#this is a very fitting name for a lady such as rarity

[bixels]

Hi! I’m such a fan of your 1920 AU and all the designs you’ve done. Absolutely amazing! So what is Rarity’s Chinese name? Do you have an idea of what the hanzi would be?

華琳琅. First name "Linláng," which means glittering jewels and is used in metaphors for something beautiful and precious. Surname "Huá," which means magnificent.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

tapis rouge groovies + new rhythmic/twistune ✨

***Spoilers below the cut!!***

Ooooh!! As usual, Vil is striking a model-esque pose and showing off not only his own looks, but the best aspects of the ensemble he’s wearing. (If his outfit looks different than how you remembered, it's because Vil gets new sleeves and a cape added on in part 4:)

I like how the lights behind him and on his face are so bright, yet the shot is framed darkly since we’re looking from his shadowed side. It makes Vil look so mysterious!!

He’s holding up a black piece of cloth that seems to glitter; I believe this is “Black of Night”, the signature color of the high fashion house, Luxe, that prepared his and the other NRC boys’ customized outfits. (The name of the color is a reference to an ingredient in the potion the Evil Queen makes to turn into an old lady.) It’s iconic, and only Luxe knows the secrets behind achieving the color of this dye. Many celebrities wear certain brands on the red carpet as free advertisement for the brands they wear, so this makes sense for Vil to be doing as well.

JAMIL 😳 I feel like both he and Azul are helped out a lot by moving in their outfits; the in-game models are a little too stiff-looking to fully convey the elegance of these particular looks. Jamil’s braids are so pretty here, they flow in the wind with such grace!! His expression is also nice, he’s giving the camera a cheeky little smirk from the side…

The shot’s composition is pretty interesting too! Jamil sort of has his arms spread out and his back revealed, and Vil, in front of him, is blocked out by an onlooker/reporter’s elbow. It gives off the impression of Jamil both showing off his coat while also playing bodyguard to Vil. Jamil is a trained bodyguard and can be protective, so… very fitting! Even moreso since Jamil was the card paired with Vil on the limited banner.

Another outfit helped by movement!! You can see how the tailcoats trail behind him and how his jacket’s wide sleeves actually pull/bunch back to allow the green sleeves of his undershirt come out. The light being so prominent on him also highlights his golden frames very well; it’s usually hard to spot small details like this from the model itself so I’m glad we can better appreciate it here!

I love how Azul is soaking up the attention and making the most of it (as opposed to Jamil, who seems to be playing it cool and serious). Smiling and winking for the crowd… Azul stans eating good www He’s even in his usual “poor unfortunate soul, please allow me to assist you” pose 😂 Reeeeeally trying to paint himself in rbe most flattering way possible, eh??

We can see Vil’s head and Jamil’s pants + shoes here. Vil’s the SSR and the star of the show so of course he won’t be left out! Jamil is the other card on the banner that goes with Vil. You can tell it’s Jamil because of the long coat and baggy pants; his shoes are white but appear darker in this illustration probably because of the shadow over them. Ace is not high enough in rarity to cameo in other Groovies/j

Note: Ace is the R card, so his illustration does not change significantly. A shame, really. I like his look the best in this batch 😔 It would have been fun to see what an interpretation on an Ace Groovy would have been!

There is a second rhythmic/twistune that features Vil and co. strutting down the red carpet! There are many cute details in it, such as Vil interacting with his fans by taking selfies with them, giving his signature, and speaking with a reporter.

Jamil and Azul play their parts as "huntsmen" to the Fairest Queen by bringing Vil boxes akin to the one that was meant to contain Snow White's heart.

When Jamil presents Vil with the first box, Vil pulls out his poison apple luxury bag. Then a fog of green covers the screen and when it fades away, Vil is in his new sleeves and cape combo.

Here he is, posing glamorously for the camera! The others do their best to show him off too. (fhbalifiyabifeab Azul is really doing his best to present Vil...)

At the very end, Azul and Ace step up to help Vil with final makeup touch-ups. Jamil seems to spritz him with some perfume too! Then Vil finally ascends to his rightful place up high!! Such a triumphant ending for a super fun rhythmic 🥺

[ironbloodaika]

Happy Halloween 2023!

This is something long overdue. Even though I stopped posting my commissions on here that doesn't mean I've stopped getting them!

I've especially enjoyed getting Halloween commissions because those are really fun to conceive, order, and see made into reality. I've especially enjoyed getting them from Aeolus06 and he's never disappointed. Sadly due to me being between jobs I couldn't get any this year. :( That said I've decided to use this as an opportunity to show what I've got over the last few years and hopefully you'll love them as much as I do! :)

These first four are unique in that these were all from the same year (2020 to be exact). Since Aeo has a cool down period between commissions, I actually got these all done over a period of a few months. XD Took a lot of luck and prayer, but I got all the ideas I wanted done!

First one was probably the most complex, but was worth it because of how well it fit. Star, Marco, and Hekapoo from Star vs The Forces of Evil as AndrAIa, Matrix, and Older!AndrAIa from Reboot! Much like Matrix, Marco had a bit of age jumping that fit naturally (especially body types and eye scars). Plus Star and Hekapoo are shipped pretty hard with him so it was natural they dress as the different versions of Matrix's lady love.

Also, Fun Fact: Marco's scar/prosthetic eye is on the wrong side compared to his costume, but I felt it was better to ignore it than have Aeo flip the entire costume. XD

Next up we had some classic hotties from Canada, Lindsay and Courtney. Everyone with a pulse will know I'm a Courtney fan, so I'm always eager to give her some love. And while I'm not AS big on Lindsay, she's a fun character and I have some friends who love her too so I didn't mind them sharing the spotlight.

Obviously the theme/inspiration behind this pics conception is the fact Lindsay and Courtney pack the biggest T and A on the island respectively, so they needed some costumes to illustrate that. Thus we got Courtney as everyone's fave lady wrestler Rainbow Mika from Street Fighter and Lindsay as the boxing cheerleader Tiffany Lords from Rival Schools. Both ladies who kick ass and look good doing it! Give these ladies some love folks!

Another Fun Fact: This one took faster to do than I expected, mostly cause I didn't realize my refs were thigh high. In the end I feel it still looked good and didn't bother bringing it up. XD

Here's another cute couple and one I think deserves more love. Eclipsa Butterfly and Globgor are also from SVTFOE and honestly very sweet and adorable. While they're regarded as evil by less tolerant folk, they're honestly some of the sweetest characters you'll see on the show. I feel this is a nice contrast to their costumes, Sindel and Shao Kahn from Mortal Kombat. I went with the MK9 versions of their outfits since they were both modern and simple. Didn't wanna be THAT guy who commissions SUPER complicated outfits. I'm not a sadist! While later games would retcon Sindel into being just as evil as Shao (something thankfully corrected in MK1) I still feel this outfit and character works for Eclipsa, even if she and her hubby are as far from evil as you can get. XD

Final pic of this year is another couples pic with Danny Fenton and Paulina Sanchez. I ship these two and take no shame in it. This was originally gonna just be Paulina as Phantom Girl from Legion of Superheroes since the name and colors matched Danny perfectly. But then I figured just having Paulina in costume wouldn't be fair, so I had him dress up as Timberwolf, since I recall them having a few moments in the cartoon. A cartoon, much like this pairing, is very underrated. XD

Now to 2021! This was a fun crossover and and me deciding to avoid "themes" and combining two character pin-ups in one! Once again we have Hekapoo and this year she's dressed up as Otedamako. Who's that? Only my fave Monster of the Day from Sailor Moon! :3 To her side with have a humanoid Rarity showing off her darkside as Martha from Helluva Boss! This one came from the animated opening in G5 that had Rarity showing off some spiky teeth and a crazy look in her eyes. IMMEDIATELY brought Martha too mind. All and all, very happy with how these two came out!

And now to the prior year of 2022. By this point Aeo started coloring the stream commissions and honestly, it was worth the price increase. Dude is a machine! If this one has a theme it's basically me taking the waifus of my close friends (Chill, Terrible, and Raccoon) and dressing them as other sexy waifus. From left to right we have Himiko Toga from My Hero Academia dressed as Harlequin, the Harley Quinn of the Gods and Monsters film. A very hot/underrated design for a VERY twisted take on the character. Toga makes it work! Front and center we have Wilhamena Mettle from OK K.O.! as Starfire, specifically the comic book version for obvious reasons. XD Finally we have Juri Han from Street Fighter dressed in the tight leathers of Penelope Spectra from Danny Phantom, specifically her second form. Lot of specifics in this piece. XD

Final Fun Fact: Was tempted to have Wilhamena as Star Canary, the fusion of Starfire and Black Canary from the Batman/Superman comic. Very hot design. XD

And a bit of a bonus! I ended up really helping out a new friend on deviantART back in 2020 and got to get a bit of art as a thank you. Courtesy of XJKenny we have Meteora Butterfly, daughter of Eclipsa and Globgor as Mileena. Also her MK9 design, this not only works for Meteora herself given her story, but also matches up with her parents' costumes as well!

Well that's everything I wanted to share this year! This has been a rough year for me personally and for the world as a whole. But I'm hoping we can turn things around a bit with what bit of the year we have left.

Happy Halloween everyone! Stay scared and stay safe! 👻 🎃

[peridotermine]

Alright, I'm gonna try guessing who is the last yandere.

okay so obviously I'll rule out the princesses/character we know which is:

Jasmine, Alice, Rapunzel, Snowy, Aurora, Cinderella, Tiana, Belle, Ariel.

obviously, the last prince wouldn't be a child (unless Noor makes them adults for some reason) so Lilo and Ariel's daughter whom I will never remember the name of is out.

Now Noor said the last prince fits rarity really well so that rules out Merida, Pocahontas, The lady from Atlantis aka Kida, The lady from Tarazan aka Jane.

Now to the ladies that I don't think would logically fit the role of a yandere:

-Mulan grew up with a nice family as far as we could tell it was just the expectations that weighed her down it wouldn't make sense for her to be obsessed with someone else.

-Odette? I mean she was her papa's only girl and was most likely spoilt rotten by not only her dad but Derek's mom too, although the memories at the start aren't the fondest I think she can look at them and laugh at some point in the future. (I watched the movie for the first time for this and I nearly cried 10 minutes in, like 'You're all I ever wanted, you're beautiful!' 'what else?' 'what else?'💀💀)

Not to the ones that I think are likely to be the last yandere:

-Esmeralda...come on must I explain this lady? She fits the Rarity persona a little too well (at least from what I remember from Rarity, I don't have the energy to rewatch mlp, and the last time I did was like 4-5 years ago when I was in my creepypasta pinkie pie phase) the only thing is that in the movie Esmeralda didn't have enough for education but I'm like 80% sure the yan isn't gonna be in a book because after wonderland mc should be finished with the book madness so it wouldn't be set in a book....

-Tinkerbell..little red flag in Petter Pan other than that meh

-Now into my biggest suspect...Megara also known as meg...

wait 🧍🏻‍♀️ I just realized that Noor said the character was literally mentioned in the story itself so all this analysis is very much unnecessary 💀 I just got too excited thinking I was into something 🤡 alright then time to reread the story and try to figure shit out.

[alicelufenia]

Introducing Vierae, my newest tav and the star of my next playthrough.

She's a drow from Menzoberranzan, former entertainer and assassin, now a budding cleric of Eilistraee and seeker of Corellon's favor. Her kidnapping aboard the nautiloid kicks off what will eventually come to be known to Eilistraee devotees across Faerûn as The Longest Run.

At a glance:

Name: Vierae Gysselylth (drow for "Dark Dancer", elven for "Clan of the Blade")

Race: Seldarine Drow (Ancestry: Udadrow)

Background: Guild Artisan

Class: Bard (College of Swords) / Cleric (Life Domain) / Rogue (Thief)

Alignment: Chaotic/Neutral Good

Motivation: Grant aide and succor to those who suffer; seek retribution on those who would conquer, enslave and slaughter; if accepted, entice other drow to walk with her, and offer shelter to all from the cruelty of Lolth and other wicked gods.

Also she's wearing Shadowheart's armor in that pic above cause for this playthrough I'm using the SH Concept Art and Arm Tattoo mods cause I think they look neat :)

The gear has some minor bonuses fitting a trickery cleric too, which is nice considering this is a tactician run and trickery domain will need all the help it can get until Act 2 stuff happens.

I'm meeting Larian halfway with their changes to drow lore regarding eye color. She is technically Seldarine but, growing up in the underdark for 100+ years means you kinda have to be lolth-sworn to survive. Not that the spider queen's favor ever got anywhere near her.

The left eye being pink is just me continuing my trend of giving all my trans characters heterochromia to represent the magical influence of fantasy hrt. Yeah, turns out growing up a super closeted trans girl as a male-born scion isn't easy, even if your house is minor in comparison to the big players.

A bit of backstory:

She was blessed from an early age with a rarity among the drow—the ability to dream. Though infrequent, her dreams were filled with images of the surface night sky, and the elegant figure of the Dark Dancer. She longed to visit, but no means were at her disposal other than unspeakable work in surface raiding parties, and the occasional assassin work. It was only by virtue of getting captured by an enclave of Eilistraeen worshippers who offered her succor and acceptance if she abandon her evil ways and accept the Silver Lady's invitation to dance among the stars and the trees.

Taking to her studies easily, she sought a place among the priesthood. Though at the time the clergy was opening up more freely to male worshippers, she learned quickly of the so-called "Changedance" that was practiced in earlier times, where as a rite of passage novice clerics would conduct a holy dance that transformed their body from male to female, and vice-versa. She practiced tirelessly, mastering the dance in short order, and upon seeing her reflection in the still waters of the river lit by the full moon, she beheld the Dark Dancer in her dreams; it was her all along. Her true self.

She wept for the first time in her life.

Naturally, she enjoyed staying in the Changedance's form for longer than any of her male cleric peers. While the temporary reprieve was satisfying, she sought more permanent options. Her artisan upbringing proved valuable, as she learned from several of her fellow priestesses how to concoct the alchemical medicines that can change the body's shape and feel to reflect who they are in their heart. While not a complete transformation, her ability to fill out a bra and entice the gaze of young men (and not a few women) have been encouraging.

Dedicated to the Eilistraeen cause of harmony amongst the peoples of Toril, Vierae has been on many runs, to rescue underdark drow who sought escape from the grasp of Lolth's cult, to defending surface settlements from the very lolth-sworn raiding parties she was once a reluctant part of. Yet everywhere, what good faith they can harbor in non-drow communities soon sours as old suspicions and base prejudices re-assert themselves.

Seeking another way, Vierae has conducted extensive research on the worship of Corellon, sire to her Dark Lady, and ruler of all elves. If she could only entreat the teachings of Eilistraee to a few open-minded communities of elves, they may yet find wider acceptance. Thus she was in the process of a pilgrimage to petition Corellon's blessing, when the nautiloid snatched her up.

And as Astarion said, "First thing's first." She can save no one until she's saved herself, but that won't stop her from trying at every opportunity along the way. Her pilgrimage has led her to the Risen Road, and Baldur's Gate is the ultimate destination, where she either shows herself to be worthy of the gods' favor, or prove those who fear her to be right.

Inspiration for this Tav: @mass-effect-galaxy's Eilistraee Sword Dancer (general protagonist motivations, plus the hair was so good)

HoboZone's Dancer of Eilistraee Remastered Build (for the dual worship of Eilistraee and Corellon reflected in a dual wielder build)

Modlist:

No More Looping VFX And SFX

SK's More CC Colours

Shadowheart's Tattoos

Asymmetrical Shadowheart Concept Outfit

Shibariwaluigi's NPC Hair Edits

Two-Handed Longsword Finesse - mostly just to have a longsword as main arms until picking up dual wielder and Phalar Aluve

Bard Fixes And Tweaks - just to bring ranged flourishes down to melee's level, since this character's RP demands using melee whenever possible

More Reactive Companions - since this is a second playthrough I wanted to hear from the companions more, and swap to them so they can have the spotlight now and again.

Phalar Aluve - Legendary - adds combine items in Acts 2 and 3 to upgrade Phalar Aluve to a Very Rare and Legendary version.

[cto10121]

So i decided to take advantage of a chorus-less karaoke track (oh precious rarity) and do the whole thing, lol (except Debrezin. By the time I got to it I was so done. If I ever re-record the Die Schatten reprise, I’ll include it). It was a little tricky since I was so used to the 2006 version, but fortunately the difference was not much. As for the choruses, I had zero clue about the harmony, so I made up my own.

Lucheni So Death was out of sorts  To see Elisabeth in Vienna’s court  After all, he’d just lost the girl Immortal egos need their stroke  So, if her Disney princess life Turns out not quite to her taste It’d be no surprise to anyone If he were cause of all of her strife...

In marriage year 1 She leaves her husband all alone Why not? Her parrot makes much better company  In marriage year 2  She has a girl all on her own  Thereby relieving the new-made mother from her duty 

Elisabeth Where’ve you put my daughter? 

Sophie I have her in my care

Elisabeth  I would see her just this hour

Sophie You’ll see her here and there

Elisabeth Without even asking You named her after you Of all the names you could have chosen!

Sophie She is under my wing

Sophie & Ladies-In-Waiting (simultaneously) She isn’t fit She’s yet a child To raise her girl alone  She’s too unfit Headstrong and wild To rule all on her own  

Elisabeth Franz Joseph, see your mother  Torturing me on and on Now she took my child from me Speak with her or bid her gone!

Franz Joseph Calm yourself, my angel, Mother knows what’s best  She’s had experience rearing children And you need your rest 

Elisabeth So you’re with her You’ve chosen her—

Franz Joseph: I don’t want a fuss

Elisabeth  Over me!

Franz Joseph: Understand me, Sisi. There's nothing I can do. 

Elisabeth: My child, she took my child! 

Lucheni In marriage year 3  She has another little one  And cries again in vain—they take the child away And so she understands  The only way to get your way  Is let them want and she decides the price to pay 

Franz Joseph  Even your beauty Could be for causes, good and just Join me in Hungary Help me win the public’s trust

Counsellors (simultaneously) She must now fulfill her duty Use her charm and use her beauty

Elisabeth Give me the children You have taken from me

Franz Joseph With your charisma, assure my victory 

Elisabeth I travel with my children Get them back yourself Then I’ll gladly go with you For your PR shtick 

Franz Joseph The trip then can’t happen The girls are too small to go

Elisabeth So long as they’re not with me, The answer will be no! 

Franz Joseph: God, I cannot understand you! But very well. You’ll have your way. 

Lucheni So thus in marriage year 4 Sets out the troubled Imperial pair for  Ol’ Budapest where someone is waiting so true— Could it be you-know-who? Right? 

[deathshadowed]

About Karma's wardrobe, behavior & the reasons behind them turned into a half character study thesis.

One word: outrageous.

From her weapons, wardrobe, horse and behavior; Karma is absolutely outrageous. She is more than aware she's very attractive, beyond talented both as a marksman and as a rider. She is a mystery, but not many people stop to think about exactly who is she, where did she came from, why, what's her true name because Karma stifles those questions with blinding flair before they are formed. She doesn't hide what defines her: she kills people for a living, she's fast with perfect aim, great with horses, she swings both ways, doesn't mind more than one person with her in bed.

So many scandalous facts that nobody has any of those crucial questions, only wondering how the hell is she still alive. She's wondering that too. She doesn't speak too much, actions are much louder, flashier: be it a trick on a horse or hitting a seemingly impossible target or seducing a married woman.

Her clothing, all custom made and it shows; not only she wears pants in that period of time, somehow she managed to have that fact the least extreme as her wardrobe consists of:

As expensive as it looks and it never fails to have its effect, the initial shock, the double, triple takes usually earning a smug smirk from the decorated woman.

However, Karma isn't the only showstopper, her horse, Villám is a star on her own:

A half Lipizzan, most importantly half Akhal Teke pure black mare with a coat that seems to glisten like oil. Agile, slim with defined muscles, elegant and intelligent; the unique racehorse is a fitting companion for a woman so...bold. Villám is a beauty, a definite rarity probably only seen on the ranches, estates of the richest. Their bond is outstanding, shining the best when Karma decides to entertain curious children (and adults peeking from curtains) with her esquetarian skills and she isn't the only showoff in this duo. Just like owner or more akin to friend, Villám is proud, mischievous, playful and loves the attention.

The less trained eyes notice her dual revolvers last. 10" Colt Buntline, with decorated grips and the trigger guards missing from the frames (although that little detail goes undetected); basically rifles in quickdraw holsters.

The reactions are mixed depending on the people: fear, outrage, intrigue. Whenever she only wants to die dressed like that, the experienced ones recognize the challenge she radiates with each thundering step of steel heeled boots, others want her story, some wants to see if she's up for sex. Karma aims for intrigue and she never misses her target. She doesn't tell anything that isn't directly asked, her voice is soft, melodic, pleasant to listen to, with a musical lilt when speaking Spanish. Her smile is bright and sparkling but her eyes are sharp, barely hiding the black mamba she actually is.

She came to turn the town upside down, be the gossip of the month, be remembered for years, the reason old ladies clutch their rosaries tighter when she saunters by. Her walk is confident, proud with a sharp sway of narrow hips; head turning for many reasons.

Local races? Shooting competitions? By all means count her in! What do you mean by women can't enter? Now there's a previously hidden rattlesnake shot dead in the grass a few yards distance. Was the demonstration enough? If not, at least the very manly men will have fun watching a girl struggle with those activities. And despite fitting the rich poser category so perfectly, the men doesn't get their amusement because all flair she carries is backed up by tremendous amount of talent. Best, fastest shot, deadly accuracy even from horseback, winning every race riding without spurs, riding crop and sometimes even without a saddle; the crosshair eyed woman keeps upping the stakes so effortlessly.

Karma is only in for the thrill and the applause. She is magnetic, a siren, challenging, tempting anyone to chase after her achievements, take bigger and bigger risks, try to follow her blazing lead. And when they thought they gave it all, is when she uncovers she is perfectly ambidextrous, exactly how long range can that modified Colt cover, how fast Villám truly is; leaving everyone lured into the death of their ego while she victoriously gallops away into the desert where she emerged from. After all, she's in for a good not a long time.

Why. Why would an unmarried lone woman live in a way that would still earn many eyebrow raises even nowadays? Why would she take on the most dangerous bounties, kill in cold blood and then give the orphaned kid $100 from the bounty she collected? As mentioned previously: thrill. Adrenaline at all cost. To live, to feel alive. Karma feels extremely hollow, as if she had died already (she, in fact did.), only the fiercest desert heat can warm her up, the split second of tranquility before pulling the trigger and adrenaline strike after like lightning. Risky sexual encounters that make her blood sing, an other person's strong, quickening heartbeat against her usual lazy, steady rhythm. Feverish pulse points, roaring life, the standing ovation and screams of amazement after an especially risky trick; she lives for it. Exists to live, chasing life in the rarest form while corpses line her path.

After all, she isn't a savior no matter her good and selfless deeds. Taking a life comes just as naturally. She is a killer, not lurking in the darkness (...not while having a vacation after a job), not even hidden in plain sight, but blinding most with her looks, mannerisms, skills, sexual liberty. She makes it seem you know her. But exactly what do you know? That she fucked the handsome ranch hand? And the sheriff's mistress? That she paid the old man's tab at the saloon who got injured in the war? That she seems to spit on everything the Bible and the preacher say? But have you noticed how her eyes linger so sharply; looking for her next target, her next pay? Where is she from? Do you even believe she was telling the truth when she said she's a bounty hunter? What kind of name is ‘Karma’ anyways? Have you asked about the scar forming a crosshair around her eye, how she's gotten it? Of course not. Have you seen her shoot a man faster than eye could follow and walk away completely unfazed, as if it's an everyday occurrence? Did you think that was normal?

Her radiance obscures her shadow of death, almost too long, spidery fingers compensating for the length of the ten inch barrels when it comes to draw. Her kindness towards the less fortunate hides her searching cold gaze for the ones responsible. Her encouraging dazzling smile eager for drunkenly spilled stories, secrets given so freely in hope to impress.

At the end of the day, she is just a strange attractive woman with pricey custom tailored clothing and an even more expensive horse. You have nothing to worry about! You aren't the one responsible why was Mrs Jackson widowed and violated at such young age, are you?

[ackasamii--archive]

if you love him

summary: armin is ready to let you go but are you?

pairing: armin arlert x black!fem reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: a little angst and fluff

note: had this idea one day and decided to post it. hope you like it because this one is close to my heart. title inspired by this song.

“Where’s y/n?” Something Armin Arlert heard a lot the past four years. This time it was Connie asking while glancing around to see if he could spot her.

“Probably with Onyankopon again.” Sasha answered easily while lying lazily in a chair. “Honestly surprised she hasn’t been caught by Hange or Levi yet, she should stop while she’s ahead.”

Jean scoffed, “We all know she’s into him, I don’t know why she’s still sneaking around.”

“You know y/n, she’s always kept to herself, kind of like Mikasa, but more discreet about it.” Connie shrugged.

Said girl narrowed her eyes at the buzzcut male, “More discreet?”

His heart twisted at every passing second while listening to them talk. There was one thing they were right about; you really did keep to yourself. And that’s what initially drawled him towards you.

It was the way you were always silent during conversation amongst friends and enjoying being around the people you were most comfortable with. How the quiet smile appeared on your lips whenever Jean or Connie made some stupid joke. Or the way Armin was captured by every word whenever you do speak, which was a rarity in itself. There was just something about you that kept his eyes always looking for you in a crowd. And sometimes they would meet for the briefest second before you quickly looked away to something else.

Then there was your skin. It was different from everyone else’s. Even Eren’s and Ymir’s. Your complexion had the sun smiling at you whenever it was out. Standing out amongst a sea of people, making you beautifully unique in his eyes.

It was easy to see that you wouldn’t fit with someone like him. Weak and useless Armin. You deserve someone strong and bold like Jean. Maybe outgoing and funny like Connie. Or maybe someone who could relate to you the most.

Like Onyankopon.

It was when the first came to Paradis Island. The moment your eyes landed on him; you were in awe. How was it that a stranger, a Marleyan, was able to capture your attention in seconds when he’s known you ever since they first started in the Survey Corps?

And just like that you’ve been sneaking out at night and coming back in the early hours of the morning with a soft smile on your lips. Yes, he’s noticed. He’s noticed how much happier you’ve become whenever you’d come back from your nightly adventures. He hated it. He hated that it couldn’t be him that made you smile like that.

Such a beautiful smile.

“She’ll tell us when she wants to.” Armin forced himself to say. He hid his heartbreak. He hid because at the end of the day, what he felt didn’t matter. Especially in a time of war.

War. Whoever said war was kind must’ve been out of their damned minds.

“Nothing we can do about it,” Mikasa shrugged, “it’s her own fault if she gets caught.”

Connie suddenly cleared his throat loudly, “Speaking of!” Armin along with everyone else turned their heads to find you entering the room, eyes slightly widened in surprise and curiosity. “Now where’ve you been, young lady?!”

You roll your eyes, “I went for a walk, mind your business.”

It was one of those brief seconds again. Where his and your eyes connected. Almost as if it were a puzzle finding its place.

This time he looked away.

“Shouldn’t you all be asleep?” you asked while leaning on the armchair Sasha was sitting in. “You know how the captain gets when we make noise past curfew.”

“We should say the same for you,, dummy.” Jean flicked her forehead.

You smack his hand, “Whatever. Do what you want, don’t get mad if Levi makes you do extra chores in the morning.”

She’s more talkative, Armin noticed. He wondered if anyone else realized this as well. If they did, they sure didn’t mind it much.

Not long after, everyone else decided to follow your lead and head to bed, not wanting to face the wrath of their strict superior in the morning to come. And as usual, Armin would lay away at night, staring up at the ceiling blankly.

He’d think about Eren and where he’s gone. He’d think about everyone else’s mental sanity through all of this, especially with this dangerous plan they had when they got to Marley. But tonight your face couldn’t stop appearing in his mind.

So much so, he dreamed of what your lips would feel like against his.

While simultaneously fighting off a growing resentment towards the Marleyan.

Next morning they received another letter from Eren. Which meant more developments in their plan. Which also meant more exhaustingly long meetings with Hange and the others. Those were the days he got to see you a lot more.

Sneaking glances your way, smiling despite himself whenever your eyes met.

Actually, it was happening a lot often now that Armin thought about it. Today he even caught you looking at him! It was strange and quite confusing considering your secret situation with Onyankopon.

Then night came. Armin hadn’t returned to the quarters yet as he was finishing up with Hange. Sometimes they could get a bit too carried away and he’d be patient enough to wait until she was finished. But once he was finally free, Armin pulled at his tie and left his white shirt unbuttoned.

He didn’t walk back to the quarters. Instead, he walked along the beach he and the others found years ago.

The ocean.

It was still beautiful no matter how many times he laid his eyes on it.

No matter how much it pained him to know what was coming on the other side.

He didn’t mean to.

No, he really didn’t.

But Armin just happened to turn his head and see you leave the tent Onyankopon was staying in. There was something within him that grew to the point where he felt reckless.

You stopped in your tracks, worried that you might’ve been caught when someone called your name. But when you glanced behind you, it was only Armin.

His kind features released the tension from your body as you fully turned to the male slowly approaching you.

You never knew what to do around him. How to act, how to talk. Armin Arlert had to be the most intelligent member of Levi’s squad and with that title came intimidation.

Not only that but he was far too pretty to be talking to someone like you. To even notice you. And so you only stared at your shaking hands, hoping your darkened skin could hide the warm feeling spreading across your face. If not your skin, please let the night protect you.

“What are you doing out here?” You finally ask carefully.

His blue eyes, similar to the large body of water, stared at you with an intensity you could not understand. In fact he always did. For years you never knew why he looked at you this way. Was it because of how you looked? How dark your skin was? Sure, you were most definitely used to that. Along with the whispers and the judgment.

But he held none of that. It was something else entirely. Something that had you shift on your toes and made your stomach do endless flips.

Now he was standing close. Not too close that you were uncomfortable with. But closer than he usually stood near anyone.

And then he whispers.

“Does he at least love you?”

You simply stared at him, now in confusion, “Who?”

“Onyankopon”

His heart was practically ready to leave his chest at that very moment. What had come over him? It’s like as soon as he saw you leave that tent, all signs of rational and reason had left him. And before he knew it, he had called your name, and now here you were. Standing before each other.

Ready to accept—

“What makes you think that?”

The question had thrown him off. Armin studied your face, seeing the confusion written all over it. A small part of him thought you adorable with the way you scrunched up your brows matched with the little frown on your face.

There he goes wishing for something out of his reach.

“It’s just that...” He hesitated to continue, the recklessness slowly leaving him. “you seem happier whenever you come back from seeing him...”

He had to look away from you. Find anything else he could look at but your face at this moment. So, instead he looked at the ocean and the words began to spill.

“And that’s all I’ve wanted for you. To see you smile, to see you happy. Even in a time where all things seem hopeless. When things seem impossible to achieve...like you.” He heard a quick gasp and continued before he regretted everything, “With everything unfolding, the titans, the Marleyans, this war, Eren—everything in my world is slowly crumbling before me. So, I search for you. I find you because you are my warmth, because you are my hope, and my motivation. In my dreams we’re free. And sometimes you’re there with me.” He closed his eyes to keep the tears at bay while clenching and unclenching his hands, “If you love him—”

“I don’t!”

Armin opened his eyes.

Seeing you crying was the saddest thing he’s ever witnessed. His body moved before his mind could process.

Suddenly his world was in his hands as he wiped the rebellious tears away.

You gripped onto his wrist while trying to calm down. Damn. You hadn’t planned to cry in front of him. Then again you hadn’t planned to hear any of that.

“It’s not him I love.”

You felt him freeze but never move his hands from the sides of your head. It was comforting, like a warm blanket.

After you’ve calmed down, you spoke in a more controlled voice, “I was an orphan before coming to the corps. I was the only person who looked different. There was no one that looked like...me. And I was alone. Being the outsider. Being the one to stand out when I just wanted to disappear in the sea of people.

And then I joined the Survey Corps where many people all over would be. Still, I was the only me among them. But it was different. I made friends, I didn’t see the judgment or rejection, not from them, not from you. I was happy, but the feeling of loneliness remained with me until...”

“Onyankopon.” Armin finished as realization crossed his features.

You nodded, “I can’t tell you how happy I was to see him. I wanted to cry right then and there. So, yes, I started sneaking out to see him. To learn about myself and hope that there were more people out there that looked like me. I wanted to know if my family was still out there if there was still hope. And he gave it to me. Something to hope for and the confidence to one day confess to the man I love.”

A smile reached your lips as you caught Armin’s own tears. His head leaned against yours as he closed his eyes.

“I didn’t feel—”

“Worthy? Me neither.”

There it was again. The same intensity in his eyes. Although this time, you knew what this was. You should’ve known sooner as he pulled you closer.

And he whispered, just a feather away from your lips, “May I?”

“Yes.”

He was gentle against your lips and slow as if he were taking his time to soak in your warmth and taste. His strong desire for you showed more through his body as one hand cupped your cheek with his thumb brushing below your eyes and his other pulled you closer to him where his warmth engulfed you, comforted you, and held you lovingly.

Finally.

Oh how you yearned to stay like this forever. Breathing in his scent, running your hand through his soft blond hair, and listening to him murmur against your ear about how much he loved you.

That night stayed with you as the war went on.

You would have Onyankopon to thank after the words exchanged between the two of you the night before. Why you were more talkative and happier.

“Onyan?”

The man looked up from his work and smiled gently at the nickname you’ve given him over time.

“Yeah, y/n?”

You pick at the wooden table in deep thought with a small frown on your face. He noticed the change in your mood the moment you entered his tent that night. But knowing you, constantly asking questions would not allow you to open up.

He learned to simply wait.

“Do you think I can be loved?”

Onyankopon stared at you for a moment.

“Why would you ask something like that.”

You sighed, “No, what I mean...it’s not like I’m the ideal type, you know?”

He raised a slick brow, “What’s this about?” Before you could reply he had already figured it out, “Oh wait, it’s about that one kid, isn’t it?”

You scoffed, “Yeah, that one kid.”

He chuckled and leaned on the table to look you in the eyes, “Do you love him?”

You didn’t respond.

“Ah,” The man rubbed his chin with a growing smirk, “Have you told him yet?”

“Are you crazy? Of course I haven’t!”

“Mmm, I think I’m quite sane, thank you.” He smirked. “We live in an unpredictable world, kiddo. You never know what’s going to happen next. You could die knowing you never told someone you loved them. Maybe they needed to hear it and it would be too late.” You stared at him blankly before he sighed, “Okay, let me put it this way. Do you want to die with regrets?”

You frowned, “No, no I don’t.”

Onyankopon nodded, “Then if you love him that much, tell him. Yeah, sure there could be rejection, but it beats having your confession weigh you down when it’s too late.”

You took in his words, knowing that he was right and you had to somehow build up whatever courage in you to just tell him.

Just do it. What could go wrong?

“Really?”

“Yep!”

A small teasing smile reached your lips, “Talking from experience?”

He laughed despite the small stab in his heart.

“Maybe!”

© all content belongs to ackasamii 2021. do not modify or repost.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Reminiscing // Elijah Mikaelson

Summary: In a rare moment of peace, you find yourself thinking back over the centuries shared with the one you love.

A/N: I AM A FOOL FOR ELIJAH MIKAELSON. My taglist is open for The Originals - if you would like to be added, let me know!!

Warnings: fluff, history, established relationship, vampires, mentions of blood and death, mourning and grief, female pronouns, use of ‘wife’, dialogue heavy.

Word count: 1.8k

The house was quiet.

A rare occurrence in the Mikaelson household, but for first time in the months, the house was quiet. There was so furious shouting from Klaus, there was no attempts at mediation from Elijah. It was all quiet, and it was all peaceful.

When such a thing happened, it was very much the time to take hold of the rarity with both hands, gripping onto it for dear life in the hopes that the peace and quiet does not end too soon.

You sit in the library; finally put back together after one of Klaus’ anger fits. The books line the shelves in the correct order; a painstaking task you had completed after Klaus had apologised to you, knowing how much you cared for the almanacs and folios hidden away in the priceless Mikaelson collection.

The chair you had chosen to sit in was one that had come with you from the continent when the family had first settled in New Orleans. You had found it at a markets, immediately buying it and having it brought home with you that very day. Elijah had said nothing, indulging you with a roll of his eyes and a kiss to your lips. He very rarely argued with you, knowing that more often than not, you would have been right to make such a purchase.

The photo album remains open on your lap as you stare down at the images stuck to the pages. Time had aged the album; the pages becoming worn at the corners and browning further with each passing year.

This was the first album you had picked up; knowing it had the most pictures of the family in it. In particular, this album was home to perhaps your favourite photograph of yourself and Elijah. It had been taken spontaneously; unaware that a photographer even stood close by. Your bodies are angled towards each other as if each other’s true north. Elijah’s expression is soft as he glances down at you; the beginnings of a smile poking at the corners of his mouth as he readies himself to laugh at whatever you might have been saying in that moment. His hand rests delicately on your waist as your face is turned upwards; your eyes shining brightly as your hands gesture wildly, punctuating your story.

Footsteps sounding bring you out of your reminiscing. Instead, you greet the subject of the photo, smiling widely at your husband as he enters the library, adjusting the cufflinks on his tailored shirt.

“I knew I would find you here,” Elijah comments, a hand brushing over your shoulder and the back of your neck as he walks past you.

“I’m making sure Klaus doesn’t take out his anger on anymore of the family collection.”

Elijah chuckles, “I don’t think that will happen again. He’s too scared of your reaction.”

“As he should be,” You declare, puffin out your chest proudly at the fact that the hybrid would be too scared to even touch the precious books and histories housed in this very room.

“The Great War?” Elijah asks, pointing to the album in your lap, not expecting an answer. He reaches for the photo album, beginning to flick through the pages as he wanders around the room. “My dear, whatever brought this on?”

“It’s been so peaceful recently. I wanted to take a moment to remember.”

“To remember?”

“Our past, my love. We have been together for over a thousand years, married for just short of that. I wanted to remember the peace.”

Elijah doesn’t answer. He simply watches you, watches the emotions flit over your face as you communicate your feelings. The last few months haven’t been easy on anyone in the Mikaelson family; the permanent target on your backs making it hard to live everyday life. Klaus continuing to make enemies left, right and centre didn’t help the matter either.

A thousand years. A thousand years he has loved you; has never loved anyone but you. His life prior to being a vampire flashes before him; a strong man, destined for great and noble things and completely in love with you – kind and caring. The relationship happened quickly, but the both of you knew that your eternities were intertwined. The curse put on him by his mother perhaps made him more selfish of all; turning you to ensure your eternities would always remain intertwined.

“Why the Great War?” He finally asks after a moment of silence.

“It was the first time we got our hands on a camera. We had seen them before, in France, but this was the first time we had owned one.”

“Rebekah loved it. She was forever posing in some ostentatious dress.”

You chuckle, your body warming at the obvious fondness in Elijah’s voice. He would berate her fashion sense, but he would never speak ill of his beloved little sister.

“Do you remember the summer we spent in England? It had to have been 1812 or 1813?”

“And you let Rebekah promenade for the season?” You start to giggle, “She had so many suitors! I have never seen Klaus so mad!”

“It wasn’t just Niklaus,” Elijah recalls, “I had so many angry missives from mothers who wanted to marry their daughters off that season but couldn’t because of Rebekah.”

You snort, remembering the empire waists of those months spent in London. The weather had been particularly wonderful that year; the sun continuing to shine for days on end. More time had been dedicated to walks in the park than they had been to being cooped up inside. Whilst the fashion of the time could be debatable, the company of your husband was very much desired.

“You were the diamond of that season, my love,” Elijah comments, bringing you back to the present.

You roll your eyes at the love of your eternal life, “You have to say that. I’m your wife.”

“What would you have me say?” Elijah asks, eyes bright with happiness, “As I recall Lady Earnshaw was particularly handsome that year too.”

“Lady Earnshaw!” You gasp.

“She loved me,” Elijah defends, holding a hand to his chest as if wounded by your words.

“Of course she did! You flirted with her every chance you got.”

“Jealous, my love?”

“Never,” You snort, remembering the aged face of the stubborn matriarch, “Lady Earnshaw was a day over eighty if I ever remember her.”

Silence descends over the both of you; memories of a past once thought long forgotten now washing over you. There was much to think of when one has lived for over a thousand years. The first few months after your transition were blurry; the pangs of hunger making your thirst practically insatiable – unable to think of anything but feeding. Yet, as you aged and found your place in society on Elijah’s arm and in his heart, your memories become refined – punctuated with moments of joy and pangs of heartbreak.

It had not been an easy existence. Family’s often fallout and Klaus had no qualms about punishing his siblings. However, in and amongst those dreaded recollections were rare moments of peace. Moments that were sought after and savoured; relished by every member of the Mikaelson family.

“Do you remember the sixteenth century?” You ask, mind faraway in the past.

Tudor England had been where you were happiest. You loved New Orleans, adored the culture and the people that came along with it, but Tudor England had its charms as well. For the millennia that you had been walking the earth, you had always found home in Elijah, knowing that he would be with you for an eternity and more. Yet, Tudor England had a hold on you. Having to leave the court of Henry and not return until Elizabeth had been crowned; it had been the longest decade of your immortal life.

“How could I forget?” Elijah laughs, “You have our miniatures in your bedside table.”

“Nicholas Hilliard was a dear friend,” You admonish thinking of the artist with great fondness.

“Queen Elizabeth I was never my biggest fan, was she?”

“You did take her sugared violets away from her,” You remind him, a smile in your voice as you remember the anger in the monarch’s voice once she realised who had in fact stolen her precious sweets.

“Her teeth had rotted away completely!” Elijah protests, throwing his arms wide as he defends his actions from centuries ago.

“So what would more sugar do? She had already lost her teeth, love. As I recall, her breath wasn’t all too pleasant.”

Elijah grins, remembering your pinched expression every time the monarch sought your attention, “You were her favourite.”

You shrug effortlessly, lifting a single shoulder. “I can’t help that she had good taste.”

“You wound me, love,” Elijah moans, smiling widely. His playful side came out rarely, but when it did, it was a treat for those nearby.

“You also refused to call her Elizabeth,” You continue, ignoring Elijah’s noise of protest, “You would call her ‘Betty’.”

“She didn’t mind the name when I was in her father’s court. I still argue to this day that I didn’t deserve her shoe being thrown in my face when I let her nickname slip out of fondness.” Elijah argues, crossing his arms as he thinks back to the small redheaded child he had first encountered almost five hundred years ago.

“She wasn’t the Queen then, darling. She was five years old and in need of a mother.”

“You were wonderful as her closest confidant. She thought of you as her mother.” Elijah comments quietly; his mind still on the small child of five – bright red hair combined with a wide smile. Elizabeth had become attached to both you and Elijah; finding adoptive parents in both of you when you showed her the smallest of attentions. It was hard to say no to such a child.

“It broke my heart to leave her,” You reply, your non-beating heart lurching at the memory of not only the tearful teenager, beginning to question why you hadn’t aged, but also of the weary monarch. Elizabeth had been very ill at the end, and you had refused to leave her. Ignoring the wishes of your husband and your family, staying with her until the end.

“I know it did,” Elijah murmurs, his hand seeking yours as he sits down next to you. “You were solemn for months, nothing I did could bring you round.”

“I had to mourn, Elijah.”

Elijah brings your hand to his lips where he kisses the back of it before kissing your knuckles. He keeps your hand close to his mouth as he whispers, “I know.”

You sigh, “It has been a life of mourning, hasn’t it? Time passes and yet I remember every death.”

“You’re not alone, my love.”

You turn to him, a soft smile gracing your lips. “I know. I have you for it all, don’t I?”

“Always and forever,” Elijah quotes, pressing your hand to his chest, holding it above the heart that would never again beat but continues to love you just as fiercely as it had when it beat its familiar rhythm.

[winter-fox-queen]

Above Rubies

Nico (The Thief) x Reader

Ooh, look, a sequel to Kisses Like Wine.

I have been very depressed and having a hard time writing, but I am getting better. I wrote some Javi (G and P) stuff I intend to release soon.

Warnings: Cursing. Smut. Questionable morals. Female reader, “you” — not described but generally.

His name was not Nico, but the nice young woman…Jean, you thought her name was, did not need to know that.

“Nico” was going to be his name for now.  His real name was a carefully kept secret in your heart, spoken only rarely, and only at home, where you could both be yourselves.

“I think I’ll put a fireplace there,” he was muttering.

“Sounds nice,” you say in his earpiece.  “We’ll have to make love by the fireplace next time we are home.”

“And we’ll have separate houses, yours more modest than mine…”

“Not bloody likely,” you mutter, and you don’t have to hear a long suffering sign to know, if he could, he would be.

“That’s a handsome parrot,” Nico says, and you can imagine him bending to look through the bars.” What’s his name?”

“Gustavo,” the smooth, calm voice says.  “He comes with the house.”

“Are you a good boy?  What secrets do you know?”

Gustavo did not answer.

You took a look through your notes, only half listening.  The last what of Milan?  What the hell was he speaking of?

You think you hear a splash.  By the pool, maybe?

“Is it warm?” That voice says.

“Is she pretty?” You ask Nico.  She sounds pretty.”  You don’t mean it with jealousy.  You are his, and he is yours.  You do like her voice, and wonder what she looks like.

“I like your teeth,” Nico says, by way of answering your question.

***

His skin is warm under your hand.  You stroke him — clavicle, down the breast bone, over the arch of his ribs, your head snuggled against his neck, warm and safe against his side.  His own hands are still on you, holding you close, but you can almost hear the cogs in his head turning.

“Why don’t we just steal Gustavo?”  You ask.

“I think the treasure is on the property.  It makes sense, the owner before the last couple said the bird always had to stay in the house.”

You reach for the piece of paper on the other side of him.  It has five lines, like a hiaku.  “So, your theory is if we read a line, the bird will recite something back?”

“Yes. Parrots are as smart as four year olds…they can be trained to repeat whatever they hear.  I think Gustavo’s owner trained him to recite things when key words are said to him.”

“But did he retain it?  It’s been years.  I thought the real estate lady said that the former owners raised their family…”

“I have faith in Gustavo.”

“Over a millions dollars worth of faith in Gustavo, if you really intend to buy the house.”

“We’ll use a shell company…and then we will default, after we’ve found what we’re looking for.”

“Tell me what we are looking for, again?”

“A dragon made out of gold and rubies, made for the last empress of Japan…”

He told the tale again, and you pressed your ear to his chest, listening to the rumble of his voice.  Happy.  Content.

He talks just long enough for you to fall asleep, moving his head enough to smile down at you, to gently pull a strand of hair from your face.  His touch has stolen jewelry from bodies, tricked sensors, and it does not cause you to stir.  Love swells in his chest, feeling you at his side.  It’s been a few months since you came to live with him, and he loves you more every day.

The dragon was beautiful.  The risks were small.  If the stories were right, inside of it was a ring, with a jewel of unparalleled beauty and rarity.  A fitting thing, a fitting ring for the women he wanted to marry.

A small adventure.  And then, perhaps, I shall settle down.

You know what they say.  Men plan, and the devil laughs.

***

You sweep into the house.  Jean was there, wearing a calf length skirt in blue, and a matching cardigan, the collar and cuffs gave a hint of pink.  She stood there, calm and pleasant, hands behind her back.

The woman that was with her — wild red hair, sparkly dress made of green sari silk, was the opposite.  “We are so glad you got the house.  There was another lovely couple, but they really didn’t like the bird.”

“My wife loves birds,” Nico said, his mask of the quirky and extremely busy business man in place.

“I do,” You say smoothly.  “I have to say, Jean did a marvelous job selling the place to us…I am so glad she was here.”  You walk away and let him deal with the paperwork and fuss.

You stroke the piano keys.  Your lover had musical instruments, including a rather ornately carved spinneret that was said to be possessed, but you’d never heard him play.  You poke at the keys.

“It’s a lovely house.  I think you will be happy here.”

You smile back at Jean, and nod.  “I think so.  I hear it even comes with a tortoise.”

“It does.  The gardener can help you with the care of Gustavo and the tortoise…Henri, is what the previous owners called it.”

“Jean?  Jean, we’re all sewn up here.  Let’s go and let these lucky new home owners get settled in!”

“He likes dried bananas best,”. Jean whispered, nodded once at Nico as she passed him, and they were alone.

She stared at a painting of a woman wearing a large hat.  “And we get all the furnishings, too?”

“Don’t sound so thrilled,” he laughed.  “It makes it a lot easier on us…though they pretty much took everything from the master bedroom, we’ll have to make do with the guest bedroom stuff.”

You look out at the swimming pool with the corner hot tub, bubbling away.  “I’m going for a swim.”  You see his eye dart, almost longingly to the key to next puzzle piece, hopping along the bar of his cage.

“No one can see over the walls, right?”

“It’s not that warm, yet…” he starts, then stops when you start to shimmy out of your dress.

You open the door and run out.  It’s actually nice, but when you jump into the pool, the water is…bracing.  You squeal in shock, then take a breath and let yourself submerge again, knowing it will equal things out.

When you reappear, he’s in the hot tub, leaning against the side.

“How is it?”  You grab the side of the tub, kicking your feet lazily.

“Come sit on my lap and see.”

“Water is not a lubricant,” you say seriously, noting the interest in his eye.

His answering grin is pure sin.  “I’ll make sure it’s not a problem.  Now come.  We have to inaugurate every room in our home.”

Your head rests on your arms.  “But it’s not, not really.”

He pushes from the side, moving until he is face to face with you.  “Do you want it to be?  I know the castle is a bit isolated.”

“No.  I like the windows, but there is a dearth of sparkly and expensive stuff.  How could I possibly feel at home if there’s not a statue draped in jewelry to run into in there middle of the night?”

His forehead touches yours.  “Home is where you are.  I’d leave it all behind, if you were not happy.”

“I am only happy at your side.”  You move to kiss him, and he puts his hands under your arms and helps you over the barrier between the pool and the hot tub, pulling you close, slippery like a seal.  The hot water is heaven, especially after the cold water of the pool.

You let him deepen the kiss, tounges sliding against each other as you wrap your legs around his waist.

“Up,” he whispers.  “I wanted you on the side next the grass…” final kiss and he urges you back out of the warm water, the breeze causing your nipples to stiffen even more.  He spreads your legs.  “Lovely…the bench around the sides are just the right height for me to kneel on…”. And he buries his face between your thighs, licking gently at your clit.  He holds your thighs open with his arms, and you bury your finger in his hair as the electric sparks of pleasure build and build.  You are swollen enough that he  can draw you into his mouth.

“Oh, my sweetheart.  My love.” You whisper over and over, “You feel so good.”  It doesn’t take long for the damn to burst.  “Please…I need you in me.  Please, baby, please…”  you scramble back on the stones as he pushes out of the water, crawling over to you like you’re prey before settling between your thighs.

“My sweet, desperate girl.  Always so eager for me,” he mutters as he presses the thick head of his cock inside of you.

“Yes, yes, always…”. You bury your face in his neck.  But he doesn’t move, just stays buried, hot and hard inside of you.

“What is it?”

“This is not the best surface,” he says apologetically.  Let me lay down…”

“I have waited for you all day…I am not letting you go now.”  To illustrate you wrap your limbs around him, tight.

He grins, “This could hurt.”

“I’ll kiss your wounds better.”

He braces his hands, shifts, and rolls over.  He almost slips out but you manage.  You adjust with a small wiggle, and he groans.  Your hands slowly smooth over his stomach, up his chest.  He’s thick and oh so tightly gloved by you.

“I thought you wanted to move,” he growls at you.

“Make me.”

He grabs your hips firmly.  “You don’t think I can?”

You’re distracted by slow, slow movement out of the corner of your eyes.  “I think the tortoise is watching us?”

He closes his eye, this time his groan is a lot less sexy.  “Please, please ignore it.”

“I don’t…I don’t think I can.  Shall we go inside?”

He nods.  “I’m not a fan of this surface, anyway…”

You peck his nose sweetly.  “Race you.”  You jump up and run to the house.  He moves enough so can enjoy the view.  As he gets up, he looks at the offending animal.  “Don’t vex me again, you.  I am sure I can find an excellent turtle soup recipe online.”

[regrettablewritings]

Preference: What Strange Being Are They?

Characters: Jaskier, Honey Lemon, Benoit Blanc, Finn, Geralt

Jaskier - Spring Court Fae

Fae of the Spring Court (or the Seelie, as they are more formally called) are known for being one of the two more benevolent classes of fae. Generally polite and bright-eyed with a love for what the world has to offer, they typically come equipped with a twinge of mischief when it comes to interacting with humans. Otherwise, they just leave them be.

But Jaskier loved humans just a bit too much to keep proper distance.

While Solitary Fairies weren’t unheard of, it was extremely unusual to hear of a fae abandoning their court in favor of wandering around without any particular allegiance.

So it might’ve ruffled a few wings when the local fairy viscount and viscontess’ son decided to up and leave to “travel the world”, armed only with his admittedly limited magicks and a lute. But Jaskier didn’t care: All he wanted at this point was to be up close with humans, to entertain them, to have their eyes on him, for them to be ensorcelled by him . . . Perhaps even enough to copulate with him.

Because make no mistake: Benevolent or not, a fair folk is still a fair folk. And the fae have never been the type to shy away from mischief. Which was probably why you knew you were in trouble the moment those blue eyes landed on you . . .

Honey Lemon - Witch

While witches need no introduction, there is still a certain . . . aesthetic, we shall say, that tends to go along with the image. Because for as black sunhat-wearing and crystal-collecting as the image has become in more recent years, no one could deny the traditional associations: Cottages that looked cobbled together, nestled deep within gnarly woods; cauldrons bubbling over with green concoctions; battered grimoires and parchment strewn about and stacked haphazardly along stale, wooden shelves; figures cloaked in black enigma, hidden away from the prying eyes of society.

Nobody tends to think of a small apartment in the shadier side of town; Bunsen burner sets heating away at beakers of bubblegum-pink, perfume-y something-or-other; spells and brews written on flowery stationary, filed away neatly in polka-dot binders and Hello Kitty folders and assembled on a shelf ordered from IKEA; and an energized young lady with long, blonde hair that paled in comparison to the bright, glorious smile she wore.

Suffice to say, Honey Lemon is not the traditional image of a witch. But this never stopped the rumors from floating around the city, onto college campuses filled with students eager and desperate.

“If you go to 1234 Blahblahblah with a roll of cute washi tape or stickers, a witch there will give you a potion to help you pass your exams,” they said. Which was ridiculous, of course: It was just another local legend started by grad students, passed down to undergrads desperate enough to believe anything.

And, unfortunately for you, you were an undergrad desperate enough to believe anything . . .

Benoit Blanc - Dhampir

The occurrence of a successful pregnancy between a vampire and a human was not a particularly common one. That the progeny might grow up to be anything other than a vampire hunter or even something of a bon vivant was rarer still. And given that he was blond with piercingly blue eyes -- rather than the usual deep brunette and brown-eyed package -- it was fairly apparent that Benoit was a somewhat unusual example of dhampir. Nor that he much cared.

He was far too old to care in his personal opinion. Besides: He’d learned long, long, long ago to stop worrying so much about his oddities (it saves time), especially given that some evidence of his more vampiric lineage never quite took. For example, while his senses of sight, smell, and even hearing to a point managed to be more heightened than that of his human kin, his speed and strength just barely stood out as being any better than the average man’s. Nor did his agility, for that matter.

But he was more than happy to take what skills and knowledge he did have and put them to good use elsewhere: Eagle eyes for scanning and noticing the teeny, tiny details; a good sense of smell, which could be far more useful than one might think when observing certain crime scenes; and an assemblage of knowledge and experiences collected from over the last three centuries. They didn’t make much for a hunter of the unnatural without the strength and speed, but they suited detective work just fine.

All topped with a bow of wit and charm, aged like wines he’d outlived, and Benoit Blanc appeared to be a man just ever so slightly out of sync with the modern era. Not concernedly so, but just enough for him to eventually earn the title of “The Last of the Gentleman Sleuths” during one of the very, very few times he allowed his presence to be more widely known to the public.

It was his diction, his style of dress, and the overall air he exuded, really -- it might not have been intoxicating in the same way that a full-blooded vampire might draw in company, but he did, without a doubt, possess some draw to him.

Well, at least he did to you . . .

Finn - Alien

In a galaxy far, far away . . . FN2187 was just another extraterrestrial living amongst the stars. In the middle of a war. A war he wanted nothing to do with, but was dragged into anyway. Admittedly, he didn’t have any real stance on the matter. After all, as a soldier, was he really supposed to? Well, regardless, he eventually got one: He didn’t like it. At all. What was this all even for? Liberation? Conquest? Just to prove a point? It didn’t matter: The horrors had become etched into his brain, the burden of his connection to it all too much for even his hearts, multiple as they were, to bear. 

And so he escaped, stealing a ship and flying off into the big, black unknown.

However, that FN2187 was not a particularly skilled pilot. In fact, he wasn’t trained to be a pilot at all! It was an honest to The Maker miracle that he’d managed to even get as far as he did, even if it ended in him crashing the stolen craft.

Unfortunately, crashes of any kind have never been subtle events, no matter how low of a profile the alien might’ve wanted it to have been. Authorities had been alerted, and it was only a matter of time before he was discovered by either his own officers, or these...Terranian ones. He knew he could handle the latter, but why take the risk?

Besides, he was already lucky enough to have you be the first to find him (lucky him, crashing in the patch of trees nearby your house). You, on the other hand . . . You wouldn’t consider yourself unlucky, per se. But you did consider yourself in a jam. After all, there was no handy dandy manual for how to keep the alien you’ve taken home under wraps . . .

Geralt - Faoladh

There are werewolves, and then there are the Faoladh. A werewolf is a beast that turns from man to monster on every full moon, more often than not devolving into a fit of heightened savagery in the process. The ire from this is consequential.

The Faoladh, however, are nearly the exact opposite.

Rather than wait for a moon phase to dictate their form, they can simply change as they like, so long as they’re equipped with the wolf pelt that gives them beastly form. As a result, they retain their humanity and reason, which has served them well in legends, where people have called them heroes of war, recruited by the king. Some even designate them patronage over children, the wounded, and lost souls.

However, it is perhaps because of their rarity that their name had fallen from most memories, their notable benevolence along with it. Because how could something so large, so brutal, and so terrifyingly dangerous be capable of goodness and protection? Though, for the remaining few that knew otherwise, there were still some good wolves out there.

And the village insisted that it was lucky to have one of them wandering around in its history. You, of course, had some doubts . . .

[charlettebffxiv]

Prompt #5 Persimmon (Extra Credit)

Picking fruit was not exactly tiring work. It’s not hard on the limbs, it does not ask much of your muscles, and it isn’t going to make you run malms upon malms. What it is, though, is time consuming. Little actions, over and over, in the heat of a summer sun for bells on end will wear anyone down. It does not matter how tall, how wide, how thick or how lithe you are. It will wear you down eventually. The grate of bark on your fingers will become cutting, the weight on the straps will pull down harder on your shoulders, the sensation of sweat trickling down your neck, back and between unmentionables will awaken a chafing you couldn’t imagine. This sun Charlette was reminded of that fact and the nostalgic shine of it would reveal itself to be almost completely untarnished by it. Almost.

“Twelve above, I could drown someone in the sweat collecting in my linens. Are persimmons really worth this much toil? Is old Lodden unwittingly guilty of torture and callous mistreatment of the young? Of child labour? You used to pick his crops when you were young, right Charlette?” Maxim’s whining had been noise in the background, another buzzing pair of wings to join the chorus of summer hatchlings finding their nectar. Hearing her name though, brought it roaring back into her ears sadly. “When I was young, Maxim? You are two twelvemoons older than me.” The Wildwood was leaning against the trunk of a particularly bent tree, lounging really, in the crook formed by the winding body of the old growth. He waved a hand at Charlette, swatting away her words like flies. “Yes, yes. You know what I meant. When you were a child! I bet you were a dhalmel back then already. Is that why Lodden took you on? Could you reach all the way to the top even in your tenth season?” Charlette tossed an over-ripe persimmon at him, it missed, hit the tree and squirted its fermented juices far enough to stain a sleeve. Maxim was quick to escape his perch, holding the drenched fabric from his arm and scowling at the stink now stuck to him. “Aww! C’mon! That’s going to stain! Not that it matters, but it smells too! And I was not even wrong, was I!” but Charlette had returned to her picking, not even paying him the slightest bit of attention. Well, not obviously. Fat, heavy, ripe Persimmons were being dropped into the woven baskets that sat at the base of each tree. Baskets that would be hauled back by chocobo cart once they reached this section. The fuller the collection, the more pride Charlette felt. It was simple work, and she felt drenched to the hind quarters, weary with the repetition, but just so simply satisfied with a visible measure of progress. It was so good, beholding the burgeoning baskets, for the moment it was allowed before Maxim whipped his sleeve against Charlette’s cheek. “Ack! Maxim!” “I’m sharing.” “It stinks! Oh- hurrk!” Charlette gagged, a hand shooting up to wipe the sticky leavings away. But nothing will remove that smell from the inside of her nose, nothing but time and retching. “Oh don’t be so dramatic. You’ve smelled worse in the green houses, hells you’ve probably tasted worse too! How does it compare to mite ichor?” The reminder of that only made her turn away, the dirty look she was shooting ruined by the sudden flex of her throat and loud “Guurh!” that escaped her. His reminder of that foul taste, and texture, only made the entire moment that much harder to handle. “Shut up! You deserved that.” “I don’t think so. I think you deserved that. To wear my new scent, ‘Essence of Orchid Garbage’. I think it’ll be big in Ishgard.” He struck a pose, hip cocked out, hand on waist, the other holding his stained sleeve out with a pinky raised. He looked cultured, in a stupid kind of way. She hated that it made her laugh, partly because she gagged in the middle and tasted acid in her mouth. Maxim took a deep sniff of his new cologne, noise raising up in such a lordly manner you’d think he was King of the Gabage Grove, and joined Charlette in her tortured choking. “Woof! Oh dear, huurp! That’s a stench! Hah!” His enjoyment of the process, though, irritated her. She was  leaning on fence post and trying to pull in deep breaths of fresh, summer air when a voice called out. “Still can’t handle it, can she?” Charlette had not heard that tone in so long. The comforting pitch, the annoying confidence, the cocksure suggestion that it belonged to someone who just knew her, and knew what had happened to her. “Nope!” Maxim responded with far too much glee, the shit. “But she did ask for it, so don’t feel bad, or try to help. It’s not how penance is supposed to work. Instead, tell me how you’ve been Chloe.” Charlette’s sister was a few ilms shorter in height, white in hair, several shades darker in skin, and inhabited all the self-assured confidence someone needed to both be incredibly likable, and hateable, at the same time. Maxim had already draped his arm around her, Chloe equipped in her best picking overalls, which is to say she wore the same blue, worn, badly-fitting but sturdy kind that Charlette and Maxim did. Borrowed from Lodden, and smelling of one thing: farm. “Penance? Oh good, I’m glad the eldest still gets to spend time doing her favourite thing.” Charlette looked to Chloe, and made a hand-gesture that made Maxim gasp, and Chloe smile. It was very out of character. “I thought you weren’t going to make it this season. Weren’t you in Limsa? Or Doma?” She stepped to them and drew herself to full height, Charlette let the two shorter Elezen look up to her. No need for sharp words when she literally always had the high ground. “Yes! And I made a special effort to come through this season. I’d heard you were back home, and I missed you so very much I just had to come and see you again.” Maxim’s face turned between the two, his mouth drawn tight and remaining shut, a rarity for the man. “Mmhm. Well if you are done lying, we were about to start on the next tree. Come along.” and Charlette turned in a sweep, her nose held high in the air, long and determined steps carrying her away from the two. “She’s happy to see me.” Chloe said as she followed from behind. “That so? Did I just witness a pair of Bellamy’s hugging? Y’know, if I think about it, that makes sense. It’s very polite, cold enough to ice tea, and no one would have any idea it’d happened unless told.” A very fake scoff had left Chloe as she pantomimed offense. In all the years Charlette had known her sister, she knew she was incapable of two things: Shame, and seriousness. “How dare you! What you describe is far more intimate than a hug, to suggest my dear sister and I would embrace in such a way in public is positively scandalous.” Charlette glared back over her shoulder at the pair, but they couldn’t see it. Chloe and Maxim had started up a series of bows to each other. Maxim with one hand behind his back and bending low at the waist as far as he could while they walked. “My deepest apologies Lady Bellamy!” Chloe gripped the baggy edges of her overalls and pulled them out in a shallow curtsey. “Fret not Ser Flowerman, all is forgiven for such a gentleman of culture!” Maxim’s chuckle was loud, hearty, his smooth tone a little bit of a liar in its suggestion that he’s a smooth man. “Ser Flowerman, that’s going on my headstone when I pop off this mortal coil.” “You’re very welcome. It suits you.” They couldn’t reach that next tree soon enough. Charlette picked her harvest in silence while the other two continued to cajole each other into further impressions and comedic takes on, well, just about everything. It was very distracting, Charlette thought. But it was also very nice, as it reminded her of a similar time, out here in this old orchid. The three of them younger, nevermind what Maxim thinks. Only it was not with Maxim. No, back then it was Frederick who was helping distract Chloe and the others. Who was her sister’s companion in gently teasing her, or tossing the fallen, rotted persimmons at the others. He always managed to get poor Alistair on the back of the head, knew just when Brianne had him distracted enough to… “Charlette? Yoohoo, you there?” a charcoal-skinned hand waved in front of Charlette’s face, the sudden silence that had been lost on her came back. Maxim had stepped away, or perhaps been sent away? Why? Charlette looked down at Chloe’s face, which was suddenly serious. What a surprise. “I thought you couldn’t do that.” She asked. “Do what?” Chloe looked confused, perhaps even worried. How dare she. “Nothing. Did you need something?” “I asked if you are okay. You didn’t say anything, you were off with your books again I think. Dreaming of the library?” just a little curl of her lips came out. Hah! See, not a serious bone in Chloe’s body. Charlette looked at her little sister, perhaps staring for a bit too long. Then reached out, pulled her into a gentle hug that Chloe returned as easily as slipping into fresh sheets on a newly made bed. “No. No I’m not okay.” And just then, for the first time since Charlette had been pulled back home, it felt okay to be that way. Goodness, picking fruit was tiring work.

[doctorthasmin]

The Doctor adjusted Ryan’s cufflinks for him smiling as Graham compliments his grandson. “He’s right, you scrub up really well.”

Ryan chuckles pulling at his bow tie before stopping in his tracks. “Bloody hell, I’m not the only one. You look amazing Yaz!”

Yaz slinks down the Tardis stairs in a red shimmery dress, split up one side with no straps across her shoulders, it fit so perfectly it looked like it had been painted on her. The Doctor swallowed, suddenly feeling like her bow tie was far too tight around her throat. Don’t say it her brain told her, don’t say it you idiot.

“You’re not going out in that outfit.” The Doctor blurted our her blonde hair swinging around her chin. Yaz arches an eyebrow in response, Ryan whistled low and Graham pursed his lips clearly disappointed in her.

“I only meant to say -“ The Doctor begins before Graham holds his hand up.

“I think you look very beautiful Yaz and as long as you’re comfortable we’re going to the party as is, right Doctor?” Graham challenges, making the Doctor shrivel up inside with guilt. She nods curtly taking a deep breath offering her arm to Yaz somewhat hopefully. Yaz takes Graham’s arm instead, but Ryan falls behind taking her arm throwing her a cheeky smile.

“I’d say it’ll be okay, but you just broke every rule in the book. No matter what your lady wears she wears it for herself you know. Got nothing to do with you so learn the lesson and you’ll be fine.” Ryan says pointedly watching the Doctor squirm a bit as they entered the party, a bash in 83rd century alien planet called Thirendle.

“I know, but we’re not on Earth, in your time. Things are different here, Yaz is wearing red.” The Doctor worries, trying to catch the eye of everyone staring at Yaz.

“Yeah and she looks great, so get her a drink tell her she looks fantastic and say your sorry.” Ryan instructs pushing her towards the bar.

The barman is full of theatrics, playing to his captured crowd throwing bottles in the air and sitting cocktails afire. “What can I get for you madam?”

“I’ll have a dry martini shaken not stirred and a non alcoholic strawberry daiquiri please, with um one of those little umbrella things.” The Doctor fumbles out some credits watching as Graham is off dancing with some nice looking bloke to the side, always the charmer. Ryan is keeping Yaz company, staring at any being that comes too close, always the bigger little brother. Taking her drinks off the counter she takes a deep breath and walks confidently over to Yaz and Ryan.

“Got you a strawberry daiquiri, no alcohol of course.” The Doctor offers watching as Yaz licks her lips briefly before taking the drink and having a sip.

“Thank you, my favourite.” Yaz says rolling her eyes as Ryan bails out of their chat non too discreetly.

“I remember, always good with details me, they stick in my head like post it notes.” The Doctor chatters on before taking a gulp of her martini.

“Didn’t take you for a martini drinker.” Yaz comments swirling her straw around her glass, the Doctor notices her make up is different too, more smoky in the eyes, a debilitating look for an old Time Lord such as herself.

“Shaken not stirred, Ian Fleming is a right little thief, spent a week with him in Jamaica, now those were some cocktails.” The Doctor mumbles seeing Yaz roll her eyes ever so slightly at her name drop.

“So are you going to tell me what that was all about back in the Tardis?” Yaz asks, seeing the Doctor swallow nothing, touching her bow tie.

“Ryan says I should apologise and tell you that you look amazing, which you do but you don’t need me to tell you that everyone with a pulse is looking at you twice a minute in this room.” The Doctor states before staring down a few more shameless admirers.

Yaz barely shifts in recognition, completely at ease with the attention as unwanted as it may be. “Are you sorry?”

The Doctor swallows again before nodding sincerely. “Sorry if I made you feel bad for even an instant, you look wonderful. A true sight to behold.”

Yaz knits her eyebrows together in confusion. “So why the weird outburst?”

The Doctor finishes her drink in one tip of her head. “Red is a pretty powerful colour on this planet, if you haven’t noticed no one else is wearing it. A red garment symbolises virginity....and availability. Both rarities on this planet, it’s chronically under populated.” The Doctor explains seeing Yaz’s eyes widen in understanding.

“You’re not in any danger with me here, you know that. Consider it a cultural difference.” The Doctor promises as Yaz looks down to her dress a faintest blush on her cheeks.

“I should’ve listened to you, I just jumped to conclusions, thought you were bothered I was showing more skin than usual. Oh I feel like a right moron now -“ Yaz whispers half wishing her daiquiri had some liquid courage in it.

The Doctor stops her mid spiral her hands either side of her face. “Yaz calm down, you look beautiful, enjoy the party for what it is, some fun and if it helps here.” The Doctor gently plucks a shimmery petal from her dress sliding it into the knot of her bow tie visible to all.

“We can be young virgins together.” The Doctor says hearing a few scandalous gasps.

Yaz smiles sweetly at the Doctors gesture, ever the chivalrous knight. “How about a dance then?”

The Doctor outstretches her hand and Yaz glides into her embrace, safe and warm as always.

[inevitableenquere]

Mademoiselle Mari

Insp. by a comment on the Maribat Discord:

Buckle up, biches.

We’re gonna pull deep into DC canon for the French codename for female superheroes, Mademoiselle Marie, in use since the 18th century through the World Wars and probably beyond. Alfred Pennyworth worked closely with “Mademoiselle Marie” in the past.

In this universe, its expanded into a French government-sponsored training program, training little girls in espionage and assassinry since the Cold War. These program heads aren’t monsters; the girls still live with their families, still go to civilian school, they just occasionally “take trips to see distant relatives”.

Their parents are aware that their daughters are doing government work, and there’s a benefit package unlike any other available within the country. Salary is set aside in trust for “Marie” until she hits adulthood (precaution in case of shitty parents) and a stipend besides for her and her parents to use as they see fit. These girls get a full-ride “scholarship” to any accredited global university of their choice. Only the best of the best risk their lives for wet-work necessary for the good of France. These girls become unsung heroes of France, and they receive glowing recommendations when they decide to move on from the program.

Still, it’s not something the Dupein-Cheng family had thought of for their daughter, it’s not a well-known program after all. The handlers don’t have an eye on her until new mayor of Paris, freshly divorced, André Bourgeois brings the girl “bullying his little princess” to their attention. And that is how six-year-old Marinette Dupein-Cheng is brought into the program.

Now, Marinette, tiny little bi-racial girl, is competitive, and this program is something she enjoys, learning from adults and “older sisters” on how to tumble, dance, act, create, and make new friends– both in person with the other girls, and through letters to former agents and outside contacts. They craft a network based on previously established agency contacts and expand upon them as they move out in the world.

Marinette quickly becomes a star student, moving on to weapons training, and eventually becomes one of the first to graduate in her batch and she travels the world as pre-teen superspy “Mademoiselle Marie”. (Whose last name changes by assignment.)

This is how she meets Damian Al Ghul, prince of the League of Assassins for the first time, though he’s introduced to her as “independent contractor” Caracal. He clocks her as trained, and a threat right away, and takes his standard precautionary measure. He attempts to murder her.

Attempts, because Mari is just as trained as he is, if not as lethally inclined. He quickly finds himself pinned under her knee, knife to his throat. (Later, he insists that he was having an off day, helplessly grateful that he hadn’t succeeded.) But in the moment they agree to a truce and go their own way, Marie Simon to her “parents”, Caracal to the shadows from whence he came.

Naturally, the next time they meet they are “distant cousins” on a collaborative wetworks mission in Thessaly, against an uppity German drug lord, and his mad-scientist wife. The mission goes a bit sideways, took more luck than either will admit to pull it off, and they emerge from the aftermath, a grudging respect on both sides. Even if she’s too soft and he’s an arrogant andouille.

Through happenstance and circumstances, they run into each other enough, work together enough, to become friends. Friends, in this case, meaning “person I won't stab on sight and/or who owes me a favor”. A rarity for Damian.

Marinette thinks otherwise; with friendships among those in her organization, and tentative friendships with some of the boys in école, she considers Caracal an Ally. A lonely sad boy, sure, but more a feral street cat then a friend. It takes more than a few meetings for Marinette to consider him a Ride-or-Die Friend.

Through the years, these two baby assassins grow into a friendship that withstands facing each other as enemies to reunite with no hard feelings at the next meeting between them. After all it’s Just Business, and they both know that well.

And then Hawkmoth.

Marinette can’t be Ladybug, “defender of Paris” when “Mademoiselle Marie” travels across the globe networking for her government and taking down European threats. Marinette reluctantly resigns from her position, and she takes up a red-spotted mantle.

Now the Mlle. Marie Organization aren’t idiots. Marinette Dupein-Cheng retires with accolades, offered a permanent place whenever she finishes her “hiatus”. And if the Parisian Police are instructed from on high to look the other way for Ladybug? Well, it’s best to leave superhero business to superheroes.

People in the organization are Carefully Not Thinking About It.

Completely coincidentally, therapy and healthy coping mechanisms are now mandatory for all operatives working within Paris and the surrounding areas.

That said, she still has to tell her assassin that she’s retiring.

Damian does not take it well.

Not like murder not well.

Like communication blackout and regime change in Peru not well.

Damian gives her the silent treatment. After all, she’s Out. (She abandoned him.)

Little does he know, his mother is working to get him out as well.

Marinette, meanwhile is Not Happy that Mothman Barbie decided to take out his issues on her home turf. The Mlle. Marie project is supposed to be foreign support, and last line of defense. So I mean it's in her wheelhouse. She just enjoyed her job as a globetrotting pre-teen superspy.

She doesn’t want to be chained down to the homefront, not when there's so much inspiration out there! Putting all that on hold for Mothman Barbie in Paris, eating into her free time, sleep, and drastically cutting into her social life? Bitch.

Civilian life makes her itch now, stuck in one place with confusing, mandatory, rules. Fictional barriers and preteen posturing, and only one hidden knife? Being Marinette is Suffering™. New friend Alya and pretty-boy Adrien can only relieve it so much.

Yes she has a bit of a crush. He's pretty and a model. Shut up.

Tikki is pleased she's got another loyal warrior, a second coming of Jeanne d'Arc, though she wishes Marinette was kinder. That's something she learns while dealing with Mothman Barbie. Not just how to act kind, to prevent akumas. But how to genuinely be kind. How to unlock the empathy she'd learned to tune out years ago, and how to act altruistically.

During her collège years Marinette juggles the life of a teen superhero, making friends with her class sincerely for the first time in years, something she didn’t get the chance to do with her frequent trips. Beyond Nino and Kim that is.

When Lila comes she deems her as annoying, but not worth her time. Until she’s the one turning her friends into akumas, with broken promises and lies that damage reputations. Marinette has a set future, as long as she keeps to the laws of this land and doesn’t slaughter a bitch. Lila can’t do anything to her. But if she hurts any of her friends, Lila is getting a horse head in her bed, American cliché or not.

Thankfully her crush on Adrien dies a silent death during this time. She can’t see herself with someone who won’t stand up for himself, nor with someone who enables a pathological liar that is one move away from harming the rest of her friends. She’s unspeakably grateful for that when Mothman Barbie is revealed to be his absentee father and Mayura to be the closest thing he has to a living mother. She’s able to focus her attention on his mental state and not how stupidly pretty he is.

Adrien is cemented as her best friend and platonic life partner in a catsuit. Adrien, once he got over his crush on the "idol" Ladybug, is happy to treat her the same. He’s just glad that his Lady won’t leave him for what his family had done.

Despite Mari’s wishes, Ladybug can’t retire just yet. People come out of the woodwork to fill in the vacuum left behind from the fashion-blind terrorist that held Paris in fear for three years. Ladybug is a celebrity, and Paris would be left uneasy if the city’s heroes left them undefended. She trains to be a guardian with Master Fu, to find more permanent Miraculous holders to take up the defense of Paris, and later the world. She finally has the free time to devote to her fashion commissions and to pick up the occasional job with her old organization.

It’s mid-way through lycée that Jagged invites her as his plus one to a charity gala in the United States. As his designer, and as an inconspicuous bodyguard that has combat training (far more than he knows), Marinette is the best choice when Penny is on leave. It gives his favorite niece the chance to network with American big shots, and get her brand noticed by more than just a few fashion moguls in Paris.

Which leads us to today. Marinette Dupein-Cheng– agent on leave, teenage superhero, aspiring designer, and temporary bodyguard of her surrogate uncle– spots a very familiar profile across the room.

Her assassin, dressed to kill, possibly literally. And she resigns herself to once more being on the opposite side of the boy who cut her out of his life, and any attempts to get in touch with him.

She’s dressed in a MDC original (with more hidden knives on her person than people would think), as she goes through the familiar song-and-dance and slips into the mindset of Mademoiselle Marie.

Stolen glances across the room. How have they been? Will they talk to me again even if I left/left her in silence?

Both are on edge. They are professionals and an unexpected meeting won't prevent them from keeping their loved ones charges safe.

It's like they never left the business, the two of them. They don't know each other. I've never seen them before. They can't have been the murderer because I saw them head to the bathroom. Just don't. touch. what's. Mine.

They're Friends after all.

Thankfully nothing happens at the party.

Damian Wayne saw her. How could he have ignored her, magnetic as she ever was. His eyes periodically drawn to her, partly assessment, partly admiration. When nothing happens at the gala, he figures that she’s changed as much as he has. And Damian has changed. He's softer and he knows it. He's been Out almost as long as she has, and in trying to hold to his father’s standards, he doesn’t think he could slip into the mindset of the ruthless prince of assassins so easily any more.

The silence and loss of his first friend on the other hand, was a wound that lingered even as he learned of civilian friendships and built connections with other superheroes around his age. This was a chance to introduce himself to his oldest friend. Without business between them this time.

It's Damian that does the signal.

Mari trips and giggles at the end of the night over to her assassin. It's easy after years of "Clumsy Marinette can't possibly be Ladybug!" She plays up the petite harmless French girl.

"Mon Caracal!" She calls from 3 feet away, stumbling into his arms.

She hugs him, compartmentalizing the muscled form that holds her safely, knowing he can kill her if she plays this wrong.Not without a fight though.

She hugs him more surely, kissing both his cheeks the way neither of them would be allowed outside of acting. "It's been far too long!"

She pulls away to see him gazing down at her, and wow someone has given him acting lessons because he smiles soft, fond, and far more real than he ever had Before.

"Marie."

She boops him on the nose. "Marinette." She teases coyly. She can't tell him her last name. For the safety of her parents, but also to keep cover as close friends.

"Marinette." He nods, crooked smile on his face, and away from prying eyes there's the signal that he'll keep his mouth shut about her name.

Speaking of prying eyes... "Marinette!" Uncle Jagged calls, making his way over to the pair of them. Her assassin is surprised, though few would be able to tell, at the world-famous rockstar approaching them.

"Uncle Jagged!" She answers, facing him but keeping a hand on the muscled arm of her friend to keep him from attacking, just in case.

She plays up the accent. Just a rockstar with his very French™ niece and her boy toy, nothing to see here!

"Jagged," she says again looking up at her uncle, "this is my good friend–"

"Damian" her assassin, starstruck or not, can follow his cue.

Between them is the subtle flash of information-true-hidden as she speaks over it to distract Jagged. "–Damian, my caracal."

Jagged bristles a little, baring his teeth in what those who don't know him would call a toothy grin, rather than a threat.

"And is Damian rock-and-roll enough for my favorite designer, M?"

"He's very kind," she confides with a Marinette-sweet smile. In his own way. she finishes the thought ruefully. A small part of her brain is cackling hysterically.

Jagged relaxes, and drags the both of them forward, holding a polaroid out to snap a picture of the three of them. ("Very Rock-and-Roll!" Jagged had said three months earlier.) He shakes the picture to development, and autographs it with a flourish, before stuffing it into Damian's hands.

"Well any friend of Marinette's is a friend of mine! And M? Car leaves in 10." He smiles, patting them both on the shoulder before sauntering off.

"I." Damian tries. He sighs.

"Jagged Stone? Jagged? Really Marie?" Damian asks, slipping once more into the familiar nickname. Marinette decided to let it slide, Jagged had that effect on a lot of people.

Marinette shrugs helplessly, before fishing a pen and spare notepad for her to jot down her contact information. It had only been a night but that familiar rush and heady friendship was something that Mari didn't want to lose if she could help it. She placed the paper with the photograph, putting the lethal pen back in her clutch, and cupping his face in both hands.

"Keep in touch this time? Please mon caracal?" If her begging was a little more heartfelt, well she’d learned a few things too. She kissed his cheek one final time and stepped away.

A hand caught her wrist.

"It hasn't been the same without you, Marinette." Damian said, hand slipping into hers, thumb gently brushing the back of it. He lifted her hand and kissed the air above her knuckles, before stepping away and towards the exit.

I must not swoon. I must not swoon. I must not swoon. Marinette chanted internally as she left to find Jagged, already looking forward to turning a Friendship into something more honest. More real.

-Meanwhile, In The Lobby-

"What was that, baby bird?" Dick asked his youngest brother.

"An old friend." Damian answered tersely, pointedly ignoring the curious stare from his Father and the more obnoxious kissy noises from Todd.

"Hell of an old friend." Tim commented, sounding almost put out, probably because of the unexpected personal introduction to Jagged Stone and autograph Damien had received. "You let her get close."

Damian raised an eyebrow at Tim.

Tim rolled his eyes, "PDA close!" he expounded like that explained anything.

Dick must have sensed his confusion, " You attempted to judo-flip Kor'i when you first met her. And you let this tiny girl hug you and kiss your cheeks."

Damian scowled, "I'm not that bad!"

"You bit me last week when I went to ruffle your hair!" Jason said, tugging his suit sleeve back to reveal light scarring.

"And?" Damian said, very done with the conversation already.

"We just wanted to know how long you've been pining for her, baby bird." Dick teased.

Damian felt a betraying heat creep up the back of his neck, to his ears and cheeks. "It's not like that!" He hissed.

"I-" he paused, wondering how he could explain the beautiful, cunning girl who knew of his past, was honestly the best part of it, and how she had watched his back, kept him safe and sane, had killed people on his tail even, without making them regard her as a threat.

His grandfather would have made her an example. Vivisected, drawn and quartered for daring to get close to his perfect weapon.

"I've known her for years. We're Friends, and that means I'll allow her more than I would you, Todd."

He stalked forward, as his father called behind him, "You should introduce us when you feel comfortable, Damian."

He stopped, listening but not daring to turn around.

"After all," Damian could hear the grin in his father's voice, "It'll be nice to meet my future daughter-in-law!"

Screw the Joker, Batman ends right here, right now.

[rainydaywoes]

Crash Landing on You: 5 North Korean Facts or Fiction?

Crash-landed in love with the inter-Korea romantic comedy, Crash Landing on You? Ever wondered how close the depiction of the South-Korean drama is to real-life under the North-Korean dictatorship? Wonder no more! Quench your curiosity as we explore 5 highlights of the drama that will make you exclaim – hurai ggajimala (take the frying pan off your head) – the North-Korean slang for “Don’t lie to me!”

Note: This article contains spoilers up to episode 13.

 1.     Defecting and accommodation censorship

Remember that nerve-wrecking scene when our leading lady, Yoon Se-Ri (Son Ye-Jin) was caught hiding in the kimchi storage during an accommodation censorship search? According to a North Korean defector, Kang Na-ra, these house searches were as common as a daily occurrence for houses near the borders. Having personally experienced it herself when she was defecting, Na-Ra added that her broker made her hide in the furnace fireplace. So yes, this is very much true!

However realistic the drama depicted of accommodation censorships, defecting from North-Korea is absolutely not as easy as stepping across a piece of wire that physical separates the two warring territories. Ask any North-Korean defectors of their arduous journey out of the authoritarian country and their heart-pounding accounts will have you on the edge of your seat. From paying up to thousands of dollars to brokers, hiding from constant vigilance to swimming across rivers while being shot by soldiers, each step of the defecting journey is fraught with the danger of losing their lives. Even after reaching South Korea, the defectors have to undergo a mandatory three-months long re-education at the settlement center, Hanawon (House of Unity).

I guess, since this is a rom-com K-drama after all, we can relent on this fantastical depiction and finally send our dearest heiress, Se-Ri, back to the South before she loses her beloved company!

 2.     Cars

Surely, we mustn’t forget to sprinkle in a (car) race-against-time scene for our leading man, Ri Jung-Hyeok (Hyun Bin), as he zooms off in a showy luxury vehicle with the famous traffic-stopping 729 car-plate to save Son Ye-Jin’s character during an accommodation censorship.

Foreign luxury cars are surprisingly not as uncommon as you would imagine in North Korea, albeit mainly seen in the capital, Pyongyang. According to a tour guide who frequently travels to the country, BMW’s, Mercedez Benz and the Audi, you name it, they have it. So this depiction of cars and traffic in the drama is true to a certain extent.

The more important question is – is this 729 car-plate number really as powerful as it seems? Instead of the number “729” which the drama adopts, car plates starting with “727” indeed receive the bows of traffic ladies and are granted with traffic-stopping access in North Korea. You must be wondering – why 727?? The number “727” represents the 27 July. To history buffs, does this date ring any bell? It’s the day that the Korean Armistice Agreement, which brought complete cessation of hostilities of the Korean war, was signed. And, for North Korea, this date represents the extremely important national holiday, the Victory Day. Hence, yes, I would count this as a realistic drama depiction of North Korean vehicles.

 3.     Division 11

The next puzzling question at the forefront of your mind that follows Jung-Hyeok’s heart-stopping revelation of Se-Ri as his fiancée must be – What in the world is Division 11??? Does it even exist in real life?

To save Se-Ri from the secret police, Jung Hyeok blurted out that the reason for Se-Ri’s lack of identification materials is because she belongs to the mysterious Division 11 – to which, the village ahjummas (aunties) responded with surprised gasps and muffled utterings amongst themselves. In the drama, Division 11 is a military unit of individuals who work undercover in South Korea. This fits perfectly into the plot as it accounts for Se-Ri’s uncommon hairstyle, dressing and most prominently, her Southern accent and slangs.

Unfortunately, the existence of Division 11 remains an unknown due to the lack of official documents. However, considering how one of the drama’s writers is a North-Korean defector with insider information on North Korean officials and their functions, there is room for valid suspicion that this division does indeed exist.

 4.     K-drama love

There are many reasons why Se-Ri was able to make it past the demilitarised zone, across the North-Korea border and into Jung-Hyeok’s house. Luck, determination, fate – whichever you choose. But if you’re a true fan of the drama, you have to agree that it was due to soldier Kim Joo Muk (Yoo Soo Bin)’s love for K-drama (and the tragic love story of Stairway to Heaven).  

“No matter how far you go… Love returns.” Choi Ji Woo’s cameo brought tears in our (and Joo Muk’s) eyes as we recall the iconic scene of the wildly popular 2005 K-drama Stairway to Heaven. Too old a drama for your liking? For the North-Koreans, K-dramas are extremely hard to get access to. Believe it or not, some even risk their lives for this source of entertainment. North-Korean defectors shared that if the citizens were caught watching, they would face punishments such as hard labour, a jail term or even be shot to death. Despite such severity, there is still high demand for it. K-dramas are one of the limited windows through which North-Koreans peek through to understand life in the South that deviates from the national narrative by the dictatorship.

You must be wondering –how do North-Koreans go about getting their hands on such K-drama? Think the drama’s market merchant and her sneaky sale of foreign beauty products. North-Koreans usually buy illegally imported USB drivers with the K-drama saved in it from random ahjummas loitering around the marketplace.

The next time you complain about the slow buffering of your K-drama episodes, think of the risks and hardships North-Koreans have to go through just to get their hands on it.

 5.     Electricity cuts and train delays

Remember those satellite images of North Korea plunged into total darkness at night? That surprise by the Company Five soldiers at the constantly lit-up Seoul? True to the drama’s depiction, electricity is extremely rare in North-Korea and electricity cuts are merely constants of the everyday life. In fact, citizens receive electricity as rare as 2 hours a month! This irregular flow of electricity meant that there were generally no refrigerators and heating up an apartment with furnaces are the reality. A defector even pointed out that the scene of a village ahjumma riding the electric bicycle generator brought back precious memories and that almost every household had a similar machine to generate electricity during blackouts.

The inconveniences of the inconsistent electricity flow do not end there. The chaebol (conglomerate) heiress’ reaction to the ridiculous 14-hour train delay on the way to Pyongyang is one that most, if not all, Singaporeans who use the public transport can relate to. Surely this is false? Yes, this is indeed false. These delays not only last for merely 14-hours, but could go up to even a week! And the merchants that come running? They are known as the grasshopper merchants. Similar to what was depicted in the drama, these merchants sell daily essentials such as water, toothbrushes, soaps and food. An addition of the reality not reflected in the drama would be the ‘vinyl greenhouse’. Since train delays can last for a week or so, these ‘vinyl greenhouses’ provide warmth and accommodation for those willing to fork out the amount. Unfortunately for the citizens, train delays are considered a norm instead of a rarity and rage-tweeting or angered tagging of their train service providers on social media is certainly forbidden.

 Although Crash Landing on You is based on unbelievable premises true to its genre of a fantasy rom-com K-drama, the drama’s depiction of life in North Korea presents its audience with a rare and largely accurate glimpse into the secretive life under the strict dictatorship. With its deviation from the usual representation of North Korea as a poor and harsh regime in the media, the simplicity of life and the relatability of the citizens portrayed bring about an unexplored and refreshing outlook on North Korea and its citizens. So, after reading these fact/fiction of Crash Landing on You how many times did you exclaim hurai ggajimala?

[crowleyellestair]

Can I request some Jaskier x reader headcannons where they get into their first real/serious fight/argument? Thank you, I love your work❤️

AN//// Thank you so much!!!!!!!!

Imagine your first fight with Jaskier

Jaskier had always been a lover

Y/n knew that

It was one of the many reasons she loved him, among other things. His selfless nature, his kindness towards everyone, his need to be positive in every situation. The list could honestly go on

Jaskier was known for many things, but Y/n was not

Above all else, she wasn’t known for jealousy

But any on looker would stand up and consider her justified when they watched what she had

His voice was like a siren call, bringing all types of people flocking to his side

This particular night, however, brought on something unusual

He had finished his normal set, but had finished with his newest song: Crashing Waves

It was a song he had written a while back about a very intense and intimate night between him and his partner Y/n

He had almost lost his life to a group of bandits on their way to meet Geralt in the next town over and they shared a heated moment after she had dispatched the men and brought him to a healer

But when he finished the song, two people had swooped into his vision

They were a beautiful pair

The twins had piercing green eyes that reflected light that hit them. They were taller than him, which was somewhat of a rarity. One was a male, the other a female, but both radiated pride and understanding for those who became enchanted with them

Y/n wasn’t an unconfident person, but watching how his eyes followed their every movement had struck something

She knew that looks could be deceiving and she believe they had shared something different than attraction to the other’s looks

But she also couldn’t remember a time when he looked at her with such focus

Of course, she knew he had, and her insecurities where just making themselves known, but-

Jaskier had left her sight and looking around she couldn’t find the twins either

He was free to do what he wanted, and she knew how much fame meant to him

Not that he pined for it, but he hasn’t had many big breaks recently

She also didn’t want to make him feel stifled 

But Y/n also had to calm her heart

When she got up, she didn’t know what she was expecting to see

But finding his hand clasped firmly in the male’s while his back was firmly fitted against the woman’s front wasn’t it

They had brought him to the back of the tavern. It seemed to be the darkest part of the room, and the bench seat somehow fit all three of them

Y/n didn’t interrupt

She had just silently walked back to the shared room. She sat on the bed and thought to herself, looking into her reflection in the mirror placed on the vanity

When they shared their night together, a lot was said

Love was thrown around quite a bit and they both knew it was true. There was never a moment where Jaskier hadn’t asked for her opinion on the road, nor a time when she hadn’t worried about him in a fight. Jaskier had started changing his color scheme to fit what he had silently picked up after finding out what she loved the most. Y/n had also started to change her habits, trying to show a more sophisticated, “lady-like” side. They both went out of their way to try and impress the other

Geralt had even commented, saying Jaskier had lost the need to flirt around others once she had come along

But it seems he was wrong

She didn’t need to turn to know he walked into the room, and she tensed when she felt his arms around her

-“What’s wrong, Y/n? I know I said I wouldn’t over play the song, but Crashing Waves is one of my better pieces recently… And you’re not looking at me. Y/n?” He had sat next to her on the bed, hand on her cheek, bringing her gaze to him

-She hadn’t cried. Y/n silently and softly blinked at him. She couldn’t wrap her head around how to bring up her problem to him

-“I don’t understand, you need to talk to me, love.” His smile quickly faded to one without joy, and soon fell all together

-“Who were they?”

-“That’s a broad question. Who were who?” Jaskier leaned back, dropping his hand to rest on it and his expression settling on one of confusion

-“The twins.” Confusion quickly morphed into shock. He was somewhat speechless for a moment. Y/n felt the tension quickly fall onto her shoulders and she got up to remove her little armor she had on as if it would help relieve it

-“I didn’t catch any names-.”

-“But you caught their attention. And they you, by the look of it.”

-“They offered me a drink that I gladly accepted. We aren’t necessarily ready to freely spend coin like that.” She had been turned away from him, but she knew he was looking at her from his spot. She simply nodded and said,

-“Okay.”

- “There’s more.” Jaskier stated. He knew she had more on her mind, but he couldn’t really comprehend why. She had never acted this way before and he didn’t know how to handle the situation, especially when he couldn’t decipher her feelings

-“There just seemed to be more going on is all.” Jaskier sat up straight on the bed, now somewhat understanding

-“We just sat and spoke about my repertoire. Praises of my music are few and far between when I’m not singing about our brooding friend.” Y/n kicked her shoes off before walking the short distance between them. She breached his personal space, grabbing his hand the same way he saw the man from earlier do, shoving her face close to his

-“Does this feel like harmless conversation to you, Jaskier? How about I slither behind you and press my chest up against you? Giving away just a peak of what I have to offer.” She didn’t know where the sudden burst of anger came from, but she knew she was somewhat justified. He gawked before responding

-“I don’t know where this is coming from, but it isn’t very becoming of you, Love.” She had just scoffed and dropped his hand

-“And an attention-.” She cut herself off before saying something she’d regret. It was only until Jaskier came along that she had started sharing her feelings. She was okay with bottling it up and holding her tongue, but he had insisted to know everything about her

-“Go on, Y/n. Tell me, what about attention has to with me? I’m assuming it was the start of a name.” She stood up straight, subconsciously squaring her shoulders

-“An attention whore isn’t becoming of you, Dandelion.”

-She could also throw their pet names into it

-He gave a humorless chuckle before standing and placing his hands on his hips. He pushed past her to allow him to pace. He looked at the ground for a moment before meeting her gaze again

-“What do you want me to say, Y/n? Sorry someone wanted to shower me with praise?”

-“No-… no, obviously you can have that. I just don’t think you should take it in the form of sex.”

-“I wasn’t going to sleep with them!”

-“Are you sure, because you seemed pretty into it to me!”

-A hand raised from his hip to be able to point at her

-“Don’t you dare accuse me of sleeping with someone other than you.”

-“Well I’m not your first lover, Jaskier. If you want someone else, just tell me so and don’t lead me on. I’m okay with ‘Crashing Waves’, but I refuse to be purposeful material for your next love song.” 

-He flinched at her accusation

-She did too

-“I don’t take love lightly, Y/n.” Her jaw screwed tight and she just nodded. She could see his eyes become glassy, and it broker her heart. She too felt tears well up. “I don’t think you’re thinking straight. There will always be twins, Y/n, and they will always want to hold my hand. But that shouldn’t make you question my love for you.” She watched as a tear left him and he started walking towards the door. He had looked deflated, but willing to take anything else she was going to throw at him

-When she didn’t respond, he pursed his lips and nodded

-Jaskier walked back to the door, but before he left, he heard a faint

-“Wait.”

-Jaskier turned to find her holding her hand out with her cloak

-“It’s cold outside tonight.”

-He grabbed it from her hand, but made no move to put it on, and walked out of the door

I have a part two to this on my page :)

Masterlist

Other Jaskier Fics:

More Than Ok

Fools in Love