#last picture is more of an au outfit then a disguise but i think it also counts it just depends on where he is

[superat626]

King Meneshotep outfits in blocky colours as my head turns to jello

[deskgirl]

Actually, I’m not done with my Everyone is a Time Traveler AU. To follow up, everyone being time travelers explains all the historical anachronisms. It’s all intertemporal pollution and debris. Crocs and studded belts and songs from the 1940s and buttercream and living in someone’s head rent free. This is what happens when too many time travelers converge on the same point in Spacetime.

And yes some of the crew still believe in curses and fairies and crystals and gremlins. So do real NASA scientists and plane pilots. Anyway, if time travel exists, who’s to say other things can’t? Best not to risk it. Some of the crew might also be from even earlier time periods, pulled into the 1700s by wormholes or the Bermuda Triangle.

By the way, I’m putting Buttons down for believing in the theory that all moments in Time, past, present, and future, are equally and simultaneously real, and we merely experience these moments in successive order, creating the sense of a passage of time(B-theory more or less). He describes Time as a “great sea.” The crew never knows, when he’s talking about his love of the sea, if he means the actual wet thing or Time.

I’m also putting Izzy down for believing Time is set in stone and can’t be changed. The details may vary, but the big things always happen. It’s why Stede Bonnet and then Ed going off-script disturbs him so much. It’s why he pushes Ed, why he’s resigned to the raids, why even when he tries to finally talk Ed down and change the direction things are headed, a part of him already knows he’s about to be shot. Finally, finally, finally, he figures it out. It takes turning everything he believed for the last several decades on its ear, shaking the foundation of everything he knows, but he finally gets that some things don’t change—can’t change—but some things can. Some things do. And you have to accept when it does.

Also, I’m going to double down on Ed and Stede having to become time travelers for Plot Convenient Reasons because then they can split up and each hit a different moment in time.

More about Ed and Stede’s Excellent Adventure under the Read More because this is getting wordy. I basically wrote a fic under here. Enjoy.

Picture Ed in a terrifying metal box as lights flash and things make scary noises, or perhaps being outfitted with a fancy time travel bracer with lots of fancy buttons and knobs he’s not to touch under any circumstance—and then suddenly he’s dropping into the ocean. He pulls himself up onto a ship to find himself witnessing the tail end of a raid. He sees Ivan on the deck unmoving amongst the bodies. He sees himself boarding the Revenge, back turned.

He thinks for a brief moment about ending it all right then and there. He could kill his past self. Change everything. Save everyone. It’s not like he exactly likes the guy, right? He’s had this exact dream before even.

But then what happens? Buttons—who was admittedly a seagull at the time but Ed is trying not to question it because he’s already half-convinced it was a dream—warned him about this. He can change certain events, but things might not work out the way he expects or wants. What if Izzy picks up the mantle of Blackbeard and dies for the legend? What if Stede never finds him and keeps searching until he ends up hung by the British or on a Chinese pirate ship with an ominously ticking clock? What if—

Ivan. What he can do is save Ivan. That’s why he’s here. The crew wasn’t sure exactly where or when Ivan died, the raids were all a blur after a while you know? But Ed knew. He remembered Ivan died on the 82nd day of consecutive raiding two hours after noon bell, and he remembered he made everyone get back on the Revenge because he couldn’t stand to let himself or any of the crew show weakness and he didn’t want to watch Ivan die. So he doesn’t know what’s about to happen next. He doesn’t know Ivan survives or that he’s disguised as the sole surviving sailor of the raided merchant ship which somehow miraculously limps its way to a village coastline. The folks say the ship sailed itself. Others say it was Calypso or spirits. Certainly couldn’t have been the half-dead man who apparently hauled himself down to the surgeon’s quarters and patched himself up in the nick of time.

Stede, meanwhile, is also unceremoniously dumped in the sea beside a vacant Revenge anchored in the bay of the currently besieged Republic of Pirates. He wants to charge in and save the day, but, well, he’s already doing that in a sense. For better or for worse. Instead, he hides down in the kitchen and waits. He waits until a harried and very familiar blond man in a naval uniform comes barreling in looking for medical supplies. He’s not looking for a rolling pin to the back of the head. Stun move.

When Stede comes back up, his clothes are rumpled, his hair is a mess and doesn’t quite look the right cut, he’s hauling a covered box, but no one notices. They do notice when he drags Roach over and tells him to save Izzy, interrupting him in the middle of his very important last words to a distraught Ed.

Stede tells a pale, sweating, dying Izzy that he hasn’t been given permission to retire yet, and if he’ll kindly recall, Stede is the captain now and he’ll follow his orders.

Roach tries to explain there’s nothing to be done, he doesn’t have the tools (because they don’t exist yet), only to have Stede start pulling out said tools to everyone’s confusion. A scalpel and forceps from a one-man spaceship escape pod, sunk off the coast of Jamaica. Sealed packets of gauze from an apocalypse survivor’s hidden bug-out bag. Vials of antibiotics, tetanus vaccine, and pain killers from a boat caught in a strange storm years ago. an IV drip from a one-man vessel built to test a spacefold engine. A glass tube with a plunger and a big, wicked-looking needle on it that really is quite awful but it was the best anyone could hope to fashion in 1720 based on provided sketches and descriptions. Stede asks if this will work. Roach lights up. It’s a little concerning. But a good sign. Hopefully.

Ivan finds Ed and Stede a few months later.

He’d heard about the inn. He tells Ed about how he remembers seeing two of him. He waves off any attempt at an explanation. He doesn’t need it. Probably for the best he doesn’t know. He’s just glad Ed got his shit sorted out.

He’s relieved to hear Izzy survived, too. He thinks it’s funny Izzy would go and give a big dramatic death speech only to survive. That’d just be his luck. No wonder he’s run off with the crew instead of sticking around.

Ed admits he doesn’t know what to do with his feelings. Izzy is alive, but for a while there he wasn’t and neither was Ivan. He bottled up so much of the pain, hung onto it. At the same time, he did grieve. They were gone. But now they’re alive and what’s he supposed to do with it all?

Ivan figures there’s probably a world where they did die, and it’s alright for Ed to hurt over that, but they’re alive here and now and so he can put that pain aside. In a parallel of the lesson Izzy learned, Ivan points out you have to recognize what you can change, accept what you can’t. That’s all anyone can do.

Meanwhile Stede has an idea he got from the crew for a big outdoor bath as an amenity for the inn. A pool, Lucius had called it. Very popular in the future. A must-have for any successful hotel. Big tiled thing like the Romans used, with reclining wooden lounges and umbrellas all around. It’ll need plenty of cleaning, though. Lucius made sure he knew it was the done thing in Rome and thus in the future as well to have attractive men in very little clothing attend to such duties. Well, when in Rome!

[kirchefuchs]

(this is a long one lmao)

OKAY SO.

It was like 1am last night so I decided to sleep before sending this ahahahagsggs

ANYWAY

Regarding this wonderful reblog chain we had

(I don't know how and where to start ahahahahaaa)

hmmm. well, yk how I mentioned that The Eye of Michael (gasp. a rare instance where I don't forget a name??) took Stanley's voice? well, on the mask design I very much failed on, there was a clock (lmao TK reference) on the forehead part. originally, I wanted the mask to just be covering Stanley's mouth, because... duh. blud ain't got a voice no mo 😞✊ but anyway !!

(additional info: I took inspiration from a bunch of mask designs I found on Pinterest so it was very far from original)

the idea for the clock was for the ticking to be some sort of, uh, warning that he's nearby? like, just imagine finding yourself in an empty corridor, and all of a sudden, you hear a clock ticking in the distance. yeah, that's what I mean

(also I decided to change a bit of the backstory here. basically, The Narrator and Stanley are separate people. The Narrator was Some Dude™ who was in the middle of writing a story about—you guessed it—a man named Stanley. I already have his whole lore figured out but yk I'll cut it short for you so uhhhh blah blah blah The Eye of Michael finds him and encases him in a capsule where live wires that make him forget who he was before he became The Narrator are injected into his system. his voice is used as a way to trap and control Stanley—whose original identity/name was Jim (in this AU, at least)—and. yeah. The Narrator is trapped in a narrative facade whereas "Stanley" was the star of a lonely masquerade)

anyway, you can basically picture Stanley as wearing a full face mask or half of one, but either way, there's meant to be a clock somewhere and one of his eyes are meant to be covered in some sort of. uh. criss-cross threading technique. there's also the addition of some, uh, earphones? I think? they're not really that visible but uhh.. just think of them as the wireless ones, I dunno, I forgot what they're called, but anyway– Those are for The Narrator's voice. Just imagine a pair of. um. those things that help deaf people hear. wait.

HEARING AIDS. hearing aids, yes, uh, just imagine hearing aids, except that they're purposefully rigged to also provide a connection between The Narrator's voice and Stanley. It still functions like a normal pair of hearing aids, it just has the unfortunate annoyance of some angry British voice controlling Stanley's every move

As for the theme of his general outfit? I really wanted to make it fit the theme of the good ol "office worker" thing, so I had a little thought where Stanley pretends to be a tired worker at the start—wearing an ordinary face mask with the excuse of "trying not to breathe in the sand," as was written on a piece of paper (his lips/mouth is bruised as heck and the EoM did not want to take any more chances for instant suspicion), but during the times where Vash was alone, he'd (or, in this case, The Narrator would make him) wear his masquerade mask and put on some sort of blue (masquerade) outfit, with the cane that's totally not a sword/gun in disguise and all. With that being said, maybe the gang won't know his name until Wolfwood realizes who he is? I mean, Stanley can't talk, and. uh. sorry I'm going off-topic hahaa ahem anyway

maybe his title could be "The Masquerade"? not too sure but I like to think that he was trustworthy at first. anyway uhhhh that's about it! do whatever you wish with my two favorite brainrots :D and, sorry if I got a bit too-into the lore I made for him and The Narrator :')

— 🅰️non || Aug. 7 2023

This is gonna be a long one my guy....

🅰️non..... my dear beloved 🅰️non..... I don't know how to break this to you but the masquerade outfit, while a cool idea, is a flippin nightmare to try to translate into the Trigun universe. I tried so hard but it just want working.

Suffice it to say, venetian masquerade and space western do not mix

And it not for lack of trying! I have proof I tried!! The mask works, it's great! That's fine. But the clothes do not :(

I've got a lot of doodles here I gave up on cuz it just wasn't working. I kept having the problem where it either looked too pirate-y or too vampire-y, which is to be expected since masquerades were quite popular in the 18th century (the Golden Age of Piracy if I recall). And unfortunately, neither pirate nor vampire really scream "space cowboy times on desert planet"

Now.... this is an option....... and that is to forgo the masquerade outfit, the mask can stay, but I honest to goodness cannot make an outfit that works. So basically, my proposal for a solution would be to go with the aesthetic that pretty much every member of the Eye Of Michael has in 98 and Maximum. And that's the priest aesthetic.

You see, the Eye Of Michael has always been a religious group in universe, at the very least they pose as one. In reality they train orphans into mindess assassins, but they keep that church front. Hence why Wolfwood and Livio (and Chapel and the other EOM members in Maximum) have cross shaped guns. Also, fun fact Wolfwood was dubbed "The Punisher" because that was the name of his gun. I assume this would apply to Livio, and his guns are "Fangs" giving him the name "The Double Fang", and we know this applies to Razlo too, as he is "The Tri Punisher of Death" (you'd never guess, but he's got 3 Punishers :O).

Anyways, I did try drawing Stanley in the priest aesthetic, just to see if it worked. Make of it as you will.

I kinda imagine if we were to go this route, Stanley's cross would be a sniper rifle. He's already got a sort of stealth going for him, being mute and all, so I think it would fit. I could by no means draw said gun as I am only really good at drawing characters. But I can imagine the gun :')

Now, feel free to take my opinions and throw them in the trash if you don't like them, it's your character after all, it's up to you. But I do want to make it clear that I do love this idea so much and I wanna hear more of the story and how you think it would go. I'm curious if Stanley has a way to communicate back to the Narrator, because that could lead to some cool tandem character development. Like what if after Stanley starts wanting to break free of the Eye Of Michael, Vash agrees to help him free the Narrator as well. Since Stanley is mute, it could be cool if he communicated to the Narrator through his thoughts, so they would have to be on the same page for the escape plan to work. I mean, these are just my silly little ramblings, but this is all just to say that you've got a really good thing going here and I really wanna know more. I really hope my personal struggle with aesthetics doesn't bring you down, cuz I really truly love your idea here and I want it to work so badly.

But, yeah. I might end up drawing more at some point, cuz the idea is so cool and I just love all the story potential with Stanley being used by the Eye Of Michael like this. Anyways, I hope you have a good day, and sorry again for my inability to make the aesthetic work :')

[recurring-polynya]

Tokusatsu Au where Rukia plays the lead actress in a superhero action show. Renji plays one of the villains and they are The most popular ship in the fandom. Bonus points if Orihime plays the main villain and loves every second of it.

This was the very first prompt I got, and I fell in love. Unfortunately, aside from a brief period of being grotesquely fascinated with Power Rangers as teen, I know almost nothing about tokusatsu. I did as much research as I could and I attempted to watch an episode of Kamen Rider, but my eyes glazed over halfway through. Anyway, please forgive my inaccuracies, I wrote this with my heart.

ao3 | ff.net

🏍    ⚡   🎬

“Uh, looks like we’re almost out of time,” the panel moderator for “High-Spirited Battle Clairvoyant Tomoe!: A Sneak Peak at Season 5” declared, “but would you be willing to take just a few audience questions?”

Head Screenwriter Kurosaki Ichigo glanced at Leading Actress Kuchiki Rukia out of the corner of his eye, and she gave a tiny nod.

“Yeah, sure!” he replied.

There was already a young woman waiting at the microphone, practically vibrating with anxiety. She was wearing a t-shirt that had ZabiTo4Ever!! handwritten in marker on it. Rukia knew, deep down in her bones, what the question was going to be.

“Hi, yes, hello, big fan of your work! My question is: are Tomoe and Zabimaru going to kiss this season?”

“No,” Rukia started to say.

“As you probably know,” Ichigo said loudly on top of her, “the show holds close to the core plot points of Kuna-sensei’s manga, although, because of her minimalist style, we do expand a lot of the dialogue and filler scenes. She has said in several interviews that High-Spirited Battle Clairvoyant Tomoe! is not a romance manga, so the odds of Tomoe and Zabimaru ever kissing on screen are very, very low.”

The young woman stared at Ichigo grumpily. “Does this also count Zabimaru’s secret college student identity, Satonako Takeru?”

Ichigo stared back at her. “Yes. It does.”

The next question came from a person wearing a full suit of HellKnight’s plasma armor made out of overlapping plates of cardboard. Rukia was kind of impressed by it. She wondered if he could sit down.

“Hi, Kurosaki-sensei, I am a huge fan of your work,” a voice emanated from deep within the cardboard. “I was wondering if you are influenced at all by fanworks, and if Episode 73: Pride is on the Line!: The Bake Sale Must Go On! was based in any way on the classic fanfiction, ‘Tell Me All Your Best Lies’? It’s the top story by kudos in the ZabiTo tag, which I might point out is the most popular shipping category on AO3.”

Ichigo cleared his throat gently. “I am contractually not allowed to read fanfiction, although I do enjoy fanart! There are some incredibly talented artists in the fandom, although for some reason, no one ever wants to draw pictures of Lead Screenwriters.”

“I’ll draw you, sleeping on the set like you always do,” Rukia offered, and that got a pretty big laugh. Rukia’s Tumblr of behind-the-scenes doodle comics was beloved among the fandom.

The next question was from a nonbinary person wearing a big poufy skirt and a hairstyle that would make their make-up and hair guru, Yumichika, sit up and take notice. “Hi, this is a question for Kuchiki-san! If the show is going to roughly keep pace with the manga, as it has done up until now, you should be shooting the storyline where Tomoe and Queen Bloodbuzz switch bodies later this year. I was wondering if you could comment on how you feel about filming that storyline?”

Finally! A good one! “Yes!” Rukia nodded eagerly. “I don’t usually like to speak for my fellow cast members, but Orihime and I are beyond excited about playing each other. We’ve been studying each other’s mannerisms and practicing already! Does anyone want to hear my Queen Bloodbuzz cackle?” She wagged her eyebrows as the audience cheered. “Here goes-- bwaHaHaHaHAHAHAHAAHAAAHAAAAAAAA!”

“Bonechilling,” Ichigo commented dryly as the audience erupted.

“Amazing, Kuchiki-san!” the moderator exclaimed. “I think there is time for one more, but this will be the last question!”

A tall girl in a full set of High-Spirited Battle Clairvoyant Tomoe motorcycle leathers stepped to the microphone. She was holding a notebook. “Hello!” she warbled. “In a 2020 interview with the Psychics and Sidekicks podcast, Abarai Renji was asked about his opinion on ZabiTo as a ship, and he replied,” she consulted her notebook, “‘Tomoe is such a cool lady and talented Battle Clairvoyant, and she always follows her heart and stays true to herself. I think that Zabimaru can’t help but be impressed with her, even though they’re enemies, and I always try to roll that into our on-screen interactions.’ I know that in the past you’ve refused to comment on the ship, but I was wondering if you had any thoughts on, y’know, his thoughts?”

“Well, he’s correct, of course, Tomoe is very cool and admirable,” Rukia replied, which drew a few laughs, although it seemed like the audience was leaning forward in anticipation of her answer. “Like I said, I don’t like to speak for other cast members. I’ll be doing a big cast panel with Abarai and Inoue and Matsumoto and Ukitake tomorrow afternoon, and I hope you all can make it! See you then!”

The moderator thanked them enthusiastically, and then Ichigo and Rukia slipped out the back guest entrance.

“Evasive as always, Kuchiki,” Ichigo teased.

“Whatever,” Rukia sniffed. “The higher ups say we’re not supposed to comment on stuff like that, and I was not commenting. By the way, how many secret fanfic accounts are you up to? Four?”

“It’s only three!” Ichigo paused. “I wrote that fanfic the guy brought up.”

“Of course you did,” Rukia sighed. “I do blame you personally for the popularity of the damn ship.”

“Me? Blame Kuna for making up two such sexy, emotionally constipated dumbasses!” Ichigo defended.

“Also, it’s not Ichigo’s fault that you and Abarai have insane chemistry.”

Rukia spun around, grinning. “Orihime!”

Rukia’s two co-stars, Inoue Orihime and Abarai Renji, the portrayers of Tomoe’s demonic archnemeses, stood in the hallway behind them.

“We sat in on your panel!” Orihime beamed. “You two were brilliant!”

“Don’t worry,” Renji added. “We were incognito.”

“Incognito” was relative, Rukia supposed, when you were at Tokyo’s biggest tokusatsu

convention.

Orihime was wearing a Zabimaru outfit so detailed that she probably could have won a prize down at the cosplay hall. She had the gravity-defying ponytail, the eyeliner, the insane widow's peak (complete with forehead tatts), the fangs, the motorcycle boots. The paper mache snake skull helmet was a little lopsided, but it was charming. She had her top zipped a little higher than canon, but that was forgivable, too.

Renji had taken the opposite tack of looking as much like a normal person-- or at least a normal Battle Clairvoyant Tomoe superfan-- as possible. Relaxed fit jeans and an oversized hoodie de-emphasized his ultra-fit physique. He was wearing a t-shirt with a very dramatic rendering of Orihime that said “Queen Bloodbuzz can step on me!” and a ball cap with the logo of Seireitei University, the fictional college Tomoe and Takeru attended.

“You think you’re in disguise,” Rukia pointed out, “but there are thousands of teen girls in this place with entire Tumblrs dedicated to your stupid face when you’re out of costume.”

Renji cocked an eyebrow at her. “You underestimate me, Rukia. I have bought… new sunglasses.” With a flourish, he whipped out a pair of the dorkiest wayfarers she’d ever seen, and flipped them onto his face. “I’ve disappeared! Who am I? Where am I?”

“You look really great, Orihime,” Ichigo said, his cheeks coloring a little bit. “Did you get Uryuu or Yumichika to help you with that costume?” In his continuing theme of doing things he wasn’t supposed to, Ichigo had finally started dating Orihime on the downlow around the time they finished up filming last season. It had done absolutely nothing for how shy he still got around her. They were, in Rukia’s opinion, cute as hell.

“Oh, no, that would be cheating!” Orihime replied, wagging a finger at him. “Well…maybe I did cheat, just a tiny bit. Renji helped me make the helmet and he held up references for me while I was painting on the tattoos.”

“Only the forehead ones,” Renji quickly added.

“He wouldn’t even offer feedback on my booby tattoos!” Orihime frowned. She leaned forward. “Rukia, how do they look?”

Ichigo turned even redder.

“Perfect, as in all you do!” Rukia replied loftily.

“What’s everyone got coming up next?” Renji asked. “I was thinking of slipping out and trying to pick up some real coffee.”

“I’m judging a villainess-themed cosplay competition,” Orihime chirped. “But I’m dying for a blueberry caramel iced latte. Renji, my henchman, pleeeeease!”

“Of course, my liege,” Renji replied in his Zabimaru voice.

It’s not like it had been a hard decision to accept the role of the motorcycle-riding, badass heroine of one of the most popular manga of the last decade, but it had turned out to be one of the best decisions of Rukia’s life. not just her career. Aside from a few of the money-obsessed executives, she liked nearly everyone in the cast and crew, but the fact that the fact that the ruthless, homicidal, literally Hell-spawned villains of the show were played by the two sweetest marshmallow people she had ever met just took the cake. Renji and Orihime had already known each other from some voicework they had done previously, and their excitement at working together on a live-action project had infected the entire cast from the start. Rukia wasn’t sure, but she strongly suspected that Renji was the one who had hyped Orihime up to ask Ichigo out.

“I have a writers’ workshop I’m moderating this afternoon, and I wanted to review the writing samples people sent in,” Ichigo said, scratching the back of his head. “I’d love to stop by that cosplay contest, though, at least for a few minutes.”

“You’ll be needing caffeine, too, then, eh?” Renji offered. “Hot, black, and in the largest cup they make, as usual?”

“Ugh, you’re the best,” Ichigo groaned. “You wanna power-up this season? Costume update? You know what? Maybe I’ll just have you defeat Tomoe once and for all, no one likes her anyway.”

“C’mon, you know I’m the world’s number one Tomoe simp, don’t do that!” Renji laughed.

Rukia rolled her eyes. “I’m free and I could use some fresh air. Besides, it’s going to take all your dumb muscles just to carry Kurosaki’s vat of coffee back here.”

“Cool!” Renji proclaimed. “We’ll be back soon!”

“Thanks, Renjiiiii!” Orihime waved.

“You need to stop off and put on a disguise?” Renji asked.

“No point in it, I always get recognized,” Rukia sighed, pulling her sunglasses out of her purse anyway.

“Here,” Renji said, plunking his hat on her head. “Maybe this will help.”

“Thanks,” Rukia replied, and then did a double take. “Whaaaaaat is on your head?”

“Shut up!” Renji laughed. He usually shaved his head when they were filming, because it made it easier to deal with the make-up and wigs, but since they were between seasons, he’d grown his hair out into a short, tousled mop of reddish-brown waves. He looked, for the lack of a better word, dreamy. “I shot a movie over the summer, and they wanted me to look softer.”

Rukia looked at him over the top of her sunglasses. “You didn’t tell me you were doing a movie!”

“Oh, it was just a little indy romcom thing. I wasn’t sure it was gonna pan out, I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“You were in a romcom? You’re kidding me!” They ducked out of a side door of the convention center into the bright sunshine.

“Yeah, it’s about a guy who goes to the gym to try to get ripped to impress a girl, and makes friends with me, this nice, already ripped dude who gives him lifting tips and encourages him a bunch. By the end of the movie, it turns out we have crushes on each other.”

“Oh, no, that sounds really cute, actually!”

“It was written by a woman who graduated from one of Ichigo’s writing workshops. The script was really snappy and Ichigo thought having someone like me as the gym guy would give it just a bit of campy cachet. You know what a good sense he’s got for stuff like that.”

“That was cool of you to go out on a limb a little,” Rukia replied.

Renji rubbed the back of his neck. “I’d been wanting to try something like that for a while, actually.”

Rukia blinked. “You aren’t… you aren’t thinking of leaving the show, are you?”

“Huh? No. No! No, the show means the world to me, I would never. But… it’s not gonna run forever, y’know?”

“I would have guessed you’d want to be a big action star or something!” Rukia said, throwing a few air punches. “That’s my dream!”

Renji stuffed his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “Yeah, that’s what I thought I wanted when I first got into acting. I’d read the Tomoe manga, and I thought playing Zabimaru would be a good jumping-off point, besides just being a cool character overall.”

“Is that… not true?” Rukia frowned.

“Oh, I mean, I guess so! I didn’t really know about the fandom, though and… to be honest, I’m kinda into the idea that there are all these fans who think I’m complex and redeemable?”

Rukia regarded him out of the corner of her eye. “They just want to fix you.”

“Maybe! Ichigo made me read this one fanfic that was eight thousand words of the reader getting sick and Zabimaru making them soup? And feeding them the soup? I still haven’t decided how I feel about it.”

“How does he have time to find these things? Does he even sleep?”

“Anyway, it doesn’t hurt to be well-rounded and it was fun. I’m still mostly an action guy, but I wouldn’t mind doin’ something with a romantic subplot. A period drama or something like that. I look pretty good in hakama, you know.”

“I bet you do,” Rukia laughed. She squinted at him, but his expression was unreadable behind the shades. Renji didn’t have the classic leading man looks, not like her ridiculously famous older brother, but she could definitely see him as the best friend, the B-plot romance, with his cute, messy hair and that big doofy grin.

“By the way, I’m sorry you had to field that question about me spilling my romantic sensibilities on that podcast.”

Rukia laughed. “You didn’t even answer the question, either! These people are relentless!”

Renji stopped at a street corner and peered down the various possible directions they could go. “Which way feels like it might have a coffee shop?”

“You didn’t have one in mind before we left? I thought you knew where we were going!”

“Nah, I just like to go out and see what there is.”

“I can look up a map,” Rukia said, reaching in her bag for her phone.

“Let’s just go this way,” Renji said, stepping out into the street in the direction that had the WALK light. Rukia sighed and had to scramble to catch up with him.

“So, what do you think about it?”

“Huh?” Rukia asked. “Think about what?”

“Our ship. ZabiTo.”

“I can’t believe you just said that word out loud. And you know we’re not supposed to give our opinion on it!”

“Aw, c’mon, we’re not supposed to give public statements on our opinions. I don’t think there’s any harm in talking between ourselves. We’re in disguise, even.”

“‘Disguise’,” Rukia sniffed.

“You don’t like it, I can tell.”

“He’s a bad guy! Everyone always talks about chemistry, and that may be true, but I just don’t think that Tomoe could ever get over his acts of violence and cruelty.”

“Queen Bloodbuzz is cruel. Zabimaru is not cruel.”

“Okay, that’s fair, but still. He’s kidnapped just about all of Tomoe’s friends and or turned them into monsters at one time or another. He’s always setting Karakura Town on fire or flooding it with magic lizard goo. He ruined the sports festival.”

“Maybe the sports festival deserved to be ruined,” Renji muttered under his breath.

“Okay, you’ve got a point on that one,” Rukia admitted.

“It’s really clear though, that he’s got some agenda beyond just simping for Queen Bloodbuzz--”

“The simping for Queen Bloodbuzz is the most relatable thing about him, to be honest.”

“Granted. But, what if he’s got a good reason for everything he does, actually? What if he’s doing all of this against his own moral code as a means of infiltrating Hell itself and getting himself into a position of trust so that he can bring down the Lords of Hell from the inside?”

Rukia slipped her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose. “Does Kuna give you Zabimaru spoilers?” The reclusive creator High-Spirited Battle Clairvoyant Tomoe! was only barely involved with the television show, but she did privately meet with each of the cast members about once a year. Most of Rukia’s meetings consisted of Kuna giving her constructive criticism on her battle poses.

“No, mostly we practice sneering,” Renji replied. “But I gotta play the guy, so I gotta think about this, you know, what motivates him? I mean, you’re probably right, it would never work out. But unlike Tomoe, whose principles would call for her to ignore any attraction she has to him, Zabimaru has the freedom to pine for her, perhaps because his love is futile and he doesn’t think he deserves it anyway.”

“That’s kinda dark, dude,” Rukia frowned.

“Yes, well, that is the kind of character acting that netted me the 2019 Nickelodeon Kids’ Choice Best Villain Award, Foreign Language Category.”

“That’s literally what’s going through your head when you’re shouting that if I can’t make some sick motorcycle jump, you’ll turn all my friends into stuffed animal versions of themselves?”

“No, of course not! At those times I’m thinking about how much I love my job. OH! and what is that I see!” Renji struck an extremely Zabimaru pose. “A MISTER DONUT!”

“My hero!” Rukia exclaimed, unable to resist an opportunity to shout dramatically. “I’m sorry I doubted you!”

“I think we should get some donuts, too. Orihime loves donuts,” Renji declared.

“Oh, for sure,” Rukia agreed. She was thoughtful for a moment. It would be easy to move on to a different subject, the subject being donuts, but she wasn’t happy with leaving the last conversation hanging. “Look, Renji, just because I don’t like the dumb ship, you know that’s not a reflection on you, right?”

“Huh?” Renji replied. “You mean you don’t mind if I like it?”

“Well… I mean, I don’t, I guess, but what I really meant was, er… we joke a lot, but Tomoe and Zabimaru are just parts, y’know? Just because I don’t think Zabimaru isn’t good boyfriend material doesn’t mean I…” Rukia trailed off, suddenly realizing what she was saying. “Um. What I mean is. You’re very nice and probably one of my favorite people I’ve ever worked with and if someone I knew wanted to ask you out, I would definitely encourage them to, A+ guy, I’d say, probably would make a great boyfriend.”

Renji pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead and regarded her for a long moment. “For the record, Kuchiki, I think that both you and Tomoe would make excellent girlfriend material.” While Rukia stood there and gaped like a fish, he turned and pushed open the door to the coffee shop. “Ichigo likes crullers and Orihime always wants the most colorful thing they’ve got. Do you know what you want?”

“I need to think about it,” Rukia squeaked. She wasn’t talking about donuts.

🏍    ⚡   🎬 

Bonus: Here are my notes from when I was making up the show. I hope this wasn’t too confusing!

High-Spirited Battle Clairvoyant Tomoe!

based on a manga by reclusive mangaka Kuna Mashiro

Head Screenwriter: Kurosaki Ichigo

🌟 Starring: 🌟

Kuchiki Rukia as Yukimura Tomoe, a spunky college student who can see ghosts and fights demons from Hell! She rides a motorcycle!

Inoue Orihime as Queen Bloodbuzz, a Lady of Hell, who seeks to gather energy from the Living Realm so that she can become the Supreme Ruler of Hell. Very aesthetic. Much bees.

Abarai Renji as Zabimaru, Queen Bloodbuzz’s ruthless henchman. He leads a double life as fierce-looking, but gentle-hearted college student Satonaka Takeru! What is his long game??

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Eyes Wide Shut (Henry x Reader)

Summary: AU. Working with an investigative journalist like Henry when you had a huge crush on him didn’t leave you with much free time for a social life. That is until you decide to visit a sex club and meet a masked handsome stranger who are more than willing to show you a good time.

Part 2: Undisclosed Desires | Part 3: Beautiful Problems

Author’s notes: I have no idea where this plot bunny came from, but I loved it and it turned into this huge one shot. I was vibing Eyes Wide Shut for the club (no idea why since I hate that movie) and it kinda worked for what I wanted.

Wordcount: 5666

Warnings: smut (powerplay; bondage; praise kink; orgasm denial).

What are you doing here?

A little voice inside your head asked as watched yourself in the impeccably clean surface of the club’s restroom mirror, your eyes looking wide and afraid, like a dear caught in headlights.

This isn’t you.

The voice continued and you had to take a pause and consider. This whole thing really wasn’t you. The elegant makeup with smoky eyes and dark red lipstick that you only ever wore for formal events; the slip dress that looked more like a camisole than an actual dress, but made you look so alluring in a way that you just weren’t used to.

You felt almost transported to another dimension or maybe having an out of body experience. It was the only thing that could make sense of what you were doing in a sex club when you were the very definition of vanilla. As a matter of fact, you were pretty sure if someone looked up the word in a dictionary, they would find a picture of you.

It just wasn’t your thing. Or at least that was what you always thought. You could never even understand why a person would want to get tied up and spanked during sex. It sounded so uncomfortable and crazy. You were perfectly fine with the traditional things, thank you very much.

You were absolutely sure this wasn’t for you. The only time you let your ex-boyfriend tried anything like it, you two used a blindfold and you ended up panicking and kicking in the balls, which killed mood obviously.

Yet, here you were. Curiosity got the better out of you when your best friend gifted you an invite for your twenty-third birthday. She said it had been a revealing experience for her and that you should try it, especially since she was probably the only person you’ve ever confided about your terrible and inappropriate crush on your boss Henry.

It started when you met the man six months ago when you started working as his personal assistant. It wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be even if sometimes you felt more like a glorified secretary than an actual journalist, but you were learning the ropes with one youngest Pulitzer winners investigative journalists out there so it was worth it.

Besides, Henry was such a great guy that you almost didn’t mind picking up his coffee every morning, because he actually took the time to teach and give you tips. He even let you co-write a couple of less important pieces for the magazine. The only thing he didn’t allow you to do was to come with him when meeting sources. He always said you had to cultivate your own.

That was actually one of the reasons you were here. Not that you thought you would be cultivating many sources in a sex clubs, but because Henry just took off tonight after receiving a text when you two were supposed to be working on his last big story.

He didn’t give you any explanation or justification. Just picked up his things, sending you a quick goodbye over his shoulder before he took off, leaving you alone in the office on a Friday night.  

It was at that moment that you realized how pathetic you were being, pining over your boss who didn’t even notice you and having absolutely no personal life. So, you went home, got dressed and now here you were, inside the club, but hiding in the restroom, not exactly regretting your choice but without knowing how to go forward with it either.

The place was nothing like you expected. You were thinking chains and whips and a whole lot of leather. Instead, it was posh and elegant, everyone dressed in fashionable outfits and wearing masks.

Yours was lying on the sink, looking quite inconspicuous just like the blue bracelet sitting next to it. Ant that was the real reason for your little meltdown. You had already been on edge all the way to the club, but walking in and being asked by the hostess if you were a dom, sub or a switch, made you cheeks scarlet, locked the breath in your throat, and nothing but confusing words spluttered from your mouth.

She had been very kind and understanding, saying it was perfectly fine not knowing and offered you a blue bracelet so you could give it a try being a sub first to see how you would feel. You took it because you had no idea what else to do before scurrying to the restroom where you had been hiding for the last fifteen minutes, trying to work up the courage to actually step into the club and talk to people and see what would happen.

Wasn’t that what Henry always said? Make friends wherever you go; pay attention to everything. You never know when you’re gonna need that tiny bit of information that person let it slip after a drink too much.

Taking yet another deep, calming breath, you brushed off inexistent lint from your dress, adjusting them hem once more, before putting the mask back on and stepping outside. You were going to do this. You came all the way here, might as well have a drink and take a look.

You stepped through the thick, velvet curtains that separated the small reception from the actual club, immediately having your senses overwhelmed by different stimuli. The first thing that you noticed was the soft scent of incense that enveloped the place. It was something slightly familiar, but you couldn’t quite make out its name. Next was the music. You don’t know why you were expecting some kind of heavy metal to be playing but instead, soft jazz worked a background noise.

Then your eyes adjusted to the change of lighting since the main area of the club itself was slightly darker than the reception and you could see people lounging around and tables and couches, talking and laughing, enjoying elegant cocktails, all in masks, all completely ignoring your presence.

For a moment, you stood still, trying to gain your bearings before you finally moved to the bar with slow, hesitant steps, eyes still darting around like part of you expected some old acquaintance to pop up from a corner ready to report your visit to your overly religious grandma. It was ridiculous and you knew, but you couldn’t always help yourself.

Taking a seat on one of the high stools, you ordered a drink and once again turned your focus to the club. If it wasn’t the masks, the place would feel exactly like most high-end nightclubs you had seen, and the thought soothed your nerves a little. What you were expecting? People having sex in front of everyone else? You chuckled at your own silliness, turning back to the bar when the bartender brought over your order.

As you sipped your drink, the stool next to you became occupied by a tall, handsome stranger who ordered a whiskey, before turning his gaze towards you, his bright blue eyes framed by the black mask made your breath catch in your throat and your cheeks to go red as you quickly looked away.

“First time?” his voice was deep and smooth with a hint of an accent that couldn’t quite place because he was obviously working on disguising it.

“That obvious?” you asked with a nervous chuckle, glancing his way. His dark hair was neatly combed, but a couple of stubborn curls made themselves known and for some reason, you felt itchy to smooth them back in place.

“A little,” he replied with a soft smile, taking a sip of his whiskey and as the cuff of his grey blazer pulled back with the motion, you saw the red bracelet on his wrist. “We’re all nervous on your first visit, but this is a great place to… explore.”

All you managed was a small hum of understanding, shifting your attention back to your drink, swirling your straw because you didn’t know what to do or think. Was he just making small talk? Was he hinting something? If this was a regular club you’d know, but here the rules were different.

“You come here often?” you asked and rolled your eyes at yourself, at your awful small talk. “Sorry, that was terrible.”

“It’s fine,” he assured with a gorgeous smile as he leaned against the bar, looking at you. “Only when I have a date,” he said, glancing at his watch, before letting out a sigh. “But after 40 minutes one must recognize when they’ve been stood up.”

“I’m sorry,” you said with a small, sympathetic smile. Even if he was wearing a mask, you could tell he was a handsome man and you couldn’t understand who would stand him up.  

“And how about you? What brings you here?”

“Curiosity. A friend of mine gave me an invite,” you admitted in a low voice as you surveyed the room once more. “It’s not what I was expecting.”

“Not enough chains and whips?” he asked in a teasing tone and strangely enough it didn’t embarrass you. You chuckled in response.  

“Something like that.”

“They keep those in the private suites,” he explained, finishing his drink. “Would you like to see one?” You stared at him with wide eyes at the offer. “Don’t worry. You can just take a look. No need to stay.”

You took a moment to consider his offer. Were you really going into a dark room with a complete stranger? Were you crazy? Still, you were curious to see what it looked like and he didn’t seem dangerous. Even if he was tall and built like a brick wall.

You should be more afraid of this; instead, you were just excited about the prospect. Adrenaline rushed through your veins; your heart beat wildly in your chest. You licked your lips and met his eyes, trying to gauge if he might be a crazy psycho underneath the suave demeanor.

“Alright,” you finally declared, swallowing the rest of your drink in one go, the alcohol burning down your throat.

This is crazy.

That same voice in your head cautioned, but you ignored it. You came all the way here, the least you could do was take a look. And if he turned out to be a creep, you could always scream. There were plenty of security guards standing inconspicuously around the room.

Taking the arm he offered you, you let him guide you through the maze of tables and couches to the back of the club, where another red velvet curtain covered a passageway. He pushed it aside, letting you step in first, before following behind, one large hand on the small of your back as the two of you crossed the corridor full of doors. He led you to one of the last doors on the left, pulling it open for you and letting you step in first.

It looked like a regular hotel room, with a big bed in the center, a small sitting area to the side with black credence where a small bar sat. At the foot of the bed there was a large wooden chest the looked almost ominous and stood out against the rest of the décor. Same with the two large and shiny hooks hanging from the ceiling.

“Kind of anticlimactic, huh?” he commented, attracting your attention and you noticed he stood to the side, letting the door wide open.

“A bit, yes,” you agreed, looking around again. Were you really about to do what you were thinking about doing it? “Aren’t you going to close the door?”

Apparently yes.

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes,” you breathed out, your voice a little shaky as you looked at him.

He watched you as if to make sure you really meant it, before slowly closing the door behind himself and stepping further into the room. He shrugged off his blazer and set it on the couch’s arm, letting you see a little more of him.

He had such broad shoulders that stretched his black dress shirt in just the right way. The first two buttons of the shirt were open, revealing just a bit of his strong chest and dark hair. Even though you were never much interested in hairy guys, the sight of it was very appealing.

Swallowing the lump of nervousness, you moved to the bar and poured a generous amount of whiskey in two crystal tumblers, offering him one before consuming yours in one go, wincing at the way it burned your throat. You weren’t a big fan of hard liquor like this but you needed some liquid courage if you were really going forward with this.

You reached for the bottle again, ready to pour yourself another shot when he laid a heavy, but surprising soothing hand on your wrist, making you pause.

“I’m not doing this if you’re drunk,” he warned, his blue eyes meeting yours.

Gently prying your fingers away from the bottle, he held your hand and led you to the couch, taking a seat on the armchair, leaving a considerable space between the two of you, but his whole body was tilted towards yours and you could feel his gaze, heavy and intense over you.

“So how this works?” you asked, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. “How do I call you? I don’t know your name.”

“We don’t usually use names here,” he explained, his lips tilting in a small smile. “How do you want to call me?”

You paused for a second, looking him from head to toe. There was a word on the tip of your tongue. Something you only ever used with Henry, but it seemed fitting for this. For him.

“Boss,” you finally breathed out and his eyes widened slightly as he licked his lips and shifted in his seat. That was how you knew it affected him. That he liked and you had to smile. It was rewarding to see him not so composed for once. “Is that ok?”

“Yes,” he answered, his voice a little huskier than before. “Perfectly fine.” He took a sip of his whiskey before setting the tumbler on the table. “Do you know what you’re interested in trying?”

You had no idea where to begin. You were curious of course, but the thought of actually doing anything was still stunning you.

“How about what you don’t want to try at all?” he asked, probably picking up on your hesitation.

“No pain,” you hurried to say. It was one of the things you were absolutely sure of it. “Or sharp objects.”

“They don’t allow those here,” he assured leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “And I’m not interested in that either. Anything else?”

You thought back on what you knew about this sort of thing, which granted wasn’t much, but it should give you at least a direction on what you wanted and how.

“No spanking,” you declared after another moment and you saw him still, glass to his lips. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” he replied, draining his drink. “But when done right, it can be quite pleasurable.” His statement made you pause in consideration. “A conversation for another time, perhaps?”

“What makes you think there’s gonna be another time?” you challenged, eyebrow arched, and he grinned.

“I just have a feeling.”

The two of you talked for a while longer, discussing your limits, negotiating a few points, setting up safe words and gestures and slowly you began to relax a little more, feel more comfortable with him and with what you were planning to do. Despite being a complete stranger, you felt a certain familiarity with him, which definitely helped with your nerves.

“So, when do we start?” you finally asked.

“Are you sure?” he asked giving a long, piercing look and you just nodded, swallowing hard at the intensity of those blue eyes. “Then come here.”

You stood up feeling your knees wobbly; your heart hammering against your chest. You were really doing this. You must have lost your mind.

He looked you up from head to toe, his gaze hungry as he leaned back on his chair, legs spread and you couldn’t help but glance down at his lap, at the prominent bulge on his pants, wondering what it looked like. What it would feel like.

He offered you a hand, guiding you onto his lap, straddling one his strong thighs and the pressure against your center made you whimper, which you quickly silenced by pressing your lips together, giving him a shy glance.

“Don’t do that,” he asked. Well no. It was a command. His voice turning lower and harder and it set your nerves on fire. “I want to hear you. Every little moan, whine and cry,” he said against your ear and you shuddered, excitement coursing through your veins and heightening your senses.

“Sorry.”

“Try that again,” he said, one finger on your chin, giving you a hard stare and once again you swallowed hard as you lowered your gaze.

“I’m sorry, boss.”

“Good girl,” he whispered, and the words seemed to go straight to your core, making you gasp and shift on his leg, rubbing yourself against him. He smirked. “You liked it when praise you, baby?”

Your voice was once again locked in your throat and you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything, just nod and wonder if you have ever been this aroused this quickly before.

“Well, all you have to do is be a good girl and behave for me and you’ll hear a lot of it,” he said, one hand holding your hips still since you’ve been rocking against his thigh without noticing. “But if you disobey me, I’ll have to punish you and neither of us wants that.”

“No, boss.” You shook your head quickly and he smiled once again. You were getting addicted to it. It was gorgeous and made your knees weak. “I’ll behave. I promise.”

“Good. Then stay still,” he ordered, pushing your hair to one side, exposing your neck and shoulder. “And let me hear you.”

His lips brushed against your neck, right below your ear and you shuddered, your hands fisting his shirt as he explored your skin with his mouth, soft, wet kisses all over neck and shoulder. His tongue and teeth teasing you; finding every sensitive spot that made you shudder and moan as heat pooled between your legs.

He held the thin straps of your dress between his fingers, giving you a quick look, seeking permission. You just nodded already missing his mouth as he pushed them down your arms, exposing your bare breasts to his hungry gaze and even hungrier lips. He kissed and nipped and licked every inch of the skin of your breasts before flickering his tongue over your nipple and making you buckle.

“Stay still, baby,” he asked once again, tilting his head to look up at you. “Otherwise I’m gonna have to tie you.”

The prospect shouldn’t be that arousing. As a matter of fact, before you walked in here, you never considered bondage as an option, but here you were aching for it.

“Sorry, boss,” you said, your voice low and desperate and you leaned back, giving him more room to explore.

He noticed, of course, his smirk growing as his mouth returned to you; his lips closing around a nipple, sucking and licking it while he teased the other with his rough thumb. You struggled to keep yourself still as pleasure built inside you, your walls clenching around nothing, your clit throbbing, begging to be touched in anyway.

“Oh fuck!” you whined, one hand coming to his hair, taking a handful of his curls and he let out a grunt that sounded almost like a warning. “Please, boss. I need…”

“What, darling?” he looked up again, pressing one final kiss to your left breast before his lips moved to the right one. “What do you need?”

Embarrassment made the words die in your lips. You had never begged for it before. Actually, most of the time you had to ask guys to slow down and there he was, taking his sweet time and driving you crazy in the process.

“Can’t say it?” he asked with a smirk. “Then maybe you shouldn’t be doing it.”

He returned to his task, driving you crazy with his mouth; his fingers drawing lazy patterns on the inside of your thighs, touch featherlight and just increasing the temptation because all you wanted was for his fingers to move higher, touch you where you needed him the most.

As he bunched your skirt around your waist, exposing your white lace lingerie, you thought you’d finally have him. Finally, get some sweet release. Especially with the way, his digits ran over the edge of your panties, so, so close, but they moved away again, and he chuckled at the little whine you let out.

All your senses seemed to be in haywire from pleasure; your head was foggy and dazed; expectation made you follow every single one of his movements, desperate to feel him; to know which pleasure spot he would shower with attention this time around.

Goosebumps raised on your skin and you could feel perspiration starting to form as your body’s temperature rose along with your arousal. It made your mask stick to your forehead almost uncomfortably and you wanted to rip it off your face.

He pulled back once more making you whimpered at the loss of his lips and he chuckled once again, giving you a look.

“You know what you have to do,” he said nudging you to stand up and pulling the dress from your body, throwing to the side before his eyes shifted back to you, devouring your body. “Come.”

Taking your hand, he led you to bed and gestured to you make yourself comfortable while he slowly undressed before you, unbuttoning his shirts so slowly, revealing tantalizing skin inch by inch. You couldn’t take your eyes away, your breath coming in short pants. He was unbelievably gorgeous; built like a Greek God.

He let the shirt fall to the ground, before kicking his shoes and socks and finally undoing his belt and pants, pushing them down and off. You bit your lips in expectation, desperately to see him fully naked as his thumbs hooked over the edge of his black boxers. You could see the shape of his cock pressing against the fabric and all you wanted was to see it fully, have it on your hands; in your mouth; inside you.

“Are you ready to tell me what you want?” he asked and once again the words wouldn’t come. “Then maybe I should leave these on,” he declared, taking his hands away and you whimpered and pouted as he chuckled and crawled on top of you.

For the first time that night his lips found yours, kissing you softly; tongue exploring your mouth, tangling with yours as he settled between your legs, holding most of his weight on his elbows.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered, voice husky and throaty, mouthing the line of your jaw, making you arch your neck, giving him more room. “Just ask for it. We both want it. You don’t get to come until you ask me for it.”

All you managed in reply was a desperate little whine as once again his lips traveled down your body, setting it ablaze with arousal and want and you were so soaked your panties were starting to get uncomfortable. It was a relief when he finally pulled them off you before he spread your knees and just looked at you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said before kissing your inner thigh, coming dangerously close to your cunt, but never quite there.

You were shaking with desire, one hand fisting the sheets, the other gripped his hair, tugging him to where you wanted him, but he pulled away, making a disappointed sound on the back of his throat.

“What did I tell you?” he asked with a smirk as he got up and moved to the wooden chest. Your heart thundered in your chest as he pulled it open and taking out a long strip of black silky rope. “Keep still or I’ll have to tie you.” You eyed the rope nervously, chewing on your bottom lip. “Do you wanna use your safeword?”

“No, boss,” you replied after a long moment. You wanted this. Every inch of your body begged for it. “No safeword.” You raised your arms above your head, hands coming to the headboard.

“Good girl,” he praised again with a smile; delft fingers tying your wrists together before his attention came back to you. “Ok?”

“Yes, boss.”

“Good.” He kissed you again; an obvious reward for accepting your fate so easily.

You should be terrified. He was a complete stranger and he could do whatever he wanted to you. You were at his mercy with only his promise to stop if it got too much. This was dangerous and you should be panicking, but all you felt was excitement and arousal. You wanted this more than you wanted anything else in the bedroom before.

“Boss?” you called, voice soft, hesitant and he looked at you, his eyes curious, full of expectation.

“Yes?”

“Fuck me, please.” You could feel your cheeks burning and you couldn’t hold his gaze. Here you were, stripped naked and tied to a bed, but it was those words that made you blush.

“Of course, baby,” he said, kissing you again. Yet another reward and you took it desperately, wanting everything he was willing to give you. “You’ve been such a good girl. You deserve it.”

This time, when he moved down your body, kissing and nipping and licking, making anticipation build deep inside you, making that wet heat coil tight in your lower belly, you knew you would finally have some release.

At the first touch of his tongue against your folds, you buckled your hips, a dragged-out moan came out of your mouth as you gripped the headboard. He held you still with one hand, licking and tasting and teasing you, before he sucked your clit between his lips and you cried out, your body quaking with need and he barely did anything.

“Please, boss,” you begged in a whine.

“Not yet. We’ve only just begun,” he replied, mouth returning to work.

He alternated flickering his tongue against your clit, with sucking kisses that left you moaning and shaking, your wetness slicking your thighs as you tried to roll your hips closer, trying to ease some of the maddening pleasure inside you that made your cunt clench around nothing.

“Oh please, please,” you begged again, desperate and needy.

He finally pushed one thick finger inside you, and you cried out as he immediately found that spot inside you that made you see stars; rubbing it over and over it until you were gasping and panting, babbling pleas and promises to be such a good girl for him if he would only let you come.

Finally, you felt his finger moving and you thought he would give you the release your craved for. Instead, he pulled out completely and you let out a loud keening whine, tears gathering on the corner of your eyes from need and frustration.

“Shush now, baby,” he cooed, petting your hair gently and kissing your forehead. “We’re almost there. Can you hang on a little longer for me?”

“Yes, boss.” Your voice was weak, shaky. You were panting like you ran a marathon and you had never felt this high-strung before, but the thought of saying no to him was the farthest thing from your mind.

“Such a good girl for me,” he said with a smile, finally taking off his boxers and freeing his cock, giving you a moment to admire it.

You had a feeling he was big, but it was even better than you imagined, and you wanted in your mouth. Desperately.  

“Not tonight,” he replied, and you realized you said it aloud, your mind too foggy to stop your thoughts from coming to your mouth. “But I want that too.”

You watched as he reached into the bedside table, picking up a condom and rolling it on himself, stroking his cock a couple of times, grunting low in his throat and you whined again because you wanted to do that. You want to touch him. Feel him.

His large hands took hold of your legs, bringing them to his shoulders as he knelt before you, lining himself with your entrance, his head teasing your slit and making you throw your head back and groan.

“Is this what you want, baby?”

“Yes!” you all but screamed, trying to move, but this position left you with very little leverage. “Yes! Please! I want it! Please, boss.”

He grinned at you and finally pushed inside and this time you shouted, the pleasure almost too overwhelming with the way he filled and stretched you, rubbing at all the right spots. He bent closer, catching your lips in a dirty kiss while you acclimated to the intrusion, his thumb working magic on your clit and you didn’t know how it was possible for you to be this close already. Then again, you had been teetering the edge of it for so long with his teasing that it really only took a nudge now.

“Ready?” he asked against your lips and all you could manage of a nod.

He finally started to move, pulling all the way out before pushing inside again, slow and steady, letting you adjust to him, before speeding up his thrusts as he increased pressure on your clit and laved your neck and chest with bite and kisses, sucking on the spot just below your ear that had you weak and struggle against your retrains as your first orgasm washed over you, making you gasp and shake.

He fucked you through it, a smug grin making its way into his lips as your body quaked and quivered, his movements getting that tension deep inside you to start to build up again. It was so overwhelming you couldn’t think, you couldn’t focus on anything except beg incoherently for it. A flow of confused pleas spilling from your lips as he fucked you, his pace increasing, his hips slapping against you, filling the room with the sound of skin hitting wetly against skin, and your moans.

“Look at me, baby,” he asked in between pants, his thumb brushing against the edge of your mask. “I’m gonna take this off. This time I wanna look at you when you come.”

You nodded, too far gone to care. You could only focus on yourself and how close you were again. You barely felt him sneaking one hand behind your head, undoing to knot that held the mask in place, before pulling it off.

“Fuck!” he whispered, his blue eyes widening behind his own mask as he looked at you. You saw something changing in him seconds before his mouth crashed on yours and you could almost taste his own desperation and he fucked you with abandon, his thumb swirling your clit. “Come for me, baby.”

His words snapped something inside you, making pleasure crash over you again and your entire body felt alight as you came, crying out a name you shouldn’t be saying here.

“HENRY!” you shouted, body shaking and trembling, walls tightening around him and he moaned your name against your neck, thrusting through his own release.

You two lied there, sweaty, tired and out of breath, bodies pressed together as your heartrates returned to normal along with your breathing and your ability to think.

Two things registered on your mind then: you shouted out your boss’ name when you came. And this man who was supposed to be a stranger called out yours.

“You know my name,” you declared, fighting off the haze of pleasure so you could focus on him. “How do you know my name?”

You felt him sighing heavily against your neck before he raised himself and looked at you. Without saying a word, he untied you, rubbing your wrists soothingly.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, helping you sit up. You shook your head, still watching him with a frown.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I know,” he said, once again sighing. “I promised I didn’t know. Not until your mask was off.”

Before you could ask him what he was talking about, he took off his own mask and you stared stunned and mortified because it was him. It was Henry.

The man you’ve been fantasizing about for half a year. The reason you wanted to call the supposed stranger boss in the first place. The man you called out the name when you came.

“Fuck!” you whispered, all the afterglow from the mind-blowing orgasms you just had completely forgotten. You just wanted the ground to open and swallow you whole.

“Look, I know. Of all the places in the world…” Henry let out a small, humorless chuckle. “I didn’t even know you saw me like that.”

He tried to move closer to you, but the motion made him aware of the mess he was about to make on the bed with the condom coming off from his now softening cock.

“Give me a sec and we’ll talk about this, ok?”

You waited until he was inside the bathroom to jump off the bed, pulling on your dress and all but running out of the room, putting on your heels as you went. You couldn’t stay. You couldn’t even look at him. Talk about this? It was unthinkable. You just needed to get as far away from Henry; as far away from this damned place as you could.

You should’ve listened to yourself. You knew this wouldn’t end up well. Were you really surprised it turned into this train wreck?

xxx

Permanent Tag List (give me a shout if you’d like to be added or removed)

@toomanystoriessolittletime @meetmeinthematinee @theolsdalova @krazycags01 @beyond-antares @cumberbatchbaps @sgt-morgan @futuristic-imbecile @howtoruin-someones-perfect-day @a-really-bi-girl @fanficsrusz @nonsensicalobsessions @poisonedjoinery @soarocks @penwieldingdreamer​

[im-totally-not-an-alien]

Final Fantasy 7 prompts no. 24

1. AU where Genesis managed to kidnap Zack and Cloud when they were on the run and basically took care of them. Zack warmed up to him and Genesis came to actually care about them.

One day Cloud begins to mutter and both men are excited that Cloud might actually wake up soon.

When he opens his eyes the first thing he sees is the Crimson Commander.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Genesis sat on the edge of the bed, focused on a certain comatose blond. He had begun to mutter strange incoherent things in his sleep, which the redhead took as a good sign.

His thoughts seemed to be confirmed when the younger man opened his beautiful blue eyes and stared directly at him, "Pretty..." Cloud muttered dazed.

The redhead snorted, "Well at least someone around here has taste."

The blond sat up and wrapped his arms around the man, squeezing the breath out of him before dragging him into the bed. "Mine."

2. The numbered ones start flocking to Cloud, trying to initiate REUNION with him, sometimes by force. Cloud is Not Okay.

3. Cloud hatches a large egg that was in the stalls with his very male chocobos.

It turned out to be a Nibel dragon egg and now Cloud is even more confused than he was before. The little one adores its blond human mother and Cloud quickly grew protective of it. His friends are trying to convince him to kill it but he refused and broke someone's arm when they tried to hurt his new baby.

4. Sephiroth creeps into Clouds new apartment and starts one of his dramatic monologs, but not even five words in he freezes and stares at Cloud holding a fresh baked apple pie and wearing a frilly blue apron and an angry pout.

"What." The blond snapped.

"...I..." the general stared, a bit of pink dusting his cheekbones, "...leaving. I'm leaving." And he literally flew out the door.

Cloud stared at the empty doorway for a minute, "Well that was even weirder than usual." He sat down his pie on a cooling rack and wiped his hands on his blue frilly apron, a gag gift from Aerith.

5. "Hey Tifa, can you turn the water-hose on?" She heard Cloud ask from outside the window.

"Why can't you turn it on yoursel-" she shut her mouth with a sharp click.

Outside stood Cloud and the kids, caked head to toe in mud, only the spaces around thier eyes were spared due to the goggles that now rested around thier necks.

She wanted to yell at them. Tell them that they were going to get an earful when they got inside, but Cloud was smiling. Cloud hadn't smiled in so long and she would do anything, anything in the world to keep it on his face.

6. Sephiroth becomes a god and travels around the multiverse collecting different versions of Cloud

7. Barret leaves for five minutes, FIVE, and returns to the entire group under the "Mini" status effect. They are all out of MP and remedies so Barret sighs and has everyone ride on his shoulders until the spell wears off.

8. Mini-Aerith making all the others in their mini-group pick flowers with her. The flowers are bigger than they are.

9. Sephiroth blackmails Cloud into letting him dress him up. Cloud begrudgingly allows it, expecting to be humiliated in dresses.

He did not expect all the cool outfits, many of which he liked, to be forced onto him, all while "Fashion" by Lady Gaga played in the background

10. Cloud finally runs out of fucks to give and goes Full Chaotic Dumbass and just has a ball with not giving a shit. Good for him. Zack might also be following him around as a ghost and encouraging him.

11. Cloud mentally snaps when he finds out he's been thrown back in time and has been left with nothing but his sword and bike. He buys a motorcycle helmet and full-body leather biker suit to disguise himself. Blondie also becomes a vigilante and routinely antagonizes Sephiroth, with each of thier fights ending with Cloud escaping in some way that makes people think he must have died, example: jumping off a cliff into the darkness below, and beginning with "The Phantom Swordsman" saying "I lived, bitch" and insulting him.

The silver general slowly comes to tolerate and eventualy look forward to the mysterious man's visits, even if they do end in battle. He has tried many times to find out the mans identity and is almost desperate to get even a glimpse of the face behind the mask.

Genesis is the first to discover that Sephiroth has fallen in love.

12. There's an emergency with another AVALANCHE cell that causes Barret and Tifa to quickly leave, yelling to Cloud that they'll be back soon. Both Biggs and Wedge run off with Jesse apon hearing that something had happened to her mom. Cloud was content to just wait for them to return, until Marlene walked in, having woke from her nap.

Barret rushes in, frantic apon learning that everyone had left his daughter home alone.

He runs to her bedroom to find Cloud sitting across from her in one of those tiny chairs at a tiny table, wearing a plastic tiara and dusted in a lethal amount of glitter, reading a book to her while she draws a picture of herself, her daddy, and her new scary big brother.

13. Clack fic where Cloud really likes using Zacks chest as a pillow. Zack thinks it's adorable, until he has to pee in the middle of the night and can't bring himself to wake Cloud.

14. Everyone knows about Sephiroth being possessive of Cloud, but what about Cloud being possessive of Sephiroth?

15. Time travel AU where Cloud leaves puzzles that give Sephiroth information about the truth of his past and the events of the future (including the correct lottery numbers and winners of chocobo races), but some of them are stuff calling out all the shady stuff shinra does or office gossip and the last 50% is just him fucking with Sephiroth. Full on encrypted messages that say : "Your secretary says she wants you to step on her" and "You should wear a bell". And he knows he can get away with it as long as he feeds him scraps of the truth every now and then, but he'll be damned if he doesn't at least get a little revenge while saving the world.

[random-ass-fanboy]

My Snape playlist:

Here are 40 songs that remind me of Snape, if anyone is interested :)

Feel free to leave song recommendations for this playlist in the comments!

TW/ depressing lyrics and mentions of suicidal ideation.

-

Paralyzed- NF

"Where are my feelings? I no longer feel things, I know I should. I'm paralyzed. Where is the real me? I'm lost and it kills me inside, I'm paralyzed."

My Immortal- Evanescence

"You used to captivate me, by your resonating light. Now, I'm bound by the life you left behind. Your face it haunts, my once pleasant dreams. Your voice it chased away, all the sanity in me."

Horrible Kids- Set It Off

"Picture this he was just a kid, not knowing where to begin. He wore all the wrong clothes, followed all the wrong trends, persecuted for the things he did."

Lifeboat- Heathers the Musical

"Everyone's pushing! Everyone's fighting Storms are approaching, there's nowhere to hide! If I say the wrong thing, or I wear the wrong outfit, they'll throw me right over the side!"

Panic Room- Au/Ra

"The silence is so loud. The lights spark and flicker, with monsters much bigger, than I can control now. Welcome to the panic room, where all your darkest fears are gonna come for you."

Michael in the Bathroom- Be More Chill

"I am hiding, but he's out there, just ignoring all our history. Memories get erased, and I'll get replaced, with a newer cooler version of me."

Worthless- eli.

"I'm always so alone, even when surrounded, by people that I know. I'm always so astounded, by my ability to ruin everything. Losing friends and starting fires, everyone thinks I'm a liar"

Let Me Down Slowly- Alec Benjamin

"Don't cut me down, throw me out, leave me here to waste. I once was a man with dignity and grace. Now, I'm slipping through the cracks of your cold embrace. So please, please.."

Waving Through a Window- Dear Evan Hansen

"We start with stars in our eyes. We start believing that we belong. But every sun doesn't rise. And no one tells you where you went wrong"

Broken Again- eli.

"No one knows what it's like putting up a fight, for your life every time, now I'm losing sight. Wish that I had a way to make me feel alive. I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die."

Match in the Rain- Alec Benjamin

"Yeah, I can taste it, it's the end, this love's impossible to save. Though you embrace it, I can't face it, so I look the other way. There's trouble in your eyes, but I pretend that we're okay. I wish that we could compromise, but there's just nothin' left to say."

Snail- Cavetown

"I was just born like this. Wish that I could change it. Four peculiar limbs and a head that doesn't fit. Wish that I was still a kid."

Dissappear- eli.

"Carrying the burdens of the world up on my shoulders. Looking for the answers, maybe I'll know once I'm older. Need some time to recollect myself, please don't forget me. When I disappear next week, I hope you can forgive me."

Teenagers- My Chemial Romance

"The boys and girls in the clique, the awful names that they stick. You're never gonna fit in much, kid. But if you're troubled and hurt, what you got under your shirt, will make them pay for the things that they did."

Words Fail- Dear Evan Hansen

"No, I'd rather pretend I'm something better than these broken parts. Pretend I'm something other than this mess that I am! 'Cause then I don't have to look at it, and no one gets to look at it! No, no one can really see!"

Untitled- Mxmtoon

"I tend to forget, that I shouldn't fret. People come and then they go. At this point I should know."

I'll Sleep When I'm Dead- Set it Off

"I'm stuck self-torturing, my meds are failing me, internal clock in smithereens. Can't fix this. I'm hopeless. My eyes are stapled open wide, as I lay down on my side. I am bouncing off these walls."

Outrunning Karma- Alec Benjamin

"He's never gonna make it, all the poor people he's forsaken, karma, is always gonna chase him for his lies. It's just a game of waiting from the church steeple down to Satan karma. There's really no escape until he dies."

One Song Glory- RENT

"Find, one song, one last refrain. Glory. From the pretty boy front man, who wasted opportunity. One song, he had the world at his feet. Glory. In the eyes of a young girl, a young girl."

Good For You- Dear Evan Hansen

"All I need is some time to think! But the boat is about to sink. Can't erase what I wrote in ink. Tell me how could you change the story?

All the words that I can't take back, like a train coming off the track. 'Cause the rails and my bones all crack. I've got to find a way to stop it, stop it! Just let me off!"

Teen Idle- MARINA

"Adolescence didn't make sense. A little loss of innocence. The ugliness of being a fool. Ain't youth meant to be beautiful?"

Dark Paradise- Lana Del Rey

"And there's no remedy for memory. Your face is like a melody, it won't leave my head. Your soul is hunting me and telling me, that everything is fine. But I wish I was dead!"

Trying- Cavetown

"I'm trying to tear the wool from your eyes. But a part of me wants to let you be. 'Cause then you wouldn't see what I've become. I'm trying to shout, but no sound comes out. It's like we're in a dream state. But I should've woken up, woken up by now."

Wake Me Up When September Ends- Green Day

"Here comes the rain again, falling from the stars. Drenched in my pain again, becoming who we are."

21 Guns- Green Day

"When you're at the end of the road, and you lost all sense of control. And your thoughts have taken their toll. When your mind breaks the spirit of your soul."

Give Me Novacaine- Green Day

"Take away the sensation inside. Bitter sweet migraine in my head. It's like a throbbing tooth ache of the mind. I can't take this feeling anymore."

iRobot- Jon Bellion

"I am a robot, thoughtless and empty. Don't know who sent me, don't know who made me. Electric robot, everything's gray now. Numb to the pain now, I knew what love was."

Another One Of Those Days- Cavetown

"Passed that kid from chemistry, who made fun of my name. He didn't look very happy. I guess we all turn out the same."

Boulevard of Broken Dreams- Green Day

"My shadow's the only one that walks beside me. My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating. Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me. 'Til then I walk alone."

We Don't Have To Dance- Andy Black

"You're never gonna get it, I'm a hazard to myself. I'll break it to you easy, this is hell, this is hell! You're looking and whispering, you think I'm someone else! This is hell, yes, I am in hell!

Ribcage- Andy Black

"Nothing in the cage of my ribcage! Got no heart to break, like it that way. Nothing in the cage of my ribcage! Emptiness is safe, keep it that way."

The Run and Go- Twenty One Pilots

"I can't take them on my own, my own. Oh, I'm not the one you know, you know. I have killed a man and all I know, is I am on the run and go."

Fall Away- Twenty One Pilots

"I disguise, and I will lie, and I will take my precious time. As the days spent away, as I stand in line, and I die as I wait, as I wait on my crime. And I'll try to delay what you make of my life, but I don't want your way, I want mine. I'm dying and trying, but believe me I'm fine. But I'm lying, I'm so very far from fine!

Trapdoor- Twenty One Pilots

"He wakes up early today, throws on a mask that will alter his face. Nobody knows his real name, but now he just uses one he saw on a grave. And he pretends he's okay, but you should see, oh. Him in bed late at night, he's petrified."

Sad Song- Christina Perri

"I wish I wasn’t always wrong, I wish it wasn’t always my fault. The finger that you’re pointing has knocked me on my knees. And all you need to know is… I'm so sorry, It’s not like me. It’s maturity that I’m lacking."

Escapism- Steven Universe

"I guess I have to face, that in this awful place, I shouldn't show a trace of doubt. But pulled against the grain. I feel a little pain, that I would rather do without."

Semi-Automatic- Twenty One Pilots

"Night falls with gravity, the earth turns from sanity, taking my only friend I know, he leaves a lot, his name is "Hope". I'm never what I like, I'm double-sided, and I just can't hide, I kind of like it when I make you cry, 'cause I'm twisted up, I'm twisted up inside."

Screen- Twenty One Pilots

"I can't see past my own nose, I'm seeing everything in slo-mo. Look out below crashing down to the ground just like a vertical locomotive. That's a train, am I painting the picture that's in my brain? A train from the sky, locomotive, my motives are insane!"

March To The Sea- Twenty One Pilots

"Then the wages of war will start, inside my head with my counterpart. And the emotionless marchers will chant the phrase, 'This line's the only way.' Then I start down the sand, my eyes are focused on the end of land. But again the voice inside my head, says, 'follow me instead.'"

Migraine- Twenty One Pilots

"Freeze frame, please let me paint a mental picture portrait. Something you won't forget, it's all about my forehead, and how it is a door that hold's back contents, that makes Pandora's box contents look non-violent!"

[alvacchi]

Phantom Thief Hanako-kun AU Story: Chapter 2- The Discussion

Wow, I'm glad you guys like the concept so much! :0 I guess I could write more!

Thanks for the support guys! It means a lot! Well, enjoy!

---

-Roll the cameras!

-We start with a preview from the previous chapter!

-By your female protagonist, Yashiro Nene!

-Currently an apprentice and aiming to be a professional detective!

-So Yashiro found a bleeding Hanako in her apartment

-The horror! She managed to save him in time

-And tried to cover up the disaster

-The day after, she made a deal with the phantom thief

-Now what's up next?

-A few days had past and dear God

-Thinking about the whole deal again as she walked her way to her apartment from her job

-Yashiro thought it was a mistake

-She couldn't have been right in the head that night

-She didn't think that Hanako would actually come over

-but when she opened her door and went to her bedroom

-There he was.

-In her apartment.

-On her bed.

-Hanako: "Welcome home, detective!"

-Yashiro freaked at the sight.

-Yashiro: "KYAHHHH!"

-She attempted to push Hanako out the window

-Hanako: "Woah calm down, detective! We don't want another accident!"

-She stopped pushing and glared at him

-Yashiro: "Why are you here?"

-Hanako: "Hm? Didn't we make a deal? A gentleman thief such as myself should keep his word, no?"

-Yashiro: "Don't just come here unannounced!"

-Hanako: "Heh~ so you want me to announce myself like in my heists?"

-Yashiro stared at him blankly as she lost her words

-Exactly what part of him was a gentleman?

-Yashiro couldn't tell

-She shook her head to clear her mind before pointing her finger at him

-Yashiro: "I don't think this is a good idea! You probably just want to drag me into your schemes! Well, this detective is not going to fall for it!"

-The doorbell rang suddenly

-Yashiro: "Oh what now?"

-Yashiro went to take a look

-It's Kou and Mitsuba

-Panic mode: ON

-Yashiro sure was not having the time of her life lately

-She stormed back to her bedroom and without warning threw the covers over Hanako. Again.

-When Hanako was about to ask, Yashiro just gave him a menacing look

-Yashiro: "Not a word."

-Yashiro went over to open the door and greet the two

-Yashiro: "Kou-kun! Mitsuba-kun! It's been a while."

-Kou: "Senpai! Good evening!"

-Mitsuba: "Good evening, Daikon-senpai"

-Yashiro: 'D-daikon....that name is going to haunt me forever'

-Kou: "Mind if we come in to talk?"

-Yashiro: "Uh I don't know. I may have a couple case files I'm investigating at the moment..."

-She was bluffing to avoid them meeting Hanako

-Kou: "Please."

-Okay, this was surprising

-Kou wouldn't usually want to bother Yashiro but....he looked very distressed

-Something must have happened

-Yashiro looked at the two. Kou's eyes seemed to be filled with pain and Mitsuba had his puppy eyes

-Well screw this. Why did these guys look like little puppies?!

-Yashiro: "Okay then."

-And so that's how they ended up sitting together in Yashiro's bedroom

-Hanako still under the bed covers

-At least until Yashiro offered some tea

-He decided to move all of a sudden

-Yashiro was having a heart attack when everyone's attention was on the moving figure

-Did he want to shorten her lifespan or something?!

-Hanako came out of the bed covers but he wasn't in his usual uniform. No.

-He was disguised. Supposedly as a female version of himself. He's got a regular female school uniform on.

-Hanako: "Oh! I fell asleep! And I see there are a couple guests around! Hi, I'm Hana! I'm just staying over for the night!"

-Yashiro wanted to yell so badly

-Kou: "Oh nice to meet you Hana! I'm Kou! I didn't know Senpai was having a sleepover!"

-Kou was completely fooled

-Mitsuba: "Hmm"

-Mitsuba inched closer towards Hanako, inspecting his face

-Hanako kept up his poker face, sweating a little from the tension

-Yashiro felt like she was dying inside

-Mitsuba: "Well, I wouldn't say you're cuter than me! I'm Mitsuba by the way."

-Holy heck. They fell for it

-Yashiro wanted to faceplant herself

-She felt so relieved at the same time though

-Was that good?

-Well that was what she wanted anyways, right?

-Yashiro's eyes wandered at Hanako's exposed legs

-Her daikon leg complex was getting to her now

-Oh why was the world so cruel to her?!

-Hanako: "Well, don't mind me! You guys could continue talking!"

-And with that they focused back to what they were doing

-Yashiro: "So, you guys are here for something, right?"

-Kou: "Yeah. We wanted to talk about Hanako."

-Speak of the devil. The tension's back if only slightly

-Hanako tilted his head at that as he listened

-Yashiro didn't think she could relax anytime soon until they leave

-Mitsuba: "We were wondering if you knew what happened at Hanako's last heist."

-What?

Yashiro: "I don't actually. I was forbidden to go. Couldn't you ask your brother, Kou-kun? Wasn't he there?"

-Kou looked down to his lap with a troubled expression

-Kou: "I tried to but Teru-nii...he shut me out. He seems irritated lately. I don't know if I could tell what's bothering him."

-Yashiro: "Did it have to do with Hanako?"

-Kou: "I don't know."

-A moment of silence filled the atmosphere

-Kou: "...Senpai, do you think Hanako really is a bad person?"

-Yashiro was surprised at his question

-Yashiro: "Why do you ask?"

-Kou: "I personally don't see him as a bad person, even though I know it's part of my job to capture him. There's just something about him that feels different than your typical criminal."

-Yashiro: "Kou-kun....I don't know if I could say right now how I feel about Hanako. He's a criminal yes but I don't think we know enough about him to say."

Kou: "Ah. I understand that."

Mitsuba: "I have pictures of Hanako but they're from the other heists. Some of them aren't even in good quality which is suprising because I'm usually good at photography. He moves too quick."

Kou: "There are photos that aren't developed yet, right Mitsuba? Maybe you might get a really good one for your papers!"

Mitsuba: "Hehe perhaps!"

Kou: "Well, thanks for talking with us, Senpai. It made me feel better. We should get going now. It's late."

Yashiro: "Yeah. You two get home safely!"

Kou: "You guys have a great sleepover!"

-After they left, Hanako quickly changed back to his phantom thief outfit.

-Hanako: "Some nice friends you got there"

-Yashiro: "Don't you have any?"

-Hanako: "Perhaps~"

-Quite a vague answer

-Yashiro: "Hey...what happened at that heist the other day? I think I deserve to know"

Hanako: "There it is! The detective's nosiness is here!"

Yashiro: "You said we could get to know each other!"

Hanako: "I didn't say I'd give you answers"

Yashiro: .....

Hanako: "Maybe... I'll tell you someday eventually. Now....now's not really the right time..."

-At that moment, Hanako looked vulnerable and Yashiro felt pretty bad for prying.

-It was part of a detective's job to interrogate but she wasn't sure what she was expecting

-Hanako turned back to his teasing self suddenly

-Hanako: "Well, I'll make sure to announce myself in advance next time!"

-He took a chance to lean into her ear

Hanako: "Special service from me just like you wanted~"

-And with that he took off out the window

-Yashiro: [flustered] "AAAAA what are you saying, you stupid, stupid phantom thief!!!"

-All Yashiro's pitying thoughts flew out the window as she yelled after him

-She quickly shut up after realizing what she said and was thankful it was already dark.

-People should be asleep at this hour...

-Black Canyon was snoozing away oblivious

---

-The next morning

-Yashiro went to Tsuchigomori's detective agency

-Upon arrival, Tsuchigomori was talking with a police officer and ended their conversation

-The police officer then left

-Tsuchigomori: "Ah. Yashiro-san, you're here. We just got a case this morning."

-Yashiro: "A case?"

-Tsuchigomori: "There's been a murder and we've got our suspect."

-Yashiro: "Really? Who?"

-Tsuchigomori: "Phantom Thief Hanako"

-Yashiro:

.....

'Huh?'

[unicyclehippo]

Do you accept beau/bright queen prompts? Otherwise for the number thing #3 “It’s three in the morning.” :)

ooh i haven’t done consecuted au in ages! fair warning, i don’t have a concept in mind to fulfill this prompt so imma just,, write & hope that it comes to me

//

They bring Beau back to the Xhorhaus and care for her as best they can, a restoration when they think it might help but mostly salted stew and a cold cloth draped over her neck. They replace it when it quickly becomes drenched in the sweat that pours off her and Beau is left feeling half-melted, like a wax statue, as the sweat and water droplets sit in a tepid film over her entire body. She feels herself sloughing away piece by piece in small and then larger sections; it’s not real—Beau is as hale and whole as ever—but there is something working at her mind that regects who she is, burns and melts away at this form with her weak eyes that cannot catch the moons light, the long arms and unfamiliar hands. The multitudes of selves within Beau clamour to claim sections of her, of themselves in her form, and at one point, when Beau looks down at her hands and finds she does not know them, she moves to the stairs that glide up to the second floor and she lays on the cool grey stone.

The ceiling of the entrance—hall? not quite—of their gifted house is high here. It rises to the second floor along with the staircase and above the doorway is a large circular window of fogged glass that fills most of that space. Beau stares up at it and shivers with fever and clench-jawed dismay; nothing that is happening to her feels good or normal or makes any kind of sense.

She remembers a party. Here in this room. This house they’ve had all of a month. This house that stands barren and watched, with her and her empire compatriots. This house that has never seen a guest while they have been in it—she remembers it filled with people and the chime of laughter and quiet conversation. Beau doesn’t remember herself, but she remembers this.

A party, back when the threat of war did not loom overhead. There were many of those times but the memories seem to be less immediate than those of Beau’s many deaths—a knife, plunged into—

She snaps her eyes back to the window.

Circular fogged glass.

‘Do you think it’s supposed to look like the moon?’ Lee asks her. She looks bored; she always looks bored at events like this.

Surathai flicks her eyes to the window. ‘Hmm.’

Lee scowls. Drinks deeply of the goblet in her hand.

‘Have I offended?’ Surathai asks, tone smooth and empty of apology or any of her own upset. And she is upset. Why? The thought shakes through her like the ringing of a bell and Surathai shivers with it. For a moment, she could swear that sweat dripped in a column down her neck, her spine. But the night is cool and she had not been permitted to wear her armour; her fine long tunic is untouched by sweat.

‘Have I offended,’ Lee repeats, the tone mocking.

Surathai arches a brow. It will make Lee furious. Why? That whisper comes again, and not far behind, like heavy blunt fingers poking and prodding, Who is she? What is this party?

Surathai glances about the space. She misses the way Lee scowls toward her as she scans the space: the Den umavi are clustered together like gossiping hens deeper into the house, their consorts either at their shoulders or, if they’re particularly lax, a step back from that most holy of spaces.

Lee tries shift deeper into the house without her, flanking through the east wing, a spacious library that corners onto the small dining hall.

Surathai wasn’t reborn yesterday. She follows easily. Each time Lee tries to ditch her, Surathai adjusts.

‘The more I must pay attention to you,’ she says, stepping into the space by Lee’s shoulder after the young woman had managed to put an entire door between them, ‘the less attention I have for would-be assassins.’

Lee scoffs.

‘Leylas,’

‘Shouldn’t you be calling me Your Majesty,’ Lee cuts her off, and the words sound bitter as she spits them toward her. ‘If you’re so intent on playing as my guard dog, at least do it properly.’

Surathai blinks. ‘Is that why you’re upset?’

Lee looks up from the spread—delicious, fresh, a real effort from the new Den—and for the first time this evening her lips soften from the flat obsidian slash they have been.

‘It’s a party, Sura. You’re my betrothed. You’re supposed to be on my arm, not at my shoulder.’

‘Oh.’

‘Oh,’ Lee repeats, but this time her mocking is far more gentle. Teasing, really. ‘You didn’t know?’

‘Was I supposed to?’

‘You’re not exactly dressed to fight assassins,’

‘I would make do.’

‘It’s a very expensive fabric.’

Surathai plucks at her tunic with a slow of mild distaste. ‘You do not need to buy me expensive items. Especially not clothing.’

‘I’m the Queen, nothing is expensive for me,’ Lee says with a wave of her hand. She laughs then, not quietly, and waves her hand far more imperiously when varied heads turn to look at the Queen and her Consort half-hidden in the next room. Lee waits until everyone averts their eyes. Then, ‘I’m joking, Sura. Don’t look so foul with me.’

‘Our people have need of that coin,’

‘I know, my love.’ The endearment slips out, the way so many secrets and memories do between them.

They’ve said those words many lifetimes over; they still bring a bruising flush to Surathai’s cheeks.

‘Hmph,’ she says.

Lee ducks her head.

No longer upset, Lee loses the sharp bearing with which she had cut through this party so easily before. She is caught in many a discussion with many a boring individual and as the night wears on, so too does the party on Lee’s patience.

Surathai steps in before Lee’s new tongue can get her in trouble with an old friend. She wraps her fingers around Lee’s wrist and pretends to not be surprised when Lee rests a good portion of her weight comfortably into her.

‘It’s a party tonight, Taskhand,’ Surathai chides. She is allowed to chide. Her only concern is the Queen and does not have to pretend otherwise, unlike her betrothed. ‘Forgive us but we haven’t had an opportunity to dance...’

‘Of course.’ The Taskhand bows, excuses himself.

Lee shifts, sets her chin on Surathai’s shoulder. ‘Bodyguard or betrothed, whichever, don’t let anyone talk to me for—the rest of the night.’ A great yawn cracks her jaw.

‘Shall I glare at them?’ Surathai asks, voice soft, cajoling.

‘Oh yes. You glare so nicely.’

‘Mm. I do try.’

Lee chuckles. Shifts closer still, winding her arms around Surathai’s middle in a loose hug. Sura returns the gesture slowly and begins to sway to the gentle music that drifts through all of this house.

‘What time is it?’

‘Late. Early, really.’ Sura glances to one of her disguised guards, flashes a question. When they respond, she tells Lee, ‘Three in the morning.’

Lee groans. ‘My feet are killing me.’

Surathai hums. Is doubly relieved that she had passed over the death trap shoes that had been delivered with the outfit. Her own boots could carry her halfway to Asarius Settlement before she started to blister.

‘Shall I carry you home?’

Lee’s arms cinch tighter. She turns, nose brushing against the sensation skin of Surathai’s neck. ‘Would you?’ she asks. Breathes. The question tickles against her skin on that quiet exhale; Surathai shivers.

‘Of course.’

‘Because I am your Queen?’ Lee asks. She tucks her face more fully into Surathai’s neck so that her expression cannot be seen no matter how Sura tries; her tone is entirely empty save for the note of the question.

Sura hesitates. She isn’t sure precisely what Lee wants from her; her fallback then, the oath she had sworn two-fold upon her sword, and the promise of her rebirth itself. Dedication to her Queen, and all else that follows—honesty, forthrightness, protection. Love had not entered that vow on any iteration; that was sworn later, that third oath, upon her knees once more.

‘Because you are my queen, and my wife-to-be, and my wife-who-was, and the woman I choose life after life.’ Lee hums. Surathai frowns. Had that not been the right answer? She searches her mind for what is missing and can think only that she would like for Lee to laugh. ‘I like carrying you,’ she blurts, feeling abruptly and stingingly her young age at the clumsy words.

She gets her wish though. Lee laughs suddenly, pulls back—not out of her hold, but enough that she can see Sura’s face.

‘Is that so?’

‘Well—I’m—‘

‘Strong.’ Lee drags a nail down one of Sura’s arms, over the dip and trip of her muscles. ‘I‘ve noticed.’

‘I wasn’t. Last time.’

‘Hmm.’

‘You like?’ Sura asks, clumsy pre-century flirting clogging her thoughts and tongue. She flexes. She hopes this isn’t the life Leylas decides actually this version of my wife is far too awkward.

//

Beau comes awake at the sensation of a cold hand on her head. Blinks up into blue.

‘Jes?’

Her friend smiles, relief clear across her face. ‘Beau! You’re awake! Oh my gosh, Beau, I’ve been so worried, you were on the stairs and you were, like, just staring at the roof and Fjord said maybe you had been paralysed or, or, your mind was gone because you couldn’t hear us and that wasn’t a fun time at all but then you started talking and Caleb said it was Undercommon?’ Jester says all in a rush.

Beau hears most of it. She understands most of what she hears.

‘It’s getting worse, Beau,’ Jester tells her.

‘I know.’

‘I think it’s time.’

‘I dont—I don’t want—‘

‘I know,’ she agrees, and winds cold fingers into Beau’s.

The shock of it is nice, like cold water on a hot day. Refreshing. Beau clutches at Jester’s hand, tries not to feel like the other girl has seen too much of her, seen her sick and shivering and way too fucking weak, tries not to feel like so much grime at the bottom of the bucket.

‘I know it’s scary, Beau, and you probably don’t want people in your mind,’

Beau agrees with a grunt.

‘But we don’t know how to help you and—‘ Jester catches her bottom lip between sharp teeth, worries at it. Her brows push together and up, the picture of concern. ‘You’re in pain, Beau. We don’t want—I don’t want you in pain anymore. It’s awful, it’s just awful.’

She blinks up at her best friend. ‘Feels—like my head is all - crammed full.’

‘Memories?’

‘Mm. Yeah.’

‘Does it hurt?’

The heat begins to ebb and fade, lulling her and sapping with it her energy. Beau feels heavy, her tongue dry and thick in her mouth. ‘Only when I die,’ she says unthinkingly.

Jester gasps. Squeezes her hands tighter. ‘Beau...’

‘Ask ‘em if it’ll help? I wanna—finish this. Stupid. To put it off. Stupid.’

‘No, no.’ Jester brushes her fingers over Beau’s clammy forehead. ‘Not stupid. You’re just—stubborn.’

Through her slow-blinking eyes, Beau sees Jester smile and it’s one of the loveliest things she’s seen in all her lives. She thinks she says as much. Maybe she doesn’t. She sleeps.

[hyliangrace-a]

ZELDA, HER APPEARANCE & HER FEELINGS REGARDING IT  /  

talking with amber about the differences between the appearances in our respective zeldas got me motivated to finish this headcanon, finally ! i love zelda’s ocarina of time design, because y’know, imprinting on your very first zelda game & all that, but there’s always room for improvement, right ? these are my ( questionable ) improvements ! this headcanon ... got away from me little bit when i started to talk out my reasoning for zelda’s choice in how she presented herself as queen. i intended on talking about how she looks in other verses, too, such as when she’s a spectre in the queen’s shade universe, but i feel that would suit better as an entirely separate post, so, that’ll come in time ! i hadn’t intended on putting this post under a read more, because i feel it’s a fairly important headcanon & i’d like people to read it, but - surprise ! - it’s really long, & it would feel really rude to just leave it uncut, so behind the black it goes - that, & it also deals with body issues & negative perceptions of one’s body, so please keep that in mind if you’re sensitive to that sort of content. that said, & i’m aware of the irony of this sentence after the last, but i hope you guys at least find it an enjoyable read !  ♡

the three basic tenets of her appearance which have appeared in most of her predecessors & descendants ( pale, blue-eyed, blonde-haired ) apply in most, if not all, of my verses for zelda  but there are only a few verses of mine where i would say zelda’s appearance is exactly as it is within the game & the official art provided by nintendo - primarily the earliest arc of my canon verses, when she’s still the little princess, & the au which follows the events of the child timeline, where she never goes on the run & so never becomes sheik. she’s still quite fit, thanks to horseback riding & regular exercise, overseen by impa, but it’s in this au she most embodies the slim, graceful princess look nintendo gave her. one constant in all her adult verses, however, is her height - by the time she’s fully grown, she’s 5′8″.

in my other main, canon-inspired verses, well - zelda goes on the run at age ten, & it’s from that age impa begins to teach her how to fight, as she knows that she cannot protect her forever, & she’s going to need to become self-sufficient if she wants to survive. it starts off with basic things, graduating into an intense regime, but the result is, by the time link awakens from his slumber, zelda, even whilst disguised as sheik, is broad-shouldered & visibly muscled. i choose to interpret the tanned skin, red eyes & shorter hair as part of a glamour zelda put up, out of fear that ganondorf was searching for girls matching her description á la wind waker, but the muscles get to stay because whilst her appearance might be fake when under this alias, her feats are not. she did, after all, manage to survive seven years in a monster-infested hyrule, stay in the heart of death mountain without a visible goron tunic, & for whatever reason, was at kakariko village before link when the seal holding bongo-bongo back began to break, & i choose to interpret that as her being prepared to fight it. she also managed to make it through the haunted wasteland to the desert colossus / the spirit temple, sans lens of truth, & as she presents as an androgynous, masculine-leaning figure, she might have also had to prove her worth to the gerudo in battle, just as link did - after all, even though the gerudo, such as nabooru, openly disavow ganondorf by that point in time, it would be madness to declare her true self in his hometown.

this piece of fanart by lord-lorens is, honestly, the closest thing to how i picture zelda’s body type whilst she masquerades as sheik, & afterwards, when she reassumes her identity as princess. ( is there a gossip stone out there saying princess zelda has an eight pack ? there’s nothing in canon to disprove this, so yes. ) the only thing which stops it being entirely perfect for me is my headcanons of where across her body zelda is scarred ( which could be another, much smaller headcanon, so i’ll leave it for that ) but considering everyone’s interpretation of how zelda lived as sheik is varied, it was bound to happen - but god, minus those, i just want to pin this somewhere on my blog with an enormous sign next to it which says  ❛ this is how my zelda looks, as both sheik & a princess. ❜ but, with that in mind, lets move on.

i think it’s interesting how similar zelda’s outfit is as an adult ( which she ISN’T, she’s SEVENTEEN, but i digress - ) to the one she wears as a child, & my interpretation of it is that it’s very deliberate - & another glamour. ( seriously, where the fuck would she get a dress like that ? ) zelda hasn’t been seen in public, as herself, in seven years. the last people saw of her, as mentioned by those in castle town prior to drawing the master sword, is her fleeing the castle on horseback with her attendant, & that might have been the first glimpse some people had of her at all. when ganondorf is sealed away, & she re-emerges, she’s dressed similarly in order to spark recognition in people’s minds, & also because she knows that it may be difficult to prove she is who she claims to be, considering the king is dead, & impa has ascended as a sage, & can’t vouch for her. surviving nobles who interrogate her on her memories are able to confirm her claim to the throne, but if she had just strolled into kakariko village in casual dress, it’s very likely she would have absolutely been dismissed.

because of this, zelda’s feelings towards her appearance end up... complicated. in the aforementioned child timeline au verse, where she has a privileged, but more normal, adolescent socialization, she’s quite accepting of her own appearance & how feminine it is, because in that timeline, she fits the mold of what people expect a princess to be - she’s tall, she’s graceful, she’s pretty, & she’s rewarded for fitting that ideal. in her canon universe, where a life on the run left her with an entirely different body type, an indifference to feminity, many insecurities about her suitability as queen of hyrule, especially in her first years of being on the throne, & a desire to conform to others expectations of her ... it’s a perfect storm, whose origins can be traced directly to her choice to homage her childhood dress during her reappearance in hylian society. 

insecurity & fear feeds a lot of her choices in how she presents herself at the beginning of her reign. her body type is what some would call androgynous, others vaguely masculine - broad shoulders & small breasts which combine to give the illusion of her hips being narrower than they are, & she though she herself is content with that, she fears scorn by others because of it, so she works to minimize these features, & she plays up to feminity. her wardrobe primarily consists of dresses, gowns & robes, all loose fitting, all sleeved to at least the elbow, preferably in a style which leaves her biceps covered, & indistinct beneath the fabric. the gold pauldrons she wears as an adult feature in most, if not all, of her garments until her official coronation, seven years after ganondorf was sealed away - they provide her a measure of security, give her a regal appearance, & do a lot of heavy lifting, in conjunction with the sleeves of her gowns, to hide her shoulders & biceps, to the point where people are surprised at just how muscled she is when they come off - she hides the results, but even as queen, she still trains as she did when she was in hiding. most people are accepting of how she looks, but as is always the way, the few harsh comments she hears deafen her to the compliments - the only thing zelda wants, in the end, is for hyrule to recover, & for her people to thrive, & for that, she needs to be a good queen to them. to be a good queen, she must live up to their expectations. her attempts to live up to that via her appearance lead to her first breakdown, three months after her coronation.

it’s not just her appearance, of course - there’s enough stress to go around trying to get hyrule back on its feet again in a fair way, whilst trying to make her own mark as queen & live up to her parents’ peacekeeping legacy - but the nitpicking from a few members of her court, & the constant moving of goalposts as she attempts to satisfy their criticisms of her appearance, is the catalyst for her eventual declaration that she is done trying to satisy other people’s unreasonable explanations. the queenly mask she wears for other people’s benefit is suffocating her, so she decides to break it, & forge a new one. if she is going to be feminine, it is because she chooses to be, not because people expect her to be. if she wishes to dress as a man does, who can stop her ? if androgyny is what she feels, she will not deny herself. so, after a good cry, zelda does what every twenty-four year old going through a tough time does - she cuts her hair. she no longer tries to hide her body or disguise her frame. she is the queen, & the people will accept her as she is.

& most do ! hyrule has some strange looking people in it. a queen with a pixie cut is not the end of the world. she keeps it short for a good while, as a symbol of both her & hyrule’s fresh start, but eventually she begins to let it grow out again, with its length varying at ... well, various important points in her life. a short bob when she begins the programme to build new villages & settlements in hyrule. shoulder length when she begins courting to secure the throne for the future. waist length when she marries. she cuts it to above her shoulders once more when her first child is born, & keeps it mostly at that length until the end of her life, mostly for practical reasons. she was never ashamed of her body, before or after she became queen, as it was proof of her survival, but she became a lot more confident in herself as queen after she stopped letting other people, & her own well-intentioned, if misguided, fantasies of what a queen should look like dictate her life. that doesn’t mean to say that was that, every dark thought about her appearance swept away - there were days afterwards where she still despaired of her appearance, of the image she was projecting to others, of the judgements being passed on her & her country that came from her looks alone - but they were infrequent compared to the constant anxiety she felt about her appearance prior to the night she took a knife to her hair. they also weren’t enough to stop her from maintaining her physique, either - the training regime she began as a child continued into her late sixties, when she finally felt confident enough in the kingdom’s safety to stop, but the results of it meant that zelda was powerfully built through her whole life. even the birth of her children, which softened her body, couldn’t diminish much of her muscled appearance. shedding the weight of others opinions ( of her appearance, at least ) allowed her to stand tall until the end of her days. her body told the story of her life, & eventually, she was proud to let people see it.

[westannatasharomanoff]

THG AU Chapter Four

Chapter 1       Chapter 2              Chapter 3

*The train arrived in The Capitol, and Loki had a few more words of wisdom for the group.*

Loki: Once you get off of this train, you will be sent to meet your stylists and prep teams. Some of them may appear a bit strange to you, but that is FASHION people! In The Capitol, people dye their hair and skin all kinds of colors. In fact, I’m turning my skin blue tomorrow. The outfits are very high fashion in ways you couldn’t dream of. To sum up what I’m saying, you are about to get a face full of *singsong voice* FABULOUS!  

 Fury: Don’t mind him, he’s just obsessed with all things *mockingly* “glamorous” and “high fashion.”

Natasha: If this is considered high fashion, I hope my stylist is way behind on trends. 

*Natasha went to go meet her stylist and prep team in her room. When she entered, she saw three people standing by her bathroom with supplies to do her hair, nails, and makeup. One man was bald, grey, and covered in red tattoos and he looked to be about 30. A girl was standing between him and another man, and she had glowing antennae implants and really big eyes. She was 16. The man standing next to her looked to be no more than 17 and he was dressed relatively normally, with a red jacket and no features that were too out of the ordinary. That is, if you ignore the glowing eyes.*

Natasha: So, which one of you is my stylist?

Peter: None of us. She’ll be here shortly. 

Drax: We’re your prep team!

Mantis: One of us! A stylist! Can you imagine?

* A 16 year old girl with green skin and deep pink streaks in her jet black hair enters the room*

Gamora: I am your stylist. My name’s Gamora. 

Natasha: You’re my stylist? But you’re just a kid! You look like you’re 15!

Gamora: I’m 16, actually. *annoyed* My father is a close advisor of President Snow, and he said I wasn’t being “festive”  enough around the games. He thought I’d be more excited if I got more involved. I have no interest in fashion design, but they needed a stylist for the female tribute from District 12, and my father made me take the job. *sigh* *as if reciting from a script* It’s my job to make sure you look good before, during, and maybe even after this cruel and horrific celebration of our amazing country. This is your prep team. Drax is in charge of your makeup, *Drax waves* Mantis does your hair, *Mantis waves* and Peter is on nail duty. *Peter waves* Do you have any questions before we begin? 

Natasha: I take back what I said about you being just a kid. I think we are going to be fast friends. 

*Bruce was dreading being back in The Capitol. Every visit was just another reminder of the horrors he faced in the arena. He wasn’t ready to face this year’s games. He looked down at the little red box in his hand. Just because he has to make sure Sammy wins and can’t support Natasha doesn’t mean he couldn’t give her something to use as her tribute token. Bruce lead Sammy to his room to meet his prep team and stylist and then he put on a hat and sunglasses. He walked up the back stairway to the 12th floor and found the room Natasha was staying in.* 

Bruce: *after she opens the door* Excuse me, miss. I have an urgent matter to discuss with you. Has your prep team left yet? 

Natasha: Why yes, they left ten minutes ago. Please do come in.

*He goes into her room and takes off his disguise. *

Bruce: It’s been a while since I’ve seen you in person. How have you been?

Natasha: Believe it or not, I haven’t been doing so well. 

Bruce: Imagine that.

Natasha: So, why are you here? Don’t you have a tribute to worry about?

Bruce: Yes, I have to do everything in my power to make sure he wins. 

Natasha: Good luck. 

Bruce: Thanks. I actually came up here to give you something. Since each tribute is allowed one token to take into the arena, I got you this. 

*He hands her a little red box with a black satin ribbon. She opens it and pulls out a silver locket in the shape of a heart.*

Bruce: I didn’t put a picture inside because the locket is more symbolic. I remember last year your sister brought a round one with a family picture in it and I figured this one could represent everyone who loves you. Do you like it?

Natasha: * hugging him* Yes. It’s perfect. Thank you. 

* They hug for a while, because this very well may be the last time they see each other. Natasha eventually realizes that Bruce is crying.*

Natasha: Hey, It’s going to be okay. And no matter what happens in that arena, just know that I love you and I don’t blame you for this.

Bruce: I love you too. 

If you want me to continue this AU, please let me know. I really enjoy writing these. 

[hutchingsb]

fake political trophy husband AU for diego & hutch 👌😉

Diego Rodríguez García is a young upstart and the name on everyone’s lips. He’s got connections, he’s got wit, and he has the ability to put a crowd at ease. He came out as bisexual two weeks ago to further his campaign, to the shock and awe of the public. But more than anything else, he’s got the polls on his side. He’s going to win.It’s all Momma needs, a martini clutched in her hand, to latch onto an idea.

She stirs her martini slowly as if it’s necessary and not that she’s buying her time to make this whole thing stick. Hutch doesn’t mention that it’s not strictly necessary to convince him, he knows he doesn’t really have a say in the matter. The Booth-Bakers’ image has been falling. Small scandals build up, and the gossip never really goes away. Momma needs something to change, her ambitions not yet sated. Her campaign is going well, but she needs that push. These are hard times, and no one is completely sold on Mrs. Booth-Baker’s reelection as governor, not now that she’s newly without her husband.

“Don’t you think Mr. García could use some additional funding?” 

Momma takes a sip of her drink through her smirk. Hutch sighs. He owes her, he knows. After the stunt he pulled when his father first left, he owes her something good; something she can use.

“When do I meet him?”

Later that night, while he lies in bed, he will think, ‘it doesn’t have to be real.’

                                                             - 

Momma moves quickly because there is no time to waste when you’re down in the polls. She reaches out to the García campaign, offers them a fundraiser – hosted, of course, by the Booth-Bakers, for the charity of Mr. García’s choice. They would be fools to turn it down, and Hutch does not take the up-and-coming congress hopeful for a fool.

The campaign’s formal reply is an immediate yes, and Momma makes the arrangements. The woman’s connections know no bounds.

Two days later, Hutch gets a text that Diego (and when the fuck did it become Diego, and not Mr. García) is interested in talking about a mutually beneficial “business” deal, and Hutch tries not to throw his phone across the room and go back to sleep. But there’s a knock on his front door a couple minutes later, and he knows it’s some immaculate suit that his mother has picked out because it will match the color of Diego’s eyes, or some shit. He begrudgingly opens the door. At least he can pretend to entertain himself with work before this hellish night begins.

                                                              -

The suit is perfect. For all her downfalls, his mother knows style, and Hutch feels like he belongs at this party. Like he, too, is a political player, and not just some research analyst for his mother. He holds his own for a while, drifting between senators, the senators’ wives, and journalists. They’re all waiting for something big and newsworthy. And Hutch sighs, because it’s not a something, it’s a someone. And when the door opens and Diego Rodríguez García finally steps through the door, the whole party halts, waiting.

Except for Momma. She waits for nothing.

She is by Diego’s elbow in seconds, handing him a glass of something and talking to him quickly, quietly smiling as she gracefully manhandles him around the crowd. The whispers begin and Hutch suddenly feels like downing the glass of whiskey that he’s had for hours now. 

It takes her some time, before his Momma makes her way towards him. But the buzz in the room starts to intensify, and Hutch does his best not to fidget.

“Mr. García, have you met my son?” Momma coos loud enough for those around to hear. She knows full well that Mr. García has not.“I can’t say I have had the pleasure.” Diego’s tone is pleasant, but his smile is genuine when he turns to Hutch with an outstretched hand. Hutch grabs the man’s hand and mimics his smile. Diego’s hand is warm and strong, and not even the least bit sweaty. His smile is perfect, white teeth and smile lines. His eyes are a dark brown and Hutch realizes that, once again, he was right. His dark navy blue suit compliments the future congressman’s eyes to a T.He truly hates his mother.

“The pleasure is all mine.” Hutch lets his voice be just loud enough to be heard. He may not be a player, but he knows how to play the game. Diego’s smile becomes guarded again as Momma lays a hand on the other man’s upper arm.

Hutch spends the evening by Diego’s side, at his mother’s demands. But he finds he quite likes it. He’s a quick study. Starts to pick up on when Diego’s tone gets a little too tense, or when his laugh almost sounds genuine. At the end of the evening, Diego slips Hutch his number and leaves him with a gentle squeeze of the arm.And Hutch cannot help but think oh God, I’m so fucked.

                                                              -

Diego texts him two days later, suggesting a lunch. Something public, in the middle of the daytime. Hutch likes the little bistro he’s recommended but doesn’t add that in his text back. Sends a simple sure, instead. Diego comes back with a time, and just like that, it’s a date.

                                                             -

The lunch itself sneaks up on him. He lets Clover parade him in different outfits through their shared apartment. She keeps snapping pics of him and texting them to Mar; loudly explaining that he has to look good if he’s going to be on the cover of whatever gossip rag his Momma sells this story to. He hates her because he knows she’s right. He says as much, and she smirks at him. When the outfit is sufficient, she snaps one last picture and shoos him out the door.

“Good luck! Remember you shouldn’t put out on the first date.” 

He flips her the bird.

                                                            -

The conversation is easy, the food divine. Hutch, for all his nerves and fears, finds Diego incredibly easy to talk to. They talk about Diego’s career, his family, his childhood best friend. Hutch laughs at a story of Diego almost getting set on fire.Diego asks him about his work; how it is, living with Clover; what’s the last book he read.

For a brief second, Hutch can convince himself that this is a date. That Diego is genuinely interested in what he has to say. Time passes quickly, easily, and Hutch begins to savor the moments he makes Diego laugh – but it isn’t long until it all comes to a screeching halt. They pay the bill – or rather, Diego pays the bill – and, as they exit the bistro, he slips his hand into Hutch’s. And it’s then that Hutch sees her. The photographer is well disguised, likely to not cause so much disturbance as to be kicked out. His heart sinks a little as he remembers why this whole charade started in the first place.

Diego turns to him, lifts their joined hands to his mouth and plants one quick kiss on the back of Hutch’s hand. His heart lurches as he realizes with surprise just how dangerous of a player Diego is in this game, why Momma’s so fond of him in the first place.“I had a very nice time with you.” Hutch tries to force down his stupid smile at Diego’s words. (Later, he’ll tell Clover it was for the camera when she flashes him a shot of him looking particularly starstruck.)“Yeah, me too.”

As he walks away, hand stuffed in his pocket as if trying to physically distance himself from the offending member, he realizes that this is going to suck.He’s going to fall in love with this man.Diego will break his heart.

                                                           -

Momma greets him with a hug and a smile, which means good news.She doesn’t have a drink in her hand this time, which means great news.

She ushers her son in, herds him into the living room and then further still into her office. It’s more full than it usually is, papers and monitors cluttering the way from the door to her desk. Raine throws up a hand in greeting before he’s pulled back into work by Eric. Eric doesn’t acknowledge Hutch’s presence, but that’s not anything completely new. He bites back a sigh as his mother, with all her grace, flutters back over to him, a tablet in her hands. Eva must have handed it to her from over the desk.

“Look at these numbers,” she coos at him, and Hutch just nods approvingly. He knows he doesn’t need to speak. Not really.

“And for Mr. García as well.” Eric is by his side in a second, brandishing a different tablet.

“Hello to you too,” he mumbles quietly, and Eric flashes him a smile that’s got too many teeth in it.

He is shown numbers until it all bleeds together: projected wins, voter statistics, who might prompt Mrs. Booth-Baker’s reelection. It’s enough for Hutch to get the memo – he’s doing a good job, and more importantly, he should continue to fulfill it.

He pulls out his phone when he thinks no one is looking and whips out a quick text.

>> Have I ever mentioned I hate my mother’s choice in data analysts??

He shoves his phone in his back pocket quickly, as Eva approaches with a smile and yet more data. His phone buzzes almost immediately and he smiles.

>> Yes.>> On multiple occasions.>> But please do let me know what the grievance is today, I’m on the edge of my seat.

Texting Diego makes the evening go by faster, somehow. Hutch pretends he doesn’t realize that he’s never texted the man for anything other than planning outings before. It feels too new. Eva, the saint that she is, doesn’t comment on his goofy grin every time his phone buzzes, but her eyes sport a knowing look.

                                                           -

They are in the back-stretch of the campaign, and the tension that follows is palpable. Hutch can see how stress lives in Diego’s shoulders, how he fights more to keep his face happy and charming. When they’re alone, Diego slumps more. Lets his eyes close as he breathes.Hutch hurts for him. For all the stress Diego’s under, Hutch can do so little to help.

“There’s a party,” Diego starts, shooting an already sympathetic look towards Hutch. They are alone in his office – Lola is the only one still in the building, and she’s more than busy managing what could be the next big PR scandal (but won’t be). Hutch just nods. He knows his part by now. He is Diego’s date, the little bit of joy that his followers can latch onto and root for. Because really, who finds love in the middle of a campaign? “We don’t have to stay long…” Diego says, and Hutch realizes he’s tuned out most of what Diego’s been saying. He smiles, pats Diego’s hand where it rests on his arm. “It’s fine.” It feels like that’s all he can say at this point. All he’s been saying, because it is fine. It’s fine because Diego needs him and he’s asked. “Maybe it’ll even be fun.” They both laugh, and Hutch’s heart clings to the sound.

                                                          -

For the most part, the party is in fact fine. Mostly, Hutch entertains himself by shooting pictures of incredibly drunk senators to Mar and Clover. He’s lost Diego thirty minutes ago after he ducked out to grab them another round of drinks, and the alcohol has already provided him with a warm buzz. He stands to the side snickering at Mar’s latest reply, without Diego next to him, and he is a nobody. No one gives him a second glance.

He looks up only to spot Diego, all fine-tailored edges and welcoming smiles. Hutch offers him his drink, places a quick peck on the other man’s cheek. Under the mask of professionalism, Hutch can see something is off. He presses in closer to him, wraps his arm through Diego’s.

“You must have some sort of plan, right, Mr. García?” Hutch drags himself away from studying Diego to listen to the conversation at hand. “The girl was from your district, was she not?” And suddenly it clicks.

“We are working hard to help the police in their search for miss Tarry.” It’s a canned reply, something Hutch has helped Diego practice. Hutch hears the strain in the other man’s tone. His heart lurches. The stranger opens his mouth to speak again, something more insistent, and Hutch acts before he can stop himself.“I’m terribly sorry, but I think I need some air.” The reporter’s mouth snaps shut, shifting to form a thin smile, but Hutch doesn’t let the sincere apology drop from his features. He turns and tugs Diego along with him. “Babe– if you don’t mind.” And before Diego even has time to react, Hutch is pushing him out of the ballroom and into the hallway.

“Are you okay?” It’s just the two of them, and all pretences can be dropped. Diego’s shoulder slumps forward, and Hutch pulls the other man to him as the tension finally rushes out of Diego in a wave.Hutch pulls him towards another door, opening it with the hand that isn’t clutching Diego, and pulls the pair of them into a coat closet. He feels Diego breathing against his throat as the other man struggles to retain composure, and Hutch wants to scream that he doesn’t have to. He cannot do much for all the stress and pain he knows Diego feels, but he can do this. Let me do this.

It is quiet for a long time, in the dark of the closet, Diego resting against Hutch’s chest until finally, he pulls away. There is a pain in his eyes when he looks up to meet Hutch’s gaze. A broken sob catches in Diego’s throat as he speaks.“I didn’t do enough to save her.”

Hutch doesn’t know more of the story than what he’s heard on the news. Doesn’t know the part Diego’s played in the case of the missing girl. He didn’t want to push. Didn’t feel like it was his place to do so. He doesn’t fully recognize this version of Diego, this broken version with too many self-sabotaging things on the edge of his tongue.

Diego opens his mouth to speak again, and Hutch pushes in. Closes the distance between them to let their lips crash. He feels Diego freeze underneath his touch, but as Hutch brings his hands to fist into Diego’s hair, he softens. His mouth goes pliant and willing, and Hutch takes. 

He cannot do much for this version of Diego, but he can do this. He’s always been able to do this.

Hutch cannot stop the little moan that follows when Diego licks into his mouth. He pushes at the shoulders of Diego’s suit jacket until the other man gets the message and lets it slip to the floor. Hutch closes the gap again, slipping between Diego’s legs to press as much of his body against the other. He lets his teeth sink ever so gently into Diego’s bottom lip and sucks, and the gasp that follows is worth it. He can feel it in his gut, a new warmth that spreads through. He can do this. “Let me do this,” he whispers, biting down at the spot where Diego’s jaw meets his throat, earning him another gasp.

Hutch drops to his knees and smirks at the groan that accompanies it. A hand comes to lay on his head and scratches down, and Hutch pretends the mewl that comes out of him isn’t at all embarrassing. He hears him swallowing thickly, as he lets his own hands dance over the waistband of Diego’s slacks. He cannot help the wolfish grin that finds its way to his face. He glances up, seeking Diego’s approval, and he gets it with a small nod and a sigh, and Hutch thumbs open the button on Diego’s pants and slides them down.

He mouths at Diego’s hip bone, nips his teeth against the skin; runs his hands along the newly discovered territory of Diego’s thighs. He lets his lips ghost over the fabric separating him from Diego’s half hard-cock. Diego’s hips stutter forward, chasing the feeling, and Hutch lets his forearm stop the motion. When he looks up, Diego has his head thrown back against the wall, and he cannot stop himself from relishing the sight.

In one, slow pull, he pushes down the boxers, emboldened by a rare-found confidence. He lets his tongue drag over his own lips, before he lets them catch around the tip of Diego’s dick. There is a stunted sound that happens above, and a sharp scrape of dull fingernails over his scalp again– and Hutch can’t stop himself, he sinks down in one quick movement taking all of Diego into his mouth. It doesn’t take long after that. He clutches at Diego’s hips to steady himself as he begins to bob his head, the rhythm growing faster, the sounds dirtier. Diego has his hand in his mouth, biting down hard to stop from making too much noise. And his breathing is ragged, broken; a beautiful contrast to the earlier heartbreak.

Diego’s hands slip to Hutch’s neck as he swallows, a calculated move that earns him the moan he was looking for. Diego’s hands move to Hutch’s head, pushing him slightly. It’s a warning, Hutch knows, but he ignores it. Takes him deeper still, lets his throat tighten and flex around the intrusion. Diego comes with a broken sob.The sound is even better, this time.

                                                         -

The drive home is quiet, but not painfully so. Hutch cannot bring himself to look at Diego, only manages to shoot sideways glances from under his eyelashes. Diego does not look at him, either. The car stills in front of Hutch’s house, and he moves to undo his seatbelt. A hand stops him, Diego’s thumb and finger forming a loose circle around his wrist. “Thank you,” is all he says, letting his thumb shift to the pulse point on Hutch’s wrist. His heart jumps and he wonders if Diego can feel it. Hutch nods, no words able to form when he cannot take his eyes off of the point of contact between them. Diego squeezes once before he pulls his hand away, and the skin on Hutch’s wrist burns. He excuses himself from the car.

It still burns as he stands on the sidewalk, his hand holding his wrist, as the car speeds away into the night.

                                                        -

The room is buzzing with it: they’ve won. Hutch isn’t sure when he started thinking of himself as so involved.

The only one still working is Evan, frantically putting the finishing touches on Diego’s victory speech, while the rest open a bottle of champagne. Lola shoots them all a look, a warning that speaks to the fact that they still have an event after this and that no one is to get too drunk. Hutch is silently amazed how much she can portray with just one glance. The twins have four glasses between them already, and Hutch tries not to wince when he sees champagne pooling on the floor. Even Grey has come out from behind their computer with a drink in their hand. They deserve it; they’ve worked hard for this.

He’s caught up in the thrill of it all, sipping on his second glass, already feeling lightheaded, when Diego grabs his hand and pulls him along. Hutch laughs freely and follows, the alcohol already making him feel light and loose. He lets himself be guided, their fingers entwined, and Diego smiles, bright and happy. He doesn’t stop pulling until they’re both in Diego’s office and he’s so goddamn happy it hurts.

“We did it–” The way Diego’s voice hitches like it’s only just now settling in makes Hutch’s heart stop and start.“You did it,” he agrees, nodding as he smiles. And he cannot stop smiling. He meets the other man’s eye, and it’s like a tipping point. Diego pulls him closer, wraps his arms around him and sighs into the crook of his neck. He freezes for a moment, before he lets himself fall, soften; clenches his hands at the back of Diego’s finely pressed dress shirt, the fabric clutched in his fists.

“I couldn’t have done this without you,” Diego whispers like it’s something for just the two of them. A confession. And for a second, Hutch believes him. Believes that Diego needed him, not just Momma’s money. “Thank you.” Diego pulls back, cups Hutch’s face with his hand. “Thank you,” he repeats, letting his thumb trail slowly over his cheek. Hutch tries not to gasp.

And then someone calls on Diego from outside, and he pulls away; out of the door and into the fanfare, and all Hutch can do is watch.

His traitorous brain supplies the rest for him. This is it, it sneers, this is the end of you being needed.

                                                       -

He’s still pining when Lola all but forces the group out of the door and into six matching Ubers. One day he’ll ask how she manages all this so effortlessly, but he knows he won’t get a true answer from her anyway. She’ll fix him with a look and a smile, maybe pat his arm.

He ends up sandwiched between Diego and Evan. They’re talking over him, pointing at the recently finished speech, and Evan has a pen in his hands. Diego keeps looking to Hutch for his consensus on something or the other, and all Hutch can do is nod and try not to focus on how Diego’s leg hasn’t stopped moving since they entered the car.

                                                      -

The speech ends to a deafening roar of applause, and Hutch has been smiling so damn much. But then Diego turns to look behind himself, searching the few members of his staff for something – someone. His eyes lock onto Hutch’s and he reaches out his hand, and Hutch is a fool because he takes it. Diego pulls him to his side and flashes those pearl-white teeth – and then he’s leaning in towards him, Diego’s lips finding Hutch’s own, and he parts his mouth and sighs into it, lets his eyes flutted closed; lets himself have this.

The hoots and hollers from the crowd amp up tenfold: he is the voice of the young LGTBQ+, now, and they came here in droves.

“And,” Diego turns to the mic, his face plastered with his Professional Smile, so different from the one he shared with Hutch in his office hours ago. “–I couldn’t have done it without this man.”

It’s the same sentiment from Diego’s officer earlier, but out here? For the consumption of these strangers? It feels wrong. It feels too much like an act. Hutch smiles, holding on to Diego for dear life, but his gut twists into something ugly and sad.

His parents played this game: Mr. Booth-Baker, the rock that stood behind Mrs. Booth-Baker; the two of them shining in their leading roles as a loving couple. But the world did not see them at home, his father, gone all hours, and his mother, drunk and crying when she thought Hutch had gone to bed.He told himself he would not become another pawn in this game. He would never let his mother use him as such. But it took mere seconds for Diego to unravel his resolve, and Hutch feels used. Raw. Broken.

And– fuck– in love.

The rest of the night goes on without much incident. But Hutch feels like he’s traveling through a fog. He feigns a migraine when Connor comments on his distance, and it’s easy enough – the champagne is already making his temples throb. He tries not to meet Diego’s eyes whenever the other man shoots him a quizzical look.

He excuses himself early, and doesn’t respond to Diego’s text.And if he curls into bed and tries not to cry, so be it.

                                                     -

Mar all but drags him out of bed. Clover must have called in reinforcements. Which is only fair, he muses. It’s been three months since Diego won his seat and Hutch has been useless ever since.Mar sits at the end of his bed scowling as he shuffles through his clothes, delaying the inevitable. “We’re going to The Last Drop, not your funeral,” she admonishes. She’s perfectly put together, but it looks effortless, as if she’s just rolled out of bed. Hutch has always been envious of her easy style.“I’m moving as fast as I can,” he whines, but it’s not believable.And, as if right on cue, Clover is at the door, “–No, you’re not.” She has her phone out in her hand. “I told Raine we would be there ten minutes ago, and if you make them wait I’m never forgiving you.” Hutch sighs and throws on a shirt Mar has tossed his way.

                                                    -

“So, you’re still pining right?” It’s Raine that breaks through his fog-addled thoughts, and Clover is outright laughing at him. He grimaces at her before turning back to Raine. “I’m not pining.” He grits his teeth as Clover laughs harder. Raine’s face twists in confusion.“I thought you guys were in love or something,” they manage, and if Clover wasn’t already doubled over, she would be by now.“Oh, they are,” Mar responds. She doesn’t even look up from her phone. She’s texting her new boyfriend, Sam, who was meant to meet them here later. She doesn’t even dignify Hutch’s scoff of disagreement. “But our friend Hutch here is a big fuckin’ idiot.”Raine nods knowingly, an oh falling from their lips. He’s known the Booth-Bakers for a while, working for Hutch’s mother. They know that to be true.“I did not come out to be belittled.” Hutch huffs, slinking down into his seat more.“Then maybe you should tell your fucking boyfriend how you feel.” Clover has stopped laughing to look at him pointedly.

Hutch sighs and takes a drink. Pointedly doesn’t say anything about Diego not being his boyfriend, not really anyway.

                                                   -

By the end of the night, he’s almost having fun. Almost. 

                                                  -

It’s the last event on the calendar. Hutch has been dreading the day as it approached, faster and faster. It’s a simple wrap-up interview, something to solidify Diego’s success story. To make it consumable for the masses. It will have no mention of the Booth-Baker money that helped finance his campaign, but it will have many a mention of Diego’s heartstopping romance that made the man seem so goddamn human during the whole campaign. Hutch has to come as a show of support: the gossip rags have more than noticed his recent lack of presence in Diego’s life.

The magazine is not a gossipy thing, but a legitimate paper and the journalist is good – DeSouza, Hutch thinks his name is. Momma vetted them all and picked this one, so he has that going for him. And he starts the interview off easy, makes a few passing jokes at Diego, asks him to call him Romeo. Hutch tries to stomach the jealousy he feels at the easy conversation that he so dearly misses. He’s been responding to Diego’s texts more, guilt after his night of drinking with Mar and Clover, but it isn’t the same.

“And what about your man?” Romeo laughs at the foolish wording at it, and Diego joins him. Hutch’s heart lurches forward in his chest.

“There is so much to say.” Diego is still laughing, and Hutch cannot help but feel like he’s being cut open. This is fate’s sick joke for agreeing with his mother’s meddling; he’s sure of it. “He stood by me through everything.” Diego searches behind the lights for Hutch’s eyes, finding them and smiling, big and true. “He’s the reason I’m here.” Hutch closes his eyes, and breathes. Tries to stop the flood of emotion, but he can’t. Not here, not now.He runs.

Diego catches his hand before he can truly escape. He’s only made it so far as the hallway anyway. Diego looks hurt and confused and apologetic all at once like he’s not quite sure what Hutch needs from him – and all Hutch can feel is his manic need to getaway. “What’s wrong?” Diego is still too calm, even as his voice hints at the distress under the surface.It stops Hutch dead in his tracks.

“How can you lie like that?” 

He wants desperately to be angry, to throw it into Diego’s face, but he can’t. He’s tired and heartsick and all he can manage is something that sounds so desperate he wants to hide.Diego looks at him with confusion, and then deep, heartbreaking understanding. His face softens into a gentle smile, the kind Hutch has only ever seen when they’re alone. “I’m not lying.” He tugs on Hutch’s hand, and Hutch gives in. Because he’s a fool, but… maybe he’s not a fool about this.“You weren’t lying?” he parrots back, and Diego chuckles softly, bringing a hand up to cup Hutch’s face.“No.” 

It’s all he needs to hear, he pushes forward catching Diego’s next laugh with his mouth. And he sighs. 

He’s a goddamn fool.

[danfanciesphil]

Bodyguard au rn miss 💋💋

hey anyone that wanted me to write the bodyguard au inspired by this picture of phil, here’s what i got for u xoxo

On Thursdays, their busiest nights, the club offers two for one drinks for anyone who gets there before twelve, meaning the line outside the door often snakes all the way down to the pier. It’s gotten warmer over the last month, so Phil no longer has to feel as guilty about the hoards of people shivering in their skimpy outfits for hours in the freezing seaside air, but it’s still not fun being the guy who has to make them all wait. Strict club rules though - no more than fifteen people to be let in at once, staggered in five minute intervals.

A few people are trying to engage Phil in chatter, but he remains stoic and silent, arms folded just below the stitching on his tight black t-shirt that reads ‘Try It Mate’. The people at the front of the queue, a girl in tattered tights and a birthday sash flanked by two equally bimbo-ish friends, are finding this t-shirt hilarious, and keep yelling this at him, as if they actually think he can’t hear them standing two feet away. He’s had a lot of practice at ignoring drunken screeching though, so he just stares at the roiling sea in the distance, fast-forwarding his brain a few hours, to when he can relax in his bed, eat leftover pizza and play some video game he could complete blindfolded.

Billy, the other bouncer working tonight, taps Phil discreetly on the arm - the signal that enough time has passed to let some more people in. With a quiet sigh, Phil turns and unhooks the rope separating him from the drunk girls, and inclines his head to let them through. As they stumble inside the door, flashing their passports and driver’s licences, Billy makes a disapproving face. Phil knows that some bouncers would label the girls as ‘TDTD’ (too drunk to dance), and not let them inside, but Phil can’t be bothered to go through that whole charade with them. They look the sort that would kick off, and hold up the queue even more. They’re straight, probably, out on a girls night for the sash-girl’s birthday, and fancy trying out a gay club just to be daring. It pisses Phil off, and if he were more like Billy, weathered by years of the job and willing to take no nonsense, he might be more inclined to refuse them entry.

But it’s too late now, they’re already inside, likely ordering prosecco at a bar that serves mostly jagerbombs and cheap imitation cosmos, then clambering up on the podiums with the professional dancers and drag queens to show off for their Instagram feed. Billy nudges him in the side, and Phil realises he’s still watching the entrance where the girls disappeared, and not focusing on the queue. He turns quickly to the next person - tall, skinny, dressed in a crop top that looks like it’s made for a doll, a thin, satin, pink and white bomber jacket, and a pair of denim shorts so tiny that they barely begin to cover the person’s ass. The highlight of the ensemble is the lilac wig that cascades in loose curls down to waist-level, complete with a thick fringe that hangs down over whoever’s eyes are hiding behind it.

Phil takes one look at this joker and has half a mind to turn them away without even speaking to them, but a skinny arm reaches up to offer an ID, so Phil sighs and takes it even though every one of his spidey-senses is tingling. It’s a green driver’s permit, not even a full license; the date printed would make the owner twenty-one. Phil gives the lanky figure in front of him another brief once-over - no way are they a day over eighteen, and that’s pushing it. His eyes flick to the name: Daniel James Howell. There’s a photo too of course, of an attractive, far more masculine-presenting, clean-cut young adult with a slight side-fringe. The lilac-haired beauty in front of Phil does not, in his opinion, match this general look. Still, he supposes it’s his job to make sure.

“What’s your name?” Phil asks, starting off easy so he doesn’t humiliate the kid.

“I guess you could call me Dan, most of the time,” lilac-hair says in an unexpectedly sure, confident voice; Phil can’t be sure whether the tremor he can hear is in from cold or from their nerves about being caught.  

“Don’t sound very sure about that.”

They get a lot of this kind of thing. Young, nervous gay guys - it’s mostly guys - sneaking out to come for their first gay club experience, usually dressed up in their mum or sister’s clothes, disguised but still scared shitless that someone will clock them and they’ll be forced prematurely out of the closet. This kid is likely still in school, desperate to find a place he can be himself - unfortunately, the law is the law, and he’ll just have to come back when he’s old enough to have a real ID.

“Think I don’t know my own name?” the kid asks. “Listen, from nine to five, my name’s Dan Howell. But I’m not going by Dan tonight, get me?”

The irritation in this person’s voice makes Phil pause. Normally, a bad attitude like this would be enough of a deterrent that they’d risk getting turned away, but if anything, on lilac-hair the attitude is just confusing. What does he have to be irritated about? He’s got no gaggle of friends with him, nor does he appear to be in a hurry. Phil’s just trying to do his job - if this person is underage, they must’ve known this might happen.

He studies the ID again, noting that for a fake it’s very convincing. He turns to flash the small green card at Billy, who frowns at it, then shrugs in a ‘looks real to me’ way. Phil’s gaze drifts back to lilac-hair and asks, “what’s your star sign?”

A tiny smile spreads over thin, glossed pink lips. “Is that the best you can come up with?”

Absurdly, Phil feels himself grow warm with embarrassment. It makes no sense - he’s been flirted with hundreds of times working here and it’s never so much as rattled him before. He shrugs it off, trying to appear unamused. “I’m not flirting with you, I’m trying to see if you’re fucking about with me. Might wanna play along, sunshine.”

The pink lips part to let out a sigh of frustration. “I’m a gemini. Wanna know my bra size too?”

The dates on the ID work; Phil long ago learned the correct dates for the star signs for this exact reason. He ignores the snarky follow up question, which is good of him. “Can you lift your wig, please?”

Lilac-hair hesitates, then flicks the long locks falling by their ears back over each shoulder, revealing a lot of pale skin and sharp, jutting collarbones. Phil averts his eyes quickly - if this person is underage, he can’t be staring inappropriately. Not that he should be doing that with any customers that are legal either.

“Not like that,” Phil says, brusquely, “I can’t see your eyes.”

Lilac-hair lifts their head, chin jutting out, and behind the unbrushed lilac strands, Phil can almost make out two dark, almond-shaped eyes staring back at him. Phil can’t help an amused smile forcing its way out, born from the kid’s stubborn defiance. This person is not about to let Phil off easily, if they are lying about their age.

So, mostly to speed things along, Phil reaches out a hand - very much without thinking - and pushes the purple fringe back. The kid’s eyes are round and startled, which is fair enough, as Phil hadn’t even known he was going to make such a bold move until he’d already done it. This is far from protocol, probably, touching the customers unless they’re being belligerent and require forcible removal. But he’s too far in now, holding the handful of acrylic hair out of this person’s face. And yep, it’s at once completely obvious that he is, in fact, the same person as the man in the ID photo - no question about it.

The ID is, apparently, real. Lilac hair is twenty-one years of age, and Phil’s just got to accept it. Not a kid at all. He releases the fringe, and lilac-hair blinks as it falls back into their eyes.

“Satisfied?” Lilac hair huffs, straightening the fringe with their fingers.

“In you go,” is all Phil replies, a little gruffly because he knows he’d been wrong to prematurely assume this person was trying to break the law from appearance alone. He hates that his own prejudice can sometimes leak through when assessing people in this job, though he tries his hardest to be totally impartial. He hands ‘Dan’ their ID back and lets them through the rope. Lilac-hair takes their time about going through, pulling the wig back around his shoulders, then swaying their hips as they swan by. Despite knowing he shouldn’t, Phil’s eyes fall to the curve of  lilac’s ass, peeking through the hotpants as they head to the door. Phil never wears wigs, but he sees a lot of people in them working here, and long ago learned the difference between a cheap ‘party city’ wig, and an expensive one. The one lilac is wearing is definitely on the cheaper end of the scale, but it’s gorgeous in its tackiness, like the person inside it knows that the pastel colour is exactly their shade. The plastic hair falls in a great tumble down a tapered back, bouncing just above the waistband of those tiny shorts. The sight is unforgettable, Phil can already feel it burning into his retinas, to be replayed in the dark, when he’s alone.

Billy clears his throat then, breaking Phil out of his trance. He rips his eyes away, sheepishly, turning to Billy. “Not a good idea to put your hands on ‘em,” Billy reminds him in his low, rough voice. “Some of ‘em get shirty about it.”

Phil nods, glad of the darkness hiding his flush, and turns to the next set of people in the queue.

*

At around half one, Phil signals to Billy that he needs to take a piss. The queue is long gone by now, and they’ve moved into the second half of their shift, which is watching the smoking area for people trying to do drugs, and kicking people to the kerb if they get too drunk. There haven’t been too many of either instances this evening, so Phil feels pretty safe about leaving Billy alone for five minutes. He heads inside, scooting behind the bar to get across to the toilets so that he doesn’t have to barge through the crowds on the dancefloor. The bartenders all nod at him as he passes, some exchanging harried looks with him because it’s rammed in here, and they all spent the first few hours of the night making two of every drinks order.

In the unisex bathroom, Phil pees quickly then washes his hands; he notices a few people scarpering from cubicles at the sight of him, but doesn’t bother try and catch them. They’re either doing drugs or having sex, and either one is moronic to do in a bathroom stall if you ask him. He does do a quick scout of the cubicles before he leaves, knocking on doors and saying stern things in the hopes of scaring them into sense for a bit.

It’ll only work for a while - once they know he’s out of sight they’ll be back at it again, but there’s not much he can do about it. They check likely suspects for pills and powders on the way in, and confiscate a fair amount, but Phil’s not dumb and knows there’s a hundred ways they could be hiding it.

It’s as he gets to the bar again that Phil notices the swirling lights washing over a familiar waterfall of lilac, in front of the bar waiting to be served. There’s a guy next to lilac hair, obnoxiously crowding them in a way that Phil is all too familiar with. The guy has a wifebeater on with the word ‘woof’ scrawled across the chest. He’s also wearing a snapback indoors. Both of these are major red flags for Phil, who has seen and kicked out a lot of classic douchebags in his time.

He pauses, waiting to see the scene unfold. The bartenders are swamped with orders from the hoard of people crammed up against the bar - lilac has been pushed right to the edge with woof-man. Unless he’s willing to give up his place in the makeshift queue, he won’t be able to escape unwanted advances. Phil waits, certain that woof is seconds away from making his pig-headed move. He doesn’t have to wait long.

Woof-man leans in and whispers something into the folds of the lilac wig. Whatever is said makes lilac recoil in disgust. To stop him moving away, woof-man reaches out and grabs lilac-hair by the outer hip, his meaty hand cupping the whole of his right ass-cheek, then tugs him in sharply. Already Phil is moving towards them at the sight of this, and that’s when woof-man squeezes his fistful of flesh, apparently quite hard, because in the next second, lilac is calmly reaching between two people to grab a leftover beer on the bar, and promptly upending it over woof’s head. The guy roars, half-drowned by the loud music, but audible enough that the near vicinity of people turn to see. Woof pulls off his snapback and shakes it out, furious; lilac flinches as the droplets of beer spray at him, but doesn’t try to run away. Phil reaches them then, alarm pumping through him to the beat of a Tove Lo song, and promptly inserts himself between the two, his back to lilac, one hand on woof’s chest.

“Oi, that’s enough,” Phil barks in his usual ‘bouncer voice’.

“It’s him not me!” Woof insists, as Phil knew he would. “That little fucker chucked a beer on me!”

“Out of nowhere, was it?” Phil’s already done with this dickhead. “I saw you grab ‘em, so don’t even try it. Far as I’m concerned, you deserve the beer bath.”

Woof’s face flushes red in fury. “Oh, get lost, you wanker. Look at ‘im. Boys don’t dress like that to be treated like Royalty, mate. He fuckin’ wants it.”

A white hot, blinding rage pierces Phil right through the chest. Something primal awakens in him, picturing lilac’s sweet, pretty features as he lifted the fringe from their eyes. “Right,” Phil growls through clenched teeth, “out.”

“What?!” Woof is practically frothing at the mouth. “You can’t do that!”

“I bloody well can mate,” Phil says; he’s hoping that woof will listen to him, as he’s seconds away from throwing a punch, “I’m the bouncer. Out. We don’t want your sort in here.”

The guy scoffs, squaring up, but he’s wobbly, obviously tipsy, and Phil just has to take one sombre, utterly unfazed step towards him, shoulders drawn up to elevate their height difference, and the guy sinks backwards. Phil loves watching the recalculating whirr of their slowly ticking, moronic brains.

“Whatever,” the guy spits, sending a dirty look over Phil’s shoulder, “this place is shite anyway.”

Thankfully, he turns, stalking away, and Phil watches long enough to make sure he heads for the door. Once he’s out of sight, Phil turns, somewhat unsurely, back to lilac, who is staring at Phil, the fringe parted into two curtains that split in curves across a smooth forehead. It’s nice to see those eyes again; they shouldn’t be hidden, Phil thinks..

“Thanks,” lilac says. “But I could’ve handled it.”

“No trouble,” Phil replies, chuckling at lilac’s continued defiance, “‘s what I’m here for. You ok?”

Lilac nods contemplatively, those brown eyes flicking over Phil’s face, head tilted. He’s wearing makeup, Phil notices. Something sparkly wiped across his eyelids and cheeks. Pink lipgloss. Maybe mascara too. Phil feels a curl of something he hasn’t felt for a long time, twisting and writhing like a worm in his gut. He squashes it down, embarrassed by his attraction to such an obvious display of faux-feminine allure. Such a cliche, lusting after the pretty boys, or not-boys perhaps, considering what ‘Dan’ had said outside.

“Bet you get that problem a lot,” Phil says, not thinking. He only realises how much like a come-on it sounds when it’s too late.

Lilac’s eyebrow quirks, and the corner of his mouth twitches up in a surprised smile. “You sure you’re not flirting with me?”

The blush whips into Phil’s cheeks so fast it nearly unstables him. He’s suddenly very aware of the intense effect this person seems to be having on him, just due to their proximity. Sure, beneath the overpowering performance of that wig lies an extraordinarily pretty human, but Phil daily encounters lots of beautiful people in this job. Gay club patrons tend to go ham on the glitz and glamour.

It’s just something about lilac, in their skimpy clothes that look like they were stitched out of a teenage girl’s bedroom curtains, and the cheap synthetic that somehow transforms the outfit into something bewitching. The makeup is done imperfectly, the sparkly blue varnish on their nails is  half bitten off. But there’s no denying the effect lilac has, and seems to know they have, judging by the flirtatious smile being aimed his way.

“Of course not,” Phil says anyway, bristling. He averts his eyes; lilac’s stare is lasering right through him. “I work here.”

“Me too,” lilac replies, one bony shoulder shrugging up. Fingers come up to tuck a strand of wig behind an ear, revealing a glinting diamond stud, big and gaudy, in one lobe. “As of about ten minutes ago.”

Phil’s half sure he’s misheard, perhaps due to dizzying effect this person seems to be having on him, as if lilac’s fingers are plucking at every thread stitching him together, unravelling him bit by bit.

“What?”

“They’ve taken me on. Probationary only for now, but I’ll convince them soon enough,” lilac says, then finally catches the eye of Melissa, their head bartender. Lilac mouths ‘sambucca’ at her, then holds up two fingers; she nods, glancing at Phil as if to say ‘did you really let this child in through the front door?’.  “I do drag,” lilac says, teeth and tongue teasing out the word. “Or a kind of drag, I guess.”

“Oh,” Phil says, dumbed. He’s not sure what a ‘kind of’ drag could mean, but there’s no doubt that it’s an intriguing thought. “Right.”

Under normal circumstances, Phil would find it more than suspicious that anyone in a cheap wig and very basic outfit, someone barely manage to squeeze past the bouncers in here tonight due to their youthful appearance, could have somehow secured a highly coveted spot amongst some of the best drag acts in Brighton. This club is known for its regular, popular drag performances, happening on Fridays and Saturdays. Phil hadn’t even known the manager was looking for new talent - usually they hold auditions and have a long selection process, so the idea that someone would be able to walk in off the street and find work is almost unfathomable.

But these circumstances aren’t normal. Lilac is not just another drag act, Phil can sense it. If they’re able to hypnotise Phil, snatch him up body and soul with just a flutter of lashes and a few coy smiles, it’s almost terrifying to think what lilac could do to a whole room of people.

“I’m very good,” lilac says then around a knowing smile, so confident that Phil just nods in total acceptance.

Melissa pushes two shot glasses across the bar towards them, then shouts that it’ll be six pounds. Lilac starts digging into some non-existent pocket in those shorts; to stop himself staring, Phil cups a hand around his mouth and shouts to Melissa, “put it on my tab.”

Lilac’s eyes flick up to him through a haze of pastel. “Thanks,” is the response, before they pick up the shots and down both of them one after the other. Phil blinks, chastened. Of course he wasn’t certain that this jewel of a person was attempting to by him a drink, especially as they know Phil is working, but even so… it had sort of looked that way for a minute. Lilac flicks their lashes about, bored, then lands a chocolate gaze back on Phil. “Guess I’ll see you around, then.”

Lilac pushes off the bar, already headed into the midst of the throng. The sight of the lilac covered back retreating is almost unbearable. Phil’s arm shoots out before he can stop it, catching lilac’s arm. Lilac snatches it away quickly, probably way too used to being grabbed at, and Phil feels slimy, holds his hands up in a show of surrender. Lilac has turned on the spot, is staring at him expectantly, warily.

There’s no in point in asking Phil why he’d felt the urge to halt this person’s exit, because he has no idea. He just needed one last, proper, good look at those beautiful, beguiling features before he had to bid farewell for an indefinite amount of time.

“Well?” lilac asks, though because of the music, Phil can only tell what they’d said by how those pink lips shaped the word.

“What’s your name?” Phil asks, for lack of anything better. Anything to prolong the inevitable parting of ways. “Your drag name,” Phil clarifies, hoping it’s the right question.

It seems to make lilac smile, if only slightly. They shift their weight onto one foot, hip jutting out to the side. A gauze of blue passes diagonally over their face, highlighting the gleam in their eyes.

“O-livia Truth,” he says slowly, enunciating each syllable. “I start on Friday. Blow me a kiss from the crowd.” Then, with a spin on a pink stiletto, they’re gone.

[pinkykitten]

Dressed Up

Marvel 

Yon-Rogg x female! reader

Warning: curse words, reader being cringy 

Specifics: comedy, fluff, romance, pictures, one-shot, self-conscious reader, insecure reader, race neutral reader

People: yon-rogg, carol danvers

Words: 1,835

Requested: By anon Hello! It's the au anon here again lol. I wasn't aware of that so thanks for replying! <3. Then could you write one where reader likes Yon-rogg but isn't aware that he likes her too bc he's like a god (in her eyes) and there's no way someone like him would even notice smn like her. Thank you <3

Authors Note: again sorry i dont do au’s and sorry for taking a lifetime to write this. i feel like im always saying that but i mean it everytime. i am grateful for you guys being patient it means a lot and just thank you guys for still supporting my blog and reading my trash. so enjoy some sarcastic carol and a shopping spree nobody asked for. 

You stared from afar from your side of the training base. Your head leaning against your palms, daydreaming. Wishing. Just wishing he could take one glance your way. 

You all had just finished another lesson. Another lesson to which you stumbled a little at your teacher, Yon-Rogg, but only because he placed his hands on your waist to teach you a move. 

“Whats wrong little lady?” Vers stopped by, your best friend sitting beside you sweating. “You seem out of it today.”

“Its nothing, really.” As you said this your eyes made contact to Yon-Rogg bending down to pick up his towel. You bit your lip and did not blink once!

Vers hummed to herself, “oooooooooooooooh I see.”

“See what?”

“His as*! No I’m just playing with you. No I see that you like the man.”

You didn’t even try to fight. You shrugged and shook your head, “yeah Vers but think about it. This godly delicious creature of a man even looking at moi! I don’t think so...at all. He’s him and I’m,” you gulped and took a glance at yourself. “Well you get the picture.”

“Y/n don’t worry, the best thing about being in a relationship is being yourself. You have to be truthful.”

“I can’t Vers, I just can’t. I mean I want to be truthful but with him its just different.”

Vers took a hold of your hand, “no woman should have to disguise themselves to deserve love. You are beautiful enough, you are smart enough, you are enough.”

You chuckled, “thanks...my hero.”

Vers giggled and jokingly wiped non existent tears, “girl, I am flattered. Just keep the compliments going, we got time.”

“-But I need to do this another way.”

Vers mentally slapped herself on the face, “so what, all that pep talk went straight through one ear and entered out the other?”

“Yep, and I’m gonna need your help!”

Vers gave a face of disgust. “Oh shi* I don’t like the sound of that.”

You and Vers entered your room, tired, worn out from all the-

“I can’t believe you just dragged me to go on a shopping spree with you,” Vers whined as she dropped herself on your bed. 

You hauled all the bags on your table and slumped on your chair, “I can’t believe I wasted that much money.” You and Vers laughed hard. 

“Well I see that this is my leave so good luck in all your sexiness and yeah-”

Clutching onto her sleeve you gave her a death glare as you glanced up, “I am not done with you yet.”

“God okay woman. What else do you want me to do? Wipe your as*.”

“Haha very funny,” you sarcastically answered. “No I need help with my outfit.”

It felt like it took forever! Your makeup was glamorous, making you look like a model, no a goddess! You put on jewelry, keeping it simple but sexy. The hoop earrings dangled lightly atop your shoulders, just grazing the skin from time to time as they twirled from your movement. You added a blinged up choker, it wasn’t too tight but just enough to look almost attached to your skin. You slipped on your tight outfit and had some skin showing. Last but not least you applied some lip gloss on your lips. The shimmer making your lips irresistible. You put your heels on and called out to Vers, “okay I’m finished...close your eyes.”

You peeked and saw she was listening to orders, “good.” You jumped out and yelled, “ta-da!”

Vers opened her eyes and gasped, “oh my god! Y/n you look super hot! Yes, get it girl! You got this!”

You twirled around and looked at yourself in the mirror. 

You enjoyed what you saw in the reflection but you wondered if Yon-Rogg would like what he sees.

“So you like it?”

Vers hugged you and nodded, “I do, but I always like the real you more, but its nice for a change. And also who said it was bad for a woman to wear makeup? I mean men can get all hot and whatever from time to time, well then so can us girls!”

You smiled and thanked Vers walking out to go see Yon-Rogg. 

He was by himself in the cafeteria, writing and just focused. Seeing that there was no one there you felt nervous and was about to dart back to your room when your heels alarmed him and he called out to you.

“Hi there, sorry if you’re doing something, I can come back another time,” you bashfully looked away from him. He wasn’t saying a word and thats when you peered at his face, you could see he was speechless. His mouth was opened just a bit. 

“Sorry,” he apologized blushing a little. “Please if you would like to, you could sit here.” He pointed to the seat in front of him. You nodded and almost ran to the chair but kept your cool. 

Now Yon-Rogg got a really good look at you. “May I just say, you look exquisite this evening y/n.”

“Thank you, Commander.” 

“Please call me Yon-Rogg...I bet it sounds way better coming out of your lips.”

You laced your fingers together, feeling the aura heating up. The setting becoming a flirtatious one, “alright then, Yon-Rogg.”

He giggles and nods, “well, I was right.”

“So what are you writing?” You asked as you motioned your head to the paper that sat in front of him. 

“Its a summary of how everyone today did in their training. Things they need to work on, progression.”

You slumped in your chair out of frustration, “oh that is not good.”

“What?”

“Oh I was talking about me. I did kinda fail today.”

Yon-Rogg focuses on you instead of the paper and grabs your hands, “let me ask you something y/n, did you try today?”

You were quick with an answer, “of course Comman- I mean Yon-Rogg. Of course I tried, I always try.”

Yon-Rogg leaned back in his seat, “see there, thats all you can do. Try. Thats all that matters to me, when I look at you all I want to observe is that you are trying. And thats what I always see with you.”

“Well its all thanks to you, I mean if you hadn’t shown us what a incredible leader you are and encouraged me then we probably would be having a different conversation right now but you only teach me good qualities.”

Yon-Rogg gave a charming smile, “may I ask, why are you so dressed up today?”

You almost choked on air and gripped tightly the table. “Um I was just going for a walk.”

Yon-Rogg looks below the table and sees your high heels, “in those?”

You changed your composure quickly, knowing you sounded dumb. You tried to show more of your physique. Displaying your breasts and popping out your butt. You puffed your lips out more and nodded, “yeah these shoes help tone the legs real nice for you, you tough man.”

You were losing control of yourself. You were trying to flirt but it was not working, flirting was not in your DNA. Yon-Rogg gave a look of curious. 

Next, you tried to grab his pen and put it in your mouth but you dropped it and as you were picking it up you bumped your head against the table. 

“Are you alright?” Yon-Rogg asked very worried.

You touched your head and only winced lightly, “yeah I’m fine...baby.” You tried to bite his pen sexy but you ended up gnawing it leaving a dent. 

You were just done. You were embarrassing yourself and you could tell by Yon-Rogg’s face that he was weirded out as well.

“I’m sorry this was a mistake.” You tried to stand up quickly but wearing your heels made you trip and fall into Yon-Rogg’s arms. He was there to catch you. You held onto his biceps for support and looked up to be so close to his handsome face. 

“H-hi there,” you stuttered as you were so bashful at the moment.

“Tell me the truth y/n. Why did you dress up like this tonight?”

“Fine, I wanted to impress you. Well not only that, there is like a long list so you might be here for a while its just, I like you a lot Comm- gosh sorry I keep doing that I mean Yon-Rogg. I like you a lot but not as in a way of friends or like wow you are my leader I like you a lot even though yes thats true I just don’t like you as a friend, I mean I do but-” You took a huge breath and calmed your nerves. “Let me start over. I want to see if you would like to go on a date, that offer still stands but I knew you probably did not like the other me. The less glamorous me. I mean you have made such an impact on not just me but to all of Kree. How could someone like that date someone like me? I just wanted to be better for you, but I ruined it.” You looked down ashamed and disappointed with yourself. 

Yon-Rogg was silent but lifted your face with his forefinger and thumb. “None of those things you said about yourself is true. You did not have to do anything to prove your worth to me. Don’t get me wrong I love this look but I also love who you really are. You are more than what you think. I ask myself how could someone so beautiful, so daring, so amazing go out with a guy so serious and who keeps his emotions hidden. I tried to do that with you y/n, but you are truly something else. I can’t keep what I feel for you hidden anymore. I love you y/n. I truly mean that, and you don’t have to show me you are capable of great things I can already see it when I look at you.”

You crashed your lips against his and laced your fingers into his hair. “Thank you Yon-Rogg.”

“Never gets old.”

You two were about to walk side by side together as now a couple when he stopped you. “Before we move any further can we please get rid of these wretched shoes. I mean they are sexy on you but these guys are a bit rough.” 

You let go of the breath you were holding in, “oh my gosh yes please I thought you would never say that.” You took your shoes off and held them in your hand. 

“But I do like this on you,” Yon-Rogg said about your outfit, feeling over the material and tracing his hands on your butt. “Can you wear this more often please?”

You laughed as you walked hand in hand with him, “I don’t know, I have to think about it.”

“Oh you naughty girl, I see you like to play dirty. Fine two can play that game.”

Tag list: @harrington-lover, @angelgl16, @perfectlybeautifulsuit, @hyehoney, @haven-prelude (wont let me tag), @leasly, @totally-alexa21, @creamy-pasta-boi, @multireese, @fanfictionrecommendations-com, @prentisskelley, @malereaderforkpop (wont let me tag), @guardian-of-cookies, @justafangirl-97, @teenageshitposts (wont let me tag), @andreaoreas, @dippergravity (wont let me tag), @some-booty, @fromfoolishpeopletodeadpeople, @collectiveyou, @wtfisalltherandoms, @fangirl-4-life415, @dirbel, @marwantr, @divaanya, @wassupitschloe, @idontknowwhattocallthisworld (wont let me tag), @spycii, @woeisbutwoe, @pormacskaa

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[bisexual-inuyasha]

Snow Drift

If snow can drift, so can leaves and dust and responsibilities. – Neil Hilborn, “Snow Theory”

A/N: BotW AU, where Ling is Prince of Xing. He’s supposed to be able to feel the Dragon Pulse, supposed to be able to stop what’s coming like his Father and his Father’s Father before him. He goes to the Spring of Power to see if he can trigger his abilities. His faithful Knight follows him.

Ling stared at the lump of rock. The scene was picture perfect: light filtered through the clouds to shine pointedly on the statue, silent princes glowed in the shadows, and his Knight stood with his back turned in an illusion of privacy. Ling had never been more miserable.

The rock remained a rock. No sweet voice called out to him. No power thrummed through the water. Nothing happened at all except that now his legs were wet. The dread gnawed its way up his spine. Fear clawed at his throat. He could feel the walls of expectation closing in on him. Suddenly the Spring was too enclosed. All the empty space above him meant nothing because he could not see the sky.

“Why can’t I hear anything? Why can’t I do this? What’s wrong with me?” His question bounced back to him, louder as it echoed off the rocks. He couldn’t even revel alone in his anguish successfully. Ed would have heard.

He took his time turning around. If he moved slowly enough, Ed would give up trying to sneak a look at him before Ling faced him. Then he could avoid his face for the rest of the day.

He dove under the water. White robes rose in a cloud above him. The water wasn’t deep enough to fully submerge into, but with his head between his knees, he couldn’t see or hear anything above the water.

He looked around. The Spring was peaceful. A frog pushed its way through the water with its powerful legs. The glow of a silent prince cast his voluminous robes in soft blues, completing the illusion he’d dove into a cloud. He wondered how long he could hold his breath. He started counting the stones on the bottom of the water until he could feel his lungs burning.

He’d reached sixty before a boot interrupted his counting. He didn’t have time to ready himself. A hand grabbed his robe and pulled him up to his knees. Water dripped down his forehead and nose, dribbled down to his chin. Like he’d planned, all the salty tears he’d cried had been left behind in the Spring.

“What were you trying to do, drown yourself?” Ed’s usually calm voice snapped. The Knight’s temper didn’t at up much, and almost never at Ling. Duty all but forbade it. When it did, a sticky embarrassment clung to Ling until he’d been properly restored to Ed’s good graces.

“Don’t be silly, there can’t be more than two feet of water here. I was just having a swim is all.” Ling waved Ed’s worry away and stretched his lips into a smile.

“You’re wet and we’ve got to get back to the palace. The air is freezing.” Ed squeezed one of Ling’s long sleeves. Water streamed between his fingers and splashed into the pool. “You’ll get hypothermia.”

“Not with your determination—I’m sure you’ve already got a plan to make me all better again.” The outfit was heavy and cold and cumbersome. His horse hadn’t like it anyway. He’d told his father he hadn’t liked the outfit, but the Spring of Power was sacred and so his clothes must be too. He should have brought a change.

Ed watched him for a moment, hands resting back on their sword. His metal fingers twitched every few seconds, though Ed didn’t seem to notice. Ling noted Ed’s flesh hand had no such tics. He had noticed too many things too often about Ed. His contemplative eyes at dinner when he ate with his brother and brainstormed strategies to defend the Palace. His heavy smile whenever he returned from Zora’s domain with new Winry tales. His silent anger in meetings where Revali spoke over Ling in favor of the bird champion’s own ideas. The King would not approve.

Princes did not fall in love with Knights. Certainly not a Prince whose destiny was very clear. He would defeat Ganon. There was no time for anything else.

“It is my duty to protect you. Understand?” Ed’s face burned red.

Ed took off his tunic. There were scars beneath. Old ones, like the rugged edge of his automail and the small cut under his eye. Ling saw newer ones, too. Fresher, pinker than the others. A long scar across his side—a misstep with the Master sword—was the newest. Ling thought he could still see a few marks where the stitches had only just healed.

Ling had been so concentrated on Ed’s chest and arms he hadn’t fully recognized what Ed was offering. It wasn’t until he saw the arm outstretched, tunic hanging from the ticking fingers, that Ling registered what he was meant to do

“You want me to wear that?”

“The robes are the heaviest thing you’re wearing, which means they’ll take the longest to dry. We don’t have that kind of time. With that much water freezing on you, you wouldn’t make it three steps.”

Ling frowned. “What will you wear?”

Ed gestured over his bare torso. “I’ll be fine.”

Arguing would be fruitless. Ed had done this sort of thing before. Ling suspected acts of pointed selflessness made him feel heroic. He’d had few chances to prove himself so far but the King said that would be changing soon. Ling had no doubts Ed would be more than ready. Already the Knight was proficient in sword work, had proven himself to a begrudging Revali, endeared himself to Armstrong in Goron. In a matter of time, Riza would tell Ling about some amazing feat he pulled in Gerudo.

“Why do you look like that?” Ed didn’t turn around while Ling took off his robes. But he didn’t watch him either.

“Like what?”

Ed was silent for a moment. Ling could hear the ticking. He’d hear that sound forever. He was certain of it. “Like you’re hollow,” Ed finally turned to look at him when the tunic fell over his head. “All the way through here.”

Ed poked Ling’s chest with an automail finger.

Ling’s mouth fell open. A whirlwind of emotion spun through him at once but only one thought fought its way up his throat. “How do you see?”

Ed must not have expected him to answer. He took a step back, cleared his throat, and turned towards the exit. “We should hurry, before the night gets too cold.”

The snow fell lazily outside the Spring. Small piles of new and clean white covered their dirty footprints from their long trek. They wouldn’t be getting home tonight—not if this was any indicator of how the weather would go. Ling shivered, but didn’t say anything about the cold. With Ed’s automail, they couldn’t spend long in the open.

“I think I saw a cabin a little way up the hill.” Ed waved a hand toward a hill among hills. Ling never knew where his Knight was taking him when they went off route. He’d learned Ed would take care of things, as long as one didn’t question him too much.

Ling plucked silent princes as they climbed, tucking them into the wrap around his torso. He stumbled when the ice on his legs began to numb his feet. After the third time, Ling tripped over a stone hidden beneath the snow. He landed with all his limbs splayed out, his face crunching frostbitten grass and twigs.

Ed sighed and doubled back. They had an awkward few minutes where Ed struggled to position Ling on his back but that didn’t last long. Ed put his fingers in his lips and blew out a whistle that rung in Ling’s ears.

They hadn’t gone more than a few yards before the horses showed up. Ed lay Ling across his and set to work tying them together. “I wanted to avoid using the horses. They’re big and noticeable. We don’t have a lot of cover. I just don’t think either of us will get very far like this.”

Ed talked to him steadily on the rest of the trip. Ling trembled. His hair froze to his face. His hands shook. He grew so tired, so ready to be home and warm and asleep before the next day’s worries. He stayed awake so he could hear the rest of Ed’s story.

It was a pleasant story—one Ling had heard before. Ed’s brother had been a royal guard before him. Alphonse was good enough to lead his class. They’d all expected the sword to choose him as the hero. Instead, it hadn’t reacted at all to Al’s touch. The relief was palpable as it rolled off him in waves. The relief lasted for weeks while they scrambled to test the sword with every knight. None of them worked.

Then Ed came to visit Al from his travels in Goron city. His skin was bronzed in those days. Months out of the scorching heat had made him pale again, like his brother. Ling knew then he’d be the one. A coil had begun to tighten the day Ed came into the Palace. It tightened with every step they took towards the Calamity. Ling had brought Ed to the weapon’s room. He’d disguised the sword as a plain weapon, wrapped in an unremarkable cloth.

The cloth, oiled and browned with dirt, hadn’t hidden the gleam. Ed’s fingers wrapped around the hilt and they’d hurtled toward the end.

It had taken another three weeks for Ed to realize he’d been lured into the weapon’s room by the Prince of Xing.

Al was the one who’d told him after he saw Ed and Ling drinking late into the night in Ed’s small cabin, the Master sword resting in the corner after Ling had “gifted” it to him.

Ling remembered Al walking in that night. Ling wasn’t nearly as drunk as he’d pretended to be. Al thought he was revealing an amazing secret. Ling felt as though the young knight had stolen a precious gift.

Ed’s laughter had faded that night, and had never fully returned.

He must have dosed. The next thing he knew, Ed was jostling him awake in front of a fire.

“I know you’re tired, Prince.” Ed poked some fish with a stick. He had his shirt back. Ling’s robes had been freed of their long sleeves and half their length to hang over a fire. The cabin was more shack than cabin. Ling counted only one room and no amenities.

They must be in a town lost to the Lizalfos. Ed had cursed a dozen times when they’d discovered the new breed of monsters with horns that gave off electric currents.

“You never answered my question.” Ed flipped a sizzlefin trout into the embers. The skin would taste like char and the meat would be unevenly cooked. But Ling appreciated Ed had listened the last time he’d talked about his research.

“You never answered mine.”

Ed hummed. It was a sweet sound. From what Ling gathered, it was an old lullaby his mother had used to play for him. He’d told Ling, in their fleeting time as just two people who’s met by chance, that when his mother sang to him time stood still. The severity of the memory, the suffocating sorrow in the memory, had knocked Ling breathless.  

Ed covered the fish in embers. He finished his song and set his eyes on Ling. “I watch you. You separate yourself from the other Champions. You are fiercely protective of all of Xing, and of the others, but you refuse to get close.”

Ling smiled. His thoughts were groggy and slow but he knew he didn’t want to answer that question. Not really. “I am meant to die, aren’t I? What is the point of getting too close?”

Ed nodded. “I understand. All I can think of when I hold this sword is how likely I am to lose my brother. I’ll never be able to punch my dad in the face like I want to.”

Ling snorted. “You want to punch your dad in the face?”

“Don’t you want to punch yours?”

Ling laughed. Snow flurried in through a window. The cold outside could not reach him through the fire. “My dad is the King.”

“And yet, despite his divine rule, he can’t seem to grasp the value of your research.”

Ling curled into a tight ball.

Ed had been stationed outside his door the night his father had come into his room. Ling hadn’t gone to his meetings that day. He’d spent the day studying hearty salmon instead. He’d found that combining salmon and truffles could produce a meal that significantly reduced one’s chances of becoming mortally injured in a fight. He’d had the best knights testing out his meals for weeks now. He’d had even greater luck with elixirs.

The elixirs had been the final straw for his father.

Don’t you think you risk his life enough having him accompany you to all of your trips out to the abandoned camps? He should be here, training! Not gathering up lizard tails and octorok eyeballs for your childish playing!

His father had been right. Like he would be right when he was angry with Ling for being late coming home. How could he take his destiny if he couldn’t stop playing with bugs and frogs and critters?

“My brother had one of those hasty elixirs. You know, the ones with that frog you showed me? He was able to outrun a Moblin just as it turned the corner. It saved his life.” Ed pulled the fish from the embers. “It’s about to save ours.”

Ling ate the fish greedily. The skin was unseasoned, and more than once he bit into a spot that was soft and undercooked. As he ate it, he could feel warmth return to his skin. His stomach burned like a hot coal, but his muscles and bones were pleasantly warm. Ed finished two in the time it took Ling to eat one. When they’d finished, they sat back happily.

“Well, now that we don’t have to worry about freezing to death for the next several minutes, we can relax.”

Ling laughed. The sound started as a chuckle, then spread until it boomed through his chest. He couldn’t remember a time he’d ever relaxed. The closest he’d come had been when he was lying to Ed.

“Tell me, Ling.” Ed rested his head in his hands. “Why don’t you ever speak of your mother?”

Ling’s laughter stopped. He tried to recall the woman. He sensed kindness, sorrow, worry. He remembered a tiredness he could feel deep inside her. Her face, he couldn’t remember. She just looked generic in his mind—dark hair, average weight and height. Faceless. “I don’t remember her well.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok. She didn’t die when I was young. She just. Was always busy. What I’m supposed to be able to do is usually guided by a friend or relative. Mother was supposed to be mine, but a stray bokoblin got her when she was on the way back from Gerudo. She was supposed to help me come into whatever power I have, but so far, nothing has happened. I think my father suspects they got it wrong this time. Shiekah people wrap themselves in their mysteries and never consider how rude it is to other people.” Ling shrugged. He tried to keep the motion easy and lazy, but his shoulders were too heavy. “Maybe my father is right.”

Ed frowned. “Maybe the sword is wrong, too. I’d never considered being a night before this. I was always intent to be a traveler.”

“Are you kidding me? I had my doubts when we first started—not of you, mind, but of all of this. But you’ve picked up sword fighting almost overnight. The other knights are jealous. You are excelling at your destiny.”

Ed gave a dissatisfied grunt. He pulled Ling’s dismantled robe down from the fire. “It’s warm. We should try to get some sleep. We’ve got to head out tomorrow.”

Ling nodded. He feared he’d somehow insulted his Knight, and he wasn’t sure how. He’d meant to be encouraging. Complimentary even. He decided not to risk speaking any more.

Ed lay on his back. The shack had nothing in the way of a bed or cushion. Likely, the people had taken what they could carry and the Lizalfos had destroyed the rest. Ling���s earlier nap hadn’t done much in the way of rest, but even still, he found himself unable to keep his eyes closed.

Instead his gaze drifted to Ed laying restlessly, fingers tapping out a soft rhythm on the stone floor. After a while, he looked out the window to the silvery moon. They were lucky the moon hadn’t turned red. It had taken to doing so the last few months, at random. And when it did, the monsters seemed to come out in droves.

“Tomorrow we could take the long way around, if you’d like. I know you’ve been running low on hot-footed frogs. We could catch some. Maybe some of those hearty lizards, too.” Ed’s tapping stopped.

“The King would be—”

“And I could try to practice fighting these lizard fellows. We could see about making Al some more of that potion.”

“It’s an elixir.” Ling’s lips twitched into a smile of their own accord. In the dark, the smile was for no one but himself.

“After all this is over, and Ganon is defeated…” Ed’s tapping resumed. “Do you have any plans?”

Ling remembered the fate of every Prince in his role. There would not be an after. Not for a long time. “Not really, no.”

Ed moved across the fire, until his body was inches from Ling’s. “We should go see Goron city together. They eat rocks there. Shaped like meat. I don’t know how it works exactly, but you may be able to get Daruk to show you.”

Ling closed the gap. If his Knight was offering to keep him warm and speak of future plans, he’d not turn him away. It would be nice, for once, to imagine a future where he was not smothered under the weight of Xing. Or any future at all, for that matter.

“What is Goron city like? What were you doing there?”

Ed began to tell him stories about a stone and the power to ward off attacks. Ling listened, mainly to the cadence of his voice, and watched the snow drift outside. He pretended not to notice Ed’s hand reach for his. Despite his efforts, Ling drifted off in the middle of Ed’s story.

The Knight didn’t seem to mind.

They both deserved a long rest.

 A/N: I know crossover day is a different day, but I saw royalty in the prompts for today and couldn’t help myself. SO. Here’s a BotW au. I’ll do another fanwork or crossover thing for that day. I just got to the Slumbering Power part of Captured Memories, and was so inspired!

@edling-week

[cheeseeatingtrashmonster]

Be My Lois Lane (Marichat May) Chapter 2: Greek

Okay, so I know the prompt is actually "Greek AU", but this is already an AU, so uh... This is what I've got XD

@marichatmay 

Ao3

"Dude! Did you see?"

Nino shoved a newspaper into Adrien's hands before he had fully turned his chair to face him.

"See what?" Adrien flattened the paper on the counter of his dressing room vanity and the question answered itself.

"I got a picture of Chat Noir in action! And it made the front page! Look, that's my name right there!"

Adrien stared at his face looking back at him. How had he missed Nino with a camera? He had never been photographed this close, this clearly before. He had been so careful for the past year. If he had been paying attention, he could have turned so his back was to the camera easily enough.

"I found out I actually know the girl he saved. She's my girlfriend's best friend."

She was the problem. Something about her had caught his attention and kept it. It wasn't how done she was with the villain; he had encountered that attitude often enough. It wasn't her cute outfit or stunningly blue eyes; he worked in fashion, surrounded by pretty people in pretty clothes. But for some reason, he hadn't been looking for cameras as he saved her.

"So? What do you think?"

Adrien looked up and smiled. He could be happy for his friend and freak out simultaneously. "I think I need to take you out for celebratory drinks when this fashion show is over."

Nino chatted away about the picture for a bit longer before he had to leave to set up his camera equipment for the show that night. He reached for the paper to take it with him. Adrien dropped his hand down on it, pinning it in place.

"Actually, can I keep this copy?"

Nino's grin was contagious. "Sure, bro. I grabbed a few. I'm kinda flattered you like it that much."

Adrien looked down at the woman clinging to him in the picture, her eyes shut and nose scrunched up, but her arms holding strong around him.

"I think you really captured them."

Nino left, and Adrien leaned his elbow on the counter, staring at the hero action shot. What was it about the lady in his arms?

And was there any way to see her again?

&&

"It's too late to disguise yourself now, M."

Marinette had wrapped a scarf around her head, worn a giant, bulky sweater to hide her shape, and had sunglasses on inside the newspaper office. They were sitting in the conference room, stirring their coffees and waiting for everyone else to show up for the weekly morning staff meeting where Marinette and a couple other interns were to be officially promoted.

"If Nino didn't recognize me before handing the picture off to your boss, then this should be the perfect disguise. No one at the paper has to know that 'Chat Noir saves young woman' is me."

Alya plucked Marinette's sunglasses off her face and tucked them in the pocket of her flannel. "I dunno, you've got a pretty noticeable face. And it's good publicity for the paper, too. You know, the place that signs your paycheck?"

"But it's my face! Don't I get to control when and how my face is used?"

"Did you read what you signed when you started working here? They can use our image or likeness at any point so long as it reflects well on the paper, basically."

Marinette groaned. "I knew that joining you in journalism until I get my clothing lines off the ground was a bad idea."

"Well, it's too late now. In a few minutes, you'll be Marinette Dupain-Cheng: Junior Fashion Reporter."

"Yeah, such a giant leap up from fact checker and coffee fetcher."

"You do fetch a mean coffee."

Marinette walked over to fiddle with her basket of muffins in the center of the table refreshments table. "You, Junior Super Hero Reporter; Foreign Hero Activity, abused your power over us lowly interns, and once we're equals and I'm settled at my desk, I'm making sure the whole office knows of your cruelty."

"Equals in job description only," Alya said. "I have seniority on my side, still."

Bridgette, the head of the paper, poked her head in the conference room. "Marinette? Could you come with me for a moment?"

Marinette exchanged a look with Alya before following Bridgette down the hall to her office. Marinette's heart dropped when Bridgette closed the door.

"How are you doing?" Bridgette asked, gesturing for Marinette to sit in the chair across her desk.

"Fine. A little embarrassed that Nino managed to get a picture of one of my most embarrassing moments."

Bridgette waved a hand at that. "You did nothing embarrassing. The man in the spandex suit made to look like a banana peel, on the other hand, he should feel embarrassed." She frowned and leaned forward. "But you're okay? You're not hurt? An experience like that can be really scary. If you need some time off-"

"Oh, no, I'm fine, really!" She slid her headscarf down around her neck. "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course," Bridgette said.

"Is something else wrong? Because I get the feeling something else is wrong."

Bridgette smiled, but there was something behind it that added to the feeling that something was about to happen. "That's what I like about you, Dupain-Cheng. You're quick. You have excellent instincts. You follow your gut. That's why I knew, even with minimal writing experience, that you would be a good fit here." She paused to take a breath. "I have some bad news, some kinda-nice news, and something to try to make up for the bad news."

Marinette's heart, which had been sinking since Bridgette called her away, settled with a dull thunk deep in her gut. "I'm not getting promoted to Junior Fashion Reporter, am I?"

&&

Marinette lowered herself into her seat next to Alya and did her best not to give in to the desire to just slump forward and let her upper body dangle over her knees like a limp cloth doll. It wasn't even eight in the morning and already she felt drained.

"What happened?" Alya whispered as Bridgette started the meeting. Marinette shook her head and turned to stare at the front of the room, absorbing nothing.

"-And welcome to the staff, our newest Junior Reporter, Chloe Bourgeois. She will be in the Fashion Department. I am also-"

A blonde woman with a ponytail (and too much attitude for anyone over the age of fifteen) stood, cutting Bridgette off in the middle of her sentence. "Hello! I'm sure most of you know who I am, but for any of you who are new to town, I am Chloe Bourgeois, the daughter of the mayor. Of Paris. My father has always been a great supporter of the press, and I hope to continue to support his vision for how the Daily Planet can improve in-"

"Thank you, Chloe," Bridgette said, slapping her hand down on the podium but with a tense smile firmly pasted across her face. "As I was saying, please congratulate our very own Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Her hard work, dedication, and proven writing skill have earned her the position of Junior Reporter in our award-winning Superhero Department."

Marinette had the feeling that the skills Bridgette listed had less to do with how Bridgette saw her, and more with what she saw Chloe to be lacking.

When the meeting ended, Marinette mechanically collected the baskets that had held her muffins. Other interns and reporters congratulated her, and she did her best to respond like she didn't have a small tornado ripping through the landscape of her mind. She was working her way through another awkward, "Thank you, I'm excited to contribute," when a hand latched onto her arm, pulling her away and shouting something to the person with whom Marinette had been talking.

"M! What is going on?"

Marinette looked around and found she was in a supply closet with Alya. "I didn't know we had so many types of pens."

Alya looked around the room, then back at Marinette. "You were an intern. You were never sent to grab stuff from this supply closet?"

"I guess not."

Alya shook her head, then pushed her glasses back into place. "Marinette, what happened to your promotion? Who is this Chloe girl who has your job?"

Marinette laughed, finally, fully coming back to herself. "'My job.' Oh, Alya, I have a feeling I'm going to miss the intern days."

"Girl!"

Marinette sighed. "Okay, this is off the record, and you can't let anyone know you know. Especially Bridgette. Okay?"

Alya tucked her pen behind her ear and stuck her phone in her back pocket. The Alya gesture of 'I'm not writing anything down or recording it. This is between us.’

"The mayor called in a lot of favors to get his precious little girl her dream job. So the Fashion Reporter job was taken, and they don't have the budget for two Junior Reporters in Fashion right now. Because of the timing of the Chat Noir picture, Bridgette and Nadja decided it would be best to give me the promotion, even if it's not the department I want. I'm now the official reporter on all things Chat Noir."

"Aw, Marinette." Alya threw her arms around her. "That sucks! I know how much you wanted this, how hard you worked for it."

Marinette hugged her back, resting her head on Alya's shoulder for a few seconds. "Thanks. It's not all bad, though. You and I get to work in the same department. Nadja is a family friend, so I already know how my boss acts and thinks. And..."

Alya pulled away, squinting at the lighter tone Marinette had taken. "And?"

"And Bridgette felt a little guilty, and wants to make sure I stay until a position opens up in Fashion, so I negotiated a slightly bigger raise than she originally offered. I make almost as much as you, now."

Alya fist bumped her. "Alright! Good for you, girl."

Marinette shrugged but smiled. "Thanks. I guess I'm just doing what I can with what I've got."

Alya hugged her again. "Well, I'm glad it's not all bad. But, would you turn down a little cheering up anyway?"

Marinette shook her head. "I don't trust your definition of 'cheering up,' Alya Cesaire. I'm still bruised from 'cheering up' Alix last month."

"Really?" Alya pulled something from her pocket. "What if I said we could spend the evening looking at some individuals who could put Greek gods to shame?"