#I mean this is based off the night market fight

[megaawkwardhuman]

cringetober day 17: fake anime screenshot

... let's close our eyes and act like this looks more anime like than it does

ok? ok

[mokulule]

While I fail to focus after my night shift have a peek at another of my brain worms

Untitled, I am still waiting for that moment of divine inspiration. Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason)  Fandom: DP x DC 

The only sounds in the Batcave were the bats chittering amongst themselves high above. Bruce rubbed his chin absently as he took in the information displayed on the large screens with narrowed eyes. Something wasn’t adding up. Somebody was lying.

No matter how many times he looked over the information, that was his conclusion. It nagged at him that he didn’t know what, if any, information he could use. He hated being so in the dark. 

A silent notification in the corner of his screen alerted him to a call from the Watchtower. He took it and Superman’s face appeared in a smaller rectangle on the center of the screen. Bruce kept outwardly placid but from behind the cowl nobody would see the way his gaze instantly zeroed in on the massive black eye Superman had acquired, and the general strain around his unhurt eye and mouth. He was worn out. 

“Phantom has been apprehended,” Superman said with a long sigh. It had clearly not been an easy fight. 

“I’ll be there,” Batman said and ended the call. Maybe they’d finally get some real answers. 

He stood and walked towards the zeta tube. Another call came in, this time on the comm in his cowl. 

“Hood,” he greeted.

“Hey, old man. I’m at the location. You were right it’s absolutely crawling with the white suits and their weaponry is not like anything I’ve seen before.”

Bruce felt like a hand squeezed his heart. Hood out of anyone knew his weapons, if he didn’t know them they weren’t on the market. He absolutely hated asking any of his kids to walk into an unknown situation. Unfortunately he didn’t have any other options. 

“Be careful, Hood.”

“Aww, is that worry I detect?”

“Just don’t take unnecessary risks,” Bruce cautioned.

“You wouldn’t have asked me if you didn’t think it was necessary, old man. Don’t worry, I’ll get you your intel.”

Bruce grunted. Jason was right. He wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t think it was important. Didn’t mean he had to like it, nor the fact that Red Hood’s criminal reputation made him perfect for breaking into a government building; even if Hood was seen the Justice League kept plausible deniability. 

Everyone knew Red Hood was a wild card. 

“Check in regularly with Oracle.”

He could practically feel the way Jason rolled his eyes at him.

“Not my first rodeo, B.”

With that the connection cut off. Bruce couldn’t help the bad feeling he had about everything. 

He really hated this stage of an investigation. 

Two months ago the US government contacted the Justice League about a problem. Several bases of a government agency named the GIW had been hit by a malicious creature they called Phantom. The attacks had been gaining in severity and frequency and their measures had so far failed to stop it. 

Since then, a member of the Justice League had arrived too late to five such attacks. They’d stood no chance against Phantom, who’d then disappeared, living up to the name.

To their eyes Phantom was outwardly a humanoid, possibly a meta or alien. The GIW called him a ghost from a different dimension.

They had been at a loss of how exactly to contain such a powerful foe, who not only could go toe to toe with their heavy hitters like Superman, but also disappear by means unknown. This time they’d been prepared. They’d had various team configurations ready to go depending on who was available. 

Something that seemed to have paid off, but Bruce did not like that Clark was injured. Because if Clark was injured…

A zeta tube ride later and he met Superman on the Watchtower. Something that hadn’t been apparent on the call was the sling Superman’s left arm was in. Another visible injury added to the swollen eye. 

“Is everyone alright?” He had to ask.

“Nobody’s permanently hurt.” Clark hurried to assure as they started walking towards the interrogation room, but there was a but. Bruce kept his stare steady until Clark tiredly elaborated: “But nobody got out the fight unscathed. John won’t be walking for a while. J’onn is suffering from psychic backlash. Diana has some broken ribs and scrapes and you can see my own wounds. Everyone is tired, it was a long fight.”

Batman’s lips thinned. At least there had been no casualties. 

Almost as if reading his mind. Superman added quietly. 

“We got there while the base was still standing. Phantom made eye contact with me for a moment, before he unleashed this… sonic attack…” His face turned pained, as he looked for words that came halting. “It was a scream, I can’t describe it, it felt- it felt like I was dying. None of us could get close.”

Superman looked away.

“When it was over the base was gone, eradicated, like the others. There was just a large crater. Who knows how many people were still in there.”

Bruce set a hand on his friend’s shoulder. It was never easy to deal with casualties. 

“The one good thing about it was that the scream seemed to drain quite a bit of energy from him.” Clark barked a laugh, short and hysterical. Bruce knew Clark would have rather faced Phantom at full power if it meant more people had lived. 

“And still it was all we could do to subdue him. We barely won.”

They barely won. Superman, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern and Martian Manhunter, and they barely won. The knowledge sat like a heavy ball in Bruce’s chest. 

Now, maybe they could get intel that wasn’t most reluctantly handed over by a government agency, that didn’t even want to reveal what their alphabet soup name was an abbreviation of. “We had to turn off the ‘Ghost Shield’ to get Phantom inside the base, so we at least know it works, even if for some reason it doesn’t protect the GIW bases,” Superman remarked.  

Bruce hnn’ed to show he’d heard. It was one more discrepancy among many.

Batman entered the observation room with Superman at his back. Wonder Woman was there and he quickly took in her unusually disheveled appearance, she looked tired and uncomfortable, shaken (but whole, safe). He nodded in greeting and she gave him a tight smile in return. He turned to the observation window and felt his breath stick in his throat.

Phantom was- 

The glitchy footage they’d managed to get on earlier encounters couldn’t have prepared him. Bruce felt his jaw clench. Phantom looked young. There was still a hint of baby fat stubbornly clinging to his cheeks. He was short and wiry like Tim but maybe a bit younger than Jason, technically an adult, but to Bruce he still looked painfully young. The overall glowing and the slowly seeping green wound at his hairline didn’t take away just how human he looked. 

Bruce looked at Phantom and saw a kid. Worse, supposedly a dead kid, a ghost, if the most basic of their intel was to be believed, which even that he wasn’t entirely sure of.

A weight was heavy on his shoulders. He had to remind himself that he had found evidence of Phantom throughout history and if a ghost was truly what he was, he was most likely a very old, very powerful spirit, for whom age didn’t matter. It would be a mistake to trust the youthful appearance. 

He was chained to the chair both by wide cuffs at his wrists and ankles so he could only move very little. The cuffs were the best they had when it came to meta power suppression cuffs with some added ghost specific sigils courtesy of Zatanna’s research. She would have liked Constantine to look them over too as that sort of thing was more his area of expertise, but he’d been off on one of his extra-dimensional missions since long before this started and they hadn’t been able to contact him. 

The cuffs kept Phantom here in any case and he didn’t look happy about it. His lips were a flat line and the thick black brows were drawn together over narrowed green eyes. His head was held high (stubbornness? Pride?), chin tilted in a way that showed off a bright green-purple line around his throat, which had it been red and on a human would have looked like rope burn-

Bruce looked to Diana and he suddenly understood part of her discomfort.

“He was about to use another sonic attack, I didn’t see any other way.” Her words were quiet, regretful, but she faced his gaze head on. Bruce nodded. She never would have used the lasso like that under normal circumstances. It was incredibly worrying how much it had taken to subdue him. 

For a moment the three of them just stood there in silence, watching Phantom watch the door.

It was finally time for answers. 

Bruce didn’t make any outward sign that he was about to move, but of course Clark caught on even before he’d moved, stepping aside letting Bruce take point. They went into the interrogation room, Diana staying back to observe and be ready with security measures, they didn’t know for sure would even work.

They entered the room and immediately sharp green eyes locked onto him. There was a quick glance towards Superman, but the eyes quickly focused back on Batman. There was a calculating sort of intelligence behind those eyes. 

That was one question immediately answered, but it was one he could have inferred. It was very hard to believe the claim that this “ghost” was non-sentient, when he specifically targeted the bases of a specific government agency and nothing else. Though of course they could have had something that attracted the ghost, but nobody could look at Phantom and think non sentient. 

Now the question was, why?

Bruce sat down in one of the chairs on the other side of the table from Phantom. Clark had a moment’s pause before he joined them. Bruce pulled out a tablet from underneath his cape and laid it carefully out on the table, turning it on. At this point most people in the room with the Batman would have started getting nervous, but evidently not Phantom. He was still just passively defiant, not to mention he hadn’t yet said a word.

“Phantom, is that your preferred manner of address?” Bruce decided to start out neutral. 

There was a glitter of amusement in green eyes and the barest uptick of his lips, but he remained silent. Bruce could do silence. 

The silence stretched between them until Clark broke it.

“Why do you destroy those bases?”

Phantom glanced to Clark and his earnest question, then back to Bruce, barely raising an eyebrow, like as if to say “really, this the best you can do?” Bruce resisted the urge to sigh. Clark was usually a better foil for him at interrogations, but then most people didn’t choose total silence.

Bruce decided to be frank with him.

“We are trying to understand your motivation. That’s all.” He studied Phantom’s face which had settled into a stony glare. “But first I’d just like to know if it’s alright to call you Phantom and what your pronouns are? We have been using he/him based on your appearance but you might have another preference?”

The glare softened a bit and for a moment Bruce actually thought he’d lured a response out of him, but Phantom just looked away. Incidentally drawing attention to the line at his throat. A sudden thought occurred to him.

“Are you so hurt, that you’re unable to speak?”

Phantom slowly looked back at him. He seemed to actually be contemplating giving some sort of answer.

That’s when his comm clicked on barely audible.

“The GIW has been in contact,” Diana informed him quietly over the comms. Phantom stiffened across from him, his gaze narrowing like a cat - so they could add enhanced hearing to his powers. “They are requesting we hand over Phantom.”

Bruce looked straight at Phantom as he spoke, “They have no jurisdiction in space. I presume you declined?”

“Of course.”

Phantom’s face turned unreadable for a moment. His gaze went from him, to Superman and the opaque glass that hid the observation room. Finally he huffed. 

“Phantom, he/him is fine.” His voice had an echoey quality to it. 

It seemed they were finally going somewhere. 

-

They were not going somewhere. 

Even hours later Phantom kept up his silence. They’d held several breaks. Phantom had been offered food and water but had declined nonverbally. 

They were going in circles, trying the same questions again and again. Prolonged silence didn’t help any either. 

If only J’onn was an option, but he was already suffering from psychic backlash from trying to go into Phantom’s mind during the fight. 

So far the only things Bruce could add to the certain facts were that Phantom was sentient, intelligent and didn’t like the GIW to the point that he would commit mass murder to take them down. 

And Bruce would just really like to know why? Because with the kinds of powers he’d shown off he could have easily killed the members of the Justice League sent to apprehend him. He seemed to have no qualms about killing, yet he’d stayed his hands?

Bruce had hoped that meant Phantom considered them at least somewhat neutral in this conflict. But apparently not neutral enough to talk to. 

Clark had tried and Diana had tried. Nothing helped. 

Bruce was considering his options, when the door opened. 

“B, I need to speak with you.” That was Tim, he looked pale. Something had happened. Bruce got up, Clark following. Bruce decidedly ignored the sudden curiosity from Phantom. They closed the door and walked down the hall. When Bruce felt they were far enough from Phantom he stopped.

“Red Robin, report.”

“We’ve lost contact with Hood.”

Bruce’s heart dropped cold into his stomach. No. It couldn’t be. 

“When?”

“Two hours ago is when he last checked in. He’s since missed several check-ins.” Tim’s hands tightened into fists at his sides. “Could be he’s just not in a position to respond, or they have scramblers in the base.”

It was likely, in fact very likely that was the case with how secretive the GIW were being, but two hours were a long time to miss check-ins. Clark’s hand landed on his shoulder which he only now realized how tense was, but no, now was not the time to relax or calm down. He shrugged Clark’s hand off and stalked back down the hall.

The GIW were mum about any details. There was only one person who could tell them what Jason was facing in that building.

He burst into the interrogation room and slammed his hands on the table. That got Phantom’s attention his eyes widening before narrowing and his lips splitting in a snarl that showed off fangs, but Bruce sneered right back.

“We lost contact with an agent sent to infiltrate a GIW-base, you will tell me what you know about them, or so help me I will make you wish you stayed in that dimension you came from.”

“Batman, please, maybe you should step out-“ Clark began good hand hovering shy of Bruce, but he was interrupted by the bark of laughter coming from Phantom.

And then he laughed and laughed and laughed. 

Bruce punched him. Clark pulled him back. 

Phantom slowly turned his head back to look at them, working his jaw. 

“There we have it after all. Your true colors: attacking a chained up captive.” He wiggled his fingers drawing attention to the wide thick cuffs dwarfing his wrists. His eyes held only cold judgment. “But don’t worry, Batman, your agent has nothing to fear from the GIW unless they are dead.”

Bruce couldn’t help the flinch and he felt Clark do the same. Something in the very air stilled then, making it hard to breathe. 

“You,” Phantom began standing up, right out of the restraints as if they weren’t there, “are going to explain to me what that reaction means…“ He carefully put his hands down on the table and leaned forward in a way that made it very apparent he was holding himself back. He glared holes into Bruce’s skull with blazing green eyes. “Unless you want your agent back in pieces.”

-

Psssst. this is actually the beginning of the fic where this is from (CW: relatively graphic aftermath of vivisection)

So basically Phantom is public enemy number one, or at least top of the US government and GIW's shit list XD Huh, "Wanted: Dead or Alive", might actually be a pretty fun title, what do you guys think?

[raygunny]

Tav Goes Missing

Ok uh holy shit this is long, I hope you all like it - it was a labor of love 💙

Based on my prompt by the same name

Pairing: Astarion x fem!Tav

Word count: 7,556

Synopsis: Tav is under a lot of pressure - she’s suddenly been shoved into leading a team of parasite infested misfits, everything seems to want to kill them, and a certain vampire has been on her mind far too much. She needs some time away from camp, but while venturing out on her own she gets hurt - and even worse, stuck. Who will come to her rescue?

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

Trudging back to camp Tav feels a heaviness descend upon her. In her body, sure, but that’s an unavoidable fact of life at this point. More so her mind feels weary, and she’s pretty sure it’s not the parasite’s doing. At least not this time.

There’s been an anxiety hovering over her, one that only seems to kick in as they return each evening. The events of the day and the many before catching up with her as she enters the safety of camp. She should be relieved each time they make it back with all their limbs still attached, but lately, she just feels dread.

Tav feels somewhat guilty at the thought.

It’s been a pleasant surprise how much she’s enjoyed traveling with her new companions. Who would have thought that being in constant danger and sharing a psychic tadpole would be so effective in bonding them together?

If she’s being honest, though - it can be a bit much at times. There’s always some crisis, some literal life-ending problem popping up at the worst time. Really it doesn't matter what it is, Tav knows she can't bring herself to let any of them to deal with it alone. She knows that feeling all too well.

And truly, she is happy to have people around who need her and who she needs. Who enjoys her as she enjoys them.

So then why do I always feel so alone still?

Tav dismisses the thought. It’s not their fault, everything has been too much recently. Too much fighting, too much talking - trying to save their skin at every turn from some new, twisted form of danger. During the day she has no other option but to stay strong, to push the anxieties away. Failing at that means risking the safety of the whole party.

Upon their return to camp, all those thoughts suddenly come racing back. Sometimes it feels impossible to shut them off - and she needs to figure out how to shut them off. Even within the bounds of camp she knows she needs to be their unwavering leader. Sure of herself and them - carrying none of the doubts and fears that keep running through her mind. 

She just needs a minute to think - to breathe. Some space would do her well, just for a couple hours so she can get this out of her system. As tempting as it is to wander off without saying anything, she convinces herself to check in with the others.

“What can I do to help?” Tav asks as she approaches Gale. He’s building a fire, preparing to cook dinner.

Gale looks up, “Well, well - if it isn’t our fearless leader!” Tav winces a little at that. 

He doesn’t notice, glancing around, “Hmm, I think most of it is covered. I suppose we need firewood? And about this much kindling.” He holds his arms out making a circle away from his body. She resists the urge to roll her eyes, he could’ve just said an armful. “There’s enough to get us through cooking dinner, but we won’t have enough into the night.”

Shadowheart is nearby, helping Gale with dinner by chopping carrots. She pipes up, “I just saw Karloch with her axe heading towards the other side of camp. I think she’s going to chop some wood for us.”

Tav surveys the rest of their camp. Wyll is by the communal chest, focused on going through their inventory, trying to organize everything they’ve gathered in the last few days. Hopefully they’ll be going to the market tomorrow to sell some items and pick up some much needed supplies. She’s relieved, silently thanking Wyll - her brain could not handle that task right now.

Next to him is Lae’zel, who like clockwork can be found cleaning and sharpening her weapons each evening. She’s doing just that. Tav smiles as she notices Wyll’s sword and one of Karloch’s many axes at her feet.

Lately, Lae’zel has taken to helping the rest of the camp keep their weapons in top condition. Slowly but surely beginning to open up to them - in her own way of course. “You take such poor care of your blade. You clearly are unsuited for such a task, I will take it to my tent and return it to you later,” she says, her face giving away nothing. But Tav sees how she pays attention, how she knows who needs their weapons taken care of on any given evening.

Gale interrupts her train of thought, “Sounds like that leaves kindling Tav, do you want to grab some? Dinner won’t be ready for a while.” He starts talking about the stew he’s making and stresses that it needs an absolute minimum cooking time of two hours for optimal tenderness and flavor. He starts complaining about how they haven’t had a hot meal in far too long. 

It’s been like a day, Tav sighs internally. That’s fine, it just means she’s got plenty of time to burn.

“Patience is a virtue,” Gale finishes, holding one finger up. Turning it towards himself he continues with a grin, “And I’m quite virtuous”. She’s amused but won’t let him see it, he’s been incorrigible lately. 

Her stomach rumbles loudly. She, on the other hand, is not particularly virtuous it would seem. Fishing out an apple and some bread from her larger pack, she makes purposeful eye contact with Gale and raises her eyebrows. He shakes his head chuckling a little and turns back to building the campfire. She stashes the snacks in her satchel, she won’t be gone that long but it doesn’t hurt to have on hand.

“I’ll go get the kindling, I might be a little while though.” Gale waves a hand in her direction and just tells her to have fun.

Tav goes to change into her camp clothes and as she strips off her shirt she notices a tear in the sleeve. It’s going to need to be mended. She grabs it and heads towards Astarion’s tent.

As far as camp duties go, Astarion typically gets away with minimal work - instead focusing on looking pretty while reading one of his many books. He swears up and down that he’s doing it for research purposes, “You never know what kind of helpful information can be found until you find it, darling. If you think about it, I’m doing the most arduous work here! Now shoo.”

Occasionally, he can be convinced to mend clothing and the like. She approaches Astarion’s tent, knowing there’s about a 50/50 chance she’ll be able to talk him into fixing it for her. Better than it used to be, she thinks with a smirk.

Seeing the shirt in her hands as she walks up, Astarion doesn’t even wait before he says, “Oh no you don’t - you better not be coming over here with that. I’ve already mended plenty of clothing this week! It’s getting ridiculous really, I hadn’t realized I’d become the camp seamstress,” he huffs. “I mean honestly Tav, can’t you tell I’ve got plenty of reading to do,” he gestures to the books haphazardly stacked next to him. She can see the smile he’s trying to hide and knows he’ll do it for her if she chooses her next words carefully.

“I don’t see those books going anywhere anytime soon, Astarion.” Her eyes flick to his, “Plus, I’ll make it worth your while, I promise,” she says, knowing he’ll take the bait.

“Worth my while?” the corners of his lips twitch before revealing the smile he had tried hiding. She very much enjoys those smiles, the ones he doesn't mean to let slip. “I like the sound of that”, he purrs, effortlessly switching into a more flirtatious tone.

She steals one of his moves - a quick look up and down, as if shamelessly admiring his beauty while simultaneously sizing him up. Bringing her eyes to his, she flirts back with, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, handsome. We’ll have to see how good of a job you do before we work out payment.”

“That hardly sounds fair,” he fake pouts.  

Time to appeal to his more practical side, “Besides, you need to make yourself look busy before you get pulled into doing something more labor intensive by the others.”

He strokes his chin thoughtfully before making up his mind, “Fine, I suppose you can’t keep walking around looking like a slob. Hand it here.” She goes to hand it over and he brushes his long fingers across hers purposefully. That flirtatious tone comes back, “And don’t forget, you owe me.”

She almost rolls her eyes, but reminds herself she had encouraged it. Sometimes he can be so frustrating. One second he’s there, present and having a good time, then something happens and she sees one of his many masks slip into place. It was difficult to spot at first, but now that she’s gotten to know him better, it’s hard not to notice. Tav still can’t pin down the why - it seems so random at times. Despite her curiosity, she doesn’t call him out on it. She’s gathered enough bits and pieces to know it’s not the kind of subject that leads to an easy conversation.

And to be fair, it is fun to flirt back and forth with him.

“See, was that so hard?” she teases before turning away. Waving over her shoulder she throws out a quick, “Thank you Astarion!” and is off.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters back, lost in thought, eyes still glued to her as she walks away.

Tav knows he won’t say it, but he likes people coming to him, needing his help. At least in this kind of way. The small, satisfied smile he has on his face when she examines his handiwork and praises him for the quality of it - “Wow, good as new!” - is all she needs to know.

She heads towards the edge of camp. Sure enough, Karloch is going to town on the surprisingly large tree limb she’d carried back a couple days ago. Tav catches Karloch’s eye just as her greataxe finds itself driven into the wood once again. Karloch waves, yelling out, “Just letting off some steam!” with a proud smile on her face. “Pun fully intended!”

Tav just chuckles and waves back.

----

It’s turning into a pleasantly cool evening, the sun will set in the next few hours but that gives her plenty of time to gather wood at her leisure - relishing the alone time this affords her.

She knows where she wants to go and starts heading that direction. They passed a cave the other day, but despite her pleas the others didn’t want to explore it, saying they were too tired. Tav suspects none of them are going to be interested in going back so she figures, if she has to go pick up sticks, then might as well do it somewhere interesting.

Her mind begins to wander. Thinking about the events of the last few days, dissecting a recent fight with some Harpies near the grove.

They’d caught the party by surprise. It was a rough start to the encounter. Shadowheart, who was closest to the beasts, immediately fell into a trance, charmed by their song. Karloch wasn’t in an ideal position either, too far from the harpies to charge them but also too low down for her ranged attacks to be effective. She settled for stepping in front of the child to create the best tiefling shield she could. That was good thinking on her part, Tav notes.

Tav and Gale caught each other’s eyes and silently agreed to move towards higher ground. Both scrambling up the opposite sides of the embankment, ready to use their ranged spells.

Despite the initial disadvantage, they were making good progress handling the beasts. That is, until two more flew in - this time heading straight for them. One descended on Gale, kicking him square in the chest. He was thrown off the embankment right as he used a fireball scroll to finish off the harpy singing across the water.

Thankfully, that broke Shadowheart’s trance and she quickly oriented herself to cast silence on the two harpies closest to her, a much welcomed relief. With the third preoccupied - trying to stomp Gale into the ground albeit - at least they didn’t have to worry about being charmed for now.

An arrow wizzes by, finding its way into the neck of the harpy attacking Gale. Astarion had tagged along that day as their fifth member, saying something about how dreadfully bored he was and that he needed to go to the market. It was a good thing Tav let him, he was the one really covering their asses at the moment. He had secured a hiding spot high on the nearby cliffs and relentlessly fired arrow after arrow, crippling their enemies from the shadows. With the one near Gale now critically wounded, Astarion immediately turned to shoot the one closing in on Shadowheart - it dropped right out of the air, hitting the ground hard. Tav sees it from the corner of her eye, nice one.

Karloch, happy to finally be able to properly hit the damn things, finishes off the one standing over Gale with a quick swing of her axe. She then proceeds to run to the now badly injured harpy lying on the ground, a fury of ruthless swings befall it and it soon lies still, thoroughly dead. The final harpy screeches and takes flight, in the next second Tav is pinned. She tried to free herself but was running on fumes, already hurt pretty badly. Astarion is the one who drives two arrows into its back, killing it before it can get another swipe on her. Shadowheart, out of breath but generally unhurt, runs over and proceeds to heal everyone. After almost getting their asses handed to them, they really needed it.

“What in the nine hells was that all about?!” Astarion yells, only sounding slightly hysterical. “I was practically carrying the whole team just now!” His pitch somehow increases, “And I’m not even supposed to be here!!”

They collectively groan. Rubbing her sore shoulder Tav just says, “Not now Astarion. We weren’t expecting to fight on this side of the grove.”

He scoffs, “Really though, is that how you all fight when I’m not here? Next time try to be a little more perceptive. You’re extremely lucky I came along today. I can’t always be the one saving you from danger!”

Tav glares at him, about to argue. Instead, Karloch steps in to defuse the strange tension that’s begun to form between the two of them. She smiles cheerfully, “Of course you can soldier, that was some top notch fighting out there.” Looking at the others she says, “Shall we head back to camp?” Her tone is light but they can tell it’s an order, not a question.

Shaking herself out of the daydream, Tav smiles - despite the ambush and the drama, the team had worked well together. They’ve been working well together for a while now, she reflects. In this relatively short amount of time, they really have fallen into a good rhythm. Learning to trust each other and adapting their fighting styles to compliment one another. Thinking back to what camp looks like right now, she realizes it’s not just battle they’ve fallen into a good rhythm with either. She feels a little bit better at the thought.

Slowing down Tav takes a moment to re-orient herself - she hadn’t realized how far she’d walked. The cave should be nearby but she’s not sure. Up ahead there's an overturned tree stump, they’d passed it the same day she spotted the cave. She relaxes, it shouldn’t be much further. 

Marching on, the cool air has gotten even cooler, starting to feel heavy with moisture. The trees are swaying gently as the wind picks up, their leaves fluttering above her.

It’s going to rain, she realizes.

To her disappointment, there will be no time to explore the cave today. She turns to head back to camp, miffed about walking all this way for nothing, but knowing she’ll need to pick up her pace if she’s going to get back before it rains. She considers leaving without the wood, after all, they’re probably not going to be able to keep the fire going tonight with the rain. She decides against it, they’ll need dry kindling for the morning.

The storm clouds are rolling in and have darkened the sky, by proxy the forest darkens as well. This is not good, Tav thinks. She really needs to pick up the pace now. Her arms are completely full of twigs and branches, making it difficult to walk. She stops, shifting to get a better grip. It’s hard to see over the pile in her arms and the light is fading fast.

She should've just grabbed wood near camp then went exploring. She mentally kicks herself.

As Tav begins to hurry along again, she doesn’t get very far. A tree root jutting out of the earth finds itself in her path. She doesn’t see it and as she steps forward, directly on the root, her right ankle gives out. As Tav swings towards the dirt, she lets out a startled, “SHIT”.

She finds herself not just hitting the ground, but tumbling down into the ditch she’d been walking along. A fiery pain shoots up her leg. Tav groans as she rolls over and sits upright. Taking stock of herself, she tries moving her ankle but that intensifies the pain. Yeah, that’s messed up for sure. She reaches up to her brow where she feels a trickle of something wet. She brushes her fingers over the area and winces at the sting of a small cut. It’s bleeding, but that’s the least of her worries right now.

She takes a deep breath to calm herself. Getting back to camp will not be fun, but she’ll have to try her best. The wood is a lost cause, strewn about in a rough pile on the ground. She tries to gain her composure before attempting to prop herself against the side of the ditch. It’s a steep incline, she’ll need to stand to have a chance to pull herself out. She tries several times to shift to a better position, but with her right foot dangling uselessly she’s not going anywhere this way. The pain in her ankle is no joke, but she’s been hurt way worse than this before and kept going. It’ll be okay, she tells herself.

Her optimism is met with rain. The universe makes it clear that it is staunchly opposed to giving her a break today. It’s only sprinkling for now, but the incline out of the ditch is only going to get slicker.

----

Back at camp the others begin to wonder where she’s at. It's getting dark and they’ve noticed the rain clouds too. They’re gathered near the fire, discussing what they should do. “She said she might be a while,” Gale chimes in, “I bet she’ll be back any minute now. She’s not going to want to miss my delicious stew.” It’s a hopeful statement, but his voice still carries a tinge of worry. 

Karloch frowns, “I don’t know Gale, she should be back by now. Gathering kindling doesn’t take that long, even if she was taking herself for a little walk.”

“Yeah, plus it’s about to rain.” Wyll backs her up.

While the group continues debating if they should go look for her or wait just a little longer, Astarion is quiet. He’s been painfully aware of the approaching rainstorm and how long it’s been since she left, but he also knows Tav is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. 

Though...they did see some juvenile gnolls the other day, but never found their den - he can’t shake the thought, something else occurring to him - shit and she probably ventured out to that damn cave she was going on about the other day.

He tries to push away the worry in the pit of his stomach, but those two thoughts make up his mind. “You lot do whatever you want - I’m not sitting around here any longer to wait until it starts pouring to go look for her,” he says, storming off in the direction she had exited camp. He hears Karloch and Wyll volunteer to go look too, splitting down different paths to cover more ground.

Astarion heads in the general direction of the cave. It’s a much farther walk than he was expecting, several times doubting if he was going in the right direction. Soon it starts raining lightly, and to his annoyance his nice clothes are getting wet, his poor shoes muddying as well. Ugh, and his hair must look a mess. He combs a hand through it, pushing it back and off his face. If Tav is back at camp right now and he’s out here for nothing he’s going to be pissed. With the path getting muddier by the minute, he considers heading back. The gnolls flash through his mind and a feeling of dread rises inside his chest.

No, not quite yet, he thinks.

Soon he sees the large stump they’d passed the other day - he’s getting close. Astarion keeps an eye out for any signs of Tav, soon coming across a rough pile of sticks down in a ditch. It looks suspiciously like someone had gathered wood and then chucked it down there. Looking a little closer he sees what appears to be drag marks moving away from the pile. Shit, that’s not good. The dread turns into real fear. Now he’s certain Tav has to be nearby.

“Tav?” he calls out loudly before he can stop himself. After all, someone or something nefarious could be lurking about. That thought is interrupted by Tav’s relieved voice calling back, “Astarion, is that you?”

Duh, he thinks, who else sounds like him? He hurries in the direction of her voice. She’s not far.

When he spots her, his throat feels tight. She looks an absolute mess - covered in mud, scratches down her chest and arms, and her head is bleeding. He rushes over and climbs down to her. “What in the hells are you doing down here? What happened? Are you ok?” He starts looking her over, positive she can hear the worry in his voice, but he doesn't care about that right now.

He looks rather disheveled, Tav observes. The rain has picked up and his hair is wet and matted to his head, his shoes and now his pants covered in mud. His shirt clings to his chest, slightly translucent from the rain. She’s never quite seen him like this. Focus Tav, she thinks.

“I hurt myself and couldn’t get out of the ditch,” she grimaces, gesturing to her ankle. “I was trying to drag myself to higher ground in case a flash flood came through here.”

“Well, that’s one smart thing you did.”

Tav wants to be offended, but now is not the time. She can see he’s upset - whether it’s at her or the situation she’s not sure. “Did you bring any healing supplies?” she asks hopefully. 

He deflates, “Uhhh no, those seem to have, uh, evaded me.”

She just looks up at the sky, fat raindrops falling on her face, cursing whatever deity has it out for her today. 

“What? Don't be like that. I rushed out of camp and came all this way through the rain and the wretched mud to rescue you.” He frowns. “Of course it would've been ideal if I had thought to grab a healing potion or two but..” trailing off there’s nothing else to say except, “I’m here alright??”

She lets out a sigh, “Just please get me out of this ditch before you get stuck down here too.”

She doesn't need to tell him twice. Astarion bends down and without warning throws Tav over his shoulder in one smooth motion. He’d already come to terms with the fact that he’s going to be covered in mud by the time they get out of here. She lets out a startled yelp. “Shit, Tav, I’m sorry - did I hurt you?” She can hear the worry creep back into his voice.

She feels a bit lightheaded, “Ah, no. You just surprised me. Didn’t expect to be hauled over your shoulder like a rag doll,” she tries to play it off with a joke, but it just comes out lamely. In actuality, she didn’t think he could lift her like that - but she won’t dare say that. He’s strong, don’t get her wrong, but not the Karloch or Lae’zel type of strong. It’s kind of impressive actually.

“Honestly Tav, if you’re going to keep criticizing my rescue attempt I can leave you right here.” While he is genuinely annoyed, they both know he doesn’t mean it one bit.

“No no, you’re doing a great job hero-ing it up. Please just get me out of here, I’m tired of sitting in the mud.”

He doesn’t even justify that with a response, instead taking a few steps forward and shifting her so he can boost her up to grab another tree root. She has to push up with both legs for a moment and she lets out an actual cry from the pain.

This is awful, Astarion thinks.

She makes it and he pulls himself up right behind her, she is grimacing in pain on her hands and knees. Astarion puts a hand on her back and her arm around his neck, helping her up to stand on one foot.

The rain is quickly turning into a downpour and it’s almost fully dark now. Now what? Try to carry her back to camp, through the mud and rain? He doesn’t think that’s an option at this point. They need to find shelter.

“You were out here looking for that damn cave weren’t you?” he asks. 

She looks at him sheepishly, “Yeah it should be just past those trees.” She points to a nearby cluster of trees. “Are you thinking about sheltering there until the rain passes?”

He doesn’t answer her question, just scoops her up in his arms and starts walking.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she says, but doesn’t give him any more attitude than that. She’s starting to feel bad, knowing that this is not what Astarion had planned for his evening. 

He just keeps looking forward, trying not to think about how nice she feels in his arms. She’s shivering, but compared to him she’s so warm against his chest. It feels good, clearing away some of the worry that's been knotting in there for the last couple hours. Relief, he supposes, unconsciously holding her a little tighter.

They reach the cave and he sets her down gently on a rock right inside the entrance. He peers further into the cave, obviously wondering if they’re the only occupants, the threat of gnolls popping back into his head. “I’ll be right back,” he says as he quietly makes his way further in. Astarion returns a couple minutes later and reports there’s nothing else in there with them. He picks Tav up again and carries her further into a larger, dryer portion of the cave.

She spots a bedroll in decent condition, discarded near what looks to have been an extinguished campfire. Some wood even remained stacked next to it. Someone must have been here recently.

“Do you think anyone will be coming back?” she asks, pointing to the firewood.

Astarion sets her down again, this time on the ground so she can lean against the wall. “No, I don’t think so. There’s too many cobwebs covering that pile, I doubt anyone has been here for a while.”

She agrees and relaxes a little. Her ankle is throbbing in pain, she’s really noticing how bad it is now that they’re in relative safety. Sounds about right, she thinks, shivering again. 

Astarion looks at her, lips pressed together as if to keep himself from saying what’s really on his mind. How unusual.

“You’re drenched and disgusting.” 

Ah. There it is. She fires back, “Well you’re not much better off, pal.”

His frown deepens. “Very observant Tav, that is in fact correct,” he hisses. His voice rises dramatically, echoing through the cave, “AND who’s fault might that be?”

Yikes, ok, she needs to cool it with the comments. He is understandably not in the mood for her shit right now. It’s just so hard to resist poking at him, she likes it when he gets riled up. And usually he does too, though he hides his amusement the best he can.

He takes a breath, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. Looking at the ceiling of the cave as if asking, why me?  

“Look, I’m not going to catch a cold but you might,” he finally says, and she fears that frown on his face isn’t going away anytime soon.

“We can build a fire while waiting for the storm to pass,” she pauses before asking, “You can build a fire, right?”

She’s on thin ice. He huffs, “In theory, yes. In practice, I’m not sure. That’s usually Gale’s job.”

She knows he just needs some encouragement. “I think I have a flint in my satchel, grab it and I can walk you through it.” He turns and does so without any complaints - that’s also odd for him, she notes.

Once the fire is going she can see Astarion relax a little. Tav looks down at her muddy clothing. Astarion looks at her again, “You should probably take your clothes off.” 

Tav understands what he’s saying, but still she jokes in a scandalized voice, “Astarion, now is hardly the time for that.” He rolls his eyes and she gets the tiniest smile out of him. She knew it, he can’t help himself either. She holds her hands up in peace, “Sorry, just trying to lighten up a pretty shit situation.”

Astarion shakes out the abandoned bedroll, ripping a strip of fabric from its bottom layer. He then lays it down near the fire. It’s not ideal but better than lying on the uncomfortable cave floor. “And I love that for you, darling, but excuse me if I’m still feeling a little on edge.”

There’s no real venom behind the words. That guilty feeling creeps back up on Tav. “Hey, I’m really sorry about this. I-”

He’s not ready to talk about it yet, interrupting her by saying, “At least take your pants off so I can look at your ankle.”

Tav gives up, she won’t argue this time. Moving to undo her pants she says, “I’m going to need some help with these. They’re soaked and I’m not the most…mobile right now.” She looks up at him, her exhaustion is starting to show, “Please?”

Something flashes across his face, a look she hasn’t seen before. It stays put this time, no flirtatious words or familiar mask taking its place. He moves closer, leaning down.

“Grab my shoulders,” he says, his tone a little gruffer than she’s used to. Tav does as he says, wrapping her arms around his neck. One of his arms wraps around her waist while the other hand travels up the back of her right thigh, holding that leg steady so she doesn’t have to put any pressure on it while he stands her up. 

Clinging to him as he lifts her off the ground, her face finds its way into his neck. She exhales and can feel a shiver run down his body. Tav was not expecting whatever this is. Her heart rate picks up and she can feel a blush spread down her neck. 

Astarion moves them towards where he laid out the bedroll. He doesn’t lay her down but instead continues to hold her tightly. He moves his leg between hers, removing his hand from her thigh and bracing her against his own, so her hurt leg still dangles a little off the ground. She feels tingly and a little lightheaded, she’s quick to blame it on the fact that she hasn’t eaten much tonight.

The arm wrapped around her waist helps keep her up while the other moves to her waistband. He pulls back and looks at her for permission, all she can do is nod breathlessly. He maneuvers his fingers gently into her waistband, sliding her pants past her butt and down to her thighs as far as he can go.

“I’m going to set you down now.” He places his hand on the back of her thigh again and begins lowering her back down. His voice still sounds a little strange.

She’s stunned - what the hell was that.

He doesn’t say anything else as he continues on, gently pulling her boots off first, her pants soon following. He makes sure to be especially careful with her injured foot. Her ankle is already swollen and a concerning shade of purple.

“What do you think doc?”, she breaks the tension in the air. 

He clears his throat, his voice sounds normal again as he says, “Tsk, I don’t think you’re going to make it.” He shakes his head solemnly, “Such a shame - before all of this you were my favorite one at camp.”

He doesn’t leave her any time to retort before standing up to go lay out her pants on the other side of the fire. It won’t fix how muddy they are but it will dry them out. “Do you want to dry your shirt too, or no? I can always, ahem, help with that if needed.”

Tav can see the mask reforming, whatever happened moments ago slipping away. Don’t go, she thinks - instead she says, “No need, I’ve had you do enough for one day.” She only feels a little shy as she takes it off, tossing it over to him. He follows suit, stripping his shirt off, but briefly hesitating before slipping his pants off as well. He’s practically never the shy one, it’s something he’s done thousands of times - but with Tav he suddenly feels vulnerable.

Something in the air still feels weird between them. Tav can’t think of anything to say except, “Nice undies.” She apparently just cannot help herself with the comments today.

That charming face is fully back on. Deflecting, he makes a comment about her getting lost out here to seduce him. “All you had to do was ask and we could both be in my tent, in a similar state of undress, nice and warm right now.”

She looks at him and blurts out, “Why do you do that?”

His face drops for a second. “What do you mean?”

“Your face, it..changes sometimes, like you’re flipping a switch.” She hesitates before adding, “Or putting on a mask.”

“I’m not exactly sure what you’re getting at..” he starts to say, but he’s tired and decides to be somewhat honest. She’s certainly being direct with him. “Well, I suppose when you’re as pretty as I am dear, people expect a little flirtation.” He looks down at Tav, trying to get a read on her after asking him such a strange question. “Usually it’s welcomed, but...I mean, if you’re uncomfortable I can tone it down.” 

She shakes her head, “I don’t mind per se, but I feel weird sometimes because it doesn’t always seem authentic.”

Shit, she’s way more perceptive than I thought.

“I don’t mean that in a bad way, but..” she trails off for a second. “You do know we can just be friends, right? I don’t need you to flirt with me to like you, Astarion.”

Now he really doesn’t know what to say.

“Why?” is the only thing that comes out of his mouth.

“Why would I like you even when you’re not flirting with me?”

“Yes, that’s usually what everyone wants.”

She’s starting to understand a little better now, so she says, “Well, I guess I don’t particularly want anything from you, Astarion.”

Ah, there it is, so she just doesn’t want him around in general. He can’t even lie to himself - it stings a little bit. He’s not used to being rejected, especially not by someone he actually gives a shit about. He laughs louder than he means to, “Well I can’t fathom why my company isn’t wanted - I’m a delight, if I do say so myself - but if you want me to leave then so be it. I can go and grab the others now that you’re in a safe place.”

She’s slightly baffled by his response, “What? No, Astarion, I do want you around. I just mean I will take what you’ll give me. I don’t want anything from you that you don’t want to give.” 

Ok, now she’s really not making sense. What does that even mean? He tries to hide his confusion. “Ah ok I see...but why?” he asks again. This time there’s curiosity behind it - instead of an accusation in the form of a question.

She shrugs, “Do I need a reason? I enjoy you Astarion. I like your company, you’re fun to talk to. We’re friends, and friends don’t have to do anything for each other. We can just be.”

He doesn’t say anything so she continues, “I admire you in a lot of ways - how you speak your mind, your sense of humor, the way you indulge me when I’m being annoying.” She sees an amused look form on his face and she smiles, “How you make me feel protected.” Oh no, it’s getting too serious now - she recovers, “I mean, your proclivity for violence definitely comes in handy.” Her eyes swing to his with a mischievous look on her face. 

She hadn’t even mentioned anything about my looks, Astarion thinks, digesting her words. He’s practically naked too. Usually he would feel offended, but this time it feels..nice. “We’re friends?” It’s the only thing he can think to say.

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

This is not how he imagined this conversation, let alone this night, going. He decides it’s his turn now, “Well if we’re friends then let me ask you a question.”

Tav raises one eyebrow, “Go on.”

“Why did you go off all this way by yourself? And don’t you dare say it was just to explore this awful cave - there’s more to it.” Astarion knows he’s right. After all, Tav’s not the only one good at reading people.

Tav sighs. “I guess I’ve just been very overwhelmed lately. I needed some time away, to sort through my thoughts and figure shit out. Just exist without the weight of the world on my shoulders for a little bit.”

Astarion ponders that for a second then says, “I may not have the most experience in this arena, but isn’t that the kind of thing friends help out with? ‘Venting’, I think they call it.” She snorts and he continues, “Everyone is always coming to you, but you never come to us.”

He’s not sure if he should say this next part, “You say I have a mask, but I see yours too.”

He’s not wrong, she thinks. “I don’t know, everyone else just has these big huge things going on and I’m just..here. How could I not help?”

He rephrases his statement into a question, “Ok yes, but why do you feel the need to help literally every single person you come into contact with, yet still can’t ask for it in return?”

She looks at her hands, another sigh escaping her lips, “Probably because I’m used to handling my own problems by myself.”

The thought of her being alone is surprising to him. Tav seems like the kind of person who has lots of friends back home. She’s funny and charismatic, always taking care of others - he can’t think of one reason why she wouldn’t have people eager to be her friend. He’s not going to dig further into that at the moment, he senses it’s not what she needs right now.

“I may not know much about friendship, but I do happen to know a few things about loneliness.” He sits down facing her, gingerly propping her hurt leg up in his lap and carefully begins to wrap her ankle with fabric he tore from the bedroll. His bedside manner isn’t the worst she’s experienced. “Back in Baldur’s Gate I couldn’t let myself get close to anyone. If I did, they would just become another weakness for Cazador to exploit against me.” His face twists, “And honestly, people weren’t exactly lining up looking for friendship from me.” He keeps going, “What I do know is the last several weeks traveling in a team has been…good. I feel lighter, safer. Like I can actually somewhat enjoy my days, even when you all are acting insufferable.”

He just had to throw that last part in there, Tav thinks - letting out a small chuckle. She doesn’t care, she’s just happy to hear him open up to her like this. She feels less alone.

He moves his hand to her shin, not even thinking as he nervously rubs small circles into her skin. “And Tav, I attribute most of that to you.”

Her breath catches for a second at the look on his face, she can tell he means it when he says, “I may not be the best at it, but I want to be here for you as well.” He clears his throat. “So you need to get it together and start relying on your friends.”

Her face is on fire, but she tries to play it cool. Once again, she was not expecting that at all. 

“What I’m hearing you say is that you do like me after all,” she teases him, a grin on her face now.

He groans in response, “Don’t make me regret this.”

They both sit in silence for a minute, each thinking about what the other said.

“So hypothetically, what if I wanted to keep flirting with you?” Astarion asks, looking at her from the corner of his eye.

She laughs, of all things that’s what he wants to circle back to? “If you want to flirt with me, I’m all for it - but only if you hypothetically really want to.” She tries to read his face.

He looks at her now, eyes straying to her lips. She’s so beautiful in the light of the fire. Hair wet, cheeks rosy, eyes sparkling with amusement. Even slightly scratched up and muddy, she's a vision. He can’t stop himself, “And what if..what if I wanted to kiss you?”

Tav's heart is racing so fast that she can feel her own pulse. What is going on today? First the worst luck she’s had in a while, and now this? The universe is messing with her.

Time to put her cards on the table. She wants to show him she’s sure about him - sure about whatever the hell is going on right now. “I would welcome it.”

He moves her leg gently, placing it back on the ground. In the next moment he’s moved up next to her, studying her face the whole time. He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

His eyes are so round and soft - the softest expression she's ever seen on his face. His voice is much lower now, "What if I wanted to kiss you right now?"

Looking to his lips and then back at his eyes, she leans towards him. Only a breath away now, Tav whispers, “Then I would kiss you back.”

And with that he closes the distance, her lips are so soft and warm that it makes him shiver. His tongue swipes against her bottom lip and she welcomes him. It’s not fair how good she tastes. His hands come up to cup both sides of her face and he kisses her more deeply. Her head is swimming, it’s by far one of the most passionate kisses she’s ever received.

He pulls back, slightly breathless, and moves his face to rest against her cheek. “I was really worried about you today.” It's a confession. 

She doesn’t move, just says, “I know,” and brings her hand to cup the back of his neck. She can feel the tension there. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

“Anytime.”

And she knows he means it.

--

--

--

--

Bonus:

“Ok but seriously, where are the others at? They just let you venture off alone to rescue me?”

He shrugs, “I know at least Karloch and Wyll also went out looking, but I’m sure they’re back at camp by now.”

“What about the others?” 

“They just don’t like you as much as I do apparently.” he cracks a mischievous smile.

“That’s messed up.” She says, but she’s laughing. He loves it when she laughs.

Astarion chuckles, “I can tell you that Gale’s probably making love to his stew right about now.”

Tav shakes her head still smiling, “That sounds painful.”

[venus-haze]

Dating Starlight Headcanons (F!Reader)

Note: Female reader, but no descriptors are used. This is based on an anonymous request. I’m so glad I got to write for Starlight again! Do not interact if you're under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Warnings: Mentions of sexually explicit content. Do not interact if you're under 18.

• Asking you out was one of the most nerve-wracking things Annie ever did, considering how she was raised and her position as part of The Seven, but that didn’t compare to how great she felt when you said yes

• Annie’s so supportive of you, and she especially appreciates if you’re supportive of her, no strings attached. She’s spent most of her life doing things that other people wanted her to do, so knowing you’re in her corner no matter what means a lot to her

• If you want to go public with your relationship, she’s initially hesitant, not because she’s ashamed, but because of the danger it’d put you in and how awful Vought can be. She’s willing to fight for you, though, and especially push back on any bullshit that the marketing team may try to push

• Y’all will end up having to stand on Vought’s float at New York Pride, it’s a little cringy but kinda sweet too

• Also you’re Annie’s date to any Vought event! Investor gala, fundraising dinner, movie premiere, you’re there. She feels a lot more comfortable when she knows you’re around, plus it’s an excuse to see you in gorgeous dresses. She’s definitely gotten distracted by you in the middle of a conversation before

• You and Annie do pretty much everything together, road trips and concerts and movie nights! She especially loves road trips because y’all get to spend so much time together and just talk and eat junk food and stop to see weird attractions on the way to your destination

• Y’all constantly make each other playlists and send all kinds of posts and videos throughout the day that made you think of each other

• She’s also big on video calling you when she knows it’s going to be a long day and she won’t get to see you for a while

• You know how tough Annie’s job can be, and sometimes she comes over to your place frustrated and exhausted, and being the incredible girlfriend you are, you make sure she’s comfortable on your bed and go down on her, teasing a bit just to bring that pent up frustration to the surface before making her fall apart on your tongue

• She made the power in your building go out when she came once. You haven’t let her live it down

• Annie definitely returns the favor, and she’s willing to top if you’re not comfortable with topping or in the mood to do it. She’d never admit it, but she likes the control it gives her when she feels like she’s constantly being undermined by both Vought and The Boys (and also using a Starlight-themed strap-on that’s definitely not Vought-approved gives her a bit of an ego boost)

• Loves giving and receiving praise! She loves you so much and never wants you to feel anything but absolutely safe with her. After everything she’s been through, hearing you praise her definitely makes her feel safe with and appreciated by you too

• Sometimes it can be tough going on dates in public because every now and then people recognize her, even if she’s not in her Starlight costume. She tries to balance being gracious to fans while also being respectful of your time and privacy but like, you get it, she’s part of the most visible superhero team in the world

• You inevitably get wrapped up in The Boys’ various plans despite Annie trying to keep you separate because of how dangerous it is. You’re cool with everyone and help how you can, but whenever Butcher’s mean to Annie you tell him off and she gets kinda flustered at you standing up for her. It’s really cute🤭

[januaryembrs]

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x Reader [7]

description: Marc, his ex-wife and his supposed mistress head to Mogart’s to find Senfu’s sarcophagus, whatever could go wrong when the god of Chaos wants to be involved?

word count: 14.4k

trigger warnings: blood, gore, violence. Knives, stabbing. Small description of a drug overdose (accidental) and it doesn’t happen to reader. Themes of domestic abuse/grooming/prostitution. minors dni. [Based on Last Night in Soho dir. Edgar Wright]

main masterlist | series masterlist

Sipping her carton of juice, Dove’s eyes scanned the busy bazaar for any signs of recognition in the shoppers eyes as they bustled past her loudly. This exact square that had been a blood bath, a hunting ground, for her yesterday seemed to barely blink an eye at the primped and preened woman, thick sunglasses resting on top of her head.

“Anything?” She asked, the sweet taste exploding in her mouth as Marc returned from questioning one of his leads on Senfu’s whereabouts. It was surprising to her just how many people seemed to know something about the black market, then again it didn’t cross her mind that she knew how deceiving looks could be. She knew that the average person on the street likely had a dark secret, so twisted and vile they searched for their equal in maleficent places like the backstreets of Soho, or a normal town square in Cairo.

Marc shook his head, handing her a new cup of something saccharine for her to try.

“I hope you like attention,” The woman nearly choked on the liquid as a chirpy voice snuck up behind them. She spun, wiping the back of her spluttering lips with the cuff of her cardigan, to meet two honey eyes peering down at her amused.

“Right guy, right place, but you’re not Egyptian,” Layla teased, sipping on her own cool drink.

Marc huffed, his ex-wife’s eyes looking at him in smirking satisfaction. Dove couldn’t deny the sun clearly agreed with the older woman, her skin bursting with sweet freckles that were hidden in England’s cold grey, her hair just that bit more luscious. Her stomach twisted with a mix of jealousy and captivation as she watched the woman who made being beautiful look so easy.

“Layla, what the hell are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here,” Marc clipped, making the woman roll her eyes and Dove turn away from their catfight, chewing her cheeks nervously.

“Why? Because my name pisses off a few people in Cairo? Who cares?” She snapped, only just then taking in where the other woman bit the end of her straw.

“It’s not the locals I’m worried about,” Marc muttered, his eyes catching sight of Khonshu and his hauntingly smug partner that stared down at the three of them, watching the chaos unfold.

Dove followed his eye line, her blood running cold at the way he vultured around her, waiting for another chance to slip up, to take her body as his. Would he even need to? Now she realised she could conjure the suit herself, would he even need to puppeteer her anymore or would he simply put some sick whims in her head and let her have at it?

Would she be able to fight back? Would she be able to say ‘no’ and have it mean ‘no’ to him?

“Come on. I’ll help you find what it is you need,” Layla sighed, taking a hand to the top of the woman’s back to direct her away from the crowd. “And for the love of gods, girl, you need sunscreen on, you’re burning up,”

The three of them, smothered in cream, had spent the best part of the afternoon in the hotel room while Layla worked her magic and contacted her own informants. She knew the black market perhaps even better than Marc did, and it took her no more than a couple of hours to find Senfu’s sarcophagus from a source she said she trusted with her life, though Dove caught the split second of fear in her eyes when she’d said it.

It was fair to say she was not filled with confidence as they sat on the small boat taking them to the place the informant said they’d find it. Layla seemed ever more stunning in her make up, loose hair and with the purple tinged string lights the boat had weaved over its canopy. Dove felt selfishly glad she could barely look at Marc without gritting her teeth, she had no idea how she would feel if their marriage stood a chance at rekindling, then she really would be the other woman. Except not at all. It wasn’t like Marc looked at her in any way other than a nuisance, a thing he had to take care of for Steven’s sake. A stray to feel bad for, to have a vet euthanize out of duty, not out of care.

It wasn’t like Marc liked her any more than he disliked her, she was sure he felt near enough indifferent to her.

His kiss still burned a hole in her temple, his hands still phantoms at her cheeks, holding her gently, cleaning her, sewing her hurt back together. He had no idea the way his touch seemed to mend the tiniest parts of her together yet shatter her all the same. So desperate to be touched by him, so disgusted with herself she wanted to curl into a ball of solitude and never recover.

“So what exactly are we gonna do here? What’s the plan?” Marc asked in a hush, avoiding the ears of the few other passengers. A group of older women chatted animatedly on the other end of the boat, laughing to themselves wildly. The entire opposite of what she felt between the feuding exes, the salt river lapping behind her, knocking her to and fro in her seat.

“Oh,” Layla bit, her face twisting into a grim smile, “It’s not pleasant being left in the dark is it?”

It had been like this all day, Dove staying silent as they hashed it out. Well, moreso Layla ripped into Marc who simply laid there and took it willingly, knowing he had immorally screwed her over by disappearing into thin air. His feelings for her may have dwindled over the past year he had been away from his wife, but he at least owed it to her to suffer the consequences. It seemed to be all he was doing now, taking on the repercussions of his actions, ever since she lay dying in his bloodied hands begging for Steven to save her.

She tuned them out, much too occupied by her own dilemma; the water. The tiniest movement of the boat, the slightest of rock in the waves, had her twitching to grab his arm out of nerves, settling on gripping the wooden seat beneath her instead. Her leg jumped, eyes darting to where the moonlight reflected off the dark ripples under them, visualising how it would feel if she were to go tipping off the edge, head plunging under the surface, sinking, thrashing, succumbing.

“Would you please just cut that out?” Layla snapped, and Dove’s head whirled from checking over her shoulder to meet the woman’s fired gaze. It had been all of four hours and whatever civility the two had the evening with Harrow’s men was gone. Following her orders, Dove forced her leg to relax, picking at her thumbnail almost instantly only to have Layla roll her eyes, “For fuck sake,” She cussed in Arabic, “Is something the matter?”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” She responded, releasing her fingernail despite the itching feeling to pick at it once more, “It’s just the uh, water’s a bit choppy,”

Layla nearly glared at her, “Well, we were a little short on time, princess. This was the only option we had,”

“No-no not like that, it’s fine, this is perfect,” She stopped, feeling her face heat in embarrassment as the woman seemed only more annoyed at her skittishness. Plastering a smile that was clearly tinted with a veil of fear, whether it was of the woman who looked like she could wring her neck or the water itself she wasn’t so sure anymore, “This is fine. I’m fine,”

“Are you fine?” Layla asked, annoyance leaking in her tone though Marc, who had known the woman the best part of five years, heard the amusement behind it.

“Yep, I’m fine,” She nodded, clutching for dear life onto the seat. Flashing the pair an unconvincing smile, she stilled herself, waiting for them to continue their quarrel.

“So this Mogart guy, he’s really gonna have the sarcophagus?” Marc asked, wishing he could grab her shredded fingers in his, if only to comfort her in the slightest. He caught the way they twitched even after her scolding, how her eyes flicked every time water licked up the side of the wood.

“Yes, I asked around,” Layla said, relaxing against the side, her chocolate ringlets kissing her cheeks tenderly. “Mogart’s collection is prime gossip for those of us who deal in antiquities,”

“So like Indiana Jones?” Dove asked, the naivety in her eyes brightening as she looked to Layla for approval. The woman held back the scoff from passing her lips, knowing she was trying her best to win her over, and couldn’t help but stop herself from rebuking the otherwise dumb statement.

Layla was more like Marc than she gave herself credit for, burying kindness in a cold expression.

“Abit like that, yes,” Layla murmured, tugging her hair up into a low ponytail to keep it out of her face, better yet to busy herself from the guilt of snapping at the innocent girl.

The girl who had no clue how Marc looked at her, the way Layla caught onto immediately. She’d thought maybe it was just Steven besotted with her, but it took one glance at the man she knew like the back of her hand to see straight through whatever bullshit front he put up against her. And it wasn’t like he’d acted on it either, it was always whenever she wasn’t looking, always secret, always hidden.

It was what Marc did best, Layla thought bitterly. Hide his feelings when it mattered most.

The sour taste in her mouth hadn’t come from an open wound, no. Their relationship had since scarred over, healed, bled dry for Layla El-Faouly. It was the doe like girl that he strung behind him, that got entangled in the mess he left behind in his wake that angered her. It was the way she couldn’t help care for the girl and what would come of her when hurricane Marc blew over her, cattle flying, houses crumbling on his way the way he always did.

“Need one?” Layla held out a hair tie to the girl, her own hair messy from where she’d let it dry naturally. With no product, Marc’s fingers as a hairbrush and a need for a hair drier, it was obvious the girl had tried her best to fix it on the way, attempted to look her best for the evening.

Dove felt the lump grow in her throat.

“Sit still,” Grace hissed, running the wide toothed comb through her hair, her companion squished between her legs, squirming in pain.

“It feels like you’re trying to suck my brains through my hair follicles,” Dove murmured, face wincing in pain as the brush scraped its way through her locks once more.

“Brains? You’re giving yourself way too much credit there, baby,” Grace teased, only to receive a firm smack on her calf for the comment.

“Bitch,” She cursed back, her head being yanked back one final time by the honey haired girl and her damned brush, Dove grimacing and yelling “BITCH,”

“Quit your whining, now how do you want it?” Dove pouted, crossing her arms over her tummy, only to be toed in the ribs by Grace’s blossom pink socks, “Don’t take a stand of silence with me, how do you want it? Dutch braids?”

Dove nodded quietly, only for a rogue piece of hair to be tickled under her nostrils. Quickly realising the culprit being a small, pale hand holding the split ends and her an amused face leaning over her shoulder to see her reaction, she scrunched her nose batting away the hand with a growl, though she couldn’t help the way her mouth tugged into a giggle.

“Grow up, will you?” The girl scolded through a laugh, her head resting back onto Grace’s lap, eyes closing in bliss as the girl ran her fingers over her scalp, parting the hair into two sections.

“Why on earth would I do that?” Grace mused, giving her nose a quick peck as she split the right side of her tresses off with a claw clip, “You’re gonna be the prettiest princess by the time I’m done,”

—

“Thanks,” Dove replied forlornly, Layla’s skin burning as the woman dropped the tie into her palm. She was never good at braiding her own hair, it was always Grace who liked to do it for her. Anything fancier than her normal, low maintenance styles and she’d go to a cheap stylist. She’d loved doing Billie’s hair too, but for whatever reason her sore fingers had no perception awareness when they were behind her own head.

Settling for a low bun, she rubbed her hands on her thighs to calm her nerves, not missing the way the two of them seemed to watch her meticulously.

“What?” She asked, looking between them with the same nervous smile as before, “I’m fine,”

Layla huffed, shaking her head at the girl who looked between the two expectantly. She reminded her of a docile mouse searching for a cracker, fidgeting with her hands, so trusting yet meek, ready to be squished under Marc’s clumsy boot.

She couldn’t stand to watch this Greek tragedy anymore.

“Come on,” Layla hauled herself up, the movement rocking the boat the smallest amount, enough to make Dove latch onto Marc’s arm with wide eyes, “We’re almost there,”

The younger woman felt her face blaze with embarrassment, meeting her companions umber eyes that looked down at her with a cocktail of amusement and worry.

“You’re alright,” Marc whispered, Layla going to stand with the driver to confirm they were almost at Mogart’s. The two of them spoke calmly, the Arabic being foreign to Dove’s ears despite having spoken it clearly when Seth had control, though she noticed when Layla slipped him a few notes for his intel.

“I know, I’m just not a huge fan of boats,” She stopped, looking guiltily at the floor, “I didn’t mean to piss her off though, I just can’t stop thinking about what would happen if I fell in-”

“Then I’d be coming in right behind you and dragging you out,” Marc stopped her with a gentle hand atop her own, feeling her shake under his touch.

Her head whipped up to his, eyes staring up at him with the sugary glaze of trust in them, the same way she’d seen him the first night he’d met her. Perhaps that was why he felt so responsible, like she was his to take care of. While he’d loved Layla, loved her enough to marry her, loved her enough to let her go, she had always been fine on her own. She was independent, never let him forget it. The selfish part of him revelled in the way Dove needed him. Needed him of all people.

They shared a little smile between the two of them, heads shooting up as the boat stopped and the captain hopped off to dock the boat properly. Layla stepped up onto the planks, turning to hold her hand out to Dove who rose to her feet steadily.

“There we go, back on dry land, princess. You can put your big girl undies back on now,” Layla snarked, though Dove caught the way her almond eyes washed over the younger girl, checking she was okay, not too roughed around by the journey.

“I think I forgot to pack those,” Dove responded quickly, wiping her clammy palms on her tummy, looking around her at the estate. This was not what she’d pictured at all when Layla had said they were going to have to be stealthy. The place was filled with people chatting, enjoying themselves, as if they’d just docked in the middle of a party scene, interrupting the entertainment for the evening.

“This guy’s got a lot of friends,” Marc said cautiously, Dove feeling his presence at her back closer than her own shadow, as if he was watching over her shoulder for any signs of trouble despite only just showing up to the place.

“With a lot of guns,” Dove murmured, catching where the string lights glinted against the noir black of an assault rifle. Feeling her stomach churn with fear, she stuck herself in between the two of the more seasoned adventurers, not wanting to stray too far from their sides.

Layla shoved the bags with their own weapons under a step in the dock, avoiding where the waves lapped at the wood. Dove’s eyes trailed over the inky froth, the briny smell in the air still lingering around her nose, taking in the starry specks of Alexandria that reflected over the shore. She could almost appreciate it from here, on land, where there was no danger of sinking; that is until her eyes fell on the dinghy that lurked around the dock, three men aboard that stared her down with a predatory gaze.

She suddenly felt just as scrutinised now as she had in the pyramid.

“What is it?” Marc asked, sensing the way he body had stilled like a deer in headlights. He followed her line of sight to the men, his jaw feathering as he bit back a curse. “Harrow’s men keeping tabs?”

“Probably,” She replied, Layla watching the men with a cautionary gaze, her lush eyebrows turning down into a frown.

“Let’s go,” The woman said, tugging at Dove’s wrist gently to ward her away from the men’s smarmy smiles. The trios faces lit up with a warm glow under the lamp’s beams cutting through the night air, small stalls like a market flanking either side of the pasture they walked across. “Remember, your name is Rufino Estrada.”

“Right,” Marc said, the three of them taking off in between the partiers towards where the stately home, likely belonging to this Mogart guy, was. “And yours is-”

“Nadia Estrada. We just got back from our honeymoon in the Maldives,” Layla replied, her eyes wandering over the various stalls, intrigued as to what had brought the elated guests here. There was only little food, very few cups of alcohol like she’d expect from a party, so what were these people buying? “Figured we may as well use our old code names, save the confusion,”

Her eyes zeroed in on a fossilised tablet, an ancient painting etched into the slab. Relics. He was selling relics; ancient, irreplaceable pieces of history and he was just casually selling them out of his yard like they were friendship bracelets, or a pitcher of lemonade.

“You guys had code names, that’s so cool,” Dove piped up, leaning up on the tips of her toes to peek at the merchandise also. “What’s mine?”

Layla stayed quiet for a second, “Truthfully, I had only accounted for it being the two of us. I assumed Marc would have left you at home to keep you out of harm’s way,”

Dove’s energy wilted, slammed with the feeling of taking up too much space in their world of adventures, “Oh, okay,”

“I guess it just means you get to choose your own name and alibi, then,” Layla cut in, trying to save the moment. She’d never intended on causing the girl upset despite the short fuse she’d had with her the moment they’d met. If anything, she’d prefer her to be back in the hotel, not to make any moves on fixing her marriage but for her own peace of mind that the girl was safe. Seeing the interest spark in her eyes again as she peered at Layla, the woman pointed in a warning way at her, “But make it believable enough that you can lie on command,”

“Right, gotcha,” She replied, her eyes falling in front of her where they were heading towards, trailing after Layla’s assertive footsteps. “So what role will I be playing then? Your assistant? A distant relative?”

“No and no,” Marc protested with a wince, his stomach turning at the idea of pretending to be her cousin, no matter how fake it was, “You can just be our friend,”

“Friend that comes on our honeymoon? That’s not a friend, that’s a third,” Layla interjected, a doubtful look on her face as they neared the manor. From what she could see, Dove caught sight of a wide sand pit, spotlights lighting up the square as a dozen men on horseback circled one another in some kind of sport. Some of the partiers, not seemingly interested in buying the goods, walked over to spectate, surrounded by a lot of security guards donned in all black, matched only by the guns cradled readily in their arms.

Dove was already feeling the panic rising in her gut.

Steven’s voice blared clear in her head, yet another of one of his stories he loved to entertain her with when they had a long night of inventory ahead of them. Or on the underground, or even when he would walk her to her door and stay for a hot cuppa on the cold Winter evenings.

“Did your father tell you about Horus and Seth’s challenge for the throne?” She asked, turning to Layla and taking a shot in the dark at the woman who hated her guts.

She rolled her eyes, “Which one?”

“When Seth had killed Osiris and taken Isis and Nephthys as his wives and attempted to take the throne over Horus by claiming it was his blood right,” Dove explained under her breath as not to draw attention to them.

Layla was intrigued now, her eyes flicking to the woman, Marc doing the same with an identical lost expression.

“What’s your point?”

“Well, when Nephthys and Isis escaped Seth’s imprisonment together, Isis led rebellion against Seth by turning herself into a beautiful, young woman to trick Seth into admitting he was not the rightful king, outwitting him because he couldn’t hold himself back from some batting eyelashes and a pretty face,” She went on to say, looking between the pair. Marc seemed to catch on quickly, raising his hands in protest to cut her off.

“Absolutely no-”

“Perfect, that’s perfect. That’s just the distraction we need. He’d never believe I’d go for him right in front of my own husband, that’s brilliant,” Layla babbled, giving a supportive nudge to the young girl’s shoulder.

Marc just rolled his eyes in defeat, fists already clenched by his side as the women smiled between one another in pride.

“Did Horus win at least?” He asked, a semi sneer on his face at the idea of her making herself a pawn in their game of facades. Dove’s head shot up to meet his bitter gaze, feeling a twinge of guilt at the way she’d so readily put herself forward for the task of bait. But why? She was no more his than he was hers.

She tried to lie to herself and pretend the idea of him alluring a woman in front of her wouldn’t stab at her chest, just thinking how she’d almost jumped for Hathor’s throat when she’d so much as spoken to him. It wasn’t so strange, she had been smitten for Steven since the moment she’d met him, falling hard and fast for his gentle hands and even gentler words. It wasn’t far of a stretch to say some of it had transferred to Marc, even with his cloudy attitude and stormy expression that never seemed to weather.

It was probably the doppelganger effect and all that, she reasoned with herself. Probably just her idle brain confusing care with love, grasping at straws for any reason to be wanted.

She smirked at his question, shrugging her shoulders, “Well, supposedly, the Gods involved couldn’t come to a decision as to who the throne went to as both Seth and Horus were part of Osiris’s bloodline. So, in order to show superiority and a challenge of manhood, Horus, uh-”

Layla chortled, obviously having heard this story from her father.

“What? What did he do?” Marc asked with a huff, though he beat down the smile that threatened to tweak at his lips when he saw the two women chuckling together.

“The story goes that Seth, uh, ejaculated over Horus to show dominance, but Isis figured out his plan to make Horus seem unworthy for the throne, and sprinkled Horus’ semen over Seth’s garden so when he came to eat from the crops he was impregnated.” Dove said, her eyes turning away bashfully at the explicit nature of the story, though he heard her giggle on her final few words.

Marc’s jaw hung open in a mixture of disgust and horror, “That did not- Wow,” He spluttered, head shaking with disbelief, “Remind me never to take Horus’ throne,”

“Do you think Gods get morning sickness?” Layla asked, Dove smirking at her statement. Figuring since the god that trailed after her had remained so quiet after the meeting with the Ennead, she felt the opportunity too good to pass up to throw punches back at the one that had caused so much havoc.

“I can see it now, the horror that is the God of Chaos with swollen ankles and a midnight craving for pickles,” The younger of the trio snarked, and for the first time since she met the El-Faouly woman, she heard a real cackle of laughter out of her.

“He definitely got trapped wind and acne when he was carrying,” She added, making Dove crease into herself with suppressed giggles.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Marc tried to quell their hysterics, yet found himself joining in quietly, secretly, because he would never let her know how contagious her laugh was to him.

“Do you reckon his breasts got sensitive?” She asked, feeling Layla nudge her with a snigger.

Their little jokes all came barreling down around her as she felt a large, cold presence linger over her shoulder, swallowing the street light completely. Any and all laughter died in her throat within a hair's width of a second, her mouth going dry almost immediately when she realised just what was behind her.

Seth. Seth, the beast she was poking with a stick. Seth, who she would bend in any which way for were he to so much as snap his fingers, if even that. Seth, whose rage she could feel blowing out of him like steam out of a train flute as his snout breathed over her spine.

“You dare mock me, insolent mortal,” He growled, a clap of thunder running through her bones, shaking them beneath her flesh.

Marc grabbed her shoulder, attempting to pull her away from the creature, knowing her words had practically waved red at a charging bull. Turning to see the terrifying creature, leering just that bit closer, snarling just that bit louder, his breath pungent with wrath.

“I- We were- I didn’t mean-” Dove’s voice was small, childlike. A kid caught with their hand in the candy jar, caught smearing lipstick over the mirror. Tiny. Guilty. Punishable.

“You wish to behave as their little seductress that you so taunt me of bedding, then that is what you will become, mutt,” Seth snarled, his upper lip twisting to reveal his sharp canines that dripped with anger. He waved his staff, the hieroglyphs rippling with dark hum, singing with glee that they were being helpful to their master.

Before she could so much as gasp, so much as apologise, fall to her knees and beg him to see she was simply fooling with the woman she had been so deeply loathed by, she felt her clothes fall away into embers around her feet, the cold night air ravaging her skin despite the heat that rose to her chest.

What was left of the cloth robbed every single speck of her dignity; made her look like some prized mare, the same kind those men rode, the same kind she used to be. A body. A doll. A whore.

Her top half was nearly entirely exposed, save for a black wrap top that just about covered her tits, though they teased enough to turn heads nearly instantly as if they’d sounded an alarm of look at me, stare at me! Gawk all you like! I am nothing but whatever you see me as!

Her arms, neck and head was wrapped in spindling pieces of gold jewellery, the headdress, as she could have guessed, bowing down her brow and to her nose like a metallic pointed snout, only making her look more like Seth himself. Egotistical bastard.

The long, onyx skirt was the only part that gave her any sort of privacy, yet that didn’t help much since there were two enormous splits in the side, a slim gold chain resting over her curved hips, the material dragging over her crotch and buttocks. A single breeze could have her exposing herself, and she realised with a blazing face that the bastard had taken away her underwear in the process.

This was the first, last and only time she was going to make fun of the God of Chaos. Chaos indeed.

“SETH, Oh holy fuck-” She hissed, hands reaching to tuck the fabric inbetween her legs frantically, covering her breasts with the other.

“Woah, what did you do?” Layla asked, eyes wide as she scanned the girl’s, womanly, body from head to toe, “I thought he was the God of Chaos not God of Leia in Jabba’s palace-”

“Give me my clothes back, NOW,” She hissed, seething with a heat that could challenge the sun god Ra, “This is not funny, I will have you turned into fossils I swear-”

She heard a dark chuckle, malicious and vengeful as he was, and felt instantly a wave of stupidity had washed over her. Of course he would punish her, what a fool she was to think he wasn’t watching at all times. What an imbecile to have thought she would be able to live a single moment as a normal woman, a normal girl laughing with a friend, her mother always warned her of men and their damaged egos. She knew this lesson well enough. She knew this story. Why was she so stupid? So naive? Marc nor Steven would ever want such an ignorant girl, not when they had women as brilliant as Layla willing to marry them. Willing to re-marry them even.

She felt like a gullible child. Always falling into the wrong hands, into the snares laid out for her, a lame doe traipsing through a hunters meadow. Wandering down the garden path as a lamb led to slaughter.

The heat caught to her cheeks, burning her ears with embarrassment at her predicament.

“What the fuck do I do?” She spun to Marc’s eyes, though she seemed to catch his coffee gaze staring right at her. Flicking over her chest, flitting down to where the chain hugged her waist, her soft, supple waist he wanted to bury his fingertips in, and her thighs, her thighs-

His gaze snapped back to her after a second of weakness, seeing the fear waiting for him there slapping him out of his reverie. How disgusting he felt to have taken such a cheap look at her, art is supposed to be enjoyed not glanced at he chided himself, though the sick feeling in his stomach that she were such a divinity beneath her everyday wear, that she wasn’t just a pure soul but an angel woman outside as well.

She made every breath for him difficult.

“Huh?” He asked with a scratchy voice after a beat of silence. Blinking as if to drag himself from a daze, he looked away from her altogether to give her some privacy, though his chest never faltered from battering away at his ribcage, “I-”

“Bek,” Layla cut him off, and god he could have thanked her. Words seemed lost on him, stuck in a purgatory between enjoying the view and hating himself and everyone around him for besmirching her body with his worthless eyes.

A man had approached in the time it had taken for Marc to have his crisis; tall, broad, handsome the two strangers noticed quickly. Sticking out her hand for a friendly handshake, ‘Bek’ pulled the slender woman in gently, raising an eyebrow as he saw the woman to her right.

“Nadia, it’s been a while,” He said cooly, shaking her hand firmly, clasping her fingers in his familiarly in a way that told Dove they were friends. Not trusted enough to know their real identities but enough to not kill them on sight. It was what they had to work with, the younger woman told herself as she clasped her hands under her armpits to hide her exposed gooseflesh, “And who is this bewitching creature?”

Dove’s face tightened as his attention was entirely on her then. She saw it immediately, the lust in his eyes; the way they hooded with want, as if they saw through her whilst simultaneously seeing too much of her.

Just like those men, the horrid part of her brain whispered, Just like those who paid for you, just like those ones that would come in the night. The ones that used you, saw you as a thing to have, to conquer. Just like the one man who put you there.

If this was a dance she’d have to perform again, then that she would. She knew every step, every turn. She knew how to puppeteer these stupid men just as easily as Seth controlled her. Perhaps that was why they were such a clean match.

“Sandie,” She said coolly, a hint of a smile twitching at her lips. Enough to make him want more, enough to make him think he could be the one to give it to her. Men and their saviour complexes, “Me and Nadia are old friends,”

Holding out her hand for him to take, she tilted her head in discontent, watching as he took her own fingers as he had Layla’s, pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles, a Cheshire cat grin on his face when she seemed to watch him boredly.

They liked it when she was mean to them. She wished they would just see a therapist instead of seeking her body as a deposit.

“Right this way,” His voice was smooth in the buzzing atmosphere, the lamps suddenly too bright, the chatter too loud as they neared the ring. “After Madripoor, I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about, and perhaps something new to add,” His satin timbre stuck deep in her skin as he peered over his shoulder, trailing his eyes down her exposed legs.

Taking Layla’s hand in his own, if only to keep up appearances while they were supposedly married, Marc and Layla were but a step behind where Dove took the lead, her false confidence surprisingly convincing for a woman usually so quiet.

“Excuse me one moment, Mr. Mogart will be with you shortly,” Bek said, leaving the trio at the edge of the huge sand pit, the riders slowing their mounts at the approach of the burly man entering their training ring.

Leaning against the rail, Marc and Layla stood either side of Dove, the three of them watching as one man dismounted to talk to Bek, his shirtless body toned and lightly sweaty from what Dove could tell in the spotlights surrounding the place.

From what the girl understood, they were playing some sort of fencing sport, something similar to jousting she supposed only with less charging and more arm strength. The long wooden poles in each of their arms smacked against one another loudly, a whip like crack echoing around the open space. The sand sprayed out under the horses hooves, flicking towards where they stood in amazed silence.

“So what? This joker just puts on El-Mermah games in his backyard for fun?” Marc snarked, glaring down at every single one of the vain motherfuckers that seemed to all leer in their direction once they caught a sight of her. Yet, he simply let it happen, let her run her mouth with the new attitude she’d assumed, her new alias not at all his anymore.

“No, he gets private lessons by the best in his backyard for fun,” Layla replied, her eyes trained on the man that Bek had approached, a fine silk robe being slipped on over his arms as if he were too delicate to do it himself despite the size of his hulking arm muscles.

“I would love to get me one of those bad boys,” The youngest woman blurted, looking around the enclosure at where the rest of the men, equally as toned and attractive slid off their saddles, strutting around in their glory alongside their well groomed geldings.

The ‘married couple’ flicked a look at her, both their eyebrows raised at her statement, shock evident by their slackened jaws.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, princess,” Layla commented, eyes scanning each of the men that seemed to be waking up to the godly woman watching them ride, “I’m sure you could get any man you wanted looking like that,”

“I meant the horses…” Dove trailed off, her voice a song of innocence, perhaps even more embarrassed.

Marc was warm inside then, the four words alone reminding him she was still the same girl with the change of clothes, with the added seduction. It was still the girl sweeter than a honey pot that had trapped him like a fly and had yet to let go.

The man Bek had garnered attention from looked over at the three of them, his easy smile spreading when he saw the familiar face accompanied by two new ones. He, ofcourse, was quick to note the bare flesh the woman to her right flashed, the intricate gold spidering over her skin like a lovers touch.

“Nadia. Come in,” The man, who Dove guessed was Mogart from the way the staff scurried around him obediently. He gestured them forward, his eyes flitting over Marc who looked about as cheerful as a headache. “Such a delight to see you.”

But he was barely looking at ‘Nadia’, his dark eyes venturing over from Marc’s tight lipped smile to Dove’s exposed collarbones, flicking over her soft stomach, down over the curves of her bare thighs, even her calves got his attention. He was enraptured, taking the bait easier than she would have ever thought.

“You too,” Layla responded, shooting a glance in Marc’s direction, only to see his brow twitching. Gods had she seen that expression many times, normally before he would have stormed out of the house after one of their fights or gone to sleep on the couch. He was close to losing it already.

“How have you been?” He asked, finally ripping his eyes away from where Dove batted her lashes up at him shyly, a slight smirk to her lips that teased as he couldn’t help but glance at her face once more. Men were all the same in every country, it seemed.

“Good. Thankyou for having us over on such short notice,” Layla thanked gently, her own expression somewhere between wary and polite.

“Oh, please. I hope you realise you need no excuse to drop by,” Mogart said with his playboy smile twitching, looking cheekily at Layla, “So who are your friends?”

Layla nodded, reaching out an arm to gesture to Marc, “This is my husband, Rufino."

The women felt him tense up, holding his arm out much too forcefully for a handshake, “Nice to meet you,” Marc said, though nothing in his tone was nice by any means. Dove would have elbowed him in the side hard had Mogart and his men been watching them closely.

Dove couldn’t lie, the man was attractive. Not nearly as easy on the eyes as Marc and Steven, but he was attractive in the rich, bad boy kind of way. His scruff of a beard was dark, yet brushed neatly, not a single hair looking out of place. His nose was broad, making his face all the more masculine, bringing her attention to his mysterious dark eyes.

“Pleasure,” The millionaire looked down at Marc through disinterest, barely acknowledging his outstretched arm until he had taken a long look at ‘Rufino’. Seeming to brush Marc away almost instantly after they had shared a stiff handshake, he turned his mesmerising eyes back to Dove who leaned into his gaze, “And who is this?”

“Sandie,” She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling under the spotlights, holding out a jewelled hand for him to take. As predictable as they come, Mogart took her fingers gently and kissed them, just as Bek had, just as any other man being stared at with such allurance would want to, “Do you not get scared playing those games without a helmet on?”

The purity was clear in her voice, and it had Mogart’s eyes latching onto her mouth that seemed to call to him like a siren song.

“You are too sweet,” He said, yet to let go of her fingertips as she stepped towards him, his chiselled body turning to lead the trio towards his private collection, “You see, these horses are some of the finest Arabian thoroughbreds, mine has yet to throw me even once-”

The two of them took the lead, Dove making sure her shoulder brushed against his just enough for him to understand she wanted to invade his space, let him see her as closely as possible. She looked at him with the right amount of naivety, the rest seduction. Tilted her body towards his so he could see the way her hips curved, her breasts rounded.

“She’s good,” Layla whispered to Marc, seeing Anton’s face take her in for her entirety. It was as though she had him under a spell, even she as a woman mostly interested in men couldn’t help but appreciate the way the shadowy night seemed to preen under her glow. She wondered if it was Seth’s doing, yet he didn’t seem the type to deploy love potions. “I see why you like her,”

Marc’s chest froze. In the midst of glaring down the man’s hand that lingered at her lower back, guiding her towards his mansion of a house, he had barely even registered that Layla had been speaking until he’d heard that.

“I don’t- What the hell are you talking about, I can barely stand her,” He snapped, Layla’s short snort making his ears turn red. “I’m only keeping her around because she’d important to Steven,”

“Riiiight, for Steven’s sake, yep?” She drawled, the knowing look in her eye at how he squirmed under her gaze, “You know, we weren’t strangers once. I know what that look means,”

“What look?” Marc glanced back at his ex-wife, his eyes softening with the familiarity he found in her. He had loved her, he had loved her at one point with everything he’d had. But with her it was like trying to make two puzzle pieces go together when they were from opposite ends of the picture. They just wouldn’t fit. He’d loved her, she’d love him, but not enough to show her all of him; show her the full artwork.

She grinned at him smugly, reaching out to grab his hand as if to keep up the pretence they were still married, “Try not to ruin this one, will you? I’m starting to tolerate her,”

Marc scoffed to himself, “No, you like her. You just don’t want her to see past your big, cold independent badass thing you’ve got going on,”

“If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black, Spector,” She nudged him, her eyes trailing back to where the girl now had Anton pointing out his horses by name, hanging onto his every word as if she gave a shit. Then again, Layla didn’t doubt she was planning on talking the wealthy man into giving her one at this rate. Sighing, she leaned away from Marc, looking at the outfit that showed her off just as well as one of his livestock. “Just promise me something?”

Marc looked at her troubled expression but said nothing. He had learnt from Khonshu quickly not to promise anything before he knew what he was getting himself into.

“Get her away from Seth as soon as this is over,” Layla pleaded, quickly seeing the guilt that washed over his face as she’d said it, “Now he has a body weak enough for him to control at his whim, he won’t want to let go so quickly. Who knows what he would make her do? She’s not cut out for this life, Marc,”

How would you know, you’ve barely said two normal words to her, Marc wanted to snap, You don’t know her, she is so much stronger than I ever gave her credit for, she could do anything if you just gave her a chance.

But he knew that was selfish. He knew that was his own mind wanting to keep her needing him, the twisted part of him that craved to be needed wanted her for as long as he could. Yes he kept her safe for Steven, for her own sake, but the bitter part of him that hated the world loved every second of the euphoria that came with her desperation for him. He craved that high like the hardest drug off the Madripoor market, like he had forgotten what living and not just surviving this awful life felt like until that day she’d brought him the dead bird. She was good, she was the best thing he’d ever seen in his miserable life. She was a beacon in his dark mind.

But Layla was right, she wasn’t cut out for his life. She didn’t deserve a wretched man like him, she deserved Steven. He couldn’t get too attached, he knew he’d have to leave her as soon as they’d figured out how to get rid of Khonshu and Seth from their lives.

Maybe that's why he pushed Layla away with a bitter frown, dropping her hand. Sometimes the truth pill hurts to swallow, and Layla had just served him up an overdose.

“I hope you understand this is more than a collection to me,” Anton said, peeking over his shoulder at the couple that seemed to be all eyes on the younger woman. “Preserving history is a responsibility I take very seriously,”

“That’s a lot of responsibility for one man, surely you must get lonely,” ‘Sandie’ dared a sweet smile at the man who was on her like a moth to a street lamp.

He gave her a boyish smirk back, but she could still tell he held his walls high, kept his cards close after seeing Marc’s gloomy attitude. Trust it to be the masculinity competition the two had going on to ruin her bait.

“I prefer to see it as a philanthropic effort at preservation.” He replied, leading the way to a quieter courtyard where a few of the larger items seemed to be held under glass mimics of the pyramids, not a single fingerprint or speck of dust on the clear surfaces. The first one held what seemed to be a collection of effigies of the gods, similar to the one she had been thrown into that night at the museum only much smaller, most likely found in temples or the homes of wealthy members of Ancient Egyptian society.

Yet Anton led them to a halt outside the second one, opposite the statues, where thin pillars held up a collection of golden masks she recognised from Dylan’s tours as funerary masks, used to preserve the dignity of the deceased. They circled an even wider stand in the middle, a sarcophagus propped wide open for viewing pleasure in the centre, highly detailed from what she could see under the beaming lamps being stood so far away.

“Now, if I may ask, why such an interest in Senfu in particular?” Mogart questioned and the trio felt the air tighten around them, the silent accusation lingering close. Anton’s face was not amused, interested in the woman to his right as he may be, he was still smart and kept his wits about anyone attempting to pull wool over his dark eyes. Dove opened her mouth to pipe up with an entirely innocent excuse, something along the lines of Layla had told her all about Medjay and their burial practices and wanted to see what the fuss was about. But before she had so much as began her fabricated tale, Mogart flashed her a dimmed smile and held up his hand, “I’m sorry, I’d like to hear from the husband if you don’t mind, sweetling,”

Dove felt her breath hitch, covering it with a pleasant nod, turning to watch Marc meticulously, the pressing look of ‘don’t fuck this up’ in her eyes.

Marc seemed to get stuck on his words for just a second too long as he looked between Anton's unimpressed glare and Dove’s masked panic, feeling his mouth go dry as he had not prepared himself for improv.

Laughing humorlessly through his nose, he turned to look past the group and at the sarcophagus, gesturing with his open hand to fill time, “I think that- But I just think that we’d love to take a look,” He choked out, and a deadly silence befell the group.

That was perhaps the least convincing lie Dove had ever heard. They were so fucked.

Layla and Marc seemed to jump as she let out a loud laugh, her hand coming to clap on the man’s shoulder. “Ah, Rufino, you’re so funny,” She said, squeezing his muscles, turning to him with a bright grin. Shaking her head ditsily, she looked to Layla as if to warn her to play along before returning to Anton’s suspicious look, “This was all my idea. Nadia and Rufino were kind enough to let me crash their holiday so I could see some artefacts- a silly hobby of mine I rarely indulge in. They spoil me too much, I think,” She giggled, turning towards the glass pyramid with a hopeful look on her younger face, “You won’t mind if they look first?”

Anton seemed to bite his cheek, calculating the girl’s motives, yet even Layla would admit the words were smooth, believable. Had she not known the actual plan herself, she’d think she was crashing a couples post honeymoon glow with her mollycoddled, airhead act.

“By all means,” Mogart seemed in slightly better terms, though still slightly bitter as Layla and Marc headed straight towards the casket with a slight flash of relief on their faces. “So, sweetling, what is it about our history that intrigues you so?”

She leaned in towards him, her face smoothing out into young innocence, watching his reaction carefully. This job was like a mechanic tuning an old car, watching for every tiny movement in their body, waiting for that hum of enamourance where she knew she had them wrapped around her finger.

Men were the same in every country, in every part of history, in every facet of life. Every one of them except Steven. And Marc, she’d now realised.

“I don’t know,” She said, playing with her rings absently, head cocked like a placid dog waiting for a pet, “Perhaps I like the idea that people one day could be holding my things up in museums or paying hundreds to see what my life looked like. I like the idea that they were all once the same as me, you know? All just humans doing human things,” She hadn’t meant to be so honest, had never expected to speak from her heart, but her airy voice seemed to conceal her raw emotion well enough. Mogart seemed to warm under her answer, no doubt finding her cute, a little woman with a little brain having such big thoughts about life.

She knew Steven would have taken her answer as gospel.

“So about these Arabian Thoroughbreds, how much would one of those set a sweet girl back?” She asked, trailing her golden fingertips over his shoulder when Anton’s eyes cut over her shoulder, straightening a touch when he saw Layla there. She met the woman’s eyes, trying not to seem so thrown off by her appearance, her interruption in the plan.

“Rufino would like to show you something before we consider making any purchases,” Layla said, the push in her voice for her to not ask questions and to just head inside the pyramid telling her everything she needed. Their plan was not going so smoothly after all.

“Ofcourse,” Dove smiled back, beaming at Anton with a cheeky glint in her eyes. “I’ll be just a moment,” She promised, watching his eyes dilate as she ran her finger down his arm. Take the bait, take the bait and don’t ask questions.

“Don’t take too long,” He replied, meeting her eyes over her shoulder as she slinked into the glass structure, feeling his eyes dropping over her hips, over her bare thighs.

She entered the faux tomb, feeling hot under the blazing sets of eyes on her back as she came to a stop at Marc’s side.

“I’m starting to think I would make a great super-spy,” She whispered, leaning into him to keep up the pretence of two old friends on a relaxing holiday, “Maybe I should be Bond and you can be the sexy femme fatale I can save,”

Marc rolled his eyes, frowning and nudging her back, “Concentrate. These guys won’t hesitate to drop you no matter how pretty you look, princess,” It was a sneer, it was a bark of an order for her to quit messing around, that their lives were very much on the line here, and yet she couldn’t help look at him bashfully for his choice of words. He caught the girlish grin and the slight softness in her eyes, realising what he’d said to make her so coy. Fighting the heat that threatened to meet the apples of his cheeks, he turned away from her, staring hard down at the scrawl of writing inscribed in the stone, “Just read the damn sarcophagus, would you? Layla couldn’t get anything from it,”

Fighting the urge to snicker, she scanned over the funerary rites, her mind unravelling the translations she’d spent three years studying.

“It’s Hieratics,” She whispered, skimming the cursive writing, “Different to Hieroglyphics, it's known as the priestly script, the kind usually found on respected members of royalty, their blessings to carry them to the afterlife.” Marc gawked at her, the words sounding gibberish to him despite Layla drilling this stuff into him for years. He was sure if it were Steven in his place he would have been teetering on an orgasm by now, seeing her brows furrowed in concentration as she spurted knowledge about the writing styles. Taking a moment to skim the texts, the words became tales and spells, guidance for the deceased, wishes of good health in his next journey. But nothing about Ammit or his allegiance to her. Her brows furrowed as she flickered over the symbols, wondering if there was anything she was missing.

“What? What does it say?” Marc asked, chancing a glance over his shoulder to where Anton and Layla seemed to be watching them with hawk eyes now, though his ex-wife looked more nervous than anything.

“It speaks of how to cross through the gates at the Hall of Double Justice once you get to the other side of the Duat. It warns him of traps the gods may have set up; nets that will swallow him whole.” She leaning a little closer, some of the lettering worn away by its age, “There’s spells for repelling apshai-beetles-”

“Huh?”

“Apshai was the God of insects, said to be able to summon a horde of them that could block out the sun and devour men,” She brushed him off, searching further in the coffin for anything else, “It speaks of how to deflect them in the duat- all I’m seeing is how to guide the dead, no location indicated anywhere.”

She huffed leaning away from the relic with a defeated look on her face, giving the whole thing another read over.

“That’s because the information needs to be unlocked,” Marc’s head whipped up to the ceiling, where his reflection glared clearly back at him in front of the night sky. “It’s coded,”

Marc sighed, grabbing the girl’s attention. “What is it?” She asked, her eyes wide, worried their plan was entirely fucked.

“It’s Steven,” He said grumpily, watching her eyes light up in hope.

“Does he know the answer? Just let me talk to him, I’m sure we could figure it out,” She interrupted, flashing a quick and casual smile to Anton who had seemed to tense up at their rushed whispering, despite the fact her stomach was in knots.

“No, he’s not ready for- He said it’s coded, it needs to be deciphered,” He murmured back, watching her face smooth out into realisation.

“Ofcourse, priests did this all the time. Grave robbing was so common they had to hide their valuables, or in this case their information,” Dove smiled up at him, the accomplishment clear on her face, “So? Let Steven out, he’s great at puzzles and stuff like this-”

“Absolutely not, he won’t last two seconds if this starts getting ugly,” Marc snapped, gesturing to the sarcophagus despite the way her face fell, “Can’t you just do it? You guys solve stuff like this for fun,”

It was true, another of their weekly routines to pull out a board game of some sort and have a crack at it together. Or race to see who could put together a jigsaw the fastest. Ofcourse, they always wrote each other new rules for the games in other languages to add to the fun, she’d once thrown him completely off by writing out her best sanskrit. He’d been lost the entire hour. Yet even when they’d done an escape room together, Steven had been ten steps ahead of her at all times while she just stared after him, finding his intelligence dreamy.

“Yeah, and he almost always wins because he’s like the cleverest person I know,” She cut back, frowning at his stubbornness, “And incase you hadn’t noticed, Marc, this is an ancient encrypted casket not fucking UNO,”

Steven snorted, the sound only pissing Marc off even more as his gaze snapped to the ceiling, confronting his alter head on.

“Do you want a blood bath? Do you want her hurt? Because that’s the way it’s heading if you don’t start talking,” Marc cursed bitterly, throwing his hands out to the woman who glared at the sarcophagus like it owed her money. Soft eyes flicking to where Marc’s forehead creased, the worry was evident behind his mask of anger. He wasn’t worried about Harrow right now, or about the tomb, he was worried about her.

“Alright, have it your way,” Steven conceded, his own brown hues dropping to watch her from his place in the glass, a sad longing on his reflected face, “But this isn’t for you, I hope you know that,”

“Loud and clear,” Marc nodded, callused hands resting over the remains that sat inside the coffin, “Alright, what do I do?

“Check the cartonage,” Steven instructed, “Now, take that first piece and fold it over the middle piece,”

“This one?” Marc pointed to the smaller piece of fabric on the right, Dove’s eyes watching his military smooth expression carefully.

“Yes, that one,” Steven replied, exasperated as Marc did what he said. Dove followed his movements, the pattern quickly forming in front of them. Jumping at the chance to help, she grabbed the middle piece of the map folding it in half in order to create the correct shape, handing it to Marc so he could tuck it into place-

“Hey, what are you doing?” A hand grabbed Dove’s shoulder, yanking her away from the sarcophagus with a gasp, her own fingers reactively reaching to grab onto Marc. For Marc it was like clockwork, him snatching the gun from Bek’s hands, him taking a step in front of Dove, her hands gripping the tail of his jacket tightly, peaking over his shoulder with guilty eyes.

“Marc!” The pair of them turned their attention to Layla, her hands raised in surrender, two of Anton’s men pointing pistols at her closely. Even if they were to miraculously get one of them away from the El-Faouly woman, the second would pull the trigger without thinking, “Don’t,”

They were caught.

A breath passed between the trio, defeat written in bold ink on the two women’s faces, before Marc’s nose scrunched in annoyance. “Shit!”

He shoved the gun back at Bek, who grabbed it before they had any chance to get out of his grasp, his lip curling into a sneer at the pair in front of him, the barrel of his weapon staring straight at them. His flirty nature was long gone as he glared at the woman who wished for the ground to swallow them up.

Anton stepped past his guards, entering the glass room with a grave look on his handsome face, dark eyes looking between Marc and the woman that shadowed him, afraid to move so much as an inch were she to get Marc or Layla hurt.

“Do you really think I’m an idiot?” Anton scoffed, Marc’s jaw flickered with tension as he watched Anton’s eyes slide past him to the woman who looked back at him meekly, “And you? I won’t deny I would have enjoyed a night spent with you, sweetling. But you have been a sly creature,”

He reached out to pinch her chin gently, eyes roaming her lips that parted with a held breath, Marc tensing at her side. He envisioned himself breaking every one of the man’s fingers, of blinding him for daring to look at her so longingly, so perversely, as if seeing her was an enrichment he wanted to keep all to himself.

Then, as if to dial Marc’s already hot temper to a thousand, Anton smirked at her.

“Ofcourse, you could always just tell me what it was your little friends wanted, and I can let the three of you go unharmed?” He proposed, his umber gaze meeting hers with a flick of fervour, “For an added expense, of course,”

“You piece of-” Marc began, the heat of Ra in his glare, his veins running hot under his sepia skin. She cut him off, without a second of hesitation, without so much as a glance at him or his ex-wife.

“Anything,” She practically heard Layla’s laboured breath, the way every heart in the room seemed to stop at her word. Anton’s grin grew on his boyish face, this brows raising in surprise, “You let them both go, and you can have anything you want,”

Marc’s jaw slackened as he looked at her incredulously. What was she doing? How could she throw herself to the wolves like that?

“And if I wanted you? If I wanted to keep you?” Anton asked, his white teeth a glint behind his full lips that seemed to purse at the sight of her. She nodded, ignoring the feeling of Marc’s vicious glare burning a crater in the side of her skull. How could she do this to Steven, how could she stoop so low?

If they got out of here alive, if she got Layla out safe, she would go as low as it took. Layla who hated her, Layla who wished her hung, drawn and quartered, Layla who was human and had no god to save her, to repair her wounds.

“Anything,” She confirmed, a distant look glazing over her eyes as she signed her name on the invisible dotted line, threw herself in with the dogs once more.

Just as Anton’s grin was about to spread just that bit wider, victory ringing clear in his chocolate gaze that swept over her fact. He’d always had an eye for the valuable things in life, and he felt as if he’d just hit the jackpot. Bek leaned in towards his boss, speaking in hushed tones that even Dove struggled to hear until she realised it was because he was speaking French.

Anton’s head whipped towards his manor, where three figures stalked forward towards them, the armed men nudging the trio to exit the glass sculpture and follow the millionaire to meet the newcomers.

But Dove already had a pit in her stomach that told her exactly who it was waiting for them.

“It appears we have a concerned third party here,” The handsome man said, traipsing over to where Harrow and two of his followers approached, not batting a single eyelash to the shit show they’d stumbled upon, his telltale walking stick thumping against the sand pathway.

She felt her blood simultaneously freeze and boil in her capillaries, terrified of just how well he seemed to know her as if he understood anything about the things she’d seen, the things that had led her to here, yet angered from it all the same. Of what he’d called her the last time they’d met. Of how he’d spoken about Marc.

This time there were no gods to save his throat if she were to rip it out.

“Whatever they’ve proposed, I’m sure I can offer you something much more tangible,” Harrow declared, unveiling his hand from his pocket to show off the scarab. The scarab they had lost, the same one that seemed to levitate in the palm of his weathered hand and point in the direction of the tomb. A compass, a navigator, she realised, “Why settle for anything less when you could have a god's share of treasure?” The little bug hummed in his hands, its golden wings glinting in the moonlight.

“Anton, don’t listen to this man, he’s trying to stop us-” Layla started, her hands waving between surrender and gesturing wildly, watching Anton become enamoured with a new valuable, something better than a woman for the night.

“Please, stop,” Anton brushed her off, scowling at her with disinterest.

“She’s telling the truth. He’s planning to kill millions, trust me,” Dove jumped in, her eyes avoiding Harrow’s all knowing gaze, the wealthy man’s frown diverting to her.

“Are the two of you seriously talking about trust?” Anton snapped, his eyes finding their way back to the solid gold figure Harrow held out to him with the promise of more. If there was one thing men wanted more than women, Dove had learned quickly, learned the hard way, it was money.

“Anything! I told you I’d give you anything, get you anything if you just listen to us, please Anton,” Dove begged, feeling the but of the gun pressing into her skull as she took a step towards him. Tossing her a look over his shoulder, Anton seemed to boredly take her in, as if his reverie of having her to himself had worn off, the promise of more wealth than he could dream of, an inheritance for a goddess herself, outweighing any sort of sexual or physical favour she could give him. “He’s planning to slaughter children,”

“Please, there’s no need to descend into violent accusations,” Harrow started, his calm voice only making her seem all the more hysterical as she finally braved a look at him. Just as she suspected, his cold blue hues were already staring through her body in amusement, as if her worry and wildness was all but a game to him. A tally on his leaderboard. Harrow: 2 - Dove: Nil. “Each one of you has so much more in common than you know,”

His gaze shifted to the woman next to her, his eyes filling with false pity, the smirk on his lips telling her otherwise, “Layla, you keep thinking that distance will prevent the wounds from your father’s murder from reopening, but something stands in your way. You know that Marc never told you the truth, you know he hid things from you, maybe that’s why you can’t bring yourself to love him anymore, because he could never be honest,”

Tears glinted in the woman’s lash line as she looked at Marc, every word of his conviction true. She could never love Marc as she had once, never love him anything past nostalgia, an old memory she was learning to shake. But she’d had her suspicions, that he knew more about what had happened to her father than he’d told her, she saw it in the way he tensed every time she brought Abdallah up, he was a worse liar than he thought, or perhaps she had just known him that well.

“And Marc, you never told her because you knew that if you did, she’d see you exactly as you see yourself, as unworthy of the love she could have given you,” Marc’s glare could have melted Harrow to the bone as the older man approached, the glass in his shoes clinking wetly with his every footstep, seeming to enjoy this game of cat and mice he had with the trio already at odds with one another. It was like he was setting a fox into the hen house just to see them scramble.

“You piece of shit,” Marc hissed, his lip curled in anger as Harrow set his gaze slowly back to where Dove stood frozen in place, all too aware of how much he knew, of what he’d seen in her.

“Which brings us to the little pup,” He smiled, a chill running over her spine the moment it grew on his features, a lump balling in her throat, “She cowers in guilt every waking moment knowing if the two of you, if Steven heavens forbid, saw the real her, if you knew what she’d done before she was the meek little bird that worked at a gift shop, you’d be truly horrified. Dare I say, you’d hate her,”

She felt their eyes on her in an instant. Yet she couldn’t drag her horrified stare away from Harrow, who only watched her victoriously. She felt her legs shaking under her weight, weak and numbed from his revelation. There would be questions, there would be answers she couldn’t give. People she only ever visited in her sleep, others she ran from every second of the day.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” She croaked, her face tightening with the lump in her throat, eyes hot, lip trembling. Harrow just scoffed.

“Don’t I?” He leered closer to her, slipping the scarab back into his pocket, “Why don’t you tell your new beau what you did to the last man who had you?” He gestured to Anton who seemed to look her up and down, not with lust anymore. No, with caution. Wariness. Worry. He was scared of her. Disgusted. Her eyes chanced a glance at Marc and Layla who looked equally as perplexed, watching for her reaction. They couldn’t see, they weren���t allowed to see. They saw too much, saw right through her. They would hate her, they would leave her for dead.

She’d have to tell them what she’d done to him, to the man who’d put her there. How she’d made him pay for what he’d done to Grace, for taking her away from her family. How he was unrecognisable by the time she was finished with him.

She was back in that room, the window empty, the curtains shut. Grace was… she couldn’t even stomach the thought of it. Of her lying in that room alone, choking on air because of the white pills he’d given her as a reward, as if they were in need of a reward for their good behaviour. In need of anything to satiate them, keep them quiet long enough he would be able to keep them just a little longer.

She wished she’d never taken his number that first night, wished she’d stayed balancing her three jobs to make rent money instead of running after him ‘down the yellow brick road’ as he’d said. She had been in love at first, then she had been scared, terrified when she realised the monsters that lay in wait for her chomping at the bit, empty when she found out Grace had…

But now, now all she felt was anger.

The letters, the damn letters she asked Oz to send to her brothers, the ones where she poured her heart out with apologies, ‘I love you’s and ‘I want to come home’. The ones where she sent the money back to them, the money she’d earned, the whole reason she’d left them, went with Oz on blind faith, the money she stuck around for knowing she was keeping them afloat back home. The same damn letters she’d found stuffed into a duffel bag at the bottom of his wardrobe.

She had been looking for Grace’s things, he’d had her room cleaned by his men who seemed to know exactly what they were doing when moving a body out. She’d wanted just her cardigan, the lilac ones that made Grace’s eyes look like a bed of bluebells, that brought out the buttermilk tones of her blonde hair. She’d missed her more than usual this week.

Yet all she found was the letters, each one addressed to her brothers, money still inside the envelopes, never sent, never opened like he’d promised.

She was angrier than she even knew was possible to feel.

The past two years had meant nothing. She had let those men, those bastards do whatever they liked to her. Had crawled into Grace’s arms when they’d left, when the nights were longer. Had been his dog, his mutt, his puppet for two years; left her brothers, left Billie, with no explanation hoping the letters and the money would be enough to see them through, enough to keep the house and have their bellies filled, their feet warm. She had watched Grace get drained just as she was, had cried every tear, laughed every laugh, danced every step with her just to see her wither under his cruel hand, just to see her take a bad cocktail of painkillers and see herself out of the savage life they lived.

Grace, her sweet saving grace, gone. And it was because of him.

She remembered him coming home, remembered hearing his footsteps beating against the wooden stairs, hearing the second one from the top that squeaked under anyone's weight. She’d learned quickly how to get around this house where no one could hear her the way a doe steers clear from a hunting ground. It was nature, survival of the fittest.

She heard him huff, scratch his thick black hair as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. Oz, as known by his friends. Frank Osbourne, as known by his government. A dead man walking, as known by Dove.

He stepped into her room, the biggest bunch of flowers in his hands she’d ever seen. Red roses, cliche, the kind every man assumes his girlfriend wants. Oz plastered on a wide smile, too forced for her to appreciate, the coldness still in his eyes. She saw through his mask, his act. She saw how he seemed bored every second he pretended to care.

“Hey there, doll,” He leaned down to kiss her brow, shoving the roses into her lap as if he wanted rid of them already, “I got you these, you know just to cheer you up a bit after all this mess the past few weeks,”

“Mess?” She croaked, her dead eyes watching as he paced around her bed to open the curtains onto the night air. The abandoned hotel opposite had still yet to realise their Welcome sign was still blaring its neon red light after ten years of disuse. The ‘C’ and the final ‘E’ flickered every now and then, but other than that, the red poured into her dark room as if it were sat on her own bedside table.

Mess. As if Grace hadn’t been ripped from her arms whilst she screamed and wept and begged for her to stay. Don’t leave me, don’t leave me alone, you’re all I have left.

But now it was just the two of them.

Oz scoffed, her eyes following his figure that slumped on the bed, leaning down to undo his shoe laces. “Well, I was thinking,” He continued, “Since I let you have a few weeks off to pick yourself back up, I was thinking I could start taking you dancing again the way we did before? Find a new club? Get you another VIP lounge like at the Emerald so you could earn your keep,”

Before this house, when she’d met him. When he’d offered her a job as a barmaid. Given her his number on a little yellow slip, the red words “Follow the yellow brick road,” glittering back at her from his lapel pocket. True to his name, his club had been something out of a wonderland. The “Over the Rainbow” Gentleman’s club was tucked away below the streets of the town, away from prying eyes that would see through the glamour of the girls sold in red slippers. The VIP lounge, a room called The Emerald City, where the most expensive girls were expected to live up to their prices, where she’d served the parties alcohol, tidied when the girls were done, made sure they were all ready for their next show. That was how it had started.

Then his plans changed. Then he’d forced her into the ruby red heels, put her to work for him. Sold her to the highest bidder of the night. And worst of all, he’d convinced her it was a good idea, made her think it was all her own purpose.

She smiled emptily at him, reaching under the bed to grab the straps on the duffel bag. In one swift movement, she chucked the bag onto the duvet in front of him, the weight of her letters, her words that carried her every apology she’d uttered in the last two years, the weight of a girl missing home.

“Earn my keep?” She sneered, watching his handsome face stare down at the bag with a calculating coldness. “Why have you not sent these? That money was for my brothers- you said-”

“Now let’s not get hysterical, doll.” He held his hands up to stop her in her angered state, “I didn’t send those letters because I knew people would come after you. And I couldn’t risk losing my most prized possession because of some high school dropouts and that pill popping little brother of yours-”

That was when she had lost it. Her brothers had been through shit and back, and Mikey had picked up the same awful habit their mother had, but he was her brother. She would let him do what he liked with her, but she drew a line in the sand at her littlest boy.

Before she’d even known she had it in her, she’d thrown a fist at his face, hit him square across his cheekbone. Sammy always told her to aim for the nose or the chin, that boy was always getting into scraps, but she didn’t care. She felt the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she grunted with the effort.

“I would choose all of them a million times over if it meant being away from you,” She yelled, her breaths coming out in rattled gasps, “I don’t care about the money, I don’t care about you, everything I ever loved is gone and it’s because of you-”

She wished she’d been more prepared for the retaliation, but she still felt the vitriol wave of shock as his hand came across her face in a loud slapping sound.

“Because of you, my girl,” Oz spat, launching himself to grab her by her top, dragging her towards him as if she was a ragdoll, “I have only ever been good to you. You were nothing when I found you, remember?” She felt the tears brewing as his voice roared in her face, her brows furrowed in vicious anger, “Nothing, you were a street rat. You could barely afford to eat with that lot dog piling on you for your wages,”

“You say that like you’re any better, Oz,” She spat back. There was a single second where she saw the expressionless face turn, turn into something dark, something hateful.

It was all a blur from then, a harder hit striking her face, shoving her into the huge vanity mirror, her temple colliding with the glass. It smashed on its impact, shards spraying around her, littering her messy desk with tiny glints that looked like red stars in the light of the hotel sign.

She felt the dribble of blood from her hairline, the thickness of it rolling down her cheek like a cardinal honey, though the bitter metallic smell hit her faster than the pain. She was sure she was in shock, she felt numb to the prickling pain of the gash, though she doubted she’d ever feel anything deeper than the torment of knowing her life was gone. Knowing Grace was never coming back, that she could never go back home. It was gone, irreplaceably gone. No amount of rough hands or vile words could cut so deep as the aloneness she felt.

They stared at one another for a moment, her slumped over her desk, just about able to lean herself on her hands, meeting his abhorrent gaze in the mirror.

“I suggest you quit acting up, girl, or next time I won’t be so forgiving,” He spat, turning his back to her to begin unbuttoning his jacket, a huff passing his lips as if she had worn his patience thin, “Take of your clothes and make yourself useful, why don’t you?”

Her lip curled in anger, her reflection looking back at her as she tore her gaze away from his muscled back, ignoring the way he worked on unbuckling his belt, knowing what he wanted.

He wanted her to forget, to pretend as though she wasn’t torturing herself every moment of the day thinking about what she had lost. Looking at herself then in the mirror of the vanity, truly seeing what she’d become, the glass that seemed about as broken as her spirit distorting her view. It was no longer just Grace or her brothers or her job or her life that was gone. She had lost herself. She was not a person anymore but a shell, a phantom. A dead girl walking. She and Grace had always been two sides of the same coin.

She was nothing. He was right. She was nothing.

Her eyes were sunken, cold, dead. She wondered if it had been her who had overdosed in the next room with how ill she looked, smaller than normal. Weaker. Stony. Her skin was lifeless, her hair thinning. Her lips were dry, her eyes glassy. She looked like a corpse. A doll. A mannequin.

She was nothing.

She watched the blood trickle down to her jaw, tinier cuts from the glass shrapnel beginning to pucker and weep their own fresh redness, looking like crimson freckles.

She was nothing.

He lay back on the bed, his trousers slid down to his ankles to reveal a plain pair of grey boxers, his manhood barely concealed as he reached into her bedside cabinet and grabbed himself a cigarette and a lighter.

She was nothing.

“Well then?” He prompted, the white stick waggling between his pink lips as he spoke, “You gonna do as you’re told, my girl, or do you need another smack of the face to knock sense into ya’?”

And then she thought of every one of Grace’s laughs. She thought of the girl's heartbeat against her own whenever they hugged. She thought of the way she was so kind, so sweet on her. She thought of how Grace always had a way of fixing her bruises inside and out. She thought of every one of her freckles, how her eyes always seemed to be watching her with adoration. And then it was taking her brothers to school, the nights she stayed up with Joey to do homework, even though he was the smartest kid she’d ever known. It was Christmas, oh how she loved Christmas once, when they’d each scrimp to get each other something decent, it was the way her brothers pitched in to get her a bike she didn’t have the heart to tell them she couldn’t ride. It was the socks Mikey tried to knit her, that her pinky toe stuck out of on both sides. It was cooking them all breakfast before she went to work at her cleaning job, making sure not a child left her house on an empty stomach like she had when she was their age. It was her and Sammy dragging Dad in from the porch chair when he’d had one too many. It was Matty bringing home Billie the first time, the feeling of holding the tiniest little girl with the thickest hair. A child bringing her a child. It was dancing with the toddler in the kitchen, her soft feet stood on her own as she hummed Billy Joel’s Vienna. It was Mum and Dad when they were young and happy, when the boys had been small and Mum had been to rehab and seemed to stick to her promises for a few years at least. It was the day they went on their first and last family holiday, the day her and the boys had played on the beach until their little legs were sore and their tummies aching from laughing. The ice cream that stuck to their face, the salt that dried on their skin.

She was nothing anymore.

She was nothing but angry.

Vengeful.

She was a savage let loose.

Reaching over her desk, her dead eyes looking back at themselves, her fingers wrapped around a long shard of glass that had split off, toppling onto the wooden surface with a delicate clink, ignoring the way it cut into her own skin painfully.

She was nothing but chaos.

–

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[flightfoot]

ML Fanfic Recs for 2023: 10K - 20K Words

So I’ve been going through and adding particularly good fics I’ve read throughout the year. Only Complete fics, of course. Enjoy!

Chat Noir and Marinette decide to fake date in order to get Buttercup jealous enough to confess. Why won’t that boy make a move on such a wonderful girl as Marinette? And why is he beginning to hope that Buttercup stays blind?

Adrien wakes up in Nino’s arms. Neither of them have any explanation for this, considering they were nowhere near each other the night before. 

Marinette and Zoe uncover a ring stashed away in a closet. Why does it have an unusual effect on Chloe?

Felix isn’t careful enough when he goes snooping around the Agreste Mansion. Gabriel decides that he can’t let him roam free.

Kim bets Alix that she won’t be able to attend all of her friends’ weddings in a row. She has never been one to turn down a challenge.

All this and more below the break!

---

May I Introduce Myself, Your Highness? by @chocoluckchipz

Whether picking up a stray animal off the streets or saving a dying child at the market, Adrien had always strived to be the best version of himself. Truly, he would've been the perfect candidate to be snatched up by a kwami, were he an orphan, dying somewhere remote after a short life full of nothing but suffering and misery. Yet as it stood, the sole heir to the French throne had little to complain about. Apart from, perhaps, a complete absence of a love life. That is until a mysterious girl, wandering around his gardens at night, catches his attention.

I love Fantasy AUs. It’s a bit unclear what’s happening at first, but it all gets explained in the last chapter. Also don’t worry about the age gap between Marinette and Adrien at the start of the story, I promise it’s not a problem in the end.

---

do you think I have forgotten about you? by @roseinaugust

Based on the song 'About You' by The 1975. Memory Loss. Told in alternating time lines, one leading up to and one dealing with the aftermath of Marinette relinquishing the Miracle Box and the guardianship. Marinette struggles with her life after losing her memory, though there is a persistent voice that calls to her that always seems just out of reach in her memory.

Beautiful memory loss fic here, with seeing Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s relationship before she gave up the Miracle box, juxtaposed with the present day, when Adrien is only a stranger to her. I could really feel how Marinette was struggling with navigating these new circumstances, with her friends seeming to expect her to remember, to be who she was to them, to Adrien especially, before, and her just... not knowing whether she can do that. It’s got a happy ending though, for those who are concerned about that.

---

Creative Lies and Destructive Truths by @azuriteartist

Alya and Lila are two sides of a never-ending fight. The fight between truth and lies, between honesty and deception, between justice and personal gain. And now they have the powers to elevate that fight to a city-wide level.

Can Alya stop the deception before it destroys the city? And can Lila stop the truth before it destroys her?

So everyone who’s been around my blog for awhile knows how much I love Alya getting the spotlight (I mean my sideblog alyaappreciation is dedicated to her, because frankly, she needs it), and azurite’s lovely fic here is no exception. Fu ended up giving Tikki to Lila and Plagg to Alya. There actually isn’t tension between them at first, they get along well to start with, but Plagg knows Lila’s lying about things and eventually pushes Alya to take action once they grow alarming, until the two of them are both accusing each other of being liars as superheroes, and the public doesn’t know what to believe. 

I’m betting there’s more of this AU to come. I hope so, I love the consideration and agency it gives to both Alya and Lila.

---

How Marinette Learned to Stop Worrying And Love The Ball by @rosie-b

Hidden from the crowds thronging around the busy fairy portal in Paris's town square, a fae gate sits at the edge of the forest, locked, rusty, and full of ancient magic. Marinette thinks that this abandoned gate must not work anymore... but one day, a fairy disguised as a black cat steps through it.

Ah, Fantasy Soulmate AUs, my beloved XD. This ain’t the only one of this fic type I’m gonna be recommending. This is just a cute fluff fic without much strife. I love Marinette and Chat Noir being able to be childhood friends via his visits, even if he has to pretend to be her cat whenever he comes over, and I ESPECIALLY adore Alya being his chaperone and quickly becoming friends with Marinette in her own right. It ain’t a complicated plot, but it is a nice and warm fic.

---

Vengeance Noire by @phiellydinyia

After a horrific argument with his father, Adrien escaped from the mansion with his heart in pieces. In hindsight, it made sense why an akuma was sent his way. He shouldn't have let his emotions get the better of him.

But he never expected Plagg to be even more upset than he was. He never expected his own kwami to be akumatized. To become the threat of a city he swore to protect. And what's worse is the fact that Chat Noir can't jump in to save this one.

But Ladybug can. And that's why he has to find her as quickly as possible, suit or no suit.

I love some good Adrien angst, especially with a delicious side order of Plagg and Adrien’s bond with each other. Even as Adrien’s barely functional, though, he’ll do everything in his power to save Plagg, even if Plagg wishes he wouldn’t go quite that far. 

---

the best laid plans (of bugs and bakers) by @mexicancat-girl

Paris is buzzing with the appearance of a new ladybug-themed hero, Scarabella.

Alya decides to use her second hero identity to help her best friend Marinette. A bit of her flirting with Marinette is bound to make Marinette's crushes jealous and finally ask her out! Her plan is fool-proof…!

Except when it's not. Not enough people are talking about Scarabella flirting with Marinette. How can Alya properly help her best friend if the news can't be bothered to cover Marinette's budding romance with Scarabella and only posts things about Marinette with Chat Noir?! So Alya puts her all into her plan, upping up her flirting each time she appears as the newbie hero Scarabella.

This totally does not backfire in any way.

I adore fics that center on Alya, I haven’t exactly been shy about that fact. This is a nice one for some Alyanette adorableness! (And some Scarabella and Chat banter, I really enjoyed reading that as well). “Fake” flirting to make crushes jealous tends to turn real very quickly, and this is no exception. It’s hilarious, Alya’s the last one to figure out that her romantic relationship with Marinette is very much real XD.

---

Control by @generalluxun

A fun and rebellious gesture by her friend Zoé leaves Marinette accidently in possession of something more precious than she ever expected to hold.

It's a blessing. It's a curse. It's life itself.

She has no idea what to do. There is so much wrapped up not only in WHAT, but also WHO. Her friends and partners can offer advice, consolation, and support, but in the end when you are both Ladybug and the Guardian you are the one in control.

This is a fantastic SentiChloe fic. Marinette ends up with Chloe’s amok and isn’t sure what to do with it, whether to try to give it to Chloe, whether to try and use it to make Chloe a better person, or whether to just hold onto it secretly. Along the way, she ends up getting into Chloe’s head, getting a better idea of Chloe’s mindset, what she thinks and feels when she does the things she does. I loved seeing her struggle with figuring out what to do, it ended up being a great character study for both Marinette and Chloe!

---

Within Your Heart by Inkyibis

It's Valentine's Day and Ladybug just wants to her superhero partner to find his love.

And what she wants, the Lucky Charm will create.

If only she could remember what it is she did last night.

Adrino fic here! Marinette’s drunk and feeling awful that her superhero partner is alone on Valentine’s (she’s in a loving and committed relationship with Alya), so she creates a Lucky Charm to help Chat find love! In this universe, Ladybug’s Lucky Charms have the power to create new rules for the universe to follow, such as making one that demands that if you have any magic in you, you have to tell the truth or else you’ll freeze. Or in Adrien’s case, that he has to wake up in the arms of his true love every day XD. It’s very sweet and I love both Adrien’s and Nino’s relationship, and the relationship between the rest of the Miracuteam members as well, even though that’s not the focus.

---

This Distance Between Us by @coffeebanana

After defeating Monarch, the search for the Peacock Miraculous brings Ladybug and Chat Noir to a hotel room in London. But it's hard to enjoy the victory when Ladybug can't figure out why Chat's been so quiet, why he seems so sad. How's she supposed to help if she has no idea what's wrong?

This is a great Sentiadrien fic, with Chat freaking out about it and feeling like he’s not worthy of Ladybug’s affections, but not telling her what’s actually wrong because he thinks she won’t want him anymore if she knows. Of course, he’s wrong about that.

Also there’s a pretty intense confrontation with Felix, pissing Chat Noir off is a bad idea.

---

Auspicious by The_Rabbit42

Entry #6 for AU April 2023: Reverse-Crush Kwami-Swap

Adrien is quiet and reserved whenever he's not consumed by stress. And between extracurriculars and modeling and his responsibilities as Mister Bug, he's often stressed. He appreciates his kitten, but he loves his bright and outgoing classmate. Not that she knows that.

Marinette's parents have always allowed her a good deal of independence, but she's felt her confidence skyrocket since getting Plagg. Simply being Lady Noire allows her to be more flirty and free. She likes her friends, but she loves her stoic and heroic partner. Not that he knows that.

This is just a lovely fic that’s exactly what it says on the tin. I like how Rabbit goes into what Lady Noire’s and Mister Bug’s dynamic is like here especially.

---

Of Crisp Days and Crispier Cakes by @scribeofrhapsody

Gabriel wants to not be sick. Adrien wants to make a cake. Nathalie wants a chill birthday. Maybe they can help each other. Maybe it'll be a disaster.

So this starts off as just the cute fluff fic of Adrien and Gabriel attempting to make Nathalie a birthday cake that the summary indicates, but soon evolves into a more action-filled drama fic when Gabriel makes the terrible decision to akumatize a cashier while sick... a cashier who happens to be in the same shop as Nathalie and Adrien. Who are willing to put their secret identities at risk in order to save each other.

---

After Irritation Do Us Start by @scribeofrhapsody

It was the most difficult decision of his life, but Gabriel did it. He let go of Hawk Moth. He moved on from Emilie. Now, all he wants is to enjoy life with his son and new wife. Unfortunately, a certain nephew of his seems to be determined to unearth what Gabriel needs to remain buried.

I love this look at what could have happened if during the season 3 finale, Gabriel had decided enough was enough and given up on being a supervillain, moving on with Nathalie instead. How much better things could have been if he’d just decided to stop - though Adrien still wouldn’t be happy to discover why Hawk Moth had suddenly stopped attacking.

Oh yeah, there’s an OC here called Gerald who Adrien’s puzzled by, since he’d never heard of this guy before the past year. At the end of the story you find out why he’s included in the story. It’s not a major thing, but it is kind of funny and fits well with the rest of the story.

---

Rocking the Cat-Eyes by @buggachat

“I like being a girl.”

“That’s the alcohol talking,” Marinette snorted.

“I’ve always been a li’l jealous,” Adrien admitted.

“... Of what?”

“That you get to be a girl,” Adrien murmured, “and I don’t.”

—

When Marinette and Adrien host Girls' Night at their apartment, Adrien is easily welcomed to attend as "one of the girls"... but has a bit too much to drink. Some drunken confessions are spilt, some assumptions are made, and most of all...

Adrien is confused.

This is a great Genderfluid!Adrien fic. Marinette actually figures out that Adrien’s not entirely cis before he does, and tries to let him know she’s supportive... but unfortunately Adrien comes to some incorrect conclusions...

Anyway it’s a lot of fun, and Adrien rocks a dress and makeup!

---

Desperation by OuzoAthena11

Marinette is at the end of her rope. There seems to be no hope for defeating Monarch, not now that he has most of the Miraculous and has figured out how to transfer their abilities to others.

Tikki has an idea: Awaken the memories of who Marinette was in the past to see if any of their knowledge across time and the multiverse could help.

But this means that Marinette might forever be changed, and so will Chat Noir, if he should choose to do this.

Little did they know that they knew each other in their past lives, and how frequently they crossed paths and even were a couple... well, that meant that they are soulmates.

Star Wars crossover fic here, with Marinette as Obi-wan and Adrien as Quinlan. I like how the reincarnation aspect was handled here, with Obi-wan’s and Quinlan’s memories being prominent and them “waking up” in a way at first, but those settling back down after a bit and Marinette and Adrien going back to being mostly themselves, but with a lot more life experience under their belts and some cool new abilities - which comes in handy for taking down Monarch!

---

Family by @unecoccinellenoire

“You know,” Nino grins, “if you need advice on being a big brother in a year or two I’m sure I could help.”

The bottom of Adrien’s stomach dropped out.

---

Adrien struggles with the concept of his father and Nathalie having children.

So this is a world where Adrien and Marinette managed to defeat Gabriel, taking his Miraculous, with them giving him an ultimatum: they won’t out him as being Hawk Moth so long as he doesn’t cause any more trouble and does right by Adrien. Gabriel does, in fact, move on finally to Nathalie, giving Adrien a lot of mixed feelings to deal with. He still loves them both despite everything, but he’s also angry at them and he definitely does NOT want them to have children, both because he thinks they’d like any biological child they had more (he’s also harboring guilt from indirectly being the cause of his mom’s death), and because frankly, they screwed up too much with Adrien for him to want them to inflict that on another child.

And then there’s also Adrien dealing with the realization that he’s a Senti on top of that and wondering why he and Felix look the way they do, what Emilie’s reasons were.

It’s mostly just Adrien getting to talk things out, navigating this emotionally fraught situation he finds himself in now that the dust is settled.

---

Galaxy In Your Eyes by @liiinerle

Arriving in Paris, Kagami almost immediately finds herself assaulted by a dark, infectious butterfly. When she wakes up, a ladybug-themed superhero is standing over her, and her eyes are like holes into an empty, vast, and incredibly alluring universe...

An AU where the two main Miraculous function differently from the norm.

Nice Marigami fic here! Or should I say, Ladygami - technically Marinette doesn’t exist, only Ladybug, who’s an immortal creation goddess, or something like that. But she still fights to protect Paris from Hawk Moth alongside Chat Noir, who is still a normal, squishy human underneath the suit.

Anyway, there’s a but of inspiration from Nimona here, with a lot of people being scared of Ladybug because she’s a bit... out there, especially when she shapeshifts to have like, 6 extra arms and a lobster tail. Kagami’s into it though XD

---

Stay Weird, Ladybug by @diadraws

Ladybug receives an invitation at the end of a patrol!

Contains some of my own headcanons, most notably: MIRACULOUS HOLDERS ARE CREATURES!!! They get actual animal traits when transformed instead of just a costume. My tumblr is diadraws where I elaborate some more on my headcanons which may add some additional context to this fic if you are interested!

CONTENT WARNINGS: *major* depictions of panic attacks, discussion of child neglect/abuse, and a minor emetophobia (vomiting) warning towards the end.

I’ve loved the comics and fanart I’ve seen dia create for this AU, with Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s more animalistic designs, so reading a fic set in that AU was a real treat! It’s mostly just a Ladrien sleepover at Adrien’s house, but it’s very nice and cozy, with some good character development of Adrien helping Ladybug with panic attacks she keeps having.

---

Trapped by @consistent-chaos-corporation

Felix asks to visit Adrien as soon as his father is gone. Gabriel catches him snooping, looking for Adrien's Amok.

Everything gets worse from there.

Damn, poor Felix. He came to try and help Adrien, but instead Gabriel stole his Amok, forcing him to obey his commands, holding him prisoner in his basement for months. If you want some quality Felix whump, this is the fic for you!

---

When Secrets Come Undone by SortaArtsy

Ladybug promised not to tell Adrien... but she never promised not to confide in Cat Noir. What happens when Ladybug unintentionally vents to the one person who wasn't meant to know any of it?

****MAJOR SEASON 5 SPOILERS WARNING! ****

May not be season 6 compliant when it comes out.

This is a “Adrien finds out what everyone’s been keeping from him post-S5″ fic, and I think it’s handled really well! He feels very hurt, betrayed, and disbelieving initially about being a Senti and his father being Monarch (...mostly being a Senti, it ain’t that hard to believe that Gabriel was a supervillain), and is angry at everyone who kept it secret from him, but he still handles it well, going and talking to the people involved, getting their reasoning and perspective. 

---

Wanted: Catnap by SortaArtsy

Adrien Agreste has barely been sleeping, trying to be everything expected of him. What happens when he spreads himself too thin? Sick!Adrien/ Cat Noir

Adrien’s just pushing himself so hard, trying to do his regular duties, until his illness forces him to rest. I love how concerned everyone is over him - even GABRIEL eventually relents and wants him to rest. It’s just cute and nice and fluffy.

---

Felix is Fine by SortaArtsy

Felix wakes up sick, but is determined to keep it under wraps. Kagami refuses to be fooled. Feligami fluff. Implied past trauma/ abuse, though nothing explicit. Set post S5 so there are SOME SPOILERS!

If you want a Felix sick fic, this story’s the fic for you! I like how Felix and Kagami actually talk about why Felix is so determined to keep the extent of his illness hidden, what caused him to feel like he needs to do that, and Kagami’s understanding about it. Colt sucks.

---

Our Tales Are Endless (That’s Why I Tell Them) by @joonapeach

Marinette lives a simple life - one surrounded by pretty dresses, fresh macaroons, and the calming view of Paris. It's a life she thinks she has always fit in.

And yet sometimes, when a certain boy comes by her shop with a flower and a new adventurous story, she can't help but wonder if there's something else she's missing.

This was a truly gorgeous story. It’s the classic “Marinette gives up the Miracle Box and loses her memories” storyline, exploring her life two years later. Even though she’s had time to heal and recover, she still feels like she’s missing something, something big. At least Adrien’s stopping by regularly to tell her stories about Ladybug and Chat Noir, even if she doesn’t understand why they resonate with her so well.

---

a winter so warm by @rosekasa

winters were hard for even the best of vampires, but at least adrien had marinette to keep him warm with her cuddles.

december was going to suck without her. so it was only to be expected to get extra cuddles in before she left, right?

(well, not really, considering those heating supplements he was taking, but she didn't need to know about that).

This one’s mostly just cute cuddly adorableness! It’s basically like all those “Marinette gets the Ladybug trait of needing to cuddle up to someone for warmth”, but with Adrien instead. And of course featuring Marinette being a very talented witch who just wants to help Adrien stay warm when she isn’t there XD.

---

The 8 Weddings of Alix Kubdel by The_Rabbit42

The bet is simple: with the Rabbit Miraculous, Alix will be speaking at all of her friends' weddings. No matter what age they tie the knot, she'll be there looking the same. From Alix's perspective, she's going to each ceremony and reception one right after another in a nonstop bender.

This fic’s a lot of fun! I loved seeing all the different weddings, as well as how Alix slowly felt more and more out of place, with going forwards in time. Some of the weddings could get, uh. Exciting as well XD. And while there’s been years in-between Alix’s appearances for her friends at the wedding, for Alix, it’s only been a few hours, if that...

---

and I thought I heard you sing by @into-september

When Hawkmoth has been defeated and unmasked, Marinette is left with two problems and no solutions.

First, that Adrien is further out of her reach than ever before, and no-one can tell her how to get to him.

Second, that Cat Noir is far more troubled than she knew, and the only thing she can do is wait for him at the place they agreed to meet.

It’s your classic “Hawkmoth’s defeated and taken into custody but that means Adrien’s in for a rough time” sort of fic. Everyone’s worried about Adrien and wants to give him what comfort and support that they can, but he’s being hidden away from everyone (which I mean, honestly that’s a good move), so that’s not really possible. Plus, Ladybug’s noticed that Chat’s having a tough time in his civilian life, which worries her.

---

Time Locked AU by PumpkinPatchworkQuilt

In Time Locked, instead of just fixing the damage it puts everything post akuma back to exactly how it was, people, buildings, memories, time. Since it’s more extreme than in canon it requires both The Cat and The Ladybug to complete the Cure,(and visually contains both as well). Because of this only those with a miraculous can recall the events and only those who cast the Cure will have any lasting effects from the fight and even then it’s limited to scars, phantom aches, getting a tad more muscle definition and of course spatial displacement in extreme cases.

Since technology is slightly resistant or incompatible with the miraculous magic, footage of right after the akuma attack will survive, on a technicality and as such only reappears when the time catches up the the recorded time, that could be minutes, hours, or days depending on how long it took to defeat the akuma.

First story: Alya’s Guide to Surviving a Magical Terrorist Which You Can’t Remember

In a world where the fight against Hawkmoth is kept secret from the public, one Alya Césaire sets out to bring the whole thing to light, (and possibly win a journalism award while she's at it)

This was an interesting AU, I loved the focus on Alya especially and her investigative abilities, figuring out that there was a battle between good and evil taking place in the background of everyone’s lives even though most signs of it are wiped clean after the battle’s over. And Adrien and Marinette pick up on her cleverness and want her to help! I love how much appreciation this fic shows for Alya.

---

Stitched Together by @nedjsmlfavs

Stitch Witch Marinette was just supposed to be having a nice, terrifying outing with her best friends. She never expected to find a magically trapped kitten, but here we are! Whatever happened to this poor little guy?

Poor Adrien, being transformed and chained up for ages, having no idea that he was gonna be rescued. But at least he got to have fun at Marinette’s place as a cat! 

Most of this fic is adorable, though with some dark undertones lying in wait. After all, SOMEONE chained up that poor little kitty...

---

Love Remains by @kasienda

Marinette stood in the center of her own room. The pink walls were adorned with sketches and photos, and other unfamiliar souvenirs of her life. Her eyes jumped curiously from a hand made purse to a bowler hat decorated with a feather to a cork board covered in pictures of her friends.

She loved her room. Which made sense, she supposed. She had theoretically been the one to decorate it, but she didn’t remember decorating it. And now, the room was like a cave filled with treasure.

Because each little piece of it held a secret - some part of herself that meant something to her, a clue to what her life had been like before…

Before she had woken up in the arms of a boy wearing a magic black catsuit. His heartbroken sobs had caused something in her chest to twist painfully. She hadn’t understood why then, but from that very first moment she knew she had wanted to make things better for him.

She had no idea how to do that now that she understood what she had lost.

Sixteen years worth of memories.

The echoes of which were papered onto the walls and notebooks of her room just waiting to be rediscovered.

No one else seemed to share her excitement.

Unlike most “Marinette loses her memories” fics, this one isn’t super angst for Marinette - she takes it in stride. Now, everyone else, not so much. It’s really interesting seeing her contrast who she appeared to be before with who she is now, particularly when it comes to her previous self being in love with Adrien and not Chat, while she’s in love with Chat and not Adrien. Of course eventually she finds out certain things that makes that make a lot more sense. She isn’t so different from how she was before after all...

---

Betrayal by @jennagrinsoverml

MAJOR EPHEMERAL SPOILERS!!

Ladybug planned to use Viperion's power of Second Chance to get Chat's identity to Su-han without Chat knowing or agreeing.

Of course, then the world went crazy, and she didn't go through with it.

But when an akuma exposes Ladybug's plan to Chat, he doesn't know that. He just knows that his Lady betrayed him.

He deals with his feelings in the best, most mature way he can think of.

He disappears.

So I, like a lot of others, wanted more follow-up on Ephemeral, and particularly on the betrayal of trust it was for Marinette to try to trick Chat Noir into giving up his identity to a third party without his knowledge or consent (I wrote my own take on that at the time, called Transcient, that I’m proud of). This fic did a good job of exploring that, with Adrien reacting in a manner that made sense to me (repressing his negative feelings about the situation as much as possible and trying to justify it to himself, but still feeling terrible despite his own best efforts), and how Marinette realized that she messed up, since Luka keeping it secret that he knows hers and Chat’s secret identities caused her to be upset as well. It did a great job of exploring those negative feelings and letting everyone talk things out, explain their viewpoints, and rebuild their relationships afterwards, which is something I really value.

---

Swimming in Circles by @generalluxun

Life has moved on for Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She's not where she thought she would be seven years ago, but she's still in a good place. Classes, hobbies, friends, her life is full despite the lingering shades of her faded yet sweet middle-school romance. Then just as quick at the first time, someone drops into her life and turns her into an absolute mess once more.

Love and crushes might be her undoing, but she's got a little more experience this time to weather the storm. This fateful stranger stirs memories as well as emotions inside of her, and with a forthrightness her old self would be jealous of, Marinette takes the plunge.

So this is a Trans fic, with Marinette’s new crush being a trans version of a certain classmate who she doesn’t recognize, who’s changed a lot, for the better. I like how it deals with the baggage she has with that person, has her think that through.

---

Three’s company by @torvalvt

Kagami has been doing her best for years to ignore her feelings for her friends. It doesn't help that Adrien and Marinette insist on spending as much time as possible with her, even going so far as inviting her along on their dates together. If only the affection she felt for them wouldn't get in the way of their relationship. Because it is growing harder and harder to tamp down her feelings with how close they are getting to her.

This is adorable. Adrien and Marinette really want Kagami to join their relationship and she just doesn’t dare hope for it. If you want some adorable Adrigaminette from Kagami’s perspective, I recommend checking this fic out!

[spicybeefnoodles]

a small smoke

a/n: something quick, based on something i drew which was based on that one draw your couple like this with the cigarettes

summary: kung lao shares a smoke with raiden

warnings: use of cigarettes (?), unrequited love :)

Kung Lao flicked on the lighter, watching the small flame flicker as it lit his cigarette. He took in a deep breath and breathed the smoke into Raiden’s face, who just rolled his eyes at Kung Lao. The farmer leaned in a little closer to his friend, touching the tip of his cigarette to Kung Lao’s and wait for the familiar smoke to rise up into the sky.

The both of them had a long day underneath the harsh sun and an even harsher training underneath Madam Bo who had run them ragged. And so, Kung Lao had stolen a half-empty box of her cigarettes again and one of her lighters, and the both of them now sat underneath the cherry blossom tree. Kung Lao just wanted to unwind for a second. The monk stared off into the distance, looking at the horizon beyond the mountains as the moon rose up high in the sky. He watched the smoke rise into the air, dissipating with the slight breeze swaying through the leaves.

It wasn’t that he hated Fengjian. He just wanted more, and he breathed in a deep breath of the ashy taste and released a long breath into the chilled night air. For his entire life he had been stuck in this small village, picking cabbage and learning how to fight for some unknown reason. It was a great way to earn money and provide for his neighbors and a way to let off steam but…is this really his entire life? Confined to this small village? Destined to be nothing more than a farmer that will fade into obscurity? Raiden leaned in a bit closer, bumping shoulders with the monk deep in thought to startle him out of his mind.

Kung Lao grinned at his friend, watching how the burnt of his cigarette was clinging on like a leaf to the remaining bit of his stub. He took in a deep breath of his own cigarette, bringing it out of his mouth, and then turned to Raiden.

“Do you think…you think we’ll ever leave this place?” It was a quiet question, and yet it seemed to ring in Kung Lao’s ears as he looked at Raidn’s shocked face.

“Leave? Fengjian? I mean…well, I’ve never thought about it.” Raiden turned back to look at the mountain range, focused on the trees by the base. Kung Lao brought his knees up to his chest, taking in the last drag of his cigarette before putting it out against the box it had come in.

He just stared off into the distance, listening to the night market of Fengjian carried by the wind, and he let the smell of the cigarette settle in his nose as he thought. Could he leave Fengjian? Would he leave? For his entire life, Kung Lao had always thought he would be destined for something more, more than just picking cabbage at the very least. Maybe he could go to the city and find a job. But he supposed he would miss Raiden. His best friend. His confidant. His…

Raiden cleared his throat and similarly put out his cigarette on the box it came on. The farmer stood up, picking up his hat from the side and placing it upon his head before putting a hand down to help Kung Lao up.

“Let’s go back to Fengjian. We’ve got a long day ahead of us. Madam Bo is going to kick our ass tomorrow for stealing her cigarettes.” Raiden said as he pulled Kung Lao up.

“Oh please. I was the one who stole her cigarettes and dragged you out here.” Kung Lao rolled his eyes as he pocketed the lighter and the half-empty box, and Raiden just bumped his shoulder into the monk’s playfully.

“And I still went along. We’re both guilty. Besides, we’re in this together. We’re friends.”

Friends. Right.

Kung Lao stared off past the mountains again, trying to see if there was something past there: another village, a city, an unreachable dream. But it was just the dark night sky and stars. And so Kung Lao followed Raiden back into the village and slipped into mundanity.

[tbcanary]

arrowfam week day five: embrace

—

Bang!

The wind slams the window open faster than her hands can catch it, and Emiko winces in sympathy for the wall. And also, because there’s no way anyone in the house didn’t hear that, and she was trying to keep this visit from becoming a whole thing.

She waits a second, just to make sure no one is about to come running in and turn her into a new-age pincushion, and then slowly stretches one leg out to rest on the edge of the sink beneath her. Then she pushes off the window sill and jumps, landing softly on the linoleum tile.

Her side twinges, sharp and warm. She winces again and presses a hand to her ribs.

There’s got to be a first aid kit around here somewhere. She knows the residents of this house; not a day goes by that someone doesn’t come stumbling in with a stab wound or a broken bone. The sink is a good bet, actually, and she can check underneath it in just a second. First…

Her toes tap-tap-tap gently as she dances over to the fridge. The light is very nearly blinding as she pulls the door open, even through her domino mask, and she finds herself squinting as she surveys the contents.

Loose vegetables from the local market. Chinese takeout from the restaurant in town. Beer, which means either Dinah or Hal is in town. Three open containers of jelly — strawberry for Lian, grape for Roy, and another strawberry from when Oliver probably forgot there was already one open and ready. Congealed macaroni and cheese.

Emiko wrinkles her nose. She grabs an egg roll and a container of what must be lo mein, grabbing chopsticks from on top of the fridge.

After she’s wolfed down the egg roll, she feels a little steadier on her feet. She turns back to the sink and crouches down, pulling open the doors.

Cleaning supplies. A quiver and a compact bow. Brass knuckles, for some reason. And there — tucked in the back corner, the telltale white cross of a first aid kit. Emiko sighs in relief as she pulls it out from its hiding place.

It’s simple enough, really. She tosses back a few painkillers and rinses her hands in the sink before pulling out the sterilized needle and antiseptic. She’s up on the counter with her shirt pulled up before long, angling herself to see the wound on her ribcage in the pale moon light.

It takes a lot of effort to keep quiet as she works. She thinks she’s done a pretty freaking good job with it, too, until the light flickers on overhead.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Ollie intones, rubbing at sleep-rimmed eyes with a heavy fist, “is that blood on my counter?”

Emiko grimaces. It’s only a little bit from the light overhead. “It’s fine. I’ll clean up in a minute.”

“Not the part I’m worried about, if you can believe that.”

“Sure.”

Oliver walks into the (way too small) kitchen. His sweatpants sit crooked on his hips and his hair is in disarray; he’s clearly sleeping off a rough night of his own, based on the bruise covering his cheekbone.

“Here,” he groans, reaching out, “would you just— just let me do it, kid, you’re gonna—”

Emiko flinches away as he reaches for the needle, but it’s not really worth fighting over. He’s got steadier hands than her at the moment. She’s blaming it on the exhaustion, the loss of the adrenaline that’s been driving her since she found herself in the middle of an impromptu robbery downtown, but it might be the blood. She could be convinced. Maybe.

Oliver hums his disapproval. “This’ll sting, Emi, get ready.” And, as much a distraction as an honest inquiry: “Who did you piss off?”

“Some goon,” she mutters. “I just wanted to get a snack. Court and I were sparring and got hungry. The gas station was pretty busy, that’s all.”

The long gash running perpendicular to her ribs hadn’t hurt that much at the time. She blames the winter chill, or maybe just the fact that Court had been with her. It’s harder to notice her own injuries when she’s busy keeping an eye on someone else.

“Court still around?”

“No, she left already.” Emiko shrugs, then hisses. “Ow.”

“Yeah, well, avoid the knife next time and we won’t have to do that.”

“It wasn’t a knife. I can dodge those,” Emiko snaps.

Ollie raises an eye at her, looking up just slightly from his work. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t really have to.

Emiko sighs. “It was claws. On a glove, I think. They honestly looked pretty badass.”

If Oliver is judging her for language, he keeps it to himself. That’s for the best, probably; Emiko doesn’t want to get into the whole ‘you’re not my dad so stop trying to act like one’ spiel today.

“You oughtta call for backup next time,” Ollie says instead. “We have a whole host of people in this city now. Damn near full to bursting. No point putting yourself at risk when you can avoid it.”

“I’m fine,” Emiko repeats.

Ollie snips the thread he’s been using to stitch her up, then pats her on the leg. “Sure, you are. The bedroom’s available, by the way.”

“…Yeah?”

“Yeah. We got a weighted blanket for it and everything.”

“Ooh, moving up in the world.”

“Old dogs can learn new tricks, after all.”

Emiko rolls her shirt back down and hops off the counter. Somewhat impulsively, she leans forward to wrap her arms around Oliver’s middle, squeezing him tight before letting go.

Oliver throws his hands up instinctively. “Whoa, hey! Wh-what’s this for…?”

“Thanks for the assist,” Emiko offers. “And for the lo mein.”

“The— wait, that’s my—”

Emiko snatches the leftovers off the counter and sprints down the hall, biting back her smile. One of these days, he’ll know better than to keep the food where she can reach.

[cloudcountry]

HAVE U EVER THOUGHT ABT KNIGHT DEUCE

I HAVE I HAVE i love putting deuce in royalty au positions because he is just so PERFECT for any role. im gonna go on a rant that reads like a quick fic so like uhhhh HEAR ME OUT

THIS IS TOTALLY UNEDITED SO IF THERE'S ANY WEIRD SENTENCES IGNORE THEM I WAS EXCITED

Deuce wasn't always a knight.

He started from a humble beginning, just him and his mom on their farm that his father left a long time ago. He sells stuff at the market for his mom because she can’t make the journey alone now. She’s getting older and Deuce knows he’s going to have to step up and take care of her now, just like she did for him.

You, the heir to the throne, sneak out because you enjoy the market so much. You find his stall and the two of you talk, realizing how similar you are.

There’s more in this world that you want to experience.

You’re both stuck.

And so he vows to come back again and you two keep talking. He takes you to a clearing where he likes to think and wrestle with the other village boys. You ask him if he thinks he can beat you, and he gets this wicked smirk on his face before rolling up his sleeves.

He’s in love.

He starts training harder, fully aware that he needs to be able to protect you if you two were ever attacked while you were out.

A few years later, the annual festival has a sword-fighting event. You beg Deuce to join since the prize money would be enough to sustain him and his mother for a year. He takes your advice and joins, and you proudly step up to be his sponsor. At this point, the king and queen themselves are wondering what has you so interested in this farm boy, but you simply tell them to sit back and see.

Deuce exceeds your expectations. He wipes the floor with everyone and gives you such a radiant smile after the final opponent is down.

Your heart is fluttering.

Word spreads fast throughout the kingdom and people eventually start questioning whether someone with that considerable talent will be hired.

He should, right?

In fact, the king should have him be the heir’s personal guard since he’s that good.

And so the king calls him back to the castle, where he’ll have to face off with the king’s own forces. You’re a bit nervous but hold your head high as you sit next to your father.

Deuce does remarkably well until-

Until-

Until he loses against one of the higher-ranked guards, who hits him in the chest with the end of his dummy sword.

You gasp, heart plummeting. There’s no way your father would allow him to be your guard now that he failed and-

“You’re good.” the king says, and he’s smiling and suddenly your heart is soaring again because that means-!

“Not good enough to be the heir’s guard.”

No-

“But I will train you. Getting this far on your own is impressive. Well done, Sir Spade.”

You can’t help but tackle him when the two of you are alone, nearly crushing his spine with the force of your hug. The boy you adore is going to be your protector. You’ll be closer than ever.

He seems a bit down, though. You ask him about his mom. He says he’ll be sending her money, but this new career will be so demanding that he’ll have to give up on seeing her.

“No you won’t.” you say stubbornly, “I will convince my father to let us travel down a route that will allow you to see your mother when we go out. I will also extend a helping hand to your farm with donations and labor. I know the two of you do not want to abandon your home. Just because you work for me now doesn’t mean you have to give up who you are.”

He thanks you profusely and thinks about kissing you for the rest of the night.

Eventually, there’s a ball for you to find a suitable husband. It’s a masquerade one, that being the tradition in your kingdom. You know you’re supposed to be unbiased and judge based on character, but when you see the familiar sea-blue eyes and dark blue hair peeking out from under his ridiculous hat, you can’t help but let Deuce occupy all of your time.

Once the ball ends, you name Deuce your husband.

He finally gets to kiss you.

“Everything I did, my beloved, was for you,” Deuce states, like it was the most obvious thing in the universe, “And I would do it over a hundred times without hestiation.”

[dalchiid]

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 32

A story of obsession, fear, and lust. You're a maid whose Masters forbid you in meeting their guests for the night but your luck runs dry when you run into them and catch the attention of Lord Hoseok himself. He's smitten from the beginning and thus, your fate has been decided.

Pairing: Yandere Vampire Hoseok x Fem/AFAB Reader

Word Count: 7,975

Warnings: 18+, Yandere, Obsession, Possessive, Angst, Fear, Blood, Biting, Dub-Con, Eventual smut

Will add or remove warnings based on what's in each chapter.

I do not condone the behavior being exhibited in my work. This is solely for entertainment purposes and I hope if any of you are ever in a situation like this that you have the chance and ability to run away from it. Take care out there.

DO NOT copy, edit, or repost my work anywhere.

Chapter 32 Warnings: Yandere, Possessive, Obsession, Drugging, Mentions of Necrophilia, Dub-Con, Smut, Fingering, Squirting, Biting, Fighting

Prev | Next

When you returned home yesterday you barely remember the ride. Hoseok woke you up to tell you when you were home and he helped to take upstairs all of the bags filled with clothes and shoes. After you washed up you spent the rest of the day with him. It wasn't much but there was one thing you felt and you definitely feel it today. You miss Namjoon.

Today he's busy with work so you haven't been able to spend time with him outside of the little bit from earlier. You're alone in the library seeing as Hoseok needed to take care of something that came up suddenly as well. Seokjin is with him but that's all you know and the only reason why you're alone is because Hoseok doesn't know that you are. Both men left you stranded in the library thinking that one of them would be taking care of you.

You were reading 1Q84 but your mind keeps wandering and it's been hard to concentrate on the text. Your chin is resting on your fist as you look off in the distance unseeing. You're starting to feel bored and that's due to the fact that you've been accommodated to being with someone since your first day here. You wonder if either of the men in your life will come back. Hoseok said whatever it was he needed to do won't take long. The same with Namjoon but after checking your phone you realize it's been over an hour since you've last seen them.

You lean your head down so that your forehead meets the table. It makes a light thunk sound before you do it again and again in boredom.

"You know if you do that hard enough you'll give yourself a concussion."

You jump and turn in your seat to see Jimin with his arms crossed and a smile that warms his cheeks.

You frown at the sight of him and go back to lying your head on the table where a final thunk sound is made.

"Hello to you too, I guess."

Your eyes roll beneath the cover of your lids. You think he'll leave you alone but you hear the chair across from you slide out. Raising your head you see that Jimin has made himself comfortable in the seat Namjoon usually sits in. You let out a huff to which he laughs.

"I promise me being here isn't all that bad."

You give him a deadpan look. "Oh really." It's not really phrased as a question but Jimin takes it as one anyway.

"Yes really." He perches each elbows onto the table and cups his face with his hands. "Where are my brothers?"

You sit up a little so you can rest your chin onto your fist again. "Work."

He hums. "That explains why you're alone then."

Jimin stretches out his arms and his fingers lightly graze your elbow. You pull back so he has nothing to touch and it just makes him smile.

"You know you don't have to stay here alone."

"They said they wouldn't take long so I'm waiting."

He sucks his teeth a few times before giving you a look where he scrunches his nose. "Hate to break it to you but I think it's going to take a while."

You frown as you question him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that someone fucked up in the market and that's probably why my brothers aren't here with you."

Your hand comes down to rest on the table.

Was Jimin speaking the truth? He seems to realize that you're questioning him because he raises his brow before speaking.

"I only know because I overheard Seokjin and Taehyung talking about it. Taehyung and Yoongi left to handle it in person but I guess Seokjin dragged Hoseok and Namjoon with him too." He hums for a moment. "Makes sense seeing as Hoseok works with the money and Namjoon the distribution."

You give him an unreadable expression as you think.

How bad of a fuck up was it that nearly the whole family got involved? You also wonder what Taehyung, Seokjin, and Yoongi work in. You're afraid to find out but would it be wrong to want to know?

"I can see the gears turning in your head, pretty girl."

Your nostrils flare in irritation at the pet name. "Don't call me that."

Jimin's brows raise before he smiles. "I only call it like I see it but if you'd like," he pauses to raise his hands in surrender. "I won't say it again."

You don't want to believe him because you have a hard time believing in someone who enjoys teasing you.

His fingers dance across the table as he sits with a pout. He seems to be lost in his thoughts for a bit before he pulls back to sit up straight.

"If you want," he says. "You can spend time with me. It'll also give Hoseok peace of mind that you're with someone."

"Pass." Your answer comes almost immediately.

His pout grows more as he huffs. "I'm not bad company." A smile takes over his face. "You can hang with me and Jungkook. He's in the playroom right now."

"Again pass."

Jimin bites his lip as he eyes you. "If you make an effort to get to know us more you'll see we're not all so bad. Unless someone told you otherwise for your reaction to be the way that it is."

You recall Namjoon's words about his brothers. It leaves a sour feeling to roil in your stomach. You're about to tell Jimin to just leave you alone but he raises a finger up as if to stop you from thinking the thoughts that you have.

"One chance."

"What?"

"Give me one chance and then you can decide if you like me or not."

Your brows furrow as you glare at him.

Despite all his teasing that not only gets on your nerves but Hoseok's, Namjoon's words about Jimin specifically screams for you to stay away. It's obvious to you that you should deny him the chance to prove you wrong but the way he's acting now leaves room for you to second guess yourself. He isn't joking around, he said he'll stop with the pet names because you clearly don't like it. He gives you a look that spells innocence and all for you to agree to you giving him a chance. If there's one thing you're good at it's trying to see the good in everybody. Even in the one's who probably don't deserve it. It doesn't stop you from sighing though as you look off to the side and mumble "Fine."

Jimin hands clap together and it makes you jump.

"You won't regret it," he says happily.

You give him a weird look as he goes to stand and extends his hand towards you. You look at it and back up to his face. Jimin sighs before shoving his hands into his pockets.

After a second of looking at him you go to stand. "Lead the way I guess," you mumble.

He smiles and you see how his eyes nearly close from it. It's a bit endearing to see and so you look off to the side before you feel anything nice for him.

Jimin leads you out of the library and towards the playroom. It's pretty quiet in the house and you wouldn't have expected to see Jungkook in the playroom like Jimin said and it's only because of how silent he is. When you walk in you see that his eyes are wide and his lips are parted as he stares at the computer monitor. He's so focused on what he's doing that when Jimin skips over to hang over his shoulder he doesn't even budge.

You feel awkward standing by the couch as you watch the brothers. Jimin rests his hands over Jungkook's shoulder and he smiles brightly at something on the screen. He oohs and ahhs and when the youngest finally leans back he looks up at his brother with a question in his eyes. It's not until he sniffs a bit that he realizes you're here as his eyes lock straight onto you.

You feel even more awkward when he continues to stare and if it weren't because of Jimin speaking up you don't think either of you two would have stopped.

"Y/N is going to spend some time with us." Jimin smiles. "Play nice."

You're unsure if he meant that to Jungkook or you. Either way, you take his words to heart and try your best not to come off rude towards either of the brothers.

Jungkook goes back to looking at the monitor and playing whatever game he was playing. You weren't expecting him to give you a warm welcome so it doesn't bother you that he's going back to ignoring you.

Jimin giggles before making his way back over to you.

"So," he says happily. "What do you want to do?"

Your eyes shift from left to right before landing back on him. "I don't care really."

He pouts before bursting into a little laugh. "Well that's no fun." He grabs your hand and tugs you over to where the board games are at. "Let's play something fun."

You pull on your hand in hopes that he'll let go but he doesn't. When he does release you it's because he sits you down on a chair before going to the shelves of board games. His fingers run over the boxes as he looks for something. He hums a tune to himself until he makes a triumphant noise when he finds something he likes. He tugs out a relatively small box and turns to show it to you with a smile.

"Trouble," you ask. It's a game you never heard of before.

"Have you played it before?"

"No actually. I haven't."

Jimin's eyes widen. "You haven't?"

You shake your head no.

He huffs as he sits down and begins to open the box. "It's not a hard game. It's based off of luck really."

"Jimin likes the game because he always wins."

You turn your head slightly towards Jungkook as he speaks.

His brother on the other hand laughs. "I don't always win."

"Not always but most of the time. It's why many of us stopped playing it with him."

Jimin pulls out the game and pieces which are shaped like little pegs. There are sixteen pieces in total and four different sets are of the same color - green, yellow, blue, and red. He has you choose a color and you stick with yellow as he chooses blue.

"Here." He hands you the yellow pegs. "Place them where it says home."

You look down at the board and place then where Jimin told you to put them. He does the same on his end of the board before pointing to the middle where a bubble sits with a die inside.

"This is what determines if you're going to win or not. You press it down like this," he says as he pushes the bubble down. When he releases it the die jumps and shows the number six. "Whoever rolls the highest number goes first. Your turn."

You touch the bubble lightly before applying pressure. When you let go it pops and reveals the number four.

Jimin smiles. "I go first. Now to move your pegs you have to roll a six to be able to move one of them to start." He rolls again and gets a five. "Your turn."

You press the bubble and are awarded a six. It makes Jimin hum as you move one of your pieces.

"Do I have to roll a six for each of them," you ask.

"Yes." He rolls and gets a six. "After moving your pieces you have to bring them here." He points to four empty spaces that sit vertically around the middle of the board. "Whoever gets all of their pieces here is the winner."

It sounded easy enough. The two of you play together until one of your pegs pass his but at some point his lands on yours and he laughs to himself.

"What," you ask.

"If your piece lands on the opponent's you send their peg back home." He takes out your peg from where it stood and places it back where you started.

You think okay. Maybe not so easy enough.

It's at this point does Jungkook get up to stand by you to watch you two play.

Each time you bring a piece around Jimin forces you to fall back to the beginning. He smirks and it annoys you how cocky he's getting. Things seem to be going well for him until he lands on your start and you roll a six.

Jungkook laughs as Jimin brings his peg back to home.

But there's something you're beginning to notice. Jimin holds his hand over the bubble and when he presses into it he holds it for a second before letting go. Each time he does this he gets a high number and it's almost always a six. You recall him saying the game is based on luck and you figure it is but something tells you to do the same. When you do you're given a six and every time it's time to move you're also given high numbers.

Jungkook places his hands down onto the table so he can lean on it and a small smile graces his lips. Jimin is being given a run for his money because now you're playing his way and you think you might be winning.

The closer your pieces get to the end the more flustered Jimin is starting to look. He tries to hide it behind a wry smile but you and clearly Jungkook can see that he's not happy that you're also close to bringing your pieces to the finish line.

At this point Jimin has three in the end and you three as well. His peg is just a little ways ahead of yours but when it's time to roll you're able to skip through until you land on his peg and send it back home. Jimin's smile is no longer present. He rolls and rolls until he can finally get a six to bring it back to the board but before he can make it halfway your last piece reaches the end and it's been declared by Jungkook that you're the winner.

The young vampire giggles a bit. "You win."

You look up at him then down to Jimin who scoffs before hiding his pettiness behind a wide smile.

"Beginner's luck."

"You can always play another round to see who will win." Jungkook says.

Before you can even process an answer for that Jimin laughs out loud and it startles you.

"I think one game is enough."

Jungkook smiles before standing up straight. "Whatever you say."

You smile to yourself in response to it all. You know for certain that it's all based on luck. There may or may not be a skill to it but you know if you were to play this game you'll do what Jimin did again.

Speaking of Jimin, he hurriedly puts the game pieces away as Jungkook heads towards the doorway.

"Where are you headed?" Jimin asks.

Jungkook stretches with a yawn. "I'm going to take a quick nap."

"Maybe if you didn't sleep so late you wouldn't have to nap."

The younger vampire scoffs. "You're one to talk."

And just like that he leaves you and you're left alone with Jimin.

Once the game is put away Jimin extends his hands towards the couch. You stand up and follow him to sit down on it and watch as he angles his body to face your own.

"We played a game together," he says. "But I still haven't gotten to know you."

You purse your lips. "Does it matter?"

"Of course it does! Your my brother's partner."

You frown at the title he's given you and it doesn't pass him by.

"You know you make it really obvious that you don't like him."

You cross your arms as a way to defend yourself but he sees right through you.

"I'm not calling you out on it to punish you but you are a terrible actress."

You tongue your cheek in annoyance. "Anything else you want to say about it?"

Jimin laughs before resting his elbow on the backrest so he can perch his hand beneath his cheek. "No not really. I just want to get to know you more."

"Why?"

"I just want to know why my brother is so fascinated with you."

A silent pause follows that you don't know how to fill. You can't tell if he means anything negative or positive with his words.

You look at him and his eyes don't leave your form. He's staring directly into your eyes and you watch as his full lips form a smile. It makes you frown.

"What?"

Jimin's smile stretches out until he shows his teeth. "You know," he says. "He has a lot of trust in you."

You scoff. "Could have fooled me."

"No really! If he didn't he would've done to you what he did with that other girl uh..." He snaps his fingers as he thinks on what he's trying to say. "I forgot her name. Sua? No. Um - whatever. She's unimportant."

Your brows furrow. You could care less what the other girl's name is but Jimin's words stick with you.

"What do you mean by that?"

His brows raise. "By what?"

You turn in your seat so you can face him. "You said he would've done to me what he did to the other girl. Do what?"

He looks off to the side with a look that makes it seem like he's thinking. "Oh. Oh yes that." He smiles. "Well Hoseok used to drug the other girl to keep her home. She tried escaping twice and that was the consequence."

Your blood runs cold. Hoseok was drugging her?

Jimin laughs as he seems to realize what's going on in your head. "Don't worry though. You haven't given him reason to want to drug you. At least not yet."

Your eyes slowly drift off to the side.

You've already tried to escape once. Who's to say that after your second attempt he won't try to drug you as well? No, you tell yourself. Your second attempt will be successful. You'll make sure of it.

"You know," Jimin interrupts your train of thought. "She was nice once. The girl. Her and Hoseok used to be in love but when he expressed jealousy towards her little brother it bothered her." He laughs. "Oh Hoseok used to be terrible back then. He was extremely possessive and apparently she couldn't handle it anymore. But when she left it really left Hoseok with a hole in his heart."

Terrible back then, you think. He was just as terrible now. He never changed.

It makes you wonder how the girl managed to escape if he was drugging her. You doubt Jimin would know but you have a question for him.

"What prevented Hoseok from taking her back?"

There's a subtle roll to Jimin's eyes. "Our parents. The girl and her family started to drag Hoseok's name through the mud and our parents had to intervene. The girl's parents threatened to have Hoseok arrested but daddy dearest paid them to keep quiet. That and the girl got a restraining order on Hoseok. If he violates it then he'll be arrested and our father wouldn't tolerate that. So he told him to get over her or he'll punish Hoseok himself."

You purse your lips as your brows furrow.

You weren't expecting to hear all of that but now that you did it leaves you with little hope. You don't have parents to defend you. The only one who would would be Hyun-Woo but his brothers don't want you. You're left alone and you don't even know how to begin getting a restraining order. Hoseok's ex had proof you're sure to incriminate him. You not so much. You were addicted to Hoseok's saliva. That's all you have, but would the police want to hear out someone who was essentially a drug addict? Probably not. It leaves you feeling hopeless. If you were to escape you'd really have to cover your tracks well otherwise you'd be screwed. More so than you already are now.

You nibble your bottom lip as you think on all of this.

Jimin let's out a odd yawn before looking down at his watch. "Huh," he says.

"What?"

He looks up at you with an innocent look. "It's tea time."

You stare at him confused as he goes to stand.

"Would you like some tea?"

"Oh uh." You shrug your shoulders. "Sure I guess."

He gives you a heartwarming smile. "Excellent! I'll be back."

Your eyes follow him as he sees himself out and now you're alone.

Jimin unloaded onto you a lot of information about Hoseok. You don't know what to do with it other than to heed caution. Learn maybe from the other girl's mistakes? But you don't have enough to go on so that you can protect yourself and you learned more about the guys' parents. The fact that their father paid people off to be quiet doesn't surprise you. After what Namjoon had told you about him you feel like nothing can catch you off guard about that man.

You hope you never meet their parents. The day you do is the day you're sure you'll be stuck here forever.

After a few minutes Jimin comes back with a tray with two tea cups and mini tarts. He walks over to you slowly so he doesn't spill anything and locks eyes with you with a smile.

"I should've asked what type of tea you'd like but I just settled with green tea. Is that okay?"

You nod your head. "Yeah. Yeah that's fine."

"Okay." His smile is gentle as he places the tray between you on the couch. "Help yourself to the tarts as well. They were baked for today's dinner but I managed to convince the maid in charge to let me have a few for now." He winks at you.

For some reason the idea of him doing that brings a small smile to your face.

You take a bite of the tart and it makes you hum in content.

"It's good, right?"

You hum again with a nod.

"Don't forget to drink your tea. It's better when it's warm.

Placing the dessert down you pick up your cup of tea. The tea bag is still in it and around the string is a bit of foam. You don't think much of it before you smell it and take a sip. It goes down smooth and you think this is the best green tea you've ever had.

"Did you put sugar in this," you ask.

Jimin nods his head. "Two teaspoons. Why? Is it too sweet or too bitter?"

"No no. It tastes just fine. It's really good actually."

He smiles. "That's good."

You take another sip this time a longer one before you place it down. When you do for some reason your body begins to feel warm and your head light. You frown a little and sit back with a hand to your chest.

"Don't forget to finish your tart." Jimin says but he sounds a bit far away.

You hum in acknowledgement but it comes off a little weird. You open your eyes wide for a second as you try to come to your senses but it doesn't change the fact that your body grows warmer. Leaning back in your seat you angle your head up towards the ceiling and it's them you realize you're being hit with something. Something close to ecstasy but it coats your insides until arousal pools out of you.

A hand touches your face and you moan at the contact. You hear Jimin's giggle as he sits up a bit.

"Wow just two sips and you're already feeling it? You really are something."

A sound akin to a whimper and a moan slips out of you. Your body feels hot and there's an ache between your legs.

Jimin stands up to stand in front of you. He hovers over you a bit with his hand coming to caress your cheek then your neck.

"You know," he says. "Not every vampire's saliva is the same. I'm sure what you feel from Hoseok is different to what you're feeling now."

You try to lean into his hand but he pulls it away.

"Me? There's a reason why my saliva is so sought after in the market. I trigger lust. Pure unadulterated lust." He giggles a bit. "Not a lot of vampires have that. Our cousin Jiyoo does but I hear it's not as potent as mine."

Your hands grip the bottom of your shirt and you tug on it as more arousal pools from between your legs.

"I can smell it on you. You're really feeling it, huh?" He laughs.

"W-Why?" You try to question him. "Why did you d-do this?"

"Why?" His hand caresses your face again and you moan. He softly shushes you before he pulls back. "Why not? I wanted to see what would happen to you. Wanted to see what you have to offer my brother. You know, to see whatever the hell it is that you have that's making him go crazy. Maybe it has something to do with what's in between your legs."

You whimper.

"Oh! But don't worry. I'm not interested in fucking you. I prefer my girls six feet under if you catch my drift." He laughs. "I just wanted to mess around and find out."

A tear escapes you.

You wouldn't say you were warming up to Jimin but you let your guard down. It makes sense now. When you saw the foam in the tea. He must have spat in it before bringing it to you. How could you have been so stupid? So trusting. When will you learn?

You cry out loud as the feelings of ecstasy course through you. Your legs spread apart as you dig the balls of your feet into the ground. You must look and sound obscene as you writhe into the couch. Your nails dig into your thighs. You're trying to fight this overgrown need to touch yourself but the longer you go without the more this uncontrollable pleasure boils within you.

Jimin's head tilts as he watches you. "I guess I can see it. You're just short of showing me your fucked out face and I have to admit that it's pretty enticing. That's not including your smell. You're sweet as is but even more so now."

You arch your back off of the couch while your hands grip your shirt. "Jimin," you cry. "Jimin I can't."

"Can't what, pretty girl?"

You squeeze your eyes shut and another tear escapes from you. "I n-need help. I need you."

His face lights up at this. "You need me? Aw poor baby." He leans over you and pats your cheek. "I could easily give you what you want but I won't. I'll let my brother handle that though, okay? Actually I think that's him now."

After he says this you hear voices. They sound almost far away and it takes a minute before they come closer. Jimin leans back away from you and crosses his arms just as Hoseok and Seokjin walk in.

"Jimin." Seokjin greets him but he comes to a pause. "Y/N?"

"Y/N?!" Hoseok sounds worried as he runs over to you. His hands find your face and you moan at the feel of his touch. "Jimin what did you do?"

The young vampire's hands raise in surrender. "I didn't touch her."

"Jimin," you cry out as you arch your back.

It catches everyone in the room off guard except for the perpetrator.

"Jimin what did you do?" This time it's Seokjin who asks.

"Baby hey. Look at me." Hoseok speaks to you softly. He can smell your arousal but he's trying his best not to jump to conclusions.

Your eyes that had been shut slowly open. Hoseok takes that chance to open your lids wider and sees how your pupils have blown out. He releases you and turns before grabbing Jimin by his collar.

"Why did you give her your saliva?!" His teeth are bared in anger. "Did you spit in her mouth?"

"Um," Seokjin starts. "I don't think he spat in her mouth." He picks up the tea cup you drank from and takes a sniff before frowning.

Hoseok's hands move from Jimin's collar to around his neck. "I should fucking kill you!"

"H-Hoseok," you whimper.

It brings him to a pause as he turns around to look at you.

"Hoseok." You try again.

Your call for him is enough to make him release Jimin and come back to you.

"What is it, baby? Tell me."

His hand goes to push your hair back and the feel of his touch makes you moan.

"I need help." You manage to get out.

You press your legs together in an attempt for some friction where you need it most but it's not enough. It's embarrassing but the need to quench this lust has you far gone. You can barely bring yourself to care that you're writhing and moaning in front of Seokjin and the demon that made you this way.

Without having you to explain further Hoseok scoops you up into his arms and carries you bridal style. He doesn't say a word to his brothers as he carries you out.

"You're an idiot. You know that?"

It's the last words you hear from Seokjin to Jimin before Hoseok hurries down the hall.

His feet are fast and he does his best not to shake you too much as he nearly runs. You whimper in his arms and he shushes you gently.

"It's okay, Y/N. We're almost there."

You don't know where there is until he bursts into his room and slams the door behind him with his foot. He lies you gently on the bed and goes to remove your shoes. You moan at every touch he gives you but it's not enough and you voice that to him.

Hoseok gives you a sorry look and takes your hand in his.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N. I should have been there for you. Then this wouldn't have happened."

You shake your head no. "Please. I need help."

He shushes you gently. "I know, baby. I know."

"No," you cry. "I need help, Hoseok. Please help me."

He knows what you're asking for.

You don't know why he's hesitating. He takes you every night why can't he do it now?

You cry as you close your eyes. "Please Hoseok."

Your hand that holds his moves down where you help him cup your sex. His fingers flex over you but your pants are in the way.

"It's not enough. Please."

"Okay, baby. Okay."

As if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders you sigh.

Hoseok begins to remove every article of your clothing leaving you bare before him. He's quick to remove his own clothes and climbs on top of you where you wrap your legs around his waist to pull him in. You feel his semi-hard cock brush against your mound and it forces you to buck your hips. You toss and turn beneath him and whimper when you're not given what you want.

"Shh baby it's okay." He kisses your forehead. "I'm here for you. I'll help you get through this."

His fingers find their way between you and you cry out when they brush over your sex. They lightly play with your clit before they come to slip between your lips. Your arousal is everywhere at this point and he only further spreads it over his digits when he slips two in into your entrance. You moan out loud at the feeling and even more so when he spreads his fingers to stretch you out.

"Please go faster," you whine.

You're too wound up and just want him to take you fast. Your body can't tolerate something soft and slow right now.

"Let me stretch you out first," he says but all it does is make you bring your hands up to your face as you begin to cry.

Hoseok looks down at you in pity and he decides then to pump his fingers into you hard and fast.

Your back arches and you let out a loud moan. Your hands leave your face so they can rest on each of his arms and you spread your legs farther apart as he pushes in deeper.

The tips of his fingers graze over and over the roof of your cunt until he finds your sweet spot to which your tears fall freely from your eyes in pleasure.

"There! Right there! Please don't stop!"

Hoseok is relentless but you wouldn't have it any other way right now. His palm rubs harshly against your clit and it feels like your body is on fire. Your fingers come up to pinch your nipples to which Hoseok mumbles a "Fuck" at the sight of you. You're out of your mind right now because of Jimin but he'll have you so long as you want him like this.

He leans down to press his face into your neck where he bites and nibbles. Leaving you marked by him in every way.

You moan in a salacious manner before bringing a hand up to his head where your fingers curl into his hair.

"Hoseok," you cry. "I'm close!"

He pumps his fingers even faster and before you even realize it a splash of your essence leaks out covering Hoseok's hand over and over again.

"Just like that baby," he moans. "Keep going."

Your moan is drawn out as your legs begin to shake. You press a hand against his chest to try and push him away so you can breathe but his fingers stay locked into your sex where they rock gently into you.

Despite cumming you still feel wound up. There's still that ache between your legs and your body is still warm. Your hands grip Hoseok's shoulders and you begin to cry.

"I-I need more." The words leave you as if you were in pain. It felt like you were and you needed him to help you through this.

Hoseok kisses your forehead just as he slips a third finger inside of you. What fills the air besides your cries are the sound of his fingers moving in and out. It's absolutely obscene but neither of you care.

"H-Hoseok please."

"I know, baby. I know." His fingers slip out of you and to replace them is his fully hardened cock.

You mewl as he slips himself in. If there's a burn you don't feel it. Especially not when he pushes in slow until he's flushed against you. You buck your hips into him to try and get him to move. Before you can beg him to he pulls out slow and slams back into you and begins a rough pace. He grits his teeth as he looks over you while your hands grip the sheets.

You moan, whine, and cry with every thrust he gives you. Your eyes water with tears needing to be shed. You've felt bliss from Hoseok's kiss before but this was something else. You can't even begin to wrap your head around what's happening to you. You just know that you're experiencing a type of lust that has you shaking beneath Hoseok. What Jimin gave to you is an all powerful feeling that can only be tamed with something deep inside of you. It's almost scary how much you're not yourself right now but the euphoria from it all is blurring all the lines for you.

"How are you feeling, baby?"

Hoseok's words startle you from the pleasure you feel. You spread your legs further apart so that you can feel him deeper.

"Like I'm going to come again." Your statement leaves you in a rush.

His hand slips between your bodies where his deft fingers find your clit. Your back arches off of the bed as he presses into you and rubs you just the way you like it.

"Come on, baby. You can come for me."

Your eyes screw shut with tears escaping you. You cry, feeling overwhelmed with so much happening to you all at once.

You gasp. "I'm cumming!"

Hoseok grunts and clenches his teeth when you squeeze him tightly with your walls.

Out comes your essence as you squirt on him again leaving both him and the bed beneath you soaked. A loud, long mewl comes from deep within you as your legs wrap around him to keep him close. It forces him to stop bucking into you and he has to forcefully spread your legs apart with his hands to get you to stop so he can continue.

Another drawn out moan leaves you while Hoseok helps you through your orgasm. In between are gasps because Jimin's saliva is still coursing through you and you need it to stop.

Your limbs feel like jelly and you're positioned by Hoseok how he would like you because you can barely move. You feel tired but you also feel the urge to want to come again. Your walls flutter around Hoseok that forces him to moan out loud.

"Fuck," he curses. "Again?"

You nod your head as it's all you can muster up the strength to do.

This time his thumb goes to rub your clit and he's a little rough with it. It makes you cry out loud but for all the right reasons despite the sensitivity.

Soft sounds akin to weeping are released from deep in your chest. "Hoseok. Please I'm close again."

His face is stern as he focuses on bringing you pleasure but you feel the way his hips stutter here and there signifying that he's close too. His thumb doesn't stop rubbing you and when you least expect it you come undone with a loud whine.

Hoseok bares his teeth as you squeeze him hard and before he can even think of stopping his hips jerk forward and he comes inside of you.

He holds your hips to try and keep himself still but he can't stop. He enjoys the way your walls spasm around him and he has to rest his forehead against your shoulder before he can even bite you to quench his frenzy.

Your legs stretch out and land with a flop on the bed. Now that they're not held up by Hoseok you can feel how heavy they are. An occasional moan comes from you from how tired you are. It feels like your body is trying to regulate itself and the lust you felt before is slowly dissipating. Before you come down from it completely Hoseok takes the chance to bite you and it makes you flinch. You're feeling really sensitive from it all but you know he has to feed.

After he has his fill he runs his tongue over the wound before he pulls away from you and easing his softening cock from deep within you. You suck air through your teeth at the feeling.

Hoseok's hand caresses your face gently before cradling your cheek.

"Are you okay? How are you feeling?"

You shut your eyes and sigh. "Sleep. I just want to sleep."

He hums and releases you so he can stand up. Despite you wanting to rest Hoseok scoops you up and you whine.

"Shh," he shushes you softly. "We have to clean up. I'll have someone change the sheets."

And he does. While he bathes you someone comes in to change everything and to remove your discarded clothes that had been strewn all over the floor.

Most of your time in the shower is spent with your eyes closed but stray tears slip out anyway. Hoseok wipes them as he was washes you and takes advantage by kissing your forehead, your cheeks, and your lips.

Whenever you make a sound of disapproval when he washes you between your legs he mumbles his apologies and tries to clean you as gently but as thoroughly as possible.

Once the two of you are clean he sets you on top of the counter where he dotes on you with care. Your eyes are still shut and you sway a little as sleep is trying to consume you. He does your skincare for you and half-asses his own because his main focus is on you.

"Let's go to bed, baby."

His words are like a godsend because you don't think you can sit up anymore while feeling like this.

Hoseok's arms wrap around your waist and hoists you up. Your legs come to loosely hang around his waist while your arms wrap around his neck. He supports you as best as he can and carries you back into the bedroom where fresh clean sheets await you.

He doesn't bother to dress you up and tucks you in. Your head rests comfortably on your pillow as Hoseok begins to scratch your scalp. He doesn't say a word and you prefer it this way. You don't want anymore distractions. All you want is sleep and you are rewarded with that a few minutes after.

Hoseok can hear the way your breathing deepens and your heart beat grows steady. He stops scratching your head and just watches you. You're fast asleep now and his worry over you has diminished a bit. Now though he's filled with something else. A calm rage as he stands up in search of his robe that he slips on and ties up. His feet are covered by slippers and with one last look your way he he exits the room and closes the door gently.

His legs take him where his nose leads him. He breathes in the scents of his brothers that he knows are together. It's the playroom and when he rounds the corner he takes note that almost all of them are here but he's only looking for one of them and once he sets his eyes on him he pounces.

"Oh Hoseok," Jungkook starts.

He clearly wanted to say something else to him but he's interrupted when Hoseok grabs Jimin by the collar and punches him across the face.

Jimin, unsuspecting, takes the hit and his head snaps to the side. There's an audible gasp from around the room and immediately Taehyung and Jungkook grab him.

Hoseok manages to get another punch in but the younger vampires manage to loosen his hold on Jimin's shirt and separates the two of them.

"What are you doing?" Yoongi nearly yells.

Hoseok's teeth are bared as he pushes forward and it's taking all of Jungkook's and Taehyung's strength to keep him in place.

Jimin snaps his head towards Hoseok and he clearly looks irritated but he masks it with a look of amusement. It just manages to piss Hoseok off even more and the vampire lunges again towards his brother despite the other two youngests holding him back.

"Hoseok!" Yoongi yells.

Seokjin places a hand over his shoulder and shakes his head. Yoongi looks at him confused just as Hoseok stops attempting to jump at Jimin. He's seething. His chest rises and falls deeply as he tries to regain his breath. When Taehyung and Jungkook think it's okay they slowly let him go.

Hoseok points a finger at Jimin and grits his teeth.

"You stay the fuck away from her."

No one besides Hoseok, Seokjin, and Jimin truly know what's going on. It leaves the others confused and on edge.

Jimin scoffs before playing it off with a sound of merriment. "Tell me you didn't just finish fucking her."

Hoseok steps forward to which Taehyung and Jungkook go to hold him back.

"Tell me you two didn't enjoy yourselves." Jimin laughs. "You should be thanking me."

"I should kick your ass." Hoseok growls.

"Enough." Seokjin bellows.

No one says a word

"Jimin," he calls out. "You fucked up. Admit it." Seokjin's eyes move over to Hoseok. "And you. You have every right to be upset but don't let him get to you."

Hoseok's nostrils flare as Jimin rolls his eyes. The others are almost too afraid to ask why Hoseok attacked their other brother but the atmosphere is too tense. They each agree to themselves that they'll ask questions later. Seokjin will be willing to spill they're sure.

After a moment of silence there is shuffling behind them. It's the sound of Namjoon's feet as he walks in. He can sense that something is wrong but he doesn't know what.

Seokjin acknowledges him with a small and strained smile.

Namjoon raises his brow in question but before he can ask what's wrong Hoseok turns around and walks past him. His shoulder collides with his brother's and it catches Namjoon off guard.

"Did I do something," he asks.

Everyone excluding Jimin reassures him that it's not him and the last thing Hoseok hears as he steps out is Seokjin beginning to explain what started this tense atmosphere.

He feels a lot calmer now that he hit Jimin. He wished he could get a few more in but he'll take what he can get. His main concern now is to be back with you.

He figures he'll have to call for dinner to be brought up when it's time. He doesn't want you straining yourself nor to have you in the same room with Jimin. At least not yet. You deserve to rest and he realizes so does he. He feels tired after everything the two of you did. He knows how powerful Jimin's saliva can be. All of their saliva are powerful but Jimin's is the only one that triggers lust. He knows how it can affect the one ingesting it but he didn't expect how much it would take from you and him. He just wants to lay by your side now and spend the rest of the day and night with you.

He regrets leaving you alone. Namjoon eventually joined him and Seokjin when the shit hit the fan earlier and he realized you were going to be alone. He told you he wouldn't take long but no one expected the issue at hand to be greater than what they originally thought it would be. Someone was siphoning their money and using the saliva for their own personal gain. Hoseok and Seokjin alone were finding the leak and dealing with it while Taehyung and Yoongi dealt with the person personally. Only Namjoon knew where the guy lived and so he had tagged along with Taehyung and Yoongi. It was a mess but they fixed it and he paid the consequence of leaving you alone.

He's glad things were righted but at what cost? What would have happened to you if you were left alone with Jimin even longer? He doesn't believe his brother would have done something more to you but you would have suffered the unquenchable lust on your own.

When he reaches his bedroom door he sighs.

The day is dragging on and he feels like he barely has enough energy to deal with it. He'll deal with Jimin later. Right now you were his main concern. He doesn't know how you're going to wake up but he'll be there for you. He'll always be there for you. Even when you don't want him to be.

[black-is-iconic]

Twinkle twinkle Little Star

Wishing upon stars and praying to gods has always seemed so… futile. I mean, what is the purpose of a wish? It seems illogical because there is no one out there who can fulfill it. Absolutely no one. However, the feeling of loneliness was overwhelming.

Observing young maidens, who are half your age, parading around the market and flaunting their rings, did sting a bit.

So, here you are, reveling in the radiant silver glow of the moon, placing a string of pearls at the base of the shrine dedicated to the moon god that you had constructed. Along with some other valuable offerings like saffron, silk, and twenty gold pieces.

You feel a bit foolish attempting to appease the gods, but you hope that the extravagant gifts will compensate for your slight skepticism. You didn't anticipate the offering to yield results; you were merely entertaining a passing thought.

Therefore, imagine your astonishment when the sky trembled with a resounding boom. The moon completely obscured the sun, blocking every last beam of sunlight, and a solitary shooting star came crashing down right at your feet.

You cautiously crouched before the blazing orb of light, taken aback by its lack of heat. To your surprise, touching the swirling, fiery smoke felt cool, like a winter river swim.

The star, in response, fragmented into thousands of sparkling shards. From the light emerged a striking man, his skin a flawless pale cream. His jaw was strong, cheeks defined, and eyes sharp and ocean blue.

Tall and well-built, his perfect symmetry lent him an almost otherworldly appearance. Dark curls framed his face, falling in waves to his waist. "Um," you attempted to speak, but words failed as you compared him to the statue.

The man (if that's what he could be called) stood in a rich blue tunic with long sleeves and gold embellishments. A cape of light flowed from his shoulders, fastened by a moon-shaped metal signet. His gaze moved from your home to you, causing you to automatically bow in deep reverence.

The man standing before you regarded you with a penetrating gaze, his eyes deep and consuming, pulling in everything around with a chilling intensity.

Your heart hammered in response, a forceful rhythm that left you questioning its strength. "Hello?" you manage to say, your voice a touch strained from the tension. The man closed the gap, kneeling before you.

"Forgive my sudden intrusion, my lady. I am Giyuu Tomioka, the esteemed first son of the Lunar Lord of Night, commander of the Moon Knights, and the reigning Emperor of the grand sky palace and the moon."

Each title echoed in the silence, making you acutely aware of his stature. His icy gaze softened, assuming a regretful expression. Clasping his hands in supplication, he said, "It's far from ideal, I know, but might I request to stay in your estate temporarily? I find myself…directionless, unable to return home at this moment…"

With an nervous swallow, you turned your gaze upon the man before you. How could you possibly resist him? "Are you a god?"

You asked, your voice steady yet soft, your hand reaching out to the torn fabric of his shoulder, marred with streaks of crimson. Your brows knit together in concern.

"Not exactly," he responded, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes flickering shut intermittently as if fighting off sleep. "But not far off," he added, pulling himself to his feet.

With a shake of your head, you commanded, "You're injured. Please, come inside," just as he collapsed into your waiting arms.

"Ume, Gyutaro, assist me now," you called out to two of your farmhands. Ume dropped her harvest of flowers instantly, rushing over, closely followed by Gyutaro, who swiftly and efficiently carried the enigmatic man - Giyu - into your home.

Without hesitation, you prepared a bath for the man, filling it from the well and testing the water to ensure its temperature was just right.

Once satisfied, you selected the best of your medicinal plants, adding their petals and stems to the water and stirring until the bathwater took on a soothing hue.

"Bring him in, please," you called to Ume and Gyutaro, who promptly carried the man in. You marveled at the expertly applied bandages already adorning him, before easing him into the warm, healing water.

With a practiced hand, you bathed his wounds, ensuring each was well cared for. "You did an excellent job bandaging him," you acknowledged, and Ume looked up at you, her ocean-blue eyes alight with pride. "Thank you, mistress. I learned from the best."

"Now we simply have to wait," you observe, gazing at the man. His face remains tranquil, marred only by the tears cascading down his cheeks.

You cautiously wipe away his tears, flinching as his hand captures yours. Yet, he never stirs, calmly resting his cheek in the palm of your hand, eliciting further tears.

"He's rather attractive," Gyutaro comments, tightly clutching a damp towel as he places it gently on Giyu's forehead.

"Don't be so modest, you're not bad yourself," you respond, causing Gyutaro to blush and stop his complaints, averting his gaze and scratching his cheek.

"It's time to prepare dinner," you say. Ume's eyes sparkle with excitement. "Could we make a vegetable and meat pie?" she asks. You chuckle at her passion.

"We reserve that for special occasions," you remind her, but the suggestion tempts you with the thought of a flaky crust, tender meat, and juicy mushrooms. "Please?" Ume pleads, to which Gyutaro smirks.

"Considering the circumstances, I'd say this qualifies as a special occasion," he adds. You sigh, unable to resist their pleading looks. "Fine, go inform the chefs," you concede, and Ume darts out of the room, cheerfully chanting, "Vegetable and meat pie! We're having vegetable and meat pie!"

As you observe Ume's white locks vanishing behind the corner, a gentle smile graces your face. Seeing her thrive is heartening, especially when you recall the desperate state in which you discovered her two years ago.

Your instinct has always been to assist those in need, offering them shelter, employment, and food, despite the risks involved. You are aware of the potential dangers in opening up your home to strangers, but having additional hands on deck is advantageous.

Your estate, a neutral territory amidst two feuding nations, boasts two hundred and fifty acres of fertile land.

The land's extraordinary productivity, offering bountiful harvests, sweet clean water, abundant wildlife, and vast mineral wealth, has made it desirable to the rulers of both kingdoms.

Despite the persistent rumors of witchcraft and sorcery, you know the land's blessings are nothing short of divine. The rumors, instigated by Kings Obanai Iguro and Sanami Shinazugawa, are nothing new.

Their ruthless attempts to seize your land, like those of their predecessors, have been met with firm resistance. This land is home to not only your numerous servants but also a variety of creatures who roam freely across your domain.

The experience of gathering nuts and berries, only to stumble upon a grazing deer or a pair of frolicking foxes, is beyond compare. Even a pack of wolves once sought refuge in your outdoor pantry from the sweltering summer heat, and although they helped themselves to some provisions, they left small tokens of gratitude around your property.

While these tokens may have been bones, torn fabric, or other miscellaneous items, it is the sentiment behind them that truly matters.

Your shaken from your thoughts when suddenly a knock echo's on the door, normally one of your servants would attend to it.

But the way Ume came flying around the corner, face pale as snow had you you speedily rushing to the door.

You took a deep breath and slowly opened the door only to scowl as you came faze to face with Sanemi, he towered over you glaring down with his piercing lavender hues dressed in his royal regalia, arms crossed and flanked by armed men.

Gyutaro, Kyogai, and Sekido practically flew to your side from there respective places and Sanemi rolled his eyes, "call of your dogs I'm simply here to speak" he spat through clenched teeth. Taking a sniff of the air his cold gaze lit up slightly "Over dinner I presume"

[lillywillow]

Portia's Day Off

Summary: You and Portia spend a wonderful day together

Written for: @the-slumberparty

Words: 1623

Square Filled: B1- Cottage Core and N1- Baking

Pairing: Portia Devorak x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: None

Your eyes slowly opened as the morning light cracked in through the curtains. Stretching, you smiled and rolled over to admire Portia’s peacefully sleeping form. Normally, she would be awake long before now but as she had been doing a lot of work lately, Nadia insisted Portia take the day off. Placing a gentle kiss on her ginger curls, you carefully untangled yourself from your comfortable position to make her breakfast in bed. Feeling movement, Pepi woke and moved from her spot on the bed to investigate.

“Sorry, Pepi. I didn’t mean to wake you,” you quietly apologised. “Shall we get started on breakfast?”

Pepi stretched her back before jumping off the bed and heading to the kitchen.

…

After feeding Pepi, you set to work on making Portia her favourite breakfast. You hummed as you cooked, soon feeling a pair of arms wrap around your waist.

“Hey… I thought you were still asleep…” you smiled.

“Bed’s cold without you,” she purred, nuzzling your back.

“Do you want to help me make breakfast since you’re here?”

“You know it,” she grinned.

You smiled back as she stepped beside you and together, you started making a lovely breakfast. Occasionally, there was a playful bump of the hip or a stolen kiss on the cheek as you worked and it wasn’t long before you had your food served up. The pair of you sat down to eat with Pepi taking her usual spot nearby.

“So, what did you want to do today?” Portia asked, digging into her pancakes.

“We could tend the garden, do some baking, invite our friends for tea,” you suggested.

“Yes! Let’s do all of that!” she grinned.

You grinned back and ate your breakfast.

…

After you had finished eating, the pair of you went to check on your newly acquired chickens. It was Muriel who first gave you the idea to raise chickens and after seeing some in the market, you found them so adorable, you couldn’t resist not having them. Every morning, you would open the door to their little enclosure, collect the eggs and gave them some feed for them to scratch around in and every night, you would lock them away all safe and sound. You also had to keep a fence around your veggie garden so they wouldn’t come in and dig up or eat your vegetables.

Once the chickens were tended to, you sent out an invitation to all your friends with a time to come to afternoon tea. You weren’t sure if Muriel would even come but you hoped that maybe Asra might convince him.

You got all the ingredients out as Portia pulled out a few cookbooks. The pair of you looked at a few recipes and decided on a pie and some cookies. You worked on making the pie while Portia made the cookies. So engrossed you were on making sure the base fitted neatly into the pie tin, you never noticed the wicked little grin on Portia’s face. You were humming to yourself when suddenly, you were blasted with a sprinkling of white power. Blinking a few times in surprise, you turned to look at Portia who was doing her best to look innocent but she couldn’t stop the cheeky smile pulling at the corners of her lips.

“Did you just… flick flour at me?” you asked.

“What? Me? Of course not,” she protested, barely able to contain her snickering.

“Really? Well, I didn’t do this!”

You flicked flour back at her. She stared at you dumbfounded before grinning widely.

“Oh, it is on, Y/N!”

And just like that, a battle for the ages began. Dust clouds plumed as flour flew in the air, getting all over the kitchen, your clothes and hair. The pair of you laughed and shouted, getting carried away in the fight. The only the thing that stopped you was a sudden, sharp, “Mrrp!”

You looked down to see Pepi covered in flour, looking rather displeased.

“Oops… Sorry, Pepi…”

Pepi shook herself off and headed outside, leaving little pawprints in her wake. You and Portia looked at each other before bursting into laughter.

“We should- we should get back to work,” you managed to get out between laughs.

“We really should,” Portia agreed, clutching her stomach as she was laughing so hard.

It took a while for the pair of you to settle down but even then you still had the giggles. Eventually, you had your pastries completed and set them bake in the oven. Of course, one would take a little more time than the other so you opted to do some so gardening while you waited.

…

Portia stayed closer to the house while you tended the garden to keep an eye on the oven to make sure it wouldn’t burn. She watered some of the plants by the cottage before getting distracted by watching you weed the garden. You took great care to save the nettles (without them stinging you) for nettle tea and keep the dandelions for dandelion wine. Occasionally, you would stand to stretch your back or wipe the sweat from your brow. Portia couldn’t help but giggle as Pepi brushed up against your leg and as you bent down to do more weeding, headbutt your hands to demand pats.

She smiled to herself and thanked every lucky star she had someone like you in her life; someone who was kind, fun to talk to and loved every little part of her. Portia in turn, loved every little part of you. All those insecurities and demons from the past all seemed to fade away whenever you were together, especially on days like this.

Hearing the ding of the timer, Portia headed in to take the cookies out of the oven and swap for the pie. Once she had completed that task, she called you in for lunch while she busied herself preparing iced fruit tea and toasted the pumpkin bread you bought from the market last week with an assortment of spreads. You greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and set out to help her.

“No, no, I’ve got it. You go and sit down,” Portia insisted.

“I can help,” you protested.

“I’ve got it. You’ve been doing all that hard work outside; you deserve a sit down.”

With a sigh, you took a seat at the table. Portia already did so much for everyone, it made you feel guilty when you couldn’t help her. She soon had everything set out and joined you at the table. The first thing she noticed was your pout.

“What’s that look for?” she asked.

“Nothing…”

Portia grabbed your chin with her thumb and forefinger to make you look at her, causing your face to heat up.

“You’re pouting. Now, tell me what’s wrong,” she asserted.

“It’s just that… you do so much. Around here, at the palace, and I feel like… you deserve to be waited on… I want to spoil you…” you admitted.

Portia smiled and kissed you softly.

“Every day I’m with you I’m spoiled,” she confessed sliding her hand to your cheek.

You smiled and kissed her palm, leaning into her warm touch. The two of you stayed there like that for a moment before pulling away to finish your lunch before your guests arrived.

…

Nadia was the first to knock on your door, bringing a spiced tea from her homeland of Prakra. You began making the preparations for it while she and Portia engaged in pleasant small talk. The next to arrive was Julian, making a dramatic entrance. Portia rolled her eyes at her brother and welcomed him inside. Finally, Asra came brining Muriel with him. Muriel was reluctant to enter your home with too many people for his liking but with some encouragement from Pepi, he soon took a seat at your table.

The table was filled with the pie and cookies you had made that morning along with coffee, a pot of Nadia’s tea and a few assorted snacks and drinks.  The smell of fresh baking still hung in the air. Everyone helped themselves and engaged in lively conversation. Nadia caught everyone up on the latest happenings in the palace. Asra spoke about the gossip he overheard in the marketplace. Julian told tales of his latest escapades at the Rowdy Raven. Portia filled everyone in on how her day off went so far. Feeling like Muriel was being left out, you decided to converse with him.

“Muriel, did you know we have chickens now?”

“You do?”

You could see his features begin to relax.

“We do. I’d be happy to show you when we’re done here,” you assured him.

Muriel softly smiled and turned his attention back to Pepi. You were certain he would have preferred to leave now than be with all these people but having furry to focus on was helping him cope.

…

By the time sunset rolled around, everyone was ready to leave but not before you made good on your promise to show Muriel the chickens and locked them away safely for the night. You welcomed him to come back anytime to see the chickens and Pepi too of course.

At the end of the day, you and Portia made a nice, easy dinner and sat on the porch to unwind a little before heading to bed. Tomorrow, Portia would resume her duties as a palace servant but for now she was all yours and you were all hers. It was a perfect way to end such a wonderful day.

[bj-blazkowicz]

(forwarded to this blog from my main)

of course! i talk a lot about firearms because they're a hot button issue and misinformation about them is dangerous, but firearms are by no means the most important component of defense. they're not even strictly necessary; they help but you're not doomed if you aren't in a position to incorporate them into your life.

the general anatomy of personal safety comes in a hierarchy of priorities:

1. avoiding being put into dangerous confrontations.

2. (where prevention is not feasible) escaping dangerous confrontations that are in progress.

3. (where escape is not feasible) ending dangerous confrontations that are in progress.

it is important to note that the one thing that helps you in all three situations is community. the buddy system works wonders. if you are at risk, run errands with a friend/loved one. if you must go somewhere dubious alone, tell your nearby support system where and when you should be back, so it is apparent immediately if something is wrong. get to learn your neighbors' names, learn who is going to have your back and who could use your help.

here are my general tips for self-defense based on this model of danger:

when it comes to escaping a confrontation, a big part of this is de-escalation. do not escalate or attempt to aggravate someone who is behaving in a threatening manner. do not play the role of an active participant; someone who is going to give an attacker the confrontation that they want. use neutral body language, signal to your support system that you need help, call for help if necessary, and just get the fuck out of there. never underestimate the power of shouting and running.

when it comes to ending a dangerous confrontation, the key word is ending, not winning. you're not trying to win a fight, you're trying to get back to your life. escape is still the priority, do not stick around to 'defeat' your attacker or whatever. the use of lethal weapons is deeply discouraged when you have access to deterrents. pain deterrents such as mace, pepper spray, etc. can buy you the time necessary to get help or escape, and are far easier to carry on your person than a lethal weapon. additionally, i highly recommend carrying a rechargeable LED flashlight on you at all times. modern tech has resulted in a market saturated with affordable flashlights that pack a serious amount of lumens, and fit right in your pocket. i often forget i even have my streamlight on me, it's that comfortable to carry. and while light is an obvious resource in other situations, such as power outages or night chores, light is a key resource to self-defense. you have to see what is going on in order to address it. a nighttime aggressor may be relying on the anonymity and disorienting nature of dark surroundings to have the upper hand, and may likely be deterred by the presence of a bright light, but also most LED lights these days put out enough lumens to disorient a creep even before it gets all that dark out. getting hit directly in the retinas by a 600+ lumen flashlight at night fucking wrecks your ability to see and act. remember, disorienting an attacker long enough to get help or get out will save your skin way better than a weapon will.

it is pivotal that you practice situational awareness if you are worried about an environment posing a threat. keep your eyes on the area and off your phone. know your exits, and stick to areas that won't isolate you with a potential aggressor. keep your car/house keys handy. keep your phone handy if you need to make a call.

self-defense courses seem like an obvious point to make here, but i want to stress that the value of knowing what to expect in a confrontation is without peer. dry runs with an instructor can help you to know how to use your body to react in a split second situation; a skill many take for granted. if you want to full-on learn a martial art, that's awesome! martial arts are very good for you in a lot of different ways. but if you're worried about self-defense, be sure to stress learning how to use your body to escape/end a confrontation more than turning it into some sparring match. it's a completely different skill entirely but equally worth acquainting yourself with.

hope that helps! i try to discourage the act of 'buying' safety but a good light and some pain deterrent like pepper spray are relatively affordable compliments to the know-how that saves lives. i also recommend assembling a first-aid kit and learning how to perform first-aid. if you're going to buy a pre-made kit, that's fine, but take the time to learn every component in there and how to use it to save lives. keep one in your car, in your house, your bag if you go out, and routinely practice and review first-aid techniques.

[dukethomas]

tell me about cassandra cain

did not expect you to ask this but sure i'll bite! my opinions are largely based in batgirl (2000) bc that's primarily the appearances of her i have read

one aspect i love about them: everything abt her in batgirl (2000) i'm so serious. how steadfast she is in her morals for better or worse because she projects so hard because everyone MUST be capable of change everyone must be able to be better because what does that mean for her. how she grapples with if she's inherently a killer. if all she's made of is her base instincts. the way she's constantly learning how to interact with people throughout her run and you can see sometimes she learns well and sometimes she is clearly taking cues from bruce because bruce won't let her go outside (i.e. cass being stern w steph and telling her to get off the streets and go home and the moment steph's back is turned cass drops the act and looks so worried for her . because being demanding with steph is a LEARNED behavior from bruce bc that's how he responds to cass's failures. one day i will read war games and feel more hatred for bruce wayne than ever thought possible) the way she is such a well-developed character with thought out strengths that are also her flaws and pitfalls . and then tmk that just never happens again ? insane

one aspect i wish more people understood about them: so so so many people have said this but she's not daddy's perfect little girl she's not quiet she's not bruce's obedient soldier she's so loud in her actions you can see her thought process in her body language. she doesn't do all of this for bruce, she does this for herself, hers and bruce's morals have just happened to align so she does put him on that pedestal but if bruce's morals ever weakened he would fall off it so quickly. and also being bruce's fave bc their morals and dedication to the mission align so much.......... that is not a good thing for cass

one (or more) headcanons i have about this character: i think there could be something really poignant about cass learning to connect w her chinese heritage bc there's no fucking way she was raised with it and also no way bruce wayne's white ass is helping her do that. i think she wanders to chinatown and strikes a friendship w a middle aged immigrant lady and neither of them speak english perfectly but they communicate through actions and cass goes to festivals and events and wanders through the market during the day and as batgirl she keeps a closer eye on them do you see what i'm getting at

one character i love seeing them interact with: DUKE!!!!!!!!!!! they're so supportive of each other they're my best sibs and also i'm working on a more coherent post abt this but there's such fun parallels between them like the ways they are individually very perceptive and how much bruce sees them as salvation. as the future of his mission. they're also both stubborn as hell so i bet they have the pettiest arguments in the world

one character i wish they would interact with/interact with more: HMMMMM my initial thought is cass and renee team up because i love renee which could alternatively be called "which one of these lesbians can hate themselves more? let's find out!" rose wilson could be fun they could be fighting or teaming up i just don't want slade there

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have that involve them and one other character: duke and cass have frequent sleepovers at each other's places but sleepovers also means "i was out all day/night fighting crime and this was the closest place to crash" and they don't talk much but they are the touchy feely-est people you will ever see w each other when they're tired

[brightbeautifulthings]

The Final Girl Support Group by Grady Hendrix

"Men die because they make mistakes. Women? We die because we're female."

Year Read: 2022

Rating: 3/5

About: Lynnette Tarkington is a final girl. After surviving a gruesome holiday attack in which the rest of her family were victims, she's grown up a paranoid and over-cautious shut-in whose only contact with the outside world is a support group with other final girls, survivors of their own harrowing mass murders. When the other girls begin to go missing or turn up dead, Lynnette is convinced that they're being targeted by a new killer-- but even her fellow final girls don't believe her. Trigger warnings: character death (graphic, on-page), spouse death (on-page), parent/sibling death, cancer, hospitals, blood/gore, fires, violence, guns, abduction, needles/drugging, alcoholism/drug addiction, trauma, sexism.

Thoughts: I'm a longtime fan of Grady Hendrix, but I found this really underwhelming. In theory, I love the idea of final girls meeting together to support each other and kick some ass. In reality, it's a group of catty women who barely like each other, in-fighting and treating trauma victims like they're crazy. Generally, I like Hendrix's brand of tough, resilient female main characters, but this was not his characterization at its best. I didn't like any of the girls, and my favorite character was Fine, short for Final Plant. I did enjoy it more when they started to come together as a team, but it happens late in the book, and the end message falls a little flat.

There's usually some element of found footage in his books, in this case mostly articles and online commentary about the murder sprees and the film franchises that have sprung up around them, and I found that underwhelming here as well. A lot of it reads like a Fight Club brodude spouting bullshit theories about women and killers and what it all means (one of my only margin notes is, in fact, on one of these pages and says exactly that: "B.S."). I did enjoy Hendrix's acknowledgement section formatted as credits for a horror film though. Cute touch.

Given Lynnette's totally erratic behavior, the plot is all over the place. She doesn't have a plan for most of the book, and the majority of her decisions could charitably be considered Bad Ideas. There's an abundance of pointless travel scenes and an utterly weird detour into the death by cancer of one of the girls' wives, which feels at odds with everything else that's going on (not to mention completely out of place in a story about slashers). The only time I ever wanted more on any of the characters was when the Dream King was brought up. It's obviously a nod to Freddy Kreuger, and it seems to be kept purposely vague here, as the novel is otherwise placed in a realistic world.

This brings me to the most off-kilter thing about this novel. Hendrix has loosely based each final girl on a classic horror film (Halloween, Friday the 13th, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Scream, A Nightmare on Elm Street, what looks like some mashup of Christmas horror movies like Black Christmas and Silent Night, Deadly Night, and I want to say... Leprechaun?). This makes for really fun backstories for any horror fan, but it's at odds with the running critique in this novel about how final girls are treated in real life. People have an unhealthy obsession with the survivors, the girls are often targeted again by people who worship the original killers, and there's a whole black market catered to things from their crime scenes.

I just can't figure out what Hendrix is trying to do with this. If it's a critique aimed at the way true crime is handled in popular culture, that's apropos; I wouldn't doubt a lot of that is true about horrific tragedies like the Manson murders. If it's a critique about the way slasher killers are taken up by popular culture, that's where I get confused because the stories his characters are based on are not real. Sure, fiction can and does influence reality, but we enjoy all kinds of things in fiction we wouldn't tolerate in real life. Half the time, I felt like I should be apologizing for liking (completely fake?) horror movies, and that's alienating for what I'm assuming is the target audience of this book: horror fans. Wrong audience for that particular message-- assuming that there is an over-arching message to this novel, and I'm not convinced. It comes over mostly as a lot of half-baked moralizing with an end theme that's unsupported by the rest of the events.

[blightbear]

Hello there!

What about number 8, 19 and 25 for all (or some of your choice!) of your blorbos? :3

Hi hi!! I’m sorry, I didn’t see this until a little bit ago and it took me forever to think on 19. There’s still a lot I want to chew on with that question haha

I’m going to put 19 and 25 undercut so this isn’t so long

8. How does your character feel about religion?

Ashari:

Ashari is more in the agnostic category. Believes there is some power out there but not necessarily the Maker or the Creators. In her mind, if the Maker was real, he must be some grand comedian for the suffering people live through while others get to live the high life.

Faye:

Andradtian through and through. Now, do they agree with the chantry and their practices? Hell no. They aren’t Sebastian. Faye will pray, sing the chant, do the bare minimum. They still believe but use it to guide themselves, not others.

Mori’na:

It’s…complicated. Before, she’d say she fully believes in the Creators, do all the rituals and participate in all the festivities. She felt a deep connection with keeping that alive. She still has a small altar to pray to. Yet, after Solas, the thing with Flemeth/Mythal, and the events at the well kind of crushed all of that. She wants to believe some form of the Creators still existed, that the elves calling themselves gods were just basing it off of something already there, but in the back of their mind she knows it to not be true.

One thing is true though. Fuck the chantry.

I’m gonna add Cyra for this one too:

Absolutely crazy about it, fully believes in the Maker, Andraste, everything the chantry says. It’s her driving force.

19. What were your character’s deepest disillusions? In life? What are they now?

Ashari:

Ashari fully believed her life could be one of simplicity. Get married, go on the road selling paintings, come back, raise some kids, help Shianni demand better for the Alienage. Simple. This isn’t to say she doesn’t realize the oppression that her people face growing up, it angers her to no end. Ashari just thought the outside world was slightly better, that she could make a living. Obviously, not the case, quickly shattered by the events at the Arl’s estate. Fights tooth and nail to demand respect. Thought that taking in all the responsibility she did at the age of 20 would be easy. Very wrong about that.

Faye:

That their family could survive, live a normal life eventually. That they could protect them, protect everyone. Obviously didn’t happen.

Mori’na:

I mean, going back to the religion question, she does become quite disillusioned by it all. The Creators were a purpose, something to believe and have faith in. Now she doesn’t know what to believe anymore, and all those years the Chantry was chipping away at the psyche only wore on it more. She thought she could make a difference, make the world better for her people and get respect for their faith and values but now she’s just trying to survive.

25. What are their hobbies and interests?

Ashari:

Painting and drawing! Sketching out things helps her find her center and calm down. Of course a lot of the pages became filled with Alistair. Now, paints are rather expensive and hard to come by in the Alienage, but she found means stealing from the market stalls

Faye:

Music. Playing the lute (their mother taught them), writing and singing cheesy ballads. Makes the group cringe but they still love it.

Mori’na:

Studying all things plants and flora, flower pressing, whittling (she’s not the best at it but she tries), and star charting. I don’t talk about the latter one much but she’s looking up at that night sky quite often, and it helps with navigation. Hunter things.