#a bit cracky

[oh-surprise-its-me]

Welcome back everyone to the great British bake off!

Here we can now introduce our surprise guest judge!

He's fun loving, people loving, an all around fabulous guy, he’s also already promised to take Mary Berry out for dinner. Everyone give it up at home for Dani!

• Dani what are your expectations for you teammates? "I've had Jamie's baking, very good. Roy is good but Phoebe normally does all the actual ingredients part so he's a bit unknown. I think if we eat anything by Colin or Isaac we might die. And Sam will put his heart into anything though."

So high expectations and no mercy even though their your friends?

Dani throws his head back with a laugh, yes for the folks at home his hair is that pretty in person also.

"No mercy, they would be brutal if they were up here judging also."

You heard it Britain! He's going to crush their hopes and dreams!

———————

And now we come back. It’s the final round, in case you missed it, Colin has been eliminated for catching the mixer on fire. Sam and Jamie are in a neck and neck race to the finish. Roy is looking cool as a cucumber, he’s ahead schedule. Isaac is just waiting for the ice cream to set

•Dani who do you think will win this. “Jamie is looking as hot as he normally does but I know Roy is a killer.” He says with a laugh.

Paul Hollywood is by Jamie’s station right now, let’s tune in.

“You really think you can do this in time? The roses? The caramel?” Jamie laughs and leans across the bench, Roy fumbles the cake pan he’s holding when he looks up. “Paul I can do anything or anyone.” Paul laughs turning away.

Well for the viewers at home who might’ve missed that look, Jamie made Paul blush!

•Roy there was almost a tragedy can you say what caused it? “Not if we intend keep the pg rating.” Right! Moving on from that horny or threatening comment!

It’s coming down to the wire, Isaac and Sam are still panic decorating, Jamie has finished early, where is he’s now? Oh. There. He’s now sitting on Roy’s counter while Roy finishes they seem to be talking about what happens when the other loses. Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone else we can’t air the conversation they are having and to quote Roy here “if we intend to keep this pg.”

• Colin has joined in on the judging everyone, what’s your thoughts. “Sam’s is fabulous, bit wonky but good. Roy’s is as good as I expected, sweet but tastes homemade. Jamie’s is honestly incredible I have no clue how he did fake roses. Isaac mate I love you but you switched the salt and sugar, I literally can’t eat this”

Well everyone I’d say that this was a very successful bake off, and we’d like to announce our winner now. It was a close match, Sam you really nailed that first round, Roy you came in strong the second, Jamie you killed it in the final.

We are proud to announce that Jamie Tartt has won this episode of Bake off! Congratulations! You’re charity gets 50,000 and of course everyone else’s gets 20,000 because there’s no losing in bake off.

It’s been a great time hosting, can’t wait to see you all again soon!

[starry-bi-sky]

i need to get this out of my head before i continue clone^2 but danny being the first batkid. Like, standard procedure stuff: his parents and sister die, danny ends up with Vlad Masters. He drags him along to stereotypical galas and stuff; Danny is not having a good time.

He ends up going to one of the Wayne Galas being hosted ever since elusive Bruce Wayne has returned to Gotham. Vlad is crowing about having this opportunity as he's been wanting to sink his claws into the company for a long while now. Danny is too busy grieving to care what he wants.

And like most Galas, once Vlad is done showing him off to the other socialites and the like, he disappears. Off to a dark corner, or to one of the many balconies; doesn't matter. There he runs into said star of the show, Bruce who is still young, has been Batman for at least a year at this point, but still getting used to all these damn people and socializing. He's stepped off to hide for a few minutes before stepping back into the shark tank.

And he runs into a kid with circles under his eyes and a dull gleam in them. Familiar, like looking into a mirror.

Danny tries to excuse himself, he hasn't stopped crying since his parents died and it's been months. He rubs his eyes and stands up, and stumbles over a half-hearted apology to Mister Wayne. Some of Vlad's etiquette lessons kicking in.

Bruce is awkward, but he softens. "That's alright, lad," he says, pulling up some of that Brucie Wayne confidence, "I was just coming out here to get some fresh air."

There's a little pressing; Bruce asks who he's here with, Danny says, voice quiet and grief-stricken, that he's with his godfather Vlad Masters. Bruce asks him if he knows where he is, and Danny tells him he does. Bruce offers to leave, Danny tells him to do whatever he wants.

It ends with Bruce staying, standing off to the side with Danny in silence. Neither of them say a word, and Danny eventually leaves first in that same silence.

Bruce looks into Vlad Masters after everything is over, his interest piqued. He finds news about him taking in Danny Fenton: he looks into Danny Fenton. He finds news articles about his parents' deaths, their occupations, everything he can get his hands on.

At the next gala, he sees Danny again. And he looks the same as ever: quiet like a ghost, just as pale, and full of grief. Bruce sits in silence with him again for nearly ten minutes before he strikes a conversation.

"Do you like to do anything?"

Nothing. Just silence.

Bruce isn't quite sure what to do: comfort is not his forte, and Danny doesn't know him. He's smart enough to know that. So he starts talking about other things; anything he can think of that Brucie Wayne might say, that also wasn't inappropriate for a kid to hear.

Danny says nothing the entire time, and is again the first to leave.

Bruce watches from a distance as he intercts with Vlad Masters; how Vlad Masters interacts with him. He doesn't like what he sees: Vlad Masters keeps a hand on Danny's shoulder like one would hold onto the collar of a dog. He parades him around like a trophy he won.

And there are moments, when someone gets too close or when someone tries to shake Danny's hand, of deep possessiveness that flints over Vlad Masters' eyes. Like a dragon guarding a horde.

He plays the act of doting godfather well: but Bruce knows a liar when he sees one. Like recognizes like.

Danny is dull-eyed and blank faced the entire time; he looks miserable.

So Bruce tries to host more parties; if only so that he can talk to Danny alone. Vlad seems all too happy to attend, toting Danny along like a ribbon, and on the dot every hour, Danny slips away to somewhere to hide. Bruce appears twenty minutes later.

"I was looking into your godfather's company," he says one night, trying to think of more things to say. Some nights all they do is sit in silence. "Some of my shareholders were thinking of partnering up--"

"Don't."

He stops. Danny hardly says a word to him, he doesn't even look at him -- he's sitting on the ground, his head in his knees. Like he's trying to hide from the world. But he's looking, blue eyes piercing up at Bruce.

Bruce tilts his head, practiced puppy-like. "Pardon?"

"Don't." Danny says, strongly. "Don't make any deals with Vlad."

It's the most words Danny's spoken to him, and there's a look in his eyes like a candle finding its spark. Something hard. Bruce presses further, "And why is that?"

The spark flutters, and flushes out. Danny blinks like he's coming out of a trance, and slumps back into himself. "Just don't."

Bruce stares at him, thoughtful, before looking away. "Alright. I won't."

And they fall back into silence.

Danny, when he leaves, turns to look at Bruce, "I mean it." He says; soft like he's telling a secret, "Don't make any deals with him. Don't be alone with him. Don't work with him."

He's scampered away before Bruce can question him further.

(He never planned on working with Vlad Masters and his company; he's done his research. He's seen the misfortune. But nothing ever leads back to him. There's no evidence of anything. But Danny knows something.)

At their next meeting, Danny starts the conversation. It's new, and it's welcomed. He says, cutting through their five minute quiet, that he likes stars. And he doesn't like that he can't see them in Gotham.

Bruce hums in interest, and Danny continues talking. It's as if floodgates had been opened, and as Bruce takes a sip of his wine, it tastes like victory.

("Tucker told me once--") ("Tucker?") ("Oh-- uh, one of my best friends. He's a tech geek. We haven't talked in a while.")

(Danny shut down in his grief -- his friends are worried, but can't reach him. When he goes back to the manor with Vlad, he fishes out his phone and sends them a message.)

(They are ecstatic to hear from him.)

It all culminates until one day, when Danny is leaving to go back inside, that Bruce speaks up. "You know," He says, leaning against the railing. "The manor has many rooms; plenty of space for a guest."

The implication there, hidden between the lines. And Danny is smart, he looks at Bruce with a sharp glean in his eyes, and he nods. "Good to know."

The next time they see each other, Danny has something in his hands. "Can you hold onto something for me?" He asks.

When Bruce agrees, Danny places a pearl into his palm. or, at least, it's something that looks like a pearl. Because it's cold to the touch; sinking into Bruce's white silk gloves with ease and shimmering like an opal. It moves a little as it settles into his hand, and the moves like its full of liquid.

Bruce has never seen anything like it before, but he does know this; it's not human. "What is it?" He asks, and Danny looks uncomfortable.

"I can't tell you that." He says, shifting on his foot like he's scared of someone seeing it. "But please be careful with it. Treat it like it's extremely fragile."

When Bruce gets home, he puts it in an empty ring box and hides the box in the cave. He tries researching into what it is. he can't find anything concrete.

Everything comes to a head one day when Danny appears at the manor's doorstep one evening, soaking wet in the rain, and bleeding from the side.

[eliteseven]

BG3 Drabble: Everybody Wants Tav

Pairing: (named)F!Tav & Shadowheart

Words: 5.5k

Synopsis: Shadowheart and Tav share intense romantic feelings for one another, but are too timid and conflicted to act on them. Being the nosy group they are, the Tadfools hatch a rather idiotic genius plan: to flirt shamelessly with Tav in front of Shadowheart, hoping to spark Shadowheart’s jealousy, and galvanize her into action.  

Inspired by this ask :)

The fledgling relationship growing between Shadowheart and Tav is one of the worst-held secrets in camp. 

It’s universally acknowledged, by this point, that both women are more or less enamored with each other. 

Serena rarely misses an opportunity to include Shadowheart in the smaller groups she takes with her when they venture away from camp. They’re constantly side-by-side, whether in battle, or merely occupying the same log around the fire, come supper. 

They’d moved in relative secrecy before, that much is true. Shadowheart had insisted upon it, and though Serena was wounded by the notion that Shadowheart might be ashamed of their relationship, she’d respectfully obliged. 

The Gauntlet of Shar changed everything. 

Just…not outwardly. 

The night that Shar severed her connection to Shadowheart, the former cleric was inconsolable. Her dreams, her path in life, erased in the span of a single evening. A single trip to the Shadowfell had rendered her lost, without a goddess, feeling more alone than she ever had before. 

And of course, she slept in Serena’s tent that night…though she wept until the stars faded into dawn, her tears soaking through Tav’s shirt and into her chest. 

Though the rest of camp had remained respectfully silent, they saw with their own eyes the way Serena was Shadowheart’s first line of defense, her refuge when all else had been taken from her. They’d noticed the way Serena would come by her tent, multiple times a day, for the next two tendays, bringing her meals, sitting outside her tent when Shadowheart would attempt to isolate herself. 

There can be no questioning the deep affection they carry for one another; Shadowheart is different, around Serena. Lighter, happier,…Whole. 

But it is uniquely Shadowheart to deny herself happiness, so terrified of loss now, that she cannot bring herself to admit the full extent of her feelings to Serena. 

What is achingly obvious to nearly everyone else seems to elude the two central to the topic. 

Serena and Shadowheart dance around each other, even now- though Shadowheart hasn’t the courage to rekindle their moonlit trysts, she pines after Serena. She seems to gain more of herself- not her Sharran self, but her true self, every day. 

And though it might only be a matter of time before one of them comes to their senses and takes action, the group fears that time is simply a luxury they do not possess. Not only that, but the frustration between the two is evident. 

Serena nearly eviscerated a group of Bhaal cultists by Bloomridge Park, so tense as she was, with loads of pent up physical desire that manifested in a deadly swing of her blade. 

And not a day later, Shadowheart single-handedly laid waste to a vicious group of Sahuagin by the docks.

…Before anyone else could even catch up to her long, agitated strides. 

What started as a simple chase, a romantic back-and-forth, has been moving at a glacial pace, and the effects are evident. 

And that is why the group has called an impromptu meeting around the campfire, on this particular evening. 

Serena has chosen Shadowheart (to the surprise of no one), and Jaheira, to case the Counting House for infiltration. 

It provides the perfect opportunity to discuss the camp’s resident issue between their leader and healer. 

The forum is open for discussion- though it is not quite as tactical as any one of them had hoped... 

“...Well it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Karlach snorts. “Shads needs to ride her and be done with it.” 

“Agreed.” Astarion nods. “I mean, really, what is there to lose?” 

Lae’zel glances up across the fire through a slitted gaze. “What would she be riding?” She inquires, fairly solemnly, though confusion is evident in her tone. 

“...I’m not certain it’s any of our business.” Wyll admits, not unkindly. “They need to realize their feelings for themselves. And Shadowheart just went through quite the change.” 

“I agree.” Gale tuts. “Though…I suppose we could help them along, in several ways.” he stirs at the cauldron over the fire, and while the Leek and Potato soup is far from done, the scent is welcoming nonetheless. 

“They are fools. Their refusal to lay together will cost us all our lives.” Lae’zel counters sharply. 

…Okay, so maybe they had noticed Serena ogling Shadowheart, managing to fall off a dock in the Grey Harbor as a result of her lapse in focus. 

Who wouldn’t? 

“It’s not just matters of a…carnal nature.” Wyll sighs. “Can’t you see they’re in love? We can’t hurry that along any more than a flower can be forced to bloom before its season.” Wyll sips at his wine, shaking his head. 

“Love.” Astarion rolls his eyes. “It’s not as if we’ve parasites in our minds, or anything. By all means, why don’t we get them a room at the Elfsong and lock them in it?” 

“...We’re trying to encourage romance, Astarion, not starvation.” Wyll points out. 

“...Trust me, they’ll be eating.” Astarion grins. 

Lae’zel thinks for a moment, likely trying to understand the expression, and then smirks. 

Gale’s ladle falls into the cauldron and he hisses at the hot backsplash of soup. “Might we change the subject?” He laughs nervously, clutching the back of his neck. 

“Again.” Wyll clears his throat. “As I’ve said before, this is a matter of the heart. Delicate, like a flower-” 

“-Right, yeah, that’s all good.” Karlach snorts. “But did you see Shads the other day at Elfsong? When that maid accidentally got a good look at Tav in the bath?” Karlach shakes her head, grinning. “Gods, she was running as hot as I am.” 

“Oh yes.” Gale sucks in a quick breath at the memory. “I believe she threatened to give the poor lady a…what was it? Ah, yes, a good thrashing. …A bit terrifying, that.” 

Lae’zel snorts. “Her anger is better spent on the ghaik invader in our minds.” 

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Karlach points to her in agreement. “Why don’t we just…give them a friendly push?” 

Astarion scoffs. “Short of laying with our hapless leader in front of Shadowheart, how do you hope to accomplish that? The girl’s had every opportunity. Have we considered that Shadowheart might not desire Tav in this way?” 

“...That’s…not a bad idea.” Karlach muses aloud. 

“...You can’t be serious.” Wyll scoffs. 

Astarion quirks a brow. “...Well, don’t look at me. I’m not volunteering.” 

“I will lay with her.” Lae’zel sniffs. “If she is truly strong, she will emerge from this with a renewed sense of dignity…Or she will break.” 

Karlach looks a bit dumbstruck, to be fair. “...Ah, that’s…not really what I meant, ‘Lae. But…good to know…” 

A puff of smoke nearly puts out the fire, and before them manifests a figure of sinewy muscle wrapped suffocatingly around bone. 

“Withers!” Gale greets cheerily. “May we offer you a piping hot bowl of soup?” 

Withers turns his head slowly, surveying them all, before resting a hollow gaze upon Gale. 

“Thou shalt not.” 

“...Right, well, it isn’t ready yet, but you have some time to-” Gale’s fumbling is bypassed by a flourish of Withers’ hands. 

“Thou dost seek to bridge the chasm ’twixt thy healer and thy leader, dost thou not?” Withers asks gravely. 

“...We…Thy…do…” Karlach tries, shrugging helplessly as she nods. 

“Such matters do steer thee astray from the battles that yet lie before thee.” Withers tells them, sagely, as if they aren’t all simply gossiping together like a group of hens. 

“Really?” Astarion snorts. “We storm Cazador’s palace and you said and did absolutely nothing, but Shadowheart can’t seem to mount Tav properly and this warrants divine…or whatever you are…intervention?” 

“Yes.” Withers blinks coldly at Astarion, and the discussion between them ends there. “I shall craft a feast, that it might draw them unto one another.” 

He waves his hand, and the stew Gale has labored over for hours vanishes. 

“Hey!” Gale exclaims, turning to Withers with a look of utter shock. “I’ll have you know that was three hours in the mak- oh.” 

A veritable feast has been conjured behind them, a massive spread of the finest food and drink along a sprawling wooden table, previously where Tav had pored over warmaps, strategizing. 

Karlach gapes. “I didn’t…did you know he could do that?” 

Wyll grins. “This is truly a gift, Withers, thank you.” 

Lae’zel’s eyes narrow at Withers. “And yet, we’ve spent many evenings hunting when we could have been honing our skills.” 

“...A rare occasion, indeed, this evening.” Withers offers, turning to smoke once more as he disappears from view. 

Astarion gawks at the table behind them, with enough food upon it to feed the entirety of the lower city. “And not a single vial of blood.” He mutters, downing the rest of the wine in his chalice. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------

The walk back to camp is tiresome, though every day since the loss of her faith has been exhausting, for Shadowheart. 

Conflict lies deep in her soul- regarding herself, her heart, and everything she ever knew- that she can remember, anyway. 

The moonlit walk with Jaheira and Serena is most calming, however, and Shadowheart feels an inkling of normalcy- whatever that’s supposed to feel like- setting in. 

Serena does not push. 

The night they returned from the Shadowfell, Shadowheart had shut down completely. She allowed herself to be carried into Serena’s tent, wrapped up in her arms, where she’d cried herself to sleep. 

Leaving her tent the next morning was one of the most difficult things Shadowheart has ever had to do in her life. 

Every fiber of her being had longed- still longs- to tell Serena the truth: that Shadowheart is desperately in love with her. Worse yet- that Serena is all she has. 

She had intended to tell her almost-lover right there and then, but the words died in her throat and crumbled back into ash in her chest. 

Shadowheart knows it’s foolish- how she’s withdrawn almost entirely, as of late- at least in a romantic sense. Everyone around her assumes it’s the loss of Shar- that it’s rendered her catatonic, emotionally. 

It’s not the loss of Shar that makes her hesitate, but the prospect of not being good enough for Serena. 

Doubt is something Shadowheart has warred with her entire life. Doubt in herself, at times- her faith, doubt in her goddess, her own history, always simmering beneath a placid looking surface. 

In truth, Shadowheart questions her value, now. Her very right to existence. Who is she, without her lady to guide her? What could she possibly be worth to Serena, now? 

She sees it in her eyes: the same adoration she feels for Serena, the feeling she tries so desperately to mask. It’s there, plain as day. 

Shadowheart doesn’t know what she did to fool Serena into ever thinking she was worthy of her affections, but now? Nameless, faithless, and without a true purpose? 

Shadowheart fears the one hand extended to her in kindness will recoil the minute she reaches for it. 

And so she leaves Serena hanging in a most cruel manner; though they have not touched- beyond the brushing of hands, or a bump in passing, Shadowheart keeps her suspended in mystery. She does not seek Serena out for nightly trysts, or stolen kisses beneath the silvery light of the moon. She does not attempt to poke her head into Serena’s tent every once in a while, under the guise of complaining about whatever Lae’zel said, or discussing “strategy” for their next battle. 

She has all but ceased their romantic contact, without ever once sharing an intimate word with Serena on the subject. 

And it’s not as if Serena doesn’t have her fair share of suitors…

Shadowheart’s blood boils as she recalls the way the young maid in Elfsong had gotten to drink in the sight of Serena, one bare leg perched above the bathtub as she cleaned herself, before hastily apologizing and backing out of the occupied room. 

It should have been Shadowheart, and she should’ve been joining Serena in that bath. 

Serena had been a modest and fair sport about the entire ordeal, but Shadowheart wonders if, perhaps, she liked it? 

They’ve been traveling for some time now, and Shadowheart feels her own most base desires, seeping into her thoughts increasingly. It has been some time since she’s been held, since she properly joined with another. The ache between her thighs is consistent, and she knows her thirst could only be quenched by one other soul. 

But Shadowheart has lost her confidence, and though Serena did make something akin to a mewling noise when she first saw Shadowheart’s change in hairstyle and color, Shadowheart wonders if perhaps she’s lost her appeal. 

Instead, she often retreats to her tent early, or to the nearby stream. She confesses her love of Serena to Scratch and the Owlbear instead, because she knows her secrets are nowhere safer in camp than with them. 

She glances back at Serena now, talking with Jaheira as they pause right at the border of their camp, marked by a single barrel Karlach had haphazardly thrown to the side. 

Serena glances back at her, and again, they share a longing glance, before Shadowheart severs the eye contact and turns away to her tent. 

Her heart can’t take much more of this. 

“Shadowheart!” Wyll waves her over to the fire in the distance, and Shadowheart’s stomach grumbles in response to seeing a veritable mountain of food, laid on a table, banquet-style. Her eyes widen in surprise.

Perhaps Raphael made a visit to camp in attempts to doom them all, again. 

Shadowheart finds she wouldn’t particularly mind, this time around. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------

A party.

They’re having a damned party. 

Gale fiddles with a lute.

Shadowheart didn’t even know Gale could play the lute. Gods know he wouldn’t be able to shut up about he’d played, likely for Mystra, at a time, if he could. 

That in itself is suspicious. 

Let alone the massive banquet that has seemingly appeared from thin air. 

“Gale’s magic!” Wyll had explained, rather hastily. Withers let out something akin to a cough on the other side of camp, immediately after. 

Why Gale would wait until this point in their journey to switch from laboring over a cauldron for hours to simply manifesting a feast upon a table, Shadowheart cannot guess. 

But it goes deeper than that. 

Wine flows, and there isn’t an empty chalice in the group- despite the fact that they have nothing to celebrate, as of late. 

With Orin on the prowl, and Gortash moving methodically, they have their work cut out for them, and it’s hardly the time to dance around the fire, as Karlach seems to be doing. 

“C’mon, Shads!” Karlach prods, as Shadowheart sits at the table, likely brought out of her hidey-hole for a meal she intended to eat in isolation. “Dance with me!” 

Shadowheart has the grace to wear a sad smile as she extends her polite rejection to Karlach. It almost breaks her heart to do so. 

Karlach is happy, fun, a bright flame that she would only smother with her stormy mood, as of late. 

“You sure?” Karlach asks, a touch softer, but Shadowheart chews slowly on a piece of bread, her eyes locked instead on Serena. 

Across the fire, Serena has removed her armor and changed into her camp clothing. 

Her new camp clothing, gifted to her by none other than Figaro “facemaker” Pennygood. 

Her new, backless camp clothing. 

Karlach stifles a snort. “...Well, we’ll be here if you change your mind.” She offers, but Shadowheart is long gone. 

Shadowheart watches as Wyll- that damned, honorable, charismatic, beautiful man- sidles a touch closer to Serena, on the log they occupy. 

Shadowheart quirks a brow. 

Serena does, too- she offers her plate to Wyll in an innocent gesture, likely curious as to why he’d choose to sit with her alone. 

Wyll chuckles and declines. 

Shadowheart struggles to hear them over the crackling of the fire and Gale’s song on the lute, but she strains to listen, anyway. 

It becomes evident when Wyll stands, bowing in a formal sort of way, before clearing his throat, “Would the lady give me the honor of a dance?” He asks. 

Serena glances behind her, almost comically. “...Me?” She blinks, wearing a look of utter surprise. 

Shadowheart inwardly rolls her eyes. 

Serena cares little for reminders of her past life in nobility. In fact, her hatred of the patriar traditions runs so deeply, that often times, she will-

Serena is smiling. 

Shadowheart cannot tell if she wears a blush, or if the fire has simply heated her cheeks. 

…Perhaps the fire has fried her brain, too, along with the tadpole in it- because she accepts Wyll’s hand with a rather confused, but amused smile nonetheless. 

“I think…You and I might have been here, before.” Wyll teases- though Shadowheart isn’t certain what he means by that. 

Serena and Wyll ran in the same circles, in their youth- both from powerful patriar families, attending the same gatherings, abiding the same traditions. It’s well and truly possible that he and Serena have danced, courted each other, even- in their youth. 

Shadowheart doesn’t realize the way her face is scrunched up in utter disdain at the mere thought, until Lae’zel smirks at her from across the table. 

Shadowheart peels her eyes away from Wyll as he twirls Serena in time to Gale’s music, and she glares at Lae’zel. 

Though Lae’zel has stopped antagonizing her, and Shadowheart considers the Githyanki a friend, more than anything- that doesn’t mean there aren’t times in which they still enjoy the thrill of a back-and-forth. 

But tonight, Shadowheart hasn’t the energy. 

“What?” Shadowheart snaps, trying not to stare at Serena through the dancing flames. She laughs, and Wyll joins in. He dips her, with a careful hand along the small of her back-her bare back- and Shadowheart’s fingers curl under the table. 

“Curious. I have not seen you so angry while eating.” Lae’zel remarks. “I was told you would be satisfied once you and Tav ate.” 

Shadowheart blinks. 

This night just gets stranger and stranger. 

“I’m not very hungry…” She lies. “And...am I supposed to know what you’re referring to?” Shadowheart scoffs, feeling old Sharran sentiments surfacing for a moment, and forcing them down. There’s no need to act so biting- not when everyone is in such high spirits. 

Scratch nuzzles Shadowheart’s ankle under the table, and she smiles softly, scratching behind his ears. 

“Hello, you.” Shadowheart whispers, and Scratch tilts his head up on her lap. He pants, and he looks like he’s grinning at her, making her heart flutter with an innocent happiness. 

A twig is deposited in her lap, only half covered with slobber and drool. 

Shadowheart grimaces, but laughs softly, accepting her fate. “You want to play, boy?” She coos, rising from her seat. 

She glances at Serena one last time, laughing as Wyll bows to her, and she feigns a curtsy, the image of soft elegance and grace, despite the humor with which she’s approached the request. 

Shadowheart turns away, curious as to when Serena and Wyll have become so very close. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------

The uproarious laughter from the campfire makes it hard to concentrate on her game of fetch with Scratch, despite how much Shadowheart tries to tune them out. 

It’s already hard enough forcing herself to be out of her tent, when she wants nothing more than to crawl into it and die, but a party? 

To be fair, Serena seems equally as perplexed by their companions’ sudden change in plans, but she seems to be adjusting decently, all things considered. 

She joins Karlach in a drinking game, and when she laughs out loud, Shadowheart cannot help but gaze over, longingly. 

And of course, she meets her favorite amber gaze, because there isn’t ever a time in which they don’t look after each other longingly, after a few moments. 

Shadowheart’s eyes nearly pop out of her head when Karlach reaches over and brushes a drop of ale off Serena’s lip with her thumb, rather intimately. 

Serena freezes in place, her own eyes wide and bearing shock as she blinks a few times, as if she’d just imagined the blatantly flirtatious move. 

She touches her own lips for a moment in surprise, and then laughs the entire ordeal off somewhat awkwardly. 

Karlach smiles all the while, “Cute, soldier.” She comments at Serena’s dumbstruck expression, before reaching to open another bottle. 

Shadowheart feels her lip curl in disdain. 

Cute?

…And, yes, Serena is cute- but since when has Karlach thought so? 

Shadowheart tries to busy herself with something as menial as fetch- it normally brings her endless joy, watching Scratch bound over with the ball, eyes twinkling in delight. 

But Serena is usually a few feet away, often prattling on about a book she’s enjoyed, or writing in her journal, and that’s what’s missing, as much as Shadowheart doesn’t wish to acknowledge the fact. 

Serena has become a pillar in her life; a fixture that cannot be replaced. 

Only, Shadowheart hasn’t told her as much. 

Serena sits back down on the log by the fire, and this time, it’s Gale who leans against the foot of the log she sits atop, glancing up at her by tilting his head backwards. 

Shadowheart pauses mid-throw, eliciting a very confused whine from Scratch, who nearly leaps in the air in anticipation. 

“Fancy seeing you here…” Gale announces in his best debonair tone. 

“...In camp?” Serena clarifies, wearing a look of utter confusion. “...Where…I live?”

Gale hesitates for a moment. “Ah…well, no, but…here. By the fire….with me.” He adds. 

Shadowheart doesn’t know if she should laugh or cry. In all honesty, she’s starting to question if the wine is poisoned, and she’s merely hallucinating all of this. 

“...It is supper time.” Serena offers in a most confused tone, almost as if she’s asking a question. 

“...Fair point.” Gale concedes awkwardly. “Although, I must ask, would you be opposed to spending a little time observing the heavens with me?” Gale gestures to the night sky, alight with stars as bright as Selûne’s tears. 

Shadowheart snaps the twig she’s holding in half. 

This has to be in jest. 

Scratch barks at her in retaliation, and Shadowheart startles, as nearly the entire camp glances back at them both. 

“...Sorry, boy.” Shadowheart sighs, shoulders slumping as she drops the ends of the twig. “I don’t think I’m much for games right now.” She admits. 

Scratch bounds away after a moment, towards the campfire, likely choosing alternative companionship, after that pathetic display. 

She sets off towards her tent, her mind a messy web of entangled thoughts and sentiments, weighing her entire being down. 

She nearly trips over Scratch when he deposits a familiar red ball at her shoes. 

Shadowheart cannot help it; she laughs softly. 

She glances backwards at the campfire, curious as to where he’s found his favorite toy, and her questions are answered when Serena smiles at her from across camp, gesturing to her pocket. 

Of course she’d carry Scratch’s favorite toy around; there’s a reason she’s consistently his favorite. 

Shadowheart feels butterflies in her stomach all over again. 

Serena is always there for her, even in the midst of being (very poorly) courted by Gale, it seems. 

Shadowheart decides to humor Scratch, and the love of her life, and stay out a little longer. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------

The night almost feels normal, for a moment. 

Shadowheart has found her way back to the fire, and she occupies the same log as Serena, this time. 

The way it should be. 

Their pinkies barely brush, resting on the log in the space between them, and that alone sets Shadowheart’s soul ablaze. 

The post-supper conversations are amusing, and they all take turns trading stories, laughing at each other’s most outlandish tales. 

It’s only when they begin to put out the main fire, and slowly retreat to their respective tents, that Shadowheart’s companions begin to act oddly, once more. 

Shadowheart swears, only Jaheira has exhibited normal behavior- and that is because she saw the feast, took a plate and a glass of wine to her tent, and retired early for the evening. 

Shadowheart doesn’t know how, but she’s beginning to understand that Jaheira can foresee their youthful tomfoolery before it happens, and promptly avoids it, every time. 

Although this behavior…it goes beyond simple tomfoolery. 

As Serena rises from the log, and stretches- she exposes a patch of midriff that has Shadowheart’s mouth dry. 

But it’s her craning, exposed neck, as she stretches, that seems to draw Astarion’s attention, from across the fire. 

“My..what a pretty thing.” Astarion coos, taking a step closer. 

Serena narrows her eyes defensively, pausing mid-stretch. She glances beside her, at Shadowheart, and then back at Astarion, as if she’s unsure who he’s referring to. 

“Just think…all this to drink, and yet, I haven’t had my fill.” Astarion purrs, as he approaches Serena, red eyes locked on her neck, flitting down to the plunging neckline of her suit. 

“...Then you’d better go hunting.” Shadowheart grits, stepping forward in front of Serena in a protective manner. 

It feels eerily like their dynamic on the first few nights at camp, only this time, Shadowheart gives voice to her concerns. She gives voice to the jealousy, brewing in her heart. 

“And what if I already am?” Astarion grins. 

“Ah…” Serena clears her throat, wearing a look of bewilderment. “...What is…I’m not certain that��is it me, or has everyone lost their minds this evening?” Serena blurts out, flustered and at the ends of her diplomatic rope. 

“Yes.” Shadowheart folds her arms, glaring at them all. “They have.” 

Their campmates exchange odd looks, but no one responds immediately. 

It is Lae’zel, who clears her throat, standing from her seat on the log beside Wyll. 

Shadowheart’s shoulders relax, as do Serena’s. 

With Lae’zel, there is no “beating around the bush”- she will deliver answers, in a clipped, no-nonsense tone, once and for all. …And then they can all just retire, and put this oddity of an evening behind them. 

Lae’zel stands face to face with Serena, and sighs. 

And then she kisses her. 

A full, open-mouthed, cheek cupping kiss- bold and passionate, with a warrior’s spirit, like everything Lae’zel does. 

Shadowheart’s gasp echoes louder than an explosion, or, so it seems. 

She is frozen, rooted to the spot, as Lae’zel kisses Serena for a moment, and pulls away with a little smack of her lips. 

Serena, poor, stupefied Serena, simply stands there in shock. For the entirety of the kiss. 

Her eyes are wide, her expression is stunned, and the first thing she does is blink. 

Slowly, owlishly, she turns her head to Shadowheart, asking the silent question they both seem to share, in that moment: What the fuck just occurred? 

Serena glances back at Lae’zel with an indecipherable look; she’s well and truly broken. Her eyebrows are still in her hairline from shock, and Serena swallows, audibly. 

“...I too desire you carnally.” Lae’zel sounds as if she’s reading a sign, without any intonation, any sign of emotion in her words, other than, perhaps, annoyance. “I would like…to eat you. Or…ride you. …As I would a dragon.”

Serena gapes. 

Shadowheart blinks several times, still trying to affirm if this is reality, or a hallucination. 

The silence that follows can only be described as awkward. 

“Hah!” Astarion guffaws, the sound of his delight ringing through camp. 

“Gods.” Karlach mutters, burying her head in her hands. 

“I…” Serena croaks out a single word, but pauses, brow furrowed as she tries to process the whirlwind of events she’s just endured. “...Well, that was…” She trails off, at an utter loss for words. 

Shadowheart doesn’t know what to think.

She has watched every camp member, save for Jaheira (Shadowheart’s new favorite), flirt with Serena. 

She just watched Lae’zel devour Serena with a kiss. 

…Any hesitation within her is well and truly gone. 

She takes Serena’s hand, and stalks off, towards Serena’s tent. 

Serena follows very eagerly, all too happy to follow Shadowheart, away from all her potential suitors. 

“Where are you two going together?!” Karlach calls after them curiously. 

“To sleep!” Shadowheart snaps, and she smiles, when she hears the camp erupt into cheers by the fire. 

“It’s about time!” Karlach shouts, cupping her mouth with her hands so the words carry. 

They do, and Shadowheart finds herself in agreement. 

It certainly is. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------

Words feel unnecessary as Shadowheart ties the tent flaps of Serena’s tent closed, and practically tackles her to the bedroll. 

Serena gasps as Shadowheart kisses her passionately, so intent on making her forget the image of Lae’zel doing the same, despite it being a method of provocation, and nothing more. 

“I…” Serena gasps against her lips. “Heart…” She pleads, and though she grabs Shadowheart’s hips, keeping her anchored to her, there is a moment’s hesitation in her voice. 

Shadowheart pulls away, lips tingling. 

“I didn’t…that wasn’t…” Serena fumbles for words. 

“I know.” Shadowheart whispers amusedly, heart racing in her chest. 

Serena looks beautiful, even in the dim candlelight of her tent. 

“I…I’ve been trying to get your attention for…” Serena trails off. Tendays, at the very least. 

“I know.” Shadowheart affirms softly, stroking her cheek. “You have it.” She promises, tenderly, straddling Serena’s lap. “I should’ve said something sooner, I shouldn’t have been afraid…” She trails off, shaking her head. “But…” She worries her lip. “I want you, Tav, so badly that-” 

And they’re kissing again. 

It’s a mess of emotions, sweet kisses alternating between more passionate, heated ones, but it’s beautiful, all the same. 

“I couldn’t stand…” Shadowheart hisses as Serena’s lips kiss a trail against her jaw, ever reverent in how she regards her, how she handles her. “...Seeing you…with anyone else…” 

Serena nods, frantic, as Shadowheart rolls her hips against her, whining softly, making her brain implode, momentarily. 

“We…” Shadowheart gasps as Serena kisses her neck. “Need to…talk…” 

Serena pauses for a moment. 

“After? After.” Shadowheart nods frantically, pressing Serena down into the bedroll. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------

The following morning is bright and uplifting. Golden rays of sun wash over the camp, birdsong fills the air, and Shadowheart and Serena emerge from Serena’s tent, hand in hand, wearing lovesick expressions. 

Withers greets them both, first, on their way to the campfire for a spot of breakfast. 

“Ah, thous hast acquired a new bosom companion. I trust all unfolded as fate intended?” Withers nods to himself, eyeing their joined hands. 

Shadowheart exchanges a dubious glance with Serena. 

“...Yes.” Serena clears her throat, offering a smile to Withers despite his curious terminology. “We are…bosom companions.” She mutters the last part, but smiles genuinely at Shadowheart when she begins to snicker at the term. 

“Then all is as it should be.” Withers nods, and disappears before them, leaving Serena standing there, glancing at Shadowheart curiously. 

“Bosom companions…” Shadowheart remarks playfully, bringing Serena’s knuckles to her lips. “I suppose it sounds…tamer than lovers.” 

“We’re more than that.” Serena promises, and then glances around conspiratorially. “...Even he knew about us?” Serena whispers. 

Shadowheart smirks. “I’m starting to realize where the feast, and Gale’s lute-playing abilities came from, last night…” 

Serena’s eyes widen in realization. “...Well, I’m flattered by the concern, I suppose. Breakfast?” She turns to Shadowheart curiously. 

Shadowheart smirks at her. “But we already ate…” she drawls innocently, batting her long eyelashes and causing Serena to pause. 

She draws Serena into a slow, languid kiss, standing on her tip-toes as she bunches Serena’s collar in her hands, pulling her flush against her. 

Resting her forehead against Shadowheart’s, Serena wears a stupid smile as they part. 

Shadowheart mirrors it, allowing herself to bask in genuine happiness for the first time in a very long time.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Look who it is.” Astarion drawls as Serena and Shadowheart approach the campfire, where Gale hunches over a cauldron again, rubbing his lower back. “I nearly starved last night, thanks to you.” He sniffs airily. 

“Because of us?” Serena clarifies, and frowns. “Astarion, if you truly need my blood-” She begins, and Shadowheart visibly bristles at the mere notion. 

“-not that.” Astarion rolls his eyes. “You see, not a single creature in these woods stuck around after that racket you made.” 

Shadowheart pauses midway through lifting a water skin to her lips. 

Serena pauses as Gale loads stew into her dish. 

A cursory glance around the fire tells them that Astarion is not fibbing, this time. 

Wyll is asleep atop his log, his hand dipped in a cold bowl of stew. 

Karlach, with dark circles under her eyes, fights sleep as she lifts a spoon to her mouth, but fails, and drops the bowl all over herself, finally succumbing to sleep. 

Lae’zel leans on her sword, planted into the ground before her seat, but her eyes close and her head droops periodically. 

Gale’s mage-hand keeps him supported every time he leans over, sleep-deprived as he is. 

Only Jaheira looks well-rested, whistling as she joins them at the fire. “Good morning to all.” She greets, and then takes stock of her companions, frowning. “...What happened here?”

Astarion shrugs. “A lot of eating and riding, by the sounds of it.” 

Jaheira sighs, taking her bowl and turning back on her heel, right for her tent. 

[shih-coulda-had-it]

teenage menaces

wc: ~850; context: set a few months into the last year of Aldera, Toshinori baits Bakugou into a fist-fight and they got in trouble with admin. this was mostly me testing out whether or not I could write Bakugou without stepping into the bashing zone. izuku pov.

//

The three of them wait outside the classroom: Kacchan impatiently, Izuku anxiously, and Yagi cheerfully.

“Yagi-san, what if you get expelled?” Izuku hisses, weaving his fingers together to stop them from twitching.

“Then I’ll get homeschooled? Honestly, Midoriya-kun!” He laughs under his breath, grinning way too big for a boy who got in trouble for beating up the star pupil of Aldera. Kacchan—looks small, next to him. Small and furious, like he doesn’t know the right way to get Yagi to shut up and sit down. Izuku prays that Kacchan never finds out that Yagi is actually All Might. Something might really break.

“Shut the hell up,” Kacchan snarls. “I can’t hear what they’re saying.”

“Ah, if I know my old man…”

“I told you to shut up!”

“You don’t want to place a bet on it, Bakugou-shonen?”

“WHO ARE YOU CALLING ‘YOUNG’?!”

The door swings open to reveal a pale-faced principal and a deeply unimpressed Gran Torino. The latter is out of uniform, but the clean-cut fashion of the button-up and slacks does an effective job at communicating Torino’s professionalism. He swipes the end of his cane at Yagi’s ankle, and Yagi yelps and jumps in surprise.

“Who are you calling ‘old man’?” Torino snaps.

“Sorry,” Yagi says unapologetically. “What’s gonna happen, jii-san?”

“You’re suspended for three days,” the old man announces, and because Yagi looks delighted at not having to attend school, meaning Kacchan looks furious at this apparent light sentence, the principal valiantly steps in.

“You’ll obviously have assignments over this period, to reflect on your actions. And Bakugou-kun must have an apology made to him.”

“I don’t want his stupid apology!” Kacchan spits.

“Fujita-san,” says Torino, “I believe I told you what was going to happen. I’ll get the parents’ permission. They might even be happy about seeing their son in action, if the boy wants to be a hero. Just get me two teachers.”

“Torino-san, this is a deeply improper way to handle the situation—!”

“The entire way you’re running your school is improper,” he drawls. “Don’t worry, it’s not an issue unique to your administration. I know what I’m doing, and I know my boy. He won’t be the one hitting below the belt.”

Izuku connects the dots faster than either Kacchan or Yagi. He blurts out, “Are you having them fight?”, and two blond heads whip around to stare (or glare) him down, then back at each other. Yagi’s grin widens. 

Torino says mildly, “In martial arts classes, they call it a spar. Clears the head, knowing the hierarchy… of who’s better.”

The principal’s distress is palpable. “It’s not legal,” he protests.

“I’d win,” Kacchan declares, bristling. Izuku bites his tongue to stop himself from trying to intervene. This is not a fair fight that Torino is setting up; however Quirkless Yagi is, he hasn’t lost the experience of his time as All Might, and with all the training that Torino’s put them through, his muscle memory and reflexes are sharp. Just because Torino is promising to get parental and teacher supervision—god, it’s a whole trap. Kacchan can’t beat Yagi unless Yagi overestimates him. It would take a legitimate miracle for Yagi to lose.

“I don’t know, jii-san,” Yagi says playfully. “Isn’t that a little mean to Bakugou-kun? He won’t be able to use his Quirk in the fight.” Unlike today, his smile says. 

“You need a Quirk to punch someone down?” Torino responds, and he rolls his eyes at Yagi’s tone. “That’s when you cross into villain territory. No. This is going to be good old-fashioned fisticuffs.”

Does Kacchan sense it? He must. He’s never been an idiot. The way his eyes dart down to Torino, assessing, attempting to reassess the old man’s threat level, to so casually propose arranging a fight between two fifteen year olds—Kacchan knows the shape of the trap, then. It just depends on whether he believes he can win.

And Kacchan, Izuku knows, believes in winning.

“Midoriya-kun,” the principal suddenly says, and Izuku flinches at the sheer hope in the man’s tone. “You’ve known Bakugou-kun for a long time. Did he start the fight?” 

The weight of all their eyes is overwhelming. His loyalty is being torn two ways, and he doesn’t know who to save. If he stops this fight, and denies Kacchan the chance to show off his skills and heart, Kacchan will hate him. If he stops this fight, and affirms that Yagi threw the first punch, then—All Might won’t hate him. The wry twist to Yagi’s smile is basically a blessing to disavow his fellow Quirkless classmate.

But Izuku doesn’t want to disappoint All Might, or even Gran Torino.

He trembles, breathes shakily, and says, “Kacchan would never miss a fight he couldn’t win,” and in the time his audience takes to process, Izuku quite deliberately sides with Yagi. Not hiding. Standing elbow to elbow, in solidarity.

Kacchan’s face twists. “Deku,” he hisses.

“Focus, boy,” Torino says, and his cane clacks against the linoleum flooring. “Your fight’s with Toshinori. That is, if your parents agree to supervise.”

“What if they’re too busy?” 

“We’ll find a time.”

[jegulily-stuff]

My secret favourite regulily dynamic is Reg falling out with his ideology and family and just replacing it with complete hero worship of Lily. He finds out how powerful she is, the ancient magic she's capable of, and she's even kind to him. He's lost without a cult focus and someone to follow and just makes a new one for himself.

Lily's stuck between thinking it's hilarious and thinking it's sweet. She uses him as a test subject for her potions because he never complains and just wants to be useful to her. There's a collage of newspaper articles about her on the wall.

[jayofolympus-writes]

More from my pile of unposted works.

Soap has fallen in love with someone who will never want him back

Soap's head was pounding when he woke up and rolled out of bed. He hadn't drank that much in a long time, and he was paying for it now. His only consolation was that Gaz had been just as drunk as he was, and likely wasn't in any better shape now.

Ghost was a fucking godsend, already in the shared kitchen fixing up a fry up, even if he was radiating smugness without even having to turn around to look at Soap.

"So, when should I expect to get a save the date?" Ghost asked, plating up the bacon into a nice big pile that Soap was looking forward to scarfing down once he'd done something about his mouth feeling like he'd been eating sand.

It wasn't until he was gulping down water that Ghost's words registered, and Soap choked, spluttering water all over the counter.

"Fuck sake, keep it away from the fucking food," Ghost grumbled, moving to shield the plates with his body. "Trust you to be able to drown drinking a fucking glass of water."

Soap gave him the finger, unable to give a better response than that while he was still struggling to breathe.

"The fuck d'ye mean 'save the date'?" he demanded, once he had stopped choking.

Ghost just nodded to the notebook sitting ominously in the middle of the table. Soap could tell he was grinning under his mask, and decided to approach the notebook with the appropriate level of caution; treating it like an unidentified explosive that was rigged to blow. He still wasn't prepared for what he found inside.

Flicking through the pages, hazy memories trickled back into reach, fuzzy at the edges and tilted a little to the side, but clear enough to cause his cheeks to redden with embarrassment. Gaz had been bemoaning his lack of love life, the way all his cousins seemed to be getting married these days, and the fact that his mother was now hounding him for news of a relationship, and Soap had offered to marry him, forgetting in his drunkenness that he was meant to be keeping his crush to himself.

"Fuck," he hissed, looking at the sketches depicting himself in a kilt and Gaz carrying a bouquet. It appeared they were sharing Price and Ghost as their best men, and on the next page he'd clearly begun attempting to design rings.

The notebook needed to be burned.

He turned, intending to grab the nearest lighter and take the thing outside to hide the evidence of his shame, and nearly ran right into Gaz himself, emerging from the spare room.

"Oh my god, I can't believe we actually planned a wedding last night," Gaz laughed, snatching the notebook from him to flip through it, grinning. "Thank fuck I fell asleep before I could hit send, 'cause I tried to text my mum and tell her I was getting married."

Soap forced out a laugh, though it came out higher and more panicked than he intended. He needed to get the notebook back so he could burn it and they could all move on and pretend it had never happened. He needed to change his name and move to Mexico, really. Rudy would surely help him hide, maybe even set him up with a new identity. He couldn't believe he'd been so stupid as to put it all down on paper like that, not when plausible deniability had gotten him this far.

"Shit, Soap, for as shit faced as we were, these drawings are still fucking sick," Gaz said, inspecting one of the pages more closely. "I can barely draw stick figures when I'm sober, fucking hell."

Soap forced another laugh, getting desperate. Ghost turned to look at him, picking up his - far too obvious - distress signals.

"Right, food's up," Ghost announced, pulling the pan off the hob and sliding the last fried egg onto a plate. "I'm going for a smoke before I eat. Johnny?"

Soap nodded, so frantically that he felt like one of those stupid bobblehead things. "Yeah, sounds good," he said, his voice weak as he clutched at the merciful exit he'd been offered. "Leave some bacon for us, yeah?" he called to Gaz, already fleeing out the door.

Ghost caught up with him outside and silently offered his pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

"You know, last night I thought you just wanted to suck his dick," he noted, watching Soap far more intently than he'd like. "You really do want to marry him though don't you? You're fucked."

Soap didn't even try to deny it. He really was fucked. Gaz thought it was all some big joke, but he was going to figure it out sooner or later, and then Soap would... Well, at best, he'd be embarrassed and everything would be very awkward until he could get over it and move on. Considering how long he'd been hiding his feelings for Gaz, though, he didn't think he'd be getting over it any time soon. Would Gaz ever be able to look at him the same way after? It would make him uncomfortable, Soap was sure, to know that someone he worked so closely with, someone he was around almost all the time, had been creeping on him.

"Shit, you're not just fucked, Johnny," Ghost hissed, his eyes pitying. "You're already breaking your fucking heart over him."

Soap just shrugged. He could hardly help it; Gaz was beautiful, inside and out, with a sharp mind and a smile like sunshine. He was kind in a way that Soap had never been, and funny, and Soap loved him. It was hard not to.

"Doesn't really matter, does it?" he said, giving Ghost a sad smile. "Not like it's ever gonna happen. I'll get over it, ye jist need tae keep me from doin' anythin' stupid until then."

Ghost sighed. "How the fuck did I end up in the middle of this?"

That got a real laugh from Soap, and he felt steady enough to go back inside and face Gaz again, hopefully without giving himself away.

[seas-of-silver]

Hi guys! I know it's been a while since I've done one of these, but last year was a bit insane, so I'm back, and so is this ask game!

This is a request from Ardvarkeating101, who doesn't have Tumblr but wanted to still play in the "first sentence then scene" ask game, so here's my response to their submission!

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

In retrospect, Adrien probably should have figured out that his father was Hawkmoth before a SWAT team burst through the doors of the mansion. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t put it all together before now.

Well, there was the laughing, for one. Father’s laughter had always sounded a little evil for as long as Adrien could remember, but it had been taking on a more maniacal quality in recent months. He had picked up on the change because initially he thought that maybe Nathalie had developed a funny bone and Father might have been finally warming up to her, especially since the more cackle-like laugh had become increasingly frequent. Also, the whole mansion is covered in pristine marble, meaning that his father’s cackles from the atelier carried and echoed throughout the mansion, and those random maniacal cackles would startle Adrien out of his focus when studying… as did the akuma that almost always soon followed.

And then there was Father’s recent designs. Adrien would be the first to admit he’s far more creative than artistic (seriously - his drawings were more of stick figure quality), but that didn’t stop him from being able to tell the quality of a design when he saw it - perks of growing up in the fashion industry, he supposed. After all, it was that exposure to fashion that enabled him to spot the quality of Marinette’s designs, and how they rivalled junior designers ten years her senior.

But Father’s designs had been on a steady and rather concerning decline. It had started with what Adrien could only guess was attempts at making fashion faux pas fashionable, such as the “sandals with socks” designs that didn’t quite capture the imagination, but with every visit he made to his father’s atelier, he witnessed the quality of the work and ideas continually deteriorate. Just last week Adrien saw a most ludicrous design that incorporated the currently in-trend of brightly coloured pants in combination with steampunk and fairy design elements that made for a painfully eye watering monstrosity. If it wasn’t for his father’s distinctive art style in the drawing, Adrien wouldn’t have believed his father was capable of something so repulsive.

Adrien had attributed it to grief, and thought his Father would eventually be inspired enough to break out of this slump, but it seemed that his artistic decline was far worse than Adrien had ever realised. His akumas proved that it was possible for his father to have no artistic integrity.

Then there was Ladybug herself suspecting his father, but he didn’t want to entertain that suggestion. And he had become an akuma, so that had settled that debate, but in retrospect the timing was unbelievably convenient.

And then there was the most damning piece of evidence of all - Father had an increased interest in Adrien. Father had always been a distant man; Adrien always knew that Mother was the only person he would actually show love for, and while Adrien yearned for his father to be more expressive in his affection to him as his son, he understood that this was just the way his father was. Though, that didn’t stop Adrien from wanting to get closer with his father and to know him better.

But then Father started to visit him, talk to him - and not just about his performance at the most recent photoshoot or runway show. He was asking about how Adrien felt. He was asking about school. He was talking about Mother. And he was asking about his ring, his Miraculous, not that his father knew about the true nature of the ring.

…or perhaps that’s why he asked? Did Father suspect he was Chat Noir? He had asked about it in multiple occasions, after all. It was unnervingly intense to experience at the time, so it was likely he suspected him, and Adrien wondered now how he had managed to convince his father that he wasn’t the Black Cat hero of Paris.

What made his father’s behaviour all the more bizarre (and all the more damning) was the constant hopscotch between being hot and cold. Father had berated Adrien for talking about Mother, but then offered to watch his mother’s movie with him and told Adrien that he “didn’t have to hide anything from him”.  Father had refused to let him go to New York, changed his mind and let him go, and then ordered him back home over the course of three days. Father had repeatedly given him permission to hang out with friends, and had rescinded his permission at the last minute just as frequently. It was baffling, confusing, and had made Adrien wonder whether Father was doing this on purpose, or whether the man was slowly losing his short-term memory.

…could abusing the Miraculous lead to damaged short-term memory? He’d have to ask Plagg. But that would have to wait until after the SWAT raid was over.

Adrien wished he could talk to Nino or Alya or Marinette, but with him being under the protection of four SWAT guards (or was he a prisoner? He wasn’t sure), he doubted he’d have the permission to call them. And transforming into Chat Noir and escaping to Ladybug was completely out of the question. So Adrien sat in overwhelmed silence as troops swarmed the mansion, investigating every nook and cranny of every room.

…or at least he was silent until he saw his very disheveled father, who looked like he fought a leaf blower and lost.

‘Why, Father?’ he asked, ignoring the stinging in his eyes as his father was being escorted in handcuffs with SWAT soldiers on either side of him. ‘Why would you do it?’

‘You would never understand,’ Father snarled, fighting against his restraints. ‘You don’t love her like I do.’

‘Who?’ Adrien asked desperately. ‘Mother?’

Just then, Nathalie emerged, restrained and disheveled just like his father was.

‘Nathalie?!’ Adrien yelped, disbelieving. ‘What- why? How? You knew?’

Nathalie looked away, silent.

Father and Nathalie were read their Miranda rights and informed of their charges being the magical terrorists Hawk Moth and Mayura respectively, shoved unceremoniously into the back of a SWAT vehicle, and were driven away with an armoured entourage. The remaining SWAT soldiers continued to scour the mansion, while two intimidating men approached Adrien and his guards.

‘Adrien Agreste, I am Corporal Jean Briand, the leader of this SWAT Unit. How are you coping with all this?’

‘I- I…’ Adrien stammered, trying to form a sentence as his mind screamed incoherently. ‘I don’t know.’

‘That’s understandable,’ Corporal Briand said sympathetically. ‘I can only imagine it’s a lot to take in.’

Adrien thought that was a bit of an understatement.

‘Am… am I under arrest, sir?’ Adrien asked.

‘No, no you’re not,’ the Corporal reassured with a small smile. ‘Chat Noir may be a vigilante hero, but that’s hardly a reason to charge you, especially since you protected millions of civilians with your selfless bravery against a magical threat.’

Adrien’s eyes popped out of his head.

‘You… you know?’

Corporal Briand and the other SWAT soldiers chuckled.

‘You really need to find better hiding places to transform than behind a bush, tree or park bench,’ the Corporal chided gently. ‘But so does that friend of yours.’

‘My friend? You mean Ladybug?’ Adrien asked. 

‘Yes, a young Miss-‘

‘WAIT!’ Adrien exclaimed. ‘Don’t tell me!’

‘Hang on, so you seriously don’t know who she is?’ SWAT Guard 1 asked, amused. ‘I thought that was just a gimmick.’

‘Of course they didn’t know! Were you even paying attention during surveillance?’ SWAT Guard 3 asked.

‘Of course I was!’ Guard 1 protested. ‘But with how close they were, it was hard to believe they didn’t know!’

‘Didn’t stop you from betting on their reveal though,’ SWAT Guard 4 muttered with a smirk, and Guard 1 glared at them.

‘Huh?’ uttered Adrien.

‘Come one, man,’ said SWAT Guard 2, ‘did you really think they were going that far to hide their identities from the world if they really had revealed to each other? They don’t have that kind of intricate level of forward planning.’

‘Oh really?’ Guard 1 retorted. ‘What about Ladybug’s battle plans?’

‘What about the transformation hiding spots Adrien and Ma-’

‘No, it’s true!’ Adrien piped up, cutting off Guard 2 from revealing his lady’s name. ‘We really don’t know, and I’m not going to betray her trust by learning who she is from you guys, no offence.’

‘None taken,’ said Guard 1. ‘But now I’m looking forward to that reveal for more than just the bet.’

Adrien was reeling, his head spinning like a tornado from emotional whiplash, the million and one questions he had about the events and information revealed over the past hour and a bit, and wanting to know what kind of bet these SWAT soldiers had made about him and Ladybug. He suddenly felt very sympathetic with Dorothy and Toto.

‘So how did you find out about Father and Nathalie? And about me and Ladybug?’ Adrien asked.

‘We started investigating into Hawk Moth as soon as he made his dramatic debut in September,’ Corporal Briand began, ‘and kept a keen eye on events as they occurred. We don’t take kindly to terrorists of any kind, and that includes magical ones. We reached out to a few specialist groups as we tried to narrow down the nature of this magic, as UNIT confirmed it wasn’t alien of origin, but it wasn’t easy. All we had to off was your friend’s Ladyblog, and our own observations, including the fact that you were interacting with a creature that didn’t register on any electronic devices.’

‘Creature?’ he echoed.

‘The black cat-like wingless flying one that has an affinity for Camembert,’ the Corporal replied. ‘Our snipers had spotted you taking to what seemed like thin air, until they switched their digital scopes for analog ones.’

‘Right, smart,’ Adrien conceded dumbly.

‘But what really helped us find Hawk Moth and Mayura was, rather simply, CCTV,’ the Corporal admitted. ‘Just because we couldn’t see the floating creatures on video didn’t mean we couldn’t see things like transformations or where people travelled to and from. All it took was unlimited access to Paris’s CCTV network, using social media posts of people’s sightings, and good old fashioned investigation to solve the puzzle. Well, that, and Shanghai and New York.’

‘What about those?’ Adrien asked.

‘Because Hawk Moth and Mayura made very few in-person appearances in battles, it slowed our investigation considerably, but we still had a selection of possible suspects,’ the Corporal explained. ‘But after Hawk Moth’s attacks in both China and the US, the only one from our suspect pool who was present in both countries during both attacks was your father. We already had all our main suspects under 24 hour surveillance from before New York, but we had to make sure we had enough indisputable evidence to take to court before we could make the arrest.’

‘Oh,’ he uttered. ‘So were Ladybug and I under investigation?’

‘Initially,’ Corporal Briand admitted, ‘but once we discovered you two were just teenagers who had taken on the mammoth responsibility of using magic to protect the city and fight the terrorists, you two got downgraded in priority, but still kept under surveillance, just in case.’

‘Right,’ muttered Adrien, just as another SWAT soldier emerged from some sort of van and approached them.

‘Sir,’ the soldier said, ‘the magical items are clean, yet the Peacock one shows signs of damage. We’ve completed our assessments on the items to submit as evidence.’

‘Excellent,’ Corporal Briand said, and the soldier handed him two plastic evidence bags. ‘Now we just need to ensure they’re the real deal. Adrien, can you do the honours?’

Corporal Briand held out the plastic bags to him, and Adrien tentatively accepted them, and sucked in a sharp breath when he saw two broaches within them.

Adrien’s throat suddenly felt like it had swollen, and it was harder to breathe or swallow.

‘Um, before I do,’ Adrien said hesitantly, ‘what will happen to these Miraculouses? Recovering these Miraculouses and other lost or stolen Miraculous-related items was a major part of Ladybug’s and my job. Will we be able to take them back to their rightful place, or will you be taking them for evidence? And will we be able to retrieve them if you do take them for evidence?’

‘Don’t worry, Adrien,’ Corporal Briand told him with a smile. ‘You can take the Miraculouses with you. We just need proof that those are the real deal, so that we can confirm we got the right people and that the threat is well and truly over… and maybe, where possible, answer a few of our questions just in case we find ourselves facing a similar threat in the future. And don’t worry about yours and Ladybug’s identities - we’ll keep them secret.’

Adrien nodded warily, wishing he had the comfort of Ladybug’s presence beside him, and put on the Miraculouses. Immediately, two kwami emerged.

‘Yes, Mas- wait - Adrien?’ the purple butterfly kwami asked disbelievingly.

‘Adrien! It’s Adrien!’ cried the blue peacock one. ‘It’s soooo nice to finally meet you! Em- bleugh! I hate those bubbles! Ugh, your mum used to talk about you all the time!’

‘Duusu!’ scolded the purple one while Adrien spluttered.

‘Mum? My mum? What- how did you know her?’ Adrien asked, the words practically falling out of his mouth in frazzled sudden desperation.

‘Well-’

‘Before that,’ interrupted the purple one, looking warily at the soldiers, ‘who are these people?’

‘Oh!’ Adrien exclaimed. ‘Right, sorry - this is Corporal Braind and his team. They’re the ones who rescued you two from, um, Father and Nathalie.’

‘Woohoo!’ cried Duusu, waving their stubby arms in the air as the purple one relaxed somewhat. ‘Rescuers! Nooroo, we’re saved!’

‘Yes, apparently,’ Nooroo commented.

‘Oh!’ Duusu gasped. ‘If you’re rescuers, you can get Em- bleugh! I hate those bubbles! You can rescue his mum, then, right?’

This time, it wasn’t just Adrien’s eyes that popped out in shock.

‘Wait, what?’

[mister-eames]

That image of jgl in 500 days of summer in the dressing gown??? that's arthur, having just returned home from a long job, jet lagged and completely in need of coffee

Eames is desperate.

He knows Arthur won't appreciate him showing up at his actual place of residence. They have a thing, alright, and they do this thing in hotel rooms, motel rooms, safehouses and once, memorably, in a one-man tent, but it's an unspoken rule that they do not attempt to cross the threshold, the boundary, the personal demarcation of entering into ones actual home and into their personal space.

Needs must, however. Eames has six angry Russians with his name in their black book and he's only just managed to lose the tail. He needs to drop off the radar. If there is anywhere in the world more off the radar other than the mariana trench, it's here. Arthur's home.

Picking the lock, Eames does momentarily worry that he may burst into flame upon entering, or that arrows may shoot down the hallway out of the photo frames lining the walls, or perhaps a high security laser system may send him fleeing. No such things happen, to his relief.

He tiptoes into the kitchen, where he appears he isn't completely out of danger.

In one hand Arthur has a pistol raised and aimed squarely at Eames chest. In the other is a mug of what smells like coffee.

"What are you doing here?" Arthur asks evenly.

Eames stares. This man is not Arthur. It can't be.

Arthur lifts his coffee to his mouth, drinking a large mouthful at the same he takes the safety off with a definitive click.

"...You're wearing a dressing gown," Eames replies, dazedly.

It must be the culmination of exhaustion, somnacin and dehydration and being on the run these last two day. He blinks once, twice, but the mirage is still there.

Arthur is still in a dressing gown. He is still in slippers, hair a mess. He has stubble. He looks... cozy.

"Are you sick?" Eames asks.

"No -?" Arthur lowers the gun, looking at himself with a frown. "I just got off a job," he says, as if that explains anything, "and I said what are you doing here?"

"Need a place to lie low," Eames says, entranced by the way the gown is loosely held together with a grey, fraying belt, feeling the inexplicable urge to tug on it. To grip the soft lapels and tug those too. He swallows. "And a glass of water, please."

Arthur looks at him for a long moment. With a sigh, he clicks the safety back on and shoves the gun into his belt. He gestures to a kitchen stool. "Sit down before you fall down, idiot."

Eames sits down and gets his glass of water. The dressing gown, miraculously, doesn't disappear after he drinks it. Arthur cooks him up a plate of scrambled egg while Eames world-view is rapidly rearranging itself, and chews Eames out for compromising his home. Potentially, Eames reminds him. And then Eames draws him in for a kiss - mostly to stop his grumbling, but also because Eames may have missed his sweet, scowly face. Just a little. And he doesn't know how to ask for more salt without offending Arthur.

Arthur stops grumbling. Mostly. Then they do that thing in Arthur's kitchen. And on his sofa. And then in his bed.

Arthur keeps wearing the dressing gown. Like a fly caught in the web of a playful spider, he keeps Eames around too. Eames isn't sure which is more bewildering.

They do get good use out of the soft belt, in any case. It makes for a great blindfold.

----

One year later

----

Ariadne is desperate.

She knows Arthur won't appreciate her showing up at what she suspects to be his actual place of residence, but he had given her these coordinates under the condition that they were to be used in the, quote, 'most dire, most urgent, life-or-death emergencies'.

This was definitely that.

She isn't proud of the way that her fingers trembled while she picked the front door locks, the way Eames taught her. But needs must. Needs must.

She enters, worried that she's about to enter a veritable torture lair. Like maybe there will be shackles and chains and weapons everywhere and Arthur will be awoken from some kind of hibernation. Like a vampire bat. It is daylight, after all.

What she finds, as she passes through the hallway and enters the living space, indeed has her blood running cold.

There was a collection of well-worn Goosebumps books on the coffee table. There is direct sunlight and soft fabrics and pictures of what she presumes is Arthurs family - his friends. It could only be a home. That wasn't the most horrifying part.

No, what perturbs her the most was the unexpected, disgusting display on domesticity in front of her.

Eames and Arthur are sat at their dining table over plates of still-steaming bacon and eggs. Eames is reading a newspaper, in his pyjamas, three days worth of scruff along his lower face. They wordlessly pass salt and pepper and don't even seem to notice she's there until her sneakers squeak on the hardwood.

And Arthur, he --

"What are you doing here?" Arthur asks evenly, finally looking up.

He points his fork at her, which she finds vaguely threatening. She has seen what Arthur can do with a plastic spoon. A stainless steel utensil for Arthur is practically a bazooka.

"You're wearing a dressing gown," she says, dazed.

Eames lowers his newspaper then, smiling at Arthur and then at her. "Leave him alone, dove. He just got off a job." He nudges a mug towards Arthur who takes a sullen mouthful. "To what do we owe the honour?"

We?

Bewildered, She watches Eames watching Arthur, who is watching them both, struck by the out-of-placeness of it all. This placed looks lived in. They both look comfortable and scruffy. They are wearing each others mismatched socks. The TV in the living room is playing CNN, for christ sake. This is a goddamn residence. They live together.

"I didn't realise you two were -- uh --"

Arthur sets his mug down. "Is this an emergency or what? Eames, can you.. -"

He trails off but Eames seems to know what he means, rising from his chair to plate Ariadne a serving of bacon and eggs.

"It's an emergency," Ariadne confirms, taking a seat and digging in. God. The eggs need so much salt. "I need your help."

"Go on."

She takes a deep breath. "Yusuf asked me out."

"Oh dear," says Eames solemnly.

[zappedbyzabka]

Thinking of writing a leisure fic where Johnny’s roster fully gets to bloom.

Like, clearly he could have been with any of the Cobras. Literally the only things they have consistently showed care and interest in is Johnny or one another and that’s....yeah.

(Bobby and Dutch were so damn obvious about it.)

Daniel, as much as he wishes he could despise Johnny, just doesn’t. He thinks he’s a pretty and likes his hair, and I’m sure if he got the chance he would have punched Johnny in the mouth then made out with him right after. So many overwhelming feelings about each other.

Freddy and Eddie (the boy that drove up in his car to say hi to Ali.) Freddy just being a casual fling when he first started sneaking around. Might have even fooled around with him just a little before he did with the Cobras (because there was that friendship aspect he was afraid of ruining.) Probably broke it off for a bit when he started getting with the Cobras because their possessiveness over him got stronger, so Freddy was feeling mopey, and that’s the reason he just watched Daniel try to fight Johnny besides knowing he’d get his ass kicked too. He was getting a little too into the fling, and the High School reunion is...Johnny calls him a pussy for not standing up for his little buddy. That makes Freddy even more bitter, esp combined with the looks he’s seen between Daniel and Johnny.

Eddie was mutually casual—man just wanted a couple of pieces of the pie and dgaf.

He must be a love witch or something.

[the-quiet-fire-of-defiance]

Te Hōkioi, and Speculation on the Dietary Habits of the Great Eagles

He Hōkioi, i runga, he Hōkioi, i runga, hū.

(The great eagle, from above, made a booming call)

Kei te āputa koe, nā, o te rangi, e noho ana,

(In the open space, there, in the sky, it dwells)

Te hoa moenga, nō whatitiri mātakataka;

(Death's companion, with crashing thunder)

Hei aha, tērā, e tararua mārire, ona hikumaro?

(Why, then, do its tail feathers no longer split the quiet in two?)

Rua maro tonu, ona hakikau;

(Two fathoms wide, its wings;)

E huhū nei, i runga te rangi,

(It called, above in the sky)

Hōkioi, Hōkioi.

(The sound: hōkioi, hōkioi.)

- poem/chant by the great Ngāti Toa chief Te Rauparaha

For @tolkienofcolourweek, I'm spending seven days bringing Māoritanga and mātauranga Māori to the world of Tolkien! Starting off on day 1 with: what did Manwë's Eagles eat?

Such massive animals, especially flying ones, would have required a huge caloric intake. We have little evidence about what potential prey may have existed in Beleriand and Middle Earth. The Hobbit mentions them eating sheep, and it seems likely that they would hunt other large animals, such as deer or bison. But there's nothing in our modern world that compares to or fills an ecological niche like Manwë's Eagles.

This is where I draw on Māori oral history of the largest eagles to ever live.

In English they're called Haast's Eagles, but in Māori there are several names. Probably the most well-known of the Māori names is pouakai/poukai, but my people called them hōkioi.

They were massive, weighing as much as 17.8 kg (about 39 lbs) and with wingspans as large as 3 metres (about 10ft). Their feet and claws were the size of modern day tigers, capable of punching through bone. They hunted prey more than fifteen times their own size.

(Granted, the eagles of Manwë are much larger than even the hōkioi! Still, it's similar enough for me to draw inspiration.)

[Left image: an artist's rendition of a hōkioi perched on a rock. Right image: an artist's rendition of a hōkioi attacking the neck of a giant flightless bird.]

The hōkioi's primary prey was the moa, large flightless birds similar to ostriches or emus. With no large land mammals on the islands, hōkioi were the apex predators.

Then, circa 900 CE, large mammals came to Aotearoa for the first time. They also preyed on moa, reducing the hōkioi's food supply. So perhaps it was natural that the hōkioi began to hunt these mammals as new prey.

Unfortunately, those mammals were us.

[Left image: an artist's rendition of a hōkioi attacking a Māori man who holds a spear. Right image: an artist's rendition of a child running from a hōkioi.]

Our stories of the hōkioi, or pouakai, tell of giant birds that could swoop down from the sky to kill and eat even strong warriors. They were also known to carry off small children.

I'm not saying that the eagles of Manwë ate elves or humans. (I think they were probably given firm instructions not to!) It would make sense for them to prey on orcs and other creatures of Morgoth, though. And there's one other group who we know were hunted like animals in Beleriand, due to... misunderstandings. A group who the Eagles may not have initially recognized as sentient creatures. A group who would have been an ideal size to pick up and carry off as a snack.

I'm just saying, I think there may have been multiple reasons that dwarves chose to live underground.

-

(Sources for further information about te hōkioi:

The man-killer that fell from the sky

NZ Birds: Haast's Eagle)

[oh-surprise-its-me]

Jamie on their couch watching reruns of last nights match. He couldn’t care that they lost though. He’s winning. He has his daughter sitting on his chest, her baby shampoo from her bath time still swirling in the air.

He can hear Roy in the kitchen making a bottle for their kid. Their kid!! They have a kid!! Jamie still can’t believe it half the time.

Roy comes back into their living room, passing the bottle to Jamie and sitting. Jamie switches around so he can lean against Roy while feeding Rosemary. A position they do quite often.

While their little 8 month old drinks, Jamie leans back and bites Roy’s jaw. Roy let’s put a quiet growl but all it does it make Rosie smile.

Jamie looks at Rosemary, he doesn’t understand how his dad could’ve possibly been so mean to such a small thing because that’s all Jamie was, he was this small once. His dad held him like this once. But it doesn’t matter now. Jamie has had a restraining order since they first talked about kids. His father is officially out of his life permanently.

He shakes those thoughts away. He’s looking forward to tonight. Almost a full three days off, Rosie is fully sleeping through the night, and with the most expensive baby monitor they can buy they finally have free time.

The things on Jamie’s agenda are.

Paint nails. Take shower with Roy. Do literally everything with Roy. Don’t let Roy out of sight until the next morning. Cuddle (and more) with Roy.

But right now as he looks down to Roy’s finger in Rosemary’s hand, he’s happy where he is.

[gophergal]

Gopher's Dumb TF2 Headcanons #4

Engineer speaks some German. Specifically, he speaks Texas German, as his mother was a second generation German immigrant.

As soon as Medic learned about this, he was ecstatic and banned English from being spoken in the infirmary when they collaborated on projects.

[eliteseven]

Shadowheart jealous reaction to hearing Karlach telling Serena that she wants to ride her until Serena sees stars lol. Shadowheart wishes she could’ve used that pick up line on Serena. Later when they finally get together Shadowheart uses a slight variant of the pick up line

SH: Let me ride you until you see the moon.

Serena: Did you steal that line from Karlach?

SH:…Nope

I just think it would be so funny if Shadowheart got the idea that she needs to be more forward to maintain Serena’s interest, based on what she sees from the group. And Serena is so used to Shadowheart playing the long game with her and constantly reminding herself that she belongs to Shar first and foremost…

So a pickup line like that from Shadowheart (that she literally stole directly from Karlach lmao) would absolutely have her speechless 😅

the minute they’re alone:

Shads: “…it’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

Tav: It is…though, have you not-”

Shads: “-I want to ride you until you see stars.”

Like 😮‍💨 no formalities, no chit-chat, the way Serena would just go quiet mid sentence. The sheer awkwardness radiating between them. Shadowheart regretting it instantly but doubling down bc she’s in too deep and can’t possibly show that Tav has the upper hand…

So she naturally does all she can do to follow up on that statement and pushes Tav onto her back to straddle her….and Tav mumbles that she’s been trying to get her attention all evening long…. 🥹 and then Shadowheart really does ride her until they both see stars

[kickassclefable]

MossuGoji date

sorry for your loss, haters

[sunfloo-wers]

This can only go well I'm sure

I'm going to do it, I'm going to open up a google docs and start writing the fic that has been plaguing me for the past month!

I hope this goes well, I have a feeling it'll either be months until I'm next seen with a novel that I don't remember writing or I'll be back in 20 minutes with a blank google doc

WELP

[seas-of-silver]

Your Friendly Neighbourhood Snekmouse

Summary:

It's post-Monarch defeat, and Ladybug is training Chat Noir up on the Miraculouses and the role of the Guardian! As part of her plan (which has been more successful than she had hoped), the two of them would explore different Miraculouses and their power sets over the course of a week, and this week Ladybug has chosen the Miraculouses of the Snake and of the Mouse. Little did they know what this would lead to.

Merry Christmas @peakwonderfulness!!!

Continue reading at:

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