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imhidingonceagain · 10 months

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I never ever thought Slimeriana would be as tragic as they are.

(Disclaimer: Long post)

Hear me out. I think most people don't notice how sad their stories are because both Charlie and Osvaldo are funny as hell. But their characters are so fucking tragic.

I would like for people to understand that they're not the worst parents as everyone in the Island has made them look.

I'm not denying the fact that they fought a lot (that's a whole other thing because they always fought but they also ALWAYS ended up gravitating towards each other and even defending each other -and having weird sex but let's avoid that one-) but when it came to Juanaflippa they loved her with their whole hearts.

Let's remember how at first they named her "Juanaflippo" but when she told Mariana that she was a girl he accepted her IMMEDIATELY and he communicated the fact to Slime who also accepted her WITHOUT A QUESTION.

Slime adored Juana and till this day he thinks constantly about her.

But Mariana also loved her so so much. I don't know if non Spanish speaking people understand the constant words of endearment Mari gave to Juana whenever they were together. He talked sweetly to her and made sure she felt loved (look at them celebrating her birthday).

And I'm emphasizing Mari because at the end of the day he ended her life (twice).

Slimecicle, on the other hand, ended Tilin's life when he was babysitting them (I'm pretty sure Tilín was nonbinary or gender fluid, not sure).

You know why that's tragic?

Because those incidents happened because both content creators have the shittiest luck and are honestly not the best at fighting. NOT BECAUSE THEY DIDN'T CARE ABOUT THOSE KIDS.

Let's remember that everyone in the Island were thrown into parenthood and each of them did the best they could (and props to Charlie and Mariana because both of them were present for their Minecraft child).

I can never forget Slime yelling "How do I fix this?" And Mariana yelling "No, Juanaflippa, no!" When Roier told him they had to go and he couldn't even retrieve Juanas's body.

When Juana passed away seems like Mari finally understood that at the end of the day Slime and him only had each other. That's when he started saying proudly to everyone that Slime and him were a couple.

But then Tilin's accident happened and Slime went to exile and everything went to shit again.

Their interactions became minimal and that's also tragic because despite their fights they're the only ones that understand and care for each other.

Mariana was constantly mocked by Roier (I love q!Roier but he was really mean towards Mari most of the time after the incident and that's super sad when you remember that they're supposedly best friends)

And Slime also suffered because he's now considered a cold murderer by everyone.

I'm pretty sure most people don't know that not only Quackity was hunting him. When Luzu briefly cameback to the Island and BBH and Foolish told him Tilin was his child he immediately asked for Slimecicle's location so he could get "revenge" (and if you're not familiar with Luzu, you won't know what he's capable of. Slime is lucky that Luzu was busy IRL because otherwise we would have had a big confrontation).

Fast forward till the last "interaction" when Slime attended Roier and Cellbit's wedding. He bitterly said that "Mariana couldn't even be there", that only tells me that he was hoping to see Mari.

Then Roier proceed to say that Mariana had been seeing/sleeping with other people when that's certainly not true (again, I love q! Roier but what kind of friend are you, dude?)

After that Slimecicle talked to Baghera and proceeded to say that he thinks Mariana and him and not together anymore and he also said to Baghera "If you see Mariana beat the shit out of him" but honestly, he wasn't irritated when he said those things, he didn't sound angry even.

No, he sounded wounded and hopeless.

So... In one hand we have Mariana who has disappeared completely, we don't know if he's at home depressed (but that the most likely scenario. We saw at Juanas's funeral that he tends to get depressed whenever something bad happens).

On the other hand, we have Slime who has been spending more and more time as Gegg.

And let me remind you that Gegg's all fun and games until you remember that Slime admitted that everytime he becomes Gegg his true self is affected.

We don't know if Slimecicle himself will not comeback one day.

I wish they spoke to each other because I truly believe only they can help each other. Only they understand the guilt and grief they're feeling.

#slimeriana #fliporiana #elmariana #slimecicle #qsmp #Slimecicle x Mariana #slimecicle and mariana #Mariana #juanaflippa

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tragantia · 4 months

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I've been thinking about the 2nd part to my 'Severen during your period' headcanons, aaand the gremlin man himself has taken possession of my mind and won't leave me alone until I write this. Will I succeed at purging Severen from my system? I don't think so.

Also, I know people normally post warnings and stuff, but Severen is his own warning imo.

Severen Van Sickle – NSFW headcanons

As a bi woman, I have the authoritas to say: yes, he´s a bi king. Big bi energy. Doesn´t actually care about what's what, if he likes it, he's gonna get it. Does it have a penis? Great. A vagina? Cute. Both? Fangggtastic. Count him in, darlin'.

That being said, he loves tits. Could spend hours biting, licking, sucking. Play with his too, he likes it and can cum just from that if you're good.

In the same line as Lestat during TVL, I do think in the past he would have found men to be more appealing than women, simply because he would have had more of a common ground with them, and would have found them more interesting. He would still have had sex with women and gone to brothels regularly. But a real emotional and sexual connection? It would have taken a really unusual lady to achieve that.

Which brings me to... Being from the Wild West, he most likely lost his virginity in a brothel, or at least with a prostitute. Unless you count those times when he was still on his early teens and he and another guy would play with each other, almost innocently, trying to see what's what and how it feels, but knowing very well they can't get caught.

He's got a nice dick, not massive but long and thick. Definitely knows how to use it. Has nice big balls too, loves it if you play with them, he himself will caress them if you're giving him head.

He's hairy, it's sexy, and he knows it. Doesn't wash himself much, he likes his natural smell, and likes to smell himself on his partners as a way of showing ownership. He prefers his partners soft and freshly shaved – may even shave you himself and then eat you out.

He knows what he's doing. He's a pro. Even before being turned, he was nothing but an hedonist, and pretty much lived to do risky shit, drink, gamble and fuck. He's easy to sleep with, but difficult to keep. He can fuck you so hard and good that you'll cry, both from pain and pleasure.

He has no shame. I can think of very few things he wouldn't do when it comes to sex, and even then he may try them once to see what it's like. Also he has like, 1000 kinks. I think if he likes you, everything has the potential of becoming a kink. Pretty feet? He's suddenly into feet.

Also really into dirty talking: if he's so crude on a regular basis, you can imagine the kind of filth that comes out of his mouth in the bedroom. Also LOUD.

BLOOD KINK. I don't think I need to explain. He loves to bite his partners, but this leads to them turning... so he is sure to kill all of them afterwards. The other ones have susprised him in more than one occasion naked and completely covered in blood after his last date got out of hand – again.

If he's turned you, this escalates to a whole new level. He's constantly biting you and drinking from you, even when you're not having sex. He loves it too much, and it makes him feel close to you. It's also a sign of ownership – no one else can bite you like he does. So, sadistic: pain is pleasure.

Also a masochist. If you drink from him, get ready for the most pornographic moan you've ever heard – he's gonna cum hard.

PERIOD KINK. Again, no comments needed, but how can he resist when he catches the sweet smell coming from your pussy? Smells like delicious Christmas dinner to him.

He's a dom through and through. He likes to chase, flirt and seduce, and once he's got you trapped between his body and the mattress (or in the nearest surface) he's gonna let you know who's calling the shots.

Saying this, he does have a very playful side, and you could easily seduce him into letting you do all sorts of naughty things to him. If it feels good and it's depraved, he's all for it.

He will be his asshole self and taint you, mock you and bully you through the entire thing though. It's part of his charm. If you manage to shut him up and make him a moaning mess, he would find it sooo hot.

Will fuck you everywhere and anywhere. If there's an itch to scratch, there's a way.

If you don't have a penis, he may let you use a strap on him. Plus points if he rides you making cowboy noises. You know he would make yeehaw noises during sex. C'mon. You ride him? Yee. He rides you? Haw. 100% would refer to himself as a bronco, and to his partner as a mare etc as if already seen in other fics.

He's very dominant, but I think he has the ability of being very silly during sex and still make it really fucking hot. He would make you laugh and two seconds later you're crying and screaming from how hard he's ruining you. The only time when he'll be completely serious is if he's hate-fucking you or marking territory. Also, spanking? Yes, please?

Why can I see him fucking with his sunglasses on?

Loves to eat you out: he eats pussy, dick and ass like a boss. It's not just how experienced he is, he genuinely likes it so much he's simply really good. The way he moves his mouth and tongue is absolutely sinful. 69? Say no more.

Adores it when you give him head. Easily his favourite thing alongside with drinking blood. He will let you get comfortable and then grab your head and face-fuck you. Will take his dick out and slap your face with it, then spit on you, calling you names and making you carry on. Please swallow his cum and kiss him, he loves to taste himself in your mouth.

Filthy. Loves cum swapping. Will make you squirt if you can, then cum inside you, then lick it all up as he eats you out, moaning like the sex crazed maniac that he is. Loves to cum all over you, and doesn't like it when you wipe it off.

A bit of a breeding kink, even if he's unable to get you pregnant. Loves to cum deep inside you and tell you how he's filling you up, how good your pussy or asshole is milking him, what a good girl/boy you are for him.

Won't. Leave you. Alone. Always trying to rile you up for another round. If he's not having sex, he's thinking about it most of the time (like that Buffy episode when she reads Xander's mind lol).

Unashamedly likes porn. He's mostly into dark BDSM material, the kind of thing that was hard to come across in the 80s. Still, if one day you're in a city with an adult cinema, he's dragging you in and you end up giving each other a handjob as you watch the film. He loves it if you're shy about it, he's gonna ruin that innocence.

Exhibitionist. He loves people to see him having sex. He's good and he's hot, he likes to put on a good show. He would also like to take pictures and make short films with you if you're up for it. He once took a video of his partner jerking him off from behind until he came all over his chest and balls, he genuinely thinks it's the hottest thing ever and would soooo post it online if he could.

I think he had a threesome with the pick-up truck ladies before killing them. So yeah, into threesomes and orgies, and will love giving orders to his partners and having them horny for him, answering to whatever he wants them to do. It's all about the power dynamics. Very territorial with his partner if he has one, though. Won't like anyone else to touch them.

But, nothing beats the blood. Vampires are of course sexual creatures, but Severen legit gets hard every single time he feeds.

Loves to watch you being aggressive and brutal. If he watches you feed, get ready because he's gonna show you just how much he's enjoyed the show.

Very touchy and cuddly. If there is an emotional connection, he will pull you to his chest and cuddle you as he smokes until you fall asleep. Can get very soft after sex, but ooonly if he has a partner. If that's not the case, it's feeding time.

He's basically terrible and so much fun. Would be the best sex in your life – if you survive, of course.

I need Holy Water after this. Was this too long? It probably was too long. Now I'm gonna go and cry myself to sleep because I can't have him in this life 😌

#severen #near dark #severen van sickle #near dark 1987 #bill paxton #severen x reader #severen van sickle x reader #severen headcanons #severen near dark #slashers #vampire

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haro-whumps · 2 years

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CW: semi-explicit dubcon, mindbreak, conditioning, sensory dep, kidnapping, dehumanization, yikes all around.

Based on this post by @angel-in-the-basement

---

“Easy, shhh, easy, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Please, please, let me go,” she begged.

“You know I’m not going to do that. But, I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice was measured. Elegant, almost, with a tone that would’ve been reassuring in literally any other situation. “As long as you don’t make me, I won’t hurt you, I promise. The only time you will ever feel pain from now on is if you bring it on yourself.”

“Please,” she whimpered, tugging on her restraints.

“Hush, shhh, it’s okay. It’s okay, sweetheart, this is going to be so much better than what you used to have, I promise.”

—

He started with sensory deprivation.

She was laid out on a bed, thin blanket over her naked form to keep her from getting too cool, but not so heavy that she ever started up a sweat, unless she pulled and twisted and thrashed. She was blindfolded (the room was windowless and pitch black, anyway) and there were headphones secured so she couldn’t get them away, an endless loop of his voice, sweet and smooth as syrup, repeating her new mantra.

“You are an owned thing, now. You are my possession. I own you. You did not have a life before I owned you. You don’t have a name. If you are very good, and very obedient to your master, I will give you a name. Your only goal in life is to please me. I am your sole priority. You are an owned thing, now. You are my possession. I own you.”

Over and over and over and over, the loop was endless. What could have been every other day, but felt like years, he’d come in and change the batteries and give her one cup of water, and one small bowl of soup, but he never removed her blindfold or touched her more than necessary.

It was hell. She was going insane. She would do anything, anything, to make this end. She couldn’t sleep, and when she did, it was restless, unhelpful, punctuated by the endless repetitions, the loop.

When he finally took off her blindfold and freed her restraints from the bed, she collapsed on her knees in front of him and felt unthinkable gratitude.

“Alright, my little slave,” he said, and the words were blissfully new, so wonderously different from the same words she’d heard in that same voice for eons and eons of time. He was smiling at her, and shakily, she smiled back. “You should have learned your mantra by now. Repeat it back for me.”

“I,” her voice was hoarse and raw, raspy, and she coughed, doubling over, weak and shaky, but she tried again. “I am an owned thing, now.” She was barely audible, but it was enough, it had to be, “I am your possession. You own me. I did not have a life before you owned me. I don’t have a name. If I am very good, and very obedient to my master, you will give me a name. My only goal in life is to please you. You are my sole priority.”

“Good girl.”

The words warmed her more than she’d ever thought they could. She distantly felt disgust at her own easy breaking, but she’d been in hell for days and days and days on end, and if this was what it took to get out, she’d do anything. She was so grateful he was letting her out. That she would see light and another person, even if that person had kidnapped her, again. That she could move.

“Now come, you need to eat.”

—

He only let her eat when he was the one feeding her. She couldn’t touch the food or spoon or fork herself. He made it very clear that she wasn’t allowed. It was mortifying, being fed like an infant, but he told her that she was too shaky and weak to do it properly herself and that she should be grateful that he was doing her this favor and she wondered if maybe he was right…

He kept her naked, those first few days. She found tiny scraps of colored fabric in the fireplace, indicating that he’d burned her old clothes, but when she asked he’d struck her and made her repeat her mantra.

She had no life before him. She had no life before him. She had no life before him. She needed to remember that.

She wasn’t sure if the continued nudity was punishment for that or not.

He certainly used it to his advantage, if nothing else. He’d make her kneel with her legs spread and her ass held high, her holes on open display, face down against the carpet. Each time he ordered it, she was sure that this would be the time she felt fingers playing with her folds, hands on her rump, or even his cock forcing her open.

Each time he left her untouched. Humiliated but unmolested.

And each time he ordered her facedown, she grew more convinced that this was it, that this would be the time, and to her endless mortification, each time it happened she grew wetter from the demeaning position. From the anticipation.

It didn’t help that at night, she was given the option of lying chained up on the floor, or in his bed. He locked her in the bedroom with him, she couldn’t exactly go to the couch (and she wouldn’t go to the little bed in the sensory deprivation room, no way). And at first she’d slept in his bed out of pure fear, then she’d moved to the floor in her repulsion of him, but the floor was hard and cold and she was naked and shivering, so she’d given up quickly and returned to his warm arms and the soft blanket.

He wasn’t much larger than her, for all that he was stronger. He was graceful, and had a rare beauty to him. Long hair, narrow features, clean shaven and he smelled nice. He would hold her against him and she just fit so nicely, and her lonely mind couldn’t help but want him to take advantage of her nudity, of his ownership over her, of their endless proximity.

Every morning and every night, he had her get on her knees and bow with her forehead to the floor, and repeat her mantra to him. Then he would have her give him a “Good morning, Master,” or a “Sleep well, Master” before she could get up.

She didn’t know his name. She wasn’t allowed to know. She called him Master, and only Master.

She was starting to forget her own name. She clung to it, in the recesses of her mind, but it was starting to feel less and less like hers. “Good girl,” and “sweetheart” and “dearest” were replacing it.

Two, maybe three weeks after she’d been let out of solitary, he let her wear clothes again. They were his clothes, of course, they smelled like him and were too loose on her, but they were clothes and he didn’t even have to order her to kiss his shoes in gratitude. He just set his foot forward slightly and she did as she was meant to.

The clothes were comfortable and warm against the air conditioning, and she was grateful.

—

“My sweet girl, I have a gift for you today,” he said, taking off his light jacket. She smiled up at him from the radiator she was chained to—he never let her roam freely when he was out of the house.

“Yes, Master?”

“It’s been two months since you’ve been my possession! Your whole entire life is now two months long. I bought us mini cupcakes to celebrate.”

“Oh, thank you Master!” she said, bending to kiss his shoes as soon as he’d unchained her. He fed her the cupcakes off his fingertips, as he did all her food, and she didn’t even question it slightly. This was just the norm for her, now.

“And, since you’re now two months old, I figured it’s about time that you started fulfilling your other duties to me.”

“Yes, Master?” she asked, confused, but her cunt pulsing with a hopeful warmth.

“Go to the bedroom and take your clothes off. Get in position in the middle of the floor.”

Her body lit up like a nerve, her hole squeezing around nothing. Finally, finally! She rushed to obey, her legs shaky with numbness at having sat on them wrong, but he just chuckled at her unsteady footing.

Face down, ass up, once again completely nude, she waited for her Master in his bedroom. But this time, he did not leave her untouched. He groped her and pushed fingers into her wetness and fondled and brushed his hands up and down the entire length of her body, before he finally ordered her onto the bed and speared her on his heavy cock. He kissed her and gripped her hair and squeezed her and made her come, and at the end he kissed her forehead gently.

“You’ve been a very good girl, my sweet. So good, in fact, that I think it’s time to change your mantra. From now on, instead of saying that if you’re very good, I will give you a name, instead, you will say, ‘I am a good girl for my master, and my name is Kitten.’ Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” Kitten answered, breathless and flushed.

#nsfwhump #peach don't look #dubcon/noncon #mindbreak #conditioning #sensory deprivation #kidnapping #dehumanization #ladywhump #mine #my writing #writing #whump #uhhh lemme know if I missed any tags

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allbeendonebefore · 1 month

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Casual Cruelty

Happy Monmonton Day gang.

So, I don't write anything other than comics like, ever, let alone writing for a dedicated ship event because what even is that. I may chicken out and expunge this from the earth because it's cringe as hell but we'll see. I wrote this literally on my phone any time I was waiting somewhere without wifi or late at night when I couldn't sleep for some reason over the past, like, idk year and a half? I started with the title and went from there.

This is a (canon?*) story featuring Edward and Étienne, friends with benefits, in some indeterminate time period in the late 20th century in Montreal. Ed struggles with a lot of internal strife that almost wanders into the territory of self harm, but not quite. Lots of pining and seemingly unrequited feelings. Some drinking but nothing excessive, and just a tiny bit of bad French. There's nothing particularly unsafe for work although some undressing happens and Ed has very low standards in his fantasies. So, without further ado...

---

There were a lot of things that were likeable about Étienne Maisonneuve. He was attractive, naturally, though it was more how he carried himself, curated himself than anything else. One would look from his dark, carefully coiffed curls to the loud and erratic patterns on his clothes into his bright green eyes, peeking over a sunrise of long lashes and an amused smile, and one would gasp in genuine shock as he nonchalantly revealed how his older, taller, more handsome brothers would comment on his various shapes and sizes with caution or contempt, that he needed to tone his body up or his attitude down. Who would tell Étienne of all people that he wasn't enough? Too much, perhaps.

Edward, naturally, liked the coiffed hair and the loud prints and especially the green eyes. He was (silently) pleased that Étienne was not particularly tall (so they were generally at eye level), and whether Étienne could fit into his jeans one way or the other didn't particularly bother him (as Étienne, whether there were comfortable handles at his sides or whether you could cut your hand open on his hip, always chose jeans that were probably a little too small).

It was Étienne's unconventional physique (and his unconventional physicality) that Edward liked because Étienne was always changing, he could barely be held in his own skin. When Étienne reached out for him, which was often, it was all Edward could do to hang on for the ride. And it made him feel that, even with ten years of medication and self hatred and complete lack of control over his own body, perhaps he could become something desirable too. Even if only for a moment.

But it wasn't Étienne's appearance that was particularly occupying Edward's thoughts, even if it was rather pointedly occupying his lap and flashing a gleeful grin towards the other occupants squished tightly together into the booth. It was what he was saying, and the conjectures of Meaning that Edward's mind was trying to keep up with.

"And so I couldn't pretend like I hadn't seen him, I mean, how fucking cowardly!" (The others tittered encouragingly, not wanting to miss the blow by blow, while Edward busied himself with a cluster of little triangles printed on Étienne's shoulder and tried to pay attention and not think about how he himself was a fucking coward more often than not.)

He missed the details about the confrontation in his concentration.

"But I said to him, maybe if he wasn't a biphobic de crisse de-"

The altercation rapidly being sketched in Edward's head, at least, was full of expression and colour and electricity. Étienne had run into (an acquaintance? An ex? An old flame who had burned him one too many times, who had made him swear off love for good?). One (Étienne?) was on their way in, one heading out of the (cafe? diner? dispensary? trading post? dep?). Words were exchanged, the fur flew, Étienne naturally emerged victorious (pleased? bitter? wounded?). However it had felt in the moment, clearly amongst attentive friends it was a savourable challenge and good humoured.

Edward was convincing himself it was something he had taken that made the details slip through his brain like earthworms through wet mulch. Surely it was down to some substance that made his stomach clench, not the fact that he had heard some version of this story from Étienne enough times to wish he hadn't. Étienne confronts the weak-minded conservative. Étienne dashes any hope of salvaging a relationship against the rocks. Étienne pierces the heart of the next poor sap who dares to remind him he ever had one of his own, just because he can.

This is how Étienne is and has always been, Edward reminds himself as he calmly takes a sip of whatever Étienne has pressed into his hand (he can't taste it). What he thought he read from him over the years was projected onto ink and tears that had long since dried, delusions of childish fantasy. The person in his lap was more real, carried more weight, than whatever scrawling Edward had been trying to interpret since before he was literate.

"Eddy?"

"Mm?"

"What do you think?"

Edward stared at him stupidly. Was he supposed to tell him he'd done the right thing? That his casual cruelty to the poor sap who just wanted to pay his bill and go home was his sexiest quality?

"The drink."

Edward weighed the question.

"It's okay."

Peals of laughter rippled forth and jostled Ed from his position, clearly the wrong answer.

"That's Eddy for you, always a polite word. A true Canadian," Étienne teased as he slung an arm around Edward's neck.

Edward flushed. The only thing more embarrassing than not paying attention was being caught out as undiscerning, uncultured.

Back home, he would have leaned into it, but here... The insult would have to slide off his well-oiled armour. He managed a grin, almost as if he meant it, and took another sip.

---

His guard was still up even after they stumbled up the metro steps, and as he leaned his head against the bus window away from Étienne's shoulder. It remained so even after the front door closed behind them and Étienne had pirouetted away with their coats and boots.

He excused himself to try to settle the emotional soup in his stomach in front of the bathroom sink before Étienne had a chance to pin him in place. For someone who was so easy to be around, Étienne had a way of making him feel uneasy.

Ed's malaise was chronic and ebbed in like a tide; Étienne was mercurial and his mood shifted sharply and unexpectedly. It was in Edward's interest to deal with himself first rather than risk Étienne misinterpreting him, or worse: feeling responsible for him.

Maybe he'll ask if I'm alright, he thought as he completed his routines. Maybe he'll ask what took so long, or make some joke about getting lost that will lighten the mood enough for me to tell him.

Tell him?

Edward caught his own inquiring eye in the mirror as he dried his hands and swept away the ring of droplets around the rim of the sink. Tell him he didn't perform these little gestures out of the traditional guest-host relationship? That he wanted something impossible?

He leaned on the counter unsteadily, somewhere between faking being sick and being sick.

Here came the tears. What the fuck did he want? For Étienne to knock the door off its hinges and rescue him? To wipe the sick off his face and tuck him in? Or would he rather be back home, imagining becoming the latest villain who dared to try to make E. M. fucking Maisonneuve commit?

This, he reasoned, was the alcohol. Clearly he was simply a sad drunk and the only thing for it was to brush his teeth, splash his face enough to hide any tear tracks, and sleep it off.

He caught himself eyeing the tub in the mirror. It wouldn't do any good, acting on that impulse. Imagining the slip, the fall, the impact and the shout was already giving him a headache. Even if the idea of being exposed, broken, and cradled was appealing. Christ-like, even... he managed a smile. He would find that funny.

Where might his host have got to? Ed doubted he was awaiting him with bated breath. He would surely find him bored, asleep waiting for him on the couch. Or perhaps he had already moved on to amuse himself elsewhere. He dried his hands, flicked off the light and peered down the hall.

There was no sign of life from the living room, but he heard running water. Étienne trying to wash the taste of the evening out, no doubt.

Edward cautiously hovered at the edge of the kitchen, a dimple curving despite himself. Étienne, of all possible things, was furiously washing the last of a generous array of dishes.

"You clean up well, Maisonneuve," Edward gave him an exaggerated once over, smiling at the large amount of water Étienne had somehow spilled down his front in his haste, revealed as he twisted around to acknowledge Edward's presence.

"I was hoping you'd take a little longer, you aren't supposed to know how much I had left to prepare for you and how little I'd done," Étienne smiled and turned back to rinsing the last few stragglers hiding beneath the suds.

"The illusion of your carefree bachelor life is shattered," Edward mock sighed. He leaned against the wall, unable to answer the impulse to help. Somehow, finding Étienne this concerned over it was so...

It was like a dream, watching this private moment. Étienne fiddling with the cap on the dish soap, scrubbing a particularly displeasing spot, nails scratching over the towel. One might even mistake him for mortal, wiping his hands on the sides of his jeans after fumbling around in the dishwater for the plug.

Edward's heart ached sweetly. He couldn't have everything he wanted, but he could continue to savour this tart hurt for a hundred years more. Whatshisname de Biphobe was missing out.

"Effortless." Étienne grinned, scrunching his face in mock satisfaction that blossomed into nothing short of a genuine smile as Edward met his eyes.

"Your secret is safe, I'm nowhere near sober enough to remember your kitchen as anything but spotless," Edward twirled unsteadily out of the doorway to prove his point.

"I'm sorry for that, Eddy," Étienne laughed and reached out to catch Edward's fingers and complete the clumsy flourish. "You flew five hours only for me to find you the worst drink in town."

"I thought you knew this city," Edward's eyes and his resolve crinkled up like tin foil, he couldn't help but interlock their fingers.

"I'll make it up to you," Étienne's gaze sunk briefly, his smile rose.

"Mm? I dunno, I may be ruined for trying new things forever."

"Perhaps I find bad things on purpose," Étienne grinned maliciously. "Get the worst out of the way so that you tolerate the rest. Or that you appreciate my favourites."

"I fly out five hours to "tolerate" the farce of national unity at work, I don't "tolerate" you," Edward looked away from Étienne's face and back down to studying his shirt pattern, dabbing at the damp spots uselessly with his hands and causing Étienne to try to wriggle away.

"What are you doing?" Étienne whined, "It's cold!"

Edward dropped his hands abruptly as Étienne took the opportunity to return the favour, poking and prodding Edward against the wall.

"You're doing, it wrong," Étienne paused, laughing briefly between words, angling for his next attack. He looked up to see Edward's worried expression, which was disturbing enough for Étienne to straighten up and meet his gaze.

"Oh, come on Eddy," he stepped in closer and started playing with the collar of Edward's shirt, "You've barely smiled since you got here. Are you not having fun?"

Edward gulped. He hadn't been, but Étienne knowing this was exactly the opposite of what he wanted.

Then again, what other reason did he have to come out here? Their entire relationship for around two decades seemed to balance on Étienne as his personal concierge of fun, legitimate or otherwise.

"Has something happened?" Étienne's brows knit, eyes searching.

"No," Edward recovered. "No more than the usual bullshit."

Étienne looked unconvinced for a moment, but he expertly shifted the tone.

"I'll help you forget all about it." Étienne, clearly plotting something, grinned wickedly as his arms shot out to pin Edward's to his sides.

"What are you-" Edward flushed as Étienne slowly pivoted him back to the door frame.

To his surprise, Étienne released him as quickly as he had caught him. He grinned over his shoulder at Edward, "You were in front of the fridge."

Reaching in for what he was looking for, he added, "There's a jar in the cupboard on your left, please. And I'll also need a bowl and two mugs."

Edward blinked at him stupidly before retrieving the dishes, opting to use what he could find in the cupboards before turning to the freshly washed items by the sink. By the time he had found the jar, he heard a curious hissing sound and nearly dropped the thing when he figured out where it was coming from.

Étienne's electric kettle was soon whistling merrily, and Edward finally brought himself to comment while Étienne reached for the offered bowl.

"Seems you aren't about to burn the place down," he laughed weakly.

"Ha, no, it took some courage for me to try it out but so far it's worked like a charm and expanded my repertoire significantly. I can make all sorts of things: oatmeal, noodles..."

Edward's heartstrings nearly snapped with the strain. He really needed to heighten his standards. The thought of Étienne preparing cup noodles for the two of them should not be attractive. He had to look away before he started imagining him ruggedly heating water over a campfire.

"And the powder?"

Étienne handed him a spoon from the drawer as he fumbled for whatever he was looking for. "Cocoa. I've been experimenting with my own blend," he replied as he triumphantly pulled a beater out from where it had been wedged in the drawer. Slotting it into place with a satisfying click, Étienne turned up the dial and his hand mixer roared to life.

Edward spied the carton of whipping cream next to the bowl and everything fell into place.

Étienne, catching his eye as the mixer powered down, winked teasingly. "Don't worry, I've made extra for later." He handed Edward one of the beaters and could barely restrain his giggles as he popped off the other and brought it to his mouth.

The cold cream did little to help the first blush creeping up Edward's neck and ears. The sour taste did.

Étienne choked on his beater. "Oh, Eddy, no... I swear this was good yesterday," he frantically tried to grab the other beater from Edward.

"It's not bad," Edward spun away with a smile as he finished licking up the cream. "Better than that first drink you gave me, anyway."

"Eddy, you'll make yourself sick-!"

"It isn't that far gone, honest. If it really bothers you, put some plastic wrap on the bowl and we will cook with it tomorrow. Whipping cream is a decent butter substitute, and it'll taste much better than this heated."

Étienne looked at him with amazement for a moment before he hastily followed Edward's instructions. "Where do you learn this stuff?"

"You've been around three centuries and you don't pick this stuff up?"

"I pick it up," Étienne leaned against the fridge door as he closed it, hands behind his back and a sly grin on his face, "off a plate. With a fork."

"How do you survive?"

"Much better now. You're a life saver, I mean it."

Ed turned his attention to the hot chocolate, saved from spoiling, to distract himself from thinking too much about what exactly he meant. Picking it up, he glanced warily at Étienne who gave him an encouraging nod and smile.

The bitter cocoa, the sweet sugar, the hint of cinnamon... Everything had been smoothly whisked and there was even a kick of chili at the end. Étienne's smile grew as Edward's eyes widened.

"It's good. I like it." Surely he could come up with a better compliment than that.

Étienne didn't seem to mind his awkward bluntness, smiling into his own mug without breaking his gaze. "You see, I may be a fuck-up, but things eventually turn out just as I intended."

Edward said nothing, focusing on the cocoa and not the story of the evening. Of course, Étienne Maisonneuve, conquering hero. Always.

The companionable silence as they drank was unbearable. Edward quickly broke it.

"This might be the first hot meal you've ever made for me." He meant to muster a smile, but must have forgotten.

Étienne blinked in surprise. "Not so," his eyes narrowed in concentration. "You remember I made that... the roux, with the peas and corn?"

"Rubaboo," Edward supplied.

"Rubaboo! Now, I could make that at some point, surely. And far more meal-like than this."

Edward didn't want to think about old times. He didn't want to think about his childish thoughts or his naivety and he didn't want to think about the self satisfied glow in his chest that Whatshisname de Biphobe would never, could never know Étienne as long or as well as Edward did.

He didn't want to think about sacrificing almost two hundred years by ruining their relationship and becoming the next poor sap to be discussed over one of Étienne's outings.

Suddenly, the weight of his escape from home settled between his shoulders. He put down his empty mug unsteadily into the sink.

"I have to pass out." He was too tired to try to be anything but his blunt, boring self.

"Of course," Étienne smiled, setting his own mug down and fluidly steering Edward out of the kitchen.

"I'd just brushed my teeth," Edward moaned pathetically.

"Mhm," Étienne flicked off the light behind him.

"It's like 6:00 AM in my head and I just got here and I'm boring and tired, and-"

"And drunk."

"And drunk. And not fun." Edward hiccupped weakly for emphasis.

"Where to?"

"Yours. I won't be able to sleep with Rocket Richard staring at me."

Étienne caught him by the shirt before he could collapse on the bed. He quickly unbuttoned it for Edward and held it back, letting gravity do the rest. Edward fell with a soft sigh, eyes closed.

"'Tienne, peux-tu..." For some reason, it was easier to ask for something in French.

"Bien sûr." He didn't see the smile on Étienne's face, but he could hear it. He felt well practiced hands undo the belt and button at his waist; he then half-heartedly tried to wriggle free.

"Et peux-tu me cuisiner," Edward murmured. "Demain."

"Qu'est-ce que tu voudrais, Édouard?" He felt the denim peel off his legs.

Edward was silent for a long time, drifting off, grasping for the right word. "Oatmeal," he said.

He struggled to hang onto consciousness. Though he couldn't keep his eyes open, he heard Étienne laugh. Seconds later, or maybe a few minutes, he heard the clink of a cup set against the nearby night table.

Even nearly asleep, a wave of guilt lapped at him. It wasn't so long ago that he could keep up with Étienne, that he could be fun, almost without pretending. Now Étienne was tucking him in and keeping him hydrated, like a child, or an old man.

"J'm'excuse..." he mumbled.

"Ahh, Eddy. Toujours le 'Canadian'." Étienne teased, a mocking melody on the English. Edward felt the warmth from Étienne’s cupped hand, mussing his hair gently. "Bonne nuit, mon chum."

There were a lot of things he loved about Étienne Maisonneuve. He loved how he never took himself, or anyone else, too seriously. He loved how every time he fucked something up, he would find a way around it or through it. He loved his warm dishpan hands and the solid press of him against his back. He loved the way he was causally cruel, biting and acidic. He loved when his smiles met his eyes and when his eyes met his.

---

END

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*It's canon in the sense that they are immortal personified cities but it's only "canon" if you accept it as such. I try to position myself somewhere in between @randomoranges' fluffy candy writing and @quatschmachen's angsty torment writing I guess, so today you get a little of both.

#projectcanada cities #monmonton day #it is the monmonton #pc: edmonton #pc: montreal #edward murphy #étienne maisonneuve #hapo writes #if you saw me accidentally post this two days early trying to fix a typo #no you didnt <3

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fearyandear · 1 year

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They Stalk Playlist 1 - "Urban Crawl": There Is No Escape From Being Hunted In the City

10 Hatef--k - The Bravery

PUMPED IT OUT, WOOOOOOOO!!!! Making up for the lost day >:,,,V Here's Sano with the song Hatef--k! It's a song fit for a sadist uwu

Hmmm I'm a lil loopy from sleep dep (tho I wont post this until the morning that I wake up to space it out lol) but some of my thoughts on Sano: Aaaahh I loooooooove that you get to have an ending where he takes you in and you join him. I was spoiled!!!! I went into BTD and that route was my first one! It made me think 'wow, this will be a game that lets you have good endings if you find the right choices' but nope! I just got lucky and it made the other two routes a more frustrating for me X,D I hadn't realized it was a murder game first and the 'romantic' subplot was an exception, but I learned! Anyways-

I really like this boy. Murder couple for the win <3

Next song for today is gonna be 'Air-Conditioned Love' by Ludo! A favorite band of mine ;o;! And, if you'd like, please vote on my poll for what Yandere playlist theme I should go for next <3 Thank you!

#btd #boyfriend to death #boyfriend to death sano #btd sano #male yandere #yandere #yandere male #yandere scientist #yandere boy #sano #hatefuck #the bravery #hatef--k #they stalk #urban crawl

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not-available-for-comment · 1 year

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I love learning to weave because I don’t know a lot of the more advanced terminology and techniques yet, so occasionally I get emails that read like they’re referring to new kinds of spells

#weaving #sleep dep posts

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queenofalpaca · 2 months

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WIP Folder Game

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

@voidcat-senket tagged me because they wants me to SUFFER, go thank them

Why are there so many

Splitting them by fandom because otherwise this would be a huge mess (I say, as if it isn’t regardless). With that said, in no particular order:

Jedi Fallen Order/Survivor

Cal’s Sith Buddies

Baby Cal’s Sith Buddies

Medic Cal

Reverse AU

Sleep Dep

Haunting

Came back Loving

Big Sis Trilla/Inquisitor Cal

Ponchos

Gods

Injured Villain

Bode’s Force Background

Go to Sleep, Scrapper

Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss/Mansplain, Manipulate, Malewife

Bode kidnaps a Padawan

Tanalorr’s Child Protective Services Or: how Bode opened up a daycare on Tanalorr

Mermaid Bode (concept)

Duty Calls

Duty Calls: Bode edition

Bode from HR

Sekiro Plunny

Trans Bode

Little Omega, Big… Omega?

Dooku/Bode

Hades AU

Big brother Raj (Candela version and Star Wars version) [Jedi Survivor and Candela Obscura]

Trans Bode and Rajan [Jedi Survivor and Candela Obscura]

DC (Green Lantern)

Marie does a magical oopsie

Oblivion (one shot collection)

The De-aging Incident

Parallax/Kyle

Oblivion and Parallax

Definitions

Knight au

5+1 White ring

Blind Kyle

Oblivion!Kyle

DC (other)

The Omelette (Jason* gets a dragon) *Jason Blood, that is

The Gray Sons

The case of the fake guns

Marvel (Mysterio)

X times Tony flirted with Quentin

Mysterio Witch Edition

Enter Stage Right: Mysterio

Miscellaneous (fandom in brackets)

Apparently HFW now? [Horizon Forbidden West]

Zodiac [Zodiac, as in the movie with RDJ and Jake Gyllenhaal]

It’s Rain(ing) [Mortal Kombat, Rain]

Do I have too many wips? Yes. Have a touched most of them within the past six months? Nope. Am I ever going to write all of these? Probably not. Do I love and cherish every single one of them regardless and could be convinced to write/continue most of them if you ask real nice and throw in a treat? …perhaps.

I don’t even know enough people on tumblr to tag as many as I have wips so I’m just going to inflict this on @azu-mog and move on <3

#wip game #save me #there’s so many #how did we get here #I didn’t realise there were so many DC ones #wonder if anyone will pick one of em #also just gonna sneakily tag #Jedi Survivor #because I do want people to see this hehe

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gwydionmisha · 2 months

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The Damages

So it turns out everything the PT said to me except the part about how to put on a shirt post injury was misinformation. We went to the appointment so they could show me how to wear the real sling and I showed him the angle she had me where the Special fat people torture sling and he was like: That's not how you wear a sling, but they do it that way on TV a lot. O.o I'd had my entire arm in a stress position for two weeks while healing from shoulder replacement because the PT taught me to torture myself because she had no idea how slings work.

At some point late last week I started thinking of the way little kids play being a Doctor with stuffed animals. The way the PT handled my arm was about as accurate to medical practice as my sister when she was small taping up a stuffed animal's arm pretending it was broken.

She was so very, very confident in her ignorance.

All that dance and martial arts training I had made everything worse. My body is an absolute ruin that literally eats itself, but there is a particular kind of physical self discipline that is so ingrained it never goes away.

You tell me to hold a position or do a particular movement no matter how weird or awkward, I will study it and then work persistently until I get so I can do it over and over and over correctly or hold it as long as you need me to or whatever. I will work up slowly as I need too, but I do the thing over and over for longer and longer day after day after day.

This is why I did so well at pre-op physio. Doesn't matter if I hurt. Doesn't matter if I'm exhausted. I kept working the program right up to the edge of what I could do without doing damage that would slow progress. All those years as an athlete I'm good at telling pain that's just pain from pain that means stop.

You tell me it is essential to hold these incredibly difficult and painful positions to speed recovery, I slowly, persistently, relentlessly do terrible things to myself, which is a problem if the person giving orders has no idea what they are doing and is telling me the opposite of the correct things.

So then we go to the post surgical doctor appointment and have to explain it all again. The face of the PA and the little sound she made when I said the PT had confiscated the sling they'd put on me for a generic XL. The way her mouth went thin and expression hardened when I explained the PT had made very clear we had to do this because of my size and her fast and furious typing. The tone in the Doctor's voice when he said, "They took your sling?" (I used to sound like that when I was teaching and about to bring the hammer down on one of the instigator kids.) All the other careful questions from the Doctor.

I should be ready to do serious PT now. Instead I'm having to work my ass of with the goal of getting my arm back to as undamaged as it was three or four days after surgery.

I am furious. I did everything right and did my damnedest to do everything they told me until I physically couldn't because of the exponential damage. I endured two weeks of extreme sleep dep and stress positions on wounded limbs and blood circulation restriction for nothing. I could have been sleeping and resting the arm between short gentle physio exercises they didn't even hurt until the arm got too damaged to do them.

She stole all this from me and the time and effort it's going to take to get me back to where I could have been if the hospital had just handed us printed directions and sent me home instead of sending a PT to misinform me and make me wear the wrong sling.

So yeah, that sure is fun to live with.

I did tell them that I'm worried it could happen to someone else because they do a lot of shoulder replacements at the hospital. Problem is, I don't know her name. They did keep asking, because they also clearly don't want this terrible thing. Surely there must be records of who was on shift that day, mustn't there be?

They think there won't be real permanent damage, but Squirrel took me for an x-ray today to see if there is anything needing fixing because of Missinformation PT. I am worried about the possibilities of more procedures because I'm not convinced I should take even tramadol for a few months, and I need to let my stomach recover from all that tylanol.

The arm hurts of course, but I'm used to pain and am very, very good at enduring it. Which worked against me the last two weeks, of course, but in the ordinary run of things lets me function with daily chronic pain that would lay ableds flat. I have one of the best non-narcotic prescription arthritis meds, one not normally covered by medicare, but which my allergies give me access too. The Doctor was a little alarmed that my ordinary daily meds are my entire pain management plan at this stage of post surgical recovery, but while unpleasant, this is fine. Like within my normal range of how much pain I randomly wake up with and significantly less pain than say the week before surgery.

I think it's hard for ableds to conceptualize just how hard this level of chronic pain/illness is to live with. I think the permanence and extremity of it is hard to conceptualize if you don;t live with it and never had say cancer of a really bad accident with a long recovery.

So I'm back to slowly, persistently, relentlessly working the program. I can already straighten my arm and am back on pendulums. My arm, shoulder, hand, etc. have forgotten what natural resting positions, feel like, but I'm working on it. The stiffness and mild numbness in my hand are annoying, but supposedly temporary. The flexeril is really helping with the contracted, spasmed muscles in my back neck and shoulder and not having to prop the injured arm into a painful stress position during sleep is a lot easier. I am cleared to side sleep, but it pulls the incisions and the damaged shoulder too much, but soon, soon. I've already worked out a prop system for back sleeping that mostly supports the arm in a natural angle. I could have been sleeping like this this whole time. Makes me want to weep.

I'm still having to type with just the off hand. I'm better at it than I was, but it tires easily. I write a while, but need to rest it, and how much I can do at a time varies. This means it may still be a little while until regular service on things like the aggregate will resume. I will let you all know how it goes.

#Personal

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andi-o-geyser · 1 year

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did anybody ask for my 2:30 am thoughts on the hellfire gala outfits? no. did i want to be up this late? no. but did the brainworms set in and did it happen anyway in the longest tags for a post ive ever made? you bet your ass it did

#and I'll DO IT AGAIN #i have legit thoughts on it #which is kinda out of character for me considering i know nothing about fashion lol #but who needs to know about fashion when we all just look at the met gala outfits for judgemnet anyways #idk whats happening to my brain rn man. dont ask #andis thought geyser #hellfire gala #xmen #brainworms have come and they will not let me be #like honetsly i filled up the tags for the prev post so much it didnt include most of them #and i just ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ dont remember what they were #they're gone forever #byeeeeee #im sleep dep highhhhh

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mysticraven20 · 9 months

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The Masked Game

Synopsis: For almost ten years Paris has been peaceful. No villains. No heroes. No hate. But, as always, peace never lasts forever and as a new threat takes over the city of love, there’s a change in the game where this time death is permanent.

Adrien has been living full of hope after the worst years of his life. He’s free. He’s settled. But most importantly, he’s in love. After years of trying to find his calling everything came together the day he married his wife, or so he thought.

Marinette still craved the companionship of her partner. It had been a decade since she’d seen him; the dull ache in her heart constantly asking what had happened to him. If only she had the opportunity to speak to him one more time.

The chance for a reconnection appears when Paris’ heroes are needed again and as feelings begin to resurface so does the hate, love and lies.

Ladybug and Chat Noir will need to find a new dynamic to make this work, saving not only their friends but also themselves, leaving Adrien and Marinette to risk everything in a need to survive.

Crime/Thriller Story

Rating: M (Graphic Violent/Injury) Chapters: 1/34 Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe Tags: Thriller, Ladynoir, Adrinette, Aged-Up Characters, 10 years in the future, Angst/hopeful ending, Minor Character Death, Post-season 5, Post Episode: S05 Re-Creation (The Last Day Part 2)

Prologue

The cold air slapped Roger Raincomprix hard across the cheek as he stumbled out of the bar and into the deep mist of a new day. He’d spent the evening, once again, seated on a stool in one of Paris’ best known dives; drinking away the memories of his old life.

Messing with his belt buckle, he pulled his trousers back together after taking a quick detour down an alleyway for a piss. The night was the same as the others. Long. Uneventful. Boring. Nothing like they used to be when he had his dream job; when he was more than just a borderline down and out.

Stumbling out the alleyway and into the haze of a summer morning in Paris, Roger continued to head in the direction of the park. Another night ending the same as all the others. A trip down memory lane where he would go and berate those that had put him here. The two people who others cheered — he despised.

Kicking a stone, he watched it bounce along the street. The early hours of the morning made an act of disorder into one of normality — nobody getting in harm's way; nobody around to point the finger at him.

The fog seemed to grow denser as he stumbled another few steps in the direction of the park, the street lamps glowing ominously in the thick, uncontrollable murk. He knew he was going the right way. His footsteps acted on muscle memory, rather than sight, and led him on the beat he’d taken so many times before.

Ten steps forward. Turn right. Cross in front of the ‘Tom and Sabine Boulangerie’, turn left and cross the road. Simple. Ordinary.

Memories of the past fogged his brain just as the early morning dew collided with the warm air. He could have still been someone if they hadn’t meddled with him. Belittling him and making him seem nothing more than a glorified clown.

Every night — when he eventually closed his eyes — the red and black would collide in a mocking explosion voiding any sleep which was on the verge of commitment. So here he was again, leaving his bender to head towards the statue in the park; one he would scream and shout at until the cows came home — or, at least, until someone called the police.

He hadn’t slept again. The ordeal was still too fresh; even if it had happened 10 years ago.

Smells emitted into the street from the bakery, the scent of fresh bread comforting him in his journey, guiding him in the right direction. He was nearing the park now… only a few more strides.

The outline of the gates came into his eye line, the bronze statue lying somewhere in the depths of the contained area. He fumbled in his pockets reaching for the pen he’d placed in there earlier. This would be the first time this month he’d violated the statue, his past efforts already non existent thanks to the quick reacting council members of Paris. It’s a shame they didn’t react so quickly to any other acts of social disorder.

Tripping over a rock, he cursed under his breath; feet slamming around to try and hold friction and keep him standing. He would never go down on his knees before them — never!

A few more steps and he reached the base. The thick marble presented the statue like a shrine of two undeserving gods. A shrine everyone thought they should bow down to — not him!

Taking the pen from his pocket, he flipped off the cap and looked up to where he intended to disfigure the bronze sculpture of Chat Noir's face. Ideas already in his head on what he was going to do. Placing his hands on the base, he hoisted himself up and onto the lower platform, only to come face-to-face with blonde hair.

“Hey! What are you doing up there?”

He attempted to carry on climbing the statue, intending to find out who was currently sleeping over Chat Noir’s back. His steps stumbling slightly thanks to his late night intoxication.

“Are you awake?”

Roger repocketed the pen, allowing both hands free to continue his endeavour. The woman was wearing blue. Puffed shoulder sleeves, white waistband and pigtails. An umbrella was positioned over her head as though protecting her from any incoming rain showers.

“Listen, love, you should be heading home.” He heaved himself up onto the main plinth, crawling mere centimetres from the woman. “It’s late, well early,” he laughed to himself, moving closer and peering over to her. “You should —”

He saw his reaction reflected in the shiny surface of the statue before he fully understood it. The alcohol burned his throat as it made its way back up and out his body, the lack of food turning his stomach inside out from the view.

Lying flat over Chat Noir’s back was a young woman… a butterfly etched into her skin, and blood to soaking through the dress on her chest. Her eyes were wide and glassy. Lifeless.

Find the full fic on AO3: A Masked Game

#adrienette #marinettedupaincheng #adrienagreste #ladynoir #miraculous #chatnoir #ladybug #ladybugandcatnoir #ladybugandchatnoir #fanfiction #Miraculous Thriller Fic #Murder #Suspects #Identity Reveal #ladrienjune2023 #ladrien #ladynoir july

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