#pearl bank apartments

[jaythelay]

Build an audience.

Raise prices.

There's enough that stay for the price increase to only result in profit.

Repeat for several decades

Now only rich people pay for the product and the company is making bank, while you are kept from art on the premise of being poor.

You. Should. Cancel. Every. Subscription.

Pirate. Because art is never for the rich. It is for all. As it stands, you're enabling yourself to never see any again. If not you, your children and their children.

Do not trust companies. Do not give them any BoD. Do not enable or defend companies. They have a team for that, that they substantially underpay.

[applejuicebegood]

God!Jason x Goddess!Reader

A/N: The Percy Jackson kid in me had too. And with Hades II now in early access.. like c'mon. This was inspired by the song Broken Crown Masterlist

The tang of blood clouded the air of any room he occupied. His downcast glare as sharp as his bronze blades, stained with divine and mortal blood alike. He was vengeance incarnate. His body structured upon the anger and vitriol of mortals.

He wasn't like his brothers, of course he wasn't. His purpose was to crack bone and rip flesh, their's was to protect and cultivate. Jason didn't mind the difference. Someone had to embody the violence of his families worshipers.

He was content to live in his routine of bloodshed and occasional peace within the palace libraries. Until his gaze attached itself to you.

You were small within the great pantheon, a goddess of sea creatures and river life. And like Jason, you were content. To float upon the backs of your whales and manta rays under Helios's blinding glow. To fall asleep tucked away in your alcove with the river otters snuggling against your feet. To braid small shells and river pearls into your hair on the rocky bank of your forest lake, your legs lazily kicking in the crystal waters.

Jason had stumbled across your alcove after battle, his robes clinging to his body due to a combination of sweat and blood. He bent to his knees, your cool blue waters washing away the specks of dead flesh and the maroon from his hands and forearms. It tainted your waters, brining unease and uncertainty to your sanctuary. 'What are you doing?'

He looked up, your voice like waves against a rocky shore. And for the first time in his immortal life did he know what it was like for a mortal man to worship at the feet of the divine. He stuttered an apology, the blinding quality of your beauty too intense for him to look at more more than a few seconds. He vanished back into the shadows of the trees, his heart pounding in his ears.

He knew he had to see you again. His soul demanded it. So he bloodied his hands repeatedly just so he could wash them in your waters. For he would tear through the mightiest of men just to glimpse at you from afar.

He became a nuisance wedged into your days. And your annoyance with him couldn't be contained to just that, with how frequently he showed at your pools and rivers. It was fated that you both would fall deeply for each other.

Your blooming love felt predetermined, like your bodies had been crafted to fit against the other. Once the discovery of mutual love was made, you languished in each others grasp. Years of solitude and isolation suddenly shattered by each-others presence.

You cleansed him within your pools, washing away the scars of violence the world expected of him to bare. He would unfold into the safety of your solitude as your cradled his head in your lap.

You both would bathe in the warm glow of the canopy against the river banks, giggling in your own amusement as you tried to feed each-other olives.

You would steal his cloaks if he had to leave you for war. For you to curl yourself in, a weak replacement to his arms typically wrapped around your torso as Hypnos would claim you both.

To claim that Jason worshiped you would be a pity to the extent of his efforts. He adored you entirely; his precious, sweet goddess. He would carry you across continents if you demanded it. He would rip apart the world and drag your soul from Elysium should you ever be separated by death. You filled the vacant hole deep within him.

His shoulders bare the weight of limitless anger yet the touch of your sun bleached skin against his could quell any pain, any anguish.

Your marble statues are now confided to museums and the greatness of your love is limited to sonets and song. But nothing, not even time, could kill the power of the Vengeance Gods adoration for his Wife born of water.

[jaidens]

Only Bought This Dress (So You Could Take It Off)

pairing [s] : miguel o’hara x reader

warnings [s] : smuttyyy | miguel is big af | spanking, jealousy smut!! mamas favorite treat. | ripping of clothes | miguel is a jealous daddy teehee | name-calling | oml this mann

a/n : guys i really don't know.. except i want him..so

Whenever Miguel invited you to the Spider-Ball, you had no idea what to wear to be completely and totally honest. Your designer was confused whenever you showed her a picture of Miguel's suit and told her to work her magic. And your designer did such.

The colors of blue and red were prominent and it had a collection of dark-orangey red to compliment his webs. It was completely perfect and what you were thinking of without even explaining it. It was a soft silk fabric with lace covered around with strings of pearls.

You had found a matching lingerie set that would have surely made Miguel lose his mind. When he picked you up in front of your apartment you saw how when you walked down the steps in your long, stiletto red bottom heels and that dress he was anxiously moving in his seat and holding only small talk with you.

The limo stopped at a humongous, absolutely gorgeous building the event was being held at. Spider-Men and Women from all over were dressed to the Tens. The driver opened your door and held his hand out for you to grab. You thanked him graciously as you tangled your arm with Miguel's as he straightened out his suit and he looked down at you. “You look absolutely gorgeous tonight. I love this dress.” His hand touches your hip, rubbing across the delicate fabric. You smile up at him, tracing across his features and the moonlight that colors his face with beautiful carvings.

He helps you up the stairs, letting you use him as a guide to getting up with such tall heels and concrete steps aren't the best mix. His hand stays on your lower back, holding you closer to him when more and more people start to show up. When you walk into the beautiful ballroom, the white marble floors are covered with people and you look up at the expressive paintings that reside on the ceiling with admiration.

“Look at that ceiling. My goodness, it's absolutely gorgeous." Miguel looks up at it, and you get a sight of his neck, as it stretches “It’s pretty amazing." Miguel leaves to speak with another caterer of the party and you go talk to sweet Mary-Jane. Her bright red hair strikes you as she turns around quickly and drops her mouth open.

“Aren’t you just gorgeous? Oh my wow... I love this dress!” Mary-Jane compliments you while running her hand down your arm. “Look at you! I'm obsessed with those earrings." You and MJ hold small talk before Peter walks up behind her and pulls her away to the drink and food tables.

You find a conversation with Peter. You ask him about why he decided to come to the event. “It’s for charity, love. I'll always go to these types of functions if it's about charity.” You turn your head and see Miguel staring at you and Peter, and you're in for the game. You put your hand on his shoulder and you start laughing when he makes a joke about robbing banks.

But as the night reached its climax, a shadow was cast over the euphoria. My heart skipped a beat as I glanced toward the entrance, meeting the gaze of a familiar face. There he stood, his eyes narrowed with a simmering mix of anger and hurt. It was him—the man I had left behind, Miguel consumed by jealousy.

You continue such actions, just being more calm and touchy. You really only saw Peter as a brother and nothing more. Even after stating that multiple times, Miguel still got worried about him. The live concert band showed up and you got giddy and grabbed Peter's hand and asked him to dance. You were casually dancing with Peter until the switch partners part of the song began and someone grabbed your hand and pushed you close.

“Such a slut aren't you? We're going home after this dance.” Miguel is angry and you can tell. His words are cut off and you see his eyes slowly darken with lust and jealousy. You stare down and rest your head on his chest. “Acting all innocent now too.” You really weren't trying to act innocent. You were worried about beginning to do it because you knew how Miguel would act.

As we made our way through the crowd, I cast one last glance over my shoulder, yearning for the stranger who had stirred something within me. But all I found were empty eyes, longing for freedom that now seemed like a distant dream.

The sleek, midnight-black car cut through the city streets like a predator on the prowl. Inside, the air crackled with a mix of desire and jealousy, swirling around Miguel and me, creating an intoxicating tension. The dimly lit cabin was suffused with a primal energy that mirrored the storm brewing between us.

Miguel's hands gripped the steering wheel with an intensity that betrayed the seething jealousy consuming him. His jaw clenched, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, but I could feel his eyes flickering with a fiery mix of possessiveness and resentment.

Earlier that evening, we had attended a glamorous social event, where attention naturally gravitated toward me. Miguel had watched as I conversed and laughed with other men, his strong facade cracking with each flirtatious exchange. The allure of his jealousy fueled my desire, and now we found ourselves alone, confined within the intimate space of his car.

The engine's growl mirrored the tension pulsating between us, as Miguel's grip on the wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white. The silence was heavy, pregnant with unspoken words and simmering emotions, as we hurtled through the city streets with dangerous haste.

Unable to bear the weight of the unspoken, I ventured, my voice a gentle tremor, "Miguel, what's wrong?"

His gaze pierced through me, his eyes smoldering with a mixture of frustration and vulnerability. "You know damn well what's wrong," he muttered, his voice laced with a hint of accusation.

A shiver ran down my spine as I felt the air grow thick with his possessive aura. Miguel's simmering jealousy took on a life of its own, threatening to consume us both. I could sense the hunger in his touch, the burning desire to claim what he believed was rightfully his.

With a sudden swerve, the car veered into an empty parking lot, its tires screeching against the pavement. We came to an abrupt stop, the stillness amplifying the intensity of our emotions. Miguel turned to me, his dark eyes staring into mine, his breath shallow and uneven.

"What were you doing back there?" he demanded, his voice low and charged with a mix of anger and longing. "Flirting with Peter, teasing him with your charm."

A flicker of guilt danced across my features, mingling with the thrill of his possessive rage. "Miguel, it was harmless. Just a bit of fun."

His hand shot out, capturing my chin in a firm grip, his touch simultaneously tender and controlling. "Fun? Do you think I find pleasure in watching Peter vie for your attention?" His voice dropped to a husky whisper, laced with a possessiveness that sent a jolt of desire coursing through me. "You're mine, and I won't stand for it."

In that charged moment, the confines of the car became an arena for our desires and frustrations. The boundaries blurred as Miguel's lips descended upon mine, claiming me with a ferocity that matched the fiery jealousy burning within him. The car's interior became a sanctuary for our entangled bodies, as we surrendered to the intoxicating dance of lust and possessiveness, each touch igniting a passionate blaze that threatened to consume us whole.

In the passenger seat, you, a tantalizing and spirited woman, brace yourself for what you sense is about to unfold. The air is thick with tension as you exit the car, your heart pounding in anticipation.

Miguel storms around the vehicle, his movements exuding authority, and yanks open your door. Without a word, he seizes your wrist and pulls you out, his grip firm yet electric with desire. He gracefully opens the door to the large house and he starts angrily dragging you to the bedroom that you shared together. He flips the lights off and presses a button. The LED lights that sat above turned a dark red. His tan skin is even more beautiful and tantalizing than it was in the sunlight. 

He pulls his tie loose and he throws you onto the cleanly made bed. You bend your elbows to catch your fall. You put your knees up and close your thighs together, giving a sort of pleasure that was becoming single-handedly harder to hold back from Miguel.  He begins to kiss your neck, sending a tingling sensation through your body. His hands move to your waist, feeling the curves of your body before he presses his body against yours. You close your eyes, surrendering to the pleasure that Miguel brings.

His lips travel down to your collarbone, creating a trail of butterflies that spread throughout your body. You can feel the heat of his body against yours and your heart racing. His hands move to your back as he leans in closer, sending sparks through your soul. He looks into your eyes and your lips meet in an electric kiss. You're lost in the moment, feeling alive and full of passion. You never want it to end. You're stuck in this dream before you remember what got you into this mess. He pulls away angrily and rips the perfectly made dress off your body. You stand there, feeling exposed and embarrassed. "Flirting with Peter wasn't a good idea, was it? Or would you rather him fuck you? Your heart raced as he said those words. You felt ashamed. You knew you had to face the consequences of your actions and you were not looking forward to it. He pulls off his tailored suit and you have a full look at his strong chest.

Miguel crawls back onto the bed and he bites your neck. You moan out and grab at his back, your manicured nails scratching red marks on them. "Please.. touch me." You're completely embarrassed that you're begging for him after getting yourself stuck in this situation. He smiles, a wicked glint in his eye as he presses himself against you. His hands roam your body as he kisses your neck, his breath hot on your skin. You feel a wave of pleasure wash over you as you surrender to his touch. His hand runs down your body, tracing over the delicate lace that you were adorned in.  Miguel's hand travels just under the waistband of the panties, teasing you further. "You like the taste of your own medicine? I bet you do." 

His fingers skim the lace and travel further until they reach your core. He teases and tantalizes you until you can't take it anymore and you cry out in pleasure. Miguel smiles, satisfied with the power he holds over you. "Such a slutty baby. Bet you'll take anything anyone gives you?" You blush and shake your head, unable to find the words to respond. He grins and presses his lips against yours, letting you know he doesn't need your answer. Instead, he just wants to show you how much pleasure he can give you. You feel his fingers rub your clit in figure-eights. You're rubbing your hips against his hands. You're so close before you feel it; he rips his hands away and lays his fingers against your lips.

You accept his fingers into your mouth and suck them off your pleasure. You moan as he moves his fingers in and out of your mouth, savoring the taste of your arousal. His hands return to your clit and you're soon overcome with pleasure, arching your back as you reach your peak. He flips you over and pushes your head down into the soft pillows and pulls your ass up. You're staring at the mirror at his gorgeous body as he pulls his pants down and throws them on the floor.

You can feel his hand rub against your ass before you feel it, a harsh smack against it. You cry out and hear him speak, "I want you to count how many times I spank your ass. If you do it correctly, I'll treat you." You take a deep breath and start counting, determined to do as he asked. As the spanks continue, you feel a strange mixture of pleasure and pain. You grit your teeth and keep counting until he stops. You feel one last rub in a circle over the burning marks. "You did well, baby." He flips you back around and your head it sat between your pillows and he grabs a pillow next to your head.

You twist your body around to be on your back. You're staring into his dark, beautiful eyes. Miguel takes the pillow and sticks it under your ass. You're on display for him. Your legs spread wide to give him room to relax. His strong arms wrap around your thighs and you feel his breath on your core. He looks up at you with a smirk and then explores you with his mouth. His tongue and lips dance around your sensitive areas.

His lips move faster and faster, sending shockwaves through your body that cause you to arch your back and thrust your hips into his face. His tongue is like a warm, gentle wave, caressing you and making you feel more alive than you ever have before. You can feel your muscles tense up as you get closer and closer to the edge, and when you finally reach it you let out a loud, intense moan that echoes through the room.

"So good for me." He groans out as he comes back up from your core and your slick is on his chin and lips, shimmering in the light. Miguel sits up and you notice how tense his body is. He's hard, his tip is dark purple had gotten so worked up from eating you out and hearing your pleasurable moans that echoed throughout the room. You sit up and your hand travels down his abs and to his cock, stroking it. He leans back against the bed; his hands holding him up from falling, and you press your lips against his, tasting yourself and him. You can feel his heartbeat racing as you kiss him passionately. Your hand strokes him as he humps into your hand. "For how dominant you had been earlier... this is different."

Miguel looks up at you. His eyes have tears as you continue to stroke him. You can sense the vulnerability in Miguel as he looks up at you, his eyes glistening with tears. You can feel the emotion radiating off of him as his heart beats rapidly in response to your touch. He is letting you in, allowing you to see a side to him that he usually keeps hidden. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close. You whisper comforting words to him, assuring him that it's ok to let it all out. He relaxes in your embrace, feeling safe and secure in your presence. After a couple of quick thrusts, his abs tighten and he cums in your hand. 

He holds you and you lay in his arms. “You did so good baby. Let’s go get you in the bath.” Miguel picks you up under your aching thighs and carries you to the bathroom that was in your room. He sets you down on the chair that sat in the bathroom. He turns on the bathtub and the water begins heating up. Miguel picks you up once more and sets you into the bath. Your body stretches out and you relax. You share I Love You’s and you lay down for the night.

[brittle-doughie]

The ask you answered about Seaweed Cookie vs The World reminded me of Scott Pilgrim vs The World. So on that topic, who would be y/n cookie's seven evil exes that any cookie would have to battle to win y/n cookie's heart?

League of Evil Cookies

It was completely intentional with Scott Pilgrim Takes Off fresh on my mind. While not necessarily exes, these cookies would still be obstacles in Seaweed’s (or any cookie’s) goal of having a relationship with you.

Croissant Cookie would be incredibly confused, she thought you and her were getting along very well. It made her wonder if she shouldn’t have hesitated in making a move on you before you were scooped up by this literal who. Maybe she can get a certain keeper of time to help settle the score with this hurdle?

Pomegranate Cookie would be one of the more aggressive of the seven, insulted that this complete stranger in her eyes would just take you from her, she’d have such a bitter attitude towards them that it can be seen from a mile away. Pomegranate is dabbling into as much curses as she can to see what gets your partner out of the picture fast.

Those that smell the scent never leave alive and that especially applies to your partner when he comes after them. Lilac Cookie doesn’t think they’re capable of protecting you, seeing you hurt is something he doesn’t want to see in his lifetime. That might just occur if this…annoyance continued being your partner, so he’s taking matters into his own hands..

Kumiho Cookie is sensitive when it comes to any form of loving relationship development, given her history with you…she would up the charm and flirting antics with you as her attempt to swoon you over to her. She’s ignore your partner at first, seeing them as irrelevant. But when it was clear her tactics won’t work, she’s not afraid of an actual fight if that’s what it takes to bring you into her arms…

White Lily would have a heart attack if she learned of your recent relationship upgrade with this cookie she was not familiar with. It would crush her, the dreams she’s had of one day being wed to you are beginning to fall apart. She’s not going to risk a physical fight, she’s not exactly Hollyberry Cookie level strong. She’d rather use whatever she can get her Soul Jam to do instead…or just beat your partner to near death with her staff, anything to stop this relationship between you and them!

Scorpion Cookie isn’t going to be as brazen or obvious with her challenge to your partner once she’s made aware of their existence, something they will regret. Poisoning attempts or sneak attacks are possible forms of elimination Scorpion Cookie, which can change at any point during each attempt. Paranoia is another element Scorpion will bank on to eventually get your partner to leave you from fear, making comforting you her next plan..

Black Pearl Cookie would be the type to take the lead role of the League, your partner should VERY MUCH fear the water. She’d make every day and night a living hell for them, behaving nothing but nasty towards them until they leave you. Your partner should not even try to confront them, her power far exceeds theirs in every capacity, making it certain death if a face to face fight ever occurred. Oh? You’d think she’s above getting help to help deal with your partner? Well…let’s just say that she’ll even bring in some mercookie friends of hers to help rescue your pure soul from this filthy piece of dough that calls themselves your partner...

But there’s no need for you to worry about anything, she’s only vengeful towards that cookie unworthy of your love! Remember, White Pearl Cookie loves you so much!

[legally-allowed-to-slime]

okay i think it’s time to talk about the “are we mean?” line from gem (28:16 her pov) which no one else seems to care about and it’s driving me crazy

so. if you watch the actual clip she changes her sentence from “are we th—” to “are we mean”. she also says it with the exact same inflection that cleo used. this gives me the hunch that she had cleo’s line in double life on her head since gem is pretty aware of fandom things and that’s an iconic line. at the same time though, this is a stretch so we’re gonna go ahead with the assumption that those two lines were just coincidentally similar.

at first glance it might seem like cleo’s double life line (“are we the mean girls?”) and gem’s line (“are we mean?”) are entirely similar and about similar circumstances, but if you look a little closer the similarities fall apart

in cleo’s case, they say it after the box boys had died and they were looting their stuff. pearl shows up and confronts them but the pair just laugh and say it was pearl’s fault ren and bigb died anyway. pearl doesn’t really push it either. then they steal more stuff and leave, before cleo says The line. so with this context, it’s pretty obvious what cleo’s asking is a rhetorical question. what happened immediately before would make them, objectively, the “mean girls” (both stealing and ignoring pearl’s concerns). scott is aware, which is why he immediately responds “yes”, with a smile in his voice. because to them, they might be petty villains, but because it’s funny and they’re self-aware, then they can’t be truly villainous, like dl!pearl. it’s a shared bit between the two of them that they’re being catty high school girls, and scott’s response establishes the fact that they really don’t care. they are two partners in crime, giggling after robbing the bank. top 10 i-can’t-remember-their-ship-name moment

gem on the other hand. hers comes after a long episode of telling everyone who passes by to hate impulse and pearl (soup group divorce 💔). moments later ren kills impulse, and gem thinks that it might be because of her. then she tells joel that “we’re winning by just telling other people who to kill”. but the dynamic between scott + cleo and gem + joel are very different. while scott and cleo are equally up to no good, gem is manipulating the social dynamics of the server while joel is off being angry. the difference between joel and gem is like the difference between joel and scott. so when gem asks “are we mean?”, it’s not like cleo asking scott, knowing they can have a good laugh over it. she’s testing the limits, seeing if what she’s doing can tip over into being mean. and joel, not being scott, automatically says “no, we’re not mean. he shouldn’t have been mean to us.” (insane parallels over gem and cleo saying the same thing but joel and scott having exact opposite answers btw) joel functions in a more straightforward manner: if you’re mean to me, then i can be as mean as i like to you. however, he hasn’t been here to witness gem’s social plays. it’s not like scott and cleo where they were both there to commit the crime together. it’s gem standing there with the blood on her knife and asking joel if she’s guilty. and joel, being both loyal and headstrong, denies it.

after joel says that, gem agrees with, “that’s true, he shouldn’t have been mean to us.” she pauses, turns, and then says “you’re right”. joel, who doesn’t concern himself with such mental gymnastics, has already moved onto bigger things, like a parkour course. but in the meantime gem has used her ally’s careless, uninformed response as proof to convince herself that she can’t be being mean, and that what she’s doing to impulse (and pearl) is warranted. while scott and cleo openly acknowledge their wrongdoing (and in doing so dismiss it), gem pushes it down, trying to persuade herself that she’s the good guy. because she can’t be bad, right? the bad guys are on the other side.

and this inner turmoil is obvious. she does concede before that impulse probably doesn’t deserve her slandering, in the same way that scott concedes he can be “mean”, but brushing it off because it’s so insignificant it doesn’t reflect on their actual character. because in the same way as scott, gem is chasing some objective standard of morality, and doing everything on the good side, and if she does something on the bad side then that something is now a good thing, because she’s a good person.

isn’t it crazy how i wrote this much about one line

[fangsforiris]

Where Moths Rot

Prompt: Karlheinz’s Favourite Sacrificial Bride, Innocence, Christa [Sakamaki] Coded, A Kings Want, Peculiar Things.

Person: Karlheinz-centric, Sacrificial Bride

HC’s:

🕸️ The king’s tastes would be centered around anyone with a loose resemblance or uncanny resemblance towards his favourite wife, Christa.

🕸️ As much as he wouldn’t like to admit it, he finds himself drawn to people like Christa, that is, before he’d drive them to a state of ruin.

🕸️ The idea of purity somewhat turns him on (purity kink? — perhaps where Laito got it from, besides his mother).

🕸️ He sometimes mourns what could have been with Christa, and obsessively looks for a replicate as he’s torn her apart.

🕸️ Cue this new sacrificial bride.

🕸️ He isn’t one to interfere with his plan, especially with how much he is banking on The Adam and Eve working. Not only for him, but the entirety of Makai and its races/clans.

🕸️ But this new bride, all he can see is Christa.

🕸️ Or someone who can be perfectly molded into her. Perhaps a bit defiant, maybe docile with a bit of a natural nurturing edge.

🕸️ Someone who can reek of purity whilst their existence being the farthest thing from it.

🕸️ It was no secret that Christa was one of— or in fact— the pillar of beauty in vampiric society. Karlheinz, knowing this, had to have the best by his side. As the king shall have the best, and the king will get whatever he wants and so desires.

🕸️ He’s learned that his desires have clouded his judgement, in terms of wrecking Christa’s sanity far to the point of traumatizing their child— or his favourite child.

🕸️ So in a sense, this new bride is like a redemption. In a way to rewrite what has been written, and learn from his previous error.

🕸️ Karlheinz definitely enjoys learning about religion and outer worldly concepts. One could say he’s obsessed with them.

🕸️ As in, if he has a bride from the church, he’d want to know how far the conditioning went, and what drove them to not question further.

🕸️ The bride he’d be most into would have uncanny or rather peculiar interests.

🕸️ Something to do with moths. 100% the fluttering critters of the shadows.

🕸️ Or at least bugs and critters.

🕸️ He’d treat the bride to his wealth, of course.

🕸️ As if it was the only thing he could offer, he’d be invested in making this poor church child into a brand new noble.

🕸️ Almost like a saviour complex (?) But more so in the sense of having a new pet project that’s equally as invested in this as he is.

🕸️ So as a testament or a way of marking the bride as his, jewellery, clothing— anything and everything is a must.

🕸️ However, soon some would start to make the association that the jewellery and article of clothing choices are pushed towards a specific… almost memorable direction. As if it’s evoking nostalgia.

🕸️ Subaru would be the first to realize it, as one would. Any child would remember their mothers shadow. Especially that of a broken one.

🕸️ Jewelry would be worn similarly, (the pearls, white gold, diamonds, and the pearls—) then clothing would match the flowy, almost translucent, tops, dresses, even nightgowns, the late Christa preferred.

🕸️ It would drive Subaru crazy.

🕸️ Karlheinz is easily one of the most powerful beings in Makai, even revered to as a god. So for him to shockingly find a larger interest in someone, a human for that matter, it would turn heads.

🕸️ Due to his canonical interest in humans, even border-lining obsessive (stated by Shuu,) Karlheinz wanting a personal pet staying alongside him would be a definite.

🕸️ As in, the bride would be almost too hyper aware of their place, especially as a walking, talking, breathing blood bag.

🕸️ I’d like to think that Karl can act almost aloof and carefree, kind of like those trigger happy, sarcastic, memorable TV show dads, should he wish. (We see this in Chaos Lineage [CL] in canon, and his interactions with Socrates, the ghost.)

🕸️ A lot of his carefree, resigned, giddy personality shines through with this bride.

🕸️ After all, being held to one too many expectations from both vampiric society and your own family can be tiring.

🕸️ I’d like to think that the bride is like a safe haven for a release of some sort, either out of duties or the rigorous persona he must upkeep.

🕸️ He’d most certainly share a few glasses of wine (or more?) with the bride. Taking the time to unwind in the fanciest of places. Only fit for that of a king, like himself.

🕸️ I feel as thought he’d enjoy learning more about the human, along with telling stories of his past throughout the thousands of years he’s lived.

🕸️ In a sense, it’s like the two both mutually benefit from having an access to information and conformed familiarity.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Didn't Plan On It (AKA, Your Friends Are Assholes)

Khonshu x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: NSFW, forced marriage (kinda??? You SORT OF consented to it???), hints at sexual stuff, groping, my shitty sense of humor

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Based on this post I got tagged in asdfghjkl (I loosely based Max off a friend of mine 💀)

You loved your friends, but hated them at the same time.

Loved them because they were quirky and weird and matched your energy...

...Hated them because they matched your energy.

A double edged sword, for certain. But at the same time, there's nobody you'd trust more to come to your aid if some creep got up into your personal space. You'd all grown up together, been through everything through thick and thin, even if some of you moved away at some point.

There was Mari, the oldest one in the group by two years. She was like the aunt of the friend group (you were the group mom) who you all could trust to suggest poisoning an ex who did you wrong.

Then, there was Elizabeth "Lizzy", she was the one in the group that alcohol hit the hardest, the lightweight who got cuddly when she was drunk. She did everyone's taxes for them (you know how to do them, she just does them better). Stabbed her ex boyfriend for cheating on her, didn't get any charges pressed (somehow).

There was the other Elizabeth, whom everyone just called "Eli" to avoid confusing her with Lizzy. (Sometimes you all call them #1 and #2) Eli was the most tomboy of the group, her fashion very much stuck in the "grunge" fashion from back in the 90s. 90% of her fashion choice is band merch, she is the one who drives everyone to concerts and manages check-ins at events to make sure everyone is accounted for.

After Mari, Lizzy, and Eli, there was Zoey. Her contact number in everyone's phone is almost always "Zoey 101". The highest IQ out of you all, she was the one who manages passports, IDs, and luggage checks when you take trips together. Has way too much knowledge on the supernatural and the occult.

After the four of them, was Kayla. Kayla was the one who always knew everything about whatever group projects you were all assigned to in school; ask her an obscure fact and she could spit out an atlas or encyclopedia on the subject. Dresses like she's a model on a runway almost every day. Owns 5,000 pairs of feetie pajamas.

And finally, there was Maxwell "Max". You all likened him to Max, Goofy's son, due to how lanky he was. A beautician by trade, always wore flawless makeup when he dressed in drag. Or, just gorgeous in general. Your team's "Gay Avenger" and he watches your drinks at parties like he is a lone sentry between him, a sniper and a platoon of soldiers in the night. Max was the one you knew the longest, you two were born only a few days apart; your parents being best friends even longer. You all made every single one of his drag shows to support him, screaming and cheering the loudest.

Right now, you were at Kayla's house. She was a successful real estate agent and made serious bank; so hosting the bachelorette party in her honor there just made sense. Cheaper, too.

You all had a private party, getting wasted, eating snacks, dressing each other up, holding Lizzy's hair when she puked into the toilet, watching old shitty rom-coms, and letting Max put his best drag looks on all of you. (That was his favorite part of the night, honestly.)

But somehow, inevitably, the occult was brought up. Not by Zoey, but by Mari. She suggested playing with a ouija board.

Kayla had slammed her hands on the table and said, "Hell. No! Not in my house! I'm white, but I'm not horror movie "let's open a magic door and summon a demon" white!"

"Yeah, let's be real. The demon would probably claim Max first." Lizzy grinned, jerking her thumb to the man in question.

Max dramatically clutched his invisible pearls, the gaudy fake tiara crooked in his poofy curls as he gasped incredulously, "Not on the first date, girl! He'd have to put a ring on it, first. I have standards."

"Oh, he'd probably put a ring on something--" Eli snorted into her drink, earning a loud round of chortling from the rest of you.

As the laughter died down, Zoey had said a loud thoughtfully, "Well... there is something I read in my forums recently. A ritual..."

Kayla squinted at her, pointing her manicured nail into her chubby little cheek. "What did I just say about demons?"

"It's not a demon!" Zoey giggled. "It's a god."

"Oh, so instead of a demon, we're gonna summon something possibly even more dangerous?" Mari sighed, raising an eyebrow. "I d'nno how a god would feel about puny mortals like us summoning him from a plane of existence we can't even fathom just to ask him to strip for us."

"Noooo!" Zoey frowned at her as everyone laughed. "It's kind of like a.... fertility rite? Or well, maybe more like some kinda ceremony that's supposed to gain the favor of the god or something. It was discovered by some sort of archaeologist recently in a scroll!"

"A scroll." You deadpan, setting your empty glass of wine in front of you, leaning back on the couch.

"I think I know the scroll you're talking about." Kayla had piped in. "It was found in some recovered temple out in Egypt, right? By one that one world famous professor and historian?"

"Yes! So you know which god I'm talking about, and how he's not dangerous." Zoey nodded excitedly, growing more and more energized at the possibility of playing with magic with all of you.

Kayla tapped her nails on the tabletop, twisting her mouth as she mulled over her options. Deciding that, fuck it, Zoey had a point... it couldn't hurt to end the night with a bang.

"Okay, okay.... let's do it."

"Yessss!" Zoey said, jumping up and bouncing on her feet. She stopped and awkwardly cleared her throat. "Well, er... we kind of need a subject to be the centerpiece, though... the "anchor" of the spell..."

"Wait.... You said a fertility god?" Max squinted, his eyes glimmering cheekily.

"Well, healing, protection, fertility..." Zoey listed off, her voice trailing away.

"Okay okay, but let's focus on the fertility part." He replied. "So odds are.... the anchor of the spell is going to get laid."

"Well... It's a possibility."

"So, who gets to be the lucky anchor?" You asked, tilting your head.

The silence was so loud a mouse could sneeze and you all would have heard it.

And then.... their heads all turned to you, grins spreading on their faces as they all traded conspiratorial looks with one another.

"Oh fuck you." You snap, shaking your head.

"Well, babygirl..." Max leaned in, his arm over your shoulder. "I know for a fact you haven't been laid in a good long while..."

"I have an active sex life!" You retorted, your voice becoming shrill.

"Battery-operated silicone boyfriends don't count." He deadpanned, earning laughter from everyone in the room.

You slump in your seat, pouting like an angry child. "I don't need help getting laid!"

"Well, it's also..." Lizzy said slowly. "The last guy you were with was Troy... and we all know what happened with him."

Your mood soured further at the mention of your highschool sweetheart, the man of your dreams... or so it had appeared. You'd held out on him for a while, finally giving in on prom night and getting a hotel room and having sex with him.

And one day, you decided to drop by his family's house with an early birthday present. ...Only to have caught him in bed with his best friend's mother. He'd been cheating on you with her for almost the entirety of your relationship.

It was after that break-up that you just... didn't want to date. Even if you were lonely, you wouldn't give in because your sense of trust had been betrayed by the guy you were absolutely besotted with.

Eli cleared her throat, "Oh come on. Nothing's gonna happen... it's not like we're gonna sacrifice you on an altar."

"Ugh! Fine! Leave me alone! And when nothing happens you're all paying for my drinks the next time we go bar hopping!" You shouted, throwing your hands up in the air.

Zoey rubbed her hands together, grinning. "Now, then.... let's make a run to that little shop on Malden Street! They're 24 hours and have everything we need!"

You groaned as you got tugged along, Mari the designated driver because she was the only sober one.

Yeah. You hated and loved your friends.

Zoey had begun setting up the altar around the bed in the guest room, finishing it almost too quickly for your liking. Max and Kayla had dolled you all up for your "date", ensuring you looked your best when that god (never) appeared.

Dressed in one of Kayla's black nightgowns and her silk robe, Max had your hair styled "just right" and your makeup "tastefully minimal"--whatever all that meant.

Eli and Lizzy had killed the lights, while Mari cleared the rest of the bedroom for whatever else would occur.

You laid down on the bed as everyone sat in a semicircle around the bed, Zoey standing with a wax candle in hand as she read the spell screenshotted on her phone aloud as best she could in the language it was written.

You laid against the plush pillows, staring at the ceiling in boredom, listening to Zoey drone on and your other friends giggle in anticipation at the stupid middle-school antics they were perpetrating upon you.

Eventually, the room fell silent as Zoey kneeled like the others staring at you with rapt attention, her eyes glittering in excitement.

Only... nothing happened. Not even... well, you weren't sure what magic would feel like if it was cast on you.

"Hah!" You said, lifting your head to look at Zoey, pointing. "I told you nothing would happen--"

Your six friends all fell backwards with startled shouts and shrieks when, in a blur of light... you vanished.

Right in front of them!

"Oh, oh no.... Um... whoops...?" Zoey said, her voice shell shocked and tiny as a bead of sweat dripped down her brow.

Max grabbed Zoey and shook her, "What did you do! What did you do?!"

The moment that flash of light dissipated you hit whatever soft surface you were on with a gasp, almost feeling your lungs squeezed of all air before sucking in much needed oxygen.

You blinked your eyes open, and when they focused on your surroundings... You realized you weren't at Kayla's house anymore. Your friends weren't sitting in their silly ritualistic circle... Zoey wasn't staring at you like a bug under a microscope.

You were... somewhere. The bed you were on was insanely large and round, the sheets a divinely soft texture, almost like the velvet of a moths's wing. A canopy was above you, wafting in an unknown breeze. Marble pillars with beautiful scenes painted on lined the room that was very sparse, save for a table laden with food in the corner.

You swing your legs over the bed and rub your temples.

You were drunk. You were black out drunk and this is all some kind of horrible dream that will cause you migraines with your inevitable hangover in the morning.

Right?

Yeah. Not so lucky.

When your eyes opened once more, you were still in the strange marble room.

You groaned, standing up and shivering as your feet touched the cold stone floors, polished to a fine sheen that reflected the dim torchlight lit on various oil lamps lining the room.

You looked to your side and noticed some kind of balcony, the night sky just beyond.

You frantically ran for it, hoping that maybe you might be able to call down to the street below for help, but... no luck.

Your hands wrapped around the stone banister and your jaw dropped. You weren't met with the night scenery of some kind of city or town, or even a sprawling estate.

Chalky dust, dented with craters and rocks and boulders stretched out beyond your vision's limits. And hovering in the sky where the moon should be, was...

The Earth. A shiny blue-and-green marble that lazily hung in the void of space, one side dimly lit by the sun while the other was black, lights from the cities below dotting it with a golden hue in the shadow of the--the fucking moon.

You were on the fucking moon?!

"How the hell... what..." You said, your heart thudding in your chest as you walked back into the ornate, pale room you'd exited.

Honestly, you were the darkest thing in there, dressed in all black, the silk hanging from your body and clinging to you in all the right places...

How were you breathing? What were you breathing? How were you even alive--

"Well... this is interesting." A deep voice mused from behind you.

You could feel someone looming over you. An oppressive feeling bearing down on you like whoever this was towered beyond your height.

You spun around, swallowing the lump of fear in your chest; but whoever spoke was no longer behind you.

"It's been some time since anyone has performed that ritual." The voice said again, "Though... uour friend should have worded it more carefully. Her mistranslation may cost you more than intended."

You looked towards the balcony, the thin curtains swaying in the breeze-that-should-not-be, a tall, imposing shadow barely showing through the other side.

An impossibly large man. Or... what looked like a man... if it weren't for the silhouette of the bird skull where his head should be.

Fear spread through your body at every leap of your pulse, dreading it as the figure began walking to the edge of the fine drapery. You anticipated some kind of horror show, but... well. You got the opposite.

A man with impeccably tanned skin, dressed only in a gold bejeweled collar and bracers stepped out, his white shendyt wrapped in some sort of sheer cover, his toned waist disappearing beyond, a thin trail of dark hair trailing up to his navel as his bare feet padded silently across the polished floor. On his chest was a crescent moon that looked like it was painted in some sort of gold across his skin.

His hazel eyes glimmered at you with an inhuman inner light, his mouth quirked up in a cocky smile that stretched his beard; his long, curled black hair striped with wisps of silver as it hung low against his shoulders.

One of his hands held a long staff, topped in a golden crescent moon, like the one tattooed on his chest. His eyes trailed you up and down as he slowly made his way over to you.

You were transfixed.

You were so struck by him that you didn't flinch until his fingers tipped your chin so you would look up at him, your mouth going dry. What the hell was happening?

"Well... at least you are pleasing to look at."

You felt your ego take the punch, and your awe at his beauty was shattered. Oh. So he was a dick.

"You--"

"Do you know why you're here, little dove?" He hummed, tilting his head slightly with a coy--but knowing--smile.

"I... My friend did some stupid magic circle, that's what!" You say, twisting your head free from his grasp, stepping away to wrap the silk robe around you tighter, suddenly feeling very self conscious.

"I asked not what brought you here... but if you knew what your friend's ritual has ordained for you." He chuckled lowly at your sense of modesty.

"I..." You flounder, wishing you had been listening to the details Zoey had been spitting as she set up the circle, earlier as Max and Kayla got you ready. "Something about..."

Your body shivered at the realization.

"... something about fertility?"

The man moved towards you in a blur, suddenly behind you once again; his body heat bleeding into you like the scorching sun on a summer day, his heavy hands circling your waist and toying with the knot in the robe.

"Close." He had whispered, his lips touching the shell of your ear as your body went rigid in his embrace.

"Your friend mistranslated "offering"." The ridiculously gorgeous man hummed deeply. His lips skimmed your bare neck in appreciation; "She said "wife". Imagine my surprise, while I was overseeing my Fist's duties and I heard that incantation over the divine space. I simply had to see who performed such a ritual."

"W-wait you can't be saying that..."

"I am afraid so, little dove." He breathed, his mouth leaving a hot kiss to your leaping pulse, making heat pool low in your belly. His hands slid beneath the robe, touching the soft nightgown that covered you beneath; barely touching the undersides of your breasts.

"You belong to me, now."

You stood ramrod stiff as his hands roamed you, mapping out every dip and curve your body had; every hollow and mark in your skin, driving your body mad with desire despite the shock of your current situation.

"It is human custom to consummate a marriage after a ceremony, yes?" His mouth once again found your ear, his words hot on your skin, one of his hands slipping beneath your robe and gown to brush his thumb over one of your pebbled nipples; his other sliding down to slowly hike up the skirt of your nightwear, his hand groping and squeezing the fat of your thigh.

"It has been... overlong since I have indulged in such pleasures. But I assure you, I have a--very--good memory."

All six of them had been in a constant state of panic, frantically wondering if they should call a priest or the police. The sun was beginning to creep over the horizon, painting the sky in gorgeous colors as clouds lazily danced about the atmosphere.

Max had yanked at his curls, "I'm to gay and gorgeous to go to jail!"

"It was magic not murder, you drama queen!" Mari shouted, shaking Max's arm frantically.

"Who the fuck should we call?!" Lizzy shrieked, waving her arms over her head. "The fuckin' Winchester brothers?! Fucking Constantine?!"

Zoey practically sobbed, emotionally raw and scared. She hadn't expected anything to happen with this! After all, none of her other dabblings caused something like... like this! What if she mistranslated in the wrong language and accidentally sent you to Cthulhu? What if she cursed you to one of the circles of hell? Did she say something wrong?!

"I'm sorry!" She sniffled as Eli rubbed her back, trying desperately to stay calm. "I didn't know!"

"Well, we are not ever doing goddamn magic ever again!" Kayla hyperventilated, fanning herself desperately with her hand, the other holding her long hair up in a bunch to get it off of her sweaty neck. "God damn it, this shit always happens in horror movies! Me and my big mouth--"

They were all almost knocked to the ground again, when, in a bright flash of light... you were dropped onto the plush mattress once again. Only this time, your appearance was far more disheveled.

Your makeup ran down your cheeks, mascara tracking down your face from dried tears, your lipstick smeared and hair messy; your clothes haphazardly askew in several places.

You blinked, your eyes not entirely focused as you sat up and looked at your friends. You zeroed in on Zoey. You didn't seem... hurt? Mad at her?

Instead, your usual coping mechanism kicked in. Humor.

"Scully.... You're not gonna believe this..."

[ofsappho]

Magindara

When invaders threaten your home, life, and people, you, a sirena, strike a desperate bargain with Dream of the Endless to save them all.

Dream of the Endless x mermaid!reader, one shot (for now)

Tags: war, gore, torture, death/murder, mentions of SA, slavery, things that generally come with colonialism

Inspired by the episode “Jibaro” from the Netflix show Love Death + Robots. This one shot draws heavily from Filipino mythology, culture, and history. I ENCOURAGE and INVITE people who don’t come from a Filipino background to read this story and enjoy! There is so much beauty to be had in cultures of color, for everyone. Just as I have read many stories steeped in Greek, Celtic, Norse, medieval England, etc cultures, without coming from those backgrounds, I humbly ask you do the same and entertain this little fic. Thank you. I may write a follow up if there’s interest. Glossary at the end.

-

From the banks of your river, you can hear the horses.

Metal plate clangs and screeches against itself, swords jostle in their sheaths, and shields bump where they rest on armored backs so loud that you want to scratch your sensitive ears out, just to make the sounds stop.

Your ates and kuyas hide deep below in the caverns known only to your kind. When you close your black eyes, you feel them tugging at the edges of your mind like little lights in the deep darkness of the sea. They believe that will be enough to save them.

Only you have braved the surface, because only you know what these strange men upon their strange beasts want.

They want the gold in the dark, fertile earth. You don’t understand why - it’s just shiny metal. Only the dwarves under the hills covet it. But the men who ravage your lands and your kin like wildfires, grasping everything and destroying it in the same breath, care very much. They want the never-dying orchids that line the banks and the brilliant emerald green vitality bursting from every leaf and vine that could keep a mortal alive for a thousand years. They want to feed their glory on your broken bodies. They want to take the people you protect for slaves, the women shamed and disgraced and the men subservient and humiliated.

You’ve seen it for yourself.

You’ve tasted the water of streams running red with blood, the iron like acid on your blue tongue.

You’ve swam farther and seen enough to make you hate. Families torn apart, children with their hair cut off and given names in an ugly language, forbidden to speak their own - the same language you speak. Fathers dragged onto large ships, larger than a butandíng, never to return. Altars burned. The men put your red sisters who live in the balete trees, their hair tangled with vines and lovely, fierce, flickering yellow eyes, to the flame. You witnessed their dying howls and curses for vengeance.

Some of the white-haired annani have already begun to clip their pointed ears, tear the crowns of flowers from their hair, and even cut out their tongues so as to lock away the magic these men desire, never to be spoken again. “There is no place for us,” Those tall, graceful elves told you. “We will be gone in a generation, by sword or by starvation.”

They’re coming.

The jungle is quiet as it has never been in a thousand years.

You could no more hide your tail, glittering blue and turquoise, with long, sweeping fins like ferns, than you could hide the long sweep of hair that reaches your waist, or the ink-black lines embedded on your skin, painting your face, your neck, and your arms with the story of your people and your home.

The calls that echoed from the depths of the river have stopped. It seems that your family has accepted that you won’t come back.

You look at your webbed hands, test your claws against your flesh. What is one magindara to a hundred conquistadors?

When the men spear you, they won’t just be slaughtering a mermaid. They’ll be killing the stories you keep. Centuries of stories. Countless names. Each pearl around your neck is a tribe, full of the old songs of grandmothers and the new rhymes of babies. You’re draped in thousands of shimmering strands of pearls.

You may not be the cleverest, or the most beautiful, or the one with the sweetest voice…

But you can be the bravest.

“Lord Morpheus,” You intone, frowning as the syllables ripple wrong and harsh from your throat.

You’ve never spoken to any of the gods beyond your islands before. “Dream of the Endless.” All you can do is hope and pray this one listens and comes to you in time. Will they be kind? Will it be merciful? Will he, or she, save your home?

Perhaps such a god does not exist at all, and you are praying to wind and sunlight, and soon your guts will color the cerulean water purple and black. The strange men will defile your body, no doubt. A week ago, you crawled from your river to cut down the corpse of a long-gone ate from a stake, jagged holes ripped into the tail of her corpse that made you vomit and her dead eyes full of pain.

Once you’d laid her to rest in the water, she dissolved into nothing. “Prince of Stories,” You sing. That is what faces everything you’ve ever loved if you fail.

“I beg you, save us. Save our stories, our dreams. We call for your aid.”

The men bark at each other. Any moment now, they’ll see you, your hands raised and your face tipped towards the heavens, inky flowers blooming on your forehead and cheeks and crocodile teeth tattooed on the sharp line of your jaw.

A new quiet falls over the world. Like nighttime, when things are resting, not dead.

You have called, and I answer.

A being stands on the banks of your river in the shape of a man. His hair is blacker than Bakunawa’s maw and his eyes are filled with gold and silver stars brighter than any you’ve seen before. His pale skin carries no markings.

He is as grotesquely, menacingly beautiful as the razor’s edge of shark teeth, as a great python curling in a tree, as an eagle with its claws stuck in the beating, bleeding heart of a monkey.

You feel the weight of his gaze on your brow heavier and hotter than the sun on the longest day of summer, burning out the truth in your heart. “I would bargain with you, Dream Lord. For my people, and my land, and my home, which I love more than my own life.”

What would you have me do? When Lord Morpheus speaks, his voice pours through your mind ringing like the purest, clearest freshwater.

The many jewels around your throat, pearls, sapphires, rubies, diamonds, plates of beaten gold, click as you swallow nervously.

The dream king stands so tall that he could touch the sky if he reached up. And he doesn’t look away or blink. You can’t read the inhuman planes of his face whatsoever, you can’t find any familiar sign in his long limbs that might bring comfort. For all you know, you’ve spelled your doom.

“Keep them alive. Keep our names and spirits alive. Bring our stories into your kingdom so that we won’t be forgotten. That is what the men want. They want to raze us to the ground and rebuild the world in their image but we will not go.” You pause. “We will never, ever go,” You growl, fierce and deadly, around a mouth full of fangs. In your words you pour the horrors you’ve seen, combined with the beauty surrounding the two of you.

The hot, muggy air, the warm rain, the scent of night-blooming jasmines. Orange mangoes, bursting with sweetness, bamboo sticks clacking as joyful youths dance in and out of them, laughing gaily. Rolling drums. Bright feathers tucked into black hair. A toddling child reaching out to her grandmother with a chubby-cheeked smile, pressing the back of the withered, ancient hand against her little forehead. Love, so much love.

I have not walked these lands before.

You found traces of Lord Morpheus scribbled in the margins of paper and in the back alleys of lost dreams. Your last and only hope.

When you went to Diyan Masalanta, she wept and showed how the soldiers bound her hands. When you cried out to her brother, Apolaki, the sun god called back and said the invaders took his shield.

Bathala is gone. Mayari is gone. Lakapati is dead. The conquistadors stripped her naked, cut her ribs from her chest, and planted her bones in the fields they set their slaves, your people, to work.

“They say you are Endless. You preside over all beings in all places. Please, I beg you, preside over us. Are we not worthy of your favor? Do we not deserve to live in your dreams and nightmares?”

If Lord Morpheus refuses you, you’ll cut your throat before you let your enemies have you.

He tilts his head like he can hear your thoughts. One shining hand stretches out, almost as if to touch your face. You sing prettily, little siren. You draw back with a start. Why is there hunger in his voice? A hollow, all-consuming, terrifying hunger?

You know what it feels like to starve when the fish are scarce. This is leagues away, a typhoon to your trickle of rain. Shadows bloom under his hollowed cheeks. His pupils eclipse his brilliant aquamarine irises.

He’s-

He’s aching.

Morpheus flashes his bone-white teeth as he bends at the waist to examine you further. His gaze traces your tattoos, your large, frightened eyes, and your body beneath the necklaces and bracelets.

As scared as you are, as convinced that you’ll bleed the instant his fingers brush your blue-streaked skin, your numb lips move.

“I vow to you now, Lord Morpheus, before every god and being I know, that should you render us this aid, I will give you anything within my power to grant that you wish.”

Anything?

“Name it, my lord, and it shall be yours.” With that, your eyes flutter shut as you await his judgment.

You can’t hide from him, even in your mind. You don’t see him, but you feel a straining pressure build where he prods at you, pushing on the fragile edges of your being like he’s cracking a duck egg. He claws and scrapes until-

I will aid your people.

You open for him like a sampaguita flower. Dream of the Endless picks through your soul like he’s picking blossoms, you feel how much he wants with every brush, every long moment where he sticks his fingers in and relishes the feel of you. Nothing has ever touched you like this before.

He’s on his knees on the riverbank, the dark soil pressing into his clothes. His hands clench the rocky edge of the bank. Your wet hair sticks to your back as you rise up, close enough that you can count his night-black eyelashes. There’s a dizzying amount of them.

“Thank you. Thank you. Salamat-po. And your price, majesty?”

You’ll do whatever he wants. Does his thirst demand souls? You’ll harvest them by the dozen. You can picture Lord Morpheus unhinging his jaw, swallowing those soldiers whole. Their swords wouldn’t even scrape him going down. Riches? You have no use for them if you’re dead. He can take every speck of wealth to be had.

You. I want you.

Your sisters and brothers wail. They sense the foreign king tearing at the flesh binding you together. They feel him taking a knife to your indigo heart and cutting it loose from your body. Your head tilts back as you gasp for breath and see him hold the organ aloft. Dark blood trails in rivulets down his wrists.

“I-“

There are no creatures like you in my realm. So I shall have you, in every way that I wish, and you’ll obey. Those are my terms.

Your tail lashes in the water as if you fight hard enough, you can swim away. The cavity pulses with searing, unholy pain. You’ve made a mistake. You’ve summoned- He is an aswang, a devil, a soul-eater, you’ll never see your home again, you’ll never touch the water you’ve known since birth.

Lord Morpheus brings your heart to his mouth. His lips are beautifully-formed. You can’t find it in yourself to hate such a wondrous creature. Even your amethyst ichor looks more beguiling when he’s covered in it.

It was never a question. “Yes, my lord. I accept these terms.”

His white teeth stain purple when he sinks them into your heart.

-

Glossary:

Ate (ah-tey) - sister

Kuya (koo-yah) - brother

Butandíng - whale shark

Balete tree - very cool large tree native to Southeast Asia

Annani - elves from the stories of the Ibanag people, who look like humans with pointed ears. They are kind guardians of the forest and often share healing knowledge with humans if treated with respect.

Magindara - mermaids from the folklore of the Bicolano people. Beautiful half human, half fish guardians of rivers/streams/lakes/the oceans, who sing to lure fisherman and warriors to their death but leave children unharmed.

Bakunawa - a great mythic serpent and god/goddess of darkness. Various myths place Bakunawa responsible for eclipses.

Diyan Masalanta - Tagalog goddess of love, war, childbirth

Apolaki - Tagalog god of the sun and war, patron saint of warriors, soldiers, modern day patron saint of Filipino traditional martial arts (Kali/eskrima/arnis) practitioners

Bathala - the Tagalog supreme creator god

Mayari - the Tagalog goddess of the moon, war, revolution, and justice. She fought her brother Apolaki for dominion over the heavens.

Lakapati - the Tagalog goddess of fertility, food, bounty, balance, and prosperity. She represents both male and female and has both male and female genitalia. Patron saint of queer/trans people.

Sampaguita - the Filipino name for sambac jasmine, the national flower of the Philippines

Salamat-po (sah-lah-maht poh) - thank you (utmost respect) in Tagalog

Aswang - overall name for the malicious/demonic/monstrous beings in Filipino folklore. Vampires, zombies, ghouls, organ eaters, cannibals.

I hope you guys liked this! Let me know if you have any questions or want to read more from this.

[sugar-soda]

You can write about the Reef Trio if you want, Sugar. I'll chime in if I can (it depends what's going or, or how we're doing over here). You know what? Can you ask Wicked if they'd like it if Noi was gifted a weapon fan, that is bladed or super hard, shaped like a shell, with pretty patterns like waves or snowflakes or gem symbols, as their weapon? (Since Noi's gem is cracked)... What ideas did you have for the Reef Trio? I'll chip in a few cents, as it's a bit calmer right now (not by much, but it's now just waiting. He isn't going to wake up again)...

• Ilux (Pale Pearl) sews stuffed gem dolls, and blankets or quilts, with different gem patterns or with different fabrics. The quilts each have a different gem design on the squares, the blankets are fluffy or silky, and the dolls have small bits and bobs (like shells, smooth pebbles, or small rounds of metal or chipped beads) as the gem of the gem dolls...

• Ilux made a blanket fort for the Reef Trio with Noi and Shi's help: it has pillows, dolls, and sewn bags to sleep in

• Ilux painted the main wall of The Reef with pictures of different gems, perhaps telling a story with it

• Ilux uses their spear as a lock-picker and lock-breaker, as a balancing beam, as a staff, as a weapon, and even as large writing utensil sometimes (such as carving into walls or drawing in the sand)

• The Reef Trio have their own special platonic yans (we can discuss which ones everyone attracts, and which ones are shared across the whole trio)

• The Reef Trio end up eating a crab. They like it, and now chase the snow crabs around and eat them. They've also taken to eating some snails and mollusks (even though gems don't need to eat, and most would find it gross) (the Reef Trio like the taste, especially when cooker over a fire or burning rocks)

• Ilux has a habit of collecting gem shards... (the reason for now is unknown)...

Thank you, Sugar, for everything. I hope you're doing well. Thank you for being a friend. You and @thewickedweiner both, and everyone else who interacts with my works. Thank y'all so much 💛🧡

@thewickedweiner what do you think of gifting Noi a fan for weapon?

Here's a few ideas I had:

While Shi is the only Shiva Eye at the Reef, there are quite a few more across the empire. Just like other Gems they got all sorts of different personalities and ways to tell them apart but their color palettes are never very colorful in comparison to other gems like Pearls, mainly being white, brown, and grey.

Since the Reef is located on an ice planet, the only gems it can produce are water based ones that are made under the ice.

Snow storms are pretty frequent there, but luckily Gems don't have blood or flesh that can freeze or can even feel the cold. The trio mainly like blankets and stuff for texture and weight, not for warmth. (When that world ending snowstorm happened, it wasn't the snow that shattered the other Gems)

Greek Agate, the gem Shiva Eye previously worked under, belonged to Black Diamond as well. He escaped most of the abuse from Black Diamond because he wasn't on Homeworld often and was considerably high ranking in the court. When Black Diamond disappeared, what few gems he left behind where put under Blue Diamond. It was then he got into an altercation with a Jasper belonging to Green Diamond and was subsequently shattered.

Shiva tried to eat a crab, shell and all, before they figured out how to cook it. It pinched her tongue and wouldn’t let go for 10 minutes.

Since her shields are attached to her hands, she can do as much with them as Ilux can with their spear, but she does sometimes use them to 'sled' on inclines to get places faster. She looks a little awkward in the frog pose she has to do when zipping down a snow bank, but she looks like she is having fun?

Shiva's fighting style involves her using the weight of her shields to get momentum into her hits, relying more on her dexterity than straight, controlled punches that rely on strength. It looks like the shields are pulling her like a ragdoll with how they swing.

While she has been the only Gem in the trio to not have any damage to her gem, she has been poofed on multiple occasions.

Since she kinda goes everywhere in the Reef, she is actually on pretty good terms with the other gems there, like the corals and such.

Was one of the first to notice that the upcoming snowstorm was different than the others as one of the random duties she picked up was monitoring the weather patterns, which showed heavy irregularities for weeks. Sadly, she isn't part of security monitoring, or she may have noticed other irregularities.

Has briefly met or seen some of the yans before, though she doesn't remember. There was the Black Jasper(97 Logan) from Green Diamond's Court that shattered Greek Agate. There was an Ivory and Spinel (both Morphs) from the same court who were also there. There was a Yellow Jasper (WATXM Sabretooth) and an Opal (XMCU Mystique) from the Red Diamond Court who scared the crap out of her one time, and a Sodalite (one of the Kurts) who poofed her one time by accident when he was training (he was very apologetic about it, he didn't mean to)

While she assumes she was assigned to serve the Reef as a whole, she was actually assigned to one gem: Noi, who is higher ranking than her. But she isn't aware of this and you wouldn't know watching how they interact with each other. ( @thewickedweiner you can decide if Noi is aware of this or not)

Shiva can pilot a ship, or any other vehicle used by gem kind. The others don't know she can as it's literally never came up, but she can.

Just like how she has been poofed before, she has also poofed other gems.

Hope you are doing okay, @honey-minded-hivemind! You get rest and focus on yourself. Have some headcannons!

[bisexualpercyjacksons]

no wait wait wait hear me out about how the four beads is a truly devious and smart addition

so starting off with four beads from the dryad establishes a few things:

1. getting out of the underworld wasn’t something they really thought about yet (too many steps ahead, I also have ADHD I get it)

2. poseidon HAS thought of that problem and has made the beads in preparation to protect them

3. poseiden thought about rescuing sally when planning how to get everyone back safely, not just percy and his friends

2 & 3 plant the seeds (a long with the dryad’s words and hermes’ comments) that poseiden really does care about percy (and sally!). yes I know I know, bare minimum to care about your kid etc. but considering this is a show and we don’t get percy’s internal monologue it kinda makes sense to have a little more details that make poseiden seem better to the audience

[read more break to not clog up the tag. I promise I get into the angst shortly]

all these little bits that imply poseiden really does want to be there for him but can’t, that he’s been watching from afar because he didn’t want zeus to find out he broke the pact and take his anger out on his son and former love (yes, love! this is the man/god that wanted sally to be his queen with him in his underwater kingdom!!!). I actually really like the idea of those posts about how he has been helping out in little ways over the years because. let’s be real for a second. NO WAY does sally afford that apartment AND have the ability to send percy to specialized boarding schools with the salary of a CANDY SHOP EMPLOYEE. I get it I get it, the gods are deadbeats, but I’ll admit I kind of like the idea that he’s been doing what he feasibly could without getting caught by making extra money appear in sally’s bank account or sm

making him seem (and possibly be) more sympathetic is another reason that fuels percy to change the system rather than join luke to tear it all down. he knows the system is bad but he sees hope and truly believes it can be changed for the better. that is something that can be saved, not destroyed

4. this is kinda irrelevant but I like that it is the dryad that agrees to give percy the pearls after poseiden says for him and his friends to go back to camp because she wants him to have a chance to change things. gives her a little bit more agency. (also y’all she’s SO pretty in gay but moving in)

so. four beads.

if we want to keep the dilemma and character growth that comes with there only being three beads and someone having to make a sacrifice, something needs to happen: one of the beads breaks or someone loses it

is it percy? who has realized they need four beads for EVERYONE to come back and is horrified that they now only have three, meaning either he himself or one of the most important people to him has to be left behind in actual hell in order for the world to be saved? think about the dread and self-loathing that would come from that

or is it annabeth or grover? where the horrifying realization is the same but now there is a gut reaction from percy to be upset with the person who loses/breaks it. he loves his friends and can’t stay mad at them but now they are in this impossible dilemma to choose who stays behind and it’s killing all of them. the impossibly guilt of the person who breaks/loses it knowing that it’s their fault someone doesn’t get to go home, someone has to stay behind in the underworld

and when does this happen? early on, and we spend the episode watching them all try to figure out the dreadful problem of who gets left behind. looking at each other thinking, I can’t leave them behind, I can’t. they’re my family. but we can’t leave percy’s mom behind either.

or does it happen right before they have the chance to go, and they all think everyone is going to make it and sally is in percy’s grasp only for everything to fall apart and now everyone is looking at each other thinking, who is going to have to be left behind? who has to be the sacrifice?

anyways, I think there is something truly devious about them KNOWING there NEEDS to be four beads and HAVING THEM only to have something happen and the option of everyone going home safe being ripped from their grasps

[areyoudreaminof]

Moon on a String: A Lucien Vanserra Playlist

Here it is! A playlist for our sly fox, courtier, and emissary. Apart from being one of the most interesting characters in ACOTAR, Lucien is one of the most emotionally well rounded ones. I wanted to explore his wit and charm, as well as his own grief and sorrow. As always, meet me behind the cut for a lyrical deep dive! Listen Along Here!

Son My Son-Milo Greene

Son, my son The weight is unique One by one The words are complete Your testing is calling And we are still falling For keeps

Your waltz like repeating Continues your dreaming In threes You will bury that hatchet with an olive branch Tied to your knee

Habibi-Tamino

And as the full star tries his best to make the white pearl shine Glances of a new day have arrived And though he’s not alone, he fears to never love another And leave his heart forever with her smile

Something died within a soul Left the eyes to rust And every time it is recalled It covers all in dust

Bad Bad News-Leon Bridges

Ain’t got no riches, ain’t got no money that runs long But I got a heart that’s strong and a love that’s tall Ain’t got no name, ain’t got no fancy education But I can see right through, a powdered face on a painted fool

They tell me I was born to lose But I made a good good thing out of bad bad news

Young Man in America-Anais Mitchell

Like the wind I make my moan, I howl in the canyon There's a hollow in my bones, makin' me cry and carry on Make the foam fly from my tongue, make me want what I want Another wayward son waitin' on oblivion Waitin' on the kingdom come to meet me in my sin Waitin' to be born again, mother, kiss me cheek and chin Mmm, a little medicine, mmm, and I shed my skin Mmm, and lemme climb back in the bed you made me in

Old Friend-Sea Wolf

But now we're getting older and we're growing up So now less action in the water and we know enough Stood up on the rooftop on a night so clear That the lights from the city just disappeared

I know you don't believe me When I believe in you I know it could get much easier If you want it to

Late Night-Foals

Now I'm the last cowboy in this town Empty veins and my plastic broken crown They said I swam the seas then ran aground They said I once was lost but now I'm truly found And I know the place but not the way I feel, I feel no shame Oh now, Mama, do you hear my fear? It's coming after me

Beggin' for Thread-BANKS

So I got edges that scratch And sometimes, I don't got a filter But I'm so tired of eating All of my misspoken words I know my disposition gets confusing My disproportionate reactions fuse with my eager state That’s why you wanna come out and play with me, yeah

Turn Away-Beck

Turn Turn away From the weight of your own words It's a measure For the devil And betrays the lack of change Once you have spoken Turn away

Sun-Cat Power

Here it comes, here it comes, in all is burning Here it comes, here it comes, it’s splitting the bone Here it comes, here it comes, we’re all so tired of waiting Whose side, whose side are you on

I wanna hear every answer to every question It’s not that I never wanted, I just never knew If you can, if you could lend your hand This is the day people like we’ve been waiting for

Gold-Chet Faker

I might as well be in a garden I said, uh, a smell in the air is a dripping rose (You can be the one for me) Another soul to be my void then Of anything there that's made of gold

Call Me in the Afternoon-Half Moon Run

Take one if you need it but you really shouldn't be out this late Really wanna make you feel home Take one if you need it but you really shouldn't get this fucked up Really wanna get it to you Slide another shot by and wipe your dirty hands on me Swallow till you go blind and find a little company

Autumn Tree-Milo Greene

A man that resembles me Watching his young lady sleep Now I'm off to dream Comfort me

Is this my old shame? My mind is away How long have you been gone? The cold winter aged the soft of your face And I can't move on

River-Ibeyi

Carry away my dead leaves Let me baptize my soul with the help of your waters Sink my pains and complains Let the river take them, river drown them My ego and my blame Let me baptize my soul with the help of your waters Those old mes, so ashamed Let the river take them, river drown them

You Wanna Freak Out-My Morning Jacket

Play it smart, soul intact How you react is what you get back 'Cause that's the way we really see I am "you're" and "you're" is me Come on, you know how we are First we're up, up, down, down One day we're in, the next one we're out You wanna freak out? Come on

Don't Carry It All-The Decemberists

And there a wreath of trillium and ivy Laid upon the body of a boy Lazy will the loam come from its hiding Return this quiet searcher to the soil

So raise a glass to turnings of the season And watch it as it arcs towards the sun And you must bear your neighbor's burden within reason And your labors will be borne when all is done

No One's Here to Sleep-Naughty Boy/Bastille

You were always faster than me I'll never catch up with you, with you Oh I can feel them coming for me And you were always faster than me I'll never catch up with you, with you Oh I can feel them coming for me

Here's the pride before the fall Oh, your eyes, they show it all I can see it coming I can see it coming As I rise up through each floor Shit gets dark and you lose it all I can hear it coming I can hear the drumming

taglist: @cursebrkr, @octobers-veryown, @melting-houses-of-gold, @velidewrites, @reverie-tales, @thesistersarcheron @ultadverb, @c-e-d-dreamer, @andrigyn, @foundress0fnothing, @vulpes-fennec ,@asnowfern,@mossytrashcan, @thelovelymadone, @the-lonelybarricade, @shadowriel, @separatist-apologist , @fieldofdaisiies, @stickyelectrons, @vanserrass, @panicatthenightcourt, @krem-does-stuff, @iftheshoef1tz, @damedechance, @ablogofbipanic

Up Next: Rhysand. Happy Weekend!

[blaxploitations]

tagged by @bonivers hiiii🥰 to pick one song for each letter of my url.

big bank - Kenny Manson ft Paris Texas

licking an orchid - Yves Tumor ft James K

ache - FKA twigs

xerces - Deftones

pearls - Sade

losing you - Solange

o telefone tocou novamente - Jorge Ben Jor

i believe in you - Amp Fiddler

tokyo witch - Beach House

afro blue - Robert Glasper Experiment ft. Erykah Badu

take me apart - Kelela

i put a spell on you - Nina Simone

on the outside (justin’s song) - kilo kish

no!no!no!no!no!no!.. - JPEGMAFIA & Danny Brown

she lives in my lap - OutKast

tagging @tomfordjasminrogue @yuritual @solarismp3 and @nengirl feel free to ignore:p

[aidanchaser]

Read on Ao3

Marinette’s heart stopped as the glass door collided with the shop bell. She’d heard rumors that Adrien Agreste had finally returned to Paris, but she had not expected him to walk into her bakery, of all places.

In the five years since they had been apart, he’d gotten taller, of course, his shoulders broader, and his jaw squarer, but those weren’t the changes that bothered her. It was the way he threw those shoulders back and set his jaw in a hard line. It was the way his height seemed to loom over her as he approached the counter, the way his lean into her felt condescending. The pale three-piece suit beneath his white winter coat was new, too, and she didn’t care for how much it reminded her of his father.

His green eyes glanced past her like she was no more interesting than the handcrafted New Year’s decorations she had been in the process of taking down. This wasn’t the Adrien that she had met on the banks of the Seine, that she’d gotten to know rather by accident over the course of a summer, that she’d exchanged a hundred letters with before his father had shipped him across the Channel and the notes had abruptly stopped.

Instead, this young man’s eyes skated past her to the chalkboard list of prices as if he didn’t even recognize her.

“Can I help you?” she asked with a thin smile.

His hand touched the brim of his crisp white fedora, like he was about to take it off, then thought better of it and pressed his hand against the glass countertop. “What do you have?” he asked in a low, relaxed voice.

She adjusted her pink apron and gestured to the display case. “All of our items are clearly labeled. Is there anything in particular you would like?”

“You’ve got quite a lot of cakes,” he noted.

Marinette hummed in distracted agreement and glanced over his shoulder to the large bodyguard behind him. The man was dressed in all black, but the white daylily pinned to his lapel identified him as a member of the Agreste family’s organization—a generous word for what Marinette considered little more than a collection of bullies.

“What are those cookies?” Adrien gestured with his hat.

“They’re macarons,” Marinette said. “Cookies with jam between them.”

“That sounds novel. Let’s try one of those.”

Marinette reached for one of her father’s macarons, and as Adrien reached into his pocket for money, she caught sight of the holster beneath his suit coat and the pearled handle of the pistol that it housed.

“By the way,” he said as he slid a paper bill across the glass counter, which was now fairly well-smeared with his prints, “I was hoping for a chat with the business owner. Is he nearby?”

Marinette bit down on her tongue. Her parents were making a delivery across town. If this turned ugly, she would be all alone.

“He’s taking inventory.” Her eyes flicked between Adrien and his silent bodyguard. Adrien she could handle, but skilled as she was, she could only do so much against a man three times her size. “Perhaps you could speak with him another time.” She handed Adrien his change. “It’s the sort of task that requires concentration.”

“I can understand that.” Adrien slid his change into his pocket and left his hand there, as if he were keeping his weapon on display for her benefit. “My father was hoping to send a message to your boss. Perhaps I could ask you to carry it to him?”

Marinette made sure to meet Adrien’s eyes rather than the handle of his gun. “I’d be delighted to.”

“Just let him know that next time I come by, he needs to have what he owes my father.” Adrien took a bite out of the macaron and at least had the decency to look impressed. “And let your baker know he makes an incredible cookie.”

He tipped his hat to her and his bodyguard followed him out the door.

Once he was gone, the taut string that was Marinette’s spine snapped loose and she leaned against the counter, pressing her own palms against the space Adrien’s had just vacated. That he’d referred to the shop owner as her “boss” and not her father only confirmed that he had not recognized her.

But she couldn’t blame him for that; she had changed as much as he had. While his father had sent him to England to avoid the worst of the war, Marinette had stayed with her family in Paris. He’d gotten his education in some comfortable country estate while she’d earned hers helping in makeshift hospitals and dodging shells in the streets of Paris, only to trudge home to thin rations of flour and thinner rations of coal.

When her letters to Adrien had gone unanswered, she didn’t know if he’d died in a London air raid or if he’d simply abandoned her. Now he returned with no word, no note, and he had the audacity to walk into her bakery and extort her family’s business in the name of his father.

He wasn’t the Adrien she remembered. The boy she had known must have died in England after all.

✦✧✦✧

Before she left for the Lucky Lady, Marinette warned her parents that Gabriel Agreste’s men had stopped by, though she didn’t say it had been Adrien. She didn’t need them asking any uncomfortable questions.

Marinette entered the evening venue through the unmarked back entrance and immediately dropped her purse onto the dressing table that she and Alya shared. She snatched the red-sequined masquerade mask from her hook and replaced it with her coat then checked her reflection.

Her signature red dress with its black polka dots paired with a matching black-spotted mask had earned her the moniker, “Ladybug,” and had made her the face of the Lucky Lady. While the Lucky Lady itself had been Alya’s idea, Alya preferred to run things from behind the scenes.

She counted the coats that were already hung in the dressing room and which of their team’s masks were missing. Alix, Alya, and Rose must already be upstairs working, but the small gray mask, complete with silver fringe reminiscent of whiskers, and the striped tiger mask, were still hanging on their hooks.

The team that ran the Lucky Lady hadn’t always known each other’s identities. During the war, they’d kept everything secret, even from each other. They’d helped ship parcels to the frontlines, ran coded messages between troops, and distributed rations fairly amongst the people, even going so far as to raid the “businesses” that hoarded rations and resold them on the black market. Back then, they had done it all without knowing who hid beneath each mask. The less they had known about each other, the less they could share if they were caught.

After the Armistice, it was Alya who suggested they celebrate by revealing their identities to each other. That night was still a bittersweet memory for Marinette, who had been thrilled about the end of the war, but hadn’t realized that peace had meant her most trusted partner would leave her. He hadn’t even given her his name.

Now that peace and normalcy were slowly returning to Paris, the team—minus one—worked together both with and without masks, as necessary, to continue helping the city. But when it came to staffing the Lucky Lady, they found that the patrons enjoyed the icons of the masks.

So Marinette tied the signature black and red mask over her eyes, fastened the pair of black feathers into the back of her hair with red ribbon, and applied her bright red lipstick before heading upstairs to help Alix and Alya with what was bound to be a full Friday night house.

Though several businesses in Paris had sustained damage during the air raids, the Lucky Lady’s luck had held out. Her glass chandelier remained intact over the dining area, and her red velvet stage curtains had no sign of singe. Rose, in her tightly coiled curls and pink velvet mask, serenaded the guests that filled the dining tables and the bar, and Luka, dressed in a silk blue suit and a matching mask, provided her with a melody from his harp.

Kim manned the bar while Alya and Alix flitted between tables, refilling glasses and chatting easily with the guests. Alix’s large, fur-lined bow around her waist resembled a cottontail, and her white mask was paired with long white ears fastened into her short red hair. Alya dressed in reds and oranges, and instead of the plain velvet domino masks most of the Lucky Lady’s crew wore, she had crafted a hyper-realistic fox’s snout that hid most of her face.

Marinette counted the available seats at the bar top, checked in with Alya to confirm which tables she needed to manage that evening, then hurried to the door where Nino and Ivan waited.

Nino was the latest addition to their crew. He wore a mask, like the rest of them, but instead of the suits that Kim and Ivan wore, he still preferred his olive green fatigues. He’d arrived in Paris not long ago as an American soldier and had decided not to go home. He liked Paris, and he liked the people in Paris. He particularly liked the people at the Lucky Lady. Marinette was fairly sure that he liked a certain someone who managed the Lucky Lady, but she kept it to herself for now.

“Evening, Ladybug,” he smiled. “Running late again?”

Marinette ignored the jab. “Two bar tops and a table just opened up.”

He and Ivan, a burly fellow who had joined the Lucky Lady crew with his activist girlfriend Mylène, managed the line outside the bar. Nino motioned forward a pair of young men who were regular patrons of the Lucky Lady—had been ever since Ladybug had personally dragged them out of the rubble from an air raid—and let them in to take their seats at the bar.

“There’s a couple waiting on a table, but you’re not going to like them,” Nino said to her.

Marinette wrinkled her nose. “Chloé again?” She didn’t understand why Chloé kept insisting on returning to the Lucky Lady. She’d tried to join their resistance organization, but she was simply incapable of keeping secrets. She’d jeopardized more than one mission before they finally cut ties with her. Well, not quite all ties. She was still an excellent resource for intel on who was dealing on the black market, since her father was so heavily involved in the trade himself.

“It’s fine, Nino. She’s not so rude with Ladybug.”

“Yeah, but her date—”

“Oh my god, Ladybug, finally,” Chloé pushed her way forward through the small crowd. “We’ve been waiting forever—literally forever. Aren’t you going to let us in?”

“Of course, Chloé,” Marinette smiled. “Right this…” her voice trailed off as she looked over Chloé’s shoulder and up at Chloé’s date.

Adrien Agreste, still in his white suit coat and hat, looked down at Ladybug with a curious expression, like a child, mildly interested in a toy design he had never encountered before. She ran her tongue along her teeth and reached down deep for that Ladybug bravery.

“No guns allowed,” she said tersely.

Adrien’s neutral smile hardened. “I see my father’s reputation precedes me.” But he readily unbuttoned his coat and pulled the jacket aside to reveal only his vest underneath. There was no sign of the pistol nor even the holster he’d sported that afternoon. He glanced between Ivan and Nino. “Did you want to pat me down?”

“Oh, please, they’re not going to waste their time with that,” Chloé complained. “Just let us in. It’s freezing out here.”

Ivan looked at Marinette for her okay.

“He’s fine,” she muttered, and motioned for Adrien and Chloé to follow her inside.

She hung their coats by the door and seated them as centrally in the room as she could. She’d once told Chloé that the middle was where guests received the best service, and while that wasn’t untrue, the real reason Marinette put Chloé in the center of the room was so that all of the staff could hear her better.

Chloé liked to talk. And while a lot of what she said was nonsense, every so often she would let something slip, something that gave them a clue about goods moving illegally or even connections that would help them take down Gabriel Agreste and his network of thugs and black market dealers.

“I know the masks are a bit silly,” Chloé said to Adrien as he pulled her chair out for her, “but Ladybug’s an excellent friend of mine. And the service here is to die for.”

Marinette smiled politely and, true to Chloé’s claim about service, met Kim just a few feet from the table, who was already ready with Chloé’s favorite wine. They kept Chloé happy as long as she kept them informed.

“Your usual, Mademoiselle Bourgeois?” Marinette said, burying her irritation as much as she could.

“Of course,” Chloé said with a dismissive wave of her hand, then continued talking to Adrien as if Marinette was not even there. “I’m so glad you came to visit with your father this afternoon, Adrien. I didn’t even know you were in town! I mean, there were rumors, but I thought if you had come back to Paris, surely you would have come by to see me. I shouldn’t have to wait for your father to do business with Daddy just to see you.”

“It was a quiet return.” Adrien’s voice was low and restrained, nothing like Chloé’s exuberance. If they were going to get anything out of Adrien Agreste tonight, Ladybug would need to stay close to the table.

Once she had finished pouring, he picked his wine glass up by its stem and swirled the wine, paying close attention to the way it lingered against the glass before dripping back down the sides. “My father wasn’t exactly eager to let me run off on my own.” He took a sip and had the decency to look satisfied.

Marinette, intrigued as she was to hear what business Mayor Bourgeois and Gabriel Agreste were working on, had little excuse to linger once the wine was poured. She slipped away to the kitchen to put in Chloé’s usual order of hors d'oeuvres.

Juleka had just arrived on shift, and was busy tying an apron over her purple dress so Marinette handed the order off to Nathaniel. He wrinkled his nose as he saw the familiar ticket.

“Chloé’s arrived already? Who’s her date tonight?”

“Adrien Agreste,” Marinette said as casually as she could.

Even behind the pale domino mask Nathaniel wore, she could see his eyes soften. “Marinette, I’m sorry—”

“I’m fine,” she snapped, more sharply than she meant to. But she swallowed down her apology and hurried back to check on her tables—and to eavesdrop on Chloé and Adrien.

The crew of the Lucky Lady all knew how Marinette had once felt about Adrien. Even before the war had ended and the masks had come off, many of them had been her friends from school or knew her through the bakery. They had comforted her when her letters to London went unanswered. And lately, they had been careful with her heartbreak when the rumors about Adrien’s return had begun to spread. But she didn’t have time to be hurt by Adrien Agreste. He’d clearly meant to cut ties by ignoring her letters, and she wasn’t interested in trying to renew any lost affection, especially not if he was choosing to embed himself into his father’s affairs.

And besides, she’d moved on while he was away. Her heart belonged to someone else—someone else she didn’t dare think about for too long.

“What I saw of your father’s collection was fascinating,” Adrien was saying as Marinette glided past their table. “I’ve never seen so many Egyptian artifacts in one place before.”

“Can we not talk business, please?” Chloé whined. “I don’t care what you and Daddy talked about.”

Marinette paused at a neighboring table and asked how her patrons were doing, but her ears were attuned to Chloé, praying that her patience would not go to waste tonight.

“You’re not even sad to see it go?” Adrien said.

“What do I care about some gross old mummies and ugly bugs? As long as your father’s buyer is paying enough to cover the renovations to our summer home, I don’t need to know details.”

“I’m sure it will be more than enough for that.” Adrien took a sip of his wine and leaned back in his chair. “My father found a gentleman in Germany eager to turn his funds into hard assets, so it sounds like a win for him and your father.”

Marinette would have loved to linger to hear more, but she was running out of excuses to stop at each of her tables. She hoped, as Chloé said, “You and I should get away this summer,” that Alix or Alya might pass by and catch the rest.

Gabriel Agreste arranging a sale between Mayor Bourgeois and someone in Germany seemed innocuous enough, but Marinette didn’t trust it. When she and Alix had a moment to confer in the kitchen, she shared her concerns.

“I think Adrien Agreste is up to something. This deal between his father and the mayor sounds fishy.”

“You’re just bitter Adrien’s back and didn’t say anything to you,” Alix said with a roll of her eyes. “I don’t blame you for being mad—you have every right to be, especially since, well—” But Alix didn’t finish that thought, perhaps put off by Marinette’s glare, and quickly returned to her original sentence. “—but that doesn’t mean every word out of his mouth is related to some scheme.”

“It sounds like Gabriel found a buyer for Mayor Bourgeois’ Egyptian collection—someone in Germany—”

Alix froze, hands halfway to a plate of roasted duck. “My father and Jalil have been trying to convince Mayor Bourgeois to return those artifacts to Egypt for years! We thought we were finally making headway—” Alix’s surprise quickly burned out into indignation. “Germany! That’s so unfair!”

Marinette picked up two plates of the icebox cake that Adrien and Chloé were waiting on. “Max and Alya will want something actually criminal if we want to get involved.”

“Surely we can dig something up,” Alix muttered. She took a moment to school her expression into something neutrally polite. Then she and Marinette hurried back onto the floor both to deliver their plates to their guests and listen for any clues that something more nefarious was happening, something that might convince Alya and Max that investigating this deal was worth pursuing.

While Alix and Marinette managed the intelligence and missions that the Lucky Lady crew undertook, Alya and Max managed the business of the Lucky Lady itself. The rest of the crew filled in where they were needed, and if Marinette and Alix wanted extra resources, they needed Max and Alya on board. And if they wanted the crew’s help, it truly would have to be a team decision.

But Adrien and Chloé had nothing else interesting nor incriminating for Marinette to overhear as they finished their dessert and paid their bill, nothing to prove one way or another whether there was something underhanded going on that the Lucky Lady crew needed to undermine.

Still, when Marinette took the mid-evening profits upstairs to Max’s office, she took the time to ask for his thoughts.

“It sounds suspicious, doesn’t it?”

Max shrugged as he counted the francs Marinette handed to him. “Considering Gabriel’s business dealing patterns of the past, perhaps.” He paused to add the total to the Lucky Lady’s ledger and slid the bills into the safe. “But on its own it is innocuous; I don’t think we have enough information to get involved.”

Marinette wrinkled her nose, but did not argue. She didn’t need Max’s approval to run her own investigations.

✦✧✦✧

There was usually a lull between the dinner crowd and what Max called the “evening entertainment” crowd, and Marinette used that brief moment of peace for a break. She grabbed her coat and slipped out the back door with a box of cigarettes in hand to keep her warm against the cold night.

It wasn’t snowing, though it certainly felt cold enough to start. Marinette pulled her collar closed against her throat and cheeks, keeping herself as bundled up as she could. She had a fairly narrow view of the street, illuminated by a nearby lamp, but the corner of the theater that backed the Lucky Lady cut through that light, giving her a space of quiet darkness to enjoy a reprieve during the chaos of an evening shift.

There were not many on the street on a cold night like this, but a painfully familiar voice cut through the crisp air.

“You can’t be out on a night like this.”

Marinette’s heart stopped in her throat. She hugged the brick wall, but could not deny her curiosity. She crept closer and peered around the corner.

It was indeed Adrien Agreste, chatting with a young man in a threadbare coat that looked like it might have once been a blue officer’s uniform, but had weathered enough snow and shrapnel to be little more than scraps. The right sleeve was pinned up to the shoulder.

Adrien shrugged out of his coat and handed it to the young man. “There’s some spare bills in the pocket. Get yourself something hot to eat and a room.”

He sounded like the boy who had abandoned her, not the man who had returned. His voice was gentle, uncertain. There was none of the swagger she’d seen in the young man in her shop that morning, nor the cold grin he’d sported when he’d entered the Lucky Lady.

Marinette turned away and closed her eyes against the pain in her chest. It was worse to know that somehow the Adrien she had once known was still in there somewhere. The Adrien she had fallen for did still exist, but she didn’t get to see him.

She swallowed down her heartache and irritably thumbed her lighter until it sparked to life. She took a long drag, letting the warmth of the smoke burn out all other pain in her chest. She let it out just as slowly, savoring the heat.

Instead of fading down the road, closer to the main street where he might be able to hail a cab, Adrien’s heavy footsteps grew closer. Marinette took in another lungful of cigarette smoke and held onto it, determined not to let it out until he had passed her by, but then the footsteps stopped.

“Bonsoir, Ladybug,” he said in that same delicate voice that tore through her chest.

She breathed the smoke out quickly and opened her eyes. “Bonsoir, Monsieur Agreste.” She hoped she sounded distant and unaffected.

He patted down his suit jacket pocket and frowned. “Could I borrow a light? I seem to have left mine in my coat.”

Marinette considered refusing him, but if she wanted consistent information about Gabriel Agreste, she needed Adrien to be a happy patron of the Lucky Lady. She handed him her lighter and a cigarette. “What happened to your date?”

“I called her a car. I was hoping to catch a moment with you before returning home.”

Perhaps in protest of her aching chest, a sneer curled around Marinette’s mouth. She hoped the darkness hid the worst of it. “What business could you have with me?”

He put the cigarette between his lips and brought the flame to its tip. The small orange fire illuminated his green eyes briefly. They were as soft as she remembered, without a trace of the coolness she’d seen that afternoon.

“I heard a rumor that if a gentleman is down on his luck, you’re the lady to see.” Adrien, like she had just moments ago, took a long draw of his cigarette and held it in his chest.

“I’ve been known to reverse fortunes,” she murmured. “From toppling those on thrones to lifting up those in the gutter. You don’t strike me as a man in a gutter.”

He shrugged and turned his head to blow the smoke away from her. The street lamp glinted off of his hat and his bangs, creating a golden halo. “One man’s heaven.” He let the rest of phrase disappear behind a rueful smile.

Everything about it prickled against Marinette’s skin like a bed of needles, but she persisted, unwilling to waste an opportunity here.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I only wanted to tell you that, if you’re interested in toppling thrones, my father has staked a lot of his reputation and finances into this one sale.”

“Mayor Bourgeois is the one selling.”

Adrien extinguished his cigarette against the wall. “I just balance the books. That’s all I can tell you.”

It was hard to keep the anger that curled in her stomach from spreading into her lungs. If balance the books was all that he did, then why had he walked into her father’s shop that morning? “How do I know this isn’t some trick? Or that you’re not using me to take down your father so you can take his place?”

The self-deprecating smile vanished. He let out a deep breath, and the warm air of his lungs collected in front of him as surely as if he had taken another drag on his cigarette. “Do it right, and there won’t be anything left for me to take over.” He tipped his hat to her. “Thanks for the light.” And he turned back to the street.

Marinette waited until he had rounded the corner and was well out of sight before snuffing out her own cigarette and hurrying back inside. She could already hear Max and Nino warning her it was a trap, but she felt recklessness curling inside her chest like cigarette smoke. She had to know what else was hidden in that art exchange, or it would burn her alive. She had to tear down Gabriel Agreste, and if Adrien came tumbling down with him, well, she wouldn’t complain.

[thechanelmuse]

Lucy Pearl is one of the dopest groups of all-time. 

This is a statement, not a debate. Go argue with someone else lol

Lucy Pearl initially came together as a “one and done” supergroup, but would’ve put out a sophomore project, as this collective, if Raphael didn’t postpone the release of their album for months...withholding Dawn’s coins as an artist on his label. Never go for a verbal agreement. Get the shit in writing, date it, and everybody sign off on it. 

Raphael told Dawn he couldn’t pay her before the project drops. But whatever she needs, he’ll make a way and get it. They go way back to high school days. Fast forward to 5 months of their album’s delay. Dawn came a knocking cause the bank came a knocking about her $1500 mortgage payment for her home. Raphael told her, as his artist, that she gotta go get it somewhere else 🙃. 

Poof goes her house to the bank and down goes her credit.

“Spend yo money baby” Chile... Back in the day, the rumor was Dawn used to break up groups. Tuh. Jus👏🏽 tice👏🏽 for my girl. 

Them damn near slave music contract stories back then smh. I have many of them thumbtacked in my brain. Like Dawn and the members of En Vogue only getting paid 2 pennies each per record sold. Two copper Lincolns. That was the deal for their first two albums... They were signed to a production company signed that was signed to the major. Never mind that Teri was dating the (manipulative) producer, putting her emotions before her and the girls’ business 🤦🏽‍♀️ smh. 

En Vogue’s producers and higher ups got mansions off of them. Meanwhile, Dawn had a $700 apartment she was struggling to pay. Then got evicted and moved back with her parents...while they were one of the biggest girl groups at that time, selling over $20 million. 

They still don’t beat Dry Hill tho. They had to split one penny per record sold. Chile I—...

What Tip said: “Industry rule number four-thousand-and-eighty, record company people are shady.”

[sl33paholics]

What's It Like Dating Ghiaccio

Soft!Ghiaccio x Black!female reader

Warning(s): None? Tbh, it's just all silly fluff (maybe a bit of lewd here and there but not explicit)

Since part 5 is based in Italy, expect some Italian imagery + language lol

— Coming across Ghiaccio was pretty funny. Your father owns a cannabis shop which you and your siblings help out. Usually, you guys are never allowed in once sun goes down, but that didn't stop you from coming down to find your father.

— You went down to the basement only to see a group of men and your dad passing each other ziplock bags. "That's cocaine?" You ask, sucking on the lollipop you had as their attention went to you. Your father was stunned and quickly told you to leave. "Y/N!! What did I tell you to not come in here past -" "Father, I'm 24 years old, relax. I'm here to ask if you want pizza since we're ordering."

— Embarrassed he was indeed. You couldn't help but laugh. "Now get OUT!!" "Alright alright, no need to toot your horn." You say, swaying away in your pajamas (I found this cute) going upstairs. Little did you know that a blue haired guy was checking you out, catching the attention of his purple haired teammate. "Checking out the guy who's cooking us drugs daughter seems rather unlike you, Ghiaccio~" He seemed as if he was about to explode, he was fumbling on his words and couldn't say anything other than "Shut UP!!"

Soft!Ghiaccio can't get enough of you. He absolutely adores you. You turned him into a man he thought he'd never be. You did something to him. At one point, he thought you were some sort of stand user using your ability.

Soft!Ghiaccio lowkey loves when you put him in his place. He still has his outbursts and fits around other people, but when he acts that way around you, you quickly shut him up with a smack before pulling him into a hug. You're one person in his life that can pull himself together and talk him through those outbursts, actually listening to him. He can't help but melt.

Soft!Ghiaccio buys you whatever you want. I mean, he's in the mafia after all. You have to tell him from time to time again not to run his bank account to the dirt, but he insists. I mean, he's gifting you stuff like this, that, and the third. Sometimes, it's hard to say no.

Soft!Ghiaccio knows you two have to keep it on the DL. For sure, if your dad finds out he would be livid, if the team finds out, it'll stress him to the bone. If they see him in this submissive state around you, his image would be ruined and KNOWS they would make fun of him forever. But the thrill of getting caught can't help but make him more excited and happy to be in a relationship with you.

Soft!Ghiaccio loves cooking with you. Spending time at your small apartment with soft jazz music playing in the background while you two bond is heaven to him. Making Gnocchi, Ravioli, or Minestrone, it's honestly a better date than he could ever ask for. Especially when he gets time away from his group. Expect him to bring this along once you gave him the heads up.

Soft!Ghiaccio has a hard time showing affection or being romantic in general. You two have completely different lifestyles. He enjoys reciting love poems with you. You can see he's trying his best, which you give him a kiss for his effort. Expect him not to let you go for an hour.

— Translation: You hold me, and I will transform into wonder, in your hands, in the heat, that heat that makes the wheat grow at night. Brings the loved body as a secret life - preserved - under the thick ice of memory. You are dark like a nutshell in the fist crack between worlds. There is silence between you and me. There is pearl. I have you.

Soft!Ghiaccio after sexy time is gonna treat you like a queen. Do you need a massage? The man doesn't mind putting his hands to the test and gripping them thighs, ahahaha. Are you hungry? Don't worry, will prepare a whole meal for you despite having snacks in your drawer. A bath, even? Ghiaccio will make sure to get it ready, quick and span.

Soft!Ghiaccio would crash at your place. Always. Expect him to appear with or without notice. Cuddles. Snuggles. Nibbling on your earlobe. Feeling your soft skin against his rough hands, caressing your cheek, oh my goodness, he feels as if he could never separate himself from you (especially if you have this on) like a cat following its owner around. Spreading himself all over you.

Soft!Ghiaccio can't wait to spend the rest of his life with you. He knows that any day his life would be taken considering the career path he'd choose, Ghiaccio wants to start a family with you. He hopes that you say yes. If you worry that your body won't be able to handle it, the two of you could always adopt. The man wants to make sure you guys are set for life.

[serendipityinink]

He was born alone. Torn apart. From the cradle different, a stranger looked at sideways. Grew in the dark corners of abandonment, rejected by family. The soul marked by iron, forged by suffering. He fled. Tired. Searching for a place where he could be sincere, loved. Heart like lead, loneliness a heavy burden. New group. Now ignored. The dark night, stripped wound of rejection. Gazes that pass through him like a specter, empty echo of his past. In the core of his soul, something shines. A diamond, a pearl of greatness, something rare. The belief that true acceptance starts from within, a resilient essence that burns slowly. And the expectation that, one day, the world will exalt his divergent value. Lies. He is mistaken. He believes he is a swan. But on the bank of the river of life, he is and always will be the ugly duckling.

-sara rego