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midnightsslut · 2 days

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religion is one of the most prominent recurring themes on the album, and it has been present in some capacity for quite a few records now. taylor previously compared love to religion: her saving grace, her belief system, and a fated divine intervention (false god, cornelia street, and cruel summer are the best examples of this). ‘sacred new beginnings that became my religion’ and ‘we’d still worship this love even if it’s a false god’ are two of the defining statements about her philosophy on the lover album.

taylor doesn’t want to leave all of that behind on ttpd, at least not at the beginning. the first supernatural force she mentions is the spaceship on down bad, which she compares to a skylight of freedom in the epilogue. *something* has finally come to save her from her life of suffering. she doesn’t care if it’s a force of good at first; if anything, she’s just fine being taken away by aliens. she views this man as her destiny. it isn’t until guilty as sin? that taylor starts to ponder the moral implications of what she’s doing. is she guilty as sin for wanting to leave her previous religion and relationship behind? she comes to the conclusion that, even if she rolls the stone away and gets resurrected/redeemed, she cannot avoid the fallout. she is okay with the thought of having to wait, as long as both lovers vow to be together forever, just as she once did with someone else in false god. ‘I choose you and me religiously’ finishes the bridge of the song in a direct callback to cornelia street.

the next mention of religion has murkier imagery. she claims that she does not need the Lord’s help to save this man. she sees the halo that he has, and she can fix him herself. now that she feels free of her prior cage, she isn’t looking for divine intervention anymore. she wants control. she is their route to salvation.

when the relationship falls apart, she retreats back into the position of a believer rather than a divine figure. she compares him to a Holy Ghost who promised to save her and take her to heaven. instead, she is in hell in every sense of the word: she’s down bad and feels guilty for digging up the grave. he was a jehovah’s witness who promised that she could break free of the cage imposed by love without changing her religion altogether; she would’ve just had to switch denominations. she could still have a marriage and kids! she could still have a blue tortured poet! the man was different, but not the dreams they had together. the story of the first part of the album ends here. her faith has been broken, and she has only found any semblance of sanity by refusing to mention these belief systems altogether.

side b/the anthology blends the christian imagery of side a with goddesses, sorcerers, and prophecies. she bargains with these powers to let her have the future she wants (the prophecy). she doesn’t sound like someone believing in salvation. if anything, she feels cursed. she decides that the concept of divinely ordained timing will never work in certain relationships (‘the goddess of timing once found us beguiling / she said she was trying / peter, was she lying?’). this disdain extends onto her perception of other people’s faith (‘bet they never spared a prayer for my soul’). she does position herself as a prophet in cassandra, but even then, she admits that the role has hurt her. perhaps the pain in thank you aimee was meant to be, or perhaps she was just strong enough to build a legacy in spite of it, boulder by boulder. is she a martyr? does she want to be? or did she save herself?

the only real love song on this half of the album makes no mention of fate or any divine forces. it wasn’t meant to be. it’s not a supernatural invisible string or lightning in a bottle. she is just in love.

the album ends with the manuscript, which revisits an old story of a defining, formative heartbreak. as she sings ‘at last, she knew what the agony had been for’ while describing the legacy of her writing, she seems to revert to thinking about the purpose of trauma. the only exception is that, in this case, she is the one who found meaning in her pain by turning it into a manuscript. writing is her belief system now, and she proselytizes by telling her stories and thus giving up the manuscript.

ultimately, her belief in destiny has chewed her up and spat her out. she so desperately clung to her existing belief systems that she was fooled by a conman, which left her feeling cursed. religion is supposed to be with someone even in their darkest moments, but the album explains that taylor often felt abandoned. the only constant in her life was, well, herself. she’ll be okay, but her pen will be her saving grace.

#idk why I wrote this essay but it needed to be said #this could be taken further by actually unpacking each mention of religion on midnights and lover but i ain’t doing all that #the manuscript #cassandra #Cornelia street #false god #cruel summer #lover #the prophecy #the smallest man who ever lived #but daddy I love him #I can fix him #guilty as sin #ttpd #thank you Aimee #peter

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mariocki · 2 years

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Sky-light: Well. Friend Iron said it din't 'e? Or if he din't 'e should a done. Knowledge ends in a punch up don' it? The on'y way ter teach a cunt 'oo won't learn is ter tie 'im ter the floor an' 'frow darts at 'im. Thass friend Iron's message innit? An' I'm willin' ter teach.

Iron: Iss bin comin' ter you a long time Sky-light.

Sky-light: Maybe so.

Iron: You can still back off you want to.

Sky-light: I can't wait Iron. Ter teach you the joys a' life.

Iron: Tell me that when I've broke yore legs.

Sky-light: I'll tell you that you pull my innards out an' 'ang 'em up ter dry. I tell you that any hour a' the day. You can't stop me Iron. People will go on livin' an' likin' it. Ain't it all a bleed'n shame.

Nigel Williams, Class Enemy (1978)

#100plays #class enemy #nigel williams #modern drama #theatre quotes #modern theatre #1978 #and that's it‚ that's the play #Williams' entire philosophy laid bare #hope versus despair #everything in the play has been building to this showdown between Iron and Skylight #every moment and every line has been part of some bigger game of chess‚ moving them into place #Iron believes‚ simply‚ that life is shit; that no one and nothing will help you but yourself‚ that the world is cruel and people crueller #and that the only thing worth a damn is throwing some punches and hurting the others like you're hurting yourself #Skylight believes‚ deep down‚ in the innate goodness of the world. that life can deal you shit hands but you have to rise above it and help #your brother to the surface. and he's just as willing to defend that belief with his fists #the line about teaching Iron the joys of life isn't remotely ironic; Skylight means it sincerely #and he knows he won't win the fight #but in standing up for what he believes‚ and in taking an unjust beating‚ there's the sense that he hopes Iron might learn something #something about that innate goodness inside one another. something about caring‚ caring so much that you'll take a beating for an idea #but there's also a hint that he knows the lesson will be in vain. that Iron is too far gone. 'Ain't it all a bleedin shame' he says.#ain't it just

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reticulating-splines · 5 months

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WIP - West 70th

1880s-1910s row of Upper West Side townhomes.

Been working on this row of late 19th c. brownstones on and off for the past year now, so needless to say when I heard about For Rent I was hype.

Download Here

This initially started because I was homesick for NYC during the pandemic. Specifically for the area of the upper west side my dorm was in while I was a student. I mainly blame this experience for my obsession with historical architecture - walking along central park west past the Dakota on the way to the subway, smoking on the stoops of the brownstones late at night, going to classes in the wedding cake that is the Ansonia - it was just everywhere, and so, so beautiful to look at.

Except a lot of it is faded glory - buildings subdivided, details chipped or covered in the thickest coats of grime or paint. So I wanted to replicate some of the old New York from around the turn of the century. The one I read about in the Luxe series and saw in the Samantha movie lol.

The basement or garden level of each four-story brownstone will be dedicated to the original purpose as the main workplace of the service staff. Unfortunately no room for the actual garden, so laundry lines and planters are on the roof. There are bedrooms and bathrooms for a cook and a housekeeper/butler, along with the staff dining and the kitchen. The butler's pantry is directly upstairs from the kitchen, and the top floor is almost exclusively made up of staff bedrooms and washrooms.

I usually do the service areas first because they're the most interesting, and there was nothing more interesting than a full edwardian brownstone kitchen. Lots of exposed piping, beadboard, subway tile, and shelves of clutter. Has a separate scullery, pantry, and stairs down to a basement storeroom to keep your best champs-le-sims nectar in. There's also a servant's bellboard in the kitchen and the staff dining room. It along with the "boiler" system are made with tool and CC-free.

The main entrance and parlor are doing their best to continue the gothic revival theme of the exterior. The library and dining room follow in the enfilade starting in the parlor. Since this first house is a corner lot, it has a bit more width and space than a true brownstone. The only actual brownstone I've been inside of is Lady Mendl's, so ofc I had to have an extensive tea setup. Def took a lot of inspo from these two pics alone for these rooms.

The main stairwell and picture gallery lead to three large bedrooms on the second floor, and then up to the children's room and nanny's bedroom on the third floor. I really like skylights. I learned the importance of decent lightwells in staving off depression one semester when my window looked out onto a brick wall

The master bedroom and the children's room above it both have their own private sitting rooms and bathrooms. All rooms have either fireplaces or cast iron radiators.

There's no way this is going to be finished by the time For Rent comes out, so im just going to release it in whatever state it's in when it does come out. The exteriors and interior room layout for all the townhomes will (hopefully) most likely be set by then anyway.

Now available for download!

Also the anniversary of Chez Cromwell is coming up! Ive been gone for the better part of the year due to starting a new job, but I havent been idle. C.Cromwell has been updated for infants and ceilings, which led to me redoing the exterior and almost every room, so a rerelease is coming v soon! Sneak peek below. Happy Thanksgiving!

#sunblind by softerhaze #picture amoebe #drift reshade #heyharrie #lilis-palace #felixandresims #pierisim #reticulating builds #west 70th #the sims 4 for rent #ts4cc #the sims 4 #ts4 build #ts4 wip #sims 4 apartment

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hotgirlmav · 2 years

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Fatal Attraction — Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky x Reader

Pairing: Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky x Female!Reader (18+)

Description: Much like every other person that came across Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky, you had developed quite the crush on him. What made you different, though, was that you were the niece of his direct superior. He knew it was wrong, and he knew he shouldn’t entertain the idea in the slightest, but a little teasing never killed anyone, right?

Warnings: Explicit language, insane dirty talk, semi-possessive Iceman, sexual thoughts and tension, allusions to smut, so much pining, degradation kink, Iceman not wanting to pull a Maverick, Iceman doing just that. You know the drill.

Word Count: 4,279.

A/N: Not only was this much longer than I expected, but it ended up being much dirtier. I’M SORRY, Iceman just does something to me. He does something to all of us. Val Kilmer, you will PAY FOR THIS.

Requests are still open!

Another Friday morning. How lovely.

You were currently making your way to Commander Mike Metcalf’s office, commonly known around those grounds as Viper. The skylight beaming throughout the windows of the naval building illuminated the hallway before you, further reminding you of just how tired you were.

Every single day for the entire month that you were in San Diego, your uncle would forget his lunch. In several ways, his unintentional forgetfulness reminded you very deeply of your father, further proving just why those two were best friends. Had it not been for you, the containers so articulately and thoughtfully prepared by your aunt would have remained right where she left them on the granite countertop.

The first time it happened, you figured that you would just take it to the base on your way out, seeing as you had a few light errands to run. That was all it took for that very action to become a key part of your daily routine for the entire duration of your visit. You would never complain, though. Not when you were happily occupying the guest bedroom in his very, very beautiful house.

To be quite fair, not all of it was so bad. It thrilled you to see the stunning aircrafts taking off on the runways as you stole glances out of the windows, and it was always fun to hang out in your uncle’s office. The best parts, however, were the pilots.

God, the pilots.

The naval aviators studying at Top Gun were nothing short of cocky, but it wasn’t as if they had no reason to be. They were young, they were the best at what they did, they were hot shit— they were the future of the Navy. The very world was at their fingertips, and they were well aware of that fact.

Your uncle had warned you about these men. Some of them got a bit too cocky, resulting in them crashing and burning. Sometimes metaphorically, sometimes literally, as brutal as that was. For the most part, you heeded his warnings with ease, taking the warmest comfort in knowing that his expertise on the subject had been perfected over the course of your entire lifetime. You had been flirted with by quite a few of the men, but it never seemed to have any impact on you. None of them really captured your interest, nor did they properly catch your eye.

Well— none of them except Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky, of course.

From the moment you laid your eyes on him, you were completely hooked. You had no idea whether it was because of his undeniably indescribable beauty, his electrifyingly powerful aura, his domineering and enigmatic attitude, his precision when flying, his irresistibly alluring charm, or his very evident intellect. All you knew was that whatever it was, it completely consumed you. It devoured you.

Never in your life had you hungered for another human being so deeply. The very sight of him set your heart ablaze, despite him acting as a walking example of everything your uncle warned you against.

In your most humble defense, you thought your uncle should consider himself lucky that you weren't madly in love with Maverick, but that was another story.

The very thought of Iceman put quite the smile on your face as you entered the vacant office, any remainder of sleep in your eyes disappearing into thin air. You inhaled sharply as a means to take a deep breath and sauntered over to his desk, absentmindedly leaving the door open behind you.

Your mind began to wander in just the few seconds it took for you to walk. What was Iceman doing? Would he be happy to see you, if he even did? How did flying go today? Did Maverick piss him off again? You didn’t even have to ask that one, you already knew what the answer was.

What went through that pretty head of his? After asking yourself the question, you realized just how much you truly wanted to know the answer to it. Even though you had only been in his presence for just a month and you had only slightly conversed with one another, you wanted to know everything there was to know about the enigmatic man. You wanted to know why he was the way he was, why he did the things that he did. Everything. You wanted to go back to where it all began, you wanted to know every minute detail that he probably hadn’t even noticed himself. You wanted to know if the cheeky little glances and the few devious smirks he’d flash you whenever you briefly spoke meant anything, or if that was just something he did to everyone.

After just a moment, a very particular voice rang through your ears like no other, your heart falling to your feet once you heard it. You hadn’t even reached the desk once it pierced your ears; the containers were still in your hand.

“There she is.”

You turned your head and there he was.

A subtly grinning Tom Kazansky, fully adorned in his flight suit. Because of how engulfed you were in your own thoughts, you didn’t even realize that training must have been over. Men had been roaming the halls outside the office for a few minutes now, much to your chagrin. That man in particular, however, noticed you the second he entered the building.

Immediately, your lips were curling into a wide grin, not even being able to fight your excitement as you giggled at just the sight of him. Trying to hold your composure as calmly as possible, you turned and set the containers on Viper’s desk, your back now facing him. “Good morning, Ice.”

Had you not missed making an appearance yesterday, you felt as though you would have been much more collected. It was the only day in the past month that you didn’t show up to drop off lunch, and the Iceman withdrawal was hitting you with the intensity of ten hammers. The thing that bothered you the most about it was the fact that he couldn’t have been thinking about you. No, of course not. While you were lying awake at the thought of not seeing Tom Kazansky for the first time in a month, you were sure that he was chatting up some blonde, sipping his ice water with his aviators on his stupidly beautiful face.

That asshole.

“I missed you yesterday.” He told you so casually, treating the words as if they were as simple as him asking you what the weather was. To him, the words were nothing more than a simple little fact, but to you, they were the warmest sentiment you had ever received. Your heart both stopped and sped up as your eyes widened, your back still turned to him.

You stopped dead in your tracks as you heard his words, something that did not go unnoticed by him. Your eyebrows were furrowed as your widened eyes stayed firmly on the surface of the desk. Your fingers were still lightly planted on the containers while you stood, not even looking over your shoulder as you spoke before you could think. “You noticed I was gone?”

Iceman was aware of your reaction the second you froze. He didn’t fight the smirk that was forming on his face, seeing as your back was still turned to him. Had you been looking at him, he wouldn’t have embarrassed you with the way his gaze was glued to your figure. Had you been looking at him, you would have seen the way his eyes were heavily clouded with lust as they were planted on you. Had you been looking at him, you would have seen the way his cheek was hollowed from the way he was biting the inside of it. Had you been looking at him, you would have seen the way he was eye-fucking you the same way you did to him whenever he had his back to you.

Within the next few seconds, though, the words that fell from his lips seemed to be what sent you over the edge. You could practically hear your heart pounding out of your chest as you felt your entire body heat up. Weirdly enough, even as hot as your skin felt, you felt goosebumps rising along your spine.

“I notice a lot of things about you.”

That was enough for you to finally let go of the container, making an attempt to face him very casually. Your body turned and you immediately cleared your throat at the sight of him, trying your hardest to disguise it as something very normal. Even under all of his aviation gear, you could see that his toned body was a bit tense. His sunglasses must have been in one of his pockets, seeing as you had a full view of his face.

“Like?” You further egged him on, mentally patting yourself on the back for it.

“Yeah, that’s right. Fall into the trap. Take the bait. Come on.” You thought to yourself as you gazed over at him, silently hoping he wouldn’t examine your face the way you were trying to examine his.

You silently hoped that he would be oblivious to your feelings about him, but even the furthest person in the building could identify the lust in your eyes. You were blinking almost every second as a means to suppress your excitement, but there was no use. His eyes were firmly fixated on yours, and you could feel your heart continue to race as a result. You wondered if he saw the look in your eyes for what it was; a mixture of lust, desire, and admiration.

For someone as cold as Iceman was, he was not an asshole. He could see the look in your eyes as clear as day, of course he could. He recognized that very look in nearly every woman that looked at him. The most notable difference, though, was that he wanted you to look at him.

To say that Tom Kazansky had quite an effect on people, typically women, was an extreme understatement. From his enchantingly full lips, to his quite muscularly toned frame, to his domineering aura, even to his precision, it was safe to say that he knew all eyes were on him when he entered a room. For the love of all that is holy, he’s Iceman.

He’d be a fool to think that he wasn’t the subject of most people’s desires, and a fool was the last thing he was.

Regardless of how he knew people gawked at him, dreamt of him, and even craved him, none of it seemed to truly capture his interest. For all that it was worth, the man was practically next to unattainable. He liked to have fun, yes, but all of his focus went to flying. It was very safe to say that people were able to catch his eye, but never his interest.

Everyone except you, that is.

From the moment you caught his eye on the first day you came, he was intrigued. The pure confusion in your eyes as you tried to navigate the corridors had him in quite a trance, which did not go unnoticed by his friends.

“Slider, who is that?” The words fell from his lips with what was almost an embarrassing amount of interest. His eyes fixated on you as if he was scared to look away.

Slider glanced over at you once he heard his friend ask the question, his eyebrows raising at the sight. There was no denying that you were a beautiful woman. From the way your precious sundress hugged your waist and flowed just to your mid-thigh, Iceman had to nudge Slider to prevent him from devouring your body with his eyes. In doing so, Slider figured that he was telling him to back off. He figured that he was claiming you, and due to the fact that Slider was very highly up Iceman’s ass, he would oblige.

Before he could answer, you met both of their gazes and took a sharp breath, assuming that they were silently laughing at you for how lost you were. You flashed a gentle smile once you saw Slider kindly nod at you as a greeting, making your way over.

“Excuse me.” Your heavenly voice filled Iceman’s ears, causing him to stand up straight. You were speaking to Slider when you went over, but once you caught a glimpse of the man beside him, your mind went completely blank. Your lips parted as you gazed up at him, blinking a few times before you forced the words out. “Do you know where I can find Mike Metcalf’s office?”

“Viper?” Iceman asked with furrowed eyebrows, knowing you must not have been from around there by the way you neglected Viper’s callsign. You rolled your eyes at your own mistake and let out a small giggle, nodding your head.

“Yes, I’m sorry. He’s my uncle, I was just dropping by because he forgot his lunch.” You sweetly told the two pilots, both of them clearly quite surprised at the revelation.

“No, no way. You’re too pretty to be related to Viper.” Slider casually remarked, earning one of the coldest glares that Iceman could conjure up. You let a small laugh out at the flattery, shaking your head slightly in response.

“He’s my dad’s best friend. I’ve just known him as my uncle my whole life.” You gently spoke, a cheeky little grin on your face as you decided to tease the taller man. “I’ll tell your commander that you said that.”

Slider’s life flashed before his eyes as Iceman let out a cool chuckle at your words, causing you to silently and subtly swoon. You glanced over at him with a warm grin, your breath hitching in your throat as you finally met his intense gaze.

“Two doors to the left, sweetheart. You were almost there.” Iceman told you in a tone that would’ve made anyone fold right then and there, the smirk on his face tying it all up. You immediately swallowed once you felt your mouth water and shifted in your stance, not being able to help the smile that was on your face.

“Thank you, um…” You began, now noticing that they hadn’t introduced themselves to you.

Slider opened his mouth to speak, but it was no use. Iceman was already politely extending his large hand, the size of it almost making you faint.

“Iceman.” He stated it in a way that you couldn’t properly identify. It wasn’t cocky, but it was definitely sure of himself. Yes, that was it. He was very sure of himself.

You shifted the container to one of your hands and used your free one to grip his, the firmness in both of your hands as you shook causing you to suppress a literal moan. Your hand was quite small and warm, as opposed to his large, cold one. Your skin was soft; his was calloused. You didn’t want to let go, but any second longer would have resulted in you just pouncing on him.

“Iceman.” You repeated in a mutter, causing his smirk to return and his attraction to replace all hints of professionalism that still remained in his expression. You took a deep breath and retracted your hand, kindly smiling at the pair of them as you snapped out of it. “Thank you both.”

Once you began to walk away, Iceman made no attempt to hide the fact that he was gazing at you. Your figure was now an image that was burned into his memory, something that came in handy in his dirtiest and most desperate moments. You truly would never know that Iceman had taken quite an interest in you long before you had taken one in him.

“Viper’s niece. There’s your answer.” Slider chirped out as an answer to his former question, looking down at his watch.

“Not biologically.” Iceman responded in a way that sounded all too familiar, causing him to furrow his own eyebrows. He didn’t even know where that came from.

“Yeah, Ice, good luck with that. See how well Commander Viper would take you being laid up with his niece, blood or not.” Slider dryly laughed out loud, shaking his head. “Don’t shit where you eat. Don’t pull a Maverick.”

The reference to Maverick relentlessly trying to get Charlie was something they all made fun of, despite not knowing that he had been successful in doing so. Immediately, Iceman’s face dropped.

Maverick. Maverick would try you. Holy FUCK, Maverick would definitely try you.

“Shut up, Slider.” Iceman seethed through his teeth lowly at the thought, taking a sharp breath. Once he put his aviators on, he only tried to disregard the thought of you. He had worked incredibly hard to get where he was, and he refused to put his lust before his work. That was the difference between him and Maverick. He was logical, and Maverick was the most impulsive person in the world.

Iceman cleared his throat as the thought of meeting you flashed throughout his mind so briefly, now meeting your gaze. You recognized the way he cleared his throat and didn’t even try to hide your smirk, as it was the way you always did when he teased you.

You made him flustered.

“Like what, Iceman?” You asked in an even softer tone than before, your head tilting to the side. You could see the lust in his eyes for the first time since you met him, trying not to let it corrupt your position of having the upper-hand.

In true Iceman fashion, however, he refused to not be the one in control.

A cold chuckle escaped his lips as he shook his head, now standing up straight. The sound of his boots hit the floor in a way that made you feel as if you were listening to a sweet tune. He slowly inched inside of the office before he used his large hand to push the door shut behind him, doing so very quietly.

“I don’t think you can handle it.” He teased you in a light tone, his voice almost intimidating you as you tried your hardest not to shift. Now, he was standing in front of you, the smirk on his face prominent as he used his tongue to wet his lips. Unbeknownst to you, he only did so to see if you would gaze at his lips during the process. Much to his satisfaction, you did.

Your lips parted as you basked in the sight, completely submitting to him in that moment. He wanted the power, and you let him mercilessly take it. Trying your best to fight against the situation, you gulped silently and said the very first words that crossed your mind.

“Try me.”

For such small and seemingly harmless words, they truly acted as the match to the sensitive gas tank that was his self-restraint. He knew that it was incredibly unwise to jeopardize his position by involving himself with you, but he could no longer control himself. From your parted lips to your doe-like eyes, he found himself unable to resist you. The privacy of the four walls in the office intoxicated him in a way alcohol would. The mere fact that he could make a complete mess out of you with no one knowing filled his head, but what prevented him from doing so was the fear of getting caught.

Fuck, you two couldn’t get caught.

For the love of God, you were in his commander’s office. To add even more danger to the situation, you were the niece of that very commander. Not only would he be severely punished if he was caught with someone there, but if he was caught with you there, Viper would just fuck him up. None of that mattered to him in the moment, though. The way you were slightly backed up to where you were standing in front of the desk was enough for him to disregard his thoughts. Gazing at the needy little look in your eyes, he decided to use the risks to his advantage.

Still standing right in front of you, he took his time in dipping his head down, your hands practically shaking as you felt his lips not even a few centimeters away from yours. You could feel his minty breath hit your lips as he parted his own, causing you to grip the edges of the desk behind you.

“How would your uncle feel if he knew this is what you did at his job, hm?” He whispered to you, his lips slightly brushing against yours as he spoke. He was that close to you.

You would be lying if you said you weren’t a bit ashamed, even though that was not his goal at all. If you weren’t as aroused as you were, you probably would have stopped whatever was transpiring between the pair of you.

“How would he feel if he knew that while he was out serving his country, you were in his office, practically begging to be fucked by one of his colleagues?” His whisper hit your lips once more, your eyebrows furrowing in desperation as your mouth slightly fell open. You wanted him, you craved him. You needed him.

The look on your face caused his large hands to find shelter on your hips, his grip making it seem as though he was holding onto you for dear life. He effortlessly lifted you off of your feet and almost roughly set you down on the desk, wasting no time in spreading your legs for him to step in between.

You didn’t even slightly resist. You were his for the taking.

“How would he feel,” he trailed, his rough fingertips running along your bare thighs before he lifted one of his hands, gently yet firmly gripping your neck with it. “If he knew that you were on his desk, begging to be fucked like the dirty little slut you are?”

You had never been spoken to that way, both sexually and non-sexually. Your heart was racing as the words traveled from your ears to your stomach, warming your body up entirely. You couldn’t even speak. All you could do was gently grip the fabric of his flight suit, which wasn’t aiding your desire for him in the slightest bit.

“He could walk in here at any time, but you don’t care.” Iceman coldly chuckled at your needy little expression, his lips still hardly away from yours. Teasing you even further, his head tilted to the opposite side that yours was tilted to, the tip of his tongue lightly running across your parted lips. You finally let a small whine out, having had quite enough of his teasing. You swatted at his chest and properly crashed your lips onto his, silently thanking every higher power for the fact that he returned your kiss.

The kiss was foul. Both of you were desperately trying to taste one another, the sounds coming from you two being enough to kill a nun. In the process of it all, he had pulled your hips closer to his, your sundress riding up as he did so. The thin fabric of your panties and his entire flight suit separated you from his bulge, but you could still definitely feel it. Before you could even begin grinding your hips the way you wanted to, he detached his lips from yours and chuckled softly, glancing down at the beautiful sight underneath him.

“All you want is for me to fuck you stupid and leave you a pathetic, needy little mess. Used like the fucking toy you are.” He seethed through his teeth in a way that sent you in a whirlwind, causing your back to arch for the man.

With the sound of rising chatter in the hallways outside of the office, both of you were brought out of your lust-driven haze, resulting in the most sexual tension you had ever been in. He let a chuckle escape his lips at the sight of you as he took a deep breath, stepping back a few times.

“I told you that you couldn’t handle it.” He teased you in a tone that made you roll your eyes, standing up from your position on the desk. You fixed your sundress and hid the way that you were smiling from him, your head turned away from him.

“Listen, a few of the guys and I are going to play volleyball after training.” He informed you with a hint of something you couldn’t quite recognize. For a second, it almost sounded like Iceman, the Iceman, was a bit nervous. “Maybe you can come with us. Hold my shirt for me, throw rocks at Maverick and Goose. You know.”

Your lips curled into the biggest smile he had ever seen, your gaze on him telling him just how long you had been waiting for him to ask you out, even if it was to do something as small as watching him play volleyball.

“Maybe, we’ll see. I’ll throw rocks at whoever’s losing.” You teased him gently, earning an amused chuckle as he opened the door. “I’ve heard that there’s just something about that Maverick. I think he has a real shot at winning.”

The dull and playful glare made your incessant teasing worthwhile, but what he said before he left was what made you giggle and squeeze your eyes shut once you were alone.

“Try telling me that again after I make a pretty, whimpering mess out of you.”

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luveline · 2 years

Note

is shy fri for all the characters you write for? if so, what about a shy!reader x sirius where the reader tries to build up the courage to ask him out & it's an adorable attempt?

im sorry this isn't quite what you asked for but i hope you like it anyhow! ♡ shy!fem!reader | 1.2k words

Sirius Black is very, very pretty.

If that were the only good thing about him you'd never want to ask him out. There's so much that you see in him, and whether you're delusional or not – and you don't think you are – you want to take the chance. Really, you want his attention and his affection, and you're willing to ask for it.

Even now he's looking at you with what you've chosen to see as fondness rather than pity.

"Hey, sweet thing," he greets with a wink.

You look at him and his friends sitting at the table behind him and feel your small amount of determination dwindle into almost nothing.

"Sirius," you breathe, able to hold his eye for all of three seconds before you avert your gaze to his chest. His brown leather jacket lays ruggedly over a slouched, defined chest. You drop your gaze to the floor, heart racing.

"Is everything okay?" he asks quietly. You know it's for your benefit.

"I wanted to talk to you," you begin.

"Well, let's talk." He stands up tall and sends his friends a small wave, barely a shake of his hand.

Down the hall of the University canteen and into the quiet space behind. The ceiling is so tall you have to crane your neck to see the glass skylights above but it feels like it's caving in as Sirius shepherds you to an empty table, hand on your shoulder.

It's both easier and harder to be with him alone. Easier now that his friends aren't here to witness what will likely be a stinging rejection. Harder, because Sirius has a commanding smile; when he grins like this all lopsided and affectionate it's impossible not to look at him.

Your heart thud thud thuds.

"Is it about Freeman's essay?" he asks. "I haven't done it yet, but we could work on it together."

You swallow. "Thank you."

"Sure."

He leans over the table and inclines his head, looking at you through a thicket of dark lashes. They look soft.

"I… I…" You press your lips together and try to calm the swift rise and fall of your chest.

Be brave. You summon up all the advice you can remember from the magazines. Ask them somewhere they'll enjoy. Be confident. "There's a show," you say, sounding unsure.

Sirius waits patiently for you to continue.

"In the Point House. You know, in the city?"

"Yeah, I know. What show is it?"

"It's to see this band, called The Dwellers. I think they're local, they have like, an album. I think you'd like them."

"Oh yeah?" He starts to mess around in his pockets until he pulls out his phone. You watch him write a text and send it. Your phone pings.

You pull it out and flip it open. Sirius has sent you an sms that says 'dwellers'.

"So I remember," he explains.

You try to smile. Why is asking him out so hard?

Because he's ridiculously handsome and he's smart when he works for it, and he never makes you feel stupid, hasn't once talked down at you since the day he met you no matter how quiet you've been. Because he touches your shoulders and plays with your hair in the lecture hall when he thinks you're not paying attention, and he offers you half of his sandwich every Monday when you're waiting between lectures despite having never said yes.

"Something is eating a hole through you," he says fondly. He reaches over the table to tug at the bracelet around your wrist, pulling your hand toward him.

"It's nothing."

"I don't think so." His finger slides under the bracelets links and his fingernail scratches over your skin lightly. He pushes his finger flat to your pulse and smiles, perturbed. "Your heart's a riot."

He looks up. You realise he's sussed you out, not just your nervousness but the reason behind it.

"This show, are we going?" he asks.

"Uh. Do you want to?"

"If you're asking me."

"I'm- I'm trying to," you say urgently.

"I know, sweetheart."

You think maybe a guy like Sirius isn't used to being asked out. There's a terrible eagerness to it as he waits.

"Do you want to go to the show with me?" you ask him.

"Yeah, let's go. When is it?"

Your laugh evidences every tiny bit of pleasure, and you're practically giddy as you say, "Next Friday."

"Next? I can't wait that long."

"For what?" you ask.

His hand closes around your wrist and he sits up as much as he can, leaning over the table. You respond in turn, leaning up, shocked and excited and hardly breathing as his face nears your own. He waits, a split second of his hot breath fanning over your lips before he moves in and kisses you. It's warm. He's soft. His hand strokes your wrist as he pushes into you, a shattering of firecrackers racing over your lips as he kisses you. You sigh into it. You melt.

He's laughing as he pulls away. "Not how I pictured it."

A panicked stabbing. "No?" you ask worriedly.

He's up and out of his seat before you know it, hands on your face and hair tickling your cheeks as he meets your eyes. You nod and he's kissing you all over again, ardent, a wave of nice smells and nicer tastes.

He sucks in a breath and encourages your face to the left, wading in right. His thumb skips over your cheek and your dizzy with it all, every point of contact aflame.

You wuss out first, breaking the kiss to breathe.

Sirius rubs the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip.

"We should go out for dinner," he says.

"When?" you ask breathlessly.

"Tonight." Then, when you smile, he asks, "Yeah?" all happy and smiley.

"Yeah. Tonight. Whenever you want to."

He holds your face in his hands and his eyes race over each feature hungrily, though there's a softness there you can't miss. A certain upturn to the starts of his brows.

"I've wanted to do that for a while," he says.

You can't believe it. You feel like you're in a movie. If your hands weren't clinging to his jacket for dear life, you'd pinch yourself. "Really?"

He leans down for a chaste kiss but can't help himself, ducking in for a second, and then a third. You receive each one fervently.

"Fuck it, do you wanna go now?"

"On a date?" you ask, surprised, lips tingling.

"Yeah, on a date."

"Siri, we have a lecture."

"Let's skip it. I won't be able to sit through it, anyway." He squeezes your cheek with a little pleading pout on his lips.

You blink. Reality. This is reality.

"Yeah, okay. Let's go."

There's no use in pretending you could've turned him down. He beams, takes your hand into his, and half drags you through the canteen and past his gaggle of friends out the sliding doors. Your face is hot as the sun by the time you reach is car, and it only gets worse when he presses you against the door and kisses you again.

"I'm sorry," he says after, "I'm not being a gentleman."

"You're not a gentleman," you say.

"No, I'm not. But I will be."

You don't believe him even slightly, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

#sirius black x reader #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black drabble #sirius black imagine #sirius black x you #sirius black #marauders era #marauders

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ellabsprincess · 9 months

Note

Can you do an Ellabs no reader drabble for their early mornings?

I think Ellie would be the type to love her sleep and always want to sleep in, and Abby would be the type to be more regimented and have an early morning routine, leaving her to be the one to wake a grumpy, tired Ellie up all the time. i think abby would know how to cook too, so she would make her breakfast a lot.

The odd times where Abby wants to sleep in, Ellie would wake up before her and want her attention and get all needy… 🥰

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i'm literally so sorry this took so long babes and OKAY i know y'all wanted "a better use for that mouth" first but i am struggling to put together a plot and i feel a little stuck on that fic so please accept this ellabs fic first

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐖 - 𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐬

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+, very suggestive (not really any explicit smut), talk of thigh riding, fluffy and sappy ellabs stuff, ellie being a needy little shit (affectionate), firefighter!abby, VERY BRIEF mommy kink, dom!abby + sub!ellie dynamic, NO READER INSERT

ellie's eyes flutter open, her vision blurry and obscured. her world seems fuzzy, but as she blinks a few more times, the bed beneath her comes into view. abby's side of the bed is neatly made, tucked and folded to perfection, her pillows fluffed and plump as if they've never even been slept on.

a radiant beam of sunshine has cast itself over the eggshell-colored sheets, illuminating the room via the skylight above the large bed. as ellie comes to her senses, taking in the peace and tranquility of the quiet saturday morning, she notices the smell of sweetness and the sound of crackling, cooking meat, coming from the kitchen. it's not really a surprise. abby is an early riser, a gym rat who gets up entirely too early to get a workout in while her precious girlfriend is still asleep. she must have come home hungry from building up her physique, and decided to make breakfast.

ellie follows the enticing smells out of the bedroom, throwing the bedsheets off of herself and trailing the scent of sweetness like an old-timey cartoon cat enticed by the smell of fresh-cooked turkey.

she feels a bit pathetic, walking into the living room with her messy bed head and her pajamas astray. on the other hand, abby is a sight to be seen in the kitchen, covered in a light, glistening sheen of sweat from her workout, her cheeks still slightly pink from exertion. her arm and leg muscles flexing as she moves with the grace of a ballet dancer around the kitchen, working to prepare a hearty meal. and of course, her signature braid is completely in tact, not a single loose hair visible.

ellie clears her throat, trying to clear all of her body of her remaining confusing and annoying morning grogginess. abby whips around, slightly started by the sight of ellie.

"oh hey baby, didn't expect you to be up so early! was gonna surprise you with some breakfast in bed."

ellie smiles, awake enough to acknowledge the sweetness and kindness of abby's actions. her tired brain still feels like a combination of syrup and tv static inside her head, so she only gives a soft whine in response, but abby understands.

abby knows their dynamic well by now. ever since they moved in, it's been the same routine almost every morning. she wakes up before the crack of dawn, hits the gym and clears her head, and then comes home to her sleepy girlfriend still curled up in bed, often laying spread out like a beached starfish and breathing in abby's signature pine scent still lingering on the sheets.

but abby doesn't mind. no, she loves the opposing dynamic of her relationship, and she adores that ellie loves to sleep in, when the perfectionist side of abby makes her get up and work on herself most days. she loves her carefree ellie. she needs that energy to balance out her own internal monologue that always begs her to do everything perfectly. she needs her ellie.

ellie trudges towards the kitchen, dragging her feet against the soft, plush rug of the living room as she blindly makes her way towards her girlfriend. she rubs her eyes, desperately trying to rub the last of the sleep away. reaching the kitchen island, she pulls out a barstool and plops down with a soft thunk, resting her head in her hands and gazing at abby. at the sound of ellie's tiredness and careless state, abby smirks. she adores these lazy mornings with her girlfriend more than anything.

sure, she likes to be taken care of herself, but it feels nice to be a provider for ellie, and to make her food and take care of her when her brain is too tired and sleepy to let her do anything by herself.

after a few more minutes of shuffling around the kitchen, abby finally plates the breakfast. an omelet, stuffed with proteins and flavorful herbs, and a small side smoothie bowl full of fresh fruits and sweet grains, just dripping with sweet honey nectar.

ellie almost drools at the plate in front of her, of course plated and staged to perfection, as abby wouldn't have it any other way. the fruit of the smoothie bowl making a perfect symmetrical spiral, the herbs placed so delicately on top of the omelet. abby was typically rough with her hands, working as a firefighter, but she had a deep appreciation for the arts, and loved to express herself through culinary means.

placing a strong hand on ellie's upper back, abby gracefully slides into the seat next to ellie, her own edible artwork sitting in front of her.

"i love you baby," abby says, almost a whisper.

"love you abs, thank you for taking care of me," ellie responds, slightly mumbling in her lethargic state.

"always ellie. anything for my best girl."

and so they sit in peaceful silence, the room only filled with the sounds of birds chirping outside the slightly ajar kitchen window, and the soft clinks and chinks of their silverware on their plates, and the quiet clunks of their glasses reconnecting with the counter after a sip of refreshing water.

it's nothing much, just a simple breakfast together as a couple. but it's that moment of peace that's everything to them.

THE NEXT MORNING

"abby c'mon"

"abby"

"abbyyyyy"

"mommy?"

abby's eyelids flutter open at the nickname. it's only barely light in the bedroom, just a few gentle sun rays streaming in through the windows.

as abby comes to her senses, she realizes that ellie is curled up against her front, nuzzled into her broad chest. she's letting out muffled little mewls and whines among the desperate pet names. abby also realizes with a raise of her eyebrows that ellie's legs are wrapped around one of abby's muscular thighs, leaving ellie's clothed cunt perfected placed among the mountain of ridged muscle.

"oh poor baby, you woke up needy els?" abby coos.

"mhm, need you mommy." ellie pleads, hiding her face in the middle of abby's chest.

abby chuckles. "well then go ahead baby, grind the drooling cunt against mommy's thigh."

it seems that every once in a while, they liked to change up their routine. after all, who doesn't enjoy a bit of morning fun?

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: @m-3-ijiworld @seraqhites @uraesthete @hehatesmati @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @elliespookie @dropsofs4turn @millersaurora @jjmaybankslittleslut @amitycat @digit4lslut @dykefromstatefarm @inlovewithelliewilliams @hi2647 @kissesskittens @elliewilliamsthang @franreadss @findingds @slut4ellienabby @lllijeu @zahraaziza @lias-writings @thelastofrowie @feelsoseencantdream @shaemonyou @limerenze @zethd @xnoviee @elliewilliamsfuckbuddy

𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐣𝐨𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭? 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 months

Text

Francis Spufford’s “Cahokia Jazz”

Tomorrow (December 5), I'm at Flyleaf Books in Chapel Hill, NC, with my new solarpunk novel The Lost Cause, which 350.org's Bill McKibben called "The first great YIMBY novel: perceptive, scientifically sound, and extraordinarily hopeful."

Francis Spufford's Cahokia Jazz is a fucking banger: it's a taut, unguessable whuddunit, painted in ultrablack noir, set in an alternate Jazz Age in a world where indigenous people never ceded most the west to the USA. It's got gorgeously described jazz music, a richly realized modern indigenous society, and a spectacular romance. It's amazing:

https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Cahokia-Jazz/Francis-Spufford/9781668025451

Cahokia is the capital city of Deseret, a majority Catholic, majority indigenous state at the western frontier of the USA. It swirls with industry, wealth, and racial politics, serving as both a refuge from Jim Crow and a hive of Klan activity. Joe Barrow is new in town, a veteran who survived the trenches of WWI and moved to Cahokia with his army buddy, Phineas Drummond, where they both quickly rose through the police ranks to become detectives.

We meet Joe and Phin on a frigid government building rooftop in the predawn night, attending a grisly murder. Someone has laid out a man across a skylight, cut his throat, split his chest open, and excised his heart. This Aztec-inspired killing points at Cahokian indigenous independence gangs, some of whom embrace an apocryphal tale of being descended from Mesoamerican conquerors in the distant past. That makes this more than a mere ugly killing – it's a political flashpoint.

The Klan insists that Cahokia's system of communal land ownership is a form of communism (Russia never ceded Alaska in this world, so the USSR is now extending tendrils across the Bering Strait). They also insist that Cahokians' reverence for the Sun and the Moon – indigenous royals who have formally ceded power to elected leaders – makes them a threat to democracy. Finally, the Cahokians' fusion of Catholocism with traditional faith makes the spritually suspect. A rooftop blood-sacrifice could cause simmering political tension to boil over, and for ever white oligarch drooling at the thought of enclosing the shared land of Deseret, there are a thousand useful idiots in white hoods.

Joe and Phin now have to solve the murder – before the city explodes. But Phin seems more interested in pinning the case on an Indian – any Indian – than he is on solving the murder. And Joe – an indigenous orphan who has neither the language nor the culture that the Cahokians expect him to have – is reappraising his long habit of deferring to Phin.

This is the setup for a delicious whodunnit with a large helping of what if…? but Spufford doesn't stop there. Joe, you see, is a jazz pianist, and his old bandmates are back in town, and one thing leads to another and before you know it he's sitting in with them at a speakeasy. This gives Spufford a chance to roll out some of the most evocative, delicious descriptions of jazz since Doctorow's Ragtime (no relation):

https://www.penguinrandomhouse.ca/books/41529/ragtime-by-e-l-doctorow/9780812978186

It's not just the jazz. This is a book that fires on every cylinder: there's brilliant melee (and a major battle set-piece that's stunning), a love storyline, gunplay, and a murder mystery that kept me guessing right to the end. There's fakeouts and comeuppances, bravery and treachery, and above all, a sense of possibility.

Most of what I know about Cahokia – and the giant mounds it left behind near St Louis – I learned from David Graeber and David Wengrow's brilliant work of heterodox history, The Dawn of Everything:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/08/three-freedoms/#anti-fatalism

Graeber and Wengrow's project is to make us reassess the blank spaces in our historical record, the ways of living that we have merely guessed at, based on fragments and suppositions. They point out that these inferences are vastly overdetermined, and that there are many other guesses that fit the facts equally well, or even better. This is a powerful message, one that insists that history – and thus the future – is contingent and up for grabs. We don't have to live the way we do, and we haven't always lived this way. We might live differently in the future.

In evoking a teeming, indigenous metropolis, conjured out of minor historical divergences, Spufford follows Graeber and Wengrow in cracking apart inevitability and letting all the captive possibility flow out. The fact that he does this in a first rate novel makes the accomplishment doubly impressive – and enjoyable.

It's EFF's Power Up Your Donation Week: this week, donations to the Electronic Frontier Foundation are matched 1:1, meaning your money goes twice as far. I've worked with EFF for 22 years now and I have always been - and remain - a major donor, because I've seen firsthand how effective, responsible and brilliant this organization is. Please join me in helping EFF continue its work!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/04/cahokia/#the-sun-and-the-moon

#pluralistic #alternate history #science fiction #indigeneity #cahokia #frances spufford #books #reviews #gift guide #jazz #music

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pixieinawell · 6 months

Text

things I took a screenshot of in minecraft that were not a build:

sleepy dogs in the new minecraft cherry grove biome

every time you see a pink sheep spawn in the wild you have to take a screenshot i don't make the rules

frogs!! this was my first time seeing them in survival mode

this is my fish, chicken, in my survival world. i think i thought the water reflections made them look a bit silly

in my modded survival world i got the mrcrayfish tv to play studio ghibli gifs. i was so obsessed there are 15 more photos of all the different gifs i played.

flying around in a hot air balloon. this was the coolest thing ever

visiting disney in minecraft, this server is so so cool. the picture on the right is a photopass

what i think is the aurora borealis through the skylight

the sun poking through the vines, there is something very nice about this photo to me

that's all!! thanks for going on this little journey with me!! <3

#cozy #cute #mineblr #minecraft #cottagecore #joy #minecraft builds #modded minecraft #survival minecraft #minecraft survival

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defaulttwig · 10 months

Text

Spider Throwdown

Miguel O’Hara x gn!reader

Summary: Spider-Man 2099 entered a universe where the heroes punch a little harder and rarely ask questions. They’re a bit aggressive, but get their jobs done. As a variant Spider-person, he thinks you’ll make a fine addition to the team, but he first has to get you to hear him out.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: hopefully a cool fight scene with an appropriate amount of violence, no romance sadly

A/N: Practicing action sequences. I'm so rusty at writing omg, I'll probably edit this later. (He makes me go rah rah rah. I have so many ideas similar to this where it's just you and Miguel beating each other up. Idk. That train scene did smthg to me, I want Miguel to just- yeah)

No movement.

You pressed yourself against the wall, high out of the average person’s line of sight and tucked away into the dark corners of the building. New York’s City Bank was all too familiar to you. Far too many criminals ranging from low-lives to the most heinous have tried to either steal from the bank or run it to the ground. Tonight was no different. You got a lead that another hit would happen before the clock struck twelve. Ready to make the first strike, you came early. Now, you just had to wait.

The bank itself was bland, minimalist with high ceilings that reached three stories. At the front were the large double doors that led to the streets. The back doors led to the private offices. In the middle of the ceiling, a large, rectangular skylight cast a glow to the center of the room, faintly highlighting the benches and potted plants. From your position, you had eyes on all access points to the vault. Nothing would get past you.

Under the skylight, the leaves of potted ferns swayed. You scanned for any sign of an open window or movement. None. The ferns tilted, gravitating toward one point like they were pulled by a magnet.

Particles ignited in the middle of the room, bright and colorful in contrast to the somber glow of the skylight. They grew in size, expanding into geometric shapes. Each shape flashed in a hum your ears couldn’t quite catch. All at once, they disappeared. Gone, vanished, as if you imagined the whole thing, and the plants returned to their original position.

Left behind stood a man in a tight-fitting blue suit with his back turned to you. He had to have come out the other end of the thing. A portal, then. You scrutinized his muscular build, not yet deciding he was a threat. Muscle didn’t mean everything. He sure dressed like a villain, though. Red coated the upper half of his suit and his forearms sported two spike-like appendages.

A hologram appeared beside his head. He turned to address the small figure, too small for you to decipher from your spot. The emptiness of the room gave him the confidence to speak to the hologram. Despite being the only one talking, you failed to catch every word, hearing only bits and pieces.

“Find Spider-…Careful…Put up a fight.”

So, he came for you. What little you could understand helped paint a picture. This wasn’t just a hit, it was a trap to lure you into an ambush. He didn’t match the description from your informant, but that didn’t matter. It wouldn’t be the first time your sources tried to pull a fast one on you.

“Scan the room.”

A device pulled away from him. It hovered, swiveled and moved around, shining a golden light on everything in sight, from down on the floor to up the walls. Occasionally, it beeped to signify nothing of importance. You fixed yourself onto the balls of your feet. When it turned in your direction and the yellow fixed itself onto you, you kicked off the wall.

An alert sounded and the man pivoted. You shot a ball of web onto the floating device, soaring past as it crashed to the ground, and aimed your web shooters at him. Two ropes shot out. He jumped to the side, dodging the webs. You tapped your web shooters and cut the ropes of web, landing on your feet. Up close, you got a better look at the man.

A spider symbol rested in the middle of his chest.

“That wasn’t cheap, you know?”

You looked into the sharply angled lenses of his mask. “This will be easier if you don’t call in for back-up.”

He straightened. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” You balled your hands into fists, ready to pounce. Any bite to his voice turned to hesitation. “Wait.”

“Can’t go back, now,” you grunted out, throwing your fist in his direction.

He caught your fist and held you still, even as you tried to pull away. “I have something to say.”

You used the grip he had on you to your advantage. Kicking off the ground, you raised your leg over yourself and hooked it around his neck. In one spin, you sent him to the ground and released his hold on your fist. Given an opening, you placed your hands on the floor and threw your leg out for another kick.

He raised his forearms, angling the suit’s appendages away from your body, and blocked the kick. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

You twisted your body and flipped upright, pushing yourself several feet away. “I find that hard to believe.”

He got to his feet and lowered his hands. “You’re going to have to trust me. I know that’s hard for you, but think with your brain for once and not your fists.”

You narrowed your eyes, the lenses on your mask copying the action. Your stance relaxed. He wasn’t swinging punches right out the gate like the others you’ve fought in the past. “You plan to make me listen to you through insults?”

“No. Let me explain-”

“Are you going to talk the entire time or fight me?” You crossed your arms, waiting for his next move. “My patience is wearing thin.”

“If you’d just let me speak.” He paused. You remained quiet, glaring at him with scrutiny. “My name is Miguel O’hara. I’m not from here. I’m from a different earth.”

You huffed through your nose. “Is that all you have? Be serious.”

He touched his temple. “It’s you who-” He groaned. “I am from a different universe and the multiverse is in danger. I’ve formed a group of people like us-”

“Us?” You upturned your nose. “What do they call you?”

He inhaled. “Spider-Man-”

“Ha,” you barked out a laugh. “I’ve heard enough.” You turned on your heel and walked in the direction of the back doors. “If you’re not here to fight, then leave. I’m expecting someone.”

“I’m trying to talk to you.” He groaned deeply. You could feel his agitation raise in waves. Goosebumps lined your arms and you slowed your steps. “Turn around and listen,” he grunted deeply. At the same time your spidey senses went on high alert, he cursed under his breath. “Shit.”

You leapt to the side, catching only a glimpse of a potted fern flying past you. With quick reflexes, you shot a web at it. You dug your foot into the ground, pivoting with the momentum of the pot as you swung it. Gritting your teeth, you let go and sent it flying back at him.

Miguel widened his stance. You used the pot as a cover, darting for the walls. He punched through the pot, causing a pile of dirt and ceramic to fall at his feet. He whipped his head to and fro, finding you climbing up where rows of windows could be an escape.

You looked past your feet at a digging sound. He quickly clawed his way up to you. While he drew nearer, close enough to swipe at you if he wanted, you leaned back and shot two webs at a higher spot on the wall. Pulling back, you stretched the webs as far as they could go before you relaxed your body.

Slingshotting higher up, you opted to run on all fours. Miguel followed dutifully. Together, you both climbed past the second story, nearing the ceiling. You stooped just below the third story window, waiting for the right moment.

“Stop running!”

You took one glance at him closing in on you once again. Digging your fingers into the wall, you shifted on your feet before springing backwards in an arch. Miguel’s head followed the twist of your body as your legs swung out below you. He flipped around and curled his fingers into the wall, looking all but ready to leap at you.

Your wrists extended past you, the lenses of your mask locked onto him. Two rope webs landed on either side of him and you wrapped the rope around your wrists. Your body propelled toward him with one knee curled up, slamming into his stomach and causing his body to dent the wall. Bits of plaster fell from behind him. Miguel grabbed your knee, shuffling his feet on the wall in an attempt to buck you off. He managed to push himself off the wall. You loosened your grip on the webs, letting them fall away before shooting two more and slamming him back into the wall. Another dent just below the other.

Your knee in his stomach and the sizable dent kept him rooted. You laid one hand on the wall by his head to steady yourself and reeled your other arm back. Miguel’s hands flew to your back, fruitlessly pulling at your suit. There was no way to get you off of him.

He snarled. “Stop!”

When your fist flew straight for his masked face, alarm bells went off in your head. Your whole body tensed, alerting you of impending danger. Miguel’s hands laid flat on your back, fingers digging into you and no longer trying to pry you off. Sharp pain sprang forth from his fingers. Claws cut through your suit and into your skin. You cried out, punch falling short of anything and fist hanging in the air.

Your grip on the wall grew slack. Miguel’s body peeled off the wall, falling over you. His masked face drew near yours before his wrist extended out. A web shot forth and pulled him toward the opposite wall. You regained your senses and shot out your webs at the ceiling. You swung around to the wall farthest from him.

Your back stung. You felt the small spurts of blood flowing from it, soaking the fabric of your suit. It was warm. Gross.

Miguel yelled out, “Can’t you see that I’m on your side?”

The blood trickling out of your back begged to differ. Your spidey sense simmered with the hint of a threat. You had no reason to believe him. “Forgive me for not seeing the obvious.”

“I came here to talk to you.”

He was the threat. “I’m done talking.”

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be.” He watched you shoot a web at the ceiling before you kicked off the wall.

Your body fell towards the floor, only to swing back up. You released the web and shot one straight at his chest. In one, strong tug, you pulled him off the wall and swung him around towards the floor. He swiped his claws through the rope and aimed his wrist at you.

A rope of web shot out past you, sticking to the wall. You had no time to dodge his body launching straight at you before he grabbed you by the neck, taking you with him. Your back slammed against the wall, taking your breath from you.

With his one wrist wrapped around the rope to keep you both suspended, he shifted his hold on your neck, exposing your jugular. You fixed your feet to the wall and threw your fist up from under, hitting him square in the jaw. He drew back and you took the opportunity to yank the rope, ripping it. Before gravity could do its thing, you placed your hands on his chest and kicked off the wall.

Miguel thrashed and grabbed at your wrists, just as he crashed to the floor. He grunted, grip loosening. You wrenched yourself from his grasp and slammed his wrists to the floor. With quick taps to your web shooters, his hands were bound to the sleek surface. His head jerked and he grunted.

You huffed. “Don’t try anything. You’re finished.”

The two of you were back under the skylight. From his wrist, a watch glinted, stealing your attention. It was bulky, complicated tech you didn’t recognize. If he’s been using this to contact the others and summon devices and portals, then it was just as dangerous as he was. You reached for it, ignoring his excuses and the way he hardly tried to fight you off anymore.

The way he spat out your name gave you pause. Your full name, your life story, the day you got bit by the spider. The night your uncle died. You whipped your head to lock eyes. He listed off things about you that nobody should have known about.

Your heart dropped to your stomach and, despite your rationality, you peeled off your mask to fully glare at him. Your eyes bounced around his mask, scrutinizing him in a panic. “How do you know who I am?”

The hesitation lasted long enough for him to break through his bonds. He pounced, flipping you over until your back smacked onto the ground. The cuts in your back stung, chilled by the cold floor. Your thoughts raced a mile a minute. You had absolutely no connection to this man. In your panic, his mask receded and revealed a handsome, unfamiliar face. A stranger knew too much about you.

He opened his mouth, revealing sharp canines. Fangs like a vampire. His eyes glowed red, the contours of his face shadowed by the sharp angles. Your hand pathetically pushed at his face, smushing his cheek. He took a fistful of the hair on your scalp, tilting your head to the side. In a blink, you shouted at the pain of his teeth sinking into your neck.

You fisted at his hair, tugging hard to pry him off of you. It was fruitless. A sickly warm feeling invaded your senses, sapping your energy by the millisecond. Your breaths quicked, all while your body went rigid, shutting down. Your hand fell away from his hair, landing on the floor.

“What-what did you do?” You struggled to use your mouth, only able to utter that one phrase before you lost your ability to speak.

He pulled away to look you in the eyes. The scowl on his face dropped to one of relief and his shoulders slumped. He let out a deep sigh, rolling his shoulders back. “You’re going to stay still and listen to what I have to say.” He glanced around the setting. Unceremoniously, he took you by your arms and hoisted you over his shoulder. “Here’s a little too open.”

Your spidey sense kicked into full gear. Goosebumps dotted your arms, hanging limply by your head.

Danger.

Get away.

Danger.

Move.

The wall behind Miguel exploded, sending you both flying. Your body slid across the floor and your eyes flicked over to the hole in the wall. The last thing you saw was a brick flying at your head and Shocker climbing over the debris into the bank.

+:+:+:+:+

Pain. Your head pounded and you winced. It felt like someone was squeezing your brain. Your head rolled and you groaned, not quite yet ready to open your eyes.

“Good. You’re awake.” You half-listened to the cold voice off in the distance. “It wasn’t my intention to get interrupted, or for you to get knocked out.”

You blinked several times, picking your head up. Everything was fuzzy, a blur. As you slowly came to, your eyes locked onto a family photo from some summer day nestled by a desk lamp. You looked around more, finding yourself in an office. You recognized this place. You were still in the bank, just in the back of it.

You tried to reach for your head to soothe the source of your headache. No doubt a large, ugly bump formed from Shocker’s grand entrance. Your wrists wouldn’t move. You looked down, finding red webs restraining your arms to the armrests of the chair you sat on. More red webbing wrapped around your torso. Your eyes jerked open, now fully awake.

“Where’s Shocker?”

“I took care of it.” From the shadows on the other side of the office, Miguel emerged. He approached with his mask receded, and only then did you realize yours was still off. A quick scan and you found the crumpled fabric on your lap. “He won’t be an issue, for now.”

“Gives us plenty of time to talk,” you said. Your spidey sense didn’t go off, so that was good. Your limbs still felt sluggish and your back pulsed from the cuts. You didn’t exactly have the upper hand here, if this was a fight.

He crossed his arms. “My name is Miguel O’hara. I come from another universe.”

“So, why are you here?”

“I’ve created a network of Spider-people, people like us, that work together to prevent anomalies from disrupting the multiverse.” He walked up to the desk, standing tall over you. “I came here to invite you to join us.”

You frowned. A part of you believed him. It wasn’t like you were a stranger to the multiverse theory, but you held off on any excitement. “Cut me out of these webs and I might consider.”

He huffed. “Cute, but I’m not taking any chances.”

“Afraid I’ll kick your ass again?”

“I was holding back.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure, man.”

“If I wanted to-” His voice raised slightly before he curled his hand into a fist and took a deep breath. He relaxed his hand. “You’re not making this easy.”

“It’s hard to see your argument when I’m the one tied up.”

“I had to. You weren’t being-” He waved his hand. “Stay on topic. Will you join?”

You gave him a once over. Cocking your head back, you huffed through your nose. “So, there’s people like me? Same powers? Same story?”

“Similar powers. Similar stories.”

You leaned toward believing him, not just because he was easy on the eyes. He didn’t take the chance to kill you while you were out cold. That sort of gave you the impression he was something of a hero. Not quite. Vigilante, maybe.

“What’s your story?”

“Off topic.”

“You already know mine, apparently.” Your expression soured. “Was that important to your little club?”

He bit back a response. Turning his head, he set his hands on his hips. “Join or don’t join. I don’t care.”

“So, you traveled across the multiverse to just get your ass kicked?”

“I didn’t-”

“Ha.” You cracked a smile. Watching him bristle was amusing. “You know, Michael-”

“Miguel-”

Your smile widened. Just this once, you’d entertain a guy like him. “You’re a funny guy. I’ll join, but on one condition.”

His brows raised expectantly. “That is…”

“I want a rematch.”

He set his hands on his hips. “That’s all you want?”

“Just to prove I can kick your ass.”

His expression blanched. “That won’t happen, but I can agree to those terms.”

“Alright, then I accept your invitation.”

Your eyes followed his movement around the desk. Miguel brought his hand up where claws emerged from his fingertips. You watched, mildly intrigued, as he cut the webbing around you. He stepped away, giving you room to stand, as he headed toward the office door and touched the thick watch on his wrist.

You picked up your mask and maneuvered around the desk, standing an arm’s length away. “That’s what lets you jump dimensions,” you guessed. “Do I get one?”

A loud shout called out to you from the other side of the wall. “Spider! I know you’re still here!”

Miguel looked over his shoulder as a portal appeared in front of him. “I’ll let you take care of that.” He turned to step through it, pausing long enough to toss something back to you. You caught it and looked down to find a watch like his own. “Come to Headquarters when you’re finished. I’ll explain everything there.”

He walked into the portal, disappearing as it closed behind him. It was almost like he was never here. But the sting in your back said otherwise.

You attached the watch to your wrist, turning your wrist this way and that to admire it. Not bad. A bit ugly, but you could get used to it, if this was really happening. You read off the screen.

Earth-928.

“Come out and face me!”

You pushed the excitement to the back of your mind. More people like you, a multiverse, other worlds to explore, and a rematch with that guy. You’d deal with that afterwards.

You slid the mask over your head and rolled your shoulders. Confidently striding to the door, you couldn’t help but smile.

This wouldn’t be long.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #reader-insert #miguel o'hara fanfiction

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worrywrite · 1 year

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I'm still trying to wrap my mind around Men at Arms.

It's a fantastic book, but it is also so different from Guards! Guards! in tone. And maybe that's where the key is. It's not that the villain of the story is perhaps one of the most proficient killers in all of Discworld (all two and a half of them... D'Eath, Cruces, and The Gonne) and their goal is to actually kill. It's not even that the crimes that the watch are investigating are murder, because even though paid assassinations are legal death and murder are part of the setting. Death is literally a character here, though much more briefly than G!G!. Frankly, I don't even think it's because of the racial allegories.

The tone in Men at Arms is different because the first one to die is a clown. Because Pratchett literally killed the joke (the entire thing and all of its subsets). There's nothing funny about a clown funeral, the dogs are the biggest allegory for racial issues, a gun really is evil, Cuddy literally draws the short straw. It's all literal. Everything is extremely literal. For once, Ankh Morpork isn't a joke. For once, the city feels like a city. And it's the book where Carrot, the most literal character there is, becomes a man (literally and in every sense) and takes his mantle of leadership.

Everything in Men at Arms is literal. Because the villain killed the joke to death and it was the shining moment for Carrot to step up.

There's also an extensive running bit that even the silly construction of the silly, courtesy of Bloody Stupid Johnson, is actually stupid. Within the narrative itself, the book is calling itself out. It is saying that this absurd veneer that we have found ourselves on is just that. This city was built on itself, on its own bones, on the the bones of empires--fueled with the blood of many. The architecture beneath Johnson's flawed works, the aqueducts and sewer systems below the city, are vast and strong and powerful--maybe even beautiful. But they're dangerous. The past is incredibly dangerous. Even Carrot, whose potential is very much rooted in the past of the city, is dangerous. His victory is not one I expected in the moment it came. The line about how you must hope that whoever is looking at you from the other end of their weapon is an evil man... Was harsh and true and honestly a little frightening for a story which also contains a scene where a sentient rock man chucks a dwarf through the skylight of Schrodinger's pork warehouse to save both of their lives.

Perhaps this puts the rest of the book in context as well. Especially the things that made me cringe when I read them. Like everything about Coalface, Angua being included in the story because she was a woman and every book needs at least one (preferably one that can leap over a building or deadlift a draft horse), the high school clique-ificarion of all the guilds, Vimes talkin to the nobles after dinner and almost letting himself believe he could be like that (even though he ends up laying into them with some excellent biting sarcasm), Vetinari not being in control and not realizing it. It's all very real, but real like a real serial killer in real life and not a crime drama. Maybe even real like a normal guy in a costume with their mask off.

Maybe not.

It's not a perfect book (which bites, because G!G! was nearly there), but it remains a very intentional book. I feel like less people have read it than G!G!, and I can see why. It's messier, it's not as funny, there's a lot more allegory and it's a lot more blunt.

But it's still extremely topical (sadly). I retain my opinion that it may be one of the most important books I've ever read. And I'm beginning to understand, finally, why.

#gnu terry pratchett #Discworld #terry pratchett #city watch #guards guards #men at arms #literary analysis #short essay i guess

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densewentz · 8 months

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I am. Quaking over Crowley and Hanna cause AUGH they're so adorable. Getting up into antics! What do you think some of their adventures would be? Chaos at the nursery garden stores? Lurking in woods to find creatures? Sorry I just really wanna know.

"Can we get a 'wahoo'?"

First off thank you for the perfect reason to post this sketch!

I cannot even begin to imagine the terrors they rain on the general public tbh. Between Crowley still feeling jilted and Hanna feeling free for the first time, the limit is really their imaginations (of which they both posses quite a fair bit).

In fairness since this little au I'm simmering takes place pretty soon after the end of s2, they probably don't do a lot of REALLY outlandish stuff for a while. They'll stay local, probably spend time with Nina and Maggie and probably end up meeting the Them at some point. Crowley would also probably want to try and keep inconspicuous (hah) with heaven and hell looming over their heads and now with a squishy thing to protect. I LOVE the garden center chaos idea btw, shoutout anon, and Crowley's little pseudo Eden is definitely going to rapidly expand into a vibrant and terrified indoor oasis (skylights included). Shops in general are going to have to watch their backs (Crowley has a reason to go into many of them quite frequently now, and without his celestial counterpart to keep him from goofing off too much). Hanna is a big fan of the classic "run down the aisles of a toy store and rapidly push every single button you find" method of spreading foment.

Since Hanna hasn't had an opportunity to see/experience most of the world, I imagine they spend a LOT of time popping through museums/zoos/aquariums/etc. Crowley pointing out things he caused, things an... old friend caused, things that actually happened way differently but got recorded wrong. Hanna dragging her dad around and both of them getting WAY too into reading the information plaques for all the animals. Then seeing which animals freak tf out if her dad flashes his eyes. (The giftshops get terrorized if there arent enough fungus-themed objects, although there is always miraculously at least one). They probably break into a lot/if not most of the exhibits after hours to take selfies for Crowley's rapidly growing photo album. Hanna sits at the shark touch tank and loudly proclaims how smooth they are. And since im a sucker for I-Want-To-Share-The-Stars Crowley, they probably pop over to an observatory or break into idk, where they keep the telescope on the Canary Islands or something. And he'll tell her what he remembers about the Creation and what it feels like to hold a new star in your hand. Hanna will curl up against Crowley's chest and get lost in his voice and the distant glitter of a world her dad designed. They probably also commit crimes. Not major crimes, mind you, although that's due more to Crowley's occasional sense of "as a parent i probably shouldn't let you" than any unwillingness on Hanna's part. But she'll definitely help him move signs or infiltrate office buildings and other assorted sabotages. She 100% gets her own little version of the Fuck Shit Up Jacket, and whether he likes it or not the Bentley has decided Hanna gets to pick the getaway music.

It doesn't really count as demonic but Crowley DOES keep a bag of spare change and googly eyes for Hanna to glue to things at will while they're out.

But tbh i imagine the most trouble she gets into is if she's left alone with Muriel. Evidently Hanna has her father's talent for tempting angels into misbehaving or at least into not noticing that they are, in fact, misbehaving in the human sense. Crowley usually feels almost bad for the baby angel but, needs must. and sometimes he needs a babysitter. The rule is SUPPOSED to be that if Hanna is with Muriel, they DO. NOT. LEAVE. the bookshop (they always leave the bookshop).

At one point she meets a boy named Kian at a pub called the New Inn. Crowley very desperately wants her to not want to spend time with Kian for reasons he refuses to explain 💕

At any rate if anyone ever wants to write or draw anything with Hanna they're more than welcome to and also I'll probably cry a lot so Cheers! Thank you for the ask (apologies for my signature long-winded answer)!

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scoutsbabygirl · 8 months

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Hello! Can i request yandere sniper (or others if you want) trying to get the attention of someone really oblivious?

Have a nice day!

hi! wasn't sure if you meant in a literal way of gaining readers attention (like snapping his fingers to gain your attention). i interpreted this in more of an emotional way and wrote it that way. anyways, hope you enjoy this yandere content!

attention

it was dark inside his van. in the early hours of the morning it was pitch dark outside where mick sat at his wooden desk sharpening his kukri knife, only lamps lit up his camper.

micks eyes were painstakingly focused on the blade in his hands. too many times prior he had cut his fingers and palms on the sharp edge of the kukri. in a low tone, he muttered to himself about how unfair it was that he was surrounded by other men, unfair how you were surrounded by other men.

like many times before the blade slid just a few millimeters and it broke the skin on his forefinger just near the cuticle of his nail. mick cursed under his breath pondering why it seemed like everyone was trying to get "in his way" of you. mick had spent countless and restless nights in the cot of his van staring up at the ceiling or out of the skylight window.

he placed the knife down while he sucked the blood from out of his finger. it was a shallow cut, nothing he hadn't seen before. he sighed deeply, kicking out the chair from underneath him. he was itching to see you again and he was itching to take you away from the main base. after all, it was filled with all the other men he felt he had to compete with.

fuck. that pissed him off.

he needed to get you out of there and he needed to get all the deranged thoughts out of his head. despite it being the dead of night, he opened the caravan door then slamming it shut behind himself.

he was deadset on you. he huffed, making his way towards the main base. gun in his hand incase something were to go awry. the walk from his camper to the base was no less than a 10 minute walk and with his long and lanky legs that journey took even less time for him.

once he arrived to the base he walked around the perimeter towards your room. he knew your room was on the second floor facing the woods in the back. he turned the corner of the wooden badwater building, grazing his black gloves hand on the corner of the structure. he was careful enough not to step on any twigs or leaves on the new mexican desert that would've revealed that someone was outside. if anyone was up he would surely be caught and chased back into his van. his western style foots caused a small whirlwind of dirt and dust to kick up every step he took, only for it to drift back down onto the burnt orange dirt underneath him. a small rust colored pebble the size of a babies' palm laid still right besides feet, squatting down on his haunches he picked the little rock up. he stood up tall again and hurled the rock at your open window. a little light from your vintage club table lamp luminated the corner of your room, he assumed that you were up reading or drawing. even from outside, he heard the little clank of the pebble on your oak wood floor. a breeze of warm southern wind blew by and gave mick goosebumps, his eyes were glued on your window, watching your petite shadow dance on the walls of your room. your body came into view as you bent over to pick up the rock mick had just thrown into your room. he was studying you, trying to determine what exactly you were wearing, was it a nightgown? his eyes traced your chest slightly internally hoping to see even just a glance at your bare chest.

mick was save hidden within the shadows and the darkness of night. he stood still and as quiet as a mouse watching you move around, twisting your head around in an attempt to figure out where the damn rock came from. finally, you approached the open window, looking up at the top of the white window head down to the window sill outside that you and pyro had decorated with a new cacti and plants native to the area. mick saw you shrug in an assumption that you had finally figured out where the rock came from.

he wanted to yell out to you in a hush town for you to come outside and look at the stars with him. it was the perfect cloudless night for stargazing.

you tossed the pebble out the window, the both of you watching it tumble down until it hit the gravel floor and rolled over a few times before stopping some inches away from where it originally landed.

you lifted your arms up and shut the window, turning around and swiftly walking away.

"fuck. me." mick sighed in disappointment, pondering why he couldn't have just said your name, why he couldn't fucking talk to you. you were right there. right in front of him. all he had to do was

say.

your.

name.

defeated, his gaze shifted to the small light in your corner flick off. seems as if the random appearance of the rock in your room from nowhere didn't startle you as much as what mick hoped for. sighing, he turned on his heels back to the safe haven of his van, slinking back into the shadows of what he was loneliness he was too familiar with.

#tf2 #tf2 x reader #sniper x reader #sniper tf2 #tf2 sniper #team fortress 2

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kasienda · 10 months

Text

A Miraculous Reveal - Representation

Spoilers for Representation (5x24) Link to Ao3

...

Chat Noir swings wildly at the akuma who is his father. Adrien is almost glad Ladybug has yet to show up. He doesn’t have a plan, he almost doesn’t want to fix this one. It just feels good to lash out, to hurt this man and send him crashing to the ground, for every blow to make solid contact against the man who seems bent on stealing every good thing in his life.

As Chat Noir, he doesn’t have to listen to his father. He can resist, he can fight. He can cataclysm anything that stands in his way as many times as he needs to!

He can do all the things he can’t do as Adrien.

Why can’t he fight as Adrien?!

“I feel sorry for your son!”

“Don’t be. He’s very happy,” Nightormentor replies.

Adrien is thrown by the statement. Was his father referring to the fact that he’s in love with Marinette, or does he actually think Adrien is happy locked away in some tower with an arranged relationship not of his own choosing a five hundred kilometers away from the most important person in his life.

The akuma broke past his defenses, knocking the wind from his chest. He coughs as he inhales the sparkling dust of his father’s power. The magic settles around him, clinging to his eyes and throat. Reality dissolves around him.

Everything is silent like his ears are clogged with cotton. He turns frantically in every direction. Everything is destroyed. The moon split in half, every building a crumbled skeleton of what it once was. Human-sized statues made of ash surround him as far as his eyes can see.

He looks down, and Marinette is there in his arms, as black as his cataclysmic power. He jerks backwards and her form dissolves into ash and dust in his arms.

“What happened?!” he demands, trying to push back his rising panic. Where’s the akuma? There had to be an akuma somewhere to have caused all of this.

“The same thing that always happens when a child can’t control their anger.” It’s the same voice. The deep foreboding voice that Adrien can never block out, can never escape.

He did this? No!

“No! It’s not real!” he screams, clutching his head.

Next thing he knows, Kim’s hovering over him. “You okay, there buddy? Because we could really use your help right now.”

But Adrien isn’t sure how much help he can be. He’s never stood up to his father and won.

He doesn’t include this time as an exception even when Nightormentor’s staff dissolves under his cataclysm because it was The Resistance that defeated this akuma.

Not Chat Noir.

He flies to Marinette’s balcony as soon as it’s safe to do so, letting his transformation fall the moment almost the moment he lands. He’s not sure what he wants to say to her, but he needs to see her. Just once if not every day.

He’s about to knock on her skylight when the nightmare strikes a second time.

He clutches his head and falls onto his knees as the vision sweeps through him again.

“No,” he sobs. “It’s just a nightmare. It’s not real! I would never do this!” he insists.

Plagg purring at the crook of his neck brings him back to himself once again.

“Plagg! I don’t know what to do. I miss Marinette so much even though it hasn’t even been a day. But I can’t disobey him. And I’m also scared of putting her in danger. I could—“ he clutches his hand into a fist, imagining the power of cataclysm crackling at his fingertips. “—destroy everything.”

“Adrien, you've just come into your own as the holder of destruction!” Plagg says. “I know you will find a way to break free of your chains. All of them.”

Adrien shakes his head. How can he do that when he can’t even say the word no to his father, let alone actually defy his orders?

It all feels so impossible.

The trapdoor window to Marinette’s room opens.

He tenses, still uncertain what he wants to say. He shouldn’t have come here. As much as he wants to see her — needs to see her, he can’t protect her, he can’t explain how he’s there without putting her in danger.

She startles when she sees him, then approaches him slowly.

“Adrien?”

She’s wearing a flowing white dress with intricate pink flowered embroidery that he’s certain she hand-stitched herself. Her eyes are puffy, red, and underlined with dark streaks of mascara running down her cheeks.

It kills him that she’s been crying. He knows it’s his fault because he couldn’t say no to his father. It’s just another example of his weakness, of his selfishness that he wants her love anyway even though she deserves someone who can stand up for her.

In spite of himself, he reaches out for her. She takes his hand, and he pulls her against him, feeling shaky. He buries his head into her shoulder.

“Is it really you?” she asks.

“Who else would I be?” he asks absently.

“Felix.”

He tenses and pulls away, gripping her at the elbows tightly, searching her face for jest and finding none. “What did he do?”

She waves away his concern. “He led me on a wild goose chase through the city. But in the end he only told me a story.”

“A story?” he repeats, confused. “What story? Why?”

Marinette put a hand on his chest. “Adrien, take a breath.”

He does as she says, feeling some of the tension within him bleed out. It always does when he’s in her arms. An experience he’s had on precious few occasions. If only he realized his feelings for her sooner.

“I’m really happy to see you,” he whispers.

“Me too,” she says back, leaning her head onto his chest. “I feel like I’ve been looking for you all night. How are you here?”

He tenses all over again, unsure of how to answer that question. He knows what he wants to tell her. The truth, and all of it! But the vision of Marinette’s ashen form cradled in his arms flies through his head and he’s terrified.

It’s just a dream, a nightmare sent to him by an akuma. It wasn’t real. That wasn’t going to happen. He was careful. He would never hurt her.

He would never hurt her.

“Are you okay?” she asks when he doesn’t answer her question.

He shakes his head, tears falling down his face of their own volition.

She squeezes his hand. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it together,” she promises.

And some part of him melts. She really believes that, but he can’t see any way to win.

Even Chat Noir couldn’t stand up to Nightormentor. Not on his own.

“My father wants me to stay in London. He wants to control every aspect of my life. And I tried for so long to earn his admiration and approval, but it’s impossible. And what has it ever gotten me? It’s never enough and I can’t do it anymore. I can’t.”

Her grip tightens around his hand. “Shhh, it’s okay.”

“But I can’t get away. It’s like, the second he’s in the room, I can’t… I can’t disobey him, Marinette. I don’t know why. I try, I think I’m going to, and then I just do what he wants anyway. I’m sorry that I’m so weak.”

Tears break past his battered defenses and he drops his head into his knees. He’s shaking so hard, but Marinette never lets go. If anything, she clings to him harder.

“Adrien, does he… does he have a ring that he always wears?”

He glances up, completely thrown by the random question. “Uh, yes. He has his and my mother’s wedding ring. Nathalie has been wearing the other. Why?”

“The story. The story Felix told me! He said that the two princesses gave birth to two boys who were as similar as their mothers. You and Felix. Felix – he was controlled by his father all his life through a ring, and he was only able to break free once his father died and he had the ring for himself. It sounds like it’s the same for you.”

Adrien blinks several times, his brain trying to understand what she’s saying.

Then the tears come back full strength, and he’s trembling like an earthquake.

“Adrien?”

But he’s crying in relief. He wasn’t weak and spineless. He was literally being controlled like a puppet on strings.

And then he was angry.

He looks up into Marinette’s concerned crystal blue eyes that seem to pierce straight through him. “I don’t understand. How?”

Her hands tighten around his and his clings to the lifeline that she’s providing. He fears that he’s weighing her down, that he can never give her everything she deserves, especially if he literally can’t go against his father.

“Felix said his mother and yours were infertile. They tried and tried to have babies, and they never could.”

Adrien stares at her. This was new information. Why had Felix told Marinette all of this? And not him?

“So your parents found and used the peacock miraculous–”

He hissed in a breath.

“--and their desire to have a child to create a pregnancy.”

“So I’m… I’m… some kind of sentimonster?”

She shakes her head violently. Her hands on either side of his face. “No, you are not a monster. You are the kindest, most beautiful person I have ever met.”

He held her hands and wrists against his face, needing to feel her holding him as his stomach dropped.

“But he can literally control me?”

She nods. “I think so. Felix asked me for help. He has his ring, and Kagami has hers.”

“Kagami too?” he whispers.

She nods again.

Kagami - forceful, ever confident, and never-hesitate-Kagami who he looked up to - could be controlled with a ring.

He could be controlled with a ring, snapped out of existence with the peacock miraculous.

No wonder Felix had been willing to trade all the other miraculouses for it.

He can’t breathe.

The vision of a shattered moon on a red sky, surrounded by destruction and decay flashes through his mind’s eye again. A new dark heavy presence stands behind him, controlling every movement, directing his miraculous powers against everything Chat Noir is supposed to protect, against everything that he loves.

The nightmare suddenly feels all too possible.

If his father ever learns his identity, he can make Adrien destroy anything his father disapproves of.

Like Marinette.

He scuttles backward from her, his back crashing against the railing of her balcony.

“Adrien! What’s wrong?” Marinette asks, standing over him like an avenging angel. She reaches out to hold him, but he holds a hand out and shakes his head. She stops, but tears are falling silently down her cheeks. Her dress is fluttering around her, and strands of her hair have fallen from her updo, framing her face. Her eyes are like shining lights in his darkness.

God, she’s so amazing, so strong.

And he can’t ever be what she deserves. Not when he isn’t his own person.

He buries his eyes under his fists. The rest of him crumples like tissue paper. She wraps around him like a warm blanket on the coldest of nights, and he lets himself fall into warmth and love. This might have to be the last time, so it will have to last him forever.

“I love you,” he says through his devastation. “So much.”

“I love you, too. Talk to me please.”

He untangles himself from her embrace and struggles to collect himself. It shouldn’t be that hard. He’s done it so many times before.

“Marinette,” he starts, slipping his miraculous from his finger with a broken sob. It feels like he’s tearing off a limb, but he would do anything for her. He opens her palm, places the ring in her grasp, and closes her fingers around it. “You have to take this from me, keep it safe so I can’t ever hurt anyone, so I can never hurt you.”

She looks down into her hand, her eyes frozen on the now-black ring in her hand. Her gaze darts up to his face, and then back down to the ring.

“You’re Chat Noir,” she breathes.

“I’m Chat Noir,” he confirms. “I was going to use it to come visit you, so we could stay together even if I was exiled to London. I figured I had to come back for akumas anyway, but… but if my father can literally control me, I can’t keep it. He could discover it, take it, and force me to betray Ladybug and everyone I love. I can’t go through that! Will you please keep it safe for me?.

“No!” she cries, trying to shove the ring back towards him. “You can’t give this up!” she insists. “You can’t!”

He caresses the side of her tear-streaked face, and smiles softly. “I need you to take this for me, Marinette. There’s no one I love or trust more than you.”

Her fist pounds on his chest. He grabs her arm and pulls her against him.

“Please?”

She shakes her head. “No, you don’t understand. I need you.”

“I’m sorry. I wish there was a way for us to be together, but if he ever found out–”

“He won’t!”

“Marinette, he could literally just order me to reveal all my secrets and it’d be done. He could order me to give him my miraculous. He can’t have it. Not ever.”

Her eyes well with tears. He kisses the top of her head.

“What about Ladybug?!” she demands.

“I think I’m only a liability to her right now. I’m a sentimonster. You’ll–”

“You’re not a monster!” Her voice is shrill.

He smiles again, feeling strangely at peace. “You’ll be an amazing partner to Ladybug in my stead.”

“No! I can’t take this from you. It’s yours! It’s your freedom! And I can’t be Ladybug’s partner anyway.”

“Of course you can!” he reassures. “I remember Multimouse. You had every miraculous in the box. You were amazing! You could use any of them.”

She shakes her head, tears pouring from her eyes.

“Marinette,” he begs. “Please!”

“I can’t be Ladybug’s partner,” she says again, her voice suddenly clear and firm. She looks up at him, and he can’t breathe at the depth in her swirling blue eyes. “She needs you. I need you.”

His mind is swirling, on the precipice of something grand, he knows it, but he can’t grasp onto it.

“Tikki, spots on,” she whispers. And in a sparkling wave of pink light, Marinette is gone, transformed and it’s his partner sitting before him with tears in her eyes. “Please Chaton,” she begs. “I have told you over and over, I can’t do this without you. You are irreplaceable. You are perfect. I will never ever abandon you. Please, please don’t abandon me.”

He can’t move, he can’t speak.

She takes up his hand, and holds up the ring, but she pauses her eyes on his, waiting for his permission.

“I don’t want to be turned against you,” he says weakly.

“Whatever he makes you do,” she snarls, “you will never actually be against me. You will fight him, I will fight for you. And neither of us will rest until you are free, truly and completely free. Please, please be my partner again.”

And he is already in love with her. He fell for Ladybug a long time ago, the day they met for a moment almost exactly like this one. He fell for Marinette more recently, slowly after another thousand instances of her standing her ground again and again.

But in this moment, looking at her with determination and love shining from every pore, he falls in love with her all over again.

She can’t conceive of a battle that she can’t win no matter how much the deck is stacked against her. And really, he can’t conceive of a battle she can’t win either. Chat Noir has always had the front row seat to watching her come out on top again and again through creative genius, persistence, and a fierce determination to protect everyone she loves.

Her cause is right, and her sense of justice is stronger than her doubt, and her love is stronger than her fear.

And so he can’t deny her. With his lips stretched into a watery smile, he nods his permission.

She slips the ring back onto his finger and it feels like coming home after being lost in a blizzard.

Their arms are around each other in an instant, and he knows that as long as he has her, as long as she cares and believes in him, he will always fight anyone and everyone that stands against them.

Even his father.

And with her by his side, how can they ever lose?

#miraculous ladybug #love square #give me a canon reveal damnit!#ml spoilers #ml representation spoilers #identity reveal #sentiadrien #my own content #angst #happy ending #theyre in love your honor #They're going to fight gabriel together #They are!#I've decided #And they're going to win!#Because power of love is so strong #power of love #a miraculous reveal #miraculous ladybug fan fiction

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omnomnomdomcaps · 11 months

Text

By Any Other Name, Pts. I-V - Remastered

This one is yet unfinished. Huge shout-out to the amazing @Bby-kimmy, who created the Keeperverse where this one is set. Also huge shout-out to @diaperedlilgirl, my favorite person in the world, who commissioned it!

I. Rose

That first morning in Paris, I woke up around half past six, when the sun made its way down the skylight and into my cage. For a while, I just lay there, rolling and yawning and grumbling. But when I did eventually sit up, fixing myself onto my bottom with a distinct crinkle, that’s when it really came into view.

It had all happened so fast. A day ago, I was just a bored, overworked twenty-something. I didn’t know if I was destined to be a pet, or if I was destined to be a keeper, or if I was destined to remain a lonely spinster forever and ever.

That’s why I had decided to take my trip across Europe, why I decided to come here even though I didn’t speak a word of the local tongue. I just wanted to get away from it all, to not think about it, to use my vacation time to go as far away as possible. And yet lo and behold, before that first night in the city was even over, I was bound.

He was like nothing I had ever seen - broad-shouldered, tanned, with a perfectly even scruff across his chiseled jawline that I could only look up at when he stood - after all, he was well over a foot taller than I was, and I was sitting down to boot.

I never would have mustered the courage to approach him, but I wouldn’t need to. Without hesitating for even a step, he approached me with a cool confidence, stopping at the seat next to mine before revealing his deep baritone:

“Parlez-vous français?”

I gulped down my drink when he said that, trying frantically to process what was happening before recognizing that he was asking if I spoke French. Somehow, in that moment, even the word for no wouldn’t come to me, and so I just shook my head.

But he just took the seat, his eyes still fixed on mine, gave me a wide smile, and whispered, in that heavy accent of his, “Even better.”

I had to snap myself out of that memory. My hand was already at my diaper, and I didn’t know yet if I was allowed to play with myself without permission, or what the punishment would be if I did.

Of course, there was a lot I didn’t know yet. Being bound in a foreign country meant that she was even more helpless than most pets, completely and totally dependent upon my keeper for every want and need.

As I repeated that thought in my mind, my heart started to race. I grabbed at the front of my sleeper, where the thick white padding underneath was bulging through. My diaper was wet, for sure - but at least, I could remember when that happened.

And then, just as suddenly, I grabbed at the back, just to check, just to make sure. There wasn’t any alarming squish, any foul smell, any telltale signs of a mess. I was clean, but I knew it was only a matter of time before that control was taken away from me.

Finally, I reached towards the pink collar around my neck, and the matching tag that hung off it. Céleste, it said, in bold, engraved letters. That was what my keeper called me. That was my new name.

My hand trembled holding that tag, and my heart thumped louder and louder. I wondered if all the things that made me who I was - all the things that made me me - would disappear into my identity as a pet. I wondered, on some level, if it was all worth it.

But as the footsteps neared my room, I felt that primal urge build inside of me again. At my cage’s edge, I went onto my knees, clenching the bars with wide and eager eyes facing up to my keeper. I was ready to obey.

****

II. Renauld

Seeing her for the first time under the natural light only confirmed what I already knew. From that diminutive figure that just begged for a protector, to those bright, expressive eyes that looked up with such wide wonder, to the brown hair resting messily at her shoulders, she was the perfect pet. My perfect pet.

Just as I expected, she was wide awake by the time I walked into her room, following me with those eager eyes while she stood on her knees in the cage. So I put down my bowl by the door, taking two ripe strawberries from it into hand as I went to greet my pet.

These berries were a prized possession, grown fresh in my estate in the countryside. They were a deep red that glistened in the sunlight, giving off a sweet aroma that made the mouth water instantly. And whether she knew it or not, they would be the key to her training.

I moved a strawberry towards the cage bars, and she began instinctively to reach out her hand - a common mistake for a new pet. So I pulled my own hand back, wagging a finger as I repeated, “non, non, non.”

It took her a few moments to understand - oh, her confused face was so adorably cute - even as I motioned down with my fingers. But finally, she understood, laying her hands down onto the floor of the cage and stretching her head to the bars, to receive her treat as a proper pet should.

Much better. Of course she made a mess of the fruit, splattering juices onto her chin and around the edges of her lip. But that was the point. As I took my handkerchief to wipe her face, I could see in her expression that she was affirming her place as a submissive pet, her need for her keeper growing, and our bond strengthening in turn.

With that first step out of the way, I opened the cage door and let her out. Without any need for instruction, she crawled onto the rug on all fours, stopping in the center of the room to look at me with those big eyes, eagerly awaiting the next step.

It was time for her to learn her first commands.

Walking to the corner of the room, I took the bowl of fruit in hand and leaned down to face my curious pet. When our eyes locked, I gave the instruction:

“Viens ici,” I said - come here - and gestured for her to come to me.

The girl blinked for a moment before nodding to herself. She crawled towards me, moving with trepidation at first, but picking up her pace as I gestured again, driven perhaps by the approving smile on my face.

She reached my knee and parked herself on her crinkled bottom, hands patiently on her knees. I placed a third strawberry into her mouth, pulling the leaf back to the bowl as she hungrily devoured the fruit. And then, with a soft “bon toutou,” I ruffled her hair with a friendly pat, before moving quickly over to an adjacent corner.

“Viens ici,” I repeated, gesturing again, and this time she scurried over with a confident grin, clearly proud of what a good job she was doing obeying her keeper. She must have expected another berry when she reached me, but it wouldn’t be quite so simple this time.

I hopped to yet another corner of the room, circling my way around the cage that stood in the middle. Once again, I repeated my command, but this time I made no gesture. And though she again made her way towards me on all fours, this time I would stop her halfway.

“Reste!” I called firmly but with a steady tone, holding a finger out.

She, instinctively, stopped where she was, correctly obeying my command to stay. And when I saw that she did, I came towards her and gave her her next fruit, again stroking her hair and murmuring “bon toutou” in approval.

Over the next few minutes, we would settle into the rhythm of our game. I would jolt around the room, calling out my commands. If I called “viens ici,” I would expect her to follow. If I called, “reste” I would expect her to stand still, or stop immediately if she was moving. And being as she was so intelligent and so eager to obey, she did a very good job.

When the last of the strawberries was gone, and the bowl was put aside, I gave the girl a kiss upon the forehead and a prolonged caress, showering her with praise that she understood just as a pup would. And then, I picked her up into my arms and began to carry her downstairs, ready to enjoy our first proper meal of the day.

****

III. Marie

The Parisian townhouse that monsieur Renauld calls home is spread across three levels. The ground floor features his kitchen and living area, exiting onto a garden veranda that he often uses to wine and dine guests. On the second level, there is a master and a guest bedroom, along with a full bath. And the top level, the smallest of the spaces, is what some might call an attic, a simple, square room that, as of the day that his pet-to-be arrived in France, was completely empty.

But monsieur Renauld works quickly, you see.

I had heard them stirring in the morning, as he taught her her first commands. But it was only when he carried her down to the ground level that I finally got a chance to glimpse his precious Céleste, and I could see immediately what so struck him.

She was absolutely darling there, curled up in his broad arms, dressed in that powder-blue onesie with a collar wrapped about her neck. Her eyes were a dazzling hazel, darting curiously around every unfamiliar fixture in this new home of hers, from the sparkling marble of the kitchen island, to the broad glass doors, to me.

I, at that moment, was seated on the veranda’s large rocking chair, that faced out into the garden and towards the Parisian streets beyond the fence. That’s where monsieur Renauld took his pet to wait, assuring her - in words she couldn’t understand but in a tone that she clearly could - that she would be safe and comfortable while he made her lunch. It was with that assurance that he finally let her out of his arms, for the first time since he had picked her up two floors above, and into mine.

Céleste stared up at me as I started to cradle her, taking me in with those wide, wondering eyes. I was a head taller than her, and easily more than twice her size, and I think she could tell quickly who I was. She blushed a rosy red, before tucking her face away into her hands, away from my line of sight and from the neighborhood traffic.

I chuckled a bit at the girl’s timidity as I started to rock her in my arms. Of course, the passersby had all seen many a pet in their time - some were even out with pets of their own. But it was well known to be a jarring sensation at first, to go overnight from an independent young man or woman to being publicly dominated, diapered, and kept.

She kept her face hidden there for some time, pulling it up only when the scent of sizzling fish and butter began to waft out from the kitchen. Oh, if she could only see how she looked at that moment, turning her head up and sniffing hungrily as she tried to place the scent, the metal tag on her collar rattling as she shuffled around.

Soon, she was back in her keeper’s arms, moving towards the dining table in the veranda where lunch was freshly served. She would stay in his arms until they were seated, at which point monsieur Renauld settled her into his lap, gesturing her hands down as a gentle reminder that she was not to use them to eat.

Lunch itself was crumb-crusted, pan-fried codfish, with sides of roast cherry tomatoes and fresh balsamic greens. It was the sort of fine plate that monsieur Renauld himself would have not long after, a reminder to the girl that she could still dine like a princess while being kept as a pet. The only difference between his meal and hers, in fact, was the digestive fiber blended in with the breadcrumb crust of her fish - that, of course, was a popular supplement to help new pets overcome a certain sort of shyness, which she herself would come to understand in due time.

He fed her forkful by forkful, her mouth watering for every next bite while she messily chowed. Immersing herself in her meal, she seemed to grow less and less conscious of the Parisian passersby, even as they peered in over the fence to glance at this new pet in their neighborhood.

When the plate was clean, though, and her cheeks and chin were thoroughly wiped, the girl was visibly and very thirsty. And that, of course, is where I came in.

This is the beauty of monsieur Renauld’s quick work. When he is sure, he does not hesitate. He is diligent and decisive, precise and proactive. It is talent that served him well in the world of business, where he made his fortune, and it is one that would serve him well here.

Though his primal instinct had kicked in only the night before, and though he only knew then that he had found his pet, he wasted absolutely no time in making the necessary preparations. I received his enquiry a few hours before midnight, and arrived at six a.m. sharply to orient myself to the space, and to discuss his need for a housekeeper and wet nurse - a keeper’s assistant, in the common parlance - to help break in his newfound joy.

The girl blushed crimson and even shook her head as I placed her beside my chest and unbuttoned my brassiere. She tried slightly to pull away, calming only as her keeper gave her words of gentle encouragement, stroking her hair rhythmically as he reminded her that there was nothing to be afraid of. And finally, when she was pacified, she nodded her head forward and latched onto my teat.

It must have been shocking for her, cradled in my arms, to be taking those sips. But that’s just the thing - becoming a pet should be shocking. Rather than try to ease in through a gradual process in which rules and roles are constantly adjusted, it is crucial and healthy for a new pet to understand clearly their new place, to understand without even an ounce of doubt that their privileges as adults are gone, that they are to rely completely and solely on their keepers, and that they will be taken care of. And that understanding is only possible, you see, when the keeper works quickly.

After the feeding was complete, it was soon time for Céleste to be changed and dressed to go out, and I followed upstairs - with the permission of monsieur Renauld - to observe.

She again blushed brightly as she lay there on the bed, naked but for her sopping-wet diaper, bracing for her first change as a pet. But monsieur Renauld soothed her with his warm and gentle hands, slowly untaping her garment, wiping her most sensitive parts with a soft touch. In no time at all, she was powdered front and bottom, adorned in a fresh garment, and lifted into a seated position - her own petite breasts exposed to the gentle breeze - to receive her new clothes.

A few moments later, I leaned in and awww-ed at how adorable she was, trying to make sense of the leash now tied to her neck while her thick, pink diaper peeked out from her short, pale-yellow sundress. There she was, about to greet the world as a pet for the first time, whether she was ready or not.

****

IV. Rose

I had walked down the street before - just not like this. In fact, I had been there only a day earlier, strolling past the fancy architecture and luxe shops as just another tourist, snapping pictures of everything in sight, distracted at the same time by thoughts of work, of dinner plans, or of my friends and the adventures they were having. But that all seemed like an eternity ago.

Here I was, walking down the very same street, looking at the same grand hotel, the same ornate cathedral, the same fancy shops and quaint cafés. But everything just looked bigger.

Before, I was just another invisible tourist. Now, it seemed like everyone’s eyes were on me, awwww-ing and giving me big smiles, asking my keeper if they could pet me - to which he would always eagerly nod. It was like everyone we passed by wanted to take a closer look - there was a businessman in a fancy suit, an elderly lady with a cane, a few girls who looked around college age, several gay couples… even a mime somehow managed to ask!

I didn’t say anything, of course, as they leaned in and stroked my hair - I couldn’t. First, because I didn’t know their language, couldn’t understand a word they were saying. Second, because the was a large pacifier in my mouth, which my keeper added to my outfit at the last moment. And third, I wasn’t sure if I was allowed.

It didn’t matter, I reminded myself. He would make sure no one made me feel uncomfortable, he would take me wherever I needed to go. And I stood there, obediently still as I could be, tucking my blushing face away and holding my hands together in front of my diaper. And I stayed there, until I felt the tug on my collar to start moving forward again.

The afternoon rolled along, and the man who held my leash seemed to be in no rush getting anywhere. At a bustling café, he stopped in front of the outdoor tables to wave hello to a friend of his - a slender, dark-haired man with a long mustache - and the two proceeded to chatter for a while. He seemed to be making some plans with my keeper, but my attention was drawn towards the girl seated next to him - his pet.

She didn’t so much wave as flap her hand at me, with drool forming at the edge of the grin behind her pacifier. Her hair was in long, blonde pigtails, and her eyes were wide and blue, devoid of any worry or thought. Timidly, I raised my hand to wave back, wondering how long it would be before I was like that.

Again, I felt that tug on my collar, and it was time to move again. On we went towards up the avenue, carefully crossing a busy intersection before shifting to the side of the street, where we stopped in front of a familiar façade. It was a name I recognized from long before I visited - Hermés.

A staff member swung open one of the wooden double doors, and in we walked into the posh shophouse, where tall, glass cases of bags and accessories surrounded a spiraling marble staircase. It was a world of luxury I didn’t even dare to set foot in a day before, and immediately I was overwhelmed.

My keeper, of course, didn’t seem at all bothered, as he led me towards a red-and-gold bench behind the staircase. He then patted the bench with his hand - “ici,” he commanded - and I sat where he gestured, earning an approving smile and a kiss on my forehead. And then, with another command - “reste” - he signaled for me to stay there, before tying the other end of my leash around one of the staircase pillars and making his way towards the cashier.

I watched as he began to ask questions, pointing towards a particular case in the store. My heart skipped a beat as I realized he was gesturing towards the ornate collars and pet accessories, as it dawned on me that he was getting something for me. Was he really going to buy me something here? Was he just browsing, to give me something I would have to earn later? What exactly would I have to do to earn it?

That was when the bell rang.

A pair of older women walked into the store, chattering between themselves while looking eagerly around the shop. Then, I somehow caught their eye, and they leaned in to ogle this new pet in the neighborhood, with one of them turning towards my keeper for permission to admire.

Soon, they were over me just as the passersby before had been, baby-talking me with words I couldn’t understand. Again, I tucked my head away, cheeks burning bright red from the embarrassment. But it was at that moment that I realized it was about to get much, much worse.

My stomach rumbled. It seemed like my large lunch from before was finally making its way through my system, and the pressure was building fast. A small, short toot made its way out before I could stop it, but brought little relief. There was no way I would be able to hold it all the way home, but could I at least hold it here? Could I at least contain it just a few minutes?

My eyes darted around the room, as the women continued to stroke my hair and make cutesy faces at me. Here was a place that I would have been afraid to sneeze as an independent woman, that I didn’t even dare to set foot in. And now, I was about to… I was about to…

It all came out at once, loudly, pressing against my seat as it spread around my bottom. One of the woman who had been petting me recoiled with a pee-ew gesture, while the other chuckled, turning towards my keeper across the store.

“Monsieur!” ****

V. Renauld

Everything was coming together perfectly.

Of course, I couldn’t have calculated that she would lose control at that very moment, surrounded by judging elders in a luxury shop. But sometimes, with the right ingredients and care, a dish can turn out even better than imagined.

All of it, of course, was for her own good. In training a pet, the initial shock of their new status is what allows them to release their adult habits and worries, to understand fully the weight of the transformation they’ve undergone. And because of that, it was important not to rush my little one’s change, much-needed as it was.

So I took my time, enjoying my chat with the cashier on the shop’s various pet offerings - I wouldn’t be making a purchase there and then, but that was no reason to deprive myself of important information for later. It was only once I had gone through the proper formalities that I walked calmly over to the bench at the center of the store, to check up on my precious pet.

Her face was crimson, buried completely in her hands. And her thick pink diaper, already bulging out beneath her sundress, was twice the size it had started, with a clear stain on its bottom. From the muffled English behind her pacifier, and from her body language, it was clear that she was begging for a change.

“Non, ma petite,” I wagged my finger, “pas encore” - not yet.

I lifted the girl up, her face nestling in my chest. Her current state would make it difficult to lead her home by leash, but that could be forgiven now. Plus, as I wrapped her in my arms, I was able to press a hand upon her rear, giving her a helpful reminder of her latest “accomplishment.”

I fixed my pet over my shoulder for our comfort, and down we went through the avenue, walking past the same row of shophouses and cafés as before. It was a slow walk, with her bouncing gently upon my hand, squishing as we strolled, but I hoped that she understood that that was merely the result of my bearing an additional load. It wasn’t as if I was torturing her intentionally, of course.

Soon, we came to the spot where I had parked my car, and I helped my Céleste into her booster seat in the back. She shook fists and whined, clearly expecting a backseat change. But again, I wagged my finger.

“Non, ma petite,” I repeated, “pas encore.”

The drive home, through Paris traffic, was not a short one, but again I was deliberate and methodical. It was far more important, after all, to keep my little pet safe than to rush her home. And as much as she was beginning to smell - and as much as another wetting in the car increased the strain on her already well-worn garment - those matters could wait.

Finally, we were home, and it was time to help my little one out of her booster, out of the car, and up the stairs. She must have been so happy to finally be led by hand into the master bedroom, where the mat, the powder, and the wipes all awaited. Finally, she must have thought, she would get her change.

But not just yet.

First, I stood her in the room’s doorway. Next, I helped off her sundress - there was no need for outdoor clothes here. And then, once she stood there, bare but for her well-sodden diaper, I fixed her into a proper posture, straightening her arms and legs. In due time, she would get her change, but not before an important lesson.

“Assis,” I gave the command, and of course she didn’t understand at first. So I pointed slightly down, and down she went, timidly, onto her knees, a confused look in her eyes.

“Bon toutou,” I praised her, fixing her hands down toward the floor and tilting her chin slightly up.

Assis, of course, was the command to sit, but in keeper-speak it was more akin to beg, a stance of complete submission, of dependence and subservience. And her stance was perfect.

I gestured for her to stand, and she stood. And then, I repeated my command, and she moved back into her begging pose. And again, I made her stand, and again I repeated my “assis,” which she obeyed this time with more confidence. She had passed this test.

With that, I picked the girl up and placed her upon the large, soft mattress, her bottom meeting the cushion with a pronounced squish. And then, I went over to the girl’s outstretched right arm, took a rope out from underneath the frame, and began to tie her to the bedpost.

“Mmmmmpphhhh!” she fussed, baffled clearly by what I was doing, but I merely proceeded to do the same with each of her other limbs, wrapping carefully around each wrist and ankle.

“Non, ma petite,” I said calmly, “pas encore.”

The poor girl - she didn’t even realize that she was about to receive a reward. She didn’t understand just how proud of her I was for her performance on the day. And she didn’t know that those restraints placed upon her were simply means of maximizing her stimulation.

I had hoped that things would become clear once she saw the wand, but she simply blushed and shook her head vigorously, clearly unfamiliar with the feeling of rapid vibration against a well-filled disposable garment. But she would learn soon enough.

Her resistance subsided quickly as the device met her loins, and I could see the pleasure begin to pulsate through. First, she started to breathe heavily, her pacifier falling out as her mouth opened wide. Soon after, she began to moan, each release ever so slightly more prolonged than the last.

And finally, as I pressed down the wand against her plastic garment and all the most sensitive parts beneath it, she reached crescendo, letting out a high-pitched squeal that only a true pet could utter. Now, it was time for her change.

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