#once again horrified by the length of my own post

[ellekhen]

Hand, Hearth, and Home

Chapter 57 - The Lost

Chapter Summary: The battle to defend Halsin's portal begins.

Pairing(s): Astarion x Male Tav (Main); Past OC x Male Tav Rating: Explicit Length: 296K+ words; Chapters 57/?? (Master Post)

Excerpt below:

And that is when Church realizes their fatal mistake.

He feels the itch at the back of his neck before he turns — horrified — to see the massive, writhing dark shadow rising from the water behind the portal.

“Oh fuck,” he utters, extending a hand far too late.

With its many arms and hands, the horrible, shadowy rat king from the aqueduct grasps hold of the portal, stretching and tearing into it with a deafening, discordant roar.

“Vulridir…!” the duergar souls moan in chorus. “Vulridir… vulridir…!”

“LET GO!” Church cries out, not caring about the black smoke that pours out of his mouth as he launches himself towards the portal, attempting to command the shadows once again away from it. “LET—!”

A dozen shadowy arms claw into the portal at once — pulling it apart as it thrums frantically, deafeningly.

“HALSIN!” Church screams, reaching towards the portal and his friend still searching somewhere inside. 

The portal roars as it destabilizes, collapsing in on itself in a split second until all Church’s hand brushes against is a pinprick of sizzling light — 

— and then it closes around nothing but air.

The shadow wraiths dissipate in an instant, and except for the crunching of the beach under foot, the crackling of flames, and the fluttering of shadow-cursed wings…

The world goes quiet.

The portal is gone — sealing Halsin away into the Shadowfell. 

Forever.

—

A chorus of dismayed shouts and frantic orders breaks the stunned silence. Even Jaheira seems at a loss as she stares wide-eyed at where the portal once was.

But Church can’t hear any of them.

No… NO! Is all he hears in his own mind, chanting in rhythm with the slow, hard thud of his heartbeat.

“Halsin!” Karlach cries out, her voice hoarse and despondent.

“Good gods,” Astarion utters in shock. “Just like that?”

“That’s… it,” Wyll’s voice breaks. “We failed him. He’s dead.”

The shadow-cursed beings and dark creatures all around them had stopped in the instant the portal disappeared. The incorporeal enemies had dispersed, and the corporeal had stumbled back into the woods and water. But the ravens, on the other hand…

They fill the trees. They stand upon the ground and rocky ledges. They circle silently in the air.

Somehow Church knows that with their pale, glowing eyes, they are all watching him with rapt attention. 

The shadow within him laughs hysterically. 

Everyone. Everyone you ever cared about—!

“—NO!” Church thunders, reaching towards the empty air where the portal once stood. 

“My child!” the Mother shouts frantically into his mind. “What are you doing? STOP!”

“Church!” Tavi calls out desperately, the astral prism vibrating and burning in the tiefling’s pocket. “No—no!”

Church has never done this before, and yet it feels so natural to him as he draws the endless shadows of this cursed land into himself. His heart pounds like a drum as he feels the power burn through his veins, electrify his brain, and chant in his ears. 

The ravens begin to caw around them in a hellish, cacophonous symphony.

He feels the eyes of the living and the dead watching from the darkness and the moonlight. Amid the calls of his allies and the caws of the ravens, he swears he can hear the Raven Queen herself laughing gaily in the distance. 

He hears his mother’s continuous, desperate pleading for him to, “STOP! STOP!”

“What are you doing?” Astarion yowls from afar, clambering down from his position with the other archers. 

“Halsin’s not dead!” Church shouts over the din. “I’m not leaving him behind! I won’t allow it!”

“No—NO! Don’t leave me! Don’t—!”

Church sighs deeply. 

Sorry, mother, he tells her. 

It’s clear what he must do. It’s so obvious what he was always meant to do. 

Church lets the shadow magic take over him, willfully casting away his mother’s protection like a heavy cloak. 

He embraces the shadows, and they pour into him hungrily as he channels their magic through both of his blackened, sharp-taloned hands — tearing the fabric of space and time apart. 

In just a few seconds, a thrumming, unstable portal hangs before him in mid-air. It’s an ugly thing compared to the one Halsin summoned with Silvanus’ guidance, but between his haphazard portal’s ragged edges Church can see the same colorless, barren land Halsin had stepped into before. 

A storm of shadows swirls around him, but Church feels calm. 

He feels focused.

He turns to his friends, his eyes inky black and mouth smoking as he speaks. 

“I’m going to find him,” he declares in a distorted, resonant voice, reaching into his pocket. “Don’t follow me — stay here and fight back the shadows if they return.”

“Church!” Tavi begins to speak as the warlock tosses the artefact back into the hands of a bewildered, anguished Shadowheart. “No — stay here! Don’t—!”

“I’m sorry Tav,” Church thinks ruefully. “I guess we all have to play the hero at some point, don’t we? Take care of the others for me. Please.”

“We can defeat the Absolute without lifting the Shadow Curse!” Tavi’s voice is desperate as he pleads with him. “Halsin is lost! I can’t lose you too. CHURCH—!”

But the warlock pays him no more heed. 

Instead, he seeks out Astarion’s familiar, frantic mind, trying to soothe it in vain. 

“For what it’s worth,” he tells the elf, his heart full of regret. “It was really nice to be yours.”

He turns and forces himself through the portal before anyone else can try to stop him. 

Start from the beginning!

[dozing-composing]

ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴇ, ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ɪꜱ ɴᴇᴡ

ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ɢᴏɴᴇ ᴀᴡᴀʏ

Warnings: Angst Ahead Days like these are more than perfect. You are the highlight of each and every waking moment, but it all comes crashing down when you have to go. A/N: This Might Be A Bit Rushed, Because I Accidentally Deleted The First Draft Thinking I Posted It. I Apologize If Anything Seems Off.

He couldn't get enough of this. His head was resting in your lap as you ran your fingers through his coarse hair. He rests his eyes. You're looking down at him, examining his features. You both share this moment of serenity under the shade of a large white oak tree atop a grassy hill. Thick, puffy clouds roll with the wind across the sky. The grass around you sways. He draws out a long exhale, exuding pure bliss. This was the only time he could truly relax. "Did you have a rough day, my love?" The corners of his mouth turn up. Your voice is music to his ears. "Not anymore now that I am here with you," his eyes stay closed. "Would you like to tell me about it?" You smile. He hums, then dramatically rambles about the lengths he had to go through to save Dr. Venture and Co. once again. It was a "perilous journey." You recognize that throughout various points of his story, he'll outdo himself. As much as you were pleased knowing he had found people to accept him and his ways of magic, it also pained you seeing him pushing himself past his limit. You hated seeing him so tired out to the point where his exhaustion made him physically weak. There were times when he would stop by and you could see his eyes were sunk in, his fingers would twitch from expeditious spell-casting, his joints would crack at the slightest bit of movement. And to top it all off, he still visits you each and every day. You figure these conditions would worsen if he kept this up. "Byron," you interrupt him mid-sentence. "Yes, my dear?" "You love me, right?" His eyes open. He bolts upright, resting his hands on your shoulders. "Why, angel, you are the very being that eases my mind from metal torture." "That's just it," your hands gently hold his wrists. "You're killing yourself more and more each time you come here." You can't keep eye contact, looking away when he looks at you confusedly.

"But, seeing you is the very reason I-" "Byron," you say sternly. You lower his hands. "You can't keep coming to this mindset." The skies turn grey when you say these words. The wind picks up. Orpheus looks at you, a mix between terror and sadness, while your own carries the sorrow you've been meaning to show him. "Darling! I-" You stand, not wishing to hear his pleas. The anguish in your chest rises. You attempt to make your way across the hill, but are weighted down when Orpheus throws himself onto you, clinging to your waist. His eyes well up, pools of tears threaten to fall. You look down at him. "Please, stay here with me," his voice is wavering. He buries his head in your hip, tears staining the fabric of your clothes. You partially regret interrogating him like this, but you know it would be best for him. "Byron, love," You kneel to his level. "I never meant to cause such hurt," you pull him close in an embrace. His chin rests in the crook of your neck. "But you need to let me go." Suddenly, it all comes back to him. He remembers the way you fell when you were stuck down, when you desperately grasp his sleeves and how you swallowed quick gasps of air. He remembers your last words, stumbling out one final "I love you," before succumbing to darkness. Then you went limp in his arms.

"I...I..." The lump in his throat grows tighter. He shudders harshly. He can no longer contain himself. "I can't!" He finally gives in to his emotions. He clutches you harder. By this point, the wind is howling. The clouds, now blackened, engulf the sky. Leaves rip from the oak and fly away. What was once a reflection of his image of you becomes a horrifying storm of his own guilt. There's a block in his chest, and he starts to heave. He tries to speak, but it's incoherent. He's blubbering apologies. But then you begin to rub his back. Your warmth is a blanket that settles his woes. The storm quietens down along with his cries. "Shh, shh. It's alright, my love." Something he's always admired about you is how you could always comfort him in times of need. You knew how to keep calm, even in situations as vulnerable as this. "You... You were my everything," his breathing levels out a bit. The poor man struggles to collect himself. He recedes, now taking your face in his hands. "You were my muse. My stars, my moon." His thumb brushes over your cheek. "You were the sole reason I go beyond the bounds." Your heart breaks hearing this. You frown. You sigh. "I shouldn't have been so upfront," your hands place themselves on his. "But I think you need to move on." You kiss his palm. Then, your hands reach for his face. "For the sake of your mental state." Your lips connect with his. Oh, how he misses these tender moments with you. You break the kiss, thumbs wiping his tear-stained face. "I can't bear to see you in pain like this," you press your forehead against his. Your surroundings are significantly calm. It's still cloudy, but the air is refreshing. "You're my entire world." The both of you stay like this in a state of tranquility. The leaves on the tree rustle. The grass dances about. Everything goes back to normal. "I didn't want you to worry for me," he murmurs. "I can't help that," you reply, backing away to get a better view of his face. "Because I love you too much to see you joining me so soon," your hands move down to his chest. Now it's his turn to place his on top of yours. "You still have a life to live. Triana still needs you. The Ventures need you." He blinks. Of course he wants to be here with you, but when you mention this, he realizes that he still has responsibilities at home he can't just leave. "You need to shift back." He's defeated. You were right.

"...I know," his voice cracks. Another short moment of silence passes. "No matter what, I will always be with you," you peck his nose, something you would usually do when you were both alone. "I will forever cherish every minute of you," he wraps his arms around you once more. The wind picks up again, now creating a tornado of grey as the clouds dissolve. Everything turns to white.

"There will never be a day where you won't cross my mind." "And there'll never be a day where I stop loving you." Your words echo as he brings himself back to the real world. Your hold fades as you dissipate. The scene around him disappears. Orpheus's position doesn't change as he is thrust back into reality. He's still on his knees with his arms out, holding nothing now that you're gone once more. He deflates. His arms fall as he crouches over. His quivering form convulses as his hands clutches his head. Soft whimpers escape his lips.

He's alone again. At least in the mortal realm. But he knows that you're always with him, waiting for the day where he'll be able to reunite with you. Officially, that is.

[crimsontroupe]

Hello I am awake now. Now I can write the thoughts in my little head. Under read more due to probably length since I have no idea. And also for heavy content. (please read the tags on this post)

There's a lot of things that I could write about yesterday's session (and. on friday. Why did we play for 13/14 hours between two days again? insane people) and while I am bad at making such things apparent during session, writing down makes it clearer to me. These are all very discombobulated stream-of-consciousness thoughts so if it doesn't make sense. Bear with me here.

I am thinking about the incredibly hard choice between betting on a spell that might not work, and something that involves ending a life to take on a much harder gamble of resurrection. And how normally - and with a Pharasmin cleric by their side - this would be a no-brainer. Something so easy to choose, something they all know.

Something so hard to do when the circumstance is a kid who had unspeakable things happen to him and was still struggling with the consequences of his actions - actions that he knew he took, but that people did not blame him for it. 'You have gone through something terrible, because people did something horrible to you. You are not guilty of this, you did not choose this fate. You are so very young, and you have so many things to see still'.

There is something to say here about one of his anathemas as one of the Eldest: harming children is the easiest way to get on his bad side. Even if you are his friend, he will firmly oppose you. And again, there were many thoughts running across his head in a few seconds: that he did not want to be removed from the room (he had to see to make sure all would be right), that he could not be left unattended (what would stop him from acting out of impulse and ruining things/his own intrusive thoughts of stopping people doing harm to children no matter the cost/knowing it'd almost be better if he was tied down if he did not want to leave) but ultimately deciding to stay and observe. To stay and hold this kid's hand and calm him down and tell him all will be right. Ignoring how - internally - it took all of his willpower to simply not do anything about it.

Adonia, who is capable of great kindness but unspeakable violence. Violence that runs contrary to everything he stands for and looks like/talks about. Violence that he only applies in very specific cases: when people cross the threshold of what he deems as 'evil' and 'unacceptable'. Meddling with people's free will, with their minds. How that easily makes him turn on you. Adonia very often prefers to hit vital points so his enemies do not suffer even in death. That it will be painless and swift, nobody deserves to suffer even in death. So you really have to wonder what it means when that elegance - that restraint - is gone. When he fully embraces the violence he himself says most of the time that he abhors.

Adonia is a man who clearly judges you based on your virtues and your actions, and the extent of how nice or merciful he is depends exactly on that. What does it mean when he decides to - instead of piercing his enemy's chest and ending it right then and there - ignore his own wellbeing, strategy that he values above all and go clear for your head. And while knowing you are dead, still waste time making sure to hit you again. Once more, ignoring something he values very clearly.

Strategy to him is incredibly vital, and while he might suggest a reckless plan here or there... Adonia is a man that really applies calculated risks to almost all that he does. Something to be said when that all drops and you have a clear reminder that there is a huge part of his brain that has ceased to behave in any way that is resembling human! That there is something either wrong or amiss with him, the clear warning that while he is very composed and serene he is very willing to commit either unspeakable acts of violence or put you through a horrifying death if he thinks you deserve it!

(Not to say there were not other factors in play: he was disrespected as a fey and that already puts you in a hostile position towards him, the very clear threat to a person he loves and the necessity to protect the people he considers family are also present in his decision-making and affected a lot of his decisions. 'I can go down because Arlas will not let me die'/'I have to keep at this no matter how terrible it might seem because if we do not stop this it will only get worse'/'I am the only person that can do effective damage that would make this end sooner'/'I cannot stop and close my own wounds because that would buy time for the enemy to do something we are not prepared against'. These were all there and valid! He has seen his friends throw their highest spells and attacks and have that not do much so he knows it ultimately boils down to a kill-it-before-it-kills-you situation)

Something also to be said about his aversion to having the blood of people he considers 'evil' on him/his clothes. It doubled as 'there is a kid here and I cannot be seen drenched in blood because I voluntarily decided to decapitate another man', but truly is because he was disgusted. Not at his actions, but to be sullied with what he sees as 'irredeemable'. People who manipulate others, beings who take free will away from others. Individuals that see no worth in life - in nature - and decide to trample over such essential values. 'Harming children', 'perform mind controlling magic', 'destroy nature' would all be (and are) parts of his anathema as an Eldest/Archfey.

Adonia himself is all of these things - a person who, if he viewed his actions without his named attached to it, would think of himself evil - and a 'clear but unintentional' parallel to. well. (points) if you know you know. Adonia, who hates mental effects but would do it if he needed to (and often does it). Adonia who sees no problem in necessary sacrifice - although he might struggle about it - and gambling with things above his own power because he is not going to avoid taking risks to get what he wants. Adonia, who is a hypocrite. Adonia, the personification of 'do as I say but never as I do'. Adonia, who deep down is selfish and struggles with it. (me repeating what I said to lux on discord) What is the difference between a conqueror and a savior? Are they both not working towards a goal that would benefit them first and foremost?

[livvyofthelake]

1, 4, 8, 18, 19 <333 a lot but I love the way you hate 🫂

1) the character everyone gets wrong

i already said arthur but since you didn’t specify a fandom i will use this space to complain about the shadowhunter chronicles <3 nobody on earth understands my girl isabelle lightwood it’s sick and twisted. i can’t even think about how bad the tv show fumbled her it makes me so angry i want to start screaming. like. congratulations everyone you fell for the femme fatale front she was putting up… even the people who were supposed to be writing her and understanding her character it’s ridiculous like none of that is what cassie wrote and i read…

4) what was the last straw that made you finally block that annoying person?

again i already answered this but one time i blocked someone because their icon looked really weird and they spam liked and it freaked me out seeing their icon so much. me when i’m so normal and nice i guess.

8) common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

WHEN BBC MERLIN FANS. actually i could finish this answer right there couldn’t i… no i’ll finish for real. when bbc merlin fans are like ohhhh why did the show do (insert widely known story beat from centuries of legends) like girl it was ALWAYS going to happen that way that’s the point….. mordred was always going to turn on arthur, morgana was always going to become evil, etc. yes there are issues with HOW the show did that stuff (meaning they did it in such stupid ways it’s laughable) but that’s the story… it’s BEEN set come on…

18) it's absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on...

can i say that i think all fandoms (on tumblr) really sleep on straight ships or is that an insane thing to say. like sometimes i don’t care if that man was homoerotic with his pal and it’s insane that you care more about that than his awesomely written relationship with his girlfriend/ex fiancée/some kind of love interest. ok this is about izombie this is about liv and major. i don’t care about major and ravi!!!!!!! major and liv are literally endgame grow up!!!! but no this is also true for every fandom ever. the way people ignore a man’s canonical female love interest if he has even one ounce of gay tension with some other dude in the show is ridiculous idk

19) you're mad/ashamed/horrified you actually kind of like...

i guess i’m supposed to say ben barnes shadow and bone here or whatever. but i’m not actually mad about it because i’m a born apologist and knew this would happen. but i feel like i’m supposed to not like him. or i’m supposed to like him but righteous fandom people think it’s activism to not like him and therefore they would hate me sooo much because i formulate my own opinions with nuance and depth or whatever. also rumplestiltskin once upon a time. robert carlyle you got to me man… i could write essay length posts about that character actually don’t get me started. also i finished this question, saved the draft, and then another ask reminded me of the wilds, so i should also add that in hindsight i’m very embarrassed about the way i acted about the wilds season 2…. like i can’t believe you all let me act like that about men. in the feminist lord of the flies show…. why was i allowed to do that seriously that was sick….

[luna-rainbow]

Sorry, didn't mean to go off on in response to that ask 😬😖 but it's so frustrating how both Sam and Bucky got nerfed so hard in regards to their abilities. Idk whether it's laziness, or lack of understanding around fight choreography or what.

I remember watching as it aired, and Bucky's downgrading was so obvious to the point of it being painful (like the fight on the trucks. Barely able to stay upright in a fight against untrained (albeit) super soldier's, when we have literally witnessed him mowing through multiple highly trained super soldiers before.)

But after it finished, and after rewatching tws and cw it struck me how much they downgraded Sam too. We've only seen him fight in short snippets before, but he is highly competent. And there's no doubt in my mind that he's even better than what we've seen.

They didn't have to downgrade Bucky in order to showcase Sam, because Sam was already on par with Bucky, just with a different skillset/fighting style. They could have been presented as equals, and complementary to each other, but instead they... Idk even what they did really. It's sort of like they pitted their styles against each other's instead of using it as an opportunity to show how they grew and worked together as a team. Idk... Sorry to rant in your inbox, feel free to ignore 😅

(Yay I finally got the chance to answer! (And sorry it got super long)

Honestly I’m on a bit of a TFATWS criticism spree here so please stop reading if you love this show.

I think the problem is (at minimum) twofold:

A) Most of the action scenes only served to move people from place to place without regard to what this meant for their characterisations.

The net result is that out of all the characters it was John Walker who got the main character treatment of having a logical character arc and fight scenes that all served to build on his character.

1 - Truck fight: Sam and Bucky are BOTH nerfed in order for Walker to save them. This was supposed to establish Walker as well-intentioned and on par with our heroes. Except both Sam and Bucky were clearly punching wayyyy below their movie level while waiting for him to arrive. 2 - Wakandan fight: This fight served as a turning point for John as he became overwhelmed by a sense of inadequacy. However, to set up this fight, SAM went out of character to stop John from taking Zemo (this part was completely inane because Zemo ran away after this so clearly they didn't need him). And don't get me started on how Bucky went out of character to upset the Wakandans in the first place to set up this fight. 3 - Lemar/Flag Smasher death fight: I mean, let's be real, the protagonist of this entire fight was John. The target was John, the death was John's friend, the one who underwent major character evolution was John. Sam and Bucky were both on the sidelines, pulling their punches (although there's adequate in-plot justification for this). 4 - John vs Sam & Bucky fight: I already wrote half a chapter with Sam raging at Bucky's awful fighting style here so I'm not going to do it again LOL. But even SAM was brought down a peg to let John be a threat. Sam landed like...3 punches before he was pinned down and had his wings ripped off. And the characterisation in this fight? I'd say it built more of John getting deranged with the serum (don't @ me, he aimed for Sam and Bucky's heads multiple times while they were down)...with maybe a character beat for Sam coming to terms with the shield at the end. 5 - Final fight: Sam got some good sequences (I'm not sold on the Batroc fight), but John was able to finish off his character arc by a redemption. I'm not going to comment on Bucky because it will just remind me of Spellman's infuriating quote.

In other words, John was the only one in the series where the fights themselves told a coherent story, and in fact Sam and Bucky’s characters were warped to facilitate this. Examined purely from the quality of character development to the care paid to consistency and continuity, you’d think John was the main character, and that’s just...ironic.

B) A conscious decision to make Sam and Bucky not carry any arms against the Flag Smashers.

I feel like this is to parallel current events with Sam and Bucky representing police, and the Flag Smashers representing POC youths. Without getting into whether this allegory is appropriate or effective: it takes away what Sam and Bucky have been using in previous movies. Sam was always backed up by guns in the air, and Bucky also either used guns or knives. The easy fallback is to say that they seem weaker because they're not using weapons anymore, but it doesn't have to be this way.

As I said in my earlier post, Gundam Seed showed it is absolutely possible to have a main character who is staunchly non-lethal but still kicks major ass.

I know Kira has a lot of detractors but here's his signature move: disarm enemy armoured suits without killing the pilots. (GIF by mecha-gifs)

I know this is obviously a completely different type of fighting but Kira, as a main character, sustained this philosophy for the majority of 2 seasons of 50 episodes. He also started off in a basic suit which doesn't let him disarm multiple enemies like this, so his earlier fights were all "hand to hand" fights but he still managed to (mostly) avoid killing people. What I mean is, if they really tried, they could definitely make Sam and Bucky kick ass while being non-lethal. They just...didn't try.

[hotwings0203]

now we need a part 4 with izuku and bakugo on what happens next to the poor reader 😩✋🏼

Aight imma do a two for one here so MASSIVE BET

Tw:noncon, gangbang

When your hand reaches the doorknob, you know something is off only half a millisecond before another large hand settles itself on your wrist and another one caressing your side.

You freeze immediately at the voices that croon and snarl to you.

“Open the door quietly and we don’t have to make this any more difficult than it’s already gonna be.”

“God, you smell so good. You still haven’t changed your shampoo even after all these weeks huh? I like it.”

Your hand starts to shake and your body starts to sweat as you wildly try to find a way out of this situation. The voices sound eerily familiar, with one being higher and the other more aggressive and raspy, but you don’t dare turn around to locate the faces.

One of them seems to be catching onto your hesitation, because your wrist is crushed underneath a hard grasp and you cry out softly as they growl.

“Open. This. Fucking. Door. Right now.”

It takes a good 15 more seconds to jimmy the lock open, and once you do all three of you go tumbling in.

You whip back around to see both men standing over you, merely watching you with crossed arms and equally perverse leers.

“D-deku? Bakugo? What’s going on?”

Deku practically bounces on the balls of his feet, itching with inappropriate anticipation for what’s to come.

“We wanted to play with you! Are you ready? You can’t fucking ignore me anymore!” His voice is cheery as always but it breaks when he curses, the strains in his vocal cords sticking out while he forces himself from holding back.

Bakugo steps forward.

“Didnt I tell you I was gonna come again for you, you teasing cunt? Didn’t I say to watch your back? Now look at you, sprawled on the floor like rapetoys should be.”

Both men start slowly uncrossing their arms and advance towards you.

“No-no please, why? I didn’t do anything to you! Deku, please!” You blubber as you scuttle backwards, their strides equally as long.

You continue evading them as they play around with you.

“Oh, you have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear those words. ‘Deku, please.’ Although, I’d very much rather you moan it for me.” He has the audacity to blush, and then Bakugo interjects.

“You deserve this y’know, so don’t start crying now. We haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet.” He spreads his hands and his uncharacteristic grin stretches from ear to ear, his vermillion eyes flashing in the dim light of your dorm.

“Anyone whose stupid enough to not realize how this creep has been sniffin’ your panties for months-hell, maybe even years now should get raped. You’re so fucking stupid, you didn’t realize I was protecting you from him.”

“But now look at you. Alone, afraid, vulnerable…oh, and going to the bedroom. You really are an easy slut, huh?”

Deku’s eyes light up when he realizes you truly are unknowingly backing up into the bedroom, but you realize it too late.

It’s only after Bakugo’s words come out that you try to look for a detour for the lock-induced bathroom, but Deku has a different idea.

Out of pure excitement he laughs and sprints towards you, hands outreached to touch your pretty skin, mouth open with drool softly filling the tile below him and eyes bloodshot with lust.

He looks like a creature from hell, and in the pure terror of watching him come at you like that your plan to detour was thwarted and you mindlessly trip back over your feet onto the bed, scrambling as far away as you can from them to the headboard.

You look to your left and quickly seize your bedside lamp, raising it above your head.

“Domt come any closer you closer perv. God, I shouldve known you were fucked in the head. I kept trying to make excuses for you, I thought you were my friend-“ you break down in sobs as the green haired man continues looking at you like you’re a piece of meat, absentmindedly wiping his hand across his mouth.

“And you,” you point to Bakugo who bares his teeth and smirks madly, “I already knew you were the embodiment of hell, but I thought you had a limit of how low you could stoop. You didn’t protect me from shit, you forced your way inside of me day in and day out.”

“Well now that your useless little monologue is over, Deku, tie her legs to the posts. I swear Y/N, you’re making this way too easy for me. It’s almost boring, I already know what I’m gonna get.” He raises his eyebrows at you while he lets his minion do all the work for him, goosebumps racing up his arm at the sight of you screaming and fighting tooth and nail against your fate.

But at the end of the day, after all your curses and sobs and monologues, you’re no match for either of them, especially Deku, who cooes at you to scream louder while he caresses your face and uses nylon string to secure your wrists to the wooden posts. Your legs are also bound after Bakugo seizes them from kicking, and a gag is placed over your mouth by his hands.

He roughly taps the tape covering your trembling lips and smiles condescendingly down at you.

“You’re doing so well for us, rapemeat. Keep up the good work and try to spread those legs as much as you can.” He chuckles when you scream your lungs out, thrashing as he yanks your knees apart.

“Aw, Kacchan, can’t we take the gag off? I wanted to hear her in my ears,” he pouts and looks glumly at your writhing figure.

“No, how fucked in the head are you? Someones gonna come down if she’s hollering for the whole building to hear. And cut her clothes off, I’m getting impatient.”

It seems like Deku too was at his last fiber of self control as his hands shake equally as much as yours, except for an entirely different reason altogether, the opposite reason of yours in fact.

He fishes in his back pockets for something, and produces a glinting steel knife with a black handle.

You still immediately as his descends his hands to the top of your v-neck shirt, right above your collarbones. His eyes fog up as your satiny smooth skin comes in contact with the blade, the coldness of the steel sending shivers down your spine and making you sob harder.

“Kacchan…did you ever get a taste of her blood? How does she taste?” He lifts his head to look into your tear-streaked eyes, but he addresses his childhood friend.

Bakugo snorts. “Calm down Toga, don’t get too crazy yet. We’ll have some more fun later, right now my dick is about to explode. ‘Need a hole,” he mumbles at the end and finally clambers onto the bed right atop your legs.

You stay absolutely silent as pressure from the knife rips the thin strands of your clothes apart, and Deku takes careful care to ensure you at least have thin red lines running down your stomach if not for actual blood.

“Oh fuckkkk,just look at her. You look good enough to eat…” he looks at you and licks his lips, salivating when you whine and twist at your restraints.

“Yeah yeah, you do whatever the fuck you want. Just choose what you’re gonna stick it in and hurry up.”

The blond looks bored almost as the more eager one whips to the side to face him.

“You mean it Kacchan? I can pick?”

They speak as if you’re not alive, no feelings or humanity involved. All you can do is watch and yell into your makeshift gag as the blond waves him off.

“Go for it. It’s your first time satisfying that sick head of yours, ‘must get boring doing it from behind a screen all the time.”

His slowly turns to face you, a kind leer etched across his features, eyebrows slanted and hand coming up to pull your ripped clothes apart.

You struggle and spit muffled profanities out as he slowly drags the bridge of your bra down, eyes wide open as your nipples pop out and eventually both of your tits bounce out.

He hisses and takes his nails up your stomach to fondle your breast. You can tell Deku’s too excited, too inexperienced from the way he handles them like stress balls. You grunt as his mouth latches onto a pert nipple, suckling and looking up at you as if he were some kind of demonic baby.

Bakugo watches all this with a dark glint in his eyes, absentmindedly palming himself as he watches the show unfold in front of him.

It’s entertaining seeing all of the creep’s hormones spiral out of control from years of pent-up lust. He’s never seen the dork so fired up and hungry, he’s never seen him so brutal with a civilian before, the type of people he used to say he’d protect at all costs.

After he’s done playing with your sore tits, he wasted no time in yanking your sweats off. You don’t even trash around anymore, the only thing you’re capable of in this state of terror and shock is weak moans and little sobs, maybe a writhe or two here and there.

Your panties are also torn off and you howl when the elastic cuts into your skin within the process. Bakugo takes this last stripping as an indication for him to move now. He lifts himself up on his knees and moves around your head while Deku situates himself between your violently twitching legs.

“I’m gonna take the gag out now. If you scream or pull any funny business I’ll plug your pussy and your throat with this knife, got it?” He snatches the weapon from the bed and waves it dangerously close to your face.

You nod frantically and try to turn your head to the side, but he yanks you back into place and decides to have his own fun.

While Izuku hurriedly takes his own shorts off the hothead slowly takes the tape off your mouth, staring down at you with unblinking eyes. The knife which you’re so afraid of is traced around your own squeezed shut eyes, down your cheeks and around your lips.

But the horrified trance on which he keeps you in is broken when Izuku suddenly shoved his entire length inside your dry cavern.

Luckily Bakugo has enough foresight to slam a hand over your howling mouth before the entire building can be woken up, and he glares at the sheepish-looking man down the bed from him.

“Are you a fucking virgin? At least rub her clit or something so she doesn’t go hollering at every thrust you damn nerd!”

The man between your legs winces and rubs the back of his neck, chuckling nervously.

“Oops, sorry, got a little carried away there.”

He doesn’t pull out, he merely thrusts slower, trying to fit his fat dick inside your unwilling cunt.

A string of curses leaves your lips and you grimace as the pain becomes near blinding.

Bakugo looks down at you again, the knife forgotten.

“No teeth either.” Your breaths come out in little frantic pants when his bare cock springs out of his own pants.

He taps the leaking purple tip on your lips and you open hesitantly. There’s no point in resisting anymore, they’ve got you quite literally cornered.

“Wider, slut,” he snarls, and you do-but only because Deku’s paps get more aggressive, causing your mouth to fall open in a long whine.

The blond takes this opportunity to slam his length down your throat, groaning around when he sees your throat swell with his bulge.

You immediately start gagging and trying to pull at your restraints for air, his heavy balls rest right on top of your nose and you feel like you’re going to pass out.

You can barely hear him over Deku’s animalistic grunts and whines. He’s going way too fast, as if he’s possessed by your pussy. It numbs you, taking away some of the pain in a flip side.

But on the other end of your body, you’re desperate for air while a fuzzy ballsack paps against your nose and eyes.

Each sadistic stroke he puts inside of you widens your sore esophagus, bringing bile up sometimes and large amounts of saliva too.

He’s not as loud as Deku, but he’s equally as greedy with your holes.

Your body literally hovers up almost in midair as Bakugo thrusts in and lifts his hips up, taking your upper half along with it and Deku does the same unconsciously, trying to fuck up into your womb.

It’s an exact replica of a perverted spit roast, with both of them catching each other’s rhythm and slamming inside your holes at the same time.

Your clit is suddenly rubbed inexpertly to the point of overstimulation, and the incoming sob forced out of your throat warps into a pained scream.

The vibrations of your scream makes Bakugo cum suddenly with a hoarse groan. He doubled over your body and gnaws at your bouncing tits, licking and teething at them the same way his counterpart did.

The sight of copious amounts of cum being leaked out of your filled mouth propels the green-haired man to whimper and shove himself back in one more time, hitting your cervix and causing both his and your eyes to roll back.

He cums too, but both men keep their semi-hard cocks inside of your aching body.

You don’t know what’s worse, having both of them by your side or both of them inside.

[gyusfavlibra]

YOU MAY NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK ANYWHERE!!!

This is a imagine I made on my Wattpad that hasn't been released yet so I posted it here. @ivnasfilm is my wattpad btw!

Warnings: Fluff? Smut? Sexual interactions, language, cockblocking, Ward Cameron mentions, grinding, mentions of sex

••••

"Are your parents home?"

"No, they're at Thornton's for a couple hours."

"Sarah and Wheezie, too?"

"Yes," Rafe replied to his questioning girlfriend, Y/n. The duo have been dating for a year now. Y/n has been inside Rafe's house many times. She met him through her brother Kelce. He was pretty worried about it at first, but eventually Kelce would've had to get over it because Y/n is 18. She's a legal adult. She can do whatever the hell she wants.

They got closer by attending parties together, spending days at the country club, golf course. Sometimes even just sitting and talking at the beach. It was more than enough for both of them and they enjoyed it all. They made it official by attending Midsummers together. It was a pretty big deal to them since every single Kook would now know that Rafe Cameron officially had a girlfriend.

The first time she met Sarah, they hit it off pretty well. Did sleepovers, painted nails, read magazines about hot guys. Basically girly stuff. Even took fun trips on the Cameron's boat to get away from their boyfriends. They became best friends and truly loved each other's company.

Just like Rafe enjoyed Y/n's.

"Sooo, can I come inside?"

He leant his head back against the car seat. Staring at the girl who was sitting in the driver side of her vehicle. "Can you come inside?"

"Yeah, or- do you want me to?"

The mood in the car lightened as their talk became less questioning and more seductive. Y/n leaning over the center console, her breath hitting Rafe's face in all the ways he likes. Her hand reached over, brushing against his thigh.

"Do I even have to answer that?"

She shook her head at the Cameron before connecting their lips. Softly and gentle was how it was starting off, before Rafe placed his hand onto the zipper of her jeans.

"Not in here. Let's go inside."

"Okay."

The couple exited the car, Y/n making sure to lock it, and headed inside the house. Rafe using his own key to get indoors. They ran up the steps to Rafe's room, shutting the door behind them. Y/n removed her maroon crew neck, sitting herself on Rafe's bed as he removed his t-shirt.

He gently pushed her down sliding his heavier body between her legs. Leaving little kisses from her chest and up. He knew better than to give her hickeys on the neck because of Kelce so he avoided that.

His hand ran itself up and down her waist, giving it a small squeeze. They liked skin pressure. Tension. They began moving upwards, pushing under her cami top. A cropped tank that protected your breast if you didn't want to wear a bra. She tend to wear them often when around Rafe for these special purposes. And today, she just got lucky.

His thumb grazed the side of her breast. "Can I take this off?"

"Mhm."

"Hey Rafe, I need a the U-"

Before he could continue, Wheezie came barging through the door. Covering her eyes. Rafe groaned at the fact that his sister didn't knock. Knowing whenever the door is closed, you knocked.

"Wheezie, we talked about this-"

"I know. I'm sorry. I keep forgetting," she sighed. "Hi, Y/n."

"Hi, Wheez."

"What do you need? Why aren't you at dinner with dad and Sarah?"

"Halfway through the dinner, Rose threw up because Topper's parents made snail and she didn't like it. She made an excuse saying she was probably coming down with the flu. So we came back early."

"What did the Thornton's say?" Y/n asked. Intrigued by this hilarious story as Rafe put back on his shirt.

"Nothing. Just that we should head home just incase they could catch whatever it was."

"That sounds awesome!"

"Yeah, I know. Hey, wanna see the video."

"Oh absolutely," Y/n exclaimed, getting up from Rafe's bed. He sighed as he watched the two girls laugh at the gross vomiting. Althought part of him was glad Y/n was getting along with his little sister. "That's freaking gross. Cool. Like really cool. But gross."

"Yeah, i'm gonna upload it to my Instagram."

"Tag me?"

"Obviously."

"Awesome! Thanks."

Rafe stood. "So, what did you need?"

"I need the USB cord to connect my phone and laptop to upload the video in a file just in case dad and Rose make me take it down."

He huffed out his breath, walking over to his desk. He opened the top drawer, pulling out a mid-length white cord, handing it to his sister. She thanked him and tried to leave, but Rafe stopped her at the doorway. Death glaring her.

"I'm not gonna tell anyone. Chill out. Not like I wanna talk about it and picture it again."

"We weren't doing anything."

"I may be young, but I'm not stupid."

"She's got a point," Y/n agreed. Wheezie fist bumped her and left. Rafe shutting the door behind her. He turned to Y/n who just shrugged at the annoyed boyfriend of hers.

He smiled as he walked up to her, pushing his face close to hers. "Now, where were we?"

"You tell me."

He chuckled, the vibration against her lips sending chills down her whole body. He kissed her seductively like he did once before. This time Y/n pushed Rafe down onto the large bed, enough room for her to switch that position.

Her hands rested on his ribs as she grinded her clothed area against his member. A moan escaped her lips as a huff left his. The jeans in between them horrifying this exciting interaction.

She swayed her tongue and lips against his neck. His eyes rolling to the back of his head, letting out a grunt. She scooted down a few inches so she wasn't sitting directly on top of his belt.

"God, these pants got to go."

"So do yours."

She undid the strap of his waistline. Next thing was unbuckling his pants. She undid the button that lied above the zipper before grabbing the loose metal tab, pulling it down it's line.

"Rafe, dad needs you downsta- HOLY SHIT!"

"OH MY GOD," he groaned out loud. Y/n pushed herself off the dirty blonde, landing beside him. Sarah stood in the doorway, eyes covered, laughing.

"Stop laughing."

"You guys were totally about to do it," she sang as she pointed between them.

"Shut up, Sarah."

"Dad wants you. Said something about the golf course or country club. One of the two. I don't know," she shrugged as she sat beside Y/n. Rafe looked to his girlfriend.

"I'll be right back. You," he pointed to Sarah. "Be gone before i'm back."

"Will do, dickeroo."

Rafe left downstairs as Sarah turned to Y/n and smiled with eyebrows raised. "What are you staring at?"

"Uh...you. Were you guys about to have sex? Since when?"

"Well our first time together was months ago. Like 3 or 4."

"When we were first friends, you said you never planned on having it until you're married. Since when has that changed?"

She shrugged. "Since I met Rafe."

"You guys are too adorable. Well you, not him. Can't stand him."

"Yeah, I know. Sometimes I can't stand Kelce. I wanna kill him."

"Yeah, well let me get going before Rafe tries to kill me." (No pun intended)

She hugged Y/n before leaving the room, just as Rafe walked back in. This time locking the door before shutting it. "That is the last interruption for the night. I told everyone I was going to bed."

"Well, good cause I am trying to get my freak on," she laughed as he jumped back onto of her. Finishing what they've been trying to start.

Thanks for reading!!!

[nobodyfamousposts]

My-Crack-ulous: Aku-Maid

In which I am a horrible person...

No seriously. Don’t read this.

For @mermain123, for bringing up the cursed image that started this mess in the first place.

Mermain: i said i was suffering

Mermain: i didn't want you to make the internet suffer

Me: That sounds like the internet’s problem.

Also for @bloody-writes. You know why...   ; )

_________________________

Hawk Moth was a supervillain who had been terrorizing Paris for the better part of two years.

But no one could really argue that not all of his ideas have been good. Or well thought out. Or in any way sensible even.

Like the time he akumatized a baby.

Or the time he akumatized a girl to transform people into exact replicas of herself.

Or the fact he keeps akumatizing Mr. Ramier for going on 29 times at this point…

Or the other time he akumatized a baby…

Times that he destroyed Paris. Times that he nearly destroyed the world. Times that he gave people powers that were completely contradictory to the goals of getting the Miraculous he was after by erasing the heroes from existence or transforming them in ways that made the Miraculous inaccessible.

But none of his akumatizations had ever gotten him as much hate, caused as much misery, were were ultimately as pointless as this most recent incident.

Aku-maid.

It was known the instant she was akumatized. As soon as she was transformed, a wave of power enveloped the city. And within that wave, half of the people of Paris were transformed as well. 

…the male half.

Her power was to transform all the men of Paris. She didn’t even have a weapon or attack that did it, it just happened almost instantaneously. All men suddenly found themselves changed.

Or rather, their outfits…

“Ah!”

“What the hell—!?”

“I can’t get it off!”

One by one, every male in Paris suddenly found themselves in a much different state of attire. What had just been a normal day full of various styles and appearances had all suddenly become very…frilly.

“WHY AM I A MAID?!”

Much as implied her namesake, the akuma’s power involved transforming whatever any man was wearing into some variation of a maid outfit.

Every man.

All over Paris.

From Andre Bourgeois, who has refused to leave his office to make an official statement…

“ANDRE!” Audrey shouted, banging on the door. “Get out here this instant!”

“But, honey, I can’t be seen like this!”

To Roger Raincomprix, who has tried to continue his normal duties despite the…change of uniform…

“Stop in the name of the law!” Roger shouted, reaching into his pockets in an automatic reaction to try to get his handcuffs. While the dress he was wearing did still have pockets, the only item they procured was a cleaning rag, which was notably less threatening as the suspect in question stared for a moment before deciding to take off.

“HEY!”

And yes, even to…

“I’m a Macrophage!” Adrien gushed happily as he lifted his lengthy skirt to give a twirl.

…even to Adrien Agreste, who was apparently the only one to find anything pleasant about the current crisis.

Nino stared.

“Dude. Seriously?”

“I’ve always wanted to cosplay!”

Nino, having been long-since exposed to his friend’s deep love for anime in its many forms, at least knew what a Macrophage was. But even so, he couldn’t help but feel there was something odd about the way Adrien took to the long pale dress and cap.

Kim rested a hand on Nino’s shoulder. “Just let the guy enjoy this.”

“At least somebody is.” Nathaniel muttered bitterly as he tried to hide as behind his sketchbook. It was a futile attempt, of course, as he at most only covered his face, leaving the red dress, white apron with pockets, and knee-high boots on full display.

“I don’t understand how he can.” Max complained. He tugged at his own skirt in vain, looking at Adrien’s ankle-length ensemble enviously. The skirt was much shorter than he would have liked—reaching a couple inches above his thigh and almost seemed to be defying gravity to stay that way despite his attempts to get it to either flatten or otherwise lower. “I question the design choices.”

“But you look just like Misaki from Maid Sama! And Nathaniel looks like Lizbeth!” Adrien insisted. “It’s totally a cosplay!”

Max just stared incredulously. He was wearing a black dress with puffy sleeves that tapered off just shy of his elbow, white apron, a cap, and thigh-high black stockings and knee-high boots, it seemed Adrien did have a point.

Max, in all fairness, didn’t particularly care in favor of the problems that came with suddenly finding himself in a short dress, heels, and a corset.

“I just can’t peg where Kim or Nino’s outfits are from.” He continued, studying the outfits in question contemplatively. “But give me a little time! It’ll come to me!”

The boys had been having an afternoon hangout session in the park. No girls. No teachers. No Gabriel Agreste or bodyguards to whisk certain teen models away. It was supposed to be a normal non-drama-filled day.

…which was naturally when it became something less than normal and certainly more than drama-filled.

“I think I get why girls complain about this sort of thing now.” Kim said, looking at his shoes. “These heels are kind of uncomfortable…”

“Are you sure it’s the heels and not the flippers?” Nino asked, annoyed.

Sure enough, Kim was wearing flipper-heels. They were black and also had black ankle straps with a little bow on each. This strange footwear did seem to go with Kim’s talent in swimming, which was also emphasized by the ruffle maid swimsuit they matched with.

“Nah, it’s definitely the heels.” Kim insisted.

So this was what their all-boys’ afternoon had come to.

Kim was wobbling on unsteady heels.

Nathaniel groaned and kept his ever reddening face covered.

Max was questioning where they could procure jackets. Long jackets.

Adrien was giggling to himself and asking if they could do a full Cells at Work group cosplay.

And Nino paled, suddenly realizing something.

"Guys. Guys, we have to hide!"

"Why?" Kim asked. "It's annoying, but this akuma doesn't seem really dangerous."

"No, you don't get it!" Nino hissed. "If Alya catches us, we will NEVER live this down!"

Nathaniel looked over the edge of his sketchbook. “Alya wouldn’t actually post pictures of us to the Ladyblog, would she?”

A long pause followed.

The boys paled.

Except for Adrien, who turned to them with a gasp of excitement. “Do you think she would? We could do a group picture!”

All the other boys paled even more, looking downright ill.

And immediately took off running.

Or at least as well as they could with heels. None of them made it very far without tripping, stumbling, or simply struggling to stay upright as they still tried to move away from the area as quickly as the heels would allow.

“But what’s wrong with—?”

“JUST RUN, ADRIEN!”

“Who thought maid outfits with high heels was a good idea?! How can anyone be expected to clean in these things?

“I will never draw high heels on a super heroine again.”

“I can’t breathe! Who created corsets?! What objective does this achieve besides crushing one’s lungs?”

Nino groaned, still running. “I hope Hawk Moth is suffering as much as we are!”

_____________________

If Nino Lahiffe had the ability to break the fourth wall and peer into the events happening outside of his immediate vicinity, he would be happy to find this was actually the case.

And he would laugh.

Oh, how he would laugh.

“Sir…?”

“Don’t.” Came the dark growl from a very unhappy supervillain. “Don’t say anything, Nathalie..."

This was an akuma that impacted every male in Paris. Every male.

…even to Hawk Moth, himself.

“Why did this happen?”

It would appear that even Hawk Moth was not immune to Aku-Maid’s power as he had been similarly transformed. And unfortunately, due to the change, he could no longer access his Miraculous. The Butterfly broach had disappeared, having been transformed along with his outfit.

And his outfit had…actually left much to be desired.

Which was truthfully just a nice way of saying it was ugly.

Really, really ugly.

Normally the picture of stoicism, Nathalie had to pretend to cough to avoid reacting.

“Can’t you order the akuma to undo it?” She eventually was able to ask.

He lowered his head and closed his eyes in concentration. “No. It’s no good. I’ve lost the link!”

His eyes widened and he clutched his chest in a panic.

“Where is the Miraculous?!” Hawk Moth demanded, trying—and failing to pull at the tasteless dress. But as others across the city had already discovered, the clothes were magic and would not be removed or displaced. Not even the frock or the cap he now wore.

“Sir, you were transformed when you changed. It looks like the Butterfly Miraculous was transformed along with you.”

He froze, eyes widening in horror. “But that’s—”

He grasped at the empty place on his chest. Where once had been his lapel and pin now only had ruffles and a leathery texture. His mask remained in place, though it was now fully black except for the openings around his eyes and mouth, which were bordered with a lighter grey color. The material and outfit overall had a shine to it that could be found on any wetsuit.

To put it nicely: he looked atrocious.

To put it bluntly: he looked like some sort of BDSM role-player with a maid kink.

So it was fortunate, perhaps, that no one else in Paris would have to be subject to the sight.

Except Nathalie. Who was probably going to have nightmares.

Or a coronary from the laughter she was trying to hold back.

It was admittedly a bit hard to tell.

But it seemed she was handling the situation a bit better than Hawk Moth, despite the fact that the man was currently unable to see himself or the full extent of the monstrosity he now wore.

…this was probably for the best. Given the man’s fashion sense, there was really no telling whether he would be horrified or inspired, and nobody would want to find out.

“I can’t contact the akuma! And I can’t call it back!”

He moaned, covering his…already covered face with his hands. “I’ll never be taken seriously again!”

Nathalie resolutely held back from pointing out he was barely being taken seriously now.

“It’s…not that bad?” She tried. Not very well, but she tried.

Hawk Moth clutched his head in horror. “Unless Ladybug and Chat Noir can stop this akuma, we’re doomed!”

“Sir, it’s just an akuma that puts men in maid outfits. It’s really not that bad.”

“DOOOOOOMED!!!”

__________________________

The akuma, for her part, was unaware of her benefactor’s misery, too busy enjoying the abject misery of everyone else around her.

Nobody knew just what had set the girl off to get her akumatized in the first place. Her comments about men being “the eye-candy now” suggested an argument. The maid outfits involved suggested what the topic of the argument had been regarding.

To be honest, nobody had actually realized she was the akuma responsible. She did appear fairly normal by akuma terms, dressed in a seemingly authentic Victorian era dress more befitting as an authentic Lady’s Maid compared the frillier, lacier varieties that the men around her had suddenly found themselves in. What would normally have gotten her a few odds looks was mostly ignored in the face of the sudden change. Few even took notice of her dark purple skin or black hair. Or the fan in her hand.

“THAT’S RIGHT! SEE HOW YOU LIKE BEING OBJECTIFIED!”

The yelling…was a bit harder to miss.

It was the first thing that drew the attention of the three girls settled at the cafe.

The second thing was the various cries of horror as several of the men around them suddenly discovered their state of dress transformed into…well…dresses. Of a variety that made the little cafe appear more like a maid cafe than anything.

The third thing was the appearance of a familiar face running down the road, holding up his long white dress to make running easier as he looked for a place to hide.

Marinette stared.

“ADRIEN?!”

Adrien Agreste was running around in a long white and pale cream Victorian-era dress and cap, looking like Cinderella running from the ball. Except a maid.

A quick glance to her companions showed that both Alya and Kagami were similarly staring in befuddlement, so this was neither her imagination or a fever dream.

“Adrien? What’s going on?” Alya asked for everyone.

“It’s an akuma!” He replied, quickly. “She’s putting everybody into cosplay!”

“…cosplay?”

“Yeah!”

“…everybody?”

He paused, glancing around. “Well…all the guys, I think?”

Marinette stared.

“…Just that?” Alya asked, thankfully taking over while Marinette’s brain started to become aware that this WAS Adrien she was talking to. “She’s not doing anything else besides putting guys into…‘cosplays’?”

He blinked in confusion. “I…think so?”

“She isn’t…I don’t know…commanding you or anything?”

“Well, she hasn’t yet. Which, really, isn’t so bad for an akuma if you think about it.” He said with a frown before he noticed the strange look on Kagami’s face. “Kagami, are you okay?”

Kagami made a strangled sound.

“Marinette?”

Marinette pretended to choke on a drink from an empty glass to avoid speaking.

“Can I add to your order?” The waiter came by, seeming unconcerned by the ruckus or the act that he was now wearing a rather cutesy maid outfit the likes of which would be seen in a maid cafe in Japan.

“You don’t seem put off by this.” Alya pointed out, noting his relatively unfazed attitude compared to the panicking of the other men around them…or the gushing from Adrien.

The waiter took it in stride.

“It’s okay.” He replied blankly. “I’m already dead inside.”

“Oh.”

He turned to Kagami. “Do you need anything else, Miss?”

Kagami was still staring at Adrien, blushing furiously.

“I think I have a problem.”

“You mean a kink?”

“A. Problem.” She spoke through gritted teeth.

“Story of my life.” The waiter replied as he refilled her glass of water, either unaware or uncaring of the specific nature of her trouble.

Alya gasped in sudden realization. “Wait! If this is happening here then…” She turned to Adrien. “Where were Nino and the boys?” He blinked, curious. “Oh, they decided to head home. Why?”

An almost sinister smirk formed on Alya’s face. One that would have anyone it was directed at cowering in fear. And strong enough to be felt from several blocks away.

Unbeknownst to them, Nino felt that smirk like a trail of cold fingers down his back, and promptly threw himself into his room and slammed the door shut behind him.

As if she sensed this, Alya slammed several bills on the table and dashed out the door.

“GOTTA GO!”

Realizing an akuma was about, Marinette was right on her heels. She found a nearby alleyway and immediately prepared to transform and face this latest threat.

“Oh my god. OH MY GOD.” She broke down, letting out the laughter she’d been trying so hard to hold in. “He’s a dork! The boy I’m crushing on is a complete DORK who is in to cosplaying! He thinks maid outfits are COSPLAY!”

…or she would be.

“And here I’ve been driving myself nuts with anxiety over just asking him out and he doesn’t even—”

Any minute now…

“Marinette!” Tikki hissed. “You need to stop the akuma!”

“Can’t I just take a picture first?”

“MARINETTE!”

“Oh fine…”

_____________________

Luka didn’t realize anything had happened. He felt a bit off balanced for a moment, and a bit colder, but attributed that to being on the Liberty. So he simply shifted his stance to be a bit more steady and continued playing. It wasn’t until the drum stopped that he realized something was actually wrong.

The look of shock from Mylene and the following shriek from Ivan cemented it.

He spun around, not sure what could have elicited such a cry from his fellow bandmate. And at first, he couldn’t really tell what had happened. Ivan was crouched behind the drum set, covering his face with his hands and trembling in what appeared to be mortification.

Then he noticed the mobcap on Ivan’s head, which he was pretty sure hadn’t been there before. And Ivan’s shirt seemed distinctly…fluffier and frillier than he remembered seeing a few minutes ago. He tried to move closer to offer help, only for his own balance to be off. And when he looked down…

Oh.

The dress was new.

As were the stockings.

And the notably thinner and sleeker heels on his boots.

He hummed to himself, considering the change.

“Akuma?” Juleka asked him.

“Most likely.” He replied.

Mylene had rushed up to their practice stage and to Ivan’s side, even as he moaned for her to not look at him. The poor guy was completely red in embarrassment. Seeing how upset he was, the other three had backed away, leaving Mylene to try to help her boyfriend.

“Luka, are you okay?” Rose asked worriedly, trying to respect Ivan’s need for space while also checking in on their other effected bandmate.

“I’m fine. It was just a surprise at first.” He replied.

It wasn’t every day that you suddenly found yourself in a maid outfit, after all. It was a simple outfit. White off the shoulder puffy sleeves with black frills. A black tube skirt. White apron. And…he reached to his neck where a weight was, feeling a choker.

Huh…

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Honestly, he could be in worse.

Rose seemed surprised at that. “Really? Even with those shoes?”

He looked down at the shoes in question. The boots were his style—surprisingly, given it was an akuma. The higher heels were definitely different from his norm, and clearly what Rose was referring to. In any other circumstances, she would be right.

But...

Luka smiled, shifting his stance and resting a hand on his hip. “Well, someone had to teach Jules to walk in heels. And I couldn’t show her if I didn’t know how myself.

Juleka huffed. “Don’t say that like you didn’t enjoy playing dress up.”

Luka merely curtsied, not only showing off more of his slightly ripped and punk-looking fishnet stockings, but almost proudly displaying his ability to move fluently in heels.

Rose appropriately “oo-ed” and “aah-ed” at his display. Juleka merely shook her head and smiled. Ivan was still recovering from his panic attack and had resolutely refused to come out from behind the drums, despite Mylene’s reassurances.

“So it has to be an akuma, right?” Rose asked.

“If it is, I want a picture or two, at least.” Juleka muttered as she admired Luka’s outfit, mumbling about commissioning Marinette to recreate it in her size. She hadn’t known maids could come in this style.

Mylene nodded from her place at Ivan’s side. “Though it seems rather fortunate if this is all the akuma is doing.”

“We don’t know if that is it, though.” Luka warned. “For all we know, there could be some other ability she has if she catches us. It would probably be safer if we hid out inside until this is over.”

The others agreed. And Anarka, bless her soul, actually came up with a large blanket for Ivan to wrap himself in to preserve his dignity. Then she and Mylene helped the taller teen to safely relocate to inside. Much like Luka, Ivan’s shoes had changed, but he was substantially less able to maneuver in them. And no amount of effort or force on his part could seem to separate the heels from his feet.

Once he and the others were inside, Luka moved to follow. He hesitated, however, at the sound of something landing behind him.

“Viperion? We’ll need your help.”

He turned to see Ladybug standing tall. And was that perhaps a hint of blush on her face?

Oh. 

A shame.

It looked like Juleka wouldn’t be getting her pictures, after all...

_____________________

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

He shuddered, backing away from the door as far as possible.

“Ninoooooo…”

It was a fight for survival.

“C’mon, Nino. Just open the door.”

The survival of his dignity, but still!

He’d lost track of the others and immediately rushed home and to the safety of his room. His room, which he could lock and hide away in until this all blew over.

“I have a key!” Came Chris’s voice. “Somewhere…”

“Give it and I won’t take any pictures of you.”

“Deal!”

His room, which his traitorous little brother was willing to allow the enemy entry into.

Under any normal circumstances, he wouldn’t be this desperate. But if Alya caught him like this…

Black dress. Puffy at the shoulder, sleeves that extended to his wrists and were bound by white cuffs. A white smock tied back with a white ribbon. White bow at the neck and white frills along the bottom of the dress?

Oh yeah…Alya would never let this go…

He knew he shouldn’t have gotten into all those anime Adrien pushed him into! So what if the maids were cute? And sure, he’d admit he's had a thought or two of Alya in such attire...

But how was he supposed to know Alya had such thoughts as well? And in the complete opposite direction! Clearly this was the akuma’s magic punishing him!

Nino looked to his window.

It would be a long fall, but it was his only escape.

But would the broken legs be worth it when Alya would soon figure out what he did and be able to catch up to him easily?

Maybe he could try to climb up instead…but in these heels? It was suicide!

“Fufufu!”

…screw it. 

He opened up his window, only to meet a new pair of eyes.

Ladybug stared in surprise from her place at his windowsill, a certain box in hand.

“…hi?”

“Oh thank god!” He exclaimed. He took her by her shoulders, half leaning out and half pulling her in. “Alya’s insisting on taking pictures! Please tell me you have my Miraculous with you!”

“Actually, about that—”

“I don’t care! I’ll do anything! Just please—SAVE ME!”

Ladybug looked back behind her to a distant rooftop and the other allies she’d left behind.

The sound of a key jingling could be heard and Nino stared up at her, pleadingly.

Well, she could never resist the eyes…

By the time they’d gotten the door open, the room was empty.

Nino was gone.

_____________________

Six heroes stood assembled.

Ladybug.

Chat Noir.

Carapace.

Viperion.

King Monkey.

Pegasus.

Six heroes.

Five of whom were male.

And…still wearing some semblance of feminine maid-like outfits.

Ladybug wasn’t sure if she should be impressed or worried.

“What the hell?! I thought the Miraculous were supposed to change us into our hero suits?” Nino groused.

Contrary to his hopes and expectations, using the Miraculous had not transformed him into his normal Carapace look, but had rather simply given him a different outfit. The dress itself was green and had a turtle shell pattern, while the apron and waist belts were a brown color. The bowknot around his neck was a dark green and a brown to match the apron. He wore stockings. And to his very limited relief, his shoes were flats instead of heels.

“Well, at least this skirt is longer.” Pegasus said, now wearing a dark brown blouse and bicycle skirt. The skirt went to just above his ankles, for which he was grateful. But this seemed to be countered by the increase of height to his heels.

Plus no corset. The outfit was still fit tightly and not very comfortable, but at least he could breathe now.

“Though I believe we’re getting away from maid-wear now.” Chat said, conversationally.

Pegasus gave him a flat look. “I’m not complaining.”

If Chat had witnessed his earlier ensemble, surely he would understand.

King Monkey, for his part, seemed somewhat appeased with his Miraculous suit. It was a notably more Eastern style of dress, appearing more like robes worn by palace servants. He wore a light brown waistcoat with wide sleeves over a blouse and a wrap-around skirt. It looked heavy, but Kim seemed to have no trouble with it. Maybe it was made of a lighter material…?

And Viperion’s dress was different in style as well. Whereas his maid outfit as Luka had been more punk, this was more sleek. Wearing a green sleeveless dress and white smock, as well as what appeared to be a green corset. The dress had a slit at the sides, giving more maneuverability for his legs…as well as more show, given the appearance of a garter belt and stockings. His shoes were high heeled but including a beautiful snake design that wrapped around his ankles. To finish it off, rather than remain bare, his arms were covered in what appeared to be loose green sleeves that started at his elbows and extended to his wrists.

…maybe a picture or two wouldn’t hurt? Or three? Because the amount of details on these outfits were amazing and she was just brimming with ideas now…

Ladybug broke out of her musings when someone tugged on her shoulder to get her attention.

It was Chat. Chat who, much like the other heroes, as dressed in a fantastical outfit. Though a maid outfit, it was definitely more cat-themed with a giant paw-like gloves covering his hands, a paw print on his apron, and bow and bell on his tail which rang as he shifted.

What material was that made of, anyway? She kind of wanted to give it a feel and see if she could find something to compare it to. Maybe a quick sketch?

Oh. Right.

Akuma.

Maybe if she was lucky, they could finish this quickly so she could rush back home and take notes while she still had the ideas bouncing in her brain.

…maybe someone would have gotten pictures by then…?

“Ladybug?” Chat whispered, snapping her back to reality.

“Yes?”

Chat frowned in concern. “Is the Guardian okay with this?”

Ladybug froze.

“PSST! Ladybug!” Came a voice from a nearby rooftop, drawing her attention.

“Master Fu?”

“Ladybug! Here’s the Miracle Box. Take as many allies as you can and resolve this as soon as possible!”

“Master? Are…you hiding in a box?”

“No questions! Just go!”

“…he’s fine.”

Chat seemed uncertain, but decided not to pry.

“Let’s just split up and find the akuma.” Ladybug said. “But don’t engage until we’re all together!”

With that, the six split into three groups, with Chat and Carapace going one way and King Monkey and Pegasus going another, leaving Ladybug and Viperion searching together with the former trying not to get caught stealing peeks at the latter.

“Is something wrong?” He asked with a smile.

…trying. The key word was trying not to get caught.

“No! Nothing!” She replied quickly. “I’m just…surprised that you can still move so quickly in those heels.”

“I’ve had practice.” He explained, still smiling. He even lifted one leg behind him, managing to stand perfectly balanced even on one leg in heels.

“I…see.”

Part of her wanted very much to laugh. It was the same part that had found this entire day ridiculous. The other part of her was her inner artist at work and really wanted to make a few sketches inspired from the presented outfits. Like Viperion’s sleeves…and those shoes with a snake coil wrapping around the ankle…

“Ladybug!”

Gaah! Focus!

She turned towards the shout to find King Monkey and Pegasus stumbling towards her.

Her fingers twitched. She ignored it.

“We found the akuma.” King Monkey reported. “She doesn’t seem to be doing anything. Just…kind or roaming around.”

“And laughing.” Pegasus added bitterly. “She appears to be doing a lot of that.”

“How’s THAT for ‘doll them up’?” Came a shout from street level. “HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT, HUH?!”

As if on cue…

Ladybug and the others peeked over the edge of the roof.

“Has she displayed any other powers?” She asked.

“No.” Pegasus replied. “From what we could see, her power has already been activated to…obvious effect.” He hesitated, resolutely avoiding mentioning his new outfit or the indignity he’d already suffered. “She has only been laughing. And tripping the occasional person while searching for someone in particular—possibly the one responsible for her ire.”

Ladybug nodded. “At least she’s distracted and doesn’t know we’re here. We just need a plan of attack before we try to fight her.”

“No problem!” King Monkey said with a grin as he reached for his weapon. “We can just do a head on attack with our weapons and—”

They stared.

In place of his staff was a broom. A normal cleaning broom.

They sent cautious glances to each other before they checked their own inventory.

Said inventory consisted of a broom, a bucket, and a feather duster.

“I believe that constitutes as a problem.” Pegasus stated worriedly.

“That’s no fair!” King Monkey exclaimed. “Adrien was able to summon a machete!”

Ladybug blanched at that. “A what?!”

Pegasus pushed up his glasses. “I believe it’s a component of his…‘cosplay’?”

“Pfft!” Ladybug covered her mouth with her hand.

“Ladybug?”

“I-it’s nothing!” She replied hurriedly.

Viperion raised his eyebrow at her but didn’t comment.

King Monkey at least seemed to take it in stride.

“Now we just need a plan for attack!”

“With what?!” Pegasus questioned, waving the feather duster in frustration. “Our weapons don’t work!”

“More like our weapons aren’t actually weapons.” Viperion said, considering his bucket.

“I could smack her.” King Monkey offered, holding up his broom. “Maybe your feather duster has dust on it and could make her sneeze?”

Pegasus gave him a flat look.

“I think the broom is the best weapon we have right now.”

“Don’t knock a bucket!” King Monkey commanded, resolutely. “I got one stick on my head one time and it took hours to get it off! Buckets are evil, man!”

Pegasus sighed and rubbed his head. “It concerns me that you’re the second person I know whom that has happened to.”

Ladybug coughed, discretely trying to draw attention off that particular subject lest identities be at risk. “Anyway, I think I have a plan...”

______________________

To be honest, it wasn’t that difficult of an akuma. Especially not with six of them teaming up against it.

Akumaid truly see to have no ability other than the initial one of transforming what any male in Paris was wearing into something embarrassing...unless you were Adrien, apparently. Aside from that, she showed no other power—neither over the clothes themselves or the people wearing them. Well, she wasn’t controlling any of the victims or shrinking the clothing to choke them at any rate...which if you think about it, was rather lame for an akuma in the power department.

The only real disadvantage in battle came in the difficulty the boys had moving freely in their current outfits. And the afore noted lack of proper weaponry.

Their advantage of surprising was ruined by Chat’s bell ringing before they could ambush her, and both Carapace and Pegasus losing balance with their heels and falling over. King Monkey’s outfit, while longer, also meant more fabric to flap about and resist his movements regardless of how light it may have been, so he wasn’t able to get a hit in fast enough before the akuma turned on him and knocked him away.

Chat was able to get a hit in though.

With his…Kitty Wand…

“THIS IS MAGICAL PUNISHMENT!” He shouted as he smacked the akuma over the head.

“Chat. Chat no. Chat why?”

And Ladybug had hopelessly lost her composure by this point and was laughing. Just laughing. Laughing so hard she was crying actual tears as she smacked her own thigh in her struggle to breathe. Viperion was trying to help her stay standing, keeping an arm around her to support her as she half leaned and half chuckled tears into his chest.

“What’s going on? Does the akuma have some power over Ladybug, too?” King Monkey asked.

…

Viperion sighed.

“Sure. Something to that effect.”

Ladybug wheezed.

“LADYBUG!”

“Lu-haha-lucky haha-charm!”

It said something when her own Lucky Charm magicked up a paper bag. With Ladybug still victim to her fit of giggles, Viperion simply put the bag over her face and had her try to breathe.

“A paper bag doesn’t help with out of control laughing.” Pegasus noted as he forced himself to his feet.

“Do you want to try to figure out the Lucky Charm?” Viperion bit out in annoyance, Ladybug still shaking in his arms.

Pegasus coughed and backed away. “No, thank you.”

Ladybug let out another giggle.

“All right, enough! I’ll stop her!” Carapace shouted, reaching for his back. “With my…serving plate.”

His shield.

His precious shield was gone.

“…Carapace?” Ladybug asked.

The newly rendered Turtle Maid sighed and simply threw the plate as he had his shield, not expecting much.

…the plate slice flew through the air at a surprising speed, but missed the akuma entirely. Instead, it sailed past her, hitting a light post.

Ladybug had expected it to bounce, but instead there was a sound of shredding metal as the serving plate actually tore through the lamp post and into the concrete itself.

The lamp post, now detached, tilted and fell over—conveniently on top of the akuma before she had the time to realize what was happening and move out of the way.

SLAM!

It fell on top of her and she hit the ground.

“Huzzah?” Kim asked.

“Well…that’s one way to defeat an akuma.” Pegasus marveled.

“Great. Now can we fix this already?” Carapace asked impatiently. If they took too much longer, someone was bound to catch them.

That someone would probably be Alya.

And that was the last thing he wanted at this point.

“But I kind of wanted to make a sketch at least…” Ladybug muttered to herself, holding the paper bag Charm to her chest.

“LADYBUG!”

She waved her hands insistently. “I’m on it!”

But she could dream…

“MIRACULOUS LADYBUG!”

It was with some disappointment that the Miraculous Cure wiped away the outfits of the other heroes, returning them to their original costumes.

“OH THANK GOD!”

“That was…horrible…”

“Corsets were invented as a torture method, I swear…”

“Shieldy!” Carapace exclaimed, hugging the shield in relief. “Never leave me again!”

“You okay now, Ladybug?” Chat asked her in worry.

“I’m fine.” She said, even though she wasn’t really. She felt like she’d missed a chance, even if it was for the greater good. But it would have been an abuse of her power to be taking pictures of the guys in that state and she already felt bad enough for breaking down laughing in the middle of the fight.

In that moment, however, the loveliness of ladybugs that made up the Cure returned from their task of restoring Paris to flow over Ladybug herself before vanishing, leaving her holding an envelope in their wake. Curious, she opened the envelope…

She gasped.

Inside were a multitude of photos of the other heroes. From different angles. In different positions. All of them in their new outfits.

Ladybug bit the inside of her cheek to keep from responding and drawing attention to herself.

…Thank you, Tikki.

Best. Kwami. Ever. “Ladybug…” Carapace said in growing wariness. “What is that?”

“Nothing!”

“Ladybug. That better not be what I think it is…”

She shoved the photos back in the envelope.

“It’s nothing at all!”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

Noticing the stand off, the others approached as well.

“It was just something I was missing, yeah.”

“Then let us see it.”

“Can’t.” She replied, clutching the envelope to her chest. “It’s…Ladybug stuff.”

“Hand it over. Right now!”

"NOOO! THESE ARE FOR THE FUTURE OF FASHIOOOON!”

“GIVE US THE PHOTOS!”

“Wait—did she get any of all of us in a group cosplay pic?”

“NOT NOW, CHAT!”

Unfortunately, that small distraction was all she needed to get away.

Viperion, the only one having been pretty nonchalant this whole time, simply watched her leave and the others shout after her.

“…isn’t she going to take our Miraculous back?”

_________________________

Angela sighed, already dreading what was to come.

It was a humiliating end to an already humiliating week as the former akuma victim had been forced to return to her job to go over the updates for the new Ladybug game with the rest of her team.

Said updates were apparently to include maid outfits for the female heroes thanks to one particular coworker who had decided to work on maid outfits for the female heroes instead of the level he was assigned. It had been part of the reason she had been angry enough to be akumatized.

The fact that he was insistent on shoving his maid fetish into the game for no good reason other than having them be eye candy was the other part.

The images in question that he insisted on bringing featured the three female super heroes of the city: Ladybug, Rena Rouge, and Queen Bee.

But not as anyone had ever seen them.

Instead of their usual hero suits, the three girls were portrayed in sultry, even provocative poses. And most notably, all three were wearing some mockery of a French Maid outfit…as what would be believed by Americans, no less.

They might as well have been the initial sketches of pinup posters.

“You can’t still be serious!”

“Hey, I’m not the one who got akumatized just because I was jealous that someone else had a good idea.” He said bitingly and giving her a pointed look, perhaps still a bit bitter of the aforementioned experience that her akumatization had caused.

“It’s not a good idea, John.” Angela countered. “There was no reason to have the girls be running in maid outfits.”

He shrugged. “We could just say an akuma did it. After all, we did just get an akuma who did exactly that.” He said, giving her another look.

She clenched her fists and was about to retort when their team lead entered the room.

The meeting commenced and she’d been forced to bite her tongue. Each of the team members went over their progress and updates for their contribution to the game. Level design. Enemies. Testing.

And then came his grand achievement. Instead of the level he was assigned, he gave scantily clad designs for three of the eight known heroes.

What effort.

“I was thinking we really need to include something to make our game stand out, so I made some extra skins for the heroes.” He bragged, sending her a smug look. “The appeal would sell plenty of copies.”

“Or the controversy.” Angela muttered back before turning to the team lead and hoping that the man leading their group had more empathy…or sense.

The team lead looked over the designs with an analyzing gaze. Tiffeny, despite the initial impression his name would give, was a rather buff man who took no shit. But was also a guy. Who liked guy things. But did those things include young women in maid costumes?

After a moment, Tiffeny dropped the pictures on the table and looked at John incredulously. “You know, if you were going to base skins off recent events, you could at least have been authentic.”

John stared. “What?”

“It was the guys who were affected by Akumaid. Not the girls. If we’re going to do maids, we need to keep it true to life, just like the rest of the designs we’ve included. We talked about this when we started this project.”

“But it’s what the audience wants!” John argued.

“Do you know who comprises the majority of our audience?” Tiffeny asked. “Girls. Girls, gay guys, and those who are exploring their interests. Guys in the outfits would sell leagues more than the girls.” He started ticking his fingers “It’s different. It’s original. And it’s based in actual events. People would love it.”

“But…they’ll love this!”

“Man, if people wanted to see sexy girls in skimpy clothing, they’d play literally any other game! Or watch porn.” Tiffeny explained. “But what game do you know of has had guys in maid outfits?”

“Well...”

“Exactly. We want to stand out. And we even have recent events as justification. So if you’re going to be wasting time you should be spending on level-making to put people in maid skins, then get those male heroes some maid costumes.”

“But that’s not fair!” John exclaimed.

Tiffeny paused at that. “Hmm…you’re right.”

With that, he turned to her. “You’re good at designing. Make some butler outfits for the girls. Something dashing to serve as a counter for the guys.”

Angela blinked in surprise for a moment before smiling.

“Sure thing!”

“You know…” one of the other workers noted. “While we’re on the subject, I WAS thinking of some medieval armor designs for the girls and princess dresses for the guys.”

“Hey yeah! Like a light green for Viperion!”

“Maybe teal might be better?”

“Ooo! How about…”

Soon enough, everyone seemed to be invested in the new plan.

Everyone that is, except John.

“Lovely!” Tiffeny said cheerfully. “Plan it out and bring the concepts to me later.”

With a new task in hand and John’s pouting to forever be a memory to hold onto, it seemed her day was looking up…

_________________________

“That was some akuma battle.” Marinette said as she slid into her seat next to Alya.

The reporter, however, only looked annoyed. “Ladybug had apparently called all the male heroes and I completely missed it!” She groaned and leaned back in her seat, bemoaning the lost opportunity.

If she’d hadn’t been so focused on tracking Nino for the purpose of collecting blackmail ensuring his safety, she would have been able to catch all of the male heroes in their maid outfits.

Marinette smiled. “You know…I may have a connection…”

Alya gasped.

“No.”

Marinette giggled and slid over her phone with a picture showing.

“NO WAY!” She cried out before staring up at Marinette in shock. “Girl, you have to send me these!”

“Wait—you have what now?” Nino had arrived, initially hopeful that he had avoided the worst of that day only to have those hopes immediately dashed upon arriving to see the two girls sharing what could only have been one thing…

“I have pictures of the heroes in their new outfits.” Marinette replied cheerfully as she swiped through her phone. “Oh look, Nino! You’re in here, too!”

“WHAT?! NO!” He shouted, rushing forward.

Marinette quickly grabbed back her phone and hid it in her pocket with an overly sweet and not at all innocent grin.

“Mari, come on, no! Don’t do this to me!” He begged.

“Don’t do this to ME!” Alya cut in. “You can’t just show me that and take it away! That’s just not fair!”

“Don’t worry.” Marinette assured them. “It’s going where all my blackmail material goes.”

“Wait what?”

“Since when do you have blackmail material?”

“Since somebody started a game of ‘let’s take pictures of Marinette while she’s asleep and post them online’.” Marinette replied dryly.

Nino groaned. “Come on! I said I was sorry!”

“And now I can be just as sorry.” She replied blithely.

Which was to say: not sorry at all.

“Come on! Alya made me do it!”

“It was just in fun! Marinette! Please!”

“Do you want me to beg? Cry? I’ll cry.”

“I’ll pay you! Pretty please! At least the heroes if nothing else!”

“Oh no you don’t!”

“My blog NEEDS this!”

Marinette smiled at the minor chaos she had caused as the normally happy couple bickered with each other.

Sweet sweet music.

“Hey, Marinette!”

And speaking of sweet…

She turned to look up at a certain blond-haired model as he arrived at his own desk. Though he seemed to be a bit distracted by the arguing couple.

“Hey, Adrien!” She greeted, for once with no stutter to speak of.

“Hey, um…are they okay?” He asked, gesturing to the two.

“Oh, they’re fine.” She said, waving them off. “Just…a bit excited over the recent akuma.”

At that, Adrien brightened. “Wasn’t it awesome?”

She nodded, trying to keep her laughter inside.

“You…ah…enjoyed yourself then?”

Adrien shrugged, looking a bit sheepish. “Well, it’s not often I get to dress up in a way that’s ‘silly’. Or in anything that isn’t promoting Father’s brand. And I’ve never gotten to cosplay. So it was…really fun.”

Oh. Ouch. Okay, that one kind of hurt. The poor Sunshine Child…

“You know…” Marinette said, leaning over her desk and smiling at him. “I’ve seen a bit of that one anime you mentioned.”

“Cells at Work?” He asked, brightening up.

She nodded. “Mmhmm. I could make you a jacket based off the lead Red Blood Cell. And if you like, I can keep it so you can wear it whenever we hang out.”

He gasped. “Really?”

“Sure! Maybe you can come over sometime so we can try a fitting. We could even play Mecha Strike.”

Adrien beamed. “That sounds great! Thanks, Marinette!”

She waved him off and went back to full sitting in her seat.

Alya and Nino both became distracted from their arguing by the miracle they had just witnessed.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng had just spoken to Adrien Agreste…and not a stutter to be heard!

“What the heck, girl?” Alya whispered, sliding into her seat beside her friend. “Since when could you do THAT and why haven’t you done it sooner? I could swear I saw hearts in his eyes!”

Marinette shrugged, grinning sheepishly. “After seeing Adrien Agreste in a maid dress, I kind of wondered why I was so scared of talking to him to begin with.”

Alya laughed. “Well, at least something good came out of this, then.”

“You know...more good WOULD come out of this if I had pics of those heroes..." 

“Really, Alya?”

“You’re pretty much the only one who managed to get any shots of the male heroes!” Alya exclaimed. “Seriously, how?!”

Marinette giggled.

“Just lucky, I guess.”

________________________

OMAKE 1:

Knock! Knock!

“Felix?” His mother called on the other side of the locked and barricaded door. “Will you be coming out?”

“That depends. Do you have a camera?”

A pause. Which was all the answer he needed.

“Then no.”

OMAKE 2:

Fortunately, in the midst of their searching, the team had managed to find the akuma and her primary target, getting between the two.

“So what happened?” Ladybug asked him.

John gripped his skirt, nervously. “She’s my coworker in developing a new video game and she didn’t like my input.”

“What set her off?”

The guy rolled his eyes. “She’s one of those types who wants to take the fun out of video games.”

“What?” Ladybug blinked.

“Okay, so I wanted to put some maid costumes in the game! It was just for fun! Besides, it would have added a bit of pizazz! Something for the players to enjoy!”

“You could just try making a good game.” Pegasus pointed out. “If you have to rely on a cheap gimmick to get buyers, it may not be a good product.”

"I'm sorry, really! I mean, sure, I'm still going to put it in the game, because who wouldn't want hot maids, but still! That doesn't mean I deserve this!"

The akuma raised her fist and shouted at him. “THEY ARE HEROES, DAMMIT! THEY DESERVE BETTER THAN MAID SKINS JUST BECAUSE THEY’RE GIRLS!”

Ladybug blanched. “Wait…is the game about me?”

Pegasus coughed and looked away. “There have been…rumors, yes.”

Viperion tilted his head. “That seems like a double standard though…since we’re the ones in maid outfits...”

“Not the point, Viperion!”

Ladybug frowned.

“I don’t think I want to help now.”

“Ladybug!”

[honeysidesarchived]

WHERE THERE IS NO TEMPTATION, THERE IS NO GLORY.

⊱ a santino d'antonio / oc short-fic

interlude ii ( read on ao3 ) ( masterlist )

words: 2.4k

warnings: none really! just an impending, pervasive sense of doom.

rating: m/t

notes: so happy to have finally gotten this little interlude edited and pieced together! just more soft moments because they deserve it considering what's going to be coming up. thank you everyone who has been reading/interacting with this little love project of mine; it took a minute to get myself dug out of the trenches and posting bite-sized chapters because this is a short-fic is definitely doing something to me (lmao) but we're here!

as always you can find translations on ao3, where it's easier to store them in a place that doesn't get in the way.

There is very little time between when Santino cooks her dinner and when he moves her into his apartment. It happens without much acknowledgment from her; she finds herself swallowed up in moments of casual intimacy that break her down to nothing except a girl in love.

Santino wakes her up by kissing her neck and pulling her against his chest; she makes him dinner barefoot in the kitchen, all of the recipes that her mother taught her, and he drags his hand along her hip to reach over her into the cupboard; he stands still and obedient while Euphemia slides his tie into place, and when he zips her dress for her, he peppers her shoulder with kisses. He tolerates taking a walk through the park, even in the chilliness of late Fall or Winter, because Euphie can’t stand to not get some fresh air once a day. When one of her friends asks why he lets her bully him into the cold weather, he wraps his arms around Euphie with a sly smile and says, “How could I not, when I am the one who gets to warm her up after?”

He is an exceptionally tactile man. There is always a reason for him to touch her, trace each line of her, put his lips against her skin. Santi isn’t a man who loves; he covets. And Euphemia shouldn’t like it as much as she does, but she does. Her therapist says that it isn’t uncommon for a girl who grows up without touching to crave it, desperately, like an addiction.

So, she finds herself living in his loft to feed that addiction—which becomes their loft—and teaching him words in French, and feeding him olives while sauce simmers (and does not boil), and kissing the red-wine taste from his lips. It’s all very romantic and greatly overshadows the moments where Santino comes home raging mad, or when his bad mood takes over their conversation and stirs a fight between them. They’re both hot-headed—her more so than he—and he knows all of the ways to diffuse her while she knows none about him.

But it doesn’t matter, in the end; because Santino always kisses her, and always says, Mi dispiace, cara mi, ti amo, ti amo, ti amo, lip-locking between each break in words until her lungs ache.

Euphie has never wanted to be loved sensibly, anyway.

Making money stops becoming an issue. Santino might have been fine letting her wrap up her loose ends, so to speak, encourages her, even—“You should never leave business undone, my Euphie,”—but he’d never tolerate her continuing to skim out of the pockets of his associates. Not out of respect for them, of course, but because Santino is more than happy to provide.

“I have to do something,” Euphie insists, often. But Santino clicks his tongue and shakes his head, inspiring indignation in her. “That money goes to my mother, Santi.”

“Princesa, what are you worrying for?” He replies every time. In this instance, he is reading over some documents, his voice casual, simple, effective at bringing her to heel. “If your mama needs money, she’ll get it. Tutto quello che vuoi è tuo.”

Euphemia used to think that he was doing it to be generous, but as time goes on, she knows that isn’t the case. If Santino didn’t think he was benefitting from sending her mother money every month, he wouldn’t do it: but he does. Euphemia stops playing at arm candy for other powerful men; he endears himself to her by taking care of her mother; he endears himself to her mother; he’s afforded a sense of control. There is no facet of it where he isn’t getting something out of it. And she thinks, too, that maybe Santino likes it like this, where she is completely reliant on him for everything.

She doesn’t mind so much.

She would, if Santino didn’t drench her in his longing, if he didn’t make her feel, every day, that he is desperate to treasure her. She has always heard about this kind of love—and it is love—and never thought she would have it for herself.

But she does now, and she doesn’t want to let it go.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Tea or coffee, mama?”

Santino is busying himself in the kitchen. They’ve been together for a little over a year now, and they’re on a tour of Italy—not for fun, necessarily, but for integration. They have just spent the last week with Santino’s father and sister, and now they will spend the next two days in the Tuscan countryside with her mother.

Two days for her mother, instead of the week that they gave Santino’s father and sister, in part because his father deserves more time and in part because Euphemia doesn’t think she can tolerate her mother in much more than two-day increments.

“Coffee, please,” her mother says, very charmed by Santino.

“Tea,” Euphemia interjects. She looks at her mother—her face is tired, and older than she really is. Euphie knows that this is a side effect of heavy, abusive drinking and years spent in emotional terror, not the passage of time. Still, she finds it hard to drum up anything except distant pity in her heart. “You don’t need the caffeine.”

“Oh, you always ruin my fun.”

Santino re-enters the room with a small cup—it’s an espresso cup, but he’s poured it with regular coffee.

“A compromise,” Santi explains, handing the cup to her mother, smiling handsomely. “To make both of my girls happy.”

Her mother preens, glows under the affection. “You are so sweet, Santi. A perfect son-in-law.”

He has always called her and her mother his girls. His own mother had passed since before Euphemia; and while he knows that Euphie’s relationship with her mother is strained at best, he does what he can to ease it. Because it makes her happy, he says, and if she’s happy, he’s happy.

“Not yet a son-in-law,” Euphie corrects, and Santino flashes her a quick, amused little smile.

“You see how cruel she is to me, madonna? I have asked her to marry me, you know.”

“Santi,” Euphemia sighs, but it has had its desired effect; her mother looks scandalized, mortified at her daughter’s resistance to marrying a man as good and handsome and charming as Santino.

“Effie, tell me that you haven’t been bullying Santino like this?”

“Mama, there is no reason—he is just teasing. Ascoltami, you don’t need to look so horrified.”

“I do not know where I went wrong with you, Euphemia Sancia.” Her mother clicks her tongue, muttering something under her breath and taking a drink of the coffee Santi made her, and Euphemia can’t bring herself to say that not everything she has done wrong in her life is a slight against her mother’s parenting skills.

Santino smiles and leans across to Euphie, bringing her hand up to kiss it.

“Don’t worry,” he says to her mother, his voice blooming with practiced warmth. “I will ask her as many times as it takes for her to say yes.”

Euphemia feels her heart stutter painfully in her chest. She knows that he means it; he’s suggested it to her three times, now. It seems to be the only thing he doesn’t mind asking more than once.

“She’s always been fussy, my Euphemia,” her mother says, breaking the magic of Santino’s eyes on her. “Never happy with what she has, just like her father. Except for you, Santi—you are the only thing she holds onto.”

Exasperation and disgust flood over her. Both the mention of the man considered to be her father and any similarities they might share has her mood souring. “Mama—”

But Santino is sweeping in, like he always does when he can tell Euphie is getting tired of her mother, coming to a stand and asking her, “We should get started on dinner, cara mia, don’t you think?”

Just like that, he’s taken control of the conversation again. He sees her flailing and steadies her. Euphemia is certain that he doesn’t love her mother—that he doesn’t even like her—but that he can spend his time tolerating her with charm and grace despite knowing what her mother allowed to go on under their roof is indicative of the man that Santino is.

“Yes,” she replies, standing as well. “You look tired, mama. Take a rest while Santi and I make dinner.”

She wanders into the kitchen with Santino trailing after her. As soon as they’re alone, he winds his arms around her waist and kisses the juncture between her shoulder and neck.

“Is it true?” he asks coyly. “That you don’t hold on to anything except for me?”

She doesn’t want to tell him very much, because he knows already, and because to say it out loud will give it legs. A year together, and she still doesn’t want her feelings for him to have legs. Santino splays his fingers against her sternum and kisses her jaw.

“You know that it is,” she says at last, her voice a little unsteady. She can feel Santi smiling against her skin.

“Euphie,” he purrs, “marry me.”

Yes, she wants to say, as her eyes flutter shut. Yes, I’ll marry you, Santi. Anything that you ask. I’ll do anything for you, if you would just keep saying my name like that.

She wants to say it but the words won't come out. There is nothing quite like the feeling of Santino peeling back each individual layer of her defenses, piece by piece; so close, she knows, he is so close, but not quite. Not yet. She is most comfortable keeping him at arm’s length as much as possible—to kiss and to fuck and to let someone hold you at night is one thing. To let someone in past the barbed-wire of defenses is yet another, impossibly reckless. To be seen feeling anything deranges you, as the poets like to say.

“Sancia, hm?” he continues instead, when she can’t bring herself to answer, as the words stick in her throat. It’s one of those things where Santino seems to exercise a surprising amount of patience, this whole ordeal of to marry or not to marry; later, Euphemia will come to understand that it is because Santino believes their life together to be inevitable, that she will always say yes to him, one way or another.

For now, she turns in his arms, cocking a brow at him. He continues, “It means sacred.”

Euphemia nods sagely and props herself up on the counter. “Buon ascolto, my love. I suppose that means you should work very hard to worship me well.”

Santino laughs. He leans in, trapping her against the counter—though it isn’t much of a trap if she’s a willing participant—and noses the slope of her jaw.

“Yes,” he murmurs, “I suppose that it does.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━

On the last leg of their tour of families, Santino insists that they spend a few days in Rome by themselves.

The days are used mostly for doing a lot of nothing; neither of them are particularly interested in sight-seeing, but rather interested in seeing each other, a thing which they don’t seem to tire of particularly quickly. Instead, they shop, or lay in bed together until the afternoon, or go out to eat when street lights kick on and the city takes on a life of its own.

“You are much happier, Euphie,” Santino says one evening, smoothing out his napkin on the table absently, “when you are not around your mother.”

It’s not a question, per se, though she knows that he expects an answer. But she is still young and a little petulant, and she likes to push his buttons and make him say exactly what it is he means, so she takes a sip of her wine and replies, “Yes.”

He arches a brow at her. He looks particularly handsome like this, she thinks—not around his family, just eating dinner in a streetside restaurant in Rome, illuminated in warm candlelight and the glow of the streetlights outside.

“Are you going to tell me why?” he asks, amusedly.

“If you ask.” Euphemia sets her wine glass down on the table, and when Santino reaches for her hand, she lets him take it, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “But it is so boring, Santi, to talk about my mother. Why don’t you ask me about something else?”

The brunette’s mouth is curving in a little smile. “Like…?”

“Like…” Euphie gestures with her free hand, like she has to really think about it. “Euphie, how did I get so lucky to have a woman like you? That is a good place to start. Or, what will you do with me once you get me back to the hotel? Or, Euphie, will I ever be so fortunate as to call you my wife?”

Santino laughs, leaning into their conversation, bringing her fingers up to kiss them. He has long lashes; soft, and dark, and they brush the tops of his cheekbones when his eyes close. Santino glances from her fingers up to her, that boyish grin on his face.

“I already know the answers to the first and last question,” he says casually, like it’s no big deal, but he’s grinning wickedly at her when he says it. She scoffs.

“Dimme poi,” Euphie insists. “I am dying to know, Santi.”

His expression is very sage, very wise, and he nods his head. “Il destino,” he says, winding their fingers together, “e tra un anno.”

There is something very heart-stopping about the way Santino articulates il destino, as though it is fact, as though there is something undeniable about their coming together.

“How do you know?” she asks. “In a year?”

“Because if you do not want to marry me by then,” Santino replies matter-of-factly, “then I am certainly not suited for marriage at all.”

She rolls her eyes, taking a drink of her wine and savoring the way his eyes trail over her, admiring, drinking her in.

“Well?” he prompts. She looks at him expectantly, and he reiterates, his gaze set on her, “What will you do with me once you get me back to the hotel, belladonna?”

Euphemia feels her heart stutter painfully in her chest when he looks at her like that; like she is the only person in the entire universe, like she has become the sun that snags him in her planetary pull, like he will never, ever grow tired of looking at her. It sweeps the breath out of her.

“Anything, mio amato,” she murmurs. “Anything you want, if you promise to never stop looking at me like that.”

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper - Part Twelve

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader Warnings: Mentions of sex, swearing, mentions of drug use, fluff, smidge of angst? Length: 1.7k Notes: Managed to whip up this bad boy during a quiet moment today and should probably make y’all wait for it but I don’t really do posting schedules (as you’ve noticed) so enjoy. Not beta’d, not proof read, I’ll die on this messy hill.

Series Masterlist

Surprisingly, life didn't change too much after that night. Frankie continued to run his acreage and oversee the making of this year's cider. With some encouragement and support from you, he was starting to expand the business and already had a few pubs in the closest city clamouring to have his product on tap.

Meanwhile, the improvements on the house were nearing an end, for the indoors list anyways. The first thing Frankie had helped you do was to install your new soaker tub, immediately followed by christening it by making soft, slow love to you inside of it.

There hadn't even been any water, your impatience to be close to each other wouldn't allow for that. You had just stripped out of your coveralls, convenient work-wear for people who fucked like rabbits you had to admit, and sat in his lap with your arms and legs wrapped around him. His hands guiding your hips in a slow rocking motion, breathing each other's air as your open mouths hovered in a not-quite kiss, only breaking eye contact when you threw your head back as you came.

Autumn passed quickly and Winter had gripped Vermont, cloaking the countryside in a heavy blanket of white. Christmas was a cozy affair, you and Frankie had been asked to join Jacquie and Mark in their family's merriment. It had stirred something inside of you, watching a functional family laugh, sing, argue, eat, and love with such abandon. 

It was everything you'd dreamt, initially, for your future with Brad. Now? Now you were starting to picture that future with Frankie's face as the patriarch, you just haven't built up the nerve to broach the subject yet. 

You'd started working at the bakery, enjoying the early mornings surrounded by rising dough and sculling back coffees with the adorable older ladies who ran the place. You'd also begun doing the books for Morales Acres and Catfish Brewery. Frankie was a veritable genius but he claimed he had no patience for keeping receipts and tracking numbers.

You had a sneaking suspicion he was playing dumb in an effort to give you more time together but you really didn't mind. Your break-of-dawn mornings at the bakery had you tired, but after a full day of renovating or bookkeeping, you were downright exhausted and ready for bed by eight pm. This, mixed with Frankie monitoring the brewing, bottling, and distribution of his cider and networking at bars and pubs throughout the state meant the two of you rarely saw each other.

All of your hard work in your own house had made you a popular friend to call when someone needed decorating advice, or a helping hand once they realized they couldn't tile their kitchen backsplash solo. You never charged for your time, although payment had initially been offered until work had got around that you preferred a good meal and conversation over money. I mean, sure, you could use the cash but it just didn't seem right. And you loved helping people and making deeper connections with the town you now truly felt you belonged in.

Tuesday evenings had become an unofficial date night for the two of you. The bakery was closed on Wednesdays and bar owners tended to be less interested in business halfway through the week, something to do with the rush of the previous weekend having worn off and the worry of setting up for another one starting to grow.

This meant you could stay up late, enjoy a proper homemade dinner, maybe even watch a movie or share a bottle of wine while soaking in your big ass tub. It usually ended as a sleepover, your house being the preferred location; Frankie's loft was perfectly fine but it did lack a certain homey appeal.

This pattern, this life, that you'd created for yourself was making you happier than you'd ever been in your entire life. You weren't one hundred percent content, not yet anyway, but the path to getting there was on a direct trajectory. You still wanted to finish your college degree, maybe switch it over to horticulture. Building a greenhouse and selling flowers was still a pipe dream but something your heart truly longed for, something that Frankie was constantly encouraging you to do.

"Look, hun," he had called out to you a few weeks ago while supposedly researching the new line of bottles. "There's an auction next county over and they have all this confiscated stuff from a grow op that got busted!"

"What?" You'd made a face and laughed at the absurdity of it all. "What on earth would you use from a pot farm?"

He just gave you a salacious wink as an answer.

Frankie had been open about his past drug abuse and while some recovering addicts may want all mention of it banned from a conversation, Frankie found levity in treating the topic like any other person would.

It had taken you a couple of hours to realize why he'd brought up the auction. It had hit you with a jolt, knowing that he’d remembered your rambling from on top of the Ferris wheel. You didn't realize he'd been listening when you'd told him about your idea of taking over the flower stand at the market once the current couple retired.

Your heart had swelled and there was a concerted effort to prevent the sudden onset of tears from running down your face. God, you loved this man, maybe one of these days you should tell him...

This particular routine was working well for the two of you. It gave each of you your own space to relax, destress, enjoy the shitty tv shows you were too embarrassed to watch in front of another living person. It also forced the two of you to take your relationship slowly, communication being a constant learning curve. You were both really good and telling each other when you needed time alone, when you were feeling stressed or sad. You each had learned the tells for when the other was angry or just hungry, if it was hormones or if there was something that was actually pissing you off.

The thing you each seemed to struggle with was expressing the softer side of the relationship. Neither of you appeared to have the Words of Affirmation love language skill, yet you both craved to hear it. You showed how much you cared for Frankie with your acts of service; helping him with the boring side of the business, baking, deep cleaning the loft, even scrubbing out the massive fermenter in the Catfish Cider warehouse.

Frankie, on the other hand, showed his love through physical touch. At first, you had assumed it was a staking-his-claim kind of thing but then you noticed how he'd do it all the time. A hand on your lower back while walking, caressing your hand with his thumb when driving in the truck, carding his fingers through your hair while you watched tv.

This week's date night found you at his place, relaxing in the loft after a busy workday. You were making dinner while he 'helped' by sneaking bites of the prepped ingredients, arm slung around you with a hand in your back pocket.

"What're you looking for?" He asked, taking advantage of your distracted searching through his cupboards to sneak a few more pinches of grated cheese.

"A can opener!" You replied, exasperation raising your voice an octave. "I could have sworn I saw a white one around here somewhere..."

“No, pretty sure that one's yours. I don't think I have one?"

"Frankie," you deadpanned "how did you survive as a bachelor without canned food?"

"I ate a lot of take-out?" He looked indignant at your laughter, "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Can you stop judging me long enough to eat some burritos?"

Smoothing his playful scowl with a kiss, you sat down at the counter and enjoyed your first meal together of the week.

An idea was formulating in the back of your mind, though, and you barely tasted anything. As the evening progressed, the idea grew and you were liking it more and more. The final straw was you not having a toothbrush in his bathroom anymore, having forgotten that it had fallen off the counter and into the trashcan the last time you'd spent the night.

Using his, with a strange mixture of distaste and nonchalance, before making your way over to the bed, you began to plan how the conversation could go:

Hey Frankie, so you know how I have a big house all to myself? Yeah... And it had everything we need in it? Yeah... And there's more than enough room for two adults to store all of their things? Yeah... And I wouldn't have to use your toothbrush ever again? Yea- wait what? I think you should move in with me.

It wasn't very romantic but it was the most likely, considering your dynamic. Just as you were crawling into bed and snuggling under the arm he'd raised to allow you to get closer, his cell phone rang.

"Hello? - This is he. - Yeah, biological. - Oh god, when?"

The immediate change in his tone from questioning to horrified caught your attention, sitting up to face him you grabbed his free hand, silently letting him know you were there for support.

His eyes were out of focus and a panicked expression was slowly morphing his face as the conversation went on, but he gave your hand a squeeze back in acknowledgement.

"Yes, in Vermont. Do you have my address? - Okay, good, good...okay - When? - I'll have something ready. Umm... does she... does she remember me? - Oh. Okay, thank you."

Slowly lowering the phone from his ear, Frankie sat staring into nothingness for what felt like hours. His side of the conversation and the way he was reacting had you rattled. You could guess as to what was happening but weren't sure if now was the right time to pry.

"Babe? Is, is everything okay?"

Silence.

Gripping his hand tighter and rubbing his back you sat with him for a few more minutes before trying again. You didn’t want to push him but your heart was constricting in your chest from nervousness and concern for him.

"Can I get you anything? What do you need?"

His hand was now completely dead in yours; eventually, he turned his head towards you, eyes never fully focusing, and shook his head.

"I- she- fuck... I think you should go.”

Part Thirteen

[necros-writing-stuff]

It felt dirty. It was definitely wrong. All the same, Robin stayed where she was; hidden behind the trees and bushes. You were splayed out on the ground, your clothes haphazardly thrown this way and that. A man she's never seen before has your knees pressed to your chest. Initially, she'd been afraid that you were being assaulted. But the way you were crying out the man's name, begging him for more. She'd have to ask you who this "Eden" guy was and about your relationship with him later. As it was, she felt frozen.

The man was large in more ways than one. From where she was, Robin could see how his fat cock stretched you open. He almost covered your entire body with his own. He was covered in scars from what she could tell. He wasn't nearly as undressed as you were. The large man grunted each time he rolled his hips into you. He spoke, but it was low; quiet enough that Robin couldn't hear what it was. What she could hear was your desperate moaning and his skin slapping against yours.

Unable to move from where she was, she briefly reflected on how the two of you ended up in the forest. You'd had a bad day. Whitney pushed you into the lockers, you were late to history, that Kylar kid apparently had a shrine dedicated to you in his locker, and you had detention. She wanted to do something nice for you and suggested a picnic. It was a beautiful day, nice and warm. When you got to the woods, the pair of you chose a nice spot in a clearing. A gust of wind blew her sun hat off, and she'd gone after it while you set up. Now here she was, pussy wet with need watching you, her best friend, get wrecked by a giant man and his monster cock. Neither he or you seemed to notice she was there, too lost in eachother.

Why was she so turned on by this? Why was she watching? She should leave, give you and your partner privacy. Instead, one of her shaking hands slowly crept up her sundress. She teased her slit through the damp fabric of her panties. The white cotton became transparent against her pussy. This was wrong. She needed to stop but she couldn't. Carefully, Robin wiggled out of her underwear. It hung around one of her ankles, threatening to slip off over her sandals. The first touch against her bare cunt sent a shiver up her spine. Touching herself wasn't something Robin did often. Especially not to you getting fucked stupid.

She covered her mouth with her hand to muffle her quiet moan when she slipped a finger into her wet heat. Her inexperience left her sensitive and needy. She was becoming too caught up in her own pleasure that she failed to notice her surroundings beyond you taking Eden's cock. She didn't hear the rustling of foliage behind her. Not when she inserted another finger, scissoring herself open. Nor did she hear the snapping of a twig behind her. Not when she pulled her sundress down to expose her breasts to the open air. Her perky nipples hard with arousal. She was too caught up in groping herself and fucking herself on her fingers, that she didn't notice the large, black colored wolf boy that came up behind her.

It wasn't until he pushed her forward, onto her hands and knees, that she remembered how dangerous the forest was. Again she was frozen, now out of fear. This was what she got for being a pervert. The wolf boy huffed the scent of her soaked pussy like an addict huffed paint. What was she supposed to do? Run? Scream? Struggle to get away? Before she could make a decision, the wolf boy ran his tongue from her hole, to her clit and back; stealing the air from her lungs. It felt so sinfully good, even if she didn't want it. The wolf boy pushed his tongue into Robin's virgin pussy and began fucking her with it.

She was horrified by the noise she made. A lustful moan that the wolf boy pulled from her. She wanted her first time to be with someone she loved. Not a feral wolf boy that lived in the woods. All the same, she remained pliant as he worked her open on his tongue. Her lower lip quivered as her thighs began to shake. The heat in her lower belly spread throughout her body, painting her face a deep, red color. She was close, she was going to cum on a wolf boy's tongue. Cum she did. Robin bent forward, biting her knuckle to keep herself quiet as she shook.

It was all the invitation the wolf boy needed. He pulled his face from Robin's twitching cunt and mounted her. His weight kept her pinned beneath him as he rubbed his meaty length along her folds. It definitely wasn't a human penis. She knew what they were supposed to look like. Hell, she could see one now as you and the man in the clearing switched positions. His cum spilled out of you, as you moved to straddle his cock, now riding him. Good god, she couldn't believe you had something that big inside you! Your head fell back when you slid down onto the man's cock; your hair sticking to your face from sweat.

Still she remained quiet, partly out of fear, partly out of a deviant curiosity that had peaked when she came. She'd only ever touched herself, infrequently; and she'd never cum like that on her fingers. Robin was still desperately aroused, still watching you get fucked by the huntsman. She took a sharp inhale through clenched teeth when the beast behind her pressed the pointed head of his cock against her virgin quim. Face pressed into the dirt, she mewled softly as the creature forced himself inside her. She felt sick, violated and… So, so good. The burning stretch hurt a little. But she and the wolf boy had prepped her well enough that it wasn't painful.

The wolf boy started with a fast pace that left Robin breathless. He hit so deep inside her, places she had never reached before. Each thrust sent jolts of lightning through her body. Her body was on fire and it felt amazing. She couldn't stop the lewd moans that slipped from her mouth, like the drool sliding down her chin.

"Such a good mate." The wolf boy snarled, nipping at her back. Robin whimpered at the praise, her pussy tightening around the unusual cock inside her. No, this was bad. It was going to make her cum again, on it's cock this time. Her eyes flickered to you again, once again on your back with Eden hammering away at your leaking pussy. Your eyes were rolled back in your head and your tongue hung out the side of your mouth.

Then the wolf boy struck a spot that made Robin see stars. Her walls clenched pleasantly around the length inside her, encouraging the wolf boy to do it again, and again, and again and-

Robin's whole body shook as she came, crying out like a whore and squirting all over the wolf boy's cock. He growled and doubled his efforts.

"Good mate, ready to breed. Going to knot mate." He growled. Robin was too lost in her own pleasure, blood having rushed to her ears. It wasn't until she felt something big and hard push against her opening that she came back to herself. Unfortunately, by then it was too late. The wolf boy forced his knot past the ring of muscles that tried to keep it away. She let out a soundless scream and fell limply to the ground. It hurt so much, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt!

He howled loudly from the pleasure of having his knot successfully taken by a fertile partner as he began flooding Robin's pussy with his cum. The hot rush of semen filling her up pushed Robin into a third orgasm.

The wolf boy's howl caught the attention of the man who had been fucking you. He was quick to dress himself and wrap you in his jacket. Eden lifted you into arms, carrying you bridal style. She watched as you weakly protested, but were ignored; too fucked out to do much of anything. When the swelling of the knot went down, the wolf boy pulled out of her. His spend gushed out of her like a broken dam, forming a pool in the dirt under them. He threw Robin over his shoulder and began carrying her off, in the opposite direction Eden had taken you. It was the last thing she saw before passing out.

(-anon 🚩 lol sorry for the late post, my phone died)

ROBIN GETTING THE PC TREATMENT YES!

This was a very good read.

[thefanbasewhore]

United As One. || Part 2.

Summary: While Din is trying to convince the reader to marry him, the elders show their distaste while the reader finds out something that can impact her decision.

Warning/Content: 18+ please, fingering, oral (male on female), light smut, body hair (bc it's normal!!!) fighting between characters and angst. Also I don't ever write smut... Please be gentle with me lol this is one of my first times.

Paring: Din Djarin/female reader

Clan Leader Din AU

Part 1. || Master Post. 

Light seeps through the gaps between thin curtains, eyelids flutter as the sun hits her skin, heat creeps up the nape of her neck, warming her forehead. The brightness makes her squeeze her eyes harshly, she uses her hands to try and face the other way but dead weight against her chest makes it impossible.

Thick brown curls rest against her chest, Din's face appreciating the warmth and comfort of her breast, his own chest pressed against her stomach with small, shallow breaths. She can't see his face, he's too low angled downward, facing the wall but it surprises her. Her eyes widen in embrassment, the sudden feeling to run her fingers through the ringlets that he's decided to show her for the first time.

Din has never removed his helmet in front of her, sometimes in the dark but this was different, his skin pressed against her chest, hair she dreamed about tickling her chin is an overwhelming feeling, to add to it the memories of his last words that Din admitted. She's conflicted, It looks more beautiful then what it felt like in the dark between her fingers but what if she wakes him and he demands an answer? Something she's unable to give at the moment.

"Marry me, I've always known you'd be my riduur since the day I met you."

Despite the nervousness fingers softly tug on the tips of hair that reached his collar, silky and well managed despite being in his helmet and the long night sleep. It's a soft sigh that falls from his lips as nails scratch his scalp, sleepily pushing his hips against her.

A breath his held as she feels the hardness against her inner thigh, swallow breaths still falling from Din's chest signaled he was still sleeping but hips unknowing to himself press harder and again wanting the friction.

Fingers stop, heart beating so fast she swears she can hear it in her ears. While they have laid next to each other many nights in the Razor Crest it was never like this. There wasn't enough room, someone would end up bumping into someone which would end up with a sleepy grunt for Din and him finding else where; leaving the bed for her.

Sex was out of the question, Grogu was the number one concern. Between finding a Jedi, keeping the Crest running before it was destroyed, and keeping up with the baby it never left the time too.

It wasn't by choice, there were many nights Din spent longing over her, greedy eyes running over any exposed skin she allowed, they showered together once after the battle against the Kypt Dragon, skin against skin but the lights cut leaving his creed intact.

Even now asleep all Din wanted to do is touch her, with the child's safety secured, and being able to come back to his clan, there was no reason not to.

He's not, heavy and throbbing against her bare thigh, Din's body weight shifting her pajama shorts up further exposing smooth skin. Finally, she takes in a deep breath, eyes shift to the child that lays feet away from them snuggling a pillow, sucking on his fingers for comfort.

"Mmmhmm." It's a soft moan, breath fanning against the swell of breast, that ever so tease him, hips indistinctly pressing further into her until he's sliding against the junction between her thigh and soaking heat. Shame makes her face red, mostly because of how much she wanted him, wants more.

Din's eyes flutter, eyelashes soothing the skin of her breast with a huff. He says for a second, evaluating the situation: his hardness throbbing, pressed between his girls creamy thighs, the worst part of it being he can feel how hot she is, see the wet spot the formed through the thin shorts, feel it.

The room was suddenly hotter, he doesn't dare move, freezes actually, would be absolutely horrified if she woke up finding him pushing against her. Lips gently lay a kiss against her chest, listening to the beats under her chest.

"Good morning cyar'ika." It's whispered against skin, not meant for her current consciousness, it's followed by a few more kisses, her eyes flutter shut at the feeling, breaths slow at a result. Din's hand press against the bed on each side of her, extending his arms to push himself fully up.

"Wait Din, I'm awake!" Her own hands come to cup her eyes as they catch a glimpse of his forehead. Din pauses, he doesn't move just keeps is face angular.

"Why... Why did you say anything?" Din's voice is caught in his own throat as she grinds her hips towards him. A small groan falling from the pressure against his hardness.

"I..." She trails off, Din looks up replacing her hand with his own, the other hand knotting the crown of her head, tangling into the hair with a slight pull that makes her whine. "I wanted to keep feeling you."

Din feels his own heart beat beginning to speed up, her fingers blindly in front pressing against the smooth skin of his throat, first cupping his chin feeling to thick hair there. Then they press against his throat, feeling the pulse thicken herself. Din might have thought it was more sexual then it was intended, truthfully honest she forgets how human he can really be.. the pulse helps remind her he's just as much as her, maybe even more.

"Din.." The whine of his name wanting and feral shoots straight to his aching cock.

Fingers soak the touch of her chin, gripping it just watch lips part with want, chest heaving that makes Din's face red. He's unexperienced, he'll be the first to admit it but it felt so, so right.

"Do you want me?" He doesn't mean to words like that, it makes him seem as if he is the prize when truthfully he's the lucky one to see her spread her legs further in response. "Can I touch you sweet girl?"

"Please, Please." She chants as he moves closer so he's on his knees in-between her legs. There's a few minutes of silence, he uses them commit this memory of her to his brain forever.

"Din." She's impatient as she calls for him, hand following it's own trail to the hem of her short but Din swats it away, tisking under his breath. "You look..." He gulps, "beautiful, so good for me."

Din's lips move agonizingly slow, pressing a piece of love across her neck, hands cupping both of her breast through her shirt feeling nipples react instantly, hard through the thin material of the shirt. "Keep your eyes closed."

"I-I.." Tears of frustration wet eyes, she want to cry, beg for him to touch her but he's to busy enjoying the feel of her, parts he's never been able to explore before. "The kid."

Suddenly Din feels like an idiot, eyes shifting across the bed, thankfully the kid is still sleeping unbothered. "I'll be right back, keep your eyes closed."

Once the child is safely tucked away, comfortable as Din made sure to cover him with blankets in the other room. Nothing could prepare Din for the sight in front of him, smooth bare legs, breast naked on display with soft nipples, his hand slips further down his abdomen to grasp his own arousal, hard and aching. A small moan makes her head raise but eyes stay closed. "Din?"

"I'm here pretty girl." Din finds himself between her legs again, hands stroke the sensative skin of her inner thighs, she managed to take her shorts off the only thing keeping Din from seeing her naked is the cotton underwear. Din cant help but stare, the light colored fabric left little to the imagination, dark hairs shape against it, the wet patching showing just how badly she wants him.

With her eyes closed, it's practically sensory overload. Her skin can feel his touch so much more, the warmness of him, not to mention his smells, musty and warm, it reminds her of old leather. Ears twitch at how horse his voice is, breath against her skin as lips touch her neck. "Do you, I mean, Do you want me to -"

Din's feels his own skin heat at the words, he didn't have much experience besides when he want younger and one of the clan members went down on him but it didn't feel like this. Nothing can make him feel the way the cry that falls from her lips do. "Please, please touch me Din."

Din mades sure to take his time, spreading the wetness around the bare mound with his thumb, his mouth parting with want. If this was the last thing he’s ever seen, he’d die happy watching her skin flush pink, chest heaving with deep breaths, grinding her desperate, needy hips against own hand.

He loves to watch, watching her mouth open to beg for more but he's greedy, he wants hear more. Hear that he is the reason for her wetness. Fingers pinch the most sensative part of her, eyes open in surprise but Din's too fast, covering them with a hiss. "Eyes closed."

She obeys almost instantly at the rough grunt, eyelashes fluttering against his palm. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to."

"Mhmm." He agrees inside his chest, his hand leaves her completely with a protest but it's soon gone and she's flipped onto her stomach, face pressed against the mattress as fingers dig into her hips, dragging them into the air. He found himself so wrapped up in her he didn't care if she saw his face, all that was on his mind was her pleasure, with her eyes against the wall there was no reason to worry.

His length straining against the back of her thigh, heavy. Pressing kisses against shoulder blades and his hand finds its self between them, lowering her down against the mattress with a hand. His other thumb spreading across her clit, whining with the contact. His finger’s hook inside with no warning, filling her completely.

They're large, there's only two of them as they scissor against her walls, coated with her arousal that helps them trust into her again.

When his fingers find that spot that makes her cry, whine his name he can't help but moan, "Stars, Din."

She squeezes around him, hips naturally fighting his own trust of his fingers. "So, so beautiful."

He groans at the tightness, it sends shivers down his skin. Finger’s never lead up, filling and entering as soon as they left, over and over again until she feels the bundle of heat in her stomach, bubbling for a release. 

Din notices as he quickens the pace, chest against her back as he leans to press kisses against her neck, shirt discarded moments ago but neither could remember, lips sucking softly on the skin, huffing in frustration at his own arousal pressing against the back of her thigh for relief.

"Din.." it's a warning that make him suck harder, fingers so good it makes her mewl.

"Cum pretty girl, give it to me."

That's all it takes, from his fingers milking her through, the pretty girls that make her heart leap, his bare chest against her back, something snaps, squeezing against his fingers as a cry falls from them.

Her chest falls and raises quickly against the mattress, Din's fingers don't leave her heat but his head leans against her shoulders with a huff. Blind fingers reach behind her, squeezing his hardness so softly, it's an experimental touch that makes him groan but he pushes her hand away.

"Don't worry about me, I want you to cum again." She wants to protest, wants to say she can't but Din doesn't give her the chance to even catch her breath before fingers are leaving her, the dirty sound of his lips sucking on them making her gasp.

He uses this time to look at her, soaking begging for more under her breath. "Sweet, so sweet."

She couldn't tell if he was talking about her or her the cum on his fingers but eyes didn't miss a beat as legs lazily spread wider for him.

Hands spread across the back of bare thighs, trailing to squeeze a large handful of her cheek. "I always knew you would beautiful like this.. dreamed of it baby."

His arms flexing and expanding against thighs again as fingers curl into the softness of them, anchoring himself as lips closing down around her clit, suckling softly. 

“Din!” it's a whine of surprise as his tongue flickers against the sensative bundle, taking his good time with. His fingers finding her heat once again, sinking into the gaping hole, his finger’s moving faster, pace increasing with every squeal, scream or sound that was made.

His tongue doesn't let up from her clit as his fingers pushed deeper inside, purposely messaging the spot found in the deepest of her pussy, his cock throbbing at the thought of feeling it.

Hips lifting off the bed trying to escape his brutal lips, but he doesn't allow it as his free hand fell to hips, roughly pushing her back down against it the pillows. "Stay." The vibrations make her cry, beg for more.

Finger’s curling in her, collecting any juice they possibly could spreading against her as much as he could as hips jolt once again, a soft mumble against her making her moan.

The familiar feeling of heat building up and bubbling in her lower abdomen spreading warmth through out her whole body as he continued to finger fuck her as fast he could.  The heavenly sound of wetness dripping to his hand, covering his face and into the bed. "Give it to me, please, please sweet girl."

“I'm -." His name is like a prayer on her lips, his only reply is slamming his finger back into as hard as he could, lips puckering against her clit one more time. Eyes rolling back into her head, as her body let's go, Din sucks up anything he could manage. Her body slumps instantly but Din's finger grabbing her hips saves her from falling harshly against the bed. Loving lips press to her shoulder, laying his cheek against the warmth, slowly lowering her to the bed.

She wants to speak, but can't. Her head is still so high up in the clouds, mind so full with the thought of Din, Din, Din.

"Cyar'ika." The soft words make her heart jump, "Think about it.. I know it's not what you expected but I don't expect an answer right away."

Soft fingers trace her hairline as if they would never feel it again. His other arm wraps around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. Very prominent hardness against her back, but he ignores it. Eyelids flutter close, exhaustion taking over even when his lips meet her neck where he barries his head.

The sun once again is brutal, groaning as she blinks the tiredness away. Reaching behind her to feel for the loss of heavy weight but just to realize no one is there. Jumping up, looking for any sign of the green little monster as well but there is none. She moves to quickly, soreness from her legs reminds her of earlier, cheeks red with heat. It's been no long since anyone has touched her, she would feel it for days.

With shaky legs she stands, dressing rather quickly as she leaves the hut to search for them. The day is like any other, faces that aren't covered with helms show their distaste, while she can't see the other's faces she knows theirs match their conrads.

The temple is rather large, tikis of fire trail to the entrance and for some reason she finds herself drawn to it. The long pull over is stretched across her chest as she wraps it closer to herself as she moves towards the deep rasp she knows as Din.

Symbols and drawings are itched against the walls, the low light of the torches wouldn't let her decipher them, she wouldn't be able to anyways they are written in a language she does not understand. The doorway opens to a large room, space large enough to fit hundreds, tables and chairs fill the majority of it. There's a large throne in the center against the wall, followed by smaller ones that sit directly behind.

Throat dries as eyes run over the familiar plates of beskar covered thighs, up to the small green child who plays with a small stuffed toy on the mandalorian's lap. Basker doesn't notice the new eyes in the room, too busy snarling at the wrinkled men and woman in front of him. They all look identical, long cloaks that cover their baldness, charcoal symbols in a perfect line down their faces.

"No." The words fall from the woman who threatened her lips days ago, Din doesn't like the words as he lets out a huff.

"There is nothing against it, it's allowed." He argues, the elders around him show their distaste with a hiss.

"She is not mandalorian, she will bring shame on this clan. You will shame us Din Djarin." Once again she feels unwanted tears of embarrassment sting eyes, she wish they would just go away, that it didn't bother her.

She wants to curl up and disappear when she meets the gaze of sharp basker, the elders follow suit. "What are you doing here?" It's soft, low.

He doesn't like the look she sports, face twisted in anger, in sadness. She tries to hide the tears, faking a smile as she looks up at him. "I was worried... Grogu wasn't there.. you weren't there."

"I'll be done in a second, wait outside for me cyar'ika."

One of the elders hiss, "Do not speak our language to her, she does not deserve it!"

It happens before anyone can react, Din holds the baby close against his chest, the other hand drips the elder's cloak around the neck line, threatening him with rough gasp. "Don't you disrespect her. You may keep order of the clan but I am Mand'lor. I meant it when I said you have to go through me."

Din's eyes flicker to her, she gulps nervously at the display of power. It fit him so... Well. "Outside, take the child I will be out."

The sound of his voice, the authority in his voice has her feet moving before her brain can even process the words. Grogu reaches out for his mother with a giggle as he's notices her, before Din can turn his head in her direction she's gone.

It's not long after that Din is walking from the temple. Even though his emotions are often masked by his helm, anger just radiates from him. Hot, deep inside his veins. If shows with his slow steps roughly dug into the ground beneath him, shoulders high, alert, his trembling fingers at his side.

"Are.." she pauses, eyes meeting his visor as he's only inches away, towering over her. "Are you okay bear?"

The nickname makes him pause, a rare smile lifts his cheeks pressing his forehead against her own. "I'm fine, everything is going to be alright."

His heart pounds in his ears, heart warm with admiration? Love? Honestly, he couldn't quite place his feelings when it came to her but the nickname made him feel warm, happy at the affection. The nickname was a jab at his parenting, papa bear she called him, ever since then it stuck.

Grogu small hands wrap around her neck, breaking them apart in jealousy as his face finds warmth against her neck. Din rolls his eyes with a chuckle, hand slipping into her free one. The act makes her pause, looking for eyes to see but Din tugs her toward, not caring who sees.

The walk back is slow, cool while they enjoy the spoils the planet offers. A few stares but Din keeps her distracted, "There's a celebration tonight. I want you there."

"No." She admits too quickly for his liking, he sighs stopping movement all together. She feels guilty, redness blooming cheeks. "No one wants me there, I'll just spoil their fun."

"I want you there." He admits, fingers find silky strands of hair, playing with the tips with gentleness. "It's my coronation, it's the celebration of me.. there's no one else more deserving to be there."

Din can't help but notice the awkward shift from hip to hip, trying to shift weight to make standing just a little bit easier. "What is it?"

Cheeks are even hotter as she looks down at her feet. Worried hands tip her chin to meet her own reflection in his helmet. "Tell me."

"I'm just sore is all." It's Din's turn to blush, hear claims his cheeks, runs up the nape of his neck.

"Let's go back, get ready. The child needs a bath anyways." The way the petal like ears raise at the mention of a path with a lifting lip makes them both laugh under their breath.

There's laughter in the distance, the smell of fire, roasting meat, chatting among peers when she arrives. She tucks the child closer as she manages to walk past without being detected, her only concern being to find Din.

Tents scatter across the green ground, the largest which she guessed with hold him. Two mandalorians stand out front, as if they are looking for any kind of danger to pass through. The one's helm shift towards her face, looking her up and down before gesturing her entry into the tent.

Din is seated, a blonde woman's fingers pressing white lines along with symbols that have no meaning to her against his basker on his thighs. His head tilts up towards his girl, a small smile forming underneath the mask. Beads lay in layers on his chest, peaks of flowers tangled between them, he's almost covered from head to toe in white clay.

His eyes never leave hers, despite how nervously she stares at the woman who sat between his legs.

"Hi pretty girl." The words pinch her cheeks red as his fingers mention her closer, the woman kneeling in front him remains quiet. Din can sense her irritation so doesn't dare recognize the fact another woman is between his legs. He presses his hand against his lovers back pushing her close to press their foreheads together.

"Hi bear." The nickname makes him smile again, a simple word that makes him feel loved. Leather gloves stroke the petal shaped ears on the child with a soft coo, "Hey buddy, how was the bath?"

The displeasure isn't hidden on Grogu's face but he still climbs over the chair to his father's lap. The blonde woman looks up from her handiwork with a smile as the curious child peers at her. "Hi little guy."

"I'm done here Mand'lor." Din gives a pleased nod, dismissing her silently. The girl gets to her own knees, angling herself to stand between his legs. There's something about her flirty grin, eyes that meet her own with a looking that just screams, 'I know something you don't.'

Even though it makes her narrow her eyes, it really doesn't matter expect when she bares her neck to them. Wrapped around with a thin piece of string is the mud horn signet that exactly resembles Din's.

She tries not to think the worst, but it seems like a claim of some sort. Like she is his. While she silently moves to exit the tent, a long strand of beads run across the whole length of her hair, dark brown in color.

Din's hands try to move her to his lap but the look of confusion etched across her face makes him pause.

"She wears your signet?" Din is caught off guard, bitting his bottom lip under the helm. While it made complete sense to him, how do you explain it to someone how doesn't understand this way of life.

"Yes." He answers truthfully, "I made it for her."

The words make her take a step back, Din's fingers don't allow her as they fight to move her between the V of his legs. He's successful, stronger.

"I will make you one when you're my riduur."

"but why does she have one?" The hurt can't go unnoticed, pale in color, anxiety making her heart thump faster.

"It's not important."

"It is to me. Why does she have one?" Din doesn't want to talk about it, he wants to enjoy the night, enjoy it with his clan, his son and her.

"She is my breeder." While she doesn't know what it means, it doesn't take a genius to figure it out. She's silent, chewing on the fat of her lip. "Sweetheart?" Din looks up, uneasy with the silence.

"Breeder? You mean as in -."

"Have my children." The fear is answered, "It's tradition, the clan needs an heir. If a riduur cannot produce a child, the breeder will be used. It's nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about? If I marry you and can't have children you will just have them with her?"

He doesn't like it, the way her voice fills with hurt. "Yes but it won't happen, it's just in case."

She's trying to distance herself, Din let's go, he doesn't like the way she struggles from his grasp. "If it does happen what I'm supposed to sit back and watch you two raise a child together?"

"It won't happ -."

"Who picks her?" It's a jab toward him, makes him regret his choice that he made years ago, before he knew her.

"I do but it -." He wants to say it was before her, before he feel in love but watching tears fill her eyes makes him pause, if he had one weakness in this world it would be watching her cry, something he's seen too much over the past week.

"Don't cry." He stands tall placing the child on the chair, with every step towards her she moves further away. Her chest is heavy, heart breaking as tears that slip past eyelids.

"I was never your first choice." Din can see it, the way her eyes show the fear of loving him. Hand pressing against her own chest as if it physically hurts.

"You are, you're my only choice." His words try to reason, hands try to comfort but she presses a hand against his chest to stop him. The wall of the tent is against her back, Din boxes her in.

"It's tradition, I don't want her. I want you."

She shakes her head, tears burn her cheeks. "Your traditions are ugly, I hate it here."

The words make his face drop, heart stuttering in his chest, it hurts. Her defiance, the way she admits those words about his home. He wants it to be her own.

"I can't change them. I can't help them." Her eyes flicker to the beads against his chest, reaching out to feel the hardness of them.

"What were the beads in her hair?"

Din doesn't want to say it but none the less cannot lie. "I don't want to lie to you." It was too much already, it would only bring her more pain.

"Then tell me the truth Din."

"She wears the color of my eyes in her hair."

.."What?"

The amount of time it took Din to even admit the color of his eyes to her was months.. she just walks around parading them and he allows her, he did pick her after all.

"Y-Your eyes?" The words choke up in her throat, bottom lip trembling. "I never got to see your eyes, you said they were brown. The first time I see the color is on another woman. Do the whole clan a favor, take me home and marry her."

"No, No. Stop." His hands grasp her wrist, pulling her close to his chest, the dried clay scratched her cheeks, beads press against her temple. "It was long ago, before I met you. You are my choice."

Tears smear, melting the clay with a cry. She pulls away, "You might want to have her come in and fix that."

Din Djarin is left speechless as he watches her walk away, his own heart breaking inside his chest. Not even a full week home and it's already managed to distance them. Now her own broken heart matching his.

[lawyerd]

Bar Prep Tips from a 2020 Taker

My instagram feed has officially switched from graduation photos to bar exam stress posts, so I thought I’d step in and share some tips and tricks I was too tired to share last year  

Firstly: A seemingly counter-intuitive piece of advice. Ignore everyone’s advice on how to study. This post is intended to help you study the best way you can for yourself, not to tell you what to do. When I was studying for the bar, the bar prep coordinator at my school would send us these horrifying emails every day - “you should be doing at least 50 multiple choice questions a day” in the first week, “you should be done with your lectures now” with a month left, and “you should be taking at least one full length exam a week” by the last week. My friends and I would stress together about how we weren’t doing nearly as much as she was telling us too and we felt behind because of it, despite being up to date with our individual programs. Ignoring her advice and focusing on what I needed to do was significantly less stressful and got me to where I needed to be!  

Trust your bar prep program, but also recognize when you can skip or rearrange tasks. Following the program should get you across the finish line, but some of the tasks they’ll assign are just not going to be useful to you as an individual and you can skip them without guilt. I tried to be a completionist, but for the last two weeks of studying, all Barbri wanted me to do was write MEE essays over and over again and that simply wasn’t effective for me at that stage. I needed to be doing more MBE practice and reviewing outlines, not spending four hours a day IRAC niche topics. I also took the giant Barbri MBE practice test early in the summer when the program said I should, but I was VERY unprepared for it and performed VERY poorly, which I regretted when I heard how many of my friends pushed it back by several weeks - I was so unprepared that it wasn’t a particularly useful tool for figuring out my weaknesses, and they didn’t have any other comparably sized MBE practices for me to take once I ultimately did feel prepared.

Definitely do some timed practice, particularly with the MEE essays. Can’t tell you how many people told me they ran out of time writing their essay section. Writing a well-structured and argued essay in 30 minutes is difficult, writing several back to back is freaking killer. Practice the timing so you’re ready for it on the test and can throw out a lightening speed IRAC.  

If you’re taking a virtual bar this summer, take the opportunity they give you to learn how the technology works. Maybe actually take the practice MPT that they put up on your screen. I legitimately lost like 10 minutes of writing time trying to figure out where to move and how to position the pop-out MPT files and navigate between those files and my own notes, and the body of my essay. So take the opportunity to learn how to do that so you don’t do the same. 

I worked throughout bar prep, so I wasn’t really able to develop any kind of routine for myself, and those “set a schedule for yourself” tips never worked for me. But I did make a point of setting goals for the day and then telling myself I would log off after I reached a certain point. On the few days when I pushed it and did like, a crazy 12 hours of barbri or something, I’d find I was less motivated the next day, to the point where I effectively lost any studying “lead” I might’ve given myself and only did like two hours of work. It just wasn’t worth it to burn myself out. The last two weeks or so before the exam might be a different story (crunch time and all that), but remember, it’s a ~marathon and not a sprint~

I said I wasn’t going to tell you how to study, but I will share one technique that worked for me that I thought was clever - I recorded myself reading various outlines (shorter versions, each recording was like 15-20 mins) and then whenever my bar prep company would say “review your outline,” I would take a walk or go for a drive and listen to the recording rather than sitting at my desk. Getting away from my desk was CLUTCH and god, this was just such a good idea. Sometimes I’d run errands while listening to the recordings too, which was some much needed multi-tasking. As we got closer and closer to the bar, I listened to this audio so constantly I could effectively recite it and I felt it was just way easier to take in than reading and re-reading the same the same passage. Did it feel strange listening to my own voice on loop? I mean yes lmao but it worked and it got me away from my laptop for a while when I really needed that! 

Good luck everyone! Just a few months to go. Feel free to ask me if you have any kind of specific questions, I love answering questions! 

[braiawrites]

Lost & Found - Chapter 3

Summary: A messenger fills Jude and Madoc in on important news. Jude and the cat pay a visit to the palace. || Inspired by this prompt by @newblood-freya

Words: 3188

Rating: T

Warnings: Brief description of a murder in the first section.

Links:

Fic Masterlist

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER FOUR

Prompt by newblood-freya

Read it on AO3

Writing Masterlist

Send me an ask!

A/N: So I thought writing a multi-chapter would be much easier once I had a solid plot laid out but when I tell you I was dragging words out by my teeth—yeah, I'm not super happy with this chapter but it's here and technically I had it finished in time, just not posted so uh. Good for me? Yeah I'll shut up now, here's chapter 3.

***

Dead. One of the princes was dead.

Jude stood stock still for a long moment, the shock on her face palpable as the words echoed in her mind.

Prince Dain was dead. Did that mean Cardan was, too?

Finally, she swallowed and took a shaky breath. “Prince Dain is dead?"

“Did you not know?” Madoc’s voice was heavy, his eyes sharp.

“No,” Jude gasped. “No, I–no. I thought this was about Cardan. I thought—I don’t know what, exactly, but not this.”

Madoc ran a large hand over his jaw, and then—

“Sit.” He gestured to one of the chairs set along the wall. “You might as well stay to hear the rest.”

She nodded numbly, hesitating before turning to the chair. The cat was standing next to her, black fur fluffed up and small body trembling, his eyes fixed on her foster father. He seemed as horrified as she felt.

“Your guest can stay as well,” Madoc said, tilting his head curiously at the cat. “We will talk about keeping pets later.”

With a nod, she scooped him up as she moved to sit down, tucking the trembling form into herself. She wanted to murmur comforts into his soft black fluff—as much for him as for herself, she suspected—but with Madoc and the messenger looking on, she settled for soothingly stroking the length of his back.

Madoc turned his attention to the messenger boy. “Report,” he instructed, like the boy were one of his soldiers.

He certainly reacted like one, his spine straightening and his chin lifting as he snapped his liquid gaze up to Madoc’s.

Jude didn’t blame him. The old redcap could have that effect.

“Prince Dain never returned to his quarters yesterday,” the imp said. “He was found by a librarian this evening in the royal lineage section, propped against the shelf and—” the imp paused, looking slightly sick, “and with his throat slit.”

“Any other injuries?” Madoc’s voice was cool and steady, as though he were asking about the weather, not the murder of a prince.

“I didn’t—I don’t know, sir. I didn’t see the body.”

At the general’s displeased grunt, the boy rushed to add, “But—at the time of my departure, they were just going to fetch a royal physician. They’ll have the report by now, I’m sure.”

“Hmph,” Madoc responded. “I’ll just have to go and find out for myself. Dismissed.”

As the imp bowed and turned to leave, Jude found herself blurting, “Wait!” the word coming out before she had a chance to think better of it.

The imp halted, glancing first at Madoc, who shrugged, and then at her.

“What about Prince Cardan?” she asked. “Has there been any news of him?”

The cat on her lap stirred slightly, his paws kneading into her legs at the mention of the disfavoured prince’s name.

“Not to my knowledge,” the boy said, shaking his head, and Jude felt her heart drop.

She nodded her thanks as the messenger bowed again and left, not trusting herself to speak through the tightening of her throat or the worry washing through her. For all he’d done to her, for all that he was her worst enemy, she never would have wished him dead.

Madoc’s commanding rumble broke through her fear. “Go and have the stablehands prepare me a mount,” he said. His eyes glared into hers as he repeated, “One mount.”

“I’m not—” Jude started, her fists clenching, but she swallowed her protest. There was no point in saying anything—he’d already made it clear that he wouldn’t allow her to come.

“Fine,” she said instead, and gathered her cat up as she left.

~ ~ ~

Jude did not go to the stables, but instead marched straight to her room, the heels of her boots clicking on the wooden floors. She caught a servant along the way to demand a mount be made ready for Madoc, and then set about preparing for her own trip to the palace.

As she strapped her sword belt to her waist and hid daggers under her sleeves, she kept glancing sidelong at the little cat pacing her floor. His tail lashed viciously with each step, his eyes bright. He must sense her own agitation.

“I’m sorry,” she told him. “I’m just worried. But I’m not staying home until Madoc brings word. For all I know, he’ll leave out all of the most important details to keep me from getting involved.” She scowled. “I’m not a child anymore. And I’m going to find out what happened to Cardan.”

The cat meowed and when she glanced over he met her eyes full on with his own amber bright glare. She could have sworn he’d sounded annoyed as she glared back at him, trying not to let her unnerve show. It wasn’t natural how human he seemed sometimes.

With a deep, steadying breath, she strapped the last sheath to her thigh and double checked the blade before sliding it into place.

She glanced at her cat again. “Are you coming?”

He mewed and clambered up her clothes, his claws pricking her skin.

“I swear you do that on purpose,” she grumbled as she checked out her window.

In the distance, Madoc was galloping astride a dark horse, almost at the edge of the Milkwood. By the time she had a mount saddled, he would be too far ahead to notice her.

With the cat slunk over her shoulders like a warm scarf, she made her way down to the stables and chose a light-footed creature reminiscent of a reindeer with glassy eyes and long fangs on either side of its mouth.

She made good time through the woods, her mount swift and smooth as it dodged trees and leapt fallen logs. The cat perched on the saddle before her, little face upturned in the wind, eyes slitted in pleasure, and Jude would have joined him had there not been a knot in her stomach at the possibility of Cardan being dead.

When the palace of Elfhame came into view, she pulled her mount to a stop and left it to graze out of view. Though it would have been quicker, coming careening up to the castle on the back of a fanged reindeer would be far from inconspicuous.

She continued on foot, the cat riding on her shoulders once again until they neared the base of the hill where the entrance was hidden by humming magic.

Two guards stood watch today, a precaution to keep unwanted visitors out after the news of Prince Dain’s murder. She had planned to enter quietly, but that may be impossible now.

As Jude drew closer, the guards moved in unison, drawing their weapons.

“What business do you have at the palace?" the taller of the two asked.

Jude lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “I’m here with General Madoc,” she declared, to which the shorter guard snickered.

“Sure you are, mortal.”

The taller one shook her head. “The general specifically stated that he came alone.”

Jude fought the urge to clench her fists as the guards remained unmoving. “I need to see him,” she tried, “it’s important.”

“There’s nothing we can do about that,” the short guard drawled. “No one’s allowed in or out without explicit orders.”

The taller one shrugged apologetically. “Sorry. We can take a message, if you like.”

Jude shook her head, already turning away with a mumbled excuse, when her cat leapt off her shoulder and disappeared into the hill.

“Hey!” she called after him, moving to follow, but the guards stepped in front of her.

“You can’t go in.”

“But my cat—”

“You live in the general’s household?” the taller guard asked.

“Yes.”

“We’ll make sure the cat gets sent back with him if we see it again.”

She ground her teeth but nodded. “Fine. Guess I’m leaving then.”

“Guess you are,” the shorter guard challenged.

She fought the urge to say something smart back, or draw her sword on him, and instead walked around the hill.

“Where are you going now?” one of the guards called.

Nosy, she thought, but yelled back, “Visiting a friend,” and rounded the base of the hill until she was out of their view.

There had to be another way in, and so long as there was one, she would find it. She paced a half circle around the side of the hill opposite the guards, searching for another illusioned entrance or tunnel, a servants’ door—nothing.

Jude was just about to give up when she heard a triumphant, “Mrrrow!” from somewhere above. It was her cat, his little black head poking out an open window halfway up the hill.

“You genius little kitty!” she praised him, jogging up the sloping earth and climbing through the round window. As she eased the wood-bordered glass pane shut again, she whispered, “I didn’t even know these opened.”

The cat purred, looking decidedly smug, and Jude marvelled again at his strangeness.

“You don’t happen to know the way to the dungeons too, do you?” she asked, half jokingly.

He chirped and wound around her leg before trotting out of the room.

~ ~ ~

Jude entered the dungeons on quiet feet, trailing after the little black cat. The moment his paws touched the cold stone he yelped and leapt back onto her shoulders, his claws digging in.

“Spoiled rotten,” she accused him. “You have twice as many legs as me, you know. If anything you should be the one doing the carrying.”

She could have sworn he stuck his tongue out at her in response, or maybe it was just a coincidence, so she blew in his face.

The dungeon was mostly empty, with the few cells that were filled being deeper down. She supposed crimes weren’t oft committed in a land were a forceful promise was binding. Or, Jude thought as her eyes caught on an executioner’s sword mounted on the wall, maybe there was a darker reason.

She tried not to shiver in the damp air as she stalked past rows of cells, her eyes scanning the shadows for a pixie girl in a gown fit for a revel.

When at last she stopped before a small figure in a dirty gown, the cat sprung from her shoulders to stand, hissing and hackles raised, before the bars.

Behind the bars, the pixie sat up from where she was lounging on her straw palette, a laugh spilling from her lips, bitter and grating to Jude’s ears.

“Well, hello again,” the prisoner smirked, ruby red eyes flashing in the low light. “It looks like you came back to find me. You miss me that much?”

Jude tried to hide the confusion swirling inside her as she picked up her yowling cat. “We’ve never met,” she stated, to which the pixie laughed again.

“Not everything’s about you, love.” Her eyes locked on the cat as she jerked her chin at it. “Cat bring you here?”

Jude frowned. “Leave him out of it.”

“Alright, if you insist,” she shrugged. “So what do you want? Because as much as I’d like to think you came just to visit, I find it hard to believe you would appreciate my company so much—especially since we’ve never met.”

Jude shifted. She hadn’t thought about what she was going to actually say once she got here—ask nicely for the return of the prince? Grab the prisoner through the bars and shake her? Instead, Jude steeled herself and dove straight in, barrelling through both tact and diplomacy in one fell swoop.

“I have questions.”

“And what makes you think I have answers?”

“I already know you’re connected to Cardan’s disappearance,” she said, stepping closer, “and you’re going to tell me where he is.”

“Oh?” Red brows lifted over honey gold skin as the prisoner regarded Jude with some interest. “Am I now?”

“Yes, you are.” Jude ground the words out through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to lay her hand on her sword hilt as the pixie seemingly considered her options. Finally, she leaned back on her straw palette like it was the most comfortable bed in the world.

“No.” Her tone was flat, void of emotion, but there was a flicker of something—anger? Regret?—behind her eyes.

“I’m not asking,” Jude said, meeting the pixie’s glare.

“Oh, but I think you are. What else are you going to do? Threaten me? I’m already behind bars, darling, and you snuck in here. As soon as I called for a guard, you’d have to run, or risk being caught.”

Jude thought about bluffing or lying her way out of the trap, but curiosity got the better of her.

“How did you know I snuck in?”

“I didn’t, for sure, until just now,” the pixie responded, and Jude cursed herself for her stupidity. “I’d guessed it, because you have no uniform and no keys, and because no one ever enters from that direction.” She gestured down the hall where Jude had come from minutes prior. “And because the castle already came to see me today.”

At Jude’s frown, the girl elaborated with a roll of her eyes.

“They come down here every single day to ask me if I’m ready to tell them what I did with our dearest Prince Cardan, and every single day I tell them no, I’m not ready, I’m still literally unable to talk about anything I’ve done EVEN IF I WANTED TO, because I’m under a damn OATH!”

She threw her hands up in frustration before covering her face with her arms, huffing a sigh before continuing. “And then they walk away and tell me well then, no food until you’re ready to talk, and I always scream my worst insults at them as they leave, which I have to admit makes me feel just a teeny bit better.”

She sat up and met Jude’s eyes with a shrug. “I mean, it’s not nice of me, but I think I deserve it after all this.” She gestured to the mildew damp walls and bounced a bit on the creaky bed.

A pang of sympathy wormed its way into Jude’s heart, but she shut it out.

“How are you not dead?” she asked. “You have to have said something or you’d have starved by now.”

The girl laughed again. “Oh, but that’s the beauty of it! See, this cell is enchanted specially by High King Eldred himself.” Her eyes flashed and her smile faltered, so momentarily Jude could almost have been convinced it didn’t happen. Almost.

“Once you step inside, you can feel as hungry or as thirsty as you like, but you’ll never die from it. It’s a special kind of torture,” the pixie grimaced.

Jude swallowed the pity rising in her throat and lifted her chin. “Well, you probably deserved it. You’re a murderer afterall.”

“I—” the girl began to protest, but she stopped before she could say anymore. A moment passed before she coughed.

“Like I said, I can’t tell you anything about what I’ve done, but I can tell you that if I had been given a choice, I wouldn’t have gone after Cardan.”

“And Dain?”

“Dain?” the pixie echoed. “What about him?”

“They found him murdered this evening. Did you go after him?”

“What?” If the look of utter shock on the pixie’s face hadn’t convinced Jude, her next words did: “I didn’t kill Dain. You know I can’t lie, so you believe me, right? You know I’m telling the truth.”

Slowly, Jude nodded. “I believe you.”

“Listen: I can’t tell you what I did to Cardan, or why, or who I work for, but I can tell you this,” the pixie said, moving to stand by the bars.

“Desires sometimes take unexpected forms, but chasing them does no good when they’re already within your grasp. Cardan is closer than you think, but there is a power that will always hunger, and if you don’t stop it soon, it’ll devour not only your prince, but the rest of Faerie as well.”

Silence fell over the jail like a blanket, disturbed only by the drip, drip, drip of water.

Finally, the prisoner raised red brows. “So?”

“Thank you so much, that was so helpful and I now know everything,” Jude declared flatly.

The pixie girl sighed and propped her fists on the soiled waist of her gown. “You can be sarcastic all you want, babe, but I swear, that was as much as I can tell you—you know, binding oath and all? I mean, have you not been listening this entire conversation?”

The cat on her shoulder mewed and Jude glared at him sidelong.

“Whose side are you on?” she huffed, to which he meowed again and lashed his tail.

“Alright, fine.” Jude pressed her lips into a thin line as she turned back to face the girl in the cell. “I’ll figure it out myself.”

With the cat on her shoulder, Jude stalked out of the palace the same way she’d come in.

~ ~ ~

Cardan sat on the windowsill of Jude’s room, watching as the sun began to creep above the horizon, painting the sky in the golden light of dawn. Behind him, Jude was deep in slumber, snoring softly into her pillow, but with everything that had happened today, he couldn’t sleep.

Dain was gone and the palace was in shambles—he’d seen as much when he’d slipped inside. Guards had been everywhere, servants carrying cleaning supplies milled about, and curious courtiers had drifted through the halls, trying to catch a glimpse of what had happened.

When he’d passed by the library, Cardan had paused, resisting the urge to enter. When he breathed in, he’d nearly vomited.

Scents were much stronger to his cat nose, and through the must of old books and scrolls, beneath the scent of centuries of dust, he had smelled the cooling blood of his brother as it seeped into the carpets. It had taken all his willpower not to collapse in his sorrow.

The blankets rustled from inside the room and Jude’s groggy voice reached his ears.

“Kitty? What’re you doin’?”

He glanced at her over his shoulder and gave her a soft mrrm of amusement. Her hair was escaping its braid and dried drool had left a trail down her cheek.

“Come here, kitty,” she crooned, patting the blankets, and Cardan complied, slinking across the room to curl up in the curve of her arm.

Jude’s fingers played in the fluff around his neck and he couldn’t help but purr into the silence. He’d always been disgusted by how much he craved her touch, but he’d discovered of late that her fingers scratching his jaw or playing with his fur was one of his favourite things. He blamed Pellia’s cat curse.

They stayed that way for a long while, Jude stroking his fluff and his purrs warming the ever-lightening room.

When he twisted his face up to look at her, she brushed a kiss to his nose before settling into her pillows and pulling him closer. If cats could blush, he would have been bright pink.

“Sleep tight, kitty,” Jude whispered. “You’re safe here.”

And Cardan knew she was right.

***

A/N: Hello, loves! Thanks for reading and I hope you liked it!! I'm sorry this was a bit late, as I said earlier I struggled with this chapter so much. Thank you all so much for your support though, reading your lovely comments was a big motivation to get this chapter written, and I can say with absolute certainty that I would have given up long ago if it weren't for your kind feedback. I'm sending lots of love to all of you!

(PS: Please let me know if you’d like to be added to or removed from my tag list!)

Tagging: @stardustsroses @nahthanks @jurdanhell @my-one-true-l @thefolkofthefic @greenbriarxrose @bookavert @queen-of-demons-and-hell @theviolettulip @lysandra-ghost-leopard @playlistmusings @localgoof @garnet-babe @iamaprincessallgirlsare

[ladyvillainous]

Bruce Banner - Nice Moves!

Part of my Christmas Advent series

Description

Alex catches Bruce shaking his ass to a christmas classic

Warnings

none just fluff

Word Count: 578

Alex walked into lab, head down staring at the device in her hand “Bruce I…” She trailed off into silence at the sight before her, a delighted grin spreading across her face.

Bruce was dancing around his workstation, singing along to Merry Christmas Everybody by Slade as it blasted from the sound system, turned up so loud he hadn’t heard her enter.

Stifling her giggles Alex melted into the shadows by the door, watching as he shimmied and shaked his ass to the beat, who knew Bruce was such a good mover. Sadly not much of a singer though as he missed the next note by a mile making Alex wince.

As the song drew to a close Bruce threw his arms out and yelled out the final “It’s Christmas” his voice cracking, but clearly enjoying himself.

Alex couldn’t resist, she started clapping and cheering at once, making Bruce jump, spinning on his heel and staring at her in horror “What the?..”

“Hey Bruce” Alex called, walking towards him “Nice moves” she teased, watching in amusement as the scientist turned bright red.

“Alexandra Hey…” he sighed “How long have you been stood there?”

Alex chuckled as she reached him “Long enough”

Bruce groaned “Oh god please don’t tell Tony. I’ll never hear the end of it”

“Bruce” Alex started patiently “You know he’s got Cameras the length and breadth of this tower, there’s no way he hasn’t already seen this” she stated sympathetically.

“She’s right you know” Tony’s disembodied voice spoke from the monitor in front of them, as if on cue his amused face appearing on screen.

“My point exactly” Alex motioned to the screen, Bruce groaned again and sagged into the stool behind his workstation.

“Check this out, I think this needs to go viral…” Tony brought up an in picture display of Bruce dancing around the lab “I was thinking of calling it Hulk rocks out… what do you think?” He chortled at Bruce’s horrified face.

“Tony don’t please...” Bruce started, his hands covering his eyes.  

Alex placed a hand on his arm “Let me” she winked and turned back to the monitor.

“If you release that video to the world, I’m going to counter with one of my own” She threatened smoothly.

Tony raise an eyebrow and stepped closer to the camera “You got nothing Sexi Lexi” he challenged with a smirk.

Alex grinned mischievously, holding up her phone and pressing play on a video of Tony trying on one of Steve’s suits. Checking his ass out in the mirror Tony declared, “Now that’s America’s ass” and smacks it with both hands.

“Where did you get that?” Tony sighed, already knowing he was beat.

“Super spy remember” Alex smirked “It’s my business to know stuff”

“Fine” Tony sighed again “I’ll leave Brucie Boy alone” he rolled his eyes and signed off without so much as a goodbye.

“You are a lifesaver” Bruce cheered at once, seriously impressed Alex had managed to get around Tony “How can I ever thank you?”

Alex grinned wickedly into Bruce’s grateful face, leaning in closely “I may have a few ideas, I’ll keep you posted” Alex winked and sauntered from the room, throwing an exaggerated swing of her hips to her strut, knowing full well Bruce was watching her ass as she left.

Bruce swallowed thickly, his eyes tracking the movement of her hips as she exited the room.

“Oh boy I’m in trouble” he muttered his face aflame.

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Sick Fic I Didn’t Bother to Name Part 2

Basically Jon is sick post canon and Tim lives and is looking after him while Martin is at work.  See look you don't have to read chapter one!

Okay so I know we all expect my fics on Wednesday, but next week it will probably have to be early Tuesday morning.  So keep an eye out.  Wish I didn't have to switch it up, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.  

cw fever, delusions sort of? sort of flashback?, past strained friendships, I think that's it?

Jon is starting to lose track of time.  Getting lost between the seconds.  Gaping spaces where he isn’t awake enough to register what is going on or what episode he and Tim are supposed to be on.  He’s lost in the moments his gummy eyes are closed and between strained breaths.  

He knows it’s the fever.  And he thinks he knows where he is.  

He’s on the couch with Tim.  

In his and Martin’s home.  

But between blinking and the gaping chasms between one tick of the clock and the next, he finds himself in places that have been gone.  Long gone.  Burned to the ground.  Both the places and the things that occurred.  

He’s on the couch he’s on the couch.  He is on the couch.  He is using Tim as a pillow.  While Tim gently runs a hand through his curls.  It would be soothing if he wasn’t also seeing another time.  Another place.  Another Tim.  

A Tim with his face twisted in a familiar rage.  

Shoving him.  Redirecting a forgotten, graceless fall.  Legs giving way under the strain of the worst couple months of his life.  Whichever worst months those were…  Because for a while each month was the worst in a new and horrifying way.  

He is on the couch.  

He is on the couch.  

And Tim is speaking to him soothingly as his breath catches in a panic he knows is lost in time.  Out of time.  Unstuck like Billy Pilgrim.  So it goes.  

It would have been a sensible fear years ago.  

It Was sensible.  

When the exhausted slip of the tongue and static echoed off the hatred behind Tim’s eyes, ricocheting.  At least once slamming Jon against the wall when he lost control.  

And he knows he isn’t making sense.  And he knows that Tim would never raise a hand against him.  And it wasn’t as if Tim ever really did.  But he wasn’t gentle.  Touches that once-and-now mean comfort and safety then meant something too tight too rough too much and sent him into walls or to the floor or caused bruises on his stupidly sensitive skin.  

Jon is on the couch, mumbling to himself feverishly. 

Tim is worried.  Jon’s fever is up, despite the recent medication and the damp flannel on his forehead.  Tim doesn’t even think it’s too high, but Jon has always been delicate.  Or has been recently.  Tim wishes he could cast his mind back far enough to confirm that this is just the way his friend has always been, and not a recent development in the years in the Archives where the world was against this slip of a person.  

Tim tries not to think about it.  Because he can’t lose himself to regret when Jon is facing whatever his mind is throwing at him.  Even when his mind could very well be throwing the memory of a Tim that the present Tim regrets.  Guilt is something for the bottom of a bottle.  Or in the muscle cramping heat of the heavy beat pounding music and pounding feet.  Or in the thick of paint fumes and the wet splat of a brush against the walls.  

Guilt and anger are not meant for quiet moments on the couch watching over a sick friend.  Not for episodes of Avatar the Last of the Airbenders.  

No, this is how you rewrite the guilt and rage.  

He will regret and be angry with himself and the situation that is no longer the situation when he has his coping mechanisms, both constructive and self destructive.  

He soothes Jon.  With quiet reassurances and a gentle embrace, trying to gauge if Tim will have to step back to sooth, or if the words are helping, or if he should pause the show or if the familiar noise will help ground Jon.  

In another time, Jon stumbles across Tim in the break room.  Limping his way to make some tea and let that sooth the fire beneath his skin and the heavy weight of trauma.  Rubbed raw wrists.  His body failing to bounce back after kidnapping.  And the taste of static as the question he’s already forgotten pulls and answer he can’t comprehend from Tim.  

The twist of lips in a snarl.  

Jon reaching out to apologize, but Tim jerks away.  

Sending the unsteady Jon reeling.  

Tim is gone before Jon hits the ground.  Too dizzy to keep his feet.  

Jon is crying, and Tim wonders if he has grounds to blame himself.  He will anyhow, but he wonders if it is justified this time.  

But he can’t act on that sort of regret.  Substantiated or not.  This is not the time.  

“Hey, ace.”  If Jon were more lucid, he would absolutely hate the nickname.  Tim loves it.  It combines a lovely gender neutral expression with the happy double meaning of Jon’s sexuality.  Tim feels that it could serve to ground Jon to a friendlier memory.  Not to mention, well.  Okay he wouldn’t Hate the term.  But he would love to make a show of hating it.  “You with me?”  He pats Jon’s face lightly, and gently wipes away the tears.  He isn’t really sure if Jon is sleeping or hallucinating or just uncomfortable.  

Jon frowns.  He struggles with coordination enough to rub at his eyes.  Eventually he cracks open a fever glazed eye, bringing (Tim assumes) the world into whatever blurry focus he can without glasses.  

“Tim?”  Jon’s voice is rough.  Tim isn’t sure if it from congestion settling or just disuse.  

“The one and only.”  He throws in a cheeky wink.  He wants to say more, but doesn’t know where Jon is in his mind.  

A clammy hand reaches up and traces some of the scars Tim got in the unknowing.  

Tentative.  Both with the lack of clear vision, probably, and with a hesitation that Tim is fairly certain that comes with an uncertainty of where their relationship stands.  

“What?”  

Again, Tim isn’t sure if this is Jon lost in the past or just hazy on some details.  

“It’s Tuesday and Martin made you call out from work today.  Martin would have stayed, but I got off from work earlier today, so I am keeping you company.  Sasha is at work, though.  She’s probably jealous.  Uh… We’re watching Avatar.  Which you always complain about, but I know that’s just for show because I know you watch it on your own.  Oh!  And my favorite part!  The Magnus Institute has been burned to the ground!  And please don’t try to know anything, because you’re sick enough please don’t give yourself a migraine.”  

Jon doesn’t give him the typical annoyed look at over-explanations, so Tim has to guess that Jon was missing some of those details.  Jon relaxes, however.  Which is good.  Lucid enough to understand what he’s saying.  

“You back with me?”  He asks Jon.  

Jon makes a so-so gesture.  He’s stopped crying, which is good, but he’s still hesitant to relax against Tim.  

“Where had you gone?”  Tim asks against his better judgement.  

“Felt unstuck.”  Jon’s hand closes over Tim’s wrist.  Using it to cling to the here and now.  Tim understands that feeling.  

“Anything I can do?”  

“Just… be here?”

“Not going anywhere, bud.”  Tim promises.  

Being shoved.  Hitting the ground.  Curled on the unforgiving tile.  

He’s on the couch.  Tim is here, and he’s kind and solid.  

Tim is shouting.  Angry.  Biting.  Chilling words.  Bent too far to be a friend.  Twisted.  

Jon is getting dizzy from the unstuck feeling.  

Everything is spinning and he is dreadfully cold.  

Aching cold.  

But he’s afraid that every drag of his eyelids will take him back to echoing shouts and freezing tile and bruising hands.  

Jon wakes up screaming.  He tries to pull himself up, the blanket wrapped around him like restraints and he wants to be up and moving and free.  He screams when someone grabs his arms.  

Tight grip, enough to leave marks over his raw wrists.  Tim shaking him until the world upends itself and he’s on the floor.  On the floor.  On the floor.  

As Tim looms.  Angry and shouting and tall.  And Jon is so so so small.  Breakable.  In a way that no one seems to notice until he’s broken in front of them.  

He’s on the floor of his living room.  There are no bruises.  No rope burns.  

Just a precariously high fever.  Sitting crying and dizzy in the thick tangled blankets.  

Tim kneeling before him, making his posture as unthreatening as possible.  

“Jon?  Bud?  You back with me?”

Five things he can see.  Tim.  The laptop.  His cane.  The couch.  His ace ring.  

Four he can hear.  His own pounding heart.  His strained breaths.  Uncle Iroh on the laptop.  Tim’s voice.  

Three he can feel.  His sweat damp frizzed hairs plastered to his forehead.  The thick blanket that takes turns being a comforting weight and a panic inducing restriction.  Again, his heartbeat.  

Did he take his medicine this morning?  

Is he up for more medicine for his fever yet?  

The heat of anxiety is easing him back into the ice fever chills.  

Tim is reaching for him.  Offering him a hand.  Instead he tips forwards against him.  

“Back with you.”  Jon assures, finding his voice at length.  

For sure this time.  

Nothing like panic to jolt him back aware.  

Tim settles him back on the couch with care.  Presses a kiss to his forehead, and tucks him in again against the shivers.  

Jon settles back to watch another episode, Tim as his pillow once more.