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sunlightmurdock · 4 months

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The Parent Trap | 0.4 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

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♡ In which, after a couple of years of listening to Peyton and Parker Bradshaw complain about their parents’ custody agreement, Grandpa Mav’s meddling goes a little bit too far.

♡ warnings: mentions of divorce throughout the fic, flashbacks to arguments and unhappily married people. Idiots who still love each other and don’t know it, drinking / being drunk, flashbacks and references to sex, minors dni, wc: 4.8k

…

“I’m not being mean, I just think he smells weird,” Parker decides with a shrug, moving the little silver dog six spaces and narrowly missing her sister’s monopoly of hotels on the right side of the board. She lifts her gaze and looks at you, just daring you to challenge her logic. “It’s not mean if I’m just saying what I think.”

Peyton’s lips twitch as she shakes the dice in her hand, but she doesn’t add any commentary this time. You narrow your eyes across at your outspoken daughter, finding so much of your ex-husband in the amusedly defiant way she stares back at you.

“What does he smell like, then, Parks?” You challenge.

“Wood.” She answers with a shrug as her sister rolls a solid twelve and picks up the thimble to skip along the board in front of her. Peyton pokes her tongue out in concentration, like it’ll do anything to prevent her solid twelve from landing her right on the Go To Jail space. She growls in frustration and falls back dramatically onto the carpeted floor. She has spent most of this round in jail. You’re beginning to feel sorry for her, but it’s hard when she has some of the best properties and a business strategy that should probably concern you as a parent.

“Well, he is a carpenter.” You remind her, picking the dice up and shaking them in your hand. With that, the man in question rounds the corner with two glasses and two juice boxes balancing in his hands and a smile plastered across his face. This is now the fourth time that Chris has met your children, the first being a month ago.

He seems to be growing on them if Parker is actively trying not to be mean this time. You still haven’t gotten your girls to ‘fess up as to which one of them buried his phone in the backyard like a wild dog. Like you wouldn’t notice when your hydrangeas started ringing.

“Here we go, an apple, an orange, and two coffees.” Chris hands out the drinks and struggles bending his remarkably inflexible legs into a crisis-crossed shape. They made him be the phone piece — you’re certain that it’s to taunt him about the burying incident — but he’s being a champ about it.

Peyton looks down at her drink and hums, “I don’t want apple anymore. I’ll take an orange juice, big guy.”

In the years since you last hung out with Maverick, it’s so easy to miss the little Mitchell-isms working their way into your kids’ vocabulary. Your head whips around, far more concerned with what she said rather than where she got it from. Chris turns his head towards her, opens his mouth and quickly shuts it again, readying himself to get back up. Your eyes widen as you turn to find your eight year old smiling back at you.

“Then go and get an orange juice, P. Don’t be rude.” You correct her with a stern frown. Suddenly, the apple juice isn’t as much of an issue. She stabs the straw through the hole with her eyes narrowed in Chris’ direction, but this is still a big improvement from last time.

This was never going to be easy, but in the weeks since you introduced your girls to your boyfriend, you have to admit that you thought it would be easier than this. You’ve never heard either one of the girls talk about their dad as much as they do when Chris is in the room.

“Dad knows that she prefers orange.”

“Well, she asked Chris for an apple juice and that’s what she got.” It’s hard not to grow tired when you know it must be wearing him down too. You take the dice and drop them suddenly into Chris’ toughened palm. He softens in comparison, simply smiling back at you.

“So, did you guys get up to anything fun when you were at your dad’s last weekend?” He tries. If they want to talk about their dad, he doesn’t mind — he gets it. It makes you feel even worse.

“Yeah.” Payton deadpans, staring across at him like dirt on her shoe. “What did you two do while we were gone?”

Your head turns towards her again. Chris answers coolly.

“Your Mom sold that new dress she was working on. Cool, right? — We went out to dinner to celebrate that. Other than that, it’s pretty quiet around here without you guys.”

He’s looking at the board, busy moving his piece. He doesn’t know your children the way that you do. He misses entirely the split-second in which they glance across at each other. They find you narrowing your eyes at them.

At once, they’re saved by your ringtone. Another glance is shared between the two of them as you push up from the floor and head for the hallway to answer your call. In your absence, Chris’ piece lands on Peyton’s Park Row property, with the hotel sitting on top.

His brown eyes flicker up to find the eight-year old staring at him expectantly.

“You know the rules. Cough up.” She demands, in a tone she knows she isn’t allowed to be talking in. By the look on their little faces, Chris almost instinctively reaches for his real wallet rather than the colourful little notes sitting beside him.

When you walk back into the room, the first thing that you notice is the silence. Looking between the twins and your boyfriend, your frown deepens. “What’s going on?”

“Chris lost. He’s out of money.” Peyton explains calmly, flicking through her stack of ones like she’s Vito Corleone all of a sudden. Chris turns to look at you and simply wiggles his eyebrows, giving a shrug of defeat as he moves to stand.

As much as you find reflections of your ex-husband in them every day, it tugs at your heartstrings to see pieces of yourself in them too.

“You okay?” He asks, cupping the back of your neck, craning his neck to look at your face. Your palm catches his arm, sitting against his bicep as he pulls you closer.

Parker kicks her sister and they both turn their heads to watch.

You lower your voice to a whisper, fighting to keep the disappointment off of your face. “Yeah… The sitter just canceled.”

“Oh.” He sighs. You’ve been talking about this night for weeks, it’s not often that you get to go out with your friends now that you’ve all got grown-up commitments. “D’you think Bradley could watch them?”

“He’s out of town for a work thing.” You explain dejectedly, leaning in to Chris’ touch as he swipes your hair delicately back from your face.

Watching him hold you close, Parker starts to consider burying his phone once again. Or dropping it in the toilet. Or maybe pouring honey into his work boots that she saw by the front door.

Or maybe, if she was staying true to the source material, she could get him on a camping trip and push his mattress out into the middle of the lake. But he’s bigger than Meredith Blake was, and she’s smaller than Hallie Parker was.

The honey will do.

“I’ll watch ‘em.”

Bradley was out of town on a work thing. He was gone from Tuesday ‘til Friday, he told you that. He got in a little after nine and thought about having a beer, but didn’t. Instead, he just sat on his couch and tried to find a show that would keep him up long enough that he wouldn’t wake up at five in the morning.

He woke up at 1am, his neck stiff and the show two episodes ahead of where he thought it should be. Groaning, he had pushed himself off of the couch and decided to head to bed when he had gotten the text.

The conversation he had with Parker last weekend crossed his mind instantly. They had spent hours talking about fate; what is was, if they believed in it. If Bradley hadn’t startled himself awake by snoring, he would have missed the text completely.

He slipped his phone out of the pocket of his jeans with one hand, rubbing at his tired shoulder muscle with the other, squinting down at the bright screen.

Please pick me up from the Hard Deck when you see this.

He hasn’t ever made you ask twice.

Chris offering to watch the girls had come completely out of left field. It had almost caused a full-blown argument, but that man just seems impossible to get angry with. Stroking your hair and calming each one of your nerves step by step, he swore to you that he just wanted you to have a good time, that he could handle two little girls.

Bribing them was clearly the only way this was going to work, and it seemed like Chris had that in the bag. Emergency numbers set up and ready, allergy information written on the fridge and a borderline military debrief with your twins had left you practically trembling with anxiety, but had gotten you out of the house nonetheless.

You hadn’t planned on getting this drunk. The plan was to go, have a couple of drinks with your friends, and Uber home after a couple of hours. It never works out that way.

In fact, you can barely keep your head up straight when you hear one of your friends call out over the music. “Is that Rooster?”

Blinking doesn’t help you see straight. The loud music, and the bodies in the way, and the irregular lighting doesn’t help either. You squint and finally find him. Wearing jeans and a tight fitting black t-shirt, heading straight for you.

When you squint harder, you expect to realize that it’s not him.

“Rooster!” The second that he reaches you, your arms are around his neck and your chest is pressing into his. You haven’t hugged your ex-husband like this in a long time. “What are you doing here?”

He wrinkles his nose, untangling your arms from around him so that he can get a good look at your face. It’s been a long time since he saw you this dressed up. Hair, make-up, heels. The dress looks familiar but he can’t quite place it.

“You texted me.” He watches your eyelids falling shut, blinking heavily and irregularly as he explains to you. He steadies you by your arms. “You wanna go home?”

There’s a disgruntled groaning sound before you try to look around at your friends. At this point, Rooster makes an effort to be polite and greet them all. After all, they were his friends too, once. They’re all as shitfaced as you.

“Come on, mama. I’ll take you home,” He decides for you, hugging you against him like your own feet aren’t secure enough for his tastes anymore. You fall all too willingly against his chest, your cheek pressing into the fabric of his shirt while he tries to keep the attention of your friends. “Does anyone else need a ride?”

Maybe they do, maybe they don’t — maybe their own husbands will get up and come get them. Rooster won’t leave them without knowing they’ve got a way home, so you know that once you feel the outside chill on your skin he must have made arrangements for them.

He sighs quietly and jerks you as he tries to get a better grasp. Outside, you can finally hear him properly.

“Honey, you need to walk. Use your feet.” He tells you, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary. Your head is lulled against the swell of his shoulder, you haven’t moved your feet since he grabbed you, and yet you’re moving towards the car perfectly fine.

Everything is happening in chapters. You’re skipping ahead and losing parts, not paying attention to much. Things aren’t spinning yet, but they sure are blurry. You manage to talk back anyway.

“I don’t.” You answer, head turned towards the sky. It occurs to you, briefly, that you’re going to be horrifically embarrassed about this tomorrow. Your feet try, then trip, and his hold on you tightens.

“What did you drink? — You alright?” His arm around your waist pulls you closer, your head lulling off of his shoulder and awkwardly onto his moving chest. You hum contentedly.

“I had a good time.” You whisper.

He sighs something about you throwing up in his car and you’re faintly aware of the sound of a car door unlocking.

“C’mere, honey. Just sit right there. I’ve got some water. You wanna sit and get some fresh air with me?” Maybe there are pauses in between — maybe he says it all slower than that, but you can��t really focus. Or open your eyes.

You know that he has guided you to sit against the tailgate of the Bronco because of the way your feet dangle. As a mother, you hate this car. As a girl who fell in love with Bradley Bradshaw — fuck, you love this car.

“Wanna drink somethin’ for me?” Rooster offers the bottle to your mouth and winces as you draw your head sharply away from it. He grabs your shoulders and stops you from teetering over.

You’re not sure how, but you settle into his side and find that his arm remains there. Draped around your shoulders as you rest your head against him.

It takes a while, but Rooster gets you to drink. It’s anyone’s guess as to how long you sit on that tailgate sipping from that water bottle, but his arm around your shoulder feels nice anyway — even if he’s just rubbing your back because he thinks you’re going to puke.

When things start to come around a little more, you’re laying across the two backseats and hugging the water bottle like a teddy bear. Your head is spinning.

“You alright back there?” Rooster calls to you, making you frown slightly and lift your head. Passing by traffic lights and street signs, the world turned on its axis as you try to push yourself up and ultimately give in to staying laid down.

He’s really here. Some way or another, you really forced this man to carry you out of the bar and spend his Friday night babying you. You want to know if you called, or texted, or if he was just in the bar and saw you — you thought he was away for work — but that’s all too embarrassing still.

Your mind is too cloudy for that level of conversation, your words still don’t sound quite right.

“You even didn’t question it.” Your body sways as he pulls to a stop at a red light, your focal point on the soft top of the Bronco swaying with you and kickstarting that dizziness all over again. With a swallow, you close your eyes. The swaying continues like the leather seats below you are actually built into a speedboat as opposed to a seventies classic car.

“Did you put that seatbelt on yet?” His dad-voice comes from the front. Eyes still shut, this makes you smile. You don’t even remember him telling you to. He peers at you through the rear view mirror. “Question what?”

All you offer him is a small shrug, not interested in a seatbelt in the slightest in your current state. This next sentence requires a deep inhale first, but is interrupted by a hiccup. “I text you out of the blue and you just… show up. Didn’t even check to see if it was for you.”

Bradley bites at the inside of his cheek, brows drawing together as the light turns green and another check towards the mirror confirms that you still aren’t wearing a seatbelt. He huffs and the car pulls sharply to the side, making you groan in complaint.

The radio plays on as Bradley stops at the side of the road and unclips his own seatbelt, then gets out of the car. Your poor brain hasn’t even had time to catch up before he’s pulling the door open and half-climbing in. You blink as he appears over you.

With the door still open, he’s just illuminated by the street light. His eyes have always looked so soft in the dark. The slight pout of his lips, the sharpness of his jaw, the bump in his nose. He’d started out with the most innocent of intentions, but as he leans over you across the backseat, it becomes clear that you’re both struck by the same abrupt chord of familiarity.

This is far from the first time that the two of you have been in this position. In fact, this is exactly how things started out the first night you hooked up.

He swallows above you. There’s a wonderstruck look on your face that makes his ears burn red. Your eyes search over his face and with each inch they cover, he watches them flood with remembrance. Warm pink spreads across his cheek, extending down his chest. It makes your lips twitch to think you can still get him to blush.

“Come on, sit up.” Bradley whispers, gently taking each of your hands in his and pulling you upright. “Let’s put your seatbelt on.”

Silently, you don’t fight him on the matter and Bradley knows that’s a win in itself. It’s not the first time he’s had to wrangle you into this car after a few drinks either. Your eyes are just on him, and he swears that’s where the heat on his face is coming from. His fingers fumble to get the buckle into the clasp.

The second that he hears that click, he’s withdrawing from the backseat and climbing back into the driver’s side. You stare at the rear view mirror as he pulls away from the curb. In truth, you had forgotten how gentle he could be with you.

“Thank you.”

He glances up at the mirror, then back at the road.

“Thanks for picking me up. Sorry that I’m…” The pause facilitates a deep inhale that stops you from hiccuping mid-sentence. He watches you sheepishly ready yourself to continue. “Such a mess.”

This, makes him smile. It spreads across his face just as easily as the pink hue had, taking over his features.

“Honey, we both know I’ve seen worse.” Oh god, he remembers. He said it so casually too, like he’s reminiscing on a fond memory. The memory isn’t quite as fond for you, but then again, you don’t remember too much of it. He used to always tease you about it.

The night you met him was your twenty-first birthday, and you were flirting all night, but then you had gotten way too drunk and he had to carry you home — with you fighting him the whole way. He called you alley-cat for two months afterwards. Your feral behaviour had clearly caught his eye, though, because he started hanging around the Hard Deck a lot more afterwards.

Things hadn’t ever seemed that serious in the Hard Deck. Everything was easier back then. The career you have now is exactly what you wanted, but you can’t pretend that some days you wouldn’t rather have a handsome aviator leaning over a bar and telling you jokes to make your shift pass faster.

He takes one more look up at the mirror and smiles again, this time because he finds you already not trying to smile back at him.

“God, I had such a crush on you that summer.” The second that you’ve said it, you have to stop yourself from slapping a hand over your mouth. Closing your eyes will do. You can feel him staring either way.

It shouldn’t be weird to acknowledge. You were married for over five years. In love for a good while before that. Of course you had a crush on him originally. But it’s at the forefront of both of your minds that it still feels like yesterday that you were sprawled along this backseat, stomach bursting with butterflies as he unbuttoned your shorts for the first time.

The salt on his skin, the smell of his cologne mixed with sunscreen and sweat. The way his curls dry after he’s been in the ocean. The way the sunset hits the browns of his eyes. The freckles on his shoulders, dipping into the valleys between his muscles.

The brush of the same moustache you had been making fun of for months against the most sensitive parts of your skin and with it — the realisation that you actually loved that moustache.

Shivering through the late summer evening heat, whispering his name to the stars as his smart mouth worked between your legs. He drove around with the top down a lot back then.

He remembers everything about getting to know you. Getting taunted relentlessly by Hangman because of the way he blushed when you used to tell him his drink was on the house. Almost falling off of his stool craning his neck to get a better look at you behind the bar. Making sure you were invited to every beach outing. The first time he kissed you, and the way you were looking up at him before.

“Sorry, that was—“

“It’s alright.” He interrupts. When he closes his eyes at the next stop sign, all he can think of is the sight of your wet footsteps leading up the steps on his back porch. You had come from the beach. He had known he was going to find you in his shower inside. It was the first time he had ever come home to you. You were barely dating back then.

He looks at the mirror, wondering if you remember that time in the shower.

You’re not thinking about the shower. Fingers spread out, trailing the seams in the leather, you’re thinking about the last time you had sex in this car. So different from the first time. Bradley had known your body so much better, the two of you were so much more comfortable together.

The girls were with your parents for an entire weekend while the two of you were out of town for the wedding. Before the reception, Bradley had tugged you outside and bunched your pretty dress up around your middle. Closing your eyes and letting your fingers inch across the seats, you can still remember his breath fanning across his chest, the low grunts as he drove himself into you. His arms wrapped around your body, your forehead resting against his bicep and your legs around his waist.

“Rooster.” You rarely call him that anymore. It’s the first name you knew him by, since all of his work buddies called him that. Bradley was something that came letter, something that felt more for just the two of you. The last thing you would say most nights. Goodnight, Bradley. It’s been a long time since you said that, but you know it would feel just the same coming off of your tongue.

He hums from the front seat, but doesn’t look.

“Could I sit up front with you?”

“Yeah, sure— let me—“ Too late. He hears your seatbelt unbuckle and knows what’s coming next. Sure enough, as he’s going at a steady forty along Palm Avenue, you swing one foot unsteadily over the console and wobble in the direction of the passenger side. “Baby—“

It’s out of instinct, purely because you’re stressing him out. You plop down into the passenger seat and turn your head to look at him. Wordlessly, both of you decide to pretend you didn’t hear that.

For his peace of mind, you tug the seatbelt across your body and clip it in.

“We’re in so much trouble if the girls take after you.” He teases, the smile in his voice cutting through the tension. You giggle beside him.

“Me? — Do you not remember what happens when you get too familiar with a bottle of tequila?” You answer back, eyes closed and a silly smile on your face. You remember. You remember having to carry him, practically dead weight, into your bed from the living room and spend the night rubbing his back while he threw up the next morning.

“Yeah, we’re in big trouble.” Rooster scoffs, pushing his fingers through his hair. You stare across at the tattoo on the inside of his bicep as he rests his elbow against the door.

You’re still drunk enough to blame the alcohol when you reach across and take his free hand as he steadies the wheel with the other. His gaze flickers down as you loop your fingers through his. “We weren’t that bad.”

This time he laughs.

“We weren’t? — So you don’t remember—“ He’s still grinning when he stops himself, already turning into your street. You two don’t talk about that stuff anymore. You’ve moved on. Those funny little stories are private now, entirely his. Your boyfriend sure as hell wouldn’t want to hear them.

He looks over at you as he slows down to pull up to the curb.

You’re already looking across, staring at him with a look he hasn’t seen in a long time. The smile that you flash him makes him think of that first year. Then, you close your eyes and exhale, “I remember everything.”

Even with the radio playing, there’s a silence that sits between the two of you as the car pulls to a stop. It’s at that point that everything in your orbit starts to spin, forcing you forwards and making you whimper. Bradley’s already out of the car and jogging around to your side as you catch your head in your hands and try to breathe.

“C’mere, honey. I’ve got you.” He reaches around you to unbuckle you from the car, pulling you out by your underarms and holding you against him as he shuts the door. It’s still not the most graceful procedure, but he’s gotten better at it. You’re not exactly making it easy for him as you wobble back and hit your head on the window.

“Oh shit, are you okay?” He breathes out.

“I wanna go to bed.” You complain, wobbling forwards and this time crashing into his chest. He secures one hand on the back of your head to keep you there, pretending like he isn’t checking whether or not you have a bump. Even now, he can’t seem to turn the dad-reflexes off. You sigh into his shoulder. “Take me to bed.”

His free hand finds your waist and he glances down, finally clocking where he remembers this dress from. You wore it the second night of your honeymoon. He remembers this dress very well — he used to carry a picture of you wearing it in his wallet. He’s ninety-percent sure that the twins were conceived because of this dress.

“Yeah, you’re going to bed, baby. Nearly there.” In truth, by the time he has carried you to the door, Rooster has almost forgotten that you have a boyfriend. He’s expecting the same sweet old lady that you’ve been hiring for years to answer the door. That’s why he makes no effort to peel you off of him.

Rooster stares at Chris, while Chris looks between the two of you. You’re barely awake and clinging to your ex-husband’s shirt, he’s holding you at the waist, keeping you standing. Chris looks barely awake, still fully dressed. Clearly a man who has been waiting to hear from you for hours.

“Is she alright? — What happened?” His reaction is positive. Rooster appreciates that much about him. Still, he can’t stop thinking about what Maverick said. If Chris becomes permanent, Bradley’s entire family becomes his.

“She just had too much to drink, she called me for a ride home. I gave her some water and stuff, but—“ Rooster starts to explain, propping you up and holding you halfway. It’s unclear if he’s supposed to just pass you over. He doesn’t know if this guy even knows where you keep the products you remove your make-up with.

“She called you?” Chris challenges. There it is. There’s the anger that Rooster was waiting for.

“I wouldn’t take it personally. She’s shitfaced. She just needs to get some sleep and—“

“Yeah,” Chris steps one foot outside and reaches for your waist. You fall compliantly towards him, the toe of your shoe dragging along the ground as he tucks your arm over his shoulder and props you up. “I’ve got her. Get home safe.”

Rooster’s face doesn’t give away anything. He’s not immature anymore. He wants you to find someone who can give you, and by default his kids, everything that you could ever need. That’s why he keeps his mouth shut. He can think whatever he wants.

“Sure, yeah. Can I just ask… uh… where’s the sitter?” He was so close to walking away and just getting back in his car, but it’s after two now. If that old lady is still here, she would have made it known. As sweet as she was, she loves to complain.

“I watched the kids.”

Bradley raises his eyebrows at your stone-faced boyfriend. Once again, his face gives away nothing. “You did?”

…

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mummydommythe3rd · 17 days

Text

BLACKMAILED PART 3/3

*From the perspective of your step-mom*

I didn't understand at first. After just over ten full years of being the happiest, most contented little babygirl, she suddenly wanted to grow up with a feverish desperation.

As her mommy I'd always do what she needed to be happy. Luckily we were taking it slow. My daughter made a very good case for raising you up through all the growth stages, along with all the proper props. You'd requested that we stop the hormones and begin potty training. You'd even asked me to start using male pronouns, which I did...but in my head she/her were still the default pronouns. With time though I'd get used to he/him.

I looked down at you as you hid your face in your hands, straining to make even the smallest dribble. Your sopping pullups sat around your ankles, evidence of the uncontrollable bladder that always produced enough urine to overfill your pullups and soak your sheets. As the price for sitting on the potty you were wearing your 'potty princess' tiara.

"Nothing, honey?" I asked innocently.

"I'm trying!" You whined in the high pitched voice we'd gotten for your birthday a few years ago.

I sighed tired of watching my 'potty princess'.

"Well you just keep trying. I'm going to go to the kitchen and get dinner ready." I said.

Once I got to the kitchen I called my daughter. She always seemed to know how to treat you.

"Hi Mom! What's up? How's my baby sis- I mean bro?"

"Funny you should mention it. She's-I mean he's perched on his potty, wet pullups on the ground, sheets in the wash, and not a single drop in the potty. Just the latest in many many accidents."

"well you knew it would take time."

"But it's been three months! With zero improvement! Day and night accidents!"

"Pooping too?"

"Not always. Sometimes he's constipated, then I have to use laxatives that he definitely can't hold!"

There was silence on the other line, and I knew she was thinking.

"I just had a thought." She said.

"Yes?" I prompted.

"You remember how strong his humiliation kink was? How excited he was in his cage, despite begging to be a babygirl?"

"Of course!"

"What if he's just not being humiliated enough to be happy, what if he's just grown accustomed to his life?"

"You mean he'd rather try to go back to his old life than just live as an unaroused baby?"

"Not quite! I think he's pushing you and hoping for a response. It's no longer any fun to WANT to be babied. Maybe he wants to be FORCED to be a baby!"

I was silent for a moment. Could that be true?

"I think you're right, but how would I know? It's not like I can tell if he likes it by his clitty-i mean penis!" I exclaimed.

"Still the size of a thimble and permanently flaccid?"

"Yup. Scrotum the size of a small walnut too. Stopping hormones isn't having much of an effect there."

More silence. I could hear the gears turning in her mind.

"Well, if you truly wanted to be a man, and were one, would you let a spanking stop you? No matter how severe?"

"No?"

"Of course not! I bet if you paddle her till she's crying, then keep asking if she's a boy, or wants to do potty training, and give her more spanks for the wrong answers, you'll soon get the truth from her!"

"You think so?

"I know it! Just don't show any mercy! Once you have the confession, that's all the evidence you need to keep her as a babygirl forever!"

"Okay, I'll give it a shot."

She giggled. "This is a new chapter in your relationship. She'll probably start acting up on purpose and rebelling just fir the thrill of getting put into place via paddling."

"Well, if that's the new game she wants to play, I'll be more than happy to oblige." I said.

***Meanwhile in the Nursery***

I sat on the hateful little potty in a low squat. Soon I'd be out of these pullups...as soon as I could figure out my body again. An entire decade of the babygirl life had atrophied all my muscles, but none more than those that controlled my continence.

I closed my eyes. I had a vague memory of standing at a urinal and flexing a muscle inside me that forced the last few drops out in a few strong pulses...but my body seemed to have forgotten how to activate it. I tried every way to activate it, but felt nothing at all.

I looked at the cold smelly pull-up. At least I wasn't in diapers...but this wasn't much better.

I worried that if I didn't start showing improvement I'd be back into diapers. Mommy had been looking so frustrated lately. Mommy... Jesus, what had I been turned into? Beating the habit of calling her Mommy was going to be tough.

I felt my little hole start to open. No! I needed to be able to choose when i made poopies myself!

I tried to clamp down and hold it in, just for a second, but it had been too long! Most of the time i tried to flex any muscles back there it only made the poopies come out faster and harder, like all the nerves were switched up and tangled. After years of only straining and pushing, it seemed like tgat was all I could manage anymore.

I whimpered as i failed to hold it back. It fell into the bowl with a little splash, like it had fallen into a shallow puddle!

I lifted up my dress and peeked between my legs, past the useless little lump that I hoped would someday be a penis again. I'd peed?! When?! I hadn’t even been trying! I hadn't felt anything! Somehow, even though I'd used the potty for the first time in forever, the victory was hollow. It was just a coincidence.

I looked around for the toilet paper. Mommy must have accidentally taken it with her.

I wiped away the tears forming in my eyes. I was NOT going to be seen crying on this stupid little potty. I'd regain control. Someday. Somehow.

"MOMMY! CAN YOU BRING ME TOILET PAPER!" I called, wincing as I realized afterward that I'd just called her Mommy.

She appeared in the doorway. Something about her smile seemed wrong... In one hand she held some wipes, in the other hand...

"M-Mommy, um, w-why do you have the paddle?"

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home-of-renn · 1 year

Text

Getting to know the Addams family is complete whiplash for Danny.

Growing up with ghosts being treated like parasites and vermin to being welcomed into a family where spirits are actually treated with respect and empathy is mindboggling. The Addamses even have a deep understanding of ghostly customs and compulsions, yet still treat them as individuals and not mindless, Obsession driven entities.

Speaking of Obsessions........ It's honestly surprising that Danny's Obsession hadn't gone berserk from the sheer amount of weaponry mounted on the walls. He's core remained comfortable even when he'd found out about Wednesday's collection of pet spiders, the family lion that guards the vault, even Pugsley's pair of red-bellied piranhas, and the drawers filled with poisons situated right next to the spice cabinet in the kitchen.

He once walked in on Wednesday trying to embalm her brother and his Obsession hadn't made so much as a peep.

(He later realises that it's because none of them actually intended to seriously harm one another. It's nothing but fun and games and they all have each other's best interests at heart).

But one afternoon, Danny is sitting at the kitchen table working his way through a mountain of overdue homework while Morticia sits at the other end stitching what looks like a onesie with too many arms.

He's got his nose inches away from the pages in front of him when Morticia lets out a soft hum. It's enough to break his concentration and he lifts his head. Bright red drips from her finger, running down the length of her bony knuckles. The world comes to a screeching halt and for the first time since stepping foot into the Addams' residence, Danny's Obsession flares to life.

His chest is suddenly too tight and he leaps from his chair. Grabbing the nearest rag, he flings himself across the table and presses it against Morticia's bleeding fingers with shaking hands. His laboured breathing echos around the room and it all comes crashing down.

His eyes zero in on his left hand and the imprints it leaves on Morticia's pale wrist. He comes back to himself all at once. Awareness and rational thought finally pierce through the forefront of his mind and has him jerking back. His chair is toppled on the ground with paper and pens scattered about. The table's been pushed askew and he's still holding Morticia's wrist.

Morticia is silent. Her eyebrows are raised but she's calm and composed. His eyes finally catch sight of her sewing, no longer laid gently in her lap but tossed to the ground and crumpled.

Danny flees before she can even rise from her chair.

He skips dinner and hides in his room. Embarrassment burns under his skin. He hadn't lost control like that since he first turned ghost - not since he'd made the harrowing discovery that he had an Obsession. Danny lies awake that night, invisible in his bed, ignoring the quiet knocking on his bedroom door.

He waits until everyone's finished their breakfast the next morning before finally making his way into the kitchen. He freezes at the sight of Morticia sitting in the empty room, in the same seat as before. The table has been pushed straight and his homework has been piled neatly on the kitchen counter. He almost runs for it, but Morticia offers him a smile and pulls out the chair next to her. On the table in front of the offered seat is a plate piled high with eggs, bacon and sausages. He slowly makes his way to the table and takes his seat. He eats with his head down and Morticia doesn't offer any conversation. The room is silent except for Danny's chewing and the soft rustle of fabric as Morticia continues her sewing. Danny's grateful for the quiet.

He's focused on shovelling down fork fulls of greasy potatoes when he catches a glint of something metallic in his periphery.

Morticia sits, poised and graceful, sewing something Danny thinks might be a hat. On her thumb, she wears a thimble.

He stills with his fork halfway to his mouth and carelessly looks up and meets her eyes. She smiles, the same way she always does, with blood-red lips and not a hint of teeth or a crinkle of her eye, but somehow it's gentle and reassuring. His neck flushes and he continues his breakfast in silence while Morticia continues her sewing. The air is comfortable and Danny feels his Obsession settle.

#dp #home of renn #danny phantom crossover #danny fenton #danny phantom #danny phantom x the addams family #DP x Addams #DP x The Addams #the addams family #dp x the addams family #dp x addams family #dp x the addams #drabble #morticia addams #ghostly obsession #addams family #dp crossover #dribble drabble #dp ficlet

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airi-p4 · 4 months

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Marinette fluttered through the thick falling snow in a near panic. It helped hide her, but also made finding her target that much harder. The streets of Paris were all but empty tonight. The storm had been going for hours and everyone smart was hunkered down to wait it out. A particularly large flake bopped her in the face, sending her spiraling almost into a drift. Being a fairy had its ups and downs sometimes. Marinette shook herself and fluttered up again. The beat of her wings was loud in her ears, her breath made little puffs from the exertion. Her cheeks were frozen but she wouldn't stop her search until... "Luka!" She spotted him trudging, hands in pockets, through knee deep snow. His collar was up and his head down. He was very much not wearing the scarf she had made for him. Seeing it hanging on the back of of chair had been what made her venture out. She sped directly into his chest, hugging as much of his snow-soaked jacket as her arms could reach. "M-m-m-mari-nette?"

He raised a hand to touch her, and it felt colder than the falling snow! She darted up in front of his face. "Luka, you're going to freeze!"

"N-n-nah, I'm f-fine. Just had to c-c-close the shop."

She fretted, "Where is your bicycle?"

He shifted his footing in the softpack. "C-c-couldn't ride, in s-snow." She was vibrating with concern. She caught hold of his upturned collar and started to pull. "Come on, I'll help!" Luka took two more lunging steps through the snow before stopping again. He brought his hands up and blew into them. His voice had dropped to barely a whisper. "J-just let me... warm... up"

He started shaking again, even as he blew. It was worse than before. Marinette let go of his collar, struggled with herself over a thought, then dove into his collar, wriggling her way in against his chest under his jacket. Instantly the fact that she was this close to Luka hit her. She felt her temperature spike, but she fought it. She recited patterns, needle sizes, yarn types, color shades, anything she could think of that would fill up her head. It worked, her heat leveled off. She felt a tough through the fabric of her little Luka-cave. "Marinette?"

Her wings fluttered fitfully against him, trapped as they were. "Am I helping, Luka?"

The touch moved along her back through the jacket, feather light. "You are." Even his voice sounded warm.

Luka resumed his trek, one crunching step at a time. Marinette held on, daring to burrow in a little, and kept thoughts of knitting flowing through her mind. Soon it became hard to think though. As Luka walked he began to hum. The vibrations in his chest lulled her, but she held on. She wanted him to be warm. She wanted him to be safe. She wanted... Marinette woke up with a start. She blinked into a candlelit gloom. She was under a blanket, no, stuck carefully in a mitten. She was back on the Liberty. Luka! Her wings buzzed as she fluttered them free, she had to- "I'm here Mari," Luka's soft voice reached her.

Marinette turned her head and there he was, sitting at the desk she was laid on, his chin on his arms. He had a blanket over his shoulders and a steaming mug on the table beside him. As she settled back into her mitten-bed he smiled at her.

"Glad you're up. I was worried you'd used up too much heat helping me. Here."He scooted a tiny thimble across the desk, then used a dropper to transfer a tiny potion of his cocoa to it for her.

Marinette reached for it, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. Sharing a drink with Luka! She lifted the oversized mug and took a sip, letting the revitalizing sweetness fill her up. She hadn't even realized how much her heat had dimmed. when she'd finished she realized Luka was still watching her, chin on arms again. She half-hid behind the thimble in embarrassment. A merry spark lit his eyes in response. "Thank you, Marinette."

A thank you, sharing a drink, snuggling under his jacket, being tucked into bed; all of it made her want to burst into flames again, but she knew, even with that risk that one thing was true. She looked up into those ocean blue eyes, "I'd do it again for you, anytime."

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH

I'M GOING TO CRYYYYY 😭😭😭

THIS IS SO PRECIOUS OMGGGG

Spoilers/impressions under the cut (bc it's LONG):

The way she's searching for him desperately in the middle of the snow and the storm (she's so worried... cutie... ;v;)

The snowflake falling on her tiny face (HOW ADORABLE!!)

The relief when she founds him AAAAAH

"WHY IS HE NOT WEARING THE SCARF I MADE FOR HIM!?" *angry puffy cheeks*

Luka freezing in the snow and unable to ride his bicycle because of the snow (poor him 🥺)

MARINETTE'S TINY HUG TO GIVE HIM WARMTH!!! 🥺😭💙

Marinette trying to control her magic but giving it all for Luka's sake and Luka taking care of her when they're back at the Liberty... I ADORE how they take care of each other- THEY'RE SO PRECIOUS 🥺

The MITTEN-BED!! SOFT!! SWEET!!! ;v;

THE WARM COCOA and the thimble-cup!!! 🥺 *Off-topic but tbh, I've been struggling a lot thinking about recipients Marinette could drink from before and since I couldn't decide on one I avoided drawing it ^^; This thimble-cup is a lovely idea I'll have to consider now (even if Luka giving her drinks with a tea spoon is still my favorite option atm)*

SHE LOVES HIM SO MUCH- THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH- MY HEARTTTTT- 😭💙

I feel so warm now. My heart is warm... (;v;)

AKSDJNAJSNDASD -I LOVE IT SO MUCH!!!

Thank you so much for writing this!! I ABSOLUTELY ADORE it!! 💙

#I LOVE THIS SO MUCH- I have no words to express how much I ADORE this ;v;#💙💙💙#FAV #THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!!!#generalluxun #fairy misunderstood AU #fairy misunderstood #lukanette fic #endgame lukanette #lukanette #pro lukamari

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sailorstarr-chan4 · 10 months

Text

Muchness and Impossible Things

Posted on: AO3 Word Count: 2,031 Fandom: Alice in Wonderland (Tim Burton) Pairing: Alice x Hatter

Dedicated to my best friend @risingfire17-in-wonderland-blog who can't see it on Tumblr (but I also sent it to her personally, so it's fine lol). This is the start of a LONG project ahead of me that I am doing called "12 ship fics for 12 years of friendship." Basically it's both a tribute/gift for my bestie, as well as an attempt to break my writer's block lol ^^"

Enjoy! ❤

~~~

Ever since her father died, Alice made it a personal habit to think up Six Impossible Things before breakfast. The Impossible Things varied from obvious facts to bizarre imaginings. She wrote them down in her diary, hundreds of them, the more nonsensical the better.

Sometimes her Impossible Things were only Impossible by the standards of her society. Things she found to be utter nonsense that were “Impossible.”

“I will have a seat in Parliament.”

“I will get a job that isn’t a secretary, teacher, nanny, or heiress.”

“I don’t have to get married and won’t be judged for it.”

But mostly, her Impossible Things were of the Absurd kind. The Otherworldly, Against All the Laws of the Natural World.

“I can bounce fifty feet in the air and become airborne for miles.”

“I can eat a cake and shrink down to the size of a thimble.”

“I can talk to flowers and caterpillars and rabbits wearing waistcoats.”

Alice’s Impossible Things often coincided with her childish nightmares. She wrote them down at first under her father’s gentle behest, but then it became her routine. Her Six Impossible Things were abnormal to the world and wonderfully wholly “normal” to her. It was the “real” world that was strange. Not her. Nor her Impossible Things.

The first day she went without writing down her Six Impossible Things was the day she went to Hamish’s Garden Party with her mother.

The day she returned, unwittingly, to Underland.

Before she killed the Jabberwocky, she spoke aloud her Impossible Things for the first time because the world she was in was finally Impossible. Instead of confining them to the page, to her mind, to keep her safe from the strange, normal real world, she spoke the words into existence.

And then, the Jabberwocky’s head rolled onto the giant chess board from her hand and sword.

She, Alice Kingsleigh, did Six Impossible Things in Underland because in Underland, Impossible Things happened every day.

And returning to the “real” world to sort things out would be brief. Just enough time to tie up some loose threads, say her goodbyes (her mother and sister never knew where she’d be going, only that it was “very far” and “impossible to reach by boat or train.”) Her resolve was firm and though they protested and begged her to stay, she disappeared in the morning.

The only thing she brought with her was her diary of Impossible Things.

Over the years since her father’s death, Alice allowed herself to repeat Impossible Things if her mind was feeling clouded or if she needed silent encouragement from her father’s spirit. But they always had to be Impossible.

Just like her Impossible Thing she wrote in her new diary after living one year in Underland:

“I will kiss the Mad Hatter.”

She stopped writing, the color-changing ink dripping onto the page, a red as blood splat next to her blue words.

None of her Impossible Things had ever, well, startled her before.

Never frightened her.

They emboldened her. They defined her. They were the reason she had killed the Jabberwocky and ended the Red Queen’s tyranny. They were the reason why she had been able to turn down Hamish’s proposal and set boundaries against her family and society and return to the only world that accepted her and her Impossible Things.

So, why, then?

Why did she think of that Impossible Thing?

Alice was very fond of Hatter. She understood his moods and haunts better than anyone, despite not knowing him for as long as Chessur or Mally had. And ... she couldn’t deny that she felt things that she never felt before when spending time with him. Sometimes, mid-conversation, his eyes would gaze at her with such a burning intensity it made her legs turn to jelly. Usually, the spell would be broken by him suddenly getting distracted by one of his hat projects or the prospect of teatime.

Of all the things Alice Kingsleigh imagined, falling in love never crossed her mind as an Impossible Thing.

Which was very curious, when she considered it now. After all, Alice never swooned over boys or the possibility of courtship and marriage the way other ladies did. She never even found the “handsomest” of men particularly pleasing to the eye. She often found their clothes to be more interesting than their faces, or rather, their hats. Men’s clothes were as boring as women’s clothes were bothersome, but at least she could imagine whatever Impossible Things they could be wearing instead. Like a smiling cat perched on their top hats.

Hatter was not “handsome.” If Alice even knew what that meant. He certainly would not fit what her society would consider “handsome.” Perhaps that was why she found him to be the only interesting man she had ever known.

She remembered, with an unpleasant shudder, Stayne, the exiled Knave of Hearts. He was, she supposed, “handsome,” in a rugged sort of way, but not at all pleasing to Alice’s eye. His gaze had also been intense, but so unlike Hatter’s. Stayne’s one good eye was leering, frightening, hungry, and foul. Alice thought she would vanish under his stare and become a shell of herself. Their encounter had been short, but it still haunted Alice’s mind whenever she was left alone with her thoughts.

Whereas Hatter’s eyes filled her with warmth and curiosity. They were the eyes of zeal and joy, unrestrained emotion that would most definitely not have been allowed in a man’s eyes in Victorian England.

Alice raised her writing hand and wrote six words to complete her Six Impossible Things for the day:

“I am in love with Hatter.”

Yes. Yes, that must be it. Only.... it didn’t quite match what she always thought love was supposed to be.

Margaret once tried to explain to Alice what “love” felt like.

“Goodness, Alice, you’re sixteen years old already and never even felt a hint of girlhood love?! Well, dear me, how do I explain it.... It feels... like a fire in the hearth. Warm, enveloping, swells and burns if it’s fed, but flickers and dies if left alone.”

Alice always found it curious to compare an emotion like love to an element that hurts when touched. Fire was useful, in a pragmatic sense: it cooked food, it kept homes warm, it ran machines, and cast light unto the darkness of night. But it also was easy to lose control. It harmed and even killed, sometimes. It was frightening, the idea of burning up with Love.

Alice thought about Hatter. He was mad, absolutely around the bend, bonkers. He firmly believed that Time stopped at teatime. He often babbled nonsensical words that even made Thackery’s eyes twitch in confusion. But he was also surprisingly grounded. His artistry as a hatter was unmatched, the way he could churn out hundreds of beautifully decorated hats in what felt like mere seconds. His gentleness towards his friends was on par with his ferocity towards his enemies.

Perhaps.... love could also be of the earth.

Steady, quiet, slow, constant. So subtle you don’t even register it’s there until you scoop up a handful and feel the soil between your---

“Is everything alright, Alice?”

Alice shrieked uncharacteristically, jumping and upsetting her ink bottle. The feather pen she had been mindlessly caressing fell onto the floor and crunched under her heel. Cursing quietly, she snatched a nearby tea towel and mopped up the mess on her desk, determinedly casting her eyes down and firmly away from the man who was standing inside her living room.

“Hatter! You—you gave me such a fright! Please, do knock next time you pay me a visit! My heart won’t stop pounding!” Drat! Why did she have to add that sentence? Alice winced at herself, gripping the ink-soaked tea towel in her fist onto her chair’s back. It was the only thing keeping her upright at this point.

“Oh, my stars, my Alice, don’t tell me you hurt yourself?” Hatter’s voice was nervous and fluttering, resembling a butterfly’s wings the way it always did when he was flustered. Alice heard his footsteps cross the room as he closed the distance between them, making her heart thunder in her ears. She stared stubbornly at the carpet, but soon Hatter’s boots came into view. Oh no. He was wearing the forest green pair that he always wore with his purple and orange coattail and trousers and polka-dot tie. It was an incredibly garish outfit, one that would receive nonstop mockery in her world.

And Alice absolutely adored it.

He, of course, was oblivious to her turmoil.

“By the White Queen’s glove, you look as red as that nasty Red Queen! Come, a spot of tea will do you wonders! I have just the thing: a rose white tea with a hint of wishful thinking. It soothes the burning red and leaves you at peace with nothing but lovely tea and wishful thinkings in your cranium. It’s precisely the sort of tea that our dearly departed Bluddy Behg Hid should have kept in her atrocious castle. I never did like staying there, you know. So much red and not near enough blues and greens and saffron. I like red well enough on its own, but too much of it is like too much upelkuchen. Eventually you outgrow liking it.”

Despite herself, Alice couldn’t help but smile slightly. Hatter kept fluttering about as he spoke, straightening up things that didn’t need to be straightened and “crookening” things that were upright.

Alice raised her head and looked straight at the man who captured her heart. His hair was orange, like Hamish, only wilder and far more interesting in its brightness and electric-like state. His clothes were absurd and hideous and beautiful and outlandish and nonsensically colorful. His hat was faded with Time (and was a surprisingly comfortable ride, Alice recalled, during the time she was extremely small), and looked to not quite fit his head, or rather to not tame his brushful of hair.

He wore paint on his face that resembled the clowns in a circus Alice visited once as a child. Only he did not perpetrate a fake smile, but rather extenuated his features for all his emotions. It just so happened that Hatter exuded delight and zeal in nearly all his movements and words. He was so different from the quiet, reserved, strange Alice Kingsleigh.

And she loved him for it.

But Alice wasn’t wholly quiet and reserved, was she? Any more than Hatter was solely happy and carefree. Alice had something deeper inside, something that she had almost lost living in repressive England before Hatter confronted her with a sentence that resonated in her soul.

“You’ve lost your Muchness.”

“Lost my Muchness, have I?” Alice murmured now, just as she had before she crossed the moat of severed heads. Steeling herself, Alice crossed the room to Hatter, who was completely lost in a new tangent on the importance of separating ravens from writing desks as he dusted a bookshelf with a dead bouquet of flowers that Alice forgot to toss out.

“Hatter.”

“..... on contrariwise, as the Twins would say, it is most certainly not a good idea to write on a raven’s back for they have no room to put down your tea cup! And that is most inconvenient---”

“Hatter!”

Alice seized the opportunity faster than she could think. When Hatter turned around, she grabbed his cheeks with both hands and tilted his head down till they locked eyes. He blinked and gazed down at Alice expectantly. He was neither annoyed nor shocked at her sudden actions. He simply waited. Alice took a deep breath.

“You know I always think of Six Impossible Things before breakfast?”

“Aye, that you do, lass.” Hatter’s thick Scottish accent took over. It only appeared when he was deeply serious.

Alice licked her lips nervously. “And that in Underland, Six Impossible Things are nearly always Possible, correct?”

“By the grace of our good White Queen and Oraculum, yes, that be the case, my Alice.”

“Well, then...” Alice stood on tiptoe, her nose touching Hatter’s. “Today, I will kiss the Mad Hatter.”

And so, she did.

#Starling writings #Disney #Alice in Wonderland #Tim Burton #Alice x Hatter #Alice x Tarrant #StarlingChild4 #OP

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soledadcatalina · 2 years

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[id: 3 pen and marker sketches of madeleine from wooden overcoats in three different outfits. madeleine is a bespeckled small mouse. her first outfit is a long raincoat and rain boots combo with a head scarf tied under her chin, she is holding a small thimble with her beverage. the second outfit she wears is a thick turtleneck sweater, long pleated skirt and slippers while holding a book under one arm and a feather as big as her body in her other hand. the last outfit she wears is a night robe, bonnet, and slippers. she is sitting on the ground, rubbing her eyes with a book in her lap, clearly sleepy. /end id]

madeleine looks like she should be on a box of tea to me, and also rudyard should make her some little outfits for his best friend

#wooden overcoats #madeleine funn #accessible fanart #image description #casetrippy does art

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panie-wanie-dean-bean · 17 days

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Contains: mentions of incest kink, mentions of sex, Kaeya spoilers (only the stuff you could find in his profile once you reach high enough friendship to read it all), Kaeya just going through it

Name: Kaeya

Age: 22

Pronouns: He/they

Sexy bits: Dick

Looks: Just under 6 inches, little medical eye patch (Diluc injured it during their fight), wears his hair down, tiny icicles in his hair (He was never trained to restrain his vision so it physically affects him), cold to the touch, wearing something akin to a tiny winter coat that almost reaches his ankles

================================================

Hobbies: Doesn’t know much from outside the lab but he has heard about pirates! He loves to come up with little stories where he’s out on the open sea, seeing the world and helping people with his vision (He got the kid version of pirates that don’t murder and steal. Don’t tell him)

Bitties have to be very careful with alcohol because of how fuckin tiny they are, but if you only give him a tiny bit Kaeya will be so so so grateful! He just loves the taste of it and trying new cocktails is very fun for him. If you ever make yourself a drink do him a favor and pour him out a thimble full, will ya?

Kinks: Incest (please please please be his big sibling and tell him how much you love and care about him, he’ll cry in the best way), body worship, temperature play? (He really likes being warm so kissing, licking, or even blowing hot air onto him is very nice. It’s more of a sensual thing than a purely sexual thing tho, like a massage)

No-nos: No needles, EVER. No reminders of his time in the lab in general but especially in the bedroom. The cold (Because of his vision and small size if he’s not careful he could very easily get hypothermia. This can be completely fixed with more training though)

================================================

Relationships: Jean was a big reason he stayed sane back in the lab. The knights never really existed but Jean did form a little group to look after and Kaeya was in it. He admired her hope and was very appreciative of her healing burst if she had enough energy to use it after her tests

Amber is like a little ball of energy, and while she’s always found him suspicious Kaeya can’t help but admire her fiery passion. It reminds him of someone

Diluc was Kaeya’s adoptive brother just like in canon, though where Kaeya’s from is different. After his adoptive father’s death at the hands of a delusion the scientist gave him for a test he decided to come clean to Diluc. His brother challenged him to a duel and as they fought he gained his vision. He found it fitting, after knowing about the scientists plans to give his father a deadly weapon, now he would have to be their guinea pig

Background: Khaenri'ah doesn’t exist in this au so Kaeya was actually a bit of a spy for the scientists back in the lab. He was raised by one of the head researchers personally so that he could be used to cause “natural” havoc within the other bitties lives if needed for experiments. There’s only so much the researchers can do after all, sometimes they need an idea to come from inside the group for it to succeed

He’s forever grateful that he’ll never have to make his hardest choice. Now that bitties are being sold as pets there’s no need for him to be a spy anymore. Of course, that also means he’ll most likely never get to reconcile with his brother, or see his friends ever again, but hey, that’s just what someone like him deserves

#GIP bitty au #GIP Kaeya #HAHA #I've done it!#All the bitty intros will now have this slightly modified version of my oc intro format #Feel free to ask questions if I missed anything important or explained something bad ^^;

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azikarue · 1 year

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Just A Moment : Index

A collection for MayBlade 2022 (and beyond).

For personal reference and for anybody wanting to jump to a specific story: here's a linked list of each chapter, along with its characters, rating, and beginning lines.

❖

Day 1: Sun

Characters: Max/Mariam Rated: K How it Starts: Max was staring. He knew he was staring, but he couldn’t look away.

“Sharkrash!” Mariam called to her bitbeast, arcing one arm over her head.

Her beyblade moved as directed, effortlessly bobbing and weaving through the course they’d set up. It moved faster than he remembered and with a precision he knew had to come from nonstop practice in the years since he’d seen her last.

❖

Day 2: Bubbles

Characters: Enrique/Queen Rated: M (non-explicit suggestive adult themes) How it Starts: “Well, it can’t be all champagne bubbles and parties.”

That’s what King told her. He sounded bitter. And jealous. Jealous that she’d managed to charm her way into the bed, and soon thereafter the wallet, of someone like Enrique; more money than he knew what to do with and an unmatched lust for pleasurable company.

❖

Day 3: Unpopular Character

Characters: Salima, Gideon Rated: T How it Starts: Salima thought it was weird that he’d asked to meet in a bar. It wasn’t the type of place that she would have pictured Gideon and his pristine, albeit garish, suit. She got more of a hotel tea room vibe. Somewhere with fancy cakes and teacups the size of thimbles.

❖

Day 4: Jewelry

Characters: Max/Mariam, Saint Shields, Mariam's parents Rated: K+ How it Starts: “Do you want me to hold your hand?” Mariam teased, tenderly tucking Max’s hair behind his ear. She took her time, making sure there were no strands left in the way. Her body brushed his shoulder with every breath, she was standing so close.

❖

Day 5: Rival

Characters: Lee, mentions of Ray Rated: K How it Starts: Lee had been comparing himself to Ray for as long as he could remember.

It wasn’t without precedent. Ray was the golden child of the village and his best friend. It was rare to see one without the other and Ray stayed the night at Lee’s house more often than not. The only problem with spending so much time together was that it was bound to invite comparison.

Unfortunately for Lee, no one could compare to Ray.

❖

Day 6: Movie

Characters: Max/Mariam, Tyson/Hilary Rated: K How it Starts: Hilary couldn’t remember what the movie was called, only that it was something Tyson had picked. It was some mashup of action and slapstick comedy. She’d hazard a guess that it lacked plot, but she couldn’t say for sure because she was more interested in watching Max and Mariam than a car chase.

❖

Day 7: Lace

Characters: Rick/Mariah Rated: T How it Starts: Rick was getting used to Mariah taking him by surprise. She wasn’t half as sneaky as she liked to think, but she had a habit of deciding things and crossing boundaries without consulting him.

They’d started sharing a room during her stays when she started sleeping in his. She’d gotten him into a routine of grocery shopping on Sundays and laundry on Wednesdays. Saturday nights were date nights. One time he’d come home to his living room redecorated, because she’d taken it upon herself to do so.

Rick bitched about all of it at first, but she was just as stubborn as he was when she wanted to be, which was always. She could dig her heels in like no other. In the end it was always more appealing to decide he didn’t give a shit than to listen to her harping on.

So when he came home to the unexpected surprise of her wearing his clothes, it was par for the course.

❖

Day 8: Sleep

Characters: Tyson/Hilary Rated: K How it Starts: “When I said you could stay the night, I didn’t realize it would be an hour before I got my turn in the bathroom.”

Hilary was rubbing the fourth goop of the evening onto her face. It had come out of a tiny fridge she’d brought with her and plugged in on his bathroom counter. It was a brilliant idea, as far as Tyson was concerned, until he realized it contained her twelve-step skincare routine and not snacks for when you wake up hungry in the middle of the night.

❖

Day 9: Forest

Characters: Saint Shields Rated: K How it Starts: “I say we blame Dunga for this.”

Ozuma closed his eyes to keep from shooting Mariam the glare he was dying to. He was her leader – he had to keep his temper in check. Never mind that there was a vein throbbing in his forehead that got worse every time one of his so-called teammates opened their mouths. And when Mariam opened her mouth, it was his experience that it was usually to goad Dunga into an argument.

❖

Day 10: Song

Characters: Tyson, Zeo Rated: K How it Starts: Tyson fiddled with his tie as the lights dimmed. He was nervous for a reason he couldn’t put a finger on. He kept his eyes glued to the stage as the curtains opened and wiped his sweaty palms on the soft velvet of the theater seating.

A spotlight turned on and illuminated the sole figure walking across the stage. His hair was shorter than when Tyson had seen him last, but other than that, Zeo looked exactly the same as the boy he’d made fast friends with half a decade ago.

❖

Day 11: Tattoo

Characters: Tala/Julia Rated: K+ How it Starts: “When did you get a tattoo?”

“Hello to you too, Tala,” Julia said pointedly. She looked up from the article she’d been immersed in to eye him over the tops of her sunglasses. She’d never seen somebody look so out of place at a pool, but at least he was wearing shorts and a t-shirt and not his normal layers. “You’re blocking my sun.”

❖

Day 12: Cupcake

Characters: Max's parents, mentions of little Max Rated: K How it Starts: Taro glanced at the clock for the tenth time in as many minutes and sighed. Of all the nights for his wife to be late coming home, she had to choose the one night Max would be waiting up for her. The poor kid had fallen asleep at the table drooling onto his place mat. Taro had only just tucked him into bed.

He was disappointed, but not surprised.

❖

Day 13: Stars

Characters: Max/Mariam Rated: K How it Starts: Mariam couldn’t put her problem into words because it didn’t make sense.

She didn’t know why she was getting snippy with Max all of a sudden when he was the only person she wanted to spend time with, or why his apartment felt cloying when it was one of her favorite places to be. Nothing had changed from her last trip to New York. If anything Max had fewer distractions with his spring semester finished and summer on the horizon. But still, she was frustrated.

❖

Day 14: Eurovision

Characters: Enrique, Oliver Rated: T How it Starts: On his life, Oliver was going to figure out who he could sue for this. Bad enough he’d had to suffer the indignity of falling ill in public and Enrique dragging him back to one of his love nests because neither of them were sure he’d make it any farther without vomiting in the street. Now he was missing out on money; he couldn’t get paid by a designer to show up to Eurovision in their look if he couldn’t show up at all.

Enrique was no help at all.

❖

Day 15: Magical Girl

Characters: Daichi, Ming-Ming Rated: K How it Starts: The longer he talked to her, the less annoying she was. Either Tyson slipped him something before he left or it was part of her whole magical girl shtick. Either way, it wasn’t his fault he could tolerate Ming-Ming and he could tell that to Tyson when he got back. That’s all that mattered.

With that realization, Daichi could eat his burger in peace.

❖

Day 16: Lilacs

Characters: Emily, Mariah Rated: K How it Starts: “Congratulations!”

Emily was assaulted by a bouquet of flowers and Mariah’s exclamation as soon as she answered the door. She took them, because what else was she supposed to do when they were close enough to get pollen on her glasses? She could feel her nose stuffing up already.

❖

Day 17: Rain

Characters: Tyson/Hilary Rated: K How it Starts: It wasn’t Hilary’s place to say anything. That was part of what made it so hard to see Tyson upset. All she wanted to do was tell him he deserved better, but that wouldn’t fix anything. He’d only get defensive and they’d both end up frustrated. So she sat, with pursed lips, watching him stare out into the middle distance.

It was raining, such a contrast to the sunny start they’d had to the day.

❖

Day 18: Chains

Characters: Ozuma + the other Saint Shields Rated: T How it Starts: The springs were tighter when he was locked in this time.

Ozuma took that to mean the Elders were even more disappointed in his leadership than he’d thought, which was saying something considering he was convinced they were going to revoke Flash Leopard and banish him at one point.

He didn’t know if it was his teammates speaking up on his behalf or the fact that the bitbeasts were said to only choose one partner a generation that saved him from that fate. Either way, he was still expected to don his training harness and run his drills as punishment when he hadn’t even been home to unpack yet.

❖

Day 19: Gold

Characters: Ray/Salima Rated: T How it Starts: Salima watched the sun sink to that magical place on the horizon and knew she should be grabbing her camera. The perfect golden hour didn’t come every evening. She wanted to see if Ray’s eyes popped against the sky as much as they did against the dainty yellow flowers dotting the field they were picnicking in.

But more than she wanted that, she wanted to lay ensconced in his arms and let him steal lazy kisses.

❖

Day 20: Wings

Characters: All Starz + Mariah (minor Rick/Mariah) Rated: T How it Starts: “How the hell did it come to this?”

Rick meant the question, muttered low under his breath, to be rhetorical, but Emily turned to him and said, “I wonder that every time I’m stuck babysitting you three.”

He was going to assume she meant him, Michael, and Eddy, not Mariah whose back they were currently conversing over. He scowled at her and she took a sip of her water with lemon in response. Emily was lucky Mariah was sandwiched between them in the booth, or he might have tipped her cup back while she drank.

❖

Day 21: Mafia

Characters: Moses (Crusher), Boris Rated: K+ How it Starts: “What do you need next? A drop of blood?”

Moses’s voice sounded hollow and tired, even to his own ears – it made his attempt at a joke fall flat. Or maybe that was because, after a ten-page BEGA contract and multiple intense training sessions to measure his potential, he wouldn’t put it past Boris to make more demands.

❖

Day 22: Coffee

Characters: Bladebreakers Rated: K How it Starts: “This is probably what having five kids at the airport is like,” Hilary thought to herself as she glanced around the table she’d chosen for them in the cafe. They were all a sight for sore eyes, even if none of them had remembered napkins. She’d had to go back up for them and a stirrer for Kenny’s coffee and extra mayo for Max’s sandwich. It was honestly a wonder how any of them had survived so long without her.

❖

Day 23: Bitbeast

Characters: Dizzi, Kenny, Emily Rated: K How it Starts: “You know, if you’ve finally got yourself a girlfriend, all you have to do is tell me, Kenny.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dizzi,” Kenny scoffed. His fingers never faltered on the keyboard and she could tell he was rolling his eyes, even through the fringe. She wouldn’t bring it up or he’d threaten to tape over the webcam again. “Just because I asked you not to snoop through my emails doesn’t mean I have something to hide.”

❖

Day 24: Sword

Characters: Steve, Eddy Rated: T How it Starts: When Steve felt his knee pop, his second instinct after crying out in pain was to get angry. He was always getting angry. As soon as he felt something he couldn’t process any other way, he’d get pissed off – zero to a hundred in less than a minute.

That’s how he got kicked off his high school football team the first time. “Unsportsmanlike conduct” was just another way to say he’d clocked the opposing team’s quarterback in the face for talking shit. Now he was gonna spend his second chance on the bench with an obliterated knee, watching that dude and others like him snag all the scholarships.

❖

Day 25: Colorful

Characters: Tala/Julia Rated: K+ How it Starts: Sometimes Julia sat back and marveled at her life, amazed by the capacity it had to take her by complete and total surprise. Today was one of those days. She was in a field somewhere in Denmark with the circus setting up in the background, clothes that needed dying in front of her, and a stoic Russian watching her intently. The first two weren’t a shock, but the third…

❖

Day 26: Monochrome

Characters: Max/Mariam Rated: K How it Starts: The world was gray when Mariam wasn’t around.

Max came to that metaphorical realization when she left after her first proper visit, one that wasn’t part of any World Championship or Saint Shields Mission. He missed her instantly and achingly, more than he could even tell her without seeming like a weirdo. Things were too new.

❖

Day 27: Fruits

Characters: Rick/Mariah, White Tigers Rated: M (for language) How it Starts: “What the hell is a loquat?”

Kevin snickered. He had some balls for someone less than a third of Rick’s size. Even factoring in the recent growth spurt that enabled him to look Mariah in the eyes without breaking his neck, the kid was too wiry to be laughing at Rick, of all people.

❖

Day 28: Ocean

Characters: Mariam, Joseph Rated: K+ How it Starts: “You can’t avoid it forever, you know?”

Joseph would have thought Mariam hadn’t heard if he hadn’t trained himself to read her so flawlessly over the years. It was clear by the way her eyes narrowed and how her lips curled into a frown – she’d heard and was ignoring him on purpose.

❖

Day 29: Fireworks

Characters: All Starz Rated: T (underage drinking, minor language) How it Starts: “Did you guys have fun clapping for Max and Rick, because I sure did,” Eddy said, voice dripping with sarcasm. He took a swig from the bottle in his hand. It was nearly empty, despite containing the wateriest, cheapest beer Michael could get a hold of. He sighed and finished it anyway.

❖

Day 30: Moon

Characters: Ray/Salima Rated: K How it Starts: The last time Ray waited for her at the bridge, she never came.

He did his best not to dwell on that now, waiting for her again in the same spot. It was a different day with different circumstances and they were both different people in a lot of ways. It was different, even if a lot of the same feelings came rushing back to him the longer he stared down the river.

❖

Day 31: Free Day (Smooch)

Characters: Max/Mariam Rated: T How it Starts: Mariam originally kissed him to shut him up. It was a hard kiss – a searing kiss – that capitalized on his surprise enough to make him stop apologizing for the things his mother had said about her. She didn’t want to talk about how he wished things were different. She wanted to map his mouth with her tongue until they both forgot.

❖

THE END

#I'm not sure if this is the kind of thing anyone would find useful #but it's something I personally would #so here it is #azrfic #mayblade 2022 #azikarue #azikarue394 #beyblade

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bisexualbumblebee-writes · 1 year

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Ahoy Movie Watchers- Robin Buckley x OC

Robin Buckley x Wendy Thimble

Description: Wendy and Robin had a routine at Scoops Ahoy. Wendy would come in during her break, which was right after their lunch rush so it was almost always empty. Robin was always somehow the only one behind the counter while Steve either went to the back or went on break. Wendy would give Robin her opinion on the last flavor she tried then ask for a recommendation on a new flavor. While Robin got it ready they would talk about whatever came to mind, then when she was done Wendy would promise to give feedback then head out. It was a nice thing they had going, and when the Starcourt Mall burns down Robin worries that she wouldn’t see Wendy anymore. She gets quite the surprise when she applies at Family Video.

Word Count: 2k

A/N: I am very excited right now because this fic marks the fact that I only have one hundred fics left to post!!

Ever since JC Penney opened up across from Scoops Ahoy, Robin had been seriously lacking. She had a hard time paying attention nowadays and there were even several times where she’d accidentally serve customers the wrong order. Yeah, those times were not the most fun for her or Steve, who also had to listen to the complaining.

Now, what was so distracting to Robin that it affected her work? Well the answer was very simple: Wendy Thimble. Despite the fact that they hadn’t actually talked for a handful of times, Robin found herself developing a crush on the girl. She was in Robin’s grade and they often shared classes during school. But, it was summer now, and summer meant getting a summer job for most teens. That apparently included Wendy as Robin was quick to spot her helping set up the display case showing off their summer line.

That had been the first time she had seen Wendy outside of school, and it was the first time she ever truly got distracted while at work. And it just kept happening every time she noticed her. But it wasn’t like she could be blamed because, according to Robin, Wendy looked even prettier than ever.

“I just didn’t even know it was possible for someone to look better outside of school than inside,” she ranted about the same subject for what felt like the hundredth time as she wiped down the register. The shop was currently empty as the lunch rush had just finished, which gave her and Steve time to clean up.

“Like honestly, what’s up with that? She’s literally wearing the same clothes that she dies a school but for some reason she just looks better here,” she continued.

“Why are you making it sound like a bad thing?” Steve questioned as he restocked their waffle cones. “Shouldn’t you be happy to see a pretty girl every day?”

“Of course I’m happy about it,” she shot back. “I’m just…I don’t know. She’s super pretty and I can’t help but stare at her when I see her because of that. C’mon Steve, weren't you ever like that with Ella?”

“Hmmm, let me think. No, because I’m not that much of a creep.” A small smirk graced Robin’s face as she glanced at him.

“So what you’re saying is that you acknowledge that you’re at least partly a creep.” She’d only just finished her thought when the door suddenly opened, the bell above the door jingling to notify them. Both of them looked forward as Wendy stepped into the parlor. Immediately Robin straightened up and smacked Steve’s shoulder as if to alert him that the girl they were talking about was here despite the fact that he’d already seen the girl walk in. He shot her a confused look as he set out the rest of the cones then leaned closer to her.

“Good luck sailor,” he teased before walking to the back, narrowly missing another smack from his friend. Once he was gone Robin whipped around with a polite smile.

“Ahoy ma’am,” she greeted as Wendy reached the counter.

“Robin?” Wendy responded with a wide smile. “Oh my God, I didn’t know you worked here. Let alone with Harrington.” For a moment the girl forgot to respond, which made Wendy’s brows furrow.

“You okay there?” That was all it took for Robin to snap out of her stupor.

“Oh, uh- yeah, I’m fine,” she laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, yep. I’m all good, no problem here. All good.” Wendy waited patiently for her to finish with a small smile.

“Good to know.” A deep blush dusted Robin’s cheeks, but thankfully the girl didn’t notice as she looked over the various flavors in the freezer that stood between them. She cleared her throat then shook her head, plastering another smile on.

“Anyway, what can I get for you today?” She asked, trying to sound chipper. She then watched as Wendy’s eyebrows shot up.

“Oh, wow. I’ve never even heard of some of these flavors,” the girl laughed softly before looking at her. “What flavor would you recommend?”

“Uh, well, how do you feel about fruit in your ice cream?”

“It’s not what I’d usually get. But if you recommend one then I’d be happy to try it out though,” Wendy answered. “What would you suggest?”

“I’m pretty partial to our Cherries Jubilee,” Robin said, gesturing to a bright pink ice cream, which also had chopped up cherries in it. The girl examined the ice cream then smiled brightly at her.

“Perfect. I’ll have one scoop of that on a waffle cone, please.”

“Coming right up.” Robin got to work on making the order while Wendy got her wallet out. The transaction went by smoothly and Robin handed Wendy her ice cream.

“Enjoy,” she said with a polite smile.

“Thanks so much, Robin,” Wendy said, beginning to make her way out. “I’ll be sure to give feedback next time I come in. Have a good day!” And with that, she was out of the shop and continuing her trek around the mall. Once the door closed behind her Steve walked out and immediately noticed the starstruck look on his friend’s face.

“I take it that wasn’t a total disaster,” he joked.

“Nope,” she responded in a dreamy tone, which made the boy laugh. This would definitely be fun to watch.

The next few months were like that as well. It was the same every single time. Wendy would come in during her break, which was right after their lunch rush so it was almost always empty. Robin would always somehow be the only one behind the counter. Steve would either take his break or go to the back room and do god knows what to entertain himself. Wendy would give Robin her opinion on the last flavor she tried then ask for a recommendation on a new flavor. While Robin got it ready they would talk about whatever came to mind, then when she was done Wendy would promise to give feedback then head out.

Robin had really come out of her shell the more Wendy stopped by. Of course she still had a hard time figuring out what to say to her for small talk, but thankfully Wendy seemed to understand that and was always the one to initiate the conversation. It was a good thing they had going.

At least, until things basically went all to hell for the Starcourt Mall. It had been a very upsetting day for Robin. Well, it was obviously bad for everyone else, but since this had been her first exposure to something like this she wasn’t exactly feeling happy. Especially when she realized that the mall burning down meant that she no longer had an excuse to see Wendy on a daily basis. Yeah, yeah, the death and getting drugged wasn’t great, but come on. She was finally on track to getting over her fear of talking to a pretty girl and then this happened? The universe had to be playing some sort of cruel joke on her.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t like there was anything she could do about it. All she needed to focus on right now was finding another job, and the movie rental store just a few minutes into town was calling her and Steve’s names. So, just a few days later she found herself inside Family Video talking to the manager, Keith. She’d gotten the job after answering his question about their favorite movies, but unfortunately Steve had failed. It was up to her to convince Keith to give him a job, and that’s what she’d been doing when the door behind them opened with a jingle.

“Recruiting more people for our humble workplace?” Robin heard a very familiar voice from behind her, which made her eyes widen. No way. She whipped around to face the person and realized that it really was Wendy, standing there in all her glory. She wore her regular clothes, but had on a green vest with “Family Video” embroidered into the left breast like the one Keith wore.

“We have a few contenders,” Keith informed the girl casually as if Robin wasn’t rethinking her entire life at that moment. “You’re gonna be the one working with them. Take a look and tell me what you think.” Wendy walked around the counter, clocking in at the counter before facing Robin. A pleasantly surprised expression appeared on her face.

“Robin,” she greeted happily. “You want to work here?” It felt exactly like the first day Wendy had walked into Scoops Ahoy. Robin lost her voice for a moment, but forced herself to speak.

“Uh, yeah. We kinda need it after the whole Starcourt fire,” she explained, trying to sound cool and collected like she had while talking to Keith.

“Oh, yeah, I heard about that,” Wendy muttered as she looked over hers and Steve’s resumes. “Super sad. Chief Hopper was a good man.” The girl gulped quietly. It felt weird to be in on such a big secret and not be able to say anything.

“Yeah, he was,” she answered softly.

“Well, I know for a fact both you and Steve are great at customer service, and from what I could tell you guys actually did your jobs,” she paused then looked at Keith. “I say yes.” The boy nodded then faced Robin.

“You guys start on Monday, 10:00 a.m. Wendy will be your trainer,” he informed them. And with that, he took their resumes and went to store them in the back. Once they were alone, Robin faced her.

“So, since when do you work at Family Video?”

“Oh, for almost a week by this point,” she answered, which surprised the girl.

“Wait, seriously? What happened to JCPenney?” A sour look formed on Wendy’s face, which almost made the girl regret asking it.

“Well, back at JCPenney I’d been picking up some extra shifts like every week because my coworkers were basically useless, then my manager tried to screw me over with my pay because the law states that I can’t work a certain amount of hours,” she started.

“That’s such bullshit,” Robin shook her head.

“I know right? I thought so too, so I raised hell about it. My parents threatened to sue the whole corporation for both unpaid wages and unlawful child labor. Thankfully they didn’t want to deal with a lawsuit over something so trivial so they paid me the correct wages then a little extra to make sure I keep my mouth shut about it. As soon as I got my money I quit on the spot and walked out. Keith offered me a job like a week and a half ago when I came in to rent a movie and now here I am. I didn’t even have to interview for it, he just asked what my top three movies were and I was in.” The girls shared a laugh at the conclusion of her story, and Wendy leaned against the counter comfortably.

“Now it looks like you’ll be working with me. Not that I’m complaining of course, I never mind working with a pretty girl,” she added.

Robin was caught off by her words, though she tried not to show it. Of course she knew that Wendy was bisexual. Now, she didn’t explicitly state it, but she wasn’t exactly ambiguous about it. She’d never seen Wendy flirt with a girl so openly, and the fact that she was the one Wendy flirted with flustered her. A deep blush appeared on her cheeks and she had to actually suppress a squeal as she grinned at the girl.

“Neither do I,” she responded, once again trying to sound cool. Her response made Wendy absolutely light up and she returned the smile. Before she could say anything, the door opened once again and a few customers walked in. Robin sighed internally, knowing their time had been cut off.

“Well, I look forward to seeing you on Monday. Have a great weekend, Robin,” Wendy said politely, then looked around her to greet the customers.

“You too, Wendy,” the girl responded simply before grabbing her friend’s wrist and dragging him out of the store. She couldn’t wait for Monday to come, and neither could Wendy.

#stranger things #stranger things imagine #robin buckley #robin buckley imagine #robin buckley x oc

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titleleaf · 1 year

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dear Scents Wizard. i was literally lying in bed dozing off and then suddenly the need to hear the answer to this question for Reasons hit me like a thunderbolt. what perfume would you assign to the characters of primal fear both ic/and like character perfumes line if they differ?

OKAY FIRST OF ALL i love you, i am giving you the finest salutations as I sit here awake

second of all: oooooh shit, okay yeah this is extremely fun but also a challenge for me because both Martin and Janet have a very specific style image to project -- I don't think I'm going to hit that mark without taking a deep-ass dive into contemporary receptions of these perfumes but I wish I knew if the creative team on the film had anything in mind since everything else about how the characters present themselves is so immaculate.

(brief content warning for canon-typical discussion of sexual assault/abuse)

Dior Dune or Guerlain Samsara for Janet, maybe? (Am I associating her with warm, powdery, amber-y 90s scents because she's a chic mean blonde... maybe.) I think she'd enjoy wearing something that gestures at a unisex seriousness but I also think she's somebody who changes up her signature scent every few years or so in line with whatever the current cultural vibe is. Beefy sillage and lots of longevity. She definitely associates that with both femininity and power but in ten years she'll be like "how did I walk into a courtroom like that".

Imaginary indie perfume oil option: black tea, sandalwood, labdanum, vanilla, peony

On the flipside, nothing that Martin Vail wears is subtle either. Chanel Égoïste -- I know this man smells good but I also know he does not smell discreetly. He doesn't seem as likely to really go through signature scents so I kind of want to put him in Chanel Antaeus too, I regret I went through a big 80s men's fragrance scent explosion phase and I can feel myself on the verge of going back to it right now. I have a real hateboner for Chanel on so many levels but ughhhhh Antaeus good.

Imaginary indie perfume option: would get kicked out of the indie perfume oil conclave just for suggesting one tbh

I regret that Aaron's whole sweet-choirboy-from-the-holler vibe (which in some ways is genuine and in some ways is obviously fake as hell, like the best fake identities) probably excludes him from designer fragrance but I think he's got the opposite sillage experience -- you don't smell anything until you're really in close quarters with him and then how nice he smells gets really unsettling because it might just be the smell of his skin. (Clean-sweaty, fresh, aquatic, laundered. Also not less scary when he's cussing you out and knocking your head against the wall.) I 100% headcanon this guy as having a couple strong sensory triggers related to abuse (and definitely related to personal proximity -- absolutely nothing about Rushman's bathroom or bedroom suggest a dude living a life of poverty and humility, let alone chastity) but I can also picture him co-opting the olfactory richness of Catholic liturgy (and regular old wealth) for the same reason he takes Rushman's ring with him -- as an assertion of power and dominance.

On his own, I think he would kill it in like, CK One.

Imaginary indie perfume option: salty musk, lemon, Atlas cedar, liturgical incense, gasoline.

If I were going to assign Aaron a modern perfume, I think it would be funny to put him in Jo Malone. (I wear Jo Malone Lupin & Patchouli and I love it a lot but he might be a Salty Amber/Wood Sage & Sea Salt kind of boy.) If I were going to put Martin and Janet in something modern... I know in my heart they are both the kind of person I hate the most in the world, people with enough money to just buy full-size Tom Ford fragrances willy-nilly and not eke out a thimble sized sample over a decade. They both discovered when they were sleeping together that they wore the same Tom Ford fragrance and after they broke up they were playing exes chicken to see who would give it up and throw the towel in and find a new one.

Tommy wears Acqua Di Gio maybe, and idk what the hot organized crime dude wears but I know he smells good. I know it in my heart.

#ska watches a thing #primal fear 1996 #what's the olfactory equivalent of shoulder pads bc i cannot get enough of it

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jazelock · 1 year

Text

She takes a thimbleful of Prisoner’s honey. It is still overly sweet and cloying, sticking in her throat even as she steps out into the bright lights of the Spring-tide. She trades the cap usually pulled low over her face for a mask - one that covers only her eyes to match those favored by the other guests swanning about. It leaves her feeling overly exposed all the same.

She dances with a guest wearing an overly ostentatious ensemble with feathered headdress to boot, demurs when they suggest taking the dance elsewhere with a hopeful look on their face. The chandelier explodes in a shower of twinkling shards and she claps but does not contribute to the screams of delight. She thinks she sees a familiar face or three in the blur of people, and absently files the faces, the outfits, their companions away in the back of her mind. She accepts a dance from a man whose face she struggles to place initially before she realises she is more accustomed to seeing it beneath a sailor’s cap. The song ends and she curtseys (it’s a day for curtseying), eyes sweeping the crowd, and--she flinches, nearly sending herself into a sprawl before she corrects for it, somewhat shakily but adequately enough.

That’s Sia, but it’s no surprise to see her here, completely bare-faced, but that is also not surprising; no, it’s the silhouette of the figure she is with, whose back is to Selene, but she thinks she recognises the line of the waist, the shoulder, the jaw.

It has been a long time since she’s visited the Garden Gleam, and it’s suddenly very urgent that she do so before the effects of the honey wear off.

Still just chrysanthemums, really, have they no imagination?

She’s rubbing the edges of the delicate petals, silently bemoaning the inexplicable lack of any lilies or, god, even some roses just for the variety when a high crystalline chord rings out, glass crunching underfoot, and she takes a breath and then another.

“Never thought I’d see you here. Dreaming with the rest of us,” he says, dangerously pleasant.

“Us,” she parrots. She doesn’t bother turning around. “You’re not real.”

“Always so sure of yourself.”

She laughs, a sharp thing that reverberates against the glass. “The real Leigh would have put a bullet in me before saying a word.” She takes a moment to catch her breath. “And the real Leigh wouldn’t have known to say that.”

“Maybe I’ve been watching you.” She can see a warped reflection in the petals of the flower she is staring into, the colors shifting and twisting as he circles around to stand beside her. “Seeing what you’ve been doing without me. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Then you’ll have seen that things are going swimmingly.”

“You can’t even swim,” and that’s almost teasing and for a moment, she--she wants-- “How,” and she can hear the vicious smile in that single word, “are your boys then?”

“More accommodating than you ever were,” she snaps and then bites down on any further retort because damn it. And he--shark in the water--more dangerous than the real article could ever be because she made him this way, he knows everything she knows and then some--he leans back against the willow, all silent satisfaction. “That well, hm?”

“Nice to be able to have conversations about things that actually matter, yes--”

The glass trunk cracks beside her head, and she can feel fragile petals fracturing as she stumbles over them. His face is just as she remembers, although she has never seen this level of fury contorting those features before, and for a moment, she wonders-- “Don’t pretend. ‘Lene. That you’re not the same as me,” he snarls. “You just decided you want to playact like you’re so moral and superior.”

“You’re the one fucking about with souls--”

“You don’t give a shit about the soul trade. Your urchins, the fucking squidmen. Why can’t you just admit that they’re just there to make you feel good about yourself? You decided after all that complaining to throw your lot in with those tossers and I hope you’re bloody happy because for all their enlightened talk, how are they treating you, hm? Are you feeling appreciated over there?”

She kicks him, and when his grip on the revolver falters, she goes for the shoulders. He jerks back several paces and a determinedly buried memory claws its way sluggishly to the surface, a little too late, but enough that she takes the bullet through the side rather than the belly. The sudden searing burn sets her teeth on edge, but it’s good, pierces through the lethargy, and it’s, oh, so familiar, like riding a velocipede, you never really forget.

She ducks behind the tree and hears the glass on the other side splinter. The burst of adrenaline is seeping away, leaving bone-deep exhaustion, which is dangerous because if her thoughts begin taking that familiar turn, then this dream construct she’s created may very well oblige. Another explosive shot and another spray of glass from the other side of the tree, and she grits her teeth, willing herself to stay angry, to not want. It’s a losing battle even as she claws for every inch she can get, musters memories of every too-cutting jab, every dismissive comment, but underneath, or perhaps, despite it all -

- the unfamiliar kindness of staying with her through bad evenings, the complete lack of hesitation in stepping in front of her and firing unflinchingly at the Jack who had tried to go for her in the street, his eyes always finding hers from across a room, sharing silent commiserations for the monotony of whatever party Sia had dragged them to this time, an eyeroll, a flick of the eyes towards some balcony or shadowy corner where they could find each other a few minutes later for a brief reprieve from all the schmoozing, and that guilty pleasure during their friendship when she could always expect that every person who badmouthed her, who slighted her in any way, would shortly find themselves inconvenienced by persons unknown in the most creative and mean-spirited ways. No one had ever done that for her, made her feel cared for quite so much, appreciated, and now -

The sound of gunfire has stopped, she realises hazily. She unfolds herself from where she had been pressed against the tree, considers peering around it. Before she can think too hard about it, she rounds the edge of the tree completely instead, presses herself against the shattered bark.

They stare each other down. She doesn’t know what he’s thinking; if it’s a simulacrum, then it’s not thinking anything at all, but what if it’s not, what if he’s... She studies his face, searching for anything, a slight deviation, something missing, something too perfect. There’s what looks like a burn mark across the back of his hand that she doesn’t remember, shiny with scar tissue, stretching as he shifts his grip on the revolver. But she doesn’t remember if that had been there a minute ago, it doesn’t mean anything now because she’s actually looking for it, nothing she sees now can be trusted, her head is pounding from going round and round in circles, so she simply...stops. Doesn’t let herself think as she strides forward and grabs his hand, closing her fingers over his around the gun. He moves at that, but not quickly enough and she has her other hand fisted in the collar of his jacket before he can jerk back, and distantly, despite herself, she’s wondering still, would the real Leigh have let me do that, the real Leigh would have punched me the moment I got within arm’s reach, unless, unless -

#jazelock #my writing #writing #abandoned #wip #unfinished #not finishing this #I've been trying to figure out how this ends for ages #still haven't #but I'm done #I'm moving on

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maraschinotopped · 3 years

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hm *thinks really hard about bug fable ocs*

#[when the bugs fable]#its 11:20 pm and the bugs are taking over my brain #my current ocs are:#a really; really big orchid mantis who is just a sweetheart;#a bird who camoflauges as a caterpillar (guys i just had stunted growth i swear. im a grown up);#a stickbug who somehow has 4th wall breaking powers via a orb;#a wasp who just is always moving. she has never stood still in her life. if she stands still she Dies;#a moth who is completely silent; unless she feels threatened; then she pulls out The Eyes(tm);#(and her flying centipede pet);#a very fluffy rosy maple moth. shes just 90% fluff;#a spider/cat hybrid because i will always have at least 1 cat-like oc in every fandom im in;#a firefly who uses needles and wears a thimble as a helmet (its actually just stuck on his head. he cant take it off.);#and a bee who ran off after his hive merged with his friends hive; with his friend's hive being Not Happy about it #woooooo brainrot *i collapse onto the ground* /lh #hng. i like them a lot....#hold gentle #technically yeah they have deeper stories but 1. they arent fully planned out yet #and 2. im too lazy to write all of it now #just know that the orchid mantis and spider/cat are roach experiements;#the moth with The Eyes and the wasp who has never stood still are in a team called sharp-eyes;#the rosy fluff moth and the spider/cat are in a team called fluff 'n' rough;#the bee is a bombus citrinus :) ;#and i will never elaborate on the stickbug oc again (very self indulgent dhhfdhsvgf)

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draculasdaughter · 2 years

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Like a customized Swiss Army knife, a chatelaine provided its wearer with exactly the tools she needed closest at hand. For an avid seamstress, that might include a needle case, thimble, and tape measure, while for an active nurse it might mean a thermometer and safety pins. Inspired by the complex key rings carried by “la chatelaine,” the female head of a grand French estate, these beautiful, little contraptions were as fashionable as they were practical. In fact, their design was sometimes so trendy that style trumped usefulness.

Top: From left to right, this elaborate Art Nouveau needlework set includes a tape measure, strawberry-shaped emery for sharpening needles, needle book containing flannel pages to hold needles, scissors in scabbard, acorn-shaped vinaigrette, thimble holder, and heart-shaped pinwheel. Above: This tintype captures a woman wearing a chatelaine similar to the Tiffany piece at right, circa 1870s, which includes a combination perfume bottle and vinaigrette, left, and notebook with pencil.

Left, this “Faith, Hope, and Charity” chatelaine may have been a mourning piece, as it contained a romantic quote by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Right, two sporting-themed chatelaines featuring dog’s head medallions.

Left, a variety of chatelaines designed to carry spectacles. Right, this cabinet card image, circa 1885, shows a nurse in uniform wearing a long chatelaine with a pinwheel and scissors. In her hand she holds a watch, which hangs from her neck on a black ribbon guard chain.

Left, this chatelaine is made from intaglio seals ending with a key and agate-cameo locket. Right, the chatelaine as it would have been worn on a period dress.

— Hunter Oatman-Stanford, The Killer Mobile Device for Victorian Women, 2013.

#victorian #fashion #chatelaines #long post #article #*

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nptnewr · 2 years

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Love at First Shot ~ Adrian Chase x Reader

A/N ~ Finally Adrian fluff your honor, take this (special tag to @andillwriteyouatragedy !!)

Summary: The 11th street kids go to a new bar for the night. Adrian finds the bar tender to be just his type. He decides he needs to shoot his shot before its too late

Warnings: Drinking | Peacemaker Typical Violence

Word Count: 1k

The 11th street kids were ready to celebrate a job well done. They had just completed a large ask from Waller which the team ended up completing in record time. Even John was able to beat some ass with the team. To say the job was a success would be an understatement. As Chris would put it the team “kicked fucking asshole”, which caused Emilia to roll her eyes.

The team loaded up onto the van and drove back to the base in almost complete silence. Except for the rock music, Chris played because “there’s no wrong time to rock!”. The silence was broken a few moments later when a gasp was heard throughout the van. Leota was staring at her phone in shock.

“What is it, Adebayo?” Emilia looked over to the woman.

“You know that bar we usually go to?” The group all nodded and hummed in agreement. “It closed down due to failing inspection, it’s all over Twitter right now.”

“Shit! I told you that place was filthy.” John remarked.

“Yeah, that place was a shit hole.” Adrian agreed.

“Shut up, thimble.” Chris grumbled and crossed his arms.

Adrian shifted in his seat, trying his best to hide a frown forming on his features.

“Guess that means we have to find a new place to go tonight to celebrate.” Leota pointed out.

“I heard there was a new bar here, the Wise Fox Lounge? We could try that out.” Emilia propositioned to the group.

“My wife went there the other week with some co-workers, she said she enjoyed it. We should check it out…that is if everyone agrees.” Leota looks to the boys in the van.

“Sounds good to me.” John agrees.

“Hashtag, me too!” Adrian nods his head.

“That’s not- nevermind.” Emilia puts her head in her hands.

“As long as Harcourt goes.” Chirs grins.

“Fuck you.”

–

Finishing up cleaning another beer glass, you set it down in the tray beside you. Your shift had started an hour ago at the bar, yet it has felt like an eternity. The only good thing about working at the Wise Fox Lounge was your usuals, who were rather kind.

Usually, there weren’t that many people who showed up on a Tuesday night, which was a plus for you today. You didn’t have the energy to do much tonight and you were hoping you wouldn’t have much to do.

You felt your heart drop when you saw a large group walk in through the front door though. The group was rather strange though, not one of them looked like the other. It looked like outcasts who were forced to work together. Little did you know just how true that was.

The tallest man with a beard walked in front of the group, finding a seat at the bar. Slowly, his friends sat beside him one by one. A taller man, who had a large build. Two girls sat down beside them, one girl was rather small with blonde hair and the other girl had dark curly hair. The last person who sat down caught your eye. He was wearing aviators and had dark hair that seemed to curl at the ends.

Of course, he could’ve just caught your eye because he was staring at you. You didn’t mind though, he was cute with the way he had a lop-sided smile on his face.

“What can I get you guys?”

You take each of the crew’s orders, slowly but surely making each drink in front of them. Except for the blonde and bulky man, who asked for beers. Looking out of the corner of your eye, as you finished up the drinks, you noticed the man with aviators still staring at you.

Adrian was infatuated with you to put it simply. He couldn’t look away from you, and Chris had to bump his shoulder to knock him out of the current trance he was in. The way you swiftly made each drink, making sure to even pull a few tricks with the cocktail shaker.

What Adrian didn’t know was that you were doing these special tricks just for him. Hoping you could impress the aviator wearing brunette just enough so that maybe he would speak to you. Placing Adrian’s cocktail in front of him, you watched as he sipped from the glass.

“These are fucking great!” You looked over to the man with the beard.

“Thank you, sir, I do try my best.” You laugh softly.

“It is good, isn’t it? You are the shit, ma’am.” Adrian complimented.

You tried your best to hide the smile that was gracing your lips at the compliment.

“Thanks, it’s just my job.” You mumble as you clean up the bar.

–

The team finishes up their drinks and gets ready to leave the bar.

“You sure you can get home, Adrian?” Leota asks him.

“Yeah, I only had that one cocktail!” Adrian salutes Leota.

Leota wrestles the rest of the team outside from the bar into her car. She had lost the rock, paper, scissors game that night for who would be the designated driver. Luckily, Adrian chose to drive himself and be his own designated driver, so he didn’t even have to play.

Boy, was he lucky he did. Now he was alone, just able to stare un-creepily at you as you washed up for the night.

“Don’t you want to head home soon, aviators?” You look up at the man.

“Aviators?” Adrian stared at you.

“Well, that’s the only thing I can tell about you. You wear aviators, so I shall call you aviators.” You giggle.

“I guess so. What should I call you, bartender.” Adrian cocks his head and smiles.

“Sure. Bartender and aviators sound like quite the pair.” You smile back.

Adrian’s phone buzzes and he quickly checks it before looking back at you.

“Hey, I have got to go…”

“Oh, alright, well I should be gone soon as well.” You reply.

You watch as the man in front of you quickly searches around him until he finds a pen. He grabs a napkin and writes some shit on it before handing it to you.

“I hope to see you again.” Adrian pushes up his glasses before leaving.

You look down at the paper with a smile on your face.

Aviators (Adrians) number ~ xxx-xxxx

#adrian chase #adrian chase x reader #peacemaker #peacemaker x reader #peacemaker hbo #peacemaker hbo max #freddie stroma #freddie stroma x reader #vigilante #vigilante x reader

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