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oblivious-embodied · 4 years ago

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A Miraculous Journey of Self Discovery

Miraculous Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir: Rewritten, Trans AU.

A long time ago, I decided to make my own rewrite of the Miraculous Ladybug show, do it in my own way so that things could progress the way I would like, for characters to grow and develop in personality and strength. Write my own way for the miraculous to be empowered, to be a bigger deal, to mean more than what they mean in the show. And, along the way, I saw @wintertundra-art's Trans Adrien and Marinette AU, and I wanted to see if I could incorporate that into this rewrite. And, with her permission and cooperation, I was able to get the first chapter, Origins: Part One completed! I'm excited to see where this goes from here!

So, as a christmas gift to you all, Enjoy a miraculous rewrite, and trans representation! If you haven't already, go check out @wintertundra-art and her wonderful AU! And, if you have any questions, feel free to send me an ask too.

I’ve decided to rate it as Teen and Up Audiences, and you can read it here on AO3! It currently sits at 12,265 words

Origins: Part One

(Summary: Eons ago, powerful artifacts were forged, infused with power that humans can only dream of, they were made to be anchors to beings of immense power. Centuries ago, two of the more powerful miraculous were lost, the Butterfly of Emotion and the Peacock of Soul. Now, the Butterfly has been awoken, and is in the hands of someone who want's to corrupt the Butterfly's power and use it for their own nefarious wants. The only way to stop this from happening is to bring balance, and only the most powerful Miraculous can do so: The Black Cat of Destruction, and the Ladybug of Creation. )

A man opens up a broach, revealing the smiling image of a blonde haired, green eyed woman. His breath hitches just a bit as he locks eyes with her image. With slightly shaking hands, he closes the broach and he looks to a floating, violet creature with big, purple eyes, and a swirl on its head that is the same shade as its eyes. Little butterfly wings extend from its back.

“Nooroo,” his tone is sharp, cold, calculating. Terrifying. “Tell me where to find the other Miraculous.”

“I-I do not know...” the being named Nooroo answers, bowing its head slightly.

The man narrows his eyes.

Several thousand years ago, possibly eons ago, powerful pieces of magical jewelry were forged, each serving as an anchor to beings of extreme power. Beings that are the embodiment of concepts that the minds of simple humans can’t even begin to comprehend, concepts like The Four Elements, The Mind, The Heart, The Soul, The Body, Energy, and even of Destruction and Creation itself.

These jewels were named ‘Miraculous’. They can’t be destroyed; whether that is due to the material they are made from, or the bonds they have with the beings, known as kwami, no one knows.

These Miraculous were created for the sole purpose of aiding the human race. And with their use, myths and legends of large, humanoid creatures, capable of unfathomable feats of strength and power arose.

And according to legend, whoever holds both of the two most powerful Miraculous, the anchors to the beings of Destruction and Creation, Death and Life, will be as powerful as a god.

And with that power, the ability to do whatever they want.

And he must have these Miraculous. He must have the power to become God.

His life, his happiness, all he’s worked for, all he’s done, the fate of his family, it all depends on him getting those Miraculous.

“Very well.” He says finally, but he turns his cold gaze to the poor being. “Tell me, Nooroo, what are the properties of your Miraculous.”

The being named Nooroo looks up at this man, its eyes weary. “That is the Miraculous of the Butterfly. It derives its power from the heart; it will allow you to sense the emotions of anyone around you in a certain radius, and through this you will be able to give others powers and abilities. These people will then become your devoted followers, your champions.” Nooroo straightens back up, puffing out its little chest.

A sickening smile creeps its way across the man’s face. “You are saying, Nooroo, that I can give supernatural powers to the ordinary; and they will, in turn, do anything I tell them to do.” It isn’t a question. It’s a statement. His mind is already circulating with different situations. At this, Nooroo deflates a bit, drooping.

“W-well, no, not really. You can give powers to someone you deem fit, but you can’t really control them. They’ll just be able to communicate with you, and vice versa, and you will be able to help them along the way.”

The smile does not leave the man’s face, “You said your powers are derived from the heart, yes?” Nooroo nods, it’s eyes widening. “I may not be able to control them directly... but I can to some degree.”

At this, Nooroo’s eyes fly open, his mouth dropping open. “Th-that’s-that’s not what the butterfly is intended-“

“I will do what I want!” The man cuts in, his tone forceful, he emphasizes his words with a stomp to the ground. “I am your master. You will do what I say, and you will not disobey me.” Nooroo’s eyes blow wide again, and it opens its mouth to say something, but nothing comes out of its mouth. It is unable to say anything. In it’s eyes, terror is clear. Dejectedly, Nooroo bows it’s head and body. “Yes, Master.”

This brings the man even more sickening joy.

“Nooroo, we will find those Miraculous.” Then man takes a step forward and lifts Nooroo’s chin up. “And we will do it by any means necessary.”

He takes a step back and fastens the broach to his shirt.

“Nooroo, dark wings, rise.”

Nooroo is sucked into the broach and violet light rushes up the man’s body, transforming his clothes. When the light dies down, the man is wearing black, skin tight, laceless dress shoes. Purple, almost skintight pants. He’s wearing a purple suit jacket and black latex-like gloves. The collar folds up at the front like a paper airplane, the broach sitting in the middle, two black, shimmering, almost rubber like lapels that start just below the paper airplane collar, form around it and go up to protrude from off the shoulders about 25 centimeters. His neck and face, save for the area around his mouth, is covered by a silver material. His eyes are violet.

“From now on...” he looks at the big metal, circular window cover, his violet eyes glistening with malice. “I will be known as Hawkmoth!”

--------

Sleeping in the brass horn of the fake record player that houses the miracle box is a small green creature, with a head much larger than the rest of his body, who looks like a miniature turtle. His body is a light-ish green, with patches of darker green. His head has some subtle scales, but is mostly smooth. Its abdomen, and the back of his arms and legs are covered in dark green scales. A turtle shell rests on his back.

Something startles Wayzz from his peaceful sleep in the fake record player’s bell, his eyes shooting open and revealing that they are completely yellow with dark green pupils. Something pulsates through the air, a powerful, corruptive wave of energy with a hint of something else behind it.

It’s... an old, familiar energy. It pulsates through the air again before dissipating slightly, then pulsating again. Like a heartbeat.

One that doesn’t bode well.

This energy... it’s from Nooroo... but... it’s tainted. It might just be from time apart, that could be why his energy feels... wrong.

Malicious. Cold.

Unwelcome...

But... it could also be something else... something far more terrible than someone accidentally picking up and activating It’s Miraculous.

It’s an energy that accompanies An unwelcome wielder. It’s Nooroo’s distress call.

Wayzz bursts from the fake record player’s bell and into Master Fu’s side, jolting him, stilling his fingers on his patient’s back.

The little old man, wearing a red Hawaiian t-shirt, grey slacks and brown sandals, turns to the little green kwami.

“What is it?” He whispers, his fingers returning to work at the young man’s back.

“Master! I felt an odd energy.”

Master Fu pauses in his work again, furrowing his brows in thought. After another second’s deliberation, he tells Wayzz to hide, then quickly ushers his patient out the door, promising to see him next week.

With the door closed, he turns back to his kwami. “What kind of energy?” His tone is solemn and wary.

“Master, it was Noroo’s. It was Nooroo’s distress call. It’s in trouble!”

The old master’s eyes widen in shock, his mouth hanging open for a second before he sets it into a hard line. “Very well then, Wayzz. We must find him at once!”

Wayzz winces for a split second, human’s have never understood how one can be referred to by pronouns other than he/him, or she/her, and the Master doesn’t seem to catch on to Wayzz calling Nooroo by It’s preferred pronouns. But Wayzz refuses to not use It’s preferred pronouns. He would never do that to his friend.

The old master stands up straight, holding up his right wrist, his other hand bracing it. “Time to transform... Wayzz-“

‘Crack!’

“Augh, oh...” Master Fu groans as he falls to the ground, muted groans escaping his throat.

“Master, please be reasonable! You are-“

“Still young!” Fu cuts in, “ I’m only 186!...” he grunts as he stands back up. “but I can no longer do this alone... we will need help.”

He walks over to the fake record player, and Wayzz looks away as Master Fu puts in the code to open up the record player.

Within seconds, the middle slides open, and a black box with red, ornate, ancient Chinese characters on it is lifted from the cavity in the record player.

Before he opens the box, he looks to Wayzz; the kwami has been with him for most of his life... they’ve been through a lot together. So, Wayzz is certain that they surely think the same thing.

Allowing those Miraculous to be out in the open, even if it is just to recover Nooroo from its captor, it’s incredibly risky. But... Wayzz has a certain feeling about this, it may be a risky move, but it feels like the right one. If they are to recover Nooroo, and if It’s had Its powers abused by a corrupted heart, they will need to cleanse and balance it’s Miraculous; and only those of Creation and Destruction can do so. As Fu takes out those two Miraculous, Wayzz nods his agreement. Hopefully... hopefully this doesn’t go wrong.

-----------

For the next few days, Fu looks for two people who fit the parameters for these two Miraculous. They need to be kind, and selfless... those two traits aren’t too hard to find. But for the Miraculous of Creation, he needs to find someone who has the mind to handle the complexity, the heart to consider the options, the soul to value everyone, the body to meet the physical requirements and the energy to withstand it all.

They need to be of the right age too, for if they are too young, their mind could snap, their heart could burst, their soul could be irreparably damaged, their body could shrivel… just like his did when he was a boy.

Finding someone who meets all these requirements is grueling, but it’s the only way to make sure they don’t face life long detriments.

Fu finds himself in a bakery, looking over everyone he can see as he simultaneously looks for what pastry to get for himself. The people he finds don’t fit what this Miraculous needs, and he gets no reaction from the box containing the being who embodies Creation itself. He is about to give up on his search for a suitable wielder for Tikki when a feeling of warmth pulsates through his body, emanating from the box Tikki’s Miraculous resides in.

He looks up, and is greeted with the sight of the baker’s daughter, a young girl with black hair, Asian features, and beautiful grey eyes. She talks animatedly with the customers, smiling so brightly and with such warmth in her eyes, she makes it seem like she makes friends with everyone she meets.

But she’s too young, she doesn’t look to be more that 14 years old, he will not put the stress of being the wielder of Creation on a child. His body was crippled when he wore his Miraculous when he was too young, and his Miraculous is substantially less powerful than Creation. He will not the the reason for the death of a child.

He moves on.

But Tikki is insistent, if the way the box burns in his pocket is any indication.

Reluctantly, he turns to his kwami companion, Wayzz, and nods to him, making a mental note to have Wayzz watch this girl. He can only hope that he finds someone better suited for Creation.

When out of the bakery, Wayzz whispers in his ear, “Are you sure giving a Miraculous — especially one of such magnitude — to a child is a good idea?”

Fu pulls out and bites into a pastry, his facial features dark. “I do not know, my friend. I refuse to give a Miraculous to someone so young, especially one that is so powerful. However, Tikki is insisting on this girl. I hope to find someone who is suited for Tikki, and is older, but we must be prepared for the event that we have to give this girl this responsibility.”

Wayzz sighs, “Alright, Master.”

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

The next day, Fu makes his way to the bakery — those pastries are to die for! — but he’s in a sour mood. He hasn’t been able to get Tikki to react to any other person, she is insistent on this bakery girl. He’s keeping an eye out for someone else, but he’s starting to believe he has no other choice.

Just as he rounds the corner, the box that houses the Black Cat Miraculous of Destruction sends a chilling wave of energy through Fu’s body, and he stops in his tracks. Plagg has sensed someone he wants to choose. Fu starts looking around, going through all the parameters the wielder of Destruction needs to have: They need to have a mind strong enough to resist temptation, a heart kind enough to give mercy to those around them, a soul to see the good and bad, a body to withstand the effects the Miraculous of Destruction has on wielders, and the ability to rein in Plagg’s energy.

Everyone he looks at is wrong, and they incite no reaction from Plagg, but then he sees a young man with blond hair, green eyes, and fair skin in the park. He’s sitting on a bench, looking crestfallen. To his right, cameras and photographers are setting up around him. There are other children playing at the park, and the young man is staring at them with a longing gaze.

The hope in Fu’s eyes dies down as he realizes that Plagg’s chosen is one that is, once again, too young,

He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want to put them through this, but if Tikki won’t change her mind, Plagg most definitely wont.

Resigned, Fu turns around and starts going to the bakery, making a note to look into this boy. He looks up and finds himself looking at a poster advertisement for Agreste Fashion, and the boy he was just looking at is on it.

It seems finding information on this boy will not be as hard as he thought.

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

As he continues to watch the bakery girl, he sees just how kind and selfless she is. She routinely offers help in the bakery as often as she can. She lights up talking to customers about fashion — apparently, she’s quite fond of fashion, especially the Agreste brand, how fascinating — how she lifts full bags of flour with only a few grunts and wobbles here and there. Fu’s found that she created the design for the bakery sign. As well as the menu board. She is truly creative. And, if his hearing does not fail him, she even bakes some of the pastries from time to time.

Tikki grows more and more insistent on choosing this girl, and Fu has resigned himself to the fact that he will be putting them through things he never wished to put anyone through again. If he is going to give her the Miraculous of Creation, he must be there to mentor her. He must be able to guide her through all of this. Hopefully she can handle this and he isn’t sending her to her death.

Now... the young man, the child model... he wasn’t quite sure at first, and he was getting ready to have a long argument with Plagg. He just seemed to be a boy longing for the time to play with others. But, as he continued to pursue knowledge about this boy -- his name being Adrien -- he’s found that he is praised for his kindness, and he’s seen that in video recordings of interviews with the boy. Wayzz has told him that when he has photoshoots at the park, when he sees kids fall down, he twitches almost imperceptibly. As though he wants to go over and pick them up. And when he watches parents with their difficult kids, he seems to want nothing more than to help.

Fu has seen the way he smiles at his bodyguard, at his scheduler, the photographers, the other models, it seems to be completely genuine.

He harbors a heart that wants to do good, that wants to do nothing but help, his soul longs for the freedom to be selfless, but it is unable to. And Plagg has latched onto this boy.

He must be able to guide these two young people. He must not allow them to go through this alone.

Late at night in his apartment, Fu sits before two small pieces of paper on his kitchen table, writing two identical notes to put in the boxes containing the Black Cat Miraculous and the Ladybug Miraculous.

They are to meet him at the base of the Effiel Tower at 22:00, but in order for this to work, he must give them the miraculous at the same time, which means he must execute his challenges before it is too late.

Suddenly, Wayzz flies up to his face and bows before speaking. “Master! I just sensed Nooroo transform Its captor! It was powerful, whoever has Nooroo is powerful.”

Fu stops writing and strokes his goatee. If he remembers correctly, the first day of the French school year is in three, almost two days. This means that he doesn’t have much time to issue his challenges to these kids, and even less time to train them. He must act now. “Thank you, Wayzz, we must act soon, before it is too late!”

Fu finishes writing the notes and places them on top of the boxes containing the Miraculous of Destruction and Creation, before he goes to bed.

The next day, Fu makes his way to the bakery. He doesn’t know how to issue his challenge, but it will come to mind eventually. It is the day before the first day of school, and there will be no lack of heightened emotions, and paired with the power that Nooroo has over emotions, who knows when Nooroo’s captor will strike?

Suddenly, Adrien bursts through the bushes, sprinting his way to the school. He has a pleased smile on his face, and hope in his eyes. He reaches the school, and stops, looking up at it, sighing in admiration.

A car passes by, Adrien whips around, looking at the car, but finds that it is not something he needs to worry about. He relaxes and starts to open the door to the school when three kids burst from the nearby park and speed their way on bikes across the street toward a nearby intersection. He looks at these kids, furrowing his brows.

Then, a rumbling sounds, Adrien whips around to look, and there is a car coming down their way. And, by the looks of things, the car isn’t slowing down, and neither are the kids.

Fu waits in silence as Adrien seems more confused than ever, looking between the car and the kids, taking a few steps from the school toward the intersection. When it is evident that neither the kids nor the car will stop on their own, he takes action, rushing forward and waving his arms.

Two of the kids look at him, then at the car coming down the road, and as though it is their first time seeing it, they skid to a stop. But the kid in the middle, a girl with pink hair keeps going, her head turned toward the two kids who stopped, hair whipping around under her helmet. She seems to glare at them and then at the oncoming car.

Adrien seems to sigh, looking frantically between the rapidly approaching kid and car.

He looks back to the pink haired girl, and sets his jaw. Clearly set on a course of action. He takes a few long steps toward the street just as she comes by and grabs her arm, forcing her to fall from her bike, but the bike continues onward into the street.

Where it promptly gets crushed by the car, while the driver looks up from their phone and honks as they drive away.

As the pink haired girl sits there shocked, Adrien stands there awkwardly. But, after a second, the girl stands up and punches Adrien’s arm before seemingly telling him off. All Adrien does is furrow his brows, confused.

Fu walks away with a small smile.

He has a feeling this might actually work out well.

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

An alarm jerks Marinette awake from her dreamless sleep. With a groan, she blindly gropes around her bed to find her phone, but when she finds it, she only manages to push it from her bed down onto the floor.

The alarm doesn’t stop, and Marinette can’t decide if she should be relieved, or annoyed.

With a resigned sigh, she slips from her bed, mourning the lost warmth of her covers, and climbs down her ladder. She picks up her phone and inspects it for cracks.

Somehow, for some reason, it doesn’t have any. Thank the beings that rule the universe, her phone is indestructible! She doesn’t know how many times she’s dropped her phone, but it doesn’t even have a scratch!

Sluggishly, she goes to her closet, trying to decide on what to wear, looking over everything and battling that feeling of unease she feels every time she looks in her closest; but ultimately decides to put it aside, she’ll just eat breakfast in her pajamas.

She doesn’t even want to look at her messy, black hair, her body, the bags that are surely to be under her eyes. She’s always loved her eyes, her Maman is from China and has grey eyes, while her Papa grew up locally in Paris with blue eyes; but her eyes are amazing, they’re grey with a ring of blue around the pupil. She can’t help but think of her parents when she looks into her eyes. She doesn’t have as much Asian features as she would like, but she has her eyes, her black hair, and a slight Asian facial bone structure.

Rubbing sleep from her eyes she starts going downstairs, not really wanting to face the day. Not wanting to fight to feel good.

It’s the first day of school. The first day of Collége. And, for some reason, Marinette has a strong feeling that Chloé Bourgeois is in her class again.

One would think that the spoiled brat that is the daughter of the Mayor would be in private school. But, for some reason unknown to all but the two Bourgeois and the beings that rule the universe, she still attends public school; despite all of her complaining. And the bullying.

She really, really does not want school to start.

With a big yawn, she opens the trap door.

“Marinette! School starts soon! You don’t want to be late for your first day back at school!”

Wincing from the early morning yelling, Marinette suppresses another yawn, calling out a small “Coming...” before climbing down the stairs.

When she reaches the bottom, she finds her Maman smiling at her from the kitchen. She smiles back, already feeling the grasp of sleep start to slip away. “There’s my beautiful girl!”

Despite the warmth that fills her being when around her Maman, Marinette can’t help but feel uneasy with being called beautiful. It’s probably because of Chloe bullying her, she’ll get over it.

She gives her maman a kiss on the cheek, leaning down just a bit. When she was younger, she wondered why she was taller than her maman. But, after an awkward talk with her parents, she’s realized that she just inherited the taller genes from her Papa, but got the skinnier genes from her Maman.

“Good morning!”

“Yeah...” she grumps, “I’ll bet you anything that Chloé is in my class again...” she sighs as she sits down at the kitchen table, where her Maman has already set out a cereal bowl, a milk jug, spoon, her favorite cereal, and a bowl of fruit. Uncapping the milk jug, she pours it into the bowl.

“Four years in a row?! Is that possible?” Her Maman exclaims, putting something in the sink behind her.

“Definitely... Lucky me!” Marinette rolls her eyes, pouring in some chocolate cereal flakes.

“Oh! Don’t say that! It’s the start of a new year, I’m sure everything will be just fine!” Her Maman says resolutely, brushing a hand against her hair. And who can argue with such sound logic? Not Marinette.

Nodding, feeling her spirits rise just a bit, she places the tub of cereal flakes down. But, with just a slight miscalculation of how hard to set it down, a chain reaction of terrible, ill boding events happens.

The vibrations send an orange rolling down a conveniently placed bread stick, right to and over another conveniently placed knife. Which then sends the orange into the milk jug, the knife into a bowl of sugar cubes; sending a few flying with such velocity that as it collides with the cereal tub, it tips it over. And, as her spirits plummet, the orange completes its journey by knocking into and tipping over a yogurt cup. She groans dejectedly, closing her eyes so as to block the situation from sight and in turn, her mind.

For a girl whose parents have always called their “lucky charm”, she sure isn’t all that lucky.

As she cleans up the cereal tub mess, her Maman reaches a hand to her cheek, chuckling. Which, somehow, helps to lift her own spirits.

It’s weird how mothers can do that. “Go get dressed, honey, you’ll look beautiful. I’ve got this.”

An hour later, Marinette is down in the bakery, dressed in her back-to-school-day clothes: tan/pink flats, pink Capris, white shirt with a flower pattern on her left collarbone, grey blazer and her very own, hand sewn, pink clutch. And yet, despite being proud of her work, she can’t find it in her to be proud of how she looks.

Her Papa, humming a tune, presents a box of macarons to his daughter. A warm, gentle smile on his face: “There’s my gorgeous daughter!” There’s that uneasiness again...

“Papa! These are so awesome!” She exclaims, bouncing in place. “Thank you, Papa! My class will love them!” She looks up to him, adoration and love filling her eyes.

“Glad you like them!” He ruffles her hair, chuckling as she smirks a bit under his huge hands, an almost mute “don’t mess up my hair!” coming from her.

“You look beautiful, my darling daughter” Her papa says with small tears in his eyes.

“You’re the best!” she says, giving him a one armed hug, her smile falling as she tries to figure out how to get rid of the uneasy feeling in her gut.

“We,” he pulls her close again with an arm, and angles his other in a ‘muscular, show-off’ manner, “are the best.” Marinette can’t help but giggle.

Giving both her parents goodbye kisses, she rushes out the door, intent on not being late for school on the first day. And, in her haste, almost rushes right into the path of an oncoming car.

Breathing a sigh of relief that she isn’t splattered on the windshield of a car, she slouches a bit, before jolting ramrod straight as she sees an elderly man with a cane in a red hawiian shirt having trouble crossing the road, another car rushing toward the man, not slowing down at all.

Marinette frantically looks back and forth between the two and decides, after a second, to rush out and save this man from meeting the very same fate she had just narrowly avoided moments before.

Just as she pulls him to the sidewalk, her legendary clumsiness takes hold of her once more, and she trips onto the sidewalk, taking the man down with her; the box of macarons spilling. And, with horror, she watches as inconsiderate city people step on them, reducing them to nothing more than crumbs. The man’s “Thank you, miss” goes unheard.

But, his “Oh, what a disaster” does not go unnoticed. Picking up what remains of the box and the macaroons, she tells him: “Don’t worry, I’m no stranger to disasters.” She holds the box to him. “Besides! There’s still a few left.”

She smiles at this man, as he picks a macaron from the box and bites into it. Letting out a pleased “Delicious!”

A bell across the street rings, signaling the start of school. Marinette looks to the school, to this man, back to the school and back to him again. While she’d rather not be late to school... well, she had just pulled this man from the street. The least she can do is walk him partially to where he is headed.

“Go ahead.” The man says, his smile genuine, understanding and proud. ”You’ve saved my life, the least I can do is save you from getting into trouble! Now go!” He waves her off.

She takes a moment of further deliberation before nodding, bowing, and rushing out “have-a-nice-day-sir!” Then she’s off, rushing to school.

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

As the young woman runs to the school, Master Fu straightens up, putting his cane behind his back and holding up the box containing the Ladybug Miraculous. The box warms up and spreads warmth all throughout his body, confirming that this young woman is Tikki’s choice to be her wielder.

While he doesn’t want to put this stress on a child, he knows that there is no other solution, no way around this. He just has to be her mentor.

He walks to the bakery, allowing Wayzz to take the box to the girl’s room while he buys pastries for himself and his companion.

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

Just as the custodian is closing the school’s front doors, Marinette slips in, not breaking from her near sprint. Rushing up the stairs, she bursts into the classroom, stumbling to not lose her balance. She’s hunched over, trying to catch her breath.

“Nino,” the teacher calls out. She’s a tall woman with fire red hair, teal eyes, and a white pantsuit. Marinette doesn’t recognize her. The boy in question, Nino, has been in her classes for as long as she can remember. He’s a kind hearted, introverted kid with dark skin. He’s always wearing a red baseball cap and grey and orange headphones.

She looks up and sees that Nino is sitting with his eyes wide behind his glasses from the back of the classroom. “Why don’t you sit in the front this year?” The teacher may have formed it as a question, but it was more of a polite command.

Nino grumbles and stands up, his back and shoulders slouched. As he walks to the front of the classroom, on the side closest to the door, he groans. Before sliding into his position in the front of the classroom, right by the door. He pulls his headphones down and rests his elbows on the desk; his jaw resting on his knuckles with an annoyed look on his face.

Though she’s been in the same class as Nino for years, she doesn’t know much about him, and she’s really regretting that now. Maybe this year will be different?

She takes a moment to deliberate, but ultimately decides to sit on the row behind Nino, in her usual seat. She wants to sit by him but he doesn’t seem to want to talk to anyone.

Shaking her head, still breathing with slight difficulty, she walks to her usual seat, the second row, left side of the classroom, right next to the aisle. Just behind and over Nino’s right shoulder.

Mylène, a timid girl, sits directly across the aisle from where Marinette’s seat is. She’s a shorter girl, with fair skin and long dreadlocks that are blonde at the roots but fade into multiple colors at the ends.

Sitting on the next row up, just to the right of Mylène, is a dark skinned boy with a close cut afro hairstyle brown hair, a green polo and glasses. Max is your go-to kid for anything and everything that has to do with electronics.

Sitting right next to Max is a tan skinned boy, Kim; he’s wearing a red, short sleeved hoodie, and sweat bands on his wrist. His black hair is up in a faux hawk style and he’s lounging back in his chair. He’s the class jock. (He tries to hide it by being a jerk and a goof, but he’s actually a good guy.)

Kim is always next to Max, tells everyone that they’re best friends, and that he needs Max to help with homework, but Marinette knows better. She can see his eyes.

On the back row, sitting behind Max, is a girl named Rose. She’s a quiet girl, with her blonde hair in a pixie cut. She wears all pink and has an incredibly high voice.

Just as Marinette sits down and starts to unpack, a pale hand, with yellow, perfectly manicured nails slams down on the desk before her, startling her. “Marinette,” the almost shill voice starts, “Du-pain-Cheng” it sneers her last name like it's an insult to it personally. (Which, if this is who she think it is, it most likely is an insult to her personally.)

Chloé Bourgeois. The bratty daughter of the mayor. She’s wearing a yellow jacket, white pants, and a large, gold (not actually gold, it’d be too heavy for her skinny, fragile hips to support) plated belt. No wrinkles in sight on her clothes. Her golden locks are pulled into a high hanging ponytail. Blush, eye liner, magenta eyeshadow and pink lipstick on her face. It only serves to make her look that much more bratty.

Her school bully.

Marinette slouches, she knew it would happen. A weary, dejected, “Here we go again...” leaves her lips.

“That’s my seat.” Chloé brings her hand from the desk to her chest.

“But Chloé, this has always been my seat.” Marinette looks up to Chloé, grey-blue meeting dark, cruel blue.

Chloe’s face scrunches up. “Not this year!”

A sudden, but not unfamiliar voice cuts in. “New School, New Year, New seats.” Sabrina, Chloé’s lap dog slides into the desk beside Marinette, her orange/red hair in stark contrast with her teal-green eyes sparkling behind her glasses, and pale skin. She’s wearing a, quite frankly, ugly sweater vest.

“So,” Chloé sneers again, “why don’t you just go and sit beside that new girl over there.” She turns to point at a girl she hadn’t seen walk into the room.

She has darker skin like Nino, with long, curly, red-orange locks. She’s wearing a red-orange flannel short-sleeved shirt. At the mention of “New girl” she turns from her phone and her brown eyes glare behind glasses at Chloé.

“But..” is all Marinette can think of in response. (She’s tired, and already feeling exhausted, she doesn’t want to move or think.)

Chloé turns back to Marinette, her hands on her hips, her face contorted in anger. “Listen, Adrien is arriving today, and since that’s,” she points to the seat beside Nino, “ going to be he— his seat, this is going to be my seat.” Chloé slams her hand down in front of Marinette again, then she turns toward her fully, slamming her other hand on the desk. “Get it?”

Adrien... who is this Adrien? And why is he friends with Chloé?

“Uh, who’s Adrien?” She asks Chloé.

Two simultaneous gasps leave Chloé’s and Sabrina’s mouths. Then they burst out laughing in that ridiculous, annoying laugh, drawing Myléne’s attention.

The laughing stops abruptly and Chloé speaks again. “Can you believe she doesn’t know who Adrien is?” She directs this at Sabrina. Then, to Marinette, Chloé scrunches her face in disgust and anger. “What rock have you been living under?”

“He’s only a famous model!” Sabrina chimes in.

“And I am his best friend.” Chloé begins again.

Marinette raises her eyebrows at this. None of that helps clarify who Adrien is. And, if he’s a famous model, why would any sane teacher let a man who is probably in his early/mid 20’s come to class with 14-15 year olds?! Why is a man who is in his mid 20’s still in middle school?!

“He adores me.” Chloé looks to Marinette, and scoffs when she sees that Marinette has not moved from her seat. “Uh, go on, move!” She emphasizes this with a thumb pointing toward the proposed seats.

And all Marinette can think of is, is this Choe’s new scheme to get attention? Who would believe that a 20 something year old is hanging out with a 14 year old? They’d be all over the news.

Suddenly, the new girl is behind Chloé, her voice strong and brave. A fatal mistake when talking to Chloé Bourgeois. “Back off, Brat.”

Chloé turns to the girl, anger and annoyance taking the wheel. She leans toward the new girl, making sure her tone is mocking and sarcastic. “Ooh, look, Sabrina, we got a little do-gooder in our classroom!” Chloé leans in further. “What’re you going to do, Super Newbie, shoot beams at me with your glasses.”

Marinette cringes, this is why it is best to stay docile around Chloé, if she senses any opposition at all, she’ll only cause a scene.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” The new girl sneers, her voice dark and dangerous. She pushes Chloé to the side and reaches for Marinette’s arm. “C’mon” she says as she grabs Marinette’s arm. Marinette barely has any time to grab her box of macarons and her bag before she’s being dragged from her seat.

In her haste to steady herself, grab her stuff, and the new girl’s quick pace, Marinette misses a step on the way to her new seat and ends up falling; her box of macarons falling to the floor, where several are flung from the box and are crushed on the floor. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” She mumbles as she cleans up and slides into her new seat for the year. Chloé’s and Sabrina’s laughing etching its way into her memory.

“Chill-ax, girl, no biggie!” The new girl says, eyeing Marinette as she’s hunched over her almost empty box of macaroons.

“Alright, has everyone found a seat?” The teacher asks the class as other kids file in, leaning her hands on the desk. The class speaking up behind them drowning out her voice.

Marinette straightens up and looks to the new girl, “But I so wish I could handle Chloé the way you do.” The new girl raises an eyebrow, a corner of her lips quirking up. Not threatening, or suspicious, but curious and slightly confused. She reaches for her phone and unlocks it.

“You mean the way Majestia does it.” The new girl pulls up an image of a woman in a skin tight, blue suit, her shoulders, hands and face uncovered. She wears a fire truck red, sleeveless jacket with a ruffled coat tail, two thick, golden, zigzagging lines run across the bust, stars above the lines. Boots of the same shade reach to about her mid calf, the tops lined with the same type of lines as the jacket. “She says: All that is necessary for the triumph of Evil, is for Good to do nothing.” The new girl says proudly.

She leans past Marinette, wrapping her left arm around her shoulders and pointing to Chloé with her right hand. “And that girl over there, is evil, and we,” she points to herself and Marinette, “are the good people. She has a smirk on her lips. “We can’t let her get away with it!”

“That’s easier said than done...” Marinette hunches her shoulders a bit, her voice dejected. “She likes to make my life miserable.”

“That’s easy to fix, girl, you just need more confidence!” The new girl says, conviction strong in her voice.

Marinette smiles, and takes the last remaining macaron and breaks it in half, extending the other out to the new girl.

“Marinette.” she says.

“Alya,” the new girl says in response, taking the half macaron.

With this, they turn to the front, pleased smiles on their faces.

Maybe... maybe this year isn’t going to be so bad?

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

“For those of you who don’t yet know me,” the teacher says, drawing all attention her way, “I’m Ms. Bustier.”

As class starts, Chloé leans on her new desk, sadness in her face and eyes. Looking at the empty seat before her. “Ugh, he should have been here by now.” she says under her breath.

She meant to have annoyance in her tone, and she does, but she can’t hide the underlying disappointment.

Where is s— he?

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

Master Fu watches as Adrien rushes through the street, pressing against the bushes and trees, looking over his shoulder frequently, searching for something or someone.

Fu smiles, it seems like this young man has decided to try to get some freedom. But, if the frantic look in his eyes means anything, it’ll most likely be short lived.

The young man reaches the school grounds, and pauses next to a cologne ad poster that, coincidentally, has him on it. He looks over his shoulder again, and a smile finds his way into his face. He’s beaten the system, it would seem. For the time being.

This is Fu’s chance to issue his Challenge, to see if he has the ability to wield the Miraculous of Destruction. He has the potential, when faced with no other option, but this will test whether he will choose to help others and not himself. To do what he feels is right, and forfeit what he wants.

Just as Adrien reaches the steps, Fu launches his plan, clutching his back and falling to the ground, dropping his cane just out of his reach. Crying out in pain.

This causes the boy pause, and he stands on the steps of the school, frozen in place. Trying to figure out what to do, looking between Fu and the school’s front door.

Not a second later, he rushes to Fu, bringing his cane to his hands and helping him stand.

“Thank you, young man!” He says, patting his arm. Adrien’s eyes cringe and he tenses before his entire face lights up.

Huh, interesting...

“Do you need help getting to where you’re going?” He asks, his green eyes hopeful. No doubt wanting to help out more. If only so he could get further away from whoever he’s running from.

“No, I will be fine, but thank you for your kindness! Now, shoo, go to school!”

Adrien nods, the mention of school making his face light up even more.

He turns and rushes to the steps, and, just before he reaches the door, a silver sedan screeches to a stop, a tall woman clad in a purple suit and red blouse, her black hair fading to red on the left side. “Adrien, please reconsider! You know what your father wants!”

She walks slowly toward Adrien, as a large man steps out from the driver's seat, walking toward him with her. Adrien turns slowly toward them, his feet frozen in place, fear in his eyes. But only for a brief moment.

“But this is what I want!” He says, the fear taking a back seat to hurt and anger. “I’m sick of being stuck at home. I want to be like a normal kid!”

The woman shakes her head. “Adrien, you are not a normal kid, your father can’t afford to have you at public school!”

Adrien scoffs, “We both know he has more than enough money to afford it.”

“That’s not what I mean, Adrien. You know he only does this to keep you safe. He’s doing this for you.”

At this, Adrien’s eyes soften, his posture drooping. “I know... I just... I want to be around others. Please don’t tell Father about this.”

The woman’s eyes soften as she puts a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “I know, and I’m sorry. But you just can’t. Come, let’s go home.”

As Adrien is led to the sedan, and is driven off back home, the second box pulsates in Fu’s pocket.

This boy has the traits that are required for the use of this Miraculous, but he does not have the right life for it. Fu is unsure whether Adrien can handle it. Plagg seems set on this boy, however. And, if Adrien is going to learn and grow, there is only one other Miraculous that will do just as good a job, and he’s already found a match for Creation.

He’ll just have to watch out for Plagg. With that, Fu swings his cane onto his shoulder and walks away whistling, following the sedan.

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

“Those of you who have P.E., Mr. D’Argencourt is expecting you at the stadium.” Ms. Bustier calls to the class as the bell rings and everyone packs up.

As the kid named Ivan, A large, fair skinned boy, with short brown hair save for the small tuft of blond in the front, gets up Kim gives him a note.

“The rest of you can head over to the library.”

A moment later, Ivan bursts out with an angry cry of “Kim!” He lurches toward Kim, an impish smirk on the lankier boy’s face. Ivan is cranking his fist back to slam it into Kim’s fragile face.

“Ivan! What are you doing?!” Ms. Bustier exclaims, leaning over her desk in shock. Ivan looks to her in confusion, lowering his fist.

“It’s Kim!” Ivan looks back at Kim, raising his fist again, and, for the first time, Kim is shocked and scared. “I’m so gonna—“

“Ivan! Go to the principal’s office!” Ms. Bustier cuts in, pointing out the door.

At that, Ivan steps away from Kim, growling as he looks back down at the note Kim passed him. With anger rolling off him, Ivan crumples the note in his hand and storms out of the classroom, muttering to himself; leaving Kim to shake in his seat, and Ms. Bustier to wonder if she could have worked the situation out better.

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

The man known as Hawkmoth stands in a large room, a metal, circular window cover sliding open, letting light pour into the room, sending pure white butterflies fluttering about.

“Such powerful emotions. Anger. Frustration. Betrayal. And in a school no less, a perfect catalyst to test my limits.” He reaches for a butterfly, and clasps his hands around it. A second later, dark, purple energy seeps into the butterfly, and when he releases the butterfly, it is black with purple cracking apart the black, a violet mask-like pattern on it’s head and back, its legs a dark purple. “Burn a hole into his heart, little akuma, transform his anger into something more!”

The transformed butterfly, now an akuma, flies through the air, tracking down the boy with such anger and frustration with supernatural speed.

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

Ivan opens the door to the principal’s office, but before he can take a step inside, the principal stops him.

“Excuse me, young man! Hasn’t anyone taught you to knock?” The principle, a large, overweight, white man with a receding hairline and greying hair exclaims. This shocks Ivan, his anger and frustration building. “Go on, go again.” He says, leaning back in his decked out, rolling swivel chair.

With a shake of his head and a growl, Ivan closes the door and turns around, raising a fist to knock.

Before he can put his fist to the wood, something stops him. A sound. The sound of something wet twisting and crawling. And suddenly, in his mind, there is a man floating in a grey space, his voice echoing all around his head. The principal’s “Go on, knock!” is ignored.

The man before Ivan is wearing a dark purple suit, and it shines in a way cloth doesn’t, kind of like rubber. On his chest are two black wing like lapels, which just make whoever this guy is look weird. Covering his head is a grey mask, only his eyes, which are an unsettling violet, and mouth looking normal. He’s leaning on a cane.

“Stoneheart.” the man says Ivan’s confusion at the name going unacknowledged. “I am Hawkmoth, I am giving you the strength and unstoppable power to seek revenge on those who have wronged you. To prove to them that you do have what it takes. All I need you to do is cause mayhem. Destroy all that you can.”

The power to get back at Kim? To prove that he does have what it takes?

And all he needs to do is cause mayhem?

Who can deny such a thing?

“Okay, I’ll do it.” Ivan says, a dark look on his face.

The man smirks.

Black and purple bubbles ripple over Ivan’s body, morphing his skin and bones.

When the bubbles disperse, Ivan is no more. Only Stoneheart remains. Standing at 2 meters tall, with cracked stone for skin and yellow eyes. He’s built like an athlete, and literally chiseled. Wrapped around his right hand is a purple fabric, like that a boxer would wear under their boxing glove. On his chest, the stone is jagged and protruding, right where his heart would be, like his heart had exploded. The cracks in the stone glow a faint yellow.

“Well?” The principal asks, waiting for a response.

Suddenly, the door is flung from its hinges, the principal only has enough time to move enough so that the door doesn’t slam into his head, but it still collides with his shoulder, sending him to the ground.

With an almighty roar, Stoneheart launches through the window, leaving an echo of “KIM!” behind as the entire wall crumbles to the street below.

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

In the library, a thunderous roar rattles the walls, then the whole building shakes, causing students to tumble to the ground.

After a few seconds, Alya, Marinette’s new friend, grabs her from the ground and drags her to the TVs in the library, which are showing the security footage.

A large, probably 2 meters tall, stone golem is walking down the street, the cracks in it’s stone skin glowing bright yellow. It roars in a voice so raspy and stiff, she wonders if it has vocal chords, and if so, how they’re working.

“Wh-what’s going on? I thought it was an earthquake!” a random kid exclaims.

Alya turns to Marinette, her hands on her cheeks. “It’s a real life super villain!” Suddenly, Alya’s eyes glint and she pulls out her phone. “Battery, 80%, check! GPS, check! I am so outta here!” Then she’s off, leaving Marinette to marvel at her.

“Wait! Hey, where’re you going?”

Alya pauses only briefly before turning around and hopping backwards “Where there’s a super villain, there is always a superhero!” Then she’s through the doors.

This is such a weird day...

Marinette looks back to the tv and jumps as the rock monster collides a car, the car crumbling and shattering. The yellow in the cracks of it’s skin glows brighter and- and she could have sworn it grew! It picks up what remains of the car with ease, and throws it at the school camera, and it goes to static. The building shakes again as crumbling brick and groaning metal reverberates through the school.

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

Fu stops just outside the gates of a mansion. His eyes glinting with wonder and awe.

This should provide good living conditions for a being with such a high cost diet.

He hums in delight, letting Wayzz take the pulsating box up into the mansion.

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

Adrienne *hates* homeschooling. She’s alone, save for Nathalie, and has to stay in one place for at least 7 hours, sometimes more, depending on the lesson. And, most of the time, she’s in the dining hall, the cold, undecorated dining hall. She’s stuck hearing her father, Nathalie, the mansion staff, call her ”Adrien”. Call her a boy. She can’t talk to anyone, can’t have a break. It’s useless.

“Who was the 1st president of the 5th French republic?” Nathalie walks up and down the length of the dining table. A tablet and pen in hand.

And all Adrienne can do is lean against her hand, not even able to summon more than a bored, monotone voice. “Everyone thinks it was De Gaulle but it was actually René Coty before the first elections.”

“Excellent, Adrien!” Nathalie exclaims. Turning around, a… pleased look on her face? ‘When did that happen?!’ Adrienne can’t help but think in shock. She opens her mouth to say something but a cold voice cuts through the room.

“Give me a minute would you, Nathalie?” Adrienne immediately tenses. It’s an involuntary reaction she has no control over. Not anymore.

Her Father turns to look at Adrienne, his eyes cold, disappointed, disproving. Angry. But his face remains stoic. “You are not going to school. I have already told you.”

Adrienne’s heart sinks. She looks to Nathalie, her eyes burning. She betrayed her. She- she does know what happens when she disobeys her Father, right?

Nathalie only lowers her head in shame.

Adrienne looks back to her father. “But, Father-“

“Everything you need is right here, where I can keep an eye on you.” He cuts in, tone dark and dangerous. “I will not have you outside in that dangerous world.”

“It’s not dangerous!” Adrienne tries, standing up from her seat, hands on the table. “I’m always stuck here by myself! Why can’t I go out and make friends just like everybody else?” She asks, pointing out the grand window to her left.

“Because you are not everybody else! You are My son” Adrienne flinches, her body flinching as her gut falls. She hates it when he sounds like that, it makes her feel so small. She has to bite her tongue to keep herself from shaking at her father’s deep, angry voice. He’s using the tone that suggests that he will not allow for any more words to be said.

Adrienne stands up straight, bowing her head, holding back tears that threaten to form.

Always her... it’s always Adrienne who makes things difficult. Who makes Father angry. All Adrienne does is antagonize him.

With that, Gabriel leaves, and Nathalie steps forward. “We can leave it there if you wan-“

Before she even finishes, Adrienne takes off running, hiding her— his face. Hiding his reddening eyes.

As he runs to his room, he catches a brief glimpse of a painting of him, his father and his mother.

But he can’t look at it for so long. It brings back too many bad memories.

Once in his room, he lays down on his bed, Letting his pillow soak in all the tears leaking from his— her eyes. From her eyes.

Why is Father like this? The thought bounces around in Adrienne’s head, it makes her dizzy. Why am I like this, if I’m really- if I’m really a girl, I wouldn’t revert to using those pronouns, to using “Adrien” when I’m stressed, would I? I wouldn’t do that when I anger Father, would I? How the hell am I a girl-

He doesn’t understand, Adrienne’s mother’s voice cuts through her spiraling thoughts. He probably never will. Your father is a stubborn man, and closed off in many ways. Just remember who you are, and that I’m here for you, my beautiful daughter.

This only makes Adrienne sadder. She isn’t here anymore. How can Adrienne keep going if she isn’t here?

Suddenly, something shakes the mansion, sounding like a stampede.

Curiosity takes over, and Adrienne takes off to go find out what’s happening.

She opens the front doors of the mansion, and a large (probably 4 meters tall) rock person is stomping its way toward a police blockade.

When the monster is within 10 meters, the police officer standing on top of a police car yells: “F-ire!” His voice cracks with fear and all the surrounding police officers fire off their guns.

The rock monster holds up it’s arms, but instead of the bullets doing any harm, they make the cracks in between the monster’s skin glow brighter, and it grows to be 2 meters taller! The police officer that was on the car scrambles down and tries to get away, but the monster grabs the car the officer was previously standing on with one hand, shouts out an unintelligible word, then throws the car with ease at the police officer; who only just barely manages to get out of the way.

Whatever this thing is, they sure are very, very angry.

Adrienne sprints back to her room, and vaults over her sofa, turning on the TV to the news.

“I’m asking all Parisians to stay inside until the situation’s under control.” Mayor Bourgeois says into the microphone, and Adrienne lets out a snort. Having everyone stay inside is the right call, don’t want anyone getting in the way... but, the man would be more than happy if he were the only one that stayed inside. And with the way that the situation is being handled, it isn’t going to be solved any time soon.

Then it switches to the TVi news station, where Nadja Chamack reports. “As incredible as it seems, it has been confirmed that Paris is, indeed, being attacked by a monster. The police have been struggling to get the situation under control.” Up in the right corner, a camera still reports what the monster is doing. Which, by the looks of it, is picking up cars and throwing them at buildings, trees, and other cars, destroying buildings and otherwise just causing mayhem, carnage and... and death.

It switches to another news camera, and it shows the police officer that was on the car in front of the gates, he’s getting his arm bandaged by a firefighter, speaking to an interviewer. “Be confident! The strong arm of-“ he cuts himself off as a painful crack is heard from the officer’s broken arm, his face contorting in pain. The firefighter then eases the arm down, and admonishes him for using his broken arm. “I meant to use the other arm...” the officer mumbles.

Blinking and shaking her head, Adrienne looks away, trying not to be too ashamed of Paris’s police force. From the looks of things, this monster is absorbing kinetic energy and using it to grow stronger.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, something catches her attention.

It’s a small box, with Chinese characters she doesn’t recognize on it.

She diverts her full attention to this box, a confused: “What’s this doing here?” Leaving her lips.

She picks it up, weighing it in her hand, moving it around and shaking it. It makes no noise. Shrugging, she opens it and finds a folded piece of paper. When she picks up the paper, she catches sight of a black ring, the corners of the face have silver raised points.

Suddenly, a bright green light glints off the ring, and a ball of green light bursts from it, temporarily blinding her, making her drop the paper, and box.

When her vision returns, there is a small, black being laying down in the air. It has a body covered with smooth, black fur, with a slight green sheen to it. It has a puff of fur on both cheeks, with two long, black whiskers poking out of each puff. There are similar tufts of hair on the bendy points of its limbs and back where the limbs connect to it. It has an aura that surrounds it that makes everything seem darker around it. Light seems to bend around it, like a black hole. It has two long, thin, puffy tails. It has two little ears that are currently drooped lazily, and little wisps of hair poke out from the inside. It has a tiny nose and snout. It... looks like a small deformed cat. And is absolutely adorable!

Suddenly, it uprights itself, stretching its arms and legs, little claws extending from it’s limbs, and releases a huge yawn. Upon closer inspection, each limb ends with a little paw. Its mouth reveals tiny, tiny fangs and an emerald green hue on the inside of its mouth. It’s ears perk up. Once it’s done with the yawn, the ears drop down again, and it opens its eyes to reveal two neon green eyes with black, slitted pupils.

“No way!” Adrienne exclaims. “This is so cool! You’re like the genie in the lamp!” She reaches a finger up to rub the little cat-genie’s forehead.

The little cat-genie launches back. It’s eyes going wide, with…. fear? But the cat-genie quickly schools its adorable little face into calm, uninterested, unimpressed neutrality.

“I met him once, so he grants wishes, big deal, I can do so much better and I'm personable!” The cat-genie crosses its nubs over its chest, claws extending slightly, spreading its leg nubs, like it’s pouting. Clearly trying to look intimidating, but Adrienne can see that it’s trying to gauge her reactions.

Huh, so the cat-genie speaks... it... it’s awfully squeaky and nasal.

It looks up to Adrienne, its eyes piercing into her soul. “Plagg, nice to meet ya.”

With the one sided greetings out of the way, The cat-genie known as Plagg zooms into a swirl before zipping off to explore the room, startling Adrienne some.

It lands on the foosball table, “Ooo, swanky!” Then it chomps down on a figure’s head, ignoring Adrienne’s “Don’t touch that!” by saying “Nope, not eatable.”

Just as Adrienne is about to grab Plagg, it takes off again, Adrienne’s ”Hey! Get back here!” going unnoticed as it locks eyes on an arcade’s joystick. “It’s so shiny!” Plagg lands on the joystick, uttering a curious “Can you eat this?” Before clamping its mouth down on the joystick ball.

Plagg turns away from it in disgust as it finds that it cannot, in fact, eat the joystick. “No, you can’t.” It says slightly dejectedly, then locks into something else and zooms away from Adrienne’s hand, leaving behind an excited “Ooh, what about this?”

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

Marinette hates back to school days. She makes sure to tell her computer screen just that as she watches the news.

At the moment, Sabrina’s father is talking to a news reporter, having his arm wrapped up by a firefighter. “Be confident! The strong arm of-“ he cuts himself off as a painful crack is heard from Officer Roger’s arm, his face contorting in pain. The firefighter then eases the arm down, and admonishes him for using his broken arm. “I meant to use the other arm...” he mumbles.

Marinette shakes her head. Officer Roger can be a... a special type of person sometimes.

She glances down to her mouse to click away from the news station, but finds a black box with Chinese characters she doesn’t recognize.

Picking it up, she opens it, and finds a folded up paper. When she removes it, she catches a glance of two red earrings with black spots on each stud before a bright red/pink light glints off of them and she is temporarily blinded.

When it fades, Marinette’s jaw drops. So does the box and paper.

Floating before her, with its head bowed, is a giant scarlet/pink, ladybug-like bug, with a head much larger than the rest of its body. It has two antennae coming from its forehead and droop toward its back. It has a large black dot on its forehead. On its back is a scarlet ladybug shell, with five small black spots. From this shell are some pink, translucent wings that aren’t moving. The light around it seems to be…. brighter. Its limbs are little, sectioned, black nubs.

Suddenly its head shoots up, the light glinting off it’s large white eyes that have rings of blue in the center.

“Haaweeelllp!” The word leaves her mouth in a shriek as she jumps back, tipping over her chair, getting as far away from this- this- this giant bug! “It’s a giant bug!...”

The bug, no not a bug, a mouse… “A mouse!”

No, a-a bug-mouse, “Bug-mouse!”

it slowly floats its way toward her.

It continues to get closer.

“A- an alien!” She almost shrieks.

“Everything’s okay! Don’t be scared!” Its voice is high pitched, super high pitched, and slightly squeaky.

Marinette’s terrified, she does the only sensible thing. She grabs something behind her and chucks it at the bug-mouse-alien, eyes going wide, and it dodges her projectile. “Bug-mouse can talk! Bug-mouse talks!” She continues to throw things at the bug-mouse-alien, her terror only growing as it continues to dodge all of her projectiles.

“Listen, Marinette...” the bug-mouse-alien continues to speak. “I know everything is strange...”

As it talks and gets closer, Marinette can’t help but release terrified squeaks and whimpers as she gropes around for something to trap the bug-mouse thing under.

Suddenly, her fingers find a cup, and delight shoots through her as she lunges at the bug-mouse, slamming the glass cup down around the little —giant?— thing. She absently wonders why the glass didn’t shatter.

It looks up at Marinette, its expression and eyes calm. “Okay, If this makes you feel safer.”

It has no qualms about being stuck?! What can this thing do that makes it so that it isn’t scared of being trapped under something?!

Marinette keeps the glass firmly on the ground. “What are you? How do you know my name?” She asks.

“I’m a kwami,” the bug-mouse puts a nub on its chest. “And my name is Tikki!” it perks up as it says it’s name. “Now, just let me explain.” Its voice is slightly muffled by the glass. It makes the bug -Tikki- sound even weirder.

“MAMAN, PAPA!” Marinette shouts, inching her way to her trap door.

“No, no, no!” Tikki tries to warn her, pressing against the glass, but Marinette still ignores it. She puts a hand on the trap door and Tikki calls out again. “No!” It tries again, pushing against the glass, but Marinette keeps ignoring it.

“MAMA-“

“Shhh, No!” Tikki cuts her off, phasing through the glass and floating in front of her face. “I’m your friend, Marinette, you can trust me.”

Marinette narrows her gaze,

“Marinette?” comes the worried voice of her Maman, and Tikki and Marinette stare at eachother in tense silence.

“...It’s nothing, Maman, sorry”

Marinette turns to Tikki, the talking bug-mouse-alien-- ahem, Kwami. “Explain.”

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

In such a big room, filled with so much stuff, the kid doesn’t even have any food to eat! Plagg’s tried so many things. Still, nothing edible!

He could just use atrophy and siphon off some energy, but that requires effort, and he did not wake up from 250 years of being dormant only to have to do things as soon as he is activated!

Plagg is zipping around this human child’s room and finds a semi-promising rectangle. Hopefully this works!

He bites down, only for his fangs to meet hard, foul tasting material. Ugh, he should just Cataclysm this whole room...

He drops the remote, and raises a paw, but the human-child drops from the ceiling and wraps her feeble, insufficient, human fingers around his body, which does not make him release an embarrassing yelp. Nope, not at all. It’s funny, how the human thinks she can keep him in place with just her fingers wrapped around his body, which is made from the very essence of chaos, destruction, bad luck and most importantly, if he does say so himself, death!

...Eh, he’ll let the child have her victory.

“Listen, I still don’t know what you’re doing here.” The child says, her tone stern.

Ha! As if a human can intimidate him!

This is really getting old, he just wants sustenance! Even mushrooms will do! Birds and fish are better, but they taste weird. Cheese is preferable, and Camembert is exquisite.

“Look, I’m a kwami. Kwamis grant powers.” Plagg narrows his eyes at this, this uninformed child. “Basic gist of mine is Destruction. Got it?”

“Nuh-Uh.” The child shakes her head, her blonde locks swaying. The locks of hair that grab the light just right... that are probably super soft locks... Locks that would make for an amazing be—

Plagg shakes his head. No time to get distracted. He needs food.

“Good.”, He looks around before looking into the child’s eyes and not the attention grabbing hair that looks like such a great spot to sleep in. “Got anything to eat, I’m starving!”

The child narrows her eyes, staring at him. Plagg stares back, keeping his expression neutral.

“Father’s pranking me, right?” The child stands up, leaning her massive, disgustingly proportionate, head over him. Plagg looks away, he does not want to see up that nose, no matter how clean it is. It’s gross.

“Wait... that’s not possible, Father doesn’t have a sense of humor.”

Plagg pulls himself from the human’s surprisingly tight grasp, spreading his limbs out wide. No matter what he thinks of this rule, the last time he didn’t obey it, Tikki ignored him for 500 years and his wielder caused Vesuvius, all because Tikki’s wielder, by extension, also ignored him. “Your dad must never know I exist. Or anyone for that matter.”

Adrienne tilts her head. Furrowing her eyebrows. “Plagg, I’m pretty sure Father already knows other humans exist...”

Plagg raises his eyebrows. This kid might actually be fun to be around. “I meant no one else can know that I exist.”

“Oh, yeah, that makes more sense.”

“Anyway,” Plagg zips into the kids face. “Where. Is. The. Food?” The kid looks at him with the weirdest expression.

“I only get to eat at breakfast, lunch and dinner. No snacks.”

Plagg narrows his eyes. “That’s no way to live!”

“Well It’s how I live.”

Plagg drops his tone a bit. “It’s not a way that anyone should ever have to live.”

The kid’s eyes go wide

Plagg stares into her eyes, cocking his head. “Well, time to get this out of the way.” Plagg suddenly zips from in front of Adrienne, and into her bathroom. “I’m a kwami, and I can grant you the ability to destroy anything you touch!”

Plagg stops before a roll of paper, hanging above a , quite frankly disappointing, porcelain throne. He grabs and *nearly* lets out a delighted gasp. Such an amazing invention! He drops it to the ground before landing on it and it starts to unravel. FUN!

“All you need to do is put on the ring! To be able to do anything, you call out “Claws Out” and to activate your power, call out Cataclysm, you’ll be able to destroy anything you touch!” He explains as he runs around the room on this roll of super soft paper. (Well, actually the powers that he can grant are much more than a mere Catalclysm, but the kid isn’t ready for that yet. Plus, Tikki’d kill him if he were to tell her that.)

“I can do that?”

“Psssshhh, no, I can do that, I just allow you to be able to do that.”

“What do I say again?”

“Claws Out.”

“Claws out?”

The ring sucks Plagg in and he’s getting ready to meld with the kid. Create what she wants subconsciously. In a flash, he’s inside her mind and he’s ready to shape her body to the way it’s supposed to be, but stops. It would make her happy, but she isn‘t ready for anyone else to know yet, she’d have a break down. And, probably worse. So, he lets her mind create her suit in accordance to what she wants right now.

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

Looking in her mirror, Marinette puts on the earrings. “So, you’re saying, you can give me the power to…. create anything—“

“At random, you won't be able to choose it!”

“—and restore damage—“

“Only if you cast Lucky Charm! And it only restores damage dealt to people caused by a specific event that has happened recently.”

“Okay, so, you can transform me into a ladybug styled superhero, with increased physical and mental capabilities-“

“Mental only in the fact that you’ll be able to take in more information and take it in faster, other than that, it’s all you!”

“And I can create a random object by calling out Lucky Charm and restore damage dealt to living things caused by a specific event by calling out Miraculous Ladybug?”

“Yep!”

“And I can become this Ladybug by….”

“Calling out ‘Spots On” Tikki looks into Marinette’s eyes, he doesn’t know it yet, he hasn’t realized it yet.

Hopefully he will. She really doesn’t want Marinette to go through more of his life in unknown misery. Luckily, when the time comes, she can help!

“Spots On?”

“Wait I forgot—“

Melding with his mind, Tikki ignores the urge to shape Marinette’s body the way she knows he feels subconsciously like he should. He doesn’t know yet, and she doesn’t want to put that stress on him. But Sugar cookies she forgot to tell him about the ability to purify things! And that the way to take down this thing is to destroy the corrupted object, or that there is a corrupted object. Well, he’s her wielder, he’ll figure it out.

Technically Tikky can give her wielders so much more power, but this is the first time being her wielder, so she’ll have to ease Marinette into this.

[This is the image I used to base Nooroo’s, Tikki’s and Plagg’s designs on, I have also used it to alter Trixx’s, Wayzz’s, Pollen’s and Duusuu’s designs.]

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fan ficton #miraculous ladybug fic #trans girl! Adrienne #trans girl adrien #trans boy! marinette #trans boy! marin #trans au #wintertundra-art's trans au #miraculous ladybug rewrite #origins rewrite #rewrite au #some character descriptions have changed #powers reworked #my writing #part one of 3 #possibly 4 #nonbinary nooroo #it/its nooroo

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kawanisshi · 4 years ago

Text

changing of the seasons;

pairing: iwaizumi hajime x reader (ft. oikawa as your lovely ex boyfriend)

genre: hanahaki au, angst, fluff

word count: 2.1k words

warnings: blood, vomit

a/n: this is for the cheese cult’s hanahaki event, i am so nervous to publish this since it’s my first fic but i hope you all enjoy! heart goes out to @shishinoya and @cupofkenma for beta-ing, thank you so much <33 also thank you to @akaashichigo for creating the discord server, allowing me to meet amazing creators and inspiring me to write, you have no idea how much this server means to me!!

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

And then it came. The first bloom.

Cut to you being seventeen, in love, your heart and soul soaring through the skies with nothing bringing you down. You were unstoppable, reckless, invincible. When you were with him - with Tooru - you could shake away every pretense you put on and show yourself in your most vulnerable state. You could shed the rough and weary skin you wore and reveal the skeleton underneath. You allowed yourself to be raw, to be real.

“I need to go,” your breath hitches as you step away from him, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. He doesn’t try to stop you.

How long would it take until you could do that again? Feel like that again? With someone else? You were Icarus, high on adrenaline and confidence, never looking back. He was the devil, always playing with fire, so you joined him, thinking he would never burn you.

Turn left at the end of this street, then straight down. A right turn here. Left, right, then left again. Keeping your mind preoccupied with directions is the most you can do to keep yourself distracted. You have no idea where your destination is; you just knew you needed to get as far away as possible.

You trusted the world too much. You didn’t expect it to come crashing down, and when it did, every fiber of your being shattered along with it.

Doubled over next to a lamp post, you feel anxiety and uncertainty nestling in the corners of your lungs. Or was that something else? You cough. A tickle at the back of your throat. Are you still in love with him? You cough again, bringing a hand to your mouth. An answer. A reassurance of the worst form unfurls in the palm of your hand, in the form of a white petal.

The sound of approaching footsteps catches your attention, and you frantically look up from your pathetic position, only to be met with familiar eyes.

“Hey, you okay? I saw you from down the street and I–” His gaze is soft, laced with concern.

“Iwaizumi, I–” you desperately search your brain for a reply, choking back tears and blood, “Tooru– he–”

“I know.”

His gaze trails down to the petal you held in your hand, dotted with flecks of red, and he swallows. He knows.

Silence settles between the two of you before he crouches down next to you and sighs, eyes level with yours.

“This won’t do,” he quips, the resolve clear in his voice, “C’mon, let’s get your mind off of things.”

“Where are we going?” you croak, surprised by the sudden suggestion.

“Cinema.”

“We’re watching a film?”

“No, shitsponge, we’re going for a swim,” he rolls his eyes, sarcasm dripping from his tongue.

Iwaizumi was always like that. You two had been good friends since before you and Oikawa were romantically involved, and you’d learned to count on him in the worst situations. You stand and nod, half a mind set on moving on, and the other half transfixed on the white petal that emerged from your lungs.

--- ii.

Iwaizumi walks you back from the cinema, the pair of you chatting animatedly. Your heartbreak is almost forgotten, but all it takes is one memory, one familiar sight, to shatter the illusion. Your footsteps come to a halt as you spot the swingset where you shared your first kiss. It was the beginning of what you thought would’ve been forever.

It all comes crashing down. You miss him. Suddenly, all of the memories are being thrown your way like punches, bruising your whole body.

Holding hands in his pocket. Him always being the one to lean in first. You on the edge of your toes. Him meeting you halfway. His hands on your jaw, soft, gentle. Your face buried in the arch of his back. Fingers tracing shapes on arms. Whispering ‘I love you’ when you thought he was asleep. Him squeezing you because he wasn’t, wordlessly letting you know that he loved you too. Love as the underlying constant, the unrelenting heartbeat underneath your every action. He was the voice of an angel, a dream, whispering ‘I love you so much’ in between desperate kisses. How could that same voice tell you he didn’t care about you anymore? How could that voice, the one that once called itself a life jacket, be the same one with a tight chokehold on your throat, stopping you from breathing?

Next thing you know, you’re on your knees, asphalt and tar setting your skin on fire. That was nothing, though, compared to the ache clawing at your lungs. Pain and anguish materialised in your chest, and you hacked and coughed and heaved to try and get rid of it.

The petals are the first to come out: sloppy, limp, and clinging to the surface of your tongue. You spit them out, disgusted by the sight. Then, you feel something significantly larger pushing up and out of your trachea. You cannot breathe and your chest feels as though it’s about to explode.

Tears were freely falling now, the caverns of your eyes flowing out into waterfalls. You reach inside your mouth with your fingers and pull, your body numb to the pain. You retch at the sensation crawling up your throat, and almost pass out when you finally recover the flower, stem and all. You toss it aside.

All the strength in your body dissipates upon registering the scene in front of you, blood and petals and saliva intermingling to form a beautiful crime scene, the kind of stuff poets write about. But this isn’t a poem. You feel filthy and pathetic and tired, and you just want to collapse.

“Hey- hey, look at me. Look at me,” he crouches down and holds your face in his hands, “you’ll be fine. You’ll be okay.” You were so absorbed in yourself that you almost forgot he was there. He wipes at your tears with his thumb, and you lean into his touch. His hands aren’t the ones you were used to; they are rougher, more calloused, but they are warm.

And for now, they are enough.

--- iii.

“I should get the surgery,” a statement. You weren’t asking for his opinion, but he gives it anyway.

“Don’t,” his tone is sharp, “you shouldn’t. It… it’s risky.” Iwaizumi looks up from his textbook and fiddles with the pen in this hand. He turns and looks at the vase of lilies sitting on your windowsill. “Plus… the flowers, I think they’re nice. They’re proof that you’re human, that you can love.”

You almost laugh. He has taken a liking to taking care of the full blooms ejected from your mouth, coming over a few times a week to water the flowers. You secretly despise the sight of them, but you let him indulge himself. It was the least you could do, after how much he’d helped you.

“I never would have pegged you for a romantic, Iwa,” you tease.

He throws his pen at you and huffs. You dodge. An exasperated groan escapes his lips before he places his head on your desk, indicating that he was done with studying.

You could still taste that pungent fragrance on your tongue. God, you hated lilies.

In reality, you appreciated his presence, a lot more than you let on. You think of the many times he’s been there for you since the breakup. Suddenly you were in your bathroom at 2am, throwing up poison and acid, him holding your knotted hair, a steady hand on your back. He was always there; calm, unwavering, an anchor. The rhythmic heartbeat in his chest when you were crying against it for no apparent reason. The warm hands enveloped around your trembling ones, keeping you steady as you walked home from the cinema. Him, stable and unmoving when you were a hurricane, a blizzard, a storm.

“Hey,” you speak up, “uh, I never did say thank you. So… thanks. For being here. It means a lot.”

He picks his head up and looks at you before turning back around, scowling. He places his head back on your desk.

“Don’t mention it, dumbass.”

You think you notice a slight flush on his cheeks.

--- iv.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, handing you a cup of coffee. “Your, uh,” he gestures at his chest area, “lungs still at it?”

You scoff. He asks this every other day, even though he knows the answer won’t change.

“Yes,” you answer. “They are, but..” you hesitate. Should you tell him? You think you’re getting better. The flowers aren’t lilies anymore. They are honey coloured now, and taste like spring. He will be pleased, but you don’t want to give him good news in case your condition worsens again.

“But what?”

“Nothing,” you reply. He shoots you a stern look, but doesn’t question it any further. As you walk to campus, you notice how the morning sun washes his eyes in warm hazel, flecks of gold dancing amidst an olive backdrop. You sip your coffee and think of how the scent wafting into your nostrils reminds you of his skin, of molten caramel and honey. A breeze passes; it’s chilly, a hint at autumn’s arrival. He shivers and turns towards you, and you notice the violets growing in the expanse beneath his eyes. You frown. Has he been worrying?

“My lecture hall’s this way,” he says, pointing at the building to your left, “I’ll see you later-”

“They’re buttercups,” you blurt out. “The, uh, flowers. I didn’t know whether I should tell you. They’re buttercups now, I don’t really know what this means but, maybe I’m one step closer to getting over him? They’re smaller, so, I guess I’m doing better.”

He gives you a smile, and his eyes soften. You think about the coffee he bought you, and how the warmth radiated by the coffee cup in your hands was the same warmth you felt from his gaze.

“I’m glad,” he says, and you wave him goodbye. I’m glad too, you think. I hope this stops soon.

You hope, sincerely, that one day, he will ask that same question he asks every other day, and you’ll be able to give him an answer that he isn’t used to.

--- v.

The flowers do not stop blooming, but the attacks aren’t as relentless anymore.

A sharp pain in your throat jolts you awake, and you sit up, picking up the bowl you kept next to your bed. Your mind is still foggy from the remnants of sleep, but your body moves by itself. This was routine by now.

Iwaizumi stirs from his position at your desk, picking his head up and turning around to look at you. You glance at the clock beside you, and begin to apologise for waking him up when a coughing fit seizes you. He sighs, and moves to sit next to you on the bed, rubbing circles on your back.

“You really-” you’re interrupted by a cough, “should stop staying over and falling asleep at my desk.” He leans down and picks up stray petals off the floor, placing them into the bowl before taking it from your hands and putting it back on your nightstand. He doesn’t reply, choosing instead to place a hand at the crook of your neck, brushing his thumb over your collarbone. His expression is unreadable.

You continue. “It’s not-” another cough, “it’s not good for your sleep. I can tell. You’ve got these really dark circles now, and-”

“You know-- you can let go. You can learn to love again. Find someone new,” his breath ghosts over your skin. Your mind swirls amongst the clouds, dew drops trickling through your veins. The moon casts a pearlescent halo around his figure, and for a moment you forget how to breathe.

“Like who?” you whisper back, voice trembling. Your eyes are drawn to his, but he’s looking somewhere else. His gaze flickers up to meet your own, before trailing down, back towards your lips.

And with that, he closes the gap between you.

You feel your chest swell, but it wasn’t the kind you had grown used to. The literal kind that tore your lungs apart, ripping into your heart and leaving nothing but blood and fire in its wake. No, this time you felt it bloom in the metaphorical sense. This time, it was a wash of sunlight: slow, warm, inviting.

There is a burst of heat, and you feel your chest expand. Your next breath comes slower, deeper than you’re used to, and you catch the faint smell of ashes on your tongue. As if the overgrowth in your lungs had crumbled to dust. As if spring had finally come to an end.

You can let go, he’d said, you can learn to love someone else.

And as you feel his lips part against yours, you thought to yourself, perhaps I already have.

my loves: @akaashichigo @drainedjaz @haikkeiji @annalyn-annalyn @mlkytobio @sosugasweet @cali-writes-sometimes @simping4ratsumu @shishinoya @ushiwakaa @from-left-to-write @akaashit-baeji @kxgeyamasmilk @agaassi @hanibuni @cupofkenma @milkandc00kiez @thiccbokuto @shinsukestan @sufiawrites @wakaitoshi @skyguy-peach @fern-writes-ig @briswriting @kawaiikraykray @bubbleteaa @miyuswriting @raevaioli @ouikarwa @hakueishirei @pineapplekween @estherwritess @keiji-n @achoohq @badlywritten-hq @mochibeaa @oinkanna @chxrry-wxne @spudicide @airybby @asranomical @karmasuna @nekoglasses

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #hanahacheese #cheese cult fic event #cheese cult #hq x reader #haikyuu writing #tw blood #tw vomit #haikyuu hanahaki #ash writes #ahhhh i hope you all like this!!!#hanahaki #haikyuu

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pangtasias-atelier · 4 years ago

Text

Not Exactly As Planned

This was another commission done for the amazingly wonderful @beepboop260 ~

This one involves Yone and a big, chonky Thresh, both in their spirit blossom variants. I know nothing about league but like, this was still super fun to do cause of all our talks lol. Thanks again for the commission😢

_______________

An eternity, gone in an instant. A second, lasting a millennium, the strange machinations comprising the Spirit Realm never cease to bother Yone.

Still on the search for his brother, a horde of azakana had derailed Yone’s seemingly never-ending journey. Unable to regain the track he had once found, aimless wandering had been the only option. So long without a pause, each step feels like two, the trained warrior weary from his journey.

His white hair a bit more matted from the journey, his parted bangs droop. Sitting atop his head are two blue horns, the protrusions sticking slightly outwards and partially up. The back of his head manages to retain its perfectly tied state. The end of his mane still cascades down to the edges of his hips. Two parts of his hair braided, one on each side, the braids reach halfway down his neck. Two rich blue tassels braided into them, the strands of fabric reaching down to his thighs, the long strands sway with each step. In his usual pristine attire, any sort of weariness shown from his expression is completely absent from the state of his clothes. Still crisp, his white robe remains loose on his trim upper body. His robe lined with black, gold detailing on them, the dark, rich color draws further attention to his revealed skin, his pale chest and abs prominent. The lower portion of his outfit flares out somewhat, his clothes nipped at the waist to reveal his slim yet powerful figure. A slit for his legs, the open area shows off his black leggings. Walking endlessly, the deft yet strong legs are exemplified as the leggings cling to the surface of his thighs and calves.

Currently in a grove, the mangled landscape offers zero notable landmarks, each distorted and crooked tree blending in with the other. The warped trunks are covered with patches of moss. One small clearing after another, even those are indistinguishable, the same scattered crushed rocks in the northern part of the clearing littering the floor, the same perfectly circular patch of dirt crunching under his feet. Even each step feels the same as the one before. Trees looming above, the overbearing fauna seemingly stares at him as the rustling leaves a constant ringing in his ears. Catching his mistake, Yone falters. He closes his eyes. His blades drawn in an instant, he holds them out forward, his arms splayed as he holds the blades securely. The forest entirely silent, any semblance of life has suddenly vanished. Even the wind’s presence feels absent, the air far too stagnant. Listening, the deafening silence remains.

A faint sound coming from behind him, Yone swings without hesitation, his blades cutting whatever would be his attacker cleanly in two.

Except his blades only meet the air, nothing behind him. Opening his eyes, the bright vibrant blue of a river enraptures his vision. Once solid ground, a stream replaces it, an arched wooden bridge leading off to a path. Yone finds himself pondering, wondering what possibly perverse machinations drive the forest, the land reacting to him. Glancing behind him, the ongoing forest is gone. Somehow finding himself in an alcove of trees, the forest of trees forbids any other path. Sheathing his blades, Yone follows the placed path.

The bridge holding, the only noise is the soft thumps of his feet against the wood as he steps on it. On the crest of the bridge, the sight of a shrine pulls into view. Grand in its size, the monumental display fills the entirety of Yone’s vision. By the time he steps off, spirits appear. All of them are off to the side of the trail, each as aimless as the last. Floating in the air, the spirits barely move, flickering like flames. Fixated in the air, the spirits remain in their position even as Yone walks past them. Spirits continue to frame the path as the shrine draws closer.

The tall gates framing the end of the path, the front of the shrine stands proudly in front of Yone. The entire area is well kept. The calm aura radiating from the shrine is enough to put Yone somewhat at ease, but not enough. His hand still rests on the hilt of his blade. Taking a step forward, his skin bristles with magic from the gates. The gates acting as a barrier, the effect wears off as Yone passes through them. He finds the scenery to be exactly the same as before.

The only difference is his blood turning cold, the shrine’s owner making themself known.

Thresh idling on the porch, he happily rests on his side. Currently in his human form, Thresh’s tall form lies parallel to the porch. One leg rests partially on top of the other. Supporting himself with his arm, his other arm rests in front of him.

The demon of obsession in front of him, Yone lightly bends his knees. Adopting a stance, he waits for any possible movement from Thresh. Eyes drawn to Thresh’s moving hand, he stares as it lowers into a plate of... food? Double checking, Yone’s body wracks with new information as he properly takes in Thresh.

Thresh is fat.

The demon of obsession, so feared amongst nearly every inhabitant of the spirit realm, is fat.

A well defined torso with a six pack and riblets is no more. Instead, a sizable belly replaces it; the creamy, doughy flesh pools out, Thresh’s stomach resting on the floor. The small open white coat meant to highlight Thresh’s powerful frame, the coat ending at his bellybutton, now, it highlights his girth. More width to cover now, the coat even ends a tad bit higher, one end resting on the curvature of Thresh’s tummy while the other ends up squashed under Thresh’s stomach. The violet collar, trimmed with gold, no longer draws attention to the powerful chest that lies under it or the bits of his collarbone not hidden under his coat. The collar, now rather snug on the extra tuft of fat on his neck along with the slightly budding second chin, instead brings focus to Thresh’s plush chest. A small helping of fat adorning what used to be a broad chest, Thresh’s chest splays out similarly, the ovular moobs resting on the floor. The half-belt half-tassel adornment is gone, Thresh keeping his pants. The flaring out skirt-like material hides the heft of his legs, the meaty muscular legs now adorned with plush fat like the rest of his body. The voluminous front of hair sweeps down from his position, the bangs cascading to partially cover his face. Long hair messily kept in a flowing ponytail, the bundles of hair rest behind Thresh; the hair pools onto the floor behind him. The long sides of his hair trickle down his collarbone, bits of his flabby chest obstructed by his hair. Atop the mass of violet hair, softer, lighter purple horns rest on opposite ends of the crown of his head. His two slightly curved horns point up into the air, his right horn being half as tall as his other horn.

Yone’s eyes are still drawn to Thresh’s chunky figure. The will to close his eyes is almost enough for him to close them in embarrassment, but since the cause for his embarrassment is Thresh, he keeps his eyes open, unwilling to let his guard down. A huff of noise sounding, Yone shifts his attention, not without a lasting glance at Thresh’s small grabbable love handle. His eyes make contact with Thresh, Thresh huffing once more as the tip of his purple tongue lulls out. Thresh gives his stomach a contented little pat. Yone notes the bit of firmness to it, the stomach a tad bit too circular to be empty, and the plates of food next to Thresh all cleaned out.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” The booming voice sounding out, the echoes of it seem to crawl into Yone’s mind, ringing in his brain. Shifting around, Thresh pushes himself up. His flabby stomach pooling to the side, it swings and shifts as he sits up. It sags a bit down as it slots itself in-between his thighs. His long violet hair drapes around his chunky face, the strands of it landing atop his meaty chest and giving even more sense of dimension to it. His lengthy ponytail pools onto the floor.

Yone refuses to break his composure. He keeps his eyes directed at Thresh’s.

“A helpless little soul wandering my area, I had to draw you in before...” Thresh grins, his fangs plainly visible as he lets out a small laugh. “Before anything unsavory were to happen to you, Yone,” Thresh notes Yone’s lack of usual composure, chuckling to himself. Placing a hand on his side, Thresh grabs a love handle. He nearly howls as Yone attempts to not stare as Thresh holds his own roll in his hand.

“I am far from the helpless being you consider me to be,” Drawing his swords, Yone remains still.

“Now now, no need to be so hostile,” Thresh’s voice no longer the booming echoes that seemed to wish to devour Yone whole, his grip on his swords loosen a fraction. Thresh leans a bit forward, resting his elbows on his legs as he rests his chin on his hand. The extra squish from his chin distracts Yone for a second. “You’ll find me quite agreeable actually,” Thresh snarls. Teeth bared, he tilts his head, his eyes dilating. “Until you provoke me,” The final addition amplified, Yone grits his teeth as Thresh’s voice attempts to worm its way inside him, the reverberating voice coming from all directions despite Thresh sitting in front of him.

“If I may be so inclined to ask a question,” Yone keeps his voice level; the furrow in his eyes allows him to do so. “Why did you bring me here?”

Thresh merely shrugs, as if the question wasn’t laced with annoyance and frustration. “A whim,” His simple statement being the truth, collecting precious spirits is still his priority. Although, a little mix up would be harmless. Harmless to himself.

“A whim?” Yone repeats. His eyes locked onto Thresh’s chubby face, he ignores the sort of cuteness it offers him, instead looking for some kind of tell. Thresh never one to do things simply on a ‘whim’.

“I do love some entertainment every now and then,” Thresh grins as Yone’s frustration simmers a bit more, the bubbles of his frustration rising to his face. “And your expressions were a modicum reprieve,” Thresh snaps his fingers with a smile, his gaze transfixed on Yone’s.

Swords raised in an instant, Yone remains prepared. Thresh suddenly gone, his lack of a presence is more haunting than coming face to face with him. The sounds of the very earth shifting catches his attention. Yone risks a quick glance, finding the path he walked has returned, spirits lining it once more. Offering a look where Thresh once sat, the spot remains vacant. A quick sweep of the area produces the same result. He sighs as he heads back. The spirits guiding him again, Yone remains ever vigilant. Thresh nowhere to be found, the surprisingly docile demon was far from the tales he had heard. His current path the only one, Yone keeps a brisk pace. Walking over the bridge once more, the dreaded forest returns to his vision for only a brief moment, a few steps leading him out of it; the spirits rush back towards what Yone assumes is the shrine the instant he steps out.

Mind racing just as fast as his beating heart, Yone curses himself before cursing Thresh, the accursed demon letting him go. Whether it was an act of benevolence or arrogance, Yone can’t decipher for sure. Neither can he piece his emotions upon spotting the extra heft on Thresh’s form. Shoving that thought further down than the first, Yone sighs. Keeping his pace, he figures that ignoring the whole strange situation would be for the best.

Rejuvenated, unaware of Thresh’s sanctuary providing said energy, Yone returns to his task at hand. Regardless of how long it’ll take, time inconsequential in the Spirit Realm, he devotes himself to speaking to his brother.

Wandering around, the lively Spirit Realm greets him to all sorts of views and discoveries. New sights seemingly found every day, the vivid recollection of each one lasts for only a few years, not that Yone could ever tell time in such a place. Only a few manage to leave lasting imprints: the clearing he had found Yasuo in where numerous waterfalls convened to, the small frozen tundra which few laid claim to, and that haunted demonic forest. Yone reminds himself that the last one has nothing to do with said owner of the forest.

Distracted in his own thoughts, Yone overlooks the commotion of spirits some ways off as he follows the trail into the forest. The atmosphere suddenly becomes much darker. Yone glances up; the same warped trees peer down at him. Each one a near replica of the last, their looming figures continue to blend into one another. The trail behind him suddenly gone, replaced with more trees now, Yone sighs as he treks onward. More annoyance than any sense of caution or worry, his survival instincts still remain ever present as he retains his stance in fear of an ambush.

Nothing of the sort comes his way as the path shifts again and again despite the scenery being exactly the same regardless of the meandering path. Walking upon the bridge once more, the trek upwards is at least a straightforward one. A quarter of the way there, Yone freezes as a sigh echoes throughout the area. Said voice fills him with eager curiosity rather than fear. Yone shoves that thought far away just like the others with a grunt and a shake of his head. Reaching Thresh’s sanctuary, the gates have no effect this time, all of it revealed to Yone already.

Thresh is nowhere to be found. Yone finds the door to his sanctuary closed. Another sigh sounding out, the voice still assaults Yone’s ears from all around. Yet, Yone finds himself tracing the voice to behind the sanctuary. Walking around the perimeter, the humidity suddenly rises as he draws closer to the back. Turning, he finds hot springs to be the reason for said heat and humidity.

A multitude of them litter the entire back area, each placed in some random location rather than any sort of actual planning. Yet, the one that catches Yone’s eyes is the one currently occupied.

Thresh currently relaxing, he leans back as the warm water washes away any sort of fatigue. Sensing his guest, he opens his eyes, a grin adorning his face as he spots his guest.

“So, you’ve returned,”

“As if I had a choice in the matter,” Yone keeps his distance, still a few feet away from Thresh.

“Let’s not get caught up in all the intricacies. It has been a thousand years since we last talked,” Thresh smiles.

Yone remains unemotional at the time frame, unsurprised for such a long span to have passed by so quickly. Instead, his eyes remain focused on Thresh’s face for any sort of slight trick. Yet, his eyes only find the extra heft of Thresh’s cheeks cute, the now actual double chin a welcome addition. His mind comes to the conclusion of Thresh having gained even more weight.

“Well, I’m sure you’d prefer a chat under the comfort of a roof,” Without a pause, Thresh lifts a meaty hand above water.

Yone loses his impassiveness; the extra girth of Thresh’s arms and the draping fat is his main focus as he struggles and fails to hide the blush adorning his face. Thresh’s big arms are twice the width of his own arms. Yone internally screams as he wonders what it must feel like to be embraced in such large arms.

Thresh nearly laughs at the blushing Yone. Slowly stepping out of the hot spring, his eyes remain transfixed on Yone’s face as his blush grows even redder, the red hue enveloping his entire face and ears alike, a wonderful contrast against his snow-white hair.

Yone’s eyes shift slightly to the left as Thresh reveals more of his engorged body. Collarbone having lost all definition, it too looks as squishable and huggable as the rest of Thresh. His chest rising out of the water, the beginning glance at it is a disservice, the meaty pillow like chest continuing as Thresh rises even further. Each breast comparable to the size of Thresh’s head, the pale creamy chest sags and splays out. The sagging moobs are their very own shelf as they rest on the shelf of Thresh’s stomach. His stomach revealing itself, the circular mass of flab seems to have a mind of its own as it jiggles with every step Thresh takes. The soft curves lining the sides shift and bounce just as the center does. His stomach is divided into two with an extra roll formed from the extra fat, the lower half seemingly begging Yone to grab and fondle it. His stomach still wet, the rivulets of water drip down his stomach, each droplet caressing every curve of Thresh’s stomach. The bottom of his stomach sagging, the edges sag down just a bit further, Thresh’s stomach having a slight upside U-shape to his belly as it drapes down to his thighs. Thresh’s thighs alone are larger than Yone’s waistline. The large upper thighs squish together behind the mass of Thresh’s stomach. They rub past one another as Thresh takes a step, the heft of his stomach pressing down on his thighs as he lifts them. Even as he steps out of the hotspring, his meaty thighs shift to walk, the extra fat giving Thresh a decent waddle to his fat frame. His body sways back and forth, his corpulent stomach wobbling as if attempting to walk as well. His breasts jiggle, the walking producing enough shaking to make it seem as if Thresh were running. Thresh positively enjoying the attention, his chubby face grins from Yone’s staring. His violet hair wet from the dip, the overflowing strands of hair stick to Thresh’s back, even reaching down to his ass. Yone staring, his vision being occupied on inspecting every inch of Thresh fails to notice Thresh waddling towards him.

“Well, shall we take this inside?”

Thresh suddenly in front of him, Yone glances slightly up, Thresh somewhat taller than him. Coughing into his hand, he sighs, hoping the heat from his face can be brushed off as from the hot springs alone. Thresh right in front of him, his extra heft seems ripe for grabbing. Thresh’s frame is at least twice as wide as his own. Yone finds a bit of glee from that fact.

“Yes,” Responding without a trace of hesitation, Yone’s brain screams at him, the simple act of responding to Thresh a near insurmountable problem. Another portion of his brain yells at him to get out, Thresh far from trustworthy. He ignores that part of his brain. Another side of him reasons that Thresh would have attacked last time, his weary state from nonstop traveling an easier target than now. Yet, his brain counters arguing that Thresh is merely luring him- Yone stops that back and forth train of thought with a deep breath. He ceases all his thoughts on the situation, instead focusing on Thresh and his girth, those thoughts far more appealing. Like kneading all of Thresh’s fat or feeling the entirety of his weight on top of him.

Thresh raises a brow at Yone’s behavior but offers no response. Instead, he simply tells Yone to follow him with a wag of his finger before turning around.

Yone nearly chokes on his own saliva as he stares at Thresh’s ass. Thresh’s ass clearly as affected by his weight as the rest of his porcine body, the two hefty mounds of fat jut out. Each individual cheek larger than Yone’s head, the pile of pudge for Thresh’s ass sags. The upper heft of his ass retains its spherical shape, the upper curvature swaying as he leads the way. The bottom portion has somewhat less definition, the flab coalescing into a squarish shape from the sagging, bundled fat. His wide, plush back lined with rolls, the cascading flab frames the entirety of his back, his wide arms squishing against the sides with each waddle of his. Plump love handles adorning his sides, they jiggle from the movement that must be rare for Thresh these days.

Yet Yone still keeps a slower pace than Thresh’s already slow waddle, transfixed on committing the outlines of the rolls adorning Thresh’s back and the circular yet squarish ass to memory.

Thresh leads the way, eventually following some sort of normality by having Yone wait in a room while he prepares himself. Sitting on the floor seiza style, Yone keeps his posture rigid. Taking cooling breaths, his chest rises and falls with each inhale and exhale. Waiting for Thresh, any sort of fear is vanished, the images of Thresh’s body replaying in his head. Creaking sounding Thresh’s arrival, Yone regains some composure as he stares stoically as ever.

Thresh coming out with nothing but black leggings on, Yone’s impassiveness fails him again. Having already seen the corpulent Thresh nude, the minimal addition changes nothing. The leggings simply give the appearance of Thresh being even heftier, the tight fabric bunching up and squishing all his fat. His hill of a belly protruding out just as it sags down, the leggings helping outline his gut and the way it folds down, the downward curvature of his gut just as prominent as the outwards heft of his love handles.

Yone’s eyes attempt to stare at the wall instead.

Thresh’s breasts splayed on his chest, the two widened areolas seem to gaze into Yone’s entire soul; he closes his eyes upon spotting Thresh’s nipples again. The entirety of Thresh’s ass unable to securely fit in the leggings, a sliver of his ass protrudes, Yone able to spot the creamy flesh swaying behind Thresh.

“I find it best to forego my usual attire when I’m to feast,” Thresh joins Yone on the floor; he simply splays out his feet as he sits on his rump. Thresh rests a hand on his gut meticulously rubbing and hefting it. His fat quivers as he lifts up any portions of his body, the fat overflowing Thresh’s hand. Yone is treated to an audible slap and visible wobbling as Thresh lets go. With a snap of his fingers, spirits come into the room, each carrying plates lined with food.

“Help yourself,” Thresh picks up a dumpling and plops it into his mouth. “Before I finish it all,” Thresh holds the plate in his hand as he plucks a dumpling one by one. Dumping one into his mouth, he chews it a few times before swallowing. Sighing with relief, Thresh licks his teeth, as if biding his time, before plopping another dumpling in his mouth, a rhythm clearly developed from experience. Thresh goes through the plate in minutes, his eating still faster than normal despite his pauses. “I’ve already eaten, but it’s so hard not to be hungry,”

Yone clenches his fists; Thresh clearly attempting to get a rise out of him, any sort of malice from Thresh seems replaced with trickery. Glancing at Thresh’s face, he’s in the middle of eating noodles. Dangling them above his head, his long purple tongue dangles out as he drops them into his mouth.

Mid chew, Thresh returns his attention to Yone as he stands up. Slurping the rest of his bowl, his expectation of Yone leaving is denied as Yone seats himself right in front of him.

With zero hesitation, as he is used to whenever Thresh isn’t involved, Yone presses a slender hand against the dome of Thresh’s gut. Resting it, the soft tender flesh warms his hand, the warmth crawling up the entirety of his body. Yone presses down, testing the give and heft of it. His hand finds a mixture, the pile of flab sinking under the pressure while still retaining some form from all the food. “Hard to believe one such as yourself could ever go hungry with so much already packed away,” Yone comments, more to himself than to Thresh, his eyes still fixated on the creamy pile of flesh right in front of him even as Thresh grunts and whines with each little push.

The usual overbearing grin no longer plastered on Thresh’s face, he grimaces as Yone continues assaulting his body, one hand turning into two as Yone pokes him as if his girth was a mere illusion. A heavy breakfast followed by an even heavier lunch, that was later followed by a feast of a meal left him full. The contents of a veritable feast contained in his gut, his cramped stomach gurgles as its relaxation is disturbed. Eating again to fluster Yone, Thresh’s stomach is working overtime. His stomach was willing to handle all the extra food without a complaint, but the case is no longer the same with all the movement caused by Yone.

“Watch it,” Thresh lightly threatens. His ears downturned, his downcast eyes don’t bother with making any eye contact, his churning stomach taking all his focus just as it takes Yone’s. Hands suddenly losing contact with his gut, Thresh sighs. He offers a glance towards the next plate, a large heaping of tonkatsu. The crispy smell of the deep fried pork, deep fried food always a favorite of Thresh’s, wafts to his nose. Thresh holds back a whine in the back of his throat.

Still beside Thresh, Yone stares at Thresh’s internal debate. A hint of a frown mars Thresh’s cherubic face, the pout exaggerating the heft of his puffed-out cheeks ever so slightly as he stares forlornly at the plate of food. A menacing demon brought down so pathetically from the mere act of messing with his overburdened gut. Yone finds the differing sight just as adorable. He grabs the plate, skewering a few pieces of the cutlet with the fork and brings it to Thresh’s face. Mouth clamped shut, Thresh glares at Yone.

“Is this not what you wanted? To engorge yourself?” Yone shows his small grin, staring directly at Thresh, the demon now staring back at him with an anger far surpassing Yone’s jovialness.

“Enough,” His voice comes from all directions once more, the swirling tendrils of his voice echoing. His command stated calmly, the finality in it is apparent. “I am not-”

Thresh whimpers as Yone presses a hand into Thresh’s stomach. This one aimed lower, his fingers digging into the swell of fat under Thresh’s deep belly button, the chunk of food seems to kick at Thresh’s stomach from its disturbance. His mouth open a sliver, the opening is all Yone needs, the forkful of fried pork shoved in Thresh’s mouth. The crispy, juicy, pork in his mouth, Thresh voluntarily chews it. His ears perk up as he swallows. A hand placed on his stomach, Thresh holds back his flinch. Yone’s hand rubbing the mass of fat, his hand wanders a bit, caressing the side of the expanse to reach a love handle. He begins to “play” with Thresh’s form; raking his nails over the expanse of Thresh’s thighs that aren’t covered by his gut, patting the side of his arms, or cupping his breasts in his hands. Another forkful brought to him, Thresh opens his mouth. Chomping down on the meat, the resulting explosion of flavor has him opening his mouth again despite the protests of his stomach. The instant the dish is entirely devoured, Yone reaches for another one.

“I shall allow it,” Thresh huffs out, his face flushed as Yone already has another fork in front of his face, this one a croquette, ready for him. “Despite your ridiculous speed,” Thresh places his hands on the crest of his stomach, the fat from his arms squishing into the fat of his sides. “There’s no savoring the food, no-”

Responding to the complaint, Yone shoves the croquette in Thresh’s mouth. He punctuates his response with a choice light jab, Thresh reduced to a whine as he obediently chews. Muffedly breathing through his nose, Thresh continues to huff with each additional fork brought to his face, unable to catch a break from Yone’s insistence. Each fork, each bite, each chew adds to the growing pit of discomfort in his stomach. So used to feasting on whatever, the rapid, insistent pace feels too taxing of a task, Thresh rubbing the surface of his stomach as Yone refuses to relent.

Remaining in his seated spot, Thresh obediently opens his mouth for whatever forkful of food Yone offers him. Eyes lidded, the ever-growing mountain of food in his stomach is beginning to catch up to him, even as his gut is no longer being abused by Yone’s brutal pushing. Finding his breath far more labored than it was at the beginning, Thresh takes a bit of extra time to catch it after being forced to swallow a piece of beef without proper time to savor it. He whimpers as Yone places a hand on his gut, Yone simply resting it there while staring at Thresh. Thresh opens his mouth, holding back a whine as Yone caresses his face and brings another piece of beef to his mouth.

“Last one,” Yone eventually calls out after Thresh eats the last piece of beef, the entire meal lasting what feels like a millennia. His hand cups Thresh’s bloated face. He rubs his thumb against the swell of Thresh’s cheek, Thresh groaning as he catches some respite. But the respite lasts for only a few seconds before Yone holds a manju in front of Thresh’s mouth. “Open wide,” Yone taunts, staring down at Thresh.

Some clarity returns to Thresh, the thought of being finished eating bringing him out of his stupor. With lidded eyes, Thresh glances at the manju. The red bean paste dessert taunts him just like Yone’s soothing voice. Thresh opens his mouth. His hands on his stomach, the gurgling mass seems to angrily react at the thought of more food by increasing the churning. Before Thresh can fully open his mouth, Yone places the treat to his lips, cramming it inside Thresh’s mouth. The manju stays in his mouth for a while, Thresh feeling far too bloated to eat anything else.

“Shall I help you?” Yone rests a hand on the top of Thresh’s dome of a stomach. Thresh keeps his tired expression on his plastered face, slowly willing himself to chew. Testing Thresh, Yone simply adds a bit of pressure with the tip of his fingers alone.

“No…” Thresh drawls out, his voice muffled from food in his mouth. He chews the snack, willing his mouth to go along despite his stuffed state.

“Good,” Yone pats Thresh’s head, moving a tuft of hair out of Thresh's eyes. “Two more to go,”

“You said-” Thresh interrupts himself with a sudden burp, the contents of today’s food sloshing inside his stomach with a vengeance. “You said that was the last one,” Yone’s hand on his horns offers little consolation despite the way he rubs them, no one having ever touched his horns in any sense of intimacy or ever in general. Thresh’s eyes are downcast, refusing to look at Yone’s gleeful expression.

“I meant the last plate. C’mon,” Yone coos, as if Thresh were a dog he was trying to hurry. Though Yone finds the comparison somewhat apt, Thresh nearly reduced to whining like an abandoned pup. Patting Thresh’s cheek, Yone swiftly shoves the second manju inside his mouth. He smiles as Thresh promptly chews. Rather lazily, but Yone finds it acceptable, rubbing the sides of Thresh’s stuffed stomach in meticulous, slow circles.

Thresh exhausted, he sighs with each chew, his overtaxed stomach rising and falling with each breath he struggles to get in. His lips smack with each bite, his sharp fangs getting some of the paste and the dough stuck to his teeth in the process. Swallowing, his suddenly parched throat struggles to keep the dessert down, Thresh grimacing as he stares down at his full gut. Yone already has the last one pressed against his lips.

“N-no more,” Thresh begs, feeling positively mocked and pathetic, unable to even bother to lift his head and glare.

Not bothering to respond to Thresh’s plea, Yone plops the treat in Thresh’s mouth. Waiting, the treat simply remains inside Thresh’s mouth, Thresh unwilling to chew. Lifting up Thresh’s head by his horns, Yone ignores the small prickle of tears at the edge of Thresh’s eyes. Thresh's double chin smushes against the palm of Yone’s hand as he cups Thresh’s chin; his other hand remains on Thresh's head. Yone pulls Thresh's jaw down, Thresh simply unwilling to fight, and pushes his jaw up. Nearly babbling as Yone physically forces him to chew, Thresh tiredly stares at Yone's grinning face, his lips slightly upturned.

"Swallow," Yone commands.

With a sharp intake of breath, Thresh nods. Closing his eyes in painful anticipation, Thresh does as he's told. The manju goes down his throat like molasses, Thresh dreading adding even more food to his gut.

The final dish now in his gut like the rest of his feast, Thresh tries not to think about how four entire meals are resting in his burdened stomach, his tongue lulls out in relief. Huffing, his cheeks puff out as he attempts in regaining some sort of breath. His ears downturned, they gain a bit of flush just as the rest of his face does. Eyes lidded, he glares at Yone. Yone suddenly out of his sight, his eyes widen as a pair of hands grab his shoulders. Before he can swing his hefty arms, the act a lot harder than it used to be with the cumbersome weight adorning them, Thresh finds himself staring at his ceiling, his back on the floor as his hair pools around him. He lets out a pathetic moan, his stomach furious with him for the movement. His stomach kicks and screams at him, Thresh whimpering as he tries to helplessly soothe it.

Yone popping into view, he mirthfully grins at Thresh, as much as his usual stoic face allows him at the least.

“You've finally devoured everything,” The remnant of Thresh’s eating apparent only in the emptied plates left in his wake, the contents of most of his meal is a mystery to him with the rushed eating, each plate cleaned dry.

Unable to retort, Thresh focuses his gaze on the ceiling. Desperately reaching for his stomach, his hands barely reach the upper portion of his stuffed, taut gut. The crammed, overworked, mound of fat churns and groans as it struggles to digest the vast entirety of the day’s meal with another meal having just joined it.

A pair of hands resting on the apex of his gut, Thresh shuts his eyes, expecting the worst. He keeps them closed with a contented sigh as they begin to caress the heft of fat, rubbing his stomach in giant circular motions. Yone keeps his eyes closed as well, simply humming to himself as his hands wander and soothe the aching stomach.

“You did so well today,” Yone praises, his hands never leaving the expanse of Thresh’s stomach. Rubbing the overstuffed gut, he carefully maneuvers his hands. The firm mass of fat lightly quivers under his gentle touch. Only giving the slightest of occasional pushes to help ease it, Yone remains dedicated to his task.

Thresh grunts in response, though his face turns even brighter upon focusing on hearing Yone mention today as if tomorrow will entail the same thing. Thresh finds himself looking forward to it as Yone rubs his love handle, another rubbing his horns while peppering his gut with a kiss.

#My writing #league of fatties #idk I couldn't think of any other name #and I wanna mnake one cuase I still in the mood to write about the sett chonk #commission #fat!yone #fat!thresh #ssbhm #maleweightgain #fat fiction

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fragmented-desire · 3 years ago

Note

[ ginger ]

[ Memory Prompts ] - Closed

(( This memory is EXTREMELY long. ))

The flow and ebb of the unending dark and negative energy pulsed and hummed idly in the air, a reminder of that hellish space they called home. The soft click of open heels on obsidian tiles echoed through the dead space, occasionally broken by the sidesteps of lesser devils and dregs of the Dark Area. The hold that cradled and supported the Rookie was gentle and tender, and the smell was reminiscent of floral perfumes and candles. Attached to the beautiful, albeit veiled visage of the woman carrying her, it was comforting as she escorted her like an infant down the halls and through the grand double doors into the meeting chambers.

In the room's center along the outer edges of a lengthy table with a map overlaid, stoic and imposing figures all discussed tactics and plans for battle with a particular Lord at the head of it all, bearing a soft, yet commanding tone that immediately silenced and demanded respect of those in attendance.

"That will not be necessary, Guardian of Greed. Merely continue as necessary in the West until the situation changes. At this crucial stage of the effort, I will not have it all fall apart because someone moves out of line, that includes you, and that Prideful child."

A wizened old man with a golden mask bowed his head, albeit with a scoff, followed by a low, defiant growl of a figure in dark leathers, three crimson eyes staring to the apparent head of this meeting as clawed fingers tapped the table's edge.

"All this meandering and aimless skirmishing feels pointless, Olson. And you know how much I don't care for unfair slaughter of weaklings. How much longer does this need to continue before we can get to the point of all this?"

The Lord of Wrath glanced out from behind his dark helm and sighed, arms behind his back. "Be patient, warrior. You'll have your point. But for us to reach it, a grand cataclysm of sorts must needs be brought about. Thus, we--..."

His words stopped suddenly at the slight clearing of the woman's throat who'd stood patiently near the entryway, the bat Rookie in her arms half-awake following a deal of activity. The room went silent, all eyes falling upon the Lady. Olson locked gazes with his mistress for a lengthy period before waving a dismissive hand to all in attendance. "...You have your orders. Follow them for now. It will all pay off in due time. Go."

With little in the way of complaints, one-by-one, the various Lords departed in puffs of black mist, leaving the three alone in the empty chamber. Silence again filled the air before the woman, without much thought paced around the table with a huff. "You seemed almost too eager to call an end to that meeting...~"

There was another moment of nothing from the imposing, crimson-armored male, then a quiet hum, his heavy footfalls carrying him to the other end of the room to the balcony overlooking his territory beyond the fortress. To see over the fields violet crystal spires that dotted the landscape, or the glass-like sphere that rounded the domain as a whole, the woman falling in a bit behind him with the child in-tow.

"...I'm prepared to bear the burdens of the childish whims and impulses of the other of the Seven and whatever else may come to see our dreams be realized. But this war organizing and politics grows...tiring..." With an amused, sultry chuckle, the womon ran gold-tipped claws over his bicep, presenting the DemiVyremon to him.

"Speaking of, don't you think you spending some time with your actual child is overdue? She's had a long day, I'm sure she'd like to have her father spend at least the last few hours of it with her before bed..."

His obscured gaze peered down at the Rookie, and their large, crimson eyes peeked up at him in turn with a sleepy blink, their little claws rubbing at their tired eyes with a soft yawn. Hesitantly, a large, clawed gauntlet extended a finger to weakly scritch along their fuzzy cheek.

"...Surely your...softer nature and touch is better suited, no? Despite the airs I put on here...all I know how to do is break and damage what I touch. Besides, I've...no time. If left totally unattended, then the others..." He mumbled out, finger ceasing motion as the Rookie's wings lifted in a stretch, then folded their membrane arms around his massive hand, not even coming close to covering it. With a series of chittering squeaks, DemiVyremon's cheek pressed into his palm warmly in a slow rub, and the Demon Lord halted all words to stare. The woman's lips decorated in black lipstick curled into a pleased, soft smile.

"Well, seems she's made up her mind..." Her free hand reached to cup the side of his head, hidden as it was beneath the layer of Digizoid Chrome. The look she gave behind that silver-trimmed black veil was sympathetic and sweet, something uncharacteristic of one bearing her titles. "This war's gone on for decades. You can miss a few hours of it. You should take every moment with her you are able while she's still young."

Olson shook his head slowly, already trying to protest. "But then, who will--"

Once more she halted him with a soft series of shushing sounds, lowering her fingers to his other arm, guiding it to take the bat Digimon from her. "Shhhh-shh-shhhhhh. I can contend with the naughty children and old fools. Spend time with your daughter. She needs you more~." Sliding her claws from him and ensuring the task of holding the Rookie was securely transferred over, she stepped back and pressed back into the marble railing of the balcony, then dispersing in a cloud of bats that flittered and flew into the endless night, leaving them alone.

Silence overtook them once more as now there were two. He found himself staring out into the distance where his partner vanished, only to hear the soft whine of the little one in his arms demand his attention with a gentle pout. "Daddy...helmet scary..."

"My helmet...I see..." He replied softly, letting that statement linger for a short while before at last, with a weary sigh, using his left hand to lift and remove the menacing visage of the crimson helm, resting it on the balcony rail. His softer, albeit dark, shadowed features took time to manifest and adjust to being exposed, piercing, ghostly white eyes without pupils staring down at her. What might be described as 'hair' was but wispy strands of black dust that formed a general, mid-length shape suggesting such. "Is this more suitable then?"

For as conventionally unnatural and unsettling as his features were, this seemed to calm the little one. Enough for her to nod and scramble up his body, climbing her way to settle on his shoulder. "Can you...read for me again...? We never finished our story last time..." This request was almost pleading in tone, emphasized with a few spritely bounces on his pauldron. With little more than a brief blink, he carried them through the room, leading them to the edge where with a snap of his fingers, dark velvet recliner manifested itself in a brief flash. He turned and settled his bulky frame into the cushioned seat, pulling her into his lap while in his off-hand a small, red tome appeared.

"...We left off at...?" He began, his child with an impatient tapping of her talons at his arms excitedly replying, "The princess was sitting in the field with the monster!"

"Ah, yes, how could I forget. Let's see..."

-----------

As his low, nearly-whisper level voice read the tale of a maiden discovering the heart that laid within what seemed to be an angry, lonely beast, minutes passed, and minutes became hours. By the time he'd finished, he'd only just noticed that she'd long since dozed off, curled into a ball against his stomach with the slow rise and fall of her tiny breaths between gentle squeaks. Sighing, he closed the book softly to set it aside, delicately dragging his finger along her cheek in a slow, idle caress.

"Sound asleep...like you don't have a care in the world at all. Right, little one?" His tone, albeit just as calm and soft as ever sounded...somber, even...guilty. He allowed his full palm to rub tenderly over her sleeping head, resulting in her unconscious form smiling softly, nuzzling into his armored form. Something in his dead, cold form...ached at that moment. Made him briefly tense and shudder. Something of a realization came...or rather, he was reminded.

"...That's right. That's why I must succeed. For a world where you will never have to worry...my little Vyre..."

#fragmented (musings)#siren-euphemia #//THIS POST IS LONG

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memoriesofivalice · 3 years ago

Text

Kinowin

A familiar gentle sway kept the world in constant motion as a dull yellow light that should have been the sun swayed from a low ceiling. A low ceiling was a confusing sight for a man who had only seen the open sky for so long and felt the dull ebb of the ocean holding him gently. It had been a comfort in that it kept the heat of the sun away and a curse as it threatened to swallow him whole into the dark depths below. This had been the Au Ra's life for the last three days. Three days of thirst, hunger, fear, and pain. He would not for get these feelings.

Weakly his hand would rise to try and guard away the low light, no matter how dark the room was supposed to be the light hurt his eyes after the salt and foam had ravaged him for near half a week. His eyes traced his pale hand above him, noting the bit of black scale wrapped about his wrist and checkered his forearm. It had dulled from the waters into a dull black, near metal grey. His other hand rising to trace the scale only helped confirm this sight which in his heart lead to hope it was only from his dry eyes than actually marring his visage. A release of air and the weight of the world would bring his hands back to his chest, a soft click of scale to scale as he felt the wrappings of his lineage there as well. Apparently he was still whole.

"Are you awake?"

Startled the Au Ra would blink and try to sit up, causing the world to spin to quickly. He wanted to grab his head to try and steady what was inside but found they wouldn't follow his commands properly, instead providing him a hollow slap.

"Easy, easy. You're safe, take it easy," came the voice again as the provided soon came into his vision. The broad face of a green tinged Roegadyn with eyes red like coals looked down as a he felt the large hand press him back into the cot he lay upon. "Zexx he's awake."

Blinking his eyes a few times the Au Ra would feel his eyes sweep above him to find the tanned and scraggly bearded face of Midlander, a grin wide upon his face. "Well well, you're awake. Welcome back to the land of the living."

"Where am I?" His voice sounded unfamiliar at first as it croaked out drying, swallowing hard in hopes of alleviating the pain only caused his face to twist.

"Hang on, hang on," spoke the one called Zexx as he scrambled out of vision again, the Roegadyn's face following what he guessed was the Midlander while never releasing his press. The green one did not look comfortable with this, despite his dry weary eyes he could clearly see the mars of stress upon him.

Above him again as quickly as the moment had passed would appear the Hyur again, a wooden laden dripping above to land on his chin with a warm wetness that was revolting considering his former circumstance. But a gently lift of his head up brought the laden down to his lips as he noted the clear, odorless liquid within. "Drink up, you're safe."

Four ladles later, the Au Ra laid back again this time with a rolled blanket beneath his head as he felt sated for now. Turning his head he noted the pair watching him, curiosity and caution. The Midlander spoke more than the Roegadyn. "So, lets start with a name eh? We've been just calling you 'Marlin' for awhile but that doesn't seem right and honestly a bit cruel considering the circumstances."

"Marlin? Circumstances?" The words felt odd to say, and stranger that he would repeat them but he felt finding concrete ground was more important.

Zexx's hand would reach up to his own head to touch the temples. "Horns. And yes, we found (or rather I) you floating out in the drink. You were pretty baked and logged at the same time."

"You should be dead," came the deep bass of the Roegadyn.

The Hyur shot the other a hard look as he responded for their patient. "And so should I, Ango. Give it a rest. He's not gonna hurt us."

There was a pause with this statement as they stared between each other before Zexx spoke again looking to the wounded Au Ra. "Are you?"

Taking in a deep breath, the black scaled man would lay back again to look up at the swaying candle. Softly he would speak, to his rescuers just as much as the empty aether. "My name is Kinowin Du'mere. I was travelling by airship to Ul'dah when our ship was struck by lightning and I was thrown from the deck along with a good portion of the hull."

"Three days and nights I have sat in that water," Kinowin continued. "It doesn't sound like a long time, but it felt like forever. Nothing but the waves and my thoughts."

"No one else was with you?" Ango asked quietly as they listened to his short tale.

Kinowin closed his eyes, his mind racing back to the night of the storm. The black skies and strong winds coming from out of nowhere, the crew crying out to brace for impact. A small hand grasping his tightly as they kept close against the raging sky. Looking down into yellow eyes, now rimmed with violet. Eyes that were not hers.

"No. No, I was alone. I am alone."

#FFxivWrite2021 #FFxivWrite #kinowin #free day #day 5 #Zexx Candell #ango #kinowin dumere #final fantasy xiv #balmung #roleplay

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aphspain-pure · 4 years ago

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Spanish Gold in Moscow

@hetaliamondaychallenge September 28: “Chaos isn’t meant to be understood”.

Category: Fanfic.

Pair: RusSpa (Russia x Spain).

Words: 2.073.

Genre: Historical, Drama, angst, shounen-ai.

Note(s): During the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939) the Sencond Spanish Republic was completely ignored by Europe, while the fascist that had rebealed were helped by some militar forces. Spain was basically used as a test game of the military armament and strategy before the 2WW. The only country that gave real help to the Republic was the USSR. To finance the war, the government spent all the Spanish gold.

1938

With an absolute ill look in his face, Spain, who still liked to considerate himself as the Second Spanish Republic, moved his gaze to the door that opened a few seconds before.

Nations could perceive other nations in a certain rate, so he wasn’t really surprised when the other entered the room; he had sensed him from far away, knowing he was leading to his position. Weary eyes without the so-called typical Spanish shine looked at the other, a little smile crossing his feverish face.

- Buenos días, Rusia.

Right in front of him, heavy, enormous and clearly powerful, the actual leader of the giant Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, Russia, stared back at him with his famous sweet smile. Spain didn’t have known him till a pair of centuries ago, but he knew about this certain characteristic even before personally meeting him. He heard from France, England, Prussia, Austria and even Denmark about this “gentle look monster” that was so big and terrifying in the east.

Anyway, Spain didn’t have really hated this guy even once; he was actually grateful for his performance during the Napoleonic wars, though. If it wouldn’t have been for the Russian forces, France’s troops wouldn’t have retired from his vital territory and he wouldn’t have regained his independence. He sighed, trying to get rid of the thoughts of the past.

He was now, currently, going to lose his independence against his own people, in the middle of the worst civil war he had ever have –and Spain was certainly a country that had endured quite some civil wars-.

A strong ache tortured his mind while he suffered a new wave of deaths. Every time his people died, his body would burn and a painful sensation split him in two. They were dying at that very moment, out there, in the valley of the Ebro, killing each other in a battle that had been going on for months. He nearly cried, but couldn’t afford doing it in front of the power that was standing over there, staring at him with a complicated look in his eyes.

After a few moments, Russia, still smiling even if Spain’s looks were terrible, spoke with a calmed voice. – How are your wounds? –he had asked.

A quick smile was formed in the Spaniard’s mouth, quite ironic.

- Well, my right arm has grown up again, so I can’t complain.

Russia stared at the renewed arm, where a few days ago only a stump could have been appreciated. They, nations, received wounds just like humans but their bodies weren’t actually the same. If they were cut, they would recover; if they lost blood, after resting for a while they’d be up again; if they were burn till ashes, they would start to be reborn just like a Fenix. If they were killed, they wouldn’t die.

Only another nation could kill one.

Even if Spain had lately started to question if a nation could kill itself, just like how he was feeling during these days in which he thought he was actually going to be destroyed by his own people.

Russia’s hand reached him and touched his back. He jumped for a moment, sored. He then relaxed, looking far away and not giving attention to the hands that touched his still bleeding injuries.

When a certain happening was so bad, so traumatic, that it gave the nations nearly-coma state, the injuries would still remain bleeding some time. Sometimes it lasted days, sometimes centuries. Those were produced by the bombing, the Biltz, in Guernica, and they still bleed after a year.

He trembled, just by remembering it. The hand in his back made him shiver in pain, but it was the most comforting thing he could afford to have those days, so he didn’t say anything.

Then, he gained composure and faced the other. - What are you doin’ here, anyway? I thought you were going back at your place for some bureaucracy stuff.

Russia remained silent.

That silence made Spain worry.

He didn’t hate Russia at all. He was nice to him, and every time they had met he could only see a true innocence behind the brute and scary dude everyone saw. He liked him quite a bit, and he lately, during his few peaceful years with a Republic, found out that he was such an intelligent and interesting chat partner. Thanks to the leftist ideology of his government the relations with the Soviet Union had been pretty good, so they had become nearly friends at this point.

He even had became the only nation helping him in this suicidal situation.

During civil wars Spain, normally, stayed apart and watched his people decide his fate. He disliked choosing between his beloved people, so que stayed aside.

This time, he couldn’t.

He had seen what happened with Italy after the Great War. The fascism grow up and ate Ita-chan and Romano completely. The brutality that came with it made Spain shiver from his position in the neighbour peninsula. He didn’t recognise his cute Italian brothers with those black shirts and that dark look in their face. Then it expanded to Germany and developed into the National Socialism, which happened to be even worse. A virus was expanding all over Europe and even reached his brother, Portugal.

Spain could have seen it coming. He even spoke with a few general of the army and old requetés, he tried to create a flexible government just to evade the incoming clash. But it was all in vain.

The military coup happened, and while it wasn’t effective, war broke out.

It may be pathetic coming from a country that used to be a world power but, this time, Spain feared his people. That’s why he stayed with the republicans. That’s why he suddenly started dying from the insides.

And while Spain was in that desperate situation, Europe didn’t mind at all and, trying to avoid a Second World War, signed a No Intervention Pact in which 27 countries swore not to intervene in his civil war. That had broken Spain’s heart, who found himself suddenly isolated and left apart, left to die alone. It was even worse when, even if knowing it, the United Kingdom looked away while the Nazi Germany and Mussolini’s Italy broke that pact and helped the rebels. He couldn’t believe England’s coward attitude.

But it was kinda worst when he watched his closest friends actually attack him, help the fascist rebels.

First, the Italian brothers; then, Germany, Austria and Prussia under the name of the Third Reich. Portugal also attacked the Republic by sending his Viriatos and even the American self-proclaimed Hero’s Ford Company sent help to destroy him. All his old friends were against him. He, on the other hand, only received some fusils from Mexico and a few airplanes from a very scared France, who refused to send more help. The only one who lent him it’s power was the Soviet Union, or preferably Russia.

He still remembered when he had met Romano in the site of Toledo. Romano had been excited, he spoke about autarchy, about having a great colonial empire, and about things such as war being the way through the future. His golden eyes sparkled when he had, for the first time in centuries, hugged Spain.

If you join us I promise we’ll bring this to an end. –he had whispered, while speaking about how great it was being a fascist country.

He had been then, suddenly, pulled apart by a giant body that happened to be his ally, Russia, who looked at Romano with electric violet cruel eyes. Spain could have said something to stop a conflict, but, when he looked at Roma, he couldn’t longer see his cute tomato-like crybaby. In the past Romano would have cried and call him to save him but, then, he held his gaze prideful, strong and dangerous in front of the terrible Russia.

A bombing had made them react and, when he came to himself, he was with the International Brigades heading to Madrid.

Remembering all of that made him feel sick and hided half of his face while looking at the floor with a tired smile.

He suddenly had an urge to vomit, but he managed to stay calm and recover a moment later. – Sorry, I beg you excuse me. My house is total chaos now, no, wait… EUROPE is a total chaos now, haha…! I don’t understand how or why, but it makes me think things a way too much.

- Chaos isn’t meant to be understood.

That statement made Spain stay quiet and, then, he looked with his nearly dead green eyes at the other.

- I’m going to ask again, Russia. –he said, this time, cautious-. Why are you here?

- You haven’t paid me to help you lately.

And if he had frozen before, this time Spain had lost all the blood of his veins.

He started sweating. He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t.

- Y-yeah, I-I know… It’s just that all the gold that I’ve been keeping in my reserves has been already taken to Moscow, so I-I…

Russia’s voice was sweet but cold as ice. – You’re not going to pay for my services.

The Spaniard’s eyes opened at his full.

- No! Don’t even think ‘bout that! I’ll pay, I swear it! It’s just that, right now, my people are starving, we don’t have armament and the industry it’s all stopped. I can’t now but, when we win, I’ll return what I owe! A-and I’ll even make it double…! I’ll work hard, I swear. But, now, with all my old gold gone, I…

- So you’re not paying.

The calmed voice made Spain feel like if he were to hyperventilate. He felt like crashing. Like glass about to break.

- I’m not. –he confirmed then.

The taller man stood up, and Spain followed him, clearly desperate.

- Y-you can’t leave me, Russia! If I don’t have your help I’m lost! –after hearing those words the Slavic turned around and faced him, with his so-typical smile in his face.

- So you’ll pay me?

The brunette looked away, clearly ashamed. – I have… nothing to pay you with. B-but I promise..!

- Нет. You can pay me. –response that took an ¿hah..? out of Spain. Russia laughed in a calmed way and then, explained. – Even if you don’t have anything you still possess your body, da?

And Spain’s eyes darkened.

Ah, true. Nation prostitution.

It had been a while.

It used to be so common in the past that he didn’t know why he felt so surprised when Russia suggested it. It may have been ‘cause Russia is fairly younger than himself, or ‘cause the times have changed. He had been so accustomed to it even when he was a child that it wasn’t so much of a surprise finding out that some new power wanted to take advantage of his position to appeal to this. Spain could easily remember when he was forced to be Rome’s or the Islamic Empire’s sex-boy, or even Turkey’s or France’s. Well, he had also been like that with some nations; but, well, let he who is without sin cast the first stone, and he was also a sinner after all.

He looked back at Russia and sighed. – Is this old damaged body worth all the gold I could have had afford to pay you weeks before? –and Russia’s aura became surprisingly pink, just like a happy kid’s.

- And much more! I’m happy so I’ll help you.

And leaned forward to kiss Spain’s forehead. Spain rised an eyebrow, but let him be, anyway. He needed help and Russia was eager to help him only receiving some affectionate touches here and there in return. There were worst things he could have had to do.

Another wave of pain drove him crazy sored and let himself drown in the straw bed he had been using before. He took a deep breath.

Then, when the fever started to be stable again, spoke directly to Russia.

- Well, then, how about a quickie? I have to go back to the battlefield in 30 minutes and I think I could come back quite worse than now, ha ha. –he had laughed, with his shiny –and now tiny- smile.

Russia smiled back, getting rid of his Soviet general military hat while getting closer to the sun-burned skinned nation. He sat, and grabbed the other’s cheeks with a gloved strong hand. That tranquil smile crossed his happy face.

- Let me tell you this is going to be a payment in instalments.

#hetaliamondaychallenge #hetalia #ruspa #russispa #russia x spain #APH Spain #APH Russia #APH Germany #aph romano #APH Italy #aph portugal #implied spamano #Spanish History

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iphoenixrising · 5 years ago

Note

I was thinking about the Titans working with the Avengers Kon and Bart still a little ticked at how Tim was treated brag about how fast Tim bonded with the Avengers. How Tony is seconds away from adopting Tim. How Bucky and Tim have come so close that he is in agreement with Tony to kidnap their new son. How they had to drag Tim out of Tony's lab where he and Peter were playing with DUM-E. To add insult Cass shows up and says how happy Tim is. Dick & Jason are off to get their baby bird back.

Hi babe.

WELP. This is not exactly what you were thinking of, but dammit. Dammit. Angst, you know?

But I mean, I really do enjoy two things: Tony Stark taking Tim in the Tower so they can literally wreck ALL the things; also, the Bats realizing the absolute fuckery of how Tim pretty much got booted out of the role as Robin, then running elbows over assholes trying to get him back and make up for it.

So, I kind of thought it might start out like this maybe...

“How do we look, Tin Man?”

“We look fantastic as always, Klondike. Sexy is our aesthetic. See anything from your perch?”

“You know what I’m looking at, Tones.” The Winter Soldier only partly means the view in Gotham.

And yes, Iron Man already has JARVIS focused on the two vigilantes walking around their Robin’s penthouse apartment. He knew letting Tim come back to Gotham was a bad idea, but dammit Steve had been adamant, saying they shouldn’t try to sway the kid.

“He needs to make his own decisions, Tony. We want him to come back because he wants to, not because we’re pressuring him, right?”

Tony and Buck had immediately called bullshit, but couldn’t argue when Tim himself, old backpack and worn hoodie, no mask over his eyes or utility belt around his hips, just a 19 year old kid that looked so much younger, so timid, so broken without his alter ego.

“It’s time for me to go back,” he’d said quietly to the gathered Avengers, a whole different kid without the mask. “I just wanted to say good-bye.”

His eyes are violet-blue and soft when he looks around at them, seemingly satisfied he’d single-handedly brought the team back together after the shit show that was Civil War. He can leave now since the mission he’d set out to do is accomplished, and is apparent since they’re all gathered in New York City once again, leaving the Compound for the new incarnation of SHIELD with Fury at the helm, pretty much infiltrating the Tower to start the road back to becoming the family they used to be.

(And God is it crazy, fighting and living together with the insanity that is their lives.)

It started with a broken metal arm, alien invasions, and a plate of superior nachos.

It ended up with the team saving each other’s asses, coming to an understanding, fighting it out, then crying it out.

It ended with Wanda sobbing in Tony’s chest while his arms around her are almost as tight as Peitro’s once were, with Steve red-eyed on Tony’s other side, whispering in his hair how never again – together means together, with Bucky’s forehead against the back of his neck and tears streaming down his face, with Bruce and Nat holding hands while their legs tangled with Tony’s, Steve’s, and Vision’s, with Sam laughing at them all while he’s wiping his eyes, with the whole group literally jumping on Thor the minute he touches down with the new haircut and air of perpetual weariness, with them taking up a big table in their favorite 24-hour diner feeding each other and telling stories about what they’ve all been up to since that awful thing at the airport.

Red Robin’s run with them started with fractured friendships and ends with them tripping all over each other during meals and movie nights. Bruce’s curry, Nat’s homemade dressing for the salad, Thor dipping in to snatch bites from everyone’s contribution. But this time around, it’s Sam and Wanda chopping vegetables while Bucky directs a sleepy Tony to a barstool close but out of the traffic, turning around to let the mechanic tie up his hair for him before he joins the cooking fiasco.

A week after they all move back in, he feels good leaving them with the rooms in the living quarters of Avengers Tower full of light and voices and warmth, just like it should have been. He’s giving himself a million vigilante points for this one – even if he’s going back out with no team and no safety net. It’s fine. He’s fine. He can’t stay forever anyway.

Besides, Kon and Bart have been trying to find him again, so it’s time to move on before they get too close. And really, he’s got no other excuses to stay. Bucky’s arm is maintained regularly, the broken team is working and the Accords (thankfully had been attacked on more than one side, thanks to big industries like WE and Queen, Inc. alongside Stark Industries) are modified to protect superheroes rather than stop them from doing what they do best.

All-in-all, he’d say the mission has been a success.

“Tim,” and the Captain moves away from Tony and Bucky’s side, one hand automatically out toward him, “you absolutely don’t have to go.”

“I appreciate the offer,” and he clears his suddenly tight throat, making sure the hood and too-long hair obscure his face. “But, it’s time.”

It only takes a glance back at the full team crowded around the communal floor television while the four player Mario Kart game stays on pause. The faces full of devastation make the message clear enough. With a decisive nod at the silent statement going through the team, Steve turns back to try arguing, the teenager is just–

–gone.

Tony, however, can’t shake the feeling of wrongness in the abrupt departure, and absolutely starts tracking the second he can pull away from the team to set-up protocols to trace the steps of their vigilante.

He listened to Steve’s half-hearted, “you know we can’t interfere with the Justice League, Tony. And Batman? Gotham is his territory. We go there, and there’s no guarantee we’ll be making it out if we even get past city limits.”

“Those guys might have the whole city wired with traps,” Natasha grudgingly admits. “Everyone knows the capes are unpredictable and terrifying. We should at least go through proper channels to get permission. Even if he’s still–”

“Oracle has nothing on me,” Tony’s eyes are all for the blipping red dot on his floating holo-screen.

Steve and Bucky exchange a glance behind Tony’s back, eyes meeting with a silent message. Bucky smirks and slides the muzzle up his face. Steve briskly turns on a heel and leaves the workshop with a plan already forming on how he’s going to run interference with the JLA so Tony and Bucky could sneak into Gotham without making a fuss.

Bucky strides the opposite way, hand on Tony’s bicep, leaning in to talk low, “tell me ya got something more stealthy than red n’ gold, Doll. That or yer gonna play my Oracle, and get me in the kid’s penthouse from somewhere safe n’ sound.”

“Oh hell no. You’re not going anywhere without me. I’ve got a trick up my sleeve, Buckeroo, and it’s going to get us an audience with our disappearing vigilante.”

Tony’s satisfied grin makes him look adorable enough that Bucky has to literally bite down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from kissing (their) the engineer until he begs.

(Not like this. Steve had to be there when they were finally ready to tell Tony how they felt about him. Soon, they’d agreed last night after finding the exhausted mechanic asleep on the kitchen table with a tablet clutched in his hand and could finally admit to themselves how much he made them want.)

“I’ll bite. What d’ya got?”

“Just a little something super waiting in the wings. JJ, fire up the Quinjet. We’ve got a Robin to visit.”

With the Winter Soldier watching the two vigilantes facing Tim through his scope, Tony stands on a closer rooftop with the very new, very nice stealth armor, recording the footage of Nightwing and the Red Hood. His blood heats when it looks like they’re yelling at Red Robin while the younger is obviously bandaging himself up after a bad run-in.

And they’re not even helping him for fuck’s sake.

“Wow, that’s cold,” Bucky says softly while the comm in their ears are giving them the whole conversation. Something about Tim taking on a guy named Bane by himself. Seems to Buck like the kid took the asshole down, so the ass-chewing the other vigilantes are handing him seems to be pretty fucking ungrateful.

“They don’t deserve him. We have more sciency things for him to do. Crime fighting is always fun, but why not build amazing shit in-between?”

“Aw, c’mon Tones. Gotta let ‘im outta the lab so’s we can spar. Kid’s always got tricks. Makes fer some fun.”

“I know that’s why you like him so much, Barnes.”

“What, like I ain’t seen you fightin’ outside the suit before?”

“I’m not teenage vigilante kind of street-smart. I will punch the hell out of you, make some nifty explosions, re-configure your systems...oh.”

“Finally gettin’ it are ya?” And he can’t help it when his tone drops a little, watching Nightwing’s arms flail. “S’why I like ‘im. Reminds me of you, Doll.”

“...you might actually make me blush, Soldier. How novel.”

“If it helps, Steve never believed ya were just a guy in a suit. Not from the moment he met ya.”

“Where the hell did that come from?”

“Like I ain’t hung out with ya the past few months? I know how ya think, Stark, and ya ain’t just the armor.”

“Sure, sure. In all actuality, I’m the most well-paid consultant that ever lived.”

The Winter Soldier’s eyes flicker over where the Mark XXI is ducked in the shadows, jaw clenching because Tony’s odd self-deprecating tendencies bothers him just as much as it bothers Stevie. At some point, they’re going to address it with Tony, face-to-face. Not now, but that day is going to come, so help him.

In the meantime, Bucky tunes back in on the conversation happening inside, flips the safety on his rifle, and starts moving closer to Tony’s roof since they might not even need Plan B after all.

“What does that even mean, Timmy?”

“Calm it down, Big Wing. Pretender, look–”

“Do you see a fucking R on my chest, Hood?” And even from where he’s trucking over rooftops, Bucky can see the tension in Tim’s spine, the fast, angry movements as he tapes gauze pads to obviously fresh stitches. “I’m not ‘pretending’ fuck anymore. So how about you fuck off with that ‘Pretender’ shit.”

“...all right. That’s fair, so my bad. But lookit, B is all about ya coming ta the yearlies, you feel me?”

“What part of ‘it’s not my place’ isn’t clear here?”

The sigh from Nightwing is loud enough to hear it over the microphone Tony planted when they touched down.

“You have got to get over this thing,Tim. Dami’s been Robin for–”

“That’s what you think? That I’m fucking jealous, Dick?”

“He was a kid. He’s not still crying about the past–”

“Get. The Fuck. Out.”

The quiet calm of Tim’s tone is enough to make Bucky pause, and the sleek black Iron Man armor to step out of the shadows.

“I’m serious Tim! Listen–”

“I’m done. Done with you, done with the Bats, I’m fucking done. So do us both a favor and forget you were ever here.”

Nightwing flinches, his shoulders and back getting tight by the time Bucky is beside Iron Man, frowning behind the muzzle.

“I think we’ve heard about enough,” is distorted but still so Tony through the suit’s synthesizers. “Want a ride, Red Dawn? We can show up and be the likeable ones for once.”

“Really, Iron Man? I thought only Cap got special rides.”

“Well, I will always make an exception for my Bucky Bear, you know,” and he wiggles an arm, sighs a little as the Winter Soldier steps up against the suit, stepping up on to the rocket boots.

Having Bucky against him is something he can keep locked in the secret file in his brain he pulls up when he has bad days. Things like Steve hugging him, trips to the ball field, Bucky hanging out with him in the workshop while Steve drew or read or did paperwork on his tablet.

(Things he can never have. Sure, he can want, but he can’t let it get too real. Locking it away is safer for everyone.)

Knocking on the door of Tim’s balcony, shaking up the Bats, is really much more satisfying than Tony would have thought ten seconds ago.

He knows Tim is shocked, had probably been expected the big, bad Bat at his door rather than two Avengers waiting for entrance.

In his black and gold stealth armor, Tony waves metal fingers when the curtains pull back and Tim’s mouth drops open on the other side.

The door is wrenched open, and they can both hear, “we ain’t done here, Tim,” from inside, but Tim absolutely ignores it to stare wide-eyed at Iron Man and the Winter Soldier just, you know, hanging out on his balcony of all the fucking places.

“Tony. Bucky, what the hell–”

“Leave you alone for a few minutes, and you’re all kinds of hurt. Why am I not shocked? Winter Wonderland, are you shocked?” Tony gives no shits about interrupting this cute little family get-together and absolutely pushes his way in to Tim’s penthouse without a fuck to give.

As normal, Bucky is more of a doer than a talker when he’s in the mask, so Tony gets to watch him do that incredibly sexy murder strut right over the threshhold and grab a hold of Tim’s elbow. He snickers at the older vigilantes obviously gawking as the Winter Soldier pushes the third Robin down in a seat at his kitchen table right by the open first-aid kit.

“Zadnitsa,” the Winter soldier snarls in rebuke, already digging out more gauze pads.

“I missed you too, Frosty,” Tim shoots back, obliging the dangerous assassin by holding still while the gauze pads are taped down and more alcohol wipes are used to disinfect a serious slice on Tim’s shoulder blade.

Honestly, Tony has no idea how he even managed to stitch it himself, but the helmet swings over to the two surprised vigilantes.

“This sure as hell ain’t a good way to show it, y’know,” Bucky pulls the goggles off but leaves the mask, metal arm moving seamlessly while he gently pats the remaining slice with disinfectant.

“Well, I didn’t expect you two to just drop in or anything. Or else, I might have a nice psycho for you to take down.”

“Well, shows you, don’t it?”

“I guess so. But I do have a bag full of plums in the fridge, so you’re in luck.”

“Hell yeah, Red.”

The faceplate of the helmet kicks up and Tony is grinning beneath it, “aww, plums for our favorite murder bot? What about coffee for your best engineer friend–”

Bucky pauses abruptly, and Tony sees the movement, a soft sigh of sound, but only just. The knife as long as his forearm is just suddenly out, metal hand on Tim’s good shoulder, holding him down, some automatic instinct to protect the kid makes Tony bite the inside of his cheek so he isn’t smiling.

The other vigilantes, however, are really intimidated in their own right since Red Hood has twin .45s in his gloved hands and Nightwing’s escrima sticks spark a few times for good measure.

“Tim, get up slowly and step back,” Nightwing’s voice is just this side of dangerous.

“We gotcha back, Tim, you feel me?” Hood’s thumbs flick the safety, a whole lot of not fuckin’ around happening right here.

“Do me a personal favor,” the unmasked vigilante deadpans, “and go fuck yourselves.” Tim wiggles out from under the hold on his shoulder and stands, gingerly puts a hand on Bucky’s brandishing the knife. He waits for those blue-gray eyes to slide over to him.

“C’mon, Bucky,” Tim tries to cajole softly, “these guys aren’t a threat. The knife is very nice. Is it new? You know I like to look at new weapons, but you can put it away. Promise.”

“Malyutka,” is a question more than a statement.

Tim huffs in annoyance because honestly, he’s not a kid. (Welp, take into account, 100+ year old assassin, and maybe he can see the point.)

“My apartment, my rules, and if anyone, anyone,” he stresses, glaring at the two tense vigilantes, “gets blood on my floors or walls, then it’s fucking on. Everyone get that?”

“You’ll have to forgive us for being jumpy,” Nightwing deadpans, “we have a tendency to treat legendary assassins with immediate attention when one’s in our city, right Hood?”

The stiff angle of the guns doesn’t waver, nor does the helmet move. “Gotta say,” Hood’s voice is deep, even with the synths, “always thought this might go down different if our paths ever crossed again, Soldier.”

From behind the muzzle, Bucky’s teeth flash white, a terrifying smile, “last time my Handler wouldn’t let me kill you, Red Hood. Wanna to give it a go now that I don’t have one?”

“Sounds like a fucking party to me, sweetheart. Ya gimmie a time n’ I’ll bring the motherfuckin’ confetti.”

“Any. Fuckin’. Time–”

“As entertaining as this is,” Tony interjects, the soft haaa when the armor opens up to let him step out, “our host absolutely said no blood, right boys?”

Slowly, weapons lower, but the tension is high in the room, only broken when Bucky points a gloved finger back to the chair Tim was previously in.

(And during the time Tim had spent with the Avengers, none of them knew the Winter Soldier and Red Hood had met before. He’s going to want some details on that little scuffle.)

“Thank-you. I’m glad good manners are winning out over bullshit posturing,” and Tony pours on his media smile, giving Nightwing and the Red Hood something else to look at while Bucky gently finishes up with their vigilante. “Because really. We’re literally all on the same side here. We just happen to go through legal channels to beat the shit out of bad guys. Not as much fun, but you can’t beat the tax breaks.”

“Mmhm, I’m really hoping you aren’t in Gotham as Iron Man, Mr. Stark. You know there are rules about being in this city.”

And Tony would bet his entire fortune Nightwing has a listening device somewhere in that ridiculously tight suit for the Dark Knight to monitor what’s happening in Red Robin’s apartment right this moment.

(Especially the fact they know his civilian identity and are comfortable enough calling him by his real name. They probably aren’t going to be on any Justice League party invites for a while after this. He wonders how Steve is doing with Superman and Wonder Woman right about now.)

“I asked them to come,” Tim interjects, not bothering to glance at either vigilante, “they’re here to help me with a case. My lead is a dead-end, so we’re all going to be out of Gotham as soon as fucking possible. The Batman will have to deal with it.”

Tony hums, crosses his arms over his chest. He meets Bucky’s quick glance, quirks a grin since maybe they could convince him to come to New York instead. Or, if his Plan B is still waiting in the wings, they could do something altogether different.

(There’s a whole floor available in the Tower, and wouldn’t that be some incentive for Tim to get it together and land somewhere more permanent?)

“Tim…” and the wealth of warning there isn’t enough to earn Nightwing the youngest vigilante’s attention after the last gauze pad goes on.

But the youngest of the vigilantes stands from his chair, turns to give them the same fuck you and the zip line you rode in on attitude, “don’t fucking even with me, N.”

“You can’t come to the yearly gathering for one night, but you can pal around with the Avengers?”

And oh! Is that jealousy he hears? Tony has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking because wow, Nightwing does not sound very happy.

“It’s none of your fucking business–” and that tension is back in the square of Tim’s bare shoulders, the flex of his forearms.

Tony easily picks up his discarded nerd shirt, pointedly steps between him and the glowering vigilantes, shoves the shirt over the kid’s head and ignores his sputtering.

“I’m sure nothing that would interest you,” Tony makes a point to stay between the two groups, “I mean, you don’t work with Red Robin anymore, right? So he’s a free agent. Believe me, he’s been super helpful with us in New York, I don’t know if we'd all be in the same room without him.”

Tony is being absolutely innocent about it, letting Tim shove his arms in the right places while he grins at the obviously unhappy vigilantes over his shoulder.

The glare Tim levels at him would have probably withered anyone else. Good thing Tony has very, very little shame, and between him and Steve, the best troll in the Avengers award is still undecided. This might just put him over the top. He doesn’t need Bucky to remove his mask to know there’s a smirk underneath.

“I’m sorry, what now?” The whiteouts swing from Tim to Tony, “since when don’t we work together? We only have since you were twelve–”

“And we haven’t since your Robin kicked me the fuck out of my home. I’ve been out of the Cave, out of this city, and out of your life since then, so don’t come here with some attitude about it.” Tim’s eyes slide to the Red Hood. “You two coming here to ask me about the yearlies? Like I’ve been there for the last three? Like I haven’t come back unless someone called me in because, let’s face it, I’m just another body to fight the good fight, right? So this? Acting like I’m just going to forgive and forget? You can both absolutely go fuck yourselves.”

And some tiny part of Tony feels utterly proud in that moment, feels somewhat vindicated at how cold and calm Tim is, how he’s just laying it all out on the table, no bullshit, no contingencies, no taking the high road, no giving in, and it’s so much the Tim he knows, squaring his shoulders and facing both older vigilantes with anger so cold it burns.

“I–I mean, Tim–”

“There is literally nothing you could say right now that I’d want to hear, Nightwing. Nothing. All those years of fighting together, of being partners? I never would have guessed you’d be the one to stab me in the back, but I guarantee you won’t get another chance.”

But, the night gets that much better when Nightwing and the Red Hood gives them the death glare of doom before Tim pretty much kicks them out of his apartment.

Tony isn’t cheering out loud, but wow does he want to.

“Timmy,” Nightwing gives it one last, desperate try, turning at an impossible angle with one leg out the window to face the de-masked vigilante, tone low and serious.

“You’re a few years too late, Nightwing. Now get the fuck out.”

Tim had flicked his hand out behind him, a flat palm telling Tony and Bucky to stay back when he pretty much forced both vigilantes out of his apartment with a sneer of disdain and a promise to set his security protocols to shock the utter fuck out of them if they ever tried to come back to his last hold-over in Gotham. By the way the Red Hood stood shock still, and Nightwing’s frown deepened, they apparently believed him.

While Tim shuts the windows, locking them with finality, Bucky finally pulls off his muzzle and goggles, exchanges a worried glance with Tony when he realizes Tim’s hands are shaking.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Is soft but firm, is obvious Tim is trying to put himself back together.

“Well, as I said earlier–”

“Don’t bullshit me, Tony. There’s no case.”

With how empty and cold Tim sounds, how his hands are fisted at his sides, the tremble going through him, Tony pauses to take in the rest of the signs. He catches Bucky’s eyes and makes an executive decision.

Plan B it is.

“Okay, you’re right. No case. But, what I do have for you is more interesting and important than a case right now. Meaning, I still need your help with it.”

And when the kid finally turns to face him, face them, Tony can see the effects of dealing with Nightwing and the Red Hood in the clench of Tim’s jaw and the way he won’t really meet Tony’s eyes. A distraction is exactly what he needs, a reason to get the hell out of this city before he drowns in his own misery.

Instead, Tony turns his head toward a window, “all right, kid. Time to make your dramatic entrance!”

The super speed never gets old.

Not to mention the fact, Superboy is absolutely adorable when he’s just suddenly there, grabbing Tim around the waist and hugging him a little desperately.

“Oh my God, Kon?!”

Blue eyes blown wide, Tim’s eyes go from the meta-human wrapped around him to Tony’s soft smile to Bucky’s gentle smirk.

“Tim, Tim I can’t– I just! I...I missed you so much, Tim. We all missed you so much,” and Kon-El’s voice is barely a croak, heavy and thick with emotion, his face buried in the side of Tim’s throat, his back hunched over the smaller vigilante. “I needed to see you. Sorry about this, but...I’m not really.”

Like muscle memory, Tim’s brings a hand to the back of his best friend’s neck, making small circles against the tight tendons with his finger tips, still looking more shocked than pissed.

Tony is absolutely going to take it as a win.

**zadnitsa means ass or asshole kind of. Thanks Google Translate :D

#crossover au #tim drake #tony stark #bucky barnes #steve rogers #jason todd #dick grayson #conner kent #winter answers #yet another drabble #my drabble #my writing

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yellowsugarwords · 5 years ago

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Walking Dead Game FanFiction - “Missing More”

Title: Missing More Characters: Ericson Kids Summary: When Clementine and the Ericson crew drive to Clementine’s childhood home, they get to relive her last few moments with Lee again from a found video recording. Takes place after episode 1. Author's Note: Okay so the premise of this is going to be a little wonky to give this plot an opportunity to happen so let’s pretend that the Stranger wasn’t killed and continued to stalk Clementine after she left with Lee okay bye enjoy. Sequel to this fic Requested By: Anonymous support me with ko-fi ♡ ---------♥️♥️♥️----------

For years, every time her birthday rolled around, Clementine asked for the same thing: “Just once, I want to go back to my childhood home and get some closure.”

Little did she know that, since she first started making that wish, the crew had been working on exactly that.

In one of the back garages, Marlon had found a busted old van. It only had a sliver of gas in it, and was in rough shape, and the following years were spent scavenging for gas, and attempting to get the van working again.

As Clementine’s 19th birthday lingered on the horizon, they’d done it: Mitch had replaced the final busted part of the van, and the crew had managed to fill and find a total of 8 gasoline tanks.

“How many do you think we’d need for a road trip?” Violet had asked.

Marlon had only shrugged. “We might as well be safe and take all 8.” They had no idea how cars worked — hell, only a few of them even knew how to drive — but they were going to try their best regardless. For Clementine.

The first half of the drive was filled with excited chatter and blissful conversation. To keep watch over the school, Omar, Aasim, Brody, and Ruby decided to stay back at the school. Marlon, Louis, Violet, Clementine, AJ, Mitch, Willy, and Tenn were the group that hit up the van.

“We’ll be back in a few days.” Marlon said, already having worked out himself how long the drive would be. “Keep hold of the fort until then.”

Everyone nodded, hugging and wishing each other well, before venturing off.

Then, the fun began.

“Pass me the crackers.”

“You’ve already eaten like half the bag.”

Willy scoffed, snagging the bag out of Mitch’s hands and shoving another scoop into his mouth. “How long until we get there?”

Marlon adjusted the rear-view window, casting a harsh glare the child’s way. “Still a few more hours.”

“Ugh. We’ve been driving all day.”

“That’s why it’s called a roadtrip, Willy.” Louis said, smirking into the back. “We need to travel a distance to get there.”

“What Louis means,” Violet said through a sigh, “is shut up, Willy.” Her head leaned against the back of her seat, eyes closed, body tense.

Clementine, sitting in the passenger seat, smirked into the open, empty highway. It was familiar to her in the strangest way. She’s never driven the highway before today, but it felt warm somehow. Familiar. As though it was a shadow of the life that used to dwell there; along the sides of the road and off into the distance.

By the time they actually hit the city, the feeling of warm nostalgia took a dark, quick turn. The abandoned homes, eerie streets, and haunting a sense of life made Clementine’s skin crawl.

“Left here,” she whispered, voice haunted and scared. Still, despite the heartache she felt seeing her old hometown in ruin, she still knew her way home. Her parents had taught her to memorize the ‘important streets’ so she always knew how to get home if she ever became lost. If there was ever an emergency.

She gave direction the entire drive home, her code wavering and her hands forced into her lap, wound tightly together. She had braced herself for the worst — for her home being unrecognizable — but this somehow she hadn’t prepared for.

She hadn’t been prepared for the extent of how different everything would look.

By the time the car rolled to a stop, everyone bouncing with the weight of the breaks, Clementine was hesitant to lift her gaze from her lap.

“Clem? Is this the place?” Marlon asked. Realizing she didn’t have a choice, she gulped and looked up.

Her eyes immediately grew teary, studying the cracked windows and worn wooden panels. “Yep.” Was all she could muster, cracking her door open and stepping outside. The grass was dead, the building tattered and beaten by the elements, and the door was cracked and splintered. Apparently, someone had once jimmies a knife into the lock to get inside the house, clearly unaware that the back door had been left unlocked.

But, what brought Clementine the biggest moment of pause was the full mailbox.

She frowned, drawing closer to the door, running her fingers over the tattered and tarnished wood. Inside, she found a package, wrapped and labelled, her name scrawled on the front in messy black ink. Her heart leapt into her throat, freezing there.

“Clementine?” Louis asked. Clementine said nothing, only tore open the end of the package and slipped out a flash drive with a slip of paper taped to it. Louis, peeking in over the girl’s shoulder, held his breath. “Oh my God.”

Suddenly, all the Ericson kids turned, brows raised, drawing closer to the duo. The note was short, and simple, but haunting.

‘Something I think you’d like to see. - your friend’

Clementine closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then pushed open her front door. She slipped through her house, ignoring the overturned and tattered furniture, the haunting, dried pool of blood in the kitchen, and the dead body of her babysitter, abandoned by the back door.

She ignored it all and made her way toward the computer tucked into the back corner. All she could do was pray, that somehow, it still worked. She opened the laptop, her fingers crossed and strained, then hit the power button. Luckily for her, it came to life, thanks to being plugged in until the last moment electricity was active in the world.

By the time that nostalgic glow smacked her in the face, she realized the battery was at a dwindling 10%. Urgently, she slapped in her father’s password and jammed in the flash drive.

“What are you doing?” Marlon asked, arms crossed in horror. “You can’t just check to see what’s on it.”

“Why not?” Violet challenged. “Are you not curious about what’s on it?”

Clementine huffed, as though frustrated at how long it was taking the old laptop to register the flash drive. “I haven’t lived in this house in years, and yet, somehow, someone sent a package here addressed to me.” She turned, flashing Marlon a harsh glare. “I’m watching it.”

When she turned back to the screen, after silencing the room with her statement, she noticed there was only one file on the drive. It was fairly small, a single video file titled ‘the end’. With a deep breath, and with a shaking hand on the track pad, she moved towards it and clicked.

A security camera video popped to life, hauntingly similar. Clementine squinted, adjusting the brightness on the computer, aware it was going to drain the battery even further. Then, as two figures fumbled into the frame, Clementine’s breath caught in her throat. “No.” Was all she could muster.

It was her and Lee, entering the jewellery store, Lee’s lower arm missing, Clementine shaking and sobbing from spotting her dead parents roaming the streets.

“What’s going on?”

“Clem?”

Clementine stumbled away, ignoring Louis and Marlon’s panicked questions. She turned away, studying the corpse of her babysitter on the floor, decayed and unrecognizable.

It had been the Stranger. She knew it. She could feel her gut twisting at the mere thought.

After Lee had rushed her out of there after beating the man senseless, he’d come to and hadn’t stopped. He’d followed them to the jewellery store, watching as Clem was forced to kill Lee, and then stole a copy of the security tape, hoping and praying to prove to Clementine that... what? She had someone ‘watching out for her’?

“Clementine, what is this?” Violet asked, refusing to take her gaze off of the haunting image before her. AJ, creeping forward to get a better glimpse, felt his heart race at the sight of the child and older man.

“That’s me and Lee.” The room went dead-silent, as much also that everyone could hear a pin drop. “And I’m about to kill him.”

The group grew silent. Mitch, Louis, and AJ were the only ones who could look away, glancing nervously at the girl rather than studying the clip. Inevitably, all except Louis turned back to watch. Louis couldn’t stomach the sight.

There was muffled speaking — so quiet that the mics couldn’t quite pick it up — and shuffling around the room. The group watched as Clementine secured Lee to the radiator, as she lifted the gun to his head, as they made their teary goodbyes.

Then, the gun shot.

The room was silent and still, watching as the battery continued to drain from the small device before them. Clementine said nothing. She didn’t react, she didn’t flinch, she just stared dead-ahead at the bloody puddle in the kitchen, longing to be anywhere else but there.

Her eyes glossed over, feeling closer to Lee than she had felt in a long time in her home, before flicking away a single ear and starting for the door. “I think I’m ready to go home now.” She whispered.

“Home?” Willy hushed. Mitch set a hand on the child's shoulder, hoping to pause him from asking further questions.

“Real home.” Clementine clarified, refusing to look their way. She didn’t want to sneak an accidental glance at the computer scene. “Not here.”

Louis stepped forward, his heart heavy and weary, throwing his arm over her shoulders and guiding her toward the exit. “We can do that.” He cast a glance back at everyone else — daring and challenging — before exiting the room and starting for the van.

The group stood silent, heart weary and heavy, stomachs fragile and depressed. Without a word, all of them retreated to the van, silently getting in, remaining silent for the first chunk of the drive home.

Then, when Clementine grew teary-eyed in the passenger seat, Louis began loudly screaming ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads’.

Then, Clementine knew she was home.

Then, Clementine knew what home actually felt like. It wasn’t a place. It was a group of people, a tiny, busted van, and throwback songs from a better life. ---------♥️♥️♥️----------

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askarcee · 4 years ago

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silent-stalker

The touch to bared, scarred faceplates had Soundwave frozen. Digits so gentle, barely touching upon the edges of his scar - all he could was stare in unrestrained shock. Exposed violet optics wide with disbelief - could Arcee truly not see what he was? Open and laid bare without his visor to shield him, could this little two-wheeler not comprehend that no matter how polite he could be, how fragile he seemed now, that he was a murderer?

Everything about him screamed predator; the four optics meant to see his victims in the dead of night, the teeth that could so easily bite off the hand caressing his face - and yet, no fear.

Soundwave let his optics shut, and leaned into her touch, arm rising so he could curl thin digits around her hand.

“I’m s-sor-sorry,” His voice is cracking, breaking, becoming disjointed and distorted by a painful attempt to say something that means something. It’s a wonder the words are even coherent, with that amount of static. “You des-deserve b-be-better.”

"Nah," Arcee said, sounding tired; Not of him, but of the same things that made him weary. "I think I'm getting just what I need." She left the statement open for interpretation, not having the energy to elaborate further. The tatty texture of Soundwave's scar scratched the pads of her fingertips, and for a moment, she'd considered leaning in for a closer look.

Arcee did see everything Soundwave was. And despite her relaxed posture, she knew the danger she was in; she'd always known. At any moment, Soundwave could throw his attempted truce out the window and retreat to the shell of his comfort zone. Pick her up like the glorified paperweight she was, open her, and spill her life over the floor. Arcee knew she didn't have the firepower to stop him, and these days, she was uncertain if she had the willpower either.

"You don't have to apologize," She said, shaking her head as she thumbed over the stretch where the cut had to have sunken the deepest. She appreciated his attempt at speaking verbally, the jungle of static and hoarse stutters that threaded his words. She had no problems understanding him, and thought no less of him for how he sounded, what would be pity replaced by an unending desire to turn who caused him to sound this way into tar. "We're kinda similar, you and I," A ghost of a smile raising the bolts on her profile. "You're a miserable pile; I'm a miserable pile. Seems like a match made in heaven to me."

One of these days, someone was going to beat her good for that mouth of hers, and she'd welcome it if they could ever catch her. Wit as a coping mechanism was one of Arcee's favorites, even if it got her many a stern talking to in her youth about "sensitivity".

"Besides, I can say the same thing about you."

#silent-stalker

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langdonsvcrd · 5 years ago

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Hot & Cold: Xavier x Fem!oc Reader

Summary: OC Reader sees Xaviers favourite purple jumper in the lake of Camp Refwood and almost drowns retrieving it, the two had been best friends [with hidden feelings] for one another since they were 14. Xavier hears Mavrey’s Chimes that she’d set up with Chef Bertie an hour before the incident, Ms Bertie had a suspicion the two had mixed feelings for one another yet wouldn’t admit it. This ends with Xavier clutching tightly against his lovers limp corpse feeling the wet sensation of water seep within his burns, Mavrey comforts the man and kisses his burns as if he’d never not been beautiful his entire life with or without his burns, but then Xavier notices her bloody chest, Mavrey stutters and confesses her love for him before kissing his lips like a hazey ghost, then falls. Collapsing into an oblivion like darkness set awaitimg for her arrival.

Warnings: none just an extremely sad: hurting/ xavier

____

RUELLE: War of Hearts [acoustic]

Come to me.

—

“Mav?” Xaviers pet name for his best friend came off rather hesitant, because she’d always answer him the first few times to when he’d call it. Xavier shifted himself into the cookhouse rolling his eyes at this sneaky game. “Mavrey I’m not playing with you, come on you need to go to bed I know how you get all cranky and shit over a few hours of sleep missed princess.”

Xaviers eyes moved along the kitchen appearance, his heart pondered over the concept that his best friend might be sneaking around the kitchen for snacks again.

In the night hours.

“Mavy you idiot it’s 2:45 in the fucking morning, a king needs his sleep too. Princess come the fuck on!” But that’s all Xavier could murmur under a whisper, before his gaze became hazy and unbearable. “What th-“

I will wait for you.

“Xav?” Mavrey swept across the riverside, her voice slightly weary in her interruption unto Xaviers whereabouts, she was told by Montana that her dearest best friend had stalked off to the lakeside for a quick jazz sesh in the Woods. His words exact were: ‘I’m becoming one with nature Tana who knows maybe I’ll stumble upon Chef Bertie on my stroll.’

And I can't sleep.

“Xav, Tana told me you were out here? Come on it’s 2 fucking something in the morning headass and I’m tired!” Mavrey kept stalking the lakeside before fleeting upon Xaviers favourite sweet violet jumper. “Do I always have to pick up after you asshole. Jesus! I want to go to BED!” Mavrey bent down to retrieve the slightly wet jacket, she was confused it was in direct aim of the lake.

“Oh.” That’s when the dots had clicked into place.

'Cause thoughts devour, Thoughts of you consume’

“If this is some kind of way to lure me into this stupid Ice bath think again!” After murmuring this a soft set of bubbles floated above the moonlit lake, just a few feet aways from where Xaviers purple beloved jacket was thrown. At this point Mavery’s heart had exploded, with worry. She did what she thought was right: she ran into that stupid lake to save her best friend or so she thought he was there.

I can't help but love you.

“Mav!” Xavier screamed eyes straining for tears to spill, his skin began blister and his heart wrenched out of his chest. Literally. “Mavrey! Help me!” The soft sobs of Xavier could be heard but whoever had the intention to shove him into this human like oven, watched with a gentle wave before speaking to him.

“Shes down too deep for your warmth now. Pretty boy” With that the unknown suspect strained to leave, just after hearing this Xavier bumbled an escape. Painful cries left his chapped and crusted lips and at this point he couldn’t careless about himself or his ego. He had to get out of this boiling hell.

Even though I try not too.

“N-No! Someone!” Stuttering at the thought of Mavrey getting hurt triggered his ambition to fight for his life. “SOMEONE! Please.” Falling to push the oven glass door once again fell hopeless for Xavier. “I love you!” His soft statement fell on deaf ears. He only wished Mavrey could hear his pleading.

I can't help but want you.

Mavrey’s skin ran cold, her eyes were shut and lungs soaked with heavy falls of water. Yet she still had her hand shackled to Xaviers sweet soft purple jumper as if her lifeline were connected to it. She had no idea what happened but she was being dragged deeper into the darkest part of whatever this hell was in an instant.

She tried to pull her feet away, kicking down towards the source but seemed to have failed in keeping air within her at the same time. The hand that was latched to her had vanished and now she was lost in her own mind to snap out of this hazy settlement. Memories flipped along her brain in order to help her fight for her own life, sweet thoughts.

Happy ones that made her heart flatter and it was all directed to the man who’d brought her here to begin with. “Xav?” Air bubbles formed around the small girl, heart pondering over the male, she had to get out of this predicament. She had to fight for him.

I know that I'd die without you.

—

Pulling herself out of the lake bubbled the girls attention, Mavrey blinked the tears away, her eyes strained with them still yet she wanted to be that ‘big girl’ Xav always taunted her to be. Falling to her feet Mavrey whimpered at the seeping sensation set in the centre of her chest directly set between her breasts. She muffled a cry when she pressed down unto the open wound, she was penitrated with a wooden stake, Mavrey hadn’t noticed since Xaviers jumper covered the wound. “Xa-“

SCREAMING FROM THE CAFETERIA ROOM:

That’s when Mavrey limped off, tears trailing down her face as she pushed her way down to the Cafeteria Room in order to retrieve her best friends precious life. “I’m coming Xav wait for me!” The small girl whipped her left to right feet up the sturdy wooden steps, she felt her heart drop when the door to the Cafeteria openedher eyes watered, leaving her gaze to drop on a slightly disgorged Chef Bertie. An unsteady breath left the girls mouth, Bertie was stabbed constantly from the back, she was beaten and bashed.

Stay with me a little longer.

“K-kitchen.” Berties words came out as a sob, Mavrey set herself next to the broken woman. Heart shattering when Bertie pushed the child away. “Y-you have t-t-to get h-him.” - “N-no Bert-“ Bertie pulled the girl to face hers I’m a demanding manner. “Kitchen!” Bertie muttered.

Mavrey’s eyes snapped to the slightly dimmed Kitchen doorway. It was lit like a warm fire on Christmas. But what came next only ceased for Mavrey to fall teary. “Xavier.” She’s rushed to the male in a hurry her voice cracking when her gaze fell on the boy she’d loved trapped within his personal hell.

I will wait for you.

Falling from the heated contraption, Mavrey clutched herself unto her best friend. Her arms pulled the man in as he too pulled her unto him, Xavier sighed deeply at the cold sensation set to sooth his blistering skin. He’d cried whilst clunging himself to the small rigid girl, his heart broke and it wouldn’t stop. He just cried and held his lover closer to him. “I-thought id lost you.” Mavrey’s voice came out sturdy and slightly different. Xavier shut his eyes switching to cup the girls face in the palms of his hands. “I couldn’t find you.” He sobbed lips pulling into a frown. Mavrey lightly laid his soaked purple jumper she had cover her chest to his shoulders letting the soft water seep his hot body. “I- I c-couldn’t find you e-either.” Xavier eyes opened and shone over his best friend, Mavrey had a gentle smile plastered on her face as she gazed up at this precious wonder boy. “I couldn’t lose you too.” She whispered. Xav bit his bottom lip tears streaming down his face before his eyes trailed down to the dark red soaked blue overalls set in the centre of Mavrey’s chest.

And want grows stronger, deeper than the truth.

“N-no-“ Xavier shuttered at the wound his hands pulled from the girls face to the seeping red stake wound. Mavrey wasn’t just cold from the lake, she was losing a lot of blood too. “Mav-“

I can't help but love you.

Mavrey just smiled up at Xavier, her lips fell agap when she’d finally gotten to see the appearance of the boy. Tears fell from her eyes before she softly reached up to cup Xaviers face for the last time. “Ma-Mav you’ll be okay- I just w-we ha-“ Mavrey’s bottom lip trembled along with Xaviers. “Still pretty.” She’d shuttered out. The poor boy shut his eyes at the way Mavrey had said that, his hands covered his best friends. The wonder boy was broken he just couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t live with himself if she did die on him. The two had sobbed together, their breathing in sync with one another like a harmony set to rhyme.

I can't help but want oceans to part.

“I-I love you.” And that was all it took for the two to break. After Xavier had said this his eyes softly fluttered open in an instant, but when they did his breathing stopped like the limp body set beneath him had fallen. The love of his life had stopped breathing, her cold hand had slipped from his and her eyes had closed. “M-Mav?”

The first time he’d said ‘I love you’ felt as if it were going to be the only time. Xavier never had the intention to say I love you in his entire life, he thought the sentence was a cheap way to say “I want to fuck you.”Yet now he finally knew the real intention to the sentence.

Cause I'm overcome in this war of hearts.

“Mavrey h-hey.” Yanking his limp best friend to sit on his lap felt heavy on Xavier. “Wake up- P-please.” His sobs became more intense and he thought the girl was joking, like she usually did. But she wasn’t. “M-Mavrey.” -“I-I said I loved you- w-wake up.” Xavier kneeled Forward hands falling to pull the girl to his chest, his cries began to build and fall out of his mouth harsher and harsher in anger. “Y-you ca-can’t leave m-me!” Xaviers head fell into his best friends soaked/cold shoulder. Tears pooling over his blistering skin. “I-I can’t do t-this without you!”

I can't help but be wrong in the dark.

The man couldn’t bring his mind around to believe that his best friend had passed nor did he want to leave her at this stupid camp, she was his and his alone. “I-I’m sorry. I-I’m so sorry- p-please come back to me please.” Everything was cold now, Xaviers heart had sunk and the more he’d held onto this girl the more he’d wanted to bring her back. He awaited for her to breathe but she never ceased to do so. Xavier never knew that this would be the first time he’d ever love and the last time he’d ever feel feel loved. She was gone.

I know that I'd die without you.

And he couldn’t bring her back even if he tried.

#ahs #ahs apocalypse #ahs coven #ahs spoilers #ahs8 #american horror story #cody fern #codyfern #michael langdon #michael langdon smut #xavier plympton smut #xavier plympton x reader #xavier plympton american horror story 1984 #xavierplympton #xavier plympton

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northernxstories · 4 years ago

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Mating Rituals

For a human, their ship seemed grand. Given that the average height of their species was between 2 metres and 2.5 metres, with some a little taller and very few much shorter, the open space made sense. Multigenerational space travel was required as their species was almost always born as the implanter and not the seeded. That was how they distinguished. The seeded as the one who took the seed into their body during the mating process and later produced the infant. The implanter was the carrier of the genetic line. So long as the minimal requirements were met, they could seed a number of bipedal species. Their mating process was rigorously slow however, which was irritating to those who were not accustomed to it.

Stumbling across the planet known as Earth, the Gravitorians were pleased to determine that the young females of the species were capable of being seeded by their implanters. Unfortunately there was no open market, no ease of acquisition to obtain these human females as was common in most worlds. They tried speaking with various members of government (there was no single body, which was irksome to be honest) and little effective result was achieved initially. It was frustrating as preliminary tests had revealed that this particular species was receptive and the young females were, generally, aesthetically appealing.

A bipedal species as well, the Gravitorians had skin colors that ranged from a soft shade of blue to the deepest violet. There were several skin colours that could simply not be perceived by the human eye. However the humans were receptive to the cloaking technology that would allow the Gravitorians to appear as if they were particularly tall humans. Their frame was larger than the average human but there were a few humans who were nearly as tall.

B’orju found the humans to be quite remarkable. He was weary of waiting for the leadership to provide them the seededs they required. He was weary of watching his packmates mate with their pretty creatures. Engaging the cloaking device, he became a male in appearance with sickly white flesh and hair that appeared to lack much in the way of colour. The eyes remained a familiar shade of blue, which was comforting. He tried not to grow repulsed by his own cloaked appearance.

Instead, he walked until he spotted a group of females entering a large building comprised of small rectangles of dirt that appeared to be fused together in some way with a sort of paste in between. Interesting. The sign said, “S-O-R-O-R-I-T-Y” which appeared to be a gathering residence for this species’ humans of breeding age. How convenient for the implanters of this world! To have them so conveniently presented. This species was really quite clever. At first he wasn’t sure how to enter the residence and he contemplated this for several turns until the sky grew dim. Then festive lights and cheerful noises began to issue. Someone called it a ‘party’ which was quite similar to one of their joyful occasions. He walked in with a group of other males, reminding himself that he bore the appearance that would allow him to pass undetected by the others who would surely not ask him to strip, since he was never good at masking his breeding appendages. Some of his packmates were significantly more adept at such things.

He selected a beverage but did not care for the flavour or its smell, both making it hard to mask his disdain. He circled through the social gathering until he spotted a small female sitting alone. She had a soft fulness to her face and body that he found appealing and a cascade of dark curls that his tactile digits would like to caress. She was a pleasing female in appearance and he approached with an offer of the beverage. He didn’t care for it but he assumed someone of her species might enjoy its flavour. Only a few words needed to be spoken on his part for she seemed to enjoy expressing her thoughts. He found this pleasing. Her voice was engaging and although he only understood approximately half of the words, it was still interesting.

As the time progressed, he still found himself contentedly speaking to the curly (that’s what her species called them - curls. Curly. Wasn’t that a most adorable word? he liked it very much. CURLS. It made a pleasant sensation in his throat when he said it) female - although several others tried to draw his attention. Apparently he had chosen a more appealing exterior package than intended in this location.

She advised that she did not reside in this unit but in another. She was only here for the gathering. He offered to escort her back to her own unit of residence and she agreed. These human females were disconcertingly trusting. They had encountered far more suspicious species previously.

Still, he escorted her to residence, marking her unit and confirming once again she had no other partner or intended partner. This was positive. He asked her if he could attend again and she consented. Then she ‘kissed’ him. A most pleasant sensation in which this species pressed the speaking parts of their bodies together and shared their fluids. It was intriguing and he enjoyed the sensation. His species generally showed such affection by pressing their upper portion of their face together. When he did this to her, she did not seem to disdain the show of affection but quickly she returned to the ‘kissing’. He did not object. It was very pleasant.

The next day he returned again, this time in daylight hours. He found her equally appealing in daylight hours. In fact, her curls seemed all the more shiny during these times. For several weeks, while the leaders of his people continued to negotiate with the governments of this world, B’orju regularly engaged in local social outings with the small female. In this form, she was more petite than he was. This would make the mating more simple for he would be able to easily bear her small form during this lengthy time frame. Finally he began to tell her who he was. At first she did not believe his words, thinking he was unwell in his mental faculties. To finally assure her that that he was speaking the truth, he brought her to the ship, cloaked as if it were a derelict shopping facility (fairly common in this area).

Seeing his ship, his packmates uncloaked as well as several species of seededs and of course a few currently in the midst of a mating was initially distressing for his small human. The human female began to leak water from her eyes, especially when he advised that he had grown very fond of the female and would like to mate with her. She indicated she was fond of him as well but said this was too much and asked to leave.

It was distressing.

He was reluctant to part with her but although his leadership had bargained for seededs sold or traded from their world previously, they did not engage in kidnapping. Consent of the governing force or the individual entity (rarely both occurred although that would be ideal) was mandatory. Since her system of government had yet to consent, he had to acquire his seeded with her acquiescence. It was a lot to ask. To leave this planet. To be subject to the mating, which was a prolonged and exhausting situation for any seeded, much less one of the more independent species.

There was some prospect of success in another territorial unit on this planet when he received a message from her. In some haste, he attended at her residential unit to find her putting items of personal possession in a storage container than facilitated transportation. She was coming. With him! She had chosen it. She had chosen him. There were no words to describe his delight at this turn of events.

He stilled her with gentle digits. She seemed uncertain as to his intention but understood as he slowly removed her garments from her soft form, a form she frequently criticized before he indicated to her that her words on this matter were distressing and unacceptable to him. He liked her form and her softness. She flushed as he washed her in the bathing area of her residence, gentle touches on all parts of her skin, even those that seemed to make her blush. He laid out the mating garment upon the bed and had her lie upon it. She was now rosy in her cheeks and there was a gathering of heat and wet between her thighs.

Slowly he let his cloak fade until she saw his actual form. Bigger. Taller. His skin a warm shade of blue. Only his eyes remained unchanged. “You consent.” It was a statement and a question. Small wandering hands grazed his flesh and he was charmed by how tentative it was. As if she could do him harm in some way and she feared doing so. He waited, hovering above her, his sexual appendages trying to remain discreet despite their desire to be encased in the heat of her. She nodded, a little uncertainly now, but only gasped as he started to fill her. One tendril stroked over the soft wetness of her heat while the other sought the smaller puckered passage. The nodule locked over that little bundle of nerves at the apex of her prime sexual organ. A lubricant was excreted, bathing the nerves in a tingling sensation. The explorations were gentle at first, his digits merrily play in her wonderful curls, as his organs began to expand.

“Ohh ... that’s too much.” She whimpered and started to wiggle away. Unfortunately there was no wiggle that would allow her to escape now. She could not remove herself from his organ. Once he had filled her completely, he adjusted the mating blanket so that she could be carried by him while pierced in this fashion.

Her eyes were wide as she seemed to realize the predicament she had gotten herself into and was terrified of his intentions. Withdrawing a small object, the end of which was shaped like the thick head of one of his sex organs, he slid it between her lips and bound it behind her head. Her rear passage and her channel leading to her uterus were now painfully full. Secretions were absorbed by his body and the corresponding deposits were paired with agents that filled her with intense pleasure. She came, unwillingly, unhappily, and then met his eyes even as she came down from the high of such pleasure.

“Please.” She begged. “I can’t take this.” His response was also soft as he adjusted the tassels so she would no longer be able to speak around the gag filling her mouth. “It is done. The only way the mating may end is to kill me and I assure you there are few weapons on this planet’s surface that could do me harm.” He brushed his cheek over her wonderful curls, now messy due to his bathing of the female. Her whimpers faded as others of his species came into the residence. Every personal item was removed and returned to his living quarters on the ship. Even if she did not care to retain it, she could give it to others. Once every movable piece was stripped, he started to carry her back to his waiting ship. The movement of his body as he walked drove the overstuffed female into another spasm of liquid pleasure warming her very bones and sending another flood of pleasure through to his sex organs.

Her distress was evident but he was in bliss. She felt marvellous around his sexual appendages. He had no idea such pleasures were possible. He carried her everywhere with him, frequently driving her to orgasm such that she hung limply around him, relying on the mating web to hold her in place. The orifice opened in her gag wide enough for him to press a feeder bottle between her lips and provide her sustenance. He rubbed tingly lotion into her dusky rose nipples daily because it made her writhe and whimper behind her gag. If he did it just right, she would release for his pleasure without further effort on his part.

When he met with his packmates or superiors on the ship, they all complimented him on acquiring a human female to accept her position willingly as his seeded. They stroked her curls and down her bottom, offering her praise and compliments for her obedience. She hung her head in shame and he delivered another rush of secretions designed to force her to orgasm just as his packmates stroked her bottom and called her a good girl. He made her sit back just enough to allow those of his immediate pack, family she called them, to suckle her nipples. Sometimes doing this made her eyes leak water again but she also cupped the back of their heads and held them in place as they fed from her.

She settled quickly into their routine on the ship. After thirty earth days on her world, he finally removed the gag. She whispered her gratitude and remained quiet for a time. Finally she asked when the mating might end and he shrugged, uncertain. It usually took at least a full mating cycle but he was unsure how the time compared to her world. He told her to remain accustomed to it and while her leaking grew heavier, it eventually stopped and she settled. He offered the gag again but she said she would be a good girl. In reward, he made her cum again, enjoying the way her body arched in release and her now open mouth called out in pleasure despite herself. He bound her more tightly to him, adjusting the mating web so that she was settled and thickly full of his appendages at all times.

Finally negotiations were completed and sixty volunteer human females joined the crew. They were claimed quickly and soon he was not one of the few with a mated female balanced upon him. It surprised him that it did not seem to bring her relief to see the others. He was confused by this and said so but she couldn’t explain why it bothered her. Annoyed, he inserted the gag again and kept it in until the ship was some distance from her home world.

Finally, in the middle of a rest cycle, his appendage released its hold on her. Pushing her over and nudging apart her thighs, he explored with long digits and confirmed that yes, indeed, she was carrying his young. Such a good female. She seemed relieved to have her own body back to herself and no longer be carried by him any longer. To be honest, he missed the delicious weight of her and getting to make her release whenever it pleased him to do so.

However, her freedom from his penetration seemed to restore some of her good feeling toward him. She started to talk again, asking questions about the infant and its appearance and needs. In this their species had few differences. The only significant difference to note was the length of the child’s growing years, taking over a decade to be out of the stage that she called a toddler. In seeding her, her own life span would be greatly lengthened to allow her to raise her young. She curled up with him at night, allowing him to stroke the curve of her abdomen and play with her sex as he wished. The feeding from her breasts occurred regularly as well, by him and by his immediate packmates. She flushed deeply when he insisted upon this but appeared to have accepted it, especially now that she was starting to produce more consistently to prepare for the arrival of the infant. She had long since learned to be subtle when she did not wish for his touch in order to avoid the binding and the gag, something which might happen intermittently when he felt she needed the lesson.

B’orju found that by stroking her sex and playing with it just so, he could still draw out her release, even when she attempted to fight it. The secretions from their bodies made human females far more pliable than most other species they had selected to be their seeded. It appeared likely that in future, they would be revisiting his seeded’s home planet often to acquire more females. They were simply so pliant and yet also resilient.

Perhaps their own young would find their mate there and claim her as well. This would be pleasant for his female - to have others of her species in their immediate packmates. Surely that would be the case, he mused to himself as he slid two long digits into her channel and forced out another orgasm as others around them contented themselves with their mid-day repast and toying with their own seeded. Her cheeks warmed in embarrassment so he reached for the gag. Her whimpers delighted his auditory channels as he pressed it between her lips and buckled it again. “Shhhh...” He made a gentle soothing noise as he settled her against him once again. Obedience was required after all. Such a good little human.

#mating rituals #bedtime stories #stories to read by the northern lights

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