#there should be more rouge content

[tonycries]

Something Stupid - G.S.

Synopsis. Five times the strongest would rather díe than tell you he loves you, and the one time he almost does. Almost.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, friends-to-lóvers, canon fix-it, PINING, dry-húmping, face-sítting (fem receiving), creampíe, overstím, PÚSSYDRUNK GOJO, ríding him until he whínes, no smút until they’re adults obvs, slight ángst, manga spoilers, found family, THE HAPPY ENDING WE DESERVE, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 9.6k

A/N. Tumby lemme post this pwease? What canon? This is the only canon I know.

“Catch me if you-”

Sixteen-year-old Gojo Satoru doesn’t have the privilege of finishing his sentence - hell, he doesn’t even have the privilege of standing, apparently.

Because in the blink of an eye, his back is hitting the soft grass of Jujutsu Tech, followed very shortly by a bewildered you. Foreheads knocking together, your hands grabbing at his broad shoulders, his own wrapping around your waist for some sense of stability.

Years later, Gojo tells everyone that would listen - and anyone that won’t - that life became just a bit brighter ever since you crashed into his life that day - literally. 

But right now, he’s opening his mouth to spit an irritated, “Watch it!”

It’s the first words you ever say to him, a shrill - almost hysterical - “Huh? No, you watch it-”

“Nuh uh, you-” Head spinning, shades skewed, it takes Gojo a few seconds to screw his bleary eyes open to the sudden newcomer straddled on top of him. And a few more to register that no, he wasn’t in heaven and hey, that uniform looks familiar. And, unfortunately, not even a split-second longer to breathe out something stupid, “I…I think I love y-”

“You stupid, moronic- wait what?”

The next few words out of his mouth are just as bad as the last ones, if not worse. Because yes he knows - for once in his life - that maybe he should just stop talking. He knows that even a moment longer with you is gonna turn his mind into more of a melty, honeyed mess than Six Eyes ever could. 

Which is exactly what he blames when jumbling out a garbled, “Dinner tomorrow?” Wincing, Gojo swallows them back almost as quickly as he wished he was swallowed up by Geto’s rainbow dragon instead. 

To your credit, you look a lot less bumbling than the strongest currently pinned underneath you. That look of annoyance on your pretty features melts into something of concern. And before he can dig a deeper hole for himself, you’re raising the back of your hand to splay out across his forehead.

“I didn’t think you hit the ground that hard but-” you raise a brow, head tilting to the side. “-I think you’ve got a concussion.”

Oh, yeah he’s definitely in heaven - that or actually concussed. Maybe both.

A low whistle sounds from his right - and soon enough he’s staring at the shoes of the other first-year he’d met just today. Low bangs hanging over his face, jostling with light cackles, “Haven’t they told you not to confess your undying love until at least the second date, Gojo?”

Nevermind, he was in hell.

“Ieri!” Geto turns towards the other girl, who was busy typing away on her phone. But Gojo could’ve sworn he heard the shutter of a camera coming from her way. “He was flown out of bounds, that’s gotta count as one point for me, right? And another for the pretty girl. You keepin’ score?”

She only sighs, “No.”

What’s a first day at high school without a duel between two of the proudly self-proclaimed strongest? And, of course, you - the fourth addition to their little group, hastily scrambling off of Gojo’s lap at the jeering laughter from above. 

Dammit. 

Later, he might apologize for running headfirst into you - might. Ignoring the pointed giggles, and the burning rouge at the very tip of his ears, to find out your name. And to make up some stilted excuse about how that was completely the concussion talking and he totally wasn’t serious about having dinner so please, please, please don’t snitch to Yaga about the impromptu matches taking place on school grounds…unless? 

But for now, Gojo’s only lazily turning to look up at Geto, bringing a hand up to squint against the harsh sun beating down. Or, at least, that’s what it was meant to look like - “Technique amplification: Blue!”

He only hopes the property damage isn’t as high as what his poor heart had just gone through. Detention with Yaga be damned - and if by some grace of the universe he actually does end up escaping before he’s caught then, well, he’ll actually ask you out to dinner tomorrow. 

---

Gojo Satoru is almost eighteen when he thinks that not even the Gojo family’s most expensive insurance will cover whatever curse you’ve casted on his poor heart.

You’re both well into the second year, and by now he’d been to twelve different doctors, five shamans, and Principal Yaga himself before Geto smacked him upside the head. 

“Satoru, you complete imbecile-”

“Hey!” He fights out of his best friend’s grasp around the scruff of his uniform, crossing his arms over his chest with a whine, “I’ll have you know that I got the highest exam score last week, and I cheated only a little bit-”

Geto cuts him off with a sigh, wearily pinching the bridge of his nose, “No- you idiot. What do you mean you went to Yaga to girl-talk with him about your crush.” And when Gojo’s mouth falls slack, he’s smirking, “Oh- my bad, I meant your love-”

It’s said that Gojo’s gasp echoed all throughout the wooden corridors of the school - maybe even the entire grounds. Hotly, he’s sputtering out broken little excuses, “I don’t- what do you-” Before turning away to cool the burning of his sweetly rosy cheeks, “You’re the imbecile for spewing out such nonsense, Suguru.”

“Are you sure?” Geto turns to get a better look at the way those pretentiously expensive glasses fail to cover even the half of it. He’s never been able to, when it comes to you. “Because that’s quite literally the first thing you said to her-”

“I had a concussion!”

“After she touched you?” 

And for perhaps the first time in the years he’s been wreaking havoc on Earth, Gojo is speechless. A welcome change for Geto, who mulls over in the silence while they loiter - very much missing whatever mission was assigned right now. 

“I…” he starts, voice small. Pathetic, even. “...was concussed.” And before Geto can let out the same frustrated, dragged-out groan he often does whenever he’s around the two of you, Gojo’s plowing on, “But if I did lo- like her - hypothetically speaking - how would I even tell her?”

Usually, the other’s first reaction would be to tease his best friend. But at this moment he sounded so…young, painfully sincere in a way that was so disgustingly un-Gojo-like that he can’t help but cringe.

“Well, Satoru.” he muses, throwing a hand around his shoulder. “You just gotta…tell her my man. Preferably before that big mission coming up because I am not dragging your moping self around.”

He rolls his eyes, scoffing, “Gee, thanks. I’ll totally get on that tomorrow.”

“You’re welcome.”

BANG!

Yaga’s voice bellows, “Can you two stop doing this outside my office!”

And as much as Gojo hates to admit it, Geto was right - he usually was. 

Well - perhaps not about the love part, but subconsciously, he found himself seeking out every tiny moment with you. Every second by your side - ignoring the other two bothers - was a new opportunity to just tell you. To break that thick solitude inside your little bubble with those little words. Ones that would go and spoil it all. 

Not to be dramatic, but Gojo almost made a game out of it. Mouthing out the words whenever your back was turned - it started from “Dinner tomorrow?” to “I like you.” to something stupid that only gave Shoko aneurysms. 

And, expectedly, “tomorrow” doesn’t happen to be tomorrow. 

Tomorrow isn’t in your next class, or whatever mission Gojo tags along with you for “moral support.” Tomorrow isn’t the cozy little detention the two of you attend after catching Yaga’s interpretive dance routine - “that’s the scariest thing I’ve ever seen- even more than any curse.” you whisper fearfully to him, and he thinks he might just blurt it out right then and there.

Tomorrow isn’t when he’s just about to leave on some confidential mission with Geto, bidding you goodbye with a roll of his eyes and a hug he pretends he doesn’t like as much as he actually does. Tomorrow isn’t even when he’s baking in Okinawan sun, or strewn out bloodied and left for dead on the very grounds he met you on. 

But oh how he wishes it was.

In that moment, incapacitated by Toji Fushiguro, and wondering where it went wrong, he thinks of you. Gojo thinks he’ll always remember you in every moment, and especially when they’re his last.

The Star Plasma Vessel mission and its aftermath takes up most of his mind afterward, even when he didn’t want it to. And all he can remember about tomorrow comes only a few months later, when an ashen-faced Gojo Satoru slams open the rickety door to your dorm.

“G-Gojo?” you sputter, sitting up in your bed. But before you can even think of reaching him, he’s crossed your floor in a few long strides. “Are you ok- mmpf!”

In an instant, he’s splaying out on your mattress, legs dangling off the end, strong arms wrapped tightly around your waist. 

Your first instinct is to snap something snarky - but every tease at the very tip of your tongue vanishes when he buries his head into your lap. And you feel something wet, something drench though your skirt heatedly. 

“Is…” you’re gulping thickly. “Is everything okay, Satoru?”

Ah, his name sounds too perfect on your tongue. 

“Suguru…” Is all he shudders out wetly, jittery hands looping even more vice-like around your figure. “He-”

It’s just about the only thing he can get out, and it’s just about everything you need to hear before bringing his shivering body closer. Quiet. Steady. Rocking the strongest gently, while you hum a wordless melody. “S’alright. S’gonna be okay.”

Now, he thinks. Now now now now - tell her. Tell her. But when a tear of your own stains his shirt, he knows. Hauling you in even deeper to his chest, he prays you don’t hear his thundering heart. Perhaps tomorrow. 

---

Gojo is twenty-one by the time he’s dragging you hand-in-loveable-hand through the winding hallways of an apartment in the heart of Tokyo. Mumbling excited little mutters, and almost tripping over his own feet with how fast he was navigating the corridors. 

“Sato- S-Sato-” you’re squealing out, grimacing at the tugging burn of your hands in his. “Toru! Where are you- taking me?” 

Sheepishly, he looks at you over his shoulder, “Whoops, did I forget to tell you- I have kids!”

He doesn’t know what’s louder - your shocked shout of “What? When?...By who?” or the screeching of his own two shoes skidding to a halt in front of that familiar door. 

“Well, they’re not mine.” Gojo sighs ultimately, with a hand at the door. And that makes you quieten down just enough to hear his barely-audible little whisper. Determined. Reverent, almost. “But they’re mine.”

And when he finally opens the door, just one look at the tiny, black-haired little boy and his sharp scowl is all you need to understand. You’re whirling your eyes back to his beaming gaze, oh, Satoru.

Only mere moments later the two of you - accompanied by a very begrudging Megumi, and his sister - sit by the booth of one of your favorite cafés. Embarrassingly, he finds himself sighing while watching you crack jokes with the little girl. Turning to the server to order for her - it almost felt like a little family. Oh you’d make such a perfect mother. A completely objective observation, of course. Completely. Unless- 

“You’ll never do it.” a tug on his sleeve has him facing Megumi’s leveled stare. How the hell does a kid manage to look like he’s seen the monstrosities of the world already? Gojo blames the father.

Baring his teeth, “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Little did he know that all it took was watching him seethe whenever the waiter by your side was just a bit too talkative, a bit too lingering with his gaze. In his little reverie, Gojo had accidentally croaked out a low, “I-” before you’d turned those pretty eyes his way, only to choke back embarrassingly on every syllable. Gesturing at you to ignore his little mishap. 

“Tell her, I mean.” Megumi hums. Taking a wizened sip of his milkshake, “She’ll date that waiter before you if you don’t tell her.”

“That’s so…so stupid.” Gojo whispers back hotly. “I will tell her.”

“Will not.”

“Will too.”

“Will not.”

“Will-” 

“Boys!” Your scolding tone makes them both jump - mainly Gojo, however, caught off-guard. Who scratches behind his neck when you wag a finger admonishingly, “Stop arguing, we’re in public. Now, as for payment-” Before turning back politely to the waiter.

“See?” Megumi counters, back to appraising the last of his cupcake. “You’re such a loser.”

Gojo’s gaze, however, stray back your way, as he found them often doing these days. Only to find them already on him, scrunched into crescents with a smile and twinkling so bright that he could almost catch his idiotic gawking in them. 

Very pointedly he ignores the knowing roll of Megumi’s eyes, the exact type he’s seen too much with Shoko, and Nanami, and Utahime, and Yaga - and every single being to come into contact with his almost-tangibly hopeless feelings for you.

Instead, slamming that shiny new black card of his down in front of him - with enough fervor that the tabletop jostles, and you jolt out of your conversation with the waiter. 

“I’ll be the one paying for myself, and my two kids and-” His burning eyes drink in every shred of surprise on your features. “-my wife.”

Somewhere in the distance, Gojo can hear Tsumiki giggle, and Megumi smack a hand onto his forehead. But right now he’s too busy remembering the exact degree to which your lips curl up, the way you hold back a laugh at the waiter’s jaw dropping. Nevermind the fact that the two of you were way too young to have two kids of this age. 

“He was getting a bit pushy.” you’d conspire afterwards, now completely full and fatigued after a long day. “Thanks for that, Toru.”

Gojo sighs, flashing you a megawatt grin. If there were ever a time he thanks his Six Eyes for being able to memorize every little detail - every little feature in this picture - then it would be right now. He’s reveling in the bittersweet perfection. Yeah, he thinks, holding up a sleepy Megumi in his arms, maybe tomorrow.

---

There’s actually been about sixty different times over the years that Gojo knows you’d wanted to punch him straight in his face - and he’s sure, at the age of twenty-seven, that this is the very latest one. 

“How did you get hit, don’t you have limitless?”

He shoots a wink your way, “Maybe I wanted you to patch me up?”

You scoff, “You stupid, moronic-”

“-no-brained, glasses-wearing dumbass.” he finishes for you, flashing you a cocky smirk that wouldn’t have been endearing for anyone but him. Gojo makes himself more comfortable on the hard infirmary bed, “You know, you’ve really got to update your list of insults, sweetheart. I don’t even wear the shades that much anymore.”

It was new - as soon as you’d cackled at the idea of him being a teacher with perpetual sunglasses, he’d wrapped that blindfold around his head. It was a slight shame, frankly, he was always honest with his eyes - but what was more important was that change.

Sweetheart.

Sometime after you’d intertwined seamlessly into Gojo’s mishmashed little family, he’d taken to calling you syrupy sweet nicknames. It’d started out as a joke, you think - with “sugarplum” and “honeybuckets” and whatever grocery item he could think of, before turning into something very, very real. 

Though, they still made poor Megumi grimace in disgust just the same.

“Zoning out on me, babygirl?” 

Yeah, sometimes they made you grimace in disgust, too. 

“No-” you’re rolling your eyes, putting a little bit more force than necessary when you dab the warm napkin at those tiny specks of blood on his lip. “Just hoping you’d shut up.”

Gojo hisses, eyes crinkling at the edges - and you can’t help but think of how much older he looked than the disgruntled sixteen-year-old that swore at you on your first day. 

“What?” his snowy brows raise, catching the hints of your laughter. 

You take a moment longer to bask in the memories, before sighing. “Nothing. Just thinking about when we first met, s’been ten years already, hasn’t it?”

Of course, it has - it’s not like something the great Gojo Satoru could ever even think about forgetting. He remembers it in every cheesy selfie from high school you show him, he remembers in each and every one of your laughs at his overused jokes - the same ones he’d cracked way back then. 

“It has.” he’s settling on after a few rare beats of silence. The thick white sheets on the bed rustle as he grasps your hand in his, “And I think I remember that today more than any other.”

It was impossible not to, when you’d just met your best friend after ten years. When you’d just killed your best friend with your own two hands.

Your pretty eyes shine with all the tears you’d been hiding, “Yeah? Guess so, huh?” Without warning, you bend down to meet your forehead with his, gulping back heavily. You knew he didn’t just want to be patched up, you knew better. And you knew that even the strongest gets lonely. Especially the strongest. Your voice is strained, quiet. “Do you think he’s happier now, Toru?”

Truthfully, Gojo doesn’t know. 

But he whispers anyway, “I think so.”

To soothe you - and himself - if anything.

His eyes burn, and he’s scrunching them shut. A lump forming in his throat, Gojo can feel his entire being just rattle with the sudden wonder whether you’d feel it just the same when - if - he dies. Would you ask if he’s happy, too? Thinking he did and had everything he wanted in this life - not knowing he’s searching for you in every one? This life, and the next, and each one after.

“Sweetheart.” Gojo mumbles, eyes widening when you’re raising your head to look back at him, as if he didn’t even expect the words to fall from his lips. His jaw clenches, eyes flitting between your eyes and your lips like the rest of it was just threatening to wrench from his throat. “He- Suguru. Back in high school - before he…left- he told me-” 

“Gojo sensei, where is the- Oh!”

The two of you jump apart as if it burned, and for Gojo, the angry split on his lower lip hurts infinitely less than losing your touch. Holding back a silent whine, he turns towards the dark-haired boy fretting by the doorway, “Yuta? Something wrong?”

“Oh, you’ve done it, newbie.” Panda’s deep voice sounds from behind the doorway, and he peaks his large head in. “Gojo’s got his serious voice on, should’ve just spied silently like me. I told you not to interrupt him and his wife.”

“You’re married?!”

“We’re not married!”

“Tuna.”

The room erupts in far too many voices, and before long you’re clapping your hands in that strict teacherly manner that Gojo teases you always learned from Yaga himself. 

“Okay, that’s enough.” you call out, before turning to the newest first year. “Okkotsu, do you need help with anything? I’ll be right with you.” 

“I…I really didn’t mean to interrupt.” he’s bowing with apologies, ones that you only wave away with a chuckled-out, “It’s okay, Panda’s joking. We’re not married or anything anyway.”

And Gojo doesn’t know whether the look Yuta gives him is more akin to pity or understanding - he prefers it be neither, which is why he’s covering his head with the blanket. Groaning dramatically until you’re turning your attention back to him. 

You ruffle the amount of his hair peaking, and he has to screw his glassy eyes shut. “Toru, what is it that you wanted to say?”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s stupid.” His tone is unreadable, “I’ll tell you, hope- hopefully tomorrow.”

---

“Stay.”

“Sweetheart-”

“Stay.”

“Sweetheart.” 

You’re barely holding up the clingy mess that is a twenty-nine-year-old Gojo Satoru. Huffing and puffing in a way that makes his heart and his arms around you just squeeze, “It’s not an option. You know I have to do this.”

How he wished he didn’t.

How he wished he could grab your hand and run away from the fight with Sukuna, hide in the countryside of his hometown and build a new life with you.

It’s already been a hellish few weeks trying to get Gojo unsealed, and you can feel the last few months pounding at your temples. You let out a sigh, one that has him holding back a strangely giddy laugh. But before you can open your mouth to yell at him to not go - or more accurately, beg him until he doesn’t - there’s a tentative voice speaking up from behind you. 

“Um…sensei?” Yuji’s wide eyes sweep over his two teachers, being at Jujutsu Tech for a few months, he’s seen everything there is to see about the two of you. He saw the way you smacked the strongest when he got too mouthy, the way he let down limitless just so you could smack him. He saw the laughs, the looks, the way you’d flown into a frenzy when Gojo was sealed. 

Everyone saw.

It was like you were crazed, and right now, only a month after his return - you were gripping onto Gojo like he was the only thing keeping you anything but. 

So, it shouldn’t be new at this point. But he still can’t hold back the wonder in his voice, “I uh- wanted to ask about your robes for tomorrow- but maybe I can come back another time?”

“Yes yes, come back another time-”

“What robes?” 

You narrow your eyes at the man, and that sheepish little curl of his lips does everything but soothe your worries. He knew you saw right through him, you always did. 

Gojo’s exclaiming out loud, “Well- remember Toji-?” He waves his hands around, trying for a slightly softer way to say ‘the sorcerer killer and father of our honorary kid, who just-so-happens to be on a rampage right now’, before ultimately settling on, “-the worm guy? Well, I just figured I might as well take a page out of his book and dress like him, y’know since I’m fighting…Megumi after all.”

It takes a few seconds of stunned silence for you to find your voice, “You stupid-” 

“-moronic, no-brained, blindfold-wearing-”

“-dumbass! You remember what happened to him!” 

He bats his long, long lashes at you, “Why? Would you get this heated if I died just the same way he did?”

“No!” Your voice makes even Yuji flinch, which in turn has you reaching over to pat his head, “This is not on you, darling, of course. But your teacher here-” And it was comical, almost, the way the strongest stands up ramrod straight at just a leveled glare from you, “-will be getting it when he comes back from the fight.”

Comes back.

Oh, as much as Gojo throws his head back with chortles, he can’t help the way his heart twinges at the very thought of leaving you. 

And he can’t be sure of just how long.

“Ah, you talk too much, pretty. I’ll tell Megs how much you miss him.” You’re not given a second’s warning before you’re back in his embrace - more steady, this time. His arms securely around your waist, like they’d been twelve years ago and never wanted to leave since. Lips pressed up against the thundering pulse at your neck, Gojo’s voice dips just a bit lower than you’re used to. Breathing you in, “I will, too, y’know? Very much.”

Jittery, he could feel every slight tremor in your nervous fingers when you run them through his hair, dipping into the ends of his black blindfold. 

“Wh-what do you mean? S’only for a few hours, Toru.” you hum. “You better be back or so help me.”

“I know…” he heaves out, only pressing you close up against his broad frame. “But just in case- I-” Gojo’s voice cracks pathetically at the end, and he’s instantly too aware of Yuji’s keen eyes still watching. Edging up against the corner of the room like he wished he could have Gojo’s teleportation powers right about now. “-have something stupid to tell you. So I’ll hurry home anyways.”

You’re pulling back to quirk a brow, “Why not just tell me now?”

How he wished he could.

“Because it’s stupid.” 

Later, Gojo will find himself strewn across jujutsu hall with Yuji himself - the only one, other than you, he thinks, that can stand to be around a weapon like him right now. Listening to the hum of cursed energy in the air, he gets himself ready for the fight.

“Why didn’t you tell her? Especially now?” His student pipes up, suddenly, and Gojo remembers with a sigh just how uncomfortably in tune he is with everyone around him. Fearfully, so. “That you lov-”

“Because it’s stupid.” the older one grins. Such a sad, warmly smile - and for perhaps the first time, Yuji thinks that Gojo Satoru looks his age. “And I don’t think she’d want to hear it if I don’t make it to tomorrow.”

---

“Stupid.” you mutter, biting angrily at your nails. Hot tears burn behind your closed lids, and you can’t help but tighten your hand even more around his cold, cold ones. Limp. Like death. “You’re so, so stupid.”

There’s no response. No sing-song voice finishing off your insults, no large and ruffling your hair until you have to bat him away. 

Gojo Satoru was deathly still. 

Laid out on the cold mattress of his room, you’d bugged Shoko enough to let you move him here, knowing how much he hated the infirmary. 

“Being so reckless- having Yuta use your body-” in your fit of anger, you’re whirling your head up. Only for the pang of regret and grief to hit you tenfold all over again - because like this, he was too statuesque. A pretty mask of pale, what you’d give to have those eyes wink at you once more. “-if- when you wake up, I’m gonna kill you all over again.”

They told you he was dead - there was no point in waiting. In fact, you were sure there was a grave dug already, it was just a matter of how soon they could get to you. 

It was a strange thing, to be loved just enough to get a burial. In the end, it was lonely.

And so stupid. 

And at times, you felt that way, too. But all it took was one visit to where Geto’s grave was, a few long hours sat by his side, and you knew you couldn’t let Gojo escape you that easily. Not after everything, not after what he hasn’t told you, yet.

“Just wake up.” you sigh, the defeat bleeding into your every word. You run your thumb over the pronounced knuckles on his hand, calloused and scarred from his fight. “There’s so much to hear about. Higuruma’s alive, Nobara’s alive, pulling off that eyepatch. Like father, like daughter, huh? And Megumi- I saw Megumi laugh today. Yuji, too.”

Silence. Only stone-cold silence. He didn’t even move - not even the barest twitch of a finger.

“I just need you to wake up.” Your words are tumbling out a mile a minute, distantly, you wonder whether this was how Gojo felt when he first met you. How he couldn’t stop talking. Couldn’t stop wanting. “Shoko’s mad at you, y’know? But I know she misses you, no matter how much she pretends not to. I know that Jujutsu Tech can’t go any longer without Yaga, we- I need you. Didn’t even get to tell you-” 

It’s all croaked out into a deafening silence, at least if you were in the hospital room then maybe the pinging of the heart monitor might’ve accompanied you. But they’d pulled him off that, too. 

Unmistakable. 

“And I know that I…” You bury your face into the now-damp blankets, “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

There’s only the split-second you take to snap your head up before lips are crashing onto yours - plump, slightly-chapped but something so sweetly Satoru. Before you can even think about kissing back, however, he’s pulling away. 

Only to press hasty, chaste pecks again. And again. And again and again and-

Gojo kisses your wet eyelids, “I love you.” Your forehead, your cheeks, the corners of your lips. “I love you I love you I love you- and you beat me to it.” Those strained little words strike your very core - because it’s unmistakably Gojo. Sounding anything but, they’re broken and wrenching painfully out of his wracking chest. “So I just- I just had to-” Big, strong arms wrap around your middle - when did they even get there? It pangs somewhere in your hazy mind that you’re basically hoisted up on Gojo’s bed now, “-to do exactly what I’ve been wanting to since we were like this, thirteen years ago. Everything I’ve ever hoped for.”

“Everything?” you whisper.

“Everything. Even the strongest has dreams, y’know?” And he flashes you that smile you’ve missed so much, one you don’t think you’ve quite seen in years. “Even something stupid like ‘I love you.’”

That makes you cautiously glide over your palms onto the planes of his muscled chest, lightly pushing away to take in all of him. 

It was him. Alive. 

Really alive.

“Gojo…” you whimper, tears welling up behind your eyelids all over again.

“Ouch. Really?”

“Satoru.”

“Hmmm…”

“Toru.”

“That’s more like it.” The circled warmth around your waist crashes you even closer onto every ridge and divot of his hard chest, into the sweetest embrace - the kind you really couldn’t be mad about after your best friend had almost left you forever. “Told ya I’d come back, sweetheart.”

You could practically hear the sunshiney smile in his words, and his entire hulking body shook with emotion. 

“You’re back.” you breathe, dancing your arms upwards to wrap around his neck. “You’re here.” It takes only a second longer of being in his burning proximity, to catch that pearly white smile - tired, and infinitely harder than before - to have some semblance of rationality dipping into your mind. “-and- and we have to tell everyone!” you’re yelping. Moving to scramble off of his lap, “Oh- fuck, and they thought I was crazy. We have to- have to have Shoko give you a check-up and have Kusakabe finally ditch those funeral plans and-” 

You’re being shut up by Gojo’s lips on yours again, slow and sensual. It’s deeper this time, and he’s taking the time to part those candied lips of yours, sucking gently on the very tip of your hot tongue. 

“My funeral is the last thing I wanna think about right now.” he chuckles against your lips.

“But-”

“Tomorrow.” Gojo soothes, craning his weary neck to kiss your forehead. “We can do all that tomorrow. But right now, I just want to spend time with the love of my life.” His cerulean eyes just gleam with unshed tears and even more unspoken words, “Doesn’t have to be forever. Just right now.”

As promised, he’s petting up and down your body lazily. Kissing you until even smiling felt bruised and raw. But it’s only when the air grows thick, when the slight jostle of your body on top of his becomes hot, his own skin burning soon after that Gojo lets out a sullen hiss. 

“Toru-” you pull away panickedly, delicate strings of saliva snapping in the nonexistent air between you two. “We should really-”

“No- no no no no. Please wait-” Hastily, he’s bringing down a jittery hand to his hip, the buzz of reversed curse technique flowing through his thrumming veins. Meeting your uncertain gaze, “I’ve waited so long. Wontcha just let me worship you right now?”

As if to prove his point, he’s bucking upwards ever-so-slightly. The momentum teetering you precariously on his lap, dragging the heated core between your legs down in such a sloppy drag.

You’re gasping when the very outer edges of your panties rub up against something so hard, and rotund. Feeling the wet squelch of his angry tip gush out in a dripping wet wave at the friction. “A-are you sure?” you’re stammering, trying to hold back the way your greedy thighs were trying to rub together. Only achieving heavy, languid gyrations on top of the rock-hard outline of Gojo’s cock. “How about tomorrow? When you’re feeling better?”

It’s a slow, steady rhythm. There’s a ringing schwf! schwf! schwf! of sopping wet fabric, and it was driving him crazy. 

“Right now please- haaa-” Gojo’s tongue lolls out so sluttily to graze against your own, dazed blue irises rolling to the back of his head. His spine curves upwards, abs rippling with a harsh drag of your clothed pussy down his weepy shaft. “Whenever you’d have me.”

Almost tentatively, your hips roll forward. That flimsy excuse of your panties bunching up with each grazing rub, it’s all you can do to not just keen at the utterly delicious curve of his thick girth. Throbbing and twitchy under each of your motions. 

He’s hissing when your underwear snags on the very divot at his thick head, sitting up on two elbows, “S-sweetheart.”

“No, Toru.” your palms are back on his pecs, easily pinning the strongest down with a gentle push of your own. “Jus’ let me do all the work, m’kay?”

Gojo wasn’t all too happy - and the sullen pout jutting on his spit-glossed lips told you more than enough. But he wasn’t going down without a fight - that was for sure. 

“F-fine.” he grunts at a particularly harsh grind of your hips. Fuck, he felt like some animal, humping up into you like he was out of control. He could practically feel your puffed-up pussy lips through his pants, he could almost taste it. Two rough hands come to rest on your hips, grabbing and kneading a handful of your ass. “But then you’re not just hah- sitting there, pretty.” 

And, shit, even like this, you should’ve known better than to underestimate Gojo Satoru himself. Because whatever he wanted, he got. The one thing he didn’t was you - and now, since he had you, too, fuck- he might just be going insane. 

Not a moment’s wasted before you’re being so easily hauled up, up, up the entire expanse of Gojo’s body. Jittery body being balanced easily as if you were some type of toy, up from the slender curve of his toned hips, up around where his broad deltoids were spread, all the way until your cunt was hovering over his needy mouth. “Can’t believe I hngh- almost died without havin’ a taste of this pretty pussy.”

“Toru.”

“Sweetheart.” he mocks.

You shiver with each feverish puff of hot breath blown right onto your clothed cunt. And even more so when you’re feeling such a long, slender finger slide in through the translucent fabric. 

Fuck, Gojo swallows thickly, bunching up your skirt. You were so sopping wet he could almost see the outline of his index through your panties. He slides the back of it slowly up and down. Heavy balls squeezing painfully at the volume of your saturated slick collecting on his digit, just trailing glossily down to his deft wrist. 

Mesmerized, your jaw falls slack at the sight down below of Gojo - cloudy hair mussed, cheeks all pink and burning a blushing rouge, tongue darting out to catch each stray drop of your sweet sweet juices. Drip! Drip! Drip! 

“Oh- sh-shiiit-” he rasps, lowly, mulling over your honeyed taste. Sounding so awed, breath hitching when Gojo tugs your panties just enough to the side to catch a mere glimpse of your messy cunt. Glistening and winking down lewdly at him. “S’jus’ you n’ me right now, huh?”

You don’t know who exactly he’s talking to - and you don’t get to find out, because that’s all it takes for Gojo’s kiss-bitten lips to clash messily against your cunt - panties and all. 

A soft swipe of his tongue glides the fabric to the side, so depraved, so needy that for that split-second he’s tasting you, he can’t even think of removing it. One taste of your sweetened pussy and he can’t even bear the thought of breaking apart, licking up in long, languid stripes that wet the very front of your swollen folds. 

Just the taste of you had him palming desperately at the tent in his pants, rubbing up and down at a pace that matched his rummaging tongue.

The very edge of your tastebuds rub so deliciously in teasing circles around the corners of your dripping silt, your inner thighs. 

“S-s’toru-” you’re letting out such throaty, dragged-out groans that send every drop of blood in Gojo’s body thumping to his achy cock. “Don’t be such a- a tease.”

You’re locking your glassy eyes with him and he feels like he could pass out. Groaning and smacking into your cunt, “Tell me- fuck fuck fuck- tell me what you want, sweetheart. Anything.” Your entire body arches into his hot mouth like such a slut, when he bullies between your folds. Barely flicking against the sensitive nub of your clit. “Everything. Anything for you.”  

When you’re weaving your fingers deliriously through his silky soft strands, he babbles, “Oh fuck- yeah, pull on my hair.” One of his hands come down to grip onto your panties, pulling the fabric so that you revel in the filthy friction. “Use me while you ride m’face, okay?”

With that, his mouth is sagging open even further letting your thighs straddle the entirety of his face so easily. So close. So messy how he was carding his tongue from the very base of your pussy, up into your quivering entrance.

“Fuck–” you’re whining, grinding into his touch when he wraps his soft lips around your clit. Barely even easing you with syrupy, wet circles of his heated tongue before sucking. Harsh. Depraved. But so, so him. “Don’- don’ stop, feels too good–!”

You didn’t know if he heard you, fuck you didn’t even know if Gojo was even breathing. 

Even if he wanted to stop - he didn’t think he could. Because he was so ravenous between your legs, forcing your pliant body into such smooth gyrations on his tongue. Silken, soft, such sultry licks of his tongue on your clit. 

Electricity sparks behind your eyes when with a wet slurp! he smacks away from your pretty pussy, “You think- you think I can stop?” And he sounds so genuinely in disbelief, as if the very thought of it was appalling. Through heavy, lingering kisses and sucks onto your clit, Gojo’s managing to get out, “I can’t have enough. Fuck- please.” The very rounded pads of his fingers dig so bruisingly into the flesh of your ass, jiggling and kneading with every drag of your hips. He’s begging at this point, “Fuck yourself on my face. Rougher, faster, c’mon now. You can do it, my sweetheart.” 

He was so fucking desperate, big fat tears almost welling in his eyes while he whined underneath you. Groping so obscenely at his sweltering hot erection. How could you not listen?

“If you say so.”

Using the vice-like grip on his locks, you’re managing to leverage your motions even deeper. Rougher, like he’d wanted. Every protesting creak of the bedpost was accompanied by a synchronized whimpering of ah! ah! ah! coming from both your mouths. 

“S’it good?” he gasps, and all you could see was the flushed upper half of his features. And the lower half - fuck, though the peaks and cracks you could make out just how glisteningly wet it was with all of your messy cunt. His lips were just drenched, slick-soaked mouth making out harshly with your pussy through your panties. Trailing all the way down in a glossy sheen over the lower half of his face, dripping off his chin, fuck- up to his cheekbones- 

As if that wasn’t enough, the massive palm resting at your thigh comes dancing down to tease around your sopping wet entrance. 

If you were in the right state of mind, you could’ve sworn that you heard a sharp rip! coming from that poor tattered fabric of your underwear right then and there. 

“Tell me- fuck fuck fuck- use that pretty voice of yours please.” Still suckling lewdly on your clit, his cheeks hollow out . Entire body just jolting upwards, forcing you to press down harder with your motions. “Use me. Use me.”

“S-so–” you mewl when his slender fingers bully easily past that first ring of muscle. So many cold inches of his digits, feeling around determinedly inside your heated, gummy walls for those sweet spots that will make you whine. “So loud, Toru-” you’re spitting, meshing his mouth even harder with yours down below. And you can practically feel him smirk against your cunt. “For someone that wants this s-so hngh! bad you sure are-”

There.

Right there.

Gojo Satoru had just crashed into the spongy cavern of your g-spot - easily, at that. And there was such a crazed, sloppy sting to each of his movements. Smashing in over and over-

“Heh…tha’s how I l-like it.” he’s spying up at your trembly thighs, the way his overworked lips were being coated with a fresh wave of our honeyed slick with each passing second. “Good girl- gooood fuckin’ girl–” 

Hazily, you’re wondering whether it doesn’t hurt. Whether his weepy cock ached just as badly as it looked, how his tongue isn’t fucking cramping up by now. 

But he goes on - like he couldn’t stop, like he was out of control. A greedy little push and pull, dragging his tongue all over until you saw flashes of white. Until you could only scream out his name like a mantra. Until you were cumming. 

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck- Toru!” your slurring out a mile a minute. Both of your hands now steadfast on his head, riding out your high all over Gojo’s pretty, pretty face. And he let you - fuck, he let you. “M’cumming- shit, feel so good. M’cumming-”

So good, so filthy that it made your toes curl, your hips stutter sloppily. Arching like such a slut, you could barely even see properly. Your breath was coming out in such labored heaves at this point, and Gojo wasn’t any better. 

It was like he couldn’t stop, happily drinking up every single, sticky drop your cunt had to offer. Pussydrunken eyes drooping shut, unable to let out anything but satisfied grunts. The muscle of his tongue is just frenzied in eager slips and slides along your cunt - absolutely no rhythm or method right now. Sucking, licking, biting anywhere he could possibly reach. 

“F-fuck–” you’re crying out tearily once the very peak of your orgasm fades, and all that’s left are a few overstimulated tingles being wrenched out by a greedy Gojo. “Toru, m’done.” You tug desperately on his hair - but even that doesn’t bate him the slightest bit. “S’getting too much- fuck-”

“Awww, too much for my girl?” he’s cooing, the words jumbling together in his drunken state. There’s a glossy mess of spit and slick drooling down the corners of his smirk. “Does this cute cunt of yours need a break?”

At your barely-lucid nod, it only grows wider. Smugger. “Too bad-” And Gojo’s just taunting you with a final, long lick up the very core of your pussy, “Because if I almost hah- died without her once, then you best believe m’gonna c-crawl back from death for ya each and every single time.”

It takes his strong arms - even bruised and battered through battle - only two whole seconds to plop you back down prettily onto his lap. Right over where his angry cock was just weeping for attention. And suddenly, it hurts without you. “So you’re not getting a break anytime soon. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Ha ha.” You’re rolling your eyes, “Very funny.”

“Mhm.” Gojo looks up at you through his white lashes, and you can only watch when he brings up his syrupy-sweet, glossy fingers up to his mouth. One by one. Sucking. Slowly, looking right into your eyes. It makes your mouth just salivate. “Got that right.”

The sheets billow behind you when you’re fumbling deftly with his shirt, all but ripping - tearing that stupid thing off of his form. Your skirt and top are soon to follow - his jaw clenches with the slight strain, leaving it in poor tatters on the floor.

“Shit- shit you’ve been-” his mouth just waters when your tits are released from your bra. Jiggling tantalizingly in his face in a way that makes him bury into it. “-been holding out on me.”

“Oh-” you let out, traitorously, at the first sight of each curve and divot along his milky sculpted body. Gojo Satoru was serious about dressing up like Toji, and no matter how much his t-shirt looked so sinfully painted on - actually seeing it was something else. “You’re so pretty, Toru.” You smooth your palms down his large shoulders, the faint scars between his pecs, his abs - that scar. Stark and large, Shoko had done her best work, but it still looked so painful. It must feel so, too, being sewn back together like some ragdoll. He catches the way your expression dampers - of course, he does. “Toru…”

Gojo winces when your fingers glide over that jagged scar. But if that was pain, then it was absolutely nothing compared to the pure, unadulterated fear when you abruptly pull your hands away. 

“S-sorry- I didn’t mean to-”

“No!” he cuts you off, wrapping his long fingers around your wrist. All but dragging it - right along with you - to his still-healing body. “Touch me. Hurts more when you don’t.”

You’re batting your lashes up at him in a way that makes his heart stutter, and his poor, angry cock twitch. “Hurts me when you lie.”

“M’not lying, see?” With a low nod of his head, he’s gesturing you to look down - where it was unmissable. 

Because straddled right in-between your pussy lips was Gojo’s erect cock - proud and so prominent, even through his pants. With the sheer girth bulging upwards you could feel your greedy pussy dampen over the cloth in anticipation. 

“Well…” He’s throwing his head back when you knead your palm over the very end of his print, “I can’t quite see-”

Gojo takes the hint - and you have to bite your lip from teasing that it was quite possibly the only hint you’d thrown his way that he’d actually understood. But it was so hard to - not when he was this eager. 

And, on those long, lonely nights, you’d imagined that your best friend would be suave, infinitely collected with things like this. 

But, no, he was fumbling and jittery with his movements. So needy to please you that it takes you to help him pull down his tight, sticky boxers over the curving muscle of his thighs. 

“O-oh fuck–” you breathe out, when he finally springs out. Sweeping up and down each and every long, thick inch of him - Gojo was as hard as if he was carved out of fucking diamond. Such a furious, rosy red at his leaky tip, glistening down, down, down into the most mouth-watering shade of creamy pink at his thick hilt. He was so big. Your thighs squeeze together in sultry need - with a slight tinge of fear. So unfairly pretty - even like this. “You’re- you’re so much bigger than I’d imagined, Toru.” 

No sooner are the words out of your mouth that you’re being flashed with his dark smirk once more, “You imagined this?” There’s a slight reverence to his voice, scared. 

It almost makes you shy - and Gojo can practically sense the waves of embarrassment rolling off of you. 

“Awww, come back to me, please, pretty- Please-” he purrs, cupping your cheeks. “I came hah- back, didn’t I?” You’re being jostled to and fro when he rests himself more comfortably on the bed, leaning back to admire you further. “And now-” Your breath hitches in your throat when he situates himself right in-between your thighs, the fat curve of his head so swelteringly kissing your folds. Drenching it in his thick precum, “-now m’never gonna let ya go.” 

Fuck, you know you should heave in a few gasps of hair, you know you should relax, maybe even stretch your legs wide open.

Because Gojo was so fucking big, it felt like he was splitting you from the inside out. Just the slight push of his tip bullying between your folds has you moaning - crying.  

“You- you’re so big-” Your nails dig into the plush of his pecs for stability, leaving neat crescent patterns that stand out redly. “S’like you’re reaching into my hngh- l-lungs-”

Just those words have him expanding even deeper, ruddying even more furiously. Gojo gets so much bigger that you just can’t help but sink yourself down his shaft, feeling your elastic walls contort so easily around his length. 

“H-heh– ohhh-” he breathes out - baritone voice lilting a few pitches higher than usual. The hands around your waist grab you even harsher, feeding you each inch by fucking inch of his fat, pulsing cock. “You got me- so–” His hips thrust upwards in mindless little jabs, “-fucked up, right now, sweetheart.”

And while all you can do is whine and moan around his unforgiving cock, Gojo babbles on, “B-better get ready ngh- because I’m gonna be riiiight-” His thick index draws and invisible line up, up, up to somewhere midway up your stomach. Before pressing down. Brandingly. “-here.”

The pressure is enough to have your hips just slamming down with a wet smack! all the way to his hilt. The slap of skin-on-skin rings through the heady air and into both your drunken brains, making him just throw his head back into the plush pillows. 

“Yes-” you’re keening, your fingers wrapping subconsciously around Gojo’s pretty throat to have him facing you once more. He was so gorgeous this way - blue eyes falling shut with pleasure, mouth bitten raw and parted into a soft oh! pale muscles twitching with each breath. So fucked-out already that it almost made you think the sight alone could have you cumming. “Look at me, Toru- hah- gonna make up for lost time, right? Gonna fuck me good?”

His answering nods are more than enough, but Gojo doesn’t just stop there - no, he’s putting in every bit of last strength he has to just hammer into you upwards. Meeting every one of your relentless bounces down on him, he just clashes into your ravaged g-spot.

“Oh yeah, my girl.” he spits, a twinkling trail of drool dripping down the side of his lips. Crushing you so tight to his hardened front, “Ride me- ride me jus’ like that. Fuck- thought I saw heaven on the battlefield but it might jus’ be this pussy-” Over and over.

The back of your hand ends up on his forehead, “I think you’ve got a concussion.” It was in every little touch - that “something stupid.”  

At your surprised giggles, he’s rummaging your insides even more ferociously. Smushing the very end of his thick head against your spongy cervix. It was so soft, so swelteringly hot having him inside you. Clashing in long, wet glides against every inch of your pussy. 

The stretch was dizzying - and if it hadn’t been for Gojo’s lips attacking yours, then you’d have let your head loll backwards. It’s like he was marking you from the inside out, bruising the plushy insides of your cunt to every ridge and thumping vein down his possessive cock. 

“Spit on me.” 

His sudden plea puffs out of his plump lips, startling you out of your cockdrunk little reverie. “Spit on me, please, pretty. Mmpf-”

Gojo whimpers - whimpers - when the thick wad of your saliva hits his pink tongue, and the action has him delving into you impossibly deeper. Planting two feet onto the mattress, he angles his hips into your tight channel even harsher. Grimacing at the slight twinge of pain, “Shit-”

“Toru–”

“Wait wait- please- let me-” Expectedly, he’s cutting you off frantically. Begging, pleading with everything he had before activating reversed curse technique more. “Wanna fuck this gorgeous cunt so bad- fuck fuck fuck-”

But you’re only grinding your hips down faster - all the way from the pretty pink tip of his cock, until your ass massages against his tight, cum-filled balls. Thwacking! against your skin deliciously, pushing you up to scratch your clit against his snowy pubes. 

A few more unapologetic kisses up against your sweet spots have you blinking back stars, “Toru–” Your swiveling motions have him so hypnotized, following every move where his massive cock was disappearing in and out of your snug hole. “Kiss me-”

Oh, you didn’t even have to ask.

It’s such a sloppy kiss - all teeth and lips and Gojo grunting gutturally into your mouth. Letting you just use him like your favorite toy, fucking him until the bed creaked with effort and Gojo’s balls just smacked! angrily.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispers. Drinking in your saccharine sweet gasps when he dips down one of his hands to your puffy clit, rolling the soft edge of his thumb in slow, methodical circles. “You’re gonna be the ah- d-death of me.”

Your hand around his throat tightens, making his eyes just roll back in ecstacy. “Better not die on me just y-yet, Toru. Not now, not tomorrow.”

For this, you’re being gifted with such a tight squeeze of his two fingers around your sensitive nub. Wracking your body forwards - exactly where he wanted you, exactly where he needed you to smash his sobbing tip into your g-spot. 

The stimulation is too much, and each of your pressurized slams down onto the sharp bones on Gojo’s v-line have him moaning. Bucking up helplessly whenever your heavenly walls drag sloppily up his shaft, like it hurt to not have each and every one of his heated inches buried inside. 

“Well- then-” You’re riding him now just as much as he was fucking up into you, leaving a damp puddle of slick and dredges of precum on the sheets below. Gojo’s punctuating each word with a harsh battering ram, “Better- cum f’me soon, huh? Because m’not gonna- fuck-” His nagging tip jolts into your sweet spots as if being zapped with white-hot electricity, in such a sloppy staccato with his feverish fingers. “-fuck I don’t think m’gonna last long.”

You’re nodding your head, clinging onto him like a second skin. “Mhm- m’so close, Toru.” Biting down wetly on his lower lip, “-gonna cum soon.”

Just the thought of it has him keening, stuttering up so messily. His precum coats your insides even more slippery slick, so heated in a way he thinks he might just explode. 

“I know, I know, sweetheart–” he’s simpering down in your tone, though his hips were anything but. Letting out some of the lewdest slurps that made your ears ring. “I got you. I got you, cum all over my cock, yeah?”

It only takes a few more mess strokes from both of your sweat-sheened bodies before you finally reach your high. Electricity thrums down your veins, your body arches so deeply into his. Bending into the perfect bow that has him spying down at your quivering folds, the way your gushing cunt expands and contracts through each and every one of your waves of pleasure. 

And he’s fucking you through it so filthy, fingers toying so erratically on your clit. Still reeling, still smashing the very divot of his cock into your bruised g-spot. Again and again.

“Ohh- fuuuck—” Gojo whines, eyes scrunching shut. Strained. Depraved. “Fuck fuck fuck me- please, please m’gonna-”

He doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before he’s stuffing your snug pussy full with ribbon after ribbon of thick, velvety cum. Potent seed coating your gummy walls in such a milky sweet gloss, the squelches from below are so loud. So soppingly wet. 

The hand at your waist moves down to where your poor cunt was just bulging with all inches of his spazzing cock. Gojo’s thumbing apart the corners of your slit just enough that his swelteringly hot cum oozes out of you in a slow trail. Sinful. 

“Oh my god-” he breathes, eyes unwavering. Hips thrusting upwards to push his cum up into you even deeper. It glistens opaquely down his length, forming a creamy ring at his thick base. “Oh my god love you- fuck!”

“Toru- m’so full-” you whine. A hand of yours coming up to press exactly where he had before, except now you could feel the nudging pace of his ruthless cock, the sloshing of Gojo’s seed all up inside you. “-really can feel you right here.”

“Tha’s the point, girl - my girl, should I say.” he’s pressing such a chaste kiss to your lips. And it would be swee - almost - if it wasn’t for the way Gojo’s greedy fingers soak themselves in the obscene mess from your cunt down below. Bringing them all the way up, up, up to his mouth. Suckling gently, “But…but you wanna hear something stupid?”

Your eyes widen, “Wh-what?”

And he only grins,  “I hope you know I love you, sweetheart. Because you sure as hell aren’t walking tomorrow.”

A/N. Can y’all tell I’ve been widowed not too long ago? Anyways, last post before kínktober! I tried posting this on Sunday but it refused to work so pray for me this time y’all *SOBS* <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - unhealthy relationships, non/con, mentions of overstimulation, dehumanization, semi-public sex, and abuse.

[commissioned piece. donate to palestinians in gaza here.]

If Arlecchino had it her way, you think you’d be more of a doll than a person.

Not that it would make much of a difference when it comes to how she treats you. To her, all the world might as well be pieces of a chessboard; playthings to pose and position as she deems fit. Knights are sent into righteous battles, pawns are burnt to ash on first line of fire, and you’re made to watch it all from your place on a glass-enclosed pedestal, where the cruelties of the world are visible, but at a distance. That’s a flaw in her little world that Arlecchino hasn’t realized, yet – your eyes, unlike those of the delicate figurines she favors, are not only painted on.

You suppose you should count yourself lucky, when compared to the rest of her unfortunate collection. Most of her pieces are chipped and scarred, sharpened into fine, deadly points only to be discarded when they begin to dull. You, on the other hand, have proved yourself worthy of her maintenance. Your wardrobe is curated to her particular tastes, every style of bow and pattern of lace hand-selected to suit her preferred aesthetics, and she spends each morning running comb after comb through your hair, brushing rouge onto your cheeks, taking leisurely minutes to decide if she’d rather see you in blue or pink or lilac – always light colors, always gentle. You think, sometimes, that you must look like a groomed dog next to her, pastel and ridiculous next to her monotone elegance. Often, you try not to think about how little of a difference it would make if she added a leash and collar to your daily ensemble.

She rarely lets you leave her sight. Of course, obligation does draw her away from you from time to time (a rarity she laments as often as you pray for), but whenever possible, she has you sitting pretty by her side or, better yet, perched in her lap, straddling her waist and sobbing quietly into her chest as her clever fingers bring you to the brink of climax for the nth time in the past hour. The company she keeps rarely makes a difference when it comes to how or when she touches you – although, you do try not to remember how many of her colleagues have seen you with teary eyes and open legs. A doll’s owner rarely questions the way they choose to handle their toy, and so, she’s content not to think about how she handles you. Her only acknowledgement of your suffering is a quick kiss to the cheek as she coaxes you onto your own feet, a muttered comment about the new stain on the dark fabric of her pants. It’s a miracle that you can bear the humiliation of it, but your endurance is a convenience, not a necessity. There’s no reality in which your limitations alone would be enough to stop her.

Arlecchino does, at least, make the occasional effort to pretend she thinks of you as a partner, rather than a plaything. She’s made it clear that, in her ideal world, you’d happily accept the total loss of your autonomy and thank her for each and every second you spend under the torment of her obsession, but she settles for the occasional, trembling smile when she presents you with a gift or confection you lingered on while passing by an especially charming shop, the tender intimacy of your head resting on her shoulder when yet another meeting proves to be more long-lasting than your attention span. On her best days, she’ll even respond to your timid requests to please not leave another bruise on your neck, another fang shaped indentation on your collarbone with a breath of a laugh and a hushed explanation of why she has to, rather than just an outright, wordless dismissal. You wouldn’t quite say she listens to you, but it’s as close as she comes.

Dolls, after all, are incapable of requesting to be played with in a certain way, or asking their owners to treat them more gently, or speaking up about anything at all.

A doll, Arlecchino’s ideal doll, can only watch with a smile as it’s broken apart.

[daydreaming-nerd]

Lipstick Kisses (Azriel x Female! reader)

AN: while I LOVED my last Azriel fic I felt kinda bad about how it ended to so even though this was supposed to be a Cassian fic I thought I would switch it up just to say I’m sorry lol 

Summary: You and Azriel weren’t together. But you also weren’t not together. Sure he warmed your bed nightly, but he had made it clear that he was hesitant to date his best friend, Rhysand’s, little sister. You were content to play the game until one night a certain princess got so far under your skin you couldn’t see straight. 

Warnings: jealousy, unprotected sex, cockwarming if you squint? 

Word Count: 2496

(all pics are from pinterest) 

Rita’s had never been so busy before. Packed from wall to wall with members of every court here to celebrate the week leading up to Starfall. A tradition my brother had long since put on. Everyone seemed to be merry and happy, even Azriel who stood at the bar with the Princess of Adriata. 

Azriel and I had been hot and heavy for a couple of months. My whole life the shadowsinger and I had danced around one another, flirting here and there but never acting. It wasn’t until one night when I ran into the spymaster in the hallway of the House of Wind, when we couldn’t stay away from one another. It was a mess of hands, teeth, tongues and kisses as he took me against the wall. From that moment on Azriel sought to warm my bed nightly, but nothing more and I never thought to ask him why for fear of losing him. We weren’t together, weren’t not together. And I had no right to stare daggers at the Princess of Adriata, yet here I stood, at the edge of the room doing just that. 

“Looking a little tense there y/n,” Cassain drawled, nudging my shoulder. 

“I am not tense,” I gritted out. 

“Then why does it look like you’re about to shatter that glass with your bare hand?” he retorts. I look to where my polished fingers are gripping my cocktail in rage. 

“I’m just scared someone is going to knock my drink out of my hand, it’s super busy in here,” I say, loosening my grip on the glass. 

Cassian let out a chuckle, “You sure it has nothing to do with the way Az is looking at the Princess of Adriata?” he smirked. While Az and I hadn’t told anyone about our nightly escapades, poor Cassain was practically forced to have the knowledge as his room was next to mine. 

I meet Cassian’s eyes in a sideways glare causing him to laugh again. 

“Of course he wants The Princess of Adriata,” I sneer at her name. 

“You’re a Princess too y/n,” Cassian reminds me.

“Yeah well apparently not the right type,” I huff, turning around so I don’t have to watch them smile and flirt anymore. 

“You should get him back,” Cassian muses. 

“If you’re trying to take me into your bed again it won’t work.” I laugh while sipping my drink, remembering a different drunken night, or a few of them, that Cassian and I had shared at Rita’s. 

“You wound me Princess, you can’t say you didn’t enjoy yourself all those years ago,” he smirked, bumping my shoulder again. 

“Illyrians really are sensitive babies. Now what kind of revenge did you have in mind?” I smirk into my glass. 

“You got some red lipstick in that bag?” his eyes gleamed. 

I rummage around through the mess of trinkets in my purse till I find the red rouge sitting in the bottom and pull it out. “Looks like I do,” I say, holding it up for him to see. 

“Perfect, now put it on,” he says standing in front of me so I can use his siphon as a mirror as I always had for years anytime I needed to fix my makeup or hair. He used to hate it, but now I think it makes him feel special. 

“I fail to see where this is going,” I contest putting the lipstick back in my bag. 

Cassian didn’t say anything, he just pointed to his cheek asking for me to kiss it. I rolled my eyes and obliged. When I pulled back a bright red lipstick stain adorned his cheek and I realized what he was doing now. 

“Cassian, you're a genius,” I laugh. 

“Well I am a specialist in war tactics after all. Now go around and say hello to every Lord in here and greet them with one of your sweet kisses. The second Az looks around he’s going to lose his mind.” he explains. 

“Thanks Cass,” I laugh before turning away but I feel his hand on my arm. 

“I think I might deserve a little more thanks than that Princess,” he says playfully.

“Fine you big baby,” I roll my eyes before placing a quick kiss on his lips seeing the lipstick residue there. 

“You’re welcome princess,” he smirks triumphantly before turning away.

I turn to the crowd of people in front of me scanning the hundreds of happy faces packed into the tavern. Like a beacon of hope I find Thesan conversing with two other Lords, the perfect target. 

“Thesan!” I cheer, “My brother and I are honored to have you here in our court,” I greet him sweetly, pressing a discreet kiss to his cheek.    

“Princess it’s always a pleasure to be in your presence,” Thesan smiles warmly. “May I present Lord Baylor and Lord Suffolk.” 

Both Lords reach their hands out to mine and I push them away, “Please I’ve never been fond of handshakes,” I smile gently, embracing each of them and pressing kisses to their cheeks as well. 

“We are honored to be here Princess y/n, the stories of your beauty still don’t do you justice,” Lord Baylor smiled.  

“You all flatter me too much, it’s going to go straight to my head,” I tease playfully before excusing myself to mingle with the other lords.       

I continue my charade until my drink empties and I’m forced to retreat to the bar for another. I be sure to pass right by where Azriel and The Princess of Adriata are talking before leaning against the bartop and requesting my regular. I try to hide the smirk when I feel a certain scarred hand graze my elbow. 

“Is there a reason why those red lips have been on the cheek of every man here tonight Princess?” Azriel says lowly into my ear. 

“I’m just being a good host Az,” I say, not keeping my eye off the bartender making my drink. 

“More than good the way I see it,” he grits and his hands trace the backs of my arms. The bartender brings my drink over and I leave a large tip in his jar. I finally turn to meet Azriel’s intense gaze. 

“Don’t be so jealous Azriel, after all we aren’t even together,” I tilt my head before sauntering off. 

When I get back to the House of Wind that night I’m utterly exhausted. I open the door to my bedroom and kick my shoes off sending them flying across the room. My dress is the next to go, falling in a pile on the floor. I wash up, and slip on my nightgown before falling into my bed with a sigh, too lazy to turn off the small fae light next to me. I try to sleep but it’s not the same without a certain Illyrian next to me. 

A half hour later I hear the door open slowly, I pretend to still be asleep not wanting to even speak to Azriel. When I had left Rita’s he was still talking with The Princess of Adriata, and this time she had a hand on his bicep.

I heard daggers and leathers falling to the ground as the bed sank behind me. 

“Scooch over Princess, there's no room for me,” he whispered into my ear as his arms circled around me to move me over. 

“Get off me Az, I don’t remember inviting you to my bed tonight,” I grumble, not moving an inch. 

He doesn’t move, “I’ve been sleeping here for three months y/n what do you mean?” 

“I mean, I don’t want The Princess of Adriata’s sloppy seconds sleeping in my bed, now go to your own room,” I huff, slamming my head down on my pillow for emphasis. 

Azriel scoffs, “This is about Cressida?” he asks in disbelief. 

“Oh good for you, you’re on a first name basis with the oh so perfect princess,” I say donning the same mocking tone I used to Cassian. 

“You do know that you’re also a Princess,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. 

“So I’ve heard,” I roll my eyes, moving my shoulder away from him. “Now get out.” 

“Y/n, I didn’t sleep with her,” Azriel says, pressing another kiss to my shoulder.

“Yeah right,” I scoff. 

“She did try, but I told her I was seeing someone,” he continued kissing my arm. 

“Oh really?” I sneer. 

“Yes my love,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “You.”  

“I thought you didn’t want to be with me, I thought you just wanted to fuck me,” I grumble trying not to enjoy his lips on my body. 

“I never said that,” he states and I can feel his agitation. 

“Well you didn’t not say it either, what am I supposed to think when I only see you at night?” I argue. 

“Fine, I’ll admit it, I was scared.” he grumbled, moving to lean back on the pillows. 

I sit up to face him and find him pressing the heels of his hands into his forehead like he has the largest migraine to ever be known to man. 

“Scared of what?” I scoff in disbelief. He was Azriel, my spymaster and a shadowsinger. I had seen his fierceness on a battlefield countless times, seen him slaughter enemies of my court. What could possibly scare him?

“I was scared that one day you’d wake up and realize what I truly am, a lowborn nobody. You’re a princess for gods sakes y/n. The most beautiful woman in Prythian. You should be with a prince like Varian, not me. And even though I knew that I couldn’t stay away from you. You smell so good and your skin is so soft and the way you look at me sometimes? It would’ve taken all seven High Lords to keep me from your bed, especially when you invite me to it so willingly. I was scared that if we made our relationship something more than just pleasure that you would realize that, and that’s a blow I couldn’t handle.” Azriel confessed, finally ripping his hands off his forehead to stare at the ceiling.  

“Azriel I-” 

“It’s okay you don’t have to say anything,” he sighed, getting out of bed. 

“Az,” I plead, but he keeps walking.

 “Azriel stop!” I scream not the request of a lover, but the order of a princess. I see his wings twitch as he stops moving, still not turning to meet my eye. 

“Azriel I love you,” I confess. 

He whips around to meet my eyes, using his years of reading people to try and decipher whether or not I’m telling the truth. He finds no trace of a lie and before I know it he’s standing over the bed and bringing his lips to mine. His knees sink to the bed and I use his off balance to push him down into the pillows so I can straddle his lap. 

“Do you mean it?” he asks as I lean back to look at him, his eyes blown out and on cloud nine. 

“I’ve loved you for years Az, just ask my brother. When I thought you didn’t want to do anything but bed me my heart was broken, but I was willing to take whatever I could get.” I explained. 

“You have all of me y/n,  you always will,” he smiles, leaning up to kiss me. “But I’m still mighty jealous of all those lipstick prints, especially the ones I saw on Cassian.” he smirks against my skin. 

“I think I can make it up to you,” I smile before reaching over to my bedside table to retrieve the lipstick from my discarded clutch. I keep our eyes locked as I put the cherry red color all over my lips and I swear I feel his cock twitch under me. 

I lean down to leave a kiss on his cheek, then his forehead, his jaw, his chin and then I give the other side of his face the same treatment. I move my lips down either side of his neck earning a low groan from him. I smile and continue my assault all over his bare chest and shoulders. 

“Fuck y/n,” he moans and I can tell he’s trying not to flip me over and pound me into the mattress. 

I leave lipstick marks all over his abs and when I reach his boxers I pull the waistband down just enough to leave a kiss right above his aching cock. 

“Fuck this I need to be inside you,” he grunts and I’m quickly being hauled up by my arms and tossed on my back. Within moments he slams his cock inside me. 

“Oh fuck Azriel!” I scream, raking my nails down his back. 

The room is filled with the sound of skin slapping as Azriel thrusts inside me at a brutal pace. Both seeking his own pleasure and to claim. 

“Your turn Princess,” he smirks before sucking the skin of my neck into his mouth. My hands fly to his hair pulling him closer to me as his teeth sink into my neck.

“Azriel,” I breathe into his ear and he spurs his hips even faster. I feel him leave a light lick soothing the skin he bit into. 

“Mine,” he growls before leaning back to admire his work. He lifts my legs and puts them over his shoulders to hit me even deeper making my eyes roll to the back of my head. 

“Azriel!” I scream practically in subspace. 

“That’s right Princess, let everyone know who owns this little pussy,” he grins with male pride. 

“Yours Az all yours,” I breathe, unable to find my words.

“Good girl,” he says before reaching down to rub circles into my clit. The sudden sensation is enough to have me arching my back and cumming on his cock, a string of curses and his name falling off my lips.

Azriel continues thrusting into me seaking his own pleasure before spilling into me with a moan that practically shakes the doors. His head burrows into my neck and I run my hands through his hair pressing kisses to his face. I look up at him to see the lipstick marks all over him and I can’t help but laugh. 

He rolls us to the side taking me with him so his cock is still inside me. 

“Do you think Rhys is gonna kill me when he finds out?” Azriel asks jokingly but I can tell he’s genuinely wondering. 

“Well he was pissed at Cassian but he got over it so I’d say we’re good,” I sigh tracing the lipstick marks left on his chest. 

“Wait, you slept with Cassian?” he asks, stunned. 

“Yeah like 105 years ago, you didn’t know?” I laugh. 

“No I didn’t,” he says, throwing his arms around me and standing up making sure his cock doesn’t leave its spot nestled inside me.

“What are you doing?” I giggle playing with his hair as I feel my back hit  the far wall of my room. 

“Fucking you against Cassian’s bedroom wall,” he smirks kissing me deeply. “Gotta let him know we’re official now.” 

[cleopatra-x]

The Garden (18+)

Pairing | Aemond Targaryen x female reader

Summary | An heated argument in the gardens with your husband leads to something else.

Warnings | SEXUAL CONTENT - MINORS DNI; oral (f receiving), exhibitionism, spanking, rimming (f receiving), hair pulling, aegon making a small appearance

word count | 1.5k

Notes | The reader is a Martell but you may imagine her however you see fit. Please don't put a community label on this.

“You are unbelievable,” you grumble loud enough for him to hear, stalking away from your husband, to annoyed to be in his presence.

It’s been a year since you and your husband have been wed. Leaving your home in Dorne was not easy, but with time Kings Landing became your second home. Your marriage with Prince Aemond has been a dream come true. Despite him being cold in the beginning. He was always understanding of you, caring, and catering to your every need.

But sometimes he did things you hated. Like, making decisions without consulting you. The both of you are a pair, you felt you should be included.  

As you enter the gardens, you are greeted by the fresh scent of flowers and the sound of rustling leaves. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, the sky transforming into a canvas of vibrant colors.

You could hear his heavy footsteps catch up to yours, “Stop making a scene,” He gripped your forearm, causing you to face him.

“Let’s go back inside.” He attempts to stay calm, although you could tell he was ready to pounce.

You scoffed, releasing your arm from his tortuous grip. “It’s like you to back down from a fight.”

Not being able to stop your rouge tongue, your blood boiling at the fact that he’s always so calm. You wanted him to lose control.

He fixes you with a curious stare and tilts his head to the side, studying you intently as you stand there. “You want a fight?”

You can’t help but let your eyes wander his prominent Adam’s apple as he swallows heavily, framed by the shades of orange and red hat colored the sky. Whether it was just from him sleeping, reading, or doing basic activities, the very sight of your husband always made our stomach churn. You were obsessed.

Aemond takes a step closer towards you, and you put your hands on your hips, standing your ground. You glance around the deserted garden, knowing it was most inappropriate to be this close in public, even as man and wife.

“You are clearly aroused by this, my love.” His voice noticeably dropped an octave as he corned you.

My love. A static hot shiver slides down your spine. Your arousal seeping out of you, to trail down your thighs. You look down at the ground as a silent confirmation, suddenly not having the courage to look him in the eye.

His grin widens into that rare, arrogant face he typically reserves for when you're pleading for him in bed.

“Turn around” he commands, his hands clasped behind his back, waiting for your movement.

“Aem-,” you begin, your eyes widening in pure shock. Aemond was not the kind to do such things in public. Everything was saved for the privacy of your martial chambers.

He dares to take another step closer, your breasts now pressed up against his chiseled chest. “don’t make me repeat myself, dōnus riñus.” Sweet girl.

You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, before turning your body away from him. Your chest heaved heavily at the thought of what’s to come. You could not believe that he would touch you where anyone could see.

You grip onto the wooden edge of a picnic bench; you knew that you should prepare yourself before he ruts into you.

You hear your husband drop to his knees behind you, causing you to turn your head to glance at him. His eyepatch abandoned onto the stone ground, the sapphire that sat in his empty socket, shining in the sunlight. You clenched down on nothing at the sight.

More often than not, Aemond would bring you to release with his tongue or fingers, but never from behind. You would always look upon his face. You audibly swallowed, opening your mouth to protest.

“Do I have to keep telling you, wife?” A slap to your backside caused you to let out a high-pitched, breathy whimper. You chew on your lip once again, before turning back around.

You feel him lift your dress up, settling it at your hips. Both of his hands grabbed your ass cheeks, pulling them apart and exposing you.  The wind grazing against your most sensitive parts had you whimpering. Your hips rolled against the air, seeking out any kind of friction. He groaned from behind you, squeezing your cheeks.

“You’re fucking dripping.” His finger ran up the back of your thigh until it ghosted over your cunt, collecting some of your slick. He popped a finger in his mouth and swirled his tongue around it, making sure it was nice and clean. “Gods, I can’t get enough of how you taste.”

You gripped the edge of the bench, trying to compose yourself. 

Aemond slapped your bottom again, making you jolt forward. He placed a hand on your lower back, bending you over the bench. 

You let out a shocked moan the second you felt Aemond lick up from your sopping wet cunt all the way up to your puckered, brown hole. You squeezed your eyes closed, embarrassment flooding through you as you moaned loudly. It was always lewd when Aemond fucked you, but this was new and entirely improper.

A stinging slap was served to your backside, causing your eyes to snap open. “You know you like it.” Aemond mumbled behind you, the vibrations of his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

“Aemond, please.” Your eyes rolled in the back of your head just as the tip of his tongue circled your tight hole. Your husband is a patient man, he could tease you for hour on end, if he truly wanted. It was dirty and disgusting, yet you feel your stomach clenching from the extreme pleasure.

You were mewling freely now and attempted to sneak a hand between your soaked thighs to relieve the ache. Aemond slapped it away immediately, a silent warning to not do it again.

Aemond finally wrapped his lips around your pearl. “Oh- yes!” You reached a hand around and held into the back of his head, grinding your hips back against his exploring tongue. 

“Mm, mhm.” He couldn’t say much, but Aemond was showing just how much he loved the taste of you. Letting his tongue dip into your cunt for a moment before licking up towards your ass, getting it all nice and wet with his spit. 

Aemond was slurping, licking, and sucking. He was doing everything just right and you felt as if you were in heaven. You aren’t certain how he can much air with his face pressed so deeply against you, but you cared naught. Not when you felt this good.

The hand you had in Aemond’s hair pulled at silver strands. “So good, Aemond, so fucking good!” 

It was hard to keep your balance and not fall straight to your knees. The pleasure was growing and you could feel your release fast approaching, making your toes curl in your shoes.

Aemond knew you were close too, and he wanted to feel you spill all over his face. He pulled your folds apart and suckled your pearl back into his mouth, shaking his head side to side, letting his teeth barely graze it. 

Your pearl throbbed in his mouth as your stomach caved in, your wanton moans loud and clear for anyone to hear. You were humping his face, needing everything he had to offer.

“I-Im close!” You were afraid that Aemond would stop, edge you until you couldn’t take it anymore. But he let you speak, kept sucking at your pearl like his life depended on it, making obscene slurping noises. 

You squeezed your eyes shut and slammed your hand on the bench, spilling yourself on his tongue. It was taking its time running through you, letting you feel every bit of pleasure it had to give. “Fuck, fuck!” 

He drunk every last bit of your spend, groaning at the taste. “So delicious.” He spanked you again before standing on his feet again.

Your brain turned the mush, vision blurry, barely registering your husband’s words. Your thighs shook as he pulled your dress back down. He snaked his arms around you, helping you stand up straight.

Aemond wiped his mouth before pressed a loving kiss to your temple, parting his lips to speak.

“Yet, you call me depraved.”

Both you and Aemond turn to the unwanted voice behind you and you were met with eyes of his brother, Aegon.

A pang of cold sweat ran through you as your heart dropped to your gut. Has he been there the whole time? Did he see everything? Will he tell everyone?

You watched as Aemond’s lips pursed into a tine line. If looks could kill, you were sure Aegon Targaryen would be long gone.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Aemond seethed. “Before I kill you.”

Aegon drunkenly giggled before taking a sip of wine from his giblet. He turned his back not before mumbling, “Can’t even enjoy a stroll in the garden these days.”

You wished you could vanish into a hole at that very moment.

[balkanradfem]

I'm reading the 'Age of Surveillance Capitalism' book by Shoshana Zuboff, and it is haunting me, making me feel uncomfortable and making me want to move offline.

We've all been aware that google, facebook, and all other digital tech companies are taking our data and selling it to advertisers, but according to the book, that is not the end goal.

The book goes into the rise of google, and how it made itself better by constantly studying the searches people were inputting, and learning how to offer better information faster. Then, they were able to develop ways to target adverts, without even selling the data, but by making their own decisions of what adds should be targeted at what audience. But they kept collecting more and more data, and basically studying human behaviour the way scientists study animals, without their knowledge or consent. Then they bought youtube, precisely because youtube had such vast amounts of human behaviour that could be stored and studied.

But they're not only using that data to target adds at us. They've been collecting data in ways that feel unexpected and startling to me. And whenever they're challenged or confronted with it, they pretend it was a mistake, or unintentional, and it's scary how far they've been able to get away with it.

For example, during their street-view data collecting, the google car had been connecting to every wifi available and taking encrypted, personal data from households. When they got found out, they've explained it was not intentional, and a fault of a lone researcher who had gone rouge, and they evaded getting sued or being held accountable for it at all. Countries have created new laws and regulations and google kept evading it and in the end they claimed 'you know if you keep trying to regulate us, we'll just do things secretly'. Which is a wild thing to say and expect to get away with!

Another thing that struck me was that governments, which at first wanted to restrict data collection, later asked tech companies to monitor and prevent content connected to terrorism, and the companies didn't like the idea of being a tool of the government, so they claimed the terrorism data is being banned for 'being against their policy'. Which makes me believe they didn't want to remove that content at all, after all, they could have done it beforehand, they didn't feel any natural incentives to do so.

The entire story is filled with researchers who don't seem to experience the human population as other human beings. They don't believe we deserve privacy, or dignity, or any say in what is being collected or done to us. Hearing their quotes and how they describe the people they're researching shows clearly they consider us all stupid, and our desires for privacy, self-harming. They insist we'd be better off if we just accepted their authority and gave them any data they wanted without complaining or being upset it's being collected without our knowledge.

Even though companies claim at all times that the data is non-identifiable, the book explains just how data is handled and how easy it is to identify anyone whose private conversations are recorded; people say their names, their addresses, places they're going, friends they're meeting, they say names of their family members, their devices record their location and their habits, it is extremely easy to identify anyone whose information has been collected. It can be identified and sold to information agencies.

I believed when it was explained to me that most of the data collection was just for add targeting, and that it would be used only for advertisement purposes, but they're not only collecting data anymore, they're deciding what data is being fed to us, and recording our reactions, learning how they can affect and manipulate our behaviour. We know all algorithms feed us controversial, enraging and highly-emotional content in order to drive engagement, but it's more than that. They've discovered how they can influence more or less people to vote. The mere idea of that makes me go cold, but they talk about it like it's just another thing they can do, so why not? Companies who have experimented and learned so much about influencing human behaviour give themselves the right to influence it as they see fit, because why wouldn't they? Since they have the power to do it, and all lawsuits and regulations can't stop them, why wouldn't they make a game out of it?

I can't imagine how many experiments they did before feeling so confident and blase about this and casually influencing the elections, again, seemingly just for the sake of an experiment.

The book compares this type of behaviour manipulation to totalitarianism and surveillance state, and it shows how the population is slowly losing parts of their freedoms without realizing it is even happening. Human behaviour has changed due to online influence, and it keeps changing rapidly, with every new popular website that is influencing human behaviour. They've learned that humans are influenced mostly by behaviour of other humans, and they can decide what kind of content or influence to send our way to get desired results.

I love how the author of the book talks about humanity. She uses the term 'human future', as something we all have the right to, as opposed to future controlled by companies and influences. She describes how regular people were affected by the data collected against their will, and how they fought for their 'right to be forgotten', when google kept displaying their past struggles, damaging their dignity. She also explains the questions people should ask about how society is led: First question is, who knows? Second question, who decides? Third question, who decides who decides? She goes in detail about how the answers are held away from us, and what it does to us. She also touches very deeply on the idea of human freedom!

I recommend this book, even though it will make you feel far less secure and carefree to be online, and using anything google, facebook, twitter or any of their owned services. They are not free, and it's also incorrect to say that we're the product of them, but we are the source of the raw materials they collect in order to gain results.

[margowritesthings]

The French Are Glad To Die For Love

A Bridgerton x Moulin Rouge crossover

pairing: Colin Bridgerton x ? word count: 2.1k words warnings: 18+ minors DNI, un-beta'd, mentions of sex, spitting, lots of debauchery authors note: surpriiise! i have been sitting on this since part 1, so to celebrate part 2 tomorrow here's my new mini-series! i have never written for Colin before, so i'm nervous, but i loved writing this.

i also need your help! i cannot decide if this mini series should be Colin x reader or a Polin fic, where Penelope is Satine. I have created a poll here for you to vote, so please let me know!

and as always, enjoy! it's been a hot minute since I last published, so thank you if you're still here.

Bridgerton Masterlist

The stars sparkle especially brightly tonight, the crimson lanterns guiding Parisians and tourists alike through the winding streets, and Colin Bridgerton stands in awe of it all. 

He’d read stories, heard tales of this place during long nights at Whites, but nothing could have quite prepared him for what lay ahead of him, a long string of lights hanging in the sky leading the way to his destination. 

The Moulin Rouge. 

A house of debauchery and sin, of freedom and truth, filled to the brim with bohemians and artists and beautiful women unlike anything or anyone he’s ever seen before. Even now, 30 feet away from the illuminated windmill, he can hear the music and the joy spilling out from the building. His senses are filled with the perfume of hundreds of women passing him by the minute, all with real, toothy grins he rarely has the pleasure of seeing back home. It is far too impolite to be so happy in London society. 

Colin steps forwards, his boots crunching against the gravel and his coattails flying in the breeze. His shoulders brush more wonderfully merry, positively inebriated partygoers on his way in, catching odd fragments of conversations that would have scandalised him and his whole family were he elsewhere. 

But he wasn’t elsewhere. He was here, in the city of love, away from anybody who had ever known the name Bridgerton. His clean slate clutched close to his chest, waiting to find out what will be written on it next, Colin feels the fresh air on his face for the last time before his life is changed forever.

The heat hits him first, a symptom he knew all too well of too many people packed into a small space. But unlike every ball he’s been to, this doesn’t feel claustrophobic or fusty. It feels alive. 

There is a feast for the eye wherever one looks. Burlesque dancers showing off stockings and garters by kicking their legs up, toes pointing towards the aerial hoops holding acrobats hanging from the ceiling. Gentlemen, if you can call them that in this state, wearing top hats, arm in arm with their glasses raised high, spilling their contents all over the wooden floor. 

The music blasts loud from each instrument the band masterfully pluck or blow or bang, but laughter and conversation buzzes amongst the melodies. It is a near overwhelming amount of joy, one Colin certainly could use a drink to wash it down with. 

If he could just find the bar…

Bodies fill his view, so entangled in each other it is difficult to tell where one starts and another ends. Frilly skirts flow over the knees of suits as ladies dangle from the necks of patrons, sharing cigars and passing around bottles of an unknown green liquid. Rosy cheeks as far as the eye can see, wether from too much of that green stuff or the exertion of all that dancing, Colin can’t be sure. Between them all, in tiny empty spaces, he can just about make out rows of bottles and glasses. 

Weaving through the crowd is like treading through water, but their energy and joy seems to rub off on him. There isn’t a dance card in sight, women choosing their partners themselves whenever they like with a freedom Colin isn’t sure he’s ever seen before. Is this truly what people are designed to be when they are free?

Eventually, his hands find the sticky wood of the bar, quickly lifting themselves back off it on instinct at the sensation. When Colin looks to his left, he sees a woman pouring a shot of liquor between her breasts, a man knelt below her waiting to lick it back up, and he quickly realises why the bar feels so tacky- every surface here seems to be host to someone’s revelry. 

“Welcome to the Moulin Rouge, monsieur. Can I get you a drink?”

Colin’s attention is quickly pulled by the welcome, his gaze snapping to a tall French woman dripping with red jewels that compliment her rich brown skin perfectly. She is captivating to be sure, deep hazel eyes commanding Colin’s attention, competing with the most incredible curls of hair he has ever seen. Ladies of the ton are welcome no matter their race back home, but Colin has never seen a lady allowed to wear her hair so beautifully natural before. The Afro framing her face has more tiny rubies that sparkle under the cabaret lights, and Colin is speechless. 

“I…uh, pardon me, Miss, I-“ he sighs, giving up entirely at his failed attempt at decorum, “Is it so obvious I have never been here before?” 

She laughs, gems twinkling as her head shakes with mirth. 

“Not at all, but most gentlemen who have been here before know to wear a top hat. And there’s that look in your eye…” 

As she speaks, she pours out one finger of the green liquor Colin has spotted a few times already, sliding it along the wood towards him. 

“Wonder. Drink this. It will help with the nerves.” 

Colin looks down, finding himself fascinated with a drink that seems to glow of its own volition. He has smoked blends and meditated with world weary travellers from across the globe, drank tea containing unknown substances that left him staring at blades of grass as if they held the worlds secrets, and yet this… whatever it is, seems to terrify him.

The barmaid laughs again, that melodic sound with the real joy Colin very much enjoys. 

“It’s only absinthe, monsieur. Loosens the inhibitions, relaxes the body…” she explains, pouring a second out for herself and lifting it to him as if to prove her credibility. 

“Santé.” He toasts to health.

“Amour.” She toasts to something far greater.

It leaves no room for argument, and all Colin can do is lift his own glass and tap it against hers. 

It burns his tongue, leaving a fiery trail down his throat as he swallows and tries not to cough and splutter. A bitter yet herby anise flavour fights with his taste buds and seems to seep straight into his mind, teasing at those tense knots that held him back from fully immersing himself here. 

When his eyes eventually reopen, he finds the barmaid beaming at him, unphased by her own potion. Rather used to it, if she shares a glass with every newcomer, he should think.

“Be careful, though, monsieur. Many a man has spent a night with the stuff and swears he fell in love with a fairy dressed all in green. Ruined him for any other woman for the rest of his life…” She speaks words that belong in fairytale, with a tone containing such severity Colin is inclined to take every single one of them as gospel. 

“I dare say I should be careful, then. I do not think this green fairy would want to join the rest of my travels when she can instead entice all of Paris’ men to sin…” 

The residue of the liquor smells just as strong as the full measure, which Colin tries to blink out of his senses when he puts the glass back on the bar.

Almost as if society itself had cleared its throat at him, Colin remembers himself, remembers just where he is. Undoubtedly the most unique establishment he had ever set foot in, but an establishment all the same. 

“I beg your pardon, miss, I seem to forget myself. How much do I owe you for the drink?”

She considers him.

“Hm,  the absinthe I think… for you, a kiss.” 

Colin, already pulling coins from his breast pocket, pauses, a little grin tugging at the corner of his lip. The francs clink together when they fall back to the bottom of his pocket, a long forgotten currency of the past. It’s a perfect reminder of just how different things are here, how easily walls crumble between strangers and connection is offered so freely. He has never kissed a woman he has not paid for back home, so afraid of getting too close to another in case they ruin each other. Here, a beautiful woman leans over the bar, offering her flushed cheek for him to softly press his lips against. 

And he does. 

And it is lovely. 

“If any more handsome men capture the eye of Mademoiselle Belle, I will surely be out of business!” A loud, hearty voice pulls Colin from one blissful moment back into the party.

He regards a rather large man, clad in a red tailcoat and stunning golden waistcoat. His top hat, near the same to all the other gentlemen in the room but somehow grander, tops wild orange curls that match a fantastic handlebar moustache. A true ring leader to this wonderful circus of debauchery Colin has found himself in. 

“Harold Zidler, at your service. Welcome to the Moulin Rouge.” 

“Colin Bridgerton.” He replies, offering a hand that Harold seems bemused at. Unsurprising, considering what passes for currency around here. Nonetheless, Harold shakes the offered hand. 

”I must say, your establishment is rather…” he hesitates, unable to find a word in any language he has picked up along his travels that quite captures the Moulin Rouge. Perhaps he could blame the absinthe, or the intoxicating hedonism he feels rooting its way through his mind, hidden in the brass notes from the band and thrown with each cancan kick of one of the dancers that surrounds him. 

Luckily, Harold seems well used to this phenomenon. 

“Isn’t it? And you have seen nothing yet! I assume you are not from around here?”

”It is rather obvious, I have been told.” Colin adds a glance to Miss Belle, who’s skirt frills bounce in the lights while she shakes up a cocktail. He adds, “London.” 

”Well, Monsieur Bridgerton, I promise you that what we have here in the Moulin Rouge is unlike anything you have back home in London.” 

Colin’s eye is caught again across the room, as a beautiful woman with blonde tumbling waves spits a drink into a man’s mouth. 

“I am inclined to agree with you there.” 

It truly is unlike anything back home. Colin has travelled across Europe and back again, seen incredible sights and met wonderful people. He has felt that ease that distance from London society and its unwritten laws and social rules that bind him back home can bring. He’s seen beauty and felt freedom and thought he might have found truth somewhere along the way, but it pales to whatever is contained within these four walls. 

In truth, it couldn’t be farther from London society.

”Just wait until you see my Diamond, Monsieur.”

… Perhaps not. 

Intrigue hits Colin as Harold pulls out a pocket watch on a brilliant gold chain. 

“Your diamond?”

”My Sparkling Diamond. The main attraction of the Moulin Rouge, my most sought after little chickee.” He speaks proudly, with a mist in his eye Colin normally finds on ambitious Mamas at grand balls, secretly trying to auction their daughters off to the highest rank. 

“I do not believe she is booked yet for tonight…” Harold adds, that mist darkening, disappearing, leaving a shiver stuck between Colin’s shoulder blades.

Not because this Diamond is a courtesan. Colin is hardly a stranger to the profession, and he bears no judgement. In truth, he admires the women he has been known to spend the night with, finding the courage of living outside society so freely quite brave indeed. No, that shiver came from Harold entirely, Colin just cannot figure out why. 

Harold excuses himself, though makes sure Colin knows to stay for the show, and Colin orders a whiskey on the rocks, insisting on paying in cash this time. Though singular in person, he has never felt less alone in his life. Looking around, there isn’t an empty chair in the house. If there were, there wouldn’t be room to put it down for all the dancers and patrons enjoying every ounce of the world they can. Music played straight from the soul ringing in his ears, Colin could make out every instrument. The lights dazzled in his eyes and the spot caught him every so often, lighting his drink up in his hand like golden ambrosia. 

And then, darkness. Silence. 

A single spot, though the mirrors scattered around catch the light and illuminate the faces of the people around him. Everybody is looking upwards, as if they all know she is coming. 

Even if he did know, Colin could never have prepared himself for what he saw when he looked up.

Who he saw.

The Sparkling Diamond, shimmering high on a swing hanging from the ceiling. 

The most beautiful, breathtaking, person he has ever seen. In any city, on any continent in the world. 

Crimson lips part as each and every person hangs on the breath she takes.

”The French are glad to die for love…”

don't forget to vote in the poll for your fmc!

[milswrites]

To the stars who listen

~Rhysand X Fem!Reader

Summary: Looking upon the stars for the first time since leaving the mountain, Rhysand makes a wish. Only to be surprised when his dreams are actually answered.

Warnings: Mentions of what happened to Rhys under the mountain. (otherwise the only way I could describe this is as fluffy angst?)

Fic for @starfallweek

Prompt: Character A is a fallen star. Character B finds them.

The world was full of dreamers.

Humans, Fae and Faeries alike. The power of the night sky knew no bounds. All were welcome to look up to the heavens and all were able to wish upon the astral beings to their hearts content.

The stars knew nothing of discrimination, shining for all should they only choose to look up.

They were infinite. Unyielding.

Having centuries of experience when it comes to lighting up the night sky.

A patient guide, a willing listener, a teller of stories.

To Rhysand, stars were just as important as the air he breathed.

Which is why he found himself here, on his first night of freedom after escaping the mountain, sat alone on his balcony at the House of Wind. His violet eyes, dulled after half a century of pain by Amarantha's hand, locked onto the sky above him.

Fifty years.

That was how long the High Lord had been deprived from watching the stars. Fifty long years without their comforting presence to whisper to. Unable to share his dreams, his prayers for the future. Hidden from the golden twinkle which told him they heard him, storing away his wishes, holding them safe until they came true.

So here he was, staring longingly at the night sky. Searching his mind for what he wanted to say. Wondering exactly how he would greet them again.

It was a beautiful night for it.

Not a single cloud hovered overhead. Allowing the stars to shimmer brightly in all their majesty. Rhysand couldn't recall a time where he had ever seen the stars gleam with this intensity.

Heart twinging with hope, he imagined their vivid illumination was for him. That it was their way of saying hello to an old friend they had missed. Their way of showing him they were listening.

So Rhysand spoke.

A soft breath from his lips as he whispered to the brightest star in the sky, the reflection of its almighty glory danced in his soulless eyes.

"I wish I felt like me again."

His own eyes watered at his confession, throat turning dry as his mind never failed to stop playing out the horrors of which he had endured under the mountain. Each blink of his eyes brought along the flashes of deep red hair and rouge painted claws.

Rhysand no longer considered himself a dreamer. Not as long as these nightmares plagued his thoughts.

He was a broken man.

A cracked mirror. Only he couldn't figure out how to piece himself back together again. How to move on from the trauma of his past which had settled in his bones.

So he repeated his wish, his words floating into the cool night air like a prayer. Desperate eyes searching the glowing stars, begging for an answer. Begging for some instruction as to how he could move on, how he could be Rhysand again.

But there was nothing.

The stars were silent.

There was no shimmer of acknowledgment. No sign that they had heard the broken call from the male. They stayed unchanging, staring back at him with no acknowledgement of his wish.

Disheartened, Rhysand cast his bitter eyes to the ground. Cursing himself for being so foolish as to believe that the stories his mother used to tell him held truth.

Perhaps that's all they ever were. Just stars. And Rhysand was just the fool who had hoped that they could be something more.

Sullen, he made to move inside. Disappointment welling in his system at the knowledge that sleep most likely won't come to him. That dark-eyed and exhausted tomorrow, he would have to pretend to his family that all was ok. That he was ok.

For one last time he cast his violet eyes back to the sky in despair. Taking turns to stare at each glistening orb. Forcing himself to look for something he no longer believed was there.

Then, just as he was about to give up and retire to his room, there was a flash from the corner of his eyes.

It was only small, the white light which had crept into his vision. But it was definitely there. A streak across the inky black sky. Breaking the darkness as it barreled over Velaris and towards the forest-cloaked mountain in the distance.

Rhysand was driven by pure instinct.

He leapt from the balcony. Large wings growing from his back until they began to powerfully beat against the gravity pulling him down, carrying him upwards towards the mountain. Towards the mysterious light which was still barreling through the sky, gaining momentum as it was moved downwards. Almost appearing as though if it was falling.

This stirred the male to act faster. To urge his wings to close the difference between himself and the light quicker. Beating them and beating them until a dull ache had settled in his muscles.

But he had to get there.

The white light disappeared between the trees, its intense aura had dimmed to a low glow. It's flickering energy enough for Rhysand to still follow the trail as he flew down to the ground in order to land. Curiously threading in-between the tree's as he made his way towards the source.

His eyes squinted as he neared the fallen light, heart pounding as he was able to make out the shape of a figure from inside the glowing orb.

The ethereal being walked towards him as the brightness dimmed, allowing Rhysand to drop the hand which he had lifted to shield his eyes. Though whilst the orb of light had faded, the skin of this otherworldly being still glowed strongly.

"Who are you?" He questioned weakly, unable to don the mask of an all-powerful High-Lord because he knew whoever this was, whatever they were, he would be no match for them.

"I think you already know the answer to that."

Their voice was soft, angelic, as though the words they were speaking came from the melody of a song. The gentle tone reverberated in the quiet forest, clinging to the air as it failed to fully disappear. Hovering closely by like an inextinguishable echo.

"No. . .no. It's impossible. You're not real" his head shook in disbelief, violet eyes wide in shock. There had to be another explanation to this. To who this strange being was.

"You called, Rhysand. So I came."

"But- but how? Am I dreaming?"

An amused smile crossed her face, soft pink lips lifting into a gracious curve, "Is that what you think this is? A dream?"

His brows furrowed as he considered the star's words.

"No" he concluded, heart sinking at his realization, "This is real. I haven't had a dream in fifty years."

"And why is that?" she questioned, her siren's song attempting to draw the words out from his lips, even though Rhysand had the unsettling feeling that she already knew the answer. That she probably already knew everything about him.

The thought of which churned his stomach in an unpleasant way. Had she been able to see everything that happened under the mountain, even though Rhysand couldn't see her? His rising anxiety over this prospect rendered him unable to speak.

"You've asked me who I am," she started attempting to soothe his rising worries by giving him something else to think about, "But who are you Rhysand? You want to feel like you again so badly? Who is that?"

"I. . . I don't know. I don't know who I am" he cried, searching eyes boring into the star's as if her silver orbs would hold the answer that he's looking for. But they remained untelling, instead they only willed him to continue speaking.

"What I do know. . . Is that I'm not the same man who entered that mountain."

Her unwavering smile remained, its presence pouring through Rhysand, relaxing him until it reached his very soul.

"And why do you have to be?" she asked, moving closer to the male so he could absorb some of her calming energy.

"Because it's what's expected of me?" he meant to say it as a statement, make the point that his court and his family were relying on his council now he had returned, yet his words came out more as a question, seeking truth from the empathetic features of the star.

"Expected of you? From your court? From your friends and family? Or is it just yourself telling you that."

She was right of course. Her piercing eyes already knowing the truth about the male before he did. Yet, where he usually would have found it annoying, there was something rejuvenating at the way she was able to understand him.

At the way she was able to peel apart the layers of his swirling thoughts, unstick the pages of the book who made him who he was. Mend the broken edges and the cracked spine. Her words acting as the hands which where smoothing the pages back to normal.

She turned her face to the sky, eyes casting beyond the overhanging canopy to meet the night sky. Silvery eyes lovingly looking upon her family.

"We never stopped waiting for you Rhysand. Fifty years we looked down to that mountain. Waiting for when the day would come that you returned from its depths."

His heart ached sweetly at the knowledge. A sad smile creeping onto his face at the awareness that the stars had longed for his return.

That whilst he had been trapped within the shadows of the mountain thinking of them, they had kept their eyes on his prison, waiting for him to return.

"You're not broken Rhys" she confided, "You're still the same man who went under the mountain, if not an even stronger one. You stared death in the face and you lived. You're here. Allow yourself to feel the pain. Give yourself the time to heal. There is light on the other side."

"But what if I can't find it?" Rhysand worried, "What if I get lost?"

"You never will. We will guide you Rhys, just as we always have."

She began to glow with more ferocity, Rhysand having to squint his eyes once more from the force of the light she emitted. Fear sparking inside his chest at the realization that she was leaving, that her time here was drawing to a close.

"No, you can't go! I need you!" he begged, doing his best to desperately stare into the light so she knew just how serious he was being.

"I'm always there Rhys. I'll watch over you every night, all you have to do is look up."

By this point the sheer brightness of her presence was too overwhelming, Rhysand having to turn around to avoid being blinded. His violet eyes turned to the ground where they locked onto the shadow of his figure. Onto him. Not the fractured male he had assumed crawled out from the mountain. But Rhysand, High Lord of the night court.

"We're always listening Rhysand, and every dream you send to us shall be answered. All you have to do is ask."

The light behind him vanished. Leaving the male standing in the dark solitude of the forest. But he wasn't alone. He knew that now as he turned his glistening eyes to the night sky.

Lips upturned in a peaceful smile.

"Thank you" He whispered gratefully to the stars.

And Rhysand could have sworn that the stars smiled back.

[emthimofnight]

What are Stellar's relationships like with the other main Sonic Co.?

I'll break down a handful of relevant relationships for you!!

Sonic - Stellar's dad

Stellar loves her dad, and is most like him in personality. This makes it so they are usually on the same page when it comes to what they do and don't like, but it also means that there is no one on earth who can annoy Stellar like Sonic can. 😂 As much as she loves joking around with him, sometimes his teasing and sarcasm can get on her nerves. Sonic has truly adapted to his role as an embarrassing dad, so dad jokes are non-stop in the hedgehog household. Even so, Stellar loves Sonic a lot and nothing makes her happier than running all over Green Hill with him! She wishes he'd take her on more of his big adventures.

Shadow - Stellar's papa

Stellar and Shadow are very close, but in a way that is different than how she is close with Sonic. Shadow is a quiet, steady, and responsible force in her life, one that she appreciates greatly. She knows she can rely on him for almost anything, and she finds a great amount of comfort in his presence. Shadow would do almost anything for her, and she knows it. That being said, Shadow can come across as overprotective, which becomes a point of contention between the two of them.

Tails - Uncle figure

Since Tails and Sonic were living together when Stellar arrived, he's always been an active part of her life. Once he got over the drama surrounding her existence, he was SUPER stoked to be an uncle! He was one of her regular babysitters growing up, and she really likes trying to bring out his more playful side. Even so, she finds it a bit hard to connect to him and his interests at times, as she's not very techy. She might not understand all of his brainiac lingo, but she does love all the fun gadgets he comes up with! He actually helped create her skates as a way to help vent her excess chaos energy!

Knuckles - Uncle figure

Knuckles is probably the uncle she relates to the most, as she shares his love of adventure and the outdoors! She often spends time listening to him tell stories of all the adventures he and Sonic have gone on, her eyes filled with stars. She admires him greatly, and thinks he's super cool! The only thing she doesn't get is how he can spend so much of his time sitting around and guarding the Master Emerald. She has far too much energy to be able to sit still for that long!

Amy - Aunt figure

Amy was another of her regular babysitters growing up, which is also how she and Camellia became so close. Amy would come over to visit with Camellia in tow, and the two would spend a majority of the time playing together. She sees Amy as a warm, loving person, and she feels like she could tell her almost anything. She does know not to piss her off, though! Amy is a force to be reckoned with when she's upset! Of course, she's delighted whenever she comes over, and it always helps that she brings yummy baked goods with her!

Rouge - Aunt figure

The aunt she's closest with, Rouge helped Stellar shape a lot of her personal style. She's the rich auntie type, always coming over with gifts and taking Stellar out to have girl time. She is responsible for a lot of the more feminine aspects of Stellar, seeing as she's the one who introduced the world of cosmetics to her. If it wasn't for her, Stellar would have been dressed in oversized t-shirts and running shoes all her life!

Blaze - Aunt figure

Being softer and more reserved, Stellar finds it harder to connect with Blaze. It's not that she doesn't appreciate her, she's just can find her a bit hard to read at times. She definitely exudes that queenly energy, and she can find that a bit intimidating at times. Even so, she's always happy to get opportunities to know her better, and she recognizes she's an empathetic and responsible person.

I should also mention that the only one out of this group that she genuinely sees like blood family is Tails. Everyone else are kind of like god parents or something, haha! She doesn't see any of the other fankids as cousins, basically. She sees them as peers/friends.

[seonghwalazia]

propriety. | Hongjoong/Reader | kinktober 01

» summary: Propriety (and your father) dictates that he is vulgar, disrespectful, a criminal and a rake; someone you should never once cross paths with, let alone offer any of your time or attention. Your station and delicate hands are worthy of the highest bidder, of fine china and soft laughter hidden behind silken gloves. Not of pirates, of men who will sweep you off into adventure and not off your heeled feet with delicate words your mother approves of.

» pairing: Pirate King!Hongjoong / Noble!Reader

» rating: explicit

» content warning for pwp, possessive behaviour, mirror sex, finger sucking, wee bit of choking, vaginal fingering, grinding

» author's note: this is more setup than anything saucy because i'm going to be making a series of hj/reader set in this universe so. had to bring the boring stuff first there'll be more smut soon i prommy<3

» ao3 link

The curtains of your bedroom window billow from sudden movement as you press the finishing touches of rouge to the round of your cheeks, candles flickering on the vanity. There’s no breeze tonight, the sky calm and filled with starlight as your mother’s guests dance and drink and gossip in the gardens below. Your gaze flits from your reflection to the lingering shadows of late evening, not bothering to hide your small smile as the ball of anticipation tightens in your stomach. He doesn't announce himself, does not climb the wide staircase of your family’s estate to knock on your door, accompanied by a chaperone to call on you. Hongjoong comes to you beneath the cover of night, bleeding into the shadows to watch and wait and listen. The weight of his eyes prickles the back of your neck, the smallest shiver dancing down your spine.

“You’re late,” you whisper into the not-quite-as-empty-as-before room, placing the brush down in its proper place, painted lips parting over a smirk when the shadows answer with a low brush of laughter.

You’ve done this song and dance before. With wandering hands and secrets spilled between parted lips, pressed too close but never close enough. Hongjoong steps from the shadows with a thumb hooked into a ripped pocket, ringed hands shining in the low light. He wears his wide brimmed hat cocked to the side, body draped in thin leather and unexpectedly fine cloth that does little to hide the confident swagger, the shine of the cutlass at his left hip. His booted steps are silent against the dark rug, stepping fully from the shadows he inhabits and into your light.

“My sincerest apologies, my lady,” he says with a sweeping bow at the waist, taking off his hat as he goes. He glances up with the edge of something dangerous in his smirk, standing to full height and closing the distance in a few practiced steps. He holds your gaze in the mirror, haughty and sure before he stands just behind where you sit. 

“I seem to have misplaced my invitation, or perhaps your mother forgot to send me one,” he continues with a mock-offended widening of his eyes, hand cupping his jaw in deep thought as his brows furrow and you fight the urge to snort.

Propriety (and your father) dictates that he is vulgar, disrespectful, a criminal and a rake; someone you should never once cross paths with, let alone offer any of your time or attention. Your station and delicate hands are worthy of the highest bidder, of fine china and soft laughter hidden behind silken gloves. Not of pirates, of men who will sweep you off into adventure and not off your heeled feet with delicate words your mother approves of.

(And here’s the kicker: he is all of these things. He’s on the fringe, a pirate with weapons hidden in his clothes as well as his tongue. He’s clever and quick-witted, uncaring and charming and more at home swallowing down rum in the gutters with the rest of those that society deems as lesser. Unafraid to speak his mind, to go after what he wants. To tame the seas and chase freedom. Your envy is as wide as his smirk.)

A ringed hand circles your throat, Hongjoong’s thumb tracing the line of your jaw. Your lashes flutter at the sensation, relaxing into the low back of the chair as your head tilts, flowers in your hair pressing against the metal buckle of his belt. A part of you wonders if he can feel the harried rise of your pulse, pressed intimately to calloused fingertips.

“Run away with me,” Hongjoong whispers into the crown of your head when he leans down, as he does every time. Eyes closed as he inhales the sweet smell of your hair, groaning low in his throat. His fingers twitch on your neck, a frisson of delight shooting straight into your core at the sensation.

“I can't,” you reply, as you do every time. Eyes heavy lidded, you lift your hand to grip to his wrist, nails dragging a teasing touch into the delicate skin you find there. Pirate or no, he’s a man of flesh and blood just the same as any other. A slave to his desires, no matter how many times he insists that he is free.

“Because it isn't proper .” He spits the word like a curse, eyes opening just to roll. He keeps his hand where it is, tilting your head back to trace the delicate column of your exposed throat.

He never understands. “I have to -”

“Listen to mummy and daddy, keep that pretty little head empty.” His words bite harder than usual, a flush heating your face. He isn't - wrong. More concerned with reputation, with keeping what little freedom your family grants you to keep meeting him like this. It isn't so simple as to run off into the night, and no matter how frustrated he grows you know he understands. 

Even so, it makes you smile. A wicked and selfish little quirk of your mouth, one that Hongjoong zeroes in on. His hand roams from your throat to your mouth, thumb dipping against the rise of your bottom lip to swipe at the red tinting your mouth. Among all others, even with his wealth and reputation, still he wants you. More than any other, every desire falling to the wayside in favor of your demure hands and laughter shared between whispering mouths.

The same argument, half-hearted or heated, giving way to the same conclusion. Words drifting off into silence, desire suffusing the room until you fall together. Hongjoong looks away with an apology swimming in dark eyes, the same frustration mirrored within you. Were it only so simple. 

“Proper,” he says, though he’s smiling this time in such a way that surely means you’re in danger. Hongjoong glances down at your exposed chest, corset doing its work, and the edge of his grin turns sharp. “How proper would it be, to be taken in front of a mirror during your mother’s party?”

He uses your gasp to his advantage, thumb dipping just inside your mouth at that soft little inhalation. Your eyes widen even as you close your lips around him, instinctive and dutiful. The stain of red transfers easily to his skin, painting him for this brief and glorious moment as yours. 

There is little time, much and more longing; Hongjoong rips off his hat to toss it somewhere behind him, ducking down to rake his teeth over your exposed shoulder. The blunt tease of it makes your back arch, soft moan spilling around his thumb until his eyes shine in the dark. He lifts you to your feet, hands hooking beneath your arms, a palm flattened to your belly; the corset is laced perfectly, his blackened nails raking over fine fabric with a quiet scoff when he realizes he cannot feel you - not the softness of your flesh, not the warmth he knows you exude from his presence alone. 

Even still you simmer for him; blood running hot beneath the flush of your skin, balancing on unsteady feet and wondering when you had begun to dance to his tune as readily as the men under his command. Hongjoong disappears at your back, moving the low stool you’d been sitting on to the side before his fingertips dance at your bare ankles. His touch is a balm, roughened palms lovingly tracing your curves as he follows the line of your legs, skirt bunching around his wrists as he goes.

A shiver down your spine, when cool air wraps around your exposed legs. His laughter is banked as low as the hearth when he notices your distinct lack of smallclothes - your answering grin is lascivious, practically dripping promised sin with your smudged makeup and decision to throw decorum to the wind. Always, with him.

His mouth returns to your bare shoulder to paint his mark with teeth and tongue, rolling the heavy drag of fabric about your hips to expose you to his rampant desire. Your gasp is nearly lost to time when you feel his hand on your throat, gentle enough to save you from uncomfortable to explain marks, but urgent enough that you bend to his whim. He forces your face towards the mirror -when had you closed your eyes, back arched in bliss from Hongjoong’s reverant hands on you?- and you blink blearily until you can see your reflections, Hongjoong’s eyes bright above your shoulder and your cheeks heated in a deep flush.

“Watch,” he instructs, a kiss pressed to the curve of your shoulderblade, the moment his other hand snakes forward to delve between your thighs.

Your knees fold immediately, his clever fingers tracing your slit and bumping just over the sharp rise of your swollen clit. This - this is heaven, when you bite your lip to keep your instinctive noises of delight subdued and quiet. Hongjoong watching you in your reflection with something approaching devotion, glancing between your dropped-open mouth and the shine of wetness on your thighs over and again.

He plays you expertly, spreading your folds and swirling the tip of his middle finger over where you need him most. It sings through your veins, core clenching tightly. And he simply laughs - burying it in your heated skin and sucking a bruise into the back of your neck when all you can manage is to breathe his name. 

His hips rut against your backside, erection insistent upon you. He groans, voice shaky and a higher pitch than normal - but still he only teases, himself more than you. Hongjoong locks his eyes to yours as he toys with your clit, bringing you closer to the edge whilst burning beneath the focus of his lovely eyes.

“Are you mine?” He croons, saccharine-sweet and his grin has the honed edge of a blade. He is dangerous, your man - but he is yours nonetheless. Even in this fantasy, even in this dream.

“Yes,” you whisper in answer, immediately and without question. There is no time to consider, to allow propriety to win out. Even in secret, you belong utterly to him - and you both know it.

Hongjoong’s low moan is your reward, his kisses turning silken. Peppered across your shoulder and back, forehead to your neck - he takes a moment to breathe, hand between your legs twisting elegantly until he can sink two fingers deep into your waiting cunt, right to the knuckle.

Light flashes in your eyes at the welcome intrusion, though your gasp is swallowed by the palm of Hongjoong’s hand. Lightning-fast from your throat to your lips, he keeps you quiet for your own sake. Wouldn't do to be caught with a pirate wrist-deep inside you when you’re supposed to be dancing the night away with perfectly respectable members of society. 

Sometimes you wish they could hear how he makes you scream. The thought alone makes a fresh wave of arousal spill down his hand until it soaks his cuff.

The angle is awkward but you don't care. He fucks his fingers shallow into your dripping heart, thumb rolling over your bundle of nerves until the integrity of your knees threaten to fail. It is a heady thing, to watch the way his hand works over your intimate reaches with nothing but reverence in his eyes. Your makeup is smearing from his hand and your wet and gasping breaths but you just don't care; he holds you up, plucks delight from your blood and bones until you sing for him as prettily as his crew. You think you could love him for what he does to you. 

Your mouth opens, teeth exposed to bite at the meat of his palm. Hongjoong releases you, fingers still working your cunt, and you have to swallow the moan that lingers behind your teeth when you see the drag of red-pink from your lips to your cheek to his hand. 

You might not be able to mark him further than smudged cosmetics. He might only be able to find you in the cover of night. But even so -

Even so.

“Are you mine?” You repeat his own question in a whisper, voice airy and breathless and did he really have to push harder on your clit right at this moment? 

Hongjoong stills for a moment, brows furrowed in quiet contemplation. Which is an expression that would be surely comedic as he still has his hand in your cunt but he - looks at you. Carefully, nearly sweetly. You feel more exposed now than when he had first buried himself in your heat.

“Yes,” he answers, without the shadow of a doubt. He waits half a breath before the grin returns, red-ringed hand on your jawline to tilt your head back. Your stare in the mirror is broken as he angles your mouth to his, the shuddering relief of tension singing through your core. Your climax falls over you when you taste the rum on his tongue, when Hongjoong traces the line of your jaw with a rouge-stained thumb. He holds you through it, plays your body beautifully; your name whispered on his exhale, sounding dangerously close to affectionate. 

[bullet-prooflove]

5000 Follower Celebration: Death In A Tarot Card - Duke Crocker x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @of-mice-and-mirth @bunnybarnes1917 @princessmermaid1289 @jeysbae

Companion piece to:

The Finder - Haven has away of giving you what you need even when you don't know what you're looking for.

The List - Duke makes a list of the reasons you should stay with him.

Baggage - You coax Duke to tell you about his baggage.

Everything (NSFW) - You are everything to Duke.

Love Bite - Duke loves wearing the marks of your love.

Another (NSFW) - Duke wants to make sure you forget any other man.

Come Home - Duke travels to Nova Scotia to bring you home.

Layby - Duke and you take a moment in the aftermath of everything that's happened.

Stars (NSFW) - You and Duke spend a night under the stars.

Duke hasn’t told you about the tarot card, the one that he keeps tucked in the visor of his Jeep because he doesn’t want you find it on the Cape Rouge.  

When Elspeth had handed it to him, he had laughed because the Death card, it never really means what it says but then he’d seen the look in her eyes and he realised her Trouble, it’s a lot more literal than most.

“How long?” He had asked her.

“Months at most.” She’d said as her fingers traced over the illustration of his death sentence. “The cards, they don’t tend to draw these things out.”

When he makes it back to the Rouge that night, he doesn’t say anything when he steps through the door, he simply kisses you and that kiss…

It’s everything to him in that moment and Duke, he knows exactly what he has to do.

When you wake up the next morning, it’s to a cup of Earl Grey on the nightstand and an engagement ring on his pillow case. It’s an antique piece, silver with onyx stones set into the clasps. You smile as he takes your hand and places it on your finger.

“Will you?” He asks, his voice a little rough as he looks into your eyes.

“Of course.” You grin, your hands threading through his hair as you draw him back down into bed with you. He spends the morning inside you, making you sure you know exactly how much he loves you before he falls asleep tangled up in the sheets.

It’s a couple of hours later you slip away. You hop into his Jeep with the intention of heading to that bakery he likes when you pull down the visor to block out the sun and you find that tarot card and in that moment everything just falls into place.

You take your own out of your bag and study it alongside his.

Two years ago when you rolled into Haven, you’d found yourself in Elspeth’s shop and she’d given you your own tarot card. The Lovers.

“You’re going to meet man.” She’d told you as she pushed the card towards you. “A rogue and you’re going to fall in love with him, he’s going to give you a home right here on the water and for a time you’ll be happy, the happiest you’ve ever been.”

You’d met Duke Crocker the very next day, ended up living with him on the Cape Rouge.

It’s only now as you recall those words that you realise how temporary they sound.

You wonder if Elspeth had known Duke’s fate when she’d given your own card, if she’d known it would end in tragedy. You sigh as you tuck your card in alongside Duke’s underneath the elastic in the visor.

Whatever comes, the two of you, you’ll handle it together, just like a husband and wife should.

Love Duke? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Granted, tumblr’s search function may broken but I can’t find a post on your blog centered on Alya’s writing. As a person constantly on the look out for critical examination of Alya’s role in the narrative and the compromises on her principles, relationships and competences made to artificially engineer the episode’s story, I’d be very interested to see your thoughts

I use Alya's writing as an example of a character done dirty all the time, but I don't think I've ever done a sugar post focused on her and I totally should. Before we get into it, I will openly admit that her bad writing bothers me more than Marinette's or Adrien's because she is best girl and we stan her. What can I say, I'm a writer whose best friend is an artist with a diagnosed anxiety disorder. I like characters who are writers and with artsy, anxiety-ridden best friends. They are my people and that gives us a great starting point for this post.

Marinette is the unambiguous main character of the show, so it makes sense to design both her hero partner and her best friend around balancing her out, giving them strengths to fill out the spots where she is weak. It's how you make a strong cast. When Alya is allowed the shine, she fills that balance role wonderfully and I love it! Some of my favorite moments are when Marinette goes on one of her rants and cool-headed Alya drags her back down to Earth:

Marinette: We're gonna stroll over there real cool as if we just happened to be passing by. Alya: Then what? Marinette: Then? I'll invite him out for a fruit smoothie at the end of the photo shoot! Then, we'll get married! Live happily ever after in a beautiful house and have two kids? No, three. And a dog! Maybe a cat? Nah, forget the cat. A hamster! I love hamsters! Alya: Let's just start with just happen to be passing by and see if we can get to that smoothie.

This banter from Stormy Weather is fantastic. It's exactly the type of thing I want to see from these two as it gives Alya a very different flavor of supporting role from Adrien. While Alya and Adrien are both card holding members of the Marinette hype squad, Alya is more of a voice of reason while Adrien is there to validate Marinette and follow her crazy schemes without question.

This brings us to the first issue with Alya's writing: when the plot demands it, they make her a gullible tabloid journalist even though it goes against everything her character should stand for. The reasons I'm comfortable saying this are many. The first one is that Alya is very clearly supposed to be seen as a serious journalist. That's why you get scenes like this one from Feast:

Alya: Now you know back in the day sculptures were painted, right? Most of the paint vanished over time, but tiny microscopic pigments still remain. Thanks to this special app, witness how it originally looked. But here's the big thing. All these works of art have something in common. It's the same symbol! Look, everywhere. It's like some kind of secret society emblem. As if a kind of Order of the Guardians has been watching over the superheroes since the beginning of time!

This scene would not exist if Alya was supposed to be the kind of person who only cared about getting blog hits because this type of content isn't where the money is. But money and clout aren't what Alya cares about. She's just a passionate reporter (or fan girl) who wants to know everything she can and who is having fun sharing her obsession with the world. This is an extremely important aspect of her character because it brings us to reason two that she clearly wasn't meant to be a clout chaser: if she was a tabloid journalist who only cared about hits, then she should have never been given a miraculous.

I could go on a rant her about how poorly Alya's blog is used after she becomes Rena Rouge, but I'll spare you the word count and just say that, as soon as she joined the team, she should have stopped sharing secrets on the blog. It makes sense that a blog would initially fill her need to share the fine details of her obsession, but once she's on the team, the blog should have been replaced by her teammates. She could still have the blog, but it shouldn't have things like the freaking guide to how the miraculous work that we see in the season four episode Gabriel Agreste:

Alya: The Miraculous are magical jewels that give powers to superheroes, like Ladybug's earrings and Cat Noir's ring. But supervillain Shadow Moth also has two Miraculousbrooches in his possession, and they will give him his powers. We can figure out from this that the Miraculous can either make a superhero or a supervillain. It's all riding on who wears it, which is why these jewels can't fall into just anybody's hands.

Alya, you are supposed to be Marinette's sole confidante at this point. Why are you giving the world this information? The writers are doing you dirty, my dear, and I'm so sorry. The best I can do is to promise to never treat you like this in my stuff.

Now, to be fair, there is some nuance to this. Alya is a human being. She's allowed to have flaws, so I can absolutely forgive her for getting caught up in the moment and posting scoops to her blog without thinking (see: Oblivio). That's honestly a great weakness for her character to have as it makes perfect sense for a fan girl to fan girl. At the same time, if you want to have a fan girl character who becomes part of the things she's a fan of, then you usually need to give that character something that will tone them down and make full fan girl mode something other than the standard setting.

Making your fan girl a serious reporter is a great way to do that! It allows you to have that initial bust of fan girl hype that quickly switches into serious get-the-details mode. Without that kind of complexity, Alya would just be another Wayhem and one Wayhem is already one too many.

While I will give Alya some grace on this topic and even call it a good thing for her character, the same cannot be said for her writing because the writers fail to embrace her hype as an in-the-moment weakness and it ruins her character. To put it another way, a lapse in judgement about posting a photo is excusable as a photo is quickly acquired and posted. A lapse in judgement about a full interview with a total rando who is claiming to be Ladybug's best friend is not excusable (see: Volpina). It's a completely different flavor of poor judgement as - at a minimum - it requires Alya to stand there talking to a person for several minutes and never once question what that person is saying. Those are not the behaviors of a good journalist.

Of course, this brings us to the most glaring example of Alya's character assassination: the Lila thing. Almost everything about this arc paints Alya as a terrible friend, which is a massive missed opportunity as Lila is the perfect antagonist for Alya! Who better to take down a liar than a truth seeker? It's such an easy way to give Alya her own mission to focus on, especially if you make Lila more subtle. You don't even need to have Alya believe Marinette without question. Just have her be an investigative journalist who is like, "You know what, this new girl clearly bothers Marinette and I know Marinette can get caught up in her own head, but it doesn't usually last this long. I think something is up, so I'm going to use my skills to see if Lila is telling the truth that way I know if I'm supporting the right person here." Don't have your character claim that she checks her sources and does research if you're going to turn around and have her believe whatever she hears without checking any of it!

Even outside of the Lila thing, I wish we saw more of Alya's research skills! They were such a good thing to give Marinette's best friend as Marinette is great at focusing on a clear task, but research is the kind of thing that would overwhelm her, so it makes perfect sense to make her best friend a researcher as that lets the team have someone to help track down whatever Gabriel is calling himself this week. The writers even understood this to some extent as we saw in Mr. Pigeon 72:

Alya: Marinette, how long have you been working on this? Ladybug: I dunno, six-seven days, maybe ten. Now that we're on spring break, I finally have time to put my whole heart into it! Alya: When was the last time you worked on one of your own designs? Ladybug: I do loads of designing! Look! (pointing to the contraption at her door) I designed a security system so that nobody can enter my room when I'm not in it. And if I put on this hat (puts on modified hat) I hear everything that's going on in here, even when I'm out of the room. Alya: I'm gonna have to break it to you because I'm the only one who can. THIS IS TOTALLY INSANE! Girl, trust your BFF. When I'm researching something obsessively and I can't think of anything else, that's when my mind can get really blocked. You know what you need most right now? A break! Ladybug: No way! No breaks until I find out how to keep Shadow Moth from reakumatizing people!

Remember who ultimately figures out how to keep Shadow Moth from reakumatizing people in this episode? Alya! Because her creative style is all about researching and looking at the evidence. You know, the classic skill set of a reporter?

I really do mean it when I say that the show has a fantastic setup for telling a good story. Alya's character should have been a perfect addition to Marinette's team. My favorite lineup is the line up from season two with Kagami and Luka in non-love-interest bonus roles that I won't get into here since it's a little too deviant from canon to make sense without explanation. Instead, I'll just give you the clear roles they perfectly set up and then squandered for the original miraculous five:

Ladybug: Battlefield commander

Rena Rouge: Big Picture Strategist (basically Marinette excels at reactive thinking/leading during a battle while Alya excels more at proactive thinking/long-term tactics)

Chat Noir: Peacekeeper/Heart/Hype Man

Carapace: Protector/Stop Button (much like Alya and Marinette, Nino and Adrien should have been two sides of the same coin with Adrien being focused on making everyone happy while Nino focuses on keeping everyone safe)

Queen Bee: Wild Card/Chaos Element (I love a good chaos element who is there to suggest the options that won't occur to people who have been raised to follow the rules.)

I'll also point out that this lineup would show that the characters weren't interchangeable and make the two main couples feel more unique and meant for each other. For example, Nino's tendency to encourage others to stay safe would pair terribly with Marinette's need to not get too caught up in her own thoughts. The second Nino second guesses one of her plans she'd fall apart, so she needs Adrien to be her Chat Noir. Similarly, Alya's impulsivity weakness would make her a terrible match for go, go, go Hype Noir! She needs a partner who makes her take two seconds to second guess herself. There was so much potential here you guys! So much potential! It could have been beautiful! Instead, we got canon...

There you go, my broad love letter to Alya. I could keep going, but you didn't request a specific topic, so I'm just going to end it there. Feel free to ask for more, but please do it in another ask as this is already super long and - out of kindness to my followers- I try to avoid essay after essay on the same post unless they really need to be connected.

[wordyneonlights]

Unpopular opinion (or popular opinion I don't know), but I really wish that Marinette's whole class hadn't gotten miraculouses.

I really, really, liked the core five (Queen Bee, Carapace, Rena Rouge, Ladybug and Chat Noir). They were actually iconic, my french cartoon avengers.

Anyways, I really wanted more of their dynamic and I feel like having a close knit group like that would add a nice element to the story. Also, it really develops Chloe's character (something I will always love).

Also it provides cool angst avenues and elements of trust, cause Alya and Nino are dating and know who the other is. SPEAKING OF WHICH.

I know that Alya knows who Ladybug is but I really really wish Nino knew who Chat Noir is and vice versa!! Mostly because I feel like we've been deprived of Adrien/Nino content and that would really strengthen their friendship.

(Also I really dislike that Chat/Adrien is kind of left in the dark about everything, that might have changed in the newer season though so don't quote me.)

It would also burden him a bit less, I feel like Adrien's a bit isolated from the rest of the cast but hey that could just be me.

Anyways back to the miraculous point, I think that if Mari was to give out any other miraculouses it should have just been to Luka (because viperion is iconic), Max (his costume is so cool and he needs more screentime!!) and Juleka (this is a bit self indulgent, but I wanna see her and Chat interact). Also Kagami cause we could always use more Kagami and that's IT.

But, yeah that's kind of where my head is at regarding miraculous. Also, I haven't actually watched season 5 (I've been busy I'm sorryyyy) so all these points I'm making could have been addressed in the show.

So... yeah that's all.

Oh and I HATE Rena Furtive's design. I wish it didn't exist I want Rena Rouge back STAT.

[rockyp77mk3]

Right my side lost and your side won. I am trying to understand but I want to know what is the big difference between the Progressives and conservatives? Why do Progressives piss off conservatives so much? We only want equality and fairness.

Thank you for the question. These questions are deceptively simple but they require somewhat complicated answers. I will try.

Oh, I am not just a conservative. I am a Constitutional Conservative which means that the Constitution is considered the supreme law of the land. It is the guide against which all legislation, taxes, regulations, and issues are judged. It applies equally to all and is therefore a protection for all. It can only be changed by amendment and is not subject to any foreign law or restrictions even those promoted by the UN.

Since I like checklists I will try to answer your questions in some kind of order.

Problem solving. When presented with a problem Conservatives try to solve it using known facts and reason. Progressives tend to use spending and regulation. I have never witnessed a Progressive try to solve a problem (Or perceived problem) in any other way than raising taxes or sponsoring legislation that further truncates our individual rights.

Control. Progressives seem to love control, either being in control or being controlled in every aspect of life. They want to tell or be told what people can own, how far people can succeed in life, what people can think, what people can eat, what people can drive, and lets not forget what people should do with the very money they earn. In that last one Progressives are content to confiscate wealth through taxes for redistribution to their liking. Conservative just want to be left alone. We want to keep most of what we earn, we want to enjoy our enumerated rights unfettered by social pressure or governmental overreach. We would like government to literally get the Hell out of our lives.

Lack of tolerance. When a progressive gets an idea they believe it to be so good that it must be shared with (Inflicted upon) others even at the point of a governmental bayonet. Socialism for instance, also limiting 2ND Amendment rights, private property rights, etc. Conservatives don't care what you want to do as long as we are left alone to do what we want to do. If you don't like guns, fine, don't own one. If you want to be a socialist fine, get fifty of your closest friends and create a commune, I wish you luck. Do what ever you like, just leave me and my rights alone.

Happiness. Conservatives seem to be relatively happy. Progressives aren't happy unless they are angry or upset about a situation that either happened over 100 years ago or is an isolated incident, or is just something with which they don't agree. Progressives aren't always right but they are always certain. In that pseudo certitude they are willing to trample any and all rights. Individuals be damned the cause is all.

The US is always wrong. No matter the issue Progressives will unerringly take the side of anything that goes against the US. Progressives will support despots, terrorist groups, rouge nations, and criminal politicians as long as those support the inherent anti US sentiment of the hard left. Conservatives acknowledge that the US makes mistakes, sometimes hideous mistakes but at our core we are generally damn good. For example, if Kamala had won you won't see too many Conservatives wanting to leave the US. We are Americans and will stay and fight to the last.

Equality. Progressive want an equality of outcome. A guarantee that all people will have the same success. They call this "Equity". Conservatives believe that equality means that all people will have a fair chance at success. That hard work, effort, and inventiveness will pay off. You can't ensure outcomes only starting points.

There are more but you get the idea. By the way, Progressives don't piss us off all that much, we just don't want you in charge.

[gl1tch3doracle]

can we get a yoru x f/non-binary reader which doesn't end with the reader getting turned into a weapon (also with a little asa sprinkled in)

Love Yoru and Asa, but I dunno how much romance is actually in this thing. It's pretty long compared to my usual word count, so I don't know how spread out it could be or if things are rushed.

Anyway...

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Conflict of Interests ˖ ࣪⊹

Love Asa and Yoru and imo both need more love, but specifically Yoru.

➸ Yoru + !Neutral!Reader, Asa + !Neutral!Reader

➸ Word count; 3849 words,

➸ Warnings for gore, because this is CSM and it's Yoru. No spoilers (that I know of)

➸ Aside from the gore, I don't believe there are any other content warnings either. Don't know how well this flows because none of my work is beta read and I was also losing motivation by the end of this because I cranked this out in about two or three hours.

All things considered, you were adapting to your new life in Japan pretty well. At least, it felt like it.

Communication wasn't an issue, which was a relief - Neither was money, but your biggest problem so far was being directionally challenged. It complicated your routine to the utmost degree, and what was supposed to be a simple shopping trip had taken more than three hours because somewhere along the way you'd taken a wrong turn. Which was why, in your current moment, you were wandering aimlessly around the backstreets of Kyoto, meandering closely to the nearby high school. Silent as it was at the current hour, it still felt weird knowing that if you never left home, you'd probably be stuck in a building like that for hours on end.

You weren't though, and you were also lost. Which seriously wasn't fun, especially when you had a younger brother at home left unsupervised.

What was even less fun, though, (besides the thought of a rouge twelve-year-old boy) was the lack of people around you. Sure it was late, school was finished and the teenagers had cleared the food stalls and vendors and had already gone home, but it wasn't late enough that people would be tucking up in their homes already. The sun was still peaked beyond the horizon, casting pale light amok the city - The streetlights weren't even on yet, and yet the roads were emptier than a bucket with a hole in the bottom.

You weren't sure if that should make you feel relieved, or even more anxious than you already were.

Your first thought was a devil attack. They were common enough, and although the living embodiments of fear preferred more public areas (more fear to feed on, you assumed?) that didn't mean the weaker devils didn't slink around alleys like shifty cats when the darkness fell. And it was that thought exactly that kept you from calling out for help.

It was certainly a nerve-wracking thought, that was for sure, and a part of your new life that you weren't ever sure you were going to get used to. At least back home, devil attacks weren't nearly as common as they were 'round the streets of Kyoto. Sure, you'd go through attack drills like any other school, but luckily for you, you'd never had the misfortune of meeting one face-to-face on the streets. You couldn't even imagine the pure terror you might feel in that scenario - The pungent fear, the visceral pounding of your heart in your ears, the fight-or-flight instinct failing to kick in, maybe even the sickening, cloying stench of iron blood swarming your nose-

Huh. That wasn't good.

That sickly sweet, cloying iron scent of blood was swarming your nose.

You froze, rounding the corner, feet rooted to the ground. You almost flinched at the wet squelch that met your shoe instead of the steady tap against worn, greening concrete. Didn't have to look down to know that pools of blood were lapping seamlessly on your brand-new shoes. You didn't know what made you wince more, the price of the now ruined shoes, or the feeling of pungent fear that struck you at the unsightly view of bulging intestines flung around the wider street in front of you.

Gross - Disgusting. There was no immediate threat, you deduced after a second or two of not being attacked. No, the devil that made this mess (inadvertently or otherwise) was sprawled in the middle of the street, gangly, twisted, fuzzy and bulbous body blocking the road like the world's most horrific barricade. It wasn't moving, fur clogged with blood and flesh and guts only wavered with the faint breeze, but its sides didn't heave like it was breathing, although you weren't entirely certain that devils had to breathe. 'It could still be a trap' Was the thought that bullied its way to the forefront of your mind, and yet you still couldn't find it in yourself to move.

For the first time in what had to be a good long while since you'd left the store, you saw someone else. At first, your heart froze as the bee-like body of the devil shuddered and shook - It rolled onto its side, spilling more of its entrails onto the path. They slithered up to you sluggishly, like a trash heap toppling over, but the insectile face filled with jagged and snaggled teeth was blank as ever. There was no life behind those eyes, but you were more focused on the girl who'd effortlessly posed herself atop the body of the beast.

She wore a school uniform, you noticed, paired with an otherworldly cutlass held firmly in her right hand. The world around the two of you was eerily silent, ear-splitting and ringing in your mind. You clutched your bags a little tighter, the plastic crinkling, rustling ever so slightly in your fist.

The hunter whipped around to face you - She couldn't have been much older than you, but her darker hair framed her face fiercely, fire-ringed eyes glaring you down with such hostility that it almost gave you whiplash. She didn't budge from her spot, but her shoulders drew up tightly as she held her weapon in front of her defensively.

You just blinked - The smell of blood wasn't as pungent as when it first hit you, settling over you like a blanket. You just lifted your shirt, covering your nose as you waved the brooding, mysterious and most likely murderous stranger over to you. From where you stood, you could see the way she froze, face twisting from a scowl into confusion, before the crisscrossing scars on her face literally melted into her own skin, leaving her in perfect condition.

The sword clattered mutely against what looked like a misshapen lung, and the girl set her foot down firmly against the joint of a broken leg. It gave out immediately, and you could only watch as she yelped and tumbled haphazardly from the corpse into a pool of blood. The aura she'd been carrying up until that moment disappeared the second she looked up at you again. Her eyes no longer glowed like red-hot embers, mellow brown eyes looking nothing but defeated.

She shook herself once and heaved herself to her feet, shuffling over to your relatively clear patch on the fringe of carnage.

"Hello?" Her voice cracked awkwardly. You couldn't help but purse your lips sympathetically.

"Hey," You began, reaching into your pocket. Just your luck that you had a clean packet of tissues packed. "I was just wondering how to get back to the main road. I'm new to the area, and I'm kinda lost."

You offered her the tissues, and it looked like she was about ready to cry at the gesture.

"Oh, uh, sure. I could walk you," She froze, dabbing the blood from her cheek, "-only cause I also need to walk that way," Her face pulled into a grimace, and she subtly flinched as if someone was poking fun at her. She opened her mouth a few times, gaping like a fish before her face flushed red. Without another word, she hurried around the corner you'd just rounded, and you just followed without another word.

She didn't talk, never glanced in your direction to see if you were following her. You didn't mind, though, because you were just happy to see life slowly returning around you - Moreso the sounds of traffic and chatter and city ambience that you'd slowly lost over the past few hours. The joy of finally returning to a place you could somewhat navigate diverged your attention, so by the time you turned to at least thank your guide, she was already long gone.

It wasn't really your problem if she didn't want to stick around. What was your problem was the little brother you'd left at home by himself. You hoped that the apartment was still in one piece by the time you'd made it back.

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You finally visited the school. It certainly looked different teeming with student pushing and shoving their way to freedom. It also felt a lot different, seeing people your age running around in uniforms, talking to friends and passing by you without a second look. The uniforms, in particular, gave you a pause - They itched your brain in the most peculiar way until you remembered why. The same girl you'd met about a week ago, the one who'd slain the bee-like devil, had worn the very same uniform. Albeit, hers was doused in blood and cuts, it was no doubt the very same one.

That was a thought for later. You tapped your foot impatiently against the ground, waiting for your brother to finally make an appearance. You supposed his tardiness was payback for the time you got lost and spent hours wandering the backstreets of Kyoto, but you couldn't help but feel impatient.

He appeared a second later, thankfully, surrounded by a group of kids his age. It was nice to see him fitting in, especially after he'd only been going to his new school for about a week, although you had to admit it was funny seeing him freeze as soon as he saw you waiting at the front gate.

"Why are you here?" He scampered away from his group, looking more nervous than annoyed. You fixed him with a perpetually bored look.

"I came here to walk you home, idiot, why else? For shits and grins?" You quirked an eyebrow. He sighed and sagged his shoulders.

"But… I was gonna hang out with my new friends…" You gasped dramatically.

"And you were gonna make me walk home all by myself?" Your brother cringed. You felt nothing but satisfaction. With a sigh, you pat him on the shoulder.

"Just be back in time for dinner," You paused and set him with a stern expression. "And steer clear of devils, alright? I want you back in one piece."

He only gave you a big smile and a rushed thanks before running off, quickly rejoining his group. You shook your head and stretched your arms, noticing how quickly the crowds around you had thinned out around you.

"Oh, it's you again," You turned on your heel, coming face to face with the same, sharp-eyed dark-haired girl you'd briefly met a few weeks ago. Her face was riddled with scars again, clean cut, rough against her pale skin. You furrowed your brow, wondering if your memory was playing tricks on you.

"It's me? You were the girl who killed the devil, right?" You just had to make sure. She puffed up, eyes practically glowing orange and she fixed you with a pompous look.

"That's me. I'm an expert with any sort've melee weapon," She waved her hand as if shooing away an annoying insect from her ear. "But that's not why I came over here," Her eyes gleamed, "I was just wondering if you wanted to go shopping with me, y'know, have a walk around?"

You did a double-take.

The idea sounded nice, making a new friend, and there was a regular food vendor that you'd been meaning to try recently. But the idea of going with a stranger you'd really only just met set of alarms in your brain.

'However…' She was admittedly pretty. Those bright eyes that seemed to peer into your soul, a sharp, clean smile with long dark hair. 'Plus, it'll be in public, right? Plenty of other students and people around.'

"Yeah, sure, I have time," You missed the way her smile grew ever so slightly, stretching just further than a human could naturally.

However odd the situation was, you couldn't deny it was nice to finally have someone other than your brother to talk to. Admittedly, it was also odd how her bravado slipped the minute you turned to walk into the city, but you also found the marine life facts she sputtered out like she'd rehearsed were entertaining. She just seemed happy that you didn't seem bored out of your mind.

Asa Mitaka, you learned her name was. Wasn't usually one to talk to people, and she said it was a miracle she was able to muster up the courage to talk to you in the first place. She pointedly refused to make eye contact most of the time, which was fine in your opinion since at least the conversation was kept in a lively ebb and flow you weren't entirely used to.

She talked with an edge to her voice, not an annoyed one, but rather a nervous one. You didn't really want to ask about it, seeing as you used to do something similar when you were younger, however, Asa beat you to the punch.

"I don't have many friends - I had one before, but, well, she died in a devil attack not too long ago," She peered through a window store, just looking at the array of shoes that were for sale. "I mean, I haven't had many friends at all. Just the one." You stepped up next to her, but she just peered sadly beyond the glass.

Brown eyes. You squinted. Perhaps the light turned them orange. You once knew someone whose hazel eyes turned yellow under the light. Orange wasn't too far from brown.

"Maybe we can be friends," You asked, almost absentmindedly. Asa whipped around to stare at you, her mouth hanging open. Her eyes flickered back and forth - From your face, to behind you, maybe. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth nervously and didn't say anything.

That made your heart twist a little. Ouch.

Taking a break from the sun, the two of you were stopped at a vending machine under shade, grabbing a few drinks. It was mostly quiet aside from the sound of the machine working, clanging softly as coins were inserted. You were leaning against a wall when a little thing approached you out of the corner of your eye.

"Aw, cute. Kitty cat," You kneeled and reached out your hand, letting the feline sniff your fingers before it rubbed its head along your palm. Asa made a noise halfway between a choke and a squeak before shuffling a few paces backwards.

"Yeah, cute," She seemed preoccupied, whispering something urgently under her breath. Which was odd - You were going to ask if she was okay, but Asa was suddenly in your face before you could react, those same, orange-ringed eyes staring into your very being.

Orange. Not brown.

Preoccupied, a hot flush covered your face.

"Come with me. I wanna show you something cool," The bravado was back, oddly enough. No trace of the nervous high-schooler, but rather, the cool, confident and dangerous devil hunter you'd seen the first time you'd met eyes.

The change made you nervous, but also, you couldn't really say no to a pretty and confident girl asking you to come with her, especially when she'd been so heartening throughout your entire afternoon. She sealed the deal by taking your hand in hers, wrapping her lithe fingers confidently around your own in a way that made your heart thud errantly in your ribcage. Starved for human touch, you followed her as she tugged you along with enthusiasm.

It made butterflies tumble around in your chest, a sense of happiness and friendship you hadn't known in a while. It made you feel like a normal teen, running through the city with their friend, laughing happily together. You didn't have to care about making dinner, or phoning your parents in another country, or worrying about bills - You got to just run around without care plaguing your brain. You didn't care about the people you ran past, didn't even care as the streets thinned and people slowly appeared less and less around you. You didn't even realise that Asa had dragged you into something that was nothing less than an alley.

You only realised when she'd stopped laughing and was instead standing stock still between you and your freedom.

You also stopped laughing. Your heart dropped deep into your stomach.

"Ah, shit," You puffed, still catching your breath. "Well, I guess it was a dumb mistake to follow a stranger through the city." You tried to laugh away the atmosphere - You wanted to believe that you'd make it back home to see your family again, but somehow, seeing Asa's burning orange eyes made you doubt the chance that that would ever happen.

"Not surprised. Humans aren't the smartest," She offhandedly remarked, watching you like a dingo would watch a human baby. Although, no, that wasn't entirely right. There was a cold, analytical feeling behind it, not a sensation of hunger. But that word, the little indication - 'human.'

"You're a devil."

It was less a question and more of a statement. Asa smiled and cocked her head.

"A devil you couldn't even begin to fathom," Those same ringed eyes burned, pinning you to the wall. You furrowed your brow, gut-twisting and your neurotically swayed, judging how far you could possibly make it before she could close the distance.

"Lay it on me. I'm pretty smart," Were the dying words you chose to go with. However scary a devil she could be, Asa was also still in the body of a high-school girl. The sight wasn't particularly scary compared to the devils you'd seen in the past.

"You're bravado won't save. It certainly didn't save my host," Asa reached out her hand toward you, pinprick eyes staring you down with such complexity. The visage reminded you of an owl.

"I am not Asa," Asa began - "Asa is a part of me, and I am a part of her, yet, in the end, we are two different beings." You tilted your head.

"Then, who are you?" You shimmied against the wall, trying to perhaps slide your way to freedom.

Asa closed the distance instantly, digging her fingers into your scalp with such ferocity that you could feel it digging into bone with enough force to pin you to the spot, but not enough to shatter your skull instantly.

"I don't have a name, but I go by Yoru - The devil of war."

.

"(Name). Spinal cord sword."

You held your breath.

Nothing happened.

Yoru furrowed her brow.

"(Name). Spinal cord sword."

Her face morphed into a scowl, and then a snarl.

You gave her a look, one that asked 'what the hell are you doing' and you knew she knew exactly what you were thinking.

"What the fuck - Why isn't it working?" She let you go, shoving you painfully into the wall. You were dazed, now had a sore head and probably a minor concussion, but you were alive and your limbs weren't twisted into a gorey weapon. Your eyes focussed just in time to see Asa, or Yoru? Punch a hole in the nearby brick wall.

"It's because of you!" Yoru shouted at a patch of empty air. "You and your stupid human feelings and your pathetic nature to fall in love with someone who shows you a smidge of kindness and your stupid nature infecting my mind! Sharing a body with you has done nothing but hinder me!"

Yoru howled and whined like a toddler, bashing her fists against the same wall she'd punched a hole through, clutched her hair with her face screwed up into a childish scowl. She whipped around to stare in the vague direction she'd done so before, her scowl deepening with her teeth bared in a snarl.

"I AM NOT STUPID!" And with that, the anger was gone. The scars were gone, too. Her eyes were a rich shade of brown, deep, with flecks of gold and faint rings that seemed reminiscent of the war devil's own eyes. You had no idea if it was the influence of the devil herself, or if Asa's (?) eyes naturally looked like that.

An ear-splitting silence settled over the scene. Asa slumped against the wall, curled into the pit of carnage Yoru had carved with her bare fists. She just sat there, staring blankly ahead, eyes hooded and squinted as if someone was yelling at her. You were in a similar boat, head pounding, trickling of blood dribbling from your hairline, down your face and dripping onto the concrete below.

"So," You hummed. Asa flinched, but she didn't stop staring into the empty air ahead of her. "What the fuck was that all about?"

"That, uh, was Yoru." She didn't say anything else.

"And Yoru is the war devil?" Asa nodded.

…

"Mind explaining what's going on?" Asa finally pulled herself together, physically.

"It's a long story," She offered, trying to pull her hair into a pair of twintails.

"Well, I have to make dinner. Fancy staying over?" The words were out of your mouth before you could even think about them. Why you were inviting the war devil over for dinner, or at least the host of the war devil, you had no idea. But you just had one question you really, really had to ask.

"Hey, do you know why she's such a baby?"

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"I'm heading out, be back soon!" Your brother yelled into the apartment, shrugging on a jacket.

"Don't fill up on junk food and don't talk to any weird devils, 'kay?" You yelled back. Your brother paused and looked at you before nudging his head in the direction of the other room. You scoffed.

"You know damn well what I mean!" Your brother laughed and locked the door behind him as he left.

Yoru appeared in the doorway as he left, a loaf of bread tucked under one arm with a slice hanging from her mouth.

"Where's he going?" The devil sat next to you at the kotatsu, absentmindedly watching whatever was playing on the tv set.

"To hang out with friends. He probably won't be back later so don't eat all the goddamn soba this time," You pointed your pen in her direction. The devil didn't seem particularly threatened, so you made a mental note to put aside a bowl for your brother.

"Hey, Yoru? Quick question," The devil grunted. "When will I see Asa again? Not that I don't appreciate your…" You paused and looked her up and down "Wonderful companionship, it feels weird to only see one of my girlfriends on a near daily basis."

Yoru scoffed and shrugged.

"When Mitaka can take control of this body, she's more than welcome to hang out with you," Yoru took the piece of bread she'd been eating and pressed it against your lips. You quirked an eyebrow but took a bite of the offered piece of bread. You decidedly didn't comment on her eating it plain, as last time resulted in a forty-minute tantrum including someone called 'Fami'.

After a moment of silence, Yoru stopped and grinned sharply. The same smile she gave you back in that alley all those months ago.

"Are you bullying Asa-" Yoru reached forward and grabbed you by both your wrists "-again?"

…

"Yoru?" The war devil smirked like a bitch.

"Yeah?"

"You're doing this to tease Asa, aren't you?" Yoru only cackled.

"Perhaps."

Asa is crying and shaking at the end. She can't believe Yoru would do something like that in front of her.

[snakeunderyourboot]

can I talk about about Miraculous Team from s2 finale? I'm going to talk about Mireaculous Team from s2 finale

IT HAD SO MUCH POTENTIAL

Like, narratively, at the end of s2 Hawkmoth got a new powerful ally Mayura, who can create senti-beings, which makes Akuma much more powerful than before. Even if LB and CN know that the peacock miraculous is damaged, they don't know to what extent and how exactly it affects its holder. The fact that Mayura even goes through wielding damaged miraculous already shows her huge trust and support of Hawkmoth and whatever his plan is.

So as the power of the antagonist grows, the protagonists also need to become stronger. The antagonist should always be a step ahead, BUT the protagonist should follow not so far after them because if not, it would be atomic bomb vs coughing baby. So LB and CN on their side, have themselves, a box of miraculouses, master Fu(debatable but okay), and some power-up additions. Only the 5-min rule after transformation is still present, they can't go around to give away all miraculouses because then it would be a repeat of the butterfly miraculous situation, and master FU isn't exactly helpful(especially later in the season where he is literally hunted by HM)

So. LB and CN need help

And if bad guys can team up, why can't good guys team up too?

And so we have a Mirauculous Team with now extended use of mirauclouses! We have Rena Rouge, who is secretly Alya, best friend of Marinette (or secterly LB), whose lifelong dream was to be a superhero. Now, I am sure, that being a superhero and having access to ALLL information that was hidden from the public, would go great for a young journalist who already had some fuck-ups and posting not great information. Also, sometimes your dream of a superhero doesn't match with reality! So is it really worth it to be a superhero? Sure, you want to help but are you really capable of providing such help if your first thought is content for your blog? Also also NOW IT"S YOUR TURN TO LIE TO YOUR FRIENDS. How does that feel?

And we have Carapace, who is Nino, best friend of Adrien, whose literal definition is being chill. Sure when needed, he will rise to the occasion, but again - is it really worth being a hero? Nino is a good person, he fought tooth and nail to get Adrien his birthday party, but saving the whole world? Nino?? The simple guy who just loves his friends and family and wants them to be okay??? That guy???? Also also LB and even sometimes CN would talk hours about responsibility and how important miraculouses are, but like...aren't they making it worse? Maybe the HM would fuck off after awhile, if other miraculouses didn't show up. Maybe the path of least resistence IS sometimes a good path. Why no one talks about it?

And last but not least we have Queen Bee or Chloe Bourgeois, the person who literally no one wanted to have a miraculous in the first place but it happened so we ball I guess. Chloe really admires LB but you know how idols tend to be when you actually meet them. And yeah okay, Chloe fucks up a lot in the first months of having a miraculous on semi-permanent base and LB criticize her, but she always tries to make up with expensive goods and screaming how much LB is better than anyone else. She doesn't understand why LB keeps asking her to treat normally. How LADYBUG can be a normal person??? She is a goddess, someone so cool and realized and everyone loves her and she keeps getting praise for just existing and...why does LB sometimes seem to be so human, so exhausted and stressed? That doesn't make sense...also also now that Chloe has miraculous she can't lose it. She needs to be better, to keep miraculous. But what does this "better" entitle? Better at battle, at powers, at SCHOOL?? How would famous Abry react to that I wonder?

As a cherry on top, we have LB and CN trying to learn how is it to work in a bigger team, to share responsibility and to help each other. It was them for a while and now there are new people and change is scary. How would that affect the love square?

The most important bit is that all members of the Miraculous Team have connections to LB and CN civilian life. They are all intervened, and they are all people we know and love and want to know more about! Sure, a lot of conflicts I brought up based on some of my vague ideas, but they could be explored!

The arc where Alya posts some crucial miraculous info on her blog, which HM notices and uses in the next battle, which hurts some of the members of the team. The arc where Nino is so convinced he is not cut out for hero life he practically searches for excuses to be put out of the team (one of the battles really scared his little brother and Nino wasn't there to help. If he cannot help his brother, how can he help the whole city?). The arc where Chloe tries to be good, is more or less okay at it, and then fails spectacularly(does it mean they will take her miraculous please no she can't lose pollen she can't lose someone who loves her as she is pleas no)

As a bonus, we could have had a Master FU BEING AN ACTUAL MENTOR INSTEAD OF just some lore-exposition guy. If he is so guilty about his past mistakes, well, here are 5 traumatized teenagers, the least you could do is actually help them. And no, not only Marinette, give others some advice too.

By the end of s2 we would have a good team of characters we already loved and now love even more, that are complicated and interesting AND GUESS WHAT the formula of "marinette has a problem with her life, akuma somehow related to it happens, LB fight it, everything is resolved, Marinette has some real-life lesson" STILL WORKS. Just now we can pair up Marinette with some other characters and if they happen to learn something too then GOOD. Kids can draw parallels and understand the lesson regardless

I just love those kids....I think they had a really good opportunity to spice up the show but leave the premise more or less the same.

And yeah we have "Miraculous Team" in s6 now, but all the points I mentioned before are non-existent now. There are too many people, for an antagonist who is so far less threatening than HM. It can change but that wouldn't fix the whole issue. All of Marinette's class doesn't have this much connection to her, as her literal best friend, her childhood friend, her crush and her rival/bully.

Anyway

I gushed enough(I didn't, but I am sleepy)

[providencehq]

Shrike AU content! While unknown at the moment as Phantom, Danny is currently under the watchful eyes of the Waynes due his technology he's altering and creating places him on more or less a watch list for the bats. Of course tech is the only thing Danny messes with as the blueprints were some of the only things he managed to snag before making a run to Gotham, it's his only connection to his off kilter family, not some villain in training but a rogue. His human identity is kinda? known to the bats but a lot of details are missing.

Rather than bring him into the manor to keep an eye on him, Danny manages to strong arm them into letting him stay in his apartment he's been living in (under a false name/info) AND get the scholarship that made them learn about him in the first place. All he has to do is keep up his grades and allow the Waynes to regularly check in on him and ALL tech he's working on.

During an early check in with Danny since he failed all assignments that week as well as simply not showing up, they're a little worried and rightfully so. Jason has to force his way into Danny's apartment only to find him trying to clean out an infected wound among more scars a tech wiz should have. He forces Danny to let him help out, Jason doesn't by the story that shrapnel from a poorly constructed machine he was working on did this. It's not really from that, it's from a battle he nearly lost with Shulker showing up the day before.

While cleaning Danny up, Tim and Damian arrive at the apartment and help pack the minimum that he needs before being forced to live in the Wayne manor since they don't trust him and they're worried he isn't handling the whole "running away to Gotham to start over and it came undone the second the Waynes/Bats looked into" situation. Danny is more or less fighting them the whole way to be left alone and that he's perfectly fine and has been fine in his apartment. He's dealt with way worse since being in Gotham (mostly from his rouges) but the overall sentiment isn't shared with the rest of the Waynes.