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matthewtkachuk · 2 years

Note

why do you think that strangers gonna mind with PLD??? 💚💚💚

hi love, hope you don't mind this being a little late ❤️

pairing: pierre-luc dubois x reader

warnings: mentions of cyber bullying, fangirls being mean :/

word count: 1k

why do you think that strangers gonna mind

You’re not a stranger to unsavoury comments made about you on the internet. In the eighth grade you’d pissed off the wrong group of girls in your school and ended up drawing their ire vis a vis facebook. At the time it had been the worst thing ever, with constant harassment and even a private facebook group made to shit talk you, but looking back it was pretty funny that they were threatened by your friendship with one of their (and you use the term very loosely) boyfriends.

Now? Now every bit of social media you had was locked down or deleted. Instagram and twitter? Private. Facebook? A variation of your first and middle names that you’d told everyone was because you didn’t want future employers finding you. LinkedIn and Pinterest? Deleted. Spotify? Fake name.

The reason for that was simple.

Your boyfriend was a professional athlete and fangirls be crazy. You’d managed to fly under the radar for a lot longer than you thought you ever would, lasting more than a year and an international trade before an errant ponytail on your boyfriend’s wrist during an interview had the internet sleuths of instagram on your tail.

The tiny, insignificant detail had brought attention to the fact that he was likely dating someone, and from there you can only speculate it was a careless tag that led them straight to you. In the beginning, you’d never thought of making your account private. Really, you had 300 followers tops, and most of them were people you’d gone to school with throughout the years. It never crossed your mind in the early months of dating Pierre, especially since you’d never actually posted him on your feed, only tagging him in your insta stories that disappeared alongside the experiences together.

Even after you’d been found out, it hadn’t been a cute selfie of the two of you on your couch that nailed the final nail in your coffin. In fact, it wasn’t Pierre at all, it was a totally cute, totally innocent picture of Pierre’s bulldogs sleeping alongside your lab daschund cross. That had been enough though, firmly cementing you as the mystery girl whose ponytail had been around Pierre’s wrist.

Very quickly, you’d had to limit your comments and not much longer you went private entirely. Yet, somehow, particularly determined fans were able to make their way to your filtered messages and sent you insults through the messaging systems of other less conspicuous apps. You can’t really explain why, but you don’t really tell Pierre the whole truth behind your social media cleanse. Deflecting a little, you minimize the situation, stating it was ‘only a fan or two’ and it was just a good idea to lock it down before things got too insane.

And then they’d found your LinkedIn, the one you’d made in college because the career guidance staff told you that you’d needed one. Luckily, you hadn’t updated it since you were a sophomore and so the only information anyone was able to glean from it was long outdated and didn’t tell them much. Although you were pretty sure that the restaurant you’d worked at part time through college was receiving an uptick in patronage. Honestly good for them, if they’d offered a better salary and health benefits and your boyfriend hadn’t been traded to Canada of all places, you might have stayed long term.

As it stands, you’re in Winnipeg and Pierre is too, and above anything else you’re young and in love and Pierre, rightfully so, wants to plaster you all over his instagram. It should make your face warm, cause your heart to beat a little faster than is medically necessary. It doesn’t though, it just fills you with an awkward sense of dread that is proven rational by the comments Pierre doesn’t see and the messages you don’t show him.

You’re relatively confident in yourself, having learned to love the body you were blessed with a long time ago, and you know that more than anything you have a good and kind heart, but yet you can’t help but let the awful things that strangers say about you take root in your heart.

It has you protesting the next time he wants to post a video of you playing with the dogs onto his story - at first, playfully wrestling for his phone to delete the photo until the air turns thick with tension as you all but demand he not post it.

It’s not until he asks what’s going on that you break, pulling your dog onto your lap and tearfully admitting you don’t want to hear what strangers on the internet are going to say about you.

“Why do you think that strangers are gonna mind?” he asks and you can’t help the sarcastic laugh that leaves your lips. Your dog whines quietly at the heartbreaking sound and you comfort her with a hand running down her back.

You admit it all then, the taunts and the insults and the threats. The real reason behind your social media purge and the twinge of fear that lights up your insides every time you see the little notification pop up on your phone.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” you tell him after he asks why you never told him what was going on.

“I want to know what’s going on with you always,” he protests and you relax into his embrace on the couch. “If you don’t want me to post you on my instagram anymore I won’t, but I like to show you off.” The grin on his face is so endearing, canine teeth on display that you can’t resist the urge to kiss it right off him.

You let him post it, and every other post he wants that features you, including one a year and a half later that focuses on a pretty little ring on your left hand.

After all, who cares if a stranger minds?

#nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl blurb #pierre luc dubois fic #pierre luc dubois imagine #pierre luc dubois imagines #pierre luc dubois blurb #pierre luc dubois x reader #shelb writes #shelb writes blurbs #shelbs 1.5k

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weebswrites · 4 years

Note

How about the demon brothers letting their s/o touch their horns(and other appendages) for the first time?

I love this prompt so much, thank u anon!! (I’d also definitely be down to go more in depth on any of these and write a whole fic for it, drop a comment or request if you’re interested in that heh)

Lucifer

• It takes a very long time for him to be open to the idea

• One day he gets an email with bad news and he’s so mad - boom. Demon form

• You walk in after your classes to check on him and he’s sitting at his desk, wings broadly behind his back and his head in his hands, frustrated grumbling coming from his mouth

• “Lucifer?” you say quietly, not wanting to scare him

• He looks up at you, eyes filled with a deep rage, but he settles a bit at your presence

• You walk over to stand next to him, putting your hand on top of his gently

• You then move to put your other hand on his shoulder, but he instinctively moves away, causing your hand to brush his wing

• A moan of relief leaves his mouth, and he looks up at where you’re standing

• “I- I’m sorry...I didn’t-”

• But he cuts you off, “No no, it’s okay my love” he said, voice still clearly angry but gentle towards you

• “Can you...rub my feathers? It’s...comforting” he asks, not used to showing weakness or his demon form to you

• You do so, slowly running your hands down his feathers, leaning in and pressing a kiss on the back of his head, directly between his horns

• Your hair brushes them, and you turn to admire them

• “Luc-” you start, but it’s like he can read your mind

• “You can touch them, just be gentle. Like you are with my wings” he whispered, voice already much calmer from your gentle touch

• You leave one hand stroking his wings, but move the other to his horn. You run your fingers up it lightly, fingertips brushing against the ridges before you return your hand to the base and repeat the motion

• He could have fallen asleep you were making him feel so relaxed, but he knew he had work to do

• He was humming softly in pleasure throughout this btw

• After a bit of this, he whispers “Thank you my love~ you can stop now if you’d like”

• After a few moments you do, turning him in his chair to face you so you can kiss him

• He smiles into it, and you stay with him until he’s done with his work

Mammon

• You’re drinking together in his room

• Originally you weren’t going to get drunk, since it was just the two of you, but one thing lead to another and here you were

• You were giggling together about something stupidly funny, tears brimming in your eyes

• A few hours pass, and it’s 3 in the morning. You’ve sobered up a bit and somehow found yourselves in a deep conversation, sitting across from each other on his couch

• You were telling him about your ex-boyfriend, and how he left you for someone else

• Mammon was enraged, “What a stupid human! Leaving you is the stupidest thing a stupid little human could ever do!”

• Suddenly he’s in demon form

• “Oh, shit Mammon I didn’t mean to make you mad...”

• He seemed a bit surprised himself, but there he was

• “Mah human...comere” he said, standing up and holding his arms out to you

• You obey (pun kinda intended), standing up and walking towards him, a bit hesitant to get too close since you’d never touched him in demon form before

• He pulls you into a hug, and after a few moments you feel his bat-like wings wrap around you

• They’re warm, and much softer than they look

• You relax into his embrace, and he sighs against your skin

• “I love yah, human”

• You exhale through your nose, not wanting to move a single centimeter from your position in his embrace

• “I love you too, Mammon”

Leviathan

• You’re in his room, watching anime from his bed

• It’s the last episode, and you’re both on the edge of your seats

• Then, it’s over

• Neither of you could have predicted the ending

• It was......horrible

• He was on his feet, screaming at the tv as something crossed your eyes

• It was...a tail? Holy shit...he was in demon form

• “Levi, babe, sit down” you said, trying to soothe him

• He listened, sitting down, but his hands were shaking he was so upset

• “Can I put my arm around you?” you whispered, not wanting to overstep

• He nodded, and you did so. You spoke calming words in his ear as you rubbed your hand up and down his arm, keeping an eye on his tail so you didn’t accidentally touch it

• You could tell your words were getting through to him when his tail rested on the bed behind you, wrapping around where you were sitting on the bed

• A silence fell between you, and you hugged him a little tighter

• “Can I...ask you something” he whispered

• “Always”

• “Can I...” he paused for a moment, debating whether or not he should continue, “put my tail in your lap?”

• “Of course” you whispered, your heart swelling with happiness that he trusted you this much

• You felt it lift off the bed and slowly rest in your lap

• You held your hands up a bit, not wanting to do anything too much

• “You can...touch it” he whispered, taking your hand off his shoulder and placing it on his taik

• It was warm under your palm, and you ran your hands down it, following the direction of the scales

• The two of you stayed like this for a few minutes, stroking his tail tenderly before he suddenly wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against him as he spooned you

• His tail wrapped over your hips and rested in front of you, and you slowly took it in your hands, cuddling it a bit

• You fell asleep like that, and when you woke up the next day his tail was gone and he was back to his casual attire

Satan

• You’re in his room at RAD, chatting about the book he pre-ordered that’s supposed to be delivered today

• Suddenly his D.D.D. vibrates, and he looks down to check it

• He reads, then rereads, then rereads again

• “Satan...?” you ask

• “yoU’RE KIDDING ME!!” he explodes with a few more expletives, suddenly In demon form in front of you

• “Satan, what happened” you said, coming standing up but not moving closer

• “Th-the stupid bookstore isn’t shipping the books until tomorrow!!” he said, voice filled with rage

• “Shit...I’m so sorry Satan” you said, stepping forward a bit

• “No..stay away...I don’t want to hurt you...” he warned you, “I’m so mad right now I don’t know if I can control myself”

• You hear him, staying back, but watching him pace in anger breaks your heart

• “Satan~” you whisper, running over to him and wrapping your arms around him tightly

• He froze a bit, but quickly wrapped his hands around you back, giving you a tight hug

• Before you knew it you felt his tail wrap around you two, holding your bodies together

• “I...” he whispered, trying to think of an explanation for his actions

• “It’s okay...I understand” you reassure him, and he presses a kiss against your cheek

• "Can I feel your tail?” you whisper quietly

• “Yes” he responded, equally as quiet

• This was the first time you were even seeing his demon form up close, and you ran his tail between your fingers

• You slipped a hand to the back of his head, and ran your hand through the back of his hair. Your hand moved up more, resting a bit between his horns

• “You can rub my horns if you want” he added

• You do, moving your hand to one of his horns and lightly running your fingers along it

• He exhales against your neck, relaxing into your touch as his tail loosens around your bodies, your touch relieving him of the anger that previously ran through his veins like fire

Asmodeus (16+)

• He’s on top of you, grinding against you desperately and whispering degrading comments in your ear

• You let out a feral moan, fingernails digging into the back of his shoulder blades

• Suddenly his wings appear, and he looks down at you with horns

• You know you’re in for it

• “T-Touch my wings baby~ they’re extra sensitive the closer you get to the tip”

• You listen to him, carefully running your fingers against his silky wings

• He moans shakily against your neck, sucking a mark into you as your fingers trace light patterns against his wings

• “My horns too~” he whispered, smirking into you

• One of your hands flew to his horns, and your finger circled against the tip before swirling down to the base, and you let your fingers massage his horns

• He started thrusting into you, begging you to keep touching his wings and horns

• After you were done (it had been a few hours) he was still in demon form, and you laid together, your head on his chest as one hand played with his hair and horns, the other drawing patterns on his wings

• He whispered how much he loved you and how amazing you are at touching him as you fell asleep In his arms

Beelzebub

• You enter the kitchen to see your boyfriend turned away from you, on his D.D.D. with someone, so you quietly take a seat as to not disturb him

• Suddenly he’s screaming, “This is unacceptable!!! I want my partner’s favorite food damnit!! I will not settle for some demon world crap, I want the best of the best from the human world!!”

• His horns suddenly become visible, and you don't know whether to stay and comfort him or sneak out and give him his privacy

• But you don't have to decide, because he’s angrily tossing his D.D.D. onto the counter and freezing in place when he sees you, sitting there worridly

• “Honey...” he whispers, walking over to you

• “Beel...what’s going on” you ask, “Are you okay?”

• “I don’t want to tell you yet...it’s a surprise”

• You got up and stood in front of him, “Hug?”

• “Hug” he nodded, pulling you tight against him

• His wings were a bit lower than his brother’s, and you were careful not to touch them. You felt surprised enough you were hugging Beel in demon form, but you two had such a deep bond you knew you could trust him

• Almost as if he could tell you were being cautious of his wings, he said “You uh, you can touch my wings if you want..it’d actually feel nice...”

• “Oh...okay...but let me know if I should stop” you said, and then gently placed your hand on one of his wings

• You ran your fingertips across it, being very gentle as his wings felt a bit thin

• “They won’t break, they can’t” he assured you, and he pulled away a bit, turning around so you could fully see (admire) his wings

• You ran your hands over them, admiring the intricacy of their design

• After a moment he turned back around to face you, and leaned down to show you his horns

• “I’ve...never let anyone touch me like this...” he confessed, hiding his blush as he looked down to let you touch them

• You admired his horns for a moment before reaching out to them, gently running your hands over the rigid bumps across them

• After you had finished, you put your hands on his cheeks and lifted him up, pressing a kiss to his lips

• “Thank you, Beelzebub. I love you” you whisper, knowing he’d know how genuine you were by the use of his full name

• “I love you too, [Y/N]”

Belphegor

• The two of you are just about to nap in his room when Lucifer comes storming in, scolding him for something or other

• Belphie takes a minute to register what’s going on, but as soon as he does he’s out of bed in a blind rage

• “LUCIFER!!! SHUT!!! UP!!!” he yells, in demon form

• You wake him up, you suffer the consequences lol

• After a few moments Lucifer leaves, rolling his eyes as he closes the door behind him

• He turns around to look at you, and your eyes are visibly nervous at what might happen

• “Sorry...I didn’t mean to flip out. You know how I get” he explained, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly

• “You’re good” you reassured him, “come back and lay down”

• He did so, positioning himself a bit weirdly as to not touch you with his tail

• “Belphie...if you want...you can...well, you can lay closer to me. I don’t mind touching your tail” you say, knowing it’s more of a him thing than a you thing, but now knowing how to go about addressing it

• He stayed where he was for a moment, processing your words, before scooting closer

• He lays on his side next to you, and gently places his tail across your lap

• You don’t touch it at first, it just being on your lap was a huge step and you didn’t want to push it

• “This means a lot” you say, wanting to make sure he knew the trust he was putting in you

• He nods, and after a moment closes his eyes

• You do the same, placing your hand on your lap, just above where his tail lies, slowly moving It down to rub the soft hair at the end

• By the time you’re both asleep, your hand is wound inside the end of his tail, the smooth hair feeling good against your warm fingers

• Neither of you talk about it after, but you can feel the bond is strengthened between you

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critrolesideblog · 3 years

Text

Some snippets from the Nein’s week at the Blooming Grove.

-----

There is a shadow of something between them. Something in the way their shoulders brush as they stand next to each other, in the way the Scourger's broad shoulders relax ever-so-slightly when Caleb is near, in the intensity with which he watches Caleb's face as he speaks, in the way Caleb's eyes travel slow, lingering paths up the Scourger's muscular arms when he thinks no one is watching.

Caleb has his back to Essek, standing over a desk, perusing a book the Scourger has lent him. The Scourger is next to him, arms crossed over his chest, leaning back against the desk with an air of ease and familiarity, as if he did not try to kill them all mere days ago. He is facing Essek, but not looking at him.

Until he is.

Brown eyes catch lilac ones in their stare, and a wolfish grin curls its way around the handsome features. He says something to Caleb in Zemnian, without breaking Essek's eye contact. It sounds like a question, to which Caleb replies casually.

It is foolish, Essek knows, to maintain eye contact like this. Any number of spells may be wrought thus, but he cannot find it in himself to look away.

The Scourger asks another question, his voice dropping an octave. He forfeits the staring contest to trace Caleb's form with his eyes, down then up, and there is still a wolfish edge to his playful grin as leans in past the boundary of Caleb's shoulder.

Without looking up from his book, Caleb places a hand on the near side of the Scourger's face and slowly but firmly extends his arm out. The Scourger, chuckling, allows himself to be pushed over far enough that he has to take a step away from Caleb to maintain his balance.

His eyes alight on Essek again. He says something to Caleb with a sigh, and then lopes out of the library, his eyes on Essek's all the while. Just before he floats down out of sight, he gives Essek a wink.

Once all is still, Caleb looks up, finally, toward the exit. His shoulder dips slightly as he turns to look at Essek, but Essek's eyes are already back on his own book.

------

"Anyway, it's a really good book, Essek. I think you'll like it."

"I am sure it is, but romance novels have never been my, ah, cup of tea."

Jester draws the small brush dipped in black laquer carefully across the final nail of Essek's right hand. "It's not just a romance novel, Essek. It's literature. You're missing out." She says the last part in a singsong voice as she leans back to survey her handiwork. "Are you sure you don't want me to put some little designs on them. I could make them very tasteful, you know, like some little stars or your favorite rune or something."

They are seated in front of the fireplace in Jester's room atop a make-shift bed of soft pillows and blankets. Fey cats sit among the pillows alongside them, some with tails holding aloft trays of milk, cookies, pastries, tea, and fruit, others merely there for their evening nap.

"I will likely be returning to Vurmas outpost soon, Jester. I do not want anything that will draw too much attention from the soldiers."

"Oh, alright," she says. Her tail sways slowly behind her like a disappointed shake of the head. "You do pull off the monochromatic look really well. Next time, through, we should try something different, just for fun, you know?" She gives him a bright, fanged grin.

"Yes, next time."

Essek thought, after a century of den politics, he could hide his heart from anyone (evidence shows even himself), but hiding it from Jester Lavorre is another matter entirely. She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously.

"There is going to be a next time, Essek. You're so smart -- I'm sure you can figure out a solution for anything. So there is going to be a next time, alright, Essek? Promise me."

"Jester--"

"Promise!" She holds her pinkie finger out toward him imperiously. The logical part of Essek's mind whirs with explanations, caveats, problems, but Jester is looking at him with such determination, such faith.

Slowly, carefully, he loops his pinkie around hers.

"I promise."

-----

Essek observes, a little wryly, that it promises to be another beautiful sunlit day, when a small but bright flash of light catches his eye painfully as he walks through the Grove after breakfast. He winces reflexively, and when he looks back, the glimmer is gone. Curious. He pauses, waiting, eyes carefully scanning the mist-clung leaves and gilded treetops. There is a distant rustling, a whisper of breeze, and -- there it is again! A flash and gone, but he sees the direction of its source this time.

Diverting from his usual path, he strikes off in search of it. He drifts into one of the wilder reaches of the grove, skirting mounds and headstones, overgrown with flowers of every color, shimmering with dew. Finally, the tall brush ahead of him clears and he finds...Fjord?

Fjord is lying on the damp undergrowth, the dawning sunlight glinting off the metal buckles of his armor. His limbs are thrown aside at funny angles as though he had fallen, but Essek's keen ears tell him his breathing is normal. From what Essek can tell, he is awake and uninjured.

"Fjord?"

"Mm?" One yellow eye opens to survey him coyly.

"What are you doing?"

"I have been ... grievously injured," Fjord rasps with great melodrama, his left hand moving slightly to bring Essek's attention to a wooden dowell a few inches from his knee.

The puzzle pieces fall into place.

"Ah." Essek murmurs, "This is a trap." A toothy grin spreads across the half-orc's handsome features, but Essek is already scanning his surroundings, ears straining, for any sign to give away his hunter. He does not want to make it too easy for him.

There is a rustle of leaves to his left.

He turns toward it, casting Shield with a little more flourish than is strictly necessary, and -- twang--FWUMP! He hisses as a dowell hits him hard in the back of his right shoulder. An orange cat with familiar blue eyes pops its head out of the flowers in front of him. Catleb tilts his head playfully as victorious giggles erupt from the tree branches behind Essek.

Essek looks down at his shoulder as though surveying the damage. "I am not sure a shoulder wound is instantly mortal."

"The arrows are poisoned," Fjord supplies casually.

"Ah, of course."

"And if you don't die with enough gravitas, you'll be made to do it again."

Essek suppresses a sigh and a smirk. He supposes he cannot have enough practice faking his death.

-----

"Alright, man, that's enough for right now," Beau says as she closes her notebook. "I think we both need some food and some fresh air." She rises from her seat, stretches, and claps Caleb on the shoulder as she walks by. "Let's go, dude. Don't make me come back in here for you, 'cause you know I will." And with that, she walks past the shadow, out of the Clays' kitchen, into the sunshine.

Caleb rubs his hands over his face and takes a deep breath. Eins, zwei, drei...

Constance Clay is seated to his left. She is a calm, abiding presence, listening without judgment, a witness, an anchor. Caleb gives her a nod, and she nods back, as has become their habit in ending these sessions. Finally, he rises and walks past the other witness in the room.

"Caleb," the shadow calls softly as he reaches the door.

Caleb turns back.

There is a moment of silence as the apology dies in Wulf's teeth, and Caleb is not sure if expecting no different makes it hurt more or less.

"I know," he replies. Wulf does not flinch. He never has. He never will. "I know."

He walks out into the sunshine.

----

Caleb wakes up on a warm, sunlit patch of grass. He stares at the cloudless, blue sky for a moment before his attention is drawn by the skritch-a-scratch-scratch of pencil on paper to his left.

Jester is sitting beneath a peach tree, her sketchbook propped up against her knees. When her candy-pink eyes look up to peer at him over the pages, she grins and beckons him with a single, curling finger.

Slowly, after a nice, big stretch, he ambles up and over to her and crouches down at her side. She holds her book out at arms-length, so they can both survey her work: an orange cat fast asleep on its back in the sunshine. It's curled around on itself like a doughnut, its fluffy tummy exposed, a look pure feline bliss on its face.

"I think I got your good side."

-----

"A lee-tle more to the left," Jester says, motioning for Essek to stand closer-still to Caleb. He cannot get much closer without falling into Caleb's lap (he'll thank her later). He stares at her for a long moment, floats in just a nudge, and then shares A Look with Caleb. She considers this a small match-making success.

Gardening, truth be told, is not Jester's strong suit, so she has been spending her week in the Grove doing something much more important: drawing, drawing, and drawing some more. She draws until her hand cramps, at which point she pauses to eat a pastry or two and goes back to drawing again: Caleb and Essek conversing in the shade of an apple tree; Veth chasing Luc through the flowers; Yasha returning a baby bird to its nest; Fjord and Beau sparring amidst a shower of jacaranda petals; Constance and Cornelius Clay, each with an arm around Caduceus' shoulders, resting their heads against his in turns as they drink tea; Kingsley flirting incorrigibly with Eadwulf; Eadwulf and Astrid tending, with great care and concentration, to a plant that was half struck by the Blight; Sprinkle napping among the flowers; and a hundred other little moments, until her trusty sketchbook is almost entirely out of paper. And she knows exactly how she wants to use the final piece.

Fjord, Veth, and Caleb are seated in the garden on a motley assortment of chairs from the Clays' home, with Caduceus, Beau, Yasha, Molly, and Essek standing behind.

"You know, Blueberry, there is going to be a problem with this portrait." Caleb says, and Jester frowns, considering the composition and the lighting.

"What do you mean?"

"You're not in it.” Ah, yes, that tender grin is the exact one Jester wants to capture.

"Of course she is!" Declares Veth, tilting her head left then right to regard the rest of the Nein. "Look at all these smiles!"

#ficlets #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #jester lavorre #with guest appearances by:#eadwulf grieve #Fjord #Beau #and the entire #Mighty Nein #my writing tag

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bravenot · 3 years

Photo

[ID: digitally coloured drawings of Yeza and Luc Brenatto. Yeza is a fair-skinned halfling man with curly brown hair, sideburns and glasses; Luc is a young boy with a more ruddy complexion, blue eyes, freckles, and a fur-tipped tail. Image one shows a bust of Yeza in profile; opposite that is a full-body drawing of Luc in yellow overalls, looking nervous or captivated by something. In the second image are two more bust drawings of Luc. In one, he is smiling at the viewer and saying ‘ok.’. In the other, he looks upwards mischievously, wearing antlered earmuffs, and says ‘I look like my mum!’. End ID]

#critical role fanart #critical role #yeza brenatto #luc brenatto #myart #m #i hope luc looks the correct age..#i think he looks ok to be 4 except in the bottom left

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obeymebutcursed · 3 years

Note

So its obvious all the brothers were low key (high key) scared of young Satan but Dia and Barb thought he was the cutest and possibly most well behaved demon child they've ever seen.

Satan would latch onto any available limb on Dia draw blood and the man would laugh calling the little blond shit adorable.

If Satan got too bad Barb would just whip the little bastard with his tail knock him straight through a wall or two and Satan would take it like just a slap to the wrist like he didn't go straight through brick.

Hell Dia prob asked Luc if he could adopt Satan if him and the others couldn't handle him BUT that would mean admitting defeat and Lucifer's pride wouldn't let him.

The thought of Barb just knocking a tiny Satan through the wall makes me laugh so hard.

But on the contrary, what if Barb had to whack him so often that as he was growing up he thought it was a normal thing to do, so he started doing it to his brothers, and when they had a bad reaction he learned that it wasn't meant as something good.

That's why he keeps his tail wrapped around his leg in demon form. Out of fear he will accidentally hurt someone.

But like, I can 100% see Dia bargaining for Satan's custody.

Instead Lucifer just insisted he babysit for the time being while he figures out how to function as a demon.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me cursed #obey me!#obey me! shall we date?#obey me satan #obey me! satan #obey me! barbatos #obey me barbatos #obey me! diavolo #obey me diavolo #obey me! hc #obey me hc #obey me headcanons #obey me! headcanons

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mikauzoran · 3 years

Text

Lukadrien: Zebras Can’t Change Their Stripes: Chapter Ten

Read it on AO3: Zebras Can’t Change Their Stripes: Chapter Ten

The days slowly passed and coalesced into weeks which gradually became months, and, still, nothing seemed to be happening romantically between Marinette and Adrien.

“I wish they would just get it over with already,” Luka groaned, letting his forehead thunk against the table in the pub. “It’s killing me having this hang over my head.”

Marc grimaced as he reached out and patted Luka on the shoulder. “Luc, we all love you and want to support you, but I think your dwelling on losing Marinette and Adrien to each other has reached an unhealthy level.”

“You’ve been on about it for five months now,” Jacob sighed into his Bourbon.

Josie took another shot of Tequila and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Honestly, I don’t think you have anything to worry about when you and Adrien are already practically married.”

Luka blew out a snort. “Josie, it’s not like that between us.”

“Sure, it’s not,” she scoffed. “And I guess you and Adrien tell other people ‘I love you’ all the time too?”

Luka’s face flushed. “Those are platonic ‘I love you’s.”

“What about the handholding?” Jacob challenged, weighing in on the matter. “You didn’t hold my hand that much when we were dating, but you and Adrien are always walking around holding hands or linking pinkies.”

“It’s…platonic,” Luka insisted, trying to keep his wits about him as his friends ganged up. “Adrien is a really tactile person. Holding his hand helps him feel grounded.”

Marc cleared his throat, setting his limonade aside. “I usually stay out of this kind of thing…”

Luka deflated, knowing that all was lost if Marc were eschewing his neutrality.

“…but you and Adrien kiss each other on the cheek an awful lot for it to still be considered platonic, Luc. Adrien doesn’t interact with us like that. Maybe you should start to consider that it’s not totally platonic on his end either,” Marc gently suggested, not wanting to push too much but feeling like desperate measures were warranted after so much time had passed with Luka continually chasing his own tail.

“And what about the way you two are always snuggling and nuzzling each other?” Josie chimed in with a fresh attack (and none of Marc’s subtlety or finesse). “And the nose touches? Friends don’t touch their noses together like that.”

Luka winced, straightening up to grab his glass of water and sip at it sullenly. “I’ve told you before. Adrien was kept isolated from other people until he was thirteen, and he was raised in an abusive, affectionless home. He’s not very good at determining what’s socially acceptable, he sucks at boundaries, and he’s deplorably touch-starved. You can’t judge his feelings by his behavior according to normal societal standards.”

“Maybe not,” Marc agreed, “but we can compare Adrien’s behavior towards you with Adrien’s behavior towards others. While he is affectionate with us, it’s nowhere near as affectionate as he is with you.”

“You should ask Nino,” Jacob suggested, leaning forward to grab a slice of bread from the basket in the center of their table.

“I witnessed Adrien licking Nino’s cheek the other day when they were baking together,” Luka grumbled. “I don’t think Adrien’s affectionate behavior indicates much else besides the fact that he’s comfortable with me.”

There was a brief stretch of discontent silence filled by the mumble of the other pub patrons before Jacob spoke up again:

“But you told me a month ago that you and Adrien had started having sleepovers. That’s got to mean something, doesn’t it?”

Marc and Josie both whipped their heads around to gawk at Jacob and then Luka.

“Wait. What?” Marc choked.

“You and Adrien hooked up?!” Josie gasped.

“No-no-no!” Luka set his glass down so that he could frantically wave his hands to accompany his denial. “No. Not like that. He just—I was just—One night we were lying on his bed watching a movie, and we started to fall asleep, so I was going to get up and go to my own room, but he said to just sleep there, and…and I was so tired that I did.”

Josie arched a skeptical eyebrow. “And then what?”

Luka’s gaze dropped to the table. “And then the same thing kept happening? Though, recently, he’s been asking to sleep in my bed from the start, so…I don’t know. He likes snuggling, and he doesn’t like being alone. When we were teenagers, he used to use me as a body pillow all the time when we hung out and he spent the night. The bed sharing and the snuggling aren’t really new.”

“It’s just different now that there’s no Juleka or Rose or Capitaine to walk in on you if things start getting spicy,” Jacob snickered.

Luka reached out and smacked the bassist soundly on the arm. “It’s not like that. It would be criminal to make a move on Adrien. He trusts me.”

“Maybe we’ll all get lucky and he’ll make a move on you first,” Marc sighed, picking up his limonade and taking a long pull on the straw, lips puckering at the sweet and sour tang of the drink.

“Amen,” Josie clucked. “At any rate, you and Adrien need to sit down and have a ‘define the relationship’ conversation before you drive the rest of us nuts. This has gone on far too long, and I’m starting to consider having an intervention.”

“Josephine,” Marc warned lightly as Luka growled, “Don’t you dare. Things are still a little unstable for Adrien, and he needs to be able to feel safe in his own home. Don’t you dare tell him about my feelings and take that peace of mind away from him.”

Josie let out an enormous sigh, putting her hands up in surrender. “Luc, you’re such a martyr. It kills me.”

Jacob reached out and rested a hand on Luka’s forearm. “Honestly, I don’t think you’re giving Adrien enough credit. He’s a tough guy. I don’t think he’ll spook if he finds out how you feel.”

Luka bit his lip. “…I’m more concerned about him feeling indebted to me and pressured to try to pay me back, honestly.”

Jacob winced and gave Luka’s arm a supportive squeeze. “Yeah. Okay. That’s legit.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about him feeling obliged to return your feelings,” Josie added softly, all teasing and belligerence gone from her voice.

“I agree,” Marc seconded, putting a hand on Luka’s shoulder. “I genuinely think that Adrien is interested in you.”

Luka hung his head and shook it. “Thanks, guys, but…I just don’t know. I’m still too beat up over Marinette to put my heart out there again and risk what’s left of it getting pulverized.”

Josie opened her mouth to say something supportive, but she caught sight of a familiar blonde entering the restaurant over Luka’s right shoulder and snapped to attention, warning her friends, “Look sharp, Gents. Baby Boi incoming.”

Marc and Jacob casually withdrew their comforting hands from Luka so as not to draw suspicion, and Luka nearly vibrated in his seat from the sheer willpower it took not to turn around and stare.

Adrien entering a room always took his breath away, and Luka was afraid the raw emotion written on his face if he turned to watch would be too obvious.

“Hey guys!” Adrien greeted as he closed in on their table. “Mama-Marc…Jojo…Jacques.” He went around the table anticlockwise, giving each of their friends a set of air kisses to the sides of their cheeks.

He received a warm welcome of hugs and kisses and claps on the back in return.

When he got to Luka, Adrien sank down into the chair that had been saved for him on Luka’s side of the table and shone a brilliant smile on his roommate.

“Hey, You,” Adrien breathed, voice soft and intimate as his eyes bubbled with warmth and affection.

“Hey.” Luka internally swooned.

That smile, those eyes, and that tone of voice always did him in.

Adrien topped it all off by leaning in and placing a whisp of a kiss on Luka’s cheek, lingering for a breath and making Luka dizzy.

Luka mentally chided himself for being such a lightweight in love, but Adrien seemed to know how to effortlessly press all of Luka’s buttons.

Adrien drew back with a coy smile, holding Luka’s gaze for just a second before turning to the rest of the gang.

“Sorry I’m late. We got a last-minute order for two-hundred macarons, so things were a little crazy, and Tom needed me to stay later to clean up, since the macaron order put us behind.”

Even as Adrien’s attention was on the other three, his arm snaked around the back of Luka’s chair possessively, proving that Luka was still, at least subconsciously, on Adrien’s mind.

It was the little things like that that gave Luka a torturous glimmer of hope.

“No worries,” Marc assured with his usual golden retriever smile. “Sorry work was so hectic.”

“Yeah, you’re good. Luc already ordered for you, so it’s not like you held us up or anything,” Josie informed with a wink and a sly smile.

“No harm done,” Jacob confirmed, giving Adrien’s arm a light punch. “Sorry work sucked.”

Adrien turned back to Luka with a face glowing in gratitude. “You ordered for me? Thank you so much.”

Luka’s ears started to burn like dry leaves. “I got you the vegetable tart and Evian to drink. I hope that’s okay.”

Adrien nodded, stressing, “That’s perfect. Just what I wanted.”

He then peered curiously at Luka’s glass.

“And what are you having?”

Luka rolled his eyes in fond exasperation. “Water.”

Some days Luka thought it was sweet that Adrien cared so much about Luka having a healthier relationship with alcohol; some days Luka felt like a child being supervised.

But then Adrien smiled his most innocent smile at Luka, and Luka’s mild irritation vanished.

“I’m really proud of you, you know?” Adrien metaphorically cut the final string keeping Luka suspended over the shark tank.

Luka was a goner, completely turning to goo at Adrien’s praise.

“I’m so proud that you’re staying sober despite hanging out with those two lushes.” Adrien quirked his head at Jacob and Josie who burst into peals of slightly tipsy giggles.

Luka gave his eyes another roll. “They are enough to drive a man to drink, aren’t they?”

“Be nice, Luc,” Marc scolded even as he chuckled at Josie and Jacob’s expense.

“It’s okay,” Josie snickered. “I mean, it is true.”

Jacob shrugged good-naturedly and took another sip of his Bourbon. “So, what else did you do today besides bake macarons, Adrien?”

Adrien blew out a sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Today was kind of busy. I had business and acting classes back-to-back, and then I went for my therapy appointment before heading to the bakery for my shift.”

Josie let out a long whistle. “You really did have a jampacked day. Just thinking about it makes me tired.”

“It wasn’t so bad.” Adrien tried to reassure her. “My schedule was a lot worse as a teenager with school and modeling and all of my extracurricular activities.”

Josie groaned. “Don’t remind me. I had almost forgotten about how much I want to hit your father over the head with a clipboard.”

“I don’t know how you managed so well,” Marc confessed, grabbing a slice of bread from the basket as he slowly shook his head in wonder.

Adrien’s cheeks colored as he smiled bashfully, trying to convince them, “It really wasn’t that bad.”

“Yes, it was,” Jacob snorted.

“You’re just that amazing,” Luka whispered—perpetually in awe of Adrien—as he leaned in to press a kiss to Adrien’s cheek.

“Hm?” Adrien didn’t quite hear Luka over the cacophony of the pub and turned to ask him to repeat what he had said.

As a result, the kiss intended for Adrien’s cheek ended up on the corner of his mouth.

Luka pulled back with a start, and the two stared at one another in disbelief for a moment.

It was like the first time Adrien had kissed Luka on the cheek on his way out the door. Back then, they had both pulled back and stared for a beat before deciding that cheek kisses goodbye and hello were now something normal that they did.

A hush seemed to fall over the entire pub as Luka waited for Adrien to spring back in alarm.

Instead, Adrien’s initial surprise thawed into a content smile, and he slowly, intentionally moved forward. He pressed the softest, lightest, sweetest kiss to Luka’s lips, and it was absolute perfection.

Luka’s entire body tingled as he applied just the smallest amount of pressure back.

In truth, he wanted to dive right in and drown in Adrien, but this, now, was enough for the moment.

Adrien gradually pulled away and gave Luka another dazzling smile before turning back to the rest of the band.

“So, what did I miss? What were you guys talking about before I got here?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Josie interjected. “Nuh-uh. Not so fast. What was that?!”

Adrien blinked and tipped his head to the side. “What?”

Jacob let loose a short burst of laughter. “Don’t ‘what’ us. You know what. What was that?!”

Adrien looked to Luka (who was currently no help because metaphorical fireworks were going off in an epic display in his brain) and then shrugged.

“Nothing. Obviously, just an accident.”

“Pft!” Marc looked away to avoid spraying his friends with spittle as he was caught off-guard by a skeptical laugh.

“Right. An accident,” Josie scoffed.

Adrien shrugged again unflappably. “He was obviously aiming for my cheek. It’s not a big deal. It’s only a big deal if you make it a big deal, and I’m not going to.”

Josie glared at her uncooperative adopted little brother. “Right. Well. It just so happens that before you got here, we were talking about you and your very good just-a-friend Marinette.”

Adrien’s brow pinched into a miffed frown.

Josie’s lips quirked upward into a smirk as she felt she’d regained control of the situation. “How is your just-a-friend Marinette?”

Marc cast a surreptitious glance Luka’s way to ascertain whether Luka was okay with the topic of conversation, but Luka was still in a delirious daze over the kiss and didn’t seem fazed.

“Marinette’s fine, thank you,” Adrien replied cordially, stubbornly digging in his heels and refusing to let Josie win their ongoing contest of wills.

Josie’s eyebrow arched impishly. “Is she still just a friend, despite the fact that you work at her family bakery and her father wants to adopt you as heir?”

Adrien rolled his eyes, leaning in to grab a slice of bread. “Yep. She’s still just a friend. Thanks for asking.”

He took an unconcerned bite of the sliver of baguette.

“Are you sure?” Jacob chimed in with an air of amusement. “Not only does Tom have you set to take over the family business, but Marinette’s got you working modeling her designs too. Does Marinette know you two are just friends?”

“Yes,” Adrien answered emphatically. “Marinette and I are definitely on the same page about our relationship. Working for her family is just a matter of convenience. They’re friends doing me a favor because not a lot of people are comfortable hiring Adrien Agreste, and, I mean, I have to put myself through school somehow.”

Though, Adrien had often thought that he wouldn’t mind becoming a baker. He enjoyed the work, and Tom had such a passion for it that it was hard not to catch his enthusiasm. But it wasn’t like Adrien was going to tell his bandmates that because it would only give Josie and Jacob fodder with which to tease him.

“Not to split hairs over trifles, but isn’t Luka putting you through school?” Marc hummed, raising his straw to his lips.

“Et tu, Marc?” Adrien groaned at the implicit betrayal.

Marc shrugged, shooting Adrien a sheepish smile.

“I’m going to pay him back someday,” Adrien asserted. “Once I’m a famous actor…or successful business owner or something. I’m not sure which one of my degrees is going to be profitable first, but I’m going to pay him back as soon as I can.”

Jacob dropped his joking tone and rested a hand on Adrien’s arm. “Relax. We know you will.”

Further discussion on the topic was interrupted by the arrival of the meal.

The pub wasn’t far from their flat, so, after saying goodbye to the gang, Adrien and Luka walked home hand in hand. They released their hold on each other when they reached the apartment building and had to proceed one by one up the narrow flight of stairs to the third floor.

As Luka finished locking up behind them, he bit his lip and hesitated before remarking, “…So…about that kiss…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Adrien assured as he shrugged off his coat and hung it on the coat tree next to the door. “It’s not a big deal.”

A thought hit Adrien like a bolt of lightning, and he whirled around to study Luka’s expression. “Unless I made you uncomfortable?”

“No!” Luka’s voice thundered in the quiet apartment, and he cleared his throat and lowered his volume before continuing levelly, “No, kissing is good. I wasn’t uncomfortable.”

“Good,” Adrien exhaled in relief, the sudden burst of tension gradually dissipating from his body. “I’m glad I didn’t screw anything up.”

Luka’s tone turned soft and fond. “No. You’re perfect, Perfect Fifth.”

“I don’t know about that,” Adrien chuckled, stepping in to carefully unloop the scarf from around Luka’s neck.

Luka’s cheeks flushed at the intimate gesture combined with Adrien’s proximity. He hoped Adrien might mistakenly attribute Luka’s rosy cheeks to the cold.

“Hey,” Adrien whispered.

Luka quirked an eyebrow, brain refocusing on Adrien—every blink of his eyelids, every twitch of his muscles.

Adrien licked his lips and looked up at Luka with an expression filled with raw vulnerability. “May I sleep with you tonight?”

Luka’s stomach flipped, and he had to fight to tamp down his visceral initial reaction. “O-Of course. …Why do you ask? Is something wrong?”

Battling back shame, Adrien nodded. “It’s dumb. I know I shouldn’t be upset about it, but there was this jerk at the bakery today who had a bone to pick with my father and took it out on me instead.”

Luka’s fingers curled into fists, and his teeth sank into his bottom lip. His body started to tremble as instant rage ignited within him.

Adrien took Luka’s hand and gently undid the fists one by one, a grateful smile hovering on his lips.

“Shh. I’m fine,” he promised. “Tom let the guy have a piece of his mind, and Sabine told him he wasn’t welcome at the bakery anymore, so it was fine, but—”

“—That’s not fine,” Luka hissed, pulling Adrien into a protective embrace. “It’s not.”

Adrien let himself go slack, relaxing into Luka’s arms. He’d been longing to retreat there all day, and finally being wrapped up in the safety and warmth he’d craved felt exquisite.

“Orpheus,” he breathed, surrendering himself to be cared for and fussed over.

#Lukadrien #Miraculous Ladybug #Adrien Agreste #Luka Couffaine #MLB #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #Fluff #Slow Burn #Friends to Lovers #Mutual Pining #Pining #First Kiss #Roommates #Hand Holding #Mikau's Writings #Zebras Can't Change Their Stripes

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carewyncromwell · 2 years

Text

"well...this is awkward"

(Featuring Jules Aquila @kathrynalicemc and Kathleen Alton @magical-retales)

x~x~x~x

Jules hadn’t expected to go quite this undercover. But after losing track of the wizards who’d successfully beaten them to the secret library of the Dark Wizard Herpo the Foul, Desiree had convinced him (without much effort) that they couldn’t let those wizards take his notes back to France. There was only one person who would be quite that interested in exotic, dangerous and potentially profitable magical creatures, and that was Claude Macnair.

Claude Macnair was an older, stocky wizard with salt-and-pepper hair who had become known as something of a gangster in the more magical sides in Paris. He was a well-established and wealthy philanthropist who often fundraised expeditions at le Banque Decristaux, but just about everyone knew not to ask many questions about where his family’s money came from. His family also was known for their explicit hatred of Muggles -- his maternal grandfather, Luc Millefeuile, had even been a famous patisserie owner who became infamous after he deliberately poisoned his Muggle customers with his pastries back at the turn of the 19th century. Jules had ended up on Claude Macnair’s bad side when he tried to “rescue” an occamy the older French wizard had kept sealed up in an enchanted glass tank at his private night club in Paris, so as to hopefully breed it with a female he hoped to purchase in the future and cultivate batch upon batch of silver eggs that he could sell at high prices. Desiree ended up on his bad side after helping Jules escape from Macnair’s associates and — upon Jules successfully breaking the occamy free — flying away with them back to the Empyrean and out of Paris all together.

And so, in order to infiltrate Macnair’s club to “liberate” Herpo the Foul’s notes on how to create a basilisk, Jules and Desiree had to go in disguise — meaning Jules had to comb his hair more neatly and dress in fancier clothes than he ever had in his life. For as uncomfortable as he was in the black suit and tails his crewmates had purchased for him, however, he found himself most out-of-sorts seeing Desiree in her get-up. From the time they’d met, Jules had only ever seen his French compatriot in high collars and practical pants, suit jackets, dresses, and boots. But this look…well, she looked like a true flapper! The black satin draped over her like a curtain, making her resemble a statue of some Greek goddess rather than her usual structured, conservative look.

Jules was so surprised by how different Desiree looked that her voice startled him.

“Your bowtie is off-zenter. Let me fix it.”

“Oh! Uh…sure.”

Desiree gently took hold of Jules’s collar, straightening the bowtie over it so that it was centered properly. Then she lightly brushed his shirt with her hands so that it was smooth.

“Thanks,” said Jules. His eyes kept falling down to her hands.

Desiree looked up at him. Her expression was very stoic, but she was drinking in his face and overall look. The scrutiny made Jules’s stomach squirm.

“You clean up nicely, Monsieur Aquila,” she said at last with a small smile.

Jules smiled wryly despite his nerves. “Now you see, you calling me that makes sense, when I’m dressed up all posh like this. Can’t you get away with calling me Jules when I’m dressed like a normal bloke?”

Desiree actually brought a hand up to tweak his nose, which made Jules give a startled “ah!” before bursting out into amiable laughter. Desiree was soon beaming too, despite her best efforts.

“Now, Captain, be zerious. We will need to look intimidating, to fit in with zis crowd — proud and confident. Zat will help keep people at a far enough distance zat zey will not look as closely at us and keep us from drawing as much focus too.”

Jules exhaled and tried to ready his shoulders. He put on a much harder, condescending and yet refined expression — trying to channel Captain Hook, as best as he was able.

“All right — I’m ready.”

Desiree nodded in approval. She came up to stand beside him, her expression seamlessly gaining a detached, cold air.

“I should hold your arm, as we go in,” she said.

“Oh, yeah — good point...”

Jules raised his arm self-consciously so she could bring her right arm around it and then hold it in both hands. Jules tried to bite back his flush as he swallowed. Then, putting that “Captain Hook” face back on, he straightened up as best as he could and walked with Desiree into the room.

The club was ritzy to say the least. Every wall was decorated with unicorn horns, mounted hippogriff heads, and gold and marble statues, but the room’s primary trimming was cigar smoke and the smell of wash-tub gin. The band was alive with the sounds of jazz, the saxophones blaring and the black frontman scatting. The whole floor was also full of gold, silver, black, and green-dressed witches and wizards doing the Charleston. The man himself, though, Claude Macnair, was seated at the back of the hall, his small round glasses too reflective to see his eyes through and smoking a sinisterly green-smoking cigar. As the two watched, he cleared his throat noisily, and in an instant, a rather harried-looking house elf had dashed over to refill his drink.

Desiree covertly led Jules into the room, keeping her hands on his arm as she surveyed the men looking at the two of them with such a condescending eye that they immediately backed off. Jules just barely suppressed a cough when he passed through a wall of smoke coming off of a man’s cigar.

“Do you zee ‘im?” Desiree whispered under her breath.

Jules cleared his throat lowly as he shot a look around for the big, troll-faced man who’d stolen Herpo’s notes from them. The English-born explorer wasn’t that tall compared to a lot of the men there, but he was still that little bit taller than Desiree.

“…There. At the roulette table.”

The table sat on the very far end, underneath some larger artifacts hanging from the ceiling. One was a full, taxidermied hippogriff — another was a massive horn covered in a strange, shimmering sheen.

“Is that an Erumpent horn?” Jules said incredulously.

“Yes,” said Desiree in very cool disapproval. “I remember hearing zat Jacques — Claude Macnair’s son — hunted one on holiday and put a strong Shield Charm on it zo he could contain its explozive azpect and put it on display.”

Jules frowned deeply, stuck between disgust and disbelief.

Desiree considered the troll-faced man at the roulette table for a moment.

“To get over zhere, we’ll have to get to ze other zide of ze room…”

The two looked across the floor chock full of dancers. They were so packed together, it looked like it’d be easier to hack through a jungle.

“Maybe we can dance across the room,” Jules suggested.

He was kind of expecting Desiree to react with exasperation. Instead, however, she looked almost thoughtful.

“…Do you know ze Charleston?”

Jules blinked at her. “…Yes...”

The look Desiree shot Jules was almost shy. “Well, if you promise not to get upset if I step on your toes…”

She trailed off, indicating the floor with a significant nod. Jules stared at her for only a brief moment, before his face burst into a smile and he offered her his hand.

“Cross my heart.”

And that was how the two were soon dancing across the floor, alongside the hoard of other dancers. It was actually a lot of fun — Desiree had to remind Jules to hide the bright, boyish smile that kept creeping up his face whenever he locked eyes with her, but Jules had trouble caring. He’d never seen Desiree dance like this before, free and wild — he’d never seen her dance before period.

We have to dance back on the Empyrean too. Maybe a proper jig, if we can find the right tune for the record player...

At one point in the dance, though, Claude Macnair gave a sharp clap of his hands. In an instant, all of the witches and wizards on the dance floor abruptly switched partners. Jules and Desiree each shot each other an anxious look, but they immediately knew they had no choice but to follow suit.

“Try to get to ze other side -- meet you by ze door, when one of us gets it,” Desiree hissed quickly at Jules before the man with the shrew-like nose taking her hand could hear her.

It was a challenge. Claude clapped his hands several more times, prompting the two to switch partners several more times, and sometimes those partners ended up taking Jules and Desiree several steps back after only having just made minor progress forward. It took nearly a half-hour for Jules to successfully make it to the roulette table. He ducked the hanging Erumpent horn and then tried to weave between the troll-faced man and the equally stupid-looking one beside him so as to deal himself in.

Okay — now all I gotta do is wait for them to get distracted and I can swipe the scroll out of his robe pocket —

“Ah!”

It was a wonder that Jules had heard it over everything else going on, but Desiree’s very soft, startled outburst immediately caught his ear. When he looked up, he found that a man had approached her in the middle of dancing -- a rather tall man with sleek brown hair and dressed in a blueish-black pinstripe suit.

“Might I cut in, ma cherie?” Jules could just barely read his lips.

Desiree looked noticeably stiffer looking at this man than she had anyone else in the room. She wasn’t the only one -- everyone else on the floor seemed to give the man a sizable berth, as if intimidated by him.

Jules immediately got the sense something was wrong. He straightened up, ready to return to the dance floor and to Desiree -- but before he could, Desiree had already steadied her courage and accepted the man’s awaiting hand. Once they were dancing, she got Jules’s eye around the man’s shoulder as covertly as she could.

“Get it and go!” she mouthed, her expression very urgent.

Yet her face was so pale...

“Hey, buddy -- it’s your move,” grunted the stupid-looking man on his right, his tiny little eyes narrowed impatiently.

Jules forced himself to shift his gaze back to the roulette table, swallowing back the lump in his throat.

Gotta focus -- if I get the scroll, I can get both of us out of here --

“Bonsoir, Desiree. It’s been a long time.”

Jules once again felt his focus snapping back up to Desiree. The very tall man was dancing with her mere feet away -- his hand was on her waist and he held the other high up toward his shoulder, so as to force her to slow-dance with him.

Desiree said something too soft for Jules to make out, but her pale face was very stoic and her posture remained very stiff.

“Make your move!” said the stupid-looking man on Jules’s right again impatiently.

Jules immediately did so, but he tried hard to keep an ear on the conversation happening a short way away, even as he took stock of where the scroll was.

On my left -- in the side pocket of his robes --

“It was so nice of you to come visit my father’s club,” said the man, his stony, dark blue eyes glinting arrogantly. “You declined my invitations several times, if memory serves me.”

-- just high enough to see over the table -- gotta wait ‘til their focus isn’t on me --

“Even when I requested you to visit our country estate abroad, you played coy -- or rather, your family did, I suppose.”

Desiree once again spoke too quietly for Jules to hear, but her voice had become noticeably cooler. She clearly didn’t like the man.

Jules’s eyes shot down to the scroll in the troll-faced man’s pocket and then around at the men around the roulette table.

Just wait for a winner to appear -- just wait for a winner, and they’ll be too distracted to --

“And yet now here you are -- coming to me, as I hoped you would.”

Jules looked up just in time to see him murmuring in her ear like some particularly seductive lover would.

“Tell me, ma cherie...what is the occasion for this visit? Did your precious little sky pirate grow bored of you? Or...is he here, as well? I know Father would love to have a word with him, about what he stole from him...”

Desiree pulled herself back enough to glare at him.

“Your fazher is out-of-luck,” she spat, her voice loud enough for Jules to hear for the first time. “Captain Aquila is more zhan out of his reach.”

The young man with the stony blue eyes smiled broader still as he abruptly pulled Desiree that bit closer to him. Jules willed his heart rate down as best he could, his narrowed eyes darting from the scroll in the troll-faced man’s pocket to the spinning roulette table.

Almost there -- almost --

“Hmm...Aquila may be out of Father’s reach -- mais tu n'es pas hors de ma portée, ma cherie.”

SMACK.

Everyone looked up, some gasping in surprise. Desiree had actually smacked the man’s hand, which had been migrating along her waist down toward her rear, off of her and then whipped out her wand, pointing it at his chest.

“You will not touch me again, Jacques Macnair,” she said in a very cold, venomous voice.

Both of the men on either side of Jules had shot up from the roulette table. They shoved past Jules, rushing over as if to flag Claude Macnair’s heir, but Jacques held up his hands to stop his cronies on both sides of the room from coming to his aid.

“It’s all right,” he said in a very airy voice, sounding perfectly undaunted. “The lady’s spirit is a charming feature, is it not?”

His stony blue eyes rested on Desiree as he spoke to everyone else.

“You all remember Desiree Lestrange, do you not, mes amis? Esteemed Cursebreaker at le Banque Decristaux -- much sought-after daughter of Cyrille Lestrange -- all before she was seduced by a Sang-de-Bourbe sky pirate. What was his name again? Oh yes -- Jules Aquila.”

The name made everyone cringe, their gaze flickering over to Claude Macnair sitting on the sidelines. The older man’s hand had clenched around his glass, making it shatter. He rose from his seat, his equally stony eyes like daggers upon Desiree.

“Where is he, girl?” snarled Claude. It was clear from the slurred aspect of his speech that he was drunk.

“Not here,” Desiree lied at once coldly. She was purposefully not looking at Jules -- she didn’t want to prompt anyone to look his way.

“Undoubtedly ma chere Mademoiselle Lestrange is here for the notes my associates collected from Greece,” said Jacques very smoothly. “You told me that you collided with her and Aquila there, did you not, Moliere?”

“As if I would let you or your fazher cultivate a basilisk, Jacques Macnair,” Desiree shot back, her eyes flashing. “I know full-well what zort of terrible things you could do, with zuch a creature...”

In a flash, Jacques took out his own wand, pointing it against the side of Desiree’s neck.

“Well, I’ve needed a new pet, since your little pirate stole Father’s occamy,” he said in a soft, uncaring voice worthy of a sociopath. “At least this one should be a bit sturdier.”

“Vous connard,” Desiree swore under her breath.

“Gotta agree with the lady on this.”

Everyone turned around, taken aback. Jules had, out of nowhere, climbed up on the roulette table, his wand also pointed down at Jacques as he glared down at him.

“Expelliarmus!”

Jacques’s wand was knocked right out of his hand, right across the dance floor. Several of Claude’s men all rushed forward, ready to protect him again, but once again, Jacques held up a hand to stop them. The young gangster looked from Jules to Desiree and back, his eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly, before he cocked his eyebrows in something almost condescending.

“Well...this is awkward,” he said very coolly. “You finally come to my club, Desiree, and you bring your new beau as your date? Je suis blessé.”

His eyes flickered over Jules’s shoulder.

“CAPTAIN!” cried Desiree in alarm.

Jules whirled around, but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid the two linked fists coming down on his head with the strength of a battering ram.

“Ack!”

He was knocked right off the table to the floor. The stupid-looking man from the roulette table hoisted Jules up by the back of his neck. Then the troll-faced man punched him hard in the stomach, making him keel over in pain.

Desiree immediately rushed forward, her wand raised, but in an instant, all of the remaining gangsters in the room had surrounded her, pointing their wands right at Jules and Desiree.

“Alors, alors,” said Jacques very coolly. “Don’t act rashly, Desiree, ma chere.”

He strode over to Jules, bearing down upon the much shorter man.

“You clean up very nicely, for such a filthy, ragamuffin sheik. One could almost forget that you have no family or prospects. Almost.”

Jacques shot the stupid-looking man holding Jules a significant look.

“I don’t like that wand pointing at me -- Rosier, do something about that, will you?”

The man twisted Jules’s arm back with so much strength that he actually broke it with an audible CRACK.

“AHH!”

Jules’s wand clattered to the ground. Desiree shot forward, her face alarmed -- one of Claude’s men grabbed her from behind, twisting her wrists roughly behind her back so she couldn’t raise her wand.

“Ah -- let go of me!”

“J'avoue, I must confess, I don’t like your new copain, ma cherie,” Jacques said dryly to Desiree without looking at her. “He’s ill-suited to possess a treasure such as you.”

Jules hobbled back to his feet as best he could, looking up at Jacques with a very hard, hate-filled expression. “I don’t trust any judgment from a man who can look at another human being and think she’s something to possess.”

Jacques’s blue eyes narrowed upon Jules. They were glinting strangely -- almost as if there was vengeful molten lava under the stony surface.

“Well, believe you me, Monsieur,” he said the word with no respect whatsoever, “I will not possess you very long -- I have no need for something of such little value.”

Rather than look afraid or angry, though, Jules actually cocked his eyebrows dryly at Jacques.

“You know, for once, Señor, I agree with you. You won’t possess Desiree or me very long -- because we certainly have no more need of you.”

Jules brought up a leg to kick the man holding him hard in the shin and then, just as abruptly elbow him right in the face. Once he was free, he snatched up his wand, and pointed it at the mounted Erumpent horn -- which looked oddly plain and devoid of that colorful sheen it had when they came in.

For while everyone was focused on Desiree and Jacques, Jules had used the proper countercharms to remove the protections Jacques had placed upon the Erumpent horn to contain its explosive quality.

“BOMBARDA!”

No one in the room had much time to react. The goons in the room tried to grab Jules and Jacques and Claude both tried to block Jules’s spell, but all just about anyone else could do was duck for cover.

BAM.

The horn had exploded with the force of a small pipe bomb. Tables and chairs were blasted apart, flying everywhere as the whole room filled up with smoke and flames. As the musicians screamed and fled, Jules used the smoke as cover to run over to Desiree, holding his injured arm at his side as precariously as he could.

“Desi! Desi!”

Somewhere in the smoke, Jules heard a shocked male cry and then a crash like someone being knocked backward into one of the broken tables. A hand flew out of the smoke, seizing his wand arm and holding it -- it was Desiree, her face darting over his face urgently.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah -- just my arm -- ”

Desiree quickly raised her wand, ready to try to bandage it, but Jules uneasily brought his injured arm around her, trying to hug her close against his chest.

“We can mend it later -- hold onto me -- ”

“STUPEFY!”

Red stunners shot through the air toward them, but Jules had already clung on tight to Desiree and Disapparated, taking her with him out of the club before the spells could land.

Needless to say, the Macnairs and their cronies were NOT happy to find out that Herpo’s notes were missing. It seems Jules had been rather busy, while Jacques had been monologuing -- he’d swiped them right out of his troll-faced goon’s pocket and tucked it into the inside of his jacket while all the gangsters assembled were focused on their leader’s son.

x~x~x~x

Later onboard the Empyrean, the ship’s mechanic, Kathleen Alton, held Jules’s injured arm still so she could help him mend it. (After bluntly telling him that she wasn’t a Healer and she didn’t love being forced to be one, just because Jules couldn’t keep himself out of trouble.) She then also spiked a Wiggenweld Potion with a shot or two of whiskey for Jules, to help wash it down.

Once Jules was healed, he found Desiree sitting primly at the helm’s railing, reading over Herpo’s notes. Zephyr the occamy was wrapped around her shoulders and had started nibbling lightly on the edge of the notes, as if hoping Desiree would stop reading them and pay attention to him instead.

Desiree gave his beak a very light, scolding tap. “Ne fais pas ça, Zephyr.”

Zephyr chirped, sounding slightly miffed. At the sight of Jules, though, he immediately brightened up. With a loud chirrup, he slithered through the air right over to him, nuzzling the captain’s stubbly cheek.

“Hey, little buddy,” Jules greeted the occamy with a scratch under his chin.

He looked up to find Desiree had rolled the scroll back up and approached him.

“How is your arm?” she asked, her expression almost hesitant.

“Good as new,” Jules said with a smile.

Desiree, however, didn’t smile.

“That was really very reckless of you,” she said, and her voice was oddly shaky. “You could have been hurt far worse zhan zat...”

“Hey, a few bruises and broken limbs is nothing I can’t handle,” Jules tried to reassure her.

“Jacques Macnair is a far more talented wizard zhan those stooges holding you, Monsieur Aquila!” Desiree said more sharply than she meant. “It’s just fortunate zhat you disarmed him early on -- he is more zhan versed in ze Cruciatus Curse...”

Her eyes darkened as they fell back down to the notes in her lap.

“...It’s one of ze things zhat impressed Mere and Pere most, when they first met ‘im.”

Jules’s face lost all hint of a smile. He watched Desiree for a moment, slightly unsure of how to respond -- then he very slowly, uneasily lowered himself down to sit next to her.

“...Desi...” he said quietly, “...who...was that guy, to you?”

Desiree’s posture was very proud and straight even as her eyes avoided Jules’.

“He courted me, once,” she said simply.

Jules was glad for the distraction of Zephyr curling up around his neck like a necklace and cooing happily, as he felt like someone was tying his insides in knots.

“...I guess that explains the...‘ma cherie’ thing.”

Desiree gave a cold sniff. “He has always been overly familiar like zat. I have never been on first-name terms with zat man, even before my muzzer selected another candidate for me to marry.”

Jules gave a start. “Wait -- you mean you were engaged? To who?”

Desiree smiled darkly. “You know zat man holding you while Moliere punched you in ze stomach?”

The image of the stupid-looking goon with the way-too-small eyes rippled again over Jules’s brain and he gave a much more dramatic double-take.

“ -- wait, what!? Your mother chose -- but -- that bloke’s a complete gili! Why would she -- ?”

"Blood, Monsieur Aquila,” Desiree said, her dark smile only growing dryer. “Jacques Macnair was everyzhing my parents could’ve wanted for me, but for one zhing. His fazzer was Scottish-born and raised and not descended from your Britons’ ‘Sacred Twenty-Eight’ -- meaning, however much Claude Macnair likes to deny it, zhere is Muggle blood in his family. Yves Rosier, on ze other hand? Less wealthy, less talented, far less intelligent -- aggressive, bad-tempered, petty, immature, and as easily led and gullible as a child...but born to a family as Pureblooded as ours.”

Desiree’s eyes grew a little smaller.

“I reckon ze only reason Macnair didn’t react badly to ze match is because Yves Rosier has been under his thumb zince zheir schooldays...zo if I was Rosier’s wife...”

“...You’d be under his thumb too,” Jules surmised.

Desiree nodded. The thought made Jules’s stomach clench in nausea and righteous anger.

Zephyr gave a concerned little chirp, and Jules absently brought a hand up to pet the top of his head, to try to reassure him. His eyes fell absently down onto the occamy, before flickering up to Desiree again.

“...I never thought I’d find another reason to be glad you’re free of your family, Desi,” he said lowly, “but to think that those guys were the sort of people they wanted to marry you off to...like you were some prize, to be won...”

His eyes narrowed upon the top of Zephyr’s violet-feathered head. Desiree considered him for a moment, her eyes softening. Then she shifted around so that she could lean in and place a soft kiss to the side of his face.

Jules straightened up sharply, completely taken aback, as Desiree got to her feet.

“Huh? What was that for?”

The French witch smiled gently over her shoulder. “Oh, nuzzing...just for being you.”

She turned and started to head down the stairs of the helm, back toward her cabin, leaving Jules behind and trying hard to bite back the self-conscious flush staining his face.

#fantastic beasts and where to find them #desiree lestrange #jules aquila #kathleen alton #zephyr #jacques macnair #my writing #fanfiction #my fanfiction #hphm #hogwarts mystery #hphl #hogwarts legacy

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beebrainedstudios · 3 years

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*”Get This Party Started” begins playing loudly overhead*

Wall of text warning:

Here’s your first look at the James Bond AU- specifically the first arc Tooth and Nail, a storyline centered on all five of our main cast and a jewelry heist in the middle of a Bestiary-themed masquerade. There’s a lot of stuff about this AU that I want to share, but in the interest of saving time, here’s a few notes on all of the designs (because I worked hard on these and I want to ramble), character notes, and a brief overview of said AU. Enjoy!

As the name suggests, all of this is based on old spy books and movies (I’m not crafty nor historically informed enough to make super realistic espionage stuff, so the fun high-speed James Bond stuff will do). The basic concept of the AU is there are three modern countries- Makt, Arnes, and England, and each has a respective monarchy and capital London. They all barely get along, and naturally some espionage is a result of that. Kell is an agent of Arnes along with the rest of the Maresh family; they essentially do whatever their Crown needs them to. Meanwhile, Alucard, Lila, and the rest of the Night Spire crew are a band of thieves who specialize in jewelry heists. They’ve had several run-ins with the spy agency over the course of the AU, but Tooth and Nail is when the two groups really start to conflict. Holland is a wild card- the former henchman of the notorious Dane twins, Holland was presumably dead for a while, has no memories of his life before the twins, and a desire for revenge against Kell for reasons I’ll explain later.

In Tooth and Nail, these three groups all head to a Grey London masquerade ball in order to steal a priceless jewelry set- a historic crown and necklace studded with special diamonds from each of the three countries. Kell and the Maresh head there because their Crown feels they have more of a claim to the jewels than England, and it’s not up to them to disagree. Lila and Alucard’s reasons for being there are self-explanatory, but problems arise when Alucard bumps into Rhy due to a bad history he has with the agency and the pending warrant out for his arrest. Holland, with no past left to return to, wants to make a criminal name for himself by stealing the crown, and he’s got plans in place to make sure he can start his revenge against Kell in the process. Things go awry very quickly, and soon the problem is much more than a set of shiny diamonds as everyone fights to stay ahead of everyone else.

On to the characters;

- Kell’s up first, and as one may guess, he is a) the main, James Bond-esque spy, and b) dressed as a unicorn. I could ramble for ages about why I chose said animal, but suffice to say it suits very well. Beyond that, his outfit is based on English riding uniforms and his Kamerov disguise. On normal missions, his outfit varies tremendously, but he always at least has a coat with him that’s lined with pockets that hold a whole host of equipment. At the ball though, all he’s got is his cane and the “tail” of the costume, which is braided leather and can act as a whip if he needs it too (it’s longer than it looks). Kell the spy is extremely good at his job despite his vibrant appearance, and he has a stunning track record. Unfortunately, that track record is going to come back to haunt him when Holland shows up. Fun fact; he’s heterochromatic- he just wears a blue contact in his brown eye.

- Rhy’s next, and he’s an extremely flashy phoenix, as his job is to distract everyone while Arnes goes for the gems. His outfit is the most variable- the “wings” and skirt of his outfit can be rearranged using a series of hidden snaps, which makes it easier for him to get around and dance. Rhy’s a darling among the wealthy elite and is adored by almost everyone he meets, but his real talents lie in the tech department; Rhy is the “Q” of this AU, and his mastery of languages extends to computer code. He usually acts as the “guy in the chair” for Kell, but this mission has required him to be front and center as the ultimate diversion. When Kell ends up in danger after Holland makes his move, Rhy’s forced to further enter the field, and he teams up with the Night Spire in a bid to save his brother.

- Lila’s a sea monster/kraken, and she’s one of the most skilled lockpicks and pickpockets out there. She’s also Alucard’s plus one for the event, which doesn’t work out so well when he’s taken into custody. With the agency on one side and a villain she’s never heard of on the other, she makes a risky deal with a desperate Rhy so they can both save their best friends. Design-wise, her outfit was the hardest to figure out, but I think it came out good enough.

- Alucard has a lot of issues in this AU, and he’s dressed as a siren, specifically the feathered-and-finned bestiary variety. Luc’s not just on Arnes’ hit list for all of the heists. His family used to be part of the agency too, and he’s wanted for murder and arson courtesy of an accident at his family’s mansion. Rhy isn’t exactly happy to see him even with their history, but they don’t get much time to discuss it- yet. Let’s just say he’s lucky Rhy needs him around.

- Finally, there’s Holland. Holland’s dressed as a marble fox, and he has big plans for the jewels of both the Maresh and the English crowns. His story has spoilers for the prequel Dane arc, but he’s basically the prototype of a very specific bioweapon Athos invented, and Kell ruined his chances of fixing the damage. Now a henchman turned vengeful big bad, Holland’s a formidable threat with a surprising favored weapon- wire (every Bond villains’s gotta have a schtick, you know?). Note those bracelets, they’ve got a nasty surprise in them. Another fun fact; like Kell, he’s heterochromatic (sectoral/partial though, instead of complete).

Other random stuff:

- Maxim is the gadget guy, and he often works closely with Rhy to make cool spy gear. His special weapon include the Maresh manor defense system and cute little sphere droids with various functions.

- Vitari is in this AU, but it’s not human or magic. It’s a fledgling AI-virus thing that Rhy tries to “rehabilitate.” (I don’t know if this is pushing too far into sci-fi territory, but it’s not the biggest plot thread so I’m just gonna roll with it.)

- Osaron is also in this AU and is probably part of the third arc. He’s human and creepy. That’s all I’ve got at this point.

Congrats on getting this far! I know it’s a long post but I love this AU already and can’t wait to write for it. Having said that, asks for this AU are highly appreciated; you can also prompt/suggest scenes I mentioned too. Consider my asks open for this for now. Anyways, hope you all like it!

P.S.: I’m going to draw them in their normal outfits soon- I just did this first.

#sorry to ramble but ive been stewing over this all week #adsom #a darker shade of magic #shades of magic #adsom james bond au #adsom au #kell maresh #rhy maresh #holland vosijk #lila bard #alucard emery #bee rambles #adsomtoothandnail #a conjuring of light #a gathering of shadows #ve schwab #also lets all ignore how the backgrounds of the refs suck #i couldnt get them to work out

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sockablock · 4 years

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Chapter 4: Just a Parlor Trick

“—and this is your room! Or it will be, soon, once we get your stuff moved in.”

A blur of curls flew past Nott and dove headfirst onto the bare mattress. Two-feet-two of little halfling boy sprung up, danced around in a circle, and surveyed his new kingdom by bouncing on the bed.

It was—as Nott would be the first to admit—pretty bare at the moment. Caleb had already taken all of his belongings, but there hadn’t been that much to begin with. Aside from the bed-now-turned-trampoline, there was just an oak wardrobe, and a rug. The only other fixture of note was the window, framed by thin blue drapes, currently open and letting in the sea breeze.

“What do you think, Luc?” Yeza grinned from the doorframe. “How do you like it?”

“The ocean is so cool!” Luc’s hair flew around in a storm as he jumped. “And the people—there’s so many people, Dad! That big turtle at the restaurant—his back had a pipe in it!”

Nott felt the ghost of a touch on her arm. When she caught Yeza’s tentative expression, she forced herself to relax into it.

The illusion had held so far, hadn’t it? And besides, her husband already knew the truth.

“It’s okay,” she said quietly. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” Then she gave her son a smile. “And what do you think about the house, sweetie? Do you like your room?”

Luc, mid-air, gave this some thought.

“It’s smaller than my old room,” he said. “The window is bigger. Can I put my pictures up?”

There was a box of posters somewhere in the moving van. Apparently, some time in the last three years, Luc had gotten incredibly invested in a semi-popular cartoon series featuring a team of adventurers who solved mysteries in the Marrow Valley. Yeza had told her during one of their rare reunions that the clerk at the store was all but giving them away; something about increasing promotional awareness.

“Of course you can put your pictures up, Luc.”

He beamed a freckled, toothy smile.

“I like it, Mom! Can I put them up now?”

— — —

Jester hummed cheerfully to herself as she made her way through the streets of Nicodranas.

The novelty of such an act was not lost on her, and not just because she’d spent most of her life indoors—the last time she’d hurried down a road like this, it’d been under much less enjoyable circumstances.

But Jester had more tricks up her sleeves these days, and skipping between street merchants and bustling crowds, weaving through the Opal Archways in the middle of rush hour, she was certain she could hide from any watching eyes.

She squeezed the picnic basket in her arms, packed tight with the best pastries money could buy. She’d keep an eye out, too, for that little sidewalk café that did the strawberry-mango drinks Momma liked, though Jester suspected that her mother was just feigning enthusiasm to get her to eat more fruit.

The stoplight above flickered twice, then turned green. She looked both ways, then skipped across the street.

Maybe she should make a stop for sandwiches. And flowers, while she was at it—and over there, a book sale! Now that Jester was finally back home, with the Chateau such an easy walk from her apartment, every weekend she did her best to bring the whole city to her mother’s boudoir.

Not that—and here she giggled at the thought—Momma needed any help there.

The Ruby of the Sea was busy, after all. Just not too busy for her little sapphire.

— — —

The thing was, Essek’s mother was busy.

She was always busy, and with good reason at that; for longer than Essek had even been alive—and how much longer before that, gods knew—Deirta Thelyss had been the Umavi of Den Thelyss, and therefore a permanent and immovable fixture in the intricate political dance of the Kryn Dynasty.

In another life, perhaps, Essek might have followed in her footsteps and joined her in running the country—though, if she got her way, there was a good chance that he ultimately would. But, as the Dynasty and Empire so far had managed to maintain a tenuous hold on peace, currently there was little need for a person of Essek’s particular talents.

The irony of that statement occasionally made him want to laugh, though he didn’t much feel like laughing now. It had taken a considerable amount of willpower to even drag him over to his desk, and there he sat with his forehead to the surface, lamenting that going back to bed hadn’t solved his problems.

Why was Mother bothering to attend the upcoming Clovis Concord Gala? Not a single one of these coastal cities was closely allied with the Dynasty, and the sheer geographical distance between them made the two nations vaguely aware of each other at best. In fact, Essek had chosen Nicodranas specifically because of how little the Bright Queen cared about it.

Which meant the unavoidable fact of the matter was that Mother was coming just for him.

The wood of his desk was cold on his head. If she were here now, she’d tell him to sit up.

Actually, she’d probably say much more than that. If Verin was telling the truth—and his brother had always been on his side when it came to Mother— fending off another round of her attempts to force him home would only be half the struggle.

He kicked his chair back and listened to the way his wheels slid across the floor. Distantly, he could just make out some muted shuffling coming from the kitchen, and he had to remind himself that it was probably not a burglar, but Caleb.

Today was his second day in the apartment, and the man would probably need a few days to settle in. Though, Essek noted with a hint of satisfaction, Caleb seemed like a very efficient person. He’d actually…quite enjoyed their negotiation last night, despite how long it ended up being. For just a few hours his fear of an impending maternal maelstrom had been staved off by the way Widogast sometimes quirked his eyebrow while he was reading, or by the way he’d gently tap the clip of his borrowed pen with his thumb…

Essek had let him keep it, afterwards. He hadn’t even considered doing otherwise.

And as that thought crossed his mind, his restful silence was shattered by a crash.

— — —

“Knock-knock, Momma!”

“Ah, Jester! Come in! Close the door behind—oh, bother.”

This was immediately followed with the sound of air snapping to fill a void, then another minor explosion accented by four scrabbling paws.

“Nugget! Oh, Nuggy, I’ve missed you so much—”

Marion Lavore hiked up her skirts and gently side-stepped the slobber on the floor. She made her way back to her chaise lounge just a moment after Jester peeled herself from the dog.

“He’s getting quite big,” her mother said, artfully removing the exhaustion from her tone. But two decades of living under Momma’s roof gave Jester all the hint that she needed.

“Oh, I want to take him back, I really do, but the apartment doesn’t let us have dogs.” Jester sank into a plush sofa with Nugget wagging his tail at her heels. He put his head in her lap and drooled.

“And…your luck with finding a…a new apartment?”

“We’ve all been busy, Momma,” Jester sighed. “Beau is working all day long to set up a new library by the Quay, and Yasha disappears all the time even though she’s…feeling better now. I think it’ll be a while until everything’s calmed down and we can look.”

Marion pointedly did not think about the many curtains that Nugget had already eaten in three months.

“Ah, well. I understand. And how are you doing, my sweet?”

Jester giggled. “I’m doing good! I’ve been drawing and painting a lot by the sea, and keeping busy with other arts and crafts. Did you know people on the Internet will buy dozens of tiny clay dick statues? The Traveler thought it was very funny.”

Her mother’s expression was an ocean of calm. “Oh, is that…is that so? Well, I’m glad to hear you’re finding ways to…spend your day.”

“I brought some to show you!”

“Oh, how...lovely…”

“Some paintings, Momma.” Jester set aside the picnic basket and fished around in her knapsack. The bag was a horrifically pink mess of burlap and loud, jangly pins. Jester had to shove aside quite a few rolls of brushes and capped paints as she searched.

Marion watched her work with interest. “Well, even if you had brought a…the statue, I would—oh, Jester. It’s beautiful!”

Jester beamed as her mother took the canvas, gingerly like it was—and it was—fine art.

In her hands, a stunning landscape of the sea beside Nicodranas at dawn, pale pink light glancing off the tide and a thin breath of sun just above the water.

“It’s for you, Momma!”

“Oh, Jester, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Take it.” She laughed. “I have lots more at home, but this one’s my favorite so you should have it.”

Decades of living with a burgeoning artist had taught Marion not to hug the piece to her chest, though she quite wanted to.

“I’ll hang it up, then. In a place of honor,” she said seriously. “Maybe heading up the stairs? The light there is lovely, and that way I know the most important people will get to see it.”

Jester’s smile could have swallowed up the world. “Thanks, Momma.”

“No, thank you, my sweet. Now, come. What else have you been doing? What’s new and exciting with your…what did you call yourselves? The Mighty Nein?”

Jester helped her mother lay out a feast’s worth of pastries across the coffee table. Nugget eyed the bounty like a lit fuse until Jester also produced a chewing bone, which he gleefully snapped up and began to gnaw.

“I wanted to make sure we didn’t have a repeat of last time, so I stopped by a pet store,” she explained, munching on a strawberry tart. “And we’re all doing good! Caleb’s move went well, and Nott’s family just landed.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” her mother said. “You know, it would not have been a problem for them to stay with me. At least while they got settled.”

“I know, I know, but I think since she already had a place, she wanted them there, you know? And anyway, she said she didn’t want to impose.”

“Of course,” Marion nodded. “And perhaps the Chateau is…it would be a bit unconventional for a family to stay here, hm?”

“We did it!”

“We did, but we are an unconventional family.”

Jester laughed, then brushed a few crumbs off her skirt. “What have you been doing lately, Momma? Any news? Any interesting clients?” She waggled her eyebrows for emphasis.

“Well,” her mother smiled faintly, “actually, I…might have something interesting to tell you. I was, ah…well, I was invited to a party. To sing, but also as a guest.”

“What?!” Jester threw her hands in the air. “Oh, Momma, that’s amazing!”

“I, ah…might decline.”

Jester’s elation vanished instantly. “Oh, Momma. Is it…the outside…?”

Marion shrugged. It was a decidedly unrefined gesture, and left a little crinkle in her robe. “I’m just…well, you know I’ve made a little progress since you got back, but…I don’t know. I’m not sure I’d feel so comfortable being in a place like that alone.”

Jester reached across the table to pat her mother on the hand. “I understand. It’s probably just a dumb party anyway, I’m sure you won’t be missing much!”

“It’s…well, it’s the 400th Anniversary Gala of the Clovis Concord.”

“Oh, man.”

“Tell me about it, dear,” Marion sighed.

There was a moment’s pause, filled with the sound of thoughtful chewing.

And then:

“What if we went with you?”

Marion blinked twice.

“I beg your pardon?”

— — —

They left Luc in his new bedroom happily slapping tape to the wall. Yeza had been worried that this would damage the paint when they’d eventually have to take down his posters, but Nott reassured him that getting back the safety deposit for this apartment was already a lost cause.

“There was a…small incident,” she said, as he poured her tea, “involving electricity. And…a mild fire.”

“Oh, man. Did you guys blow the fuse box or something?”

Nott debated whether or not exploding a microwave with voltaic bolts fell under that category.

“Mm, yeah, it was something like that.” She watched him sink into the chair across the table, paying special attention to the way his glasses bounced on his nose.

He hadn’t needed glasses three years ago. He hadn’t been quite so pale, either.

“So, how is your friend Caleb?” Yeza asked, tilting his head slightly at her silence. “Is he alright? Settled in and everything?”

Nott quickly scrounged up her smile. “He is! Actually, his place is really nice. Cheap, too, from what I’ve heard.”

“Oh, that’s great,” Yeza sipped his tea, leaving a little half-crescent above his lip. “I was worried about him. You told him for me, right? How much I appreciate this?”

“Of course I did. And I told him plenty that he didn’t have to, but he really insisted, and…well. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t happy that he did.”

Yeza put a biscuit in her hands. “We’ll send him a fruit basket, then. With pineapples! Heck, I should send one to all of your friends, for pitching in for the plane tickets. They’re really kind.”

“They are pretty great, aren’t they?” Nott took a bite, coating her tongue with chalky crumbs. “They’ll probably be around at some point—they want to see you and the boy again.”

“Is the tall one still around? With the pink hair? I liked him.”

Nott gave a laugh. “I’ll tell him you said that. It’s been quiet these last few days, you know, so it’ll really be great to have the company back. Not that—oh, gods, not that you and Luc aren’t—”

“I get it, I get it,” Yeza shook his head. “Don’t worry. Like we said over the phone, right? It’ll take…there’ll be an adjustment period.”

Nott set her mug down on the table. Her smile was a little less firm now.

“You and Luc are here,” she said again, quietly. “You’re here, but I…I’m talking about my friends, I shouldn’t be saying those things, should I? I…should focus on you two—”

“Hey, no, Veth. Not at all.”

“But it is unfair,” she sighed. “I…sweetie, I’m so happy to see you, and the boy, but now that…Caleb’s gone, and the two of you have moved in, a…a part of me, an awful part of me, already misses—”

“Veth, it’s okay—"

“It’s not, I mean we’re married—gods, wait, I’d never betray—”

“Veth.”

A hand touched her shoulder. Yeza’s voice was low and soft. “Honey, it’s okay. It really is okay, and I…I know. It’s complicated. I know. We haven’t been a family for a while—and none of that is your fault, it just isn’t. It’s just…been a tough few years, for us, but also especially for you. I doubt I could’ve survived what you’ve been through, after all. And things have changed—I’ve changed, I mean—I snore again, and I’ve gotten used to Edith helping around our house, and…I guess what I’m trying to say, is that it’s only natural…it’s only fair, that you’re allowed to change too. It’s okay. We talked about this, right?”

“Right,” Nott murmured.

“So it’ll be okay. We’ll make it work. And it’s still you, right? You still love me, right?”

She felt herself nod. Then, gently, “I didn’t stop loving you.”

“Well, that’s good. Neither did I.”

This time, she risked a glance up, and saw his smile. Yeza’s smiles were always a little lop-sided, smushing his freckles, and crinkling one eye. She’d made fun of that when they were younger, and let go of a breath when she saw that hadn’t changed.

As she exhaled, she gave a nod. Then a chuckle.

“Right. Right. Of course we will. We’re…probably going to have to enroll Luc in school. It—it’s summer now, but when autumn swings around…what is he? In first grade? In second?”

Yeza laughed. “This fall will be his first year of school.” Then his eyes widened. “Oh, gods, it’s his first year of school. He…I don’t even know if he’s ready, if he’s…wait, is it different in Nicodranas? Are there tests? Is this a good school district, I—I didn’t even check—”

This time, it was Veth who stopped him. “Relax,” she said, and poked Yeza’s nose. “His dad is the most brilliant chemist in the world. We can look up all that other stuff.”

She brushed his cheek with her other thumb. “Like you said. We’ve got this. We’ll make it work.”

— — —

It had started with a recipe for blueberry muffins.

It had ended, more or less, somewhere around the time that Caleb realized neither he nor Essek owned measuring cups—and anyway, the blueberries were looking a little mushy so maybe he should wait until next week to surprise the Brenattos, that way he’d have a chance to get better ones, even though their move-in day was technically today—

And at that point, Frumpkin had jumped into the cabinet, dislodging what sounded like years’ worth of unused pots, knocking down an avalanche of dusty pans.

The last skillet clanged like thunder as it spun to a stop on the floor.

“Mist. Frumpkin—”

Ever the cat, Frumpkin deftly wove out of Caleb’s grasp and darted for the counter. He perched himself unblinking at the edge of the sink and licked his paw, as if for emphasis.

Caleb sighed. He crouched down to reach for the nearest displaced kitchen implement, a stock pot.

“You know,” he began, exasperated, “you could at least help me out with this mess.”

“Is that so?”

He whipped around so quickly that his head hit the handle of a drawer. One hand flew up, he startled, “Miste—Essek?”

His landlord raised a curved eyebrow. With the mid-afternoon light streaming in through the windows, the purplish tint to Essek’s complexion was something akin to a dusting of twilight. His hair was half-tousled, like it’d been mussed by something, and his hand lingered on the doorknob.

“I…my cat,” Caleb managed. “That is, er. I apologize. Deeply. For the commotion.”

Essek looked him over. “I thought we had agreed on silence last night, no?”

Caleb hung his head, and he could feel disappointment coming, undoubtedly with despair on its coattails.

“I have broken the terms,” he said mutely. “I…I am sorry. I understand what that means.”

His gaze clung to the polished floor. Which was why he missed it when the heavy stock pot took on a faint, shimmering, blueish glow. And then the saucepan began to shine. And then a wok, a spatula, a bowl—

All of the fallen cookware slowly began to rise through the air. As they moved, a parade past Caleb’s amazed expression, slipping by Frumpkin’s outstretched paw, each individual pot righted itself, formed into lines, then were quickly and neatly whisked away into the cabinet above.

The doors clicked as they shut.

“I…but that—what spell was that?”

Mentally, Caleb kicked himself. He should’ve apologized.

But Essek only chuckled. “Oh, that was just a parlor trick. An idle curiosity about the…shall we say, limits of gravity. Particularly regarding how easy they are to break.”

Caleb scrambled up to his feet. “But I have never seen control like that on such a grand scale before. Your spell, it—Telekinesis only controls one object at once.”

“Well,” Essek allowed himself a smirk. “Telekinesis is a watered-down version of what true dunamancy can accomplish. I will say, even getting that far was impressive. I have seen your documentation.”

“Gods,” though, Caleb noticed, there was not a trace of resentment in his tone. “Here I thought our transmutative literature was the most advanced there was.”

Essek shrugged. “Please, do not misunderstand me. It is good, for Empire wizards, especially. Until then, I had been under the impression that your lot only excelled at evocation.”

“We are a dab hand at necromancy too,” Caleb said dryly, “if the stories from twenty years ago are believed.”

This actually won a laugh. “Maybe I am the one being too cruel. It was your people who pioneered the earliest manipulations of air elemental magic, no? It is truly an interesting method for conquering gravity.”

“Yours is better,” Caleb said, before he could stop himself. “If you think that a parlor trick, my friend, I hesitate to ask else you could accomplish.”

“Why hesitate?”

And then, Caleb blinked. Somewhere in the distance, Frumpkin nudged his shoulder, but in that moment, all he could focus on was Essek.

“I…excuse me?”

And with that, the spell was broken. Essek slid into a kitchen chair.

“Nevermind, nevermind,” he waved his hand. “And please. Do not worry about that mess. I am not so unreasonable to think that accidents can never happen. Just, ah…you have been a wonderful roommate so far. In the future…?”

“You have my word,” Caleb said. He slipped the carton of slightly-mushy blueberries behind him.

“Excellent,” Essek nodded. “Well. If that is settled, I might sit here and, ah…get some work done?”

Caleb, dense as he was, got the message. “I just—of course, I will be gone in a moment, I’ll just put these things away—”

“No rush at all. I am not in any hurry.”

And indeed, whether or not Essek was just being polite, it did seem like the man was…a bit distracted. Caleb had no right to poke into his business, which was a violation of Section II, Subsection IV anyway, but he couldn’t help but ask Frumpkin to take the tiniest peek at Essek’s face.

Something was bothering his landlord. And for once, still basking in the afterglow of powerful magic, Caleb was almost sure it wasn’t him.

He found out just as he was heading to his room.

“Might I, ah, ask you a question?”

Caleb had enough composure to turn around at a normal person’s pace.

“Yes?”

Essek ran a hand through his hair. “Actually, it…it is more of a favor.”

“Oh,” said Caleb. And when more was required, “Yes?”

“Yes already?” He blinked. “But I did not say what it was.”

“I meant,” Caleb amended, leaning against his doorframe, “please describe this favor to me.”

“Ah,” said Essek. “Right. I, er…”

How in the gods’ names was he supposed to phrase something ridiculous as this?

“I wonder…” he tried, “that is…if you might…would it be…are you perhaps…are you busy this weekend?”

Whatever he was expecting, this absolutely was not it.

“I—no?” Caleb said, out of pure shock. Then he shook his head and added, “I do not think so, no.”

“Ah,” said Essek. Somehow he seemed even more uncomfortable now. “That is…excellent.” It did not sound excellent. “If…well, if that is the case, then…do you think you could…help me with something?”

Caleb waited patiently. “With something?”

“A date.”

“A what?”

“No—not—oh, gods, I am doing this wrong.” Essek actually put his head in his hands, and Caleb once again had to throttle his own surprise.

Then, in a move made by a part of him so bold he didn’t even know he still had it, Caleb re-entered the kitchen and down in the seat across from Essek.

“I think, perhaps you should start from the beginning.”

Essek nodded miserably. He breathed in.

“You are right, Caleb.”

He breathed out.

“So. It’s like this…”

— — —

✨ Ko-Fi Link in Bio! ✨ | Requests are OPEN

#thanks so much for reading!!#critical role #critfic #fic #shadowgast #fanfiction #fanfic #critrole #long post #SUCH a long post im so sorry if the break doesn't work yall tumblr is like that sometimes hfjgk #jay writes #now what are the chances of that #nwtcot #modern au #text #<3333333333333333

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travellvogue · 4 years

Text

“If a boy doesn’t treat you like this, he doesn’t deserve you”- James Maddison

Baby Imagines: Season 2- Day 10:

The arrival of your baby boy had meant Sophie had to quickly adjust to life with a sibling, now no longer an only child, the concept of sharing mum and dad’s affection was one that didn’t exactly sit well with her. Not understanding why daddy couldn’t look at her new drawing whilst he was changing brother’s nappy, or how bath times were like world war three, disgusted by the idea that she had to now share her bathtub with a boy. There were new toys she didn’t like- firetrucks and lego’s that weren’t princess fairies like the ones she enjoyed, her playroom no longer a haven of tea parties and Frozen costumes, instead the room was now fifty-fifty with her brother.

It got easier- only slightly, James would talk to her about how baby brother loves her “loads and loads, he’s just too little to tell you yet”, you’d catch glimpses of her getting excited when he wakes up and she can now have cuddles, or how she’d ask to help you dress him for the day, finding it so cute how she basically saw him as a real life toy doll, even if you had to tell her he can’t go in her play buggy, and she especially can’t keep shoving plastic food into his mouth.

Today- she was in a mood. The jealousy had been bearable and controllable for the past few weeks, hoping that she was adjusting to life with another child in the house, but clearly today we were taking a few steps backwards from the progress she’d made. She was even sulking with James which was rare (usually the fits and sulks were aimed towards you, being the mother you seemed to get the highs and the lows, dad simply got the laughs and giggles.) “C’mon Soph please, you can’t run around naked all day” James groans, the blue denim dungarees and white polo top in his hands rather than on her body, exhausted from trying to tempt her with treats and cuddles if she just simply gets herself dressed. Instead her hair was a mess, the pony tail from last night barely kept up by the hairband from how she’d tossed and turned in her bed during the night, stains on her pyjamas from god knows what. Her little legs running around her bedroom, leaping over books and barbies, finding this whole ‘game’ rather entertaining on her behalf.

“Noooooo” she giggles, this was her way of getting daddy’s attention- you and James had learnt that over the last three months of having a newborn. She’d purposely miss behave so you had no other choice then to stop feeding, bathing, cuddling, her little brother and give her your full attention.

“Ah!” James fakes an excitable gasp, catching her attention immediately, pausing in her actions of throwing a stuffed toy up in the air. Looking at him, interest in her eyes, waiting for daddy to continue. “If you’re a good girl for me, and you get dressed… we can go and get… ice cream” he whispers the last bit, a secret between the two of them knowing junk food is a rare treat. Her eyes lighting up, a rapid nod of the head. And with that, the top and dungarees were on her body without any complaints.

“Just me and you?” she asks innocently as she watches James in the mirror whilst he does her hair, a cute little bun with a mini bow pinned at the front. He simply nods in response, if it made her happy, then he’d do anything in his power to ensure that.

She skipped through the shopping centre, like a dog following a scent, she knew exactly where she was going, an inward squeal as she spotted the luminous sign of the ice cream parlour. Taking full advantage of her treat, pilling as many toppings on her scoop of vanilla and chocolate ice cream. The array of toppings- ranging from fruits, sprinkles, gummy bears and chocolate shavings- was like a heaven for her little eyes, rare for her to have junk food since Jame’s chef had also taken on the role of making the kids nutritional meals, giving you one less job to stress about.

The two of them sat in deep conversation, James learning all about this boy called Daniel at reception who was her ‘friend’, but according to the blush on her cheeks when daddy pressed her to answer if he was her boyfriend told him a different story. Bouncing in her chair as she insists, “boys are yucky” earning a proud nod from James, her tiny palm high-fiving his, holding daddy's hand in her own as she traces over the tattoo’s, colouring them in with bright shades of pink and green in her mind.

“If a boy doesn’t treat you like this, he doesn’t deserve you” James says with half a mouthful of cookie dough ice cream, his choice of topping stuck in the corner of his mouth, wiping it with the back of his hand as she nods along, listening intently to daddy’s advice.

“Will brother treat me like this?” she asks, avoiding eye contact, the stubbornness she’d taken from her mother evident in her tense shoulders. She loved him more than anything, it was just hard to admit it when she made it such an issue.

“Of course” James whispers, a smile growing on her face, “and so will daddy... forever” her smile was beaming now, reaching from ear to ear.

“Let’s go buy bubba brother a teddy” she says confidently, the bond finally made, after months of trying all it took was some ice cream.

(ignore)tags: @footballdaydream @luc-57x @tahith44 @cinnnabaee @shakila-k @inlovewithamess @trentaafc @dreamingdcl

#james maddison #james maddison blurb #james madders blurb #james madders #james maddison imagine #james maddison fluff #baby imagines #baby imagines 2

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