#the hotel dupont

[demospectator]

“Jewish Balloon Man” c. 1896 – 1906. Photograph by Arnold Genthe (from the collection of the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division). Two Chinese men and a child inspect the offerings from a balloon seller at the northwest corner of the intersection of Dupont and Jackson streets, just outside the Globe Hotel.

Balloon Men of Old Chinatown

In the 21st century, online research is more likely to produce a plethora of entries about a Chinese spy balloon rather than the balloon sellers of pre-1906 Chinatown. Nevertheless, the photographic images of the non-Chinese balloon and toy vendors remain worthy of examination and consideration.

Toy balloon vendors plying their wares in old Chinatown, in addition to the storefronts of non-Chinese owned or operated businesses, provided a modest counter-narrative to the perception that the neighborhood represented an entirely foreign enclave. Historian Jack Tchen has written that "[s]everal white novelty peddlers on Dupont Street sold to tourists visiting Chinatown and the Barbary Coast. In contrast to the the often antagonistic relations between the Chinese and the irish and Italians, little conflict occurred between Jews and Chinese. Reportedly, two German Jewish brothers, known as the 'Sa Ling Brothers,' ran a store on Dupont Street and even spoke fluent Cantonese."

Even a notorious exoticist as Arnold Genthe, who went to great lengths to crop or scratch out non-Chinese figures and businesses from his photos of old Chinatown, could not resist taking his own photographs of balloon sellers catering to the whimsy of the 1,000 to 2,0000 children who lived in old Chinatown by the turn of the 20th century.

Buying Balloons or “The balloon man” c. 1897. Photograph by Arnold Genthe (from the collections of the California Historical Society and the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division). In this wider angle shot, a balloon seller working in Chinatown shows his wares to two boys and four girls. Based on the children’s attire (especially the headdresses worn by the girls), the photo was probably taken around the New Year holidays when children were seen walking freely around the neighborhood.

“The Balloon Man” c. 1897. Photograph by Arnold Genthe (from the collections of the California Historical Society and the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division).

The California Historical Society’s Director of Exhibitions, Erin Garcia, wrote about CHS’ copy of Genthe’s published print of his photo, The Balloon Man, as follows:

“In The Balloon Man, one of many photographs by Arnold Genthe (1869–1942) in the California Historical Society’s collection, we find ourselves transported to San Francisco’s Chinatown at the dawn of the twentieth century on a holiday. Children dressed in finery and group of men gather on a street corner around a balloon seller. Floating near their heads are three shiny orbs, rendered with a metallic luster on the gelatin silver photographic paper. The image is strangely dark and moody despite the festive subject matter and this piques my interest. The children should be delighted, but we cannot see their faces. The somber tone continues throughout the composition with the children surrounded by a mass of men in dark clothing. The balloon vendor is so darkly printed in his black coat and hat that he is practically indistinguishable from the background. All we see of his bouquet of balloons are the two attached to his stick; the rest hover above, beyond the frame of the photograph. We are not permitted to see the spectacle nor the reaction of those watching it. Instead Genthe wants us to focus on the children, in their bright clothing, like lights shining amid an indistinct darkness."

A child and a balloon man, c. 1889. Photographer unknown (taken in the manner of Sam Cheney Partridge?) from the Jesse B. Cook collection at The Bancroft Library. A third identifiable balloon seller working in Chinatown shows his wares to a boy

The Balloon Man” c. 1896 – 1906. Photograph by Arnold Genthe (from the collection of the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division). Genthe's close-up print of a wider angle image. Two Chinese men and a child inspect the offerings from a balloon seller at the northwest corner of the intersection of Dupont and Jackson streets, just outside the Globe Hotel. The residential hotel would gain notoriety as the location where the first case of bubonic plague would be diagnosed in 1900.

One can only speculate how language barriers and cultural differences might have made communication more difficult, but the wonder of a rubber balloon to a child probably transcended such barriers for the sale.

Two girls and a boy speak with a balloon seller, no date. Photographer unknown (from a private collection). The façade seen in the background in the left was probably the entrance and second floor balcony of the Yoot Hong Low restaurant at 810 Clay Street. The vague outline of cable car tracks appears on the cobblestone street seen behind the girl at left.

“Two Girls with Balloons” c. 1900. Photograph by Arnold Genthe (from the collection of the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division). The girls seen bringing home their balloons are probably attired for, and during, the Chinese New Year holiday. The older girl is wearing Qing-era platform shoes intended to emulate the walking style of a bound-foot woman.

“The Toy-Balloon Man” c. 1896. Illustration by Theodore Wores for his magazine article, “Children of Chinatown in San Francisco.”

Artist Theodore Wores wrote for the magazine St. Nicholas, vol. 23, no. 7 (May 1896) about New Year’s time and balloons as follows:

“About the time of the Chinese New Year Chinese children are particularly favored, and the fond fathers deny them nothing. The little ones always appear to be well provided with pocket-money to buy toys and candies. “As a result, not only the Chinese shopkeepers, but peddlers of other races, reap a rich harvest about this time by selling toys and novelties. The seller of toy-balloons seems very popular, and is surrounded by boys and girls eager to buy the fascinating rubber globes.”

A detail from the photo “Returning Home” c. 1896-1906. Photograph by Arnold Genthe (from the collection of the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division). The father and daughter holding a balloon are walking west up the hill on the 800-block of Clay Street.

After the devastating 1906 earthquake and subsequent reconstruction of San Francisco's Chinatown, balloon sellers made a pleasant return to the streets, perhaps symbolizing resilience and continuity. Their reappearance undoubtedly conveyed a sense of familiarity and nostalgia, reminding the returned families of joyous moments, past and those to come, on the streets of old Chinatown.

A mother and four children examine the wares of a balloon and toy peddler at a corner of Grant Avenue, c. 1910. Photographer unknown (from a private collection).

The presence of non-Chinese balloon sellers in pre-1906 San Francisco Chinatown added an extra layer of diversity and charm to the community. Their presence represented the intermingling of cultures, fostering a sense of curiosity and wonder among residents and visitors alike. Thanks to the pioneer photographers of the old neighborhood, balloon sellers became part of the vibrant visual tapestry of old Chinatown, offering to a new generation perhaps a glimpse of the broader world beyond Chinatown's segregated borders and introducing a new form of entertainment.

“Balloon Man of Chinatown San Francisco 1904.” Oil painting by Mian Situ. Arnold Genthe's "Jewish Balloon Man" photo taken at the northwest corner of Dupont and Jackson streets (including the architectural detail of the old Globe Hotel at the top-center of the image), served as the inspiration for this work by modern artist Situ.

[hotelbooking]

Dupont Motels Dupont Motels are located in Petone, less than 15 minutes’ drive from the Wellington city centre. The property features a barbecue area, guest laundry facilities and a children’s playground. All Dupont rooms come with a fully equipped kitchen and ironing facilities. Each room includes flat-screen satellite TV, a CD player and a DVD player with free movies. Jackson Street, famous for its dining and shopping, is just a 10-minute walk from Dupont Petone. The Korokoro Recreation Reserve is 4 minutes’ drive away. The renowned Te Papa Tongarewa Museum is a 15-minute drive.

[greatevent89]

Hotels in Dupont Circle

Located in one of the capital's most vibrant neighborhoods, The Dupont Circle Hotel offers an unparalleled luxury experience. With accolades like the 2023 Condé Nast Traveler Readers' Choice Awards, we are more than just a hotel in Washington D.C.

We are not just another hotel in Washington D.C. Our prime location near Ford Theatre and the John F. Kennedy Center makes us a top choice for both leisure and business travelers.

[sayruq]

NAHLA AL-ARIAN HAS been living a nightmare for the past seven months, watching from afar as Israel carries out its scorched-earth war against her ancestral homeland in the Gaza Strip. Like many Palestinian Americans, the 63-year-old retired fourth-grade teacher from Tampa Bay, Florida, has endured seven months of a steady trickle of WhatsApp messages about the deaths of her relatives. “You see, my father’s family is originally from Gaza, so they are a big family. And they are not only in Gaza City, but also in Deir al Balah and Khan Younis, other parts,” Al-Arian told me. Recently, the trickle of horrors became a flood: “It started with like 27, and then we lost count until I received this message from my relative who said at least 200 had died.” The catastrophe was the backdrop for Al-Arian’s visit last week to Columbia University in New York City. Al-Arian has five children, four of whom are journalists or filmmakers. On April 25, two of her daughters, Laila and Lama, both award-winning TV journalists, visited the encampment established by Columbia students to oppose the war in Gaza. Laila, an executive producer at Al Jazeera English with Emmys and a George Polk Award to her name, is a graduate of Columbia’s journalism school. Lama was the recipient of the prestigious 2021 Alfred I. duPont–Columbia Award for her reporting for Vice News on the 2020 explosion at the port of Beirut. The two sisters traveled to Columbia as journalists to see the campus, and Nahla joined them. “Of course, I tagged along. You know, why would I sit at the hotel by myself? And I wanted to really see those kids. I felt so down,” she said. “I was crying every day for Gaza, for the children being killed, for the women, the destruction of my father’s city, so I wanted to feel better, you know, to see those kids. I heard a lot about them, how smart they are, how organized, you know? So I said, let’s go along with you. So I went.” Nahla Al-Arian was on the campus for less than an hour. She sat and listened to part of a teach-in, and shared some hummus with her daughters and some students. Then she left, feeling a glimmer of hope that people — at least these students — actually cared about the suffering and deaths being inflicted on her family in Gaza. “I didn’t teach them anything. They are the ones who taught me. They are the ones who gave me hope,” she recalled. “I felt much better when I went there because I felt those kids are really very well informed, very well educated. They are the conscience of America. They care about the Palestinian people who they never saw or got to meet.” Her husband posted a picture of Nahla, sitting on the lawn at the tent city erected by the student protesters, on his Twitter feed. “My wife Nahla in solidarity with the brave and very determined Columbia University students,” he wrote. Nahla left New York, inspired by her visit to Columbia, and returned to Virginia to spend time with her grandchildren. A few days later, that one tweet by her husband would thrust Nahla Al-Arian into the center of a spurious narrative promoted by the mayor of New York City and major media outlets. She became the exemplar of the dangerous “outside agitator” who was training the students at Columbia. It was Nahla’s presence, according to Mayor Eric Adams, that was the “tipping point” in his decision to authorize the military-style raids on the campus.

On February 20, 2003, Nahla’s husband, Sami Al-Arian, a professor at the University of South Florida, was arrested and indicted on 53 counts of supporting the armed resistance group Palestinian Islamic Jihad. The PIJ had been designated by the U.S. government as a terrorist organization, and the charges against Al-Arian could have put him in prison for multiple life sentences, plus 225 years. It was a centerpiece case of the George W. Bush administration’s domestic “war on terror.” When John Ashcroft, Bush’s notorious attorney general, announced the indictment, he described the Florida-based scholar as “the North American leader of the Palestinian Islamic Jihad, Sami Al-Arian.” Among the charges against him was conspiracy to kill or maim persons abroad, specifically in Israel, yet the prosecutors openly admitted Al-Arian had no connection to any violence. He was a well-known and deeply respected figure in the Tampa community, where he and Nahla raised their family. He was also, like many fellow Palestinians, a tenacious critic of U.S. support for Israel and of the burgeoning “global war on terror.” His arrest came just days before the U.S. invaded Iraq, a war Al-Arian was publicly opposed to. The Al-Arian case was, at its core, a political attack waged by Bush’s Justice Department as part of a wider assault on the rights of Muslims in the U.S. The government launched a campaign, echoed in media outlets, to portray Al-Arian as a terror leader at a time when the Bush administration was ratcheting up its so-called global war on terror abroad, and when Muslims in the U.S. were being subjected to harassment, surveillance, and abuse. The legal case against Al-Arian was flimsy, and prosecutors largely sought to portray his protected First Amendment speech and charitable activities as terrorism. The trial against Al-Arian, a legal permanent resident in the U.S., did not go well for federal prosecutors. In December 2005, following a six-month trial, a jury acquitted him on eight of the most serious counts and deadlocked 10-2 in favor of acquittal on the other nine. The judge made clear he was not pleased with this outcome, and the prosecutors were intent on relitigating the case. Al-Arian had spent two years in jail already without any conviction and was staring down the prospect of years more. In the face of this reality and the toll the trial against him had taken on his family, Al-Arian agreed to take a plea deal. In 2006, he pleaded guilty to one count of providing nonviolent support to people the government alleged were affiliated with the PIJ. As part of the deal, Al-Arian would serve a short sentence and, with his residency revoked, get an expedited deportation. At no point during the government’s trial against Al-Arian did the prosecution provide evidence he was connected to any acts of violence. For the next eight years following his release from prison in 2008, Al-Arian was kept under house arrest and effectively subjected to prosecutorial harassment as the government sought to place him in what his lawyers characterized as a judicial trap by compelling him to testify in a separate case. His defense lawyers alleged the federal prosecutor in the case, who had a penchant for pursuing high-profile, political cases, held an anti-Palestinian bias. Amnesty International raised concerns that Al-Arian had been abused in prison and he faced the prospect of yet another lengthy, costly court battle. The saga would stretch on for several more years before prosecutors ended the case and Al-Arian was deported from the United States.

“This case remains one of the most troubling chapters in this nation’s crackdown after 9-11,” Al-Arian’s lawyer, Jonathan Turley, wrote in 2014 when the case was officially dropped. “Despite the jury verdict and the agreement reached to allow Dr. Al-Arian to leave the country, the Justice Department continued to fight for his incarceration and for a trial in this case. It will remain one of the most disturbing cases of my career in terms of the actions taken by our government.” That federal prosecutors approved Al-Arian’s plea deal gave a clear indication that the U.S. government knew Al-Arian was not an actual terrorist, terrorist facilitator, or any kind of threat; the Bush administration, after all, was not in the habit of letting suspected terrorists walk. Al-Arian and his family have always maintained his innocence and say that he was being targeted for his political beliefs and activism on behalf of Palestinians. He resisted the deal, Nahla Al-Arian said. “He didn’t even want to accept it. He wanted to move on with another trial,” Nahla said. “But because of our pressure on him, let’s just get done with it [because] in the end, we’re going leave anyway. So that’s why.” Sami and Nahla Al-Arian now live in Turkey. Sami is not allowed to visit his children and grandchildren stateside, but Nahla visits often.

[saddleups]

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐒. ↳ 𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐈𝐈 ( drinks on me )

★ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 . . . 7k

★ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 . . . ongoing , part three. ARTHUR MORGAN X F!READER !! 18+ SMUT MDNI !!

★ 𝐂𝐖 . . . explicit dirty talk . semi public . size kink (?) . p in v . oral ( f receive ) .

★ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 . . .  after  successfully  completing  your  mission  ,  dutch�� praises  your  efforts  but  reminds  arthur  that  you  stuck  your  neck  out  for  him  ,  urging  him  to  appreciate  it.  relieved  of  your  duties  ,  you  and  arthur  share  a  celebratory  drink  ,  retreating  to  a  secluded  room  where  emotions  boil  to  the  surface .... and dutch walks in.  later  ,  you  decide  to  make  arthur's  dreams  come  true. 

  ★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . . . please .......drink responsibly

You're still reeling from Arthur’s confession, the weight of it settling heavy in your chest as you watch him walk away, disappearing into the darkening streets of Saint Denis. Conflicted and embarrassed, you try to shake off the emotions brewing inside you. You knew Arthur didn't mean to intrude during an intimate moment but you weren't ready to confront those emotions.

Returning to camp feels like the only option, and you’re set on ignoring Dutch, hoping to slip back unnoticed. But as soon as you arrive, he’s already there, waiting, eager for an update on how things went in town.

“Where’s Arthur?” he asks, his eyes narrowing slightly.

You maintain your composure, not wanting to let anything slip. “He decided to stay behind for a drink,” you lie smoothly, hoping it’ll satisfy Dutch enough to let it go.

“I was tired, so I came back alone.”

Dutch’s jaw tightens, irritation flashing across his face. He doesn’t seem overly concerned about the dynamic between you and Arthur, but more about the integrity of the mission.

“Did you find out anything about Dupont?” Dutch asked, his tone sharp with expectation.

"Not much," you admit, taking a steady breath. "But he’s definitely not the gentleman type. He invited me to his hotel for the night… not exactly what you'd expect from a married man."

Dutch nodded thoughtfully, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “That tracks with what I’ve been hearing around town. Dupont’s screwing around, and high society won’t take kindly to that kind of scandal.”

“So, what’s the next move?”

Dutch mutters something about needing everyone to pull their weight but ultimately relieves you for the night. "Just go get some rest," he says, waving you off, already turning his focus back to the planning.

Exhausted, you gladly take the opportunity to retreat to your tent, the weight of the day pressing down on you. Sleep comes quickly, but it’s restless, your thoughts circling around Arthur and the strange turn the day had taken.

The next morning, you wake to find the camp buzzing with activity. However, you immediately sense a shift in the air. Dutch is already in the center of camp, speaking to Hosea and giving orders. You spot Arthur nearby, arms crossed and looking visibly tense. The moment Dutch catches sight of you, he waves you over.

“Well, there she is,” Dutch says, his voice carrying its usual commanding tone. “Got a little change of plans for tonight.”

You raise an eyebrow, unsure of what he means. Arthur shoots Dutch a dark look, jaw clenched tight.

“What change of plans?” you ask cautiously.

Dutch steps forward, holding a garment bag in his hand. “I’ll be accompanying you to the ball tonight,” he announces. “Arthur’s staying behind.”

Arthur bristles immediately. “The hell I am,” he grunts, stepping closer. “I thought it was me and her. That was the plan.”

Dutch gives him a look, calm but firm. “Plans change, son. You know how it is. Dupont’s a slippery bastard, and I need to make sure we don’t leave anything to chance.” He pats the garment bag. “I already picked up the dress this morning.”

Arthur scoffs, his frustration barely contained. “And what? You think I can’t handle it? You don’t trust me with this job?”

Dutch’s expression softens, slightly. “This isn’t about trust, Arthur. It’s about making sure we succeed. Dupont is more likely to talk to a man with, let’s say, a certain charm. That’s why I’m stepping in.” He gives a smile, clearly confident in his ability to sway the target.

Arthur shakes his head, clearly unhappy. “You’re underestimating me, Dutch,” he mutters, his eyes darting between you and Dutch.

You glance at Arthur, feeling the weight of his frustration. “Arthur…” you begin, trying to ease the tension. “It’s not about you. We all just want to get this done right. Dupont’s a dangerous man.”

Arthur shoots you a sharp look. “And you’re fine with this? Going in with Dutch instead of me?”

You pause, unable to find the proper words to respond with.

Dutch claps his hands together, interrupting the exchange. “We go with what works.” He slings the garment bag over his shoulder and turns to Arthur. “Oh Arthur, don't be a baby. You're welcome to join, Dupont won't be your focus. Don’t take it personal, but this mission’s too important to let anything slip.”

Arthur’s glare intensifies, but he keeps his mouth shut, his jaw working as if he’s biting back a retort.

Dutch turns to you with a wide smile, full of charm. “Get ready. We’ll be heading out in a few hours. Dupont won’t know what hit him.”

Arthur watches as Dutch walks away, leaving you standing there with him in the tense silence. His eyes flick to you, and despite everything, you can see the frustration simmering beneath his guarded expression.

“We were supposed to do this together,” he mutters, his voice low but heavy with disappointment. He's hurt, and for whatever damn reason you feel bad for the guy.

You don’t respond immediately, unsure of what to say. Instead, you give him a small, tired nod before heading back to your tent, the day had just begun but you felt the pressure of it mount on you already.

As you turn to head back to your tent, Arthur grabs your wrist, his grip firm but not harsh. Before you can protest, he pulls you into a quieter spot behind the wagons, away from the prying eyes of camp. His jaw is tight, and his eyes are clouded with something you can’t quite read—frustration, guilt, maybe both.

“You actin’ like this because of what I said last night?” he asks, his voice low but urgent. “Look, I swear—I didn’t mean to see anything. I didn’t.”

You sigh, the weight of the past couple of days pressing down on you, and pull your wrist free, crossing your arms. “Arthur, this isn’t just about that,” you say quietly. “You took my journal, teased me in front of Dutch, and questioned if I was even good enough to do the job. What did you expect me to do? Laugh it off?”

His expression softens, and for a moment, he looks down, his frustration shifting into something more sincere. He rubs the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “You’re right,” he mutters, his voice quieter now. “I shouldn’t’ve taken your journal, or said half the things I did. That was wrong. I—" He pauses, as if struggling with the words. “I’m sorry.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. Arthur doesn’t apologize often, and when he does, you know he means it.

You let out a long breath, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “I know we’re not exactly friends, Arthur. But we’re supposed to be on the same side. If this job is going to work, we need to trust each other.”

Arthur meets your gaze, his expression serious. “I know,” he admits. “I was just… hell, I don’t know what I was doin’. But I’ll make it right.”

You study him for a moment, then nod. “Fine. I'll talk to Dutch, convince him to go back to the original plan. Just you and me.”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of his moth, almost like he's relieved. "Thank you."

It catches you off guard, you tease him. "Sorry? What was that, didn't catch it the first time."

"Don't push it, woman."

With that, the tension between you eases, at least a little. Arthur steps back, giving you space, and for the first time since the morning started, it feels like you might just be able to pull off this job together—despite everything that’s happened.

You find Dutch by the campfire, his usual charismatic grin absent, replaced with a furrowed brow as he stares into the flames. For whatever reason—maybe guilt, maybe something deeper—you vouch for Arthur as if your life depends on it. Despite everything that happened, despite the way he made you feel, there’s something in you that refuses to let Arthur be cast aside.

Dutch, who had always shown you an unimaginable amount of kindness, who had made you feel like you belonged to something greater, watches you closely. His charm, that effortless warmth he always wielded to win people over, fades away. In its place is a stern, punishing expression you’ve only seen him reserve for reprimanding Arthur.

He looks at you, eyes narrowed, the lines on his face deeper, harsher. “I took you in because I saw potential in you. You’ve been sharp, you’ve been loyal—but vouching for a man who can’t follow simple orders? Arthur’s been slipping, and I won’t let anyone drag this gang down, not even him.” His voice, normally smooth and persuasive, carries an edge of warning now, making your stomach knot.

Inhaling deeply through your nose, you stand your ground, meeting his gaze. "Arthur isn’t the problem here, Dutch. He may be reckless, but he’s not a liability. He’s done more for this gang than anyone, and you know that.” You take Dutch's hand into your own. Fingers dancing over his many rings.

Dutch’s jaw tightens, his eyes studying you, but he doesn’t interrupt. You can tell he’s considering your words, weighing them like a balance on a scale.

“Look," you continue, your voice steadier than you feel, "I know I haven't been here long but, I don't doubt Arthur's loyalty. If you push him away now, you might lose more than just a good gun. You could lose the glue that’s holding your gang together.”

Dutch stands silent for a moment, then finally exhales slowly, his gaze shifting from you to the fire. “You got more heart than I gave you credit for but....” he mutters, though his voice still carries that hard edge. Dutch grips your hand, gently but enough force to get his point across. “....Remember this—loyalty cuts both ways. You put your neck on the line for Arthur, you better make damn sure he’s worth it.”

You nod, feeling the weight of Dutch’s words sink in. His charm may have faded for the moment, but the unspoken message is clear: loyalty comes with a price, and you’ve just raised the stakes.

Your hands untwine. Dutch raises his to point at a group of women gathered around the other side of the camp. "Go on, get ready for the evening. I'll talk to Arthur."

"Thank you Dutch."

"Oh don't start, now go on."

You nod at his order and head towards the other side of the camp. You do your best to muster up a smile to the women, who had more excitement for the evening than you did. As you draw closer, they greet you with open arms, already eager to help.

Mary-Beth, claps her hands together. "We’re gonna make you look like a proper lady tonight!" Tilly grins and winks. "Well, as proper as a Van der Linde woman can get."

They lead you to a makeshift vanity near one of the wagons, filled with brushes, powders, and colorful fabrics. Karen is quick to pull out the gown—a rich, deep red that shimmers faintly in the light. "This’ll suit you just right," she says, holding it up against you, eyes sparkling with approval.

You’re not used to being fussed over, but the women work swiftly and with care. Mary-Beth weaves your hair into a neat, elegant updo, leaving a few loose strands to frame your face. Tilly helps you into the dress, cinching the fabric around your waist in a way that flatters your figure, the tight fit around your curves transforming your usually practical appearance into something... different. You almost don’t recognize yourself.

As Karen adjusts the hem of the gown, you catch a glimpse of yourself in a small, cracked mirror. For a moment, you pause, taking in the reflection. You look beautiful. The elegance of the dress, the soft makeup, the way it all enhances your natural features—it surprises you. A small, unintentional smile creeps onto your face.

"See? Told you," Tilly teases, catching your look of surprise in the mirror. "You clean up real nice."

With a deep breath, you step out from the circle of women, ready—or at least as ready as you’ll ever be. "Thank you girls," you express your gratitude with hugging each of the women goodbye.

When Dutch sees you, his reaction is immediate, his expression softening with pride. He approaches, offering a fatherly smile, warm and approving. “Now, look at you,” he says, his voice full of affection. “I knew you had it in you. You look... well, you look ready to take on the world.” His places a gentle kiss on your cheek, his approval radiating in a way that makes you feel like you truly belong here, like you’re part of something greater.

When you notice Arthur standing off to the side, his usual laid-back confidence is still present, though his eyes linger on you a moment longer than normal. He tugs at the stiff collar of his suit, pretending not to notice how you're watching him.

"Well?" you prod, lifting an eyebrow. "You’ve got something to say, or are you gonna just stand there all night?"

Arthur smirks, shifting his weight and scratching the back of his neck. "Ah, you clean up alright," he says with a shrug, deliberately casual, though you can see the way his gaze flickers over you—taking in the way the dress hugs your form. "Figured you’d be tripping over that thing, but I reckon you’ll manage."

You can’t help but roll your eyes, though a small smile tugs at your lips. “Is that all?”

His smirk widens, and he shoots you a sidelong glance, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Maybe I’ll have more to say later," he drawls, "once you stop fishin’ for compliments."

Even though he doesn’t outright say it, there’s something in his tone that gives him away. And the longer his eyes linger, the more you’re certain — he’s definitely noticed.

The two of you walk side to side toward the carriage Dutch had organized for the evening. Further selling the idea that you belonged to a higher class. As you walk, you catch a fleeting glance of Arthur beside you and catch a sight you'd never seen before.

Gone is the rugged gunslinger in his usual worn leather and dusty hat. Instead, he’s dressed in a finely tailored suit, the dark fabric hugging his broad shoulders and clean lines giving him an air of refinement. His usual scruffy appearance has been replaced with something more polished—his hair, typically tousled and unkempt, is now neatly combed back, framing his face in a way that softens his usual hard edges.

The suit fits him well, accentuating the strength in his build, but there’s still something unmistakably Arthur about the way he carries himself. He tugs at the stiff collar, clearly uncomfortable with the formal attire, but there’s no denying how striking he looks. It’s almost disarming to see him like this, a man who’s so at home in the wilds, now looking every bit the gentleman.

You can’t help but stare for a moment longer than you intended. It’s a stark contrast to the rough-and-tumble Arthur you’re used to, and somehow, seeing him cleaned up like this only adds to the tension between you. He catches your eye and, noticing your gaze, shifts awkwardly.

"Stop starin’," he mutters, glancing away, though there's a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Ain’t used to all this."

You smirk, your eyes still trailing over him. "Could’ve fooled me. You almost look civilized."

Arthur lets out a soft chuckle, scratching the back of his neck again. "Don’t get too used to it," he says, his voice low. "This fancy stuff ain’t exactly my speed."

“Well, I think you look handsome.”

The confession slips out before you even realize it, casual but undeniably true. Without giving it much thought, you turn and step into the carriage with Dutch’s assistance, brushing it off as if it’s no big deal.

Behind you, Arthur stands there for a second, blinking as though you’d just spoken in another language. His mouth opens slightly, clearly caught off guard, fumbling for a response.

Dutch, ever observant, leans in toward Arthur and mutters, “Just take the compliment and don’t be an asshole.”

Arthur grumbles something under his breath, but he follows you into the carriage without a retort, shaking his head.

The air inside the grand ballroom is thick with the chatter of high society—politicians, businessmen, and more. You move through the crowd with Arthur at your side, dressed up yet somehow still managing to look a little out of place among the glittering chandeliers and silk gowns.

As you glance around, your eyes land on Alistair Dupont, the man at the center of Dutch’s scheme. He’s charming the crowd, his smile and demeanor polished. But there’s a flicker of recognition when his eyes meet yours. He excuses himself from his conversation and approaches.

“Ah, the lady of the hour,” Alistair says smoothly, giving a short, practiced bow. His gaze sharpens as he studies you, then flicks to Arthur. “I must admit, I didn’t expect such... colorful company this evening.”

Your jaw tightens, but you keep your cool. “Nice to see you too, Mister Dupont.”

He smiles, but there’s no warmth behind it. "Why don't we find someplace a bit more… private?" Alistair murmured, placing his hand at the small of your back as he guided you toward his study.

The heavy double doors closed behind you and Arthur with a soft thud. You exchanged a brief, reassuring glance with Arthur, though the air was thick with tension. Alistair was up to something. He turned his back to you both, casually fixing himself a drink as if this were just another social call.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Alistair turned back toward you, a cold smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Without a word, he pulled a piece of paper from his desk and tossed it onto the floor at your feet. Your heart skipped a beat as you recognized it immediately—your own wanted poster.

Your fists clenched, and a wave of heat rushed through you, but your voice seemed trapped in your throat. Every instinct screamed at you to run, but you stood your ground.

“I’d be careful about the game you’re playing, sweetheart,” Alistair sneered, his tone dripping with malice. “You and your little friend here are in way over your heads.”

Arthur shifted beside you, a steady presence, his fingers twitching ever so slightly near his belt. “Is that so?” he drawled, his eyes narrowing. “Funny, I thought we were just gettin' warmed up.”

Alistair’s smile faltered, the tension thickening. “I know exactly who you are and what you’re trying to pull. You think you can blackmail me?” He stepped forward, words tasting like venom. “Let me be clear—whatever dirt you’ve dug up won’t matter. I’ve got powerful friends. Lawmen, politicians… they’ll bury you both before you even have a chance to breathe.”

"You sound nervous, Alistair," you say, keeping your voice calm and measured. "Like a man with too much to lose."

His expression darkens as you continue, unbothered by the tension building in the room. “A wife who knows nothing about the mistress, and a child you’ve hidden from the public? I’m sure your 'friends in high places' would love to get wind of that.”

Alistair’s grip on his glass tightens until his knuckles turn white. "You should've just taken the invitation to the hotel," he snarls, his voice low and dangerous. “I would've had my way with you, made you feel like the most expensive whore in Saint Denis, make you forget about this life with that damn outlaw.”

A flicker of panic crosses his face as he steps toward you, his intentions clear, but before you can react, Arthur surges forward. With no hesitation, he shoves Alistair back, his jaw clenched in fury. In one swift motion, Arthur’s fist collides with Alistair’s face, the impact echoing through the room.

You gasp, eyes widening. “Arthur!”

Arthur’s fist connected with Alistair’s jaw with a sickening thud, sending him stumbling backward. The glass in Alistair’s hand shattered on impact with the floor, spilling liquor across the polished wood. He groaned, clutching his jaw as he glared up at Arthur, a mix of rage and humiliation clouding his features.

Arthur stepped closer, his voice low and dangerous, “Listen here, Dupont. Your little secret—your wife, the kid, all of it—stays buried. But only if you keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told. You’re gonna stay loyal to us, to Dutch, and if you don’t…”

He let the sentence hang in the air, the threat clear without needing to be said. Arthur’s gaze was hard as steel, his fingers still curled into a fist, ready for more if Alistair tried anything again.

Alistair swallowed hard, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth, the defiance slowly draining from his eyes. “You can’t—” he started, but Arthur cut him off, his voice cold and final.

“I can. And I will. You play along, and no one has to know about your dirty little secret. But cross us, and not even your 'friends' will be able to protect you.”

You make your presence known, standing beside Arthur. "Get up and wipe yourself off Alistair." You throw a handkerchief in his direction. "You have a party to get back to."

Alistair glares at Arthur, but the weight of the threat settles between them. “This isn’t over,” he hisses before turning on his heel, disappearing into the crowd.

Arthur watches him go, his jaw clenched, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Christ,” you mutter.

Arthur shoots you a sidelong glance. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” you reply, though your heart is still racing. “I need a drink.”

As you and Arthur reenter the ballroom, the tension of the encounter with Alistair still lingers between you. The grand chandelier above casts a warm glow across the sea of people dressed in finery, but your mind is far from the celebration. You spot Dutch near the far end of the room, engaged in conversation, but his eyes find yours as you approach.

Dutch's brow lifts with curiosity, sensing that your task is complete. "Well?" he asks, an edge of anticipation in his voice.

Arthur straightens beside you, offering a nod. "It’s done. Dupont’s… on board now," he says, voice low but firm.

You add quickly, "He won’t be a problem. We made sure of it."

Dutch’s eyes flicker with satisfaction, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Good. Very good. I knew I could count on the two of you." He leans in, voice quieter but full of pride. "I’ll take it from here—Dupont won’t dare step out of line now."

Dutch’s gaze shifts pointedly to Arthur. "And Arthur, you should know she stuck her neck out for you back at camp. Vouched for you, when I wasn’t so sure." His tone is stern but not unkind, as if reminding Arthur of a debt.

Arthur glances at you, something unreadable in his eyes, before he mumbles, "I know."

Dutch pats both of you on the shoulder. "Consider yourselves relieved for the night. Go, enjoy yourselves. You've earned it."

As Dutch turns away, already moving to work his leverage on Dupont, you catch Arthur’s gaze again. He clears his throat, his teasing tone returning, though his gratitude is clear in the way he holds your gaze a little longer. "Well, partner, looks like I owe you. How ‘bout we celebrate? Drink’s on me tonight."

The weight of the events seems to lift just a little. You smile at Arthur and he returns the gesture.

A few drinks later, you and Arthur find yourselves in a secluded room, away from the commotion of the ball. The soft glow of candlelight fills the space, the hum of distant music and chatter barely reach your ears. You've booth loosened up, the tension from earlier melting away with each glass of whiskey.

"You handled Dupont better than I expected," Arthur says leaning back against the wall, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. "Didn't even slap him when he said such a nasty thing."

You sit on the chaise across from Arthur, cradling a glass in your hand, eyes fixed on the amber liquid swirling inside. "Yeah, thanks," you murmur, glancing up at him. Arthur leans against the wall, a bottle of whiskey in his hand. His expression is thoughtful, still weighed down by the confession from the night before.

"Come, sit," you say, patting the open spot beside you.

Arthur hesitates for only a second before obliging, settling next to you. The silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken thoughts. Finally, your eyes meet his, and you decide to break the tension.

"About last night…" you begin, feeling the need to get ahead of the conversation. "I shouldn't have said nothin'," Arthur interrupts. His voice softens, "shouldn't have watched, neither."

You take a breath, feeling a combination of embarrassment and something else you weren't ready to name, "Arthur, it's…"

Before you can continue, he interrupts once more words falling from him like a running faucet. “I ain’t apologizing for lookin’. Can’t help it.” He slides in closer, his gaze intense. “But if you think I’m gonna stand by and let Dupont or anyone else put their hands on you…”

Your breath catches in your throat as the weight of his words sinks in. You’re both sitting so close now, the air thick with tension, and all the teasing and bickering that’s built up between you feels like it’s coming to a head.

“I…” you murmur, your voice trailing off as he inches closer, his eyes searching yours for permission, for understanding, for something neither of you are ready to say out loud just yet.

Without hesitation, you place a firm hand on his chest, feeling the strong beat of his heart beneath your palm. "....I can take care of myself," you say confidently, but he simply responds with a soft yet rough voice,

"I know. But I still will."

Your gaze locks with Arthur's, and you can feel a fiery intensity building between you. You bite your lip before shifting your attention to his hands. "Can I ask you something?" you inquire.

Arthur takes a swig from the whiskey bottle and nods, "Of course. I've been honest with you."

You hesitate for a moment before continuing with a softer tone. "That night in the tent… when you saw me, did you like what you saw?"

Arthur nearly chokes on his drink, caught off guard by your question.

"I swear, I didn't see much," he stammers.

With a subtle touch to his thigh, Arthur tenses up at your gesture, sending electric sparks through his body. Your eyes meet his as you whisper in his ear, "Be honest. Did you touch yourself thinking of me?"

Arthur closes his eyes in disbelief at the boldness of your words. "Yer trying to embarrass me, aren't you?" he mutters.

You shake your head firmly. "No, no. I promise. I'm just curious." Your hand slowly slides higher on his thigh. "I could've used your help that night, you know." You lean in closer to him. "I bet it would've felt so good. So much better than my own fingers."

With a lift of your hand you trace your index across Arthur's bottom lip. A grunt escapes Arthur's lips as he struggles to contain the moan threatening to break free.

"Kiss me," you demand.

And without hesitation, he does. Your lips meld together passionately as if they were made for each other. Your palm presses firmly against his chest as the kiss deepens, both of you trying to devour each other completely.

As you part for air, you look into his eyes and remind him of your initial question. "You still didn't answer my question, Mister Morgan." Your hands playfully dance along the waistband of his trousers. "Did you like what you saw that night?"

Arthur's confession comes out in a low, husky tone, "Course I did. I went to my tent and stroked my cock thinking about you. I had a dream of fucking you." He breathes heavily against your mouth, taken aback by his own admission. "Is that what you want to hear, darlin'?"

Your heart races at his words as you gulp, unable to believe what he just revealed.

Your breath catches in your throat at Arthur's blunt confession. A shiver runs down your spine as you process his words. You hadn't expected him to be so candid, and the raw desire in his voice ignites a fire deep within you.

"Yes," you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear."

Arthur's eyes darken with lust as he watches you, waiting to see what you'll do next. The tension between you is palpable, electric. You slide your hand higher up his thigh, feeling the hard muscle beneath his trousers.

"Tell me more," you breathe, leaning in close so your lips brush against his ear. "Tell me about that dream."

A low growl rumbles in Arthur's chest. His large, calloused hands grasp your waist, pulling you flush against him. "You sure you want to know, darlin'?" Arthur murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "It ain't exactly proper talk for a lady."

"I'm no lady," you reply with a smirk. "And I want to hear every filthy detail."

Arthur's grip on your waist tightens as he pulls you even closer. His breath is hot on your neck as he begins to speak in a low, gravelly whisper.

"In my dream, you came to my tent in the dead of night. Didn't say a word, just started undressin'. I watched as you peeled off every layer, 'til you were standin' there bare as the day you were born."

You shiver at his words, picturing the scene. Your hands roam over his broad chest as he continues.

"You climbed on top of me, straddlin' my hips. I could feel the heat of you against me, even through my clothes. You leaned down and kissed me hard, your hands working to undo my shirt buttons."

Arthur's voice grows huskier as he recounts the dream, his hands roaming your body. You let out a soft moan as he squeezes your hips.

"I ran my hands all over your soft skin, touchin' every inch of you. When I cupped your breasts, you threw your head back and made the sweetest sound I ever heard."

Your breath quickens as Arthur's words paint a vivid picture in your mind. You press yourself closer to him, craving more contact.

"Then you started ridin' me, slow at first. I could feel how wet you were, how tight. God, it felt so good. I gripped your hips and helped you move faster, harder."

Arthur's hands slide down to cup your backside, pulling you firmly against him. Your palm hovering over his trousers can feel his arousal growing.

"I woke up just as I was about to finish," he growls. "Left me aching for you, somethin' fierce."

You roll your hips against him, eliciting a low groan. "Well, Mister Morgan," you purr, "why don't we make that dream a reality?"

A wicked grin spreads across Arthur's face as he looks at you, still chuckling in disbelief. His eyes are filled with a dangerous glint as he feels the power you have over him and decides to challenge it.

"Not so fast, darlin'," he taunts, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Ever think I might have a question for you too?"

You knit your brows together, feeling a surge of pleasure rise within you. "What are you talking about?"

"That night in the bar with Dupont," Arthur continues, his words laced with lust. "You were pouring ale down your chest, driving us mad like dogs."

"What about it?"

Arthur leans closer, his breath hot against your skin. "You gonna apologize for that little stunt or what? Because I was ready to bend you over and fuck you right then and there."

Before you can react, he grabs the bottle of liquor and pours a few ounces down your cleavage, causing a soft shriek to escape from your lips. He then plunges down, lapping up the liquid gathered in your bust hungrily while his fingers dig into your hips possessively. The intensity of the moment leaves you breathless and disoriented, unsure how to respond to this display of dominance from Arthur.

With each passing second, your gaze remains fixed on him, his tongue lapping up the taste of liquor from your skin. His hand sink into the depths of your hips, keeping you still.

"Careful, don't rip my dress." You warn, "I won't." His response thick, speaking directly where his lips met your cleavage.

A flush spreads across your body at his words - warmth that quickly turns hot and wet. The knowledge of where this will inevitably lead heightens the need within you until it feels like an ache.

The sound of a doorknob rattling awakens you, yet Arthur remains transfixed. You desperately try to pull yourself away, Arthur complies looking up with eyes glazed over by lust, mouth and chin smeared with liquor and saliva.

Arthur's head snaps back into focus at the sound of Dutch's voice entering the room. "Sorry," he slurs out stumbling up from the chaise.

"You two look like quite the sight," Dutch remarks dryly as he surveys the scene before him: Arthur swaying unsteadily on his feet; your cheeks flushed red with embarrassment; whiskey stains splattered across you both - evidence of their recent encounter. It's like a father catching his daughter.

You stand on your feet and protest, "it was an accident!" Trying to shield your wet chest from Dutch's gaze while simultaneously fanning out your skirt to cover up Arthur's excitement still throbbing in his trousers.

"He spilled whiskey on me," you say defensively on behalf of an intoxicated Arthur.

"You know what they say about trying to put out a fire with gasoline?" Dutch questions pointedly, eyes narrowing at Arthur's inebriated state.

Dutch grabs hold of Arthur by the arm and propels him towards the door, barely able to keep his footing with each unsteady step. The sound of his scuffling feet echoes in your ears as you watch from afar.

You can't help but look away when Dutch finally turns to face you again, his eyes boring into yours like burning embers on a cold night. "He spilled a drink on you?" he asks sternly, as if trying to determine just how much trouble his drunken companion has gotten himself into.

You nod your head quickly in response, your cheeks flushing with shame and embarrassment at the memory of what had happened earlier. "We were celebrating and just got carried away," you offer by way of explanation, hoping that it will be enough to appease Dutch's wrath.

But he isn't satisfied with your answer. He puts his hands on his hips and lets out a long exhale, like he's trying to keep himself from losing control completely. "A dress like that doesn't come cheap," he warns ominously before turning around and heading back towards the carriage.

"Come on now, unless you prefer walkin' home."

You swallow hard as you gather your skirts around yourself and hurry after him, praying that you won't have to face any more questions about what had happened between Arthur and yourself earlier tonight.

The carriage ride back to Clemens Point feels interminable; every jolt of the wagon causing an unbearable ache within you as you try desperately not to think about how close you were to giving in to temptation earlier. Dutch kept his gaze on Arthur, still in his drunken haze staring out the carriage window.

By the time you reach your destination, exhaustion has finally begun to overtake you completely, and all you can do is stumble through the darkness towards your tent. Mary-Beth waits for you outside, her eyes widening when she sees the whiskey stain on your dress. She curses under her breath as she helps you undress for bed, not even bothering to hide her disgust when you explain Arthur spilled a drink on you.

But sleep eludes you long after Mary-Beth has left the tent; instead, all you can do is lie there in the darkness replaying over and over again what had almost happened earlier that day...

So you leave your tent, passing through the central campsite to ensure that everyone else has retired for the night. The lanterns have been extinguished, save for one flickering oil lamp left burning low by Dutch's side as he keeps watch over the camp. It's risky, yet you take your chances to sneak towards Arthur's tent, grabbing a bottle of liquor along the way.

The interior of Arthur's tent is dimly lit by a small lantern hanging from the center pole; it casts shadows across his face as he lays on his back on his cot with his arm covering his eyes like he's trying to sleep but can't seem to find any relief.

"What are you doing here?" he asks groggily when he feels your presence, not quite awake yet but definitely aware that someone has entered his personal space uninvited.

You swallow hard and place the bottle of liquor down on a nearby table before beginning to undress, unable to resist the urge to explore this newfound desire between you and Arthur,

"How'd that dream go? I sneak in your tent…" your clothes fall away one by one, revealing more of your body with each discarded piece, "and undress bare as the day I was born?"

Arthur lets out a slow sigh and rolls over onto his side towards you. His hand reaches out and brushes against your skin lightly as if testing the waters; when he receives no immediate resistance, he begins exploring further downward your abdomen, leaving kisses in his wake.

The silence that falls between you two feels electric; it crackles with anticipation and desire as if every nerve ending in your bodies has come alive all at once. You push him down on the cot, Arthur speechless at the site. You're a literal dream come true.

"I get on top of you." You press your core onto his clothed cock, grinding your hips forward as you lean down to place a firm kiss on his lips.

"And ride." he completes your sentence with a moan.

Delicate hands begin to fumble with the buttons of Arthur's shirt. Freeing him from the confides of it, you admire his broad chest, freckled with a few scars and littered with hair. You place wet, open mouth kisses starting at his neck and down to his chest.

Arthur large hand cups your ass, hips bucking forward as he grinds into you. You moan so sweetly, Arthur kicks his head back. "You sound better than I imagined."

You can't suppress a chuckle, "I can't believe I'm doing this," you mutter, "I wanted to punch you the second I met you."

Arthur laughs, "can't say I was too excited to meet you neither, darlin' but you changed my mind."

His eyes flicker to the bottle of liquor you sneaked into the tent. "Go on, bring that bottle over here." He requests sweetly. Although you are hesitant to escape from his touch, you oblige to his request and retrieve the bottle.

"Is this really the time?" You ask, handing the bottle over.

There's a wicked grin on Arthur's complexion that hints he's up to something, you just can't put your finger on it.

"Lay down on the rug over there, pretty girl."

Looking at Arthur for reassurance, he nods encouraging you to do as he requested. Surrendering your frame onto the rug underneath you, you lay back feeling the fur blossom around your bare skin.

Arthur kneels at your feet with a bottle of liquor placed right at his side.

"What are you-"

He cuts you off by grabbing your legs and arching your body upward towards him. He takes your legs and places them on either side of his shoulder. Then Arthur retrieves the bottle of liquor and pours a generous amount onto your exposed cunt. The sensation of the liquid pouring between your legs is unusual but the hunger in Arthur's eyes aided your growing desire.

Without notice he drowns into you, tongue flat against your wet slit as he laps up the liquid eager not to waste a single drop. His tongue swirls inside you greedily sucking your juices mixed with liquor. Your back arches forward, hips grind against his face as you feel his stubble burn against your inner thigh.

The moans that leave you are ones you weren't aware you were capable of making. "Arthur!" You shriek. He's lost in his own world and you can't resist the urge to tighten your thighs around his pretty face.

"Arthur if you keep this up, I'm going to..."

Arthur releases his grip slowly lowering your body onto the rug, he parts from his task allowing you to catch the breath caught in your throat.

"Well, it sure don't sound like you want me to stop?" He teases.

Without a word, you reach over to unbutton his pants, aiding him in sliding the fabric down his legs. You wrap your hand around his cock, stroking it gently as you lean forward to kiss him. He lets out a low groan, hips bucking into your hand.

"It's just... I want your cock," you pout, "take me, Arthur. However you want me, take me."

"God," Arthur gasps, looking up at you. "Sit up and take my cock like the good girl you are." He demands.

You oblige, positing yourself over him. The size of his cock comes into clear view, you wonder if it's possible for his large girth to fill you entirely.

"Go on, girl" he urges you.

"It's so... big."

Arthur places his hands firm on your hips, "we'll just take it easy, yeah? I got you girl, don't you worry."

You nod, trusting him. The tip of his cock kisses your entrance. As he begins to sheath himself inside you, you feel your walls stretch open. Your wetness gathering on his cock. He groans, "atta girl."

You lower your weight. His cock entering you completely. Plunging forward you place your palms flush on his chest anchoring yourself. Your hips move in tandem with his, a slow steady rhythm.

"Your cock feels so good inside me, it's so big."

Arthur grunts, “that's it, take it like a good girl." Arthur firmly grabs your ass and slaps the skin. It sends a jolt up your spine resulting in a loud moan.

Quickly he places an open palm over your mouth. He hushes you, "I know your excited pretty girl, but you gotta stay quiet for me."

Nodding your head, you both become more entangled in each other, your hips begin to move faster. Arthur's hands grip harder onto your hips, his cock plunging deeper inside you with every thrust. You throw your head back in ecstasy as he reaches around to grab one of your breasts, squeezing it softly between his fingers.

"Oh fuck, Arthur," you moan. "Fuck…I'm gonna come."

Arthur growls into the crook of your neck, "come for me baby girl."

In an explosion of pleasure, you cry out as waves of intense sensations wash over you. Your muscles tense up around his cock, milking it with each spasm. Arthur lets out a long groan, feeling you grip him tightly before he too comes undone, filling you completely with his warm seed.

Breathing hard, your forehead rests against his, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. “That… was absolutely incredible,” you murmur, eyes locked on his.

Arthur chuckles softly, still catching his breath. “If I wanna top that, I reckon I’ll have to keep dreamin’,” he says, pulling out of you slowly, his tone laced with humor.

You relax against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall as he recovers. “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” you tease, a playful grin tugging at your lips.

“I should probably head back to my tent,” you suggest after a moment, though Arthur’s arms tighten around you, a soft groan of protest escaping him.

You kiss him gently, smiling as you pull back. “I need to let you dream, don’t I? Besides…” you sit up slightly, glancing down at him, “I doubt Dutch would be too thrilled about this.”

Arthur groans again, like a petulant child. “Don’t go bringin’ him up in a perfect moment like this.” You laugh and playfully slap his chest, feeling the warmth between you linger.

You sit up, gently brushing your hair back as you prepare to leave Arthur’s side. He watches you, still catching his breath, his eyes lingering as if he doesn’t want the moment to end. Leaning down, you place a soft kiss on his lips, letting it linger for just a heartbeat longer than usual.

“Goodnight, Arthur,” you whisper against his mouth, pulling back with a tender smile. “Keep dreamin’, alright? Maybe next time you’ll outdo yourself.”

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly as he gazes up at you. “Reckon I’ll give it a shot.”

You stand, adjusting your clothes, and cast one last glance at Arthur before turning toward your tent. As you take a few steps away, his voice, soft yet playful, breaks the silence. “You sure you can’t stay a little longer?”

A smile tugs at your lips, and you pause for a moment, shaking your head. “Tempting,” you reply, glancing back at him over your shoulder, “but I’ll leave you to those dreams.”

Before you can take another step, you feel Arthur’s hand gently wrap around your wrist, tugging you back just enough to stop you in your tracks. “Oh, come on now, darlin’,” he teases, his voice low and sweet. “Don’t make a grown man beg.”

His eyes, wide and hopeful, give him a puppy-like look you can’t help but smile at. You sigh, pretending to consider your options, but he’s already won you over.

“Alright,” you relent, shaking your head with a grin. “Guess we’ll just have to wake up early.”

Arthur’s quiet celebration is immediate, his face lighting up as he adjusts the cot to make room for you. Sliding in beside him, you find yourself enveloped in his warmth as his strong arms pull you close. His chin rests on your shoulder, the rough touch of his stubble tickling your skin in a way that makes you feel strangely comforted.

As you settle into the cot, the steady rise and fall of Arthur’s breathing becomes a soothing rhythm, a remedy for a good night’s rest. Wrapped in his embrace, the exhaustion of the day fades, leaving you content and warm in his arms.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER TBA

[cosmichymns]

Not beta read. All spelling errors are mine. On AO3.

When Two Halves Split

You and Emily walked into your shared high rise DuPont Circle apartment after landing back in Quantico about 50 minutes ago with used go-bags that got dropped unceremoniously by the front door. You were tired, sore, embarrassed, and still felt dirty. You could sense Emily was tense, with worry still etched in every line of her face.

You hadn’t meant to be so careless but over the past year, since Emily had become Unit Section Chief, it had been sinisterly creeping up on you. It started with little things like volunteering for more physical roles along the likes of Morgan and Alvez. Your strength had never been an issue. Then it graduated to losing your cool with the local police force much easier than your normally calm and collected temperament usually allowed. Within the past six months it had escalated to charging into potentially dangerous buildings without waiting for backup or clearing scenes. It had gotten to the point that even Rossi, your more physically and emotionally reckless boss, had to pull you aside a few times.

“Can I run you a shower, love?” The low timbre of Emily’s voice rolled through your body, causing you to snap out of your reverie.

Without looking to her, you shook your head while making your way to the kitchen for a glass of wine. You poured two glasses but leaned against the counter, facing Emily, taking a few sips before walking to your wife and handing her the other glass. She accepted it, took a small sip, and continued to study you.

“Thank you,” she murmured, holding the glass with two hands and allowing her fingers to tap along the side. “Just let me help you wash your hair. There’s still a but of dirt in your hair.” You let her run a cool hand through your loose auburn curls, proving her point as a small clump fell to your shoulder.

Dirt. The dirt was everywhere but that’s what happens when an unsub attempts to bury you alive and then when you struggle, shoots the disturbed earth, grazing the side of your deltoid. It still stung. Thankfully it only needed a few stitches. Just another scar for the book, you had thought as Alvez’s hands dug you out of the earth. JJ had called Emily right away, as she always did when you inevitably made a shit choice, and your wife arrived halfway across the country in record time.

You sighed, giving in and knowing she was right with a small forced smile. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Emily let her hand carefully run from your hair, over your good shoulder, down your arms until she found your hand, and fingers interlaced. She led you across the stylish yet homey apartment to the en-suite master bathroom. She sipped her wine as she turned on the tap and her fingers tested the temperature. You stood there awkwardly, watching her as she bent over to test it again.

“Do you need help, hmm?” Emily asked, setting down her now empty glass and turning to you. She made no move until you answered.

“Please?” You answered, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly needy and small.

Emily hummed quietly in response as she took your glass and started to delicately unbuttoned your shirt. You looked down, watching her recently picked at fingers remove layer by filthy layer. You instantly felt a pang of guilt at the sight of her pale, long digits. They looked fresh and not filled scabbed over and knew you were the cause. You sighed again and closed your eyes to avoid seeing the damage you caused.

Before you knew it, you were both under the spray of hot water. The bathroom lights were dimmed, a few candles lit along the windowsill, and Emily had secured a waterproof bandage over your stitched up muscle. Her hands were dotingly massaging your scalp with your favorite peony scented shampoo. Your hands clung tightly to her shapely waist, letting her care for you.

You had missed her physical presence of this last case, as well as the past four others. You missed sharing a hotel room for as many hours as the team could spare before getting up to do it all over again. JJ had offered to share a room while you but you had declined politely each time.

“Y/n?” Emily questioned softly, the inflection sounding like it wasn’t the first time she had quietly called your name. “Sweet girl?” Her fingers so gently lifted your chin up so your eyes met.

“Yes? I’m sorry… I was just…” you let your explanation trail off. She already knew.

“Sit for me?” Her fingers were carding through your clean, wet hair, coaxing you into the present.

“I think I’m done.”

“Y/n, please humor me.”

“Emily, I just want to…”

“Sit.”

The assertive tone in her voice sent a shiver down your spine, your body knowing what it meant. You looked up at her, immediately searching her face for any type of annoyance, and finding none. Knowing it was a 50/50 shot, your subconscious chose defiance as you set your jaw. She raised a greying eyebrow, a silent warning. You knew she always made good on punishments regarding your bratty behavior.

You stifled a huff, never broke eye contact, and slowly took your time sitting down in the tub, which you didn’t realize was now half full of steaming water. You had no idea why you were challenging her over the most minuscule things, especially when she was only trying to help. Trying your wife at this juncture was in no way an intelligent choice. Saying nothing, Emily held your gaze for a few moments more than necessary while standing tall above you then sat behind you, pulling you to her bare chest.

Over the course of ten minutes you sink into her embrace, melting your body into hers, as she gently kisses under your ear and partially down your neck. The kisses aren’t insistent or pushy. They’re soothing and full of affection. Unexpectedly, your eyes start to burn and fill with scorching tears of embarrassment and confusion. She shushes you tenderly as you turn your head to the side, visualizing her out of one blurry eye. She brings a hand up and rests it above a breast, anchoring your body to hers. She kisses along your cheekbone up to the corner of your eye as angry tears finally give way.

“Oh, my sweet love,” Emily murmurs with a quiet devotion.

Emily doesn’t attempt to dispel your tears. She doesn’t downplay or ignore them. She also doesn’t try to rationalize them. You lean your face into the crook of her warm neck as you close your eyes, trying to assuage your emotions. Emily gently runs her free hand over your good arm patiently.

“I don’t know why.” You say softly once your breathing has evened out.

“Why what, love?”

“Why I’m so… so reckless. So stupid. It’s just gotten worse and… thoughtless. Impetuous. That’s not who I am but…” You shake your head roughly, pulling yourself from the mold your body has made against her. She lets you.

“Hmmm…” Emily just hums, leaning her head against the edge of the deep clawfoot tub but keeping eye contact with you.

“I don’t want anything dangerous to happen to me but it almost always does because I’m so… untethered.”

“And why is that, do you think?”

You turn in the tub to face Emily, your legs finding their way around her hips and behind her back. She pulls you into her lap, hands on your waist. The dim flickers of the candle throw dancing shadows across her face. You try not to look to closely at her ever deepening worry lines, some which you know for a fact you have caused. You run a thumb tenderly back and forth along the fine crows feet lines that extend from the corner of her eyes like a burst of sunlight. She smiles, dimples popping, at your loving gesture.

“It hasn’t been the same for a while.”

“Since I’ve become Section Chief?” she ventures.

You think on it for a moment. “Actually, yes.” You looked at her questioningly but she doesn’t elaborate, just studies you carefully. “I know you’re only a phone call away and in most cases you and Garcia are a reliable, steady stream through our ear pieces but…” You pause. “It’s not the same.”

Emily nods encouragingly, her brows furrowing slightly as your thumb slows to a stop. She thinks she knows where you’re going with this because it’s something that she’s keenly aware of on her end.

“I miss your presence,” you continue. “Your physical presence. We used to be paired together so often when you were a field agent… but this is by no means your fault.” You added the last part quickly. “I just feel a bit…”

“Unstable.” Emily finishes the sentence knowingly, chewing on the inside of her cheek and letting her dark eyes drift to the ceiling.

“Mmhmm”, you hum in acquiescence. “I don’t want you to feel bad or guilty or like you caused this because in no means-“ You cup your hands around both cheeks, gently tilting her head down to meet your eyes. “-your fault in the least. I need you to understand that. I feel so silly for acting out subconsciously like a petulant teenager whose frontal lobe isn’t fully formed. At least they have an excuse.”

Emily is silent for a moment, as if she’s not sure she should say what she’s thinking. You don’t push but instead run you thumbs delicately over her high and sharp bone structure. Without realizing it, your eyes have dropped to her lips while you lick yours in anticipation of her voice. She notices right off the bat and smiles sweetly, leaning forward and placing a chaste kiss on your lips as you sigh.

“I’ve asked JJ to watch over you more but that doesn’t appeared to have helped much,” Emily finally says.

“And I’ve asked Garcia about you…”

At this you both share a quiet laugh. Everything about this woman is addicting. Her lips, her eyes, her laugh…

“I can’t have you hurting yourself because you miss me though, Y/n. It’s not fair to either of us or the team. Can you honestly say you can get this under control?”

You sigh again, sliding down her body just a touch so you’re able to rest your head on her chest, right under her chin. She extends her neck back a bit, giving you more room to get comfortable. You run your pruned fingers down her strong, lightly muscled arm, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth.

“It’s never on purpose. Like I don’t plan to go into the field and fuck around and find out with an unsub. It’s hard to control my environment and without a doubt count on the rest of the team like I did with you. I never thought I would become this needy, clingy partner. I had always despised and even looked down on it… but feeling your warm skin on mine, your strong heartbeat in my ear…” You take a shaky breath, your eyes starting to burn again. Nothing you’re saying feels like it’s making the least bit of sense. “It is the epitome of everything. You’re everything. I was spoiled to work with you as much as I did and I need to realize it can’t always be like that. I have to-“ You scrunch up your nose. “-share you.”

You feel Emily stifle a small giggle underneath you and rub her own pruned fingers along your spine and over your hips. She was waiting for an answer.

“I’ll… I’ll talk to Employee Health, I suppose but I feel like I would be able to work through it on my own.”

The second the sentence slipped from your mouth your light eyes met her dark ones, assessing and reassessing. “We can try whatever you want to, my love. I’ve been considering making my presence more known in the field as well. I didn’t realize how much I would miss it. And miss you too.”

The two of you relaxed in the expensive bath for a few more minutes before drying off, redressing with Emily checking your injury, and wandered into the bedroom. Once the both of you were settled and cuddling in bed, your head once again on Emily’s chest and your injured shoulder facing the ceiling, your eyes drift slowly closed.

“We still have yet to talk about that little defiant stunt in the bathroom…” Emily’s low voice broke the comfortable silence with a tinge of playfulness.

‘Oh no…’, you thought

[muddyorbsblr]

feels like mine pt1

See my full list of works here!

Summary: You wake up in a bed that isn't your own, living a life that seems to be pulled straight out of your wildest dreams

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: 18+ | mentions of death; slight gaslighting (?) [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: everything is not what it seems; twist at the end

Your eyes squinted to adjust to the brightness of your bedroom awash with the morning sun. Looks like Mother Nature chose to be a little too chipper this morning and tried to blind you with its rays shining straight into your room.

You rose from your bed, your hands flopping on to the ultra soft comforter that sunk beneath the pressure.

Weird, you thought to yourself. I don't remember checking in to a hotel, and God knows my bed isn't this soft. You slowly sat up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and alarm bells immediately ringing loud in your head when you looked down at the pristine white sheets.

"This isn't my bed," you said aloud, hopping down from the mattress and assessing your body, ensuring that you were free to move and your limbs weren't tied down in some capacity keeping you captive in what would have been a bizarrely cozy looking prison. You assessed your clothes next; mainly to see if you were even wearing any, your brows shooting to your hairline when your hands touched a lush satiny fabric covering your curves. "These aren't my clothes."

You rushed over to a mirror situated on a door that you assumed was a closet, your confusion growing by the second when you saw that the reflection looking back at you was…yourself. Exactly as you were last night before you went to bed, only clad in a navy blue nightie that looked like it cost over a week's pay. And wearing a ring that probably cost your soul.

The items on the nightstand by the side of the bed you'd woken up on raised even more questions. A black leather-bound journal with a gold 'H' pressed on the spine, a fountain pen, a laptop, a tablet, and a Kindle Oasis. An almost exact match to the items on the nightstand that you knew by heart, but each item was a more luxurious variant. For one, you wouldn't in your right mind ever buy yourself a Kindle Oasis. Or an S.T. Duponte fountain pen.

On the opposite nightstand were a stack of papers bound together with brass fasteners and a pair of reading glasses with a grade that moderately blurred your vision when you held it close to your eyes. You decided against looking at the contents of the book-bound papers in case there was anything confidential you weren't meant to glimpse in its contents.

You checked on the door next, seeing if it was locked from the outside. It wasn't.

You stepped out of the bedroom, assessing your surroundings to find any semblance of information that would tell you where you were and why you were here, only to grumble out of sheer frustration, "This isn't my apartment." To start with, apartments didn't have stairs. And your place didn't have nearly this much windows.

"Did I…shift?" Your voice softly echoed off the walls, staring in disbelief at the framed picture before you. Your hair and makeup impeccably done, a flower tiara delicately put in place at the top of your head, clad in a downright whimsical wedding dress and smiling brilliantly at the groom whose back was turned to the camera, your only hint at who he was being broad shoulders and brown slightly curly hair.

The unmistakable sound of vegetables being cut led you down the stairs and into the kitchen, desperately hoping it would lead you to who your mystery husband was and maybe start making some sense of this downright crazy predicament.

But catching a glimpse of the well over 6-foot lean frame dressed a white button-down shirt tucked into black dress pants that put a way too familiar butt on proud display had you itching to wake up because this was most definitely a concerningly vivid dream.

That is definitely not my husband.

No way on God's green Earth were you married to Tom Hiddleston. This just went from bizarre to downright impossible.

"Good morning, sweetheart," he greeted you in that low timbre that had your knees buckling, setting aside his task at hand and removing his apron before walking over to you.

"Hi…" you answered him, voice wavering. Before you could speak another word, he framed your face in his hands, thumbs softly running across your cheekbones, and then pressing a delicate kiss to your lips. "What're you--"

"We finished filming early," he answered, words murmured against your lips. "I caught an earlier flight so I could see you sooner. Oh I've missed you so much." He pressed his lips to yours again. "My darling wife."

Okay, I definitely shifted. This body you may have woken up in had your face, and probably your maiden name…but this wasn't your life. You were occupying space meant for someone else. Another Y/N.

"Tom, I think I have to--"

"Whatever it is can wait." He kissed you again, this time he pressed against you a little harder, your heart beating wildly in your chest when you felt a light, tentative lick to your bottom lip. "Just let me hold you a little while longer." He wrapped his arm around the small of your back, cradling your head with his other hand as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, sighing in contentment.

You knew you were seconds away from abandoning all your plans to try and get him to listen when he started pressing numerous open-mouthed kisses along your neck, your whole body growing weak when he started nipping and licking at the skin. "Please it's important. I don't think I'm supposed to be--"

The feel of him groaning into your skin made your knees give out, making him hold you tighter against him. He walked you backwards until your back pressed against the wall, your breathing labored as he kissed along the expanse of skin exposed to him by your negligee.

When his kisses started traveling south and he pressed his lips to the swell of your breast, you knew you had to get your words out before you gave in and let him have his way with you, however far that may be. "I'm not supposed to be here," you blurted out, pressing your palms to his shoulders and inwardly cursing at yourself for making him stop. "I know that I might sound like I'm not making any sense but…I think I shifted realities…? It's bizarre to me because I never actually succeeded until now but the point is--"

"Sweetheart, slow down." He began to rub his hands up and down your arms, calming you down some within seconds and once again making you question this reality. And how he knew what to do when you began to ramble and spiral in your own thoughts. "You say you're not supposed to be here. Where do you think you should be? Tell me what you know and perhaps I can help from there."

"My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I'm a software engineer in the middle of a career shift. Last night I went to sleep in a one bedroom apartment in Anaheim. I was no one to you. At most a faceless name that sings your praises online. Definitely not…" You waved your hand in a sweeping gesture across your surroundings. "This," you finished, your breath hitching in the back of your throat when you caught sight of his expression, eyes shining with tears that were seconds away from falling down his cheeks.

"What a bleak life," he breathed out, pressing his lips to your forehead as he pulled you into an embrace. "I can't imagine having to live in a world where I didn't know you. Didn't love you." He kissed your temple. "Thank God it was just a dream."

"A dr--A dream?" you sputtered, confusion overcoming your thoughts. Surely it wasn't that simple. That easily explained. You could remember in vivid detail the code you worked on last night, the bumpy bus ride on the way back to your apartment. The last story you read written by your friends online before you finally laid your head on your pillow and succumbed to an exhausted slumber.

Something about Tom's character on The Hollow Crown and barn sex before he was to face off against the Dauphin of France.

"Yes, my love. Nothing but an awful vivid dream," he reassured you, soothing you with the low velvety tone of his voice, partnered with the kisses he was softly peppering all over your face before stopping at the corner of your mouth. "Your name is Y/N Hiddleston. We've been together for five years, and you gave me the unique honor of becoming your husband less than a year ago. You were a software engineer amidst a career change when I met you all those years ago, and you've come so far since then. You have amazed me at every turn, and it's been a privilege to witness all that you've done. And all that you will continue to do." He captured your lips in a tender kiss, making you melt into his arms as you crossed your hands behind his neck, allowing him to pull you closer. "You just need a few minutes to readjust after waking up. Everything will come back to you soon enough. And any details that don't return to you I'll happily fill those blanks in."

It was almost like the protests that remained in your mind got muffled at his assurances. He spoke about you with such conviction and fondness and love that it made it sound beyond reproach. All that remained was the faintest murmur of doubt that you quickly recognized as those few hours of disbelief you would go through after waking up from a particularly vivid dream, much like those ones you had back in college where you mourned the loss of your best friend and you internally panicked for hours until he walked into the classroom looking every bit as alive as he had the day before.

"Just a dream…" You tested the words on your tongue, the explanation steadily becoming more and more palatable than your initial theory of successfully shifting. Your eyes met Tom's again. "Sorry I…kinda freaked out back there--"

He pressed a delicate kiss to your lips to stop you. "There's no need for apologies, sweetheart. You were disoriented, and I'm grateful you confided in me that you were instead of holding it all in." He brushed the tip of his nose against yours, the gesture bringing a smile to your face and causing a small giggle to escape your lips. "How about you head back upstairs and get ready for the day, and I'll finish whipping up breakfast?"

"That…sounds like a good idea," you agreed, unable to keep the smile off your face even as he kissed you again. "I'll go take a shower and then…I'll be back down here in twenty minutes?"

Tom loosened his hold on you, hands smoothing down your sides before he took a step back so you could make your way up the stairs. Before you passed him, he took your hand in his to call your attention again, bringing it up to his lips to press a kiss to each of your knuckles. "I love you," he whispered against your skin.

"I love you, too," you said back, biting your lip as you gave him a smile before heading back up the stairs, your doubts calmed and your panic from earlier subsiding, allowing you to simply look around the house and appreciate the beauty and joy that your life granted you in stark contrast to last night's dream.

Just as you stepped on to the top landing of the stairs, a flash of green glinted at the corner of Tom's eye, diverting his attention to the visitor in the kitchen.

"She is a perceptive one, your mortal," Loki mused, staring down at the ingredients on the cutting board. "A part of her recognizes that she is no longer within her universe. That part could linger…fester, even. Are you truly certain you wish to continue down this path? To risk her finding out the truth and resenting you from stealing her away from her life--"

"What's the alternative, then?" Tom snapped, gripping the countertop so hard his knuckles were going white, hot tears finally falling from his eyes. "Go on the rest of my days without my wife? Let her go back to a world where she said it herself, she's no one to me?"

Loki let out a sigh, taking a few steps towards the door to the patio, the tension and frustration evident in his stance. "She did not deserve the life she was designed for, on that I do agree. But it will take time for her to fully acclimate to this new universe, if you truly wish to keep her here. And you must accept that no matter what you do, she may never fully fill the space that your late wife left behind."

Tom's eyes burned with more tears, indignation and grief making his heart ache even worse at the memory of you -- that is, the you that he lost not even three days ago. "I know that," he said through gritted teeth. "What of the people who heard news of her passing? The people on set who saw me when I got the call? They're going to ask her questions when they see her alive and well. Questions she won't be able to answer."

The god simply waved a hand dismissively. "Simple memory spell. Their recollection of events will simply be altered wherein they recall you receiving a call and you needed to leave and halt production to ensure her safety, not see to her funeral. Her record at the hospital has been expunged. Any and all evidence that suggests that the Y/N Hiddleston of his universe is no longer with us has ceased to exist."

"Thank you," he choked out, walking up to the god and extending a hand.

"Of course. You deserved not the life you'd planned with your wife taken so violently." Loki took your husband's hand in a firm shake. "Now, I know it may not be my place to tell you what you should be doing at this moment. But from where I stand, you have just been reunited with your wife. If you're open to suggestions, I would recommend putting the apron down, going upstairs, and simply enjoying the life that has been returned to you. Breakfast can wait."

With those words, Loki disappeared in a flash of green right as Tom turned around and headed up the stairs in your direction, heeding the god's advice.

A/N: Something tells me that when I told y'all there's a Centrum Ad Hiddles story coming your way, y'all probably didn't expect this…and to be honest I didn't think I was even gonna make a Centrum Ad Hiddles story, let alone one that took this direction. 😳👀 I hope you like it though, slightly dark twist and all 😅💖

‘everything’ taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @unlucky-number-13 @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @lokidokieokie @superficialdomina @anukulee @kmc1989

Hiddles taglist: @spooky1980

[aloeverified]

au where marinette's parents own a small, struggling, but community-loved bakery outside of paris. she works after school and on weekends since her parents can't currently afford to hire any other employees, but she enjoys getting to know everyone in her neighborhood and uses her tip money to fund her sewing projects.

as the end of her junior high days approach, marinette is encouraged by her parents to apply to her dream high school, françoise dupont lycée of the arts, as a fashion student. she doesn't expect to actually get accepted, but knows her parents are right when they say there's no hurt in trying. after submitting her online store portfolio, where she does commissions and launches small projects like accessories, she receives feedback that the school board was beyond impressed with her work and would like to offer her a full-ride scholarship.

although it's hard for her to part from her parents for the first time in her life, they refuse to let her turn down the opportunity and practically pack her bags for her. after a very long and painful goodbye with lots of promises to call every single day, marinette leaves for paris.

she meets alya, her roommate and first friend at her new school. she's the daughter of a successful chef and is a promising journalist and creative writing student, she and marinette share many of their core subjects not relating to their majors.

marinette also meets chloé, the daughter of the mayor of france and alya's life-long enemy. the two go way back, with alya's mother being an old friend of chloe's father and having worked at his hotel restaurant before. the hate each other, and by association, chloé hates marinette — especially after finding out marinette is a fellow fashion major whose work scored much higher than her own.

then she meets adrien. adrien is a fellow fashion and modeling student who was eagerly accepted into the school despite his very late application. however, the principal was thrilled at the idea of having such a beloved model joining the student body, and didn't want to deal with chloé's threats of action if adrien was denied, so he was accepted with open arms.

adrien didn't exactly choose his majors, but rather just went along with what was expected of him. he already had a successful modeling career, so he took the classes despite there being little he didn't already know and have mastered. he was encouraged to join fashion classes as well, both by adults who assumed he was going to take after his father and by his best friend who wanted to spend as much time with him as possible.

adrien is easily impressed with just about every design marinette crafts and marinette admits it's a bit endearing the way adrien struggles to figure out where the sewing machine's on switch is. his father is equally impressed, if not even more so, and marinette is asked to become a paid intern upon winning a contest judged by gabriel agreste.

not to mention the kind old man she befriends, an older chinese man who owns a tea shop in petite asie. marinette admits to feeling a bit alienated without her mother, worried her classmates will look at her funny for cooking guangxi rice in the dorm kitchen or having late night gossip sessions on the phone in mandarin. he tells marinette she will always have a friend while in paris and that she's more connected to the city than she thinks.

eventually, marinette even finds herself befriending almost all of her classmates, and even one of her classmate's brothers. juleka couffaine is a modeling major and a fellow scholarship student, something she and marinette bond over. luka is just as sweet as his sister, and almost as quiet if you ignore his constant humming and guitar strumming.

he also applied to be a music major at françoise dupont, but was rejected. after a year of struggling and being bullied in public school, he dropped out to focus on working and supporting his family — taking some of the burden away from his single mother and making sure juleka never has to go without. throughout the course of their relationship, marinette is eventually able to discover the ridiculous reasons why luka wasn't accepted and encourages him to go back to school, as well as accept that he can't support his family if he doesn't let them support him as well (a lesson she also had to learn).

[fabseg-creator]

Miraculous rewriting: Chloenette AU (Prologue)

This is a Chloenette image and it exists in two versions (left: Normal version; right: lipstickprint/post-kiss version).

I think about an AU that diverges from the canon (Miraculous but Chloé is one of Marinette's love interests (alongside with Adrien and Luka and Zoé)).

Season 1 rewrite

Season 2 rewrite

Season 3 rewrite

The Story and its changes:

Prologue/Before the Season 1:

Marinette and Chloé are childhood friends.

Chloé is still a bully. She keeps her rude tone (Chloé being Chloé) towards the Miraclass but with a moderate level (drastically less bully than her canon counterpart during the pre-Queen Bee period (Season 1-2) and the Derision flashback).

Chloé commits some bad actions against random teens for fun (roasting language, pranks, school expellement threats) but she makes these at the low level, She is a "semi-bully".

Identically to canon, Sabine is still worried about Marinette and sees Chloé as a bad influence on her daughter. She calls Soqueline for care/protect Marinette.

Effectively, Soqueline knows Chloé is a problematic case at the Françoise Dupont school.

Soqueline wants to get Marinette away from Chloé for bring the former to the good path (even if Marinette is globally preserved from the Chloé's bullying if it was a little bit of).

Marinette has issues with her mother when Chloé is the subject of the conversation. Meanwhile, Sabine respects Marinette's choices.

Chloé is attracted by both Marinette and Adrien (Sorry, Sabrina ! 🤷‍♂️).

Following the next years (prior to the Season 1), Chloé develops a crush to Marinette and she gradually expresses that with her own manner. But Marinette misunderstands her. She just believes the "bully" is joking.

Marinette already knows Adrien but only from Chloé's words.

Adrien hears about Marinette but she never met before (because of the education his father imposes to him)

Chloé sees Sabrina as her associate (not yet equal friend but not sidekick).

Marinette is aware Chloé has a questionable behavior but she continues to hang out with her. She is hoping the blondie can be improved into a good girl.

At the classroom, Marinette seats with Chloé. But she switches places with Sabrina, her second friend (a more normal girl than Chloé in the beginning). That depends of Chloé's decisions.

In the beginning, Marinette's and Sabrina's relationship is a normal/classical friendship (not besties but equal).

In this universe, Marinette has no reasons to run away from Chloé because they are already "friends". So, she doesn't need any protection and she hasn't any interest to Kim. She just considers him as an ordinary trustful friend.

In this AU, the events of Marinette's flashback from Derision (5.14) never happened too (no trauma).

But Marinette will eventually suffer a love incident: It will happen at the Grand Hôtel when she finally accepts Chloé's feelings. The date will be supposed to be an experimentation for Marinette. It would be perfect for the two girls until someone comes to mess it all.

The person who will ruin the Chloenette will be not Sabrina, neither Kim (who dates with Ondine), neither Audrey (Chloé's mom who is still at New York in this moment) or neither Adrien (who is mourning his mother's "death"). It will be Socqueline.

Socqueline will have decided to secretly follow Marinette in mission of protecting her after she will have seen her to enter to the Grand Hotel (Chloé's home). Worried, she will come to thé Chloé's bedroom and she will surprise the two girls kissing each other on the bed (interupting them).

That will be enough for Marinette. Ashamed by the situation, Marinette will become mad, upset and angry towards Socqueline because of her overprotective behavior. It would have enough. And a infuriated Chloé will yell both Marinette and Socqueline to go out of here.

Marinette will eventually end up her friendship with Socqueline next to the incident. The latter will be sad and remorseful after the incident.

The last day of school, Chloé will announce to Marinette she breaks up considering the idea of romance between them as a ridiculous "mistake". By circumstance, the incident has affected the two girls. 💔

Marinette becomes the protagonist we know as in Canon.

Chloé remains the classical bully from the show. Despite she is still attracted on Marinette, she represses her feelings by turning her interest to Adrien.

End of the Prologue.

Bonus: Extended (sorry for the design of teenage people but it was fast)

From left to right:

Socqueline silently objects the cursed odd ship. She is resigned to respect Marinette's feelings.

Sabrina is heartbroken. She just wanted to confess her love to Chloé since the previous years but Chloé always didn't have cared about.

Zoé feels like troubled and sad about seeing her love interest and her half-sister dating each other. She is supposed to confess to Marinette.

Adrien feels like ignored while he sees his love pretendants making their date. In this AU, he can be used to be single. Plagg is hidden behind his holder's back.

Alya is confused. Her best friend dates her "bully".

Lila Cerise discretly watches the scene from afar with a sadistical gratification. She is planning to ruin the Chloenette couple for enact revenge for her exposure as "Lila Rossi". What girl do Cerise could destroy her life first (Marinette or Chloé) ? Or what girl do Cerise could seduce first ? (attempted Cerisette plan) 😈

The basis for this post:

[hlkproductions]

behold, the hazbin oc i forgot to post here after debuting her on twitter! Vixen Dupont is a vaudeville performer of the roaring 20's who, after dying in a tragic electrical fire in the studio she worked out of with her fellow dancers, learned that she and the girls had been condemned to hell on hot wheels for what none of them could justifiably conceive the cause. Eventually, she took the initiative to seek out a means of making an after-living for herself and her friends, dabbling in the rising popularity of the Pride Ring's exclusively sinner based entertainment scene. Through a number of unfortunate events and charity courtesy of a friendship with Hell's newest creepy crawly, The Radio Demon, Vixen shook herself free of her exploitative career and went on to build her own business in another Overlord's territory. The Silk Paw, a club for the weary soul longing for times gone by and a touch of softness after the inferno, is her current pride and joy. Her relations with Alastor remain purely speculation to the public at large, and for a decade or so managed to die down. His return to the spotlight now turns the rumor mill once more, and the hotel he sees fit to busy himself with becomes an interest of his old friend's to the point that Vixen decides it would be profitable for all parties if she became a sponsor of Princess Charlie's endeavors.

[reality-detective]

Did you know the Vanderbilt and Cecil families owned Ashville?

The Vanderbilt family, specifically the descendants of George Washington Vanderbilt II, have a long-standing connection to Asheville, North Carolina. George Vanderbilt built the Biltmore Estate, a 250-room chateau-style mansion, in the late 1800s. The estate, located in Asheville, was his summer home and a testament to his love for the city and its natural beauty.

The Cecil Family's Involvement

The Vanderbilt family's connection to Asheville continued through the generations. In 1924, George Vanderbilt's daughter, Cornelia Stuyvesant Vanderbilt, married John Francis Amherst Cecil, and the couple had two children. Their son, William Amherst Vanderbilt Cecil Jr., is the current president and CEO of The Biltmore Company, which owns and operates the Biltmore Estate.

The Company's Evolution

In 1999, The Biltmore Company formed a new business group, which expanded the estate's operations beyond tourism and hospitality. Today, the company is a privately held corporation, still owned by the Cecil family, and employs over 2,400 people in Western North Carolina.

Asheville's Economic Impact

The Biltmore Estate and its affiliated businesses have a significant economic impact on Asheville and the surrounding region. The estate attracts millions of visitors each year, generating revenue for local businesses, hotels, and restaurants. The company's agricultural and forestry operations also contribute to the local economy.

In Summary

While the DuPont family is not directly involved in owning Asheville, NC, the Vanderbilt family, specifically the Cecil family, has a long and storied connection to the city through the Biltmore Estate. The estate's ownership and operations remain in the hands of the Cecil family, who continue to preserve and promote Asheville's natural beauty and cultural heritage.

🔗

🔗

🔗

Wait there's more 👇

DuPont State Forest, made famous as the setting for the movies The Hunger Games and The Last of the Mohicans, is home to amazing waterfalls, mountain lakes and hiking trails. DuPont State Forest is located in Western North Carolina near the South Carolina state line, and is less than an hour drive (40 miles) south of Asheville.

Curious has anyone looked at NC governor Roy cooper's political investments from the Vanderbilt family? Cecil family? Or Dupont family? He's working in the heart of their investments...

Interesting this article coming up with the lieutenant gov is criticizing his efforts with the after math of hurricane Helene...

Read 🤔

NOTHING will be left unknown, EVERYTHING will be revealed and NOTHING will be hidden and remain a secret. 🤔

[luvly-writer]

XOXO💋

Ch. 1: They Don’t Need an Introduction

-•-

Tim Drake x Reader

Fic + Social Media Au

Warnings: none

Series: Ongoing

Author’s note:The last 3 or so chapter of Oh Cara Mia will be coming this winter break. University really is kicking my ass. You may be wondering why i’m posting the new story and the answer is to keep you guys on your toes. I am so excited for this new series and before everything I do want to apologize for a few things. Out of all the boys, Tim is the least I and familiar with so I will be trying to do my absolute best to bring him to justice. Hope you all enjoy this new series!

Please feel free to reblog and comment. I love hearing what you all have to say about the stories I bring you.

Taglist: Since it’s a new story, I will be needing you all to let me know if you would like your be added to the taglist.

Masterlist:

-•-

Youngest of 2 sisters

Bitch with a good heart

Old money

way too intelligent for her own good

plays tennis // tennis partner is Clara

normally is the scandal fixer

ambitious

future CMO to Vanderbilt Hotels

Model

goes to the tennis court for the cute fits and guys

can range from dumb blonde to evil mastermind

walked from VS Angels

Main Scandal creator

New Money and owns it

heart of gold, but her morals are flexible

think Crazy Rich Asians

Gossip Queen

Unhinged

Heiress to Dupont Desings

Only Child

Spoiled but not a brat

Fun Aunt energy

Old money

[mcheang]

I have a prompt idea! So a rich kid transfers into DuPont who is the son of the prime minister or something. He can be bratty like Chloe and deceitful like Lila. The first thing he does is put Chloe in her place since her dad can’t do anything to him and exposes Lila as the liar she is with the help from his connections.But here’s the kicker, he has a massive crush on Marinette. But she has a massive crush on Adrien, someone he looks down on. Cue jealousy and retribution. Basically Adrien gaining an antagonist of his own because if he can have FOUR girls getting into a cat fight of her (two of whom are nasty bullies) then Marinette can have her own evil love interest. Bonus points if he is beginning to endear to Marinette after standing up to her bullies.

Remy Gusteau

Can you guess where I got his name? But I imagine him to look like Draco Malfoy if he has to keep saying “My father….” Lol

Your prompt is the first in a long while that has given my that old flair of imagination :D Thank you. Also, for anyone else who wants to send me a prompt, note I have not watched the latest season yet as I am waiting for all episodes to air first. So no spoilers please.

The only reason Remy even agreed to go to Paris after the rise of Hawkmoth was because it was the capital of gastronomy.

Even so, he refused to stay as a guest at the Le Grand Paris. There is no way he is staying in the same hotel as that bully Chloe. Honestly why Ladybug even let her remain a hero after she purposefully endangered a train full of Parisians is beyond him. And ever since he saw her purposefully sabotage a cooking show, he has been asking his father why her father was even still mayor if he could not even raise his daughter properly.

Even so, the mayor personally welcomed Remy at the airport.

Mayor: my daughter attends Dupont too, she can be your tour guide.

Remy: I certainly hope she learned to improve her personality. It doesn’t look good on France if the mayor of our capital has a bully for a daughter.

The mayor paled at the threat. “Of course she has improved. Why else would Ladybug give her a miraculous again?”

Remy: I guess we’ll see.

Later that night, Andre begged his daughter to be on her best behavior because otherwise, it might cost him his job.

Naturally Chloe was appalled. She started to protest when even her mother agreed with Andre. “It would never do for my darling to lose his job. All Chloe has to do is act nice in front of the prime minister’s boy, right? That’s easy to do. Chloe, if you can’t handle even this much, ask your sister for advice.”

The next day Chloe went out of her way to greet Remy and did not even give Sabrina orders…only to be ignored by Remy.

Ugh. Who did he think he is?

Sabrina: Um, the prime minister’s son?

The only seat left available was next to Ivan, right in front of Lila.

As Caline told Remy that Marinette would be his tour guide, Lila volunteered instead.

Lila: Oh, I can do it. As the ambassador’s daughter, I’m sure Marinette would has a lot to do anyway.

Marinette scowled at Lila. And she wasn’t the only one.

Remy himself was not happy. He recognised Marinette because of her parents and uncle. He had actually been looking forward to discuss recipes with her. Why did that nobody have to butt in?

Well that nobody was Lila, and clearly she never heard of personal space. For someone supposed to be giving a tour of the classrooms and teachers, she sure talked a lot about herself instead.

Don’t tell him that everybody actually indulged her like this?

Later that day, after class ended, he asked Caline why she does not try reining in Lila’s tall tales.

Caline: Lila has a special disease. She didn’t want her classmates to see her differently because of it.

Remy stared cooly at this dumb woman. “Hmm. Do you know something, I’ve heard the other students tell me I was in the akuma class. I thought perhaps it might be due to Chloe but perhaps you have something to do with it too. I wonder if I should ask my father to bring an inspector here.”

Caline: If you think it’s needed. I have only ever encouraged my students to forgive each other.

Remy: right, which is why you never told your class they were being lied to by Lila and denied them the chance to forgive her.

True to his word, Remy did bring an inspector around, and was he thorough! Marinette’s previous expulsion case was brought up and both Damocles and Caline were fired for mishandling the case. Remy even forced them to apologize to Marinette. Some, including Adrien, might protest this was harsh, but Remy drily pointed out that Caline’s method of forgiving bullies without punishing them was called enabling. Did she expect them to forgive Hawkmoth too? And Damocles is not supposed to turn school property into some cheap owl cave, nor punish the school for Chloe’s misdeeds. They were like children in the bodies of adults.

Oh, and Lila was exposed too. She had to confess her special ability to the whole school, outing her as someone who likes to tell tall tales.

Understandably, akumas appeared. Curiously though, they never got much chance to cause chaos. Mainly because the no-nonsense inspector and Remy struck them in the head once the transformation had finished, giving them no time to react, and proceeded to keep hitting them till they passed out.

Everyone stared at them.

Remy: What? The miraculous cure will fix everything.

And Remy finally got to discuss baking with Marinette! He just didn’t understand why she was so fixated on Adrien Agreste. The model reminded Remy of Caline, always about forgiving bullies. Spoken like someone who has never been bullied himself!

He just has to help Marinette see that Adrien isn’t worth her time. Some planned situations to show how useless the boy is. Good thing he has the mayor’s daughter at his beck and call. And he just knows she is dying to be mean again.

[something-tofightfor]

The Truth Is Out There: Masterlist

Summary: Despite an immediate attraction between you and your team's newest member Marcus Pike, it's never gone past a couple dates and a few kisses that are permanently seared into your memory.

The two of you are friends, and though you're resigned to things remaining that way because of his romantic history, you can't help the way you feel - or the way your emotions flare with his every mention of that past.

But when things spiral out of control faster than you can keep up with thanks to a new case, you find that you're not the only one that's been keeping something important to yourself.

Warnings: Sex Pollen (with a twist), no use of Y/N, female reader insert, Reader works for the FBI in art restoration/conservation, reader has a nickname that is used often by Marcus, in this house we cannot stand Teresa and Jane and that is reflected in this.

Chapter titles taken from X-Files episode titles

Chapters containing explicit content marked with **

Status: COMPLETE

Word Count: 35.4k

Unrequited (3.2k)

Surfside Tacos (Dupont)

One Breath (4.3k)

The Truth (3.6k)

This Is Not Happening (2.7k)

The main room in the hotel suite

Three Words** (5.5k)

The blue couch by the window

Bedroom #1

Soft Light** (2.8k)

Sleepless** (5.9k)

The bathroom

The second bedroom (adjoining suite)

Closure (7.4k)

[finallyaniguana]

dickie needs to clean out his spam folder [35]

It took making my very first personality uquiz to respark my zest for creation (specifically based on the strange questions my brothers asked me when they were trying to hide the fact they were planning on bringing me Wendy's at work)

Sorry this took so long. Hopefully with try to post more soon.

[34] ao3 masterpost

The rest of the week proceeded much like the last. Dick waiting with the coach in the morning so they could all get to school. They went to class. Marinette joined Damian and Jon (who had yet to formally introduce himself) at lunch.

 

Damian had originally hoped that she would return back with him to his original table at the edge of the room. No such luck. They compromised by sitting a few lengths away from the nearest Dupont student. So, Marinette could still be close to Alya and Damian didn’t feel like he needed to crawl out of his skin.  

About halfway through Tuesday’s school day Damian got a text asking if he would be willing to just go ahead and fill in as the Wayne rep for the ride back to the hotel since they were coming from the same place anyhow. Dick had some real life catch up to do, considering he hadn’t been to his actual home in over a week now. Damian was sure if Marinette had an older brother, she would likely do what she could to make his life easier, so he reluctantly agreed so long as someone called Mlle. Bustier ahead of time.  

They had forgone the previous night's meet-up in exchange for a lengthy FaceTime call right after dinner – at Alya’s insistence. They supposed it would have seemed strange to refuse the opportunity to talk to each other considering they couldn’t just tell her they would see each other that night after she had gone to sleep. They agreed that night would be the same since it was easier, and they both got more sleep that way.  

****  

“Oh, shit.”  

Bruce looked up at his oldest, glancing subtly at the doorway (to ensure Alfred didn’t hear the profane language – we all know that he did though), frown on his face.  

“What’s wrong?”  

Dick let out a huge sigh before answering, knuckles pressing into his eyes.  

“There’s a teacher in-service day this Friday.”  

“I- what?”  

“A freakin’ day where teachers do team building and seminars and stuff, I don’t know. All I know is that that school isn’t going to be open, and no one is going to be there, and the French class is going to have nothing to do all freakin’ day! This email must have come in three weeks ago, but it got sorted into my spam folder.”  

Now it was Bruce’s turn to rub his eyes.  

“What are we going to do with the class? And shouldn’t Damian have known about this?”  

“Known about what?”  

Both men glanced up as he entered the room, backpack slung over his shoulder. He had just returned from the hotel, Tim begrudgingly picking him up on his way back from Wayne Enterprises.  

“The teacher day thing,” Bruce said.  

Damian stood still for a few seconds; eyes closed.  

“You mean to tell me that you have not already prepared for this?”  

“I didn’t even know it was happening!” Dick defended.  

“Tt.”  

Dick huffed in frustration, “Well, it’s not like you said anything about it.”  

“I’d assumed you had full knowledge of this. Apparently, I was mistaken,” he snarked back.  

To prevent any further blame being applied to either of the two, Bruce spoke up from his place on the couch.  

“First things first. Someone will have to contact the teacher and let her know about this... slight change of plans."

Both boys nodded but Damian was more focused on the phone in his hand.  

Damian 🐦💛: Richard seems to have forgotten to plan for the teacher in-service day this Friday.  

Marinette DC: whats that??  

Damian 🐦💛 : It is a bi-yearly event for teachers to better their practices and communicate with each other as well as develop a better network among themselves.  

Marinette DC: so is it like teambuilding?  

Damian 🐦💛 : Yes.  

Marinette DC: so theres no class friday?  

Damian 🐦💛 : …  

Damian 🐦💛 : No.  

Damian 🐦💛 : I simply found it so comedic that he would forget such a thing that I had forgotten you would not know about it yet. He is now scrambling to find something for your class to do so that you will not be stuck in the hotel all day. Father is annoyed.  

Marinette DC ohh okay  

Marinette DC: so any ideas?  

Damian 🐦💛 : Not yet but I shall keep you updated as soon as Richard has planned something.  

Marinette DC: okay 🥰  

Damian decided not to read too deep into her emoji choice, given her natural enthusiasm and caring personality. Nope, not reading into it at all.  

“Well, what do kids like to do on Fridays?” Bruce said, looking mighty close to just giving up all together.  

As a father of... many... logically he should know the answer to this question. He should be the end-all-be-all of teenage related questions, quoting the newest memes by heart while still knowing how to be authoritative. But he doesn’t. Because the memes don’t make any damn sense, and his teenagers all want vengeance and blood (okay so normal teenage stuff – but at least normal teenagers don’t know eight kinds of martial arts and have knives) and how is he supposed to cope with that. Fight crime? Sounds good. Normal teens usually aren’t interested in fighting crime.  

“I don’t know,” Dick said, equally stumped.  

“Well, don’t look at me,” Damian said, low key trying to excuse himself from the conversation entirely.  

“Well, now they’re definitely looking at you, Shortstack.”  

Damian flashed a glare at Jason, waltzing into the room, book in hand.  

“Why are they looking at you?”  

He rolled his eyes and left the room with that, leaving a stressed Dick and exhausted Bruce behind to explain the situation to both Jason and Tim, who had followed after Jason and into the room.  

“Oh yeah, Damian definitely isn’t the one to ask about Normal Teenage Interests.” Tim laughed.  

Exasperated, Dick slumped down into the couch cushion, frown growing larger by the minute.  

“What about the library?” Jason asked.  

Dick sat up a bit straighter. “I guess that could work. But Barbara might kill us,” he said.  

“Might be worth the risk?”  

“Not every teenager is a huge nerd like you, so… I don’t know if they’ll go for that.”  

“Tim, I have a gun.”  

“Jason!”  

BONUS:  

Jason snapped suddenly, an idea forming.  

“We could take them to tour Arkham.”  

“… are you sick in the head?”

[toxinellebug]

Shadybug/ClawNoir supporting character Headcanons

Jagged Stone? More like Jared Smith. He wanted to be a rockin musician, but his type of music is banned by the Supreme so his career never took off. Instead, he ended up marrying his girlfriend, Nannette Couffaine, after accidentally knocking her up with twins, released his pet crocodile into the Seine, got an apartment, and works a regular job that he HATES. But, he secretly still tries to record music and sells it on the black market where it has become somewhat popular in the indie underground, but if he were caught he would go to prison for sure. It’s not a happy marriage but he does what he has to. His kids last names are hyphenated Couffaine-Smith.

No houseboat, and without Royalties from music labels, neither Juleka or Luka could afford to go to Francois Dupont

Penny works as an assistant for Bob Roth and HATES IT. The man is a sexist slave driver, but this business is brutal.

Nadja Chamack is not a news anchor. You can’t be a single mother AND have a career that takes up so much of your time. As a result, Marinette has never had to babysit Manon.

Lila wants to challenge Chloe’s position as queen of the school, but there are no lies about charity work, only lies of what powerful and famous connections she has.

Adrien is not interested in being friendly with Lila, and definitely not going to help her with schoolwork. But he is still the ultimate trophy and key to winning popularity in Lila’s eyes, so she is determined to “win him over”, even though he finds her almost as annoying as Chloe, but Chloe he is stuck with due to her mom’s working relationship with his dad.

Gabriel doesn’t trust Lila one bit.

The sad and negative emotions he is forced to sense due to the power of the Butterfly brooch cause him distress, and he often has to excuse himself due to “headaches” from overworking, as a creative’s work is never done… But he is always listening for the emotions of people crying out for justice, for help, for people who wish they had the power to help.

Andre Glacier is still the Sweetheart’s ice-cream maker, but Sweetheart’s ice-cream is just a special menu item that you can request. Otherwise he has a scheduled route and serves the ice-cream that customers ask for.

Alya’s dad wishes the zoo could focus more on animal enrichment and larger enclosures but they don’t have the budget for such “unnecessary extravagences”.

Mr. Haprel hopes to make it as a famous Mime one day so he can be rich enough to afford to send his daughter, Mylene, to the school he works at as a janitor.

Everyone avoids Ivan.

Thomas Astruc never made it as a famous director, rather, the Supreme favored his University Rival, Andre Bourgeois, who also owns the Le Grande Paris Hotel.

Gina and Roland Dupain are not divorced/separated per say… Gina was sent to prison for civil disobedience. That’s why Tom is a doormat and just goes along with whatever discipline Sabine decides on because he doesn’t want his precious little girl to end up a criminal like her grandmother.

Sabine does not teach an inkpainting class on the weekend or practice tai chi or feng shui.

The walls of Marinette’s home are not pink, they are a boring beige that she hates.

The Agreste Manor is not a sterile, black and white modern decor dungeon. It is a prism of color, function, form, beauty and nature with nods to antiquity and the whimsical. Adrien HATES it. All color and light left this world when his mother died. The art in his house mocks his pain.

There is no school blog for Nathaniel to post his art on… But Marc ended up in that class instead of Marinette. (So did Mireille) He’s still too shy to admit he’s a writer. And even more shy to admit he has a crush on Nathaniel, so all he can do is watch the boy quietly. Rose thinks it’s a romantic tragedy and wants to play matchmaker. Alex thinks it’d be a disaster waiting to happen.

There is no Prince Ali who gives toys to sick kids in hospitals.

There is nothing as frivolous as videogame tournaments, so Max devotes all his spare time to his hobby of robotics and developing an AI… but developing an artificial intelligence is frowned upon. Luckily, Alya can keep a secret… that is, if Max is willing to spare some of his time to helping her havkninto the dark web to research conspiracy theories.

Wayhem is obseesed with Adrien, who can’t stand crazy fanatics and won’t lose any sleep if the Gorilla tackles the scrawny boy to the ground.

After much convincing, bullsh**ing, and bribes, Gabriel is able to host his derby hat design competition at Francois Dupont, (and hopefully, modelling his classmate’s creations will be a bonding point for Adrien to make a new friend) Rose sees it as an opportunity to tries to get Marc and Nathaniel to work with her to create a hat, hoping sparks will fly between them.

Even if Marinette WANTED to enter a stupid contest involving that spoiled, stuck-up Agreste boy, which she DOESN’T, her mother won’t allow it because sewing and doodling outfits is a distraction from her schoolwork.

Chloe still cheats.

But Shadybug discreetly sabotages the fashion show the winning hat is supposed to feature in.

Nathalie never became Gabriel’s assistant or even acquaintance. Instead, she is in charge of the department of the Louvre that archives and locks away all “banned” art and artifacts (aka anything related to Miraculous holders)

Alex thinks she’s creepy and hates how she coldly bosses around her dad.

Audrey is the same as ever, with the exception that she recognizes that her younger daughter Zoe has some talent, and wants Andre to find a movie part for her to play, and ignores Chloe’s bitter jealousy which causes her to lash out at others even nastier than in Ladybug and Cat Noir’s universe.

Nino is treated rudely and ignored by Adrien. Adrien would never agree to play a role in Nino’s movie and even accuses Nino of trying to use Adrien’s celebrity status to give himself an unfair advantage in the student movie competition.

Adrien doesn’t have time for stupid group projects or after school activities. But not because he has a full schedule since this Universe’s Gabriel is a decent father who does not demand perfection and give a 14 year old a burdensome schedule… It’s because outside of fencing and modeling, Adrien plans to spend his time planning out which sections of the city he’s going to take his anger out on that night.

Gabriel never forgot his roots as the son of a fry-cook, and occasionally tries to cook comfort food (NOT PANCAKES) for Adrien, who insists he’s not hungry or that junk is bad for his skin/weight, which has Gavriel worried about Adrien developing body dysphoria and eating disorders… These worries are put to rest when he finds out Adrien has suddenly developed a sweet tooth for baked goods. Therefore he has no qualms about his son frequenting the local bakery so often because a growing boy needs to eat and a treat is good for the spirit.

He wishes he could be more honest with Adrien, but he knows that it would destroy his son if he ever found out that the sickness that took his mother’s life was caused by his creation… He’s also not sure what kind of trauma Adrien would have to the fact he’s not human.

Gabriel also doesn’t want Adrien in danger. Gabriel wants to create a better world for his son to live in, a world where he and everyone else can be free! Where people can throve without stepping over others, and the poor don’t have to suffer. Where people have rights to love freely and express opinions without fear. A world where people help one another.

Gabriel would never use the rings to control Adrien, instead, he keeps them locked away in a safe, and plans to give them to Adrien someday when he is an adult and less likrly to misplace them because if they were to fall into the wrong hands, Gabriel shudders to think of what would become of Adrien.

Audrey still has a low key crush on Gabriel which makes him cringe but he still acts polite to keep up working relations, and he also pities his friend Andre, trapped in a one-sided marriage and bullied by his daughter and his wife.