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sleepingdead96 · 2 months

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Ambassador Danny AU

Just a silly thing knocking around in my brain.

Batman halted in the door of the conference room, taking in the sight of a strange being lounging imperiously in his chair. His white hair seemed to defy gravity ever so gently and his green, glowing eyes—Jason’s eyes—stared back with none of the regard or fear so many people showed towards Batman. His tanned face was speckled with tiny stars that Batman had to actively resist becoming memorized by. The boy’s choice of covering was sheening armour that refracted the light through his chest-plate of black ice. The white sleet that sharpened his knuckles seemed perfectly capable of movement despite it encasing his hands in similar fashion to the chest-plate; glassy in it’s brutal edges and as hard as the sheets that form over the coldest of lakes.

The watchtower had been invaded. Batman had questioned why the place was so cold when he’d arrived. Now he knew.

The only thing that kept Batman from immediately reacting might have—very much—had to do with how young he looked. A boy in the second half of his teens.

And the fact that several other Justice League members were at Batman’s back as he strolled further into the room, watching the boy warily.

The boy’s eyes were unconcerned as he watched the Justice League file in. Worryingly so. Who was he that he would be so unfazed, how powerful? Or was it faith he wouldn’t be harmed, taking advantage of the Justice League’s strong morals?

The teen had commandeered the chair with all the authority of a king and the confidence of one assured of their own position. He sprawled across it. The chairs were all identical of practical, unassuming make, but this boy made it look like his throne as he leaned heavily on one side and stretched one leg way on the other. A hand was extended to dangle off one chair-arm and he had a knee braced up, showing an armoured shin protecting his black, sturdy, cargo-like pants and iced boots that jagged treacherously upwards.

The boy smirked. “Took you long enough. I was getting bored.”

Batman resisted the urge to clamp his hands over his already protected ears from the unearthly static and screeching glaciers that came from the boy’s mouth. He noticed Superman flinch and his face grimace.

“Who are you?” Batman growled. This boy was obviously inhuman. He was also an unknown. Batman would be foolish to underestimate someone who had somehow infiltrated the watchtower without being seen or setting off any alerts. Who exuded too much confidence, as if the entire world was at his fingertips.

Attacking took the back-burner in favour of garnering information in such a concerning situation.

“You may address me as. . .” He contemplated a bit too much for Batman to believe whatever he would give them would be his true name. “Danny.”

“. . .Danny.”

The name was so. . .normal.

“How did you get here?” Wonder Woman asked with hints of warning and aggression.

The boy smiled. He had fangs. Too many sharp teeth. He didn’t answer and was revelling in their ignorance.

“What are you doing here?” Superman asked. It said something about Danny’s energy that even superman was being cautious about approaching.

“Waiting for you.” He smirked.

“Why?” Batman pushed as much threat and intimidation into his stance and words as he could. He usually didn’t have to think about it. “What do you want?”

Danny chuckled and a shiver ran up Batman’s spine. Goosebumps formed even through the protective layers that shielded him from the cold.

“Why don’t you sit?” The words should have been innocent. They felt like a trap. “You’ve gathered for a meeting, haven’t you?”

The league members didn’t move. Danny sighed.

“Fine, fine, fine.” He rolled his eyes and Batman was eerily reminded of how much the adolescent exasperation reminded him of his own children. Danny leaned off the chair arm to lean an elbow on the table instead, propping his chin up. He was all teeth. “The Infinite Realms wishes for peace. I’ve come to investigate the possibility of a treaty on behalf of the High King.”

<><><><>

“THERE’S A DENIZEN OF THE INFINITE REALMS IN THE WATCHTOWER??!!!”

Batman held the phone away from his face at Constantine’s uncharacteristic display of panic. It did not bode well and it settled uncomfortably in his bones.

He grunted in affirmation.

Constantine swore up and down enough to fill Alfred’s swear jar ten times over. “What do they want?! What did you say to them!? Ohhhh, bloody ****! You’ve already antagonized them haven’t you?!”

“No.” Batman ground out.

Constantine was quiet. Several seconds ticked by.

“. . .WELL?!”

“He claims the High King wants to negotiate for peace.”

There was silence on the other end. Batman usually preferred it when Constantine was quiet, but this was thick and seemed to claw out of the phone to infect the watchtower. It muffled the noises and beeps and drowned out the presence of the other league members who had stepped out of the conference room with him.

Then there was a great, controlled release of wavery air. When Constantine spoke, it was more serious than Batman ever remembered hearing him.

“Okay, okay.” Constantine mumbled to himself. “Listen closely, Bats, and repeat everything, and I mean everything, to your circus clowns.”

Superman cleared his throat. “We’re here.”

“YOU LEFT THE AMBASSADOR ALONE?!”

“Of course not! Wonder Woman and Martian Manhunter are monitoring him.” Batman said.

Constantine grumble-sighed. “Good.” He mumbled. “Two of the competent ones. I don’t trust Bats not to **** this up and get us all killed.”

“What now?” Flash said.

Batman was a little offended. “Constan—“

“NO!” He yelled vehemently. He sounded a little manic. “Batsy, you have the emotional intelligence of a wet paper bag, a sad, trampled, wet paper bag with so many holes that it can’t even be considered a bag anymore, you have the emotional intelligence of wet, paper scraps and the diplomacy of a feral hyena! Unless he addresses you first, Do. Not. Initiate! Do not open your mouth! I have no faith in you whatsoever!”

“I will n—“ Batman tried to growl again, but Constantine cut him off. Again!

“No!” Constantine reiterated oh, so eloquently. “Look.” He sighed. “Getting news of the newest High King since he defeated the last one has been near impossible. All Deadman will tell me is that he’s better than the last guy and we are incredibly lucky our entire dimension wasn’t wiped out after that stunt the American government pulled with the Anti-ecto Acts.”

Batman saw some of the leaguers pale. He suddenly wasn’t feeling the best either.

“Anti-Ecto Acts?”

“Laws declaring their species non-sentient and illegal, I dealt with it, thing is, this is an extremely delicate situation.” He stressed. “We don’t know what kind of ruler he is, what little thing might set him off, and we cannot afford to set the High King off! Capiche?! It’s a good sign that he’s willing to negotiate peace, but he could change his mind. Some ghosts are very temperamental.”

“Ghosts.” Several of the leaguers repeated. Constantine let out an incredibly exasperated sound.

“Do you idiots know nothing?! Yes, ghosts! The Infinite Realms is the dimension between dimensions, the land of the dead and the never-born! They are incredibly powerful entities and many of them could level our planet easily! Whatever you do, DO NOT ask how they’ve died! It is highly taboo and you’ll get yourselves killed!” Constantine let out a stressed groan.

“I would come back and deal with this myself, but I am. . .occupied at the moment. Don’t try to negotiate without me! You lot will muck everything up! And seriously, DO NOT ASK HOW THEY’VE DIED! Keep the Ambassador happy until I can get there, convince him to stay! We might not have another chance like this, don’t annoy them, do not ignore them, and, just in general, don’t give the ambassador any reason to deliver anything negative to King Phantom and have him erase us all, got it?”

The Justice League exchanged several, stunned looks.

“Got it?”

Batman grunted.

“Good. And Bats.” Constantine added lowly. “If this fails, I am blaming you for the end of the world.”

Constantine ended the call and the phone beeped before drowning everyone in silence. The leaguers shared more looks.

“Now what?” Hal said.

#dpxdc fanfic #danny phantom #justice league #john constantine #Danny Fenton is trolling

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bigfatbreak · 7 months

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Dad Villain AU Masterpost

Main post! Context is here!

➼ Emelie is totally a good mom. I promise ➼ Mourning Morning. ➼ Tom and Nooroo (1) (2) (3) (4) ➼ Marinette meeting Nooroo, ➼ Nooroo Zooting the Fuck Out, And Zooting Further ➼ Marinette and Zoe (1) ➼ Luka meeting Marinette (1) (2) ➼ Marinette and Alya (1) ➼ Adrien speaking to Mother :D (1) (?) ➼ Adrien investigating the Timeline (1) (2) ➼ Adrien and Marinette meeting <3 / some adorable doting ➼ Adrien/Marinette hanging out (1) (2) (3) (animatic) ➼ Kim smackdown, Dealing with Lila/Chloe (1) (2) (3) ➼ Is That Jagged Fucking Stone??? (1) (2) (3) (4) ➼ Marinette's first episode (1) (2) (3) ➼ Get it, Nathalie. (1) ➼ Felix returns! (1) (?) ➼ Kagami returns! (?) ➼ The Fashion Show (1) (2) ➼ "The Charity Ball" (1) (2) (3) (4) (?) ➼ AU Ladybug, (additional shitpost) ➼ Viceroy attacking the shit out of Gabriel for my amusement (1) (2)

#dad villain au #masterpost #very sloppy I admit but I'm also just playing with the concept as we goooo

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mixelation · 8 months

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i can't find the original post i made about this, but consider a miraculous x ouran host club crossover

marinette lands a very competitive internship with the Hitachiin fashion brand and gets to go hang out in Japan for the summer!!!

while exploring on her first day, she sees a high end french bakery and goes in out of curiosity

the host club walks in immediately after her

of note: marinette is wearing on her own designs because she wants to Make An Impression and brought all her best dresses and forgot to pack her regular clothes

the hitachiin twins are immediately like: hey wait who are you wearing EYES EMOJI

tamaki figures out she's french after three whole words out of her mouth, and then he interrupts her answer to be like OMG HELLO WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE BOULANGERIE???

between her incredibly bougie review of the chouquettes and the obviously designer clothes, marinette accidentally convinces the host club that she's One of Them. marinette doesn't realize this until AFTER she's agreed to let them show her around town and let slip details like "i have personal beef with chloe bourgeois" (kyouya recognizes the name as the daughter of the mayor of paris / the hitachiin twins know of the famous NYC-based designer) and "i'm dating adrien agreste" (both tamaki and the hitachiin twins know him)

marinette realizes she's accidentally completely misled her new friends and calls kagami in a panic to be like HELP WHAT I DO?? because she doesn't want to make a weird impression on the hitachiin twins when she's going to be working for their mom!!!!!

kagami is like "i'm on my way" but someone very rudely interrupts marinette's video call to be like "is that the tsurugi heir?"

so no, actually, summoning kagami (and known Other Rich Kid felix of graham de vanily fame) doesn't help get her out of the situation. in fact their presence actively makes it worse

felix: don't you have jagged stone's personal number, marinette? marinette: stop.

#miraculous

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the-goddess-of-mischief-writing · 9 months

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Random Captain John Price headcanons

sfw and nsfw

pairing: Cpt. John Price x reader (cod mw)

tags/tw: domestic stuff, afab!reader, masturbation, spanking, hickeys, Price is an ass-man

a/n: inspired by a conversation I had with @melancholyy-hill and just some random thoughts, might do a second part to this, tell me if you want any other characters

John Price MASTERLIST

sfw

-Price has two phones, one for work and a private one, he doesn't like using the same one when he's deployed in countries where there's definitely a chance of it getting hijacked

-he's so tidy, like having a surroundings to calm his mind, make it easier to concentrate for him

-he's also pretty strict with his own cleanliness

-don't get me wrong, Price doesn't mind getting dirty on the field and in bed, would be weird if he did lol, but once at home or base, he takes care of himself

-we talking beard oil, grooming, trimming his nails if they got jagged during deployment and picking out the dirt from beneath them

-not that he dislikes showing you off in public, on the opposite he loves having you by his side, showing others you're his, but he gets uneasy with PDA

-that's why he's such an old-fashioned gentleman with showing you affection around people, those small gestures that make women swoon and telling you that you're found 'a good one, god you're so lucky'

-hand on the small of your back in a crowd is a must, palm resting on your knee when sitting down, you walk on the side furthest from the road, standing/walking behind you on the escalator or stars if you're wearing a skirt, kisses to your hand, temple, forehead or crown

-he always does the bed in the mornings despite you being the one who wakes up last

nsfw below the cut

-he's such a fucking ass man, like he appreciates boobs, thinks your nipples look good poking through a shirt or deliciously teasing in lingerie, but he prefers your ass

-like this man's hand is drawn to the plush flesh of your rear like magnets, just like his eyes

-back turned? eyes down, staring at ass.

-don't get him started at how he folds when watching it jiggle in doggy style or reversed cowgirl

-lowkey struggles not to blatantly stare or grab at you when you're in public and the pants/leggings you're trying on make it look too fucking good for his health

-sometimes you can just be relaxing, laying on your stomach and he comes up from behind, kneading your ass, swatting it to watch it jiggle

-other times, he pulls you on top of him, resting a book against your ass as he reads, one of his hands always groping you, you simply prop a pillow on his legs to get comfortable as you'd gotten used to this request of his

- you've stopped counting the times he'd put down his book and started parting your asscheeks as he massages your rear, in the end Price can't help how his thumb rubs the folds of your covered pussy

-if he gets to know you don't mind spanking, it's over, the man swats your ass constantly around the house,

-he thinks your gasps are adorable as you shoot him a look he ignores bc he knows you like it

-does not whine, not a particularly big moaner either, but the grunts and groans is enough to make up for it

-high-sex drive when he's around you, but during deployment he keeps it under wraps, which leads me to...

-not that big of a masturabator, but once in a while he needs to rid himself of the crawling desire in his spine, simply having to jerk one out to be able to concentrate, probs because he thought about you for too long

-BUT he actually really loves mutual masturbation, started when he walked in on you once when returning unexpectedly early from a mission

-'don't mind me, love, continue' he would husk at your wide eyes following him as walked from the bedroom doorframe to the little seating area you had in front of the bed, sometimes used when you did your makeup or Price would read, sitting down and to your surprise pulling down his pant, jerking his already half-hard cock to full length, waiting expectantly

-he puts on a show as well, using two hands, one to stroke himself in matching speed to how you finger yourself, the other cupping and fondling his balls

-would definitely not shy from throwing his head backwards when reaching his sensitive cocked with palms too rough in comparison to your soft ones

- Price is so fucking sly about where he leaves hickeys

-as previously mentioned, he doesn't really like the public attention it pulls, but a primal part of him swells when seeing the marks he's left during your intimate moments, so he definitely likes to give you little lovebites

-so you can bet your ass you could leave the house in a crop-top and they wouldn't be visible, strategically placed where no one but him and you could see them, meaning the line of your panties, on or around your breast, inner thighs, etc

-the beach might be a problem however, you would never forget the time Soap had cackled like a fucking madman when he'd spotted the marks' inconspicuous placement, leaving absolutely no room to guess what Price had done between your legs

#john price #captain john price #john price call of duty #john price x reader #john price x you #john price cod #john price x fem!reader #john price x female reader #task force 141 #price cod #cod modern warfare #soap cod #cod mw2 #john price smut #john price headcanons #cod headcanons #cod fanfic #cod mw3 #cod mwii

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arabaka · 1 year

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ miguel x spidey!fem!reader. CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ !!! NO SPOILERS !!!! splashes of angst. unprotected sex. creampie. cervix fucking. WORD COUNT: 1.8K PSD CREDIT!!! MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI !!!!!!!（ ꐦꉺωꉺ)つ @miguelism @pompomegranate come get ya mans !!!!! PART TWO HERE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You can still see him here.

It’s not real and it never will be– not again, anyways.

“March 13th.”

How long are you going to keep doing this? Your jaw tenses. Here we go again.

The argument is a solo act; there’s no one to talk to here but you. So naturally, you run the same trite script until it comes to the same inevitable conclusion: giving in to the self-indulgence.

The bad thing’s already happened. You lost Miguel– well, more like he lost you. You’re the one trapped in this purgatorial vortex. The space that lies between every what if, the border of every possibility.

And it’s so fucking lonely.

So it’s ironic that your multiverse jumping wristband is good for anything but its intended use. It mocks you, its amber projections burning red when you even so much as try to go home. Not to your original timeline– to HQ.

To him.

But you know that will never happen so you make do with what you have: the memories stored on your gadget, the device looking worse for wear with jagged claw marks running down its sides, disappearing into the scarred flesh that lies beneath it.

He didn’t mean to hurt you. You know that.

You wish you could tell him.

You (metaphorically) furiously fan away that cloud of remembrance. You’re already stuck, no need to dwell on the last time your heart was ripped out. You lie back, resting against nothing but floating amongst everything. Limbo sure is weird.

Arm resting over your stomach, you train your eyes on the happier time playing out from the screen on your wrist. It’s not perfect; the vision cracks, sometimes glitches in reds and greens before going back to normal. It’s getting worse.

There you go again! We’re trying to have a good time here.

Right. Right.

Sorry.

Focus.

You take a deep breath, chest rising and falling steadily.

Focus.

You close your eyes and when you reopen them, fix them on the screen that shows you strutting in Miguel’s domain, it’s like you’re there.

It’s like you’re back home.

“You gotta eat, you know.” Tossing a paper bag way up high, it doesn’t surprise you that he catches it with lightning fast reflexes, even with his back turned to you. “And if you don’t, I’ll make ‘em take empanadas off the menu.”

He’s still. Only sound coming from him is the rustling of the bag. At least there’s that, you think as you approach the floating platform. “Don’t make me come up there!” You holler, though you only get your own echo in return.

Shit. He’s in a mood.

Throat flexing with a thick swallow, you decide to go up anyways– you sure don’t want to wait for him to come to you. Thing’s slow as hell.

Webs whipping from your wrist, you fashion a slingshot apparatus to propel you yards into the air. Nothing beats the rush of a flight, even now as you descend into what could be a particularly thorny situation with a particularly grumpy man.

But he’s your particularly grumpy man.

“Hey,” Your voice starts softly, “Everything–”

He turns around, stopping you in the middle of what was going to be your magnum opus of pep talks to show he’s got a mouthful of doughy goodness that keeps him from talking. And when he swallows, there’s a damn smirk waiting for you to kiss.

You don’t fall for it, at least not now but god do you want to. But first…

“Asshole!”

“You just jumped to conclusions.” Another bite of the savory empanada just to tick you off. You’re so cute when you’re annoyed, even if it’s all in good fun. Your cheeks puff up and your nose scrunches when your eyebrows furrow. He’ll kiss you if you won’t.

“Oh, real mature. Hiding behind–”

In a flash, the empanada goes back in the bag and in red glowing binds gets fastened to the side of his computer mainframe, freeing up his hands to pull you close. A little too roughly, but you melt into his big frame regardless, lips pursing against his and giggling when you can taste meat and spice.

“How romantic.” You mutter and he laughs.

God, his laugh. Nobody heard it too often– nobody but you, that is.

When Miguel was with you, it’s as if you two were in a world of your own. A timeline of your own. Where past transgressions and terrible happenings were nonexistent. Where he could be him, the man he was supposed to be: sweet, charming, and kind. And where you could love him like he deserved.

Is someone else filling that role now?

Great! You’re thinking too much again. Stop fucking this up!

“June 27th!” You blurt, warped back to reality when your thoughts strayed too far from the projection.

The picture’s changed now. You’re home, your residence littered with reminders of Miguel. It’s empty, but not for long. The front door slams open and you and Miguel come pouring in, him taking the lead as the two of you blindly navigate the foyer with your lips locked and hands gripping each other for dear life.

Your cheeks in real time burn. Maybe you shouldn’t stay for this memory.

Oh, don’t be such a prude. It’s literally you! The little voice in your head chastises and honestly… You can’t argue with that.

“M-Miguel, I don’t– I don’t have– I’m not on–”

“Shut up.” A tempered hiss is pressed to your lips, thick digits coming to frame your face as he pushes you further into the space you’ve come to share together. “Or I’ll change my mind about filling you up.”

You can’t argue with that.

“Say it.” His growling crests your ears, breath hot and fangs out just moments later when his pelvis is flush against yours, cock buried to the base in your sopping wet pussy. You swear he’ll drip drool on you at this point, the man driven to the brink of his sanity by the way your cunt hugs him so tight. It’s like you want to milk him for all he’s worth.

Your hands paw helplessly at his chest, all your energy zapped as your eyes roll back under the curtain of fluttering fluffy eyelashes. “F-Fuck Miguel– f-fill me up!”

“Keep going.” His voice is low, rich and dark.

The fat head of his cock presses up against your sensitive bundle of clitoral nerves, slamming hard when you whimper and cry for him, “Right there, right there!” You start to babble, the words freely flowing from your kiss-bruised lips because your brain is long gone, “F-Fuck me, need your cum– need you, need you, Miguel! Please don’t stop, please!”

“Yeah? Can’t feel whole without my cock? Need it?” His tone seeped in pride, he loves seeing you unravel for him like this. “I’m givin’ it to you baby, right where you need it. You feel that? Your little pussy crying for me, so fucking wet. Fuck, you’re so good. Good for me.” He’s kissing you now, sloppy and panting into your mouth before his tongue ravishes yours and swallows every moan you give him.

Your legs locked around his waist still bounce, hips raised off the bed by Miguel’s brutish clutch so he can bully more of himself into you, harder and faster. Your lower body limply follows his every move, takes every slam and thrust all the while wet squelches fill the room. Your vision finally coming back, you see his nostrils flare and his eyes glazed over with a beastly kind of lust. It’s enough to make your bones shiver.

You can’t help but let your gaze rest there, even as he fucks you within an inch of your life, always so fervent with his thrusting as he stuffs you full, but you just can’t get over this view: his pectoral muscles flexing when you tighten up around him in just the right way, the way sweat gathers on his brow before trickling down his sharp jawline, and the way his lips stay agape because if he’s not groaning, he’s growling.

“That’s it, mi vida. Doin’ so good. Pussy takin’ me all the way in. Shit– I’m addicted. Might just fuck you raw every time. Want that?” One hand comes to your face, thumb just barely squishing your cheek and making you pout. “Say it.”

“Y-Yes, yes! Please Miguel!” Tear drops glimmering in the corners of your eyes, you plead for him, “C-Cum inside me, I’m getting close!” Every sense of yours is on fire, everything burning bright for him and only him. Always for him.

And you see a similar inferno explode in his narrowed eyes just then and it’s immediate, the way he unhooks your legs from his waist and bends them aaaalllllll the way back until your knees are violently knocking against the mattress, his lumbering body taking yours in the mating press he so adores.

Because he gets to fill you to the brim. Bump and grind against your cervix until even that soft nodule is his. He’s staking his claim, making you his as the soles of his feet dig deep into the sheets, his toned limbs caging your bouncing body until you’re nothing but a squealing little mess for him to clean up.

His balls slap firmly and roughly against your folds, sticky webs of cum starting and breaking each time he snaps his hips. Your walls tremble around him, gushing out more of your essence every time. You’re just about undone. He can feel it.

But so is he, his already thick cock pulsating with another rush of blood as the coil in his stomach heats up. He puts all his weight into you, onto you the last couple thrusts – he knows you can take it – so he can kiss you. So he can taste you.

“‘M cumming, c-cumming…” Your words are muffled and tired, eyes wheeling back as your orgasm hits you hard and heavy, Miguel following soon after with plenty of cum to fill your pretty pussy up with and an animalistic series of grunts as his cock twitches and throbs inside you. It’s thick and so much, too much so that the opaque matter starts to pool out when his hard shaft finally leaves you, giving your featherlight folds another heaping layer of viscosity.

“‘Tch– it’s comin’ out already.” He huffs, though with a bit of a laugh. “Can’t have that.” So his fingers gather what’s remaining and slip into your cunt before he pops another kiss to your parted lips, nipping just a teeny bit on the bottom half to get you to squeal one last time for him.

And that’s how the video ends. That’s how you finish, having followed along with lithe fingers rubbing your aching clit and one or two at any time plunged and crooked inside you, but it’s not the same.

It’ll never be the same.

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel smut #miguel o'hara smut #atsv x reader #atsv x you #spiderman x you #spiderman x reader #.˚₊ ੈ ʚ 📝 ɞ ₊˚. ꒰ marie writes! ꒱#.˚₊ ੈ ʚ 🍰 ɞ ₊˚. ꒰ a little treat for miguel. ꒱

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imthebadguyyy · 8 months

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Every Thing Has Changed

pairing : carlos sainz x reader

fandom : f1

synopsis : healing from a relationship in which you never felt loved is made easier when your a certain ferrari drive feels like home and changes your perception on love.

warnings : just some making out, mentions of a past abusive relationship, crying, angst, nightmare

a/n : just a short blurb inspired by photograph by Ed Sheeran and everything has changed by Taylor Swift💕

relationships, once resembling the sweet symphony of love can turn to play a dissonant melody, much like a wilting rose, its vibrant petals fading to a melancholic shade of gray. the once-gentle winds of understanding transformed into bitter gales of miscommunication, tearing at the fragile bonds once woven. love, once a warm and comforting embrace, can feel like a jagged, icy terrain, each step a painful reminder of the shards of trust shattered.

thats what your relationship with love had been, stuck a in a relationship with a man who did not appreciate you and found himself raising his hand at you in frustration or tear into your soul with ice cold words that threatened to shatter your soul.

it had left you vulnerable and untrusting, unwilling to open up to a relationship ever again.

until a certain ferrari driver came along.

carlos sainz.

maybe it was the way he had looked at you across the ramp at the Milan fashion show ferrari had made him attend, surrounded by other celebrities he was uncomfortable around.

your label had made you attend to show your fans you were fine post the 'termination' of your old relationship.

your eyes had met his dark brown ones, a gentle sparkle in them, and he found his lingering on yours, taking in the sight of you in all your gorgeousness across the room.

he had come up to you after, shook your hand and introduced himself.

the thick accent had you blushing, and the sight of this greek god like man dressed in a black tuxedo with the most perfectly mussed up hair had your heart doing a little tango in your chest.

he was charming and sweet, offering you champagne at the after party and telling you about his career and passion for formula 1. he had also admitted to being a fan of your music, to which you had giggled, and he had smiled.

as the party wore on, you stuck to him, finding him to be the only sincere person in the ballroom full of fake smiles, the only person who brought genuine smiles and laughter to you.

within a few hours it felt like chatting to an old friend.

you ended the night with his phone number logged in your phone, and yours in his, and a mutual follow on both your ends on Instagram.

two days later, he sent you a video of himself at the track, with charles singing Adele in the background,with the caption 'wish i could have your voice serenading me before I step into the car instead of his'

you found yourself smiling, shaking your head at his antics, but also blushing at his lopsided smile.

but something in your brain made you stop, hesitate to reply.

the scars from the past were still fresh, and the memory of heartache loomed large. the prospect of opening your heart once more, or even flirting, felt like stepping onto shaky ground.

you found yourself replying with a simple smile emoji and a promise to send him whatever new song you'd be working on soon.

days sped by, with little texts shared and likes dropped on each other's posts.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

your friends asked you persistently about the nature of your relationship with the spaniard, to which you said "he's just a friend I made recently"

when you came to barcelona to record your album, you dropped him a text, to which he asked you to a simple dinner at his favourite restaurant.

even though your heart hammered against your chest and your brain screamed no, you accepted, trying to ignore the slight alarm in your body.

and the dinner was perfect.

carlos was nothing short of a gentleman, pulling your chair out for you, complimenting the way you looked, and your music and taking genuine interest in what you had to say.

carlos found himself utterly infatuated with your beauty, inside and out, and he swore every time you giggled his heart fluttered like a butterfly.

he loved the nervous way you pushed your hair back behind your ears when you got shy, or the intense concentration as you picked your pasta, which was a butternut squash ravioli, which you told him, was your favourite.

he loved how you got so intense when telling a story, and how your hands moved animatedly as you told him a funny story about your night at the Grammy's.

he couldn't help but laugh as you told your story, and he couldn't help the slight flush to his cheeks when you said, "you look handsome tonight" with a sweet smile.

"thank you bella" he said, the nickname dripping off his lips like the sweetest honey, sending a homely warmth through your body.

you'd be lying if you said you weren't arrested to the handsome spaniard in front of you.

he had worn a turquoise blue shirt, the first few buttons undone, and pristine white pants that looked absolutely phenomenal on his gorgeously tanned skin, the Spanish sun clearly doing wonders for him.

he looked like an angel descended from the heavens, his hair falling imperfectly perfectly across his forehead, and his lips looked so delectably plump and pink that you couldn't help your eyes fluttering down to them multiple times throughout dinner.

you loved the way his accent laid heavy, as he talked to you about the atmosphere at monza. you loved the passion in his eyes and his voice as he spoke about how much he adored his job, and how deeply he cared about ferrari.

you loved the way his eyes furrowed in concentration, as he listened intently to the story you were telling him, and the sincerity in his dark eyes, the rich and velvety brown eyes radiating warmth.

you couldn't help the way your heart beat quickened, when he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, when you walked into the restaurant.

neither of you could deny the unspoken electric connection that you shared, zinging through the both of you like a bolt of lightning.

when you got out from the restaurant, he offered to drive you back to your hotel, the red ferrari purred through the streets as you both listened to the soft enrique iglesias songs playing on loop on the radio.

you continued sharing stories, as you made your way though the streets of barcelona, and by the time you reached your hotel, you found yourself unwilling to say goodbye to the handsome man beside you.

"so...this is me" you smiled, and he chuckled.

"I'm aware" he smiled back, and you giggled, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek.

"thank you for tonight carlos. i really enjoyed myself" you told him sincerely, leaning over to squeeze his hands softly.

"you're welcome carino, I enjoyed myself too" he said, running a thumb over your knuckles.

for a moment, the urge to just grab him by his stupidly handsome face and kiss him zapped through your body, but fear stopped you.

you weren't ready for that.

you couldn't do that.

not all over again.

and yes while he had proved to be different, how could you know for sure that things wouldn't turn sour?

"i think I'll get going" you whispered, voice not strong enough to maintain its regular volume, and carlos nodded, a crease in his brow forming at the sudden tremble in your voice.

"sure, let me know if you'd like to hang out sometime later" he said, getting out to open the door for you.

you lingered in the dimly lit hallway for a second, not quite warning him to leave but not strong enough to tell him you liked him.

you fluttered between fear and intuition, before deciding on a middle ground : leaning up on tip toe to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

carlos found himself blushing, responding with yet another gentle. kiss to your hand, and then your forehead

"good night carino" he whispered.

"goodnight carlos" you smiled.

you watched him walk away, heart strumming against your chest.

oh, you were in for a hard time.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

carlos sighed as he looked at the list of media duties in front of him. he zoned out, sylvia's voice lulling him into a doze.

the soft ping of a text notification snapped him out of it, and he looked at is discreetly under the table.

y/n, carlos

you : thought of you when i saw this 🫶🏼

*one attachment*

looking at the message, carlos grinned.

carlos : haha. looks like I follow you wherever I go ;)

you : haha very funny carlos. how's imola going for you?

carlos : you've memorized my race schedule now? 😄

you : noo i just saw a post on Instagram

carlos : it's just media today which i hate so I'm just ready to go home already

you : i get that!! i don't like doing press either :(

carlos : yeah I'm in a meeting right now and I wish i was in my bed fast asleep

you : ....wait are you in a meeting RIGHT NOW?!?

carlos : yes

you : carlos 😭 why are you texting me then??

carlos : because I prefer it ;)

you : oh my gosh okay we'll talk later okay?

carlos : okay carino, have a good day

you : you too 💕

"carlos, can you please put your phone away?" sylvia's impatient voice broke the trance he was.

"yeah yeah" he mumbled a little grumpily, earning a short from charles and a nudge from his press officer.

but he didn't care. he'd prefer spending time with you over the press anyday.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

sighing, you scrolled through your camera roll, erasing any trace of your past relationship. it was gone. it wasn't a part of you anymore.

every deleted picture felt like a weight being lifted off your mind and your chest and tears filled your eyes.

the sheer relief that came with the alleviated pain had a gasp rising in your throat, coming out in a strangled choke.

before you knew it, you were sobbing, knees pulled up to your chest, tears running down your face, choked sobs leaving your throat, each one seemingly ripping your throat open.

you cried till your throat was raw and your body on the brink of exhaustion.

the sound of your phone ringing cut through, making you jump.

you watched as carlos' name flashed across the screen, and after taking a deep breath, you answered.

"hello?"

"buenos dias carino. como estas?" how are you he asked, his voice light and melodious, and you inhaled deeply, feeling the anxiety slowly leaving your body.

"I'm good carlos, what about you?" you replied, trying to keep your voice as steady as possible.

"all good carino. just missing you" he flirted, but you didn't miss the sincerity in his voice.

you felt your heartbeat increase in pace, a flush painting your cheeks.

"i miss you too.." you mumbled, embarrassment flooding you as you realized you really did miss him.

"then why don't I fly you out to Monza? its ferrari's home race and I'd love to see you in ferrari red" he said and you giggled.

"I'd love to carlos" you said, and you heard him laugh.

"okay then carino, I'll have the jet pick you up okay? does Thursday work for you? ill pick you up after media duties?" he said, and you awwed at his concern.

"i can just go to your hotel? you don't have to pick me up" you assured him, and after much convincing, he reluctantly agreed to have caco pick you up instead.

"just ask him if his name is carlos too" he had joked, smiling to himself when you let out a hearty laugh.

with promises to see each other soon, you hung up.

you took a deep breath, wiping away the salty tears, contrasting to the sweet smile on your face.

maybe, just maybe, you could watch love begin again.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Thursday rolled around, and you flew to Monza in carlos' jet, to be received by a man with a kind face and a bouquet of flowers waiting for you.

"you must be carlos?" you asked shyly, shaking his hand.

"yes, I'm carlos' cousin, but please call me caco" he had smiled, offering to take your backpack from you.

the two of you chatted on your way to the hotel, making jokes about all the carlos' in the Sainz family.

"how do you manage to keep them all distinct?' you had asked, and he had just laughed and said, "trust me, we don't"

you found yourself enjoying the company of the older man, who was as friendly as someone could be.

as you reached the hotel, you felt nerves spring in your belly, and you bit your lip anxiously.

caco noticed, and sent you a soft smile.

"you know, carlos doesn't usually invite people over. you must be special to him if he's called you to a race" and you tried your hardest to not warm up at his words, but the bright smile on your face said it all.

"come, let me show you to your room, it's next to carlos', and then we can wait in his room for him to come back he should be here soon" caco said, doing the needful with the reception staff.

with a sigh you sunk down into the plush cushions of the sofa in carlos' room after depositing all your baggage in your own room.

you and caco continued to talk for a bit, sharing stories and laughs till the door opened, and a pair of white sneakers made their way over to you.

"hola carino" carlos' voice rang through the room, and you turned on your heel, heart fluttering in your chest as you took in the sight of him, in his red and black ferrari shirt and apparently signature white pants.

neither of you noticed caco gently slip away, not wanting to intrude in the private moment.

"hello" you smiled, waving at him nervously.

in quick strides he made his way across the room, engulfing you in a big hug.

you inhaled the musky scent he wore, reminding you of dior sauvage, and focused on the feeling of his large, coarse palms gently rubbing your back.

"i missed you, y'know?" he mumbled, drawing away and gently caressing your cheek.

"i missed you too, so much' you replied, voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm happy you're here" he murmured, gently pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ears.

"I'm happy to be here, thank you so much for having me" you smiled at him.

"anytime, corazon" heart he flirted, and you flushed again.

the two of you spent some time chatting, before jet lag overtook you, and you ended up falling asleep with your head on his shoulder.

carlos gently pulled your legs up and out a pillow under your neck to prevent you from getting a crick as he laid you on the sofa, penning a small note when he realized that he had to run to meet fans in the hotel.

with an odd feeling of sadness, he tucked you in, leaving you, to head down.

he remained a little distracted, not quite able to focus when he truly just wanted to spend time with you.

he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so deeply infatuated with someone, the last time someone had flooded his mind 24\7

you were so utterly perfect in so many ways, sweet and kindhearted, headstrong and independent, warm and funny, friendly and open.

but still, he felt a reluctance to be vulnerable, the walls you had put up that you refused to let him penetrate. he was also aware that you even coming to had been a huge step, and he could slowly work towards findings out what exactly was upsetting you.

with new found determination, he made his way back to the room.

upstairs, you were still fast asleep, and as he walked in he noticed the agitation on your face, the beads of sweat dripping down your forehead and the whimpers leaving your lips.

he rushed over to you, fingers gently shaking your tense shoulders, heart breaking at the whimpers escaping your lips, little murmurs of “please don’t hurt me..” leaving your lips, making his heart shatter.

still in a haze, you frowned, watching as the dark shaped got closer and close to you, you tried to run, but you were frozen in place, a scream rising to your throat only to stick, mouth open without making a single sound. the dark figure got closer and closer, ominous giggles leaving their mouth as they approached you, faceless, but for an evil smirk on their lips.

the figure reached out and touched your face, cold and clammy, and you felt a chill run down your spine.

"im going to hurt you," the figure whispered. you tried to speak, but no words would come out. you were trapped, helpless.

the figure leaned in closer, and you could feel its hot breath on your neck. It reached out and touched your throat.

you closed your eyes and waiting for the impact.

but then, you heard a familiar voice, sounding almost dreamlike and distant, like a guardian angel descending from the heavens to refuse you.

"wake up, carino! it’s just a dream. I’m here, estas a salvo” you're safe Carlos’ voice broke through and you awoke with a gasp.

carlos took in the sight of the tears dripping down your cheek, and the pants leaving your mouth, and he swore he felt his heart shatter.

"stay away" you whispered, bringing your knees to your chest to shield yourself.

"wh-what?" he mumbled, surprised.

"i said stay away!! don't touch me" you shouted, voice quivering with fear.

the storm of emotion in carlos' eyes sent self pity surging through your heart.

"oh, cariño mío, nunca, nunca, nunca te haría daño, te lo prometo." oh my darling, i would never ever ever hurt you,i promise he whispered, but still, he took a step back. he did not want to cross any boundaries.

"don't lie to me" you whimpered, shoulders shaking and chest rising and falling rapidly. you were still dazed, not quite processing that it was carlos in front of you, not your ex, and that he was the last person to raise a hand on you.

"im not lying, mi duce" he said sincerely, gently reaching his hand out to you.

"no! thats what he said too" you sobbed out, knees giving out as you fell to your knees on the ground, face buried in your hands as you sobbed.

carlos decided that space wasn't the answer. with steps as light as a feather, he was beside you in an instant, gingerly reaching out to stroke your hair.

surprisingly, you didn't push him away, but you did flinch, and the sight made Carlos's heart break further.

"oh, oh, cariño mío... siento mucho, mucho que eso te haya sucedido..."oh, oh my darling, I'm so so sorry that ever happened to you, he whispered, gently rubbing your arm, the warmth of his hands helping the shivers taking over your body.

"I'm sorry" you sobbed, embarrassment, guilt and shame coursing through your veins.

"no, why are you sorry? you haven't done anything wrong" he stated firmly, gently letting you lean into him, sniffling into his shirt.

he didn't care about the mess on his shirt. he didn't care about the fact that he was late for a press meeting. all he cared about was making sure that your were okay.

"i shouldn't have been so stupid, so stupid that someone had to hit me to make me see sense" you continued, mind so drowsy and scared you didn't even know what you were saying.

"you're not stupid, amor, i promise youre not. i am so sorry that happened to you but please, mi dulce, don't ever demean yourself. eres más valiosa para mí que el sol, la luna y las estrellas, y juro que hay millones de personas que piensan lo mismo. no puedo deshacer lo que tu ex ha hecho, pero haré todo lo posible para tratarte mejor y hacerte sentir amada de nuevo, si me das una oportunidad, mi cariño. significas el mundo para mí y pasaré cada día de mi vida demostrándotelo si es necesario." he said,You are worth more to me than the sun moon and stars and i swear there are millions of people who think so too. I cannot undo what your ex has done, but I can try my damn hardest to treat you better and make you feel loved again, if you will give me a chance, my darling. You mean the world to me and I'll spend every day of my life proving that to you if i have to", gently lifting your chin so he could look into your red eyes.

"I'm not worth it carlos.. you deserve someone who isn't a mess, who isn't wrecked, who isn't a useless, used thing, like me.." you started but you were cut off by carlos pulling you into a tight hug.

inhaling deeply, you let yourself sink into his embrace, clutching the material of his shirt as if you were scared he would disappear into thin air.

"you are everything to me" he murmured, and you looked up at him, gaze flicking from his sincere eyes, the worry lines on his forehead to his perfectly plump lips.

and in that moment you made a decision.

"kiss me" you whispered, hand reaching out to stroke his stubble.

"there's nothing I want more, carino, but..are you sure? no quiero que te arrepientas de esto más tarde." i don't want you to regret this later he said, and you smiled.

"nunca he estado más seguro de nada más."I've never been more sure of anything else you replied, gently pulling him down to meet your lips.

you closed the space between the two of you, pressing your body against his as your hands found home on his face and waist, his in your cheek and hips

carlos sighed softly, against your mouth hands moving to wrap around you, resting on your back as he kisses you back, with unfiltered passion.

you never thought that actually someone could actually leave you winded with just a kiss, but here was a man, something out of a story book, taking your breath away with a kiss.

"I've wanted to do that for so long" carlos mumbled against your lips, as you slowly pulled away, trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering in your belly.

"i have too, but i was scared.." you started off, but carlos cut you off with a feather soft kiss to your forehead.

"you don't owe me any explanation, mi amor. thank you for trusting me" he whispered, and you smiled.

"just... promise me you won't hurt me?" you asked, vulnerability evident in every syllable.

carlos responded with a soft kiss to your knuckles, to your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, and then finally your lips.

"never."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

that summer, carlos took you to mallorca to meet his family.

he had brought you along, introducing you to his father, his mother, his sisters and a few cousins who had come to spend the summer.

carlos sainz sr had welcomed you with open arms, despite your initial nervousness. reyes had enveloped you in a warm hug, expressing her excitement at finally meeting the woman her son couldn't stop raving about, making the both of you blush.

his sisters, blanca and ana, had both gushed over you, making very little effort to hide how much they loved your music and how excited they were that their brother was dating you.

you were grateful at how welcoming and sweet his family was, how they treated you like one of their own, taking you sightseeing and taking you to their favourite spots, treating you to lovely lunches with the family, with reyes making you your first ever homemade gazpacho that you fell in love with.

out of everyone, you found yourself gravitating to her the most, and spent as much time with her as you could, laughing at stories she told you about carlos.

one evening she took you and her daughters out for a spa day. carlos couldn't hide the happy smile that refused to leave his lips the whole day, heart full at how well you meshed with his family.

"you look lovely dear" reyes warm tone greeted you as you made your way to the car so you could go to lunch and then a spa. she was so kind to you, even though she only met you a few days ago, she welcomed you into her family with open arms. "are you enjoying yourself, mi hija?" the nickname made you flush, as you nodded, a shy smile on your lips "don’t be shy!" she said, gently squeezing your shoulder, eyes twinkling

"mallorca is really beautiful! i really like it here" you said, a genuine smile on your lips, and reyes nodded. "thats good because I get the feeling we'll have you over much more often now", blanca added from the back seat.

she winked at you which made the four of you laugh.

"well, i hope i can visit much more often" you said, smiling at the three sainz women in front of you.

"you will, i know for a fact my brother is head over heels for you with how he looks at you like you hung the stars sun sky and the entire cosmos up" ana said sagely, making blanca snort.

"don't expose him like that, he'll kill you if he hears you told her that" her older sister chided

"I'm not wrong! he doesn't bring anyone home unless he's serious about them!" ana said indignantly, and you felt your heart flutter

"my carlito is very shy, hija, and that's why we were so happy when he told us you were dating, and even more when he said he was bringing you home" reyes said to you, a nostalgic smile on her lips as she thought back to when all her children were babies.

"you're a lovely person, y/n. i knew it the moment you walked in the door, and I know you make carlos so happy. welcome to the family unofficially, mi hija" she said softly, to voices of agreement from ana and Blanca and you felt tears rise to your eyes.

overwhelmed with emotion, all you could do was squeeze their hands and say a soft "thank you"

later that night, as you and carlos for ready for bed, he came up to you, wrapping his arms around you, pressing soft kisses to your neck and shoulders, massaging your shoulders with lotion.

"what did you talk to my mother and sisters about mi dulce?" he asked, pressing a gentle kiss to your collarbone.

"thats a secret, amor" you smirked and he whined, burying his face in your neck.

"ana has been winking at me all evening and poking me in the side. what did you dooo" he whined like a child and you giggled.

"i can't tell you,but they were all so lovely" you said, climbing into bed, as carlos snuggled up to you.

"see? i told you they'd all love you. my dad told me today as well, he thinks you're a perfect match for me and he'd like to take you for a round of golf sometime" he said, running his fingers through your hair.

"I'd love that" you smiled, kissing his nose.

of course, it didn't stop there.

before you knew it, carlos' lips were on yours. you pushed him away with a giggle, knowing it wouldn't stop at one.

"please amor, just one more, I've barely seen you today" he pouted and you rolled your eyes at his antics.

“fine. just one. one more kiss and that’s—”

carlos' mouth pressed against yours in a desperate kiss, mumbling a quick ,"yes, hmm, yes," as he nudges the tip of his tongue against yours to open up, trying to get you a more passionate kiss.

you pull back with a gasp, hands against his chest, “no no no no no. you need to behave and i only said one and your entire family is here and this is more than one —" he cut you off mid way again, pressing a flurry of pecks your lips.

desperately trying to keep your thoughts straight, you begins to cave in as his teeth gently nibble at your bottom lip, pulling it away and his eyes watching as it snaps back in its place, his tongue meets yours again.

you whine, body relaxing slowly into his, hands resting on his chest and face, monetarily forgetting the fact that you were making out with him in his family home.

"ay dios mio!" caco's voice exclaims and you jump, pulling away from carlos.

"por favor, cierra la puerta si vas a involucrarte en estas actividades, hermano." he said backing out of the room.

"qué quieres, caco?" carlos yelled after him, grinning at the sight of you burying your face in the blanket, shouting out an apology to caco.

"just wanted to say good night, which I now know you'll have!" he shouted back and you gasped, pulling the sheets over your face.

you were sure ana in the next room must have heard it.

"carlos" you whine as he laughs, anas voice floating in from next door "please don't traumatise me!"

all of a sudden, he pins you down, fingers ticking your sides, relishing the sound of your laughter.

“im so in love with you, angel, te amo." he whispered.

"te amo carlos" you mumbled, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips.

everything had changed, thankfully for the better.

and you could not be happier.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

a/n : might make it multi part or just leave it like this, please let me know which one you'd prefer!!

as always likes, reblogs comments, opinions etc are appreciated!! much love always 😘

TAGS

f1 : @theonly1outof-a-billion @rileynicol3 @ivegotparticulartaste @moon-enthusiast @superlegend216

everything: @roslastyles420 @hopefulinlove @bluesongbird

TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST SEND ME AN ASK OR A DM SPECIFYING WHICH FANDOM ♥️

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz imagines #carlos sainz x reader fluff #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x female reader #carlos sainz x oc #f1 #formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #ferrari #scuderia ferrari #f1 drivers #f1 drivers x reader

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mirai-e-jump · 9 months

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Ohsama Sentai King-Ohger Character Book: We're KING!!!!!

PROLOGUE

Jeramie Brasieri was troubled. After ending the conflict between humans and the strange looking creatures, Bugnarak, and with the turning point of becoming king, he wanted to create a new story.

However, he couldn't come up with anything that could surpass, "The Legend of King-Ohger," which he himself had written, and was known to everyone in Chikyu. And so, he decided to make a proposal to the 5 kings, who were also his figthing comrades…or so it goes.

Gira Hasty

"I'm going to rule the world!"

Taisei Sakai guesses what's going on in Gira's head! 50% Children from the orphanage 20% The people of Shugoddam 15% The kings and citizens of the other countries 10% What I was like when I was young 5% Food

My Favorite Point: The Cloak "I was worried in the beginning on whether it would look good on me, but now, it's my favorite!" (-Sakai)

Yanma Gast

"You guys, just shut up already and follow me. I'm not going to lose to anyone!"

Aoto Watanabe guesses what's going on in Yanma's head! 80% Technology and research for the sake of the country's future 15% When it comes to N'kosopa, how I should act as a king 5% Space to think about other stuff

My Favorite Point: Cuff Earring "I like that it has alot of decorations, including N'kosopa's emblem and the jagged edges." (-Watanabe)

The Jacket "I can understand why Yanma loves it, The key point is that it's got alot of texture!" (-Watanabe)

Hymeno Ran

"I'll do as I want and follow my own path!"

Murakami Erika guesses what's going on in Hymeno's head! 40% Cute things and beautiful scenery, fashion and other things including the "arts" 30% Lifesaving and medical research for the sake of Ishabana's people 20% Romantic stories 10% Daydreaming about the future

My Favorite Point: The Spiral Curled Hair "With this hair, I love the novel style of it being tied up and the tiara attached to the knot." (-Murakami)

The Immovable King and Moffun

A Special photoshoot with Rita Kaniska and Moffun has become a realization! With their mask removed, Rita enters a relaxed mode, and is being healed by and carefully brushing the fur of Moffun.

"Together with Moffun" is a long running animated series that depicts Panpy, a cryptid hunter, meeting the legendary yetis Moffun and living in "Mofu Village." The white, cute and fluffy visuals, the love of humans, and the willingness to be hugged so tightly…The healing nature of Moffun is very popular among both children and adults, and is known to have achieved the highest viewership rating in Ishabana of 90.9%, which is run by Hymeno Ran.

One of the reasons for the love of this series, was the proof of bond between the queen of Ishabana and her people. Having lost her parents in the "Wrath of God" tragedy 15 years ago, Hymeno, who became queen at such a young age, had suffered greatly…It was at this time that the people of Ishabana rose up. They made the show with the hopes that she would smile as much as possible, and Hymeno, who grew up watching it, turned into a wonderful queen and doctor.

Another big fan of this show, which is currently airing all across Chikyu, loves it. It's the King of Gokkan, Rita Kaniska. Rita's "Moffun Love " is becoming apparent to Hymeno, while Rita doesn't show any emotion due to their duty as king…If Moffun's charm, which has won the hearts of the two kings, spreads any further, is it possible…the future of Chikyu could become brighter?!

Rita Kaniska

"Even if the earth were to split or the sky falls, Rita Kaniska will not be shaken!"

Hirakawa Yuzuki guesses what's going on in Rita's head! 90% Trials and other work that has to get done 10% Wanting to play with Moffun

My Favorite Point: The Collar "They usually wear a collar that covers their face, so scenes where they show their face are appealing." (-Hirakawa)

Kaguragi Dybowski

"We'll eliminate these pests for a bountiful harvest"

Kaku So guesses what's going on in Kaguragi's head! 75% Toufu 10% The other countries kings 10% Suzume 5% Racules

My Favorite Point: The Furisode's Patterns "I like that the design shows off the various emotions. This costume is a must for Kaguragi!" (-Kaku)

Jeramie Brasieri

"Humans, Bugnarak, and everything else, I rule over all and determine the fate of the world. The king of inbetween, the story of what I do will be passed down forever."

Ikeda Masashi guesses what's going on in Jeramie's head! 80% Peace 20% Stories

My Favorite Point: The Forehead Makeup Instead of using a sticker, I have the patterns drawn on instead. It's the switch that gets me into the role! (-Ikeda)

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cecilioque · 1 year

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Adaman the Symbol of Time

p(An Analysis on the character design of Adaman from Pokemon Legends of Arceus and it’s relation to time and art history.)

A lot of the characters form PLA are similar in terms of design. The characters that do not follow the standard hoodies, tunics, guild jumpsuits ,and kimonos have a lot of interesting art history associated with them. I love Adaman’s design in particular since he is literally a symbol of time.

Well...isn’t this obvious since he is the Diamond Clan leader and associated with Dialga? Yes, but there is a lot more subtle aspects to his design that link him with a specific form or Japanese Art. But let’s first look at the obvious references to Dialga .

In Adaman’s design they use a lot of blues and and silver that you can see shared with Dialga. They also use the Diamond clan symbol that is shaped to look like Dialga’s chest gem repeatedly in the coat and accessories. Adaman’s coat/jacket is most likely a nod to the Japanese Haori. It is even tied with a fancy beaded Himo chord to keep it closed. If you look at the shoes you can see in the concept art that even the bottom of them are supposed to look like Dialga’s feet in their regular form and on the top of the shoe like the legendary Pokemon’s face. All this information is very interesting and nice seeing how the character and the Pokemon are related even thematically.

However, it’s crossed your mind (even briefly) that Adaman’s design is not directly one to one with Dialga. He isn’t a Dialga gijinka. There are elements and colors that Adaman uses that the legendary Pokemon does not. We can brush it off as Adaman having a flair and his importance as a Diamond Clan leader to set him apart. But this is where it gets interesting. His outfit is generally just fashionable and we can choose to look at it like that on a surface level. But if you look deeper you see a more symbolic meaning.

Adaman is Kintsugi . What is that? Kintsugi is a Japanese art technique that repairs pottery using lacquer and gold dust. Adaman also has similar gold veins running through his clothing. For someone who is so “put together” looking, why would you intentionally create jagged and uneven elements other than for aesthetic? This is because for my understanding, this is yet another way the character designer chose to express Adaman’s connection to time.

Kintsugi is a beautiful form of art and philosophy. The idea is not to hide the cracks and flaws, but to turn it into something more beautiful and strong. It represents the passage of time and a documentation of the harsh conditions in which we pass through. But ultimately it is a celebration of survival and growth. It is also a metaphor for embracing your flaws and imperfections.

One translation defines the word kintsugi as golden “golden seams”. So, Adaman is kind of a symbol of kintsugi pottery and philosophy. The part about this design that confused me the most was his hair since it’s also not standard colored and is quite unique. But I realized that if we are equating him to pottery, the hair might be colored that way to imitate pottery glazes (the stuff they put on ceramics to give it color.)

On another interesting note, Adaman has lots of signs of past injury. We see this with the bandages on his arms and hands, the cut brow which is a remnant of injury and survival, and then the very intentional jagged gold claw marks on his back. The back gold lines are sharp looking and contrast with the rest of the designs which is fluid and rounded. It’s bringing attention to the marks.

Image sources: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

We can interpret a lot from this design. It also raises many questions. The jagged golden marks and Adaman’s bandaged arms implies that he has been “damaged” or “broken” in some sense. This could be taken literally or symbolically. We don’t know what happened to him. Maybe he was attacked by an alpha Pokemon and survived a severe injury that he now incorporates into this aesthetic as a way to show that he was able to come back from that. Or maybe it’s referring to his leadership as a young Diamond Clan leader and the mistakes he made and had to learn from.

So in conclusion. From what I can understand , if we were to wrap up all the motifs, Adaman’s design ultimately seems to just represent a passage of time. Breakage and repair are just proof of time passing and represent history and life. And I think that is really cool.

These are all my speculations and none of it is canon you can disagree if you want. These are just things I have observed and made note of that I believe makes the character far more interesting and fleshed out. There is a lot of deep and meaningful things you can pull from this if you want to expound further through fanart and fanfic.

EDITS/NOTES:

So a lot of people asked if the arm and hand wraps are for fighting. They aren’t. In every form of fighting and martial arts that involves wrapping(taping) your knuckles, you wrap between each finger and around your knuckles several times to cushion them. You do their for wrist stability, prevent injury, and joint restriction. Failing to wrap your hands correctly will result in fractures, broken fingers and knuckles, and metal carpet boss. Not only are Adaman’s knuckles exposed when he clenches his fists, there is no wrapping supporting his wrists on the left hand. If he is wrapping them to fight, he is doing a very bad job at it.

I did research on this before writing the initial post and came to this conclusion, but I guess I’ll add it now for those that had questions.

Another interesting note is that the Diamond Clan symbol also looks like a stylized version of the characters for gold. This same character also does appear in the work kintsugi.

Adaman’s name is interesting too since it’s not really a common name. In fact, it seems to be a play on word “adamant” which usually refers to someone who is not willing to change their mind or opinion. HOWEVER , Adamant is an archaic diamond found in Greek/Roman mythology. It is a bit of a legendary diamond of sorts. The name is derived from the Greek word for diamond. “adámas”.

If you remember, in the Diamond and Pearl games you can use the “Adamant Orb” to increase the dragon/steel type moves of Dialga by 20% if they hold it. In Pokemon Legends Arceus you can get the “Adament Crystal from Adaman. This can be used to switch Dialga between Origin and normal form.

Also random interesting thought. The diamond clan settlement is located in the crimson mirelands. Out of the different areas, this one has the most ideal conditions to create pottery clay next to bodies of water (Lake valor) , the scarlet bog, and the mountainous areas surrounding the settlement. Very similar to the Mashiko and Hagi pottery villages in japan.

#adaman #pokemon adaman #pokemon legends #PLA #legends arceus #dialga #just my thoughts.

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mochinek0 · 5 months

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Daminette December 2023: 18-Hiding in the Shadows

Marinette looked around her pent house in Paris. She had everything she wanted as a teenager. Well, almost everything. She was a well-known fashion designer, to the people that were aware of her. She kept her business a secret and used an alias. Her clients all came from judgement on her other clients. Others designers knew her as 'Passion' after her store's brand. Very few knew her as Marinette Dupain-Cheng: Gabriel Agreste, Audrey Bourgeois, and Jagged Stone.

Marinette had enough money to pay her rent, her fabric, all of her equipment, anything a business woman could need. Marinette herself, not so much. She missed being able to walk out and go sit at a café for a bit. When she saw Wayne Enterprise opened a section in Paris, she came up with an idea.

'Wayne Enterprises is a place that usually pays big. Even a part time job should be fine. A little play money couldn't hurt. A few extra euros so I could eat out, get some comfy clothes so I'm not rushing between orders and messing up wouldn't hurt.'

Damian Wayne sat at his desk, looking through potential applicants. Many of them were attached to big names or had one of their own. As he rang background checks, he could see they were all connected to each other in one way or another. He smirked at his idea.

'Let's put on a show. I want to see what kind of people these applicants are around each other. Would they out themselves?'

Mari was escorted to a waiting room as Damian Wayne got through other interviews. When the door opened, the last thing she expected was to see some familiar faces: Chloe, Adrien, and Lila.

"I don't know why you're even here, Dupain-Cheng." Chloe snarled, after the door was closed, "This is a big company that would love to work with our families. You have nothing going for you."

Marinette sat down and smiled, "Is that right? I guess I must have sent the wrong order to your mother and that's why she wore my design down the red carpet at the MET Gala."

Chloe tensed up and refused to meet her gaze. She could tell Adrien and Lila were surprised as well.

Chloe cleared her throat, "You're lying."

"Call your mother and ask." Marinette shrugged, "Oh, that's right! She doesn't like you; she prefers your half sister, who can actually work and living on her own, instead of leeching off of her Daddy."

"This isn't you, Dupain-Cheng." Chloe declared.

"No. This is me." Marinette shrugged off the concerned looks, "I'm just not being forced to coddle you to make Caline Bustier's life easier. 'Oh, just show Chloe some love, so she'll know what it's like and she'll get better eventually. You'll see.' Even she knew you were a horrible person. She basically thought you were The Grinch. That with enough love, your heart would grow three sizes and you wouldn't be such a bitch anymore."

Everyone was speechless at Marinette's attitude. This wasn't the Marinette that they grew up with.

"Chloe Bourgeois." a security voice called.

Chloe held her head high as she walked into the office.

"Damian Wayne." Chloe stated.

"Sit!" he demanded.

Chloe was shocked by his attitude.

'Doesn't he know who I am?'

"Do you know who I am?" she shouted.

"A spoiled brat; Ive read the articles on the internet." Damian stated, "You are known for crying for your father when you don't get what you want. Even though you are the oldest, your half-sister is who your mother relies on to bring customers for Style Queen in New York."

"My father-" Chloe snarled.

"Isn't the mayor anymore. He hasn't been the mayor in three years." the Wayne heir spoke, "If you're thinking of blackmailing me, you chose the wrong person. Spread whatever lies you want or cry to your father, the hotel owner. I could make one post about how horrid his hotel is and he would go out of business. Could you live with that?"

Chloe stood there, speechless. The only person who talked to her like this was her mother.

"I'm in charge, here, and if it came down to it, your job would be scrubbing toilets all day." Damian declared.

Tears formed in Chloe's eyes.

'He's glaring at me, just like Mommy. He doesn't look happy. He looks at me like he wishes I was gone or someone else.'

"We're done here." Damian stated.

Chloe quickly rushed out of the office. The three saw her rushing away, crying.

'I knew she wouldn't last.'

"Marinette, I can't understand why you're like this." Lila spoke, as she took her seat.

'He made that Daddy's Girl cry. I better go at this carefully.'

"Oh, shove it, Lila." Marinette sighed, "All three of us, here, know you're a lying manipulative bitch. You don't have to fake it."

"I don't know-" Lila continued.

"Adrien already told me years ago that he made a deal with you. He made one with me, too. Did he ever tell you that?" Mari questioned.

Lila glanced towards Adrien, who kept his head down.

"Oh, he didn't." she giggled, "You see, I was already designing for Jagged Stone when you arrived to our school. Adrien even had me autograph things I designed for him."

The model had turned towards Adrien and was now glaring at him.

"I could have made your whole 'tinnitus-kitten bullshit' story go up in flames since day one." Mari smiled, "I could have video called him and you would have been labeled as delusional."

"I took all our friends away!" Lila cried out, in victory.

"No." Mari answered, "You took away people, who were finally talking to me. Chleo ensured that for seven years, I had no friends. Those 'friends' just went back to not talking to me. You didn't actually do anything. If anything, you helped me. You took away the class president duties from me and I had more free time. You turned Alya and Nino away, so I couldn't babysit. I designed more clothes and got more clients. You didn't make my life worse, Lila, you made it better."

Lila fumed. Adrien had played peace maker between the both of them. From what Marinette was saying, she could have won the war in an instant! She thought she had chased Marinette Duapin-Cheng out of school all those years ago and here she was smiling, practially laughing at her, saying it wasn't true. She had thanked her and said she made her life better.

'I need this job so I can rub it in her face! I need to win against her!'

"I do hope you at least did some research into Damian Wayne." Marinette stated.

"I've known Damian Wayne since we were children!" Lila announced.

"Is that what it told you, you should say when you looked up how rich his family is?" Mari inquired.

Lila stood up, in rage.

'How dare she!'

"Lila Rossi." security called out.

Lila smirked, "I'm coming."

"She really should have done her research." Marinette spoke out loud.

"Why do you say that?" Adrine asked.

"Lila likes to play off her tears and looks." Mari declared, "Damian Wayne hates going to galas because of girls that try to attach themselves to him."

"And?" Adrien questioned.

"He broke an Italian model's arm two months ago, for lying to him." the designer stated.

Adrien paled at her words. Marinette merely smiled and pulled out her phone and dialed emergency services.

"Hello, what is your emergency?" the voice asked.

"I think we need an ambulance at Wayne Enterprise." Marinette stated, "I think someone's arm is broken."

"Are you with this person?" the voice questioned.

"No." the designer answered.

"I have sent medical to your location." the voice declared, before hanging up.

"That was pretty extreme, Marinette. I have faith in Lila!" Adrien shouted, "I don't think he would do that! The Waynes have an imagine to uphold!"

"Maybe, you should have done your research." Mari shrugged, "You still have time. Maybe five minutes."

Lila sauntered her way into the office.

"Hello, Mr. Wayne." She spoke, calmly.

"Sit." He demanded, not looking up.

Lila waved off his decleration. She moved past the chair in front of his desk and walked her way to his side.

"Can I sit on your lap?" She asked, "You see, I have tinnitus and-"

"There is nothing in here that would activate your tinnitus. Tinnitus is when you can't here anything for a brief amount of time, but a loud ringing. It's usually followed after hearing an extremely loud sound. I should know; I went to medical school." Damian stated.

'Shit. My usual tactics won't work here.'

Lila nodded and made her way back to the seat.

"Why shoud I hire you?" The Wayne heir questioned.

Lila fluttered her lashes, "I'm a model for Gabriel Agreste."

"Former model." Damian interjected, "You now model on Instagram and Only Fans."

Lila turned red. She didn't expect them to aware of her new lifestyle.

"Now, Miss Lerouch-" he continued.

Lila paled, "Wh-What did you call me?"

"Cerise Lerouch." Damian stated, "Did you think I would not delve into your background? I have to know who I am working with."

Cerise quickly leaped up from her seat and rushed around the desk.

"Don't touch me." Damian demanded.

"I'll do anything." Cerise cried out, grabbing onto his arm.

The Wayne heir growled, "Let go."

"I can help you relieve stress in other ways, you know." Cerise pleaded.

Damian grabbed her wrist and twisted it behind her back, harshly. Cerise screamed in pain.

"I have no need for whores." Damian spoke.

He grabbed the back of her shirt, arm still twisted, and walked her to his office door. He grabbed the knob and threw her out, in front of his security team.

"Drag this whore out by the hair, if you have too, but I want her off Wayne Enterprise grounds and blacklisted!" Damian shouted.

"Yes, Mr. Wayne." they spoke simultaneously, as he slammed his door shut.

"Shit, I think her arm is broken." the one on the left declared.

"She would call an ambulance?" the one on the right asked.

"Please, help me! It hurts so much!" Cerise begged, cradling her arm.

"You shouldn't have pissed him off." the one on the right declared, "Damian Wayne isn't one to mess around."

A man rushed towards them with medical workers.

"Did you guys call for an ambulance and someone with a broken arm?" the new guy asked.

"No, but perfect timing." the one on the left stated, "Girl with broken arm right here."

Cerise was walked by the waiting room. Inside, she could see Adrien looked horrified before turning to Marinette. She was smiling at her. Then, the baker's daughter flipped her off.

'She knew! That bitch knew how this would end!'

Cerise burst into tears as she was carted off.

"I guess that just leaves you and me, Agreste." Marinette stated.

Adrien began to feel uncomfortable.

"I do hope you do better than they did." She spoke, "For your Father's sake."

"Huh?" Adrien asked, confused.

"Damian Wayne isn't one to back down, not even to his father. He can make his father bow down to him. You have no idea how......attractive that is to a woman, Adrien." Mari smiled, "A man with a spine."

The model gulped, watching Marinette lick her lips.

"You should grow a spine." she declared, "Maybe then your father won't force you to model for him. I' sure that's why Kagami chose Felix over you. Your cousin has a spine. It looks good on him. Maybe, that's why Kagami didn't take my advice on how to get back with you after the break up."

Adrien only looked at her in shocked.

"Alya told me you broke up and I went to see her." Marinette continued, "I tried to help, but she didn't want to. She said it was better that way and well, Felix and you did look alike as teens. The same face with a spine; kind of hard to resist. They're so happy and their twins are adorable."

"Adrien Agreste, Mr. Wayne will see you now." the voice spoke over the intercom.

The model looked over at the designer. She waved at him, but said nothing. Adrien stood up and stood tall.

Adrien walked into Damian's office. It was intimidating; Marinette was right. He was scarier than his father.

"Why should I hire you, Adrien Agreste?" Damian questioned.

"I hate modeling. I prefer computers and science. I want to break free of Gabriel." Adiren admitted, "You don't have to worry about me telling him anything because I never learned anything about fashion. I couldn't even tell you the names of two different shades of fabric. If anyting, you should hire Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Marinette has always been an amazing designer. She was recognized by Father and Style Queen when she was only thirteen. She's the one who would know everything about fashion."

Damian hid his smirk behind his hand and looked down at the papers about Adrien again.

'What a miracle worker you are, Miss Dupain-Cheng. Agreste grew a spine.'

"We may have an internship available in our science department." Damian spoke, "Do you still live with your father?"

"Yes." Adrien spoke.

"We have a company home we prefer our interns reside in." Damian continued.

He noticed Adrien seemed relieved about that.

"The internship isn't a guarantee." The Wayne heir continued, "We need to see you commitment and dedication first hand. If you can't keep up, we'll put you in a different department. If you keep failing to meet our expectations, you'll have no choice but to keep modeling for your father."

"Tell him we'll work with him for one year, as a test." Damian continued, "You have one year to get your affairs in order. You'll need to move in one month from now and if not, consider the contract cancelled. I will inform them you are expected."

"Thank you." Adrien smiled.

Damian waved him off and Adrine walked out of the office, happy.

Marinette stood up when her name was called. As she walked towards the office, she saw Adrien smiling at a paper. She entered the office and closed the door.

"Please sit Miss Dupain-Cheng." Damian ordered.

Marinette immediately took a seat in front of him.

"Why should I hire you?" He questioned.

Mari shrugged, "You don't really have to."

"Oh?" Damian pushed.

"I'm only here for a part time job." the designer answered, "You know, helping out on the floor, coffee grabber, secretary gig. That sort of thing."

"Excuse me?" he asked, shocked, " Aren't you a fashion designer."

"With my own clients and I can pay for my own things." She smiled.

"Then why are you here?" Damian questioned.

Marinette sat back further in the chair and got comfortable, "Play money. I spend my own on my deisgns, fabrics, equipment, rent. Why not have a little extra to treat myself to a night out or a night in, for once?"

That was not the answer he had been expecting.

Damian laughed, "What if I decide to keep you?"

"Keep me as in?" Marinette pushed.

"I decide I want to become one of your clients." he offered.

"Are you offering?" the designer asked, "I've seen some of those suits you wear to galas and it doesn't bring you out to your full potential."

"And that would be?" he asked.

"You're outshined by your father, your older brothers, and the company." She spoke, "You can stand out, but maybe you want to fade into the back, less people to grope you."

Damian chuckled and stood up from his seat. He made his way around the desk and rested on it.

"What would you dress me in, right now?" Damian questioned.

"Depends." Marinette smiled, "Do you always wear a suit to work or are you interested in a change?"

"Tell me about this hypothetical change." He demanded.

"Ever heard of quick change wear?" She asked.

"No." he replied.

"It mainly takes woman into factor. Clothes that can go from working at the office to going out on a date or partying." Mari answered, "Just a few adjustments and possibly a new shade of makeup and usually people tend to think they took all day to get ready."

Damian took what she said into account, "And for men?"

"Most don't really have the option." Marinette shrugged, "Shame, but on you.....your figure. Well, there's nothing sluttier than a man wearing a sleeveless turtleneck."

The Wayne heir couldn't help but think of his old League of Assassin's outfits.

"No one at work would know if you have a blazer on and buttoned." She continued, "It is your office so you can always install a closet here and keep an extra pair of clothes. Jeans, if you prefer. Who is to say that this whole time, you weren't wearing sweatpants and just dressed from the waist up."

He chuckled ather way of thinking.

'Effective, but true not the less. I could kick out anyone who entered my office, should I choose to dress comfortably, and there was a closet hidden behind the cabinets.'

"Another thing most people tend to do is incorporate their culture into their clothing, as well." Marinette spoke, "Personally, I use apple blossoms in most of my designs for myself."

"Miss Dupain-Cheng, you are not what I was expecting." Damian declared, "I like to expect everything."

Mari smiled, "I've been known to be...unpredictable."

"You want to work part time in the fashion section." The Wayne heir stated, "Even if it's just grabbing coffee or lunch for others."

"Correct." she answered.

"Fine." Damian spoke, "You can work here, part time, at least three days a week. I f you have a big comission, I want to know about it. You can keep the details to yourself, but I want a time frame."

Marinette nodded, happily.

"I also want you to make me something to relax in the office that could pass for office wear." he suggested, "I'll pay for fabric of course. I can send you the details of my heritage via email, later."

Marinette stood up, "I'll start on that and bring it by Friday."

Damian grabbed her hand and kissed it, "I'll see you Monday morning, at 9AM, for work. We can go over your schedule then."

Marinette felt her face flush as his lips connected with her hand. His gaze was piercing.

"Yes, Mr. Wayne." She answered, flustered.

Damian waved his hand, dismissing her, but he still followed her to the door.

"You know, Miss Dupain-Cheng." He whispered, pressing himself to her back, "They may not be able to see it, but I see what lurks in the shadows. I can see what you hide there. I can wait a bit longer for the side of you that wants to come out and play."

"Is that so?" Marinette whispered back.

"I'll enjoy getting to know you, in the future." Damian spoke, before opening the door.

Marinette took a breath before she walked out the door.

"Marinette, did you get the job?" Adrien asked.

"Yes." she answered.

The model sighed in relief, "I told him you were good. I told him about Father and Audrey."

"Did you think I wouldn't be able to get it on my own?" Mari questioned.

"That's not what I meant!" Adrien cried, surprised at the question.

"Then, don't belittle me and my work." Marinette declared, "He already knew who I was. The Wayne keep a check on everyone and everything. Did you seriously not expect him to know about our families? He was probably listening to us in the waiting room."

Adrien gulped in response.

"Besides, I wasn't apart of whatever you three were fighting over." Marinette smiled, walking away.

'What did she mean by that?'

Adrien turned to see Damian Wayne leaning against the door, wearing a smirk on his face. Damian took notice of the model and hardened his gaze. Adrien gulped as Damian stood tall and closed his door again.

'What was he staring at?'

Adrien turned his head back down the corridor and saw Marinette speaking to the receptionist.

'He was after Marinette the whole time!'

'He already knew who I was.'

'He was probably listening to us in the waiting room.'

'Besides, I wasn't apart of whatever you three were fighting over.'

TAGLIST: @maribat-calendar-events @animeweebgirl@a-star-with-a-human-name@meme991001@vixen-uchiha@abrx2002@alysrose-starchild@fandom-trapped-03@dood-space@moonlightstar64@saltymiraculer@marveldcedits20@09shell-sea09@icerosecrystal@animegirlweeb@insane-fangirl-of-everything@blueblossombliss@nickristus-dreamer@megawhitleycalderonpaganus@missmadwoman@meira-3919@princessdaisysolosyourfaves@blep-23@fangirlingfanatic@darkhinauniverse@ravenr22@im-a-satanic-ritual@ravennm84@bianca-hooks123@a-slytherinish-gryffindor@starling218

#daminette december 2023 #daminette #marinette dupain cheng #wayne enterprise #damian wayne #chloe bourgeois #adrien agreste #lila rossi #chloe salt #adrien salt #lila salt #mommy issues #cerise miraculous #daddy issues #mlb x dc #dc x mlb #hinding in the shadows #mochinek0

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normanblogs · 2 years

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Binibining Pilipinas 2022 National Costumes Part 5

In random order, here is the fifth and final group of eight photos for the National Costumes of Binibining Pilipinas 2022 shot at Las Casas Filipinas De Acuzar Quezon City by the duo of Raymond Saldaña and Owen Reyes. Tomorrow is the day of the actual public reveal at the New Frontier Theater, coinciding with the JAG Fashion Show. Graciella Lehmann in Paolo Ballesteros Anne De Mesa in Odelon…

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powderblueblood · 6 months

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HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER TWO — VIOLENT DELIGHTS at HARRINGTON’S HOUSE

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summary: it's a rager at the harrington household! you attempt to reconnect with carol, tommy and the gang (it goes horribly, but they started it), accidentally connect with robin buckley and inadvertently have your life saved by eddie munson and his stupid van. you swear, this guy is following you. content warnings: NSFW / MINORS DNI swearing boots the house down, underage drinking, good old fashioned 80s homophobia and slut shaming, mean mom moment, implied attempted sexual assault, billy hargrove haters club (sorry) word count: 4.7k

Dear reader, I know you think of yourself as a harsh person.

Cold and exacting, surgical in the way you deal with people. You put on a good show, though, masking it all up with quiet confidence and pretty smiles. The prettiest smiles. And you’re never too mean. At least, not out loud.

It’s different when it comes to him, though. With him, you’ve got all the reason in the world to be mean. Vicious, even.

His dad is the reason your dad is in prison. That simple fact makes you want to grab his ridiculous hair and slam his head against the lockers so his ears ring.

Al Munson probably has no bearing on the way Eddie Munson lives his life, because he’s a deadbeat the way his son is destined to be a deadbeat. But the mere genetic suggestion of that piece of shit is enough for you to want to cut the brake lines in his little boy’s van.

You’re trying not to think about it too much, but it’s harder and harder when he’s right across the fucking lot, playing the same pedantic guitar riff over and over and over and–

Ssskrrrp.

The pressure you’ve been putting on your poor fountain pen tears through the lined paper, interrupting your line of thinking.

What doesn’t interrupt, what has no sign of stopping, is Munson’s incessant fretboard shredding coupled with–Christ almighty–an ear piercing harmonica. And look, you’re not one to ignore technique– he’s fine, you suppose, as much as anyone who can adequately handle an instrument can be fine, but it’s the fact that he keeps going. He’s relentless.

Doesn’t this place get noise complaints?

You almost yank up your window and aim the nearest heavy thing in reach–a commemorative Indianapolis Christmapolis snowglobe from 1981–toward Munson’s window in the hope that it sails clean in and puts a hole right through his amp, but you stop yourself short.

You do not exist to me and I better not exist to you.

You’re a woman of your word.

And you’ve got a party to get ready for.

You’ll admit, the trepidation factor of showing up to Steve Harrington’s house after your trailer trash makeunder is major. This is why every element of your look has to be just meticulously so, from your hot roller curls to the angle your off-the-shoulder dress sits at.

“Are you going somewhere?” your mom mumbles from the doorway.

It almost make you draw a jagged edge in your lip liner– you’d forgot you left the door ajar and she moves like a ninja nowadays. Silent and deadly, or not at all. At the very least she’s not slurring her words; she’d heavily upped the intake of Beaujolais since she had to appear on the witness stand. You wonder what she’ll do when the contents of her old wine cellar that’s now living in the trailer’s living room runs out.

You wonder what number glass is the one she’s currently clutching.

“It’s Friday night,” you say, like that’s a sufficient response.

“Whatever happened to keeping a low profile, hon?” she says, perching on your dinky twin bed. She pokes around the measly few pieces of jewelry you’ve scattered there, the only ones you have left. The rest went to the pawn shop, then that went to the legal fund.

Fat lot of good that did us, you think.

“I get that you’re probably… upset by all this change, but,” she continues, sighing deep, “Going out and making a fool of us isn’t going to help anything.”

You cap your lip liner and wonder just who the fuck your mother thinks she’s talking to.

“And drinking yourself into a stupor in front of cable TV is?” you bite, “--scratch that. We can’t afford cable anymore, can we, Mommy?”

Your mother’s purple-tinged lips peel over her teeth in a sickened smile. “Don’t be a bitch, Lacy. No one likes a bitch.”

“I’m not,” you assure, unrolling the first of your hot rollers, “I’m being pragmatic. Game face, right? That’s what Daddy said. We’re not going to let this town of gossip mongering wannabes tell us who we are,” you say, rendering a pitch-perfect impression of your dad that makes your mom shudder. “I’m going out. I’m going to a party. I’m going to act like nothing has changed because it hasn’t–”

It’s eerie how easily you can lie to yourself.

“--you’re the one who’s not being a team player.” You don’t exactly say that your mother is the one that’s bringing extracurricular shame to the family name, but that’s what the reality is. If there’s not whispers flying about your incarcerated father, there’s mumblings about your mother showing up blotto in Melvald’s with more than one run in her stockings.

Getting up from your makeshift dressing table to pick your jewelry from the bed, you turn– and run chest-first into your mother’s wine glass. She lets the wine spill down the front of your dress–your white dress–with just enough manufactured shock to let you know it wasn’t an accident. You gasp– is she serious?! The stain spreads just like her smile does; slow and languid and completely immovable.

“Oh, baby, look at that mess,” she pouts mirthlessly, “Do you know how difficult it is to get red wine stains out?”

You just about keep your composure as she leaves your bedroom, slamming the door behind her. It might appear that your mother has nothing left in this world, but she still has the ability to make you feel two feet tall.

Blinking away the hornet’s sting of tears in your freshly mascara’d eyes, you glance to the clock radio– no! You had planned on a bus route that included a fifteen minute walk from the park to get you to Steve’s on time (and to avoid another car ride full of ribbing with Carol, Tommy et al) and there’s no way you’re going to make it now. Plus, you now need a full outfit revamp and you still weren’t organized enough for that.

Panic runs a trail of hot spikes up the back of your neck as you rifle through the nearest suitcase for anything remotely appropriate and you come up with– something.

Something slightly risque, that you weren’t counting on debuting at a party where you needed to convince people that I’m normal and nothing’s different and everything is fine.

Your new outfit requires you to be practically hermetically sealed into it, it’s so tight, but it matches your shoes at least– you’re a stickler for details. You’re also a stickler for multitasking, so you drum up a last ditch attempt at hitching a ride to Harrington’s house and barrel out the trailer door without so much as a Don’t wait up, Mom!

A sharp left is your first move, and you nearly swear you see Munson drop a note in his hard rock symphony as you dash past his window. Good. Hope you can’t nail that intro for the rest of the night, just like you can’t nail anything else.

You’re sure, no, you’re positive that you’ve seen that car around here somewhere… and just like a very dangerous North Star, the Chevy Camaro sits askew in front of a nearby trailer home. The front door pops open, there’s some incoherent yelling, and a shadowy figure identifiable only by a trail of cigarette smoke and an ever-present cloud of too-strong drugstore cologne swaggers towards the vehicle.

Someone up there’s looking out for me.

“Billy!” you call, teetering his way on your heels, “Hey.”

Or wants me dead.

Billy Hargrove pauses in his tracks, tossing the dying ember of his cigarette into some nearby, extremely dead and extremely flammable, shrubbery. He drinks you in, top of the lid to the bottom of the label, and you want to fidget with your outfit. A black waistcoat with nothing but a bra underneath hitches your breasts to your clavicle. The matching skirt feels suddenly illicitly short. He’s regarding you with a newfound if sleazy appreciation– then again, you daresay Billy Hargrove eyes up froyo with the same lascivious look. Guy has a chronic case of eyeball nymphomania.

“Lacy, right?” he drawls, like you haven’t been in the same social sphere at least a dozen different times. You nod, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear in an effort to out-cute yourself. This is very not you behavior, but– needs must. “Fresh meat.”

Again, like you haven’t met a billion times before, but trailer park politics change everything.

“Yeah,” you say, skipping over that particular prelude to a come-on, “Um, no way you’re going to Harrington’s party, are you?”

Billy heel-toes his way toward you, slow like molasses (or slurry, or tar), giving you his best half-lidded come-hither shit. Look, you get what Tina and Carol and the rest of the girls see in him– it’s the whole greased up dirtbag, fuelled by chauvinism, sponsored by Pall Mall thing that is designed to piss off their parents and give them bacterial vaginosis. It’s their first taste of adulthood. You, on the other hand, have tastes in the opposite sex that are as-yet unmet by this half-assed corn maze of a town.

“I was thinkin’ about it,” he smirks, barely a breath away from you. And you play right up into it, even if you want to recoil from his ratty moustache.

“Well, think I could ride shotgun?” you ask, and tack on, “With you?”

“What’s in it for me?”

Oh, Jesus Christ, does it ever end. You have to swallow in order not to roll your eyes and ask him if he ever thinks about changing that broken flirting record.

“The most impeccable company in Hawkins, of course,” you simper, amping up the princess angle. Though you were pretty sure that dynamic played better when you weren’t living on the edge of civilization.

Billy folds easily, but doesn’t go so far as to open the passenger door for you. He jams the radio on as soon as the key’s in ignition, speed metal rattling through the car’s interior. Another cigarette lit and he’s revving up and out, while you’re still struggling to find the non-existent seatbelt. You give up and reach for a smoke from the open soft pack on the dash– it’s not a regular habit outside of parties and stealing your mom’s every once in a while, but again, needs must.

Billy flicks a Zippo dangerously close to your face. “What’s your deal.”

Despite the monotone delivery, you’re sure it’s the closest thing to an honest-to-god question Billy’s ever asked you– or any girl, for that matter.

“That’s a vague line of questioning, Billy,” you say, cracking a window so the smoke can escape.

“You’re like, bad now or something?” he scoffs, “Shunned from the suburbs so you’re acting all edgy?”

By hitching a ride with you, you mean. God, how pathetic to uphold yourself as the standard of bad behavior– as far as bad goes, I could do a lot better.

“Thaaat’s it,” you nod animatedly, half-yelling over the din of 'The Four Horsemen', “I figured with my father in the big house, I might as well commit to the bit. I might even get a tattoo. How’s that make you feel?”

Billy barely emotes an answer, his himbot expression set on seduce mode. He’s just smirking, lashes low. “If you wanna let loose, I know someplace we could do that.”

His free hand, the one that isn’t oh-so-casually resting on the wheel, reaches over to brush a lock of hair from your cheek. The knuckle trails down to your jawline, skips to your shoulder, your forearm, until his palm comes to cup your knee. Your skin feels like it hardens under his touch.

You’ve seen this movie before. Rebel Without a Condom: Skull Rock Edition.

Your hand closes over Billy’s, holding it firmly in place. He has a hair-trigger temper. You know that. You're attempting to handle it delicately.

“So do I. Harrington’s party.”

His tongue runs along the edge of his bottom lip, and you wonder what’s fundamentally missing in you that this shit doesn’t have you trembling. He grips tighter, fingers edging up your thigh under your vice. Your stomach seizes. “I mean really loosen up, Lacy. You wanna be bad, let’s go be bad.”

And suddenly, as his foot edges the gas to push you down the dirt road faster, you are trembling. But for all the wrong reasons.

Then– an ungodly rumble from behind, headlights blaring through the rear window as a vehicle zooms almost bumper-to-bumper with Billy’s. The horn honks and each car’s sound system wages a war to be heard– Metallica versus Black Sabbath.

Your neck snaps around. You don’t even need to see past the blinding light into the driver’s seat to know who the hell that is.

The van hits a dangerous swerve in order to come neck and neck with Billy’s car, spooking him enough that he snaps his hand off of your leg. The van boisterously overtakes you and Billy slams on the horn, revving the engine from his position behind. The sign of relief you breathe is barely contained, but can’t be heard over metal-on-metal drums.

“What the fuck is this freak’s problem?!”

“At least he’s bringing party favors.”

–

While Billy Hargrove’s admittedly sick Camaro sure can burn rubber, she’s no match for Eddie’s old lady in the arena of sheer bull-in-a-china-shop obnoxiousness. She hauls a lotta ass and takes up a lotta road, which is perfect for raising the blood pressure of an asshole like this.

And before you think it, before you even imagine it– he’s not fucking up Billy’s cruising hours because of you.

Not entirely, anyway.

Truth is, his uncle’s hours have been cut at the plant, as have Eddie’s shifts at the Hideout so he’s seizing opportunity wherever he can. Keep the lights on, right? And if that means palming off dimebags and powder to some drunk kids who are overzealous with their unpetty cash, then fine. He’d got the word from a couple of meatheads that his services might be useful, so it’s not as if he’s planning on gatecrashing Harrington’s. Gatecrashing a Quaker meeting would be more entertaining, if you ask Eddie.

But, gun to his head? Alarm bells started ringing when he saw you bowl out of your trailer in that ho–... that outfit and head towards Hargrove’s. Well, Mayfield’s, technically– the only time Hargrove shows up there is to cool off when his dad kicks him out. Hargrove’s dad and the redhead kid’s mom have split, and she is not taking it well, so add in the macho madness of Billy and you’ve got a maelstrom of disaster.

Sometimes he sees Little Red sneak out in the middle of the night and he’s gotten in the habit of keeping an eye on her.

From a safe distance, of course. That kid’s like a rabid dog, jumpy and paranoid. He’s positive she bites.

Anyway, that’s how come he came to spot you. Activity in the Hargrove enclosure. And again, if he’s to believe any kind of insidious gossip, girls that slide into the passenger seat of Hargrove’s ride are not necessarily safe.

So, he figures, it’s time to peel out and get to work.

Eddie manages to keep Billy entertained on his tail right until the turn to Harrington’s, so you don’t swerve off onto an unlit dirt road with him. What can he say, he loves the chase!

Billy’s car almost blocks him in when he pulls up, you clambering out of the passenger side unassisted. Douchebag. The minute Eddie’s sneakers hit the pavement, Billy is just about nose to nose with him, frothing at the mouth. Rabid dog must run in the family.

“Fuck was that about, huh?”

“Jeez, Hargrove, a little early to be scamming on your date already,” Eddie teases, drawing up to his full height– he’s got a couple of inches on Hargrove, which he knows is a sore spot. “But I’m flattered.”

On instinct, not insistence, Eddie’s eyes snap to you– but you don’t give him so much as a glance, just huff, “Thanks for the ride, Hargrove,” and head into the party. His eyes follow you, watching you stalk inside with your shoulders all hunched and your ankles about ready to give out in those dumb shoes.

Billy shoves him, hard, as if to draw his attention back. “Fucking wanna go, huh?”

But Eddie, at this point, is beyond over it. He’s done all the dick measuring he wants to do tonight. He digs a joint out of his pocket and slaps it into Billy’s hand.

“Christ, Scrappy Doo, hit the brakes already. Have one on me.”

–

The one time in your life you’ll be thankful for the bottomless pit of the male ego is tonight. Billy completely rerouted his fucking pea brain to dog Munson all the way to Steve’s house, and all you had to endure was motion sickness.

Could have been a lot worse.

You’re still regaining your land legs by the time you cross the Harringtons’ porch and are instantly cornered by Tina and Nicole.

“Lacy,” they say, in unison and almost gravely. Very the twins from The Shining. “We didn’t think you’d make it.”

“Wait, did you come here with–”

“--Billy Hargrove,” you supply before anyone can make any stupid assumptions. “Almost died in a game of chicken in the process, but that’s that Forest Hills life for ya.”

Tina looks past you, distracted and distant. “I always forget he lives there,” Nicole shrugs. You don’t bother to correct her, because you don’t think he does. Whatever.

“Wish I could forget I live there!” you chirp, “In fact, that’s exactly what I’d like to do– forget. What are we drinking, ladies?”

You push past the hovering bodies and make your way to the kitchen, the girls bringing up the rear but real slowly. Something’s wrong– something’s off with them. But then again, maybe something’s just off with you. You choose to forget about it, forcing your party mode switch to on.

“Jesus, what is Robin Dykely doing here?” Nicole scoffs over your shoulder as you search the kitchen island for anything you can free pour, and fast. You purse your lips– Nicole’s obviously started early, because when she’s tipsy, she’s got no volume control nor spatial awareness. The Robin Buckley in question is lingering by a punch bowl and definitely in ear shot.

“Looks like she’s drinking punch at a party, Nic,” you say flatly, pulling a bottle of vodka from the gaggle of glassware. That’ll do fine.

“Probably hoping Tam Thompson will finally join the softball team.”

“Doesn’t Steve work with her?”

“Yeah, they’re like, buddy-buddy right?” you non-committally muse, grabbing a shot glass; in fact, you had seen the mousy girl mousing around Family Video with Steve. He’d even given her a ride to school a couple of times, whatever the hell that dynamic was. You didn’t know much about Robin, other than she was in band so you matriculated in the same gym space what with due to your spot on the cheerleading squad. Well, that, and the obvious rumors.

But largely and absolutely, you didn’t care. She’s a relative nobody.

You knock back a searing shot of vodka.

“That’s proof Harrington’s exhibiting early signs of dementia, I’m sure,” Tina grimaces. “Like, doesn’t he know she’s a carpet muncher?”

“Like Harrington can’t have a girl within three feet of him without wanting to bang her?” you say, matching Tina’s grimace with a strained voice after the shot. “Yet here you are, Tina.”

It’s a little meaner than Tina is used to from you– and it shows. She blinks, once, twice, three times, visibly hurt because she knows that you know that she’s had a thing for Steve Harrington since the dawn of forever.

Well, fucking get in line.

Then she scoffs, recovering herself. “Have another drink, Lace. ‘bout time you loosened up.”

Tina slinks by you toward the patio and you almost call after her, but don’t. Nicole, starting after her with a roll of her eyes, tells you, “We’ll be by the pool. See you out there, maybe?”

Your mouth curls into a sarcastic smile and you wave the bottle of vodka. “Soon as I catch up, girl!”

The vodka lands with a clunk on the counter after you line up another shooter. You look up, and catch Robin Buckley staring at you, right before she has the chance to avert her eyes. She’s gripping onto that solo cup for dear life. You can see the cracking dents in the plastic.

“You want a shot?” you yell over the music and the people and the claustrophobia of it all.

“Uh,” she says– too damn slow. You grab another glass and fill it, passing it her way.

“I’ve, um, I’ve never really done this before. What’s, like, the custom, should we cheers?” Robin half-yells over the kitchen island.

You shrug. Fuck it. “Sure– here’s to being in places we think we belong with people we secretly hate!”

“Oh, I for sure don’t belong here!”

Robin sinks the vodka and chokes on it, spluttering up the shot. You gulp yours like a fish gulping water and dash around the island to slap her on the back. She recovers pretty quickly, wiping the dribbled booze off her face with the back of her hand. She wheezes gratefully when you pass her a sticky dishcloth. “Gross.”

“I know, right? Party.”

“I get it, though, by the way,” Robin says, husk in her voice more pronounced after she’s coughed a lung up. She dabs awkwardly at her argyle printed shirt, doing nothing. “The secretly hating people thing.”

Fuck, had you really said that? That’s way too personal. That’s way too revealing, especially to someone like her. Reverse, reverse, abort abort abort! “Well, it’s not that, y’know how it gets with your friends sometimes–”

“Because I know Steve. Like, I really know Steve– but not, not in like a sexual way because that’s not– more in like a paternal, fraternal, we were worms together in another lifetime sort of way– I just, I know Steve,” Robin steamrolls you, nodding. From the glassy look in her eye, that punch is finally hitting her. And she really does mean what she says, from the timbre of her voice. She gives a real fuck about Harrington, which is more than you can say for ninety percent of the people in this house. “He, y’know, he’s not exactly made for this crowd either.”

You unscrew the bottle of vodka and take a cursory swig, then another, which makes Robin’s eyes widen and makes you feel a little bit like a pirate. “Then why are we all here, band girl? At his house? Why am I drinking his father’s Stoli?”

She casts her eyes down and shrugs, looking back up with a sour smile. “Party?”

Your shoulders drop and your head lolls back. Maybe you shouldn’t have come here after all. “Ffffffuck.”

“I totally hate drinking. I hate that wobbly out-of-control thing,” Robin says, scooping more punch into her half-crushed cup. It occurs to you that she might not realize the punch is alcoholic.

“You said it, sister.”

“I like your outfit, by the way. It’s like if a librarian was… a slut.”

God, if this is the way she flirts, I hope Sarah Lawrence is kind to her.

“You said it, sister,” you repeat, hitting the bottle again.

When you perform a quick scan of the room, you spot Billy advancing through the crowd, lighting a cigarette with another cigarette like he’s about to just smoke both cigarettes because that would be double badass.

And then, veering in from the right just like he did on the way here, is Eddie Munson. He looks as if he’s looking… for you.

Well, not the fuck anymore!

“Pleasure doing business with you, band girl,” you mutter, grabbing the solo cup from her hand and chugging the rest of the contents, “Don’t drink any more of that shit, it’s three quarters peach schnapps.”

You maneuver yourself (just barely) to the patio, where the gang, your gang, are all holding court on the pool loungers. There’s Carol, Tommy Hagan, Tina, Nicole, Cass, even Tammy Thompson if Robin’s still looking, but no Harrington in sight. Maybe it’s because of what Robin just told you, but you feel like this would feel less bad if he was here.

A hush falls over the group as you approach– you know, the kind where you know people have just been talking about you? That lead feeling in your gut makes you take another sip of vodka.

“Well, hello there,” you say, and it comes out as one slurred-up noise. Wellyellothur. Not ideal.

Tina gestures to the bottle. “Washing something down, Lacy?”

“A shot of Hargrove spunk?” Carol drawls.

“With a Buckley bush chaser,” Hagan sniggers. Fucking Statler and Waldorf over here.

“You guys, c’mon,” Nicole starts– and it sounds like a defense, but she’s the meanest motherfucker of them all when you give her some leash. “Lacy’s way too frigid for that.”

“Guess that tracks,” Hagan shrugs, leaning forward to flick his cigarette into the pool. He looks at you in a way that drills a hole, only the way ugly, empty-eyed bastards know how to do. “I mean, if it’s true that your dad was pimping you out to Al Munson, it makes sense he’s in the slammer. No one got their fuckin’ money’s worth in that deal.”

“Shit, that is so true, Tommy,” you start, before you even know where it’s going. All you know? It’s going to be bad. Real bad. So bad that you set the bottle on the ground next to you and clasp your hands behind your back. Debate team stance is what you used to call this. “About me being frigid, I mean. Because I sure remember turning you down a lot– like, a lot.”

Hagan scoffs and lights another cigarette. Something electric in you makes you lean over and grab it, “Lemme have this one. –but like, you don’t remember that? Because I remember you begging–like hands and knees begging–me to fuck you the night of junior prom.”

“Bullshit,” he scoffs again, like ‘scoff’ and ‘chauvinist insult’ are the only retorts he’s wired for.

“And on the last lake trip,” you go on, taking a drag of the cigarette. “Oh! And on the night of Carol’s eighteenth birthday! Which was like, what? Two months ago? And every time, I said no. Do you remember why I said no, Tommy?”

This Greek chorus of Brat Pack wannabes, they just sit there and stare at you. And you don’t even notice the hush that’s crawled over the crowd assembled on the patio. The party rages on indoors, but those who are out here are rapt.

Tina emits a nervous snort, which makes you bend at the waist and cup your ear, like you’re in the goddamn elementary school production of Horton Hears a What the Fuck Have You Got to Say.

“Bet you could tell me why, Tins,” you grin, big and houndlike. “I drove you to the clinic, remember? I fronted you the money for the lice cream– which you never paid me back for, by the way! Not even when I got all poo–oor!”

Tina reacts in a scramble, gasping unto herself and darting her eyes away from everyone. She doesn’t know where to look– no one knows where to look! No one but Carol, dear awful honeybun Carol, who has gone so pale it looks like her blush was painted on by Bozo the Clown. She stares you right down and you stare back. One of you is the barrel of the gun, and one of you is the poor loser looking right down it.

“You’re a fucking dirty liar, Lacy!” The sound of her voice feels like it’s ricocheting off every stony surface on Steve Harrington’s patio, that’s how deadly silent it’s gotten.

In a flourish, you throw the cigarette on the ground and stamp on it, hard and heavy!

“Only one way to know for sure, Caroline!” you holler, flinging your arms out, “Feelin’ itchy lately?!”

All you know is you’re cackling louder than the thundering crowd rush that erupts when Carol fucking lunges for you.

author's notes: CLIFFHANGER ALERT! everyone fucking dies. jk but thank you so much for reading this chapter that i had so much fucking fun writing. and thank you for showing love for chapter one! i'm posting this one a little sooner than i planned because i want to get this show on the road for y'all. so, a few bits: - the song eddie is playing is the wizard by black sabbath which goes so incredibly hard. he also definitely learned how to shred on harmonica from wayne which is a piece of fanon i think i picked up from chrissy and eddie’s infinite mixtape, the preeminent hellcheer fic by @little-scribblers-heart (i don’t even go in for hellcheer like that but Now That’s What I Call Characterization) - never heard of Indianapolis Christmapolis before? check out the history here! - there is nothing i love more on this planet than making fun of a swaggerlicious shitbag character like billy hargrove. anyway he was blasting the four horsemen by metallica in the car which he canonically listens to in the show! you know, the scene where he puts cologne on his balls. i like to think billy only knows one song and this is it - rebel without a condom: skull rock edition is a reference to rebel without a cause and goes out to all the failed threesomes that have happened at skull rock - scrappy doo found dead in miami after one hit of eddie munson's ditch weed - i also have to say, i feel like more people knew robin was a lesbian than robin realizes, which is truly The Gay Experience. absolutely no one will be surprised that she's fucking crushing puss at a liberal arts college once stranger things 5 comes out in 2038 - anyway, crabs are a real threat, be safe and get tested! thanks so much for reading, pls reblog, like and comment to show support and i will throw things around my enclosure with the wild abandon of a dopamine rush. ur everything to me

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #hellfire & ice #in progress #published by powder #e. munson by powder

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salfishersimp2 · 5 months

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I am here today to talk about marinette's school.

THERE'S NO WAY THATS PUBLIC SCHOOL

So, obviously, its a rich kids school

Lets go through the list

Chloe - daughter of the literal fucking mayor and a celebrity (i cant care enough to remember what her mom does)

Adrien - model and son of (apparently) Paris' only fashion designer (have you seen any other posters with other models in that show? Yeah, me neither)

Marinette - daughter of the owners of a very well known bakery (we're not even gonna mention how many contests she's won, and my girl designed an album cover for jagged stone, but thats out of topic)

Alya - daughter of the chef who works in the mayor's hotel

Sabrina - daughter of a police officer (idk about police ranks and shit but i'll bet my ass he makes a good amount of money)

Juleka - daughter of Jagged Stone (if he pays child support, there's no way a rock star like him is giving little money to raise his children) (oh yeah and THEY LIVE IN A FUCKING BOAT. That cant be cheap)

Alix - daughter of a guy who is in charge of most things at THE LOUVRE (he works there, and it seems like that to me)

Mylene - her dad starred in a movie, i am pretty sure thats not something that happens every day

Zoe - again, step daughter of the mayor, daughter of a celebrity

Kagami - i'm not sure what her mom does but the point is she's rich (i love kagami so much but i havent watched mlb for years and im only getting back to it now, what kagami's mom does is not important)

Thats as far as my memory goes, i don't know if we've seen the rest of the class' family

Plus, i think at least 2 celebrities have been to their school one day or another, i could be wrong tho

#yes i have come back to tumblr after 2 months to rant about 14 year olds and their schook #this show is too much for me #mlb #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #juleka couffaine #chloe bourgeois #alya cesaire #zoe lee #kagami tsurugi #mylene haprele #alix kubdel #sabrina raincomprix #sal's tagging tag

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quindread · 1 year

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THE COTTAGECORE MARI AU PROMPT THAT NOBODY ASKED FOR

Pairing: Daminette (edit: they’re like 19/20 in this, post high-school)

Rating: It has mature themes, you have been warned. But it’s pretty tame at the same time. Violence + Sexual Themes

________________

Mari is diagnosed with PTSD and anxiety disorder after she quite literally removed her beloved city’s supervillain (and her dear partner’s parent) from the plane of existence. Like she removes the suffering from the minds of all of Paris and has Gabriel written off in a car accident a year after his wife’s disappearance. Only her Court (Adrien, Kagami, Zoe, Alix, Max) and the Order remembers. Mari and Adrien decide not to pursue a relationship. They’re both healing and are decidedly better off friends - siblings in everything but blood.

Lila, who was not punished due to her not really being a miraculous holder and upsetting the balance, continues to slander Mari. Her class isn’t hostile but has no desire to interact with the “new and mean Marinette” Lila was painting her to be. It’s still a huge betrayal given the fact that Mari was supportive and very generous to these people.

So here’s how her new housing arrangement works: have you ever wondered how Gina can afford to travel around the world without a job? Yeah, I think she came from money. Like, old money - real estate old money to be precise. Passive income and such. Hearing about her Fairy’s situation, she offers an unused property at the countryside of Metropolis.

Marinette’s therapist and parents approve of her vacationing there for the summer when they realize that her stressors and triggers where all environmental. So off our girl goes!

Note: She does not have the mother box with her anymore, just Tikki, Plagg, and Kaalki. (She does have unrestricted access to it as the Grand Guardian though - she trains with the Order once a week in Tibet until she doesn’t)

Mari is aware of the Supers and was relieved that the Kwamis don’t show up in x-ray visions and with the fear of them eavesdropping she learns FSL to communicate with them.

The townhouse and the verdure around the property inspires Mari to start a garden. The quiet oddly soothes her and when she feels lonely she goes into town or the nearby farmer’s market where she charms the locals. She meets the Kents - they love her! Martha enjoys baking with her. Lois uncovers her identity as Jagged and Clara Nightingale’s exclusive (and reclusive) designer - they bond over fashion trends and the gossip surrounding the industry. Clark and Jon were another story.

She figures them out having sensed the same soul in Superman and Superboy in this father-and-son duo. They x-ray her as a precaution and finds the mysterious cracks and evidence of past injuries that should have killed her. There’s a very anti-climatic reveal that Martha and Lois are not privy to with respect to Marinette’s wishes.

At least one Kent would be in her home during the day. The Kwamis are free to roam around when it was Clark and/or Jon visiting. She ends up bonding with Jon who also grew up too fast (metaphorically and literally).

She ends up extending her stay in Metropolis indefinitely. Her parents also decided to open a branch of their patisserie there which Mari managed. They visit her as often as they could.

Mari was dismayed to find that no, Metropolis had no schools with both a fashion and business degree - that’s how she ends up in Gotham University.

Jon tells Mari about a Damian - a friend of his.

J: He’s…. uh… he has a big heart.

M: …

J: He’s a bit of an asshole(?)

M: Ah.

Mari meets Damian who reminds her of Kagami - antisocial and proper. They share a few business classes and are both members of the art club.

Mari is still this ball of anxiousness and has only allowed Mia “Maps” Mizoguchi and Katherine Karlo into her life, the former she learned was close to Damian - she didn’t mind when she and the girls met up with Damian, he was quiet, honest, and minded his own business. Through their hangouts Damian finds out about the friendship between Jon and Mari.

He’s hesitant to befriend her at first due to the conflicting rumors about her: due to her timid personality she had a split reputation. One side called her sweet, shy, and kind. While the other calling her arrogant, high-maintenance, and rude. He soon finds out that the latter half were spread by cliques who’s offer of friendship she declined and men she rejected. He was glad that he relented to Maps’ insistent invitations - she was a decent person to hang out with and it didn’t hurt that she was pleasing to the eye. (She also enjoyed sharing her vegetarian salads with him - he starts appreciating it more when he learns that she picks the vegetables straight from the garden she grows.)

As her luck would have it, a robbery unfolds at one of their favorite coffee spots. Mari and Damian - who were both pretending to be civ - try to find a way to protect their friends. The robbers recognizes Damian as a Wayne and takes him and another GU(a school for rich and affluent people’s children) kid - Marinette - who had stood in front of her friends.

They’re gagged, blindfolded, and carted off to who knows where. Damian discreetly activates a distress signal and the bats spur into action. Mari, aware that she was sturdier than Damian, draws the men’s attention to her (she purposely pisses them off and gets beaten up when they start to pester Damian).

M: [removes her gag somehow] Really? A ski mask? And in black? How boring can you get?

*Damian shaking his head furiously in the background*

Kidnapper(KN): Shut up, girlie!

M: You know I always wondered how Kidnappers could have a secret a warehouse as a hideout. It’s not like you can afford the rent—

KN: Are you trying to get yourself killed?

M: You’re backed up by some politician aren’t you?

KN: H-How the fuck did this bitch know?

M: There’s literally a stack of campaign papers behind you.

KN: Wha—

M: That’s some shit graphic design by the way. I’ve seen grade schoolers that can do better.

KN: [points a gun at her] Shut up or I’ll blow your brains out.

M: You wouldn’t.

KN: The fuck do you know—

M: You need me alive to get ransom from my parents.

KN: …Nobody said you had to be in one piece though.

M: Touché—[get slapped hard]

*Damian basically starts convulsing in the background*

M: …Damn. You punch like a cunt—[And the kidnappers basically start to rough her up]

The bats arrive in five minutes and it’s Red Hood that finds them first. He sees these mf’s beating up a woman and goes ballistic(pun intended). Red Robin and Spoiler has to forcibly restrain him when he starts to use his fist instead of his guns.

M: [bleeding and bruised] And that’s how you deck someone, you amateurs.

D: [who was released by Black Bat is confused, mad at himself, and in awe] You blithering idiot! Why the fuck would you aggravate our captors like that?

M: [delirious] It was either you or me Damian. Can’t have your pretty face damaged now, can we?

D: [Is floored and very concerned] And what of yours?

M: … dun worry—my assets are…elsewhere… [passes out from the pain]

D: …

Later, his family would tease him about the flirting when he isn’t all sensitive about the incident.

Winter break comes, most of the Batfam visits the Kents(they have a penthouse/some ridiculous property in Metropolis) as a tradition. The Kents went to visit Gotham and stayed at the manor last year.

(Batfam who went: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Steph, Cass, and Damian)

They visit Mari too. Dick and Steph are absolutely thrilled about her cottagecore lifestyle. So much so that they match her aesthetic and begin helping out in the garden - they send pictures to Alfred who request they bring back fresh produce.

Jon and Jason plot to get Damian and Mari together. Unbeknownst to them that Damian was already resolute on courting Mari like the decorous man that he was - he didn’t know what he was doing but Mari’s flush when he initiates flirting tells him he’s doing okay.

Because of his childhood, Damian was never the type to be touchy but imagine his shock when he finds out that one of his more prominent love languages was physical touch. He realizes he’s touch-starved almost immediately when Mari starts giving him small touches like a hand against his bicep, she had a fondness for touching his hair which never failed to deliver a shiver down his spine, and hugs from her are comforting - she felt like home.

Meanwhile Mari does not have any idea how she survived the early stages of Damian’s advances. He was blunt and did not pull his words with insults but it apparently translated to him being verbally open with his affections.

M: I always wanted to be the Knitting Fairy while growing up.

D: Does it not please you that you became a garden fairy instead?

M: Huh, that doesn’t sound so bad.

D: Well, you certainly look the part.

M: [turns into the same shade as the poppy beside her]

And then when the tension between them became more prominent he wasn’t shy with dropping innuendos too.

M: [open’s the door for Damian, haggard from lifting sacks of garden soil] Oh, I didn’t know you were coming so early. I’m a bit of a mess. Sorry.

D: [Tilts his head] You say that as if I wouldn’t appreciate you sweaty and tousled after a rigorous activity.

M: [self-combusts]

And when the touching began?

M: Damian, what color do you think looks better with this shade of blue?

D: [places a hand on her side while looking over her shoulder] I think the a more neutral cream would do.

M: [stops functioning]

Their first kiss?

Pulled straight out of a book that Marinette only read in the privacy of her bedroom.

They’re teasing each other, it evolves to a game of cat and mouse with Damian skillfully evading her. She corners him by turning on some of her sprinkles. He gets wet, growls in the way he would in Mari’s dreams, and pulls of his shirt. She’s too distracted by the hard planes of his stomach to notice him prowling towards her like a beast moving to claim his prey. He picks her off the ground with ease - he’s a foot taller than her - and takes her to the sprinklers.

(I’m going to write this part out properly, maybe to inspire myself or a potential adopter of this prompt)

“Nononono!” Marinette shrieks as the first round of water splashes her. She writhes but Damian had her arms held down her sides.

“All is fair in love and war, Ya Amar.” She ignores the endearment in favor of closing her eyes as the sprinkles rotate in their direction again. But she knows what it means. Ya Amar. My moon. His moon. The water had nothing on the chill that ran down her spine

The water stars seeping into her intimates and she’s soberly aware that the light fabric of her dress would betray her. It doesn’t take long for Damian to discover that fact, he releases a strangle sound. She opens her eyes, he snaps his eyes from where he was clearly looking at her chest. He scrambles to drop her.

“Shit— I’m sorry. This was not my intention—“ he starts but she’s faster. Her now free arms grasps his shoulders and without a second thought, she drops her lips to meet his. Damian inhales sharply and he tilts his head, temporarily breaking the kiss before raising her higher and pulling her by the back of neck - he kisses her with hunger and passion that has Marinette melting further against his chest.

She wraps her legs around his back and he moves to tightly grasp both the back of her thighs. She would worry about bruises later when she didn’t have Damian’s tongue caressing her own. He drops them to the ground and Marinette does not release her hold over his waist. She whines against his lips when she feels the consequences of their activity.

His hands start wandering as he greedily collects and files the sounds that leaves her lips. He begins to trail kisses down her neck to the neckline of her dress that now clung to her body like a second skin giving him his first peek at the maddening shape of her body. And just when he trails a finger against the underside of her breast a loud noise pulls them apart.

Jason finds them and the sight in Mari’s garden has him dropping the shovel he was asked to bring over.

J: Fuck! No, don’t stop! Hell—I’ll leave—I didn’t see shit!

D: [moving to cover Marinette who covered her face in embarrassment] Fuck off, Todd!

J: I’m sorry! [slams the door shot]

D: Tt.

J: [shouts from inside the house] Use protection!

D: Todd!

They started officially dating that day and Jason had no reservations in sharing that he definitely cockblocked his little brother much to Mari and Damian’s horror.

Both keeps the PDA to minimum in school but it was very clear how amorous they where in “private”. There is a table in the art hall that Mari can’t quite look at without blushing to her roots.

She finds out he’s Robin after her first encounter with his alter-ego. He confesses his past when she confronts him. There’s fear of abandonment in his eyes when he gazes at her after his spiel but she kisses his worries and doubts away. She even goes to show her appreciation for his years of service to Gotham.

Her reveal happens when she unceremoniously drops a vial in Jason’s hand claiming that it would remedy the effects of the Lazarus pits with continuous use - it was completed after a year in the making.

Cardinal joins the Batfam occasionally as part of Batman’s contingency plans. They respect her choice as a retired super-soldier and try to keep her out of the business which she appreciates. She is officially initiated as a member of Justice League Dark as an informant/magic specialist and a wildcard.

Years later, she legally inherits the property from Gina when she and Damian get engaged. Damian moves in with her and she lives her cottage life all while being a reclusive designer that comes out once in a while for fashion week.

FIN

AN:

Maybe there’s a Lila take down somewhere but I don’t have the energy to write her at all. We all know its Damian and Tim that makes sure she never sets a foot in high society ever again.

Ig add some details about learning to healthily cope with her anxiety disorder under the guidance and love of her found family? (I have a similar illness but me and my therapist are still figuring it out so I have little idea how to write this) Her PTSD does not need further discussion (miss ma’am had to kill someone) but her anxiety disorder stems from the fact the she’s a person who’s in charge of world-ending powers - everyone and even yourself can become untrustworthy. She starts to get nervous from misreading body languages and everyone is suddenly out to get her.

#mlb x dc #i wrote this instead of studying #daminette #marinette dupain cheng #bamf marinette #maribat

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faerievampling · 2 months

Text

Killing Time

Chapter 9: Power

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Spawn Female Tav

Summary: After months apart, Tav and Astarion fight to be in each other's arms once more.

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: 18+. PiV. M/M/F threesome. graphic violence. angst.

Link to Ao3

Masterlist

Seven concubines, each unique in their own way: three dragonborn, a tiefling, two humans, and a drow. The others were hardly remarkable, but the drow caught your eye in particular: a male. You hadn’t seen a male drow in many years, and you had forgotten their beauty: his skin was the color of moonlight, his hair white and long, pooling around his taut waist. He was rather tall for an elf, his shoulders wide and hairless.

Each of the concubines were dressed in a similar fashion as you, only the men had their chests exposed. Each concubine was as gorgeous as the last, but the years of being a toy for an evil master was apparent on their bodies: many of them had visible scars. The drow had taken the most damage, yet his beauty far surpassed the rest.

“These are my favorites. The others are kept elsewhere,” Moth looks over to you, his hand draped around the back of your neck, pushing your head down only slightly. You understood why he called you ‘little one’ now, despite your old age: you were clearly the shortest and smallest one here, given that most of his favorites were rather tall men, the only other women in the group being two of the three dragonborn.

“Women have too much…mental constitution. Men are easier,” Moth vaguely explains to you.“There is power in taking another man. But women are too smart, too small. You are the exception.”

Creep. Also, you think he may have been calling you stupid.

“The drow will join us later. Come now, they are restless from your lingering odor. You still don’t quite smell like us.” You never would. There was no way this lord didn’t know that. “Let me show you my collection, Tav.”

Moth guides you out of the day room, down to a staircase that takes you down towards the inner chambers, where the favored and the other spawn lie. The museum was just across the hall from another stairway descent, and you wondered how far down the palace actually went. Moth kept the entire estate dark and damp, its tackiness could never amount to the decadence and good sensibilities of the Ancunín estates.

“There are a certain number of cursed objects down here, unsavory things. Do not touch anything.”

The room is large: filled with various objects, statues, some encased in glass. As you inch closer to the first table you see, you feel your stomach flop down to your core, and you’re already baring your fangs. The relics of the past were here to haunt you. A statue of you, even your old armor. A circular relic with jagged edges and so many books. One in particular catches your eye, you are gravitating to it because of its scent…the musk. the faint smell of bergamot even after so many years.

You bring your face close to the pages, gathering as much of Astarion’s scent as you could. The artifacts outside glass had been magically protected since their discovery, Moth tells you, and the spell book must have been found shortly after the fall of the brain, because your husband’s scent is strong, almost fresh. It makes your eyes water, your gut twist and turn, your dead heart nearly thumping in your chest – it almost feels biological, your body craving him, a spawn desperate for the touch of her Master. You think maybe Astarion was right to have called you spawn…it’s what you are, isn’t it?

You close your eyes. Your thoughts turn ever to the dark, but you don’t know how to remedy this. Astarion did everything for you; your husband fixed any problem you ever had. He wasn’t here now to ease your pain or uplift you. But instead of making you feel empowered, you just feel so lonely.

Knowing that you are a spawn so far from her beloved Master, reminds you, once again, that being around this other lord is wrong. He smells wrong, he is wrong, like his body is inherently incompatible with your own. Why doesn’t he sense it? Even the other concubines had.

You touch the pages, thinking about how Astarion’s hands had once held this book, had once held you. You can’t read the words anymore. Written in a language that had changed a lot in two millennia, and you could hardly remember the symbols of centuries past. They looked like strange characters, prompting you to gingerly trace them with your fingers. Astarion loved reading all sorts of genres, and you wondered what this one was about. Was it something he was studying? Maybe something for pleasure? A mystery? A romance? Smut?

“I have collected for a very long time, as you can see,” Moth says as he admires a plate of what was labeled as ‘infernal iron’. You think you could stay nestled in the scent of Astarion forever, the only comfort your weary mind has found in months. But you move on–you can cry later, in the daylight, when you are safe. Keep your head high.

You wander the expansive museum, finding your way to the statue of yourself located in the center of the room. You can’t help but think how much Astarion and Lae’zel would hate this: some insane vampire lord hoarding the things from your party, your adventure. It was like a creepy shrine with you in the center: and everything was beginning to make a little more sense.

‘It’s simple. He’s insane, has no true consort, and treats his spawn like slaves.’ You say this to your inner voice, the one inside your head that contains your inner monster, the one that threatened to lunge at Moth with every movement he made.

You study the statue of yourself; your expression the artist gave the statue was curious to you, not what you expected, but you can’t pinpoint it. What is it? Confidence? Heroics? Maybe your outfit just looked really good on you, which was certainly true.

A thump of a heartbeat approaches. Silky fur moves through your legs, the cat’s tail wrapping around your calf as it already saunters away. You look back at the statue, admiring yourself in some sort of jealous awe. Was this statue commissioned before you were turned? Maybe that slightly dumb, arrogant expression of yours was that of humanity. Whatever the artist saw in you was something you didn’t see in yourself – you wonder if you ever really had.

Walking your way through the large room, you spot a collection of scrolls. They have a lovely scent, one familiar to you but you can’t quite pin down the owner. Your eyes sweep over the scrolls as you lock in on one in particular: arcane lock. You swipe it, stuffing it in your robes as Moth admires his collection; he is swept up in the history, in his interest, nearly forgetting about you, the most priceless relic of all.

You continue to make your way throughout the room, gawking at the various instruments encased. There is a long silence before Moth’s cold, deep voice breaks through the stale air.

“You know, Tav,” Your name on his lips was grating. You grit your teeth. “There are several details and events that have been lost to time. But one in particular has been on my mind for two thousand years.”

He has your attention now.

“Did you know that there are almost no records about the disappearance of the Szarr family?”

You have to take a minute to absorb his question. “…Cazador. You’re talking about Cazador.”

“Yes. You really should try to keep up.” Moth grumbles. “Tell me how you did it. How you killed him.”

You huff, your posture challenging as you bring your arms down to your side from where they had once clasped together. “Tell me how you got all this stuff.” The artifacts in here were yours: Lae’zel’s stuff. Your old friends' stuff – your husband’s possessions. These didn’t belong to this mad lord.

A long silence. “I stole it. Bought it. Found it. Bargained for it. Your turn.”

You gather what you can from your own distant memory, and anything else Astarion had told you about the event.

“We sacrificed him. But before that, my party and I…” You think Lae’zel had been with you, but part of you thinks your mind is creating this memory with Lae’zel, because she was at the forefront. Wasn’t that large wood elf with you? Who was the one who begged you and Astarion to stop? “We snuck up on him. His spawn was incapacitated so we only had to fight his wolves and ghouls.”

“Hmm. And do you happen to know why Mephistopheles refuses to enter into another deal like the one he had with Cazador and Astarion?” His question is cold, calculated. Your gut twisted at the sound of your husband’s name on Moth’s lips. Before you can answer, he chuckles as he walks up to you, his large hand snaking around your neck. His hold on you is forceful, far tighter than a lover should ever hold their other.

“You do not know much of anything, do you? Maybe I should have taken Astarion instead,” He pauses after this, long enough to make you shutter. “He is more my type. But you were the one I wanted, despite that small, stupid little brain of yours, my doll.”

His hold on you relaxes, allowing you to speak. Your voice comes out weakly. “Surely you can’t remember everything that’s happened in two millennia. Only my…” my husband. “...my old master can do that. There isn’t another vampire out there who can remember their whole lives.”

“You have settled for something so close to greatness, you and Astarion both,”Moth rasps; you stifle a whimper at hearing his name again. You know he only does this to hurt you.

Moth releases you, and you are a bit dramatic with the way you clutch your throat; seeing your pain made him smile, and he might be keen to hurt you less later on.

The conversation ends here, but the way Moth looks at you confirms that he has far more secrets than he lets on. To your surprise, he doesn’t notice the missing scroll, leading you back to the boudoir in silence. You carefully place it in your wardrobe, deep within the clothes that you were hardly allowed to wear, and you begged to the gods that he wouldn’t find it.

Astarion has you in his arms. He’s standing up, the back of your knees resting in the crook of his arms as hands support your back, fucking up into you with such ferocity that you’re jelly in his arms. The tip of his cock bullies your gummy walls, reaching deep within you to meet your delicious g-spot. Every thrust, slick, hot and squelching as skin slaps skin, sends you into utter ecstasy. Your husband knew your body so flawlessly, every in and out of your holes, your tender spots. He nipped at your neck, drawing blood as he tasted you. There are no words between the two of you, caught up entirely in each other's passion – your beautiful connection ensured you knew his every move, all his pleasure, what he felt in his heart. You are both entirely known to each other.

You hold the man’s cheeks between your palms: his kisses are light, far more gentle than Moth’s. His lips are soft, tender, and it almost feels good the way his hands roam your body. If Moth wasn’t watching you, you think you could have lost yourself in the drow.

As your hand slides down his hairless chest, you can’t help but note his soft skin– there is something familiar about it, trudging up thoughts of silver curls and elegant ears. The drow looks surprised when you pull away from him, inspecting his face for just a moment. He doesn’t look like Astarion, not really; but the way he carries himself, his strong, lean body, and his white hair reminds you of your amour.

Geldon Moth sat in a chair, fully clothed in a resplendent white and gold garb. He stares coldly at you as you shift away from the man on the bed.

“What is it, woman? Was this not the one you wanted?” Moth asks; he may have been surprised, you think, but his face didn’t show it.

“I-it’s nothing,” You say, gritting your teeth as you carefully prepare your next words. “Why must I share a bed with anyone but you, Master?”

“It is simple, little one. You are mine to be shared. I shall do what I want with you, and I want to watch you be ravaged.” Moth sits back, his hands resting on his knees. “I expect you will lie with all my concubines after some time, maybe the other spawn too. The pretty ones, anyway. You really are my special one.” A shift in his eyes, a turn in your gut; you feel the lips of the drow on you as he puts his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You turn your attention back to the drow, bodies joining as you try to keep your composure: you know Moth only means to degrade you, and crying would only make it worse. Moth joined the fray only after the two of you reached your climax. The way the drow’s cock responds to Moth’s touch makes you realize just how much control Moth maintains over his spawn.

The drow hadn’t spoken at all, muttering only half-hearted praises, hardly letting whimpers escape his pretty lips. And the way his body became aroused by his Master was clearly unnatural. When the drow looks over at you, his hand reaching for your ankle, his broken spirit is all you see. Haunted by years of torment, abuse, perversion – a shell of a man. They ignore you when tears start to leak from your eyes: it was involuntary, almost, and you want to go home so desperately.

Afterwards, you lie between the two men, their arms wrapped around you, caging the animal that you know you are, you try your best to relax. There was something comforting about the drow’s touch, and you find yourself mindlessly running your fingers through his hair. Moth sits up, crossing his legs on the bed as he watches the two of you lay in each other's arms.

“Moments that I live for…” Moth says, which surprises you: his tone is surprisingly tender. “I knew you would like him. I promise I won’t take him from you. I will not be so cruel as Astarion.”

The hairs on your neck prick up, a shiver of anxiety and general distaste filling your gut; you can even taste it on your tongue. “What are you talking about?”

You push your way off the drow, bringing yourself to a seat, your attention on the dragonborn. He’s smiling at you. “Do not tell me you have forgotten the lovers you and your Master once shared. There were several who met rather tragic, untimely, strange demises. Do you not remember them? Maybe one in particular sticks out to you.”

You gulp. You can't recall his name any longer, but you know in your heart and mind who he was. “Why would I ever want to think of him when the two of you are right here, in front of me?” Your words are like knives in your own heart.

Moth smile fades as he moves toward you, his body shifting atop of you as his tongue crashes between your lips, meaning to take you again. What happens next is hardly important, the lewd sounds of squelching and breathless whispers, your mind moving so far away from yourself as you focus solely on the pleasure of your body: it was all you could do except silently beg for your husband’s forgiveness, knowing that your pleas went unheard and unanswered.

Your freedom hadn’t been earned. You were nothing more than an object to use and parade around, kept naked and hungry in the boudoir.

There is one evening where Moth is particularly rough with you, leaving you covered in bites and bruises. You felt quite broken this evening, your memories of your husband and the friends you made at the Crystalline Spire filling your memory despite your feeble attempts at pushing them away. You missed Lae’zel, and Ziir’o, Marg’o and Quinel, Joss, even Chae and the others. You even found yourself thinking of the pretty Kith’rak Elan, the one with the skin like a peach, and King Orpheus, in his resplendent garb and brutally elegant mannerisms.

You thought about the Astral Sea, your dreams being filled with images of you and Astarion riding a dragon, Lae’zel and your other Githyanki friends next to you atop their own. Astarion had reminded you of your time in the Astral Plane, and you wondered about the expanded universe, what was beyond that small pocket you had experienced.

You wipe away Moth’s seed and blood from your chin as his cruel voice breaks the silence in the boudoir.

“I will be leaving for a few days.” Moth states as he dresses himself. “I shall leave this evening, while the night is still young.”

You didn’t ask any questions. You didn’t have it in you tonight, and Moth didn’t seem to care if you answered or not. You merely stare at the floor until you hear the click of the door. You had been left alone in this room many times, often bumbling around in the daylight, searching for a way out.

“But there isn’t one, is there?” A soft, eerily sweet voice came from behind you, making you jump, twisting around in the bed to identify the intruder. You bare your fangs, but the entity merely laughs.

It is a man, so beautiful, his facial features chiseled and angular. His almond shaped eyes gleamed a gorgeous gold, his hair black as night, silky and pushed behind his ears. His body is muscular, built and large, his skin lightly tanned, almost a cream color. He’s taller than you, his nakedness entirely exposed. He has beautiful wings, white and elegant, and you know he must be an Aasimir: an angel. He was glowing.

“Tav Ancunín! How are ya?” He smiled, his teeth so white it nearly blinds you. “That’s right. I’m here to save you, girl.”

Your eyes are wide when he comes to you, arms outstretched, pulling you into a bear hug. You can hardly flinch away, your eyes still adjusting to his bright aura. His energy is warm, so light and fluffy, and it makes you feel some level of hope.

“Ugh, you’re even prettier in person,” He drawls, his voice almost tender.

“Who are you?” You ask, your hands moving to the angel’s shoulders to push yourself away.

He relents, smiling as he speaks. “Someone who is here to help you. So long as you help me.”

You sit up now, not bothering to cover your own nakedness. You quickly notice this man has no heartbeat, no scent, nothing that would cause a vampire to notice them, other than their otherworldly presence, of course.

“Yeah, I can hide those things. Wouldn’t want to be attacked by some monster, would I?” His smile doesn’t falter, never leaving his eyes. He can read your undead thoughts – rare, you think, and very annoying. “Let’s cut to the chase, beautiful. You’re in very dire straits. I can get one of those silver bands off of you. I predict it would give you just enough advantage to escape this awful place. Enter into a contract with me and I’ll remove a band, give you some new powers and a boost to that little ‘psychic’ ability you have.”

You blink, mulling this over in your head. This was a lot to take in, especially without Astarion’s guided hand. Your husband was the one who dealt with the money, the dealings, all of that – you knew nothing of this.

“Gah, vampires take so long to decide. So patient. It’s annoying~” His voice nearly twinkles.

“Well, hold on!” You exclaim, your voice more desperate than you ever wished to hear. “I just don’t know…I don’t know what to ask.” You shake your head, trying to gather your thoughts. “What in the hells are you proposing in return? What do you want from me?”

He flashes his perfect teeth. “I’ll be your patron. So…I’ll have you do things for me, sometimes.”

You frown. “I hardly want to be bound to you for eternity.”

“But you need to get back to your Master.”

“My husband. I need to get back to my family.” You can’t think of all the things you need to say. You know you’re missing something.

“Haha! Whatever~”Angel puts his hands on his hips, his abdomen flexing slightly.

“And you’re only offering to get one band off. Why? And what could I possibly give you anyways? I’m a vampire, my soul is already claimed.”

“I only have the power right now to get one off! Duh. That’s why I need your help, beautiful.” Angel takes your hands, joining you on the bed as you are bathed in a warmth that feels like the sun. It’s so lovely, you want to cry. “I just need your service. Don’t you want out of here?”

You do. So badly. “Yes. I miss the sun. I miss feeling beautiful. I miss my husband. Gods, I miss him so much.” You sob. Angel brings you into his chest, patting your head as you cry. His flesh is warm, and he smells like fresh grass and an ocean breeze.

“We can put that in the contract, girl. I’ll get you back to your man. I’ll do what I can to help you escape, but I need you to serve me. I won’t ask you to do anything that will harm you or those you care for. But I have enemies, and Moth is one of them. I’ll just have you do some favors for me, that’s all. Normal patron and payee stuff, you know. And I promise I’ll treat you really good. I’ll only fuck you if you ask~”

Well, you couldn’t help but be relieved about that last bit. Still, there are so many questions left unanswered. “What kind of favors?”

“Killing Geldon Moth, for starters. I’m bound to an item in this very palace, you see, and I can’t leave. So that’ll be your first mission. Besides, if you plan on going to the Astral Sea, you need all the help you can get.”

You close your eyes for a moment; just how deep was he able to go in your head? “Tell me who you are.”

Angel’s smile doesn't waver, but there is a new wrinkle in his brow. “Ugh. I’m the son of Lastai, the goddess of modest enjoyment of pleasure or whatever. You don’t need to know my name for now. I liked to play too much, that’s why I’m here in Toril. What I want doesn’t matter: what you need does.”

He was right, maybe it didn’t matter anymore; what truly mattered was being free. Your rational mind is leaving you the longer you think about eating Moth’s heart.

“Alright. What must I do?” You hoped this wouldn’t be a mistake.

Angel’s smile somehow gets even brighter. He was so lovely. “Amazing, wonderful. I already know you’re going to be my favorite girl.”

With two fingers, Angel gently tilts your chin up to him. Your noses are almost touching, his lips so close to yours. Everything around you becomes white, and it nearly blinds you. You’re wrapped in his wings.

“All you gotta do is kiss me. I promise to get you back to your husband and I promise not to bother you too much!”

You pause, knowing it’s far too late to back down now. “I know there’s things you aren’t telling me. It can’t be this easy.”

Angel chuckles, his voice uplifting your spirit with every note.

“Kiss me, Mrs. Ancunín, and find out.” You can’t wait any longer, and so you do. Wanting to take your own agency in your hands, even though it was entirely faux, you bring your lips to his. The moment of impact, you feel a burst of light searing through your left eye, causing you to wince, but Angel only draws you in deeper to him, slipping his tongue between your lips. Just as quickly as the pain came, it leaves, and you sigh a breath of relief as you feel yourself slip back to reality.

Angel is already gone, and you think it was some sort of psychosis induced dream, but you note how different your body feels: you’re stronger, more rejuvenated. Your body still aches, but you certainly feel better than before: looking down at your ankles, seeing your left leg free of any silver, you confirm to yourself that this was real.

This is it. Moth would certainly notice the band gone. Hurriedly, you run to the basin to splash yourself with water, to steel yourself for whatever is to come, before catching your reflection in the mirror: the first thing you notice is your bright golden eye, having replaced your left one. That searing pain…that lying fucking Angel. What the fuck did he do to me?

“What in the hells, Angel!?” You say aloud, nearly hoping for a response, but there is none. You can’t wait around for too long – the sun is approaching, meaning that all the other vampires in the castle would be resting, going into an undead slumber to waste away the day. How many could you kill in their sleep? How big was the palace? How many servants would be running around? There were too many unknowns, and you only hoped whatever the hell you agreed to would be worth it. There was no turning back now, unless you want to be the Rat-Catcher Queen for the rest of eternity.

You feel yourself glance to the door, something nudging your sight over it. The door to the boudoir functioned similarly to the balcony door, and you find yourself using a scroll of arcane lock, the door creaking open.

You slide out of the boudoir, finding yourself at the level of the house you had seen when you met the other concubines. You run down the hallway, as fast as you can go, and the moment you catch a whiff of a mortal, they are beneath you, your fangs ripping into their skin as you feast on their blood. You think nothing of reason, humanity, nothing of life and the value of it. You aren’t even alive, because you feel like an empty vessel of bloodlust and desire for carnage.

You want to shroud the world in darkness.

Your rational mind comes back to you once the servant is far beyond saving. This would do no good – this vessel wouldn’t be fit to fight alongside you. You move on, finding yourself drawn to a door, which opens to the lavish garden. Crashing through it, you soak up the sun. It feels so good, you laugh as you raise your arms above your head, bringing your palms up to face the star. You enjoy this for only a moment before you sense someone near.

You need to make sure this one will be fit enough to suit your needs.

This one is a woman; you cover her mouth with your palm as you drink from her, her thrashes beneath you being no different than wrestling a calf. When she is close to death, you carry her bridal style, running around the garden until you find a suitable place to bury her.

You claw your way through the dirt, digging as fast as you can, making a shallow grave to toss her in. You think twice about this, placing her gently in the dirt.

“I’m…I’m only a little sorry. If I’m taking you away from someone you love, then I guess I’ll be even more sorry. Lae’zel would want me to be sorry. My other friends would want me to be sorry. But you’re mine now, because my husband is more important.” You don’t even know why you announce this, maybe to feel something, maybe to evoke something within you that reminds you that you’re still human, because you simply feel like a monster. Even hearing your own voice helped you recognize the human inside because you didn’t think you even looked like one anymore. You are scarred, mismatched, covered in blood with only a nightgown to cover your body. You were barefoot, your hair is wild, already tangled from your motions.

“So fucking unfair…” You say to your feet, no longer focused on the woman gasping in her grave. Others are coming, and they are only subject to the same treatment as the last woman. But the others only alert everyone else, and it becomes something of a bloodbath, leveling the estates servants in just a few minutes. You bury four of them before losing your patience, your bloodlust overwhelming you as you gorged yourself on their life essence.

You know your spawn would rise sometime mid-afternoon, before the sun set, but the moment you killed any of Moth’s concubines, he would be aroused to suspicion, and you had to make sure your spawn were ready by that point. Once you’ve had your fill, you scope out the entire palace, ensuring there were no others around: everyone else had retired to the crypts below, which was precisely where you were to go next.

Your eye is influencing your vision over towards the door to the museum in the palace. This must be where Angel is bound.

When you open the door, you can’t help but flit back to the book, your nose so close to the pages that you can feel the parchment. Taking in Astarion’s scent one last time, because part of you thinks you might actually die, but the other part of you begs to differ.

“I love you, Star.”

You turn, looking around until your eyes focus on a strange object in the corner. When you approach the object, you feel desperate to flee, but you don’t. You aren’t too keen on breaking that contract.

With a swift motion, you smash the case, removing the container inside. It’s a wooden box, square and delicate, fitting in your palm. Something is telling you to open it, and you can’t tear your eyes away. With your index finger and thumb, you slowly pry the lid open. A swirl of light comes from the box, procuring Angel behind you, who merely smiles. “Thanks, girl! Okay, bye!✩”

“Wait, are you really–“

“Yep, gotta bounce. Got shit to do. Don’t worry, you’ll be hearing from me. Later, beautiful.” And with that, Angel was gone once more, teleported away to who knows where. You hadn’t exactly expected him to stay and help once he was freed, but you thought he’d do more than this.

Thinking about the seven favorites and gods only knows how many other spawn, you’re starting to think maybe four spawn wasn’t enough. You didn’t even really know much about fledgling vampires, it had been so long since you were around them. You know they need direction and blood.

You take your time cleaning yourself off, brushing your hair, throwing it in a braid for the fight to come. You find the most secure dress you could find, even finding some cotton panties to wear underneath them. You wished you had some shoes, simply because of your right foot, which still burned with every movement. If you got injured running around, it would probably take longer to heal on that side, you suspect.

You’re absolutely buzzing. You’re filled with energy, bloodlust, and you highly anticipate the rising…they are screaming. They are screaming for you. But you are ready.

‘You will not scream. You will not think. You will think nothing but of me. Rise, hide from the sun, rejuvenate, and join me in battle.’

The spawn are silent apart from the slight sizzling of their skin. One woman and three men: all merely the most convenient choices at the time. They don’t really need to eat, and you think they’ll probably be killed by the favored, but they would buy you enough time. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

You can almost hear Astarion’s voice in your head: Hurry up, my love, and come to me. I need you.

You haven’t felt this awake in a while. Something was rising within you, something that you’ve been missing. ‘Follow.’ The five of you flit down, tearing at the walls and the doors to the favored spawn quarters, where the seven peacefully slept. The first one to go was the one closest to you, who takes a simple plummet to the head, the smell of blood and spinal fluid filling your senses, invigorating you further, and you seemingly forget why you’re here at all. Your body flies around the room, tearing and thrashing body parts around as you destroy Moth’s precious spawn just as he’s destroyed you. Your spawn are ravenous and terrified, attacking randomly and relentlessly, feeding off the sheer energy of terror and violence their Master imposed on them; but they are strong, far stronger than you anticipated, and you find they fare well in battle.

”Hahaha!” Your laugh rings out as you slice into a man’s jugular, blood pooling down your chin, puddles on the carpet. “I invented talent, beauty, and the art of warfare, you know!”

You can hear the slapping of your feet on the ancient wood, slick with blood and other gore, their bodies becoming indistinguishable to you as even more spawn pour into the room. Your mind almost goes quiet, you drown out the sounds of screams, struggles, hisses and cries; even the burning in your leg has subsided, and all you know is bloodshed.

All you know is bloodshed. Should you make more spawn? It feels really good to control so many bodies at once. “I am so fucking awesome. I am the most powerful vampire in the fucking world. Fuck you!”

One of your spawn knows magic: “Ha. Throw some fireballs, stupid spawn.” Your stomach is roiling in excitement as you hear ‘ignis’ repeated over and over. You transform into a bat, squeaking over the screams, stumbling as you transform back. One of the female dragonborn grabs at your dress, tearing it as she pulls you to you. Your arm goes through her chest, your muscles numb to whatever damage they are taking.

A rumble behind you. Something is coming. Wolves, ghouls, Moth himself, you know. You turn, “Goodmorning!”, but as you lay eyes on this man, the one that has raped you and assaulted you and ruined you, you suddenly aren’t enjoying yourself anymore. You’re angry, so fucking angry.

Your spawn are fast, but not fast enough: but you are. One by one, you tear through his defenses, before he comes to you, grabbing your throat and throwing you across the room. You jump, your fangs bared and hissing, and he dodges away before running back to you as he grabs you again, slamming you to the ground. Your bones crack, but you can’t even yelp, your hand clutching at his jaw, and using all your strength, you dislocate it, causing a loud crack sound to reverberate throughout the hall. Moth jumps back, screaming as he clutches his face, and you jump stop him, your fists pummeling him into the ground, his face becoming broken and beaten with every swing.

”Arrr, kaaahhh-hnng,“ You had clearly damaged his brain, his words coming out a stutter. His eye widened in panic, and it was delicious to you. His face was crushed in, one of his eyes was dislocated, and the sight would be rather horrifying to you if you had this been a different situation. But seeing him broken and beaten beneath you makes you feel big again.

“Did someone go a bit stupid?” You laugh at him, but you realize that tears are streaming down your face. They fall into the Dragonborn’s mouth, and he licks his lips; and you just start screaming. You scream so loud your throat hurts, your fists beating down on the man’s large chest. With every pound, Moth starts to scream along with you, and you think it’s less from the pain and more from your maniacal cries, which are all Moth can hear: you’re sure of it.

His cock is hard beneath you. Whether that be from something biological, as he is on the fringes of death, or if he truly was that much of a sadist and masochist, you would never know, but in this moment, it disgusts you more than anything he had ever done to you. Tearing through his throat, the dragonborn’s screams devolve to gurgles as your hand reaches for his vocal cords, tearing them out with such tremendous ferocity that they scrape together, creating a sound so unnatural you know you won’t ever forget it.

You haven’t stopped screaming even after you wretch off his head, your battle cries still no match for that sweet sound of his last whimper, your fingers in the meat of his stupid neck stump as you bring it up to your own, planting a gentle kiss on his cheek. Your teeth violently chatter against themselves.

“Now, Geldon Moth, you are mine.”

But that’s the last of whatever you had left in you. The palace war was still raging on, but with the Master dead, the other spawn would surely run off or stop fighting if they could. You take a deep breath, Moth’s head still in your hand. You make your way back down to the museum, and you grab two things: Astarion’s book and that old githyanki relic. They are now bloodied, the pages of the book now stained, the metal on the contraption slick with crimson.

You don't care. You wander around the palace for a while until you find the portal room, which has all been discontinued due to Moth’s death. You merely stare before turning around, walking towards the front door of the palace. The moment you open the door, you spot the silky cat dart out of the palace, running off into the wilderness.

You walk out rather slowly into the sun. Your spawn follow in toe, and as you keep walking into the expanse of a forest, they fall one by one, commanded not to speak or think. You walk until the sun sets, and you’re finally in the dark, alone in the woods. You’re covered in dried blood and dirt, your fingers are stiff from clutching the head of Moth, and you drop to your knees.

It’s over. The pain and suffering. Your capture. But right now, you hardly feel anything at all. You can smell the smoke and charred flesh as the Moth estate goes up in flames, creating a vibrant light through the trees. You focus on it, your vision blurry, your stomach rumbling, your eyes still wet and puffy. You didn’t know it was possible for a vampire to have so many tears.

You hear the whirring of something behind you, the light breeze feeling nice on your skin. Your tears haven't stopped, and as you turn around, you gasp as you see silver curls and crimson eyes step out of a portal, eyes red and teary. You hold out your hand, the one with Moth’s head.

“I-I brought this for you, love,” Your words come out shaky, your voice trembling, and you can barely hold yourself up. Astarion is already crying, and he’s on his knees in front of you, taking the head from your grasp and throwing it off into the woods. His strong arms coil around your waist, his forehead resting between your breasts as his sobs ring out through the dead of night. There is a buzzing in your head, and you can’t hear his words, but you know he speaks of love as you collapse in his arms.

Masterlist

#ascended astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x female tav #ascended astarion x you #ascended astarion x reader #Killing Time

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