that kids should get lunch and sick people should get to see doctors.

You don’t owe it to them to entertain this. They think x, you think y. They have their own mind castle, questionable as its foundation may be. You get yours.And you don’t owe it to other people to come in and track their shit all over it; but you may owe it to the people outside, and to yourself, to venture outside and offer an alternative. 

[ao3bronte]

Smutember: Roleplay

Masquerade on Ao3

22: Roleplay

“Good morning darling.”

Marinette stomps across the threshold of the bakery door and rushes onto the busy sidewalk, lips pursed and hands clenched into fists. She doesn’t deign him with so much as a curtesy glance, turning forcefully and marching east.

“If you’re so hell bent on getting his Miraculous, why don’t you just hunt him down yourself?”

“Let’s cut right to the chase, why don’t we?” he drawls sarcastically, swiping left on his smartphone before shoving it back in his pocket.

“The less I have to talk to you the better.”

“Well,” he drawls, “Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

“Spare me the small talk, I’m not in the mood.”

“Is that so? You certainly looked happy when you got home late last night.”

Marinette shirks back in disgust, “You’re repulsive.”

“Hardly. Just observant,” he shrugs, shifting his ball cap, “But you’re a tricky target to follow, I’ll give you that.”

“I have no intention of leading you to him. Besides, you never answered my question.”

Loïc purses his lips, “He’s much more careful that you’ve even been. He never takes the same route home twice and I always loose him between the 4e and the Seine.”

“Some hunter you are.”

“Says the woman who’s supposed to be responsible for defeating Le Papillon. I mean, it’s been, what, three years since you started your stint as Ladybug?”

“Two and a half,” she snaps back, “And you said I was the one who woke up on the wrong side of the bed?”

“If we’re in the business of being honest with each other, can I just say that Le Papillon is getting a bit antsy?”

“What do I care?”

“Seems he’s in the business of making demands and having them met. Pompous prick that he is, he does have a point.”

“And that is?”

“We’ve got ’till Saturday to fine tune this plan of ours. There’s some first responder appreciation thing going on so police presence on the streets will be at a minimum and that’s when he plans on getting this show in the road. You don’t believe me?” he questions, turning his lip at her less than convinced expression, “Here, read this.”

He fishes his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it, finding the conversation and dropping it in her palm, “I made the mistake of giving him my number and now he won’t stop texting me.”

“They say I made a deal with the devil,” she mocks him, shooting him a glare before scrolling through his conversation, “How do I know you didn’t make this conversation up yourself?”

“Seriously?” he makes a derisive noise and Marinette can only assume he’s rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses, “Teenagers. So cynical.”

“Killers,” she snarks back, “So trustworthy.”

“Good god,” he grumbles, pulling a battered cigarette case from his back pocket, “You really are in a nasty mood.”

“Say something worthwhile and I might change my mind.”

“You’re hardly in a position to talk.”

“You’re hardly in a position to order.”

“I know where you live. I know your friends, your family. I know everything about you.”

“And none of that will help you get to Chat.”

“It’s only a matter of time before he slips up. Everyone does in the end.”

“I can’t trust you. You’ve given me no reason to start.”

“Despite my initial akuma fuelled power trip, I’m not all about causing chaos and terror,” he replies, flicking the spark of his lighter, “I prefer to stick to the status quo.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Every person who has killed a public figure eventually gets caught. Oswald, Ray, Princip, Godse; I don’t intend to be next.”

“But you want to be the first to get away with it.”

A dark shadow passes over his features, “You’re starting to get on my nerves.”

“At least you and Le Papillon have something in common.”

Loïc pinches the bridge of his nose, “Look, I am trying to work with you for the common good. Well, your common good anyway, I just want some powers back so I can make more money out east. Now, are we going to work together or not? It’ll be a lot easier if we just call a truce and be done with it.”

“How do I know you won’t kill him?”

“You don’t.”

“So how can I trust you?”

“You can’t. But in this case, trust my selfishness. I want control above anything, power and control over my destiny. I want a fat caseload and an even fatter wallet and with my very own akuma in my possession, I can have both of those things. I’m willing to cut a deal with the only person on this planet who has been able to kill me, and now that I’ve been resurrected I’m not about to make the same mistake twice. Let me get him for the spectacle and you don’t even have to take the damn ring, I’ll do it myself if that’ll make you happy, I don’t care. I get my powers back and you get that pain in the ass’s name and you’ll never see heads or tails of me ever again.”

Marinette walks quietly for a long moment, letting his words sink in. Tikki buzzes, agitated in her purse but Marinette can’t be bothered, Chat’s smile and voice haunting her decision like a plague.

“Fine.”

“Fine what?”

Marinette steels herself, “I’ll play your little game. But if you do more than graze him, I’ll kill you.”

“I doubt that,” he snorts, smoke pouring from his nostrils, “But like I said, I don’t plan on killing him. Nobody hires a merc with a price on his head.”

“Then we have a deal.”

“Yes darling, that we do.”

Marinette swallows the bile bubbling at the back of her throat, “Where’s he planning on striking first?”

“You know he’s all about spectacle.”

“Eiffel Tower?”

“Where else?”

“How dramatic.”

“It’s Le Papillon. What do you expect?”

“Nothing less,” she mutters, shifting the strap of her purse across her chest, “At night?”

“Dusk I believe.”

“Great. Anything else?”

“Not that I can think of off the top of my head.”

“Good. Let me know if anything changes.”

“I know where to find you.”

“And isn’t that a comforting thought.”

“Catch you later Ladybug.”

Marinette sticks her tongue out in disgust and crosses the road to her school, “Can’t wait.”

~

Ladybug Do you want to do our patrol together tonight?

CN To what do I owe the honour?

Ladybug I know you’re usually busy on Wednesdays but I thought you might want to hang out after whatever it is you do.

CN Let me check my schedule.

Ladybug Your schedule?

Ladybug Sounds like a friend I know. He always has a schedule.

CN Really?

Ladybug Is it a boy thing?

CN Having a schedule?

Ladybug Yeah.

CN I don’t think so. I just like to be organised.

Ladybug Seriously? You’re the most scatterbrained person I know.

CN Meowch. I have an image to uphold you know.

Ladybug As Chat? Or as you?

CN Who says I’m one or the other?

Ladybug That’s how I see it. My civilian side isn’t anything like Ladybug.

CN I highly doubt that.

Ladybug Good thing you don’t know me in real life then.

CN I’d love to try

Ladybug Not yet.

CN Soon?

Ladybug We’ll see.

CN Rats Chats.

Ladybug …seriously? That was horrible.

CN If I just keep punning, will I eventually break you down?

Ladybug No. Don’t even think about it.

CN I’ve got a meowtain of them I want to try.

Ladybug You know, sometimes you can actually be kind of funny.

Ladybug But this is not one of those times.

CN Really? M’Lady thinks I can be funny? I’ve never felt so cattered.

Ladybug Please no. Forget I said anything.

Ladybug I take back everything.

Ladybug Chat?

“Marinette!”

Marinette jerks upwards from where she’s leaning against the oak tree in front of the music hall and stumbles slightly before catching her balance. Adrien suddenly appears beside her, gently grasping her elbow to help stop her fall.

“Adrien!”

“Long time no see,” he smiles, letting go of her arm and dropping his own against his side, “How are you?”

“I’m uh, good thanks,” she replies, plastering a sheepish grin to her face, “How are you?”

“Tired,” he admits, brushing his fingers though his hair, “Jetlag sucks and I was up pretty late last night.”

“Yeah? What were you up to?”

“Well…can you keep a secret?”

Marinette presses her back against the tree and tries to stay calm, “Me? Sure, I’m…I’m great at secrets.”

He takes a deep breath and smothers his smirk, “I was on a date.”

“A date?” she breathes, eyes widening, “With who?”

“She’s…she wants to keep it a secret.”

“Oh.”

“But that doesn’t mean I can’t still talk about it,” he shrugs, “It was amazing, she’s amazing. I mean, she even made me a picnic!”

“A picnic?”

“Yeah! It was pretty romantic.”

“Romantic?” Marinette looks down at her phone for a moment to check for a response, “That sounds…nice.”

“It was,” he sits down against the trunk of the tree and brings his knee to his chest, “She’s not really the romantic type to be honest so I was pretty shocked.”

“Is that a good thing? Or a bad thing?”

“Being romantic?” Adrien cocks an eyebrow in surprise, “It’s a personal choice I guess. I love it though.”

Marinette slides down the tree to sit beside him, cradling her phone in her lap, “I wouldn’t know.”

“No lucky boy on your radar?”

Marinette tries not to choke, “B-Boy? No, nope. No boys.”

“Girls then?”

“No!” she scrambles to find her composure, missing the way he bites down on his lip to keep from laughing, “No nothing.”

“That’s too bad,” he replies with a grin he can’t quite stifle, “I know more than a few guys who have talked about asking you out.”

“I…I’m not…” she covers her face with her hands and cringes, her cheeks on fire, “It’s not…I don’t have time.”

“I’m the same way,” Adrien responds and tips his head back against the trunk, “But somehow I make time for her.”

“Yeah?” Marinette splits her fingers apart to peer through them, “Is it Kaia?”

“Kaia?” Adrien reacts, his eyes widening before dissolving into snickers, “Nooo. I mean, my dad set us up but…Kaia? I’ve known her for a couple years but I’m…not really her type? I don’t know, it wouldn’t work out.”

“You’re not her type?” Marinette drops her hands and stares at him incredulously, “How is that even possible?”

Adrien turns away and looks into the courtyard, willing his cheeks to keep from flushing, “She’s…she’s into guys who are…how do I word this? Stronger than me I guess?”

“Strong?” Marinette frowns, glancing down at his exposed arms, “Does she need glasses?”

Adrien bursts out laughing, “No!”

Embarrassment thrown aside, Marinette turns towards him and waves her arms in disbelief, “Then what could she not possibly see in you? You’re amazing!”

“Th-thank you,” he hiccups through his laughter, “But it’s alright. She just likes tough, bad boy types, that’s all. I don’t quite fit that description.”

“Then she’s missing out,” Marinette assures him, peering down at her phone again.

He gestures towards her lap with his chin, “Are you expecting a text?”

“Me? N-No, I mean…yes actually.”

“From who?”

“My friend.”

“A boyfriend?”

She narrows her eyes, “I already told you I don’t have a boyfriend. He’s just a friend.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah…why?”

“What’s that on your neck then?”

Panicking, Marinette's hands scramble to her neck, fervently brushing the exposed skin for imaginary bugs and winces when she comes across a particularly tender bruise just behind her left ear. She immediately freezes, her legs spasming outwards before curling in, and burrows her face in her knees.

“Is that a hickey?” he whispers conspiratorially, thankful that she can’t see the smug expression on his lips. She makes some sort of high pitched, anguished moan and Adrien almost takes pity on her, “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

Marinette pitches another fit into her thighs and curls her hand around her neck in a death grip, turning her head to expose one eye, “How am I going to finish school like this!?”

“I always keep a tube of concealer on me,” he says breezily, fishing through the school bag at his side, “My girlfriend loves to take her frustrations out on my neck.”

“D-does she?” Marinette squeaks, lifting her head.

“Oh yeah,” he intones, “She likes to bite.”

Marinette swallows uncomfortably and shifts her hips against the base of the tree, “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” he pulls the tube from a small green sack and holds it against her skin to compare shades, “It’s annoying to cover up all the time but I kind of love it,” he puts the tube back in the bag and searches for another, “And she’s a little possessive...it's actually pretty sexy.”

“Really?”

“Yup", he pulls out another tube and deems it suitable, twisting off the lid, "She does most of the heavy lifting, per se. I’m just along for the ride."

“Wh-why are you telling me this?”

“Well, now that it looks like you’re in the same boat as I am, I want to ask you a question,” he says, squeezing a dollop the size of a peppercorn onto the tip of his index finger.

“A question? A-about what?”

“Actually, let me rephrase that. I need some advice. See, my girlfriend is a bit of a control freak and tends to…take the lead, you know?” Adrien waves nonchalantly and keeps going, revelling in the blush spreading down her neck and chest, “What do you think she would do if I turned the tables?”

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP

Marinette jolts from her spot against the trunk and turns back to Adrien, her eyes as wide as saucers, “That was the bell!”

Adrien chuckles, pulling himself to his feet, “It was. Come here and I'll put it on quick."

He leans in much closer than strictly necessary and dabs the concealer against the purple bruise, deftly blending the make-up into her skin. Marinette stands frozen and takes a deep mouthful of air, breathing him in and reeling at the way her senses seem to sharpen, the slowly subsiding springtime itch suddenly flaring at the base of her spine.

"All finished," he whispers, his breath flush against her ear, "I’ll see you later Marinette.”

She watches him walk away and jerks when the phone in her hand begins vibrating without warning. She nearly drops it before getting a grip and she brings it up to her face, quickly checking the message.

CN I can meet you after 23:00. See you tonight.

~

“Do you like games, M’Lady?”

“What?” she asks, her eyes flicking up to his face before returning to his belt.

“I said,” he repeats helpfully, “do you like games?”

“Not at the moment. Why?”

“Because I want to play one."

“No,” she retorts, her fingers casually resuming their task. Undaunted, Chat places his hands over hers and traps them, her fingers twitching futilely against his belt buckle.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist,” he urges, his expression predatory.

“And if I refuse?”

“Then you’ll just have to head home to satisfy yourself.”

He’s taking a risk here and he knows it. After all, Marinette has always preferred to be in charge so as to know which way the shots are going to be called, especially since she’s the one usually calling them. There’s every chance she’ll just let go of his belt and call him out for taking things too far but...there’s also a chance she’ll take on his challenge and let him decide how things will play out. Chat maintains his expression of casual challenge while she frowns up at him, determined not to let his nervousness play out on his features.

“...Fine,” she purses her lips, “What’s the game?”

Chat smiles in relief, “Do you remember when we were talking about celebrity crushes?”

“Yes…” Marinette drawls, the word settling uncertainly on her tongue. He watches in earnest as the confusion on her face starts to fade and he know that she can see where this is leading.

"Then how about a little game of make believe?” Chat lowers his head to her neck and brushes his lips against her skin, pressing closer and walking her back towards the wall.

“Do you want me to call you Christiano or Abel?” Marinette teases, smirking even as his hips pin hers to the brick.

“Christiano maybe..." Chat can’t resist leaning back to look her in the eye any more than he can stop the smirk twisting his lips, “Or you could call me Adrien.”

“A-Adrien?” Marinette squeaks, her body stiffening in shock. She gapes at him, her eyes widening dramatically, “N-no! Chat, I go to school with him. We have classes together! How would I even be able to look at him?”

“You’ll figure it out,” Chat murmurs against her collarbones as his hands push her skirt upwards, his fingernails scraping her inner thighs before brushing against her clit. She gasps as the tips of his fingers rub circles around it, the cotton fabric of her panties grazing the sensitive nub in delicious counterpoint. Her hand reaches out, ghosting over the ridge in his trousers but Chat pulls his hips away, ignoring her whimpers.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he scolds even as the muscles in his thighs seem to tighten in protest. He dips his index finger deeper, teasing her entrance through the cotton and revels in the way she seems to widen her stance to accommodate his movements, “You haven’t agreed to play. Who will it be?”

“I can't call you Adrien,” she protests.

"Why not? We're both tall, blond and incredibly handsome. Is it so much of a stretch?"

Marinette raises an eyebrow, "Is this some sort of jealousy thing?"

"Hardly," he replies, his finger still pressing lightly in and out, teasing her lips while his thumb rubs against her clit. “I don't think I have too much to worry about. Besides, when you see him tomorrow at school, you’ll have to look him in the eye and remember all the things I did to you.”

She narrows her eyes, "You're being ridiculous."

"Come on Ladybug, it'll be fun!" Chat squeezes her chest beneath his fingers in retaliation, pinching her nipple through the fabric.

"That's, ah! not fair," she hisses, arching into his grip as he lowers his lips to nibble on her neck, "I see him all the time."

"Oops," Chat slips his fingers under the seam of her panties, running his fingertip along her slit and drawing up the moisture gathering there, "I guess you'll be thinking about me a lot then."

"You don't know any of your celebrity crushes personally," she grumbles back, "Wait...do you?"

Chat shrugs and sucks on the skin only a few centimeters away from the bruise he’d helped her cover earlier that day. Ruthlessly, he presses a finger inside her and listens to her breath hitch, "Does it matter? This is just a game M'Lady, no need to take it so seriously."

"Ugh," Marinette pulls back ever so slightly, "Where’s this coming from anyway? I just want to have sex with you."

"It'll be fun, I promise," he smirks into her skin, redoubling his efforts and adding a second finger, curling them to find that spot he knows drives her wild. His thumb presses into her clit as he sucks strongly on the patch of skin at the juncture of her shoulder and neck, purposely leaving a mark there. Clearly thinking the discussion was over, she makes quick work of the Armani buckle, deftly popping the button on his trousers and easing the zipper down.

Chat waits until she’s freed his erection from his briefs before stepping back, leaving her flushed and panting against the wall. He watches her expression as he stands there, shirtless and gleaming faintly under a light sheen of sweat from a combination of their activities and the mounting humidity of the heat wave. He sees her eyes darken as she looks down at his parted zipper, his cock bobbing and hard, jutting out into the warm night air and she steps forward but he grabs her wrist instead. Raising her fingers to his mouth, he kisses her palm before drawing the tip of her finger between his teeth, sucking hard.

“So?” he asks, releasing the digit with a pop before moving onto the next one.

"So what?"

"Are you going to play or not?"

“Chat...” she whinges, reaching for him with her other hand. He catches it without looking and easily pins it up against the wall, his erection rubbing over her stomach, “I already told you, I have to see him in class tomorrow.”

“Oh well,” Chat sing songs, nibbling along a third finger, canting his hips against her, “You'll just have to go to school and look him in the eyes knowing what I’m about to do to you or...I can leave you to your own devices. You have such talented fingers,” he taunts, “I’m sure you could put them to good use.”

“Of course…” he continues to tease, scraping his teeth over her thumb and swirling his tongue over the sensitive skin of her bare wrist, “If you’d rather have my cock…”

“Fine."

“Fine...what?” Chat’s eyebrow quirks.

She huffs, “Fine Adrien, I accept your terms.”

Smiling, Chat releases her wrist and allows her to touch him, her squeeze almost punishingly tight. He ignores her small retribution and continues trailing kisses along the inside of her arm, reaching under her skirt to grasp the edge of her panties and he drags them down just past the crease of her thighs, letting her worry about kicking them off. Quickly, he uses his free hand to shove her shirt up, pushing the cups of her bra aside to grasp one breast directly, and squeezes it firmly before tugging on her nipple. Marinette whimpers as he plants a final kiss on the inside of her elbow before letting her arm drop around his neck and her fingers pump his cock, her thumb brushing up and over the engorged head to distribute pre-come down the length of it.

Chat moans into her mouth as her lips seal over his, thrusting into her hand as he leans forward and pins her flush to the wall, “Here or—?”

“I don’t really care. Anywhere's good.”

“I don’t really care who?” he demands, grasping her thighs and lifting her up.

Marinette reaches down between them and shifts her skirt out of the way, grabbing his cock and dragging him up and down her wet slit before slipping his head against her opening, “Fine. Adrien,” she moans as she sinks onto him, “Ahh...I don’t care Adrien, just oh!”

Chat echoes the sentiment, his eyes slamming shut as he feels her wet heat envelope him. His hands circle her waist, sliding around to brace his palms against the wall to keep the brick from rubbing them both raw and Marinette reaches out, threading her fingers through his hair and tugging his face up to press her lips against his, groaning into his mouth.

“This is…ah, great,” she pants as she bites his lip, sucking on it to soothe the ache, “I think I love this position.”

Chat mutters something or other against her chest, mentally agreeing as he thrusts up into her, her legs wrapped tightly around his hips. His cock’s almost vertical inside her, her already tight channel clenching to an almost mind-numbing pressure as he rocks against her; everything about this position is tight and warm and gloriously wet as she moans and pants and writhes in his arms. They were about as close together as it was physically possible to be, another perk being that the position put her breasts very nearly in front his mouth as he rocks against her, increasing in tempo. He didn’t even have to lean down to catch the nipple between his lips, sucking hard on the tip and worrying it with his teeth as Marinette—

“Oh!” she gasps, nearly screaming, “Oh, Adrien, right…just like—ahhh, just…like that.”

Her walls flutter around him, not quite the compulsive spasms of an orgasm but it's close enough that he feels like he’s been lit on fire, his name on her lips igniting an inferno inside him that has him gritting his teeth in an attempt to control himself. Risking it, Chat pulls a hand out from behind her and reaches up to grasp her other breast as he leans in, fucking her senseless. Bracing her shoulders against the brick, he wraps a hand beneath her ass and holds her steady until he can pull back a bit further and slam into her.

“A-Adrien, I, ah! I’m going to—!”

Chat feels her clench around him, her inner muscles quivering as she arches in his grasp, her breasts pushing into his mouth, and her lips moaning his name. He cries out at the heady pressure, her civilian name spilling from his lips and smothered incomprehensibly against her chest as his heart clenches and lightning races down his spine. It feels like being shoved off a cliff, forcibly weightless and awestruck, unforeseen lights flashing behind his eyelids as he slams up into her, his muscles tensing as his release consumes him.

Chat Adrien comes down from his high slowly and finds himself shaking for a whole new reason; he’d wanted to chasten her – however vaguely and indirectly – for being so willfully blind to his identity; he wouldn’t come out and say it but now that he knew it was her, he was bewildered and annoyed that she stubbornly refused to see him in return. He wanted her to look him in the eyes tomorrow and remember what he’d done to her. He wanted her to sit down beside him in marketing and squirm against the bench, reliving the way he’d pressed her against a brick wall and made her toes curl.

What he hadn’t counted on, however, was what hearing his name from her lips would do to him.

He feels wrecked, if he’s being honest. All physical exhaustion aside, hearing her moan his name in the midst of her orgasm had him seeing stars, simultaneously shredding his insides and sending him into one of the most forceful orgasms he could ever remember having. Physically he was exhausted; emotionally he was drained.

Marinette’s snickers against his skin forces him back to reality as she uncrosses her legs to slide down his thighs, her legs unsteady. Arms snaked around his waist, she digs the pads of her fingers into the muscles on either side of his spine and presses her forehead against his collarbone.

“Some day,” she announces, oblivious to the turmoil playing havoc in his mind, and he feels a little better knowing that her voice is as shaky and as breathless as he feels, “I want to do this in a bed.”

All Chat can do is laugh and nod in silent agreement.