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fakeplasticlovers · 2 months ago

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sweet summer sweat | j.m.

part ii of hotel california

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

wc: 2.6k

warnings: smut (18+, mndi!). age gap (reader is in her late twenties, joel early forties). reader goes by the nickname polly. reader has no descriptions other than her hair is long enough to be pulled (aka moodboard doesn't count). oral (f!receiving). fingering (f!receiving). they get freaky in the pool AND the hotel room. protected p in v. joel's kind of old and pathetic.

hotel california masterlist · hotel california tag

So much for never seeing you again.

Joel's fist curled around the leather straps of his well loved duffle bag, the one that Sarah had sworn she would replace for his Birthday. Don't need a new one, he had objected, works just fine.

The prickly breeze wafts the scent of your cigarette to his nostrils, those of which he didn't realize were flared. Behind the bitter punch is a tinge of sweetness; sticky booze, fading perfume, and something intoxicating he can only imagine is your sweat.

"Neighbor, huh?" He repeats back with a small huff, almost missing the doorknob when he goes to turn the key to his room. His palms are a bit slick — he blames it on the warm weather.

The entrance swings open, like his head swings in your direction once he realized you've decided to perch yourself by the doorframe. Not in an imposing way, but from a place of misguided curiosity. Like a feral cat that's a bit too trusting, but you can tell it'll still bite.

"Yep." You chirp back, watching his broad shoulders as he retreats into the shadowed hollow of the room. He's kind enough to not tell you to fuck off and slam the door in your face. You take the liberty of reaching into his domain, flicking on the switch that rests on the wall next to your free hand.

"Thanks." Joel nods in your direction, setting his bag on the palm tree printed bed spread, dirty work boots drawing a sharp contrast against the hot pink shag rug.

You can't help but giggle at the scene — the big, burly contractor plucked straight out of the hot Texas sun and dropped into a Golden Girls episode.

"What's funny, Pollyanna?" He quirks a brow. He doesn't look angry — he surely hasn't kicked you out yet — but you can tell he still thinks you're a pain in the ass.

"Nothin'." Masking a grin, you stomp the remainder of your Marlboro out before it starts burning the peach fuzz on your knuckles. "Donna must not like you."

The mattress squeaks as Joel graces it with his weight. His shoulders sag like the weight of the world lays upon him, the blanket of dust that's stirred up silhouetting him like a shrine.

"Front desk lady?" He figures, knees cracking slightly as he places his hands on them. Fucking old.

You hum, shifting back and forth on the worn soles of your chucks. No matter how hard your lips try to hide it, the apples of your cheeks want to beckon that wicked smirk like it's home.

"Gave you the honeymoon suite."

Joel's tired demeanor cracks like his aching bones, the lines in the corner of his eyes meeting like old friends. His body shakes with genuine laughter, a feeling that he's not use to faking. He hasn't had to go diving in the deep catacombs of his chest for it in a while, like a forgotten toy in an attic.

"Got another one of those?" Joel gestured to the remainder of her cigarette, now a forgotten stamp on the concrete, praying to be remembered by the small flakes of ash it tosses into the dead air.

According to Sarah, no one in California littered. Clearly she hadn't met you.

Now it's your turn to chuckle. In fact, it always has been, if it weren't obvious already you have the upper hand.

"We sell 'em in the bar, you know." A haphazardly manicured brow quirks, same time your lips roll.

"Suppose I could bum you one. No smoking inside, though, Cliff would have my ass."

With a swift nod, Joel rises from his place in the bed. "Wouldn't want that, now would we?" He stalks towards you, causing your heart to stutter in your chest. You shuffle back on your heels as he joins you back in the desolate air.

What the fuck is wrong with you? Give him a cigarette and go to bed.

So, of course, you do the logical thing, and throw the pack square at his chest. Of course, he catches it swiftly, and you avert your eyes like you're oh so fucking cool.

"Can I get your light?" He cocks his head, fishing one out and placing it between his plush lips. Not fair. Without a word, you retrieve the zippo from your jacket and smack it into his awaiting palm.

"Gimme one too." You mutter like a petulant child, beckoning for your pack back like it's the only thing that will anchor you from the reality that you are pining for a complete fucking stranger.

The smoke fills your lungs like an old friend and suddenly, you're aware of the fact that his gaze has your feet filled with lead. You can't leave now, and he can't stop staring at you, so now you're fucked.

"Is it always this hot out here?" Of course, Joel the contractor has some small talk to toss out into the heavy air. You know it's bullshit, the man is from Texas, he's clearly experienced worse than this.

"Yeah. That's why I usually go to the pool at this time." You choke out, coughing slightly as the cigarette begins to burn your throat. You blame it on the smoke, but you're not so sure.

Quiet wraps around the two of you then, only interrupted by the humid breeze and the sound of crickets crying in the night.

The gusts rolls up, sending your hair whipping in the wind. Joel has a look on his face like he's been faced with the most difficult question in the world.

"Pool, huh?" He drags the last of his cigarette, "Too bad. Didn't bring my swimsuit."

You snort, tossing yours before he gets a chance to.

"Bold of you to assume anyone does." You shrug, "I'll be down there if you'd like to join. I'd let you borrow a bikini, if you insist." You grin.

Trouble. He shakes his head.

"Thanks." He nods in your direction, handing your lighter back. No fucking way he's going to that pool.

Needs to take his old ass back to bed and get ready to help his daughter in the morning.

"Goodnight, Joel." You can tell it's not happening.

You'd still take a dip in the pool, and let your hand creep in between your thighs as you shower the chlorine off once you get back to your room.

Maybe you'd even moan his name loud enough so he'd hear it through the decaying walls.

So, with that you retreat into your room, tossing the heavy leather off your shoulders. You think this is the most fun you've had since you decided to take this job, since you've decided to live at a hotel in the middle of nowhere.

It's just a phase, your family back home insisted, but judging by the knick knacks you've accumulated collecting dust on the side tables in your suite, you're not so sure of that.

So, you head to the pool. A red bikini you picked up at a gas station on the way down adorns your body. The pool bar is still open, and Doug has your usual nightcap prepared by the time you lay your towel down on the sun weathered chair.

You thank him, stripping your t-shirt off before the water beckons you. The elder patrons begin the return to their rooms around the same time your body is engulfed by the water.

And you roll your neck, the cold chlorine aching the unsatisfied bones of your back. You let your hips hover, the feeling of floating about the only thing that helps you in the midst of the unknown of your life.

You try to tune out the sound of the bar closing up, ushering it out with each sip of the High Life supplied to you. It's not until the gate cracks with a squeal that you're brought back to life.

Joel the Contractor is standing there, clad in his boxer briefs, and you think you might have died.

"Doug, you still have beers?" You question, "Leave them out. I'll close the bar."

Joel walks in, toting a bath towel. You feel comforted in the fact that he's not used to this. In fact, he stands there awkwardly.

You pull yourself out of the water, dripping with every sense of the word. "Want a beer?" You ask, tossing him a beach towel.

He nods, and you know he's staring at your ass as you creep away. The seal is cracked, and it's handed to him. You grab your own beer off the ledge of the pool and cheers him.

"To Los Angeles?" You toast, and he retorts with a huff. Those dark eyes stare at you the whole time. And it's awkward, it's hot, so you decide to jump in the pool. And to your surprise, Joel follows.

"You're trouble." He finally says out loud, cracking his face above the surface. He can't remember the last time he jumped into a pool when it didn't involve his daughter.

"Me? Trouble?" You laughed, floating on your back away from him, "You're trouble."

Joel wades towards you, both of you hovering in the deep end. Eyes locked,

"How am I trouble?" He presses, hands softly caressing your waist. Gaze pinning you like a dart to a board.

"Because I want you."

And then finally, Joel kisses you. Lips weave together, hands on your waist now deliberate. Water splashes around you. And you're lifted out of it, always a protector.

"Let me do this, please," It's almost like he's begging, your ass lifted on the ledge of the pool. You nod.

He pulls at the strings of your bikini bottoms, but not before he's kissing down your stomach. You take the time to untie your top because, you'll be damned, Joel the contractor is eating you out.

Your thighs are hoisted over his shoulders, and he shows you how much he wants to taste you. Then he stops.

"Come back to my room." He seals it with a wet, sloppy kiss to your clit. Your hips cant towards his mouth, and he appeases you, sealing his mouth over your pussy before landing a swift smack over it. You moan louder than you think you ever have before.

And he's scrambling to grab your top, and you're trying to tie it back on, before you give up, and hold the bikini in your fists. Joel wraps you in your towel, and you're ushered around the corner back to your room.

"My room's right here," You giggle, standing in the corridor of your room. And that's when Joel kisses you. And it's deep, it's wet, and you need it.

"Take me inside." Joel already knows what you mean.

"Fuck." He grunts as he rips your towel off, "Take it off," He's pulling your bikini off, then he's hovering over you naked as you lay on his mattress. All spread and ready for him.

You're fucking gorgeous. He knows that. Your soft body, spread legs. Chest heaving. Toes curling.

"Let me taste you again, baby," He breathes, cradling your face, hands hovering like he's scared.

"Kiss me." You grip his wrists, "Then taste me."

So he does. Joel licks into your mouth while his fingers tweak your nipples. He has you begging for his mouth on you.

He thinks it's a privilege to taste you, his head cushioned by the soft grip of your thighs once again. You taste like something he's been searching for his whole life.

"Fuck, Joel," You arch against the bed, toes curling on his shoulders, "Gonna come,"

And he wills it. Come in my mouth. Need to taste you. One hand curling over your breasts, the other holding your hips down.

The sound you make when you come will haunt him until the day he dies. You try to buck him off, but his arms keep you sealed to his mouth.

You will yourself off the mattress, lips parted as you stare at him between your legs. And then you're bucking him off. You're breathing heavy.

"Fuck me," You whisper, "Please,"

In the midst of it, he's lost his briefs. You reach for his cock, hand curling around him. A small moan escapes your lips, he seals it with a kiss.

"Fuck," Your swirl your thumb around the tip. "Is it my turn?"

And he feels like he's going to faint. What he would give to feel your plump lips wrapped around his cock. But you just asked him to fuck you, a promise he's not even sure he can complete.

"No, baby," He finds a place to breathe in your neck, hand cascading down the side of your body, "Lemme fuck you."

And the sound that comes out of your mouth will be the thing Joel thinks of while curling his fist around his cock in the shower. He's rubbing against you, and you're willing him inside of you.

"Need a condom, Polly," He laughs, kissing your forehead. With a huff, you start to fiddle with the bedside drawer.

"Told you it was the honeymoon suite."

Joel rolls the condom on, and kisses you as he urges in. He's all encompassing, arms curled under your back, legs curled high on his back. And you almost wail, his hips snapping against you. Feels fucking fantastic.

"Joel," You cry out, head fisted in the crook of his neck. It's been a long time since you've been touched, and by god, he's so fucking deep, cradling you as he fucks you.

And does Joel work above you, working his cock into you by the beat of your moans, holding you tightly, licking on you until he feels you tighten around him.

"That's it, baby," He breathes, "Feel so fucking good, Polly, gonna come for me?"

And you nod, because he's everywhere, he's so deep, your knees are curled around his back. And so you did, you cum for Joel the Contractor, thighs shaking around his back, hands pulling his hair.

And Joel comes hard too, pushing you into the mattress, panting into your mouth. He whines, you think, and that makes your pussy clench around him. He looks a wreck above you, so you grab him and kiss him like it's the only thing you have going in your life.

Now he's looking at you like he doesn't know what he's done. You're panting, and not really in the mood to placate a man.

And Joel can't bring himself to pull away from the shangri-la that is between your thighs. He thinks fucking you might have been his greatest achievement.

And yet, you're both looking at each other like a gong has been banged.

Joel has the willpower to pull out of you, at least. He tosses it in the wastebin. You wince a little.

"Pretty," He drags, tongue dragging through the mess he left. "Will you let me clean you up?"

So you do, you let him clean you up with his mouth, then you offer to go back to your room. He insists you don't, so you fall asleep on his chest watching Jeopardy reruns.

He wakes up in the morning alone, which he is used to. He packs up his stuff, but has half a mind to search for your bikini. He knows you're right next door, but he can't bring himself to knock before he leaves.

What he doesn't realize is the fact that you left a note.

Joel might have checked out of the Hotel California, but he's not sure he can ever leave.

And you sure as fuck won't bring breakfast back to a passerby ever again.

happy bday peps ❤️

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #fic: hotel california

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eupheme · 8 months ago

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I am so so in love with your writing- I genuinely forgot how much I prefer tumblr drabbles to published books sometimes because beautiful prose and deep emotion is a hill I will die on and you do it so beautifully!!

Just wanted to ask on your opinion with Logan being a little gentleman somewhere deep down (I mean he was raised in the 1800s)

Like, he curses and drinks and smokes like a sailor - but he'd still open a door for a lady or defend her against assholes, even if he'd spend the rest of the night trying to scare her off and hide that little streak of good manners

It's always swirled in my head but I just wondered if I'm the only one or if at least it's folie a deux ♡♡

I have been grinning over this ask, thank you so much!! same - my physical tbr has been piling up because I’ve been reading so much fic, and it’s so amazing to read this in reference to something I wrote. Thank you so so much 🥺💖

and anon, your mind!!! I LOVE this idea, there are definitely such gentlemanly moments about him - and it being something that connects him to when he was born is so sweet. like yes he’s might be a little short/grumpy, but the second someone is rude to you he’s there with a glare and a growled out “watch it, bub.”

I wrote just a little something with your ideas, because you already nailed so many perfect examples - (like trying to scare her off after, that’s so perfect! I would love to hear any more thoughts you have about this!) (and I love you use of folie a deux for this 💕)

It takes you a little while to notice the small things.

How he keeps you close to the shops, when you walk together into town. Keeping himself between you and the busy streets. That second of hesitation when he beats you to the door, only to yank it open - step aside to let you pass through first.

It’s like fitting together pieces of a puzzle, without the reference of the final image. Little moments, clicking into place.

It happens again, when you get into it at one of the stores.

The shopkeeper thinking he can push you around - make an extra buck - not knowing you're just as up-to-date on the hardware as he is. It takes no more than the change in your voice for Logan to be there. A guard dog at your shoulder, daring the man to try to hustle you again.

It leaves you sweet. Sideways glances thrown his way, as you head back to the Mansion. Your paper bag tucked under his arm - the way his eyes are so quick to slide from yours when you tell him, "thank you", muscles tensing beneath the hand that brushes his shoulder.

It slips from him at your touch, rumbled out between the sharp set of his teeth and brow.

"It was nothing. Don't mention it, sweetheart.”

A shift - the collar of his leather jacket turning up against the wind - blocking the lower half of his face from view. Still keeping you tucked to the side, where it's safe.

And you think you soften, a little further.

I am going to be thinking about this all week! Thank you, again! 💖

#he’s smiling behind that collar btw 💖#this was so cute! thank you!#logan howlett headcanon #anons #eupheme answers

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fatguarddog · 2 months ago

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Confession time! I followed you back when I was "just" into feedism, and it was your blog that made me interested in petplay at all.

The idea of playing as a good, spoiled luxury pup has been sitting in me for so Long, but I dismissed it... Until today. It's my birthday this week, so I said let me try something new and spoil myself.

So I bought my first collar today. Good quality leather, red rims, properly soft and tough, lays like a dream. And a light chain leash to match.

When I tried it on in the store, I thought it was dumb. It's dumb, I told myself, and then I looked in the mirror, leash attached to collar and all, and I felt so.. cute. I felt so cute. My mind was blank, not even in a horny way. I was just like: wow...

I tried not to think about spending money and marched out of the store briskly. I came back home and left the package from the store in my bag, trying not to think about it. But I broke a few hours in, and put it on. I even attached a cute little fluffy red heart charm I had at hand.

I look like a total cutie. I fucking love this, and I'm thrilled to write this right now. I genuinely feel something new, and safe. Maybe I am into roleplaying a good pup more than I thought. Maybe I really want to be pulled in by a cute lady, and spoiled and fed and adored- Maybe I just want to be held in someone's lap as they take my hours-long yap sessions patiently, as they passively let me graze on pastries, comforting me that there is no limit, that their pup will get all the best and more. Watch my skin-tight elastic dress strain, tummy filling out, all so good and plump...

Idk man. But now I own a cool fucking collar and I'm coming to terms with a kink I didn't think was so serious for me - mostly thanks to you, so I thought you should know :3 - 💜

Happy to hear this and happy to have been even a little part of this journey 👀

I bet you look super cute in your collar and are going to be such a good greedy pup for someone ❤️

#purple heart anon #anon #wrex answers #.pet play

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immergladsss · 11 months ago

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Maria and The King of Thieves

For @incorrect-quotes-of-moonacre, thank you for all the work you put into the fandom and Moonacre Week every year ❤️

[Read on AO3]

Chapter 1:

Our story begins, as many typically do, with misfortune falling upon our protagonist and thrusting them into a new journey, irrespective of the protagonist’s feelings on the whole matter; for that is exactly how Maria Merryweather, just sixteen years of age and freshly debuted, found herself living neck deep in the countryside begging for work at the wash house.

“I know your lot!” The head laundry maid, Mrs. Miller, said with a scowl. “You come around here looking for work, only to quit within the first day!”

“Please I–”

“Just look at your hands! They’ve never seen a day of work. There’s no way you’re a commoner! Probably the bride of a failed elopement. I will not be having any trouble at my door.”

“Please!” Maria all but fell on her knees as she implored. “Please just listen! Yes, I’ve been fortunate enough to not know work, but no! I'm not some runaway bride! I’m an orphan who was robbed before arriving with my family! Whatever fortune I once had has left me crawling for crumbs and I am paying for it threefold! I promise I will not cause trouble. I simply need work to afford the replacement of my stolen garments.”

“Hmm…” The lady, Mrs. Miller, studied her. Maria was wearing a simple brown linen dress, faded with age. Her hair was hidden by a once-white bonnet, though a few light-red strands stuck out. Not many around here had red hair. There were a few families…one of which could get her into trouble, though the redheaded brother hadn't been seen in over two decades… “What family are you from?”

“The Trotters.”

Mrs. Miller looked over her shoulder and shouted at her workers. “Which of you is willing to teach her?”

Most of the girls looked away, finding they already had enough work to keep them busy, but one girl raised her hand. She was tall, with blonde hair slicked into a bun and bright blue eyes. “I can help her.”

“Ah, Ms. Swann. Perfect. Come over here. This is Ms. Maria Trotter.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Trotter. Please, call me Jane.”

Maria’s journey began with the first of three misfortunes: her father’s unexpected passing after her debut into proper society. This unfortunate event only left her with her governess, and whatever belongings she could carry while everything else was repossessed to settle her father’s outstanding debt. A fact that brought her great shame.

But like the highbred lady that she was, she took it with grace. She held her faith in her heart and her governess's hand for support, genuinely believing that matters would sort themselves out with time. After all, she believed herself fortunate to still have an estranged uncle generous enough to take them in. She believed their move to the countryside would simply afford them new opportunities. She believed gentlemen could be found everywhere, not just in the city, and that one day she’d find a proper suitor.

Little did she know a second misfortune was about to befall her. Just before arriving at the gates of Moonacre Manor, they were accosted by four masked bandits, who in a matter of seconds, took all of their luggage except for the carpet bag she had carried with her inside. She wasn’t able to take a good look at them, only that they wore bowler hats, black leather garb, and darkened eyes.

Though incredibly shaken, and feeling her resolve crack, she managed to restore her optimism at the thought that none of the bandits had managed to open their carriage. No doubt all due to her quick thinking and her handy needle that she used to slash the hand that came through her window. At least she and Ms. Heliotrope were safe and sound.

But Maria’s silent prayers were to remain unanswered as a third misfortune came upon her.

“I’m afraid you'll both have to find means of financing your purchases,” Her uncle, Sir Benjamin, told them during supper that night. “Unfortunately, our coffers have run dry trying to replace all that the De Noirs have stolen from us.”

“The De Noirs?”

“Yes, I believe those were the very bandits that robbed you and your governess. Unfortunately, there is nothing to be done. Moonacre is too small and unimportant for London to care about. And Lord knows our own magistrate can barely keep order. All I can offer you is shelter and food.”

“But I don't know how to work! I've never worked a day in my life, and I need clothes!”

“The laundry is always in search of workers. I’m sure they’ll readily teach you, their ways. However, for your safety, you mustn’t tell anyone you're a Merryweather. With their propensity, the De Noirs are bound to kidnap you too. Present yourself as a Miller or Trotter. Those are fairly common around here.”

And that is how she found herself the very next day, clutching a meager shilling between cracked and bleeding palms, sobbing with all her heart, outside the gates of Silverydew after her first day of work.

Maria knew no one was meant to know her true identity. The laundry gossip informed her plenty of how dangerous the De Noirs could be, especially their leader whom they simply referred to as the king of thieves, but when Jane found her crying and handed her a freshly baked roll of bread and a small tin of salve for her hands, Maria couldn’t help herself.

She had tried so hard to remain strong and keep up with the rest of the ladies, but it was impossible. She was weak and her entire body was in pain. She was exhausted. She was hungry. She had never felt as low as she did then.

She tried, she really did try to maintain her resolve, but when Jane wrapped an arm around her shoulders, Maria broke and released all that she had bottled in her heart. She confessed what had transpired in her life to have driven her to such a wretched state.

..oOo..

“How are you doing?” Jane asked as she came to join her at the wash bin.

Maria was finishing her third day in the laundry house. She had learned much, but still struggled against the feelings of incompetence, the aches of her body, and her wounded pride. She sighed, “I believe I am managing. Though my arms are still threatening to desert me.”

“It's all a con, don’t fall for it,” Jane giggled. “Do you think you could help me load this onto the carriage? The magistrate seems to be in a bit of a rush and the other girls are busy.”

“Yes, of course!”

At the count of three, the two heaved the trunk of freshly laundered garments and carried it out into the gravel road where the carriage awaited.

Maria glowered at the coachman who was fully aware of their efforts but refused to come down from his seat and help them.

As they lifted the trunk to load it onto the carriage’s rack, Maria’s grip slipped, and a burr in the iron handle tore open a newly healed crack in her palm. She yelped as the trunk came crashing down. Fortunately, none of the contents spilled.

“Careful there!” The coachman yelled, but he received no response aside from Jane’s furious glare that shut him right up.

“Goodness! Are you ok?” Jane asked, rushing to her side.

“Yes,” Maria mumbled, wishing to hide from humiliation. She dropped her head as Jane proceeded to use her handkerchief as a wrap for her palm. “I'm so sorry. I’ll return this to you as soon as I can wash it.”

“It happens to the best of us. Don't fret. Once, the garments I was carrying fell onto the floor and I had to wash them all over again!”

Maria smiled sheepishly but her mind was distracted by a dash of white paint only visible on a small portion of the flat steel tyre on one of the carriage’s back wheels. “Why would someone paint their wheel?”

“What do you mean?” Jane asked, peering over Maria’s shoulder. “Strange. I don't think I’ve noticed that before. Who knows. Come now, let's get on with this.”

After that, Maria began to notice certain carriages had that same mark. She spotted it on the magistrate's carriages, on the constable’s, and on some of the farmers.

..oOo..

“Are you ready to leave?” Jane asked Maria, who was busy hanging someone’s night clothes to dry. They had grown quite close over the days. Jane was trustworthy, clever, and readily lent an ear without any judgment, unlike the rest of the laundry maids. The majority of them still believed her to be a runaway bride and kept a guarded distance. As though her very presence would tarnish their reputation. The only benefit to their company was the gossip. Oh, how they loved to gossip! That is how she came to learn her uncle was once engaged to a Lady Loveday De Noir. He hadn't known of her identity at the time of engagement, but he broke it off when discovered the truth, believing she was there to steal from him.

“Don’t wait for me today,” Maria replied as she picked up another nightgown. “I need to stop by the apothecary. I've finished my salve.”

“Alright then, I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Maria wasn’t eager to return home. Though she had grown fond of Wrolf, Sir Benjamin’s giant Irish wolfhound, and her pony Periwinkle, an unexpected gift from her uncle, Sir Benjamin’s never ending dour mood was a constant reminder that things just weren't right.

But she also didn't want to return too late. The few times that she had, she had arrived to the sound of melancholic piano music and her uncle’s sobs, no doubt over his failed engagement. She was fortunate her room in one of the manor’s towers was too far to hear her uncle’s cries, though she could not help but feel pity for Ms. Heliotrope whose room was on the first floor.

At the end of her workday, she always faced the same predicament: either she returned early in the day to find him storming about the manor and cursing the De Noirs, or late in the evening to find him sobbing by the piano and wailing for Loveday. There was no neutral ground with that man, it's no wonder his engagement failed.

As she walked to the apothecary, Maria took a moment to appreciate the town of Silverydew. It was a quaint little town, and despite their hardships and occasional dealings with theft, the people were hardy, kind, and hopeful. Children ran about the square playing games with hoops and sticks. Mothers formed groups and shared recipes or the latest news. Men huddled around the tavern, commenting on the weather and their crops or businesses. Young ladies walked around the square, arm-in-arm, giggling over the young men who watched from a distance. Yes, Silverydew was certainly a better ambiance than the desolate and rundown manor that barely stood on its foundations, especially now that the town was preparing for the Harvest Festival.

Perhaps if her circumstances were different, she too would be as excited as the townspeople. She had an inkling her uncle would not even consider attending, much less allow her to attend unchaperoned. Though perhaps she could convince Ms. Heliotrope–that is if she wasn't too tired from tutoring the magistrate’s children or staying up late from her uncle’s incessant mourning over his life.

Maria sighed wistfully, wishing she could do something to help her uncle and brighten his mood. She wished to restore herself and the manor to its rightful state. However, she had yet to learn what caused the great feud between the Merryweathers and the De Noirs. It seemed no one knew, or at least would not openly talk about it.

“Oh!” Maria cried as her face came crashing against someone’s back. She was so lost in her thoughts she failed to notice the person in front of her. She would’ve fallen to the ground were it not for the strong arms of said person. “Oh, excuse me!” she yelped, disentangling herself from his arms. “I didn’t–”

Maria froze under his gaze. Dark eyes were alight with mischief as the ghost of a smile broke into a dashing grin. “I-I’m sorry,” she finished with a bright blush as she straightened herself and took a step back.

“I haven’t seen you around here before.” He adjusted his coat then stuffed his right hand into his pocket and with his left, awkwardly brushed his hair back. A fruitless effort as his curls bounced right back into place and casted a sultry shadow across his handsome face.

“Oh, I’ve only been here for a few weeks. I don’t make it a habit to stay out very long.”

“Reckon you’re not missing much then. Silverydew isn't known for its nightlife,” he teased. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss…?”

“Trotter!” Maria chirped. “It's Maria Trotter. And your name?”

“Robin.”

Maria didn’t miss the fact that he failed to offer her his hand which showed no sign of leaving his pocket, but she decided he had his reasons and she had more urgent matters to attend to. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. Now if you’ll excuse me, I'm on my way to the apothecary before it closes for the night.”

“What a coincidence, I am too. Allow me to join you.”

It was not a long walk, but it allowed Maria to ask her own set of questions, “I haven’t seen you around either. Do you live outside of Silverydew?”

“Yes, I live on the outskirts of the valley. I don't make it a habit of coming into town quite often.”

“Why is that?” Maria asked.

Robin held open the apothecary door and gestured for her to walk in first. Then he leaned over her shoulder and whispered. “As you may have learned, these townspeople busy themselves by sticking their noses in other people’s business.”

“You must forgive them, for what else are they to do,” Maria stiffed her giggle but continued, “There’s only so much to say about the day-to-day life here.”

Robin grinned crookedly. “Reckon I can come up with a few ideas,” he said in such a way that sent her heart racing.

“-How can I help you?” The pharmacist asked, stepping up to the counter and startling Maria, prompting her to take a step away from Robin.

Maria cleared her throat and tried to steady her thoughts as she said. “I’m here to purchase some salve.”

“That’ll be five shillings.”

“But…last week it was three.”

“I’m sorry dear. As summer wanes, the herbs become rare, and the price goes up.”

Maria’s heart sank and she solemnly reached for her purse, pulling out all that she had: three shillings. A wave of embarrassment washed over her. “I'll come back tomorrow then,” she muttered.

“Now, hang on. Keep your shillings,” Robin said. “Charge it to my account–”

“--I can’t possibly–”

“Ms. Trotter, it's fine. If it makes you feel any better, simply pay me back whenever you can.” Then turning to the shopkeeper he said, “I’ll also need three needles, a roll of surgical silk, gauze, and antiseptic.”

It was then Maria noticed he had taken out his right hand from his pocket. It was bandaged and blood had seeped through the fabric. “Goodness, are you ok?”

“Yes,” Robin reassured. “It's a common occurrence in my line of work.”

Maria was appalled. Granted she didn’t know much about jobs in general, but she wondered what type of work could lead to such nasty wounds. “Well then as gratitude, please allow me to stitch you up.”

Robin did not protest when after their purchases, Maria took him by the arm, led him outside to the nearest bench, and then motioned for him to sit. He watched with rapt attention as she expertly unwrapped his hand and wiped it clean with her own handkerchief and the antiseptic. “Goodness! When did you get this? It looks feverish!”

Robin scratched his head as he sheepishly laughed, “It was a few days ago. My mate tried to stitch me up, but clearly, he failed spectacularly. The stitches tore today on a new job.”

Maria tutted with a shake of her head but made no further comment as she readied the suture. Unfortunately, the silk was unruly with her gloves, and she was forced to unsheathe her hands, praying he wouldn't notice their state. Then she quickly stitched the gash across the back of his hand. She was so dexterous he hardly felt the sting of pain he was normally accustomed to.

“Incredible,” he murmured, admiring her handiwork. “That’s quite a talent you have there. I may be needing more of your services.”

“I’ll give my regards to my governess. After all, she's the one who taught me French Needlepoint,” Maria teased. Then she hurriedly reached for her gloves but froze when his hand gently encased hers. Her breathing hitched when he raised the back of her hand to his lips, his eyes gazing into hers. Her heart skipped a beat when he placed a soft kiss upon her bare and scabbed knuckles.

“Thank you,” he breathed into her skin before releasing her hold.

“Y-you’re welcome,” Maria barely managed to say. She nervously slipped her gloves back on, gathered her belongings, and stood to leave. “Have a good day Mr. Robin. And thank you for the salve.”

She hurried out of Silverydew with a fluttering heart, entirely unaware of how intensely he studied her retreat.

Maria’s mind was occupied with thoughts of Robin her entire way home. Even the melancholic piano music that could already be heard outside the manor gates could not dampen her mood, but she wasn’t quite ready to go inside just yet. Instead, she headed to the stable to brush Periwinkle. It had quickly become her favorite pastime when she needed a place to settle her mind or heart.

She searched all over the stables looking for her brush, but it was missing. “Digweed!” She called out. “Where is Periwinkle’s brush?”

“It’ll be in the carriage house, apologies miss!” Digweed shouted from the garden.

“Ahh, there you are!” Maria spotted the brush on the floor near the carriage wheel. She bent over to pick it up, then her heart dropped, the wheel also had a white streak. This development was enough to wipe her mind clear of Robin and send her into a sleepless night.

The very next day, Maria approached Jane and asked her. “Is there a pattern to the De Noir’s robberies?”

“I’m not sure honestly. At times it does seem certain people are robbed more often, but I’ve never looked into it.”

“Has the magistrate been a victim?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“What about the farmer Mr. Smith?” She listed another who had a white streak on their carriage wheel.

“Yes, all the time. The poor man has lost much on his harvests.”

“And Mr. Johnson?” Their carriages hadn’t had the white streak.

“Now that you mention it, no. He’s one of the fortunate few who hasn't been robbed.”

The next two days, Maria took her journal to work, and in her free time, cataloged all the carriages with the white streak. She concluded those that were painted, were the targets for robberies.

This perplexed Maria. If her observations were correct, the De Noirs were purposefully targeting certain people. It was not random at all. This caused Maria to feel a wave of indignation. This would mean their robberies were no longer an act of survival, but of intentional harm. How dare they!

She just knew she had to put a stop to this. That same evening, she went to the hardware shop and bought a pint of white paint and a paintbrush with all of her earnings. Then she waited.

She waited at the outskirts of the woods until the sun had set and a crescent moon was high in the sky, and then she got to work. She went around every carriage and cart she could access and discretely marked a back wheel with the paint.

She finished late into the night, exhausted, but proud of herself. She happily walked home and hid her paint in Periwinkle’s stall, before heading off to bed.

It was a few days later that she was rewarded with the fruits of her labor. Rumors were circulating about, wondering if the De Noirs were beginning to soften their ways. A few times, carriages that had been stopped were released without a single item taken. That was all the confirmation Maria needed to know that the De Noirs were not acting randomly. There was a method behind their madness. They were targeting specific people, and she was determined to get to the bottom of it.

“You’re in a bright mood today,” Jane remarked.

“Yes,” Maria said, scrubbing a stubborn stain on a coachman’s coat. “Yes, I believe I finally know what I am meant to do.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, but I can’t tell you just yet.”

…oOo…

Robin wasn't one to visit Silveryday without reason. Due to its close association with the Merrwweathers, he could only ever go under disguise, and it was a massive inconvenience.

But someone was thwarting his revenge. Which left him no choice. So, for the second time that week, he headed to Silverydew and straight to the hardware shop.

“Hello!” Robin called towards the back room. He didn't have to wait too long before a large burly and bearded man came out.

“Yes, what can I do for you?”

“I need to know who’s purchased white paint in the last week or so.”

The shopkeeper was confused but told Robin all that he knew. Which unfortunately for him, wasn’t much. A customer's name wasn’t recorded unless the item was paid for in the form of credit. As a result, all he learned was that the shop had sold 10 cans of white paint, only three of which could be identifiable.

“Thank you for your time,” Robin tossed him a coin. “I have a request though, keep note of who buys red paint.”

The only merit to visiting Silverydew was the possibility of running into the new laundry maid in town, and as luck would have it, he spotted her leaving the wash house with another maid. He frowned when he noticed that once again, she was wearing a very old dress. At one point it must have been a dark blue color, but it was now washed out to a greyish color.

The long day had loosened her bun, and from beneath her old bonnet, curls bounced freely behind her. He watched her dry her hands on her apron, then slip on some silk gloves.

Though she quickly learned the names of the townspeople, readily greeted them with a kind smile, and adapted to their customs, it was clear to anyone with a working brain that she was not a commoner.

She held herself too proudly, behaved with a gracefulness that could only be taught, and spoke with words only seen in books or in sprawling cities like London.

Even without those observations, she had admitted to having a governess and knowing French needlepoint.

Robin followed from a distance, wondering who was to blame for the misfortune that forced her to break the softness of her hands with water and lye every day.

When she finally parted from her friend, he snuck up to walk beside her and said, “Fancy seeing you here. It must be fate.”

Maria nearly jumped out of her skin, then rolled her eyes in false annoyance. “Or perhaps simply the result of living in a small village.”

“I take it you’ve lived in bigger, more crowded places?” he asked, adjusting his steps to match her pace.

“Not a large city, but yes... Bigger than Silverydew,” she said, picking her words carefully. “How is your hand?”

“It's mended quite nicely.”

“Are you here for more sutures,” Maria said as she appraised his body, bringing about a sense of shyness he wasn't accustomed to.

“Er- n-no,” he managed with an awkward cough. “Fortunately, no injuries today. My work has been slow recently.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Maria frowned, “So if it's not an injury, what brings you here?”

Robin smiled crookedly, “Business. Though, now that I have you here, there is something I’d like to ask. There are some interesting rumors floating about you...”

“Really?” Maria asked with amusement. “Pray tell, what is this information you've gathered.”

“They say you’re a runaway bride. Some say you’re a witch. Others say you’re a noble who has eloped with a lowly hunter and is living in the forest. Hiding from your royal family with your husband.”

Maria could not hold her laughter. She laughed like this was the funniest thing she’d heard since arriving at Moonacre.

“Oh dear,” she managed in between breaths. “Please tell me where my rich family is so I can beg them to take me back! I’m weary of masquerading as a commoner!”

“So, it’s not true then?” Robin asked. They had long exited Silverydew and were now walking down the gravel road towards the outskirts of the valley.

“No,” Maria wheezed. “Unfortunately for me, none of that is true.”

“And the bit about the husband–”

“--Especially the bit about the husband!” Maria cackled. “Oh, do forgive me for my uncouth behavior. I-I just can't help it. Out of all the lies!”

Robin had stopped and watched her with appreciation. “I’m relieved to hear that bit is also untrue.”

His words sent a jolt through Maria’s body, immediately ending her fit of laughter. “A-And why would that be?”

“Well, as you know. The harvest festival is in a couple of weeks. If you’re unaccounted for, I’d love to be your escort. I heard there’s a circus coming this year. What do you say?”

“A circus! Oh, I’d love to go! But I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for you just yet. You see… My guardians are incredibly overbearing, so I doubt they’ll let me go. Can I let you know next time I see you?”

“I’ll keep you to your word,” he said. Then he leaned down near her shoulder and whispered, “And if they say no, I am talented in the art of sneaking about.”

Continue Reading on AO3

@theargopriestess, @maybeamagpie, @hotpotatoburn, @stabat-mater, @bedofthistles

#the secret of moonacre #robin de noir #maria merryweather #the little white horse #ali baba and the forty thieves inspired #IM SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY #I wrote more than i intended and even then i still feel like its missing stuff

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lilliths-not-just-httyd-blog · 2 years ago

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i went out dressed in a white shirt, a black skeleton-themed hawaiian shirt, black and white houndstooth-print leggings, wartortle socks, black faux leather ankle boots, a moon-shaped necklace and a black witch hat with a spiderweb-print veil today.

so basically i went to a hardware store dressed as a gay witch.

some old woman dressed in church clothes just about died when she saw me and my mum just about passed out from laughter when she saw the lady's expression. this woman genuinely looked like she'd just seen satan and was mentally preparing herself for the rapture.

then i saw some young kids and they were fucking terrified of me (good - i'll live rent free in their minds forever) and some middle aged women complimented my hat so that was nice. unfortunately we could not find the potato bags we were looking for so we have to hold off on growing those potatoes that sprouted in the depths of the kitchen drawer.

#halloween #witches #queer fashion #anecdote #queer

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wolffdowntheworld · 2 years ago

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“Bye Mom! I’ll see you later!” I shouted as I stepped out onto the driveway. I closed the door behind me and gave it another tug just to check. Sometimes it likes to slip back open at the most annoying of times, like when the nosey neighbor wants to know what’s cooking for dinner. Coincidentally that very same neighbor was outside watering the same bush for far too long, gazing longingly into my living room. I gave a half-hearted wave, nothing could dampen this day. It was early morning, and a light summer breeze hung on the air as I hefted my two small bags into the trunk of my car. I couldn’t help but smile, it was like everything was finally falling into place.

I had never been a tremendously social person growing up. It was difficult to find people with shared interest, or to make friends. It didn’t help that my parents also scoffed at the idea of online friends, but honestly I have never found more genuine connections than in the small corners of chatrooms and forums. I have never felt more accepted, and more understood, and that wasn’t something I could ever fully explain to them.

The car was hot when I got in, I could feel the dark leather sticking to the skin on my legs, threatening to fuse together like some experimental polymer. I smiled again as I pulled out of the driveway. Who would have thought that the people you meet online could turn out to be not only every bit as cool as you thought, but more? My friends had invited me to a themed camping trip, and for the last week, it was all I could think about. Even now as I embark on the journey, the excitement has not stilled. It’s only grown more momentous, threatening to boil over until I drown in a sea of fulfilled childhood dreams.

Every kid had something in their life that they wished could be fulfilled—some hot new toy, the erasure of a particularly embarrassing event, but me? I just wanted friends. Not the kind of friends that you walk past in the hallway and high-five, or the ones who only sit next to you in class and make jokes. I wanted those storybook friends, the ones who stuck with you, the ones you trusted with your life. The kind of friends that would wade through lava to get to you even though they knew they’d never make it. I always just assumed those types of friendships were fantasy, but now I know better. These guys are those friends to me.

Though the little lady in my phone said the drive was to be four hours long, I found that it actually passed quite quickly and much more pleasantly. I drove most of the way with the windows down, closing them only when the smog of urban living began to smell like cancer. As I left my town behind, and the concrete surfaces gave way to large rolling fields, I found that I was able to keep my windows down more and more getting drunk on the fresh air. It was around noon when I reached the foothills, and about an hour after that when I was driving through narrow mountain roads with cliffs so steep that it looked like you were driving on the tops of the trees. What an idyllic place for a camping trip.

The clock on my dashboard indicated that the drive had actually been a little longer than anticipated. The park sign loomed overhead as I pulled into the lot and saw my friends already mostly unpacked. Jason noticed me pulling up as he hoisted his particularly large backpack onto his shoulders. He gave a smile and a wave as I pulled into a space alongside his parent’s quite nice new Lexus. A cacophony of greetings and pleasantries met me as I stepped outside, and we spent the better part of a half hour catching up and excitedly going over our plans for the week. It was all more or less what we had been discussing over the past few days with the addition of hunting which caught me off guard. I didn’t know how to hunt, and didn’t assume that was within the repertoire of my friends, but decided rather quickly that I was willing to give pretty much anything a shot.

The hike to the campsite took most of the afternoon. I tried to pack light since I wasn’t sure what would be needed having never camped before. Sleeping bags and tents had been provided for me, and the additional weight made me glad I packed the bare minimum. Soon enough we had found a nice clearing in the woods and pitched our tents. The sun was low on the horizon by the time we had a fire roaring, the crackling of the wood sent sparks flying upwards to mingle with the fireflies; and soon enough, the stars. We had been talking jovially and laughing almost the entire afternoon, and my face was sore from the unfamiliar sensations of constant smiles. Brian was the first to speak up after the laughter had died down. There was a reason we were this far out in the woods.

“You guys feeling ready to let loose?” He asked with a grin.

The rest of the group nodded. It was the first time in my life I felt comfortable enough with a group of people to share the truth of my double life. If any of our past conversations weren’t evidence enough, a few of the others piped up and said the same. I met Brian over on Reddit almost four years ago. I’ll never forget the day he told me he was born a wolf. I felt the same way, like there was something different inside me yearning to be let lose. And that is why we came here, together, to escape the shame society had placed on our shoulders; and to exist as we had always wished.

“Well don’t all start changing at once,” laughed Paul as he got up.

I turned around to grab my larger bag which I had carefully propped up against the tree stump I was sitting on. For a moment I was almost embarrassed at the amount of money I had spent on its contents, but I was comforted by the knowledge that in a few moments it will have all been proven worthwhile. I tugged at the zippers and reached inside, and paused—my moment’s hesitation, borne from a primal fear that lay dormant in my DNA, was spurred on by a sudden wave of silence. Did the fire go out? It crackled once more, sending up a shower of sparks, shadows growing longer beneath it as the sun disappeared from the face of the earth. I looked around at my friends, also silent, as if they too felt the sudden disembarkment of the light. Paul twitched, and I held my breath as if he was going to say something, a hasty silent whisper of a bear in the woods, or perhaps a fellow camper stumbling on our mossy safe-haven. He couldn’t say anything though, before his neck snapped.

I almost fell off the back of my stump in silent horror, a scream stuck in the recesses of my throat. None of the others moved, or even turned their heads as Paul’s neck jutted out at unnatural angles. Another sickening crack split the silence, drawing my attention to Jason whose jaw now hung open like a hollow cavern. Then it accelerated, cracking and ripping surrounded me as the bones of my friends began to splinter and twist. Sweat poured down my face as my heart pounded itself into oblivion, was I drugged? I prayed desperately to wake up from this horror still in my bed on the morning of my departure. Terror paralyzed me, but I wasn’t afraid for myself, I was afraid I was going to lose my best friends to a supernatural force beyond my reckoning. I waited in agony for the first of my bones to splinter, but the moment never came. Paul’s skin began to ripple and tear, dark molted shapes spilling out from the gaps and growing in a lumpy mass which covered his crippled frame. It was happening to all of them. As a reflex, I drew my bag up to cover myself as I realized that my friends weren’t dying. The sounds of small creaks and splits continued as they began to stand, reaching high up into the trees, shifting their bulk onto unfamiliar feet as if atrophied from decades of sitting. Six piercing bright eyes split the dark around me reflecting the glowing embers of the flames before them. I shook, struggling to contain my ragged breaths as one of the creatures opened its mouth to reveal rows of massive teeth. I was certain then, that the only thing my mom would lay to rest next week would be a couple of pale bones, picked clean. The creature's jaw snapped shut with a crack, it stretched its arms to the sides with a series of small pops, and then reached up to the stars.

“Feels damn good to finally stretch out,” it said in Jason’s voice.

Then another one spoke, and it took me a moment to realize it was staring directly at me. “Bro, what’s the hold up? Nobody’s around, be one with the wolves.” He grinned, showing off his own rows of pointy white teeth.

Still shaking, I began to drag myself to my feet.

“W-What’s going on?” I asked cautiously. For a moment I wondered if any sound even left my lips.

“What do you mean ‘what’s going on’?” asked the one who sounded like Brian. “We came here to be wolves without judgment, why are you standing around looking like you just shit yourself?”

I shrank back a little as he approached me, towering twice my height with fur rippling in the breeze. Real fur.

“I don’t-I didn’t-what…?” I stammered.

“Come on already, wolf-out dude,” Paul said from behind.

“Hold on a minute guys,” Brian chided, “what did you think was going to happen here?” he asked me.

“I thought…” I began, “I thought we were going to be wolves together," I said almost whispering.

“Yeah? Is this not what you expected? I mean, we were all pretty clear.”

My hands moved on their own and grasped the zippers on my bag. In the silence of the night the sound of the parting plastic teeth only brought on more waves of self-consciousness. My free hand reached in until it felt the soft reassurance of polyester fur, my eyes still locked on the behemoth in front of me. Then, I let the bag fall to the ground, the object of my shame clutched in my grasp. The others fell silent, and stared at the plush wolf head I held by my side. Then they began to laugh. They fell over on each other, rolling on the ground and howling into the night, the sound of ardent amusement bringing a rising heat to my face.

“IT’S NOT FUNNY” I shouted.

They quieted down and turned their attention back to me, and Brian muttered a quiet apology.

“Well?” Jason asked.

“Well what?” I snapped back.

“Aren’t you going to put it on? We got wolf things to do here.”

So, yeah. That’s the story of how I spent the best three weeks of my life running around in a fake wolf costume with three eight foot tall werewolves…scratch that…with my best friends, in the forests of the Pacific Northwest. The only thing I could fear then was whether or not this mud would come out in the laundry. I mean, that's the thing about good friends, they destroy the true notion of fear and hold you up as one of their own.

You made very understanding friends online and they invited you to go camping. At sundown, you all reveal your true forms, you heard the horrifying sound of breaking bone and tearing skins as you friends transformed into 8ft tall werewolves, who are very confused about the fursuit you unpacked.

#writing prompts #humor?#Werewolves #first werewolf story I ever wrote so no judging #was the ending too abrupt?#alkdjflakjdsfdf

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apatheticsunday · 3 months ago

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I literally love this idea. But specifically the version where Danny targets the Batfam and they're like?? wtf is happening??? And Jason opens his door to this random kid with a dufflebag of Bat paraphernalia, demanding cash.

Like, imagine that Danny ends up in Gotham - maybe he was disowned after being revealed as Phantom or Gotham is an entirely different realm that he got body-slammed into by accident; either way, he's there and he actually likes it. It's still a brutal, violent dystopian city full of criminals, but there's a general understanding that you mind your business. Which means that if Danny goes invisible in front of two masked robbers, they just mumble about "damned metas" and find another victim. I mean, Gotham literally has Poison Ivy, Clayface, Killer Croc, Mr. Freeze, and Man-Bat. You're telling me a little invisibility, intangibility, and floating is going to genuinely shock most Gothamites? Please. Give them some credit.

And the best part? Gotham has vigilantes. A lot of them. He got the quick rundown from a couple other kids, but there's Batman, Nightwing, Red Robin, Robin, Oracle, Orphan, Spoiler, and Signal, and apparently more who crop up from time to time. There's more than enough vigilantes to keep an eye on Lady Gotham, so Danny is happy to enjoy his own destitute situation without worrying about hero-ing on the side. He's can kind of manage with the Martha Wayne Foundation shelter and a couple ten-fingered discounted items. He's... managing.

When Danny hears about The Application, he thinks it's a joke. Most of the street kids think it is. Until Tara stumbles back into Crime Alley with a shell-shocked expression, a huge plastic bag of BatBurger takeout clutched in one hand and a folded piece of paper in the other.

It's the job application. Tara pins it back up on the Martha Wayne Foundation community board for the next kid to try - it gets folded, crumpled, stained, and torn so much that it almost looks like a 100 year old dollar bill. The writing is barely even legible at this point. Danny stares at it tacked up to the board, taken and returned, so many times that he memorizes the thick Sharpie smear and scrawling handwriting. It couldn't be that easy, could it? Would it be worth possibly being revealed as a "Meta"? And the Wayne family aren't even bad people, can he truly steal from them?? In the end, what makes Danny's decision is thinking about spending the rest of his adolescence in Crime Alley, barely scraping by. If there's even a chance that he doesn't have to, he'll take it.

So, Jason Todd is obviously Danny's first target. He's seen the guy in Crime Alley enough times to tail him with ease. Except... Jason disappears into... the known hideout of infamous Crime Lord, the Red Hood? Uh-oh. Maybe chalk it up to being new in Gotham or not really knowing the whole "Brucie and Dickie Wayne" routine, but Danny catches on almost immediately. If Jason is Red Hood and Bruce Wayne has a bajillion kids who happen to have the exact same physique as the bajillion Bat-vigilantes, then... he's gotta steal from the Bat Cult?? Oh, shit. (Also, the idea of Bruce's own son encouraging kids to steal from him is hilarious, Danny's so down for it now that he knows it's not malicious.)

The thing is that the Wayne family is literally famous. Any time they go out into public, there are people taking pictures of them (such as the viral meme of a sleep-deprived Tim Drake clutching three opened cans of Monster, Redbull, and Celcius. Or Dick Grayson cramming an entire Taco Bell burrito into his mouth at a gala. He'd ordered Doordash to Lex Luthor's mansion). But you know who isn't in the public eye? The Batfam. So, Danny makes a decision that can kind of be considered dumb, and decides to pickpocket Gotham's Bat Cult Vigilantes.

Jason Todd slings his custom-made leather jacket over his motorcycle and turns his back for two seconds. Then he turns around and-??? His fucking jacket's gone?? It was the one with like eight secret pockets, too, damnit!!

Tim Drake is suddenly missing a Robin Batarang?? It's the beginning of his patrol and he hasn't even used his utility belt yet, how did he lose one already? (Yes, he does inventory every time he goes out, he was trained by the literal Batman.)

Dick Grayson drops his escrima sticks while fighting and just... can't find it after? He could've sworn he saw it roll by this trash can, though? He doesn't think much of it, honestly, he's got a ton of spares since it happens pretty often. At least it wasn't one of the electric escrima sticks.

Damian Wayne is next. He's kind of like a feral dog while on patrol, eager to violently lunge towards criminals and moving so erratically that Danny can't really find a great time to nick him. It's a lot easier to just steal one of Damian's daggers from where it's lodged into a criminal's shoulder. Robin is too busy terrifying the rest of Two-Face's gang to care about a tiny red dagger, anyways.

Bruce Wayne is the last victim. Danny tried to nick him one time while out in public. He couldn't help it, Bruce walked straight into Martha Wayne Foundation to speak with the managerial board and Danny happened to be there; it was all too easy to steal the man's delicate gold wristwatch. There's a strict no-cameras rule in the shelter, made to protect the identities of those in need regardless of who they may be outside of the shelter. Everybody knows the Martha Wayne Foundation is a neutral ground. So, there's no fear of a wayward camera catching his ghostly visage when Danny makes Bruce's watch intangible for a mere moment. Except when he squints at the underside, there's a faded engraved "to my dear Martha, from Thomas" in cursive script.

Bruce's wristwatch is returned with its owner none the wiser. (Bruce knows. Even if he hadn't felt his mother's watch slip through his wrist, he would've known anyway since Danny accidentally phased it back on upside down.)

So, it turns out, Batman is the last victim. Danny feels sick at the thought of possibly taking something worth something to the man like back at Martha Wayne Foundation, so he steals a single grape-flavored candy from Batman's utility belt. (Batman pretends not to notice.)

Cue Danny knocking on Red Hood's door in the middle of the night with a plastic bag of miscellaneous Bat Cult Items. He's also wearing Red Hood's leather jacket. It's comically huge on the kid, but Danny loves it - loves how warm it is and now much he can sneak into all the hidden pockets. Plus, finders keepers and all.

Red Hood:... what the fuck.

Danny: That'll be 25k.

Red Hood, begrudgingly admitting that he may be a little like Bruce after all: ...okay.

Man, I love Jason-adopts-Danny fics!!!

Pickpocket for Hire

Dpxdc Prompt #61

It started off as a joke.

No really, it was something that Jason felt the Bats would laugh about, while also helping out some street kids along the way.

He put out a job for the kids of Crime Alley, anyone who could pickpocket the entire Wayne family would get all necessities paid for them by Red Hood until they turned 18.

Most kids that saw the challenge would think it was a joke.

Most kids that believed it was real would think it wasn't even worth trying.

Most kids that tried would be caught immediately, and subsequently get a meal paid for by their Wayne of choice and suddenly have some doors opened for them, because Jason knew his family and knew they had a soft spot for kids.

Except the one thing he didn't account for was Danny Fenton, who most certainly was not most kids.

#dpxdc #jason todd #danny fenton #danny phantom #batfam #dad!jason todd #adoption au #bruce wayne is secretly a marshmellow

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lickoutyourbrains · 1 year ago

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There's a lady I know who has her own designer bag company who uses genuine leather for her products and you know what she did when she had a demand for a vegan option?

She used denim.

Like obviously denim isn't an option for ALL leather products in the world but if you're gung-ho on sticking to vegan there are very easy and available options that don't have microplastics.

That post I made over new years had people at my THROAT for saying I only buy real leather. Sorry I really do think that wearing textured plastic that will fall apart in under 5 years and go on to irreparably poison the environment is the worse option here.

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retagresellingluxury · 2 months ago

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The Modern Aristocrat: How Luxury Accessories Define Elegance

Luxury accessories are more than simply status symbols in the fashion industry; they are indicators of a sophisticated way of life and a respect for exquisite craftsmanship. The contemporary aristocracy is characterized by exceptional taste that endures, not by ancestry.

These well-selected items, which range from Christian Dior handbags and a vintage Cartier watch to Hermès slippers for women, radiate sophistication and turn any woman into a representation of ageless aristocracy. You can also search for used watches for sale.

Luxury Accessories as a Statement of Elegance

Luxury accessories allow people to express their sophisticated and timeless living rather than merely reflecting the brand. Several accessories remain fashionable forever because they provide the essential elements for building a well-dressed, sophisticated appearance. The artworks convey feelings of judgment through design while attributing beauty value to exquisite fashion.

A few high-class accessories worn by women naturally produce an effect of charm while projecting self-assurance. Their selections expose her graceful disposition through appearances at private dinners and gallery exhibit events. To develop their distinctive style modern aristocrats select timeless artifacts which form a personal collection. You can also search for Omega watches used.

Hermès Slippers: The Pinnacle of Understated Luxury

Few brands are renowned in the footwear industry, such as Hermès. Women's Hermès slippers, which are renowned for their exquisite designs and unparalleled craftsmanship, are the height of casual luxury.

For instance, the renowned Oran sandals are made from the best leather and have the distinctive "H" cutout, making them instantly recognized and subtly exquisite. These slippers are essential for the contemporary aristocrat who appreciates comfort without sacrificing style. Hermès slippers add a touch of subtle luxury to every ensemble, whether they are worn with flowing silk or linen trousers.

Christian Dior Bags: The Art of Carrying Elegance

The handbag serves as a signature item because it highlights personal style apart from being an everyday utility. Christian Dior handbags exist as signature products because of their combination of traditional design elements and expert production techniques. All bag styles within the Dior collection, including both the Lady Dior and Dior Saddle Bag, exude elegance to match modern aristocratic fashion.

Princess Diana received the Lady Dior bag as her original design yet it continues to embody timeless female elegance. The bag exudes unmatched elegance through its exquisite manufacturing with top-quality materials while displaying its signature Cannage embroidery pattern. You should also search for watches Omega used.

A Used Cartier Watch: Timekeeping with Heritage

The authentic royals who value their heritage can express it perfectly through owning Cartier watches. A used Cartier watch creates visual appeal through recollections of its history and presents an eternal style despite new watches being undeniably stunning. When you wear a Cartier watch you keep genuine historical value in your possession.

For many decades style celebrities have chosen Tank and Ballon Bleu models as their wrist accessories which extend far beyond simple timekeeping devices. A pre-owned Cartier watch requires discrimination since its owner makes their choice based on enduring elegance coupled with precision mechanisms instead of following current trends. You can also look for used Omega watches.

The Art of Curating a Timeless Wardrobe

The essence of luxury is intentionality rather than prosperity. The modern aristocrat knows that a small number of outstanding things, rather than a vast array of trendy products, are what truly define elegance. Her selection of accessories conveys a sense of understated luxury by embodying workmanship, legacy, and forever appeal.

Sustainability and investing in classic, high-quality accessories go hand in hand. In contrast to quick fashion, which is fueled by fleeting trends, luxury accessories are made to last. Generations may acquire a history of sophistication by passing down an antique Cartier watch, a classic Dior handbag, or a well-maintained Hermès slipper. You can also search for used Omega watches.

Beyond Fashion: A Lifestyle of Elegance

Being a modern aristocrat involves more than just one's attire; it also involves one's attitude. Beyond accessories, poise and ethics demonstrate true elegance and a love of life's little pleasures. The modern aristocrat represents a way of life where elegance and beauty are incorporated into ordinary experiences, from enjoying good Bordeaux to giving to the arts.

Fundamentally, luxury is an experience. The sensation of butter-soft leather defines the elegant woman under her fingertips, the silent ticking of a finely built watch, and the assurance that comes with carrying a purse that is a work of art. It is more about the enjoyment of being surrounded by very beautiful things than it is about ostentation.

Conclusion: Defining Aristocracy in the Modern World

Luxury accessories act as a link between the past and the present, as well as between tradition and contemporary design. The ability to create a life of grace and sophistication rather than heritage defines the modern aristocrat.

More than just accessories, Hermès slippers, Christian Dior handbags, and a used Cartier watch represent a way of life that honors tradition, fine craftsmanship, and classic elegance. You should also search for used watches for sale.

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