#had to soften him a little

[fanaticsnail]

When We Wake

Masterlist here

Word count: 1,300+

Synopsis: Blissfully waking within the arms of your lover, you are both struck with the thoughts of how precious you have become to one another. Whispering confessions of adoration to one another while the other slumbers, you are both completely overcome with such deep devotion.

Themes: established relationship, sir Crocodile x reader, gn!reader - non gendered descriptors, suggested nudity, kisses, confessions of love, sir Crocodile is soft for you, romance, romantic imagery, morning kisses, lazy kisses.

Notes: @carrotsunshine wanted a lovestruck Crocodile to read when she finished work today. I had no choice, my hands were bound and I stayed up past midnight again getting it done. While Croco is not one of the regular characters to write for, I did find myself falling for him a little in this fic. @since-im-already-here suggested the song, because smol-snail is a queen. Was written on my phone.

Tag list: @sordidmusings @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @cinnbar-bun @i-am-vita

Song: Until I Found You - Stephen Sanchez, Em Beihold

Falling asleep, content within the arms of a lover is a luxury Sir Crocodile never knew he could afford. Although extremely wealthy, he deemed himself unworthy of such an exuberant opulence. For all his shortcomings in his youth, clawing with his right hand while grappling with his left hook to be within the lap of comfort all Berry could buy: this small slice of the heavens he carved for himself with you was priceless.

It was not so dissimilar for you. You had never known a love as passionate, as heated, nor as deep a connection as the one you shared with Sir Crocodile. He was your world, and you were his. These few moments together, before the world drew first breath and the symphony of birdsong would sing to welcome the dawn, you lay in complete syncronancy.

Your heartbeats would thump to the same rhythm, your lungs extend as you drew breath in the same soothing inhale before softly exhaling in unison. If one of you shifted to rotate, splayed fingertips would search in yearning to find each other's warmth within the night: shifting blankets to adjust the heat for one another accordingly.

If you fell out of rhythm together, after a night of sound, blissful slumber, and one of you woke first: the other would gaze fondly at the lover they had taken.

When Sir Crocodile awoke first, his right hand would rise from its position against your hip, slowly raking his fingers delicately along your skin. His calloused hand was coarse and rough, but his fingers were always soft and gentle for you.

Finally, as his fingers reach your shoulders, he massages your shoulder tenderly before raking his forearm over your body and tucking your slumbering form firmly secured against his chest. His eyes were half-hooded, gazing with the softest flutter of his lengthy eyelashes down at you.

“You are so precious to me, my moon,” he whispered into your hair, pressing a tender kiss softly against your hair, “A bright light that guides me through such horrors within my darkened past.” You barely stir within your sleep, unaware such deep, devoted confessions were being freely gifted from the smiling lips of your lover.

“You are the blood that swells my heart,” his breath tickled your temple as his scarred cheek nuzzled against the crown of your head, “It would be too simple a thing to kill for you, as it would be to die for you.”

Unconsciously, your body began to burrow into his chest within your slumber. A soft moan expelled itself from between your lips as you reveled in the contact of your bare skin against his own. His final confession was whispered like a prayer into your ear.

“You command my very soul, my spirit is yours to do with what you will,” he smiled as he felt you stirring within his arms, “Should you toy with me, torture me, or choose to trust me: either way, I am yours, and I will live my life for you.”

Upon hearing his words, your immediate response upon waking was to press a kiss within the hollow flesh of his jugular notch. His breath hitched, his eyes fluttering shut as a rumbled groan in bliss swelled within his chest.

“As I am yours, my beautiful Crocodile.”

Should you find yourself to be the first to rise, your breath would hitch as your eyes met with his face. Within his slumber, he managed to break away from your embrace. Lying on his back, his hair splayed down over his face, you notice the deep furrow of his brows and the soft shudder of a snarl.

Softly and cautiously, you draw up your hands over his broad chest to hover over his face. The bright lightning-sheen of his healed scar illuminated within the soft light of the morning. You slowly lean over him, your chest lying flush against his as you straddle his waist.

You splay your forearms over his chest, elbows barely reaching the shoulders of the large man as you lay your ear flush against his chest. The rapid beat of his heart began to slow, a deep, sleepy inhale of his breath sucked in through his lips and departed softly through his nose.

“You are the most precious thing to me, my beautiful Crocodile,” you confessed your deep devotion into his chest, “No gold, jewels, nor Berry could ever meet you as equal.”

Sweeping your cheek away from his chest, you brushed your nose against his chest before beginning a trail of soft and lazy kisses over his pectorals. For each kiss you planted, a confession was whispered into his skin.

“You are the greatest man I have ever known,” you pressed a deep kiss against his clavicle bone, “Your fierce devotion to me is only outmatched by my own to you.”

The swell of his chest beneath your body indicated he was beginning to stir within his deepest rest. He sighed as he raised his right arm to unconsciously pull you closer into his chest. You elevated your chin to gaze up into his dark, violet eyes that had barely split apart between the curtain of his eyelashes.

“You are my closest confidant, my most ferocious protector,” you pressed a lengthy kiss against his jaw before brushing the hair that shrouded his face from full view, “You are all mine.” His eyes were sleepily gazing down at you, feeling the shift of your body flush against his own.

“As you are all mine.”

But should you find yourselves back within that perfect synchrony, on very rare occasions, your eyelashes would flutter as the world around faded into view. The world, as both of you knew it within your souls, was within the arms of one another. The only world that mattered to you both in those fleeting moments, before obligation and commitments called to you; was only, and always, each other.

As your joint eyelids rose together, your glassy orbs found their peace within each others' gaze. You were always the first to smile, where he was always the first to reach out to pull your body against his.

It was always up for debate as to who uttered those sacred words first. The three sought after and holy words that bound you together as one life, one body, one heart, and one soul. Those simple words that had the most mighty and hardened soldiers stutter and stumble over them in their fluster.

Immediately meeting with your smiling lips, Sir Crocodile swooped down and captured them beneath his own. Always slow, the angle of his jaw would alternate with his chin extending down and rotating to depict his heated passion. The bridge of his nose brushed against your own, the rumble of his moan expelled within your mouth as yours fled into his.

Parting your lips, you sought out more contact with your body pressed firmly against your passionate lover. You hooked your arms over his neck as he braced his right arm and left forearm around your waist.

He rolled you over his chest, before using the propulsion of the swinging motion of your body to pin you beneath him. You squealed into his mouth in shocked joy, his lips never breaking their deep contact against your own. With your lover now between your legs, you clawed at his shoulders to tug him closer.

The deep furrow of his brow, and sharp inhale of breath through his nose, had you enchanted by his enthusiastic welcome to commence the day. Almost begrudgingly, he finally split contact away from your lips to smile down at your position beneath him.

Taking a moment to silently acknowledge each other, you slowly laced your hands within the ink-black strands at the back of his head just as he leaned down to press his forehead against your own. Your whispers were almost inaudible, this confession being so scared you both dare not present it to undesirable ears.

This confession was just meant for only each other, your lips brushing briefly as you both relayed your devotion in perfect, unified symphony.

“I love you.”

[atoriv-art]

older designs for my specialest guy

[babylemonart]

Grandpa Baul and his newts

[77ngiez]

hey guys do we realize that the main difference betwen how kai and midori developed is that kai was given the chance to learn what normal life and love and family was like by working with chidouins while midori was kept under asunaros thumb all his life. do we realize that just a few changes could have kai acting just as cruel and merciless as midori. do we realize that midori is a victim of asunaro too, and though that doesn't excuse his actions it does make them more tragic. do we realize this or are we all being serious when we say midori is the only character who isn't worth redemption.

[skitskatdacat63]

Hey, do you remember that really homoerotic scene from Skyfall? No? That's okay, here's a Vettonso version of it :)

- explanation & w/o text:

Hi hello, finally my weird psychosexual relationship with Casino Royale has come to fruition. Yeah this is directly based off a scene from Skyfall, but I def envision the vibe as being more like Casino Royale hehe. I can't believe I made that inspo board for this AU almost 4 weeks ago, and then ended up drawing a four panel "comic" about it. Ahhhh proud of myself, a bit, a tad. I think this took 20+ hours across the span of a week? God. Anyways I digress! The AU!!

First of all, their Bond song would be "My Way of Life" by Frank Sinatra. It's so toxic, codependent and obsessive, I'm in love with it. And it really suits Fernando and his motivations and outlook in this AU. Basically, MI6(in the context of James Bond) in this AU is an analog for Ferrari. It picks theses guys up, tells them that they're Ferrari MI6's most special boy, chews them up, and then spits them out when they're finished extracting all their talent and skill and life force.

Much like with Ferrari, Seb in this AU replaces Fernando after Fernando loses favor and becomes undesirable. Now Seb is the new golden boy, and Fernando has turned to a life of crime! Fernando resents Seb for this of course, but also becomes obsessed with him and the idea of him , and how they are connected. It's weird to watch someone else basically go down your exact same path and unknowingly make all the same mistakes(buying into the mysticism of it all too much, being overly cocky, having naive beliefs and goals, etc.) He is caught between wanting to doom Seb even more but also wanting to "save" him, by corrupting him and convincing him to work together.

Basically: He's both a Bond girl and Bond villain.

Fernando is in such a weird place in this AU. I think he's just very dramatic. Seb is just casually living his best 007(005?) life, and Nando is watching him with binoculars, whispering to himself: "DOESN'T HE UNDERSTAND THAT WE ARE NARRATIVE FOILS!?" Yeah he hates Seb, but like the song lyrics say, their lives and dreams are inherently tied up together. He would feel lost without Seb, because Seb basically, unknowingly, destroyed and then took over his life. Maybe he'll feel satisifed if he manipulates Seb into going down the exact same path a bit better.

About the drawings themselves. Still can't believe this scene is a real thing that actually happened, insane to me. But in this AU, after the events of these drawings, Fernando definitely kicked all his henchman out of the room, and fucked Seb in the chair. And then against the wall. And then on the floor. Hey man, Seb is already looking mighty delicious with his unbuttoned attire and being tied up.

I think the general plot would be that Fernando keeps trying to seduce him to the dark side, and Seb keeps making him think it worked, only to escape at the end of the encounter. Leading Fernando to just come up with increasingly more violent and kinky traps. Seb goes along with it(read: enjoys it), leaving Fernando satisifed, only to somehow escape and wink and make kissy faces at Fernando in the process. (Fernando smoking cigarette in bed: "How do I make him stay. Sigh.")

I like to think though that Fernando does win in the end, by realizing, ah wait shit I do need to actually explain my motivations to Seb. And Seb is so worn down by his job, not Fernando, and how he's being treated, that he listens, really actually listens, and realizes Fernando does really have valid reasons. And then they become evil crime husbands yayyyy. Wow you thought this was a espionage AU? Well it is, but just not the outcome you'd expect.

[androgynouspenguinexpert]

the gravedigger and the nightingale

[8x06eddie]

actually wait i need to confess something… my otp is puka shell necklace wearing buck and fight club eddie

[momotonescreaming]

lowkey obsessed with the domestic college stommy au that lives in my head

[kashilascorner]

Oh ok. I get now why a lot of people didn't vibe with the ending.

All and all: excellent manga, overall very good final act, too rushed final 2-3 chapters but weak and honestly mediocre epilogue, which makes the high of the ending kind of leave a bitter taste. I think Noda had a good steed and suddenly he had to finish and had to rush all. So the ending in the sense of the final arc was good but the ending proper (final couple chapters) + epilogue......... Not so much

[krys-loves-otome]

Stolen from Scummy's reblog because I wanted to do it too!

Note that most half-filled squares are ones that are technically true, but it's under specific circumstances and rules, will explain below

So, for now, some Blorbos from me:

-Intense in loves and passions (for Nobunaga, for MC once they get together, for trying to get Mitsuhide to take better care of himself, in his care for others, dude is just passionate for his loved ones!) -His love for Nobu and his interactions with Mitsuhide can get a little fruity, not gonna lie. -Technically orphan since we don't really hear much about his family aside from his poor upbringing and having to be a bum to get by until Nobu came into his life. Agas in discord has also told us about RL Hideyoshi and how much his mom loved Kennyo and I think that's funny to think about sometimes. -Frequently violent but only when it comes to protecting his loved ones. He thinks one of them is in trouble and the man will go feral trying to find a way to help them. Overall speaking, he's not particularly violent, I don't think though.

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-Nothing anyone says is gonna make me change my mind about this man being bisexual. Nope, not happening. -Technically a tragic backstory as he frequently does Team Oda's dirty work of spying and torture, but his tragic backstory is not quite to the extent that some other characters go through, like poverty, figure-headness, and killing a loved one.

-Technically frequently violent, but it's mostly in the pranks he pulls. Not ferally violent, in a sense. He's sneaky about his violent tendencies. You don't want to mess with his wife, after all. -Divorced? He's a double agent that always goes back to his ex (Team Oda).

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-Being an immortal vampire means you must have some complexities and that doesn't excuse you being fruity, monsieur. -Technically an orphan as I don't think we hear much about his birth family as we do Leonardo and Vlad. They're mentioned sometimes but no word on their current status as he tends to focus more on his found family. Until I get confirmed status, he's orphan status to me, thus why the creation of his found one. -Divorced from Vlad, duh.

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-Listen. Listen. Devon/batteryrose was onto something with shipping Nokto and Slivio. Plus, been thinking of finding ways of shipping my OC and him with Rio. Just something about Nokto and the Bentonite princes does something to my mind, okay?

-Technically an orphan after what happened to his and Licht's mom, plus the whole reason for the Belle procedure is because his dad died. Maybe it doesn't count because he was an adult when his dad died, but, technically speaking, both his parents are dead, so... -Murderer by technicality because of Blood-stained Roses Day (all the princes at the time were said to have participated, so, technically speaking). He also tried to poison some merchants for a business deal, so attempted murderer too, technically?

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-Have you seen this demon when his family is in danger (actual, perceived, or otherwise)? He will go absolutely bat-shit feral when his family is in danger! Once you're under his wings, nothing will stop him from going to the absolute limit and beyond for you.

-Technically divorced from the Celestial Realm because of Circumstances™️, not from a specific person.

-Also on a technicality, because of that... whole war with the Celestial Realm, so some angels were more than likely killed, right?

[sailforvalinor]

Do you think 10 would have had as big a connection to Rose without the foundation of Nine's background/relationship with her? I think they still would have been close, but I don't know if it would have gone AS fast or been AS open without Nine. just because he did love Rose so much and I think a lot of that carried over into 10. I mean 10's looks came about specifically because of how 9 thought she'd want her S/O to look!

Oooooooh excellent question. Short answer? No, at least not right away—but their chemistry is just so electric that I feel like it would have gotten there, given more time. (Also I’M SCREAMING I knew people said that but I didn’t realize it was actually CANON AAAAAUUGGHH)

Long answer, it raises the question if Ten would even be the same person without Nine and Rose’s relationship. This is kind of dipping into my own still-forming opinion on how the Doctor’s regenerations work (as I understand it there are differing opinions on how it works in-canon anyway), but Ten was created by Nine sacrificing himself for Rose—Ten is almost quite literally a manifestation of Nine’s love for her, which is why Rose is integral to Ten’s identity, even when she’s lost. It’s her name that keeps him fighting. It’s her influence that informs his decisions, even when she’s not there. She’s his center of gravity.

Honestly? I’m not sure Ten would even be Ten without meeting Rose, even disregarding the fact that he probably wouldn’t have gone through all that character development and healing without her (or at least in the same way). Especially given what you mentioned about his appearance, I like to think that Ten is Nine’s love for Rose blasted through a megaphone. Tenrose without that foundation just doesn’t work.

[imminent-danger-came]

Sorry if you‘ve been asked this before, but since we know you‘re fav lmk characters, I was wondering what you‘re favorite duos and trios were?

And/or however many characters you wanna group together. Just in general, the character dynamics you find neat!

(My guess is that MK and Mei are somewhere on the top of the list- if not THE top)

One of my favorite things about lmk (of which there are many lol), is that you could throw two darts, and whatever two characters the darts land on are bound to have an interesting dynamic.

One of my favorite episodes is the Sandy and Huntsman episode (2x08), Tang and Macaque also have an intriguing conflict in 3x08, and Pigsy and Chang'e (3x07) have such a heartfelt shared passion that you can't help but enjoy their on screen time together.

I'm someone who wants a sort of Ne Zha and Yellowtusk "we reluctantly work together" arc, where even though Yellowtusk may have helped nearly bring the world to it's destruction, he ultimately helped save it, and he also happens to know a thing or too about keeping the Jade Emperor's power contained. I think it'd really fit in with lmk's "past mistakes vs making the right choices now" theme—in all honesty Yellowtusk has already paid his time with an eternity spent in the scroll—and now he can truly help make a better world. I think it'd be a neat way to keep him involved in the story, give Ne Zha someone to bounce off of (they both view power as sacred and a huge responsibility, unlike Wukong for example who is much more flippant with power), and would give some juicy drama ("You would betray your brothers?") between Peng and Yellowtusk later down the line.

Though anon you're 100% right, MK and Mei are at the top of my favorite dynamic list lol (They're whole motivation is to protect each other out of 100% platonic love. Obsessed with them). I'm also really partial for the MK, Mei, and Sandy trio that pops up here and there (1x03, 1x04, 3x04, 3x06). Traffic light trio is a treat, and the sunburst duo has my heart forever and always (I love seeing the way MK and Wukong's relationship has developed over the course of the show, both for the better and worse). Pigsy and Tang are always a delight (thank you 1x04, 2x03, 2x04, 3x05, 4x04, and specifically the line "Sometimes it's that little bit of char that makes for a more flavorful meat! Even if it is a bit tangy."), they're definitely at the top of my list. Obviously I like shadowpeach, and shadowpeach + MK (ooooo the monkeys are such delicious/tragic foils oooo), and I think Mei and Wukong have a really interesting dynamic (Wukong seeing Ao Lie in Mei, Mei viewing Wukong as someone who has hurt MK). Wukong and Azure's dynamic is also super interesting (Azure with his unrequited crush and heartbreak), so is LBD and MK's (could talk forever about these two), however I'll cut this off here since I could probably go on for a long while about this specific topic.

[ruelpsen]

Idrk what exactly is going on with me psychologically but the thing where I find my mind full of thoughts about my fave encouraging me keeps happening. I don't know if it's me having an active imagination or if this is some new-ish manifestation of my existing brain fuckery, but it is so wild... especially since there's sometimes an element of phantom physical sensation paired with it, which is so much easier to identify than wherever these thoughts are coming from. It'll take time to sort out exactly what's going on, but ngl I'm honestly really enjoying this. Just the idea of him encouraging me to stuff myself, him enjoying seeing me gain and belch, is so hot on its own. And oh lordy, whatever this is, it makes those thoughts all the more intense and fun!

[akkivee]

FACTS HAYAMA-SAN!!!!!!!! SO TRUE YOU ARE SO RIGHT!!!!!!!!!!

[aidanchaser]

Boulangérella - Chapter Two

Table of Contents beta’d by @7wizardsshallanswerthecall, @mothmanhamlet, @ccboomer, and @aubsenroute

Chapter Two Ladybug

The small golden bell on the door of the bakery jingled its high-pitched, pleasant song. Its job was to alert the Dupain-Cheng family to a customer, but it was not a customer who rushed into the shop, panting as if she had just run a circle around the entire city.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng set her bag down on the small bench by the window of the shop and hurried into the kitchen. “Maman! Papa!” she called. “Maman!”

She found her parents where she expected them: cleaning up from a long day and preparing the ingredients for tomorrow’s breads and pastries.

“How did the delivery go?” Sabine Cheng asked with a raised eyebrow. It had been Marinette’s first delivery to the palace, and she was nervous for her daughter. Marinette was not especially light on her feet, but they had Marinette doing the deliveries more and more these days. She needed the income to pay for her apprenticeship in the tailor’s guild if she truly wanted to leave the bakery.

“Oh—er I did trip and lose a whole set,” Marinette said sheepishly, and tugged at one of her pigtails. She frowned and looked down at her hand, now sticky with strawberry filling. Tentatively, she licked it. “But it’s fine, I had the backup batch ready to go,” she added quickly when she saw her parents’ worried faces.

“We’re glad you’re all right,” Tom Dupain said. He was a tall man, nearly twice as tall as his wife and daughter, with broad shoulders built from a lifetime of lifting sacks of flour and kneading lumps of dough. “But you should be more careful. If you had spilled a set in front of King Gabriel, he could have had you banned from the palace for life.”

Marinette decided not to tell her father that she had in fact spilled all the desserts in front of the king and instead skipped to the more important news. “The duchess asked me to tell you—er I mean, she told the king—or, I mean she asked the king and she asked me—” Marinette noticed the worried looks in her parents’ eyes and she hastily said, “The duchess is throwing a ball and she wants us to provide the desserts.”

“Oh my,” Sabine said. “A ball. We haven’t had a ball… well, I suppose it’s been since Queen Emilie hosted one. She always ordered with us. It’s nice of the duchess to ask for our help again. When is the ball, Marinette?”

“Er—in one month.”

Tom spluttered and his large, bushy mustache spilled out a cloud of flour as he did. “One month? That’s about how long it will take to fill a supply order and we won’t have much time to prepare… Is this a small ball, perhaps, just for the royal family?”

Marinette bit down on her lip. “Oh… no. In fact, everyone in the city is invited. Or at least the Duchess said, ‘all the eligible maidens,’ are invited.”

Sabine sat down on a barrel of molasses with a hard bump. “My goodness. That’s a lot of dessert.”

Tom scanned the supplies they had on hand. “Did she tell you what she wants us to make?”

“She said to surprise her, and she can approve the menu first thing tomorrow.”

“Well,” Sabine began slowly, “I suppose we had better start planning. We can place an order first thing in the morning. We’ll of course need to establish a quote—Oh, Marinette, will you be able to handle all of this?”

“Sure,” Marinette agreed readily. “I can help. Just tell me what to do!”

“The tailor’s guild will be swamped,” Tom said. “You’ll be burning the candle at both ends, Marinette. We know how unraveled you can get when you’re stressed.”

“I’ll be fine,” she promised. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

Sabine wiped her hands on her apron and eyed Marinette, who was still streaked with flour from her fall. “Perhaps we ought to hire an extra hand to help out. Is Alya still looking for work?”

Marinette pursed her lips, trying to remember the last conversation she had had with Alya about work. Alya had written a play for a local acting troupe, but it had not done well. Alya had said it was too “avant-garde” for the masses, but would be popular in about twenty to thirty years. Marinette had politely agreed.

“I think she’s available. It’s not too late; I’ll just go ask her.”

“Please do,” Sabine said. “Oh, let’s put a basket together for her family before you go.”

“And Marinette,” Tom said with a warning in his voice, “be careful. I don’t want you getting lost again.”

“Of course not!” Marinette promised.

Her father sighed heavily. He did not think Marinette was a liar in any way, but he rarely believed her anymore when she promised to be on time or available to help. In this last year, she had grown increasingly scatter-brained. She had always been clumsy, but now she was constantly getting lost in the very city she had grown up in. He did not think the problem was with her apprenticeship in the tailor’s guild—she had been doing that for several years now, and was nearly a journeyman—but something had changed in the last year. He often wondered if it had something to do with a boy, but he had not seen any boys hanging around the shop vying for Marinette’s time and attention, and he could not imagine Marinette would keep such a secret from them, or that she was capable of keeping such a secret. Marinette had never been a particularly adept liar.

Unfortunately, there was nothing Tom could do to help Marinette except to keep a close eye on her. He put a half-dozen biscuits in the basket Sabine handed to him, and Sabine added a set of cookies. Tom carefully wrapped the pink napkin around the warm, fresh pastries and handed it to Marinette to give to the Césaire family.

“I’ll be back soon!” Marinette promised.

She hurried out the door before remembering her bag. She rushed back inside, dropped a cookie into her bag, then grabbed it and headed back out into the night.

Her father’s worries about Marinette were well-founded, unfortunately. Not about a suitor, but it was true that Marinette had become more and more absentminded in the past year, forgetting appointments and deadlines in ways she had not before. Still, she was not quite as scatter-brained as her parents feared. And she never truly got lost.

Marinette knew this city as no one else did. She had run its streets since she was a little girl, first helping her parents deliver pastries, then delivering finished fabrics, dresses, and suits for the tailor’s guild. And now, in the last year, she had begun to learn the city from a new angle—its rooftops.

Marinette, however, did not take any rooftops on her way to Alya’s. It was not far, and it was not terribly late yet. Shop windows were still lit and a few people waved to Marinette as she passed. If people did not know her for her parents’ bakery, they knew her for her kindness. She often stopped to help a cart caught on a loose stone, or a child whose cat had gotten stuck on a rooftop. Yes, Marinette was clumsy, scatter-brained, and forgetful, but she was also kind to everyone who came across her path.

She arrived at the Césaire’s home just a few moments later and knocked on the door before walking straight in. She was always welcome in Alya’s home, and knocking was just a show of courtesy.

“Hello!” she called. “It’s Marinette!”

She was greeted by a loud chorus from the apartment above the restaurant. The deep voice of Alya’s father, the singsong voice of Alya’s mother, the high-pitched squeals of Alya’s younger twin sisters, the low melody of Alya’s older sister, and of course Alya herself were all familiar tones to Marinette.

There was a new tone in the chorused greeting, however; it was not exactly unfamiliar, but it did not belong to one of the Césaire’s. As Marinette reached the apartment above, she found Nino Lahiffe seated at the table with the Césaire family.

Before she could ask how the family was doing, the twins swarmed Marinette and wrapped their arms around her knees.

“Oh! She brought food!” one of them shouted.

“Sweets!” the other echoed, reaching up for Marinette’s basket.

Marinette lifted the basket up out of their reach and handed it to their mother, Marlena Césaire. Marlena greeted Marinette with a kiss on her cheek.

“Welcome, Marinette. We have just finished eating. Shall I get something for you? There’s plenty more.”

Marinette’s stomach grumbled, and she realized she had not eaten anything since before her trip to the palace. She had walked—and run—quite a bit since then. “Yes, please, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

Soon, Marinette was seated at the table with her best friend eating what she believed to be the best food in the city. Marlena’s cooking was hard to compete with. The only reason she was not the palace chef—she had been asked several times—was because she wanted to stay close to her family. She had no desire to be at the beck and call of someone else’s family when her own daughters demanded so much of her attention.

“What brings you here tonight, Marinette?” asked Otis, Alya’s father.

“Oh,” Marinette hastily swallowed the stew Marlena had given her, “well, Maman and Papa were wondering if Alya wanted to help out at the bakery for the next month or so. They just got a big order for the palace, and they’ll need some extra hands, especially since I’ll be busy working for the guild, and—”

“What’s going on at the palace?” interrupted Nora, the oldest of the four sisters. She worked as a palace guard, and was usually the first to know if something was going on in the city, since the palace was often the hotbed of local gossip. “I haven’t heard anything from the other guards.”

“Oh, Duchess Amelie decided this while I was there serving dessert because—”

“You served dessert at the palace?” Alya asked in shock. “Did you actually serve the duchess?”

“Yes, the duchess and the king and the princes too and—”

“You met the princes?” Nino interrupted. “What are they like?”

“Oh, um Prince Adrien was very nice…” Marinette’s face grew hot, and she knew she was turning red. “And Prince Félix—well, he didn’t say much. I don’t know.”

A wicked sort of grin split Alya’s face. “Prince Adrien was nice, was he?”

“I want to meet the princes!” Ella and Etta, the youngest twins, chorused at once.

“Why don’t we let Marinette finish her story?” Marlena suggested. “What is it you were saying about an order from the palace?”

“Oh, right. Duchess Amelie wants to throw a ball.”

“No way,” said Nora. “If there was a ball, I would know about it.”

“She sort of decided it right then and there,” said Marinette. “She was talking about marriage and convinced King Gabriel to hold a ball so that Prince Adrien could find a bride.”

Alya pursed her lips. “Hasn’t Prince Adrien been engaged to Chloé Bourgeois since like, before he was born?”

Nino grinned and elbowed her. “You always know everything that’s going on with the royals.”

“I don’t like secrets.” Alya tossed her head and her reddish-brown hair cascaded down her back. “I make it my business to know everyone’s business.”

Marinette, for once, had more knowledge than Alya, and she was eager to share it. “Duchess Amelie said that Adrien should choose his wife, and that was the whole reason for the ball, so that Adrien could pick from any eligible girl in the kingdom.”

The entire family stared at her.

“Any girl?” Nino squeaked.

Alya rolled her eyes. “Babe, I’m not going to go to some prince’s ball so he can line up all the pretty girls and pick out the cutest one.” She took Nino’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Besides, I’m not eligible anymore. I’m promised.”

Nino blushed and a very silly grin split his face. He kissed Alya on the cheek.

“Ew!” protested the twins.

“Oh?” Alya raised an eyebrow. “You think that’s gross?” She made a show of very sloppy kissing noises, all pressed against Nino’s cheek.

Ella and Etta shrieked and hid under the table.

Marinette stuck her head down and grinned at them. “I thought you two said you wanted to meet the princes. What would you do if one of the princes tried to kiss you?”

“I would say ‘No, thank you,’” said Etta.

“I would tell him that’s gross!” said Ella.

“That’s right, girls,” Nora said, and pulled her younger sisters out from under the table. “No prince kissing for you.”

Marinette hit her head against the table as she struggled to sit back up. She rubbed the bump ruefully.

“What about you, Marinette?” Alya asked with a raised eyebrow.

“What?”

“What would you do if one of the princes tried to kiss you?”

Marinette laughed too high and too quickly. “What are you talking about, Alya? I wouldn’t—they wouldn’t—”

“You said Adrien’s nice,” Nino prompted. “What makes him so nice?”

Marinette buried her face in her hands and groaned.

“Don’t embarrass her,” Otis scolded. “You know how shy Marinette can be around boys. Remember how she was with you, Nino?”

“She was only half as bad as Nino was,” Alya laughed. “You two were the weirdest couple when we were kids. You stared at each other’s hands like they were going to bite.”

None of this helped Marinette’s embarrassment. And, honestly, none of it mattered. Marinette would never see the princes again—she certainly wouldn’t be serving any more dishes at the palace herself after that royal embarrassment. And there was no way she was going to the ball. She would be busy hemming dresses or baking treats or running along the city’s rooftops, making sure everyone was safe.

“Oh, we’re just teasing, Marinette.” Alya nudged her in the ribs. “Anyway, you were saying your parents wanted me to help out at the bakery?”

“Yeah.” Marinette pulled her hands away from her face, setting aside her embarrassment. “If you’re not doing anything, that is.”

Alya hummed and looked at Nino. “What do you think? It might take us a while to get our new thing off the ground.”

“We’ll need clients first,” Nino agreed.

“What are you talking about?” Marinette asked.

“Nino and I are going to start up an investigation business. People pay us to find their stuff, or anything they’re missing, or even people they’re missing. Nino has a lot of connections, and we’re both good at getting information out of people. We thought we could put it to good use. But it’ll take us a while to get going. Do you think there’s work for both of us at the bakery? We could both work there for a bit, and let people know about what we’re doing, too.”

“Oh, maybe,” Marinette said. “I’m sure my parents would love to have Nino, if they can afford it.”

“I don’t like this job plan of yours,” Nora said in a warning voice. “It sounds like you could run into some dangerous people.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Alya rolled her eyes. “Besides, I’ll have Nino to protect me.”

Nora looked disdainfully at Nino’s thin frame, buried in a blue tunic that was just a little too big for him. “Just leave the helping people stuff to Ladybug, little sis. She’s the real hero.”

Alya did not take her sister’s criticism to heart. She merely rolled her eyes, and Nino jutted his chin out, but he did not argue with Nora. She was easily twice his size and had put him in a chokehold too many times to count.

“I actually thought we might work with Ladybug,” Alya said. “She could help us if we needed it, and we could get her information she might not have otherwise. It’d be a good partnership.”

“We just don’t exactly know how to ask her,” Nino said. “She’s hard to find, since no one knows who she really is.”

“Er—no one can, right?” Marinette said. “It’s important that her identity stay secret so that she can keep protecting the city from Hawk Moth’s curses. If Hawk Moth knew who she was, he could target people that she cared about.”

“I could take down Hawk Moth,” Nora said, slamming one fist on the table. “If he ever showed his face, I’d have him pinned in an instant.”

“I’m sure you would, sweetheart,” Marlena said, and kissed her daughter’s cheek.

“I certainly would not mind a chance to tear him apart myself,” Otis grunted.

“If anyone is going to stop Hawk Moth for good, it’ll be Ladybug and Chat Noir,” Alya said confidently. She, Nora, Nino, and her father all had, like many others in the city, been victims of Hawk Moth’s curses before. And, like many others in the city, they had been rescued by Ladybug. Her magic was more powerful than his, Alya was convinced, and she trusted her city’s hero to save them every time.

“Chat Noir is a wanted criminal,” Nora said. “If I saw him on the street, I’d arrest him and collect the bounty.”

Nino, though he did not like to challenge Alya’s much-older-and-much-bigger sister, managed, “Really? I’d buy him a drink. He’s a hero just like Ladybug. It’ll be both of them together that take down Hawk Moth.”

“He’s a thief—”

“He’s never stolen from us,” Alya pointed out. “He only has that bounty because the wealthy like to complain when they misplace a brooch or a painting.”

Perhaps sensing that a conversation about the ethics of thievery and vigilantism was not the best evening conversation for toddlers, Marlena announced, “Bed time for the little ones.” And though the young twins protested, Marlena and Otis each picked one up and took them to bed.

“I should probably go, too,” Marinette said, and got to her feet. “Thank you for the meal Monsieur et Madame Césaire,” she called after Alya’s parents.

“Nino and I will walk you down,” Alya said hastily and Marinette groaned. She knew that Alya only wanted to press her for each and every detail of her trip to the palace.

About thirty minutes later, Marinette was still standing in the doorway and Alya was laughing so hard that she had to lean against the wall for support. Nino, at least, had the courtesy to look stricken.

“You could have been banished from the palace forever,” he said.

“I know,” Marinette said into her hands. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

“It’s pretty bad,” Alya wiped the tears from her cheeks. “What did you call Prince Adrien? His Royal Fineness?”

“Something like that,” Marinette mumbled, and Alya broke out into another fit of laughter.

“I’m sorry,” Alya gasped between giggles, “I love you so much, girl, but you’re really bad when you like a boy.”

“I don’t like Prince Adrien—”

“You have a crush on His Royal Fineness!” Alya protested. “Admit it.”

“How can I? I don’t even know him.”

“Doesn’t always work like that,” Nino said sympathetically. “Sometimes you just fall for someone.”

“It’s like destiny,” Alya said. “It just happens.”

Marinette shook her head. She might have a destiny, but it certainly did not involve marrying a prince.

“I’ll see you both tomorrow,” she said, eager to be done with this conversation.

“Bright and early,” Nino promised.

“Dark and early,” Marinette corrected. “The baking mostly happens before the sun comes up.”

Nino frowned at this news, but Alya grinned. “We’ll be there,” she said, and kissed Marinette’s cheek. “Have a safe walk home!”

“I will,” Marinette promised, but that wasn’t entirely truthful. Marinette would not be walking home, and she might not be safe, either.

As soon as she was out of sight of the Césaire’s home, Marinette ducked into an alleyway and opened up her satchel.

The cookie she had dropped inside had been reduced to mere crumbs and a small ladybug crawled up the side of the bag and into Marinette’s hand.

“Hi, Tikki,” Marinette whispered. “Ready to work?”

The ladybug grew in size until it was large enough to cover Marinette’s palm, and its shape changed, too. Its head became twice the size of its body, and its wings extended out from their shell. The black of the ladybug disappeared into the red, and soon Tikki was staring at Marinette with bright purple eyes and a warm smile.

“I’m always ready, Marinette,” she chirped in a high voice.

Marinette grinned back. “Tikki, spots on!”

Marinette had found Tikki in the Forest of Fay just over a year ago, or, more accurately, Tikki had found her.

When Queen Emilie had fallen asleep and the Duchess’ husband had disappeared, Marinette’s master had said that he needed a very specific flower to create a unique dye for the Duchess’ mourning attire, and he had sent Marinette out to get it. The flower was not grown by florists nor herbalists, for it could not survive in captivity. How the flower knew the difference between a pot, a garden, and a wide, uncultivated space was beyond Marinette’s scope of knowledge. She knew flour, not flowers. So when her master had told her that the flower only grew in the Forest of the Fay, Marinette had valiantly fought off her fears of curses and sought the flower out.

But Marinette had not learned the paths of the forest as she had learned the roads of the city and she had soon gotten lost. It was just days after the winter solstice, and the shadows had grown long and dark quickly. She had found a few blossoms, deep violet, and she expected they would make for a rich color suitable for a royal gown, but that would mean nothing if she could not find her way back. Perhaps her Master had been wrong to send her; perhaps she had been wrong to go.

Just as she was beginning to despair that she would never find her way home, a ladybug had landed on the back of her hand. It had flitted off to a tree, then returned to Marinette, then flown back to the tree. It had taken a few more tries for Marinette to understand that, for some bizarre reason, this ladybug was asking her to follow it. Nervously, Marinette had followed the bug as it flitted from tree to tree until they had reached the edge of the woods, where the ladybug had begun to shift into a strange red creature with small wings and a large head. Marinette had shrieked and tried to climb the nearest tree to get away.

“Careful!” the creature had said in its high voice. “You’ll fall!”

And Marinette had fallen, right out of the tree and onto the ground, landing on her arm. She heard the crack and she had one moment to wonder if that crack had been her bone before the pain set in.

“Oh! Ow!” She had shrieked and curled in on herself, clutching her broken arm to her chest. It hurt, but she had been glad it was not her hands. If she had lost the use of her fingers, she would never have been able to sew again.

“Oh, this is my fault,” the strange creature had said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I forget how easily frightened some humans can be.”

Marinette had hardly heard her through the pain, but she managed to squeak, “I’ll be okay.”

“I can help,” the creature had promised. “Let me help, please. I promise I won’t ask for much—just some sugar, perhaps?”

And Marinette had agreed.

Pain and sickness were no longer things that Marinette worried about. She had been given the gifts of creation and luck in a pair of earrings in exchange for sweets.

Ladybug soared over the rooftops of the city. Marinette had been serving as Ladybug for over a year—named for the favored form of the fay who had chosen her and for the red and black spots that decorated her dress. Well, it was not a dress, exactly, at least not a complete one.

A red mask marked in black spots covered her eyes to hide her identity, and long red ribbons trailed from her dark, curled pigtails. Her chemise was black, tied tight at the collar, and covered by a red dress detailed in gold and red ribbons. The sleeves were slashed at the shoulder and elbow, revealing the black chemise underneath.

The fabric and ribbons were far finer than any she might have owned as a baker’s daughter, and it glittered with the magic that had woven it. It might have been appropriate for a ball if her legs were not entirely exposed. The chemise covered hardly half of her thighs, and the dress over it split at the waist into a back shaped like the wings of beetle she was styled after. But her legs and the red tights that cloaked them were left visible to the night. It was not especially appropriate for a woman, but it allowed her to move easily across the rooftops and, should the situation call for it, move quickly in a fight.

Ladybug hoped that there would not be a fight tonight, but as she ran, she caught a flicker of light reflecting off of something quick and silver. She hopped from one tiled rooftop to the next, in search of the silver flash.

She found it—or rather him—dropping down from the rooftops of the closely-knit city shops and apartments and approaching the gates of one of the manors on the edge of town.

“Naughty Chat Noir,” she chided as he scaled the manor’s gates.

He froze, hands still around the gates’ iron bars but feet only halfway up. He finished his climb with a quick scramble and, once safely perched on the edge of the wall, turned to look at Ladybug.

Like Ladybug, Chat Noir wore a mask. He also wore a black jerkin and tights, styled with silver ribbons rather than gold, and at his waist he carried a silver baton, fastened to a long leather belt that dangled like a cat’s tail. His hands and feet, too, were tipped in silver, pointed in the shape of a cat’s claws, which made it far too easy for him to scale sheer walls and slip into the homes of the city’s wealthiest.

He leaned back and lounged lazily on the manor wall. His reflective green cat eyes glittered in the moonlight, and his blonde hair was tousled from his run across the rooftops. But his black cat’s ears were unruffled, perched perfectly on top of his head. He had let Ladybug feel them once, and they felt no different from the leather of his belt—decorative, really—but she was certain that she had seen them twitch towards sound on more than one occasion, like a real cat’s ears.

“Looks like you caught me, my lady.” He held his hands up in mock surrender. “I suppose you’ll just have to take me in.”

“Have you stolen anything yet?” she asked.

Chat Noir sighed. “No, but Lady Rossi has a lot of lovely pendants. I’m sure she wouldn’t even notice if I borrowed just one. And really, it’s her fault for leaving her house empty nine months out of the year.”

“Give it up and get over here,” she smiled. “We have work to do, you know.”

Chat Noir stood, but he hesitated. His long belt swished behind him and though Ladybug knew it was just the wind, it was easy to imagine he was like a real cat, swishing his tail before he pounced.

Then he jumped—into the yard of the manor.

Ladybug sighed. She and Chat Noir were heroes of the city, defenders against Hawk Moth’s curses and protectors of the vulnerable. They were supposed to wield their magic not for their own gain, but on behalf of the people. Her trickster partner, however, often forgot that.

Before Ladybug could jump down and go after him, however, a series of loud barks filled the night, and suddenly Chat Noir was back up on the wall and leaping for the safety of Ladybug’s rooftop. He misjudged the jump and the edge of the roof caught him in the stomach. With a loud wheeze, he pulled himself up to stand beside her.

“Why are the Rossis’ hunting dogs here?” he asked ruefully, and examined the edge of his lengthy leather belt. “They nearly got my tail.”

Ladybug tipped her head and listened to the dog barks. It was odd; the Rossis rarely spent the winter in the city. They traveled often, and usually only returned for the king’s annual summer hunt in the Forest of the Fay. She wondered what had called the family back to the city in the beginning of winter.

“If you keep using your gift to be a thief,” Ladybug said, “you’ll just have to suffer the consequences.”

“What about you, my lady?”

“What about me?”

“You’re a thief, too.”

Ladybug spluttered and her face grew hot with indignation. “I am not a thief!”

“But you’ve stolen my heart.”

He grinned a wide Cheshire grin and Ladybug could not help but laugh.

She hid her joy, though, by leaping onto a neighboring rooftop, following her familiar patrol around the edge of the palace, and Chat Noir followed.

“You’re particularly out of sorts tonight, buginette,” he said.

“Buginette?” she quirked an eyebrow. “You’re the one in rare form, chaton.”

“I’m not quite at the top of my game,” he agreed, careful to time this as he leapt on top of a chimney before jumping back down to keep pace with her. “I should have seen the dogs.”

“And what would we have done if you had been bitten and one of Hawk Moth’s monsters had shown up?”

“My lady, I would defend you to my last breath, bites and breaks be damned.”

Ladybug skidded to a stop just before reaching the palace wall. Chat Noir perched beside her.

As irritating and inconvenient as his thievery could be, he was as loyal as any friend that Marinette had. He had stood with Ladybug, bites and breaks be damned, and helped her defend the city from Hawk Moth’s monsters. She would have died several times over this past year without him at her side.

But she was off tonight, as he had pointed out. With the ball just a month away, it would be hard for her to make time to be Ladybug, to make time for Chat Noir. She was afraid to tell him, afraid of how it might hurt both of them.

Chat Noir’s playful green eyes softened as he took in Ladybug’s slumped shoulders and the pensive curve of her red lips. He twisted his silver ring, studded with green stones in the shape of a cat’s paw, once around his black-gloved finger. She wondered what it was that had him out of sorts tonight.

“Did you know that we’ve nearly reached the one-year anniversary of our partnership?” he asked.

“Er—I hadn’t realized. I’m not sure if it feels longer or shorter.” She searched for the answer that would encourage him best. “Part of me feels like we’ve always been doing this.”

He smiled, but his usual humor was lacking, as if he perhaps already knew what she was going to tell him, that their nights like this would be limited for a while. “It feels like it’s been forever,” he agreed, and pushed himself to his feet. “If you’d like a bouquet to celebrate, I know the castle gardens have a lovely bloom of hellebore every winter.”

“Do not steal from the castle gardens,” she laughed. “I can’t help you if the king takes your head.”

“The king would never. You and I are heroes.”

“Most of the time.”

“I cannot speak to what you do without your mask on,” Chat Noir shrugged. “What must you get up to when I’m not here to keep you in line?”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed and he grinned with pride.

Chat Noir loved Ladybug. He had said it a thousand different ways in word and deed, but none of it seemed to matter to her. She simply did not love him back, and there was nothing he could do about it. He did not think he had fallen in love with her at first sight—not the very first sight, at least, when she had caught him slipping out of the Bourgeois manor with a pair of wedding rings.

It wasn’t that Chat Noir needed to steal. When he took off his mask, he had more money than he knew what to do with. Really, he simply needed to prove to himself that he could. He needed to know that he truly had the freedom to move in and out of someone else’s house undisturbed. He had told this to Ladybug, but she had rolled her eyes and simply demanded he return the pair of rings he had lifted from the Bourgeois family. He had done so, but he had known it didn’t matter. André and Audrey Bourgeois never wore their wedding rings anyway.

He had never told Ladybug the second reason he liked slipping in and out of homes, partly because it was embarrassing but partly because he did not think she would believe him. One of Chat Noir’s favorite things to do when casing a home or slipping into it unseen was to simply observe the way people lived. He did not want to know where they kept their valuables, not really. He wanted to know what they valued and what their routines were and how they lived their lives.

But more than anything else, more than thieving or heroing, he liked sitting on a rooftop with Ladybug, listening to the sounds of the city around them and watching people go about their day. He liked observing people. It allowed him to imagine that one day, maybe, he could be a part of it. Maybe even be a part of it with Ladybug.

Someday he might tell Ladybug about that dream, but he was afraid it was too close to the truth of who he was, and she had made him promise never to tell her his real identity, just as she had sworn never to tell him her identity. It was necessary to keep their loved ones safe from Hawk Moth. Chat Noir did not think Hawk Moth could hurt his family, but he had agreed all the same. He would agree to anything that Ladybug asked of him.

Well, almost anything. It really was hard to stop stealing. He had an impulse for chaos that was not entirely his own, and it had to be fed somehow.

He wondered how she would take the news that just one month from now, he would have to give up his contract with his fay, that this past year was all he had to give her. He meant it when he had said bites and breaks be damned, but he did not see how he could keep up this life and the future that loomed before him.

As Ladybug and Chat Noir sat on a rooftop, taking in the lights of the palace, they did not know that in the center of the city, a heart was breaking.

But Hawk Moth knew. When he stood in the hidden loft he had built to avoid prying eyes and activated the magic of his own fay companion, he could sift through the emotions of each person within the city.

It sounded like the sort of power that might overwhelm a lesser man, but he had no trouble wading through the feelings of thousands. It was not much different from the weight of bearing a kingdom. For the most part, the people’s emotions were mundane, nothing more than a gentle river in the height of summer and easy to navigate. But every so often there was a tug, a dramatic pull to something all-consuming, a surge in the river’s flow. Hawk Moth was careful not to let that current pull him under. He held fast to his own grief as an anchor and watched the currents, waiting for the right one.

His gift of transmission allowed him to grant magical abilities to those in heightened states of emotions. When he had first found the creature, it had spoken of courageous soldiers turned to heroes and of panicked parents granted the strength they needed to rescue their children, but Hawk Moth had found a more effective use for this creature and its gift. He could turn agony and anger into abominations.

So he waded past currents of courage and jolts of joy in search of swells of sorrow to manipulate for his own mission.

His fingers tapped the lavender butterfly broach at his throat as he felt agony rise from a familiar place.

Xavier Ramier was a man prone to strong emotions, though it was not always sorrow that swelled from him. Monsieur Ramier took pride in his pigeons, felt extreme joy when a new chick hatched and nearly burst with courage when he entered his birds into competitions each summer. But he was also easily overcome with heartbreak when a bird passed on, or a snide judge critiqued the sheen of his new brood, or, as it happened tonight, a few rowdy teenagers got it in their heads to throw rotten eggs at his coop.

With the power of his fay, Hawk Moth cupped an ivory butterfly in his hands and whispered his dark incantation. The creature, now filled with his power and colored in deep violet, took off through the open window of the loft in search of the indignation that it could add its strength to.

[superas1an]

thank you for putting a name to the exact thing i’m writing out right now. bless you and all those you love and cherish. now to go back to writing a heart breaking story about clint and ali…

People should make more doomed by narratives siblings relationship.

Like with lovers you can just sever it and not have it related to you ever again but with siblings how could you?

You grow up with them you raise them or they raised you you both know how unforgiving the world is to both of you? You would die for them but will hate them for doing the same and yet none of you would regret it and both of you know it. They could be the person you loath the most and miss the most cause you still remember how they sneaked a candy into your hands. You can sever the tie but you can never look away at what you've lost, at whom you've lost because fate doesn't allow you to be together, eating dinners in quiet peace, if only there's another life, another time, where i can make you another plate of pancakes i would im sorry im sorry im sorry —