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isis-astarte-diana · 4 years

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Tetchy

Summary: “Tetchy tonight, Mandy.” Miranda pushes your buttons. You push back.

Warnings: NSFW. M(iranda)IHOW. (I need a new acronym! Why does everyone’s name have to start with the same letter?) Mildly dub!con, possibly. Knifeplay with bad BDSM etiquette. Violence. Painful sex (at this point, I don’t know if I can not write it). Semi-public sex(?). Name calling. One (1) use of Daddy, but it’s in jest. Very dodgy relationship dynamics, including references to stalking. Also, I make some non-sexual references to peeing, because it’s a stakeout and I think about these things.

Word Count: 3057

NB: It has come to my attention that there is some serious brat erasure in my smut. Can’t have that, can we? Also this is the first time I’ve been able to write a normal human person and I’ve had a lot of fun with the playful dialogue and the swearing. Sorry. And, uh, I’m sticking with darlin’ for Miranda because every single time a Scottish woman has called me darlin’ I have combusted slightly.

“Would you stop showing off?”

Miranda shoots you a sideways glance, her gloved hand never pausing in its relentless manipulation of the butterfly knife. She wrinkles her nose and flashes a contemptuous smirk. “Am I showing off?”

“You know that you are.” Once more, the swish, the click, the endless rhythm to her frustration. “And the noise is doing my head in.”

“Noise?” Swish. Click. Swish. Click. Your fingers twitch into a tense fist. “What noise would that be?”

Huffing, you turn away from her, staring out of the passenger side window into the gloom of the multi-storey car park. The car is shrouded in darkness, the nearest fluorescent light sputtering with a sickly greenish glow a good few yards away. “I had so many better plans for tonight.”

“No you didn’t.” Swish. Click. You wish that she would cut her fucking hand, but the glove would take the brunt of it and she’d probably just carry on out of spite. “I know what you’ve been up to, darlin’, remember? No secrets here.”

You can feel her eyes on the back of your neck now, and the reminder that she watches you shouldn’t have a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, but it does. There’s something of a thrill to knowing that every part of your day, however tedious - buying a coffee, crossing the road, wandering around a bookshop without choosing anything - is now a performance. Miranda does not like to be out of the loop; and, admittedly, coming home to find a bag of your favourite muffins - the ones you’d eyed in the coffee shop before deciding not to treat yourself - or a copy of the book you’d almost bought waiting for you on the kitchen table is, bizarrely, rather sweet.

Sweeter, now that you’ve given her a spare key to the flat after having to call the landlord for the third time in less than a month to explain that the lock on the front door had been mysteriously damaged yet again.

“They’re obviously not coming,” you mutter, unabashedly petulant. “Can’t we just go?”

“We’ve barely been here half an hour.” Swish. Click. She sighs, sounding far more annoyed with you than anyone who’s being as irritating as she is has any right to. Swish. Click. “Fuckin’ hell, give it a bit longer.”

“Right. Fine.” Your jaw clenches. Desperate for any excuse to get out of the car and away from her, you snap, “I’m going for a piss.”

When your fingers loop into the door handle and wrench it slightly too hard, nothing happens. You try it again. A mechanism inside the door judders and grinds with a tell-tale noise and you whip around to face her. She’s staring straight ahead, through the windshield and into the dark, with a smug look in her eyes.

“Did you put the child locks on?”

Miranda has the audacity not to laugh while she plays with the knife and says sternly, “safety first.”

“Very fucking funny.” You eye the button in her door that controls the lock. You could reach it, quite easily, but doing so would mean sticking your hand into the blur of the swinging blade. “Open it.”

She doesn’t even look at you. “Nah.”

“Open it, or I’ll scream.”

“Go for it.” It’s toneless. “Anyone comes, I’ll kill them.”

You scoff. “No you won’t.”

“Might do.” She says it like you’ve dared her. “Would serve you right. You’ve been getting on my tits all night.”

Your voice is an indignant squeak. “I’ve been-?! Fuck, alright.” Folding your arms, you snort, “maybe you should put one of your tapes on, babe.”

It’s a low blow and you know it. She falters, just for a second, before starting up the infuriating pattern with the knife again, even quicker now. “Don’t.”

It feels dangerously good to see that you’ve had an effect. “Oh, you’re so scary.” Turning back to the window, you point out, “you’re just like one of those dickheads in a meeting who won’t stop clicking a pen, you know. Always fucks me off. Always just makes me want to-”

You can’t finish the thought.

With serpentine speed she’s grabbing a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back until you’re staring up at the soft grey ceiling of the car. Your hands find the locked door handle, the seat cushion, holding onto them with white knuckles to keep from slumping across the handbrake from the force. You’re twisted awkwardly in your seat, your back aching in protest at the angle, but you can’t suppress a laugh.

“Something funny?” Her voice is low as she brings the knife around in front of you so that you can see it. A loose strand of her hair tickles your forehead when the flat of the blade comes to rest over your exposed throat.

It’s cold, and smooth, and you can just barely feel the sharp edges of it. Breathless for more than one reason, you tease, “tetchy tonight, Mandy.”

“Oh, don’t call me that, darlin’.” She presses harder, hard enough that you can feel your pulse where it touches you. This position puts some pressure on your windpipe so that it’s distinctly uncomfortable. Still, you push on.

“Don’t call me darlin’, Mandy.”

“Think I’ll call you what I fuckin’ like, you mental little bitch.” She pulls on your hair again and you mewl at the wash of prickling pain across your scalp. “Take your pants off, then.”

The words inflame you, but you’re not finished playing, not after spending half an hour with her deliberately pushing your buttons. Echoing her, you sneer, “nah.”

“Please yourself.”

Before you can react the knife is gone and she’s pushing you forwards, letting go in time to send your forehead smacking into the passenger side window. It makes light burst behind your eyes. You swear under your breath, rubbing the impact site with one hand.

Behind you, her door opens and closes.

You barely glimpse her through the windshield before she’s wrenching your door open and reaching for you, fisting the front of your dress in one gloved hand, tugging hard enough to make the fabric dig into your skin as she hauls you gracelessly out of the car and to your feet. You almost bang your head on the doorframe, so sudden is this assault.

“I can-” you cover her hand with yours, trying to ease up on her grip. “I can stand up on my own, for fuck’s sake, get off me-”

“Or what, you’ll scream?” She flashes the knife again, teeth glistening in her mirthless grin to match it. “Thought we’d been through that already.”

You offer some perfunctory resistance while she shuts the door and manoeuvres you around to the back of the car, but the heady thrill of finally having her attention dulls your attempts to escape her hands. In a moment of bravery you reach for the butterfly clip that fastens her hair back and yank it loose. It must hurt - it’s supposed to hurt - but she just laughs.

“You’re such a pain in the arse, d’you know that?” Supple leather wraps around your wrist and your left arm is twisted brutally up behind your back. You grit your teeth to withhold a cry. “That big mouth’s gonna get you into trouble one day.”

Even as she turns you around and pushes you down over the boot of the car, the impact knocking the wind out of you as the hairclip falls to the ground with a clatter of plastic on concrete, you manage to bite back, “that’s the idea.”

Outside the semi-security of the car it’s bitterly cold and black as pitch. The smooth surface of it chills you to the bone and makes you shiver; this, though, is nothing compared to the tremor that runs down your spine when she leans down to cover your back with her chest, loose hair brushing your neck, lips close to your ear.

“Are you gonna shut up or do I need to teach you a lesson?” She punctuates the words by slamming her other hand down on the boot of the car where you can see it, the knife still gripped tightly in her leather-clad fingers. The sight of it makes you push back against her, shifting your arse as provocatively as you can with her pinning you down like this.

In the whiniest, most abrasive voice you can put on, you retort, “are you gonna take your belt off, daddy?”

“You’re fucked in the head.” It’s nothing short of a snarl, her hand tightening around your restrained wrist, but there’s no shortage of affection in it. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? If I turned your arse bright red, right here, while you cried and begged me to stop.”

“You think fucking highly of yourself,” you scoff, weakened by the thought that she might actually do it. “Why don’t you suck it and see?”

“Because I’m not in the mood to play your games, darlin’.” She leaves the knife there, within reach of your free hand, while she tugs the hem of your dress up past your hips, and picks it up once more when you’re bared to the waist save for your underwear. “I’d rather play one of mine.”

Your squirming stops when the blade slides under the fabric of your knickers, tight to the outside of your thigh. It doesn’t cut you, but it scratches, and it disturbs you to know that she isn’t even looking while she does it. “Do not cut my pants off,” you warn, aiming for stern and falling short.

“Think I will.”

“This isn’t porn, Miranda, I paid good fucking money for these and I will be so pissed off-”

You cut off with a furious groan when she does it anyway, the material stretching away from your skin and then fluttering loose with the motion of the knife through it.

“You’re such a bitch sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?” Seamlessly she changes hands, one still pinning you down, the other now going for the opposite side of your underwear. “I need to try harder.”

She slices through the other leg, her gloved fingers brushing your thigh when she snatches the fabric up into her hand before it can fall to the ground. Her task complete, she retrieves the knife and finally, finally closes it, slipping it back into her pocket. Her leg slides between yours, the cotton of her trousers pressing insistently up against your vulva in a way that almost makes you forget your displeasure.

“Shame.” She clicks her tongue. “I liked these ones.”

You writhe against the boot of the car. “So did I!”

“Say your goodbyes, then.” Once more, she leans down, proffering the fabric now clutched in her gloved hand. “Open wide.”

You jerk away, but not quickly enough, and she stuffs your ruined underwear into your mouth, pushing it deeper with her fingers until you almost choke on it. It’s not a merciful gag - the material steals the saliva from your mouth, and the taste of your own arousal is thick on your tongue; while the sound of her messing around with the knife is infuriating, the sight of it never fails to affect you.

“Much better.” She covers your full mouth with her hand and gives your face a painful squeeze. You cough weakly around the fabric. “Bet you taste good, don’t you?”

Your face heats under her hand at the words.

Miranda almost tugs your shoulder clear from the boot of the car when she pulls back, straightening up once more, still holding you down by your twisted arm. It’s starting to ache. Her other hand squeezes between her thigh and your own, palming you without care or ceremony, and you grip the edge of the bumper with your free hand for stability. The touch makes your legs quake.

Even with the leather of her glove smeared with your arousal, it still burns when she presses two fingers inside of you.

You cry out into the gag, arching your back, hand slapping down on the car boot with enough force to make your palm hurt. She knows that you hate this, that however slick and supple the leather might be it’s still not fit for this purpose. The thickness of the glove broadens and blunts her fingers, turning the familiar invasion clumsy and rough. With a soft chuckle she pushes them deeper.

Your eyes prickle with tears from the sensation. There’s something unnatural about it, the leather dragging at the delicate membranes of your cunt like this, but being filled and stretched around her fingers still makes your walls throb and tighten.

“Not your favourite game, is it?” Her voice is low. You shake your head emphatically, whining into the makeshift gag. She soothes you without softening. “It’s alright, it’s alright. I’m not gonna hurt you much. Not if I don’t have to.”

You sniffle pitifully and twist under her hand when she slowly withdraws.

“But you do deserve it.”

The upthrust is punishing, lifting your hips with its force, making your abdomen clench as her fingers slam into the patch of nerves at the front of your walls. Your legs twitch, tensing, trying to escape the assault. Your neglected clitoris throbs in time with your pulse.

“D’you want me to stop?”

Without even thinking about it, you shriek a muffled sound of disagreement into the gag, shaking your head again. She laughs.

“Didn’t think so.”

The rhythm she takes up is slow, but no kinder for it. She makes a point of putting her weight behind her wrist every time she fills you, so that even when the dull discomfort of the leather is eased by the slick arousal flooding your cunt the ache never quite goes away. All the while she holds you down, trembling in the cold and the unforgiving dark, dry mouth stuffed with fabric, breathing in the taste of your own desire.

“Touch yourself for me.” Something dark stirs in her tone. Her breaths are heavy, a reassuring indication that she’s enjoying this in her own way. You obey immediately.

This, too, is awkward, wriggling your hand under your hips where she has you bent over the car, and your wrist is trapped between your stomach and the edge of the boot. Your fingers are freezing from the exposure when you finally manage to press them to your clitoris, shock making your walls draw tighter around her fingers as she fucks you.

You overcome it quickly enough.

It doesn’t take long to drag yourself over that edge, your fingertips working frantically against the flesh that feels scalding in its wet heat. She manipulates you from the inside, crooking her fingers skilfully, never easing or faltering in her pace until you howl and stiffen underneath her. Huffing desperate breaths through your nose, biting down on the ruins of your underwear, you come apart with a flood of sensation that has your legs quaking and cramping where they hold you up.

“There you go,” she murmurs, when you finally fall limp against the car. “Good girl.”

She lets go of your arm, letting you stretch out the tightness left in the muscles there, and withdraws her fingers from your cunt with only a pitiful mewl of displeasure from you. You reach up to weakly tug the mess of fabric from your mouth.

“I’m still fucked off at you,�� you manage, but it’s hoarse and breathless. “My favourite pants.”

“I’ll buy you more.” She snatches the damp fabric from your hand and uses it to wipe her gloves clean before balling it up in her fist and shoving it into her pocket. “No sense in letting them go to waste. Could be a long night.”

“Take your gloves off next time.” You wince when you straighten up, feeling sore and empty where she’s opened you with her fingers. Hastily you straighten your skirt. “You know I don’t like that.”

“Seemed like you liked it well enough.” Still, she catches the middle finger of each glove in turn between her teeth and drags her pale hands free of the leather. The gloves, too, go into her pocket. “You alright?”

“Fine.” It’s terse, and she frowns, cupping your cheek with her warm hand. When she meets your eyes there’s a carefully measured tenderness in her expression.

“Seriously, darlin’. Was that- was I a bit much?”

If you didn’t know her any better you would say the question was a challenge, but her eyes are crinkled at the corners with genuine concern and you nuzzle into her hand. “No,” you admit, twisting your fingers into the lapels of her jacket to pull her in for a kiss. “Never.”

It’s a good kiss, particularly after the sharpness of the game, her fingers sliding into your hair with affection far removed from the way she’d pulled it earlier. She wraps an arm around you to tug you into her chest, calming your shivering body with her warmth, but the other effects of the cold and the recent orgasm make themselves known with a vengeance and you laugh into her mouth when you pull away.

“I do actually quite need a piss now, though.”

Miranda snickers and lets you go. With a tilt of her head she indicates the dark corner a few feet away from the back of the car. “Go on then.”

You snort with disbelief. “Fuck off.” Raising an eyebrow, she folds her arms and leans back against the car. A smile tugs at her lips. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m not letting you wander off at night with no pants on. Anything could happen.”

"I wouldn’t have no pants on if you hadn’t ruined them!”

“Funny, that.” Her tongue pokes at the inside of her cheek as she rolls her eyes. “Now hurry up, it’s freezing.”

“You have a coat on!” Reluctantly, you glance around yourself, but the place is deserted and you have no doubt that it’s seen far worse. She watches with a smug smile as you wander into the corner. “Right. Fine. Turn around, then.”

Her boots shift on the concrete when she settles against the car, lifting her chin defiantly. “Nah.”

“Of course.” As you start to tug the hem of your dress up once more, you mutter, “god, I hate you.”

Even so, you can’t stop smiling.

#mine #nsfwork #miranda croft x reader #is that a tag yet???#it is now

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elvendara · 4 years

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So, I’ve been cleaning up my fics (OMG I have so many!!!) and came across an Mpreg fic I wrote for Yooran that I completley forgot about! @booyakasha516 introduced me to the genre and I must say, I’ve been intrigued. A pregnant Yoosung! How adorable! Not sure I posted it before, at least I can’t seem to find it LOL

YOORAN FOREVER IN EVERY AU EVER THOUGHT OF AND NOT THOUGHT OF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yoosung pushed the cart down the grocery store aisle. His belly was considerably more noticeable now and it hit the bar. His arms were almost completely straight as he pushed. It was extremely annoying. While he was over the moon to be having Saeran’s baby, it sure did get in the way, making simple things more difficult. He stopped and reached up to get a jar of pickles, the German kind he had begun to crave, that for some reason, was stocked on the top shelf. He stood on tiptoes and reached as high as he could, his belly making it painful to stretch too far.

His belly bumped into the shelf and a jar of olives fell, crashing to the floor, exploding, splashing his shoes, sending olives spilling everywhere.

Yoosung stared at the mess at his feet, tears springing to his eyes. He felt as if he was glued to the spot, unable to move. His entire face was aflame with embarrassment and humiliation. The few shoppers in the same aisle stared at him, one woman curling her lip in distaste and walking away quickly. He wrapped his arms around his growing belly and wept, unable to stop himself. He hated feeling like this, like his emotions had been hijacked. He wished Saeran was with him. He closed his eyes, willing himself home. He knew he was being ridiculous, that he needed to move, find an employee to clean this up, and just leave! He might never return to this store.

He felt a hand lightly on his shoulder and turned, looking through the bangs of his hair, having forgotten his barrettes. He cringed reflexively, thinking that woman had come back to berate him. However, this was a different woman, in her cart sat a baby boy who must have been at least a year old. He giggled at Yoosung, holding out his sticky fingers. The woman was as tall as Yoosung, her brown hair in a messy bun, her blue eyes kind and soft. She smiled at him.

“It’s ok hon, you’re fine. Don’t worry about it, this happens all the time I’m sure.” Her tone was low and steady. “I once knocked over a display of cereal in my seventh month.” She laughed. Yoosung tucked his growing bangs behind his ear and smiled sadly.

“Here.” She said, rummaging in her diaper bag and bringing out a spit rag, handing it to Yoosung. He took it gratefully and began to wipe his face.

“Thank you.” he squeaked. She led him out of the circle of olives, holding on to his hand to steady him as he walked through the juice.

Yoosung grabbed his cart and steered it from the mess. An employee was walking towards them with a wet floor sign, a mop, and a bucket.

“Hi Yoosung.”

“Hi Norman, I…I’m sorry.”

“No worries.” He smiled.

“Are you alright now hon?” the lady asked. Yoosung nodded, still not fine, but not wanting to bother the woman anymore.

The baby grabbed onto his sleeve and pulled, trying to get the fabric in his mouth.

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry.” His mom said, prying the sleeve out of his grubby fingers. “This is what you have to look forward to.” She smiled, but with genuine love in her eyes as she glanced at her son. Yoosung’s heart soared at the thought of having his own.

“It’s ok. Thank you for this, and, for being so kind.” He whispered. He tried to give the rag back to her.

“Keep it! And, don’t worry about people like that woman! I admire what you’re doing. I’ve seen you in here with your husband before.” She smiled and blushed. “He is very attentive, you’re very lucky.” She squeezed his arm, and walked away. Yoosung took his cart and quickly walked to the next aisle, away from his mess. He was a complete mess himself.

He was always so tired, but couldn’t sleep at night. Saeran was indeed quite attentive, he was so happy about their baby and never complained when Yoosung had a sudden craving he had to go get, or when his mood swings sent him from inconsolable mess, to wanton sex god. Yoosung felt bad when he got angry at Saeran, screaming at him for no reason. Saeran bore it well, his lips sometimes thinning out, but he never raised his voice at Yoosung. He could feel his eyes beginning to tear up again. Damn it!

That same woman who had looked at him with disdain was staring at him again. Not even attempting to act as if she was not. Yoosung’s heart beat in his chest again, this time in anger. What the hell was her problem? Hadn’t she ever seen a pregnant man before?

“What are you looking at?” he practically screamed at her.

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “Blasphemy!” she spit at him. “A degradation of God’s laws! You should be ashamed of yourself! You and your…partner…” she practically choked on the last word.

“How dare you judge me! You don’t know anything about me.” Yoosung shot back, but he was losing his anger, sliding back into despair and humiliation. He clamped his hands on his belly, trying to protect his child, his and Saeran’s child, from the woman’s venom.

What kind of world was he bringing his child into? How would they be treated having two fathers? He knew that there were so many people like the mother and child who made him feel better. But there were also many more people like this woman, who would take every opportunity to be hateful. Out of their own prejudices, or using religion as an excuse.

Had he and Saeran done the right thing? He looked down at his squishy shoes and another tear fell on the soggy mess.

“Hmph.” The woman sounded triumphant. “You are nothing but a freak, and you know it.” her voice dripping with bile. “You are a disgusting human being…”

“The only disgusting thing here is you.” A voice broke in, strong and challenging. Yoosung snapped his head up, his body tingling at the sight of Saeran standing behind the woman, his mint eyes flaring with rage, fists at his side, trembling. His fiery red hair curling in every direction and bathed in the florescent lights like a god.

The woman jerked and hit the shelves, surprised. Her eyes widened in fear as Saeran bore down on her, his jaw clenched.

He loomed over her, Yoosung could tell he was trying desperately not to hit her.

The woman dropped the box she had been holding, pushing Saeran aside and running out of the store. Saeran’s laugh followed her.

“Coward!” he yelled. Other customers snickered at the fleeing woman, one even giving Saeran a thumbs up.

Yoosung ran to Saeran and hugged him fiercely, his tears falling again.

“Are you ok?” he asked, lifting Yoosung’s chin and grazing his lips softly.

Yoosung nodded.

“Don’t listen to that bitch. You’re perfect! And beautiful!” he smiled and kissed his wet lips, tasting the salt from his tears.

“What are you doing here?” Yoosung asked.

“Norman called me, told me what happened. He said you might need me, and I ran all the way here. I’ll always be there for you Yoosung. Why didn’t you call me?” Yoosung dropped his eyes.

“I was embarrassed. I just wanted the floor to swallow me whole.” Saeran’s chest rumbled with his laugh.

“I’m glad it didn’t. I’d miss you terribly.” He placed his hand on Yoosung’s belly. “And this little one too.” Saeran’s hand on his belly steadied him. His doubts vanished in an instant and his heart filled with love. This was all they needed. Their child would be loved unconditionally.

“Let’s just go out to eat. Ok? I’m starving!” Saeran said.

“My shoes are soaked, and smell of olives.” Yoosung wrinkled his nose, shifting his weight.

Saeran laughed, “How did you break that jar anyway?” he asked.

Yoosung lowered his head again, “I was trying to reach the pickles, and my belly knocked it off.” he whispered, embarrassed yet again.

Saeran embraced him, holding him close, ruffling his hair, trying not to laugh. “Oh, here.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out Yoosung’s hairclips. He brushed his bangs back and clipped them on. “There! Much better.” He said, lingering his gaze on Yoosung’s lavender eyes.

“Should we go?” he asked.

“Can you get my pickles first?” Yoosung asked, his eyes glittering with anticipation. This time Saeran did laugh. He put his arm around Yoosung and they went to the next aisle to grab the pickles.

#my posts #Yooran #Yoosung Kim #Saeran Choi #MPREG #pregnant Yoosung #angry Saeran #mysme #mystic messenger #This one's for you #@booyakasha516

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shachaai · 5 years

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[Fic] A River to Cross and No Boat to Get Me There

Pairings/Characters: America /& f!England Rating: Teen Summary: Brussels, Belgium, July 2018. Over drinks, England and America (do not) talk politics. Really.

Notes: Written for @aph-fanficchallenges’ Shipping & Platonic Week 2019, Day 1: Old-Fashioned. It’s late. orz The way I write these two always feels like it straddles a line somewhere between platonic and strangely romantic/sexual, and I think you can choose to read this as either shippy or not - either way, there’s a kind of (resigned, exasperated) love there. Also on AO3.

July, 2018 A bar in Haren, City of Brussels, in the Kingdom of Belgium

The bar is all suits and badges, but, as long as a guy knows what he’s looking for, the woman sitting nursing her drink at the bar - smart, dark grey skirt suit, name and face on her badge hidden by being tucked away behind the lapel of her blazer - stands out from the other people in the room.

She’s the only Nation in the room.

Well, she’s the only Nation in the room until America sidles in, quite proud of himself for his tracking abilities in an urban landscape without the use of spy satellites. He takes himself to the bar beside his quarry and leans over its polished top to nab the bartender’s attention, body angled towards his colleague.

“An Old-Fashioned for me, sir, and -” he begins, and eyes up the drink in front of his companion: a tumbler about a third full of booze and ice, deep brown with shimmering tones of gold - someone is hitting the spirits early (earlier than him) -, “another one for the lady too, I think?”

The bartender gives him a look and America is just about to repeat his order, a bit more clearly this time, when England sighs beside him, looking up from her one-woman stare-off with her drink and repeats his request for him. In French. (America assumes it’s French. There’s a L’Old-Fashioned in there anyway, rolling off England’s tongue in the way it never does in front of France, and a rather pointed s'il vous plaît.)

The bartender nods and gets to it, leaving England to give America her trademarked suspicious look. She’s foregone pretty hairclips today so has to sweep back some of the side-fall of her sharp bob to glower at him effectively, and that sort of effort usually means business.

“This place isn’t your usual. Why are you following me?”

Blunt.

“Everyone else was busy,” says America, and tries a charming smile that hopes England won’t point out how unlikely it is that all of the Nations involved in NATO apart from England and America have found something else to do with their lunchtimes. There’s always at least one Nation at loose ends for another to pounce upon.

England’s frown deepens and her eyebrows arch for the sky, so America lets his smile drop. There’s no real point lying, though the waste of his acting talents does make him pout. (In another life, Hollywood would be just eating this up. Begging for his time.)

“Alright , I came seeking refuge in audacity?”

“I’m audacity?” England asks, sounding undecided on whether she should be offended by that or not, only to swing her legs round hastily when America goes to pull out the barstool beside her and stomp down an unladylike heel on the foot rest, preventing its movement. “Oh - no, no, no, no, no, Jones. I think you’re a blithering idiot at the moment as well.”

“Oh, come on. ” America protests, and gives the barstool another halfhearted yank. (Not a serious yank, because if he did that he might break England’s ankle, and England and the British and Washington all of the rest of NATO would eviscerate him about him with their tongues and Russia would be a smug asshole about it again, and God, England would never let him forget it if he broke her leg. Ever. ) “I’m buying you a drink!”

“Caveat emptor,” says England snippily, and doesn’t let up on the barstool. Whoever said the English were civil, gracious and polite? “I came here for some peace and quiet, for a change.”

“Yeah, well, I came to join the club.”

America had figured England had someplace to go when she’d pretended she’d not noticed the way France was deliberately ignoring her and swanned out of the NATO headquarters like she had better things to do. Without talking to any of her own people either. It usually meant England was taking herself directly to the nearest source of both dimness and decent alcohol so she could bitch-text whoever wasn’t at the latest conference with her about how much she hated everything.

A drink and getting away from everyone glaring daggers into his back or offering gentle ‘suggestions’ about his boss had sounded pretty great to America, so he’d followed her. There isn’t enough time allotted for lunch for England to get totally wasted (something the world and certainly America must be very grateful for), but some mild inebriation for the both of them would probably make the afternoon’s meetings a lot easier to get through.

America toes one of the barstool’s feet, letting the dull thud shake up through England’s heel. “We can’t be social pariahs together?”

England still looks suspicious. “Alone, together?”

“With alcohol,” says America, right as the bartender slides their drinks over to them. The guy might hate English, but he has pretty good timing, so America digs out one of what he thinks is one of the more high-value pieces of rainbow paper most of Europe calls money out of his wallet and tells him to keep the change.

England huffs at him, but she withdraws her heel so America can finally pull the barstool out to sit, distracting herself by fishing the maraschino cherry out of her Old-Fashioned to pop it between her lips. “I swear: if you try to talk shop with me right now, I’ll stab you somewhere unpleasant.”

“Didn’t know there was somewhere pleasant to stab a guy,” America comments as he finally takes a seat, holding up both hands in the universal gesture for whoa there when England grins a grin that looks entirely too mean for an elaboration to be anything America wants to hear about in public. “I’ll take your word for it; I don’t wanna know!”

“Where did your spirit of adventure disappear to?” England teases him, and finishes her first drink in one long swallow before reaching out to her new cocktail.

America picks up his own, gesturing in the vague but not explicit of England beside him as his fingers slide in the condensation on the glass, “There’s adventure, and there’s…”

“Where angels fear to tread?” America takes a swallow of his Old-Fashioned so he doesn’t have to answer, the bitters heavy on his tongue under the whiskey burn, and England snorts at him. Flicks back her hair again, but thankfully doesn’t reach out to pat his cheek. “It’s been a long time since you were a cherub, darling.”

America squints at her, because he might have to recalculate just how quickly England can get herself shitfaced when the mood strikes. (He really needs to clean his glasses.) “How many drinks have you had? ”

“Not enough,” sighs England, which is a feeling America can definitely empathise with. At least as long as England isn’t sliding sideways off her barstool. “I keep hoping the alcohol will drown out all their squabbling.”

“S’it working?”

“Like fuck is it.” England toasts him idly, takes a sip of her drink, and then grumbles, “And you don’t help.”

“Thanks,” says America with the same amount of cheer. Maybe he can drown himself in whiskey.

“I’ve my own shit to deal with without my people harping on about your shit,” England continues unnecessarily, because America, of course, could not have possibly heard any of this same spiel from any of the other Nations or their people gathered in Brussels that day already. “If your tit of a boss could just not do what he did in Canada and leave one thing unfucked for the rest of us, that’d be smashing.”

“That’s the plan,” America sighs - and then hurries on before England can harangue him further, “but what’s your strategy?”

The element of surprise works - for once - in his favour, and England is distracted. “Hm?”

“For winning over Europe,” America clarifies - and then pauses with his glass against his mouth, sweet cherry bobbing against his lower lip, realising something. “Is that why you’re wearing a new suit?”

He’d thought England’s skirt suit had been smart: it’s all crisp lines with a nipped waist, dark grey herringbone blazer against the stiff white collar of her blouse, but the straight skirt is definitely showing off a lot of her legs.

America has heard far too many people compliment England’s legs in front of him over the years, and he groans at the mental images. “It is, ain’t it?”

England has the decency to blush - or at least allow all the booze she’s imbibed so far to do it on her behalf. The colour bleeds down her throat, and America groans again into his Old-Fashioned, taking a large swig from his tumbler and tucking the cherry into his cheek. “I -”

“I don’t wanna know,” America gripes, and hopes the whiskey will burn his revelation out of his head. Europe.

Still pink, England coughs, and takes another sip from her own cocktail. For a few moments, they have quiet.

“...Probably for the best,” England admits quietly, eventually, and then shifts enough over on her stool so she can nudge her knee up against America’s. “Thanks for the drink.”

The 2018 NATO summit was held in Brussels, Belgium, July 11-12. It took place in the (new) NATO headquarters found there, in a complex in Haren (part of the City of Brussels municipality). I don’t know if there are any good bars nearby the complex, but you’d think there would be with all the demand there must be.

The 44th G7 summit was held in La Malbaie, Quebec, Canada, in June 2018 - obviously, before the NATO summit. It received a lot of attention internationally because of (as others have more tactfully put it) ‘a significant decline of relations of members with the United States’, and was dubbed G6+1 by France and parts of the media as a result. The US withdrew in what seemed like a huff from several important international agreements, and was widely condemned by international politicians, climate change scientists, trade policy experts, foreign policy experts… etc. The US President left the summit early in order to travel to Singapore for the USA’s first summit with North Korean leader Kim Jong-un, and was dubbed ‘the democratic world’s worst nightmare’ - all of which, of course, led to a rather fraught political atmosphere for all nations going to the NATO summit the following month.

...Do I really need to make a note about Brexit?

All the titles for this ‘verse come from poetry/literature created around the time the fic is set. This one is taken from a few lines from the poem Running, by Joy Harjo, which was published in July 2018 in The New Yorker: Now I have to find my way, when there’s a river to cross and no Boat to get me there, when there appears to be no home at all.

#s&pweek2019 #Shacha fic #usuk #nyotalia #fem!England #Arthur Kirkland #Alfred F. Jones #hetalia

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v01d-ch1ld · 5 years

Text

I am a Lion Born From Things You Cannot Be

I am a Lion Born from Things You Cannot Be

Name changes are based on whether or not people are in costume (with their mask on).

Breathe in and out slowly. That is the only thing Rebecca can do right now. She woke up tied hand and foot to a bed frame. The room is pitch and there are no windows. Nothing new, that’s how she was kept in that padded cell. She gave off the illusion of someone who was asleep, but she was actually thinking about how to get to her hair clip. It had a saw edge on it for this exact scenario.

She slowly moved her head to the side, making it look like she was trying to take some of the pressure off her neck and get comfier in her sleep, and once her fingertips were hidden by her hair she snapped the pin out of her hair. She let her head hang loosely from where she had suspended it and cracked open her left eye, which would have been hidden from any CCTV camera trained on her. Her hair hid the hand that was slowly sawing the ropes binding her hand to the wrought iron bed frame. When her hand was only bound by a few thin threads she stopped, making sure it looked like she was still tied. Then she readjusted her head and did the same with the other hairclip. Now that she only had a few strings holding her hands she could plot her escape.

Meanwhile, in the Batcave, there was a meeting of the minds and fists over what should be done about the girl upstairs who was still presumably unconscious. The conversation was too heated for anyone to be checking the security camera placed in there.

“I still say we take her to Arkham right now,” Bruce says in a no-nonsense tone.

“ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOT!” Jason roared back at his used to be father.

“Yeah no, there’s no fucking way that’s happening, Bruce.” Surprisingly, Tim chimes in glaring at Bruce over his cup of coffee.

“I won’t let you touch her, not after last time.” Nightwing in an icy tone, enunciating every syllable.

“I agree with Father,” Damian said nonchalantly. His brothers turned on him within seconds.

“You little fucking brat- “Jason was cut off by Nightwing who sounded loudly.

“YOU SOULLESS UNGRATEFUL LITTLE SHIT!” He paused and caught himself bowing his head and taking a breath, Dick looked at Damian with a look of intense sorrow. “After all she has done for you, for us all, you would abandon her for things that were outside of her control? She loved us and cared for us and made sure that we were taking care of ourselves even when she didn’t know the truth. She didn’t pry and she always looked after you and Timmy especially. She is the only reason this family even resembles a family in the first damn place.” Dick sat down and placed his head in his hands. Tim placed a hand on his back, Dick loved her like a sister. They all had.

“Look, all I am saying is that we are ill-equipped to help her as none of us have the necessary training to act as her therapist.” Damian hurriedly states, not wanting to seem his usual soulless self. “I wouldn’t abandon her. Who else would I prank you guys and play with Titus with?” The snark reminded Dick of who he was talking to. Damian did care he just had issues with showing it, but that didn’t mean that Dick couldn’t dish some back out.

“Jon. You already do all those things with Jon.” Dick said matter-of-factly. Damian sneered.

“Only because my usual partner was presumed dead.” Damian glared.

“The kid has one thing right, Dickie, I’m irreplaceable.” Everyone whipped around to the elevator leading down into the Batcave. Bruce cussed, how the hell had she managed to get into the Batcave? The boys looked on in shock as she flashed a smile and sat down on the table. “Don’t look so surprised, I was a med student. I’m nothing if not observant. I just didn’t think that the secret elevator led to the Batcave until recently. By the way, you have got to hide that better.”

Rebecca sprawled all five feet ten inches of herself across the table, laying down in a pose on her stomach that reminded them of Selina. Grinning a sickeningly wide grin she turned to the boys, rope still tied tight around her wrists, with jagged edges where she cut them from the bedposts. “Whatcha talking about?” she purrs.

“We have to do something with you, babe, you need some serious help.” Jason drawled.

“Don’t I know it. Do you have any idea how much my head hurts right now? Fighting another personality for control of your body is a living hell. Makes me pity Dr. Fate.” Selina has had a definite influence on her speech. Little do they know that she is mimicking her old voice.

“Really? You are fighting for control right now?” Tim says in awe. She was very strong, she always had been, but it only now registered how strong. She would make a freakishly strong Green Lantern.

“Yep. Hurts like a bitch lemme tell you. Honestly, I don’t know how long I have before she takes my body back. When that happens, you should Taser me.” She rolled on her back and smiled at Tim, her eyes glowing softly.

“NO! We are NOT hurting you!” Jason and Dick said at the same time.

“Guys, she wants me to jump on top of you,” pointing at Jason, “and fuck you while I dig my fingers into your eye sockets and play with your eyeballs. And she wants me to stab you,” pointing at Dick, “and play with your entrails while I lick the sweat off your skin.” She said with a tone of absolute boredom, while she dangled herself halfway off the table. She put herself into a handstand and proceeded to front flip and land in a split. She’s become less and less able to sit still lately. “Oh, and you don’t want to know what she wants me to do to you Brucie.” She stuck out her tongue.

“I shot you in the leg. You need to be careful. Don’t hurt yourself,” Jason growls from his chair.

“Please, I shot you in the everywhere else plus, if I’m not already healed by now, I would be surprised. Also, can’t feel pain anymore. My nerve endings are fucking fried, dude.” She sat up with alarming quickness. “Hey! Do you have any cigarettes?”

“Yeah, baby doll, come here.” Jason dug his hand into his jacket and grabbed his pack and his lighter. Rebecca trilled with joy and ran over to grab the outstretched cigarette and waited for Jason to give her the light. Once she had it, she took a deep drag and her shoulders immediately sagged in relief. She really needed that. Jason lit one for himself much to Dick and Bruce’s chagrin.

“You need help. You have to go to Arkham. I can call for the top professionals to try and rehabilitate you, but you can’t stay here, Jester.” Ouch. That one hurt.

“Really Brucie, not even gonna use my real name anymore? Guess I was right to say that you don’t care about me anymore. But guess what? You’re the reason I’m in this mess.” She stood up straight and began to stalk forward. “You’re the reason we are all in this mess. The reason Jason died. You know that, right? Because I was there that night.” Jester was in his face now, eyes glowing a hue that put shivers down Jason’s spine, smiling that sickening Joker smile.

“Rebecca, what are you talking about?” Damian said in a careful tone. He knew the slightest provocation and she would lose it.

“The night that my father turned into the Joker, I was there.” Bruce paled. Uh oh. “We were in dire straits. My mother was pregnant with my little brother and she was sick. The hospital bills were racking up. Dad had recently quit his job because he got an offer to be a comedian at a nightclub, supposedly guaranteed pay. Unfortunately, my dad wasn’t as funny as he thought he was. I was coming home from boarding school. I had gotten in on scholarship. My mom was hospitalized earlier that night and they were doing everything they could to save her. I went to the hospital immediately. We didn’t have the money to pay but that didn’t matter. They both died. I was devastated. So was father, but he didn’t find out until after. We still had bills to pay though and he was approached by two mafia men earlier that week. He went on the job that night. The deal was he help them break in, they split the money three ways and he was never the Red Hood again.” She paused, tears welling up in her eyes. She took a long drag from her cigarette and closed her eyes. She continued.

“You were on your first case, busting the Red Hood robberies. You came in after them there was a fight, you, having mistaken the masterminds as goons and my dad as a real criminal, ended up above the acid vats. You fought, he tried to defend himself. He fell and you could have saved him, but you let him fall. You got the goons but left me, the little girl who followed her father in there, knowing what was about to happen, trying to get to him to talk him out of it. I watched him fall and I cried for hours. I ran out of there back to our house. I cried until I passed out in my parents’ bed thinking I had lost my whole family in one night. But then there was banging at the door. A man. I panicked. I went to go get my mother’s gun from the closet, but my father had taken it to the robbery. I grabbed my old softball bat and waited for what was inevitably my death. The Joker busted in, laughing hysterically with my mother’s gun. I almost passed out. This was my father. I swung blindly, heard a crack that was the gun flying out of his broken hand and I bolted for the window. I got out and spent that night, and many afterward on the street.” The tears were falling down her face in a silent stream. Her face showing an indescribable amount of hurt. The same hurt they all knew personally.

“Jester, you know it was not my fault. Your father committed a crime.” Bruce said in his Batman voice. It didn’t work. It only set her off. She lunged at him, fag between her teeth, and before he could put his hands up to defend himself her hands were around his neck with crushing force and they were knocked to the floor.

“YoUfUCKiNgAsSHolE! YOU RUINED MY LIFE AND YOU SAY IT ISN’T YOUR FUCKING FAULT! YOU PIECE OF SHIT I SHOULD PUT YOU OUT OF YOUR MISERY, YOU SELFISH EVIL BASTARD!” Jester said while she banged his head into the floor over and over.

The boys immediately ran over to try and pull her off of their boss. Damian tried to get her fingers off of his father’s neck, but they were held fast like steel traps. The crushing force spoke of enhanced strength, one part of Bruce’s brain noted (explore the extent of this in order to detain her better in the future).

She then ripped the cigarette out of her teeth and held it over one of Bruce’s eyes, one arm and her legs enough to hold him to the floor. This prompted Dick to jump on top of her to try and wrestle her to the floor while Tim got one of his eskrima sticks and tried (and failed, he swore only Dick knew how to use the damn things no matter how hard he tried to learn) to turn on the Taser setting. Jason got in front of her face and began telling her to let go like she was a scared animal. That one, scarily enough, seemed to work and her grip relaxed. Once Jason was able to get her to calm down and took back (and subsequently finished) the cigarette, Bruce’s neck was dark purple, and he was spluttering for air. Served him right, he thought.

“Baby girl, come on you know that if you keep doing that, we’re gonna have to tie you up again.” His own slightly glowing Lazarus pit green eyes were peering into her for the parts that were still sane. She responded to him in kind with her brighter ones looking into his for permission to finish what she started. She tilts her head to the side like she was appraising him and in the next second, she is kissing him furiously.

Dick jumps thinking she had decided to bite him but then Jason groans and holds her to him tighter. I suppose this had been long coming, but to happen so suddenly. Then he remembered things about the Joker and how he always seemed horny after violence, seems the apple didn’t fall far from the deranged tree. Abruptly she stopped and Jason is left panting while they all look in in either shock or disgust. She then settles into his lap looking at them like the cat that ate the canary. Then Dick knew that she did it for two reasons. One, she wanted to and two, to piss Bruce off.

Bruce growled when he was finally done recovering, from the strangulation or the shock of what just happened no one knew. Storming over to where the current thorn in his side was gleefully waiting, he picked her up out of Jason’s lap despite him yelling and threw her over his shoulder and walked to the Batmobile with his sons on his tail. Dumping her in the passenger seat while she was still kicking and screaming, he jumped in and sped off.

Jason cursed. This is going to be a long night.

A/N: Holy shit this took forever but hey angst works right. @nxttime @dcdweeb @batfam-imagines @dcuniversefanatic

#damian wayne #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #jason x oc #tim drake #robin #red robin #nightwing #red hood #batman #joker #selina kyle #catwoman #oc #angst #batfam

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gaytaztrash · 6 years

Text

Bedtime

A fic based on this post: http://theoppositeofprofound.tumblr.com/post/164769171479/a-concept-lup-being-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night

The moon base had fallen silent hours ago. Every able member of the Bureau had set to work repairing the damage done on the Day of Story and Song, and they’d gotten a lot done, but even three days later, the world was still reeling and exhausted from the shock. Work stopped about the time the sun went down, and everyone was asleep not long after.

Except Lup.

Barry and Taako had put the letter she’d sealed with a kiss over a decade ago now into the pod in the back room of the Fantasy Costco, and from the lingering DNA on the seal a fresh new Lup-body had begun to grow, but it wasn’t nearly inhabitable yet. This spectral form couldn’t meditate the way elves were supposed to. She had discovered that in the cycles after she and Barry had become liches. It hadn’t been pleasant during their journey, and it wasn’t pleasant now. For a little while, the quiet and solitude was peaceful, but after the first few hours of the first night it was boring; there was only so long she could feel content watching Barry snore peacefully or Lucretia toss and turn, and she wanted to give Taako and his spooky boyfriend some privacy. She and Barry were still on shaky ground with this world’s Raven Queen, and she wasn’t going to fuck up their chances of getting off easy by interrupting Kravitz’s private sappy time with her brother. No matter how bad she wanted to get back at Taako for doing the same to her and Barry or to her and Lucretia. They would have to strike a deal before she could ruin his good time.

So instead, she drifted across the Bureau of Balance campus, looking at the repairs that had been finished and what was still left to do, marveling at how much of Lucretia’s personality was reflected in its construction – the grassy quad covered in graceful trees, exactly the sort of place where she had always loved to sit while she watched and wrote in her notebooks; the glass domes, a style of architecture that she had fallen in love with during their…seventy-first? Seventy-second cycle? It was the seventy-second, right. That had been a peaceful one. They had found the Light in a matter of days and spent the rest sightseeing, and Lucretia had asked Lup along to tour one of the biggest cities in that plane. The downtown area had been filled with domes just like these, rising and falling all around and catching the light from the plane’s two suns, reflecting it off in prisms in every direction. She’d filled a whole notebook with sketches of them and conjectures about their construction. Lup could see it as if it were yesterday: Lucretia’s eyes bright as they flickered from the domes back to her notebook, curls falling into her face until Lup pinned them back with one of the dozen or so hairclips she’d learned to bring with her whenever she went out sightseeing with her. She’d been so vibrant, so full of energy, so young. Now she was the Director, and tired, and it would take time before she finally warmed up again. She’d cut her hair so short. She had always said it would be too difficult to deal with long if she hadn’t had the others’ help. But she had whispered to Lup yesterday that she thought she might start to grow it out again now.

It was hard to believe after so long that things were finally right. Lup hoped that if she looked around the campus, silent and peaceful, for long enough, she might finally come to believe it.

There was a light on inside one of the domes.

Lup frowned. It was three a.m. What reasonable living person on the base was up? Gods, she hoped it wasn’t Lucretia again. The woman needed her rest. She drifted closer.

A sign above the door into the dome proclaimed it to be the Bureau of Balance library. The light was coming from deep inside; probably a reading nook. Maybe someone had fallen asleep reading in there? It was probably that nerdlord with the beard. She could wake him up and scare him a bit. That would break the monotony just fine. She drifted inside.

The library oozed Lucretia’s personality, too; the shelves were high and the aisles narrow, muffling sound so that it felt as if it were only her and the books in the world. The shelves opened into little nooks crammed with squashy armchairs and little tables where you could pile your books or set your favorite reading drink (on a coaster, naturally, and away from the books please). It took Lup several wrong turns to track the source of the light to a nook right in the center of the library, and for a moment, she didn’t see anyone there; only piles of books ranging from technical tomes on spellcasting and runes to what looked to be a young adult mystery series. Then she noticed the puff of curly black hair sticking up above the pile. Not the nerdlord; the nerdbaby. It was Angus McDonald. He was awake.

“What the hell are you still doing up, little man?” Lup asked.

Angus jumped and looked up from his book. His eyes were puffy and there were dark circles in the skin underneath them that his glasses didn’t quite cover. It wasn’t a good look for a kid. “Oh,” he said. “Sorry, miss – Miss Lup, I’m sorry, I didn’t think that anyone else was awake and I just couldn’t sleep so I thought –”

“You’re fine, kiddo,” Lup said. “Knock off that ‘Miss Lup’ garbage, though. We fought in a battle together, I think we’re there. Do you know what time it is?”

“Three ten,” Angus said.

“That’s right,” Lup said. “And you’re ten, and I’m going to bet that’s way past your bedtime. I know you’re the closest there is to a responsible adult on this base, but somebody ought to have put you to bed about six hours ago.”

“I tried, Miss, but I couldn’t sleep,” Angus said. “I thought this was a good place to not bother anybody.”

Lup couldn’t exactly sit, incorporeal as she was, but she drifted down into the armchair next to Angus’s and rested there. “You’re too polite for your own good, little man,” she told him. “You’re a smart kid – haven’t you figured out by now how many people on this base care about you?”

Angus looked down. “I…I just don’t want to bother anyone,” he said. “Everyone’s so tired from Story and Song and working to repair the base. The only person who might be up is the Direc… Miss Lucretia, and she needs to sleep, too.”

“You need it as much as she does,” Lup said. She rose. “Come on, Ango, we’re bringing you back to your room and I’ll tuck you in. I’d tell you a bedtime story, but I think Fisher and Junior already told you most of my best ones.” She waved a hand and a bookmark flew in to mark Angus’s spot before the book snapped shut.

“I’m ten years old, I don’t need to be tucked in,” Angus said. He grabbed for the book as Lup moved it back onto the pile, but he missed. “I’m not going to sleep. Please give that back.”

“You’re stubborn. I see why Taako likes you. Nope,” she said, and magicked the whole pile out of reach when Angus grabbed for it again. “You need sleep, kiddo! I’m making it my duty to not leave you alone until you get it.”

“I’m not going to sleep, Miss Lup.”

“And why the fuck not?”

“I just can’t!”

Lup folded her arms. “Well, I’ve got no choice then, have I?” she asked, and cast Sleep.

A soft breeze spun around the armchair that Angus was in. The kid’s eyelids drooped, and he swayed in his seat for a moment; then the breeze faded, Angus blinked, and he frowned at Lup. “Did you just try to magic me to sleep, Miss?”

“…Mayyyyybe,” Lup said. Internally, she swore. Son of a bitch. I thought that would work.

Angus folded his arms. “I appreciate your concern, Miss Lup, but we fought a battle together, I think we’re there.”

Lup stared at him for a moment. Then she broke down laughing. “I like you a lot, little man,” she said. “But you’ve met your stubborn match.” Then she flung the hem of her robe around and vanished from the library.

She reappeared out in the middle of the grassy quad and started to pace. Who would be her best bet in helping to get the kid to bed? Magnus, Merle, and Taako had met him first. Magnus loved him unreservedly, but he could barely be trusted to be responsible for himself. Merle was also untrustworthy; he’d told her about his own children and Lup had had to work not to laugh at the idea. Merle fuckin’ Highchurch, a father of two? And moreover, he refused to admit he liked the kid, although after a hundred years with him Lup knew enough to be able to tell that he really did. Taako liked him, too, but he was more likely to keep him up encouraging him to use his newly-learned magic to play inconvenient and mildly illegal pranks on everyone in the Bureau than to get him to go to bed. Lucretia adored him, but Angus was right: she needed sleep just as much as he did. Lup was sure she hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in at least ten years. Barry had only known him a few days. Davenport him had known him as long as Lucretia, but he’d spent most of that time as a shadow of himself. The closest interaction they had had was silently playing chess one day, according to what Davenport had told her. He’d expressed affection for him, but he didn’t know the kid. That, and he was either currently asleep curled around Merle or awake, and if he was awake, Lup didn’t want to think about what was going on in Merle’s chambers.

Magnus. Magnus was the best bet. She sighed, squared her shoulders, and headed for the elevator that led down to the boys’ chambers.

It was dark in there, except for the faint light of the world below coming through the window in the floor. Plants lined every flat surface in the apartment that wasn’t covered in half-finished and completed woodcarvings; faint, long-ingrained smells of meals past emanated from the kitchen. Lup felt a wave of nostalgia hit her. Add several dozen books, scattered pens and notebooks, a few pairs of spare glasses, and instruments and novelties picked up from a hundred worlds, and it was the Starblaster in miniature. They’d forgotten everything, but they hadn’t changed. As soon as they’d come together again, they’d fallen into their old routines without even realizing.

The bedrooms were alcoves on the left side of the room, blocked off from the rest by hanging curtains. Lup made for the one made from wood beads. She brushed through it without rustling the strings – there were benefits to being incorporeal.

A large lump, covered by blankets despite the relative warmth of the night, marked Magnus in the bed. Muffled snoring came from below the pile. It shifted slightly as Lup whispered, “Magnus. Mags. Wake up.”

Magnus muttered something incoherent. Lup repeated his name, a bit louder this time. “I need your help, Maggie.”

The lump shifted again. After Lup called him a few more times, he finally sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Wassup Lulu?” he mumbled. “It’s the middleufthenight. I was sleepin’.”

“I know, and I’m sorry about that,” Lup said. “I need you to give me a hand with something.”

“What d’you need?” he asked.

“Your boy detective,” she said. “He’s in the library and he won’t go to sleep.”

Magnus hid a yawn behind a hand. “You’ve got magic,” he said.

“Little shit resisted. Have I told you how much I love the kid?”

“Uh-huh. ‘Kay, I’ll go with. Lemme find pants.”

Lup sighed. “I was hoping you’d grow out of sleeping nude,” she said. “Do you know how many times I wanted to scrub my eyes out with bleach on the Starblaster?”

Magnus grinned and flipped her off as he got up. Lup turned determinedly away. She heard Magnus rustling around on the floor. “You of all people oughtta get it,” he said. “How much time did you spend without a shirt on after that fantasy HRT kicked in? Same deal.”

“Not the same deal. Boobs and penis are not in the same category of body parts.”

“Whatever.” There was a bit more rustling. Lup kept her eyes averted until she heard a noise that definitely did not come from Magnus. Then she turned. There was still a lump, albeit much smaller, under the blankets, and it was moving.

“Hey Maggie.”

“Huh?”

Lup folded her arms. “Who were you sleeping naked with in your bed?”

“Uh.” Magnus had stopped with his pants halfway zipped. “Tits.”

Lup grinned. She couldn’t see colors in the dark, but she knew Magnus was starting to blush bright red. “You wanna tell me who you’re fucking, my dude?”

As Magnus scrambled for words, the lump moved again, and a head popped out of the mass of blankets. The face was almost covered with a mass of long bedhead curls, but Lup made out a short, curly beard and a pair of squinting, bleary eyes. “Mags?” the person asked in a voice that sounded as if they had a bad head cold. “Wuzgoinon?”

Lup clapped a hand to her mouth, but since they were both spectral, it didn’t do anything to hide her shout of laughter.

“You’re fucking the nerdlord???”

“Great, I’m glad the whole base knows now,” Magnus muttered, flushing deeper and deeper by the second. “Lucas, go back to sleep, apparently Angus won’t go to bed and I’m going to help.”

There were sounds of stirring in the other boys’ bedrooms. Magnus sighed. “Fuck you,” he told Lup.

“Why is he still awake?” Lucas asked blearily. “Do you need a hand, what’s up?” He reached for the bedside table and fumbled for a few seconds before he found his glasses and shoved them back onto his face. Lup had doubled over. She shouldn’t laugh, she shouldn’t laugh, she shouldn’t laugh –

Four heads poked through the curtain, one above the other, and Lup lost it. “What the hell is going on in here?” Merle asked. “It’s fucking three in the morning! Some of us are trying to sleep.”

“What in the world is he doing here?” Taako asked, looking at Lucas.

“Would you all please shut up,” Davenport said. “Lup! What’s happening?”

Lup tried to push down her laughter. “I – I was around the base because I can’t sleep like this and I found –” She stopped for a second and held back another peal of laughter – “I found Angus awake in the library and wanted Magnus’s help convincing him to go to bed, and when I came to get him I found – I found –” She burst out laughing again, pointing at Lucas.

Magnus finished zipping up his pants. “I’m fucking coming, let’s just get Ango to bed and then forget about this,” he said.

“No, no, no,” Taako said, “we are not forgetting about this. Since when have you and Lucy there been uhhhhh, doin’ it, huh?”

“Please don’t call me Lucy,” Lucas said.

“Please just go back to sleep, you guys,” Magnus said. “This isn’t a big deal.”

“I would disagree,” Kravitz said.

“Can I please just go make the little kid who is up at three in the morning go to bed?” Magnus asked. He picked another pair of pants up off the floor and threw them at Lucas, who didn’t raise his hands in time and caught them with his face. Lup started howling with laughter again. Taako joined her. Davenport had dropped his head into his hands. Lucas pulled the pants under his pile of blankets and started to put them on.

“Well, we’re all up, we might as well make it a group mission at this point,” Merle said. “You wanna go muscle the kid to sleep, Dav?”

“I guess,” Davenport said through his hands. “Let’s make this quick. I don’t want to think about what I just saw here.”

When Lup led her army of pseudo-parents into the library, she heard faint voices coming from the middle nook where Angus had holed up with his pile of books. She frowned and looked at the others. Most of them shrugged. Davenport cocked his head to listen and then said, “I think that’s Barry and Lucretia.”

Lup sighed. “My useless insomniac partners,” she muttered. “All right, that’s just a couple more we have to put to bed.” She marched through the shelves and stopped in the middle of the nook, looking around at Angus, Barry, and Lucretia.

“Why the fuck are you people all still awake.”

“Dear, please don’t swear in front of Angus,” Lucretia said.

“I work with adults, Miss Lucretia, I’m used to it,” Angus said.

Barry looked around. “So babe,” he said, “not that I mind, but why are all of you here?”

“Well, I was planning to just have Maggie pick the kid up and make him go to bed, but I ended up with a whole lot more backup,” Lup said. “Which is good, because apparently I have to force the two of you to go to sleep, too. What is going on?”

“Miss Lucretia and Mr. Barry couldn’t sleep either and came here,” Angus said. “Why is Mr. Lucas here?”

“You know, that is a good question,” Taako said. “Magnus, why is Mr. Lucas here?”

“Shut the hell up, Taako.”

“Watch your fucking language, Magnus,” Merle said.

“Come on,” Lup said. “Time for bed, all three of you. Get up.”

“Lup, dear, I’m perfectly capable of deciding for myself when I’ll go to bed –”

“Lucretia, you look like you haven’t slept since we got to this plane. Magnus, do your thing.”

Magnus picked Angus up out of his chair and slung him over his shoulder fireman-style. Lup caught Taako’s eye and winked; then she snapped and cast Levitation on Lucretia. Taako followed suit and cast on Barry. They both rose from their chairs with cries of protest.

“Come on!” Lup ordered. “We’re all going the fuck to bed!”

She turned and marched with the others out of the library and back towards the elevator.

On the way there, she positioned herself between Kravitz and Lucas, who were helping to push Barry’s and Lucretia’s floating forms along. “Did the kid tell you why he couldn’t sleep?” she asked them.

Lucretia sighed. “He’s had a difficult few days,” she said. “He couldn’t stand being alone in the dark.”

“Lucretia and I were hoping to at least help him fall asleep in the library if he couldn’t fall asleep on his own in his room,” Barry said, “but apparently you had other plans.”

Lup grinned. “I’ve always got a plan of my own, babe, that’s a guarantee,” she said.

Back in the chambers, they collected blankets and pillows from the boys’ rooms and the cushions from the couch and chair and made a sort of nest over the window in the floor. “Nobody is sleeping alone tonight,” Lup declared.

With nine people curled up, the floor was crowded, but it looked incredibly cozy, Lup thought as the lights went out and the others began to fall asleep. She drifted down to occupy a clear space of floor a little bit away. She watched them and smiled.

The nest came again, night after night, and months later, when her body re-formed, she finally joined them. She closed her eyes happily, nestled between Barry and Lucretia, listening to the soft rise and fall of their breath and feeling their warmth against her. It had taken so long to find her family. None of them would ever let go again.

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queenforanight · 7 years

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Jessica Over The Years

This blog is coming up to 8 years old in February (I think?) next year. It’s not exactly a significant milestone and I only spent about 4 years actually working hard on my pictures and content, but I wanted to take a quick look back at Jessica during the past 8+ years.

As I’m sure some of you are aware, I started crossdressing long before I started the blog (another 8 years extra I think), however I didn’t start doing makeup or using wigs until shortly before the blog went live. I guess you could say I had a bit of experience, but mostly I was still a newbie to all things feminine.

2010: In The Beginning

Did I really wear that dress with those boots? AND RIPPED TIGHTS?! Eurgh...

Meet Jessica long before she even knew she was Jessica. This picture was taken a few months before I started the blog and long before I developed any kind of fashion sense or skill with makeup. I don’t think I even bothered putting foundation on...

I guess this is how a lot of us start out though. We’ll throw on a dress (that was borrowed), some feminine shoes (also borrowed), maybe some jewellery (definitely borrowed), try our hand at makeup (guess what? Borrowed) and finish it all of with a wig (NOT BORROWED! It’s actually my natural hair at the time). Some of us might get lucky and look good first time...

Or you could be like me where you look a total mess and don’t realise it until you look back 8 years on.

So what’s so important about this picture? It’s something I always look back on to remind myself of how far I’ve come.

To this day I’m still riddled with doubt and voices telling me “you’re shit at this” that I can do better. I can definitely do better, but it’s good to know that I’ve improved over the last 8 years. I’ve also put on a bit of weight but OH WELL.

2010-2012: Finding My Balance (in heels)

Who needs a dodgy wig when you’re own hair looks shit enough as it is?

Yep, still no wig. I always convinced myself that my hair was long enough to not need one (ignore the fact that it took several hours and a the heat of a volcano to get straight....), but eventually I decided that I was never going to look feminine with my own hair. Not because it doesn’t actually look feminine, but because I’m so used to seeing my hair like that anyway.

At least here I can say that everything I’m wearing in this picture is 100% mine (maybe not the hairclips...). I still wouldn’t say this is the height of fashion (please don’t look at the heels, I was poor and needed something pretty), but it’s good to see that within just a year or so I had already developed some kind of fashion conscience.

This was also when I started becoming more confident about people knowing about Jess (she still wasn’t called Jess though...). I had already told my housemates, my partner, and a few others, but I was getting more comfortable about telling complete strangers or close friends who had no real reason to know.

2012 - 2014: Gurl You Dead Or Something?

I joke, but in reality Jess was nearly dead...

This was a really hard time for me for so many reasons. I finished university in 2012 and moved back home to my parents. Pretty much everyone who knew about Jess lived nowhere near me and I no longer had the freedom to dress up whenever I wanted.

All my dresses and makeup were thrown into a box and hidden away; I rarely updated the blog because I had no new content, and for a long time I wondered whether or not I would ever see Jess again.

And that’s when Moon came along.

I actually met Moon in 2009. She was on the same course as me at uni and she was also my housemates girlfriend, and she also knew about my crossdressing hobby. After uni we still kept in touch, however after her and my previous housemate split up we drifted apart a bit.

I don’t remember whether I messaged her or vice versa, but we decided to have another dress up night. Something where we could reconnect, dress up like old times and just be bitches in general.

This is also why it’s so important to have a gal pal when it comes to dressing up. If Moon hadn’t re-entered my life, I honestly don’t know whether Jess would still be a thing. Moon not only gave me the confidence to keep the blog going, but she was also a constant source of inspiration and made me want to improve my makeup and fashion skills further and further.

This part does have a happy ending too. After just one night of dresses, wine, and the usual stupid shit we always ended up doing (there’s a video of me somewhere wearing an Alice in Wonderland outfit while singing ‘I’m a Little Teapot’. It will never reach the light of day...), we reconnected and have been great friends to this day. In two years time, I’m happy to say she’s going to be a Groom’s Maid at my wedding!

2015: Jess Is Finally Jess!

I gained a sense in fashion as well as a few stone in weight. AND MY HAIR STILL LOOKS SHIT!

Fast forward one year and I finally decide to give myself a name! I wanted to pick a name that I liked, but also wasn’t shared by any of my close friends. Eventually I narrowed my choices down to Jessica and Blaise, and decided to go with both!

It felt like a really insignificant detail at the time, but by giving myself a name I had actually committed to treating to crossdressing as more than just a hobby, it was a lifestyle.

By the end of this year I had reached over 1,000 followers on the blog, created an Instagram account and had come out to all my friends. Considering the year before I was thinking about packing it all in, this felt like a huge step.

This was also when I started to come into my own. After 5 years of trying so many different dresses and outfits, I had finally found a style that I enjoyed and could work with. All I needed now was time to practice and a bit of money to actually buy the clothes/wigs I wanted (the wig I’m wearing in that picture was binned after that night... I don’t think I need to explain why).

2016: Time To Make It Big

NEW WIG! NICE HAIR! FINALLY! Only took me 6 bloody years.

2016 was an extremely strange year for me. I think I had about 3 different jobs within the year, brought a house with my (now) fiance, and had my close friends asking about Jess. All this meant that I didn’t have too much time to spend on being Jess, but at least the option was still there for me.

However, there were 2 odd things that stood out more than anything else to me.

First of all, I somehow hit 10,000 followers at the end of the year. The year before I was gobsmacked when I hit 1,000, and I genuinely thought it would take another few years before I even reaching 2K.

Reaching 10,000 followers made it feel like everything was worth working on, regardless of how much effort I had to put into it. It also felt like I had stopped being a learner and started being a teacher of crossdressing. I found myself asking less questions from others while answering more to people who were just like me 6 years prior.

The second weird thing was making a deal with JustFab. I already used their services for clothes and heels, however one day after tagging them in a post I was approached with a minor advertising deal.

I doubt I can legally go into what the deal was, and to be honest it wasn’t as good as it sounds, but it was such a shock to realise that I was being asked by large brands to help advertise their wares into a new market. I would never consider myself a model, but if I’ve ever felt like one, it was during that moment.

2017: Jess Goes Public

OK this specific picture was taken in my back garden, but you get the idea...

My friends had known about Jess for just over a year at this point; most of them had met her at private parties and a common questions I was asked was ‘Are we going to see Jess soon?’ I was finally in a position where I could be Jess freely without worrying about restrictions on privacy or judgement.

I could have just left it at that and stayed in my comfort zone, but I didn’t come this far by playing it safe and I wasn’t going to stop there. I decided that Jess needed to experience the world outside of her house.

The first experience was Kinky Boots, and later on in the year DragWorld UK. I’ve already written about both these experiences (and you’ve already probably read them) so I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice it to say that Jessica was met with great reception and I now wonder why I hadn’t done it sooner.

I’ve spoken to hundreds of people while out as Jess, and so far I’ve still only met one who disagreed with what I was doing. I even bumped into people who follow my blog and recognised me! Goes to show that you don’t know you’re famous(ish) until you know you’re famous(ish).

On top of that, a long term project that I had always dreamed about finally became a reality: Gender Mag.

The magazine is still running after 3 months, which I’m taking as a good sign. It doesn’t have any near as many subscribers as I was hoping for, but we’re stable for the time being. Hopefully with a bit more hard-work, some more placement advertising, and a better platform to work off of, it might become the success I dreamed it would be for the past few years.

You Can Shut Up Now Jess

I know I know, I have a habit of making extremely long posts detailing every little thing, but I only do it to show the changes and improvements you wouldn’t normally see. A picture tells 1,000 words but 1,000 words tells a story.

I won’t go into the usual ‘why this is so important here are some bullet points blah blah blah’; you’re all smart enough to figure it out for yourselves (I’ve not exactly been subtle about it anyway...).

However, I will say one thing. I get a lot of messages from gurls saying that regardless of how much they work on their makeup they still think they look the same.

When scrolling through this post did you notice a difference in skill from one picture to the next? Probably not. But if you look at just the first picture from 2010 and the most recent from 2017, you’ll notice a huge difference (I’m gonna put this below so you don’t have go all the way back to the top).

This kind of work doesn’t happen over night. Some people might be able to manage it months but I’ve found that it usually takes years, and even after those years you’ll always find something you could improve on. You may not notice it because the differences are so gradual, but if you looked back 8 years into the past, you’re bound to see a big change.

I’m actually going to shut up now...

- Jessica Blaise x x

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likepuppetsonastring · 7 years

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Visitor Pt. 3

A/N: I’m having fun with this story, more fun than I originally thought I would have, and a couple of you still seem to like it ( @alix-the-skeleton I’m looking at you, pal. ;) ). So I wrote another bit! Enjoy! Part 1 and Part 2.

The air was cold, tonight, and filled with gentle music from the party still going on inside. William laughed as Celine pulled him along by the sleeves of his uncharacteristically dapper suit, running with him in tow to the edge of the balcony and only letting him go so that she could jump gracefully to sit on the stone railings. She looked beautiful, a bright red ballgown that hugged her in all the right places and flowed, light as a butterfly's wings, away from her at the hips, her short hair swept neatly underneath a scarlet hairclip. She kicked off her heels and swung her feet, patting the railing beside her. "Really, now, Cel, you want me to try that in this getup? I'll rip something in this bloody monkey suit." "Oh, live a little, Wil," she laughed as he hopped up anyway. "You're reckless any other time, why care about some cloth now?" "Well, it's a loan, first of all, if Mark knew I was running about in his suit-" "Oh please, as if he doesn't run around in it enough." He laughed, shaking his head. They went quiet for a moment, listening to the music swell inside, and Wil watched the smile slide off of her face. "It's hard to believe you're leaving tomorrow. How long will you be gone?" "Well," he sighed, taking her hand and staring up at the stars. They were so bright tonight. "It's only basic training, so only a few weeks." A few too many weeks, anyway. "I'll be home again before you know it." He chanced a glace. "And you've got Dames and Mark to keep you company." "Yes..." She bobbed along to the start of the new song, smoothing her dress with one hand. "Wil?" "Yes?" "What do you think is out there?" "Out there? As in, in space?" "Yes." He studied the sky for a moment. "Well...stars and planets and all that, of course...some ice, so Mark tells me..." "Other life?" "You're asking if I believe in aliens?" He chuckled, and she swatted him playfully. "Don't make it sound silly. It's totally plausible." He rubbed his arm, feigning offence, but she brushed him off. "But, no, that's not what I was asking. I was thinking more...I don't know. Spirits, or...or powers, or something." "So...God?" "Maybe not capital-G God. But yes, something along that line." William took a long time to answer, getting back to his feet as he finally spoke. "I...don't know, honestly. But I like to think that perhaps there's more to this universe than we know." Celine smiled, and stood as well. As the music swelled again, she suddenly took his hands, putting one around her waist, pulling him to her as she started to dance. He gaped at her for a second before settling into it as she rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm really going to miss you, Wil." He pulled her a little closer. "I'm...I'm going to miss you too, Celine. So much." If Wil could've frozen a moment in time, he would have lived right there, with her in his arms, dancing under the stars, forever.

"I think I'm going to ask her to marry me." William was slow to respond. "You're...you mean...Celine?" "Yes, of course I do," Mark laughed, "who else?" He leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head as he looked over at Damien. "What do you think, Dames? Have I got your approval?" Damien smiled brightly. "Mark...of course you have my blessing. God, of course you do." He stood and embraced him, clapping him on the back as both men laughed. Wil smiled tightly as Mark turned back to him. "C'mon then, gents, let's celebrate." "She hasn't even said yes yet," Wil said quietly, but followed the other two to the bar, which Mark leapt over, grabbing three tumblers and a bottle of Fireball and setting them down on the bar. That made him smile a bit as he slapped Damien's back. "Think you can handle a shot or two of this, this time?" "Of course I can, don't be ridiculous," Damien muttered, smiling slightly as Mark laughed loudly, pouring them each a generous shot. They each grabbed a glass and raised it. "To a yes," Mark said. "To a new brother in law," Damien added. "To...us," Wil said, and the other two grinned at him, Mark nodding and throwing an arm around his would-be brother, agreeing, "to us." They downed their shots and immediately started giggling as Damien choked.

"Wil?" "Go away." "Wil, please, talk to me." "No." "William, be sensible. You can't lock yourself away forever." He shoved the door open roughly, swaying slightly as he glared through his blackened eye at a disheveled Damien, cane twisting in his hands. He huffed and turned away, stumbling back to the quickly emptying liquor cabinet in the corner of his hotel room. "And what do you want?" "To talk to you, to work things out! Dammit, man, you left so quickly-" "OF COURSE I DID!" he roared, and Damien flinched. "THAT BASTARD WAS TRYING TO KILL ME! HE WOULD HAVE, IF HE'D BEEN GIVEN THE CHANCE!" "You slept with his wife! My sister!" Damien yelled desperately, and Wil grabbed him by the lapels. "You've seen what he's become! What a selfish, pompous son of a bitch he is now! He's not the man she married! He's not the same Mark that I grew up with! And she loves me, Dames, she loves me! Not him!" "Then let her get-!" "Get what, Dames, a divorce? Make her wait, and wait, trapped with him in that godforsaken house-?" "BETTER THAN RUINING HER LIFE!" Crack. Wil stumbled back with a grunt, clutching his face as Damien stared at him, wide eyed. "Wil...Wil, no, I didn't mean..." "What the bloody hell was that for?" He ran forward, grabbing Damien's lapel again with one hand, raising the other as if to hit him. "What the actual hell, Damien?" "I-It was an accident, Wil, I didn't mean to hurt you-" "Get. Out." Wil shoved Damien into the door with a dull thud. Damien looked as if he wanted to say more, but decided against it. He sighed heavily, resignedly, and pulled it open, stepping out. "I don't blame you Wil. And...and I'm sorry." "Go!" A bottle smashed against the closing door, and Wil finally broke down, sobbing silently as he curled up on the floor of the vacant, anonymous hotel room, far away from home.

Wilford gasped, bolting upright. He'd fallen asleep at his desk, apparently, which wasn't exactly a rare occurrence. He breathed heavily for a moment, shoving aside some empty bottles as he tried to remember where he was, who he was, what he was doing. The usual checklist. His dreams, tonight, they'd felt so...real. So vivid. He tried desperately to remember what they were about, but...no. They were already gone. Still, he was shaken. All he could recall was the name Damien. Damien. That name again, the one he'd called Dark. Who was Damien, to him? Had he ever even known a Damien? He couldn't recall one. All the name brought to his mind was a vague sadness, a vague nostalgia. As if he should know who is was, but didn't. He shook his head, standing and grunting as he stretched, old bones clicking. How old was he, he wondered? He wasn't sure anymore. Frowning, he tried to think of a time when he had known his age, or even his birthday. Further from that...where had he come from? He was sure he'd been born somewhere, he'd had a family, but, much to his mounting alarm, he found he couldn't remember them at all. He started to panic. Wilford Warfstache, he was Wilford Warfstache, world famous ace reporter, right? Wasn't that right? That's what everyone called him, that's how the others here knew him. So of course, he came from the Warfstache family, didn't he? But the more he said it in his head, the worse it sounded, the more...fake. Who had the last name of Warfstache, honestly? And even his first name, his perfectly normal first name, Wilford, the one he'd known for so long, felt...wrong, now. Felt rushed. The more he thought, the more it sounded like two different words. Wilford. Wil Ford. He jumped sharply as someone knocked loudly on his door. "Wilford? Hey, Wilford, dude, you up yet?" "Jesus, Bing, let a man have his beauty sleep!" Wil snapped angrily. "Go away! Tell the studio we're on hiatus!" There was a pause. "...seriously? Hiatus? Like, since when do you ever wanna go on-?" "GO!" Wil shouted, and he heard scuffling as Bing stumbled down the hall, probably wearing his Heeleys and tripping over them. On any other day, that would've made him laugh. Today, he scowled at his desk and pulled a flask out from under it, spinning the cap off in a smooth, practiced motion, but he paused before taking a sip. If he drank...would he forget again? Forget more than he already had? Why hadn't it occured to him sooner that he couldn't remember...anything? Wil put the flask back down, without taking a sip, and instead pulled out a legal pad and a pencil, beginning to write furiously.

#markiplier #wilford warfstache #william the colonel #damien the mayor #darkiplier

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bakukirikami · 7 years

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long hair kami

kaminari bitch ass long hair denki

super long pretty honey coloured hair To Die For BUT with streaks of black running through it

he’s still got his fucking lightning bolt highlight tho :’)))

tbh it kinda just looks like midnights hair

he ties it up a lot bc it always gets in the way

ponytail kami is a Blessing

kiri rlly loves his hair ok

SO SO SO MUCH

bakugou gets pisses off bc it gets in the way when they're cuddling

kiris happy bc he finally has LONG HAIR TO BRAID

kiri braids kamis hair into lots of tiny braids w/ the tiny elastic bands

kami keeps the braids in for a couple days

He keeps them into a ponytail when he has the braids in so they dont whack ppl in the face all the time

he takes them out on the weekend when they’re all chilling in bakugou’s room and kiri’s like,,,,,,

“Woah……………. babe your hair is so pretty”

it has all these tiny kinks in it and its so curly and wavy and soft

kiri is MINDBLOWN

AND BOUNCY

honestly kiri could play w/ kamis hair all day and just be satisfied

baku gets jealous bc kiris not playing with his hair : (

but ?? then bakugou Realises

“Fuck look at how fukcing pretty kaminari is. look at his fucking hair"

and he starts playing w/ it too

honestly kami is having the best time bc he always got shit for having long hair and now he's got these two boyfriends that fucking love him AND his hair and he's just so so so happy

kiri and baku are having a rlly fucking good time bc

KAMI'S HAIR

kami is so fucking happy and he just inflicts his happiness on both of them

even bakugou

kiri: i once saw a boy so beautiful i started crying

since kaminari doesn’t rely on physical strength to fight he can have long hair without it getting it in the way

The rest of 1a like to play “how much of kaminari’s hair can we get to stand up”

Todoroki holds the record

jirou’s super jealous bc her having long hair would be super inconvenient bc of how it could get in the way of her ears when it’s super important

Izuku’s a mess bc his hair’s a mess and kami’s hair is mf #goals

uraraka see bakugou and kirishima playing with it one day and joins in

she didnt rlly have dolls or many other toys when she was little bc of how little money she had so she’s super happy when she sees that kami likes his hair being played with

kami Dies bc her hands are super soft and jsut??? after kiri and baku, she’s his fave

she searches up how to curl hair on a computer at a library and finds some whacko diy to make kami’s hair curly

The next time they have free time together they try curling his hair and BOI

IT WORKS

kami dies

AGAIN

He fucking loves having curly hair sm he doesn’t wanna wash his hair ever again

bakugou complains bc now he’s used to kami’s hair to smelling like coconut

kaminari promises to wash his hair again if bakugou will let uraraka curl his hair again

baku agrees !!!!

he takes super aesthetic photos of his hair all splayed out around him like a flower

kirishima puts red flowers in his hair and !!!!!

now kiri’s dying AGAIN because of how pretty kami looks

gosh dang it kaminari

whenever baku or kiri are having bad days they just like to mess around with kami’s hair

when kami’s having a bad day he begs kiri to give him a massage bc BOI is kiri good at those

Once monoma cut a bit of kami’s hair off as a prank

BAKUGOU FLIPPED

KIRI CRIED

KAMI MOTHERFUCKING ELECTROCUTES HIM

( lightly )

ppl underestimate kami a lot bc of the drawback from his quirk and because of his hair but honestly??? what a strong boi

once kami dyed the ends of his hair pink and SHIT its so fucking aesthetic bc its just a nice blend from blond to pinky-coral and its got black streaks in it and it makes kirishima so happy

Kiri and bakugou are so in love with his hair ( and kami )

little kids come up to kami sometimes and they all tell him how pretty his hair is and kami’s jsut so happy

A little boy once told him, “wow i didn’t know boys to have long hair!!! can i have long hair too?”

kami gives him the biggest smile and goes, “yeah of course!!! you can have your hair as long as you want!!!”

inspirational kami is So Good

momo makes kaminari lots of hairclips and pretty hair ties and kami’s so in love

tooru likes to tease kami’s hair when he’s not paying attention so then kami’ll turn around and just

“what in electrification?!”

Kiri’s upset bc honestly kaminari’s hair is super super smooth

bakugou wants to kick her ass but HE CAN’T FIND HER

Iida’s very concerned bc he feels like kaminari’s gonna mess up bc of his hair at some point

Aoyama likes to dump a shit tonne of glitter in it to make him Sparkle

kami doesn’t mind ofc

1a has an annual “lets make kami pretty” day

Annual turns into monthly

monthly turns into weekly

weekly almost turns into daily but bakugou decides that everyone else is spending Way Too Much Time with kami so he steals kami away

whenever they cuddle bakugou turns into a fucking mess bc its ALWAYS kamis hair going into HIS FACE and NEVER KIRIS

he only minds a tiny bit bc its so soft and smells nice tbh

its just when he sneezes and he wants to fucking cut kami’s hair off

Bakugou used to threaten kami by saying he’d cut his hair off

it worked for a while until kami realised that he’d never actually do it because he loves kami’s hair as much as the rest of 1a does

one day kami wants to cut all of it off so he can fundraise some money for charity

heroing all the way

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artificialqueens · 7 years

Text

Late Bloomer Chapter 1

This is loosely based on “Late Bloomer” by Jenny Lewis

follow the fic at @ladyalix on ao3

CHAPTER ONE

Trixie chose Paris because it was the fashion capital of the world, she told herself, but mostly because it seemed the farthest away place in the world from Milwaukee. After high school she was determined to do something with her life, to prove to herself and the rest of her graduating class that her dreams were not unfounded - and she was also determined not to fuck it up. Her plan, really, was very simple. Rent a room somewhere with the limited funds she’d saved up washing dishes at the local greasy spoon for the past two years, apply for as many fashion-related internships and jobs as she could find, and serve enough cups of coffee and run enough Xerox trips until she was designing. Unfortunately, the plan did not include falling in love with the female, anxiety-ridden, chain-smoking Russian artist who lived down the hall.

“So you’re my new roommate,” said the chubby, red-haired woman who answered the door. Trixie noted the woman’s soft country accent - she had specifically chosen to live with an American expat as her French was high-school level, but something about this woman’s inflections were comfortingly familiar. She too was a refugee from a life far from any city of note.

“Yeah, hi, um, I’m Trixie - Trixie Mattel,” Trixie used the surname she had planned on adopting along with her new life - something that came from her reputation as Barbie-doll like, with her penchant for fashion, makeup, and all things pink and kitschy.

“I’m Ginger - Ginger Minj,” beamed the woman. Ginger opened the door wider, and Trixie gulped as she realised the flat was quite small; one room, strewn with clothing, art, and record albums, and one large bed.

“I forgot to mention, we’re going to have to share some space,” winced Ginger. “And I’m having a small get-together with my art friends tonight. You’ll like them, but I’m afraid there’s not much room to avoid us in.”

Trixie laughed. “That’s fine!” She began to unpack her solo suitcase, filled with her embellished thrift-store finds and her own pink creations, and put them in the small dresser by the bed.

“You��re quite an artist yourself,” commented Ginger, “did you make those?”

“Most of them, yeah. I want to go into fashion.”

Ginger chuckled. “You and every other girl in Paris.” Trixie tried not to show how the woman’s words had hurt her - she hadn’t really thought about how many stories like hers existed. In Milwaukee, she had been unique in her dreaming and determination. But after several hours off the plane she already saw how difficult it would be for her in a place like this, so saturated in its expectations and abundance of mediocre people with bigger egos and dreams than talents and resources.

“I’m going for a walk,” she managed, “to clear my head. And see the neighborhood.”

“Be back by eight tonight,” called Ginger. “It’s just a small get-together, but I want you to meet people.”

Ginger’s “small get-together” turned out to be a weed-and-pills-fueled party of about twenty strange-looking people of every colour, gender, and quirk packed into the tiny flat. Some sort of indie band Trixie wasn’t quite cool enough to recognize thrummed in the background. She felt very small and very young and very, very Milwaukee here.

“Trixie!” called Ginger. “There’s some people I’d like you to meet.” She gestured to a small group of women clustered towards the door, where they were admiring one of Ginger’s strange, abstract paintings.

“This one’s weird as fuck,” a tall, slender brunette girl remarked, taking a drag on a cigarette. Ginger beamed.

“Thanks, Violet, I did try. Girls - this is Trixie, my new roommate. She’s from Minnesota.”

“Milwaukee. Wisconsin,” amended Trixie. “You were close, though.”

Another girl, who had a septum ring but somehow made it look high-fashion, smirked.

“Milwaukee? Jesus, you must be in for a shock. You’re not in Kansas anymore; welcome to Oz.”

Trixie almost didn’t hear what the septum-pierced girl was saying to her, though, because just then an extraordinary-looking woman kitty-corner across the room caught her eye; barely ten years older than Trixie, or just really good at concealing her age, she was a tall, striking woman with blunt-cut, bleach-blond hair and intelligent blue eyes. What was most shocking, however, was her clothing - a macrame-covered dress that seemed like it came out of Trixie’s mom’s wardrobe from the 1970s, a dark fur cossack hat, and quirky jewelry scattered haphazardly - lip-shaped brooches, oversized faux-pearls, eyeball hairclips. Trixie, who had prided herself on her fashion-forward clothes, felt underdressed. Trixie felt her heart flutter in a way she had only read about - something girls were supposed to have felt to boys. Something she hadn’t ever known.

“Who is that?” she managed, pointing discreetly at the woman. The septum-pierced girl rolled her eyes.

“That’s Katya. She’s the craziest bitch I’ve ever met. She’s kind of a genius, though. I’d kill to be as talented as her.”

“Talented? What does she do?”

“She’s a performance artist. She does, like, interpretive dance and gymnastics and shit but somehow she makes it really incredible. She was a gymnast growing up, and they say she could have made it to the Russian Olympic team, but - “

“Shut up, Pearl,” said the taller girl - Violet - whom Trixie noticed was rather possessively holding onto the other girl - Pearl’s - forearm. Almost like they were dating. Trixie had never met a gay person before, except for her favorite teacher at school who got fired when the news of his personal life was revealed. Trixie shuddered. All her life she’d never liked anyone. But now she was safely in a community of queer people, she could ask herself - did she feel that way towards this enigmatic Katya?

“Sorry,” said Ginger, breaking the tense silence. “I think Katya wouldn’t want us… gossiping about her past. She’s put it behind her quite well.”

“Oh, God,” groaned Pearl playfully, “she noticed us.” The blonde woman was bounding across the room, a cigarette in her hand and a toothy grin on her face.

“ Devotchki”, she exclaimed, clasping her hands together in greeting. She turned to face Trixie, and Trixie had to fight the urge to turn her head shyly. “And who is this?” Her English was heavily accented, her voice the gravelly tone that gave away a chainsmoking habit.

“Um, I’m Trixie - Trixie Mattel,” said Trixie softly, using the new name with a tentative confidence.

“Trixie! What a lovely name!” beamed Katya. Trixie looked into her eyes and saw they were a startling icy blue, covered in thick black makeup. The makeup artist side of Trixie knew the Russian’s skills were dreadfully sloppy and amateurish but the strangely smitten Trixie thought Katya looked incredible - badass and vulnerable, strange and trendy all at once.

“I’m Katya - Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova, that is, but you can call me Katya.”

“Trixie’s from Wisconsin,” offered Violet with a knowing smirk, “she moved to Paris today.”

“Today?” gasped Katya, raising an eyebrow, “how old are you, dear?”

Trixie blushed, realising she was in fact quite young compared to these incredibly cool artists. “I’m eighteen. I just graduated from high school and I’m going to start looking for jobs tomorrow.”

Katya laughed - a glorious, rollicking laugh, her head thrown back and her hands moving side-to-side manically.

“You moved here without a job? Oh, that’s wonderful! You can, of course, speak French though…”

Shit. “Um…” Trixie began.

“Don’t worry,” said Katya. “I can help you. I’ve met many people in the years I’ve been here.”

“Everyone knows Katya,” offered Pearl. “She’s kind of famous.”

“And I live right down the hall,” the Russian woman offered. “Hey, tomorrow I take you drinking, okay? I can show you around the neighborhood a little more.”

“I’m trying to save most of my money for rent right now,” admitted Trixie; she really would have liked to go. “And I’m only eighteen.”

“Darling, this is France,” laughed Katya. “At least we know now you are not one of the Americans who only move here to drink legally before their twenty-first birthday. And don’t worry - it’s my treat.”

“Like - “ stammered Trixie. “Like a date?” of course it wasn’t a date, Trixie reminded herself. They were girls. Katya was probably straight anyway - but growing up poor like Trixie had, she wasn’t always comfortable having someone she had just barely met treat her to something like this. It was too much like charity. Somehow, though, Katya’s offer was different than that.

“Yes, something like a date,” said Katya breezily. “Moi druzya, do any of you have a light?”

#trixya #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #cisgirl au #lesbian au #violet chachki #pearl liaison #ginger minj #rpdr fanfiction #late bloomer #ladyalix #tw homophobia #tw implied alcoholism #tw implied drug abuse

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talentless-bunny · 7 years

Text

An High School Abusive Boyfriend #3

Summary: The RFA+V+Saeran are in high school and they have a crush on MC, however, she has a ‘perfect’ boyfriend, only one day they find out the abuse behind it all.

This contains; Physical Abuse, mention of drug use, emotional abuse, manipulation, broken RFA hearts, a lot of hugging, crying, cussing, and angst.

POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING

Jaehee

Having feelings was a rare occurrence for Jaehee, having feelings for a girl seemed even stranger. And this extremely rare occasion has happened. Jaehee was in love with someone, a girl, named MC. Along with this high school crush, there were some extra issues, first off Jaehee and MC were best friends, this was her first best friend, so Jaehee didn’t dare to risk their dear friendship over her feelings, that would be selfish. Secondly, there was no chance Jaehee’s feelings would be returned, because MC had Jung Wook, her boyfriend. Based on everything Jaehee heard from MC, on how sweet he was and how he was perfect in MC’s eyes, Jaehee’s chances were none.

But, it didn’t matter. Jaehee wasn’t one to worry about such trivial things. So, she would let it pass and cheer MC on, just like a good friend should do.

“It’s been a while since we hung out together.” MC smiled at Jaehee, snapping her out of her thoughts. Jaehee smiled back.

“Yes, sorry for not asking you sooner than this, as well for just going the mall.”

“Oh, no. It’s fine! I know that you’ve been busy with all the school work lately.”

“Haha, I’m glad I was able to get some time off today so we could hang out. Then, shall we?” with that, they headed to the mall, to enjoy the day, hopefully without a care.

After going into quite a few stories, they already had a handful of bags. Walking into yet another store, chit chatting away, they start to browse the store.

“Jaehee, should I get this?”

“What is it?” turning, Jaehee focused on what MC was showing. She lifted up a hairclip that was decorated with plastic flowers. MC then slides and clips it in her hair.

“You think it looks good?"

"You look cute, you should get it.” Jaehee smiled at MC, she really did look cute, adorable to her. MC started at Jaehee for a second, soon to return Jaehee’s smile.

“Ok, thanks, Jaehee.” MC grinned once more, headed towards the cashier. Jaehee had to turn around herself. God, she was so embarrassed. Why on earth did she say that? MC didn’t think she was weird, did she? Oh god, what if she knew-

“Jaehee? Are you alright?” Jaehee jumped a little, turning around to come face to face to a worried looking MC.

“Ah, yes. I must have been zoning out, sorry.”

“It’s ok! Should we go to the food court next? I’m getting a little hungry.”

“That’s a good idea. I could get some coffee to snap me out of it."

Arriving at the food court, it was quite empty compared to usual. Jaehee and MC quickly go their separate ways to get whatever they wanted from the offered food. Of course, Jaehee went straight to the coffee shop, to get coffee and a cookie to treat herself to. After receiving her order, Jaehee scans the court for MC.

Ah, there she is.

MC was already sitting at a table, with a pretzel in one hand and a phone in another. She was looking at her phone, completely still, with a worried yet scared expression. Feeling worried herself, Jaehee started quickly walking towards MC. Soon, MC eyes widen and she quickly stood up, looking around quite frantically. Jaehee felt her mind and heart race, she almost started running towards MC. What was going on? Was she in danger? God, why was this food court so big?

Some of Jaehee’s questions were answered when she saw Jung Wook walk up to MC, naturally, she slowed down her pace, but her anxious feeling was not letting up. Jung Wook looked, rather, irritated and it didn’t help with the fearful expression MC had. He immediately started yelling, seemingly on the top of his lungs.

"God fucking DAMMIT! I should of fucking known you would do this!”

“D-do what? I don’t know w-what you’re talking about!”

“BULLSHIT BITCH! I know that you’re CHEATING ON ME!” Everyone’s attention was on the couple. Who wouldn’t?

“W-what? I would never cheat on you! How could you say that?!"

"You’re LYING!” he started raising his hand, that’s when Jaehee felt the adrenaline rise. Being close to them already, Jaehee started sprinting towards them, dropping her coffee, she was going to need both hands for this. Before Jung Wook was able to bring his hand down, Jaehee was able to grab his arm and pull him back.

“What the-,” he turned to Jaehee, “get off of me bitch!” He made a fist in the other hand and attempted to aim for her. The moment he started throwing his fist, Jaehee was already prepared for it. Ducking under the fist, she swept her foot across his feet making him lose balance, putting a firm grip with both hands on his arm, she threw him over her and slammed him on the floor. She wasn’t in judo for nothing. Looking around at the many surprised faces, Jaehee took control.

“You! Go get security! You guys! Hold him here!” Whoever was given a role by her, did it immediately. Two guys picked up Jung Wook from the floor and sat him on a chair, keeping guard around him. Jaehee faced MC.

“Let’s go. I need to talk to you, in private."

"Oh, ok…” Jaehee started walking away, MC quickly following behind her, straight towards the girl’s bathroom.

Entering the bathroom, they went into the furthest stall. Making sure the bathroom was empty, Jaehee gave no time to breathe before she started.

“Show me.”

“S-show you what?”

“Show me everything he has done to you. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” Jaehee put her hands on MC’s shoulders, slowly sliding her hands down her arms, feeling the fabric of the sweater, “You give a pained reaction when you held your bags a certain way, as well it’s so hot outside and you’re a sweater.”

“H-hah, I knew you would… I just… hoped otherwise.” She smiled weakly at Jaehee, hints of shame clouded her eyes.

“So show me. Please,” MC started looking down at her feet, defeated, she took off her sweater. There were bruises and even some small cuts all over her. "…Are you ashamed of these?“ MC slowly nodded her head.

"I… honestly can believe he thinks that… I cheated on him…”

“There’s something else isn’t there? I saw you looking at your phone before.. he came up to you.” MC looked up at Jaehee with a surprised face, only for her to look back down and slowly pulled out her phone and unlocked it.

“It… really surprised me you know,” She then showed her phone to Jaehee, on the screen was her phone history. There were countless of phone calls all from Jung Wook, it seemed he just kept calling right after the other call failed, “that’s not all…” MC switched her screen to his text messages. Tons of them. They consisted of telling MC to pick up her phone, claims she was cheating, pleads to her to take him back, he’d change, saying she ‘fucked’ up, that he was only one that could love her, and that he would make her regret it for the rest of her life.

“Did he leave any voice messages?”

“…Yes.”

“May I… listen to them?” MC didn’t say anything, instead just slightly nodded and went to the voicemails on her phone, then pressed play for one of them.

“Pick up the phone, MC.”

“Pick it up, goddammit.”

“You’re fucking cheating aren’t you? Hah, I should have known you would have done this you bitch.”

“Is this suppose to be payback or some shit?”

“Oh god, MC. Please don’t do this… I fucking need you… and… you need me.”

“I can’t live without you, don’t leave me…”

“You fucking rotten whore… You really fucked up this time, who was else was going to love you? I’m the only one who is willing to deal with you.”

“All your friends, including that chick Jaehee, they all hate you. I know it. I’m telling the truth, I’m the only one. You’d be so damn alone if it weren’t for me.”

“I see how it is.”

“That’s fucking IT. I’ll make you fucking regret this. For the rest of your miserable life. I’ll hurt you so fucking bad, I swear, you’ll wish you were never born. I WANT-” Jaehee couldn’t listen to it anymore, she shut off MC’s phone. She looked up at her and it felt like her heart was shattered, MC was shaking in tears.

“Thank you for showing me. Now, let’s report this to the police.”

“What? Wait! NO! Please, don’t make me…”

“Why? MC, this is a serious issue and your safety isn’t assured with him able to be near you.”

“Didn’t you hear him? I… need him and more importantly, he needs me. I can’t just leave him! Who else… will endure me?"

No, that isn’t right. Jaehee never wanted to hear her say that ever. She wrapped her arms around MC and pulled her into a hug, "No one, MC, no one has to endure you. You are loved, MC.”

“…Does someone love me Jaehee?”

“Yes. Someone truly does love you.”

“Who?”

“I can’t say. One day, they will have the guts to tell you how they feel. One day, I promise you that. So please, lets put Jung Wook behind bars and away from you, so that one day, you can get the love you deserve.”

“..Alright. Let’s do it. I’ll.. try to be patient until then.”

One day, MC, I will tell you how much I love you. I promise you that.

Author’s Note: FINALLY, I finished it. I can’t believe I took this long to write this. **cough** Jaehee’s route **cough** and Tumblr**cough** I got really excited when I saw it was Jaehee’s turn because I wanted to use her judo skills in this. I couldn’t really imagine Jaehee letting MC stay with an abusive boyfriend/girlfriend. I feel like this got really cheesy too…

Tagging @serensama for inspiring me to write this series.

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

#i don't mind any criticism for any of my stories/drawings #mystic messenger highschool au #mystic messenger jaehee #jaehee kang #jaehee is baehee #mystic messenger #mystic messenger writing #mystic messenger angst #ish #my writing

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