#and eventually he jut turns around from the balcony one day and Dream is just *there* behind him

[rat-rosemary]

An aspect of God of the wild that is so funny to me is how all the advantages of your God being just a guy are also disadvantages because he is a guy who knows you personally yall have beef

It removes some of the privacy(?) of those vulnerable moments, because yes God is listening to those prayers but like. God is listening to those prayers and he knows your address and will confront you on what the fuck you just said

Tommy; "-and I hope all my enemies suffer terrible pains specially ranboo please make him fall of bridge"

...I'm not going to do that

Tommy; "FUCK!"

[unfortunatelysirius]

Goodbye, My Love // Jon Snow

「 ❁ 」PROMPT 「 ❁ 」 When it comes to saying goodbye, you’ve always had trouble. But it becomes especially hard when saying it to Jon Snow. 「 ❁ 」AUTHOR’S NOTE 「 ❁ 」 I am SO bad at updating… all I’ve got as an explanation. *shrug emoji* If you guys want a reunion companion piece [season 6] then hey, just ask. Otherwise, here’s this chunk of trash for you all ;) [It’s honestly rushed, I apologize in advance] 「 ❁ 」WARNINGS 「 ❁ 」 Swearing, Angst 「 ❁ 」WORD COUNT 「 ❁ 」

3027

         YOU MET JON SNOW ON YOUR FIFTH NAMEDAY.        You had always lived in Winterfell with your mother and father, who were (respectively) the seamstress and blacksmith. You were lowborn, but respectable, with parents whose gifts were renowned throughout Winter Town. You were never put in the finest dresses or presented in front of hand-picked husband prospects, that much was true; however, you never wanted nor needed to be highborn to feel like your life had meaning.        Your first meeting with Jon Snow had you smitten, even at such a young age.        You’d been running around Winter Town, a crown of flowers in your hair, when you’d stumbled into something warm and fleshy—a human body. You squealed and fell, the stranger following suit with a kidlike grunt. Only when you’d managed to spit out one of the petals that had fallen into your mouth did you look up, eyes snapping into some sort of trance. There was a blue-eyed gaze locked on your own.              “Hi!” you’d immediately said, not bashful at all. You grinned at the strange boy, near the same age as you. “I’m Y/N. What’s your name?”        The boy’s face was flushed red, a look of embarrassment on his face. He stood quickly. And he stayed silent, continuing to stare, like someone might would a predator.        “Hellllllo?” You tilted your head. “You’re not very nice.”        The curly-haired boy shook his own head, defiantly silent. His eyes flickered away from yours and back towards the way he came—the way you were heading towards. When you went sideways to see from around his body, you saw what he was looking at. Eddard and Catelyn Stark, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell, as they stood on the railing of their tower.        You were incredulous, to say the least, that this was what caught the strange boy’s attention. Was it why he was silent, too? “Why are you looking at them?” you demanded. “D’you wanna be a lord, too?”        The boy snapped his head around to stare at you. “What?” he demanded, in a voice much too brusque to be a child’s.        You giggled childishly. “Lord Curly,” you teased. “’Cause you’ve got curly hair, and I don’t know your name!”        Though he remained alert and angry-looking, the boy finally caved. His mouth twitched into a grimace. “Jon,” he said simply.        “Lord Jon,” you said. You smiled toothily up at him. “Bye, Lord Jon.”        You pranced around him, sprinting in the direction you were going originally. And as you went, a stray petal untucked from your crown, and it was rushed backwards by the wind. It went and went, all until it fell at Jon’s feet.        He picked it up. And he stared at it.        What he wouldn’t admit to anyone, much less himself, was that he thought you were really, really pretty. As pretty as someone five name-days old could be. And he hoped he’d see you again.        He really hoped he’d see you again.

       -

       It was three years and three moons later when you saw the mysterious Jon again. You were eight, hair reaching your waist and eyes ever so wide. You’d become curious and adventure-seeking, still carrying around that same naivety like a sleeve’s patchwork. You were hanging around the kitchens, stealing sweets your mother refused to let you have, just leaving when you caught a glimpse of a curly-haired boy. He was walking briskly. Was he angry? You dropped the biscuits you were carrying and went to pursue him.

       “Lord Curly!” you cried, struggling to keep up. The boy was older and taller, his pace like that of a man running from a bear—only he was jogging. Maybe he knew you were following, even before you’d called out his nickname. “Lord Curly, please—stop running!”

       He stopped abruptly. A bit too late, perhaps, as you rammed your nose directly into his back.

       “Ouch,” you cooed, rubbing the offended spot, blinking. The boy had turned around in the time it took for the pain to disappear, and catching his bleary gaze locked you in place. In a very bad way, given his expression. “Are you alright?”

       “I was,” he said coolly. Was that a hint at you being an annoyance? You never could tell with anyone, much less the brooding subject of your childish fantasies. “What do you want?”

       “My, my, Lord Curly! I just wanted to speak to you.” You smiled.

       “I’m busy.”

       Your smile became a frown. “Oh? Doing what?”

       Jon didn’t look very pleased that you were still there. He was an inch away from fleeing. He returned your frown and muttered, “I’ll get in trouble if we keep talking.”

       You jutted out your lip and made a noise. A very inhuman noise. “Lord Curly, why do ya say that?”

       He looked over your head at something in the distance. You knew it was the Lord and Lady of the castle, as that’s all that lay beyond Winter Town.

       “You’re not Robb,” you stated. “So who are you?”

       “No one,” said Jon in response. Quick—too quick. He didn’t want you to know.

       You kept quiet in reply.

Jon pulled his cloak tighter around his neck and face, body twisting around. His back was to you, his curly head of charred hair the framework of his identity.

He was like a shadow and a puzzle, conjoined together to make one very difficult game. You were eager to be his friend, keen to know him better—but he kept disappearing. It’d been over three years since you seen him last. And now he was the one running away.

“Bye, Lord Curly!” you called out to him as his footsteps echoed into silence and his head of curls were no longer seen.

-

Jon had hoped to see you again.

But Catelyn kept watching.

And she didn’t want him to have any friends.

-

So many years passed. You got taller and curvier, growing into yourself, until eventually you stopped changing at fifteen. Your fifteenth name-day was a tremendous affair, with the Lord and Lady themselves in attendance. Jon wasn’t there, to your disappointment. You hadn’t seen him since you were eight. It’d been so long, too long, enough to make you forget he ever existed. But he plagued your memories, he haunted your dreams. His name was always on the tip of your tongue. The cusp of a breath.

You’d danced with several boys, wearing a flower crown on your head. Every boy was worse than the last. You always pretended they were Jon, even though you held no picture—hardly even an inkling—of his current appearance. How did he look now, with the two of you older and less naïve? You were sure he’d chiseled out. He probably looked more a man than your own father did, the child that he was.

You wanted to stop being eaten alive by questions. You wanted him to appear on a white mare and take you captive in his orbit. You wanted to fall in love the old-fashioned way, the against-all-odds way, with someone your parents would not approve of. You could not care less. You didn’t give a shite what they thought. All that mattered was finding someone who could give you a happy ending.

That was over a moon ago. You were beginning to feel like you’d never see him again.

You walked out into the snow atop your balcony on a crisp evening, wearing another crown of flowers. You were dressed in an evening gown—feet barren and your hair crowning your face. You’d spent the day dreaming about Jon, and crossed Winter Town over six times, desperate to see the boy again—even if he held no recognition for you. What were the odds that he’d appear? To you, chance was nothing; this was all fate. Whether you’d find him again, you knew not. You knew next to nothing on fate’s plans.

You felt the world was in your hands and odds were in your favor, however. There was a feeling in your gut, a feathery weight, that kept you lifting, refusing to let you land. You were not grounded. You were airborne.

What did this mean?

It meant having hope in naïve fantasies.

Your hair blew around your face, masking your vantage of the navy sky. The moon was a hair away, right above your head, crowning you Luna. It was glowing translucently. It was calling for you to give up your games. But you—really, honestly, truly—refused to leave this for children until you found Jon again. Until you saw his face. Until you knew his coldness for what it was.

Curiosity is a killer. As is love.

You knew it so, but that did not make you any less reckless.

A rustling sounded from below. Could this—be it? You thought maybe. You brushed your windswept hair from your eyes, glancing downward.

From the dark shadows emerged a shape. A lean, muscular shape, clad in black—or maybe that was the darkness. He was threaded with it, wasn’t he? When a glint of moonlight bounced off the shadow’s raven curls, you knew it so.

It was Jon.

“Jon?” you whispered aloud, just to be sure. This fantasy come to life needed cemented.

The shadow moved closer, bringing with him sudden light. It was like a scene from a fairytale, with the ruggedly handsome knight coming to rescue his damsel. Though, this one was much darker and much less renowned than what you’d normally expect; the princes in your books were blond, blue-eyed, and sunlit.

A new perspective, you declared it. Jon was perfect in your eyes.

The boy in question coughed. “Yeah, it’s me, Y/N.” He was silent for a while thereafter, as the two of you stared at one another. Then he said, “I’m sorry for how I’ve made you feel.”

“Sick with longing for a man I know nothing about?” You smiled, though wearily, and laughed at him. “I assure you, there is not any remorse.”

Jon sighed. If not for the crisp air, you wouldn’t have noticed it. “Lady Stark has no kindness in her heart for me. I am a bastard, you see—”

“I know what you are, Jon Snow,” you said. “And quite the contrary to what you think, I don’t care.”

“Y/N, I’m a bastard—”

You snorted, as unladylike as could be. “And I’m not highborn. So why would I give a rat’s arse?”

Jon looked uncertain, glancing between you and the way from which he came. “I came to apologize, Y/N, not to start anything—”

“Lady Stark is a bitter, middle-aged woman, Jon,” you said. “And I’m quite the opposite. I assume you like that. Why else would you come back here to woo yourself into my good graces?”

There was an intensity in the air. It made you want to scale down the balcony and take Jon for your own.

Jon seemed quite puzzled, like he couldn’t tell what to think of you. At last he said, “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“Then let’s not get caught.”

From this view, Jon seemed like he was considering what you said. You decided not to give him time to take back his visit and his words. You hopped up on the edge of your balcony’s wooden posts and curved your body to face the entrance to your bedroom. You gripped the posts tight, and dropped down a few feet.

Jon hissed, “What are you doing, Y/N? You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you grunted, using your limited view to catch what post to drop to next. Eventually you reached the last available post and you realized that you needed to jump down. “Jon, I have to let go.”

“Y/N, stop, no. You’ll get hurt.”

You smiled largely. “That’s why you’ve got to catch me!”

Your hands lost grip on the balcony.

You fell down, the wind gusting in your hair. You were flying, a raven born of air. You didn’t think about the consequences, not the possibility of death or severe injury, brain only centered on the beauty that being airborne was; and the idea you had a prince of darkness to catch your fall.

You roughly hit Jon’s rock-hard body, his arms coming to envelope you, the both of you falling into the snow. He grunted, and you squeaked. You had only dreamt of a proximity this close, and having him as close to you as he was now—

You flipped around to be chest-to-chest with Jon.

“I’m gonna kiss you,” you said abruptly.

Jon blinked in surprise. “Oh. Um. Okay.”

You pressed a small peck on his lips, without an actual response.

Jon stared up at you, his cheeks a rosy red. His nose, too. He looked shocked, like he hadn’t expected you to actually kiss him—but then you did, and he didn’t know how to respond. How to think, even. This beautiful art-piece of a human-being, kissing him and touching him like they couldn’t care less what his namesake was.

Jon surged forwarded and kissed you hard, much more assertively than you did him.

You squeaked again, finding this roughness, this ferocity, such a difference from your own faint touches. He was gripping your body like nothing ever had, holding you close and center, with the snow just a background accessory in the face of his body heat, and his kiss—fuck, his kiss.

It was otherworldly.

Eventually, you found this had to stop.

“Jon, Jon, stop—my parents!” You giggled against his lips.

“Fuck the town. Fuck everything, Y/N,” Jon said, leaning back to stare at you. “We’ll have our own town. Our own world. I’m Lord Curly, right? You can be Lady Flowers.” He placed a delicate hand  on one of the flowers in your crown.

This direction was so different from where you’d thought it’d go. You thought Jon would use you then discard you like a used towel, and you’d let him because you liked him that much. You had learned to take what you could get, regardless of how hurt it put you in the process. Jon wanted this as much as you, right? So you thought it’d be foolish of you to say no.

You pushed yourself into him and got lost in the midst of frigid wind and falling snow, giggles and growls muffled under the pale light of the moon.

-

The two of you, for the better part of a few years, were rather invested in keeping up your connection. You’d hide out together and kiss, talk about your hopes and dreams, curse Catelyn Stark and her bitterness; all the while, you fell more and more hopelessly in love. You were once enraptured by Jon, thinking of him as the most honorable man you’d ever met aside from Eddard Stark, his father. But now, it was love.

Eventually, it caught up to you.

Catelyn Stark discovered your forbidden romance when she’d passed by the two of you kissing once. At once, she put a stop to it. She demanded Jon not to see you anymore, forced you all to put the shenanigans in the past. She knew who your parents were, and she disapproved of their child intermingling with a bastard. So much so, she went to your door a fortnight after you had last kissed Jon—and told your mother as she answered the door that you were in relations with her husband’s bastard.

Things got steadily worse after that. Your mother and father began fighting, as your mother did not like what you’d been doing while your father couldn’t bear telling you that you were wrong to love who you loved. Your mother would sleep alone in bed, your father made to sleep outside.

Jon never appeared again. He went moons without speaking to you. You felt like things were getting progressively worse, that the love of your life had been snatched away—

And then the King visited. And you learned from Robb Stark, who knew of your relation to his half-brother, that Jon was leaving for the watch.

You had to say goodbye.

-

Like you had two left feet, you clumsily left your mother and father’s abode, hurrying to the stables where Robb claimed Jon would be. You were terrified, thinking he had already left. This was the man of your dreams; if he left without giving you a deserved farewell, you wouldn’t know if you could forgive him.

You knew you wouldn’t forgive him.

You were flying through crowds of townsfolk, your legs aching and stomach receding into itself the longer you went, the farther you got. Eventually you reached the stables.

You stopped at the very edge of the entrance, peaking through. Your gaze swept past horses as they quietly moved their heads downward and ate from their haystacks. At one point, your sweeping gaze faltered, and you realized what had happened.

Jon had left you. He left without saying goodbye.

You didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.

-

You knew this day would come. Jon would get tired of running, and he’d get tired of feeling worthless, and so he’d put an end to both. He’d run until he got to a dead end. He’d fight until he was worth more than anything in the world. He’d do all he could to be something more than Eddard Stark’s bastard.

It meant throwing away your memories.

It meant leaving without uttering a single goodbye.

It meant letting your love be just as it was.

Never meant to last.

-

Jon kept running and running and running. He would run until his legs turned to jelly. He’d pant until his eyes rolled back with exhaustion. He’d scream and fight until he got where he wanted to be—somewhere new, somewhere different, somewhere not Winterfell.

(You couldn’t come with. Why couldn’t you come with?)

The running would stop.

(He never wanted to leave you.)

He only wished it didn’t mean losing the thing he’d loved most.

-

I love you, Lord Curly.

-

I love you too, Lady Flowers.

-

FIN.

[dakotacrisis]

Deal’s End (10)

Marinette has a lot of feelings

(Read on AO3)

---

Marinette’s outing with Adrien the next day was nice enough. They walked around the park and talked and laughed. Adrien held her hand the entire time. He didn’t mention her confession to him yesterday and she didn’t know if that was good or bad. It must have been fine since he was still there with her.

Too soon it was time for him to leave and they said their goodbyes. Adrien placed a quick goodbye peck on her cheek and fled into his car. He was so nervous around her now it was kinda adorable.

Returning home she found Felix on her bed taking a nap.

Felix…What was she going to do about Felix? Last night some feelings came to mind that she wasn’t prepared for. She was so sure it was just a momentary thing. That once she saw Adrien and spent the afternoon with him everything would make sense again. It didn’t. If anything coming home and seeing Felix after hanging out with Adrien only made things worse. She was happy with Adrien and had fun and she still definitely thought he was attractive but...was she in love with him like she thought? She was so sure about her feelings before all of this but now she was starting to question if her crush was just that. A crush.

And now there was whatever it was she was feeling for Felix. She liked hanging out with him and he made her laugh all the time. He was nice to talk to and she was comfortable around him and whenever she had the chance she was always reaching out to him first before anyone else. Not to mention that he was handsome. He’d have to be of course being a demon. But it wasn’t just his looks. It was the way he remained stoic until you told a corny joke. It was the way his eyes would light up when he was happy. It was the little pouty lip he’d jut out when Marinette told him he couldn’t have anymore sweets. It was the sound of his groggy half awake voice when he woke up.

Oh god this is bad! She needed someone to talk to. She made sure Felix was still asleep before she snuck back down to the living room. Quickly she dialed Alya’s number.

“Hey Marinette, what’s up?” Alya answered, “How’d your date with Adrien go?”

“Good. It was nice.” Marinette said. “Didn’t do much but it was nice to get out. Listen I have something I need to talk about and you were the only one I thought I could trust.”

“You know I’m always here for you girl. What’s up?”

“Well...um…” Marinette paced around the living room. “The thing is...I…”

“Are you okay?”

“No!” Marinette flopped back on the couch. “Alya, I think I have a crush on Felix.”

“Oh dear…” Alya sighed, “I was afraid something like this was gonna happen. This is some teen romantic comedy shit going on.”

“I know!”

“But what about Adrien? Do you just not like him anymore?”

“No. I do like him but now when I daydream about dates and stuff…”

“It’s Felix.” Alya finished. “When did this start?”

“I had been feeling it for a couple days but it was last night that it hit me like a truck.” Marinette thought back to how they stood out under the stars. Felix’s sad but loving story. The soft looks he had given her. “During the blackout we were out on my balcony watching the meteor shower and I may have kissed his cheek.”

“Girl. That blackout didn’t happen until almost midnight. Why was he over so late?”

Shit. “I invited him over to watch the meteor shower.” Marinette lied. “Now I know that I like him but I’ve been making all this progress with Adrien and I don’t know what to do.”

“Do you know if Felix likes you the same way?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t even matter because he’s going to be leaving soon.”

“Leaving? What do you mean? Is he moving away?”

“Something like that. What do I do, Alya?”

“The way I see it you have three options. Option one is to stop pursuing Adrien, tell Felix how you feel and maybe try a long distance relationship. Option two is you keep going out with Adrien in case this fling with Felix turns out to be false. Or Option three is you take a break from both of them and sort your own head out first.”

“If only it was that easy.”

“Look at it this way.” Alya continued, “You have one guy that you suddenly really like that you don’t know how he feels about you and is going to be moving away. You have another guy that we established already clearly likes you and you’ve been crushing on for years that isn’t going anywhere. One could have a lot of risk and the other has virtually none.”

“I know what I should do and to an extent I want to but there’s just a lot going on in my head right now.”

“I get it.” Alya assured her, “You know I’m always here if you need to talk. Remember to do what’s best for you though. Forget about the boys and look at what you need first.”

“Thanks, Alya, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Glad to help. Bye.” They hung up.

Marinette thought on what Alya said. Maybe these feelings for Felix were fleeting. Maybe it was just a temporary obsession her mind concocted. They have been spending almost every waking moment together since he came into her life. Hell, it could be part of his demon aura or whatever that is rattling her brain.

She’s had crushes before that came on suddenly that disappeared almost as quickly. Like that one week she was intensely attracted to Max for some reason. It came, it went, and through it all she still liked Adrien more.

What if it isn’t though? What if it’s real? What if it doesn’t go away?

He’s a demon...even if he could stay it wasn’t like they could be together. Felix had said it himself weeks ago. A human and a demon cannot be. Sure he was joking but it still rang with truth.

What was she even going to do after he left? Even if she got over these feelings she still liked him as a friend and wanted to keep in touch. It was the question she had been avoiding for days now. She knew she’d have to talk about it with him sooner or later.

“Love, are you down here?” Felix came downstairs, “There you are. Have you been home long?”

“Not that long.” Even seeing him now made her heart do a flip.

“I’m hungry. Can we get snacks?” He asked.

An idea struck Marinette like lightning. A sure fire way to know if this was a good match or not. “We can indeed and I know just the place.”

“We’re not getting eclairs from the bakery?”

“Nope.”

“Well damn. Where are we going then?”

“I can’t turn off all the lights in Paris so we can watch shooting stars but I do know someplace with magic.” Marinette took him by the hand. “Come on. I think you’re gonna love this.”

It took some time to track him down but eventually Marinette found Andre’s ice cream cart at the bridge. “Ice cream?” Felix looked at her perplexed. “This is the magical place you were telling me about?”

“Trust me.” They approached the cart. “Hi Andre.”

“Hello sweet Marinette and fellow. Welcome to Andre’s ice cream, my cones are as sweet as the loveliest dream.”

“He’s rhyming.” Felix murmured.

“It’s what he does.” Marinette elbowed him lightly, “Andre, can you make us an ice cream to share?”

“You’re not going to just order what you want?”

“Shh!” Marinette shushed Felix.

Andre went about scooping ice cream onto a single cone, “Black and white is what you are. So cookies and cream will get you far. A scoop of mint makes for a perfect pair. And a cherry on top for the the bond that you share.”

Marinette took the cone. It looked downright delicious. And with it Marinette’s heart raced. A perfect pair. She guessed she had her answer. Andre was never wrong. That didn’t make it possible though.

Felix and Marinette sat down with their ice cream. The sun was setting casting everything in a golden glow.

“You were right about this ice cream.” Felix dug out another spoonful. “Why didn’t you tell me about this place sooner?”

“Didn’t think of it.” She shrugged.

“And what was with the rhyme he said while he was getting our order?”

“It’s what he does. Andre has a way of knowing people and he can create a special cone for them. It’s the reason his concoctions are known as the Sweetheart’s Ice Cream.” She looked at Felix now. In the late sun glow his eyes sparkled. She could get lost staring into them.

“Sweethearts huh?” Felix grinned and glanced back at Andre who was serving a new couple. “And let me guess, he’s never wrong?”

“I’ve never seen him make a bad pairing.” Marinette said. She plucked the cherry off the top and offered it to Felix. He gently took the cherry from her hand, his lips skimming over her fingers. Her whole body was trembling.

“Marinette,” Felix looked at her earnestly. His voice was hushed and low, “I--”

Ring! Ring!

“Ugh, stupid phone! One second.” Marinette pulled out her phone. Adrien was calling her. “I’ll call him back.”

“Oh no.” Felix urged, “You should take it.”

“But we--”

“Go on and answer it. Don’t want to send mister perfect to voicemail after all.”

Marinette reluctantly hit answer. “Hello?”

“Hi, Marinette,” Adrien’s voice rang over the phone. “Is this a good time?”

“I guess. What do you need?” Marinette handed the ice cream to Felix.

“Well, I meant to ask you during our date earlier but I completely forgot. So I thought I’d call and ask you now.” Adrien took a deep breath, “I’ve been having a great time with you these past couple weeks and with what you said yesterday about having a crush on me it put things in perspective.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I really like you and I was hoping that if you liked me too if you wanted to come to this fashion show my father is putting on next week.”

“As friends?”

“I was hoping you could come as my date.” He said, “There’s also an after party and I’d really like to take you. Would that be something you’d be interested in?”

“Oh well um…” Marinette looked at Felix. His expression was blank but he gave her a thumbs up anyways. “Uh yeah. That sounds nice.”

“Great! It’s a date. A date date this time.” Adrien sounded ecstatic. “I’ll give you the details the next time I see you.”

“Alright.” Marinette tried to sound upbeat. “I can’t wait. Bye.”

“Bye!”

When she looked back at Felix he had already downed half of the cone. “Sorry about that.” Marinette apologized, “What were you saying?”

“Nothing important. Just another idea to get you time alone with Adrien. Looks like you don’t need it though. I told you it was only a matter of time.” He handed her the ice cream, “You have the rest. I think I’ve had enough.

“Okay...” Marinette took the ice cream. They started the walk back home and she dumped the half eaten cone in the garbage. She wasn’t in the mood for it anymore.

It was actually happening. Adrien had asked her on an honest to god date and she had accepted. Sooner or later he would probably ask her to be his girlfriend. And when that happened...she needed to talk to Felix.

After they returned home she sat down at her desk working up the courage to bring it up. There was no more avoiding it. If she didn’t ask him now she never would get the chance. “Felix,” She wheeled her chair over the the chaise where he was sitting. “Can we talk?”

“You’re so serious.” He laughed as he set his book down. “What’s this about?”

“Felix, I’ve been avoiding it because I’ve been having fun but in light of what happened earlier I think we need to address the elephant in the room.” Marinette told him.

“And what would that be?”

“Felix...you know what I’m talking about.”

The playful grin fell from his face. He nodded and sat up straight on the chaise. “Is this about what happens after I leave?”

“Yes.”

“I was afraid of that,” Felix sighed. He ran his hands through his hair. “I wasn’t worried about it before since you were so eager to get rid of me. There was no reason for me to stick around after our deal was fulfilled. But...that’s changed, hasn’t it?”

Marinette nodded. “Demon or not you’re still my friend. It’s been how long now? A couple weeks? Almost a month? It doesn’t feel like it’s been that long.”

“It has certainly been going by fast. Your past self would probably slap you for letting me stick around this long.”

“That was before I got to know you.” Marinette clenched her fists tightly in her lap. “It’s been barely a month yet it feels like you’re someone I’ve always known. Is that weird to say?”

“No. I feel much the same way.” Felix took a deep breath. “Marinette, love, I don’t want to lie to you cause for the first time in a long time I feel like I have a friend. I feel like I have someone that cares about me.”

“I do.” her voice broke.

“I know.” He clasped her hands in his, “Which is why I need to tell you that once I leave I probably will never be able to come back.”

And there it was. The words she had so desperately not wanted to hear.

“Demons, we’re not meant to wander the plane of the living unless we’re making deals or causing chaos of some kind. I don’t want to do that with you around. I don’t want you to see that part of me and come to hate me.”

“You’re not that bad.”

“That’s because this is professional. I’m meant to blend in and assist you. But if I stuck around and did the things I would need to do to be allowed to remain here you wouldn’t like what you saw.” He grimaced, “I’m still a demon and the things I’ve done before in my life, the things I will undoubtedly have to do again, they’re not exactly harmless pranks.”

“But--”

“You’re my friend,” Felix cut across her, “but you are also my client. I cannot hurt you nor would I ever want to. I cannot say the same if I were to stick around. Even now you are in a certain level of danger being around me. My bosses know I’ve spent a lot of time around you and might think you are a prime subject for a haunting or even a possession.”

Marinette started to shake at the information. She had never thought of that. “Has your presence changed anything else?”

“My human form suppresses my demonic aura but not entirely. I can use it to draw people in but most of the time my aura emits a low level of danger. Not big enough to be alarmed but--how do I put this? People, whether they realize it or not will go out of their way to avoid me. Have you not noticed that since I’ve come along a lot of your friends have been keeping a distance from you? Outside of your interactions with Adrien, cause he’s also part of the deal and therefore blind to my aura, the class ignore us.”

“I have residue demon aura following me around because you’ve been here so long?”

“Yep.”

“This is a lot to take in.” Marinette took a moment to breathe and let the information settle on her. “I hadn’t even noticed. I suppose that outside of Alya I haven’t really talked to anyone from school.”

“See? While I don’t want to go I know that I have to. It is for your own safety and so you can get back to living a regular life.”

“Right…” Marinette looked away. “God, I feel so stupid. Of course you can’t stay. Why did I ever think you could? And I know that you’re nice by demon standards but the fact that I want to keep a demon around--I just--am I crazy?”

“Look at me,” Felix knelt down in front of her and turned her face towards him. “You’re not crazy. You’re not insane. You’re none of those things. You’re something much better than all that.” His silver eyes gazed at her softly. “You’re kind. You befriended a demon for Satan’s sake! Do you know how good a person you have to be to get a spawn of Hell to open up? The fact that you would sincerely want me to stay is amazing. To be able to call someone like me your friend is not crazy. It’s miraculous.”

Marinette had started crying now. Felix wiped the tears away. “You’re a safe haven. And there is nothing I have treasured more than being here getting to know you. I will never forget the time we’ve spent here together.”

“Promise?” Marinette whispered.

“You think I could ever forget about you, love.” Marinette slumped out of her chair and collected Felix in her arms for a tight hug. He hugged her right back crushing her to his chest. “I promise.”

---

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (11)

---

(tagged)

@sannsibarr @miss-mysterys-blog @maribug-adrienoir @mermaidreject @corabeth11 @goblinwhoships @symwinter  @dreaming-being  @yourgeekysister

[smallerinfinities]

Honeymoon

a/n: In which Shawn and Reader are on their honeymoon. 

I wrote this in celebration of 500 followers! I can’t believe it! I LOVE YOU GUYS! The inspiration for this fic came from this post reblogged by the lovely @brittanyzelazno ❤️

|| MASTERLIST ||

warnings: 1.5k of soft, slow, intense, vanilla smut 

The warm ocean air blew into the bedroom from the balcony. It kissed your naked skin, still drying fresh from the shower. You were laying on the enormous, king-size bed with your hair wrapped in a towel reading a beaten copy of Jane Eyre, totally consumed in the sweeping gothic romance. You must have read the novel fifty times, but it never ceased to take your breath away. Jane had just abandoned Rochester when you felt the bed dip behind you.

You smiled coyly at your book, not giving any hint that you felt his gaze. He laid his large hand on your back and drew soft circles with his calloused fingertips. Your skin broke out immediately in goosebumps as you shivered beneath him. He leaned down, bringing his lips to your skin, kissing you between your shoulder blades.

You rolled your eyes and tossed the book aside, giving up all pretense of trying to focus on the words rather than his mouth. He smiled against your skin, continuing to draw designs on your back. The nerves crackled with energy, hoping, praying they would be next.

“Shawn,” you breathed, “what are you doing?” You turned your head to find his eyes and found them hungry, ready to devour you. He was already undressed, having left his wetsuit on the balcony to dry.

“I’m admiring my fucking beautiful wife,” he said, matter-of-factly, returning to his exploration of your skin. He had just come in from enjoying the early surf while you slept in. In the few days that you’d been in this paradise, his face and torso had tanned, making him look more Portuguese than ever. His thick, chocolate curls were rapidly drying into soft ringlets, some of them falling into his face. In the soft light of the morning, he looked like a Pre-Raphaelite painting. He was breathtaking.

This honeymoon often felt like a dream. There were no photographers, no screaming crowds, no team to tell you what to do or what to wear. It was just the two of you, like a normal couple. It gave you time to figure each other out as a married couple away from all of that exterior pressure. Four days ago, when you said “I do,” you couldn’t be sure how all of the fame and the tours and the recording schedule would affect your relationship, but here, at the end of the world it seemed, you had time to learn each other—the people you were together without all the noise.

You had discovered that you loved him even more fiercely than you thought possible. His soft snores that tickled your ear in the morning, pressed against his chest. His fidgeting when he didn’t have a guitar in his hand, errantly picking at the air in front of him when he had an idea. His rosy cheeks that bloomed every time you whispered his name. It was the quiet moments between you like this that assured you that as long as you had each other, none of the rest of it mattered.

“Baby, turn over for me,” he said, as he reached up to free your wet hair. It fell in damp waves around your shoulders and fanned out across the comforter when you followed his instructions. He raked his eyes down your naked figure and let out a soft curse.

“Shawn, touch me,” you pleaded, reaching out and tracing the swallow tattooed on his hand with your fingers. He placed a tentative hand on your lower abdomen and dragged a single finger upward toward the valley between your breasts.

“Like this?” he teased, bringing his finger up to his mouth and wetting the tip of it. He traced the outline of one nipple and then the other, leaving rings of moisture around both. Lowering his head, almost resting his chin on your chest, he softly blew cold air across your breasts. Your back arched up and off the bed as you felt your nipples harden into sensitive diamonds, begging for contact, causing you to moan low and deep.

His mouth was on you in an instant, draping himself over you and straddling your thigh. Sucking your hardened peak between his lips, he swirled his tongue and lapped at your breast, kneading the other in his massive hand, before switching. Your fingers knitted themselves deep in his curls, holding him to your chest. You could feel his hips grind against your leg, his hard cock involuntarily in search of delicious friction. He was totally lost in your pleasure and all of the sensation was starting to overwhelm you.

“Shawn! Babe, stop!” you keened. He stopped immediately, pulling his face from your chest and seeking out your eyes in alarm, “Are you okay? Was I hurting you?”

“No, no, I’m fine, I just,” you blushed scarlet, “I need you inside me. I love your mouth on me, but I don’t want to come without feeling all of you.”

“You want to feel all of me, honey?” You nodded your head vigorously as he maneuvered the two of you, turning you to your side as he crawled behind you. His rigid cock rested against your back as he pulled you backward against his hard, defined chest. He ran his hand down your side, over your hip, and grabbed your thigh, opening your dripping heat to him and resting your leg atop his.

Surprising you, he reached around and dipped his fingers between your lower lips, collecting your wetness, causing you to cry out. He used his slick fingers to coat his cock with your essence, an action so erotic that your eyes rolled back into your head. You bit your lower lip to keep from letting out a choked sob.

“Are you ready for me?” he asked. You breathed your assent as he pumped himself a few times before finally moving toward your center. Lining himself up, he slowly pushed inside you, inch by inch, until he bottomed out with a deep exhale, resting his forehead between your shoulder blades.

“Fuck, Shawn,” you whispered, the phrase sounding more like a prayer than a curse. He stilled inside and you reached back to grab his hip, keeping him deep. You savored the sensation, feeling closer to him at this angle than you did face-to-face. He was pressing against that spot and you had to take labored breaths to keep from coming right then.

After what seemed like decades, he inched out of you in a measured pace before gradually returning, brushing against your most sensitive place every time as he kept a deliberate tempo. It had you seeing stars with every return. He held your hips in a bruising grip, giving him leverage for his controlled thrusts. Eventually, you began seeking more, jutting your hips back and hearing your skin softly slap against his. Both of you were sweating, his hair dripping with the evidence of his labor. He batted on to your shoulder and began to suck a mark there, claiming you as his—as his wife—forever. You reached back and ran your fingers through his wet curls, grabbing a handful of them as you pushed back with your hips, meeting him thrust for thrust.

The mounting intensity was beginning to make your legs shake. No longer possessing the strength to keep them open, Shawn threaded his hand around your inner thigh and made room for his movements. His thrusts were beginning to falter.

“Babe, fuck...are you...almost...there?” he asked unevenly. “Oh, God! It’s so intense,” you shouted in response, barely able to nod. He hooked your thigh onto his knee and held you open for him, allowing him to reach around and brush your clit with his rough fingertips. Just a couple of circles around your bundle of nerves had you screaming out.

“Shawn, I’m...oh, fuck…please….come with me,” you begged, needing him to hold your hand over the cliff—unable to fall alone.

The force of your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave. He continued to pump in and out of you slowly, still pulsing against your g-spot and feeling you contract around him, until he roared his own climax, spilling into you. He fucked you erratically through both your orgasms, your body taking in every bit of his come.

He held you in his arms, your body still trembling, as he gently slipped out of you. You whimpered from the loss as he placed a single, wet kiss on the mark he’d left on your shoulder. You hissed at the sensation, turning your body to face his. Grabbing him by the nape of the neck, you found the strength to pull his head to yours, sealing the perfect morning with a quick but blistering kiss. He rested his forehead against yours, both of you catching your breath.

“Mr. Mendes,” you said, in a fake reporter voice, beaming up at him, “how does it feel to be married?”

“Well, Mrs. Mendes,” he replied, the humor evident in his voice, “it’s only been four days and I’m completely exhausted,” his face breaking open into the brightest, widest grin you’d ever seen, “but I wouldn’t give it up for the world.”

[thesilverdragoon]

Down Time

“Hold still whelp. You’re only hurting yourself the more you struggle.” Came a snarl from directly behind him.

Well, almost.

“I’M FINE. I CAN HANDLE THIS ON MY OWN.” Sihl screeched, trying to curl up into a ball. It was ineffective.

“I’m of a mind we should leave him out to be carrion for the birds.” One of the dragons out of the two that had been tending to Sihl’s broken wings hissed. The other grumbled in agreement.

Lev, on the other hand, sat at the edge of one of the balconies jutting out of the tower, head in hands and staring out and over the forest below. One could say he was pouting really.

But he had reason to. After that whole mess back in Coerthas with the huge OTHER black dragon. What a nightmare that was. He hadn’t even been able to sleep adequately for the past few nights, and it was starting to wear on him.

At the very least, Sihl was fine. Stubborn and fussy and screaming about this and that usually, but if he could do that then there was little reason to worry. At worse he’d just be permanently grounded, the longer he refused help. It wasn’t like a dragon couldn’t hunt by ground though. He’d live either way.

No, the man’s actual concern was placed with his friend.

Gods above, the knight was on death’s door when he had left him. The light completely drained from his eyes, the dark circles under those, the pale clammy skin-

For those moments it had been like being transported back in time, back to Lev’s own days in the knighthood.

Days he very much wanted to forget. Though, they were important in that he needed to remember them, to remember why he had left in the first place.

He swallowed the lump forming in his throat and curled up even further, before sighing quickly and glancing back over his shoulder. Sihl had settled down at least, for now.

“...Ugh, need a walk...I’ll be back.” The last thing he wanted was for any-dragon, or even Makumbo, to see him all sentimental like this. Fragile even. That just wouldn’t do.

“You need not tell us where YOU are headed, dark one.” One of the dragons paused and looked up towards him.

Lev spun around and held his arms up, cocky smile on his face as usual, albeit with a dead-in-the-eyes-expression to go with it. “Come now, it’s just common courtesy.” He answered, backing up to the edge of the stone floor and then laying back, falling off it entirely.

Not a moment later, the black dragon beat his wings and soared away from the Anyx Trine.

Sihl’s lip curled back. “What a show off.”

“Says the one who believes he were directly sired by the sun in the sky.”

______

“Mmmn...yes I … AM the captain...”

“...What. What?? What??????” Puffy wriggled his way out of Ves’ arm briefly before shrinking back into it and appearing out the other side when the knight rolled over, snoring heavily. “What.” It- or...well he? The worm sounded like a male (in the loosest of sense. Half the time it was distorted and not consistent in pitch.) No one really knew for sure. The worm didn’t seem to care one way or the other. “Why? Why why why why why.” Ves smacked his lips as he clutched his pillow with his only arm, mashing it against his face and kissing it ever so deeply. “What a...lovely flower you have...” “WHAT??? WHAAAAAAAT??????????” Puffy reabsorbed back into him and popped out of the top of his head, glaring at the pillow like it was a threat. The worm reeled back and then let out a horrendous shrieking noise, ripping Ves right out of a deep sleep and sending him into a full blown panic. Enough to launch himself right off the bed with a heavy THUD.

Once everything settled down again, Ves scowled at the voidsent poking out of his chest. “Can’t you let me sleep for just a DAY? You gave me three before, how about three more? Or, maybe the rest of my life??”

“What. No. No. Boring. You though. What????” “Huh?” This thing spoke in such choppy sentences (barely even that. Just short clipped phrases and words) that he hardly ever understood what it was trying to really say. It would question almost everything he did, or even thought about, which was distressing.

“What??? What????” “What are you saying? I don’t understand.” The worm hissed in frustration before popping out of his neck again and jabbing its slobbering mouth at the pillow. “WHAT??! WHAT!! WHY?!” Ves sputtered before Puffy moved back down to his chest to look at him again. Somehow. With no eyes.

“Why what? I wasn’t doing anything.” The guest room was filled with another hellish screech.

The knight uncovered his ears afterwards. “Will you STOP THAT?”

“WHAT???” “YELLING!!” “WHAT?????????????????????” The back and forth went on for a short while before wearing the two of them out. Ves stared up towards the ceiling as he laid on his back. Head ON the pillow this time. Puffy remained as an open mouth in his default position of the knight’s chest, mouth-breathing at a volume that was just grating enough. Maybe too, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought.

And to think, he was stuck with this worm for the rest of forever? Unbelievable. Simply unbelievable. And yet so well deserved in a dramatic and cruel sense of irony. “Now what?” It asked “...What do you mean now what? Now nothing. Healing isn’t particularly interesting you know. Or fun.” “No? No. Shame. Too bad. Boring.”

How could this thing be BORED?? Mind blowing.

“This is almost as bad as the time I had a crossbow bolt stuck near my armpit.”

“What??” “It was a long time ago. I still have the scar.” It wasn’t ACTUALLY his armpit. More like his right pec. But it was close enough.

Puffy disappeared briefly, moving around under Ves’ skin and subsequently further down, under the blankets.” “Hey-HEY where are you GOING-”

The worm sprang up again, nothing more than a mere lump under the sheets. A...really badly placed lump (depending on who you asked.) “DARK. OH NO. DARK!! AAAAA!!!-” “Get OUT OF THERE-” What ELSE could it do to him? Mess up his organs? Stop them from working?? Tear its way out of his body and leave him for dead like some discarded husk?? Interfere with Twelve knew what else??

Thankfully Puffy left his lower half alone (for now,) instead choosing to pop out of his once-wounded right arm pit. “Don’t see. Where? No hurt. Liar. LIAR.” “I was NOT- I told you- it was a long time ago!” “No hurt here. Nope nope nope. None. If hurt, I fix. I can fix.” Ves grumbled and turned on his side, gently. Puffy switched to the opposite side again. “Can’t you just take a nap or something? You’re like a child.” Just saying so made him remember when his son was young and bouncing off the walls all day long. This was no different.

...Was he ACTUALLY comparing this voidsent to his SON?? He shut his eyes tight and frowned a sour frown. He didn’t like that. Naming it WAS a terrible idea. Now he was drawing comparisons.

Before he could venture further down the rabbit hole, he opened his eyes again and stared at the nearby wall, brows furrowed.

“What? No answer? No screaming?”

No other sounds greeted him. Did it go to sleep?

“Saying words in sleep. Words. Flowers. Weird.”

Nope. Ves tensed up. “What words?” “Sleeping. Saying words. You say. Flowers.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Pretty. Pretty pretty pretty.”

“Right, I’m going to ignore you now.” The last thing he wanted to discuss with the worm was whatever dreams happened to pop into his head. At least they were nice ones this time and not nightmarish horrors.

Not that he was about to elaborate on just WHAT they were about anyway.

“Flowers flowers flowers! Flowers flowers flowers flowers, yes yes yes.”

Ves groaned and covered his head with the pillow this time. Eventually he drifted off to a light sleep again, though he could hear Puffy talking (or singing) to himself quietly.

“Pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty. Pretty flower, pretty flowers. Yesssssssssss.”

Twelve help him…

[toastingtotheghosts]

The Balcony Fic, 2/?

i have finished chapter two of my balcony fic! i may add a thrid chapter, but i don’t know, so tell me if you want me to. read it on ao3 here

people: tyler joseph/josh dun warnings: mentions of eating disorders, anxiety, depression and insomnia, slight anxiety attack/breakdown, idk what to call it based off of the balcony prompt

read under the cut and please leave feedback if you can 

Giving up on sleep, Tyler decided to go out onto his balcony. It wasn’t anything big or fancy - it was a small outside area with identical copies all around the apartment complex.

It always relaxed Tyler to look out at the stars, the universe. It used to scare him shitless, but he had found a way to twist his depression induced nihilism into something more optimistisc. He now saw the infinity of the universe as a blank piece of paper, waiting to be filled with the chicken-scratch lyrics and melodies of his life. The stars didn’t care that he didn’t go to college. The moon would never judge him for not being able to get out of bed when the depression settled heavy in his heart, dripped through his veins like liquid lead and rendered him unable to do much of anything. Tonight was one of the nights Tyler found comfort in the night sky splayed out before him. After a minute, he reached for his phone to put on music. With the click of a button, he leaned back in his chair and let the music wash over him.

———————

As Josh rubbed his bleary eyes, he debated between staying in his apartement or going outside to his balcony. After a moment’s consideration, he decided to go to the slab of concrete outside his back door someone decided to call a balcony. He only hoped there were a great number of stars out tonight.

It always terrified Josh to look out at the stars, the universe. It scared him shitless that there was so much unknown, so many questions that would likely never get answered. If ever star would eventually explode, what was the point of anything? How could he function knowing how insignificant he truly was?

As Josh stood by his back door, hand on the handle, he heard music coming from outside. He knew he had a neighbor, one that he shared his balcony with, but the two had never met. Josh’s anxiety spiked for a moment before recognizing the music.

Death Cab, Josh thought. He’s playing Death Cab. Without a second thought, Josh walked out to the balcony.

Love of mine, someday you will die

“I love that song,” Josh said, looking at his neighbor for the first time. Josh was fascinated by this boy. This brown haired, soft eyed, skinny boy with bags under his eyes fit to rival Josh’s.

“So do I,” Tyler responded, drinking in the sight of the man who had lived just a wall away this whole tune. This man, with bright blue hair and tattos and bones jutting out and shadows under his eyes that explained why he was on his balcony at two in the morning.

But I'll be close behind and I'll follow you into the dark

“I’m Tyler,” he said standing up and walking towards his neighbor with his hand outstretched.

“Josh,” the man replied, running one hand through his blueberry hair and allowing the other to shake Tyler’s.

No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white

“So, Josh,” Tyler asked, “what brings you outside when almost everyone else is asleep?”

Josh shoved his hands into his sweatshirt pocket to keep from fidgeting and twitching. “I usually work the night shift at the hospital, but I’m...” Josh paused as he searched for the right words to say. “Not going in for a few days.

Tyler nodded. “That explains why I’ve never seen you. I work days at the record shop down the corner.”

Josh relaxed a bit when Tyler mentioned the record store. Any man that liked Death Cab and chose to be surrounded by music couldn’t be too bad. “What kind of music do you like? Besides Death Cab.”

Tyler could see the hint of a smile as Josh asked And Tyler knew that, more than anything, he wanted to make Josh smile more. “I’m not too picky, but mainly indie stuff. Although I don’t think I ever quite grew out of my emo phase . . .”

Just our hands clasped so tight, waiting for the hint of a spark

The better part of an hour passed before the two boys turned the conversation away from music. The likely would have kept talking about their favorite bands and video game soundtracks until dawn if not for Tyler asking “so what do you do at the hospital?”

Josh swallowed the lump in his throat and prayed his heart wouldn’t leap out of his chest. “I’m a therapist. I mainly work with teenagers with anxiety, depression, or eating disorders.”

Tyler was even more drawn to Josh now that he knew he wouldn’t get called a freak or lazy any time he had a bad day. “That’s really interesting. Isn’t it difficult sometimes? That kind of work has to be taxing.”

Tyler could see the hesitation in Josh’s face, eyebrows furrowed as he struggled to find the right words.

“It...can be tricky at times. It’s hard, seeing so many kids struggling and not always being able to help as much as you want. I don’t know if it’s harder or easier because I understand what they’re going through. I’ve had anxiety since I was a kid, and...” Josh clenched his hands into fists and began to shake slightly. His bad thoughts, anxieties, all of his underlying panic was now surfacing.

Without thinking, Tyler reached out and put his hands over the shaking man’s. “Hey. It’s okay. You’re okay. Just breathe.” Josh took a few shaky breaths in and nodded.

“Thank you. I’m sorry. This is stupid. I’m stupid.” Josh looked down, shame visible in his eyes.

“It’s not. You’re not stupid. It’s okay. I know what it’s like. I’m not exactly perfect in the mental stability department, either. I’ve had depression since I was twelve, and I’ve had my fair share of anxiety attacks, too. I’m here for you. It’s okay.” Tyler leaned forward and wrapped the quaking boy in his arms. “I’m here.”

If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied And illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs

Josh held on to Tyler, who gently rubbed his back.

“It’s okay. Just let go.”

Josh let out a sob. It had been so long since anyone had made an effort to comfort him. He knew it was pathetic to be breaking down in front of this man who was basicaly a stranger, but Josh was past the point of caring. Tyler was kind and Josh needed as much kindness as he could get, considering his own mind had the cruel temperament of a high school bully.

He wasn’t sure just how much time passed before he untangled himself from Tyler’s arms. “Thank you, Tyler.”

Tyler let out a slight smile. “Any time, Jish.”

If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks

“I know what it’s like to feel alone. I know how bad it is. I don’t want you to feel like that again, okay? I’m here.” Tyler stared into Josh’s eyes.

The two boys talked until the sun broke through the darkness. They talked their pasts, their issues, their hopes, their dreams. And even with the massive sky spread out above them, a cloak of darkness with glowing white pinholes, they didn’t feel alone even once.

Then I'll follow you into the dark

[ao3bronte]

Smutember: Multiple Partners

Masquerade on AO3

9: Multiple Partners

They're three days into their school district's spring break when it happens.

Le Papillon, for all his ups and downs, could certainly deliver when he wanted to. Marinette almost wondered if he created silly and easily defeatable akuma from time to time just to lull them into a false sense of security, because this?

This one was a doozy.

He's never been known for having more than one akuma on the go but Le Papillon has certainly outdone himself this time. On top of Le Tireur and last week's La Pharmacienne, the corrupt Miraculous wielder has somehow managed to keep those two going whilst simultaneously akumatizing a pair of twins at once.

"We are Gemini!" They shriek in tandem, mirroring each other's incantation as they made about sixteen copies of themselves. Marinette exchanges a glance with Chat and wishes she had the power to do the same.

"How on earth are we going to manage this one?” she asks, fiddling with the yoyo in her hands, “Two against thirty plus…not the best odds.”

“We’ll do as we’ve always done M’Lady,” he replies, taking one of her hands in his and offering a squeeze, “Achieve the impossible.”

Well, when he puts it like that…

Marinette grins and returns the squeeze, setting her sights back on the growing crowd of akumatised copies. With yoyo and baton in hand, the two of them jump in guns a-blazing and knock out a fair few of them before getting overwhelmed.

“How many do you think there are?” she pants, taking one down with a swift kick to the solar plexus.

“Too many,” he grunts back, spinning his baton and striking two copies at once, “We’ve got to come up with a better plan.”

“Sounds good to me,” she replies, ducking beneath his basic sweep so she could wrap a hand around his waist. She flings her yoyo out towards the nearest balcony and wrenches them upwards, getting them out of harms way for the moment.

“What’s Plan B then?” he says, dropping out of her grasp. They watch as the twin in pink presses the butts of her palms together and aims a burst of energy at the other, effectively replicating the opposite twin. The twin in blue repeats the motion and Marinette suddenly has an idea.

“They can replicate each other but not themselves,” she muses, tapping her chin in thought, “If one of us can get close enough to them, maybe we can intercept the blast and—”

“I love this plan!” Chat claps his hands together, eyes alight, “I have always wanted a clone.”

Marinette raises a brow, “Is that so?”

“Mmhmm,” he replies, “Think of all the things you can get done with a clone! I mean, the clone could go to work and school and then I could be Chat Noir all the time!”

“I can think of other things I’d rather do…” Marinette says before she can stop herself. Chat stares at her agog for a moment before she brushes him off and points back down at the mass of akuma down below, “Come on, let’s get moving.”

“M’Lady,” he breathes, still looking at her as if she holds all the world’s secrets. Marinette just rolls her eyes and pushes him closer to the edge.

“Whoever gets close first takes the hit. It shouldn’t be to difficult if we make enough of a fuss. Let’s go!”

The two of them quickly go careening off the building and into the pile of vicious twins with a bone to pick, doing their best to fight their way over to the original set. Their pace is painstaking slow to be sure, but with the two of them working together as well as they do, their tandem attacks seem to eventually hit the spot. She’s volleying a series of punches when she sees an opening and juts her chin at Chat, signalling his chance.

“Go!” she cries, and Chat doesn’t need to be told twice. He dives into the line of fire and suddenly…

…there are three Chats.

Marinette pauses and thankfully the rest of the clones do the same, although not for the same reasons. While the twins scream in anguish at being played by their own fiddle, Marinette is trying not to imagine the possibilities of having two Chats under her influence, let alone three of them.

They make quick work of the twins after that, the three seemingly indomitable pack of Chat Noirs obliterating the rest of the clones so that Marinette can focus on the twins themselves. She backs them up in a corner and manages to get one of their toques off their heads, ripping the hat in two and releasing the butterfly within. She captures and purifies the creature before setting her sights on the other, all too aware of her Miraculous beeping incessantly in her ear.

“M'Lady.”

She spins and takes in the sight of them.

One is leaning against the railing of the staircase, smiling impishly at her. The other idly spins his baton in his hand before holstering it, winking and licking his lips. The third bites his tongue and eyes her top to bottom, his gaze exposing every filthy thing running through his mind.

Putain de ta race.

“Chat?” Marinette’s felt arousal before but never quite as sudden and intense as this, “I have to recharge before I can capture the other akuma.”

“Of course M’Lady,” all three of them respond in chorus, prowling towards her, “Shall we save this one for later?”

Marinette gulps as she turns her attention back to the remaining akuma, throwing her yoyo and effectively binding it within the unbreakable string. Ignoring the unmistakable pounding between her thighs, she looks down at the purified twin holding his head and places her hand on his shoulder, “Are you all right?”

The man groans, “What happened?”

“You were akumatised,” she replies simply, desperately trying not to pay attention the three Chats standing behind her, “Your sister is still akumatised but I can’t purify her until I can recharge my power.”

The twin nods and stumbles upright, “What can I do?”

“I’ll stay here and keep them company,” one of the Chats volunteers, smiling easily at Marinette and the male twin, “I’m sure Ladybug won’t keep us waiting too long.”

Marinette glances at the two Chats standing behind her and then back at the twin and his struggling sister, “Are you sure?”

“We’ll ménage just fine M’Lady. Off you go.”

Marinette gulps.

"I'll be back as soon as I'm finished," she assures the man, watching as he tries to shake away the drowsiness. She gives the Chat clone a hard look for the pun before leaping onto the nearest rooftop balcony that’s hidden from sight, confident that the two remaining Chats would be following close behind.

She stops and leans against the balcony's railing and tries to ignore the giant lounging cushion littering the deck and its possibilities, “Which one of you is the real one?”

"Me,” the one on the left responds, running his fingers through his hair. The other sneaks in behind her and begins suckling on the exposed skin of her neck, leaving tiny marks to pepper her skin, “What do you say Ladybug? Just you and me and Chat, up here on the rooftops. Think of all the possibilities.”

“Yes,” she breathes hoarsely, throwing her head back, “Close your eyes so I can detransform.”

“As you wish,” the two of them say at once and Marinette’s never released her form so quickly in her life, thankful that she’s remembered her mask this time. She tosses her purse to the side, stuffed to the brim with cookies baked earlier this afternoon, and slips the mask over her ponytails. She lets him know she’s covered before affording him the same courtesy and when she opens her eyes, the real Chat has transformed back to his civilian self while the clone remains in his Miraculous form, standing side by side.

“Fuck me.” Yeesh.

Chat turns to his doppelganger and grins, “Shall we?”

They advance on her, the clone making quick work of her jeans while the real one captures her lips and kisses her, scraping his nails against her spine. She squirms as the clone pushes her jeans down her thighs and guides her feet out of the fabric pooling beneath her, freeing them completely.

“What do you think M’Lady?” Chat purrs against her skin, “Should he fuck you while I kiss you senseless? The decision is yours.”

Marinette can’t help the way her hands make their way to her core, skimming against the cotton and lace, “I want you two to kiss.”

The real Chat’s eyes widen behind the toy mask, his mouth parting to make the perfect O. He looks down at his clone and makes eye contact briefly before staring back at Marinette, “What?”

Marinette feels emboldened by his surprise, happily gaining the upper hand, “Kiss each other. I want to watch.”

Chat considers for a moment, his expression uncertain.

“Please?”

That word seems to break his resolve, shaking him out of his reverie. His clone gets back to his feet and Chat closes the gap between them, taking a deep breath before pressing his lips to his. Marinette collapses down onto the mattress sized cushion and thanks every deity in the sky for giving her this moment to fuel her dreams for the next twenty years. She slips her fingers beneath the waistband of her panties and presses her fingers against her clit, entirely unsurprised to find herself sopping wet.

She moans and the sound seems to spur them, egging on their performance further, the two boys pressing ever closer. Their kiss gains an aggressive edge, all teeth and claws and hard angles as they begin to devour each other, their fingers and tongues waging war. The real Chat reaches down and grinds against his counterpart, relishing in the sweet friction against their thighs.

“Chat!”

Marinette's orgasm comes out of nowhere and she falls back against the cushion, her body and legs contorted in ecstasy. The Chats break apart to watch her and the real Chat wastes no time in stripping his clothes off as she quivers around her fingers, milking the last waves of her orgasm. He comes up behind her then just as the clone crawls between her legs, their lips wet and swollen and eager to please.

Beckoning her to her knees, the clone strips her of her top and panties as the real Chat caresses the planes of her abdomen from behind her, latching onto the hollow behind her jaw. He sucks and nibbles her to a frenzy as she tries to get her bearings, thighs still wobbly from what would have to go down as the fastest orgasm in her personal history. The Chat in front of her unclips her bra and immediately goes to town on her chest, pinching and lapping and tugging ever so gently with his teeth, watching her face all the while.

The Chat behind her grips her hips and tugs her hair, enticing her body to arch as much as possible, her head and ass jutting backwards in a perfect curve. She grits her teeth in anticipation as he rubs his cock against her folds, seeking entrance and when he slowly languidly finally sinks into her it feels incredible.

“Yes…” she hisses as he pulls out, teasing her with his tip before thrusting hard, ramming her forward into Chat’s waiting mouth. He skims her stomach and sides with his fingernails as he continues to tease her nipples and reaches down between her legs, tracing her lips and scraping her thighs. Every thrust drives another moan through her lips, his rhythm eager and consistent, decadently unrestrained.

The Chat in front of her grazes her clit and the pressure pulls her body taut, overwhelming her senses. Keeping his hand between her thighs, he uses the other to pull her hair back, capturing her lips in a sloppy embrace. The one behind captures her breasts with his palms and kneads them, clipping her nipples between the pads of his fingers with every thrust and god, it fells like she’s being consumed, like she can’t tell where one Chat ends and where the other begins, sandwiched between them in some hedonistic ritual that’s driving her crazy and oh, oh, oh…!

He swallows her screams with his mouth and she tampers his screams with her shoulder and at least two of the three of them reach a crescendo of pleasure together, glorious and with abandon, and she feels him come inside of her and she feels him tweak her clit and fuck, fuck! she’s coming again and it’s even more powerful than before, knocking her right out of her body and into some celestial headspace because fuck, it feels like she’s gone and died in the best way possible, floating and quaking and ah!

Some minutes later the three of them attempt to come to, sprawled and sated on the cushion like some Renaissance painting, self indulgent and utterly debauched. It’s only when a tiny voice makes itself known somewhere to their left that Marinette tries to sit up and take it all in.

“Ladybug, if uh…if you’re about done now, I’m ready to transform!”

Marinette nods and blinks owlishly, looking back down at the two Chats still slouched against the cushion, smirking in unison.

Akuma or no, this was by far the best day of her life.

[ameasureofpower]

"We're Murderers, Walton."

A thick fog overtook the morning, smothering the city streets with a heavy blanket of grey. Only the tallest towers broke through the oppressive mist, their twisting metal and glass forms clawing the soft, dawn sky. A faint breeze smelling of soil and wet leaves weaved between them, drawing cool moisture from a nearby mountain range to the metropolis valley. The sweet, earthy fragrance clashed with the scents rising from the city, but the curious melding of natural and artificial fumes did not jarr the Director’s heightened senses. He was used to it.

There was no need for Walton Simons to be awake this early of an hour on a rest day, but there he was on the rooftop balcony, watching the world and the sky go on by. Unlike most of the city’s inhabitants, sleep had not graced the middle aged man that night and he had nothing better to do but observe while the world still slumbered.

Without his usual decadence the exhausted man rests his head within his arms and leans upon the strip of metal railing keeping him from a thirty-plus story plummet. The dark circles below his eyes were like pits in the milky-white morning light, making him look more hollow than a wraith. He felt like one. Slowly, he releases a ragged sigh and closes his swollen grey eyes.

“Is something the matter, Mr. Simons?”

He presses his face further into his sweater at the sound of her voice and grumbles. He had forgotten she had been rooming at the hotel as well, though how she managed to find him this early morning was something he did not want to fathom. “You ask me this often, Mercy. Are you trying to give me a complex?” he deflects, his humming voice muffled by soft knit cloth.

The woman shifted on her feet, but, unabated, she prodded again for more. “You just seem troubled.”

Walton sighed again, his shoulders now hunching visibly. He did not know whether she asked such questions out of curiosity or concern, but it neither were entirely welcome. He did not want her prying or pity.And yet...Inhaling deeply he rises and straightens himself, but his poise is not as rigid as it usually was. Licking his lips he leans forward, wraps his fingers gently around the rail he once rested on, and bows his head to the rising sun. “I have thoughts...” he mumbles, swaying slightly from anxiousness. “Memories.”He heard her draw near, her footsteps soft upon the concrete flooring. She remained quiet, refraining from urging him on and for this he was grateful. He would not have been able to continue if she asked for more. “They always say it’s your first kill that’s the hardest,” he begins with a soft laugh, “but for me I’d say it was my...fifth?”“It was not the kill itself. I made sure to retire my target quickly.” He juts his thumb across his neck and quickly slaps it back down on the rail. The sound of his palm hitting metal reverberates in the air. His grip upon the metal was less gentle now. “It was the way his mother inquired about him two weeks later that haunts me. Her worried face. The hope in her eyes. She knew we were in the same unit together...”His eyes close, but only for a moment. The images were too vivid to linger on for long. When he reopens them the edges of his dark grey iris glow a ring of white, but, again, only for a moment. “Funny thing about blood is that the stench lingers on your skin longer than it does. Or at least it keeps to your nostrils...I suppose you would know about that,” he sneers, looking down at the huntress beside him with distaste.A frown crossed Alice’s features just as her arms crossed her chest. “We’re murderers, Walton, but I commit my trespasses to survive.”Walton’s judging expression remained, but his gaze eventually turned back to the cloudy city. Sun rays now filtered through the breaking mist, peppering the dark, sleepy streets with gold. “You don’t think I kill to survive? I would do anything to nurture an idea for the future: a beautiful dream of order and security...where our children can live and grow in a world of abundance and opportunity rather than descend into the chaos brought upon by reckless, selfish choices and emotion-driven opinions.”“Yet you cannot sleep at night,” was her retort. It was quick and to the point, and stabbed his thoughts like a needle. A twitch forms at the corner of an eye, but he rubs the motion away. His poise falters under exhaustion’s heavy tendrils, and the thoughts creeping through his mind. He releases a soft sigh. “I suppose it is a sacrifice...maybe tomorrow it will be better.”

[faiteach]

Fine. Fine! I’ll write it down. 

Another nightmare. Another terrifying amalgamation of my thoughts, feelings and experiences. Caricatures of my inner demons. 

We were on vacation. Me, my mom, my dad. 

In any heavily tourist-infested travel destination there is an area usually referred to as “The Strip”. It’s the area where all of the money pits full of knick-knacks centralize themselves---that one strip of road that is lined with bars, restaurants, candy shops, and various stores full of cliche destination-themed t-shirts, toys and souvenirs. 

We were walking down one of these. It was full of people, and we were annoyed. As much as my parents love spending money on travel trinkets, they also hate crowds. Well, my dad and I hate crowds and our irritation rubs off on my mother who spends the entire time waiting anxiously for my dad to mutter something embarrassingly misanthropic within earshot of anyone easily offended. 

I spotted a candy store and had the bright idea to drag my dad inside. In my dream, he was like he is now: shuffling, mostly blind, 7 years on dialysis and in complete denial about his inability to function on his own in public. I was doing my best to play the game I always do: carefully guiding him while still giving him enough of an illusion of independence to avoid frustrating him into a state of childish rage. But I was also distracted by the sheer size of this candy store. It was a warehouse of candy. There was chocolate bars and gummy bears and even cheetos and chips. But if you’re picturing a sweet confectioners shop of brightly lit pastels and white panels, you’d be wrong. This place was more like a Home Depot. The look and feel of it was quick & dirty functionality more than style. Cardboard boxes full of name brand chocolate bars and other such candies were stacked on open metal shelves up to the ceiling. Despite it’s size, the place was crowded. Everything was slightly too close together. Boxes were spilling out into the aisles. People were crowding around and grabbing handfuls of things, pushing and shoving through the tight walkways. I kept losing track of my dad. When I did, I would wander on my own for a minute and try to figure out what the hell this place was about. It was bigger than it looked on the outside. There was another floor down below. If you could push your way in far enough, you could see it through a wide, oval opening in the first floor. It looked like an aquarium with touch pools, and other live animal exhibits. 

I went to find my dad so I could show him. I had to describe what I was seeing, because he can’t really see things for himself anymore. I told him I theorized that this was more of gift shop for a museum than a candy store. We decided to explore it further. 

We had a nice time looking around but eventually the size of the crowds became too much of an obstacle. We lost interest in trying to see the rest of this weird place. But before we could think about trying to find our way back out, we both needed a bathroom. Have you ever been in a really, terribly crowded grocery store? You’re trying to find the stuff on your list but you’re also dodging people left and right, who appear to block your path at every opportunity, always showing up right where you need them to not be, until you’re ready to just ditch your cart, climb the aisles, and leap from shelf to shelf just to get away? This place was worse than that. People were everywhere and there was no apparent order to the way it was laid out. Trying to find our way around, even just to find a wall and start following it until it opened into a bathroom, became impossible. We were forced to find an associate to ask but even that proved impossible. Did anyone even work there? 

Finally we asked a group of people where to go and they directed us further down into the building. We ended up in a place that looked like an abandoned warehouse, or someone’s filthy sub-level basement. There was no floor, every inch was covered in clothes, toys, cardboard boxes, and random refuse of all kinds. Some areas you had to climb like snowbanks just to move forward. The bathroom, when we found it, was a tiny, porta-potty-sized room, jutting out of a brick wall, with an old wooden door that wouldn’t close. 

Dad did his business while I stood watch to warn people away before they could get close enough to see him through the parted door cause his sense of privacy is stronger than mine. I helped him back upstairs before trying it myself and I just left the door wide open because ever since the military I don’t really care about peeing in front of people. Other people made their way down to use the facilities and one guy just walked right up and started talking to me. He was saying crazy things, like “They won’t let us leave” and “How long do you think you’ll make it with the old man in tow?” 

Confused, irritated, and anxious, I stumbled through the debris and back up into the crowded candy shop to find my dad. 

Turns out, They wouldn’t let us leave. We couldn’t even find a way back out. When night fell, things got weird. The crowd was rounded up and separated into groups. Our group was brought into a new room, with a second story balcony and lots of raised seating. It was made of crumbling dark wood, and the place was mostly in shadow, save for the center which was lit by a blinding ring of jerry-rigged spotlights. The center of the wooden floor was caved in, like the wood beams had simply rotted and spilled the floor down into a dusty, cavernous basement. The wood floor formed a kind of ramp, down into the darkness. Someone had erected a railing around the other side of the hole. At the top of the “ramp” a series of what looked like seats from a carnival ride had been arranged together and attached to metal arms. 

They directed us into the seats. Made us strap in. The others we were with seemed like they knew what to expect, and the hopeless, terrified misery on their faces did very little to reassure me. Once were were all buckled in, They backed away and we were left alone, staring down into the dark abyss of the basement through the glaring haze of spotlights above. 

There was a deep, throat clenching rumble, the scrape of scales and sharp points against old wood. Our hair and clothes were pulled forward, as something inhaled, then a hot, rancid wind gusted toward us. The suggestion of a shape moved in the darkness. 

When the beast emerged, screaming sonorous murder, my first thought was denial. It must be an animatronic. This place is part aquarium, part candy store,  part haunted house thrill ride. It’s like the Jurassic park roller coaster in Florida---they’ll wave our seats around toward the big, snapping T-rex head and we’ll scream in delighted terror and then the ride will be over. 

There was a thud, and the seats moved forward. Slowly, achingly, they groaned toward the dinosaur in the basement. I heard and felt the reverberations as the beast took a step toward us. It sniffed again, it’s scaly nose brushed a man’s foot and he screamed. The beast roared again and they jerked the seats upward. The teeth crashed together just below us. All of us were screaming now. 

The rest is a blur. The girl next to me was snatched right out of her seat, leaving nothing but a bloody seatbelt dangling beside me. I still remember the way her bones sounded as they snapped all at once. 

This happened every night. We’d be marched in, strapped down, and put on the worst carnival ride of all time. No matter how much I preached rebellion to my companions, they all maintained their despair. There was nothing you could do. There was no way to get out. Just hope it isn’t you the next night, and eat the candy during the day. 

Finally one night, I simply could not face the beast again. As we were marched toward our seats I filled with an unquenchable fear that sparked an instinctual flight response so deep, I simply took off running. There were cries of alarm from behind me, but I didn’t care. I just kept going. I ran under the balcony into the shadows and found a door. From there, I went through a maze-like montage of doors, rooms full of debris and dust, clamoring over piles of random junk, until I made it outside. 

The rest of the dream was about me fleeing through a city that looked suspiciously like Ancient Egypt (thanks AC: Origins lol) while being pursued by someone that was only referred to as Red Riding Hood. When people I asked for help found out where I had come from, they would practically cross themselves and say “Begone! Before She catches up to you!” I saw her a few times and sure enough, she was always wearing a huge red cloak or a red dress. I couldn’t escape her in the city so I decided to find a way out which is when I learned that no one got “out” of the city, they got “off of” it. Turns out the city was on the back of some huge, Howl’s Moving Castle-type machine and when it stopped for a rest I hopped off the edge and then I woke up.