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kyuuppi · 1 year

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Genshin men Instagram HCs

Ft. Xiao; Scaramouche; Zhongli; Childe; Alhaitham; Kaveh; Tighnari

(gender neutral reader but wears a dress in Scara & Zhongli's parts)

Xiao // @ a1atus

★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★

Very rarely posts

Never pictures of himself, you’ll only see his face in tagged photos

If he does post, it’s probably a new album cover of a band he likes, a particularly good plate of almond tofu from his favorite café, or—if he’s in a particularly good mood—a cute stray cat that befriended him on the street

Never edits anything but still takes pretty decent photos because he understands basic composition rules

Never tags anything but will sometimes write simple captions like “new guitar”

His pfp has not changed since he made his account and its literally just the blandest selfie you’ve ever seen—but he’s effortlessly photogenic so even when he’s just staring at the camera with a blank expression he looks hot

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

Xiao will unintentionally do his loyal boyfriend duties and like all of your posts but he never actually leaves a comment unless you specifically ask him to but you have to tell him what to say or else you’ll just get something like “your hair is nice” LOL

Maybe makes one post related to you but it doesn’t have your face—just picture of your hands holding each other or a photo he secretly took of you from behind as you admire some paintings from when he took you on an art gallery date

Still doesn’t write much in captions but if the post includes you, he always adds a little black heart emoji 🖤

Scaramouche // @ balladeer

★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★

Vehemently claims he’s not chronically online but he definitely is

Def has a dark / emo aesthetic profile and puts more effort into it than he’d ever admit

Uses stories pretty frequently

Usually to show off his game stats and victories or to vent about some annoying inconvenience that's just happened to him

balladeer Jfc the train is late again I may as well just walk home everyday ffs

All his late night gaming photos are so highly saturated in his pitch black bedroom, the only source of light being his screen on max brightness and his violet RGB keyboard. If you raise the screen brightness on your phone you might be able to make out some empty Monster cans and ramen cups on his desk—he absolutely gives Discord / Reddit mod vibes 🤢

Definitely has a story archive just for Valorant 🤮

I wanna fuck him so bad it makes me look stupid—

Posts a few selfies to show a new piercing or the very rare occasion where he’s feeling really confident in his looks

unintentionally thirst traps the emo boy lovers; yes, I am talking about you and I—

Lightly edits photos or uses filters to make them look good but nothing extreme or super aesthetic, mostly just for decent contrast

Usually the first one to see any of his friends posts but never ‘likes’ them

Will leave snarky or sarcastic comments when the mood strikes tho

His pfp is a candid picture someone else took that he thinks he looks decent in—sticking his tongue out and giving double middle fingers to the camera

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

Makes a post or story for every date you guys have, even if it’s just a vague picture of your shoes together

He likes to show off that he has such an attractive s/o but also lowkey just wants to have a memory to look back on for the nights he feels lonely

Doesn’t post just you though, he’s always in frame holding you or touching you in some way—he feels the need to put some sort of claim cause he thinks people are gonna shoot their shot with you—he’s kinda paranoid and insecure, pls have patience w him

Likes and comments on all of your posts. Sometimes it's a snarky quip like if you post about you and your friends doing something funny he might comment “lmao ur so dumb” but if its a selfie or something you’re proud of, he leaves a little compliment and heart emoji.

YN0103 [bedroom mirror selfie of you shyly posing in a dress]

YN0103 Bought a new dress today…it’s not my usual style but I rlly like it 🥺

balladeer cute 💜

If anyone ever confronts him in person about his nice comments on your posts tho he’ll get flustered and claim his account was temporarily hacked LOL

His heart def flutters when you post a picture of him on your own account

He kinda can’t believe you’re proud enough of him to publicly post about him

Changes his pfp to the two of you together and, if you zoom in and squint, you can tell he’s kind of smiling <3

Zhongli // @ rex_lapis

★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★

I’m sorry but I have to do it…

He has Facebook grandpa vibes

Like he has no idea how to use half of the features; stories are an absolute mystery to him. What is a reel?

But he tries to be supportive of his friends and will leave way-too eloquent comments with a Wikipedia levels of supplemental information

a1atus [ photo of a shiny Fender acoustic guitar laying on what seems to be a bed]

a1atus new guitar

rex_lapis Lovely new instrument, Xiao. You seem to have quite good tastes – that particular model is popular among many professional musicians. It is well renowned for its clear sound and beautiful mahogany exterior. If you wouldn’t mind, I would love to hear you play it someday over tea.

a1atus @ rex_lapis thanks

the way I cackled writing that exchange ygweyufgwyu Xiaos just like ‘thanks for commenting dad’

His pfp is not him—it’s probably a famous painting he likes or a beautiful white flower from a garden he visited

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

If you want him to improve his Insta game, you’re going to have to teach him, I’m sorry

On the up side, Zhongli is a great student and is eager to learn anything you teach him

Will try to post pretty regularly; usually somewhat mediocre photos of beautiful scenery like sunsets and flowers

Like Scaramouche, he enjoys the idea of documentary your time together so he posts something at the end of each of your dates

Your heart lowkey melts when Zhongli, very earnestly, asks after dinner if you’ll allow him to take a selfie with you to post on his Instagram

Regularly asks for feedback on his posts to ensure he’s properly taking your advice and improving :,)

He even starts organizing and naming story archives on his profile—simple titles like “tea,” “nature,” “friends,” and “my dearest”

Likes and comments on every single one of your posts and replies to all of your stories, even if he was there with you

Usually just lathers you in compliments on your beauty or tastes but they’re so thoughtfully written that it’s obvious he’s not “just saying it” and genuinely believes all the kind things about you he writes

YN1231 [photo of you twirling in a summer dress amidst a colorful of bed of flowers in a botanical garden, take by your friend]

YN1231 It’s finally starting to feel like spring! 🌸🌼🌺

rex_lapis While the camelias are lovely, they pale in comparison to your radiance. Your yellow sundress is also quite lovely and compliments your complexion in the morning sunlight. Truly a divine sight.

balladeer @ YN1231 @ rex_lapis ugh can you guys keep it in the DMs

- Changes his pfp to a selfie of himself smiling after you told him he should. The angle is a little odd but he’s so naturally attractive that he still manages to look good.

Ajax // @ tartaglia_on_top

★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★

Doesn’t post too often but when he does, it kinda gives stereotypical frat boy

Like, lots of parties and shirtless beach photos with his friends

The surprise is the occasional posts of his little siblings and kids he volunteers with in between

He sometimes posts championship and practice photos from his martial arts competitions with captions thanking his team and mentors

Is pretty popular—has a few thousand followers, many are people he met just once or twice at parties or genuine friends and classmates, but the vast majority are online fans who just follow cause he’s hot LOL

Is the type of person you followed once after meeting a long time ago and never talk to again but you can’t bring yourself to unfollow cause he’s nice and his updates are kinda interesting and he’s hot

Isn’t online that much so he doesn’t like/comment on his friends’ every post but usually tries to leave congratulatory messages when someone accomplishes something or graduates

His pfp is a closeup of himself with a boyish grin he cropped from a group photo

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

It is super obvious when you guys start dating cause almost every post from that point is about you in some way LOL

tartaglia_on_top [photo of Ajax, sweaty and exhausted but clearly excited as he holds a trophy in one hand with the other wrapped around your waist while he presses a kiss to your cheek]

tartaglia_on_top Officially a 3 year championship winner! Thanks to my biggest supporter @ YN0720 😘

He’s not even consciously trying to post you all the time, it just happens because you are either always together or any memorable moment he thinks are worth an Insta post involve you in some way

You’re the only person, aside from his family - that he actually likes/comments on all posts for

Is the type of boyfriend to leave those super dramatic, embarrassing comments on your selfies like “DAAAMN BABE 🥵 finna make me act UP” and, in one particularly shameless case, “god youre so hot pls step on me queen 😍”

Please block him

He shamelessly liked all your past posts from before you too met as well—you were kinda mortified to wake up one morning to a notification that just said “what a lil cutie ❤️” on a post of yourself from seventh grade.

Changes his pfp to a couple selfie he took of the two of you kissing on a winter vacation in the mountains

Kaveh // @ kaveh.designs

★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★

Obsessed with having an aesthetic profile

Like, the color palette of the background and clothing in his pfp selfie are carefully matched with the cover of each of his story archives, down to the hex code

He carefully edits every post and uses filters to make them all fit with his theme no matter how inaccurate to real life they may become

“Huh…I thought your bedroom wall was a bit more orange than this…”

“Oh, that’s cause I use 30% Juno in all my bedroom photos for a warmer finish.”

“???”

Despite his aesthetic profile, he doesn’t come off as particularly vain or narcissistic—only posts selfies when he’s has a particularly good hair day or changed his accessories

Most of his posts are of places he travels to (museums and big cities with interesting architecture) or his own sketches and rendered design projects

Online pretty frequently, always checks insta when he wakes up, before bed, and during lunch breaks

His stories are often project updates, interesting things he encounters throughout the day, or food photos

Only likes posts he actually likes and sometimes comments with photography critiques

tighnar1 [photo of a cluster of three bright blue mushrooms clustered against vibrant green grass and patches of dark, wet soil]

tighnar1 Proof the forest is an amazing place: found this beautiful little cluster of juvenile Rakkhashava mushrooms on my hike today. Great spotting by @ colleeei. Check my story for some cool mushroom facts. 🍄

kaveh.designs great photo composition, Tigh, perfect golden ratio on the caps.

tighnar1 @ kaveh.designs Thanks I guess…

Has a decent number of followers, many of whom are also artists familiar with Kaveh’s reputation from the Kshahrewar. Others just like his OOTD stories and charming smile

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

Kaveh revamps his entire profile once you two become official

His pfp becomes a candid taken by a stranger of the two of you together at an aquarium, holding hands as you point something out to him through the glass

It was taken by a photographer working at the aquarium as part of a promotion—the photographer showed you two the photo and asked for permission to post it on their official website and Kaveh was absolutely obsessed with the photo—it’s still one of his favorite and it doesn’t even show your faces

He still matches his archived story covers to his new pfp but his actual feed had become a lot more relaxed and natural now

He still slightly edits photos so they look as good as possible, but he doesn’t like using filters on photos of you or the two of you together because he thinks it would be a disservice to your natural beauty

Like Ajax, his posts and stories naturally become mostly about you whether scenes from your dates—candid photos he takes of you where he insists you look like art even though you’re just in pajamas with an unmade face—or even photos of things he sees throughout the day that remind him of you

Sometimes he posts stories of funny reels or art pieces he knows you’d like and tags you in them with messages like “@YN0709 omg remember when we were talking abt this?” and “me & @ YN0709💕”

Similar to Childe, leaves the most downbad, dramatic comments on your posts

YN0709 [swimsuit selfie]

YN0709 happy summer! ☀️🌊

kaveh.designs Oh my god my heart– 💘 I cannot believe I get to come home to this every night 👅💦

YN0709 @ kaveh.designs omg kaveh pls 💀

al_haitham @ kaveh.designs Every time I see one of your comments I regret ever learning how to read.

Alhaitham // @ al_haitham

★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★

Only made an account so his friends would stop bothering him about not keeping up with things tbh

Checks his feed a few times a day but skips through stories if they’re too long/too many

Absolutely hates concert stories the most cause they’d loud, long, and filled with off-key drunken singing

Never likes or comments on anything unless it’s really interesting to him

Occasionally shares reels in his story that are like interesting history facts or official Akademiya announcements

Has a few posts (and only cause Kaveh would not shut up about it) but they’re mostly just pictures of book covers he’d just finished reading with a detailed review or literary analysis as the caption—but he’s mindful of avoiding spoilers for those who haven’t read it

However, he does have one post that stands out quite a bit

He posted an unintentional gym third trap because he just happened to be working out, as is routine, and thought it might be nice to share some tips on proper rope pushdown form

If you’re not a gym babe and don’t know what this is, I beg of you, please look up a gif or video and imagine Alhaitham doing this, shirtless. You’re welcome.

It has become his most popular post by far

His pfp is probably taken straight from his faculty ID card: plain background, bright lighting, neutral facial expression

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

After you two have become official and are pretty comfortably established in your relationship, he’ll post a photo of the two of you—probably one you took - with a simple caption like “Late night at Puspa Café with my favorite person 💚”

Everyone who knows him freaks out in the comments with variations of “omg hathie got an s/o???” and “wow he finally posted a normal pic of himself, y/n is a good influence” but he doesn’t reply to any of them lmao

If you use Instagram a lot, he’ll naturally become more active too because he enjoys learning more about what you like through your posts and stories

He likes all of your posts but never comments—if one of your posts interests him, he’d prefer to wait until he sees you later to ask you about it in person

He just wants an excuse to talk to you more

As he becomes more active, little bits and pieces of your relationship naturally infiltrate his feed

His latest book review post has your favorite mug in the background because the two of you had breakfast together

His informational story post of an antique Sumerian emerald he found at a street vendor is being modeled by your pretty hands because you were with him when he saw it and later given to you after the vendor insisted on Alhaitham gifting it to his “beautiful spouse”

He changes his profile picture to the two of you from one of your many reading dates, comfortably lounging on a loveseat in a quiet corner of the library—and this time, he’s softly smiling

Tighnari // @ t1ghnar1

Surprisingly active on social media

He thinks social media is a great way to share information about the importance of forest conservation and get people to appreciate the beauty of Avidya forest

Makes one post almost every day and multiple stories

Needless to say, 90% of his posts are of plants or small animals he finds on his hikes or while working

His most popular posts are those of cute squirrels and birds that are being nursed back to health after being found wounded—animals just seem to naturally love him so the pictures are usually taken by his coworkers because his arms are full with cuddly animals that refuse to move

The other 10% of his posts are from the occasional hang outs with friends or coworkers after work—snaps of iced fruit teas from Puspa café or colorful clay plates overflowing with Collei’s homemade pita pockets.

He makes sure to reply to or at least like every comment, particularly those from people asking questions about the plants he posts or how to become a forest ranger. Even simple “wow that's so cool” comments often get at least a “thanks, glad you liked it” from Tighnari

He tends to use some cute forest or food emoji when they fit with his posts. For example, 🍄,🥙,🦊,🐦, etc.

Also tends to use “:)” when replying to his followers because he knows it can be difficult to read tone in text-based communications

Tigh is basically a social media manager at this point oops

Because he is online so much, he naturally keeps up with almost everything his friends post and will like or comment on things he finds interesting

His pfp is a selfie of himself with a small yellow bird perched on his shoulder from one of his patrols

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

All Tighnaris written by me WILL follow the “fennec foxes mate for life” trope regardless of AU, it is an indisputable law of the universe

If you’re in a relationship with Tighnari, you should be prepared for stability and commitment in general

While he doesn’t go out of his way to make an official announcement post or anything like that, you become a regular feature on his page

Will tag you in anything you’re related to, unless you specifically ask him not to

t1ghnar1 [photo of a small, cream-colored fox brushing itself against Tighnari’s leg and looking up at the camera with large eyes]

t1ghnar1 On a walk with @ YN1229 this morning we spotted this cute little kit without her mom. 🦊 While adorable, foxes - even kits - are wild animals and should never be approached unless by professionals. We have informed the local animal control where she will be taken care of until we can locate her family. Photo by @ YN1229

He never outright announces you as his lover but he seems to spend so much time with you and refer to you so casually that his followers who don’t know him just assume you’re his spouse LOL

He doesn’t bother to correct them either :,)

bennie_boy Wow, that mountain is so high up - wasn’t ur spouse scared to go up there?

t1ghnar1 @ bennie_boy Y/n has been on so many trips like this with me that they’re pretty used to it. :)

Likes your posts as he see them on his feed and occasionally leaves a short comment like, “beautiful <3”

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagine #genshin scenario #genshin hcs #tighnari x reader #scaramouch x reader #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #xiao x reader #childe x reader #ajax x reader #tartaglia x reader #kaveh x reader #alhaitham x reader #zhongli x reader #sm au #genshin sm au

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imagine-knowing-a-name · 2 months

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i miss who i used to be

Summary: In the aftermath of Ultron, two Sokovians find themselves contemplating their pasts and their loneliness in the present. When their paths cross again, they might just find comfort in one another's company.

Word Count: 1379 Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader Warnings: grief/loneliness/a lot of reflection on topics of that nature A/N: First part of a short series of sorts? Childhood friends to lovers kinda vibe which maybe could have been a one shot but I wanted to try something different! I have the next part written but after that, let me know what you'd like to see happen between Wanda and R (any interactions/conversations to be had/etc.) and it might influence where this story goes 👀

Part 1 of 'half of my hometown' series masterlist next part ->

»»————-　★　————-««

If there’s one thing she knows, it’s grief.

Wanda Maximoff was born and raised in a war-torn country; she’s borne witness to a lifetime of destruction, endured suffering, and experienced the slow death of dreams. It seemed like there could be no worse feeling since she’d already experienced it all, but life seemed determined to prove her wrong.

After all that, it took her brother.

If her life were to be likened to the myth of Pandora’s Box, then Pietro Maximoff would have been her hope – the one bright light in her life that she believed could never fade, that would never leave her. From the second she was born, and for 26 years thereafter, Pietro had always been by her side; no matter what happened, they went through it together, reacted together, and emerged alive on the other side together. For all their disagreements, Wanda couldn’t think of a single experience she hadn’t shared with Pietro. Which makes this new feeling – the painful, unenviable knot of loneliness in her heart – all the more terrifying.

Pietro will never share it.

Months continue to pass, with Wanda taking notice of nothing but herself becoming more withdrawn, avoiding Stark's parties and spending more time in her room, where she can let the loneliness consume her. She really did try when the Avengers first brought her to America, but Pietro had always been the social twin, and the conversations only made his absence more pronounced.

Wanda's mood worsens as her loneliness grows, but only she can see the change in herself. The team hardly noticed the difference -- they hadn't even known her before her grief, so how could they see what it had caused in her?

Lingering on the thought, Wanda realises there is no one left who remembers the girl she used to be before the pain and grief and suffering. She used to believe that her childhood friendships would last forever, but those friends are likely gone, she thinks, lost to the rubble just as her family were. Wanda Maximoff is the last person alive who could ever remember her true personality, but now, even she isn’t so sure.

»»————-　★　————-««

On that same night, in that same building, you suffer from the same line of thought. Brought from Sokovia to America in your early teens, joining SHIELD was your way of doing good in a world you knew firsthand needed help. You hadn’t expected it to be your own teammates and colleagues who had been causing the troubles in the first place; some went under with HYDRA’s exposition, but many remained, passing test after test because, despite the presence of their names on documents approving the bombing of your birth city, they truly had no allegiance to HYDRA. They are SHIELD agents throughout, but that doesn’t make them ‘good’.

Your sense of hope is naive, really. It’s a remnant of the lingering childhood sentiment that you would make the most of your escape to America, to make real change and bring peace to the friends you left behind. By now, you’ve seen the worst of SHIELD, endured mockery for your opinions, watched the organisation fall and then rise again only somewhat cleansed to assist the Avengers, yet you still work for them. Perhaps it’s fear that keeps you here, perhaps it’s delusion, but either way, you find your workarounds and do your best to progress.

That’s the situation that leads you to now, patrolling the halls of the Avengers Compound at 2am, pondering what you are even working for now that the only evidence left of your country’s capital city is a crater full of rubble.

Loneliness takes centre stage when you work night shifts – an unfortunate coincidence considering loneliness is what caused you to take the time slot in the first place. You don’t want to work with your colleagues, always feeling like you’re on the sidelines of the group, never quite as close to them as they are to each other – now exacerbated by the seed of doubt that any one of them may have seen your country as a necessary sacrifice, an inevitable fatality in a world of war.

It’s easier to work alone, you tell yourself again, but you begin to doubt it.

With no country to return to, no relatives, and no friends at work, you wonder how else you can change yourself before you finally fit in. Maybe then you wouldn’t have to be alone.

»»————-　★　————-««

Those thoughts are interrupted by whirring machinery, and you suddenly snap to attention and creep towards the Avengers’ gym. An intruder wouldn’t settle down for a quick training session, you imagine, and lower your guard marginally, but still ready yourself for a confrontation – there shouldn’t be anyone around at 2 am.

You walk in, only to stall immediately when you see a familiar brunette on the treadmill. She’s not one of the Avengers you’ve met before, nor one of the ones you’ve only seen on TV despite living in the same building – she’s new then, you conclude, or an intruder, but that doesn’t explain why you feel like you’ve seen her face before.

She looks up and her eyes widen when she sees you, before she shuts the treadmill off and quickly ducks her head. You don’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters while she hurriedly gathers her things, “I didn’t think anyone would come in here.”

You know why you recognise her now, the accent giving it all away.

“You’re Sokovian.” The woman clearly wants to leave; her belongings are bundled in her arm and she’s taken several quick paces aiming to pass you to get to the door, but she pauses at your statement and finally raises her head to meet your gaze.

“You’re not.”

“I am,” you reply, somewhat indignantly.

“You don’t sound it.”

Your natural accent had slipped over the years, it was true, a mix of natural evolution and forced acclimatisation on your behalf as an attempt to better fit in had led to the accent you now had. Not good enough to fool your American-born colleagues, but enough, it seems, to fool your fellow Sokovian. You think carefully, the new accent is so well practised that you struggle to separate what comes naturally and which parts you condition yourself to speak with. Eventually though, you speak and let the traces of your Sokovian past shine through.

“It’s been a while,” you tell her, “13 years since I last saw Novi Grad. I thought I’d return one day but… I guess not.”

Her eyes narrow as she tilts her head ever so slightly, the action once again striking you with a sense of familiarity. She seems to shake herself out of it eventually. She tightens her grip on her belongings and finally inches past you, not speaking again until her hand is on the door handle.

“I suppose neither of us can ever return home… your accent is rusty, Y/N, but it’s nice to see someone else survived.”

You jolt suddenly at her use of your name, but she’s gone before you can even turn around and acknowledge that she recognises you too; all that remains of her is the door slamming shut in her wake.

Memories crash back to you of the first half of your life, it's enough that you need to take a seat before allowing yourself to reminisce. It's been thirteen years since you last saw Wanda, but you'd never forgotten the shy brunette you used to run to and from school with; the girl whose apartment you would visit whenever the power went out, to huddle together and make up stories to entertain yourselves.

You wonder briefly why she left the gym so suddenly, rather than staying and catching up, but you realise that even you need a moment to process the fact that one of your friends, a memory from your past, is not only still alive, but also living in the same building as you. It seems likely that you'll see her again, and you hope it's something that she wants too.

You're already planning to give her time, but no matter how the night started, the encounter plants a seed of hope in you that the future might just be a little less lonely.

next part ->

»»————-　★　————-««

General Taglist: @canvascoloredin @fxckmiup @wizardofstories

(Might do a series taglist for this too - let me know if you'd like to be added! @family-house-of-m you have no choice but to be tagged)

#wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #mcu #marvel #ikan writes #wanda maximoff & reader #ikan homh

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joenotexotic99 · 2 months

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Idk if you're still making this, but I want to let you know that we're waiting for BoB Lovetropes p2. My suggestions: Toye, Eugene, Malarkey, Guarnere, Luz, Sobel. Hope you're doing okay <3

A/n: I've been dealing with some stuff lately and now finally have a little time to catch up on old stuff. I also want to apologize anon I couldn't bring myself to soble. Sorry couldn't do it.

-Warnings: fluff, tiny bit of language, got wayyy to carried away with malarkey’s, oops. Might have to turn that into its own thing, if it's not already. Luz is slightly spicy, nothing crazy but you cant miss it.-

Masterlist

Joe Toye

-grumpy vs sunshine trope. Omggggg, the idea of this has me kicking my feet and giggling. Joe Toye is rough around the edges, tough skin. You on the other hand have always been the positive one, keeping the people around you spirits high. Being an optimist of sorts. Maybe not cheerful but you could definitely make someone's day. Yet behind his grumpy facade, he can't help but notice your unwavering optimism. He wasn't opposed to love; he just never expected to be swept off his feet so quickly by one person. Your personality was anything but the same. Never in a million years did he think he was going to fall in love with a bright and shiny person, which was the exact reason why he loved you so much. You two were like night and day. You were the beacon of light in all the darkness. I feel like Toye would also be super protective over you. Kinda the same vibe as liebgott. But that's for another time.

“Is that a smile I see on your face toye?” “I'm one lucky bastard you realize that?”

Eugene roe

-office romance/forced proximity. I didn't exactly know what to call this one. Both you and roe are easy company medics. Gene from the start, harbord a crush on you. And mean big time crush. Thinking about you he got butterflies in his stomach. You both spent significant time together. Typically the only times you were separated is when you were attending to fellow paratroopers. Bastogne was a turning point. You were in a jeep headed to the church, your hand and a cloth being the soul thing keeping a man alive. You almost made it before the church burst into flames. When Gene heard what happened he got the first ride possible to bastogne. When he saw you, hand now on a clearly dead man, he took you into his arms. He brought you back to the Adrennes forest. As usual you spent the night in genes fox hole the only difference was you both saw what was right in front of you for the first time and kissed. It wasn't until Austria where he gave you a promise ring where he promised to spend and devote the rest of his life with you.

“you make me the happiest man you know that y/n?”

“Tell me that again at our wedding”

Donald Malarkey

-friends to lovers? Maybe a sprinkle of enemies to lovers?? I don't know but here me out. So you join the paratroopers as a female, the reason you got in was from connections in the army. Seeing how even if you are the most talented female there is, it's still the 40s here. I wouldn't think that the Toccoa men would flat out bully you, but would more just not believe in you. Probably leave you out of a lot of things. Kind of just pretend you weren't there. But not malarkey. He saw something in you that the rest didn't. Honestly he was shocked to see how they treated you. You were the best paratrooper there was in this company. You stood your ground. You met and exceeded in all categories. Passed each test with flying colors. You also were able to do it with the most incredible smile. As much as you disliked it, he stood up for you. Complimented and congratulated you when you did well. You really liked him. He was cute, kind, and not a douche wad. But sadly, most guys here if they weren't mean, they were trying to get Into your pants. As much as you wouldn't mind that with malarkey, you weren't here for that. One day in Aldbourne England you had enough. You weren't going to get swooned into bed and he had to know it. When you had a spare moment you grabbed him and pulled him aside and told him to stop. He was bewildered that this is how you perceived him. He explained to you that was not his intention. You could hear the sincerity of his voice. He meant it. This was the start of your friendship. You both were like a thing but not? Kinda a situationship. But it wasn't official until Haguenau. The effects of war painted across your faces. In one of the houses you laid in one of the beds, trying for the hundredth time to get some rest to no avail. He came and found you. There was little and a lot to say. Instead he kissed you. The past two years of friendship melted instantly into a lifetime of love.

“god i've wanted you to do that for a long time”

“What happened to ‘I'm not here for a relationship’?”

“shut the fuck up and kiss me again would ya”

William Guarnere

-Enemies to lovers. Come on, this is so perfect. Guarnere is a natural bully. He bullies everybody all the time, but you? He loves bullying you. He always has an insult special for you up his sleeve. However, that's a lie. He hates it to his core. You are the sweetest person ever. All he wants to do is not bully you. He's somewhere in the middle of liebgott and Speers. He doesn't want to be seen as weak. He has this demnor he feels the need to uphold and that everybody around him expects. Not some ooey gooey man. Even though if he could he'd probably worship you. You were perfect in his eyes. He hates himself more and more but the more he digs himself into this hole the harder it is for him to get out. He finally cracks when someone else makes a particular mean stab at you one day at a bar in holland. He can hate himself all he fucking wants for bullying you. But somebody else is doing it? Hurting you? Not going to happen. He breaks his nose, jaw, maybe a rib or two, black eye and busted lip, all before he could get ripped off this guy. You get wind of this later. Within minutes you're confronting him. Before he shuts you up with a kiss.

“I thought you hated me”

“Hate you? No, For fuckes sake sweetheart, I'm in love with you”

George Luz

-meet cute. You originally met just before you signed up to be paratroopers. And I mean just before. You were getting blood work done to test how fit you were to fight. As you waited in the lobby to fill out paperwork, you went to reach for your pen. That's when you realized it wasn't there. It just so happens that a very cute guy next to you had an extra with him. You quickly filled the paper and exchanged names and conversations. On the way home you couldn't get him out of your head. So couldn't he. Later when you were assigned to easy company you found the one and only George luz. The same extremely handsome guy at the clinic. He immediately recognized you. How could he not? Your face and laugh had been at the front of his thoughts a lot lately. You tried to keep both of your composure during Toccoa seeing how you didn't want to get into any trouble. But that all fell apart after one weekend with a pass and some alcohol. Kisses were shared, clothes were shed and hands roamed. After that night you made it official. Luz also started writing his vows.

“you know I've never felt this way before”

“What the sex or me? Because If it wasn't the sex let me know so we can go again”

“both luz, but I can't turn that offer down now can I”

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers headcanon #band of brothers x reader #joe toye x reader #eugene roe x reader #Donald Malarkey x reader #george luz x reader

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the-scandalorian · 2 years

Text

like a moth to the flame

Pairing: Monster!Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M, 18+ Word Count: 6.9k Content warnings: monster!Din, dark!Din, haunted!Din sort of?, stalking, obsessive/possessive/predatory behavior, creepy vibes, mentions of sex, angst, pining, canon-typical violence, nightmares, sort of a dark Beauty and the Beast AU, eventual monsterfucking probs, complete neglect of Star Wars flora and fauna for the sake of vibes Notes: Heed the warnings, please!

Thank you to @dincrypt and @ezrasbirdie for the help, to @stealyourblorbos for the idea, and to @tuskens-mando for sharing her monster!din! xx

YOU

He arrives in the summertime.

He arrives when the sun feels especially harsh overhead, even in the dewy shine of the early morning, even under the partial cover of the cherry trees. The air is stung with heat and sweetness, laced with the scent of berries and ripe with pollen—it floats lazily through the beams of light that filter down though the branches. The bees seem drunk as they zip and bob between the leaves.

You don’t hear the news right away. You’re out in the orchards, a bead of sweat breaking free from your hairline and sliding down your temple, and you absently swipe it away with the back of your hand, setting down your full basket before snatching up an empty one to move on to the next tree. The cherry yield is extra high this year—peaches and strawberries too. Overall, a very successful season.

In a few months, you will have earned enough for the final payment on your ship. It’s taken years of saving and dreaming, but it’s finally within reach.

You head into town with this week’s harvest feeling hopeful.

You sense the subtle shift—the low hum of electricity that permeates every corner of town—as soon as you arrive. No fewer than four people stop to tell you the story as you make your way toward the main thoroughfare: a Mandalorian checked into the inn late last night. It’s so rare to have a novelty to discuss in this sleepy place that everyone is eager to be the first to share.

A couple hours later, when the outdoor market has opened, the story has yet to lose momentum. The entire street is abuzz. You can actually see the word spreading before your eyes: friends rushing over to friends, one and then the next, hands cupped around ears, jaws dropped open in surprise, fingers pointed toward the inn. They gossip and chatter as if there’s actually something of substance to discuss.

You’re sure he’s just another transient visitor, like so many others who come through. There’s nothing for a Mandalorian here: no riches or war, no one interesting enough to have a substantial bounty on their head. Yours is a small town on a backwater planet where nothing happens—hence your eagerness to leave.

The Mandalorian is probably stopping for fuel and supplies, two things that aren’t always easy to come by out here in the Outer Rim, especially not safely.

He’ll be gone in days.

You envy him a little. Even before you actually see him, despite the fact that you don’t know anything about him, you’re a little jealous. Because he’s traveled the galaxy. He’s seen things. Done things. He has power and agency and purpose.

You finally do get a glimpse of him late that Saturday afternoon. You have a clear view of the inn from your kiosk. You’re in the middle of a transaction with a customer when the bright glint of silver draws your attention.

He steps out the door into the afternoon sun and sets off at a brisk pace. All you manage to catch is his impressive profile as he turns down a side street, and then he’s gone.

He looks strange in this setting—completely out of place in this rural village, like a piece of silvery moonlight excised from the night sky and fallen planetside. A warrior steeped in myth, a legend extracted from the pages of an old book and dropped into the mundane reality of your daily life.

At least you got one look at him. So you know he’s real.

*** The next week at the market, the new word about the Mandalorian surprises you—even more so than the fact that he’s still in town. He’s taken up residence in an abandoned house. He’s going to stay, for a while at least. He asked the innkeeper about places outside town, anything remote and livable and available.

The house he chose is set back in the dark part of the forest, miles away, where old-growth trees stretch so high that their thick canopies blot out the sun. No one has lived there for decades. You’ve only been that far into the forest once before: when you were a little kid, you were dared to go there, dared to go where the beasts lived—the hungry creatures with jaws that snap, the ones your parents warned you about. And at eight years old, you were too stubborn to resist once that gauntlet had been thrown. So you’d taken a flashlight and a kitchen knife and made the long, long walk out there. You saw nothing but huge, clawed footprints in the dirt and slashes gouged into the tree trunks that day, but you’d never been tempted to go back. The eerie silence was enough.

If you thought the gossip about the Mandalorian was bad last week, now that he’s staying, it’s rampant.

Violent. Brutal. Ruthless.

Hunted by The Empire.

On the run from the New Republic.

Exiled by Mandalorians.

Too bloodthirsty for The Guild.

Murderer. Mercenary. Contract killer.

Monster.

Where any of this came from, you have no idea—most likely, someone’s wild imagination. The innkeeper is the only person who actually spoke to him before he moved out into the forest.

And after he moves out there, he only comes back into town on Saturdays for the market. Otherwise, no one sees him. You know because you casually inquire about him whenever you head to town for dinner, or a drink, or to visit a friend.

You can’t help it. You’re curious.

Now, over a month after his arrival, you’d think the regularity of his weekly appearances would prevent sightings from stirring up so much excitement, but that’s not the case.

Today, he stalks through the tittering crowd, and an awed silence falls in his wake as it always does. Heads turn to follow his slow, purposeful advance, but his gaze is trained forward. He acknowledges no one.

You expect him to visit the largest kiosk, the one situated at the end of the lane, like every week prior. Instead, your hands still in the middle of tying up radishes and your eyes go wide when he turns abruptly and makes a beeline for you. He’s never come to you before. But here he is, standing before you, scaring away a couple lingering customers, who shoot you half-wary, half-jealous looks as they scatter.

You gather yourself quickly, square your shoulders, and offer him your warmest smile. The Mandalorian nods once in greeting, then tilts his helmet down to scan the goods laid out in front of him.

Fuck, he’s broad.

He looks even bigger up close, his armor and weapons even more intimidating. You note a blaster at his hip, charges on his other side, and something clipped to his belt that looks like the handle of a blade…without the blade. Peculiar. And you’re sure he’s packing more than just what you can see or make sense of.

“Looking for anything in particular?”

He spares you another quick glance but offers no response aside from a noncommittal grunt. His gloved hands work deliberately, collecting a selection of produce. Sensible, standard ingredients. Filling things that keep well in a pantry.

Your task of bunching radishes remains abandoned. You can’t help but admire him when he’s right here. The lines of his visor are harsh, the glass so dark you can’t even see a hint of his eyes. His pure silver Beskar shines like liquid mercury in the bright sunlight. You wonder vaguely if he too is dangerous to handle with bare hands. Toxic. Even more deadly to breathe in.

What would he smell like if you tucked your face into his neck, pressed your nose into the rough fabric of his cowl? Woodsmoke, you think. The masculine tang of sweat after standing in the sun in so many layers. Leather, definitely. Metal, of course. Something sharp and predatory.

When he has a sizable collection of produce arranged on the counter between you, his helmet continues to scan like he’s searching for something else.

“Can I help you find something?” you ask.

He looks up at you, and his visor stays trained on your face for a few beats too long. He cocks his head to the side slowly, like he’s trying to make sense of your question, like you just asked him something fascinating. Or maybe he’s studying your face. Whatever he’s doing, it makes heat crawl up the back of your neck.

“What’s your name?”

You’ve never heard his voice before, and you didn’t expect it to be like that—like velvet dragged down your spine, a low, sultry purr made sibilant by his modulator. It makes every nerve ending in your body light up in a way that no other sound ever has, not even the voice of anyone who has shared your bed.

You tell him your name.

He repeats it back to you, and you’re sure it’s the only correct way to say your name, that every other person has been saying it wrong your entire life, and you’ve only realized it now that you’ve heard it spoken like that. When he rasps your name, it smolders like dark magic, throbs like the first crack and roll of a distant thunderstorm, melts—

“What do you like best?”

You stare blankly at him for a moment, caught off guard that he’s not just shopping at your stall but also talking to you. He’s making an effort to connect with you…or at least being polite. Most strangers on a stopover spare little more than a grunt, and you expected the armored Mandalorian to be even less generous with words and courtesy.

He gestures across your displayed goods with a gloved hand, prompting you for an answer.

“Um, what do I like? Oh, well, the peaches are extra good this year,” you say, motioning to their basket. “Really sweet. Just the right amount of ripe at the moment. And the strawberries.”

“I’ll take both.”

And me?

The ridiculous question tickles at the back of your throat, but you swallow it back.

You gather his fruit, do some quick mental math, and tell him the total. He stows everything in a bag slung over his shoulder and digs into a pouch on his belt.

The pads of your fingers graze his leather glove when you accept his credits in your palm. You swear his hand lingers over yours for a few seconds longer than is necessary, that his fingertips brush your skin a few times even after the credits are in your possession, but before you can decide if that’s real or imagined, he leaves.

“Thank you,” he says.

He’s vanished before you can even manage a goodbye, a flash of mirror-bright beskar and duraweave cape.

And you’re left there, standing in the sun, wondering why you feel a little drunk.

*** You don’t know him—don’t know his name or what he looks like or his purpose here or if he’s a good person. And yet, after one single interaction, he becomes an almost constant fixture in your mind. He lingers on the edges of your thoughts, the possibility of seeing him again next Saturday pulsing like a beacon.

You can’t help it.

You want to know him, this stoic warrior with a surprising hint of sweetness. You want to ask him every one of the questions bouncing around in your head, to tug his gloves off his hands and strip each piece of armor from his body until you reveal the man underneath.

You only touched his glove—not even his actual skin—but the feeling burned through you nonetheless, leaving a residual tingle for the rest of the day. That night, those two fingers are the ones you slip under your clothes and snake between your thighs.

You heard just enough of his voice to piece together a very realistic growl of take it, take it just like that in your head.

What you wouldn’t give for the real thing.

DIN

The dappled gold-green light gradually gives way to shadow as Din makes his way deeper into the forest.

Overall, things are going as he planned. When he limped back to the public transport ship after his duel with Paz—burned and gutted and confused—he knew he needed to find a place to stand still.

Somewhere with enough space for his rage and grief and pain to expand and contract freely. Where he can take each of the things weighing on his mind, lay them out, and let them breathe.

Somewhere he has time to figure out exactly what he has become. What it means. How to get a handle on his new reality. What to do next.

And what happened after he closed himself in his private room on that humming public transport ship made his plan less necessary and more imperative. Just the memory of that pain makes him shudder.

This planet, just as he expected, is completely untouched by the Republic and the Empire alike. Remote. Exactly what he needs. It took him a couple weeks, skipping from one public or private transport to the next just to get all the way out here. His anonymity is all but absolute. He has space and privacy and time.

After another twenty minutes of walking, the little house comes into view, almost completely lost amidst the cobalt twilight of the trees. The tight, throbbing coil of anxiety in his chest loosens, just a little. This will be the perfect place for him. He can do what he needs to do, completely undisturbed. And he won’t be able to hurt anyone, even if he loses control.

The town is miles away, and when its inhabitants venture into the forest, it’s never this far. He was told they stay on the edges, where game is plentiful and there is food to forage.

It only takes Din a few days to make the house livable. The process is easier than he expected. The woman at the inn made it sound like it was crumbling and dilapidated, but she also stated out-right that it was haunted, so he took everything she said with a grain of salt. Din had brushed off the warning with a shrug of his shoulders and asked her for directions. She’d shared them with a resigned smile and a final protestation that no one in their right mind would ever want to live there. Din stopped himself from asking her about people in their wrong mind.

Would it be a good place for someone like that?

In reality, the house is completely intact—totally structurally sound, well built—just long-neglected and hard to find. The most difficult job is hacking away the thick emerald vines that are trying to swallow the facade. Once that’s done, the rest is simple. He forces the old, creaky front door open and clears out the cobwebs and debris. He sweeps away the dust and scrubs away the grime until he unearths a gleaming hardwood floor, faded sky blue walls, and copper fixtures.

It’s a beautiful house. Someone, years ago, put a lot of time and money and heart into it. And now Din is reaping the benefit of someone else’s hard work.

One more thing he doesn’t really deserve has fallen into his hands.

After a few days, he understands the origin of its reputation. The darkness and the unnatural stillness are constant here. It’s always night, and Din likes the quiet, the solitude. The old-growth trees are undisturbed even by animals. There are no birds tittering in the branches above him, no rabbits scurrying into their burrows when he passes. Nothing grows between the towering conifers because no light reaches the ground: the forest here doesn’t sustain. Nothing can survive for long—aside from Din and other occasional far-ranging predators.

He’s only seen the hungry reflection of yellow eyes a couple times, and the crackle and spark of the dark saber being ignited are enough to make them melt away between the trees.

They don’t bother him.

On his first supply run, Din identifies the only problem on this planet.

He takes in the haze of the small town distantly, retaining none of the blurred details as he stalks through the dusty streets…until you. He sees you standing there at the market, behind one of the many stalls, and the heart he was sure existed in his chest seems to have disappeared altogether.

Beautiful.

It requires immense physical effort not to stop, even more not to stare. He keeps his helmet trained forward and just looks out of the corners of his eyes.

He’s alarmed by the intensity of the feelings that slam through him: he wants to rip off his helmet and breathe you in like fresh air.

He can’t put his finger on exactly what draws him in. You’re gorgeous, sure, but it’s more than that. It’s biological or chemical or molecular. Magnetic. Something primal, a force he doesn’t understand—like the one that infected him when he took the saber from Moff Gideon. Overwhelming and completely out of his control.

He just barely manages to stride past like he doesn’t notice you at all.

After a month of pretending to ignore you, though, he caves. You’ve been stuck in his consciousness like a burr since the first time he saw you, begging for attention.

He has to buy supplies every week. What does it matter where he buys them?

Maybe if he talks to you, he can figure you out—figure out this pull—and that will help him disentangle you from his thoughts.

As soon as he’s standing before you, though, he knows this is a bad idea. He picks out some produce—completely ignoring his very specific mental list in favor of gathering whatever his hands happen to fall upon.

Because he’s distracted.

By you.

You turn your head a little, and he thinks about biting the sweet juncture where your shoulder meets your neck, sinking his teeth in just hard enough to hear you whine, not hard enough to break your skin.

Would you like that? Would you squirm against his chest and beg for more? Would you let him touch you with rough hands and fingers that leave behind stormcloud bruises? Would you mind the hard ice of his armor and the hilt of the dark saber digging into your stomach if he crowded you up against the wall behind you?

Would you cower if you saw the true color of his eyes?

Din tries to busy himself by staring at everything laid out before him, but he can’t stop thinking about the plush of your lips.

When you ask him if he’s looking for anything in particular, he finally has a reason to settle his gaze on your face again.

He looks at your lips for too long—he knows that. He’s reassured by the fact that you can’t tell his eyes are fixed on your mouth. You must just think he’s odd. He tries to recover by asking for your name and what food you like most. Of course you pick the sweetest things, collecting the fruit with a discerning eye, choosing only the best of the bunch to wrap up for him.

You hand him his purchases, and he’s never been more tempted to slip off his gloves in public. He wants to brush his fingertips along the smooth, sensitive skin of your inner wrist. He needs to know what that feels like—what you look like when you shiver.

He lets his touch linger for a fraction of a second and is rewarded with the subtle dilation of your pupils.

He turns to leave before he can do anything he’ll regret.

And yet, you stay with him.

He stalks down the street, back toward the edge of town, onto the wide dirt road that parts the forest. With each step, he gets further away from you. With each step, he expects you to release him, to fade away, so his mind can quiet, and he can focus.

You don’t.

He doesn’t know what to do about that. Din has grown accustomed to living with blinders on; they have always been necessary for staying on track, for shutting out everything but one bounty and then the next. They’re familiar, comforting. A life of discipline and duty gifted him an iron will and laser focus, and he’s always relied on those.

And yet here he is, distracted.

He’s never experienced this type of all-consuming attraction before.

He tells himself that if he just knew more about you, if he could solve the mystery of this feeling, he’d be satisfied. That would be enough to slake his curiosity, and he could move on.

*** Two days later, Din gets a chance.

He’s on a rare mid-week trip into town for real food, lost in thought about Grogu as he strides down the street, wondering what kind of caretaker Skywalker is. Is he patient? Thoughtful? Does he pay attention to the little things that make Grogu feel safe, like gentle back pats and low, murmured reassurances?

Surely, whatever complicated Jedi-magic bond that exists between them guarantees that he’ll know exactly what the kid needs. He’ll probably know better than Din ever did.

Jealousy radiates through him for a moment. But it fades quickly into grief, and that almost immediately spills over into a simmering anger.

Every feeling eventually gets twisted into anger these days.

Din isn’t paying attention as he turns a corner and smack. Luckily, you react fast enough to catch his chestplate with raised hands instead of your face, but the force of the impact still sends you reeling backward a few steps.

His first instinct is to reach out and steady you, to catch your elbows and pull you back toward him, but he resists it.

You manage not to lose your footing, but you do wring your hands like they’re hurting.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you laugh, rubbing your palms, “I’m fine.”

He stands there for a moment, silent. He wants to talk to you, but he has no idea what to say. So, irritated with himself, he makes to leave instead, offering you a nod and your name in some combination of greeting and farewell as he tries to walk around you.

“Wait,” you say, reaching out to grasp his elbow, your fingers curling into the space between his armor. “What’s your name? You never told me.”

He stills, looks down at you, relieved. His hands twitch with the need to touch you back. This close, your smell is overwhelming—floral and warm and tempting.

“Mando is fine.”

Your lips pull to the side in an understanding but slightly disappointed smile, your hand dropping back to your side. “Not your name, but that’s okay.”

He wants to give you more than Mando, but he can’t.

Now that he’s finally letting himself really take you in, he notices a black smudge under your eye. “Were you just at the landing bay?”

You shoot him a suspicious look. “Yes, how did you—?”

His hand moves before he can stop himself. You watch it, a flicker of surprise in your eyes, but you don’t move away, don’t flinch.

“Engine grease,” he tells you. He holds your cheek softly, swiping his thumb across your skin. You look a little flustered—caught off guard but not uncomfortable. His helmet tells him your pulse has kicked up significantly.

He likes that.

His own pulse starts a steady gallop in answer.

“I have a ship,” you offer, staring up at him with wide eyes.

He actually chuckles at that, a warm, rich sound rumbling in his chest. It makes him realize how long it’s been since he’s heard his own laugh. “I figured.”

His hand is still on your face. If he slid it down just a little, he could touch your lips, see if they give as much under a light touch as he thinks they would.

“Well, I don’t have it yet,” you amend. “It’s almost done, though.”

There’s still a shadow of a mark on your cheek when he finally does drop his hand. He imagines pulling off his glove, sliding his helmet up just enough to suck his thumb into his mouth, and erasing the rest of it with the wet pad of his finger.

What is it about you that makes him insane?

“Where are you going?” he asks.

You light up, your smile radiant. “Anywhere. Everywhere. I have a list. What’s your favorite place you’ve been to?”

Din legitimately has no answer. No one’s ever asked him that. He considers for a moment.

Maybe Sorgan, where he and the kid were able to lay low, where he got to watch the kid be a kid, if only for a few weeks. Even there, though, they weren’t safe.

Aq Vetina occurs to him next. It was also safe for a time.

No place is safe forever.

He’s about to tell you he has no answer when an older woman crosses the street and calls your name, waving an excited hand. You turn to look, and Din takes that chance to step around you to avoid having to speak to anyone else. He murmurs your name again and brushes your arm with the tips of his fingers as he leaves, unable to help himself.

But he pretends not to hear when you turn back toward him and start to say, “Mando—wait—”

*** Maybe if he eats enough ripe peaches, he’ll be able to imagine the taste of your mouth. Spring, he thinks as he walks away, his hands fidgeting restlessly at his sides, two fingers tapping absently on his metal thigh guard. You must taste like spring: honey and tight pink flowerbuds and dewdrops. And if he pulled off his gloves, you’d feel warm under his hands, like sun-baked river rocks, and soft—fuck, yeah, definitely soft—like the brushed suede of new sage leaves.

As delicate under his rough hands as freshly unfurled butterfly wings.

Din scowls, and his hands curl into fists.

All of these are breakable things. Good things. Corruptible things. Things he’d ruin. He’d strip the scales from your wings until you couldn’t fly. Even if he didn’t mean to, even if he tried to be gentle. He’s too brutal and hard for you—all beskar and blaster fire. He always has been.

Even before he became… this.

His low growl—one that he expected to be too quiet to be picked up by the modulator—comes out a little louder than he intended. A cluster of locals startles like spooked rabbits, frozen and silent, as he stalks by.

Fucking hell.

He can’t even be mad at himself without scaring other people. He nods reassuringly at them, raising a hand in friendly greeting, and they give him a wary look before turning back to their conversation.

In that moment, Din decides he won’t ever speak to you again. Being close to you sets his thoughts to spiral, puts his teeth on edge. It’s too intoxicating, and if he’s truly honest with himself, he already knows the more he gets of you, the more he’ll want. There won’t be a point when his need is sated, and he can let go.

He’d want to possess you—for you to possess him (as if that process hasn’t already started).

An unnameable feeling, something both rapturous and raptorial, sears through his chest at just the thought of being able to look at you and call you his. He can’t imagine the real thing.

Mine.

There’s a lot he doesn’t understand about this new version of himself, and he hates that. But he does know his core, his true essence that can’t be uprooted by whatever is happening to him now—even if it can be distorted.

Din knows his attachments run deep. He loves hard or not at all. He loves with teeth. The open wound Grogu left behind will take years to heal. He won’t let himself become vulnerable to that magnitude of loss for some time…maybe ever again. This, coupled with the new hunger and rage that simmer under his skin like a crackling electrical current, just waiting to spark and burn, means that he can’t be trusted around anyone.

It’s painful for him to admit he doesn’t trust himself anymore—that he’s so off-kilter, so mercurial he can’t even predict his own behavior—but the first step toward mastering this is accepting that he’s changed. It’s why he’s in this self-imposed exile in the first place.

So, he’ll keep his distance from you, for as long as you remain here. He doesn’t know if it’s a matter of days, weeks, or months, but soon enough, you’ll be gone, lost to the vastness of the galaxy. And there will be no more distractions.

This planet can still work. He can do what he needs to do. One small, temporary snag is nothing. He’s dealt with so much worse.

What’s one more thing abandoned when he’s already lost so much?

*** Over the next week, Din keeps his word to himself in all the ways that count. He doesn’t speak to you again, doesn’t approach you. Sometimes, he watches.

For your sake.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

The first time it happens, he’s skirting the edge of town at night, restless and sleepless, when he sees you walking alone on the main road. It’s dark out, the sky spattered with dim stars, and he’s been walking through the forest long enough to know that slinking, orange shapes regularly prowl through his thermal readout. They’re lying in wait for something just like you.

It’s not safe out here.

He reminds himself that you’ve probably walked this road hundreds of times. You know this planet better than he does, know how to take care of yourself.

He tries to resist it, but a flood of something hot and vicious douses all reason, his protective instincts overriding everything else.

It’s easy enough to follow you home like a silent shadow. His senses are heightened, even keener than what the helmet affords him, and he finds that he can stalk you as easily and stealthily as any of those creatures that leave massive, clawed footprints on the forest floor.

With him around, none of them can hurt you.

You live in a small cottage on the outskirts of town, surrounded by fields and orchards, ringed by the dense forest. Alone. He wonders why a pretty thing like you is alone—must be your preference. You’d have no trouble finding someone if you wanted to.

He wonders who keeps you safe from the things that lurk beyond the trees when he isn’t here. If your bed ever feels cold.

Once he knows where you live, he visits whenever his willpower isn’t enough to keep him away. He watches from the cover of the trees and tells himself he’s only there to check on you.

He should feel bad about it. Creepy and invasive. Predatory.

He doesn’t, though. Not really.

He’s not here to hurt; he’s here to protect.

He learns about you as he watches. How hardworking and resourceful you are, how sweet you are with your animals, that there is always a vibroblade tucked into your ankle-high boot. He finds that out one day when he follows you into the forest, where you go to forage for wild raspberries.

You pick your way carefully through the brambles, slowly filling the basket looped around your forearm, humming quietly to yourself. Din watches leaf-filtered sunshine play over your features: your soft lips, the hollow of your throat, the swells of your breasts.

Beautiful, he thinks again.

He has seen a lot of this galaxy—more than most. He’s seen it from its forgotten, frayed edges to the center of its vital, beating heart. He knows one thing for sure: there’s a lot of raw pain in every place, suffering and struggle. Ugliness and mundanity and horror.

He can’t remember the last time he stopped and looked at something simply because it’s beautiful.

It’s probably just your novelty.

No, he doesn’t think this fresh sense of awe would go away even if he saw you every day, up close. Even if he had you. If he woke up to your warm body curled against his side morning after morning, your head tucked into the crook of his neck, he thinks it would feel like a miracle each time. Maybe—

Din is yanked out of his reverie by the sound of rustling. Something is moving very close by—too close. He should have heard its approach, but he wasn’t paying attention to anything but you.

He moves quietly, taking a few silent steps forward and falling into his defensive stance, feet planted wide, hands poised on his weapons.

You haven’t noticed anything yet, and his thoughts are racing as he tries to decide what to do.

Should he reveal himself before the threat does? Would he scare you more than whatever is making that sound, the one that’s getting ever louder?

He doesn’t think it’s a predator making its approach; a predator would stalk and slink, not blunder like this, and would likely be larger than the small-ish orange blur that is visible on his thermal readout. But there’s no way for him to be sure. He doesn’t know this planet well enough to have names for all of its hazards.

Why haven’t you noticed it yet?

Din is one breath away from bursting through the trees and putting his body squarely between you and this oncoming threat. He’ll reveal himself if it’s the difference between your life and death. And only then.

Finally, when the thing sounds like it’s just a few paces away, you go very still, listening carefully. Din waits.

Run, he thinks.

But you don’t have time to react. It makes its final approach in a rush, crashing through the undergrowth and into the small clearing where you’re standing.

Din sprints forward at the same time, his blaster aimed, his forefinger heavy on the trigger when he realizes what it is. He barely manages to stop himself.

It’s a fawn, its legs tangled in what looks like an old, unraveling fishing net. Its eyes are round with fear, and it freezes when it sees you.

Din skids to a halt just on the other side of the ring of trees circling the clearing, and he takes a few silent steps backward. The crashing of the fawn covered the sound of his heavy footfalls, so he hasn’t yet blown his own cover, and he’d like to keep it that way.

He watches as you assess the creature and takes deep breaths to slow his thunderous heartbeat.

Already dead, he thinks as he looks at the fragile little thing.

It’s harsh but true. Its loud, frantic movements are sure to draw predators eventually, and no mother is in sight. It’s alone and injured, likely from flailing around the forest half-bound. It’s standing on three legs, one of its back ankles clearly broken. A quick death would be a mercy—might as well spare it the drawn-out misery.

Din watches as you lower yourself to one knee, a placating hand held out toward the trembling little creature, and ruck up your skirt, revealing the well-worn handle of a blade. Slowly, whispering quiet reassurances, you unsheath it.

Aside from an occasional nervous quiver, the fawn remains a statue. Your empty hand reaches out to stroke reassuringly along its flank, the other slowly raising the knife. For one shocking second, Din thinks you actually are about to slit its throat—and realizes how much he doesn’t want you to kill it—then your prodding fingers reveal a loop of rope wrapped tightly around its neck. You slice easily though the cord there and a few other places, careful to keep the sharp edge of the blade facing away from the fawn, and the tangled mess of the net falls to the ground.

Even though it’s free, the little thing stands there like it doesn’t know what to do.

“Where’s your mama, hm?”

It stares with wide, blank eyes. You look around the silent forest.

“You’re all alone out here, aren’t you?”

Din scans the trees and knows you’re right. There are no large heat signatures anywhere nearby. The fawn takes a tiny step toward you.

“You want to come home with me?”

You reach out again and rest a gentle palm on its chest, testing its comfort. It doesn’t flinch.

“Alright,” you say, “we’ll fix up that ankle, okay?”

You carefully, slowly move forward and gather the little thing in your arms. It cooperates as if it understands your invitation.

Din watches you care for this broken, lost thing, and he wonders who takes care of you. He wonders if you have a soft spot for broken things.

What about permanently broken ones? What about things with no chance of being made right again?

*** Din falls into a routine.

He knows it’s wrong. That he is wrong.

After a couple weeks, he’s forced to admit to himself that his constant presence isn’t really for your sake. He’s there to protect you from the things that howl, but he is one of those predators now.

Why fight it?

He’s there because he wants to be.

He denies himself so much else, and what you don’t know can’t hurt you.

He can’t stop, anyways. Or won’t? There’s no difference between the two anymore.

Either way, you’ll leave this planet soon, and that will solve his problem.

At night, Din satisfies himself with a glimpse of you moving around your kitchen through the big picture window that frames your oak table. Sometimes, the only reassurance he gets is the flicker of a candle casting dancing shadows on your curtains.

During the day, when you’re working outside, Din settles against a trunk on the edge of the forest as you work your way down a row of apple trees until you’re nothing but a paint stroke in the distance. And when you make your way down the next row back toward him, for a little while, he can trick himself into thinking that you’re coming to him.

Willingly.

It’s enough.

It’s enough because he gets you in his dreams too. He can’t help it; you’re on his mind when he’s falling asleep, so you’re in his dreams. Sometimes, when he lingers on the edges of sleep, he can almost taste your skin on his tongue. He can picture your smile and your soft hands, and he feels like he’s under the shade of your peach trees with you, your body pinned between his and the trunk, as he dips his head to kiss your neck.

When he finally does succumb to sleep, though, his mind snatches his fantasy and twists it into a nightmare.

The tongue he dips into the hollow of your throat and drags up your neck is changed: it’s long and dextrous, like that of a hungry carnivore. You like it, though. He laps over your pulse point until a bead of spit slides down the column of your neck, and you moan, your hands scrabbling against his shoulders, pulling him in, like you’re desperate to be closer even though there’s barely enough space between your bodies to breathe.

When he sets his teeth against your skin, they’re no longer human and blunt—they’re the saw-tooth edge of half-shattered glass, and they pierce your skin too easily, like the point of a sharp knife to fine silk.

You whine and writhe in this arms—in pain, in ecstasy.

And the worst part? The part that haunts him during the day? You taste good. Your skin is tart and fresh, like the first apples of the season... and when he punctures it, the hot rush of your blood in his mouth is startlingly saccharine, as if he left one of your peaches in the sun too long.

He wakes up salivating, panting open-mouthed inside his humid helmet.

What is wrong with him?

No, that’s not the question that matters. He knows what’s wrong with him. He doesn’t know how to fix it.

Din groans, his body stiff and sore from sleeping in his full armor, and hauls himself out of bed. He’s not going back to sleep now; he’s sure of that. So instead, he rips off his helmet and eats strawberries over the sink. The juice drips between his fingers and down the back of his hand.

He didn’t buy these from you, since he’s been avoiding your stall at the market, and they’re less flavorful than the ones you’d grown. These are an anemic light red in color, instead of a dark ruby.

When they’re gone, he licks up the sticky pink trails, his tongue laving between his knuckles, and his thoughts wander back to your taste—how could they not? He thinks about your scent, about the way you taste in his dreams, about the salty sweetness between your legs.

Has anyone known you that way? Has anyone had the privilege of that intimacy, of taking you apart with their tongue?

The thought makes his cock twitch.

He’ll watch you again tomorrow. He’ll get a little bit closer, just a little. Not close enough for you to notice. And who knows? Maybe he’ll get lucky, and you’ll be hanging your laundry outside again and the light, floral smell of it—of you—will catch on the breeze. He’ll get what he needs, and you’ll never know. He will be sated by the occasional sight of you, by knowing you from afar.

He’s going to repeat these things to himself until they’re true.

He’s going to repeat these things to himself until you leave.

This is a compromise he can live with—he gets to indulge, and you stay safe.

It’s enough.

It has to be enough.

#monster!din #monster!din x female reader #dark!din #like a moth to the flame #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader #mando x you #mando x female reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x female reader

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emilykaldwen · 21 days

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The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Nine

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

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Warnings: Sexual shaming, physical abuse from a parental figure

CHAPTER NINE - LEAVE YOU IN PIECES

Reality is a slap in the face, and the River Lords finally arrive to King's Landing.

Mid-morning in the Red Keep meant that the gallery Aegon found himself in was illuminated with bright morning sun. It was three stories with floor to ceiling windows on the north side and smaller windows that could not be opened on the south, letting in natural light that would filter through them the entire day. It was his mother’s pride and joy, and he recalled the hours she’d thrown herself into its decoration and design when he was small and her smiles more frequent, her touch more caring. This was where she eagerly brought visiting nobles and dignitaries; this gallery was where his mother shone as Alicent Hightower, a girl with dreams that he watched fade from her eyes until piety and desperation and anger took hold of her.

His mother told him that she came to the sept to feel close to her own mother. Aegon came to the gallery to feel close to his. He was trying not to think about that too much as he watched Abrogail Strong pause in front of the intricate carving of the ship that the Targaryens brought to Dragonstone.

His gaze was fixated upon the spray of freckles along Abby’s bared shoulders. More importantly, it was that her shoulders were bare at all that was drawing his attention. The samite gown she wore was of the palest blue, the top edged with a broad band of silver. He’d watched her painstakingly embroider all the little decoration on it in front of the fireplace in the evenings. In the sunlight streaming through the windows, he could see the golden threads in the silver banding that also encircled her upper arms glimmer and reveal the hidden golden dragons sewn within. She said something but Aegon paid no mind to it on his approach, too focused watching the way her red curls glowed molten down past her pale shoulders and how the freckles dotting them were like cinnamon sugar on the sweet breads she’d eaten earlier.

It had been two days since he crept into her bed. Two days since they had the chance to be truly alone and he was going mad with it. Her throat was bare and never had he thought he’d want to drape a woman in jewels, but the idea of a necklace wound around her throat, mayhaps with rubies, appealed to him. A symbol that declared she was his and his alone.

Abby’s fingers, so dainty, so strong when they dove into his hair and gripped him like a lifeline, reached up to tuck her loose hair behind her ear and the bruise, deep and dark red, was revealed just there in the softness below her ear and along her jaw.

He closed the short distance between them, his arm snaking around her waist, hand splayed across the smooth curve of her belly to pull her against his chest. Aegon had been letting her set the pace, but here beneath the shaft of sunlight, the treasure she presented was too much for him. He pressed his face against the top of her head where she fit perfectly beneath his chin (if only just, for height eluded him and found his brother instead). He inhaled the scent of her hair, the orange and lemon of the bergamot oil she used for her curls.

“Your Grace,” she whispered, and he sighed, fingers flexing against her stomach, fabric bunching slightly beneath his touch, forcing himself to be still, to not beg for more.

To not take more.

“Your Grace, we shouldn’t,” she tried again, but this time, Abby’s voice shook with the little giggles he adored and he shut his eyes when she reached up to delve those fingers into his hair and hold him close. It was his turn to shudder at the feel of her nails lightly scratching his scalp, as if he were her cat laying across her lap. Aegon felt the heat rush through his veins, from the top of his head down to his toes that curled within his boots.

“I thought you were dragging me in here for the same purpose you had last night after dinner,” he countered. The memory of her hands grabbing him and hauling him behind the tapestry on the way toward Helaena’s room the night before made him giddy and ache. His rabbit had been possessed and he’d been a hungry dragon happily accosted by her. In the fortnight since they had first kissed, she was still clumsy and unsure, but her eagerness had delighted and ignited him. It was with that heady kiss, and the feeling of how perfectly her pert bottom fit his hands beneath her simple frock that had fed his dreams that night and left him craving, as always, for more.

Abby giggled again and he tilted his head back only enough to allow her to turn in his hold. She kissed his nose, and then his cheek. Peppering her way along the curve of bone to the soft skin behind his ear where his jaw met, she suckled and nipped with the softest sound that went straight to his cock. Aegon’s eyes fell almost shut and he brought his other hand up to cup the back of her head to keep her close. Her own fingers remained in his hair with their infernal tugging, drawing soft groans and his own wanton and needy whimper.

‘Touch me, touch me for here I hurt,’ he thought. ‘Touch me and make it all go away until it’s only you.’

“Do you like that?” she whispered against his ear, and it struck him how genuinely curious she was, how guileless the intent was in her explorations. It was intoxicating in a way he couldn’t describe and Aegon’s arm tightened around her waist, his fingers diving into her hair. Her arm had come up around his own waist to mimic him and he found it adorable how she took her cues from him. What he did, she did, and he rewarded her studious nature with a nip to her ear.

Her fingers tugged on his hair and he felt her teeth nip along his jaw. His cock twitched and he angled his hips back so she wouldn’t feel it, not wanting to frighten her. “I asked if you liked that.”

Abby’s bold teasing drew a high pitched laugh of his own. “Are you demanding answers from your prince, my Lady? What liberties you take.” From his view of her throat and the succulent curve of her shoulder, he watched the blush bloom like the malvales flowers in his mother’s solar. She shook against him with her giggles and Aegon felt like he was soaring to be the one to pull such joyous sounds from her with his japes. It was heady, like the most exotic of wines he’d been given that left him floating, but this? This flamed him instead of making him feel numb. This had his heart racing and his body tingling and Aegon laughed with her. He laughed in the way he hadn’t for so long, free from the anxiety and the fear, from the nervous notes that plagued the sound.

He met her eyes and felt like he was freefalling from Sunfyre’s back to drown in the rivers. They were so endlessly, beautifully blue and crinkled from how brightly she smiled. Her blush meant it was Aegon’s turn to reach up and cup her face in his hand and pepper kisses from the top of her forehead down the delicate line of her nose to the sweet, heart shape of her mouth. There were too many kisses to count; little needy kisses like he could capture the taste of her and hold it inside. They were both laughing, breathless and needy. Aegon ached with it, feeling the desire stir in his belly. Abby pressed against him and his breath caught, kisses pausing as there was no hiding what she was doing to him.

Abby stilled against him and Aegon felt more than heard the soft sound low in her throat. The gentle vibration of her mouth where she rested it against his. The taste of cinnamon sugar and sweet cream had already been devoured, leaving whatever taste of her that hid beneath for Aegon to glut on.

He didn’t move to press further against her no matter how his body begged to rut against her like a damned kennel dog, but his mouth continued to brush against hers, mouth catching along her lower lip, teeth nibbling along the fullness of her pout. “Abs,” he murmured. “Ñuha hunītsos.” She answered with the tentative touch of her own tongue against his as if she hadn’t eagerly returned such affection before. Aegon brushed his thumbs along the curve of her cheeks and felt the heat of her blush beneath his touch. Abby pressed closer into him and his breath caught at the pressure of pressing against her belly. He didn’t care about the layers of fabric between them, it felt just as good as if they were both bare as babes.

Seven hells, he wanted to taste her again. Just thinking about it had him salivating and Aegon’s hands moved further to cup her head properly when the striking sound of cane hitting the flagstone floor echoed through the gallery.

“Lady Strong!” came the horrified shout and Abby gasped, and they sprang apart - or would have, had Aegon’s hands not been caught in her hair and her ruby curls caught on the ring he wore. She yelped in pain and Aegon cursed low under his breath as the Septa strode towards them, her cane echoing off the floor with each strike.

“Hold on,” he consoled, helping her turn her head so he could work on getting her hair free. “Septa Lyserra,” he greeted nonchalantly, the smile he forced came out as a grimace. The fierce look on the woman’s face was enough to sap any desire from him. She had been a fixture for years, the Septa of his sister and Abby, who guarded the girls like a hound. Heleana struggled more beneath the woman’s gaze, but overall did not seem too bothered by it. Abby, as always, simply said that the Septa was strict, but well meaning. Aegon thought her suffocating, more austere and stringent than even his own mother. The woman before them was barely older than the queen herself, and so Aegon couldn’t fathom why she needed a cane since she seemed to have moved quickly across the gallery.

“Your Grace,” the woman demurred with a curtsy before she wrapped a slim hand about Abby’s bicep. “I apologize for the interruption, but the lady is late for her lessons.”

“Apologies, Septa,” Abby quickly cut in, and Aegon knew the warning glance from her when he saw it. Carefully, Aegon was working the curl out of his ring, and Abby let out a familiar pained sound as the hair tore, little strands of it still stuck in the gold. Her fingers tugged at his. “Here, just get it off your hand, I’ll fix it and give it back,” she said, breathless and flushed, already being tugged away from him by the persistent bitch who’d interrupted them. Aegon wanted to snarl at the Septa, demanding she leave, but Abby was letting herself be pulled away from him and mayhaps it was for the best. The intrusion had nearly killed the arousal he was feeling and watching her walk away from him, gazing back with her large blue eyes and kiss swollen mouth, it was everything to keep him from going after her, ensnaring her back in his arms.

So instead, he gave her a little wave before pulling his fingers through his hair in frustration of what to do with himself now. He supposed he should go and see himself to the training yard. He was reluctant to admit that Cole had been right, and that the physical exertion has been a good distractor - perhaps that was one of the not so honorable reasons Aemond spent so much time studying the blade. It wasn’t as terrible as he had feared, either. In just a few weeks, his body had remembered the moves he’d used to hone so well, reminding himself that he did have some natural ability that Aemond was once madly jealous of. The prospect of participating in the tournament was an enticing one. For once, he thought to prove himself worthy of praise, to show that he was good enough.

To see Abby fuss over any perceived injury, and swoon over his skill like he’d seen maidens do towards his uncle, Gwayne.

A soft, sharp cry, familiar to him, reached his ears and Aegon’s footsteps quickened. “Abs?” he called out, hurrying out into the hall, wondering what was the matter.

But the hall was empty, his rabbit nowhere to be found. Aegon frowned, turning in a circle to see what he may have missed, but it was only servants and pages making their way to wherever they needed to go. An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach, and he could feel Sunfyre responding through their bond, concern thrumming through his chest. “All seems well,” he murmured, to himself and to his bonded brother in the dragonpit. Sunfyre settled but the uncertain feeling remained.

“How is Lord Tully settling in, Lysa?” Alicent asked, her focus on the parchments in front of her. The menus had been finalized for the welcoming feast that night and now she was going through everything else that demanded her focus; orders for fabric and carriages, menus for Aegon’s nameday feast and the following celebrations, a missive to the High Septon for the wedding, among numerous other things that Lysa Fossoway was incomparable in helping her handle. Her other ladies had already been sent on errands and she was grateful for the quiet in her solar. A painful pulse had started behind her eyes and it was barely mid-morning.

Lysa was in the process of sprinkling the pounce powder on the last missive and did not pause in her work. Her apple green damask dress glimmered with golden thread, the gown low cut across her shoulders. “He is well, Your Grace. The Grand Maester visited him upon his arrival to ensure he had an easy rest and as of this morning, he is hale and hearty.” She paused, cocking her head. Her light blonde hair was caught in cauls on either side of her head, the nets a thick weave of flat golden lace and the fillet that wound around her head was gold and green. It was an older look. Princess Rhaenyra had made bare heads popular in court, but Lysa preferred her cauls to hide the graying of her blonde hair.

Alicent reached up to brush away a loose auburn curl, her long hair still braided loosely as she had no one to entertain that morning. It was vanity to let her hair flow free and uncovered, but it was a vanity she clung to, her hair one of the things about her that remained untouched and untainted.

Her mother had the same thick deep auburn curls that she recalled sitting on a little plush stool when she was small, watching Cybell Reyne’s maid gently brush and curl it.

“Your Grace, are you well?”

“Hm?” Alicent blinked and realized she had grown lost in thought as Lysa had been speaking with her. “What was it you said?”

Lysa pretended not to notice her flight of fancy and Alicent was grateful for it. “Lord Elmo is breaking fast with the Lord Hand this morning and the Ladies Baratheon are settling in well. Princess Helaena has taken quite a shine to young Floris and Lady Cassandra seems to have made her own spot within the court.” A thoughtful purse of her mouth, then, “I am concerned that she does not have true interest in the princess’ company.”

“Lady Cassandra would be an unsuitable companion.” Unfortunate, but not unexpected. A sigh. She would ideally keep the maiden here rather than send her to Harrenhal. Surely with enough time, the elder girl may creep into Aemond’s affection, or at the very least some willingness at being presented with someone who was not his sister. “Has Helaena shown any preference to any other ladies-”

“Your Grace!”

Septa Lyserra was prone to fits of indignation in the way only a believer who cleaved close to the Faith could be. It often took her by surprise that the woman was not much older than herself and yet seemed so ancient in her ways. Her own Septa had not been so stringent, teaching her songs and painting. Sometimes she wondered if she should have sent Lyserra back for one who embraced the arts and crafts the way many other septas did.

“I swear upon the memory of my mother, Daemon never touched me.”

‘But you lay with Ser Criston instead,’ Alicent thought as the long simmering heat curled low in her belly. Her attention turned to the red faced woman and confusion overtook her when she saw Abrogail being dragged in behind her.

There was no helping it, Alicent supposed. Better to be too strict when it came to her children, than too lax.

“What on earth is going on here, Lyserra? Abrogail? Child, what is it?” There was no hiding the confusion but she would not rise to meet the Septa’s conniption fit. The girl’s wrist was clutched in the septa’s tight hand, her eyes downcast and it was not often she had seen her lower lip quiver.

Things had been interesting over the past few weeks since she sat with the child in front of her to make clear what was expected of her. Sweet, meek thing that Abrogail was, there had been a sense of pride in seeing her lift her gaze and speak her thoughts even though Alicent thought they were foolish and misplaced. She was young, and she would learn, just as Alicent had over the last decade, to carve her way and find her voice. It was sweet and endearing the way she cleaved to Aegon, and truth be told, Alicent hoped that the child’s view of her son would come to fruition.

However, Alicent had lived through such betrayals and treacheries that Abrogail Strong had yet to encounter, and to hold onto hope in that way without question was foolish, childish, and naive.

It was stupid and dangerous.

Her heart would only be broken in the end, and if Alicent could save her from it, the way she herself was not saved, then all the better.

“Your Grace, I must apologize for bringing you such upsetting news. I found Lady Strong in a compromising position alone with Prince Aegon.” The last of the statement was said in a hushed, offended way that had Alicent’s stomach curl with unease. Lady Fossoway beside her made a soft sound and out of the corner of her eyes, she could see the other woman work to hold a laugh back. Had it been any other sort of situation, Alicent may have expressed such laughter.

This was Aegon.

This was the future king.

Everything hinged on this.

“That shall be all, Lady Fossoway. I will send for you should I require more of your valuable assistance today. Do check on the Baratheon girls after those items are addressed,” she said with clear dismissal. The following conversation did not need such an audience. In a flurry of deep green silk, Lady Fossoway made for her exit, leaving Alicent alone with the Septa and her soon to be good-daughter.

Alicent let the silence in the wake of the closing door lengthen and she turned to slowly gather the rest of the papers on her desk. It was something that her own father did. The anxiety of it had her tearing at her nails, and she recalled how Gwayne could never stand it, blurting out whatever it was that needed to be said to make the silence stop. She noted that Abrogail did none of this. No, the girl stood still as a statue, eyes downcast, wrist still grasped by her Septa.

“And what compromising position were they found in?” Alicent finally asked, focused on putting away the inks and sealing wax.

“They were in a passionate embrace,” the septa said, disdain and offense dripping from each word. Passionate embrace, you say? Alicent mouthed to herself while her face was turned away. The dramatics of the Septa were something she disliked, almost as much as the news that was being delivered. “They were alone, and I have no idea how far they have gone, your Grace. The insolent girl will not say.”

A soft gasp had Alicent look at the blushing maiden before her. The girl’s eyes had raised, the blue of them large with pain and her own silent indignation.

“Your Grace,” Abrogail said, trying to tug her captured wrist from the other woman’s grasp. “My honor is intact and I was only kissing my betrothed. Tis harmless.” Her voice shook as she tried to find her words and the foolishness of her statement only underscored poor Abrogail’s naivete.

“Is that what Aegon told you?” Alicent asked, voice flat, and stared long and hard at the child until she stopped struggling and closed her mouth. “You told me you know how he is and I warned you of his hedonistic behavior. Yet you brushed me off, and after reassuring me that you were well aware of his nature, I have to hear about the pair of you caught alone?” Abrogail was silent, teeth gnawing on her lower lip and Alicent exhaled. “Septa Lyserra, you are dismissed. I shall handle this.” The woman dropped the child’s hand, curtsying deeply, and excused herself from the room as well, no doubt to go and cleanse herself in front of the Mother in the small Sept.

The moment dragged once more and Alicent watched her, a mouse beneath a cat’s paw. Abrogail’s hands were folded across her waist, eyes averted, and she caught the glint of gold in one of her hands - Aegon’s ring, her thumb running over it.

“You are a foolish, wanton girl, and I am ashamed of the insult you have dealt me this day, Abrogail,” Alicent finally said with all the quiet cutting she knew those words would deliver. “Do you understand how hard I fought against mine own father, your uncle, to give you time to grow up and not be dragged to the marriage bed before your time? A gift that I myself was denied and I would have for you and Helaena. Now I must hear of this! You, who I know have been taught better than to engage in such behavior. I trusted you to behave yourself as is expected, but it seems that I have been incredibly lax in your etiquette, or too lenient with your excursions dragon riding. You assured me they were chaste and harmless.”

“Your Grace,” Abrogail’s voice was small in the quiet of the room, thick with emotion, and the girl crossed towards her as if to throw herself at her lap, but stopped short, remembering herself. “My Queen, I can promise you that Aegon has done nothing more than kiss me. He has not compromised my virtue, he has not - I’ve never…”

Alicent rose then, closing the distance and taking Abrogail’s chin in her firm hand. A soft sound escaped her, but she did not try to pull away. “Were you aware he’d gotten a child on one of my maids barely a moon ago?”

Blue eyes widened, cheeks flushing a deeper red, and she minutely shook her head, Alicent’s grasp not giving her leeway. She hated to break this news to her, but the girl was living in a fairy tale.

“He did. I gave the girl moon tea and money for her to go back home to her family and find a new position, since she was clearly incapable of refuting my son’s advances. Very much like you seem incapable of refuting him-”

“Your Grace, it’s not like-”

“So you’re saying you are seducing him?” Abrogail had no answer for that, and all Alicent could think of was the image of Rhaenyra casting a web, ensnaring poor Ser Criston and his tender, stalwart heart. Capturing poor Harwin Strong, who was far too loyal for his own good. A net taught to her by her Targaryen blood, and the same blood that flowed through her son.

Forcing Abrogail back by the grip on her chin, Alicent shoved her toward the low couch and smoothed her hands on her skirt before leaning down to look into her eyes. “Let me disabuse you of your fantasies, child. You are Aegon’s bride because I believe that you can fix what is broken and infected inside of him. To show him how he should conduct himself so he is ready for what the future holds.”

She drew back in surprise when Abrogail shook her head in the negative. “Your Grace, we’re betrothed, we’re meant to spend the rest of our lives together. Should we not get along? Should we not love and care for each other?”

The slap was sudden, before Alicent could even think.

“I will not have you walk into that Sept with a swollen belly, all because you lack conviction and understanding, Abrogail! You are not his bride so you may ruck your skirts for him without moral hesitation. If you throw yourself around as such, who is to say you are not doing such a thing with someone else. Aegon’s heirs must be without question, so you must be without question.”

Unlike Rhaenyra, swearing on the memory of her beloved mother in the godswood.

Unlike the brood of pug-nosed boys with their dark curls and smiles.

Abrogail’s curls. Abrogail’s smile.

Lyone’s curls. Lyonel’s smile.

Celeste Reyne’s eyes stared back from Abrogail’s face, the river blue of them wet and shining with tears. She watched the girl before her blink, the drops streaking down across the vibrant mottling of her cheek, shaking hands clutching her skirts.

“You needn’t be so harsh with the children,” the memory of the soft voice came, so like Alicent’s own mother it made her chest ache. Celeste’s face, pale and drawn, and still so softly smiling while she wasted away, pressing kisses to Aemond’s cheek while he sat on her lap. “We love them as we wish to have been loved.”

Alicent’s palm tingled and she curled her fist and clasped it against her waist, as if physically holding herself would keep her from reaching and shaking the foolish child before her until her teeth rattled in her skull and sense came in.

“Do you understand me, Lady Abrogail?” Alicent’s voice was not her own. Bile rose in her throat while she watched the trembling thing before her. Her father stood, watching her the same, doing nothing when she said that the king had touched her.

All that was missing was the bloody nails.

The Queen watched in satisfaction, in a detached sense of something raw and aching, a scream stuck in her chest, as she watched Abrogail curtsy low until she was almost kneeling on the rug at her feet. ‘Good,’ Alicent thought, her scream still clawing its way up her throat.

“Yes, my Queen. I pray for your clemency in your goodness and love.”

‘Good.’ Alicent couldn’t breathe. Good that she was learning. Good that Abrogail would come to understand the way she had, with lessons that would not be as harsh as the ones she had to go through.

It was a kindness that she was doing all she could to save this child the way none had saved her.

Aegon’s muscles ached in a comfortable sort of way as he headed down the back staircase towards the Queen’s Ballroom. The apartments above it were currently taken up by the Tully party, so Aegon avoided the gallery, not wanting to be pulled into some conversation about politics. No, he had one focus and that was to find his maiden fair and press a kiss to her heart shaped mouth and escort her in, to show off how beautiful she looked on his arm. To show that maybe she was right, and they liked each other, so this wasn’t a terrible thing. Mayhaps he wasn’t going to fuck it all up.

He tugged on the cuffs of his doublet, his left side black, his right in red with the opposite colored sleeves. His mother had tried to force him into something green as always, but Aegon had tossed that at his brother and went about his way. Let her favorite boy dress in the color she clung to, not he, who she could barely stand to look at since the fight in the brothel. It didn’t matter. Not now, maybe not anymore when Abby looked at him.

Where was she?

“Your Grace, you look lost.”

Aegon turned to see Cassandra Baratheon gliding towards him, her smoky voice echoing against the stone walls. Behind her were two of her ladies, comely and quiet with downcast eyes and furtive glances. The Lady Baratheon was encased in a cloud of gold that nearly shimmered in the rays of evening light and torch glow that illuminated the hall. Her hair was loose, a light golden veil held in place in the way that only women seemed to know how to do.

His eyes immediately took in her low neckline, the delicate gold chain that adorned her. It would be rude not to look at such a display when it was offered so willingly. Even more when she curtsied low before him, a coy smile playing along the lush red of her mouth.

“And now you’ve found me,” Aegon smirked, touching a finger beneath her chin to tilt her face back and withdrew it just as quickly in a bid for her to rise. She was tall, as tall as Helaena, but still his eyes lingered more about the lovely expanse of her chest than her actual face. “I believe that puts me in your debt, my Lady.”

Cassandra tilted her head, teeth bright and sharp in her smile that stirred the familiar, eager ache in his belly. “You give the debt so willingly, my Prince. Are you sure that’s wise?”

Aegon leaned in, close enough to smell the perfume on her skin. A scent of spice, warm like incense, but not cloying. “There are worse debts to be in than that of a beautiful woman, Lady Cassandra,” he told her, voice low with only the tease of a promise. She didn’t seem like the type to be offended by such a thing, and Cassandra did not let him down, even if she delicately pressed her hand to her chest.

“My Prince is too kind with such flattery.” Aegon preened, pulling back and fully enjoying the attention. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had the attentions of beautiful women, and it was always good to allay any of his anxieties before one of his mother’s feasts, when expectations were at hand, and the watchful eye to make sure he wasn’t imbibing any of the wine forbidden to him. Perhaps the lady before him would help in such matters.

“I speak only the truth, my Lady. It’s Cassandra, is it not? Recently arrived from Storm’s End.” A test to see how casual and relaxed she was and again, the woman did not disappoint.

“Yes, that is correct. Her Grace, the Queen, invited myself and my sister to attend to Princess Helaena. Although, I suppose it shall be I who does, as Floris is still so young.” She lifted the hand from her chest to gesture vaguely. “It will be nice to spend time at court, experience new things. I do hope that you might be able to find the time to impart some of your own favorite things to do.”

Aegon’s smirk widened at the implication in those words, and the flash in her dark eyes showed that she very much meant it. There was no shyness in her words or her manner. Cassandra Baratheon was a woman who knew what she wanted.

“Mayhaps that would be the case, my Lady, or perhaps you’ll come with us to Harrenhal and we can be strangers together.” As much as he enjoyed the lady already, he did not think she would get along particularly well with his sister, who had the little Floris trailing after her like a baby duck. That was far more to Helaena’s liking. His Abby got along swimmingly with everyone.

Cassandra’s brow furrowed in confusion and she opened her mouth to speak before his gaze caught on the figure down the hall. He exhaled softly, shifting away from Cassandra with a vague dismissal.

Aegon’s eyes fixed upon Abby and the way the light had turned her red curls molten, even beneath her own soft white veil that was held in place with a delicately wrought silver circlet dotted with pearls. Her dress was elaborate, the twilight blue silk brocade decorated in red and green opened in front to reveal the silver gown beneath. The same twilight blue made up her sleeves, the fabric of the silver gown puffed through the slashes. Her neckline was far more demure, yet no less enticing to him. How beautiful she looked in the colors of her house.

How beautiful she would look in the colors of his.

Yes, he’d had to get her something to decorate the delicate throat, but Aegon wouldn’t deny he enjoyed the unimpeded view. His mouth watered, reminded of the taste of her by sight alone. The sounds she so sweetly made drifted through his memory like a song.

Abby’s eyes were averted, but her lady, that northern wench, Wylla, who had become her guard dog, was watching with steely gray eyes and a pursed mouth. Aegon spared her only an annoyed glance before fixing his attention on the vision before him.

His Maiden still would not rest her gaze upon, and she curtsied with her eyes hidden from him. “Your Grace.”

There was no coy playfulness, no sweet smile, no shy gaze up at him with the bluest eyes beneath her dark lashes. There was soft propriety and a downcast gaze. Not unfamiliar, but jarring given how she’d greeted him that morning. Hells, how she’d greeted him the past several days. Perhaps it was their audience? He leaned down slightly, hands properly folded behind him like a good boy when he wanted nothing more than to snake his hands around her waist, to dive into her hair, to…

A frown slashed across his mouth, and Aegon felt a curl of unease in his stomach. Abby and her courtesies were always sweet and amusing, even when turned on him but this felt strange.

“We have time, if you like, to continue where we left off this morning,” he offered, lilac eyes searching her soft features, the way she resolutely wouldn’t look at him. “What is it?”

“It would be inappropriate, Your Grace, to be found engaging in such things,” came the reply, soft as before, but there was something sharp beneath the words, like the flash of teeth. The shutting of a door.

“Inappropriate.” He drew the word out in a low voice, and while the curl of unease began working its way up his chest, his eyes narrowed. “So you’re telling me that you’re worried about being inappropriate now?” Silence filled the moment, and Aegon lifted a hand to reach beneath her chin but Abby jerked her head back and moved away from him in a whisper of fabric and flushed embarrassment.

“Please.” This time her voice was a little louder, her gaze shifting up and while she looked at him, Abby didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, they danced around to somewhere over his shoulder, to the tapestry of the Riverlands on the wall, to anywhere but him. “I know you hold little concern for your reputation, but not all of us have such luxury.” Stronger. He liked the strength in her voice, but he detested it when turned on him in such a way.

“Please?” Aegon repeated and drew back himself. The curl of unease wound through his ribs like a pair of stays, tugging and tightening. “Please?” he repeated and how dare she throw that at him after their night. A third time, as she whispered in his arms, he blinked at her, quieter now. “Please.”

Three times to make a wish. Three times to make it matter.

Abrogail wouldn’t look at him. “I am a lady, and a member of the Queen’s household. I may be your betrothed, my Prince, but I must lead us by example if you find yourself incapable of containing your desires.”

A rushing sound filled Aegon’s ears. A familiar roaring as the tendrils amidst his ribs tightened and squeezed. His face went hot and cold, then hot again. When he opened his mouth, no sound came out. Nothing. All he could hear in his head was his mother’s voice, Abrogail’s voice.

I didn’t ask for you. She didn’t ask for the lecherous, depraved monster he’d become. No longer the sweet boy his mother loved, that his mother soundly replaced with each increasingly perfect child that came after him. Would Abrogail replace him as well?

“You… I…” Words stuttered from him but he couldn’t string any together that made the slightest bit of sense. Aegon let out a sharp bite of laughter and even that was strangled. The woman before him had robbed him of speech, of sound, of everything. All that was left in his chest was a hollow feeling that not even Sunfyre’s presence could ease.

He lifted his hand to touch his own cheek, wondering if she’d slapped him without him noticing.

The sounds of her cries, her gasps of his name in the quiet of the night when the world had pinpointed to the feel of her against him haunted him, clawing at his compressed insides while she looked anywhere but him. The firelight had shone in her glossy eyes, her mouth rounded with pleasure. Now they were shadowed and dull, mouth pressed into a fine line so very much like his own mother’s disapproval.

Aegon’s fingers reached past his cheek and into his hair as if that was the motion he’d intended to complete. He wanted to tear at his hair and claw at his own face like he could rip the rot of him out and drop it at her feet so she could be satisfied with him once more.

Footsteps sounded in the hall behind him and Abrogail’s eyes focused, a slight smile breaking across her features. “Uncle Simon!” She called in greeting and Aegon’s hand gripped her bicep when she made to skirt around him. The bruises had healed, that much he knew. “Aegon,” she whispered, turning finally to look at him.

They had an audience now. She’d have to put on her pretty manners and not make a scene. Aegon said nothing and it was his turn to not look at her but instead at some unfathomable point in the middle distance.

The moment grew heavy, awkward. Abrogail shifted against him and Aegon thought he should let her go, he should say something. He should shake her until her teeth rattled and her wits fell back into place. Shake her until she admitted that this was a terrible jape and she meant none of it.

He could dive his hand into her sunset curls and yank her back and drag her to his bed like a war prize and make her take back everything she said. Give her a reason to think him monstrous, or a reason he wasn’t. ‘No’, he immediately thought, recoiling at himself for what the angry, poisonous thing inside him wanted to rage into. He didn’t want her to look at him like she was now, or worse, how his mother looked at him, but he was left confused and strangely afraid, unable to tell what was running through her head.

He could not reconcile the woman before him with her avoidance and snapping words to the one who smiled and giggled, who sighed and reached for him as readily as he did her. “Talk to me,” he commanded, voice low for her alone.

“Is everything alright?”

The man’s voice was unfamiliar, and not old, the way Ser Simon Strong’s was. This one was deep and calm, coated in courtesy and the edge of a blade.

Aegon finally turned his head to look over his shoulder at the company that had arrived. There was his lady’s uncle, a tall man grown plump as a bloated fruit with age, but the strength still lingered in his sturdy form. There was a strange pang of familiarity in the man’s face that made Aegon prickle and for a mad moment, he thought it was the ghost of Lyonel Strong coming from Harrenhal to strike him down for touching his little girl.

The man who spoke had Aegon instinctively sweeping his gaze over him. Younger by far than Ser Simon, the man had broad shoulders and an angular face softened by the light brown curls that shone gold in the evening sunlight. He was tall, taller than his companion, his two toned doublet, half-black and half-silver with golden buckles accentuated the narrowing of his figure. From the cut of his shoulders and his arms, he was clearly no slouch when it came to weapons.

Aegon’s tongue touched his lower lip, teeth biting in thought as he took this man in. His fingers released Abrogail’s arm and he took a step back. She immediately hurried past and into her uncle’s embrace. “Everything is fine. I’m so glad to see you,” she said, and Aegon swore he heard Wylla hiss at him like a cat beneath her breath when she went to join them.

“Uncle, this is his Grace, Prince Aegon Targaryen.” Ever polite, to hide whatever distaste she suddenly held for him. He approached slowly, the gathered group all bowing in deference, and Aegon breathed slowly through his nose to allay the panic that was settling in, that was threatening to send him running.

He watched the man with the golden hair alight his gaze on Abrogail. “Ser Edmund Vance, Your Grace, of Wayfarer’s Rest.” A bow to him as protocol dictated and his eyes focused on the way he took Abby’s hand, so small and delicate, into his larger one, to press a kiss to it. “Many speak of your gentle beauty, my lady, but even such flowery descriptions could never do you justice.”

Edmund Vance. Ser Edmund Vance.

“Edmund Vance, the heir to House Vance, recently lost his wife. A good man, and part of the Riverlands although a small seat,” his grandfather had said, waving the scroll in hand.

Amidst the cold and crushing pull inside Aegon’s chest, a flaring sensation began. Hot and molten in that warm, safe spot that Sunfyre lived within him; his dragon in place of his heart.

Aegon focused on the golden shine of Edmund Vance’s curls, the shy look on Abrogail’s face, the way she looked at him.

“Condolences are in order, I’ve heard.” Aegon did not give his mouth order to move, had just been utterly speechless in the face of Abrogail’s uncharacteristic harshness.. Edmund’s brow furrowed and Aegon continued on, feeling the spark of annoyance that he had to look up to meet the man’s gaze. Aegon was as tall as his father, even as the king grew stooped with his infirmity, but Edmund held a frustrating few inches on him. “For the passing of your dear lady wife.”

Aegon smiled as the golden man shifted, his face flashing with ill disguised discomfort. ‘Good,’ he thought. ‘Know your place, know that your words mean nothing in the face of your loss, not to her.’ Flushed with ruining the man’s attempts at flirting with his lady, Aegon thought to move back in, to grab her and drag her against his side. To bite his fingers into her until tears pricked her eyes, so she would know the pain she had caused him, and for her to understand that she was his.

For her to tell him why she was speaking so cruelly to him. To tell him what he had done since she’d been pulled from his embrace that morning, to have her reject his touch when she had cuddled into his warmth like the little rabbit she was.

“Your kindness is much appreciated, Your Grace,” came the stiff, soft reply, and then his eyes were on Abrogail again. “I would offer to escort you into the feast, but I think our Ser Simon has the privilege of such a vision on his arm.”

Laughter rolled from Ser Simon and he took his niece’s arm, pulling her away.

Edmund looked at Aegon. Aegon smiled back. Sunfyre growled deep in his chest and Aegon swore it vibrated through his words. “Welcome to King’s Landing, Ser Edmund. I do hope you enjoy your time here.”

Dismissing the man, Aegon continued into the hall. The Queen’s Ballroom was the smallest of the halls of the Keep. Nothing like the Great Hall, and half as big as the Small Hall in their Grandfather’s tower. It was an intimate setting: two long trestle tables took up most of the room without it feeling crowded with the wide aisle between them leading up to the dias where the head table sat. The walls of the room were carved in dark ironwood imported from the north, carved with dragons winding and twisting around carvings of trees. The room was filled with light so bright it could have been out in the gardens. Each wall sconce was covered in beaten silver to reflect the light about and the draperies along the south wall were pulled to the side and the windows thrown open to the terrace that opened up to the gardens below.

His mother stood above it all, a beacon at the high table, and his fear caused his steps to falter. She looked so young next to the ancient Lord Tully seated beside her. The green of her gown shone emerald in the light and he could make out the embroidery that made it seem like she had scales of her own. Her hair was in a low bun at the nape of her neck and the silver tiara she wore rested gently in her hair. Rubies the size of his thumb were fitted along the delicately wrought crown, each one lined with little sparkling emeralds. Fire of the Dragon. Fire of the Hightower.

‘Of Castamere,’ Aegon thought, noticing the lion broach on his mother’s bodice. Rubies for house Targaryen, rubies and silver for House Reyne. The house of the grandmother Aegon had never met. Was it always the loss of a mother and a wife that turned people cruel and cold? The loss of grandmother turning his grandfather into the cruel man he was, Mother into the fearful creature with her lion claws, his own sire too caught in the memory of the woman he’d ordered to die for the promise of a son. Would losing Abrogail do the same to him?

Fuck him, he hadn’t had a proper drink in weeks, and the wheel of his thoughts that he worked so desperately to avoid was threatening to derail him before he could even reach the dias and present himself to his mother’s hidden ridicule. What’s worse, was how he’d actually looked forward to it had Abrogail been on his arm rather than her uncle’s.

Better than being touched by that Vance prick, who had entered behind him but steered clear. Good.

A hand slipped along his right arm and Aegon startled. Helaena hummed and gave him a slight smile. Her silver hair hung freely down her back with a braid wrapped around her head like a crown and woven with a strand of rubies and chips of dark dragonglass. She wore no veil, her dress the same twilight blue as Abrogail’s, although low cut across her shoulders and dipped across her chest. Black embroidery crept along her bodice in the shapes of dragon flame. A simple gold and sapphire necklace hung about her throat, and her lavender eyes were curious and searching his face.

“Do you think I look pretty as well?” She teased him softly and Aegon rolled his eyes.

“You look nice,” he said softly, their heads leaning towards each other while they walked towards the dias. “Mother will have a fit. Who have you dressed up for?” He might have asked if she dressed for Aemond, but after the display in the garden the prior day, Aegon thought that would not be the wisest question. They may not have discussed it, but it hadn’t escaped Aegon’s notice that while Aemond was the one who discussed future marriage with Helaena, how their love was so insufferably true, Helaena’s feelings on the matter were noticeably absent. Little more than agreeable hums and nods and changes of the subject.

“For myself. Some people think their breasts are worth showing off and need to learn their place.” Arching an eyebrow, Aegon followed his sister’s gaze to where Cassandra Baratheon was speaking with some other lord, those breasts of hers drawing his gaze once more. He snorted and Helaena pushed his arm good naturedly. “I’m right, you know. What is a doe to a dragon? No need to give her delusions of grandeur more than she already has.”

“Thought about this a lot this week, have you?”

“Of course. I do not like how she speaks to little Floris, nor Abby.” Helaena paused and squeezed his arm. “You both look terribly upset again. Not that I don’t enjoy making Mother’s face look like she’s sucking on lemons walking in with you, but what’s happened?”

Aegon found himself grateful that Helaena didn’t immediately blame him and the fondness for his sister came back. The sharp edges to his expression softened and he glanced at Helaena and her patient look. Something crossed his face with the softening, because her patient countenance furrowed with concern. He gripped her arm. “Not. Now.”

“You’re angry.”

“You think?”

Mother’s face when she looked upon them did, indeed as Helaena predicted, appear as if she sucked a lemon. Her large, dark eyes darted around the room in the clear search for his betrothed and he gave a short bow, his sister curtsying. “Lord Grover, my two eldest. Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena.”

Grover Tully was an ancient man. His shoulders were stooped beneath the thick, deep velvet of his surcoat, his jowls saggy from a face that was once robust. Pale skin sallow and jaundiced glowed even more yellow beneath the warm candlelight of the hall, but did little to disguise the multitude of liver spots. His hair was thin and wispy against his head, but his watery blue eyes were sharp and bright, intelligent and cataloging even as his body wasted away. Aegon was struck by how his father, who Aegon only now noticed seated on his mother’s left, looked as ancient as a man in his eighth decade.

“Helaena, you look lovely,” their father smiled, his gaze flitting, and Aegon barely held back his snort that he could call their sister by the correct name.

“Thank you, yo- father,” Helaena demurred in a quiet voice.

“They say you ride the great Dreamfyre, Princess,” Lord Tully rasped with a wistful smile. “I had the honor of seeing the Queen of the East, dear Princess Rhaena, may the Seven keep her, fly her about the God’s Eye when I was a wee lad. A sight that still strikes me. So blue as to melt into the twilight sky.” The watery blue eyes shifted towards Aegon now, deceptively sharp and alert. “I hear news that the sun will now bring the dawn.”

“My Lord,” Aegon said, voice stilted, but the courtesies that had been hammered into him kept him from looking the fool. ‘Abby would know what to say,’ he thought, but the boiling hurt rolling through his veins kept him from looking for her and acknowledging the bell of her laughter coming from behind him. “I hope the sight of such a thing will bring you the same fond memory.” A careful confirmation. There would be no official announcement until his nameday feast, but the natural conversation and gossip of the news would rip through the ballroom by the end of the night. The servants were already talking, and he’d overheard the whisper of it when sneaking through the Keep to his nightly pursuits.

The minstrels in the gallery above the hall struck up traditional music of the Riverlands between the popular songs that accompanied the feasts within the Keep. Lord Grover and his grandson sat at the high table with his parents and grandfather. At one of the tables, Wylla sat with her brother, Harrion. The man was tall with dark brown hair compared to the raven wing’s of his sister and a long, stern looking face that broke brightly when he laughed and smiled with Lord Bracken. Abrogail had mentioned he would be marrying the lord’s daughter on his return north.

The meal began in a blur. Aegon barely remembered swiping his bread through the beef potage, nor the spiced fennel and greens, hardly recalling the details of which horse was best for the joust and whether one should wear a heavy plate or lighter mail. He lost himself in the camaraderie that didn’t truly matter, licking juice from his thumb and taking hefty gulps from his goblet like a starving man. There was no drying out on this feast night, not when his mother sought to impress, and Aegon was grateful to finally have his Arbor red coursing through his veins to chase away the heat of his hurt and anger. He was eager to fill up the gaping maw inside of his chest that threatened to break through the tightness. The numbness began to settle in, familiar even though it was not as comforting as it once was.

Cassandra Baratheon had taken the seat beside him, having tried to speak to him, but he resolutely ignored her in favor of diving into the roast boar slathered in plum sauce and the succulent apple chutney. Finally, finally, Aegon began to feel settled with food and wine in his belly. He burped and called for a fresh decanter of Dornish and something stronger for the fine Riverlanders around him, sending up an approving shout amongst them. Let his mother be displeased, he was only doing what he was supposed to. When he turned, his eyes went across the table to the other.

Abrogail was seated with Helaena shining on her left, and on her right, Edmund Vance, who was receiving the full brunt of her bright smile and the earnest way she would lean over as to be heard over the music and merriment surrounding them. He stared at her, a roil curling in his belly as Vance piled her plate for her of the delicately poached salmon and honeyed bread. As if sensing him, her gaze flicked over to his. She should have smiled, tapping her fingers against her chin or goblet. Hells, he should have done it, and her face paled, lovely little mouth pursed. Instead, Aegon glared before turning his attention to far more pleasing things. Let her see that he was not so whipped that her words would have him still beg after her.

“And what lovely thing have I done to be rewarded by you choosing me to sit beside?” Aegon grinned at the Baratheon, resolutely grinning at her eyes than what was revealed by the cut of her gown.

“Your Grace honors me with his flattery, for in turn I do not know what I have done to earn it,” Cassandra said over the rim of her goblet.

“How could I pass up spending what promises to be quite the boring feast when I have someone like you to entertain me?” He raised his eyebrows at her and reached to top up her goblet and his own, resting his elbow on the table. Cassandra hummed and clinked her goblet against his before they swallowed. “Are you normally so preening? I swore I detected a rather enticing scent of confidence earlier.”

Confidence. Surety. Cassandra Baratheon knew who she was and it wasn’t a facsimile of his mother. It wasn’t The Maiden come down meant to judge him and find him wanting with a kiss and a slash of her hidden claws.

Abrogail’s laughter echoed through the hall again and Aegon’s fingers tightened around his cup. Another swig, another refill. It was watered down, but it didn't matter. Aegon could hold his wine well and it simply gave him an excuse to drink. “Tell me, Lady Cassandra, if I have to worry about some young buck coming to steal you away should I ask you to dance?”

“Oh, I do not think anyone would dare cut in should I be in your arms, Your Grace, but…” However the sentence didn't register as he watched Edmund Vance lift his hand to brush a curl from her shoulder. Aegon’s knee slammed against the table as he swept his legs over the bench, hoisting Cassandra up to join others who had gone to the center of the room to dance. Not an infernal Riverlands dance he didn’t know. Something more fucking civilized. Something he knew like the feel of his hand on his cock. He caught the brief flicker of confusion on the woman’s face that smoothed out as the dance began and he preened beneath the attention. He wasn’t drunk, having eaten too much for it to have hit yet, but he was loose enough that it was easy to slide into the steps, to twirl the woman gowned in gold. His favorite color.

They were betrothed and there wasn’t a bit of gold on Abrogail and she always had something golden on her.

Until now.

“Your grace shames me, Lady Cassandra,” Aegon complimented, spinning her back into him as they moved across the parquet floor. “I’ve never had a more agile partner.”

She chuckled low, the heat of her body emanating from their closeness, and Aegon’s hand slid a little lower on her waist than what was appropriate, but it would just be another line on his list of sins that his mother collected. “Have you had many partners, my prince?”

His cheeks were warm from the drink and exertion and the grin he gave Cassandra was slightly feral and full of mischief. “None as high born and beautiful as you,” he answered honestly even while his ribs tightened and the words tasted like ash on his tongue.

“Let me be the only one you touch this way. Aegon? If you want to have me, let it only be me.”

Cassandra Baratheon was the daughter of a Lord Paramount, with Targaryen blood in her veins, niece to Princess Rhaenys. She was more than comely; she was an entrancing woman with hair like a storm and delicately flushed from drink and dancing. The body that her gown clung to was positively sinful. Curves in every place that was ripe for the grasping and he was looking forward to seeing how -

As the pair spun, their partners changed, and while Cassandra flew into Aemond’s grasp, his eye glaring coldly at him over Cassandra’s shoulder, Abrogail’s hands slid into his.

The blood drained from Aegon’s face while his feet continued to move. This dance he knew by heart. This dance they both knew, having practiced it together countless times. She smelled of roses, not like a Tyrell, but something richer, darker, deeper and more primal.

Sunfyre half-grumbled and half-purred in the gaping hole inside of his chest at the feel of her, the sight of her in his arms while they spun through the next dance. Her blue eyes were fixed on his chin, which was better than her full avoidance. A soft gasp escaped her when Aegon’s hold on her waist and hand tightened painfully.

“Your mother thought we should have a turn and sent Aemond,” she explained softly. Aegon scoffed.

“So by the Queen’s command, you dance with me and not of your own volition.” His voice was almost pleasant and jovial as they spun, the music an irritating hum.

The feel of her dainty foot meeting his shin was not a mistake and it pulled a half-manic peal of laughter from him. He caught the look his mother sent from the high table and rolled his eyes. “What do you and my dear queenly mother expect from me anyway? That being betrothed to her little pet will turn me as angelic as baby Daeron?” He lowered his head to her ear and his breath caught. He heard her own soft gasp and instinctively, Aegon pulled her closer. Inappropriately perhaps, if half the hall didn’t already know they were engaged by now. “I’m an awful disappointment. You know that.”

“I know a lot about you, Aegon,” Abrogail said softly with a sour edge to her voice that he found amusing. “I know that you’re better than this. And with Lady Cassandra no less-”

“You know I’m better than this?” Aegon stepped back and held onto her hand, spinning her about so that the skirt of her gown flared, her fiery hair shining under all the glow. The candlelight caught in the little jewels of her circlet, the blue of her eyes warm as she came back into his arms and for a moment, Aegon forgot he was angry when her soft hand curled against his chest. “So my drinking and my whoring and my tavern fights - none of those are me? They’re just the worst part of myself? And here I thought you were the Maiden herself, but I doubt she moans as wantonly as you do. Such lovely sounds you make, or do you deny them now as you deny me?”

They spun apart once more and Aegon ignored the stricken expression that flashed across her doll-like face as his own chest ached with the feeling. He thought she had accepted even these terrible parts of him that shamed his mother and drew her to rage. She never scolded him or chastised him for his dalliances and escapades. When the brawl that had spilled into the streets of Flea Bottom that had nearly gotten him killed before the Gold Cloaks rushed, she had simply tended to his wounds, a simple “What happened?” in her soft voice. Out of everyone, Abrogail was the one who never expected more from him.

Clearly, Aegon had been wrong.

Another twirl, a distracted wink at Cassandra as they passed, and Abrogail was back in his arms, a brittle smile plastered on her face.

“You think I'm the Maiden?” She asked as if there’d been no pause in the conversation. “Not simply me?”

Aegon didn’t understand and he reached down to grasp her waist, lifting and spinning her in time with the music, clapping and moving around one another. “You are her. Were her-”

“Until you touched me,” she said softly, bitingly, her eyes dark and shining.

“Until you acted like I was the one begging, not you,” he snapped.

“You came into my chamber.”

“You said please.”

Another twirl, another spin and Aegon was rougher than he meant to, jerking her back into his chest as the music stopped. Her face was tilted up, eyes red and shining with unshed tears and a furious twist to her mouth, such an angry expression on her face. “And you held me through the night,” she hissed and then the fury melted away to hold that brittle smile once more, her curtsy low and flawless. When she rose, Abrogail drifted closer to him and he could see the tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. He welcomed the bite of pain when she came to cup the back of his neck, her nails digging into his skin. “How filthy are your hands, mo realta geal, that you believe that their very touch has ruined me. That you have ruined me?”

As Aegon turned away he found Elmo Tully watching him and raised his goblet with a slight incline of his head.

“Lord Grover has also written of his interest in you for his grandson,” his grandfather told Abrogail as they sat trapped in that office. “He would take good care of you, and your children would have every opportunity.”

Abby stayed as long as she could at the feast. She laughed with her Uncle Simon, with Lords Bracken and Blackwood both and their sons. Wylla’s eldest brother, Harrion, was kind, teasing her and Wylla both for his sister’s new position. Her bruised and beaten heart ached even further upon seeing the love and care between the Karstark siblings, and felt herself tearing up when she realised that Harwin wouldn’t have been there if he was still alive.

He’d be at Dragonstone, with the Princess. Or perhaps after the tragic death of her first husband, Princess Rhaenyra might have married him. Maybe it would have made things better. Maybe then, things wouldn’t be so bad.

The room felt too stifling and too loud. It felt too big and too small. The scent of sweat and wine and melting beeswax and hair pomade and perfume was making her head spin. Wylla was laughing at something Harrion had said but it sounded distant. Helaena had already gone and Abby couldn’t remember when she’d left.

Wylla’s arm slid around her waist and Abby mechanically moved through the motions of good nights and evening well wishes before the elder girl steered her out of the hall. “Not my room,” Abby rasped and her voice sounded distant and thick, choked in her throat. “C-can we go to Helaena’s, please?”

“As if you need to ask,” Wylla scoffed lightly, and the arm around her tucked in further. “Walk with us to the Princess’ chambers?” she asked her brother. “If I run into that peacock, I won’t restrain myself.”

“And they’re going to send you to Harrenhal with him. Will you be locked up for tossing him from a tower then?” Harrion’s deep voice teased softly and Abby felt his hand, warm and heavy, on her shoulder and the familiarity of it tore a soft sound from her throat. She wanted Harwin. She wanted her brother like air. A gentle squeeze and Abby let herself be guided down the hall, her fingers clinging to her skirt and Wylla was forced to guide her because she could not raise her eyes, so focused on the decorated stone before her.

“Abby?” Wylla asked softly against her ear. “Abby? Did Aegon say something else to you?”

Yes, she wanted to say, but she shook her head. He never saw me, he doesn’t see me. Did he ever see me?

“It’s been a long night,” she said instead, feeling the siblings exchange glances over her head but too tired to say anything for it. The walk was filled with tales of rides through the forests of the Karhold, of fox hunts and wolves in the tree. Of young Rickon chasing after Torrhen to learn archery, of Harrion’s impending nuptials to his southern bride. “Thank you for your company, Lord Harrion,” Abby said politely when they reached the hall to Helaena’s rooms. In the torch light, he looked nothing like Harwin, and yet every bit about him was Harwin.

‘Him and the queen are nearly the same age, aren’t they?’ Abby realised. There were a great many years between Wylla and her eldest brother, and she always forgot how young the queen was. How young her brother had been when he was lost.

“Do you understand how hard I fought against mine own father, your uncle, to give you time to grow up and not be dragged to the marriage bed before your time? A gift that I myself was denied and I would have for you and Helaena.”

A soft smile broke across the severe lines of Harrion Karstark’s face and he pressed a fond kiss to the top of Wylla’s head, and brushed a familiar hand over her own hair. It was paternal, affectionate in the familial way, not familiar that made her ache, that made her want to throw herself into his arms to sob as she would with Harwin when she was small and then the doors to Helaena’s room opened and Wylla ushered her inside.

“Whatever is the matter?” Helaena asked, already dressed in her nightgown, The fire was a warm and welcoming blaze in the grate. Wylla made a soft hissing sound at the maid putting away Helaena’s gown from earlier, sending her from the room. Abby gulped down the lump in her throat, and gaped at Helaena like a fool. Her vision had gone hot and blurry, her mouth trembling. She shook as if she was cold, but her cheeks were flaming and she couldn’t breathe through her nose. “Abby!” Helaena was alarmed now and she felt her sister’s hands on her arms and a great, wet hiccup tore from Abby’s throat.

“I-I was cruel to him,” she gasped, clutching at Helaena’s sleeves. “I was cruel and I-I shouldn’t have been, but yo-your mother was furious with me a-and…” Gods help her, Abby could barely breathe as the words came rushing out over heaving hiccups. She felt Wylla’s hands at the back of her gown undoing the spiral lacing while Helaena’s fingers tugged at the laces of her sleeves.

She’d lashed out and was ashamed of it, but then, “He was flirting with that bitch, and dared to be angry w-with me about Ser Edmund and… and I miss my brother.” Abby sobbed, hysterics settled in, and she was a doll in the hands of her friends as they got her out of her gown. Helaena reached for the soft blanket from the settee to wrap around her. It wasn’t the same, it wasn’t what she wanted, but Abby realised she didn’t know what she wanted. So unused to being like this, Abby felt adrift like a leaf in the fountain and no adorable little frog to perch on her and make her laugh.

“Abby,” Helaena whispered and led her to the great bed, Wylla coming to help her up. She felt utterly useless with herself. All she could do was sob like a broken pail streaming water everywhere. Useless and silly and utterly shattered inside.

“I want them back,” Abby wailed, and pressed her face into Helaena’s chest. The comfort she so often gave to others, she sought for herself without even asking.

How selfish and unbecoming.

Her fingers clawed into Helaena’s gown like she could find proper purchase until she finally got her arms around the princess’ waist. She tried to speak again and apologise and explain herself more clearly but words were wind, and all Abby could do was cry and beg for someone to get her papa, her athair, as she called him, and her brother.

It should not be her. It should not be her entertaining the river lords and brokering peace, a pawn, a spy. It should be Harwin taking the seat at Harrenhal, Princess Rhaenyra and their boys at his side.

It should be her athair sitting at the high table next to King Viserys, not the cold, stoic judgement of her Uncle Otto and his cruel words.

The world made sense when they were alive. The world was a safe, warm place, even after the loss of her mother.

‘I want Aegon,’ came the traitorous thought. ‘I want Aegon the way he was before he turned so cruel so quickly. I want the boy he used to be, not the man he is becoming. I want the Aegon who kissed me by the lake.’

Helaena was calling for the maids to draw a bath while Wylla held her this time. She thought of the Sept and weeks of silence, of barely eating, of the frantic and terrible fear that fire would consume them all. She thought of Aegon coming to sit with her as she cuddled Theraxis in her arms. How he wiped her tears and in awkward starts, he had managed to coax a tearful smile from her when recounting the tale of nearly decapitating a training dummy on his own, and how Harwin had taught him how to properly swing. When he showed off for Cole later, he’d been impressed.

Where had her Aegon disappeared to? Gone so far away, and how foolish it was of her to believe that the way he hid himself would not eventually come to bite her.

“Were my dear brother here, he’d bloody well geld him and give me his balls on a platter for treating me so,” Abby said scathingly before she could even think. Wylla looked startled at the violent admission that escaped her before bursting into peals of shaking laughter.

“Where did that come from?” she half accused, half demanded breathlessly, and between her sobs, Abby choked out her own laughter. Helaena joined in the mirth with a shake of her head and began dabbing at her tears with a tender touch normally reserved for her most delicate of creatures. The handkerchief was soft, adorned with little blue and gold beetles.

“I don’t know,” she said as the maids came in with the copper tub lined with linen and buckets of steaming water. Another maid brough the delicate wooden box of bath oils and salts.

Abby let Helaena and Wylla poke and prod through the vials and jars, picking out sweet and calming scents to pour into the water. They only asked her minimal questions, if she favoured something sweet or floral but little else and Abby was grateful for the reprieve. It was a rather novel feeling to let her decisions stop. She didn’t have to think or plan or organise. Helaena and Wylla handled it rather easily, wrapping her long hair up with Helaena’s carved dragon pins and guiding her into the tub. The water seeped into the cold that constantly permeated her bones and her thoughts drifted to the feel of Aegon’s arms around her as they had been in her bed. The warmth of him too had chased away the persistent cold.

She sighed, letting herself sink into the water, and let their voices wash over her.

[Chapter Ten]

#fic: the maiden and the drowning boy #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen fic #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen #aegon x oc #aegon ii targaryen x oc #hotd #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #house strong #aegon x abby

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ashtonisvibing · 7 months

Text

"I kissed a boy, and I liked it"

Fandom: Jacksepticeye Egos

Alternate Universe: None? (Jackie isn't a hero in this universe)

Ship(s): Marvelsepticeye

Character(s): Jackieboy Man, Marvin the Magnificent

Warning(s): Alcohol, Sexual Actions(?)

Originally Published: Aug. 30th, 2023

Author's Notes:

so, you guys ever heard of that way better cover of "i kissed a girl", by jupither where it's instead gay (mlm)?

yeah so what if that but it's marvelsepticeye? but also minus the "hope my girlfriend don't mind it", only cuz i feel like it tbh. jackie's single here. and it's more loose inspiration (just the "kissing a fellow guy and getting confused by liking it" bit)

jackie thinking he's straight as a ruler until BOOM, hot guy comes walking up to him at a club

turns out he's very much not straight-

uhhhhh please note that i have NOT written people making out in... a while, so this might turn out like complete shit, and i apologize for that. but hey, can't get better if you don't start somewhere, right?? just be lucky i'm not turning this into a smut piece like i'm thinking of doing, the cringe levels with that writing would be off the charts- unless you guys would be fine with that then i dunno, part two maybe??? you'd have to watch a guy try to fumble around trying to describe sex LMAO

also, you might notice me using masculine terms for marvin. while yes, (my fanon interpretation of) marvin uses they/them pronouns, they're also just totally cool with masc terms! they're fine with any terms, i just sort of default to masc terms with them lol. but don't you worry, i'm not misgendering them, they just got that fun gender where they don't care.

okay, that's it, let's see some guys kiss!

jackie: he/him

marvin: they/them

Full Story:

Clubs were always too loud and too bright for Jackie to enjoy them like everyone else. He could barely stand to look at the flashing lights, and the music was so loud he couldn't hear anyone. That was ignoring the multiple conversations he could hear around him. He couldn't make out a single one, there were too many speaking at once. And that didn't help when someone tried to talk directly to him. It was like their voice became blended with the sea of others. The only safe spot to keep him from developing a migraine was the bar, but even then he'd need noise cancelling headphones to keep the voices from overstimulating him. It didn't help that he also got weird looks from the other bar patrons because all he ordered was a glass of water. He just hated the taste of any alcohol, no matter how much added mixings you might put into them.

The only reason he was even here tonight was because a friend of his wanted to celebrate their birthday here. And despite knowing that clubs were a sensory nightmare for him, they still begged Jackie to come along, even claiming that he was "trying to ruin their birthday". He... Really didn't understand why he still hung around his friends. They never really seemed to respect his boundaries, and he'd laid those out several times for them. He didn't have his car with him but he could easily just call a cab and leave, and he doubted any of them would even notice. They were too absorbed in the dance floor. That's how these club outings always went.

He was just about to pull out his wallet to pay for his water when someone sat down next to him. A man, seemingly a few inches shorter than himself, with long lavender purple hair tied into a loose braid. There were patches of burn scars on their face, hands, and neck, and those were the only ones that could be seen thanks to their long sleeved black dress and tights. Honestly they looked like they were somewhat dressed for Halloween with how much of a witch-y vibe Jackie got from their outfit. And god, were they gorgeous. Jackie didn't need to be queer to recognize that. They had such an elegant and mysterious aura to them, and he took one look and just wanted to know more about them. He wanted to know everything about them.

"So, what's a hot guy like you doing all alone here, hm~?" The person practically purred as they looked over at Jackie, a soft and playful smirk on their lips. Now that they were facing him, Jackie could see that the four card suits were drawn onto their forehead in a diamond layout. Or maybe even tattooed? Their eyes were also a vibrant blue and purple, seemingly glowing in the slight darkness that the bar area provided. But the strangest part of all was their voice. It was a heavenly sound to Jackie, almost hypnotic by how it pulled him in. But it also sounded so... Clear. Like every other voice was immediately drowned out the moment they spoke. But that didn't seem possible, maybe Jackie was just so curious about this person that he could push past the conversations for once.

"Just enjoying a glass of water. And considering leaving." Jackie yelled over the music and voices so the other person could hear him, just in case the noise was too much for them as well. But they just simply laughed and quickly ordered themself a drink; a Bramble, no ice.

"No need to yell handsome, I can hear you loud and clear." They chuckled softly, leaning an elbow against the bar top. "But then again, wonder what other ways you could yell~"

That caused Jackie's brain to just stop all trains of thought it had. Oh, okay, this guy was flirting with him. He didn't really know what to think right now, he'd never had anyone besides women flirt with him. And he never expected to actually... He quickly shook his head in the hopes he could clear his head and make his bright red cheeks fade back to their usual paleness. He didn't know why he suddenly got flustered like that, this had never happened before.

"So- Sorry, you've got the wrong guy, I'm straight." Jackie mumbled a little as he took a sip of his water to try and calm himself down. And to try and ignore how weird it felt to say that. A bad kind of weird. "I'm sure there's plenty of other guys that would love someone like you trying to get into their pants.

The mystery person simply hummed as they took a sip of their own drink now that they had it, swirling it absentmindedly in their hand. "Really now? Never seen a straight guy blush that hard over my words. But hey, what's one quick fuck? Or will that hurt your masculinity too much?"

That got Jackie to nearly choke on his water. He coughed a few times to get his throat cleared before looking back at the other. "Look, I don't know who you are, but you're being a little bit of a dick. I'm sorry I'm the first guy who didn't wanna fuck you, I guess." Oh wow, someone who actually bit back. The other person had to take a moment before just... Smiling, extending a hand to Jackie. Their fingernails were painted a crimson sparkly red.

"Marvin, they/them. Pleased to meet someone who actually has a back bone." They chuckled a little. Jackie looked at the hand held out to him like this was a trick. Marvin had just insulted him a second ago. But he still shook it nonetheless, albeit with slight caution.

"Jackie, he/him. Please to meet someone who spits venom, I guess."

That got a laugh this time from Marvin. "Sorry about that. Sometimes I forget to hold my tongue, it gets me into so much trouble you see." They leaned their head on their folded hands, propped up by their elbows. "But you must admit, quite strange of someone so straight to become so easily flustered, especially with no alcohol. I hadn't even reached my peak."

"You just- Caught me off guard, that's all." Jackie quickly looked away from the other lest his returning blush be shown. He hated that Marvin wasn't really wrong. There was something about them that sparked a feeling in his heart, one he'd certainly never felt before, not even from any women he'd been with. And it was scary. There was nothing wrong with being attracted to other genders, obviously. But he never liked change, even now. Change was unpredictable, he couldn't rationalize it. He didn't know if this was temporary or meant to last, this new feeling.

Marvin only gave a little nod in response, finishing their drink and pulling out the money needed to pay for it. "I'm not one to be lied to, darling. I can read people all too well." When they looked at Jackie, they didn't have a flirty smirk or a condescending look. Just a small smile that actually seemed genuine. "But hey, you clearly don't want to be here. Overstimulating, I'm assuming. You've been wanting to leave for a while. Why not leave with someone you can talk to? Nothing more than that, I promise." They chuckled a little and stood from their stool. "I know when I need to keep my hands to myself."

Okay, at the very least they weren't trying to invite him over for any sort of sex. He thought it over for a few moments. It scared him so much, not knowing what this feeling in his chest was. But at the same time... He wanted to know more. He wanted to discover who Marvin was, even if just for the night. Maybe he'd be able to figure out this feeling if he went. And it wasn't like his friends- No, not really friends. It wasn't like the people he came here with would care. He could just block their numbers if any of them tried contacting him. So with a shrug he stood up as well, placing his pay under his glass and putting his jean jacket on. "Alright, lead me to your place, then."

That brought a smile to Marvin's lips. As said they could easily read people like they were open books, and Jackie posed no challenge. They could see that curiosity now showing in him, over both themself and what happened with himself earlier. And that's why they invited him over: To hopefully help him learn something about himself, in whatever way they needed. Marvin didn't say a word, just taking Jackie's hand and quickly leading him outside and into the alleyway next to the club. Jackie just let himself get towed along. Maybe their car was parked behind the building. But when they stopped halfway through the alley he got confused.

"Um, I don't think this is where we can get a car from."

"Oh trust me hun, we don't need a car." Marvin chuckled. "Just for some privacy." They then held a finger up in front of them, and as they drew shapes in the air those same shapes appeared in front of them both, glowing a soft teal. And once they were done drawing they tapped the middle of the shapes, causing them to glow brighter until they revealed a living room. A portal right into a living room. Jackie backed away a little. There was a portal, right in front of them.

"What the fuck...??" Was the most he could muster. Marvin only chuckled before they stepped in and disappeared into the still image, their hand poking out a second later and beckoning Jackie to follow. He knew, logically, he should be running. He should be trying to wake himself up, there was no way he wasn't sleeping right now. But his curiosity was so peaked right now that he really didn't care. He needed to know what the fuck was currently in front of him. So he decided to take the hand poking out from the portal, just in case something might go wrong, and let himself walk through. And he was in the living room that the portal displayed. And no limbs were missing or suddenly a different color, nor were his clothes suddenly gone. He stepped through and was perfectly safe. And now standing pretty much chest to chest with Marvin, who was letting soft giggles that they couldn't help.

"Pretty good for someone who's never seen magic before, I was fully expecting you to have run off on your heels." Marvin giggled, unknowingly intertwining their fingers together. Just something about how their slightly smaller hand fit into Jackie's so nicely... It had a cozy feeling to it that he wanted to keep for as long as he could.

"Holy shit, that was actually magic..." Jackie ran a hand through his hair before letting out a soft laugh. He actually just experienced magic. Magic, that shouldn't be real, yet there it was. Maybe he really was just dreaming right now. He didn't know when he could have run into someone like Marvin in real life, but that didn't matter. For the moment he just let himself believe without turning to logic and reason. Just to let himself have a little bit of wonder for once. "That was magic, you just used magic."

Marvin found it adorable how excited the other was over such a discovery. Some simply didn't believe them, no matter how many tricks they pulled. Others just ran away out of fear. Jackie was the first to react so positively, and with such joy as well. They were thanking their lucky stars that they met this man tonight. "And I can pull off a lot more than just portals, hun." They giggled softly and tugged at Jackie's hand that was still in theirs (the realization of it making Jackie blush), guiding him to the U shaped couch and sitting him down in the middle. "I'm going to go make myself some tea." They said as they walked out of the room, presumably to the kitchen. "You want any?" They called out.

"Oh, uh, no thanks. More of a coffee guy personally." Jackie responded. And now that he was alone in the room he had the chance to look around and observe all of the surface level things. The living room had a very dark magic vibe, having a dark blue, purple, and red color scheme to it. Against the wall in front of him was a television stand with the standard things: TV, internet box, blueray player, as well as several movies stacked in the side cubbies of the stand. A coffee table stood in the middle of the couch with a stack of moon shaped coasters off to the side. Silk drapes and glow-in-the-dark stars hung from the ceiling to give an even more magical vibe. There were two shelves on either side of the TV that were filled with books, photos, and various knick knacks. He wanted to get a closer look at the photos to see who or what was in them, but he didn't want to be too intrusive. He didn't know how much of their private life Marvin wanted to give out to a complete stranger.

After a few minutes Marvin returned with their tea, sitting down next to Jackie and setting their cup down atop one of the coasters. "So, what do you think?"

"Um- About what?"

"About my living room, silly." They laughed softly, which pulled a sheepish blush to Jackie's cheeks. "Obviously you were looking around at it. But you don't seem like the type to snoop in other people's drawers so I trust you."

"Well, it's... Definitely you. I- If that makes sense." Jackie shrugged a little as he took a quick glance over everything. "Like, when I look at you, this is definitely what I can expect from a living room. At the very least." He rubbed the back of his neck once his eyes returned back to the person across from himself. "Sorry, that probably makes no sense."

Marvin just chuckled and picked up his tea, taking a sip now that it was a little cooler. At least not so hot that it would burn their mouth off. "It's actually the best reaction I've gotten. Every other guy I've brought home has told me it's so dreary, that I need some color or whatever. I suppose it's a good thing that they were all one night stands."

"So what, picking up guys from bars is a common occurrence for you?" Jackie laughed softly. He already knew the answer for that if their interaction at the bar was any indication of how the magician acted around other men. "But I've never been one to judge people on their taste in... Whatever. I guess unless it's, like, genuinely harmful or something. But this just looks like a vampire threw up over everything." Marvin had to keep themself from laughing lest they choked on their tea. Thankfully they got it down and just turned into a coughing fit. Jackie immediately bolted up in his seat when he noticed, rubbing the other's back in a poor attempt to help a little. "Shit- Are you okay?? I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to almost kill you."

"No, no-" Another couple of coughs interrupted Marvin's sentence. "Don't worry, you're fine." They chuckled a little before clearing their throat to try and get rid of the tickling feeling now sitting there. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Nearly choked on my tea from laughing."

Jackie let out a small breath of relief. Admittedly he was scared that maybe the magician would have been upset at him for making a joke while they had tea in their mouth. "Well, it would've been a hell of a way to go then." He let out his own little chuckle, earning a small laugh from Marvin.

"Truly would have been one of the stranger possibilities. But to answer your question, yes. But you're the first one to not push me against the wall and shove a tongue down my throat so... You at the very least have class." And now it was Jackie's turn to nearly choke, but this time it was on air and out of complete surprise. He needed to get used to Marvin's bluntness over everything, even intimate details like that.

"I- I mean, there's also the obvious bit of me being straight, so of course I wouldn't do that."

"Denial doesn't look pretty on you, hun." The magician hummed as they took another sip of their tea.

"I-" Jackie was about to protest. But the words got caught in his throat, and he really had to consider if it was worth it to just... Keep ignoring this feeling in his chest over the person next to him. He didn't know how long it would last... Maybe he could get some answers. "Is it really that obvious...?"

"With how much you bring up your lack of gay, yes." Marvin chuckled a little, earning a sigh from the other, who was running his hands through his hair.

"I just-... I've never felt this way about any other gender." He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his foot tapping out of a need to do something. He always got like this when having important talks, and this was very clearly important. "But then you come along and... Not to get too personal, but suddenly I've got this want to pull you in and make out with you. And I don't even think it's cuz you present femininely, but I don't know what else it could be besides... Apparently I'm gayer than I thought!" He did little jazz hands as he exclaimed. "And obviously, there's nothing wrong with that. But when you think you're one way your entire life and suddenly something happens and you're now something else..."

"It can be really scary, yeah." Marvin interjected, looking down at the scars on their hands. "I get that, trust me. Maybe a little more than you." They then shifted themself so that they could be closer to Jackie's face. "But you've got the urge to make out with me? Well, why not go for it then?"

Yeah, Jackie really needed to get used to that bluntness.

"Wh- Because I've literally never met you before tonight??" He backed away a little when he realized just how close Marvin had gotten. His cheeks were now red and he was looking at literally anything but the magician in front of him. And there was that urge again. To grab this person by the face and see what their lips tasted like. And he really couldn't push it down now. "I'm not going to just kiss a stranger without permission."

The magician then gave a shrug and a playful smirk in response. "I give you permission then. Go on. You don't seem like the kind of guy to try and take advantage of me, not in this state anyways. That and I could easily overpower you with a quick spell. But let's see if maybe this feeling is a one off thing. And if it is, no need for a sexuality crisis."

Okay, Marvin was really opening the floor for this. They were fine with Jackie experimenting with them. He was... A little thankful for that, honestly. At least he was experimenting with someone he probably had a genuine interest in. And so, he gave a nod for confirmation, leaning back in to Marvin to rest a hand on their cheek.

"Just, um, let me know if I do anything wrong. First kiss with a guy and all that."

That got a laugh out of Marvin. "I don't think it's any different than kissing a woman. But I've never kissed a woman, so who knows. Just... Do whatever feels right." They couldn't help as they bit their lip a little from anticipation. Jackie wasn't the only one who'd been having strange new feelings towards a complete stranger. The magician had felt a pull towards the other this entire night, something they hadn't ever felt towards someone before. They wanted to do so much more with this man, and for once they weren't even thinking about sex. To even just lay in his arms seemed like it would be a blessing. Jackie only gave another nod, taking a few seconds to prepare himself before finally connecting their lips.

Cherry. Marvin's lips tasted like cherry. He hadn't noticed any lipstick, so maybe this was lip balm. It was a surprising taste, he would've never associated them with cherries. But he loved it all the same. He loved this kiss all the same.

It remained slow at first, with Marvin making sure they let Jackie control the speed the entire time. They didn't want to possibly go too fast and overwhelm the other, no matter how much they wanted to. Jackie's lips on theirs felt like a breath of fresh air. Like they could finally breathe after having waited all night. And when Jackie wrapped an arm around his waist to pull them closer they were quick to respond with an arm around his shoulders, their other hand reaching up to undo his hairbun and tangle their fingers into his hair. And that pulled a hum from Jackie that nearly sent shivers down their spine. Oh if that simple hum caused such a reaction who knows what the other sounds that Jackie had would do to them.

Unfortunately the kiss didn't last for much longer, as Jackie pulled away for air, leaving them both staring at each other as soft pants left their lips. "So... How was that...?" Marvin spoke softly once they caught their breath enough.

"Good... Really good..." The other spoke just as softly. He didn't want to break whatever atmosphere had been created.

It only took a second for Marvin to be pulled back in for another kiss, much to their pleasant surprise. But this one was much harder, needier than the last one. It nearly turned the magician's brain to putty from the rush of emotions they were getting. And Jackie felt all the same, plus so much more right now. He didn't know why he kept himself in denial for so long if this is how amazing the kiss would feel. It didn't even matter if this was only his first with a guy, it was enough for him to know he wanted it all from Marvin.

A soft noise of annoyance and displeasure came out of him when it was Marvin's turn to pull away. But it was only to place a hand on his shoulder and push him back against the couch, now straddling his hips as the kiss resumed. Evidently the magician was a touchy one. Jackie's arms and shoulders weren't left alone from Marvin's hands. Those hands found themselves moving down to the other's torso, and with a hitched breath and slight arch of his back they were given permission to slip their hands up his shirt to keep feeling around. Jackie was a sensitive one when it came to touch, the magician was learning. His back was almost painfully arched into their hands, and they were sure that if they weren't making out right now they'd be hearing loud moans and whimpers from the other.

And Jackie managed to get some revenge for it. All it took was a little nip at their lip and a slip of his tongue for Marvin to become weak in his arms. Not like Jackie wasn't practically the same way, he was glad that his brain hadn't been turned to mush from all that he was feeling. The way their hands trailed over every inch of his chest, all of the soft moans he was managing to pull from them, the knee now pressing itself and rubbing a little against his crotch.

He was quick to pull away at that new feeling, gently pushing Marvin's knee away a little bit. The magician hadn't even realized what they were doing, but they were filled with dread with how fast the other stopped them. Maybe they'd completely ruined this now. "Shit, I'm... I'm sorry, I didn't even realize... I was moving too fast..."

Jackie shook his head at that as his grip tightened around the magician's waist, taking a second to catch his breath. "No, you're good, I... I just got thrown off is all.." He chuckled a little, his eyes now meeting Marv's. And theirs looked quite happy that they hadn't ruined anything. "But if we're going that far I think a bed will be better than the couch, yeah~?" Oh stars, help Marvin. That voice was enough to drive him up the walls.

"Yes, please~"

#ashton is writing #marvelsepticeye #jackieboy man #marvin the magnificent #jacksepticeye egos #jse egos fanfiction

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kithpendragon · 5 months

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This post is part of a series in which I help my friend upgrade her copy of the board game "Scythe" by painting some of the game pieces. It's all being tagged #KP2023SCY to make it easy to find!

Base Coat

After playing around with the paint a bit, we decided to work on the yellow faction first. These guys look a bit like tractors, so we found a few reference photos. We settled on this one for its ability to give us most of the colors we wanted in one shot.

Here we have yellow paint in an outdoor setting, and the machine has even been courteous enough to rust up so that we can see where and how that happens.

Now, yellow is the weakest color you can get paint in. I'm not sure why that is, but you usually need to add lots of yellow paint to a mix before you come close to the same coloring power you get from most other colors. "One wierd trick" to get more vibrant yellows is to underpaint - paint a helper layer below the color you want to see - with magenta.

Why magenta? I ask myself that every time. But it works, and I haven't taken the time to sort through all the "I know what underpainting is" posts to look up if anybody's figured it out. If you find a good reason, by all means let me know.

Anyway, with the magenta underpainting and a coat of yellow, we achieved a lovely saturated dark yellow more commonly called "orange", which is a great mid tone for yellow objects.

Next we focused on the legs and wheels, adding a thin coat of gray to unify the existing lighting cues. Finally, we used a reddish buddy brown on the base and added some splotches of green to suggest plant life.

Highlighting and Shading

With the mid tones established, we added a couple highlighting steps to the model - first with another layer of pure yellow, then by adding progressively more of a yellowish off-white to the mix. On the legs, we added the off-white to the gray for the brighter areas. Finally, we added a tiny bit of blue and black to the yellow for the shadowed underside.

The shading does appear somewhat green because bluey yellow does that. This is fine, and it doesn't even register at arms length on the table because shadows really are blue like that. It would also be valid to darken with chromatic gray, or to glaze black over the orange base coat. Leaving the shadows more saturated like this allows the eye to see more details in the final paint job.

The location of highlights and shadows was chosen simply by shining a bright light on the mini and noting the bright and dark spots. That technique doesn't always work, but it's an easy way to begin to learn how shadows and highlights work.

After we had the top bright and the bottom dark, we painted an additional strong highlight on the sharp edges with the off-white. This is called "edge highlighting", and it helps the eye to understand the shapes even from across the table. You can also take your shadow color and run it into any deep recesses for even more definition.

Rimming

Somehow, people have very strong feelings about what color the edge of the base - the rim - should be. Paint that rim whatever color makes sense to you and don't let anybody tell you otherwise!

For display or competition painting, a very dark color or black would look most "professional" (if you want that vibe). For board games, I find it useful to try to match the original color of the plastic, especially if I didn't stick too closely to that color with the rest of the piece.

We rimmed the tractors with a coat of magenta followed by two coats of yellow and got close enough to the original color that there won't be any ambiguity.

We let the paint get good and dry for about two weeks before sealing with a clear coat to make the paint job much more durable. You don't have to wait that long - it was cold and raining, and spray paint is an outdoor activity for me. This is one of those things where you could probably get away with sealing in a couple hours, overnight would be better, and a week is probably overcautious. You just want all the existing paint to be fully dry.

Once the clear coat is fully dry (read: doesn't have a smell anymore) you can add some matte varnish or buff with some 000 steel wool to knock the shine back if you like.

Once again, every step is optional! Do the things you want to do, that you feel are worth your time. And then enjoy playing your game, or put those beautiful upgraded minis on display for everybody in your game room to admire!

#Scythe game #board games #minis #miniatures #mini painting #painting minis #miniatures painting #painting miniatures #art #step by step #KP2023SCY #how to #board game customization #customizing board games

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cobrakatharsis · 1 year

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alright, so. ‘i dream of jeannie’ lawrusso au derived from cobra-sigh’s post which got sent to lottie zappedbyzabka by a delightful anon and lottie then said fantastic but what about the reverse and THEN sent it to me and promised me a diamond ring if i wrote about it. we run a complicated economy. anyway thank u cobra-sigh, anon, and lottie.

OKAY. so daniel moves to california with his ma for his senior year. doesn’t have a single friend in the valley, but just like in the movie manages to ‘new kid’ (and ‘daniel larusso’) his way into getting invited to the beach party. it’s…unremarkable. the stretch of beach is as nice as the weather and the people he meets are nice enough too - he meets a bunch of them, boys his age, and they talk and kick a soccer ball around. he meets a nice girl called ali and they kind of hit it off before she eventually leaves with her friends, but by nightfall he’s kind of bored of the company. they don’t have the best vibes and aren’t paying him all too much attention once his novelty wears off, so daniel ends up just kind of wandering along the shore on his own, enjoying the fresh experience of california.

he gets farther than he realises, and a long way down the beach he notices a glint of bright red lodged in the wet sand, being jostled by the lapping waves. it’s…a vase? no, more like a bottle. it’s ornate, adorned with gold and gems, and unlike a vase it’s sealed shut at the top with something like a cork. daniel glances around him, wondering if he’ll see some sort of evidence of where it came from, but there’s no one at all on this area of the beach. he can just barely see the glow of the fires marking his group in the distance, little pinpricks of golden light on the endless dark empty beach. so, giving into his curiosity, he picks up the bottle and tilts it, examining it, and finally pulls it open. absentmindedly traces his fingertips over the decoration as he does, the thought ‘it’s empty’ already forming in his head before he’s suddenly surrounded by smoke.

and then there’s a guy.

daniel does not at all process what just happened. he panics, assuming that this is the owner of the bottle or something, come sprinting over to ask him why the hell daniel’s touching his stuff - to which daniel is fully prepared to ask why the hell this guy’s just leaving his stuff in the surf - but there’s no aggression or anything on his…very pretty face, very close to daniel’s. in fact, he’s smiling at daniel, pale eyes all wide as he stares at him like he’s dazzled, but he doesn’t say anything. it’s then that daniel notices his clothing, or…lack thereof. the only solid piece of clothing he’s wearing is a tiny, tight pair of shorts, and the rest is floaty see-through fabric he’s draped in, embellished with elaborate embroidery and gold at the edges, doing nothing to impede daniel from briefly staring directly at his…ample chest, washed rosy behind the sheer red fabric.

he averts his gaze immediately, cheeks burning, but the stranger doesn’t seem to mind. he crowds even closer, in fact, and takes daniel by the hands, finally bursting out with that big beautiful smile still on his face that daniel freed him! - “i’ll give you anything, master. i owe you. seriously, anything. everything!”

daniel thinks maybe he passed out on the beach or something, and now he’s having some sort of especially abstract dirty dream. but things feel decidedly real when, after a little more anxious conversing and learning that the stranger’s name is johnny - and subsequently wondering if this is a prank because that’s definitely a bad pun on ‘genie’ - johnny looks right into daniel’s eyes and lights up again like he’s seen something there, something he’s especially delighted to see. and then he’s pressing his lips to daniel’s, kissing him deeply. his skin is soft and warm, and he smells like really old bookstores do, and he’s so gorgeous. he says he’ll stay by daniel’s side forever, give him whatever he wants, and daniel tells him that he absolutely does not have to do that - seriously, johnny’s free - and also his ma will not be happy if he brings back a pretty, almost-naked boy from the beach to stay with him forever, but johnny just smiles at him and disappears neatly back into the bottle like he’s proving a point by doing so.

daniel looks despairingly around him again. the beach is still empty and quiet, almost eerily so now without johnny, and there’s not a single witness to what daniel’s about to do.

he sighs deeply and picks up the bottle and heads home.

#lawrusso #daniel larusso #johnny lawrence #elijah writes #this is so silly i love it #daniel lies and tells his ma he bought the ‘vase’ and his ma tells him it’s godugly and staying where it’s sat on his desk #daniel agrees a little too eagerly #and invests in a lock on his bedroom door because he keeps the bottle open when he can so johnny can appear freely #and the last thing he needs is his ma coming in unannounced to find daniel sat on his bed with a scantily clad blond pretty boy #although the kids at school see plenty of johnny when he immediately demands on accompanying daniel #thankfully daniel manages to wrangle him into wearing some actual clothes

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onyourhyuck · 2 years

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𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐊ᵃ𝐫𝐦𝐚 [ Season 3 ]

synopsis; • Fast forwarding six years, Park areum is coming back to the journalist industry. A case from thirteen years ago re-opens when Areum finds something suspicious around a drug ring in clubs and her parents car accident from thirteen years ago have suspicious links. However something always trails back to past that she’s never knew about.

warnings; • mafia jeno Au, mystery, thriller, SMUTTT NO MINORS, ANGST, police exo au, romance, park areum and lee jeno are married , minjae and nayoung are cuties, horror (scary death scenes). gruesome graphic detailed language.

Now Part 3 !! || —> Next Part 4.

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A fair smoke curls forward, taking a shape of all sorts of shapes. The young girl blowing past the heart-structure lips on the cigarette lips entrance. With a lisp, she spoke slurring as the cigarette began to burn out,

Half annoyed sigh alerts by the girl leaning on the brick wall behind a night club, hidden well in the city from important eyes. The hands flip in the back jean pockets, clicking out a pink lighter.

“Hmm, smoking without me now are you?” The deep voice entices, posh shiny shoes clicking by the dirty ground, surrounded the garbage in the alleys. The girl looks up, lips carefully mocking, lighting the nearly finished cigarette.

She’s sank out her voice, exhaling a ramming flock of smoke blowing in the older man’s face. “Hate to burst your bubble oldie, I prefer to smoke by myself.” The cheeky younger woman, who wore a black leather jacket and tight fitted skinny all black jeans and shoes; blonde and black hair mixtures in messily.

In response, he scrunched the face when it hits the surface, nostrils flaring as he tilts his head amusingly at the youngling.

“I am only 40, sweetheart.” He ingurgitates thickly, switching out a cigarette packet where the fingers pull one out by the two fingers with ease, turning on the black lighter with a healthy large flame blowing by the wind. “Talk about ancient, mind telling me about the dinosaurs during your times?” The girl fronts .

“Sure.” The man was quick to agree stepping forward blocking the girl into the bright red brickyard wall, sturdily hanging against it, the girl watches up apathetically. He leans down whispering, warningly as if she decides to back-chat again, it wouldn’t end well for her.

Far from well. He digs a closer look, making his intentions and vibe clear. “A little dinosaur told me that you should get on with it and start to deliver this lovely present to her.” A heavy packaged box disguised as if it were a normal box from a post-mailbox. She raises an eyebrow down from the brown box, knowing that this was no ordinary thing despite its appearance.

“Hurry and make sure she opens it, no one else.” The girl looks down when he’d say it, nodding. “Yes sir, I’ll start immediately.”

He smirks down holding up the younger’s chin, menacingly folding the face in his palm like it were his own property. “Good, hurry up then. I’m a very impatient man, you must know that by now.” She scorns, pushing off the palm. The brick wall would be isolated, as she walks away from the alleyway leaving the man laughing.

Oh how he loves predictable reactions. If only he could see her’s when she opens the box.

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Mark looks out the window, where a blast of wind hits the surface of his eyelids, cheeks and lips, fresh oxygen amount inhaling in the heavily guarded lungs in his body. The white and black multi colour expensive car driving in the corner of the breezy highway.

In the back seats where the young man and the intern assistant, Karina sit together, leaving the front driver to be Areum.

“Mark seriously get your face back in the car, you look ridiculous with the wind blowing.” Areum tuts, soft laughter to experience a full on show on Mark being childish. He seriously represented a dog sticking their tongue and face out of the car.

Mark obeys, flying back in the car with the seatbelt still attached— obviously he wouldn’t be the one doing crimes. Karina looks out of her own window, glancing down to the map. “I think this is it when you turn two lefts.” She said.

The man spoke with determination, raising an eyebrow aloud. “I could’ve instructed us honestly, we would’ve been here quicker if i read the map.” Hearing the response, the pale girl turns around throwing sting eyes at the half-assed confident mark. “Yeah, I’m sure. As if you have evidence to prove that.” Karina murmurs sarcastically under the voice, hiding the awful untruthfulness.

Mark toughs out, looking away from Karina. Areum ignores their little falling out, their rivalry to help Areum can be much to handle. The woman feels sometimes that she’s dealing with children even at work, but that’s just their relationship and she cannot change it. If Mark and Karina wish to compete, they can.

But not around Areum that’s for sure. The woman looks in the front stirring window, turning the wheel with one hand on top; the car swiftly turns the two lefts, bringing them in front of an very old-slum apartment complex with many stairs and railings, as well as garages for public use.

Their destination cuts off now, as Areum steps out the vehicle with a thin black brick recorder and a pen with notepad. Mark and Karina come out right after. The man with a white and blow flannel and white shirt, black loose jeans brings a small envelope with pictures of evidence.

Girl with purple highlights with black hair, a lovely beauty mark on the right cheek, comes in view with her hands on a digital-journalist camera which allows them to record the situation as well as take pictures. Their leader officially struts to the olden antique of a complex building.

“You reckon rats round’ here?” Timid-ness comes off his lingering quiet voice, eyes scanning the dirty flooring on the ground floor of the complex. Two black doors on the left and right, with a single narrow staircase on the side welcoming the three. moment to encounter, Areum teasingly warns, scaring off Mark.

“Be careful, rats might come and,” Mark stops midway, hearing Areum speak and pause, until she launches up her face scrunches it in a roaring jumpscare. “Booh! Eat you.” He flinches, hiding behind the shorter girl, Karina.

Mark’s nostrils flare as he stares at Areum, annoyed. He couldn’t believe he fell scared for such tricks. He grunts, “yah, come on miss Park” he said, hearing Areum giggle, leeching hands on the stomach as she held it a little. Karina, side eyes Mark, smirking. She whispers to him. “Wow, I wonder how you hold up watching ratatouille.”

He doesn’t reply Shaking his head, he walks ahead leaving the two girls who took pleasure and absolute surging happiness to tease and make fun of him. The minute he walks up the long stairs longitude above, they have to make it to the seventh floor.

Areum grins, looking at Karina. “Let’s go, we have a long way to go.” Karina nods, seemingly the elevator was out of order with a big red sign indicating the malfunction, the stairs will have to do.

The two women slowly walk up, The stairs rose in well measured form, smooth and reflective of the light shining from the small windows stuck on to push in a light source in the day. However, it may feel like a smooth surface, the pleasure of stepping clean shoes on it has made it dirty reeking it into old state. Stairway-railings contain dust, the moment the ponytail-woman ran up her hand, it collects a swarming amount of filth. Areum’s face squeezes when looking down at the grime, wiping away the hand.

In matter of time, Karina and her boss land on the seventh floor, they stand on the edge of the last stairs, panting heavily with a few dripping sweat. Karina, pinkish cheeks brighten Mark’s sight when the relaxed man ahead watches them.

“Now look who’s tired.” Mark sighs, still holding a petty little grudge at being teased. Though he’s one to be easily teased, does not mean that he lets it go so easily. Karina scorns out, “shut up and knock on the door Will you?” head tilts 90° pointing on the right door in front of Mark, as she stretches on the railing to rest the aching muscle.

Areum huffs. “I’m so glad i live in a house and not a complex building.” Mark leisurely with one hand tucked in the front trouser pockets, takes the right hand out knocking on the front surface of the door three times.

The incoming silence was the least sign they were looking for, it’s a dead end to their case of investigation; Mark knocks once again, but stops. He turns to the two girls behind on the right, nearing the stairs. “Looks like no one’s home.”

Karina and Mark were convinced so easily, but Areum was not. She’s not the person to give up all because someone’s not home, sometimes, being suspicious of a situation is better to get answers. Therefore when Areum came forward to the door, Mark slowly moved away, pursing lips together as he frowns when he sees Areum push her ear on the cold door.

He whispers. “Uhm, miss park what are you doing?” Areum’s eyes gaze up, cheekily smirking. “Watch and learn students.” She pulls away when minor footsteps and quiet breathes come through, eyebrows raising in confidence. She knew her suspicion was right. She starts to knock much aggressively than Mark.

Areum firmly speaking. “I know you’re home, Mr Tong, come out please im here to talk with you.” Karina and Mark huddle together behind Areum, them thinking they finally have a lead— or at least, they were clueless to the clue in front of them.

The doorknob starts to unlock, ever so slowly the door quietly creeks opening ajar position, revealing a older man who took the body language of being cautious. But why?

Areum short sighted in the view of the man, gives a smile. “Hello Mr Tong, I’m here to ask questions about the case of Park Kyungsam and Ryan Jinae.”

The man’s half shown face with the door halfway open to peek towards the woman and two younger people trailing behind her, the moment he heard, he immediately wished his ears deceived him. Anger, leaping like fire from his eyes.

“I don’t know them, sorry.” Tong harshly spoke like a knife on edge, about to stab Areum deep. He’d pull his ageing body back, pushing the door close.

Or so he attempted to, till a foot blocks his corner. Areum pushing on the door with all her strength, she lets out a sore grunt. “Please. I know you knew them.” Areum said carefully.

Tong watches the girl, shouting. “No, I didn’t. Leave immediately, before I call the police.” Mark and Karina were the first to tug onto Areum’s white short rolled up sleeves, warning her that he refuses to speak. But the stubborn determined woman painfully looks at Tong, now pleading.

“I’m their daughter.” Areum finally thrusts out the words, that may have touched Mr tong’s heart when his hand reaches for his phone on the front pockets, when he was about to call the police he stops midway. The body stopping on their own with his mind going blank.

His eyes shift back to look at Areum, with widen pupils oozing out to watch the facial features. He drops his phone back into the pockets, where he now fully opens the doors without sharing words to Areum.

“Come in quickly and quietly.” Tong demands, cautiously looking outside as if people were ease-dropping or as if he wasn’t safe at all. Areum steps inside the small cramped apartment, Karina and Mark holding hands as they were scared entering such a dark place.

Windows were covering by wood, blanking every light from coming in. The place would be a mess, mess with so many pictures, newspapers and files laying around.

Areum looks about, scanning and observing the entire place. Mr Tong rushes over, staring across at Areum. Mark and Karina stick together in the corner, checking out the areas for evidence and such. As they let their boss, Areum do the talking.

The man breathes out, with guilt painting on his face like a blank canvas. “You really are their daughter. What are you doing here?”

She looks up once her fingers click the edge, switching on the voice recorder in her back pocket of the trousers.

Areum softly points across the facts. “ I heard you were the lead investigator on their case. I have a few questions.” Mr Tong sits down across the blue covered couch. “Listen I closed it. It was an accident case.”

“You don’t believe that do you?” Areum threw in, fast like a knife pointing at Mr Tong’s neck ready to slice any minute. The fast question throwing him off guard, as his silence was a loud answer for her already. The body language was close, she observed every factor.

Tong’s eyes avoid looking at Areum, as he speaks again. “What’s your questions?”

“What made you close the case? You barely carried out a proper investigation.”

Another silence, Areum sighs.

Mark whistles in the background, picking up a very old dusty file with some ketchup sauce on it spread. He squeaks in disgust, wiping away the ketchup into tissue paper. “Ugh, ketchup.” Karina would hear, looking over. “Found anything yet?”

“Actually,” Mark spoke raising voice, looking around as he’d look at the open file case. Polly pockets of evidence attached in the file as well as a thick layer of evidence with two pictures attached.

“Found something!” He yells, catching Tong’s attention from the couch, regret in his eyes forming. He looks up, watching Areum’s expression falter and fallen in the deep end of ocean, stranded.

Pictures of Areum’s parents in police uniform. She looks over silently murmuring, “why…why are they in police uniforms?” She looks at Karina and Mark, despite them not able to answer, she knows someone who can. Areum turning to look straight at the man on the couch.

“They were my co-workers. Kyungsam and Jinae tried their best to hide their job from you and your brother.” He whispers. “I-, it’s hard to explain. You were in the car and it broke down. You lost some of your memories about them.” He sighs frustrated. “The doctors said it was nothing major. Your brother came out fine too.”

“So I forgot that my parents were police officers, that’s freaking fantastic. Not only that, you knew them.” She scowls, sarcasm itching in the tone like a stuck out sore thumb, in disbelief of this factor that she’s forgotten. But now it makes sense, and the brain began to burn causing immense headache on the back of her head. Areum simply ignores the pain, watching him.

“So you knew them. Is that why you closed the case as an accident?” Areum cuts in, approaching the man with deep glaring eyes. He looks down, avoiding the eye contact. She knows he’s lying, it was as obvious it could be.

“No, I can’t say.” Mr Tong pleads. “Please, Park Areum, don’t search anymore. It was an accidental car crash.”

She shakes her head, the dizziness overwhelmed her body and mind. Mark pushed through, folding the file as he holds Areum close.

“Liar, you’re a coward. You knew them didn’t you?” Areum pushes through harshly, Mark falling off no longer holding her. He starts, “Yes, I knew them. I was their friend. You must now understand why I’m saying to let them go in peace and not to dig any further.”

Areum shakes her head. “No, because I know you’re not speaking truth. If you were their friend really, you’d tell me the truth.” She hisses, looking at Mark’s hands where she grabs a hold of the files. Eyes squinting to the pictures of them in the fancy police uniform with badges and round hats. He emphatically stared at Areum, yes, he felt so bad.

The guilt of holding in what he knows but he knew that if Areum was to get involved anymore, it won’t end well.

Karina follows Areum who walks to the door, opening it and then left. Mark left the man with a bow, following the two girls behind. However when trailing behind, the older man comes out of the door, stopping Areum by a wrist hold.

She turns around, met with the man’s gaze. “Areum, I can only tell you that much. I’m sorry, the rest I cannot say.”

“What is it?” She purses through. He leans closer whispering lowly. “Your parents were investigating something big, someone going by the fake name as Joker.”

“Now please, leave. I cant say anything else. I suggest not to dig anymore but, it’s your choice at the end of the day.” He let’s go, walking backwards into the apartment where he starts to lock the door. Mark and Karina share a glance, staring at Areum who’s face went dark and gloom.

Watching in horror as eyes zone out in the open, quiet sounds and breaths coming out the sealed lips, too effected by the terror, a long breathe taken in and out as the feeling of imprisonment grew and grew in the body.

A clue and a lead they have, but at what cost? Areum wasn’t sure what to feel anymore. The fact that her memory that she so thought was crystal clear and so clear, might not even be the truth in the end but a lie her brain made up after the traumatic car accident. Not to mention that the car crash might not even be the actual reason why her parents are dead now, because they’re the dammed police.

And Areum is very much disliked by the police, so this case won’t be hard to handle from the beginning but it became ten times folded harder when it’s her actual parents who were police officers.

Now she’s taking over their case, all from the start.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The trio came back to work, slowly leaving the elevator lift to their floor in the large journalist building; full of thousands and thousands of journalists and reporters doing their job.

Some were corrupted perhaps, some were as a white knight thriving in the name of the law and justice, and some were just like Areum, lost, confused, dazed out and officially wanting to stab million pencils in your stomach.

Maybe it was just Areum.

The woman sighs walking with the file hanging low in the hands, opening the glass filter door, with blinds covering and then shutting it tight.

Areum swings back into the spinning chair, sitting still. She slams the thick pages case file on the desk, with other files and paperwork piling to them side, on a turned on black computer with a password insert lock screen.

Her eyes roll back in her head staring up to the ceiling, she closed them soon after. “I officially want to think this is a nightmare.”

Oh how badly she wishes this was a dream and not reality.

The quietness becomes loud, where it goes interrupted by a rushing man with the door open wide .

Areum jumps up in surprise, turning to the front where she fallen nearly, the woman grunts. “Oh my god this better be a good reason for barging in my damn office.” She threatened up, cleaning the messy pile work that has fallen from her silly movements.

Mark drops off a yellow package on the desk, cooing. “I think your husband sent you something, lucky you.” He teases, hoping it would cheer up the half stressed and confused boss going under critical identity crisis.

Areum raises an eyebrow, blurts out. “Uh, he didn’t tell me anything about sending a package.”

He shrugs. “Surprise romantic gift? I dunno, open it. The person who delivered it specifically said for you to open it alone.” Mark winks flirtatiously suggesting that it might be a complete person for Areum to see alone. She gives him a warning glare before she points her finger to the door.

She’d sigh dramatically.

“Out.” Areum firmly told. Mark did not waste a minute as he leaves, whistling with hands in the air. “Enjoy your spicy gift boss!” He’d yell, closing the door shut, the blinds attached on the door hitting the glass quick.

Jeno wasn’t the type of person to sent a package to her workplace, especially announced. She knew that much. Areum knows her husband inside and out, as well as mentally and physically, Jeno is a very private person. He trusts no one, he wouldn’t let a person deliver it to her.

If Jeno was to bring a gift for Areum, he would come down to the office and give it to Areum himself. She has her suspicions already, cautiously opening it with the tight sealing cutting by the sharp scissors from the desk.

The woman spreads the box open, only to shout standing up and backing away in panic, body shielding itself from the horrific sight in the box. The whole movement where Areum shifts away, the item fell from the box rolling down the coffee table, sliding on the floor with dribbling liquid, creating a wet sound.

Blood didn't gush in a constant flow, it was inconsistent. The waterfall from the mutilated head drops like a storm in Areum’s office. Her shaky voice trembles, as much as her aching heart beating fast and faster the more she stared at it in shock.

Head missing from the entire full body, with a stuck expression of yelling and painful eyes rolling down staring in different directions, scratches and bruises on the head as well as broken nose and fallen lifeless lips.

A scream wasn’t possible to come out, all Areum could do was think and freeze.

“Mr Tong, oh my god…”

It was more shocking when Areum knew the person’s Identity, and it scared her because now this was linking to the overthinking mountain of thoughts speeding in like fireworks.

Someone, is out to get Areum. Someone, who wants to clear up their tracks when Mr Tong spilled information to her. The same Someone who is threatening Areum by sending a message with Mr Tong’s head disguised in a yellow package box. This same person, must be her parent’s killer too.

Areum could only think, I’ll find you, whoever you are, and i’ll make your life a living hell.

His Karma Masterlink to chapters.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

REBLOG, LIKE THIS FANFIC IT HELPS A LOT AND FOLLOW ME FOR MORE IF YOU WANT DAILY UPDATES. Please make sure to check out season 1 and season 2 as well!

@onyourhyuck Please refer from translating, copyrighting and plagiarising my work thank you!

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folk-ever-lore · 2 years

Text

isekai

Bridgette groaned as she hit the ground. This akuma was taking everything out of her and Chat Noir. It’s powers were like something out of a comic book, perhaps something that one of the Gotham Rogues would have out of the DC comic books.

Bridgette - Ladybug - looked at her partner. “We can’t do this without a bit of luck, can we?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “We definitely can’t do this without a lucky charm. I’m betting on a knife this time, M’Lady, you’ve had a spoon and a fork after all.”

“Haha,” she laughed sarcastically. “Very funny. LUCKY CHARM!”

A swirling portal of red and black opened up above them, forming from the miraculous ladybugs.

“Huh? That’s weird. I don’t think anything like that has happened before." Chat Noir said right before two figures, two people , fell to the ground in front of them.

***

Jason and Marinette were on patrol for the night - or rather Red Hood and Ladybird, two of Gotham's many vigilantes were. It wasn’t odd for them to be patrolling together, in fact they almost always patrolled together. The only times they didn’t was when one of them was either injured or needed elsewhere for the night. When they’d first started dating patrolling together it had been a bit weird, but now Gotham was used to seeing their resident ex-crime lord and one of Gotham’s rare Batman accepted metas patrolling together.

They’d just finished stopping a robbery when a red and black swirling circle opened up beneath them. A portal maybe?

They fell through it, falling onto a sidewalk a moment later.

This clearly wasn’t Gotham. The sun was out for starters. Marinette looked around as she stood up to see if there was anything recognisable in the nearby area. Was that the Eiffel Tower? And who were those strange people dressed up like animals?

“What the fuck was that?” Jason asked rather pointedly.

Marinette stared at CatBoy and SpotsGirl, “And who the fuck are they? Paris doesn’t have superheroes.”

CatBoy huffed, “Well obviously Paris does have superheroes. We’re right here. Ladybug and Chat Noir at your service.”

Jason ignored the young ‘supers’, “Are we sure this is actually Paris? It’s too bright, even for the City of Light, and it feels more cartoonish than usual.”

“I noticed that too. The whole place feels off.” Marinette confirmed for her boyfriend partner. “Want me to take a quick fly around to get a better idea of this not-Paris place?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Marinette shot up into the air to survey the area, leaving Jason alone to entertain the kids.

CatBoy - Chat Noir - spoke up, “Who are you? Who’s that?”

“Red Hood. She’s Ladybird.” He said gruffly.

SpotsGirl, he refused to call her Ladybug, snorted, “What? Like the characters from the comics?”

What comics, he mentally asked himself. “No. Like the ex-crime lord and Superman’s daughter.”

“Yeah, as I said,” SpotsGirl laughed, “like the DC comics. Jason Todd and Marinette Kent right?”

“How do yo-”

“Don’t worry,” said SpotsGirl with a reassuring tone to her voice. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of by naming your hero personas after some fictional superheroes. After all, RedBird is like my OTP.”

Marinette floated down from above after finishing her assessment of the city. “Kid, neither me or Hood over there are fictional. We’re real life vigilantes from Gotham.” She spoke gently, taking time to take care of the young girl’s thoughts and feelings.

SpotsGirl shook her head furiously, “Gotham isn’t real. It’s a fictional city in the DCEU. I can prove it, let me google it.”

When the young girl showed the results to the couple they couldn’t believe their eyes. “What the actual fuck?” Jason muttered. “Is this some sort of alternative universe?”

Marinette shrugged, “That would explain a lot of what I saw. This version of Paris still gives off major cartoon vibes.”

Jason groaned, “Just our luck. We go to a universe where our home doesn’t exist.”

“We don’t exist here,” Marinette blanked as the realisation came to her. “We’re fictional here. Ain’t that right kiddo?”

When they got no response they turned to look for the young superheroes. “Where are they?” Jason muttered, “The little shits tell us we aren’t real here only to disappear?”

Marinette shrugged in return, “Well apparently they are the local superheroes around here, maybe they had a villain to fight.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” he replied.

“Want me to fly us to them?”

“If you’re up for it.”

“Seriously Hood?” She lamented, “We got sent to a different universe, I’m not injured.”

“OK then.”

And that was that. It didn’t take them long to find the kids.

As Marinette touched down on the floor Jason couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Turns out they did have to go off to fight a villain.”

“Yeah,” she said, “but WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?” Marinette gestured to the villain of the day. “And why do they look like a mix between Ivy and the Joker?”

SpotsGirl, who must have noticed the yelling, had made her way over to the Gotham duo. “That’s cause the villain is based on Ivy, Hawky really isn’t the most creative. He’s used one of the same akumas over one hundred times now.”

Jason shrugged, “To be fair to this Hawky, most of the villains in Gotham don’t change their shit up much either.”

“That still doesn’t explain why it kinda looks like the Joker,” Marinette stated.

“Oh, right,” SpotsGirl nodded. “Hawky is either colorblind or makes every akuma ugly in the hopes that it’ll damage our eyes enough that he can steal our miraculous.”

“Honestly, valid. One time when Ladybird was insulting Riddler he just admitted that the green was an attempt to blind us.”

Marinette frowned. It couldn’t be. Could it? “Hey Hood, aren’t the miraculous the names of the weird Green Lantern rings like jewellery in the show Dick watches with Mar’i?”

Jason blinked at her for a few seconds, “Huh. I think you’re right.”

“So we’re fictional here? But in our world SpotsGirl and CatBoy are the fictional ones? You gotta be shitting me.”

“Could you stop calling us that?” SpotsGirl Ladybug asked politely as she fought off one of Joker!Ivy’s plants.

Marinette winced, “Yeah, sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Ladybug waved them off. “But some help with the akuma would be nice, if possible.”

“Sure.”

***

“So let me get this straight-” Marinette started before she was cut off.

Jason snorted, “You can’t do anything straight.”

“Well neither can you,” she stuck her tongue out at him. “You’d just broken up with Roy when we met.”

“Yeah, well you had a crush on Cass when we met.”

“Yet I still ended up with you,” she retorted. “Anyway, let me run this bi you, this dude has the butterfly miraculous and he uses it to turn ordinary civilians who are feeling negative emotions into mind controlled supervillains?”

Chat Noir nodded, “Yep, unfortunately. It’s very annoying. The whole city has been held as emotional hostages for years.”

“Years?” Ladybug nodded at Red Hood’s words. “Damn. That’s gonna seriously damage people’s development.”

“It already has,” Ladybug informed the vigilantes, “that’s why we were hoping you could help us for however long you’re trapped here. As we saw earlier you clearly won’t go back with a miraculous cure like all other lucky charms do.”

Marinette and Jason shared a quick glance before agreeing. “Maybe the magic will send us home after he’s been defeated.”

“Hopefully,” Jason agreed with his girlfriend. “But what can you tell us about akumas?”

“We haven’t watched many episodes of your show. Mar’i prefers watching them with Dick.” Marinette states casually.

Ladybug nods, “There’s been many types of akumas in the past. It'd be impossible to name them all, but the Ladyblog should have videos from nearly all of them on.”

It may take all night, maybe more, but Ladybug and Chat Noir start their run down on akumas.

“What do you mean a mime sliced the Eiffel Tower in half?” Marinette demanded, “That's fucking crazy."

“Some pigeon guy was akumatized how many times?” Jason asked.

Chat Noir shrugged, “Honestly, I’m not too sure. I gave up counting after one hundred.”

“You gotta be shitting me.”

“Nope.”

“Santa? Was a villain? Now that just sounds like some sort of crazy cartoon bullshit to me.”

“Well according to you this is a cartoon,” Ladybug huffed.

“I refuse to acknowledge that someone here also weaponized nightmares,” Jason muttered under his breath.

“Also?” Chat Noir inquired.

Marinette nodded sadly, “Scarecrow is a bitch.”

“He definitely was in the comics,” agreed Ladybug, in a cheeky attempt to get back at them for the cartoon comment from earlier.

***

Marinette and Jason had been in Paris for a couple months. Unless there was a major akuma attack they mainly worked behind the scenes in order to figure out how Hawkmoth was. It was helpful to have Marinette fly after the de-evilized butterflies. What that meant was that they were pretty close to having definitely proof on Hawkmoth’s identity.

Which was why it was rather concerning when Bridgette got sick. How were they meant to defeat the supervillain, who they were pretty damn sure was Gabriel Agreste, without their Ladybug?

Adrien was at school when the akuma alert went off which meant he had to find some sort of excuse to get away. But Marinette and Jason had been taking care of a sick Bridgette who was in no state to fight.

“Take them,” Bridgette pulled the earrings from her ears and handed them to Marinette. “You look enough like me to pass as me. Hawky won’t know a thing.”

Marinette gasped, “But they’re yours. I can’t just use them.”

“Yes you can,” the sick girl insisted. “There has to be a Ladybug in order to reverse the damage, and I can’t fight like this. Please Marinette. You have to.”

Marinette groaned, “Just until you’re better. Okay?”

“Okay.”

When she transformed, Marinette’s first course of action was to head towards the akuma attack, because she totally hadn’t missed being in a fight since she’d come to this weird, cartoonish world.

As she ran along rooftops she used her yoyo to message Chat Noir. She figured just sending hi it's ladybird today would be enough. He’d get the message and no one would be able to figure out what it meant.

When Ladybird dropped down, in a suit identical to Ladybug’s, she couldn’t help but grimace at the akuma. “What the FUCK is that color scheme?” She yelled at Reflekta.

The pink clad supervillain stared at the fill in superhero. “Who are you and what have you done with Ladybug?”

Ladybird smirked, “I’m Hawkmoth’s downfall. Who are you?”

Reflekta looked down at Ladybird, “I’m-”

“Well I’m cunning, ultra charming Chat Noir.”

Ladybird snorted, “Sure, kitty, keep telling yourself that.”

“Hey,” he squealed. “I’m charming.”

“Sure.” She nodded over towards Reflekta, “Come on. We have an akuma to defeat.”

***

By the time Bridgette was better they’d got definite proof of Hawkmoth’s identify.

“Sorry Adrien,” Marinette cringed as they met on the Eiffel Tower. “It’s definitely him.”

The boy sighed, “We already knew it was. Now we can stop him.”

“Together?” Bridgette asked tentatively.

“Together,” they all echoed.

***

CRASH!

Ladybird crashed through Hawkmoth’s window, Red Hood in her arms with his guns out. While Ladybug and Chat Noir were fighting against Mr. Pigeon again they were weakening the actual enemy.

“Hi Hawky,” she grinned. “Or should I call you Gabe if that’s easier for you?”

“Who are you?” The supervillain demanded, withdrawing the sword from his cane as he spoke.

“I’m the person who replaced Ladybug the day your akuma asked about Ladybug being replaced, and this is Red Ho-” Marinette glanced down at his sword, “What the fuck, that’s hilarious. That’s like one of those pathetic fencing swords.”

Hawkmoth frowned, “It’s a noble sport.”

Jason laughed as he took a few warming shots, each getting closer to the villain’s head. “Sure it is.” None of the shots before had been intended to hit - when Jason aimed towards the villain’s left leg, he gracefully moved out the way just in time and brought his surprisingly sharp baby sword down on Jason’s arm with a carve to his arch. Blood dripped from Jason’s arm to the floor.

It was all Marinette and her super hearing could hear. Drip, drip, drip. Drip, drip. Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip. Drip. Drip, drip, drip. Although she theoretically knew that Jason had endured much worse, hell he’d even died, that didn't stop her from worrying about him.

Ladybird's eyes glowed red as she glared at him. She desperately wanted to ‘accidentally’ burn some of his face as she delayed for time to give the final duo of their group of four a chance to arrive. “Give me one good reason as to why I shouldn’t burn your face off right now,” she demanded.

“Because if you kill me all the bombs I have set up in here will go off killing you too,” he informed them with a look of great pride in his face.

Jason snorted, “Been there, done that. Minus ten out of ten, would not recommend dying.”

Marinette ignored her boyfriend’s terrible sense of humour and smirked, “We got Adrien to disable those ages ago. He was more than happy to comply.”

“He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t betray me like that.”

“Actually,” Chat Noir started as he and Ladybug descended from the elevator, “I would definitely betray you.”

“You? What?” Hawkmoth asked, clearly rather confused and frozen in shock. “Adrien?”

“That’s me,” the cat dressed superhero replied as he landed right in front of his father. “I’ll be taking those, thank you very much,” he said as he snatched the remaining miraculous from the man in front.

“For something I’ve been waiting for the past couple of years, that was rather anticlimactic,” Ladybug stated with a hint of laughter, enriching her voice.

“Speak for yourself,” Jason huffed with a slight grin on his face. “But a little healing cure would be rather nice around now. Don’t you think?”

“Course,” Bridgette replied unsteadily as she threw her lucky charm into the air. “Miraculous Ladybug!”

***

Five months. It had been five months since Hawkmoth had been defeated and sent to jail. It had been five months since villains had stopped terrorising Paris on a near daily basis. It had been five months since Bridgette Dupain-Cheng and Adrien Lahiffe (formerly Agreste) had said goodbye as their friends flowed red and were transported back to their own dimension.

Although Adrien hadn’t formerly been allowed to read comics, he and his girlfriend Bridgette had been binge reading all the DC comics together. The Red Hood or Ladybird issues were their favourites. But it wasn’t until the latest Ladybird comic came out that they had spotted a small Easter Egg in the background. At the end of the issue Red Hood and Ladybird had clearly retired to their apartment after stopping one of the Joker’s more nefarious plots and they were watching TV.

Or more specifically, they were watching a TV show about Bridgette and Adrien (more Ladybug and Chat Noir but who cares). As they saw themselves in the image, the couple couldn’t help but smile. Their friends remembered them.

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