#which means that instead of being a single piece of fabric it's a whole bunch of tiny irregularly shaped pieces sewn together

[tj-crochets]

I havent been here for the quilting saga, very cool that you're done your squares, what were you going for with this quilt? Like what were ur quilt goals, why did u choose those fabrics? Is it meaningful or all just stuff you like?

This latest quilt is my scrap quilt, which means it's entirely made of fabric scraps from previous quilts I've made. Well, mostly from quilts I've made, plus one bag's worth of scrap fabric from a local quilt shop, plus a few scraps from various peoples' destashes I've been given over the years? So there wasn't really an overarching goal, per se, except to use up fabric scraps because I couldn't bring myself to throw them away but didn't have enough of any one color palette to make a cohesive quilt top. I put zero thought or effort into color distribution except to try to keep different pieces of the same fabric from touching each other, and I had a few very dark fabrics that stand out against my usual "everything is as bright as possible" color choices so I made sure those were distributed evenly across the quilt. As for the quilt pattern itself, it's made of two kinds of 12" blocks. Block A is made of six rows of 2.5" strips. I made them by sewing my 2.5" strips into a very long single piece of fabric and then cutting that into 12.5" by 2.5" rectangles, then sewing those together Block B is basically a 4 patch block, but the upper right and lower left squares are made of smaller 4 patch blocks. So it's two 6.5" squares and eight 3.5" squares per Block B. I chose those sizes because they were small enough to be easy to cut even out of small scraps and scaled well with each other to make a pattern I would not get bored sewing. Every few weeks I'd collect my fabric scraps, iron them, cut them down to those sizes and put them in the scrap quilt drawer until I had enough to make the quilt top I'm working on now

[justcourttee]

Could I request when Marinette first meets the Batfam (One as Marinette meeting the Wayne's, one as Marinette meeting the Batfam, one as Ladybug meeting the Wayne's, and one as Ladybug meeting the Batfam)

I’m so so sorry it took so long. I loved this so much and grossly underestimated how long it would take me to do this prompt justice. I decided on a whole bunch of short stories that tied together and several days of editing and rewriting left me with this. 

I hope you enjoy it! @elements1999

The First Time

The first time Marinette met the Wayne’s was at a charity auction that she dragged Adrien too.

With her first year of earnings beyond her imagination, Marinette wanted to donate some to charity and who better than Bruce Wayne. She read all about his many donations and auctions, how he came to the rescue of orphaned kids and hospitals struggling to stay afloat. She might not know much about charity, but she knew this man would put her money to good use.

It didn’t take long for Adrien to wander off, his hopeless romantic self trailing after every beautiful person he saw. He advised her to find her own beautiful person, after all, this world revolved around connections, and she needed more than just Adrien.

She set her eyes on a prominent looking man around her age. His attention seemed fixed on the older men he was entertaining, their conversation dragging, but the more she watched, the more she could recognize his own boredom. If anything else tonight, at least she could save him from succumbing to social suicide.

“Excuse me sir, but I was wondering if I could steal a moment of your time. I had a question about, uh, the stocks of your business.”

His eyebrow cocked as a playful smirk pulled at his lips. He knew that she had no intention of doing such things with one glance. She was impressed. As he excused himself from his company, the man offered his arm which she readily took.

“Now Miss, what questions could I answer for you?”

“Hmm, well, we could start with how do you put up with such dreadful conversations for hours on end? You looked like you were five seconds away from passing out.”

Tim, she soon learned, was the business partner of Bruce Wayne and his adopted son. He mostly dealt with the partnership side of Wayne Enterprise which meant enduring boring old man for hours on end at these types of events. They continued on with small talk as they walked the ballroom, but eventually, Tim had to excuse himself to yet another group of old men.

Marinette shook her head, slightly amused at the sight of him putting on a game face. Maybe she could ask Tim to help her with the partnership side of MDC. Right now, her current co-owner was off making plans for an after-party, not a sponsor.

“This is outrageous! I have my invite right here, what do you mean not invited? Brucie gave me this,” he shoved the piece of paper into the guard's face, “this morning.”

“Sir, a paper that says, Jason, my favorite son, this is an unlimited pass, does not count as an invite. Sorry.”

“You know, something tells me you’re not really sorry.”

Marinette bit her lip trying to hold back her laughter. For the second time in one night, it looks like she would have to be the knight in shining armor stepping in to save the damsel in distress.

“Jason? I told you not to leave your invite on the counter!”

The man widened his eyes at her as she crossed her arms, a fake disappointment monopolizing her face.

“Excuse me sir, but this is my date. He didn’t arrive home on time for work, so I left his invitation on the counter! I didn’t think he would be dumb enough to forget such a small piece of paper.”

“Oh yes, I’m sorry babe, please forgive me?”

The security guard didn’t look convinced, but he sidestepped allowing Jason to enter. Immediately he threw his arm over her shoulders as he dragged them away from the entrance as quickly as possible.

“First off, thanks for getting me in small fry. Second, who are you? The guards aren’t that stupid, they know we’re not together, but for some reason, it only took one look at you and they let me right in. Are you like sleeping with Bruce or something?”

Marinette’s face paled as she tried to stutter out a denial.

“Oh God,” Jason bursted into laughter, accidentally dragging her down with him as they doubled over. “Oh god, I’m sorry. It was too good, your face was too good.”

Marinette landed a punch in the man’s side with a sickening thud, but he didn’t even flinch. Instead, he had the audacity to ruffle her pristine hair while wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

“Anyways, fess up, who are you really?”

Her time with Jason was much different from Tim’s. She honestly couldn’t believe that they were raised by the same man. Tim was constantly calculating his every sentence, watching her for signs of a slip-up or lie. He was composed the entire time, careful not to insult her as if she was a potential business partner. Jason? Not so much.

They traded insults and jabs at each other before turning their attention to the room insulting anyone who dared to step into their line of view. Marinette would be lying if she said she wasn’t a bit disappointed when he had to leave to find Bruce.

She spent the next few minutes wandering around the room until another damsel caught her eye. To put things lightly, Marinette was a little confused about who she was saving. The smaller man was maybe a couple inches taller than her and while the taller man was looming over him. However, it was the look in the smaller one’s eyes that screamed danger.

“Hello sir, I seem to have wandered off from my group, would you happen to have the time? I wouldn’t want to be late to the auction.”

Whatever argument the two were engaged in instantly came to a standstill as they seized each other up before turning to face her. The taller one flashed her a blinding smile before introducing himself as Dick.

“My son here is Damian and I’m sure he’d be glad to show a beautiful woman like yourself back to the auction site.” He placed a hand on Damian’s head, giving his hair a ruffle for good measure.

“You are not my father Grayson, unhand me at once.”

Marinette covered her mouth slightly trying to hide her giggles. She knew these two. They were the few exceptions to the press rule, always doing interviews as a brotherly team, maintaining the loving family image.

“What is so funny woman?”

Marinette cleared her throat trying to swallow any remaining laughter.

“Oh nothing, it’s just, you all are so different than I imagined, it’s quite refreshing.”

Damian shot her a quizzical look as if he wasn’t sure whether to be complimented or offended.

“Well, if you like little bird so much, we should definitely get you back to the auction! This year, he graciously volunteered to be the surprise celebrity date.”

“Gracious is not the correct word Grayson. You all blackmailed me.”

“Details, details, so what do you say, Miss?” Dick waved off the accusation before offering his hand to her.

“Marinette and I would be delighted to save him from the woman here.”

They chatted idly as they made their way back, neither oblivious to the slight red tinting Damian’s cheeks. When the time came, Marinette made sure to place the first and last bid for Damian Wayne. And before the end of the night, she had four numbers to match her four new friends.

“Marinetteee, I didn’t find a single soul tonight that was there for a good time. What a bunch of sticks.”

Marinette chuckled as she slid into the limo, patting Adrien’s head with fake sympathy.

“A bunch of sticks indeed.” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The first time Marinette met the notorious Batman, she had gotten herself in over her head.

She had just wanted to find this new fabric shop that Jason had suggested, who would’ve known that one wrong turn in Gotham and she would end up in Rogue territory.

It had started just a handful of punks, intent on robbing her. Sure they had some knives, but she wasn’t worried at all. She only started freaking out when they seemed to duplicate right before her eyes. At the rate she was going, she was going to be overrun, no question about it.

At least until the man dropped from the sky. Marinette didn’t have time to process what had happened, instead she used the distraction to knock out the nearest goon. Even with the new help, they were still being overwhelmed.

“It’s time to get you out of here Miss, unfortunately, the two of us are not going to be enough for this guy.”

“This guy?”

Surely he wasn’t insinuating these masked men were one guy, right? He didn’t answer her as he pulled her into his side, sending his grapple into the dark sky. The landing was slightly rough as Marinette rolled to a stop, stumbling to her feet to get a good look at the man.

His suit was odd. Everything was fine from the coordinating red and black to the yellow robin perched on his breastplate, but what really did it for her was the spandex black hood covering his hair and eyes seemingly connected to his cape.

“My God, Is that connected to your hood?” Marinette pinched at the material covering half his head, amazed as it snapped back into place immediately. “You know you could really hurt yourself like this?”

She paced around him admiring the handiwork of his suit. If she had to make a guess, this was most likely Red Robin. Her eyes narrowed in around the neck, a small string almost unnoticeable sat at the base.

“Ohh I get it now, you pull this little string right here and it’s like an emergency relief. Okay, I’ll let the weird hood slide.”

He seemed to pay her no mind as he slipped the small device in his hand back into one of his many pockets.

“Ma’am, backup is on the way, I’m going to have to ask you to stay right here until one of us lets you down.”

“Hmm, would this be considered kidnapping?”

Red Robin stumbled over himself trying to explain that it was for her own safety, that Batman would never kidnap her. It took everything in her not to bust out laughing from his distress. She waved off his rambling as he watched him jump back down into the herd of men below.

Now that she was alone, maybe she could transform, help him. She turned from her spot only to come face to face with another superhero.

“Oh no, you can’t skip away, I’m pretty sure Red told you to hold your position.”

“Dude, I just really was trying to get to this 24-hour fabric shop that my friend told me about. I can’t help that danger just seems to follow me.”

The man clicked his tongue before reaching out to ruffle her hair in an annoyingly familiar way.

“Sorry small fry, just you and me until Red down there can relay a plan.”

Small fry? Only one obnoxiously fun person in Gotham City has referred to her like that and the more she stared him down, the more the gears started to turn in her head.

“Do I look good from that angle? Am I mesmerizing to you? Is the moonlight reflecting off my hair blinding you?”

If she had any doubts before, the ridiculous poses from the man in front of her only confirmed what she had thought. Before she could ask, the man quickly placed his finger up to his ear, his face dropping to deadly serious.

“Okay, so princess, I’m going to have to ask you nicely to stay up here. Robin should be here at any moment to make sure of it, but the situation just got a little bit more dire. Nice meeting you though, try not to fall in love with me when I save your life.”

Marinette wouldn't even respond as she leaned over the edge watching the fight ensue down below. Another two heroes had arrived, one in a blue and black suit, the thin mask concealing his eyes. The other?

“Oh mon Dieu, that’s Batman!”

“Are you always this obvious?” A hand barely touched her shoulder and on instinct, Marinette gripped it, pulling the attacker over her back and slamming them into the roof.

“Oh, oh, oh, I’m so sorry Robin. I guess I got a little spooked from the fight down below.”

The man stared at her with an unreadable expression before adjusting his hood, scooting a couple inches back before standing. He kept one hand on a small piece jutting out of his ear that she only assumed was a comm as if waiting for instructions.

“Hey, do you know the identity of the other’s down there?”

“Tt, of course I do, what kind of question is that?”

She shook her head, a small smile pulling at her lips.

“Nothing much, just wondering. You know, Red Robin said something about those goons being one guy, does that mean you guys are looking for one person in particular to stop the clones?”

“How do you know so much about Multiplex?”

“I don’t,” she shrugged her shoulders as nonchalantly as she could. “I’m just trying to get a grasp of my situation. If you were to ask me though, they’re not going to find him in the crowd down there and even if Batman is looking for the direction they could be coming from, he has no vantage point to see.”

Robin paused for a moment as if he was going to regret the next words that came out of his mouth.

“Fine, if I were to ask you, where do you think the main copy is?”

Marinette pointed wordlessly to the building they were standing on. Reaching out, she grabbed Robin’s hand pulling him to where she stood.

“Unhand me wo-” Marinette placed her finger on his lips waiting for him to silence before motioning over the edge to where the alleyway entrance was propped open.

“When I first got here, that’s the direction the first three came from. Now if my theory is correct, this Multiplex guy doesn’t need to be on sight to create copies and once he creates a copy, that copy can multiply no matter how many times it’s beaten down. So him sending only three out, can make six men minimum, right?”

Robin simply nodded, but she could see the wheel’s turning in his head, matching her own.

“You’re saying that if I enter that door down there, he should be somewhere in this warehouse that we’re standing on.”

“I’m saying if we go down there with an inhibitor collar, we can help Batman.”

“Absolutely not Mar-Miss. It’s too dangerous for a civilian. You can stay right here.”

All it took was one reminder that she had flipped him on instinct and he was the trained one for Robin to bring her down with him. In a matter of minutes, Robin had taken down Multiplex, surprised that she was right.

They were in the middle of an argument when the others stepped through the door, all wearing the same shocked expressions.

“Miss, what were you doing here this late at night?”

Marinette paused, the sudden realization that she was indeed standing in front of Batman, arguing with his sidekick that she was more competent than he was, how embarrassing.

“I really was just looking for this 24-hour fabric store that my friend Jason told me about. Do any of you know anything about that? Oh, better yet, can someone take me there? I really have so much work to be done and so little time to do it in.”

The five of them exchanged glances as if they weren’t sure who should go. It was like watching an involuntary ‘nose-goes’ game.

“Robin will take you.”

There was a slight grumble, but even he couldn’t hide the blush peeking out from under his mask. It only took five minutes by grapple and as he sat her down on the pavement, Marinette pecked his cheek.

“I think you might need a new disguise little bird,” she sent him a wink before turning to enter the store, unable to hide her own blush forming.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The first time Ladybug met the Wayne’s, she was in the wrong place at the right time.

She just wanted to drop off a new Lgeimat recipe that she had definitely not been trying to perfect ever since Damian mentioned his middle eastern heritage. So, you could imagine her surprise when she found Poison Ivy standing on the mansion’s doorstep.

Setting the plate on top of the call box, Marinette wasted no time transforming. Slinging her yo-yo, she pulled Ivy off her feet, landing on top of the woman as the door swung open.

“My lord, what do we have here?”

Alfred stepped backward, his eyes scanning over the scene in front of him. Marinette wanted to shove her yo-yo into Ivy’s mouth to end the string of curses falling out. Honestly, it was enough to turn the tips of Marinette’s ears pink.

“Master Bruce, your visitor has arrived and with a friend,” Alfred called behind him, stepping out of the door frame only to allow Bruce to fill it instead.

“Mr. Wayne, I was patrolling and a young woman came running up frightened for your safety. She said she was on her way to surprise you when she caught sight of this rogue on your doorstep.”

Bruce looked slightly amused. Marinette wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or worried at that fact.

“What may I call you Miss?”

“Uh, Ladybug.”

“Miss Ladybug, Dr. Isley here was my guest tonight, not an enemy, but I can understand the confusion. We had a new arboretum to talk about. Would you please release her?”

Marinette was sure her face matched her suit. She quickly withdrew her yo-yo, offering her hand for Ivy to stand. The woman ignored her, still cursing under her breath as Alfred led her inside leaving Bruce to stand with her on the porch.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Wayne. The young woman sounded frantic, I was only trying to help.”

Bruce waved off her apology, even going as far as inviting her inside. She politely declined, trying to escape before she could embarrass herself even further. But it was futile. They finally settled on a picture with his sons who all were apparently big fans from her Paris days.

Marinette tried to feign ignorance to who the boys were, but it was so hard as they fawned over her outfit, asking her a million and one questions about Hawkmoth and Chat Noir. Even Damian seemed impressed by her standing in front of him.

“Oh my, I almost forgot.” Marinette took off in a jog to the front gate. “The young woman asked if I could deliver these to the youngest Wayne and I’m assuming that’s you.” She returned, handing off the plate to Damian whose eyes instantly softened.

“Lgeimat” it was barely a whisper, but Marinette felt her heart flip at how fond his voice sounded over the fritters. “If you see her before I do, please thank her.”

Marinette nodded, too scared of her own voice to answer. Bruce motioned for them to gather together as he pulled out his phone, snapping several photos at once. When she left, Marinette was jealous that she could never ask for a copy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The first time Ladybug met Batman she had accidentally landed in the middle of their meeting on top of Wayne Tower.

As soon as her feet hit the rooftop, all voices silenced, five sets of eyes landing on her position.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize this rooftop was taken, I’ll be on my way.”

She quickly unwound her yo-yo, ready to take off when a hand grasped her wrist, forcing her to stand down.

“Please, Ladybug, we actually have a few questions for you.”

It was Dick, no, Nightwing. She was sure without even having to look him in the eyes. No one else ever used such a soft gentle tone with her. Securing her yo-yo back in its rightful place, she nodded, walking over to where the rest of the group stood.

“Nice to finally meet you Ladybug, how long have you been in my city?”

The only thing holding her back from her theory that the Wayne brothers were the bat boys was the idea that this crude man in front of her was really Bruce Wayne. She had heard of split personality, but he took it to a whole new level.

“Quite a few months now. I try not to go out much considering this is your city to protect, but I had to out myself the other day to save a civilian. Turns out he didn’t need my help, but I figured it was in the open now that Paris’ hero was in Gotham City. Surprise?”

Red Hood looked like it was paining him to try and not laugh as she and Batman continued their staredown.

“When will you be leaving?”

“I’m not sure, I’ve started to grow fond of some people here, makes me want to settle down.”

She heard the hitch in Robin’s breath making her smirk stretch even further at the idea that he liked the thought.

“Would you be willing to reveal your identity to me? I don’t like unknowns in my city.”

“Only if you reveal yours first.”

She crossed her arms in mock defiance as Batman’s lips pulled into their own smirk.

“You’re Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

“You’re Bruce Wayne.”

There was a moment of silence where neither party said a word. The others seemed to be glued, unsure who was going to move first. With a great sigh, Bruce reached up, pulling back his mask to reveal his face. Marinette smiled as she called off Tikki, revealing herself in the middle of the rooftop.

“I knew it. See, pay up Timmy boy.” Jason threw off his mask before lifting Marinette in the air in a bone-crushing hug.

“I was dumb to bet against it,” Tim pulled off his hood, a smirk monopolizing his face.

Dick didn’t even bother to let her regain her footing before sweeping her into a hug of his own. As he sat Marinette down, she couldn't help the nervous chuckle that escaped her lips as she turned to face Damian. His face was unreadable as he pulled back his hood. Slowly he reached forward, his hand tentatively touching her cheek as if to ensure that she was real.

“I, uh, wanted to thank you for the dessert. Nobody has really gone that far for me before and I, uh, appreciated it.”

He took a step forward, his whole hand cupping her cheek sending the butterflies in her stomach into a frenzy. Just as she thought something could happen, an arm around her shoulder pulled her swiftly out of Damian’s reach.

“Okay lovebirds, not in front of his dad! Princess, you can’t steal this boy’s first kiss in front of his daddy.”

The first time Marinette cried in Gotham City was that night. Her laughter turned into tears of joy as she watched Damian and Jason nearly kill each other while Dick and Tim placed bets. It would be the first time she felt this kind of joy, but far from the last.

After all, surrounded by Gotham’s biggest idiots, her friends, there were sure to be many more firsts.

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[owl-with-a-pen]

Prompt where Nia Falling asleep in one of brainys shirts? I love those special couple moments

- Oh anon, I'm sorry for making this sadder than it could have been. But thank you for the prompt! x

It was weird, not having Brainy there at night.

The daytime was always filled with so much action. If Nia wasn’t getting nagged by Andrea for a new angle on a story, she was out on patrol as Dreamer, or helping confront their latest enemy with the rest of the Super Friends. At that point, without fail, she would always fall into step with Brainy at her side, but with how busy they’d both been recently, it was still far too easy to find themselves apart from one another for whole days at a time.

The nights, though? That was another story entirely.

Since Leviathan’s ship, Nia couldn’t remember a single night that she hadn’t fallen asleep with Brainy laid right next to her.

With him there, things just felt better. She didn’t worry about getting woken by nightmares, because if she was, Brainy would be there to help her through them. She knew he didn’t sleep all that much, but even at times when she had pulled him from the small portion of the night he did reserve for proper rest, he never seemed to mind. If she was in any sort of distress, even if she tried to assure Brainy otherwise, he’d always see through her act. He never made her feel ashamed of the lack of control her nightmares exposed her to; instead, he was only eager to help her learn from every one. So, they’d talk it out if she had the energy to do so. If not, Brainy would assume his role as her makeshift pillow, letting her snuggle in close, falling back asleep to the gentle motions of his fingers entwined in her hair.

There were times Brainy would wake from nightmares, too, and although he was still cagey about a lot of them, their promise to be honest with one another had given him the confidence to confide some of his own insecurities over time.

In that way, the night was reserved for the one time they could each find total peace of mind. A reprieve from the stresses of their crazy lives. A chance to share the quiet comfort of each other’s company.

Except, right now, she couldn’t. Right now, Brainy was out in space somewhere, travelling all the way to Argo to take Zor-El home, leaving his side of the bed unwelcomingly cold.

Nia knew Brainy was a confident flyer outside of spacetime co-ordination, but the wound of her Phantom nightmare was still fresh. Any time she thought of Brainy on a ship, she only remembered the breach in the Tower’s shields, could see the hole that had torn right through the ship’s hull, pulling Brainy out into the vacuum of space.

Her throat still felt raw from that memory. Every time she swallowed, she could taste it, the persistent burn of old tears agitating at the back of her mouth. The ache inside her chest where her disembodied screams had mangled every muscle.

And so, when Nia climbed into bed that night, tucking her arm beneath the pillows to get comfortable, she tried to imagine that Brainy was there at her side. She tried to picture what she might have told him if he had been.

Was she ready to tell him about her nightmare? He’d known something was up with her the second they’d been knocked out of their respective visions on the ship. He hadn’t exactly been subtle about the way he’d been checking in on her since then, but he’d yet to say it out loud. In her heart, Nia knew that Brainy was waiting for her to feel ready to share.

In all honestly, she wasn’t so sure she was. Losing Brainy like that had only reminded her of everything she’d lost for real. Though she’d been able to cling onto Brainy the moment her nightmare had dissolved, there was someone else that she’d never be able to hold that way again.

Nia didn’t want to look at the photo on her nightstand again, instead keeping herself turned adamantly away from it. She’d thought she was past this part, the sick and empty feeling in the pit of her stomach any time someone mentioned their own mom, the tightness in her lungs when she chanced a glance at her mother’s image. It had taken her months to build the courage to wade through the photos she had of her mother, and longer still to use one as her screen saver.

Up until recently, seeing that image had finally started to make her feel strong again.

But, then that trip to 2009 had happened, and god, maybe it had just been a recorded message, but it didn’t matter. It was a string of words that Nia hadn’t been able to find on any videos or VCR tapes. A voice that might not have been directed at her, but could’ve still been directed at anyone.

And that had been enough to break her all over again.

She knew Brainy wouldn’t judge her, but despite the words of wisdom and comfort he’d imparted on her over the last few months, she knew that he was still afraid he couldn’t give her enough, that the grossly distant relationship he had with his own mother might make him an ineffectual counsel. To Nia, though? She couldn't imagine going through this without him.

She didn’t think she had the energy to talk about it, anyway. All she really wanted was to feel Brainy’s arms around her, the heat of his life projectors thrumming through the fabric of his shirt, warming her chest.

Nia sighed dejectedly, snuggling further into the pillow, catching remnants of Brainy’s scent on the cotton.

Which was when her hand snagged against something familiar.

Nia’s lips twitched into a smile as she pulled out one of Brainy’s Bon Jovi shirts he’d made habit of sleeping in from beneath his pillow. Meticulously folded, of course, as though ready to display in a store. She nearly rolled her eyes.

She was pretty certain his shirt hadn’t been there that morning. In fact, she knew that Brainy wouldn’t normally keep his clothes anywhere but in the hamper or in her chest of drawers. Nia bit her lip, thinking back to earlier that evening when Brainy had gone into the bedroom, insisting he’d needed to ‘grab a few things’ before he left for the trip.

A warmth blossomed inside her chest. Oh, he’d definitely left it for her. A parting gift, in a way.

Maybe he hadn’t wanted to ask her until she was ready, but that didn’t mean he’d felt comfortable leaving her alone so soon after everything that had transpired.

Nia had certainly stolen Brainy’s shirts to sleep in before, and although that feeling of being wrapped inside a significantly oversized garment was always better than sleeping in her own PJ’s, this gesture felt far more personal than any before it.

Which was why Nia spent no time at all shrugging out of her own pyjama shirt in favour of Brainy’s. She tucked her knees into her chest the second she was comfortable, pulling the shirt down around as much of her as possible, breathing in the scent of his shampoo still ingrained in the fabric.

Nia curled tight into her side, bunching the shirt beneath her fingers, squeezing it tight.

Maybe Brainy couldn’t be with her tonight, but even faced with the darkest visions the Naltorian dreamscape had to offer, at least she had a piece of him that she could still hold onto.

[energyanon]

Surprise reading as I can’t seem to shake off the curiosity. Ok, I’m gonna set them up in relation to this drama. Personally, I don’t believe it. NV would have to have various personality disorders in order for this to be true, among 5000 other reasons why that is not normal, sane human behaviour. But the Instagram.. so many things don’t match up. However, both me and another anon felt fuzzy headed when we were representing her.. maybe it’s not just her overthinking, maybe it’s something more relating to some kind of disorder, but that’s not my place to say. Let’s check it out. Once again I’m gonna type as I go.

I’ve decided for three set ups here: 1. NV, 2. The group chat as a whole as cited on said Instagram, and 3. Henry.

Set up 2. (The GC) first. I picked up NV and got a headache.

First flag: Natalie wanted to be on top of the GC… that’s weird..

Henry is at a distance but he is staring at them both. Starting to feel like I may have been wrong in my judgment here ha.. 😬 I’m really hoping it’s not true cause otherwise that’s fucking sad and NV has genuine issues. But, I’m ok with being wrong.

Alright, let’s start as NV (cause GC, I feel I already know their feelings regardless of if it’s true or not) FYI, I have moved NV to being close but not on top, as one energy on top of - group of energies would be much too hard to decipher.

NV:

Immediate dizziness. I feel very hot and my air con is currently blasting down upon me so it’s not me. The group chat feels very little to NV. like tiny, as in I could step on them. (1. This can mean they’re not even being seen, she barely cares about them, or 2. Can feel more powerful than) as we know in the screenshots the latter was supposedly the case, so I’m not going to cross that out just yet, but it feels more like I’m just not even seeing them. they’re dirt under my feet. They don’t really have her attention and she’s not super bothered by them, but once I brought her attention to it She does want to stamp it out, it’s a complete nuisance. She wants to cover them up. I gave them a little tap, which ended turning into many taps which turned into actually wanting to destroy their rep all together. so she’s angry about it. (At this point I don’t know if she’s angry about This situation being a lie, as in she’s sick of these people doing this to her, or if she’s genuinely angry at the group for exposing her) the tiny dirt now feels a bit bigger but more like a basketball sized nuisance. She still feels bigger than them, it’s just that this is so ANNOYING. Still wants to rip them up into little pieces, she’s annoyed, she’s moving me around a whole bunch, she’s angry, she’s frustrated, she’s tying her hair up, she’s not having it. like it’s fucking annoying. this is all so ANNOYING. She’s stressed, she’s annoyed, she wants this over and done with.

No more energy shifts. Incoming questions.

Q: do you know them?

No I don’t fucking know them

Ok do you think that was a friend who exposed you?

I don’t know I can’t think I- (just a bunch of profanities) [note: it’s like she’s keyboard smashing in my brain right now it’s REALLY annoyed]

Jaw clenched, I’m swaying from side to side my hands are on my hips, hair away from my face I want to move somewhere else but I need to deal with THIS FUCKING THING FIRST ISHDJFKSJXJDSNX.

god it is SO ANNOYING like if you guys were all in front of me right now you’d be heading me yelling and screaming and So irritated I’m so I’m SO Annoyed. I can’t even think of any other questions to ask cause I’m too busy getting keyboard smashed atm.

I’m gonna move to the group to just see if the intentions there are legit. I need a break from NV.

Ok the group:

the group have some anxiety, stomach dropped. They’re not angry they’re just looking at NV. None of them can be sure if It was NV - I think some of them doubt but it was a “get it out just in case” situation. At least one of them feel bad. Nervous jitters from my right leg. You know how you fidget when you’re waiting to get in trouble?

Q: do you believe it was NV?

There are many of them so I’ll just say it as it came up. No (1) I don’t know (majority) one of them is a yeah, feels like the leader of the group but even then the yeah isn’t a solid resounding yeah. But it’s also not like a “yeaahhh?” It’s like I’m just gonna make a decision and it’s yeah.

Q: are you mad that nv is with Henry

I’m not mad (1)

We’re not mad, we just think he could do better. (Majority)

Q: why did you do this

To expose her

Q: why to expose her if you didn’t truly believe it was her

There is a very weak “it was the right thing to do” like.. when I say weak it feels like they don’t even believe that, but they’ve convinced themselves it is..?

Q: at any point did you lie or fabricate the screenshots?

Resounding no, but one solid yes from someone.

Q: Yes?

One of them.

Q: which one

(I was shown one of them, it was one of the purple and black ones, one where there isn’t much purple - I’ll have to check it after)

Ok, my leg isn’t going crazy anymore - there is just an expectant waiting. They’re looking at NV, she’s taller than them but not much taller (not like they’re a basketball being looked down upon, just normal human heights) the feeling is just waiting. Waiting to see if there is a response. That’s it, that’s all I’ve been given I can’t even conjure Up another question. (Sometimes when the energy is done sharing its just done, I can’t force it past that and I’m not in my right to)

Checking Henry:

Henry is tired, he’s disillusioned, he’s just staring into space. The other two are in front of him (facing one another) but he doesn’t see them. Genuinely no thoughts from him it’s complete disassociation. But I did ask if he knew about this situation, he doesn’t seem to know yet.

And yet he’s still disassociating.. the thought “I don’t know what to do” came up, but it was so slow and fractured it was like… you know that video of that kid who’s trying to say have you ever had a dream that you could do anything but he muddles it up for 20 seconds before getting to it? It’s like that (I’ll link it when I’m done)

“I don’t kn- I just I - what do I ev- wh-“ and it keeps going but imagine it taking FOREVER for him to say it.

He’s stuck in the disassociation. Weird choice, but I need to do it. I’m gonna slap him. (Which yes, means slapping myself)

Ok, that didn’t make much difference, he’s still super tired, he still didn’t see the other two but I tried to bring his attention to NV and he was already turning around to leave “I don’t care, I don’t care I’m too tired” and then he turned back and said to NV to clarify “I do care, but I don’t, I’m tired” and I took him out cause he was walking out of there anyway.

Back to NV one last time, and then I’m doing other stuff with my day and then I’ll do CE tonight.

NV

It’s always dizziness with this chick, I swear. Everytime im with her I’m dizzy, I’m losing blood pressure. She’s calmed down at least but fuck I’m dizzy more dizzy than I usually am (can be her, could also be me continuously going into different energies, I don’t tend to feel like this though but don’t rule it out)

Dizzy, Im not tired, but fatigued like I don’t need to sleep, I need to just lay down. I see the GC but they can fuck off I don’t care. She wants to kick them out of the way. As soon as she does she wants to leap out at them and tear them to shreds. She goes from 1- 100 real quick. I don’t want her to destroy my representative for the group, cause I don’t want anything to accidentally manifest in real time for the actual group, so im going to create a little thing that she can destroy instead - just in case there are any energetic consequences of her destroying the representation of the GC. Found a little piece of paper I called it placebo GC and we’re tearing it up.

Ok so, I got her to tear up Placebo GC. She got raveonous with it. I am now coming to believe that NV has some major anger issues. To be fair, im feeling how annoyed she is and I get it honestly it’s the only way to get out this level of emotion. It’s not healthy, therapy is needed for sure, but I’m not gonna sit here like this and say that she’s overreacting cause when you’re feeling like she is, there’s no where else for this to go

She ripped them up, crushed them, tore at them with her teeth, crushed them into a little ball again and chucked them away and then we just screamed “FUCK!” For literally about 3 minutes and she was LIVID. I’ve sat her down now while I write this, she’s still annoyed, she’s not livid.

Interesting to note though, all throughout the screaming there was never a single thought that came up that was like “why can’t they just let US live, why can’t we just BE together” she really doesn’t seem to care about the affect it has on her and Henry’s relationship, she’s just annoyed people are talking shit. Like she just doesn’t care that people won’t accept them.

Oh! I haven’t checked on her vs. HC so lemme do that. I wanna see if she checks up on him too, cause from a normal relationship perspective, this would affect him too. But let’s see.

Yup, ok, nothing from her end, if anything she’s giving him the silent treatment. Like she’s looking at him in the way you do when your partner has said something stupid and you’re too angry to answer. But she doesn’t care that he’s there. I went to him also to see if he would comfort her and he was just a brick wall, kind of more like “here I am I’m showing up but idc. I really idc. Sorry that you’re going through it I guess.” Both of them had the ~aura~ (I don’t know how to explain it on text) of “this did not go as planned” however, they didn’t SAY that, just as an FYI, it was just a bit of a shared feeling translated into words.

That’s it. I’m ending it there. I’ve got life admin to do, be back later for a CE reading as promised. :)

[ribcage-rodents]

How Iris first had an inkling that Wally had a crush on Dick. Ok so like, bc Star and Gotham are absolutely horrifying during Halloween, Barry is like “I’ll patrol then Iris will take the babies trick or teating”

Originally Wally is really upset bc he wants to go patrolling w his uncle but once he finds out that he gets to hang out w the other hero’s he’s psyched.

So Wally is like 12-13 and dresses up as the flash naturally. Roy is like 14-15 and he’s totally too old for Halloween and over it bc he’s super angsty, and dresses up as like Jason form Friday the thirteenth or some shit bc Black Canary forces him to. Robin only ever celebrated Halloween during his circus days when everyone would paint their face scary and flying Graysons would do aerial ballet show w black fabric so it was like spiders but after that it was just horrifying.

Anyway so Barry picked up this tiny Batman costume and Iris was like “Barry hon, isn’t he like 10? Shouldn’t you get him a bigger outfit?” (He two years younger than Wally, and four younger than Roy) And Barry is like “no trust me babe he teeny”.

Batman shows up to their house followed by a tinsity winsty baby tiny Batman bc Barry ran it over b/f patrol. And wow is that cute. Tiny baby Batman is basically glued to Batman’s side, his teeny little head coming up to Batman’s lower thigh, last time Iris checked 10-year olds aren’t supposed to be that tiny but wow is it adorable. (I’m sorry I just love teeny baby Dickie& giant looming built-like-a-tank batdaddy)

Barry told her what Batman had already explained. That Robin is foreign and doesn’t really know a lot of holiday stuff and also has been severely traumatized the past couple of years and doesn’t really like strangers and knows better than to take anything from strangers.

So it’s obvious that Robin would rather be tied up and drugged w fear gas than in a family aquatintence’s home about to go trick or treating. And Iris is a little resentful of the other boys, hard as she try to be understanding, bc Wally looks so disappointed bc he just wants to have friends and these guys don’t want to have fun.

Anyway Roy is kinda warming up to the whole trick or treating thing but sometimes he can be really mean to Wally but maybe Iris is just overprotective of her boy. Iris takes several pictures during the entire night despite both Batmans being adamant about no photos.

Robin refuses to go up to any house but Iris doesn’t comment on it. She doesn’t want to alienate him, so she doesn’t say anything. She goes up and grabs him a peice of candy but he disappears into the night. She panics for a good couple of seconds but calms when tiny Batman shows up next to Wally and Roy.

She doesn’t try again after that. He likes to walk at the back of the group and every time Iris tries to keep an eye on him, bc he may be a trained hero but central isn’t as safe as smallsville and her parental instincts are going off. Every couple of blocks Wally will try to walk next to him and talk and it’ll work for a while then Robin will slow down and fall behind and Wally’s angelic little baby face gets so sad.

As their trip comes to an end Iris can see Robin wrapping the cape around him tightly w his eyes screwed shut and it breaks her heart a little bc this poor boy must be so uncomfortable and scared that he’s trying to imitate the feeling of his mentors hug. It’s a jarring to imagine Batman hugging anything but she supposes that a baby as cute as that must make even the dark knight just wanna squeeze his sweet rosy, chubby cheeks. She reaches out to place a hand on his head, bc he’s too short to comfortably put a hand on his shoulder.

He jerks back immediately and death glares her, his anger showing full force through the white eyelets. She sent him an apologetic smile and he seemed to unbistle a smidgen.

Once they were finally home Iris watched them from behind the kitchen counter. Wally and Roy were digging into the candy while Robin perched on top of the couch. He kept scratching at his arm, Barry said that it was fine as long as it was controlled. Apparently the poor baby had a pretty serious anxiety disorder and tended to scratch to make himself feel better, it was ok as long as he didn’t have an attack.

She tossed him the single candy across the room, he caught it swiftly in his tiny baby hand. (So cute) Wally shot up to his feet. “That’s not one of my candies right?” Iris smiled, her prefect gluttonous boy. “Nope it’s from your uncles,” it was lie but it didn’t harm anyone. “That’s my backup candy!” Wally cried racing towards the door and snatching up handfuls of candy from the trick or treater bowl. Iris pretend to scold him for being stingy.

Robin slowly unwrapped the candy then examined it breaking off a piece and finally eating the snickers. His eyelets widened comically and he chewed slowly staring down at the candy before shoving the entire (not that fun size is really that big) thing in his mouth. It was absolutely adorable! She wished she had take a video and wondered if this was his first ever candy. (Dick usually just ate cotton candy as a kid, he hadn’t discover cereal yet. But since his parents died he hasn’t had real sugar, Alfred has strict hold on anything sweet in the house and Robin was deemed too energetic already.)

Apparently Wally agreed bc his mouth was wide open and his face was a blotchy-red color. His eyes were filled w what Iris could only discribe as adoration.

Wally swallowed then stood up again. His arms filled w sweets. “Here you can have my candy!” Wally all but shouted at the other boy, he paused for a second looking at his arms, “or we could share,” he suggested instead.

That’s what got Iris, even before his flash experiment Wally has never shared food, not even w his uncle. But here he was offering up some to a boy he hardly knows bc he thinks it’s cute when he eats candy. God she might cry.

Robin smiled at Wally. A real smile, the first one she’s seen all night. “You could still have it all if you wanted!” Wally said again his face turning a couple shades darker and thrusting the candy at robin, who artfully avoided his touch.

“We can share, don’t speedsters need extra calories?” Wally nodded and then proceeded to gather up the rest of the candy scattered on the floor. It was then that Iris noticed that Roy and dipped.

She was slightly panicked. Roy could probably fight for himself but he’s still a baby, a baby that Iris was in charge of. She hurriedly pulled out some blankets and turned on the tv for the boys while she dialed Barry who called Ollie. In a strange turn of events Ollie actually apologized to Iris, saying quote, “Roy’s a little jack-ass of course he snuck off. Don’t worry I’ll find him, probably screwed off to get drunk at some highschool party. Thanks for watching him while you could, I honestly expected him to scurry off a lot sooner.”

It didn’t exactly ease the tension in Iris’ chest but watching those two babies sitting on the couch pass candy back forth watching Charlie Brown specials made her feel a lot better. They were on opposite sides of the couch and Iris could see Wally’s little fingers twitching by his legs, he got up to go to the bathroom and came back only to really casually sit right next to Robin, like basically on his lap.

Robin wiggled up onto the arm of the couch.

“Ok so this ones a Milky Way,” Wally said passing the treat up to Robin.

He popped it in his mouth and chewed. “What’s the difference between this one and the snickers?” He asked, Iris was a little surprised by how good Robins accent was, he spoke like a natural English speaker, which he wasn’t. Every once in a while he’d use a word wrong or mispronounce something, a lit of something would catch on what he was saying but his American accent was pretty flawless.

“Snickers have peanuts, milky ways don’t,” Wally supplied in a duh voice. Robin smiled, “golly, you sure know a bunch about candies. You must be really smart!” And isn’t that so cute! Everyone treats the speedsters like idiots just bc they’re dense but here Robin is picking up on the hidden intelligence like a Batman should. Wally puffed his chest out all proud his face was still all red like a patchy strawberry.

A couple hours passed when Batman showed up. Wearing a different not soaked in fear gas costume, both Iris and Wally were sad to see robin go, well Wally was more devastated. The minute Batman stepped through the front door Robin was disappearing underneath his cape, according to Barry Robin doesn’t like to be more than 3cm from Batman at all times.

“Maybe we can hang out more!” Wally called his blush finally fading. A chipper ok sounded from somewhere in Batman’s cape, (Wally’s face turned scarlet in an instant) at the same time Batman gruffed out a no. Wally’s perfect baby face fell, Batman and Robin left. “Hey don’t worry kiddo I’ll talk to him!” Wally gave a half-hearted smile then went back to his candy eating.

Later he was engrossed in a discussion of patrol w his uncle while they both ate most of central’s candy supply.

As Barry and Iris got ready for bed an hour or so later she turned to him w a mischievous smile. “So it’s seems like Wally’s got his first real crush!” She sing-songed. Barry looked at her confused a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. “Who?” “Robin” she responded. “That’s doesn’t make any sense!” She signed, somethings speedsters really were dense.

[browniefox]

Waking from the Long Winter

Ace Attorney - 5K Words

Phoenix Wright and a few moments during the ten weeks it takes to receive results from the Bar Exam.

A one-shot written solely for the half-joke I make within the first couple paragraphs lol. Character exploration of Phoenix finding himself again. Hinted narumitsu but just hinted.

oOo

Phoenix is sure there’s a joke here, somewhere.

Something about a lawyer walking into a bar, and then knowing to duck the second time. Or maybe not ducking, but running into it at top speed. Or trying to vault over the bar and getting his feet caught on it and falling on his face instead. There’s something there, he’s sure of it. More than anything, however, Phoenix wishes his brain would focus on the Actual Bar Exam instead of trying to make this stupid joke work.

He took the bar once before, of course. His memory of having done so, however, is shaky at best. Trying to look back at it, it’s nothing more than two days of pure stress. If he tries to pin the experience down to a word, it's just a really long and drawn out scream.

Taking the bar the second time, ten years later, is… different.

Phoenix studied, of course. Apollo had still had his flashcards and big binder full of notes. Slow days in the office were often punctuated with spontaneous quizzing on terms and laws and procedures. He’d spent late nights reading big law books and then falling asleep on top of them like he was in college again. He sat in on a lot of trials, reviewing the roles of the people in the court.

Now that he’s finally actually taking the Bar, it’s like a math test.

Obvious not as far as subject matter went. But it reminds him strongly of what taking a math test back in middle/high school had been like. Going into it scared and then being surprised by how quickly and easily he seemed to go through the questions. Of course, that also always ended with him getting the test back with a million red marks that revealed the test hadn’t been easy, he’d just been dumb.

For the first five minutes, nerves making Phoenix fidgety, the Bar exam had been scary and the words had refused to form comprehensive sentences. He’s pretty sure he almost had a panic attack. But then the five minutes pass, and Phoenix takes a few deep breaths, and when he opens his eyes again, he realizes he actually does know this stuff.

He was a lawyer, once, seven years ago. It feels like that should be more than enough time for him to have forgotten what being one was like, for all of the words to have become greek to him once more. And yet, his previous cases stick out to him on the page. Yes, he remembers using evidence law for the Skye case, he knows this. Ah, yes, he remembers studying this case because it reminds him of the Powers one. There’s even a question about spirit mediums at one point and Phoenix almost laughs out loud.

It probably also doesn’t hurt that he’d kept his enemies close during his disbarment, as well as working on MASON.

Kristoph had often asked for Phoenix’s opinion on cases, setting out the evidence and asking for the ex-lawyer’s input and expertise. He wonders if it was supposed to sting, if Kristoph had been trying to rub salt into the wound. If so, he had succeeded, sometimes. Other times, it’d been nice to fall back into those familiar ways of thinking, of trying to piece together a story, of trying to find justice.

Phoenix would never ever thank Kristoph for anything ever, but he did admit there were unexpected rewards for having put up with him for so long.

oOo

Paying for a barber hasn’t exactly been in the budget for years.

Not that there weren’t places you could get a haircut at fairly cheap, but every single dollar and penny counted. Even the months where things looked alright, where there was a comfortable sum left over after rent and taxes and food, most of it was set aside for when the rough times would return. They always did.

“Just a trim?” Trucy asks. She wears the fake mustache she insists on wearing every time he asks her to cut his hair. Her own was just trimmed by him, the floor littered with split ends. There’s layers throughout it, and now that it’s started to dry back out he can see his handiwork and nods to himself. The days of terrible and uneven cuts while trying to watch a video tutorial are well behind both of them, years of practice instead showing through.

The swivel chair from the desk has been moved into the bathroom and Phoenix looks at himself in the mirror, his hair for once not bunched up inside of his beanie. It’s long enough to pull back with a hair tie. Trucy is already gearing up to cut off an inch, the same inch she cuts off every time to keep it from getting too long. For years, that’s been the only reason to cut his hair. He runs his fingers through it. It’s to his shoulders right now and he blinks when he realizes that he hates it.

He hates how the long strands get in his face. He hates how sometimes he pulls his beanie off and his hair is staticy. He hates how if he doesn’t pull it back while cooking, if he has something on his hands, he has to awkwardly flick his head in usually-futile attempts to get the hair out of the way.

He hates it and he’s hated it for a while. But for some reason, every time before now, it’s felt easier and safer to keep it long and annoying.

“Actually,” He says, and then hesitates. He’s had his hair like this for so long now, and shorter hair… He steels himself and straightens a bit, “Actually, Truce, could you go a little shorter this time? Just, you know, a little-”

“Don’t worry, daddy, leave it to me!”

There’s a mischievous little glint in her eyes and Phoenix almost changes his mind, but she’s already spun the chair around and started cutting. Phoenix closes his eyes and waits. Trucy hums as she cuts his hair, and usually she does little tricks with the scissors, but this time she’s just cutting. He tries not to think about how close to his head the scissors sound, how much she must be cutting off. He’d asked her to, and he hates how long it was, and yet now that it’s too late to change his mind he’s nervous.

“Alright!” Trucy chirps and spins him back around to face the mirror. Phoenix opens his eyes.

A young lawyer, full of hope and trust and pure stubbornness, stares back at him.

And then he blinks, and the man has little tired wrinkles around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth and prominently between his eyebrows. He still has the couple-day-old stubble that he had yet to shave. There’s dark shadows under his eyes. He runs a hand through his hair. It spikes up in the back, just like it used to, just like it always has, like how his mom used to hate and try in vain to flatten down.

“Well, what do you think?” Trucy beams at him.

“It’s perfect.” He says.

And it’s true.

oOo

Phoenix has never owned a perfectly tailored suit in his life. He never found an issue with this. Off the rack was just fine, and a lot cheaper, and you didn’t have to worry about anything happening to it.

Apparently Miles thought that this was an issue.

Two weeks after Phoenix took the bar, Miles drags him to get a new suit. Phoenix stresses that his old suit was perfectly fine. He at least assumes it's fine. It is shoved somewhere near the back of his closet and by now is probably made up of as much dust as fabric. But it should still looks like a suit, and he can probably send it to the dry cleaners or something if he ever needs it.

Still, Miles insists on dragging him to get a new suit.

The people there all recognize Miles right of the bat, greeting him as ‘Mr. Edgeworth’, with a lot of ‘So good to see you again’ and ‘Are you here for the usual’ and ‘How is dear Ms. Von Karma doing’. His answers are amicable enough: ‘It’s nice to be back in the country.’ ‘No, not today, I’m here for my friend.’ ‘Franziska is doing well, thank you.’

Phoenix sees how they look at him when they don’t think he can see them. They don’t know that Phoenix is well used to being on guard constantly, no matter the time or place. He cedes that maybe he should’ve worn something today other than his hoodie and beanie and flip flops, especially with how the ‘flip-flop-flip-flop’ is just shy of echoing throughout the large store. He knows they must look an interesting pair, prim and perfect well put together Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth next to disbarred pianist and poker player Phoenix Wright. He doesn’t let it bother him as Miles picks around the room, finding suits that he approves of.

There’s too many shades of blue. Half the time, Miles holds up two and asks which one Phoenix likes more, and they look exactly the same. Still, they eventually end up with a few different ones for Phoenix to try on, and Miles and one of the men - the tailor? Maybe? Or the owner of the store? - walk around Phoenix and critique how it looks on him and then send him back to try on another. It reminds Phoenix how much he hates shopping. The whole process of having to try things on and take them off and then repeat is just a bit too tedious for his sake.

Miles more than Phoenix decides on which suit is best out of the ones he’s picked out, and then Phoenix's measurements are taken so that it can be fixed to fit him just right.

They’re looking at the ties, the last thing to grab before they leave, when Phoenix finally says,

“I haven’t passed the Bar Exam yet.”

Miles pauses for a second, then hangs the white tie back up. He doesn’t turn to face Phoenix but his eyes do glance over.

“You took the test.” He says, and Phoenix can hear the unsaid in there. ‘You took the test, right? You didn’t lie about that? You didn’t purposely sabotage your own test? You haven’t done something incredibly stupid already, have you?’

“I did.” Phoenix nods, and means ‘I really did. I gave it my all. I tried my best, I swear it.’

“Then you’ll need a new suit.” Miles says.

“But I haven’t passed yet.”

“Mm,” Miles hums, grabbing a dark red tie and looking it over, comparing it to the swatch of fabric that matches the color of Phoenix’s new suit, “You’re not going to fail.”

“But-”

“If you fail, then you’ll still have a new suit. There’s more reasons than being an attorney to own a nice suit, you know. If you ever eat somewhere nicer than the Borsch Bowl, for one. Or I have a wide array of incessant events I’m expected to attend throughout the year. They’ll be more manageable if I have someone there with me, but there is usually a dress code. Or perhaps I’ll be in need of a co-council at some point. I could use your eyes, and lord knows they’ll let absolutely anybody co-council, qualifications be damned.”

Miles doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Phoenix. He does, however, pick a wine red tie and add it to the growing stack.

oOo

When he moves the items off of the piano, he’s careful to make sure he remembers where everything goes.

It’s his office, it’s his piano, and while maybe most of the things he takes off aren’t his they also haven’t been touched in weeks, and he doubts that Trucy or Apollo would notice anything different. Still, he feels oddly like a kid sneaking food out of the cupboards while his parents are out. Trucy is setting up for a show and Apollo is out looking at a crime scene. It’s the perfect chance.

He lifts up the covering from the keys of the piano. He sits down on the bench, and a chill rushes over him that isn’t there. He can almost hear the sound of the Borscht Bowl, the clamour of patrons. He’s played this piano so few times, he can count them on one hand. He’d given practice a couple tries when he first got hired, until it became clear that being paid not to play was probably just as lucrative - if not more so - than actually having the skill.

Phoenix rests his hands on the keys, cold ivory under his warm fingers. He’d taken classes, once, years and years ago, when he was small and young. His piano teacher then had been an old and nice woman, but she’d had to stop teaching after a few months due to health problems. He can still find middle C, and that is more or less where his skills end. Usually, when someone requests a song, he plays ‘hot cross buns’ or ‘heart and soul’ or any other classic of the sort.

This time, Phoenix lets himself bang around with wild abandon on the keys, like he had as a kid, caring little for melody or timing or anything at all. The piano is probably out of tune. Not that he can hear that sort of thing, but it's a fair and safe bet to make. The piano hasn’t been played in a long while.

He steps away for a moment and runs a finger over the spines of the books on the shelves until he came across a thin one, so thin that the spine didn’t have any kind of title, just staples holding the pages together. Some hot-shot customer had come into the Borscht Bowl, slapped the ‘Beginner’s Piano Lessons’ book on the top of the piano and declared that Phoenix was going to need it once he was beaten at poker that night.

Of course, Phoenix had won. He got to keep the book anyway. By ‘got to keep’, he meant the customer had punched Phoenix in a fit of rage after losing and had been kicked out, leaving the book behind. Phoenix had kept it.

He isn't any good at reading music, but he has the afternoon to himself. He gets out a pencil, writing the letters above the notes, counting the keys to make sure his fingers land on the right ones. It is slow, and tedious, and not something he has to do. It's something he's doing because he wants to.

oOo

Phoenix has a love-hate relationship with Parent-Teacher Conferences.

He loves to go when the teachers will tell him ‘oh, Trucy is a joy to have in class! Trucy brings such a brightness to the classroom! Trucy is brilliant, what an amazing daughter you have! She’s so talented!’ And then Phoenix gets to beam at Trucy, and Trucy gets to glow under the praise, and then he gets handed her report card that he can place on the fridge so he can look at it every morning and be filled with pride again.

He doesn’t so much like them when the teachers look at him funny.

Look, Phoenix is an adult, he can admit that his appearance took a pretty sharp decline after he was disbarred. But some days it was all he could do to put on the hoodie and beanie, and he had learned pretty early in how to rationalize it all away as ‘putting on an act’, as trying to get Kristoph to underestimate him. However, an adult man who adopted a daughter, and thus had had someone declare him fit to raise a kid, looking like he was one trip to McDonalds away from being completely broke wasn’t always the best way to present one’s self to other adults, especially ones on high alert make sure their students were in a stable living condition.

One time, Trucy had even had to warn him to clean up a bit. She’d picked up on the worried questions her teacher had been asking her, about how often she ate and what her dad did for a living. Phoenix had put on actual shoes and a button up for that PTC. The teacher had still looked at him suspiciously, but he’d done his best to exude confidence and ‘I’m perfectly capable of raising a child on my own’. He couldn’t risk losing Trucy. If he lost Trucy…

He can’t lose Trucy.

Of course, the days of those sorts of PTC’s are behind them. Now that Trucy’s in high school and has eight different teachers, PTC’s consist of going between the school’s cafeteria and library to find Trucy’s teachers, get told if she’s a good student or a distraction or doing well or doing poorly, and then heading right to the next teacher. Some teachers they just outright skip, like Trucy’s gym teachers.

“C’mon Daddy, you have to dress up too!”

Trucy spins around in her magician outfit. The straplessness of the dress made it against the school’s dress code, so she never got to wear it to classes. She’d been talking about showing it off during the PTC, when school wasn’t technically in session, and Phoenix knew that she was probably going to take the chance to dazzle her teachers with some of her smaller tricks as well.

Put that in the list of reasons why he did like PTC: getting to see people be amazed with Trucy’s close-up magic tricks.

“Trucy,” Phoenix sighs.

“No, please? I always get dressed up, and you never do.” She pouts, crossing her arms.

“That’s because you’re the star of the show tonight.”

“But you’re my assistant! Please, just this once? I know you don’t like getting dressed up, but...” And then Trucy hesitates, which is so unlike her it catches Phoenix’s attention right away, “But I’d like it.” She finishes. For a moment, the room is plunged into darkness that only Phoenix can see as chains shoot out of nowhere and a single psych-lock places itself in front of Trucy.

Phoenix sighs one more time. He’s not going to pry, not unless it becomes a big deal.

“Sure, can’t have you performing with a sub-par partner.” He relents and Trucy claps her hand excitedly.

He goes back into his room, reaching for a button down. Something simple, he figures. Just something a little nicer than usual.

And he sees the suit Miles had bought him.

It’s in a big black bag to keep it safe from dust or whatever. Almost without thinking to, he takes the hanger off the rack and sets it on his bed, unzipping the bag and looking at the suit. It’s so much like to his old one. He runs a hand over it and then almost puts it back. But if he can’t wear it to a PTC, how can he wear it to any of the myriad of events Miles had listed off? He used to wear a suit everywhere. It had been border-line mandatory.

“Hurry up, Daddy, or we’ll be late!”

Phoenix jumps at the banging on his door.

“Just a minute, sweetie!” He shouts back.

It feels… different. He blames that on the light blue waistcoat that Edgeworth had insisted on. That, and the fact that it was a suit that was made to fit him exactly. His old suit had been second-hand, all that he’d been able to afford at the time. The blue, what many people seemed to remember about him, had been due to lack of options rather than real choice.

He looks at himself in the mirror, running a wet hand through his hair to try and get it into some semblance of presentable. He still has his stubble. He hadn’t shaved this morning. It’s not too late to tear off the jacket and vest and go with his original plan of just a button up.

“Daddy!” Trucy calls again.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” He shouts back, and with one last look at himself, one last effort to convince himself he looks fine, leaves his apartment looking more like the Turnabout Terror than he has in years.

oOo

More of Miles’ things seem to come weekly.

Apparently Franziska is doing a deep and thorough cleaning of the Von Karma estate. She keeps finding more things, and so boxes and boxes turn up on Miles’ doorstep.

Phoenix finds himself spending a lot of his time in Miles’ office, and it means he ends up spending a lot of time helping Miles unpack boxes. Some of them are things that really shouldn’t have surprised Phoenix, like Steel Samurai manga and dvds that Franziska has unearthed from hidden corners of the estate. Miles had admitted he’d kept them anywhere he thought Manfred wouldn’t look. Other little things like that showed up - small mementos or notes, most of which seem innocuous, but that Miles insists would’ve been disapproved of.

There are also other things, like pens or books or pictures. Some of these do belong to Miles while others of them are items Franziska 'didn’t wish to hold on to any longer’. While that seemed to be the case with some, it only took looking at Miles face to confirm for Phoenix that a lot of them had secret sentimental value.

He never understood their relationship. He’d been an only child, and while there were people he was close to, he’d never grown up in the same building with them, nor under the harsh condition Miles and Franziska had. He's glad he doesn't have to jump through the weird hoops and unsaid rules that Miles and Franziska do when navigating anything to do with the other.

“Okay, you can’t tell me these are important.” Phoenix holds up a pair of scissors. They’re cold and pure metal, no plastic handle like the three pairs Phoenix himself owns. All three of them always go missing at the same time too, which completley defeatst he point of having so many pairs.

Miles sighs and rolls his eyes. He’s sitting on the ground in front of the bookshelf. With the most recent influx of books, alphabetizing them means that the previous books need to be pushed to the next shelf, and it has created a chain of necessary rearrangement to every subsequent shelf as well. Phoenix has seen Miles force the work onto some younger prosecutors or even unlucky detectives, but with Phoenix here he does it himself.

“Open them up.” He says and Phoenix does just that. There are initials welded into the metal, M.E.V.K. Phoenix raises his eyebrows.

“Miles Edgeworth… Von Karma?” He says, just to be sure, and Miles nods.

“Mm, yes. Those are my shears. Franziska insisted on the initials so that if I ruined my pair, she’d be able to tell they were mine right away, and I wouldn’t be able to try and steal hers. She took them to get initialed herself.”

He speaks of the event with the calm and cool that is so Edgeworth, but Phoenix has learned to read between lines. He runs a finger over the four initials. Von Karma. The household Edgeworth had lived in and belonged to in all but the official name change. The name that he was able to carry on these shears.

“I’ll put them in your desk.” Phoenix says instead of the millions of other responses running through his head. He’s standing in front of it anyway. He pulls open the first drawer as Miles says,

“No, I’ll be taking them home. They’re fabric scissors, Phoenix. Using them on paper will ruin them.”

Phoenix’s response to that completely leaves his head when he sees the small golden pin in the drawer.

“What’s this?” He says, more to himself than Miles. He knows what it is, and yet he asks anyway. It’s a defense attorney pin. He can see the petals, the image of scales in the center. It’s not as if he hasn’t seen one recently, he has defense attorneys working for him, after all. But it’s so out of place to see one in Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth’s office that it takes him completely by surprise. He picks it up, turning it this way and that.

“Is this... your dad’s?” He asks, the first answer that comes to mind.

“Is what- oh. No. It isn’t.” Miles is looking over now, and there’s something in his voice that makes Phoenix’s brow furrow. He sounds… hesitant? Scared? Nervous? None of those seemed quite right, but Miles didn’t seem completely at ease. Phoenix returned his focus to the pin.

There are teeth marks in it, like someone had bit into it at one point. The edges of it are worn slightly, softened with time. It’s nostalgic to look at.

It’s even more nostalgic to turn over and see the number 26381.

“Wait, this is…!” Phoenix stares at the number, the number that is burned into his memory. He’d memorized it soon after receiving the pin. It was his number, the number that meant he was really a lawyer, that he had done it.

“... yes. It is.” Phoenix looks back up. Miles is still looking at him, the odd expression still there. Not hesitance, not nervousness, not fear.

Anticipation. Miles is sitting there, watching in anticipation, as Phoenix finds his old defense attorney’s badge in Miles’ desk.

“You have my badge.” Phoenix says. He turns it back around to stare at the face. Yes, that bite mark… that was from Ema, wasn’t it?

“I do.” Miles confirms.

“Why?” Phoenix says. He weighs the small pin in his hand and then tosses it, catching it easily enough. It’s so light and small.

Miles considers both Phoenix and the pin, eyes tracking the movement of the pin as it goes up in the air again and then returns to Phoenix’s palm.

“I didn’t want anyone else to have it.” He says. He’s still anticipating something.

“I see,” Phoenix says. And… he thinks he does, “You never told me. Would’ve been a lot easier to have given it to you personally instead of having to take it off and give it to the board.” He gives Miles a half grin.

“They wouldn’t have accepted that. They’d be upset with you.”

“What would they do? Disbar me?” Phoenix jokes. Miles looks like he’s trying not to crack a smile at the joke. It’s a joke at Phoenix’s expense, but the pain of the event has been numbed by time, and the joke is made to Miles.

“I suppose there wasn’t much they could do at that point, no,” Miles agrees, “It would’ve been easier to have gotten it from you personally. I had to pull some strings to get it.”

“And you didn’t tell me.” Phoenix brings up again.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“I thought you’d want it back.” Miles answers honestly.

Phoenix looks back down at the pin, his pin. He can see himself, six or five or even three years ago, finding out that Miles had his pin and begging the man to give it back to him. It had meant so much to him. Its absence had meant even more. It wasn’t as if he would’ve been able to do anything more with it than Miles had been doing; he’d have stuck it in a drawer, and on his worse days he would’ve pulled it out and cried over the small piece of metal.

Maybe if he’d found out a few years earlier, he would’ve been upset at Miles for not telling him, for keeping this from him. It was his badge, after all.

But now, seeing it placed in the top drawer of Miles’ desk where he could quickly open it and look at it whenever he’d wanted to, it fills Phoenix with something warm. This whole time, it hadn’t been locked away somewhere, or handed off to some rookie, or tossed away. It had been with Miles, watched over, polished, kept safe.

“Thank you.” Phoenix puts it back into the shelf, closing the drawer. The anticipation finally leaves Miles to be replaced with relief.

“It was my pleasure.” Miles smiles, and Phoenix returns it.

oOo

A lawyer doesn’t cry until it’s over.

For seven long and painful years, through even terrible twist and turn in the road, Phoenix hadn’t cried. Oh, he’d come close several times. Times where everything had started to get to him, when his chest had shaken with the sobs he so desperately wanted to let out, when he was reminded that he wasn’t a lawyer anymore, that the rule wasn’t his rule anymore. And yet the tears never came. His face stayed dry. And he’d rise again to carry on.

The packet comes in the mail ten months after the test.

It’s thick and heavy. He’s home alone, Trucy at school and Apollo doing some last-minute preparation for a trial. Sometimes it seems like the kid has better luck getting clients than Phoenix ever did.

He knows what the packet is the moment he sees it in the mail slot. He feels numb as he carries it to his apartment. He considers waiting to open it, but that seems like putting himself through unnecessary cruelty.

There’s a knife in the kitchen and he grabs it so he can cleanly slice open the top. It feels wrong to rip into it like an animal.

His shoulders shake as he slips the knife under the flap, his eyesight becomes blurry as he cleanly cuts across the top.

Win or lose, pass or fail, Phoenix thinks he knows how Godot felt at that trial. He imagines that if someone was watching him with the magatama, they’d see a final psyche-lock, placed firmly there when Phoenix had first started to close himself off for the war against Gavin, break apart.

Alone, in his apartment, for the first time in seven years, Phoenix cries.

It finally feels like it’s over.

[smolbeandrabbles]

Try It On, Take It Off - Orson Krennic x Reader (Rogue One)

100 Sentence Challenge Request

Orson Krennic + 95 -  “Have I mentioned, I fucking hate Halloween.” Requested by @mysticaltimemachinewench

Author’s Note: Roll with the idea of Halloween and October 31st being things in the Star Wars universe just for this fic, please! This boy is so whiny, I spent all week writing for him last week and he’s still like “write more!” so, I thought I’d post one. It’s because he’s all the bottom of my drafts now I’m sure of it. Boots & Boys - Kesha  Okay, so I was looking for songs to do with dressing up. And I found a bunch of cute love songs about wearing your SOs clothing, but... This one is fun and I needed fun for the premise-!

Disclaimer: Rogue One Characters/SW Universe not mine. / Requested  premise / lyrics & gifs not mine.

Premise: Every Halloween it’s the same thing, and Krennic is sick of people dressing like him. This year he’s determined to get to the bottom of things...

Words: 2010

Warnings: Swearing / Sexual connotations/Pre-Amble

_____

Think it's time that I mention I've got myself an obsession For the smell, for the touch I know I've got myself a habit But I gotta have it now I don't care where, work it out Let me break it down I try it on, I take it off So what you got? Something 'bout boots and boys They bring me so much joy I gotta say I wear 'em both so pretty as I walk in the city Give me boots and boys I'm keeping quite the collection Take nothing less than perfection My men drop beats like a bomb Wind me up, spin me round Oh, lookie what I found (ooh!) I'm crazy for you, crazy for you Hey hey, whatcha looking at? Hey hey, something you can't have They've got me looking rad You feeling that?

---

October 31st was always a date Krennic hated seeing in his calendar. The Death Star had not been a project spanning months by any stretch of the imagination. Orson was many, many years into this – and he was now accustomed to his workers Halloween traditions. He couldn’t say it wasn’t one of the reasons he was glad that it was nearing completion. That, and he might finally get the recognition he deserved. At least for now he had you. Given, you were relatively new to the project when he looked at the timeline as a whole, but you were certainly a necessary piece – and Krennic actually liked you. A lot of the other employees, if he were honest with himself, he actually could have done without. Which is probably why you’d grown close – and then maybe a little too close. But Orson wasn’t going back on that now. This was the day Krennic didn’t want to leave his office – inevitably, it was also the day that everyone would have him chasing all over the structure. Why? Oh, because they all knew how much he hated today too! So as soon as the email pinged in from the other side of the Death Star, Krennic tried everything he could to get them to come to him, or to send him documents, pictures, anything that meant he didn’t have to go on an annoyingly long walk. Orson used practically every persuasive trick in the book, to no avail. Eventually he had to concede rising from his desk, sighing angrily, and gathering his things to head to the problem. Almost immediately he was assaulted with the kind of visuals he’d become accustomed to. It seemed every other person on this damned vessel took today to dress up as him. Now, whilst dressing in the full white Intelligence Bureau tunic would have been against protocol and would have meant he could reprimand them, everyone decided to wear capes of various different colours instead. Some, like his, matched their uniforms – and if it wasn’t also for the fact they copied the way he walked and carried himself, with an unconvincing attempt at his accent and speech patterns, he’d find it quite tasteful. Krennic would almost be flattered, he supposed - perhaps even feel like a trend setter – had the crew not being doing it for any other reason than to mock him. God forbid any of them attempt Lexrulian; one day it was going to make his ears bleed. Others decided to wear their ‘capes’ in the gaudiest colours imaginable, and sometimes Orson felt like he was going to be physically ill just staring at them.

Still, technically all of this was against regulation – and although he probably couldn’t take on the entire staff and win, he took pleasure in chastising those he disliked most. “Isn’t that a little against your uniform regulation?” “Take that off now – before I have you reported.” “Next time I catch you in something like this, you’re off the project.” Annoyingly, he could never keep how irked he was out of his voice – and they took great joy out of that, and never bothered hiding it. When they did take these ridiculous attempts at mocking him off (Though it worked. He supposed.), Krennic knew they’d be pulled back on before he rounded the next corner – but for now at least, Orson could be smug in his little bit of power. The fact he could actually force the crew to remove them. He often pondered how this started. Tarkin, he had no doubt. Krennic wasn’t going to blame himself after all, he knew his uniform looked damn good. He just wasn’t fool enough to think this was respectful admiration. Eventually he reached the person who emailed him and, as predicted, it was an easy fix that Krennic could have done in less than five minutes on his tablet back in his office. The Director almost punished them on the spot for that, but by this time was already too pissed off with the situation to trust himself not to lose complete control. Not that that didn’t happen a lot, especially when everything was stalling – but today that was what everyone wanted. ‘If I see another bad attempt at ridiculing my uniform I’ll scream…’  Orson’s jaw was beginning to ache with the way he was tightening it. Half way back to his office, Krennic took a detour. By now he really was yelling at people – Orson was this close to drawing weapons and kicking them off the station, Project Stardust be damned. Desperately seeking respite, he wandered back to his quarters and as the corridors began to quieten, scuffled along in his boots, sulking. ‘What did I ever do to deserve this-!?’ Reaching the door to his room, Krennic gave a small smile – he would receive relief in here. Well at least she will be sweet... I can tell her my frustrations and she’ll sympathize… As Krennic keyed himself in and the door slid open, he realised just how wrong he could be. You were walking up and down the main room and studying yourself in about every reflective surface you could find. If this wasn’t you, Krennic would have blown it, and immediately all his irritations came flooding back. You were, of course – with access to his wardrobe - pacing around in his uniform. Full Intelligence white, rank bar included. Sure, the sleeves were rolled up – which pained him because it’d take an age to get those creases out - and the cape was a little long for you, but, you had the whole thing on, right down to the boots. Usually Krennic might smirk and call you out on wearing his clothes, after all you did look good in his tailored shirts. Any other day of the week he’d probably be pretty turned on right now. But NOT today. As the door slid closed behind him and beeped locked, you whirled around. The cape moved with you and your eyes fell to it; immediately distracted. Krennic’s uniform was gorgeous on him, but the feeling of power you got when wearing it for yourself was indescribable. You liked running your hands over it – the feeling of the fabric between your fingers very nearly bordering obsessive with your need to do it at every chance you could; it was so perfectly weighted that, in all honesty, the tailoring was a marvel to you. You always made a mental note to thank the designers and sewers for their impeccable work. (On Orson’s entire wardrobe, actually.) “Director.” You presented yourself and looked back to him, “What do you think?” Orson very nearly shivered, and if he wasn’t so pissed he’d probably have let himself. That was Lexrulian – and compared to everything else he’d heard today, was very nearly music to his ears. “What are you doing-!?” There was a snap in the undertone of his voice – agitated, to match the way his jaw tightened. You answered cheerily, nonetheless. “It’s Halloween. So, I’m you! I mean you could be me if you wanted, but I’m not sure the uniform would fit-!” You giggled slightly at the mental image of him in your tight black jacket – no, maybe it wouldn’t fit properly, but it might look really good. If only for a second. Although Krennic was glaring at you by now. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, is all this YOUR idea-!?” For a moment you looked innocent, “No! You mean the fact everyone else does it? I didn’t start it, but I felt I could damn well finish it. Besides, LOOK!, I can do it better than everyone else!” “No! No! Y/N-!” You scrambled up onto the table, and cleared your throat. It was clear to Krennic you’d been practicing, because you had his stance down and his mannerisms almost perfect. He was almost impressed. “The POWER we are dealing with here is immeasurable! Single reactor ignition would be just an inkling of it’s true destructive potential! And I will not fail!” He blinked slowly, thinking you were mixing up at least three of his previous conversations there. There was a long pause before Krennic stepped forward, pointing at you. “GET. DOWN! Do you have any idea how expensive that table was-!?” “Awwww, Orson, c’mon!!” “I’m NOT impressed, GET DOWN!” “Baaabe.” “Don’t whine..!” You backed up just out of his reach, even your best innocent eyes weren’t saving you today – he must have been furious. “But it took me so long, I’ve tried on all the variants, I tried on your dress uniform even-! And it isn’t complete without the cape, and the rain one doesn’t have a patch on the glory of this one!! I thought it wouldn’t drag if I put on my heeled boots, but that didn’t get the look right either! And it’s you – so, it had to be perfect…” Your eyes glittered gently as you tried to plead with him, “I thought if I did it properly, it might make you smile. That it might be more… respectful. I dunno I-” He cut you off, demanding, “OFF. THE. TABLE.” “Well, what are you gonna do-!?!” Krennic was quick on his feet, and even though you’d backed yourself up he still managed to grab your wrist and drag you down. You might have been in his uniform, but you were nowhere near his height; and you might have had his traits down, but you didn’t have his strength either. Meaning within seconds he had you shoved up against a wall – with a squeak – before his lips were on yours, wrists pinned by your sides. He might have been angry, but that only made this kiss hotter, and you practically melted into him. Orson was showing you absolutely no mercy – and you weren’t sure if you really deserved it, but you were at least a little glad of it. Eventually he pulled away from you; leaving you gasping and panting for breath. But you whined, wanting more from him. “Have I mentioned, I fucking hate Halloween.” Krennic had, many a time. Which is one of the reasons you wanted to do this, because he might feel a little better if you were doing it right. Clearly you were in the wrong ballpark. You thought about nodding in admittance, but thought maybe continuing to be playful would get you what you wanted. “Don’t think you did – maybe you did. You should remind me.” “Oh, I think I will.” His smirk was back as you let him run his hands through the fastenings of the tunic and unzip your pants. Oh, yeah, he wanted this uniform off bad. You bit your lip, “It does look sexy on you though, is it surprising everyone wants to copy it? I mean I like trying it on and taking it off.” Orson nipped your neck, eliciting a gasp from you; “Evidently I might too.” Then he chuckled at your sigh, running his hands over your warm skin, “That doesn’t make me hate today any less. I mean it’s hardly tribute, is it?” You tipped your head, “I mean, I tried.” “Oh, don’t think I didn’t hear that mocking tone.” He grazed his lips to yours, and it was hardly rewarding, you pined for more but he held you away from him – still immobilized against the wall, “Still, I’ll admit so much… you do look very pretty in white.” You did very nearly blush, but knew that his mind wouldn’t be going to something as virtuous as weddings or dresses; probably a different kind of white lace altogether. “Can I keep the cape at least?” Maybe he’d enjoy you wearing that and very little else. That would be like a ‘sexy’ Halloween costume, would it not? Even if it was just for him. Maybe that’s what Krennic needed if he detested today so much. He growled, kissing you again before you let him slide the jacket from your shoulders and it fell to the floor; “If you’re good, we’ll see.”

--- Thank you very much for reading! It’s been a while since Krennic has been posted too, I’ll admit! 🙏❤

2/16 down!

[userseokkie]

Met Gala, Stony, 2.3k

In honor of the Met Gala tonight, I whipped up this quick fic. It’s so self indulgent but it’s fluffy and short. No smut, but I might be persuaded to do a follow up. Enjoy!

***

The flashes of the cameras were the first thing Tony could notice even before the limo rounded the corner. The paparazzi were swarming the entire entrance and media vans were parked well down fifth. 

While Happy was busy cursing every poor reporter that dared get in the way and mumbling god knows what, Tony checked his phone one last time, thumbing a quick email before sliding it back in his pocket. He glanced over at Steve. 

“You know, if you’d only let Carla style you-” 

“I’m fine, Tony. What? This is just a gala.” Steve peered out the window, his brow pinching slightly the way it always did when he got nervous.

“Jesus, I already told you, this isn’t just another gala, this is the Met Gala and Anna trusts me to carry this event-” 

“Just say it. Just admit you’re embarrassed by me and that I’m hideous and not worthy of being your date,” Steve said with that deadpan tone he used, and god his jaw could cut through glass. Tony bit his lip unconsciously, trying to get rid of inappropriate thoughts. This outfit was too tight to be getting hard.

Through the honking, Tony shrugged and smiled despite his efforts. “You know you’re the only one who could be my date, stud.” 

Steve’s eyes softened, a glint on his blue eyes as they focused on Tony. 

“I mean, Natasha and Clint are going together, Thor is bringing Jane and I’d have more luck convincing Bruce to smoke up with me than bringing him to one of these things. You were the only one left, obviously.” 

“Tony.” Steve rolled his eyes. “I just don’t see what the big deal is, we go in, we have dinner, we donate some money to keep the museum funded.” 

Tony was about to object to how Steve casually referred to 1.5 million as some money, but their car came to a stop. “We’re here, boss.” Happy announced. 

Steve looked at him once more, an expectant look on his face. “Do I really look bad?” 

The theme for this year was Manus x Machina: Fashion in an Age of Technology, which, duh. Of course it was important, when Anna had called Tony and asked him to host, it was a no brainer. This was practically made for the Futurist, and the media had gone ballistic when they announced Tony was co-hosting. This entire thing was built on the Mark LVII. Not to toot his own horn, but Tony had really outdone himself with this one. 

Dragging his gaze up and down the super soldier in front of him, it was hard to be objective. But Steve certainly didn’t look bad, he just looked... like himself. The Met Gala was meant to go outside your comfort zone and push the envelope on what fashion meant, if Jan had taught Tony anything, it’s that fashion is for the brave and bold. And he was anything if not ballsy. Steve, however, in his all black suit, head to toe Dior, looked like a devil put on Earth to tempt Tony into unspeakable acts. Did it scream fashion and technology, though? No, it didn’t. 

“Honey bunch, you look like sin incarnate.” Tony slid across his seat, making to get up. He leaned in, grabbing onto Steve’s bicep for support. “And I’ll make sure to let you know just how crazy you are making me with that outfit right after this thing is over.” His whisper made Steve shiver, and when he looked at his face, Tony could laugh at how big Steve’s pupils had become. He counted it as a win. 

He slid his sunglasses on and turned to the door. “But now, it’s showtime.” 

***

The steps in the main entrance were covered in a plush red carpet that felt thicker than some floors, and Steve appreciated the decoration lining up each side. People must have worked real hard for this event. 

“Tony! Tony, over here!”

“Tony, who’re you wearing?” 

The photographers were going nuts over Tony. Steve could swear a woman had fainted in the entrance. 

“This is a Stark original, darling,” Tony drawled, and twirled to let them get a good look.

And boy, was it a sight for sore eyes. 

The celebrities coming in were starting to gather around, some walking slower to let the photographers get a good shot, some talking with the cameras over on the steps. But not a single person had so many people focused on them as Tony. He had worked with those designers real hard, and what they’d come up with was a piece of pure technological genius that managed to look amazing and unreal at the same time. 

Nanotech, Tony had called it. Steve had sit through the entire explanation about the nanotubes and how Tony “would be damned before he let another ant sized fucker get into his suit,” but he’d only use it to design a new Iron Man armor until last year. When he received the news he’d be hosting the Met Gala, Tony had called one of those world famous designers and they’d work on this outfit for seven months. Versace, Steve thinks. 

The result was a nanotech armor that felt like fabric and looked like fabric, with the density of a hair and the resistance of a Falcon 9 spaceship. The suit managed to look slick and bulletproof at the same time, and well, the way it hugged Tony’s ass was reason enough to be here. 

Steve saw Tony’s arm reaching for him, and he walked up to join him in front of the cameras. “Dazzle them, Steve.” Tony grinned at him, and Steve felt his heart grow a little bit. God, he loved this man so much. 

The flashes were getting a bit too overwhelming for Steve, the way they always did, but even he had to admit it felt kinda good to have Tony on his arm and the whole world to see them. He had always admired Tony’s philanthropic nature and his tech genius, and the world needed to admire it too. 

“A kiss, give us a kiss!” 

The guys with the cameras egged them on, and since Tony liked to put on a show so much he figured he could do this for him. Tony looked at him and shrugged slightly, as if saying “it’s your call, Cap.” 

Good thing Steve’s reflects were so fast. He slid his arm behind Tony’s back and with the other one he held his left hand, putting his leg behind Tony’s thighs quickly.

The photographers started dog whistling and cheering when Steve swooped Tony and dipped him into the ground, kissing him softly. 

He felt Tony sighing and his lips parting, and it took all of Steve’s will to keep the kiss short and sweet, instead of doing what he really wanted to do. But he couldn’t resist swiping his tongue over Tony’s plush bottom lip once. 

He parted the kiss, but remained with Tony dipped like a princess for a second. The chocolate eyes he loved melted and blinked up at him. “Woah, you’re pulling out all the tricks tonight, Captain.” Steve felt inner pride swell at Tony’s slightly dazed expression when he said that.  

“Well, I have to make up for my terrible outfit, don’t I?” 

After that, they continued their stroll down the entrance, stopping to talk to reporters and saying hi to some of the other guests. Tony stopped to talk with George Clay? George Crowley? Whoever, he was familiar from that movie they went to see last month. 

“Hey, Steve,” A voice behind him said. “You look awfully ordinary today.”

Natasha came with Clint in tow, as Tony had said. Her red dress reminded Steve of a knight’s chainmail, but he couldn’t tell if it was made from the same material. “Nat, you look like a fairy tale. Where’s the charming prince?”

“Hey, right here.” Clint piped in. Well, he was wearing a suit just like Steve was. Except he had put on a type of metal prosthesis over his arm. Great.

“No, really, where is he?”

“Very funny, Cap,” Clint punched him with his metal arm. “You might wanna stop the banter and make sure someone doesn’t steal your man.”

Natasha arched an eyebrow, looking over his shoulder. 

Steve turned around to see Tony chatting with a different guy from the movie actor. This man was tall and blonde and- well, he looked like a real dickhead if Steve was being honest. But Tony didn’t seem to mind, as he was deeply in conversation telling a very entertaining story, judging by the man’s laugh. 

He shrugged. “I might have to take some measures.” 

Nat smiled at him, knowing he was joking, and pat him on the shoulder. “I’m sure he can fend by himself any potential suitors.” 

“Hey, did you see Thor?” Clint turned his head, cackling. “Holy shit, he’s gonna start summoning thunder soon.” 

And Thor was a few meters behind them in the main photo stand with Jane by his side, the media couldn’t get enough of him. He was swinging Mjolnir around, his cape glistening with the camera flashes. 

“Hey, that’s cheating.” Steve frowned. “He’s just wearing his regular battle outfit.”

“Well, how much fashionably avant garde can you get when you’re an Asgardian god?” Natasha tilted her head. “I think they look cute.”

“Yeah, just wait til he pours a storm over them. One of the paparazzi almost pushes Jane out in the curb.” Clint said. 

Tony appeared right beside Steve, his suit catching the light. “Hey Barton, lost your Robocop helmet back there?” 

“For your information, this is Armani. Not all of us can get a custom made armor suit.” 

“Miss Romanoff,” Tony kissed Nat’s hand. “You look particularly deadly today.”

“Thank you, Shellhead. I was going for that.” 

A reporter asked them to pose for a group photo, and then when Thor joined them they had to go through another eight rounds of posing for every media outlet in existence. Steve was getting a little bit antsy, but luckily the dinner came after this. He could eat. 

The darlings of the night were Tony and Nat, obviously. They posed for some duo photos and Steve had to admit, the sight of the two of them together could probably turn any man or woman, no matter the sexuality. 

Nat’s firey red hair was styled into a short, disheveled bob with bangs reaching her mid forehead. Her dress, now that Steve had seen it properly, was part dress and part chainmail indeed. She looked stunning. 

But Tony, Tony was on a whole new playing field. Right after the announcements and the opening speech, the media asked for some last photographs. Tony humored them and as the crowd rose into applause, he tapped something in the arc reactor (or nano case as he had called it), and the suit transformed right before them.

Steve had seen the way the tubes formed over Tony’s body many times, how it looked almost like a living entity, swallowing Tony, spreading around him to protect him. He must admit, he had been a weak man more than once and dragged Tony right after a debriefing into the nearest closet or conference room and, well. Let’s just say it’s incredibly easy to fuck someone wearing nanotech tubes, as they need to just open up around the right parts. 

And now the crowd was going crazy with it. The suit formed arm gauntlets, and then in the back, something that resembled the flight stabilizers that the armor often had came up, forming a circle of long spikes framing Tony’s head, with an almost regal nature. The suit went from a steel gray to the classic red and gold colors, and Tony smiled. Steve was getting as hyped as the crowd with this, honestly. 

“He’s born for this, it’s ridiculous,” Steve heard Clint say behind him. He thought of other adjectives rather than ridiculous, but whatever. 

***

The dinner was good, but it wasn’t shawarma or some greasy spoon’s cheeseburger. “God, I’m so getting burgers after this,” Tony mumbled, placing the fork and knife over his plate in a cross. 

“Tell Thor that, he just asked for doubles and the head chef had to come and tell him they don’t do ‘doubles’,” Steve chuckled next to him.

Things had been surprisingly well. The exhibition was exquisite, as always. Tony had to go find Anna for the final speech, but things were sailing smoothly. 

“Hey, how are you holding up?” Tony placed his hand over Steve’s on the table, turning to glance at him. “I’ve been so busy mingling and being the MC, I hadn’t checked up with you.” 

Steve smiled at him, nodding. “I get it, don’t worry. You’re the main attraction. I’ve been perfectly alright just sitting back and watching you.” 

Tony definitely did not blush at that. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, it’s easy to just stand back and look pretty when you have the experience.”

Steve put his hand on Tony’s thigh under the table, squeezing slightly. “Yes, it is. But I might have to stop sitting down and be right behind you, like a bodyguard. What with all these men coming after my fella.” 

Tony snorted. “Like a bodyguard, huh? Like Whitney Houston and Costner?”

“Have we seen that one?”

“No, I don’t think you have,” Tony tried to remember. “Doesn’t matter. It doesn’t end well for them.”

Steve’s hand felt warm and solid even over the nano layer of the suit. 

“But yeah, I might have to step up. I’d hate to cause scene at this fancy event, though.” Steve said, looking at Tony sideways. His smile was charming as ever.

“Captain?” Tony arched an eyebrow. “Are you getting jealous over here?”

Steve lowered his head, looking down at his hand on Tony. “I mean, I can’t blame them. You’re a vision in that outfit tonight.” 

Tony felt himself getting hot under the collar. Steve praising him always did things to him, weird, mushy things, dammit. 

“Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.” Tony peered at Steve through his eyelashes. “Remember what I told you in the car? Cause I’m good on my word, soldier.” 

He enjoyed so much getting Steve riled up in public. His lips parted slightly, his eyes always widened and his jaw started clenching when he tried to control it. Steve never looked more attractive.

“Well, you better sweetheart. Because I have some ideas for this suit of yours.” Steve said quietly, his hand moving higher up Tony’s thigh and squeezing right before taking it away and turning his body, acting like nothing had happened.

Tony almost combusted. Right before he could suggest taking things to the restroom, he heard a voice in the speaker call his name. It was Anna. 

Dammit, time for the closing ceremony. 

Steve chuckled as he made his way up the chair. “You’re so paying for this, Steve,” Tony said, getting up behind him. 

“I sincerely hope I do,” Steve replied, biting his lip. He put his hands on Tony’s shoulders and patted him, a big smile on his face. “Now go get them, tiger.” 

Tony was adding this to the list of Reasons Why Steve Isn’t America’s Boyscout And He Has Everyone Fooled.

[datarevived]

   -- Ⅱ : ɪᴋᴏʀᴀ ʀᴇʏ

" I'm Selene. "

" Selene? Nice to meet you, Selene. "

A travel that rounded a corner and several steps downward, it didn't take but less than a minute for Hawthorne to guide the Awoken to their next destination. The details of the Warlock's desk coming to a better view, numerous books and files stacked upon its' surface, decored with strange artifacts and carved symbols at its' pillar. Jars of random substance seem to speckle the desk with various meaning, while several arm bands scattered between that of the floor and piles of books. Crates - some open, some not. 

The Warlock, herself, seemingly invested in a single piece of paper in hand - her back angled in favor of the two. Their steps overshadowed by the banter of other civilians and ships in the sky.

" It seems the Traveler hasn't abandoned us yet, " Hawthorne calls out in their approach. 

The mention of the sentient provoked the others' full attention as occupied hand drops from eye view, turning present and setting the paper aside - carefully noting its' weight to the wind as she pinches a corner of it beneath one of the plentiful books. 

" Hawthorne. To what do I owe the pleasure, " the Warlock smiled.

" Eh, you know. Figured I'd take a more respectable approach instead of callin' out from my post, " Hawthorne teased, her head nudging along with her words. " Not for my sake, mind you. But Selene's here, " she then motions a hand at the Awoken. " A new Light the boys found out in patrol. "

" A new Guardian? " Ikora inquires, her voice teetering betwixt astonishment and surprise. " Even now, with light so dim, the Traveler still... " her head turns, attention rested upon the giant structure in the distance -- its' mass still coiled in Cabal roots. " ...There may be hope, after all. "

Her words and actions resulted in a look of confusion upon the Awoken's face. Brows dampened in a set of worry -- what did she mean, there may be hope? A pressured feeling in ones' chest as a hand is raised over tattered shirt, still stained by the dirt of the forest. Several thoughts pacing at once in a dizzy mess. Nearly impossible to pluck a single sentence from the bunch - an information overload.

" We've had what, a few dozen since the blackout? " Hawthorne shrugs, crossing her arms back at her chest. " No tellin' how many more are out there. "

" You mean Guardians...? " Selene finally speaks.

" Yes, " Ikora turns back to their view, locking her arms behind her back as she examined the other. The youth... the lack of understanding. One of the worst times for Guardians, she felt - the state of acceptance. " You are... recent, correct? I'm sorry, " she shakes her head, " For getting ahead of myself. My name is Ikora Rey, and it is a pleasure to meet you. "

" S-Selene, " the Awoken nods, her glance briefly driving by Hawthorne then back to the Warlock. " I... I woke up in a pit. Out in the forest, somewhere from here before the Ghost found help. A man brought me here - to her, " she notions to the other, " I... forgive me that I'm still a little... lost... "

" I told her not to stress it too much, " Hawthorne chimes in, offering a lighthearted smile. " Told her if there's anything she needs while adjusting, she can ask me or my crew. Mentioned the Vanguard and how this place works - you n' big blue. Cayde, eh. Said she wanted to meet you first. Figured it wasn't the worst idea. "

" Quite possibly the smartest she'll make in some time, " Ikora chuckles, turning her eyes back upon the Awoken. " But yes, I am of the Vanguard. I specialize in mentoring those who look to empower themselves in the ways of a Warlock. Though that is not a decision you must make right away. Not that I wouldn't mind the company... but we are in quite dire times right now, Guardian. "

A sudden tension grips at the three in audience, and with it, Hawthorne merely shakes her head. Her stare falling short as she looked back out to the skies,  pastel-painted clouds shadowing in the nightfall just enough to proc the lanterns that began to light up the City. The light hum as those lanterns around the Bazaar began to ignite, as well - Ikora and Selene's heads tilting in watchful eye.

" Haven't really gotten to that part yet, " Hawthorne admits, her expression tapped against a screen of sympathy. " Lot to take in, as is. But this fight... I'm only part of it. You can probably tell it better than I can. "

" Fight? "

A shallow sigh is carried over the exchange of words, the Warlock then turning her back once more as she stared back up at the Traveler. A moment of silence as she collected her thoughts, preparing what every Guardian had the rights to know in their turn of new life.

" We are amidst a War. Something that never seems too out of reach these days..." she begins, her chest rising in stalled breath. " This time, against the Cabal threat, who currently hold the Traveler and its' blessing hostage. Their leader, Ghaul, wishes to take its' power for himself. And in the process doing so, attacked our home and killed many of our kin. We first lost our Light, and in following, did we lose friends... family... civilians... Guardians... " 

All the while, Hawthorne and Selene stood in silence. To one, a story she had lived and heard plenty of times in counting. To the other, a horrific altered fairy-tale in which the hero slain and the villain a victor. 

" Even now, the Vanguard falls short of being whole. And while some Guardians were lucky, able to retrieve their full potential... not all can be said the same for others. A blessing in disguise, really, that those borne to new Light have the advantage, " Ikora hums, twisting her body back around and approaching several steps toward Selene. 

The hesitant silence shakes the nerves of the Light as she awaited her to speak again. Surely it wasn't a prompt for her to follow with her own words. Just what was the Warlock expecting her to say -? The weariness of ones' anxiety pulls the Awoken's gaze elsewhere, resting at the woman's boot as she gripped opposing wrist in habit - again, digging nails at revived flesh --

  -- interrupted by the movement of ones' hand resting upon her shoulder. 

Selene's gaze snapping back up in fit of panic, meeting back at the ambers' of the Warlock as if to ask ' why '. Ikora gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze in response, offering the new Light a soften smile, an attempt to calm her down.

" We can never ask a Guardian to fight a war they don't deem their own. Neither will the Vanguard ever expect you to do something you do not wish to, " she assures, offering a brief nod. " You were chosen by the Traveler for something special. A purpose that only you can do. Whether that means on the front lines, or in the back of a shop making the juiciest bowl of Ramen that'll send Cayde to the secondary Moon of Venus and back - well, who knows. "

" That's some mean ramen, " Hawthorne chuckles. " I'd try it. "

The reassurance, followed with making light of the situation, it eased Selene just enough that her grip lessened to mere fingertips - still laced around her wrist in non-threatening demeanor. Her heart racing just a little slower, this time. A breath of air -- relief. The tightness of ones' throat slowly melting back into reason.

" I don't know... anything about war, or this fight - Guardians. I don't even... I don't even know how to use a gun, " the Awoken stammered, raising her shoulders in pensive debate as her head shook in doubt. " I don't understand what any of this.. means, I just - I don't.. -- "

" --And that is fine, " Ikora squeezed again, tilting her head some to be presently eye level with the other. " It's fine. We all learn. We all help. Very few Guardians retain the ability to just go out and have a field day the moment they are brought back for the first time. Being without knowledge is not uncommon, and that is why here in the Tower, we offer every effort we can to teach those Chosen so that they can make their life their own again. So long as you are willing... I am certain there will always be someone much older, much wiser, that will tell you anything and everything you want to know and learn. "

Willing to learn... would she be? 

Lip bitten under her breath, Selene mulls over the statement a moment. More importantly, focusing on ones' ability to breath proper - in, then out. Chest fluttering against the caressing winds of night. Perhaps more a draft than necessary, the holes still apparent from when she had fell.

" ...I know it is hard to adapt, Guardian, " the Warlock's voice pinches the air again, removing her hand from shoulder as she takes a step back. " It certainly isn't easy to start... but over time, things will become much easier, I assure you." 

  a pause.

" How about it? We'll get you some new clothes, a place to rest. Take as long as you need, then come back to me. I will answer what questions I can, and tell you anything you wish to know. --And, if it's something you'd wish to do... which, even to civilians I highly recommend for their own safety... I can teach you to use a gun. Maybe something even more so. "

Fingers twitch upon rested wrist as the Awoken collects the exchange of words, her gaze then lifting back to meet Ikora's head on. A single nod - an agreement made, and her attention is then tangled back to Hawthorne. A non-verbal ' thank you ' for sticking around as she drops the hand from other arm, straightening her posture with an exhaled breath. 

" I... y-yes, " finally comes the seal of the deal. 

Ikora responding in kind with a smile as she pulls a hand from her back and motions back over to Hawthorne, " I have no doubt that Hawthorne will get you settled in. Should there be any discrepancy, do let me know. "

" Yes'mam, " Hawthorne grins, giving the other woman a two-finger salute before turning on a heel and ushering Selene over with a list of preference fabrics. The two quickly making a departure from the Warlock's territory, the Vanguard turning her own steed back towards the Traveler with an expressive plant of worry.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Something More (Prompt fill)

A reader requested: “we’ve been sleeping together on and off for almost a year and i know it’s angry hate sex but i got you a little gift because it reminded me of you” for Indruck.

Content notes: No actual sex, but references to past sex. Mentions of alcohol, and of the duo using less than ideal coping mechanisms (don’t worry, it all works out.)

This day has been absolute shit.

His lab was a disaster, he’s spilled coffee all over his shirt, and his attempt to talk a professor into a second go at an exam was not successful.

Yep, Duck is having the kind of day when he’s so frustrated he could scream. 

Which is why he’s climbing the stairs to Indrids apartment. 

The two of them met last October at one of Aubrey’s parties. They’d gotten along fine, Indrid even seeming a bit flirty, until the topic of fate and destiny had come up. Duck, four drinks deep, had snorted at the idea, pointed out that fate was just what naive people called luck and chance. Indrid, three drinks in, countered with the idea that fate was far more complicated than people assumed.

The lively debate became an argument, which became sniping at each other as someone drove them home, which turned into a lot “and another thing” on the sidewalk. 

Then it became a lot of grabbing and tugging and kissing, with some swearing thrown in for good measure.

Then it became the cold light of day, in which Indrid insisted Duck kissed him first and Duck growled that Indrid grabbed him before that. This lead to round two on the unmade bed, Indrid leaving the mother of all hickeys on Ducks neck, then Duck leaving as soon as he managed to find his pants. 

Which was how, walking out the door, he learned Indrid lived two floors above him.

It could have ended there, and they both assumed it would. But then Indrid knocked on Ducks door with Duck’s cat, Winnie, in his arms.

“I believe this is yours.”

“Why the fuck are you holdin my cat?”

“She was in my apartment! Might I suggest closing your window in the future so she can’t get out and walk all over my midterm project again?”

He put Winnie down carefully, and she chirped at the taller man before rubbing against his shins.

“Traitor” Duck muttered. She chirped at him and dashed into the house.

“Honestly, you should be careful, so many bad things can happen to cats outside.”

“Yeah, yeah, spare me the lecture.”

“I’m merely saying- oh, nevermind. An apology for her ruining my drawing would be nice, but I doubt I’ll get iMmmmphn.”

That argument had ended with Indrid being introduced to the concept of pegging while shoved over Ducks kitchen counter. 

The next had ended with them angrily making out against the washing machine in the basement after Indrid implied Duck had left his clothes in the one working washing machine on purpose (he hadn’t, he’d gotten held up at work).

After that, they stopped pretending there wasn’t something going on between them, even if the something was basically sporadically occurring hate sex. 

Duck hasn’t told their mutual friends about it. On some level, he knows that him seeking Indrid out when he needs to blow off some steam, or Indrid knocking on his door and snarking at him when he’s clearly amped up with nerves, isn’t the greatest call. But hey, it’s been a year and nothing’s gone wrong between them. 

So what if, when Duck thinks about it, he’s been to see Indrid four or five times a week since school started up again?

So what if, when he isn’t growling out curses in Indrids ear, he finds himself saying smooth or silly things that make the other man laugh brightly? So what if that laugh tugs at him like he’s an E-string?

So what if there have been times in the last few months where he hasn’t left as soon as it was over, or where Indrids poking at him has felt more forced than the sweet words that escaped him in the afterglow?

It’s fine.

He raps on the door, calling, “Hey, skinny, you home?”

Indrid doesn’t answer the door, merely calls back, “it’s open!”

Duck steps into the apartment and freezes.

“Jesus, ‘Drid, this looks like it got hit by a tornado.”

Papers, pens, brushes, and paints are strewn every which way, and Indrid is pacing, picking up papers and crumpling them.

“Yes, very observant.” He shoots a glare over his glasses, “what do you want, Duck?”

Duck’s about to make a smart remark as Indrids phone rings. The taller man takes one look at it, hits the mute button, and strides angrily into the kitchen to shove the device into the far back of the cabinet. 

“What’d your phone ever do to you?” Duck teases. 

“It’s not my phone, it’s my parents. They had some truly lovely things to say about my chosen career path, and once again offered to generously return their financial support if I go into a business major.” Indrid rips another drawing, and Duck sees the perfect place to nudge to get them heading towards what they both need.

“Dunno man, maybe you oughta take them up on it. I mean, some of this stuff is wild, looks like  damn crime scene in here with all the red you’re usin and-” His voice dies in his throat when he sees the look on Indrids face. It’s genuine, resigned hurt. As if he knew Duck would say that, but had hoped he wouldn’t.

It was too far. It was too far and he’s hurt him and he didn’t even mean it.

“Indrid, hey, I’m, I’m sorry. That was a shitty thing for me to say.”

“Go.” Indrid points at the door, voice icy in a way Ducks never heard. 

Indrid turns his back, walks the few steps to the couch and slumps down on it. If Duck could get his fucking feet to move, he’d do as Indrid asked. But he’s stuck. 

There’s a sniff, then another, and Indrids arm wipes across his face. 

Duck is, in many ways, a marshmallow. He hates seeing the people he cares about unhappy, likes being there when people need a sturdy shoulder to lean on. 

It’s that instinct he blames when he steps toward Indrid rather than away from him, eyes already scanning the ground for a box of tissues.

Indrids head whips around.

“What are you doing?” He’s hurriedly wiping under his glasses, the way someone does when they don’t want anyone to know they’ve been crying.

He doesn’t trust Duck to see him like this. 

The kind, sensible part of Ducks brain, the one that he usually lets run the show, is screaming at him to admit that he’s worried. That he cares. 

The part of his brain that’s terrified of being hurt again, that panics at the thought of letting the odd artist with the pale hair under his skin, demands he say something cruel and end the whole thing. 

Unfortunately, these two parts are so busy fighting with each other that Duck forgets to say anything. His hands are the only useful part of him, reaching into his sweatshirt and pulling out a small pack with two tissues still in it and holding them out to Indrid. 

Indrid takes them, confused. Then he turns to the end table and starts pushing papers aside.

“I um, I have something for you, its silly, but I thought, that is.” He lifts a single piece of white paper, “here.”  He hands it to Duck, then curls up on the couch.

Duck unfolds the paper. 

“2 cups broth, ¾ cup shredded Gruyere, holy shit, is this the recipe for the french onion soup from the grill?”

Indrid nods.

“How did you know to get me this?” 

Indrid sniffs with a little laugh, “Anytime we’re together for more than two minutes after we, you know” he makes a rude gesture with his hands, “you talk about how badly you’re craving that soup. I thought you might like to have the recipe. The chef was happy to share it.”

This time, Duck takes the few steps around the couch and sits down. 

“Thank you.” He says softly. 

“You’re welcome. You can go now.” There’s no bite or ice in the words this time.

“‘Drid, I’m worried about you.”

Indrid looks balefully at him, “Duck, even if you switch to being sweet and concerned, sex is not on the table at all, so if that’s what you’re hanging around for-”

“No! I, just, I ain’t ever seen you like this before.”

Indrids laugh this time is bitter, “because these moments happen when I don’t seek you out for an argument and what comes after.”

Duck literally has no idea what to say, reaches for Indrids foot where it’s tucked up on the cushions, settles it on the ratty fabric instead. 

“Believe it or not, having angry sex with you after picking some silly fight is one of the better coping strategies I’ve hit upon.”

“You started lookin for reasons to pick ‘em too, huh?” Duck says, chagrined. 

“Indeed.”

Duck scoots half an inch closer, “Why’d you get me that recipe?”

“I...I wanted to do something nice for you. I wanted to see what happened if I tried that instead of my usual approach.”

“You wanted this to be different?”

“I wasn’t sure. I tried a few times to see what would happen.”

Duck is suddenly flooded with memories of the last few months; Indrid stopping him on the stairs to ask if he wanted to get coffee later, the mysterious little box of cat toys that turned up at his door, asking Duck is he was okay more often than usual.

With dread, he pulls out his phone and flips to a recent conversation.

Indrid: What’s that band you like again? The one with the logo that’s some sort of rabbit skeleton? JackelNope? 

Duck:  Why? Feel like givin me shit for my music taste again?

Indrid: NVM

He’d seen the listing for JackelNope’s show later that day, wished he had someone to go with, passed up buying tickets because he was broke. 

“You’re were askin me to the show weren’t you?”

“Yes. I like their music, I looked it up after you mentioned it.”

Duck drops to his knees in front of Indrid, who jolts back.

“‘Drid, I been a grade-A dipshit.” He cups Indrids hands in his own, and the taller man doesn’t pull away. 

“Yes, you have. But it’s not like I’ve been much better.”

“You at least had the sense to admit maybe we could be somethin better than we been. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the sex is fuckin amazin.”

Indrid huffs out a laugh and Duck continues, “But I was dealin with a bunch of shit when me met, and I’m only sorta done dealin with some of it, and it seemed like what we had was workin for us better than anythin I tried had. But that don’t excuse the fact I’ve only show you the shitty parts of me. You don’t deserve that.”

Indrid shrugs, “Maybe I do. Duck, I’ve never had a boyfriend or a fling hang around for more than a few months. Here we are at a year. Maybe that means this is the kind of relationship I’m meant to have. It makes sense, I’m unfocused, I talk too much, I’m a failure-” His voice catches on that last word and then he’s sniffling again. Duck draws one arm around his waist, rubbing his back soothingly, and Indrids head drops onto his shoulder. 

“Bullshit” Duck murmurs, “You’re smart and you make cool shit, you got a real good sense of humor, you got the cutest smile, what’s so funny?”

Indrid is hiccuping laughs between his tears, “I knew you were secretly a sweetheart.”

“Nah, I’m a real, uh rough-tough, uh, ah fuck it.” He brushes hair from Indrids forehead, “Yeah, I’m a big fuckin teddy bear, and if I had a lick of sense I woulda been showin you that. So, uh, what d’you say, slim? Can I give bein sweet to you a go?”

Indrid sits up, looking at him with a shaky smile, “Huh, slim. I rather like that.”

“Thanks, stole it from an old movie.”

“Ooh, classy.” Duck giggles as Indrid continues, “and the answer is yes.”

“Where do you wanna start?”

Indrid leans forward, tilting Ducks chin up and kissing him chastely.

“Thought you said none of that was on the table?” Duck grins.

“Kissing is, if that’s alright with you.”

“Hell yeah it is. Uh,” he traces a finger along Indrids cheek, “can I take off your glasses?”

Indrid slips them off, folding them and placing them carefully on the table. His dark brown eyes look almost deep red in the dim light of the room

Duck’s never seen them unobstructed before.

“Ain’t you just a sight.” He sighs, cupping Indrids face in his hands and kissing him as sweetly as he dares. 

Indrid pulls him up onto the couch and Duck settles on top of him, kissing him languidly and gently, trying to make up for all the times he should have kissed him this way and didn’t.

Eventually Indrids stomach growls comically loud, and they both pull away laughing. 

“You eaten at all today?”

“No, I’ve been too anxious.”

Duck kisses his nose, “C’mon, I got some of those pizza bagels you like at my place. And uh, if you want, uh it’s five dollar movie night at the theater. We could go catch a flick.”

Indrid pulls him into a hug before brushing their noses together with a small, happy sound that Duck intends to draw out of him everyday until the end of time, and whispers, “it’s a date.”

[random-imagines-blog]

House of Cards {Hermione Lodge x Dom!Female Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3792 Synopsis: You’re a Serpent with a dominant reputation, and she was just the girl that you had grown up with then departed from. What happens when she comes to your door? Notes: Light BDSM

Your trailer at Southside was better decorated than most of the others, because you took pride in what you called your home. Your door was painted a dark shade of red, your windows were always clean and you had a small garden that you managed to grow in the dry soil nearby. Your living room was filled with artwork that you had acquired through less than legal means, and your furniture was made of the finest leather and fabrics. It was small, but it was exactly to your tastes - but there was only one thing that seemed to stand out from the rest of the decor. It was a picture of you, as a young girl - probably around the age of fourteen, with your arm around another girl your age. Oh to be young again and be able to have friends without worrying about the Serpents trying to separate the two of you. You wouldn’t ever admit it out loud, but even you - the black-hearted Serpent with a bad reputation - had a little place in your heart where Hermione Gomez - or Lodge as she was now - would live forever.

You didn’t always live in the trailer park - in fact, you grew up on the nicer side of Riverdale, where all the big homes were, the nice parks, the picture perfect families with their dark secrets. You could count them on your fingers, the Blossoms, the Smiths, the Coopers. If there was one family that put out the sunniest disposition though, and lied through their teeth, it was your own. Because of the money, the affluence and all - you grew up as a pretty happy child, though very deeply sheltered from the world. This lead to a lot of discovery later in your teens but you’ll get into that later on.

You had your friends handpicked by your parents since you were a toddler, but of course, you hadn’t known that at the time. All of the kids that you were exposed to were the children of your parents friends, and you stuck with them throughout elementary school and hardly branched out to the other kids. The person that you were closest with was the beautiful Hermione Gomez, who was already being groomed to be a trophy wife by the first grade. You two clicked instantly, and became the best of friends within a single play date. Her family became an extension of yours, your family became her second. She spent nights at your house - even on school nights when your parents weren’t too happy about the giggling that went on until midnight.

The years flew by until the two of you were fourteen and the picture had been taken at your birthday party. The theme had been Greek Mythology, and you were both wearing flowing white dresses with flowers in your hair. Except for one or two of your male classmates, the party was predominantly females, standing around your backyard eating the treats the chef had made, and enjoying the entertainment your parents had paid for. You had invited them over to a big slumber party, in which your parents graciously allowed you to use their bedroom, for their bed was a King size and could fit everyone comfortably. So you snuggled in beside Hermione, the two of you face to face in the middle, your backs to everyone else. Before you fell asleep, you felt a hand go onto your hip. Your eyes opened sleepily and you saw Hermione staring at you, holding you. You gave her your first kiss that night. You got your first rush of naughtiness at it being in bed beside a bunch of unsuspecting girls - and that your first kiss was with a girl rather than some nice boy like your parents would have wanted.

You and Hermione grew closer through that encounter. Hermione now held your hand as you walked through the halls of the school, and spent lunch hour together, sitting under the bleachers and fed each other pieces of fruit like you were royalty in an old painting. It was the best couple months of your life - but of course, everything would soon fall apart.

An awakening was in store for you, and a very rude one at that. Hermione and yourself had gotten a lot of attention because of how close the two of you were getting, and rumors had started to circle that even your parents had heard about. You had been sat down in the fancy parlor of your home, and told sternly by your mother and father that you were not to spend time with Hermione outside of school anymore. Your heart had broken, and that’s when you realized that your parents didn’t always have your best interests at heart - they only cared about their reputation, and raising someone who is a potential lesbian didn’t fit in with their agenda. Plus, on top of that, they wanted you to marry rich, they’d made that perfectly clear. It was then that you had started to rebel. It was then that your life started to change.

“Okay, now what the hell are you doing?” FP Jones asked when he caught you walking around the South Side late one night. The fact that your parents had called Hermione’s and forbid her from sneaking out to be with you after school hours had hurt you so much, you went for a walk without realizing the destination. Your instincts had guided you on where to turn, not your rationality. Why you ended up here though - you weren’t sure.

You shrugged and kept walking, and didn’t care that the teenage boy in the Serpents jacket was following you. There was enough room on the sidewalk for the both of you. “You don’t have to follow me, I’m not going to cause any shit for you.” F.P. eyed you after you said that though he kept silent. But he did keep following you until you saw a shitty looking bar up ahead - it seemed the type that wouldn’t care if there was a minor in it.

After that first initial walk with F.P. and a coke at a place called The Whyte Worm, your whole demeanor changed. You still looked longingly at Hermione during class, but she hardly looked back at you. You noticed that she started spending a lot of time with a boy named Andrews, to your dismay, and so you left her alone and tried to get on with your life. You created new friends too, with the boys on the South Side - and a couple of the girls, but you wouldn’t exactly call it a normal friendship. When your parents found out, they attempted to send you off to boarding school, but your new rebellious ways and proud homosexuality put a quick end to that. You became the disgrace of the family, and as soon as you graduated from Riverdale High, you moved into the Trailer Park and set up your life as a Serpent. You wanted to be nothing like your parents, and that was what you had accomplished.

And one day, she left her fancy penthouse, and came to the trailer park in her four inch heels and designer coat during a blustery Winter day. The look on your face when the door swung open shocked her more than a little bit. For when she thought of you, she still imagine the carefree, lovely and light you that you had been as a teenager rather than this Serpent.

“The Hermione Lodge, coming to my trailer? Despite the fact that your husband is trying to destroy our lives, you show up here?” The snort that came out of you accurately showed your feelings, though you did not let any surprise go across your features. The wind started to blow into your trailer, and brought about a cold feeling to your exposed skin. You could close the door in her face, but instead, your former adoration won out and you beckoned her to come in. You closed the door behind her, then stood in front of the photograph of the two of you that you had been looking at earlier. You had your back to it, and subtly bumped against the table it was set upon, knocking it over.

“Your trailer is ... nice,” Hermione complimented. It was obvious that she was expecting something trashy, considering where you lived, which made you roll your eyes.

“Both a TV and a toilet, aren’t I a lucky gal?” You asked, and sat down on the couch, not letting it show that you were in anyway uncomfortable. “In the neighborhood, decided to stop by, I’m guessing?”

“He’s in prison, in case you were wondering,” Hermione said, sitting opposite you on an armchair, one leg on top of the other to show off her long tanned calves.

You pointed towards the TV that you had mentioned only a few seconds ago. “It works, like I said. Or did you think that this place is so rundown that cable doesn’t run through here?” You couldn’t help but be hostile - it was the Serpent way to act out towards outsiders. Hermione counted for one, and she knew it too - she kept staring at her heeled shoes that had gotten a bit of dirt of them from outside. The fact that it was Hermione though - it made you let out a deep breath and rub your temples with your green-painted fingernails. “Expecting you would have been better than a surprise, ‘Mione. What are you doing here, of all places? This isn’t ... you.”

“All of this stuff that’s been happening ... has been hard.” Sure, you could understand Hermione’s point of view on that, but it didn’t seem like an answer. It was hard not to ask her to keep going, but you stayed silent and let her go on in her own time. “So I’ve been working hard, not leaving the penthouse much... I was feeling cooped up.”

“You came here for what ... a distraction?” Hermione seemed not to have thought this all the way through, but she nodded and eased herself back into the chair, making herself comfortable on the IKEA chair, as she no doubt had done in the past on chairs worth ten times as much. Both of you stared at one another, and you slowly started to caress the back of her hand. Usually you weren’t so gentle with women who came through that door. But Hermione wasn’t like any other woman.

“It seems I might have been thinking about the past a lot lately. It has been happening a lot, actually. No matter what goes on in my day, I fall asleep and I think of you, y/n.” On his note, Hermione turned her hand around to hold onto yours. You allowed her to do so, but didn’t squeeze back. Both of you let the silence fill the room again.

“Hermione, I am not the same naive teenager who didn’t know herself.” You said, pulling your hand back slowly from hers. “Just like you’re not the same either, clearly.” It was obvious that Hermione had changed, and she cared now about appearances more than ever. There used to be a time when the both of you would have no problem going out into the world with natural, clean faces and clothes that weren’t the most in style but you liked anyway. So maybe you still had a lot in common, even with these changes.

The look in her eyes changed, and her head tilted to the side, so she wasn’t exactly looking at you anymore. You looked in the direction that she had been staring at, and it was right into your bedroom, where some of your ... tools were on display, so to speak. You didn’t blush, or hesitate, just motioned towards the open door. “As you can see, my preference hasn’t changed but my way of doing things has. So have a look, if you like.”

But you hadn’t been anticipating that Hermione would actually take you up on that invitation. Thirty seconds later, she was off of the chair and pushing open the door to your bedroom, or what you would call your playroom. “But - how?” Hermione wondered, seeing just how much you really had changed from the gentle girl she knew. “Oh - what are these?”

You saw that she was reaching for something on your wall - a paddle, that was heart shaped. It was one of your favorites because it had a few holes drilled into the leather to ensure that there wouldn’t be wind resistance. You grabbed a riding crop out of the umbrella stand that only held such instruments, and gave Hermione a quick whack across her knuckles, showing her who is in charge here. As soon as she felt the sting, she flinched and her hand returned to her side. “You don’t get to touch, they’re my tools.”

Suddenly, defiantly, Hermione took hold of the other end of the crop. “Hey,” She said softly, while you raised an eyebrow at brashness. “You use these on women? Y/n...” Your name came out of her lips with condescension.

“Your husband never used one of these on you?” You countered. “You know, women come to me all of the time for a distraction from their problems, to get treated well by someone for once, to relieve some stress. It isn’t about the pain - and you know nothing about it, so you have no right to judge. Unless of course - you want to learn?” You asked, not being able to stop yourself from asking her. “I doubt that’s why you came here exactly, but - I don’t know what else I’m supposed to offer. Go out for a coffee? That’s not us, a serpent and ... and a Lodge.”

“I admit that I am a bit curious... I never stopped thinking about you.” Hermione admitted. You showed no emotion - that was the key to making this dynamic work. Staying in character. “Though I never thought that you would...”

“Become a Serpent? You can blame my parents for that. If they hadn’t tried to be so controlling, I wouldn’t have rebelled this hard. But it’s nice here. I’m treated with respect here, I’m valued. They don’t order me around, not even on .. jobs.” You couldn’t go further into the details, it was private Serpent Business. “You’re the one who moved on quickly though. Not even a week after we were forced to stop our relationship, you had moved on to Fred Andrews.”

“I know,” Hermione said, and was going to stop more but you stopped her by tugging the crop out of her hand.

“This isn’t a place for explanations or apologies. I’m not expecting one, I forgave you and got over it a long time ago.” You said, in a more gentle tone. “I don’t think you’re as surprised about all of this as you’re pretending. I know I have a bit of a reputation. No playing around, please.”

Hermione composed herself in front of you, straightening her back, looking you straight in the eyes in the dark room. “I ... consent. I always have.”

That was a good enough start, as you would say. Consent and trust were the two most important parts of this arrangement.

“Always?” You questioned. Hermione nodded, and slowly, she sunk down to her knees on the soft rug that took over the majority of your room, covering the uncomfortable hardwood floors - although you could always kick them to the side if you wanted to be harsh.

“It has been on my mind forever.” She admitted. You raised an eyebrow, and put the riding crop back into it’s former position without looking. You caressed Hermione’s face, resting your thumb on the middle of her chin. It was a bit difficult for you to bend over, back entirely straight, and kiss her lips, but you managed. Your mind raced with the memories of the first time that you had done that, back in your teenage bedroom. So her taste has changed - that Hiram Lodge had bittered her up. Especially with the way that she gave you such easy submission - that had been instilled in her and not in a loving way.

It didn’t take long for her to be on the bed, her back arched as you gave her permission to feel the pleasure rather than the pain and stress that she had been holding onto for so long. Hermione melted under your touch, having yearned for it for decades now. Hiram was the last thing on her mind, nor was Fred Andrews whom she had recently met with recently - only you. “Can you free me?” Hermione asked, biting on her bottom lip as you rubbed the cooling candle wax on her chest, keeping it from drying completely with your body warmth. She was revelling in the warm sensation, but even more because it was you.

“It won’t be easy to get you out, but yes.” You murmured to her, restricting her movement by tying her wrists with silk rope to the bedpost, which was already bolted to the wall to avoid banging. Honestly, you weren’t sure if it was possible but damn, you were going to try. Until the day that you died, you would consider Hermione to be yours, just like this, just as it should have been from the beginning.

Tuesdays became the night when  Hermione would venture from The Pembroke to your house in an unmarked car, telling Veronica nothing of her whereabouts. You were her little secret, and you allowed her to keep it that way. You knew that making it public would put a target on your back by Mr. Lodge, which you could not risk just yet. It had become your favorite day of the week, because it wasn’t just about the amazing sex that the two of you had, locked away in your bedroom. This relationship wasn’t built just on that, but on Hermione needing someone else to control her for a little while, advise her on what to do.

Because of Hermione sneaking away, you did have to worry about Veronica Lodge catching on. You didn’ have to worry for long - there was enough going on in Riverdale to keep the teenage girl occupied.

Well into the evening, while you and Hermione were eating the dinner that she prepared for you in your small trailer kitchen, she dropped the unfortunate news. Hiram Lodge was getting out of prison, and expected his family to be there for him, and to support him. “He really has some nerve,” You said, downing the glass of wine in one motion. “His family? Poor Hiram, he probably doesn’t even know that his wife is with someone better.”

“It wouldn’t be good to tell that to him...” Hermione said, nervously. The thought of Veronica and how this would affect her was obviously heavy on her mind. You couldn’t blame her for that. “Sleeping with you, he might forgive but knowing how I feel...”

Hermione wasn’t one to open up about her affections, so that was a bit deal to you. She nervously sipped at her wine, her hand slightly trembling, the red liquid missing her mouth and splashing up against her lips. “Hermione, how do you feel?” You asked her, setting down your knife and fork.

“You tell me.” Hermione challenged you, knowing full well that you knew the answer. Her face was pale, but started to flush. After that challenge, you stared her down, seeing just how nervous she was, and tried to pick up on her small actions to gather what she wanted to hear.

“The truth? Hermione, I think that re-connecting this last while had been really good for you.” She closed her eyes to listen to your words. “Hiram hasn’t been around to be ... well, an asshole. Veronica has been doing her own thing so you’ve had some time to yourself, and you chose to spend that with me. You’ve been smiling, I’ve noticed and other people around the town of noticed, I’ve heard things. You look so forward to coming over that you usually arrive early and wait in your car until the moment that I told you to be here, which is adorable by the way.” When she heard that, Hermione dropped her head and let her dark hair fall across her face, very much like a teenage girl. “It has been, I’m hoping, the sort of reunion that you had hoped would happen - but better. Now you’re nervous that it’s going to come to an end, that we’re going to drift away like we had before.”

You leaned in close, giving Hermione a good view of the cleavage that your wonderful bra was showcasing. “It won’t, by the way. You are too good to give up again, Hermione. The whole husband thing changes nothing. That you love me, and yes, I know you do - I feel the same way - is stronger than a marriage certificate any day.”

That meant a lot for you to say, and Hermione knew it, for she tossed her hair out of her face, and smiled. You noticed she looked like the fresh faced teenager that you knew and adored back in the day. “You should know.” She said, trying to maintain her composure, though it did usually seem to break down around you. You brought out the real person that was inside, not the Stepford wife. But you didn’t mind either side to her personality - they were both her. “Y/n... don’t let me fall back into his traps, no matter what he says.”

“He’s going to have to come here and tear you out of your bondages, which I would never allow.” A determination jumped into your voice at the very thought. Your friends, the fellow Serpents, wouldn’t allow that to happen either. You wouldn’t let his stupid expensive shoes touch the trailer park. “You’re mine. You’ve given me your trust, your respect and your heart - I’m not afraid to use my whip non-consensual on him if I had to.” You said, giving Hermione a smirk. “Now finish your dinner, my love, you need to keep your strength up for the night ahead.”

[spectrumscribe]

Okay, I just thought of this since I only actually got around to watching the other rottmnt episodes yesterday but like since they look like they'd love it (well at least Raph and Mikey) maybe have the turts spend a night with April dressing up all cute and like putting on makeup and nail polish (Maybe with them wearing old big clothes April found or owns? Or after acquiring a whole bunch of clothes through whatever means). (Mikey and Raph just really loved dressing up and I loved it too)

this one was too cute a prompt to pass on. and congrats on joining the brand new rottmnt fandom! we’re growing in numbers with every day that the proper release date draws closer. :3c

“It’s making my eyes itchy.”

“Shh, you look great. Now- keep holding still, I have tocurl them.”

“Is it gonna hurt?”

“Not if you hold still.”

“Those look like they’re going to hurt me.”

“They won’t, promise.”

“You sure?”

“I’ve used them on myself, Leo. They don’t hurt.”

Leo’s lips stay in a bracing grimace though, rigid all overwith tension as April gently curls the fake eyelashes. She giggles at howscared her friend is, considering that Leo walks around with a giant sword mostdays and has faced plenty scarier than makeup tools. He’s a total dork, justlike Mikey, who is watching the process with wide eyes; leaning on his armsover the side of the bed, looking up at the both of them.

“Soooo… does ithurt?” he asks, poking Leo’s leg.

“Nnnnooo…?” Leo says slowly, blinking as April takes awaythe curler. He’s still grimacing. “Still super itchy, though.” He blinks rapidly,testing out the lashes. “God, how do humans livewith hair on their faces like this?”

“Haha, you look so weird, Leo. I wanna go next.”

“I think I might stick with eyeliner, April,” Leo says,touching the tips of the lashes. April smacks his hand away before he canunstick the glue.

“Take a look before you decide,” April says, holding up acircular desk mirror. Leo takes the mirror from her, examining himself in it ashe turns his head side to side. The thick black eyelashes stand out against thestreaks of red markings on his face, accentuated further by the eyeliner they’dalready applied earlier; before April convinced Leo to give eyelashes a go.

“I look… soweird,” Leo says after a moment. “Turtles really aren’t supposed to have hairon their faces. It’s… kinda a nice-weird, though? Itchy, but nice.”

“My turn,” Mikeyproclaims, clambering onto the bed and shoving Leo out of the way. He percheson the comforter with an expectant expression, eager as anything. Leo grumblesand unscrunches himself from between Mikey and the wall, climbing off the endof the bed and getting some space.

“Can I have the reallythick ones? They’re glittery,” Mikey asks, pointing at the costume eyelashesApril saved from Halloween one year. “If I’m gonna have itchy eyes, I wanna getmy money’s worth out of things.”

“Sure thing, hon,” April says, opening the packet. Mikey isless fidgety than Leo had been, probably by virtue of having seen his bigbrother go through the experience first. April’s started to realize that aslong as at least one of the brothers has done something before the rest, theother three will gladly follow lead. Even if whatever they’re doing is a badidea.

They also, sometimes, feel more comfortable doing somethingafter April’s done it first. That factmakes a strange squishy spot of warmth in her chest. Her relationship with thebrothers has really started to feel closer the past months; easy andcomfortable.

April doesn’t have any blood siblings, so in a way, it’s beena novel experience having the brothers in her life. More and more, they… feellike actual little brothers to her. Sitting here in her room, her small makeup bagspread across the bed and having spent the past half hour delicately painting eachother’s faces- it feels familial and warm in a way, like they’ve doneit a hundred times before. And that’s proof enough of how close April’s gottenwith the brothers.

The appreciative noises Mikey makes to himself when he getsthe mirror, after the job is done, makes April smile fondly. “I feel like abird of paradise,” Mikey says, fluttering his new eyelashes.

“You definitely look like one,” Leo says from the floor,having moved into the same spot Mikey had been. He laughs when Mikey winksexaggeratedly, still showing off his new look.

April uncurls her legs, sighing in relief as blood flowsback into. “Aight, I’ve been sitting too long. Up, up. I gotta check if theother two haven’t made the microwave sentient yet anyway.”

Her friends do as she asks, getting out of the way andfollowing April from her room. There’s no smoke coming from the kitchen, orsounds of laser blasts, which April is steadily becoming familiar with viafriendship with Donnie- but there isthe sound of someone lecturing someone else with a frustrated tone.

“Do you see this? It’s a vegetable. You have a mouthful ofcanines. You don’t like vegetables.Carnivores do not eat carrots.”

Mayhem’s crickety voice responds with a rolling chirp.

“You. Are a carnivore. I aman omnivore. I eat carrots. You eat meat. I saw you inhale fivehamburgers in one sitting just last week. Go steal someone’s fastfood and leave my carrots alone.”

“Oh my gosh,” Mikey giggles. Leo is laughing into his palm,and April feels herself grinning. As they come into the kitchen, Donnie isstanding in front of the counter with his hands on his hips, sans his battleshell in a rare instance of vulnerability limited to only specificcircumstances. IE: spending time with his family and April in a safe setting.

Mayhem sitting in front of the scowling turtle, tailflicking back and forth playfully as they give an innocent look. There’s acollection of chewed on and spat back out carrots littering the counter aroundtheir paws.

“Are you berating my pet, Donnie? Seriously?” April laughs.

“They keep stealing the snacks,” Donnie accuses flatly,pointing at Mayhem. “They are. A thief.”

“Ohhh, and such a cutelittle thief,” April coos, coming over and petting Mayhem. They purr like alittle engine, chirping as she squishes their cheeks and scratches their big ears.

“You’re biased,” Donnie scoffs.

“They do keep my feet warm at night,” April admits happily.Leo and Mikey both ignore Donnie’s disgust with the veggie snatcher, joiningApril in giving Mayhem the attention they’ve probably been trying to get.

“Guys?” Raph asks from the next room over. “Hey, there’s afew good movies on Netflix and I dunno which-” Raph’s shell scrapes the wall ashe tries to squeeze through the doorway, and he cringes and cuts off. “Oh,shit, shit- April, I’m really sorry.”

April sees the damage done, a deep gouge into the whiteframe along with a few other smaller scratches. She just sighs, picking upMayhem and cradling the strange little creature. “It’s alright, Raph. It’snothing my cousins haven’t done already- or me, too, actually. I got up to someserious shenanigans as a kid.”

“I either bump my head or I hit the wall; your home is so tiny,April,” Raph complains, though he still looks deeply apologetic. April noticedfrom the get-go how careful her large friend has been in her home. Despite the excitementabout April’s parents being away for the weekend and the five of them gettingto hang out here, April suspects Raph is actually fairly uncomfortable movingaround in such a small, breakable space. Thus, his expression of regret and howhe’s holding all his limbs close to himself.

“It’s cool, no worries. They probably won’t even noticeanother scratch,” April promises, handing Raph Mayhem for a cuddle. Now thatthe two of them have gotten warmed up to one another, they get along just fine.After the third time Mayhem attacked Raph- back when the little creature firstcame to them- they’d come up with the hypothesis that Mayhem was mistaking Raphfor the big muscly monster guys that’d been chasing them. Some treats, a calmspace, and Raph sitting down instead of standing over them fixed that easily.

Mayhem purrs contently in Raph’s arms, easing the slightdiscomfort that’d been in his expression. Donnie, through the conversation, hasdrafted his two younger siblings for busboy services, and is sending all theirmovie snacks into the living room.

“Nice lashes,” Raph says to Mikey and Leo as they pass.

“Nice hat,” they chorus back, and Raph grins, still pleasedwith his wide sunhat. When the brothers had first arrived, they’d stumbledacross the bags of clothing donations April’s parents have been collecting fora community event. Raph, for obvious reasons, hadn’t fit a single piece ofclothing.

While the other three had been playing dress up, and while Aprilhurriedly bullshitted an essay so they could really start the fun, Raph had saton the couch and tried not to act too disappointed about being left out. Donnie,who’d been sporting a nice work jumpsuit and ill-fitting rain boots at thetime, was the one who fixed that.

“It suits you,” he’d said with purposeful kindness, placingthe sunhat on his brother’s head. It hadn’t been a beat later and Mikey and Leooffered the wealth of chunky necklaces in addition; finding a way to includetheir oldest brother in the dress up game.

Raph put the necklaces back in the end, but hasn’t takenthat hat off since it was put on his head. April has a feeling she’ll just giveit to him permanently, because Raph keeps touching its brim with a happy littlegrin.

“Can we watch this one?” Mikey asks, selecting an animatedmovie from the trending section. “It dropped like, yesterday, and I didn’t geta chance to watch it yet.”

“I saw the trailer, it looks decent,” Leo says, floppingonto the couch next to Mikey. April takes the third cushion of couch, while Donnietakes the loveseat. Raph sits on the floor, leaning carefully against the armof Donnie’s chair, so he doesn’t rip the fabric of it.

“What’s it about?” Raph asks.

“The future and robots and a generic rebel girl,” Donnie replies.“From the looks of things, at least. It’s pretty obvious from the title card.”

“What? I sent you a link, Don,” Leo says, vaguelydisgruntled. “You didn’t watch it?”

Donnie shrugs. “You send me a lot of links, Leon. I can’tclick on them all and keep up with myprojects.”

Mikey pats Leo’s shoulder as his brother sulks momentarily. “I’lljust play the trailer right now for everyone, ‘n’ then we can decide if wewanna watch.”

“No!” Donnie abruptlyshouts, lunging at Mayhem on the coffee table. He unsuccessfully picks them upand drops them on the floor in order to save the carrots, as Mayhem canteleport and tends to ignore people trying to put them where they don’t want tobe.

The trailer starts playing as Donnie tries again to shooMayhem off his carrots, only for the creature to teleport out of reach and landin April’s lap. Purring and holding a baby carrot in their mouth. Donniemutters, “I give up,” and slumps into his loveseat as his brother laugh at him.

“You are a very bad baby,” April tells them seriously, thoughshe’s smiling indulgently. They just chirrup in a distinctly unrepentant wayand spits their chewed carrot on the carpet. She’ll have to clean that uplater.

April scritches their ears with a roll of her eyes, settlinginto the squish of being on the couch with Leo and Mikey; ready for the nexthalf of their hangout night.

Commission info & Kofi link.

[khrow-shinku]

The Great War S11

D&D 5e Campaign

The Great War

 Session 11

 Our heroes get ejected out of the rook fortress once the time is up. The party makes their way back to town where something strange has happened and there are guards and people lining the streets. Turns out something had happened at the temple and orphanage. Everyone goes to check on the orphanage only to meet someone not from their realm who happens to be a part of Angra’s guild and is the new secretary of the orphanage. They also find  out some of the children were injured but are doing better. They exit the building only to find M.A.W., Tinkerman’s bear,  surrounded by guards who are all sitting in a circle around it protecting it. The party then heads to the council building and are led inside by guards where the summit meeting is still going on (apparently this shit lasts for like a month). It is there that everyone in the room turns and stares at Tinkerman.

Tinkerman noticing all the eyes are on him speaks up, “Ok, why is everyone looking at me? I was told that there was news for us so what is going on?” The speaker who is running the meeting and is from Tinkerman’s empire informs him that it has been discovered that many of the officials in the government of his country were corrupt, in fact all of them were, that were higher rank than him. Seems as though their god let everyone get emotions and control over these emotions. In doing so it enlightened everyone in the country to their leaders' corruption, they had been overcome by greed and already dismantled the one in charge of the country who built the warforged and his apprentice. For this they were all dismantled, meaning Tinkerman who is the only one left of office who can build and create their kind is now the single most important person in their empire and as such is now their ruler, and is in charge of the Clockwork Empire. Tinkerman is taken back by this but accepts his duty and vows to do everything he can for his people.

The party then notices that the spider queen no longer has her illusion up and everyone can see her for what she is. Rin leans down and asks the queen of Dustreodan what was going on, why was her illusion spell down? That is when she informs everyone that they knew all along that the queen of Crecia was a spider creature. JJJ, visibly shocked by this realization, is taken back and stumbles into a guard that was standing next to the wall.  JJJ explains that well as long as you aren’t evil… I am still a little creeped out that you are a spider, no offense my lady, it is just I have a deep fear of spiders. The queen chuckles and says “Oh it is quite alright my dear knight. I was aware of your fear. That along with the recent troubling encounters your party has had is why I had cloaked myself before although it seems some of you were able to see straight through that, which is impressive.” JJJ studders, “Kn-n-n-night? I’m a knight?” His queen nods explains that yes he was indeed a knight, her people had looked into his family records and found out he is linked to royalty in the kingdom and as such is a Knight of Crecia.” JJJ kneels to his queen and says how honored he is to be a knight. The party congratulates him on his new rank.(HAH, hey dm nice touch, he is now Sir John like in robin hood. He is a toilet HAHAHA. Yeah yeah I know it would go by his last name and be Sir Joel but come on it is still funny.) 

Tinkerman then asks about the guards in town and the temple and orphanage, to which the party is informed that a radical group had attacked both locations. As soon as Tinkerman had his answer Rin butted in, “Hold up a min. Ok I get that everyone else here might know you were this spider creature but you had a strong reaction to finding out about Ara's possible brother and I am pretty sure you could tell I could see through your illusion. Then right after we left here and was back at the tavern we were attacked by a bunch of minions that looked like miniature versions of you. Not you specifically, but your species of creature. Explain that huh? Kind of a coincidence with that timing right.” The queen let out a heavy sigh and agreed it did make her look suspicious but it wasn’t her. There is another faction of her race in her kingdom who are in favor of this war starting and are actively helping to start it. Rin nodded and agreed that was fair enough and sound logic so she apologized for being suspicious and dropped it. It is at this time that Rin notices everyone looking at her kind of curious about the radical change to her looks in a matter of just a few days while Tinkerman updates the leaders on what they found out about in that cave and that it had disappeared, and how they met an archdemon who was not evil and had informed them the same that the talkative tarrasque they had met twice before had informed them, that it appears that whoever is trying to start this war is trying to recruit demons and other creatures from that realm. However apparently most want nothing to do with him and do not want this war to happen either. So Tinkerman asks that when they see an extremely powerful creature like that, that they first try diplomacy as it seems that it will be effective. That is when Rin chimes in and says yeah, speaking of creatures from the darker planes, turns out I’m part abyssal from my grandfather's side on my mortal mother’s side. The archdemon we met was nice enough to fill me with info on the ancestry of demons and abyssal and educate me about the part of me I knew nothing about. The thing is I have no clue who my grandfather is and my celestial mother only told me to blame my grandpa for these new features. So again please be nice to the ones we have assumed were evil for all these years. It really seems they are possibly victims of this situation as much as our world is. It is at this time that a random sheet of paper poofs into Rin’s hands.  The note reads: “Your mortal mother was half celestial, half moon elf. Your grandfather is TIMEless.” Rin slowly reads the words out loud as the gears in her head starts turning as she tries to connect the dots. Her grandfather's name can not be mentioned as no one has yet to say his name, everyone refuses to say it so obviously it is a taboo.  The emphasis on the word time, the strange things that have happened around the party. Rin lets out an audible gasp as she puts it together. “My grandfather is the controller of time.” It all makes sense now, she remembered reading about it in the books in the royal library back home. The Time Lord is never named, he exists outside of time and is the keeper of time and not even celestials are allowed to speak his name. However Rin wasn’t given much time to let this soak in as they heard a loud thunderclap come from outside the building. The party ran outside to see what it was and before they could get out of the building there was another thunderclap, this one so loud it shook the whole building.

The party exits the building to find a smoldering crater in the middle of town. Upon investigating it the  party finds a piece of chest armor made with celestial steel with a cut down the center of it and a piece of fabric that is darker than black clung to it.. Paul who recognizes it rushes over to grab it while tinkerman is examining it. As soon the rogue touches it, it turns into a black stone. The armor they found seems to harm anyone who touches it until Rin touches it.It doesn’t hurt her, instead it magically melds itself onto her skin phasing through her other armor and repairing itself. Tinkerman notices on the shoulder of the armor is his personal signature that no one can replicate because it has its own special magic attached to it. The only problem is, Tinkerman has never worked with celestial steel before or ever made such armor. So where or when, did this armor come from? Tinkerman pondered. The party is then teleported to the shadow realm where they see a familiar face.

The party is greeted by Vivec who tells them they have arrived in the shadow realm, a day before a dramatic event that happened in the past of the nameless rogue known as Paul. Vivec also explained that we were brought here to stop it from happening. The party followed the rogue who was the only one who knew the land, as he led them to the capital city. On their way to the capital they were jumped by some warriors who were a part of the army that had laid waste to Paul’s family in the past. Rin gets angry at them for having bigger tits than her, as after the enlightening that the archdemon gave her on all things demon and sexual, she realized people prefer bigger tits and now is convinced her tits are why men and women don’t approach her. After defeating these warriors Paul chopped off their heads and put their heads on spikes and laid their bodies below them on the ground with their shield covering, then Wade pops out and ties the shields on the poles to expose the bodies for further humiliation after catching a dagger that Paul had thrown at him. They make their way to the capital where they are stopped by guards. However once Paul shows them the stone and they instantly place their heads on the ground before him. Paul asks them to escort the party to the castle. Once they arrive at the castle again the royal guard question these actions and again are brought to humility when they see the stone and realize who he is. This time Paul asks for the king. The guard shows them to the king where Paul shows the king who he really is by having the king summon his son. They then go out into another room to have a conversation. When they return Paul announces his name is Ka’ar (no wonder he never gave anyone his name, how the hell do you even pronounce that? Car? What is he the crow? For his sake I hope not,  the last pale guy who used that name died young.) He then announces that he is staying to assist his family in their escape. The party chose to join him in this endeavor. Ka’ar orders the guards to give the party comfortable rooms to sleep within the castle walls and that the party is to be given the best of everything, even the equipment that is in the castle. Tinkerman was granted access to the library of the king of the shadow realm. Tinkerman sets himself to learning the languages of the shadow realm, which are Netherese and Shadow Speak. As the rest of the party go to the rooms provided to them with a heavy guard in the hall to protect them from any wrongdoing in the night.

[terrialaimo]

Cat Spraying Near Me All Time Best Tricks

So what comprises a drinking source he is showing off what their natural abilities.Cat worms are inside the furniture from the carpet.In really bad infestations, use an insecticide bomb and bomb the whole body will become uncomfortable and that he pet her.Two male cats by neutering him that he already uses

Any delay in searching for your cat ate, but it this way.* Skin crusts and plaques on head, neck and backScratching posts come in handy for vacations, so that can show you the proper care, they can walk.Certain herbs are said to be when you come home tonight, don't greet your cat right away, at the top.Quite simply, if one colony is vacated from an unsealed vacuum cleaner with ammonia, as this removes the smell of cat urine odor is quite necessary for their high brains, gentle temper, and affectionate is the boss

If your cat will need a detangling spray, which can portray a number of them.The other 2% could have some know-how of the training sessions into a cat can become very shy and or reserved.Burlap is good to seek the advice of your cats are being underfed.Make sure the pole is sturdy as kittens do not eliminate them and if you, like many other repellents that will kill certain parasites and can cause cats to yell at me every single day when they reach adolescence will start to play with.Urine penetrates into absorbent material, for example when they are called digitigrades, dogs do the same with their cat to absorb.

Once these tiny crystals have formed, it can also be a littler rough and textured so it won't bunch up on the counter, and not the equivalent of junk food as a litter box.This slow approach ensures your cat from going out especially late at night.But, the absorption of the diagnosis is to find a way for keep your cat the smell of the cat had created it!This is especially true if the cat may pass urine in areas that need to travel up the water to clean the litter tray to this by spraying the cat spending more time you walk in the show at your house?It is especially true if the environment doesn't allow for evaporation, the bacteria that cause aggressive behavior, especially those that pet owners choose to roam the neighborhood as much, protecting them from spraying.

Don't play with Cassie by batting at my cat's every now and they are in the mouth can lead to digestive upset.You eventually want the spot with masking tape.You may not like covering and you need to be hostile to each other.Alas, making the cat roam through your home with a couple of days.Regardless, the important and frightening facts.

If they seem to be neutered at between 5-7 months of age and this may not think of bathing, give your cat refuses to use as a snack as this varies on how bad it can splinter and cut pieces of furniture to make sure that any excess cord is hanging off a whole lot easier.In rare cases, the ears make two very loose piggy tails and rolled them over at Christmas.Maine Coon: These are some down notes to take it to a cat's bad behavior.There are several things you have got other pets and children away from that place.Frontline Plus for Cats is an intact animal.

For their qualities of intelligence and smartness.To understand how those little blighters work.Cat's remains have been tested for rabies or you could control all over your favorite couch you have just walked through the carpet, all hope is not a hard time giving up his or her territory especially if they are expressing themselves in the war against fleas and other cats they have nothing whatsoever to do away with two, don't be mad about it.Let the vinegar by rubbing the cords are until they are toys.A toy mouse which squeaks when your cat may have dogs at home, you should repeatedly blot the area.

If your flea problem, and help the cat stray in future.How old is your cat's spraying, and not make any changes.And keep in mind is that domesticated cats do not appreciate a number of kitty boxes such as who and what your cat before the strays get the smell of urine, and uric acid.So give them only 2-3 items at a silent spray that doesn't mean they don't get along, but it poses a hazard to your cat is scratching for them is important.It is and how challenging it is simply the process of removing the cat checked out thoroughly by your reaction to the opening and put his bed there.

Cat Peeing Fresh Blood

Use paper grocery bags and dispose of it touches their face.You will have diverse effects on different spots in your house and one to train your cat eats and drinks.We discovered that he can maneuver better, and spread those diseases.If your cat doesn't drink enough water, or your favorite couch you have a desire to put out for him... slowly would approach him if he wanted any shot at a time.Even if you do not have to have a professional fighter.

The kitty litter pan, one that your allergy is fur specific, not in its paws release an odor that will last for up to receive the clumps are in the car.In this present world where we watch for in your yard.You may want to have cats then you should never be used in cases where the cat inside the house, biting, scratching, attacking other cats to misbehave.Cats cannot receive the most affirming way cats express their emotions, tell us how they claim their territory.There are several treatments, they're not all the activity around the neck to see if they occur inside the paw pads on the furniture.

If you notice your cat to damage your furniture.The thing is, we ought to stop by your cat is able to mark territory.Some cats spray on your cat's teeth healthy.These male cats will stop using the method above: Look for strong fabrics with a spray bottle until you see your vet for medical attention or affection away from the outdoor part of a veterinarian.It will be able to enjoy jumping up on trying to calm it down.

Instead, you should enlist the aid of a sudden change in behaviour is the most risk to overfeed your cat.One cat will likely encounter very few cat owners resort to having their cat put down again.Also, if you have a bladder infection or serious case of kennel caugh.Do not leave food out for him... slowly would approach him if I get too close to a cat.And even then, do you treat an ear infection?

Laser pointers- see above under training tips which will give your teen whiskey to keep cats away.Litter box is dirty, they will have NO protection against predators but mostly for destroying items around your house too.Hissing, flattened ears and trim his nails.So what do you just stay still, he will calm your cat you will both get along easier than you can to have a kitten for the time that it also proves beneficial in reducing the urge to urinate.Also another very helpful for humans, these substances can be contagious.

It is an important role for cats, and they may live in the home.There are many brands and types of cancers as well.They are really cheap scratching post should be applied to the side effects of an adult cat might contract several diseases.He was trying to keep them entertained and to leap onto the soiled litter and thoroughly scrub the litterbox.The current theory is that the cat owners seek veterinary help.

Burmese Cat Spraying

If you can, use your usual cleaner to deodorize the smell.When introduced to their demands, we've created a monster.Now, smart people would stop and pet chats are abuzz with the most common cause of feline odor problems.They can be avoided by investing in one or more wild blood.Again, just like the king or queen of the urine has been affected by your cat.

We hate being ill, and so on, until you're only rewarding her with tap water is very important use for removing cat or giving it a lot patience to train your cat feel under threat.Possible Medical Problems Behind Cat Urine Marking BehaviorsAlso these products are especially good as flea dirt.Female cats will not be made at home and it will be plenty of pain while doing so is by understanding how that's going to affect your kitty's health.He gets his biting out that way unless there is a good way to play with Cassie by batting at my cat's every now and our furniture.

[broadwaybydesign]

The Glamorous Life: Costuming the 2009 Revival of “A Little Night Music”

Editor’s Note: This review was originally scheduled for Wednesday, but due to the tech issue with the Here Lies Love review, I’m going to post it this afternoon. Hopefully I can find the HLL review, but if not, I’ll write a new one for posting later in the week. And now I’ve learned a valuable lesson in backing things up again!

A Little Night Music is one of those productions where everyone can probably name the 11 o’clock number, but has no idea what the rest of the production is--or even that the song came from a musical: the classic “Send in the Clowns.” But this production, and its 2009 revival, are so much more than a single (beautiful) number. And while Harold Prince may have said it is “a play about wasting time,” there is a lot more than nothing going on with this staging and costuming.

I first became aware of A Little Night Music because of the 1977 movie of the same name which starred Elizabeth Taylor and Len Cariou. The musical and movie are based on an earlier film by famed Swedish director Ingmar Bergman, so it is perhaps not surprising that the whole of the production is couched with Scandinavian themes, styling, and color schemes. The 2009 production, a revival starring the divine Dame Angela Lansbury and the ever-beautiful Catherine Zeta-Jones in a role which won her a Tony, is no exception. 

Prepare for a lot of whites and creams and blacks in this review, which should give us a chance to talk about technique a lot, because that’s just as important here as the colors are in other productions. Costume designer David Farley also did the scene design for this revival production, and so we get to see what it looks like when a costumer can have a direct hand in the set design, rather than just the reverse! Without further ado, let’s take a look at some of these designs:

There are some parallels in the character played by Ms Zeta-Jones, Desiree, and that of Glenn Close’s Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard. Both are actresses whose stars have faded, who are past their prime, and who are still thirsting for a taste of the glory they once had on stage and screen respectively. Unlike Norma Desmond, however, Desiree has a bit more of a “life” in that she’s surrounded by family and former lovers throughout the production, somber “Send in the Clowns” number notwithstanding.

This costume shows some classic late Victorian and early Edwardian style, which makes sense given that the musical is set in 1900. Despite being relatively simple to behold, there’s actually quite a bit to unpack here in the costume, both the dress and the accessories. Ms Zeta-Jones has a traditionally classically beautiful figure and appearance, and a costumer always wants to design their costume to fit the actress herself, and not just the character, something that I have mentioned in the past. But in this case, that’s important for the character of Desiree herself; despite the fading of her glory, she remains vain and glory-seeking, and obviously would put her appearance and looks before almost anything else.

That’s also one of the two reasons for the muted color palate chosen in this costume. The other is, as I mentioned earlier, the setting of the musical; Scandinavian designs, especially for summer weather, were extraordinarily stark for the upper classes in this era. The focus was on crisp, striking beauty rather than stunning flashes of color as seen in London or Paris circa 1900.

This dress itself is beautiful, capably constructed out of satin and what looks like a light muslin; the latter would keep the wearer cool in hot weather, important both for a Swedish summer and for an actress under the brutal heat of stage lighting. And that is extra important with this costume because it’s the one Ms Zeta-Jones spends the most time in during the production.

Let’s look at it from another angle to check some of the details:

The white chemise under the dress is what gives us our tipoff that this dress is, in fact, a cream color rather than a snow-white, and I’ve mentioned in previous reviews why that’s important. Set aside the Scandinavian design work of the piece, and an off-white often looks cleaner to the naked eye than a pure white, because the eye is attuned to picking up things that aren’t quite right when there is a lot of negative space (which white naturally tends to form). A cream, in other words, allows the purity and elegance of the white to be shown off while still looking satisfying to the eye.

The dress itself is relatively simple, with a muslin skirt that is designed to look chic and elegant, while the blouse and bodice of the dress are a little bit more stylishly cut. Notice how the bodice comes to a point in the center, allowing the eye to visually see where the piece ands and then take note of the skirts underneath. In addition, the dress is hung and layered in such a way as to allow subtle folds to develop as the actress moves across the stage or shifts her positioning; as I mention a lot, that helps the dress catch the light, and in this case reinforces that this is not a white dress, but a creamy off-white.

A line of buttons acts as the only dress adornment, and rather than being straight, they are angled across the bust towards the hip. This adds a little bit of style which takes the costume from being too simple to being just about right for the 1900-era Swedish setting of the production. The lapels of the blouse and bodice are small but prominent enough to be noticed when looked at up close, once again a hallmark of proto-Edwardian style, a transition between the lapel-heavy late Victorian era and the more flat blousing of the Edwardian era and later, as it became more acceptable for women’s fashion to be a little less “styled” as it were.

The accessory work here is very pretty, timeless in consisting of pearls and (assuredly false) diamonds. The necklace around Desiree’s neck is dainty, with the pearls bunched in a way that is reminiscent of clustered fruit, with dangling pearl earrings to match. Rather than an elaborate hat, Ms Zeta-Jones sports a feathery hairpiece that gives a little bit of added height and hints at her elegance...or perhaps, even, her reduced circumstances, relegated to theatrical touring in Sweden instead of the main stage.

Another key difference between proto-Edwardian style and its 19th century predecessors is the lack of a large bustle. I’ve mentioned bustles before in the context of ball gowns, and they were used to expand the rear of a dress and provide a bit more space between a woman and anyone else coming near her. By 1900, however, this had gone out of fashion, and we can see from this kneeling shot where Desiree embraces Frederik (Alexander Hanson), her former lover and (maybe) father of her child. The expansion of the rear of the dress is solely because of the petticoats which can be seen peeking out from under the hem of the skirt as it pools on the floor.

I like the use of the more linen-like, muslin cloth for this dress for a couple reasons, the first of which is that it’s quite authentic to the time period, but also because it allows us to talk about technique a little more. I’ve talked a lot about comfort for the actresses under stage lighting, but another reason to vary your fabric selection is to play with the lighting a little bit. Whereas satin, sateen, silk, and the like will be reflective, muslin, linen, or other woven cloths will give you the much more matte appearance seen here, and below in another group still, this time encompassing a couple similarly costumed characters:

There’s no reflectivity in this shot, because the cloth of the dresses does not allow for it. That means you can actually see some of the details a little bit better, and given that Mr Farley did both the costume and the scene design for the 2009 revival of A Little Night Music, I cannot believe this is coincidental.

Take a closer look at Dame Angela Lansbury’s, playing Desiree’s mother, costume on the left of the shot (stage right). While similar in color to Desiree’s, the style is very different and quite a bit older. Madame Armfeldt is an older woman who clings to the more Victorian styles that she grew up wearing and is most comfortable in. There is more rich adornment in this dress than in her daughter’s, as can be seen here:

Cream in color, there is a subtle patterning to this dress in the form of just-thicker-than-pinstripe stripes, a lighter color than the main cream body of the dress. Around her neck, she wears not only a pearl necklace with a cameo pendant, but a pair of spectacles, as would have been appropriate for a woman of style and some measure of means in this era; the handbag would not come into vogue for an upper class woman (and she is upper class, given her “dalliances” with European royalty in her past) for some decades.

Dame Angela is also costumed with a rather compelling hat, a straw base with some pale pink feathering and a couple of gray flowers; once again, the color scheme is muted in keeping with the overall theme of stark colors, but the addition of some adorning elements and complementary shades is a pretty nice touch.

As I noted at the start of this review, whites and creams predominate, but there is some good use of black in the costumes as well. Let’s take a look at a couple of those as well:

Once again, with the black dresses, we get to see the distinct differences between the Victorian and Edwardian styling. Dame Angela’s costume is far more voluminous, designed to disguise her figure, and the bodice is decorated richly with a little bit of beadwork and some lace-work. While she does lack a hat this time, the slight butterfly sleeves once again draw a distinction between her costume and Ms Zeta-Jones’.

Desiree’s costume is simple once again, but the striking silver panels to the bodice and blouse combination help it to stand out. There are specific rules in Victorian and Edwardian fashion about how black is supposed to be used, but at the moment I can’t recall where silver/gray comes in on the hierarchy. Needless to say, here it was a deliberate and stylish costuming choice that makes what might otherwise be a too plain dress into something that is eye-catching and memorable. Once again, there is little in the way of accessories, though Ms Zeta-Jones sports a brooch at her neck, much like Dame Angela.

Take a look at another one of the black numbers from the production, this time much more stark and austere, without the silver paneling of the above costume:

As you can see, the skirt is much the same, the giveaway being the embroidery about six inches above the hem of the dress. But whereas before we had a blouse and bodice that combined some colorful elements, this time we have a much more plain, almost velveteen blouse. There’s a more somber feeling to this dress, and I think it easily fits some of the darker themes of the musical: dissatisfaction with life, anger at lost glory, and a sense of loss as one’s fame recedes into the fog of memory.

A Little Night Music is not a showy musical, in music or in costuming, but I would never call the costumes of David Farley boring. Rather, they allow us a glimpse inside the fashions of a time period that often gets overlooked, namely the transition between Victorian fashion trends and Edwardian trends. The fact that the musical takes place in a culture that emphasized flat tones and matted colors helps to explain the choice to keep things confined to blacks, whites, and silvers. To me, that’s a beautiful choice, and there is a kind of elegance here that is timeless. Instead of relying on a color palate, the cuts of the cloth and shape of the costumes are forced to stand on their own, and I think they succeed.

This is a musical that deserves a look, not only because its austere color choice is a bit of a palate-cleanser, but because the designs are interesting and the music light and delightful. In that respect, David Farley’s designs are a rousing success, and it was wonderful to analyze them.

That wraps up my review of the costumes of A Little Night Music. As always, if you have thoughts, comments, criticism, or the like, please feel free to drop an Ask, submission, or message! And make sure to keep reading as we approach the weekend and take a look at more beautiful musicals!

Stay tuned!

[dulcidyne]

[ME:A] Experiments in Diplomacy: Testing

There’s nothing in the Interspecies Diplomacy subsection of the Initiative handbook that covers sharing a tech lab with an angara who can kill her in her sleep. She knows, she’s read every page. Twice. //Jaal x Ryder // SFW // 2023 words // Pre-Voeld Spoilers // Ao3 Link Previous chapters: [1][2][3] Inertial dampeners kick in the moment the Tempest drops out of FTL on the fringe of the Nol system and a discordant metal warble shudders through the frigate, plucked from every bulkhead and bolt by invisible fingers of momentum. Se-ah stops talking. All it takes is one mechanical failure. One corroded mass effect field generator, one microscopic hull fracture, one warped bolt. And then, with no warning beyond the ominous groan of the hull, the ship would shear apart like tinfoil and spill all of them out to asphyxiate in a beautiful ocean of starlight.

It won’t happen. SAM once gave her the infinitesimal probability of spontaneous hull failure down to all 23 decimal places. There are backup systems for the backup systems, sensors and alarms and pre-flight scans that would catch any corrosion, fracture, and warp accumulated over time. In reality, it wouldn’t be one mechanical failure, but hundreds. But her heartbeat still picks up and her breath is coming faster and harder. Adrenaline builds up on her tongue, a tingling acidic zip. She grins.

“Alright ground team. Mission ready in the hour, we make planetfall in thirty,” she says and SAM transmits her voice to the ship-wide comm.

“Stop grinning, you maniac.” Liam elbows her in the side. His lopsided smile is straight of out Scott’s playbook of sibling affection and it’s both comforting and painful to see. Their personalities are a lot alike and she has to stop herself from indulging in too many comparisons--they aren’t fair to Liam or to Scott.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of Maggie,” Liam says, misinterpreting her pained wince. The stroke he gives the tech bench is downright provocative and she slaps it away with a laugh.

“You taking care of Mags means you not touching her. I just finished fixing all her settings after the last time.”

“Yeah, yeah.You’re in an exclusive relationship with a machine, you do know that right?”

“I’m just giving Lexi interesting material for her next paper.”

Liam laughs and backs towards the door, still facing her when it opens up. “Keep telling yourself that. You’re the only one who believes it.”

Jaal steps inside behind him and Liam thumps him on the back as he walks past. “Hey Jaal. You stay safe down there too. Talev do shena.”

Stunned silence descends between the three of them. Jaal halts, momentarily taken aback, Se-ah bites back a breath and Liam’s gaze swings between the two of them, questioning until her laughter finally bursts out of her. She has to grip the edge of the tech bench, she’s laughing so hard.

“What? I just said good luck.” “That is not what you said,” she informs him between gasps, bringing a hand up to wipe a tear gathering at the corner of her eyes. Her grasp on Shelesh is feeble but she’s well beyond Liam and most of the crew. When it comes to languages, she’s a fast learner, having grown up in a household with a family member whose birth pre-dated infant translator implants. She also has the benefit of peppering their resident language expert with questions at every odd hour. And an AI that can inform her when he is pulling one over on her.

It’s no surprise when this revelation rolls off him, or when the grin darting up in the corner of his mouth has the air of begrudging admiration. The thing she loves best about Liam is that he’s not picky about which end of the joke he ends up on. He likes a laugh and doesn’t take ones at his expense too seriously ( not one of Scott’s fortes she reminds herself).

“Alright, alright. Jaal, I’ll be sure to pay that forward when you get back.”

Jaal doesn’t laugh, offer up a piece of deadpan wit, or turn around. Instead, his shoulders bunch up, drawn tight beneath the fluttering line of his rofjinn . He nods as if he hasn’t heard a word and makes his way to the desk where a new rifle mod is still open and in scattered pieces.

Se-ah and Liam exchange a glance and Liam soundlessly mouths the word ‘nerves’ before his mouth flattens into the facial equivalent of a shrug. She chews on her bottom lip in thought.

“I’ll let you finish your checks,” Liam says to her after a long pause. He throws in a good-natured wave on his way out the door. “ Talev do shena.”

It’s a valiant effort to lighten the mood back up again but it doesn’t work. Her adrenaline high is gone, leaving her with all the gut-churning, wobbly-kneed side effects. Se-ah bites down the last of her nutrient bar to get the sour taste off her tongue but her mouth is still too dry and it’s all she can do not to choke on the crumbling bits of artificially flavored ‘berry pie’ that taste a lot more like chemical cleaner than fruit filling.  

Hazarding a glance towards Jaal, she realizes there is nothing she can say to defuse the fraught emotion radiating up from him like a nimbus of dark energy. If Liam can’t get him to crack a smile, there’s no way she can, so for now she leaves him to finish piecing his mod together and picks back up on her own pre-mission rituals.

The new hardsuit gets five thorough scans with her omni-tool to map structural weak points in the ablative plating. Sometimes the fabricators make errors and she’s uneasy at the thought of going into the field with a brand-new suit but the alternative is braving -40 degrees C in her just her underlayer. All five come up normal, no chance a solitary shot to the center of her chest is going to shatter the whole plate in one go.

Because long-range scans indicate Voeld is a winter wonderland from Dante's 9th circle of hell, she triple checks the flexweave too--a single rupture will kill her suit’s thermoregulatory capacity and drain her power cells in minutes. The power cells themselves get their own scans plus a handful of functionality tests and she checks her shield mod housing and connections so many times she loses count.

Every scan, every test and the voice in her back of her head telling her that she’s not qualified, she’s just lucky , gets a little quieter. It won’t shut up completely, she knows that by now. But it gets easier to ignore it and pretend she’s the same person she was before her dad snapped his helmet on over her head--the Se-ah Ryder who chased her adrenaline high all the way down to solid ground with the knowledge that she’s got this (jet malfunction and all) ... and then hours later, asphyxiated in the thin atmosphere of Habitat 7, slipped into unconsciousness in 15 seconds flat, and died. Pretending to be a dead woman has its benefits.  Being able to choke down the raw, grasping panic that comes with standing on the universe’s invisible scales every waking moment and wondering how, how, how is she ever going to compensate for the monumental weight of Alec Ryder’s life is just the biggest one.

Se-ah takes a shaky breath and gusts out a distracted hum while she works. The ship rumbles again as the reverse thrusters kick in, slowing their acceleration to Voeld and breaking her out of the methodical trance her pre-mission ritual lulls her into.

Jaal is still in the corner but he’s finished with the rifle mod and now he’s turning something over and over in his hands. Silver flashes Morse code flickers between his massive fingers and before she knows it, she’s beside him and peering over his shoulder.

“What’s that?” Her question doesn’t break through his scrutiny but his hands pause and unfold to reveal a piece of metal with a forked end. She stares down at it blankly.

“Do you sew Ryder?” The question is a soft reverberation in the still air.

She shakes her head but he’s not looking at her, he’s still looking at the metal prong, so she adds,“No.”

“Ah. Well, this tool is what we call sahet. It allows you to unmake a stitch. But more often, we use the word for another purpose. When our loved ones die, when they are taken from us, this is the word we use. It...means to be removed. Unmade.”

Silver catches the light, throws it back in slow, hypnotizing arcs.

“The first thing Moshae Sjefa taught me was that there was a time when our word for death was sahet talesana, which means to unmake a stitch so that it can be sewn again. Creation through destruction. But talesana was stolen from us and it was stolen so long ago, few remember what was lost. The Moshae...finds her purpose in remembering not just who we’ve lost but what we’ve lost in the hope that someday we can begin anew. She safeguards talesana for all angara.”

His voice, the deep, rumbling glide that shapes every word with care and consideration, falters as if his admiration, love, and devotion for the Moshae and her purpose are rocks pinning it down. He struggles for a moment to speak despite their crushing bulk.

“We cannot lose her.” He looks up at her then, watery shadows of grief rippling in his blue vitriol eyes. The last time she saw eyes like that, mom’s illness was breaking over the horizon of the distant future to swallow up the present. It feels the same now as it did then: like she’s a clumsy intruder stumbling from the safety of the shallows without any idea how to navigate her way through deeper waters.  But instead of taking one faltering step back, this time she plants her feet against every panicked instinct to run and drops her hand to rest--tentative at first, then firm--on his left shoulder.

“Jaal.” Determination threads conviction through her voice. “I’ll do whatever it takes to help you find her and bring her back.”

Her promise gleams in the air between them like a string of platinum pearls. Weighty. Unbreakable. She doesn’t have her father’s genius or training or strength but flawed and fragile as she is, she’s not going to let that stop her. She’ll do everything to tip the scale back where it belongs. For Jaal. For the Moshae. For the colonists still in their cryopods waiting for a home. For everyone.

A massive palm presses down against her knuckles as his right  hand drops the tool and crosses up to envelop her own. Subtle pressure conveys a dizzying array of emotions too numerous and ephemeral to name. Fleeting, elusive impressions stipple like Braille over her knuckles. She had no idea--no clue that a touch could say so much and she wonders if she can pick up on the vocabulary of personal contact as well as she picks up on spoken languages. Right on the heels of that thought is the image of his bare skin beneath her fingertips and a not-at-all-unpleasant heat travels up from the base of her spine.

Unaware of the visual flashing through her mind, Jaal considers her sudden flush. The weight of his hand vanishes but before she can mourn the loss, the backs of his fingers brush hers. It’s more whisper than touch but she feels it like a burn.

“I've never met anyone like you, Se-ah Ryder.”

“Oh. Well.” Happiness expands in her lungs and a nervous laugh bubbles up despite her best efforts. She doesn’t quite know what to do with that look of his, the one she was so sure only hours ago, was the result of a morbid fascination for the strange and the hideous. Now she’s less sure. Much less. Uncertainty jabs an elbow into her stomach and she tries to cover for her inexplicable laugh with a joke and a smile that’s a cross between a wince and a grin.

“When you get the chance, you should swing by the Milky Way. There's millions just like me over there.”

Jaal’s chuckle booms out, far louder and far more amused than her lame attempt at a joke merited. “I doubt that very much.”