#I tried to get Knockout in there for scale in that first one

[skettchyartendevours]

Knockout's trip to the aquarium!

I mainly kept him in vehicle mode for this excursion since I hadn't fully gotten the hang of his transformation yet, but I still think the photos are quite fun :]

[ezra-iolite]

More Pirateformers AU Stuff... Cause I can't draw for the life of me

Art is hard, man... I've tried so many times by now to draw Asya during my free time, but nothing seems to work in showing off how I imagine her to look.

I always say that I'm a better writer than an artist, so you know what? I'll do just that!! Consider this a placeholder for the debut of Asya's human appearance, and allow me to use this post as a writing canvas instead! Plus, this will all help me to remember how I want her to look later on, since I can describe things way better than I can draw them.

So for now, enjoy another rambling of mine for how Asya will look in @tigracespace Pirateformers AU... and after I post this, I'll do a quick story about how she'll most likely join the Immortal Sun~

Asya's Appearance:

Those who meet Asya will always notice how colourful she is upon their first meeting, mainly from her vibrant and multicolored array of long, open ruffle skirts and lace tops under equally colourful corsets, the African dot art and matching colourful makeup she wears across her ebony face, and her beloved sapphire and ruby encrusted rings on her long, black dreadlocks. These bejeweled golden rings are scattered across her entire head of hair, and are symbolic of her bond with her husbands as they bear the main colour of each lover. To ensure she doesn't get hit in the eye when her hair is let down, she is never without her beloved headband, a silk cloth bandana usually folded into a strip over the crown of her head, allowing it to more easily display its ethnic patterns of many more colours that draw the eye.

Once a person adjusts to the living explosion of colour standing before them, they'll be able to take in her more intimate and defining features beneath the decorative attire and makeup. Some of which include:

Her intimidating height (tall but average for a man, but as a woman she will often tower over many others, both men and women alike... which she loves seeing the reactions of from a person's first impression of her)

Her aquiline/Roman nose she inherited from her father

Her toned physique (got abs for days due to her hobby of athletic training growing up, and this is how she gained Knockout's attention when they became more serious in their relationship... What can I say? He likes them big and strong~)

Piercing sky blue eyes, which sometimes grow narrow and slit-like when she is furious and about to attack

The scars that litter her entire body, mainly the two thin scars over her left eye, a large straight scar going across the side of her head from the temple to behind her ear, with said ear bearing a small chip at the top, a short but thick scar over her left bicep and calf, and three jagged claw marks over her belly/abs.

She gained all but her belly scar in her youth, but as to who or what caused them... You'll have to wait and see~ ;3

Sharp upper canine teeth that she often uses on an enemy's exposed neck in a blind fury during up-close and personal battles

And finally, her prized possession... her father's claw gauntlets, ones she stole before she escaped her homeland. Crafted from what appears to be orange draconic scales, her gauntlets bear unbreakable talons/fingers that allow her to slice through flesh like a hot knife through butter, grip anything she can jump onto and climb it with ease without losing her grip, and create sparks capable of starting fires on flammable surfaces or objects with a snap of her metal talons.

..... Now onto the story, which I'll post tonight, hopefully~

**Update: She has been drawn!!! My art style still looks like crap, but I'm so proud of how she looks! 😍**

[robuttsinyourthighs]

How would Megatron, Knockout, Soundwave and Airachnid react to Predaking taking Starscream to Shockwave and Shockwave turning Starscream into a predacon? I bet Knockout would be the only one that actually feels bad for Starscream! (Also, what if Starscream has ice breathe as an opposite to the other predacons' fire breathe?🔥)

Airachnid would fuck right off. Nope out of there so fast because she knows she’s next if you’re looking at rank status. Definitely not because Starscream was dangerous enough to rip her in half, yeah, that’s TOTALLY not it ¬¬||

Soundwave is the first to find out after no one can find the seeker. He discovers some ghastly creature that was once Starscream being guarded by the massive Predacon. Shockwave reacts tersely and Soundwave immediately is aware this experiment was not sanctioned by Megatron. Soundwave tries to separate his feelings about this from his duty, but it is admittedly difficult to refrain from assaulting Shockwave rather than turning heel to report up to Megatron. He does, however, have the presence of mind to override and lockdown every single latch, hatch, and door to prevent Shockwave and his creations from escaping due process.

Knock Out and Megatron find out something is amiss when they both receive simultaneous pings - the medic’s regarding potentially needing to start reviewing file upon file upon file of medical records and scientific documents that clearly were written by Shockwave, yet sent by Soundwave?

Megatron received a very high level alert regarding grievous harm done to the second in command. He hadn’t authorized any punishment, and the other had not been sent out on any missions that could have resulted in him being vulnerable to attack. Both he and Knock Out looked to one another when they also received the follow up location - not coordinates but instead a Nemesis ship location: Shockwave’s lab.

The two mechs made their way swiftly down and found Soundwave waiting with his cables unspooled and ready for action. Wordlessly Knock Out and Megatron prepared their respective blades, the medic silently comming for his assistant to join them.

When Soundwave opened the door they were immediately faced with a furious predacon hissing and snarling, trying to falsely charge them to keep them at bay. Shockwave was walking through a ground bridge, dragging a smaller silver, red and blue accented predacon they had not seen before. It was clearly muzzled and had some sort of devices clamped to its wings and limbs to keep it from fleeing or putting up a fight.

Megatron switched to his canon, firing at the beast before him and only managing to push it back. It with two beats of its wings materials from the lab were sent scattering and flying at the mechs trying to enter the lab. Soundwave attempted to go for the mad scientist but it was too late, the dragon in the lab managing to block and distract them long enough for him to get away.

In a flurry of scaled plating and fire he blasted his way past the Decepticon leader and his medic, not bothering to fight them. He barreled through the halls and blasted his way out of the hangar, taking to the skies and fleeing the Nemesis.

“Soundwave!” Megatron snarled. “Where’s Starscream?!”

“Report:: unknown. Last seen:: With Shockwave.”

“But he isn’t here?!” Megatron roared, still scanning the destroyed lab and where the portal had closed. Soundwave pulled up the replay of the events that just occurred, zooming in on the visual feed of Shockwave dragging the unwilling small dragon out. Realization dawned on him and the medic, both horrified and then furious.

“Knock Out, gather the troops. Soundwave, contact Prime.”

Both mechs looked surprised at the second order. Breakdown jogged up to the doors, looking embarrassed being so slow to get to the scene but at least his hammer was at the ready, bless his spark. Megatron didn’t acknowledge him as he turned and walked past him.

“We’ll need to combine forces to take that atrocity and its maker down. I will not have Shockwave tainting what is MINE.” He left no room for argument, and his words left no doubt in anyone’s mind that he would see this through.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

now that I got it

Happy Christmas to my most wonderful girlfriend @spiky-lesbian who I just love absolutely to pieces. 

please reblog and leave a comment over on Ao3!

Follows on from my Jupeter high school au fic!

-----

Nureyev is eager to take his relationship with Juno further, now that they're both out of high school and have their own place.

But for someone who prides himself on being the smartest, most well prepared person in the room, dealing with your first time having sex can be a challenge...

-----

It helped if he thought of it like a mission. Though Nureyev had to admit, he’d never had a mission that required this particular set of tools.

He planned it all out in his head, down to the moment, the way he’d been taught. Even in the weeks he’d had since that part of his life ended, he hadn’t lost the skills and they helped keep him calm now.

Not that he had any reason to be nervous. He didn’t.

First, the lights. He dimmed them as much as he could, relying heavily on the light from the street outside when he realised they really only had the one naked bulb overhead. But there were the battered old electric candles, left in a kitchen drawer when he’d moved in, clearly meant for the many nights when the power went out in Oldtown. Arranged nicely on the wardrobe and the bookcase and the nightstand, they did help fill the room with something approaching an atmospheric glow.

Next, the flower petals. He only had a loose handful, fair enough, gathered sneakily from the wilting bouquets outside of a flower shop from a nicer part of Hyperion. But when he spread them out sparingly enough, around their bed and leading up to the doorway, it did look romantic. More romantic than the socks and papers and balled up, half finished job applications that scattered the carpet previously had, anyway.

Then...well then there was everything else. He’d done plenty of research, of course, he wouldn’t attempt a mission without research. But still, when he’d found himself actually in the drugstore, looking at the rows and rows of products, he’d found himself grabbing the first things that seemed to fit his description and bolting.

Not that he had any reason to be nervous. And so he wasn’t. He told himself that as he arrayed the small bottle of lube that was supposed to smell like strawberries and the box of condoms on the nightstand.

And finally there was his outfit. When he imagined how he would like to dress for this, he only came up with things that definitely had not been part of his wardrobe when he’d packed for his undercover mission to Mars. It had all been very sparse and functional, nothing remotely silky or satiny or lacy. And he definitely did not have the funds to acquire anything like that.

But that had never stopped Peter Nureyev before.

Looking at himself in the mirror, the nerves that definitely weren’t there retreated slightly. He’d gone for red silk, thinking it would match his favourite colour of lipstick, black lace edging the hem. Now it was actually on him, he had to admit it was a little too big on him, slipping down further than he’d imagined it would, the straps always seeking to slide down the hard angles of his shoulder and collarbone. But he made himself stand as tall as he could, which was really quite far, put a hand on one skinny hip, flip back the feathery fall of his hair and give the mirror a sultry, cherry lipped smile.

And the nerves that weren’t there were less there.

Smiling a little now, the thudding of his heart now feeling like something more exciting, Nureyev crossed to the bed and tried to lie out across it in a tempting fashion. He tried a few, actually, cycling through some that felt suitably tempting, copying some streams he’d seen during his research. Not that he’d watched much of them before throwing his comms to the foot of the bed and hiding his burning face in his hands.

Finally he decided on sprawling across the pillows, leaning back on one hand, one leg bent. That felt salacious enough, though his hand would start to go dead if Juno didn’t walk through the door soon. Which he should do in approximately three minutes. Nureyev had worked in some time for rush hour traffic, which always seemed to be at its thickest when the Academy let out.

He could imagine Juno’s eyes, so tired after a day of training, lighting up when he saw him. He could imagine his jaw dropping and his eyes sparking with lust, his boyfriend pouncing on him in a fit of passion straight out of some classic Earth bodice ripper, making wild and passionate love to him. Precisely as planned.

Exactly when his thoughts turned muddy and formless, Nureyev didn’t know. All he did know was the next thing he was properly aware of which was Juno standing over him, smiling bemusedly and gently shaking his shoulder.

“Uh, hey babe,” he grinned, the electric emergency lights flickering on his teeth, “Did you mean to fall asleep?”

“Oh for crying out loud!” Nureyev bolted up with indignation, so quickly that if his boyfriend wasn’t as quick as he was, he’d have been in for a nasty headbutt, “This was not in the plan!”

“The plan?” Juno blinked, eyeing the now fairly wilted petals and the candles before his eyes snagged on what Nureyev was wearing and stuck there firmly, “Oh…”

Any confidence he’d once felt evaporated quickly, Nureyev pulled his knees to his chest quickly as his skin flamed, “Um...I...I had an idea...but I wasn’t supposed to fall asleep, it wasn’t supposed to happen…”

“An idea,” Juno repeated slowly, spying the condom and lube, the pieces visibly clicking into place inside his brain, “Ah. Right. I get it.”

Nureyev groaned, head falling into his hands, “I know you said we wouldn’t do it until I felt ready and now I’m eighteen and I did, I promise I did, but when I was getting everything ready and trying to make things good and nice, it all just felt so scary even though I was ready and then I tried to surprise you and I messed it all up even through I planned it out and now...now…”

Juno gave a rough chuckle, wrapping an arm around Nureyev’s shoulders, “Now you’re going to take a breath. Because jeez, babe…”

Nureyev did, inhaling deeply and giving a long, shaky exhale, “Juno, I’m sorry…”

“Hey, come on,” Juno shook his head firmly, “You don’t have anything to apologise for. And quit thinking of it like a mission!”

Nureyev pulled a face, “Perhaps not the healthiest…”

“If you were nervous you could have just told me,” Juno pressed a kiss to his cheek that tasted of bad coffee but was needed all the same.

“I just feel silly sometimes,” Nureyev groaned, “You’re so much more confident with this than I am, you know so much more than me and it’s the same for everyone else! I’m the one that's behind.”

Juno paused a moment, a smile tugging at his lips, “Well...I can’t rig up a disguise to pass completely unnoticed in a Saturnian ballroom. I can’t scale a sheer wall. I’ve never even travelled off planet, let alone across half the system by myself. I can’t knife fight a guard twice my age and win without breaking a sweat. I can’t break into an office in the dead of night and hack my way into a computer system.”

Nureyev shifted, smiling despite himself, “ And with a broken heart.”

“Yeah, that too,” Juno laughed guiltily, smiling crookedly, “So yeah, this is one thing you’re not as experience with. But you’ve been living a really different life to me so you’ve had different experiences. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I suppose...thank you, darling. That does make me feel better.”

“Good,” Juno grinned triumphantly, kissing him again, “So if you want to get changed into something comfy, just order take out and watch dumb cartoon streams in bed like every night then thats exactly what we’ll do. But if you want to have sex and you really, truly feel ready then we’ll do that. Because honestly...babe, you look ridiculously hot in that.”

Nureuev burst into giggles, “Really?”

“I mean, you do in pretty much everything. But yeah, in that? You’re a knockout.”

“Well…” Nureyev grinned, tucking some hair behind his ear coyly, “I...I did think I rather suited it.”

Juno smiled softly at that, leaning in to kiss his cheek. He was making something of a habit out of it.

“You know, why don’t we try something that’s not as...involved as what you were maybe planning. But something I still really think you’ll enjoy,” he murmured low in Nureyev’s ear.

“I like the sound of that,” he nodded, shoulders relaxing, eyes sparking with interest.

He allowed Juno to press him gently back against the bed so he was flat on his back, shivering happily as he moved quickly to swing a leg over his hips and cover him almost completely. He loved to have Juno so close, so the whole universe became his roughened hands on Nureyev’s shoulders as he slid the straps of the neglige down to bear the top of his chest, the warm breath of his kisses across his collarbone, the coffee and soft powder shampoo smell of him, his hips pressed against Nureyev’s own.

“Do you want to know what I’m gonna do?” Juno whispered against his skin, “Or do you want the surprise?”

“Surprise me,” Nureyev answered immediately, eagerly, always unable to resist any kind of gift anticipation.

Juno chuckled, “Just say if you want it to stop then…”

They’d made out before of course, Nureyev was familiar and comfortable with this. Hands had slipped down the front of trousers, mostly his own into Juno’s in a surprising application of his pickpocketing skills, there had been a few intense and breathtaking orgasms, a few tears he’d been mortified by at first until Juno had kissed them from his cheeks and promised everything was okay.

But Juno drawing back, moving down to settle between his legs, was new. Drawing him close by the thighs, sliding his long, pale legs over his broad shoulders, was new. Nureyev felt the skin down there prickle at the closeness, at Juno’s soft exhalations against him.

“Oh…” he gasped.

“Still okay?” Juno murmured, eyes soft in the low light. Nureyev didn’t doubt for a moment that he would stop if he asked. But stopping was the last thing he wanted right now.

“God, yes.”

Juno smiled before dipping down between his boyfriend’s spread thighs and, Nureyev could have sworn, was still smiling as he ran the very tip of his tongue between them. He felt his back arch and his thighs tighten around Juno’s head, his curls raising goosebumps.

“Oh fuck…” he whimpered, the only thing he could think to say as Juno began to eat him out in earnest.

The slightest flicker of his tongue wrought screams from Nureyev, the barest nudge of his nose against his cock made him clutch at the sheets under him hard enough to tear them. One arm thrown haphazardly over his face clenched tight into a fist that would leave little half moon indentations in his palms the next morning, his feet flexed and trembled with some frantic current borne entirely of Juno’s expert attention.

It wasn’t the most drawn out session in the world, Nureyev coming hard with little warning after only a minute or two, but it wasn’t as if either of them were keeping track. However long it was, it would never feel like long enough.

“Nureyev?” Juno panted, rising up on his elbows to grin smugly at his boyfriend, his chin shining with something slick that mortified and thrilled Nureyev in equal measures.

He didn’t answer, just dragged Juno up to kiss him hard, with all the surprising strength in his thin arms. Juno gave a half laugh against his lips, answering back with so much enthusiasm that it completed the ruin of his boyfriend’s lipstick.

“You know,” he murmured, when they were both too exhausted to do anything but lean nose to nose and catch their breath, “You didn’t need to do all this to make me want to have sex with you. I love you anyways. You know that, right?”

Nureyev curled up against him, threading his arms around his chest, “Yeah. I know. And I love you too.”

And he meant every word.

[miracle-sham]

Instead of Dead, Become Two Dragons in Red.

| {MaribatMarch2020 — Week 1, Day 5: Transformation} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] |

| {Repost due to original post disappearing from the tags.} |

| Triggers/Warnings: Violence/Implied Violence, Animal Transformation, Explicit Language/Some Swearing, Implied/Referenced Character Death (but not really), Polyamory (not really a trigger/warning but if you don't like Polyamory then this isn't for you). |

| For Gotham vigilantes, rampaging magic-users always make for an interesting fight, that is of course, provided one doesn't get hit by any stray bolts of magic. However for Parisian heroes, it's just your typical Tuesday Akuma situation. |

| Word Count: 3232 |

==‹›==

| A/N: Hi! I'm not dead, sorry for how long I took to respond to comments, I got hit by a nasty cold then sinusitis so I lost basically all my Maribat March prep time thanks to that, so I just barely managed to finish this ficlet/oneshot for today, anyway I hope you guys enjoy, and if enough people enjoy it, I'll make a second part to this oneshot because I had to cut so much material and it'd be nice to be able to use it still. |

| If you want to be tagged in future oneshots/fics, or a specific Au, then comment or send me a DM/ask! |

| Also side note, Don't Like? Don't Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

==‹›==

Zzzzt-crackle-woosh, a purplish-black bolt of unstable magic flies through the air, just barely grazing passed Dragonbug's side as she flips across the gap between two buildings. Cheerfully, she calls out “Missed again!”

The villain, an amorphous black shadow with dripping molten gold eyes and donning a ruddy patchwork hooded robe (which suffice to say, looks suspiciously like a rip-off wizzrobe from the Legend of Zelda, that or a faceless Gregorian based cultist extra from a film or TV show), scowls furiously, “Oh fuck you! I'm trying my best here!” and blasts another bolt of purplish-black magic towards her.

Conveniently located on the roof she just landed on, is an air vent. She cartwheels behind it and manages to dodge the bolt by a good metre or so. “Well, your best sucks and so does your aim!”

The wizard-villain screeches in fury, “Well my aim wouldn't suck if you didn't keep moving like a goddamn Duracell bunny!”

Dragonbug snorts. “Yeah but firstly, I'm dragon and ladybird themed, not bunny-themed; the bunny theme's already taken anyway. And secondly, where's the fun in that?”

As soon as she says that, her earpiece crackles as Red Robin pipes up on the comms channel. “Ready to see some fireworks?”

“Oh, you bet!” She responds, all too gleefully.

There's a faint clink-woosh-woosh-woosh and out of the corner of her eye, Dragonbug sees a blur of a small round silver ball arcing through the air towards the wizard-villain who's quite stupidly standing in the same place. As the silver ball disappears from her view, she hears a clatter of clink-clink-clink followed by a bwoosh and a bright flash of white light. At this moment, Dragonbug is so glad the Miraculous suits protect against flashbangs of all things.

The wizard-villain screams and once the flash of light fades, Dragonbug can see that they've fallen to their knees, in the middle of the street.

Dragonbug frowns and eyes their form, then double-taps her comms. “Hey, is it me or does our rip-off wizzrobe-magic-cultist look somewhat unresponsive?”

Her earpiece crackles again as Red Robin answers, and really someone should give these things a maintenance check, the crackling can be so distracting. “Our wizzrobe-magic-cultist is looking pretty unresponsive to me too. It could be a trap though because I swear I didn't use one of my knockout flashbangs.”

She nods, despite the fact he can't see her; which upon realising this, she flushes red in embarrassment. After clearing her throat to compose herself, she tilts her head to the side. “That's concerning, unless our rip-off wizzrobe-magic-cultist is susceptible to flashes of light.” She pauses, frown deepening, “You don't think they've got epilepsy do you?”

There's a slight rustle before Red Robin responds, “No, that's not what an epileptic seizure looks like. Again this could be a trap, or they could just be stunned. Either way, we should hurry but be careful.”

“Right.” Dragonbug scurries over to the edge of the roof then flips her way down to the ground. As she lands, she just spots Red Robin vaulting across an overturned car. As he catches sight of her, she gives him a thumbs up, which he returns.

Dragonbug then nods to him and he nods back, silently communicating their plan. They both start to slowly approach the wizard-villain in a pincer movement, her to the left and him to the right.

Red Robin reaches to his bandoliers and whips out a pair of manacles. He skulks behind the wizard-villain and goes to handcuff when the wizard-villain starts cackling maniacally. The laughter is quickly followed by a forming orb of purplish-black light—the same light as the magic bolts.

Oh, fuck! Is Dragonbug's only thought as she immediately dives at Red Robin, who's started backing away; she uses herself to try and block him from the still-forming orb. Please let the Miraculous magic protect us both! She silently begs as the orb expands exponentially, unfortunately enveloping them both completely in a fraction of a second

The maniacal laughter is the last thing they both hear as they're violently launched backwards into an alleyway, and everything fades to black.

==‹›==

Kagami's lounging on the sofa at Tim's Nest and binging Netflix, when the red alert rings across all the comms units.

“Shit,” Oracle falters, “Red Robin and Dragonbug are down. Dragonbug's signature has disappeared from our systems and her comms aren't responding. All Red Robin's vitals are down, his suit isn't registering any more signs of life. But I'm still getting warnings that the villain they were fighting is still active, so everyone available needs to converge on Red Robin and Dragonbug's last known location.”

Fear immediately seizes Kagami's heart, no please, please don't be dead my loves. She double-taps her comms. “I'm suiting up as Kuro Neko, I'll be at the location in three.”

With that said, Kagami flings herself off the sofa. She glances around the room for Plagg who's halted in his eating of cheese and giving her a sad but cryptic look. Her eyes flicker to the window and he nods almost imperceptibly.

“Plagg, claws on.” There's a woosh as the poisonous green light washes over her, donning her in the Kuro Neko suit. She flexes her claws for a split second, tail whipping back and forth furiously, before darting over to the window and vaulting out of it.

As soon as she's out the window, Kuro Neko extends her baton down and begins pole-vaulting her way across the rooftops and over towards where her significant others were last.

==‹›==

When Dragonbug returns to consciousness, the first thing she notices is that she can't move, nor see, nor hear. But she can feel, and unfortunately that means she feels a strange painful pulsing throughout her entire body, as well as an excruciating aching sensation. The second thing she notices is that she's curled up on the ground and her head, or the world, is spinning somewhat. Anyway, I can safely say I'm not doing so good right about now, big ouch.

The first of her other senses to return is her hearing. Which immediately makes her hiss in pain from the sudden cacophony seemingly coming from somewhere above her? She pauses, then realises that something's not quite right, hey wait a minute, why'd my hiss sound so weird? Something's not right, although I suppose that's kinda obvious now, but still! Oh god, what if I'm dying, or I've been body switched, or—or—or—

Her thoughts are interrupted by a sudden scream of fury, ringing out from above. Which is good because it means Dragonbug doesn't get time to dwell on that particular string of anxious thoughts, but it's also bad because it's loud and causes her to whimper in pain from how loud it is.

“Where the fuck are they? What the fuck did you do to them?” A voice sounding very similar to Kagami yells out.

Wait a second, that doesn't make sense, Red Robin and I didn't call for backup, so why would Kagami suit up on her night off? Dragonbug muses to herself, brain immediately latching onto the next train of thoughts. As she muses, she slowly realises that she's starting to regain the feeling in her limbs. Which is another positive? However, the feel of said limbs, causes her mind to immediately blank and lose the train of thought. While her brain tries to figuratively perform an error message, she does finally manage to crack open her eyes, yay sight.

It's at that moment, Dragonbug's superhero experience/training kicks in. She quickly takes stock of her surroundings and quietly thinks to herself, oh fuck.

It looks like she's in a giant—no massive—version of Red Robin's suit. Have I been shrunk? She wonders for only a brief second as something moves, just out of the area of her view. She turns and squints at the movement. Not a second later, a roughly cat-sized red lizard shuffled into sight.

She squeaks in surprise, then has a minute of wait what because her squeak sounded weird and very concerningly not-human-like.

The red lizard tilts its head to the side and coos at her.

Dragonbug glares at the lizard and tries to back away. Emphasis on tries, because as she does so, she ends up tripping over herself? Confused and extremely concerned now, she glances down and oh.

What. The. Heckles. She slowly spins around, checking out her new form, because she's clearly no longer human. No, she's got a snout, scales, fur—well mane—, claws, a long snakelike body, and a tail. Spinning around, she catches sight of a gleaming piece of shiny silver metal. So does what anyone would in the same situation as her, and scuttles over to it to use it as a makeshift mirror.

The reflection that greets her is… frankly quite adorable but also she's now a tiny little lung/long dragon. Which to be fair, makes quite a bit of sense as she was using the dragon Miraculous and Longg is a lung dragon. Her scales are a pretty red with shimmery golden accents and her mane is a dark red-almost-black colour. Her eyes still have the golden yellow iris and sclera that the dragon Miraculous gives. And the rest of her is all done variation of the gold, brighter red, and darker red. So at least her colour palette doesn't clash. Okay, so the colour palette isn't the most pressing issue here, but also I don't know how to fix this or change back so y'know, I'd rather potentially be stuck like this permanently with a nice colour palette, than one that clashes. But also oh god please don't let this be permanent, there has to be a way to undo this!

In her panic, Marinette doesn't notice the red lizard slinking closer to her. As it reaches her, it gently prods her with one claw; startling her badly and causing her to squeak again, loudly.

The red lizard flinches back and Marinette realises that maybe, just maybe, that's not a random lizard. And that maybe the not-a-random-lizard is actually a drake. A European dragon that hasn't got wings. And Tim. Tim's surname is Drake. A coincidence? I think not! It's got to be Tim!

She stares at the probably-Tim dragon and makes a chirping noise because dragons don't have the same vocal cords as humans, so she can't exactly ask him if that's him or not. A minor nuisance, to say the least.

The red drake mimics her chirp. Then cautiously slinks up to her again.

This close, Marinette can see that she's probably around the size of a ferret, in comparison to him being roughly the same size as a cat.

He flops down half beside, half against her and makes a series of clicks and chirps. She can't help but to tense as he flops but as the seconds pass, she finds herself relaxing bit by bit until she's also flopped over.

Enjoying the peaceful impromptu not-quite-a-cuddle cuddle session with one of her significant others, Marinette does try to keep an ear out for any goings-on above, just in case. But all seems well.

That is until, not even three seconds later, the peacefulness is abruptly shattered by a cacophony of screams, yells, zaps, and loud bangs echoing shrilly from above, before ceasing just as abruptly as it started.

However, the unexpected cacophony still manages to cause Marinette to panic. She tenses with a low whine, hunching slightly, and holds her breath. Alert and anxiously vigilant, she can't help but survey the immediate vicinity again and again and again—looking for anything she missed initially or if anything's changed.

Tim shuffles and stumbles into a sitting position. He nudges her gently in the side of the neck with his snout. He makes a cooing noise, followed by a soft rumble—as if he were trying to imitate a cat's purr.

It takes a few seconds, but his actions start to help calm her down. She takes in a deep breath and mentally reassesses the situation. We've been turned into tiny dragons. We're inside-slash-underneath the Red Robin suit which is on the ground. Before we woke up like this, we were battling a magic-user villain who tricked us. We didn't get time to call in backup before we got hit but it sounds like backup arrived anyway. As far as we know, no one is aware of what happened to us or that we're in-slash-under the suit. We are currently safe for now.

As Marinette reaches the end of the reassessment, she feels much calmer. She makes a low trill-like-purr noise to signal to Tim that she's calmed down.

He sticks his tongue out in a blep and mimics the low trill.

Their second moment of calm is then also interrupted because apparently fate hates peace and calmness or something like that.

“I will ask you once more, Where. Are. They?” Kuro Neko questions.

There's a loud thump-snap, followed by the wheezing cackle of the Wizard-villain. “They're gone! Dead! Erased! Exterminated!” With its piece said, the wizard-villain continues to wheeze and cackle maniacally.

Marinette can't help but shiver in fear at the sound, barely able to squash the rising nausea.

A harsh snap sound echoes loudly in the street and the wizard-villain starts choking wetly.

Kuro Neko hisses something but the red robin suit muffles the words to the point of being indistinguishable.

The minutes drag by and the only sounds of note from above, are inaudible mutterings and the clattering of handcuffs and car doors. They must've handed the wizard-villain over to the police, Marinette thinks.

She's about to go nudge Tim to try and communicate that they probably need to go find somewhere to stash his suit and a place for them to hide until they can figure out how to turn back when a conversation between the vigilantes who arrived for backup catches her attention. Partly because of the topic, and partly because of how close the voices suddenly sound.

“They can't be dead, Red Robin's suit is still there.” Dick—or well more like Nightwing, since he probably arrived as backup as well—stresses.

“But Dragonbug an' her suit's gone. You'd think maybe that there'd be a little more left if just organic matter was destroyed.” Jas—Red Hood mutters, the vocal distorter in his helmet making his tone of voice sound strange.

Or maybe that's just a side effect of getting tiny-dragon-ified, thinks Marinette, things sounding stranger. Although I've not really noticed anything bar the distorted voice sounding weird.

“The Miraculous suits are made of magic, and anyway, Plagg says he can't feel Tikki or Longg's presence anywhere,” Kuro Neko admits, reluctantly. “If all living things in the vicinity of the orb were destroyed, then the Miraculous would have still been left behind.”

“And how d'you know that?” Red Hood asks, sounding both genuinely curious and mildly concerned.

There's a split second of almost icy silence before Kuro Neko responds with a clipped tone. “Akuma.”

“Ah, o'course.” Red Hood comments, voice getting closer again. “Hey, d'you think B will want to stick the Red Robin suit in a memorial case like what he did with my Robin suit?”

“Hood!” Nightwing exclaims in a horrified and almost scandalised tone of voice.

Red Hood snorts.

Marinette flinches, and so does Tim beside her, although probably not for the same reasons as her. I don't think I'll ever get used to how flippantly Red Hood jokes about his death. Even if most Parisians who've died in Akuma attacks use the same sort of gallows humour.

There's a few seconds of silence before someone grabs the Red Robin suit and yanks it upwards, causing Tim and Marinette to tumble out of it with a series of startled squeaks and clicks.

Red Hood is the first to respond to the situation, with an eloquent, “what the fuck.”

Marinette glances up and sees Kuro Neko holding the Red Robin suit and looking rather shell shocked, with Red Hood and Nightwing a few steps away.

“Oh, thank fuck they're alive.” Nightwing half mumbles, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation.

“My loves,” Kuro Neko murmurs leaning down and scooping up Marinette and Tim, “I'm so glad you're okay.”

They both squirm for a minute before relaxing into her arms.

Nightwing frowns. “We should bring them back to the cave, maybe call Zatanna and Wonder Woman.”

“To the cave then.” Kuro Neko nods, hugging Marinette and Tim carefully, making sure not to accidentally hurt or squish them.

Marinette looks up at her significant other and bleps. She then trills, content to be held for the journey back to the Batcave.

Tim however, wrinkles his nose and chirrups in protest, he squirms and tries to escape Kuro Neko's hold—probably wanting to return to the Nest and deal with this on his own instead.

Kuro Neko gives Tim a deadpan stare before expertly pinching the correct pressure point to temporarily paralyse him.

Red Hood gives her a quizzical stare.

“Akuma, as well as kwami.” She responds, sagely.

“Right…” He slowly mutters, shaking his head.

Marinette can't help but burst into laughter at that, only because she's currently a ferret-sized lung dragon, the laughter comes out as a stream of trills and chirps.

Red Hood narrows his eyes at Marinette. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, danger noodle.”

Marinette pouts, whilst internally promising herself that revenge will be swift and pasta themed.

==‹›==

When they finally arrive back at the Batcave. They're greeted by the sight of Batman and Robin at the Batcomputer.

Robin turns and sneers at them. “Of course, trust Drake to pull such an attention-grabbing stunt as this.”

Marinette immediately looks up from her snuggled up position in Kuro Nell's arms and hisses at Robin; Tim however, lets out a world-weary sigh.

“Robin.” Barks Batman, but the reprimand does nothing to quell Robin's hostility.

Fixing a glare at Robin, Kuro Neko starts to stroke Marinette's scales like an evil villain would stroke a cat (much to Marinette's delight). “Need I remind you, how you hesitated upon hearing Oracle inform us that Red Robin's suit ceased reading any signs of life.”

“That was not hesitation! I was merely preparing for Grayson or Fatgirl to become hysterical in their distress.” Retorts Robin, who then stalks away, scowling and red-faced.

Nightwing dithers between going after him or staying to check on Tim and Marinette.

Kuro Neko shakes her head. “Go after him, Marinette and Tim will be fine without you hovering like a mother hen.”

Nightwing flashes her a grateful smile and scampers after Robin.

Kuro Neko then heads over to the medical bay and gently plonks the two dragons onto a cot. “Batman, I believe we will need to do as Nightwing suggested earlier, and call Zatanna and Wonder Woman. As this is a magic situation and I am not as skilled or knowledgeable in regards to magic as my love is.”

“Hhrrm,” Batman growls, already calling up the Watchtower.

Kuro Neko smiles softly as she glances down at her significant others, eyes twinkling with mirth. “Let's hope they arrive soon, otherwise who knows what sort of trouble you two could get into.” She winks.

Marinette chirps, tail flicking side to side eagerly. Whilst Tim perks up slightly and tilts his head to the side, mind probably racing with hundreds of pranks and shenanigans they could pull off whilst in dragon form.

==‹›==

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little oneshot! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| @maribat-march2020 | | @vixen-uchiha |

[cherrybloomn]

Delicate - Chapter 3

Note: ok Chapter 3 is here. Your opinion is always welcomed (criticism included!). Its my first stoey ever so please be kind. I know I have much to work on, but I hope that it will get better and better.

I would like to thank very (VERY) much @musings-sans-muse and @shellbilee for your support, help, ideas, everything! You girls rock!!

Thank you @oddsnendsfanfics for your encouragement!

Warnings: swearing

April 2020

 

Naomi spent the whole March shooting her show in Berlin (as there was a theatre festival) and preparing the charity event for children. She managed to schedule everything– the place (Hyde Park), the catering, the guests. Obviously, everything was cancelled due to coronavirus restrictions. Everyone was forbidden to go to the tv studio, so Naomi worked on the new scripts of the episodes, watched movies, wrote reviews of new plays, etc.

Since their last lunch, Naomi had been regularly in touch with Henry, mostly via WhatsApp. They have met a couple of times. The more she talked with him, the more she liked him. He made her laugh. But not only that. He seemed to care about others, yet had this reasonable attitude - often saying that you can’t change the world alone.

She valued him for being the voice of reason. They have known each other for only two months, yet she told him a lot about her family and difficult relationship with her father (who was a real - life spitting image of Logan Roy from The Succession), her issues with James, her weird fascinations of criminal stories about murderers and disappearances and the II World War.

One day she had just come home and put the groceries on the kitchen island, when her phone buzzed. She picked up the video call. Henry. The thought of seeing his face and talking to him always shifted her mood. “Hello boy. Give me a moment I need to wash my hands. I’ve just been out in a bad, bad store.” She giggled and headed to the bathroom with her phone, placing it next to the sink.

“Of course. I can see your tits now, by the way. No worries though, I enjoy the view.” He chuckled lightly. Naomi rolled her eyes and quickly moved the phone to the higher counter. She took a minute to study Henry’s face. Something was off. She couldn’t tell if he looked sad or tired. It was off though. She was wondering why. In this very moment she also realized that he was one of very few people, who were… important to her. Not in a romantic kind of way. No. Naomi didn’t date, she didn’t want to build a relationship with any man, not anymore. Still, he was important. 

“Helloo..” Henry waved his hand from the other side of the screen.

“I’m sorry. I thought of my round, perfect, little tits. Changing the awkward subject, how are you doing in times of isolation? You look tired. Is everything ok?” Naomi dried her hands with a towel, grabbed her phone and headed to the kitchen. She placed her phone on the kitchen island, leant on her elbows and focused on the phone screen.

“I’m fine. A bit anxious I think. Not my best day today. That’s why I’m calling. I expect to hear some entertaining story about your crazy childhood.”

She laughed, and thought for a moment. “I’m not in the mood today. You know, I almost got a role in the Moulin Rouge musical in the Old Vic. I mean I did get the part of Satine, and I was so excited, as it would be my debut after all these years. Unfortunately, they called today that due to the lockdown, the project has been entirely called off.” She shrugged “At least Netflix doesn’t disappoint. There’s the Money Heist premiere today.”

After a second she added “Join me today! Look I know it’s illegal, alright? But I can promise we will keep the two – meter distance. I can offer you good whiskey and whatever meal the chosen restaurant could provide. Except for pizza and other carbo shit. I’m on a low-carbo diet. You know I’d love to say I’m one of those women who can eat everything because they’re so cool and don’t care about their looks or have a wonderful metabolism. But unfortunately, I’m not them. My metabolism is my enemy and I do fucking care about how I look because the CEO of BBN asks about my weight like once a month.” She smiled at him “So, take it or leave it.”

“I take it. I can cook something if you want. Oh, can I take Kal with me?”

“Cooking – ok. Sounds cool. Kal – Henry, in general of course. But you need to keep in mind I’ve got two Pomeranians – and as much as they love people and small dogs, they sometimes hate the big ones. So, bring Kal with you and in case there’s war, I’ll take Marilyn and Audrey to my neighbor.”

They discussed the details about the dogs’ meeting and decided to meet at 6 pm. Naomi took her time to call her mum and friends, take her dogs for a walk and take a shower. Afterwards she applied a bit of makeup, put on her black Nike leggings and white tank top. She let her hair loose so that it could dry quickly. Just after she poured herself a glass of water, her phone buzzed and Henry informed, he’s waiting outside with Kal. Naomi called her dogs and all of them headed to the small park near her apartment. Naomi couldn’t stop laughing when she spotted Henry with the Salvador Dali mask on – a kind of tribute to Money Heist, which they were going to watch.

Unfortunately, just as Naomi thought, there was no love between Kal and Marylin. At least Audrey accepted the big bear immediately. Naomi decided to take Marylin to her neighbor, and the rest of them headed to her place.

Much to Naomi’s surprise, Henry cooked a delicious dinner, and they spent the whole evening watching five episodes of the Netflix series. Being her kittenish self, Naomi gently touched Henry’s knee with her toes from time to time. “Heey… relax.” She said with a smile. “I can tell you something nice, wanna hear?”

Henry raised his eyebrow and looked at her with a smirk “Go on, entertain me.” He gently rubbed her ankle with one hand, the other one was supported on the back of the sofa.

“Alright..” Naomi closed her eyes for a moment and enjoyed the delicate massage. Finally she looked him in the eyes. She smiled shyly and turned her face away, “Henry.. Do remind me please, is your dad a boxer?” She asked coyly.

Henry seemed a bit puzzled “No, no. Have I ever said that he was?”

“Well no...but damn, I’m asking because you’re such a knockout!”.

They both burst out with laughter.

“What a cheesy pickup line, I love it! Where do you know that from?”

Naomi started to play with her hair “Well, it happens to me all the time” she joked. “It’s nice to see you laughing.” She added after a second.

At around 3 a.m. they decided it was really late, so they were to terminate their evening with just one glass of Jack Daniels (due to her diet Naomi didn’t drink alcohol, but promised to have a goodbye drink).

Naomi brought two glasses to the living room and sat on the sofa. Henry was sitting on the opposite side. Once Naomi extended her hand and handled him a glass of whiskey, he slowly grabbed the glass with one hand and held her wrist with another. “What a massive rock!” He said, looking closely at her two - carat diamond engagement ring. He gently caressed her knuckles with his thumb. His touch, ever so gentle made Naomi shiver. Something about it felt so wrong and so right at the same time. “Has James proposed to you? I had no idea”. Henry let go of her hand and supported himself on the back of the sofa.

 “No, of course not. It’s an engagement ring I was given by my husband. I often wear it.” Naomi didn’t like to talk about her marriage with anyone. She felt very comfortable with Henry and they talked about many personal things, but she never mentioned her married life.

Henry slowly nodded. “You never talk about your marriage.” He took a sip of his drink and after a couple of seconds asked “Do you still love him?”

Naomi zoned out for a second, focusing her eyes on the floor. Her hand tried to retrace Henry’s touch on her knuckles. This touch. So delicate. It was one of the most intimate moments she’s ever experienced. Why was it so intimate - she didn’t know. She had had a lot of sex lately. Mostly with James. James never touched her this way. Why? Why had nobody ever touched her this way, she thought.

“Naomi.” Henry’s low, but soft voice snatched her out of her thoughts. She looked at him with slightly parted lips. What were they talking about? Oh, right. Her ex-husband.

“Do I love my husband? Because I wear the engagement ring? No. Not at all. I just love expensive jewellery with big diamonds.” She chuckled looking at her engagement ring. “That’s the secret. But no. I have no feelings for my ex - husband. As for why I don’t talk about my marriage, there’s just nothing to talk about. I was 20, he was 34 at that time we got married. I wanted to be an actress, he was a serious entrepreneur. I wanted to run away from my mum, who was trying to take over my whole life, and he was looking for a young woman to build a home with. At some point it didn’t work out. We had a nasty divorce and division of assets. He then moved to Moscow, and as far as I know he still lives there. The end.”

Naomi refilled Henry’s glass with whisky, Naomi willed herself to focus back on the conversation and not on the ghost of his touch that lingered on her skin. “What about your love life, Mr. One Hundred Questions to Naomi Poesy?” She asked and winked at him.

“You know how it is Naomi. It’s just hard to get involved with someone, if you have this kind of job. It’s all about either accepting my schedule and traveling with me, or building a long – distance relationship. It hardly ever works. Also…”

Naomi suddenly held her right hand up in a stop gesture. “I’m sorry, but I just have to interrupt here. That sounds like you’re trying to find a justification. I mean – and I’m really sorry for sharing my opinion unasked – but building any relationship is hard in general. Do you really think your situation is any different from a situation of CEOS or anyone who has a career, money and power? The scale may be different but the issues are all the same. I mean a CEO of a big insurance company does have the very same problems. He asks the same questions - if his new other half is with him because of his status, money, position or because she’s in love. And the schedule thing – sure it’s hard to build a relationship when you’re on the set for a couple of months and it literally consumes all of your time. Trust me though, it’s not easier if you work as a physician or a lawyer, or if you work in a big tv corporation like I do. Instead of being on the set for a couple of months, people work their asses off every day, because they have loans to pay, plans to realize. And they usually don’t have any breaks. The fact that you get back home to your other half after 9 pm does not necessarily make your relationship better. It’s just the matter of what you’re expecting from a relationship.”

Henry just nodded and added after a moment “I just want to have a family of my own.”

“Well. But this is not the answer to the question of what you are expecting from a relationship. I mean, obviously everyone wants to start a family. The question is – what does it mean to you? Some want to start a family because they hate to be lonely, some feel like they need to take care of others, and some just feel like it makes them feel complete. You know sometimes you meet the person you resonate with, you feel the great chemistry with, but it just doesn’t work because of lots of other factors like the timing, circumstances etc. So, what I mean is that you really need to know what you expect from your partner so that you can fight for it.” She thought about what she said for a minute “Hm.. it sounded much wiser in my head before I verbalized it.”

Henry laughed and looked her in the eyes licking his lips. That gentle touch. After a few seconds of glancing at each other she smiled at him and shyly turned her face away. “Ok, enough. Don’t try to charm me here.” She grabbed her phone from the coffee table. “Man, it’s 4 am! I’m not surprised I’m bubbling something half intelligent. I should be sleeping already, I have promised to help Sarah tomorrow morning. This morning. If you want to you can stay, I have a guest room and a spare toothbrush.”

“Thank you, but I guess I better get back home.” He grabbed his phone and ordered an Uber. “I just have to say” he started as they both stood up and headed towards the hall. “You are so tiny without high heels!”

She laughed “No shit Sherlock.”

“No, but seriously. I wanted to say” he stopped there and looked at Kal. It seemed like he was fighting with his thoughts whether to verbalize what he wanted to say or not. “I really like spending time with you.”

Naomi crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t date Cavill.” She said with a smile.

Henry just nodded and leaned towards her, so close that their faces were just inches away, and said “Well, pity.” He chuckled and leaned even closer to give her a goodbye kiss on a cheek “Bye, girl. Get some sleep.” He then took a step away and called for Kal, who was already bouncing on his legs ready to go.

Naomi reached to open the front door for them, but instead of doing it, she turned towards Henry and leaned against the door. She noticed his clenched jaw, then placed her eyes on his lips and eyes. She slowly grabbed the drawstring of his hood with her right hand and wrapped it around her fingers. “Hey.. I don’t, but what would you do if I did date…?” she asked playfully. She bit her bottom lip in anticipation.

“Naomi..” Henry smiled lightly at her, and tenderly touched her cheek, moving his fingers from her cheekbone through her lips to her chin. He was slowly studying her face. Naomi looked at him stunned, her lips parted, she was not expecting that.

“I’m 37. I’m too old to play this game. Please, don’t play with me.” He stroked her cheek once more with his index finger and stepped back. He fastened Kal’s leash. In the meantime Naomi unlocked the door and moved back.

“Goodbye” He gave her a warm smile and left.

Naomi quickly closed the door and tried to understand what had just happened. She felt all the emotions at once - arousal, humiliation, sadness, anger, happiness. She brushed her fingers through her cheek. That gentle touch. She took a deep breath. In her entire life Naomi had always been the “tough guy” - first in ballet school, at home, when her mother suffered from depression, and Naomi had to take care of her mother and her brother, then drama school. Establishing her position in television was not easy either. Oh, and her marriage. She was just a girl when she got married and her older husband always knew better. The random men she fucked after she got divorced. James. They all wanted to have her, possess her. And she kind of liked it. It made her feel attractive and in charge. But that touch was somethings new.

Naomi felt the tears welling in her eyes, as if for the first time in her life, she experienced such a gentle touch. And it felt so good.

[pucksnsticksnhockeyboys]

holiday party

summary: you may not be the average size of the typical girl a professional athlete might want, but you’re exactly Brett’s type.

warnings: plus-size reader, mentions of self-image problems, swearing

word count: 2.7k

requests are open!

Right now, you were seriously regretting the outfit you were currently wearing, but the mirror you were critiquing you appeared in. In the store, you seemed to have all the confidence in the world. The fabric of the dress was just a tad bit too tight around your waist, showing off the stomach you desperately tried to hide on a daily basis. 

Growing up, you had always been on the heavier side of the scale. No one ever said anything to you directly about it, but sometimes, you could still hear the girls at your old high school making comments about you as you walked past, ones clearly not meant for you to hear. You were short, with thicker arms and thighs and definitely a softer stomach that protruded outwards. Usually, you wore jeans and sweaters that covered anything you didn't want anyone to see, but the dress you were currently poking and pulling at was completely different.

When you had bought it at the store, your friend had been with you. She, of course, cheered you on and spurred you to buy the dress, claiming you could use it for a night just like this one. 

You were supposed to be accompanying your best friend Brett to a holiday party, one that was a little fancier since, as his teammate Ryan so eloquently put it, ‘we’re fucking adults, we’re going to drink wine and listen to holiday music and mingle’ when he invited you after one of their games. 

A knock on your bedroom door brought you back to reality just enough to call out a soft ‘come in’ but you were still absentminded enough to continue to pull at the fabric, trying to make it less—you weren't even sure what you were trying to accomplish, but you just wanted to look different. That was always your problem, wanting to change your appearance. 

“What’re you doing?” The familiar voice belonging to Brett sounded from your doorway, and you spun so quickly, like a kid who had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar, that you almost stumbled over your own two feet. He was leaning against your doorframe, and amused smile on his attractive face. You gave yourself a second to take in his appearance, mostly because you weren't sure how to respond to his innocent question. 

He was wearing a pair of dress pants and shoes, with a nice, white, button up. The top couple of buttons were undone, and his hair was styled the way he usually had it when he was dressing up. The outfit was so simple yet so attractive, it was easy to see how you fell for him as quickly as you did. Not to mention, he was incredibly kindhearted and hilarious when the time was right. 

But then you remembered where you were headed—a holiday party for adults, and adults bring their significant others to these type of events. You were headed out to go mingle with a bunch of hockey players and their probably drop dead gorgeous wives and girlfriends, while you arrived with Brett as a friend looking the way you did. 

Friends. That’s all you ever would be to him. While you were pining away, stuck in your small apartment, he was free to travel across the country and be with whoever he chose. And it didn't matter that in the two years you had known Brett that he had never brought a girlfriend around to meet you, you were just waiting for the inevitable day when he looked at someone else the way you looked at him. 

Brett called your name out, softly, when you took too long to respond. Your brows were furrowed from your time spent in deep thought and your whole body was tense. You knew that, from the sheer amount of time you spent together—as just friends—he was able to tell something was up with you. So, instead of giving him a chance to question you about it, you turned away from him and back to the mirror. 

“I think I might change to a different dress.” You stated, unable to meet his gaze through he mirror no matter how much you wanted to. It was hard enough to think so poorly of yourself when you were alone, and now that you had an audience the thoughts that kept stumbling into your head felt stifling. But you if had glanced up, even if only for a fraction of a second, you would’ve seen the look of utter confusion on Brett’s face. 

“That one looks really good on you, though.” He tried to reason and all you could manage was a bitter laugh. How could he not see just what you were looking at in the mirror? That nothing about how the dress fell across your stomach looked really good? He was sugar coating it, surely, taking his job as best friend seriously. He was supposed to tell you that you looked good.

“It’s just... I don't know.” You struggled to find the words, hoping he would pick up on your insecurity and leave so you could change into something looser. Apparently, he wasn't as skilled at reading you as you had thought, because he was stepping further into the room and to your closet, grabbing the heels he knew you’d want to wear. They were your comfiest pair, and whenever you accompanied Brett to something that required fancy shoes, you’d always pick that pair. 

“We’re running late, anyways, so come on.” Brett told you as he got down on his knees before you, fumbling with the clasp to your heels. You blushed when you realized he was putting on your shoes for you. Now, you were stuck with the stupid dress and you couldn’t help but feel like you were on fire when his fingers brushed against your ankles while he worked. 

“You didn't have to do that.” You mumbled, embarrassed, once Brett was standing again. To avoid his gaze, you walked out of your room, leaving him trailing behind you in search of your coat. He saw it first, snatching it off the back of your kitchen chair while grabbing his own. 

“Yeah, but it was faster.” He replied as you followed him out the door, making sure to lock it behind you. You tried not to think about how domestic it felt to have him help you get ready, and you definitely avoided wondering about how much it felt like you were heading to this holiday party as his date, not just a friend.

On the ride over, you tried to keep the conversation flowing easily with Brett. but was hard, since your mind kept trailing back to worrying about how you looked and your fingers kept tugging at the dress, as if that would make it looser. Brett seemed to notice your actions, and he finally confronted you about it when you were in the elevator up to Ryan Strome’s apartment where the party was being held. 

“Why do you keep doing that?” He questioned, and your head snapped to him, brows furrowed as you hadn’t been really paying attention to anything around you. “Pulling at your dress, I mean.” After he elaborated, you could feel your face heat up and the elevator was suddenly taking too long to each its destination. 

“I don’t know.” You replied shortly, unable to meet his gaze. Deep down, you knew he hadn't meant to make you uncomfortable, that the question came from genuine curiosity instead of malice, but it affected you as if it had. You knew Brett wasn’t blind, and he clearly must have seen just what set you apart from other women, so you assumed that he would be able to pick up on the fact that you felt unattractive in the dress. Was he just toying with you?

The door dinged open, and the faint sound of Christmas music could be heard from Ryan’s apartment, which you hurried to. Brett was easily able to catch up to you by the time you were knocking, and you made it a point ignore his curious look, questioning just what he had done wrong to invoke your annoyance. 

“Then why’d you buy it?” He continued to ask, which only managed to frustrate you further. Right now, you needed to put some space between yourself and Brett to clear your head. You knew you were being irrational, and it wasn’t fair to Brett, but you couldn't help the negative thoughts that were plaguing your mind.

“I don't know, okay?” You snapped at the same time Ryan opened the door. Poor Strome, who had been in the process of being a good host, got caught in the crossfire of your attitude. He looked like a deer caught in headlights and he looked between you and Brett. He had never seen the two of you arguing, no one had, because you both were pretty good about telling each other what was up before a fight could ensue, but you had been bottling these feelings up for so long and Brett just didn't notice. 

Before either teammate could say anything, you were brushing past Ryan and entering the party. When the crowd inside saw you, they cheered and you plastered on your fakest smile you could muster. Chris offered you a glass of wine, and you very readily took it. A glance to the door out of the corner of your eye told you Ryan was pestering Brett for answers on what had you in such a sour mood, and neither were doing a very good job at hiding the fact that they were talking about you. Ryan pointed his thumb over his shoulder, loosely gesturing to you and Brett was staring directly at you, watching your every movement. 

That only worked your confidence, having his eyes on you, searching for something wrong. 

It was going to be a long night.

Half an hour had passed since your arrival and you hadn't spoken directly to Brett yet. Not for lack of trying on his part, though. He’d make comments on stories you were telling the group, and you’d only nod, not meeting his eyes and taking a sip of your drink to help swallow the lump that’d form in your throat.

“Spill. What’s gotten into you?” Gracia, Brady’s girlfriend, questioned you as she, Marc’s wife Lindsay, and Ryan’s wife Sydney cornered you in the kitchen while the rest of the party continued in the living room. 

“Nothing?” You lied. As much as you loved the girls, no part of you wanted to confess to the group of knockouts that you felt insignificant compared to them. Especially since they were nothing but kind to you ever, Lindsay even acting as your second mom when you missed home too much. 

“Bullshit!” Sydney called, a grin on her face and wine clasped in her hand. She was tipsy, you all were, and the slight level of drunkenness seemed to remove everyone’s filters. “You’re ignoring Brett, so what’d he do?” Her question felt so loaded, because in reality, he hadn't done anything. You and your irrational overthinking had you ignoring him for no good reason. 

“Brett looks like a lost puppy without you out there. It’s sad, really. Marc thinks you rejected him.” Lindsay spoke, and you weren’t sure she even knew what she chose to end on, because your eyes were bugging out of your head.

“Reject him?” You stammered, gripping your cup tighter. “No, what—”

“Exactly! I told him you wouldn’t reject him because you’re like, in love with him.”

“Lindsay, what?” Your face was on fire and all three women were grinning at you, like they hadn't just announced to whoever could overhear them the one fact of life you tried so hard to hide. 

“So what’d Brett do, huh?” Gracia teased, excited to hear some drama. She knew that whatever likely transpired between the two of you was something you would be able to get over, together, because you and Brett knew each other so well. 

“He didn’t do anything—”

“You’ve been like, really distant tonight, though.” Sydney cut you off. “Ryan said you snapped at Brett when he answered the door.” Your face flushed at this, and you weren't sure how much more you could handle. The girls continued to pester you, trying to uncover what happened before you got to the holiday party.

“It’s this fucking dress!” You caved, practically shouting as you felt the lump start to form in your throat. The girls stopped their questions, but the gates were already open. “I feel so fucking ugly in it, especially compared to you guys. Like, I know it’s important to love oneself, but it’s hard, you know?” Lindsay called your name softly, but you ignored her, too caught up in your ranting with your gaze trained on the floor to notice her looking at something—someone—behind you. “And Brett didn’t do anything tonight. He was incredibly sweet and caring and you're right, I do love him, but he’ll never see me as anything more than the best friend. I guess I just got annoyed at him for not realizing—”

This time, you cut yourself off when you felt a hand on your arm. The hand, quickly spun you around and you found yourself face to face with Brett. Your sight was blurry from the tears that had built up during your rant, but you could still see the look of pure seriousness on his face. You barely register the girls excusing themselves, leaving you and Brett alone in the kitchen. 

You wanted to follow them, to run away and hide. Brett had just heard you say everything you had spent so much time and energy keeping from him, from you image issues to literally confessing your love for him. He should be running away, never wanting to see your face again. 

But instead, he just stood in front of you, studying your face as if it was the first and last time he’d ever see it and he needed to memorize every detail. You wanted to step back, put some distance between you and him but the look in his eyes made it impossible for you to move. 

“Do you really think that about yourself?” Brett’s voice was quiet, as if he didn't want to break the stillness of the room. You hadn't anticipated that being his first question. You had figured that he was trying to find a way to let you down gently. 

“Um, yeah?” It felt uncomfortable to say that to him because judging by the look in his eyes, you could’ve sworn he was in love with you. The way you could see the heartbreak in eyes made you want to take back your words.

“You shouldn’t.” Brett simply said and it took everything in you to not roll your eyes. To deflect his comments of assurance. A tugging sensation in the pit of your stomach told you to listen to him, to hear him out. As if he could hear the debate going on in your head, he grabbed your hands. “And you have to listen to me, because I love you, too.”

You felt your heart stop in your chest. You wondered for a moment if this was a dream, but Brett squeezing your hands in his brought you back to reality. Your eyes must have widened comically, because Brett was chuckling. Before you knew it, he was leaning forward to brush his lips on your forehead. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, relishing in the feeling. Of course, Brett had kissed your forehead before, but the action felt so much more heavenly since he had just confessed his love for you. 

“When we go home tonight, we can talk about what I heard, yeah?” Brett started and you nodded, still in a state of shock to really understand what he was saying. The adoring look in his eyes and the fact that you just knew him so well leading you to trust whatever he had in mind. “Right now, I just want to show my gorgeous girlfriend off to everyone out there.”

Now you were positively beaming. You were on cloud nine, he just called you his girlfriend. This was not the way you had planned on this night ending, but that was perfectly fine with you. All you could manage out was a simple, one word response, having finally found your voice. But it was enough to have Brett dropping another kiss to your hairline. 

“Okay.”

[thebladeblaster]

Pokémon: the Vanguard Descends

Chapter 23 The Town Ruled By The Fossils (cont.)

“Aichi’s gotten pretty strong huh, Kai?”, Miwa said as Kai didn’t respond just watching Aichi.

“Let’s see if that knockout was beginner's luck! Go, Megarex! Use dragon tail!”, Gunji called out, throwing out a Rampardos.

“Soul Saver use dragon dance.”, Aichi ordered as Soul Saver dodged the tail swipe.

Soul Saver danced around Megarex as it tried to hit it.

“Soul Saver use dragon pulse!”, Aichi ordered.

Soul Saver shot dragon pulse from its mouth at Megarex while it was mid attack knocking it out.

“Woah!”, Miwa gasped.

“How did Aichi get this strong?”, Misaki asked Kamui.

“For this past week he’s been training with Alfred.”, Kamui explained.

“Where did they go? When I looked I couldn’t find them anywhere.”, Miwa asked.

“He was in my castle.”, Alfred replied.

“And where is that?” , Miwa asked.

“Near Kagero town, it simply has an enchantment on it so that only the one who is worthy can find it. Aichi found it rather easily.”, Alfred explained.

“I guess i’m not worthy.”, Miwa chuckled, sheepishly.

“So, that’s why I couldn’t find him anywhere!”, Kamui replied.

“Go, Tyrant Deathrex! Use dragon claw!”, Gunji called out, throwing out his final Pokémon which was Tyrantrum.

Soul Saver easily weaved around the massive Pokémon while using dragon dance. Deathrex uselessly swung down as Soul Saver with its claws trying to catch the smaller Pokémon.

“Reminds you of you guys first match huh?”, Miwa said to Kai.

“This gym leader is a joke.”, Kai commented.

“Soul Saver use dragon pulse!”, Aichi ordered.

“Ahh! Tyrant Deathrex use head smash!”, Gunji ordered.

Deathrex rammed into the beam of energy as Soul Saver moved out of the way. It shot at Deathrex again who charged at it.

“It’s useless! Your Fraxure is too puny to defeat my Tyrant Deathrex!”, Gunji laughed as he taunted him.

Aichi didn’t look very amused or concerned. He looked at Soul Saver, able to sense something.

“Soul Saver is going to evolve in a minute.”, Aichi said as the others gasped.

“How do you know that Aichi?!”, Kamui questioned.

“It must be the link that guy mentioned.”, Kourin replied.

Gunji growled at how confident Aichi seemed in his prediction.

“As if! Even if it did it’s still too puny!”, Gunji said.

“Size isn’t everything. 30, 29, 28…”, Aichi said as he started to count down.

“You can’t be serious, you're actually counting down?!”, Gunji question.

Soul Saver continued to shoot at Deathrex getting increasingly frustrated it couldn’t defeat it.

“Fraxure! Fraxure! Fraxure! (Grr! Just go down you big jerk!)”, Soul Saver roared.

“3,2…1.”, Aichi said as Soul Saver started to with the light of evolution and everyone minus Kai gasped.

Soul Saver got much taller and it’s scales were now yellow and it still had a black underbelly. The teen that stuck out of the sides of its face now resembled black axe blades that were lined with red. Its scales were more like armor now and it’s tail, arms, and legs were longer.

“He was actually right?!”, Kamui gasped.

Soul Saver’s eyes now glowed and it gained a dark blue aura as it gave into its rage charging at Deathrex recklessly. Deathrex swung at it, but it dodged slapping it in the face with its tail. It then clawed at Deathrex from on top of it as it tried to shake it off. This only made Soul Saver angrier as it then bit down on Deathrex deeply. The blades from its axe-like teeth dug into Deathrex’s scales.

“Get him Deathrex!”, Gunji called out, as nothing was working.

“You can’t win now. End this futile struggle Soul Saver!”, Aichi said as his voice noticeably sounded deeper.

“You don’t think their emotions are linked too are they?”, Kourin questioned, noticing Aichi’s complete mood swing when Soul Saver got mad.

The others looked at Aichi noticing the familiar chilling vibe he was giving off. Alfred hovered over to Aichi looking at him glaring at Deathrex.

Soul Saver sent one final massive blue blast out of its mouth at where Deathrex was hurt engulfing it. When the blast dispersed Deathrex was on the ground, fainted. Kamui and Misaki could hardly breathe recognizing the way Aichi was walking and the change in demeanor.

“It looks like I win. I don’t suppose you still have the badge do you?”, Aichi asked.

“A wins a win. It seems your stronger than me.”, Gunji said as he swayed giving the Dino badge to Aichi.

Soul Saver started to calm down a bit as the fight had ended. They noticed Aichi’s shoulders seem to relax a bit as it did. The vibe around him returned to normal as Aichi looked down at Gunji.

“We should bring him up with us we can’t leave him here.”, Aichi said, his voice completely returning to normal.

“What just happened to you?”, Alfred asked as Aichi looked confused.

“What do you mean?”, Aichi asked.

“You got mad when Soul Saver did and you calmed down when he did. It’s like you two are in sync.”, Kourin explained.

Aichi blinked confused as Soul Saver ran over to him happily rubbing his head against him. Aichi smiled patting Soul Saver’s head seeming a bit happier as well.

“This is seriously freaky.”, Kamui commented.

“I didn’t notice.”, Aichi replied.

“So, you're saying Aichi is now subject to sudden mood swings based on the emotions of a baby Pokémon?”, Misaki questioned.

“Y-yes.”, Kourin replied, feeling like face palming.

Kai face palmed at the thought.

“So, he’s just like a pregnant woman.”, Miwa commented as Misaki and Kourin glared at him.

“Aichi really is Soul Saver’s mommy…”, Kamui commented, sweat dropping.

“So, if Soul Saver throws a tantrum Aichi could go completely berserk…”, Misaki realized, the very thought of it made her pale.

“That would be real bad.”, Kamui replied.

“That is very concerning...you hear that Soul Saver you’ve gotta be on your best behavior now. The link also seemed to get stronger as you evolved so it’s a it’s likely at maximum strength now.”, Alfred said to Soul Saver who childishly stuck it’s tongue out at Alfred.

“Don’t worry to much everything will be fine.”, Aichi replied.

“Haxorus. Haxorus. Haxorus. Haxorus.(Yeah, mama says don’t worry so don’t worry.)”, Soul Saver said.

They sweat dropped and Aichi surprisingly didn’t seem that worried. It was extremely unlike him. Likely being affected by Soul Saver’s whimsical mood.

“Guys I’m scared…”, Kamui said, sweating nervously seeing how much of an impact Soul Saver’s emotions were making on him now.

To be continued...

[nazariolahela]

Something Domestic: Chapter 1

A/N: Hey y'all! This is a new TRR AU I’ve been working on. This story is told in first-person narrative, from Riley’s (MC) POV. There will likely be smidges of canon in this, but not too much. Thanks for reading, and please leave feedback, and/or if you would like to be tagged.

Thanks to my guardian angel and internet best friend forever, @burnsoslow. I appreciate you, boo! 😘

Synopsis: When Riley Brooks takes a new job as a nanny for the affluent Rhys family in New York’s Upper East Side, she assumes she’s just going to care for the children of the couple who hired her. But instead of just school pick-ups and afternoon snacks, she also finds herself spending time with Liam, the handsome divorced dad. Can Riley control her feelings for Liam while still performing the job she was hired for?

All characters are the property of Pixelberry Studios. Thanks for allowing me to borrow them.

Chapter Summary: Riley meets her new employers.

The city zooms by as I stare out the tinted windows of the town car I’m riding in. I’m on my way to interview for the nanny position for one of the most upscale families in New York and my palms are damp. What if the kids don’t like me? What if I don’t like them? Or the parents for that matter. What if the father tries to seduce me? Will the mother have me fired because she thinks I’m sleeping with her husband? Thoughts invade my mind as I try to calm myself. I’ve never nannied for a family of this stature before and I don’t know much about them, other than who they are. Depending on how this job goes, it could make or break my career.

The car stops in front of a luxurious penthouse. I crane my neck to scale the height of the building. 60, maybe 70 floors. Who knows? The driver opens the door for me and I exit the vehicle, making my way to the entrance. I’m greeted by a well-dressed doorman.

“Good afternoon. Can I help you, miss?” he says, smiling.

“Riley Brooks. I’m here to see the Rhys family,” I reply, fumbling with the untucked hem of my blouse, quickly tucking it back in the waistband of my skirt. He nods and steps aside, holding the door open for me.

I walk through the magnificent entry vestibule and enter the double-height marble lobby. The view makes me stop in my tracks. This place is incredible. It rivals the lobby of a five-star hotel. A cream-colored banquette round settee sofa sits in the middle of the room, with two circular metal end tables on each side. A gold metal-framed coffee table with a clear beveled glass top sits next to two upholstered grain Italian leather high back chairs. Strewn across the surface are copies of Robb Report, The New Yorker, and DuPont Registry. A crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, illuminating the room in a warm glow.

A single receptionist desk presides on the left side of the room, where a short, middle-aged woman with chestnut brown hair sits, thumbing through the latest issue of Trend Magazine. When she notices me, her head shoots up and she tucks the magazine under a stack of papers.

“Welcome. What can I do for you today, miss…?” she pauses, studying my face. “Are you a resident here?”

“I’m not. I have an 11 a.m. meeting with the Rhys family for their nanny position. My name is Riley Brooks.”

She eyes me incredulously. “You seem a little young to be a nanny,” she huffs, then flips through an appointment book. “Ah yes, Miss Brooks. The Rhys are expecting you. Take the elevator up to the Penthouse level. Someone will be there to let you in.” She nods her head toward the elevator on the right side of the room and returns to her magazine.

I make my way through the lobby and step onto the elevator. I take a deep breath and press “PH,” my hands trembling slightly. The car jolts and begins its ascent to the top floor. I pull out my phone and shoot off a quick text to my best friend and roommate Hana, filling her in.

I smile, tucking the phone back into my purse as the elevator car arrives at the top. The door glides open and I step out into the foyer. As I walk through to the main part of the penthouse, I’m immediately blown away by how elegant this place is. The main floor is a massive open cellar with impressive double-height ceilings. The interior has a fresh and modern style, flooded with natural sunlight coming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows. A set of heels clicking on the marble tile breaks me from my trance and I turn to see a stunning woman with a shoulder-length blonde bob coming in my direction. She’s around my height with a slim build. Her black polka dot blazer and red pants hug the curves of her body. Her emerald green eyes are piercing as they look me up and down.

“Ah. You must be the new nanny. I’m Madeleine Karlington,” she says, extending her manicured hand. I take it in mine and give her a hearty shake. “Come. Everyone else is in the living room,” she says, pulling back her hand before turning and heading back in the direction she came. 

I follow behind her, taking in the penthouse. She leads me through the large eat-in kitchen with imported counters and top-of-the-line appliances, to the living room. A wood-burning fireplace adorns the only wall without windows. Three large floor-to-ceiling windows give me an unobstructed East, South, and West view showcasing the East River and every iconic landmark midtown building in the city. The sun casts a warm glow through the already bright room. There’s no way a family with children lives here. The room is all-white-everything. 

I turn away from the windows to my left and see a tall man with sandy blonde hair rise from the plush white sofa. Good lord, he’s an Adonis. He’s at least six foot four, his thick blond hair is parted slightly on the left side of his head, his high cheekbones shape his beautiful face. His sapphire blue eyes glitter, making any woman who looks into them weak in the knees. His soft pink lips frame his straight white teeth, making his smile to-die-for. He’s wearing a maroon sweater over a white dress shirt, and dark denim jeans. Through his sweater, I can make out the outlines of his muscles. He definitely works out. I’m pulled from my daydream to see a young boy and girl both with platinum locks staring me down from their hiding place behind their father’s legs.

Before anyone can speak, Madeleine introduces me to her family. “This is Riley. She’s here to interview for your new nanny. Please be respectful.” She motions me to the center of the room where the sofa and a matching loveseat and chair are sitting in a semicircle with a glass-top coffee table in the center. Liam and the children take a seat on the sofa. I sit down in the chair and smile at the kids. Madeleine sits down on the loveseat and turns to me.

“So, Riley. Tell us a little bit about yourself,” she says, leaning forward to retrieve a martini from the coffee table. She then sits back and takes a long pull from her glass.

I take a deep breath. “Well, I’m 25. I’m originally from Brooklyn, I have a BS in Early Childhood Education from NYU Steinhardt. I was going to become a teacher, but I took a job with the nanny agency to pay for school and ended up falling in love with it. I’ve been a nanny full-time for two years now, and I’m really looking forward to getting to know all of you,” I smile, turning towards the kids, who are curled up next to their father on the sofa. My eyes travel up to his face, and his blue eyes sparkle as he smiles at me.

“Riley, it’s so nice to meet you. I’m Liam, and this is Charlotte and Phillip. Charlotte is six, Phillip is four,” he says, wrapping an arm around each child, snuggling them close to his body.

As he speaks, I catch myself fantasizing about him. I imagine those blue eyes staring into mine as I rip off his sweater and run my hands down his broad chest. My pulse races as I think about kissing those lips. My eyes travel down the length of his torso to his hands as they rest on each child’s shoulder. His hands are just as perfect as the rest of him, long fingers ending in short, clean nails. I pause at how big they are. He’s a tall guy, so I’m not surprised by their size, but I’m shocked at just how big they are. My mind reverts to that old saying, “Big Hands, Big Feet…” and I feel a blush creep up my face. Stop it. He’s your potential boss.

Shaking the thoughts from my mind, I focus my attention on the kids. Charlotte, the six-year-old, has her mother’s stunning emerald green eyes and a head of platinum blonde hair pulled into two pigtail braids that rest on her shoulders. Her pudgy cheeks are tinted a rosy pink and her nose curves up at a slight point. She’s wearing a light green dress with a blue bow and white sandals. Judging by how her mom looks, she’s going to be a knockout when she grows up. Phillip, the four-year-old, has a mess of sandy blonde hair atop his head, and the same sapphire blues as his dad. His pert nose sits on his face, nostrils caked with a thin-layer of snot.

I straighten up and turn my attention back to Liam and then Madeleine. “So, tell me more about yourselves,” I say. Madeleine looks to me, then Liam, then back to me. “Well, I work in PR for Fydoria Communications and Liam is CEO of Cordonia Enterprises. We’ve lived in this penthouse for about seven years. Liam spends about 50/50 time between the office and here, so occasionally, you’ll see him around the house, but he’ll be working, so you’ll need to tend to the children full-time. I work from 7 a.m. to 5:30 p.m., so I’m usually here around six to relieve you of your duties. We won’t require you to work on weekends unless something comes up where both of us are unavailable, and we’ll try to give you twelve hours notice.”

“Okay,” I reply. “Can you tell me about what my duties with the kids will be?”

Liam chimes in. “Charlotte is starting first grade at Stormholt Elementary in a few weeks, and Phillip stays home so you’ll be with him full-time while Charlotte’s in school. We’ll need you to drop her off at 8 a.m. and pick her up at 3:30 p.m., as well as help her with her homework and handle snacks,” he says.

I nod. “Do you have a vehicle I can use for pick-ups and drop-offs? I don’t drive.”

Madeleine answers, “We have a town car and a driver at your disposal. You can use them any time you have the children. The driver lives in an apartment here in the building and he’s on-call during work hours, so you can just call him and he’ll take you where you need to go.”

I listen intently, absorbing every bit of information about the job. Take the kids to school, pick them up, feed and tend to them until their parents get home. Seems easy enough. “Will I be required to cook or clean anything while I’m here?” I ask.

Liam chuckles and shakes his head. “No. We have a cleaning service that comes on Saturdays, and our personal chef Mira comes on Sundays. The only cooking and cleaning you’ll need to do is to prepare snacks for the kids and pick up any mess you or they make.” 

Charlotte starts tugging on his Liam’s shirt, “Daddy. I’m bored,” she whines, while Phillip rubs his eyes and stifles a yawn. He looks down at the children, then across to Madeleine, whose expression is unreadable. “The kids are getting fidgety which means it’s almost naptime. Do you have any questions for Riley?” he asks her.

She downs the rest of her martini and sets the glass on the table. “We’ve already done an extensive background check on her through the agency, so I know she’s not a criminal. I also have copies of her resume and college transcript, so I know her credentials are legitimate. If you don’t have any other questions, I think we’re finished here.”

Liam’s lips curl into a grin and he turns his attention to me, “I have just one more question. When can you start?”

[zwei-the-penguin-with-a-pen]

‘Kiss from a Rose’

"Come on, Rubles! It'll be super fun!" Yang encouraged, trying relentlessly to get Ruby to come to the upcoming sleepover. Ruby rolled her silver eyes for what seemed like the hundredth time. She'd rolled her eyes so much they were starting to hurt.

"Yeah, for you! They're all your friends, after all! I'm not gonna know anyone at the party!" Ruby clapped back. She wasn't much for large parties or gatherings.

"Neither will I. A bunch of them will be Blake's friends, and I've hardly met any of them. But really, Ruby, you should make the scene. There will be tons of cute girls in their pajamas for you to look at. Huh? HUH?" Ruby shook her head at Yang. "Come on! You don't want to visit Blake, even? She'll be disappointed if you aren't there."

It was tough to argue with that. Blake was one of Ruby's favorite people since she and Yang had gotten together, and she made Ruby's sister remarkably happier. Could Ruby really stand to disappoint her favorite faunus?

"Fine... but only because Blake invited me herself. I'm not here to pick up girls. I'm not even sure if I like girls."

"Well, I know you don't like boys. What are you into, then?"

"Video games, weapons, Gurren Lagann, y'know. Cool junk." Ruby beamed as she mentioned her favorite anime. Yang grinned at her kid sister.

"Maybe you'll meet up with someone who likes giant robots and weapons and stuff as much as you do, sis. Blake knows some interesting people." Yang encouraged again. Ruby shrugged as she leaned into her closet to grab some pajamas. She settled for her usual rose-print pants and a top with a Beowolf printed on it. "You'll nab yourself a sweetheart for sure in those jam-jams!"

"Shut up." Ruby blushed brightly, her face turning ten shades of red. "I just want to visit Blake. I'm sure she misses her favorite gemstone." Ruby smirked at her own comment.

\/\/\/\/\/

Ruby and Yang entered Blake's pajama party in their sleepiest clothes. Yang wore an orange tank top with a yellow flame print and some small black shorts. Blake greeted them at the door, looking stunning in a black yukata shirt and a matching skirt. Her purple undershirt had a Gengar on it, one of her favorite Pokemon.

"Ooh, you brought the kid!" Blake joked as she hugged her girlfriend. She gave Ruby a tight hug as well, grinning at her favorite gemstone. "Speaking of gemstones, my friend Emerald is here. She's adorable, so you should maybe chat her up," The catgirl told Ruby with a grin. Ruby rolled her eyes.

"Geez, you sound like Yang!" Ruby complained, but she smiled through it. She knew Blake meant well, just as Yang did. Ruby just didn't care about dating or anything of that sort. She never really noticed people that much, as she was always preoccupied with weapons or video games. She tried to talk to a girl or two and got along well enough.

Ilia, Blake's chameleon friend, chatted Ruby up for a moment before Yang spooked her as a joke and her entire body changed color. "Cripes! Blondie, I'm gonna wreck you!"

"Come on with it, Scale Face!" Yang yelled as she ran. Ilia gave chase, and then suddenly all of Ruby's progress was gone. The chameleon girl was definitely pretty, especially wearing that rainbow-colored pajama suit. She'd worn an undershirt that read 'No One Knows I'm A Chameleon' also.

Ruby caught up with Blake's friend Emerald, an absolute knockout with a sea green bob haircut. Her pajamas were a silk suit as red as her eyes. There wasn't much for Ruby to talk with her about, though, so Ruby waited for something else to catch the green-haired girl's attention and made a swift escape.

She was just about ready to find Yang and start complaining when she saw a goddess made flesh. Short and petit in a soft blue gown that fell to her knees, this beauty had long white hair tied back into an off-centered ponytail. Her bright blue eyes mesmerized Ruby. She suddenly had a mighty need to be in this girl's presence.

She sidled up to the white queen as subtly as possible... which is to say, as subtle as a brick through a window. The girl noticed her, pausing for a long moment to stare. Could she feel the same? Surely she hadn't been thoroughly hypnotized by Ruby... right?

"Excuse me... have you seen Blake? I need to let her know I'm here." The girl spoke. Ruby's soul left her body for a moment. She had the voice of an angel. Ruby almost forgot her own name for a moment.

"Sure, I can take you to Blake. She's probably near my sister..." Ruby replied once she remembered how to function. She took the girl by the hand, an involuntary action, but one she did not regret. Her left hand was soft and cool, and very comforting. Ruby nudged her way through the crowd of girls until she saw Yang.

"Hey, sis! OH!" Yang instantly assumed something. Ruby shook her head.

"A new arrival looking for Blake," Ruby replied, Blake turning her head at the sound of her name.

"Welcome to the party, Weiss. I see you're making friends fast." Blake told the white angel. Ruby's heart melted at the name. She swiped her hand away when she realized she was still holding Weiss's hand.

"You didn't have to stop..." Weiss told her. "What's your name?"

"I'm... gay." She hiccuped as she realized what she'd said. "I'm Ruby! Ruby Rose! Ruby is my name, not 'Gay', although that's a pretty cool name too, I suppose." Ruby stammered. Yang chortled at her sister, and Ruby rolled her eyes at Yang for delighting in her suffering. "My sister is dating Blake."

"Yeah, that blonde is all Blake ever talks about these days. If it weren't so cute it'd be disgusting." Blake laughed as Yang stuck out her tongue. "So, are you here with anyone, Ruby?"

"Not really. I sort of only came to see Blake... Are you meeting a girl here?"

The angel blushed at the question, as Ruby had blushed while asking it.

"Well, if I might be so bold, I think I just did," Weiss replied, her pupils slightly widening as she looked at Ruby more and more.

"Well, I bet she's pretty great." Ruby winked. The two girls clasped hands and found a quiet area to talk.

\/\/\/\/\/

The next morning, Ruby opened her eyes as she felt a slight pressure on her chest. She looked around for a moment and saw piles and piles of sleeping girls. Gods, how many girls did Blake know? Two redheads that were sleeping close by stood up and found their way to the nearest bathroom. One had a short orange bob while the other had flowing scarlet locks.

Ruby looked down at her chest to discover a white-haired girl was laying on top of her.

YIKES! Had she and Weiss gotten that close so quickly? Ruby could remember talking with her for hours, and even getting a small kiss. Wow, Ruby was smooth as all get out... or so she wished.

"Hey there, Flower Pot," Weiss told her, yawning and smiling at Ruby.

"Good morning, Snow Angel."

"I'm thinking of going to grab breakfast. There's a small diner across the street. Do you know if it's any good?"

"It's great! Blake's friend Neo works there. She must have had work this morning because she was here last night but I don't see her now." Ruby mused as she gazed out into the sea of sleeping girls. "Wow, Blake must make friends with every girl she meets."

"Yeah, people love her. She's the coolest. So... you wanna have breakfast with me?" Weiss asked, blushing all the while. Ruby nodded, and the two girls tiptoed their way through the mass of sleeping girls. Once outside they let their eyes adjust to the sun before crossing the street and entering the diner.

A girl with pink and brown hair addressed them with a wave. She came to the table and signed them a greeting.

"Good morning, Neo! Wasn't that party crazy fun?" Ruby asked. Neo signed rapidly. Weiss could hardly catch any of it, but Ruby seemed to keep up well enough.

"Uh, I don't think anybody paired off and did... the thing. I mean, I know Yang jumped on Blake the second they were alone together, but I'm not sure about anyone else."

Neo signed more and more, Ruby nodding and laughing. "Oh, Ilia and Emerald were here? Maybe they will be a thing now."

"So, are we going to order breakfast or just chat up this adorable server all morning?" Weiss asked. Neo looked at her sharply, signing the letters 'G' and 'F' at Ruby with a curious face. "Uh..."

"Um..." Ruby and Weiss thought for a long time. "Sure." They said simultaneously. "JINX!" Neo smiled at them. Weiss ordered a coffee while she perused the menu, and Ruby asked Neo for 'a coffee as black as her soul'. Neo brought her a glass of milk, much to Weiss's amusement.

\/\/\/\/\/

\/\/\/\/\/

\/\/\/\/\/

Day 10: Professor or Headmaster FORGET PROMPTS IT’S WHITE ROSE WEEK!

Nah, since I was behind and sorta did a two-in-one for ‘yesterday’ I figured I’d do one for WRW. 

Day 1: First Date / Coffee

Idk if I’ll go the rest of White Rose Week but I decided to do at least one.

[emblemevents-newyear]

Semifinals: Howling Wyverns vs. Pride of Hoshido

        “Mmmm...How are you all holding up? We’ve just got a few matches left, but with much bigger stakes than before! Now, the fourth and third place teams points-wise are going to duke it out...But hey, doesn’t this lineup and situation seem pretty familiar?”

           HOWLING WYVERNS VS. PRIDE OF HOSHIDO

        “Team members, to arms! On my mark -- ready...set...go!”

        “Both teams seem to be in good spirits at first! Carrie, Yuuto, Corona, Mikoto, Captain Nora, and Admiral Corrin all exchange friendly waves before heading towards their cannons. Bat and Lydia are so focused...or maybe not so focused? that both of their cannons release empty air! Remember, remember, load your cannons! Adal’s got the right idea; and Nora also hops to readying her cannon. Except it looks like First Mate Morgan has something else in mind as she walks along the deck to check everyone’s cannon -- she’s got to flop out of the way as Nora’s almost about to fire, and that sudden movement causes Nora to get hit in the chest by Adal’s shot! (+3 to PoH). A bit of a harsh start for Nora, but she looks even more fired up, rattling off her cannon with full force -- to Laegjarn’s head! (Laegjarn [PoH] eliminated, +5 to HW) What a quick elimination! Once the formalities are out of the way, I guess we’re getting serious!”

        “Now, how is Pride of Hoshido faring? Well...Admiral Corrin just barely dodges a shot from Clara, but that causes him to bump harshly into Vevela, causing her cannonball to bounce off their torsos! (Vevela [PoH] eliminated) Tiki also escapes Mikoto’s misfire by a hair, and Aqua’s foot becomes the endgoal of one of First Mate Corona’s stray hits. You guys...aren’t looking too good, are you? As Corona apologizes for the mishap, she doesn’t notice Carrie’s quick swerve and gets hit in the torso! (+3 to HW) Swampy’s and Yuuto’s attempts only hit the ship as well! Are they just off their game today?”

        “However, it’s not all fun and games on Howling Wyverns’ side either. Captain Nora and Karin are bumping into each other as they race towards the cannon...again? I feel like I’ve seen this more than once before. And Haru’s shot bounces off the deck and hits Lydia’s leg, causing her own shot to hit the enemy ship instead of...whatever she was aiming at. Admiral Corrin seems to have gathered his team together more properly, except Adal doesn’t notice that Corrin’s cannon is loaded fast enough...Oof, that’s a hit to his torso. Yes...that counts...” (Adal [PoH] eliminated)

        “There’s a pause as everyone sizes up their opponents, and then the flurry starts again -- with a better accuracy this time, I hope! Mikoto hits Haru’s foot, and Swampy hits Karin’s...also foot? (+4 to PoH) Lydia and Clara practically crash into each other trying to head for the same cannon, unfortunately, and -- Oh no, Gaius, this is the wrong time to -- “

                              BONK

        “ -- to get hit by his own Captain Nora in the head. Sorry...! Nora’s load isn’t over yet, though, and she struggles to control it and swing it back towards the Pride’s ship -- but she just can’t! Balls fly here and there, including one that hits her own torso, as well as Carrie’s! This doesn’t look good for the Howling Wyverns...!” (Carrie [HW] eliminated)

        “You’d think that Pride of Hoshido would try to launch an offensive while the Wyverns are experiencing some chaos, but they’re having trouble with their team synergy too! I think these ships are too small for everyone...Er, anyway, they’re trying to change things up now -- Mikoto and Yuuto climb up to the Crow’s Nest of the Pride, while Nora, Haru, and Lydia scale their own. Karin tries a quick reload, hoping to surprise someone on the opposing team, but Morgan’s chosen the wrong moment to check the cannons! Right in Karin’s line of fire, she gets hit in the torso...One more hit like that, and Morgan’s out!”

        “First Mate Corona aims for Karin as she’s apologizing, and it almost looks like Corona will get it -- except a sudden bump from Yuuto messes up her turning, and ends with Yuuto on the wrong side of Corona’s cannon! Karin is saved...in all the wrong ways!” (Yuuto [PoH] eliminated)

        “Aqua tries to make up for it by aiming for Lydia on her way down from the Crow’s Nest, but she’s having trouble focusing her fire on her moving target -- she can’t turn it back fast enough, and the cannon swivels back to hit Admiral Corrin’s torso instead! (Admiral Corrin [PoH] eliminated) Talk about a turnabout...literally.”

        “Uh, at least Tiki lands a hit on Captain Nora’s leg, making up for things a bit. (+1 to PoH) Haru speeds to the end of the ship to fire a shot, barely noticing Morgan walking by -- Haru manages to adjust at the last moment so that the shot flies just past her ear, and towards Mikoto, but it hits her hand instead and -- oh no, I know what’s coming -- whizzes back, a grim reminder to the head of an unsuspecting Haru!” (Haru [HW] eliminated, +2 to HW, +5 to PoH) 

        “This...this really isn’t easy, no matter how it looks.”

        “Mikoto attempts to load her cannon, but it looks like her hand’s still stinging from that weird hit, and she can’t aim it fast enough -- the cannonball hits her own torso! (Mikoto [PoH] eliminated) Meanwhile, Clara, being true to her title of Navigator, runs up to the Crow’s Nest to see how everyone’s doing; though she’s shouting, poor Karin barely seems to hear as she drops down to pick up some fallen ammunition, forgetting her cannon is already partly loaded...and hits herself in the chest. (Karin [HW] eliminated) S-sorry! Er, while the others work on safer reloading, Bat’s had his cannon loaded this whole time, waiting for a good moment to fire -- and his aim strikes true, onto First Mate Corona’s torso! Finally, a normal knockout!” (Corona [PoH] eliminated, +3 to HW)

        “Rather than retaliate against Bat, Pride of Hoshido lays low for the most part...At least, that’s what it looks like. Though Swampy’s crouched down, she’s slyly aiming her cannon...Lydia, who was busy loading her own cannon, doesn’t even see it coming when she takes a blow to the head! (Lydia [HW] eliminated, +5 to PoH) Good job for Swampy, though that looks like it might hurt! Tiki, trying to follow suit, also aims her cannon low...but a little too low, because it bounces back and hits Aqua’s torso instead! Maybe she shouldn’t have reached...” (Aqua [PoH] eliminated)

        “Tiki makes a more conservative attack as everyone starts to fire off shots again -- she trades arm hits with First Mate Morgan! (+1 to PoH, +1 to HW) Clara and Swampy also start to fire at each other -- but Clara just dodges Swampy’s cannonball, while still landing a hit on Swampy’s arm! (+1 to HW) Bat’s also trying to pick up the pace, but he’s spending too long trying to aim -- just in time, he turns the cannon away from a nearby Captain Nora so it hits the Pride’s hull instead!”

        “Clara and Swampy keep trying to shoot each other, and this time Swampy gets Clara’s hand! (+2 to PoH) After missing Morgan with a shot, Tiki decides to get a better look at the match from the Crow’s Nest rather than reload. Morgan keeps an eye on Tiki, but she doesn’t make a move -- Swampy, however, really has it out for Clara! They’re going back and forth again, but one clumsy dodge from Clara spells her downfall! Swampy catches her clean in the torso, bringing an end to their flurry of fires!” (Clara [HW] eliminated, +3 to PoH) 

        “Now we’re down to the last few on each team -- Tiki and Swampy for Pride of Hoshido, Captain Nora, First Mate Morgan, and Bat for the Howling Wyverns! If Clara and Swampy’s exchange seemed intense, the remaining members fire like there’s no tomorrow! It’s a mess of aim, fire, reload, and dodge all in between -- running here and there to stay on the move and be hard to hit, somehow not bumping into each other! Looks like a bit of a stalemate with all these shots, until Tiki and Morgan unleash a rapid-fire barrage of balls toward each other! Morgan looks triumphant when she hits Tiki on the torso, but she’s not fast enough to dodge Tiki’s own shot to her torso! Double knockout!” (Tiki [PoH] and Morgan [HW] eliminated, +3 to HW, +3 to PoH)

        “Despite the loss of her teammate, Swampy looks more determined than ever! She rattles off shots, making full use of the cannons and ammo at her disposal; she’s keeping up well against both Bat and Nora! They’re trying to corner Swampy, -- I think this one will be pretty close...and oh! Swampy fires off a shot towards Bat’s torso, but Bat’s decided to take it for the team -- he doesn’t move, but he lets loose a whole barrage’s worth of shots! Just as Bat gets hit in the torso, one of his shots connects to Swampy’s own chest!” (Swampy [PoH] and Bat [HW] eliminated, +3 to HW, +3 to POH)

        “C-c-combo breaker! With both Bat and Swampy down, that leaves Captain Nora as the last one standing! I’m sure that was nerve-wracking, but she’s stuck through to the end...be glad for that bonus, while I tally up all the points!”

Howling Wyverns: 21 + 5 = 26 points! MVP: Medic Bat Pride of Hoshido: 30 points! Super Ultra MVP: Sailor Swampy

        “And that’s another turnabout! Despite being the last one standing, Howling Wyverns’ bonus just couldn’t keep up with all the points gathered by Pride of Hoshido! This’ll be a match to remember...!”

(( Simulation results under the cut! ))

[thinksideways]

27 or 28 for the writing prompt please :)?

27. — boxes

“We got you a fight,” Van Ness says, slapping the contract down in front of Burr, “new guy. Unbeaten as an amateur. Don’t know much about him, trying to find his videos online. You’ll be his debut.”

“They’re giving me an amateur?” Burr tries not to sound sullen, but he thought after his last fight - a one-punch KO in the second round - he’d get somebody with a bit of name recognition. Not some - he glances at the contract - Alexander Hamilton, whose amateur record was admittedly impressive, but who had yet to come into the big leagues.

Whatever. A paycheck’s a paycheck. Burr’s still got the title shot in his sights, and if he has to tear through some amateur on his way, so be it.

*

They find a few videos of Hamilton’s fights, and Burr scrutinizes them carefully. The kid’s got decent footwork, switching stances constantly, good about using his angles. But he opens up quick, exploding all his energy in the first flurries. He has a good number of knockouts, but in the fights where he goes the distance, Burr can tell he gasses, hands dropping, going flat-footed instead of balancing light on the balls of his feet.

He can work with that.

Burr redoubles his cardio, running, biking, throwing himself into whatever hellish workout Van Ness concocts.

He spars, too, finding guys in the gym whose style mimics Hamiltons’.  Circling in the ring, gloved hands up, he imagines it’s Hamilton across from him, trying to predict what he might do, anticipating it.

He wins more of the sparring rounds then he loses, and as the fight draws closer, Burr feels confident.

*

He arrives in Vegas several days before the fight, ready for the pre-card circus, media and open workouts. Not that Burr’s the main fight - he and Hamilton are on the undercard, not even close to the main event - but it’s still a big card, a huge main event, and Burr’s excited to be on it. It’s a good opportunity, and he’s riding a five-fight win streak (over less than stellar opposition, but still, a streak’s a streak), and he thinks, with a flashy enough finish, he might have a case for a title contender fight, if not the title fight itself.

*

Burr’s returning from his last workout - light, more to keep his muscles warm than anything else - when he sees a man across the hall. Latino, with longer hair that’s pulled back in a ponytail. His back’s to Burr, which gives Burr a great view of the man’s ass, shown off to the fullest extent in his workout shorts, and then the man turns and Burr almost curses out loud.

He’d been checking out Hamilton.

His hair’s longer than it had been in the videos, which is why Burr hadn’t recognized him immediately, but the features are the same. Fuck.

Burr looks away, embarrassed, as if Hamilton could somehow read his mind. He walks away as quick as he can, and pretends he doesn’t hear someone calling after him.

*

Burr doesn’t seen Hamilton again until weigh-ins. Hamilton weighs in first, and though Burr’s backstage and can’t see it, he hears the cheers and applause that suggest Hamilton made weight.

Burr’s name is called, and he walks out to his own cheers, quickly strips down to his shorts - not risking keeping anything on that might put him over the weight limit. He steps onto the scale, hears the number read out - 155 on the dot - and steps off to his own round of applause. He looks across the stage and sees Hamilton waiting for the face off.

Burr usually keeps his face offs professional, never feeling any real malice for his opponents - it’s just business - but that’s gotten him nowhere, so he strides up to Hamilton, forehead against his, hands raised.

Hamilton doesn’t miss a beat, presses back into him, and talks, low enough that only Burr can hear.

“So you’re the big bad Aaron Burr huh? Don’t look like much to me…”

“Glad they gave me some pansy-ass amateur,” Burr responds in the same low tone, and then he feels Washington’s arm at his chest, keeping them separate, and he finally looks at Hamilton. His hair’s pulled back, and he’s shirtless, and Burr can’t keep his eyes from going to Hamilton’s chest, his abs, every muscle pulled in taut definition from his weight cut.  

Burr swallows the decidedly out of place desire, locks eyes with Hamilton, a final challenge, and absolutely does not think about how stunning his eyes are.

*

Burr re-hydrates, enjoying his first proper meal in weeks (weight cutting’s what he likes least about the sport - punch him in the face any day, just don’t take away the carbs). He lays back on the hotel bed, visualizing the fight for the hundredth time.

It takes him a long time to fall asleep, and when he finally does the sleep is fitful. It always is, the night before a fight. Before walking into the lion’s den.

*

Burr walks out to applause that sounds thunderous. He doesn’t know what the gate for this event was, but the crowd’s easily in the thousands, probably the biggest crowd he’s ever fought in front of. He shakes his arms, trying to stay loose. His hands are tightly wrapped inside his boxing gloves. He stops in front of Van Ness, who pops his mouth guard in, undergoes the final check of his gloves, and then enters the spotlit ring.

His world narrows down to the ring, the noise of the crowd fading out, all his focus on Hamilton as he enters the ring.

It’s just business, but for now, as the referee steps out and the announcer begins, Hamilton’s his enemy. One more mountain to climb.

They step closer to one another. The ref speaks into the microphone the announcer holds out.

“All right guys, have a safe fight, and protect yourselves at all times. Touch gloves if you want.”

To Burr’s surprise, Hamilton extends his gloved fists. Burr taps them lightly. Hamilton gives a little nod, and Burr nods back, glad his antics at the weigh-ins didn’t sour this face off.

The bell rings.

*

Hamilton starts fast, like Burr had expected, throwing several punches in quick succession. Burr dodges several, though one glances off his chin, not full power, but he feels stupid for being caught like that. He fires off his own series of punches, feinting high then dropping his body, catching Hamilton in the stomach with a hard blow. Hamilton doubles over for a moment, then straightens, moves.

Burr continues his strikes to the body - that had been part of the game plan, wear him down his body shots early, which would pay dividends later one as the fight progressed and the shots made themselves known.

His focus lets up for a second, and Hamilton catches him with a hard right hook, rocking Burr’s head back. He hisses through his teeth, low, straightens, drives in with an uppercut that catches flush on Hamilton’s jaw. The crowd screams its encouragement, savage, and Hamilton falls, almost in slow motion.

He gets back up though, almost immediately, dives back in, and the men clinch up, driving into on another with short, inefficient strikes.This close, and he can hear Hamilton’s heavy breathing, which he takes as encouragement, Hamilton’s bruised body having increasing difficulty taking in air.

He drops Hamilton twice more, but each time he gets up. Hamilton’s movements slow, become more obvious, sloppy as he gasses, and Burr picks him apart.

He lands several shots that should have finished him, one knocking Hamilton back against the ring, and Hamilton’s head lifts, eyes meeting Burrs’, and he sees only determination as the other man pushes off the ropes and charges again.

*

He doesn’t finish Hamilton, which is disappointing, but he picks him apart in the final rounds, and when the final bell rings he throws his hands up in victory before it’s officially announced.

The scorecards reflect it, and Burr walks away with another W on his record, having handed Hamilton his first loss. After the announcement, Hamilton shakes his hand, graceful in defeat.

“Congratulations,” Hamilton says.

“Thanks,” Burr replies.

*

He watches the rest of the card, goes out to dinner, after, face already starting to swell. He’ll hurt for the next few days - Hamilton had landed some decent shots - but he’ll be back in training soon enough. He’d seen Washington after the fight, and he had teased a title elimination belt with Jefferson. Big things on the horizon.

He’s tired and when he finally makes it back to his hotel room he’s surprised to see someone waiting outside it.

He’s more surprised when the figure comes into view, and it’s Alexander Hamilton, one eye blackened and already swelling, hair still in the braids he’d worn for the fight.

“Can I help you?” he says, confused. Hamilton’s dresses in a t-shirt and jeans, and he looks good, despite the black eye.

“I want a rematch,” Hamilton says.

“Talk to Washington, not me.”

“Already did. He said no.”

“There you go.”

“Look, Alex, no offense, but I’m gunning for the title, not to beat up on amateurs.”

“Then train me.”

“What?”

“Let me come by the gym. Get some pointers. You could clearly teach me a thing or two.”

Hamilton’s looking at him now, and it makes Burr uneasy. The look is knowing, and far too intimate for two strangers.

“We’ll see.”

“Give me your number, at least.”

Burr sighs.

“Fine.”

They exchange numbers (well, he gives Hamilton his, and Hamilton immediately texts him), and Hamilton departs, leaving Burr to lay starfished on the too-big hotel bed, smelling like Biofreeze and Tiger Balm, trying to process the day.

*

He flies home the next day, takes several days to recover, and then is back in the gym, business as usual. Except - except, well, he finds himself still watching Hamilton’s fights. He finds the video of their weigh-in online, freezes it at the moment when he charged forward. The freeze-framed image is Hamilton, eyes intense and gleaming. And those fucking abs.

Maybe he screenshots it. Maybe.

*

He finds Hamilton’s Facebook fan page, where there’s some really…flattering promotional pictures. Burr likes the page but not the pictures. He doesn’t want to be creepy.

He gets a text all of fifteen minutes later.

I see you liked my page.

He gets another notification - Hamilton just liked his page, too. And a photo. And another photo. Another.

I see you liked mine, too.

You’re pretty talented. There’s a lot to like.

Burr stares at that text for way too long, as if trying to decipher ancient hieroglyphs. He gets another text.

Shit, sorry. You’re a good fighter, I mean.

Thanks.

This is where you say ‘you’re a good fighter, too.’

Your left hook is sloppy. You wind up too much. Easy to spot.

Asshole.

Just telling the truth.

*

They text a lot and Burr can’t tell if it’s flirting or if maybe this is just how people text the super hot guy they beat and now want to…

Well.

*

Burr wakes up to read a text sent at like 2 am.

I’m in town next week. Still want to train?

His stomach flutters a bit at the thought of seeing Hamilton again, even if it’s just business. He writes back.

Sure. I’m happy to whip your ass again.

Buy a guy a drink first, geez.

Okay, that’s definitely flirting. Naturally, he freezes up and doesn’t respond.

*

Hamilton meets him outside the gym before it’s even opened. It’s a weird familiarity, they’ve texted a fair amount, but this is the first time he’s ever been in real proximity to Hamilton without their fight looming over him. It’s weird, so Burr quickly suggests they get into the ring, do a little light sparring.

“Winner buys drinks?” Hamilton says, smiling, those eyes on him. Shit.

“Winner buys drinks,” Burr echoes. His throat’s suddenly quite dry.

“You’re on.”

They touch gloves.

[iphoenixrising]

Dr!Tim Drabble: Robin

Well, Babes. You both must have fucking read my mind and shit because really. I kind of started this to be such a teaser when BOOP I got this ask and my fucking heart here. You’re right on the same page when it comes to Dr!Tim getting the real Robin experience, yeah? Lol. So, just a note. B’s bad guy persona is Matches. The dude with the epic porn ‘stache. Dick’s persona is Robbie Malone, which is pretty obscure and I looked it up on a good wiki to make sure.

HOWEVER *ahem* An incredible artist @kaciart did a thing here: http://thingsfortwwings.tumblr.com/post/55338349568/kaciart-it-was-never-made-clear-whether-tim-knew. Which helped the muse.

So… so there’s that. XD Hope it's as good.

**

The Robin in Gotham that night is just a little bit taller. Not by much. He's hesitant, a newbie to the vigilante game, and even if he's got a grapple on his belt, he only uses it once. Only a drunk or two catch him strafing across rooftops, the flicker of yellow, red, and green against the lamplight.

The rest of the city is asleep. As luck would have it, he stumbles on some baddies with a leg up on him, tossing a pellet in the right spot with knockout gas to make carrying him through the night that much easier. When Robin comes to, the blurry residual clears and behind the whiteouts, his vision is sharp. Being handcuffed in a crummy warehouse in the Narrows is not really the way he'd hoped to spend his first real experience in the tunic.

(And if he embarrasses the name, a certain little demon will probably eviscerate him.

"I allow you one night–"

"To my credit, I really thought those ninjas would go down easier."

"May I remind you–"

"I know, I know. It's not one of my hobbies. No more almost getting killed under your name, I promise.")

But a single dim bulb hangs with enough away to reveal the long, lean line of muscle still half in shadows watching him from behind whiteouts.

"Been a real pain in my nut, Robin." Is more dangerous behind the synths, more casual when the Red Hood, notorious enforcer for the Black Mask, straightens up and starts to move forward. "Gettin' in my fucking business means I gotta make an example outta ya, so’s no one else thinks they can stop the trade, you feel me?" Robin's eyes narrow but his pulse is picking up, his muscles tighten against the ropes.

“Or,” he tries with a bravado he doesn’t necessarily feel, “you could cut this chase short and let me take you in so you don’t make it worse for yourself.”

The sound is probably a snort but the synths make it hard to decipher.

“Mmhm, an’ any other damn day, ya might be right. But since I know the Bat is outta town, and the rest a’ yer little cape n’ cowl crew are busy, n’ yer own yer own, little birdy. Even fucking better, I got me an old friend in Gotham t’night, and I gotta say–” the way Hood moves, hips swaying, something of a swagger, all indications the vigilante has a plan, makes Robin catch a breath with what the hell else?

“Ya might be in over yer head.”

And oh God.

He’s in for it.

(Teasing his boyfriends can have some interesting results, so even with the plan they’d had for him tonight, there were so many things they hadn’t told him.)

Because the shift in the shadows and the crimson slash is just what the bad guy ordered, and the man coming out of the shadows to stand beside Hood is nothing short of mouth-wateringly dangerous– all done in sharp black and red.

Something in Robin’s abdomen goes unbearably tight when Renegade puts the intense focus of those whiteouts right on him, folds his arms over his chest, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

Even while he might be melting into a puddle of oh God, please, please, I’ve been a bad Robin, he can maneuver his hands well enough to get into the green gloves for the small lockpick set he’d completely kyped out of B’s utility belt the last time they’d had a little snatch n’ stitch. Since he’s completely used to working with fine instruments wearing gloves, working the small end into the handcuffs is easier than he’d originally calculated.

(So much win going on right now.)

“So nice to know you’ve got friends in town, Hood. I hope you have an itinerary to show him the sights. Robinson Park is really nice this time of year.” He tries to keep the banter, give himself time he needs to work the cuffs.

(Still, watching them walk toward him like a fucking bad ass wet dream is really making the night look up regardless of how things are going to go from here.)

“Too much mouth on ya, Robin,” and the flex of hips and thighs, the glint off the gun in Hood’s hand, the feral-looking smirk on Renegade’s face make him take a pause to work his fingers into the back of the utility belt, bite down on his lower lip to try and get–

Yes.

“Looks like we need to shut him up, Hood,” is Renegade’s deep response, that tone rolling around in the abandoned warehouse, makes a shiver work up his spine.

Which causes him to drop the pellet he’d been holding, the little ball rolling right under his chair.

Fuck. That’s bad.

He tries to think fast, using his weight to throw his chair back, out of the way of the little blast and following plumes of smoke. It’s really nothing more than dumb luck that the chair is probably older than all of them and pretty much breaks into kindling on impact.

It’s even luckier that the small blast is inconsequential but the smoke screen gives him the opportunity to wiggle enough to get his cuffed wrists down far enough to get his feet over them so at least his hands are bound in the front.

Rolling to his feet, he tries to duck away from the chair in the thick smoke, cape hitting him in the back of the ankles, and fucking right, he didn’t even lose the lockpick.

(“Damn. Good one, Baby Bird. Didn’t see that shit coming.”

“This is going to be much better than we thought, Jay.”

“Fuck right, Dickie, now we gedda chase.”

And with that little revelation, Robin is thinking, looking around at the high windows, making plans.)

He flips one of the few bat-a-rangs in his utility belt, awkwardly holding it up to throw with his bound hands. He manages throw far enough to knock it into an empty crate further down than where he’s hiding, but it draws the attention of the “baddies” coming through the dissipating smoke after him.

It does the job and he sees the outline of Hood and Renegade change course, closer to the sound.

“You’re only making it harder on yourself, Robin,” Renegade purrs low, his footsteps not even making a sound when he shares a side-eye with Hood and moves around to take the back for the element of surprise.

“When we catch ya,” Hood is cooing through the synths, popping the clip out of his .45 to make sure again he’s toting blanks (the one in his boot has the rubber rounds should things get dicey and they need ta make with the real crime fighting) before he circles around the smoky pile of old pallets and crates laying in dusty ruin, “we ain’t gonna be nice ‘bout it, you feel me, Robin? Gonna make ya one sorry lil’ bird.”

(But he totally hears, “gonna fuck ya until ya scream for it, Baby. Gonna make ya come ‘til ya can’t even stand up no more.”)

The handcuffs finally pop as the two bad guys jump in their planned strike, coming down on a whole lotta empty pallets with only a bat-a-rang there for them to stare at.

“Little motherfucker,” is all he needs to hear, shoving the handcuffs in his belt (in case he needs to have a plan) and pulling the grapple while his pulse throbs in his mouth and his adrenaline kicks up a notch. He’s got to shoot and reel himself in before they get to him, got to get out the upper windows and climb to the roof, got to at least get a few buildings over before they catch him.

(And he completely has a new appreciation for the reinforced jocks they wear under the suits because the things is literally killing him right now.)

The bang makes him flinch regardless, and with that, the jig is completely up. Two heads swivel toward the sound, trace the line up to the window sill where the hook sinks deep, and the shadow of the cape flares out like wings as the grapple pulls Robin from the ground and away.

“Fuck this is gettin’ good,” Hood breathes out, already pulling his own, watching the flex of Timmy’s thighs in those fucking tights and his ass outlined in Robin Red.

The window breaks with his momentum, and Robin pauses on the broken sill long enough to grin widely down at them, “I really need to be on my way, but we should do this again sometime!”

The cap flaps around the green tights and black boots as Robin scales the ancient fire escape and disappears out of sight.

Renegade puts a hand on his wrist, stills Hood from raising the grapple for the ole’ point-n-shoot. “Let him get a little bit of distance, Jay. He’s putting a hell of a lot into this.”

“Big Wing,” and even with the whiteouts on both sides, he knows how dark Dickies eyes are, is pretty sure his are just as dark. “ we’re gonna destroy that ass, you feel me?”

“You know we are. Damn, he looks cute in that suit.”

“Cute? Nah, ain’t where I’m at right now, yeah? Motherfucking sexy is ‘bout what I’m feelin’.”

“Fuckable, sure, but wow, he wears it so well.”

“Don’t tell Demon. That little shit won’t never let this happen again.”

“Right. We play it out with our boyfriend, fuck him on a safe rooftop, then take him home for a soak in the tub and cuddle-palooza.”

“You better fuckin’ add pancakes ta that list, Dickie. I like seein’ ‘im all full n’ sleepy after we fucked ‘im but good.”

“Done and done.”

In a smooth move, Hood raises the grapple again and loops his free arm around Renegade’s waist, pulling his Baby Boy right into his body.

The two vigilantes pause in the moment, and Renegade raises both hands quick, hits the right spot on the back of the helmet to release the catch, pulls the damn thing off so they can have just a second–

And anyone looking in the dilapidated warehouse down by Dixon Docks in that exact moment would be scandalized to see the Red Hood and Renegade writhing against one another, caught up in the taste of one another, just a tease before the grapple starts to reel.

**

Robin is panting with the effort, tries not to get tangled in his cape, tries to keep his eyes open to everything around him with the sharp vision he gets behind the whiteouts.

Luckily for him, he’s shaking off the residual of the sedative and this area of the city is one so absolutely familiar, he already knows he’s got an edge.

The same spots from those days when he was a kid with a camera, hiding while he followed the flying vigilantes are obviously still there, could still give him a place to duck if he thinks his pursuers are getting too close. If Dick and Jay had really been paying those old photographs in the shoebox enough attention, they’d probably be able to pick out the majority of his hidey-holes and make this game come to a quick and abrupt end (he’s hoping they don’t because he’s really, really enjoying this).

But, he’s already evaded them three times and he’s still too damn far from his apartment to believe he’s anywhere near home free.

Which is why he’s wasting time ducked down between two massive air conditioning units on the Mylar building instead of in Renegade and Hood’s path. A few feet away is an old bridge the maintenance crew used to get up to the next roof, giving him an out to use the grapple for a swing and give himself away.

He waits until the shadows recede and he can’t see either of them before he darts out and takes the bridge at a run, making a leap that immediately gets his adrenaline back up.

His chest is heaving a little because the climb is about a bitch.

A hard jerk on the suspension bridge takes him by surprise as both “villains” land it on either side of him, effectively boxing him in.

Well, fuck.

He pulls the grapple since, you know, the jig is up, but an escrima stick knocks the damn thing from his hand, and no amount of time he’s spent in the gym or hard-core parkour is going to get him out of this little sitch.

(Dammit. Trapped.)

Renegade clicks his tongue, “tsk, tsk, Robin. Nice try, but you should have tried to stay ahead of us. That might have gotten you home free.” And the two start advancing on him, getting closer. Robin looks from one to the other, bites down on his lower lip–

Until the plan pops into his head.

“Gonna enjoy this, little bird,” Hood drawls out, “after the run ya gave us.”

Panting, Robin tries to make the move subtle enough to miss, back up just a step, tries to make it look like he’s searching for a way out when he looks over the bridge and all the way down.

The action works because both villains jump for him at the same time, trying to keep him from throwing himself over, and it gives Robin just enough of a chance to let his knees give out from under him and fake fall to the wobbly bridge so Renegade can careen over his head at the same time Hood smacks into him, landing the two in a heap right at Robin’s feet.

The knock of Hood’s helmet against Renegade’s forehead gives him a crucial moment to slam the handcuffs he’d kept down on the Red Hood’s left wrist and Renegade’s right one, pushing the sides closed to cuff the two together.

(Oh fuck is he winning here.)

He’s already moving back while they untangle themselves and stare at their cuffed wrists before slowly, ever so slowly, turning to him.

“Well, damn.” And if he didn’t know better, he’d say Hood was, well, impressed.

(I have other hobbies, asshole, remember?)

“The surprises keep coming,” Renegade already climbing to his feet is grinning widely, Hood following in a smooth motion. “Too bad it isn’t going to save you, you know.”

“I just need to keep you two on–”

When he would have finished off the banter portion with on your toes, what he gets is the terrible sighing sound breaking the night, followed right by a sharp twang that is all too fucking familiar.

(Why do bridges have a tendency to break while he’s on them? Seriously now?)

His whole body jerks up, head turning to the sight of the old bridge coming apart and falling from under him, making him gasp in hard enough to hurt, making his knees knock, making a hard reality of Oh God, not again.

But cuffed arms brace under his and the bang of grapples firing shakes him out of breath-stealing panic, Hood and Renegade working in tandem to send the three of them flying through the night while the bridge crumbles to Gotham’s dirty sidewalk below.

Effortlessly, the villains land them on the Mylar, setting the three of them down in the shadows where one side of the building keeps it absolutely hidden away.

“Holy shit,” Robin pants out, held up between Hood and Renegade, his chest heaving under the tunic. “That...was not part of the plan.”

“Good to know,” Renegade lays his forehead against the base of Robin’s neck, exhaling slowly, moving his free hand down to push the cape out from between their bodies, to twist it around his hand for the next step.

“I’ll fuckin’ say,” Hood deactivates the helmet and tosses it down, moves a step closer to sandwich Robin between the two of them. With just a dom, his eyes are dark blue without the flecks of jade which means he’s probably still riding a little bit of the adrenaline from the almost-oops.

Robin looks up and over when Hood holds up his cuffed hand and arches a brow. “Still, ya gonna have ta work on them plans, Rob, if ya wanna get the better of us, yeah? This ain’t bad, but that don’t mean–”

And Robin gasps when his gloves wrists are gathered up by the cuffed hands, pulled over his head to stretch his body taunt.

Renegade is leaning down to talk against his ear, growling low and so fucking dangerous, “–you’re going to get away this time. Sorry, little bird. Looks like we win.”

**

Apparently things like capes are weapons and should not be used against him.

Or...well, maybe he’s going to re-think that since his wrists are bound together tight before they even worked the tunic open.

Renegade is keeping Robin’s bound arms down with a knee and a gloved hand over his mouth to make sure the noises are nice and quiet, kept between just the three of them. Hood had picked the cuffs in approximately two seconds to give them both a chance to get to work on making sure the young vigilante knew he was fucking around with the real deal.

The utility belt came off, lying just out of reach and Robin’s thighs spread open with less fight than anticipated.

The struggling, the writhing against Hood’s crotch, the straining muscle and taunt hold is just this side of perfect. For a little show, Hood pulls out a wickedly sharp knife, the glint dull in the night, leans down over Robin’s body and slides the sharp end of the blade right over the base of his throat, bare now that his cape is gone.

(But even though Timmy’s is half-assed struggling, he ain’t scared. No fear in those eyes, yeah?)

“Better be a good little bird, Rob. I like ta keep m’ implements nice n’ sharp. Don’t wanna make me slip by accident.”

Renegade’s hand on the younger vigilante’s mouth pulls so the head tilts back, eyes looking up. “I’ve known Hood for a long time, kid. You don’t want to see the master at work.”

When the struggling stops and the only thing Robin is doing is panting against Renegade’s hand, the sharp edge eases up slightly, slides down his chest, the tip fitting right under the tunic’s laces.

“Atta boy. Make it easier on yerself. Ain’t nobody gonna find ya, so don’t gotta have it rough unless ya wanna.”

“He might like it that way, Hood.” The first lace gives without hesitation. “Maybe we should go a little hard on him to find out.”

The second lace.

“But lookit how cute he is, Baby Boy. Gonna show ‘im just how things gotta go down on our side a’ the law, ain’t we? That don’t mean we gotta get nasty ‘bout it long as he behaves himself.”

The third.

Finally, the two villains are finally getting a little skin, and a gloved hands runs down Robin’s collar bone, moves to thumb and tweak until the little nub under is tight.

The hand on Robin’s mouth tightens down when the moan cuts through the stillness.

“He needs to learn, Hood. He can’t mess with business and get away without paying the price.” The thumb on Robin’s face moves over the domino and the whiteouts slide down, showing half-mast eyes, darkening by degrees.

“Mmhm. That’s the thing ‘bout Gotham, ain’t it?” And the hands moving down, pull hard, rip the tunic until there’s nothing in his path except the tights and reinforced jock. “Always got consequences, Rob, and you? You ain’t any different.”

The telltale tremble in his thighs makes the Red Hood grin wide and white (don’t be breaking character yet, Baby Bird. We gotta whole lotta play still left), and he’s nothing but a nasty bastard when he runs both hands up the inside of those thighs, grips tight to make sure there’s gonna be bruises there tomorrow.

Since he and Dickie pretty much engineered this whole thing (and made a suit with strategized weaknesses), the tights give under his hands, ripping open from the waist to the knee. He hands a sizeable strip to Renegade and leans down over Robin’s body, giving a little bit of distraction while his partner in crime moves just long enough to tie the strip in their little vigilante’s mouth.

“Much better.” He palms the grapple in his freed hand, and pulls out the line, throws the hook to catch on the lip of the roof and wrap the other end to keep Robin from going anywhere. Renegade pulls off the head piece, is in just a domino so he can flick the catch of his suit and pull it down to bare a tantalizing v-ee of his chest.

With the suit ripped away, helpless to whatever they planned to do to him on a roof in the middle of Gotham, Robin is gagged and panting, his chest stuttering with it, going pink down his collarbone and upper chest.

(Fingers slide into one of his bound hand, and the metal ball gives a soft jingle. All he has to do is drop it if he needs to stop, all he has to do is give the signal. He’s in control, he’s in control, he’s in control–)

And the feel of Hood’s gloves on his hip bone, tearing the strap on the reinforced jock makes his hips twitch, makes him unconsciously arch into the touch even when his hard cock springs up into the cool Gotham air.

“That’s smart kid. This’ll go easier for you if you try to enjoy it.” Renegade palms the vial in his suit and holds it up where the can both see it, smirks at the muffled noise right beside his thigh.

Hood grins back at him and pops the lid, dribbles lube on his fingers and lifts one of Robin’s calves for Renegade to hold. He hoists the other, runs his slick fingers over Robin’s balls, tugs a little, slides his forefinger up the underside of the vigilante’s straining cock, just a tease.

Getting his suit down far enough with one hand, Renegade shakes Robin’s leg, palms the side of his face to turn him, gets a load of those eyes, “My partner here is going to give you the fuck of a lifetime. And you? Are going to suck me while he does it.”

The jock is gone, and Robin gasps in hard through his nose, those eyes rolling over the length, teeth biting down on the gag in his mouth. He watches, mesmerized, as the gloved hand strokes himself, makes himself harder, gives Robin a preview to what he’s about to get.

When Hood spreads him open wider, slick and blunt finger sliding in, moving fast and hard, making Robin’s spine arch while he watches Renegade jerk off right in front of his face, mouth watering for it, his cock aching, his body clenching when one finger becomes two, and the desperation for more is starting to take over.

Pulling against the zip line isn’t doing anything for him because he can’t move, is caught between them, is already making noises with his body anticipating Hood (Jay) making him utterly senseless while he sucks Renegade’s thick cock to the fucking base.

(This is the best thing to ever happen.)

A jerk of his hips and a third finger slides in, gives him only a few thrusts against his spot, just enough for Hood to smirk and finally pull out.

“Gonna keep ya nice n’ tight fer me, Robin,” and while he’s been prepping the vigilante, he’d pulled himself out, lubed himself up to press right against the prize waiting for him. “But don’t worry. Since yer being a good, little bird, we’ll make sure you get yers.”

And Robin throws his head back, body arching in a clean line as well as he can with his legs caught and hands restrained. His fist tightens on the bell, keening through his gag as Hood pushes in, gives a few slow back-and-forths until he’s balls deep with a long moan.

“Lookit you taking all of his dick on the first go,” Renegade purrs down at him, and thumbs the gag out of his mouth, puts a finger over his lips. “Good for you, little bird. Now you’re going to give me mine. Don’t make me have to tell you to be very good.”

Renegade pulls with fingers on his jaw, and Robin opens up without a fight, taking the wide head in, moaning around it. Hood finally gets the point that he’s sure he isn’t going to come immediately when he moves, changing his hold to fit the bend of Robin’s knee and hoist his hips up higher, makes sure he’s in as far as he can possibly go (just the way Timmy likes it), then pulls back, starts up a few slow-n’-easies before he picks up the pace.

And Robin’s eyes are fluttering behind the domino, sliding his tongue around Renegade’s cock, leaning closer when he can take more, when he can take it deeper--

And suck.

“Holy–” and the villain’s hips twitch, a gloved hand threading into his hair, holds him still as hips twitch and fuck his mouth in shallow thrusts. “Fuck, know what you’re doing, don’t you Robin? Ah, you’re going to love my cock by the time we’re done with you.”

“Ya kiddin’ me, Baby Boy? Fuck him and you’ll be in love with his ass. Like a fucking vice.” And Hood leans over Robin’s body to get a better view of Renegade’s hips twitching, cock sliding in and out of his mouth, of Robin’s cheeks hollowing, of his jaw moving, of the tight nubs they’re both absently working.

In a calculated move, Renegade gives Hood a wink, and they both draw back, leave just the tip in him, gets a low noise for the effort, and fuck back into him with a vengeance.

“That’s right, little birdie. Found yer sweet spot, yeah?” And the strokes inside him are long and firm and fast, his spot abused by each one, making the pressure in his belly start to burn.

Renegade keeps up with a smooth, steady pace, sliding over his tongue, spilling pre-come in his throat, staring down as he pants, watching Robin take every fucking inch.

He’s moaning around the width in his mouth, in his throat, trying to suck, trying to scream while his cock throbs and the R still partly on his chest gleams in the night.

Hood’s balls slapping against his ass, and Renegade panting, groaning out above him, and a gloved hands fists him at the base, starts stroking him in time with the hits to his spot.

And the rhythm is driving, pound, rushing, his pulse racing in his ears, struggling to get a breath, but it’s all toomuchmoremoremore that he can’t think past the need to come, whimpering in his throat when he can, and trying to move his hips up into the fist pumping him and down into the pound thrusts driving him closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s right, give it up, Robin,” Renegade pants, groans down at him, working his hips, fucking into that throat, “you’re gonna take everything we give you, and when you go back to the Bat, you’ll remember just what you get when you stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Hood draws back to fuck in hard, tightening his hand down and speed up. “We’re gonna make sure this lessons sticks, Baby Boy. Fill ‘im up good, make sure he knows what happens ta bad little birdies.”

Robin screams around Renegade’s cock when fingers tease the tip of him and hips ground into deep, trying to move but he’s helplessly caught.

When Renegade leans down over him, talks low and feral, fucking into his mouth with fast, hard jerks, getting harder against his tongue, when it’s those blue eyes with the haze of need and want, (when it’s Dick talking to him), when the words, “come for us, baby,” are breathed so soft and fond, his body lets go, the knot of tension exploding, sending tingling pleasure from his ass to his cock to his nipples and spreads out until his eyes are rolling back in his head and all he can do is suck Renegade’s come down his throat while the pleasure loops around and keeps him going.

“Fuck, baby,” (Is Jay instead of–) Hood yells to the night sky, Robin’s body milking him, tightening down so hard, so fast, so wet, that he comes with a jolt, burying himself deep to fill the vigilante up.

And while Gotham remains completely serene at this time of night, three (two, technically) caped crusaders are laying out on the roof of the Mylar building in a tangle of limbs, panting, and weak, and so amazingly sated.

Boneless and content not to move another inch in his life, Tim manages to slide a gloved hand out of the knot made from the cape, and wipe his mouth, absently keeping track of his heart rate.

Dick is curled around his upper body, idly running fingers through his hair, the Renegade costume zipped half-way up his chest so he doesn’t get a whole lot of roof rash. On his other side, Jay has a heavy arm over his bare hips, a leg thrown over his and the Kevlar feels just as good on bare skin as it always does.

“That? Was fucking amazing,” he murmers, drowsy, shivering slightly now that he realizes he’s pretty much naked on a roof in the middle of the city after being fucked out of his mind, and somehow--

This is his life.

So it’s good when his vigilante boyfriends recover enough to maybe get them the hell off this roof before people like, office staff start coming into the Mylar’s upper floors for work.

Dawn is riding the horizon when he’s pulled to his feet and wrapped in Robin’s cape, rocking a toga to cover the torn suit and tunic, and carried off by his vigilante boyfriends so he can be absolutely lazy and just let Dick then Jay take him flying.

He has to make his body work when maneuvering through the window with shaky legs. Jay gives the helmet a toss in pretty much the direction of the kitchen table before picking Tim up by the back of his thighs, and let their doctor squawk but still flops his upper body flops over Jay’s shoulder.

Dick has the Renegade suit hanging off his hips, moving around the kitchen bare-chested with a domino, making coffee that is desperately, desperately needed.

“I’ll be there in a sec! I was promised cuddles, Jay, and I expect you two to deliver.”

“Bath first, Big Wing. Gotta let Timmy take a soak. Getcha ass in here so’s we can wash ‘im but good.” The abrupt smack and corresponding yelp from the path down the hall toward the direction of the bathroom makes Dick smirk and quickly scoop the grounds in while trying to get a glove off with his teeth.

“‘Sides, we might need ta give Sweets one more go ‘round, you feel me here, Dickie?”

“Wh-what?! How do you even expect me to get hard right now?!”

The bath is running in Tim’s massive tub (the real benefit to the apartment after all), and the sounds of Kevlar and Nomac sliding off of skin a soft sight when Dick comes to join them.

“You know, Timmy,” is a followed up by a very Dick Grayson smile, all full of bedroom eyes and promise, “we do have our ways.”

So if the tub sloshes over, and the neighbors complain about the noise this time of day (again), if maybe there might be...another suit buried in the back of their closet a few days later, if maybe he takes more detours when his boys are on the job and he can have time to scout hiding places and perfectly sized niches, when he can calculate more routes and moves.

He’s going to say, it’s always good to have a plan because of things like bleeding vigilantes—you know, on my fire escape. But in reality, it’s because now that he’s worn the tunic, flown through Gotham, and he’s pretty damn sure he’s got enough skill to make them work a hell of a lot harder–

Next time.

[the-energon-hole]

may i request a headcanon for the transformers prime bots, Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, Knock Out, and Ratchet for their opinion on a schizophrenic human ally whos coping skill is art? like painting entire walls to escape their madness.

((A/N I’m going to level with you on this one, this was actually really hard for me to write and I had a difficult time wording my sentences without seeming offensive or ignorant.

My Father suffered for a very long time due to Schizophrenia, to which eh rarely ever took his medications, and my Mother told me she prayed every day that my Brother and I would never suffer from it- we both suffer from a multitude of mental illness, but neither of us have experienced Schizophrenia.

I’m sorry if this sounds vague and unfulfilling- I did my best with the knowledge and understanding I have of this particular mental illness, and I hope it is sufficient enough to satisfy this request- I didn’t want to offend anyone and I didn’t want to seem like I was being spiteful on purpose, If there is anything you ant to change or talk to me about, please, let me know.))

Optimus Prime

-He was not a medical professional and could not define and explain all kinds of illnesses that Cybertronians can suffer from, but he knows the bare basics of his species and their ailments so that when you professed to him that you suffer from a disorder known as Schizophrenia, he couldn’t help but try to equate it to one of their own illnesses to try and understand it a little better. He couldn’t think of anything major, and he felt terrible that you were having trouble staying grounded and not listening to the voices that tell you lies while perceiving ghosts and apparitions that were not there. You tried your best to take your medications and attend your therapy, but it felt like everyday was a struggle to push through all of these twisted and anxious feelings you feel. There was only one thing that mostly made you feel better, the one thing that helps you stay grounded and helps you perceive what is real behind all of these twisted and confusing patterns you can perceive others can’t seem to notice. Painting was your solace in a world that felt like it judged you before you ever even got a chance to introduce yourself- and that was something the Prime oud relate to all too well. SO long as it made you happy and you were able to function a little bit better, he says paint away, create big and bold works of art that express how you are feeling- and don’t let anyone stop you from creating.

-Optimus loved watching you pour your heart and being into every single one of your large and upscale murals, it reminded him why he fought so hard to protect your entire species as a whole- each and every human is important and has something of value and worth to offer the world. Your art was oddly comforting with all the warm and inviting colors you use to try and display what you perceive as your reality. You were so quick at painting to, you could finish a big mural on a blank wall so easily that he felt if he blinked he would miss you working on it- you did it so often it was second nature for you to plash and plaster whatever surface in paint that it was mesmerizing seeing it happen first hand. He hops you never stop creating, as it was a great way for you to cope and work out whatever feelings you were experiencing, it was also a great reminder that no matter how broken you think you are- you are important and you have so much to offer to the world.

Bumblebee

-Thought it has never been a chronic problem for him, he too, has experienced a detachment from what reality really was. Fighting in a war that he was basically thrown into without much choice can have a really bad negative impact on one’s ability to function normally. He has been given multiple treatments by Ratchet in order to fix some of his mental problems, but you had to explain that it wasn’t hta teasy in the human mind, and that biology was a very fickle thing that not even humans understood 100% at this point in time. The only treatment for you right no is medication and therapy along with a few coping skills that you partake in to help you remember that not everything you see and hear are really there. He was such a  great listener, that anytime you had to question if something was really there, he would tell you without being malicious or judgy about it. You felt safe sharing around Bumblebee almost more so than you do your therapist, but that was dangerous, because you need to be honest with them for them to help you better cope with what you are feeling. Bumblebee was the one to tell you that, as honesty will always be the best way to get better when it came to medical issues, as one cannot heal until they admit they have a problem. He was wise beyond his years it would seem, but again, it must have been because of this war that nearly wiped out his entire species and destroyed his planet.

-Painting was always something that made you cope with your reality as it helped to ground you and help you decipher what was real and what was something your brain decided to cook up to make you question your own sanity. Bumblebee can’t say he can relate to the whole art thing, but he is happy to sit and listen to you talk about the latest creation you have made. He is always shocked at the scale in which you create art, you can fill an entire wall up of different colors and patterns and shapes- it was almost overwhelming for him to process, but if it made you happy to create and share than he would try his hardest to relate and understand what you were telling him. It was also pretty cool actually watching you create such large pieces of artwork all over every surface anyone would let you do- you can fill up so much space with such meaningful images it was You were one of the most important people to him on this planet, and he will do whatever it takes to make you feel loved and normal, even if he doesn’t fully comprehend everything you are telling him.

Ratchet

-When you explained to him in as much detail as you could about what Schizophrenia was, he seemed to absorb the information like a medical sponge and began to inquire about things you didn’t even know about your own mental illness. He asks because it is similar to a medical condition Cybertronians can suffer from called a Processor Loop- here the processor tricks and manipulates all the sense in the frame into reliving the same series of events over and over again. It was a dangerous illness that is brought on by devastating physical trauma or devastating emotional trauma, and it can last for a mere few cycles or the rest of a bot’s existence- as it is not so easily cured or changed. Your illness was similar in that you can take medication and it doesn’t always help subside the problems, you have good days and bad days jus like patience he has had over the cycles. In his spare time he likes to research Schizophrenia, and is fascinated by how the biological human brain works, and he is here for you if you need advice on how to differentiate between your brain’s hallucinations and reality.

-He wasn’t trying to be mean to you or come off as if he doesn’t care, but the fact that you paint to help keep you grounded and clear from all your chemical imbalances in your brain wasn’t that interesting to him. He is impressed with the result of your hard work and dedication to your projects, but really he has a lot of other things going on in his life to just sit and ath you work. He likes to check up on you while you are caught up in whatever to was you were doing to make sure you were still functioning normally and that you weren’t in any kind of apparent danger of harming yourself or others- but that was ok. He doesn’t have to be interested in what you do all the time, it was just nice to know he was there to see your paintings when they were done, it was fun explaining how you got to the conclusion of your work and your thought process behind how you go there to this conclusion. He was a mech of science after all, and if there was one thing he likes hearing about, it was how you got to the solutions you did using your research and development process- aka he liked hearing about how your paint and motor skills got you to this finished product hr eas viewing.

Knockout

-Being a medical doctor of the Cybertronian variety, he can say without any doubt, that you and your human mind was an absolute enigma. You didn’t function the same way that he and his species did, so when you explained it to him how you need medication and talk therapy to sort out your perceptions and sporadic feelings it just baffled him further. Talking thing through seemed like a logical fix, but it also seemed too easy, surely there was another way to fix it? There isn’t? Well that is no good- if talking is what it takes for you to be able to tell what is rea and what is just some messed up vision your brain decides to throw at you than you can bet he will be there to talk to you about what is really going on around you. Humans were so fascinating, and the fact there was stl so much to discover about your minds was also interesting, he would have explored it had he the time to do so- but you know, soldiers to repair and frames t fix, his plate was already full of unethical research that yours was at the bottom of the list. No offense to you, but you seem to be getting along just fine without his input, and he didn’t want to mess up all the progress you made already. Sitting and talking as always an option with him, and he was always willing to listen to what you have to say- even if some of it as a little crazy, but in his mind, a little crazy is always a good sign.

-Knockout was a fan of all things colorful and lively, so anytime you made a big mural dedicated to all the pretty colors and endless patterns you can think of, he was always the first one to praise the beauty you can create with just the simple stroke of you brush. He would call you a genius, he would rave about how it was grand that you were bringing such beautiful creations to a dull and dreary world, but mostly he would tell you that you were doing a good job keeping grounded and releasing all of those mad thoughts into something that everyone could appreciate. Art was a good way for you to share what you were seeing and feeling, and it was a good way to remind yourself that not everything you perceive is real, and it was a good way to get noticed by the bright red mech who wouldn’t seem to get enough of your larger scale wall murals that you spend so much time on that it was nice someone appreciated it. A lot of people write off your art as strange or unnerving, but that was far from what you wanted them to see, s it was nice to know Knockout can see what you were throwing out there without you having to explain it to him or hold his hand through all of the images you plastered on whatever surface you could get your hands on.

(05/03/18)

[miracle-sham]

Instead of Dead, Become Two Dragons in Red.

| {MaribatMarch2020 — Week 1, Day 5: Transformation} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] |

| Triggers/Warnings: Violence/Implied Violence, Animal Transformation, Explicit Language/Some Swearing, Implied/Referenced Character Death (but not really), Polyamory (not really a trigger/warning but if you don't like Polyamory then this isn't for you). |

| For Gotham vigilantes, rampaging magic-users always make for an interesting fight, that is of course, provided one doesn't get hit by any stray bolts of magic. However for Parisian heroes, it's just your typical Tuesday Akuma situation. |

| Word Count: 3232 |

==‹›==

| A/N: Hi! I'm not dead, sorry for how long I took to respond to comments, I got hit by a nasty cold then sinusitis so I lost basically all my Maribat March prep time thanks to that, so I just barely managed to finish this ficlet/oneshot for today, anyway I hope you guys enjoy, and if enough people enjoy it, I'll make a second part to this oneshot because I had to cut so much material and it'd be nice to be able to use it still. |

| If you want to be tagged in future oneshots/fics, or a specific Au, then comment or send me a DM/ask! |

| Also side note, Don't Like? Don't Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

==‹›==

 Zzzzt-crackle-woosh, a purplish-black bolt of unstable magic flies through the air, just barely grazing passed Dragonbug's side as she flips across the gap between two buildings. Cheerfully, she calls out “Missed again!”

 The villain, an amorphous black shadow with dripping molten gold eyes and donning a ruddy patchwork hooded robe (which suffice to say, looks suspiciously like a rip-off wizzrobe from the Legend of Zelda, that or a faceless Gregorian based cultist extra from a film or TV show), scowls furiously, “Oh fuck you! I'm trying my best here!” and blasts another bolt of purplish-black magic towards her.

 Conveniently located on the roof she just landed on, is an air vent. She cartwheels behind it and manages to dodge the bolt by a good metre or so. “Well, your best sucks and so does your aim!”

 The wizard-villain screeches in fury, “Well my aim wouldn't suck if you didn't keep moving like a goddamn Duracell bunny!”

 Dragonbug snorts. “Yeah but firstly, I'm dragon and ladybird themed, not bunny-themed; the bunny theme's already taken anyway. And secondly, where's the fun in that?”

 As soon as she says that, her earpiece crackles as Red Robin pipes up on the comms channel. “Ready to see some fireworks?”

 “Oh, you bet!” She responds, all too gleefully.

 There's a faint clink-woosh-woosh-woosh and out of the corner of her eye, Dragonbug sees a blur of a small round silver ball arcing through the air towards the wizard-villain who's quite stupidly standing in the same place. As the silver ball disappears from her view, she hears a clatter of clink-clink-clink followed by a bwoosh and a bright flash of white light. At this moment, Dragonbug is so glad the Miraculous suits protect against flashbangs of all things.

 The wizard-villain screams and once the flash of light fades, Dragonbug can see that they've fallen to their knees, in the middle of the street.

 Dragonbug frowns and eyes their form, then double-taps her comms. “Hey, is it me or does our rip-off wizzrobe-magic-cultist look somewhat unresponsive?”

 Her earpiece crackles again as Red Robin answers, and really someone should give these things a maintenance check, the crackling can be so distracting. “Our wizzrobe-magic-cultist is looking pretty unresponsive to me too. It could be a trap though because I swear I didn't use one of my knockout flashbangs.”

 She nods, despite the fact he can't see her; which upon realising this, she flushes red in embarrassment. After clearing her throat to compose herself, she tilts her head to the side. “That's concerning, unless our rip-off wizzrobe-magic-cultist is susceptible to flashes of light.” She pauses, frown deepening, “You don't think they've got epilepsy do you?”

 There's a slight rustle before Red Robin responds, “No, that's not what an epileptic seizure looks like. Again this could be a trap, or they could just be stunned. Either way, we should hurry but be careful.”

 “Right.” Dragonbug scurries over to the edge of the roof then flips her way down to the ground. As she lands, she just spots Red Robin vaulting across an overturned car. As he catches sight of her, she gives him a thumbs up, which he returns.

 Dragonbug then nods to him and he nods back, silently communicating their plan. They both start to slowly approach the wizard-villain in a pincer movement, her to the left and him to the right.

 Red Robin reaches to his bandoliers and whips out a pair of manacles. He skulks behind the wizard-villain and goes to handcuff when the wizard-villain starts cackling maniacally. The laughter is quickly followed by a forming orb of purplish-black light—the same light as the magic bolts.

 Oh, fuck! Is Dragonbug's only thought as she immediately dives at Red Robin, who's started backing away; she uses herself to try and block him from the still-forming orb. Please let the Miraculous magic protect us both! She silently begs as the orb expands exponentially, unfortunately enveloping them both completely in a fraction of a second

 The maniacal laughter is the last thing they both hear as they're violently launched backwards into an alleyway, and everything fades to black.

==‹›==

Kagami's lounging on the sofa at Tim's Nest and binging Netflix, when the red alert rings across all the comms units.

 “Shit,” Oracle falters, “Red Robin and Dragonbug are down. Dragonbug's signature has disappeared from our systems and her comms aren't responding. All Red Robin's vitals are down, his suit isn't registering any more signs of life. But I'm still getting warnings that the villain they were fighting is still active, so everyone available needs to converge on Red Robin and Dragonbug's last known location.”

 Fear immediately seizes Kagami's heart, no please, please don't be dead my loves. She double-taps her comms. “I'm suiting up as Kuro Neko, I'll be at the location in three.”

 With that said, Kagami flings herself off the sofa. She glances around the room for Plagg who's halted in his eating of cheese and giving her a sad but cryptic look. Her eyes flicker to the window and he nods almost imperceptibly.

 “Plagg, claws on.” There's a woosh as the poisonous green light washes over her, donning her in the Kuro Neko suit. She flexes her claws for a split second, tail whipping back and forth furiously, before darting over to the window and vaulting out of it.

 As soon as she's out the window, Kuro Neko extends her baton down and begins pole-vaulting her way across the rooftops and over towards where her significant others were last.

==‹›==

 When Dragonbug returns to consciousness, the first thing she notices is that she can't move, nor see, nor hear. But she can feel, and unfortunately that means she feels a strange painful pulsing throughout her entire body, as well as an excruciating aching sensation. The second thing she notices is that she's curled up on the ground and her head, or the world, is spinning somewhat. Anyway, I can safely say I'm not doing so good right about now, big ouch.

 The first of her other senses to return is her hearing. Which immediately makes her hiss in pain from the sudden cacophony seemingly coming from somewhere above her? She pauses, then realises that something's not quite right, hey wait a minute, why'd my hiss sound so weird? Something's not right, although I suppose that's kinda obvious now, but still! Oh god, what if I'm dying, or I've been body switched, or—or—or—

 Her thoughts are interrupted by a sudden scream of fury, ringing out from above. Which is good because it means Dragonbug doesn't get time to dwell on that particular string of anxious thoughts, but it's also bad because it's loud and causes her to whimper in pain from how loud it is.

 “Where the fuck are they? What the fuck did you do to them?” A voice sounding very similar to Kagami yells out.

 Wait a second, that doesn't make sense, Red Robin and I didn't call for backup, so why would Kagami suit up on her night off? Dragonbug muses to herself, brain immediately latching onto the next train of thoughts. As she muses, she slowly realises that she's starting to regain the feeling in her limbs. Which is another positive? However, the feel of said limbs, causes her mind to immediately blank and lose the train of thought. While her brain tries to figuratively perform an error message, she does finally manage to crack open her eyes, yay sight.

 It's at that moment, Dragonbug's superhero experience/training kicks in. She quickly takes stock of her surroundings and quietly thinks to herself, oh fuck.

 It looks like she's in a giant—no massive—version of Red Robin's suit. Have I been shrunk? She wonders for only a brief second as something moves, just out of the area of her view. She turns and squints at the movement. Not a second later, a roughly cat-sized red lizard shuffled into sight.

 She squeaks in surprise, then has a minute of wait what because her squeak sounded weird and very concerningly not-human-like.

 The red lizard tilts its head to the side and coos at her.

 Dragonbug glares at the lizard and tries to back away. Emphasis on tries, because as she does so, she ends up tripping over herself? Confused and extremely concerned now, she glances down and oh.

 What. The. Heckles. She slowly spins around, checking out her new form, because she's clearly no longer human. No, she's got a snout, scales, fur—well mane—, claws, a long snakelike body, and a tail. Spinning around, she catches sight of a gleaming piece of shiny silver metal. So does what anyone would in the same situation as her, and scuttles over to it to use it as a makeshift mirror.

The reflection that greets her is… frankly quite adorable but also she's now a tiny little lung/long dragon. Which to be fair, makes quite a bit of sense as she was using the dragon Miraculous and Longg is a lung dragon. Her scales are a pretty red with shimmery golden accents and her mane is a dark red-almost-black colour. Her eyes still have the golden yellow iris and sclera that the dragon Miraculous gives. And the rest of her is all done variation of the gold, brighter red, and darker red. So at least her colour palette doesn't clash. Okay, so the colour palette isn't the most pressing issue here, but also I don't know how to fix this or change back so y'know, I'd rather potentially be stuck like this permanently with a nice colour palette, than one that clashes. But also oh god please don't let this be permanent, there has to be a way to undo this!

 In her panic, Marinette doesn't notice the red lizard slinking closer to her. As it reaches her, it gently prods her with one claw; startling her badly and causing her to squeak again, loudly.

 The red lizard flinches back and Marinette realises that maybe, just maybe, that's not a random lizard. And that maybe the not-a-random-lizard is actually a drake. A European dragon that hasn't got wings. And Tim. Tim's surname is Drake. A coincidence? I think not! It's got to be Tim!

 She stares at the probably-Tim dragon and makes a chirping noise because dragons don't have the same vocal cords as humans, so she can't exactly ask him if that's him or not. A minor nuisance, to say the least.

 The red drake mimics her chirp. Then cautiously slinks up to her again.

 This close, Marinette can see that she's probably around the size of a ferret, in comparison to him being roughly the same size as a cat.

 He flops down half beside, half against her and makes a series of clicks and chirps. She can't help but to tense as he flops but as the seconds pass, she finds herself relaxing bit by bit until she's also flopped over.

 Enjoying the peaceful impromptu not-quite-a-cuddle cuddle session with one of her significant others, Marinette does try to keep an ear out for any goings-on above, just in case. But all seems well.

 That is until, not even three seconds later, the peacefulness is abruptly shattered by a cacophony of screams, yells, zaps, and loud bangs echoing shrilly from above, before ceasing just as abruptly as it started.

 However, the unexpected cacophony still manages to cause Marinette to panic. She tenses with a low whine, hunching slightly, and holds her breath. Alert and anxiously vigilant, she can't help but survey the immediate vicinity again and again and again—looking for anything she missed initially or if anything's changed.

 Tim shuffles and stumbles into a sitting position. He nudges her gently in the side of the neck with his snout. He makes a cooing noise, followed by a soft rumble—as if he were trying to imitate a cat's purr.

 It takes a few seconds, but his actions start to help calm her down. She takes in a deep breath and mentally reassesses the situation. We've been turned into tiny dragons. We're inside-slash-underneath the Red Robin suit which is on the ground. Before we woke up like this, we were battling a magic-user villain who tricked us. We didn't get time to call in backup before we got hit but it sounds like backup arrived anyway. As far as we know, no one is aware of what happened to us or that we're in-slash-under the suit. We are currently safe for now.

 As Marinette reaches the end of the reassessment, she feels much calmer. She makes a low trill-like-purr noise to signal to Tim that she's calmed down.

 He sticks his tongue out in a blep and mimics the low trill.

 Their second moment of calm is then also interrupted because apparently fate hates peace and calmness or something like that.

 “I will ask you once more, Where. Are. They?” Kuro Neko questions.

 There's a loud thump-snap, followed by the wheezing cackle of the Wizard-villain. “They're gone! Dead! Erased! Exterminated!” With its piece said, the wizard-villain continues to wheeze and cackle maniacally.

Marinette can't help but shiver in fear at the sound, barely able to squash the rising nausea.

 A harsh snap sound echoes loudly in the street and the wizard-villain starts choking wetly.

 Kuro Neko hisses something but the red robin suit muffles the words to the point of being indistinguishable.

 The minutes drag by and the only sounds of note from above, are inaudible mutterings and the clattering of handcuffs and car doors. They must've handed the wizard-villain over to the police, Marinette thinks.

 She's about to go nudge Tim to try and communicate that they probably need to go find somewhere to stash his suit and a place for them to hide until they can figure out how to turn back when a conversation between the vigilantes who arrived for backup catches her attention. Partly because of the topic, and partly because of how close the voices suddenly sound.

 “They can't be dead, Red Robin's suit is still there.” Dick—or well more like Nightwing, since he probably arrived as backup as well—stresses.

 “But Dragonbug an' her suit's gone. You'd think maybe that there'd be a little more left if just organic matter was destroyed.” Jas—Red Hood mutters, the vocal distorter in his helmet making his tone of voice sound strange.

 Or maybe that's just a side effect of getting tiny-dragon-ified, thinks Marinette, things sounding stranger. Although I've not really noticed anything bar the distorted voice sounding weird.

 “The Miraculous suits are made of magic, and anyway, Plagg says he can't feel Tikki or Longg's presence anywhere,” Kuro Neko admits, reluctantly. “If all living things in the vicinity of the orb were destroyed, then the Miraculous would have still been left behind.”

 “And how d'you know that?” Red Hood asks, sounding both genuinely curious and mildly concerned.

 There's a split second of almost icy silence before Kuro Neko responds with a clipped tone. “Akuma.”

 “Ah, o'course.” Red Hood comments, voice getting closer again. “Hey, d'you think B will want to stick the Red Robin suit in a memorial case like what he did with my Robin suit?”

 “Hood!” Nightwing exclaims in a horrified and almost scandalised tone of voice.

 Red Hood snorts.

 Marinette flinches, and so does Tim beside her, although probably not for the same reasons as her. I don't think I'll ever get used to how flippantly Red Hood jokes about his death. Even if most Parisians who've died in Akuma attacks use the same sort of gallows humour.

 There's a few seconds of silence before someone grabs the Red Robin suit and yanks it upwards, causing Tim and Marinette to tumble out of it with a series of startled squeaks and clicks.

 Red Hood is the first to respond to the situation, with an eloquent, “what the fuck.”

 Marinette glances up and sees Kuro Neko holding the Red Robin suit and looking rather shell shocked, with Red Hood and Nightwing a few steps away.

 “Oh, thank fuck they're alive.” Nightwing half mumbles, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation.

 “My loves,” Kuro Neko murmurs leaning down and scooping up Marinette and Tim, “I'm so glad you're okay.”

 They both squirm for a minute before relaxing into her arms.

 Nightwing frowns. “We should bring them back to the cave, maybe call Zatanna and Wonder Woman.”

 “To the cave then.” Kuro Neko nods, hugging Marinette and Tim carefully, making sure not to accidentally hurt or squish them.

 Marinette looks up at her significant other and bleps. She then trills, content to be held for the journey back to the Batcave.

 Tim however, wrinkles his nose and chirrups in protest, he squirms and tries to escape Kuro Neko's hold—probably wanting to return to the Nest and deal with this on his own instead.

 Kuro Neko gives Tim a deadpan stare before expertly pinching the correct pressure point to temporarily paralyse him.

 Red Hood gives her a quizzical stare.

 “Akuma, as well as kwami.” She responds, sagely.

 “Right…” He slowly mutters, shaking his head.

 Marinette can't help but burst into laughter at that, only because she's currently a ferret-sized lung dragon, the laughter comes out as a stream of trills and chirps.

 Red Hood narrows his eyes at Marinette. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, danger noodle.”

 Marinette pouts, whilst internally promising herself that revenge will be swift and pasta themed.

==‹›==

 When they finally arrive back at the Batcave. They're greeted by the sight of Batman and Robin at the Batcomputer.

 Robin turns and sneers at them. “Of course, trust Drake to pull such an attention-grabbing stunt as this.”

Marinette immediately looks up from her snuggled up position in Kuro Nell's arms and hisses at Robin; Tim however, lets out a world-weary sigh.

 “Robin.” Barks Batman, but the reprimand does nothing to quell Robin's hostility.

 Fixing a glare at Robin, Kuro Neko starts to stroke Marinette's scales like an evil villain would stroke a cat (much to Marinette's delight). “Need I remind you, how you hesitated upon hearing Oracle inform us that Red Robin's suit ceased reading any signs of life.”

 “That was not hesitation! I was merely preparing for Grayson or Fatgirl to become hysterical in their distress.” Retorts Robin, who then stalks away, scowling and red-faced.

 Nightwing dithers between going after him or staying to check on Tim and Marinette.

 Kuro Neko shakes her head. “Go after him, Marinette and Tim will be fine without you hovering like a mother hen.”

 Nightwing flashes her a grateful smile and scampers after Robin.

 Kuro Neko then heads over to the medical bay and gently plonks the two dragons onto a cot. “Batman, I believe we will need to do as Nightwing suggested earlier, and call Zatanna and Wonder Woman. As this is a magic situation and I am not as skilled or knowledgeable in regards to magic as my love is.”

 “Hhrrm,” Batman growls, already calling up the Watchtower.

 Kuro Neko smiles softly as she glances down at her significant others, eyes twinkling with mirth. “Let's hope they arrive soon, otherwise who knows what sort of trouble you two could get into.” She winks.

 Marinette chirps, tail flicking side to side eagerly. Whilst Tim perks up slightly and tilts his head to the side, mind probably racing with hundreds of pranks and shenanigans they could pull off whilst in dragon form.

==‹›==

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little oneshot! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| @maribat-march2020 | | @vixen-uchiha |

[frontproofmedia]

Jessica McCaskill's Journey to the Undisputed Welterweight Title

By Steven Weinberg | Contributing Writer and Photographer

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Published: September 17, 2020

Jessica McCaskill’s (9-2, 3 KOs) birthday came a few weeks early this year. On August 15th, the now 36-year-old, unified 140-pound champion moved up a weight class and dethroned the First Lady of Boxing, Cecilia Braekhus (36-1, 9 KOs), by majority decision to become the new undisputed WBC, WBC, WBO, IBF, and IBO Welterweightbelt champion.  

The fight, originally scheduled for April in Maryland, was postponed due to COVID and rescheduled to take place in Tulsa, OK.  Despite the pandemic, McCaskill viewed the shutdown as a positive.  

“I felt like Chicago really prepared us for Tulsa.  We pretty much kept a quarantine life here – I came to the gym. I went home. Maybe I went to the pet store, maybe to get groceries. But I was in the gym most of the time.”  

As a result, by the time McCaskill arrived in Tulsa, the “fighter’s bubble” didn’t impact her.  At the hotel, the team was cut off from each other and confined to separate rooms. McCaskill was able to leave her room with a security escort for one hour per day to work out by herself.  Walking one building over from the hotel to the gym, which was equipped only with a heavy bag, treadmill, bike, and scale, was the only outdoor activity for the week.   

Back in the hotel room for 23 hours per day, room service was available, and Uber Eats orders had to first pass through Matchroom COVID screeners.  

McCaskill said with a laugh, being stuck in a hotel room wasn’t that bad. “I love fight week.  I get three times as much sleep as I normally do, and watch a bunch of trash TV to relax.”  

Other than that, she conducted Zoom workout sessions with her strength and conditioning coach and phone interviews to stay busy.   

Making weight has been a problem for many fighters returning during the pandemic, but not for McCaskill.  Leading up the fight, which was at a catchweight of 145 pounds, McCaskill wanted to keep her weight between 147 pounds and 152 pounds.  On her social media, she was often seen working out in a simple tank top and spandex.  During fight week, all she had to do was work out and back off her eating to be good to go.

Braekhus, however, appeared to have weight issues, and Team McCaskill viewed Braekhus agreeing to the 145-pound catchweight as a huge tactical error.  They believe Braekhus simply overlooked McCaskill to where she backed off her weight loss and gave McCaskill a head start.  

On Braekhus’s social media, she was often seen in plastics, working out with weights, trying to sweat everything out.  In fact, McCaskill feels that Braekhus was drained on fight night.  

“She guzzled, like, 2 liters of water right after the weigh-in, and even during the face-off, I could see her chest and her abdomen, kinda uneasy breathing and anxious, like maybe she was feeling bad. And seeing how uneasy she was, was such a confidence builder.”  

McCaskill emphasized, “The face-off means everything to the fighter.  It tells you their mental state.”  

Thus, Braekhus never having fought below 147 pounds gave McCaskill an immediate advantage.  

Despite the Tulsa cityscape that served as the backdrop to the fight, McCaskill remained focused in the ring.  She said not having a crowd in such a unique venue was beneficial. With no noise, there were fewer distractions, which dulled down the moment.  McCaskill felt that had people been in attendance, especially in such a nice and unique venue, it would have hyped things too much. Without the distractions, she was able to level herself out and remain focused.  

Additionally, the day’s heat was not an issue. Prior to the start of the fight, the temperature was above 90 degrees.  But, by the time the fighters left their dressing rooms, the temperature had dropped about 10 degrees. As McCaskill made her ring walk, she felt a breeze and knew the heat and humidity of Tulsa would not be an issue. Braekhus, however, had been in Big Bear, CA, since January, and the climate of Tulsa likely weighed heavily on her. 

Once the fight started, McCaskill planned to see what Braekhus was going to do. Her team thought Braekhus would either come forward as a result of new trainer Abel Sanchez, or get on her bike, punch, and move. McCaskill specifically remembered in the first minute, moving, punching, and circling to her right.  Braekhus began moving forward.  

McCaskill said, “I thought, oh, that’s their game plan. She’s going to come towards me. Well, let’s go.”  

Rick Ramos, McCaskill's trainer, and manager said the plan was to wait the first 30 or 40 seconds. He wanted Jessica to slide off and not come forward.  If Braekhus came forward, that meant she was going to try and walk McCaskill down and implement the Abel Sanchez style, the Mexican style.  If Braekhus was to do that, Ramos wanted McCaskill to stop and go forward herself.  

And he beamed with confidence, “if that happened, we were going to win the fight.”  

Sure enough, Braekhus came forward.

McCaskill jumped in the pocket and went full throttle.  “I was very surprised at how fast I was able to start.”   

She continued, “I felt like a lot of things made themselves available that we practiced for. Uppercuts on the inside, long right hands straight down the middle.  I had some bigger, wilder right hands, but there were a lot of punches that just snapped her head back. It made me seem like the dominant puncher.”  

The result was that Braekhus was uncomfortable. For the first time in 36 professional fights, she tried to brawl. In fact, Braekhus, who never recorded a knockout, seemed to want to brawl.

 Ramos emphasized, “Cecilia couldn’t adjust because she looks up to Abel Sanchez, rightfully so. So she listened to him and stuck to his game plan, and she didn’t want to go off his game plan. She tried to come forward and do what he taught her to do because she trusts him. It was bad coaching. It was the wrong style for a 39-year-old fighter.  She should have tried to be more slick as an older fighter rather than a banger.”  

In other words, Abel Sanchez pushed Braekhus to be a type of fighter that she’s not.  

McCaskill was a bit more blunt.  

“It was arrogance. Arrogance in what he [Abel Sanchez] thinks his ability is as a coach and arrogance collectively that they can just try something new on this random person, and either way, they’ll just come out on top.”   

Ramos echoed the sentiment.  “This will sound disrespectful, but I think it was arrogance from Cecilia and more so from Abel.  They’ve been in the game so long that we’re basically fighting their names and reputations, right? I think it was arrogance. They didn’t really think of us.  I always pay attention to the coaching, and I’m sure Abel Sanchez didn’t even blink an eye at me.  Right before the fight, I pointed at them and said, Jess, look at them; they’re old. We should beat these guys. They are not on our level anymore.” 

What’s more, Ramos didn’t think the arrogance was confined to two people. 

 “It was pure arrogance on everyone involved.  If you even look at the championship belts [given to Jessica], they say Cecilia on them.  That’s the highest level of disrespect. It wasn’t just Cecilia and Abel; it was promoters, writers, odd makers, and everyone involved.”  

Immediately after the fight, McCaskill wondered if it was going to be a draw and if Ramos would be okay with that.  Ramos had McCaskill winning by one round, but wouldn’t have been surprised if it was a draw simply based on being the “B-side��� and Braekhus’s status in the sport. 

The first score read: 95-95.  After hearing that score, McCaskill thought about how she had the dominant ring presence, threw more punches, and didn’t do things wrong like backpedal and get caught on the ropes.  She felt confident the win would be hers. 

Interestingly, McCaskill says a key give away is how the other scores are read.  If it is announced that one judge has a certain score, and another judge has a different score, it will be a draw.  But when the scores are read together, it will be a majority decision.  Sure enough, the next two scores were read together, 97-93 and 97-94, and McCaskill waited for what felt like a year to hear “and the NEW . . . “  

The sense of relief was overwhelming.  Ramos says the win cements his place in the boxing world and McCaskill's place in the hall of fame as a two-division, unified, and undisputed champion.  

“I’m just happy for everything we’ve been through. Buying all of the tickets ourselves, all of the promoters and sanctioning bodies blowing me off . . . I honestly want to say “Fuck You” to everyone for not believing in us.”  

McCaskill wasn’t as defiant but did say, “the haters are out there, and they’re salty, and they’re upset, but we did it. We came and did exactly what we said we were going to do, and I was very happy for the team. “

Thanks to COVID, Team McCaskill’s celebration was muted.   Some close friends and gym members had driven down from Chicago, and together they enjoyed cheeseburgers, ice cream, and beer from room service. Nonetheless, a celebration was to be had. Jessica McCaskill unseated the First Lady of Boxing to become the new undisputed welterweight champion. 

Immediately after the fight, Braekhus intimated that she was hanging up the gloves. But after reflecting on what she viewed as a poor performance, she elected to exercise her rematch clause.  

Both McCaskill and Ramos believe that exercising the rematch clause doesn’t make good business.  

Ramos said, “She’ll have to fight by the end of the year, and I don’t think she stays with Abel Sanchez, and I don’t think she learns a whole new style from a new coach in three or four months.  She could go back to her old coach, and that’s cool, but there was something going on for her to leave in the first place.  I don’t think she’d be putting herself in place to win.  And I think whoever is managing her and promoting her would agree with me."

McCaskill holds a slightly different view.  When the rematch happens, because McCaskill is now the “A” side, the fight will be at 145 pounds again, which proved detrimental to Braekhus the first time around.  If Braekhus insists on the fight occurring at 147 pounds, McCaskill laughed, she’ll have to get paid more, that’s how it works.  

But McCaskill also has the interests of women’s boxing at heart.  

“If Cecilia fights me again and loses, or gets knocked out, nobody is going to want to see her again. If she sets the rematch aside, and Taylor v. McCaskill 2 happens, Katie has momentum; I have momentum, that’s going to be a good business plan.  Cecilia can make contracts to fight both of us, winner and loser.  That will give her at least two more fights, whereas if she fights me right away, that could be her last fight.  A good business plan all around is to keep female boxing going; we don’t want to stifle it.”

Nonetheless, Braekhus seems only interested in attempting to getting her former belts back.  But McCaskill gave Braekhus her first taste of defeat in 13 years of professional boxing. That can have a tremendous psychological toll on a fighter.  With the rematch slated for early 2021, McCaskill and her team are more than willing to give Braekhus a second helping loss. 

(Featured Photo: Ed Mulholland/Matchroom Boxing)