#she was in the asylum to be shaped into a good girl | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tarjapearce · 5 months

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Poppy Blue

Blue Jones! Miguel x Baby Doll! Reader.

Art by @marbipa on x

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Power play, choking kink, rough sex, mentions of abuse, preying, toxic and perverted behavior, implicit clandestine and illegal activities, lobotomy, dissociation, implicit depersonalization, objectification, hate sex, manhandling, violence, sub space. No Proofread.

Summary: Messy things ~ (I guess?) Miguel as Blue Jones from Sucker Punch.

A/N: Watched Sucker Punch last night and... yeah. Had to get this out of my system. ~ Another one for the Miguelverse ~

Masterlist

All it took was a bullet. Aimed at your assailant with no intentions of missing. Yet you did. You missed, failed terribly so. His chest was your goal, instead it went directly to his shoulder.

Projectile ripping and scorching skin, tissue and muscle in the go, earning a shaky and pained yelp. But it was the least he deserved after trying to be sneaky on your sister, that laid cold and bled out in the floor. She was no match for his knife and his blood thirst of the night. The rest was a blur.

And now, you were dragged down to the wet and dull greys walls of your future home. Lennox House. Or rather Lennox Asylum for the Mentally Ill.

Everything about the place screamed danger, everything about the people working in the monstrosity of place yelled I'm no better.

Barefoot, soaked in rain, holding your new uniform and gazing at the biggest man you've seen in you life, holding a bunch of keys while his eyes bore into you.

The way he stared made your skin crawl and it didn't help your clothes clung to your body. Arms braced the uniform closer to your chest, trying to cover it up. His eyes wandered to the man behind you, a police officer with three scratched lines into his face. You hadn't left him unscathed. Not when he tried to play rough with you back at your old home.

The man showed you around, place was as depressing as it was from the outside, but The Theater took the prize.

Girls your age dressed in gray, socializing in the area. And by socializing it'd mean to watch them either receive therapy with a polish beautiful woman named Vera Gorski, or watch them fight over the stupidest things. But who could blame them?

Some probably had enough time inside that had memorized the cracks in the wall, the scratches on the floor, the number of chewed gums underneath the table or how many dust particles were accumulated in the windows. Gray. Everything was gray and dull.

Even the voice of the men behind you talking about a price for your silence were tiresome and dry. Two thousand. That's what your memories were valued as. A number you now hated.

Corrupt pigs

The police officer gave you a gentle push forward as a nurse came to fetch you. The simple touch of that man made your skin revolt and slapped him hard across his wilting face, a scowl on your grimace that slowly turned into a smirk as the police officer tried to catch you, but you were being dragged away by two nurses into a life that would turn your head upside down and backwards, the many times it saw fit until you'd understand that you weren't in charge.

Until you'd understand your purpose.

Dance.

"If you don't dance, you have no purpose."

Madam Gorski murmured to you. Pretty, dangerous and aware of the many many situations revolving in the brothel. Cause in truth, the asylum was just an alibi and a frontage for the real deal. House Lennox. A house of pleasure.

Bets, drinks, sex, meds and a hell of a show to anyone that filled Miguel's pockets.

The main attraction? Girls that society deemed unfit to keep within her picky guts. Too into messy situations to keep the pretense around relatives. Too fucked up to function properly but good enough to mold and shape into something useful, and too tempting to break even further.

She mumbled while circling you, her dark eyes scrutinized you unabashedly, taking in everything her sight could reach. Pursing her pouty lips upon your body.

Pretty, scared, still holding a grip on reality while trying to swallow a really hard to deglute pill, and oh so perfect for a new purpose.

"We do not keep things in here that serve no purpose."

The collide of her cane on the floor was like a metronome, setting the pace to enter a forbidden place, somewhere that none could reach but you. Mind splitting in two, dissociating soul from conscience, leaving an empty, moving vessel behind. You were free for a moment. And now you wanted more, more of that place where your imagination ran rampant.

Where Gorski's words meant nothing, where the guards had no power, where you were allowed to break down and feel without second intentions or being frowned upon. But mainly, without Miguel’s preying gaze licking you raw while undressing your form with it.

But the clapping and praising brought you back to this reality. Red eyes fell upon you, studying, raking over your body upside down, stopping at your thighs to then go back to your flushed and breathless face.

Mr. O'Hara. Miguel 'Blue' O'Hara. The asylum guard, the key bearer, perverted pimp, and your new shadow.

Ever since that dance many things changed.

Even though you danced, duties in the asylum weren't to be neglected. If you said no, you'd get a visit to the hole.

If you didn't dance, you'd get a visit to the hole.

But if you didn't do things Miguel's way, you'd get a personal talk with him, and then a visit to the hole.

And those talks, surely weren't words.

Scrubbing the floors gave you the chance to listen a bit of everything. Girl's derangements, psychotic outbreaks, mumblings that were filled in with regret and many more flourishing emotions; the ever loud music from the cook, and the unceasing mewls and obscene noises coming from Miguel's office.

Some girls misbehaved on purpose, just to get a taste of him. Others did anything to draw his attention to them, specially in the dance floor. But you knew better to anger him.

Sure, pleasure came in hand with a high price. He wasn't good, he wasn't nice nor gentle, matter-of-factly some girls cried during their one on one sessions and the degradation only enhanced the tears.

Sick fuck.

Gorski's alarms flared up upon seeing belt marks on their legs and ass, bites in their inner thighs and bruises on their hips. Eyes a bit too gone and tired to actually work in anything. They might have spread the gossip around of Miguel fucking them, and even enjoyed it.

But the aftermath of it, said otherwise. And it was enough to keep you on check, but even so he was pulled to you like a magnet so strong you could see the refrain in his eyes every time he approached you.

Hands shaky, tongue rubbing and wetting his plump lips, a soft flush on his cheeks and pleading eyes. A silent 'Let me play too' cause he wasn't allowed to touch, or taste you. Instead, he'd use the girls willing to please him to take his anger out. Their bodies meant nothing, they meant nothing cause they weren't you.

They didn't have your body, they didn't have your sweet voice that distorted into moans and gasps that he'd kill to induce every time you danced, but above all, they didn't have your spark.

That little interaction with the police when you first arrived, had him folding on a bathroom, stroking himself to oblivion at the mere sound of your slaps.

Unbeknownst to you, you held so much power over him. Power he was set to dull, because he was the only one in control. Not even Gorski and her stupid polish methods to get in the rest's head. He ran the place and had it under control.

For how long though?

You wanted out. His little Poppy wanted out and surely would get everything to be free and leave him, forsake him in this damned place.

Anger flowed within his veins like molten lava upon remembering how other men looked at you, how other men wanted you. They'd possibly been imagining how good and tight your insides would feel cause the way you moved when you were up in the stage, was surreal. It was like another person took over.

But he, a sick fuck through and through, would want both. No. He'd have both. He craved and needed both, even better when you were dressed in such things that only added more dry bones to his needy fire.

Fucking lucky of them to feel you and be a your second skin. Even that stupid and everything but innocent uniform you were to dress every day, stirring up enough to let him take a peek of your panties, or the stockings underneath that remained etched on your supple thighs he'd often fantasize in getting lost between.

He just had to wait for you to misbehave. But sadly you didn't seem keen into breaking the rules. He'd wait.

---

"Stormy, come."

Vera called another girl. Whoever gave their names either knew them too well or picked random words in a go. Gorski too engrossed into her lessons to notice you had been dragged away by other guards under Miguel's petition.

Had you forgotten about something? No. Surely not. Last week's chores were fulfilled completely, the bathrooms were clean, the kitchen's dishes turn were washed up, and so were the floors. Your wrists sore, a reminder to ask for a new brush.

And-

Shit.

Fuck.

The laundry.

Some dancers had ran out of stockings, lingerie, and some sheets from the brothel needed to be replaced ASAP.

But you, Poppy, as Vera had called you and it stuck with the rest ever since, had trouble. Just cause you had forgotten about the damn laundry.

Miguel's formidable frame came into view, he was on a call, lying on how well someone's daughter was doing after a lobotomy. How they didn't have to worry about her anymore.

Your stomach felt sick and your heart leaped on your chest once he ended up the call. The guards had been long gone, leaving you with your shadow alone.

If honest, you knew Miguel either followed or kept you watched under hawk's eyes. Time stopped as soon as he turned to face you.

Pupils wide blown as soon as you came into his sight.

"My sweet, sweet Poppy."

He inhaled deeply and clasped his hands together before his face. An uncontainable smirk morphed into a light titter.

"You've been a bad girl, princesa."

His hands slamming on the table before him made you jolt and blink at his sudden mood shift.

"We..." He wetted his lips as he came behind you, "We were counting on you, Mi cielo. But... you failed us. Failed me."

A gulp as his breath fanned over the crook of your neck.

"You see..." His big and long fingers brushing your hair away from the right side of your head joint, "Now I gotta improvise something for the next show. "

"I'm sorry, I forgot-"

His hand took a hold of your neck and the contact made him growl. Warm, smooth, feeling every heartbeat underneath his big and calloused palms.

Lips dangerously close to your ear, breathing and panting as he pulled you closer to him, your back colliding against his torso and abdomen.

"Shh"

He hushed while taking a big whiff off you. A mix of soap, perfume and cigarettes. His hand squeezed tighter, earning a lovely and sweet yelp from you as he pushed you against his desk.

Your eyes widened in surprise upon feeling the hardening cock in between the slot of your thighs, poking, begging to be released and finally take you.

"You remind me of someone. Too bad she lost her spark."

His hand riled the skirt of your uniform up, passing up some layers of extra clothing, your underwear and stockings. Hand plunged inside to finally allowing his fingers to have a sample of your flesh.

"But I'm keeping yours alight, sweetheart."

His cock twitched when he found your clit. Fingers dexterous and peeling the outer folds away to give a gentle rub before you closed your legs almost instantly. A little delaid reaction, your brain was still processing it.

You went completely still when he pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to his lips. He sucked them off with hunger, groaning and trembling at the taste.

"Por Dios, preciosa..."

You tried to pry his hand out of your neck but the struggle made his breathings more labored and needy as he humped and ground against you from behind. Letting his tip to speak volumes at how hard and wanton he was. How bad you made him react. How much power you had over him.

Of course.

The idea of having him subdued to you assaulted your mind. Pressuring you into pleading, just like your clit that clenched and twitched upon having his tip rubbing in a slow yet firm strokes.

His hands went back inside your panties, searching for the nub of nerves that had you melting. Tongue skimming at the tender skin of your neck.

Just as he was about to bury a finger knuckle deep, the ever annoying voice of Vera urging Miguel from outside the door, asking for you. Her dear and lovely Poppy.

"Chingada madre" (Fucking shit)

He sighed with an exasperated growl and looked at the door.

"The fuck you want?!"

"I need Poppy on the practice. Now."

Where was the shocking baton when he needed it the most?

For once, you were relieved to know that you didn't go unnoticed under Gorski's watch. She protected the girls in her own way.

Knees trembled as he kept the hand inside. A little miscalculation had you whimpering while his fingers remained trapped in your flesh. His eyes snapped back on you with a smirk.

A hand clasped on top of your mouth, suffocating any moans as he worked his fingers between your pussy. Touching and prodding at the forbidden flesh, a moan vibrated through his hand with a high pitched Hmm

"I'll get her to you right away!"

Miguel yelled while working his fingers harder and faster, alternating between rubbing and fucking your hole with them.

"Spread your legs wider, pretty baby" The husk of his voice made you close your eyes and hips hump ever shyly at his hands. Gaining as much friction as possible.

"Miguel, I need her now."

He grumbled under his breath while moving his hands faster. The wet smooch and sucking squelch had him humping against your panties, breaths agitated, muttering something you could only decipher as filth in spanish, your hands clenched onto him, tightly fisted on his clothes.

Just a bit more

He heard Vera cursing in her native tongue as he prodded his fingers inside, toying with your opening. Stretching and fucking it at his likings.

"You fucking little slut"

He tittered while rubbing furiously in your clit. A bit too rough that had you bucking and trembling in his arms. If his hands made you quiver and melt he couldn't wait to see what his cock could do. You drenched his fingers.

Said fingers were cleaned up again by his mouth with a droopy and pleasure drunk face.

Despite having your legs shaky, he held you by the hips, and forced you to grab onto his desk. His hands quickly fumbled with his pants and boxers, pulling his cock out.

He stroked a couple of times, tip susceptible to stimulation. He pulled the panties aside, your stockings the only barrier between you and his erection. The flimsy layer of clothes instantly adhered to your soaked skin, He pushed in between your thighs, rubbing his cock back and forth with slow thrust against your pussy. His hot length brushed against the already engorged and sensitive nub.

The tightness of your warm thighs smooshed together created the perfect friction hole for him without actually penetrating you. So close and yet so far of that forbidden territory. Soft mewls and whimpers came out your mouth, too enraptured in feeling than verbalizing your pleasure.

He also needed his toys. Specially his favorite. Stockings were thoroughly soaked the more he pushed his cock in and out. Labia clothed and slicked parted to feel his shallow moves. He used you as his fleshlight, his hips smacking yours. His chest rumbled with animalistic and low growls.

His hands were clumsy as the pleasure turned overwhelming, you could see the flushed tip of him peeking out your thighs, the urge of tasting him turned bigger the faster he went. You were trying so hard to keep it as quiet as possible.

"Wished I was inside you, don't you?"

You gasped as he purposely angled his tip in your dripping hole. A shivering breath was all he received.

He took you by your chin and squeezed

"Don't you?!"

"Y-Yes!"

"Yes, what?!"

"Yes, sir."

Jesus fucking Christ.

He pushed in deeper in your cunt, his cock pushed a bit of the stockings inside as he doused it with his cum, unable to hold back any longer, marking you.

You had never heard a man pant and wheeze like that before. So deep, raspy, needy, cradling you tighter, anchoring to you as he shook his orgasm out.

"Fuck- Ay Dios, fuckfuck-"

He slurred while engulfing your frame against the table. Breathings matching his erratic ones.

Your skin between supple thighs felt clammy and sticky. Black stockings ruined completely by the white and wet patch of his scent.

Hot breath fanned over your neck.

"Can't wait to feel the real de-"

The door banged.

"Boss! We need you!"

The guards and Vera had proposed to fuck around with him cause his patience had been tested many times.

Your steps marching away from him snapped him out of his thoughts, He blinked and held you by the wrist, pulling you once more to him to kiss you.

Your first kiss in years. Soft but needy and filled in with a promise to fulfill later.

Now that he had a taste, there was none to stop him. He'd take his favorite toy and go home.

----

Freedom was taken away from you, right before your eyes. Forsaken by your so called friends, marooned by the crew you had gathered within the depths of despair. Your hope had given them a chance at surviving, your courage had transformed you into a fucked up sisterhood, but it was their greed that made you the ultimate sacrifice to their success.

You could only watch while thrashing your way out, but the more you fought, the more guards came to you, but one in particular pulled you out of the mess like a feather. But you didn't stop fighting. Not even when your tabs were in absolute zero probabilities of winning, not when Miguel dragged you inside manhandling your crying form like a ragdoll.

Scratches, fists and other punches didn't move him in the slightest. His grip tightened once you both were locked up in his office once more. He tossed you on the floor.

"Why... Why did you want to leave?"

His tone menacing yet hurt.

The idea of you almost slipping away from him had sent him in a berserk mode that unleashed hellbent through the asylum. Just to find you and when he did, he wanted nothing but hurt you, just the way you've hurt him.

Wasn't his attention enough? , wasn't him being lenient on you and your chores enough? Wasn't he enough?

"WHY?!"

You were too dumbfounded to process his question. Too marked with shame at your failure and rage to pay him attention, and that alone sent him grabbing you by the neck and crash you against a vanity. Tossing everything above it to the floor.

Your back collided against the now shattered mirror, you yelped but still managed to slap him and that made him groan and nod frantically.

Yes

One of his hands was more than enough to hold your both arms as he positioned between your thighs, pressing further against you.

"You don't like me, Poppy? Why?"

"Let me go!"

His hand squeezed your neck tightly, cutting all air for a minute while he kissed you. Sloppy, angry and so full with lust and rage. It gave you no time to react while his other hand tore the panties from underneath your skirt.

You kept slapping him, but that only enticed him to spread you further

"Love that fucking spark on you, preciosa."

He then thrashed you against the table sending a painful jolt through your body, It made you still for a moment.

"No! No! Don't-" his eyes widened in panic, "Don't lose it. Please-"

"No" You panted, "Just found it" A flower vase was smashed in his forehead. And that granted you freedom from his hands as you fell on the floor, gasping for air and crawling away from him.

Heavy steps echoed, trailing dangerously after you. Miguel took you by the ankle and dragged you towards him.

"No!"

He hissed and pulled you upwards, like a statuette, and slammed your torso against the desk you had been clenching onto. All air knocked out your lungs.

A hand passed over his buckle and removed in a swift motion his belt in one go. The sight of your pussy peeking underneath the ruffles of your skirt made a smile that didn't reach his eyes to appear.

He quickly got the belt around your neck, your hands instantly pried, or at least tried to pry it away, scratching yourself in the process. The smell of copper filled in the air, the vase had broke the skin of his forehead.

"You fucking ungrateful bitch!"

He secured the belt tighter and you wheezed, hands flailed to get a hold of him. Fingers already prodding and toying with your cunt, to his surprise, the struggle and fight turned you on, knowing that a man wanted you so badly that would do anything to have you, and you denying such power had you soaked.

Specially when the man in question was this 6'9" cell guard that wanted nothing but to wreck you, destroy you the way you had destroyed his fucked up illusions.

"All I did for you, everything I did meant shit for you-"

He rasped before slapping your butt with such force it stung and left a red imprint on the now reddening flesh.

"I didn't... a-ask you for shit!"

He grunted at your broken words as he pulled the makeshift leash backwards, separated your legs and pulled out his cock once more.

"There we go, baby"

"Y-You're so pathetic-"

Words died in your throat as he slid inch by inch inside. The intrusion made you sob a feeble whimper, it burned and hurt, but in a way you weren't expecting and you liked it.

"Me? Pathetic? Ay muñeca, is not me whose gonna beg me to stop" He pulled your face towards him and kissed you once more, "You won't even remember your name once I'm done with you."

He buried to the hilt as he watched your expression. Troubled yet blissful. A little grip was loosened as he felt you were about to speak again.

"You talk too much shit-."

Part of you regretted said words, cause he smashed your head in the desk and dug his fingers around your hips.

"Is that so?"

Nothing had you prepared for the assailing onslaught of his hips. Fucking was a measly word compared to what he actually was doing to your poor and snug cunt.

It wasn't slapping, his hips thwacked yours with such force you were sure your cervix would be bruised and your legs wouldn't walk properly for the next few days, but as it hurt, it felt good. Too good for your own comfort. Specially when propped a leg ontop of a stool for more leverage to ruin you deeper.

A garbled moan came out your lips, before gritting your teeth together and shaking your head vehemently. He laughed in between deep growls and moans.

"Am I dulling that spark, muñeca?"

Your body lurched forwards, pussy drenched him with every remorseless push he delivered. Eyes struggling to keep on the front, but it was unavoidable to have them rolling back as your jaw slacked open.

High pitched wails rumbled out of your gaping mouth, permeating the once silent room. Two of his fingers slid in your mouth, hot breath colliding against them. They hooked forcing your mouth to keep open.

The desk shook under your weight, the room filled in with moans so sweet and delicious, unlike the many that had been under him.

You were experiencing first hand the danger. Miguel wasn't nice, he wasn't gentle. The latter made an emphasis on its own as he pulled the belt impossibly tighter. A gurgling and rasping noise came from your throat. He wasn't squeezing anymore, he was choking you.

And Dios mio, you were sure you'd die. But dying sounded way too much of a reward than staying in this awful place.

"Yes"

You hissed in between butchered pants and wheezing mewls. Mind set in welcoming the reaper as air was still cut out of your lungs. Legs too weak to keep on their own. Dizziness fogging your mind, fire engulfing your body, Your cunt slurped him in, wetness no longer an issue since he slid and out so easily.

The only indicator you still had consciousness was the little pathetic cries you did as his hips plowed you with a new intensity you didn't know possible.

He had been whispering the filthiest things into your ear, a couple of degrading words you couldn't quite hear, too busy being cock drunk and slipping in and out of consciousness.

Your torso and arms laid in between his arms and the desk, his upper body keeping you still as his hips did the whole assault. His face too snatched in a myriad of things.

Pride cause he finally got to have you and proved you wrong, lust cause you felt just like he had imagined, anger because of your previous words. He was the one that was rawing you into oblivion, had your brain turned upside down, not Gorski, and had you cumming with such an intensity it was overwhelming and too much for your brain to digest.

Too much.

The choking had your brain's fuse in a shortcut, shutting itself off for what it felt like forever, until he spilled himself inside. Renovating your walls white.

Hot cum spurted and not a single drop was wasted as he made sure you kept it inside.

His hulking figure trembled, torn in between subtle and violent spasms that shook him to his very core and raged pants that sent a shiver down your sore spine.

He finally had you and you were his. He wasn't letting you go. Not when he was about to give you a new purpose.

Being his.

---

Everything that he thought good and right blurred. Eyes filled in with tears at your state. Gone. Gone from this world, gone from him, the spark had vanished.

How this happened?

His mind raked through the memories, trying to find the right moment everything went to shit.

He signed a paper. A lobotomy authorization in your behalf.

No!, no!.

"Come back" He pleaded while kissing you and squeezing his hands on the joint of your head and shoulders, to pry something out of you. But nothing came.

The spark had been lost.

And so were you.

"Please, muñeca"

He sobbed and cradled you in his arms, but there was no push, no retaliation, nothing. Only a lovely vessel of his love.

You were gone. For real.

He had been so naive to believe that fucking you senseless meant to have you. He had been such a fool to fall for such a simple thing as that.

And now he had lost you. His own hand brought his demise. Guards and Gorski dragged him out, his hand latched on to you, but even your skin felt different.

"Poppy!"

He yelled but you didn't answer. Just watched him with a look that shattered his heart.

You were free. Free and far far away.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara smut #miguel smut #spiderman 2099 smut #sucker punch #t writes✨#one shot #Miguelverse

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redundant2 · 2 months

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Tidying up the tea bags

This is pretty enjoyable. From SMM at Reddit. Allegedly.

"This is all ALLEGEDLY. I have a friend who cleans house for very well-known, established, female actress/producer/director in “Hollywood”. (Not exactly Hollywood, butI don’t want to name the exact area. My friend has worked for “Actress” for years, and they have developed a rapport, as “actress” is a generally nice person who happened to hit it big, and has not forgotten her roots. She’s one of the good ones.

ALLEGEDLY: “Actress” has met TOW, and said TOW fawned over her like a serious fan girl. She literally followed her around an event trying to get a photo with “Actress”. Finally, “Actress” had to pretend to receive a very important call, so she could get away. TOW is literally a joke in the real A-list set. “Actress” says she is constantly made fun of, and has her assistant of the week call local boutiques begging for samples! Some actually say yes. Also, this is why TOW sometimes looks like she’s wearing a paper bag, or pants that are 3” too long. She gets the sample, and will wear it regardless of how it fits. Oh, and get this! She’s trying to create her own “style” with the super long pants. “Actress” allegedly told my friend that TOW is trying to start a new FASH-SHON trend with the long, dragging, pant legs! “Actress” and friends know this is BS, and that she simply hasn’t had the pants hemmed!

Oh, and all those fake “body shaming” Hollywood types? They call her The Box. No shape, no waist, no curves. Just a box. Nobody wants to dress her, nobody wants to be associated, and she pays full price for her “designer” accessories… which, according to “Actress” could be knock offs or fetched by her assistant from resale shops.

Also, “Actress” has been told through the grapevine that TOW and her poodle may have a former employee ready to spill the beans on the fights, the kids, the horrible treatment of staff and the all-around horrible working conditions inside the Sussex Mental Asylum. Oh, and TOW and poodle don’t sleep in the same bed. They rarely reside at their Montecito house… if they do at all. It may have silently been sold. Not 100% sure on that part. TOW is poison, she’s ruined any chance of ever being anything but Z list, and her agency is fed up.

“Actress” knows a lot of people, and has no reason to lie to my friend. “Actress” and friends have their daily laugh at the fake Princess and her poodle. The only people who will agree to work with them are no-name brands, z-list actors and failed show-biz types. The joke is that soon people will start seeing them hawking used cars in late night local TV! Oprah is also a joke. She’s only invited to things because people want her money, NOT her. She’s repugnant, classist and rude. She has forgotten where she came from. Nobody likes Oprah. Nobody. They only like her money. ALLEGEDY. Again… this is just chatter from the grapevine."

#juicy #harkles #british royal family tea

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george-weasleys-girl · 1 year

Note

I think the idea of George introducing (y/n) to his parents is totally cute and I think your style off writing would rock that. Happy new year by the way! All the best for you and your stories :)

This is my first ever request. I had such fun writing it. I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: brief allusion to sex, one mention of alcohol

~•~

Meet the Weasleys

~•~

"Ugh, gross. Why are my palms so sweaty?" Y/N muttered to herself, grabbing a paper towel, to wipe the sweat from her hands. Her early morning boost of confidence was gone, leaving her pacing from one end of the kitchen to the other.

She tossed the used paper towel in the trash and looked out the window for the 982nd time. George would be here any minute to take her to have lunch with his parents at his childhood home. A place called the Burrow.

Never in her life had Y/N been so anxious about meeting someone's parents. George seemed confident that she'd "be a hit." But, she wasn't entirely convinced. What could she, a "muggle," offer to people who could perform magic, real magic, with the simple flick of a wand? She glanced over at the apple spice cake she'd baked for dessert and hoped it would be enough.

~•~

Four months earlier

George woke up with a craving for one of the chocolate filled croissants that Ginny had purchased from a muggle bakery for James' second birthday party. Luckily for him, he had the address, and it was his day off.

The Pie in the Sky Bakery wasn't too far from Diagon Alley, so George decided to walk and enjoy the warm summer morning. Whistling as he went, he just knew it was going to be a good day. And he was right.

He didn't notice Y/N at first, distracted by all the enticing baked goods.

"Can I help you?" Her voice floated over to him, soft and melodious.

George turned and nearly stumbled over his own feet. The owner of that sweet voice somehow managed to brighten the already sunny shop even more. He was mesmerized.

"I-uh, hi." George stuttered and gave a goofy wave before clearing his throat and starting again. "Do you have any chocolate filled croissants today?"

"Of course! They're right over here. How many would you like?" Y/N bounced to the far end of the counter while George followed, a big, dopey grin spread across his freckled face.

He paid for two croissants and an espresso. Then, rather than taking a stroll, as he originally intended, George sat down at one of the little bistro tables and spent the rest of the morning exchanging shy glances and flirty banter with the lovely lady behind the counter.

When he could no longer make excuses for lingering, George approached Y/N. "Could I interest you in dinner tomorrow night?"

"Yes! I'd love to have dinner with you!" She answered, her brilliant smile melting George's heart into a puddle.

~•~

Two months later, to Y/N's delighted surprise, George confessed he was a wizard. And today, for the first time ever, he was taking a girl home to meet his parents.

George was practically bouncing off the walls.

"Hey mate, try not to leave any George-shaped holes in anything," Fred joked.

"I'll try!" George yelled from his bedroom. "But, I can't make any guarantees."

Fred shook his head and chuckled. He hadn't seen his twin this elated since he came home from the bakery four months ago gushing over Y/N.

"Ok, how do I look? George asked, suddenly appearing in front of his brother.

"Like a crazed lunatic who just broke out of the asylum."

"Ha, ha. Very funny." George deadpanned.

"Seriously though," Fred continued, scrutinizing his brother. "You look great. It's just..."

"Just what?" George looked down at himself.

"You seem a tad nervous."

"Oh that," the younger twin responded. "Well, I am bringing a girl to meet mum and dad for the first time ever. And mum didn't fancy the last two girls you and Bill brought home."

"Georgie," Fred retorted. "The reason mum didn't like Lizzy is because she had a mohawk and tattoos. And as far as Fleur goes, once mum realized she wasn't after Bill for a quick fling, she warmed right up to her."

"Yeah, you're right. I know you're right." George agreed. "I'm just overthinking again."

Fred patted him on the back. "It'll all work ou--" Fred stopped mid-sentence, closing his eyes and putting his fingertips to his temples. "Wait! I'm getting a vision...I see...you and Y/N together...in a house...and..and, there's something else. Hold on, it's starting to come into focus...yes, that's it! Loads of ginger babies!"

Fred opened his eyes to see George standing with arms folded, his lips quirked up in amusement. "Are you done?" George asked.

"Yes, quite." Fred said, lifting his chin in the air and sauntering away.

George snorted, wondering if Fred knew he was secretly eyeing a cute, little muggle flat halfway between his shop and Y/N's.

~•~

George arrived at Y/N's oozing his usual easy confidence. "Ready for this, my love?" He asked Y/N as they walked to his car.

Y/N took a deep breath, then smiled. "Ready as I'll ever be."

"Don't worry, darling." George said, bending down and planting a kiss on her cheek before opening the car door for her. "They'll love you."

~•~

The closer they got to the Burrow, the faster Y/N's heart raced. George seemed to sense this, and reaching out, he clasped her trembling, sweaty hand in his warm, steady one.

Y/N sighed as a wave of calm rolled over her. A small smile crept across her face, and she began tracing little circles on his hand with her thumb. He squeezed her hand in return, as his own small smile made an appearance.

Neither one spoke the rest of the drive. There was no need. Everything that needed to be said was conveyed through that one simple gesture connecting them to one another.

~•~

Y/N didn't have time to marvel at the impossible higgley-piggleyness of the Burrow. As soon as she stepped out of the car, Mrs. Weasley pulled her into a hug. "Oh my goodness, look at you. Cute as a button! You know, George talks about you all the time. It's so good to finally meet you! He tells me..." Mrs. Weasley's non-stop chatter faded as she led Y/N into the house, leaving George and Arthur to collect the cake.

George released a long breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Relieved, son?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah, actually." George admitted. "I was afraid she'd give Y/N the cold shoulder like she did to Fleur."

"Ah, you needn't have worried about that." Arthur began. "Bill sprung Fleur on us out of nowhere. We had no idea he was even dating anyone. But you, George, you've been talking about Y/N for months. Your mum has had time to get used to the idea. Not to mention," Mr. Weasley added with a chuckle. "She’s ecstatic that Y/N's a baker. Now she has someone to talk shop with."

The same dopey grin that had spread across George's face the day he met Y/N returned, and to Arthur's amusement, his son practically skipped into the house.

~•~

A wonderful lunch turned into an impromptu bake-a-thon with George bounding around the kitchen "helping" Y/N and Molly as they made one treat after another. His unrestrained joy was so sweet and infectious that neither of the women were upset when he accidentally put a cup of salt and a teaspoon of sugar into one of the batters, rather than the other way around.

Even Arthur, who generally stayed out of the kitchen whenever Molly was cooking, found himself pulled into the mélee by his giddy son. By the end of the day, they were all covered in flour, frosting, and a vast array of sprinkles, thanks to George and Arthur getting a bit too happy with sprinkling the colorful little confections.

~•~

"This ranks as one of the best days of my life," George commented as he and Y/N relaxed on the tiny balcony of her flat, sipping whiskey and nibbling on chocolate chip cookies.

"I have to agree, Georgie." Y/N concurred, using the nickname reserved only for her and Fred. "I can't believe I was so nervous. Your parents are wonderful."

George smiled and lifted her hand to his lips, leaving a lingering kiss on her knuckles. Then, he turned his gaze to the moon. "It's getting late."

"It is." Y/N responded.

"I don't want to leave."

"You know my bed is always open to you." Y/N said with a cheeky grin.

"I know." George's eyes twinkled as he uttered the next words. "But, I mean, I don't want to leave ever again."

"I know, love. We never want to part at the end of the day." Y/N responded, still not quite catching on.

"Exactly." George said, jumping right to the heart of the matter. "Will you move in with me? I know it might seem too soon, and if you aren't ready, that's okay, we can w--"

Y/N ended his ramblings with a kiss that made him forget everything he'd ever learned for a few brief moments.

"Of course, I'll move in with you." Y/N said, once they pulled away.

"R-really?"

"Yes, really."

"Yes!" George exclaimed and fist-pumped the air. "This calls for a celebration," he said, picking her up bridal style and carrying her to the bedroom.

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #fred weasley #arthur weasley #molly weasley #the weasleys

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lorimnnn · 1 year

Text

Mine pt. 2 (Michael Myers x AFAB!Reader)

summary: before Michael was ever ‘The Shape’ of Haddonfield, he was just a boy. he was a boy in love with the girl across the road, his sister’s best friend--- the only girl to show him kindness, love and warmth. you.

Basically, Michael falls in love with his sister’s best friend at 6, who sometimes played emergency babysitter especially when Judith was fooling around with her bf. He clings to those memories growing up in the asylum until the day he breaks out, where he decides the first thing he wants to do is find you and keep you, your sunshine only for him. Reader is super girly and feminine, which just fuels michael’s possessiveness.

cw: gore, violence, kidnapping, obsession, manhandling, possessiveness, non-con themes

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

welcome back @xprettyqueenx @bitchyglitterfox @ameliachastain @agustdeeyaa @fanlovedlt @valen-yamyam16 @looseratinthegarage @quixscentsposts @sunshinexxmoonlight @sunshinexxmoonlight @hxrzvf @poisonjoke @singingpianowings @babybooday @serryjailor @bdudette @blackholegladiator @imobsessedreader @cluelessyasmin @kittenfrostt @tooprettytoofeelshitty @alexsworldsstuff @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @abadnamee @gremlinfuck @aromess @radioactive-mocha

Your breath shutters in your chest, and a violent tremor seizes at your hands. Tears threaten to fall from your eyes. They sting. They smell like fear.

You know that whatever you do, you can’t let them fall.

But you can’t help yourself. “Mikey?”

The last time you saw Michael Myers, you were 17, at the height of your senior year, and honestly with a few better things to do than cover for Judith when she decided to slack off with Danny.

Not that you minded that precious little boy.

Could you still call him precious?

You don’t dare to turn around. You don’t know what will happen if you do--- what will you see? What will it matter? A part of you needlessly clings to who he used to be. A part of you is certain that if you don’t turn around, you can still pretend a little while longer that nothing’s changed.

Here’s little Mikey, inviting himself into your home because Judith is ‘having her own fun’, as you’d so eloquently put it in the beginning. You’re 17 all over again. You’re squeezed into a tackily patterned pink dress, lips swabbed with a glossy sheen, eyes defined the way everyone used to define them, cancelling on more plans because Judith couldn’t care less that other people lived other lives that could co-exist with hers, if she were considerate enough to open her eyes and find balance. He’s six, with floppy blonde hair and wide, seeing blue eyes.

Your breathing comes faster, a heavy, wet whisper that stimulates your heart into painful, frantic pounding. Fuck. You’re so fucked. Who are you kidding?

You’re 32 and he’s 21 and he’s a serial killer and he’s standing behind you. Why he hasn’t made his move yet is beyond you, but even so--- do you want to know the answer?

A heavy hand curls over your shoulder. There is nothing gentle about it. Nothing familiar, but you don’t know what you’re supposed to be accepting after fifteen years. He’s demanding and impatient as he squeezes, almost enough for you to wince.

You understand what he’s saying. Turn around.

You do. Slowly, you do, and fuck. There he is.

Staring at you with that expressionless latex mask, his features distorted, one eye peeking back at you through the hole. He’s huge. Broad shouldered and long-legged and built like a fractured god.

The chills swamp you in seconds.

“Michael,” you correct yourself. Because this isn’t Mikey. No.

This is Michael Myers.

And you’re going to die tonight.

You eye the knife at his side, then glance back at the hand still clutching your shoulder.

“Well?” you say. “Get it over and done with, then. Have at least enough respect to do it quickly.”

If he’s stunned, he says nothing. Either that or he’s really good at hiding it. He says stiff. Rigid, even. But what reason would the notorious Michael Myers have to be rigid around you?

Well, you have balls, for one. But that’s nothing new. It’s been so long since you’ve had to give a shit or cared to even pretend to, there’s no reason to start.

No time like the end to make the most of it, right?

You tilt your head back. “Go on. Do it.”

You wait. You wait and wait and wait.

It seems like forever until he can show he’s processed your words at all. But the knife doesn’t move from his side. Neither does his hand move from your shoulder. He doesn’t even try step closer to you.

Instead he just... Tilts his head at you.

Confused.

Any curiosity you have in return is quickly snuffed out the second he shoves you against the wall, his hand moving to your neck and collaring it in a harsh, iron grip. You choke. You sputter at the unexpected intrusion of your space. He’s not even squeezing hard, which makes it even more disorienting. You feel like you should be dying. You delude yourself into thinking you are, that your body is in denial, which is the only reason you can keep your eyes open.

Michael Myers doesn’t speak.

You don’t even know if he recognises you at all. Then again, why else is he in your house, and why else is he hesitating?

You don’t know what’s worse. Him knowing your or not knowing you at all. “Michael?” His hand lingers a little longer before he releases you all together, your knees buckling when your feet hit the floor. You’re oversensitive. Everything feels like too much, your fear amplifying your senses as you wrestle between flight or fight. “Don’t come any closer,” you warn. “You’re the one who changed your mind.” It’s obvious that he’s not used to following orders. Or maybe he is and is actively choosing not to--- all those years in the Sanitarium must’ve added up to something, if not some submissive trauma. You hate the rush of sympathy that seizes you when you think of it, only resolved by the bitter tang of horror as you remember why that little boy was sent to the asylum in the first place.

You’re more scared now that you can’t predict him. It was easy enough when you were sure he was going to kill you, because that was what he did to everyone. But now?

Now you don’t know.

You swear sharply when Michael lunges, seemingly not fast or agile enough to dodge him as he slams you into the wall, his body pressing against yours. You don’t even both fighting him, arms squished between you where you’d thrown them protectively in front of yourself. His face is so close to yours. That unsettlingly emotionless mask is too close. You can smell the silicone. The sweat.

You can see his eyes through the holes. Icy, stark and blue. Pupils dilated as his gaze holds yours, as his breathing comes heavier, more laboured. You quickly realise why.

His hands roam your sides. They grip. They grope. You hold in your scream as his fingers sink into your hips --- not enough to hurt, but enough to make his intention clear. You try squirm, you try shove him away. Nothing works.

You can feel him against your belly. Hot. Hard, Probing.

Where was the little boy you used to care for? Did he even exist? Did he exist at all now, somewhere deep inside this monstrous creature, hulking in size and ineffably superior, dominant, a symbol of fear? Did he know what he was doing when he was touching you like this, or were the hands that were touching you the hands of a stranger consumed by rage and blood thirst?

You gag. You want to vomit. This is so wrong. Every part of you screams to escape, but he won’t let you.

You clench your eyes shut. “No. No, no, no.”

He pushes harder against you, and you begin to tremble.

You’ve never heard of Michael Myer’s victims being raped. It just wasn’t his thing. It wasn’t supposed to be his thing.

Why start?

Why the fuck start with you?

“No, no, no.” You start to scream. “No! Fucking no!”

You shove him hard, even if it does nothing.

“Get the fuck off me, you disgusting, deranged bitch!”

You shove him again, and this time he stumbles back three steps. They’re all hesitant, like he’s hurt or something. Good.

“Fuck you,’ you spit. “Get out of here.”

He gives you one, last look. His eyes are eclipsed in the shadows, the distance making them hard to see. But you know he’s looking at you. Intently. Deliberately.

Darkly.

And then he’s gone. Just like that.

When you open your eyes, the room is empty. The door is wide open, and the wind slips into the house, submerging it in a chill you can’t differ from your disgust and horror.

On your porch is the corpse of the man you slept with last night. He’s mutilated, body angled in ways that make you sick.

You don’t know anything. You know nothing, and you’re scared.

But one thing remains clear.

He’ll be back.

Michael’s heart throbs in his chest. It is the most life it has had since he was a child, since he was watching cartoons on your sofa or watching you examine your reflection in the mirror.

He’d stepped into the room, and it had beat. It had beaten so loudly, it’d sounded like thunder in his head.

Mine, mine, mine.

You were his.

He’d touched you. Felt you. You were older but you were the same, and you were real. How he imagined you couldn’t compare to how you were now.

Fuck.

And to think someone had touched you that wasn’t him.

Nobody would ever do that again.

comment or follow to be tagged in pt.3!

#michael myers #michael myers x you #michael myers x reader #michael myers x y/n #slasher #slashers x reader #slasher x reader #slasher x y/n #halloween #halloween kills

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asunnycoffee · 5 months

Note

Even if we are to ignore your repeating history of being a complete nutcase, there’s no doubt about it that you perpetuate many of the same beliefs you seem against. “Oh, Lilys against Asian people.” ..how? Because she dislikes anime? Your own Trans Girl Bad nonsense is absurd, especially for someone who’s apparently trans (which I honestly have a feeling is just being used to make yourself look better but I digress.)

Like, truly, what do you gain from continuously targeting indigenous trans women like this? What, do you get your rocks off to harassing a literal cancer patient? Surprise, cunt: You’re failing miserably.

Go get therapy and learn what words mean. Or just grab the nearest bottle of bleach when you’re thirsty. Either one works.

You’re an insane freak who clearly needs to be put in some form of (or really just) an asylum.

There is a fine line between having your own distaste for the majority of anime considering overused tropes and issues with sexism and flat out disregarding an entire culture. Let’s say she hasn’t implied our country’s bombing was a good thing, that doesn’t erase the fact how claiming “Japan has more billboards than people” and “the jelly donuts controversy is the same as the censored gun episode” are the most ridiculous statements I’ve heard.

2. I came out as trans when I was still a fan of Lily, so do not try to claim and I’m “faking it” as a means of clout. My identity is none of your business, bitch.

3. Lily isn’t indigenous in any way shape or form. Looking at a few of her posts regarding native issues is key evidence.

4. I have not harassed Lily. Like at all. I had my issues with Ginger and responded, but I’ve never done that with Lily on the basis of how I’m literally unable to considering she blocked me.

5. I’m already trying to get into therapy. English also is not my first language, but I doubt that’s what you meant. And no, I will not be drinking bleach for you.

6. I’d prefer it if you didn’t refer to me as insane, freak, or say I belong in an asylum. I’m going to assume you aren’t aware of the ableism in these statements, so I forgive you for these insults if that’s the case.

7. Addressing your first argument: Where have I shown a pattern of being racist? Provide any form of proof or just shut the fuck up.

#tw ableist language #likely unintentional but still looking out for those triggered by that kind of shit #lily orchard

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arty-shadow-morningstar · 2 years

Text

Who made me a Villain (1)

[Masterlist]

(here) (Part 2)

So the biodad! Joker AU that you all waited for.

-----

“The patient is secured. Proceed with the transfer.”

The van rolled away from the airport and headed towards one of the most infamous mental institution in the world. Arkham Asylum. Mainly known for treating various Rouges of Gotham who had been ‘admitted’ there by the Batman and his flock of birds. A few of them rehabilitated and were doing less crimes, like Poison Ivy or Harley Quinn. Others like the Joker were kept because they were a threat to Gotham. Only time will tell which category the newest patient will fall into.

—---

“The universe is definitely laughing at me,” the patient currently in the van thought. Why else would it go through all the efforts to make her be the butt of the biggest joke in existence?

She had followed all the rules, did all the things expected of her and yet, it was never enough. She had stayed in that mold, the sweet, kind and caring girl, first shaped by the people she once believed to be her parents. Then, the ‘nice’ teacher who claimed to be on her side and never stepped in between her and the mean blonde girl, not even once. The people she once thought she could finally called friends before they all tossed her to the curb for the next shiny thing.

The responsibility, that was thrust onto her shoulders because of one man with shitty coping mechanism and terrible critical thinking skills. The beings she swore to protect who were ripped away because a group of people with twisted morals and believed themselves to be the higher power deemed her unfit.

Anyone who listened to her life story can tell that it was shit but no one ever bothered to listen to the full story.

—-----

And the story at least had a happy beginning.

A happy couple decided to adopt a sweet baby into their family as they were unable to have children. The baby grew up to a pretty young girl who remain friendless despite all of her efforts, due to the influence of a spoiled, rich brat and an enabling teacher. She faced all of these hardships on with a smile.

Then, it happened. We all know this part by now.

A man who was filled with grief over losing his wife and willing to destroy an entire city to get her back.

A pair of earrings and a ring were given out.

The stone monster who was the first victim in a long line of victims of the magical terrorist, Hawkmoth, who will plague Paris for years to come.

Two heroes, one red and one black.

Dark butterflies and a promise of protection.

The boy with green eyes and a ring holding out an umbrella.

The girl had gained the earrings with a great responsibility, a best friend and a crush.

She was ready to face everything with a bright smile.

Everything appeared great until it wasn’t.

It had been a year and they weren’t any closer to defeating the villain. Trouble soon walked into her civilian life in the form of green eyes and silver tongue.

False promises and tall-tales were fed to eager ears.

The girl had made another enemy and for the boy she devoted her heart to, she kept her promise and remained silent of the liar’s lies.

The girl thought that she can handle anything that came her way and continued to smile, not knowing how wrong she was.

The spoiled brat, unhappy with not being given great power she thought was destined for her. So she betrayed them all. A hard battle was fought and the side of the heroes suffer losses. Their allies were revealed and put in danger from the madman. The box, filled with magic, was passed onto the girl, a new burden that made her shoulders heavier than ever.

As a hero, the villain had became stronger with the knowledge that fell into his hand. Her partner was becoming more and more unreliable in battles and began to aggressively pursued her.

As a civilian, the green-eyed fox was slowly but surely making good on her promise, tearing apart her friendship with the class. The spoilt brat made her life even harder than before. Her parents were starting to lose their patience with her and punished her for every offence her classmates claimed that she did.

The girl held back her tears and put on a fake smile to convinced the world that everything was fine and she can handle whatever it throws at her. However, the world appears to be cracking and it was getting harder to believe that there is good in the world.

—---

The beginning of the end started with the end of Hawkmoth.

She had taken the ring from the boy whom she had once loved and cried for days afterwards. To make up for the lack of a partner, she gave the dragon and the snake to the only two people outside the class who she still trusted. A fencer who was her former rival and now closest friend and a musician who stuck by her side through her highs and lows.

Her friendship with the class was now destroyed and the position of class president stripped from her. It hurt but she now has the time to pursue the copy of the girmoire and hone her abilities with the knowledge of magic hidden inside.

The three faced Hawkmoth in a final battle in the Agreste Mansion. After they had gotten the brooch of Gabriel Agreste and upon learning about the faith of his wife, she offered to wake the woman up in exchange for the peacock Miraculous and the girmoire.

The burden was lifted and peace settled on the city once more.

—----

While the trio were great heroes and friends she could fully trust and rely on, they had their own budding careers that require them to leave Paris. With a sorrowful heart, she bid both of them goodbye with a necklace and a bracelet in her purse.

One day, while filled with loneliness and seeking a place where she doesn’t have to see the disappointment from her family, she came across a magician in trouble so she used her miraculous magic to save him. When the magician realised that the girl who had saved him was the former heroine Ladybug and still very much a child, he offered to teach the girl everything he know in magic to better protect herself and the Miraculous.

His name was Giovanni Zatara.

—----

Months passed, the girl was thriving from the magic lessons from the one positive adult figure in her life. She looked forward to it and Zatara never had a more enthusiastic student. It made her life much more bearable. However, when the world fell into crisis for the upteemth, Zatara had to take his leave from Paris to answer the call of duty but promised to return.

It was something for her to hold onto as her classmates hurled daggers of hurtful words at her.

—-----

Honestly, the days before the incident that caused her to end up in Gotham was a blur. But she clearly remembered the day she lost her closest companions. She had returned to her now barren room and there were a few robed people thrashing it.

She recognised the symbol of the Order and demanded to know why they were there. A few who had remained hidden, ambushed from behind and held her in place as they finally found the Miracle Box. They branded her as thief and demanded her to hand over the Miracle Box. She pleaded with them that she wasn’t a thief and she had the title of Guardian given by Wang Fu.

Upon hearing the name, they told her that Fu was not an actual Guardian and that he had played her. He had stolen the Miraclue Box and created Feast to cover it up. The moment he realised the temple was back, he had given it up and pretended to have lost his memories so she will be his scapegoat. Some of the monks felt pity when they saw the girl’s horrified expression. They stopped their comrades from giving out the original punishment of death, pointing out that the girl didn’t know about Fu’s deception and her reaction was too genuine to be faked.

The kwamis at that point managed to get out of the box and they explained to the Order about Hawkmoth and how the girl had basically carried out their job and protected them.

So as a small mercy, they simply erased her memories. Her parents found her passed out when she didn’t come down from dinner. She woke up in the hosipital with amnesia and no recollection of the past few years. Doctors thinks that the emotional trauma from the entire Hawkmoth thing caused her brain to repress those memories. A few remarked that it was a blessing. (Many were bitter that she was able to easily forgot the hardships they all endured.)

—---

She vaguely remember her classmates for the first time in months asking her politely to bring around some pastries to a party they were throwing. She should have seen that as a sign but she was caught up in her successful haul that got her a rare magic book that was the real deal the other day.

(After she lost the passion she once had for designing after Gabriel Agreste turned out to be Hawkmoth, she now prowled antique shops and flea markets for magic artifacts instead of fabrics and old clothing. She was making many connections with the magic community in Paris who all know that she used to be Ladybug.)

She had showed up at the party with their order, not intending to stick around. But they insisted for her to stay. Alarm bells rang in her head. Her magical instincts were telling her to get the hell out before something bad happened.

Before she knew it, arms held her in place as her classmates beat her up and hurled insults at her. Adrien simply watched as Lila clinged onto his arm with a lowered head.

{None of them saw her grin with malicious glee.}

Marinette cried for help.

{But she didn’t know that Chloe had used her power to clear the park so no one would witness the beat down.}

As she laid on the ground, bloody and aching all over, Lila opened her mouth. Marinette didn’t know what the other girl said but through her magic, she finally with a sense of horror, realised how Lila was able to influence her classmates so easily. A sinister orange aura surrounds the brunette and strings, many of them, were tightly wrapped around each and everyone of them. The Miraculous had protected her and Adrien but after she took away Adrien’s ring, he had also fallen in line easily. The only reason she was still unaffected was because of her protection charms.

Her friends seemed to nod along to whatever Lila suggested and Marinette’s world went black.

—-----

When she opened her eyes, her ears were filled with the sound of sirens and she found herself in the back of a police cruiser.

—----

The days after were filled with many people asking her for the truth of that ‘day’. But the truth was buried underneath her classmates’ various testimonies which all, of course, contradicts her. The only people she trusted to give the true description of her as a character witness were all out of the country or unreachable.

When Chloe visited her in her cell to gloat and demean her, wrapped in Lila’s sickenly orange strings, she knew that the entire court, from judge to jury would rule against her as they all would be in the Mayor’s pocket. Her parents also came by, orange strings around their necks, to tell her that they won’t even hire lawyers for her trial on her behalf and to her heartbreak, gave her the truth of her birth.

She was not their biological daughter. She was adopted simply because she looked like their actual daughter who had died a few months before they came across her.

—----

Someone had decided to run her DNA against the criminal database and it showed that she was related to Jack Napier aka the Joker. They did a ‘psych evaluation’

(The psychiatrist who was supposed to evaluate her reeked of alcohol and was grinning like a loon. It was simple to hynotise him and find out that he was bribed to write her down as insane despite how the actual evaluation went.)

She could have used magic to get out of it but she was tired. She was tired of everything. She was tired of the glares and insults. She was tired of overthinking everything so nothing can be used against her. She was tired of looking over her shoulder everyday and being wary of when her classmates would descend on her like a pack of dogs, thinking themselves as righteous angels of justice. She was tired of the many secrets she held.

As she looked at the happy Agreste family, she was tired of her dreams to achieve that perfectly normal life. Because she was never born normal to start with.

As the trial concluded with her sentence to be deported out of Paris to Arkham Asylum in Gotham.

Paris, the city she once loved and protected hated her.

Good, because she hated it too.

—----

As the van rolled up the hill to her new home, Marinette Dupain-Cheng died.

-------

(Part 2)

So for the people who ask to be tagged: @jayjayspixiepop, @cmouse, @transheso, @thecrazyfantrolls

#biodad joker #maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #class salt #lila salt #adrien salt #tw swearing #i know nothing of how French law enforcement works #imagination has no limits

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artzychic27 · 7 days

Text

Part 2 for this:

*Rouge’s ears perk up at the sound of a melodic organ echoing just outside of Palais Garnier. Whipping out her grappling hook, she shoots it and the hook attaches itself to the railing before she pulls herself up to a window. Peering through the glass, she finds MalevoLyricist, once again in a different outfit, sitting before a grand organ on a stage under a spotlight*

Rouge: What do we have here? *She opens the window ever so carefully as the melody reaches its climax*

*With a dramatic sweep of his cape, MalevoLyricist faces his invisible audience and bows*

MalevoLyricist: Thank you! Thank you! Oh, you’re too kind! With the satellite in my control, soon all the world will be singing my praise!… And of course, making me rich so I can buy my demon prince a promise ring. Just as long as-

*A long shadow suddenly falls over him. Rouge stands perfectly positioned in front of the full moon casting its light through the window, creating an intimidating silhouette that would make her mentor/father proud*

Rouge: That show’s gonna have a long intermission, MalevoLyricist. Twenty years to live.

*MalevoLyricist grits his teeth in anger. Why can’t they just leave him alone?!*

MalevoLyricist: Rouge! Always Rouge! Always driving villains BATS! *He slams his fingers down on the keys of an organ, and smoke whooshes out from the pipes in a dramatic display. Rouge’s vision becomes obstructed as the smoke takes over the grand room, and the villain escapes out of a door using his scooter that’s in the shape of two beamed eighth notes while doing a series of outfit changes*

She was just a sidekick,

Some girl wonder at HIS call!

Her utility belt holds everything,

Can't find that at the mall!

*As MalevoLyricist speeds through the streets of Paris, civilians hear his hypnotic singing and fall under his spell and try to apprehend Rouge while she’s gunning after him on her motorcycle*

Her motorcycle’s super fast,

There no vehicle that is surpassed!

It's a good thing we've got Arkham,

'Cause she really drives us bats!

*His singing projects all the way to L’asile d’Arkham, where the teenage villains immediately fall under his thrall and grip and shake the bars of their prison cells*

Villain Kids: Drives us bats!

Drives us bats!

He really drives us bats, bats, bats!

He drives us bats!

*The musical villain gracefully waves his way through and over the streets. When he rides off of a building and onto a telephone wire, Rouge leaps off of her motorcycle and grabs on to the back of his note scooter, only for it to split apart. They resume after him while riding on the other half*

MalevoLyricist: Whether dancing the Batusi,

Or using an array of tools,

She’s always got the answer!

She makes us look like fools!

*When Rouge attempts to lunge for him, MalevoLyricist surprises her once more by revealing that the half scooter also has a flying function, and he takes off toward the asylum*

MalevoLyricist: Has got no super powers,

She’s just a flying rat!

It's a good thing we've got Arkham,

Cause she really drives us bats!

*While the Parisians are keeping Rouge busy, MalevoLyricist makes his way to L’asile d’Arkham. The louder he sings, the more relentless the villains become, and they attack and disarm the guards with their powers and abilities. Adrien, displaying his gymnastics skills, easily dodges the guards and pushes one down the stairs. Rose summons an army of vines to restrain several of the guards while Max hacks into the security system to free any other inmates. Grown to twenty feet, Nathaniel gathers some guards in his hand and places them in one of the cells. Myléne spreads her fear gas, forcing many of the guards to thrash and writhe on the floor as they see their greatest fears in their heads*

Villain Kids: Drives Us Bats!

MalevoLyricist: Taught by the greatest detective!

Villain Kids: Drives Us Bats!

Ivan: Foiling every evil scheme!

Villains: She really drives us bats, bats, bats!

She drives us bats!

*After MalevoLyricist shoots the door with a blast from his conductor’s baton, the villains break out of the asylum. The heroes quickly arrive on the scene and try to stop them while still stuck singing*

Juleka: Even without shark repellent...

Kim: ...They’re tougher than they seem.

Aurore: Other heroes often ask.... *She fends off against Alix and Rose who try to snatch her earplugs*

Alix: Get her earplugs!

Gia: *Loading an arrow* ... Why is he always the top cat?

Everyone: She drives us bats, drives us bats, drives us bats!

@msweebyness @imsparky2002

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #mlb au #Arkham au #dc comics #dc au #dc villains #dc heroes #akuma class #science kids #mlb ocs #Batman #batman the brave and the bold #SoundCloud

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doomedlvr · 1 year

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2 for the book ask, please?

Top 5 books of all time, yipppee!

The Graveyard Book. Literally the book of all time and shaped my standards for books forever. I’m not gonna go into detail here since I left a bunch of info in this ask but pls give it a read I’ll kiss you on the lips

The original Percy Jackson series. Sprouted my love for both mythology and camping <3

Yeah I’m basic. Fight Club. I’m sorry though I like the boon so much better then the movie. Which sucks cause even the author likes the movie better. Man. Anyway I liked the way the protagonists mental break was portrayed and while the movie kind of just lets go of you at the end, the book will make you severely depressed and rethink everything.

Of Mice and Men. Yeah I was that annoying kid in English class that got really into whatever we where reading. Honestly, the faint hope all the characters have and the soul crushing ending really stuck with me. I can never look at rabbits the same.

The Dead Girls of Hysteria Hall. Okay I’ll admit now that this is no where near on the same writing level as anything else on this list, but I’ve reread this book so many times from when I was in early high school that the covers falling off. It’s about this teen girl who inherits her late great-aunts home that used to be an asylum for troubled girls. She gets into a fight with her younger sister and later dies mysteriously in the house, being trapped there as a ghost for years until her sister returns. Basically since the house is haunted by the evil energy of the old owners it tries to keep young girls there that show any sort of “hysteria” which is literally just defiance and normal teenage stuff. It works really good this way as a feminist book, however its pretty low down here since it does fall into the unfortunate “YA book curse” of the “not like other girls” trope and a love interest for no fucking reason. I kind of just focus on how the female characters empower each other by the end, and the really good ghost horror of not really being sure of how time is moving and the dread of the protagonist being dead for most of the story. And the fact you have no idea she’s gonna die, it comes out of nowhere in the first few chapters but it’s a really good route for the book.

#asks ✨#sorry for the rambley ending I never get to talk about that book LOL

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thinkatoryprocess · 1 year

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do you have any fem!Kendall ideas? how would it change things, if Kendall was the eldest daughter instead? how would it change how Logan sees her? would she remind him more of Rose? would he be gentler or more strict? how would he respond to Ken's manic or depressive episodes? would she marry Stewy then, do you think?

I set this one aside for a day because I wanted to give it the attention it deserved.

I think Logan would view all of Kendall's flaws as the weakness of a woman, because he's very sexist that way and requires women to be a certain way in a way reminiscent of Roman's preferences. He would resent his first attempt at a child after Connor being a girl instantly, because I believe it took him time to believe that women could hack it (and we're talking late 1970s for Kendall's birth). I think the standards would be ABSURD for Kendall in this situation and she'd live in constant anxiety of living up to them - eventually she'd manage to hide her drug use and be totally functional in the midst of it, because it would be the only way to cope with never knowing if her dad would ever respect her. It'd be the most important thing to her in a way it wouldn't be to Shiv, because Shiv was a spare kid to both Caroline and Logan and I think we know it. Shiv and Connor were just extra weight.

Logan realizes that Kendall has some kind of mental illness pretty early in, when she causes a lot of problems around the age of 12 and can't explain her erratic behavior despite normally being able to verbalize this kind of thing. He seriously considers tossing her in an asylum, but Prozac is handy around these times, so they basically force it down her throat. What they aren't taking into consideration is that Kendall is bipolar, and with bipolar Prozac just heightens the manic episodes and makes them last longer. She has an incredibly rough time in her teen years and starts to use heavily just to survive. Eventually they switch the meds when they realize Kendall hasn't slept in a week and institutionalize her to get her back into shape. Logan never forgives her for this show of weakness, and almost hits her before he has flashbacks to Rose; he starts to cut himself off emotionally from Kendall at that exact moment, in his head "for her own good".

BTW, this changes Roman's relationship with Logan. Even if we factor in any of Roman's quirks and damages, I think Logan still buckles down and seriously tries to make Roman his heir despite Kendall excelling (because of course he would, the alternative is losing Dad's attention). I think Roman is also closer in age to Kendall in this situation, because they are very quickly trying for a boy. It's a year, year and a half age difference max.

Kendall both adores Roman and hates him vividly and this fucks them both up really badly, but in their own way they're totally inseparable. Roman has his dad's attention, but what he wants more than anything is Kendall's love without all of the resentment attached. This is even worse in contrast with how Kendall effectively raises Shiv with as much genuine emotion as she can muster, because maybe she can get this one thing right and make one of them feel okay. Logan sees this, and doesn't really bother much with Shiv. As long as Kendall doesn't break her, that's under control.

#asks #alternate universe #kendall roy #roy family

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comic-book-fan-us · 1 year

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Ghost Of Ozai: Chapter 4

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Read On AO3

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

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

KNOCK! KNOCK!

Azula awoke with a start. She trailed over to her bedroom door and pulled it open.

She was met with the sight of Suki, in full Kyoshi Warrior ensemble, jogging in place. A large waterskin was strapped to her waist.

“You woke me up,” Azula grumbled.

Suki disregarded her complaint. “Get dressed. We’re going for a jog around the garden.”

Azula gawked at her. “Are you as insane as I am?”

“You want to get back in shape, right? This is how.”

“But I just woke up!” the princess whined.

“We should get going while it’s still early,” Suki insisted. “You don’t want people to see you struggle through a simple jog, do you?”

Damn. This girl really knew what buttons to push.

“Gimme a minute,” Azula muttered, shutting the door.

Soon after, Azula emerged from her room, dressed, but no less disgruntled. Suki led her to the palace gardens.

“Um, Suki…” Azula murmured, nervously eyeing the large turtle duck lake in the center of the courtyard.

“We’re just jogging around the perimeter,” Suki assured. “You don’t have to go near the lake. We want to acclimate you to water, so we’ll start with this. Unless it’s too much?”

Lake. Water. Cold. Dark. Deep.

Azula shook her head. “I can manage.”

Suki nodded. “Good to hear. You remember the first thing you do before a run?”

Azula searched her scattered memories for her old routine.

“You… stretch?”

A cheerful grin told the princess she had answered correctly. “I knew there was still a warrior under all that self-doubt.”

Azula couldn’t stop the smile blooming on her own face.

Suki walked her through a pre-stretch warmup (“A warmup before the warmup? I can’t believe I used to do this every day.”) before moving on to some basic stretches. Azula felt pretty stupid making circles with her arms, but at least only Suki was there to see it.

“Did you do this stuff when you were training as a firebender?” Suki asked curiously.

“Oh, please,” Azula scoffed. “You may be providing me a valuable service, but you’re still a peasant. The activities of royalty are not—”

“Do you not remember?’

“I miss being good at lying,” the gold-eyed girl sighed.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get going already.”

Azula quickly regretted her words. After one lap around the garden, she could already feel fatigue creeping over her body. By lap three, she was wiped out. She found herself sitting with her back against a wall, panting.

Suki crouched next to her and held out her waterskin. “You can still drink water, right?”

Azula nodded and took a swig.

“I’m proud of you,” Suki said. “This was a good start.”

“What do you mean?” the Fire Princess huffed. “I’m just taking a breather. I can go for another ten laps.”

“No.”

“What?” Azula replied, jumping to her feet. “You’re the one who dragged me here!”

“I didn’t realize how out of shape you were.”

“I thought you were on my side!” Azula snarled accusatorially. “Now you want me to give up?”

“I don’t want you to give up,” Suki snapped. “I want you to pace yourself. You shouldn’t push yourself past your breaking point.”

“I’ve always pushed myself,” Azula shot back. “That’s what made me the best! That’s what made me the strongest!”

“That’s what made you go crazy!” Suki shouted. “For Yangchen’s sake, Azula, you’ve spent the last year in an insane asylum!”

For a moment, Azula’s swirling thoughts ground to a halt.

“How… How dare you?” she growled, rage bubbling up inside her. “You lowly, impudent, Earth Nation trash! A tramp like you has no place questioning the crown princess of… princess of…”

Azula’s face was wet. Why was her face wet?

Oh. She was crying.

Why was she crying?

Azula tried to speak, but all that came out was a wordless moan.

“I’m sorry,” muttered Suki, rubbing her temples. “I lost my temper, and said some things I shouldn’t have. I’m going to give you some time alone.”

Azula wailed as tears obscured her vision.

“It’s done,” the Avatar said as he stepped back from Azula.

Azula felt… wrong. The comforting warmth she had felt throughout her life was gone.

“W-what…” she sputtered. “What did you do to me?”

“I’ve taken away your bending,” the monk replied.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” scoffed Azula. “That’s not possible.”

“He’s telling the truth,” the waterbender said solemnly.

Azula glanced at her brother. “They’re lying, right, Zuzu? You wouldn’t let him take my bending, right?”

Zuko wouldn’t look her in the eye.

Something was rubbing against Azula’s hand. Something wet.

Wet. Water. Cold. Dark.

Azula’s eyes popped open as she yanked her hand away, squealing. Looking down, she saw a curious turtle duck gazing up at her.

“What?” Azula snapped. “I don’t have any bread for you.”

The bird/reptile honked and rubbed its head affectionately against Azula’s leg.

The princess responded by flicking the turtle duck on the head. “Go away.”

The turtle duck bit her finger.

Azula yowled, swinging her arm wildly.

Her gyrations ceased when she heard a familiar girlish giggle.

Ty Lee stepped into her line of view and plucked the animal from Azula’s finger. Unlike Suki, the acrobat was not in a Kyoshi Warrior uniform, but the pink ensemble that Azula had always associated her with.

“T-Ty Lee?” Azula’s cheeks instantly lit up. “You, uh, why are you here?”

“Suki sent me to check on you,” Ty Lee explained.

“Why?” the former firebender grumbled. “She hates me.”

“Now why would you assume that?”

“I… I thought we were becoming friends,” Azula divulged. “But we got into a fight, and she called me crazy, and I called her trash, and, and…”

She started tearing up again.

“... and now all that’s ruined! And she’s not the only one either. I thought *sob* I thought Mai and I could be friends again, but… but I said something dumb, and she got angry at me.”

Ty Lee gently wiped at Azula’s tears. “Neither of them hate you, ’Zula. Fighting is a part of friendship.”

Azula sniffled. “Are you sure?”

“Of course!” chirped Ty Lee, smiling warmly.

�� “You’re as cheerful as ever,” Azula snarked. “I… I didn’t know what it would be like to see you again.”

“I felt the same way,” Ty Lee admitted. “I certainly didn’t expect to find you passed out in the garden.”

“Agni, that’s so embarrassing,” the princess whined.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Ty Lee commented, “with the new haircut.”

“Right.” Azula brushed a hand through her hair. Suddenly overcome with shyness, she turned her head away from Ty Lee’s pleasant gray eyes. “Mai did it for me. Do, uh, do you like it?”

“Yeah! I think you look really pretty!”

Azula’s heart fluttered.

“Don’t get carried away,” Ursa’s voice whispered in her ear. “After what you’ve done to her, you’re lucky she shows you any kindness whatsoever. You don’t deserve a friend like Ty Lee.”

“You’re right,” Azula muttered to herself.

“What was that?” Ty Lee asked curiously.

“I was just thinking…” Azula started. “I was thinking… that I don’t deserve a friend like you, and I’m lucky to have you in my life.”

“Awww, Azula,” Ty Lee giggled, her cheeks rosy. “You’re making me blush!”

It occurred to Azula that Ty Lee had a lovely laugh.

“I haven’t been a very good friend to you,” the princess admitted. “I’m… I’m sorry for everything. For the threats, the insults, the… the Boiling Rock. I’m sorry.”

“Forgiven.”

“Just like that?”

“Hey, if I had a dad like yours, I’d be a bitch, too.”

Azula chuckled. “Can I say something kind of… well, bitchy?”

“Be my guest.”

Azula took a deep breath. “I’m glad he’s dead. Is that terrible?”

“Nah,” Ty Lee replied dismissively. “You dedicated your life to Mr. ‘Phoenix King’ and he treated you like shit. Good riddance.”

“My, my, Ty Lee!’” Azula gasped in mock horror. “For a noblewoman, you have quite the foul mouth!”

Ty Lee grinned wickedly. “Circus folk aren’t known for their politeness.”

“No,” Azula agreed, “but they are known for making people smile. Thank you, Ty Lee.”

The princess stood up and dusted herself off.

“I should go inside,” she said. “I want to see my… my friends.”

Ty Lee beamed. “Sounds good! But before we part ways…”

The acrobat outstretched her arms. Gratefully, Azula embraced her friend. Several seconds passed before they parted and went their separate ways.

“You think it’s that easy?” Fake Ursa hissed. “You know you’re a cruel person. The best thing you can do for these people is to leave them alone.”

Azula ignored her.

#azula #avatar the last airbender #atla #ty lee #suki #fanfiction #tyzula

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seyaryminamoto · 1 year

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1. Oh, I also think it was a great idea to make Sokka and Azula agents of white lotus. I think my favorite trope for sokfics is Zuko sending Azula on a mission so she can do something helpful to protect the world and atone for her evil actions. And she accepts it, because anything is better than being locked up in the asylum. And Sokka begrudgingly agrees to go with her, because they’re still distrustful of her and someone has to make sure she won’t cause more problems.

Yeah, I've seen this trope many times, though while I started several fics that versed around Zuko doing that, I can't say I remember seeing a fully finished one x'D Maybe they do exist these days, I don't know, maybe they did get finished and I just haven't checked, I dunno.

But yeah, I do think Azula's redemption can take many shapes. Missions to fix the world subtly, direct hard work of the sort, is a good way of going about it. I definitely went with a darker take for it in my last story in Leap of Faith, because they're basically assassins, the ones who have to clean up the world from the very worst of the worst, the people who will absolutely jeopardize the tenuous balance the world is striving for right now. Obviously, Zuko didn't send them this time (not intentionally anyway :'D), but in principle it's largely the same thing.

Azula's redemption would be strongly benefited from letting her see more of the world. She saw some of it, yes, in Book 2... but she didn't seriously see it, I'd say. Traveling in a train-tank doesn't really feel like she would get to see lifestyles and ways of existence that are completely different from everything she knows. I just feel like Azula is such a fundamentally intellectual person and that means she'd be intrigued by experiencing life in different ways once she grows out of the misery of losing the lifestyle she clung to before. Learning that there's more to life than Ozai-sanctioned success would be such a good thing for her, and I feel like that's something she'd be better off experiencing away from the Fire Nation. The fact that this girl isn't shown or treated by the show as a firebending supremacist, that she will genuinely value the combat potential of two non-benders and an earthbending army, tells you that the firebending supremacy doesn't run as deeply with her as it does in many other Fire Nation characters. Starting from that point and expanding it in a positive direction could really yield results, with Azula learning to appreciate things that aren't what her father wanted her to appreciate.

Which, of course, is one of the fun things about Sokka being her love interest. The Water Tribe non-bender who, even while being a chief's son, was raised as a commoner and not as royalty...? He's everything Ozai would deem unworthy of his daughter. Ozai would absolutely underestimate him, treat him with disgust and disdain... and that's exactly why I find it so beautiful if Azula grows to love someone who's everything her father taught her to destroy. Nothing says more clearly that she has grown out of his toxic teachings than her willingness to spend her life with someone Ozai would never want to approve of :'D

Anyway. I digressed xD point in case being, yes, Azula and Sokka being on a long road trip together is a loooot of fun. There's a lot of room to work with, so much development possible for them... their potential as traveling buddies/partners in the White Lotus is just incredible. Even if someone didn't want to ship them romantically, their potential as allies and as teammates would be amazing to witness.

#anon #leap of faith #I've done the white lotus agent concept a few times #WLIG notably #this is the second big story I do with it I think #bet it might happen again in the future ahahaha #I can't really help it #if I get a plotline that can work with that concept #I just go for it #I'm straight-forward that way #:'D

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sshoujo-ais · 2 years

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Too Hot to Sleep

Living in a crappy studio apartment in Santa Monica is bad enough all year round, but it's especially bad in the summer with no air conditioning. Even worse when you're a creature of the night, since it's way hotter during the day when you sleep, and your blinds are held together with duct tape and don't even work half the time. And even if you don't sweat, the humidity from the nearby ocean will stick to your skin and make trying to get some rest an all around unpleasant experience.

With all those factors in mind, it was a wonder that Faraday hadn't moved out of her old haven into some fancier digs yet. Part of that was a general lack of finances, and another part was that she just never really thought about it, seeing as she didn't even really spend a lot of time in the apartment over the pawn shop. And of course, one advantage the place had was the proximity to the Asylum, where her girlfriend Jeanette operated out of.

Before the sun reared its ugly head that morning, Faraday was already in Jeanette's thankfully air conditioned office slash room, which the girl had made some major redecorations to since her sister stopped being in charge. The large portrait of the sisters as children with their father, which Jeanette hated, was gone, replaced by a large pinup of herself, which she deemed infinitely sexier, and for good reason. Other additions included a coat rack near the entrance, specifically for Faraday to hang her jacket and hat on when she stayed over, and Therese's desk and PC were gone entirely, replaced with a couple of hot pink wardrobes for Jeanette to keep all of her outfits in. Jeanette's fancy mirror was also covered in a bunch more stickers, ranging from various hearts to a sexy bat from a certain video game series.

"Hey, babe," Faraday called out as she entered, hanging her jacket and hat on the coat rack and immediately feeling a lot less temperate. She considered taking her jeans off for a moment as well, but then looked at Jeanette, who was lounging around on her heart-shaped bed in merely a light sleeveless crop top and panties, and went through with it. Now only covered by her tank top and boxer briefs, she joined Jeanette on the bed, the girl immediately snuggling up to her before she even had a chance to get comfortable.

"Hey yourself," Jeanette responded now that her girlfriend was firmly in her arms. "Couldn't sleep without little ol' me?"

"More like couldn't sleep without the AC, but sure, let's go with that." Faraday chuckled.

"Oh, you charmer," Jeanette said sarcastically, rolling her eyes before nuzzling into Faraday's neck.

"Love what you've done with the place, by the way," Faraday continued. It wasn't the first time she had seen the new room, far from it, but she liked to comment on it every time she did anyway, to boost Jeanette's confidence if nothing else.

"Thanks, love!" Jeanette replied with a girlish giggle.

"Surprised you're still keeping the mirror."

"It's the only one she won't touch."

They left it at that.

The two lay there for a couple minutes, neither of them particularly drifting off to sleep yet, just enjoying the moment and each other's presence, until Jeanette suddenly bolted up, and Faraday with her.

"I almost forgot!" Jeanette exclaimed, one finger raised triumphantly. "Blood pop?"

"Blood pop?" Faraday repeated, head tilted in confusion.

In lieu of an explanation, Jeanette reached under the bed, where a portable cooler was hidden. In it, a plastic tray of DIY popsicle molds, from which Jeanette removed two, handing one to Faraday and keeping the other. Faraday stared at the frozen slab of blood on a stick in bewilderment, before taking it and biting a piece off the tip.

"Thanks," she said with her mouth full.

"Oh my gosh, you're a biter!" Jeanette was rather bemused by how Faraday chose to eat her blood pop, herself licking hers almost seductively, as expected.

"What? We're both biters," Faraday responded, playfully bumping Jeanette's shoulder with her own. "Besides, I always ate popsicles like this, even as a mortal," she added.

"It's cute," Jeanette responded, continuing to lick her blood pop while Faraday munched on hers.

"Where'd you get the blood for this anyway?" Faraday asked after a moment.

"Remember the ghoul at the blood bank?"

"Yeah, I told him to go fuck himself once."

"Well I had no more use for him so I just drained him," Jeanette flashed a sinister smile, reminding Faraday that even though her girlfriend was a cutie, she was still a bloodthirsty beast, same as her. "And there was still some blood left at the blood bank, so now that it's closed, this is what I'm doing with it!"

"It's a really good idea," Faraday said, mouth full of blood pop. "You should sell these."

"I would, but I'd have to make sure they'd reach the right market."

"We'll think of something. I know lots of Kindred would pay out the ass for something like this in the summer."

With her popsicle already finished due to her much faster method of consuming it, Faraday was now free to lean over and give Jeanette a kiss on her cheek, before cheekily stealing a lick of her blood pop.

"You're really smart," she said.

"Awww, thank you," Jeanette replied, scootching closer to Faraday on the bed and snuggling up to her once more. "It's still so hard to believe people actually think that about me, when she was always seen as the smart one…"

"Well let's not think about her. You're the smart one now."

Jeanette said nothing, but rested her head on Faraday's shoulder, suckling on her blood pop in silence - to keep herself from crying, Faraday suspected. She did love to shower Jeanette in affirmation, even if it ended in Jeanette having to hold back tears on account of not being used to positive words. After all, all her life (and unlife) the closest person to her had nothing but criticism to say about her.

They sat in more silence while Jeanette finished her own popsicle, then laid back down on the bed, facing each other. Faraday stared at Jeanette's lips, the thought of a cool (in temperature, not figuratively) makeout session with the lingering taste of blood on her mind, but she wasn't sure if it would be appropriate in the moment.

"What are you waiting for?" Jeanette noticed. Faraday would have pulled her hat down, but it was stored away on the coat rack near the door, so her fingers just treaded bangs. She pushed them out of the way and looked up at Jeanette's eyes instead.

"Permission." She smirked teasingly, as naturally Jeanette's question just before was all the permission she needed.

"How polite of you," Jeanette teased back, before diving in for a kiss. It was exactly as Faraday imagined - cool and tasting of blood. And of course Jeanette was a phenomenal kisser.

What they did after pulling away from the kiss and before actually falling asleep for the day was a lot less polite.

#art tag #ship: sanguine thirst #OK SO ITS NOT TOMORROW BUT I WROTE IT

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stingslikeabee · 24 days

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how would melissa react to the news of reno's death?

unscripted asks . always accepting

First of all: how dare you? Second of all: very badly.

Melissa's emotions and her drive for human connections are her greatest asset and liability. Melissa can play a very important part as an anchor to those struggling to see meaning in life and to help bring them back from darker, dangerous places; but the fact that she places so much importance on those connections and how fundamentally they shape her also create problems.

Losing them is the most drastic of them all because it feels like losing a part of herself - it's like these memories, their shared habits, their favorite treats all turn dark, bitter and wither away. Melissa loves intensely, but that extends to all of her other feelings - she feels loss acutely, she gets enraged easily, she will be frustrated very often. There is no middle ground with her and she frequently needs time and/or support to process this and act more rationally.

With Reno in particular, in this verse and with what we built for them, it hits her extra hard. They were kindred spirits in a way, closer than blood relatives and someone Melissa trusted with her life. Reno offered her safety to drop her public persona and also granted her some sort of protection and tranquility that usually she was the one giving to others (from a broader perspective and considering Wall Market under Corneo rule, Melissa was the one granting asylum and taking in those in danger - with Reno, she was the protected/cared for individual when she usually was the giving one).

So while Melissa was always rationally aware that his job was dangerous and that this was a likely scenario, I think she never really prepared herself for the day it does happen - Reno felt like the type of soul to be blessed against misfortune and as if the fates owed him for the trauma he endured as a younger street rat. She believed that - he was too fast, too skilled, too good at his job to be caught by surprise or to be bested. Reno did not boast or brag - in Melissa's eyes, she had been a witness to so much coming from him that it was just the truth.

So losing his warmth, his humor, his comforting presence will be a heavy blow and will have her shut down and go silent after there are no more tears to cry. Melissa will look paler, duller and quieter in a way that is just uncomfortable because she's not that person - she's a social butterfly, she's the light in the room and the warm touch for those who are lonely. But without the connections that fuel her, she's just lifeless and heartbroken.

It is possible for her to recover - and I don't know if through the shared effort of her girls, other friends or even Rude, but at some point she would likely heal a bit, enough to at least try and honor Reno properly. Deep down, Melissa knows Reno would not want her tears and all that mopey act - he would rather have her visiting the Saucer again, watching bad movies for laughs, allowing herself to re-enact their hobbies with a smile on her face.

But losing him will make her different - she may carry on, but she will always miss him. Reno was found family and that wound may heal, but it definitely leaves a scar.

#bitterarcs #v: FFVII #replied #okay this hurt me #but honestly - with everything we've plotted?#it would devastate her and she would need help #and learning to live with his loss would be _hard_

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notmuchtoconceal · 2 months

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Hellbound: Hellraiser 2 -- through a series of cast drop-outs and hasty script changes -- reformed itself from an artless cash grab which terminates in a soft Hollywood reset into the story of a young woman confronting the trauma which destroyed her family; a slow-build which erupted in a conflagration that destroyed her home overnight (though by the second, left the house standing so it contents could pour out.)

When you read Peter Atkin's original script, there is a stunning amount of additional detail which paints a fuller picture of the crude cardboard world of the film where trick photography and montage turns a collection of hallways and matte paintings into a sprawling cthonian maze.

Yet by the end, all catharsis is forfeit -- the father is revived, the evil vanquished, the damage undone. When you read the events depicted in the original script as a dream language which constitutes the organic regeneration of a myth, the fact that Frank and Larry are literally conjoined in their burning attic hell -- the topmost story of the home which didn't burn down -- and his confronting and absorbing his brother, the parasitic twin, is what ultimately allows him to get so pissed he punches the Freshly Cenobitten Gaslighting Head of the Asylum Who Traps Autistic Girls in Repetitive Puzzle Cubes After He Vivisects and Gases Their Mothers in the face before the snake-worm buzz-saw phallus which bores into his skull (not from an omniscient Platonic solid in this version, but a fleshy amorphous mass :-- no worship of the tetrahedron) turns him into his kinky brainwashed leather sex puppet and dangles him around his own hospital cracking Freddy Krueger one-liners as he murders his own crippled and infirm.

Figuratively, this is simply an expression of the Ba'al cycle in miniature (the Pagan origin of Christianity which is nature worship; cycles within cycles; seasonal, annual, generational, epochal, which through self-determined individual will can be overcome to build civilizations, histories, myths of higher-order artistry and expression) -- for Larry, as Clive Barker himself points out, is something of a soft-boy dominated by his wife who gets really into boxing because he's so timid.

Watch the original again. His wife who's fucking his brother who literally regenerated from his blood sacrifice (his hand nailed -- a Christic reference, though through the back of the palm -- as he moves the marriage bed, literally complicit in his own cuckoldry) arouses him in his state of television-induced blood lust to distract him from the corpse in the attic by appealing to his desire to protect her. She's stringing him along, he starts to fuck her, and while she's horny, she kinda realizes ... aw, fuck. I actually love my husband. I love my pussy husband who I also have contempt for. Holy Shit. Why am I fucking a blood-eating monster? Is my home life really that insipid? Could I get more attention in better ways, or do I really just live for the havoc I cause?

Larry has issues with his masculinity cause he's the good boy. Frank's corrupted his soul cause he's the bad boy. Julia's fucking them both. The love triangle is a the most stable shape in human psychology, as the triangle is the most stable shape in nature. Truthfully, I think everyone wants a third and you only earn one when you overcome base human passions, otherwise you're consumed and end up in hell.

The sequel, told from his daughter's perspective, dispenses with this baggage entirely. Here, in the original draft, Larry overcomes Frank, who from Kirsty's perspective is a dark perversion of her father; an incestuous reflection who in the final film poses as him simply to lure her into hell and trap her with him in a Holocaust-style cremation-oven fuckbed of which he has several in the vast mausoleal chamber where he keeps his candle-lit fuckshrine to himself, presumably with his own lipstick on his photos as he's tortured by apparitions of bitches who tease him.

In other words, to show Frank and Larry conjoined literalizes what is left figurative in the final film, where he is the apparition of a delusion which functions as a lure; an embodiment of her guilt, shame, complicity, which she must recognize the falsity of to free herself. Only this self-insight gives her the courage she needs to navigate the maze of hell and overcome institutional gaslighting to rescue her mute Autistic other half from the asylum and begin their new life of lesbian sisterhood, which was so obvious it didn't need to be confirmed in the DVD commentary.

In the original draft, therefore -- we see a father figuratively revived, but presented in a literal way. It reframes the events of the previous film as such that Frank was only ever reborn to be overcome and destroyed. It reframes a family tragedy as a hero myth. Due to his daughter's tireless love, Larry becomes complete, and Kirsty seems to disregard Tiffany entirely with a crack about opening a game store.

Perhaps, to depict this myth so literally is repulsive, for it is too revealing.

The rational framework of psychological self-overcoming and self-integration might function as something of a gauze by which we may preserve the self-flattery of our pretensions to civilization.

Perhaps, to depict Kirsty as rescuing her father from hell (plot reasons where additionally cited for the removal of Larry; he spends much of act three unconscious after being rescued, so the feeling was Kirsty's story was over and Tiffany's was superfluous -- forgetting the incidental details of Kirsty needing to literally step-into her stepmother's skin, oh yes... becoming like the woman who fucked both her father and brother to help the new girl) in such a direct way reveals too uncomfortable a subtext.

If Kirsty becomes like Julia and Larry becomes like Frank, then now Father and Daughter are Truly One with Rebel and Whore.

The base contradiction at the heart of the Christian worldview is exposed. Beneath all our rational striving is a dark wonderland of flayed men and dancing incest and techno-bacchanalian revelry and deep stoic meditation in leather while highly aestheticized art objects are probed and fondled in the dark as our mechanical nature is subtly unfurled.

Dick itches just thinkin bout it, bro.

Best then we accept that daddy's dead and he's never coming back. Best we then accept that gay sex is a perfectly healthy expression of self-love which only toxic dumbasses could fuck up. Where now is the contradiction in our worldview? What do you suppose we're running from? A uterus is the source of all life, and in it is constant division. A uterus is a microcosm of the void of space as the dick is a microcosm of a shooting star or the sunbeam you yearn to strut across.

Birth is a form of death, as death is simply a form of metamorphosis.

The older I get, the more it makes sense that Clive Barker resents Hellraiser's success. It's a classic, and it's all most will ever know him for, when he's a contemporary renaissance man who is primarily a novelist, though also a painter -- he's really up there with Stephen King in terms of sheer output, and really... his horror phase was comparatively short, he mostly writing gay bizarre fantasy epics which would probably look great on screen, but I think Mr. Barker stopped making movies after three because he found them exhausting. Socially. Bureaucratically. Financially. Meanwhile, on the page, his imagination remains unrestrained and the only limit is the speed at which his fingers can clack and no man could ever tell him he needs an editor or that his work is indulgent.

Clive Barker's like chocolate mousse.

You crave the indulgence.

When he pares himself down to fit neatly into the Christian worldview, you absolutely feel it and know a tremendous loss, the same as you would see in a tree mutilated limbless by an overzealous surgeon.

#hellraiser #hellbound: hellraiser ii #clive barker #peter atkins #tony randall #the hellbound heart

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readnburied · 8 months

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January Reading Wrap Up

Target: 10

January was not exactly a successful month for me in terms of reading. I planned on reading ten books and ended up reading only eight. So I do feel disappointed, but it’s still okay that I at least managed to read eight books.

So without further ado here is the list of the books I read:

Figment by Cameron Jace

This is book 2 in the Insanity series by Cameron Jace which follows a girl named Alice Wonder who is locked in an asylum. The story continues with Alice’s adventure as she tries to navigate between reality and imagination, trying to find and stop the Wonderland Monsters from killing innocent children. Add a handsome, sweet boy who just might not be what she expected and you have a roller coaster of a book.

I thoroughly enjoyed this book and look forward to reading the rest of the books in the series. The twists and turns and the fantastic way the author plays with psychological concepts really kept me at the edge of my seat.

Llwellyn’s Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kynes

If you’re into witchcraft or esotericism, then it’ll be good for you to give this a book a try. Someone like me who is new to this world would benefit greatly as correspondences are difficult to find at times. However, this book contains all the correspondences organized alphabetically so it is a helpful book to have around, whether you’re a beginner or at a higher level. It was a highly informative book for me.

Childhood Disrupted by Donna Jackson Nakazawa

Childhood plays an important role when it comes to shaping our personalities, and this book tells us exactly how childhood impacts our lives as adults. The trauma we experience as kids, whether physical or psychological, it leaves a mark, the signs of which appear in our adulthood.

Containing real life accounts of people who suffered in their childhood in one way or another, this book is an eye opener for those who believe that the trauma suffered in childhood has absolutely no effect on our lives and personalities as adults.

This book was enlightening and an engaging read, so do give it a try if you’re looking to read something interesting in the non-fiction genre.

Cloak and Dagger by Nenia Campbell

This is book 1 of The IMA series by Nenia Campbell, who—in case you guys didn’t know—is one of my favorite authors ever. This follows Michael who happens to be an assassin working for the IMA. When a hacker manages to breach into the organization’s database, the IMA sends Michael to find out who’s behind it and kill the one responsible. Christina, on the other hand is an ordinary school student until she’s kidnapped by a group of people who are dead set on killing her. This follows a chain of events that lead to Christina fighting for her life all the while trying to navigate the sinister world of ruthless mercenaries.

I love Nenia Campbell, and this is the second series that I’ve started reading by her and so far I love the first book and I’ll be reading the rest of the series as soon as I read all the other books I plan to read. The plot is intriguing as I love reading about criminal organizations and assassins just happens to be my favorite. So this book was a quick read for me, though the antagonist in the book made me want to kill him.

Unbearable Lightness: A Story of Loss and Gain by Portia de Rossi

This memoir follows the life of actress Portia de Rossi and her journey with Anorexia and her love for food as she tries to fit in with the cutthroat world of media and stardom.

The purity and rawness of this book was what really kept me flipping page after page. Portia de Rossi really poured her heart out in describing her battle with Anorexia and how the world forces you to change yourself just to feel accepted. And I think everyone should read this book, because no one should be pressured into changing their appearance in order to feel accepted and beautiful.

Audacity by Melanie Crowder

This is a novel written in verse and the first of its kind that I’ve ever read and for some reason this novel did not speak to me in the way I expected it to. I’m not sure if it’s the novel itself or the format as I’ve never read a novel written in verse before.

However, I did understand the overall context of the novel which follows a Jewish girl as she fights for equal rights at the work place. A girl who refuses to back down due to tradition and the cruel condition of the workplace. This novel is meant to inspire and it did to me to some extent, but I believe that someone else might get more out of it than I did.

True Nature by Willow Madison

Before I give my opinion on this book, I would like to mention the trigger warnings associated with this book. This book contains abuse consensual and otherwise, so please read at your own discretion.

So this is a dark romance book which dives into abuse and intertwining it with love. This is book 1 in the series involving Max and Lucy. Max is a man of primitive thinking and clearly knows how to treat a woman—in his opinion of course, which many of you might disagree with—while Lucy takes whatever Max dishes out.

Though I’m all up for dark romance, I kind of found Lucy a bit too docile for my liking. She never questions how Max treats her and happily goes along with whatever he says and does. I know I’m no one to judge but it would’ve been nice if Lucy had a bit of a backbone.

Eliza and Her Monsters by Francesca Zappia

This is a contemporary novel following two high school students, one who is a popular comic artist but no one knows her identity, while our other main character writes fan fiction related to the same comic. His fan fiction is loved by everyone who is a fan of the comic.

Eliza loves to draw but with being an introvert comes a strong desire for privacy and that’s exactly what she exhibits when she hides behind a pseudonym and dazzles the world with her comic. Whereas, Wallace passionately writes fan fiction based on Eliza’s character, and even though he’s open about his craft, he has his own closet full of secrets. And when Eliza’s secrets come out, it becomes a tricky maze of emotions and feelings as they both try to figure out what it is they truly want.

I enjoyed this book a lot. It was cute, inspirational and downright fun. It even made me wish that I could one day have my own comic or webtoon which I can present to the world, however, I can’t even draw a straight line. Wallace and Eliza really are perfect and I intend to read more books by Francesca Zappia.

Well there you have it. These are the eight books that I read in January. Do let me know if any of these piqued your interest and do let me know what you read in the month of January. Let’s see if I’d be able to complete the next month’s target.

#ReadnBuried #read now #reading #currently reading #books #books and reading #booklr #booklover #wrap up

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