#tizzy is my son and i love them so much

[spinestoat]

christmas creatures :33

[wh0re43van]

I’ve always cared (Jimmy Darling X Reader)

Summary: Elsa took you in, seeing herself in you, when you and Jimmy were just 6 years old. Everyone at the camp loves you, Ethel has taken you under her wing, but Jimmy is much less than thrilled with your presence.

Warnings: smut, mentions of alcohol

Word count: 2.7k

A/n: I’ve gotten a couple requests, it may take a bit longer than expected because Im in college and I’m swamped at the moment, but I am working on them! This is just a Jimmy imagine I had been working on for a while. I tried to make this one a bit shorter! Thank you for reading, enjoy!

I glance at the wooden clock hanging on the lilac wallpaper covering my small trailer. 3:00pm, I better go meet Thomas, my new beau, at the entrance of the carnival. Hopefully Jimmy minds his business this time. It seems like every time I bring a date back here, he scares them off.

I look in my mirror, straightening out my purple and white dress before walking out the creaky metal door. As I step out onto my porch, I glance over at Jimmy’s trailer which happens to be about 50 feet from mine. He looks away and takes a sip out of his whiskey glass, resuming his reading of today’s newspaper. Theres always been tension between us. Well, more like a blatant dislike towards me. Jimmy always managed to get me in trouble with Elsa when we were little, now he constantly chases off boys I bring home. Whenever I would ask him why he hates me so much, he would just walk away, so I gave up.

I walk through the giant clown mouth and up to Thomas’ automobile as he steps out.

“Hey suga’. ” Thomas flashes a bright smile and pulls out a comb to slick back his dark hair.

“I’ve missed you Thomas,” I beam as I lean up to peck his cheek. I grab his hand to lead him back to my trailer.

As we approach my door, I see Jimmy glower over his newspaper. Not at me, but at Thomas. They make eye contact, and neither one wants to look away first. Seeming to be in some weird battle of unspoken dominance.

“Why so crabby, lobster boy?” Thomas teases. I roll my eyes. To my surprise, Jimmy says nothing. Just sips his whiskey, still refusing to break eye contact.

“Thomas quit it,” I huff then all but shove him into my trailer.

“I don’t know what that guy-“ I halt his words with a soft kiss, putting my hands on his chest.

“Don’t pay attention to him,” I smile and pull his black shirt from behind his buckle and over his head. “Just pay attention to me.” I bite my lip and a devilish smile creeps onto his face. I push him onto my bed and turn on the radio before straddling his waist, dipping down to kiss his neck. Thomas reaches up to close my blinds above my bed.

•

•

Jimmys POV

•

•

I see some shuffling out of the corner of my eye. I glance up at Y/n’s window to see that bastard shirtless with her on top of him. He notices my looking and gives me a sly wink before closing the blinds. I feel my face contort into a scowl and my blood pressure raise. I gulp down the last of my whiskey before I slam the paper down, shaking the table and knocking the glass over, but I’m too pissed to care. I march over to where my mother is starting supper.

“Why is she allowed to do that?” I huff, pointing at Y/Ns trailer.

“Why can who do what, son?” my mom asks while chopping some celery.

“Y/n,” I take my hat off to scratch my head. God, she makes my skin crawl from anger. “Why is she allowed to bring random guys here all the time?”

“Oh Jimmy,” Ma shakes her head. “She’s young and beautiful, let her have her fun.” She grabs the celery and turns to take it to a big pot. I follow her with angry footsteps.

“Yeah, well my trailer is 50 feet from hers Ma. I’d prefer to not have to hear her ‘fun’ every weekend.” I argued. Ma turns to look at me.

“Maybe if you brought some ‘fun’ back here for yourself you wouldn’t be in such a tizzy,” she raises her eyebrow. I narrow my eyes at her, grunting in annoyance before storming into the main tent. My mother had managed to make me even more angry, possibly because she might be right.

“Elsa!” I shout throwing the striped curtains out of my way. Elsa turns around in the fold up chair, removing a cigarette from her mouth.

“Yes, boy? What is it?” She asks flatly.

“Tell me why y/n is allowed to bring normies snooping around here for free all the time,” I question, stomping up to stand in front of her.

“Its not for free boy. They often come back with their families or friends for the real show. When she picks the wealthy ones, they even buy refreshments. So, are you asking why I’m allowing free publicity?” she pauses to take a drag off her cigarette. “I hope not because that’s a stupid question.” she exhales the smoke in my face. Once again, I march away, even more heated with whiskey sloshing in my veins. “dummer junge.” I hear the crone mutter in German as I beeline towards y/n trailer. A storm opens up, pouring down rain as if matching my emotion.

•

•

Y/N’s POV

•

•

Thomas leaves wet kisses on my neck as ‘put your head in my shoulder’ plays from my old stereo. I set down my glass of wine to help him unbutton the blouse of my dress. His eyes shimmer with lust as I reach behind my back to unclasp my off-white brazier. Out of no where, my door swings open.

I snap my head to my doorway as a very angry, slightly drunk Jimmy crashes through. I freeze as Thomas jumps off me, his face flushing in fear. He just stands above us for a second, Jimmy stares at me, I stare at him, and Thomas stares at Jimmy.

“Get bent lunkhead!” Jimmy snarls at Thomas. I’ve never seen this look in his eyes before. The boy next to me grabs his shirt and bolts out of my trailer into the rain. I call for him and stand to run after Thomas, but Jimmy grabs my wrist firmly. He stares into my eyes, glancing at my chest. My cheeks reddened in embarrassment. I was a bit too tipsy and stunned to realize my whole chest is exposed.

“Let me go Jimmy!” I pull my arm away, turning around to pull the top of my dress back around my shoulders and clumsily fastening the buttons. “Jimmy get out!” I holler, too wine drunk and embarrassed to deal with his shit. I turn to face him. He just stares at me with glossy eyes and his brows furrowed in a way that almost scares me.

“Fine. I’ll just leave then,” I huff brushing past him, storming out into the thunderstorm. Jimmy follows close behind me.

“You think you’re so fucking perfect!” He shouts. I turn around.

“What are you on about Jimmy?” I shout back in confusion, my voice being crowded out by the heavy rain falling around me. The man stumbles towards me, his white shirt sticking to him as the rain soaks in.

“Everyone thinks you’re some perfect little princess!” he yells with whiskey on his breath. “You have them all wrapped around your pretty little finger, even my own Ma adores you! But not me Y/N,” he screams while toddling closer to my face.

“Get your drunk ass out of my face!” I shove him back, but he doesn’t even move. “What are you even talking about?”

“You’re perfectly normal Y/N!” he slurs slightly, seeming to not even notice that I pushed him. “You don’t need to be here! Go out into town! Get married and have a normal life with a decent guy and quit fucking sleeping with guys who obviously want nothing more than your body! You just keep getting hurt!” He screams, grabbing my shoulders and basically shakes me.

“Don’t touch me!” I slap his hands and step back. “Since when do you care about me or what I do?” I scream right back, spitting some rain out of my mouth that’s running down my face. Surely, he can smell the wine on my breath just as I can smell the whiskey on his

“Since fucking ever Y/N! I’ve always cared,” he shouts the first line, softening at the second. What? Our screams stop, the sound of the rain floods my ears. I just now feel how wet my skin is, how soaked my dress has become.

“Well you sure have a poor way of showing it,” I say still bitter, but much more quiet.

“Truth is, I’m jealous of you Y/N. ” he admits almost in a whisper, still inches from my face. “you’re just so perfect. Your face, your body… your hands. You could be in the pictures! You’re just so…” he trails off maybe searching for words. All the rage flees from his eyes and it’s quickly replaced by admiration and guilt. Before I know what’s happening, Jimmy’s lips are on mine. I’m shocked, but oddly enough, I’m not upset. The boy pulls away and puts his hand on my wet cheek as the storm continues to come down in sheets around us. “You’re so perfect it makes me angry, and I’m sorry for how I’ve treated-“

I don’t need to hear anything else. Maybe it’s the alcohol in my system, but I cant help to pull him back into another kiss. He returns the motion. Kissing me with a passion that’s been building for 15 years. He doesn’t need to speak; I can feel his guilt in the kiss and see it in his eyes. Maybe it’s foolish, but I don’t care. All I care about now is Jimmy’s lips on mine. Our kiss turns from slow and passionate to hard and desperate. Jimmy slips his hands under my ass, and I jump to straddle him.

“Lets go inside Jimmy. Let me get these wet clothes off you,” I pant in his ear. He almost runs, busting the door to my trailer open  for the second time today, but this time with me in his arms. He sets me down on my feet not breaking the kiss. Wet clothes go flying around the small space in a whirlwind. Within a minute Jimmy and I are stripped down to the bone. Jimmy carries me over to my bed, laying me gently on my back.

“Jimmy,” I look up at him as water drips from his soaking wet curls onto my bare chest. “Do we really want to do this? I mean we both have some alcohol in our system,” I feel like I’m in a dream, everything has happened so fast.

“Y/N, I know it may not seem like it, but this what I’ve wanted for years. I thought I never had a shot with you, and I feared the rejection. That paired with my jealousy of your ability to lead a normal life...I acted like an idiot. And I’m truly sorry.” Jimmy admits his cheeks redden a bit. I can’t help but smile. I know this should be a sweet moment, but I’m desperate to feel the one man whose always resented me inside of me. I reach up to caress his face.

“I’ll forgive you Jimmy,” My hands snake around the back of his neck to pull his ear down to my mouth. “But only if you fuck me first.” I bite the side of his neck hard, making his breath hitch in his throat. In an instant his already bruised lips are back on mine in a wet kiss. Our tongues fight for dominance, of course he wins. His conjoined fingers reach down to spread my legs. finding his way to my entrance. He dips his hand in, moaning against my mouth at how excited he’s made me. He uses the slick to massage my clit, sending pleasure shoot through my whole body.

“You make me feel so good Jimmy,” I whimper as he leans up to look at my face. He seems to enjoy watching how much pleasure he’s bringing me. He keeps his eyes locked on mine and a big grin on his face as he dips part of his hand in my entrance, the other part still rubbing my clit. The feeling is heavenly, making me arch my back. I moan his name in praise, but he does this for women every weekend. I’m not just one of his whore customers. “I don’t want your hand jimmy,” I reach down grabbing his hand to move it away. He looks confused, almost hurt. “I said I want you to fuck me. I’m not just a bored house wife,” I bring his hand up to my mouth kiss his fingers, tasting myself in them. I want him to know that I’m not insulting his hands, I just want more than them. I sit up reaching between his legs to give his perfect cock a few pumps. His eyes squeeze shut and he tenses at the contact. “I want all of you Jimmy,” I whisper. “Lay down.” I command as I stand from my bed allowing him to lay in my place. He watches me with wide eyes, audibly gulping as I crawl on top of him. Settling between his legs, taking his dick into my mouth. He gasps, his hand quickly finding my hair, pulling it out of my face so he can watch me gag on him.

“Fuck Y/N” his words come out in a husky groan. “Shouldn’t I be pleasing you?” he asks before whispering some more profanity’s. I take his dick out of my mouth with a pop.

“Oh Jimmy don’t worry im I just getting you ready for me,” I grin, sliding his length between my fingers. “As much of a cock block you’ve been the past couple years, you have a lot to make up for,” I remind him as I line him up with my entrance, steadying myself with one hand on his sweaty chest.

“I am more than happy to pay up for that,” he smiles as I tease my self with his tip. “Especially since my efforts were successful. I almost feel sorry for those guys though,” as soon as he’s finished that last word I sit down slowly until he’s entirely inside me, the feeling of him filling me up making my toes curl. Jimmy lets out a breathy moan. “because if a man ever denied me this pleasure, I’ d stomp his fucking brains in. Y/N  Y/L/N, you are truly a site to behold.” He grins with a look of lust and admiration in his eyes, reaching up to cup my breasts in his beautiful hands. I begin to grind slowly, my hips moving against his.

“And Jimmy Darling, you surely know how to make girl feel special even when your cock’s buried seven inches inside her,” we laugh as I begin to bounce up in down. The laughter quickly turns to moans and the sound of skin slapping against skin. Jimmy slides his large hands down to my ass to help me bounce on him, thrusting his hips up as he slams my ass down, repeatedly pounding into me impossibly deep, making me scream out his name so loud I’m sure everyone in the city could hear. A knot begins to form in my stomach and my hand finds its way to my clit rubbing in circles to help my orgasm build. Jimmy seems to be in a trance. His eyes following my body up and down like he’s being hypnotized.

“Just like this Jimmy please! I’m so close,” I scream out. My voice going horse.

“That’s it doll. Cum for me. I need it baby.” he grunts out. Jimmys encouragement pushes me past the tipping point. I come undone around him. Feeling such intense pleasure like I’ve never felt before. I clench and feel myself release, accidently squirting on his stomach, something I’ve only ever done once before. That was enough to make jimmy cum. I was only able to feel embarrassed for a second before jimmy threw me off him, barely able to get me off in time, shooting his thick strands of cum all over my leg as he clumsily attempts the stroke himself. I grab his dick, helping him ride out his orgasm. Jimmy stares into my eyes, his mouth agape, brown curls sticking to his forehead, and-

“Jimmy, are you drooling?” I ask unable to contain my smile. He quickly reaches up to wipe his mouth with his arm.

“I can’t help it doll,” he pants out, his dick still twitching. “you’re just so mesmerizing. I never imagined that I’d see you like this.” He admits. I giggle crawling up to lay my head next to his.

“Well, I’m glad you liked it, because you owe me a lot more, don’t forget.” I remind him. He reaches over and grabs the pack of cigarettes that Thomas left behind, popping one in his mouth. I grab the matches, lighting the white paper for him.

“For this? Doll you come get me, night or day,” he promises, exhaling smoke. I giggle and nuzzle into his chest. This was by far the best apology I’ve ever received.

[gav-san]

A Vintage Bouquet | 3/5 | Mihawk x reader

Pairing: Dracule Mihawk / Fem Reader

Length: 3/5 Chapters

Summary: Trapped in a monastery and threatened with an impending marriage, you'll strike any deal with a Pirate to escape what your father has in store for you.

Previous/Next

No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no!

That pirate had run off. 

You clench your fists, turning to regain your footing. That swordsman can’t have gotten far, you reason, pivoting to give chase. So what if he was ice incarnated, a being of demon strength, and deep down scared the bloomers off you?

He had been paid, and now he would pay up in whatever way, shape, or form. You stagger to the end of the ally, where the light of the lanterns is now in full glow, leaving the safety of the dark to trek toward the docks.

You would not let that man take your wine and then just leave! Men eye you warily, especially when they see the blood on your shirt and the mindless way you scheme revenge on one captain with a too-poofy feather in his hat.

“That sonofanogoodmother-” You grind, clenching your jaw, but are sharply tugged out of your dashing by a firm hand on your shoulder.

“Miss nun.” You clench your jaw so hard it pops, sweat rolling down your cheek. 

“You have the wrong person.“ You say with a low grunt, moving to try to dart away. But the grip the Rear Admiral presses so hard you curl back in pain.

“Jacobson.” You practically hiss. 

Nonononononononono!

That no good swordsman son of a gun had probably told on you! You cursed him to the depths, something deep inside your chest reminding you that you had decided to trust a man so clearly a pirate.

And now you’d pay the price.

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for your wedding?” The Rear Admirals says, moving to face you and diverting you from your course. You swallow back a whimper as the shipyard is cut off from view. 

Your feet stumble on the old cobblestone as you are pulled along. 

You may as well jump in a wedding dress at this point. You’ve been scammed not only of wine but also of your entire future.

You are pulled straight into the local registrar's office, the Rear Admiral’s Grip, not giving an inch to give you a chance of escape. Luckily, only a secretary is there, who knows better than to do anything other than raise a brow and return to her book.

Even your best, miserable looks don’t shake her apathy. 

Jacobson waves you to a spare desk, practically sitting you down. You set the barrels down, giving a chagrined huff at the audacity. You hope he can tell how sore your arms are from the manhandling.

Your only chance is to plead with the Rear Admiral, a man known more for gossiping and enjoying the misery of others than doing actual work.

“So what exactly are you doing, Miss Celestial bride?” Jacobson asks, sitting in his chair and leaning back to swing his feet up. His eyes sparkle with unspoken mischief, clearly deciding what path would be most entertaining for him to take here. The Rear Admiral was always looking to stir up drama and passionately loved being a busybody.

“Rear Admiral.” You say, folding your arms to gesture at the wine. “Just making a delivery.” You attempt to brush some blood off your shirt, only managing to smear it in a delightful swoop. “There were some complications.”

“Hmph.” He gives a gruff laugh. “So you weren’t planning a last-minute escape and planning to bribe a captain with stolen church wine?”

You try not to shift too much, clearing your throat.

“Of course not.”

“I got a call from the monastery just five minutes ago,” Jacobson says with a lazy brow raised, “They’re in a real tizzy to find you. And the wine. They paid a lot for my best vintage, you know.”

“Shall I call them sir?” The secretary nods to the snail on her desk, matching her stiff glasses and suit attire.

You pressed your lips together, taking a breath. Your arms fold over themselves, the rough fabric of your stolen shirt chafing you.

This situation was getting even worse.

Very bad.

The Admiral grins.

“What do I have to do for you to pretend you never saw me today?” You say, feet digging into the ground as you rise to plant your hands before him.

The Rear Admiral laughs, putting a hand to his head.

“You think you have anything better than what your father can give me?” He chuckles, heels clicking on the wooden desktop. The secretary made a noise in her throat, making him sigh, and put his feet back on the ground. 

You know what he wants.

A dramatic story or something equally intriguing to talk about may intrigue him. Your lips pressed together, and you decided to fudge the truth.

Just a tad.

“I’m… eloping.” You say, throat turning dry. “To, uh, my secret fiancé.”

The Rear Admiral had the audacity to laugh in your face.

“The fake one in your books?”

“It’s-It’s- NOT LIKE THAT!” You attempt to correct him, fumbling a bit. “I’ve found the real man I want to marry!” 

“How convenient it is to find the one thing that would stop your marriage to a Celestial Dragon.” He said dryly. “Another marriage. ” 

You take a breath. 

“Yes.”

“I’m supposed to believe you so happened to find love right before your arranged wedding?” He says with a smirk.

You bite your lip, turning to lie to the Rear Admiral as you could potentially be a naive young woman who happened to fall in love. 

“It’s true! He’s a swordsman who fell in love with me at first sight, and I fell for him! He saved my shoe, and we both knew we were soulmates!” You squeaked. “We’ve already consummated our love!”

Jacobson gave a dry laugh.

“So what does this fantasy suitor look like?” He poked, and you huffed. “Does he even have a name?”

You lean forward, feeling very aggressive. 

Maybe you couldn’t turn this around. But like hell, you would just let that pirate off the hook. If you were going to be dragged back to the monastery, you were dragging his name through the mud with you.

He may have taken your wine, dignity, and freedoms, but chances were he’d never be allowed back in this side of the trading routes again for messing with a Celestial Dragons bride. He’d have to own up to that. 

You raise your voice, doing your best to give an impression of the guy.

“He is enormous, over six and a half feet, and has a giant sword! Dark hair, piercing yellow eyes! Has a hat with a white feather!”

The Admiral stopped short.

“Pardon?” He says quietly.

You go on, feeling you may be gaining some ground.

“His name is Dracule. He’s excellent with all his swords.!”

And then the secretary paused.

“Dracule… Mihawk?” The Admiral says carefully, as if each word is a hammer hitting an anvil. The swordsman held some respect, perhaps a regard you can leverage. “Is this…your… forbidden lover?”

You doubt it’s to your credit that he knows of the stranger, but you have no choice but to gamble.

And like lightning, you finally have the secretary's attention. Her head snaps up so quickly you’re surprised it doesn’t pop off. Jacobsen’s eyes flash up at the window behind you, a strange look crossing his face. You don’t notice, hands clenching the chair hand.

You narrow your eyes. The name fits, and you can’t help feeling like you are missing something important.

But you’re too far into this lie to back down.

“On both of our honor, I swear it!” You stand, hand to your chest. “That we have promised to be married!” And since you are indeed a stupid, reckless fool bent on escaping at any cost, you doubled down.

Jacobsen gapes like a fish.

You put your hands on your hips as you push down the truth, climbing in your throat.

“Now you see why I was trying my best to be quiet! I cannot, with a clean conscience, marry another when my body has been used and known by another! My, I could very well be carrying a baby now! Would you like to be held responsible for such a debacle?”

Your statement was undoubtedly in the realm of absurdity, but who would refute it? You lean in with a weighty frown.

“Are you truly trying to convince me that Dracule Mihawk,” the Rear admiral paused for emphasis, brown raised high in disbelief, “is your lover?”

You paused.

“Yes.” You declared firmly.

The entire room is silent for a moment. Only the creak of the wind hitting the door rings, but you don’t back down from glaring at the Rear Admiral.

“If this is the truth, he will be required to take responsibility for you,” Jacobsen says, a ruthless grin splitting his face as he rises from his seat. “And he’d vouch for your feelings?”

You go to answer resoundingly but are cut off by a frigid voice with a tone that could split mountains in two.

“Rear Admiral.” 

You try and hide your flinch.

A familiar cold voice says, seeming to answer that question. “It seems you found my… monastery girl.”

“Ah,” Jacobsen says, moving to give up his seat, but the encroaching figure whose shadow looms over you doesn’t move, merely places a hand on the chair rail behind you, knuckles brushing your shirt. “So you are at least acquainted with Miss Gabrielle. And seeing how she forcefully brought a Warlord of the Sea’s honor into question, it would be wise of me to clear up this situation.

You take a deep breath, noting the frozen expression of the secretary who was openly staring at the debacle before her. 

The extent of how deeply you have genuinely muddled up descends on you like cherubim from hell. 

Stuck away in the Monastery, you have heard the names of the Seven Pirates—the terrors the Navy permits to roam unaccosted on the high seas in exchange for their… services. As a Celestial Dragon, your father even spoke of them occasionally. But you weren’t intimately familiar with their names that you’d recognize them, say, if they ended up conversing and agreeing with you that they betrayed, leading you to smear their name. Only now did the name, in context, click.

Dracule Mihawk.

One of the most fearsome Warlords in the Navy and, undoubtedly, the world's most renowned swordsman.

You don’t turn, despite the fact you should be thrilled your ‘fiance’ has found you. No, that tone of anger was hardly one that would soothe you. You’d almost certainly live longer there after having insisted that Dracule Mihawk was your sorted lover, causing an international incident involving powers far beyond you.

Anyone who had helped you could be executed at his discretion, and you doubt he’d care a wink.

And you slandered his name like he was some common ruffian. Your chest should have collapsed in on itself with the sheer audacity your words have spread. You don’t dare look up at him; your chest compresses itself. 

You glance back.

The look Mihawk drills into your head will give you nightmares for decades. You do your best to pretend that you are, in fact, part of the chair, even when the Warlord comes up right behind you, placing two swarthy hands on your shoulders. 

The weight of his hands pulled you down to sit as if that would lessen the weight of your crimes. The vomit in your stomach flies to your throat. The world seems to go dark, the air gone from your lungs. 

You were sure that you would pass out.

His hand settles on your shoulder as warm air swathes your ear, Mihawk’s voice low.

“Breathe. It would be troublesome for you to faint.”

Your breathing momentarily hitches at the motion, at odds with what you thought his first line of action would have been. Your head ending up on a platter, detached from the rest of your body, is more like what you deserved.

You may have been slowly dying in that chair, but the Rear Admiral was thrilled. 

“Mihawk!” He motioned to the door, “What a curious situation! I can see we have much to talk about!”

You cringe as fingers press into your shoulders. 

“Indeed.” The man behind you says, and everyone can hear the annoyance in his voice.

–X–

People make mistakes. It’s part of living that crap happens, and circumstances change, and there have been many times in your life that you made a poor choice and had to own up to it.

But typically, a person's mistakes can be mitigated and damage modified. 

However, attempting to manipulate a greatly feared pirate warlord, also known as the best swordsman in the world, was not a mistake. Accidentally compelling the said Warlord pirate to marry you, lest his honor be besmirched at your baseless accusation, was almost certainly life-ending. 

Being married to one of the Seven Terrible Warlords of the Sea in the shotgun wedding was beyond the pale. 

And yet, spending your unexpected wedding getting glared down by said Warlord was worse than anything that had preceded it. 

It is an entirely new level of horror that has yet to be categorized.

You supposed, sitting in a corner of the barde, you wouldn’t be surprised if he lifted himself off his throne-like chair and kicked you into the sea for the trouble. Maybe he knew that his unhappy presence was akin to death, as his glare was like the weight of an anchor.

Suffice it to say that such a wedding night was unpleasant.

But as the moon's light caught the black water below you, a sliver of anger grew in your chest. After all, this wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been a pirate and made off with your wine! How were you supposed to know that the guy hadn’t reneged on his promise when he disappeared out of the blue?

He could have said something and saved a lot of drama. But if there was one thing to be said, Dracule Mihawk was good to his word. 

He didn’t leave you. Even it meant he had been pushed to sign wedding papers to prove such a thing.

Even so, as you glanced back at the man who finally decided to close his fearsome eyes and end your torment, he hadn’t hurt you. 

He just chose the most horrible, embarrassing option to torment you with by going through with the lie, probably deciding to kill you later.

Committing to the bit was a matter of a marriage license, two flourishes from an ink pen, and a witness signature. His cold gaze was so powerful you didn’t have it in you to do anything but exactly as he stated.

Even the Rear Admiral had only dared ask one question as Mihawk threw you over his shoulder as if to insult your early assumptions of abandonment. His tone did little to hide his irritation, but his grip wasn’t painful. You assumed the strongest swordsman in the world could do much worse.

“Where are you going now?”

Mihawk’s voice cut like ice.

“Home.” 

You hadn’t realized how painful a fake honeymoon could sound, but now you know you had escaped the frying pan only to fling yourself directly into the fire.

But still alive, you watched as the sun slowly rose and Dracule Mihawk’s ship made its way through the water.

Two days pass in this manner. Mihawk promptly ignored you, and you pretended not to exist, trying not to stroke his anger. 

How does one begin a conversation sailing on a coffin, newly married to a husband almost sure to kill them?

One doesn’t.

One instead sits in a corner, hoping the man forgets they are there.

Your throat is dangerously dry, and your stomach gurgles in protest, but you refuse to open your mouth to tempt fate. And it’s not until night on the second day when Mihawk breaks the silence.

“Monastery girl.” His voice doesn’t sound dehydrated, and you bubble with jealousy. You slowly turn to look at the man, who isn’t to look your way. Instead, his golden eyes stare at the ocean ahead as if he can see something you can’t.

You clear your throat. “...Sir?”

He lifted a leg, crossing a booted foot over the other.

“You’re alive. At least you managed that much.” You cringe at his words. “Now that our little game is about to end, I think it’s clear I have no intention of claiming you as a wife. But I’d decided that you are worth more alive than gone.”

“Sir?” You say, a touch of hope that you may live appearing in your voice.

“My part of our deal is done.” He speaks frankly, if not a little bored. “We’ll be parting in less than a week. We’ll pass some treacherous waters, and it’ll be bothersome if you pass out.”

Standing, you brush down your salty clothes. 

“Yes. Thank you.” You say, giving a bow. “I’m grateful for your extremely kind help, especially for a pirate…Warlord.”

He provides a scoffing laugh, and you tilt your head in confusion. You give you that look where he stares into your soul uncomfortably. 

“I intend to ensure that you now repay your debt to me. I’m not going to let you off so easy.” 

You flinch, blinking as he folds his hands together.

“Debt?” You say again, not quite sure what he means, “Aren’t we to part ways? Never see one another again?”

“Hardly.” He grunts, “You can work off the debt you accrued by taking my name and forcing my honor to ensure your well-being.”

You step forward, fists balling together.

“And what can a mere noblewoman do to pay off such a debt?” You say, frustrated that freedom was pinched out of reach.

“I'll consider us even if you can manage to do some basic errands I have. Restoring a garden for one.”

You gasp.

“That could take me years-”

“It will take a long time for the marriage document rumors to run their course.” He says frankly. “This is the consequence of your reckless words.”

“You were the one who left me without a word! If you had kept your word-” 

Mihawk stood, rising to his full height. You find yourself barely reaching his chest, courage gone, as a finger flicks your chin to look him in his eyes. His bare chest makes your head feel dizzy.

“Frankly, my dear, you are now a target. I have little desire to keep you with me as I sail, but If I set you free and you are slain, my reputation will be slandered, which would be irksome. Every little worm will try and challenge my title, and I don’t have the patience for that.” 

You gulp.

Worse, he had a point. No doubt there were at least two Celestial Dragons eager to put a hit on you. You are surprised you hadn’t thought of such a thing in the first place.

Your throat goes dry as the Warlord stands, the giant sword seamlessly being planted on his back in a well-practiced swoop. He strolled past you, not bothering to give you a passing glance, that damned feather in his hat fluttering.

“Name all your terms.” You say tiredly. “No more tricks.”

“Housekeeping.” He says, with no change in his expression. “I am often away, and my home, my garden, and the island’s inhabitants require constant attention. I shall be gone for months at a time. If you can manage not to die or, worse, sully my home, then you may stay. I'll ensure your safety if you can produce a decent wine.”

You couldn’t come up with a retort, and Mihawk turned, moving to the back of his boat where he kicked open a hatch you hadn’t even noticed.

“But…” Your throat burns when he pulls out a chunk of bread and a large waterskin. He drops them into your hands as he returns to his perch.

“Drink.” He commands, “As I see it, I’m doing you a large favor.”

“A favor?” You say drily, but unable to resist, you drink the water and cuddle the bread to your chest. Mihawk watches the trail of clear liquid roll down your chin, scoffing.

The man slung one long leg over the other, hands placed together. 

“Go rest in the hammock below. I tire of seeing that forlorn expression on a woman.”

You don’t have the willpower to resist and stumble to the hatch below. It won’t strike you until later that this is likely the Warlord’s quarters. You fall asleep into the surprisingly soft bed before your head settles on the goose feather pillows.

You don’t even wake when Mihawk opens the hatch above, stepping down to watch your chest rise and drop in tandem with the waves above. With a simple flourish, he drapes a blanket across your body before leaving.

[kokehitsugi]

ok im going to talk about orange county (2002)

ok specifically im going to talk about lance, shaun’s older brother and ultimate failwife of the movie because jesus christ do i love a strung out bitch.

i’ll talk more at length when its not 2am, but i found it super interesting that they make their shitty parents so obvious and front & center about the fact that they definitely more than likely neglected and fucked up their eldest son and then did it again to their youngest. With less success mind you, Shaun seems pretty well rounded if not a little quirky due to his upbringing and general califronia-isms. But Lance on the other hand. Lance….

We’re introduced to him begging his little brother for a piss test for god’s sakes

He mentions his parole officer at multiple points, I wish we got a little background so I had the pleasure of finding out what the hell he went to jail for in the past. Anyway.

Their mom is shown to be an emotionally manipulative alcoholic, with a history of sabotaging any chance of her sons leaving home. Lance gets high later on and starts rambling on about wanting to start a clothing brand or something or other, which I’m sure he actually does, and talks about a different clothing designer that went off to live in hawaii etc etc

he also goes on a weird mini ramble about how much he loves his brother and they dont say it enough “ITS NOT THE DRUGS MAN….” he loves Shaun he LOVES HIS FAMILY HE WANTS TO MAKE THEM PROUD HE WANTS TO BE SUCCESSFUL…

With how their mom treats them and how devastatingly hooked he is on the random shit he takes— that’s obviously not going to happen anytime soon, and Shaun says as much, which does end up hurting Lance’s feelings ( even though he shouldnt have burned the goddamn stanford admissions building down in the first place but i digress ).

Shaun talks idly about wanting to go to college and their mom immediately flies into an entire tizzy, immediately whining about how she’s going back to bed to rot and how she doesn’t want him to leave, I can only imagine how Lance was treated growing up— and although he doesn’t seem terribly bothered about not going to college and frying his brain to death on drugs, I’m sure there is something there…

How can I not be completely enamored with a drugged out sad failure of a man who can’t and won’t bear to face his severely alcoholic mother while also destroying himself on various uppers. While their dad just completely fucks off. Their dad is barely present, Shaun tells him to his face that he doesn’t do anything for them and he just kinda shrugs it off at first- mostly because he assumes Shaun wants to be “nothing but a broke writer” and only cares about money but still. he ends up pulling through after a rekindling fling with their mom but both seem fairly relieved when he ends up not going off to school…which yes ultimately is good for Shaun!!! but still…geez…how supportive…

It just makes me think…it just makes me ponder… what could have lance and shaun’s childhoods been like…i don’t think it’s ever stated how old lance is, but i’m guessing he’s meant to be at least twice shaun’s age or something like that…

shaun obviously loves his brother very much, shown after the …fire, he forgives him and (presumably) drags him back into the car after his fun escape incident…god…younger siblings forced to caretake for their idiot failure older siblings my beloved…shaun cares so much about his fucked up family really its something else.

oh the end…the end my beloathed…my beloved…

I love that he barely even gets to give his mom a hug at the end, she barely even reacts to it he barely even gets the chance to get his hands on her shoulders shes basically ignoring it oh my god goodnight i will edit this post in the morning

[agendabymooner]

4, 8, 12, 19, 20

OMGGGGG ILY THANK YOU FOR ASKING!!!

(Currently 3AM here how about there?)

4. How many WIPs do you have right now?

- haha shiiiit~ a lot. I come back to my drafts every other hour/half hour and most of which are chapters of series or scenarios. BUT if I were to count them (including chapters that are already completed and ready to be posted), I would say around… 15-25 WIPs? Yeah. I’m batshit.

8. What project(s) are you currently working on?

It really depends on my mood 😫 As I said before, I make things out of pure enjoyment. I’m refraining from posting more social media snapshots of dad!F1 drivers because I feel like I’m just being lazy doing that. I do love me some dad!F1 drivers tho!

But right now, I’m trying to get back to the Hearth Sisters universe groove! That means I’m trying to find inspiration for the Toto Wolff series (Colour Me Your Colour), Max Verstappen series (To Loathe and To Love) and potentially more dad!Charles scenario (About Names)

Another thing I’m working to get back on would be the Honey Honey series! I feel like I haven’t been inspired to write/make posts about that LN4 series so now it’s my break… yeah.

OH! And yeah more dad!F1 fics! The chances of me posting standalone scenarios for F1 drivers as dads are higher than the chances of flooding your timeline with series chapters LOOOOL!

12. Do you have a playlist for your current WIP(s)? Share it!

I’ve only made two playlists for two series that I’ve made!

HONEY, HONEY! LN4

TO LOATHE AND TO LOVE — MV33

19. Give us a small teaser from one of your WIPs.

I’ll give you two eheh

…

FROM ABOUT NAMES || CL16 SCENARIO (3)

“It only makes sense,” Aimee shrugged. “Since either of us are presenting to his peers and their other guardians— why don’t we talk about his names?”

The Ferrari driver thought about it for a moment. His sons and their names meant a lot for the couple, with them being named after people that meant so much — people that both Charles and Aimee looked up to.

Sacha ‘PJ’ Leclerc, much like his brothers, was named after the people that gave meaning to Charles and Aimee’s relationship and their lives way before the kids came along. It only makes sense that the couple answer the questions of who were the kids named after.

Especially when PJ’s teacher, Julie, grew curious about the boy’s nickname. His name was Sacha yet the adults called him PJ— why?

“Okay,” Charles nodded, “we can do that.”

“One condition,” Charles continued, making Aimee nod.

His slight scowl was mimicked by little Alain as Charles spoke, “I’m not messing with the glitter glues.”

“No gwue!” Alain exclaimed as if he struggled with the glittery sticky material before.

…

FROM PRIDE AND PETTINESS || JB22 SCENARIO (2)

SILVERSTONE GP 2005

I haven’t seen someone as excited to see me as Jenson Button. At first, I thought I wasn’t planning to head back to the race any time soon but because of my manager’s insistence — in her words, “You are Britain’s best darling!” — I attended the race in England once more.

Of course, I haven’t lost contact with Jenson. His insistence of “keeping contact” wasn’t anything harmful — and so I just went with it. Except I only kept my emails and responses to a minimum as he continued to pester me. Seeing him in the race once more certainly made my stomach flutter— he was just as handsome as I’d seen him last year.

What he told me however was surprising. He was invited to the event for the Pride & Prejudice premiere. He said this with his usual irritatingly handsome smile. I’ve never been in such a tizzy feeling before… at least until now that I’ve met him.

God. I’ve never been so whipped over a man before. He’s irritating, indeed, but he’s making me want him more. Not that I’ll ever allow my heart to break just like that. In fact, maybe he should work on it.

Our encounter after the race was what had everyone going mad. After all, it wasn’t every day they got to hear a man and a woman talk like they’d known each other for a long time despite only knowing each other through emails.

20. What’s a favorite title for a fic you’ve written?

I have a thing for alliteration. Like same sound or letter at the beginning of every word in the sentence and all? Yeah. I love me some alliteration. So I would say my favourite title came from my Sebastian Vettel fic, “Sebastian and Sons (& Soufflés)”

Special mentions: Oscar Piastri SMAU series (Jollibee, Madrid and All That Romance Fiasco), “Daddy, Debriefed!” Series (The Leclerc Daycare & The Hamilton Daycare), Something Sinful Series (F1 smut!)

SHOOT ME A MESSAGE!!

[krikeymate]

dredge au (me again):

im thinking of all the ways richie can come back and terrorize the girls bc i love angst so this is what i came up with (which probably isnt very good but hey):

Amber lives on little Woodsboro, and she hears of these new comers. she herself was from the mainland, a long time ago, and she hasnt seen Sam and Tara for a long, long while. but it’s unmistakable, the love they have for each other, Amber would recognize it anywhere, shes never seen two people be so devoted to each other.

She remembers that Richie had an interest in them, back when she was on the mainland. and so, she writes a letter, sends it off with an uknowing traveling merchant, the letters R.B. on the seal. she tells this merchant that the dockworkers would know who to give it to.

Richie receives a letter, from someone he knew ages ago. A young woman, who he had the great (mis)fortune of knowing years ago, when she was so young, so innocent. The letter tells him where to find Sam, where to find his prize, but the letter is also a warning.

‘The sea must grant you passage. You need to give something it wants, in exchange for your safety.’

Enclosed in the letter, he finds a ring with the initials S.P.

‘Bring this to the Collector, before you take your revenge. He has a special interest in it.’

And so, with only the knowledge the letter provides him, he takes his leave, and makes haste to Woodsboro.

My dear intended, we're engaged now, sorry, don't make the rules.

Anyway. I love you? This is a great call.

I think I made their ages 20 and 15. Canonically Tara is older than her peers but here she gets to be younger. Amber is 17 and left 2 years ago under a scandal. The Freemans are well-known merchants, and their daughter being caught in bed with someone (Ritchie) other than their intended (Wes, of the Hicks, son of the one law enforcement officer not under someone else's payroll and due to follow in his mother's footsteps (they want him under their payroll, hence the engagement)), was quite the scandal. It reflected poorly on them, so they sent her away, to live with her trader uncle, Dewey. (He's got something going on with the mayor of Greater Woodsboro, it seems, always exchanging letters with G. Weathers, but neither leaving their respective islands).

The arrival of the Carpenter sisters causes quite the stir, it has the town people in a tizzy. Newcomers are rare. Newcomers that stay are rarer. Newcomers that stay and fish and live never happen. Amber used to play with the sisters as children, before social convention kicked in and she was reminded they're not the sort of people one of her status associate with. She would still enjoy the younger sister's company on occasion, she enjoyed the look of awe and admiration she would send her way as she gave her a taste of the other side. The older one was trouble.

She receives monthly news of the happenings from back home, from family, from friends left behind. The news that Tara Carpenter has fled engagement from Ritchie of the Bailey's, and that he's offering a reward for knowledge of her whereabouts, is intriguing. (They don't like to lose what is theirs, and a substantial debt was wiped clean, they're owed their reward). She pens him a letter.

He offers money - of which he has plenty - of the opportunity to leave the godforsaken little island she is trapped on, to move back to the mainland, to a city, if only she would be so kind to reveal the location of his intended. He sends it with gold, weighing the letter and his words.

She sends him back a location, a warning, and a special ring from her uncle's hidden collection. She tells him to bring her money with him. She's learnt so much about the sea and its magic since she's been here, she's sure it will eat him alive. But not until she gets her money. Perhaps it will even leave her the boat.

[sometimesanalice]

I have endless amounts of love for these two!

You know how much I adore this story, but this chapter made me absolutely GIDDY!

Bradley is a tizzy is one of my most favorite things 💖

more for you!

“Things happen‌. Things happen! With the time zones and the technology. It’s still early for them!” She feels ridiculous talking out loud to her empty house. — I am her 😂

Part of her last job was to analyze the charred piles that used to make up a fighter jet, ignoring the brown stains splattered on the metal.— oh that would be TOO REAL a reminder of what he does. And it’s like she’s around it all day every day, and it’s her JOB. But like now THATS HER MAN IN THE ZOOM KABOOM PLANE

Mary catches sight of herself in the entryway mirror and frowns; all the effort she put into getting ready feels stupid now. The outfit, the heels, the carefully styled hair, the makeup that took an hour.— I love that she got all gussied up for herself (also for him) for their date night call! Like it’s so sweet that she’s trying to make it special with the effort. But my poor babe! (In her pretty sweater and sexy tight jeans!!)

“But he’ll appreciate it.”- baby boy is going to MORE than appreciate it! It’s going to be his favorite fodder until he comes home 🤭

“Is everything okay?”/“Can I come in?”/The lack of an answer sends a chill up her spine- the man is NOT known for his tact! Sir, answer the damn question!

Her knees practically buckle at the use of her name; he always defers to her unofficial call sign or last name.- NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO USE HER GOVERNMENT NAME PETER! He’s probably like “that’s my son’s girlfriend/wife/soulmate. I should put some respecT on her name” but like 🫥

“Everything is fine! He’s fine!” The shouted reassurance makes Mary flinch, years of therapy unable to eliminate the instinctive action completely. “Oh, jesus…”— the “oh jesus” SENT ME 😂😂 I can see his face now, he knows he’s biffed it, lolololol

“Oh- Bradley and I- we’re not-” Mary stumbles over her words, neck hot as she tries to explain./“I know,” Mav gently assures. “But you will be; I know Bradley.”- 😭💖🥹😭💖🥹 THATS HIS SON THATS HIS SON

Bradley means everything to me; he’s my kid- just crying it’s cool I’m fine

the distance too far. Her parents had briefly - and accidentally - met the one boyfriend she had in college, an excruciating experience that had been the catalyst for their breakup. Since then, no one has seen Vertuccis in anything except pictures.- 👀👀👀 these people….

He has to calm down. He needs to be in bed soon, sleeping and resting for tomorrow’s hops. But nothing is working. The shower was a failure, and so was a lap around the hangar deck, trying to let the salty sea air clear his brain. — I love how much of a TIZZY he is in and how you reveal WHAT sent him into that tizzy!

occasionally adding a blurry photo of Mav with a caption reminiscent of a wildlife documentary.— PLS ITS SO FUNNY. He’s so chaotic!

He couldn’t wait to print a copy of Mary snuggled on her couch, wearing the soft yellow sweater he bought and boldly spritzed with cologne. - HE IS SO CHEEKY

Love./And it’s not even that her emails have been slightly bolder. The content staying constant but with an extra something. It had taken a few days’ worth of updates to realize that she was being more blatant with her flirting, more open.- I love this for her!! I love that she is embracing the fact that Bradley fancies her and indulging in all those things that she can do now because she knows he likes her back! THEY HAVE A DATE SET!

So what exactly sent Lieutenant Commander Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw into a tizzy?//Carefully packaged cookies and a slightly blurry polaroid.- 🥰🤭

Bradley knows it can’t be the thing his brain immediately thought about. For so many reasons, he knows it’s not that. It doesn’t stop his heart from beating faster at the possibility. Just the potential has his ears burning.- 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

p.s. Mariella Vertucci, what the hell are you doing in my bedroom without me?— MY FEET LITTERALLY DID THE DUCK UNDER WATER THING.

LIKE THIS MADE ME SO GIDDY I COULD NOT CONTAIN THIS ENERGY IN MY BODY! THIS MAN! THIS MAAAAANNNNNN!!!!

(Please note I could NOT find a duck feet under water gif, and I TRIED. And now I’ll never unsee all the feet photos that are lurking in the gifs 😖. I hope you’ll accept this one instead)

p.s. your uncle (the short one)— the way I WHEEZED

p.p.p.p.s. Now you’re just messing with me. But if you’re not, flight school sweatshirt is in the bottom right drawer of the dresser, remote is in the left nightstand. Enjoy my Netflix. We know I’m not.- THE MAN WAS SWEATING AT THE THOUGHT. He’s like trying to keep it cool but he’s fighting for his LIFE (please hear a la Ru Paul)

there was a whole gaggle of ‘86 guys. I’ll have to give you a full breakdown in a separate email because it was a wild night. how can they drink so much? I lost count after the sixth (seventh?) toast.- I need it. I want it.

go to sleep, Bradley. dream of me.— ARE YOU KIDDING ME??!?!! 🥹🥹🥹 do you have any consideration for my poor heart?! I’m not built to withstand this kind of YEARNINGGGGGG

“Yeah!” He’s too loud for the room. - Bradley “No Chill” Bradshaw everyone!

“Mary sent cookies; if you don’t tell anyone else, you can have one each.”//Bob and Payback eye each other, silently agreeing to not ask about the frazzled state after the mention of Mary. “What kind?”— I love this!! It’s like the dagger boys do summer camp! This was genuinely so cute 🥰 swapping and hoarding their treats and sharing with their friends. I’m so tickled by this 😂

Mar[r]y Me - part 8.5.1

pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Mariella “M&M” Vertucci (fem!OC)

summary: A love story told through friendship, laughter, and food.

series warnings: 18+ minors DNI, discussion of insecurities, difficult family relationships, discussions of food and alcohol use, discussions of body image, conversations on what it’s like to be a fat woman trying to date in today’s society, extreme fluff, like soooo much flirting, warnings to be added as needed

word count: 4.4k

previous part | series masterlist | main masterlist

note: happy Sunday! this ended up far longer than I expected so there'll be some updates to the masterlist! thank you so much for your patience, I know it's been a while since the last part. love you all.

part 8.5.1 - snacks and SPF

Saturday, March 20, 2021

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Mary’s shoe bounces against the tile, echoing through the kitchen as she checks her watch again.

Ten minutes late.

“Things happen‌. Things happen! With the time zones and the technology. It’s still early for them!” She feels ridiculous talking out loud to her empty house. “Besides! Ten minutes is nothing! There’s probably just a problem with a satellite somewhere!”

The self-soothing does little to calm her nerves. She knows what happens during deployments; she’s seen the aftermath of the accidents that can happen. Fatal mistakes occurring in a nanosecond unable to be reversed. Part of her last job was to analyze the charred piles that used to make up a fighter jet, ignoring the brown stains splattered on the metal.

“No.” Mary shakes her head so hard she feels lightheaded. “We will not go down that road. Everything is fine until you are told it’s not. Everything is fine. He’s just late.”

She slides off the barstool, trying to work out the anxious energy with laps around the living room, her shoes clicking with each step. Mary catches sight of herself in the entryway mirror and frowns; all the effort she put into getting ready feels stupid now. The outfit, the heels, the carefully styled hair, the makeup that took an hour.

“You’re trying too hard.” She lightly scolds, frowning at the curls starting to lose their shape.

“But he’ll appreciate it.” She argues with herself, knowing that Bradley will be happy to see her wearing the replacement sweater he bought. He won’t see the tight jeans and heeled boots she decided to wear with it, but those aren’t for him. They’re for her, a little boost in her confidence.

The next lap takes her around the island, laptop and phone void of notifications.

Fifteen minutes late. 

Fifteen minutes late used to mean nothing; she used to love it when professors were fifteen minutes late. The excited buzzing of a classroom at the prospect of a canceled class. People comparing watches, phones, laptops, anything that could tell time, giggling as they discussed what to do with an unexpected hour of freedom. Now, it feels like the complete opposite. Dread filling her stomach like bad news is going to appear at her front door any second, the same way a tenured Ph.D. waltzing through the lecture hall doors at the last minute dashed all hopes of escape.

Mary is so distracted by trying to erase the bad thoughts swirling that she misses the silver car pulling into the driveway. She doesn’t notice the sound of the car door closing or the person walking to her front door, only pulled from the impending spiral by the doorbell ringing.

“Who the fuck…” One last wistful glance at the clock tells her the afternoon’s plans are probably dead.

Twenty minutes late. 

“Mav?” Mary can’t hide the surprise in her voice at seeing the older man on her front porch. “Is everything okay?”

“Can I come in?”

The lack of an answer sends a chill up her spine, and she silently moves to the side, letting the admiral into her home. He subtly looks around, taking in her colorful decor and sturdy furniture.

“Haven’t been here since you moved in; the place looks good, Mary.”

Her knees practically buckle at the use of her name; he always defers to her unofficial call sign or last name. The last time he used her first name was to introduce her to some visiting admirals from Washington. Something terrible had to have happened for him to show up unannounced on a Saturday at the same time she’s supposed to be video chatting with Bradley.

“Pete…” She croaks the name, nose burning with the urge to cry.

He turns around, face scrunched in confusion at the sound of his first name and stretching into panic at her wobbling lip.

“Everything is fine! He’s fine!” The shouted reassurance makes Mary flinch, years of therapy unable to eliminate the instinctive action completely. “Oh, jesus…”

Mav scans the room using the same quick-thinking senses that kept him alive for years in a jet, locating the tissues and swiftly bringing the box to the sniffling woman. His eyes are guilt-filled as he presses a kleenex into her hand, guiding them to the infamous pink couch.

“I’m sorry for yelling.”

“It s’okay.” Mary gives a shaky smile. “I’ve always been a bit jumpy.”

Pete bites his tongue as she sniffles and grimaces at the makeup that transfers to the tissue. Slider had told him in vague terms about the Vertucci family and how they’ve been less than supportive of their daughter, how that would be putting it generously. Bradley’s telling of how she spent her PTO during Christmas was more straightforward, a full picture forming as his nephew lamented a family he didn’t know.

“Officially, you don’t know what I’m about to tell you, and you can’t tell anyone else. Do you understand?” Mary confusedly blinks at him but nods her head in agreement. “The comms blackout got extended, and all the calls scheduled for the next week are being pushed out. All the recipients got notified, but when Laura went through the list to double-check, she realized your contact information had gotten entered wrong.”

“You came all the way over to tell me?”

“I was already out, and I figured you would be worried. And I wanted to make sure you were okay; I haven’t gotten a chance to talk to you lately and check on you. The first deployment away from each other is the hardest.”

“Oh- Bradley and I- we’re not-” Mary stumbles over her words, neck hot as she tries to explain.

“I know,” Mav gently assures. “But you will be; I know Bradley.”

Her heart flutters, not sure how to respond other than the bashful smile she can’t hide.

“And he would be embarrassed that I’m about to do this, but while he’s not here and it’s just us, I wanted to ask that you take care of him. Bradley means everything to me; he’s my kid, and I know how much he cares about you. You’ve both had some hard times, and I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Slider had given her a similar talk before he left town. Bradley has such an incredible support system, with so many people who care about him, but it hurts her heart that she’s not close enough with her family to get the same treatment. She’s never brought anyone home, and none of her relatives ever bother to visit, the distance too far. Her parents had briefly - and accidentally - met the one boyfriend she had in college, an excruciating experience that had been the catalyst for their breakup. Since then, no one has seen Vertuccis in anything except pictures.

“I will, Pete. I don’t ever want to hurt him.”

The I love him is left unsaid, but she’s pretty sure Mav reads between the lines, clocking the hearts in her eyes as she thinks about the mustached man they care about so much.

“Good, and if he ever hurts you, just let me know. I’m old, but I still know all his weak spots.” Mav smiles at Mary's giggles, her eyes crinkling in laughter. “Okay M&M, I gotta get going, but stop by my office this week, and we’ll grab lunch. Also, Penny wants you to come to Easter dinner, so keep that in mind, and she’s having some sort of ladies-only thing next weekend that she wanted me to mention; she’ll probably call you tomorrow.”

“Okay! I’ll text her about what she wants me to bring for Easter.” There’s a moment of awkwardness by the door, but it disappears when Pete pulls her in for a hug. “Thank you, Mav.”

He squeezes her extra tight for a second, his throat thick when she presses her face against his shoulder just like Bradley does. “Any time, kid.”

Wednesday, March 31, 2021

Bradley splashes more cold water on his face in a futile attempt to calm down. He has to calm down. He needs to be in bed soon, sleeping and resting for tomorrow’s hops. But nothing is working. The shower was a failure, and so was a lap around the hangar deck, trying to let the salty sea air clear his brain. 

The communication blackout had been partially lifted two days ago, giving everyone access to email. Bradley had spent every available minute at the terminal in the Daggers ready room, catching up on twenty-nine days of messages from his family and Mary.

Mary.

Who had overwhelmed him with her sweet messages and silly jokes. Sending at least one email a day, keeping him up to date on work and the Dagger family in San Diego, occasionally adding a blurry photo of Mav with a caption reminiscent of a wildlife documentary. He had read the email from her birthday at least six times, staring at the photo she had attached. He couldn’t wait to print a copy of Mary snuggled on her couch, wearing the soft yellow sweater he bought and boldly spritzed with cologne. Her smile a little shy as she posed, just for him.

That’s not what got to him, though it’s certainly not helping.

It’s not the way she signed that email.

love, Mary

An echo of her birthday card, the addition of the pink heart emoji after her name making him smile.

It’s not how every email since has ended with the same signature.

Love. Love. Love. Love. Love.

And it’s not even that her emails have been slightly bolder. The content staying constant but with an extra something. It had taken a few days’ worth of updates to realize that she was being more blatant with her flirting, more open.

I’m always so hungry when I get home, and I just realized today it’s because you’re not here to bring me a turkey sandwich. I miss you and your thoughtfulness.

had girls’ night tonight - Aaron joined us - and we put Skyfall on for background noise. thought about you the whole time… I was so stupid to kick you out that night. I think that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. I’ll never understand how you forgave me, but I’m so glad you did.

should have stolen your flight school sweatshirt before you left. mine just isn’t as comfy.

He almost broke at the attached photo of her in bed, pouting at the camera with her lush pink lips and big brown eyes as the collar of her almost identical sweatshirt dipped to show off her freckled shoulder that was just begging to be kissed.

All of that? All of that was manageable.

So what exactly sent Lieutenant Commander Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw into a tizzy?

Carefully packaged cookies and a slightly blurry polaroid.

Today’s mail call brought care packages for all twelve members of the Dagger Squad, lovingly packed and sent by Mary, Danielle, Aaron, Kristina, and Flora. All the packages were the same, with identical toiletries, socks, sunscreen, and snacks from Costco, plus a note signed by the San Diego crew. The married Daggers had extra goodies and personal letters from their spouse.

The mood had risen exponentially since the boxes were dropped in their ready room; the midway point of deployment is always the hardest. But spending the evening playing the card game in Logan’s box put smiles on everyone’s faces. Even Jake, moping that there was no note from Flora in his box, laughed as Bob easily won three times in a row.

The crew slowly trickled out, returning to their bunks as it got closer to bedtime, but Bradley hung around, waiting until he was alone to open the last part of his box. The smaller box his note told him was just for him, Mary’s swirling signature below the instruction. He was glad to watch Mickey and Reuben leave, the latter giving him a knowing wink, and waited an extra second before unpacking his treats to get to the bonus box.

The scotch tap easily peeled away and the cardboard tabs folded back to reveal a small envelope, a big bag of shelled pistachios, and layers of individually wrapped sugar cookies. He didn’t bother with anything else, immediately unwrapping a cookie and taking a huge bite. Mary’s sugar cookies are a weakness of his, thick but soft, and the sweet practically melts in his mouth. He closes his eyes to enjoy the taste of home, and a familiar scent wafts past his nose.

Mary’s perfume.

It’s coming from the envelope. An involuntary grin spreading across his lips as he brushes crumbs off his shirt, carefully sliding his finger under the flap. His smile growing as he reads the short letter, chuckling at the explanation of how she had volunteered to ship the packages so she could sneak his cookies in, and she hoped the perfume wasn’t too strong, but there had been some wine involved as the group influenced her to spritz the paper. His eyes widen at the last line.

Look under your cookies for an extra special surprise.

His leg bounces as he holds another envelope in his hand. He can tell what’s in this one, the polaroid shape distinctive through the thin paper. Bradley knows it can’t be the thing his brain immediately thought about. For so many reasons, he knows it’s not that. It doesn’t stop his heart from beating faster at the possibility. Just the potential has his ears burning.

“Whatever it is, you gotta look at it before someone else shows up.” He mutters to himself, feeling unsteady as he slides his index finger along the edge of the seal.

There’s seven photos in the stack. The first three taken during what he assumes was the care package night, everyone smiling at the camera, cheeks smooshed together. The fourth is his family, all of them smiling around the dining room table with a picture of him sitting at his regular chair, his place set like he’s just running late and not floating hundreds of miles off the coast of Japan. The next two confuse him. Pictures of the plants in his living room, a tiny bit of Maverick’s shoulder visible in the one of his pothos ivy.

The last one takes his breath away.

Mary, in her yellow sweater, smiling in the mirror on his dresser. Her smile is soft, with a tiny bit cheekiness shining through as she stands in front of his bed. She’s wearing the pair of light-wash jeans that hug her ass just right, the ones with a tiny rip on the left pocket.

“Fuck.”

The photo floats to the table as Bradley scrubs at his eyes. A fully clothed photo is going to get him hard just because it’s Mary, and she’s standing in his bedroom. For the first time since the blackout was lifted, he clicks the new message button, not caring what time it is for either of them.

Wed, Mar 31, 2021, 2125 JST from: b.brashaw@navy.mil to: m.vertucci@navy.civ.mil subject: you sneaky girl

Hi honey,

Seeing your name in my inbox so many times made me smile. I’ve read all your emails, and I’m working on a long email to give you my thoughts on the highlights.

I’m sorry I missed our call - I’ll make it up to you as soon as I can. Promise.

For now, I just wanted to let you know that I’m thinking of you - I’ve been thinking of you - and I’ll be able to answer your emails now, but don’t stop sending them. I want to hear from you whenever you want to tell me something.

I miss you.

love,

Bradley

p.s. Mariella Vertucci, what the hell are you doing in my bedroom without me?

Wed, Mar 31, 2021, 2131 JST from: m.vertucci@navy.civ.mil to: b.brashaw@navy.mil subject: you sneaky girl

bradley!!

it’s so good to see your words!! (I would say hear your voice, but you know)

you got your package!! do you need anything else? I can send it with priority shipping if you do.

don’t worry about the call; Mav let me know what happened. I was sad I didn’t get to see you, but things happen. I know what this life is like. we’ll get to talk when the timing works out, and until then, I’m happy to read your words.

I can’t wait to hear your thoughts! please tell me March 17th is on your highlight list, I’m pretty sure Cyclone is *still* mad at Mav from the way your uncle is avoiding him. speaking of uncle, the other one (tall one) (Slider) (I now have to differentiate because Pete introduced me to a bunch of class of ‘86 uncles last week. why are they all so tall? Mav excluded, of course.) is going to be in town in a few weeks. might ask him for a copy of that baby photo so I can put it on my desk.

I’m thinking of you, too. probably too often considering how much I’ve been emailing you. I guess I didn’t realize how much we talk until you couldn’t instantly respond to me… now it makes hearing from you even more special.

I miss you more.

love,

Mary

p.s. your uncle (the short one) is hopeless with plants. why did you trust him to keep them alive for two months? Mav gave me a key (I hope you don’t mind, please let me know if you do) and I’ve officially been entrusted with plant babysitting duties.

p.p.s. your mail person keeps delivering mail to your box despite me calling. if you could check on the mail hold request you submitted, I would appreciate it. the lady at the Main Street desk is mean whenever I try to fix it.

p.p.p.s. Frank’s hip is healing nicely! did you know he’s not Mr. Hadcock? Eileen’s (Mrs. Hadcock’s name is Eileen) husband died about twenty years ago, and she met Frank on a dating site; it’s a sweet story. they want to have us over for dinner when you’re back. I said maybe - committing us to a dinner without talking to you seemed… premature. I promised to cook if that sways your decision.

p.p.p.p.s. your bed is comfy, might take a nap there this weekend when I drop food off to Eileen and Frank.

Wed, Mar 31, 2021, 2136 JST from: b.brashaw@navy.mil to: m.vertucci@navy.civ.mil subject: you sneaky girl

Mary, why are you awake? It’s almost 5 AM.

We did get our boxes! Thank you so much. For everything you got me, of course, but all the single Daggers, too. Everyone really appreciated it!! We’re working on a thank you for the five of you.

The cookies are incredible, by the way, they were in perfect shape. I think the individual wrapping was key. I don’t need anything else, you set us up good for this second half!

I still feel bad. As soon as I can bribe someone else - you’re getting a call. I’ve never been good at the email communication, but I’m trying for you. March 17th is on the list, how could it not be?! Who was there? Please tell me you didn’t meet Hollywood. Could you buy a bottle of Jack Daniels and give it to Slider when he’s in town for me? It’s for his birthday, let me know what I owe you.

I am begging you not to ask for that baby photo. You don’t ever have to buy me a present or anything ever again.

Your words make me smile, can’t wait to save all the photos you’ve sent me. And I don’t want us to be the people that argue about who misses who more, but I definitely miss you more.

love,

Bradley

p.s. Uncle Shortstack was supposed to trust Aunt Responsible or Sister Sass with plant care. I see that has not happened. Keep the key; I know you’re a good plant mom, trusting you with mine.

p.p.s. Adding it to tomorrow’s to do list. Feel free to sort through it and recycle all the junk. If something looks super important, open it and let me know. I know who you mean, and she is rude. Don’t worry about her, just keep grabbing the mail until I get this fixed.

p.p.p.s. Good to hear about his hip. I had a feeling they weren’t married, but I wasn’t totally sure, and how do you ask an elderly woman if she’s living with her boyfriend or her husband?? Dinner sounds good. If you’re cooking, it sounds amazing. Sign us up, tell them date TBD.

p.p.p.p.s. Now you’re just messing with me. But if you’re not, flight school sweatshirt is in the bottom right drawer of the dresser, remote is in the left nightstand. Enjoy my Netflix. We know I’m not.

Wed, Mar 31, 2021, 2141 JST from: m.vertucci@navy.civ.mil to: b.brashaw@navy.mil subject: you sneaky girl

Bradley, just out of curiosity, what time do you think I get up for work? I’m literally always in before you show up at 6 AM.

happy to send care packages anytime; just let me know who needs what. no thank you necessary. (well, maybe a picture if you can swing it. lots of adults and kids are missing the Daggers around these parts.) thank GOD the cookies were okay. I was so scared they would be moldy and ruin your box!!! individual wrapping is the move, noted.

if you’re trying, that’s all that matters to me.

Cyclone’s face was so red Warlock was ready to call medical. or his wife. whoever would be more effective. I think there was even talk of SECNAV as a last resort. making a note for Ron’s birthday present, will even add a bow to the neck of the bottle, free of charge, for you.

there was a whole gaggle of ‘86 guys. I’ll have to give you a full breakdown in a separate email because it was a wild night. how can they drink so much? I lost count after the sixth (seventh?) toast. I had to pour Mav into the Jeep, and Penny and I dragged him into the house. (dramatized for effect, he did trip up the stairs, though. thought Penny was going to fall off the porch she laughed so hard.)

I have a small crush on Hollywood. he’s just so handsome. but don’t worry, he’s too old for me. I like guys who are three years older than me. any suggestions?

it’s so cute that you think that would incentivize me not to get the photo. look in the cardboard box, Bradshaw. I *love* buying presents and helping people I care about.

every time I emailed you a photo I also texted you, once you have service again you’ll get a ton of texts from me. sorry. you’re right; we don’t want to be those people. but I want to point out that we’re not arguing. I’m clearly correct here.

love,

Mary

p.s. he’s trying his best! (probably? might be too afraid of Cyclone to remember things. plus, he’s kinda old.) (Mav, if you somehow see this, it’s a joke. you’re not that short.)

p.p.s. thank you! don’t worry, all the crap has been chucked already. I did stick the menu for a new Chinese food place on your fridge, we should go when you’re back.

p.p.p.s. she’s chill, but that definitely could have been a bad question. dinner will be confirmed, and we’ll discuss dates when you’re back. start thinking about what you want for dinner.

p.p.p.p.s. not messing with you on this. your bed is very comfy. (don’t ask how I know. Mav and I had a weird time at your place. it’s better to explain in person.) stealing the sweatshirt ASAP and I’m going to ruin your Netflix algorithm. will send photographic proof.

no more p.s.-es for now, heading to work. I’ll talk to you later. go to sleep, Bradley. dream of me.

Bradley stares at the last line for a while, not moving until the motion sensor timer turns the lights off on him. He showers, Mary on his mind the entire time. The cold air on the hangar deck just makes him think about cuddling Mary in his bed, snuggled together as she wears his sweatshirt (and only his sweatshirt) before offering to keep her warm. How she would laugh at his faux sleazy smile and pull him in, letting him run his hands all over her soft, curvy body. The freckled skin that would appear inch by inch as he slides the shirt over her head, kissing his way to her mouth, making two important detours along the way. The thought of how she might sound as she moans his name propels him to the bathroom sink for a dose of cold water.

“You okay, man?” Reuben’s whispered concern as he enters their bunk room is understandable. His hair is sticking up from running his hands through it, and his cheeks are red, his shirt splattered with wet spots from his aggressive attempt at calming down.

“Yeah!” He’s too loud for the room. Mickey twitches in his sleep, and even Bob, who usually ignores their antics, squints at him over at his book. “I’m fine! Mary sent cookies; if you don’t tell anyone else, you can have one each.”

Bob and Payback eye each other, silently agreeing to not ask about the frazzled state after the mention of Mary. “What kind?”

“Sugar. She said they’re unfrosted because she was worried about them going bad.” He distributes the cookies, leaving one on Fanboy’s shaving kit for the morning, before climbing into bed.

He flips and flops, trying to get comfortable before rolling to his right side. The low light from Bob’s bunk is just enough to see the photo from Valentine’s Day. Bradley lets his mind wander, not as far as before, just remembering that morning and their goodbye in the hangar, every moment in between.

The room goes dark as the WSO settles in for the night, but he can still see Mary. Her features are burned into his brain, her perfume floating in his nose from her letter safely tucked into the cubby above his head.

I’m never getting to sleep tonight.

if you would like to be added (or removed) from the tag list please send an ask!

@gretagerwigsmuse | @hangmanapologist | @hangmanbrainrot | @hangmanssunnies | @thesewordsareallihavetogive | @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby | @katieshook02 | @atarmychick007 | @whatislovevavy | @kmc1989 | @sometimesanalice | @laracrofted | @yuckosworld | @mika-darling | @bradshawsbaddie | @dreaming-starlet

fic tag | credit for dividers here

[robynlilyblack]

Congratulations! You are my favorite writer and you absolutely deserve it. I fell in love with your writing since you wrote my first request, I think it was like Father like son. So I’m definitely feeling so proud of you right now.🥹

Sooo to celebrate, I’ll request I should breathe a little bit softer with Sirius x reader rock band au, with 4 members from each houses. Maybe Sirius is the lead singer who is dating slytherin female lead guitarist reader

Congrats again♥️♥️

-Alex

My whole life darlin...

Lead singer! Sirius Black x fem! lead guitarist! Reader

Rock Band AU

Summary: The four houses play their first festival gig where it’s not just there talent thats showcased

Warnings: swearing, some public nudity, established relationship, kissing, mentions of sex

A/n: 0.8k words, hi Alex xx thank you so much and I remember that one, it was like my second ever and I was so excited!! I love this idea and write the first thing that popped into my head because Sirius would so so do this

Navigation | Sirius Black Masterlist | Celebration

“Thank you, thank you!” Sirius laughs into the microphone as the crowd cheers at you all coming back on stage after your short break

Never would you have thought a year ago you would be standing up here with your three best friends, nor would you have thought one of whom would blossem into more. No one but the band and your friends knew you and Sirius were together. Knowing all the fans crushing on him would get rather disappointed to know he was taken…which was funny considering the romantic ballads he wrote and sang were all about you, his lead guitarist

“We have a brand-new song you for you gorgous people!” Sirius announces, giving them all a wink and sending the crowd into a tizzy “This one written by the magical and wonderfully weird…Pandora!” Sirius turns to the blonde, bowing to her as do you and Amos, who stands briefly from behind the drums

Sirius places the mic back onto the stand before turning to you “Ready when you are darlin” he whispers low so the mic doesn't pick it up, an admiring grin on his face as he watches your movements

You place the pick in your mouth as you check your guitar quickly, but really you knew that Sirius always found it hot when you did it, before signalling to Amos to start the beat.

Licking your lips, you start to play, the crowd already jumping up and down at the first note but It’s only when Sirius starts singing does the women of the crowds start to push forward, most have their eyes glued on Sirius like he was a god. Which he was, especially since he had already ripped off his shirt in the first act…which, rather comedically, more than one person fainted at

You smiled at him, shamlessly watching him...well maybe your eyes were more intersented in his glistening inked chest. Luckily this wasn’t the most advanced song for you on guitar, it was Amos with the solo so you were currently in autopilot, enjoying your man singing his pretty little heart out.

You had to admit you enjoyed his fans shouting as they fawned over him, giving you a sense of pride knowing you were his girl

Your so hot!

I love you!

Marry me!

Have my babies!

You giggled at the last one, something Sirius couldn’t hear but seen in his peripherals, causing him to smirk as he finished singing started a clap while Amos’ did his solo.

Sirius was just jaming out himself during the instrumental when you noticed a row of girls trying to get Sirius’ attention at the front. Eventally he noticed them and they all lifted their shirts flashing him…actually two of them were flashing you

You chewed your lip, messing up a note but soon recover, the crowd doesn’t notice and your two fans take it as a compliment. Your boyfriend however gets an idea, saundering over and leading you to the centre of the stage

As he turns you to face him, your back to the crowd, you give him a quizzical look

“You trust me?” he whispers and you nod “Good, cause you might break up with me for this” he warns as he finds the hem of your shirt and pushes it up, exposing you to him

Sirius keeps his hands at either side, blocking the view to everyone but the band. Your eyes flick to Pandora who looks at you with an amused look, mouthing ‘nice boobs’ before she continues to play unfazed, while Amos is too far caught up in playing to even notice

Your eyes return to Sirius, cheeky bastard, you think as he is comparing your boobs to theirs before leaning into the mic behind him

“Lovely tits ladies” he winks, earning ‘wooo’s’ from them “But these” he tuts shaking his head and licking his lips

You poke your cheek with your tough, not knowing whether to kill him or kiss him

“These sadly you won’t get to see…” there’s a large ‘awww’ from the crowd making you giggle “…but trust me when I say these are the best I’ve ever seen” he leans down giving them both a lingering kiss before covering you up, making sure to pat them a few times for good measure

‘You are so dead’ you mouth to him but he just chuckles, finding it impressive you still managed to play during all of that

Are you a couple? You hear more than one s

Sirius raises an eyebrow at you and you roll your eyes “You’ve been waiting for this haven’t you?” you ask him lowly "Bet you planned to do it like this too" you say as he nudges his nose with yours

He smirks “To tell the world I’m yours in Sirius, the most handsome of the marauders, Black fashion?” he quips cupping your cheek as his free hand supporting your back, dipping you down, your guitar swinging around your back

“My whole life darlin...seeing your tits was just a bonus” he says a little smug before pulling you into a kiss…although it’s more like a snog, Pandora finishing the final chorus as Sirius wasn't stopping anytime soon

Thank you for reading 💛

[wutheringmights]

*gently knocks on window* Hey latest chapter got me fucked up in the best way possible

Do you got any commentary for this chapter?

With two of you asking, how can I say no?

Do you remember that bit in chapter 8 where Warriors implies that Time and Lana have something going on, leading to all the boys getting up in a tizzy about it? And Lana ends up slapping Warriors and telling him to get new tricks? This incident with him spreading rumors about Spirit is what she was referring to.

Sometimes I read stories where the passage of time is there, but never really felt. With Mask’s birthday, I was really aiming for that sense of shock when you realize that a whole year has now passed. Like, Warriors and Spirit getting older is expected. But Mask is the Child. He’s not supposed to age. Yet, he does.

I have been sitting on the fact that Mask’s birthday was back during the mass hangings for so long. So many people had commented back then that they felt so bad for Mask in that chapter, but they had no idea. I’m sorry.

Biggest apologies for the bad sewing in this chapter.

Remember what I’ve said about how a person’s spirit reflects the biggest impacts on their lives? Warriors’s spirit reflects his mother’s yellow dress and her sewing, which is why Spirit seemed shocked to see the spool.

A lot of content got cut from this chapter due to space constraints; one of such scenes was going to be this sequence where Spirit let lose on the guys barking at him. Those guys were sons of nobles, which would lead to a scene where Warriors had to defend Spirit in front of the generals. He did (to Spirit’s shock), but the whole episode was ultimately wrapped up by Zelda declaring that it was just boys being boys and everyone should forget the whole incident.

Favorite scene from this section is Mask and Warriors talking during the mission. Everything from what they talked about to it being contrasted with them killing the moblins was just really fun to write and I think it came together great

(Also you can see me bend over backwards trying to let Mask talk about his adventure without giving Warriors enough information to realize he’s the Hero of Time lol)

Second favorite scene is Warriors and Spirit’s fight. Just, christ. Everything from their shouting match to Warriors just trying to hurt Spirit to Spirit finally snapping. I had a fun time reading that argument out loud to make sure it sounded natural.

This is important and I am already getting questions about it to listen up: Spirit’s relationship with Zelda is 100% consensual. But it sure as hell isn’t ethical. No one is winning here. It’s just a whole mess.

(Like, I try not to tell you guys how to feel about certain characters. But just this once, I am going to point out that as upset as Spirit is right now, he planned this.)

Link spending a whole chapter being unable to recognize that he’s having a crisis of conscience, only to turn around and be like “it’s okay cause he’s punishing me for it :)” is the most on brand thing he could have done. It’s surpasses being a poor little meow meow. I don’t even know what he is now.

Okay time for the present day--

I 100% planned to have Warriors and Four in Faron and reunited with the rest of the Chain by the end of the chapter, but there was just too much to cover. I never wanted Warriors to spend so much time away from the rest of the main cast, so I hope you all can forgive me and aren’t too disappointed.

Ayane pleading for Warriors to save Shigeo is not my favorite scene in this chapter, but it is the most important. I don’t think a story should get too dark without acknowledging all the places where people are good and loving

Four’s similarities to Warriors is really interesting to me, though I didn’t get to explore one aspect about him that really sets him apart from Warriors. I’ll do it next chapter, but just know I had way more planned for Four’s heart to heart with Warriors.

Also, Four’s kill count in reference to the knights was based on how many areas in FSA that the Hyrule Knights are enemies. I just decided arbitrarily that Four killed one knight per an area.

My favorite bit from Four’s speech is his line about his father never confronting him about what happened. You know I spent way too long agonizing over what would be the most succinct but telling way Four could summarize his estrangement from his dad.

Okay, let’s chat escape ideas

In my original draft, Lincoln and Linkle were going to catch up to Warriors during Four’s raid of the Kakariko Well. They were going to defeat the wallmaster and spirit both of them out; I dropped this idea to make room for Impa to have a moment in the story again

I thought about Lincoln surprising Four and Warriors with a rescue, but dropped it so that Four would have more things to do

I had another inexact idea where Ayane helped them escape, which would have led to a funny scene where Linkle complained about how childish Ayane was, only to be reminded that Ayane’s only a year younger than her

I had this idea where Lincoln and Torgi) would cause a scene to give Four time to smuggle Warriors out of the estate

And finally (and the most hilarious idea), Lincoln was going to get fed up and declared that he was just going to walk through the front door and take Warriors with him. He would just walk through the estate slaughtering anyone who got in his way. ABBA music would be playing in the background. It’s horribly out of character, but it would have been so funny.

Off screen, before Lincoln snuck into the estate, he gave this big speech to Linkle about how he didn’t want her to get involved with all this violence and how she deserved to have a normal childhood; she could help, but she could not kill anyone. That’s the context for Linkle shooting someone and Lincoln immediately shouting “I said non-lethal!”

Along with that, the only reason Linkle is with Lincoln now is because they both knew that no matter what he did, he could never convince her to stay in Gerudo Town with Ganondorf, where she would be safe. Lincoln didn’t have the time or energy to drop her off and cope with her inevitably following after him, so he agreed to let her tag along.

Also, deepest apologies to the Linkle propaganda anon: I wanted a scene where Warriors and co were being chased through the canyon on horses and Linkle took out their pursuers with her mad marksmanship. This got cut for space. I’m so sorry.

So the Chain is currently separated right now. I swear that next chapter you will find out who is okay and who is not, so make your bets now

Everything about Impa’s plan makes sense to me, but it might not make sense to you. This could be either because I didn’t explain it well enough or I’m an idiot who shouldn’t be writing this kind of stuff. If you’re confused, please let me know and I guess we’ll find out which of those two camps I fall in

[plugrick]

“Ugh! S-so what if mister ~Grand Leader~ wants to see us?! Y-yyyYYyou seriously think waking us up with that fucking racket is - is okay?!”

There indeed may be a lot of similarities between the Outpost and the accursed prison, but one important difference was that Rick could get away with talking shit without being fried half to death by electric shackles. Which he gladly continued to do, taking his inch and running a mile.

“I-I need my beauty sleep! Just look at me! D-do you have any idea what I-I’ve BEEN THROUGH?!”

The guards withered as the baratement went on - which, unbeknownst to Rick, wasn’t caused by his rage but was actually in due part to the deadly mercenary appearing behind him. In fact, the human was so focused on chewing out the guards that he didn’t realize that Mike had already gotten up out of bed until he spoke. And when he did, Rick damn near jumped out of his skin, stumbling a step back.

“J-Jesus, Mike!” He lightly scolded, a hand clutching his fast beating heart for dear life itself. Apparently it was still too soon to sneak up behind the human like that…

At least his interruption had broken off Rick’s classic antagonizing antics. He had a bone to pick after yesterdays events, and would’ve loved nothing more than giving these drones a piece of his mind. He moved his startled gaze off of Mike to instead glare daggers at them, narrowing his eyes as the ringleader shook in his boots.

“Um, y-yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” The guard struggled, his companions looking more and more uneasy about their assignment. “Commander Scrimblo’s instructions are to accompany the three of you. I - we’re just doing as we’re told, sir. Please, I - I have a family. Two sons a-and a little girl—“

“Good glob. Dra-matic.” Rick huffed, thoroughly unimpressed by the sniveling. “W-we better go along before one of them ends up pissing themselves, M-Mike. Jeez…”

————

It wasn’t clear what exactly had changed overnight, but the Outpost was pure, undiluted chaos.

It had first become apparent the moment the three of them started making their way down the hall past the barracks full of judgemental prying eyes. There were soldiers running this way and that, in various stages of dress, shouting and pushing eachother. They very much seemed to be in a rush, but for what was unclear. It made Rick nervous.

Their escort trudged on, making their way over a catwalk above Commanders shouting instructions at uncoordinated legions in both English and native gromflomite tongue, somehow managing to organize uncountable soldiers into neat rows. They passed by a wall that led the catwalk to overlook another great room, this time with soldiers sparring and strength training. And then another. And then another. And—

Holy shit, how many gromflomites were aboard this massive ship?

“Move! Out of the way!”

A voice cut through the growing concern clouding Rick’s thoughts - and cut through the crowd. They all had to quickly step to the side in order to allow a gurney to rush past them in the direction of the medical bay. A soldier on the bed writhed in agony, his bedsheets stained a deep green with bug blood.

“AAAAAH IT BURNS! KILL ME JUST KILL ME!” He screeched, the chilling sound fading as he sped past. It had all happened so quick, but the human could’ve sworn he glimpsed an injury near the shoulder region—

He exchanged a glance with Mike, frowning. Shit…

They continued on, albeit with a more somber attitude to their journey. Whatever this place was whipped up into a tizzy about, it was something big. Maybe they should be thankful for that, as it spared them some trouble along the way. The way the soldiers and Commanders eyeballed them like pieces of meat as they passed along was harrowing enough, and there was little doubt that most of them would be happy to back their feelings up with action if they weren’t already distracted.

The whirlwind of action surging around them was almost disorienting, but their escort didn’t seem too perturbed. Maybe this was what life was like for Federation soldiers - organized madness. What a way to live…

Finally, they seemed to reach their destination. Unlike the rest of the depressingly chrome Outpost, the double doors that they stood in front of were made of dark oak wood. They were tall and foreboding, gilded with gold leaf inscriptions that were in the equivalent of cursive. Rick couldn’t quite read it, despite his innate ability that he picked up in the mind meld - but it wouldn’t take a genius to venture a guess that this room was intended for higher ups. It looked just like the upper levels in the prison ship, where all those self righteous generals took residence.

“Ahem!” The ringleader cleared his throat, taking center stage. “Now presenting, Grand Leader of Outpost Eight, defeater of—“

“Yeah, yeah. W-we heard the shpiel yesterday,” Rick quipped, folding his arms. Clearly unimpressed by the whole thing, despite how grandious the entrance was supposed to be.

“Very well, sir.” The guard gave in with a respectful nod. “Right this way, sirs. Lady.”

The great doors swung open, and…

“—still not sure what next recourse will be yet. The creature isn’t reactive to our usual brand of firepower and the men are frightened, Commander.”

Kenneth’s voice carried a definitive note of stress, and his body language highlighted the tribulations he was experiencing as well. He sat hunched at a large oval conference table made of the same oak as the doors that was clearly meant to house many seated people, but was nearly empty right now. Save for Ken himself, and…

“Kenneth. What have I told you? You hold that title now. I have faith in you.”

Commander Quz had been a prime example of a strong gromflomite soldier in his prime, who carried much the same Berserker descendant stature as Flannax. Broad shouldered and barrel chested, able to go toe to toe with the biggest and best of them.

Which was why his appearance now might come as a bit of a… surprise. He almost looked harmless and elderly in his wheelchair, a plaid blanket resting over his thin legs. Quz was truly a shadow of his former battle-ready self, all aged and injured.

It was hardly a wonder why exactly Ken had been appointed the role of Commander at a relatively young age…

They seemed to notice that they weren’t alone anymore, and Ken’s air of doom and gloom seemed to dissipate at the sight of his old friend standing in the doorway. He was quick to get to his feet, a bright smile plastering itself to handsome features.

“Mike! Come, sit with us, all of you.”

X

[lordabovehelpme]

Injured- Din Djarin x Reader

Request: Well, everyone sees Din as Grogu's father and they even tell him, but one day Reader tells him that too and Din says "Yes, he has a father but he doesn't have a mother... yet" and looks directly at Reader 👀*heart eyes, motherf* - @along-the-lines-of-space

A/n: Hon! This is such a cute idea!!! I kinda went a different direction with it, but if you want me to do it again, totally tell me! Love ya! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You can hear the hatch open, signifying the mandalorians return. Climbing down the ladder you watch as he drags the quarry to the carbonite freezer. But he moves slower than usual, almost as if he is stuck in his own world.

As soon as the quarry is frozen the mandalorian collapses onto the ground. The harsh clank of metal on unforgiving metal ringing through the hull. He groans and shifts to lay on his side. Gasping you rush to his side. “Mando?”

You pull his head onto your lap and look down into his visor. He grumbles and nuzzles into your thighs.

“Mando, what happened?” You gasp again when you notice a growing pool of blood below his knee. “What happened?” This time you say it louder, needing to hear his answer.

“Quarry… explosive… didn’t notice.” He turns his helmet further into your thighs and his breaths starts to even out.

“No no no, come on. Stay with me.” But, your pleads mean nothing to him. If it weren't for the fact that he is bleeding out, you would laugh at how funny his snores sound in the vocoder. Cursing, your mind starts to work out a plan. You take his head in your hands and wiggle from beneath him. Placing your elbows under his armpits you struggle to pull him over to the bunk.

Rushing to the fresher, you grab a bowl of water and a couple washcloths. You had already gave up on lifting the beast of a man up onto the bunk, so you’ve grabbed blankets and pillows and placed them around him.

Making sure he is still asleep, you start to take his leg armor off. Cringing, you realize that there is no way to treat his wound with his pants on. You sigh, “Forgive me, but you’ll die if I don’t.” Slowly you unbuckle his belt and undo his pants. Heat rises to your cheeks and you bite your lip, giving one last look at the mandalorians visor, you pull his pants down.

You curse at the length of his wound, it travels down from the middle of his thigh to below his knee. “Okay, prepared to be healed.” Dunking the washcloth in the bowl, you start to clean the wound as best as you can. You’re gentle yet firm as you scrub away the already dried blood.

As soon as you’re content with your cleaning job, you grab some bandages and start to wrap his leg. It’s now that you fully realize how exposed your mandalorian is. His pants pulled down to his ankles and his beautiful tan skin exposed for your gaze.

You would think he would be smaller without the bulky armor, but it’s almost as if he has become larger. The air no longer flows in and out of your lungs, it suffocates you with his natural spicy scent.

He groans and you shrink, afraid for when he wakes up. Thankfully, he stays asleep. Sighing, you shake your head and try to run from your improper thoughts. Grabbing a bacta shot, you tap the end, getting rid of air bubbles, and inject the medicine into his meaty thigh.

Taking his pants off all together you fold them and toss them into a corner. You grab another blanket and drape it across his form, giving him some much needed dignity. Trying to make him even more comfortable, you take the rest of his armor off, leaving him in his underclothes and helmet.

You tuck the blanket around him and make sure his head is supported by the pillow. However, when you go to walk away your heart tugs at you. You get a nasty feeling that as soon as you leave, he’ll wake up in a worse state. Weighing your options you eventually lay down next to him.

His soft snores are faint but they soothe your anxiety of him being dead. Slowly, you shimmy towards him. It’s cold in the ship and you can feel the goosebumps forming on your skin. Biting your lip, you lift the blanket and snuggle up against his side, mindful of his leg.

He should be okay for now; or you hope so. The warmth radiating off of his body is starting to make you sleepy. You look up at his chin, admiring the hair that has started to grow underneath his chin, obviously it's been a few days since he’s shaved. Snapping back down to look at his covered chest, you curse at yourself so being so plain with your ogling.

You close your eyes and nuzzle into his chest, succumbing to your slumber.

***

Thrashing limbs and groans wake you up. “Cyare.”

“Hey hey hey.” Your eyes beg to stay closed but you stay awake and sit up. His hands grab at you. “It’s okay, don’t move, you’ll exhaust yourself.”

“Cyare…” His head leans back down on the pillow.

“Hey big boy.” You rub small circles on the back of his hands. “Stay here, I am going to go get some water.” He grumbles something, but you’re already up and walking over to the kitchen area. Filling the bowl back up, you also grab a glass for him.

Sitting back down near him you peel the blanket back. In a panic, the mandalorian reaches down to cover himself.

“Sorry, I had to take your pants off to get to it.” He doesn’t say anything. “Alright… I um got you some water. Let me just rewrap this and then I’ll leave you.” He still stays silent. You frown as you realize that the bandages are already bloody again; must have been from him moving. “Mando, I’m gonna need you to not wake up in tizzy fits anymore, you’re just opening the wound back up.”

You unwrap the bloody bandages and wet a washcloth, then begin to clean it again. He hisses when you press it to his body.

“Sorry… sorry.”

“It’s okay.” One of those warm palms grabs your hip and rubs your skin.

“Okay, this is going to hurt, but you’ll feel much better in about ten minutes.” You grin as you hold up a bacta shot. As you poke it into his thigh, the hand squeezes your hip. “All done, now it’s time to wrap it up, okay?” The hand gives you a couple squeezes.

After you finish wrapping the wound, you pull the blanket back over his form and go to get up. “Cyare, stay.”

You cup his helmet. “I can’t, you need to drink some water.”

“Turn around.”

Giving him an apprehensive look, you follow his command and turn around. One hand stays tracing circles on your hip, while you can hear the other shuffle around. The glass clinks as he sets it back down and the hand on your hip tugs you back towards him.

“You can look now cyare.” You turn back around. “Come here, m’ tired.” He lifts the blanket and his arm, creating a perfect space for your body. Succumbing to his offer, you snuggle up into side. His arm settles down around your shoulders and his fingertips graze across your skin.

***

It’s become routine for the two of you. Every couple hours you’ll unwrap and redress his wound. Then you give him a bacta shot and within ten minutes the stoic mandalorian no longer has a filter. This time being no different. However, he was complaining about the pain so you gave him the shot before dressing the wound again.

“Cyare.”

“Mhm?”

“Am I going to die? I feel like I am going to die.”

Biting back your laughter, you play along. “You can’t die on me, you have a son to take care of. What would he do without his father?”

“Yes, he has a father, but no mother...yet.” His visor tilts to look at you, his voice lower than usual.

Raising your eyebrows, you continue to wrap his wound, “Mm, is that so?”

“Yeah.”

“Well where are you going to find this special lady?”

His hand reaches up and cups your face. “She’s right here. And she’s quite pretty too.”

Your eyes snap to meet his visor. No, that can’t be right, it’s the bacta that's talking. “Alright, hot shot.”

Under his helmet he frowns. “No cyare, I’m serious.” His hand drops from your face to grab at your hand. “Wanna have children with you. Want you to be the mother of my kids. Wanna wake up and be able to kiss you.”

Your mouth is opening and closing, you probably look like a fish out of water, but you don’t care about that right now. You can’t even start to gather your thoughts, they’re moving too fast for you to even process them.

After a few minutes of you just staring you finally start to form words. But his soft snores are the only thing he offers.

***

The spot next to you is cold when you wake up. Panic rips through your body as you shoot up and search for the mandalorian.

A deep chuckle sounds from behind you, “I’m right here cyare.” You turn around and spot him sitting on a chair, thighs spread wide as he keeps his injured leg straight. He has a pair old black shorts on, that are way too short for your mind to comprehend.

“Why… when did you get up?” Your rub at your eyes, trying to shake away your sleep.

“I felt better, and I was hungry. Did you sleep good?”

“Ummm… yeah.” Suddenly all of what he said earlier comes back to you, making heat flow to your cheeks.

Almost as if he understands what you were saying, he leans over and sets his elbows on his knees. “Listen, cyare… I’m sorry for what I said-”

“Did you mean it?” You interpret him before you can stop yourself. Cringing at your abruptness you peer down at the blanket and start to play with the edge.

“What?” He genuinely sounds confused.

“Did, did you mean it? Um, what you said?” The thread that you have been picking at has become even more interesting.

“Cyare, look at me.” He reaches out and his index finger lifts your chin. You let him and finally meet his visor, fighting back the part in you that begs for you to run away. “I am sorry for being so blunt, but I did.”

You nod, not totally processing what he said yet. “Oh.” His hand brushes away the stray hair that fell in your face. Then it finally hits you, “Oh!” Shuffling closer to him, he brushes your hair. “Well you know… I wouldn’t be opposed to that.” You grin up at him and he chuckles.

Standing up you wrap your arms around his neck and hug him. He pulls you close, slotting his helmet into the space between your shoulder and neck.

“But let’s take it slow, okay?”

“Of course cyare.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope you liked it! As always, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment! 

Love, Lordy :) 

Masterlist 

Taglist: @ficthots @along-the-lines-of-space @jedi-jesi @coldlilheart @remmysbounty​ 

[consumeconstantly]

A Discowing at the Wayne Gala

Summary: Getting Jason to go to the Wayne Gala each year was more difficult than putting the Joker away in Arkham; he insisted the part was full of pretentious, rich social climbers who were horribly boring. As it turned out, all he really needed to persuade him was an upset, drunk girl rambling about how much she was going to deck her highschool enemies there to convince himself that he’d be in for a great show. (AKA the extremely chaotic and nonsensical salt/crack fic)

____________________________________________________

“I, Mar--” she hiccupped, “Marinette Dupain-Cheng solemnly swear to rip Lila a new one with Discowing’s godawful costume.”

“You say it girl!” called some random person from across the bar. 

“I will--” another hiccup “--use Batman’s Batmobile to run over Kim. And slam Red Hood’s ugly ass helmet onto Adrien’s stupid face.”

“Better yet,” Marinette pounded the table, “I will use their stupid utility belts to dismantle Gabriel’s empire. Somebody give me a yeah!”

“Yeah!”

All in all, the sight wasn’t that atypical for a bar in Gotham, if it weren’t for the fact that Marinette Dupain-Cheng was barely five feet, wore pigtails, and knocked five men on their asses when they tried to approach her. 

“Take that, Hawkass,” she hissed. “Think you can pull a fast one on me when I’m drunk, do you? Well I’ve got news for you!”

Her words slurred together, and she leaned on the bar for support. “When I get my way, you’re going to be tied up into a pretzel and dumped into a volcano, then the tundra and then we’ll see how you like your stupid little jewlery touched.”

“Dupain-Cheng,” her blonde companion hissed. “Get yourself together. We don’t need another one of your breakdowns now. You know we’re going to be busy tomorrow night, and I don’t want to deal with you completely hung over all throughout the gala.”

“Aww,” Marinette squished her cheek onto Chloe’s “You know you love me.”

“Yes, yes, but I’m not going to tolerate this bullshit. If you want to make good on your plans, you need to be in tip top shape.”

“Ughhhh, why are they even invited to the stupid gala? It’s not even like they’re rich! Oh wait, I guess they are…” Marinette pressed her face to the bar, which was undoubtedly dirty. She reveled in it’s coolness, brushing her bangs out of her face. “And why do you have to be right? I guess I have to stop drinking if I want to make any of my plans work.”

“Your plans will work, hungover or not. It’s just a question of how much you’ll be able to enjoy them. I don’t want you complaining for months after the fact that you don’t remember half of what happened.”

“I guess you’re right. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and I'm feeling a little too warm to ice them out.” Staggering, Marinette got to her feet. “Call an Uber?”

“It’s already here.”

#

“What made you change your mind?” Tim frowned at Jason, doubtful that he wasn’t going to cop out at the last second. He was sure that he was only putting on his suit as some sort of deliberate ploy to get out of the Gala. Truthfully, it wasn’t required that all of them attend the Gala, but it was one of the few events that brought together most of the Wayne family.

Jason ran a hand through his hair and smirked. “Let’s just say I’m expecting quite the show.”

#

Jason kept a hawkish gaze on the entrance, waiting for the appearance of one short, pigtailed girl, and a taller blonde. They arrived almost forty five minutes into the Gala, which was good timing; not late enough to be considered rude, but most people have already arrived and have made their rounds.

Marinette looked different out of the dim lighting of the bar, and even though she definitely looks like she’s nursing a light hangover, she still managed to look stunning. With a matte-black floor length dress that attracted all light in the vicinity towards it, it’s hard not to look her way; Tim, for one, stared at the outfits that Marinette and her companion are wearing with stars in his eyes. Any moment now, he’s going to approach them. Or he would if he weren’t on Jason-sitting duty.

“I’ll play nice,” Jason promised.

“You? Nice?” Tim sounded incredulous, and it’s not like he can fault him. Whenever Jason did successfully get roped into coming to the Gala, it’s a sure thing that he gets at least one fist fight started, if not an everyone for themselves sort of situation. 

“They’re the reason I decided to come. It’s not me you have to be worried about.”

Tim groaned. “Really? They’re trouble makers? But they’re wearing MDC!”

Jason chuckled, slipping a hand into his pants pocket. Tim was weirdly obsessed with the highly secretive French designer. Nobody ever saw them in person. “Wearing your fashion icon doesn’t mean they can’t kick ass.”

Tim rocked back on his heels, looking at the two girls calculatively. “That’s right. If anything, they’re more likely to kick ass, because that’s the kind of confidence that MDC inspires in their designs. Well, if you’re not going to fight them, I’m going to introduce myself.”

“And I can’t leave my little brother alone.” Jason said, watching the blonde girl point in the direction of, if he wasn’t mistaken, Gabriel Agreste’s son and his plus one.

Who knew that doing a preliminary reading of the guests would be so informative? He could only guess what kind of beef Marinette had with Agreste Jr.--Bruce had enough problems with Gabriel; even though Wayne Enterprises only dabbled in fashion, Gabriel was a ruthless man when it came to his competitors, and tried to edge them out of the market multiple times. Foolish on his part, not taking into consideration that both Bruce and Tim were very, very stubborn people who only get more difficult to face when dealing with a challenge.

Wayne Enterprise might primarily be considered with R&D and technology companies, but underestimating the amount of influence Tim could gather when someone pissed him off was just a bad idea.

“Hi, I’m Tim--”

“--and it’s lovely to meet you, but we’re on a mission right now,” finished the blonde girl, who Jason was now 98% sure is Chloe Bourgeois, daughter of Paris’ mayor and Style Queen Audrey Bourgeois. “Dupain-Cheng, it’s your time to shine.”

“God,” Marinette muttered underneath her breath, ducking her head. “I can’t believe you’re holding me to what I said while drunk last night.”

“It’s not just what you said drunk last night, it’s the most effective way of dealing with that liar. She’ll be so embarrassed she’ll hide away forever. Maybe get some plastic surgery and change her name. Daddy will make sure she can never step foot in Paris again.” 

“Chloe,” Marinette groaned. “We all know how that panned out last time. Do you want a repeat performance?”

“By that time Hawkmoth will already be taken down. No need to worry about evil butterflies.”

“Evil butterflies?” Tim frowned. 

“We can fill you in later, Marinette has a car to steal.”

“Chloe!” 

“Oh stuff it, Dupain-Cheng, you’re no goody two shoes, even though you pretend to be one.”

Marinette whispers into Chloe’s ear, eyeing Jason and Tim. “Do you have to discuss that with other people around?”

“Well,” Chloe crossed her arms. “You boys aren’t going to rat us out, are you? They’re part of the infamous Wayne family. They’ll definitely be in.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You know they already reached out-- I can’t risk--” Marinette kept cutting herself off. “Fine, but if you-know-what falls through, I’m putting it all on you.”

“Like they’re going to pass you up just because of what’s going to go down at this gala. If anything, they’ll be glad to know that you’re as vicious as you are creative,” Chloe checked her nails and touched her hair, making sure it was in place.

“Sorry, what? I’m a little bit lost.”

“Keep up, Drake. I’m beginning to doubt your title as child-genius.You have the unique opportunity to watch history in the making.”

#

“Wait,” Tim’s jaw almost dropped at the display in front of him. “How did you even--”

“Trade secret. Marinette doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“But that’s the Batmobile.”

“Yeah, and?”

Jason laughed. He stole the hubcaps off the Batmobile, Marinette stole the whole thing. What a sight.

#

Here’s how the rest of the night went: Chloe plied Marinette with copious amounts of water, trying to get rid of her headache. Marinette hopped into the driver’s seat of the Batmobile (to which Chloe cackled, “And she doesn’t even have a driver’s license yet,” and Tim paled to the shade of freshly fired ceramic plate.) They ran over Kim, who, somehow managed to get into the event as a server of sorts, at which point Tim swore that the background checks would have to be upped again. Marinette landed the Batmobile in the middle of the gala, barely managing to avoid several innocents who were in her path. She reached into the convenient storage compartment that Jason was previously unaware of and pulled out the Discowing outfit and his helmet-- seriously, how did she get those?-- and slammed the car door.

Security, of course, was waiting for them. How couldn’t they, with that big of a disturbance? Half of the guests were up in a tizzy-- mostly the ones who were experiencing their first Wayne Gala-- and the other half were looking on, amused. Tim waved the guards off as Marinette made her way to Lila and Adrien, like a vengeful Valkyrie.

“You,” Marinette grimaced. “Chloe, say the words, I forgot them.”

“We decided that words were useless, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Marinette said, before promptly slamming Red Hood’s helmet onto Adrien’s head hard enough for him to fall to the ground, likely concussed. Lila, who started screeching and running away made for a surprisingly difficult target. Well, difficult in the fact that she was using other people as shields, but once she came across a group of Experienced Wayne Gala Goers, she got pushed out of her comfort zone.

In eight inch heels and with her hair down, Marinette stalked towards her prey. 

“Lila Rossi,” Marinette intoned. “Your sins will be judged.”

“What are you going to do, Marinette? You have no power here. We’re in America now. No Ladybug to back you up. No public opinion in your favor.”

Marinette shuddered. “Ugh, your voice makes me want to vomit. In any case, I sentence you to life in Discowing’s costume.”

“You can’t make me wear anything!”

Famous last words, Lila.

#

“I’m still so confused. What just happened?”

“Don’t worry,” Chloe gave Tim a pat on the back. “You’ll get used to this kind of thing if you end up hanging around Marinette more often.”

“I think I’m in love,” said Jason.

“Get in the back of the line. The only thing Marinette has time for now are her plans to take down Hawkmoth.”

“I’m not opposed to joining you. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.” Jason paused. “By the way, has she already stolen the utility belts to take down Gabriel or does she need more? I’ve got contacts.”

 "Fair warning, everything in Paris is at least twenty times crazier than what you’ve seen here today.” Chloe swiped through a few notifications on her phone. “And please, do you think someone who hotwired the Batmobile needs your help getting her hands on a couple utility belts? If she really put her mind to it, she could get the Lasso of Truth from Wonder Woman.”

“Yeah, Jason, I’m definitely not going to join you on that trip.” Tim turned his attention towards Marinette, who was currently passed out on the hotel couch. “Anyways, You two are wearing MDC, right? I have a meeting with them tomorrow!”

Chloe looked at the poor boy with pity. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”

@jasonette-july-2k20

________________________________________________

i’m really churning out these jasonette prompts like butter (god butter is so freaking good you ever eat butter straight? i do. heart attack city & the next paula dean) even tho i only thought about joining in right when july was ending but here we are 

[lalekaplanbrody]

"The aesthetic is gouache." She replied quietly, playfully. Her mother would have never let something like that fly. Once when Lale was a young girl, she wanted to decorate her room in a Sailor Moon theme with bright pink and blues, and the idea alone was enough to send her mother into a tizzy. She had to go to bed early to sleep off the headache the request brought. For the most part, Azra was a good mom. At least before she abandoned them, but at her core, she was still a wealthy woman with impeccable but limited taste.

"We'll just keep his door shut," Lale whispered, mostly teasing. She happily existed in a moment so serene that she was afraid to sigh too loud or move too quickly. She wanted to hold onto it for as long as possible. Besides, Berkan was a good boy and deserved to make his room feel like it was his, even if it had belonged once to someone else, even if his design choices were super on the nose. "The time on the turf was pretty nice." She admitted quietly. Lale had missed it for the simpler time it was. Before her womb grew and the varsity sweaters stretched and no longer fit her making it impossible to hide the truth and ending with her having to give up her last year. Thinking of her son now, she knew it was worth it because he was the best thing she'd ever had a hand in creating.

Lale softened, her gaze on his face while he shared something that felt so intimate she wanted to pause and spend hours finding the perfect words to encourage more and more of him. Fourteen years and Lale felt like there was still so much to discover about Ben. She longed to know him as fervently as she longed to bury herself. "He's the best parts of you." Lale settled on truthfully. "He's a good boy. I'm afraid he's going to do something. Eventually, we don't love. I hope he comes to us. No matter what, I'll know we've done a good job if he comes to us."

Lale hadn't had a parent to turn to when the test held two pink lines. Just an aunt who she hid it from until she'd grown too big for her not to notice. Even then, Lale couldn't find it in her to care when Miray expressed disappointment in her. None of it had mattered until she claimed her father would be ashamed. Those strung-together words were enough to snap the self-restraint Lale had curated and held onto for dear life. The ensuing fight between Miray and Lale had been so cruel and damaging she'd never spoken of it. Not even when she went to Ben, her face sticky with tears and her fingers curled into fists. Lale drew a slow and deep breath, holding it inside her as she thought over his question, his words. They filled her with more hope than she could verbalize. Their hold on her, how they wrapped her up and flooded her with warmth, made Lale feel impossibly vulnerable, reminding her of how much she loved Ben. When it was good, she sighed quietly and exhaled, "My father's garden." Lale didn't often speak of the man who their son had been named. It was too difficult. So much of her home had been altered by her aunt, but his garden was overgrown and desolate. "It needs some care, but I think it could thrive again." Lale smiled now, "We could grow flowers and herbs, some vegetables." Her eyes briefly moved towards the sunroom. "There are fruit trees, one for me and one for my sister. We should plant one for Berkan. What do you think?" Her blue hues landed back on him with loving ease- they were real. They were here. The comfort they could sometimes exist so effortlessly was enough to make her chest flutter with all her unsettled hope that she kept to herself. All her desires and best-kept secrets fluttered and made her head dizzy with love, love, love. It was so easy to forget when he had broken her heart. Effortless to slide into how Lale felt things were always supposed to be if he'd never gotten injured or had an affair. They were always meant to be this way, her naive hope promised, and Lale nodded quietly, "I love you." It was all Lale could manage because right now, she did, and it felt like one of the only true things she was sure of. For now, it was everything she could ever have wanted. For now, she felt his love and was content, happy, and hopeful. There it was, the hope for the future. Naively, Lale let it sweep her away. His words caressed her lips, and she punctuated them with a kiss, her fingers snaking under his shirt to dance along the curve of his side. "Now?" She asked, a low whisper between kisses muffled between their lips. Maybe her mind was clouded with more than wanting to grow their family. Warm, hazy desire rushed through her, and Lale couldn't think of anything she'd rather be doing than pressing her lithe body against the contours of her husband's body. She almost wanted to ask nicely, but instead, she kissed again along his jaw towards his ear, where she whispered, "I want you."

Though their mood was tame and they were sitting close together, her dramatic reaction when he divulged more details about the chair set he'd seen made him laugh. He kept it a chuckle, not wanting to pierce through their moment with anything too big. "Oh, come on. We both spent enough of our time on turf that we know it's not that bad. Just a little pad of it in his room for the aesthetic?"

He was absolutely teasing. But now he was committed to the bit and, as strange as it felt to be himself who barely smiled also and be lighthearted, it felt nice, too. He stole another sip of wine to keep it going and then replaced his glass on the table behind the couch.

He offered a shrug. "I don't know. That's still a while away. And I think the dorms for the sports scholarships are pretty small. He might not have room for anything like that." He wasn't sure which was more normal -- her quiet, intensifying voice when she spoke of it, or his casual shrug. He wasn't really into worrying about something that wouldn't happen for five more years. The present offered just as many options for anxiety. "I worry more about him being like me now than I worry about what he'll do when he goes to college." After all, he'd been Berkan's age when he tried marijuana for the first time. And only slightly older the first time he'd gotten head. He could only hope, by taking a more active interest even when Bear resisted, he could help the kid stay a kid a bit longer.

He was a little surprised the way the explanations poured out of her from his simple, two-word question. It wasn't a bad surprise, though, flooding him with warmth that had to have been aided a little by the wine unraveling his thoughts and keeping them from twisting too tightly around her words. "Do you think there are things you want to keep the same? Like for comfort? Or do you want to change everything?" He bit his lip. "We're not the same as we left us here. So we can do whatever we want. We're not young or scared or... depending on my dad for money. I'll do whatever you want here," he promised. And he was usually short on those, but he couldn't stop that one from slipping out.

It could all change with the sun in the morning, but tonight, honestly, all he wanted was to make her happy. And maybe to also make himself happy, too.

He was almost sure he could manage both at the same time.

"We are real. Kinda messy sometimes." His eyes darted around and, yes, they had just unpacked in the barest of sense, but that wasn't the only thing he meant. "But we're here."

It was harder to let his eyes or thoughts wander when she was pressed up against him saying things that maybe weren't everything he'd ever wanted, but didn't feel wrong to hear, either. The tension inside him when he thought of him and father as the same, even though he had some confidence, abated when she talked about actually trying to make a baby. She did know the way to his heart. (It wasn't through his stomach.) He breathed a wisp of laugher as she twisted and, with a glance, he could meet her eyes for a minute. The dim light cast from the lamp across the room made her glowy and gorgeous and absolutely sincere. God, he could absolutely remember what it felt like when he was in love with her; it was still so close he could practically taste it. And all the reasons he had been were still the same. He could feel her kisses to his jawline all the way to his toes, but he didn't want to move or close his eyes, taking it all in until she was finished talking.

"Let's do it," he agreed, his voice no more than a whisper and, with the angle his head was at, the words breathed into her mouth. And he meant it, unreservedly, in both the ways she could take it.

[pascalpanic]

He is My Home (Din Djarin x f!Reader)

Summary: Din’s going to have a nasty scar from the wound on his side, just like the ones you have, the ones you’re insecure about.

W/C: 2.3k

Warnings: light mentions of blood and injuries. mentions of birth. scars (none are explicitly from SH) are mentioned.

A/N: Fluffy Din can I get a hell yeah?? @binarydanvvers sent me this request and it’s absolutely precious so I’m really happy I got to write it. I hope y’all will love it too!!

Din Djarin’s body is defined by his scars, even if few or no other living beings have seen them.

The very first scar on Din’s body came from his birth. Vha Djarin’s baby came out happy and healthy, but an apprentice midwife with an unsteady hand nicked the child’s skin with her blade as she severed the umbilical cord. That’s where the small white line above his belly button comes from.

The other scars include various missions, combat as a young adult, some nearly mortal wounds. There’s a scar across the bridge of his nose from some mission where he was fighting for your little green son’s life. There’s a long line along his forearm from a slice due to an opponent’s blade, on the underside, where the beskar didn’t protect him.

Everything about Din is beautiful to you. Even his name is so beautiful to say- Din Djarin. It sounds like poetry in his mother tongue’s accent. You’ve married him, become his riduur. You see his face daily, the face he was so scared to show you.

Din had feared you’d find him ugly. That you’d think him unlovable, that his nose was too big and eyes too deep-set, his entire body and even his soul too scarred. It wasn’t until after your wedding, when you removed his helmet and cried in joy, that his fears were cast away. You pressed your forehead to his and cupped his face and genuinely told him that you couldn’t imagine a more beautiful man, a more handsome and wonderful Mandalorian behind that beskar.

That night was spent exploring each other’s bodies now that you had total and complete access to Din’s body. It wasn’t entirely sexual, though much of it was; you just felt his abs and his arms and his warm skin beneath yours, and he did the same to you.

Your life has been perfect for the past few months as Din’s riduur. You get to see his face every day, kiss the scar on the bridge of his beautiful nose. You have the privilege of rolling over in bed and seeing his sleeping face, his brow furrowed even in his sleep. You get to see his little green son squeal in excitement when he gets to see his daddy’s face, the way the three small green fingers of each hand grab at one stubbly cheek.

Din is equally as happy. Being with you allows him to be a human again; it allows him to be Din, not Mando. Your warm arms around him in the middle of the night stall the nightmares of the siege of his hometown and the kills he committed and the way the pile of Mando helmets looked in the corner of the covert.

Of course, practicality dictates Din still must work. As a bounty hunter’s riduur, your options are really either to be a bounty hunter too, or a stay at home buir to your little green son. As you have next to no fighting skills, you stuck with the role that introduced you to your husband in the first place: interplanetary nanny to your bug-eyed baby boy.

You enjoyed the pretend domesticity, but you also appreciated the charm of the fact that home is literally where you make it with the Razor Crest: on any planet, moon, or space station. Your home travels with you, your home is wherever the Crest is tonight.

Even before you found the Crest, Din has been your home. He’s your place and your person, ever since the first time someone threatened you and Din shot them dead where they stood and you stared for a second in utter terror they’d jerk back to life before running into his arms and burying your head in the skin between his helmet and his cape. And that’s when you realized that Din’s arms were your safe place, the one place nothing can hurt you. Not when Din is protecting you.

Tonight more than ever, you miss Din’s arms. He took a honeymoon phase of one or two bounties a month after your riduurok, to spend time with you and the child and your newly formed, legally Mandalorian family. Your aliit, your clan. All good things must come to an end, though, and Din was back into his hunting. It’s been a week without him. Your beskar ring feels cold on your finger tonight as you trace your hand over the etched mudhorn in the wedding band.

Your green baby is cuddled to your chest, snoozing happily with his mama. You press a kiss to his head, thinking about Din. The child’s father. The little creature radiates warmth and relaxation and hypnotically urges you to fall asleep alongside him. Rest, mama. And you do.

-

The next morning, you startle awake at the sound of beskar clanging against the metal of the ship. “Riduur?” You call out, sitting up excitedly.

“Hi,” he says weakly, and the tone sets panic into your body. You jump out of the bed to find Din kneeling next to the carbonite, a freshly sealed and still sublimating creature trapped in it.

Din clutches his side and you sink to your knees frantically. His orange gloves are covered with blood as one reaches to you. “Din,” you panic, unsure what to do for a moment. “I’m going to go get the medkit. You start undressing now, beskar off, clothes off,” you order him and get to your feet. You pull out a cot and pop it open. “Lay here and wait for me.”

You fly into a tizzy around the ship, grabbing the various things you need. Bacta, needles, bandages, the official medkit. Good. You return to his side, where he lies in his boxers and helmet. “Baby,” you coo gently and remove the helmet. “Just me, remember?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, dazed eyes looking up at you. His dark hair is drenched in his sweat, and there’s a trickle of blood from his lip.

You fly into action. “Bacta’s going in first, love. Going to jab it in, get ready.” He softly nods and makes a whimper as you stab the needle in, pushing down the plunger and emptying the syringe into his body.

He’s numb now. You wipe the wound and grab the cauterizer. “You might feel this, Din. It’s gonna be quick, I promise.” He doesn’t even respond, eyes shut. You use it and he twitches, his face cringing in pain.

“I know, I know. Doing so good, almost- there we go,” you sigh as the wound is finished cauterizing. “You did wonderfully, my warrior. Providing for us no matter the cost,” you tell him and press a soft kiss to his forehead.

You press a large gauze patch and bandage over his wound, to ensure it stays clean. “Okay, okay baby. You can sleep now. Did so good for me, my strong man,” you mumble, cupping his face.

“You did all the work,” he mutters, a soft smile on his face. The medication wipes him out into a deep sleep.

-

Bacta isn’t a miracle drug. It can’t save you from certain death, can’t reverse the growth of diseases that have already infiltrated. The miracle, really, behind Bacta, is how quickly it works. It heals wounds that would take weeks in days, and days in hours.

When Din wakes later, the cauterized wound has shrunken exponentially. He’s still got lots of bruises and nicks, but he’s better. There’s a familiar hum, the soft roar of hyperspace surrounding the Crest.

He sits up with minimal pain and looks around. There’s a soft light coming from the bunk, where you and the baby sleep. The light is for the child. He’s scared of too much dark; you’d learned that especially in the days where the hull would be coated in blackness in order for you and Din to kiss and touch and love. Your face is peaceful as you sleep, and Din looks at you with all of the love in his heart.

He stands, albeit slowly, and walks to the bunk with a jerking and awkward stance. He just wants you, your softness and warmth. It’s common that he’ll sneak into bed with you after a mission or piloting the ship, or simply because you took a nap and he just needed some sweetness in his day. You instinctually nuzzle into him, attracted to his warmth. The child follows suit, nestling between the two of you. His two favorite people in all of the galaxy, his buirs.

The three of you are at peace, in your home: with each other. You roll over as you notice the warm presence and a small smile graces your slowly waking face. “Mm, riduur. You were supposed to be on the cot,” you chuckle softly and press a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Bacta fixed me up enough.”

“You’re gonna have a nasty scar,” you chuckle softly.

“I’ve got plenty of those already. What’s one more?” He asks, nudging your face with his nose.

It’s unbearably soft and warm. “Scars seem to be our problem,” you nod in agreement.

He pulls away and looks at you, in the soft blue glow of the baby’s nightlight. “Cyare, scars aren’t a problem. They’re reminders, of everything we’ve been through and will prevail through in the future.” He kisses your collarbone softly, setting your child aside.

You frown. “Doesn’t mean I like them. They’re gross.”

Din’s frown matches yours. It’s a warm night in the Crest, leaving you sleeping in just a breastband and a pair of shorts. He can see the scars littering your abdomen, the ones you’re so insecure about. “Tell me about them.”

“Din,” you pout.

“We are one when together, we are one when parted,” he mumbles, scooting down to press a kiss to one scar. Your wedding vows, the ones you took and meant with all of your soul. “Your pain is mine, my love. Tell me about this one,” he says, a featherlight fingertip tracing the line.

You sigh, making your abdomen inflate and deflate deeply beneath him. “I was 11 cycles old when I got that one. My appendix ruptured, they had to remove it.”

He nods and kisses along the scar, big brown eyes looking up at you. “I see. And this one?” He asks.

You chuckle softly. “This is from when I was stupid enough to sleep in just a breastband and shorts, like this, and I rolled over on green bean and his claw stabbed me.”

Din recalls. He chuckles happily at the memory and presses a kiss to the scar, his fingers still tracing the last one. There’s one on your knuckles. He takes your hand and traces it, looking at you. Silently asking.

“Lothcat bite. They’re not as cute and docile as they look,” you nod as Din’s lips ghost over your fingers.

You think about the places you got those childhood scars. All at home. The newer one? From your newer home. Yes, your old home may have scarred you, most certainly physically and maybe mentally or emotionally, but they left their mark on you. Your eyes water as you look down at Din. “Your turn,” you tell him and push him down into the mattress of the bunk.

There’s been one you’ve always meant to ask him about. You straddle his hips and sit between his groin and his navel. “What is this one?” You ask of a little mark above his navel. It’s a stark white, contrasting his skin.

“My birth. A midwife nicked me while severing the umbilical cord. I’ve heard that my mother was ready to take the surgical tools herself and go after her,” he chuckles.

You smile softly. There’s a scar on his cheek and your fingertips slowly draw the outline of it. He nods. “As a teen, obviously. Before the helmets went on. Close call with a spear,” he admits, a soft smile on his face. “Those are the only fun ones. The rest are from bounties,” he admits.

You chuckle softly. “Fun ones?” You tease.

“Interesting, I suppose,” he admits, taking your fingertips from his scar to rest them on his lips, kissing them then just holding your hand. “Do you see, my love?” He asks.

You simply nod, eyes watering again. Din reaches up and wraps you in his arms, lowering you to lie chest to chest on top of him. “You are so beautiful, my love. My riduur,” he mumbles to you. You sigh contentedly and kiss the scar on the bridge of his nose.

“Easy for you to say. You’re a bounty hunter. These all suit you. Besides the fact that you’re already covered head to toe in beskar, it would just work.”

He frowns. “Cyar’ika. Neither I nor anyone else cares about your scars. They’re part of you; how could I?”

You whimper and bury your head in his neck, allowing yourself to cry. “It’s been a hard day, Din. Please let me have this.”

“I will not. I absolutely refuse to let you think like that,” he tells you and cradles your head. “You can cry all you’d like, riduur, but it won’t change the fact that I find the scars absolutely beautiful. They’re so perfectly you. They’ve made you who you are, the woman I love so dearly. How could they be ugly when they’re made of you?”

His words make you cry harder, and you sob into his bare skin. He strokes your back, allowing you to cry it out. He mumbles sweet words in your ear; just letting it happen.

When you’re finished, you lift your head with a sniffle. “I love you so much, Din. You make me feel like I have a home with you.”

He kisses your forehead softly. “This is your home, my love. Right hear, in my arms, wrapped up with me.”

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @luxurybeskar @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl

[doubleleoenergy]

ii. Serial Killer, Lolita Series

Sneak up on you really quiet. Whisper, "Am I what your heart desires?" I can be your ingenue.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: bestfriendsdad!Andy Barber x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, mentions of erection and male masturbation, lewd thoughts, drinking, mentions of domestic violence, murder, and divorce

Words: 2893

Summary: Andy spends an evening with y/n and learns about her hopes, dreams, and sexual relations

Andy Barber was straightening his tie against his grey button down when he walked into the hallway from his bedroom, the smell of bacon wafting through his nostrils as he followed the scent to the kitchen.

“Good morning, Andy.” Y/N’s voice held that sickening sweet seduction he had gotten used to over the past few days. It was seven o’clock in the morning, and the fact that she sounded so chipper had Andy amused. His son was not a morning person, neither were any of the other boys staying with them.

He turns the corner towards the kitchen counter and takes in the sight of her. She’s ready for her first day as an intern for him, though her outfit doesn’t seem to be the most conservative for an attorney’s office. Her tight black skirt with white lines is barely covering her ass, and there’s a small slit up the right side that is showing more skin, if that’s even possible. She’s paired it with a simple black tank top that is cropped to reveal just the tiniest bit of skin on her abdomen, his eyes trailing down her toned legs to her black strappy stilettos that finish off the look. Andy has to look away and busy himself with his briefcase in order to stop himself from coming in his trousers.

“Morning, y/n.” He chokes out, reorganizing the files in a folder he had pulled out. Y/N slides a plate beside him, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor as she walks directly to his side, holding out a freshly brewed cup of coffee.

He takes the cup in his hand appreciatively, eyeing the plate of bacon, eggs, and toast that she had slid over to him. “Thank you, but you didn’t have to do any of this.” Andy takes a sip of coffee before setting his mug down beside the plate, picking up the fork and knife before diving into the meal.

“I know I didn’t have to, but we can’t let you go to the office on an empty stomach, right boss?” She teased, her manicured nails tapping gently on the counter next to him. God how he wished to feel those nails scratching against his scalp.

“Well thank you.” He responds, trying not to think about how she had just called him boss and how it made it incredibly wrong to be thinking about her like he had. The past few days had been rough, watching y/n saunter around the house in her sinful outfits, teasing the other boys and stealing glances in Andy’s direction. He had fucked into his fist every night since he saw her in that damn bikini.

As Andy finished eating y/n cleaned up the dishes, drying them and putting them away where they belonged in the appropriate cabinets and drawers. She was eager for her first day in the office, and honestly happy to be working somewhere where she was already familiar with the boss. 

“That was great, y/n, thank you again.” He wiped his mouth off on a napkin before pulling his briefcase shut, y/n taking his plate and mug and cleaning them in the sink before drying her hands.

“Anytime, I appreciate the carpooling to work as well.” Her fingers reached for her purse on the edge of the counter, following Andy out into the garage and sliding into the passenger seat of his pristine Audi. It was much flashier than her ten-years-too-old Ford Focus. She could get used to this lifestyle for the rest of the summer.

Andy and y/n spent the entire drive to the office making small talk, while Andy tried his hardest not to glance at her supple thighs in her thin skirt. Soon enough they arrived at the office, Andy gesturing for y/n to follow him inside the large office building.

Passing through the doors, Andy says a quick hello to the colleagues he passed, waving them over to gather inside their large conference room.

“Alright everyone, I’ll make this quick. This is y/n, she’s our new intern for the summer so please, be kind and help her to get the most out of her time here.” Andy’s eyes scanned the crowd of people, noticing the way the men in the office all lusted over her, their eyes dark with attraction.

As Andy dismissed everyone, Neal fucking Loguidice strides forward with confidence, extending his hand out to y/n’s. “Neal Loguidice, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Y/N seems to be enjoying the attention, standing up straighter as she takes his hand in hers. “Thank you, Neal. The pleasure is all mine.”

“How about I show you around the office? You know, as an assistant district attorney I can answer any questions you have about this place.” Before Andy can protest, Neal puts a hand on the small of y/n’s back, guiding her out of the conference room and walking her down the hall. Andy hates the way he grits his teeth, the hand not holding his briefcase forming into a tight fist by his side. Why was he even jealous? He had no reason to be, didn’t he?

Andy spent the rest of the morning answering phone calls and meeting with clients, though he couldn’t help but keep his eyes trained on y/n anytime he left his office. She had picked up lunch for the entire department, created copies for a staff meeting, and was unfortunately still being followed around by that slithering snake Neal. Who did he think he was?

He tried not to let it get to him, but as he walked past y/n’s makeshift desk after a coffee break, he watched as Neal leaned over her. He was teaching her how to scan documents to their respective folders, his eyes staring directly down y/n’s shirt to catch a glimpse of her perky tits. That was it, he had had enough.

“Neal.” Andy clenched his jaw as he spoke, watching as the man’s eyes lingered briefly still on y/n’s tits before meeting his gaze. “A word in my office. Now.” He barked.

Neil walked with confidence into Andy’s office, shutting the door behind him before slumping into the chair in front of Andy’s desk, a smug smile plastered on his face. “What can I do for you, Andrew?” Neal challenged, crossing his left leg over his right.

“You need to keep your eyes and your hands to yourself with y/n, it’s disgusting and she’s one of my son’s best friends. I’m not going to let you disrespect her like that, and neither would HR if they found out.” He growled, his eyes growing dark. Neal puts his hands up in protest before he stands, backing towards the door.

“Whoa, those are some big accusations without any evidence, Barber. I was just showing our intern around.” He’s still got that smug look on his face that Andy wishes to smack off him, though he knows he can’t. Neal opens the office door, walking out and heading back to his own office, leaving y/n to work by herself at her desk.

It was fucked up that he was lecturing Neal about the way he looked at y/n while knowing he’d jerked off into his hand every night fantasizing about her. But he wasn’t acting on anything, it was just some harmless fantasies, he was newly divorced after all. This was just lust, wasn’t it?

The rest of the day went by fast, Andy moving from meeting to meeting with clients and y/n working diligently on getting acquainted with their latest cases and filing the paperwork into the appropriate folders on their server.

Andy shut his office door a little after six o’clock, locking it behind him before strolling over to where y/n sat at her desk, texting on her phone.

“Are you ready to head out for the evening?” He asked, watching as she stood up beside him, only a couple of inches shorter than him in her heels.

“Yes, Jacob just texted me. Him and the guys are out bar hopping with some, as he put it, ‘absolute tens’ and won’t be home until late.” She follows him out of the office building, watching as he locks the front doors behind them before sauntering over to the passenger side of his car.

“That’s fine, why don’t I order us some takeout, I know a little place by the house that serves the best pad thai.” Andy and y/n get into the car as he starts it up, the vehicle roaring to life under them. “I would love that, thank you.” 

It’s a quiet ride back to the office, y/n scrolling through Instagram as the radio plays softly, the car filled with the lyrics to a Lady Gaga song. Andy parks the car back in its usual spot in the garage before walking inside and dropping his briefcase on the counter.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower, I’ll order the food when I get out and then we can relax, I’m sure today was a lot for you to take in.” Andy assured, loosening the tie around his neck.

“That sounds great, thank you Andy.” Y/N bounds up the stairs as well, letting her body muscles relax under the heat of the shower. Downstairs, Andy is doing the same, except he’s got a cold shower running to rid him of his thoughts from the day. How y/n’s skirt would ride up as she bent down to pull a copy from the copier, the way her lips pursed, and brows furrowed perfectly as she focused on her computer screen. How did her little actions send his brain into such a tizzy?

It wasn’t long before he had calmed his thoughts and pulled on a pair of grey sweats and a navy-blue t-shirt, calling the restaurant and placing a delivery order for two pad thai dinners. As Andy waited for the food to arrive he sat down on the couch, fumbling with his phone until he heard footsteps from the stairs, his eyes trailing over the silky baby blue short shorts and front-tied top that barely covered her breasts, her nipples hard through the fabric.

“Is the food here yet?” She asked, plopping down beside Andy on the couch, her leg just barely grazing him as she sat. Just as Andy went to reply the doorbell rang, immediately standing up and grabbing his wallet from the counter. He pulled the heavy front door open, greeting the gentleman and handing over the money, including a generous tip, in exchange for the bag of food. 

As he walked back into the living room, he noticed y/n had gotten up and placed two bottles of beer on the coffee table, careful to include the thick grey coasters below them.

“Thanks.” He mumbled, emptying the contents of the bag onto the table before handing over one of the takeout boxes to her. She opened it delicately, her fork twisting into the container before pulling out some of the contents and chewing it thoughtfully.

They both sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds being the scraping of their silverware and the occasional movement of a beer bottle on and off the coasters. “So…” Andy started, swallowing a bite of his dish. “What made you want to be an attorney? S’not very often that I see someone interested in the profession.” Or someone like her, he meant, though he tried not to come off as if a woman like her couldn’t do the job.

There was an expression that flashed across y/n’s face, something he hadn’t seen yet, a twinge of sadness? “Life circumstances. I actually want to be a defense attorney, specifically.” Andy finished taking a swig from his beer, setting it back down.

“Interesting, are you from the area? Or, at least, close to Columbia?” He questioned.

“No, I’m from Ohio actually. It’s a shit place, only really good for driving through to get to your destination.” Y/N set her half-eaten container on the table, sitting back against the couch.

“Your family must miss you, with you all the way at Columbia.”

“My aunt and I talk every day, s’not much to miss.” Y/N responded; brows knitted into a frown.

“That’s not true, I’m sure she misses you. What about your parents? I’m sure they miss you when you’re gone too.”

That struck a nerve with y/n, she didn’t talk about her family to anyone, she hadn’t even told Jacob or the other guys about her family life. Something about Andy made her feel comfortable, though, her eyes focused on her lap while she picked at a loose hangnail.

“Well, that’s kinda why I wanted to become a defense attorney. My uh-my dad used to beat the shit out of my mom when I was younger.” Her face flashes a few different emotions, pain, anger, guilt, as she swallows a lump in her throat. “Don’t really know why he would’ve been with her in the first place, what’s the point of wanting to be with someone if you just want to pummel their face every day?” Andy listened intently; his food abandoned on the coffee table as well.

Y/N isn’t sure whether to continue with the story or not, deciding she’d already gotten through the first part, might as well finish. “I went to my aunt’s one day, I was nine at the time, and my aunt got a call and she was…beside herself.” She pauses, lips pressed in a grim line. “I guess my mom wanted to leave my dad and he went ballistic, loaded his pistol and emptied a few shots into her. She didn’t survive, of course, and my dad got life without parole.” Y/N cleared her throat.

“Anyhow, I went to live with my aunt, excelled in school, got nearly a full ride to Columbia and have dreamed of becoming a defense attorney for domestic violence and sexual assault victims ever since. I think I’d make a damn good attorney. I’d love to see the look on the guilty faces as I get justice for their victims.” Her voice regained its confidence, her body relaxing back as she finally took a sip from her beer, trying to look unphased.

“I…” Andy started, y/n waving her hand in dismissal. “It’s all good, I’ve moved past it, mostly. You don’t have to say the whole ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ shit. I’ve heard it all before.” Y/N took another long swig from her beer, swallowing it before pointing in his direction.

“What about you, what made you divorce Mrs. Barber? Jacob doesn’t mention her at all, only that you divorced last December.” Andy lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding during her entire story.

“Just wasn’t meant to be. We’d been together our whole lives practically and I woke up one day and realized I didn’t love her anymore. We were always fighting, and it wasn’t worth it to try and make it work.” Why he was explaining this to a twenty-two-year-old friend of his son, he didn’t know, but she had just shared something so intimate with him that he felt it was only fair.

“Well, it’s her loss.” The usual sensuality in her tone is back, her lips curling into a smile around her beer bottle. “You’re still young enough and fit, I’m sure you’ll find a pretty woman to meet your every need.” The words made his cock twitch, a chuckle leaving his lips to ease the sexual tension in the air.

“Well thank you. What about you? I see how my son and the other boys eye you.” And himself, but he’d leave that out. “They said your off limits and not the relationship type.” Andy didn’t know if it was appropriate to mention the conversation he had with Rashad and Collin the other day, but it seemed from y/n’s smile she was well aware of how they viewed her.

“Oh, I’ve had my fair share of boys. Watching them fall one by one.” She teased, running a hand through her hair. “I’m kinda like a sweet serial killer on the warpath, I like to have boys wrapped around my finger, but I am fully in control of who gets to move past a few stolen kisses. And frankly, there aren’t many that do” Her tone is honest, Andy licking his lips. I bet a man like me could change that. Before Andy can open his mouth to respond the front door opens, Jacob, Collin, and Rashad bounding in.

“The party’s here!” Rashad cried out, clearly tipsy. The boys stopped in the living room when they saw y/n and Andy, Collin eyeing the takeout on the table.

“Dude can I have some? I’m starving.” Collin announced before picking up y/n’s takeout box, plowing into it with the fork.

“Help yourself, I was actually going to get to bed. Gotta get up early for the internship again.” Y/N slinked seductively off the couch, her eyes meeting Andy’s. “Goodnight, Andy. Thanks for the talk.” He manages to give her a quick goodnight before she’s walking up the stairs, tits bouncing with each step.

Was he slowly being wrapped around her finger like the other boys she mentioned? He didn’t think so, but what he did know is he had yet another outfit of hers to picture her in when he jerked off tonight.

Tagging those who may be interested. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list: @midnightf @my-divine-death @saamwilsonn @fierylibraa @fuckandfluff​ @rattlemyb0nes​ @rootcrop @goldenboysteve​  @turtoix​  @jeremyrennermakesmesmile​  @ccmarvelxx

[sweetteaanddragons]

I'm reading the Silmarillion and a small thought hit me while I was reading and it just grew, what if Miriel lived and Finwe died but Miriel remarried.

During Feanor's birth Miriel was weakened so instead of watching his wife fade Finwe was able to give the power of his fea to try and keep her alive. He gives yo much of himself and fades. Miriel lives but is still weary but she stays to raise her son.

Eventually she does remarry because of her weakened state she needs help ruleing her people and raising her son. So she does. She still has Fingolfin, Finarfin and Findis but would Feanor love them as his siblings because they have the same mother and he's trying to ignore that fact they have different fathers? Would Feanor treat his mother differently after she remarried and see his half siblings as a betrayal to his father? What are your thoughts on this?

Okay, so the first part of this scenario - Finwe giving his life to save his wife - I can absolutely see.

The rest of it is where this gets tricky.

Because while, canonically, Finwe did eventually decide it was better to just stay dead, this happened only after (a) everything in his life had gone pretty catastrophically wrong, and (b) it was the only way to let Miriel return to life. In this situation, neither is true, so I think if Finwe died then, he would want to return to life as soon as possible.

It’s possible, however, that the effort of giving so much of his fëa would leave him as weary as Miriel canonically is, so let’s say that happens, and Finwe is convinced he’ll never recover enough to return to life.

(Someone, fact checking this with Mandos: Is that true?)

(Mandos, having dealt with extraordinarily few dead people at this point in the timeline: . . . After such an event, he will never be the same.)

(This is not actually helpful.)

. . . Which would presumably throw all the elves into a tizzy because if Finwe is gone and never coming back, who’s in charge? Miriel? Feanaro, once he comes of age? (Fun fact: I bet he would go by Curufinwe in this ‘verse.) They don’t have a stye of inheritance set up yet! Last time they just picked a competent guy to be in charge because he was the one brave enough to head off to Aman first! Should they hold some kind of competition and choose again?

Miriel is a plausible winner of this political knot, either in her own right or as a regent for her son. But - unlike in many historical human societies - I don’t think there would have been any pressure for her to remarry. If the elves really wanted a male ruler, all they’d have to do was wait for Curufinwe to grow up, after all. Miriel needing help is perfectly plausible, but I don’t think she’d necessarily have to marry to get it. If she has family, they can help with raising Curufinwe; if she doesn’t, I’m sure there are plenty of people ready to volunteer. If she needs support politically, she can get a council or a chancellor or a series of look alikes to pretend to be her.

Or, you know, they’re elves. They have forever. There are a lot of problems she could probably just . . . slow down and deal with over a longer period with plenty of rest breaks.

In fact, I think there would be a lot of pressure against her remarrying. Both because of all the reasons Finwe would have received such pressure (it’s never been done before, it’ll prevent the spouse from having the opportunity to change their minds, etc.), and also because it would further complicate the question of who’s in charge and because in this AU Finwe died for her. Moving on from that in a way that blocks him from forever returning is going to be even worse PR than Finwe doing it.

But maybe Miriel just wants to! Maybe she’s lonely! Maybe she’s fallen in love again! Maybe someone else gains strong political support in the post-Finwe mess and she invents the idea of a political marriage!

(For symmetry reasons, I kind of want this guy to be Ingwion, but it certainly doesn’t have to be.)

Whatever her reasons, she does it.

Having kids is going to be . . . tricky, since elves have to actively choose to have children, Miriel would presumably be the one bearing them and that almost killed her last time, and she’s still weakened from that, but again - maybe they really want them! Maybe Miriel is actually passively suicidal! Maybe she’s cunningly homicidal, and she’s actually plotting to lure her new husband to his death in the same way Finwe died . . .

Or maybe she’s just recovered by now and is confident that things will be different this time, and you know what, they are.

But to get to your actual question: I think Curufinwe would hate his stepparent exactly as much as he does in canon, with possible bonus hatred if he perceives this stepparent as having stolen his throne. I don’t think this would be reflected onto Miriel for the same reasons it wasn’t reflected onto Finwe in canon, and also because he would very much feel like his mother’s difficult health was All His Fault and feel incredibly guilty for it.

As for his siblings . . . My instinct is to say that would go better than canon, but that’s probably just because (a) of the stereotype of women being better communicators, and (b) because it would be hard for that to go worse, but honestly, I think you could spin it either way, especially if he initially perceives those children as a threat to his mother’s health and then gains new levels of guilt and self-hatred when they aren’t.