#normally we have a good grasp of how long it takes to draw certain things in each of the styles we usually use

[thethingything]

it's fascinating seeing how abysmally shit 🍬's grasp of the passage of time and ability to estimate how long things take is because he's done 4 Art Fight attacks and he's like "oh my god I have 15 characters bookmarked. there's no way I can do all these before the end of the event. I have so little time!" because he's forgetting that it's literally only the 2nd day of the even and I think because he thought that animation would take longer, he assumed he'd have less time to do everything else, but it also took so much less time that I think it's completely thrown off his judgement when it comes to how long any other art will take

[simplydannie]

If you’ve been with me and read my stuff, first of all, thank you!!

You have no idea how much that means to me and just encourages me!

Secondly, you may have questions about certain characters I list in my fics that are not recognizable or may seem new to you. That’s okay! Because, they kind of are! I have a small list of OCs I have created to fit into my stories. I’m not much of a drawer and still require a butt load of practice, but i am a writer and will try to draw the mental image of these characters as much as i can. So here we go!!

PS: Drawing takes me a long time, so if I can get to drawing these characters then I’ll try! I also wouldn’t mind artist out there bringing these characters to life in their own light!

The Mistress

Ah yes. This is a name you have recognize and seen a couple of times in some of my stories. The Mistress is a name I have given to Velvet and Veneer’s manager. Why Mistress? It’s a code name she chose to hide her try identity. She’s been running this muck of a business for years. And what exactly is that business? Hiring and grooming young Rageons into her little fame fraud. There is something about using Trolls essence that makes someone’s mind easier to mend and control, she doesn’t if it kills the Troll…or the person using it. All that matters to her is good business and money. She finally find her “super” stars when she discovered the twins, but now that they are out of her grasp, out of her control, you’d think she’d move on…no. That just makes them more desirable to her and her scheme. Unfortunately, the contract the twins signed made them her property. She deems this contract “unbreakable” somehow through some sort…and is only broken in case of death of the twins.

Her age is a mystery.

She is known to be very beautiful with kind eyes…which makes her very deceiving. Her hair is known to be a dark red tint of sangria and her skin light redwood red. She always wears elegant style business suit. Mistress has beautiful piercing green eyes, her hair always styled into a messy bun that allows her curls to fall beautifully around her face.

Ruff and Gruff

These OCs were inspired by some drawings I saw of @skydiverdrawings . Ruff and Gruff are sibling Bergens that reside in Rageous. Bergens in Rageous? It’s much more common in Under Rageous which is where the Bergens are from. Mistress needed body guards and henchmen to do her bidding. So she hired the biggest and toughest Bergens she laid her eyes on during one of her visits to the under-city. Ruff and Gruff are paid handsomely, including the occasional Troll. These Bergens are still set with the mindset that eating Trolls brings happiness…much like the rest of the Bergens that reside in Under Rageous. So every now and then, Mistress will make sure they are kept happy.

They are downright mean and will not hesitate to kill on demand…even if it’s a teenaged Rageon.

I haven’t thought much about their looks other than they are bigger and stronger than a normal Bergen (Under Rageous Bergens tend to be bigger and stronger than those in Bergentown). Their names were inspired by HTTYD twins Ruffnut and Tuffnut.

Cressida

If you know her, you probably wished you wouldn’t. Cressida is the twin sister of Velvet and Veneers mother, Vivian…their aunt. She was always jealous her sister though her sister always treated her lovely. Vivian always longed for a loving relationship with her sister, but Cressida never cared for it. Things changed and got worse when Vivian met the twins father. Cressida was in love with him, but she was cruel and greedy…and their father saw this. He had always tried to be kind to her, but she would always try to manipulate him in some way. Eventually, he ended up falling in love with Vivian. Vivian was hesitant in his affections and marrying for fear of breaking her sisters heart. It took a couple of years before the twins father eventually won Vivian over. This left a bitter tasted in Cressida’s mouth allowing more hate to grow in her heart. Despite that, Vivian still trusted her, even with her own children.

Cressida was highly abusive towards the twins, mainly Veneer since he reminded her so much of their father. As Veneer got older, Cressida began to take notice of his physical demeanor…eventually leading her to take advantage of him physically. Eventually, thanks to Velvet, the twins break free and leave their aunts. It is unknown what happened to Cressida during the twins fame arc and return to Under Rageous.

Tye

Now for this little guy I do have art for. Not the best, but I’m still practicing.

Tye is a Troll born and raised in the under-city of Under Rageous. He’s a handful of Trolls that dwell there. This colony of Trolls are decendents or escapees that have run away from the clutches of Under Rageons. Tye is 17 years old but is quite mature for his age. As he got older, Tye took it upon himself to help raise the younger Trolls being born in the under-city. He’s also dedicated in going out to rescue trapped Trolls throughout Under Rageous with the older Trolls.

It’s not quite sure what type of Troll he is since he’s lost his color. He really hasn’t given himself time for hobbies since he’s main desire is to help ALL captured Trolls, so unfortunately, this means he also does t have any friends…

Until he meets a green, swooped haired Rageon, whom at first he doesn’t trust and finds annoying.

Shank

Shank is an Under Rageon crime boss. He was the one who mentioned the twins to Mistress in the first place. He and Mistress have a CLOSE working relationship. They’ll deny being together romantically, but their physical attraction to each other says otherwise.

Not much is known about him or how he and Mistress met, but rumor has it they had known each other since they were young and have been in love since then. He is just as evil and ruthless, spreading fear to those he meets. He’s the number one crime boss in the under-city, so don’t cross him, because he has everywhere. To his surprise, the ones to out smart him so far have been the twins… which he finds really annoying… and boils his blood.

Shank is a pale Rageon (almost like the twins except he has a little more tint on his skin). He has dark, blue denim hair that is stringed into dreadlocks. His teeth are filed sharped and scars covering his entire body, his eyes are always hidden behind sunglasses but are a brilliant maya blue.

[littlestpersimmon]

OK so ive always been into gentle swords but not fully got it but i Get It More now that uve posted more and i did a big read of all ur tag for it. so heres my questions. 1. we know how radinta reacts to finding out darenyas still alive but how EMO and 'nothing left to live for' unhinged does dinta become when he finds out about darenyas execution. also like how close to the execution does dinta know about all this in the first place (esp w the pregnancy ...) 2. youve touched on that darenyas undead + undead servants are used in the world as unending labor, is there any sort of way to tell someone id undead without them directly telling you? (also doesnt darenya count as twice undead because of his birth circumstances?) 👀👀👀

Ohh my g-d.. the more asks abt this the more I reveal how much of a whipping boy Dinta is to everyone around him..

Dinta is autistic as I mentioned before, so his only friends have always been just Humadsan and Narakan, whom are Both Also On The Spectrum, and Darenya.

They have been through thick and thin, been together catastrophe after catastrophe, however, no one grasps Dinta like Darenya does, no one is as kind and patient over Dinta's quirks and awkwardness and Difficult to Understand-ness like Darenya, who is just always... amused, never angry, and always willing to see the better side of Dinta's thought process, since Darenya knows what it's like to be Disabled But Not Visibly So.

Dinta was raised by a single mother, and though he's Understanding that life in an occupied land is difficult, and he's willing to give his mother Understanding, he just, also. Is terrified of the idea or being like her.

Because Renya is an "amsara", a child called back from a stillbirth for another shot at life, it is understood that he will only live partially a normal human lifespan, in my world's case, the oldest he could possibly be would be his early thirties. This doesn't daunt him, he's always known death, he has made peace with it. But also knowing he was gonna have a shorter life than other people, it made Renya very assertive, honest, and direct with asking for what he wanted.

It was him who pursued Dinta, asked him out, and was very protective of him. It was Darenya who was always chasing this boy and making sure he was okay. And Darenya's directness was very good to Dinta's brain, he never had to wonder if Renya had hidden motives or was not speaking in plain words.

Renya became pregnant when he was in his early 20s, and both him and Dinta were super excited, even if they both knew Renya did not have much long to live, they were determined to make the most of it,

Darenya would retire from his job at the rajah's court (he is a starfarer!), and Dinta would start to withdraw as well, Dinta is also a starfarer, but he'd be more of a "mission control" guy, like computing how much a ship should steer away from certain winds, monitors the weather condition, how much karhanan is needed to let a ship take off, just nerd shit, and he also makes wayfinding maps, for people like him who can't really memorize or visualize navigating stars by mind alone.

At the back of Dinta's mind, he knows he's gonna be a single dad for the rest of his life after Renya dies, and he's already sort of, depressed about it, and the only thing that they're both super excited about is how nice it would be to live near the ocean and they can swim every day, and both Renya and Dinta spend hours and hours drawing what their house is gonna look like..

Dinta, does one day, give Renya a small vial of this shiny liquid. It looks like.. almost translucent, almost prismatic liquid, and he WONT tell Renya where he got it, only that if he so wished.. to extend how long he belonged on their earth.. then he may have a drought of it. Renya would be shocked, because he immediately recognizes it to be sap from the saranggita, the holy trees from their world, and it is only permitted to take ONCE from it, to bring back stillbirths, but he is teased by the notion of getting to live longer, which was something he'd never even considered possible, so he keeps the vial Dinta gives him, and mulls it over.

But then eventually, Darenya finds out how Radinta got the vial, and another terrible betrayal, and he, being very hormonal and heartbroken, goes nuclear, but he does not stop loving Dinta, and Dinta does not stop loving him, and even to the Last day before Darenya eventually dies from his long, drawn out execution, Dinta never stops trying to, save him, run away with him and be vigilantes somewhere they can both be safe, even after Renya miscarried.. they can try again. Renya still dies, from infection, exhaustion, blood loss and just grief, and Dinta does not cry.

He does tenderly take Renya's body, in a fetal position and in rigor mortis, and he does the autopsy, the bathing.. scrubbed him clean in plumeria and coconut until he did not smell so dead and some of his beauty was restored to him.

Usually the Idina Tala, the undead slaves, would arrive to the deadships caked in blood and dirt and sweat, because the Idina Tala were executed criminals whose punishment continued even after death, and they were considered the dregs of mankind, people so unloved their deaths would just go on and on as eternal outcasts.

Renya arrived very clean, his nails clipped, his hair lovingly cut, bathed and with herbs in his mouth, and a talisman that would ward off any demons wishing to reposses his body, because Renya had an autopsy and was prepared like how a loved one would be buried, much unlike the others. The witches who would call him back remembered the man who dropped him off laying him down on the table very carefully, like he was still alive and could still feel pain.

I always see Dinta as having a blank face, rarely smiling, not mean, but just very.. reticent and withdrawn. He would comb back renyas hair on the table and stand there in numbed silence for a very long time, before he turns to the manhiyang, the witch who would reanimated Darenya to turn him into a slave, and he tells her, "do not think Ill of him. You know him not."

After Renya dies and is surrendered to the dead ships, its like Radinta was going about his life half a person, when he closed Darenya's lifeless eyes he knew no one would ever love him, and look on him with such deep understanding like Darenya did. Narakan did not know it was possible to have someone who was as distant to the world like Dinta, become even more distant, walking around the halls of the Rajah's palace like a man trapped in a thick fog. But, life must go on for Dinta, he still had some other matters to attend to, so. He focuses all his effort and energy and resources to find his sister in Sasaban, the most difficult to get into Sundering, and to get to Sasaban, he first must get to Janalila. All his hopes for the future, all his grief, he pours into finding the one family he has left, something to anchor him to the world, or else he might, he might die, lose himself to the myriad and the wheel of time.

In the world of Hidlawonen, when you are deemed to have done a social transgression, or a crime that is judged to be extremely gross, you receive a single tattoo, of a ring of salamanders and geckoes that goes around your limb. These are magical tattoos, one that remind the person branded that they have some role in the world to perform, and that all their actions must turn the wheel of time forward, meaning they must do all the good in life to progress the world. The more bad a person has done, the more they receive these rings of geckos. Almost everyone in Hidlawon has some form of gecko tattoo on their body, it is all part of being human to make mistakes. This system of punishment, though, is easily abused by people born into more fortunate circumstances, to isolate people they deem to be people "the wrong way", people who were born into misery are just.. trapped in a cycle of being miserable and a burden to their respective societies, and trapped to recommit evil acts trying to survive in a world that is just naturally hostile to them, and the gecko tattoos become a mark of shame the more there is on your body. The gecko tattoos are normally invisible, until you receive so much of them that they become visible and painful, once past your elbows or knees. The tattoos start at your ankles or below your shoulders, and the more "bad" you do as deemed by the local governments, the more tattoos of them you receive. When the gecko tattoos reach your wrists and ankles simultaneously, you are sentenced to death, and yoir fate is to become inevitably an Idina Talan, "no longer a person", an undead slave. That would be how people in Hidlawonen identify the Idina, and most Idina are "broken in thought and body", meaning while they are conscious, their mind is broken to the point they cannot speak, cannot smell, or anything. Most of the Idina simply cry, groan in pain, unable to remember who or what even they are.

[venomous--fics]

Anon requested: Okay but imagine this: reader quarantining with Eddie (and venom too ofc)

A/n: Day 2 of the V Weekathon! How many of you guys have seen the movie so far? Inbox is open if anyone wants to request or chat!

Every day seemed to be filled with more and more boredom. You three had run out of things to do, and by the marks on the calendar, it's only been 3 days. With a huff, you slouched back on the couch and dropped the tv remote onto the cushion, "I'm bored."

"Hi, bored." Eddie replied, half heartedly waving his hand, "I'm Eddie."

You whined a little as you laid your head in his lap, looking up at him, "No, really...I think I'm gonna lose my shit if we have to stay inside any longer."

Eddie didn't even flinch, or look at you. He just took a sip of his drink and continued to stare at the tv, "This isn't exactly fun for me either."

"Or me. Don't forget me."

"Or him." Eddie added.

You ran your hands over your face, groaning, "We could take a nap."

"We just woke up from a nap."

"We could play monopoly again."

"We don't say the M-word anymore." Eddie said flatly, still staring at the tv.

"Right. Right." you sighed, racking your brain for literally any other thing to do, "Well, we couldn't play that anyways. Venom tore the board in half."

"We can tape it." Venom chirped, "I promise I won't rip it again."

"That's what you said yesterday about Chutes and Ladder's, you liar." Eddie cut in, setting his cup on the table.

"I am not a liar. I really promise to not rip things anymore."

"We could bake a cake." you interrupted them.

"We already baked two of them." Venom said, drawing your attention to the dirty kitchen where two of the ugliest decorated cakes sat on the counter.

"How about...We clean up our messes?"

You heard two sets of groans as Eddie laid his head on the back of the couch.

"Guys, c'mon, help me." you whined, kicking your feet into the end cushion, "I'm so-"

"Bored. We know."

"Bored. We know."

"There's gotta be something we can do."

There was a really long pause as you looked up at Eddie again, seeing him just stare at the ceiling.

"Anything at all." you said, twiddling your fingers, "Anything that'll pass the time."

"We have movies."

"We've already watched most of them." Eddie said, taking his turn to whine, "This shit sucks."

"We have Netflix." Venom replied, not appreciating Eddie's attitude.

You and Eddie both shared a questioning look. You opened your mouth, but Eddie seemed to speak first, "Who the hell is paying for it? It's not me."

"Who said it was OURS?" Venom spat.

You sat upright, "Venom? Did you steal someone's Netflix account?"

You were expecting an honest answer. Maybe the old lady downstairs didn't get it and gave some sort of info to Eddie. Or, more likely, Venom had overheard someone talking about it in passing.

"We don't steal- Okay, rephrasing that real fast, we don't steal personal accounts...In this household."

A small tendril whipped over to Eddie's jacket and rummaged through it before slinking back over and handing you a small, crumpled card. You took a minute to look it over, realizing that Venom had simply swiped this from some criminal or some poor soul he ate.

"Oh." you said, "Well, I mean..In that case..I guess-"

"What are we watching first?"

"We're gonna have a serious talk about your kleptomania." Eddie sighed.

"That's not a movie. Try again."

While they bickered, you picked a movie that you were certain Venom had never seen. Normally he loves- Surprisingly- Romance movies. You and Eddie would've pegged him to be, of course, the loud action type. But, no. His reasoning is that he just like how quiet and nice they are.

You picked Lilo & Stitch. It wasn't a romance, but you were sure it would check some sort of box with Venom. Eddie didn't protest much outside, "I've seen this a million times."

To which you replied, "Well, what will a million and once more hurt?"

Needless to say, Eddie was the one who wound up crying a little.

"What's wrong?" Venom almost seemed just as upset, "Didn't you like it?"

Eddie wiped his eyes on his sweatshirt, "No, it was good."

You leaned forward a little.

"Why's everyone lookin' at me?" he asked, sniffling, "It's just that the little guy didn't have a family. Leave me alone."

"It's okay, Eddie."

"It's okay, Eddie."

You, with the help of Venom, got cozy in his lap and snatched the remote, "Let's pick a movie that'll sure make you feel better."

Eddie continued to wipe off his face, "I can see you picking The Notebook. Give it here, it's my turn."

You held the remote out of his reach, trying to hit the play button.

"You said feel better, not worse." Eddie was trying to hold you in his lap and yoink the remote all at once.

While you two play fought, Venom was the one who saw his chance and took it. With the remote in his grasp, and you two at his mercy, you and Eddie joined forces in an attempt to get the remote back.

"Stop before he puts on Sweet Home Alabama again." Eddie said, trying to swipe at the tendrils as Venom tossed the remote around.

You were now standing on the couch, frantically waving your hands around, "I'll make you a hot fudge sundae!"

Venom pondered his choices, but he chose violence. You both had to deal with whatever he chose.

[nobodyfamousposts]

My-Crack-ulous: Aku-Maid

In which I am a horrible person...

No seriously. Don’t read this.

For @mermain123, for bringing up the cursed image that started this mess in the first place.

Mermain: i said i was suffering

Mermain: i didn't want you to make the internet suffer

Me: That sounds like the internet’s problem.

Also for @bloody-writes. You know why...   ; )

_________________________

Hawk Moth was a supervillain who had been terrorizing Paris for the better part of two years.

But no one could really argue that not all of his ideas have been good. Or well thought out. Or in any way sensible even.

Like the time he akumatized a baby.

Or the time he akumatized a girl to transform people into exact replicas of herself.

Or the fact he keeps akumatizing Mr. Ramier for going on 29 times at this point…

Or the other time he akumatized a baby…

Times that he destroyed Paris. Times that he nearly destroyed the world. Times that he gave people powers that were completely contradictory to the goals of getting the Miraculous he was after by erasing the heroes from existence or transforming them in ways that made the Miraculous inaccessible.

But none of his akumatizations had ever gotten him as much hate, caused as much misery, were were ultimately as pointless as this most recent incident.

Aku-maid.

It was known the instant she was akumatized. As soon as she was transformed, a wave of power enveloped the city. And within that wave, half of the people of Paris were transformed as well. 

…the male half.

Her power was to transform all the men of Paris. She didn’t even have a weapon or attack that did it, it just happened almost instantaneously. All men suddenly found themselves changed.

Or rather, their outfits…

“Ah!”

“What the hell—!?”

“I can’t get it off!”

One by one, every male in Paris suddenly found themselves in a much different state of attire. What had just been a normal day full of various styles and appearances had all suddenly become very…frilly.

“WHY AM I A MAID?!”

Much as implied her namesake, the akuma’s power involved transforming whatever any man was wearing into some variation of a maid outfit.

Every man.

All over Paris.

From Andre Bourgeois, who has refused to leave his office to make an official statement…

“ANDRE!” Audrey shouted, banging on the door. “Get out here this instant!”

“But, honey, I can’t be seen like this!”

To Roger Raincomprix, who has tried to continue his normal duties despite the…change of uniform…

“Stop in the name of the law!” Roger shouted, reaching into his pockets in an automatic reaction to try to get his handcuffs. While the dress he was wearing did still have pockets, the only item they procured was a cleaning rag, which was notably less threatening as the suspect in question stared for a moment before deciding to take off.

“HEY!”

And yes, even to…

“I’m a Macrophage!” Adrien gushed happily as he lifted his lengthy skirt to give a twirl.

…even to Adrien Agreste, who was apparently the only one to find anything pleasant about the current crisis.

Nino stared.

“Dude. Seriously?”

“I’ve always wanted to cosplay!”

Nino, having been long-since exposed to his friend’s deep love for anime in its many forms, at least knew what a Macrophage was. But even so, he couldn’t help but feel there was something odd about the way Adrien took to the long pale dress and cap.

Kim rested a hand on Nino’s shoulder. “Just let the guy enjoy this.”

“At least somebody is.” Nathaniel muttered bitterly as he tried to hide as behind his sketchbook. It was a futile attempt, of course, as he at most only covered his face, leaving the red dress, white apron with pockets, and knee-high boots on full display.

“I don’t understand how he can.” Max complained. He tugged at his own skirt in vain, looking at Adrien’s ankle-length ensemble enviously. The skirt was much shorter than he would have liked—reaching a couple inches above his thigh and almost seemed to be defying gravity to stay that way despite his attempts to get it to either flatten or otherwise lower. “I question the design choices.”

“But you look just like Misaki from Maid Sama! And Nathaniel looks like Lizbeth!” Adrien insisted. “It’s totally a cosplay!”

Max just stared incredulously. He was wearing a black dress with puffy sleeves that tapered off just shy of his elbow, white apron, a cap, and thigh-high black stockings and knee-high boots, it seemed Adrien did have a point.

Max, in all fairness, didn’t particularly care in favor of the problems that came with suddenly finding himself in a short dress, heels, and a corset.

“I just can’t peg where Kim or Nino’s outfits are from.” He continued, studying the outfits in question contemplatively. “But give me a little time! It’ll come to me!”

The boys had been having an afternoon hangout session in the park. No girls. No teachers. No Gabriel Agreste or bodyguards to whisk certain teen models away. It was supposed to be a normal non-drama-filled day.

…which was naturally when it became something less than normal and certainly more than drama-filled.

“I think I get why girls complain about this sort of thing now.” Kim said, looking at his shoes. “These heels are kind of uncomfortable…”

“Are you sure it’s the heels and not the flippers?” Nino asked, annoyed.

Sure enough, Kim was wearing flipper-heels. They were black and also had black ankle straps with a little bow on each. This strange footwear did seem to go with Kim’s talent in swimming, which was also emphasized by the ruffle maid swimsuit they matched with.

“Nah, it’s definitely the heels.” Kim insisted.

So this was what their all-boys’ afternoon had come to.

Kim was wobbling on unsteady heels.

Nathaniel groaned and kept his ever reddening face covered.

Max was questioning where they could procure jackets. Long jackets.

Adrien was giggling to himself and asking if they could do a full Cells at Work group cosplay.

And Nino paled, suddenly realizing something.

"Guys. Guys, we have to hide!"

"Why?" Kim asked. "It's annoying, but this akuma doesn't seem really dangerous."

"No, you don't get it!" Nino hissed. "If Alya catches us, we will NEVER live this down!"

Nathaniel looked over the edge of his sketchbook. “Alya wouldn’t actually post pictures of us to the Ladyblog, would she?”

A long pause followed.

The boys paled.

Except for Adrien, who turned to them with a gasp of excitement. “Do you think she would? We could do a group picture!”

All the other boys paled even more, looking downright ill.

And immediately took off running.

Or at least as well as they could with heels. None of them made it very far without tripping, stumbling, or simply struggling to stay upright as they still tried to move away from the area as quickly as the heels would allow.

“But what’s wrong with—?”

“JUST RUN, ADRIEN!”

“Who thought maid outfits with high heels was a good idea?! How can anyone be expected to clean in these things?

“I will never draw high heels on a super heroine again.”

“I can’t breathe! Who created corsets?! What objective does this achieve besides crushing one’s lungs?”

Nino groaned, still running. “I hope Hawk Moth is suffering as much as we are!”

_____________________

If Nino Lahiffe had the ability to break the fourth wall and peer into the events happening outside of his immediate vicinity, he would be happy to find this was actually the case.

And he would laugh.

Oh, how he would laugh.

“Sir…?”

“Don’t.” Came the dark growl from a very unhappy supervillain. “Don’t say anything, Nathalie..."

This was an akuma that impacted every male in Paris. Every male.

…even to Hawk Moth, himself.

“Why did this happen?”

It would appear that even Hawk Moth was not immune to Aku-Maid’s power as he had been similarly transformed. And unfortunately, due to the change, he could no longer access his Miraculous. The Butterfly broach had disappeared, having been transformed along with his outfit.

And his outfit had…actually left much to be desired.

Which was truthfully just a nice way of saying it was ugly.

Really, really ugly.

Normally the picture of stoicism, Nathalie had to pretend to cough to avoid reacting.

“Can’t you order the akuma to undo it?” She eventually was able to ask.

He lowered his head and closed his eyes in concentration. “No. It’s no good. I’ve lost the link!”

His eyes widened and he clutched his chest in a panic.

“Where is the Miraculous?!” Hawk Moth demanded, trying—and failing to pull at the tasteless dress. But as others across the city had already discovered, the clothes were magic and would not be removed or displaced. Not even the frock or the cap he now wore.

“Sir, you were transformed when you changed. It looks like the Butterfly Miraculous was transformed along with you.”

He froze, eyes widening in horror. “But that’s—”

He grasped at the empty place on his chest. Where once had been his lapel and pin now only had ruffles and a leathery texture. His mask remained in place, though it was now fully black except for the openings around his eyes and mouth, which were bordered with a lighter grey color. The material and outfit overall had a shine to it that could be found on any wetsuit.

To put it nicely: he looked atrocious.

To put it bluntly: he looked like some sort of BDSM role-player with a maid kink.

So it was fortunate, perhaps, that no one else in Paris would have to be subject to the sight.

Except Nathalie. Who was probably going to have nightmares.

Or a coronary from the laughter she was trying to hold back.

It was admittedly a bit hard to tell.

But it seemed she was handling the situation a bit better than Hawk Moth, despite the fact that the man was currently unable to see himself or the full extent of the monstrosity he now wore.

…this was probably for the best. Given the man’s fashion sense, there was really no telling whether he would be horrified or inspired, and nobody would want to find out.

“I can’t contact the akuma! And I can’t call it back!”

He moaned, covering his…already covered face with his hands. “I’ll never be taken seriously again!”

Nathalie resolutely held back from pointing out he was barely being taken seriously now.

“It’s…not that bad?” She tried. Not very well, but she tried.

Hawk Moth clutched his head in horror. “Unless Ladybug and Chat Noir can stop this akuma, we’re doomed!”

“Sir, it’s just an akuma that puts men in maid outfits. It’s really not that bad.”

“DOOOOOOMED!!!”

__________________________

The akuma, for her part, was unaware of her benefactor’s misery, too busy enjoying the abject misery of everyone else around her.

Nobody knew just what had set the girl off to get her akumatized in the first place. Her comments about men being “the eye-candy now” suggested an argument. The maid outfits involved suggested what the topic of the argument had been regarding.

To be honest, nobody had actually realized she was the akuma responsible. She did appear fairly normal by akuma terms, dressed in a seemingly authentic Victorian era dress more befitting as an authentic Lady’s Maid compared the frillier, lacier varieties that the men around her had suddenly found themselves in. What would normally have gotten her a few odds looks was mostly ignored in the face of the sudden change. Few even took notice of her dark purple skin or black hair. Or the fan in her hand.

“THAT’S RIGHT! SEE HOW YOU LIKE BEING OBJECTIFIED!”

The yelling…was a bit harder to miss.

It was the first thing that drew the attention of the three girls settled at the cafe.

The second thing was the various cries of horror as several of the men around them suddenly discovered their state of dress transformed into…well…dresses. Of a variety that made the little cafe appear more like a maid cafe than anything.

The third thing was the appearance of a familiar face running down the road, holding up his long white dress to make running easier as he looked for a place to hide.

Marinette stared.

“ADRIEN?!”

Adrien Agreste was running around in a long white and pale cream Victorian-era dress and cap, looking like Cinderella running from the ball. Except a maid.

A quick glance to her companions showed that both Alya and Kagami were similarly staring in befuddlement, so this was neither her imagination or a fever dream.

“Adrien? What’s going on?” Alya asked for everyone.

“It’s an akuma!” He replied, quickly. “She’s putting everybody into cosplay!”

“…cosplay?”

“Yeah!”

“…everybody?”

He paused, glancing around. “Well…all the guys, I think?”

Marinette stared.

“…Just that?” Alya asked, thankfully taking over while Marinette’s brain started to become aware that this WAS Adrien she was talking to. “She’s not doing anything else besides putting guys into…‘cosplays’?”

He blinked in confusion. “I…think so?”

“She isn’t…I don’t know…commanding you or anything?”

“Well, she hasn’t yet. Which, really, isn’t so bad for an akuma if you think about it.” He said with a frown before he noticed the strange look on Kagami’s face. “Kagami, are you okay?”

Kagami made a strangled sound.

“Marinette?”

Marinette pretended to choke on a drink from an empty glass to avoid speaking.

“Can I add to your order?” The waiter came by, seeming unconcerned by the ruckus or the act that he was now wearing a rather cutesy maid outfit the likes of which would be seen in a maid cafe in Japan.

“You don’t seem put off by this.” Alya pointed out, noting his relatively unfazed attitude compared to the panicking of the other men around them…or the gushing from Adrien.

The waiter took it in stride.

“It’s okay.” He replied blankly. “I’m already dead inside.”

“Oh.”

He turned to Kagami. “Do you need anything else, Miss?”

Kagami was still staring at Adrien, blushing furiously.

“I think I have a problem.”

“You mean a kink?”

“A. Problem.” She spoke through gritted teeth.

“Story of my life.” The waiter replied as he refilled her glass of water, either unaware or uncaring of the specific nature of her trouble.

Alya gasped in sudden realization. “Wait! If this is happening here then…” She turned to Adrien. “Where were Nino and the boys?” He blinked, curious. “Oh, they decided to head home. Why?”

An almost sinister smirk formed on Alya’s face. One that would have anyone it was directed at cowering in fear. And strong enough to be felt from several blocks away.

Unbeknownst to them, Nino felt that smirk like a trail of cold fingers down his back, and promptly threw himself into his room and slammed the door shut behind him.

As if she sensed this, Alya slammed several bills on the table and dashed out the door.

“GOTTA GO!”

Realizing an akuma was about, Marinette was right on her heels. She found a nearby alleyway and immediately prepared to transform and face this latest threat.

“Oh my god. OH MY GOD.” She broke down, letting out the laughter she’d been trying so hard to hold in. “He’s a dork! The boy I’m crushing on is a complete DORK who is in to cosplaying! He thinks maid outfits are COSPLAY!”

…or she would be.

“And here I’ve been driving myself nuts with anxiety over just asking him out and he doesn’t even—”

Any minute now…

“Marinette!” Tikki hissed. “You need to stop the akuma!”

“Can’t I just take a picture first?”

“MARINETTE!”

“Oh fine…”

_____________________

Luka didn’t realize anything had happened. He felt a bit off balanced for a moment, and a bit colder, but attributed that to being on the Liberty. So he simply shifted his stance to be a bit more steady and continued playing. It wasn’t until the drum stopped that he realized something was actually wrong.

The look of shock from Mylene and the following shriek from Ivan cemented it.

He spun around, not sure what could have elicited such a cry from his fellow bandmate. And at first, he couldn’t really tell what had happened. Ivan was crouched behind the drum set, covering his face with his hands and trembling in what appeared to be mortification.

Then he noticed the mobcap on Ivan’s head, which he was pretty sure hadn’t been there before. And Ivan’s shirt seemed distinctly…fluffier and frillier than he remembered seeing a few minutes ago. He tried to move closer to offer help, only for his own balance to be off. And when he looked down…

Oh.

The dress was new.

As were the stockings.

And the notably thinner and sleeker heels on his boots.

He hummed to himself, considering the change.

“Akuma?” Juleka asked him.

“Most likely.” He replied.

Mylene had rushed up to their practice stage and to Ivan’s side, even as he moaned for her to not look at him. The poor guy was completely red in embarrassment. Seeing how upset he was, the other three had backed away, leaving Mylene to try to help her boyfriend.

“Luka, are you okay?” Rose asked worriedly, trying to respect Ivan’s need for space while also checking in on their other effected bandmate.

“I’m fine. It was just a surprise at first.” He replied.

It wasn’t every day that you suddenly found yourself in a maid outfit, after all. It was a simple outfit. White off the shoulder puffy sleeves with black frills. A black tube skirt. White apron. And…he reached to his neck where a weight was, feeling a choker.

Huh…

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Honestly, he could be in worse.

Rose seemed surprised at that. “Really? Even with those shoes?”

He looked down at the shoes in question. The boots were his style—surprisingly, given it was an akuma. The higher heels were definitely different from his norm, and clearly what Rose was referring to. In any other circumstances, she would be right.

But...

Luka smiled, shifting his stance and resting a hand on his hip. “Well, someone had to teach Jules to walk in heels. And I couldn’t show her if I didn’t know how myself.

Juleka huffed. “Don’t say that like you didn’t enjoy playing dress up.”

Luka merely curtsied, not only showing off more of his slightly ripped and punk-looking fishnet stockings, but almost proudly displaying his ability to move fluently in heels.

Rose appropriately “oo-ed” and “aah-ed” at his display. Juleka merely shook her head and smiled. Ivan was still recovering from his panic attack and had resolutely refused to come out from behind the drums, despite Mylene’s reassurances.

“So it has to be an akuma, right?” Rose asked.

“If it is, I want a picture or two, at least.” Juleka muttered as she admired Luka’s outfit, mumbling about commissioning Marinette to recreate it in her size. She hadn’t known maids could come in this style.

Mylene nodded from her place at Ivan’s side. “Though it seems rather fortunate if this is all the akuma is doing.”

“We don’t know if that is it, though.” Luka warned. “For all we know, there could be some other ability she has if she catches us. It would probably be safer if we hid out inside until this is over.”

The others agreed. And Anarka, bless her soul, actually came up with a large blanket for Ivan to wrap himself in to preserve his dignity. Then she and Mylene helped the taller teen to safely relocate to inside. Much like Luka, Ivan’s shoes had changed, but he was substantially less able to maneuver in them. And no amount of effort or force on his part could seem to separate the heels from his feet.

Once he and the others were inside, Luka moved to follow. He hesitated, however, at the sound of something landing behind him.

“Viperion? We’ll need your help.”

He turned to see Ladybug standing tall. And was that perhaps a hint of blush on her face?

Oh. 

A shame.

It looked like Juleka wouldn’t be getting her pictures, after all...

_____________________

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

He shuddered, backing away from the door as far as possible.

“Ninoooooo…”

It was a fight for survival.

“C’mon, Nino. Just open the door.”

The survival of his dignity, but still!

He’d lost track of the others and immediately rushed home and to the safety of his room. His room, which he could lock and hide away in until this all blew over.

“I have a key!” Came Chris’s voice. “Somewhere…”

“Give it and I won’t take any pictures of you.”

“Deal!”

His room, which his traitorous little brother was willing to allow the enemy entry into.

Under any normal circumstances, he wouldn’t be this desperate. But if Alya caught him like this…

Black dress. Puffy at the shoulder, sleeves that extended to his wrists and were bound by white cuffs. A white smock tied back with a white ribbon. White bow at the neck and white frills along the bottom of the dress?

Oh yeah…Alya would never let this go…

He knew he shouldn’t have gotten into all those anime Adrien pushed him into! So what if the maids were cute? And sure, he’d admit he's had a thought or two of Alya in such attire...

But how was he supposed to know Alya had such thoughts as well? And in the complete opposite direction! Clearly this was the akuma’s magic punishing him!

Nino looked to his window.

It would be a long fall, but it was his only escape.

But would the broken legs be worth it when Alya would soon figure out what he did and be able to catch up to him easily?

Maybe he could try to climb up instead…but in these heels? It was suicide!

“Fufufu!”

…screw it. 

He opened up his window, only to meet a new pair of eyes.

Ladybug stared in surprise from her place at his windowsill, a certain box in hand.

“…hi?”

“Oh thank god!” He exclaimed. He took her by her shoulders, half leaning out and half pulling her in. “Alya’s insisting on taking pictures! Please tell me you have my Miraculous with you!”

“Actually, about that—”

“I don’t care! I’ll do anything! Just please—SAVE ME!”

Ladybug looked back behind her to a distant rooftop and the other allies she’d left behind.

The sound of a key jingling could be heard and Nino stared up at her, pleadingly.

Well, she could never resist the eyes…

By the time they’d gotten the door open, the room was empty.

Nino was gone.

_____________________

Six heroes stood assembled.

Ladybug.

Chat Noir.

Carapace.

Viperion.

King Monkey.

Pegasus.

Six heroes.

Five of whom were male.

And…still wearing some semblance of feminine maid-like outfits.

Ladybug wasn’t sure if she should be impressed or worried.

“What the hell?! I thought the Miraculous were supposed to change us into our hero suits?” Nino groused.

Contrary to his hopes and expectations, using the Miraculous had not transformed him into his normal Carapace look, but had rather simply given him a different outfit. The dress itself was green and had a turtle shell pattern, while the apron and waist belts were a brown color. The bowknot around his neck was a dark green and a brown to match the apron. He wore stockings. And to his very limited relief, his shoes were flats instead of heels.

“Well, at least this skirt is longer.” Pegasus said, now wearing a dark brown blouse and bicycle skirt. The skirt went to just above his ankles, for which he was grateful. But this seemed to be countered by the increase of height to his heels.

Plus no corset. The outfit was still fit tightly and not very comfortable, but at least he could breathe now.

“Though I believe we’re getting away from maid-wear now.” Chat said, conversationally.

Pegasus gave him a flat look. “I’m not complaining.”

If Chat had witnessed his earlier ensemble, surely he would understand.

King Monkey, for his part, seemed somewhat appeased with his Miraculous suit. It was a notably more Eastern style of dress, appearing more like robes worn by palace servants. He wore a light brown waistcoat with wide sleeves over a blouse and a wrap-around skirt. It looked heavy, but Kim seemed to have no trouble with it. Maybe it was made of a lighter material…?

And Viperion’s dress was different in style as well. Whereas his maid outfit as Luka had been more punk, this was more sleek. Wearing a green sleeveless dress and white smock, as well as what appeared to be a green corset. The dress had a slit at the sides, giving more maneuverability for his legs…as well as more show, given the appearance of a garter belt and stockings. His shoes were high heeled but including a beautiful snake design that wrapped around his ankles. To finish it off, rather than remain bare, his arms were covered in what appeared to be loose green sleeves that started at his elbows and extended to his wrists.

…maybe a picture or two wouldn’t hurt? Or three? Because the amount of details on these outfits were amazing and she was just brimming with ideas now…

Ladybug broke out of her musings when someone tugged on her shoulder to get her attention.

It was Chat. Chat who, much like the other heroes, as dressed in a fantastical outfit. Though a maid outfit, it was definitely more cat-themed with a giant paw-like gloves covering his hands, a paw print on his apron, and bow and bell on his tail which rang as he shifted.

What material was that made of, anyway? She kind of wanted to give it a feel and see if she could find something to compare it to. Maybe a quick sketch?

Oh. Right.

Akuma.

Maybe if she was lucky, they could finish this quickly so she could rush back home and take notes while she still had the ideas bouncing in her brain.

…maybe someone would have gotten pictures by then…?

“Ladybug?” Chat whispered, snapping her back to reality.

“Yes?”

Chat frowned in concern. “Is the Guardian okay with this?”

Ladybug froze.

“PSST! Ladybug!” Came a voice from a nearby rooftop, drawing her attention.

“Master Fu?”

“Ladybug! Here’s the Miracle Box. Take as many allies as you can and resolve this as soon as possible!”

“Master? Are…you hiding in a box?”

“No questions! Just go!”

“…he’s fine.”

Chat seemed uncertain, but decided not to pry.

“Let’s just split up and find the akuma.” Ladybug said. “But don’t engage until we’re all together!”

With that, the six split into three groups, with Chat and Carapace going one way and King Monkey and Pegasus going another, leaving Ladybug and Viperion searching together with the former trying not to get caught stealing peeks at the latter.

“Is something wrong?” He asked with a smile.

…trying. The key word was trying not to get caught.

“No! Nothing!” She replied quickly. “I’m just…surprised that you can still move so quickly in those heels.”

“I’ve had practice.” He explained, still smiling. He even lifted one leg behind him, managing to stand perfectly balanced even on one leg in heels.

“I…see.”

Part of her wanted very much to laugh. It was the same part that had found this entire day ridiculous. The other part of her was her inner artist at work and really wanted to make a few sketches inspired from the presented outfits. Like Viperion’s sleeves…and those shoes with a snake coil wrapping around the ankle…

“Ladybug!”

Gaah! Focus!

She turned towards the shout to find King Monkey and Pegasus stumbling towards her.

Her fingers twitched. She ignored it.

“We found the akuma.” King Monkey reported. “She doesn’t seem to be doing anything. Just…kind or roaming around.”

“And laughing.” Pegasus added bitterly. “She appears to be doing a lot of that.”

“How’s THAT for ‘doll them up’?” Came a shout from street level. “HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT, HUH?!”

As if on cue…

Ladybug and the others peeked over the edge of the roof.

“Has she displayed any other powers?” She asked.

“No.” Pegasus replied. “From what we could see, her power has already been activated to…obvious effect.” He hesitated, resolutely avoiding mentioning his new outfit or the indignity he’d already suffered. “She has only been laughing. And tripping the occasional person while searching for someone in particular—possibly the one responsible for her ire.”

Ladybug nodded. “At least she’s distracted and doesn’t know we’re here. We just need a plan of attack before we try to fight her.”

“No problem!” King Monkey said with a grin as he reached for his weapon. “We can just do a head on attack with our weapons and—”

They stared.

In place of his staff was a broom. A normal cleaning broom.

They sent cautious glances to each other before they checked their own inventory.

Said inventory consisted of a broom, a bucket, and a feather duster.

“I believe that constitutes as a problem.” Pegasus stated worriedly.

“That’s no fair!” King Monkey exclaimed. “Adrien was able to summon a machete!”

Ladybug blanched at that. “A what?!”

Pegasus pushed up his glasses. “I believe it’s a component of his…‘cosplay’?”

“Pfft!” Ladybug covered her mouth with her hand.

“Ladybug?”

“I-it’s nothing!” She replied hurriedly.

Viperion raised his eyebrow at her but didn’t comment.

King Monkey at least seemed to take it in stride.

“Now we just need a plan for attack!”

“With what?!” Pegasus questioned, waving the feather duster in frustration. “Our weapons don’t work!”

“More like our weapons aren’t actually weapons.” Viperion said, considering his bucket.

“I could smack her.” King Monkey offered, holding up his broom. “Maybe your feather duster has dust on it and could make her sneeze?”

Pegasus gave him a flat look.

“I think the broom is the best weapon we have right now.”

“Don’t knock a bucket!” King Monkey commanded, resolutely. “I got one stick on my head one time and it took hours to get it off! Buckets are evil, man!”

Pegasus sighed and rubbed his head. “It concerns me that you’re the second person I know whom that has happened to.”

Ladybug coughed, discretely trying to draw attention off that particular subject lest identities be at risk. “Anyway, I think I have a plan...”

______________________

To be honest, it wasn’t that difficult of an akuma. Especially not with six of them teaming up against it.

Akumaid truly see to have no ability other than the initial one of transforming what any male in Paris was wearing into something embarrassing...unless you were Adrien, apparently. Aside from that, she showed no other power—neither over the clothes themselves or the people wearing them. Well, she wasn’t controlling any of the victims or shrinking the clothing to choke them at any rate...which if you think about it, was rather lame for an akuma in the power department.

The only real disadvantage in battle came in the difficulty the boys had moving freely in their current outfits. And the afore noted lack of proper weaponry.

Their advantage of surprising was ruined by Chat’s bell ringing before they could ambush her, and both Carapace and Pegasus losing balance with their heels and falling over. King Monkey’s outfit, while longer, also meant more fabric to flap about and resist his movements regardless of how light it may have been, so he wasn’t able to get a hit in fast enough before the akuma turned on him and knocked him away.

Chat was able to get a hit in though.

With his…Kitty Wand…

“THIS IS MAGICAL PUNISHMENT!” He shouted as he smacked the akuma over the head.

“Chat. Chat no. Chat why?”

And Ladybug had hopelessly lost her composure by this point and was laughing. Just laughing. Laughing so hard she was crying actual tears as she smacked her own thigh in her struggle to breathe. Viperion was trying to help her stay standing, keeping an arm around her to support her as she half leaned and half chuckled tears into his chest.

“What’s going on? Does the akuma have some power over Ladybug, too?” King Monkey asked.

…

Viperion sighed.

“Sure. Something to that effect.”

Ladybug wheezed.

“LADYBUG!”

“Lu-haha-lucky haha-charm!”

It said something when her own Lucky Charm magicked up a paper bag. With Ladybug still victim to her fit of giggles, Viperion simply put the bag over her face and had her try to breathe.

“A paper bag doesn’t help with out of control laughing.” Pegasus noted as he forced himself to his feet.

“Do you want to try to figure out the Lucky Charm?” Viperion bit out in annoyance, Ladybug still shaking in his arms.

Pegasus coughed and backed away. “No, thank you.”

Ladybug let out another giggle.

“All right, enough! I’ll stop her!” Carapace shouted, reaching for his back. “With my…serving plate.”

His shield.

His precious shield was gone.

“…Carapace?” Ladybug asked.

The newly rendered Turtle Maid sighed and simply threw the plate as he had his shield, not expecting much.

…the plate slice flew through the air at a surprising speed, but missed the akuma entirely. Instead, it sailed past her, hitting a light post.

Ladybug had expected it to bounce, but instead there was a sound of shredding metal as the serving plate actually tore through the lamp post and into the concrete itself.

The lamp post, now detached, tilted and fell over—conveniently on top of the akuma before she had the time to realize what was happening and move out of the way.

SLAM!

It fell on top of her and she hit the ground.

“Huzzah?” Kim asked.

“Well…that’s one way to defeat an akuma.” Pegasus marveled.

“Great. Now can we fix this already?” Carapace asked impatiently. If they took too much longer, someone was bound to catch them.

That someone would probably be Alya.

And that was the last thing he wanted at this point.

“But I kind of wanted to make a sketch at least…” Ladybug muttered to herself, holding the paper bag Charm to her chest.

“LADYBUG!”

She waved her hands insistently. “I’m on it!”

But she could dream…

“MIRACULOUS LADYBUG!”

It was with some disappointment that the Miraculous Cure wiped away the outfits of the other heroes, returning them to their original costumes.

“OH THANK GOD!”

“That was…horrible…”

“Corsets were invented as a torture method, I swear…”

“Shieldy!” Carapace exclaimed, hugging the shield in relief. “Never leave me again!”

“You okay now, Ladybug?” Chat asked her in worry.

“I’m fine.” She said, even though she wasn’t really. She felt like she’d missed a chance, even if it was for the greater good. But it would have been an abuse of her power to be taking pictures of the guys in that state and she already felt bad enough for breaking down laughing in the middle of the fight.

In that moment, however, the loveliness of ladybugs that made up the Cure returned from their task of restoring Paris to flow over Ladybug herself before vanishing, leaving her holding an envelope in their wake. Curious, she opened the envelope…

She gasped.

Inside were a multitude of photos of the other heroes. From different angles. In different positions. All of them in their new outfits.

Ladybug bit the inside of her cheek to keep from responding and drawing attention to herself.

…Thank you, Tikki.

Best. Kwami. Ever. “Ladybug…” Carapace said in growing wariness. “What is that?”

“Nothing!”

“Ladybug. That better not be what I think it is…”

She shoved the photos back in the envelope.

“It’s nothing at all!”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

Noticing the stand off, the others approached as well.

“It was just something I was missing, yeah.”

“Then let us see it.”

“Can’t.” She replied, clutching the envelope to her chest. “It’s…Ladybug stuff.”

“Hand it over. Right now!”

"NOOO! THESE ARE FOR THE FUTURE OF FASHIOOOON!”

“GIVE US THE PHOTOS!”

“Wait—did she get any of all of us in a group cosplay pic?”

“NOT NOW, CHAT!”

Unfortunately, that small distraction was all she needed to get away.

Viperion, the only one having been pretty nonchalant this whole time, simply watched her leave and the others shout after her.

“…isn’t she going to take our Miraculous back?”

_________________________

Angela sighed, already dreading what was to come.

It was a humiliating end to an already humiliating week as the former akuma victim had been forced to return to her job to go over the updates for the new Ladybug game with the rest of her team.

Said updates were apparently to include maid outfits for the female heroes thanks to one particular coworker who had decided to work on maid outfits for the female heroes instead of the level he was assigned. It had been part of the reason she had been angry enough to be akumatized.

The fact that he was insistent on shoving his maid fetish into the game for no good reason other than having them be eye candy was the other part.

The images in question that he insisted on bringing featured the three female super heroes of the city: Ladybug, Rena Rouge, and Queen Bee.

But not as anyone had ever seen them.

Instead of their usual hero suits, the three girls were portrayed in sultry, even provocative poses. And most notably, all three were wearing some mockery of a French Maid outfit…as what would be believed by Americans, no less.

They might as well have been the initial sketches of pinup posters.

“You can’t still be serious!”

“Hey, I’m not the one who got akumatized just because I was jealous that someone else had a good idea.” He said bitingly and giving her a pointed look, perhaps still a bit bitter of the aforementioned experience that her akumatization had caused.

“It’s not a good idea, John.” Angela countered. “There was no reason to have the girls be running in maid outfits.”

He shrugged. “We could just say an akuma did it. After all, we did just get an akuma who did exactly that.” He said, giving her another look.

She clenched her fists and was about to retort when their team lead entered the room.

The meeting commenced and she’d been forced to bite her tongue. Each of the team members went over their progress and updates for their contribution to the game. Level design. Enemies. Testing.

And then came his grand achievement. Instead of the level he was assigned, he gave scantily clad designs for three of the eight known heroes.

What effort.

“I was thinking we really need to include something to make our game stand out, so I made some extra skins for the heroes.” He bragged, sending her a smug look. “The appeal would sell plenty of copies.”

“Or the controversy.” Angela muttered back before turning to the team lead and hoping that the man leading their group had more empathy…or sense.

The team lead looked over the designs with an analyzing gaze. Tiffeny, despite the initial impression his name would give, was a rather buff man who took no shit. But was also a guy. Who liked guy things. But did those things include young women in maid costumes?

After a moment, Tiffeny dropped the pictures on the table and looked at John incredulously. “You know, if you were going to base skins off recent events, you could at least have been authentic.”

John stared. “What?”

“It was the guys who were affected by Akumaid. Not the girls. If we’re going to do maids, we need to keep it true to life, just like the rest of the designs we’ve included. We talked about this when we started this project.”

“But it’s what the audience wants!” John argued.

“Do you know who comprises the majority of our audience?” Tiffeny asked. “Girls. Girls, gay guys, and those who are exploring their interests. Guys in the outfits would sell leagues more than the girls.” He started ticking his fingers “It’s different. It’s original. And it’s based in actual events. People would love it.”

“But…they’ll love this!”

“Man, if people wanted to see sexy girls in skimpy clothing, they’d play literally any other game! Or watch porn.” Tiffeny explained. “But what game do you know of has had guys in maid outfits?”

“Well...”

“Exactly. We want to stand out. And we even have recent events as justification. So if you’re going to be wasting time you should be spending on level-making to put people in maid skins, then get those male heroes some maid costumes.”

“But that’s not fair!” John exclaimed.

Tiffeny paused at that. “Hmm…you’re right.”

With that, he turned to her. “You’re good at designing. Make some butler outfits for the girls. Something dashing to serve as a counter for the guys.”

Angela blinked in surprise for a moment before smiling.

“Sure thing!”

“You know…” one of the other workers noted. “While we’re on the subject, I WAS thinking of some medieval armor designs for the girls and princess dresses for the guys.”

“Hey yeah! Like a light green for Viperion!”

“Maybe teal might be better?”

“Ooo! How about…”

Soon enough, everyone seemed to be invested in the new plan.

Everyone that is, except John.

“Lovely!” Tiffeny said cheerfully. “Plan it out and bring the concepts to me later.”

With a new task in hand and John’s pouting to forever be a memory to hold onto, it seemed her day was looking up…

_________________________

“That was some akuma battle.” Marinette said as she slid into her seat next to Alya.

The reporter, however, only looked annoyed. “Ladybug had apparently called all the male heroes and I completely missed it!” She groaned and leaned back in her seat, bemoaning the lost opportunity.

If she’d hadn’t been so focused on tracking Nino for the purpose of collecting blackmail ensuring his safety, she would have been able to catch all of the male heroes in their maid outfits.

Marinette smiled. “You know…I may have a connection…”

Alya gasped.

“No.”

Marinette giggled and slid over her phone with a picture showing.

“NO WAY!” She cried out before staring up at Marinette in shock. “Girl, you have to send me these!”

“Wait—you have what now?” Nino had arrived, initially hopeful that he had avoided the worst of that day only to have those hopes immediately dashed upon arriving to see the two girls sharing what could only have been one thing…

“I have pictures of the heroes in their new outfits.” Marinette replied cheerfully as she swiped through her phone. “Oh look, Nino! You’re in here, too!”

“WHAT?! NO!” He shouted, rushing forward.

Marinette quickly grabbed back her phone and hid it in her pocket with an overly sweet and not at all innocent grin.

“Mari, come on, no! Don’t do this to me!” He begged.

“Don’t do this to ME!” Alya cut in. “You can’t just show me that and take it away! That’s just not fair!”

“Don’t worry.” Marinette assured them. “It’s going where all my blackmail material goes.”

“Wait what?”

“Since when do you have blackmail material?”

“Since somebody started a game of ‘let’s take pictures of Marinette while she’s asleep and post them online’.” Marinette replied dryly.

Nino groaned. “Come on! I said I was sorry!”

“And now I can be just as sorry.” She replied blithely.

Which was to say: not sorry at all.

“Come on! Alya made me do it!”

“It was just in fun! Marinette! Please!”

“Do you want me to beg? Cry? I’ll cry.”

“I’ll pay you! Pretty please! At least the heroes if nothing else!”

“Oh no you don’t!”

“My blog NEEDS this!”

Marinette smiled at the minor chaos she had caused as the normally happy couple bickered with each other.

Sweet sweet music.

“Hey, Marinette!”

And speaking of sweet…

She turned to look up at a certain blond-haired model as he arrived at his own desk. Though he seemed to be a bit distracted by the arguing couple.

“Hey, Adrien!” She greeted, for once with no stutter to speak of.

“Hey, um…are they okay?” He asked, gesturing to the two.

“Oh, they’re fine.” She said, waving them off. “Just…a bit excited over the recent akuma.”

At that, Adrien brightened. “Wasn’t it awesome?”

She nodded, trying to keep her laughter inside.

“You…ah…enjoyed yourself then?”

Adrien shrugged, looking a bit sheepish. “Well, it’s not often I get to dress up in a way that’s ‘silly’. Or in anything that isn’t promoting Father’s brand. And I’ve never gotten to cosplay. So it was…really fun.”

Oh. Ouch. Okay, that one kind of hurt. The poor Sunshine Child…

“You know…” Marinette said, leaning over her desk and smiling at him. “I’ve seen a bit of that one anime you mentioned.”

“Cells at Work?” He asked, brightening up.

She nodded. “Mmhmm. I could make you a jacket based off the lead Red Blood Cell. And if you like, I can keep it so you can wear it whenever we hang out.”

He gasped. “Really?”

“Sure! Maybe you can come over sometime so we can try a fitting. We could even play Mecha Strike.”

Adrien beamed. “That sounds great! Thanks, Marinette!”

She waved him off and went back to full sitting in her seat.

Alya and Nino both became distracted from their arguing by the miracle they had just witnessed.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng had just spoken to Adrien Agreste…and not a stutter to be heard!

“What the heck, girl?” Alya whispered, sliding into her seat beside her friend. “Since when could you do THAT and why haven’t you done it sooner? I could swear I saw hearts in his eyes!”

Marinette shrugged, grinning sheepishly. “After seeing Adrien Agreste in a maid dress, I kind of wondered why I was so scared of talking to him to begin with.”

Alya laughed. “Well, at least something good came out of this, then.”

“You know...more good WOULD come out of this if I had pics of those heroes..." 

“Really, Alya?”

“You’re pretty much the only one who managed to get any shots of the male heroes!” Alya exclaimed. “Seriously, how?!”

Marinette giggled.

“Just lucky, I guess.”

________________________

OMAKE 1:

Knock! Knock!

“Felix?” His mother called on the other side of the locked and barricaded door. “Will you be coming out?”

“That depends. Do you have a camera?”

A pause. Which was all the answer he needed.

“Then no.”

OMAKE 2:

Fortunately, in the midst of their searching, the team had managed to find the akuma and her primary target, getting between the two.

“So what happened?” Ladybug asked him.

John gripped his skirt, nervously. “She’s my coworker in developing a new video game and she didn’t like my input.”

“What set her off?”

The guy rolled his eyes. “She’s one of those types who wants to take the fun out of video games.”

“What?” Ladybug blinked.

“Okay, so I wanted to put some maid costumes in the game! It was just for fun! Besides, it would have added a bit of pizazz! Something for the players to enjoy!”

“You could just try making a good game.” Pegasus pointed out. “If you have to rely on a cheap gimmick to get buyers, it may not be a good product.”

"I'm sorry, really! I mean, sure, I'm still going to put it in the game, because who wouldn't want hot maids, but still! That doesn't mean I deserve this!"

The akuma raised her fist and shouted at him. “THEY ARE HEROES, DAMMIT! THEY DESERVE BETTER THAN MAID SKINS JUST BECAUSE THEY’RE GIRLS!”

Ladybug blanched. “Wait…is the game about me?”

Pegasus coughed and looked away. “There have been…rumors, yes.”

Viperion tilted his head. “That seems like a double standard though…since we’re the ones in maid outfits...”

“Not the point, Viperion!”

Ladybug frowned.

“I don’t think I want to help now.”

“Ladybug!”

[greenygreenland]

Dream A Little Dream of Me: Norman x Reader (Part Three)

-part three is here! I had to slice it in two because apparently there's a certain word block limit (at least on mobile). So get ready for part four!

Summary: You can’t remember anything.

Month four, 08:00

The last thing you recalled was the face of a boy with light hair. His eyes were bright, swirling with love and affection you looked for everyday. Whenever you woke up, you couldn’t remember his name, or his sweet voice that called out to you in your dreams.

All you had was the light of day and the rising sun. It made you sad to look upon it alone in your room. Someone else were supposed to be by your side, right next to you. But who?

And then there was the absence of a motherly figure--a woman you only recalled through song. How was it you remembered that melancholy tune but not a name or face? You wished you knew, and you prayed everyday to whoever was up there to give you another chance. Another go at life--with the people you never knew the names of.

“Good morning, Letha.”

You met the old man’s gaze with a simple nod. His crinkly voice was one of the things you actually didn’t mind, even if it was hard to hear at times. 

The old man, Alex, was kind, but the most you conversed about were your lost memories, your insane knacks for weapons, chess, and lastly, intelligence.

Time wasn’t friendly, and a month passed uneventfully. It turned into two, which turned into three and so on. Every now and then, you wondered if you’d stay like that: a blank slate. Alex said there was this one philosopher who called it a ‘tabula rasa’. For some reason, that fact reminded you of someone long ago.

Dark hair, the smell of old books, dust hidden between bookshelves...

You began to make out the image of a boy. He was no older than you, with cool eyes, a warm, yet small smile. Who was he? His name was at the tip of your tongue, yet it wouldn’t come out.

Ren? Reylo? Tired Cyclops? No, that wasn’t it. Obviously.

It hurt to think too much about it, and before you could grasp onto it, the memory faded, along with the name.

“Don’t think too hard,” Alex warmly said. “I’m sure it’ll come with time.”

He hoped to help you recover your lost memories, but in the meantime, he’d do his best to support you, just as he’d done with his long, dead daughter. For that reason, he felt it was time to bring you to the world outside. In this town you both resided in, everyone died in a war.

Alex was the only survivor.

For that reason, he was the only person you ever got to know these past seven months. There was no one your age around here, and it wasn’t like you went far anyway. Every now and then, Alex brought you a few towns over to experience a nice train ride to his favourite shops. Then he’d buy you something and take pictures.

But now? He felt it was time to take it a step further. He wasn’t sure if you’d like the idea, but it was worth a try.

SEVEN MONTHS LATER, 06:28

“Come again?” you inquired. Alex took a sip of his coffee and stood from the chair. The wooden floorboards of the cabin creaked under his weight. He waddled over to the window, drawing open the plaid curtains. Warm rays of sunlight fluttered upon your face and Alex smiled warmly like he always did.

“It’s time you get out more,” he said, “and experience the world outside this old town. I want you to look across the horizon because there’s more than the cabin.” You knitted your brows together. You didn’t like how cryptic he was being. It reminded you of someone you once knew, someone who you held close to your heart.

“Gramps, what are you trying to say?”

Alex heaved in a long breath, as if he were afraid of saying it himself. “I want you to go to school. College, if you want the specifics.” Your eyes doubled in size and you hoped, prayed, that he would take it back and say it was a joke. College? You didn’t need a degree! And besides, it was expensive. You couldn’t afford something like that. But alas, Alex wasn’t one to joke about serious things like that. He was an old man, so he always meant what he said.

This time was no different.

“You mean it,” you practically whispered. “That you want me to go to college.” Alex nodded, absentmindedly running a hand through his thick, white beard. There was a long pause and you took the time to sip your tea. Would school benefit you in some way? Was it worth the time? The work?

It didn’t make sense. You were smart. Alex said it himself: “I haven’t met anyone as smart as you”. So why did he want to send you to school? It had to be more than just to “meet people” because you did that all the time on the train every few days.

“What’s so good about college, Gramps? We can’t afford to pay for something so expensive. I don’t want to see you in debt just because of me.”

Through your calm façade, Alex noticed the spark of uncertainty in your eyes. Throughout the long days he got to know you, he realised one thing: you were never keen on showing your emotions.

“I want to give you an opportunity to find yourself,” he finally replied. “If the people you knew are around your age, then going to school might bring something back. You know, jog your memories. Besides that, I want you to have a life more than that I can offer. There’s nothing in this small town.”

“I don’t know about that. I have you here. You’re all I know, Gramps.”

Alex knitted his bushy brows together. “I know, but I can’t always be the only one you know. Don’t you want to see the world?”

It wasn’t that going to college was excruciatingly disappointing, only that it was a means of giving out false hope. How could you cling onto something so child-like and unreliable? 

Hope could only get people so far. You were no different.

That night, you lay in bed, wide awake. A nagging thought kept pulling at the back of your mind, repeating itself over, and over, and over again until you couldn’t stand the phrase. But as soon as you repeated it with your own lips, it vanished as if it never existed.

You lay in bed for a little longer, fighting the lull of sleep. It pulled on your eyes, and your head nodded as you forced down a yawn. Sleep was for the weak. If you stayed awake a little longer, maybe you might remember something, right?

-----

The grass tickled your bare feet. If it were any normal day, you would have liked to lay down in its warm embrace with Emma, Ray and Norman. You could watch the clouds together, and wonder about life outside these concrete walls.

But that was stupid to think about, wasn’t it? The liberty to relax and do absolutely nothing had been striped from your very being, like the air that you gasped and chocked on. You held your shoes tightly to your chest and frantically glanced past your shoulder. Good. All clear, just how you liked it.

Norman and Emma lay a couple hundred meters behind. They were your eyes, the two little owls that perched high above with all-seeing eyes. With a grunt, you hopped over a thick tree root and tossed aside your shoes. They landed somewhere in the brush, right where the trees parted.

You came to a stop and glared at the concrete wall towering over you. If you completed your mission and everything remained as straight-forward as you wanted it to be, then you’d escape with everyone. Just like Emma wanted. Just like you tried so hard to believe.

But what if something happened? What if Don and Gilda were caught? Or worse, what if Mama suspected that Ray betrayed her? Surely she wouldn’t go as far as to eliminate him on the spot...

...right?

You clenched a fist so tightly that your knuckles turned white. Stop. Stop it, you told yourself. You had to have faith in your family. They were just as capable as you, maybe even more, so they’d have no issues. You had to focus on your job so they could do theirs.

“My, so this is where you’ve run to?”

You sucked in a sharp breath.

No, that couldn’t be. You made sure she wouldn’t know where you were. You told all the precautions, too. Were Emma and Norman okay? What about Ray? And Don and Gilda?

“I’m surprised you managed to make this far.” Mama stiffly said. “You never were as strong as Emma, or fast either.”

It was like the sun stopped shining. Your blood ran cold. The warm rays turned to ice.

“It’s not too late to turn back (Y/n).” Her voice was silky smooth, tempting almost, as if she were coaxing a frightened sheep to the slaughter. “You’ve improved, my dear, but is it enough? Once your plan crumbles, what will you do then? It wouldn’t be a bad idea to become a mama. It’s the reliable path. You will survive and you will be happy.”

For a moment, you wondered if she actually cared about you. Maybe her love was all fake from the beginning and she didn’t care about you. Or your family. Or anything but survival in this cruel world.

You never loved us.

That was what you wanted to say, yet the words stuck in your throat like glue. If she didn’t love you, then why did she hold you so tightly when you had a nightmare? If she didn’t love you, then why did her eyes shine with pride when you got perfect scores?

“Come, my dear,” Mama coaxed. “Let’s go home.”

The sudden urge to laugh bubbled in your throat like lava.

Home? This was a prison in disguise.

It’s not too late to turn back? A lie.

It wouldn’t be a bad idea to become a mama? As if.

You couldn’t afford to betray your family. Not after all you’ve done, and not after all the effort. They relied on you. You weren’t going to let them down.

You turned on your heel to face Mama. She smiled at you, but it wasn’t a nice smile. It made your stomach twist and turn, reminded you just how much of a danger she could be. Your gaze focused past her shoulder, where a familiar head of orange stood.

Emma peeked out from behind the trees and held up the bag of rope. Norman stood from a cluster of bushes and motioned the the wall. They were going to climb it while you distracted Mama. Perfect.

A bright grin broke out onto your lips. “I’m sorry Mama.” you began.

She stood like a statue with wide eyes. “Are you now?” she inquired. You were finally conceding in this fiery war of wits. After all that fuss and now would she have you back by her side? She opened her arms to welcome you. It was all she could do with her prized little girl. Finally you were being smart. Finally you were choosing the reliable path. You were going to follow in her footsteps. Survive. And outlive everyone in this house like she had.

But then something happened. Emma burst from the bushes, followed by Norman who helped throw the rope up a nearby branch. That triggered you into action, and you lunged at Mama with all the strength you could muster.

“I will never--!”

You wrestled for her watch.

“--ever--!”

Mama tugged on your little arms.

“--leave my family behind!”

You yanked the stupid watch out of her hands, but just as you stood, Mama grasped onto your leg and tugged. Hard. She gave it a squeeze, and a sickening crack echoed in your ears. You screamed. Your ears rung and you heaved in a strangled breath.

“You should have taken the reliable path.” Mama’s calm voice made you want to vomit. “None of us would be here if you had listened to your mama.”

-----

Your eyes shot open and you jolted awake. The faces, the voices, the senses--they flashed before you in a whirl of colours and sounds. Why couldn’t you recall who they were? Or what their names were? You knew every single one of them by heart, yet your mind lay completely blank. Again.

The urge to punch your mattress overwhelmed your senses.

“Good morning,” came Alex’s crinkly voice. That snapped you out of your frustrated stupor. He stood in the doorway, a warm smile on his lips and a spatula in hand. “Pancakes are almost done. Today we’ll get you settled in your dorm.”

Oh. Right. Gramps was sending you to a boarding school. The thought of leaving your beloved bed left you queasy and sluggish. Why should you go somewhere so far away from this cozy, little cottage? It was only recently that you settled here too. Maybe Gramps was taking it too fast.

With a heavy heart, you lugged yourself out of bed and threw on a pair of warm clothes. The unforgiving climate of this land was not one you would challenge. Ever.

The moment you emerged from your room was the moment you understood Gramps’s insistence. He meant well, you knew, but in a way you didn’t appreciate. Going out gave you a higher chance of meeting whomever you knew. It was completely logical.

“Are you worried?” Gramps began, placing a stack of pancakes on your plate. “I’ve already informed your school teachers of your amnesia, so they’ll understand. As for your dormitory, everything has been set. And don’t forget your breakfast, lunch, and dinner plans, as well as your--”

“You seem more anxious than me, Gramps.” you said with a subtle smile. He stared at you, wide-eyed until he mirrored you with a chuckle. “I suppose you’re right. I just want to make sure the transition goes smoothly.”

“Of course.”

“And that you’re safe and okay.”

“Gramps--”

“And that you won’t have to worry about a thing.”

“--the pancake’s burning.”

That set him off. He jolted out of his chair faster than his age and capabilities should have allowed. It was a miracle too, because the poor pancake was seconds away from catching fire on the pan. A long sigh left Gramps’s lips as he turned off the stove. “I think I’ll give this to the birds.”

“You best do that, because I won’t eat that piece of charcoal.”

You shared a quick chuckle between each other, savouring the warmth and comfort that came. If someone else had found you that day in the field of endless grass, you weren’t sure if you’d be so lucky. It was by chance Gramps was the one to discover you, so you couldn’t imagine life otherwise.

Once your pancakes were gone and your bag all packed, you traveled to the train station in the early rays of sun. Gramps was the type of enjoy the silence of nature, but to you, it was excruciating.

It didn’t matter where you went. Each time, you looked past your shoulder, to the fading mountains, to the little rabbits that scurried by. It was like you were on survival mode. But why should you be when there was nothing out here? It was so peaceful, so wonderful that you couldn’t imagine anything coming out to get you.

Smile. It’s okay, I promise. I’m here.

You froze and glanced past your shoulder towards the rolling hills and the fading grass. That voice--you knew it. But had you dreamed it up? There was no one here but you and Gramps. A short sigh left your lips and all Gramps could do was ruffle your hair comfortingly.

The train ride was nice. With the calm chugging and the way it swayed, you didn’t mind it at all. Every now and then, your eyes fluttered open and closed. Maybe you were tired. Maybe you weren’t a morning person. Whatever the reason, you submitted to the lull and closed your eyes.

-----

Not a single soul moved for what felt like centuries. The moment Ray, Gilda and Don arrived at the scene, it was clear that nothing else could be done. Mama smiled at her children viciously. She wasn’t here to play nice any longer. Today, she was the hunter and her children the prey.

“It was a clean break. She will recover smoothly,” Mama curtly announced. “And Norman?”

You didn’t like the way she looked at him, or the way her grip seemed to tighten on your limp arms. Her gaze dangerously narrowed and she said, “Your shipment date has been set.”

Your heart stopped and your blood ran cold. Norman’s shipment date had been set? No, that couldn’t be. Your plan required at least another week until everything fell into place. Norman was the core of it all. Without him, what would you do?

And speaking of which, he was going to die.

Die.

Die.

Die.

He was going to die.

You squirmed in Mama’s grasp, hoping--praying that you could maneuver around this. Norman wasn’t going to die. You wouldn’t let him.

“Let me--let me go!”

It was reckless and it was stupid to think he’d be able to evade Mama’s sight just like that, but you had to try.  Didn’t Emma say you’d all leave here together? “Norman--!”

He blinked as if he’d woken up from a long dream. The forced smile the sprouted on his lips looked painful. Don’t struggle, it said.

Don’t struggle? How did he expect you to sit around and do nothing? If anyone should be shipped out first, it should be you. Why? Because you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you let any of your family go.

Mama glared down at you with a cold smile. “You can’t fight me more than you can stop the sun from setting,” she said, heaving you higher off ground. Your leg hit her arm and a cry escaped your lips. Norman flinched and Emma remained frozen in place.

You were always the strong one, not Emma, not Ray, and not Norman. Because you were one of the eldest, it was your responsibility to be the shoulder to cry on and to stand when no one else could. To see you holding back tears and gritting your teeth tight enough to make your gums bleed made Norman’s little heart break.

He didn’t care about his shipment date. All he wanted was to see you safe.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of faces, voices and regrets. The sharp pain in your leg long faded, leaving only a dull throb that stayed as a reminder of your failure. Yes, that was what you were, right? You couldn’t complete the plan even with Don, Gilda and Ray distracting Mama. You were pathetic. A waste of space.

The door creaked open and you sat up a little straighter. You smiled at the trio as they entered the room. “Hey guys.”

“How are you feeling?” inquired Norman. He took a seat by your bedside and gave your hand a gentle squeeze. Ray pulled up another chair. He hid his face behind his fringe to conceal his grim frown. It didn’t work though, and you merely smiled at him. He huffed irritably, as if he didn’t want you to know he worried so much.

“I didn’t think she’d go that far.” Ray quietly muttered. You knitted your brows together with a absentminded shrug. “And to think I was that close to getting her watch.” Emma’s shoulders sagged. “I wish I had--”

“It’s fine Emma.” you said with a warm smile. “Broken bones heal, it’s not permanent.” She looked like she wanted to say something, but with the warm smile on your face, she couldn’t gather the courage to. Instead, she settled for a tight hug.

It was hard to look her in the eye anyway. The sadness she tried so hard to force down only added to your guilt, and you weren’t sure if you could think straight with all the regret.

“I’m sorry this happened.” you began. “Now that I’m hurt, you’re worrying for me.”

Emma pulled away as Norman gave a firm shake of his head. “None of this is anyone’s fault.” he stated. "None of us saw that coming, and even if we did, I’m not sure we’d be any good outwitting Mama on the spot like that.” He offered a gentle smile that made you feel just a little bit better.

-----

Gentle smiles. A warm summer breeze. Soft kisses. Tender touches. That was what reminded you of the boy in your dreams. Although you couldn’t recall his face every time you awoke, you remembered the fact that he was handsome and kind.

Gramps offered a warm smile. “Good morning.” You covered your yawn with a hand. “I’m assuming we’re here?”

He nodded. “Are you excited?” It was obvious Gramps knew the question. He only wanted to hear the answer from your mouth rather than from an assumption. As much as you wished to be excited for such a grand opportunity, you weren’t sure you’d like school. Well, how could you guess when you’ve never been to school in the first place?

At least from what you could recall.

“I still don’t know how to feel about this,” you quietly say. Gramps guides you along the walkway and out of the train, where you step out of the station and to the bustling streets of the city. You frown. Gramps said you were going to a boarding school, was it supposed to be somewhere as crowded as here?

From what you read, boarding schools needed large spaces to accommodate dormitories, classrooms, and sports fields. Was there such a thing as space in this congested collection of skyscrapers?

You shook your head to yourself and followed Gramps down whatever path his old-fashioned map led him to. He walked slow. Too slow for your liking. Not only that, but with all the people around, you couldn’t bear not to stick close to his side. What if he got lost? What if you got lost? Or kidnapped and sold on the black market for organs?

Maybe you were just paranoid.

The looming skyscrapers offered no comfort, and the cool breezes that sent shivers down your spine weren’t helping either. You hopped over a patch of ice and pulled your jacket closer just as Gramps came to a stop.

A lot of land stood in the middle of all the skyscrapers, where a pale field of grass stretched out over the acres of land. Buildings that looked like castles peppered themselves out in the form of classrooms, mess halls, and corridors.

You stood in the shadow of the tall brick walls. It separated the school from the rest of the city. An overwhelming feeling of bittersweet hope filled your system, as if you’ve stood in front of a wall like this before. Had you been here? No. You were sure this was your first time seeing the school.

“Take care Letha.” Gramps said. “Don’t forget to eat and exercise, as well as make some new friends. I expect you to call at least once a week, just so I know you’re doing fine.” You smiled a little, cheeks warm in embarrassment. “Gramps, I’m old enough to take care of myself.”

“I know, I know. Just...this is a big step for you.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“Be careful, and have fun. Even if you don’t remember anything, as long as you have fun, it’s fine.” He wrapped you in a tight hug. “And most importantly, I love you Letha.”

You basked in the warmth of his arms. You didn’t need to worry about your memories in that moment because you had Gramps. He was your world. Your family. What more could you ask for? But then he pulled away, and the warmth didn’t linger.

You were still incomplete.

The next day, you found yourself wandering the halls aimlessly, picking apart each detail and escape route in sight. The hall to your left had an exit to the school courtyard, a peaceful place with metal chairs and picnic tables. To your right sat another hall, which also had an exit to another courtyard. Then in front of you stood the front entrance, where the side exits fanned out in the halls next to it.

“Hey, you’re the new girl, right? Letha Meek-aye...Mikhaylov?”

You spun around faster than the speed of light. In front of you stood a girl, perhaps a year older with an unfriendly frown. She wore the generic school uniform: black skirt, long socks, white blouse, gray sweater vest, and a tie. Her bright, red locks stood out like a sore thumb. They curled past her shoulders in beach waves, framing her narrow, freckled face in rouge.

For a moment, you blanked out. When was the last time you spoke to someone, much less a teenager your age? Even though this girl wasn’t intimidating, it wasn’t like you wanted to talk to her. The point of coming here was to figure out if anything jogged your memory and then leave. It wasn’t playtime. “I’m new.” Your voice came out calmer than you felt. “Is that an issue?”

Despite the pointed look on her face, you had a feeling she was one of the nicer people in the area. She had a soft look in her green eyes, as if she understood what it felt like to be a new kid. “I’m Flanna Morris,” she said with a small smile. “Nice to meet you Letha.”

Flanna had an accent. By the hard ‘r’s and the elongated ‘oo’ sounds, you guessed she had to be from Ireland. Gramps told you it wasn’t too far from here, but still a while away.

You sent Flanna a cautious side eye. She was being too friendly. “Yeah, nice to meet you too...Flanna.” A hearty laugh that bellowed in her stomach echoed in the quiet corridors. “Look,” she said, “I’m not here to bully you. I just wanted to offer some help.”

Help? Yeah right. No one in this world offered help without asking for something in return. Besides Gramps maybe--but he was a special case, it didn’t count.

“Come on, I’ll show you around Letha.” The look on Flanna’s sweet face made it hard to decline. If you weren’t interested in seeing if there were any places you missed, then you would have declined. But perhaps Flanna could show you more than the shallow surface of this boarding school.

You passed to through the quiet corridors, where the sun shone through the windows overlooking the street. The sun rose over the horizon and up the edge of the skyscrapers’ base. Cars bustled about, and even through the thick brick walls, you heard all the honking and yelling of the early morning traffic.

“So, where’re you from?” Flanna inquired. You tugged on the strap of your bag’s shoulder strap. “Far away.”

“What do you mean by ‘far away’?”

“I mean the countryside.” you clarified. Flanna ‘ohhh’ed. “The city must be a huge change for you then, I know it was for me.” You knitted your brows together. So she was from the countryside in Ireland? That’s more than a simple change of scenery. No wonder Flanna wanted to help you.

“Okay, so here’s the science hall. Ms. Darsey is one of the best teachers you can have around. You’re a juniour, right? I’m a senior--if you couldn’t already tell...”

Flanna talked a lot. No, she didn’t just love talking, she loved explaining all her experiences with x, y, and z teacher, as well as what classroom and what day of the month it was. She had a wonderful memory, you had to admit, but that made her stories long. Her energy was like a breath of fresh air, and that red hair of hers sparkled like jewels in the morning light.

Flanna’s hair was fiery just like a girl’s you used to know. Her face wasn’t clear in your mind whenever you thought of her, but the joy she always brought you stayed. It made your heart warm. Flanna seemed to have a similar effect, but not as strongly as the girl you once knew.

“You have Mr. Dursley for English,” she noted. “Make sure you don’t stick out. He’s a big pain and if you’re late, he’ll give you a detention.” You raised a brow. Mr. Dursley detained teenagers for being late? What kind of nonsense was that? You decided to phone Gramps later and ask him if that were true. He’d know. Hopefully.

The look on your face made Flanna chuckle, but you had a feeling she didn’t understand your thought process. “Don’t worry,” she casually said. “You’ll be fine. I bet’cha Connor and James will be the first to get a detention. They’re both trouble makers--little devils. Especially James.” You stared up at Flanna’s bright, green eyes. They sparkled like the sun against her hair. You’ve seen that look before, the one of unsaid love and adoration. Long ago, someone looked at you like that.

But who?

You wracked your brain for answers. It was on the tip of the tongue. Right there--just in front of you. Yet it was as if something were preventing you from seeing the truth. The one postulate you knew stuck throughout the days you’ve forgotten who you once were.

Backtrack. Backtrack.

A boy. Light hair. Soft eyes. Kind smile. A laugh that was like music. And the calling of your name.

“(Y--n)!”

Yes, that was the sound of his voice, right? Or maybe it was a stranger’s instead, someone’s you’ve heard on the street. Then whose name was that? Was it even a name to begin with? Maybe it was a word instead and you misheard it as a name. That thought made your heart throb in the worst way possible. Ice filled your veins, and you found yourself pausing to stare out the crystal, clear windows.

“Something wrong?” Flanna inquired. You blinked away the haze and turned to her with a shake of your head. “Just nervous.” A bright smile burst onto Flanna’s lips. “Ah, I see. No worries, you’ll do great. And if you don’t it’s your first day, right? Nothin’ wrong with messin’ up a little.”

You wished you could believe Flanna, but something deep in your heart said otherwise. A slip-up could cost someone more than their reputation. Possibly their life. You couldn’t speak from experience, but you were sure you’d seen a sacrifice. Long ago. Far away in the distance.

Flanna stopped in front of your first period class. “We still have about fifteen minutes before school starts. Everyone’s probably in the cafeteria eating breakfast or fooling around in the field. I recommend you come early to class so you don’t get caught up in the crowd.” And with that, she waved, turning on her heel to hurry away. “I’ll see you during lunch! We have it together, so I’ll come find you in the cafe!”

She rounded a sharp corner and disappeared, leaving you alone in the quiet hall. You peeked in through the open door. At a long desk sat a teacher, who stood at the notice of your presence. She wore thin glasses on her old squarish face, a white blouse with a tie, a woolen navy blazer, and black trousers with heels to match.

The teacher had a kind face, with eyes that were soft with years of wear and tear. The smile on her lips said it all--she had seen things. Many things. “Welcome, I assume you’re Letha Mikhaylov?” She had a crinkle in her voice like the edges of her eyes when she smiled. It complimented her kindly face.

“Yes.” you replied. “That’s me.”

“Well I’m Mrs. Walker.” She motioned for you to come in, that sweet smile still on her lips. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve been informed that you have amnesia. May I ask how much you remember?” You folded your hands together. It was the least you could do to look less nervous.

“I remember skills, knowledge, and the arts. I do not recall my original name or what my life was like before, but I am still highly-functional. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Walker. ”

The way you worded your sentences was off-putting to the teacher. It wasn’t normal for high school students to be so in-line, much less well-off with their manners.

From the report she read, you were taken in by Alex Mikhaylov, a writer who lived in an old, deserted town. He claimed he’d been trying to help you re-gain your memories for nearly a year, but from the looks of it, there wasn’t much to go off of.

Mrs. Walker took a seat at her neat desk. A pencil sharpener sat at the corner along with a tissue box, stapler, tape dispenser, and a plastic name plaque. In bolded letters it said, Mrs. Walker. Of course, in cursive. A few photos were cramped by her computer, where she stood there, smiling with a young girl and a man. Mrs. Walker looked to be around twenty-eight to thirty in that photo.

You stood by her desk awkwardly. Were you supposed to sit in the back? Near the window? Or in the front? The sinking feeling of unfamiliarity plagued your mind as you ran a hand through your locks.

There weren’t any other students here besides you.

“You may take a seat wherever you’d like Letha,” Mrs. Walker said. “I do not assign seats in this class, but if there is an issue, I can if you’d like. Is there anything I should know about you?” You shook your head and took a seat by the window. The football fields, frost-bitten and white, stretched out as far as the eye could see. A little to the left of that were the dormitories. Red brick walls and sparkling clean window panes, just like every other building at the school.

Winter was a wonderful season, but you wished it weren’t so cold all the time. Maybe if there were a bit of snow, it would cheer you up, jog your memory even. “I’m not sure if I have anything of importance.” Your voice echoed in the deserted classroom like a bell. “But I hope I can do my best.”

A smile broke out onto Mrs. Walker’s lips. “Don’t hope, do.”

And so you did. You vowed to do what you could with whatever you could. You weren’t going to hope to do your best, or hope to find your memories because you would. They’d come back to you, and you were going to do everything in your power to get them back.

PART FOUR COMING SOON [GIVE ME LIKE THREE DAYS TO ADD A BONUS PORTION BECAUSE I LOVE YOU GUYS] -->UPDATE: PART FOUR HERE <--

[sylverstorms]

Donna x Elena ----From Winter to Spring

This is a commission written for the lovely @saltwatereulogies and I cannot thank you enough for all your support! I hope you enjoy the story :)

She doesn’t know how she escaped that nightmarish inferno. How she still draws breath. Why her body keeps running despite its condition and despite the fact that she has lost everything.

The village is gone. Everyone she knew is either dead or a monster. She watched her own father growl like a beast and cleave a woman in half, then soon after wail out her name and succumb to the flames swallowing up the building. There is nothing left. There is nothing left for her.

Why? Elena wonders. A trail of blood marks her path through the snow, towards the unknown. Why still fight?

It will be easier to surrender to the agonizing burns, to the open gashes and wood splinters stuck in her skin. It will be far, far simpler to stop pressuring her rattling lungs to provide oxygen and fall into the snow, instead. It looks… peaceful. Soft. Pure.

It will welcome her to a quiet death, she thinks, so she may join her friends and her father.

Her father. The man who had never reached his hand out to help her when she fell –either on the fields or when she tripped over hardships— yet had always been there in his own stubborn, strict way, telling her to pick herself up.

“I didn’t raise no quitter.”

Ah, is that why.

Perhaps part of her feels it owes it to him to try. She did miraculously survive the fiery wreckage she’d initially thought would be her grave. But… the odds just aren’t with her.

Elena is only human. She’s lost too much blood, been through too much punishment. Her vision is growing blurrier by the second, her legs more sluggish. When she steps on grass instead of snow, she believes her mind is now playing tricks on her, too.

Something smells sweet, like wildflowers.

That is the last thing Elena is aware of, before she drops to her knees and blacks out.

-

-

When she blinks her eyes open, she is… confused.

She never thought heaven nor hell would have a wooden ceiling. She wouldn’t have guessed pain follows one into the afterlife, either, yet there she is, prone and throbbing with every weak breath on a bed too comfortable to be her own.

Unless…

Unless she’s not dead. Unless, against all odds, she survived a second time only to suffer some more. Elena wants to cry. What cruel game is the universe playing with her? The luck she never had in life is suddenly gracing her in extreme bursts now that she doesn’twant it.

“She’s awakeeee!” an overly excited voice exclaims somewhere around the room. Elena is too dizzy to tell.

“Shh.” A second presence makes itself known, calming the first.

“Who…” Who are you, Elena tries to say, but the words never make it past her dry throat.

Heels tap against the floor, until a black-clad figure comes to peer down at her. Elena expected to see the face of her savior, yet all she sees is a ghost, its visage hidden behind a mourning veil. The image is jarring; it sends her heartbeat skyrocketing, which doesn’t help her condition.

Oh, Lord, Oh, Lord what… Elena wants to tell herself she’s dreaming. It isn’t real, none of this is real—

Until a doll jumps into the edge of her bed and says something she doesn’t hear over the sound of her hoarse scream.

The ghost flinches backwards as the world turns dark once more.

-

-

The second time she opens her eyes, hours or days later, the pain has subsided somewhat.

Elena can feel her body, at least. All the wounded parts are carefully wrapped in gauzes and all her burns are covered by a soothing salve. Her lungs no longer hiss when she inhales, so long as she does so slowly, evenly.

That, of course, is not so easy to do when she turns to her left and sees the ghost sitting there, an open book in her lap. The veil is still on, obscuring her features, but Elena takes note of her fingers as they cradle the spine of the tome, long and pale, manicured black.

Appearances aside, there is a certain calm about her that doesn’t feel threatening.

“I… I’m not hallucinating, am I?” she whispers, not trusting her voice to go any higher.

The mystery woman tenses as though her voice has startled her. “…No.” she eventually replies. Her voice is quiet, like the rest of her.

“Did… you save me…?” A single nod is all she gets in return. Her company doesn’t seem very comfortable speaking, but Elena has questions that she needs answered. “Where am I?”

“The Beneviento estate.”

Elena would gasp if she could. I made it that far? And this woman… is she really Donna Beneviento? Her father told her all she needed to know about the four Lords residing at the outskirts of the village. He had also told her to avoid them at all costs.

“Um. I’m Elena—” A cough cuts her off. The sudden motion causes every injury across her body to burn.

“…I know.”

She is too much pain, in that moment, to ask how Donna knows.

-

-

In the following days, Elena comes to accept a few things that would have normally made her question her sanity;

The doll is alive. Her name is Angie and she is Donna’s friend. Donna is the adopted daughter of Mother Miranda, who, upon the former’s request, has given her permission for Elena to remain in the mansion. When she asked what would have happened had she denied, the doll only sing-songed that she doesn’t really want to know.

It still plagues her mind, probably because she has far too much time to think and this is the only thing she can focus on, lest she starts crying over and over again.

When Donna comes to change her bandages, it is a relief.

The woman sits at the edge of her bed, at the absolute maximum distance. Elena slowly brings her body to a semi-reclining position to assist. Angie hops on the bed and pulls the covers to the side… and that is when they arrive to a standstill. Donna doesn’t move, Elena doesn’t know what to do.

“Um. May I?” the veiled woman motions with her –admittedly very elegant— hands. It’s… endearing, how she approaches the subject of touching her.

Elena nods and tries to be a good patient for her. Tries being the key word. When she’s not fighting for her life, she is not nearly as brave in the face of pain. Her teeth are gritted as Donna’s cool hands unwrap the gauzes at her right arm, her eyes closed, breath held.

“…Am I hurting you?” Donna asks, quiet as ever.

“No.” Elena forces herself to exhale. “No, you’re… very gentle.”

Donna nods and continues with the same measured movements. Elena doesn’t want to look at her wounds, afraid of what she’ll find there, so she turns to the veiled visage of her companion. She wishes she could see her face. Wonders what she may look like, what flaw she’s trying to hide.

Until a bandage catches on a particularly bad burn and Elena cries out.

Her whole body jumps—

Donna’s hands fly to her shoulders, keeping her steady with surprising strength, yet she steps away the very next second as though she’s been scorched.

Elena bites her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. There you go, making her uncomfortable…

Angie takes over for a while, also quite precise. Elena peeks down to realize she isn’t in as terrible a condition as she may have imagined. Scars will be left, no doubt, but she will probably heal well enough.

Then the last difficult spot comes up. She knows it when Angie warns: “You need to stay still here.”

“No, no wait!” Elena pleads. “I—I can’t.” I can’t, I can’t deal with this again, not again—

But Donna sits back next to her and her mere presence calms her down. “You are very strong, Elena. This is the last one.” she says.

“Hold me down.” Elena requests.

Donna doesn’t seem to like the idea. Still, she slowly brings her hand back over the uninjured part of Elena’s shoulder. “It’ll be alright.” she whispers.

“On three.” Angie says. “One… Two…”

She pulls the bandage on two and Elena would jump high enough to burst through the ceiling if it wasn’t for Donna. When the agony subsidies she realizes she’s sobbing helplessly, clutching at the dollmaker’s sleeves for dear life.

“Shh, I’m sorry, it’s over now. It’s over.” Donna’s slender fingers comb through her unruly hair.

The brunette closes her eyes and lets her head drop back down into her pillow, but she doesn’t let go of the dollmaker right away. She smells like the flowers outside her house,she thinks.

She feels like a safe space, steady, in a world that’s broken and tilted for Elena.

-

-

Gradually, Donna talks to her more. Gradually, Elena tests her body’s limits until she is strong enough to walk around the house on her own.

Angie is with her, most of the time, but she knows it’s less a security measure and more one for her safety. Her mental connection to Donna is something Elena cannot grasp nor understand, but she tries to.

The first time she manages to get to the living room, Elena stops and stares at the painting of Donna adorning the wall opposite her.

“…is that her?” she asks Angie.

“Of course!” the doll replies excitedly. “I am so proud of that one, the artist did a great job! Mistress Donna looks splendid, but it is me who steals the show!”

Elena can’t look away from the canvas. Why is she so familiar…? “Is that what she looks like?”

“Well, excluding a scar she wishes to hide. Kind of like my face. We match.” Angie answers, giving her version of a grin.

For the rest of the day, Elena sneaks glances at Donna, then the painting. It isn’t proper, she knows, but she’s curious. And… surely, no scar is enough to justify hiding that cute face from the world?

-

-

Weeks pass. Elena has healed well and she owes it all to Donna.

The two of them have grown closer in the time the former’s injuries have forced them together, close enough to have tea in the mornings and brief chats over common interests throughout the day.

When the weather grows a tad warmer, Elena asks the dollmaker to take a stroll with her outside. She sees the decorated graves, of course, but she knows better than to ask. She doesn’t want their time to be poisoned by grief. The scars of losing loved ones run deep, she knows this too well and they never really heal.

The two of them are basking in comfortable silence for a while, until a thought that feels impossible not to be voiced strikes Elena.

“Donna.” she speaks.

“Hm?”

“When I first woke up and I told you my name… you said ‘I know’.”

“…yes.”

“I’m sure we’ve never met before…?” Elena stops and turns to face her companion. Donna mirrors her.

“How certain are you?” she asks. Upon Elena’s obvious confusion, she elaborates; “As a child, I used to visit the village with my father. In one of those visits, some of the kids made fun of my scar. A boy, especially, was saying some very mean things.”

Elena starts to recall one such incident in the blurry images of her childhood.

“You stopped him.” Donna says. Pauses. “…with a punch to the face.”

Elena raises a hand to her mouth, but a quick laugh escapes her anyway. “I did?” A nod. “No way.”

“You did.”

“It couldn’t have been a strong one, though.” Elena giggles.

“I don’t know. Rumor has it he still hasn’t gotten up, to this day…” The little exhale of a chuckle that escapes Donna makes something in Elena bloom and flutter.

She wants nothing more in that moment than to lift the damned veil and see the face of the gentlest, kindest woman she’s ever met.

-

-

The winter eventually gives way to spring. The earth heals from the wounds of the cold like Elena has, under Donna’s care.

She no longer has doubts about what she feels, what she wants. It is only a matter of overcoming her fears and nervousness. Only a matter of finding the right timing and the appropriate setting.

Elena has rehearsed the words she needs to say many times in her dreams and thoughts, yet she finds herself tongue-tied and completely lost on what to do in reality. She has asked Donna to walk with her, taken her to where the waterfall calms into a river… and now struggles to summon her voice.

“What is it, Elena?” Donna, ever the sweetheart, asks. “You know you can tell me anything… right?”

“What if…” she hesitantly begins. “What if I can’t tell you? …can I show you, instead?”

“Of course.”

Elena takes a deep breath and chastises herself to woman up. One little step brings her into Donna’s personal space. Her hand raises to the edge of the veil, blue eyes searching for a sign she should stop. The dollmaker is tense, but she hasn’t made a move to back away, nor lower Elena’s hand.

She trusts her.

And that’s all Elena needs to finally, finally remove the barrier separating them for months. The cute girl she defended as a child is a beautiful woman now, looking back at her with gentle, dark eyes. The jagged scar running down the right side of her face does nothing to retract from that beauty.

“You don’t need that.” she breathes. “You never did.”

Donna glances to the side, a hint of color spreading over her pale cheeks. Elena chases her chin with her fingers, then slowly inches closer, making sure the dollmaker has ample time to decide if she wants this, too.

When their lips meet, color blooms behind her shut eyelids, within her chest. Donna’s mouth is as soft and sweet as her personality, Elena discovers. It is a short, chaste kiss but it is also a promise for many more to come.

It is the gratitude Elena will eternally hold for Donna, who found her at the ending of her life and nursed her back to this,

A new beginning.

[mooniefics]

AFTER CONTEMPLATING FOR SEVERAL MINUTES:

reiner braun 🤪 + “please?? just pretend we’re dating. it’s only for today, i promise!”

this is literally the cutest moonie, i'm proud of you for hitting 250!! ilysm 💖✨💕

oh my gosh i’m so sorry this took me so long,, thank u so much for the request n the congratulations mar !! very happy that my first work for this event can be for my love, our one n only reiner ♡(｡- ω -)

in all your years of knowing reiner, you couldn’t say that you’d ever once heard him sounding so frantic.

“please?? just pretend we’re dating. it’s only for today, i promise!”

those were the exact words he’d used over the phone, imploring for you to come to the official marley high ten-year reunion and pose as his girlfriend. despite how you assured him that you were certain no one would judge him for being single, he seemed adamant that it would be the exact opposite. and after a few apologies for your laughter at his predicament and a brief negotiation over his payment of getting you your favorite drink from the cafe near your workplace for the next few weeks, it was a done deal.

though you admittedly felt a twinge of anxiety upon entering the venue of chattering adults, dressed in the best semi-formal outfit you had in your closet, you could see that he was the more obviously nervous one between the two of you.

“just relax, rei.” you murmured, slipping your hand in his and giggling at the way his arm tensed, “these are your high school friends! i’m sure they’ll be surprised enough that you managed to find a nice girl like me all by yourself—“ he huffed disapprovingly, earning another small laugh, “—and only ask about your work or something.”

you barely finished your brief attempt at a pep talk when a loud voice came from somewhere by the food table. “is that you, braun?!”

reiner’s jaw shifted, a sign you’d come to learn meant him holding back a wince, turning to see a man with slicked back hair and a broad grin on his face approaching. based on his heavy-lidded gaze, paired with the red solo cup tipping dangerously horizontal in his grasp, you assumed he was quite tipsy already.

“considering how late you are, i wasn’t sure you’d even show,” he chuckled, still having to peer up at reiner despite still being taller than you, “but the more i thought about it, the more i remembered you never were the punctual type anyways.”

“great to see you too, porco..” reiner replied half-heartedly, palm already getting clammy in your grasp.

you glanced momentarily between them, deciding to come to your friend’s rescue by clearing your throat, drawing the teasing attention away from him. “actually, he was late because of me.” you flashed a smile, leaning into reiner’s side. “just wanted to look my best since i knew i was gonna be meeting his old friends.”

“holy shit..” porco muttered after a moment of silence, hazel eyes blowing wide as he stared at you like you’d disappear if he blinked even once, only breaking his gaze to turn over his shoulder and call out, “piecky, c’mere! i think reiner’s actually got a fuckin’ girlfriend!!”

you barely stifled a laugh at reiner’s low sigh of discomfort, pointedly ignoring how the people around glanced at porco’s shout. “did you seriously used to hang around with that guy?”

“no..” he grumbled back, “he hung around the people i hung around with and always gave me shit for no reason.”

“wow, rei, feeling a little feisty tonight, are we?”

he scoffed as you reached up to poke at his cheek, able to see the pink flush that had settled over his sharp features despite the dim lighting, dodging your inquiry while he looked ahead. “he’s coming back.”

putting on the smile you’d practiced so many times right back on, you caught sight of a cheerful dark-haired woman sidling over to your small group. “reiner?! you seriously got even taller? who’s this?”

you both exchanged names, offering a hand for her to shake which she eagerly took, turning to reiner for affirmation of your identity, to which he said, “yeah, she's my.. girlfriend...”

“how long have the two of you been together?”

“a couple months—”

“—almost a year.”

you quickly laughed off the sudden nerves of giving conflicting answers, turning back to reiner’s friends and recovering with, “we’re not super big on keeping track of dates. you know how time flies when you love someone.” you turned up to reiner, lips perking into a doting smile, “right?”

his cheeks flushed an even darker red, a sheepish smile brightening his expression. “right.”

“looks like you’re the only single one, pock.” pieck teased, laughing when the man rolled his eyes and huffed.

“you’re still with zeke?” reiner asked, prompting her to extend her left hand, waggling her fingers to show off the large diamond ring on her finger.

“yep, engaged for two years now!”

“apparently still too good to come to anything she invites him to.” porco grumbled in response.

“i already told you he’s on a business trip,” she frowned, taking his cup from his hand and taking a generous sip from it, “i’m sure he would’ve come if he hadn’t had somewhere else to be.”

“whatever you say..” he sighed, letting her finish his drink despite his apparent annoyance.

thankfully, your small slip up had been ignored, allowing both you and reiner to relax when the two finally turned their attention back to you. the night progressed much less turbulently than you’d previously anticipated, reiner allowing you to handle any questions directed at your relationship, not saying anything when you frequently slipped in little white lies to make everything seem more convincing. it didn’t stray terribly far from the truth, you were entirely honest about the way you’d met and the things that had made you “fall in love with him”. 

you took a strange amount of joy in posing as his significant other, just as he gave equally genuine reactions when you wrapped his arm around your shoulder or ate something from his plate of food, flustered and smiling all throughout. for a few brief moments, you almost forgot that he was meant to be pretending too. he’d seemed more than happy to see that you were getting along well with all his old friends.

you learned more about reiner in the hour that you’d been milling around the room with him than you probably ever had in the confines of the job environment that you’d met him in—intrigued to hear that he’d been the captain of the football team, feuded with the neighboring high-school’s while being head over heels for the captain of their cheer team, held the title of champion arm-wrestler for all four years he attended marley—little details that you made you would’ve never known had you never agreed to come. the unintentionally intimidating, humble, easy-to-fluster human resources manager that you’d befriended apparently used to be a total jock, always getting himself into trouble. 

and, based on how many times you’d been congratulated on managing to stick by his side for longer than a few months, you could only assume that you hadn’t even scratched the surface of discovering the entirety of reiner’s character.

eventually, your small group of four that’d you started out the night with had reconvened, tipsy from constantly sipping on spiked punch, an excited exclamation from pieck made all of you turn. “look! the photo booth finally opened up!!”

she was already rushing away for the corner of the venue before anyone could say a word, everyone following suit with a laugh as she stuffed a five dollar bill into the pay slot.

“uhh, pieck, i think this thing was only meant for two people.. max.” porco said after drawing open the curtain, earning a frown from her.

“but i want us all to take a picture together!” she slid into the booth despite the observation, turning to you, “c’mon, i’m sure we could all squeeze in if you sat on reiner’s lap.”

you felt your face flush, knowing there was no way to work around her request without raising some kind of suspicion and ruining the act you’d both somehow maintained for the entire night. “sounds like a plan..!”

you could feel how tense reiner was behind you as you got settled on his thighs, hesitating to rest his hands on either side of you while pieck and porco struggled to work the screen before them. you were starting to regret not asking if this was okay with him before agreeing, but you were sure he would’ve found some way out of the situation if he was truly uncomfortable. he only seemed to be preoccupied with the thought of making you uncomfortable, something which made a flicker of affection warm your chest.

“alright! we’ve got four pictures,” pieck announced, “starting... now! and make the first a normal one!”

the first three pictures were the standard photo booth antics—one with all of you smiling normally, one with all of you making the most ridiculous face you could think of in five seconds, and one of all of you arguing over what the third photo should’ve been.

“do something cute for the last one to make up for the messed up one!” pieck demanded through her laughter, pointing urgently at the countdown on the screen, “hurry up an’ kiss or something!!”

you turned back to look at reiner, wide golden eyes gazing down at you, obviously unprepared for the steadily escalating circumstance that was only being intensified by the chanting of “kiss, kiss, kiss!” coming from the woman who’d paid for the photos in the first place. and although you knew you had no obligation to do what she asked just because she had been so kind to you despite only meeting you tonight, or because the timer was winding down towards zero all too quickly, you still found yourself reaching out a hand to settle just under his jaw, heart racing impossibly fast when you realized he was already leaning down to meet you halfway.

his lips were still sweet with whatever juice had been mixed with alcohol, skin warm and blushing from your proximity, the hand that had been resting in your lap wandering to lace your fingers with his. the exchange didn't last nearly long enough, the click of the camera drawing you back to the cramped reality, pieck's cheers through giggles and porco's disgusted scoff for you two to get a room.

"i better be invited to your wedding!" pieck joked, reaching across you to draw open the curtains in a silent sign for you to pry yourself away from reiner.

"likewise." you replied with a smile, almost giddy with excitement as you clambered out of the photo booth.

though reiner's expression just barely passed as casual, his cheeks were burning red, even the tips of his ears flushed as the four of you waiting for the machine to dispense your photos. the function was winding down fast, and as soon as your drawn-out goodbyes were finally finished, you and reiner left, hand-in-hand, much to talk over but neither of you willing to speak until you'd reached the privacy of his car.

you turned to him, smiling in the dim glow on the lights of his dash, laughing softly at his sheepish expression, "i know you said we'd only pretend for a day but.. you think i could request a little extension?"

[thran-duils]

Lost in Zero Gravity (P.1)

Title: Lost in Zero Gravity (Part One) Summary:  Fem!Reader x Mob Boss!Tony Stark x Mob Boss!Steve Rogers.  Reader is a call girl who runs high end parties. She catches the attention of Tony Stark who invites her back to his room with his friend. She might have performed too well because she becomes their new favorite play toy and they don't like to share. Words: 2,823 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Smut, prostitution, infidelity, angst, domestic violence, stalking, possessive behavior Author’s Note: I know for sure this is going to be two parts at least

Part Two || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

“Where did you get this skirt?” your coworker, Elisha, asked touching the black fabric when you came up to her side.

“Online. Do you like it?” you asked giving her a spin.

“Yeah, just don’t move too fast or the whole room is gonna get an eyeful of your ass. Isn’t this supposed to be a classy event?” she joked. “I love the top too, the long sleeves and off the shoulder. From the back, you’re very covered but then you see the front and it’s like bam! Titties and leg slits straight up to the hips.”

“I liked the off the shoulder myself,” you commented. You touched her dress and said, “The satin is nice. And you’re one to be talking about titties showing.”

“Isn’t that what draws these idiot rich men in?”

“Too true.”

Your face must have fallen because she asked, “You alright?”

“I’m a little uncomfortable about this party,” you admitted.

She nodded, “I know. Me too.”

“Really? I felt stupid for being worried.”

“No. Don’t be. There are a lot of dangerous people in there. Rich, but dangerous.”

“At least we know Tatiana will cut someone off if they show they’re violent. Too bad one of us has to prove that first but still… it’s a comfort knowing you hopefully won’t be going back with a sadist who wants to just beat someone up.”

“In a bad way,” Elisha chimed in, a smirk playing on her lips, giving you a nudge.

You laughed and agreed, “Yes, in a bad way. I like getting beat up, just in a certain way.”

Elisha held out her arm and asked, “Shall we? Make sure the other girls don’t get all the good ones?”

The two of you walked in, arms looped. The room was decorated beautifully. Shimmering garlands hung from the ceiling setting a low glow to the room. The two of you were offered slender glasses of champagne upon entry. You knew to sip, it would not serve you to be drunk. That was a rookie mistake. Servers moved in and out of the crowd with small plates of appetizers and Elisha dropped your arm to stop one, making sure to grab two of the toothpicks to get you one as well as a plate went by.

“That’s deep fried,” she said holding it out to you.

“Can’t pass that up,” you replied, taking it and biting into it. “Mhm, crab.”

“You know I sign up for these high-end parties for a reason,” Elisha intoned and you smiled as you tossed the toothpick into a plant. “Y/N!”

“What? I’m not gonna carry it around like a little weapon.”

She could not stifle her laughter and she followed your movement, tossing it into the plant. The two of you took a drink of your champagne and then linked arms again, moving away from the plant, shooting a look around to make sure no one had noticed.

“I wonder who you’re going ‘home’ with tonight,” you teased, your eyes moving around the room.

You caught eyes with a man and you crumbled under his intense gaze. You inhaled deeply, staring anywhere but at him.

“What’s wrong?” Elisha asked you, leaning in close.

“Um, think I got one,” you said quietly, turning with her to change direction nonchalantly. “But I don’t like it.”

“What don’t you like about it?”

“He’s probably one of the most dangerous people in this room. I was hoping to land a small fish.”

Elisha muttered underneath her breath, “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“You mean whores can’t be picky.”

“I was being polite to us.” She nudged you slightly. “Who is it though?”

“Tony fucking Stark.” She inhaled sharply and you breathed out, “Yeah, bitch. I know.”

“Wanna disappear?”

“Does that ever work once they get their eyes on you?”

“No.”

“Right. So… maybe just keep acting normal. Keep going in a different direction than him. And maybe he’ll lose interest and find someone else?”

“Does that ever work?” she asked you now, snorting.

You inhaled deeply and shot her a look, which she only returned a smirk. “No.”

The time moved on and you tried avoiding looking over in his direction. One, it would look desperate, and you were trained to not look desperate. And second, well… you did not want to draw anymore unnecessary attention to yourself. Yet, out of the corner of your eye, you saw someone approaching you and you had a pretty good feeling who it was.

He came to your side and you turned your head to look at him.

“Hi,” you smiled calmly even though you were doing somersaults inside.

“Fine night isn’t it?” he asked, saying the code phrase. It was for the customers to make sure they were actually speaking to one of you and not some random girl who would take offense if they asked them to come back with them.

“It’s splendid,” you responded, nodding. Elisha’s embrace fell from yours and you knew she was leaving like she should. You wished she would not though. He was terribly handsome but he made you nervous.

Tony’s eyes were light at hearing you were who he thought you were. He stepped closer, saying softly into your ear. “How would you feel about coming back to the room with my friend and I?”

That was not an unusual request, you had had threesomes before. They brought in more money, not that you thought that would be an issue for them. You had just not had someone like Tony fucking Stark asking you to have a threesome.

You took his arm, smiling sensually. “I’d love it. This party is getting boring anyway.”

Tony chuckled, “Isn’t that the truth? Everyone in here jacking themselves off about helping the next hurricane by stuffing their faces and donating money without actually lifting a finger when the time comes.”

He took your champagne from you and placed it on a server’s plate who was walking by without batting an eye. You did not miss the server’s jaw clench at him putting a dirty cup on it, but they said nothing, moving on like nothing happened. Tony took your hand and led you out of the room. He made small talk and you reciprocated; arms linked in the elevator. His cologne smelled delicious and his eyes were beautiful. You wondered where his friend was though? Maybe in the room already.

The room was a suite, beautifully designed in architecture and aura.

“Drink?” Tony asked you, moving away from your side towards the mini bar.

“What do you have?”

“Bourbon.”

You shrugged, “Not really my thing but thank you all the same.”

“Polite,” Tony mused, pouring himself a glass. “The bedroom is through there. I’ll follow shortly.”

You followed the direction he pointed and walked through the doorway. You stopped only for a moment seeing a man sitting in a plush armchair near the bed.

Oh Christ, you thought to yourself recognizing the man on sight.

Steve Rogers.

Not only were you with two men but they happened to be two of the biggest mob bosses in the city. You could not fuck this up. Who knew what men like them did when they were upset.

You brushed your shock off quickly and cocked your head. “What did I do to deserve this honor?”

Steve’s lips curled into a smile and he said, “Looking as beautiful as you do, I would say that we are the one being honored. Not the other way around.”

Despite your nervousness, you smiled at this and said, “A charmer. I like it.”

He had taken off his suit jacket and vest, sitting there with his tie loosened. He had a drink on the nightstand next to him and picked it up, taking a swig, his eyes never leaving you. You felt like you could melt underneath his salacious gaze.

Tony entered the room from behind you, an envelope in his hand. He held it out to you and you took it, getting the business out of the way right off the bat. You did not dare insult him by checking to see if all the cash was there.

He held out a couple more hundreds and your brow furrowed. “No protection.”

Your eyes moved between the two of them before you asked, “You’re clean?” Tony cocked his head and you said, “That’s a risk. You know I have to ask.”

“Yeah,” Tony chuckled. “Yeah, clean. But, baby, you were going to be sucking our dicks. Does your cunt really matter if it was gonna be all evident over your face?”

He had a point. “Touche.”

You snatched the bills from him and shoved them into your clutch. He took the purse from you then and placed it on the dresser. His large hand came to your waist, his fingers brushing the bare skin there.

Nodding towards where Steve was sitting, he suggested, “Why don’t you get him worked up?”

“Is he not already?” you asked coyly, eyes flicking down to where his dick was outlined in his slacks.

Steve’s lips curled into a smile, repeating your words to you, “Charming. I like it.”

You left Tony’s grasp, coming to stand in front of Steve. You wasted no time taking your clothes off with a flair, coming to stand in front of him in your lingerie. Steve’s fingers toyed with the strap at your hip, his eyes raking up and down your frame. You moved into his lap, feeling his length through his slacks, brushing your thigh. His lips were soft, but his kisses were rough, his hands slipping down to cup your ass, squeezing tightly. You grinded your pelvis against him and his breath caught against the friction; he really was already that hard.

Pulling away from him, your hands ghosted down his neck and onto his shoulders. Slinking out of his lap, you sunk to your knees before him. You pulled his belt off, tossing it over the arm of the chair and helped him shimmy his pants down, freeing his length. Starting slow, you teased him. He tasted salty as your tongue traced the vein on the bottom of his cock. At the head, you ran your teeth gently across and he moaned, tossing his head back.

Your mouth was full of him, feeling him at the back of your throat. Increasing your speed, you moved more shallowly making sure to swirl your tongue as you sucked. When you made eye contact with him, he gave a groan, his fingers wrapping up tighter around your hair. You pulled away with an audible pop, saliva trailing from your mouth to his head.

Steve leaned forward, his free hand grasping your cheeks to hold you tightly as he smashed his lips to yours.

“Fucking slut,” he growled, his eyes blown wide with lust.

His hand came down, shoving the straps of your bra off. He fumbled with the clasp and he tossed it across the room. He pulled you up towards him, his mouth wet along your nipples. He gave a hard suck and you gasped. Steve chuckled and nipped, sucking your nipple in again. His hand smacked your ass, drawing another strangled gasp and he fell back against the chair, a wolfish smile on his face as he stared up at you.

To your right, you caught sight of Tony who had gotten undressed during this.

“Come here,” Tony said, beckoning you with two fingers as he moved towards the bed.

He laid back down on the pillows, waiting for you. Coming to the bed, you took your underwear off before crawling on, bending over his erect cock. You ran a tantalizing lick up his length, keeping direct eye contact with him. Your mouth enveloped him, sliding down slowly. The bed shifted with Steve’s weight and you felt his head at your entrance. He slipped in with ease, his hands gripping your hips.

Tony held your head in place as you bounced with Steve’s thrusts. You choked against his cock which only made him more aroused, him biting his lip, holding you tighter. Steve was driving deep and Tony gave you a breather as Steve’s thrusts became unbridled.

Your mouth was rubbing up against his dick and he demanded, “Who do you belong to?”

“You, sir,” you gasped, before he shoved his dick right back in your mouth.

You could barely breathe with his cock shoved down your throat.

“You fucking like that? Choking on my dick?” You hummed a response against his dick as he continued ramming into the back of your throat. He chuckled darkly, “Couldn’t quite catch that. But I’m assuming it was good.”

Tony’s precum coated your mouth and you only thought of him finishing in your mouth. You would happily swallow every drop.

Steve came with a shout, his cock twitching inside you. You tried to lurch away from the feeling, but he held tight, emptying fully. You moaned, your mouth still full of Tony’s cock. You heard Steve sigh with relief at his release from behind you. His grip fell lax and he moved away from you and off the bed.

Tony yanked you away from his dick. “On your back,” Tony ordered, twirling his finger in the motion.

You did as he asked, flopping back. He was on you in a second, entering you swiftly. It did not take him long to find release after you had been giving him out of this world head. Forehead pressed against yours, he emptied, strangled moans leaving his throat. You were dripping cum from both men, it no doubt leaking onto the sheets.

The two of you laid there panting for a few moments. You were still so wound up, wanting release. But that was not something you were always granted, and this seemed to be one of those times. At least you had given them both great orgasms. Happy customers, happy life.

That is until, Tony pulled away and his hand slipped to your sex.

“Let’s make sure you leave satisfied, darling. I wouldn’t wanna leave a bad impression,” Tony husked, stroking your clit.

You were not going to complain, letting him work you towards release. You knew it was not going to take long considering how close you had already been. You gripped his forearm, your pelvis thrusting towards him, broken cries leaving you. Your head fell back against the pillows and you came down gasping.

Tony was grinning down at the sight of you coming undone around his fingers.

“Aren’t you just a beautiful sight,” he said, running his eyes over you once more. He tore his gaze away from you and backed off. “I’ll give you some air.”

You laid on the bed for a few minutes, staring up at the ceiling. That went way better than you had expected. You had fallen into it so easily and not let your nerves get the better of you. Showed you were damn good at your job.

The shower was running in the bathroom where you assumed Steve was at because Tony had thrown on his boxers and grabbed a cigar, going out onto the balcony. You slipped out of bed, thinking briefly if it would be appropriate to clean yourself up in the bathroom. But you did not want to bother him.

Tugging your underwear back on, you tried to be quiet. You pulled your skirt back up and snatched your shirt off the table, pulling it back on.

As you were grabbing your purse, you saw your phone was lighting up with texts. Elisha was texting asking if you wanted to ride home with her cause she was done with whoever she had gone home with. You texted back quickly telling her you would meet her just as you heard the sliding glass door open back up and Tony come back inside.

“You don’t have to run off,” Tony commented, coming back from the balcony.

You held up your phone and said, “My friend wants company on the ride home. She doesn’t like riding alone at this time of night.”

“Hmm. Pity. But understandable.”

“Do you need me to stick around to say goodbye to your friend?”

“You know his name,” Tony chortled. “And no.”

“He didn’t properly introduce himself.”

“That is true. Neither did I.”

“Like you said… I know your names,” you said, raising your brows. You checked yourself in the mirror, making sure you did not look like a total trainwreck.

Tony came up from behind you, pressing up against you. You looked at him through the mirror as he traced his hands down your sides. He was taking you in slowly and you did not mistake the hunger in his eyes.

He locked eyes with you through the mirror and said in a low voice, “We’ll be seeing you soon.”

Your heart was pounding as you left the hotel suite. Did you just become a go to for them?

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21 

[waywardimpalawriter]

“I’m done. I’m done trying so hard only for you to never even look in my direction.”

With Marcus Pike? Maybe BFFs to lovers because I want it to end happy? Thank you 🙏

Love of his life

Pairing: Marcus Pike x best friend!Female Reader

Characters: Marcus Pike,

Setting: five years after the last episode Marcus was in.

Rating: PG:13

Warnings: 2,774

Summary: Conversation overheard leads to feelings of regret at the chance not taken. Will he take that risk and go for who he wants or let it slide away just like the past?

Word count:

Notes: Written for the lovely @hnt-escape asking for the prompt “I’m done. I’m done trying so hard only for you to never even look in my direction.” Will be in bold in the story. I hope you enjoy sweetie.

Tag List:

Forever tags: @chickensarentcheap @jedi-mando

Pedro Pascal tags: @evyiione

Staring into the caramel colored liquid ceramic mug warming your hands, thoughts clouded by a certain brown eyed man and how to handle the feelings you’ve harbored since grade school.

“Trying to divine this weeks lotta numbers from you coffee sweetie?” Soothing southern accented voice breaks through the fog smile in the sweet lilt.

Head snapping up to look towards the blonde, grin firmly in place over her ruby lips, “I wish, would donate at least half to research the antiquities we have that no one’s cataloged yet.”

“Wow devoted,” chuckling, walking over to the Keurig k-cup spinner to pluck the last Colombian dark roast pod. “What or should I say who’s on that gorgeous your mind that’s got your brow furrowed deeper than the Mariana Trench?”

Not wishing to discuss your thoughts right now, you deflect to ask, “Those things waste so much Donna and bad for the environment. Why don’t you just buy the bulk grounds?”

“Great way to keep from answering the true question,” baby blues lock, sincerity written deep and meaningful. Knowing she’s only trying to help having confided many times your dilemma those feelings you’ve held on to for so long brings about. “I don’t know why you haven’t told him sugar I mean you came to DC…”

“For this job Donna, Marcus turned up later… not much later,” last few words muttered into cooling coffee you try to hide behind while taking a sip. “I didn’t upheave my life for a man,” not sure who you’re trying to convince more yourself or Donna.

Established in your position at the museum a month before Marcus’s transfer and at the time he’s heavily invested with one Teresa Lisbon. Memories flood through like film reel before your eyes. Of that very night he comes to you heartbroken bags in hand with no one beside him and no real place to go. Promising yourself to shove your feelings aside and help him get back on steady legs. Even letting him stay till his place became ready to move in.

Loud snort greets your ears, breaking you from memory lane. “You keep telling yourself that and while you’re at it keeping him friend zoned when your clearly in love with him does neither one of you any good. He ain’t gonna wait around forever sugar trust me on that one,” hurt coloring her tone speaking volumes of her own pain. She looks away to watch the final drops of coffee land in her mug. You know exactly why she’s not looking at your right now, the hurt she tries to hide behind the bubbly personality. Fixing her coffee up just the way she likes to hide her own pain she’s shared a few times.

“How,” licking your lips slowly, mug placed beside you on the counter to clasp your hands in front of you. “I’m not even sure how or where to start Donna. He’s my best friend knows me inside and out I don’t…”

“Do you love him?” Simple question with no easy answer as grey blue eyes land on and pierce you with their intensity.

“I…” wringing those hands her question chases thoughts around your head. Finally giving the heart answer, “I love him, just unsure if he loves me in the same way. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to change the dynamics of our relationship and loose what we have for a what if.”

“Oh sweetheart I know it’s not easy to bank on what if’s but trust me when I say that man loves you in ways I’ve never seen and I’ve seen a lot.” Giving you a teasing wink then sobering, “Why do ya think I haven’t tried to snag him up myself?”

“Cause he’s not your type?” Joke sounding stupid to your own ears, glaze dropping to your shoes. “What if… what if I’m not his type? I mean you’ve seen the women he’s gone out with before. I’m hardly in the same league.”

“No your in a league of your own sugar.” Head nodding in understanding Donna comes over resting a hand on your bicep giving a gentle squeeze. “Compensating maybe even trying to replace the one he truly wants sweetheart. Don’t let a good man slip away especially since you love him.”

“I do, he’s,” head shaking at a loss for words to describe Marcus. “Amazing and sweet, the kind of man that’s so easy to love and care for. I’m lost truly without him.” Happy tears blur your vision for a moment thinking about him. How he’s always at your side just when you need him without notice at times. Sixth sense when you need those late night pancakes from the best diner in town. Watching old movies after a crappy break up, snuggled together with popcorn and beer, snacks of all kinds. Snap shot of his face filters across your vision, “I’m gonna tell him in fact,” glancing down at your watch finding end of day fast approaching. “Would you close down for me Donna I need to tell him now before loosing my nerve.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice sugar go get your man,” nodding towards the doorway you start for, coffee long forgotten in favor of someone more sweeter. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

“There’s things you wouldn’t do?” Cheeky grin highlighting your features, the sound of crinkling plastic reaching your ears so you look down. Frown replacing the smile at finding a small bouquet of blue tipped carnations laying on the ground. Bending to scoop up the beautiful flowers knowing only one man would’ve brought these. “Shit,” curse flying from your mouth while your feet start to eat up the distance towards the back doors bouquet held firmly in your grasp.

Missing Donna yelling about your keys and belongings, to not forget about the storm rumbling in the background. Wide smile forming watching you go hoping you’ll catch Marcus just in time.

While you pray with each step taken you’ll catch him in time to explain. Thoughts running rampant wondering what he heard and didn’t. If the reason for the dropped flowers has to do with the fact he thinks you love someone else. That last thought spurs you on into a run, thankful for the flats you wore today instead of customary heels you normally wear. Eating up the distance you burst through the back doors into a curtain of rain meeting your eyes as more curses fly from your lips. You pause eyes narrowing through the gloom looking for Marcus’s car, his back, hair surely plastered to against his head. Something to point you in the right direction. At the right moment a flash of lighting illuminating the darken skies, makes you jump but press on determined to find him. While stepping out into the pouring rain, clothes soaked through low rumblings of thunder taking your calls out for Marcus away with the howling wind.

Tears form and slide down cool cheeks, still franticly looking around but coming up empty till you catch the flash of grey out of your periphery. Whipping around you head in the direction calling out his name praying there’s a break in the rain so your voice carries to his ears.

And for a moment that one split second he catches a sound other than the storm raging around him. Sweet desperate voice calling out his name, giving him pause in dragging footsteps. Looking around but seeing nothing but the driving rain, drops soaking his suit and blurring his vision. Before turning to resume his path the voice calls out again, nearer and stronger than the last time.

His doubts cloud the mind, accusing him of hearing things the wind brings from other parts of the parking lot. Till a vision dressed in black slacks, creamy silk blouse, hair and clothes plasters to your body appears in front of him. Hand raised in the vain attempt to keep the rain from your face as you search for him.

Eyes lock surprised deep chocolate orbs meet the relief in yours, “You’re gonna get sick sweetheart go back inside.”

“No,” single word yelled out as you near Marcus, gripping his bicep and moving closer to speak into his ear. Warm breath making him shiver despite the cold rain trying to drown the both of you. “Why’d you leave?”

“Saw you busy didn’t want…” shaking your head Marcus swallows catching sight of the flowers in your free hand.

“You dropped these why?” Hurt lacing the tone in your voice as you bring the small plastic wrapped bundle up between you. “Thank you.”

Eyes dart between the flowers and your eyes unsure how to answer your question as so many of his own chase around his mind. Wanting the truth Marcus gather’s his courage to ask, “Do you love him?”

Confusion coats your veins, drawing up your brows with the same emotion till it clicks. “Yes, very much in fact you just doesn’t know it.”

“I’m done,” pain etched into his voice heart aching behind its prison of bone and flesh. Misunderstanding the look in your eyes and the words your spoke. “I’m done trying so hard only for you to never even look in my direction. I just can’t do it anymore it’s so much worse than any of the other.” Taking two steps back from your touch that sears the skin under heavy suit jacket and starch white cotton dress shirt. Gaze dropping to concrete unable to look into your eyes a second longer knowing he’s lost the chance. Internally cursing himself for waiting so long, letting other’s in his heart when the one woman he’s wanted all along stood by him through all life’s ups and downs.

Frowning at the loss of touch, his words sinking in you step forward he matches with one back. “Marcus,” soft achingly tender voice reaches out towards him. Heard now the rain has slowed to light drizzle. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to tell you I love you? Not as a brother or best friend, but in love with you.”

“What?” Single word choked off on a gasp, eyes reaching your smiling orbs trying to find the jest. Only seeing genuine love backed by worry and fear that he doesn’t truly have the same feelings. “You never told me.”

“You didn’t tell me either Pike so we’re kinda in the same boat,” carefully reaching out for his nearest hand tugging him back towards you. “So many times I’d try to tell you, to explain, to see if there’s a chance for us. Every time someone else got my shot. I gave up almost for good this time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Moving closer, warm palm coming up to cup your cheek from apple to jawline. Thump brushing slowly over soft delicate skin drowning in your eyes as you rubbing your cheek into his large palm. “Never would’ve guess you felt the same way.”

Not sure how to answer the first question, so you joke instead. “Not only good at picking out a fake piece of art but putting on a good show.” Trying to infuse a little lightheartedness into the tense moment. “Gonna call Oscar see if they’ll give me one of those little golden guys for my performance. Not Ingrid Bergman worthy but I can hold my own,” nervous little laugh leaving your lips that Marcus brushes his thumb over the bottom lip. Stuck dumb by the action breath shallow before held while trying to depict the emotions running through those sweet brown eyes. “Say some Marcus.”

The tremor in your voice shakes the shocked cobwebs from his mind to focus his thoughts. Picking up that you haven’t answered his first question, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Which time?” Breathy sigh leaving your mouth as you try to gather the right words. “Not to mention your my best friend Marcus I didn’t want to fuck that up especially if you didn’t feel the same way,” taking a breath fresh rain mixes with the warm subtle cologne Marcus wears. “Couldn’t risk loosing you and changing our relationship for a what if.”

“And now?” Cupping the other side of your face, keeping your chin tilted upward, eyes searching the depths of yours. Finding the peace he’s missed out on with everyone who came before. Home written in your embrace, sweet light flora scent wrapping around his senses reminding him of just who he needs.

Swallowing, pink tongue coming out to wet your lips, a path he follows with rapt attention. “I recently became enlightened by a good friend reminding me sometimes you need to take those chances.” Both arms wrap around his neck, flowers still clutched tightly, free hand carding through rain soaked strands at the back of his head. Blunt nails scratching gently over Marcus’s neck receiving a shiver that vibrates through your body and has nothing to do with the cool air or wet clothing.

“And you want to take that leap with me?” Inching closer with barely a millimeter’s breath between your lips. Eyes still wide open assuring each other and finally showing the truth and need.

“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful love affair,” cheeky smile splitting your face at the crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes. Knowing full well you’ve gotten the quote wrong on purpose.

“Here’s looking at you kid,” deepened voice sending tingles of excitement racing down your spine. Slightest brush of his chapped lips to yours bringing a sigh and parting your mouth that’s captured and devoured.

Angling your head just right as he licks into your sweet coffee tasting mouth mixing the minty freshness of his. Low groan whispers between your lips, which moves and changes. Nibbling his bottom lip, slipping your tongue over the bruised skin to sooth before sliding back into the warm cavern of his delectable mouth. Dreams having no merit on the real kiss that makes your toes curl a moan of your own existing to join with the groan he’s let loose. Air becoming much needed and you part to rest foreheads together.

“I love you to have for a long time,” admitting his feelings frees a part of him held back for so long. “I’m sorry for all the missed opportunities but if you’ll let me I’ll make them all up to you.”

“Start by taking me home to change then out for pancakes,” bright smile blooming over your lips that press into his. Unable to stop yourself from giving another tender kiss while wrapping your arms around his shoulders tighter. “And kisses lots more kisses,” mumbling the words into his mouth while initiating another kiss for emphasis.

Only breaking when someone clears their throat you both turn to see Donna standing there with your purse in hand. “No making out in the parking lot you two take it home,” grinning extending your purse towards you. “Just remember don’t do anything I would,” before turning to start back towards the museum. “Congratulations by the way took y’all long enough.”

“There’s things you’d do I wouldn’t Donna,” you call after her shaking your head before looking back up at Marcus. Catching the look burning in his eyes, “I’m guessing pancakes won’t happen tonight huh?”

Soft smirk slides over those kiss swollen lips, “Later but right now I have other plans.” Tugging you against his chest for one last deep drugging kiss that leaves you weak kneed and panting.

“Care to share those plans?” Snuggling into his arms as you both head the last short distance to his car.

Opening then crowding you into the corner of the door hands braced on either side to lean in placing a soft chase kiss to your cheek. “Making up for all the missed time and then later,” pausing to brush his lips over your ear. Whispering the last words with gentle puffs of air floating across your skin. “I’ll make you those pancakes and lick the syrup from your lips afterwards and any other place you’ll let me.”

“Only if you’ll let me return the flavor,” mischievous smile stretching across your lips, ducking under his arms to slide into the car. Finding him still standing there, you tug on his jacket gaining his attention.

Darken eyes meet yours, “I’ll even paint you like one of my French girls,” sending you a playful wink while closing the car door and running around to the drivers side. Marcus slides in, key slipping into ignition, simple flick of his wrist the car flares to life and he’s backing out heading for home and a new start filled with promise.

[demonslayedher]

Tanjiro Is Not Hot Stuff

 and this is a good thing

It's easy to dismiss Tanjiro as overpowered, but in this post I'd like to disagree. For all his ability, Tanjiro is still a scrappy fighter, and his abilities have concrete reasons within the context of his shounen manga universe. Furthermore, despite Tanjiro's unique connection to the legendary Yoriichi, Gotouge continually drives home that he is just one character among many united in a common goal to eliminate all evil demons.

That phrase, 悪鬼滅殺, being the backbone of the Demon Slayer Corp, is engraved into each of the Pillars' swords. On that note, I'd like to first address that this may not be Yoriichi's sword. EDIT: On further reflection, because the color of the sword is only dyed once and being held by another swordsman doesn't change it, I've recounted on this theory and feel pretty certain it's Yoriichi's. But it was fun to consider other possibilities, and I'm going to italicize everything that I now consider an incorrect theory.

It's praised for it's Warring States/Sengoku era craftsmanship. This was a time with the swordsmen were first learning the Breath techniques (despite the Corp already having been around for centuries already). It’s also praised for its use of the singular "eliminate" idea encapsulated in the lone 滅 character. Haganezuka himself states that the person who wielded this sword must had been extraordinarily skilled. It's implied that, since Yoriichi also used a black blade (when it wasn’t red), and since this was inside the Yoriichi Zero Type battle doll, it must had been Yoriiichi's sword and therefore well suited to Tanjiro’s Hinokami Kagura techniques which he focuses on for the remainder of his battles.

However, let's think backwards a moment. This sword was produced in a time when Yoriichi, as an outright genius, had profound influence on the Demon Slayer Corp. Although everyone tried, no one could quite pick up his Sun Breathing, but they took the parts that worked for them and the Flame, Thunder, Wind, Water, and Rock techniques took form. We know that since the quality of demon slayers decreased after this generation (my guess is this is due to the mark killing them all off and therefore the lack of a mark in following generations made them seem less skilled over all). 

It's unlikely that Yoriichi, the Sun Breath user himself, would have had any use for this training doll; instead it must had been used by one of those early Breath creators trying desperately to match Yoriichi's skill, and probably using a sword that was modeled with the ideal Sun Breath in mind, and not yet taken shape to suit the Breath that user would later polish. It was perhaps after further definition of their new techniques that they left the old sword behind.

Two more reasons I don't believe this is Yoriichi's sword: Yoriichi, a genius who probably didn't allow his sword to break with improper technique, was still using a sword with a single 滅 inscription when he faced Kokushibo in his old age, and we only see him use a sword with a hilt guard of this shape.

So then who used one with this shape?

We don’t quite see if any of the other Sengoku era swords are likewise inscribed with 滅 (and the lack of the swordsmith’s name implies that this was the swordsmith’s creative choice), but we do get a peek at a few other swords. None of them have a hilt guard quite the same, but this is as similar as it gets: 

The character whom we see using a sword like this has hair in a black ponytail. It’s a little different from the Water Breath user who makes a few appearances, but not that different, and we never see what blade the Water Breath user is wielding. 

I theorize that Tanjiro inherited an early Water Breath user's sword, which made it extra suitable for his techniques. Despite the differences between Hinokami Kagura and Water Breathing being stark enough that switching takes a huge physical toll on Tanjiro, I believe that Water Breathing will always have an influence on his performance of Hinokami Kagura, or at least draws out the aspects from which Water Breathing was based.

That brings me to another thought: Tanjiro’s seemingly overpowered ability to pick up other people's techniques, like the Thunder Breathing speed he heard about from Zenitsu. With Sun Breathing being the root of all other Breath techniques, Tanjiro has grown up already practicing the formative basis of all the other techniques, including Thunder Breathing. His speed (no pun intended) in adopting new techniques does feel more than a little overpowered, but Tanjiro has long shown a history of adopting new techniques and strategies in the middle of a fight. It's also a characteristic of Tanjiro to be constantly analyzing his fighting style and battle experiences even in his sleep, so that shows it's the result of his hardworking, eldest son personality to rely more on perseverance and practice than on natural ability.

That being said, the family history under the influence of tending fire does seem to give Tanjiro some innate suitability for Sun Breathing techniques, as implied by other characters like Haganezuka pointing out his red eyes and Shinjuro noticing Tanjiro's supposed mark right away and immediately interpreting this as an unfair amount of talent. Bring a humble charcoal farmer as opposed to a hardened swordsman may be what gave Sumiyoshi the ability to grasp the essence of Sun Breathing so thoroughly and efficiently (though we know Yoriichi taught his technique to others whom Kokushibo later eliminated, we don’t know if they could perform it as accurately, especially since the rest of the swordsman had so much difficulty with it). This point was so important that Gotouge even considered including charcoal references or the name of the fire god Kagutsuchi (commonly associated with hearths and purification) in the title of the series (see more about that here.)

But, get this, Tanjiro was not originally meant to be the main character. According to an interview in the first official fanbook with the first editor, Katayama, the following exchange took place after reviewing Gotouge’s sketches for a manga idea, “Kisatsu no Nagare,” in which the main character, Nagare, is a quiet, stoic type with fake limbs in place of ones he lost in the Final Selection (he feels a lot like Giyuu, in my opinion):

What changed it from “Kisatsu no Nagare” to “Kimetsu no Yaiba”:

(Continued from criticism of Nagare being a difficult character to build a series around:)

“...after determining that with these small changes we still wouldn’t be able to change the impact much, we threw around the idea of changing the protagonist. Since [Gotouge-]Sensei hadn’t yet moved to Tokyo from the countryside, I asked one day on the phone, “Is there any other character besides Nagare (in the world of “Kisatsu no Nagare”) that’s may a little more cheerful and normal?”

Sensei answered, “There is, but I don’t know if he’s interesting or not.” When I asked, “What sort of character is he?” the response was, “He’s a boy who sells charcoal, and his little sister got turned into a demon, so he enters the Demon Slayer Corp to try to turn her back.” And I thought, that’s it, that’s THE protagonist, and said, “Let’s go with that! A normal kid is good!” 

I think we can all agree that Tanjiro’s oldest son personality is a big part of what makes him stick out as a protagonist. But, for as hard as he works and strongly as he feels, he is constantly aware of everyone else’s efforts and wishes, and he states over and over throughout the series that even if he should die in pursuit of his goals, someone else in the organization is absolutely certain to accomplish them in his place. We see the same sentiment among other characters who meet their doom, even powerful characters like Pillars, so it really drives home that this series is about the Demon Slayer Corp more than it is about any single child who has lost his family to demons. It’s for reasons like this that I really, really appreciate how the fanbooks, in how they present basic info, refer to Tanjiro like he’s just one example of a Corp swordsman; he’s not even worth introducing right away. It’s because of this focus on on everyone’s collective efforts that even if Tanjiro as the protagonist, I think it totally could have fit the story to have him die like implied in chapter 200, or proven right about his faith in everyone and be killed when he’s a demon.

Finally, a Taisho Secret around chapter 193 specifies that although Tanjiro has made a significant amount of progress in Hinokami Kagura, he's still not such Hot Stuff. If you break it into three levels, being able to go through the motions of something, then being able to refine and adapt it, and then being able to perform something in a way that maximizing its potential is all different. Even deep in the battle again Muzan, Tanjiro is only right about at the beginning points of being able to refine and adapt his techniques. 

So there you have it, Tanjiro is special, especially for his naturally positive, hardworking, and empathetic personality. But, he's no Pillar (yet), nor is his will and experience worth any more or less than all the other Demon Slayers, swordsmiths, Kakushi, wisteria house owners, crows, Ubuyashiki Clan members, and all the other supporters across centuries of history working toward one common goal, one eternal feeling: eliminate all evil demons.

[haleigh-sloth]

Hi 🙋‍♀️ my friend thinks that Dabi is going to be put down(killed) and Endeavor will be the one who’s going to do it as an act of atone. I told her that it was a horrific take because that would be a horrible way to atone and two your essentially saying that Endeavor should re-kill the son he failed and basically killed by his actions of neglect/abuse as a parent which would not be a good path to take! I also stated that three villains are being set up to be saved. She still doesn’t believe me, and asked if I could get a better perspective. So I’m here begging 🙏🏻 🥺 for your input please? Your definitely a lot more perspective and have a better eye than I!

Hey! So I’m going to answer everything, but first ask your friend to provide evidence of this, and to also explain how any of that would be even remotely acceptable to portray in a story that is aimed toward a very large, young, impressionable audience, in which a portion has undoubtedly experienced abuse in their own lives. How would those people feel reading that? What kind of message does that send? Horikoshi isn’t like a writing genius or anything, but he is not THAT incompetent. I mean...do give him credit where it’s due. He’s been building up their redemptions for a long time and he’s already established that as the next narrative challenge for Shouto, Ochaco, and Midoriya. I’m not going to say anything about your friend’s way of thinking because I can’t tell by the way your ask is worded if she believes that’s how it SHOULD go (which is....not good) or if she just has no faith in the writing (which is understandable but I’m gonna try to relieve some of those anxieties). In order to remain polite and civil I’m gonna go with the ladder and assume she just has no faith in Horikoshi, which is understandable, but not necessary! I hope you’re comfortable because this is probably going to be longer than I am anticipating, but oh well. 

Anyway, I’ll start with establishing what is deemed acceptable in the world of BNHA as far as killing goes.

*clears throat* It’s not fucking acceptable. Never was, never will be.

Look, please pinpoint to me where a pro-hero in the story has killed a villain and it was viewed as acceptable. And before you point at Hawks, I’m going to direct you here, here, and here. And there are so so SO many more posts I could find and link you to that explain my point further on that matter, but I won’t do that unless it’s asked of me. Regardless, Hawks murdering Twice was not acceptable, it was not portrayed as such, it was not viewed as such by the characters within the story. Therefore, it was not acceptable. And I’m fairly certain Hawks has a really rough road ahead of him because of his terrible choice, so prepare yourself for that.  But where was I? Oh yeah, establishing whether or not it’s acceptable to kill:

I mean there are more, but I don’t have all the time in the world. Tell her to read the story from the beginning and pay attention to what the story is telling its readers  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

Now, we’ve established that heroes in BNHA do NOT kill. That is not what being a hero means in THIS story. Now, what else is something important in BNHA that has repeatedly gotten focus?

Family.

To me personally, the most important callout to the importance of protecting your family is here:

He’s calling out all heroes, but he’s saying this in front of Endeavor. Important. Note that. There’s an entire subplot dedicated to the importance of portraying that putting your family first is the utmost responsibility of a parent. Outside of that subplot, we are shown the very dire consequences of what happens when parents abandon and reject their children.

Exhibit A: Toga

Exhibit B: Toya, or Dabi

Exhibit C: Tenko, or Tomura

These adults are the result of parents who failed their families.

Look, regardless of what people want to say the story is about: whether it’s about heroes vs. villains (it’s not), or about Midoriya graduating UA and becoming the number 1 hero (it’s not), or about Midoriya mastering his quirk (it’s not), there is no denying that BNHA is about heroes SAVING others and parents protecting their FAMILY. 

Horikoshi made it a point to establish a clear difference between the adults and the children in BNHA. He also made a point to show ALL THREE VILLAINS’ origin stories and showed us that all it took was ONE BAD DAY when they were CHILDREN. There is literally a chapter titled “All it takes is one bad day” specifically to drill this into your head. Toga’s life went downhill after attacking that boy in middle school from suppressing her biological nature for so long. Toya’s life went downhill when his flames nearly killed him. Tenko’s life went downhill when his quirk activated and killed his whole family. All it took was one bad day in these children’s lives to completely ruin their futures and take any and every chance away from them at a normal life. 

So with the strong focus on heroes saving people and parents failing their children, why why WHY would it ever be acceptable for Enji to KILL his SON? That not only repeats the first mistake made (Toya’s death), but also negates ALL of the narrative focuses of the entire story. I just...that’s a very very deep disconnect that I can’t force closed unless your friend chooses to look deeper than surface level reading. And it’s not just BNHA that has narrative themes and focuses throughout the story. That’s ANY story you read. Well, any good story at least. I’m not a writer by any means but even I know the basic rules of story telling: 

Leave a message for your readers. Give your story a goal. 

Otherwise it’s just words and pictures on paper that don’t mean anything. 

So I gave you the basics of what BNHA is about, now I’ll give the specific moments that directly tell you that Toya, Toga, and Tomura are going to be saved and redeemed. 

Toya:

Toga:

Tomura:

Now....does your friend really think these panels up here just mean nothing? Because that’s not how manga works. The panels have meaning, especially the ones given the most attention to drawing detail, the ones given the most space on a page. All of these were given their own big moments in their respective chapters. Toga is going to be saved by Ochaco, Toya is going to be saved by his baby brother, and Shigaraki is going to be saved by our main character Midoriya. It’s clear as day right there. 

Now I want to take it back to the Todoroki family for just a bit once more. Their entire subplot revolves around reunification. That has been the established endgame since Shouto’s origin chapters. And honestly? You don’t even have to be smart to figure this out. Like when you see Rei in the hospital, you already assume that she’s going to get out and come home at some point within the story, making the family whole again. THEN you learn about Toya and you learn that he’s ALIVE after ten years of being presumed dead. You really think HE isn’t going to be brought home just like his mother was??? Fam, that is the established goal of the Todoroki Family Subplot. There is no denying this, it is there in the text, and it is not even a little bit subtle. Horikoshi is not subtle. At all. With anything. Ever.  

However, no matter how much textual evidence we are given, there are still people living in denial because it’s either A. Not the direction they want, or B. They really just aren’t grasping the writing. Either way, the redemption set ups are there, whether they like it or not. At this point I’m convinced that the only way to shut villain-haters down is to wait til the last chapter has come out and the villains are fine, Toya is reunited with his family, Toga is alive and well and finds community with the other kids (at least that’s what I predict), and Shigaraki is alive and well and surrounded by people who care about him, a family if you will. Other than just waiting for that moment, idk what else it’s gonna take for the bad takes to stop. 

Now here’s my reality check disclaimer:

Horikoshi could screw us all and just kill the villains off. But that would be bad writing and also ruin the ENTIRE STORY. And believe me I will bitch and bitch until I am six feet under and I will continue to bitch about it in whatever afterlife awaits me. But seriously..he won’t do that. Not to mention I have a million other reasons somewhat unrelated to the writing but more so to Horikoshi himself as to why I believe with all of my being that the three villains are going to get a happy ending, but that’s a different discussion for a different time. This post is already long as shit. 

I hope your friend will look a little deeper at the story so she can enjoy it for what it is. The story has flaws, the Todoroki subplot is definitely a MESS right now because of the focus on Endeavor 🤢, but I believe it will clean itself up and be great in the end. The redemption arcs of the villains are the most interesting thing about BNHA and I know I speak for a lot of others and not just myself when I say this but, the villains are the only reason a LOT of people are still even invested in the story to begin with. If it weren’t for them? We’d all be ghost. So, do with that what you will. I hope this helps ease your anxieties a little bit and helps your friend understand what to pay attention to in the writing.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 42)*

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: 18+, this is smut folks. Plus, the usual warnings, and a focus on Ivar’s past experiences/trauma regarding sex, and related issues. Also, idk if I still need to let you know, but I write Ivar as a sub/bottom, always will.

A/N: Hi, thank you so much for being patient with me for taking an extra week to post this update after my return from the hiatus, I think I can get back to a more regular writing/uploading schedule from now on. Hope you like this chapter!

Alongside this chapter I posted an Ivar’s PoV. I very much encourage you to read it. You can find it here :)

Your fingers are quick making the knot, and you find yourself chuckling.

“What is it?” Ivar prompts, but the trail of kisses he leaves down your neck distracts you for a few breaths.

“I married you in red. It means nothing to your people, but does to mine,” You explain, before lifting the wrist that now bears your pendant like a bracelet between you, and tracing the inside of his wrist right under the leather knot. “And now our fates are tied as one, just as they would have in my homeland.”

“What do you mean?”

“When two people get married, amongst the things we do is tie their hands together. Like this,” You demonstrate, putting your palm against Ivar’s, fingers still greedily tracing the inside of his wrist that now bears the mark of your promise. “And a Hiereia would tie a knot to symbolize the union,” Your smile is a little dazed, more than a little lovesick, but you can’t find it in you to care. “Similar to how I did just now.”

“So we are married now?” He teases, and you chuckle, rolling your eyes. Ivar persists, though, a tad more serious, “Before your Gods, are we…are we husband and wife?”

“Of course we are,” You reply, almost affronted. Your brow presses against his, and you turn your hand to intertwine your fingers. “I swore before your Gods and mine to become your wife, did I not?”

He searches your gaze, or is lost in it, for a few breaths before he gives any answer.

The answer, it seems, is a soft smile and a slow blink of his eyes.

“I love you.” He tells you, an answer as well.

He lays his body over yours, and your senses are overwhelmed by his warmth, his scent, him. His hands settle comfortably on your waist as he explores your mouth, tongue seeking entrance you willingly give, but he doesn’t waste a moment to grip surely on the curve of your ass when you bend one leg to bring him closer.

“I want you, I want…” He doesn’t finish his train of thought, choosing instead to trail open mouthed kisses down your throat, nuzzling at the dip between your collarbones, before his kisses grow more heated, gentle sucks and scattered bites over the tops of your breasts.

He is stopped by the nightdress you still wear, and resting his chin in the valley between you breasts, Ivar looks up at you, big eyes dark and plump lips bearing the reddish mark of your kiss. The sight shouldn’t be as distracting as it is, but you still lose yourself in it, and you think he speaks but you cannot hear it, too focused on reaching with one hand and trailing your fingers in through his loose hair.

Ivar says your name, a question, and all you can reply with is an inquisitive, hm?

“Can I…?” His hands bunch up the sides of your nightdress, the intent obvious.

It makes warmth and something else, something darker and made of iron more than silk, blossom in your chest, to hear him ask, to have him await your permission, to have him…surrender.

You nod your head, barely having to put any strength in lifting your body off the mattress to get the dress of since Ivar lifts most of your weight. That will never cease to surprise you, and you don’t think it will ever cease to make you want him even more either.

Laid bare before him, as you have been many a time before, you look up into his eyes. He doesn’t bother hiding anything right now, maybe if he tried he couldn’t, and you are witness to everything that swims in those pale blue eyes. The desire, the awe, the lingering frenzy from when you first told him of your choice, that frenzy of not wanting to waste a moment, a breath.

You had never felt want like this, not until him. You hadn’t felt wanted like this, not until him.

Not until the wide blue eyes that gaze at you like something out of a dream, not until the voice roughened by desire breathing out your name, not until the reverent and frenzied hands exploring whatever part of you that they can reach.

Ivar continues his previous trail, sealing lightning against your skin with every press of his lips over your body, with every caress of rough hands on delicate skin.

Nestled between your legs, he looks up at you with a smile that speaks of arrogance but something sweeter too, something softer.

Hooking one of your legs over his shoulder with practiced ease, Ivar licks a stripe up your center, making you shiver.

One of your hands tangles in his hair as it always does, and as Ivar starts working his tongue against you, your fingers tighten and pull at his hair, only succeeding in making him redouble his efforts, drawing the occasional moan from him that reverberates through you.

He takes his time slowly making pleasure build inside you, tightening like knot in your lower stomach, to the point where your body is begging for release.

In between tight circles of his tongue against the bundle of nerves in your core, Ivar puts his fingers inside you, skillful curling of them making your legs tremble and your breaths stutter.

Praise is falling from your lips, you aren’t sure if in any language he knows but certain he understands regardless, judging by the bite followed by a reverent kiss that he presses to the inside of your thigh.

And you climb higher and higher, lost in him, lost in the pleasure he so willingly seeks to draw out of you as if it your moans were the most exquisite form of praise.

With one last cry of his name that sounds high and breathless, you reach your peak, feeling as if the waves of pleasure rolling over you are never to end.

As you come down, you blink past the daze of pleasure and draw him back up to you, bringing his lips to yours.

You never hesitate in kissing him, even when the evidence of what he has done to you is still on his tongue. If you are honest, tasting yourself on his mouth sends a pang of heat through you each and every time.

And you are hungry and desperate, hungry for pleasure that isn’t yours, desperate for giving him the pleasure you know you can.

Your hand trails down his chest as your mouth demands entrance into his, tongue exploring his mouth leisurely. Your free hand tightens on his hair, and you pull him closer, while you reach exactly where you wanted.

You barely are able to cup your hand around him when Ivar pulls back, breaths ragged.

His hand grips at your wrist, stopping you. You expected that, though.

Ivar takes a deep breath, and states, “It won’t work, you know that.”

Your free hand reaches for the side of his face, trailing down the side of his neck, and you search his eyes as you promise fervently,

“Even if it doesn’t work normally, you can feel pleasure, Ivar. I know you can, I h-…”

“I can’t,” He interrupts you, eyes wide. You remain silent after his words, and a shaking breath leaves his parted lips. Voice low and rough, he explains, “It feels…painful, and…do you think I didn’t try, after that first night with Margrethe? I-I couldn’t go to her again, o-or anyone else, but…I believed she had done something to me, I believed-…she had to be the reason why, it had to be her fault.

You think of how long it has taken him to feel comfortable around you, how much he still struggles with the soft intimacy of just the two of you, how aware he is of his own body and where and when you touch him; and you cannot help but think he most likely wasn’t ready at all to be with that girl. You know him well enough to assume it was probably something having to do with his pride, with that public image that seems to seep into how he sees himself all too often.

Ivar continues, “I tried using my hand to-…I tried, and it…and it was useless. It is of no use,” His expression tightens, a furrow in his nose of old anger, of resentment at the world and Fate itself. “Being touched…it-…I can’t bear it.”

“Have you felt that way with me?” You ask quietly, suddenly sickened by all those times you felt him lean into your touch or almost surrender to the press of your body or your hand against him and believed you were offering pleasure. “Is it painful when I touch you?”

More than anything you wish you could be in his head right now, you wish you could know which are those thoughts that make for a few moments his breaths slightly more panicked, that make something like anguish cross his features before he can offer any words.

“No,” He tells you, letting you breathe easier, “I-It always felt…good with you. But I can’t, you know I can’t.”

Something in you steels at the way his eyes fall from yours. There is no reason he should ever feel he cannot hold your gaze, least of all for something like this.

Your hand on the side of his face is gentle, and he obeys the silent command and returns his eyes to yours. The sight of tears -this time not overwhelmed, happy, disbelieving tears at hearing you are to stay, but defeated, humiliated, helpless- makes you strengthen, offer certainty when he has none.

“It will feel good with me, Ivar,” You say, unwavering. You know it is true. Still, even if you ache to show him, you offer your words and your sincerity and nothing more. “It will feel good, because you are mine and I am yours. There’s no room for pain, for anything else, not when it’s us.

He starts shaking his head, words stuck in his throat but trembling lips trying to form them anyways. You lean closer, the hand on his cheek moving to grasp at the back of his neck.

“You can feel pleasure, my love,” You promise. His eyes -wide, uncertain eyes- jump in between yours, frantically searching your gaze as if truths can be found in you, as if he’s desperately hoping he can believe what you tell him. “Let me show you.”

“I…I’m-…”

You press your lips gently to the corner of his mouth, and even that simple and intimate touch makes him jump, makes the faint tremble of his body slightly worse.

“Shh,” You soothe, daring to put a hand on the center of his chest, the caress firm but soft as you try luring him to a normal breathing. “It is alright. I will stop if you want me to. Is that what you want?”

You lean back just enough to meet his gaze, your heart suddenly picking up speed at the sight of him. Ivar’s eyes are wide and his breathing hasn’t slowed down, and it is after a few shaky breaths that he manages to give you an answer.

The barest movement as he shakes his head, and promises, “I want you.”

Simple words, but they make pure and raw hunger run through your veins like wildfire. A wilder part of you, a part of you that lingers in all the ways he has proved he is yours, wants nothing more than to satiate this hunger with starved touches, demanding kisses and hurried and desperate proof that you want him, however you can have him.

But more than anything you want to erase any memory of any hands on his body that aren’t yours, even if they are his own, when those memories bring forth pain. You want to show him there’s no pain to be felt when it comes pleasure, you want to show him there’s no humiliation to be dreaded when it comes to intimacy.

Pleased with the answer and unable to help yourself, you capture his lips on yours, a leisurely exploration of his mouth as you press as close as you can. Ivar moans against your lips at the first of presses of your mouth on his, leaning into your touch with barely any hesitation.

When you pull back his brow is furrowed and his breaths are fast, and a pang of heat goes through you at the way he licks his lips, already missing the taste of you.

“Then trust in me,” You ask softly, your mouth moving slowly through the curve of his jaw to reach his ear. Voice low, you demand, “Give in to me, Ivar.”

The effect of your words is immediate, and Ivar doesn’t bother containing the overwhelmed little sound, somewhere in between a whimper and a moan, that leaves his parted lips. Your hand on the back of his neck is the one thing that keeps his head from falling back, and the only thought that runs through your head at the sight of him is that he is yours, yours, yours.

Past the daze of hunger and desire, you remind yourself that there will be time for hurried, there will be time for desperate and hungry. There will be time for you to leave your mark on him, there will be time for his skin to bear the reminder that he is yours and yours alone.

But now, now you want to explore every part of him, with hands, with tongue and lips. You want him to feel safe with you, you want to get him drunk on nothing but you.

And so you do.

With aimless but gentle touches of your hands over his body, with presses of your mouth that linger between hungry and soothing, with whispered praises of how much you want him, of how no one compares to him in your eyes, of how good he is for you; you make the lingering tension in his body give way to something else, you make him give in to the lull of touch and the high of being just the two of you and the intimacy between you.

And this time when you reach down and palm him over the thin barrier of his pants he doesn’t even try to stop you, instead offering a haggard breath of your name and nothing else, surrendering to your touch.

He tenses underneath you when you move your hand to reach for him under his clothes, but you press quick and soothing kisses to the exposed skin of his neck and remind him quietly,

“It is just me, Ivar. All I want is to give you pleasure, nothing will change that.”

“Y-You know I-…”

“I know,” You tell him softly, “Just focus on me, focus on how it feels.

After lifting your hand back up to your face to spit on the palm of it and make things easier, you whisper your instructions as you circle your fingers around his cock.

“It feels good when I touch you, doesn’t it, love?” You ask, not expecting an answer, but you do get one, a choked hum of affirmation. You smile against his neck, “It feels so good to finally be able to touch you, to be able to make you feel good.”

Slowly but surely, you feel him hardening slightly under your touch. You still keep the pace of your hand steady, as well as the flow of praise that falls from your lips, certain that if you draw attention to it he will close up or revert to the defeated certainty of before.

When you get him hard enough that even he cannot ignore it anymore, Ivar gasps your name, a call to stop even if you don’t obey it.

“H-How-…? I don’t-…”

“Focus on how it feels, Ivar,” You reiterate, not wanting him to overthink things, not wanting the past to have any reach in this moment. “Focus on me.”

You make sure to keep talking. He has told you many times, and proven even more, that there’s something soothing to him about you talking, either because of the sound of your voice or what you have to say, you truly don’t know.

So with your fingers toying at the waist of his loose pants, you look up and ask,

“Can I see you, my love? All of you?”

Ivar licks his lips, but they still part helplessly as he looks down at you, barely daring make a sound past the gasping breaths that leave him.

And he nods his head. His eyes remain intently on you as you take off his pants, remain on you searching for something in your gaze as you take in all of him.

Bare before you, his skin baring the faintest shine of sweat and a few marks that may be the result of less-than-gentle exploring on your part, you feel your throat tighten, your mouth dry. You want him, you want to make him moan, you want to make him surrender, you want to make him yours.

But, teasing both him and yourself it seems, you take your time, slowly crawling up his body until you are face to face with him, straddling his hips but not close enough for you to be pressed together.

Ivar looks up at you, wide eyes asking -pleading- for something that he doesn’t yet dare voice, chest rising and falling rapidly with each expectant breath.

Your mouth slowly curves into a smile, and keeping your eyes on him in a silent command that he keep looking at you, you reach for his hardening cock.

At the first of your touches Ivar lets out a haggard moan, head craning back and leaving his throat exposed, tempting you to place a few more marks here and there. But you want to see him, you want to see the effect of your touch on him.

“Look at me,” You order, a pang of heat running through you at how quickly, how pliantly, he obeys the command, forcing heavy eyelids to remain open and dark eyes to remain on you. “I want your eyes on me, love.”

His cheeks are tinted red and his eyes are slightly moist as he looks up at you, his hair roughened my movement and the passing of your fingers, he looks like every desire you’ve ever had made man.

The strong body, open gaze, the moans and whimpers he tries and fails at keeping hidden. Perfect. Yours.

You run your thumb over the tip of his cock to gather the moisture that slowly starts forming there, turning your wrist slightly when you stroke upwards. Ivar gasps, almost sitting up, but you put your hand on his chest to stop him.

And…Gods, how easily he complies, leaning back and letting you continue to touch him, surrendering his pleasure to you. And still, in the daze that makes moans and whimpers fall from his lips so easily, he still remembers to keep his gaze on you, to keep endless blue eyes focused on you. The sight of his surrender is enough to make a woman mad.

His lips form helplessly around the words before he even utters them, but eventually Ivar gasps, “It…ah, it feels…”

“Good?” You ask, and he nods his head frantically.

“Y-Yes,” He promises, eyes wide, “Don’t…don’t stop.”

You don’t stop the movements of your hand, but you move down his body, and settle between his legs. Ivar’s eyes are wide, and he looks tortured when he looks down at you.

Licking a trail from the base of his cock to the tip, you delight yourself in the tremble you make take over his whole body, and after a few tentative licks that are there just to see if you can make him beg without having to tell him to, you take him in your mouth.

He moves as if to sit up again, unconscious movement of his body against the new feeling, but you still put one hand against his stomach, keeping him down even if it is not through brute strength that you do so.

Ivar cries out your name as you start moving your mouth over him, while your hand strokes the base of him. And you try keeping your eyes on him as much as you can, not wishing to lose a moment.

You don’t keep track of time, couldn’t even if you wanted to, but you do notice him climbing closer and closer to that edge. It is written in the tension of his arms and shoulders, in the red that starts spreading over his chest, in the way the sounds he makes are broken by whimpers, in the breaths that stutter over one another.

But he stops you again.

“S-Stop, pl-…ah, please stop,” He pleads, taking a few shallow breaths when you pull back. His hands grip tightly at the sheets underneath him, and breath by breath he starts to let go. Once his hold on them is almost loose, he speaks again. “Stop, or I will…I…don’t want this to end yet.”

Your heart does a strange thing in your chest, and you move back up to be face to face with him. Your eyes linger on the few details that make him look so utterly wretched, from the faint shine of sweat on his forehead to the bite marks on his lip.

You want to kiss him, but hesitate, wondering if he will be disgusted by his own taste. Ivar doesn’t even think about that, it seems, for when you are close enough he lifts a trembling hand and tangles it in your hair, bringing your lips to his, kissing you slowly and deeply.

You pull back, a hand on his chest, and promise, “It isn’t the end, love.”

“I want to be inside you.” He argues.

“And you will be,” Is the answer you give, before kissing a quick path down his chest. Grasping him in your hand once again, you look up at him. Unable to resist the temptation, you grant the faintest of licks to his tip, making a ragged groan leave his lips. “But before that, I want to make you come undone, using just my mouth.”

He doesn’t offer any resistance after that, but judging by the way his breaths get quicker and his eyes flutter shut before you even get to put your mouth around him again, your words had a deeper effect on him than you had anticipated.

Bracing yourself on his thighs, you take as much of him in your mouth as you can, ignoring the discomfort of your jaw as you move your mouth over him.

The litany of sounds that leaves his lips becomes more ragged and broken the longer you pleasure him, even if it isn’t that long until you notice the clear tells of him being close to the edge again.

This time you redouble your efforts, daring to moan slightly around him, making a string of curses leave Ivar’s lips. And when you reach with one of your hands to play with his balls, his hands grip desperately at the sheets underneath him once again.

As Ivar’s voice begins to give out, head turned to the side and nothing but broken moans leaving his lips as you get him closer and closer to the edge, you try your hardest to commit this moment to memory. This moment, of his voice sounding so beautifully wretched by the pleasure you give him, of his body pliant under your every touch and desperate in equal measure.

Ivar reaches his peak with a hoarse shout, his back arching off the bed, wide eyes looking at the nothingness above him. You are lost in the sight of him lost in the throes of pleasure, and you can almost ignore the bitter taste of his seed as you swallow.

He loses all strength and collapses against the bed, gasping breaths as he comes down from his high. You move back up against him, pressing a kiss against his chest and resting there, soaking up his warmth.

His hand settles on your waist, but it does so with such effort that pride surges through you. His chest still heaves under you, and as you lay your cheek against his heart, you hear it beating wildly under your ear.

“That was…” He lets out an incredulous laugh, a breath past parted lips. His eyes meet yours, “Thank you.”

“Hm, so polite,” You tease, pecking his smiling lips. “I’m still going to insist that I told you so.”

And for now you remain in this moment you wouldn’t change for anything, this moment of leisurely traces of hands on each other’s bodies, this moment of kisses exchanged like secrets, this moment of a beginning in more ways than one.

____ ____ ____

So that happened! Hope it was okay! Thank you for reading!

You can find Gǫfga, the Ivar PoV that continues from this chapter, here.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​​ @heavenly1927​ @toe-vind-ek-jou​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @pieces-by-me​​ @angelofthorr​​ @samsationalwilson​​ @peachyboneless​​ @1950schick​​ @punkrocknpearls​​ @ietss​​   @itsmysticalmystery​​  @revolution-starter​​ @the-a-word-2214​​ @fae-sedai​​   @crazybunnyladysworld​​ @funmadnessandbadassvikings @stupiddarkkside​​@aprilivar​​ @msrawog​​    

[jimlingss]

hi Kina! may I make a request for a sort of sci-fi au? yn dies but when she opens her eyes, some unfamiliar yet familiar dude takes off his vr goggles and goes “hEy hOw wAs iT?” maybe Joon? or JK? I don’t really mind

↳ Awaken Again

2k || 50% Fluff, 50% Angst || Kim Namjoon

You die with some regrets.

But mostly without. It was a rather unremarkable, mundane life but a happy one where you feel general satisfaction for the choices and decisions you made. Above all, you feel tired. Oh so tired. You’re ready to sleep for a long while. Perhaps forever.

So you surrender to the darkness. Not sure what’s next.

……………………

Suddenly, there’s a burst of light.

It floods your vision, stirring your senses, and a comfortable weight around your head that you didn’t know was there is lifted. A gasp is stolen from your lips, filling your lungs and you realize you’re alive again. It’s hard to see, for your vision to adjust as your lashes flutter, and you squint.

But it eventually does adjust and you see again. Namely, you discover a certain man with sparkling irises and a dimpled smile in front of you.

“Hey.” His voice is deep, soft. It ignites an emotion stowed deep in your heart. “How was it?”

Your mouth draws open and your feeble voice croaks out, “Namjoon?” 

His smile fades as he searches your expression and you fall out of the chair, frantically grabbing onto the sleeves of his white lab coat. You pull him into a hug and cry out, “Oh my god, Namjoon!” 

He’s stiff against your body, not returning your embrace, but you don’t pay any mind. You’re too overwhelmed from seeing him again. “Is-Is this heaven?” you ask while shutting your eyes and savouring the moment. 

“What? No.” He looks over his shoulder and you don’t know where to.

You pull away but keep him in your reach, your hands curled into his clothes. “But if this isn’t heaven, then how is this possible?”

Namjoon’s hands wrap around your shoulders and he takes a step back, lowering his height slightly to have his eyes connect to yours. “Y/N, do you know where you are?”

“What?”

“You’ve woken up to reality,” he enunciates gingerly and carefully. “You were just in a VR simulation for the past few years. We’ve been watching you.”

You don’t understand. It doesn’t make any sense. 

He’s scaring you. “What are you talking about? What’s going on, Joon?”

Namjoon leans back and looks towards the glass window. “Subject two has no recollection of past memories and no grasp of reality,” he deadpans in a monotone. “Will need monitoring for further investigation of potential symptoms and ramifications of simulation 230616.”

He turns back to you, a large distance kept between your bodies. As if you were strangers to each other. He merely says, “Everything will be okay.”

It does little to reassure you. And the Namjoon that you’re familiar with is nothing but reassuring.

Instead of dying, instead of surrendering to the darkness, you’ve been placed in a room with stark white floors, walls, a bed and a tinted window. Fluorescent lights burn your lids and you feel frightened, but it’s coming back to you. Slowly.

You cradle yourself, murmuring, “I am Y/N L/N.” 

They said you were placed in a simulation. “I am twenty eight.” The ninety years you lived wasn’t real. 

“I am a software engineer and scientist at Realtion.” 

You recall some parts as if they were distant memories of your childhood. Blurred. Faint. But even then, they’re merely fragments of a whole mirror, puzzles of a much larger piece. You remember being excited after you were picked to be one of the first to test the simulation. You remember getting into the chair, remembering placing the headset over your head and covering your eyes. You remember the countdown of a smooth, dulcet voice — the same one that had greeted you when it was all over.

The door opens and you jolt.

The person that enters is the same one you’ve been thinking about. 

Namjoon ducks his head to get in. “I don’t know why they make these goddamn doors so small.”

You smile unintentionally. But it’s easy to relax when it’s him.

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting,” he says.

“Interrupting what? I’m being monitored like a lab rat. There’s nothing for you to interrupt.” To prove your point, you open your arms to your surroundings. It’s pretty obvious what they think about you considering the walls and floor are plush. This isn’t any different from a padded cell save for the few furniture pieces.

Namjoon shuts the door and gives you an incredulous expression. “Don’t be like that. They’re just worried.”

“Of my psychological state? Yeah.” You lean against the wall, seated on your bed. “Might be normal though considering I thought that simulation was my reality and I barely remember anything of my actual reality.”

He snorts. “The simulation has a few kinks, but we can iron it out. It might be a bit too immersive.”

You deadpan, “You think?”

Namjoon grins and takes a seat on the uncomfortable white chair by the desk. “It’s good to see you returning to yourself. Everyone’s missed you, Y/N.”

You hum a low note, looking away. 

It’s hard to cope and you’re still traumatizing on multiple levels, but that doesn’t mean your entire personality will suddenly up and vanish. If anything, you know you’re being rather snippy towards everyone — that you’re taking out your anger on them even though it’s unwarranted. It’s not like they were the ones who forced you to step into the simulation. It’s not like they knew this would happen.

But that doesn’t mean you aren’t upset.

Everything you lived for, everything you loved, your entire life — it’s been a lie. A virtual reality.

“Why are you here?” you ask after the silence is prolonged.

“I just wanted to check up on you.”

You pause. “How many.”

“How many…?”

You look back at him, gaze meeting his. “How many people were watching?”

Namjoon hesitates, but he answers you. “Just three. Me, Jimin and Hoseok.”

A scoff emits from your throat and you roll your eyes. You can’t believe all of the private moments in your life were being observed and recorded by others the entire time. You really were a lab rat and you still are.

“It’s confidential, Y/N,” Namjoon says. “You know that. Nothing unnecessary will be written in the final report.”

“It’s still intrusive,” you spit and soften, knees pressed against your chest as if physically curling into yourself is all the protection you have left. “It’s just….it’s just hard to cope with.”

“I know,” he murmurs gently.

“I don’t think you do,” you bite back. “I lived this entire life, this full life and to know everything was just a figment of my imagination, that nothing was real, that we—” You interrupt yourself. “Never mind.”

You know if you get too upset and your blood pressure spikes, a whole team might run in. Or maybe they already know Namjoon’s in here with you.

“You don’t need to worry about it,” he pipes up, reassuring but in the moment you want it least. “The world you were in, it was constructed by your subconscious. You couldn’t control it. And relationships are built on the people who are close to you.”

There’s a moment of quiet. You hope he doesn’t say it, but he does—

“So it’s only natural that we ended up married and with kids and all that.”

You scoff. 

There’s an array of emotions that overwhelm you. Hurt that Namjoon could brush off sixty years of your marriage like that and what was so entirely real to you. Mortified that others saw how your subconscious built an intimate relationship with a colleague of yours. Confused at what you feel, how you yearn for the man across the room who you once called your dear husband— but it wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.

So these feelings aren’t real.

Right? 

“If it’s only natural, then how come we’re not together in this ‘reality’.” It’s a bold question, but there’s no point in reserving yourself. You’ve already lived ninety years, so you know what kind of regrets are born in the face of hesitation and miscommunication. Confrontation is easy after so much experience. “You saw everything, didn’t you? You watched it all?”

Namjoon is quiet. “I did.”

“Then what do you think?”

You want to ask him how he felt about it. If he viewed that life with cold eyes and an impassive mind or if he possibly felt something, even as a bystander. 

“Was our relationship really just a wild part of my subconscious, Namjoon?”

The hurt you feel burrows deeper when he turns away from you in an extended silence. Your lips part, about to tell him to go away, so you don’t confuse the simulation with reality. But he beats you to the punch—

“It was my fault,” Namjoon murmurs and your head whips up to him. Your gazes connect. “That night before you were going into the simulation, I said something I shouldn’t have.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I….I knew you were going into the simulation for two years, so I thought I’d take my chance and if the outcome was bad, I would’ve been gone by then. I was an idiot. I didn’t know this would happen, that it would affect your subconscious so much.”

You slide off your bed, brows furrowed. “What did you say to me?”

Silence.

You come closer to him, raising your voice— “What did you tell me, Namjoon?!”

“I said I couldn’t stop thinking about you!” Namjoon’s eyes are darkened with regret, burning with embarrassment and shame. “We went out for drinks and I drank too much and I told you that if you wanted me to, I would wait for you. Until this was done.” He pulls a hand through the blonde strands of his hair, and he gets up from his spot. “There’s no point. You don’t remember it.”

But you grab him before he leaves, clutching the sleeve of his white lab coat. “What did I say?”

Desperation aches deep within you. A curiosity that eats at your brain.

Namjoon looks back at you and relays the memories you don’t have. “You said I shouldn’t wait for you, but if things don’t change and the timing is right, you’ll give your answer when you get back.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. Namjoon searches your expression. It’s an intimate moment without interruption where you don’t care who might be watching or if there’s someone on the other side of the window. It feels like there’s just you and Namjoon. All that really matters.

Yet he forces you to let go of him. “I don’t want you to get confused with the simulation and reality.”

“Does it matter if it was real or not? What I feel is real. What I feel for you is real,” you spit as your annoyance surges. “Everyone keeps telling me what’s real or fake but no one wants to acknowledge that my experiences were real to me! Isn’t that the point of the simulation?!”

Namjoon’s eyes have widened. Your breathing is ragged, chest falling and rising. “I spent sixty years with you, Namjoon! We grew old together. And do you know what my first thought was when I saw you again?” You laugh bitterly. “‘Thank god he’s here, I can be with him again’.”

There are tears in your eye, welling up and blurring your vision. 

Namjoon doesn’t utter a single word. He doesn’t make any excuses, any rebuttals, and doesn’t argue. He stops invalidating what you feel and instead closes the distance and embraces you.

His arms wrap around your shoulders and you lean into him, savouring it and shutting your eyes.

You know Namjoon’s worries have merit to it, that the others will think the same as he does. They’ll think you’re confusing the simulation with reality, that your ability to differentiate has weakened, that your feelings were manifested and nurtured by the simulation. They’ll think this isn’t real. 

But time will tell.

You’ve already stood the test of time with Namjoon once. You have a feeling, a second time won’t be difficult.

[multimilfs]

Eda Clawthorne x Fem!Reader: Once A Rival (Now Something Better)

Summary: Anon requested “Eda x reader, School rivals turned lovers? Meet at a bar.”  

A/N: I can’t find any gifs of Eda playing grudgby and I’m so sad about it

Warning(s): None

2-2

“We have a tie. You all know what that means.” The grudgby coach said, making all of the other players ‘ooooh.’

You and Eda stood across from one another, panting heavily. This was the third year in a row that you had faced off for grudgby captain. And this year, you’d given it everything you had. Only to end up here. In a tie breaker.

“Clawthorne, you’re up first.”

Eda gave you a cocky smirk, before grabbing the ball. Whoever was able to cross the field and launch more shots through the hoops would win captain. The opponent was allowed to do anything they could to block them.

“Ready?” The coach called, Eda gave him a nod, “Get on it, then!”

She took off down the field. Using your plants and anything you could get a hold of, you attempted to block her. None of them came close. Until you wrapped a thin vine around her ankle, lifting her from the ground.

You felt triumphant for a moment before Eda summoned all of her strength, throwing the ball from her upside down position, and sending it cleanly through the hoop. A growl left your mouth.

“Your turn, Y/L/N.”

This went on for ages, with neither of you missing, until Coach called a final face-off between the two of you. Whoever scored first was Captain. It was clean and simple. Unfortunately, you and Eda wanted the position equally as bad. Nothing was going to stop you.

Eda managed to grab the grudgby ball first and took off past you. She nearly made it to the hoop, until you used a strong vine to pluck it from her arms. It was easy. Too easy. As it was plopped into your grasp, you ran as quickly as possible towards the other hoops.

When your nose started to itch.

You let out an unexpected sneeze, immediately moving to cover your face. Then you sneezed again. And again. And again. In horror, you realized that Eda had covered the ball in a sneezing potion. Try as you might, you couldn’t stop long enough to get the ball into the hoop.

It left it open for Eda to manipulate your own vines and launch the ball through her hoop. Making her captain for another year. While you sneezed so hard in the middle of the field that you worried you’d never stop.

“Nice job, Clawthorne,” The coach congratulated her, “A good start to your third year as captain. Now go help Y/L/N out.”

Eda smiled, coming over and handing you the anti-sneezing draft. You gave her a heavy glare when you stopped.

“Hey, no hard feelings, right?” She said with a smile.

“Sure. Good luck, captain.” You rolled your eyes before turning and leaving. Eda said something after you, but you didn’t stop to hear any of it.

It wasn’t the losing that made you bitter. It wasn’t even the sneezing potion. No. What made you bitter was that becoming Captain was the only thing keeping you at Hexside. Now, you’d have to leave.

You weren’t going to make it any harder by saying goodbye.

---

“Here, Y/N.”

You looked up from the bar, taking in the large drink that the bartender was placing down in front of you. It was huge. Larger than should probably be allowed, not to mention it was bright yellow.

“I didn’t order that.” You said.

“I know. She did.”

He motioned behind you, making you turn boredly. Though your eyes widened. Sitting in the booth across from the bar was a face you never thought you’d see again. The smug face of one Eda Clawthorne.

She tilted her drink in your direction, giving you a grin. And as if in a trance, you grabbed your own, and moved over to where she was sitting. Like you were in some sort of trance.

“Of all places I expected to see you, this was not one of them.” You said in greeting, sliding in across from her.

“Even I enjoy a good drink.”

“I never said you didn’t. But you’re not just Eda now, you’re the Owl Lady. Isn’t it a bit risky?”

“Not unless you’re going to report me.” Eda said flatly.

“Not likely. I have no interest in doing anything to help the Emperor.” You admitted.

That caught her attention. During your shared time at Hexside, you’d been an almost devout rule follower. The idea of getting in trouble had left you shaking. It interested her that you had changed so much.

“Well, it seems I picked some good company then.” Eda said.

Silence surrounded the two of you. The only sounds were the two of you sipping your drinks. It was nice, almost. There was an underlying tension there. Unspoken questions.

“I never thought I’d see you back in Bonesborough.” She said after some time.

You looked up from your drink, meeting her eyes. She’d attempted to make the statement casually. Though you could tell there was more there, some emotion she was doing her best not to show you.

It’d been hard to leave Bonesborough. Especially without saying goodbye. Eda may have been your rival, but she’d also been your friend. Sometimes. Leaving it all, leaving her, had been the toughest thing you’d ever done. But you couldn’t handle saying goodbye.

“I missed certain things here. Thought maybe it’d be a good idea to come back, see how it had changed.” You said slowly.

Eda scoffed.

“You were in such a hurry to leave, now you miss it?”

You flinched at her harsh tone. It was well deserved, sure, but it still hurt.

“I was never in a hurry to leave.” You said softly.

“You could have fooled me. Was not being captain so terrible? I… I would have given you the position if it meant you’d stay.” Eda said.

She looked at you intensely. You’d forgotten what she was like. All you had for years were the memories, moments to replay in your mind. Now she was in front of you, looking nothing like the witch you’d left. Her hair was bright white and she had a gold fang where she’d never had a tooth.

It was a good look on her, you admitted to yourself.

“I never had a choice. My family made the decision to leave. The only thing that would have changed it was getting Captain, but I never wanted it out of pity. I wanted to earn it or not have it at all.”

Eda raised an eyebrow. It was a different story from the one your absence had left. But you’d spoken with such conviction that she couldn’t help but believe you.

“And you couldn’t say goodbye?”

“We didn’t even like one another half the time, Clawthorne. I never expected you’d care.”

It was a lie.

You knew it and she could tell. Sure, maybe you hadn’t always gotten along, but neither of you wanted the other to leave. No matter how tenuous the relationship, it was still a relationship. Sometimes losing a rival also feels like losing your greatest ally.

“Well, I did. Sue me.” Eda said.

“Hmm. I could sue you, but where is the fun in that, when we could take it to the grudgby court instead?” You suggested.

Her eyes lit up with that familiar spark. The same one you had seen before every game and every practice. That was the Eda you’d missed; the one who reveled in the challenge.

“You’re on,” She grinned, sliding out of the booth, “You’re also paying.”

She let out a wild laugh before leaving the bar. With a sigh, you handed more than enough money to the bartender. You couldn’t help but shake your head. Eda’s looks may have changed, but she was definitely the same.

----

Finding yourself back on the grudgby court felt surreal. Like something you could have dreamed up, but never expected you’d live. It felt comfortable to be back on the old court.

You and Eda had spent more time than normal warming up, though it was probably a good thing. The last thing you wanted was to lose because of a leg cramp.

“You ready to lose, Y/L/N?” Eda asked, cocky as ever.

“Not happening, Clawthorne.”

She gave you a smile, before the two of you raced towards the ball.

Eda snatched it up first and evaded an attack expertly. She moved down the field, sending the ball flying through the hoop. You let out a low growl.

Not a great start.

The next play was all yours. While Eda had believed she was getting away, you used magic to grab the ball away. She was shocked for long enough, giving you time to score.

It went on like this for hours. Back and forth, score after score. Eda was starting to slow down. And though you hated to show it, you were too. It reminded you that you’d been away from the court for far too long.

“Next point wins.” Eda panted out, “So get ready to admit defeat.”

“Not this time.” You said back, hands on your knees.

The both of you managed to collect yourselves for one last play. Your palms felt sweaty, but there was a surge of confidence through you. This was going to be your game. You could feel it.

You launched yourself from your spot, speeding towards the ball. Only to narrowly miss it as Eda grabbed onto it. Without thinking, you grabbed at her, knocking the ball into your own arms. You froze. It was only a second, not nearly long enough to mean anything, but it felt like an eternity. Then you ran. Ran as quickly as your legs could manage after all of this time.

Eda could be heard chasing after you, even as you managed to dodge her attacks. So you put all of your focus into getting within range of the hoop. In your haste though, you missed one of your own vines, still sticking out of the ground. You tripped and the ball flew out of your hands.

You prepared yourself to hit the ground. Hard. But it never came. Instead, a sturdy pair of arms caught you before you hit the ground. As she lifted you up, you found yourselves very close.

She looked shocked at her own speed, before her eyes scanned your face. Darting to your lips. Eda unconsciously licked her lips, drawing your attention. She was so close. It would take barely a breath to close the gap.

“You win.” Eda whispered, before you could kiss her.

“What?”

“You win.”

Motioning to the scoreboard, you saw it. You had won by a single point. The ball that had flown out of your arms had just cleared the hoop, finally making you the winner.

“I won…” You muttered, before it hit you, “I won!”

You laughed, pride surging through you, as Eda watched on with a grin. So overcome with joy and pride, you pulled her into a deep kiss. She froze. You worried that you had misread the situation, before she finally started to kiss you back. It felt like winning a grudgby match ten times over.

Eventually the two of you pulled away for air. You had a smile on your face, a subtle blush spreading across your cheeks. Eda looked similar, but rolled her eyes, and spoke with a smile.  

“It seems I won too.”

[starcloud-nova]

Favorite fics by some of your buddies on Tumblr and Discord?

God nonnie. You fucked up big time. You underestimated just how hard I can appreciate my friends. I’d like to formally apologize for how long and in-depth this got, but I would pick a stopping point and then go ‘oh! but i cant leave out so-and-so’ and then this got mega out of hand.

Organized by author and not genre! And if I didn’t include any of your works (or I did and it was not the one you wanted), please, don’t take it personally. I am trusting everyone who comes across this post to read the tags themselves, but for two of the fics I have left TWs in front of them.

Cassia’s fics:

Internet Enemies by @cassiopeia721 (x)

At school, Midoriya Izuku is ignored at best. At home, he's raised by a single mother who seems to be always taking night shifts, and who he communicates with almost exclusively through notes on lunch boxes and texts lying about his location. As such, Midoriya Izuku turns to the internet— or more specifically, an All Might fan server on discord— for companionship. Like most things in his life, it goes wrong eventually. It just takes longer than usual.

hypnic jump

Izuku finds himself somewhere he doesn't recognize in an oversized green jumpsuit with a hero he's never seen at his back. He's pretty sure he's dreaming, and subsequent events only solidify that theory into rock-solid certainty.

Paradigm Shift (Harry Potter)

Harry undergoes a paradigm shift at the beginning of his fifth year. (Slytherin Harry)

~~~

Kestrel’s fics:

Compass by @autisticmidoriyas (x)

Midoriya Izuku never had the chance to become a hero—or even to grow up. Fifteen years after his death, Akatani Izuku tries to save the life of a dying hero and in return receives a target painted on his back and a power humming in his bones.

All Might, Sir Nighteye, Ground Zero, Suneater, and Skyquake are left scrambling in the wake of Lemillion’s death to figure out who now holds One For All.

Intertwined with all this, the League of Villains’ war against Japan burns on. With the loss of Lemillion, the advantage is now theirs, and with the loss of One For All, victory is all-but-assured.

(What the villains don’t know is that One For All lives on in the blood of a boy who was always meant to be a hero.)

triskelion

A few seconds, and their lives—their life—is changed forever. Where three people used to exist, there is now only one.

While visiting the mall with their class, Izuku, Katsuki, and Shouto are the victims of someone whose quirk can fuse together objects … and people.

Permanently.

Facing down the fact that they may never be unfused, a long adjustment period lies ahead of them as they learn how to be themself and figure out where they fit into their families, their class, and their world.

the meaning of hope

One day, the smoke will reach its end. They hold out hope for that. Even with quirks, fires cannot burn forever. They will consume all their fuel, until there is nothing left, and they will wither and die.

~~~

Lilly’s fics:

Rise of the Rat Finks by Authoress_Lilly

“You're not in trouble Neito. You’ve been tapped to join The Rats.”

The boy blinks. “The what?”

Vlad opens up a folder and hands Monoma a flyer and a small pin in the shape of a rat. “It’s a sort of secret society here at UA.

Or: an excuse to put Monoma and Midoriya together in way too many words 😅

The Root to Villainy

Prompt: Izuku doesn't realize how fucked up his past was until Aizawa does an immersive class on villain origins.

Whoops?

~~~

Dance’s fics:

Never Take Your Problem Children To Costco by DanceInTheKitchen

“SECURE THE EGGS! I REPEAT SECURE THE EGGS!” Bakugou bellowed.

“YES SIR! AYE AYE SIR!” Izuku saluted.

Shouta is staring at his students, one of whom seems to be reenacting the Lion King with a carton of eggs while the other salutes him, and wonders. What the hell did he do in his past life to deserve this?? Past him must have committed some great sin, like putting sugar in his coffee, or being a dog person.

 Or, Aizawa, Bakugou and Midoriya walk into a Costco.

grow as we go

The dorms were silent, but out here in the open air, she felt both isolated and free. Isolated from the world, but free from the responsibility crushing her, isolated from her friends and family, but free from judgement. Up here, with only the stars and Iida as company, Momo felt like she could breathe.

They sat next to each other in silence, watching the stars silently crawl their way across the sky. Iida doesn’t break the silence, but he also doesn’t leave. It’s a silent promise, to listen if she needs it, or to keep her company if she doesn’t want to speak. It’s comforting.

She’s not sure when she speaks, it’s somewhere between staring up at the stars, and looking at the shiny dew covering the grass of the hills behind UA.

“I’m not ready.”

 Or, with graduation right around the corner, Momo has a conversation with Iida about what growing up means.

~~~

Azure’s fics:

A Helping Hand for All by azureskyy

Izuku doesn't know why everyone's talking about a certain hero analyst online. He's tried browsing through the forums and other sites, but he just can't find the person they're talking about.

Maybe he'll ask them later. For now, he has some analysis to do.

Or: Izuku is a well-known hero and quirk analyst across multiple social media platforms.

Not that he's aware of it, of course.

A Missed Chance

Two paths cross then diverge. In another universe, perhaps, they could have walked on the same path; they could have talked for the second time that day, and Izuku could have been given an opportunity that could change his entire life. And maybe, just maybe, he would have taken it.

But this isn’t that universe.

Or: What if All Might wasn't able to find Izuku after the Sludge Villain Incident?

~~~

Alice’s fics:

A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by @makeitbluue (x)

“Did you think you’d be safe from me forever? That you could chip away at my power base and I would not care or try to hunt you down?” The man asks as he steps forwards.

Izuku scrambles backwards in his bed, searching the covers as he goes for his phone. If he can get a text off to All Might or Aizawa-sensei he can alert people to the potential danger.

But even as he moves, something in the back of his mind tells him he had heard this voice before. A different time, a different context, but the same voice.

~~~

Ely’s fics:

bend and break by @queenangst (x)

In a world where you can feel your soulmate's pain, Eijirou spends a lot of his life up until meeting his soulmate hurting.

draw and quarter

In District Twelve, no one volunteers.

When Aizawa Shouta’s name is called, no one says a word. He stands there for a moment, feeling all the world slow around him, and then he straightens his shoulders and walks to his death.

He will die fighting. At the very least, Shouta can promise that.

Shouta's name is drawn for the Hunger Games, alongside Shirakumo Oboro. No one from their district has ever won.

damage control

After All for One's defeat, Aizawa Shouta is grasping for ways to protect his students. At the same time, a discrepancy in Midoriya's behavior leads Shouta down a dangerous line of investigation and to a single question: if Midoriya is the U.A. traitor.

Between the Wind and the Water

Staying at U.A. for winter break, Izuku hopes it'll be a quiet chance to spend the holidays with Todoroki and supervising teachers All Might and Aizawa-sensei.

It's just his luck a gift-shopping trip turns into a gift from a villain, and Izuku's new Half-Cold, Half-Hot Quirk is not so easy to control. Neither are the secrets he's been carefully keeping.

a glimpse of tomorrow (looking back)

Subject: Aldera Time Capsule Ceremony Forwarded Message— This year marks ten years for the Aldera Middle School graduating class of 20XX.To celebrate, we would like to invite pro heroes Kingpin and Deku, Aldera alumni, to participate in a public time-capsule opening. We are incredibly proud to have helped them on their journeys to becoming heroes, and would be most honored to receive them as guests and for them to speak at the ceremony. [...]

"Well," Deku says, leaning over to turn the monitor towards him. His eyes flick over the contents of the email one more time. "If they haven't changed, then I guess we could return the favor."

Ten years down the line, Bakugou and Midoriya are invited to a time capsule ceremony at their middle school to read letters from their past selves, and look back on their past and how it shaped their future. For anyone else, it would have been a celebration.

For the two of them, it's an opportunity.

A look into Bakugou and Midoriya's past—through a future neither of them imagined—as pro heroes, agency partners, and friends.

of the mighty heart

It was just complicated. Kacchan had changed. Izuku had changed. What was between them was constant—Kacchan was always there—but even constants, Izuku supposed, could change, too.

...You saved me, sometimes you say Deku and it doesn’t sound so much like an insult, you say it like you mean it, you say it like you mean me.

After the war ends and the dust settles, Izuku is left in pain and feeling useless. There's still so much to do and people to save, and it's just... too much for one person.

And then there's Kacchan.

~~~

Fawn’s fics:

Bough Breaks by @fawnvelveteen (x) (trigger warning for discussion of rape/noncon)

In life, nothing is certain. Pro-heroes aren’t always the good guys. Children are not spared from the darkest realms of humanity. Izuku isn't acting like his normal self at school lately, and his homeroom teacher has taken notice. After learning about the mother’s new, unwelcomed boyfriend, Aizawa’s concern shifts into dread. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep his student away from harm.

Almost Moon (trigger warning for suicide) (Black Clover)

It was always at night. One of Noelle's squadmates, apparently, believes it's a good idea to walk across the rooftop, directly over her head while she is trying to get some sleep. Finally, she decides to confront the nighttime nuisance. What she discovers is something she never expected, nor did she wish to see.

~~~

Nez’s fics:

The True Successor by @neko-nez (x)

Toshinori is caught in a time loop.

~~~

Aodh’s fics:

new game + (the pros of being over-leveled, the catharsis of finally beating That One Boss, and a bonus social link) by @takeyamayuu (x)

Izuku hasn’t been noticed yet, being as far from the fight as he is. Or if he has, they’re dismissing him in favor of the larger threat of Aizawa-sensei. As they should, since he takes out the last one with a well placed kick, turning to face Shigaraki,

Izuku tenses, this is-

This is where his teacher’s arm is injured and then-

The Nomu.

One for All spikes to around fifty percent, his muscles stinging, bones creaking as Izuku darts forward, aiming for Shigaraki’s head with an axe-kick.

Second year Midoriya Izuku gets hit with a Quirk, skids into the USJ, and learns a little about self-care along the way.

~~~

Ghost’s fics:

fingerpaint bruises and a kick in the teeth by @ghoststrawberries (x)

There’s a sour taste in Shouta’s mouth as he stares at Jackrabbit’s bright smile. The smile he’s wearing in every clear photo of him. It somewhat reminds Shouta of All Might’s smile.

Jackrabbit might be a menace to the Commission, but there’s no way Shouta can believe that a man with that smile is anything less than good to his core.

“And I’m your last resort to handle this quietly.” He says knowingly, keeping his thoughts to himself.

“Precisely.”

Shouta’s gut response is to refuse.

The words “I don’t kill.” are halfway up his throat before they become stuck.

As an underground hero, sometimes Shouta Aizawa is called upon to do darker jobs than one might expect a hero to have to do. This time, when he's tasked with taking out a vigilante who's managed to bother the Hero Public Safety Commission one too many times, he's not sure he'll be able to follow through.

~~~

Amira’s fics:

And Now I See Daylight by @awake-my-oceans (x)

AnalysisOverload Current mood: HERO CON HERO CON HERO CON HERO CON

AnalysisOverload reblogged AnalysisOverload  Okay, let’s talk HeroCon. 

Look around, and you’ll see a lot of discrimination—against people whose Quirk is debilitating, against people whose Quirks scare us, against people who have trouble controlling their Quirk, against people who don’t have a Quirk at all. It’s easy to feel alone in a sea of discrimination.

Enter HeroCon:X.

A social media fic following Deku post-graduation.

The chaotic neutral’s guide to time travel

“You claim you are from the future,” Nedzu said, hopping onto his desk. “Do you have anything to prove this?”

Hitoshi fished around in his pocket. “Here’s my hero license,” he said, holding it up.

Nedzu opened his mouth, but Hitoshi kept right on going, producing a handful of odds and ends from his pocket. “Also a movie ticket, some dryer lint, some, uh, didn’t know I still had that but it’s old gum—“

That was when Aizawa walked in, capture weapon floating around him. “What’s the emergency?” he asked, clipped, as he kicked open the door.

“—and the left arm of a Deku plushie,” Hitoshi finished, unruffled. “My cat ate the rest.”

~~~

Aaaaaand that’s all I got. Thanks for making it to the end!