#then you still don't have to change yourself. you don't have to be someone for others to not think of as shameful

[starfieldcanvas]

at the same time, you absolutely do run into people who are not just venting, they are actively opposed to taking action that would change their situation. this, too, has a variety of possible explanations!

the first one is that changing the situation involves a risk they don't know how to gauge because they've either never taken a similar risk before or they've only had bad experiences with taking that risk. this can be a Learned Helplessness problem, especially if you're talking about a lesson learned when someone was young and vulnerable; even if they're in a better place to take risks now, their brain doesn't necessarily believe that, and will continue to treat, say, establishing boundaries with their parents as if it's just as risky as when they were financially dependent and living at home.

the second is that they are getting something out of the situation being bad for them. this is what OP alludes to with "they just want you to feel bad about how bad they've got it." Sometimes, that's exactly what's going on, but usually it's more like they want to feel good about what a sympathetic victim they are, because a secure victim status makes them feel like they deserve to partake in certain indulgences—even cruelties. If your wife is a bitch to you, you can justify cheating on her. If you left her for someone else you actually liked, you'd have to be faithful. That's a pretty dramatic example, of course, but look out for the much pettier ways it crops up in your own relationships. You can catch yourself delaying the resolution of minor disagreements because, say, as long as you don't tell your friend you're hurt because they never left a comment on your latest fic, you get a tiny burst of aggrieved adrenaline and self-satisfaction for being a little cold to them when they obliviously reach out to you, or you'll delay getting up in the morning because you're annoyed that your mom sounded so condescending when she encouraged you to get up so you could 'actually make something of the weekend' and now it's 3 pm and you did in fact waste your Saturday and you're hungry and grumpy and still feel like it was your mom's fault even though it was your choice.

The strangest attitude I've ever seen on people about anything is when someone is aware that their situation is bad, and that other people have it better, and not only have their no intention to personally do anything to fix their situation, they'll actively fight you if you try to help them. They don't want their situation to get better. They just want you to feel bad about how bad they've got it.

[differcnces]

Don't Make Me Someone You Can't Have

pairing : dr. jack abbot x resident!reader (afab!reader)

summary : The fallout didn’t start the day of Pitt Fest—it started when you told Jack Abbot how you felt and he told you he didn’t want you. A week later, grief, jealousy, and everything unsaid ignite into something impossible to bury. (Lowkey inspired by Big Love by Fleetwood Mac—because obviously.)

warnings/content : trauma aftermath (mass casualty event), hospital setting, attending x resident dynamic, mutual pining, emotional repression, angst, jealousy, possessive behavior, verbal rejection, explicit sexual content (f!receiving, protected sex), semi-public/backseat sex, emotionally loaded dialogue, swearing

word count : 4,212

18+ ONLY, not beta read. Please read responsibly.

a/n : I am just so obsessed with Abbot, like oml I do not need a new hyperfixation at this point of the semester but here we are. Hope you guys enjoy this!

There’s blood on your forearms.

Not a lot—just the dried trace of a life you couldn’t save, stuck to your skin even after the first scrub. You’ve already changed out of your soiled gloves and gown. You sanitized twice. But still, you scrub again, because your hands won’t stop shaking and focusing on the motion keeps you upright.

The shooting at Pitt Fest has left the trauma bay soaked with the sound of screams you can’t forget. The floors were slick. Supplies ran out faster than anyone could track. You can still hear the rhythmic buzz of the trauma pager, the overhead call for more gurneys, the shrill monitor that never quieted until it did.

Your white coat is somewhere in the hallway—discarded and stained, a casualty of triage. There’s a bruise blossoming on your cheekbone, just beneath your eye. It’s from when the mother of the boy thrashed in panic, her elbow colliding with your face. You didn’t notice it at first, not until someone pointed it out with a grimace. Said it was turning purple, already swelling. Said you should ice it. You didn’t.

You press harder on your hands.

Jack Abbot hasn’t spoken to you since he snapped orders across the gurney three hours ago, voice razor-sharp, eyes like flint. He’d taken over compressions without blinking. His personal protection gear streaked in blood. His shoulders set like stone. His voice—steady, calm, cold.

You’d hesitated.

Just a second. Maybe less. But he’d seen it.

“You’re too shallow—switch out. Now.”

He hadn’t looked at you when he said it. Just stepped in, hands already moving, chest compressing with the precision of someone who’d done it a hundred times before. Because he has.

He moves like he did on the field. You’ve heard stories—Jack the soldier, desert heat in his lungs, fingers suturing flesh with a kind of brutal grace. You’ve seen glimpses of it before, but tonight? Tonight, it wasn’t a glimpse. It was a full transformation.

You backed away, stunned into silence. Not because he took over. But because of how he did it. Like you were a liability. Like you didn’t belong.

You told yourself it was adrenaline. It wasn’t.

The door creaks open behind you, and you don’t have to turn to know it’s him.

You keep your eyes on the mirror—don’t move, don’t breathe—until his reflection comes into focus beside yours.

His eyes go straight to your cheek.

The bruise.

His posture changes. Shoulders tense, mouth tightening. He doesn’t say anything, but the flicker of something behind his eyes is unmistakable. Not surprise. Not guilt.

Anger. Not at you—but at the fact that you’re hurt.

He doesn’t speak. Just leans against the counter. His eyes flick to your cheekbone again. The bruise is deeper now, ugly in the fluorescent light.

“You paused,” he says finally, voice low.

You dry your hands slowly. The paper towel crinkles between your fingers.

You turn, sharp. “I froze because I’ve never had to treat a gunshot wound in a fifteen-year-old while their mother screamed in my ear.”

You don’t stop.

“She was grabbing my sleeves, pulling at my hands, sobbing and shouting his name—over and over. She kept trying to touch his face. I could barely see where the blood was coming from. I wasn’t even sure where to start.”

Jack doesn’t flinch. “That’s what the job is.”

You laugh, and it sounds like it’s clawing its way out of your chest. “Don’t lecture me on what the job is, Jack. I’ve been here three years. I know what this place does to people.”

His jaw tightens. There’s something in his eyes—anger, maybe. Or guilt. You can’t tell with him. You never can.

He pushes off the counter.

“You think I don’t know what it does to people?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Not when he steps closer, the air between you tight enough to snap.

“You think I wanted you in the bay?” he asks.

You blink. “What?”

Jack’s voice dips lower. “I saw your name on the call sheet. I almost pulled you off rotation.”

Your breath hitches. “You don’t get to do that.”

He’s close now—too close. He smells like hospital soap and something else beneath it—deep, expensive cologne that cuts through the sterile air. Teakwood. Mahogany. That warm, slightly spiced scent that always lingers a second too long after he leaves a room. Clean. Controlled. Intentionally chosen. Just like him.

“I don’t want to watch you fall apart,” he says.

Your heart slams. The words hit harder than they should, because they’re the first ones he’s offered that sound like anything real. Not just protocol. Not just war-worn discipline.

“I already have,” you whisper. “And you didn’t notice. Not when I told you how I felt. Not when you shut me down like it meant nothing. Like I meant nothing.”

He swallows hard. His posture stiffens.

“You didn’t even look at me after that,” you say, voice shaking. “I told you I had feelings for you, and you acted like I’d crossed some unspoken line. Like caring about you was a mistake I should be embarrassed by.”

Jack doesn’t say anything.

You shake your head, eyes burning. “For you, it’s easier to pretend this thing—whatever it is between us—doesn’t exist than admit you’re scared of something real.”

You don’t have to spell it out. You’ve seen the way he distances himself—the way he locks things down before anyone even gets close. You’ve felt it.

The silence now is a living thing. Loud. Brutal. The air is laced with too many unsaid things.

You can feel it—beneath the calm, beneath the scrub shirt and military precision—Jack is burning.

But he still doesn’t reach for you.

So you do what you always do.

You leave before he can stop you.

You don’t get far.

The trauma bay doors hiss shut behind you and the night air hits your face like a slap—cool, sharp, soaked in hospital exhaust and rain-soaked concrete. You pace once. Twice. You don’t cry.

You breathe. You think you might scream. Instead, you lean back against the cold exterior wall of the hospital and close your eyes. And there it is—the echo of his voice, thick with something too raw to name.

“I don’t want to watch you fall apart.”

But it wasn’t just tonight that gutted you. It started before. When you said too much and he gave you nothing.

It was three days ago. Late enough that the hospital had gone quiet—the kind of quiet where your thoughts get too loud, and nothing feels safe to admit.

You were both at the nurses’ station. Jack sat at one of the desktops, the screen glowing pale blue in front of him, his fingers motionless on the trackpad. You were across from him, one hand hovering over the keyboard, the other absently toying with a pen.

You’d been circling it for weeks—maybe longer. This thing between you. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It lived in the quiet, in the unspoken, in the almosts. In the way your skin prickled when he entered a room. The way air shifted when he stood behind you—close, but never touching.

It was in the way his gaze found you during rounds, lingering just a heartbeat too long. The way his voice dipped when he said your name, soft and unreadable—like a secret slipping between his teeth. The way your breath caught when he brushed past you in the hallway, the fabric of his scrubs grazing yours, sending a bolt of something electric down your spine.

It was professional. It had to be. But it never felt neutral.

Every look felt like contact. Every silence, a dare.

The tension wasn’t dramatic. It didn’t need to be. It sat just under the surface—constant, quiet, undeniable. Like gravity. Like something pulling you toward him whether you wanted it or not.

But it wasn’t just you.

Jack watched you, too. Carefully. Deliberately. Like he was trying not to want you and failing anyway. He always looked away too slowly. Cleared his throat when your laugh caught him off guard. Said your name differently than everyone else—lower, rougher, like he was holding it in his mouth too long.

There were moments you caught him looking at you like he was already sorry for it.

Like he knew what it would cost if he gave in.

There were nights you couldn’t sleep without replaying the way his hand brushed yours, or the heat of his body behind you in the elevator, or the flicker of something in his eyes before he shut it down again.

You weren’t supposed to notice.

He wasn’t supposed to let you.

But you did.

And he did.

And both of you kept pretending it wasn’t real—even as it took up more and more space inside your chest.

You hadn’t planned to say anything. You hadn’t rehearsed it. It just… happened.

“I care about you,” you’d said, voice soft but steady. “I’m not trying to ruin anything. I just need you to know.”

Jack didn’t look up. Not at first. He just sat there, shoulders stiff, jaw set like someone had flipped a switch inside him. When he did meet your eyes, it wasn’t with warmth. It was with something colder. Sharper. Like he was bracing for impact.

“This can’t happen,” he’d said. Quiet. Controlled. Like he was reciting a rule he’d memorized a long time ago. “You’re a resident. I’m your attending. You know that.”

You’d nodded, tried to smile, tried to make it easy for him. Tried to act like it didn’t sting.

But he kept going.

“And even if you weren’t… it’s not a good idea.”

He hesitated. Just a second. But enough.

"You don’t know me," he added, eyes hard. "You think you do, but you don’t. You see what I let you see. And that version of me—that's not real."

And then, like he needed to twist the knife just to make sure it stuck :

“Whatever you think this is—I don’t want it. I don’t want you.”

You knew, even as he said it—he didn’t mean it. Not like that. But he wanted it to hurt. Needed it to. Like if he made you hate him, it would make walking away easier. That was the part that stayed with you.

You hadn’t cried then. Not in front of him. You nodded again, eyes dry, throat burning, and told him you understood. But you hadn’t said anything else. Didn’t argue. Didn’t ask him why.

And he hadn’t offered.

Not an apology. Not an explanation.

He hadn’t said a single word to you since—not until today, when his voice finally cut through the chaos to order you off the boy’s chest. Cold. Clinical. Like nothing had ever passed between you at all. Like you were just another resident.

But you’d felt it. In the way he walked into a room and wouldn’t look at you. In the way his voice would hitch when you brushed past. In the way his fists curled tight at his sides, like he wanted to reach for you but refused to let himself.

He was trying to be cold. Trying to keep the line drawn.

And still—still—he’d almost pulled you from trauma rotation tonight.

You open your eyes. The ache in your chest feels ancient. Familiar.

Big love. That’s what it was. The kind that never had a chance to grow, but still bloomed under your skin like it owned you.

And Jack? Jack let it die before it ever had the chance to live.

It’s been a week since Pitt Fest.

The hospital has started to settle into something like normal, but you haven’t. You still flinch when a trauma page comes over the comms. Still hear that mother’s voice, shrill and ragged. Still feel the ghost of Jack’s hand brushing yours when he took over compressions. That wasn’t the moment you broke, but it was the moment you knew you couldn’t pretend anymore.

So tonight, you go out. Against your better judgment.

Whitaker begged you. Santos threatened to show up at your apartment with a bottle of tequila. King and Mohan promised only one drink, just one, come on, you need it. Javadi was supposed to come too, but she bailed last minute—something about studying for boards and not wanting to get caught at another bar underage.

So now it’s the five of you crammed into a booth at this dive bar near the hospital in downtown Pittsburgh, the one with sticky floors and pool tables missing half the balls. The music is too loud, but the company is easy. Whitaker is doing some elaborate retelling of a patient who tried to fake a heart attack to get out of paying his copay. Mohan is crying from laughter. You’re sipping something sweet and strong and trying to let it all melt away.

It’s working.

Until you see him.

Jack.

He’s across the bar, half-shadowed under the neon sign, nursing a beer like he doesn’t want to be seen. But he’s not alone.

Robby’s with him. Of course he is.

They’re leaned in close, not talking much. Just sitting. Watching.

No—he’s watching.

You.

Your drink stills halfway to your mouth. Your stomach twists, not violently, but enough to knock the wind out of you. Jack doesn’t look away. Not immediately. Just holds your gaze like it hurts him. Like it should.

You force yourself to blink, to laugh at something Whitaker says. You pretend your hands aren’t shaking. You pretend you don’t feel your entire body tuning itself to the sound of his silence.

He rejected you. You know that.

But the way he’s looking at you now? It doesn’t feel like rejection.

It feels like longing.

And maybe that’s worse.

You down the rest of your drink in one go. It burns less than it should.

There’s a man at the bar. Mid-forties, maybe older. Salt-and-pepper beard. Expensive watch. He catches your glance and offers a smile that’s a little too polished, a little too practiced—but you return it anyway. Because he’s older. Because he’s sharp-eyed. Because he reminds you, in all the wrong ways, of someone else.

You excuse yourself from the table before anyone can stop you.

You take your drink, your heels, and your broken pride, and you slide onto the stool next to him.

Jack sees. Of course he does.

You make sure he does.

“Can I buy you another?” the man asks, nodding to your empty glass.

You smile. “Yeah. Why not?”

You laugh too easily. Let your shoulder brush his as he leans in. He says something you don’t hear because your pulse is thundering in your ears.

Across the bar, Jack’s jaw is tight. His hand clenches around his beer bottle, the label peeling beneath his thumb.

You tilt your head back and laugh again—this time louder, brighter, crueler.

Because if you’re going to hurt, you want him to feel it too.

And he does.

You can see it in the way he breaks eye contact first.

You can see it in the way Robby says something and Jack doesn’t respond.

You can see it in the way he stands up a minute later, like he can’t stand to watch anymore.

But he doesn’t leave.

He moves.

Across the bar. Slow, deliberate. Controlled rage in every step.

Robby calls after him, eyebrows lifted, confused—but Jack doesn’t answer.

He stops a foot away from you, the stranger mid-sentence, and you feel it before you even look up—heat rolling off of him like a storm about to break.

“Can I talk to you?” Jack says. Voice low. Measured. Barely held together.

You arch an eyebrow, take a long sip of your drink. “Busy.”

The man beside you glances between the two of you, sensing something sharp in the air. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to.

Jack’s eyes are locked on yours. Not the stranger’s. Not anyone else’s.

“You need to come with me,” he says, lower now. “Now.”

And it’s not a command. It’s not even a plea. It’s desperation wrapped in control, fraying at the edges.

You consider refusing. You want to.

But you rise anyway.

And follow him out the door.

The air outside is colder than you expected. Or maybe that’s just him.

Jack doesn’t speak right away. He walks fast—toward the lot behind the bar, where his car is parked beneath a crooked streetlamp. When he finally stops, it’s with his back to you. One hand on his hip, the other raking through his hair. The kind of stillness that comes right before something breaks.

You follow, heart hammering. He turns.

“What the hell was that?”

Your arms fold across your chest. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

His eyes flash. “The guy. The flirting. You were trying to—”

“Trying to what?” you snap. “Move on? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Jack exhales, sharp and uneven. “You don’t get it.”

“No, Jack. I really don’t. You said this couldn’t happen. You told me to forget it, forget you. And then you stare at me like that? Like you’ve got any right to be angry?”

“I’m not angry,” he bites out. “I’m—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Silence stretches. You can hear the distant music from inside, laughter spilling through the front entrance. But here? It’s just you and him, and everything you haven’t said.

“I didn’t want to do that to you,” he says finally, voice frayed. “Push you away. I just… I didn’t know how else to make it stop.”

Your voice lowers. “Why would you want it to stop?”

He steps forward once. Close, but not touching. His hands stay at his sides like he’s afraid of what will happen if he reaches for you.

“Because it scares the shit out of me,” Jack says. “Because you matter more than you should. And because I don’t trust myself not to fuck that up.”

Your heart twists. “So instead you say things to make me hate you?”

“I thought if you hated me, it would be easier for both of us.”

You laugh—soft, bitter. “It’s not.”

His voice breaks. “I know.”

You look at him. Really look at him. There’s pain there—old and festering. The kind that has nothing to do with you and everything to do with whatever he’s been dragging behind him since the war, since before.

You take a breath. “So what now?”

Jack steps even closer. You can feel the heat of him again. His eyes drop to your mouth, then snap back up like he’s furious with himself for even looking.

“You came out here,” you say.

“I didn’t want to watch someone else touch you,” he admits.

“Then don’t make me someone you can’t have.”

There’s a beat.

And then he’s kissing you.

Rough. Desperate. Like he’s been holding it in for years and it’s finally breaking loose. You answer it without hesitation, fisting your hands in his shirt, dragging him down like you’re daring him to finally stop pretending.

He presses you back against the car, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your waist like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. His mouth is on yours—hungry, ragged—like if he slows down, this will disappear.

“Back seat,” he growls. His voice scrapes through your chest.

He opens the rear door behind you, hand never leaving your hip, guiding you with him. You climb in first, crawling across the backseat with your heart in your throat. By the time you turn, he’s already sliding in after you, pulling the door shut behind him with a solid, final thud.

He grabs your face with both hands and kisses you again, harder this time, like his life depends on it. You climb into his lap, straddling him now, knees on either side of his thighs, your bodies pressed close and flushed with heat. He shoves your coat off your shoulders, pushes your shirt up. You tug his top over his head and toss it somewhere in the car.

“God,” he mutters, eyes raking over you. “You’ve been driving me insane.”

“Then do something about it.”

He does.

He unhooks your bra with one hand—like muscle memory—his mouth already on your chest, teeth and tongue working in tandem. His other hand splays across your lower back, holding you close as your hips grind down into his.

You’re panting. He’s shaking.

You reach between you, working open his belt, and feel him throb beneath the fabric. Jack shudders when your hand slips inside, groaning low into your skin.

“Wallet,” he mutters against your neck, voice breathless. “Inside pocket.”

You grab it. Your fingers move fast, practiced by adrenaline. You find the condom tucked there, tear it open, and hand it to him. His eyes meet yours as he rolls it on—slow, deliberate. Controlled, even now.

You brace yourself on his shoulders and lower down onto him, taking him inch by inch until he’s seated fully inside you.

The stretch burns in the best way. You gasp. He swears.

You don’t move. Not yet.

He kisses your jaw, your collarbone. Holds your hips steady with both hands like he’s savoring the feel of you. And when you start to move—hips rolling slow and deep—he leans his head back and groans your name like it’s the only word he knows.

“You feel—fuck, you feel like heaven,” he breathes.

You ride him hard, your rhythm building, mouths colliding again and again between moans. His grip bruises your thighs as he thrusts up to meet every movement, his control slipping with every second you stay on top of him.

Then suddenly—he shifts.

His arms wrap under your thighs, and in one smooth, powerful motion, he lifts you.

You gasp as he turns, guiding you onto your back across the seat. He stays inside you the whole time, never letting go, until your back hits the cool leather and he’s towering over you, braced between your legs.

“You okay?” he asks, breath ragged.

You nod, already whining for more.

Then he starts to move again—deep, relentless, rocking the car with every thrust.

He shifts, bracing one hand beneath your thigh to push your leg higher, opening you up to take him deeper. The angle hits something devastating—you cry out, fingers clutching at his shoulders.

Jack leans down, mouth hot at your neck, breath ragged.

“You’re mine,” he says, voice cracked and raw. “Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasp. “I’m yours, Jack.”

His hand slides down your side, gripping your hip for leverage—then slips between your bodies. His fingers find your clit and start to circle, firm and focused, his pace never faltering.

It sends you over the edge.

You break apart beneath him—back arching, thighs trembling, his name ripped from your mouth like a prayer you didn’t know you were saying.

You’re still shaking when he comes—groaning into your shoulder, his rhythm faltering as he buries himself deep one last time and lets go.

Afterward, you don’t speak right away.

You’re tangled together. His chest is against yours. His arms still hold you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he loosens his grip. Your heartbeat stutters beneath his palm. The windows are fogged, the car soaked in heat and the weight of everything that just happened.

You stroke a hand through the back of his hair, calming him more than you.

Finally, he shifts, settling beside you, your body still half-curled on top of him.

And quietly, you say:

“I followed you out because I thought you were going to leave again.”

He freezes.

You feel his breath catch against your shoulder.

“You left once,” you say. “After I told you how I felt. You didn’t look at me. Didn’t say anything. Just made it clear I’d imagined all of it. And tonight? I thought you were about to do it again.”

His voice is tight when he finally speaks.

“I almost did.”

You nod slowly. “Why didn’t you?”

Jack exhales hard. “Because I saw you with him, and I knew—if I walked away again, I wouldn’t just lose you. I’d be choosing to.”

He turns your face toward him.

“And I couldn’t live with that.”

You search his expression. His hand brushes a strand of hair from your face, and then settles on your cheek.

“I tried to kill it,” he says. “Tried to convince myself it wasn’t real. But it is. And it’s too big to ignore.”

“Big love,” you whisper.

He nods. “Yeah. The kind that burns everything else down.”

You press your forehead to his.

“I waited. Through all of it—every time you pretended you didn’t feel this, too.”

His eyes close. Like the truth hurts more than anything else tonight.

“I don’t know how to want you without wanting all of it,” he admits.

And you don’t need him to explain what all of it means.

The chaos. The risk. The weight.

You nod. “Good. Because I don’t want halfway.”

He leans in—presses a kiss to your cheek, then your lips, soft now. Careful.

And finally—finally—he says, “Then I won’t run anymore.”

You believe him.

But only because Big Love doesn’t let you run.

It lives. Loud. Messy. Permanent.

And tonight, in the heat of a parked car, Jack finally lets it have him.

[kaivenom]

One piece dilfs with a marine reader (like high up in the marines) who they recently had a BAD break up with because marines and pirates can’t really make it work but then the reader turns up at their door telling them that no matter that they can’t help but love him. Marines and their dubious morals be damned! Like real romcom style (but more angst with a happy end)

(Or in smokers case , a prolific pirate leaving their crew to be with him)

OP Dilfs with an enemy!reader

Characters: Doflamingo, Mihawk, Crocodile, Smoker, Shanks

Warnings: alcohol, angst, depressing episodes (but with a comic relief)

A/N: someone also requested Smoker x pirate fem so this is perfect to satisfy anyone. I love this idea cause i am a fan of miserable whiny men.

Masterlist

Dracule Mihawk

He was a very careful and scrupulous men, he knows how to keep his cool no matter what.

So how is he on the liquor pantry of the castle with all the bottles of sake and wine around him.

He loved you and tried to do everything to make it work. He stoped killing people (that often), he made renewals on the castle, he even tolerated being a sichibukai... and still you broke up with him.

Then he heard the door knocking.

"I am sorry that the sichibukai disolved." you said, trying to break the ice.

"I didn't stand them, i hate being there" he was dragging syllables.

"Are you drunk?"

"No" clearly his red cheeks were saying the opposite. "What do you want?"

"Marine values are good but the institution is rotten to the core, i realised that your cross guild stuff was better justice than ours so... i quitted. And if you want we can try to make it happen again, better and longer this time."

"You on cross guild would be my worst nightmare," he was having a mental crisis, "but i still want to try again with you, just... i think i am going to throw up. Tell me again in a couple of hours."

Apparently alcohol made him really honest.

Donquixote Doflamingo

He asked you to be his queen, how could he be so stupid... or that's what he thought for the two next months of your broke up.

How dare you broke up with him and make him feel so sad and miserable.

All the citizzens of Dressrosa knew this cause they weren't tortured like usual, instead they were forced to hear Doflamingo talking about you.

He wasn't giving up on this and that got to your eyes thanks to the marine's spies.

Hearing this things made you reconsider everything on your life and you finally decided to quit.

You went to Dressrosa and you didn't have to identify yourself to enter the castle, everyone wanted you to finally shut up Doflamingo.

"Doffy, i am here to make things right, be with you, all in..." he was petrified like a statue, and the he crossed his legs."

"No." his forehead vein was popping out.

"What? i quitted and came all the way here."

"I already got over of our little thing."

"Don't lie to me Mingo, i know you've been crying like a baby."

"No, i am a king, i don't cry like a baby and if you try to dismiss my reputation again i am going to execute you."

"Fine, i am going out." his facade falled out as fast as light.

"No, please don't go, i am sorry, i was angry at you but i really wanted you back." he hugged you.

"Fine, you have ten more seconds to complain and then we can make out." he noded.

Sr. Crocodile

He was so sad and wanted no one to know about it that he runned away.

He moved out of his place and left all his bussiness on town to other people.

He then started to become a "little" obssesed with the idea of trying to erase everything that reminded him about you.

And then people asked him "Why do you buy this...? and why did you buy that store...?" but he couldn't admit that was just to close it so he didn't have to revive memories with you.

He lost millions of berries but he was sad and tried to cope with this.

You tried getting to him but his address changed, you had to get to the underground mob bosses to know where to find him.

You showed at his door just to see him with the robe you gifted him and a beard of a whole week.

"I don't have bussiness with marines." he turned around to close the door.

"Good for me that i am no longer one." his neck almost snapped.

"You what?"

"I quitted, but like two weeks ago... i've been trying to contact you but nothing, you moved out and then i started to see a pattern. Really? you've been buying the places we liked together?" he started to feel guilty.

"I was sad."

"Me too. But you got to much out of the line. You should call all this places and make them open again."

"And why is that?"

"Cause otherwise we won't be able to go there on dates anymore." you smiled shyly and he spent all night calling places with you on his lap.

Smoker

He even had to take days off for personal issues on work, he felt like the weakest men ever.

He was the vivid image of a sad wet puppy looking at the window while it's raining outside.

All he did those days was eat, watch movies that you both liked, cry on the shower, sleep and repeat.

His house was a mess, he was a mess, how could he betray the marines codes so much that he even loved a pirate... and worse, the pirate broke up with him and he is the world's saddest person.

Right now he was crying on the shower again, for like a whole hour.

You trespassed the garden and entered into his house thanks to an unlocked window.

You entered and all the mess you saw was more than disgusting and alarming.

You heard the shower and then the water closing, you took a seat and waited for him to get out.

"Smoker, why is your house like this, this isn't how..." you had to stop when you saw him shocked and with red eyes, "you've been crying?"

"No." he took his weapon while pointing at you, "a pirate is tresspassing my property, i should arrest you."

"I thought you would be glad that i am trying to get on the marine's recruit's program, " you showed him some papers, "but i don't konw how to fiil this documents, i wanted to ask you for help and maybe... take a coffe or talk about us."

He really needed a chair right now. He couldn't talk for the next hour, but since he still helped you and served you the coffee, things were going into the right direction.

Akagami Shanks

He got the most drunk he has been in all his life and did the most uncivil crimes he has ever did, he definitely broke his record.

He throwed up on the street, dranked alcohol in public, yelled at people, supposedly he also showed his private parts to some of the passengers but the report didn't inform more about it.

You were so sad by seeing this like him that made you reconsider the approach you gave the situation.

He otherwise was alone, he wanted to be on his own to just feel miserable without no one looking.

You got to the ship and you had to confront all his crewmates, they were really mad at you, but you explained the new situation and they decided to give you a change to explain yourself to his captain.

You entered the room that smelled like a liquor store and he saw you.

"Not the visions again, i've been lying for one hour now."

"It's not a vision captain, it's really her."

"Don't put jokes on me, i am not in the mood."

"You hadn't been on the mood for a week it looks." you got to the side of his bed. "Shanks, i came here to tell you that i am no longer a marine and that my door is open."

"My door is really open and the light is getting in, close it." his words were full of pain but tried to hide it.

A long pause got behind you both and he looked at you, finally getting up but tripping midway.

"Are you really saying it? no jokes?"

"I would never joke about this. I want to be with you."

His mood lifted up instantly and tried to kiss you but you had to stop him and oblige him to take a long shower first.

[narcjsistx]

— 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐔𝐒 ᡣ𐭩

all the information here ; PART TWO

Hiding from the entire world for a week had been easy enough: he didn't normally use his phone much, ReAl had casually given all the players days off, and Girolan was traveling to America for an environmental conference. Tanzeku's entry into his home in Madrid had been fairly painless, and the small bed he had set up next to his had quickly become the only place where he could be left safely

From the first day the child became his responsibility, his phone had done nothing but "Immediate Full Time Babysitter" in the search bar. He had seen so many profiles in the last few days that he had learned some of them by heart, but none of them completely convinced him: they were all profiles of women with experience, at least 10 years older than him, and above all, with lives outside of their work. He didn't even know why, but these requirements made him think they weren't suitable. He thought that what he needed was a young woman, maybe younger than him, and with absolutely zero experience. If she had been like that he could have paid her less than necessary and, above all, made the whole thing less of a problem, because with zero life outside of work she could always be with Tanzeku. But most of all, he needed someone who could keep the secret of this unknown son, whose existence no one in the world was supposed to know. But no one seemed to have these requirements, at least until the day the same site recommended the profile of a girl who had just signed up, with still no possible requests from other users

Your profile had all the information he was looking for: 19 years old, needs immediate work because she just finished school and the possibility of being with the child 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Sae hadn't even seen the photos you had posted of yourself, he had directly paid the first month's salary proposed by your profile and had sent you his address

The next morning, you found yourself in front of the door of the most important penthouse of the neighborhood. You had lived in Madrid since you were a kid, and this neighborhood had always been famous for being home to the stars of the country but also of those abroad. You thought you had come to the wrong house, but when Sae Itoshi himself opened the door for you, you almost died. You had been watching his games since he joined ReAl, and now he was in front of you?

"You are Y/n? The babysitter?" the boy asks, and you look around a little confused "Umh... yeah? It's me. But I think I got the wrong house..." you say uncertainly, but he shakes his head "You didn't get the wrong house. Come in" he says, making room for you to enter. You gulp down a lump of saliva, even more confused: does he even know that you're a babysitter? Does he have kids? Maybe it's just a strange dream

But when you enter the living room of the house and see a baby less than a month old, the blood in your veins freezes. Sae notices the change in your expression, as he picks up Tanzeku "Before anything, I must warn you of the most important thing. Yes, I have a son, his name is Tanzeku. This child must remain a secret within the world" he says seriously, and you find yourself seeing the soccer player with a completely new look "A secret...?" you ask looking at the child, and he nods "A complete secret. Only you and I know about the existence of this child... apart from the mother, obviously. I need you to be with him constantly, I don't have the possibility to do that" he says coming closer and giving you the baby, which you pick up and hold gently "I don’t need you to clean the house, do chores… you’re not a maid. But you need to be this baby’s guardian angel, okay?" he says, caressing the child's cheek, who instinctively rests his head against your chest. You nod, thinking back to the whole thing "How does it work with the hours? I put 24/7 availability on the website, but we’ve never talked about it" you say, cradling the little one, and Sae nods "The penthouse is big. You can live upstairs, there’s a whole section of the house that’s unused. I’ll pay your taxes to stay here, you don’t have to worry about that" he says seriously, sitting on the sofa and looking at his son, his gaze a little dull when he thinks that he is entrusting his son's life to another person "Remember. It's a secret. Our secret from today. You got it, Y/n?" asks for the umpteenth time

"I understand. I understand everything" you say cradling Tanzeku in your arms. It's all so surprising that you don't know whether to be surprised by the fact that Sae Itoshi, the ReAl midfielder and one of the most beloved players of the entire country, has a son or by the fact that you are just a few meters away from the player and that from now on his house will also be your house. It could be the beginning of the most beautiful part of your life or your worst nightmare ever

TAGLIST: @lincqx ; @irethepotato ; @nevvynev ; @vaelils ; @levihanmyotp ; @lil-lia12 ; @princesssae ; @chuurinnie ; @llearlert ; @medd2005 ; @captainshindo ; @inojinieeee ; @laaalaaaloooppppsiiieeeee ; @rroxii ; @heartbrii ; @cellephone ; @simp-for-wanderer ; @beepbopzlorp ; @sugurus-star ; @chiizuyu ; @tenjikusstuff4 ; @syleepy ; @saeris-world ; @s4-mmy ; @itsssyagurll ; @ar1sc0rn3r ; @tsukimoon-chan ; @90s-belladonna ; @kiokos ; @appl3-0rchard ; @linsay0 ; @certifiedyapperrrr ; @werfiedeii ; @mariaelizabeh21-blog1 ; @ann242629 ; @vashyuu ; @pjofics ; @dontmindtheevie ; @otakusimp1

[murmiss]

Neglected Beta!Y/N And the bad pack! 141

Part 3

(No special warnings, possible unpleasant descriptions,mistakes in words and grammar ,but in this chapter I go back to thinking "what if those assholes hadn't caught her then?".

I think I'm going to be putting up different chapters with different developments now, and this chapter will be one of the alternatives and there will be more to follow.

I'm putting this up as a warm up, and I intend to post the sequel in This week)

A sudden scream from the TV, telling about another promotion "two packages of milk for the price of one" wakes you up, and you, breathing deeply, try to come to your senses.

Was it a dream? Then it was the shittiest nightmare of your life.

As if Soap would leave you alone and you lost yourself, becoming a hostage of someone else's dirty hands.

You shift from foot to foot for a long time, unable to remember what you need, and why you came here in the first place and with whom?

Soap? Oh, yes, Johnny.. - you turn back, but do not notice the cheerful mohawk next to you, so you slowly and sleepily shuffle your feet on the old tiles of the store, intending to find your alpha. The store is almost empty, except for the occasional people and the seller. From somewhere You hear a woman's laughter. You quicken your pace, but unfortunately, you only bump into the back of Johnny as he leaves, then you rush forward faster, screaming: "Johnny!", but he is already leaving the store with bags in his hands and girls nearby.

This asshole didn't hear you, but you don't want to stay here, not now, when you're tired, when you want to go home and damn it, you don't want this bastard to go home with some girls.

You sigh angrily, leave the basket on the floor, and run out of the store, but Soap's car is already pulling out of the parking lot, and no matter how hard you try to catch up, it seems futile. Your hand reaches into your pocket, straight for your phone, quickly dialing numbers, but the calls and messages still don't get you anywhere. It's as if you've been blacklisted and left here on purpose.

A dim light illuminates the steps of the store. A cool breeze ruffles your hair, which falls irritatingly over your face, into your eyes and mouth. You toss your hair back carelessly and snort irritably, keeping your eyes on the deep darkness in front of you. An empty parking lot, if you don't count the wreck at the very end, with its wheels off and rotten doors, abandoned by its owner like a relic of the past or maybe just plain rusty garbage.

Your hand reaches for the tincture, and with a decisive movement, the cork flies away. Your gaze drops to the dark liquid, whose origin you don't know. It's just some alcoholic tincture, a cheap drink, for which the last pennies you found in your pocket, carelessly left behind, were spent.

Oh, yeah, you wanted to throw your change in the piggy bank. The same piggy bank your grandmother gave you before you left. That flower-shaped piggy bank.

What would have happened if you hadn't left then, stayed home, torn up the letter calling you to the pack?

Maybe you would have had a bus to University, a home-cooked dinner with your parents and your father's silly jokes. Walks with friends, and a free university life. What would it be like to live if there weren't all these obligations of omegas, alphas and betas. If all that didn't exist, would life be better?

you take a sip. The alcohol burns your throat, forcing you to frown, but the pain blooming in your chest forces you to take another desperate sip, hoping it will help shut the aching feeling inside, spilling through your veins along with the blood.

Not so bad. The second sip hits you right in the head, right where you need it, giving you a long-awaited release from all the thoughts that parasitize you. You lean back, cover your eyes, and just listen to the scrambling of bugs, the almost soporific chirping of birds that peeked out of their nests as soon as city life died down.

You hear the girls' laughter, Soap's laughter, and see them before your eyes. Your Johnny puts his hand on one of the girls' thighs, pulls her hard against him, forcing her to let out a loud sigh or a defiant hot moan.

A whimper escapes your lips, and a new wave of disgusting grinding under your ribs reappears. You try to open your eyes, but you realize you can't, being a mute witness to their caress. Johnny runs his other hand through the girl's hair, drawing her into a rough kiss. You try to move your arms, but it's as if the straps are holding you in a torture chair, forcing you to watch, hear, and see everything that's happening as if you were in the worst nightmare.

There's a slamming door right behind you and you open your eyes sharply. Your heart beats at a furious rhythm and your breath hitches, forcing you to gasp for air. Abruptly you turn around and try to focus your vision, aggressively trying to wipe the tears from your eyes, but they won't stop no matter how hard you try.

The woman across from you looks at you with disdain, frowning and backing away squeamishly as if she's seen something dirty. Her ringing voice echoes above you, pierced with pity: "We're closed.

You know. You know perfectly well that the store is closed, just as you know that that usual squeamish voice is probably because you're just a goddamn beta - a completely unnecessary character in this whole story. Perhaps the world would do just fine without the beta.

You frown as you watch the woman walk away, remaining in near total darkness with only the streetlights working.

Scary. You take another deep sip straight from the bottle and wait again-Who the hell wants you anyway? Just a tasteless beta, with a perfectly ordinary figure, an ordinary face and an ordinary stupid sundress.

You rise to your feet, bottle in hand, and walk straight ahead with firm steps. If this bastard isn't planning on picking you up, you go home and fuck them all. Just fuck everyone, them, the Omegas and every goddamn Alpha you know.

You try to walk with confidence, but the cheap booze makes your gait a little sloppy and loose, but even that doesn't stop you. As you pass by the same wreck, you unconsciously reach for one of the doors, touching the stupid and crude graffiti with your fingers.

And indeed some idiot managed to leave his car in such a state, probably having traded it for some cool car, like a BMW, and let hooligans, dirty people with itchy hands break the once native and beloved car, consciously turning it into a pile of iron trash.

It's silly, but right now, in this moment, you felt like this car-just as lonely and abandoned on the outskirts of town. Or maybe it was just the alcohol making itself felt. Again you reached for the phone in your pocket and checked it, but it was still unavailable and turned off. It seemed to be about an hour or two walk from here to home, and the dim streetlights, though not frequent enough, were still present along the way.

The highway was empty and everything around was so dead, quiet and almost silent, if you didn't count the sounds of nature, the rustling of leaves and the swaying of trees from the increasing wind.

And inside, it was like worms were swarming, painfully eating away at your flesh, along with the swarm in your head. You try not to analyze, not to imagine how everyone is having fun now, not noticing that you're not there, You take another sip in frustration and it's already disgusting. It's like drinking the cheapest pure alcohol diluted with water or juice.

Somewhere far away, in the depths of the forest, you hear someone's voices, someone's insidious whisper, calling to you. You frown, take another sip, and quicken your step, but you can't go any faster, only more wobbly.

"Die, go, get out of here, come, hear."

The words echo throughout, blending into the general cacophony of sounds. Nervously you turn your head and look back at the extinguished streetlight a few meters away and unconsciously squint, as if hoping to see no one there.

A pair of red eyes stare at you, as if looking into your soul, making you stiffen, but drunken brains are brave brains, and part of the reason is that you don't break from your seat and run screaming wildly wherever you go. Even if sooner or later you have to do it.You just quicken your step, dark liquid splashing in the bottle, scarlet eyes popping up everywhere. You take a step and two scarlet spots appear somewhere among the forest foliage. Another step and it is already on the left standing under the lantern, there are many of these silent witnesses. You speed up your step, almost running, frowning and shouting "disappear! Disappear goddamn it! ", running as fast as you can. The voices get louder and louder, the whispers are discouraging, coming from every crevice, and you can't even identify the words, just multiple different intonations, an active conversation as if arguing.... The red color differentiates under your feet and the whispering becomes like the noise of a crowd on a rush hour train. A hateful shriek escapes your lips and a painful burning sensation in your legs prevents you from continuing to run, forcing you to slow down.

Everything stops and subsides. You no longer hear voices, no longer see scarlet eyes. Just silence and nothing more. You freeze, breathing heavily and staring into the deep darkness, no longer seeing any ugly eyes.

Maybe that alcohol wasn't the best solution, you think to yourself, and slowly turn around, intending to continue towards home, especially if you look closely, the turn towards the houses, lit by a dim streetlight, was starting to show. Just a little more and you're here.

When you turn around, the headlights are blinding, illuminating your figure in the night with a bright glow, as if letting all creatures know you're here. Reflexively you raise your hand and cover your eyes, wanting to look and just stand there, as if waiting for something.

You expect the fool with the Mohawk to come out of the car, throw himself at your feet and apologize, but hell no. A big guy comes out of the car, not one of your big guys, but-- A freakin' giant.

You frown, unconsciously taking a step back, but the man stands, just staring at your figure in silence.

It starts to rain, small drops falling annoyingly on your face, and gradually, over a short period of time, it turns into a downpour.

You still stand there silently looking at each other like this, until the second guy that peeked out of the jeep shouted: "Get in!"

Standing in the darkness, in the rain, like a wild abandoned kitten, with a bottle of cheap alcohol in your hands. a disgusting sight, striking the big man to the depths of his filthy soul. He'd seen it many times, how you follow your pack like a puppy, hoping to be accepted, but in reality you remain just... Just a nobody, never noticing that to the other pack you're a goddamn godsend.

To the Konig pack, you're like a ray of sunshine, forbidden to touch. was. But now the sight of your frail figure standing in the night was driving the Konig mad.

How dare those wretched 141 dare leave a diamond on the street? Don't they realize that this bird could be taken away at the first opportunity?

"Where's your pack?" comes the growling voice of Konig, wanting to deal with everything at once, but Horangi, who was sitting behind the wheel, peers out of the window again with an indignant snarl: "Konig, damn it, get the bird over here, it's about to get wet because of you, damn it! "

When you come to your senses, Konig holds out his hand to you, and you, not sure if you remember them, but vaguely guessing who they are, frown, stand for a few moments, and then do climb into the back seats, meeting your gaze with another big guy. He picks up almost immediately, helping you climb in and sit down. The lights in the car help you finally distinguish the figures and you finally remember this murderous pack. And that Asian jerk, always teasing you about everything. And Krueger, sitting next to you, you remember too, always giving you weird compliments, if you could call them that, because his rude tone sounded like an insult and made you wonder if your appearance was okay. "Nice hair"-a common phrase, but for some reason Krueger's voice sounded like a sneer, though it was a ridiculous attempt at flirting on his part. Horangi had explained that they would all get slaps from Konig for compliments like "Hot Figure".

Konig was always silent and scared you with his stare, because every time you showed up at the base, he looked at you like a typical slasher, almost without blinking.

(You can also offer me your scenarios or headcanon, and I'll be happy to write about them,)

(it seems that I have specified all,I'm sorry if I missed anyone)

@other-fandoms-reblogs @this-is-me19 @iconic-bubonic

[tarotlexa]

PICK A PILE READING- why you think you're sad vs. why you're actually sad

welcome to my new tarot reading idea, if you've been feeling sad today or in the last few days feel free to pick a pile for a deeper introspection as to what's actually going on and how to address it. please make sure to be ready to receive the message.

as always, this is a collective reading so take what resonates and leave what does not. much love <3

⠀.　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀✦ ⠀ ⠀　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀* ⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　　　　.　　　ﾟ .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　✦ 　　　　　,　　　　　　　.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　.

.　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　✦⠀　   　　　,　　　　　　　　　*

　　　　　⠀　　　　⠀　　,

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　 　　⠀　　　⠀.　

　　˚　　　⠀　⠀  　　,　　　　　　.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　　　*⠀　　⠀  　　　　　⠀✦⠀　

　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　.　　　　.　　　⠀

　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　˚　　　　　　　　ﾟ　　　　　.

　.⠀　　⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀,

　　　*　　⠀.

　　　　　.　　　　　　　　　　⠀✦

　˚　　　　　　　　　　　　　　*

.⠀ 　　　　　　　　　　.　　　　　　　　.

　　　　　✦⠀　   　　　,　　    　　　　　　　　.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀✦ ⠀ ⠀　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀* ⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　　　　.　　　ﾟ .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　✦ 　　　　　,　　　　　　　.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　.

.　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　✦⠀　   　　　,　　　　　　　　　*

　　　　　⠀　　　　⠀　　,

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　 　　⠀　　　⠀.　

　　˚　　　⠀　⠀  　　,　　　　　　.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　　　*⠀　　⠀  　　　　　⠀✦⠀　

　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　.　　　　.　　　

　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　˚　　　　　　　　ﾟ　　　　　.

　.⠀　⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀,

　　　　　✦⠀　   　　　,

pile 1: okay so i believe that you think that your sadness stems from big changes or endings, especially pertaining to friendships or a situation where you feel no longer in control. you think you're sad because you had to be strong for too long and that strength hasn't paid you back anything, that chapter in your life still has closed. the truth is that you're not simply sad about change, you feel like you don't have enough balance or certainty in your life. you feel unstable, like happiness is something that simply cannot belong to you. you probably went through many extremes in your life or you could have had bad major shifts happening right after you finally felt "safe". you're really hoping for a sign that everything will work out and this is it, this is your sign. being happy is for everyone, it is entirely possible for you to experience the stability and happiness you desire. you're not stuck in a limbo of desperation or bad luck. you have to get out of this exhausting mindset in the first place and recognize you also deserve happiness. you know that things need to shift but you don't know how to initiate it. tap into your emotions without letting them rule you, allow yourself to daydream and feel joy and reconnect with what makes you fulfilled without wondering when it's going to be taken away. break the toxic pattern of expecting bad things to happen. reclaim your power because it is in you and deep down, you know it <3

pile 2: you believe your sadness to be related to your relationship or the fact that you had to leave something behind, maybe you think you're sad because things are moving too fast and you're trying to balance practicality with emotions or you're being forced to move when you're still emotionally attached to something or someone. you might be hiding this sadness well by pretending to be focused on your work and so on but something inside you feels off. you're longing for emotional security while still feeling so unbalanced about what security actually means to you. the real issue runs deeper than you think. this sadness isn't really about external circumstances, it's the weight of expectations, emotional exhaustion, burnout and a very well hidden longing for validation. you placed those insane expectations on yourself (possibly due to your family's circumstances) and now you don't know what's real and what's not and how to get out of this. my love you've been carrying too much, both emotional burdens and competition with yourself and others. it's draining the life out of you. a part of you knows the truth but it might be difficult to fully face, maybe there's a realization you've been omitting or some painful truth you've been running away from about something from your past (perhaps childhood wounds?), you never feel enough no matter how much external success you gain. i want you to know that it's okay to take a minute to reflect, it's okay to realize some ugly truths about your family and still loving them. what's not okay is to cling onto this exhaustion and pressure and past wounds. you're enough the way that you are and you don't need to prove your worth to the world, for you are your own beautiful being. the best way to address this would be to seek guidance from within (or even therapy), what beliefs are shaping your emotions? are they actually yours or have they been passed down by family, society or past experiences? also, you don't have to fight EVERYTHING. as i said, you don't need to prove your worth to the world. you're more than enough and if someone doesn't recognize it, it's not on you but it's on them. you don't need to value their opinion anyway.

pile 3: this is the pile which had the most cards so i believe that we're gonna have to address more topics together. at face value, your sadness comes from something or someone you had to leave behind (a person, a goal, a version of yourself) and now you're unsure of what's next and that makes you feel like you're totally losing control of yourself. maybe you've had to let go something or someone you have manifested for a very long time, only for them to no longer serve your best interest. there's also an emotional element here, perhaps you believe you're sad because you haven't been receiving the love, support and recognition that you desire. you might feel like you always give more than you receive and maybe that's why you had to leave that person or goal behind. you're trying to strategize and rationalize your way out of this sadness, you believe that once you figure it out the feeling will go away, WRONG. unfortunately you have to sit with your feelings sometimes, no matter how bad they're hurting you. it's part of our nature. btw this sadness isn't just about what you've lost or what you're seeking, it's about a profound emotional disconnection and a cycle of self sabotage. your real sadness is tied to loneliness and nostalgia, you might have been emotionally isolating yourself from your loved ones without fully realizing it or you're romanticizing the past in a way that isn't really helping you out (perhaps an old version of yourself, an old dream and so on) and it obviously feels emotionally draining. instead of allowing yourself to feel deeply, you keep numbing yourself and rejecting others trying to help you even more. you're trying to emotionally disconnect from yourself and that's what others don't seem to get which in turn fuels this cycle. there could also be a sense of financial or material insecurity at play here, don't be afraid to accept other people's help even if you don't want to. you're dealing with a very painful cycle that only you can end and it needs to end NOW, even if you're currently feeling betrayed by life. there's still joy to be found, new people to meet, experiences that you're dreaming of doing. i know it's hard to believe in joy right now but if you allow yourself to be helped and to be held during this trying time, it's going to be there. how to address this sadness: you're going to need to stop letting fear dictate your actions. as i mentioned before, you need to do what's scaring you the most rn and if it's asking for help, then you're going to need to do that (it could be also something related to your dad since the emperor is here). you might feel unseen or underappreciated but part of the solution is celebrating yourself first by acknowledging yourself without seeking external validation. dive deeper into why you allowed yourself to feel this way for so long, what started it in the first place? seek therapy, get curious again, try new things and explore new ideas. bring back that sense of childlike wonder that you've been hiding from yourself and from others for so long! start small, notice something beautiful about yourself and your environment. allow yourself to get out of this shell so you can embrace the new you. reconnect with joy.

thank you for reading! comments/feedback/reblogs are always appreciated <3

[digitald0rk]

I WANT SOMEONE BADLY

pairing — mark grayson x gn! hero reader. [ implied childhood friends ]

synopsis — after a hard [ immature laughing ] night of fighting crime, you take mark back to yours to spend some extra time with him, one of your closest friends. he is a yearner, and bro is yearning [ end his misery pls 🙏🏻 ]

warnings — mentions of healing from nail biting / picking, mark and you paint each other's nails, he helps with your skincare, crazy pining, like two suggestive paras nothing too freaky though!

w.c — 2.2 k.

a/n — YES IT'S A JEFF BUCKLEY REFERENCE THE TITLE I MEAN :D I WANNA WRITE SMMM BUT i have two exams back to back and then my boards after them in like two weeks 💔💔 im cooked. ALSO HAPPY EID MUBARAK TO ALL THOSE WHO CELEBRATE ^_^ we getting rich this year gang 🤑🤑🤑 ALSO TYSM FOR 400 FOLLOWERS! luv you all mwah <3

taglist — @vm4879bb-blog @hihowyoudoin00 @fairii-majii @hepdeerness [ lemme know if you wanna be added! ]

“m- invincible,” your little slip up makes him chuckle, “pretty sure no one's gonna hear you on top of the highest rooftop in the city, but okay.” he teases you so he doesn't end up staring at you like you're the only person in the world.

“you can never be too sure,” you huff, playfully shoving him a bit followed by a fond eye roll when he pretends like you've punched his guts out or something, dramatically groaning and all. 

“i was just wondering if you wanna come over? i barely have time to spend with you when i’m not being a superhero,” you start, slightly hesitant.

“ooh sleepover?”

“i mean if you want, sure.” you smile, happy to be spending time with him outside of beating people up.

stop smiling at him, please. he's already a lovesick fool, don't do this to him.

“yeah, i’m down!” he says, mentally scolding himself for sounding a little too excited, getting up he stretches a little, “let's go.”

you two fly together to your house, laughing at some stupid thing you saw, a meme or some other ridiculous thing — he wants to record your laugh and play it again and again, although his mind at night does just that so maybe there's no use of it.

he's laughing with you but his heart is beating like a drum, thank god your powers don't include super hearing or he's sure the super loud thump thump of his heart — which belongs to you and only you be concerning, 

he catches a whiff of your perfume, the one you always wear — wait your hair smells different, is that a new conditioner? or shampoo? it smells nice, awfully nice. he takes a deep breath. get it together mark.

he has to maintain a little distance before he ends up doing something stupid like burying his face in your hair and kissing your head.

soon enough he finds you two on the balcony of your house, you slide open the window to your room, leaving it open for him to follow you in.

his palms feel sweaty, he's been here countless times. you two have even slept on the same bed twice. yes, you both were like ten but still!

he takes another deep breath, he steps into your room, you're nowhere to be seen. he hesitantly sits on your bed and of course it smells like you. this isn't good, his heart is going to give out.

he's toying around with your little black cat plushie when he hears the bathroom door unlock, eyes darting to your figure coming out, you've changed into your favorite comfortable pajamas.

he's going to die.

the soft material stretches over the curves and dips of your body in a way that has him gripping the plushie a little too hard.

“you're gonna suffocate him,” you joke, your voice snaps him out of it and he relaxes his grip on the soft back plushie.

flopping down onto the bed with a tired groan you prop yourself up on your elbow to face him.

the atmosphere is unusually tense, or well at least to mark. the soft flutter of your eyelashes and the way your shirt sightly rides up, revealing a slither of your soft skin has him acting like a victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time.

“heard you actually got a good grade for once in chemistry.”

he huffs, nodding with a smile, “believe me, i’m just as surprised as you are.”

the tension breaks and you two fall into easy conversation, like always. he can't keep the smile off of his face when you pull out some seance dog issue to read together and it ends up in him explaining some villain’s origin story to you.

“yeah, so honestly it's not his fault-”

“i think his biggest crime is his new outfit” he laughs at your comment.

your body would occasionally brush against his. sometimes your knees bumping or elbow nudging him when you tease him about something, he wishes he could hold you and shower you with all the affection, give you everything he has.

“i’ve been trying to grow out my nails,” you put your palm flat against the sheets, showing him your progress so far, he knows you've been trying to break the habit of picking and biting your nails. he takes your hand in his without thinking, his thumb tracing over your long nails, “looks good,” a proud smile stretching across his lips.

“thanks, I've been meaning to paint them-”

“can i paint them?” mark blurts out, he honestly just wants to hold your hand for as long as you'll let him.

you jokingly make a show of pretending to think before nodding, “sure.”

you get out of bed, opening your closet to take out a small box of all the nail polishes and other supplies you own, he excitedly looks through the box, pulling out a pretty blue shade, giddy at the thought of his suit’s main color matching with your nails.

he helps you settle your hand on a small towel so your bed sheet doesn't get stained, he uncaps the small bottle, getting to work, he'd grumble a little when he messes up, his teeth slightly dig into his bottom lip as he focuses on painting your nails and every time his hand would make contact with yours — even the slightest bit of contact leaves him longing for more.

he listens to you speak about something that happened at school last wednesday, his heart rate would pick up everytime you'd say his name in that pretty voice of yours.

he looks so proud himself when he finishes painting all the nails on your right hand, gently blowing on them so they'd dry faster, you playfully join him, blowing on your now blue nails, your breaths mingle and oh boy he's holding himself back from kissing your knuckles and telling you how beautiful you are.

you examine his painting skills, watching him put nail polish on your left hand’s nails.

he works in comfortable silence, using the crumpled up ball of tissue to wipe off any excess blue liquid that is around your nails.

“you're actually good at this, makes me wonder if you've ever painted someone else's nails before,” you mutter, his eyes dart up to hold your gaze for a moment, he'd hold it for longer but he knows it'll unravel him, it'd just end up with him pouring out his feelings — baring his heart to you.

“nope, it's actually my first time,” he admits, putting the cap back on and once again blowing at your nails, he sneaks in a small brush of his thumb against your knuckles as he helps your hand up — which is just an excuse to touch you, he folds the small towel and puts it back in your small box of nail supplies.

“do you like them?” he asks.

“yeah, looks really pretty. thanks mark,” you flash him a happy smile and he's over the moon.

“yeah, real pretty,” he whispers, except he's not only talking about your nails, he's talking about you — all of you.

the moonlight along with the dim fairy lights of your room make you look like a literal angel, he swears he can see the wings and halo.

“let me return the favor?” you ask, if only you knew he'd give you the world if you let him, he doesn't even have to think before he's nodding, a dumb lovesick smile makes it's way onto his face as he lets you maneuver his hand around and paint his nails a pretty blue — the same shade he picked for your nails.

meaning you two are matching, he finds that adorable. he also finds you adorable and wants to just bite your cheek, just a little nibble. he shakes his head slightly as if he's shaking the thought away which works, not really.

“look we're matching!” you put your hand besides his, your long nails matching his in the same blue shade. “yeah we are,” he softly mutters, wanting to lace your fingers through his but ultimately holds himself back.

he feels sad when you pull your hands away once you're done painting his nails — he would hold your hand for eternity if you let him.

he feels the tension again, his eyes lingering a second too long on your figure as you put the supplies back in your closet, with your back turned to him he can only think about one thing, you — your waist and how he'd love to grab it while he presses needy kisses all over your neck, sucking and biting, leaving marks, he wonders how you'd whisper his name when his touch gets a little rough and demanding, squeezing and groping all he can reach-

woah there, can't afford a boner here mark, calm down.

he wants to kiss every inch of your body and worship you, he wants — no, he needs to.

he shifts a bit under the sheets when a familiar feeling starts to settle in his gut, waiting for you to come back to bed. although he's almost sure it'll only increase the intensity of the heat he's feeling.

you crawl back into bed, shifting around to find a comfortable position. thankfully, your stupid jokes ease his nerves a bit. he finds himself leaning closer to you, drawn to you like a moth to a flame, so here you two are almost pressed against each other, lying side by side as you two watch tiktoks on your phone, wrapped in your balnket.

“why is your whole fyp brainrot?” he'd complain and then end up laughing, although he insisted it wasn't funny.

a few more giggles and shared laughter later, he realizes just how close you two are to each other, he'd barely have to move to kiss those pretty lips of yours, would you taste like that slushie you two shared earlier? he wants to find out, he really wants to.

a small yawn escapes your lips and he swears he falls in love over again.

“tired?” he asks softly, as if speaking a little too loud would ruin the tranquility of it all. 

“mhm.”

“i'm not letting you watch tiktoks till 3am, come on, let's get you to sleep hm?”

he takes your phone away, his fingers brushing against yours, the contact making his heart skip a beat.

“i still have to do,” another yawn, “my skincare,” you mutter, desperately trying to keep your eyes open.

he sheepishly offers to do it for you, he quickly gets out of bed the second you tell him what you need and where your skincare products are because if he stays this close to your sleepy form a second longer he'll end up kissing your forehead and saying those eight letters he's been meaning to say for years.

he brushes your hair out of your face, helping you with your skincare. he rubs the sweet smelling moisturizer into your skin gently, first your hands, he smiles when he sees his nails matching yours, he's never going to shut up about this moment.

then he helps you apply it to your face, taking his sweet time savoring the feeling of your skin underneath his fingertips, his rough calloused hands working skillfully.

“mark?”

“hm?”

“thank you, seriously you're the best.” 

he's going to scream, he's glad your eyes are closed shut or otherwise he's sure you'd be able to spot the flush that adorns his cheeks.

then comes the serum, and finally the cherry flavored lip balm. you pucker your lips and glide the tube across your lips, coating them in a shiny slightly sticky layer.

great, you just made them more kissable. he's going to crash out.

you innocently offer him some, he can't say no to you, even you should know this by now.

his heart picks up again when you apply your lip balm to his slightly dry lips, going back and forth a couple times for good measure, his lips now shiny.

and then the realization hits him — he just indirectly kissed you. his heart might as well just beat out of his chest with the way it's pounding so hard against his ribs, like a drum.

his self control is hanging on by a thread, you tuck yourself and him in bed, sleepily mumbling, ��goodnight mark,” you sound so sweet, his name on your tongue — sweeter than honey, it’s enough to drive him crazy.

and as your eyes close to get some much needed rest, he mumbles back, “goodnight.”

once he's sure you're fully asleep, he adds, “goodnight my angel,” stroking your head gently, reverently.

he presses a small kiss to your forehead, maybe, just maybe one day, he'll tell you how his heart aches for you, how it longs to hold you and be held in your loving arms — his love for you is consuming, his heart overflowing with it, he's sure if you cut open his chest, your name would be seen engraved on his heart and he wouldn't have it any other way, he will always love you.

even if you don't.

but he prays everyday that you do.

© digitald0rk 2025. do not repost / steal any of my work or you'll get explosive diarrhea and rexsplode! want more? click here ★

[strungnews]

TO ME YOU'RE ACTING LIKE YOU'RE TWINS, THIS IS A MESS. IS THIS A TEST?

a 'small' continuation + names of this since some wanted to see more, and I agree. not beta read i just want this gone from my drafts!!

A scoff, hand waving dismissively in the air like a snobby royal. "Don't be stupid, he gives off 'daddy issues' more than the other ones." "You're mistaken, they all have daddy issues. And mommy issues, but that's besides the point. We can't name him 'daddy issues' because that'd be like--I dunno, saying this piece of sand is better than the other grains of sand!"

You scrunch your nose and roll your eyes at William.The two of you have been at it all afternoon renaming the 'Mark Variants' as he had dubbed, to more notable and memorable ones. Since you and William can't for the life of you remember whose who, there's 17 of them! Sue you for not knowing.

It's a weird thing you and William have as an inside joke to one another, having even made a whole game out of it. It was like a harder version of 'Wheres Waldo' but you had to guess if it was mark or one of his 'variants' on the screen.

But you and him weren't playing today, right now you were organizing, real serious stuff. Since a certain someone slipped up and called one of them Jeremy, but he was obviously Mateo. Obviously.

"Ugh, I can't with this! Im running out of braincells trying to give creative nicknames to remember their actual names. God we couldn't have befriended a normal guy? We had to take one that had 17 other versions of him?" William is at his wits end. And you are no help to saving him.

"Hey, you talked to him first, not me." You noisily sipped at your straw, the cup almost empty as you salvage whats left of it.

"And I regret it everyday,"

"No you don't." "Yes I do. "No you don't." "Yes I do," "Nuh uh."

"Yuh uh," "Nuh uh. Remember how 'Nestle-cock' saved your ass by giving the best gift that one time, and your mom still wont stop bringing it up?" William groans disgustedly at the name, and tiredly at the thought. "We're definitely changing that one. Especially that one." You laugh. "Not my fault you took my suggestion. The internet is filled with so much wonders these days." You recall looking up another term for the word 'mama's boy', and as demeaning as it is, you couldn't help but jokingly suggest it. "Remind me to not take them anymore. But that's besides the point! We might as well try and remember their names the normal way."

"It's more fun this way," You shuffle on about your bed to place your empty cup down, lying on your stomach as you watch William visibly age through the monitor of your laptop screen.

"For you, not for me." He points an accusatory finger at you and sighs. "I gotta go, we've been at this since 1:30, I gotta eat." William rubs at his stomach hungrily at the prospect of food, and stretches that you can hear the crack and creak of his body and worn chair.

"Can I come with?" It's cold out today, a much needed change and reprieve from the now oncoming summer heat. Small instances of rain, but never pouring continuously.

William only tuts at you, as if his answer was obvious. "Hell no. If you come, Mark comes. And if Mark comes, your whole dang harem will too!" You snicker, hah, come. He starts picking up his long discarded clothes across his room, coming out of frame the more he collects, and coming back with a shirt in hand.

"What? They are not my harem!" William scoffs and drapes it on his chair. "Sure, keep telling yourself that. Anyways I gotta go, see you and real Mark." Before you could protest his words, he ends the call with a wave.

Your face falls onto one of your pillows and you look up to the end call screen, before clicking off the tab and muttering ‘Gross.’ Because who would want a harem of people that consists of your very good looking best friend that you're totally not crushing on? Not you, pfft.

You hear your phone chime with a notif, and you drag your hand blindly to where it might be, hitting a hard piece of plastic and snatching at it.

William sent a link of his location, a change of heart on his end, offering to let you come with like you were a beggar. You were in his head, but he loved you nonetheless.

You pump your fists in the air in silent victory as you cheer, before you jump and yelp out when at the tapping on your window. A normal occurrence to happen, but it doesn't stop you from clutching your chest and walking over to it.

"Hey..?" Mark says guiltily, probably overheard your surprise from outside.

"What is it this time Grayson?" You scold playfully while watching him step inside your room one leg at a time. You've told him to just knock at your front door instead of acting like a thief in the night, sliding your window open. But Mark says no, thinks he looks cooler this way. Feels even cooler with the impending doom of a fall just one slip up away.

"Well, I just. . . It is a crime to visit my best friend?" He says through a forced smile and walks over to the side of your bed, plopping down on the beanbag where it resides.

"You have William," You offer, knowing full well he probably told Mark that he was probably busy or something, not wanting to have to sneak around in order for Mark to have fun without the weight of his annoying siblings.

"He said he was busy," He says defeated, and deflates on the comfort of your beanbag, practically having his body imprinted on it with how often he sat there.

"So annoying me was the second best option?" "You know it."

Hang outs with Mark feels like trying to screw on a lightbulb while ten other people pushed their way through on a race to do it first.

He never comes to the party alone, having to at least bring one, two, three, maybe even five other family members with him, in order for them to have some semblance of enrichment whenever he so plans to go out with his already very small group of friends. A rule set by his amazing mother.

She just wants everyone to feel included, at the cost of humiliation that is.

And being the good son and mama's boy he is they all are, he obliges with a small kick to the dirt, a mumbled out 'fine, while he puts his hands in his pockets like he was digging for gold. Accompanied by the million dollar pout on his face.

It wasn't ideal to always drag someone with him when he just wanted alone time with his friends, so on occasion he'd offer you to do it at his house.

As if that was any better.

So when things got too overwhelming, he'd sneak into yours or Williams place to cool down. A nice contrast to the loud and bustling house, to a quiet room with him and friends. Not a concern to worry about.

Think of it as his personal bunker that he goes to hide at from his life.

"Anything on your mind?" You break the ice, having to say goodbye to the free food you had been in favor of being there for Mark. You know, like the good friend you are.

He stirs, crossing his arms in thought while he thinks it over. "I dunno. Not much in my head today," "When does it ever?" You counter back without thinking, and he sticks his tongue out at you childishly.

"But I did get caught by Finn earlier. And he told me he wouldn't tell mom if I covered his shift on saturday." Mark takes one of the many stray plushies you have on your bed, and hugs it to close and tight till the seams were threatening to rip apart..

Coincidentally, it was the oldest one you had. Which was the first time Mark had won you a prize at the carnival as kids. Since then he likes to surprise you with new ones each time you guys went out to the arcade. Or when he’d go overseas with his dad.

So much little trinkets and doodads you have lying around your room are a courtesy from Mark.

But with the way he held onto this particular one, you can tell he's also grown fond of it at the memory. Attached even. The feeling was mutual, the plush being the one you favored the most to hug to sleep. Something about it was a lot more personal, a lot more special.

You watch in your peripheral while he buries his face in it in comfort. Inhaling like it was some sort of drug to him, it probably smells like you. You shake your head.

"Oh, Finn. Yeah, right." You repeat, nodding along with him. You’ve heard of the name in passing whenever you’d go to Grayson household, but never really got to put a face on said name. They were all just photocopies of Mark with different attitudes and mannerisms. Plus, so many names were given around the place, you were surprised to even hear the attempt at keeping up with the M lettered names before sticking to normal ones.

"You don't know who i'm talking about, do you?" He raises a brow at you, all smiling and smirking cockily like he caught you in the act.

"What? Pfft, of course I do. It's the uh, he's the one where you know," You start to sweat, before reaching out for your phone and redirecting the conversation.

"William said he went out for food." You suddenly blurt. Way to throw him under the bus.

"I know, he told me."

"Great! Well, I was just about to join him till you came knocking. Wanna come with?" Scrolling through your phone to appear busy, Mark starts to sit up straighter and lean on the edge of your bed to take a closer look at you.

"Heyy, who's Finn?" His elbows dig and dip into your soft mattress, now poking at your vulnerable side, and you swat him away like a fly.

“Your brother??” It’s as if he had forgotten he had multiple copies of himself in his house.

“Yeah, well which one?” Mark’s on his knees by the time you look up, and now climbs up fully to sit next to you. The bed moves with his newly added weight, and he casually slings his arm around your shoulder. Plush now resting on his lap.

“God, do you want me to name all of em or something? Im being quizzed now?” You’re starting to get flustered, evident with how defensive you’re turning.

He’s too close, and you’re sure he can feel your heart racing. His arm feels like it’s suffocating you the more he lingers, his hand draped dangerously close to your racing heart, toying at a loose thread he brushed up on.

As a kid Mark’s always been so touchy, always invading your bubble and needing to be physically close at some extent. It never gets easier as time goes on.

"Yeah sure, I'd like to see that.

“Oh, you jackass,” The heat of your palm on his chest as you push away feels like it’s burning at him inside and out. He wants to chase that feeling and let it eat him alive.

“Cmon, just admit it. You don’t remember who Finn is.”

He pokes at you again, enjoying the way you tense and glare, or the way you suck in a breath and close your eyes, calming yourself down.

“Fine. I don’t know who this infamous Finn is, okay? Now do you wanna go and eat with William?” Speak of the devil and he will come. Your phone chimes again, several messages come in like a flood, which you snicker at.

William sent a candid photo of Mark and the variants, a behind the scenes of a family photo, posed awkwardly. Another one showed two very similar sulking kids with a very exasperated Nolan at the back, forcing them to wear an oversized shirt with sharpie drawn on it. ‘This is our get along shirt.’

“Cute.” You accidentally said out loud, and type back at William. Now ignoring Mark in favor of something more compelling.

“What is?” He peers and nudges you closer to him, ever the nosy guy.

“What are you even doing?” He urges on again, feeling left out. The bed dips further, the more you move away from him and the more he chases after you. Ending up trapped under his weight with a plush wedged between the two of you.

Pressing your phone to your chest and clicking at the power button, you push his too close face away from you. “It’s none of your business,” He smells like the generic 3 in one mens shampoo you would usually smell while walking by a product isle. And the smell only intensifies the more his hair gets ruffled by your hand.

The sudden shift in attitude and secrecy makes Mark perk. If he had ears like a dog, they’d definitely stand tall and proud, with a tail to most likely accompany it.

“You’re hiding something from me, what is it?” Now he’s crowding you in like a damn police dog. Smelling and searching for any explosives or substances that might be on your person. He watches you curl in on yourself, as a sort of barrier to keep from his prying eyes, but this only leaves you vulnerable. Sides wide open to harass.

“Stop—dont-dont touch me!” You laugh and struggle when he tickles you, you have half a mind to kick him in the face the more breathless you’re starting to feel.

“Mark, cut it out!”

“Not until you tell me!” Your arm’s raised up in an attempt to keep your phone away, but Mark only snatches it in his hands and opens up your phone, already knowing your password by heart.

“Fuck. I knew you remembered it, you said you didn’t! Liar.” He only sticks his tongue out at you, and skitters away when you try to lunge back at him.

“Nuh uh,” He catches you when you turn to look at him, vision going thanks to your low iron.

And suddenly Mark has you positioned in a tight chokehold. His fleshly limb imprisonment on you doesn’t relent when he feels you thrashing while he casually looks through your phone.

“This is an invasion of privacy, im telling your mom!”

“Save it for the judge,” he mumbles, wincing slightly when you jabbed at his stomach, but only tightened his arms around you before tapping out.

“Fine-fine, jesus,” you wheeze out and his hold relents. But he keeps you in place like an owner holding its unruly dog. Ironic.

Mark mumbles out a small ‘let’s see here,’ like a grandpa while you blow away stray piece of hair. Hands wrapped around his strangely strong arms, tugging at it as a demand for freedom.

“Why are you looking through photos of me?” The question makes you go still, and he goes further and further into your album of your photos. The proximity suddenly feeling too much as you try to pry his arms off again.

“I didn’t even post some of these! Where are you getting them from?”

“Facebook,” you mumble, his muscle bulging and moving with each swipe, earning the bright idea to bite at him.

“Ow!”

You take this as ample opportunity to take what was rightfully yours, and smack him with the long discarded and well loved but lumpy plush, right in his face.

“What gives?”

“You almost choked me out you idiot, what do you mean ‘what gives?’ ??” You swing again, in an attempt to smother him with it.

“Stop, stop! Why do you and William even have these?”

He quickly moves to take the descending pillow and pushes you backwards, your arms swinging and scrambling around as if you were out in the beach swimming on a hot day, before falling on the bed with a springy bounce.

Mark hovers over you, a stupid grin on his face, you wanted so badly to smother it off of him.

“Well?” His head is tilted like a puppy, and you look away from him while crossing your arms.

“Its just a game me and Will like to play, okay? It’s ‘guess who’s Mark, the most guesses wins a milkshake’ or whatever.” You say through gritted teeth, and Mark plops right down beside you.

“Really? You guys make bets on us? Can I join?”

“Seriously?” You prop your phone up so the two of you can see, and the text bubbles on William are starting up, seeing as your scuffle with Mark had accidentally given him shakespearean words.

“Ghas” “Al0" “&@f”

William: what the hell are you saying

Truly poetic.

“You two were already starting before I came here?” His hair tickles your cheek, and you swipe it away.

“No, we were doing something else. But he already owes me three milkshakes if need be.” You say, smug and proud like you had just won something award worthy. But Mark only quirks a brow, putting a hand on your phone to scroll up on your messages.

“Bit obsessed with me, no?” He sounds so cocky, full of himself the more he reads through the chat. And you slap his forehead.

“Shut up. If you had to hang out with yourself for like, all your life, you’d know who’s you by now.”

Mark stops at one message, and his face scrunches.

“‘Bald on the sides Mark’?” He reads out loud you and William’s message, and you couldn’t help but snort. He moves his thumb a bit further up, his elbow lightly digging onto your chest and you let out a small ‘ow’, which he movies to fully take your phone from your grasp.

“This is-are you talking about Marco?” Mark says, baffled at your description of his sibling, albeit very amused. Bald at the sides. How . . . Creative. He adjusts his hold on your phone, his pinky playing at the charm you had attached to it.

“Yeah, Marco, Polo, whatever.” You grumble at him, smooshing your face on his shoulder while you watch Mark read through your messages with William like a hawk. Ensuring any unwanted and unsavory conversations you had with William would be safe from Mark’s nosy eyes.

You hear him snort, his chest moving quickly as you feel him laugh while his shoulders shake.

“ ‘The shining twins’??” Mark is full on belly laughing when he sees a picture of Noah and Marcel horribly edited together with the nickname William picked out for them. He has to put your phone down to calm himself before he’s hitting your shoulder weakly with a wheeze.

“God, you guys are great at naming things. Just remind me not to ask you two when someone asks for baby names.”

“It’s not that bad,” you try to argue, plucking your phone from his weight of laying on it.

“It so is. This could be considered bullying you know?”

“We are not bullying anyone. They don’t even know!”

“Yeah, for now.” He threatens, and takes a screenshot of your chat and opens up your photo album.

“Don’t you dare-“ Your hand squeezes at his wrist, and it weakens. Causing your phone to fall and plant on his face with a ‘thud’. You’re surprised it didn’t echo with how empty his head usually is.

Mark lets our a pained groan, your brick of a phone hitting his nose and teeth. You peel it off of him slowly, arm now propping yourself to look down at him, assessing the damage.

“God, I was bluffing,” He says remorsefully. He really shouldn’t have tested you.

You scoff when you see he’s fine, and pinch his cheek. “Now you know better than that. Can we please go out and eat with William now?”

Your puppy eyes aren’t anywhere comparable to Mark’s, but it was enough for him to give in and drop it. But only because your hand rested on his sternum, and he doesn’t know how much he can take you looking down at him with those eyes.

“Fine, fine.” He raises his hands in surrender and sits up. Hair now disheveled and clothes a lot more crinkled than when he had arrived.

“You’re paying for my order though. I didn’t bring extra money with me.”

“Ugh, you’re impossible.”

The walk to the cafe William was in wasn't too far. But long enough for you and Mark to continue on talking.

You spill your guts out on the streets for Mark to see and know, all about the small secrets you've had about him and his variants. He's amused, and sad. Not having been in on the joke even though it'd ruin the whole attraction of it.

The conversation drifts back to Marco, or bald on the sides as you had endearingly said.

He had a rebellious streak in comparison to the rest of them, but honestly they were all unruly in their own way. Marco just liked to express himself a lot more outwardly appearance wise.

"Man, I wish I could get some piercings too. An eyebrow would be cool, don't you think?" You say to Mark, and he only shakes his head.

"Dude, he did his piercings himself. The trips to the hospital because of his infections were not cool." "Hey, he did it himself. Of course i'd go to a professional." You cross your arms defiantly at his dismissive tone.

"Whatever, im just saying. You know?" "Are you suggesting I would look bad with it?"

"What? No! Im just trying to--ugh. What im trying to say, he's a bad influence, almost all of them are. And you wanting a piercing is just further proof of that." Mark said with a pout on his face, kicking a nearby rock.

"Mark," you nudge, pushing him slightly off balance. "They’re your family. Are you trying to say you're better than them?"

He’d grumble at your words, always grumbling when it came to you. He simply turns to look at you and pushed you with a force of a quarterback. Stupid jock.

“Hey!”

"Hey," You say back to William, who was gleefully sipping on his usual  frappuccino.

His smile instantly drops when he sees Mark following closely behind you, and his eyes quickly darts around for any familiar faces.

"No harem?" "Excuse me?" "Nope," You interrupt Mark, not sparing him a glance when he eyes you curiously.

William eyes you up and down, like a robot scanning for assessment, before he quickly sips at his drink.

"So," He starts, before Mark excuses himself for a moment. "So," You say along, eyes now watching him order the usuals you and he had, before meeting William's.

"You so told him, didn't you?" "Ugh, I did!" You exclaim, like a dramatic movie scene being acted out. And he only shakes his head in disapproval.

"Can't say im surprised, but I am disappointed." He takes another sip and offers you as a comfort, which you take with much thanks.

"I had to wrestle him for my phone, so don't say I didn't try." "Is that what those messages were? Are you sure you didn't do more than wrestling?" You take a hefty sip with a glare, and slide it back to him. He lets out an 'awe man' at the amount you had taken from his drink. "Don't be gross."

"Who's being gross?" Mark comes back with your caffeinated drinks in hand, and places yours just beside. He opens his hand and closes it repeatedly, before you groan and fish out some money from your wallet.

"Thank yew," He says, and does that quick yet awkward jog to the cashier and back to your table, before finally sitting back down.

"William's talking about having a fat crush on one of your variants." At that, he and Mark almost blow their drinks into splattering all over the table. "What? I do not!" He coughs.

"Yeah? What about Lover bo-" He smacks a hand to your mouth and Mark has still yet to properly recover.

"God I love inside jokes." You say, muffled from William's clammy hands.

a/n: ugh finally im done with this. i can finally work on the other variants of this au heh.. totally dont have a bias, looks over at mohawk mark. yea totally

[belliexpog]

The Flour Fight-B.E

Synopsis: Billie is a nightmare in the kitchen, which is because you do the cooking while Billie watches and tries to help. But one afternoon you try to change that by trying to teach the girl how to make her favorite dessert

Pair: B.E×F!Reader

Warnings: none.

Words: 4,2k

Style: Fanfic | Imagine | Headcanons

Credits: @cafekitsune

If there's one thing Billie doesn't know how to do, it's cook. She is a nightmare in the kitchen, putting too much salt in her food, or confusing black pepper with cinnamon, or simply burning her food. So, obviously you are the one cooking in that house, with a little soul behind you always watching you.

But not today. Today, you would teach Billie how to make her favorite dessert: your cookies. You mentally prepared yourself for disaster in the kitchen, but this was going better than usual.

"Okay, so now that the dough has rested and stretched, we're going to get a clean board...Get the white one please." Billie silently nodded and opened a drawer, taking out a light wooden board and placing it on the counter.

"What now?" Billie asks anxiously, looking at you. You smiled and placed the bag of flour in front of her.

"Let's put a little flour on the tray, so that when we take the tray out of the oven the cookies don't stick to the tray. Do you understand?" You explain, slowly and delicately placing the flour on the board.

Billie goes silent, no longer paying attention to what you were saying, but to you. You turn to look at her, and smile.

"You're staring."

"Sorry, I was trying to figure out how someone so annoying can be so hot." She replied, approaching with her smug smile.

You looked at her in disbelief, which made Billie's smile grow even wider. You slowly nodded and smiled mischievously.

"You know what else is annoying?" You ask, turning to face her with a mischievous smile.

"No...Tell me" Billie murmurs, placing a hand on your waist and squeezing lightly.

Without breaking eye contact, you reach into the bag of flour, grab a handful, and—before Billie can react—poof! You toss it right in her face.

She freezes. White powder covers her nose, cheeks, and hair. She blinks, completely stunned.

"You," you say sweetly, grinning.

Billie lets out a dramatic gasp, stepping back in shock. "You did not just do that."

"Oh, but I did. See, now you have white roots, it's almost completely rainbow in your hair."

Billie looks at you, still static - mouth half open and body still - and you laugh at the girl's figure.

"Okay, stay there while I-" You gasp, as you feel the white powder hit your face.

You hear Billie's shuddering laugh, and take a deep breath before grabbing another piece of flour and throwing it at the girl's face, shutting her up.

And that's how the kitchen quickly became full of flour, the two of you fighting with your faces and clothes covered in flour.

Until Billie, trying to attack you again, ended up slipping on the flour on the floor and fell on her butt, starting to laugh. Your laughter mingles, and you reach out a hand to help Billie to stand up.

"My ass hurts, fuck..." The girl complains, rubbing her tailbone. You let out another laugh, gently running your hand over her face, taking some of the flour.

"It's your fault. You're going to clean this all up!" You exclaim, feeling the girl's arms around your waist again.

"Oh, shut up!" The girl leans in, pressing her lips to yours. You grab the girl's face, returning the kiss, but when you feel a taste of flour, you pull away and shiver at the bad taste.

"You taste like flour, ew"

Billie gasps, hand over her heart. “Are you saying I taste bad? Wow. I’m wounded.”

You laugh, wiping some flour off your lips. “Yeah, well, you do. I think I just kissed a sack of raw dough.”

“Oh, that’s it.” Billie’s eyes narrow mischievously, and before you can react, she swipes her flour-covered fingers right across your lips.

“There,” she says smugly. “Now we both taste bad. Kiss me again.”

You scrunch your nose, swatting her hand away. “Absolutely not.”

She pouts dramatically, but you shake your head and turn back to the counter. “No more flour fights. We still need to make these cookies, and if we don’t finish them, I’m not letting you eat a single one.”

Billie gasps like you just told her the worst news of her life. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

Groaning, she reluctantly helps you, though not without causing more trouble. She keeps bumping into you “accidentally,” wrapping her arms around your waist while you’re rolling out the dough, and stealing cookie dough when she thinks you’re not looking.

And so your afternoon passed, in which you cooked, and Billie once again distracted you or just watched.

you ask, i do.

hope you liked it babies

xoxo

[deceit-and-knowledge]

ooc: SAGE AND RECLUSE TALK ABOUT NIGHTMARES 🗣️🗣️ + wholesome truthless 👀

then the group is off the diner in the cremé republic :D (because funny)

f: recluse! Pardon recluse.

t: hm?..

*is wearing a dark blue and black suit, it's not baggy like his usual attire, even his hair was put in a small pony tail*

f: ...!?

...my..!..r-recluse! You look fabulous!.. it's so nice to see you in something more fancy!

t: this feels odd.. but at least I look okay.. according to you..

Did you need something..?

f: ah well.. you..see-.. I had a terrible dream last night and I've been recommended to speak to you about it..

You are my friend afterall..

it was what I planned to discuss earlier before we were interrupted by getting ready..

t: ah.

Well. Go ahead. *Sits down*

f: well *pacing around, avoiding eye contact with the recluse due his "new weird feelings"* you see. I had a nightmare, in involved this monster that charged at me and then I met the new cookie that's hovering around and t-then they told me the monster represents my fears and insecurities and that if I remember correctly.. is that I've hurt someone with my words and own thoughts and I feel guilty, I'm worried over our friendship and my own fears over becoming a beast cookie..

... Who did I hurt..?

t: the beast. Your own disdain for "fate" and constantly fearing it will affect him after awhile, whilst I hate the beast, constantly being reminded of who you were and how much they'd hate to be you, would hurt. Especially when he already spoke to you about how you shouldn't hope and that he "hates himself". You're only making him hate himself more. It's just realistic.

f: ....oh...

t: but no one can prevent nor change the way you feel about your own potential future and who's affected by your own thoughts and words about yourself. The beast will be fine but you just have it on your subconscious that you've hurt him...

That wouldn't bother me but I'm not as kind as you.

f: nothing ever bothers you.. haha! Not when a silly nightmare I bet!

t: not anymore. I've grown so numb to the nightmares I experience but they affect my ability to rest that they just irritate me.

f: if it's not too personal.. what do you have nightmares about..

t: ....my friends. Their words of "pure vanilla cookie help us" are now nothing but a fleeting sting to my heart. I feel barely anything to it. I understand I failed everyone. I failed them especially but the constant reminders are tiring.

I just want to sleep one night without the reminders. They don't even really hurt anymore but I can't move past it. It's pathetic.

f: ...a..ah...... I'm... sorry for that....

....do you ever dream about the beast.

t: no.. my mind has thwarted that monster already. I simply do not fear it. However. I have dreamt about you once. 2 nights ago. I actually slept.

f: oh! What did we do?

t: it was merely dreaming about events that occured that day but I suppose it was better than reminders of my past before this.

f: heh-.. but..yes.. I had a terrible nightmare, it seems to get worse each time! Like.. my fear is growing..

Why would I be worried about us..why am I so worried about a maybe!?..

...why can't I make this stop..is my willpower that weak? Is this why I corrupted.. my mind couldn't take it?

t: *stands up and puts his hand on sages shoulder* it's normal to worry. It doesn't make you weak, don't think you are. Don't close yourself up like the beast did. I like how open you are about how you feel. I'm unable to do it myself, it's good to have a coach..

please stop worrying about hurting me or losing me because you "became a monster". I told you. I would still accept you regardless and be the guide you need back to who you are right now. I care about you, sage.

*the recluse gives sage a genuine smile, no weakness or force behind it as if it came straight from his cold heart, finally displaying some warmth despite the hurt inside he feels.*

f: .....i-i..!..

t: you are my friend. I don't express how much I care but I try to. I fed you today because I know you haven't eaten in 2 days... I gave you a crystal because I know you like trinkets and shiny things, I once gave you a vanilla orchid because you like them. I'm called a silent observer for a reason. I learnt things from looking and listening instead of talking.

f: ... R-recluse..i-i um..I.. I.. I'm.. I'm.

... Ugh..

t: ...are you okay?

f: it's just.. I have these...weird new feelings, they're quite bothersome but I'll get over them! Fret not!

t: alright.

f: ....

......

*hugs recluse then runs off* thanks for the chat my friend!

t: ..... You're...welcome..

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Sorry if you've already covered this, I'm rewatching some of the show thanks to a younger sibling watching it, and I'm wondering how you'd rewrite chloes s2 (and some part s3?) episodes.

Style Queen/ Queen wasp alone end on a confusing note since I can't really tell if they want chloe to be seen as "possibly redeemable", "starting redemption" or "choosing to still suck". Allegedly, from the wiki, the staff said that *supposedly* they'd always planned for chloe to be a character that, I quote " willingly refuses to change...pulls ppl into toxic relationships by having them focus on potential good rather than ongoing cruelty".

I know you choose to avoid following what the staff say, but I'm curious, how could chloe have been written if she was meant to show how some people choose not to change despite potential for good? Or how would a proper redemption go?.

Again sorry for the long ask and if you've already responded to similar questions. I really love your analysis posts!

I'm glad you like my stuff and never worry about asking something that's been asked before. It's no big deal for me to link previous posts and, if you missed it, others probably did, too!

I've talked about redeeming Chloé quite a bit, so I'll just link to my Chloe Deserves Better tag as that's got lots of posts to read if you so choose. I've only really discussed damnation at a high level, though, so let's dig into that as it is a valid path.

Before we begin, I'll note that I would not take this path in canon because I don't think it's appropriate for little kids who may relate to Chloé (thus me wanting this message to come from Gabriel who no kid will relate to). If Miraculous were a teen drama, then this would be a fine choice as teens and adults are able to handle more complex and nuanced plots. (Reminder, Miraculous' target age group starts at age five so that's how I gage what I would and wouldn't do in canon. For the main plot elements, you generally want to aim to the youngest viewers, not the oldest.)

Now that the disclaimer is out of the way, let's damn Chloé!

The big problem with Chloé's canon "damnation" is this:

they'd always planned for Chloe to be a character that, I quote "willingly refuses to change"

While this is the right way to approach a damnation, it is NOT how Miraculous approached Chloé. While it's true that she doesn't change, it's also true that no one really asks her to and that's an important part of a proper damnation arc. Rare indeed is the person who just magically changes all on their own. They generally need to have something driving their change and Chloé never got that.

To dig into this, let's talk about Despair Bear because Despair Bear is basically a mini version of Chloé's overall story.

What Canon Did Wrong

In Despair Bear, Chloé does something mean, leading Adrien to threaten their friendship:

Adrien:(sighs in disappointment) Chloé, how long have you and I been friends? Chloé: Since we were adorable little tots, Adrikins. (Pouts) Adrien:(disappointed) Well, I'm sorry Chloé, but I can't be friends with someone who treats other people like this. You've gotta be nice to people! Chloé: N-Nice? Adrien: Yes, nice. It's not that hard.

This threat makes Chloé freak out and start acting nice because she wants Adrien to stay her friend. That leads to this:

Chloé: I know. This way, no one can be mad at me for calling the fire department. I'm really nice now, did you notice, Adrikins? Even Ladybug said so! Didn't she, Jean-Pascal? Adrien: I'm proud of you, Chloé. I think you've proven that you're capable of making an effort to be nicer to everyone. Chloé: Aww, Adrikins! So we'll always be best friends, forever? Pinky swear? Adrien: Pinky swear! Chloé: (Exhales and saunters off) (To Kim) So, those macarons are dreadfully ugly. (Kim sighs.) (To Mylène.) Those are so greasy, you can see yourself in them. (Mylène cries and faint.) (To Marinette.) Urgh. Too disgusting for comment. (To Rose.) Those look horrible. (Rose faints.) Adrien: She'll never change!

This is the problem with saying that Chloé had a proper damnation arc. She does what Adrien asks, then reverts because he let her off the hook. He made surface level effort and, unsurprisingly, got surface level change. You can't go to the gym once and get muscles! If you want muscles, you have to keep going for weeks! Months even! Progress is slow!

The same is true for damnation arcs. To properly damn Chloé, Adrien needs to stick to his guns and hold her to a higher standard for more than a single episode so that she can demonstrate true unwillingness to change. That's not what canon gave us. After this episode, this conflict goes away and Adrien says nothing when Chloé hurts people. He's not even disappointed when Chloé reverts! He's totally cool with her being mean again. This is the face he makes when he says that she'll never change!

[Image description: Adrien smiling and laughing as Marinette makes a face at Chloé who is offscreen being mean.]

To be clear, it's not Adrien's job to change Chloé, but this episode made him her motivation and then took that motivation away so it's wrong to say that she refused to change when asked. She did change when asked and maintained that change for as long as she had to.

It's also important to note that change is a slow and messy process. If you want to help someone change, then you need to allow them grace as they work toward their goal while also having clear boundaries for what you won't tolerate. Chloé maintaining her niceness for one episode and then reverting isn't enough to actually damn her because it's too big an ask. For this damnation to work, Adrien has to think that Chloé is working to improve over multiple episodes with only the occasional slip up.

To show what that might look like, let's rewrite Despair Bear and give it some proper fallout.

Rewriting Despair Bear

Our new version of Despair Bear plays exactly like canon, but instead of Chloé reverting while Adrien is still there, she now only reverts after he's left. We're also changing the ending dialogue a bit:

Chloé: I know. This way, no one can be mad at me for calling the fire department. I'm really nice now, did you notice, Adrikins? Even Ladybug said so! Didn't she, Jean-Pascal? Adrien: I'm proud of you, Chloé. I think you've proven that you're capable of making an effort to be nicer to everyone. Chloé: Aww, Adrikins! So we'll always be best friends, forever? Adrien: Of course! As long as you keep being nice to my other friends, we'll be friends forever!

With this little change, we let Adrien stick to his guns. Chloé now knows the rules she must follow if she wants Adrien to be her friend. She has also proven that she knows what following those rules looks like. This leads to an arc where Chloé is nicer to everyone, but only when Adrien is around. As soon as he leaves, she's back to her old ways. This shows that she truly doesn't care about changing and culminates in a moment where Adrien catches her in the act, then confronts her about it. This gets us something like this:

Adrien: Chloé! I thought you were going to be nicer? Chloé: I am being nicer! Adrien: But only when I'm around. Chloé: Of course, why would I be nice when you're not around? Adrien: Because you want to be a nicer person? Chloé: And why would I want that?

The dialogue will go on to make it clear that Chloé has no interest in changing and so Adrien cuts her off because he can't trust her anymore. This will lead to a scene with Plagg where we get something like this:

Adrien: I don't understand, Plagg. Why does Chloé want to be mean? Plagg: I don't know kid. But I do know that you can't make people change. Until she's ready to try, there's not much you can do.

This lesson will also be supplemented by Queen Bee's story.

Queen Bee Rework

I think we can all agree that Chloé's first appearance as Queen Bee was a total disaster! She was selfish and petty, proving that she was totally unsuited to owning a miraculous. This is a great way to show that Chloé isn't hero material! The problem is that she got a second chance to be a hero and that second chance completely undid the initial message.

Chloé's first time as Queen Bee was a fluke. She found a miraculous and misused it, but it's worth noting that no one asked her to use it to be a true hero. No one pushed her to be a better person. As soon as the miraculous came from Ladybug, Chloé started acting like a hero. This reframes the message to be that someone needs to believe in Chloé for her to be a hero instead of keeping the message that Chloé just isn't meant to be a hero. To make Queen Bee work in a damnation arc, Chloé needs to be a bad hero no matter how she gets her miraculous.

This is how I'd rework the Queen Bee arc to make that happen.

First of all, Chloé no longer outs herself to the world. Instead, she uses the miraculous selfishly, but maintains her secret identity from everyone but Ladybug and maybe Chat Noir. We're going to pair this with the civilian side of things. Marinette knows that Adrien wants Chloé to be a better person and Marinette loves Adrien, so she tries to help by letting Chloé stay Queen Bee even though Marinette doesn't think Chloé is a good pick.

Chloé proves Marinette right. Every time Chloé gets the bee, she's more focused on looking good for the cameras and being seen as Ladybug's friend than she is on saving the day. This will culminate in Miraculer, the episode where Chloé rejects an akuma. In the new timeline, this will be how Gabriel learns Queen Bee's identity, but only Chloé and Gabriel know that this happened. Chloé now has a very hard choice to make: does she act like a hero and tell Ladybug that she can't be Queen Bee again or does she keep the identity reveal a secret so that she can stay Queen Bee?

Chloé picks Queen Bee.

The season three final comes along and Chloé gets akumatized while Queen Bee. This only happens because Gabriel was able to manipulate her by putting her parents at risk. This is also how Ladybug learns about the identity reveal, meaning that Miracle Queen is 100% on Chloé and not Marinette.

We're also changing the fallout. Instead of Miracle Queen revealing the identities of the temp heroes, it's now how Gabriel finds Master Fu to completely remove all blame from Marinette's shoulders. The Adrigami fight goes away and the message becomes all about Chloé and her choices. If Chloé had been a true hero, none of this would have happened, properly damning her.

After that, I'd either remove Chloé from the show or let this be the thing that finally makes her change. Her extreme low point where she finally realizes that actions have consequences, leading her to want to change, but that's hard to do because she's burned all her bridges so she has to build some new ones. Not totally sure how I'd let her do that. Maybe have her take down Lila or use Zoe to redeem Chloé since Zoe is an outsider who hasn't been burned. There are a lot of options.

The Audrey Complication

I didn't address the issue of Chloé's mom in my rework because, if the goal is to damn Chloé, then I'd probably cut Audrey as there's no reason to make Chloé that sympathetic if you're not going to use that sympathy. You can still keep Audrey and damn Chloé, you just have to acknowledge that Chloé's situation is keeping her from changing. It's nice complexity, just not necessary and probably a little too much for Miraculous' indented audience. There's also the option to save the Audrey reveal until after Miracle Queen. That's the route I'd go if I was redeeming Chloé after Miracle Queen as I don't want to get into her backstory until it's time to start making her sympathetic.

If you keep Audrey and plan to totally damn Chloé, then I'd cut my suggested conversation with Plagg and Adrien and replace is with Adrien talking to a human character. My ideal choice for this is Luka. I like to change it up so that he and Jagged Stone have a complicated relationship, but that Jagged never fully abandoned Luka. Jagged was just on the road a lot and kept Luka a secret for his own protection, all of which gave Luka some issues that he had to work through when he was younger. This would help explain why he's so chill now. Therapy is a hell of a drug.

This means that Luka has been through the kind of things Adrien and Chloé are going through and can speak to them from a place of understanding. He can acknowledge how hard it will be for Chloé to change because of her parents' abuse while also acknowledging that her victim status doesn't mean that people need to let her hurt them. This is actually how I use Luka is a Chloé redemption, but it works just as well in a damnation as the message is the same no matter which path you take.

As you probably noticed, all of this requires some level of serialization because of course it does! Damnation arcs aren't something you can do in 20 minutes. They have to be given room to breathe which is why it's a terrible idea to do a damnation arc or a redemption arc if you're not allowed to have plots that span multiple episodes. You can do them in episodic shows, it just needs to be the type of episodic show where the episode-specific plots are episodic, but there are strong overarching sub-plots that are allowed to be serialized.

[ratinacoat]

how do you feel about the concept of a "median" - someone in the space between full DID/OSDD and every day dissociation (highway hypnosis)? the way i see it is that it's kinda like the idea of a boundary between normality, maybe? like subclinical DID/OSDD. i'm not too sure about it though

I'm clarifying this before starting bc I know people have their own definitions for the word and I'm using my specific one for this. When using the word "system" here, it is as a way to describe having multiple distinct dissociated parts (DID) or having multiple distinct parts with less amnesia/amnesia with less distinct parts (OSDD-1) This will also be a long post bc I needed to go into detail about why I don't think this is being a system but I put a TL;DR at the bottom as always!

Anyway. there is a space between highway dissociation and DID/OSDD-1. It's a very wide space actually, it's the dissociative spectrum. This kind of shows how that looks.

There's a large space in between every day dissociation and DID. The theory of structural dissociation helps explain the distinction between them all.

People with PTSD have something called an emotional part (EP) along side an apparently normal part (ANP). The EP helps keep the trauma from constantly affecting the person and the ANP is a more grounded state that helps the person continue in their every day life. The more complex the disorder gets, the more complex this gets. Someone with C-PTSD, BPD, and OSDD (not just OSDD-1) will have multiple EPs and one ANP. Someone with DID will have multiple ANPs as well as multiple EPs. The parts in the case of DID will be more distinct, and in OSDD-1 they will either be less distinct with amnesia or have a lack of amnesia but more distinction.

I can't find the pic I usually use to simplify this so I drew it. Excuse my handwriting.

Because of how DID is multiple ANPs but none of the others are, there's no real way to be in between this and still have distinct parts (alters) other than OSDD-1, which you said is also included on the explanation of a "median". However, you can be in between in general. You just can't have alters. BPD, OSDD-2/3/4, C-PTSD, and other disorders that fall on the spectrum can cause identity confusion which might be confused as alters, but the distinction between the dissociated parts is what makes DID and OSDD so different along side just generally different symptoms. A DD in between highway dissociation and DID in a way that's comparable by experience, has distinction between parts, more than one ANP, amnesia between parts, and generally fits the criteria for DID is just DID. If it's missing distinction or amnesia it's just OSDD-1. If it doesn't fit this criteria or it's just identity confusion + dissociation, it's not DID or OSDD-1 and it's another issue.

I don't know if medians are considered endogenic or under that umbrella, but if it is that just wouldn't be possible. Without having the trauma that causes the dissociation to become maladaptive and more severe/complex, you couldn't be in between highway dissociation and DID in a way that would make you able to compare the two in experience unless you're really reaching. DID is far more than feeling like a different person sometimes, wanting to go by different names, gender/prns/sexuality changing, etc. Hell I got asked if I experienced that stuff when getting assessed for autism. A non-trauma caused issue will not be so similar to DID that it falls between DID and highway dissociation.

TL;DR To sum it up, I can understand how someone self reporting could mistake something else for DID/OSDD-1 but I don't think this qualifies as being a system because of the lack of distinction and amnesia that makes DID/OSDD-1 what it is. There's no way to be in between multiple ANPs and EPs without just fitting under a different DD that doesn't make someone a system or OSDD-1 which you stated is included in being "in between".

Also, If you believe yourself to be a median system please do not brush it off just bc that description is not recognized by professionals. If you are experiencing the symptoms of a dissociative, trauma, or personality disorder in such a severe way that it's comparable to DID, there is an actual issue that needs to be addressed even if it's not the answer you thought it was. Getting help and healing from your trauma is more important than being right. If you were wrong about being a system that's okay, if the friends you made from it are truly your friends they will understand and support your pathway to recovery.

[kewlkitty]

Why as a society are we so mean?

Hey everybody!! Welcome to my blog (*≧∪≦) today, I'm gonna be talking about something on my mind that id love if you can use some of ur attention span on. These past few my personality has been glitching. One day I was writing suicide notes and the next day I was laughing with my mom watching a tv show with her. I think the reason my mood changes so quickly is because I get tormented by a family member that once she moved in changed my perspective on life changed. Before she moved in I felt more empathy too others and would be more kinder. When she moved in she was so mean to me which made me mean to the world. It's funny how that works, it's like a constant loop: if someone is being to you then you will be mean to the world then the world will be mean. I guess I feel like she's controlled my opinions so much by her judgement I don't feel in control of myself anymore. But I want to regain all the power she took over me. I feel really bad for her: she doesn't understand the feeling of yearning to be a good person. She's been bullied and neglected and the thought of being nice too others doesn't feel like an option too her. I wish she could know she has control over her action and the people she's around. I want to hug her even though I hate being touched and the thought of touching her makes me scared and uncomfortable. But I just feel so bad even though she's done such terrible things to me. I want to be the bigger person, too change myself into being a nice girl whose aura shines bright whenever I walk into a room. So I'm gonna list all the things I want too change about myself (^o^)／

1. Stop being do quick too judge. You don't know anybody situation or why they are like that

2. Stop saying slurs (a lot of the people I hang out with say them and I picked up the habit)

3. Surround yourself with people who understand you too your core and still support you no matter what happens

4. Stop and think before you speak. Is the joke your about to make offensive? If so don't say it.

5. Distance yourself from passive aggressive, judgemental, narcissistic people. you pick up habits from the people you surround yourself with.

6. Don't judge people off the way they express themselves (you wouldn't want that too happen to you)

7. Stop acting on temporary emotions. You're anger/sadness is not worth your life or friendships.

8. Let yourself feel empathetic. People lack sympathy now a days and you would want someone too comfort you in your dark moments.

9. Be yourself. Once you have enough confidence too be yourself any negativity that comes your way will feel like alchemized energy. You'll be too happy to care.

10. Stop caring if other people are gonna make fun of you. They are just miserable people who can't help themselves because of their past trauma.

[eyetoothcharalampos]

Octavinelle with a Goth!styled reader

Warnings : teasing, bullying, weird stereotypes

If you have minors dni in your bio - dni with this post as this writer is a minor

Azul Ashengrotto:

Well he's met many Goth people throughout his life, but never has he seen one at NRC

The reason you even caught his eye was because of the bullying you received for your very unique looks

He heard names like 'you sacrifice animals' and just bullshit like that

Hence why to him, you were perfect for a deal! You were alone and vulnerable, he had to immediately get you

However you didn't fall for it, which made him extremely intrigued

He saw then how really the comments didn't affect you, you didn't care what others say, you never do, you cared more about enjoying yourself and being happy

Your goth style also changed, you had so much creativity and you expanded through with it and he was impressed

Jade leech :

He enjoys your confidence, your style and all, he thinks it's pretty extremely pretty

However he sometimes wishes he has the same confidence as you do..

Floyd leech :

How unique you are, appearing at NRC like that, not many goths are seen at the school

To say you grabbed his attention is an understatement, he likes how different you look from the others

Almost as unique as a new mushroom he finds during his club activities

He likes to tease you along with his brother, finding your reactions amusing

If you wear makeup, he's interested on how you look without it because he's only ever used to the pale and black all over

Although you get bullied by a few people over your style, crazy assumptions being made, you still stand up for yourself!

Your dedication to your style and music, makes him interested and will want to learn about it of course he doesn't ask you because everything comes for a price doesn't it?

Congrats! You made him very curious about you! Now you may have a trailing eel behind you who will want to learn about your sense of style and music

Oh he's exicted, he loves unique styles and yours is very unique to him!

He doesn't really have a style yet, he's exploring so when you first meet him, he's all up in your ear wanting to learn

He's interested in trying out goth, meeting someone who is makes it more fun!

You still aren't safe from him squeezing you

He understands you get bullied, but does he help? Nah

Seeing you take it was amusing and also he couldn't be bothered to even try and defend you

But you seemed confident even after that, not caring what others say of you and showing really that their words don't affect you at all, he likes that

Due to his interest in different styles, when he goes out, he will ask (no he wont) for you to do his makeup or help with his outfit

So overall he adores the new change! Especially if you dress that way attending NRC!

[11queensupreme11]

Ok, I've been rereading your asks, and I gotta say percy sounds like a bad mom. She indulges in all her kids, allowing them to murder and do whatever they want, I get with the males she has less power, but the girls... like luisine has a whole floor to herself and her treasure, she openly steals from whoever she wants, she has many people and servants killed. I mean, at some point, you gotta disown them, right? Also, for her to her kids that torture and murder and drive people insane, like I said gotta disown and throw out. Percy is a hero, right? Wouldn't she know to kill a monster when she sees one. I mean, I know she raised them.. idk it just feels like she's a failure of a mom. I'm not trying to be rude, and if I am, I apologize it just been sitting in my head for a hot minute. Like, what if percy basically tried to disown her kids and told her Yan husband(s) that she does not want them in her home. How would that go? Idk. Maybe she could punish them? Make them servants so they can be in their places or turn them into humans as punishment to make them see through a humans pov. I was gonna do this in alt but I wanna know if this was the wrong kind of question to ask you. If it was I'm sorry.

this isn't rude dw!!!!!! this is actually a concern of hers in midnight morphine (probably in a chapter about the beelcy kids tbh)

in our standards, yes absolutely percy would be a pretty shit mom. like, yeah she's trying her best and she loves her kids..... but holy shit some of these kids are just downright MONSTERS and she needs to fucking cut them off. even the lesser bad ones like luisne, as you mention, have insane temper tantrums and call on her father and brother to get ppl killed for the littlest of things. for us, that's downright insane and even though percy doesn't LIKE what luisne's doing, she's clearly not punishing her enough (or just cutting her off entirely). and that's just LUISNE. who's not even as bad as the others 💀💀💀💀

percy's main struggles is that she can't raise her godly children as if they're human. but taking care of human kids is what she's used to. morality is what she's used to. basic human decency is what she's used to. but her kids aren't human, they're gods as she has to raise them as such but how the heck does she do that??? she may be a goddess, but her mentality/values/beliefs/way of life and thinking is very much still human

for us, if our kids kill someone, they're usually well... sent to jail. you can plead for a lighter sentence, cry out in court that your baby's innocent, etc. but most of the time, they're sent to jail. and that's a good enough punishment.

for percy, nobody gives a shit if her kids kill someone, least of all, someone that they believe to be "inferior" (ie. a lesser species, a servant, a lesser god, demon, angel, etc.) 💀💀💀 no one there gets sent to tartarus for murder, they're usually taken there because they pissed off a high-ranked god and they don't have an equally powerful or more powerful god to back them up 💀💀 so punishing her kids lie solely on percy cuz godly society's not gonna do it, the yan daddy's not gonna do it; punishing her kids is a responsibility that she's put on herself and other gods won't understand why cuz "so what if your kid killed so-and-so??? why push yourself to punish them for something so light?"

there's also an issue in fairness when it comes to the punishments. like the beelcy kids 💀 there's literally nothing anyone can do to actually make them good ppl. they're the children of the devil, it's quite literally in their nature to be awful. they can NEVER be good. what does percy do with that? disown all of her kids with beelzebub? or maybe just not punish them at all? cuz punishment's used to change behavior, but there's nothing she can do to change them. punishment is pointless, so does she just stop? but what about her other kids? she scolds and punishes them for killing, but doesn't give the same treatment to the beelcy kids? or if she disowns the beelcy kids cuz she knows punishment/scolding will never work so it's pointless, but does she do the same with the other kids or does she give them more time to change since they're actually capable of it? but that's not fair either cuz she just disowned the beelcy kids for one kill, but the others get a few more chances???? you get the gist 💀

basically, it's just percy vs amorality again like in arsenic blues. the thing about gods is that they're amoral, not moral or immoral, but just amoral. they're unconcerned with the rightness or wrongness of something. they just DO what they want because they quite literally can. percy's struggling to teach her kids that "hey, don't kill people because that's a horrible thing to do!!!" but that only works if the person has morals to begin with 💀

anyway, IF she were to disown her kids for something terrible they did, they still would not understand why it matters 😭 they killed someone and mother was upset? they would absolutely apologize and be sincere with it... but only because they upset their mother. the death of the person means nothing to them. it's akin to you stepping on an ant and someone crying and yelling at you for it. it's just an ant, why get so emotional over it?

they would need a sense of morality to understand why what they did was wrong, and since they're amoral, they won't get it 💔💔💔

[itsnesss]

Dark sensei wolf? I can't get enough.

Maybe Miyago-Do reader and he corners her while she's training in the gym of the hotel during the competition? Possessive?

𝐧𝐨 𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞 | sensei wolf × fem!reader

summary | in the midst of the sekai taikai tournament, you find yourself training alone in the hotel gym when wolf corners you, his presence overwhelming. what begins as a simple encounter quickly turns into a battle of control and desire, as he refuses to let you escape

warnings | dark!wolf, possessive, intense sexual tension, manipulation, forceful touching, power dynamics

word count | 0.9 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The night had fallen over the hotel where the Sekai Taikai tournament was taking place. The bustle of the event still resonated in other parts of the complex, but the hotel gym remained quiet, except for the muffled sound of your fists hitting the punching bag. It was the only thing you could do to clear your mind after a day filled with confrontations, strategies, and the constant pressure of knowing everything was about to culminate in a decisive fight. You weren’t thinking about anyone else, just training and perfecting the moves you needed for the next round.

Sweat ran down your forehead as you repeated punch after punch. Strike after strike, as if each one was a burst of frustration, a way to leave behind everything that distracted you from what mattered most. The weight of the gym and the feel of your gloves were like a barrier between you and the outside world.

But then, something changed. A soft sound, barely perceptible, as if someone had entered the room. At first, you didn’t hear it, but something in the air shifted. The atmosphere became heavy. A slight crunch under their feet, and then… the sensation of being watched. You turned your head slightly, and there he was. Only a few meters away, with his intense gaze fixed on you.

Somehow, his presence enveloped you, surrounded you without him making a single movement. You knew he was watching you, as he always did, but something felt different this time. Something dark, something that made you stop in the middle of your training, not even knowing why.

You turned slightly toward him, but you tried to hide the knot forming in your stomach. Why did he always manage to make you feel this way? You didn’t want to admit it, but you couldn’t stop feeling his gaze burning into your skin, relentless, demanding.

"You’re still training at this hour," he said, his deep voice filling the air with a tone you couldn’t ignore. "I thought you’d be done by now."

You turned fully toward him, trying to conceal the nervous tension building inside. Why did he always have this effect on you? You didn’t want to engage in any conversation, any distraction. You just wanted to train. But that was what he did. He was the distraction, the temptation you couldn’t control.

But, as always, he wouldn’t let you escape so easily. In a few swift steps, he was beside you, too fast for your body to react. His hand landed on the punching bag, stopping your movement with cold, calculated pressure. The contact of his skin against yours sent a shiver down your spine.

"Do you think you can train here and avoid me?" he whispered, his body so close now that you could feel his breath on your skin. "You know I won’t let you get away that easily. I’ve been watching you, every one of your movements, like I always do. Have you forgotten who’s really in charge?"

You looked at him, and although you wanted to maintain your composure, there was something in his tone, something in his gaze that made you hesitate. The way he spoke to you, as if he couldn’t tolerate you distancing yourself, as if his presence was meant to dominate you. It was impossible to ignore.

"I don’t belong to you," you said, more like a warning than a truth.

He smiled, that arrogant smile that always unsettled you. He moved a little closer, standing just inches away now. You could feel his breath on your face, warm and controlled, as if he had all the time in the world to play with your nerves.

"No, you don’t belong to me," he admitted softly, "but you’re on my turf now. And here, there’s no room for anyone else. You know that, right?"

The weight of his words hit you, and your mind clouded for a moment. You knew what he was suggesting wasn’t just a threat. It was a power game, a reminder of what he was capable of. What he was willing to do to make sure you stayed where he wanted you.

Without warning, his hands gripped your waist, pulling you toward him. The gesture was so unexpected that you almost lost your balance. He held you with a strength you couldn’t ignore, immobilizing you in front of him.

"You know you can’t escape," he murmured, his voice now lower, almost a whisper. "I’ve been watching you the whole time. And I know exactly what you need. Don’t pretend. Don’t make me waste any more time."

You couldn’t avoid it. The heat radiating from his body, the intensity in his eyes… it all made you feel trapped. You knew what he wanted, and you knew it wasn’t something that could easily be avoided. He didn’t settle for less than total surrender. He wasn’t going to let you go, not while he was in that hotel, not while he was close.

His hands slowly slid to your shoulders, and when you looked up at him, his face was so close to yours that you could feel his breath on your lips. He was playing with the distance, with control. He wanted to see you give in, to acknowledge that you couldn’t fight him, his presence, what was beginning to unravel between you two.

"What we’re doing here," he said, barely a whisper, "isn’t a game, you understand?"

Nervously, you tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, becoming more possessive. There was no way to break free, not without doing what he wanted. And in that moment, you knew. You were trapped.