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justoneday-namjoonii · 4 years

Text

Don’t Breathe | 4.5

»Genre: hitman!au || stalker!au ||

»Warnings: kidnapping, stalking, obsession, themes of potential Stockholm syndrome, mono-phobia, mature elements, manhandling, breakdowns, yandere (? i think ), he thinks it’s cute when she cries, eventually they fall in love, Disclaimer: I do not condone nor suggest stalking/kidnapping or anything of that nature, this is pure fiction ok, kidnappers and stalkers DON’T love you.

»Summary: He doesn’t get shaky hands, he never forgets his gloves and he never leaves a trail. He was paid to get rid of everyone who witnessed the exchange between a gang lord and a politician, they were picked off, one by one. He found out a month later, he missed one. A young writer who attended the event where the exchange took place. He has to kill her. Can he do it?

✤ pt.1 - pt.2 - pt.2.5 - pt.3 - pt. 3.5 - pt. 4.0 - pt. 4.5 - pt. 5.0 - pt. 5.5 - pt.6.0

a/n: hello!~ thank you for reading and i hope u enjoy!! will most def edit later💖

taglist: @tangledsparkles @just-another-fangurl21 @impartoftoomanyfandoms @komorebi-unnie @tangledsparkles @yes-sol-not-soul (sorry :( tumblr won’t let me tag you) @sarzkh31

The sun is setting like a dream, you can’t say you’ve ever seen it shine so beautiful. The sky looks like a peach painting that shyly fades into a heavenly deep-blue. It’s a perfect evening, the air smells of the flowers growing on the porch and it delights your senses. He’s chasing you barefooted across the grassy yard, like two children playing tag at the peak of spring. Out of breath, he finally catches you and you fall back into the checkered blanket, too tired to run off again.

After seeing you enjoy the balcony so much, he introduced you to his lavish backyard. Aside from the large stone patio and pool attached to it, the yard expands at least an acre and it’s well-groomed. Early in the evening, you moved to spend some time on the patio, a pencil, and paper in hand. Taehyung had some work to do so you had a few hours to yourself, you used that time to think and write. After a few hours, you could no longer resist the urge to take a dip in the crystal clear oasis.

With a t-shirt and underwear, you eased into the cool water and breathed a sigh of relief. For what could have been an hour or two, you weren’t counting, you swam on your back, staring up at the clear sky, wondering if you’ll ever feel peace like this again. When your eyes shut, your thoughts seem to align, and for the first time since you’ve been here, you felt like you were where you were supposed to be. As much as you cherish your life alone, your independence, and innate desire to prove that you can make it on your own—it seems Taehyung is worth giving that up.

That would have sounded crazy weeks ago, but it’s how you feel. That night that you confessed that you wanted to be with him, you meant it. You don’t know when it happened, maybe when you kissed him and he picked you up when you woke up to him fast asleep with a pillow in his arms. Or maybe it was when he suggested you help him bake since he knew you wrote so much about food in your articles, you’re not sure. But somehow, sometime after learning his name, you think you fell in love.

When you were with Jin, you had similar feelings to this. You knew you were in love when you had the urge to smile even when you were hurting just to make him smile. That feeling of unexplained self-sacrifice, something as small as a smile, you’d force it out if you knew it would help him. With Taehyung, it seems like he will do anything to make you smile sometimes, even when you know he’s keeping stressful things from you. Is that love? You think so.

You sigh, still feeling a bit wet from your swim a while ago but you’ve dried mostly. He fussed at you for not showering straight away but you said the sun would dry you well enough until your shower tonight. It’s dusk now, and your out in the grass, laying happily on the blanket with him. A few minutes ago you found out that he had pretty lights adorning the patio. He said he’s had them for a while but hadn’t turned them on until today. It casts a warm light out into the grass, you tell him he should turn it on more often.

”You should shower before you catch a cold,” He stresses for the second time. You find his worry endearing but negotiate five more minutes, and he caves. It’s been a while since you’ve been outside like this. He knows this, that’s why he’s laying shoulder to shoulder with you as you gaze up at the night sky. “Sorry I had so much work I had to do today, hope you weren’t too bored out here,”

”It’s fine, I was writing anyway...”

”You were writing?” He turns on his side, curiosity piqued. You nod, hands searching for the pencil and pad you had on the blanket.

”Mhm, I used to write poetry when I was in high school. I wasn’t very good and some of it is kind of cringe now that I look back at it, but I enjoyed it. I haven’t written in so long, I thought I’d give it a shot,” You grab the notepad and look up at it, eyes skimming over the gray hue from all the erasing. You catch him trying to peek over and you hold it to your test.

“Don’t look, it’s not good,”

He pouts, hand moving to intertwine with yours with puppy-dog eyes.

“Come on, you’ve never shared your personal writings with me before,” He pouts, leaning closer to you in hopes that you might succumb to the allure of his gaze. “Pleeease?”

”Fine,” You sigh, “but you have to read it yourself,” You lift the notepad in surrender, handing it to him.

He sits up and the feeling of anxiousness comes to a halt when you realize one important fact; it’s Taehyung. Not a supervisor critiquing your rough draft or a teacher judging your ability to recite your understanding of the class’s latest assignment. It’s him.

I’ve been given a universe, all for me. My very own stars in your eyes, I can stare at you forever. The remnants of your every gaze births a galaxy and I draw up the constellations by the reminisce of the pattern of your touch on my skin. I, too, have given my universe to you. Though I’m innocent to the stars in my eyes, the constellations I paint on your skin, all for you. No event is there more beautiful than the moment our eyes meet, our nebulae collide. A merging occurs, giving life to new stars that are our own, creating a galaxy that holds a shape that can only be defined by fate. In that sweet moment, we create an intertwined constellation, a design filled with millions of our old and new stars, shining brighter than ever,

“In your universe, my universe...” He reads the last lines softly. Setting the pad down with an expression that you can’t quite read, he just looks at you and you start to feel nervous.

“I just,” You bite at your lip and look up at the night sky that’s beginning to show the stars, “I had this idea about space, it’s a little different but it took me hours to come up with...I’m rusty.”

He props himself up and leans over you, gazes searching for yours with a tender close-lipped smile. He holds his hand to his heart, “That was so beautiful.”

You cringe, pushing his chest so he can roll back on his back. “Oh stop, now I wish I wouldn’t have shown you,” It’s hard to tell if he’s praising you or teasing, it seems like it’s one in the same sometimes.

“I’m being serious, I can feel the emotions you’re conveying in your words, I really get it…” He looks a bit surprised that you’d think he was teasing you about this, he leans back over you.

“You mean it?” You look into his eyes, wondering how anyone could be capable of making you feel so special like you’re the only person in the world. Without a word, he presses a firm kiss to your lips and you sigh, he means it.

He gets you to go inside and shower before it’s too dark outside, you both shower and the warmth calms you. Dressed in a matching pair of gray and green pajamas that he recently purchased, long-sleeves but breathable. For the first time, you two lay in bed and watch movies together. You had debated over watching either Whisper of The Heart or My Neighbor Totoro, you settled on My Neighbor Totoro.

You’re comfortably propped on your pillow and curled slightly on your side. Taehyung is laying on his side as well, one leg was thrown over you and one hand holding yours. He’s like a big teddy bear, soft and comforting in every way. He’s so warm, his fingers are so long and he engulfs your hand, his leg is pinning you down but you find it comforting.

He’s laying on the pillow beside yours, eyes lingering more on you than the movie, but he glances at it every so often. Ever since that moment on the blanket in the yard with you, your poem had been on his mind in the best way. The thought of you writing that with him in mind, it makes his heart flutter.

“Baby, I can’t stop thinking about your poem,” He grabs your attention from the enthralling scene on the TV, “I know you think I’m messing with you but I’m not, it’s touching,” He admits with a little laugh, “what is it about?”

“It was my expression of platonic love and physical love, the love I’ve experienced in my life, what I think is love, our love...” You shyly say that last part, gripping his hand a little tighter.

He hums, thumb rubbing your knuckles gently. ”Our love? I knew it,” He smiles, a sweet smile on his face as he scoots closer to you if that was possible. “I had my suspicions that it was about us,” He cups your jaw, leaning over you.

“The part where it says, when our nebulae collide, giving life to new stars, creating a constellation that can only be defined by fate,” His mouth gapes a bit, tongue moving absentmindedly, the usual look when he’s thinking.

“That part, that part is my favorite I think,” He gently kisses your forehead and you let out a little laugh that makes him smile in adoration, “it sounds like us,”

“It’s about us, but it’s about you more than anything,” You mumble, moving your hand up to tussle his hair softly, “you’re a bit more poetic than I am, I think.”

The movie is nice white noise to his low breathing, the sound of his mouth meeting your skin. His lips graze under your ear and his hand goes to the underside of your other ear, messing with your senses. He abruptly moves, causing your hand to fall from his hair as he moves to make space for his thigh between your thighs.

“When we lay together like this,” He smirks to himself, leaning his face just centimeters over yours, “enjoying each other's company and smiling, I feel so lucky,” He kisses down your jaw to your neck, praising you—you blush.

You’ve come to love this.

The barriers you once had have crumbled down a long time ago. Taehyung has shown you what love is, what it feels like. He keeps you safe, he wants to protect you at all costs and that means keeping you here.

“Wait,” You whine, the butterflies in your stomach were swarming happily, you push him away. “l- let me see your face,” Taking the hand that was once in his, you lift his face to meet yours. “I love your face, you have the best face.”

“Oh, you think so?” He let’s a little abashed laugh, “Thank you.” With a tender smile, he gives you a nice long look, nothing but adoration in those big round eyes.

“It’s true,” You grin, still in awe that he doesn’t understand his own beauty. It’s sweet looking at you, seeing your dreamy eyes, those pouty lips, makes him want to eat you. But he settles for breaking the eye-contact and kissing you. Mouth wide open, giving way to his oral fixation. You’ve had very few relationships, but from what you can compare him to, Taehyung knocks the competition out of the water in terms of affection. How he manages to cloud your senses till you’re raw with love amazes you. The rush from it is something you’ve never experienced before.

You’re pushed and pulled, but there’s no hostile battle, no attempt to coax the other into a preferred position, everything sets naturally, as it should. It’s how it’s meant to be, everything fits just right, and he aches to stay this way. He pulls away from the kiss, leaving you breathless and a bit confused. You lean up to try to get him back, but he moves his head away, cooing when you let out a disappointed mewl. “What’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?...”

“Oh no, sweetheart, you could never,” He thumbs at your cheek, “I just want to talk for a second.”

“Oh,” You purse your lips in thought, “okay, about what?”

“I’ve never had a reason to be anything for anyone before, until you, isn’t that crazy? I’ve never been this close to anyone like I am to you. I look at you and it makes me realize how lucky I am. I get to see your beautiful face,” He pecks your cheek, causing our face to flush, “how your beautiful mind works,” He pushes your hair back, staring at you sparkling eyes, “your body that just fits me so well, like a glove,” He drags a hand down your clothed abdomen and to your hip, resting his hand there with a gentle press with his fingers, “you’re perfect...”

“I’m not perfect,” You swallow, turning your head, which apparently meant to him that you wanted some more attention because he kisses at your skin again, “Tae,” You gasp, tears pricking at your eyes for a quarter of a second, you’re just excited, “don’t paint me out to have no flaws, the last person who did that was terribly disappointed,”

“You mean Jin,” He scoffs when you nod. This is not the ideal time to talk about your Ex, but leave it to you two to turn every conversation in a weird direction, “That doesn’t seem like reason enough to leave anyone,” His brows furrow deeply, obviously offended.

“It was a mutual disappointment, we wanted too much from each other. I wasn’t willing to give anymore, and he just didn’t see the point anymore, it was for the best but I don’t think it was easy for either of us.”

“Well,” He breathes against you, “I don’t know the guy but I know you, and that tells me one thing, it was his loss,” You squint, breath stalling when he leaves a particularly lazy kiss to your lips before pulling away with a smack, “he had to be out of his mind to want to leave you, to leave this...”

“Or to stay,” You clear your throat, “it could have gone both ways,”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about me, I don’t want to leave you, I want you with me always,” He lets himself drop on his side behind you, hand on your side, voice just a whisper, “I gotta have you, I love you that much, I need you that much...”

“Tae,” You try to sit up but he moves to get behind you, spooning you like a pillow to his chest while taking your hand. You look back so you can see his face and he moves over you so you don’t have to stretch too much, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something...”

“What is it?” He nuzzles his face against yours almost like a cat would, he’s a complete softy, ugh, it’s so cute. “Ask me anything,”

“What’s the one thing you want out of life?... I mean, if you didn’t have your job or you had the chance to make one wish come true, what would it be, what do you really want?”

Grinning ear-to-ear, he boops your nose with his finger, “You.”

“I’m flattered, but besides me,” You gaze down at his hand, “I’m being serious, there has to be something out there that you want...”

“There is,” His eyes drift to your twiddling fingers, “Years ago I built up the courage to look for my birth mother, found out she lives in a different country, she’s married and has two little boys...My half brothers. I used to think about what it would be like to meet them, how they’d like me,” The thought of Taehyung having a relationship with them warms your heart, “it’s a scary thought, but I want to see them one day.”

“Aw, you have little brothers...That’s really sweet, I hope that happens for you one day, I really do...Is there anything else?”

“I’ve always wanted a family, it’s something I used to dream about a lot, but now I have you,” He props his head upon his hand, his other hand still in yours, “we’re like a tiny family, the two of us.”

“Yeah, we are, it’s nice,” When you and Taehyung have pillow-talks like this, he becomes so pure and honest, it makes your heart melt. Just thinking of what he’s gone through in his life, and who he’s become over the time you’ve been together, it might sound cliche but he’s a miracle.

“There’s another thing,” He rubs his thumb against your hand, “I want a baby one day in the future, maybe after I’m married, or just whenever the time is right.”

“Really? I could see that, I know you really love kids and babies.”

“I’d love a kid of my own, maybe a few,” He can’t contain his little grin at the thought, “that would be so nice...”

To be a dad. That’s definitely a wish Taehyung would have, and you hope with all your heart that he gets that one day. You just lean further back into his chest, breathing in tandem with him.

“Love you,” You mutter, squeezing his hand tighter, praying that the walls that once kept you apart would never return. You’ve realized that there are some connections so strong, so meant to be, that no matter the circumstance, those two individuals will meet.

A merging occurs, giving life to new stars that are our own, creating a galaxy that holds a shape that can only be defined by fate. In that sweet moment, we create an intertwined constellation, a design filled with millions of our old and new stars, shining brighter than ever, in our universe.

“How’s the investigation going? Jin told me you reached out the other day,”

The busy lawyer sets his freshly ordered coffee in his cup holder as he drives off to his highly-decorated firm.

“I did, the case is more complicated than I initially thought,” Yoongi poured the subpar coffee in the Styrofoam cup, it’s 6am and he’s trying not to be grumpy, “if I’m right about my suspicions, it’s a fucked-up situation.”

“What’re you thinking?”

Yoongi looks around, seeing that the only person around was the woman at the desk. “The girl, along with the other individuals at that conference, was targeted. I got the names of the parties at the conference, they’re politicians of course but the details of the meeting were never released. I have a theory,”

He lowers his voice, looking around one more time before sipping his coffee, “I think someone at that conference had the other journalist killed. I went over each autopsy file and those people died from unusual things, but not unusual enough to suspect at first glance. Most of them died from too much of a medication that they were already taking, things like that. But this girl was abducted and I don’t know why,”

Jungkook makes a thoughtful noise. “What’s different about her that not like the others?”

“She went missing a little over a month after the others were found dead. It looks like a mistake to me,” He paces, “I don’t know if I’m being too outlandish, but I have a feeling she’s alive, we just need to find her,”

Jungkook responds with how he feels about it but Yoongi has to cut him short when Eunwoo walks into the station.

“You’re here early, Min,” Eunwoo smiles, beckoning Yoongi to follow him to his office, “I have some good news and some bad news, which do you want first?” Eunwoo leads Yoongi into his office and sets his briefcase down so he can pull what he needs out.

“Surprise me.”

“No luck on finding any leads for you on the Hwan group,” He takes a seat, opening one of the Manila folders, “they’ve been under the radar for years, I hope you can find something on them.

“And the good news?”

“It took a lot to pin him, but we’re bringing in Senator Leu for questioning.”

“Good, I think they know something that they’ve been trying to keep under the rug.”

“Yeah, I agree.”

Yoongi gets up, hand tight on the flimsy cup, “If you could give me a call before the questioning so I can come by, I’d appreciate it. I’m going to do a little digging into this Hwan Group, see if I can get some info that’ll help,”

Yoongi leaves the building with a to-do list but little does he know, detective Na Jaemin, knocking on on Eunwoo’s door.

“Come in,”

“Hi,” Jaemin slips into the room, an unusual grin on his face, “how are you?”

“Um,” Eunwoo looks around, confused as to why he’s approaching him like this but he shrugs, “good, is everything okay, detective?”

“Everything's fine,” Lies, “I just had a question about that PI, Min Yoongi,”

“Shoot,” Eunwoo awaits his question.

“Why is he so adamant about keeping this case open? I mean, I’m a detective on the case and I think we should start searching for the body,” His tone sounds innocent but he’s trying to sneakily plant this idea in Eunwoo’s mind, “we could be wasting precious time, the family deserves closure and we’re just dragging it on.”

“Detective Na,” Eunwoo stops looking through the folder, “given the other related cases, we have reason to believe she might be alive. Not every abductee is killed, even if that tends to be the case.”

Jeamin swallows, trying to think of how to save himself, “I know, I’m not saying that we should be pessimistic but realistic, rather.”

“I get what you’re saying, but on what prescient you’re saying it, I don’t know. I, and many of the others in this case, have reviewed the evidence and compared it to the other cases, it doesn’t add up. After the questioning today, we’ll talk, until then, your efforts need to go towards finding her alive and well,” Eunwoo walks past Jaemin and the detective gets the memo to get out of the office.

“Absolutely, sir,” With a feigned grin, he watches Cha Eunwoo go off to do his job while he fights the urge to scream.

It’s way too close now. They’re so intent on finding you. The Hwan Group has never been found out, it hasn’t happened in the history of the group's existence. Minho’s not gonna like this.

⇢ 1 year ago ⇠

“Girl, your deadline is in three days, why don’t you head home? You have time to finish it tomorrow.”

Suzy looks over your shoulder, eyeing your computer and the thousand words you were trying to edit. You’ve been at the desk since 8 this morning, it’s almost 6 o’clock at night and it’s kicking your butt. The flow isn’t coming to you anymore, your mind is too “This is terrible, I suck at this crime stuff...” You face plant on your desk, “Like, this is sad.”

“Boss thinks you’ll do a great job,” She leans against your desk, her keys jingling in her hands, “plus, Angela is on maternity leave, you were the easiest replacement.”

“I just, I’m not in a good mindset right now,” You shut your laptop, eyes lowering to our desk, “I’m having problems with my love life, it’s, uh, – not doing so well. I’m sorry, I think I just need to sleep it off,” You take your laptop and tuck it in your tote bag, eager to get away so you don’t cry in front of her, “or drink it off, whichever I get to first.”

“Y/n,” She places a hand on your shoulder, “do you want to talk about it?” That’s the one thing about Suzy, she’s more than a nice supervisor, she’s a friend. But you can’t imagine putting your relationship issues on her, she’s got a fiance to go home to, you don’t want to send your problem with her.

“No, no, I’m okay, you- You know how it is,” You feign a smile, hoping she’ll be convinced enough to let it go, “it’s just your usual boyfriend-girlfriend stuff,”

“Okay,” You mentally sigh in relief because she looks convinced, “well I’m here if you ever need to talk, see you tomorrow!”

The drive home was good, it helped clear your mind, it’s what you needed. When you walked into your empty apartment, you resented its vacancy. What you told Suzy was a half-truth, it’s more than boyfriend-girlfriend stuff, you’re dealing with the sudden absence of a boyfriend. For lack of a better term, you got dumped. But you saw it coming, you two weren’t seeing eye-to-eye, it would have been a disservice to you both if you kept dragging it on. Yesterday, you and Jin met at your favorite Italian restaurant and he said what he had to say.

“We can’t keep doing this,”

“I know.”

You remember moving your fork through your salad, trying not to look him in the eye.

“I still care about you, okay? We should still be friends,” He was letting you down easy, it needed to happen like this.

“Of- of course, I agree...” You looked up at him, forcing a small smile. That’s how that went. The waiter had pity on you and kept coming back to refill your salad when Jin left, he had an early shift at the clinic the next morning.

The pasta didn’t taste the same anymore and your salad became very sad to your taste-buds.

Now it’s just you and your trustworthy friends, Mr. Couch and Mrs. TV. An old movie flickers on the screen and you can’t follow it, maybe that’s just the wine talking.

* *

He told himself he wouldn’t do it, he swore he’d never do it. But he found himself on the internet searching her name, his mother's name. And after hours of looking, he found her. From what he could tell, she was still living, but her last name had changed. Not only that, but she had two little boys with her in a picture on one of her social media. She doesn’t live in the country anymore, she’s off in some foreign country, living a life quite contrary to the one she was living when she had him. To see her smile, to see her living a life without him, completely unaware of the man he is now – it hurts.

He shuts the laptop and stares at the TV in front of him, watching the old movie with blank eyes. On nights like this, he realizes how lonely he is. He lays on the couch, feeling as if he was cheated of an alternative life. He could have been the smiling boy in that photo, he would’ve been a good son, right? She could have smiled the same way if it were him next to her, with his half little brother.

At times like this, he finds himself wondering what his name would sound like on her tongue, she did name him after all. But his name is the only thing she left him with. Kim Taehyung.

This is bad, this is all bad.

The PI made contact with one of their middlemen last night. It’s likely that the payment and agreement form was leaked. Minho was pissed, if he ever finds the guy he’ll kill him. As far as the case goes, the feds aren’t backing away from the case either, not at all.

During his morning jog around the stately mansions neighboring his own, the thoughts that come to his mind are more than unpleasant. He’s never doubted Taehyung before, but he’s getting pushed into a corner here. The thought that Taehyung might not have gotten rid of you plagues his thoughts. However, Taehyung is the best, he’s never screwed up a job before. However, the only way he can get the truth is if he calls Taehyung. He has to tell him to release the whereabouts of the body so they can cover it up.

Taehyung glances at his phone from the shower, it’s Minho. His heart drops into the pit of his stomach. For a moment, he thinks about ignoring it, but that would only delay the inevitable. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he stumbles out of the shower to grab the phone.

“Hello?” Taehyung answers calmly.

“Kim,” Minho chirps, “how are you?”

“I’m fine,” Taehyung furrows his brows in suspicion, “you?”

“To be honest with you,” He breathes and out, “not good. I don’t know if you know, but that case is blowing up. The damn PI is on to us and he’s egging the guy over the case on. The contract was leaked. They’re bringing people into questioning- This doesn’t look good for either of us,”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“It was your job, Taehyung – it has everything do with you.”

“But what do you want me to do? I can’t stop the investigation, I did the job, what happens after I get my pay is no longer in my hands.”

“Do you not remember what you did? She was the only target you took, you didn’t leave the body to make it look like an overdose or a typical homicide, you kidnapped her. I don’t care what you’ve done with her, that’s your business, but reveal the body, then we’ll arrange a cover-up and this will all be over,”

“I can’t do that.” He replies simply.

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

“Give it up, Kim! Is she at the bottom of a lake? Did you burn her to ashes? Bury her? Look, I’ve been patient, but if I don’t get the location of the body, your job is on the line, and the reputation of the organization,”

Taehyung doesn’t say a word.

“Is she dead, Taehyung?”

Continuous silence pangs over the phone.

“If you wanted to start this whole rogue thing, you could’ve waited until your contract expires next year-”

“That’s not what it is.”

“Then what is it? Is she dead or alive? Answer the question.

Taehyung looks up at the mirror, for the first time feeling like things are truly crumbling around him. “I did the job.”

“Okay, y ‘know what? Fine. I tried to do this the easy way, but you leave me no choice. Reveal the body in the next 24 hours, or I’m sending a team to make you reveal it. I’m sorry it has to come to this, Taehyung. There are more important things in life than some girl-”

Taehyung hangs up the phone, slamming it on the bathroom counter, nearly cracking the screen. Some girl – just the way you’re being referred to makes him upset, you’re not just some girl. Had you two met in a different life, in a different way, things would be so much easier. But this is how you two met, he took you and somehow, he was shown incredible mercy. You fell into his arms and he into yours, it was just love, simple as that.

The patio is lined with Taehyung’s art and yours, the most recent ones. Some canvases are messy, art-pieces born of pure-play. Others are more deliberate, like the one you’re painting now. It’s a flower, the jasmine flower in the pot in front of you. It’s been a few hours and even though it doesn’t look that great, you’re trying.

The door creeks but you don’t hear it, you’re too focused and it makes him smile. Only when he wraps his arms around your waist do you acknowledge his presence. He rests his head on your shoulder, “That looks beautiful,” You smile, too caught up in what you’re doing to verbally respond.

"Hey, can we talk for a second?” He gently grabs your wrist to stop your continuous stroking.

“Sure,” You turn around, already anxious. Your eyes waver, hand dropping the paintbrush into the jar.

“We might have to leave for a little while," He steps away, hand massaging the back of his neck.

“The investigation is getting bigger, the police aren’t messing around anymore, they're looking for you. My boss called me, he wants me to give you up because he suspects that you’re still alive. The man who hired me to have you killed got busted, he’s probably being questioned as we speak. If I don’t reveal you in the next 24 hours, they’re going for come for me...For you.”

“Oh...”

That’s the only response that comes to mind.

“So-...So what does that mean for us?”

He takes a seat in one of the couches, elbows propped on his knees, head resting into his hands. He stays like that for at least 30 seconds before lifting his face to see your expression.

“I’m sorry,” He drags his hands down his face, “I don’t know exactly, I’m just trying to figure it out but this PI, he’s not letting up. And Minho, he’s not going to sacrifice his business covering for me all because I fell in love.”

You've been living in a pool of ignorant bliss.

Your family is probably a mess worried about you, especially your mother, your poor mother. You may be in perfect health, but she doesn’t know that. When she watches the news, she hears stories of girls being kidnapped and murdered, unspeakable things done to them. Thank God that’s not your situation, but she doesn’t know that.

Your job, you miss your job more than you realize. Writing day and night, learning new things, meeting new people, you actually miss it. But you’re torn. Taehyung is one of the best things that’s ever happened to you. If it’s possible, you’ve become so relaxed, so at peace with your life. Stress used to be a daily feeling for you, but you don’t feel it here, with him. He looks at you like an angel, like a celestial being sent to save his soul—you don’t deserve that. Throwing all caution to the wind, he spared your life. He kept you safe and hidden from those who wanted you dead. He may not believe it, but he’s a good person, he’s your angel.

“Taehyung,” You take a seat next to him, placing your hand on his thigh so he’ll look at you, “if I wanted to, would you let me leave?”

No, no, no. His heart sinks, eyes building with tears that he quickly wipes away.

“If Minho wasn’t looking for you, and it didn’t put your life at risk...” He trails off.

”It would be hard, but if- If that’s what you wanted, I would...I would let you go.” His nose burns red and he quickly loses the ability to keep the tears from rolling.

“Shit, I- I’m sorry, I’m just- I’m not trying to be so emotional...I just, I put you in a bad situation, and I know you miss your old life,” He turns from you, hiding his face so he can wipe the stray tears, “I’m so sorry I took that away...”

You embrace him, bringing his head to rest on your chest, a few tears rolling down your cheeks when he laments into your shirt. Heaving, breathing hitched, it hurts your heart to see him like this, you feel his pain.

Taehyung struggles with abandonment, loss. He’s shared his past, his childhood, if you can even call it that. The lack of paternal love, isolation and depression, it all shaped him in a way that he can’t shake. It’s apart of him, he didn’t think anyone would ever be able to deal with all of that so he’s pushed it down all this time. But then you came along, and you looked at him with kind eyes, like he wasn’t bad. And he tried to stop it, he tried to ignore it, but he couldn’t anymore, he was in love. He fell so deeply in love so fast, it was scary. He was obsessive at first, he had to be for the job. But even after the job, he kept wanting to know about you, he became enthralled with your existence, it was inevitable, it was fate.

“I want to go home,” He makes grabby hands to your waist as if you’d slip away if he didn’t. “Tae,” He responds with a small sob, “please, look at me.”

Reluctantly, with a blushed nose and gritted teeth, he looks up at you. The once large man, the man who engulfs you in both size and presence has diminished to someone so small.

“My home is wherever you are,” You smile, tears already streaming down your cheeks, “when I’m with you, I’m home...I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

“Y/n, you have to understand,” He sniffles, breathing deeply, thumb rubbing a tear from your supple cheek, “If you go with me, I don’t know if we’ll ever come back here, we’ll have to make a new life for ourselves, somewhere far from what we know. I’ve already taken so much from you...Are you sure this is what you want?”

“This is what I want, for us to be together. So it doesn’t matter where I am,” You cup his jaw with teary eyes, “as long as I’m with you.”

“I’m not talking until I have my attorney.”

The politician sits comfortably in the chair, hands crossed tightly, and posture perfect. After about fifteen minutes, his attorney comes in, pant-suit just as expensive as his suit and aura looking as if she had already gotten her client out of this.

“Lana Garza,” She shakes Eunwoo’s hand and takes a seat, “let’s get this over with, shall we?”

“Alright,” Eunwoo sits at the table alongside another detective, “the conference you held a few months ago, what were you there talking about?”

“Urban housing development, social and civil issues in the community.”

“And are you aware of the 5 journalists found dead just a week after the conference?”

“I heard it on the news, yes.”

“Mr. Leu,” Eunwoo stands up, walking across the one-way mirror that Min Yoongi and a few other detectives are behind, “has it ever occurred to you that the conference got little to no press coverage, that’s unusual for a man of your status.”

“My client has no control over the amount of media coverage he gets on an event, that’s a question you should ask the owner of the venue.” She interjects, causing Yoongi to furrow his brows at her defense, she’s gonna fight tooth and nail for that man, he can already tell. It doesn’t matter though, they have evidence against him. That’s the man that wanted you dead,

“Detective, if you don’t have any better questions for him, I think we’ll be leaving.”

“Okay, I’ll be a little more straight-forward. Did you have any involvement with the death of these five people and the disappearance of this woman,” He opens a folder and they see the picture.

Leu glances down at the photo. There’s a shift in his eyes.

“The woman, her name is Y/F/N, she’s a writer at The Autumn Times. For about a month, she was working on an article about you. On the day of publication, she went missing and the article was nowhere to be found.”

The lawyer glances at the photo. “Are you implying my client had something to do with the disappearance of this woman?”

“Did he?” He glances at Leu. “Did you?”

“Why on earth would I do something like that? If you think I’d even dream of doing something like that, you’re sadly mistaken.”

Suddenly, Yoongi barges in, walk right up to the man in question. “Cut the bullshit, we know you weren’t happy about the article, you didn’t want it to get out that you’re a damn fraud. For whatever sick reason, you thought having innocent people murdered would somehow keep you clean.” He takes out a thin folder, holding it up to his face. “This is the copy of the contract and payment to The Hwan Group with your signature on it.”

Leu exchanges look with the attorney.

“Mr. Cha, can you give Mr. Leu and me a moment?”

Yoongi and Eunwoo leave the room, giving her time to probably compile some type of plead deal.

“We have him right where we want him, couldn’t have done this without you,” Eunwoo stands with crossed arms

“Don’t thank me yet, I’m not sure who did the abduction, they keep those details encrypted. The jobs not done until we find her alive.” Yoongi bites his lip, muttering to himself,

Please be alive...

“Tae, Stop! There won’t be any left if you keep eating it al!”

It’s been a day since Taehyung got that call from Minho, you’re running out of time. But he’s been trying to keep your mind off of it, he made a cake and asked you to decorate it.

You swat at his hand but he gets the strawberry and cream in his mouth anyway. There’s a large mixing bowl of whipped cream frosting for the strawberry cream cake.

“Yes Ma’am, I’m sorry,” He laughs, fleeing the kitchen so you don’t get him with the spoon again, “it’s just so good.” You shake your head, trying to count the strawberries for the second time, hoping you have enough.

“Remember the friend I told you about, who couldn’t come that weekend,” He goes back to his computer on the kitchen island just a few feet away from you, “Yeosang,” You nod.

“Well, he’s back in town and wants to come over.”

You swallow, wondering what that has to do with you, “Okay,”

“I told him about you, he’s a trusted friend and he’d never do anything to hurt me. I think he could help us, wipe us off the grid and get us to a safe place. I invited him to talk about it today, he should be here soon.”

You give up on counting the strawberries and stare at him. “Why are you just now telling me this?”

“I didn’t want you to have anxiety about meeting him,” His tone softens because he knows you’re upset, “I know this entire situation is stressful.”

“Well, I feel even more stressed now!” You cross your arms, the change in your mood catching him off guard. “Why would you do that!? You know I haven’t been in contact with anyone besides you in months, how can I trust that he’s not gonna turn me in or- I don’t know, anything could happen.”

“Hey, I didn’t know it would bother you this much, I’m sorry,” He walks over to you, reaching for your arms but you make your way to the sink to wash your hands, “I wasn’t trying to upset you, you know that wasn’t my intention at all,” He tries to pull ou in to kiss your forehead but you slip away,

“You should have asked me anyway.”

“Y/n, this is hard for both of us, I know you’re scared, I am too. But trust me, Yeosang is a good guy-”

“Forget it, invite over whoever you want, it’s your house,” Cutting his sentence short, you walk to the other side of the island, taking off your apron, “I’ll finish this later, go back to whatever you were doing.”

If a trail of fire could follow you on your way upstairs, the stairs would be set ablaze. The 48-hour count down if nearing the 24-hour mark, it’s getting closer and closer, he’s scared for you and himself. You left the cake half-finished so he calmly gathered the ingredients and put them in the fridge for when you might come back for it. When he hears the sound of the tub faucet he realizes you’re going to take a bubble bath, he forgets about seeing you for the next two hours.

He’s learned to let you have your time, you’re owed at least that. Even though you two are together now and you love each other dearly, he’s been feeling guilty. That’s why if you have a little outburst or mood swings from stress, he dismisses it without judgment—you’re just scared.

Ding dong. Yeosang is finally here. From his lonely spot on the couch, he thinks about asking you to come down for a moment, but he decides against it, you’ll come down when you’re ready. With a small smile, he goes to the front door.

“Hyung!” Yeosang throws his arms around a smiling Taehyung. “Sorry I’m late, lost track of time at my folk's place,” Taehyung closes the door and when Yeosang enters the house further, he sees the bowl of fruit on the center table and helps himself.

“You’re good, I’m just glad you could make it,” Taehyung takes a seat on his previous spot on the couch and his friends sits in the recliner beside his, “you don’t know how much help this is for me.”

He smiles, popping a green grape in his mouth. “Anything for my brother, I always told you if you wanted to leave the group, I could help you, I’m surprised you’re deciding so soon,” He gives him a knowing look, “she must really be something, huh?”

“Yeah...At first, I wanted to save her because I just- I couldn’t kill her, and over time she started to trust me,” He sighs, thinking of the bond you two have now and how much he treasures it, “we just fell in love.”

“I knew it!” He giggles, crossing one of his legs under him. “I knew you’d be the first to settle down, you’re such a softy,”

“I know,” Tae leans back, “she’s just- She’s everything to me, she means a lot to me.”

You’ve been soaking in the tub for about an hour now, your face is warm and your body is relaxed. The friend he invited is over and you can hear them talking, but you can’t really make out exactly what they’re saying. Some part of you wishes you didn’t react that way with him, you know he’s doing what’s best for you two. After a few minutes, you build up the courage to drain the bathwater and get dressed in a comfy pair of pajamas.

You can do this, go downstairs, he’s doing this for you two. Letting your hair fall on your shoulders, hands tucked in your sleeves to make sweater-paws. Opening the bathroom door, you peek out and you hear a movie on and a low conversation. She’s just a little shy—you hear Taehyung mumble, and you smile at the fact that he’s not trying to force you to come out. With a brave face, you make your way to the staircase and hold the stairwell all the way down.

“There’s a nice little house there, the farm culture is great, you’d like it-” Yeosang pauses right when you reach the last step on the staircase. With anxious eyes, you stand at the end of the stairway, that’s when Taehyung finally looks back to see why he stopped.

“Hi there, you must be Y/n,” Yeosang beams a friendly smile.

Taehyung stands up, hand extended for you to take. Your silences pangs in the room and Taehyung speaks up, “This is Yeosang, the friend I told you about.”

“Hi...” You walk over and take Taehyung’s hand, feeling more secure now that you’re sitting next to him.

”Taehyung told me everything,” He sits on the edge of the recliner, “this must be scary for you, huh?”

You nod, “A little...” Tae gives your hand a comforting squeeze.

“You guys will be alright, there’s a new life waiting for you beyond the next 24 hours.”

“How can you be so sure?...”

”Don’t worry, it’s his job to get people to other countries, wipe them off the grid and give them different lives. You can trust him because I trust him,” You glance up at Taehyung, finding it hard to form a response, to truly believe what he’s saying. He plants a kiss on your forehead with a sight, “Everything will be okay, I promise.”

Yeosang went home that night and you laid on the couch with Taehyung, trying not to cry. Tonight will probably be the last night you spend on this comfy couch. Tonight will be the beginning of a new life and despite how in love you are, there’s no guarantee that this won’t go sideways. Tonight, the moon is full and bright, you can see it clearly through the patio window. The stars around it are also just as beautiful, and it makes you feel peace. The same moon and the same constellations shine for you, they’re always there, adding life to the deep-blue sky. When you look up and see the still beauty of the night and its moon and stars, you breathe in contentment. As long as the moon glows and the stars kiss the dark of night, it’ll be okay – you’ll be okay.

#taehyung #taehyung stalker au #kim taehyung #taehyung assassin #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #taehyung fanfic #taehyung mafia au #taehyung smut #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts fluff #bts smut #bts stalker au #bts scenarios #bts mafia au #don't breathe

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rory-for-short · 3 years

Text

We are not our parents|Part Five

He couldn't see them

When Lucy had gotten the call from her, well, she didn't know what they were... her Richard Grayson, asking for her measurements, she was ever the skeptic.

"Is this about your dad's big fling?" She asked over the phone as she settled on her couch.

"Possibly," he answered from the other end, sitting at a desk in his room.

"Why don't I just pick what I wear," she questioned. The way she said where was like "whey-uh" . It was all Jersey, and made Dick laugh to himself.

"You definitely could, but I just wanted to give you a designer option," he explained.

"You think I can't afford a designer option?"

"I know you can't. You make 11 dollars an hour in Gotham city

"Fair. Okay. Fine we can try designer, but I have some specifications."

"Okay, shoot."

"No checker board, no pinstripes. Nothing that says criminal. I don't mind blazers or flowers. Nothing flashy I'm laying low," she rattled off.

"Don't worry. I know you are feeling a little weird about this-"

"-A little?-"

"But I know what I'm doing. Well, I guess the dress maker does. I don't have any say. I can pass on your message to them though," he explained. She gave a sigh of relief. She had been freaking out all week about this party. This stupid, ritzy, heart of Gotham party.

After she found out about her man being THE Richard Grayson Wayne, she wanted out. Even if her parents weren't terrorists, she still wouldn't be on his level. She missed when she thought he was just a gutter rat greecer wannabe punching muggers for fun. But he was educated. High Socioty. Fit as a fiddle, and hot as the Sahara. Yet he chased her. He wanted her. He was so infatuated.

It's not like she didn't see anything good about herself. On the contrary, she knew she was hardworking, pretty funny, nice to look at expessialy when she was trying, and all in all she was a cute, blonde girl next door. However, sometimes it felt like none of that mattered. She was surrounded by a dark legacy. She couldn't even consider having her own kids. What would she tell them, and mabey crazy skips a generation.

But this dumb, cute, himbo of a boy saw none of it. Or at least, he pretended not to notice it. Sometimes he'd give her a strange look and she wonder if he was thinking about the people who raised her. She started being a bit more subtle. No dark makeup, lest she look like her mother. No red lipstick, because that was her father's signature look. Hair up in pigtails? Off limits. The colors red or green, she avoided them before Dick Grayson anyway.

"Hello? Lucy are you still there," Dicks voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

"Sorry I think a siren was going by," she said avoiding the truth.

"No worries, I was asking if you wanted me to get a hair and makeup person too?"

"Oh gawd no! I know what looks good on my face," she laughed.

"Even with you not knowing what the dress will look like?" He challenged.

"On second thought-" she trailed off. She could hear him laugh from the other side of the line.

"Gotcha, I'll get it all set up," he assured.

He got it all set up alright. The afternoon before the party a knock on her door sounded. She opened it to fing him grinning with a black dress bag slung over his shoulder.

"Heya-Hiya," he greeted fondly. She noticed he wasn't alone at the door. There was also a pale woman with raven hair longer than she'd ever seen and jagged bangs. She wore a mesh top, black shorts and a leather jacket. She was ethereal and beautiful. Lucy almost forgot to talk.

"Babe, this is Rachel. She's really good with makeup and she's a buddy of mine," he introduced.

"So you're Lucy? The way your Golden retriever of a boyfriend described you I was expecting Shera, or Captian Marvel," his friend mused. Dick was turning bright red from the tips of his ears to his neck.

"Yeah, yeah, that's really funny Rachel," he awkwardly laughed. Lucy welcomed them inside and Dick layed the dress bag on the couch while Rachel carried in a big metal mackup case.

"I haven't seen the dress yet," Dick admitted, "I told her all that stuff you told me. Hopefully they listened." He said getting ready to unveil it.

Rachel was now standing beside them as Dick revealed the dress. As they stood there taking it in, she realized that there was a color she forgot to say was off limits. It was a beautiful dress. The top of it like a Corsett with spaghetti straps. The tooling elegant and down to the knees. There were several star details on it. They lay on a sky of deep purple. Lucy bit her lip nervously. Richard noticed immediately.

"Well, that was an oversight on our part," he sighed disappointedly. Rachel cocked her head confused.

"And I thought I was a Debby downer. It's a beautiful peice, plus it isn't too bright. Hell, I'd wear it," she concluded settling her hands on her hips. And she was right, it was beautiful. Mabey beautiful enough to distrct from the rest of her. If the only people talked about was her dress, she'd be okay with that.

"I love it," she said smiling.

"Yeah, Dick doesn't know what he's talking about. He has zero taste unless it's in women," she joked. She met eyes with her boyfriend and smiled.

Bruce was stewing in indecision. His son had come to him and told him that he and Lucy discussed the risks involved with a public appearance, that he could protect her, and that she had been through enough in her life so she should be able to just have fun for one night. He agreed. Deep down he agreed. However, he knew the kinds of people that attended these parties.

Not all of them were in it for the charity. Big names who wanted investors, ass kissing new moneies wanting to climb ranks. People with dirty money. It was an open charity event, and gossip from the criminal higher ups couldn't be discounted. All his parties had this risk, but this time it felt more pressing. On top of that he now knew the Jokers name. His full name. All he had to do was bluff with the first name an Harley had spilled all her info. She had told him all about Joker, her daughter, and how no matter how brutal the man was she wanted to stay with him.

"Yah know, I could handle our fights. The way we went round and round. I never considered leaving him until he suggested we get Lucy in on the family business," she sighed taking a drag of her cigarette. "I knew then I had to get the hell outta dodge. You and I both know a battlefield is no place for a child. She was only 15-" she stopped herself as she realized just who she was talking to.

"Nevermind. I guess you wouldn't get it. I wanted her to be normal. Arthur wanted her to be us. You always gotta want better for your kids. I might be a criminal psychopath, but why drag her into it. Why make her fight my battles? Or his? Or anyone's? I started a money stash. I was gonna run away with her," she looked down at the ash falling from her cigarette, and stamped it with her foot.

Bruce knew the rest of the story or at least from the perspective of his and police. Jason was his Robin at the time. They got an anonymous tip on the Joker's hideout. Harley had sold him out. When they arrived on the scene there was almost no reason to interfere. The way the two clowns were going at it, they would probably just end up killing eachother.

Harley's neck was cut. Only deep enough to make a red necklace that was surface level but he could guess what Joker was trying to accomplish. The Joker had two knives in him. He was still on his feet sporting a death grip on a hatchet with Harley's name on it.

There was also a hostage. Looking on, holding a gun, and not knowing who to shoot at. She was about 15.

They didn't even stop to look their way. They knew he and Robin were there, but this was deeply personal and toxically volatile.

Bruce remembered how easy they were to take down. Gotham police had them unarmed, sedated and in medical vehicles in practically no time; they had already done so much damage to eachother they hardly needed a push. Jason got the gun from the hostage. While Batman delt with the authorities and offered to gaurd the hospitals, not to keep anyone out, but keep the two clowns in, he left Jason in charge of the hostage.

He found out later that night, or he guessed, the next morning, that she was their kid. He learned when he read the police report. He forgot about her after that, but it did cross his mind that she was out there, somewhere, from time to time.

Dick and Lucy headed to the mannor before the party. He explained how his dad was a tightass and his butler was a total bro, so they'd be going through the garden and climbing the wall.

"You want me to climb in this dress and heels? In your dreams puddin," she scoffed rolling her eyes and playfully hitting him on the shoulder.

"I'll lift you over you won't have to break a sweat," he coerced. She lifted her eyebrow, amused.

"I'm 5'9 and 173 pounds of pure woman. If you think you can get me over that wall you are psyco!" She laughed exgerattingly gesturing as she spoke. When they had first got together, he would have had one of those danger reactions to this. To her eyes going wide with disbelief, and throwing her head back in a cackle. But those happened less and less. He realized something

He couldn't see them in her anymore.

Without another word he placed his hands on her waist and practically ballerina tossed her. She managed to catch halfway up on the flat part Making the wall a ledge. It almost knocked the breath out of her. But she managed to steady herself and hoist her body the rest of the way up. She was a bit of a ballerina after all. When they had both sets of feet in the garden, he flashed an "I told you so" smile. She rolled he eyes and gestured for him to lead the way.

When he began sliding open the kitchen door, he heard Tim's voice carry from the foyer.

"Well, well, well, how the turn tables!" He cackled. He heard a frustrated groan.

"Forget it, I don't see why I ask you for anything," he heard another male voice carry. The two pairs of couples entered the kitchen at the same time. Tim with his 'friend' Connor, and Dick with Lucy.

There was a beat of silence.

"So, you went the kitchen route huh?" Drake noted.

"Yeah, we went the kitchen route," Dick sighed.

"You look like a ruffian," Conner stated.

"I'm getting into my suit. It's wool and everything, I just didn't before picking up Lucy," he srugged.

"The matching ties are cute. You guys look adorable together," Lucy chimed in.

"We're not together," they defended in unison.

Another beat of silence.

"Well, okay. We are going upstairs. You guys have fun," Dick announced as he practically dragged Lucy behind them. Once they hit the back staircase they went from stone cold silence to giggling.

"They were wearing pride pocket squares and matching ties, how was I supposed' ta know," she defended with a hushed alarm.

"Oh they are. They just don't know it yet," he lead her to his room and opened the door for her.

#bat famfanfic #batfam #batman #bruce wayne #lucy x dick #lucy quinzel #lucy flek #dick grayson #Nightwing #harleenqueenzel #harley quinn #fanfiction #fanfic #tim drake #connor #tim x connor

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charming-2d-boys · 4 years

Note

hi could you do a drabble (idk) about F! reader being choked by chrollo thighs like :"she doesn't want to answer chrollo questions ,she wants to escape since she has poweful nen but chrollo catch her with his thigs, (a little nsfw)that's all 👉👈 thanks💌

Ohoho, anon, we're going this way, huh? 😏

For real, though, I think I forgot how to breathe for a second from suddenly thinking about Chrollo's thighs.

Anyway, thank you for the request and I'll try my best!

Also, I changed this a bit because I really struggled thinking about a... normal situation where someone could possibly be choked by someone’s thighs and how to get there 😂

Warning: long and NSFW-ish.

P.S.: what a way to go... *dreamy sigh*

You’ve Got Another Thing Coming - Chrollo x Reader

You had underestimated Chrollo Lucilfer, that’s for sure. The man appeared tall and skinny in that suit, and with that pretty face and big, grey eyes, he seemed innocent and as if he couldn’t hurt a fly.

Boy, were you wrong.

This man had managed to charm you and pretty much anyone who came into contact with him at this party. You were invited as a plus one since your friend was a famous architect and everyone was talking about their amazing designs for some of the newest and fanciest buildings in the city.

He’d talked in such an alluring way, charisma rolling off him in waves, attracting gazes, both curious and sultry, while his face and voice made you think of him as a being sculpted by the gods themselves. And somehow, amidst all the pompous talking between all those rich people and the alcohol being served to guests, you found yourself talking with him in a little corner of the dimmed room, barely away from prying eyes and ears.

Chrollo was extremely intelligent, cultured and well-read. The way he held himself and spoke were becoming more and more attractive as the night progressed. Literature, history, culture, foreign languages, dreams, passions, you discussed about pretty much anything you could think of and he always seemed to find the perfect ways to make you talk more and more. His eyes were shining in delight whenever you’d say something that he didn’t expect or didn’t know about.

And when he asked you if you’d like to leave and go somewhere more... private, you jumped at the opportunity. His smile spelt trouble, but you had no idea what you were getting yourself into yet.

A short car ride brought the two of you to a 5 star hotel some minutes away from the party’s location, with few words exchanged while the air seemed filled with electricity. As soon as Chrollo parked the car, his hand found itself naturally on the small of your back, gently pushing you through the hotel’s rotating doors and into the large, well-lit and opulently decorated lobby. While you were staring in awe at the impressive decorum and gigantic chandelier seemingly made out of gold and with an abundance of shimmering crystals hanging from its arched arms, Chrollo was asking for his room key card, amused at your look of wonder and excited for what was to come.

You admitted that, when you both got into the pristine elevator that would take you to one of the highest floors, you felt your heart hammer in your chest and the butterflies in your stomach rioting. You were itching to touch Chrollo and the electricity almost seemed palpable as you felt your fingers twitch when the little ding announced your arrival at the desired floor. The two of you got off and Chrollo’s touch once again kept your lower back warm as his fingers pressed lightly into the skin while his other hand opened the door with the key card.

You expected him to pounce on you as soon as the door closed behind the two of you, but he only loosened his tie a bit before taking your hand and leading you into the spacious suite, the large, neatly-done bed with a few rose petals scattered on its plush surface being one of the first things that caught your attention.

“Would you like anything to drink?” Chrollo asked in the same charming voice, as he pointed at the champagne bottle in the ice bucket that sat on a large table against the opposite wall, a white rose next to it. This set-up seemed a bit too well coordinated, too convenient, as if he was expecting something to happen. You guessed with his looks and intelligence, he had every reason to. You snapped yourself out of your thoughts and saw Chrollo looking at you with kind, slightly amused eyes before you nodded your head, your throat feeling too parched for you to utter a word.

His hand and warmth left you as he poured two glasses of champagne before handing you one, both of you clinking them before taking a few sips. Your eyes tried looking everywhere but at the handsome man in front of you, feeling a bit awkward to be in his presence alone. You felt like prey while his eyes studied you as if he was a predator thinking of the best ways to get to you. He put his glass down and did the same to yours before his arms encircled your waist, pressing you flush against his warm body. And as he started pulling you towards the large bed and turned you around at the last moment to push you down onto your back, you noticed the bandage covering his forehead slowly coming undone. Chrollo pulled further on his loosened tie until he pulled it off completely and threw it on the carpeted floor, before the bandage followed, allowing you to see the cross tattoo on the soft skin of his forehead. His dark blue pinstripe blazer was the last piece of clothing to come off before he rolled the sleeves of his black, silk dress shirt to his elbows. God, he really was attractive.

The look his eyes gave off was one of absolute power as his fingers started going over the skin of your calves softly, inching their way under your dress, before his fingers gripped your thighs and pulled you further down the bed until your legs were around his hips.

“When were you planning on telling me?” He asked in a honeyed voice as he came closer to you, pushing you further down as his lips ghosted over the skin of your neck and his hands held your wrists firmly.

“Tell you what?” You batted your eyelashes at him innocently as Chrollo’s fingertips seemed to get colder.

“Don’t play games with me, (Y/N). Why can’t I use my Nen? What did you do?” He asked, his teeth biting gently at your pulse point making you chuckle. His smile was a bit colder and you could see a bit of annoyance make itself known as the corner of his mouth twitched when he heard your chuckle.

“Now, why would you worry about that? What we were about to do didn’t have anything to do with your Nen, did it, Chrollo?” Your tone was amused as his body pressed even more into yours, trying to make you see nothing else but him and his grey eyes. He wanted you to feel trapped. But it apparently didn’t really work.

You gasped dramatically and his eye twitched slightly. “Oh my, were you planning on using your Nen on me? How rude of you! And here I thought you were a gentleman.” You could only sigh in mock sadness as you pouted. Chrollo’s grip on your hands got stronger at this.

“How did you know?”

“Oh? Hmm, who knows~ I just had a feeling about you. You’re not as subtle as you think you are, you know?” You winked. You wouldn’t tell him that you saw the handprint on his book and that his interest in other people’s Nen was a bit too straightforward. Also, the rumours... Few, true, but they all said the same thing: after talking with a young man, somehow, some people’s Nen would disappear. Most couldn’t really remember exactly who the young man was or how he looked like or what they did prior to losing their Nen. But it was enough to ring some bells and you felt... something during the party, before Chrollo approached you. Like something... moving in the air.

Maybe the others were too intoxicated to realise that what they were saying and doing was pretty much their undoing. But apparently, your hesitance to tell Chrollo more about your Nen piqued his interest in you and your power. It was kind of funny, now that you thought about it. Right now, Chrollo’s eyes moved across your face, calculating his next move carefully. There was definitely more to you than meets the eye. And while he could appreciate that and enjoy the chase, he was also vexed because of your stubbornness. He hadn’t dealt with something like this in a while.

“Well then, Chrollo, if you won’t show me a good time, then I’d like to leave and get on with my life.” You knew that your strength was probably way lower than his, but that didn’t stop you from trying to think of a way to get him to let go of your wrists so you could leave already. You weren’t really that scared of him because your Nen was something he needed and with how stubborn you were, not even torture would make you talk. Others had tried before and yet, here you were. Still alive and still having your Nen.

“Oh, really now?” He whispered, his face so close to yours that your noses touched. You only nodded, definitely feeling how excited he had become. How many people usually managed to fool him and also keep him interested? Probably not many.

Your legs locked at the ankles as you only pressed him closer to you, hearing a little hiss leave his lips in response before you kissed him. It wasn’t much, but his grip around your wrists weakened and you brought your hands to his, lacing your fingers together. Chrollo only hummed, grinding over you and squeezing your hands tighter. If he wanted to feel as if he was dominating you and getting somewhere with this whole charade, then so be it.

He almost moaned when you bit his lip gently, before separating yourself from him to breathe and allowing him to move downwards and mark your neck. Just because you wouldn’t allow him to take your Nen didn’t mean you couldn’t indulge yourself in this moment of pleasure and let your body feel his ministrations. Chrollo definitely knew what he was doing. Too bad for him that it wasn’t enough to cloud your mind.

“Hey, Chrollo?”

“Hmm?“ He moved his face to yours again, staring into your eyes. He loved this look on you: dishevelled, with your body underneath his and your breathing ragged because of him.

“I’m sorry.” You said, and before he could comprehend what had happened, he was rolling off you on his side, clutching his head. You didn’t have time to hiss in pain before you were getting up and slightly stumbling to your feet, ready to get the hell out of there. And people called you hard-headed. Sheesh, this guy’s head must’ve been made out of steel then.

Before you could reach the door, you felt a huge pressure on your back before you were sprawled out on your stomach, wheezing. You tried getting up but only felt his foot on your back, keeping you down. He crouched down before pulling on your shoulder, turning you to face him. His smile was gone and the skin where his tattoo was was red, swollen and bleeding a bit. Chrollo crawled over your body, pinning your arms dows as his calves kept them glued to your sides and you felt almost all of his weight settle on your ribcage, making it harder for you to breathe. If this would’ve been a normal situation, you would’ve probably found this position really hot.

Still, even as you were trying to get air back into your lungs, you could only chuckle. Chrollo tilted his head at you, a cold smile on his lips.

“What is so amusing, darling?” He asked, curious about your reason. If you were losing it or were hysterical from fear, maybe you’d talk sooner.

“You.” That’s it. That was your reason. This whole situation. The fact that he would probably go to such lengths just to get you to talk about your Nen so he could have it. Chrollo’s eye twitched as he watched you laugh.

Weird, stubborn, intelligent girl. You weren’t going to give in so easily, huh?

“I know what you’re thinking Chrollo. And believe me when I tell you this: if you think I’ll give you what you want that easily... You’ve got another thing coming.” You stared straight into his grey eyes with a smile on your face. He was smart and stubborn.

But so were you.

#hxh #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter x reader #hunter x reader #chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer x reader #hxh chrollo #hxh writing

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fragileizywriting · 3 years

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dancing

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“Adrien!” She whispers, grinning at him. She’s littered with freckles, all across her cheekbones and nose, and he watches the constellations shift on her skin as she continues to grin at him with stars in her eyes.

“Hurry, hurry! Get inside! Someone’s going to see you one of these days,” He whispers back, but he sits up in bed, his fingers already nervously picking at lint from the heavy blanket. He wants— no, he needs— to tell her today. He needs to tell her everything, because he doesn’t want to get into the problem of not having enough time to tell her. He doesn’t want to miss his chance.

But he’s nervous.

“Not if we stay quiet,” Mischief swirls in her eyes, completely unaware that he’s vibrating with anxiety on the mattress. “No one will know I’m here.”

“And how are you so sure, Mari?”

“Because I make sure to take all the apples from the tree that fall whenever I climb it, so that it looks like no one’s been here after all.” Oh, doesn’t she sound proud? He can’t help but grin at her when she smiles again, holding up two giant and red fruits in her small palms. They match the color of her dress, even though she’s wearing a simple smock with a decorative bow on the back— the outfit of the daughter of two bakers, after all. Her shoes look muddy— her apron looks dusty— her hair is always so full of leaves— but she is beautiful and it makes him try his best not to kick himself as he looks at her. She leaves her shoes and apron by the window, making sure to take careful and noiseless steps on the rug underneath his bed so she doesn’t alert anyone in the house that there’s movement in the room.

He watches her with a smile that matches her own, accepting the apple she gives him with a cupped hand, holding it close.

It’s just an apple. It’s warm from outside, even though it’s early morning and the sun has just started to rise. He’s had breakfast, alone, a porridge soup with bread that had tasted stale without his favorite honey. It’ll be a couple more hours until a maid passes by to tidy up his neglected room, but there’s nothing to clean anymore now that he can’t get out of bed. And just last week he’d been playing with his friends outside… “You know, I’ve never actually eaten one of these before. They fall all the time in the gardens but every time I grab one it’s been on the ground for too long, so they’re kind of rotten.”

“Well, you’re in luck! The best apples are the ones directly from the tree before they fall out,” The bed shifts as she joins him on the mattress. He looks up to her as she settles down, trying his best not to memorize for the rest of his life how she looks so happy and soft. “That’s when they’re the sweetest, you know.”

He loves sweet things. Does she know that? Or is he just getting his hopes up?

“The doctor said I should be eating a lot of fruit,” He turns the apple to look at the glossy surface. “He says it might be something to do with my spine which is why I can’t stand for long periods of time anymore without feeling dizzy. He says that the more fruit I eat, the more ‘structured your bones will become’.”

She giggles at the way he inflects his words when he pretends to speak like the doctor— and it’s lovely, so lovely, to hear her laugh. If he could keep it with him always, he’s almost positive he’d be able to get out of bed on his own without fainting. “That doesn’t sound right, but I’m not a doctor. I’m just a witch.”

“Well, Madame Witch,” He grins, “What do you prescribe me? What potions and fortunes can you throw my way so that I can get out of bed?”

“Well, I’ve read that apples have magical properties,” Her eyes always get so big and doe-like when she talks about magic. It’s endearing and so lovely— he tries his best not to combust on the spot when her eyes go round and glassy, hints of magic swirling at the surface, looking at her as she turns the apple over in her hands in the way he did. “Apples last for long times. You can make a lot of antidotes with them. There’s a whole section on apples in the green book, the one with the different handwriting.”

“Are they Tikki’s favorite fruit?”

“I have no idea,” Marinette answers honestly. “I don’t know anything about her but I know that she trusts me to keep trying. I’d like to think she loves apples the way I do— I always forget that apples exist until I see them and I remember how tasty they are. They’re everywhere.”

“You know, the books you have say that they represent regrowth.” He knows this, because he’s read most of them— he’s helped her lots with understanding Latin, and being able to read. Her French is much more advanced, but she struggles still to read the swirls and curves of Latin handwriting in those books. They were gifted to her by Tikki one day, in the middle of the night, just like a fairy— the spines decorated with paint and designs that he catches her following with a digit when she’s drifting off into a daydream.

“Regrow your spine with an apple,” She hums with a little giggle. “With the amount of apples here in Paris, I’m pretty sure you could grow a hundred thousand more.”

“No need for special magic spells,” He laughs with her, making sure to keep it as quiet as possible so that no one outside hears it. “Just apple.”

Something silly sparks in her eyes. “Oh, dear patient, I see you have bad humors? Here is a recipe for that— a cure-all— something that will revolutionize medicine as we know it: apple.”

“What about your phlegm? Have you checked it recently? Not too much of it, I hope? An apple will help.”

“Excess of black bile? We cannot have that— you know that will cause you great problems later on in life. Here, take an apple.”

“Not to mention a serious deficiency of yellow bile? Apple.” The both of them erupt into giggles. He watches her, so wary, his fingers drumming along the surface of the fruit, thinking to himself when the best moment would be. “Marinette?”

“I can’t wait until you’re on your feet again.” She bites into hers. “There are so many things I want to show you. You’d think that the world can’t change in a week, but it can— you blink and suddenly every leaf is worth talking about with you, Adrien. Every flower I find I want to bring to you.”

He likes it when she’s here. She likes it when it’s just him and her. It’s a little selfish, he knows, to want all of her attention on him, but he likes being able to have her here and only focus on the two of them. The only other times he could see her were during group hangouts— and, of course, he loves being able to see all of his friends and play hide and seek with them— but being bedridden allows him to get her full attention— and he clings to the moments like they’re all he has. “What’s changed?”

“Nino’s been trying to petition your father to come let him visit you,” She speaks softly. “He misses you a lot. Luka, too— he really wants to come here and visit, and he’d be able to climb the tree so easily to see you, but his mother just gave birth, he’s been so busy that he can hardly find the time to come up to shore anymore. He’s an older brother now.”

“Really?” Adrien’s eyes widen. “Already? But he’d told us only two weeks ago—”

“He told us he’d kept it a secret,” She shrugs. “I guess he was worried that we would find it weird. I have no idea— but Luka looked really excited at the idea of being an older brother.”

He tilts his head with a knowing look. “Have you talked to him outside the group?”

She nods as she bites again. There are spots of apple juice starting to collect in her palms, and she wipes them on her smock with nowhere else to wipe her hands on— Marinette, as usual, is completely oblivious to the amount of courage Luka must’ve had to speak to her without any of their friends near. He must’ve been shaking to the point his tail rattled— but Marinette probably took it as shivers. “A couple of times. He’s still really shy.”

“That doesn’t sound like him,” But it does. He’s seen the way Luka stammers— has tried to get him out of the habit. They’ve both practiced confessing to Marinette on each other, ending up in a fit of giggles when someone had walked in on them professing their love to each other. Nino still isn’t convinced otherwise.

“I managed to get a couple of sentences out of him, last time,” She plays with the end of her braid. “He told me he wants me to come see her before anyone else does. Her name is Juleka.”

“Juleka,” He repeats with a smile, trying not to feel a little silly at her confession. So, Luka’s been trying to tell her what he’s been trying to tell her, too. But he’s chickening out. Just like Adrien is. “That’s a pretty name.”

“She’s the light of the family, apparently!”

“Are you going to go see her?”

“I was hoping that we could go together.” She lowers her hands back to her lap with a smile. “Luka’s your best friend, too.”

“That might take a couple of months,” He frowns to himself. “Who knows if I’ll be able to swim again this year.”

“I think Luka would be very happy for you to be there. We’ll figure something out, just like we always do, right?” Her eyes are stars again. “I want you to be there, Adrien. I think that’s something we could work towards, right?”

“I’ll do it.”

“Good!” She grins. “Until then, an apple a day will keep that doctor away.”

He bites into his apple.

-*-

Chat naps.

Chat naps because there’s nothing to do.

He’s done everything he had to do today, and even more some— he’s captured the bad guy, he’s tied him up for questioning, he’s taken his stupid wanted poster off the castle gates while dragging the guy back into the castle by his ankle, ignoring the way he kicked and screamed bloody murder at the top of his lungs. The man is a liar, a criminal, and a murderer— but wasn’t feeling all that brave when Chat had managed to get his hands around the man and wrestled him back into the castle. The days are full of catching and hunting and the thrill of a chase— his nose is stained with ichor and blood of those he needs to bring for his father.

But he naps.

He likes napping in his mother’s throne, curled up into a ball in his cat form, lazing on the giant and massive chair that always somehow feels warm like the tree it was carved out of is still alive and well. His mother’s throne is made out of Earthen trees— a luxury that he understands is rare. Unlike his father’s throne, cut from trees from this realm, and offers nothing of solace unless given heat by another living being, his mother’s throne is always warm and comfortable. He sleeps contently, curled into the smallest ball he can, shoving his nose into his tail and tucking his paws underneath him.

The candles flicker. They don’t provide much warmth, not in this form, but the tiny noises of kindled wicks are pleasant to his ears as they burn through the wax. There’s the small pitter-patter of a dripping candle— the sound reminiscent of a clock— and it keeps him company as he dozes. There’s nothing else in the throne room with him, aside from the candles, aside from the throne that feels alive.

There are temple bells ringing outside of the castle.

His ears swivel to the sound, even as he lazily turns, listening to the ancient metal tang of the ghastly dome reverberate against the stained glass windows. With one eye inching open, he watches the scattering of green and gold shadows illuminate the runestone floor, taking his time flipping onto his side and watching the throne room come to life.

It’s not often that the temple bells ring and shake everything in the surrounding area, but it’s often enough that he doesn’t strange the deep and fluttering feeling it gives his chest. The bells are to discourage wandering souls that have escaped the forest, and have escaped phantom hunts, from entering the houses of demons and causing panic. Souls hear the bell and quiver— they either get frozen in fear, perfect for capturing— or are sent back into the safe haven of the forest where they are to roam and get lost in until it is time for another phantom hunt.

The bells ring once every few hours, for two days, before dissipating with a final ring until the next year.

It has begun for this year. It is August already? The years move by too quickly— or perhaps he’s grown accustomed to living with two gods who barely recognize time, his father notwithstanding.

The shadows swirl in the throne room, and Chat watches with mild interest, licking at his paws to even out his fur. No poison is enough to maim him, no more painful attempts to turn him into the blank and white figure his father spoke about, now that he is at the age of twenty— but poison still stings his tongue with a bitter taste that makes him want to gag— but he cleans and cleans. He is a class above the rest, trained and perfected into the perfect chaos machine that makes his father’s eyes proud.

He likes making his dad proud.

The bile tastes awful.

He cleans until he’s tired of it— settling down back onto the throne with heavy lids. The runestone floor glows a heavy purple from the bells— swirls and thick prominent lines with Latin etched into the stone that he’s tried to make sense of with varying degrees of success. Either the stones are misplaced, or they are simply nonsense words from a language past his recollection— the words in that combination do not match up to anything he recognizes.

Every time he’s asked his parents, they gloss over it— Plagg, of course, gives him a different answer every time he asks. He’s given up trying to understand it, and is under the assumption that they actually do not know either.

He scurries to a sitting position when another bell rings.

He’s never heard this particular bell before.

Louder, cleaner— it isn’t a temple bell but rather a singing one. It is higher pitched than the massive ones outside that echo into the castle and down the halls— this one, instead, cuts straight through him and seems to rattle inside his soul as if looking for a place to stay, singing in the hollow spaces of his bones and mingling with his magic as if trying to coax him to do something. He blinks in alarm at the runestones, which glow a lofty green, and the bell rings over and over like it’s being constantly struck with a light hand.

It feels… it feels right to hear it.

He almost purrs at the sound of it, which is even more alarming, because he’s never heard it before in his life, but it soothes him.

The runestones shift like an old puzzle trying to assemble itself back together, and the old Latin words shift along the floor with them. He watches, transfixed, as the sound of stone moving against the echoey and airy tone of the new bell clash— the stone settles to form a perfectly flat circle pedestal that is raised a few centimeters.

Chat shifts back into his normal form so he can get closer and inspect the words, eyes widening at the phrases. “What— what the hell—”

Manibus date lilia plenis. Give lilies with both of your hands?

Qui per tutelam ostium. Protect the one who goes through the door?

How bizarre. He’s never seen two phrases completely disjointed before, but it’s certainly better than the absolute mess it was prior to shifting. He follows the words that circle around the flattened stone, trying to make sense of what he sees, reading the words over and over.

“I recognize that noise,” The door at the end of the throne room opens. He looks behind him to see his father, who looks down at him, and then the floor, looking for an answer he currently does not possess. “I did not imagine I would hear it again any time soon. Did you do this?”

“No. I didn’t do this at all.” He looks back at it. “Any of this. That bell, too, started before the words shifted.”

A portal opens, and Chat— the great and formidable Chat Noir, hunter of the damned and enemy of the sinner— steps back slowly from what he sees, getting closer to his father who walks at a languid pace up to the pedestal.

The portal is empty, like usual when they are portals to Earth, and he catches himself confused and sniffing the smoke that starts to drift through it.

“Chimaeram,” His father braces a hand on his shoulder. “It seems as if someone is trying to summon a demon.”

“I can tell—” Although the bell is certainly a surprise. “This entire time there’s been a summoning portal in the throne room?”

“I suppose I never had the time to tell you,” Plagg grins. There is something else swirling in his father’s eyes as he looks back down. “Perhaps you should go deal with the matters they require.”

“I’ll miss dinner,” His feet dig into the floor as his father gently tries to push him closer to the runestones. His ears flatten against his head as he all-but climbs his father’s shoulder to get away from the portal.

“You’ll eat enough there.”

“I— uh— haven’t made my bed.” Formidable Chat Noir… countless demonic wars…

Plagg snorts. “As if that’s ever stopped you before from neglecting to clean your room. I’ll get a maid to do it.”

“I’m— uh— oh, man, Dad I’m just so tired.”

“This summoning won’t take long. In fact, by the time you come back, you’ll have wished it had lasted longer.”

Wait, huh? “Hold on, do you know the person who’s summoning me?”

“I have an idea,” Plagg shrugs, humor glittering in those neon eyes of his. “Don’t tell your mother. I’d want this to be a surprise. You understand, don’t you?”

Who could this possibly be? Is it someone that the three of them know?

“The last time I went to Earth, it was wet. It rained for days. I hate the rain.” Not to mention that humans are obnoxiously frightened when they make eye contact with him. Such bad manners!

“Chat Noir, enjoy yourself. You’ll be dry soon enough.” His father— the king of hell— gently pushes him towards the portal that continues to smoke. “Now, go. Try not to start apocalypses. I need humans for a little while longer. Have some fun!”

Ugh. He hates going through portals. “Fine. I’ll be back soon. Don’t go redecorating my room, I know you’re itching to make me a better writing desk.”

He drops through the portal before he can see his father bark out a laugh.

-*-

Marinette screams.

“What the— ow— stop!” The man— no, the demon— flinches from her hands. Latin. The demon speaks Latin. She doesn’t stop smacking at his arms as she goes into hysterics. “What the hell? Stop! Ow!”

“What are— who are— what are you doing here?” She squeals in French on accident, waffling between hitting him more and backing away completely. At a stern glare given to her, she clams up, quickly folding her hands behind her and stepping away. She watches the demon dust off his pants with enough apprehension to fill her with unease, shoving her dusty and chalky hands back into the pockets of her apron.

“‘What am I doing here?’ You’re the one who summoned me and then started to hit me when I showed up, which, ow. What the absolute hell? Who does that? You should be put on a banned list of summoning— that’s no way to treat a demon.”

“Sweet Tikki,” She gasps. He speaks French as well? “That exists?”

“Depends. You are the one who summoned me, right?”

“I—” She clicks her jaw shut. “I didn’t summon you.”

“You most certainly did.” He huffs. “That’s why I came out of the portal.”

“That’s not a portal, y-you ass, that’s a rune.”

He rolls his eyes at her. “Do you always solve your problems with curses, witch? Verbal and physical? Your slaps will sting for days. And besides, that is most definitely not a rune. I wouldn’t have been able to come out of it if that were the case.”

What’s going on? She doesn’t have time for this! She’s busy— looking around her for at least a bucket or two, producing nothing— she tries her magic to make a bucket or at least a fountain— but the magic is solid in her palms, almost as if afraid to move another centimeter. She turns back to the demon who looks with absolute no hurry to help, and gestures to him to speak. “What do you want?”

“What?” His eyes snap up to meet hers again and she tries her best not to shake in her boots. Electric, hypnotic green eyes stare at her with enough intent to burn her to the quick, but instead of any genuine anger, he looks her over as if he’s trying to guess what to do next. “‘What do I want’? Don’t get snippy with me, you’re the one who summoned me!”

“Well, go back! I— I didn’t mean to summon you,” She tries not to cry. “My magic won’t move and I— I think it’s because I summoned you by accident— go home!”

“Okay, well, what were you even trying to do in the first place with your magic? Are you dancing?”

“Dancing?” She goes into hysterics again. “You— you think I’m— this— dancing?”

“Well, I don’t know a lot about humans I’ll be honest, even though my mom’s tried to teach me a lot there’s still a lot I don’t know, so maybe you’re doing a fire dance, or—” He pauses as she bites her lip to stop herself from crying. Something about his whole demeanor changes within an instant, like he’s deflated— he’s still looking at her with those cutting eyes, but they almost look sad as she takes her in. No doubt he’s mourning his freedom for the next however minutes as she tries to shove him back through the portal while still dealing with the fire spreading. “Hey. Are you okay?”

“No,” She bites her lip. What would be the point in lying? How could anyone be okay in this situation?

“What happened?”

Oh, Tikki— not even a simple protection spell works from her hands anymore! What is the point of her being the most prolific witch and her champion when all she does is mess everything up? And now she— she has a— a demon attempting to console her? Her eyes swell with tears that threaten to fall down her cheeks, and she spins, facing back to the burning house so that he doesn’t see it. “I— I was trying to write a rune down— but I ended up summoning you and— and I definitely don’t need a demon right now!”

“I can help—”

“No—” She whirrs back to him, “Absolutely not! I know your kind. You make promises to help but end up making fires worse— end up flooding the area when people ask for a cup of water— crush people with solid gold when they ask for more money.”

The demon pouts like a child at her, crossing his thick arms across his chest. “Oy! Those are pretty mean stereotypes, you know. I know you’re upset— though I still don’t actually know what you’re upset about— but that’s no reason for you to take it out on me, you know.”

She doesn’t have the energy to look surprised or confused by his very undemonlike personality. Instead, her vision wavers and goes blurry as she squeezes her eyes shut— ignoring the way that even with her eyes close, it’s still bright enough for it to be considered sunlight. “Please, I beg of you, please leave— I can’t do anything right. Least of all now— you’ll just make things all the more worse— go back home and— and l-leave me in this mess.”

“Let me try to help you. Please. I don’t like seeing people cry— it makes me feel useless. What did you try doing?”

“I tried saving my house,” She points with her face buried in her other hand. “This— this village doesn’t enjoy being in the presence of witches— and I thought— I thought I would be fine, because I’ve been helping with the sick and the ones who cannot afford food— but I was wrong. They called me names for the years we’ve been here, but we stayed because it was otherwise peaceful, and being this close to the ocean was good for my— my nerves—”

And the nightmares. Being closer to the ocean and being closer to Luka helped with the nightmares. Nightmares of empty beds and empty rooms and broken apple trees. Unmarked graves and missing golden-haired bodies.

The hysterics make it hard to breathe. “They’ve pushed my family out of the village— they’ve gone North to live with other family members and I promised I would work on our house to be perfect and fire-proof but I was too late— and— and now—”

And now her house is burning to the ground.

Is a Ladybug truly that terrifying? To send a mob to her house and try to smoke her out and send her packing to a larger town where they’re more accustomed to a witch? Many people don’t believe that one single witch should have the power to heal and create good fortune, it’s true— but how does any of it mean anything if she can’t have any of the good fortunes herself? She can’t even save her own house from burning— how much of a failure is she?

The demon stops, looking at her for a long time. No doubt this man has no idea how to console a woman crying in front of him, because his mouth pinches into a fine line that makes him look all the more terrifying. “You messed up the direction of your curves.”

Is that his attempt to make her feel better? What an absolute brute. “Wh—”

“Were you trying to do a protection spell? You ended up sending a destruction portal instead.”

She blinks back tears, startled enough in the conversation to respond. “I— I don’t mess up on things like that.”

“But you did. I’m standing in front of you because of it.” The demon looks behind him to the portal, a mass of blinding gold hair glinting in the firelight. It’s the color of spun gold— a beautiful color she can’t help but stare at. “You’re supposed to curve your lines to the right, not the left.”

“Oh. Uhm.”

“Well. At least you got me out of it.” He shrugs, looking back at her with a smile. “Could’ve been worse, honestly, it’s a good thing I was the one to step through the portal instead of whatever else hell has to offer.”

He speaks as if he’s any better than them.

“Not to worry, Princess, your knight is here to help,” He walks past her, towards what should be considered the front door of the house. Instead, it is nothing but flames and smoke, but if the demon feels any pain from the heat, he doesn’t react. He turns to face her, his smile almost inviting, as if he’s trying to convince her to follow him through the flames.

“Wait. ‘Princess’?” Is he making fun of her?

“That’s ‘night’ as in the night sky, by the way. You know. Pun.” He lifts his hands up, palms facing her, gesturing to the color. His arms look thick in that white shirt of his that he rolls up to his elbows to keep them clean, inspecting the damage of the house in front of them. His forearms are a beautiful gradient of tan and golden skin to pure voidless black, with long powerful black claws that look like they can tear anything to shreds with a simple flick of the wrist. She watches him with confusion, watches him with curiosity, watches with wide-open eyes. “It’s very nice to meet you, Princess—”

She startles, watching everything around her burn and turn to green fire.

The heat that licks up the sides of her house turns into an eruption of hypnotic green, as green as the demon’s eyes in front of her, and she finds it hard to focus on anything at all except the way he smiles and introduces his fangs. There’s a sudden wind that cuts through them both and scatters her hair in all directions, blasting the green fire up into a mushroom cloud that is stories and stories taller than it would ever be normally. The night sky is covered in green light and grey smog, completely and totally dominating the landscape.

The heat and light are enough to hurt her eyes, and she flinches back, shielding her face with a hand.

A bell rings. Loud, grave, almost omnipresent— the bell sounds like something she’d hear at a forgotten temple. At once her body is filled with dread and fear from the noise as if it were instinct to be afraid of a simple noise, but it fills the area with terror. Even though she’s close enough to the fire to burn, all she feels is chill and frost.

Gothic.

Horrific.

The fires recede from the walls of her house in two more blinks of the bell— turn into embers on the roof— the windows are completely intact like they hadn’t been singed in the first place.

She sags. Drops her jaw. And tries her best not to collapse.

“That’s better, isn’t it?”

“You— you saved my house.”

“I did!”

“You saved my house by making the fire bigger.”

“Well, I can only undo things I’ve done. So. If I make it so that it’s my fire that’s burning your house down, I can just put out my fires.” He shrugs as if it’s obvious.

“What— or rather, who— are you?”

“Ah, right! Sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Chat Noir,” He bows, folding neatly at the waist, taking one of her hands in his to press a kiss into it, and all of a sudden she understands.

Sort of.

Something in her brain breaks.

“Chat— Chat Noir?”

“A fan of my work?” He looks back up at her with a grin. His fangs are wicked and sharp, but she doesn’t feel fear from it but rather curiosity.

“You’re Chat Noir? The—”

“The newest one, yes.” He’s towering— large— almost as tall as Luka— he straightens back up.

Sweet Tikki, everything about this man is large. He’s long arms with longer legs, dwarfing her in height like she’s a child as he looks down at her. He is pure strength and pure power, even as he gives his shoulders a stiff roll once he drops her hand. She cradles it to her chest, blinking at him with curiosity.

“The real Chat Noir? King Plagg’s champion?”

“Have you met that many demons trying to pretend to be me?” He lifts an expressive brow.

“Prove it—” She sucks in a breath. “Prove— prove to me. That you’re him.”

Has she… summoned him on complete accident? The most powerful demon in all the world, dropping in at her literal feet, cursing up a storm about how his ass hurts? What sort of luck is this? Is this Tikki’s doing?

“I just saved your house,” He deadpans. “You need more than that?”

“Just trust me and prove it.”

“You want me to do a magic trick?” He snorts, but there’s not a lot of humor in it, as confusion slowly starts to form on his face. No doubt he’s wondering as to why she’s asking him to trust her, or something of the sort. “There’s not much that I can do to show you who I am, I mean, it’s not like I have a certificate of some kind or something—”

She opens up her magic.

She opens it as much as she can— it’s a little stiff, since she doesn’t do this often, and she imagines that there are creases in her magic like she’s opening up a bolt of cloth that’s been pressed and folded in a particular way. Her magic is woozy and not at all in a uniform shape from the amount of magic she’d put into opening the portal, but Chat straightens at the feeling of her tentatively brushing up against him. It almost looks ridiculous at how ramrod straight he goes, his tail lashing behind him and his ears going completely stiff.

Their magic interlock with each other. Chat’s magic molds hers back into shape, pressing and ironing her into swirls that should be more accustomed to her magic. She exhales shakily, pushing and pulling against him, feeling whole as they balance each other out. Every time she pushes into him, he pushes back— every time he pulls, she pulls just as strongly.

It’s his turn to drop his jaw. “You—”

“My name is Marinette,” She wipes at her eyes, feeling giddy at how perfect they fit together. They’re two puzzle pieces. “I’m— uhm— I’m the Queen’s champion.”

“You’re Ladybug.” His eyes widen. “You— you’re my mother’s champion?”

“Mother?”

“Hold on—” He tilts his head. “The bell. That was you?”

“What bell? The bell we just heard? That was your bell, wasn’t it?”

“Not that bell,” He waves his hand. “That bell only plays when I really use my Chat Noir magic, but we know that already, right?”

“Uhm.”

“I’m talking about the bell I heard when the portal opened. That bell. You used your Ladybug powers to open that portal.”

“I— I don’t know what you’re talking about,” She sounds so weak with argument, following him closer to the front door. “M-my magic doesn’t make a bell noise.”

“It sounded so pure. So clean. So— so divine.”

She steams red. “D-divine? What does that mean?”

He turns back to the house, ignoring her. “Are you telling me someone tried to burn my Ladybug’s house down?”

His? What? “I—”

“Oh. Oh, that won’t do at all, will it?” Electric green eyes scan the area around them, looking for people. He looks back at her after a moment and smiles so handsomely that Marinette feels herself start to steam red at the sheer absurdity of the night. “Well, fellow prodigy, I’ll help you out. What is it that you desire? Anything in the world, dear Princess, since you’ve successfully summoned your other half.”

-*-

She loves the festival.

And even more so, she loves the people it brings.

North, south— people from the east are here, as well, congregated in their village and making it full to the brim. Witches, humans, lots of naga, and a few demons that Chat has sniffed menacingly at, too, are all here at the festival and the amount of traffic is enough to make her squeal. The field is big, and massive, a good ten acres across, but even still, it’s almost cramped with the amount of people that occupy the space for the week-long festival. She might have to make new charms. She might not actually have enough.

Hopefully she can remember.

There are people everywhere populating the field, and she leads Chat by the wrist through the throng of people as they continue to mingle and celebrate. The wagons flank them on every side, having made a market on one half of the field, with endless rows of market wagons and pitched tents in their attempt to sell. The marketplace is filled with torches as merchants sell oddities of all kinds— and her eyes snag on a couple of fabrics that are alluring to the eyes, before Chat snorts behind her and pushes her forward with a gentle and massive hand.

They could just go through the other half, instead of going through the market— the other half is allotted for the dancing, the singing, the music that pounds and fiddles through the crowd like a hypnotic syren’s call— and, of course, it’s home of the fire— but she’s being a little selfish and is enjoying the sights and sounds and smells of the marketplace. She tries her hardest not to let her feet dig into the trodden grass when she sees a cart selling various amounts of cheese, and has to be pushed along gently with Chat’s knowing smile when there’s a cart for more honey.

Meanwhile, Chat’s hands haven’t stopped twitching to go join the dancing festival on the other side.

Pyromaniac.

She’s so thankful she’s made the charms.

She’s put a couple on herself, just in case— she’d tied one on each of her boots, hidden away from Chat’s knowing eyes, just to give him the impression that she’s not afraid of being accidentally burnt from his shifty hands.

“What is it that you wanted to show me, again?” He doesn’t yell, but he does talk loud, even as he leans over to talk into her ear when they finally pull away from a vendor that’s making it his mission to sell her a new sash. It’s hard for them to hear, and she’s glad she’s put a muffler spell on her familiar so that his ears don’t continue to ring for the next ten months from all the noise.

“I found something I think you’d like,” She gestures back to him, just to make it more obvious what she’s saying. If he misunderstood or didn’t hear what she’s said, he doesn’t voice it— at least, she thinks— instead, clasping his hand with hers.

Oh, it’s perfect. What she wouldn’t give to hold his hand for the rest of time! She tries not to look at the size difference between their hands, nor the difference in color, with his blackened hand and palm wrapped around her lily-white one, and tries her best not to shy away as she continues to walk slowly through the masses of people.

She leads him to the back of the field.

Or tries, at least.

It’s slow work making her way there because people stop to thank her and ask for her blessings when they recognize her. There’s lots of gesturing to her dress and her lack of any actual witch hat, to which all she does is laugh— she’s never been fond of the giant hats because they’re always falling and curtaining her vision— and tries to make polite conversation with those that stop her. At times, when someone really wants to speak to her, she puts them all in a bubble to let them speak more clearly, muffling the noise of the bonfire and the drums even more, giving Chat a bit of reprieve. Chat stays behind her with a small smile, his claws always brushing against the back of her neck as she pulls away enough to pull out a charm from her pocket or satchel, telling them that it’ll wade off and protect them, should the bonfire at the other side of the field get too big.

She makes sure to close the bubbles.

Rinse wash and repeat.

All the way until they get to the far northern end of the field.

Her shoes are muddy, and no doubt that Chat’s collected about two basket-fulls of dirt between his toes, because even though this is a festival and the both of them need to look presentable, there’s no amount of persuasion in the world that will convince Chat to wear shoes. Maybe she can remember to put another spell on him, even if it’s a waste of magic.

“Chat,” She whispers with a knowing smile, when they finally make it and he presses her into a tree from the woods that lines the area. She always feels so small when he has his arms bracketing her, shadowing her away from the rest of the festival. Like this, she’s almost completely covered and hidden away like a secret, if only it weren’t for the ruby color of her dress.

His smile is so wolfish as he looks down at her with his familiar and hypnotic eyes. “Is this what you wanted to show me, Princess?”

“Tease,” She huffs, sighing when his tongue finds its way into her mouth. He herds her away from the noise with a smile, presses kisses onto her lips that make her feel like gelatin, hiding the two of them by guiding her to the other side of the tree. She can’t see anything, now, because the woods are completely dark compared to the festival that brims with light— all she sees is two electric green eyes with diamond pupils staring at her, his outline barely visible as her eyes continue to adjust in the darkness.

She can see the thin outline of the tattoo on his chest, a hazy purple covered by his clean shirt. She’s traced the design over and over with her fingertips already— and finds herself longing to do it again and again until she can draw it from memory.

“Says the beautiful girl who’s decided to slip away from a celebration that is for her.”

“The celebration isn’t for me—” She gasps against his mouth when a hand curls around her waist and pulls her close, pressing her chest into his diaphragm. Her skirts are long and full, but unstructured underneath, giving Chat enough space to pull her completely flush against him without any sort of obstruction, and, oh. He’s so warm. She’s well aware that his massive hand fits perfectly around the small of her waist, but it feels a little different doing it in public, even if they are currently hiding in the shadow. Can anyone see them? Does it even matter? All she wants to do is melt into his touch like she had the previous day. “It’s for the people. And I didn’t— I didn’t slip away.”

“Of course.”

“I’m telling the truth,” She lies, trying her best not to dissolve into giggles. She reaches up with her hands to pet at his ears, cupping them and giving them a good squeeze with her thumbs. Chat erupts into purrs while trying to tell her not to mess up his hair, and she smiles, knowing how long it took for them to get his messy mane looking more presentable. “This isn’t slipping away. This is just us trying to save your ears from getting permanent damage.”

His voice is whisper-quiet against her mouth as he pulls away enough to smile at her, his eyes still glowing, such a beautiful electric green. No doubt he can see the corners of her smile starting to twitch, or her brow starting to pinch from the attempt to persuade him to believe her, or how her eyes continue to drop down to the demonic seal that warms the air between them from how close she is to him. “I don’t believe you.”

She has the decency to blush. “Okay, fine. I just wanted to show you the fruit here.”

“Ah, yes yes yes—” His claws find their way into her hair, and locks of it spill over her shoulders. Wait a minute— did he pull her braid loose? How rude! She’ll have to magic her hair back into a more appropriate hairstyle. “How could I have forgotten about the fruit. I’ll take a guess and say you’re trying to show me an apple?”

“They’re everywhere in Paris, I agree—” She sighs. His mouth against hers feels like the fire from the festival— crackling, splintering, empowering. One kiss to her jaw and she’s melting like magma, and he supports her with that hand around her waist, tight enough to break yet soft enough to cradle. “I felt like you’d be more impressed.”

“Work on your cover stories, my Lady,” He laughs softly against her neck. She shivers at the hint of fang against her skin. “Do you want to go home for a bit? We can just say that your magic needs to recuperate. No one doubt it, after all, you and I have kept our magic open for what feels like hours.”

That’s right. She pulls away enough for him to whine. “Chat—”

“Not again, Princess, come back—”

“I don’t want to hurt you!”

“You’re hurting me by not letting me kiss you. Come here, you lovely witch, I’m not done.” And he makes it into a promise. He kisses her enough for her to forget her train of thought, and she finds herself wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders and neck as he kisses her hard enough for her to groan into his mouth.

She pulls away again before he convinces her otherwise. “Are you sure you’re not hurting from our magic being open?”

“Beautiful witch, always making sure I’m okay,” He teases, but sobers up quickly when she purses her lips. “I’m okay, Marinette, I promise.”

“But we’ve been stretching it for hours—”

“I’m never hurting when I’m with you,” He shrugs.

“Chat,” She tries to warn him, but can’t find herself paying attention all that much as she smooths a hand against his chest and down his torso. He is solid heat and embers against her fingertips.

“This is a lot better,” He admits with another kiss, “I used to keep my magic open all the time back home, because there was my dad to push back against me. The only way to really hurt yourself is if you don’t have someone there holding you together, which is what happened with you with my dad because he hadn’t realized what he was doing— anyway, I just made sure not to stretch it out too much when we first met.”

But her magic’s only expanded this wide in the past couple of days, which means… “So this is normal for you?”

“It is.” His hand manages to leave her hair, only to cup her jaw and cheek instead. His thumb rubs softly against her face, lulling her into a comfort that makes her understand why he purrs under her hand so much. “Your magic and soul have always felt like a hummingbird to me. I was always afraid to put it under any strain of that kind, so I never wanted you to open it up all the way.”

“Such a gentleman,” She murmurs, no actual sarcasm as she says it. “You always take so good care of me.”

“I love you.” He kisses her soft enough for it to hurt.

“I know,” Her eyes slip shut. “I love you too. You’ve made me so happy, Chat, I could cry.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go home?”

She snorts. “Absolutely not. You said something about meeting someone?”

“I think he was talking about me,” A third voice clears the area, and Marinette stiffens into stone with a squeal, looking into the darkness of the woods for a body that matches the voice. Chat groans at the voice, whoever it is, sagging against her like he’s trying to mentally prepare himself to deal with whatever it is. “Or either of us, honestly.”

“It could be you, my sweet. I’ve already met her.”

“So I heard,” The first voice laughs. “You sent her into a fright, you know. Prayers sent left and right apologizing that she had accidentally confessed to you.”

“Oh, come on. Are we going to do this now?” Chat huffs. “No, no, shoo. Out. I’m busy. You’re always interrupting!”

“Chimaeram, don’t be so rude,” There’s laughter so rich and decadent that it feels homely.

“We’re busy—” Chat makes a flat-pitched noise at the back of his throat. “Come on. How come you two are completely silent when you two want to be? I couldn’t even smell you two, I thought a cheese wheel had gotten tossed into the woods on accident— but that was you?”

“We’ve been enjoying the festival! Should we be smelling some other way?”

“You smell like an entire cheese, Dad.”

“‘Dad’?” Marinette squeaks. Oh, she’s so thankful that Chat’s holding her by the waist so she doesn’t buckle and faint— wait— hold on— they’re in a compromising position! She pushes against Chat’s chest, turning redder and redder when he doesn’t let go but rather tightens his grip. “‘Mom’?”

“Your father got to the cheese cart before I could stop him,” The first voice sighs. “I tried to stop him, starlight, I really did.”

“Cheese is delicious.”

“How did you two even go into the festival?”

“We can change our heights, you know,” The first voice laughs. Airy, light, and twinkling— it almost sounds like the stars themselves are laughing. “Easier to blend in with humans when you’re at a human height.”

“Are you— never mind. We’ll talk about this later. Can you two leave us for a little while?” Chat grumbles.

“What is happening,” Marinette whispers to herself, searching the shadows for any sign of life.

“You can’t see us, can you, Ladybug? Aye— it’s too dark for you, isn’t it?”

Chat groans again. “Dad— no. Mom, tell him not to use fire—”

“I really don’t think this is wise, dearest—”

Something hits the dirt floor with a thunk. The trees around them light with an otherworldly glow— a hypnotic green that reminds her of Chat’s tattoo before it had changed color. It is not fire, but it is light— towering up to the tallest branch and lighting up the clearing with enough ambiance that she can see.

Tall.

Massive.

Goodness, the people in front of her are tall enough to clear mountains. She can’t see well, as the green light still makes dark shadows, but she can make out the basics.

The form on the left wears what looks like to be a white robe tied at the natural waist with a golden rope. The clothes look completely out of fashion, her arms and the top of her chest showing, with only two thick beads holding the straps in place— but she doesn’t shiver from any cold. Instead, she seems to glow with warmth herself, with her mass of fiery curls braided and plaited into patterns down her back to show glowing blue earrings with a matching band that goes across the temples.

Almost as if a crown?

A crown for a— for a queen.

“Hold on, hold on, something’s not right here.” The shorter of the two hums, tapping on her chin in thought. She snaps her fingers, and the green glow changes to a warm orange as if it were a sunset licking at their faces. Marinette can see every freckle on her skin now, almost as if they’re… poppy seeds. “That’s better. Humans don’t see well in green light, dearest, it’s important to accommodate them.”

If the first person is considered tall, the second is considered inhumanely giant.

Marinette recognizes those cutting green eyes that are framed with coiled and dreadlocked hair that seem to turn into mist at the edges. Those ears, too, she recognizes the shape of them! Even as the giant man in front of her is clad in nothing but a dark, shapeless robe, clasped together by a thick leather strap at the shoulder, she looks back to Chat with her jaw slowly dropping, then back at the unknown man.

The eyes are identical.

Electric green with diamond-shaped pupils— humor in his eyes as if someone has just recently told a joke— holding a staff made out of wood.

She gasps. “I—”

“I wanted to do this in a more approachable way,” Chat sighs into his hand, his other still tight and cinched on her waist. “But as always, my parents are always so full of haste— I’ll chew them out later for this, I promise.”

What does she even focus on first? “Parents?”

At least Chat looks apologetic. “Yes. Marinette, this is my mother and father.”

Is she going to faint? “Oh. So it is.”

“We’ve met before,” The second form smiles with wide lips. “I even got a good scolding from you, but it’s nice to be able to respond to you without having to meow.”

“King Plagg?” She squeaks out. “The cat— was— was really you?”

“You did not imagine I actually was a cat for most of my time, did you?” His laughter feels rich against the trees. His voice makes her feel like she’s witnessing history unfolding at her feet, full of wisdom and age, something that reflects in his eyes. His eyes are kind, even as they are sharp enough to break through anyone’s demeanor, with fine and soft lines crinkling at the sides of his face. He can’t be older than sixty, but honestly, calling him fifty is already pushing it too high as it is.

He has the face of a father.

“I scolded the king—” Marinette hides her mouth behind her hands with a gasp. “Oh— oh, no— I am so sorry—”

Plagg bursts out laughing. Louder, like he’s unaware of how much space he takes, and he moves his staff to hit against the grassy floor again as he shifts to wrap an arm around the woman to his left. “I see why Chat is smitten with you, little Ladybug. You had been so sure of yourself the last time we spoke!”

“It’s— it’s a little different speaking to a cat—” She eeps.

“Don’t mind him,” The woman speaks with a roll of her eyes, looking fondly up to the man that continues to laugh, placing a delicate hand on Plagg’s chest as if to hold him back. “It’s hardly a bad thing for him to be put in his place from time to time, dearest.”

Oh, she is going to faint. “If he’s the king, then— then— then you—”

“Yes,” Beautiful blue eyes, soft at the edges, looking at her with a familiarity that shouldn’t exist. They’ve never met before… but it doesn’t matter, does it? “It’s a pleasure to finally be able to meet you, and speak to you, my sweet Ladybug.”

“Tikki—” She’s so thankful for the hand around her waist. “You’re Tikki— oh—”

“She’s going to faint,” Chat tries to wave them off. “Can you two not freak her out? Shouldn’t you two have introduced yourself one at a time? You two are horrible at this.”

“We’ve only done this a couple of times,” Plagg shrugs. “Forgive us for not being professionals at this.”

“You’d think with how old they are, they’d have more experience in introducing themselves to their respected champion,” Chat rolls his eyes, shaking his head in Marinette’s direction like they’re sharing a secret.

“I don’t feel so good,” Marinette whispers.

“It’s the height, isn’t it? I can transform into my cat form—”

“No more cat nonsense, you both cats have had enough fun teasing Marinette to last a whole lifetime.” Tikki snorts with a knowing smile. She reaches for Marinette’s face, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, touching her glowing earlobe. Her touch is soothing, liquid and butter and balmy, and she finds herself dropping her eyelids slowly at the touch. “Let her breathe, Chat, she’s feeling claustrophobic, you hold her like we’re going to take her away from you!”

“Won’t you?” Chat sniffs.

“Behave, starlight.” Tikki laughs, tapping Chat’s nose with a fingertip, before turning back to Marinette. “Why don’t we sit down? Perhaps I can convince Plagg to share his cheese. Everything is made better with food, after all.”

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#fire lily #fire lilies au #fire lily au #marichatmay2021 #marichatmay #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir

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mythgirlimagines · 3 years

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It’s time for a brand new talentswapped Myth for this Tuesday! Brimming with passion, good sportspersonship, and boundless optimism, is Myth Anon, the Former Ultimate Team Manager!

———————————————–

BACKSTORY AND TALENT

In her elementary and middle school years, Myth had an unbridled passion for sports and athletics, despite her scoliosis making heavy movement difficult for her, and in her middle school years, she even managed to secure spots in prestigious sports teams. Unfortunately though, all those dreams were crushed once she reached her high school years, when a freak accident costed Myth her legs and thus, her ability to walk and run. But the optimistic Myth wouldn’t let this sudden accident qstop her, for she decided to switch her career plans from improving herself to improving others, and that was how Myth became a team manager. Renowned amongst her students for her optimism and motivational spirit, she’s able to turn a ragtag bunch of amateurs into experts within a single season. In fact, Myth even managed to create Lil’ Ultimates and Jr. Ultimates within her career. Now that she is in her adults years, she is currently working with high school athletes and even created actual Ultimate athletes thanks to her stellar coaching.

———————————————–

RELATIONSHIPS

Wyre Anon, Former Ultimate Lucky Student

As the reckless childhood friend of Myth, Wyre is always getting into all sorts of trouble and is lucky enough to get out of trouble, with the help of Myth. Unfortunately, when one of Wyre’s little shenanigans cost Myth her ability to walk, Wyre still feels guilty about it, even to this day, despite Myth’s constant reassurance. Wyre acts like a bodyguard of sorts to Myth, scaring off anyone who dares to pick on Myth’s handicap. Imagine Myth and Wyre’s mutual joy when Wyre was chosen via the Hope’s Peak lottery to attend Hope’s Peak alongside Myth. They both act like cheerleaders for each other.

Outfit: Bandages wrapped around her forehead, arms and hands, a green tank top with a darker green clover design, tan cargo pants, white socks and scuffed-up green high tops.

Anon Scar, Ultimate Traditional Dancer

Famous in certain circles for her dramatic stage presence and her beautiful dance moves, it was no wonder that Anon Scar joined the Hope’s Peak roster as the Ultimate Traditional Dancer. Myth may not be an expert in choreography, but even she can tell just how amazing Scar is at dancing. Myth quickly realized just how how seriously Scar takes her craft, underneath the whole “Queen of Yokai” schtick she developed for stage performances. The two girls quickly bonded over their motherly natures and overwhelming concern for others. Myth is currently planning on arranging an oendan group to cheer on Scar.

Outfit: A dark purple kimono with a red flower petal design on the bottom and a matching obi, flower decorating her side bun, white socks and brown geta, always carries a fan, has an oni mask on the side of her head.

Fusion Anon, Ultimate Gamer

While Myth normally views video games as health-sapping distractions for lazy layabouts, she can’t fault Fusion for his hobby. Myth noticed that in MMOPRGs, Fusion usually acts a lot like Myth in the game world, healing his teammates and sending encouraging words via the game’s group chat, and he acts equally paternal in real life. Myth also notices that Fusion gets very hyperactive and passionate when talking about video game lore. Myth thinks that if Fusion applied that energy and paternal nature to sports and had a proper sleeping and eating schedule, he could potentially be an awesome team player and a star athlete.

Outfit: Black and red headphones on his ears, a hoodie colored like a Nintendo Switch over a black shirt with the GameCube logo on the front, black pajama pants with a white stripe on each side, white socks and red slippers with Pokeballs on the front, glasses from original design.

Fusion Anon II, Ultimate Animal Breeder

As much as Fusion II tries to act like an apathetic and snarky delinquent and claim the scratches she gets are from gang scuffles, she is actually a regular volunteer at animal shelters and has a particular soft spot for cats, to the point of keeping a chubby black one named Cheezburger. As Myth eventually figured out, all of Fusion II’s snark and apathy are just a cover-up for her less-than-stellar social skills and desire to be seen as cool by her peers. Myth realized eventually that both of them have slightly-similar talents, with both of their talents involving caring for others: athletes for Myth and animals for Fusion II.

Outfit: A red shirt with a pawprint design on the front under a black sleeveless leather jacket, black fingerless gloves, brown cargo pants that hold pet care supplies, red shoes with a paw print design on the soles, scratched up arms and one scratch on her face hidden by a bandaid, sunglasses from original design.

Just Anon, Ultimate Animator

Despite Janon’s chronic procrastination, Janon’s fans claim that his animated works are worth the very long wait. Now this is one Anon that the normally kind and optimistic Myth has a serious grudge against. The lazy and cynical animator, who wants nothing more than to sleep all day long, would of course clash with the energetic and optimistic team manager who wants people to improve. Unlike the other Anons, Janon isn’t even trying to improve himself, and that just drives Myth up the wall. But Myth heard rumors that Janon has a particular soft spot for children, which would make sense, given Janon’s talent.

Outfit: A pink ski cap with cat ears and an adorable cartoon face, a white face mask with a cat’s mouth and whiskers, a blue denim jacket with several patches and pins over a white shirt with Mickey Mouse on the front, colorful pajama pants, pink bunny slippers.

Sparkle Anon, Graduated Reserve Course Student

Despite being passionate about both acting and puzzle-sloving, neither of those skills were enough for Sparkle to garner Ultimate status. Her rich parents managed to scrape enough money for her to take the test and get accepting into the Hope’s Peak Reserve Course though, and now that Sparkle graduated, she is currently chasing her dreams of becoming a top performer, despite her non-Ultimate status. Never before has Myth ever found someone with an even louder voice than her, but Sparkle‘s loud and dramatic voice made Myth consider starting an oendan group with her, and Sparkle was happy to oblige. Outfit: A white dress shirt and a sparkly pink tie, a skirt that matches her tie, knee-high socks, brown slip-on shoes, glasses from original design.

Egg Anon, Former Ultimate Princex and Wet Sock Anon, Former Ultimate Nurse

Egg is the current crowned princex of Desruc, a cursed locale in the middle of nowhere, and Wet Sock is the skilled field medic and excommunicated/exiled-royal-twin. But it seems their inventive customs don’t cross cultural boundaries, for their odd idioms and sayings just wind up grossing anyone willing to strike conversation with the foreign and cursed twins. Interacting with the Freak Twins may be internally painful for Myth, but she managed to power through and found out that the two are surprisingly caring, despite what their cursed dialogue would suggest, with Wet Sock being especially maternal in particular.

Egg’s Outfit: A green gakuran with golden details and shoulder pads, a red feather cape and matching earrings.

Wet Sock’s Outfit: A ragged black gakuran with blue details and shoulder pads marked with a Red Cross design, a black cape and hood.

Curious Anon, Jr. Ultimate Swordfighter

As the adopted child of a yakuza family and the loyal bodyguard of a yakuza heiress, Curious has been raised with one and only goal and purpose in mind: prevent Young Mistress Iris from ever getting harmed by foes. Just like with the other athletes on the Kibo-Con roster, Myth feels her maternal instincts kick into overdrive when she’s training them, probably helped by Curious being the youngest of the athlete roster. Despite being famed by Iris’s rivals as an emotionless brick wall, Curious is surprisingly impressionable and gullible, probably due to his less-than-stellar upbringing as a servant.

Outfit: Hair in a small ponytail, a black t-shirt and a red tie with Iris’s family logo on the front, black pants, always carries their sword in a black and red scabbard, shoes from original design.

Anon Nerd, Former Ultimate Musician

Famous for his loud vocals, his vulgar lyrics, and the pessimistic worldview of his lyrics, Nerd is the head of the infamous metal band, “DEBATE”, a band intent on showing people just what’s wrong with the world we live in, using nothing but the bare-bone facts. Just like with Janon, Myth has some serious beef with Nerd, thanks to their conflicting worldviews. Myth can’t stand Nerd’s constant and vehement negativity, and Myth’s stubborn optimism just nauseates Nerd. They get into regular shouting matches, that always have to be mitigated by the Brain Cells, much to the irritation of said Brain Cells.

Outfit: Wilder hair that covers his left eye and hides his scouter, a spiky black leather jacket over a white turtleneck, a red and black guitar slung over his back, black polished nails, torn black pants, spiky black boots.

Eldritch Anon, Ultimate Gymnast

Originally from the wrong side of the tracks, Eldritch taught himself parkour and gymnastics to avoid both muggers and bullies. Eldritch’s small and light form makes executing high-flying flips and rolls a cinch for him. Despite having never entered a single competition, talent scouts have noticed Eldritch’s mad parkour skills. Myth really wants to train this young athlete to his full potential, but for some reason, Eldritch shows a vehement distrust for just about everybody, and given his backstory, who can blame him? But Myth is determined, and she will show the tiny gymnast that people can change and are worth trusting.

Outfit: A black tanktop, a camo jacket tied around his waist, blue jeans, black ankle socks, white and blue sneakers.

Dream Anon, Ultimate Mechanic

Despite motorcycles being her main speciality, Dream can fix just about any mechanical device you throw at her, with her signature sunny smile. Despite not being an athlete, Myth quickly established Dream as one of her all-time favorites of the Kibo-Con roster. Dream and Myth quickly bonded over their overly optimistic and energetic personalities, and the two girls act like each other’s cheerleaders. Dream seems to show fascination with the mechanics of Myth’s wheelchair, and yearns to tune it up and soup it up with some rocket boosters or something, and Myth surprisingly doesn’t mind.

Outfit: A blue bandana wrapped around her head, a black tank top, orange and oil-stained gloves, a pink jumpsuit tied around her waist, an orange tool belt, tall black boots.

Iris Anon, Jr. Ultimate Yakuza

When Myth first found out that she was going to be chaperoning the heiress of one of the most dangerous yakuza families in all of history, she was prepared to be on her beat behavior, lest the heiress calls her folks to feed Myth to the fishies. But as it turns out, Iris is really friendly and superbly optimistic, despite what her upbringing would suggest. Iris is up there with Dream in Myth’s favorites list, and for the exact same reasons. But as it turns out, for all of her optimism, Iris is also really clumsy and falls, trips and bumps her head all the time. Myth is currently working on improving Iris’s balance and coordination.

Outfit: An entirely black gakuran with a red ribbon and her family logo in the form of a badge, black stockings and red shoes, glasses from original design.

Purple Anon, Ultimate Chef

Purple commonly cooks and caters for fancy high-class banquets, and her food is beloved by every upper-crust family that she serves. Purple’s work is commonly behind-the-scenes, and for good reason, because Purple is supremely timid, and often hides behind bigger Anons, when not in the kitchen. Purple is Myth’s go-to-Anon when it comes to nutritional advice, even if Myth needs help translating Purple’s overly-formal dialogue. Sometimes, when Myth is off to train her students, Purple stocks Myth up with crudités or finger sandwiches to give to the young athletes, in between or after practice.

Outfit: A white chef’s top with a purple cravat, black pants, shoes and beret from original design.

This series centers around an optimistic and hot-blooded team manager, trying to train her con-mates into only the best versions of themselves, and battling a couple of Negative Nancies (read: Nerd, Janon and Eldritch) in the process.

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APPEARANCE

Myth has shoulder-length brown hair with an ahoge on top and black sports glasses. For her clothes, Myth wears a red and cream colored tracksuit over a white tanktop, and matching high tops. Around her neck is a red megaphone, a golden whistle, and a golden necklace with resin in the middle that is colored like the bisexual flag.

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PERSONALITY

Myth carries herself with a loud voice and motivational words. Myth might just be one of the most optimistic people in the entirety of the Kibo-Con, for she can find the good points in just about anybody, and knows exactly how to weed the good points out of them. Despite being confined to a wheelchair, she has energy that is very contagious, which assists her in pumping up her students. But for all of her optimism towards other people, she doesn’t quite feel the same way about herself, feeling like the accident squandered her own potential and she advances other people’s development at the cost of her own. But Myth refuses to be seen as weak, so she never opens up about her actual feelings.

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I hope you like this talentswap, and please let me know what of this Myth! Don’t forget to watch out for brand-new content from yours truly!

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buzzdixonwriter · 3 years

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The Purple Monster Strikes

Recently in an online discussion of 1950s sci-fi films, the old Republic serial The Purple Monster Strikes came up.

Why is came up I’ll mention later, but first let’s note it:

was made in 1945

was the last 15 chapter Republic serial

is awful

Not eyeball gouging / brain melting / soul scorching awful the way The Lost City or Gene Autry And The Phantom Empire or Captain Video are awful, but awful enough…

…yet at the same time, worthy of comment (as we’ll soon note).

1945 is a crucial year. Despite the Nazis last ditch Battle of the Bulge, WWII is clearly winding down to an Allied victory in both Europe and the Pacific.

American audiences feel tired of the war wand want something else in their entertainment, even low brow / low rent entertainment like movie serials.

Republic produced three serials that year: Federal Operator 99 proved surprisingly good, Manhunt Of Mystery Island (their next to last 15 chapter serial) tried some new ideas that while interesting didn’t prove interesting enough to be tried again, and The Purple Monster Strikes brought interplanetary thrills back to the theaters, only this time instead of visiting Mars, Mars (at least two of ‘em) came to Earth.

As noted in my overview of Federal Operator 99, Republic serials of that year looked…inexpensive.*

This is especially true of The Purple Monster Strikes which really needed a bigger budget, a better script, and adequate production time for the type of story it was trying to tell.

That story?

In a nutshell: The Purple Monster is a one-Martian invasion come to steal the secret of the “jet plane” (the script uses the term interchangeably with “rocketship”) from Earth and take it to Mars where it can be mass produced and used to attack our world (Why? WTF knows or cares?). To achieve this The Purple Monster bumps off the scientist in charge of the project, physically possesses his corpse by turning into a ghost-like entity, and tries to kill a nosy investigator and the late scientist’s niece. In the end The Purple Monster tries to escape Earth only to get blowed up real good (Did I mention this is silly, stooped, and trite? I did? Good).

So why am I interested in The Purple Monster Strikes? Well, for two reasons, the second and more important one we’ll save for the end, the first is that when watched with fully informed eyes, it’s a testament to the single greatest contribution the serials made to filmmaking: The production board.

Lemme ‘splain what that is.

In the old days of movie making it was a folder with slots for narrow strips of colored cardboard to be slid in. The strips were color coded for interior or exterior scenes, night or day, specific locations, second unit or special effects, etc.

These strips were grouped together on the production board so all the exterior day shots at one location could be filmed back-to-back, followed by all the night shots there before moving on to a new location.

The colored carboard strips were further broken down to match production numbers in the shooting script (“Scene 37: The bandits take the town”), key props and costumes, stunt work, but most importantly actors / characters in the scene.

You want all your most important / expensive / difficult stuff grouped together…but you also need to figure out what you didn’t need so you could pare down your budget.

For example, if you need someone to play a policeman in Scene 1 and in Scene 12 but those scenes are shot two seeks apart, maybe it’s cheaper to have two different actors playing two different policemen for one day each than keep one actor on call for two weeks.

Likewise, if you’ve got an actor in a key supporting role, put all his scenes together.

This necessitates shooting out of sequence, but shooting out of sequence is now pretty much the industry norm for any filmed or taped production.

The serials invented the production board and the rest of the industry speedily glommed onto it.

Once you know what to look for in The Purple Monster Strikes, you can pretty much break down which scenes were shot when.

Case in point: Masked heroes and villains aside, serial characters rarely change costume except to match stock footage from earlier productions. It’s not especially notable for male characters but females typically wear The Same Damn Dress in Every Damn Scene.

So when heroine Linda Sterling gets dunked in a water tank midway through The Purple Monster Strikes, you can bet that was her last day of filming since they were no longer worried about ruining her costume.

Likewise when a female reinforcement from Mars arrives, the exact same location right down to the same car parked in the same spot are used even though the female Martian doesn’t arrive until 2/3rds of the way into the story.

You wouldn’t notice this week to week in a movie theater, but they’re painfully obvious when bingewatching.

Case in point: There are never more than four characters onscreen at any time; this was all the production could afford on any given day. If a fifth character showed up, one of the others needed to be knocked unconscious (if they were lucky) shot and fall off camera (if they were unlucky), or disintegrated (if they were really unlucky).

For example, the hero and heroine could be talking to a scientist (day 1 / shot 1) when three baddies show up at the door (day 2 / shot 1). The first baddie shoots the scientist, who falls off camera then enters the frame and knocks out the heroine, who conveniently falls behind a counter (day 1 / shot 2). The other two baddies enter and a huge brawl erupts (day 2 / shot 2). The heroine revives (day 1 / shot 3) and shouts a warning at the hero. The hero blasts a minor baddie who falls off camera as the other two baddies flee the scene (day 2 / shot 3), then the heroine rejoins the hero (day 1 / shot 4).

Binge watching also reveals a lot of sets and props reused again and again. The same footstool is used as a weapon more than once, a prop valve in one chapter serves an entirely different function in another, and while serials frequently reused stock special effects shots, The Purple Monster Strikes doesn’t just use the same exploding car shot twice in the same serial, not just twice in the same chapter, but twice in the same car chase!

(Speaking of which, whenever they get in Linda Sterling’s car you know the odds are 50-50 it’s going off a cliff in a big flaming fireball. The Purple Monster Strikes has her going through so many identical make automobiles you’d think she owned stock in a car dealership.)

Anybody familiar with Republic serials is going to find a lot of reused sets and props here. Having seen Manhunt Of Mystery Island recently, I immediately recognized their ubiquitous warehouse set, the Republic Studios loading dock doubles as two different factory exteriors, and having lived in Chatsworth several years I can practically name each and every rock in the exterior scenes.**

On the plus side, bonus points for some impressive looking props, including a rocket test engine that provides the explosive cliffhanger for the first chapter, a double-barrel disintegrator that looks like a giant set of binoculars (I wonder if it was originally a military surplus training aid), and a spaceship seen under construction for most of the serial that proves to be the most striking design the redoubtable Lydecker brothers ever created (a pity it’s glimpsed only briefly before being blown up in the last chapter; Republic should have reused it for their later sci-fi serials instead of the dull unimaginative designs they went with).

Fun factoid: Mi amigo Donald F. Glut, filmmaker / NYTimes bestselling author / film historian, knew The Purple Monster hizzownsef, Roy Barcroft, and reports Barcroft had the wardrobe department sew a secret pocket in his costume for his cigarettes!

Speaking of Barcroft, he’s the best thing in this serial and he ain’t that good. A perennial bad guy in serials and B-Westerns, he normally turned in a satisfying performance, but the script for The Purple Monster Strikes gives him nothing to work with.

I mentioned previously how Federal Operator 99’s script works more often than not and gives its characters something the actors can work with, but The Purple Monster Strikes? Nada.

Every line is a clunky flat declarative sentence exposition dump of the “I’ll take this strange medallion we discovered to Harvey the metallurgist to analyze” variety.

Even Linda Sterling can’t do anything with this though she tries to find an appropriate facial expression for whatever scene she’s thrown in.

As for nominal star Dennis Moore, I won’t say he’s wooden but in one of the innumerable fight scenes Barcroft hurls a coatrack at him and for that brief moment the coatrack delivers a far more memorable performance.

Sidebar on the fight scenes: They are choreographed expertly, among some of the best Republic ever staged, but directors Spencer Gordon Bennet and Fred C. Brannon -- both serial veterans who could do much, much better -- really dropped the ball in shooting them. They’re shot almost entirely in wide angle longshots using slightly sped up photography instead of intercutting to keep the pacing fast.

The rest of the cast consists mostly of stuntmen carefully enunciating their one line before the fists start flying, or older male actors who deliver surprisingly good performances compared to everyone else.

But that script -- oh, lordie, that script! This was made in 1945 and they’ve got a damn organ grinder in it! Organ grinders vanished from the public sphere with the damn of movies; by the 1940s they were found only in comic books and animated cartoons; in other words, kid stuff.***

It’s clear the writers on The Purple Monster Strikes (Royal Cole, Albert DeMond, Basil Dickey, Lynn Perkins, Joseph Poland, and Barney Sarecky) considered this mere juvenile pablum, not worthy of even the smattering of sophistication they sprinkled on Federal Operator 99.

An adult can watch Federal Operator 99 and at least feel the story makes some kind of sense and the characters, however imperfectly enacted, at least offer adult motives and behaviors, but The Purple Monster Strikes is just insulting to the intelligence (I mean, they call the female Martian invader Marsha. Seriously?).

Okay, so why do I think this is worth writing about?

Because The Purple Monster Strikes is the bridge between WWII and the Cold War.

Most of the major tropes of 1950s sci-fi are reactions to Cold War anxieties, and those anxieties are transplanted WWII anxieties.

Before WWII, American moneyed interests waged a relentless PR campaign against communism, socialism, and labor unions (sound familiar?).

Forced to make peace with the Soviets during WWII, these moneyed interests -- now heavily invested in what Dwight D. Eisenhower called the military-industrial complex -- bit their lips as US pop culture portrayed the Russians as gallant allies against fascism (and they were; credit where credit is due).

As soon as the war ended, however, and in fact, even a little before the end (see The Best Years Of Our Lives; great movie), they were already recasting the Russians as treacherous authoritarian atheists out to conquer the world.

As noted earlier, American audiences felt weary of a relentless diet of war related entertainment and in the waning days of the war turned eagerly to non-war related stories.

Likewise studios, not wanting to get caught with rapidly dating WWII related material nobody wanted to see began actively developing different kinds of stories.

After four years of intense anxiety, the country needed to come down but couldn’t go cold turkey. Science fiction (and hardboiled mysteries and spy thrillers) provided safe decompression.

1945 marks a significant sea change in Republic serial production. Sci-fi would become a more predominant theme, infiltrating other genres such as the ever popular masked mastermind (viz. The Crimson Ghost).

Federal Operator 99 would be the last highwater mark for more plausible serial stories, but crime and undercover espionage remained serial staples to the bitter end.

Only Manhunt Of Mystery Island seemed a misfire and even in that case it only meant the masked mastermind returned to more traditional origins instead of the inventive backstory created for Captain Mephisto.

What The Purple Monster Strikes did was take a very familiar set of WWII cliches and stereotypes then recast them in a (relatively) safe science fictional context.

The closest prototype to The Purple Monster Strikes is Republic’s G-Men Vs. The Black Dragon, as racially offensive as you could hope to imagine, and turn the inscrutable “yellow” villains into malevolent purple ones (later green when colorization was added).

By making the literally other worldly alien the “other”, 1950s sci-fi sidestepped the worst implications of their own themes:

Invasion

Subversion

Fifth columns

Loss of soul / identity / individuality (personified in bodily possession by alien intellects)

Paranoia

The Purple Monster Strikes lacks the wit and wherewithal to fully exploit these ideas, but it sure could hold them up for everyone to get a quick glimpse.

As childish and as inane as the plot may be, by the end when hero and heroine realize there is literally no one they can trust, The Purple Monster Strikes dropped a depth charge into preteen psyches fated to go off six years later with the arrival of The Thing From Another World and countless other sci-fi films and TV episodes afterwards.

Did The Purple Monster Strikes create this trend? No, of course not – but as Stephen King pointed out in Danse Macabre regarding the incredibly inane The Horror Of Party Beach’s selection of nuclear waste dumping as their raison d'être for their monsters:

“I’m sure it was one of the least important points in their preproduction discussions and for that reason it becomes very important.”

King’s point is by not giving the matter much thought, The Horror Of Party Beach’s producers simply tapped into a subconscious gestalt already running through the culture and said, “Yeah, nuclear waste, wuddup widdat?”

Likewise, The Purple Monster Strikes’ producers / directors / writers didn’t sit themselves down to analyze Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four but rather picked up on the forever war current already moving through the American body politic.

War without end, war without ceasing.

And if we can’t define an enemy by name or place, so much the better! The war on crime, the war on poverty, the war on drugs…

The war on terror.

The forever war thrives on the faceless unknowable enemy with the unknown but clearly malevolent anti-American agenda.

“Them”…against…U.S.

As an artistic achievement, The Purple Monster Strikes is sadly lacking in nearly all aspects, but as a cultural artifact, it’s still a clear warning.

Only not about “them” but about…us.

* read “cheap”

** Republic’s low budget backed them into an overlapping series of sci-fi serials, loosely referred to as the Rocket Man / Martian invasion serials by fans. The Purple Monster Strikes’ costume was reused for Flying Disc Man From Mars (which featured a semi-circular flying wing already featured in Spy Smasher and King Of The Mounties) and again for Zombies Of The Stratosphere, but between those two serials the wholly unrelated King Of The Rocket Men was released. Zombies… is a sequel to both Flying Disc Man… and King Of The Rocket Men but Radar Men From The Moon introduces a new character -- Commando Cody -- who wears the same rocket pack as the heroes of King… and Zombies… but faces a lunar, not Martian menace then he spins off to become Commando Cody: Sky Marshall Of The Universe in a quasi-serial (i.e., no cliff-hangers, each chapter a complete adventure) fighting a third alien invasion!

*** Or the works of Bertolt Brecht, but that ain’t what Republic’s going for here.

#Roy Barcroft #The Purple Monster Strikes #serial #sci-fi movies #1950s science fiction movies #Cold War

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crazyclownthanos · 3 years

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Ace Silva

“A million dreams for the world we’re gonna make”

“All I want to do is to change the world”

“Carrying on the will of Asta? Wow. That’s an honor I hope I don’t mess this up”

Character Information

Ace Silva is a royal from the clover kingdom raining from the house of Silva pacifically the Silva-Ideale branch family. Zora and Nebra’s second child.

At the whooping age of 11 he meets the devil, Helreignn the white devil and a shifting fox named Ruh. Now on an unexpected Journey to gain control of this unknown power he faces challenges that will change the shape of the world.

Ace comes the Latin origin meaning “one, unity”

Alias

Acey chasey

Chasey wasey

Chase

Racey (Magna)

Pupil (Asta)

Title(s)

The white Devils vessel

The future king of the underworld

A hazard to royalty

The will carrier of Asta

The grandson of the dancing princess of the battle Field and the first commoner to become a magic knight

An abusers & criminals child

General Information

Status: Alive

Species: Human

Gender: Male

Affinity: Arrow magic, Nigh Omniscience (not awaken), underworld formation (not awaken), Shapeshifting (Not Awaken), Light manipulation (not awaken)

Age: 11 (at the beginning of White Clover)

Birthday: February 26th

Constellation: Pisces

Height: 146cm

Weight: 30kg (66.13p)

Blood type: AB

Eyes: Pink

Hair: Red

Relatives: Nebra Silva (Mother), Zora Ideale (Father), Josslyn (Older Sister), Solid Silva (Uncle), Nozel Silva (Uncle), Noelle Silva (Aunt), Asta (Uncle), Haskell Silva (Cousin), Liebe (foster uncle), Acier Silva (Grandmother), Zara Ideale (Grandfather), Two other cousins, Grandfather

Appearance

Ace is the shortest among the fearsome three and the lightest some people say he’s underweight though he just hasn’t have the biggest appetite though Charmy solve this by overeating him every time at the black bulls base.

Ace’s has triple bangs. His hair tends to be wavy or curly depending on the shampoo he uses though. Ace’s pink eyes are probably the most fascinating feature about him.

At home Ace likes wearing clothes that aren’t too tight on him and you can usually spot him wearing a black turtleneck, wool cardigan and white pants. In his outdoor wear he wears of cool tones colours of ice blue, white & normal blue. White gloves and a white long sleeve jumper with an upright collar length down to the hips, the king sleeve has a design in the middle of an icy blue eagle and around that eagle is a magic circle of tap representing the Ideale branch On the bottom are white pants on both sides their are 5 leaf blue clovers descending down his pants, for shoes he wears a type of blue toned icy blue heel going up the pants

Personality

Due to the bullying Ace received from the other noble children Ace has beocme an insecure individual gaining a low self-esteem at a such a young age often getting intimidated by nearly anyone. He tends to get clingy in fields of defenselessness one leading example would be at royal banquets, Ace would always hide underneath Nebra’s dress throughout the entire banquet. Always having his guard up he overthinks nearly any of his movements afraid to disappoint anyone and often needs something to fiddle with. A trait Ace holds is determination, according to Asta, Ace holds more determination than he could of had, a case to prove it would be going up against a devil being 11 to protect the clover castle. However Ace starts to change when meeting Helreignn he slowly becomes more confident in his skills.

Traits

Determination

Good heart

Emotional

Kindness

Selflessness

Self Indulgence

Stubborn

Observant

Relationships

Family

Nebra Silva

Nebra has been the closest to Ace’s heart since skin to skin contact. No matter when or what these two would always have ball arts and crafts, bath time, studying time, his mummies arms were the warmest to him. Through the bullying of the noble children they would call him the “abusers child” this would be the time Ace found out about his mummy and Solid abused Noelle for 15 years at first believing this was nonsense to him until he asked the question. Soon Ace accepted that his mummy had change and the two reconnected their bond.

Zora Silva

Zora had introduced Ace to commoner life when he was a toddler and taught him the importance of that money isn’t everything, Ace is grateful for all the important lessons Zora taught him because without them Ace would just be another arrogant royal. The relationship between Zora and Ace is healthy. Zora would always supported Ace when he was in lows and even talk about his glorious adventures of being a supermage until he fell asleep.

Josslyn Silva

The relationship between Josslyn and Ace has its highs and lows. Ace knew from a young age how intimidating his sister could be and due to the bulllying Ace sorta of grew to have be frightened of his sister knowing that she could do the same thing to him. On one ocassion Josslyn saw Ace getting laughed at by other noble children however she did nothing about it, Ace assumed Josslyn didn’t loved him. This was never the case Josslyn had always cared for Ace knowing how fragile he is and feels ashamed to be called a “sister” for never standing up to the bullies

Nozel Silva

Ace never liked Nozel. Ace can remember memories of his mother and Nozel fighting day and night. Ace would always get nervous when interacting with Nozel afraid that he would take out his anger on him.

Solid Silva

Ace dosen’t have a problem with Solid knowing what he had done in the past was not okay he has learned to accept his past. Solid would always make Ace smile and bring out his inner child with his sarcastic humour.

Noelle Silva

Ace thinks of Noelle as an inspiration and often wonders what strength it took to become such a powerful magic knight. At times he would still ponder why she looked so much like his grandmother. Overall Ace adores Noelle and loves seeing her out in the battlefield and is proud to carry the same last name as her. Sometimes Ace goes to Noelle for love advice.

Asta

Ace is the willcarrier of Asta. Being the closest to him in the family other than his parents. Ace loves hanging onto Asta’s arms like a monkey even spending some days sitting on his lap doing cool wizard king duties as well as following him around, one time Ace joined Asta for the magic knight entrance exam. Figuring Ace was a devil vessel Asta couldn’t be more excited to be train him the guy smiled liked an idiot knowing he was following in captain Yami’s footsteps. Starting to train underneath the strongest magic knight Ace was over the moon and couldn’t be more ready. Overall Ace’s views Asta as someone he can relax and be himself, Ace dosen’t know what he wants to be in the future but with the help of Asta he knows he can overcome anything.

Haskell Silva

Haskell is the few among his family members were he doesn’t mind relaxing around, Haskell is someone he can always rely on and tell anything to him. Having an age gap of 9 years, Haskell was in his royal studies but he made sure to visit Ace in the nursery and play games, one of their favourite games was “teacher” when one would play teacher and the other one played “student”. Ace sees Haskell as a kind,funny and warm person who knows his right and wrongs another characteristic Ace liked about Haskell was his magic affinity, Star magic. Star magic was an attribute Ace would of loved to have.

Acier Silva

Fom a young age Ace was sure to know who were his grandparents. Being the grandson of the dancing princess of the battlefield was a huge honour to him. Ace heard stories of his grandmother from the seniors of his family and magic knight would always dreamed of seeing her on the battlefield , fighting, protecting all of it sounded exciting and yet remarkable, yes he did imagine at some stages that Noelle was Acier but he never told a soul.

Zara Ideale

Similar to Acier, Ace would of loved to meet his grandfather though sadly he passed way too early. Despite all the negativity it was good to know that his grandfather had a such an influence on the magic knights and idolise kinghts like them, knights who have a strong sense of justice and pledge thmselves to the kingdom.

Liebe

Ace considers Liebe as apart of the family. He views him as someone he can relate too often going to him for advice though Liebe soon distance himself because of the life energy raidainting of a devil dwelling within Ace.

Fearsome three/Light Traid

Karra Marron

Ace have been crushing on Karra for years the reason behind it haven’t be reavealed yet. These two have been close since diaper days often spending their time playing tag in the fields or talking in general. When Ace started forming a crush on Karra he started turning red and becoming nervous to even be in the same room as her though overall Ace sees Karra one of the toughest girls he knows thinking Karra has the potential to against the world and would risk his own life to protect her.

Mirage Adlai

Mirage is Karra’s only male friend his age and the two have been the best of bros since their first meeting. Ace can’t help himself but laugh whenever Mirage goes into “Grey mode” to him it’s like watching a mirror or so he finds it funny or dissponinting. Both dealing with Karra’s antics Mirage and Ace often teaming up forming the most motherly duo in clover history. Mainly Ace is lucky to have Mirage to stick around with him for so many years he dosen’t nescessarily see him as a rival, well not yet.

Others

Helreignn Lokadóttir

Ace meets Helreignn in his shapeshift form at the start of White Clover at first Ace is intimadted by his phrases thing but overtime Ace grows to be more curious about the man that has been dwelling within him for him for years, having questions about the underworld, the devil king, white devil, why did he choose him, etc, etc.

Genji

Ace can trust Genji with his life. The two of them are really close often in his fox form Genji would provide Ace warmth without thinking he would notice but he did. Ace is amazed by the strength he had to hold on for over 5 centuries grateful for entering his life.

Battle Powers

Magic

Arrow magic: This power allows Ace to manipulate and create blue arrows during conscious and unconscious hours

Abilities

Devil-Possessed: Ace is connected to the white devil, Helreignn, who possess numeral magic affinities with his main one being Arrow Magic, which grants him access to energy

Keen Intellect: Beyond his insecure personality Ace has shown to be thoughtful and intelligent throughout all the challenges he faces. He tends to acknowledge what the circumstances are and understands what’s at risk.

High Observation Skills: Helreignn noted that Ace has high observation skills taking note of the smallest of details and observing others battle tacktics analyzing and apply

Physical Strength 1/5

Magic Amount 5/5

Magic Control 3/5

Magic sensing 4/5

Cleverness 5/5

His love for Christmas 5/5

Trivia

Ace is named after his grandmother, Acier.

Ace and Licita share the same birthday (February 26th)

Favorite food is Avocado

Likes are butterflies, sunflowers, soft sunsets/sunrises

Compared to Asta he is Asta’s pollar oppsoite

Originally Ace was intended to have silver hair but this was changed to red hair saving the silver hair for a later design

Arrow magic was inspired by Aang’s arrow tattoo

Butterflies are attracted to Ace often grazing his face of flying into his hand gracefully no one knows how it happens even Ace

#White Clover #Ace Silva #Character information

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ancientechos · 4 years

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Sway

FFXIVwrite2020 | Masterlist

Ship: Emet-Selch x Arianna Rowen [WoL]

Expac/Verse: somewhere in the middle of ShB, no real spoilers though I guess

Words: 1808 words

Arianna is nose-deep in another fiction novel when the Ascian sees fit to interrupt her. Though, given that she hadn’t been especially listening to him very closely -- courtesy of the book, only the utterance of her name had roused her -- she’s left upturning a blank gaze to him as he stares at her expectantly, one hand out. Her eyes flicks from his face, basked in the peculiar light of the glowing -- mushroom? -- in this little corner of Il Mheg, to his gloved fingers.

“Sorry...?”

Emet-Selch clears his throat, looking vaguely irritated. “I asked if you wanted to dance.”

The surprise has her eyes widening slightly in bemusement. Not at his presence -- she’s known he was here, of course, doing his scheming or plotting or sleeping whilst she reads -- but to say that she ever expected that sort of question from him...

“You want to...dance...?” she repeats blankly, tilting her head to the side as she slowly closes her book. Though surely not because she wants to dance. She just doesn’t think she can concentrate on the words anymore after his impromptu query. Gently, she places the tome to the side, beneath the conveniently lamp-shaped and lamp-like luminescent mushroom.

“Isn’t that what you were reading about?” Emet-Selch gives a nod to her discarded book.

A mild flush rises to her cheeks as she brushes thin fingers through a few strands of wavy hair, her gaze averting. There had, indeed, been a ballroom scene within its pages; one she had been in the middle of reading, in fact. Voeburt dances truly must have been a sight to behold.

“Th-that — you’ve read this, too...?” Embarrassment fades into curiosity as Arianna glances at him out of the corner of her eye. She hadn’t expected him to read this sort of novel.

“No.” He allows a moment for this answer to sink in and smirks as the flush deepens in colour. “But I can see I’ve guessed correctly. So, I’ll ask again: would you like to dance with me, Arianna?”

Arianna rather feels as if she’s just been caught doing something she shouldn’t really be doing, though that’s ridiculous — ah, she supposes this technically counts, doesn’t it...

Though at his repeated question and his casual offer, she finds herself wondering. Would she like to dance?

Surely, the answer, normally, would be a resounding no. And yet why can she find herself feeling just a little bit curious...? She’s very curious...about how that might be like, with him, of all people. Though a part of her wonders if he’d simply step on her feet every which way and attempt to embarrass her at every turn --

Swallowing nervously, she slowly stands, very surreptitiously not looking at him as she quietly smooths the fabric of her robes. Only then does she finally, shyly look up at him.

“I-I suppose...I would not mind...”

At her assent, a grin crosses his features so large that she should probably feel concerned. But, Arianna assures herself, he has had plenty of opportunities to kill her before should he ever have felt the whim to do so...and besides, as the so-called warrior of light and darkness, it would be rather pathetic if she could not at least stall him if it came to that...

She would like to think it wouldn’t. She would not like to think about it at all.

“Excellent. Ah, but...” His tone turns thoughtful as he tilts his head to look toward the ground. “I fear we will need a change of venue. Not much place to dance here, after all.” Emet-Selch gestures toward the gently rippling stream that passes through this small cave, then his hand lifts. A void portal opens. “Do you mind? It’ll be faster than using that bird of yours.”

Arianna glances between him and the portal. Making a split second decision, she gently places her hand on his.

Closing her eyes, she allows herself to be lead along through --

And when she opens them again, they are still within Il Mheg, but this time on the wide, expansive balcony of Titania’s castle. The moon gleams above them, casting them both in a silvery glow.

“You don’t think they’d care, do you? This is what this place was made for, after all...if I recall.” Emet-Selch doesn’t let go of her hand; on the contrary, he pulls her further after him as the portal shuts. Pausing beneath the moonlight, he regards her for a moment. “But I think we need a change of clothes, too. These are rather plain for a midnight dance...”

His other hand slowly lifts, forming that tell-tale finger snap motion. Before she can think it through, or really think much at all, she’s grasped at his hand in an attempt to put a stop to him. Because, really, no, she does not want either of them to be changing clothes here, magically or not --

The boldness of the action has them both still for a moment. The Ascian is, perhaps, surprised, though his gaze does little to show it; and for once Arianna has little of a flush to her, too caught up in the trepidation of the impulse to actually feel self-conscious.

And then Emet-Selch smirks, and the hyuran woman blushes as if on reflex, and almost everything returns to normal.

“Did you really think I need to snap my fingers for a bit of magic?” The laugh that leaves him is neither malevolent nor affected; it seems almost far too normal from a man like him. He’s genuinely amused and not simply sardonic. “Oh dear, that’s adorable.”

“Y-you -- “ Arianna stammers as the red creeps up her face like a mass of crawling ants. She drops his hand as if he had burnt her, though he does not let her discard the other one -- and she’s suddenly too distracted by the sensation of her very bare arms to care for the moment.

Truly -- he hadn’t had to snap his fingers -- and yet she is very much not in her robes. Instead, she’s clad in a gently flowing blue dress -- surprisingly and blessedly modest. The Ascian has also chosen to change his attire to a traditional-looking suit, complete with a rose in his lapel.

She lets out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding in.

At least she looks, she supposes...passable.

“Um...ah...th-thank you...for the dress...” Her voice is somewhat subdued as her eyebrows furrow in consternation -- mostly at the relief she feels. She also finds, for some reason -- that she cannot, actually, really, look at him, for some reason. The idea is too overwhelming. somehow.

Oh, but the rose is quite pretty. Even moreso that it’s fake. How charming -- would it be naive to assume it was because of her? Probably so.

The hand that holds hers tightens in a mild squeeze. “My pleasure, my dear.” Ah, she really, really cannot look at him. Especially when, for some reason, his voice is strangely soft, and makes her unable to breathe besides, “Shall we dance?”

The only response she can manage to give to him is a faint nod. There’s another light squeeze of her hand before he carefully pulls her along with him, simply pulling her. A part of her almost wants to ask if he’s mocking her --

And then, just as she manages to crawl from that delicate mind-state, there is...music.

There is no one here to play it, neither the pixies nor any phantom Voeburtites, and yet...there is music. A curious sort, unlike anything she’s ever heard before, but strangely nostalgic at the same time. There’s a certain bite to it, but it’s soft, pleasant, she finds she quite likes it. Perhaps it’s supposed to chase away her anxiety, and perhaps it does the trick. When Emet-Selch slowly moves to hold her properly, she allows him, even touching lightly -- but cautiously -- at one of his shoulders. Though she still cannot bring herself to look past his collarbone.

Neither of them step on one another’s feet; in fact, it is perhaps a bit too natural to be dancing like this, gently swaying to the music. Apart from her inability to look him in the eye, that is. Emet-Selch is, of course, the first to break the silence.

“You know,” he says with a sigh, “I think it’s quite rude not to look at your dance partner.” She does not reply -- though her green eyes look slowly up his neck, stop at his chin, and dart down to the rose at his pocket. The Ascian sighs again, though says nothing else.

Perhaps he’s chosen not to speak as his next move, but to do. Tiny motes of light -- like stars plucked from the heavens -- swirl around them both, a beautiful glow to them. One floats past the hyuran woman’s eye level, and she watches it curiously. Of course, it drifts directly past his face, undoubtedly of the Ascian’s own design, and Arianna’s gaze follows it unwittingly. She’s trapped into locking gazes with him, a stuttering of air in her lungs as she very soundly refuses to think to herself that he is any adjective synonymous to handsome, because she’s uncertain of what that might mean for either of them.

Emet-Selch smirks, and oh, but he is.

“Not that hard, is it?” he asks lightly, pulling her closer. The flush renews itself to her cheeks, though she can’t bring herself to look away from him. She draws breath very, very carefully.

Maybe a distant part of her was aware she would need it, for Emet-Selch takes his cue to pull her ever closer -- pushing her into a dip as he looms above her. Though her fingers clench in the fabric at his shoulder, so secure is his hold upon her that the thought he might drop her never once crosses her mind. This is -- just -- very -- she’s --

A stray shard of starlight passes between their gazes, separating them for a moment. He is much, much too close.

“Th-they’re very -- pretty -- ” she manages to stutter, her mind desperately turning for something to say other than being ridiculous and dull.

“Are they?” His mouth curves. “I’m glad you enjoy them. I do hope you’re enjoying our dance, as well.” He pulls her up, but instead of letting her go -- the music continues, and so does their dance, albeit there’s less distance between them than before.

“I -- ” She bites her lower lip lightly, before continuing. “...Yes. I-I...am.”

“Hmm. Then we have no reason to stop, do we?”

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introvertguide · 4 years

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Some Like It Hot (1959); AFI #22

The current movie under review is the romantic comedy that is occasionally interrupted by a violent gangster film, Some Like It Hot (1959). Directed by Billy Wilder, this films stars Tony Curtis, Jack Lemmon, and Marylin Monroe. The movie was nominated for 5 Academy Awards including Best Director and Best Actor, but ended up with only one trophy for Costume Design. It faired much better at the Golden Globes where it took home wins for Best Actor for Jack Lemmon, Best Actress for Marylin Monroe, and Best Picture - Musical or Comedy. This film is an interesting one as far as plot and tone since it incorporates a Chicago mafia massacre with men cross dressing. It points out how women have to deal with constant excepted sexism followed by a cross dressing Jack Lemmon forgetting to allow his sugar daddy to lead when they salsa. I really enjoy Billy Wilder films, especially with a great cast, because he takes scenes that should not go together and weaves them around a plot and it generally comes out amazing. Lets me do the plot summary and you will see what I mean:

SPOILER ALERT!!! NOT AS BAD AS NORMAL BUT THIS STILL GIVES A LOT AWAY SO CHECK OUT THE MOVIE FIRST!

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The movie starts in Prohibition Era Chicago, specifically in February 1929. Some members of the mafia have a secret speaking easy that is fronted by a funeral parlor. Somebody rats them out to the police and the place gets raided. During the raid, we are introduced to Joe (Tony Curtis) and Jerry (Jack Lemmon) who play in the band. They see the police coming and run away which means they don’t get paid and need to find another gig.

Joe tricks a secretary that is sweet on him into using her car and they have to go to a garage to pick up. Wrong place and wrong time. They walk in on the mobsters killing the guy that ratted them out and are witnesses. They need to get out of Chicago and hide or they will be assassinated. The killing is based on the Valentine’s Day Massacre and it is in all the papers. Joe and Jerry take a job with an all women’s band since the group is going on the train to perform in Florida. This means that they will have to dress as women to blend in.

Once on board the train, Joe and Jerry (now going by Josephine and Daphne) mingle with all the pretty girls and both take a liking to a particular ukulele player named Sugar Kane (Marylin Monroe). It turns out that she drinks and has issues with her family as well as having problems with men always using her for her body. The guys need to stay in character and not get fired so they behave until they get to their hotel in Miami.

Once there, Joe and Jerry try to make moves on Sugar, however, Joe is the winner when he shows up at the beach dressed like a millionaire and claims he is the heir to Shell Oil. Jerry, on the hand, runs into an actual millionaire named Osgood Fielding III who has a yacht called the New Caledonia. Jerry keeps the millionaire busy dancing all night while Joe takes Sugar over to the empty yacht and sleeps with her.

The next day, it turns out that the mobsters that are looking for Joe and Jerry are at the hotel for a “Friends of Italian Opera” convention. It turns out to be a meeting place for a national crime syndicate and the protagonists need to flee. The bigger syndicate murder the mobsters that want to kill Joe and Jerry...but once again the two witness the assassination and are desperate to escape. Jerry calls his millionaire “boyfriend” and Osgood picks up Joe, Jerry, and Sugar to help them escape on his yacht. As they leave, Jerry reveals that he is actually a man and instead of rejecting him, Osgood simply says “Nobody’s perfect.”

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Watching this film and knowing the history of Marylin Monroe makes me a little sad because she comes across as the this vivacious (but a little dumb) powerhouse but was actually drunk, out of her mind on barbiturates, pregnant with a stillborn, and deeply depressed. She is some kind of actress to have her screen presence mismatch her actual feelings so greatly. This is one of the few movies that I wish I knew a little less because I spent a lot of time while she was on screen trying to tell if she was lucid or not (hint: if you look close, you can tell that she wasn’t).

This film is actually a remake of a 1935 French comedy, which explains some of random situations, and I have to director Billy Wilder because American audiences have generally had difficulty with French comedy. People in the US don’t tend to mix their serious violence into their comic set pieces, but Wilder made it work. If you think about it, there were a lot of comic chase scenes in which men who have just demonstrated their ability to commit cold blooded murder are running after a couple of men in drag. We shouldn’t laugh at a woman with such an alcohol problem that she can’t hold a job and is too stupid to even be able to hide it better. And yet I found myself smiling through the whole movie.

My favorite thing about this film is actually Jack Lemmon. This is the earliest film of his that I have seen and I think he is fantastic. One of my very favorite actors, his work in this film and The Apartment (1960) made me a fan for life. He is actually third billed in Some Like It Hot, but I feel like he steals the show.

This film flew right in the face of the Hays Code, since it showed two on-screen group assassinations, a busty Marilyn Monroe barely staying in her clothes, a one night stand in which a man tricks a helpless woman, homosexual undertones, and featured cross dressing. A film with all these aspects should not have existed in America under the code, but this one was nominated for five Academy Awards. None of these things seem like that big of a deal anymore, and the film laughably made the BFI list for Films for Children Up to the Age of 14. It’s now though of as a good kids movie.

Marilyn Monroe exudes confidence and sexuality in her role despite all of her problems. She also is kind of a hero for many in that she embodies that curvy women can be knockouts when they express that confidence. She never had a flat stomach and was quite overweight due to her pregnancy. She had measurements of 36-22-36 but was only 5′5″ meaning she was very chesty with very wide hips. She was quite the opposite of other beauties like Twiggy, Kate Moss, or Olivia Newton-John, and for this Marilyn basically stands alone. She was one-of-a-kind and I wish she would have had a happier life.

So does this film belong on the AFI top 100? Absolutely. It is nothing but star power in a crazy movie that helped take down the Hays Code and won a bunch of awards in the attempt. It is a great piece of Americana that deserves to be scene. Would I recommend it? Yes and I would say it is best enjoyed without doing any research beforehand. It is quite the ride in that so many things happen to the point that you wonder if it will end well for all the characters. That is the work of Billy Wilder and it is well worth watching.

#Marylin Monroe #jack lemmon #tony curtis #Billy Wilder #some like it hot #black and white #comedy #mafia #cross dressing #introvert #extrovert #massacre #hays code #academy award winner #AFI top 100

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ddaenggtan · 5 years

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666 Butterfly Kisses | ksj | m

The Most Unedited™️. I wrote this straight in Tumblr drafts like a heathen so I barely got a word count for y’all. Entirely here because @personawife loves 666jin despite having known nOTHING about him and also because @minyoonkeeks is the biggest jin stan ever and deserves jin smut on her our birthday, even if its the unedited trash this is dammit, so happy birthday keeks, i hOPE it isn’t awful and lives up to the Jin Standard

-note: this can be read as a standalone, but is part of my 666verse, with the same MC as the other two, which I really should make a masterlist for at this point. This is set somewhere around Renaissance Italy, but like, not really. I know nothing about history except what I know from Assassin's Creed so.

Warnings/Genre | vamp!reader, fae prince!jin, historicalish, sword fighting (not an innuendo), oral: female, throat riding (yes, you read that right), unprotected sex (you are not a vampire or a fae or in renaissance Italy, but you cAN get stis and babies, plEASE use condoms), creampie, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, dirty talk, praise, slight blood drinking mentions at the end but nothing graphic

pairing | ksj x reader

word count | 4.7k

Cool air brushes your shoulders as you strut onto the balcony. The ballroom is crowded and loud and hot, especially with the several layers to your dress. The twilight air is soothing against your heated skin, and you do your best to ignore the way the lace at the edges of your mask tickles your skin.

You only stay outside for a minute; there's too much to do for you to keep to yourself for longer than a moment. Your friends - if you can call them that; you have no doubt they would stick a knife in your back the moment it became beneficial to them - are still suspicious and on edge. Not without reason, either. Tonight would be the best night for an assassination; crowded and masked and distracting as the ball is, it's almost too easy to sneak inside.

As proved by the man wandering in from the courtyard.

Your eyes stay on him as he enters the ball and begins to mingle; whatever fabric his clothes are made of is transcendent. They sparkle in the candlelight and ripple like water as he struts around the room, accented by the golden accessories and trim. His mask matches, a beautiful gold with black around the edges designed to mimic a butterfly, and it all sets off the tan of his skin in a most beautiful way.

It's curious; you would know if you'd seen him before, you're sure, yet someone as starkly noticeable as he would be a terrible assassin.

Nevertheless, you're here to do a job and gain a favor, so you make your way back into the ballroom. You catch his eye for a brief second, sending a coy smile before curtsying lightly and disappearing into the throng of dancers.

The dancing of this century is much more structured than before; it brings you comfort to know that so long as you know the steps, you can't make a fool of yourself. Your partner for the moment is a well-known merchant. He's not particularly handsome, or charismatic, but he's kind enough, and his hands don't wander.

Still, you catch the mysterious stranger's eye several times as he joins the dancing himself. The light catches on his jeweled throat-piece nearly much as it catches on your own ruby that's situated on your chest, just shy of being proper.

The partners change, and you catch his eye once more. You bite back a smile when you see him dancing with Lady Montilyet, a sweet girl who knows more than she should about you but never fails to get flustered when you wink at her. Her cheeks tint when you catch her eye, and the Butterfly looks intrigued when he next looks at you.

Too soon your partners change again and you lose track of him, distracted with keeping wandering hands away from the dagger stored in your bodice and the poison stashed in your hollowed ring. They're there as precautions, of course, one can never be too careful, but there are a handful of people here who are acutely aware of just how willing you are to use them, should the situation arise.

"Someone is deep in thought." You blink and smile when you find Butterfly before you, bowing deeply for the start of the dance.

"I was," You agree as you curtsy in return. "Surely you don't wish to hear about a lady's idle thoughts, though, good sir."

"You may call me Farfalla," He says easily, taking one of your hands in his and leading you in the steps. "May I have your name in return?"

"You may call me whatever you wish," You tell him; it's habit at this point. You don't think anyone there knows the name you were born with, and it's been so long ago that even you only remember because you force yourself to do so.

"Well then," Butterfly - Farfalla - says with an amused grin, "I shall call you Fiora. All butterflies are attracted to flowers, are they not?"

"Some," You agree. He spins you in the air in time with the others and you ignore the rush of elation that comes with it. It's a new feeling; you're usually better than this at remaining impartial to potential assassins. "Now what is a butterfly such as yourself doing in a garden such as this?"

"I could ask the same of you," He counters. "I'm sure I've never seen such a beautiful flower. Not in a Medici garden, for sure."

"Is a Medici garden somehow lesser?" You ask, surprised. He may as well have just spat in their faces, at their own event no less. Your allies have their fair share of enemies, but none so bold as to insult them so obviously.

"Not at all," He says as he steps back into a deep bow. "Merely an observation that they tend to choose their blooms for popularity, when the most stunning of gardens are cultivated for the rarity of the blossom and the beauty of the petal."

You dip into a curtsy but before you can ask him anything else, he's whisked away by the giggling wife of some beaurocrat and you're left to politely decline the invitation to continue from someone in a swan mask. Instead you turn and make your way carefully towards the back of the room, where you know Niccoló is lurking, and you oretend you can't feel the weight of the Butterfly's eyes on you the whole way.

The night is calming down slightly. The drunkards have either passed out or left and now all that's left is the hundred or so people who have actual business to conclude. You can see Giovanni near the doors to the balcony, chatting amicably with Leonardo. At least, it looks amicable. You never know with Giovanni; he tends to smile while he watches people drown.

You run your palms over the skirts of your dress, cursing the fabric. It's the softest silk available and yet it still feels coarse to the touch after feeling the Butterfly's garments. Even if he is an assassin, you really need to find out who his tailor is, because snyone that can stitch the night sky together and drape it over someone's shoulders like that needs to be in your employ. Speaking of the Butterfly, your eyes dart around for the millionth time, doing their best to spot the tall man amidst the crowd. It's curious that you haven't been abke to, because he's done nothing but draw your eye all night. He's proven charismatic and charming, always ready with a witty quip or a perfectly chosen compliment, and you wish it didn't make heat roll under your skin.

The waning candlelight has you nervous; the wicks are burned nearly to the base, and the smell of it always makes your stomach turn. It also adds to the shadows in the room, providing ample areas to hide away. It's useful for you, of course, but also for anyone else.

Particularly butterflies.

With a sudden gust of air, the balcony doors burst open; the scent of camellias drifts in with them and you frown at the familiarity of it. You're already moving, taking advantage of the way everyone has stilled as half the remaining candles have blown out. You remember where Giovanni and Niccoló were, for the most part, and when you get close, you can only just catch the glimpse of gold darting away.

When you get there, Niccoló is cradling Giovanni on the ground and waves you off.

"He's fine, just startled, go, now," Niccoló tells you. You bristle slightly at being given orders from a mere human, but you also know that he's right. You're off down the halls without another moment wasted, chasing the twinkling stars kf fabric down the halls. It's pitch black and you're glad for your superior vision as you run, otherwise you'd likely have lost your target long ago.

You turn the corner into a long entryway and barely duck out of the way as an ornately carved dagger flies at your face. You pull your own out and tuck it against your arm.

"I see this butterfly bites," You call. There's a stifled laugh from the room, and you hate that you're endeared by the sound.

"Says the flower who hid her thorns," He calls back. You dart inside and behind a column, avoiding another dagger in the process. A careful peek around the stone shows that he's had a similar idea; you can just catch a glimpse of his soft brown hair peeking out. The glint of light against steel catches your eye and you realize he's picked up a sword somewhere. That won't do at all, not when you've just got a dagger. You look around and smile when you catch sight of two of Giovanni's rapiers mounted on the wall.

"Did you really expect me not to have thorns?" You call to him, tiptoeing your way around the column and towards the one beside it. Your footsteps are muffled against the marble floor, and you're hoping your voice does more to distract from them.

"No, flowers that pretty always have thorns," Butterfly says with a laugh in his voice. You can hear him moving as well, and you dart towards the rapiers as another dagger slams into the stone where your head was.

You rip the blade off the wall and duck behind a column again, doing your best to ignore the fire burning under your skin. No one's gotten to you like this in a long while, and you'll be damned if you let a would-be assassin do so.

"So tell me," You call into the echoes of the hall, ears straining to hear if he's moving. "Why would a butterfly want to kill one of the de Medicis?"

A noise almost like a scoff echoes around you, bouncing off the marble. You can't pinpoint where he is, and your eyes strain to see him even with your enhanced vision.

"Why would a flower?" He whispers into your ear. You jump and turn, dagger swinging wide toward where his voice was. It's a useless attempt, too easy for him to dodge as his own rapier slices through the air towards you. You parry and step back, doing your best to regain control.

"Flowers can be poisonous, but only to those who treat them wrong," You tell him, attempting a thrust and jab only for him to sidestep.

"Butterflies are the same, and yet I'm left with no real answers." He attempts his own jab that you quickly deflect, and the banter quiets for a while as you both focus on the swordfight. He's a skilled opponent, definitively better than you are; he moves with a grace and fluidity you've never seen before, and it only makes the heat in your belly that much worse. The hunger begins to seep in as well, and your vision clouds as your mind wanders to what he might taste like.

It's a poor thing to think, especially since it gives him the opening he needs. Moments later he has you against the wall, the blade of the rapier balanced carefully against your throat. You bite back a curse, but he can no doubt see it in the twitch of your nose and curl of your lip.

"So do I get an answer before you kill me?" You ask him. "Why would you want Giovanni dead?"

"Me?" He asks, a laugh in his voice. "You're the one trying to kill him." You cock a brow, barely visible over your mask.

"I assure you, I am not. It's a terrible businessman what kills his customers."

Butterfly frowns and his eyes narrow slightly. He reaches a gloved hand up and runs his thumb across your cheek, a light touch that makes you shiver nonetheless. It's only a breath later that he's tugging your mask off and studying your face.

"You," He says softly. "Vampire?"

"Yes," You say, letting your mouth hang open slightly so he can the fangs at each side. "And how do you know of me and mine?"

He grins, amused and secretive. "I trust you aren't one to bite the hand that feeds you, then." The wink he sends almost has you laughing at his joke.

Almost.

"No promises about the hand that has a blade to my throat," You warn. His lips quirk in an unvoiced laugh and he steps back, sliding his rapier back into place on his hip.

"I'm not trying to kill Giovanni," Butterfly says. "I owed him a favor that I'm repaying, much as I suspect you are, by being a watchful eye at his events for the time being."

It makes more sense than him being an assassin. He'd be a terrible assassin; he draws too much attention.

"You were running because...?"

"I thought I saw someone run this way. And then I was being chased, and assumed you were trying to kill me instead now."

"Fair assumption, I suppose." You can still feel his chest against yours, the scent of peach blossoms on the air around him. He hasn't stepped away at all, and your mouth is watering with the need to taste him.

"You look hungry, petal," He whispers. There's a laugh in his voice and you have to admit, it only makes him more attractive. A vision appears, him sprawled underneath as you taste him, but he steps back a ways before you can. "Go get dinner. I'll tell Giovanni and Niccoló that there was nothing to worry about tonight."

He's gone before you can protest. You didn't even see him move; one minute he was there and now he's not, no sign that he even existed save for the mask at your feet.

Your hands tremble slightly as you pick it up, and you don't know why but you hold on to it the entire way to your home.

---

Weeks pass. You haven't seen him again, not at any of the parties that Giovanni throws or the meetings that Niccoló organizes. Nowhere, no matter how much you look.

You mourn that fact as you sit at your vanity, silk sleeping gown cascading down your crossed legs. Your mirror is useless; its made with silver and offers no reflection, and you hope that there will be something better in the next hundred years so that you can stop relying on your maids to make you look respectable.

The window to your room clicks open with a breeze, the scent of peach blossoms strong on the air before he appears. You watch it happen in the mirror; the swirl of shadow and mist and flowers before he steps inside completely.

"At least I ask for an invitation first," You tell him. "Imagine the scandal if anyone were to know you sneak into an unwed woman's rooms at the dead of night."

He steps forward and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Apologies," He whispers. "It did take me a fair while to find your abode, though. And I am a very busy man." He looks up into the mirror and smiles at where your reflection should be. He's even more gorgeous without the mask; full pillow lips, soft brown eyes, bone structure that humans would kill to be born with.

"I suppose the fae prince is indeed a busy man." The way he stiffens only confirms your suspicions, and the fact that you were right just spurs you on. "I can't imagine what he would be doing here with me."

"Maybe he likes not being treated like a prince for once."

"Maybe he should tell me what he wants so we can make an arrangement that will suit both of us."

"Is it not enough that I want you?" He groans, burrowing his nose into your neck and inhaling. "Won't you give yourself to me?"

"No," You tell him simply. He pouts as you stand, but he doesn't fight you as you push him towards the lush bed at the far end of the room. "But I will give you this one night."

"I'll take it," He says.

His lips are on yours in a heartbeat, sealing your deal and encouraging the fire between your legs. You push him back until he sits on the bed and you climb up to straddle him, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs to keep you steady.

"You're radiant," He tells you. "Breathtaking in so many ways."

"Stop talking," You respond as you dart down to suck a bruise onto his neck. You've not been able to stop thinking about it; marking it, drinking from it, his throat has featured in nearly every fantasy that you've had lately and you're more than ready to taste the real thing.

He goes without resistance when you push him onto his back, pulling your hips down to grind against the tent in his pants. Your wetness is already seeping through the silk of your gown and you can't find it in you to be embarrassed.

"On my face," He says, panting. "Want you to ride my tongue." Heat hits you again and you nod. You like to think you're always graceful, but you know how you must look, scrambling to hike your gown up to your waist and plant your knees on either side of his head.

He isn't afraid to tease, giving soft kitten licks to the sensitive skin of your thigh before darting in to lap at your folds for real. Your moans can't be contained so you don't try; you've had several bed partners, but none have felt like this between your legs.

"Christ, Butterfly-"

"Jin," He says, hands gripping your ass to lift you up. "You can call me Jin tonight." He's back to work in no time, tongue dipping into your tight heat to swirl around before licking up to your clit so he can suckle on it.

"God, Jin, yes!" Your hands grip his hair tightly and he moans into your folds at the feeling. It only spurs him on, sucking hard on your clit before he starts to fully fuck you with his tongue. It's a glorious feeling and you nearly cum just from that as you grind yourself down onto him. It's been too long since you had a partner as enthusiastic as you are, and it shows with the way your legs tighten around his neck.

A strangled choke comes from between your thighs and you lift off him immediately.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"No," He interrupts. With a brief scoot, he's watching you with eyes blown black, your wetness dripping down to land on his neck. His chin is already soaked, but something about seeing yourself on his neck - something you've already fantasized about tasting - has your hips moving in aborted thrusts.

He notices and cocks a brow. It only lasts a moment before realization creeps over him, eyes turning impossibly darker as his grip on your thighs tightens. He moves one hand to the small of your back, guiding you carefully down until your folds rest against his throat.

"What...what are you-"

"Ride," He commands. There's power in his voice, an authority that even you can't question, so you do. Your hips are guided by his hand on your back, and you can't lie, it's heavenly. His throat is thick and firm against your heat, and provides the perfect amount of pressure to your aching clit. His Adam's apple hits you just right, and you're moaning before you can even register the sound. Jin himself is clearly into it; the hand not on your back has disappeared, and if you cared enough to pay attention, you might look back to see it rubbing gently at his hardened length.

As it stands though, he's gasping for breath against your weight and the way it makes his throat clench makes you clench in return. You grind hard against his throat and he moans - loud and unabashed; the vibrations go straight to your clit, and the heat inside of you nearly explodes at the feeling. It's one thing to hear someone moan, and it's another thing to feel them moan while they eat you out. But to feel their throat vibrate with pleasure as you ride it?

Transcendent.

You raise slightly to allow him to breathe, hips still grinding mercilessly against his skin for any sense of friction. He pushes you back down and gives you a taunting smile.

"Are you close, petal?" He asks, vibrations from his voice making you whine. "You're so close just from grinding on my throat. I wonder what would happen if I touched you right now. Would you cum for me so easily?" You whimper and nod.

"Please, Jin, I want to cum," you gasp. Something about it strikes a nerve in him, because he groans again. You're already half-gone, but then he swallows; his Adam's apple hits your clit hard and your orgasm explodes through you.

Jin waits until you're finished spasming on top of him before he flips you around, carefully laying you back on your bed before stripping out of his shirt and unlacing his leather breeches to pull himself out.

You'd heard rumors about the fae, of course; everyone said they were supernaturally gifted in certain areas. You'd previously thought that was all a trick, one of the many ways they use their magic to goad humans into selling their souls. Looking at Jin, though, is a learning experience. There's no magic in the way that he weighs down his hand, or the throbbing purple of his head. Not in the way he strokes it slow and languid as he settles between your thighs.

The stretch as he slides into you is all too real, and has you quaking around him.

"Oh my god, Jin," You gasp, hands darting up to grip his broad shoulders. "Fuck, you're huge."

"Thank you," He chuckles, continuing to press his length into you. It isn't hard; you're soaked and relaxed after your orgasm, and all too willing to take every inch he gives you. When he finally bottoms out, you both groan, your pussy contracting around his thick shaft.

No one that big had ever been inside you, and he was reaching places nobody else ever had.

"Fuck, my pretty petal," He whispers as he slides halfway put before pushing back in. "You're so wet for me, petal. Did you like that then? You liked riding my throat so hard you came on it?" You moan and your walls flutter around him, and he takes the opportunity to speed up.

It doesn't take long for him to begin really pounding into you. Your legs are hitched up around his waist, ankles crossed over his lower back as he slams into you over and over again. The curses you spew are in so many languages you can't count them all, a mixture of all the ones you've learned in your time on this earth, and Jin sounds like he's praying, the way he's moaning softly above you.

It's minutes before you can feel the string inside you growing taut once more. Jin must notice because his palms push at your calves until your knees are as close to your shoulders as they can get, and suddenly he's that much deeper inside. You can feel him up to your cervix, fucking hard and fast into you, and he watches as you bring one hand down to tease circles into your clit.

"Beautiful, petal. Love watching you touch yourself for me, watching you cum for me. Come for me, let me feel you come on my cock, give me another and I'll give you all the seed you could ever need. Does that sound nice, petal?" You nod, fingers speeding up as his thrusts become more pointed, searching.

It takes four. Four thrusts for him to find that spot inside you that makes universes bloom behind your eyelids. You scream when he does, pushing down hard on your clit so that the constant pressure might distract you, might prolong the feeling.

"Oh no, sweetheart," Jin tuts gently. He drops a hand to push yours away from your clit and resumes the teasing himself. It's different when it's him; where you had been keeping rythm with his thrusts, he doesn't bother, instead moving slowly and teasingly against the bundle of nerves as he continues to pound hard and fast into your heat. "No, I want to feel this sweet pussy come around me. I want to watch you fall apart on my cock, and then I want to fuck you full of my cum. Will you make that happen for me, my sweet petal? Will you be a good girl for me?"

You don't even get a chance to warn him before you're coming, contracting so hard around him that you're worried he might get pushed out.

It doesn't stop him though; he continues his thrusts. He changes it though, shifts so he's sitting back on the bed and you're in his lap, propped up against his chest so he can thrust up into you. His hands are on your hips, lifting you up just to pull you down to meet his hips as they fuck harder into you.

"Very good, petal," He murmurs. "You were so good, so now it's my turn, right? I get to use your pretty pussy. God, you're too fucked out to even speak, aren't you?" You manage a quick nod and he laughs, sweet and lilting, and pinches at your nipple. A third orgasm rushes through you and you're jolting against him, riding the waves as he continues fucking you through the overstimulation.

"Fuck, you're so good for me, the perfect flower. Can you give me one more, petal? One more orgasm. I know you can do it."

"No," You whine, even as your hips grind down to meet him. "Can't, I'm, too much."

"Okay, petal, okay," He whispers, massaging the muscles in your back as he fucks you. "Fuck, you're so fucking wet, the perfect pussy for me. You take it so well, like you were made for me."

"Was," You mutter, too high on your own orgasms to manage proper words. "Made...just for you..." There's more you want to say, like how the smell of peach blossoms has always been your favorite and how you've never seen anyone handle a dagger or a rapier like he does, but it won't come out.

It seems to do the trick though, because a minute later, you can feel him coming inside you. It triggers a fourth orgasm, both of you shuddering as you ride the highs. You pant ass he slides you off his dick and lays you back; he groans as he watches his cum slide out of you and stain the sheets underneath.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful like this," he whispers as he throws an arm over you and pulls you close. You don't respond, already half-asleep. "I'll have breakfast ready when you wake up, petal. You rest."

You manage a nod, a mumbled 'thank you' barely making it out before you're asleep.

When you wake the next evening, the scent of peach blossoms hangs in the air. Your thighs are almost as sore as your pussy, the bed is cold next to you, and there's a beautiful woman sitting at your vanity, brushing her hair. You frown at her, rubbing your face. She hears you moving and turns with a bright grin.

"Oh, you're awake. The Prince mentioned you might be hungry when you woke, so I'm here with breakfast." She stands, the silk nightie leaving nothing to imagination as she slides into the bed beside you.

"And where is the prince?" You ask her, already leaning forward to press kisses to her neck.

"He left you a - ah! - a note," She says as you sink your fangs into the tender flesh of her neck. You drink until you're sated and refreshed, and you wave her out after she's done cleaning herself up.

There is indeed a note left on your vanity, in the quick scrawl you imagine is Jin's.

Thanks for a good time, petal. I won't forget it. -Butterfly

#ficswithluv #smutcentralnet #magicshopnet #ksmutclub #jin smut #bts smut #seokjin smut #bts fanfiction #seokjin fanfiction #jin fanfiction #jin fanfic #seokjin fanfic #bts fanfic #reader insert #reader x seokjin #reader x jin #ddaenggtan #666verse

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aethelar · 4 years

Note

*bursts through ur front door* nEWT RESCUING MERMAN!GRAVES FROM POACHERS

Newt is five the first time he goes to the circus. He trots behind Theseus, his hand securely held by his older brother to stop him slipping away and getting lost in the crowd. Not that Newt would intentionally wander off, but there was so much to see, so many sights and sounds and colours - over there, giant kites hovered in mid air, the one a flame-coloured goldfish with trailing red-yellow-orange ribbons, the other a glittering butterfly with reflective silver spots sewn over blue-green wings. There a man on stilts picks his precarious way through the thronged people below, his twelve foot trouser legs patterned in contrasting neon stripes. There, a lady selling candy floss, great sugar clouds of pink and blue on sticks and hanging in bags from the edge of her cart.

And there, ahead, rising above the mayhem like a gleaming castle, the big top.

Newt pulls Theseus ahead. “C’mon,” he says impatiently, tugging at Theseus’ hand. “C’mon, we’re going to miss it!”

“Calm down,” Theseus laughs, leaning back and moving at a deliberately slow meander. “It’s not going anywhere.”

“Theseus,” Newt whines. “What if all the good spots are gone and we can’t see?”

Theseus stoops down and picks Newt up, lifting him in one smooth movement to sit on his shoulders. Newt squeaks, his muddy shoes leaving black marks on Theseus’ coat and his fingers tangling in his brother’s hair for balance.

“There,” Theseus says, holding Newt’s feet in place. “Now you can see everything. Right?”

“You can’t pick me up,” Newt retorts. “I’m too old to be picked up.”

“Well, if you don’t want to be able to see…”

“No! I’m fine. I’ll let you carry me. Can we get sweets?”

Theseus changes course and heads for the candy floss lady. “And here I thought you were worrying about being late,” he says teasingly.

“Yes,” Newt explains with all the patience of a child having to state the obvious, “but that was when I was short and now you’re carrying me so I’m not. So, sweets.”

Honestly, big brothers were useful things, but they weren’t half slow sometimes.

In the tent itself Newt’s attention is torn between keeping himself and his oversized pink monstrosity of a candy floss stick balanced and laughing in delight at the show. He tries, he honestly does try to keep Theseus sugar free, but there’s distinct wisps of pastel in his dark hair by the time the first act finishes (not to mention the ones in Newt’s eyebrows, behind his ears, inching up his shirt sleeves and lodged under his collar). Theseus manfully ignores it and focuses on making sure Newt isn’t blocking the view for anyone behind them. The circus itself isn’t quite his cup of tea - the performers are brightly coloured, but their acrobatics are nothing special, really. He’s seen Newt do better trying to reach the cake jar on the top shelf.

It’s not the acrobatics though that are the star of this particular circus and the crowd falls into a hushed silence when the ringmaster comes out to announce, with great aplomb, the “Moment you’ve all been waiting for, the mystery and the magic, the magnificent and the magical; ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for MACUSA’s Marvellous Menagerie!”

The heavy velvet curtain behind him draws back and Newt gasps in anticipation, leaning forwards with wide eyed delight.

“A many gerry, Theseus,” he breathes. “Do you think they’ll have a tiger?”

Theseus ducks left to give Newt a better view. “They might,” he says. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

Newt’s protest about wanting to know now is drowned out by the roar from the crowd as the first creature, a long-necked camel bedecked with a gold and red tasselled head dress, is led out and paraded in front of the crowd. It walks with a strange, rolling gate and has two humps on its back, one of which stands straight and one of which flops over, and there’s bells tied to its feet that jingle with every step. It’s everything Newt could ask for, everything that should have delighted and amazed him -

But his attention is caught by something else. There, just there behind the edge of the curtain, he can see the narrow end of a glass tank. It isn’t very big; the end that Newt can see is maybe a metre square, the bottom resting on a dark wood trolley with a great hook at the front for a harness to attach to and top covered by an ornate gold lid. The light from the tent glints off the surface, playing tricks with Newt’s vision, but inside he sees - that is, he thinks he sees -

The camel is replaced by a lady with very little in the way of clothes, draped in the coils and folds of an enormous green snake, its scales dotted with small white flecks and its eyes staring unblinking at the crowd. The lady dips, holding out her arms to force the snake out of its tightly balled shape; it raises its head and hisses, much to the crowd’s delight.

She’s blocking his view and Newt cranes his neck to look past her.

“You see alright up there?” Theseus asks, shifting to the left to give him a better angle. Newt makes a distracted sound in answer, still straining to see the tank. The snake holder dances and twirls off the stage and Newt’s breath catches in his throat.

There’s someone in the tank.

There’s someone in the tank, and they’re looking at him.

Dark eyes set in a pale face, a halo of drifting hair around them; they catch Newt’s gaze and the rest of the tent seems to fade away. They twist, their face drifting upside down and right side up, and their hands come forwards to press against the glass. They come closer - he, perhaps, they’re a man, or something that looks like one. He comes closer, and mouths something, some words Newt can’t hear and doesn’t understand. At his blank stare the man repeats them, slower, mouth opening wide to exaggerate the movements and are those his teeth -

Theseus jostles him, shaking him out of the strange moment and Newt looks down automatically.

“So?” Theseus asks. “What did you think? You were awfully quiet up there.”

“I was looking,” Newt protests. He glances back up but the ringmaster’s back on the stage, his voice booming out something about a private showing and exclusive, never before seen creatures for those willing to pay the trifling price and step backstage.

The man in his glass tank is gone, blocked from view behind the curtain.

“Yeah?” Theseus asks. “Which one was your favourite then? I think I liked the parrots best. Weren’t they bright and colourful?”

Newt gives an irritated huff. He doesn’t want parrots, he wants to know about the man in the tank. Theseus is already turning though, moving with the flow of people back to the stalls outside.

“The camel,” he says, picking the first animal because it’s the only one he really remembers seeing. “But Theseus, we have to go back. There’s someone trapped there, he needs our help.”

“Trapped? Newt, you can’t go rescuing all the animals because you think they’re unhappy. They belong to the circus - that’s stealing.”

Newt tugs on Theseus’ hair in frustration. “Not the animals, the person. He was underwater. What if he drowns?”

There’s a steady stream of people curving round the back of the stage, going to where the ringmaster is waiting to welcome them to the private exhibition, and Newt’s mind whirrs.

“I don’t think -” Theseus starts hesitantly, but Newt has a better plan.

“Let me down,” he says. “I’m all numb, and I don’t need to see anymore.”

Theseus makes a dubious noise, but lifts Newt over his head and down to the floor all the same. “Ok little brother, whatever you say. But stick close and - Newt! Newt!”

Newt squirms out of his brother’s grip, ducking between people’s legs and scrambling under the raised seating areas at the back. Theseus curses as he chases but Newt slides under the striped canvas of the tent wall and makes a mad dash through the mud for the back. The back entrance is marked exit only and guarded by a bored looking girl in a faded circus uniform; she frowns as Newt careens into her.

“Hey, kid,” she starts, but Newt cuts her off.

“My brother’s in there, I got lost but he’ll be mad if I don’t go in,” he babbles. She tries to take his hand but Newt’s more mud than person by this stage and he slips free while she’s trying to find something to hold onto that won’t leave stains on her uniform.

“Kid, wait!”

Newt ignores her. The inside of the tent is dimly lit and smells of a heavy, foreign smoke. It’s hung with low coloured-glass lamps and swathes of brightly patterned silk, and decorated with assorted urns and jewel encrusted masks chosen more for their cost than any cohesive design..

Newt hurries past the lavish opulence with barely a glance. Real or fake, the effect is lost on him and the perfumed smoke only serves to irritate his lungs. He fights the urge to cough and creeps past a china pot that claims to hold a faerie inside - in any other circumstance he’d’ve stopped to look inside, but he’s too focused on his goal to stop. If he’s worked things out right, then the tank should be just to one side of the stage curtains which would put it… There.

In the low light, he can only make out the outline of the tank, straight sided glass walls and an overly decorated iron lid. It’s not until he’s standing right by it that he can see the man inside and he barely manages to stifle a gasp because the man isn’t a man at all.

No, that’s not quite right; he has a head, two arms, broad shoulders and a muscled torso - those things look like a man. But he also has a ridged fin running down his back, trails of dark, glittering scales wrapping down over his ribs, and in place of his legs there’s a sinuous, curving tail.

“You’re a mermaid,” Newt breathes. He hears a quiet rap and jerks his gaze up; the mermaid is frowning at him, one fist raised where he’d knocked on the glass. Newt flushes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare,” he says.

The mermaid lifts an eyebrow and studies him for a moment before his frown morphs into a satisfied smile. With an encouraging trill he lifts his arms and stretches out as much as he can, turning slowly in the water. He twists his head round as he does so to keep his eyes on Newt and make sure his audience appreciates him showing off.

“Wow,” is all Newt can say, and amends his earlier statement: “You’re a beautiful mermaid.”. He comes closer, both hands pressing against the glass. Now that the mermaid is moving he can see that the tank’s too small; his tail is coiling back on itself just to fit in and the sharp-edged fins at the end of it are crushed awkwardly against the sides.

The mermaid knocks again, and when he has Newt’s attention he gestures pointedly to his bare chest.

“I don’t understand,” Newt says, confused. The mermaid rolls his eyes and makes a vaguely obscene curving gesture over his front, then shakes his head and goes back to running his hands down his chest again.

Newt’s face burns as he gets it. “Oh,” he says, and trips into apologies again. “Sorry, sorry, I don’t know - what do you call a boy mermaid?”

The mermaid who isn’t a mermaid mouths something, lips twitching up in humour but Newt still can’t make out the words. He hears a noise behind him - the ringmaster, leading his private tour. He squeaks in panic and drops to the floor; the tank sits on iron feet, like a fancy bathtub, and with some frantic crawling and squirming Newt just manages to get underneath. There’s barely enough space to fit; he tilts his head to the side and squeezes his eyes shut and tries to take shallow breaths.

The mermaid knocks on the glass above him.

“They can’t see me,” Newt whispers back as loudly as he dares. If he believes it hard enough, then it’ll be true; like keeping the nightmares away at night, like Theseus taught. He hears footsteps and the low murmur of the approaching crowd and repeats it to himself: they can’t see me, they can’t see me, until he feels it settle over him like a safety blanket.

“And here,” the ringmaster announces, pride and glee threading through his oily tone, “here we have it ladies and gentlemen, the mighty monster from the deep: MACUSA’s own mermaid, the only real one to be found in any circus, anywhere. A genuine treasure, ladies, genuine treasure.”

Newt holds still. His heart is too loud - why is his heart beating so loud?

“How can you prove,” someone drawls, “that this one is real? It could be one of your stage hands in a costume for all we know.”

“Monsieur, you are wiser than your years! Come, come -” the feet obligingly step closer and Newt shrinks smaller in terror - “See, there’s no air in this tank. See there? Ah, my friend, don’t turn away - it’s shy, forgive me - those, those marks on its neck? Those are gills. Could a man spend all his life underwater without drowning, I ask?”

There’s an impressed rumble of agreement, but the same voice points out, “You could have a pipe hidden in the corner. That lid’s certainly large enough to hide one, and all your man would need to do is breathe from the pipe when no one’s looking.”

“Truly, an observant gentleman!” the ringleader praises with faked delight. “I see then you won’t be satisfied with anything but the truth, so watch, watch.” There’s a metallic groan as the lid is lifted open followed by an angry, distorted shriek that seems to sink into Newt’s bones and shake them apart. He presses back further under the tank and clamps his eyes closed, one step away from sobbing. The thud of the lid falling back into place cuts off the mermaid’s shrieking but Newt still can’t stop himself crying, muffling the sound in his sleeve.

“You see,” the ringleader says proudly. “You see now, do you see? Are you satisfied, my doubting friend?”

“I’m satisfied,” the other man agrees quietly. There’s something covetous in his harsh almost-whisper that the ringleader boldly ignores. They exchange more words, more boasting and more nodding at the right places and more making the right sounds of appreciation, but Newt stays pressed against the ground with his eyes closed until after they’ve shuffled off to marvel over the next thing in the tent.

The mermaid knocks on the glass.

“Go away,” Newt says. “I want my brother.”

He knocks again, more urgently this time.

“Go away!”

“Newt!”

Newt scrambles out, scraping his knee on the ground and banging his elbow against the tank but he doesn’t care because that’s Theseus.

“I’m sorry,” he says, stumbling over his feet as he flings himself at his brother. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Theseus soothes him, dropping to his knees to hug his brother. “It’s ok, I’m here now. You’re alright? You’re not hurt?”

Newt shakes his head. “I’m not but - but Theseus, we have to help him.” He turns to point urgently at the mermaid in his tank and falters in shock.

There’s a cut across the mermaid’s tail, just below where his hip would be if he were a man. It’s not a deep cut, but the water draws the blood out in a dark cloud and every movement of his tail makes the wound glisten an angry black.

“They hurt him,” Newt says in horror, pulling against Theseus to go to the glass.

“Newt,” Theseus says, stunned and still trying to get over it. “Newt, that’s a mermaid.”

Newt tugs sharply, annoyed by the delay. “He’s not,” he says crossly. “He’s a merboy and we need to help him.”

“Of course we do,” Theseus says faintly. The mermaid - merboy - scrapes his fingers against the lid, the clawed tips making a harsh scratching sound against the metal.

Newt darts in and pulls himself up on the tank’s feet, pushing futilely against the lid. “Theseus!” he says, jolting his brother into action.

“What do we do when we get the lid open?” Theseus asks, but he comes forward to help all the same. “He can’t swim out and we’ll get caught if we carry him - Newt, move - and mercy Lewis I’m asking a five year old for plans what am I doing with my life.”

“He’ll figure something out,” Newt says confidently. “He’s smart.”

In the tank, the mermaid darts a quick smirk in Newt’s direction.

The lid is heavy, heavier than it should be for how it looks and Theseus strains against it. It’s not until Newt joins in again and stubbornly puts his shoulder against the rim to help that it creaks its way open. They freeze, both of them darting nervous glances behind them to check that no one heard, but now that the lid is open a crack the mermaid gets impatient.

He slides a hand under the edge of the lid and, in one smooth movement, flings the whole thing off the tank to fall with a loud crash down the other side.

“Oh gods above,” Theseus moans. He makes a grab for Newt but Newt twists aside, hooking his fingers over the glass to watch as the mermaid lifts his torso out of the water. This close, Newt can see how very human his top half looks, but at the same time all the little things that so clearly mark him as different. His ears extend into points, long and low and dusted with dark blue scales. His eyes blink twice, the second, clear set of eyelids making them seem to glow in the dimly lit tent, and the eyes behind the eyelids are so dark they look like they lack a pupil. His teeth, showing in his open mouth as he pants for air, are curved down to sharp points. His gills flare with every shallow breath.

He mouths something, the words coming out as a soft croon.

“I don’t understand,” Newt says.

“Newt, we have to go,” Theseus urges.

The mermaid points at Newt, then at himself, then gestures at his legs, then finally back at Newt. He mouths the same word again but Newt shakes his head, frustration making him shout, “I don’t know what you want!”

There’s footsteps approaching, the sound of people coming to investigate the crash.

“Time’s up,” Theseus says, scooping a protesting Newt up in his arms and throwing the mermaid an apologetic look. With a growl the mermaid swipes his hand out, claws catching on Newt’s outstretched arm and leaving three bloody scratches in their wake.

Newt yelps and Theseus swears as he pulls out a handkerchief to wrap around the scratches. The mermaid ignores them in favour of licking the blood off each claw. He closes his eyes as though savouring the taste then takes a deep breath and hauls himself out of the tank, the glistening length of his tail unfolding behind him as he collapses over the side and falls to the floor -

And lands, rolls into a crouch, and stands up in one fluid movement.

“What the hell,” Theseus says, staring at him. His gills are gone, as are the long fins down his back and his tail, replaced by legs that are bare, muscled, and completely human. Theseus averts his eyes and covers Newt’s. Completely male human. The cut from his tail is now a wide gash over his left thigh, red blood clotting sluggishly around the edges.

“We need to go,” the man rasps, grabbing for Newt. Theseus backs away, keeping his brother out of reach.

“You think they’ll be lenient because he’s a child?” the man growls. “Come.” He stalks towards the curtain separating the back of the tent from the stage and disappears through it.

“Hey!” someone shouts behind them, and Theseus slings Newt into a piggyback and hurries out after the mermaid-turned-man. He pushes aside the heavy curtain and runs across the stage, praying that none of the staff were in there preparing for the next performance. The man is hovering by one of the side flaps, lifting it aside to peer out with an angry scowl.

He looks up when Theseus skids to a halt next to him.

“They won’t be far behind us,” Theseus pants. “What’s the plan?”

“The plan?” The man raises an eyebrow. “I go back to the sea. He comes with me.” He reaches for Newt again to lift him off Theseus’ back and Theseus spins to put himself between them.

“No.”

The man glowers. “I didn’t ask you.”

“He’s five,” Theseus spits, and grips Newt’s legs tight in warning when he makes a noise of protest. He doesn’t know what he’s doing - Theseus isn’t small by any means, but he hasn’t forgotten how the other man - mermaid - hell, whichever, how the other man casually threw the heavy metal lid it took both Theseus and Newt just to budge. If it comes to a fight then Theseus can’t hope to win, but Newt is his brother; Theseus can’t not defend him.

The sound of angry voices behind the curtain breaks their standstill.

“Fine,” the man snaps. “While he’s a child he’s yours. When he’s a man, bring him to the sea. I’ll find him.” He lifts the tent flap to go through and Theseus holds his tongue on pointing out his nakedness. Just before he goes he looks back over his shoulder and makes eye contact with Newt. “Oh, and before I forget,” he says, lips twitching into an amused smile. “My name is Graves, and I’m a merman if you don’t mind.”

“Yessir,” Newt squeaks, and Graves is gone.

“Do I have to go to the sea?” Newt asks in a small voice, gripping Theseus tighter.

Theseus glares at the empty space where the merman stood. “Not if you don’t want to,” he promises. “For now though, we have to go home before anyone sees us, so sit tight and keep quiet.” He pushes aside the tent flap with a foot, checks for passing naked mermen-given-legs, then slips out to join the crowd and hopes no one stops them to ask why Newt is quite so covered in mud, or why he has a makeshift bandage around his forearm.

He’s not yet sure how he’s going to keep his promise, but he will. If Newt doesn’t want to go to the sea then Theseus will make sure he doesn’t have to. He has thirteen years; he’ll find a way.

In the meantime, maybe he should look for a job further inland.

#gramander #newt scamander #theseus scamander #percival graves #mermaid!graves #according to the timestamp it took me three years to answer this #so uh #better late than never?#my writing #paintingraves

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slothgiirl · 4 years

Text

shadowplay part 14

You’re going to miss LA. You think to yourself as you hoist your bag out the uber, considerably heavier than when you arrived a little under a week ago.

“I’ve got it love,” Alex grins, not waiting for your response, before taking the bag right out of your hands, clad in a jacket like the sun wasn’t shining high in the sky.

“I had it.”

“Yeah well,” he smiles, taking a moment to plant a kiss against your lips, “I’ve got it.”

You roll your eyes, leading the way into the airport, but can’t help the smile that grows on your lips. The warmth in your chest has nothing todo with the california sun, leaving you bubbly as fuck, the same way you’ve felt this whole week with Alex.

Even rock stars have to wait their turn to grab their tickets before having to go through the very unsexy security.

Standing in line, the airports ac cranked up like crazy, you’re glad to be wearing one of Alex’s jackets. “ feel like a glorified coat hanger,” you tell him, “just here to keep your jacket from being ruined during the flight.”

Alex chuckles, “but you're much better company.”

“True,” you giggle, “can’t say the same for you though. It’s no fun getting tipsy while you're holding your own like a proper james bond.” Thinking back on the many drinking games you'd taken part of during the last week. Zack had been a surprising lightweight.

“Well-,”

Whatever he was about to say is lost. The sound of cameras clicking, a flash temporarily blinding your eyes. As a man urgently says, “Alex is this your new girlfriend!”

A camera clicks again.

“Alex! Look over here,” the man cries out.

You wish you had Alex's sunglass wearing habit, as you blink rapidly, trying to recover from the blinding flashes suddenly assaulting you.

One man becomes two becomes three. All jockeying for his attention. “Alex are you working on the new album!”

“Sweetheart, look over here!”

“Is she your new girlfriend!”

“When's the new album out!”

The people around you, who moments ago hadn't cared, look over, whispering under their breath. You don't know how celebrities like Kim Kardashian can deal with the media circus that surrounds their lives constantly you think as you try and ignore the flashes continuing to go off. Ignoring them like you would the pointed looks of your profs as you struggled to stay awake during seven in the morning lectures.

Alex, sensing your unease, slips his hand into yours, squeezing your hand in his tightly as he pulls you along up to the self check-ins.

It's easier to block them out when you're busy concentrating on printing your tickets.

“I swear my passport was just here,” you mutter. Your purse wasn't even that big. How could it have gotten lost.

Alex smirks, unable to help himself as he teases you, “should've given your passport to me love.”

You snort. “My passport picture should be kept between me and this unfortunate machine.” You had tried to bleach your hair blonde, but had only achieved a horrid orange color that you'd dyed back to black the next day.

You pull out the elusive passport, but Alex nabs it from your hands before you can scan it into the machine.

He looks down with a ridiculously sappy smile, “you look beautiful as ever.”

“Oh you're so full of shit,” you snipe back.

Alex chuckles, the machine finally printing your tickets, before leaning in and kissing you again, taking you bottom lip between his lips, for just a moment too long for such a public place.

You flush crimson, but can't make yourself look away from Alex; the man you've grown so fond of.

He'd never been this open and at ease of PDA back when you had been faking a relationship for his benefit. It makes you really wonder how his friends had bought it.

A crease forms between his brows, “don't mind the paps love. ‘s better if you just ignore ‘em.” There's a certain stiffness to his shoulders that hadn't been there moments ago too.

The paps bother him too. You're surprised he isn't used to it. Then again, he hadn't even spared them so much as a glance.

Understanding dawns on you, he was worried about how you'd react now that you'd both just decided to start dating. Alex doesn't want them to put you off.

You shake your head as you both make your way to TSA, Alex still holding your hand, keeping you close to him. “I was just thinking how I'd be a terrible paparazzi. They'd send me out to chase Britney Spears and I'd be like but what if she doesn't want to be bothered right now.”

He laughs as you step on the escalator up and leave the paps behind.

You're in the cab back from the airport as your phone buzzes, finally off from airplane mode. Ten different texts from your mum asking if you landed okay. All the work emails you put off in the states. And Sam sent you a million screenshots of you and Alex in the airport earlier with the text: i'm now celebrity adjacent and i WILL name drop.

You laugh, having expected nothing less from her.

“What,” Alex asks lazily, cigarette in hand, both the cabs windows down.

“Just Sam being Sam.” You reply.

He nods, becoming incredibly serious, too serious to be sincere, “she's your Matthew.”

“Well you're not wrong.” Sam was that close to you. “We're going house hunting tomorrow...later today. I hate jet lag.”

Alex grins. “Why don't you just move in with me,” he says simply, as though it's not a loaded question. As though it's really that easy.

Sending you through eighty five degrees of: you haven't told your parents, they're going to freak, you just started dating, too fast, you're parents were going to absolutely murder him because everyone in your family had been convinced you were going to die an old spinster by now.

“We just started dating,” you say instead.

Alex shoots you a puzzled look. “Technically it's been six months.”

“Stick to being clever in writing Alex,” you reply. “this has been on my to do list for a year now.” You have been saving up money and building credit for ages now.

“Okay so maybe it's been a week,” he shrugs, flicking the cigarette ash into the street, “but it feels like forever.”

You snort, your cheeks heating up all over again. You hadn't felt this happy with a man in ages. “Nice try but the answer’s still no.”

“Can I at least come with,” he pouts.

“No,” you laugh, “Sams going to want all the gossip as soon as I see her. Who else is going to tell her that Breanna really thinks rice crackers and peanut butter are a snack!”

“Don't be so hard on her.”

“You didn't have any either,” you counter. “I can understand someone eating healthy, I dunno if I've ever made a dress larger than a size 6, but I draw the line at trying to pretend kale chips taste good.”

“I hate peanut butter,” he answers, the laugh clear in his voice. “sticks to the roof of my mouth.”

“She also told me about this app that fakes plastic surgery for editing,” you add, “made me feel like an old woman. Only just discovered filters.” You really didn't use instagram for much more than following some writers and designers you admire.

“She hogged you all week,” Alex groans at the memory. Breanna telling you where to squat so her legs would look longer, her camera in your hands.

“It was fun. She's a hell of a hiker,” you admit. She'd been able to walk and talk easily, lugging around her camera with her, while the boys jammed out back at the cabin.

“Miles won't walk more than a block before whining. Ya sure I can’t go with you and Sam? I've gotten very used to having you around all the time”

“You can help me move in,” you tease.

“Oi!”

You lean in close to his ear, “promise I'll make it worth your time,” you practically purr, barely managing to keep from laughing.

Alex's cigarette falls out of his hand.

He turns to you fully, his hand cupping your cheek, a glint in his eye as the sun sets over London, “I'll hold you too it.”

You beat Alex to the bags, having learned by now that he wasn't about to let you pay. Which was for the best. But you could at the very least carry your own bag up the stairs to your flat.

“I've got it,” you shut him down, keeping a hand outstretched, so he doesn't just take the bag from your hand.

“Alright alright,” Alex laughs, following you up to your flat.

You were glad that he was staying. You had also gotten used to waking up to him every morning. To making out in bed first thing. Or lounging around on your phone as Alex tuned his guitar.

It had been that way for a while if you were being honest with yourself.

Alex had carved out a place in your life long before he'd kissed you and told you he loved you.

Saying you had only been dating for a week meant nothing when you were already sure of the depth of your feelings for him.

“ ‘s it alright if I stay over,” Alex asks softly, leaning against the door while you search for your keys, looking just as hopeful and earnest as he had so long ago when drunk, when he'd tried to kiss you then.

You stick the key in the door, before turning to meet the warmth of his brown eyes, and kissing him for all the times you'd wanted to before: kissing him just because you can. You can't imagine ever being sick of the feel of his lips against yours. “Stay as long as you like.”

The door clicks open.

“All that's good,” Alex smiles, “I already ordered breakfast… ‘fink it's closer to lunch by now.”

“Oh thank god,” you reply, abandoning your bag next to the door and sinking into your sofa, stretching out all the kinks in your neck from having sat on a plane for the last nine hours. “I was just thinking how I was going to have to run to the grocery store.”

“We can go after.” Alex says, kicking off his shoes, and laying down next to you.

You giggle, scooting over as much as you can do there's room. Both of you are slight, so it's not hard to curl up on the sofa without feeling squished together. You relax against Alex, happy to waste your last hours of vacation with him.

#Alex Turner #alex turner fanfic #alex turner imagine #alex turner x reader #Shadowplay #we in the last few rounds now

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lycorogue · 3 years

Text

Holy smokes guys, if you’ll indulge me, I want to tell you about the dream I just had. (*EDIT: I wrote this right as I woke up from the dream before I forgot most of it. However, I had to get ready for work, so I was only able to finish/polish/post just now.) Mostly because I only have dreams I can remember about twice a year (and I used to be one of those people that remembered dreams nightly when I was a kid. OTL), so I want to jot down as much as I can remember before I lose it. Plus, it has a lot of Miraculous Ladybug elements, and some of you might find it amusing.

My dream started off with my husband and I having a day off together, shirking our adult responsibilities for the day, and just having a date day. We drove into the nearby city and just had a day of goofing around as we window shopped (remember when it was safe for people to do stuff like this? *long sigh*) One of the places I distinctly recall us stopping was some sporting goods store where we checked out kayaks (they’re super big in our area; practically everyone owns one).

But then, as we were checking out the kayaks, my husband wasn’t my husband anymore, and I wasn’t myself. At some point my mind converted both of us into 18yo versions of Adrien Agreste and Marinette Dupain-Cheng from the show Miraculous Ladybug.

We were just friends; hanging out; simply spending the day together. Just the two of us. We were still goofing around and window shopping, just as we were when we were still myself and my husband, but now there was this sort of unsure sexual tension????? Like, Adrien was very much Chat Noir flirting, but in a way that Marinette couldn’t quite tell if it was supposed to be flirting, and Adrien didn’t seem sure himself if he meant it to be flirting??? But there was a LOT of chaste touching of upper arms, lower backs (mainly to direct Marinette), and hand holding (mostly to pull her in a particular direction).

I can’t recall if it was a canon character or if my mind made someone up, but I do recall a random second 18yo boy kind of following us around. It could have been the show’s canon “Adrien Agreste’s #1 fan” Wayhem, but it also felt like it wasn’t supposed to be him? You know how dreams are like that? Where you can’t quite pin down who someone is supposed to be in them? To make life easier, though, we’ll just say it was supposed to be Wayhem.

So, the dream became a sort of aged up version of the episode “Gorizilla” where Adrien (formerly my husband) and Marinette (formerly me) are running around Paris (formerly a US city nearby me IRL) just trying to have a good time window shopping together and goofing around while Wayhem is semi-stalking them? Now, canonically, after the incident of Wayhem chasing Adrien around Paris during “Gorizilla”, Adrien became Wayhem’s friend and was indeed willing to hang out with the kid, as long as Wayhem treated Adrien as a normal kid and not a celebrity that Wayhem was star-struck over. In my dream’s canon, this was still semi-true. Wayhem was more of an acquaintance of Adrien’s than a friend the blonde would hang out with regularly, but Adrien still made time to hang out with his fan. However, Wayhem in my dream could not wait his turn, apparently, and when he saw Adrien “in the wild”, as it were, he wanted to join in the fun. So a large portion of the dream was Adrien (Hubby) and Marinette (me; I saw the dream through 1st person via Marinette’s eyes, but I KNEW that’s who I was supposed to be) trying to ditch Wayhem.

We ran around department stores, riding bikes through the toy aisles, and had shopping cart races where Adrien was pushing me (Marinette) around the store in the shopping cart with Wayhem behind with a giant stuffed animal in his cart. We snuck into movies at the cinema, only to try to sneak back out to lose Wayhem. I can’t recall what else we did, but we had a grand old time hanging out and screwing around in various stores while also trying to shake Wayhem (and, to be fair, Adrien did try to tell Wayhem that he was trying to have a day just hanging out with Marinette and will set up a time to hang with him, but the kid wouldn’t leave us alone. He was like a kid brother just following us around trying to play with us when we just needed our own time).

Eventually, we did lose Wayhem, and we were back inside a department store. When we noticed we were alone, Adrien had this cheeky grin, and asked me if I’d be willing to go wait for him over in the women’s clothing department for a couple of minutes; he had something he wanted to do privately real quick. Shrugging off my curiosity of what he was up to (I like to be surprised), I agree and go wandering through the clothing racks.

There’s this whole thing about a group of older teenage girls trying to pick out outfits that best accentuate parts of their bodies that they like, but other girls are debating that the first ones are just sexualizing their own bodies to be on display for men, and it was this whole thing about whether you dress sexy for yourself or because you want someone to find you attractive. @_@ Not sure why my dream got super philosophical in the middle there.

Anyway, Marinette (me) navigates around this crowd of girls debating and finds this cute white t-shirt dress with Jagged Stone’s logo (for those who don’t know, Jagged Stone is a canon rock star within the Miraculous Ladybug universe). While Marinette canonically wears almost exclusively clothing she designs herself, in my dream she also occasionally buys clothing with trademarked logos on them that she likes (because she can’t legally recreate them). So she (I) goes into the dressing room and puts the dress on.

Then, wearing the dress as a tunic over the normal pink capris Marinette canonically wears, and carrying my (Marinette’s) shirt and jacket in my arms, I wander the women’s department some more to make sure Adrien can find me. As I do so, my cellphone rings, and my IRL uncle is calling me to see if my sister-in-law would like a DVD set of the show Lost, I believe? I can’t quite remember which show he was asking about. The odd thing is that my uncle is about 25 years older than me. My sister-in-law is about 2 years older than me. I don’t think they talk on Facebook, and I’m pretty sure they only met at my wedding. So I have absolutely no clue why my brain connected these two in a manner where he’d want to double check with me on a birthday gift (belated Christmas gift?) for her.

Anyway, I get off the phone with my IRL uncle, and my IRL job calls me with some sort of crisis that I can’t recall. It was a quick phone call as the owner of the store ended up in some sort of car trouble, I think, and the woman I was on the phone with had to quickly get off to help the owner. It was a bizarre intermission within my dream. Anyway, my IRL husband shows up (I’m still picturing myself as 18yo Marinette, btw) and checks in on the phone calls. We joke around a little bit, and POOF Hubby is magically Adrien again, and we’re back to the main storyline.

So Adrien gives a little “wow” and holds out a hand for me (Marinette) to take. He then has me do a twirl to show off the dress. He talks about how lovely it looks on me, but then kind of scrunches his eyebrows. He then kneels in front of me, like RIGHT UP on my left leg, and clicks his tongue disappointingly. He points out this huge stain along the hem just above my left knee. It’s about the size of an American half-dollar and almost looks like a blood stain: a dark reddish-brown center that fades into an off-white/light-yellow along the corona of the stain.

As Adrien plays with the hem to get a better look at the stain on the dress, his fingers brush against my knee (I mean, I still have the capris on, but still), and it almost looks like he’s worshipping me, and my heart CANNOT deal! I can feel it RACING and my cheeks starting to warm up. That’s when Adrien starts, like, HARD CORE flirting with me by again commenting about how good I look in the dress, and how well it fits my body shape, and how disappointing it is that this dress has a stain because he’d love to see me wear the dress a few more times. And he just slowly stands up, but doesn’t really move back before doing so, so I have to take a small step back so he’s not just sliding up my leg as he stands. And my heart is about to EXPLODE as he looks at me with those intense green eyes.

I swallow hard, and Adrien just kind of puts on this cheery smile like nothing just happened, and he suggests we look to see if there’s another dress in my size that doesn’t have the stain. I lead him to the rack and we riffle through it quickly. We do find another one of the Jagged Stone t-shirt dresses in my size, and Adrien takes it to fully inspect it. No stains. No loose hem-work. The print of Jagged Stone’s logo seems well done. The dress itself isn’t all that expensive. We got a winner. Adrien then suggests I go get changed back into my normal clothes, so I leave him as I enter the changing booth to put my shirt and jacket back on, and that’s where I wake up.

But I do so with the lingering knowledge that Adrien 100% bought Marinette that dress while she was changing, and his initial surprise (why he asked her to go to the clothing department to wait for him in the first place) was a little pastel-rainbow tie-dyed teddy bear that he wanted to get her to commemorate their day-long hangout.

So.... yeah... that was my dream, and it was so intense at the end there that I legit woke up because my own, physical, IRL heart was RACING from all the Adrien flirting towards the end.

Just wanted to share that. Thanks for indulging me and reading all the way through.

(*EDIT: I’ve been lowkey thinking about that whole brushing Marinette’s knee while inspecting the dress thing all day. So guess who has yet ANOTHER plot bunny to try to wrangle. Thanks, Brain! 9_9 Care to actually help me WRITE any of these plot bunnies, or are you just going to plop more unexpectedly onto my lap and then just wander off? Oh! The latter? Great. >3>)

#LycoRogue writing #LycoRogue original #LycoRogue ramblings #dream #random dream I had #ML #Miraculous Ladybug #I think I have a new aged-up story idea #and it may come with some soft-core smut #>3>

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newsiegirlscribbles · 3 years

Text

There was no mistaking it, this was the watch of Emilianna Robinson.

It was such a fine name for such an unkempt girl, and known by most of Londinium in curt, snapping words from neighbor to neighbor or in sighs over shaking teacups. Suffice to say, the well-to-do had looked much more favorably upon charity galas and the “poor, underprivileged children” eleven years, eleven months, and a day ago; now, the beneficiaries’ pocketbooks were used more often to swat the first pint-sized terror to get close enough more than anything else. What nobody seemed to realize, Millie thought, was that Emmy was right impossible, and became more so with every other social worker that was laid off with a government-funded check that said the job was important, and a bank statement that said they weren’t. Millie had worked at Robinson’s Foster Care long enough to realize that Emmy was more headstrong than anything else and wasn’t nearly as bad as she could have been.

The seal that came issued on all the gingham skirts, faded blouses, and pressed blazers that couldn’t have been updated since the fifties or so had long since been mended and re-mended, torn off by thorns or hedges in pursuit of some rabbit to chase or tree to climb on all her clothes; her flats were scuffed and worn from much of the same activity. Her hair was curly, the colour of wheels that have traveled a long way on dirt roads, and tied back hastily in twin pigtails. No matter how presentable she was when she left, Emmy had a remarkable talent for acquiring scraped knees, freckles, and streaks of earth, blood, jams, or whatnot on her clothes with the declaration that she’d do it again.

(“You should have seen the other bloke.” she had quipped once with a wince and a smile as Millie had swabbed the clip that would become the faint white scar on her shoulder with the last of the alchemist’s Essence of Kingsfoil.

The social worker raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you lose this fight?”

“‘S why you should have seen ‘im, the princely genetics and shiner I gave him would make him a right poster child for this place and really bring in the folks.“)

By some chance of fate or fair fortune, the gentleman Decennium had taken a shine to her and requested her as his apprentice. Emmy’s face had lit up with a smile warmer than the sun, kicking her heels excitedly and shaking the timekeeper’s hand with vigor, and her enthusiasm was almost--almost--enough to excuse the fact that she had broken the Most Important Rule.

In most of Sylvaria, those with stars in their blood had a talent for magic and were destined to protect and enrich the world; in Londinium, Emillianna was destined to destroy it. She was forbidden from tinkering with timepieces by the strictest of orders, never allowed to touch the gearwing menangery that fascinated the other children so, but somehow, she had slipped and caught the notice of one of the most esteemed positions in all Sylvaria. Millie could only breathe easily in the gratitude that the girl had been entrusted with the delicate waltz of time and mechanics and not thrown to the best judgement of the people like so many others long gone to the unwound future. The watch was a gift, a contract of sorts; as Emillianna accepted it, she placed her left hand over her heart and the clock’s face lit up with a soft glow, the gears inside ticking to place.

She had loved the watch, and she had loved Decennium and chronomechanics and the silvery glow of fluid time as it clung to her fingers and stopped every clock she touched, capturing the essence again, and again, and again.

Which was why, when Millie saw the pocketwatch all but smashed to bits by the edge of the clock tower, and felt the minutes torn from the bells and from her day as the residuum rippled ever so slightly, she knew that something had gone very, very, wrong.

I. In which things go very, very wrong

Emmy ducked and slipped through the crowd into the marketplace as the starchly-dressed gentleman’s shouts came to an end; once she heard the distinctive click of an unsatisfied well-to-do person’s boots stalking off, she leaned against the archway and sighed with relief.

Catching snap-dragons was a bother; they always managed to get loose once they spotted a rose garden, which wouldn’t have been so much of a problem had the well-to-do not been so fond of fences that she always got stuck in because of course she did.

This was the fifth garden this month.

Drat.

As she gained a better view of the scene, she saw the market larger than she had initially imagined; hundreds of people bustled from stall to stall, passageways twisted through streets, and song and chatter rang through the air. If she could just get a smidge higher, she could see more of the area and make a clean escape….and the highest vantage point wasn’t far off.

Emmy stopped one of the nearby marketgoers, a girl with short-cropped raven-black hair tucked beneath a lavender bonnet, her corduroy skirt and aegean blazer nearly close enough to indicate a fellow Robinson’s orphan--the silver buttons notwithstanding. There was a sparkle in her eyes, almost as if she were holding back a smile.

“Pardon.” Emmy said, tapping her on the shoulder, “Would you know which way to the gallows?”

The girl laughed, evidently amused. “Are you expected?”

“What? No!”

“Pity.” she sighed, “It’s been so long since we hanged a thief.”

Emmy’s face blazed scarlet. “Are you always this horrid? I’m not a thief!”

“Well, you sure weren’t dashing like a rabbit to see this.” the girl said with a wink, gesturing to the tavern hall. She leaned in, ever-so-slightly, in a softer voice, “‘less you were hoping one of these blokes would get so absent-minded they’d take you in.” Her playful laugh cut across the market like a dog’s bark; Emmy leveled a glare, and the girl grinned back, somewhere between the sort of adorable cheer that let you get away with murder and the self-assured smirk that let you commit it.

It was a delight to see it knocked straight off her face.

The girl raised a hand to the mark, and before Emmy could raise her a second, a sharp clip stung the side of her jaw; light hands shoved her fiercely into the archway. There must have been a clock embedded in the stone above her--she wasn’t sure how that thought sprang to mind, but she could have sworn she felt microseconds being shaken from the timepiece as the girl’s knee was driven into her chest.

The moment was dismissed; Emmy swung her leg under her opponent’s and threw her to the ground. A swift kick bloodied the girl’s cheek; a heel to her stomach would have settled the fight ultimately, but with agility she shouldn’t have had, she rolled to her side, out of the way, stood up, grabbed the orphan’s collar, and slammed her into the archway. A hairline fracture split the clock face; Emmy raised a hand to push back, but the silvery mists of the loose time clung to her fingers as they brushed the edge of the clock.

And suddenly

The girl moved a little bit slower.

II.

Emmy grabbed the girl’s shoulders and tackled her to the ground.

Beneath the thin shine of the silver filaments, her opponent made a move to catch Emmy’s ankle with her own, but the orphan sidestepped it easily, swinging her foot out of the way and onto the raven-haired girl’s ribs.

“Ha!” she cheered, digging her heel in just for the sake of sheer cockiness, “Not quick enough, now!”

“Shove off.” the girl muttered, moving to sit up. “‘Sn’t fair, you used magic.”

Moments from offering her hand, Emmy resisted the urge to slap the girl.

“Do I look like a starblood to you?” she said, laughing humorlessly, “I’d really think I’d ought to have noticed, but pardon--suppose I forgot my robes and silver spoon today.”

The raven-haired girl sighed, accepted her opponent’s hand reluctantly, and got to her feet. Once level with her, she took her by the shoulders and shook her.

“Are you daft? Look at the clock! Look at the time!”

Emmy shook her head, moved away.

“You pushed me into it in the first place! What did you think would happen?”

The girl threw up her hands, frustrated. “Well, would asking that you didn’t do...whatever you did be enough?”

Emmy scoffed, shoved the girl back. “What are you getting at?”

“You’re...”

She fell silent; Emmy would nearly flatter herself enough to say awestruck. Behind her, a tall gentleman, resplendent in a pressed dark suit with an emerald blazer and tie, strode closer; a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose, and all but slid off as he beamed.

“A timekeeper.” he said warmly.

Emmy’s eyes widened as she reflexively stepped back; by the look of the intricate elliptical badge on his blazer and the brass-lined goggles in his fair hair, he must have been one of Londinium’s timekeeping guild, all but a prince. Speak of the wrong person to cross….

She held her breath as he stepped back; his hand slowed as it neared the clock.

“Let’s see here….there are only a few seconds missing from it that have since passed, so not much damage done there...though that fracture could cause a problem the next go-around. Can’t say I’ve ever seen that done by anything besides magic.” he remarked absently, withdrawing a tool somewhere between a wrench and a spyglass from his pocket.

With his attention on the clock, she could probably dodge. There were enough people to cover, enough loose bricks in the alley walls to lift a foot on. Sure, it wouldn’t be proper, but there were scores of orphans in Londinium. The faeborn girl started the fight, she could finish it.

….and her former opponent was gone. Stardust to ashes. That had been her plan.

Before she could map out a better route, the gentleman caught her shoulder.

“Ah--not so fast. I’m not cross, don’t worry; but magic of this sort is always best recognized by the caster. Would you like to give it a shot?” he said gently, offering the tool to her, “It’s a lenity, designed to counteract effects on tempered material.”

She took it, glanced up at the clock warily, and extended one of the legs of it like a compass to enclose the fracture; immediately, thin tendrils of temporal energy twisted along it towards her hand. The gentleman nodded approvingly.

“Now, just bring it together and press your hand against the fracture; it’ll help if you keep a more level head about this.”

Emmy took a deep breath, but the temporal discharge only grew thicker around her fingers as she willed the fracture to mend, the time to recontinue; it strangled her from the inside, burning her fingers as her face grew hot. Hairline cracks spread outward from the fracture; by the most basic of Sylvarian survival instincts, she swept her foot in a protective half-circle behind her.

Forcing her heart to slow, she drew her hand away lightly; slowly, the smaller fractures began to stitch back together, time began to resume course in the marketplace, and the silvered mists of time were drawn back towards the clock, yet the last glow of it never quite left her hand. The smallest crack, despite everything, still remained.

Her heart beat once, and again, andagainagainagainagain

And

A g a i n

As the faintest, ever-so-slight shine of her own time stubbornly intertwined among the manipulative.

That….wasn’t good.

Emmy twisted her hand toward the presence of the clock as her heartbeat registered as if at the bottom of an ocean in her ears--

Until at last, fingers outsplayed and wrist outstretched towards the temporal charge, Emmillianna Robinson fainted.

III.

“_ss R_ns_n? Miss Robinson, are you alright?”

There was a tight hold around her left wrist, and that more than the formality jolted her to attention.

“I will remain silent until allowed a lawyer….” she said quickly, yanking her wrist roughly out of her holder’s grip, “As is required by...Londinium Code thirty--”

The man’s shoulders relaxed in a sigh of relief; as his laughter broke the air in short, triumphant bursts, Emmy looked up and recognized him as a Timekeeper and cut off abruptly. Stardust to ashes, well, she was as good as done for if she’d botched it this poorly. With a clap of his hands and a boyish cheer, he swung her into a twirl.

“Brava, Miss Robinson” he chuckled, resting her back on her feet, “I dare say I’ve never seen such a display like that before.”

She cocked her head in confusion, but as he gestured to the clock, she stepped closer. As if through the refracted glimpse of a pond, she remembered the lenity, the time as it twisted around her hands, and--

She must have fixed it. She couldn’t remember it, but she supposed that’s what happened, somehow, so a grin spread across her face. “Really?”

The gentleman shook her hand enthusiastically. “Yours is a talent to behold. I’ve been looking for an apprentice for some time; if you don’t mind my presumption, would you be interested?”

Emmy pressed her hand to the faded Robinson’s seal on her blazer, beamed a lopsided smile with all the cheer in the world.

“I accept.”

#time and again #the gentleman decennium #emmillianna robinson #emmy robinson

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