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rayshippouuchiha · 2 years

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Bnha au idea where they have to actually write down who they would prefer to partner with should a "fuck or die" quirk incident happen, before resorting to professional intervention. Because look, quirks are already so fucking weird, and being a hero puts you in the path for some ridiculous shit. Redundant and hopefully unnecessary paperwork defining hypothetical situations like that makes SENSE!

(There's the random person with nurse training who has gone through extra training/psychological evaluations to be certified for medically necessary sex if the person doesn't have anyone on their list/no-one on their list agreed)

This would also be a situation where the quirk is more just "unreasonably boosting existing libido" so ace people can't be affected (or kids, cause no. But that DOES need to be clarified I think)

Anyways it kinda comes back to my enjoyment of the mutual pining where they aren't ever going to do anything unless actually pushed into it, but wanting actual consent to be a thing that happens.

Would be a fun AiDeku idea, just one of the two of them getting affecting by a fuck or die quirk and the reveal that they are the others first choice for a partner. Would be very fun if it was like, pro-hero Deku who got hit with it and the nursing staff is just like "who the FUCK is this Aizawa person?!?" And then Aizawa shows up a whole-ass exhausted hobo man who's a fucking mess and they are like "This is him? THIS!!! Deku get some STANDARDS PLEASE!!!"

Not gonna lie, I read the very first sentence of this and my mind immediately went AiDeku AU so it's nice to see we're on the same general wavelength. SO here we go again!:

The Emergency Intimacy Contact (EIC for short) has been a long-standing tradition in heroics. It was drafted into the official paperwork required by all heroes regardless of public standing since the villain Cupid had rained quirk-enhanced arrows down on the heroes of Tokyo a couple decades before.

(The fall out had seen the entire Heroes Wing of Tokyo General turned into what was, essentially, a giant orgy that had resulted in several divorces, the formation of a number of new couples and throuples, a handful of shotgun weddings, and the birth of two sets of very very spoiled twins the following year.)

Making sure one has their EIC filled out is a serious and important part of setting their affairs in order when embarking on such a dangerous career as professional heroics.

Which means, of course, that barely anyone takes it seriously these days.

Spouses and partners are, of course, commonly jotted down for heroes who are in committed relationships with no interest in straying. Others write down close and trusted friends.

But there's a rather large portion of modern heroes who use their EIC as a sort of "fantasy bid" or even as their "one exception" with a more serious aka realistic EIC written down as a backup.

And since consent has to be had from both parties whenever an EIC is enacted no one really bothers to police who is and isn't put down.

"Take it seriously," Toshinori had always warned Izuku. "If you don't choose wisely and you ever need it ,,, friendships have been ruined over less."

There's a wealth of things there that Toshinori had never fully explained but Izuku had been able to put the pieces together easily enough. All Might and Sir Nighteye's fall out had been rather famous after all and had actually started the year before Toshinori had been so grievously injured.

Izuku had debated over who to put down as his EIC when he'd first had to fill them out. At the time, freshly debuted as a pro and still pretty much alone, he'd had no real options no matter how unappealing the alternatives, sedation and/or a trained professional stepping in if necessary, had seemed.

But now, years later and with the form renewals having come around for the year, a part of him is thrilled that he might actually have choices these days.

It really is a wonder, the things that friends can come in handy for.

Getting arrested with Hitoshi that one time and then meeting and being rather forcefully adopted by the majority of his UA class really was one of the better things to ever happen to Izuku.

But still, choosing which of his friends to ask something like this from has been proving to be almost equally as difficult.

"Come on Zu," Hitoshi huffs from his places sprawled out on the floor, "it's not that difficult."

"Is too," Izuku refuses to admit he might whine just a bit.

"It's really not," Ochako chimes in from where she's nestled between Tenya and Tsu.

"People with two partners don't get to speak," Denki chimes in then.

"~Jeal~ous~," Ochako practically sings, expression smug.

"Just do what the rest of us single people are doing," Denki waves Ochako off with a rude hand gesture. "Put down whoever you think is the hottest hero you wouldn't mind getting hot and heavy with. I, for example, have put down our very own Enigma."

"Sucks to be you," Hitoshi pipes up then, "cause I put down Hawks."

"I'm at least your second choice right?" Denki practically pleads.

"Zu's my second choice," Hitoshi immediately shoots him down.

"Hitoshi!" Izuku sputters just a bit.

"Zu, broccoli boy, the sunshine of my dark life," Hitoshi rolls his head enough to look up at him, "if you're not the first or second choice of at least half the people in this room alone I'll eat my capture scarf."

There's suddenly a lot of people very pointedly not looking in Izuku's direction.

Izuku can't help but wish he'd taken an extra patrol like Shouto did if only to have escaped this conversation before it ever happened.

"Seriously though," Hitoshi continues. "Just pick. Pick a friend or, like Denki said, pick someone unrealistic but hot that you wouldn't mind getting railed by."

Teeth chewing at his bottom lip, Izuku bobs his head in acknowledgment and turns his attention back towards his paperwork.

In the end he ends up filling the three blanks that have been provided out backward. His third spot is taken by Shouto and his second by Hitoshi.

They're two of his closest friends these days and neither of them is in a relationship like Tenya, Ochako, and Tsu are. No matter how hard Denki keeps trying to change that where Hitoshi is concerned.

But when it comes to that number one spot ,,,

Well Izuku suddenly can't get Denki and Hitoshi's suggestion out of his head.

Someone hot. Someone sexy but generally unrealistic.

A fantasy pick.

When Izuku thinks about getting absolutely railed as Hitoshi put it, there's really only one name that comes to mind.

Izuku only hesitates for a few more seconds before he finally breaks and fills in the final blank.

Hopefully the occasion will never come where Izuku has to explain to his entire friend group that his fantasy pick is the infamous Demon-sensei that still haunts the majority of their nightmares.

Besides, it's not like the Eraserhead would ever actually agree to help him out if Izuku did have to call in his EIC.

Six months later and Izuku will look back on this moment and cringe.

#RayRambles #AiDeku #BnHA #Emergency Contact AU

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userwasredacted · 3 years

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Can you do NSFW prompt? If it's possible, a drawing or short fic of Rosi "playing with himself" would be ... nice.

And a SFW prompt, just in case, something for a Devil!Rosi, evil or nice, your choice.

I really enjoy what you've done so far, keep up the good work.

I love this prompt so much, you have inspired me to write out the points for two whole different storylines that could possibly become something hahahahaha (Though idk if I have the strength and perseverance to create such a thing)

Honestly I have written out the creation of the setting and goodness I love the lore that I have created but honestly it doesn't really need to be here unless I write the full story hahhahaha

Anyway I hope you enjoy this because I definitely loved writing this

CW : SACRELIGIOUS CONTENT especially since I did talk about Lucifer.

Not beta read, I did this all in one sitting. Ignore the grammar mistakes thanks :D

-----

The first time Rocinante met Lucifer, it was on his 6th Dozen.

As it usually was, being a Royal of Hell meant that occasions that they celebrated became bigger affairs then normal. The 6th Dozen was an important milestone for all demons, especially new demons, because that was the day that they got an inkling of their demonic form that was the basis of their soul.

As they grew and developed their personalities, their demonic form would grow as well to fit their nature, as was per their miraculous origin, unlike those who migrated here from Earth who grew their demonic forms due to their surroundings as their body adapted to Hell.

It was especially important for the original settlers and builders of Hell to have their children have their demonic traits as they were born as angelic as their origins meant them to be. Their 6th Dozen would be the beginning of their pain easing. Perhaps their soft flesh would finally scab over to become simple sores. Perhaps their teeth would finally break into the perfect set that would allow them to hold and crunch the boiling food that never cooled. Perhaps, their wings would finally be free of feathers and fires, allowing them to mostly heal, at least partly. Some lucky ones would have their halo break, finally releasing them of the pain of divinity, of being so far away and outcasted by one that they were meant to love.

These were the hopes of the Donquixote Family, and all the other fallen as they stared at Rocinante in anticipation. He blinked at them through hidden eyes as he took shallow breaths, trying not to choke on the ash exhaust that had been his daily air since he was born.

He wondered if he would get his father’s beaded eyes, glassy with the sheen of mucus that protected them from the debris each time a lava bubble popped. Or maybe he would get his mother’s bone like figure from the loss of muscle mass, that allowed her steps to be lighter and not sink as deep into the gulping pools of ground. Or maybe he would be like Doffy, is bigger brother that everyone had praised for not only having broken his halo into horns, but had also grown claws to grip and stabilize himself and others on to the boiling rocks.

Personally Rocinante just wanted to be able to breathe better.

As seconds and hours ticked by, the guests became restless, picking at their food and taking sneaking glances at him. Words were softly exchanged as the excitement started to turn to nervous sorrow. His parents anticipation turning to muted despair. Rocinante, of course, fidgeted where he was, trying not to let tears fall as he hacked out another handful of black phlegm. He wasn’t sure what he could do. Was there something he was supposed to have done to make this faster? Something innate? His breaths started to quicken and he stole a panicked glance at Doffy when the guests started to take out all of the salves, bandages, medicines, and barely dirty water, things that he hoped to be free off today.

Doffy of course, started to grab the spotlight when he began showing how fast his wings were molting and that it wouldn't be long before he lost his feathers completely. He was already stronger than many boys his age and they knew that life would be easier for him, so they happily indulged him.

Rocinante let out a soft sigh of relief when that happened, and he slowly, inched his way out of the elevated chair, ignoring the scalding sensation as his hands touched the burning granite and hopped down, barely managing to avoid a sunken pit, filled with bubbling tar. Limbs heavy as always, he staggered his way to an empty room.

It was there, that he met Lucifer for the first time.

The thing that struck Rocinante most about the ruler of Hell, was how beautiful he was. Not in any of the ways he was taught was beauty of course, with the romanticized idea of smooth skin, silken hair, and all that jazz. He thought the Devil was beautiful, because of the way his deflated eyes softened at him, similar to how Mother and Father did when they thought he and Doffy were not looking. The way his ripped and split lips stretched slightly into a tiny smile, not enough to draw blood in them, but enough to be noticeable. The way he knelt to be on Roci’s level, ignoring the hissing stones that his knees were on and how the smell of boiling flesh started to permeate the air.

“Hello little one.” The Devil said

“Hello, Sire.” Rocinante answered

When a large, blackened, bloody claw was held out, Rocinante pattered over to him as if in a trance and place his small fragile, one in it. He was slowly scooped up. Face closer to the devil, he reached out a hand and placed it on the drooping, ribboned flesh of his face.

The Devil raised an eyebrow, allowing a chunk of his skin to rip away.

“Are you not scared, little one?” the Devil said.

“I am not, Sire” Rocinante answered.

Rocinante could feel the rumble in the chest of the King as he gave a raspy chuckle.

“Why are you not scared?” the Devil said.

“Because you are kind, Sire.” Rocinante answered.

For a moment there was silence as Rocinante considered the devil and the devil considered Rocinante, smile slowly disappearing, eyes drooping.

“Why are you sad, Sire?” Rocinante asked.

“Because you will be in pain, little one” The Devil said.

“Will I always be in pain, Sire?” Rocinante asked

“Those who are in Hell, will always be in pain” The Devil said.

“Will I get my demonic trait soon, Sire?” Rocinante asked.

“You already have, little one” The Devil answered.

With that, the Devil turned to the door and made his way over to where the party was, his useless lumbering wings, dragging along the floor.

Rocinante in turn reached for them and tugged on them with his tiny, trembling, soft hands.

When the Devil walked into the room, it quietened immediately, as every fallen stared at them.

He walked over to Donquixote Homing and gently as he could, deposited Rocinante in his fathers arms, slowly nudging the child away from his wings. He offered his congratulations to the family, and a warning that the road ahead of them would be tough.

Rocinante could hear none of it through his soft sobbing. He could hardly noticed the soft murmur that spread across the room, or the pitying glances thrown his way. He barely noticed when his parents placed him on his cot and activated the bubble that would help filter the air, just a little bit.

He could hardly concentrate on Doffy’s words, when he entered to talk about something or other, giving monotonous responses each time, but never letting go of the grip on his shirt.

That night, as both Rocinante and Doffy slept, the Donquixote parents made plans in hushed whispers about what had happened, desperately trying to find a way to keep their son safe, the words of the Devil echoing in their minds.

He would never have any relief from his pain in Hell.

In the morning, Doflamingo would be struck by the sight that Rocinante’s eyes were no longer blue, but a deep crimson red.

--to maybe be continued or not idk man-

As for your nsfw requests, you can head over to my twitter with the same handle and I've already drawn out some self service Roci :D maybe you'd like that hahahah

Thanks once again for the amazing prompt!

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flippin-fins · 3 years

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Guilt

LadyNoir July 2021 Day 23: Guilt

Read on AO3

As Ladybug landed on the familiar balcony, she could see her partner’s slumped shoulders, a sure sign of his mood for the day. Not that she coud blame him. The excitement of defeating Hawkmoth and Mayura, of getting back the two missing miraculous, was easily overshadowed by what Chat Noir was going through.

All those years ago, when Ladybug had offhand mentioned the idea of Gabriel Agreste being Hawkmoth, she hadn’t expected it to be true, to lead to that night, surrounded by disappointment and butterflies.

She certainly hadn’t expected him to be the father of her partner, to watch the heartbreak cross Chat’s face as he realized who had been wearing the butterfly miraculous this whole time.

It was a good thing she had changed her mind on the knowledge of each other’s identities. Finding out who her partner was in the middle of the battle that they had been preparing for would have led to her being far more distracted than she was. Taking the time to realize what their identities meant for their partnership, for Marinette’s friendship with Adrien, proved to be important as she had his back that night.

And every night afterwards, for that matter. He hadn’t mentioned it, but after the arrests of his father and his assistant, the mansion was certainly too big, too empty, to stay in. More often than not, Ladybug would find Chat on the roof they met on for patrols, lost in his thoughts. It turned out tonight was no exception.

“Chat,” Ladybug called, not wanting to sneak up on him. She watched his shoulders drop, a sign he had heard her. At first, he had tried to turn her away, to try to deal with his pain alone, but Ladybug had been persistent. They were partners and she would be by his side through anything.

“Chat,” she whispered as she kneeled down, reaching out to rub his back. He leaned against her hand for a moment, before turning to her to reveal his red eyes and tear stained cheeks. Pulling him in for a hug, she could only murmur, “Oh, Adrien.”

It wasn’t fair. No one deserved to be related to Hawkmoth, but Adrien Agreste least of all. The model-slash-superhero deserved a different life than he had been granted, but he had survived this one as an optimist, a piece of sunshine brightening everyone’s day.

Ladybug felt his shuddering breath against her, and she went back to rubbing his back, hoping to ground him, remind him how much she loved him.

She could feel his tears against her neck, and she bit her lip to stop her own tears. She wanted to move him, take him home for a night of warm croissants and cuddling while watching movies, but it was too soon to move him. The night was dark and they were high enough up to avoid being seen from any Parisians anyways.

Ladybug’s heart broke at the idea that Chat’s life had been destroyed, his family completely gone, but that wasn’t the worst part.

As she heard Chat Noir speak, apologizng, she knew the worst part. The guilt that struck deep, that he carried every day, that was the worst part.

As Ladybug, she had done all she could to convince Paris that Adrien hadn’t been involved in his father’s affairs, at least not in the way they implied. However, it took the police, after many more interviews than should have been necessary, agreeing with her statements before the city’s anger at the young model subsided.

Alya had been a good friend for listening to Marinette’s rants about that whole fiasco.

Chat Noir’s shuddering breaths brought her back to the roof. She could hear him trying to stop his tears, unsuccessfully trying to even out his breathing. Ladybug would let him go for a little longer before dragging him home.

Her parents had welcomed him into their lives with open arms, even before the public opinion had shifted. She was sure they’d found the two of them bundled in blankets on the couch, the glow of the tv illuminating the room, but her parents hadn’t enforced any boundaries, trusting the duo to be smart.

Marinette had never revealed their superhero identities to her parents, even if sometimes the older couple let on they knew more than they should. Tom Dupain and Sabine Cheng had been more than willing to provide comfort, a home, to Adrien, and Marinette knew he cherished it more than he could say. She’d even found Adrien and her father in the bakery, Tom whispering secret family recipes as he showed the blond the best way to frost.

She remembered that night, holding him in her arms in her room. His sobs, unable to voice why he had been so hurt. How he hadn’t gotten to have moments like that with his father, always having been shut out, sure it was his own fault.

Her heart broke all over again at the memory.

All Ladybug wanted for Chat Noir, for Adrien Agreste, was for him to be happy, to feel loved, to never feel so shut out, so alone, the way he was in that house. Akumatizing the citizens of Paris was terrible, but sometimes the idea of how he treated Adrien, especially after his mother’s death, felt like the worse crime.

Finally, Chat’s breathing slowed, his shaking ceased, and Ladybug gently pulled him away from her shoulder, looking him in the eye.

His eyes were puffy, his hair more of a mess than usual, but to her he was just as beautiful as he was on the magazine covers. The sight of him took her breath away everyday.

‘I love you,’ her heart whispered, but her mouth said something different. “Come home with me? We can watch a movie, I could bake some cookies? Whatever you’d like.”

He nodded slowly, as if the simple movement exhausted him. She’d have to dig up some brie from the bakery to thank Plagg for letting him come out here night after night.

When they made it to her balcony, Ladybug made a move to go inside, but a hand on her wrist stopped her.

Turning, she saw Chat Noir settled on a lounge chair, eyes fixed on the stars. They weren’t as easy to see here in the city, but she knew he liked to spend nights caught up in their shine.

“Do you want me to get blankets for us?”

He nodded without looking at her, and it takes everything in her not to walk over and curl up by his side.

She moved quickly in her room, hoping not to disturb her parents. She’d kept a stockpile of blankets and pillows for nights on her balcony, and she was grateful to not have to stray too far from the blond that had captured her heart.

She slipped onto the balcony, nodding as Plagg and Tikki floated past her, presumably headed towards the bakery for some snacks.

Adrien helped her adjust the blankets until they were all spread out, and the friends could lay out on the cushioned ground.

It was easy to pretend, especially when they were snuggled under blankets and watching a movie or curled up and talking about their feelings on rooftops. It was easy to forget they were just partners, friends, and that was the extent of it. No matter how much her heart wanted more, it didn’t matter.

She wasn’t going to rush him, to risk the balance they had. She didn’t want to scare him away from the only support system he seemed to have.

Marinette had forgotten to grab her laptop, but snuggled under these blankets with him, their kwamis having returned and curled on their laps, she was content to just live in this moment.

She slowly reached out to run her fingers through his hair, listening as his breathing evened out. She’d noticed the dark bags under his eyes a while ago, but he hadn’t mentioned anything, so she pretended to not notice how often he fell asleep when they were together.

She tried to ignore her heart whispering they were better, more complete, together. That his state of relaxation was related to how perfect they were for eachother, as if the strength of their partnership with the masks equaled the safety they felt in the other’s arms.

Peeking up to look at his face, Marinette realized he was fully asleep. She hoped the same was true for Plagg and Tikki, but wasn’t brave enough to check, not wanting to find two sets of us peering up at her.

“I know I’m not what you wanted,” she whispered, hoping not to wake him. If her words brushed past his dreams, she was sure she didn’t mind. “But you deserve so much, so much more than the legacy you’ve been left behind to clean up. You deserve all the love in your life, possibly more. Do you even see how much love is out there? From Nino, Alya, our classmates? The love they have for such a good friend? From my parents? I’m pretty sure some of the recipes my dad has shared with you are ones that I’ve never been told. Even the love I -'' she froze, listening to his breathing, but it didn’t change. “Even the love I have for you.

“Love comes in many forms, and you deserve them all.”

She sighed, shifting slightly to lean against his chest.

“Loving you, it’s always been so easy. That moment with the umbrella, how fitting the crack of thunder was, unexpected and quick, just like the love I felt for Adrien. It wasn’t the model looks, but the sweetness, your smile, how nice you were to be when I didn’t deserve it. And Chat Noir,” Marinette smiled, playing with a loose thread on one of the blankets. “It wasn’t out of convenience, or you wearing me down, but who you are. The puns, the optimism. Your heart, how thoughtful you are as you check in with the Akuma victims, the first to remind them that it wasn’t their fault. Those moments we got to share, on patrols or against Akumas. Chat crept up on me, too slowly to notice, until one day I turned around and there it was, undeniable. You and me against the world, right?

“To think, I got the oppourtunity to fall in love with someone as amazing as you, twice.” She sighed again, letting herself be lost in the memories.

“I’ve spent so long picturing a future, a future with you, both versions of you. Dancing in the soft lights of Paris, coming home to sweet smiles, the small patter of feet. Even the smell of camenbert haunting my dreams.” Marinette sniffed, smiling to herself. She could feel Plagg snuggle closer, softly bunching the blanket.

She reached her free hand down to brush against both of the kwamis.

“But it doesn’t matter. Loving you, it could be so easy, but you deserve more. More than me, more than just someone that’s nearby. I’ll spend my life making sure you know how loved you are, even if it’s from a distance. Love isn’t because of or in spite of, it’s just there.”

She ran her fingers through his hair again. “Loving you was easy, but this could be enough. I love you enough that knowing you’re happy would be enough.”

Marinette startled when she felt something wet on her arm. Looking up, she was met with green eyes. She froze, caught in his gaze.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she recovered quickly.

“How much did you hear?”

“Do you mean it?” His voice was thick, his eyes still shining.

She looked in his eyes, but she didn’t know what she was looking for. After a moment, she blushed, looking away.

“Every word,” she breathed.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfic #miraculous lb #ladybug and chat noir #LadyNoir July 2021 #Day 23: Guilt #My Fic #my reputation's never been worse #so you must like me for me

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pillage-and-lute · 3 years

Text

Thicker Than Water (Part 4)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (here) Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Ao3 link HERE

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He awoke sore and badly rested, tears dried on his face.

Jaskier made it through the next day. He ate a little of the food Ciri offered him, only because when he tried to decline the first time her eyes got large and her bottom lip showed just the barest hint of a tremble. He couldn’t bear it. The dry horse bread that was usual for traveling rations crumbled in his mouth. He was so hungry, it was one of the best things he’d ever tasted.

Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to even unsling his lute from his shoulder during their trek. His fingers itched to play, of course. He continued his story for Ciri and in his mind he played music for the background, he just couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t sell his lute in this next town, but before they reached Kaer Morhen he would have to. It would give them money, and he wouldn’t be a burden. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and continued telling Ciri the story.

He noticed a bit before mid day that Geralt was watching him. That wasn’t out of sorts, of course. Yennefer and Ciri were watching him too, he was an excellent storyteller and the tale was enthralling. Geralt didn’t seem to be paying attention to the story though. He was staring-- glowering--brow low and furrowed, at Jaskier.

Jaskier felt hurt lance through him and he almost staggered, avoiding Geralt’s gaze. He knew Geralt didn’t want him along, didn’t want him at all, but he couldn’t even pretend? He couldn’t go back to their relationship before? Not the warm, almost companionable silences that had been nurtured between them, but the grunts and stone faced silence of the beginning of their acquaintance.

Jaskier breathed through the pain in his chest. Twenty years of silences, all kinds of them, stony and friendly and sleepy and painful and quietly nice. But they were back to the beginning, or worse, Geralt angry and Jaskier’s voice filling in places it didn’t belong.

“Jaskier?”

That was Ciri, and Jaskier realized that he’d actually trailed off mid-sentence.

“Sorry little highness,” he smiled and gave a funny little bow. “I’m but a simple entertainer, a poet and a fool, sometimes my mind runs away from me.”

“Fool is right,” Yennefer snorted. It wasn’t totally unkind, but it still stung. It stung even more when Geralt, so taciturn all day, snorted with laughter at her comment. Jaskier felt his ears burn and his chest ache.

“Now, where was I?”

“The king’s son met the North Wind,” Ciri said, matching Jaskier’s steps. “And he has to beat him in a game of wit to gain knowledge of where the sorcerer’s daughter was taken, that’s what you said, but you didn’t tell us what game yet.”

At least someone treasured his words, Jaskier thought. Although they weren’t worth much, he threw one out after the other.

Like garbage, whispered the back of his mind.

“Ah yes,” he said instead. “the North Wind sat before the king’s son, and laid out a chess set made of ice and wind.”

“How can chess pieces be made of wind?”

Jaskier smiled, Ciri asked questions at all the right places. “The North Wind wanders, he goes everywhere, blowing cold breath across The Continent. When the North Wind is present and we breath our breath can be seen.” Jaskier smiled here and added an aside, “My little sister used to call it dragon smoke. But by the same magic that gives the North Wind a body to walk the world, he can take our frozen breath and turn it cold and solid as glass.”

Jaskier let himself tell the story on autopilot. His feet ached. He’d been darning the socks he was wearing for a year or more, but he wasn’t good at it and the lumps were rubbing his toes raw. Worse than that, the soles of his boots were almost worn through. Just one more thing he’d have to buy.

He felt ashamed of himself. His boots had been going thin for a while, and instead of saving his coin and getting them repaired or just buying new ones, he’d drowned himself in drink, feeling sorry. Oh, he hadn’t known he would be making a trip up a mountain, but he needed boots regardless. No wonder Geralt had always been upset with him, he always put pleasure over sense, couldn’t even spend coin sensibly.

Couldn’t darn socks, couldn’t budget his coin, couldn’t shut up. A fool.

He stumbled on a tree root and nearly swore. Couldn’t even walk right. One of the blisters building on his foot had burst, he was sure. It was easy to tell, the pain had gone from a rubbing ache to stinging and warm. Only years of practice and performance kept him from interrupting the story.

Something must have shown on his face though, or his scent changed or whatever because Geralt was staring at him intently. That face, always so unreadable.

Jaskier wasn’t going to give him anything else to scowl about. He kept walking, keeping the story rolling and his voice light. His bones ached. He had to stop for just a moment when a button, long past hanging loosely on his doublet, finally pulled free. He picked it up and the head rush nearly took him to the ground. He’d eaten little, slept poorly, and the only food he’d had in a long time before this was ale. He blinked the grey from his vision, trying not to let the panic show when it didn’t go away as quickly as he’d have liked.

It was okay. It was all going to be okay. They’d make it to the village by nightfall. They wouldn’t sleep there of course but he could get proper food. Maybe even slip away and catch a quick nap in a stable or hayloft or something. His whole body was buzzing with a sort of exhausted energy and his heart was pounding.

Jaskier reflected that he hadn’t been well before meeting up with Geralt and his little family. He’d been sick with drink and heartache and had not enough food then too.

Smile through the pain.

This wasn’t even bad as performances could go. Once he’d actually broken a finger just before a set at Oxenfurt. Simple clumsiness, he’d closed his index finger in a door, but he’d played his whole set, with a perfect score from his professor.

It grew darker, the sun just setting when they reached a field at the edge of the town. It was a large open field and, in warmer months, it was likely home to fairs and large market days. Probably in these rural areas people traveled for a week to bring their goods and livestock to this town. It didn’t matter now, mid autumn settling into late autumn. To Jaskier the town was nameless.

They set up camp in the field. It left them exposed to being seen, but they hid themselves behind a small rise on the edge of the field, blocking them mostly from sight. Still, Geralt seemed on edge. Jaskier wasn’t sure it was about the camp. Geralt kept looking over at him with his eyebrows pressed together. Whenever he did that it formed this little crease right between his brows that Jaskier wanted to kiss away.

Jaskier bit his lip, hard, to focus on anything other than that.

The three of them sat, too tired to talk much more. Jaskier had finished most of the story and decided to leave the rest for the next day they were traveling a lot, to give Ciri something else to think about. She was definitely Calanthe’s blood. They traveled all day and she never complained, but also told them when she needed to stop, advocating for herself in no uncertain terms. It was the princess herself who interrupted his thoughts.

“You said you had a sister, do you have lots of siblings?”

“Not really,” Jaskier said, settling down on the ground and feeling his bones pop. His blisters were definitely bleeding inside his boots too. “Two older brothers, Henrik and Teodor, and I had a younger sister, Lotte.”

“Had?”

“She was sickly, always too small for her age,” Jaskier said quietly. “I learned the lute for her, at first. She liked music and was often bedridden. A fever took her when she was about your age.” Jaskier looked down at his battered boots.

“I’m sorry,” Ciri whispered.

“It’s allright little highness, it’s been almost thirty years now. Time flies.”

“I didn’t know you had siblings,” Geralt said. It was growly, but Geralt always used that tone.

“You never really asked.”

Dinner was a quiet affair. Jaskier ate the last of the rations in his pack, waving away Ciri’s offerings and showing her his food as proof that he had some. It didn’t really settle the hunger that had been eating him from the inside out all day, but at this point he figured he could eat a mountain and still have room for dessert.

“Tomorrow,” Geralt said gruffly once dinner was cleared away. “We don’t all enter the town as a group. Yen and Ciri go together. I go alone. Jaskier goes alone.”

Jaskier nodded, so did Ciri and Yennefer.

“If we see eachother, act as though we don’t know eachother,” Geralt said, then he turned his gaze on Jaskier. “Don’t attract too much attention.”

Jaskier bristled at getting his own private reprimand. “I’m a bard, Geralt,” he said. “How am I supposed to earn coin if I don’t play.”

Geralt grunted. “I didn’t say don’t play just no... don’t do the whole...” he gestured a vauge hand.

“The whole...me?” Jaskier said sarcastically. He was pulling at the lion’s tail he knew, but he was in pain and tired and hungry and Geralt had no right to be so cruel.

“The whole bright colors, loud and annoying thing. Country bard, not court bard, got it?”

Loud and annoying.

“Got it,” Jaskier said, looking back down at his boots. He didn’t say that none of his clothes could have passed for courtly anymore anyway.

They set about getting ready for bed. Ciri gave him a quick hug before she and Yennefer disappeared into their magical tent. Jaskier sat and pulled off his boots, not letting a single flicker of pain show on his face. He knew Geralt would be able to smell blood, but Geralt had gone to get water from the nearby river. He had to peel his socks off and yes, there was blood there, by now stuck into the threadbare fabric. He let himself wince then. He rinsed off the wounds but he was without bandages, so he just dried off the area and put his other pair of socks on. He only had the two pairs anyway, but at least the blisters would stay dry.

He rolled himself into his bedroll and thought of tomorrow. At least there were no tree roots here.

The next day dawned slowly, instead of bright pinks and oranges it was a kind of runny yellow that just leeched into the sky before fading into early morning blue. Jaskier watched in admiration as Yennefer changed Geralt’s hair to short and dark, and then gave herself brown eyes and a slightly different bone structure. To look at both of them was odd, because Jaskier could see the similarities. Yennefer’s nose was changed and her cheekbones were a little different, but it was still her, and Geralt just looked like a different, although quite handsome, version of himself. Ciri was simply given mousy brown hair and some extra freckles.

Just like that, the perfect and all powerful family looked like two normal people and one witcher who was still clearly a witcher but not the white wolf. Jaskier shouldered his lute. He’d cleaned up the scruff he’d been growing into a more respectable look and with his longer hair and tatty cloak he looked like any poor traveling musician. If he’d traded the lute for a shortbow he could have looked like a woodsman, totally nondescript.

He was entering from a different direction, so as not to arouse suspicion, and so was Geralt. Jaskier began walking around, so that he could enter from the east. Yen and Ciri would walk into town the closest direction, and Geralt was entering from the west. This early, it was unlikely they would have been seen all together.

Jaskier made his way to the eastern edge of the town and walked in, scanning the streets. If this were a farm people would be up and awake long before now, farmers wake well before dawn, but this was a town, and so few people wandered the streets. Shop keepers were just beginning to open up. Jaskier bought a couple pears, slightly overripe but cheaper because of it, off of a fruit seller and had breakfast. He tried to lock into his mind all the shops around so he could find his supplies easiest later.

His mind was resisting him though. In spite of the softer ground, Jaskier had still slept badly last night. His body ached and he wished he could find somewhere warm to lay for an hour or two. Instead he found the well.

As wells should be, this one was right in the center of town. He set down his lute case beside it, tuned his lovely lady, and began to play.

In his very first few months after leaving Oxenfurt he had learned this trick, and used it often. If you get into a town early, play at the well. People get their water first thing in the morning and there you are.

A few young women with yokes and buckets smiled at him and he nodded in return. The day brightened a little further as the sun crept above the buildings and more people came to gather in the town square. They weren’t there to hear Jaskier, not at first, most of them came for water, or to chat with neighbors, or discuss business. Many of them gathered around him though.

Coins clattered into the case. Mostly coppers, but in a little town like this that was quite normal.

“As sweet Polly Oliver lay musing in bed, A sudden strange fancy came into her head. "Nor father nor mother shall make me false prove, I'll 'list as a soldier, and follow my love,” he sang.

“So early next morning she softly arose, And dressed herself up in her dead brother's clothes. She cut her hair close, and she stained her face brown, And went for a soldier to fair Rinde Town.”

Sweet Polly Oliver was one of his favorites, a simple country song about a girl and her lover in wartime. This town was far enough north that with luck Nilfgaard wouldn’t attack, but the anxiety threatened.

Jaskier gave a good performance, perhaps not his best, but he was tired and cold and the flagstones beneath his feet were very hard. He danced about, playing sweet folk songs and jigs and reels, delighting in the people who swept up and danced along. Still, though, he felt his feet bleeding inside his boots. He played from just after dawn until perhaps an hour after noon before bowing away and taking his coin.

He’d done better than he’d expected, but there wasn’t nearly enough coin for all the things he’d need for Kaer Morhen, and extra food to help Geralt and Ciri. He’d buy what he needed now, and they’d stop again in Ard Carraigh before the keep. He’d sell his lute there, it was a large city, and he’d get a good price. The thought still made him ache, though.

It wasn’t just his emotions causing him pain, he realised. The aches he’d been experiencing were in his chest lately, and both physical and emotional. He just needed more rest.

Jaskier slipped through back alleys and bent streets. He’d seen a stable on his way into town. He stepped in quietly, startling a stable hand, no more than a boy, who’d been quietly talking to a horse.

“You’re the bard,” he said. “Saw you in the square jus’ this morning.”

“That’s right,” Jaskier said, bowing a little. “I’m afraid I’ll be moving on this evening and--”

“And you want to have a kip in the stables,” said the boy. “Yeah lots o’ musicians and peddlers do that. Rule is though, I got to get a coin off ‘em first as payment. I’m sorry, but I get a beating if’n I don’t.”

“No worries,” Jaskier said, he’d expected as much. He handed the boy two copper coins. “There’s pay, won’t have you getting beaten for my sake, the second coin is to wake me in two hours.”

The boy gave him a lopsided grin. “You got it sir, thanks.”

Jaskier snuggled up in the hay loft. He’d often done it, it was pretty common, if you couldn’t buy a stay at an inn or especially if you just needed a ‘kip’ as the boy had said, during the day. He’d slept in haystacks once in a while on the road too. They were sort of comfortable and surprisingly warm and, best of all, robbers didn’t get you if you kept yourself mostly under the hay.

The scent of hay and oats and horses lulled him to sleep.

He dreamed about haystacks. For some reason Roach was in the haystack with him. Geralt and Ciri too, even Yennefer. It was a crowded haystack indeed, and it grew smaller and smaller until Jaskier had to leave it and sleep on the ground so that the others weren’t squished.

He awoke to the stable boy nudging him.

“Pardon me mister,” he said. “But it’s been two hours.”

Jaskier thanked him and brushed off his clothes.

The shops were doing a good trade this afternoon and he’d be sure to be a face in the crowd. He bought a small cooking pot and plenty of ground oats and barley for porridge at one shop. They were light to carry and owner packaged them nicely, first in one cheap, cloth drawstring bag, and then in another such bag, but with the drawstring on a different side, so he was unlikely to lose food.

In another stall he bought plenty of nuts, walnuts were cheap here and would keep well. Good for traveling and they had protein. Some dried jerky, dried peas, and dried lentils finished his food shopping, and also most of his coin.

It was three days to Ard Carraigh, another week to trek up to the keep. The food would sustain him for that long, and they’d probably just pool their food to make sure everyone was fed. Still, he wasn’t being a burden, not too much.

He couldn’t afford new boots, gloves, or a cloak right now, but with the last of his coin he bought a new pair of thick, warm socks, a small roll of bandages, and a couple pieces of candied ginger in a little paper twist. He tucked them all away and left the town, disappearing back to the field and their little camp well before the sun set.

Jaskier’s heart sunk to see that he was the last to arrive. Everything was packed up, they couldn’t risk staying in the same place two nights in a row. Geralt grunted at him, but didn’t unleash any thoughts on Jaskier being a burden, so he counted himself lucky.

He hung his head a little at having delayed their parting and trekked after the perfect little family, his pack much heavier than it had been. Ciri slid her hand into his and they walked on in silence. The hand was nice though.

In an odd way, it hurt, too. He wasn’t part of the family, so he didn’t really deserve this, but it was painfully good to have just a taste of being wanted.

What would happen, he wondered, when the winter was over. He was a danger to Geralt and Ciri if Nilfgaard found him. He wasn’t wanted by Geralt at all. Jaskier was reminded once again that it would be so much easier for Geralt to kill him, or for Yennefer to wipe his memory. Maybe he could fake his death to get Nilfgaard of his trail.

“Jaskier?” Ciri asked. “How did you become a bard?”

Jaskier looked down at her, maudlin thoughts interuppted. “Oh, well, it’s not as though you have to register, you just become one. Walking into an inn and saying ‘let me play for you pretty please I need food’ is a good start.”

“No,” Ciri giggled. “I meant, you said you learned the lute for your sister, but you write your own music and stuff too.”

“Oh, well, anyone can write music if they have an instrument and a good enough memory,” Jaskier said. “Indeed, many of the greatest bards had little education at all, I, however, studied at Oxenfurt.”

“Did you like it?”

“Sometimes. It was school, and some parts were dull but I learned much.”

“I heard some of the maids giggling once about a young scholar who’d come to stay with us,” Ciri said, matter of factly. “He was always in the library and was kind of snooty with me when I asked questions, but the maids were saying he certainly had a lot of ‘carnal knowledge’. Did you study that too?”

Jaskier was choking on thin air.

“I, um, no it was more of a hobby,” Jaskier said before his head could catch up with his mouth. “Little Highness, I suspect you weren’t supposed to hear that conversation, and no, I studied the seven liberal arts.”

“So it was about sex, I was never sure,” Ciri said.

Jaskier coughed awkwardly. “Yes, princess.”

“It’s okay, I know about that stuff, Grandmother explained it.”

Jaskier let out a breath, at least he wouldn’t have to be the one to explain anything to her.

“When you went to school were you scared to leave your family?” Ciri asked.

“No, pet, I was excited to go,” he wasn’t about to get into all his trauma with her, she had enough of her own, poor thing. “I couldn’t wait to learn about music and poetry.”

“Grandmother said all poets were silly romantics and dreamers, but I think that sounds nice. Do you have a moose?”

“A what?”

“I read it in a book, a moose, somebody you love and you write about it.”

“Oh, that’s one of the trickier words Ciri, it’s said ‘muse’, and yes, I had one or two.”

“Only one or two? In the book the poet had hundreds,” Ciri sounded almost disappointed.

“I only ever needed one,” Jaskier said quietly. “One that mattered anyway.”

“And your Countess still left you,” Geralt said, rather coldly. He was doing his annoyed face and Jaskier could have kicked himself. He’d been talking too much. The reminder that the Countess de Stael had left him too hurt, but Jaskier wasn’t going to risk Geralt’s ire to say that she wasn’t the muse he was talking about. That was maybe something he should keep to himself.

“Do muses often leave?” Ciri asked, wide eyed. “If somebody was writing me poetry I wouldn’t want to.”

“No, usually the poet does the leaving,” Jaskier said. “After his muse asks him to go. There’s a shelf life on a bard, you know. We only have so many stories and songs before we’re used up and no one wants us around anymore. That’s when we move along.”

“I’ll hear your stories again and again,” Ciri said. “I won’t ask you to go.”

Jaskier’s heart curled up and whimpered inside his chest. He’d have to go sooner or later, he’d have to leave her. Geralt would get sick of him, too sick to bear even for Ciri’s sake. Or Jaskier would just have to leave of his own volition, lest he shovel shit into her life too.

If he could give her life one blessing...

“This’ll do for a campsite,” Geralt said. It was a tiny, clear area. Jaskier almost groaned. It was surrounded by oak trees, with dropped acorns that would dig into his bedroll and mottle his back with bruises come morning. He’d had a good rest in town, though, so another bad night of sleep wouldn’t be too bad, he told himself.

The others had eaten in town. Jaskier said he had too, so he wouldn’t waste rations. He had plenty, but strangely, he wasn’t so hungry lately. Anyway, always best to save.

He pulled off his boots and his freshly bloodied socks. Ew. Ciri retired to the magic tent early, exhausted from their long days of walking. Jaskier listened to Yennefer and Geralt talk.

“We’ll need lots of supplies in Ard Carraigh,” Geralt was saying.

“We don’t have any money,” Yennefer replied.

Jaskier had his back to them as he cleaned the wounds on his feet, but he could picture grave expressions.

“We’ll get some, I’ll do a quick contract there, something. We’ll need a cart and pony to get Ciri up The Killer, it’s too much for her, it’s too hard for some witchers even.”

“That’ll cost,” Yennefer said. “But you’re right. I wish I could portal us but--”

“Tracking, exactly. There’s always plenty of contracts in cities, it’ll be fine.”

Jaskier looked at the blisters on his foot, they’d opened more with his long performance that day. It was no matter, he wound the bandages around them and put on his new, thick socks. At least his feet would be warm.

Not too warm, though. He spotted a hole in the bottom of his boot that he hadn’t noticed before.

And they needed lots of money for Ard Carraigh. No matter. He knew how to get some.

He pretended his eyes filled with tears from the pain of blisters, not from heartache, as he pushed his feet back into his boots and opened the lute case. He pulled out his beautiful girl. He wouldn’t play her, it would annoy Geralt. He’d always hated Jaskier’s music, although he hated to hear Jaskier sing even more.

Pie with no filling.

Jaskier wished he could play her, though. It was going to break his heart to part with her, and he didn’t think he’d ever played another instrument as fine. If he could, he’d play her every second until he had to sell her.

Probably for the best, though, if he was going to fake his death. She was distinctive.

He brushed a hand over the beautiful wood work on her front. There was a little bit of linseed oil left, and he poured it on the rag he kept in the case and began to work over his girl lovingly. His eyes teared up again, but he fought it back. He would have smashed his lute if it meant helping Ciri. And Geralt.

Jaskier longed for Geralt to forgive him, to take him back and let him stay by his side, but he’d meant what he’d said, bards have a shelf life, and Jaskier’s time was up.

He wished Geralt would at least speak with him, though. His heart was aching. In a completely different sense, so was his chest.

“Play us a tune, bard,” Yennefer said.

Jaskier turned around. Yen and Geralt were sitting beside eachother, close together. She looked so beautiful in her fine cloak that Jaskier wondered how he ever thought he could catch Geralt’s eye when beings like her existed.

“You know,” he said. “It’s late and I wouldn’t want to bother Ciri.”

“Tent’s soundproof,” Yennefer said, waving her hand.

“I mean, really,” Jaskier protested weakly. Disobeying Yennefer’s request/command was like bathing your brain in lava, but Geralt was looking angry again. Some would say there wasn’t much change from Geralt’s normal expression, but Jaskier knew his face better than he knew his own. Something had made Geralt angry or upset. The only possible answer was Jaskier. It was always Jaskier.

“Play us a song, bard,” Yennefer said. “You’ve been so quiet other than stories, I’d almost think you were a doppler, Melitele knows no one could have taught you to shut up.”

Jaskier swallowed the lump in his throat.

He began, slowly, to pick out a gently tune on his lute. It was a song about winter and home, and he knew the lyrics well. Yennefer had only asked him to play, so he would. His music was at least less offensive than his voice.

He reveled in the feel of his lute beneath his fingers, letting the feeling wash over him, committing it to memory.

When he was finished Yennefer said, “I suppose your voice was tired from your performance, I heard in the town how the bard had played such a long set.”

Jaskier smiled grimly back at her. “Just earning my keep.”

He went to bed, feeling the cold seep into his bones.

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Tag List!

@frywen-babbles @mordoriscalling @thedarkestangel1 @kerfufflezz @live-long-and-trek-on @holymotherwolf @gryffinqueen

@samukai @charlies-dragon I can’t seem to tag, but they’re on the list

#geraksier #adhd Jaskier #the witcher #angst #jaskier #geralt #yennefer #ciri #platonic yennalt #yennefer is a good mom #and deserves nice things #kaer morhen #soon but not yet #emotional hurt/comfort #just hurt now #the comfort is yet to come

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ourloveisforthelovely · 3 years

Text

Princess Part 5

Harry Potter Marauders Era

Link to Part 4

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader

Rating: E- smut

_______

Christmas came around a lot quicker than you expected. Returning back to Grimmauld Place you were thrilled with the thoughts of having Regulus all to yourself for some time. Walburga and Orion were busy planning their annual Christmas Eve gala that was hosted every year so that would leave Regulus and yourself some alone time. You silently thanked Orion for attempting to keep his wife from your meddling in the love affair going on between Regulus and yourself. The two of you were adults and didn’t need Walburga butting in or trying to keep sex from happening.

To your displeasure, however, Voldemort had other ideas. For the first week of the holiday Regulus was gone the whole time. Apparently, there was some mission that could not wait. That meant you were once again put on the back burner. This seeming abandonment you would have to put up with. There was no sense in trying to talk Regulus out of going. He had to. Whether you wanted him to or not, your lover had to work for the greater good. You would just have to deal without him for a bit and not complain. Walburga’s words of that’s what good wives do. They support their husbands...especially at a time like this. You will look pretty and provide him comfort when Regulus comes home rang in your head. It didn’t matter if you weren’t his wife “technically.” In Walbruga’s eyes, you were as good as Regulus’ wife.

Luckily, Walburga picked up on your sullen mood and swooped in to keep you occupied. She required you to help her with the Christmas gala and took you dress shopping (even though you had plenty of evening gowns) for a perfect party dress. As the witch as the dress shop hovered over you gathering measurements and deciding what tone would look best on you. Finally, the three of you decided on a form-fitting emerald green gown that pushed your breasts to new heights and a split that went nearly to your thigh. Walburga smiled from her seat.

“Come Easter holiday, we will be looking for a wedding dress.”

She was thrilled with your sweet smile. The seamstress looked up with a grin.

“Ah, getting married are you?”

You nodded, happily. Walburga normally didn’t let emotions other than wrath and anger show. Today, however, she smiled like a proud mother.

“She’s marrying my only son. Isn’t she a beauty?”

The seamstress nodded, eagerly.

“I thought she was your daughter, ma’am.”

Walburga stood and came to join you on the platform that you were standing on while the seamstress hemmed the bottom of the dress.

“She’s as good as. Y/n and my Regulus have been taken with each other since they were children. There is no one better for my son.”

The seamstress nodded with a smile.

“I saw your boy a few days ago, Mrs. Black. He is very handsome. These two will make lots of pretty babies.”

Walburga nodded, locking her gaze on you. The two of you made eye contact and your expectations as a woman and wife were clearly said without Walburga saying a word. She had made it clear that she wanted an heir but not anytime soon. You were thankful that she saw your views on wanting to wait until things with lord Voldemort slowed down. When he made the appropriate amount of progress and Regulus wasn’t out risking his life then you would have a baby.

“That is the hope.”

Walburga replied.

The Christmas gala came with no sign of Regulus coming home. You sat putting the finishing touches on your makeup before heading downstairs to the party. The last thing that you really wanted to do was go to this party without Regulus. Showing up without your boyfriend to a party where 98% of the invitees knew about your engagement was a bit tiresome. You didn’t feel like spending the evening saying polite thank yous to all of the people in your social circle wishing you well. It was rude and selfish, you knew this. All that you wanted was your lover.

Stepping into the room, your eyes immediately went to Evan and Emma. Your annoyance built a bit more. Emma got to have her fiance home. Before you could hide from your cousin, he spotted you and grabbed Emma’s arm to pull her over. Emma immediately smiled as her eyes met yours.

“Y/n!”

She said, cheerfully and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Hi, Emma. Evan when did you get home?”

Evan shrugged.

“Yesterday. Regulus should be back soon. There was a mission that one of the new worthless members of or cause messed up. Regulus had to go clean up the mess.”

You didn’t have to ask Evan what that meant. Regulus was out killing someone. You had told Regulus in the beginning that you didn’t want to know what he was doing when he went out. It didn’t matter how you felt about purebloods, half-bloods, or mudbloods. You didn’t want to hear about death. Since your own mother was killed years beforehand; you had always been sensitive to it.

“I see. I’m glad to see that you are alright.”

You wrapped your arms around Evan’s shoulder and kissed his cheek. If something had happened to Evan you would have been devastated. Evan smiled and returned the gesture. He looked between Emma and yourself with a pleased smile.

“Pureblood women are the prettiest. You two look simply lovely.”

Emma smiled and playfully smacked her fiance’s arm.

“You’re so talented at words.”

Evan shrugged, knowing that his fiance was right.

“I’m going to talk to Malfoy. I’ll leave you two together.”

When Evan walked away Emma turned her attention back to you. Your face had turned a bit more annoyed.

“What is it? You look furious.”

You scoffed.

“Lucius is back too? Everyone has their lovers back except for me.”

Emma’s motherly smiled returned as she reached out to fluff your hair.

“There now. Stop frowning. You’re going to get age lines too quickly. Y/n, you know what our men are doing is the right thing to do. We have to make sacrifices for the greater good.”

You wanted to scowl even harder at the comment on the greater good. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t make a comment about how you were questioning “the greater good.” Was all of this even worth it?

Emma’s voice pulled you from your thoughts.

“You look lovely. It's good to see that the best of our society came to this gala. I was afraid that Melissa would be here.”

You rolled your eyes. The feeling of annoyance about Emma’s hatred of your other friend returned.

“You know that her family wouldn’t have been able to afford a new dress for her. She would have looked simply dreadful.”

Emma added. You took a sip of the drink that you had snatched off of a tray.

“She is in France with her grandparents anyway.”

Emma’s cold eyes narrowed.

“I don’t understand your fascination with that girl. We are practically royalty and she’s just...poor.”

You sighed.

“She’s nice, Emma. Maybe it's a good thing to network outside of our own social circles from time to time. There could be something useful that comes out of friendships with others.”

It was Emma’s turn to roll her own eyes.

“Sure, if my house elf needs a new pillowcase to wear. Regulus!”

You quickly turned the moment Regulus’ hand touched the small of your back. Without even thinking, you threw your arms around his shoulders.

“You’re home.”

You said, softly. Regulus chuckled and pulled you into a soft kiss. He would have kissed you more but Regulus knew his mother would have a cow if the two of you started snogging in the middle of a party.

“I’ve missed you.”

He replied as you slowly backed away.

“I missed you too.”

You whispered, looking him over. Thankfully, nothing looked out of order. Regulus appeared to be perfectly fine with no injuries. He stood dressed in a full black suit and tie that matched your dress.

Emma, meanwhile, touched your arm so you wouldn’t forget her presence.

“I’ll leave you two alone. I’m going to find Evan.”

“Bye, Emma.”

You said, softly as Regulus gave her a nod. He waited until she was out of earshot before speaking.

“What was going on? You looked ready to punch her.”

You rolled your eyes as Regulus slipped his arm around your waist. He wanted to keep you as close to him as possible and you weren't about to object.

“She’s such a selfish person sometimes.”

Regulus nodded, rolling his eyes. You were never more correct than you were with that sentence.

“Emma and Evan are perfect for each other.”

Your eyes fluttered up to Regulus’ face.

“I hear that we are perfect for each other too.”

Regulus leaned closer. Having you this close to him after the hellish week that he had was more than welcoming. Regulus had big his mother and father a quick hello before coming to find you. You were the one that he wanted to see more than anyone in the world.

“Oh, my darling, you have no idea. This dress...it's going to look even more wonderful on my floor.”

You ran a hand down Regulus’ chest earning a sigh from him.

“Why don’t we get out of here for a little bit?”

You asked, resisting the urge to let your hand go lower.

“That sounds nice.”

The two of you left the party without gaining much attention. Walburga and Orion were so busy talking to the Malfoys that they didn’t notice Regulus lightly shoving you from the room and up the stairs.

The moment his bedroom door was shut, Regulus had you against the wall. Soft timid kisses quickly turned hungry as he shoved his suit jacket off. He groaned as your hands reached up and tangled in his hair to deepen the kiss.

“Need you, now.”

Regulus moaned between kisses. The past week had been one of the most exhausting in his life! Coming to find you in a dress that practically showed your tits to the whole room made the jealous lover in him go into hyperdrive. Regulus yanked the soft silky fabric until it ripped. He gave one more hard pull until what was left of the dress hit the floor.

Now you stood before him in only a silky white thong and your emerald heels.

“Now that’s better.”

Regulus growled before going for the thong. You gave him an amused scowl as he tore it off of you too.

“I am running low on lingerie.”

You commented as his hands trailed over your breasts to cup them greedily. Regulus stood up straight and looked down at you with that displeased expression. So, this is the mood for the night. You thought as that dom eyebrow of his rose up.

“I can do whatever I want, Y/n. I can rip anything off of my fiance that I want. If you are that worried about lingerie, I can always buy you more.”

You smirked and said in almost a teasing tone.

“Yes, sir.”

Regulus was suddenly pressed against you so hard that you could barely breathe. His handsome face was looking down at you with an angry hungry expression. Regulus’ hand tilted your chin so you were looking at him fully.

“So you want to be a smart mouth, huh? Well, princess that’s just fine with me.”

“The silencing charm…”

You muttered. The last thing that you wanted was for anyone to hear what the two of you were about to do. Regulus shook his head.

“No, you want to be a sassy little brat then I’m going to make you scream like a whore.”

His voice was low. It was low and oozing with pent up sexual energy from the past week apart.

“Reggie, I don’t want people to hear…”

Regulus’ hand was over your mouth silencing any more of your sentence from coming out. He leaned down nuzzling his nose against yours.

“Don’t you Reggie me. Now I’m going to shut that smart mouth up.”

He quickly started loosening his tie and tossed it to the side before going for his dress shirt. You swallowed, watching hungrily as he unbuckled his belt before pulling you back into another kiss.

“Time to shut your smart mouth up.”

He took your hand and moved it to the bulge in his dress pants.

“You know what I want.”

Regulus added, his voice softening a bit. You eagerly nodded as he wrapped his hand around yours and led you to the velour loveseat near the fireplace. Regulus kicked his shoes off before easing his dress pants down his slender waist. You wanted to whine the moment that his erection came into view.

“On your knees.”

Regulus ordered as he sat down, spreading his legs enough for you to kneel between his knees like the sweet princess you were. He tossed his mess curls over his shoulder as you knelt before him.

“Kiss me first.”

He said before leaning down enough to kiss you. You put as much passion as you could into the kiss. Regulus was clearly caught off guard and let the inner dom in him get lost in your mouth. You pushed up enough to be pressed against his chest as the snogging continued. Regulus rocked his hips the moment his brain seemed to realize that his cock was trapped between your joined bodies.

Regulus was the one to break the kiss.

“Get to work, princess.”

You did as you were told but decided to tease him a big first. Kissing his full lips once more, you moved slowly down his body. Pressing soft butterfly kisses to his chin, neck, chest, and stomach before moving to his waiting erection. Your eyes flickered to the dark mark on his arm before batting up to his face. As much as you wanted to admit that you didn’t like his “job” the dark mark on his arm was a turn on. Seeing your prim and proper lover with a tattoo was enough to leave you wet and dripping.

“Don’t make tell you twice.”

Regulus snapped.

“Yes, darling.”

You cooed before seductively licking a path down his length. Regulus fought the urge to close his eyes as you took him into your mouth. You focused on trying to make him moan. If he was going to be a cheeky shit and not put a silencing charm on the room then you were going to make him moan so loud that his mother would hear him downstairs.

You smirked at the thought of Walburga down there minding her own business. She would be mortified the moment that she realized that her son wasn’t in any danger but instead was getting a blow job. The two of you would get the tongue lashing of a lifetime that even Orion wouldn’t be able to save you from.

“That’s a good girl.”

Regulus hissed, trying to resist the urge to move his hips. Your violet eyes fluttered open and met your lover’s face. Regulus was biting his lip as he stared at you with lust-filled eyes.

You pulled away enough for Regulus’ cock to leave your mouth with a “pop.” Regulus groaned and leaned his head back against the sofa as his hands dug into the material You leaned forward and kissed his inner thighs while keeping one hand on his cock to keep Regulus muttering beneath you.

Internally, you cursed the control that Regulus had on himself. You wanted nothing more than to have him moan a little louder. Hearing him say “fuck” and “good girl” was thrilling but you wanted to have him gasping.

“I know what you are trying to do and I should spank you for it.”

Regulus growled before reaching down and pulling you into his arms. His mouth was back on yours as he claimed his prize. You quickly reached up and twirled your fingers in the curls that had fallen into his face.

“I like it when you spank me.”

You said against his lips. Regulus chuckled. He had let his hard side go to simply enjoy being close to you.

“I will never hit you but I won’t hesitate to lay you over my lap and spanking you.”

You gigged against his mouth before gently pulling his bottom lip into your mouth. Regulus reached between your bodies to circle your clit with his index finger. You immediately bucked against his hand.

“Not yet, naughty girl.”

Regulus wrapped his arms around you enough to lift you bridal style. You hungrily kissed the exposed skin of his neck. Leaving lovebites for the world to see was your next goal. You didn’t give two shits if the two of you returned to school looking as if you had been attacked.

Regulus dropped you onto the bed interrupting your thoughts of love bites. You stared up at him as Regulus removed your heels. He gently kissed your ankles before spreading your legs. Regulus wanted nothing more than to shove in and make love to you roughly. You, however, didn’t deserve that. It had been nearly a week since your last lovemaking. He wanted to make you feel good. If you could put your legs together the next morning that would be even more pleasing.

“Reggie.”

You whined his name earning a smile from your lover. He reached down and cupped your face. His dom persona had dropped quickly and was replaced by the sweet boy that you had fallen in love with.

“Soon, darling.”

He took his place over you and kissed your lips, cheeks, and collar bone. You sighed happily as his mouth moved down to your breasts. Stormy eyes met yours as he bit at your nipple before gently sucking at your stinging bud. Your hands ran through his curls as Regulus moved away from your breasts to kiss and lick a path down your stomach.

“You’re so wet.”

Regulus stated as he gently pressed two fingers inside of you. You bucked your hips earning a low laugh from Regulus as he shoved you back down. His voice seemed to drop an octave as he lowered his mouth to your folds.

“Nothing tastes better than you, love. You’re the only girl that I could do this too.”

Regulus whispered before licking a path down your folds to tease at your clit. Your eyes snapped closed knowing that Regulus was about to play unfairly. His goal at the moment was to overstimulate you. Swallowing back a sigh, you made a mental note to be quiet. You couldn’t let the party guests hear you screaming from your soon to be husband’s touch.

“Reggie, I need…”

Regulus stopped licking and looked up to you with that shit-eating grin. He ran a hand over his chin before taking his fingers out of you and licking them clean.

“What do you need, sweetheart?”

Regulus quickly took his place on top of you and turned your face to his.

“Tell me what you need.”

He said in a cheeky tone as he kissed your cheek not coming near your mouth. His hand had gone between your bodies to rub his erection against your clit.

“Make love to me.”

You cried.

“Make love to me, beautiful boy.”

Regulus smirked before shoving just the tip inside. You cried as he slowly pushed in a little more. He gave you enough for a bit of pleasure but not enough to leave you starry-eyed and gasping.

“Reggie, you aren’t playing fair.’

You whimpered. Regulus chuckled as he began to make love to you with just the little bit of his cock that he had given you.

“Who said that I played fair?”

He asked. Your violet eyes opened, narrowing on his arrogant smirk.

“Fine, if you aren’t going to fuck me properly then give me the vibrator in the bedside table. I know what to do with it.”

Regulus’ cheeky expression instantly faded and was replaced with that jealous scowl that he wore so well. This was the scowl that he always wore when you would talk to another boy that wasn’t Regulus or Evan. The last time that you had really seen Regulus’ jealous side was the day that the two of you had ran into Sirius in town and the older brother hugged you. Normally you wouldn’t play into Regulus’ jealousy. Today, however, it would get you what you wanted.

Without another word, Regulus shoved in balls deep leaving you spasming around him.

“You don’t need that toy when you have me.”

He hissed raising your thigh over his hip to give him deeper access to your body. You fought the urge to cry every time the tip of his cock hit your cervix. Regulus quickly put a hand over your mouth.

“Hush now. Do you want everyone to know what it sounds like when I fuck you?”

You shook your head as Regulus removed his hand in order to steady his own shaking body.

“Reggie, it feels so good.”

You cried with each snap of his hips. He didn’t ease up on the speed of his thrusts. You could tease him and tell him that he was being mean. That would just result in your cervix being abused harder. Not that you would be complaining. You would be moaning harder. You bit your bottom lip trying to stop the moans from coming out louder. In between heavy breaths you were already crying Regulus’ name.

Suddenly, Regulus pushed in further and held his position. He kept the head of his cock pressed against your womb’s entrance. You felt uncomfortably full. Rocking your hips, you pleased with him to move. Your body was stretching to accommodate Regulus’ sudden action.

“I was reading in a magazine about making your lover come without moving and I think that you are about to.”

Regulus said with a moan. He was trying to stop his own body from coming. It didn’t matter how much you were pulsating around him, Regulus wanted to hold on. He wanted to have more time to torment you in a delicious way.

“Reggie!”

You cried his name a bit louder before finally finding your release. Regulus closed his eyes thinking over everything he could to stop himself from coming (school, his role as a death eater, anything) but it didn’t work. It took one more squeeze of your spasming core to send Regulus over the edge of no return.

The moment he came, you sighed in complement. His come filled you as Regulus continued to fuck you through his own orgasm until he too froze. Regulus muttered something that sounded like “god damn it” under his breath before collapsing on top of you.

Your fingers stroked through his sweat-drenched curls as Regulus continued to come inside of you.

“That was perfect.”

You whispered leaning up enough to kiss his forehead. Regulus slowly pulled out enough so he could roll you into his arms. When the two of you were able to move, he would call for Kreacher to come to change the sheets. For now, however, he was too lazy to consider moving.

Regulus’ laughing quickly got your attention. You looked up at him sleepily.

“What’s so funny?”

He grinned down at you with a playful smile.

“By the way, there is a silencing charm on our room. Mother cast it herself. Just thought that you should know.”

_______

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#regulus black #regulus black x reader #timothee chalamet as regulus black #evan rosier #the ancient and noble house of black #marauders era fic #walburga black #orion black #regulus arcturus black #death eater regulus #harry potter fan fiction #smut warning #Regulus x Reader #the rosier family #druella rosier black #slytherin reader #Princess #Princess update

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tumbledfreckles · 3 years

Text

Absorption

A Chem-verse Blackinnon Drabble, based off the events leading to James saying this in the pub:

"Hi, Marlene, nice to see you again. With clothes on, too. Lovely."

You can read All About the Chemistry here

"I'm hungry."

"Already? We only just finished."

Marlene opened one eye to glare at Sirius across the pillows. From her half prone position, she didn't present the threatening figure she normally would, but she hoped the effect would carry.

It didn't.

"I wasn't talking about you," she clarified, when he only continued to wiggle his eyebrows in the wake of her stern look. "I'm actually hungry. For food."

"Should have known. Of course I've left you satisfied in other hungers," Sirius caressed the thigh that draped over his hip. His touch lit a path of sensation that almost distracted her from the current goal.

Almost.

"Do you have any? Food that is," Marlene nudged her toe into his calf before he could make another joke.

"Maybe," Sirius was quiet, stroking her hip as he thought. "Remus definitely had some biscuits that he bought only yesterday. Shouldn't have eaten them yet. I know he had chocolate too and that normally goes first."

"Anything a bit more healthy?"

"Jesus, you're fussy, woman," his hand on her breast made a mockery of his incensed tone. "Ummm, Peter bought some grapes, I think. Always trying to lose weight."

"He won't miss them?" Marlene's back arched, pushing herself more into the pleasant touch.

"Well, considering he ordered a pizza for dinner when he got home, I think not," Sirius' voice was muffled, his lips now pressed into the curve of her neck.

"Sounds great," Marlene gasped, an involuntary reaction as the hand on her hip slid lower. "Can you go get them?"

"I'm busy," he nipped at the soft skin behind her ear. "If you hadn't noticed."

"You can continue once you've got me my nourishment," she encouraged, even as her hips bucked into her hand. "And it's not like you can continue if I'm not here."

"True," he acknowledged, his hand reaching her centre. "But I can't do this, if I'm not here."

"A great point," Marlene's body betrayed her, hunger for him taking over. She reached for him. "But later, you'll go."

"Of course."

But much later, when they were both satisfied once more, he refused. Of course he did.

"You're the one who's hungry, still. Your more than satisfy me, love."

"Flattery will not get you of this. It's your place. You should go."

"I'm exhausted by my efforts."

"You are not, I know for a fact you could go another round in about five minutes."

"What are you, a sex prophet?"

"Maybe. But more like, a woman experienced in the ways of Sirius Black."

"And how lucky you are."

"Even luckier once I get some food to go with the great sex he provides."

"You know where the kitchen is."

"Sirius," she made his name last several extra syllables as she whined.

"Just go. You could have been there and back and eaten half the biscuits in this time."

"I could also be eating them if you'd gone too."

"No one’s even here, it's not like you need to put clothes on."

"Chivalry is so dead right now."

"I ain't no gentleman, McKinnon, you know that," the suck on her neck and the rough squeeze of her bottom added emphasis to his point.

She wouldn't tell him how much it turned her on.

Unfortunately, he knew her body well enough by now to tell, anyway.

"Prat," she mumbled as he grinned wickedly.

"As if it's not why you're here."

God help her, why did she have to be attracted to the bad boys?

Not that he was as bad as his leather jacket and dishevelled appearance made him look. Far from it, really. Marlene might have gone into this for the sex, but she hadn't missed how sweet and caring he could be too.

Sometimes.

Not now, apparently.

"Fine," she huffed, making a big show of shoving him off her and getting off the bed. "But I'm not sharing."

"Fair enough," he watched her head for the door, predatory gaze in his eyes to the last. "But I reserve the right to try and change your mind when you get back."

Marlene rolled her eyes but couldn't help the smile that formed as she opened the door. She darted through it before he could see.

Stepping lightly, but hearing no noise through the flat, she made her way to the kitchen. It didn't take long to locate the grapes in the fridge, but she had to hunt through various cupboards to find Remus' stash.

"Biscuits, biscuits," she muttered to herself, moving blocks of chocolate and bags of pasta. "Where the fuck does he keep them?"

"Right at the back, to try stop us taking them."

"Thanks," Marlene reached up on her toes and located a family sized packet of tim tams before she froze.

The voice behind her wasn't Sirius's.

She fell back, landing heavily on her heels. Turning slowly, using the chocolate bickies to cover her chest, she faced the speaker.

James lay on the couch, phone held above him in one hand, the other balancing a glass of juice. His face was turned away from her, focused on his screen.

"How long have you been there?" Marlene asked, glad of the kitchen island between them, hiding her pantless state.

"Came home during your last round, I think," he still didn't look at her, and she was glad, as her cheeks flamed with heat. "Hi Marlene."

"Hullo James," she went to gesture at her biscuits but realised she probably shouldn't move. "I, uh, got hungry."

"Sounded like you two were working up quite the appetite," he nodded blandly, as if they were discussing the weather. "Don't let me keep you."

"Oh, er, right," she held the grapes in front of her, and made sure the biscuits were adequately in front of her chest. They didn't cover much, but at least her nipples weren't on display. "I'll just, uh, get back then."

She sidestepped her way to the door leading to the passage. A slow process given she had to keep everything covered and check that James wasn't looking. He didn't so much as blink in her direction, and she consoled herself that he'd probably only seen her bum through the whole affair.

That was okay. She had quite a good bum.

"Hey Marlene," James said casually when she was almost into the passage.

"Yeah?"

"Next time make Sirius get the snacks. Those grapes might actually cover him."

She didn't even check if he was still looking at his phone, just turned and fled the scene. Sirius jumped in fright as she flung his bedroom door back open and threw the biscuits at him.

"You absolute jerk," she gave him a shove as she landed on the bed, pulling the duvet around her waist.

"What happened?" He asked, packet already open on his lap, tim tam half crunched.

"James was home. He bloody saw him rooting through your cupboards starkers," she pulled the bickie from his hand. "Oi, these are mine."

"Huh. Sorry. That must have been the door I heard earlier," Sirius didn't bother with the pack of biscuits again, swiping some grapes instead.

"You could have mentioned that."

"But then you wouldn't have got the food. And I was so hungry," his puppy dog eyes were so ridiculously out of place on his face that Marlene felt herself softening despite her annoyance. And her embarrassment. It was a definite hearty mix of both.

"You absolute jerk," she pulled the food out of his reach, shuffling across the bed for her own private party. "That's even worse."

Sirius growled softly at the loss of both his food and Marlene. The mattress dipped as he crawled across it, moving behind her. "What about if I make up to you?"

"I'm listening," she continued to savour the chocolate that melted off the biscuit in her mouth.

Instead of words of apology, pleads of forgiveness, instead lips pressed against her shoulder. Breath whispered along her neck. Goosebumps erupted of her skin, following the trail of his long, fingers.

"I'll get the food next time," he promised, tugging at her earlobe until she leant back into him.

"You better," Marlene muttered, not quite ready to let him off the hook. "Poor James, he'll be traumatised."

"Jealous, more like," Sirius snickered as he reclaimed his hold on her breast. "With this thing between him and your mate, it's probably the most action he's had in weeks."

"True," Marlene extended her neck to land a kiss on his jaw, the rough stubble scratching at her lips. "Lucky we don't have that problem."

"Very lucky," Sirius agreed, using the angle to claim her lips. "Very lucky indeed."

#blackinnon #blackinnon fic #jily fic #all about the chemistry #chem-verse #sirius black #marlene mckinnon #James Potter #marauder era #marauder fic #modern muggle au

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spaceorphan18 · 3 years

Note

I read with interest your view and that of @hopefulobjectmiracle about tumblr Klaine fandom. Is there more shipping these days than 2010-15? I ask because there seems to be a smaller group that only ship Kurt with Blaine but there seems to be a huge rise in Kurtbastian and Hevans shippers. Likewise, there’s many more pezberry or faberry shippers. And a lot more of those shippers trying to discredit Blaine or Brittany as OTP for Kurt and Santana. There seems to be new younger people joining Tumblr declaring a love for all things Klaine, and then a week later shipping Kurt with everybody else!! Has there been a change since the show aired?

Hi Nonny! :)

Hmmm.... There's not really a clear answer to this because the way shipping evolved is different than people just finding things now.

There are kind of two different things going on here -- Kurt related shipping and non-Kurt (blaine/klaine) shipping. I can't tell you much about non related Kurt things -- however, I will say that Faberry was HUGE when the show was on. It's a subsection of the fandom I never interacted with but it was around in season 1, and loud enough that the show makes nod to it from season 2 forward. Brittana was always around, too, and the reason Brittana became a thing on the show was, partly, due to fans crying out that they should be a couple -- and more than the throwaway joke the writers made in the first season.

I don't know what happened to those ships over time, or how the evolved since the show ended -- I'm sorry :/

But now, I will tell you the epic history of Kurt shipping. (Again. i should really dig out my old notes on this, lol)

Here we go long post...

I found it! I'm going to quote myself so I don't have to write it out again, lol. This was originally from an ask about the BBO (Better Boyfriend Olympics), but it'll work here, too.

Okay, so let’s go back to 2010 when there wasn’t a Klaine fandom, there was a Kurt fandom. A lot of the BBO stemmed out of the Kurt’s Boyfriend Shipping wars of 2010.

Back then, there was just a Kurt fandom, and a lot of opinions about who he should date. Believe it or not, Kurt was shipped a lot with the other guys on the show, there was a healthy dose of Kurt/Finn, but Kurt/Puck was huge, and there was a smattering of Kurt/Mike (I never really did see much Kurt/Artie now that I think of it, which is kind of funny in retrospect, but I’m sure it’s out there.) Anyway - when the show announced Kurt was getting a boyfriend – well, things began to get heated up.

Three big ships emerged

Kurt/Sam - because the rumor was that Sam was originally supposed to be Kurt’s bf (probably not, but that rumor was big at the time). Btw, they were the canoe ship (I have no idea why) and was also known as Kum (rolls-eyes). This ship’s fanbase was so huge and lasted so long, that the show felt the need to address it head on in Season Two’s Rumours (not a joke).

Kurt/Karofsky - Also known as Kurtofsky, they were also called themselves the Pirate ship (god, Idk why, shipping wars are weird, yo). These people were also really passionate, mostly about Dave, but liked the whole idea that Kurt would save Dave and they would have this weird - enemies to loves love affair or something. I don’t know, I could never get past the squicky assault aspect, but whatever.

Kurt/Blaine - which. at the time, was… the biggest possibility? It’s funny cause the other two ships were just as big as the Klaine ship, and really the fighting became over who was going to be the best option for Kurt.

And that’s the thing. Fans of Kurt were so passionate about who was best for Kurt, because everyone had seen him go through hell and back on the show, so his boyfriend needed to be perfect for him. And you know who was perfect (at first) – Blaine. More on that in a second…

However, Blaine brought his own bit of baggage – namely fans of Darren Criss (and/or Starkid fans). Unlike Chord Overstreet or Max Adler, people knew who Darren was before he was on Glee. So his own fandom joined in on the Klaine of it all. At first it was all fine – as the shipping wars continued, it was less about Kurt vs Blaine and more about Klaine vs the other shippers. Well, that was going to change….

Original Song happened and Kurt and Blaine got together ending the question of who would ultimately be Kurt’s boyfriend. And things were nice and cozy headed into season 3. You’d think the Kurt/Sam and Kurt/Karofsky ships would die out, but not really, they stuck around for a long time, and kinda morphed into something else.

See, The First Time happened. And for the first time Blaine wasn’t the perfect prince that he was in season 2 – he had more of a developed personality, and more flaws. And… some people didn’t like it. (Also added to the mix was Sebastian – and the Seblaine and Kurtbastian ships were born, but those kinda go off on their own thing and I’m not really going to bring them up much here.) Anyway, what really got fandom split was Dance With Somebody.

You had two sides of an argument, people who saw Kurt’s POV and people who saw Blaine’s POV – and guess what happened. The two sides began to fight with each other over who was “right” in the argument. (My god…) And thus started what fandom started referring to as The Better Boyfriend Olympics.

See - for reasons I don’t fully understand - instead of seeing that each of the boys have a fault and each were wrong in the episode, each side wanted to say that their side, and their POV was the correct way – that one boyfriend was more oppressed and the other was not as good a partner.

On the Kurt side, though, you had a lot of the old Kurt fans and ships who didn’t like Blaine (and/or didn’t want Blaine as his partner) so they vehemently decided that unless Blaine was the perfect boyfriend again, he didn’t deserve to be with Kurt. Meanwhile, you had the Blaine fans, many of them Darren fans who wanted Blaine to have more depth to him than just being Kurt’s boyfriend, and not being Kurt fans first (or originally) they were going to push back at the Kurt fans who were lashing out at Blaine.

Compounding this was the fact that during season 3, there were so many cast members and characters that unless you were Finchel, you were begging for scraps and your featured episode to come along. Meanwhile - Kurt got a ton of screen time, but didn’t sing much, while Blaine sang a lot more, but didn’t get much story. The Kurt fans resented that Blaine was always singing. The Blaine fans were annoyed that the Kurt fans resented it, and tried to remind the Kurt fans that Blaine barely got any development.

Either way, a war had begun. And then The Break Up happened.

Now Kurt fans had a specific reason to point at – Blaine being a terrible boyfriend. He cheated. He’s terrible. The end.

The fandom was not firmly split into sides - you were either a Kurt fan - a lot of them who HATED Blaine - partly because he was getting more attention at the time, partly cause he did sing more, partly because they were made up of Kurt ships that didn’t work out, and partly cause they saw so much of themselves in Kurt that they projected onto him their own feelings, and loving Blaine was not a part of that projection. Or you were a Blaine fan - who spent a lot of time defending Blaine to the point of exhaustion, and became so resentful of Kurt that they wished Blaine could be with anyone else because Kurt (fans) didn’t understand Blaine and should just stop trying.

Weren’t there any Klainers you ask? Ha, well…. Klainers, people actually liked Kurt AND Blaine were stereotyped into two categories. Category A) the really really loud fanbase (usually on Twitter) that harassed the creators, RM, Chris, Darren, various crew about Klaine every second that they got – to the point that it started to feel embarrassing (that’s probably my own projection). Category B) People who thought (think) that Chris and Darren were (are) in a secret relationship. (Spoiler alert they aren’t, never have been, and never will be.) The two of these categories overlapped A LOT, and many of the fans of one boy or the other just disassociated completely.

You could still be a fan of the Klaine relationship, but you had a preference to which boy you were actually a fan of – you couldn’t like both, or else you were a Klainer, and that was not cool. (I spent a long time NOT identifying as anything, and trying to make sure everything I did and said was equal – a) cause I was new to fandom and b) cause I hated that either one or the other of these characters were villainized so frequently.)

Anyway - Season 4 continued. Adam showed up, and Kurt fans got all excited, but the problem was that a lot of them saw him as the perfect boyfriend again – not a real character but a prop that could make Kurt look good and be everything for Kurt. Look, I liked Adam, I did, but he was underdeveloped, and this weird idea that your boyfriend needs to be perfect in order to be a functioning relationship is just unrealistic. I digress. Meanwhile, we didn’t get a lot of Kurt POV, which didn’t help things, and meant even more projection over his character.

Meanwhile, the Blaine fans had formed their own community, which became viciously defensive of him. I think the whole fandom was toxic during this time for a lot of reasons, and I really wanted to quit it. Many people did – the show wasn’t being fun anymore.

Season 5 came along, the boys got back together, tempers simmered, but the whole idea of the Better Boyfriend Olympics came back every time a conflict happened. Arguments about who was the better boyfriend ensued, gatekeeping as to why their pick was best and why your opinion sucked still ran through the fandom. Not helping was the fact that Cory had died, and the creators, actors, and crew – as well as media – was tired of Glee.

The one nice thing, though was that a lot of the old crowd had moved on by then, and there was an influx of newer people coming in during season 5 (and season 6) – they weren’t here for the season 3 droughts and season 4 wars, and brought in a newer and fresher perspective.

But still - we had the end of season 5 and the summer of spoilers and season 6 to get through. At this point, the Kurt and Blaine camps had moved to their parts of the internet and really not speaking much to each other if they could help it. When an argument happened on the show, the same kind of Better Boyfriend Olympics came up again – one boyfriend was worse than the other, and unless they changed xyz they were not good enough for the other. But at this point, it was incredibly tiring. I know that I was just ready for the show to be done with.

I should say, as an aside, not helping things were the rise of some rather vocal BNF-ish fans, who dug their heels in about their own opinions. The refusal to even acknowledge that one side or the other might be right, or have valid points was not helping anything. A lot of people on both sides refused to even listen to the points on the other side – and instead of being frustrated at the show, the creators, or whatever, they took it against each other, which wasn’t fun to watch either.

Season 6 happened - Blainofsky happened, and that killed enthusiasm for the season on both sides, most people just kind of wanted it to be over. And then the ending came quickly, and I think a lot of people who were just plain unhappy about everything left for good.

The Better Boyfriend Olympics, or this weird competition that always pitted the boys and their fandoms against each other in the name of one being better than the other, leveled off after this. I won’t give myself /that/ much credit - but one reason I created @todaydreambelievers was to give fans of both Kurt and Blaine a safe place where we could enjoy and discuss both boys without the BBO rearing its head. And you know what – it did mend a few hearts.

For the most part, it’s been pretty quiet since. Fandom is quieter, but I think the people who have come into it after the show has ended are a lot less judgmental and argumentative. (I suppose it helps if you know how the story is going to end.) And the cool thing, for me, is finding a group of people who enjoy Kurt and Blaine equally (or respectfully) – and reclaiming the name Klainer as a good thing.

I’ll end by saying this – it’s been relatively peaceful, even with the influx of new people throughout the years, but I have been seeing shades of BBO pop up again. Look, you don’t have to like Klaine to be a fan of one or the other of them. But there are a lot of terrible things going on in the world, a lot of things to be angry and get indignant about. How a fictional couple was written ten years ago is not one of them. Be respectful of people, and know that maybe the side you understand better isn’t the only side worth listening to. ;)

////////////////////

So, I suppose that's part 1 of this full picture. Onto Part 2.

Here's the thing -- I've stayed, mostly, in my little tumblr buble over the past five years -- blissfully unaware that I suppose things were going on around me. Except... they really weren't. Until the pandemic happened, and Glee went to Netflix internationally, and a whole bunch of young kids grew up and started watching the show.

By the time I ended TDB in 2019, there weren't many of us left. I knew there was our small, dedicated group of fans. The tinhatters (the group who thought Chris and Darren were in some kind of relationship. spoiler alert -- they're not). And I know the Kurtbastian fans have been kicking around for a while. But no one was around in huge numbers.

And then boom - pandemic, and I'm shocked (not in a bad way) that this show has already seen a resurgence. The weirdest part, for me, is the fact that not only is history repeating itself -- seriously, people are bringing up old conflicts that have been dead for ages, and old shipping wars I never thought I'd see again -- but I think this new group's relationship with the show is much different.

I think that Kurt is a character whom a lot of people can still identify with. And because he's on his own in the first season, it's still easy to project yourself onto him. And then shipping goes from there. Blaine went from being the exciting option, omg are they really gonna do Klaine?? to -- hey Klaine is the boring canon choice, we can choose who we want for Kurt.

Layer over that years of Blaine hate still circling the interwebs. The echo chamber that Twitter and Tiktok create. And the fact that neither Chris or Darren seem to have the army of fans they once did (well -- Darren does, but they don't really watch Glee anymore). And you get this varied landscape of shipping.

No, some days it doesn't feel that different from the BBO days. The fact that I still get asks about Blaine and TFT car scene or Tested makes me feel like I'm back in 2013. Other times I'm perplexed by resurgences -- such as Kurtbasitan and Kurt/Sam. (Please don't bring back Kurtofsky guys)

But there's a saying -- Same Shit, Different Day.

I think there is an entirely different group of people than the original people watching, and their reasoning for shipping whatever is much different. But they've certainly come to a lot of the same conclusions that brought about the shipping wars in the early days.

At the end of the day - I think Kurt will always been a fandom mattress. But ship what you like and be nice to everyone else. There's enough hate in the world -- no need to dump on people's escapism.

#that's how s.o. sees it #klaine history #klaine #and fandom #did I answer the question?#idk

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thekitschdiet · 3 years

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the kitsch diet part II

part one alr posted!! this chunk is about 3,000~ words long... let me know what u think :-) thank u all for all the luv already!!! looks like I really will hit 31 followers by easter!!!!!!!!

Who is the Kitsch Girl?

I think this is more loosely defined, but The Chic Diet did a truly admirable way of reducing a girl to her YSL bag and her really skinny legs. Now, that implies an archetype, or a population in a specific location. I think kitschness is kind of the niche you fill when you’re not really much of anything else, sort of your own conglomerate of mainstream-specific. One major requirement, though, is being a little too into something somewhat uncool. And the whole illusion falls apart if you have any sort of outward insecurity. See, the Kitsch Girl is somewhat undefinable because she is so much of everything. She exists in multitudes, in a way that is also quite simple to understand; think of a list of axioms, or principles to live by. And now add a section to each one that says “but…” to make a collection of verified exceptions. Say, the kitsch girl will never wear jeans. But she thrifted this pair of vintage flares she just loves. She doesn’t reply to texts efficiently, but sometimes she will within a couple seconds. No mascara, no dinner forks, candles are to be collected not burned; but that was a gift, or something. It’s not personal, of course, those are just the contradictions she exists in. Don’t try to understand it, the enigma is essential to the facade. Or maybe she just lives like this, and her character is so homogenous with her inner world there’s no sense in trying to separate it. You have to have a little bit of an individuality complex about the whole ordeal, which is normally so eugh, but if you’re kitschy enough it works on you. Trust!The Kitsch girl is not someone unlikeable, but amiable and well heeled. I double checked that last one, assuming it meant liked by most, but apparently means affluent. I suppose that is an aspect of the kitsch girl too, having seemingly endless frivolous expenses with no real strain, but that’s not important right now. People that don’t like her think so out of jealousy, or something. Envious that her clothes are all kind of shake-it-up-esque and her highlights desperately need touching up, but she still seems so enthralled with the whole of life… How does she enjoy her own company so much when other people want to know her better? Doesn’t she feel weird about blowing people off to make a joke about reading Kafka in the bath? Why would she document her cluttered, unexciting life on Instagram so delicately, so vibrantly? Of course, no one would say this to her face because they are really baseless claims. She’s nice, generous, and valuable to have as a friend. Trade-offs exist, as they do with anyone. But I like thinking it’s easier to overlook a forgotten birthday when your kitschy best friend gave you a multi strand pearl necklace to celebrate the welcome breeze of June. Or some other made-up holiday. She is so unassuming if you’re not really looking. Girls want in on her inner circle. Or they just don’t care. Nothing wrong with being liked or thought of naught, for the most part. Boys are either enthralled or repulsed by her. Her doctor knows her as something of a hypochondriac, but only minorly. It’s just carpal tunnel, don’t worry… The sales staff at CVS turn a blind eye when she slips an eyeliner pencil into her tote bag. She shoplifts on occasion, just to see if she still knows how. But she is not a shoplifter. $9 here and $6.45 there doesn’t really add up to much. Everywhere she goes, she makes a tertiary friend or two. The term of friend is loosely used here, of course. But it is nice to tell a stranger you like her earrings. Or her phone case is so fun, is it Wildflower? The kitsch girl has an eye for this kind of detail. Simply put, she is sort of unspectacular. But in a way that makes you sort of wish you knew her better.

Phone cases

The phone case is, like, religious for the kitsch girl. Sorry, but there’s just no other accessory as flippant and expensive and single-purpose as a trendy little iPhone case with some semitacky stickers plastered over the design. I used to have an iPhone XS- extrasmall- with like, 18 phone cases. It was kind of a sordid affair. I jest, but really… owning that many phone cases was kind of sick. We get it, you are frivolous and spontaneous and sooo stylish! Stop posting mirror selfies on your Instagram story, your crush isn’t going to see it. Kidding again. Having an extensive collection of phone cases is just so fun because while attainable, most people just simply do not partake in it. That makes you kitschy and unique. I really thought I had more to say about the IDEA of the phone case, but I guess in practice it is all very, very simple. You can slide your driver’s license in the back of a clear case. At what point does it stop being cool to have legal operational control of a vehicle? I don’t display mine because I don’t really like the photo. I look round. In the eyes but also just in general, swollen, unglamorous. Whatever. Not like I drive a Nissan or anything. I drive my *Mom’s* Nissan. Playing Bladee in the car seems sacrilegious. She would hate it.Back to phone cases. Sonix ones are cute but kind of overpriced retail- unless you have like, an iPhone 12 Pro Max or whatever the fuck is new this year, just go to Winner’s. They always have Xs and 11 cases. I had a cherry one for my previous phone, like the exact one Lana Del Rey had? Thank god I sold it before she got outed as a copfucker or whatever. Casetify is for an inadvertent flex. Flexing your lame, lame taste. Sorry, I know you bought it because you liked it, but what you failed to consider is just how un-Kitsch they are. SO common, and they advertise on Instagram. Sorry, I just can’t get into it! Kind of how I just never liked the Brandy Amara tanks. Or lowtop converse. Otterbox is just distressing. Like, if my boyfriend gave me an otterbox phone case I would probably break up with him because somebody clearly isn’t paying attention- one of my favorite, potentially overused joke is how Otterbox cases are the equivalent of orthopedic insoles. Sorry but if you have poor arch support or whatever, but no pain is worth giving up a good pair of Margiela slingback tabi heels. Obviously I couldn’t afford that right now because all loose income goes directly to Wildflower and my cig boy. But like, one day. I hope you want to punch me in the face a little bit after reading that. If Wildflower isn’t your thing, at least have the decency to get a beaded phone strap. But not from String Ting. Pray tell you aren’t keeping score, but they are one of my several parasocial enemies. That should have been ME collaborating with Wildflower! Should have been ME mailing shit to Caroline Calloway (more on her later, but she is the only blue check I follow. I adore her! I was on her patreon for a bit I thinkl!!) …. Side note. Phone cases are cute but there is no way to properly protect your laptop without looking just absurd or colossally lame. The foam sleeves… ick.

Having the shittiest music taste ever

So like, here’s the thing. I’m an Apple Music user, which sort of reinstates my status as an unironic My Bloody Valentine Hyperpop Death Grips kinda gal. Read; volcel. My most recent conquest ended up being a huge L on my part, but also… I totally dodged a bullet. The guy had an iPhone 11 (female trait) and didn’t know who Rei Brown was, which just seemed suspicious given his Niche. I just know he had a “making out playlist” comprising entirely of like, Joji. Which isn’t a bad thing I guess but so unembarrassing it horseshoes back to being humiliating.Like I said. Having the worst music taste. It’s nice how subjective and deeply personal your music taste can be; no one really Needs to know you’re a die hard drainer. But there’s also no point in being a die-hard drainer and Not capitalizing off it somehow. I added it up and I have well over 150 hours of just Bladee and Yung Lean. Which is so yass? The more I write, using myself as a case study, I realize just how desperately jobless I am. And Yogenfruz isn’t even hiring! UGH!I think there is something very kitschy about liking hyperpop in the least ironic, least obnoxious way. Sort of feeds into a “I’m not like other girls” thing, but I mean… That’s kind of the idea of kitsch, isn’t it? Be a little different but also the very same as your lipgloss brethren?!Side note. If you make monthly playlists I am genuinely kind of afraid of you. That is just so organized!! I just make playlists with esoteric titles and then make a new one when I’m sick of the stuff on the last. I have exhausted most genres but I think my favorite is the “I’m wearing f****ng air forces and my teeth are SO white”. Guess what genre it is. Or don’t, but it’s probably what you think is. Okay, moving on….

Curating a scent

I like thinking I smell like mango and peach, Glossier you, whatever citrus is in that Lush shower jelly and mint 5Gum. But of course it is probably less distinct and just kind of generally fruit-floral-mint. Anyway. I think Glossier You is the perfect scent for anyone with a rather elementary understanding of the whole.. Perfume business. Every bottle of intentional fragrance I own was made via aesthetic choices… it really helps that Glossier You is so cute And so universal. Now, Glossier is kind of interesting to me because it really is at the intersection of cheugy and kitsch. Kind of basic, overplayed, unspectacular. But also…. Often popular things are popular because they are good. Glossier has excellent customer suurv, they ship SO fast (and no import duties! W!) and their stuff is just so sweet and nice if not unoriginal, in kind of the same way strawberry ice cream is. Which is still my favorite, of course, especially if there’s a vegan option. I was talking about Glossier. What the hell! It’s really worth trying out. A huge principle of kitsch is just… having as many possible layers and appendages to your composure as possible. And adding a signature scent just really completes that! When curating your own, I say this as a complete amateur, know-nothing; make it something that comes kind of naturally to Your Character. Like, I’m just not a Chanel No 5 kind of girl. Odds are you aren’t either. My bottle (before she asked for it back when I told her I didn’t use it, in exchange for a Nordstrom’s gift card) was from my grandmother. Ummm.. Yeah, I really have no expertise in curating a scent. But it is nice to have a signature. And having a bottle displayed on your dresser next to your aughties McDonald milkshake themed beanie baby and a handful of lip products is just way too fun! This is the kind of girl I am, everyone! Cluttered, but prioritizing pretty-delicate things!

Cheugyism

Cheugy is a relatively new word that has unfortunately wormed into my vocabulary to replace “uncouth”. Which I use to mean graceless or tacky, but if that isn’t what it means…. Don’t tell me. That would hurt more than weighing myself after a “feast” slash pastry binge at my dear Grandmothe’s house. Like I was saying. Cheugy. It’s sort of a fucked up concept to me because it is a critique on consumption, but not the pace or volume or magnitude of it. But rather… the idea of not being “good” enough at engaging in microtrends, or involvement in the fast paced fashion cycle. Don’t get me started on TikTok, or do, but… yeah,. No. That will require a cigarette because I’m so sorry, but writing a thinkpiece on social media is so lowbrow I would need to find about six ways to aesthetically counteract it…. Moving on. I think the idea of cheugy is good, we really do need a word to simply and efficiently define “out of date/uninspired/lame”. But the way it is used to shame others for not liking the same trends or whatever is kind of gross. If you use cheugyism to put other people down and not as a neutral identifier umm… you will become what you fear. Sorry, that’s what happens. Some things that I think are cheugy or embarrassing, or just not part of my stylistic lexicon are… 1. Hooded or zip up clothing, or things with a large graphic on the back. Bingo if it's all three! I just can’t get behind it. Side note, my summer home outfit is brandy sweats and a tube top (Urban Outfitters tank I ripped the straps off) and a large cardigan that should have belonged to a stoner, but probably didn’t. I can dunk on bulky, uninspired clothes because I would honest to God NEVER be caught DEAD out of the house wearing any of it. I’m so serious. Next segment should be about the kitsch girl’s inadvertent affinity for diuretics. Remind me….. One of the ports of my laptop is dead. Not really sure what to do about that.

Eye makeup and what it means to me….

Personally, I am one of those people who never wears foundation and kind of has a complex about it. The kitsch girl wears fluffy eyelashes and owns a plethora of sparkly eyeliner. Or maybe she doesn’t, but she has something distinct and a little ritzy, if not haphazard. We all saw Euphoria and it like, totally imprinted on us. The way glitter sits on your face after a long day is so resplendent. When it’s shining and a little bit melted off from your long, semi-productive day… ugh! Just made for film. Pictures on film. But not the Prequel app. I keep getting fucking ads for it. But it’s so embarrassing. Like, isn’t the whole point of film the authenticity of the moment? The texture of the afternoon? Why would you fabricate that? Prequel is just so cheugy. More on that later. But anyhow. Wearing a ton of eye makeup kind of fits with the idea of film too I think. Like, look at you, in the moment. With your strip lash falling off! It’s all so tres-chic. Plus, for whatever reason, it’s kind of unique or notably dedicated to ~Pull up to the function~ with more eye makeup on than everyone else. Sorry, but it really doesn’t take that long! But yes I will gracefully accept your praise… it’s kind of like the dropshipping of complements if you think about it. Easy to source with little to no effort in the curating. Side note, lashes are like $20 for 40 weeks if you cut them in half and use each pair about 5 times. You could probably do more but I lose track. How the fuck is it almost June? I was trudging through the snow to check the mail for my Online Ceramics shirt just last week, I swear. The trick to cutting your lashes (the way I do it anyway) is pretty simple. Get out two lashes that are symmetrical. Find the middle and cut one slightly to the left and one slightly to the right. This means you have two sets (one set is a little more dramatic than the other but at least they are symmetrical) with longer outer edges. Glue this to the outer corner of your eye and you will look so Composed… obsessed with how this layers with three eyeliner tails (one traditional one pointing up and one pointing down directly below it, sort of like the tail light on a 2019 Lexus UX) and one below your eye, like a clown. Fun, irrelevant fact, is the first time I added this third tail to my eye makeup, my dad had just gotten home from the hospital because he was sure he had like appendicitis or something and it was actually.. Not that. Typical indie hypochondriac. He made me bring him cottage cheese on a plate with a teaspoon that evening. I put black pepper on it for flair, which he hated. Walking up and down stairs with a plate of cottage cheese is much more imprinting than most of the multiplication tables. Don’t forget to use a bright shimmer eyeshadow in your inner corner. It really opens up your eyes. I recommend Too Faced. One time I got a little bit too high and tried to film an “editorial” makeup tutorial. You will never, ever, ever see that video. But I essentially covered my whole eyelid in the ABH shadow “palermo” and smudged out the edges with a tan Tartelette Toasted shade, coupled with my long-expired Milk Makeup holographic stick. Lopsided lashes and near-blinding eyeliner experience aside, it was kind of cool. My point is, you really cannot go wrong with an arsenal of shimmers, taupey mattes and a good eyeliner pen.

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anfie-in-the-box · 3 years

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X-tra Dark Cream Teaser

Notes

I’m still very much not participating in Dark Cream Week, yet somehow this thing is done right in time, so I’m posting it with respective tags.

The story of X-tra Dark Cream is going to be pretty big and serious. Like, plot-wise, lore-wise, so-many-other-aspects-wise, you have no idea what you’ve got coming. And I just really hope you all will enjoy the ride.

What you need to know now is that I’m kind of getting back to my very own idea that you can find right here. Though it’s a different timeline, not Genocide Route. What they share is a concept of both Dream and Cross being villains, at first sight their atmosphere and aesthetic are kind of similar, but that’s it. What exactly is happening here will be explained in the story, and let me tell you, Dream and Cross have a long way ahead of them before they reach the point described in this little teaser.

So I’ve got a question for you. Answer honestly.

Would you like your Cream extra dark?

。。。

Just a Bad Dream

Once the portal is safely closed and there’s no more negativity pouring right into Dream’s cursed soul, he hurries to Cross’ side, hugging him tightly. Dismissing his huge knife, Cross hugs Dream back with a weary yet content sigh. “My greatest hero, once again taking down the whole world in my name,” Dream murmurs, ever so appreciatively and very, very gently. Cross caresses his spine through the clothes and the gloop, and, although he never really bothers to use words after a foray to one AU or another, the tremble of his hands is telling Dream enough. So, as much as the fallen guardian wishes to hold Cross like this forever, he lets go.

“I believe you are due for a good rest now.”

Dream cannot help a smile when Cross doesn’t argue, merely lingering to give his spine one last stroke. One could say they are finally figuring out their routine, grasping the ways to make their complicated lives easier, if only a little bit. For Cross it’s definitely lots of sleep and lazing around after all the work he’s done; no matter how much he doesn’t like it, and despite all the bad dreams that he’s most likely to have with all the LV, both old and new, still raging in his soul.

Dream, on the other hand, won’t be sleeping any time soon. It would do him no good at all — this lesson he learned the hard way. There isn’t much to be done when Dream’s whole being is brimming over with shattered positivity of the whole AU, — agonising grief and fear from those who survived; absolute despair from the last moments of those who died; guilt of those who were supposed to protect their people, parents and rulers all the same; at last, contempt and helplessness of every single soul. Oh, the two of them truly are beneath contempt, aren’t they? Breaking entire worlds, taking away a mere possibility of them functioning like they are supposed to. Monsters who only seek to twist and corrupt.

That’s what they say, Dream knows it all too well, both from careful whispers that no one else was supposed to hear and from straightforward, provocative screams right in his face. It’s good, exactly how he wants it to be, but right now he couldn’t care less. Dirt on Cross’ clothes matters more than this.

Actually, that’s what Dream’s going to busy himself with. Cross’ new uniform is piled up beside their bed, soaked in humans’ blood and covered in monsters’ dust. There’s no doubt washing these will be a real pain in the neck, but that’s exactly what Dream needs right now. Something basic yet not too simple. Easy enough for Dream to be able to pay more attention to Cross, whose even breathing and serene expression bring peace to the fallen guardian’s rotting soul, too. This way his hands are occupied, all of the energy he’s gathered is guided in the non-destructive direction until it settles, and his troubled mind is resting even without sleep. It’s a nice bonus to be able to look after Cross, ready to help him break free from yet another nightmare, for the dreadful, horrific visions are always haunting him in reality as well… At least in the first moments after waking up, although sometimes it takes Cross much longer to snap out of it, even with the aid of Dream. Hopefully, this time won’t be so… troublesome.

It’s so obvious that Dream isn’t in the slightest used to doing the laundry — any laundry at all, let alone something as tricky as washing all this blood and dust out, — it’s almost funny. Although, to be fair, it really isn’t supposed to actually be useful — a mere distraction, nothing more, nothing less.

Cross will overwrite his clothes anyway. And, if that fails (though lately the number of failures has lessened significantly; the thought makes Dream’s chest tighten with warmth and pride in his most loyal ally and dearest fiance), they’ll just trade new armor in some AU for the delusive sense of safety. Material needs don’t concern them anymore.

Dream’s progress on washing the uniform is still close to none when he feels a sudden powerful wave of severe distress, and merely a moment later the air gets heavy with magic. Bones and blasters are everywhere, there are so many of them there’s no speck of whiteness left, everything bright red and purple instead. It’s not the first time — neither it is the last one, Dream’s under no illusion about that part, — yet it’s no less mesmerising. If only it weren’t so dangerous for both of them.

Dodging all the attacks, getting closer to Cross is the easy part, that Dream’s doing effortlessly, without sparing it much thought; it’s not like Cross is able to properly hurt Dream, neither in his sleep nor while being fully conscious. Especially not like that. Cross wouldn’t gather enough harmful intent, and considering Dream’s nature is far from ordinary…

It’s even easier to throw Cross out of their bed, his body light, though trembling violently. He jolts awake the moment Dream’s hand touches his chest to grab the fabric of his shirt, but his mind is still very far away. Out of reach. It’s only the lack of resistance that shows Cross has recognised him, if only a little, on some kind of subconscious level. Nothing other than that — just pure black hate pouring down his cheeks and LV raging on within his soul. No way Dream will stand such a state of affairs any longer. Cross is his and his only, he doesn’t belong to whatever hell he’s seeing. And so the fallen guardian growls, as if his own life depended on it, “Wake up!”

Please, please let this one end quickly. Dream hates hurting Cross more than needed.

“Wake up!”

Of course that doesn’t work, it rarely does, but Dream has to try anyway. Besides, it’s usually when the struggling begins. Not this time though; good. Dream feels every single bone directed at his back, oh so clearly hears the Gaster blasters charging. Nothing ever comes. Nothing ever would; not when he’s close enough for Cross to feel the familiar warmth and weight of his body, that Dream knows for sure.

Holding Cross’ hands tight, chanting “Wake up, wake up, wake up”, as if it were a spell (or a plea, or a prayer), Dream reaches out to Cross’ chest with one of his tentacles, pressing firmly right in the middle of the ribcage, forcing his soul to appear. Cross sharply inhales, obviously in pain, and even tries to arch his back, — only Dream doesn’t allow it, keeping him in place. That’s when his tentacles come in handy…

Other than that, nothing much happens. “Thank stars,” Dream thinks, taking a deep breath. From now on, he needs to be extremely careful. Souls are not to be toyed with. Or, well, the souls of those he loves are not to be toyed with. All the others are perfect but hollow dolls to be filled with oh so very hurtful fragments of their shattered dreams.

That’s what Dream and Cross do. That’s what they’ll continue doing, and no haunting visions would ever take Cross away. They’re together in this.

With his gloved hand Dream cautiously touches the soul, pulsing with LV and shining red and purple, no trace of it ever being one of a monster. Cross’ eye sockets and mouth open wide… It’s almost like he’s screaming without a sound, or maybe the sound merely goes just as far away as his mind is.

Dream’s never asked. He’s not going to ask this time, either.

The charged blasters fire all at once, and the bones are falling behind his back, yet none of the attacks ever land as Dream bawls, “I am Dream, and you are the one who swore an oath of loyalty and love, the one who saw through me, and accepted me, and stayed by my side! You are Cross, and whatever hell you’re seeing, you do not belong to it!” Cross’ mismatched eye-lights get a bit less blurry for a second, and that’s Dream’s cue to finally act with all he’s got.

And so he lets Cross go, leaving utterly motionless body lying on the floor, only for all of Dream’s tentacles to hit the soul at same time before it disappeared once again.

This time Cross actually screams; there is unparalleled agony in his voice, unexpectedly hoarse, as if he’s been screaming like that for hours. It hurts so much to hear it.

Dream is certain it’s better than whatever Cross has just broken free from. As Cross himself once said, “At least in reality I’m in this mess with you.” Very vividly Dream remembers his own response — a warm smile and quiet, confident “Likewise.”

That was then. Now Cross is looking at Dream with lost, pained, vulnerable expression, and his eye-lights, though faded to white, are still blurry — only this time from exhaustion, not because he’s seeing something too much different from reality. That Dream knows how to deal with. He doesn’t help Cross get on his feet, picking him up instead, holding him with hands and tentacles the same.

It’s nice to feel Cross’ weight, and his soul beating more and more steadily. Soothing, really. And that is why Cross only squeaks a little, otherwise showing no signs of discomfort or desire to argue about his position. Not like an argument would lead him anywhere, even if he had enough energy to start one.

They don’t talk until both of them are back in the bed, so close to each other it’s still very easy to hear their souls beating, their breaths warming what little space is beetween them. Dream squeezes Cross’ hand and offers a smile. It’s a tender one, if only a bit teasing.

“Hush now, Cross. It was just a bad dream.”

No words can ever describe his immense relief when Cross smiles back. And all too clearly Dream sees the moment some kind of mischief sparks in his love’s eyes.

“Oh? Well, then I definitely woke up,” Cross says, almost nonchalantly, though there’s no way that would fool Dream, who knows exactly how much he weighs every word. “Because what I see now is not 'just a bad' dream but the worst Dream ever.” At that the warmth in Dream’s chest is blooming like a flower, bursting like thousands of fireworks. Then Cross adds, so gently, as if the two of them might break — and take the whole world with them. “You are my worst.”

And places a kiss on his forehead. Like a final blow.

That weird, silly fool. That wonderful idiot. Dream loves him so, so much.

It takes the fallen guardian a moment to find his words again, and to be sure his voice won’t be trembling as soon as he starts talking. For a moment Dream simply stares at Cross, who just looks back, so calm, so sure, so present.

“Good one,” Dream finally says. “Though if you're feeling fine enough to make flirty puns, we should go back to sleep.” It’s a perfect moment to return the kiss, only on the cheek. Cross seems content anyway.

“Yeah, let’s do that.” He chuckles. “Won't summon any more bones. Or blasters. Promise.”

。。。

Credits:

Undertale © Toby Fox

Dream © jokublog

Cross © jakei95 / xtaleunderverse

Shattered!Dream © shattereddreamsau

Dark Cream © zu-is-here

X-tra Dark Cream © me (anfie / anfie-in-the-box)

Link to the Russian version will be here!

。。。

Notes

I'm too sleepy to write down the references, but there are quite a few! I'll update them later.

But god and stars, do I love Cross' wordplay in the end. That's the first thing I got to know about this story. Then it became "Two villains who have the whole Multiverse terrified being idiots in love". Then I blinked, and suddenly it's huge and super serious. That was fun. It still is.

#dark cream week #dark cream #x-tra dark cream #shattered!dream #cross!sans #undertale #utmv #anfie writes #x-tra dark cream fic #A glimpse into this ship's life #So much more is coming!#I love these two too much for my own good #Hope I'll be able to tell their story #It will be quite a journey #and for once I'm more excited than nervous #Not sure if it lasts though #But I'm determined anyway!

53 notes · View notes

shuahoonie · 4 years

Text

you [tom holland] - eight.

PAIRING: tom holland x female!celebrity!reader

SUMMARY: ah, to be young and in love. it sounds great if only you and tom were actually dating out of pure love and not for the sheer reputation of your careers. it also should be great if you two actually got along, but life isn’t that easy.

WARNINGS: mostly swearing! some fluff here, some angst there. it’s haters to lovers / fake dating au so take that information as you wish! also, their relationship is improving yall 🤧

WORD COUNT: 5.6k

SONG INSPO: mxmtoon - used to you

A/N: surprise! I actually updated after five/six months??? a lot of things have happened during the time that I was gone. most of it revolved around my mental health and uni. not a great time to have a career crisis whilst living in the middle of a pandemic lmao.

the last time i updated, i gave you guys the gift of fluff. maybe i should tone down a bit? or maybe not? i’m also sorry if this took ages. had an awful writer’s block. oooh, also i wrote an interview excerpt for this chapter. i added a link if you wanted to read it but no pressure! it’s just a lil’ sumn sumn :) anyway, enjoy reading!

hope you guys are safe & healthy! keep practicing social distancing and please wear your masks! sending all my love ♡

UPDATES EVERY SATURDAY 11 PM CST WHENEVER I CAN

gif credits: @tommybabyholland

Your friends have told you countless times to bite the bullet, however, you’ve seemed to swallow it instead. Here you were, lying in the same bed with Tom Holland, mere inches against each other.

If anyone told you that you would be lying on the same bed as the guy you swore you hated a few months ago, you’d probably laugh at their face.

You were definitely considering that maybe this whole fake dating thing wasn’t such a horrid idea after all.

The room was dimmed to almost pitch black now. You could see a small streak of light peering from the curtains, probably from all of the street lights outside, allowing you to at least see something. You were exhausted but somehow you couldn’t sleep at the same time.

The only reasonable thing that you could put your blame into was your heart, which was beating quite rapidly, by the way. You didn’t even know why you felt this nervous around him, it’s not like he’s a complete stranger.

You’ve known Tom for a good two months—two and a half if you want to be specific. You picked up on his little quirks: his eyes crinkle when he laughs genuinely, he doesn’t like that much sugar in his tea. He likes his dog, Tessa, very much which you were already a goner for. He also hums when he’s happy which surprised you one day, not knowing what to do with that information.

You also found out that his hands were always cold, which always startles you as your hands were extremely warm. Like right now, you could feel his fingertips grazing upon yours. As if your heart can handle even more of your emotions right now.

You were confused as to why you were extremely nervous around him all of a sudden. Is it because this is the first time your sharing a bed with your pretend boyfriend? Is it because the last time you shared a bed with someone who you had no relation to is with your ex-boyfriend?

It was driving you insane and you really had to get it together. You were both lying on your backs so all you could stare at was the empty ceiling. You took a quick look at Tom, who was already sleeping.

Ah, so he snores. You made a mental note to yourself, wondering how you can use that information and pester him with it. He didn’t have loud snores, just soft ones but still loud for you to hear.

You turned your body and lain on your side, choosing to face Tom. He really looked peaceful sleeping and the sight of him be at peace was enough to calm you down.

With that, you found your eyes slowly start to droop down. The image of Tom sleeping soundly was the last thing you saw before you drifted off to sleep.

You noticed three things as soon as you woke up. You still had your eyes shut, only because you refuse to accept that it was already a new day.

The first thing you noticed was the annoying alarm tone that kept ringing on the bedside table. One of these days, I’ll end up throwing and smashing my phone.

The second thing was how hot warm you felt. You felt the heat radiating beside you and you weren’t exactly used to it. You like the feeling of sleeping in a cold room while also burying yourself with blankets.

The third thing you noticed was the pair of arms wrapped around you. As you slowly opened your eyes, you were greeted by the extremely close proximity that you shared with Tom.

You found yourself cuddling Tom. Your head was resting in between his chest and his arm—the same arm that was wrapped around you. In the meanwhile, Tom’s other hand was resting on the side of your face, building the illusion that he may have caressed the side of your face.

You, on the other hand, had your left arm resting on top of his chest while the other was tucked underneath the pillow.

You wondered how the hell you ended up in this position, but knowing how you move a lot in your sleep, you probably initiated this in the first place. You also wondered how Tom can sleep through this annoying alarm, especially since it kept ringing every ten minutes.

Tilting your head up a bit, your eyes met the sight of his lips. However, from this angle, you could also clearly see the freckles speckled on his face. With the beaming sun and its fight to fill the room with light against the corners of the curtains, it only made things worse for you. Tom, with his body outlined by the light, absolutely looked angelic—as if the universe only favoured him and him alone.

You slowly reached for his hand and removed it from the corner of your neck, carefully resting it on top of his stomach. After successfully doing so, comes the real challenge. You slowly released yourself from the grip of his arm and tried your best to get out of the bed without waking Tom up.

Your logic? It would be rude to wake someone up from their sleep—especially when they can’t be bothered to be woken up by the alarm anyway. You also wanted this moment for yourself. You thought that it was best if Tom had no recollection of waking up to you two cuddling, acting as a true couple when there are no cameras around you.

You walked to the bathroom to get yourself ready. You had a whole day of photoshoots and you also had to squeeze in a couple of interviews after. You didn’t want to miss your best friend’s wedding so you had to do whatever you can in order to balance your social life and work.

You already knew that you were going to be exhausted for today and you love your job, you really do, but sometimes you wished that you could catch a break without losing sleep for the next couple of days.

After taking a long hot shower and doing your essential skin routine—knowing that this is the only form of relaxation you’re going to get for the next couple of days— you slipped into a pair of mom jeans and a loose shirt. You packed this much because you knew you wouldn’t get the chance to drive home anyway.

Just as you stepped out of the bathroom, your phone buzzed in your hand and saw a text from your manager.

Zoë: On my way to the hotel! I will be there in 20 mins or so. Be sure that you’re ready so we can get going.

“Oh, you’re already good to go?” You looked up from your phone and saw Tom yawning and rubbing his eyes. He was still wearing your sweatpants and he was still shirtless.

You nodded. “Zoë’s picking me up.” You replied as you tidied the bed. It took you a couple of minutes before the words you said just sunk in. “Oh god, Zoë’s picking me up.” You repeated with wide eyes.

“Yeah?” Tom chuckled, seemingly lost as to what you were trying to point out.

“She doesn't really know that you slept with me.” You said but as soon as you realized what you just said, you knew you fucked up. You saw Tom smirking at you which only prompted you to hit him with the pillow. “I didn’t mean it like that, you weirdo.”

“Oh, sure.” He teased as he put on his shirt. “I mean I’m pretty sure that I’m not the one who practically clung to a person while sleeping.”

“Shut up, Holland. You know I move a lot when I sleep.” You muttered as a pathetic excuse to hopefully shut him up.

“To be quite fair, I didn’t know that you do that whenever you sleep, but it’s nice to know that now.” He grinned.

“Oh god,” You groaned. “Let’s just go so I can check out now. Zoë’s going to be here soon and I want you gone asap.” You said as you glanced around the room just so you know you didn’t leave anything behind.

“Wait, what about your sweatpants?”

“Just give it to me the next time you see me.” You said as you pulled him out of the room and made your way to the front desk.

It turns out Zoë had no concept of time. As soon as you finished checking out, you saw your manager already waiting in the lobby. Oh, you recognized her big blonde hair from anywhere. She was sitting in one of the plush sofas, dressed in a white romper and even had her cat-eye sunglasses on. She looked like she’s about to catch her husband having an affair.

“Ah, Y/N,” She said with a huge smile. “Thanks but you should know if that ever were to happen, I would pick something more flashy.”

Oh, I said that out loud?! You practically yelled at yourself.

“We should get going, honey, we’ll grab you some breakfast on the way.” Zoë fixed the stray strands of your hair. You couldn’t be bothered to do your hair knowing that the stylists are going to give it hell anyway, so you just tied it in a low ponytail.

“Um,” You didn’t even know how to say it. Where you even going to bring Tom up? If so, what were you going to say anyway? That you spent a night with your pretend boyfriend? Which shouldn’t be a huge deal but you were sure that your stunt doesn’t involve actually falling for each other.

“Tom,” Zoë’s pitch went a bit higher, surprised to see Tom standing behind you. “What’re you doing here, hon?” She asked quietly.

“Oh, I-”

“He spent the night with me. Tom was exhausted and it wasn’t safe for him to drive last night, so I asked him to stay.” You explained, cutting Tom off. You just wanted to get it over with and you were bound to face the storm sooner or later anyway.

Zoë stared at the two of you for a moment, an undistinguishable look painted all over her face. You took a quick look at Tom who was also observing your manager’s reaction.

However, she chose to drop it. “Alright, c’mon, honey. You have a long day today.” Your manager said after she flashed Tom a smile and turned around, leaving you both relieved.

As you watched your manager leave and walk towards her vehicle, you turned to Tom and said, “I guess I’ll see you soon?”

Tom smiled and nodded, “I’ll see you soon, my darling.” He said softly.

You felt your cheeks start to burn again so you did what you always do whenever you don’t know how to respond or when you’re just plain embarrassed—walk away and practically scream inside your head.

You were walking—sprinting, more like— towards the vehicle and when you got in, you were greeted with a big smile by Zoë. It terrified you.

“Y/N, hon,” She initiated with a soft voice. “You know sooner or later this stunt will all come to an end right?”

“Yeah, I know.” You answered, slightly confused as to why this was brought up all of a sudden.

“Okay, good, good...” Zoë trailed off. “I just—I see how things may escalate and I don’t want to see you hurt, Y/N.”

“Yeah, I know.” You acknowledged, though this time you said it in a whisper. It was day 78 that you came clean to yourself and realized maybe you were developing a tiny crush on Tom.

The people from the magazine were doing a feature story on you. Not only that you were going to be on the cover of the magazine, but you were also going to get a ten-page spread that included an interview. The whole theme of the issue was individuality so your spread had to be rooted from your style, so the outfits, the makeup, and hair had to base off of you as a concept while still adding an editorial element to it.

You were already wearing the third outfit, wearing a pink frilly floral dress and it had hand-stitched and delicately placed flowers for the details—in which the outfit was inspired by your character in your tv series.

You were waiting for your hair and makeup to be done at the same time. The set was going to be in a pool so you also had to have your manicure and pedicure done. Basically, you had no control over your body.

“How are you doing, hon?” Zoë asked as she passed by your chair.

“’m still okay,” You mumbled. “Can I take a sip from my coffee though?”

Maria’s, the nail tech for this shoot, eyes went wide. “Your nails aren’t dry yet,” She pointed out.

“Please, Maria?” You pouted. You were literally about to pass out from exhaustion and you still had a full day ahead.

Maria rolled her eyes and gave in. “Fine, I’ll hold the cup.” She said before she grabbed your coffee from your manager.

As you happily indulged the coffee, you heard Ruby, the makeup artist, let out a sigh behind you.“Y/N, I just did your makeup.”

“Nothing bad happened! I just need to reapply the lipstick, it’s okay.” You quickly defended.

“Child, you are going to be the death of me,” Ruby mumbled loud enough for the two of you. “You’re lucky I like you because if my other clients did this I would’ve grabbed their coffee and then they would’ve gone full diva on me.”

You just gave her a huge smile before she reapplied your lipstick. The hairstylist just finished doing your hair, pinning tiny flowers all over your hair and having them scattered all over. You couldn’t believe that you had flowers all over your hair again—which only reminded you of Tom and what happened last night.

Last night felt so surreal. It was the first time you two didn’t have knives on each other’s necks. It was the first time you felt comfortable around him and the experience was very intimate, it almost drove you mad.

However, your manager’s words echoed back at you. It’s all a stunt and it will come to an end.

“Are you ready, Y/N?” The photographer asked, breaking up your thoughts. Am I?

From pink frilly dresses to big tan sherpa coats, you were finally done with the photo shoot. The shoot went on for hours and all you wanted to do was to get rid of everything that your skin and hair had to endure. However, it doesn’t end there. You still had to do a short interview for the magazine.

You were still wearing one of the outfits you had for the shoot—a black tube-top jumpsuit that clung into your body like second skin, along with tall pencil-heeled black pumps. This was definitely far from comfortable nor is it something that you’d wear, but you did like how it looked on you. “I look like the cold-hearted editor-in-chief in a magazine from a Hallmark movie” was all you said when you looked in the mirror.

You had to excuse yourself from the young journalist who patiently waited for you as your photoshoot ran a bit late. She was drinking the coffee that you had given her—a small token of an apology for the time she probably wasted waiting.

She gladly understood and went on with the interview. You were glad to do so anyway since you’re embarrassed for making her wait. You were asked about Amelia, the character that you play in the show Alchemist.

As Y/N eased into the interview, still wearing one of her outfits from the photoshoot, she was asked about her resonation with her character. “I see only tiny bits of myself as her—that being hard-headed and using self-deprecating jokes as a coping mechanism,” she answered with a small laugh.

You were also asked about your personal struggle between dropping out of school—potentially ruining your future— and your unstable acting career.

She thought she possibly made a huge mistake of ruining her future. Luckily, Y/N received a casting call for the show Alchemist. “I still believe it’s pure luck. I’m lucky that I got the part and the show helped me shape my career, however, I can’t deny that I was really close to giving up.”

Of course, the current state of your love life had to be included.

“Yeah, I am seeing someone.” Y/N admits with a soft smile. “People know who he is and frankly, I don’t think I have to explicitly say his name as who I date shouldn’t be anyone’s business.” Her cheeks were flushed red as soon as the words came out of her mouth. Y/N was kind enough to explain that she didn’t mean it to sound so harsh, but she still stands firm with her words.

You quickly and kindly expressed to the journalist that you mean well. You had no intention of being rude or for it to sound rude, but you still hold true to your words. The journalist was kind enough to understand your sentiments regarding this.

The interview ended in a breeze and you were absolutely longing for the time when you can take a nice long bath. You quickly thanked the journalist as she bid her way goodbye.

You can only hope that this cover issue finds you well.

Time went by slowly and yet very quickly at the same time. You haven’t seen any of your friends for a couple of weeks as you’ve been occupied by filming, doing interviews, and photoshoots.

You haven’t seen Tom in quite a while too—which you didn’t mind. You actually used this time to reevaluate your uncertain feelings for him. People at set didn’t seem to notice that he rarely showed up at your shoots—at least if they did, they would just assume that he’s busy since he did have an endless list of projects.

As you were still uncertain about where your feelings lie with Tom, you chose this time to at least try and forget about him. Admittedly, it was difficult since people would always bring him up at some point or he would just be everywhere on social media.

This time apart from Tom did give you a sense of peace. You weren’t in the constant state of practically having a heart attack around him, no matter how cliché it sounds. You hated that he had this effect on you but you had to act like everything’s fine—hoping that you’re doing a damn well job because acting is how you put food on the table.

However, just like the opening lyrics of One Direction’s most gut-wrenching song, Love You Goodbye, mentioned: “It’s inevitable, everything that’s good comes to an end.”

And boy, did it end alright.

Ronnie: pls tell me it’s actually ur day off bc I really plan on having dinner with u. 🥺

You were about to have a long, relaxing bath (infused with epsom salts of course) when you read the text from your best friend. You were longing for this heaven-like bath and there’s no way you’re going to pass it up.

You: technically yes. the shoot ran till morning but all i’ve done since then was sleep. I'm about to take a bath tho & not planning to get out until i turn into a human prune lmao

Ronnie: ok! I'll buy us dinner, any suggestions?

You: really craving for some hearty Korean food rn 🤧

Ronnie: gotcha! I'll get u ur usual, do u want me to buy drinks too?

You were still debating whether to go drinking tonight when your phone pinged, indicating a text.

Ronnie: babes you’re taking too long. I'm getting us drinks.

You: guess there’s no way out then lmao

Ronnie: oh u bet. I'll be there in an hour-ish, maybe earlier.

You: might still be in the bath when u arrive. 😬

Ronnie: nah you’re ok haha. I have keys anyway and I'll make myself at home but u already knew that. 😌

You rolled your eyes but still had a smile on your face. You eventually gave Veronica some duplicates as she was constantly popping by anyway. It didn’t make sense for both of you to keep Ronnie out, waiting for you to come home when you could easily just give her some keys. At some point, you even asked her to move in. She is dancing around the idea though.

Turning your phone off, you stepped into your epsom-salt-bubble bath—ready to shut off from the world and embrace the relaxation.

After strategically propping your laptop at the bathroom counter, you’ve managed to finish two episodes of New Girl whilst you were in the tub. You could’ve used the bathtub tray that Olivia got you for your birthday, but you couldn’t trust yourself with that type of risk—no matter how careful you were.

It wasn’t long when you heard a small commotion coming from the living room. You had your eyebrows furrowed, surely it was just Ronnie who’s dropping by today. Unless she invited Olivia too?

Stepping out of the tub, you wrapped a towel around your body. You shut off your laptop and grabbed your phone before you left the bathroom.

“Ronnie?” You called out above the chatter from the living room. “Ronnie, is that you?”

“Yeah, right here, babes!” You heard her yell back. Upon reaching the living room, you saw Ronnie setting the food down on the table with Harrison putting the drinks down. “Oh, hey! I got us bibimbap and tteokbokki from Kim’s Kitchen. I also asked for extra kimchi because that is to die for.” Veronica exclaimed with a huge smile. “Oh and Mrs. Kim says hi.”

You forced a huge smile in response, turning to your best friend and subtly motioning at Harrison who was standing beside her.

“Oh! oh! Y/N, I hope you don’t mind that I invited them. They called me the same time as I texted you and I figured you wouldn’t mind because we’re all friends here, right?” Veronica smiled nervously.

“A head’s up would’ve been nice, because...” You motioned to yourself, pointing out that you were still in your towel. “I mean it is my home and I should dress however I want but obviously you got your boyfriend here. The least I could do is look presentable.”

Harrison turned red and so did Veronica. “Y/N, Harrison is not my boy—”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’ll go get changed.” You rolled your eyes and dismissed the entire thing. What can you do, kick them out? Wait—

“Wait, did you say “them” earlier? Is anyone else coming?” You asked.

“Uh...” Veronica was looking for the right words to say until her eyes met someone else’s and looked right past you.

You turned around and saw Tom standing in the middle of the room, holding plates and cutlery from your kitchen. Pinching the bridge of your nose to prevent the emerging migraine you’re about to endure and closed your eyes, you took a deep breath.

“Uh—Hi, Y/N” Tom waved shyly. That’s all it took. All of those repressed feelings that you were trying to fight off were coming back. With your heart beating furiously, you knew you were a goner and you hated that.

“Hi Tom,” you muttered. You two haven’t spoken to each other in a while since the morning after the wedding. God, this is awkward.

You caught his eyes flickered to your body and put his head down, walking towards Harrison and Veronica, avoiding eye contact. You realized you were still in your towel, turning red. “Uh, I’ll go get changed.” You muttered, practically running towards your room to change.

You were changing into an oversized shirt and into some leggings when you heard a knock from the door. “I’m decent!” You yelled.

The door slowly opened, Tom peering from the other side.

“Oh, hey.” You greeted him as he slowly went inside your room. He was looking around, observing your room. Your bedroom wasn’t special but it’s your favourite place. The walls were painted white—which is why when the sun beams through your windows, it bounces off through the walls and illuminates your entire room. Your room consisted of white furniture and bedding, but you made up for it by putting numerous plants all over your room and using earthy tones such as blankets and decorative pillows as accents.

“Hey,” Tom stepped a bit closer “Sorry about earlier. If I knew you’d feel uncomfortable, I wouldn’t have come.” He apologized.

“No, you’re good. I guess I was just caught by surprise.” You quickly dismissed.

There was an odd silence. Is this what happens when you don’t talk for quite a while?

“Oh, I also wanted to give you this,” Tom said, handing you the sweatpants that he borrowed a while ago. The cursed night that brought you closer to each other, literally. Grabbing the neatly folded pants, your fingers gently grazed upon his—the first time you had physical contact ever since that night. “Don’t worry, I washed it.” He added.

“Eh, I think I’ll wash it again just to make sure.” You joked, trying to diffuse the awkwardness.

Tom let out a small laugh, scratching the back of his head. “I’m sorry.” You heard him say as you put your hair into a loose ponytail.

“For what?” You asked, brows furrowed.

“I wasn’t exactly the finest “boyfriend” in the world.” He explained, putting air quotes on the word ‘boyfriend’. “I’d say I was busy but I should’ve made time.”

You gave him a small smile. “It’s okay, Tom.” You turned around to place the pants inside the drawer. “It’s not like you’re my actual boyfriend anyway.” You laughed awkwardly.

For some reason, that last sentence left an unpleasant feeling on you. Why are you longing for Tom anyway? Are you that deprived?

Tom let out an awkward chuckle and mumbled a quiet “yeah,”

There it is again. That awkward silence. Will this last for the entire night because this is going to be exhausting?

All of a sudden, Tom looked at you with a smile. “Why are we being weird?” Tom asked, laughing.

“Yeah, I don’t even know either,” You couldn't help but laugh as well. “I’m definitely not used to you being this quiet.”

“Are you saying that you missed it then?” He asked with a smirk. “Better yet are you saying that you missed me?”

You rolled your eyes. There’s the Tom that you knew. “I wouldn’t go that far, Tom.” You replied, fighting off a smile.

“’m just teasing, darling,” He laughed softly. “So, should we just forget everything and just be friends?” He asked, offering his hand.

You were about to reply when you heard a loud knock from the other side of the door. “Oi, are you two making out in there?” You heard Veronica yell obnoxiously from the other side.

“Veronica!” You shrieked out of pure embarrassment. You felt your face turning red, as if like you’re a preteen caught with her crush.

You pulled the door open and dragged Tom outside out of pure embarrassment, only to meet Veronica and Harrison who were leisurely sitting by the couch, trying to fight off their smirks.

“Food’s getting cold,” Harrison said innocently as you glared at the both of them.

“I see that you two are getting close,” Veronica commented eyeing both of your hands that were still clasped.

“I—uh,” You’re at a loss for words. You forgot the calm feeling of how Tom’s hands felt against yours.

You were about to let go when Tom raised both of your hands to show Haz and Ronnie. “I like holding her hand, it’s always so warm,” Tom commented with a soft smile. “One of the perks of fake dating, Y/N.”

Veronica took a good look at you while you were busy staring at Tom. Ronnie knows that stare of yours and if she’s being honest, she doesn’t know whether to feel happy or anxious for you.

“Yeah, that is until your hands get damp.” You teased, rolling your eyes. “Let’s just eat.” You said as you grabbed a cushion and sat on the floor.

“Okay, so what are we having?” Tom asked as he stared at the table full of Korean dishes.

“Well, I ordered each of us a bowl of bibimbap because I have no clue what you two like to eat” Ronnie said, pertaining to Tom and Harrison. She handed them each a bowl. “They’re all beef, by the way—oh except for Y/N’s, she has chicken.”

“Have you had bibimbap before?” You asked Tom who was behind you, sitting on the couch.

He shook his head in response, grabbing a cushion and opted to sit on the floor, right next to you. “I’ve had Korean BBQ before, does that count?”

“Not quite,” You laughed. “Here, I’ll add some chilli paste.”

“Darling, don’t add too much—” Tom argued while trying to grab the chilli paste from your hands. He ended just holding onto your hand instead.

“C’mon, it’s better when it’s spicy!” You defended, trying to squeeze more into his bowl.

“Are you sure you’re not adding that much because you hate me?” You could feel the close proximity of his face against yours.

“Oh, please,” You turned to face him “I could never hate you, Tommy.” You blinking innocently, trying to hide the fact that he’s literally inches away from you.

While you and Tom are practically exploring this whole new territory of closeness, Veronica was quietly watching it unfold in front of her eyes.

“They seem to be getting along quite well,” Harrison commented before shoving a spoon into his mouth.

“Yeah, maybe too well.” Veronica murmured, still staring at the couple in front of her.

“And that’s a bad thing?” Haz asked with a raised eyebrow. Curious.

Veronica couldn’t answer. Is it really a bad thing or was she just being overprotective? She should be happy for her friend! Heck, she should be happy that you and Tom were finally getting along for once.

Veronica chose to just look past it and accept the situation for what it is for now: a miracle.

“I guess not,” Veronica answered, smiling softly at Harrison who gladly smiled in return.

“Dinner was spectacular,” Tom commented with a smile “Well done, Ronnie.”

“Oh—psh!” Ronnie waved her hand nonchalantly, “That was nothing.”

“Yeah, because Mrs. Kim prepared all of it” You argued jokingly. “Besides, I suggested that we should have Korean cuisine tonight.”

“Then I guess I should thank you, Y/N,” Tom grabbed the sides of your face and squished your cheeks. “Thanks, darling.” He grinned.

You scrunched your face and took his hand away. “You’re annoying,” You told Tom while gathering the plates, starting to clear the table.

“I’ll get that, Y/N,” Harrison said while grabbing the plates from you. “I’ll do the dishes, you lot just stay put here.”

“Ooh, I’ll help!” Veronica stood up to help Harrison.

“No, it’s fine. Just stay there, Ronnie. It’s okay.” Harrison replied, his tone of voice suddenly warm towards Veronica.

“You’re so sweet,” Veronica said in awe. “But that won’t work for me, babe. I’ll help you, it’s totally okay.” She insisted, clearing the rest of the table and following Harrison towards the kitchen.

You were about to head into the spare bedroom when you felt Tom wrap his hands around yours. “Where are you going?” He asked.

“I’m just going to grab something,” You replied, “Even if I try to get away from you, I couldn’t. Trust me.” You teased.

Tom nodded understandably, letting go of your hand.

As you were on your way to the spare room, you couldn’t help but mumble “Why’s he being so clingy all of a sudden? Is this what he’s like to his friends?” You chose to shake off your thoughts against your better judgment.

“What’s that?” Tom asked as soon as you entered the living room.

“A bean bag chair,” You answered, dropping it in front of him. “So you can stop hogging my place on the sofa.”

“Aw, you got a bean bag chair just for me?” He asked with a huge grin on his face.

You rolled your eyes, “I didn’t buy it just for you, dumb ass.”

“Whatever you say, Y/N.” He grinned. “Whatever you say.” Tom then sat on the bean bag chair, except he sat at the very upper part of it and tried to keep his balance whilst doing so.

This is the most boyish thing you’ve seen Tom do—no fancy clothing, no assistants around him, no cameras, none of it. He looked like an average guy, doing silly and harmless things, who’s just trying to have fun.

With that in mind, you couldn’t help but pull your phone out and film him doing so. Eventually, he caught on and saw that you had your phone out, giving a smile.

Laughing, you said, “That’s not how you sit on it!”

“I’ll sit on it however I want,” He teased. You quit filming and decided to upload the clip on your Instagram story. It was cute, pure, and authentic. Three words that you swore you wouldn’t use when pertaining to you and Tom.

This fake dating thing is getting harder and harder. Seeing that you and Tom finally decided to act friendly around each other, it’s definitely going to provoke the feelings you were trying to suppress from him.

“Okay, so I got bottles of soju.” Veronica announced while wiping her hands with the kitchen towel. “Anyone up for a Paranoia drinking game?” She asked with a smirk.

“Why must we play a game while drinking?” You asked, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“I think it’ll be fun, Y/N.” Tom commented. “This is the right moment to build a tight bond with each other.”

“Yeah, because nothing says bonding like alcohol and using repressed feelings.” You mumbled.

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herohotline · 4 years

Text

Wet Clay (P.5)

Shouta Aizawa x Reader

Summary: You’ve got your own handful of problems- being a counselor doesn’t mean you can’t also have anxiety or feel overwhelmed by it all.

A/N: it’s finally here!! thank god!! and thank you everyone who was so patient waiting for the new part. i honestly had a lot of fun making this new chapter- i wanted it to be a bit longer as a Thank You for the long wait. I hope you all enjoy it, and look forward to the next chapter!

Word Count: 5,500+

Tag List: @babayaga67, @cosmichorse95, @sugacookiies, @howthe-f-didigethere, @rintomoj, @missadorable96

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Technically-not-but-still-technically House Arrest is finally over, much to your relief.

You, Bakugo, and Midoriya were finally freed from Aizawa’s punishment and proceeded with your regular schedules. And while Bakugo and Midoriya have a lot of catching up to do, the same goes for you.

Which you weren’t expecting at all, but you’re pleasantly surprised by a few students standing at your office on your first day back greeting you and asking for a scheduled meeting.

Slowly but surely, word of you and your practice has been moving around the school, which is exactly what you were hoping for. Especially since it got out that you were able to have a successful session with Bakugo, of all people, the students seem to suddenly have a newfound interest in trying therapy that wasn’t there before. It’s the progress you’ve been waiting for to report to Nezu, letting him know that students even outside of the hero course were asking about therapy.

Due to your agreement, you couldn’t give them a session. Your time was pointed strictly at the hero classes for the time being, but it wouldn’t always be that way. You had the interested students fill out a simple questionnaire once the idea popped in your head, which helped you immensely for your reports to Nezu.

They were simple questions, not asking anything too personal, of course. Things like, ‘why does therapy interest you?’, ‘what problems would you like to talk about?’, and ‘what are some of the things that stress you daily?’

The answers you received confirmed that you were right from the beginning- U.A needed a proper counseling team hired, and it would be best if it was sooner rather than later.

And on top of all that good news (though kids needing therapy admittedly wasn’t the best news, but at least it was being assessed instead of being ignored), Nezu agreed with you! After hearing and reading your reports on the students, he agreed to start working with you to begin making after-school programs and looking for professionals to hire. It would take a few weeks, if not more, but the beginning of your dream for U.A was finally taking big steps, and it was overwhelmingly exciting.

You haven’t been able to fill anybody in on your news quite yet, but your change in attitude was noticeable by the staff and the students. It’s especially noticeable to the staff when you come in one morning, cups of coffee and tea hot and ready that you had bought for them when they came into the Teacher’s Lounge before class.

Yamada enters with Kayama, whistling low as he quickly walks over and inspects the cups. “Ho-hey!” He exclaims. “What’s all this?”

“Good morning, Yamada,” you smile at him and nudge a cup his way, which he takes with a gleeful hum. “I was just feeling good this morning and I’m really thankful to how much everyone has helped me settle in, so I figured I could buy everyone a drink.” Kayama walks up as well, grabbing one of the teas, surprising you with her choice.

She notices, a deep frown on her lips. “You tempt me, honey, but I have to watch my figure!” She gestures to her body, which is on full display at all hours. Not that you’re a prude, but it makes you wonder how the pubescent boys and girls feel while in her presence. You’re not envious of them. “But I appreciate you very much, thank you.”

“It’s no problem, I’ll make sure to try and get something better for you next time,”

“Oh, don’t worry! A little tea won’t hurt me.” Kayama quickly waves off your concerns and she sits on one of the chairs available in the admittedly small room. “So? Why’re you so happy?” She raises an eyebrow, and before she can ask-

“Nothing that you’re assuming, I’m sure,” you tell her quickly. “Truthfully, it’s because my work is going well. My tenure here might actually be useful- Nezu and I are talking specifics on hiring other counselors, now.”

Yamada cheers, as loud as ever, “really?! Good job!” He wraps an arm around you and shakes you- if the coffee hadn’t woken you up before, you were surely awake now with his energy! “Does that mean you’ll be staying?” Kayama perks up from her seat.

“Oh, does it? It would be so nice to keep you around longer!”

“I’m not sure about that,” you laugh uneasily, “what the students really need is someone that can be fully devoted to them and their needs, you know? I can’t give that to them while I’m still working as a counselor on the side, and I’m really not sure if I can give up that job.”

“Aw,” Yamada frowns, keeping his arm secure around your shoulder as he looks down at you. The man was freakishly tall, honestly. “Shouta will be so bummed. Do you know how long your tenure lasts?”

“I sort of hoped you were giving up on that,” you deflate. “But, no, I’m not very sure. But it’s probably not for much longer. A month more, maybe two at most. Then I’ll be leaving.”

“Leaving?”

You and Yamada turn your head towards the door, and you get a face full of his hair, making you sputter and sneeze as he laughs at you and apologizes (but it doesn’t sound like he’s sorry). You shove him away so you can actually look at Yagi, dressed in his usual baggy, bright yellow suit.

“Morning, Yagi,” you greet him tiredly. If you said before that you were energized by Yamada’s behavior, you take it back now. He’s actually exhausting. “Yes, eventually. I’m not officially hired, you know.”

“I must have forgotten,” Yagi mumbles under his breath, looking equally tired but thankful as you nudge a cup of tea his way and he takes a long sip. You remember him telling you that coffee was one of the things on his long, long list that his stomach couldn’t handle. “I’m getting too old, probably.”

“How old are you, anyway?” Kayama asks from her seat and Yagi smiles.

“That’s a good question,” he says, and then looks to you. “You’re leaving in a month or so, though? That’s unfortunate, Shouta will miss you.”

“That’s what I said!”

“Nice job avoiding the question, pro-hero,”

“I swear the two of you never quit it!”

The three of you talk over one another at the same time, and after a moment’s silence, burst into laughter together. Despite everything, these people had quickly become your friends, and chatting with them like this every morning was a part of what made the extra stress and work all worth it. “I’ll miss all of you when I have to leave, I mean it,” you tell them once the laughter subsides, and Kayama coos.

“We’ll miss you, too. I’m sure the students will as well, you’ve grown on them.”

“That’s true… I don’t feel good about the whole making-a-relationship-and-bowing-out thing. It takes a long time for a child to feel comfortable talking to you about their issues, and I finally have that! And now that I'd have to leave…” You sigh heavily as you rest against one of the tables, crossing your arms at your chest.

“Give it some more thought, then,” Kayama suggests. “Everyone would be happy to keep you around, including Nezu. Think about all your options before you make any decisions.”

It’s good advice, but the truth is, you’ve already done that.

The time you’ve spent at U.A has been amazing, yes, but you’ve never been more overworked in your life. The stress of keeping up your two professional jobs has you tossing and turning at night, and the burden of feeling like you’re going to let everyone down isn’t good for your mental state, either. For your own health, you can’t keep working the way you are now.

You’re going to have to choose. And it hurts you more than anything.

Despite all of that, you smile at Kayama. “You’re right,” you say, and you try not to sound as tired as you feel, “I’ll think about it.”

—-

The first thing you have to do with your new duties from Nezu is put together after-school affairs. He doesn’t give you a lot to go off of- he just wants you to put together some sort of event or club that the students can go to after hours that will be good for them. Nezu is nice, but he gives you too much freedom. It’s hard to create ideas all on your own and be the judge on if they’re worth the school’s time and money or not.

You’ve thought of several things. The thing you’re trying to do is create an original idea that isn’t purely formed around therapy , per se, but a way for students to vent their problems in a healthy and calm environment. Your best idea has been a little something you called ‘food for thought’, a baking club students can go to where they can learn to bake and cook a variety of simple dishes, and while they bake, everyone gets a turn talking about something that’s bothered them or that they’re working through, no judgment. It can be a bit therapeutic to cook in general for some people, and if you gave students the chance to vent during that time, you think it might be something healthy and fun. And then they could all eat snacks afterward.

...But you doubt yourself again and think about scrapping the idea. There’s too many variables- some students might not like the idea of group therapy like that, and some students might abuse the club by coming only for treats and ruin it for everyone else. Plus, not everyone likes to cook.

You groan and deflate in your seat, laying face-down on your desk. This is too hard…!

Out of nowhere, your phone vibrates. It makes you reluctantly pull your head up, grasping for the device and wincing at the bright screen when it turns on.

It’s one of your clients asking for an appointment.

You take a deep, tired breath in, and let it out slowly. Slowly you sit up in your chair and open one of your desk drawers, fumbling around for your planner and slapping it down on the desk as you open the text and start to ask for details.

Your schedule is crammed, a lot more than it used to be. You end up feeling guilty not being able to see your patient soon enough and give up some of your free time in order to see them. Not that they know that- they thank you and tell you they’ll see you soon, and the conversation is ended.

Somehow, you’re even more tired than before.

Eyes wander over to your plush, comfortable couch. It’s a tempting idea, but… the scattered papers full of drafts of ideas for an after school activity are staring at you, so you shake your head at the idea and try to focus on the papers instead. You can’t afford to nap right now, even though it sounds so, so nice right now.

Your eyes droop, but you can’t sleep. Absolutely not. Your shoulders sag.

You fall asleep slouched over your desk before you can even realize it.

—-

Waking up is surprising, because you didn’t remember falling asleep. It’s always odd when that happens- opening your eyes and forgetting you even closed them, so it has you sitting there like, wait, what ? For a few moments.

You’re not even at your desk like you remember being. Instead, you’re laying on your couch- something you very much remember wanting to do, but you hadn’t. You’re alone in your office too, which is even more odd. You don’t think you sleepwalk.

As you slowly sit up and stretch your tired limbs, you look at the clock on your wall and see that it reads 3:20- school is just about to end.

Drat. You were hoping to get more done before now…

You suppose that’s fine- you can always work more at home and email Nezu if you come up with a great idea by the end of the night, but you sort of doubt that will happen. You go back to your desk to start gathering your things, but from the corner of your eye, a bit of yellow catches your attention.

There’s a sticky note on your ‘food for thought’ paper. Your eyebrows spring up in curiosity as you lean forward to read it.

It’s not much. It just says ‘good idea’ and then there’s, strangely enough, a doodle of a cat giving a thumbs up. It’s not the best drawing you’ve ever seen, but it’s cute.

Kind of strange though. A cat? Who even wrote this, anyway? Who was in your office when you were asleep?

You doubt it was a student. You’re not really bothered, but… the sticky note says it was a good idea. You were doubtful about it, but the second opinion makes you rethink your decision.

Maybe it wasn’t that bad of an idea? According to the mysterious cat-doodler.

Hm. You pocket the sticky note, and then put the paper with details of your idea in your bag as you continue to pack up. Maybe if you run into one of the teachers on your way out, you can ask them what they think. You should have thought about that earlier, to be honest.

Quickly you pack up and lock your office. You’re going to miss the train home if you don’t hurry, after all, and you want to get out of the building before the bell rings and the students crowd the halls.

Fortunately, though, you spot Cementoss- Ishiyama- at the front doors, and you wave to catch his attention.

“Ishiyama! You're heading out, too?”

The cement-like man looks toward you, and he walks through the doors, holding it open for you. “Mm. I need to make it to an appointment,” he says simply.

“I see. You wouldn’t mind if I ran an idea by you really quick? It’s for the kids.”

He shakes his head. “Not at all, I just needed to get out before the children did.” You grin and tell him you were doing the same- and then you tell him about your after-school baking idea.

By the time you finish telling him the small details, you’ve walked to the school’s parking lot and Ishiyama looks interested in what you have to say. “I don’t think that’s a bad idea at all. It’s creative, and I think the students would like having something to do besides sitting in a circle and talking.”

“Right!” You animatedly burst for a second- and then bashfully smile at your outburst. “That’s what I was trying to do. I’m glad to hear that it might be worth it. For hires, we could maybe hire a cook, and then the therapist who’d be willing to lead the conversation. That’s where my worry comes in- we’d be paying two people at most, along with spending money on ingredients…”

“Ah, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that,” Ishiyama says, and he slowly comes to a stop in front of what is probably his car. It’s a big, heavy looking vehicle- which kind of makes sense. The guy probably weighs a lot and needs something he won’t crush into the ground. “We have plenty of ingredients and food left over from lunch time, and Lunchrush would be willing to chip in. It could be something that’s held once a week, maybe.”

“Ah, you’re right. I guess I just didn’t want to assume anything on his part, since he already does so much.”

Ishiyama laughs. “You’re very considerate, but don’t let that get in the way of exploring your ideas. And don’t let Nezu scare you- he’ll let you know if it works or not. If it doesn’t, that’s fine. You’re not wasting his time.”

The words are, quite frankly, reassuring. You didn’t realize how much you needed to hear that, and your body naturally relaxes a bit. “Yeah,” you smile at him, “you’re right. Thanks a lot, Ishiyama. I’ll let you go now- good luck with your appointment!” You wave at the cement-man as he enters his car, but right before he closes the door, you suddenly remember something as you light up. “Oh! I had one more question?”

He looks up at you as he keeps his door open.

“Do you know anyone that likes cats?”

The question is an odd one, and his cemented eyebrows raise in surprise, but you don’t really have a proper explanation. Ishiyama thinks about it, and then he says, “the only person I know who actively likes cats is Aizawa.”

It’s your turn to be surprised. Really? You had no idea.

“Huh,” you say aloud. “Well- anyway, thanks a lot for your input! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

You wave off Ishiyama as he drives off, and once he’s gone, you pull out the sticky note still in your pocket. Aizawa likes cats, huh…? He might have been the person who looked over your paper, then, and he probably moved you over to the couch when you fell asleep at your desk.

The thought makes your chest warm. That was certainly nice of him, if that’s the case. But- ah!

The school bell rings, and you jolt into action. If you’re not quick, you’re going to miss your train home!

—-

Your phone had died on the train ride home.

It was tragic, honestly, because that meant you didn’t have anything to distract yourself with as you swayed in the crowded cart during your long ride home. No music, no texts, no articles… you busted yourself by reading the ads on the ceiling of the train, but there was only so much to read, honestly.

By the time you got home, you quickly plugged in your phone and started to make yourself some dinner. It wasn’t until after your dinner, which was just some quick and easy curry and rice from a package, that you were able to look at your phone again.

There’s several text messages waiting for you.

Some of them are from Yamada, and then there’s a few from a client of yours. But there’s an odd contact among them that you never saw in your messages.

Who knew Shouta actually texted people? He seems like the call-only type.

You click on his messages first. There’s three of them, all sent at different times during the day.

Shouta (7:43am): Thank you for the drinks. Glad to hear your work is going well.

You wonder who told him, but you figure it was probably Yamada.

Shouta (1:30pm): If you keep sleeping during work hours, you’re going to want to get a sleeping bag.

So it was him who was in your office! You should have known he’d be a cocky bastard about it, too.

Shouta (4:10pm): Bakugo only yelled five times today?

The last one was kind of funny. Without thinking, you reply back to him.

You (6:45pm): Thanks for the sleeping bag idea, but I’ll pass for now. It was sweet of you to move me to the couch, but next time you’ll need to wake me up instead!

You (6:45pm): Did you see Bakugo go anywhere after class?

Surprisingly, you don’t have to wait at all for his reply.

Shouta (6:45pm): You looked like you needed it.

Shouta (6:46pm): He didn't go to his dorm, but he stayed on campus. Why?

Hmm. You wiggle on your bed, plugging your phone out of its charger so you can relax in a comfortable position as your fingers tap on the screen.

You (6:47pm): I guess if anyone’s a good judge of someone’s need for sleep, it’s Mr.Baggy Eyes, huh? Go figure

You (6:47pm): also, that’s confidential. But I think he deserves a lollipop at this point. Bakugo cares a lot more than he likes to show, but the fact he’s actually thinking about our session and considering some new methods says a lot about his character. Thanks for telling me.

Shouta doesn’t say anything after that, at least not right away, so you move on and look at your other messages. Yamada’s are a bunch of absurd internet pictures, so nothing too important, and your other client who texted you is asking for a reschedule.

It takes a bit of back and forth with your client until you eventually decide on a new date where both of you have time- thankfully, it didn’t require you taking time out of your weekend more than you already have. By the time you’re done, you have one new message from Shouta.

Shouta (6:56pm): You’re right about that. Bakugo is difficult, but with some help, he’ll be able to do a lot for society. Hopefully you’ll be around enough to see him change. His trust doesn’t come easy.

The words make a heavy feeling in your stomach drop. Without meaning to, Shouta has stabbed you in the gut with guilt, and you’re feeling even more about your decision to leave U.A.

How could you leave, really? The students need you- but so do your clients.

Stress builds up in your shoulders again, and staring down at Shouta’s message, your head swarms with bad thoughts.

Anxiety and discomfort rolls over you in waves.

And you don’t really have anyone to confide in. Part of you feels like talking to Shouta- but you’re not really that close to each other yet. You doubt he wants to hear your complaints about work.

Shouldn’t you be grateful for your opportunity?

You blink as you barely make a reply, and then you toss your phone to the side once you turn it off. Your eyes look at the ceiling of your room, and despite the exhaustion deep in your bones, you’re suddenly wide awake.

You feel like you won’t be going to sleep tonight, as much as you would like to.

You (7:08pm): You’re right. I’ll try my best.

——

Coming into work the next morning is dreadful. The only thing keeping you awake and mildly aware of your surroundings is the caffeine that’s running through you- you’ve drank so much coffee and energy drinks that you wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a part of your bloodstream at this point. You look like a mess, but there’s work to be done.

It’s Friday, which is usually nice, because Saturday is your only day off. But you sacrificed your Saturday for a session tomorrow, so there’s no promise of a break for you for at least another week.

Overnight, due to your lack of sleep, you thought of three other ideas for after-school activities the students might like, and you sent all of them over to Nezu once the sun began to rise and you decided it was an appropriate hour to message him. He hasn’t gotten back to you yet, but that’s unsurprising.

With nothing else to do, you got on the train early enough that it's not even that crowded. You still can’t find a seat, but that’s fine. You’re afraid if you sit down and relax for more than a moment, you might fall apart.

Hence why you’re heading to work several hours early. Hopefully you’ll be able to pull yourself together before work starts.

You stumble a bit each time the cart shakes when it comes to a stop, but eventually you get off and walk to U.A. It’s practically empty, which is also unsurprising, but the doors are open for you, so that’s good. You were a bit worried it might all be locked down.

As you head to your office, it’s eerily quiet in the building. Beside the sound of your shoes tapping on the floor, there’s nothing. It’s a bit unsettling.

Maybe that’s just because you haven’t slept at all recently and your anxiety is through the roof at the moment. Who knows? Regardless, you make it to your office with no issues. But when you open the- unlocked- door, you jump.

And then you slam the door shut with a surprised scream.

“Oh my god!” You yell at the door, and you can hear the people scrambling from inside your office. “What’re you doing?! On my couch?!”

Kayama speaks up, her voice just a lilt higher than it usually is. “Would you believe me if I said it was nothing??”

“No! No I wouldn’t!” You yell back, and you rub your eyes with the heel of your palms. “I will never be able to wash my eyes from what I just saw, Jesus-“

“We’re sorry!! You’re really early!”

“Do you always do this shit on my couch?! I have students sit on that thing- oh my GOD, I was laying on it yesterday!”

“No- we swear-“

And then suddenly, as if from nowhere, Shouta is coming from around the corner with his face twisted up in confusion. “What’s going on?” He asks as he walks up to you, and you gesture angrily toward your closed door.

“Yamada and Kayama were fucking on my couch!”

“No we weren’t!!” Yamada’s screechy, way too loud voice denies.

“Yeah, tell me that again as if you’re not scrambling to put clothes on right now.” You huff, and Shouta’s eyebrows have successfully disappeared beyond his hairline. “Did you have any idea about this?” You look toward him, a hateful look in your eye- but he quickly shakes his head.

“I just got here. I was actually- well.” He looks toward your office. “I was going to nap.”

“ Lord - does everyone use my office as they so please? Do the keys I own mean nothing?”

Yamada wails, “we’re sorry- “

“Shut! Shut it!” You snap.

This is the worst. You have had no sleep, no food. You’re overworked and stressed enough as is- this was just the last straw.

“Clean up my office. Get rid of all your ridiculous germs- the door, my desk, the couch- anywhere the two of you touched needs to be squeaky clean or else.”

You’ve never been the type to really get mad, especially at your friends. Especially at friends who you haven’t even been friends with for less than a year. You try to keep your cool. This was just… bad timing.

“Yes, right. We promise,” Kayama says from beyond the door.

“And you-“ you point at Shouta, who is more than a bit surprised at your tone, and his face shows it. “You haven’t had sex in my office, have you?”

“Never.”

“Good.” You let out a frustrated breath. “Then you’re invited to get breakfast with me so I can cool down while those two put themselves together.”

He doesn’t really need much more convincing. He’s already walking by your side as you turn around, walking much faster than you normally do as you head for the front doors.

Shouta walks a bit faster and opens the door for you, too, which you barely mumble a thanks for.

It’s quiet as you walk down the sidewalk in the early morning, but eventually Shouta speaks up, keeping up with your pace easily. “Do you know where you’re going?”

You stop in your tracks.

“No.” You bite your lip as you frown, and you truthfully can’t even look at him. Instead, you keep your eyes on the ground, at the pebbles on the ground. “Do you know anywhere to go?”

“...Yeah. Follow me,” his voice is surprisingly soft as he reaches forward and nudges your arm his direction, and you both turn around as he takes the lead. You don’t walk for long, crossing a few streets and making a few turns, until you’re at the same place that Shouta brought you to last time.

The familiarity as you enter the restaurant makes you relax just a little bit.

“So,” Shouta starts once the two of you sit at a booth. A waiter handed you both a menu, but you haven’t opened it yet. “You’re not usually so tense.”

Shouta doesn’t make meaningless observations, you know that much about him. He’s inviting you to talk about why you’re acting strangely, and you’re tired enough that you take the bait.

You vent. You vent and vent and vent about everything you’ve been feeling lately- stressed from two jobs, guilty for having to leave, not wanting to leave, tired, upset you have to give up your free time, upset you can’t talk to anybody about your feelings, anxious that you’re not good enough- all of it.

You’re a therapist, so you know how important it is to communicate your feelings, but you haven’t been doing it for yourself. You should know better, but it’s hard. You tell all of that to him too, even though he didn’t ask for any of it.

He gave you an opportunity to speak, so you did. All of it.

And by the time you’re done, your food (which you don’t even remember ordering, so Shouta must have done it when you were busy ranting) is sitting hot in front of you and ready to be eaten. You feel like a hot pile of blubber by the time you’re done, releasing a big sigh full of all the ghosts that have haunted you the past few days. And then you stab your fork into your food, and it feels oddly gratifying.

“...Sorry.”

Shouta just barely moves his head as he closes his eyes- a fairly weak version of shaking his head as a way to deny your apology. “I’d be on my last wire if I saw Nemuri and Hizashi fucking, too.”

Despite yourself, you snort.

“I know you haven’t worked at U.A for long, but if you wanted to ask for a day off, I think Nezu would be willing.” You barely open your mouth before he’s already shutting down your argument, “you want to help the students, and I understand that. But how much are you going to help them in this state? You can’t do anything if you’re doubting yourself and you’re sleep deprived on top of it all.”

Brutally honest, but they’re words you needed to hear. You sink into your seat and nibble on your food instead of arguing with him, which Shouta snorts amusedly at as he eats his food too.

Once again, he pays for the meal, but you don’t really try to argue about that, either. You appreciate how considerate he’s being right now.

“You’re right, and you know it too, so I don’t really have to say it. But you’re right.” Shouta smiles as you play with your fork, food now finished. “I haven’t had a day off in so long, I guess I forgot they existed. I don’t even know what I’d do, besides sleeping a lot.”

“Sleeping is always nice,” He comments and you roll your eyes, because of course he’d say that.

“What do you do on your days off?” Shouta gives you a look and you click your tongue. “Right.” Sleeping.

“Could always go out of town. Have a day trip.”

“I suppose, but I’m not really sure where I’d go,” you hum thoughtfully. “I’m not really sure what I even like to do… I know I like spending time with you. But I guess you have even less time than I do to really go anywhere, huh?”

You’re too out of it to really think about what you just admitted, and you’re looking out the window so you don’t see how Shouta’s face shifts at your little confession. “If you’re fine with me being on patrol, we could go somewhere. That’s probably the best I can do.”

And you’re also not aware of how foreign it feels for him to offer his time up like that for another person. You really have no idea- you just smile at him and light up. “Yeah, that’d be fine! Just having a day out, walking around and all that sounds nice. Aw man, it’s kind of exciting now,” you laugh, your eyes squeezing shut as your nose scrunches up.

Shouta discreetly looks away.

“I’m not very exciting, but whatever you say.”

“Well, that’s true,” ow, “you’re relaxing. And I think I need to relax more than I need excitement, really.” Oh.

He just hums in response.

“Well, anyway. Thanks a lot for letting me say all that. It was really nice of you,” you move the subject along, rummaging through your things until you find your phone and click it on. “It’s still awhile until class starts, but we should head back and check on the two love birds.”

“Hopefully they’re decent by now.” Shouta rolls his eyes, scooting out of the booth with you, and with the food already paid for, you both walk out of the diner together.

“I really can’t believe those two to begin with. Did you have any idea they were together?” You look up at him as you walk.

“Honestly? No. And that’s on purpose. I don’t want to know.”

You laugh. “That’s fair.”

Shouta hums again in response, and the two of you chat some more as you head back to U.A together. It’s nice that you can feel a bit lighter than before, now.

But it’s not fair. It’s not fair that now you’re feeling better, a bit more energized than before, you completely miss the way that Shouta looks at you. The way he’s been looking at you ever since you were exploding with anger at his two best friends.

A look that’s a bit too akin to attraction.

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heresathreebee · 3 years

Text

Brackish and Briny Waters (two)

[Ralph Lamont X Female Reader]

Summary: Settling into your new house Part 1 Masterlist Part 3

Tags: +17 | 1.7k words | just really fucking domestic stuff, one (1) bad attitude, presumptuous behavior, unprotected morning sex, more remodeling.

AN: I kind of know where I'm going with this. The conflict will be subtle at first but it's there I promise.

The first day goes by fast and for Ralph meeting every single person on staff in this prestigious school was like trying cheeses and wines in a vineyard– fun at first but you get a stomach ache because somebody forgot to tell you not to swallow and there are just so many of them each more rich than the last. By the time he crosses the threshold to his new home, he's exhausted and annoyed.

"I told you not to unpack without me."

You look at him from the kitchen and shrug. "I needed stuff, baby. I already wrote a list of things to work on in this 'bare bones' house you put us up in and I was bored."

You don't care for his attitude but offer him the covered plate anyways. "I saved you some dinner."

All at once, Ralphie's anger melted from his face. He shuffled his tired feet across the still empty living room and pulled you into his side. The plate was warm (still warm or recently warmed up, he couldn't tell) and his stomach growled.

"M sorry," he said, "I don't mean to be an asshole."

You smile your forgiveness. "Long day?"

"Yes," he hisses. "I already can't wait for the weekend."

You chuckle. "Oh come on, it can't be that bad. Give it a chance, baby!"

"As you wish."

After eating, Ralph is right to sleep despite his insistence you finish packing together tonight. A part of you thinks it's the climate here– fresh sea salt air and less artificial light to disrupt the body's natural sleep patterns. You took off his shoes and empty his pockets because he was just 'resting his eyes for a moment,' then slid in right next to him. He's fine without a blanket, but you pull the back of the quilt over your rear and curl into his side. Sleep comes easier tonight than last night and you dream of wallpaper and wood smoke cologne.

DAY THREE

The rest of the week gets easier for the both of you. You arrived on Monday and unpack the bigger furniture together by Wednesday with the help of some locals. Ralph is getting to study the lesson plan for Ms. Lewis' math class and establishing a gentle authority with his temporary students. He is still excited for the weekend, intent to help you figure out what to do with the walls of the house.

"Has anybody come to see you at the house yet?," he asks you Thursday night.

You pause dicing onions to think. "Besides the neighbors to the north and those Vayle boys? No."

Ralphie raises his eyebrows and drops them, an involuntary gesture made more for himself than you.

You put a hand on your hip. "Why?"

Ralphie waves you off and continues mixing the meat with the spices. "Nothing. It's just everybody and their fucking moms has been asking me about you."

"What?" This was news to you. "Why?"

"Because they're nosy," he replies, "asking me about my whole life story and I let slip I had a wife and then they just wouldn't shut up about it."

You swat his shoulder. "Well don't sound so depressed about it. Do you not like having a wife?"

"No!" Ralph huffs and turns to look at you as he says, "I just hate that every single one of them bugs me about a million personal things and then I mention you and it's the only thing they can talk about now."

Ralph turns back to stirring the pan and grumbles to himself, "might tell them to fuck off and just hoard you forever…"

It clicks in your head at least a bit. Ralph's a born and bred city kid. In the city nobody cares who you are, what you like, or where you're from. Strangers don't want to be anything more than strangers. Their eternal social motto is 'don't waste my time' and anyone who acts differently is probably scheming something.

You chuckle and rest your chin on his shoulder. "You're forgetting these are a different breed of people. Rich and educated socialites more over but suburban, maybe even rural. We're probably the first new thing to happen to them in decades, and communities like this don't have a 'mind your business and I'll mind mine' attitude."

Ralphie flicks you a look but you know he knows you're right. It doesn't mean he has to like it but at least he understands it's not malicious, at least not inherently. It's out of his element, a little out of yours too, but you'll have to adapt and play by their rules if you want to stay here for a while.

The dining room table can seat six, but your Ralphie takes a seat right next to you at a corner so he can hold your hand while you eat. Homemade tacos ease your apprehensions a bit and you go over the remodeling plans with him until midnight. Getting ready to sleep, you wear your thinnest shift and wrap around him like an octopus, your warm core brushing over his barely clothed manhood in temptation.

Ralphie hums, tucking a stray hair back into your bonnet. "We need to get up early tomorrow."

It's a weak protest. The two of you keep rocking into each other and sighing at the feeling of friction but eventually fall asleep despite the delightful buzz of sexual energy surrounding you. You do wake up when Ralph flips you under him and sucks a few marks into your neck.

You spread your legs to accommodate his breadth, feeling him settle deliciously and glancing at the bedside clock. It's barely 5 o' clock and the sun is rising. You gasp as you feel Ralphie's cock slide into you and he's met with little resistance. You two have sex for the first time since you moved and it's been so long that the affair is short lived.

Ralph already has an apology on his lips but you shush him and come a moment later with your fingers brushing your clit in tandem. He peppers you with a dozen more kisses as silent promises to make it up to you.

You shower together, barely bumping elbows as this bathroom is way bigger than your New York City apartment ever was. You chat idly about the weekend and the town and when you're ready to leave, you grab the manila folder where you store the plans for the remodel. You've even got samples from the wallpaper, only taking the ones you like and want to replace.

"I know we probably won't find exact replicas but I want to at least find something similar."

Ralph squeezes your thigh. "Ok, ok. We'll try."

While this town doesn't have a McDonald's (the town over does and it's fancy for some reason), it does have a Home Depot (also pretty fancy). You know you'll need wood and screws and glass panes to finish that solar room but that's not the goal for today.

Ralph skips right over the green paint swatch section to the creams. He's rambling about paint brand pros and cons, he did his research on the way in since you were driving and he brought the book from the school library. You follow and half listen.

"What?"

Ralph finally catches on to your soft smile. You glance around to make sure no one is in earshot because god forbid these gossipers over hear your conversation right now.

"I guess I got you pretty excited last night, huh," you say with a sense of pride. Ralph feels the opposite about his performance this morning.

"I just… I think it's just been a while." He occupies his hands by grabbing every single free swatch sample on the shelf and says, "I promise I will make it up to you."

You roll your eyes in a not unkind way. "It's fine, babe, really. I uh… it feels kind of good to know I still have that kind of effect on you…"

Ralphie sports a smile of his own and puts you under his arm. "Of course you do, sugar."

He leans down to plant a kiss on your lips when you're interrupted by a bright voice. It's so startling that your husband bounces away from you. He stares wide eyed at the woman who interrupted you and he gets that dark look in his eye that only you can see.

"Jesus, Julie," he tries his best not to growl her name. "This is Julie, she's a teacher at the school. Julie this… is… my wife."

Julie makes a noise like a whistle. "Oh my god you are so much more beautiful than I imagined! Ralph doesn't have a picture of you in his office!"

"It's on my desk," he huffs, "it's the one turned towards me."

"And why would you do that?"

"...so I can look at it while I work…?"

Julie's… a little too hands on for just meeting you. You're too reserved to say something about it so you sling a loose arm around her back and hope Ralph doesn't say something for you.

"Hi Julie, it's nice to finally meet you," you tell her. "Ralph's been slowly but surely introducing me to the concept of his coworkers."

"I can't believe we haven't met before now! Ralph keeping you all to himself, me and the other teachers are just so curious about you," she coos. It feels almost put on, like overindulging in sweet to play up her first impression. You let it slide though, maybe it's just your city lens.

"Well, uh, once we've got the house fixed up a bit, we can plan a housewarming party," you suggest. "But not a day before and you may quote me on that, miss!"

Julie laughed and gave you her phone number 'in case you need anything at all.' Ralph breathed easy once she finally left and you tug his ear gently. "She's veeerry friendly."

Ralphie shoots you a glare like you'd made a joke he didn't find funny and you go back to debating the paint to use for your walls eagerly.

@escape-your-grape @hoodoo12 @softbeej @go-commander-kim @beetlesstuff @imma-fucking-nerd @werwulfy

#three bees writing #smut #🐝🐝🐝✒#Ralph Lamont #ralph lamont x reader #alex brightman #black reader insert

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thatpoppinat · 3 years

Text

👸🏻More Than A Nickname👸🏻

In this story, the miraculous lore is the same and so is the time period

but, instead of the French monarchy being beheaded in the French Revolution, the government is a constitutional/democratic monarchy

-Lives are Changed-

Marinette is the only daughter of Their Royal Highnesses Melody Cheng (commoner, Asian) of China and Maxim Louis Bourbon (royalty, European) of France, making her Princess Marinette Coccinelle Bourbon Cheng of France, making her the heir to the throne

and she doesn't even know it at first

an assassination attempt on an unborn baby Mari ended up killing her mother, she had been taken out via c- section and was labelled as 'dead' to the public

Marinette was taken in by one of Melody's distant relatives Sabine to live in Paris, because the King feared the for only child of him and his no deceased wife's safety

A fake certificate was made in order to keep her safe and for her to have a couple of years with a normal life

(So, yes. This is basically a "Princess Diaries" kind of story. I love those kinds of stories. Deal with it.)

This changes when she becomes Ladybug, however

To summarize the whole affair, Maxim discovers that Marinette is Ladybug and escorts her (read: forces her) back to the Versailles Palace in order to keep her safe, but due to Marinette's passion for her job she is very against this

She is also reeling from the fact that she had been lied to for practically her entire life up to this point

Oh, and the fact that her birthmother had been murdered and there were people out there who wanted her dead.

No biggie.

-Schools are Switched-

Earlier, Marinette had been switched to online schooling due to bullying (Lila and her lackeys).

She was sent by Maxim to the Beauvoir Boarding School for Wealthy and Artistic Young Women; it's a part of the Versailles palace, near the public gardens (so it's technically not a boarding school for her, seeing as though she doesn't technically leave her "house")

She is given her own (gorgeous) room and has to get used to the luxury that surrounds her, all the while trying to hide her secrets from her new school friends: Anastasia, Elodie, Brielle, Rosamie, and Catalina

There is this one girl named Emma that absolutely hates her for -insert reason- and is rude to her (she'll regret that later on)

Also, she ruins the name Emma for Marinette; don't want to name your child after someone who torments you, after all

Thought I guess children in general are tormentors, idk, pick your poison

Her identity is hidden from the public, but after another attempt on her life, leaks of her existence spread, and the news was suddenly blasting this one question

"Is our Princess alive?"

The king eventually announces that, yes, his daughter did survive that attack, and tells the world her middle name, Coccinelle.

Everyone wants to know who the Princess is and it's all over the news, nobles insist on meeting her, etc.

Crack theorists connect 'Coccinelle' to 'Ladybug' and there are now conspiracy theories on how the missing princess was Paris' heroine Ladybug; however, many people thought that was stupid (how little did the know lol)

and, of course, Lila claims to have met Coccinelle before (technically, yes) and that she was friends with her (absolutely not)

Marinette was given a pet poodle as an apology from her father for drastically changing her life, and because ~French~

-Insight is Made-

After the tension kinda fades away, she starts to hang out with her father in his private gardens so she can learn more about him and her mom, "I've always had a passion for gardening, Sabine told me it was one of your hobbies." "Your mother was incredibly sassy, so defiant."

Marinette noticed that his usual stone cold face seemed to soften when he talked about her, and she began to admire her birthmother

Tom and Sabine will always be held dear in her heart, however. They raised her and loved her after all.

She learns her father had met her mother when they were in their teenage years.

Maxim had disguised himself as a 'commoner' and snuck out of the palace. He had snuck onto a tourist ferry going through the Seine River.

On the ferry, he had seen someone painting a portrait of his future wife. He thought she was pretty and started talking to her

Hence how Marinette got her name:

French for "Rider of the seas" or 'little marine'" :P

(Yes, a river is not a sea, but bear with me)

She eventually convinces Maxim that being Ladybug was her duty and that she could defend Paris and herself with her partner

However, in her spare time when she's not doing schoolwork and defending Paris, she trains to be a Guardian from the Miraculous Temples and have private tutoring on economics, the royal family tree, etc..

Also, I want there to be some white supremacists who didn't like the fact that the past Queen of France was a non- royal Chinese woman; to be raging that a future ruler is going to be biracial. I believe that this has happened to some European royalty that were minorities, and I want Marinette to deal with that and to grow from that

Race doesn't equal nationality; and Marinette knows France, she was raised in France, I feel like this needs to be included

So, basically, I want her to be swamped with physical, emotional, and mental exhaustion - but not forever though, don't worry-

- Announcements are Released-

Her new friends find out she's Ladybug. Marinette de-transforms right in front of them because she was exhausted and wasn't paying attention.

They then proceeded to topple her.

The world learns the Princess is Marinette during an announcement at a Ball her father threw for her; her old class explodes into chaos

Her new friends topple her, again. Her old classmates want to be friends with her again. And her bullies back off. Big time.

Marinette is then approached by Gabriel Agreste to start a clothing line with him inspired by royalty, and while she's tempted to, she doesn't want to associate herself with Adrien

She tells him about how when she was being bullied by one of his models, Lila, Adrien knew she was lying and did nothing when Marinette was isolated from the class. Lila was immediately fired after the talk. Gabriel then has a talk with his son about how his poor behavior had taken away an amazing opportunity from his company, and prays the public never hears about this

Later on, however, they eventually do

Much later on it is leaked that Princess Marinette is Ladybug after footage from an akuma attack

Alya nearly faints. Again.

The 'Crack Theorists' laugh in Smart™, and the world explodes once again

Marinette is definitely popular now.

Adrien freaks out: "OMG, I was flirting with the Princess!" "I ignored my partner when she needed my help!" "She's too good for me!" etc. He can't face her during akuma attacks anymore, and Marinette assumes that because of her status, he's intimidated by her. Chat Noir eventually reveals that he's Adrien and it takes her a while to forgive him, but in time, she does.

In time.

After attacks, reporters start to swarm her for answers and interviews. To get the reporters off her she creates an Instagram and a YouTube channel. Why? Cause I said so.

She's called Princess Coccinelle and gets millions of followers in like, hours after putting herself on the websites. She makes videos of her having fun with her friends, akuma safety tips, answers questions asked about her life, so on and so forth.

'Coccinelle' eventually talks about how she doesn't use Alya's blog because she doesn't fact check their recourses

She doesn't mention how she originally started giving Alya interviews because she used to be her friend

"It took me while to realize that I didn't deserve the mean texts I had gotten from my old classmates, or the ruined sketchbooks; which, as an artist, broke my heart. Anyone can be bullied, be it a princess, or a superhero. The important thing is to know that you are worth it and shouldn't be treated that way regardless of your status or your looks. If the people who are rude to you come to apologize later on, you have the right to be upset and not forgive them initially."

Gabriel questions if targeting Ladybug, the Princess and symbol of the whole freaking country was a good idea

All the while, Marinette trains to be a good guardian, the future 'ruler' of France, and a better hero.

She hardly ever gets homework, but the girls at Beauvoir think it's fair

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

I really wish that someone who is a better writer than me and has a lot of free time would write this into a story and not a summary. I might write it later, later on but I have a lot going on rn and I don't feel like my current writing skills could do the story I have envisioned in my head justice. I guess you never know till you try it right?

I’m still on the fence of whether or not it was a good idea to add in Marinette’s secret identity as Ladybug being exposed, but idk.

Anyways, I'd like to hear what you'd guys think about this AU? Should I change something? Do you have ideas and headcanons you'd like to add? A new villain? I'd like to read your comments and suggestions! (ヾ*≧∇≦)ﾉ

Have a nice day, ThatPoppinAT

#ml au #princess marinette #miraculous royalty #minor salt

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kitkat1003 · 3 years

Text

For the Love of, and Full of Hope

Wakko isn’t book smart, or social smart, not by any means, but even he isn’t dumb enough not to know that his family is worn thin. Threadbare and dying. They need more.

So he goes to get it.

Or: A 12 year old spends a year getting a single hay penny. Wonder what happened there.

Warnings: Death, Violence

Edit: this is part of a series, here is the Ao3 link

@asilcorner here

The decision to leave isn’t an easy one, and he can tell Yakko wants to argue. Of anyone in their family, Yakko is the one least likely to mention a want, but Wakko can tell that there’s one on the tip of his tongue.

I don’t want you to go.

If Yakko said that, Wakko would stay, because Yakko works so hard, Yakko deserves his wants. But Wakko knows, and Yakko knows, that they both want Dot to be alive far more than Yakko doesn’t want him to leave. So he thanks the world that train fare is practically free and buys himself a ticket.

“Why do you have to go?” Dot asks, the night before he leaves. He’s resting right next to her, and her voice sounds hoarse. Tight. Weak. The reason he’s going, to make her better, cements in further.

“We need money,” He tells her, honest. “Besides, the ticket’s already paid for. It’d be a shame to waste it now,” he shrugs, smiling despite the ever present ache, from starvation and exhaustion and the chill.

“I wish I could go with you,” She whispers, and he sighs.

“I wish you could too,” Because if she could, he wouldn’t need to leave in the first place.

The next day is joyously morose affair. He leaves with the hopes of everyone on his shoulders. Yakko hugs him tight, and Wakko can feel Yakko’s hands tremble against Wakko’s back, balled up in fistfuls of his sweater.

“Stay safe,” It’s phrased more like a plead than a simple farewell, and Wakko would like to be able to make promises, but...

“I’ll try,” he says, and he means it.

“See you in a year, sis,” He ruffles Dot’s hair, and she smacks at his hands, but she’s smiling.

“Not a day late or early,” She orders, and he grins.

“You got it.”

And the train departs, and Wakko sits all by himself as the place he knew as his home for all his life gets smaller and smaller as he gets farther and farther away.

He lets himself cry when it disappears, because he’s young, and alone, and afraid. But he has to do this. He has to try. Dot and Yakko need him.

It’s not hard to fall asleep. Compared to the abandoned orphanage they live in, the train seats are far more comfortable.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up a town over, and the train offers hot food, but he declines. He doesn’t have the money for it, even though his stomach screams for food. He nibbles on the jerky Yakko bought for him before he left. Wakko knows just how long he can not eat for before his body rebels against him-earlier than most people. Yakko says he has what one would call a ‘Chronic illness.’ All Wakko knows is that it makes him more of a deadweight for Yakko to carry, because despite Yakko trying to be slick, he could see at home that his older brother was giving him bigger servings while Yakko got less.

Hopefully, now that Wakko is gone, Yakko can actually eat like a normal person. With how Yakko is, though, Wakko expects he’ll take that extra food and give it all to Dot.

People come off and on the train at every random stop, but Wakko’s ticket is for a long ways away. Five towns over. He’s heard stories there, about how there are always jobs open. He’s going to do them all. He’ll work himself down to the bone, and come back with a fortune, and Dot will get better and everyone will be happy.

Days pass. He gets up, on occasion, to stretch his legs, because the last thing he needs are his muscles atrophying because he couldn’t be bothered to move. He loses his seat once or twice, but he is very adept at annoying people into moving, so he never loses it for long. He makes the piece of jerky last, so that even on the last night before he gets off of the train he still has a quarter of a piece left. It’s easy to not be hungry when you don’t move much. That must be why Dot hardly has an appetite.

He’s asleep when he reaches his destination, practically thrown from the train by a conductor who holds no pity for a half starved child. This town is prosperous, due to it’s industrious mining community. He can see the ‘Help Wanted’ signs plastered on certain storefronts, and tries to figure out what to do.

Yakko had told him that under no circumstances was he to even think about going into the mines. The mines are where people go to die, and Yakko told him it was better if Wakko came home empty handed than not at all.

They’d had the conversation far away from the house, where Dot couldn’t hear. She was already near bedridden most days, looking half dead. She didn’t need to hear about how dire things were, when part of the reason things were that is because she was so sick. It isn’t her fault, but she wouldn’t see it that way.

He tries first, at the bakery. He’s young, spry, and wiling to do whatever they need him to. He’s made to be the janitor, because he doesn’t know how to bake and they don’t need anyone to learn. When things go in the oven, he clears the work space, sweeps the floor of the spilt flour, wipes down trays, cleans dishes. It’s not easy work, but Wakko would like to say he works well.

He does not, in fact, work well.

It was probably a bad choice to pick a place filled with food for his first job when he’s been half starved for most of his life, but it seemed a good option at the time. He can’t help but try and sample some of the goods, so hungry it hurts, and the owner of the bakery doesn’t have time for charity cases.

He gets caught on his third day, and after getting yelled at so loud that his hands shake and his ears ring, he’s unceremoniously thrown out, sliding across cobblestone so hard his skin scrapes and he’s glad that black fur doesn’t show off blood well. Three day’s pay is a pittance, but it’s enough to get him some food for the night. He sleeps outside, in an alley, by the dumpsters.

The next day he goes to the general store. It doesn’t sell food more so than it sells equipment. A lot of its sales comes from supplying the mining sector with its equipment, and the rest is from the random items the townspeople need.

Wakko is a stocker. It suits him fine. He’s always been almost abnormally strong for his age, and he works hard not to mess this up. It’s a nice routine, though his brain gets ever so slightly bored. He’s someone who craves unpredictability, who loves chaos. The doldrum does very little for him, mentally, but he shoves it down and keeps working. He takes a breath every moment even though the cold air makes his lungs wince and puts his personality on the shelf and works and works and works.

He manages well for about four months.

And then, one night, he gets cornered in an alley.

“Hey, kid,” There are three men surrounding him, tall and lean. Men is a strong word-they’re teenagers, older than Yakko but nowhere near and adult. “Heard you’re the new stocker at the general store,” Wakko has no idea why this guy cares, but he just nods, because it seems polite.

The response he receives is having his sweater be grabbed before he is slammed into the wall, head knocking against stone.

“You think you can step in on my job while I’m out of town? Huh?” He shakes Wakko, as if Wakko can reply when he’s still dazed from having his head knocked around. “I own that job. I can come and go as I please, and make money when I want. That’s how it works here.”

And Wakko hates that. Hates the cavalier that this teen holds, to be able to come and go as he pleases, to always have a job waiting for him. Has this guy ever had to wonder if his sibling was going to survive the night? Has he ever even gone hungry?

It’s the same entitlement Plotz has, and it brings out a fire Wakko didn’t know he had.

“It said help wanted,” he responds, shrugging nonchalantly. “Not my fault that you were gone.”

That is, apparently, the wrong thing to say. Wakko has never been good with his words, and that’s why Yakko always did the talking. He gets a fist to his jaw, dropping to the ground.

“What a smartmouth,” The leader sneers. “Why don’t we teach this kid a lesson?”

“Well, I’ve never been to school before,” Wakko wheezes, grinning like nothing’s wrong, and he gets a kick to his ribs for that.

He should really stop trying to be Yakko.

“Shut up,” One of the teens say, and he does.

It doesn’t stop them.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When he goes to work the next day, he has a black eye he can’t see out of and a limp. Black fur doesn’t show off bruises, but he’s pretty sure one of his fingers is broken with how purple it is. He shows up to work anyway.

When he does, the owner looks over him appraisingly.

“I see you met the town boys,” He says. “The leader is the mayor’s son,” Wakko frowns-of course he is.

Wakko gets to work, but the owner follows him.

“I thought he was staying out of town for another week, figured I’d fire you then,” Wakko freezes, holding three boxes of pickaxes. “But I can’t have the mayor down my neck. Find somewhere else to work.”

And Wakko isn’t vindictive, not by any means, but he feels a little too good when he says “Okay,” and lets the pickaxes all drop to the floor, hearing the crash and running out before the owner can catch him.

From there, he goes through jobs like they’re candy. He trips at the candlemaker’s and nearly burns the whole place down. Tries the printing press, but he can’t really read well, so he can’t tell if there’s any errors, and makes too many mistakes. Works at a family farm, but one of the animals kicks him into the fence and the family says that it’s a sign that this isn’t his place to work.

No wonder this town has so many help wanted signs , if these are the guys hiring.

His favorite job of the bunch is the inn, because they let him sleep in a spare room so long as he cleans it before he goes to work, and it doesn’t count towards his paycheck. However, the mayor’s kid comes in one day, sees him, says something to the owner, and Wakko is back on the streets again.

He wants to break down and cry and go home. He’s trying so hard, he’s doing what he’s supposed to. It’s been eight months and he never has more than enough to buy dinner because he can’t save when he’s losing jobs a couple months in.

He needs something stable. Something no one would fire him from.

He looks toward the mines.

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He remembers the promise he made to Yakko, to not work there. Knows he shouldn’t. But he’s out of jobs, and he’s out of options.

He promised, but Yakko’s broken promises too. When Dot first got sick, Wakko was nearly in tears with worry. That’s his little sister, why can’t she play? Why does she keep coughing? What’s wrong with her?

“It’s just a cold,” Yakko had said. “She’ll get better soon. Promise.”

But she hadn’t, and that’s why he’s here, so if Yakko can lie to make Wakko feel better than Wakko can break a promise too, to make sure that when he comes home he’ll have something to give. Because, as much as it would break Yakko’s heart if Wakko never came back, Wakko would rather that happen then come back with nothing and watch Dot wither away.

He goes to the mines, and puts on a hard hat, and gets to work.

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The mines are a grueling place, and Wakko understands very quickly why Yakko never wanted him to work in such an environment. Half of the time he has to stop and cough, because every breath is coal ash in his lungs, every time he moves he feels like he’s going to drop dead. Lunch time is fifteen minutes and he doesn’t have anywhere to prepare a lunch so typically he buys some salted meats or preserved vegetables the night before and sticks it in his sweater pocket so he doesn’t starve to death. He supposes the upside to having been poor all your life is that you’re good at eating quickly.

You never know when the food you have could be taken away.

They get coal, and then they lug it to the minecarts to be taken out of the mine. Rinse and repeat. He doesn’t even have time to be zany when he’s so exhausted, so he’s just as dead eyed as the rest of the toons and men around him.

Every once in a while, there will be a rumble from above, and the whole cave will shake, and they will all freeze and hold their breath, because one wrong move could mean collapse.

One of the older men asks him, one day, “Why are you here, son?” in the soft, kind way that brings back a far faded memory, more a feeling, of a warm crackling fire, and someone large and familiar holding him, of feeling safe and full.

“I need the money,” he responds, and the older man’s eyes go soft and sympathetic.

“Don’t we all, son,” He tells him, patting him on the shoulder, and Wakko half smiles, because kindness is rare like gold and he’s dreaming of diamonds. “Don’t we all.”

Three months in, and he’s gotten the hang of it. Nearly made three hay pennies, because the older man, who asks him to just call him Sir, tells him about the safer tunnels, directs him to the areas least likely to collapse. He takes Wakko under his wing, and if he finds something exemplary, he lets Wakko take the credit for it.

Sir is here because he sends the money back home to his grandkids. His daughter’s husband ran out on them, and she’s getting ill from the stress and work.

“Don’t have much left in this world,” He says, heaving the pickaxe down against stone. He teaches Wakko how to hit it just right, and Wakko copies his movements and wonders if this is what it’s like to have a father who is more than a few years older than you. “But I ain’t losing them.”

“Yeah,” Wakko agrees, thinking of the small shack that is his home, five towns away, with the two people there that are his entire world, that he’s spending his days suffering and working for.

It’s nice, though, to have company. Sir listens to Wakko’s crazy antics, claps when Wakko has the energy to sing him a song during lunch, and says “you remind me of my grandkids” one day, and Wakko doesn’t want to admit how happy that makes him.

Four months in, and Wakko is venturing into an older tunnel, with a bunch of experienced miners. That’s the only reason Sir says that Wakko could come with, because he knows this is Wakko’s last month and a big pay off from a new mine would be really helpful.

They get to work, and an hour or so in the ever familiar, paralyzing rumble from above starts. Only this time, the floor starts to shake, and the ceiling cracks, and rocks start to fall from above as the whole mineshaft collapses. Wakko is jumping out of the way of debris, letting his pickaxe drop as he moves towards somewhere safe, so focused on the different falling pieces and the people running around him he misses the rock falling above him.

“Kid!” He hears Sir shout, and he’s slammed into by denim overalls and flesh and bone and hits the floor. There’s the sound of a crack, and then he feels, hears, sees nothing at all.

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Wakko wakes up to the feeling of something on top of him, covered in dust and soot and something wet and sticky. He blinks out the dizziness and realizes the thing on top of him is someone, someone he recognizes.

“Sir?” he says, asks, hopes. Carefully, he crawls out from under the man, and looks around.

The cave is dark, and he hears groans from the other men, but he looks back at Sir, and shakes him. A slab of stone falls to the floor with a loud thud, from Sir’s back, and neck.

Something is dripping from Sir’s mouth. It looks suspiciously like blood, but Wakko won’t think it is, no.

“Sir?” he tries again, and he shakes him harder. The older man drops, limp, laying face first on the ground.

Wakko. Stares.

“Is that the kid?” One of the other men says.

“Sounds like it. The old man must have got on top of him to save him from the rocks.”

“Poor guy,” The first one says. “Hey, kid, c’mere,” Wakko stands, on trembling legs, and walks toward the sound of the voices.

A hand rests on his shoulder, and he flinches, and the hand disappears.

“Hey, it’s just me, kid,” He hears. “The old man told us about you. There’s been a cave in,” As if that wasn’t obvious. “We’re seasoned, so they’ll look for us. They don’t always for the newer guys.”

“Okay,” Wakko says, instead of anything else, because he can feel the wet and sticky on his cheek and it isn’t his blood, and he can’t turn around because if he does he’ll be facing it.

He can’t. He just can’t

A hand leads him to a spot to sit, and Wakko does.

Time slips through his fingertips, and all Wakko can do is wait and breathe.

They consider making a fire, but it would waste their oxygen. The find a miraculously non broken flashlight, and Wakko can finally see. The cave is about half the size it was before it collapsed. There’s a pile of rocks at the entrance, and some of the men take their pickaxes and try to hit it, but it makes the walls shake so they stop. Wakko walks around the room, and stays away from one area.

He misses Sir.

A day passes. He nibbles on the old, near moldy piece of jerky he has, offering it to the other men. They rebuff him.

“You look like skin and bones, kid,” One of the guys says. “This isn’t our first cave in,” Wakko wonders when he became their kid, but he supposes it could be worse.

It’s two days and they’re running out of air. Wakko wheezes in thin, shallow breaths through chapped lips, and tries not to cry because he’s dehydrated enough. He doesn’t want to die. He has Dot and Yakko to go home to, he can’t leave them now.

Eventually, he just starts humming, because the silence hurts and he doesn’t want to think anymore. Isn’t this whole movie supposed to be a musical? Maybe it hasn’t started yet.

“There's always tomorrow,” It comes out wispy and small, like a a breath, but it sounds unbearably loud, in the small space, “For dreams to come true. Believe in your dreams, come what may,” His voice cracks on the final word, and he coughs, but the men are all staring at him, a tiny shrimp of a kid way in over his head, singing because there’s nothing else he can think to do.

“There's always tomorrow,” He mumbles out the words, barely keeping up the tune, because he’s so tired. “With so much to do,”

“And so little time in a day,” One of the men finishes the line with him, and Wakko blinks.

It seems that one joining in spurs on the others, because one by one they’re all singing too.

“We all pretend the rainbow has an end,” Wakko sees some of the miners leaning on each other. A couple of them have broken a bone of some sort, but that’s all forgotten in the ever thinning air, singing because what else is there to do, in times of despair.

“And you’ll be there, my friend, some day,” Wakko’s eyes flick to Sir, the still body looking pale and the blood dried on the ground, and he forces himself not to cry again.

“There’s always tomorrow, for dreams to come true,” Wakko leans his head back against the stone, coughing a little. There’s thudding in his ears, he thinks his heartbeat, growing ever louder.

“Tomorrow is not far away...,” They trail off, and then there’s a crack, from the wall behind him. He jumps, stumbling back from the wall, and he can see light peeking through the rock wall.

Standing was a bad idea. His legs shake, weak, and while he can see the light as he hears men from the other side calling for him there’s darkness at the edges of his vision, and before the the wall breaks he starts to fall and everything goes black to the sound of the men shouting for someone to catch him.

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He wakes up at the local hospital. The mine is paying for the stay, so he gets to eat. He’s given 10 hay pennies for his trouble-the three he’d already made were lost in the collapse, but he doesn’t care too much because he lost far more important things there, too-, with the incentive not to take legal action against the mining company. As if he could. He asks around, asks if Sir’s family will be getting anything.

“Likely not,” One of the men from the cave says. “He didn’t have enough tenure for that, and his family lives far enough away and are poor enough that the mine won’t bother.”

“Do you know where he lives?” He asks, and he finds out.

He places 9 hay pennies into the envelope. He is not good at writing, but he knows how to write ‘I’m sorry,’ and ‘he was a good man’, and ‘he protected me’, and the sentences hardly make sense with how his hands shake but that doesn’t matter. He has one of the older men write out the address and sends it off.

It’s not enough, he thinks. But it’s something.

He tries to go back to work for a little more money, but every time he looks into the yawning pit of the entrance to the mines he can’t breathe and he thinks of the sticky and wet and red that stained his fur until he washed it off two days later.

He knows how to get it out of his clothes, too. Now. He knows now.

He didn’t think he would ever need to know, but the past year has been full of learning experiences, he’s sure.

A week and a half later, he walks out of town to that same train, and like the end of a circle heads back to where he started, sitting on that same seat. The taste of jerky as he chews makes him want to vomit, too familiar, too entrenched in memory to be anything other than unpleasant.

He comes home, and when he arrives he sees the smiling faces of his family and town, and they don’t need the depressing tale of cruelty and hardship, so he smiles and dances on aching feet and sings about silly jobs that seem more fun than difficult and shows off his earnings and lets himself feel hope because even if it hurt it was enough, because Dot is going to be happy and healthy.

Later, when he is playing a mournful tune on a makeshift harp, he wonders if there was even a point to trying. If he should have stayed, should have just taken his time with his sister before she was gone, because regardless of everything that happened he’s right where he started. Except, someone is dead and he’s the reason, and his lungs ache and will spend months to get close to normal and he has to pretend because he can’t let Yakko know he lied, and he was beaten and his youth has been stolen and Dot is still dying anyway.

He’s tired of the cyclical, he needs change, and he looks up the stars and searches for something, anything, to make the hurt worth something.

The Wishing Star gives him a reply to his song, like beams of light through the rocks, like hope in the center of a blackhole of despair that refuses to be swallowed whole, and when Wakko makes the homestretch he asks for the people to get what they deserve, what is fair, what is right, and hopes the mother miles away with two kids and no father or grandfather gets something, too.

#animaniacs #wakko's wish #yakko wakko and dot #wakko warner #yakko warner #dot warner #kitkat1003 #Listen its medieval times do you think people were nice to kids #i will pepper in the fact that wakko nearly vaguely remembers their parents #i will create a side character and kill him off because I think it'd funny to be mean #haha

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