she just smacks your face because she cares

anonymous asked:

can i has more cr sense8 au percy pls? (if your up for it of course)


“I’m still not certain we should be doing this.“

It was a meaningless statement even before he said it. With her arm in his, with the warmth of her against his side and the tinkle of her laugh fading in the air, Percy thought he would trust Vex to lead him down any icy path through the woods, with any blindfold on or off, even if he had never known her more intimately than he knew himself. Even if they had just met, somehow, one day, and she had smiled and beckoned, he would have followed.

Exaggerated gagging noises broke into his thoughts—Vax, visiting as almost always, making Vex laugh in the cold Northern darkness. The drugs all but gone from his veins, Percy could feel him again, that knife’s edge of sarcasm prickling over devotion deep enough to fill the sea.

Two (one? three?) months of isolation was turning him poetic. It was horrifying.

“It’ll be fine,” said Vex, tugging him forward. “Turn right—”

Percy followed her instructions obediently. “I don’t know where you get the confidence that she won’t be looking, just this one night. It’s not like the holidays have stopped them before.”

“Because she’s loony, Freddie,” Vax said with overwhelming fondness.

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mirkstrolls  asked:

💬 for twelve-year-old Riccin

RICCIN KAYATA | 5.60 sweeps / 12 years old

Her thumbs dig into the thin skin of your throat as she hauls you down to her level, and plants a kiss right on the tip of your nose. “Look at you! You’re adorkable, dude,” she jeers as she shoves you back, hard enough that you stagger. “Just like a Gerber furby!”

Sipara’s all teeth, even when she’s trying to be careful: those tusks of hers are still newslick and unfiled, but that doesn’t mean they don’t sting when they catch on your face. “Ow,” you complain, even as she chirps: “- you gray-eyed loser.”

“Empress, no wonder you always gotcher psi on!”

She takes a step back when you stalk forward, her grin wide enough to spit her face in two. You’re not sure what you’re gonna do! Smack her, like as not, because she’s bouncing back and forth like she expects you to. And it ain’t like she won’t deserve it. The dampeners are hid under your skin, where nobody can see ‘em and you oughtn’t be able to feel ‘em, but they tug at your skin every time you move, set your horns to itching when you so much as think about sparking. Not that you could!

The world looks too bright, too colourful without your psi cloudin’ it, and shit’s disastrous enough without Sipara poking fun. Or.. it should be. But Sipara never really gets you mad, not really! Anyone else, you’d swing and knock their teeth out for that, psi or no. You have: Taalik’s regretting their snide bullshit off in the infirmary.

But you don’t really want to smack Sipara, not really.

“Pretty sure I’ve, like, totes seen actual fax, little bitty, itty bitty -” She spreads out her hands a scarce inch in front of her, fingers flared like they’re grabbing something minute: “- so itty they’ve got all SIX legs on still, and they’ve still got eyes darker than yours!”

Mostly, you don’t want to smack her.  But biting’s fair game.

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—A/N: This is how I get rid of that empty feeling in my chest that won’t go away sometimes. I turn something therapeutic for me in the direction of a fic previously requested.

This one’s for @dreaming-baka. I know you originally wanted it to be Marichat, but this turned into more of a LadyNoir.

This could be on its own, or a companion piece to Sight and Sound.

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Pairing(s): LadyNoir

Rating: K+

Summary: Masks. They hide more than just your face. They hide your secrets. They hide your feelings. They hide your deepest pains and desires. But when you find the person who can see through the mask…

Keep them and never let go. 

Original Fic: Sight and Sound

On Ao3


Cool wind curled around her cheeks, brushing loose strands of her hair across her forehead. Her chin sunk deeper into her knees as she watched the tiny figures below wander around Paris. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes from both the sudden gust of wind, and the aching of her heart.

But nothing fell.

She hadn’t cried in two months, and she had no idea why.

She wanted to. She did. She could feel it in her chest and it made her angry. Just for a few minutes if she could break down, she’d feel better instead of having her chest hollow out day after day.

What the hell was wrong with her?

She bit her lower lip and wrapped her arms around her bent legs, hugging them to her chest. She wasn’t supposed to feel this way. There was no reason for what was going on. It was so stupid. So unbelievably stupid.

And she couldn’t even…

Pressing her forehead into her knees, Ladybug took a deep breath and let it out in a gust, letting her muscles go slack.

“Something bugg-ah-yew, Bug-ah-bew?”

Oh god no.

Not tonight.


She curled into herself tighter, doing her best to tune him out. She didn’t want to deal with this today. With his shameless flirting and blatant worship of her mask.

Cause that’s all it was. A mask. It wasn’t her. He didn’t see her.

He just saw the mask like everyone else.

Just like…

“What’s got ya all catatonic on me, LB?” The tips of his blonde locks swung in her peripheral vision as he hung upside down from an above beam. She didn’t need to look up to know that’s what he was doing, he always did that. 

Since they were just hanging out.

She closed her eyes and evened her breathing.

In. Out. In. Out.


His voice was soft, tender, coming from her right side. There was something different about it this time that made her turn her head.

He’d never been like this before.

There was no smirk. There was no mischievous glint in his eyes, or intent to tease her whatsoever.

He searched her face, worry all over his own, brow was furrowed. He sat next to her, muscles relaxed with one knee up and the other draped over the side of the tower. His head drooped to one side since he’d been trying to catch her eye.

“What’s wrong?”

She swallowed.



“Liar. That mask isn’t all powerful you know. I can still see behi—”

She cut him off. “Can you though?”

He blinked as she turned toward him, gaze hard.

“Can you really, Chat? Because last time I checked, you were in love with this mask. So do you really give a crap about seeing behind it?” She scoffed and pulled back from him, standing up.

He turned to watch her as she began to pace back and forth.

“I mean, everyone else seems to be in love with it and not me, so…” she deflated, head falling into her hands.

“I…I can’t even blame you,” she choked.

“My Lady…”

She felt rather than saw him stand opposite her, pulling her hands away and tilting her face up. He brushed his thumb along the length of her cheekbone and when his hand fell she didn’t fail to see his fingers were wet.

She was crying.

She wiped the pesky saltwater from her cheeks, doing her best to bite back the tears and failing miserably.

“Ladybug, talk to me. Please.”

She shook her head and wrapped her arms around her stomach. “It would be too cruel to you, Kitty. Just leave it be.”

He rested his hands on her shoulders, giving them a soft squeeze and giving them an encouraging rub.

She looked up at him through wet lashes.

“My Lady, we’re a team. You’re my partner. Talk to me.”

The green of his eyes shone in the dark, pricking something deep in her chest. They were partners, and he was one of her best friends. There was nobody she trusted more with her life.

But could she really do this?

Could she really tell him without…

She didn’t want to see the hurt she feared would be there when it came to talking about another man. As juvenile as his flirtation seemed to be over the years, his care for her and hers for him exceeded that of friendship.

Way exceeded friendship.

His gaze pressed in on her chest, pulling the words from her mouth involuntarily.

“The person I’m in love with…” she started, avoiding his eyes. 

Breathing in deeply, she swallowed her anxiety.

“The man I love is in love with me.”


“Well…” he trailed off. 

More silence.

She peered at him.

A crooked smile adorned his features.

“How is that a problem?”

The corner of her mouth twitched into that of a smile and she smacked him on the shoulder.

Ladybug me, Chat. Not Ma—” she caught herself, “…not me, me.”

Chat’s eyes widened, “Ooh.”

“And sometimes…” she paused, fingers coming up to the edge of her mask, “I wonder if it’s the only thing people care about. I mean, if the mask goes everyone is devastated. If I go…”

“Don’t you ever say that.”

Ladybug blinked as Chat’s hands came up to cradle her face. She tried to pull away but his grip held firm, making her look at him.

“Is that what you think?” he asked, brow furrowed, “That I love only the mask?”

Ladybug shrugged, “How could you not? It’s all you ever see. You don’t even know who I am…”

Chat shook his head, gaze hard. “I don’t see the mask, Ladybug. I never have.”

Ladybug snorted, “It’s in front of you every day. You’ve never seen anything else.”

Chat rolled his eyes and let her face go in favour of smacking the heel of his hand to his forehead. “And you think I’m dense and stupid sometimes.”

“Hey! I resent that!”

The blond smiled, “My Lady, I’ve never seen the mask.”

Ladybug crossed her arms in front of her chest, waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t love you because you’re a superhero with a mask. I love you because of who you are,” Chat’s gaze fell as he looked to the streets of Paris. A shudder slithered down his spine as the cool wind tickled the back of his neck.

“The thing about these masks,” he continued, “is they let you be who you are. They hide your identity and give you the freedom to express yourself without fear of the repercussions or conflicts with the persona other people have stuck you with.”

He turned to her again.

“If anything, Ladybug, because of that mask, I know exactly who you are because you don’t have to fear keeping up appearances.”

She blinked at him.

His smile was different, less Chat-like. His eyes shone in the dark with a sincerity that only warmed her heart. He was being genuine with her.

“So what about you then?” she asked. “Are you saying this is who you really are?”

He looked away, “Mostly.”

She was about to ask what he meant when he answered her unspoken question.

“I love this mask because I get to have fun.”

The smile that lit up his face was breathtaking.

“I can leap from rooftops, I get to fight super villains, I get to have the fun I never had the chance to have growing up,” he spread his arms wide, face tilted to the sky and eyes closed.

“I’ve never been more free than I am like this.”

Chat turned to her.

“I’m not saying the person who I am without the mask isn’t a big part of me.” The corner of his mouth turned up in a small smile. “He is. But he has more of a mask than Chat ever will.”

Ladybug felt like she’d been hit with a ton of bricks.

Was she doing to Chat what she feared others were doing to her? Had she only been seeing the mask and failing to see that he was a person behind the leather she’d come to associate with him?

Her stomach sank.

“I’m so sorry, Chat,” her voice broke and she cleared her throat, “I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t worry about it, m’Lady,” he whispered, turning back to her. “You see me whether you think you do or not. I don’t blame you for that.”

He took a few steps toward her and brushed her bangs from her face.

“I just want you to know that I see you because of the mask. You’re never more yourself and it’s a pleasure.” He took her hand and kissed the back of it softly.

She didn’t pull away this time.

“The thing is,” he started, letting her finger fall from his grasp, “I know exactly what you mean. Maybe not in the exact same way, but it’s similar.”

Ladybug cocked her head to one side, “What do you mean?”

“Well…” he started, eyes narrowed in thought, “the girls who fawn over me as my civilian self tend to be put off and dislike Chat.”

Ladybug blinked, “Really?”

He laughed, “You’re one of them actually.”

Ladybug nearly choked on air.

Covering her mouth, she proceeded to hack up a lung while Chat whacked her on the back to help her. Once she caught her breath her head snapped up.


Chat laughed. “My Lady, I found out your other identity awhile ago. Back after the Blinder laser akuma.”

Ladybug just stood there, mind blank.

He’d known for over a year?

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” she nearly screamed, pacing around in circles a few feet away from him. “I mean, like…what were you thinking?!”

He shrugged. “You didn’t want me to know about it. I didn’t mean to find out…it was an accident, and I didn’t want you to know because I wanted you to be ready for me to know.”


She wrapped her arms around her chest, gripping her own shoulders and looking down. She didn’t want him to be disappointed in her…

“Were you…I mean…are you…” she looked up shyly.

“So happy that it’s you, Marinette,” he whispered. “It was a surprise, but then again it was a smack in the face because how could it not have been you?”

He took a step toward her.

“You’re strong.” Step. “Brave.” Step. “Kind.” Step.

“You care about your friends and would do anything to protect them.”


“You just swing by their houses to make sure they’re okay when they haven’t shown up at school for a few weeks.”

What in the world was he—

“You keep them company when it’s hard for them to see.”

Ladybug’s heart leapt.

“You make them laugh when they’re feeling low.”

He had blonde hair.

“You do everything in your power to make them happy and show them you care.”

And green eyes.

…how could she not have seen it?

“My Lady,” he was only a few inches away from her now. “It’s me who should be worried. Not that you don’t like my civilian self…” he trailed off.

“But that you don’t like this side of me,” he finished, hair shielding his face from her view.

“Oh, Chaton.”

She brushed his hair out of his eyes and smiled up at him.

“I’ve always loved all of you,” she breathed, “even if I didn’t know it.”

His face lit up as he hugged her tight and spun her around. She laughed as he did so, relishing in the elation she could feel from him.

He set her down, smiling.

“My Lady. Marinette.”

She blinked up at him, waiting.

“The man you’re in love with…is in love with you. All of you. Okay?” his face was serious, searching her to make sure she understood it.

“Okay,” she breathed, leaning into his chest.

He was warm. His heart beat beneath her ear, soothing her soul to its very core. She tightened her hold on his as his arms wrapped around her shoulders.

She’d never felt safer.

“Is that feeling gone?” he asked in her ear, voice hushed.

She nodded.

“Thank you, mon chaton.”

She felt him smile against her neck.

“Anytime, m’Lady.”

Later, when he escorted her back to her house, she caught his arm before he left.


His ears twitched and perked up in response. 

She bit her lip.

“The woman you’re in love with loves you too…” she trailed off, gathering her courage before looking him directly in the eye.

“All of you.”

Love Bites - Hollstein, Laura x Carmilla

The first time she bites you, you feel surprised and you feel violated. Your hips jerk upward without your consent and afterwards you find a use for that five hundred count box of bandaids your dad sent you in the mail the week before. You are forced to tell him that he was right, that you did inevitably get hurt in Styria even though you’d promised him you knew how to take care of yourself and that you wouldn’t let that happen.


The second time she bites you, it isn’t you that is hurt. It is the anniversary of Ell’s death, made worse by the fact that Carmilla doesn’t actually know the day she died. The anniversary lasts a week because surely Carmilla’s mother hadn’t kept the girl longer than that, hadn’t tortured her in the underground depths of limestone caves for months on end like she did with some of the other girls. Carmilla refuses to believe that that prolonged imprisonment could have been an option for the girl she loved, so a week is all the time Carmilla allows herself to mourn.

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Shifted - Part 1, Chapter 8

Every Tuesday I’ll be posting a chapter from my brand new AU story. The premise is simple - what if Claire had gotten pregnant with Brianna a month or two earlier in the story, and she and Jamie had re-evaluated their priorities and decided that the cause was lost, and they were able to slip away from the army and quietly return to Lallybroch?

Previous installments…

“James, definitely. And Murtagh, for sure. And then the first name, and at least one more middle name.”

Claire paused in grinding the willow bark into powder, standing up straight and rubbing the base of her back. “Do I get a say in any of this?”

“Hmm?” He added another log to the fire and re-stacked the rough-hewn logs off to the side. September had brought an unexpected chill, and no way he’d let his wife catch cold while she went about her doctoring chores.

“I don’t care how many middle names the baby has – we still haven’t decided on a first name.”

He stood with his back to the fire, smiling as the heat warmed him straight through. “Ye do know it’s our custom to give a lad five or even six names?”

“Yes, I’ve observed that. But two things – one, to me only the first name really matters. You Highlanders pick out the rest. And two – Jamie, we have to pick girl names too. Don’t want you caught flat-footed, now.”

He paused for a moment, just looking at her. How the afternoon sun streaming through the window against her back cast her face in shadow, while highlighting her hair – piled on top of her head. “Ah, well, sae long as she’s as bonny as her mother, I dinna care what we name the lass.”

Jamie felt his wife’s glare before he saw it. “Right. So then one day when she asks, I’ll have to tell her that her idiot father didn’t care a whit what she was called, then?”

“Sit, a nighean – ye look tired.” He crossed the room and took her elbow, hoping to ease her into one of the soft chairs before the fire.

Claire jerked her arm from his grasp. “I’ll do no such thing. After all, it’s your child that’s making me so tired. The one who you don’t seem to care what it’s called – so long as your names are accounted for.”

Jamie’s eyes narrowed, and he would have laughed at the indignation on her face had she not felt it so sincerely.

“Is that what you think, Claire? That I dinna care what your thoughts are on the matter? Because I do – ye know I do.”

He reached to take her chin and she let him – though she wanted nothing more than to smack his hand away.

“Yer father’s name was Henry, am I right? I want to respect that – but no son of mine will share a name with an English king.”

“Just a Scottish one, then?” she retorted.

He smiled. “Ah, weel – King James may have had his name afore I had mine, but it’s customary to name a boy after his father, aye?”

“Even though Brian isn’t one of your names?”

He shrugged. “There’s a story in that – for another time, a nighean. Though I wouldna mind naming him Brian. That is – if you’re not opposed to it.”

Slowly Claire eased into the chair, stretching out her legs and enjoying feeling her joints pop.

“I don’t mind. I just feel as if I’ve nothing to contribute for a boy’s name. Henry is out, I’m sure Quentin and Lambert are as well.”

“Ah, your uncle’s names?”

She nodded, thinking. “What about Beauchamp?”

He paused, considering. “How would it run, then? Brian James Murtagh Beauchamp Fraser?” He sank to his knees before her, rubbing her belly gently.

“That sounds like a terrible mouthful.” Her fingers wound into his hair, holding him close.

“Mmphm.” The moment stretched as they watched the flames flicker, Jamie absently running his hands on her belly, Claire kneading her fingers into his scalp.

“Perhaps,” Claire pondered after a while. “Now, though – if it’s a girl –”

“God help us.”

She swatted his head, and he grinned.

“If it’s a girl – I want one of her names to be Ellen.”

He rested his chin on her belly and gazed up at her, adoring. Grabbing for her right hand, he kissed her palm and set it on his cheek.

“Yes. What else?”

“My mother’s name was Julia. Have I ever told you that?”

His smile was dreamy. “No, ye haven’t. It’s lovely, though I’ve never kent a lass with that name.”

“No, I don’t suppose you have. It didn’t come into common use until around the time she was born – the late 1800s.” Her thumb stroked his cheek, loving the feel of the start of his beard.

“Ellen and Julia, then. One more for middle names, and then the first.”

Claire eyed him skeptically. “So many names for such a small child.”

Jamie nodded. “The thinking – my parents’ thinking anyway – was that ye name a child such so that they can grow into the name. It spurs the parents to raise the child in a way to earn the name – to be worthy of it.” He paused. “So – I want Claire.”

“Me? Why?”

He shook his head. “Why, she asks. Ye’re only the strongest, bravest woman I’ve ever known. Why wouldn’t I want my daughter named for ye? And,” he added practically,” if we’ve got a Brian, whose second name is after his father, there’s no reason a girl’s second name shouldn’t be after her mother.”

A fizz of excitement started within Claire. This was real. Every day it was more real – the child was more of a child, not an abstraction.

She was struck with another idea. “If we name the boy Brian – we should name the girl the same way.”

One eyebrow raised. “Name her Brian, ye mean? Are ye daft? That’s a man’s name, Sassenach.”

She smiled. “No, idiot. The female version of the name. Brianna.”

He rose up and settled in the chair next to hers. “Brianna? What kind of name is that?”

Surprised at his reaction, Claire huffed. “I’ve known girls with that name in my time. Not often, but it’s used.”

“Ye’ll have my daughter running around with a strange name her whole life?”

Any other moment, Claire would have paused to enjoy the warm glow she felt at Jamie’s already protective, fatherly feelings toward his unborn daughter. Now, though, she was just exasperated.

“Jamie, she’s got me for a mother and you for a father. She’s a Fraser. There will be enough other strange things in her life for others to take notice of – she needs a strong name to help her get through that.” She paused. “Are you suggesting that a girl shouldn’t carry your father’s name?”

“What? No! Never, Claire. It’s just-”

“Jamie, this way she’s named for both of your parents. Did you think of that?”

Clearly he hadn’t. And the thought warmed him more than he had expected.

“Brianna Ellen Julia Claire Fraser.” He tested the name on his tongue.

Her heart burst with love for this man. She looked to the floor, where their feet had found their way toward each other. Absently she rubbed her belly, where Brian – or Brianna – had woken from a mid-day nap.

“We’ve time to decide, Jamie. For now, though –”

He raised a brow. “Aye?”

She smiled – so warm, it lit a flame inside him.

“Get up and lock the door – and help me with this dress. I want to have you by the fire.”

He stood and, grinning wolfishly, extending a hand to help her up. “What will Brian or Brianna do when they find out their mam was frequently seized with bouts of wantonness while she carried?”

She quirked an eyebrow. “They’ll be glad to know that it was this wantonness that accounts for their existence in the first place. And that their father was only too happy to comply.”

He bent, kissed her, and strode quickly to turn the key in the lock.