#//That every death means their victory is getting closer; that they WILL succeed; like a sugarcoated version of HIS ideals

[rescnatd]

Jiyan is the Embodiment of that one 'If I keep my body moving and my mind occupied at all times, I will avoid falling into a bottomless pit of despair' bit, send tweet-

[holylulusworld]

The widow (4)

Summary: You trust no one. Not since they got your husband killed.

Pairing: TFaTW!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions death of a loved-one, mentions of s miscarriage (no description), the reader is under protection, bitchy reader, arguments, grumpy Bucky, angst, grief, protective Bucky, nakedness

The widow masterlist

The widow (3)

Bucky knocks before he enters your room. He still doesn’t wait for you to tell him to come in, but you’re getting there.

“Dinner is ready. Nothing special, but it will do.”

“Did you hear anything about the agents?” You are sitting on the bed, cross-legged while staring at old pictures of Ransom and you. “I don’t think they’ll give up so easily.”

Bucky watches you with worry. You closed yourself off once again. For days you barely left your room, coming up with new excuses every day. “Well, they won’t get you.”

“Hmmm…” You don’t look at Bucky when steps closer to the bed. “One day, they will succeed and kill me too.”

“I guess if you keep on refusing to eat and leave the room, they don’t need to try to kill you.” You grunt at his words. “Get up from the bed, have a shower, and meet me downstairs for dinner. No more excuses.”

“You’re still an ass,” you snap at Bucky. “Don’t think for one second I’ll change my mind about you only because you showed those agents your muscles.”

He snorts. “You better not believe I’ll ever warm up for your bratty ass. Twenty minutes.” Bucky points at the door. “Shower and come downstairs for food.”

He turns on his heels and stomps off. Bucky smirks because you slip out of the bed. If he can make you eat something today, he’s not going to complain.

“What the—?” Bucky gapes as you walk down the stairs. You’re wearing nothing but a smirk. “What are you doing?"

“You told me to have a shower and come downstairs,” you chuckle victoriously. “I did exactly what you told me to do.”

“You know that I didn’t mean for you to come downstairs naked,” he huffs and strips his shirt off to cover your modesty. He shoves the shirt over your head, grunting like the grump he is.

“What? I thought you wanted me to follow your orders,” you smirk when you can see again. “Now, we have a problem.” You point at his bare chest. “You need a shirt for dinner.”

“Do you always have to be a pain in the ass?” Bucky snarls your name and points at the stairs. “Go back upstairs, get dressed, and come back down for dinner, woman.”

You drop your eyes to the scar tissue on his shoulder. Of course, everyone knows how he lost his arm, but seeing it up close makes you realize, he’s been through a lot of shit too.

Bucky follows your eyes, sighing as you look like you’re in pain. “It doesn’t hurt anymore,” he murmurs. “Or I got used to the pain. The arm is a part of me now.”

“It’s not the arm,” your voice softens when you step closer to look at the scar tissue. “It’s the scars.” You cock your head and blink the tears away. “You’re a lone survivor like me. No one left from your old life.”

Bucky wants to say something. He wants to tell you that there is Sam, but the ugly truth is that he feels as lonely as you do. You’re right. No one from his old life is left. Steve took the chance to go back to better times.

Sometimes Bucky asks himself if his friend left because he didn’t come back the way  Steve remembered his friend.  He’s damaged goods, and he knows it.

“You need to eat something,” Bucky grabs your hand when you try to touch his scars. “Lady, no touching if you’re not going to listen.”

You giggle, for the first time you meet. “Aw, you’re shy. That’s kind of cute. On the other hand, you’re a forties guy.” You lean closer to whisper in his ear. “Did you ever get laid, super-soldier.”

He huffs. “That’s not funny. Go upstairs and get dressed.”

“I knew you’re a virgin, Sergeant Barnes,” you giggle before turning on your heels. You strip his shirt off to throw it at him. “You better put your shirt back on, sweet virgin. We don’t want anyone to get handsy…”

After your little banter with Bucky, you eat in silence. He’s an okay cook. The chicken is a little dry, and he used too much salt but you’re not a picky eater. “What are you and Sam doing if you’re not keeping a widow hostage?”

“Missions,” Bucky grumbles. He’s still fed up with your little stunt early. “We help if we can.”

“Hmm…” You nod thoughtfully. “Why did he give the shield away?” You wince because Bucky slams his metal fist onto the table, making your tables clink. “A sensitive topic?”

“Sam believed he’s not worthy.” He shakes his head. “Sam is a good man. He believed it was the right thing to do and gave it to the Smithsonian.”

“Still, that guy has it now,” you huff. “He’s touching Captain Rogers' shield with his smeary and unworthy hands. I think your friend knew what he was doing when he gave it to Sam. He’s not only a strong man but has a good heart too. That other guy doesn’t. I can see it in his eyes.”

Bucky smirks. He thought the exact thing about John Walker. The imposer pretending to be Captain America.

“Ransom would’ve told Walker to eat shit,” you grin at Bucky, earning a chuckle from Bucky.

“I’d agree with your husband,” Bucky grunts. “Walker is no good. I can feel it in my guts.”

You cock a brow but say nothing. Sitting there in silence you try to ignore the fact that you hated your bodyguard not weeks ago. The last thing you need is to focus all of your energy on fighting with Bucky again.

“People believed Ransom was arrogant and selfish, but he wasn’t. Sometimes a pretty façade can hide an ugly character. And sometimes, behind a cocky smile and stunning blue eyes hides a good man.” You smile at the memory of your husband. “No one knew he anonymously donated money. Whenever people were in need, Ransom helped without telling anyone about it.”

Bucky nods before taking another bite of the chicken. “You said that you’ve got no one left too. Why? What about your parents or siblings?”

“I have no one left,” you say, a pained expression on your face. “Let’s drop the topic.” You rub your itching nose. “What can we do around here but sit around and stare at the walls?”

“We got some books and an old TV. I think there’s a DVD player too.” Bucky points over his shoulder at the TV standing on a sideboard.

“Do we have DVDs too?” You snort when he shakes his head. “Great. I assume we don’t have Pay-tv either.”

“YES! Take that!” You snicker because you just beat Bucky at Monopoly again.

“We didn’t have that game in the forties, and while being brainwashed I didn’t get the chance to play games.”

You stick your tongue out. “OH, boohoo, poor Bucky baby got booboo,” you imitate his voice. “You’re a sore loser.”

“You’re an awful winner,” he bites back. “Winning at a game your opponent doesn’t know is unfair.”

You look at each other before starting to laugh. Bucky holds his stomach while you slap the table, knocking the game over. “You shouldn’t play with me if you can’t take the heat …”

“Nooo!” You scream at the top of your lungs. Jolting up on the bed you press one hand to your heart. It’s racing, and you don’t know for a moment if you were dreaming or if Ransom died again.

“Where is—?” Bucky secures his gun seeing only you in your room. He tugs it away to check on you. “You’re safe, doll.” He murmurs and sits next to you on the bed.

You choke out a sob, realizing it was only a nightmare. Sadly, your husband is still dead, and your baby will never be born. “He’s gone…they are gone,” you whimper. “They took them away from me.”

“I know, doll…I know.” Bucky doesn’t think when he brings you into his arms to let you cry in his chest. At that moment, you’re not the two people who are at each other’s throats most of the time. You’re two lost souls looking for shelter. “I know.”

“Ransom,” you choke out your husband’s name, “he whispered something before he died.” You cry even harder when Bucky wraps his arms tighter around your body.

“What did he say, doll?”

“Agents, death, money,” you sniffle and hide your face in his shoulder. “Love.”

“You believe he wanted to tell you someone paid the agents for his heath.” You nod against him. “Do you have more than his last words?”

“I have something better than my word and Ransom’s,” you clear your throat, realizing you’re in Bucky’s arms, and enjoy it. “He told me where he hid everything to bring the people killing him down…”

Tags in reblog.

[elliepassmore]

He Who Drowned the World review

5/5 stars Recommended if you like: fantasy, historical fantasy, Chinese fantasy, LGBTQ+ characters, morally gray characters

She Who Became the Sun review Big thanks to Netgalley, Tor, and the author for an ARC in exchange for an honest review! TW: SA, rape I'm always a little wary when I go into sequels of books that were really, really fantastic, but this one 100% lived up to expectations. The characters are in the midst of the effects/consequences of the end of the last book, and they grow and change throughout this one, but every one of them brings so much to this book. It's a fantastic follow up to She Who Became the Sun. The plot feels very high stakes, and while there are parts where things are a bit quieter, you can still really feel that throughout the book. There's a lot of strategizing and re-strategizing and risk taking, which I enjoyed, and there's a palpable feeling of all these characters being so close to what they've been striving so hard for. This book is also definitely darker than the previous one (and there's also a lot more sex). Zhu continues to pursue her dreams of greatness and builds on her victories from the previous book. naming herself the Radiant King seems to have stabilized some of her ruthlessness, but that streak is still in her and you can see it in how she strategizes and plans. I loved seeing Zhu's growth in this book as she gets closer and closer to her goal. There are definitely some major moments of growth and realization for her and we get to see a bit better how Zhu conceptualizes the Heavenly Mandate and becoming emperor/great. (Also, as a side note, I love the batshit crazy side plans she comes up with to make sure everything works). Ouyang remains a main character in this book and we get to see exactly what toll was extracted from him after the ending of book 1. Ouyang is still on his path of revenge, but Esen's death has also changed him for the darker. Yet at the same time that suffering seems to have also opened his mind to alternative methods of getting what he wants (and by that I mean we get to see him and Zhu interact!). He's definitely a changed person from the previous book, but those underlying threads of him are still there and they really show when he has something to concentrate on, like, say, fighting a battle. Ma returns as a POV character as well! I believe she gets fewer POV scenes than the last book, but I enjoyed getting to see things from her perspective. She's one of the few characters in this book who is not grasping for the throne or the death of the person on the throne (even if she wants Zhu to succeed, I think we all know she is no killer). Like before, Ma advises caution and a less ruthless approach to victory, and she drops some lovely pearls of wisdom for pretty much any character she spends any length of time with. Her scenes were a nice break from the scheming. Baoxiang gets his own POV in this one. He's been quite busy with his schemes since the end of the last book and we get to see just how much more scheming he has to do in this one. Of all of them, I definitely think Baoxiang might be the most ruthless, though he competes for that title with Madame Zhang. There's a lot going on internally with Baoxiang and, ironically for them, both he and Ouyang are dealing with similar turmoil re: Esen, just perhaps with slightly different underlying feelings. While we got a hint of it in the last book, I was pleasantly surprised to see just how cunning Baoxiang can be when it comes to getting what he wants. Madam Zhang also gets her own POV, which was interesting. Unlike most of the other characters, who are brimming with something, Madam Zhang is surprisingly void most of the time. She definitely has moments, more so toward the end of the book, of rage, but for the most part she seems to experience things at a distance from herself. As had been hinted previously, she is the rather strategic powerhouse behind the Zhang salt empire, and we get to see that being utilized more viciously and with a greater focus on the throne than before. Xu Da returns as a side character and as before I greatly enjoyed his and Zhu's interactions. Zhu is really the only person whose side characters really carried over from the previous book, so we get to see a lot of them again. Ouyang has two of his commanders still, Geng and Chu, but they're relegated much farther back than before and, of course, Baoxiang is a main character in this book. Otherwise, we get a lot of new characters! I particularly liked some of the ones Zhu picks up. Like before, this book really has a conversation about gender and identity and personhood. It's changed slightly since the last book since the characters have grown and we've added new POV characters to the mix. I enjoyed seeing how the conversation moved forward in this book and how each character came to a decision/realization about their own beliefs and identities. This was a fantastic conclusion to this duology and I probably couldn't have asked for a better second book. Each character has a fitting ending, though I am sad about some of them, and I think the way things played out is true both to the story and the characters.

[antianakin]

I feel like there can be different definitions of the term "honor" and what it means to a culture's values. Like I'd argue the Jedi do also care about honor, but their version of honor is about treating everybody equally and compassionately, about maintaining neutrality in their politics so they don't show favoritism to one planet/system over another, and only ever causing harm in defense of life. This is why Obi-Wan has that line in TCW at the end of the Citadel arc where he argues back against Tarkin's accusation of the Jedi not going far enough to secure victory that if they did whatever it took to win battles, they'd be losing their honor in the process. The priority for the Jedi isn't "winning every battle as quickly as possible" so much as it is trying to attain victory with as little LOSS OF LIFE as possible, both for the clones and the people whose planets end up a battleground (this counts both for Republic planets and Separatist planets).

Whereas Mandalorians seem to define honor more by their family name, how much political power they have over others, martial prowess over others, etc. Satine has a definition of honor that's CLOSER to the Jedi's and she's attempting to move Mandalorian culture towards that definition and away from their traditional one, but a) I don't think she sticks to it herself very well, and b) Death Watch are making for damn sure she doesn't succeed. And even Satine's definition seems to be pretty weird since seems to refuse any level of nuance (for example, she completely turns on anyone who seems to make a mistake or doesn't do as she asks, like the dock master or the Prime Minister, even when they're innocent of any crime or had sympathetic reasons for what they did and she might bear some culpability for their choices). There's no honor in threatening an innocent man with incarceration for a crime he didn't commit simply because he dared to question her once. But Satine is more interested in making sure she doesn't look like she's allowing any kind of corruption than she is in being compassionate or merciful or thoughtful. She has a similar outlook on the Jedi. So while Satine is trying to move the Mandalorians away from a code of honor based primarily on violence and martial prowess and family feuding, she still has some elements of what appear to be a VERY Mandalorian honor code.

If the Mandalorians defined "honor" the way the Jedi tend to do, I'd agree with the person above who claimed the Mandalorians don't value power, but that just isn't how I've ever seen them be portrayed. And while they discounted "Disney" canon, the dude currently most in charge of everything Star Wars right now is pretty clearly a massive Legends fan who is working pretty hard to turn "Disney" canon into Legends canon anyway, Mandalorians included.

And I'd make the same argument for the word "family." I think it's true that Mandalorians value family, I just don't think that their version of "family" is particularly inclusive and their way of valuing family seems to often lead to more violence down the line. The Jedi tend to use the word very loosely to describe the entire Order's relationship to each other. But they never prioritize the Order above the entire galaxy, and they don't prioritize certain people within the Order above others simply because they might know them better. The Jedi say family to just mean someone they are connected to, someone who they know they can turn to if they need to, someone who can understand them and support them. Mandalorians only consider someone family if you're connected by blood or marriage (or adoption sometimes). Look at how the Mandalorians treat OTHER MANDALORIANS. Look at the way Bo-Katan's group is immediately dismissive of Din's covert as a "cult." Look at the way the Children of the Watch have taught their children that anyone who doesn't wear the helmet is not a Mandalorian and so people who were literally BORN on Mandalore don't get to count as Mandalorians. There's zero acceptance in either culture for people who choose to be Mandalorians in a slightly different way. There's no tolerance or compassion or understanding. Family is a very LIMITED term that gets used to other certain people and seems to inevitably lead to violence.

So sure, the Mandalorians value family and honor, fine. But their versions of family and honor seem pretty inherently selfish and an excuse for more violence towards each other.

Okay, what about more AUs where a Jedi leaves the Order and becomes a Mandalorian because they feel like the Order is too restrictive and caught up in politics or whatever, and then they realize how much they HATE it and how much better the Jedi Order was specifically BECAUSE they have these rules that actually make life so much better overall. Like yeah, sure, the Jedi have to play politics sometimes and that can be frustrating, but look at what happens when everyone is doing whatever they want and fighting for themselves. It's not good. Sure, the Jedi don't allow marriage and children, but look at what happens when certain families are given more power than others just by luck of birth or by which person can beat up someone from the other person's family better. Look at the dynasties and hierarchies it creates and how much conflict comes out of it.

And so they quit being a Mandalorian and go back to being a Jedi because they have seen the light.

[jennana501]

A Case for Rexsoka

I’ve been around the block when it comes to ships. I’ve seen people obsess over them, and I too have been driven mad by obsession. I was a hardcore original avatar fan and I was OBSESSED with shipping Toph and Sokka together. Any time they so much as made an interaction I over analyzed it and picked it apart looking for clues that somehow would prove that my hunches were correct. It was because I related with both characters, and I loved their chemistry. I wanted them to have a romantic relationship because it would feel like some sort of personal validation.

I’m an adult now and nothing has changed. But it has been a while since I’ve desperately shipped two characters together that are not obviously romantically involved with one another, or who could be romantic behind the scenes or beyond the story shown.

Until Rex and Ahsoka.

And I’ve seen people be adamantly against it. 

“No no no it’s just a brother/sister relationship.” 

“No it’s gross she is a child”.

And of course being disagreed with on the internet can drive a person crazy, and instead of individually arguing with dozens of people online, I’m making this post once and for all to explain why I think Rex and Ahsoka have romantic feelings for each other. Especially Rex.

The argument I’ve seen, that their deep passion, commitment, love, admiration, and respect for one another (which are all so obvious you’d have to be...silly to not see it) are felt in a platonic fashion. Which, for the first 6 seasons and 8 episodes, I would totally agree.

But then Ahsoka comes back. And let’s face it. She is a woman. Age wise, she’s around 17, but everything from the maturity of her Lekku (which weirdly don’t get all that longer, especially compared to other Tagrutan women) to her poise and confidence, to her prowess as a warrior, a user of the force, and her ability to command soldiers as well as control her emotions points to her being an adult woman. She’s no Snips anymore; she’s no child. She’s grown up. And how her peers react to her illustrates how they now view her as an adult.

First there is Obi-wan. Obi-wan has always been a mentor to her, a sort of second Master. Obi-wan never hesitated to guide and Ahsoka or offer his council. He is proud of her when she succeeds, and will admonish her when she makes mistakes. When she returns and he sees her as a woman, he changes the way he treats her. He acknowledges her maturity by addressing her as an equal. He doesn’t admonish her. Instead he discusses with her, challenging her ideas and letting her offer an argument for them instead of putting them down and telling her how she should think or act. He also comes to her in his time of need, trusting her to help him with Anakin.

Then there is Anakin. We all know of Anisoka shippers, and they are perfectly able to ship and enjoy said ship, but we can all acknowledge that it is a crack pairing with no basis in the canon. Anakin portrays the perfect kind of brotherly love. He is excited to see Ahsoka, and is stunned by her unexpected reappearance. Things are harder for Anakin because he is used to their fun banter and sibling-like companionship. He’s constantly shut down with her business like manner and he struggles with coming to terms with the fact that she isn’t a little kid sister anymore. She is an adult with a mission and a plan. When he looks at her, he is endearing. He loves her. Admires her. And he can’t wait to pick up where they left off. There’s joy and adoration in his face. He is proud of her and what she has become, but he also feels alienated and even hurt because of how her adulthood has changed their dynamic.

Then there is Rex. When he first sees her, he wants nothing more than to reassure her that she still belongs. The clones had accepted her into their family. As far as they were concerned, she was one of them. When he looks at her for the first time, he’s beaming with the same adoration as he had had for her before, but also with a solemn awe at what she has become and what she has grown into. He welcomes her back into his life without hesitation.

But then there is a moment things shift so drastically that I paused the show and re-watched it half a dozen times. We all know it and love it. This face he gives Ahsoka. The Look.

What we see here is something we have never, EVER seen in Rex for 7 whole seasons. And it is my opinion that this is the first time Rex has been able to feel and express that he is attracted to Ahsoka. In other words, Rex has a sexual awakening.

Up until this point, Rex has been a sexless character. Nothing he does is flirtatious, sexy, or at all suggestive that he has those feelings inside him at all. Every sexual being has a moment where they are first animalistically drawn to another being. Characters who have already had this moment are easy to pick out. Obi wan. Anakin. Ventress. These characters have already experienced their sexual awakening. Ahsoka has too. Lux was her first object of attraction.

But Rex has never had this moment. Until this reaction.

I know some of you might be thinking “but Ahsoka gives a very similar look to Anakin, does that mean she is sexually attracted to HIM?” It’s a very good point. Ahsoka and Anakin share some cheeky playful looks during “Old Friends Not Forgotten”. We see many characters give similar looks to other characters, but does this mean it means the same thing as when Rex does it? The short answer is no.

When animators design a character, they establish the “range of emotion” for that character. You can easily see this when you look back at how many times you see Rex break from his stoic, captain’s face. He rarely laughs, smiles, or emotes in any way. This is why when we see him emote it is exciting to us as an audience. A character like Ahsoka or Anakin commonly show a wide variety of expressions. Ahsoka is much more likely to give a cheeky look than Rex is. So “the look” for Rex, means a lot more when he is doing than it does when another character does it, say Fives or even Obi-Wan.

Which means the writers are trying to tell us something about this moment. 

This moment has changed Rex’s and Ahsoka’s relationship. 

Now does this mean that they are going to go bang each other immediately? Does this mean the second they are alone after “Victory and Death” they start an intense, sexual relationship? Of course not. That’s not what this ship is about at this time. But the reason many of us ship it is because suddenly they don’t feel like brother and sister anymore. It isn’t entirely platonic. And the show does a good job to further emphasize this as they come closer and closer both emotionally, and physically during the finale.

Blocking is a huge factor in visual storytelling. During the finale, Rex and Ahsoka are blocked in a way that makes them as close as physically possible on the screen. This communicates to the audience that they are closer now than they have ever been. As Jedi and Clone Trooper. As friends, and as companions, their bond forged in the fires of war, struggling to find meaning in life as soldiers.

In contrast, look how Ahsoka and Anakin are blocked in their scenes. There is nearly always a gap between them, illustrating that they are distanced from each other emotionally. Rex is even visually inserted into the gap between them in several instances. Anakin and Ahsoka are growing apart, but she and Rex are growing closer.

We get to experience Rex and Ahsoka engaging in actions and conversations that we had rarely seen before. From casual banter, to moments of intense intimacy, to emotional peaks, Rex and Ahsoka interact more in these four episodes than in the previous six seasons. Part of this is because their maturity gap has closed. Ahsoka is finally Rex’s equal in experience and maturity. It is also in part because it is a unique dynamic. No Obi-wan. No Anakin. Rex and Ahsoka are equal leaders of the 332nd. There’s also the fact that they are put into life threatening situations and have no one else but each other.

But there is that “look” that is given at the beginning of all this that suggests something else, that as their bond undoubtedly becomes strong as beskar, there is an element of it that takes their relationship from the platonic to the romantic.

I feel every detail, moment, and piece of dialogue in the finale tells the story of this bond. 

Many instances of their strong emotional bond have been spread throughout the internet, with most ready to acknowledge that they have a connection unlike any other, one that may even be described as a “force” connection. These last four episodes are so exciting because we see two friends reunited, but then we get to watch as their relationship transforms.

Even disregarding their implied attraction to each other physically, they dive into each other and hold on tight. Ahsoka shares deep personal worries with Rex, and Rex and her are shown opening up to each other in ways they have never opened up before.

We were all floored and dumbfounded at scenes such as these that show these characters at their most vulnerable. But they decide to be vulnerable together. Is it because they are all that is left of their 501st family? It part, this is definitely true. But by being this vulnerable they transform their relationship into something very different from what they had before. It will never be the same again, and it will be near impossible to back out of the emotional intimacy that these two have participated in. Once you have formed that kind of an attachment with someone, there is no going back, and as is seen in rebels, these two maintain that strong connection even after years of being apart.

This goes beyond their sexual desires or needs. They’ve forged a bond that cannot be broken. They have shared minds, shared pain and agony that only the other can understand. They’ve been isolated from the world, and all they have left is each other.

And at the end of the series, when we have Rex and Ahsoka broken, their world flip upside down and everything they ever valued or cared about lies in ruins before them, the idea that they still have each other is that beautiful seed of hope Star Wars is so good at preserving. Those of us who believe that their relationship could be romantic want good things for Rex and Ahsoka. We want them to have that love and share it with each other. Maybe only for a few moments, but having known it would be better than both of them living and dying without having that experience. 

When we see the two in Rebels, for me it confirms that these two love each other deeply. But their lives can never be lived in a normal fashion. They cannot even be together as partners in life. The Empire has stolen this from them. The tragedy of this ship is that it can never be the way we want it to be. Rex will age and die long before Ahsoka is even halfway through her own life. They cannot live with one another. They cannot wake each morning with each other, at least not at the point we see them in rebels. 

But they continue to love each other. Even over distance, even knowing that mortality will claim them with only a fraction of the memories that they deserve with one another. 

So please, the next time you see some art or a fic, or a post like this, think of what I had to say. Rexsoka is about two adults, their lives destroyed at the hands of Sidious, but in defiance they still forge a bond that he could never break or take from them. And that to me is beautiful and something to celebrate.

Side note: I spent a ton of time making gifs but they never would work and so I had to use screenshots instead :(

EDIT: At the request of the OG poster of a few gifs, I have replaced them have also made some grammatical changes. 

[waiting4inspiration]

A Queen behind a King V (Ivar x Reader)

Summary: With your son now born, it’s time to attack and take Kattegat. You end up with more allies than you thought, and it may work to your benefit.

Warnings: angst, small fluff, talk of war, mentions of childbirth, strong language, murder, death of a major character, (had to add a gif of what I imagine Eydis to look like)

Word Count: 2,735

A Queen behind a King Masterlist II Vikings Masterlist

Ivar kept pestering Eydis to keep his word over the next few months through letters. And all of them were replied to, by Eydis telling Ivar that he wouldn’t be leaving Fjoll until his son is born. And thought that is mostly true, you know that he won’t leave Fjoll until he knows, until you agree, that his plan to take Kattegat is perfect and guaranteed to succeed. 

And after waiting, planning and perfecting, your son was born during a thunderstorm late one night. You said that it’s a good sign that he was born in a thunderstorm, that Thor was celebrating his birth because he will do great things. Eydis agrees, and he says that he can tell that from the strong look he has in his eyes. A look, he says, he gets from you. 

Eydis sent a letter to tell Ivar he will be traveling to Kattegat soon. And Ivar knows that it means his son was born. He doesn’t know if it means that you’ll be joining your husband with your son, but Ivar thinks that it would be stupid of you to do that. 

Of course, Eydis wanted you to come with him. He could never dream of being away from you or sharing a victory without you. He says that it will allow him to spend time with his son as well. 

And when you arrive in Kattegat, your heart breaks to see how the people are half-dead, how everything seems dull. How there doesn’t seem to be a ship on the fjord. Eydis sees a difference too from the last time he had been there. When you were still the city’s queen, he remembers how every person he passed had a smile on their face. Now, it just looks like they’re waiting for death. 

Eydis wouldn’t attack within the first week of being there. He’d give Ivar a reason to trust him, help rebuild the city that would soon be his. He would watch you do what you’re best at; care for those that need help and give them hope of a better life. All while being the mother of his child. He’s impressed, and that only makes his love for you grow bigger. 

When Ivar saw your son for the first time, he was beyond bitter. There you are, the woman he wants back with someone else’s child in your arms. It’s like the Gods are waving in his face that he will never have you again and it leaves a vile taste in his mouth.

With Kattegat now starting to flourish again, Eydis wants to attack soon. And that’s where you would come in. 

Because of your past with Ivar, because you know him better than Eydis does, you would need to go in and distract Ivar so that your husband can sneak the army in - men that Ivar believes have come with to help rebuild houses and barns and all that. 

Eydis looks after your son, Tore, as you scout the Great Hall to make sure nothing has changed, to make sure the weak spots you have told your husband about are still there. It was your plan to do this because it would seem less suspicious than if Eydis were scouting around. All you have to do is make sure you don’t run into Ivar.

Gasping when you walk into a body, your head snaps up to look with wide eyes who it is you had bumped into. “Ubbe,” you whisper, slightly relieved that it’s not Ivar because you’re sure that would lead to a fight. 

“What are you doing, (Y/n)?” he questions in a whisper, quickly glancing around to make sure no one is around you two. 

You frown up at him, confused to see a look of trepidation on his face. “I’m just...reliving memories?” you try, your words making him turn his head back down to you and he raises an eyebrow at you. 

You knew he wouldn’t really fall for it. 

“You look like someone who’s planning an attack,” he mentions, still keeping his voice soft and the distance between you two close. You don’t drop your head, keep your gaze on him, and a confident look on your face. “As a wife and a mother, I’d say that this is a fight you and your husband can’t afford to lose,” he says, taking another step forward and smiling down at you. 

A breath catches in your throat as you blink up in shock at him. “You mean…”

He nods, confirming your thought. “Hvitserk and I will help you and Eydis get your army in.”

“How did you know we’re planning this?” you ask before he can walk away. 

All he does is smile down at you and chuckle to himself. “Why else would you have come back so soon after giving birth to your son?” he questions, making you smile and glance down to the ground. 

You feel somewhat relieved now to know that you have someone else on your side. That you have someone on the inside to help you. You know that Eydis will be happy to hear that too.

Arriving back at camp and walking into your tent, you suddenly don’t want to talk about war when you see Eydis with your son asleep in his arms, whispering to soldiers about the plans for tomorrow’s attack. Whispering, because he doesn’t want his son to wake. 

The sight makes you smile and chuckle as you step farther into the tent. When Eydis spots you, he quietly dismisses the soldiers and turns towards you as they walk out of the tent. He smiles, follows your gaze to Tore in his arms, and allows you to take him. 

“It went well?” he whispers, talking about your little mission to the Great Hall. 

You sigh, gently caress your son’s cheek as you lift your gaze up to Eydis. “It did. And we’ve got some extra help,” you mention. Feeling Tore stir in your arms, you glance back down at him and smile to see him opening his eyes.

Eydis frowns at you as you turn around and walk towards a pelt of fur on the ground. You softly comfort your cooing son, lulling him back to sleep with gentle caresses. “From who?” he asks, walking after you as you sit on furs. 

“Ubbe and Hvitserk,” you simply say. 

Your words make him freeze in his spot and your head turns up to him. “Can we trust them?” he questions, takes another step forward, and lowers himself to sit beside you. “I won’t have everything we planned ruined because of a simple mistake like that-”

“We can trust them, my love,” you stop him, smiling at how he wants everything to be perfect. It’s not like how Ivar wanted things to be perfect. Eydis is patient for his plans to come together. Something that makes you feel less stressed because you don’t have to run around to make sure nothing goes wrong. 

He smiles at you, nods your head, and takes your word. He trusts you, trusts your word, and trusts any addition to the plan to take the city. Reaching out to cup the side of your face, he strokes his thumb over the top of your cheek as you lean into his touch. “I love you,” he whispers as he leans closer to press his lips to yours.

You kiss him back, keep your son secure in your arms as he shifts closer to you. You only hope that this isn’t going to be the last intimate moment you have with him, that this is the last moment you have with your family. 

It’s quiet. Ivar hasn’t had a quiet moment like this since you left. Normally, he has his brothers pestering him about the conditions of the people in the city, constantly reminding him that he needs to do something about it. Today, they are no were to be seen. 

Until he hears footsteps slowly walking into the room. He chuckles to himself, laughing because he knew that Ubbe couldn’t keep away. And as he turns his head to snap at who he thinks is his brother, his coy smirk falls when he sees your face across the room. 

“Don’t you have a son to take care of?” he snaps, shifting in his seat and turning to face you as you slowly walk forward. 

Biting your lower lip, you drop your head to look at your hands and sigh. Lately, you feel as if you’ve been neglecting your son and you voiced your feelings to Eydis. His response was better than you anticipated. He says that when this is all over, he promises that the three of you will spend time together and he will make sure that time isn’t disturbed. 

“My son is in capable hands with someone I trust,” you mention as you lift your gaze back up to Ivar. Even though you hated doing it, you left your son with the wife of one of the soldiers.

Ivar hums and turns his head away from you as he bites the inside of his cheek. You can tell that he’s not in one of the best moods, but lately, it seems to be something common. Every time you see him, every time you’re in the room, you notice the bitter look on his face. And maybe, you think, it’s because you are here. “Why have you come?” he asks, dropping his head slightly so he can look at his hands. 

You take a final step, now standing a few steps away from him and fold your hands in front of him. “Because you need to know that you hurt me in more ways than one,” you state, thinking that it would be the perfect way to distract him so that Ubbe and Hvitserk can lead in Eydis and the army. 

He rolls his eyes, stands from his seat slowly, and reaches out to grab his crutch. “I never felt more alone than I did when I was your wife,” you carry on, following him when he tries to walk away. And with his back facing you, not even acknowledging your words, it makes something you haven’t felt in a long time boil up inside you. “Listen to me!” you shout, your voice echoing through the room and the harshness of your voice makes Ivar freeze in his tracks. “Look at me,” you order.

Your heart races in your chest as he shakes his head to himself before slowly turning around to face you again. His eyes meet yours, making your heart pick up pace and your breathing to become rapid. “If I had known that you would have ignored me as much as you had, I wouldn’t have agreed to marry you and be your queen. I was supposed to help you rule, not rule for you.”

“You think you were the one that ruled Kattegat instead of me?” he laughs, taking a step forward as you swallow the lump growing in your throat. “Without me, you would have been nothing. I made you what you are now,” he hisses, comes to a standstill in front of you and waits for you to deny it. 

But you only smile at him. “You did. I won’t deny that. But I won’t have you take all the credit. Because it wasn’t really you. It was you, drunk, careless and useless that made me what I am now,” you mention, taking a small step away from him when his eyes become slightly darker. “Had you given a damn about what the people in your kingdom needed, I wouldn’t have been able to learn by myself how to rule and how to be a great queen,” you say with a small laugh as you shake your head, hoping that Eydis doesn’t take much longer.

Ivar’s hand shoots out, wraps around the back of your neck and pulls you slightly closer, making you gasp and reach out to try and push him away from you. But something in his eyes, the look in them, and how he doesn’t hold your neck tightly makes you stop fighting to get away from him and stare up at him. “And never did I say I don’t love you,” he whispers, your eyes growing wide as he leans slightly closer to your face. 

“Ivar…” You try to stop him, but he presses his lips to yours before you can say anything else. 

Maybe if things were different, you would have kissed him back. But then things would have had to be way different. A lot of things would have had to not happen. Like, the number of times he’s raised his hand to you, how he banished you. How he said that he should have killed you instead of banished you. Even then, you’re still faithful to your husband, the father of your child. 

And as you push him away, breaking the kiss, you look up at him with cold, unloving eyes when a war horn sounds in the distance. “You didn’t say it. But you showed that you don’t love me,” you whisper, step back when he lets go of your neck and glances to the side at the sound of the second horn blowing. 

He turns his head back to you when he hears the door break open, sees you walking backward with a confident look on your face. 

Your men rush in, Eydis leading them with an almost terrified look on his face as he looks over to make sure you’re alright. He sighs in relief and moves over to you as Ubbe and Hvitserk walk into the room, revealing their betrayal to Ivar. 

“You’re alright,” Eydis whispers, rests his forehead against yours and holds your face in his hands. 

Ivar glares at the men that try to come close to him, either to arrest him or kill him. Whatever Eydis’ wish be. But it’s obvious that he’s here to take the throne, something Ivar could kick himself for not seeing or suspecting. Had he really gotten so desperate that he failed to see this?

You nod your head and rest your hands on your husband’s chest as you breathe out a small sigh. “I had my fears that I wouldn’t see you again,” he whispers, making a small smile grow on your face as you pull back slightly to look at him. 

He then turns his head over his shoulder when he remembers Ivar’s presence and reaches down to take your hand in his. “I should have known that you would have tried to take Kattegat from me, (Y/n).”

“It was my idea,” Eydis fights back, making Ivar’s gaze turn away from you and land on your husband. “I said I would give her what she deserved, and I have,” he adds, takes one step forward, and lets go of your hand. 

You can’t say that your heart doesn’t skip a small beat at that, especially with the look Ivar has in his eyes. That look that you hate. 

Ivar laughs, shakes his head, and glances down as he bites his lower. “You still have to kill me,” Ivar mentions, and you see his hand reach for the ax at his side. 

“Eydis!” you shout, making your husband draw his own ax before Ivar can even get a grip on his. 

You blink. And the ax lies embedded in Ivar’s chest. But there isn’t an ax in Ivar’s hand. 

Your heart drops when you see your husband fall to the ground and you don’t care that Ivar does the same. Moving to Eydis’ side, you bite your lip to see the ax in question in his chest by his collarbone. “Eydis? Eydis, look at me,” you whisper, taking his face in your hands as stroking his cheeks to get him to keep his eyes open. 

He gives you a small smile and reaches up to take your hand in his. “Don’t cry,” he whispers, but that only makes a sob burst past your lips. “I’m not leaving you so soon,” he weakly says as he presses a kiss to your knuckles. 

Leaning over and minding the weapon still in his collarbone, you rest your forehead against him and whisper a prayer to the Gods in your mind to leave your husband with you. Your heart couldn’t bear losing him. Not now.

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[haunthouse]

5 for the telephone siblings?

things you didn’t say at all / writing prompts. content warnings: strained sibling relationships, death, the identity issues that come with being an alternate. uh. this one got long and it got sad. also on ao3!

“Seb, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

It’s not a sentence that’s ever preceded anything good, in Sebastian’s experience, and there’s a small, petty part of him that wants to turn his back out of spite, say I will not look, walk out of the locker room and go home. His Steaks, the ones he was with three years ago, pointed at the decree results and said the same thing, moments before he was ripped between realities — and now, when these Steaks say Seb, he knows they aren’t talking to him but to the ghost of the Sebastian he replaced.

It gives him a headache if he thinks about it too much, makes something swirling-sick spark up in his gut. If he doesn’t think about it, it’s like he’s forgetting the world he left behind. There’s no good options, no happy medium, just static droning on and on under darkened skies.

August’s still staring at him, so he fights the urge to run away back with a stick and looks where she’s pointing. The TV mounted on the wall. It’s tuned to the splorts network, tuned to —

Canada. Moist Talkers versus Pies; their game of the day offset from the Steaks’, still going on an hour after the Steaks’ game had come to an end. He thinks August’s pulling a prank until the view switches to a shaky-cam close-up on a murder of crows so thick he can’t see past them, until they part, until out from the swarm steps his sister. She limps to the dugout, leaving the peanut shell in pieces on the field behind her — and despite the shakiness of her steps, she grins a movie-star grin directly into the nearest camera.

Sebastian feels sick.

***

It isn’t that he’s not happy for Jessica.

Sebastian imagines it isn’t fun to be trapped in a shell. Sebastian imagines it’s a little like being trapped in a shadow — not the shadows, like Townsend, but constantly ignored in favor of a sister or a god. Same thing, when it comes down to it.

Maybe that’s an unfair thing to think. Maybe comparing Jess to the god that trapped her there is cruel; maybe comparing himself to her is self-serving at best; maybe it doesn’t matter. The Steaks seemed shocked, when he appeared, that he didn’t fawn over his sister’s every move. Jess seemed shocked, too. Sebastian feels a little bad for whatever former version of himself was here — a version who didn’t seem to want anything more than being the second of two, the lesser Telephone twin.

He’s a little jealous, too. From the stories he’s heard, it seems like this version of himself and his sister were much closer; maybe he genuinely hadn’t minded being in her shadow, maybe he’d celebrated her. Maybe they hadn’t traded jabs every time they were on the field together and meant most of the awful things they said about each other. Maybe they’d actually loved each other; didn’t just say they did.

Sebastian — this Sebastian, the only one who’s here, the one who can’t stop thinking about how he’s not the right version of himself and not the right Telephone and his stats might be better than the old one but clearly that doesn’t actually matter to anyone else — hadn’t spoken to his Jessica in years, when he disappeared. When he was replaced with the other one, he can only assume.

He’d always kind of wondered what it would be like to have a sister he was friends with. They’d fought too much for that to ever be more than an idle daydream, one he would shake himself out of quickly — there was no use in it, even if it would be nice.

(Maybe he’s more than a little jealous.)

But — but — but. But here’s it’s in reach. Here Jess smiles at him when they pass each other on the field, even if it is always a little grief-tinged. He hasn’t been rude to her, but he also hasn’t been kind. He doesn’t call.

And when she’d been shelled, the Steaks had given him condolences like he was the Sebastian they used to know, even knowing he wasn’t. He’d been — not sad, not really, but something more complicated than that. The bitter joy of being the only Telephone mixed with the regret — his chance to reach out taken, too late, not enough, gone. She’d tried calling him a few times, back in season five, and he’d stopped answering the phone, let it ring once and hit end call, not even giving the illusion that he’d just missed it and would call back later — and maybe that was cruel, maybe that was just leftover animosity towards his Jessica, maybe he should have been kinder.

He’d assumed she wouldn’t be coming out of the shell, or that she would be someone else, when she did. The gods don’t do anything without consequence attached.

He hadn’t expected to feel grief at the thought.

Now that she’s back — and with a two-run homer on her first at-bat; he tries to steer his reaction more towards good job, Jess, away from showoff — all those swirled-together emotions make a model volcano somewhere in his gut, threatening to blow.

Sebastian fights back the urge to run, sits himself on one of the sofas in the stadium’s den and watches the game play out. The Steaks give him distance. He tugs at a loose thread on his jersey until there’s a hole in it; he’ll have to get Conner to help him sew it back together before the next game, but he keeps worrying at it anyways, because the harm is already done and he might as well. Jess hits a two-run homer and takes the Pies from losing to victory, and smiles even as she looks like she’s about to collapse.

Leach Herman, from the other sofa, as the TV drones on about the birds and the shell and the league’s star: “You gonna call her?”

Sebastian’s still blinking at Jess’ face on the TV. Takes a moment to process Herman’s words, and another to process that they’re said to him. “I don’t know,” he says.

The rest of the Steaks leave quickly. Game’s over; the excitement of an unshelling has calmed; the Garages’ game is over for the day, too, so no risk of beaning-related news filtering in. Home game means they can all go home. Sebastian still doesn’t know how to feel at home here, so he spends most of his time in the stadium; plays games on the den’s TVs when the rest of the team has filtered out, or reads the comics Greenlemon leaves scattered across the common areas.

Leach is an alternate twice-over, so she gets it more than most. Sometimes she sticks around. They tell each other about the places they came from.

(Her home sounds like a nightmare, and as such, she’s adjusted far better than he has to this new world. His wasn’t ideal, but he was happy there. He knew where he stood, there.)

“Far be it from me to tell you what to do,” she says, which means she’s about to tell him what to do. It’s hard to read her expression, but from the tilt of her head, she’s deep in thought for a moment before continuing. “But I saw you when she was shelled. That first moment, realizing what it meant, that she might be gone — I’ve lost a lot of people, Sebastian. You almost lost her, and didn’t realize it would hurt until it was done.”

“Wow,” Sebastian says. “Jesus, Leach. Are you a mind-reader or something?”

“Only sometimes,” she says, which, ominous. “You’re not very subtle, though. Your emotions show on your face.”

“Cool,” Sebastian says, half-sarcastic but too soft for it to come across.

“Think about it,” Leach says, standing up. “Her place on the idolboard has hardly shifted. It’s possible she’ll go back again at the end of this season.”

“I’ll think about it,” Sebastian says, and he means it.

***

The Steaks beat the Garages the next day, and the Pies win their own game in Charleston, and Sebastian hits the call button before he gives himself time to second-guess.

“Seb?”

Jess’ voice sounds the same as he remembers, from both his world and the Jess who’d called him after he’d been swapped. Jess’ voice sounds mostly the same, but it’s hoarse, like she was screaming the whole two months she was trapped. He wonders if anyone outside the shell would’ve heard, if she had been, and feels a pang of awful guilt for the thought.

“Hi, Jess,” he says, and wills his voice to stay steady, and half-succeeds. “I, uh. I saw you were back? And I wanted to say — uh, congratulations, I guess?”

“You called,” she says, slowly.

“Yeah,” he says. “I called.”

“Thank you,” she says, and it’s almost diplomatic, like she’s weighing her words before saying them, which — really, he hasn’t given her much reason not to. Another pang of guilt. “But why? It’s been — it’s been a while.”

(Echoes of that first time she’d called him after he’d been swapped, and had acted as if they talked constantly, had said she was worried when he hadn’t called to fill her in on the election results. He doesn’t remember exactly what he’d said, but it was something like Why are you calling me, Jess, you haven’t called me in five years. He’d hung up on her, then. He wonders what would have changed if he hadn’t.)

“I don’t know, I was just — I was thinking, while you were in there? I didn’t think I’d get another chance to talk to you. And I might not be the Sebastian you grew up with, but — I was never close to the Jess I grew up with, and I thought, it would’ve been nice, if I’d taken the chance to get close to you, when you offered.” He’s rambling. He’s not giving himself enough air between words; he takes a shaky breath, continues. “And now you’re out, and I just… thought I should say hi.”

There’s a moment of silence long enough that he checks to make sure she hasn’t hung up. The background-static of the call still thrums somewhere at the back of his skull, and her name is still written in bold letters on the screen of his phone.

“Sorry, it was — I was in there a while, I don’t know if I remember how to talk to people,” Jess says. “Hi. It’s good to hear your voice, Seb.”

There’s so much warmth to that single sentence that it makes him want to cry.

Instead, he takes a deep breath, sinks further into the couch he’s settled himself on. “We’re playing the Pies next week,” he says. “Can we go for lunch before a game, or something?”

“Yeah,” she says immediately. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“Cool,” Seb says.

“You’re playing the Garages tomorrow,” Jess says. She says it like it means something, and he knows it does — because it’s not just the Garages, they played the Garages today and it was fine; it’s their undead pitcher, it’s the body count attached. “I caught myself up on everything that’s happened. Hotdogfingers. The debts.”

“Yeah, it’s been — it hasn’t been fun. She got Marco and Sam the second week, and — they’re alright, they survived, but a lot of people didn’t.”

“Be careful? Please. I can’t l—” and she cuts off, but he gets the gist. Can’t lose him again. Because it was a loss, for her, when he showed up and replaced the other-him. “Just be careful.”

“Always am,” he says. It’s a lie. A joke. She wonders if he knows enough about him to know that.

“I have to go practice,” she says. He can hear a smile in her voice, and he realizes very quickly that he’s never heard that tone from this Jess before. It’d been years, when he swapped, since he’d heard it from his own Jess. “But I’ll see you next week, alright? Day seventy-three. Just call me when you get to Philly.”

“Looking forward to it,” he says, and it’s the truth. “Bye, Jess.”

“Bye, Seb.”

***

The next day, Jaylen Hotdogfingers aims a fastball directly at Sebastian’s chest, knocks him flat on the ground. He has to take a long moment in the dirt to catch his breath. The umpire looks like they want to incinerate him just for taking that moment, for delaying play at all before he drags himself to the dugout, sits heavily next to Leach.

She does him the courtesy of not asking if he’s alright.

He isn’t. He saw Sam and Marco go through instability and come out unscathed and thought, foolishly, that it would be easy. They hadn’t seemed any different after being hit. They’d looked exactly the same; perhaps a little more wild-eyed, but the game does that to people.

He looks down at his hand and it has smoke coming off of it already. The smoke before the fire. Events in the wrong direction, happening the wrong way.

“Do you see that?” he whispers to Leach. Holds his hand out in front of her.

“Your hand?” She tilts her head in what might be concern. “It’s the same as it was before.”

He yanks it back into his lap as if it’s been scalded by the words. He’s nervous enough without feeling burnt, even metaphorically.

He should call Jess after the game, he thinks. If something happens to him, she deserves to know beforehand. On the other hand — the video of three Steaks being struck by pitches won’t be plastered over every blaseball news website for the next twenty-four hours, and he knows she checks those religiously, has every stat and every schedule memorized. He’s seen her mouthing her opponents’ stats to herself when the Steaks play the Pies; some of them are numbers he’s never heard of in metrics he can’t fathom, even though they must exist applied to him, somewhere. 

She’ll find out. He’d be surprised if she didn’t know already.

He thinks, in the infield, at the plate, on the bench, about the pros and cons of calling and not calling. Pros: he could talk to her again. The weather forecast is predicting another eclipse in the next few days, and he feels feverish under his skin, like the fire’s just waiting to engulf him. She cares in a way his Jess never did, has replaced all the distance that used to characterize the idea of siblings in his mind with something else, and it’s taken him this long to even start to wrap his head around that.

She doesn’t want to lose him again. She’d been best friends with the other Sebastian.

And that leads him to the cons: it seems unbearably cruel to try to be her friend if he’s only going to die. If they won’t even be able to see each other in Philly, go out for lunch like he promised — the lack of closure might kill her, too. He thinks about the swirling storm of regrets he’d had when she’d been shelled, and thinks about the hopelessness of an incineration. No chance of being pecked free by birds.

He just has to survive the next week. Then he’ll call, and they’ll go out to lunch together. He can apologize for assuming she was the same as the Jess in his world, at first; he can apologize for pushing her away; he can apologize for not calling, as long as he survives.

When Jess calls him after the game, he lets it ring and ring. He does not listen to the voicemail she leaves.

***

Two days later, Sebastian Telephone is incinerated.

[tigerkirby215]

5e Rainbow Dash, the Element of Loyalty build (My Little Pony: FIM)

(Artwork by 14-bis on DeviantArt. It’s remarkably hard to find “regular” artwork of Rainbow Dash, but it probably helps that I’m looking on DeviantArt.)

From DOTA to garbage brony shit! Anyone who’s been around either my YouTube or DeviantArt (no I’m not linking them) would know I’m a brony. It’s been awhile since I’ve watched the show but I do still genuinely love the community. Say what you will but the brony community is dedicated, artistic, and genuinely friendly.

I came up with this concept awhile ago on r/whatwouldyoubuild and once again in an attempt to branch out from League of Legends I figured I’d take a crack at probably the most iconic pony of the show. Yeah suck it Twilight you may be the main character but do you have spectrum hair?

GOALS

10 seconds flat - Rainbow needs to fly fast; fast enough to make a sonic boom of color.

Time to take out the adorable trash - SUPER ACTION HORSE; SHE REALLY KICKS!

Egghead - Rainbow’s got a colorful personality, with plenty of quips in the heat of the moment.

RACE

Pegasi fly. You know what D&D race is known for flight? Aarakocra! Flight is basically all you get as an Aarakocra, but you get to fly a whopping 50 feet as early as level 1! Other than that you get some Ability Score increases: a +2 to Dexterity but I’d suggest moving that Wisdom increase to your Charisma instead thanks to Tasha’s. The only other important thing of note is that you get Talons that do a d4 slashing damage; perhaps more of a gryphon thing but if you DM lets you deal bludgeoning damage instead you could consider these to be hooves.

If Aarakocra isn’t allowed: Flight is kinda a requirement to play Rainbow Dash, but it’s not a requirement for the build. Feel free to use whatever race you want and adapt this build to it.

Chances are if your DM isn’t allowing Aarakocra then they won’t allow other flying races like Winged Tieflings. Though I would perhaps suggest asking your DM if you can nerf the  Aarakocra’s fly speed down to 30. Because yeah: 50 foot flying speed at level 1 is kinda crazy.

ABILITY SCORES

15; STRENGTH - Applejack may be the workerpony but it takes a lot of body strength to kick the clouds into shape!

14; CONSTIUTION - Dexterity would be more in-character but Constitution is far more useful. Feel free to swap CON and DEX for better roleplay but worse health.

13; CHARISMA - I’m pretty sure RD has a solid 70% of the fan content made about her specifically.

12; DEXTERITY - Who would’ve ever guessed that flying fast takes dexterity?

10; WISDOM - Rainbow Dash can be a bit of a hot head at times, acting without thinking when her ambition gets the better of her.

8; INTELLIGENCE - Finish studying for that exam yet?

BACKGROUND

For someone who uses the Athlete feat in far too many builds it’s rather surprising that I don’t use the Athlete background from Theros more! As an Athlete you get proficiency in Athletics and Acrobatics for all sorts of aerial sports, along with a language of your choice (pick your fancy) and while you’d normally get Land Vehicles see if your DM will perhaps allow Air Vehicles?

Your main feature Echoes of Victory makes it more likely that ponies all around Equestria have heard of the great Rainbow Dash! It also allows you to participate in some sporting events to earn a living when you’re not at work clearing the clouds.

(Artwork by nightcreepmax on DeviantArt.)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - ROGUE 1

Starting off with Rogue levels because skill proficiencies are always nice! Take Perception, Persuasion, Insight, and of course Performance with a backing track by Daniel Ingram! You also get Expertise in two skills: Athletics and Acrobatics will help with Wonderbolts-tier stunts!

You learn Thieves’ Cant as a Rogue, which is like a language... but awesome, and only shared by other awesome Rogues. But of course the main appeal of a Rogue is their Sneak Attack, allowing you do an extra d6 of damage through the power of friendship! (Or having advantage on your attacks.)

You can only sneak attack with a finesse weapon but I’d suggest wielding something like a rapier and flavoring it as a really sharp horseshoe. See if your DM will allow you a bludgeoning finesse weapon.

LEVEL 2 - ROGUE 2

You’ve heard of Rainbow Dash, now get ready for Rainbow Disengage! Cunning Action lets you Dash, Disengage, or Hide as a Bonus Action.

LEVEL 3 - BARBARIAN 1

I hope you didn’t expect Rainbow Dash to be the sneaky type! Barbarians get Unarmored Defense at level 1, so you can ditch the leather jacket and instead get AC equal to your Constitution plus your Dexterity!

But of course the main appeal of playing a Barbarian is the ability to Rage with the power of friendship! You can enter a Rage as a Bonus Action for advantage on strength checks and saves, extra damage on melee attacks using strength, and resistance to bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing damage. Your Rage lasts 1 minute but ends early if you are knocked down or go a full round without attacking or being attacked.

You may note that you can only use strength for Rage’s damage bonus damage, which of course conflicts with the Rogue’s requirement for Finesse weapons... Guess what! You can use strength with Finesse weapons, meaning you can Sneak Attack with your strength!

LEVEL 4 - BARBARIAN 2

Second level Rogues get to play with danger! Reckless Attack lets you give yourself Advantage on your attack rolls at risk of enemies having Advantage against you. Now here’s where you cheat the system: if you have advantage on an attack... you can sneak attack! “Oh yeah; that is awesome.”

Additionally: do you know what helps with death-defying stunts? Looking forward. Danger Sense gives you advantage on Dexterity saving throws against effects you can see coming. So if someone throws a ball of fire at you just dodge out of the way!

LEVEL 5 - BARBARIAN 3

Third level Barbarians get to choose their Primal Path, and to smite your foes with the power of awesomeness the Path of the Zealot will let you channel a Rainboom into every hit! While raging, you can channel Divine Fury into the first target you hit to do additional damage equal to a d6 plus half your Barbarian level. The damage can be either Radiant or Necrotic; Radiant makes more sense but if you think Necrotic damage would be more useful it’s nice to have that option.

You also have the power of plot armor thanks to Warrior of the Gods. If you die you can be revived without the use of expensive diamonds, because My Little Pony is a kids’ show. Man can you imagine if they killed off one of the main characters in a kids’ show? That would be wild.

Additionally Tasha’s provided Barbarians with Primal Knowledge for some more skill proficiencies. I’m sure you picked up on some Survival skills at Wonderbolts camp; it’s good to be able to survive if you break your wings and get stranded in the wilderness.

(Artwork by radiostarkiller on DeviantArt.)

LEVEL 6 - BARBARIAN 4

4th level Barbarians get our first Ability Score Improvement: as much of a meme as taking Athlete is Resilient (Strength) is far more useful for keeping alive and avoiding danger.

LEVEL 7 - BARBARIAN 5

5th level Rogues get an Extra Attack, so you can attack twice in a round! So awesome! Additionally your movement speed increases by 10 feet thanks to Fast Movement, so you’re a little closer to reaching Sonic Rainboom speeds!

LEVEL 8 - ROGUE 3

Third level Rogues get to choose their Roguish Archetype. Man I wish there was a Rogue that was based on moving fast and taunting their foes... oh hello Swashbuckler! Swashbuckler gets two features at third level but it’s basically 3 features in total: Fancy Footwork lets you dash move normally away from a target you attempted to stab, making them unable to attack you with a reaction.

Rakish Audacity meanwhile lets you add your Charisma to your initiative rolls, and it lets you Sneak Attack an enemy in melee if they don’t have friends nearby, even if you don’t meet the requirements to Sneak Attack! Of course you could just use Reckless Attack for Advantage to Sneak Attack, but at least your Sneak Attack increases to 2d6!

LEVEL 9 - ROGUE 4

4th level Rogues get another Ability Score Improvement: more Strength will let you “kick” (read: stab) harder.

(Artwork by Skitsroom on DeviantArt.)

LEVEL 10 - ROGUE 5

5th level Rogues get Uncanny Dodge to be as potent as a pony. If you get hit on your turn by an attack you can see you can use your reaction to take half damage instead! Additionally your Sneak Attack damage increases to 3d6.

LEVEL 11 - ROGUE 6

6th level Rogues get Expertise in two more skills: Persuasion will be useful in the future, and Perception will help you mind your head.

LEVEL 12 - ROGUE 7

7th level Rogues get Evasion for some truly death-defying stunts! If you succeed on a Dexterity saving throw you’ll take no damage instead of half damage, and even if you fail your save you’ll only take half damage instead of full damage! “Danger is my middle name!” Additionally your Sneak Attack damage is now 4d6.

LEVEL 13 - ROGUE 8

8th level means another Ability Score Improvement: cap off that Strength so that you can succeed at any athletics contest. “Look ma; no wings!”

LEVEL 14 - ROGUE 9

9th level Rogues can make quips that bronies will buy tee-shirts of. Panache lets you taunt, or lets you charm! As an action, you can make a Persuasion check contested by a creature’s Insight. The creature must be able to hear you, and the two of you must share a language.

If it’s an enemy it’ll have disadvantage to hit anyone who isn’t you, which is good because you’re a bulky Barbarian girl. The effect lasts for 1 minute but ends early if one of your friends hits them.

Alternatively if that person was just some average everypony, you can charm them! Everyone’s friends with Rainbow Dash, after all! Unless you’re not, obviously. Then you can have a 5d6 Sneak Attack!

(Artwork by Dawnf1re on DeviantArt.)

LEVEL 15 - BARBARIAN 6

6th level Zealot Barbarians gain a Fanatical Focus. Once per Rage if you fail a saving throw you can reroll it, because you’re a main character and you’re just that awesome.

LEVEL 16 - BARBARIAN 7

7th level Barbarians get Feral Instinct: so you know how you’re adding your Charisma to your initiative? Well now you have advantage on initiative checks too! Additionally, being around Pinkie Pie means that you know how to react to surprises: and that reaction is to RAGE!

Additionally Tasha’s gives you Instinctive Pounce, letting you move half your movement speed when you Rage. So it’s like half a dash!

LEVEL 17 - BARBARIAN 8

8th level Barbarians get another Ability Score Improvement and I’ll leave this up to you: more Charisma will give you better initiative and an easier time taunting your foes, but more Constitution means more health and armor.

Just decide if you want to be an awesome fighter or have awesome one-liners. Either way you’ll be awesome!

(Artwork by Underpable on DeviantArt.)

LEVEL 18 - BARBARIAN 9

You know how you’re probably rolling most things with Advantage? Well Brutal Critical allows you to add an extra weapon damage die to any crit you might make. So instead of 2d8 + 12d6 + 4, it’ll be 3d8 + 12d6 + 4. “Another great feat of heroism!”

LEVEL 19 - BARBARIAN 10

10th level Zealot Barbarians are so awesome everyone else can benefit from their awesomeness. Zealous Presence will let you use your Bonus Action to give all allies within 60 feet advantage on attack rolls and saving throws until the start of your next turn. You can only use this ability once per Long Rest, so save that Rainboom to truly turn the tide!

Additionally Tasha’s Primal Knowledge gives you another skill proficiency, so take Animal Handling to take the Tank as the tank.

LEVEL 20 - BARBARIAN 11

11th level Barbarians get plot armor, because they’re in a kids’ show. If you’re knocked down to 0 HP Relentless Rage allows you to make a DC 10 CON save while raging to instead drop to 1. You can make this save multiple times but the DC increases by 5 every time and well... your Constitution isn’t exactly earth-shattering, so you’ll probably get two uses out of this at best. Still: defying death twice is more than enough to beat the bad guys! I mean probably.

FINAL BUILD

PROS

I liked it... A LOT - So. Your weapon does a d8 + 5 of damage, your Sneak Attack does 5d6, your Rage does a d6 + 8, and if you crit all your dice get multiplied and you get to add an extra d8 on top of that. In short: you can do a total of 1d8 + 6d6 + 13 damage with one hit (average of 42 damage), or 3d8 + 12d6 + 13 damage on a crit! (Average of 76 damage!)

Seriously; I’d do it for anypony - You work fine alone but the Elements of Harmony work best with friends. Panache helps you keep your friends safe and Zealous Presence lets you make them awesome!

I hate losing - You’re certainly tanky with nearly 200 health, but you know what’s exceptionally fun? Cheating death near constantly. You’ve got two chances to go down to 1 HP instead of 0 while raging, and if they do happen to knock you down Rarity won’t have to sacrifice any diamonds to bring you back! No need for a robotic Rainbow Dash today!

CONS

If I go down, I’m going down flying! - Your AC isn’t great, as you had to invest everything into Strength to be able to smash people big time. Well at least you can wear Medium Armor right? Oh wait you can’t because armor will stop you from using your wings.

Want to know the opposite of agility? That! - So I like level 1 in Rogue for skill proficiencies (by the way you have a surprising amount of them thanks to Tasha’s), but while DEX saves are really nice with both Evasion and Danger Sense you’re lacking Constitution saves. And I mean, let’s not address the elephant in the room of your pitiful Wisdom and Charisma saves.

This competition isn’t for the weak - This build is rather MAD, requiring high Strength, Constitution, Charisma, and at least 13 in DEX. I’m just saying that this might be a build you want to point buy for: put 12 into DEX (+2 from race makes it 14) and 14 in Strength, Constitution, and Charisma. Heck, you can even get one of them up to a 15 with Point Buy!

But ponies aren’t just born awesome. (I mean, they are. Have you seen that mane?) You’ve gotta work to be awesome! Fight the good fight for your friends and save Equestria from both basic friendship troubles and world-ending villains! Participate in a few races while you’re at it and maybe try to find a pet too. Heck, maybe read a book too while you’re at it. You egghead.

(Artwork by JaDeDJynX on DeviantArt.)

[hyperactivelittlebee]

Dancing in the Moonlight(Hermitcraft)

@gridoc

This is for ur pirate au, bean! Based off my "bring on the men" ask I did. I also promised GriDoc fluff sooo~

The soft sound of waves hitting the boat did nothing to drown out the sound of blissful celebration. Grian could blame them really- they had encountered SIRENS. They were just happy to be alive and celebrated it the only way they knew how; with bellies full of rum, a good meal, and a night out on the town.

However, this wasn't Grian's way of celebrating a near brush with death- as tempting as it was.

Instead, Grian had stayed back on the empty ship, much more content at having his privacy on the large vessel. He spent time in his quarters, pacing as he tried to wrap his head around the whole encounter. Why had the siren said that to him? Why did he feel such a burning sensation at the sight of Doc falling for the siren?

Surely it was because he didn't want the captain to succumb to such a terrible fate, right? Nothing more than moral dilemma.

Or maybe that was just what he was telling himself…?

His hand reached into his shirt, pulling out a small silver locket decorated in rubies and sapphires. He opened it, staring at the small framed photo of Taurtis inside.

What if that's only what he was telling himself.

That this was only moral dilemma.

That it was nothing more than just the right thing to do.

That he didn't want to save Doc, but had to for his own sake.

Grian swore off love a long time ago. With Taurtis gone, those butterflies he felt in his stomach just didn't feel right with anyone else. Those butterflies did nothing but remind him of something he lost long ago. It had been so long, but moving on just didn't feel right.

Shaking his head in frustration, the blonde snapped the locket shut and shoved it into his shirt again. He made his way up to the main deck of the ship, climbing up the stairs to the rear railing. In the clear night, Grian could see the entire starry expanse stretching and reflecting along the calming endless ocean before him. The moon shone, big and beautiful in the sky, reflecting off the waters below him.

Out here, he felt something he hadn't felt in a long while.

He felt in control of his life.

A familiar tune reached his ears from a nearby tavern, and he couldn't help but smile as the familiar lyrics played in his mind and rolled off his tounge.

"There was a time, I don't know when- I didn't have much time for men…"

Climbing on to the rail, he grabbed hold of a stray rope hanging from the mast, "But this is now, and that was then, I'm learning…" He leaned back to get a better view of the street, making sure nobody was nearby before continuing, "A boy alone, all on his own, must try to have a heart of stone!" The blonde walked along the rail, spinning slightly and clutching a hand of his heart, "So I try not to make it known, my yearning~" Humming, Grian looking down at the boats deck, smiling as excitement started to course through him, "I try to show, I have no need! I really do, I don't succeed…" Preparing to jump, his grip tightened around the rope. Taking a running leap, Grian swung his way through the air, relishing in the way the wind whipped through his hair, "So, let's bring ON THE MEN-!" Letting go, Grian landed on of the deck with a loud thud, "And let the fun begin! A little touch of sin~! why wait another minute?" At this point, he was belting into the night sky, the feeling of being free ever present, "Step this way, it's time for us to play-!" Grian could feel his heart thumping as he danced freely and sang on the deck, the feeling of having wings never leaving him, "They say we may not pass this way again, so let's waste no more time bring on the men~!"

That was the last time Doc went drinking with Ren. He loved the guy, really he did- but this was the third time his first mate had run off who knows where with Iskall and Mumbo.

His footsteps were heavy as he approached the dock, fully prepared to pass out the moment he got in bed. However, as a familiar tune hit his ears, he slowed down and softened them.

"So, let's bring ON THE MEN~!"

Climbing onto the boat, he jumped a little as a familiar figure landed with a thud on the other side of the deck, back turned to him, "And let the fun begin! A little touch of sin~! why wait another minute?" An amused smile crossed Docs lips as he recognized the figure as a certain former navy boy. So, this was what he was doing.

"Step this way, it's time for us to play-!" Not one to ruin such a performance, Doc silently made his way to lean back against a crate of supplies, watching Grian's every movement in the moonlight.

"They say we may not pass this way again, so let's waste no more time bring on the men~!"

The German snorted softly at the chorus, raising a brow.

"I always knew, I always said, that silk and lace in black and red...will drive a man, right off his head it's easy~"

Silk and lace in black and red?

Well, if Doc did see that on the smaller male, he surely would lose it.

"So many men, so little time! I want them all, Is that a-"

Spinning around, Grian met eyes with Doc and his voice broke off, "C-crime-!"

Smirking, Doc slowly clapped, adoring how Grians cheeks lit up bright red, brows furrowed, "H-how much did you see?"

"Enough." The creeper hummed, staring down the human boy with pure amusement, "And my, that really was quite a wonderful performance…"

"Not. A. Word." Grian growled softly, glaring in a way that made Doc shudder.

God, was he slightly drunk?

"Relax, I won't say anything…for a price."

"A...price?"

Doc hummed a yes before holding his hand out in offer, his smirk softening to something more genuine, "Come out on the dock and dance with me."

Sensing the other man's immediate protest, Doc held up a single finger, "One dance. Just you and me, the crews all in the tavern drinking their giddy asses off." Holding out his hand once more, Doc held out hope, "What do you say, hm? Let bygones be bygones?"

Grian held his breath, his heart fluttering in his chest as his eyes flickered between the captain's hand and face; searching for any trace of ulterior motives. Yet all that seem show was a man who was making a small request.

Sighing deeply, Grian hesitantly took Docs hand, "One dance and just one. Any wandering hands or wrong moves and I swear I'll shove you into the water with zero hesitation." While his tone was joking, he could tell Doc had taken it seriously, "I promise, no funny business…"

Walking off the boat, Doc took off his coat, draping it over a barrel before following Grian to the end of the Deck.

As he went to stand beside the blonde, Doc couldn't help but notice how nervous he seemed.

Resting a hand on his bicep, Doc sent Grian a reassuring smile, "Relax..it's just a dance. As much as I adored fighting with you before, this is supposed to be a break from all that. Okay?"

Taking a deep breath, Grian nodded, "Good. Now, ready?" Turning to the smaller male, Doc slid one hand to take Grian's, and the other gently gripping his waist. Grasping the captain's hand, Grian reached with his opposite hand to hold his shoulder.

Slowly, the two began to dance to the quiet music from the tavern, the moonlight guiding their steps as their movements became so in sync they were moving at one.

As time lost meaning to them, Doc's arm slipped to wrap around his back, pressing them together. Their bodies flush against one another, they seemed to get lost in eachother, Grian's head resting on Doc's chest.

Their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces as the world around them seeming to lose all meaning. 

To Grian, Doc smelt of sea salt, bourbon, and gunpowder- reminding Grian of a victorious battle at sea. His body was incredibly warm compared to the night chill, making Grian not want to let go. The tender way he held him made Grian's head dizzy, and the softness in his eyes made his knees shake.

Those butterflies in his stomach were worse than ever.

To Doc, Grian smelt of lilacs, salt water, and roses- reminding Doc of a flower garden in the spring. His body was shivering from the night chill, and it only made Doc want to hold him closer and allow him more warmth. The way he clung to him with such trust had him reeling and the relaxation in his form made Doc want to scoop him up, lock him in the safety of his cabin, and keep him forever.

"Grian?"

Liftng his head, the blonde looked up at the creeper, a soft, far off haze in his eyes, "Hmm…?"

In the light of the moon, Grian looked almost heavenly. His soft cheeks flushed a soft pink, lips slightly pouted with the corners upturned in a coy smile, and hair a beautifully wind blown mess.

"I-I...Well, I…" Doc's voice trailed off as he began to slowly lean forward, heart leaping as he realized Grian was doing the same.

Too lost in the moment, the two didn't notice they were edging closer to the edge until it was too late. Just before their lips touched, they slipped.

With a shout from both of them, they fell into the icy cold water.

Doc was quick to act, tugging Grian to follow him to shore as they emerged on the beach soaking wet.

Doc shuddered, only mildly bothered by the freeze, "Dammit- I should have been paying attention I-" He stopped as he looked at Grian, realizing how violently he was shaking on the ground.

Quickly, the captain scooped Grian into his arms and ran to the dock again, holding the shivering ball to his chest.

"We have to get you warm, fast…"

Picking up his dry coat, he headed to his quarters, nudging the door open before setting him down on a chair.

He quickly peeled the soaked vest and shirt off Grian before draping his coat over his shoulders. He scooped him up once more before placing him in the bed, wrapping him in blankets, "There. Nice and cozy. Better?"

His face flushed, Grian nodded softly, embarrassed over the fact the captain was so quick to baby him.

"Y-Yea...uh...thanks…" Doc let out a relieved sigh before leaning forward, pressing a soft kiss to Grians forehead, "Good. You can sleep here for tonight, I'll sleep on the sofa…" He gestured to the lounge seat against the wall as he walked to the door, humming, "Stay warm, alright?"

"O...okay…"

Just before he left, Doc smiled softly at Grian, "Oh, and Grian?"

"Huh?"

"I'd...love to do that again some time. Dance that is- without the whole falling in freezing water, that is."

And with a chuckle, he was gone before Grian could say, 'What about you?'

Reaching and touching the locket around his neck, Grian felt his cheek grow warmer at each time Docs words played in his head, those butterflies acting up in his stomach again.

But this time…

Maybe those butterflies weren't so bad.

[reynesofcastamere]

Meteor Stream

(A/N: *siiiiiiiiiiigh* I have no self-control, apparently. Warnings for excessive violence, gore and intrusive thoughts. Set a couple of months before ‘Fragile Stars’ and ‘Fractured Comet’. Unbeta’d.) “Hallway is clear.” “Not clear! Not clear!” Calm assessment turns to frightened screams, the sizzle of burning flesh, and a rapid symphony of blaster fire. Maul’s sabrestaff returns to his hand after finishing its’ deadly arc, now putting the weapon to use to deflect and return incoming shots. The faceless drones of the Emperor still believe they have the advantage, even now. Foolish. His squadron shoots them in the back the moment the blast doors open, leaving the corridor littered with their corpses.

He steps over them without a second thought. “Report.” “Long-range communications are jammed and we’ve managed to sabotage or lock down the exits. The outside reinforcements are going to bleed when they show up.” Saxon sounds immensely pleased, even if he’s not in proper beskar’gam at the moment. Maul’s orders had been clear: Standard mercenary gear only. If Imperial intelligence manages to salvage anything out of what they leave behind, it would be that one of the surviving, treacherous Jedi had lead a group of the galaxy’s bottom-feeding muscle in some pitiful attempt at revenge for their Order. Much as the fiction chafes at him, it is useful. “Sliced into their short-range too. Been hearing some interesting chatter.” There is a gleeful edge to Saxon’s tone that immediately makes him suspicious, especially when Kast elbows her comrade sharply in the side. “Is it relevant to the mission?”  “Uh, not strictly speaking, but-”

“Then I do not care. Complete your objectives and keep communications to a minimum.” Maul states curtly, waiting only for their affirmatives before he stalks off. They do not have a great wealth of time to waste. There are plans for certain...experimental prototypes stored here that will prove quite useful, once acquired and modified to his standards. Yet this facility is merely the secondary target, a loud and violent distraction to leech obstacles and security away from the true prize. If his operatives succeed, he will have a backdoor into all Imperial communications for this sector. Information is where true power lies, my apprentice. Not in crude metal or munitions. One of his Master’s many useful lessons, even if the memory of Sidious’s voice has him gritting his teeth. Focus. There are more stormtroopers headed his way, but he also feels something...else. Slightly more distant. Familiar. White-armoured humans pour out into the hallway, taking up position and firing. Two of them are rotated like puppets on a turntable, shooting their comrades and sowing chaos in the ranks as he darts forward, deflection turning to lethal crimson arcs that send severed limbs and heads flying; This is what he was meant to do; Sabrestaff in hand, the Dark Side flowing through him with every pulse of his twin hearts, controlling the intricate flow of violence, discord, and death. His final target whimpers as Maul reaches inside with the Force and crushes his single, rapid-beating organ. Blazing eyes close for a moment in the aftermath, but then-His head jolts up as if catching a scent, lids snapping open and pupils dilating. Tano. She is here, he can feel it. Getting closer with every breath. Rage and hunger war with each other. On one hand, her potential interference infuriates him, on the other...Oh, the thought of her fully unleashed in combat and fighting for her very life stirs his desire to a fever pitch. Mine. No! He is not an animal to be led by such base urges. But at the very least, he does need to intercept her before his people do. It does not take long. Maul seals the door behind him as he enters what appears to be the mess hall. The name is certainly appropriate now, with tables and benches scattered all over the floor and corpses haphazardly strewn across them like broken dolls. He has arrived just in time to watch the tail end of her combat, deactivating his sabrestaff and placing it on his belt. She remains a thing of beauty in motion, arching and twisting through the air, utilizing gravity whenever possible to increase the momentum and power of her strikes. When the last trooper falls, she turns towards him, tense and wary for a moment before recognition sets in and she powers down her weapons. They stand, silent as he removes the hood and mask that have kept his more...prominent features concealed. The sight of her gaze skimming over his form and her tongue darting out to wet her dry lips decides his actions for him. Maul prowls forward, grasping her upper arms once close enough and backing her into the nearest wall. His fingertips glide upwards then, over her shoulders and the lovely column of her neck to cup her face between his hands. Before he can bend his head to kiss her, she’s holstered her ‘sabres and has jumped up into it, legs wrapping around his hips as their mouths meet. He growls into the contact, which is neither shy nor restrained. Her tongue is absolutely wicked when he allows it entry, and he reciprocates her passion with a near-vengeance. Nothing exists outside this moment but the heated press and slide of their lips and tongues, the shuddered inhales and muffled groans. Even with her armour, Ahsoka’s body is remarkably pliant, curving and fitting against him perfectly. He could have her, like this. Hear her scream as they rut together in the midst of carnage. She might not even mind- “We’ve got company. Evac is scheduled in 10 klicks. You have the plans?” Kast’s crisp voice interrupts his...idle musings and extinguishes most of his desire in one fell swoop. He withdraws just enough to give the woman in his arms a questioning look, and feels some relief when she nods. Maul had suspected that the Rebellion might want said schematics for similar reasons, especially if only one agent had been sent to handle the job. “Yes. Be advised that I will not be coming alone.” He is not letting her out of his sight until they can finish this properly, even if business must come first.

“Ah. You found your cuyan. I’ll pass the word along.” Kast responds, entirely unruffled by this development as he glowers. “You are not in the habit of making assumptions, Kast. I would suggest you do not start one now.” Maul’s tone carries a subtle hint of warning as he slips both hood and mask back on. He and Ahsoka had already disentangled themselves and were on the move, with her re-opening the door so that they could exit the mess hall more quickly. “There’s only one darjetii you keep tripping over, Mand’alor. Saxon was trying to tell you about the other intruder with lightsabres the buycise [buckets] were wetting themselves about. Kast out.” Was the dry, almost bored response before she cut off. He can feel a tic developing in his left eye while his companion is trying desperately not to laugh. Bane save him from nosy Mando’ade. “She does have a point.” Ahsoka remarks, still clearly amused. “Unless there’s someone else who’s been assigned to pester you lately?” He knows full well just what she is implying even in jest, and it briefly makes him see red. She is deliberately tempting him with the sly curve of her mouth and the sudden sway in her hips. If they were not in such a hurry, he would- No. Focus. “No.” Maul nearly spits out, but has no opportunity to continue as they become occupied with clearing a path to the pick-up point. They just make it, leaping inside the ship seconds before the docking ramp folds up and closes. Flush with victory and high on adrenaline, he presses her up against a stack of crates, practically devouring her mouth once he’d removed the barriers to that particular goal. One set of her fingers digs into his nape, a low moan vibrating in his chest when she matches his ferocity. “HA! Pay up!” He is going to kill Saxon, usefulness be damned. The full force of that thought is imprinted into his glare, watching his second-in-command wither and turn pale. “Er...I mean, welcome back, Lord Maul.” “Interesting way to debrief. The holocam footage should be illuminating for new recruits.” Kast remarks, expression placid as ever. He has the absolute worst Nihlus-damned luck and his inferiors should be thankful that he cannot punish them for flagrant insubordination while occupied with an armful of irritatingly-compassionate Togruta.  Ahsoka smiles, apparently content despite current circumstances, and he feels something lurch within his chest. Perhaps...He can be lenient, if the situation is allowed to improve. Soon. (A/N: *looks back up at fic* How in the HELLS did this start off with Maul’s Murder Hallway II: Stormtrooper Edition and end with teenage romcom shenanigans? I can’t even...Ah, well. Also introducing Rook Kast Has All Of The Chill, Gar Saxon Has None, And They Both Ship It. Neither Ahsoka or Maul have had their ‘Oh no’ moment yet at this point in the timeline, buuuut I’ve already written the result of Maul sort of having that revelation. Ahsoka’s will be arriving. Eventually. If I don’t keep getting sidetracked. Cheers!)

[m-alcn]

How to get away with murder(ing Lielas)

So I went ahead with the murder idea with some minor changes from the original post. Enjoy!

Marinette was sitting slumped over – her hands cupping her cheeks, eyelids heavy – on the stairs of the courtyard leading to the classrooms, Adrien sitting next to her in the same exact pose. And any other time, she would be a blubbering, trembling mess, tumbling over her words like she would her feet, but right now she could not find it within herself to give half a fuck, let alone a whole one.

It’d been a long ass week. A whole damn week of nonstop akumas, each one more ridiculous than the last and each costume ghastlier even than Bulleur on her poor designer eyes that she was seriously thinking of having the fashion police called up alongside the actual police to every akuma.

She could even see the blots of garish color behind her eyelids. She needed bleach for her brain. She needed it, like last year.

She suppressed the swear words rolling on her tongue like a barrel, but that didn’t stop her groan from letting the world know how dead she was, Adrien answering in kind. He might have no free time to breathe because of his ass of a father, but she didn’t have the mental capacities to wonder why he sounded as roadkilled as her.

School hadn’t been easier on her either. Exams. Homework. Class President duties. Lila.

Adrien’s high road approach had been a steep incline that not even her superpowered endurance could take. And Lila had been running her mouth for so long now, she could have sprinted to Mars and back.

“Oh, yes I was essential for President Macron’s victory—”

Speak of the devil.

It was a tremendous effort to crack open her lids – and she’d been lifting cars as a pass time since getting her earrings – but she saw that little liar in the center of the courtyard, surrounded by her loyal dancing buffoons who were hanging on to her every word.

Marinette took back any inkling that her classmates had brains.

She wasn’t at her full mental capacities, but even that didn’t stop her from mumbling loud enough for Adrien to hear, “For fuck’s sake, why in the name of Papillon’s soiled underpants would a French presidential candidate take advice from a fourteen-year-old Italian girl that hasn’t been in the country for, like a second.”

Adrien didn’t seem to be able to muster the energy to be righteous on behalf of bullies. He only cracked open his eye, looked at her sideways and muttered, “Gross. And yeah, she’s been getting even worse at this.”

“Was she ever even good at this? Like seriously, best friends with Ladybug.”

“It could happen,” he weakly defended.

“Yeah. If she had a death wish and wanted Papillon after her and her family.”

Adrien lifted his head from his palms, frowning a little. “Huh, guess I didn’t think of that.” When Marinette only hummed a little in response, he turned to her. “How’d you even know about Ladybug?”

“I saw her yelling at her in the park, right after Lila threw your book on heroes in the trash.” This was one secret she was tired of keeping, and she was not taking the fall for that ungrateful piece of shit.

“Wait, what!” He whipped his head to her so fast it was a wonder he didn’t break it, his voice attracting everyone’s attention, especially a pair of narrowed olive eyes that she really wanted to never see again.

Marinette only flapped her hand at him. “Don’t worry, I got it back to your father.”

That didn’t seem to placate him as he continued gaping at her. But as she wasn’t looking at him and was clearly done with the topic, he slumped over giving her a pout and glaring at her of all things. “We’ll be talking about this later.”

She just listlessly shrugged.

The students seemed to have stopped paying them any attention, while Lila kept an eye on them even when she was regaling her loyal subjects with grand tales of her excellent bullshit, so she just changed the subject none too subtly. “Anyway, do you think she has an off-switch?”

She didn’t have to clarify who, so Adrien only gave a tired sigh. “Probably not.”

“I can make her one,” Marinette muttered darkly.

“What do you mean? Like killing her?” Adrien let out a laugh that only seemed to choke in his throat when he saw how utterly serious she looked. He stared at her for a horrified minute, as though seeing her for the first time, before he seemed ready to yell at her, remembering himself at the last second and hissing at her, “Marinette! You can’t do that!”

But if he was hoping to convince her, he went about it completely the wrong way, as Marinette came alive, throwing a deadly look like she was ready to kill him, and seeming to focus on the wrong word. “Oh, I can’t? Trust me, Adrien, I am fully capable of offing her and getting rid of the body without anyone knowing it was me.”

He stared at her, half scared out of his mind and half turned on of all things. That seemed to encourage her to elaborate even though it was the last thing he wanted her to do.

“I have different approaches and really they all depend on my mood, if I want it to be quick, painful, without any clue.”

Despite himself, Adrien found himself morbidly curious, exhaustion taking a back seat in his mind as he focused on his cute-and-from-the-looks-of-things-murderous friend. “How?”

Marinette gave him a sideways glance, barely stopping her lips from curving as she saw the curiosity peeking like a nervous rabbit from beneath his horror. She straightened a bit, slapping her hands on her thighs and turning to face him head on.

She might have given this train of thought some frankly inappropriate deliberation, that Tikki who’d seen some nasty things in her lifetime gave her the same look Adrien was giving her, but she came around, seeing as it made her less stressed. Even now she could feel Tikki giving her a half-admonishing, half-amused nudge through her purse, probably mumbling about how Plagg would approve.

She was a bit more energized, so with a clearing of her throat, she stuck up her index finger, making sure to keep her voice low, lest the vultures come swooping down to defend poor defenseless Lila. “Okay, number one. I finally crack and get akumatized like I almost was about two times already and go after her.”

That seemed to surge Adrien forward as he clutched her shoulders in a tight grip, brow furrowed and worry across his face.  “You were almost akumatized? When?”

“When she came back to school.”

“How’d you escape that!”

“Because I’m Marinette.” She puffed out her chest a bit, sticking up her chin proudly.

Adrien regarded her with a fond, thoughtful smile. “I can believe that.” She felt the traitorous fluttering in her stomach that she’d been trying to quell ever since she resolved to get over him. “But then wouldn’t that be undone by Miraculous Ladybug?”

“Well, I don’t think Ladybug would wholly disapprove considering how much trouble she’s been giving her. But anyway, that was a plan that I was never going to use, because I wasn’t going to give either her or Papillon the satisfaction.”

Now the horror completely receded, replaced by awe and he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to know more, curious how her brain worked. “Well is that the only one?”

Marinette stared at him for a second, before she rolled her eyes in a strangely familiar way. “Pfft, the only one. I number my plans, because the alphabet’s too short for them.” No seriously, that confidence was familiar and appealing in equal measures. “Anyway, seeing as magic is real, there’s nothing stopping me from getting an untraceable poison or potion.”

“Wouldn’t you need to search practically the whole world for that?”

“I know a guy.”

“You- you- what? Marinette, who have you been talking to?” No really, it seemed he didn’t know his friend at all and instead of being disgusted, this was making him want to know her more than anything.

Again with the hand flap. “Oh, don’t worry, he wouldn’t approve either.”

Leaning closer to her, he flashed her a teasing smile. “So you’re basically telling me useless plans.”

She was too tired to freak out, and something about this was weirdly familiar, so she only shook her head. “Nope. They could all work if I’m stubborn enough, and believe me, I am. But I’m giving you a lot of my plans, so you know exactly how likely I am to succeed.”

“Hmm, I don’t believe that, but I’m learning I shouldn’t underestimate you.”

“Damn right. Okay, number three, during lunch I could go to her house, introduce myself to her mother as a friend from school, giving her a different name in case Lila’s brought her shit home and I’ll swipe one of her kitchen knives, wear a complete disguise, then accost her on her way back home, or I could wait to see if she ever has plans after dark.”

Adrien rubbed his chin, really getting into it now. “But you might be a prime suspect, with your animosity and last visit to her mother. They’d search your house and find your disguise.”

Marinette tapped her nose, giving him a wink. “Ah, but I was planning to burn my clothes over the Seine.”

“You’d still be a primary suspect. And why steal the knife from them?”

“Because it’s from their house, it could be classified as a suicide. I could even wait a month maybe, so the visit doesn’t even seem relevant.”

“Okay, but the name you give, it might bring you some time, but her mother would still be able to give a description of you.”

“I’m a fashion designer, I could change my hair, my clothes, my height, my face and no one would recognize me.”

Adrien nodded, because he knew what a really talented designer was capable of. He hummed and started counting on his fingers. “So, lets recap with this plan. It needs two disguises, a knife from her house, burning the disguises and an attack in broad daylight. You forget you need an alibi, and this is needlessly complicated.”

Nothing the Fox miraculous wouldn’t give me. I could be caught on camera on the other side of town. Plus, I don’t think they’ll really consider that a fourteen-year-old could kill anyone.

“I could actually fix all the kinks in that plan, but it would be more complicated, and it would look like number four!”

Adrien gestured at her to continue and with a smirk she did. “This one is completely at night, also with a disguise that I will dispose of and glasses to obscure my eyes. She has a window in her bedroom, so I scale to it—” she was interrupted by Adrien’s laugh, so she gave him the stink eye. “What?”

He continued to laugh, bringing some people’s attention to them. “I’m sorry Marinette, but I find it hard to believe you could scale a two-story window.”

She crossed her arms. “And why not?”

He rubbed the back of his neck as he finally realized that he might have hit a nerve. “Well, it’s just, that you’re clumsy, that would make sneaking into her room, a bit… hard.”

“Justice gives you wings. And trust me, Adrien, you don’t know everything I’m capable of.” She glared at him, tightening her arms around her chest.

Adrien opened his mouth to argue, but he paused, taking in her posture, his eyes widening and cheeks flushing at the straining fabric of her jacket contouring her arms. He looked away, clearing his throat and silently willing the color to recede from his face. “Guess not.”

Marinette relaxed her arms, giving him a curious look, obviously seeing the color in his face but thankfully not seeming to know its cause. With a wave of his hand she resumed detailing how lucky they all were that she was a good person. “Okay, once in her room, I lock her door and then smother her with a pillow. As I’m in disguise, I leave no fingerprints. No blood. No weapon.”

Adrien nodded, humming in thought, before he snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “And if you leave behind a footprint or a hair?”

“Hairnet. Plus, I’m already wearing a face mask.”

“And the footprint?”

“What would I have even been stepping on anyway?”

“Maybe she has mud under her window.”

“Assuming I wouldn’t avoid stepping on it,” she shot him a look to which he only nodded, “well I’d wear very thick socks, get those things dirty, tie the clean boots around my neck, then when I made it to the window sill I’d wear them.”

“You could still leave a trace on the carpet.”

“I’ll get boots from the men’s section. All the police would be left with is the size of the shoe.”

“Won’t they slip off?”

“I would stuff them with carton.”

“I think someone would remember a girl buying guy shoes.”

“And why wouldn’t they assume it was a gift?”

“Good point. What if her mother heard her muffled screams.”

Marinette cupped her chin, then gave him a chilling smile. “I could either turn up some music at a low volume, or I could be prepared with a remixed track in her voice saying she was having a nightmare and needed to be alone.”

“Needlessly complicated again, but it still feels like you could be caught.”

She gave him an irritatingly familiar smirk. “Aw, worried about me? Alright, number five is a modification of number four. I could borrow Chat Noir’s miraculous, get rid of the bedding and ash, make it look like there was a struggle and poof, no proof.”

Adrien instinctively cupped his right hand, hiding his ring and drawing Marinette’s curious gaze. He desperately tried to distract her so the cat would stay in the bag. “That one seems simple after all the others.”

“Sometimes simple works.”

“I have the feeling he won’t be giving up his ring.”

“Oh, he wouldn’t. But I have some tricks up my sleeve and Ladybug does too. Plus, that was only number five.”

“You’ve put way too much thought into this.” And damnit he couldn’t hide how morbidly impressed he was. Still. “Marinette, you aren’t an Everyday Ladybug, you’re a criminal.”

Marinette put her hand to her chest in offense, though considering this whole conversation, she couldn’t exactly fault him that.

They were so engrossed in their conversation they didn’t notice the lull of the courtyard and the approaching students.

“Plus, I don’t think you should implicate revered heroes if you have so many complicated ways to kill her.”

Before Marinette could argue the merit of the heroes turning into mercenaries, they were interrupted.

“Marinette? Adrien? What the hell?”

They turned to face one very horrified Alya, face reminiscent of Adrien’s at the start of the conversation.

“Marinette? Kill? Who?”

It was only after they shared a look that they both realized they hadn’t used a single name during their whole conversation.

Marinette turned back to Alya, whom everyone seemed to be using as a shield, as multiple pale faces stared at them. Even Lila seemed too surprised to take advantage of this situation and start a pity party about how Marinette was plotting her murder. Even though it would be the only time she would be telling the truth.

So she heaved herself to her feet, giving them a sickly sweet smile that made everyone take a step back, holding out her hand to Adrien who stared at her for a bit before clasping her hand.

With immense ease she hauled him to his feet in a way that must have caused a headrush, if the way he was red and staring at her was anything to go by.

So with a cheery, “Class is about to start” that seemed to unnerve everyone, Marinette pulled Adrien up the stairs.

Feeling a little too much like his alter ego, Adrien said in a casual voice, “Maybe you should be plotting Papillon’s demise.”

Marinette’s bright, “I have!” was just the topping on this extremely weird sunday, as just about everyone seemed to flinch.

“Maybe you should have been planning ways to expose her rather than kill her,” Adrien whispered to her with a quiet voice that didn’t carry even in the oppressive silence.

So she responded in kind. “Oh, that list is even bigger. And it’s even underway.”

“Wha—”

They weren’t even at the top of the stairs before a voice disrupted the quiet with an almost audible crack. “Mlle. Rossi. My office,” M. Damocles yelled from the railing over to the courtyard.

That seemed to jolt Lila from her stupor. “But—”

“Now!”

As Lila started to slowly climb the stairs, Adrien turned to Marinette, admonishing her without any real heat. “Marinette.”

She only smiled back at him innocently. “What? I just seemed to have met Mme. Rossi on the high road. As a concerned Class President, I went to her house to be more accommodating of a student’s disabilities and it seemed Mme. Rossi was under the impression that the school has been closed for months, the duration of their stay in Paris. Where they weren’t traveling.”

Adrien opened his mouth to protest, then remembered the book and how Lila almost cost him his freedom, and closed it. “Well, I think she’s got whatever happens next coming,” he muttered.

As they approached their class, he didn’t stop himself from voicing one last thought. “It’s a really good thing you’re not a villain.”

Marinette only beamed at him, hands clasped behind her back.

“Bwahahahahah!”

“Plagg.”

“Hahahahahahah!”

“Plagg.”

“Kid, I really like your princess.”

“Ugh.”

 “Marinette.”

“Unnnhh.”

“Marinette.”

“Sleeeep.”

“Marinette, don’t you think you might have spooked your classmates. Especially Adrien.”

“Uhhhnnhn.”

“Marinette.”

“Sleep. Now. Freak. Later.”

@lexysama @mrtacothethird @nobodyfamousposts

[leepsheep]

Past the Point of No Return

•••

Gabriel opened his eyes to the rosy glow of the Miraculous Cure sweeping through the city of Paris once again. He stared hard put the window of his lair, watching the swarm of ladybugs that seemed to taunt him, reminding him of the young hero who thwarted his plans at every turn.

Flashes of the future shown to him by his akuma played back in his mind. His son, Emilie, the Miraculouses—he had lost. And still then, Ladybug stood over him, victorious once again. He clenched his fists.

“Mr. Agreste,” Nathalie said behind him. “Welcome back, I suppose.”

Gabriel stayed silent as Nathalie continued. “Another akuma defeated by Ladybug. Unsurprising, given all your last attempts, but those were never enough to stop you.” He could feel her eyes watching him, gaze pointed. “Maybe what this akuma showed you will finally change your mind.”

“No.” His answer was resolute, hanging heavy in the air.

Gabriel heard his assistant inhale sharply.

“What?”

Gabriel refused to acknowledge her, walking towards the window, more images playing back.

Gabriel saw red. Ladybug standing alone, fury clear in her eyes. A swarm of red butterflies blocking out the sun. Paris, but not as Hawkmoth had ever seen before; engulfed in flames, torn to the ground, russet clouds and skies stained crimson—red, red, red.

Red against green, fire in son’s eyes as he was revealed the truth. Red against white, soaking into the ground and his son’s clothes. Red against red, against the bodies of his son and his wife, the colour of his blood on the floor and her roses on her coffin. Red, red, red.

He’d given up so much already. He was in too deep. No going back.

“It’s not over, Nathalie. Not until the Miraculous are mine.”

“Gabriel, you saw what would happen. You’ve pushed it too far, it’s gone on long enough.”

“Too far?” He scoffed. “Ladybug has won again. Battle after battle, she continues to claim victory. I will not rest until I’ve won this war.”

Nathalie shook her head, scowling. “But your son—”

“If all goes according to plan he’ll never have to know,” he said.

“You promised Emilie,” she pressed on. “She would’ve wanted you to look after him.”

“He is looked after. He has everything he’d ever need.”

“He needs a father,” she insisted. “I am not his parent. Neither is his bodyguard. We shouldn’t be the ones who care for him, but we do. But Adrien doesn’t want an assistant, or a bodyguard, he wants you.” Nathalie glares at him. “I’ve tried to keep him happy for you, tell him you care, but you don’t, and I’ve built his hopes up for nothing.”

“You misled him,” Gabriel corrected. “I never asked you to do this. You’re the one who made promises to him I never intended to keep. You built him up, so I’m not the one at fault for letting him down.”

“What was I supposed to do?” She cried. “He is supposed to be your son! You’re supposed to care!”

Gabriel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It is too late to change that now. There is work that needs to be done.”

Gabriel gestures for Nathalie to move closer, but she stayed put.

“What do you want from me?” She said, voice returning to cold and calculating.

“Look outside yourself, Nathalie.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, sir.”

“Ladybug.” He looked to the Eiffel Tower, where Ladybug stood with his last akumatised victim. “She is the only thing that stands between me and my goal.” A smile began to creep its way onto his face. “But not for long.”

“I won’t help you take her down.” Gabriel turned to his assistant. “This isn’t the way. You won’t succeed.”

He glared at Nathalie. “Don’t be so sure. But fine—” he said, making his way to the memorial. “—I’ll do it by myself.”

Gabriel heard Nathalie’s heels click angrily behind him, clangs echoing in discord as they crossed the metal bridge.

“You can’t bring her back.” Nathalie tried. “She wouldn’t have wanted this.”

Her boss continued walking. “I have to bring her back. I can’t stop everything now, not when I’m so close.”

“It’s been years, Gabriel. Just let her go.”

“No.”

“Why not?” She cried.

Gabriel stopped at Emilie’s memorial. He turned suddenly to face Nathalie. “I loved her, Nathalie. I know you loved her too. She was everything to me. I’m not giving up yet.”

“I’ve done everything I can to try to save her! And everything I can to bring her back! And you want me to throw it all away? Fine, side with Ladybug.” He spat the name out. “Abandon Emilie.”

“She’s gone, Gabriel!” Nathalie retorted. “She lived, and now she’s gone. She knew what she was doing, you both did, and she paid the price for it. And no matter how much I wish she was still here, nothing can change the fact she’s gone.” Nathalie looked at him. “She’s dead, Gabriel. You need to end this.”

“You knew too!” He accused. “She wasn’t the only one tampering with the Peacock. The Miraculous was yours before it was hers, Nathalie. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

“Her death was not my fault! You were the one pushing her farther!”

Gabriel growled. “If you don’t want to help, fine! But I will bring her back, and you can’t stop me.”

Nathalie didn’t back off. “Try, see what happens when you lose Adrien and Emilie a second time.”

“You would’ve been on my side.” Gabriel snapped. “Without Ladybug’s interference, you would’ve tried to bring her back too. Adrien could’ve been persuaded, we would’ve won.”

Nathalie’s eyes narrowed. “You’re insane if you think I would’ve helped you trick Adrien like that. He doesn’t know the price of a wish. He’d never want that and you know it.”

Gabriel turned back to Emilie, face smiling peacefully behind the glass. What was he willing to risk for her? What would he give up to get her back?

‘If losing my son means getting you back, then it’s worth it. I’ll burn down all of Paris to bring you back.’

He turned again to face Nathalie, finding her glaring at him.

“You won’t get away with this.”

He hummed. “We’ll see.”

He stalked past her, calling out the words to transform himself. He threw one more look over his shoulder. “The show’s about to start Nathalie.” He looked forward again and smirked.

“Ladybug won’t know what’s coming.”

•••

oh my gosh this is a lot.

how did I write this all in one sitting? I don’t know. But now I’m tired, I spent a lot of time on it and now it’s late. I honestly am not expecting this to get notes but whatever that’s fine

Nathalie is very ooc bc she’s a good(ish) person here instead of being an evil minion and in love w/ Gabriel. I just wanted to write her not agreeing with him.

This was very much inspired/influenced by/based on “interlude iv (showtime)” by Zach Callison

here it is if you want to listen:

[the-end-of-art]

No wonder our communities seem organized to keep suffering at a distance

“The Interruptions are my work” by Henri Nouwen

 (Henri Nouwen—Turn My Mourning into Dancing, p. 5-11)

    When I came to Daybreak, the community of ministry to disable people where I have been pastor, I was experiencing a great deal of personal pain. My many years in the world of academics, my travels among the poor in Central America, and later, my speaking around the world about what I had seen, left me deflated. My schedule kept me running hard and fast. Rather than providing an escape from my own inner conflicts, my scurrying from speaking engagement to speaking engagement only intensified my inner turmoil. And because of my schedule, I could not fully face my pain. I carried on with the illusion that I was in control, that I could avoid what I did not want to face within myself and in the world around me.

    But when I arrived, I witnessed the enormous suffering of the mentally and physically handicapped persons living here. I came gradually to see my painful problems in a new light. I realised they formed part of a much larger suffering. And I found through that insight new energy to live amid my own hardship and pain.

    I realised that healing begins with our taking our pain out of its diabolic isolation and seeing that whatever we suffer, we suffer it in communion with all of humanity, and yes, all of creation. In so doing, we become participants in the great battle against the powers of darkness. Our little lives participate in something larger.

    I also found something else here: people asking not so much “How can I get rid of my suffering?” but “How can I make it an occasion for growth and insight?” Among these people, most of whom cannot read, many of whom cannot care for themselves, among men and women rejected by a world that values only the whole and bright and healthy, I saw people learning how to make the connection between human suffering and God’s suffering. They helped me to see how the way through suffering is not to deny it, but to live fully in the midst of it. They were asking how they could turn pain from a long interruption into an opportunity.

    How do we make such connection ourselves? How do we make this shift from evading our pain to asking God to redeem and make good use of it?

    An early step in the dance sounds very simple, though often will not come easily: We are called to grieve our losses. It seems paradoxical, but healing and dancing begin with looking squarely at what causes us pain. We face the secret losses that have paralysed us and kept us imprisoned in denial or shame or guilt. We do not nurse the illusion that we can hopscotch our way through difficulties. For by trying to hide parts of our story from God’s eye and our own consciousness, we become judges of our own past. We limit divine mercy to our human fears. Our efforts to disconnect ourselves from our own suffering, end up disconnecting our suffering from God’s suffering for us. The way out of our loss and hurt is in and through. When Jesus said, “For I have come to call not the righteous but sinners” (Matthew 9:13), He affirmed that only those who can face their wounded condition can be available for healing and enter a new way of living.

    Sometimes we need to ask ourselves just what our losses are. Doing so reminds us how real the experience of loss is. Perhaps you know what it is to have a parent die. How well I remember the grief I felt after my mother’s illness and death. We may experience the death of a child or of friends. And we lose people, sometimes just as painfully, through misunderstanding, conflict, or anger. I may expect a friend to visit, but he does not come. I speak to a group and expect a warm reception but no one really seems to respond. Someone may take from us a job, a career, a good name.

    We may watch hopes flicker through growing infirmity, or dreams vanish through the betrayal of someone we trusted for along time. A family member may walk out in anger and we wonder if we have failed. Sometimes our sense of loss feels large indeed: I read the newspaper and find things only worse than the day before. Our souls grow sad because of poverty or the destruction of so much natural beauty in our world. And we may lose meaning in our lives, not only because our hearts become tired, but also because someone ridicules long-cherished ways of thinking and praying. Our convictions suddenly seem old-fashioned, unnecessary. Even our faith seems shaky. Such are the potential disappointments of any life.

    Typically we see such hardship as an obstacle to what we think we should be—healthy, good-looking, free of discomfort. We consider suffering as annoying at best, meaningless at worst. We strive to get rid of our pains in whatever way we can. A part of us prefers the illusion that our losses are not real, that they come only as temporary interruptions. We thereby expend much energy in denial. “They should not prevent us from holding on to the real thing,” we say to ourselves.

    Several temptations feed this denial. Our incessant busyness, for example, becomes a way to escape what must some days be confronted. The world in which we live lies in the power of the Evil One, and the Evil One would prefer to distract us and fill every little space with things to do, people to meet, business to accomplish, products to be made. He does not allow any space for genuine grief and mourning. Our busyness becomes a curse, even while we think it provides us with relief from the pain inside. Our over packed lives serve only to keep us from facing the inevitable difficulty that we all, at some time or another, must face.

    The voice of evil also tries to tempt us to put on an invincible front. Words such as vulnerability, letting go, surrendering, crying, mourning, and grief are not to be found in the devil’s dictionary. Someone once said to me, “Never show your weakness, for you will be used; never be vulnerable, for you will get hurt; never depend on others, for you will lose your freedom.” This might sound very wise, but it does not echo the voice of wisdom. It mimics a world that wants us to respect without question the social boundaries and compulsions that our society has defined for us.

    Facing our losses also means avoiding a temptation to see life as an exercise in having needs met. We are needy people, of course: We want attention, affection, influence, power. And our needs seem never to be satisfied. Even altruistic actions can get tangled with these needs. Then, when people or circumstances do not fulfil all of our needs, we withdraw or lash out. We nurse our wounded spirits. And we become even needier. We crave easy assurances, ignoring anything that would suggest another way.

    We also like easy victories: growth without crisis, healing without pains, the resurrection without the cross. No wonder we enjoy watching parades and shouting out to returning heroes, miracle workers, and record breakers. No wonder our communities seem organised to keep suffering at a distance: People are buried in ways that shroud death with euphemism and ornate furnishings. Institutions hide away the mentally ill and criminal offenders in a continuing denial that they belong to the human family. Even our daily customs lead us to cloak our feelings and speak politely through clenched teeth and prevent honest, healing confrontation. Friendships become superficial and temporary.

    The way of Jesus looks very different. While Jesus brought great comfort and came with kind words and a healing touch, He did not come to take all our pains away. Jesus entered into Jerusalem in His last days on a donkey, like a clown at a parade. This was His way of reminding us that we fool ourselves when we insist on easy victories. When we think we can succeed in cloaking what ails us and our times in pleasantness. Much that is worthwhile comes only through confrontation.

    The way from Palm Sunday to is the patient way, the suffering way. Indeed, our word patience comes from the ancient root patior, “to suffer.” To learn patience is not to rebel against every hardship. For if we insist on continuing to cover our pains with easy “Hosannas,” we run the risk of losing our patience. We are likely to become bitter and cynical or violent and aggressive when the shallowness of the easy way wears through.

    Instead, Christ invites us to remain in touch with the many suffering of every day and to taste the beginning of hope and new life right there, where we live amid our hurts and pains and brokenness. By observing His life, His followers discover that when all of the crowd’s “Hosannas” had fallen silent, when disciples and friends had left Him, and after Jesus cried out, “My God, my God why have you forsaken Me?” then it was the Son of Man rose from death. Then He broke through the chains of death and became Saviour. That is the patient way, slowly leading me from easy triumph to the hard victory.

    I am less likely to deny my suffering when I learn how God uses it to mould me and draw me closer to Him. I will be less likely to see my pains as interruptions to my plans and more able to see them as the means for God to make me ready to receive Him. I let Christ live near my hurts and distractions.

    I remember an old priest who one day said to me, “I have always been complaining that my work was constantly interrupted; then I realised that the interruptions were my work.” The unpleasant things, the hard moments, the unexpected setbacks carry more potential than we usually realise. For the movement from Palm Sunday to Easter takes us from the easy victory built on small dreams and illusions to the hard victory offered by God who wants to purify us by His patient, caring hand.

    As I learned from my friends at Daybreak, at the center of our Christian faith we perceive a God who took on Himself the burden of the entire world. Suffering invites us to place our hurts in larger hands. In Christ we see God suffering—for us. And calling us to share in God’s suffering love for a hurting world. The small and even overpowering pains of our lives are intimately connected with the greater pains of Christ. Our daily sorrows are anchored in a greater sorrow and therefore a larger hope. Absolutely nothing in our lives lies outside the realm of God’s judgement and mercy.

[dukeofriven]

Good In The World

I meant what I said with that extended LOTR quote being what the Epilogues are about - about there being good in the world, and it being worth fighting for. Given that I’ve been up to my neck reading Hussie commentary lately I feel like I’ve gotten a pretty strong grasp on what makes him tick - and who boy does this guy love stories about friendship, teamwork, and love, loves them so much he sometimes sounds like Téa Gardner about to lay down a friendship speech on Yu-Gi-Oh. So - while noting that the extent to which the epilogues are and are not Hussie’s work are even more muddled that usual in regards Homestuck - the take-away is this: everything went wrong, in both Meat and Candy, because everyone forgot that - that friendship, teamwork, and love is the only reason any of them survived. The Sburb survivors came to Earth-C as literal gods, beings of inordinate celebrity and power, and then didn’t work as hard as they should have to still be friends and family. We point to John as some kind of recluse but it quickly becomes clear that everyone stopped working at staying together. Karkat and Dave are as much shut-ins as John, stewing together in their own incapacity. Katkat’s self-loathing, so often a hilarious joke in Homestuck is - free of the immediate pressures of Sburb - shown to be intensely debilitating. It undermines him repeatedly in Meat, and requires incipit genocide in Candy to be set aside, costing him everything that mattered on a personal level. Dave made the mistake of many in his position before him, leaning too much on the first epiphany about trauma and not taking the care to continue down the path to further healing and reconciliation with the past. It leaves him desperately reaching for intimacies he too scared of to actually experience. Coupled with an abused kid’s terror of perpetuating harm he lies to Karkat and Jade both time and time again to try and save their feelings. Jade, so utterly fucked up by years of isolation and loneliness, and so endearingly, crushingly full of love makes all the wrong decisions in trying to build a triad (that is - the triad could have worked, but she went about it all wrong) and makes two separate instantiations of Dave and Karkat miserable. Rose and Kanaya have no malice in their actions, but they do what married people always do: pull away from everyone else, and focus on themselves and their new lives. Harmless, normally - or, at least, not seriously harmful - but those lives took them underground and away from everyone else, The two most insightful and level-headed members of the party simply weren’t around when everyone needed them most. Unaware how bad things were getting they missed so many of the warning sides that would have clued them in earlier that everyone was going off the rails - and being as isolated as she was in Meat this left Rose vulnerable to the manipulation most likely to succeed: just like with Doc Scratch she was preyed upon by someone who could flatter her sense of grievance, knowledge, and uniqueness. Terezi wouldn’t have stood by and let things go to shit - but she was doomed the moment she tied her heart to ego personified, and so was absent too.  As for the Alphas, well - their problems were never resolved in the first place, their 'conflict arcs’ interrupted by the arrival of the betas. Only Roxy, element of void, utterly self-contained, a refugee from a dead reality, walked onto Earth-C able to withstand the horror that awaited them: celebrity. Skaia is benevolent, but it is not wise: Sburb seems to have a cherub’s worldview, full of bright colours and heightened stories, but not much maturity. When the victors of Sburb escaped to Earth-C the last thing they needed was celebrity, praise, and positions of note. The issues are all laid out in the prologue: John retired before he ever started working, every one of them richer than any mortal could conceive of. These kids didn’t need parades, they needed to go school. Jane didn’t need honorary degrees from every business school on the planet, Jake didn’t need a TV show centred entirely around his ass: what everyone needed was to be aggressively ordinary. Mundane and unregarded. They needed to put everyone in a group home with four on-staff counselors and take a chunk of years doing nothing but heal. Because everyone was damaged. Other than Calliope - a special case - everybody walked out of Sburb having witnessed at least one apocalypse. Put aside any of the individual traumas and deaths and abuses and sins and just focus on that alone: the death of entire worlds and the burden of saving seven sentient species. Rather than the ultimate Reward being a sit-down with kindly professionals who could help a bunch of kids cope with that, these literal children entered a new world and built new lives on a foundation of dust. The beta kids never finished seventh grade. Jane Crocker never finished high school. Jade Harley, Jake English, Roxy Lalonde, and Dirk Strider never went to school at all. Not one of those four had ever been around more than four humans in their lives until the day they won the game. They couldn’t have. Jade and Jake grew up alone on islands. Roxy and Dirk grew up in the apocalypse. Dirk grew up in a literal box. As Cascade hit Dave and John were the only living humans Jade had ever met who wasn’t her grandpa: and she spent three years alone on a ship with only the Nannasprites and consorts for company. (And Jaspers to chase.) For those four especially, think about they went through within 24-hours: BAM here’s a group of people including your alt-relatives and literal aliens BAM here’s a crazy fucking battle against technicolour chess people, killer dogs, and fish queens BAM here’s a pristine new-ish world better BAM produce thousands of species to populate a new world /TABLE SCRATCH/ Welcome to Earth-C in the year 5000 Celebrity Gods. Here’s your debit cards full of riches. Seriously - this all happens in about a day. And yet people are shocked that things didn’t work out? They were sixteen years old. Four of them had no formal education of any kind, nor had ever been around enough to people to form a softball team. And that’s not even starting on the trolls, who had multiple culture-shocks and traumas of their own the sort through. And yet people are shocked that things didn’t work out? There is, absolutely, a way all of this could have been addressed and become a happy ending. If you don’t like the Epilogues because you’re just sick and fucking tired of tragedy stories - boy do I feel you. Man, don’t get me started on shit like Westword we will be here all week. If you just wanted there to be a fucking happy ending because god-damnit people deserve to be happy - I feel that too. Had that been what we got I can’t say that I’d have been displeased. But if you’re angry because what happened in the Epilogues seems “unreasonable”  all I can do is wave my arms at all the shit everybody went through and ask you why going from that to retired celebrity godhood was good for anyone. What happened on Earth-C was nobody’s fault - not even Dirk’s. Of course he lost it. Of course he took his godhood to its logical conclusions - what possible grounding in real human beings had he ever seriously had, and what in his life was there to make him see people as people? Dude grew up alone in a box with SBAHJ and rapping robots for company - the only voice in his head his own, magnified in the echo chamber of ego and his own blindness to his inadequacies.  Why wouldn’t Jane cling to status quo of her dead world? Really, what did Sburb ever bring her but heartbreak, an excessively baroque Bad Relationship Simulator that took away her home and her position as a corporate heiress for a six month romp through a bunch of dead planets and inter-friend squabbling (We don’t talk about how fucking boring the alpha session was: nothing but undead and emptiness.) She reaches a new world, gets told how smart she is, gets a bunch of degrees - but as Dave himself notes, when you’re rich as can be and have everyone on the planet lining up to do business with you, it’s pretty easy to think you’re actually skilled at running things, especially if YOU STOPPED YOUR EDUCATION AT SIXTEEN AND GOT TOLD THAT YOUR SIXTEEN YEAR OLD SELF WAS THE APEX OF YOUR BEING. Take a moment to remember yourself at sixteen. Try to put sixteen year old you in charge of something meaningfully important - like, mmh, let’s say a regional bank. Uh - oh. Oh dear. Oh it’s on fire, is it? And the fire is spreading? Yeah, that’ll happen. [One glaring issue I’ll note in these epilogues is that nobody knows what the fuck to do about Dad Crocker, so they do... nothing, until Candy reminds you he exists in order to kill him to motivate Jane to do something she probably could have been easily prompted to do anyways by another means. I guess Dad Crocker just... happily let Jane not finish school or exert any kind of parental control at all after that point? On her or anybody else? You want to talk about OOC: what the fuck happened with Dad Crocker, of whom I expected better? And where did Tavrosprite and the Nannasprites go?] My point in all this is that Homestuck is a story about how important love, teamwork, and friendship is, and after the Earth-C victory everybody got lost. Everybody reacted to being Celebrity Gods in their own way, and it created little cracks that widened over time, and when everyone should have been coming closer together - group therapy sessions, even - they got further and farther apart. These emotionally-stunted mentally-teenaged kids with buckets of trauma, the power of gods, and the celebrity to match broke. One by one. All in their own unique ways. The Epilogues are in some sense a musing on the absurdity of adulthood - how its mantel is placed upon you regardless of whether you are ready or not, for reasons as arbitrary as ‘turning a certain age’ or ‘winning a video game.’ In some cases it takes our heroes DECADES of life before adulthood - before real maturity - begins to make something of an appearance, and even then it’s a crapshoot. Love, friendship, and teamwork are what matter in Homestuck: in the epilogues it takes years of monumentally boneheaded decisions for our heroes to remember this, and some of them never do.

Is there still a happy ending at the end of Homestuck? One that lies ahead? I think so. Hussies loves his characters dearly - and yes, he does. Of course he does. He didn’t spend ten years of his life telling the story of one dimensional Brechtian Archetypes to make some otiose point about the nature of narrative: if he had none of you would be feeling as you are now.  The difference between you and Andrew Hussie is that you see his characters like family: you leap to their defence whenever they are hurt, and when they are cut you bleed: “How?” you ask, “Could anyone be so cruel to do this thing?” But Hussie sees his characters as characters, in a story of which he is author, and in which pain and hurt and tragedy can be the vehicles through which good stories can be told: that the light is made all the brighter because of the quantity and quality of darkness that was banished. Candy and Meat are the story of a boy who can only destroy love because he thinks he understands it, and lashes-out when things don’t go as planned. Dirk is just as much the villain in Candy as in Meat, as Calliope makes very clear: the Candyverse is in some sense defined, or at least made more distinct, by his absence. He is a tragic figure on the macro scale - if only he and all the walking wounded of Sburb had been given help when they needed it - but his death in Candy is not a tragedy of ‘what ifs,’ it’s an act of petulance and cruelty by a kid who’ll take his ball and go home if he’s not allowed to play the winning game. His death destabilizes the Candyverse far more than John’s choice to stay, its just that its corrosive effects take longer to be obvious - and the gears he’d already set in motion didn’t cease to turn, though they may have slowed. Dirk destroys love, his effect on both timelines is to push people apart because division suits him, and to push his own view of what ‘love’ is on people who experience it far more expansively than he could ever imagine. He’s a sad little boy who grew up in alone in a box and entered a world that told him he was a literal god with the powers to match - by the end of Meat it’s clear that love, friendship, and teamwork mean nothing to him, only the perfect order of his own fevered imagination. What will bring him down in the end is the reclamation of that feeling at the end of Act 7 - the joy of victory, of having worked together, of the love of family both found and familial, and of the realization that they were none of them better apart. And then some therapists. Some actual therapists. For a good long time. (Also I hope that they find Doc Scratch and beat his sorry ass from here to eternity because that smug fuck has his puppety fingertips all over this thing, and if Dirk really is merging with his ultimate self that includes (as @geekycalligrapher noted) aspects that wound up in Lord English, including a not insignificant portion of one Doctor Vanilla Milkshake, Esq.) (Edit: I did, in fact, do a few edits when I noticed the opening sentences were missing things like ‘the subject.’)

[leahxx129]

Fun Fact (Steve Rogers X Reader)

Okay, this one’s for the lovely @waiting4inspiration​ ‘s #staysafestayhomechallenge, my prompt can be found in bold. This is my second fic ever posted on here, but I hope you enjoy it. :) 

Summary: Fun fact: when you’re dying, your life does flash before your eyes. Well, not all of it of course, just the snippets that actually made it worth living. For you this means four memories that portray different stages of your relationship with Steve Rogers.

Warnings: angst, a little bit of smut, character death

Word count: 3.567

When you arrived in the middle of the battle that was raging on in Wakanda, Natasha, Okoye and Wanda were struggling to fight Proxima Midnight. You hit her with a ball of blue fire to aid your friends, and she stumbled back hard.

“How dare you?!” she screamed.

Your only response was another ball, but this time it was a bigger one. It caught her with such force and velocity that she flew against a Thresher and got shredded to pieces.

“Steve’s in the forest with Thanos!” Natasha shouted knowingly.

You ran into the woods as fast as possible and the scene playing out in front your eyes was gut-wrenching. Steve had the upper hand, but he was undeniably struggling, and it was a matter of seconds before he’d lose his advance. A blue blast coming from you sent Thanos crashing into a nearby tree.

“Y/N!” Steve uttered your name, but you couldn’t be bothered.

You appeared in front of Thanos in just a fraction of time and disabled him with the fire. You could hear voices all around you, coming from various people – Thanos bellowing, Steve demanding you to stop, Bucky telling him to flee – but you ignored all of them and closed your eyes, feeling the blue fire rise.

Fun fact: when you’re dying, your life does flash before your eyes. Well, not all of it of course, just the snippets that actually made it worth living. For you this meant four memories.

You clearly envisioned the day you met Earth’s most exclusive redheaded spy alongside with the man who awakened feelings in you that you yourself didn’t even know you were capable of experiencing.

It was a humid hot day in July, your short-sleeved yellow uniform and red apron stuck to your body in all the wrong places, making you feel uncomfortable. You took in a sharp breath as your bandaged palms came in contact with the plates you were supposed to deliver to table 3 and put them down in an instant.

“Hey Mike! I am so sorry, but I just don’t think I can wait tables today… how ‘bout I take up all the orders and you bring them out?” you called out to your co-worker.

“What’s in it for me?” he furrowed his brows.

“I’ll buy you coffee.”

“So, it’s a date, right?” a grin formed on his freckled, yet handsome face.

“No, Mike. It’s coffee.”

“So, it’s a coffee date?”

“Nope, only coffee, Mike. No date. I’ll buy you one in the morning and just give it to you when I arrive.”

There was a moment of silence and his grin turned into a small smile.

“You know you’re lucky you’re hot and I’d do anything for you, free coffee or not.” he said picking up the plates and disappeared.

The diner was packed, a loud buzz filled the place as everybody was talking simultaneously. Having spotted a raised hand, you hurried over to get the order. Sure, your palms hurt holding a notepad and a pen, too, but remotely not as much as when you picked up those full plates.

“Welcome to Pop’s Diner, what can I get you?” you recited without even as much as sparing a glance at the consumers.

“A conversation would be nice.”

Your eyes immediately shot to the speaking man and his companion and widened in shock.

“Oh my God! You… you’re…” you felt the heat rise in your cheeks as you tried putting together a coherent sentence and failed.

“It’s okay, don’t be nervous.” the read headed woman smiled kindly. “I’m Agent Natasha Romanoff and this is Captain Steve Rogers. We’re here on behalf of Nick Fury.” she continued on, making you gasp loudly.

“We’d just like to talk, that’s all. Would you mind sitting down for a second?” Rogers chipped in.

You opened your mouth to protest since you were working after all, but promptly decided against it and sat down across them. When Captain America asks you to sit down, you sit down.

“May I… May I inquire what this conversation is in relation to?” you cleared your throat.

“Your palms.” Rogers stated calmly. He flashed you a smile what you assumed was supposed to be reassuring, but all he managed to do was make you even more flustered.  

“My palms…? Wha- what about them?”

“It seems like you had burned them pretty badly.”

“Uhm, yeah. I was cooking and I didn’t realize how hot the pot was until it was too late.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

Agent Romanoff took out her phone and placed it in front of you on the table. A security camera footage started to play and after a few second there you were, making your way through the diner’s parking lot a day ago. When you got to your car, a man pressed you hard against its side. A short grapple ensued and two minutes in an intense light emerged from your palms, making the stranger fall to the concrete. He was weltering on the ground, touching his own face and you just stood there. Satisfied. After a while you got in your car and drove off. The video stopped.

“Wanna re-think that answer?” she asked.

You didn’t even realize that a couple of tears escaped until they made their way down your face. You wiped them away furiously with the back of your hand. You winced when she called you by your name since you didn’t remember introducing yourself, but you shouldn’t have been surprised – you were convinced that by then S.H.I.E.L.D probably even knew what your favorite color was.

“Look, we have no idea what we witnessed on that tape and that’s one thing we’d like to know-”

“Well then that makes three of us…” you cut in bitterly. “ ’Cause I don’t even know what that was… Just to be clear, I did not want to melt that man’s face off even though he attacked me. I just felt threatened, and when I get angry or feel like I’m in danger, this incredibly cold sensation swipes trough me and just... wants to surface. By the time it reaches my palms it’s so cold, it burns… It burns right through my skin and looks like blue fire.”

Agent Romanoff and Captain Rogers exchanged a quick glance and the latter started off to Pop’s office.

“Where’s he going?” you asked in panic.

“He’s handing your boss your resignation.”

“What??”

“Relax, душенька. I think you’re gonna like your new job better than this. But first, you’ve got a lot to learn.” she smirked in response.

The second scene playing before your eyes was about the night you and Steve kissed for the very first time.

You won the battle of New York. At a painstakingly high price paid in body-count, but you’ve won it, nevertheless. The city slowly started to revive again and tried getting back to the old routine, but deep down everybody knew that would never happen. The harsh reality that Earth wasn’t the only populated planet and that humans were not the only superior beings in the universe settled in every heart and mind and there was no way of changing that.

Stark of course felt like the victory was something to celebrate so he threw a rather extravagant party in the Stark Tower. You tried to enjoy it, you really did, but you didn’t succeed in doing so. The music struck as too loud and all the drunk people soon became annoying instead of entertaining. Consequently, you grabbed your half-empty glass of whiskey and headed up to the roof top to get a breath of fresh air. The cold gusts of wind felt wonderful against your skin.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that, Rogers. I almost threw a blue fire ball in your face.” you said without turning back. He chuckled softly and strolled to your side.

“Sorry, I just had to get away from the crowd. Plus, Stark’s hammered and he insisted on teaching me how to dance. I don’t think I’m ready for that tonight. Or ever will be.”

You didn’t notice how captivated he was when a genuine laughter ripped out of you.

“And here I was, thinking you deliberately followed me up here to finally get me alone.” you looked him in the eyes, smiling.

“You wish, doll.” his expression mirrored yours.

Your heart began racing as his face started to inch closer to yours. Your lips almost touched when a loud noise made you jump apart – courtesy of a very drunk Tony Stark trying to open the exit door with an equally drunk bimbo on his side.

“Whoops…” he said, then went on “… what was I saying? Oh, yes, sweetie, you can totally see Asgard from here. You just have to squint a little, then concentrate real hard and-”

Steve cleared his throat to make your presence known before Tony did something neither of you wanted to see.

“Rogers! Y/N! What are you two doing here? Oh, wait- did he… did he confess to you already?” he asked, looking straight in your eyes.

“Confess what?”

“Stark. Please stop talking. Now.” Steve’s voice was laced with nervousness, but Tony being Tony, did not stop talking.

“That he’s got a thing for you, Darling.” he informed you, then turned to Steve “Ugh, for God’s sake, Rogers, just kiss her already! Because if you won’t, I will!”

“Hey!” the bimbo screamed, clearly offended and went back to the building. A second later when Tony realized what happened he rushed after her shouting he didn’t mean it; he was just trying to motivate a friend. Or maybe he meant it a little, but just a little. Then all the noise died out.

“Soooo… you have a thing for me?” you spoke up after what seemed like an eternity of silence.

“Yes. I do. Although I planned on presenting it to you a bit differently.” he admitted.

“I see. Since it’s confession time, can I tell you something, too?”

“Sure thing, doll.”

You closed the distance between the two of you and stood on your tiptoes.

“I’ve got a thing for you as well, Steve…” you whispered in his ear.

He cupped your face and crashed his lips against yours in response. He did not like booze at all, but if anyone asked what his favorite was, he said whisky, because that’s what he tasted on your tongue that night.

Another clip of your life you were seeing was about the first time Steve made love to you.

You entered your room after a mission gone a bit sideways, exhausted to an extent that’s impossible to describe and with bruises and cuts covering the majority of your body. Steve stormed in just seconds after and slammed the door shut so hard it almost broke off its hinges. His beautiful face was hardened by anger and those blue eyes that often reminded you of the peaceful sea promised storm.

“What the hell was that?!” he demanded in a raised tone.

You sat down in front of your boudoir table and started peeling of your shredded suite very carefully.

“Answer me!” he shouted when he realized you had no intention of getting into an argument with him.

“Well, Cap, we went on a mission that in the end required some prompt, unplanned decisions on our side and I made them. Mission turned out successful. End of story. Is oral summary sufficient or would you like me to hand it in in written format?”

“Don’t “Cap” me, doll. And the attitude won’t bring you any closer to the end of this conversation…” he warned a little bit calmer, but still with a shaking voice.

“I’m sorry, Steve, I just don’t see what your problem is.”

You finished getting out of the top part and stood up to get done with the bottom, visibly struggling. With a couple of quick steps Steve appeared in front of you and tore it apart. You wore nothing but your underwear.

He then grabbed your chin and forced you to look him in the eyes.

“My problem is every single bruise on your body that’s not supposed to be there. Every single cut. Every single wound. Just because you learned how to use the blue fire without getting burnt it doesn’t mean you should use it excessively. I saw the effect it had on you today, don’t think I didn’t. For a split second it appeared as if it was consuming you from the inside…”

“Steve, if I hadn’t overdriven myself a little today, some of our greatest agents would’ve died. And I could not take that risk.” you said with gritted teeth. Tears started to sting your eyes, but you held them back.

“Well, I could! You know what risk I cannot take?! Losing you, doll.”

“I’m sorry…” you said in a small voice without a beat. Apologizing was not your genre, but the realization of how much Steve cared for you just dawned upon you. A mix of emotions took over you – you felt immensely loved, but at the same time, you were scared. “I gotta go take a shower. Will be back in no time.”

You slipped out of his grasp and let the tears flow as you closed the bathroom door behind you. Having stripped your underwear, you stepped into the shower and started cleansing yourself. You hoped the hot water would wash away the shame and guilt you felt, not just the dried blood and dirt. You were so caught up in your own thoughts that you jumped a little when Steve opened the shower cabin door.

“Oh my God, you scared me!” but he didn’t say a word.

He pushed you against the cold shower wall and kissed you violently, while his hands explored every curve of your body. It took all your willpower to break the kiss.

“Steve, do you really want our first time to be shower sex?” you asked panting.

“It doesn’t matter where we are, doll. I love you and I want you.” he growled, kissing down your neck.

Every fiber in your body ached in protest, but you ignored them. You ran your nails down his back as he put his hands under your thighs and gently lifted you up. A moan escaped you mouth when he entered you and slowly started moving. Steve swore it was the most beautiful sound in the whole goddamn universe. It was not long before the tension started building up in your body and having noticed this, he picked up the pace. You’d never moaned anyone’s name during orgasm before, but Steve was the only exception. He reached his bliss second later.

“On second thought, shower sex was just great for a first time.” you said, and he chuckled. “Where did you, uh, where did you hear about it?”

“Uhm, do you remember the mission like eight months ago when Stark and I got stuck on a desert island for six days?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, turns out, Stark opens up quite easily about his sensual experiences…”

“Noo. No way!” you laughed as you stepped out of the shower and started drying your hair with a towel.

“Yes way.” Steve followed you and took over the towel to dry your hair. “I also heard about other stuff, but those require a bed.” he smirked suggestively.

“In that case it’s a good thing I happen to own one.” you kissed his lips and wished that day would never end.

The last memory could not have been any clearer and it was breaking your heart all over again.

It was no question who’s side you were on when the civil war between Tony and Steve broke out… You got used to the life being on the run with Steve, Natasha and Sam in no time, although you still missed the others as well. They were the closest thing to a family you’ve ever had, and the rupture pained you badly at times. When Steve decided to collect the rest to unite in the fight against the greatest threat that ever endangered the universe, you were glad. You never knew how this beginning would mean the end of your relationship.

The first avengers Steve decided to recruit were Wanda and Vision in Europe, and frankly, you got there just in time. There’s a chance that a couple of minutes later there would’ve been no one to recruit… Your heart skipped a beat when you realized who you were up against, but you couldn’t allow yourself to ponder – lives were on the line. You helped Natasha stab Glaive and when Proxima Midnight grabbed your shoulder and turned you in her direction to deliver a punch, her fist froze mid-air.

“Y/N?” she asked uncertainly, but you didn’t answer. Sam flew in and kicked her to Glaive’s side. “Your father will hear about this, I promise.” she threatened before vanishing in blue light.

Everybody was panting, the fight exhausted all of you. Other than that, no sound could be heard.

“What was she talking about, doll?” Steve spoke up finally, asking the question everyone was dying to hear the answer to.

You all boarded the Quinjet, but you and Steve went to a separate cabin to discuss matters first.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t hit you or try to kill you on spot, though you were absolutely certain you would’ve deserved it. He just sat there. Quietly. He didn’t utter a word while you were telling him that you, in fact, were not human. You were a member of a species called ‘Inhuman’, which was the result of mixing Kree genes with human ones, and this is the reason why you possess the blue fire. He didn’t say a thing while you were telling him that as a child, Thanos snatched you and brought you up as his own daughter alongside two other girls, Nebula and Gamora, and turned the three of you into the most feared assassins in the entire galaxy. His mouth stayed shut while you were telling him that coming to Earth was a mission ordered by Thanos to gain intel on what was going on here and you were deemed fit for it as you looked like humans.

“But I stopped delivering information years ago, Steve! Do you know why? Because I fell in love with you! And because I realized the error of my father’s ways! He lied to me throughout my entire life and manipulated me into believing his false ideology! Steve? Please, say something, Steve…”

“Leave.”

You were not sure if the word echoed in the room or was it just your own mind.

“What?”

“I said, leave.” he stood up. There was no sign of fury on his face. Only disappointment. You didn’t move, so he continued.

“You were the very first woman I loved after Peggie, which I thought would be impossible for a long-long time… I loved you, Y/N. You saved me in more than one way, and after the war I wanted to settle down with you. Start a family. But you know this damn well, for fuck’s sake… And now it turns out I never even knew you…”

“But Steve, you knew me, in fact, you know me!” you interrupted with a cracking voice.

“No, doll, I didn’t. And I don’t.”

You ran up to him and cupped his face, but he refused to look at you. Your palms were wet from the tears he shed. He peeled your hands off him slowly.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, I could never do that. But I want you to leave. I don’t care who’s side you’ll fight on in this war or if you decide to sit it out, just whatever you do, stay away from me. God, I can’t even look at you, Y/N.”

You couldn’t stop the sobs surfacing from your chest.

The flashback scenes stopped, and the blue fire was burning more than ever inside of you. Steve had been right all those years ago… if you overdrove yourself, it would consume you from the inside and everything else in your immediate proximity, too. But if this was the only way of defeating your father and saving the universe, so be it. Suddenly, numbness took the place of pain and you subjected to it.

A high number of people showed up to your funeral organized at Tony’s lake house. Everybody placed a white rose on top of your empty casket and expressed their condolences to Steve, but he wasn’t paying attention at all. He tried to, really hard, but he just couldn’t. Tony was the last person to go there and place his rose.

“You know Rogers, I’ve never been one to sugarcoat things and I’m not gonna lie this time, either.” he said, his words making Steve look him in the eyes. “From what I hear… If you had kept your mouth shut, she’d still be here… At least there’s a high chance for that. But there’s also a high chance that half of the fucking universe wouldn’t. Respect her choice... That’s what I’m trying to do.”

Respect your choice... These three words became Steve’s mantra – the first thing that came to his mind in the morning, and the last at night. They were the glue that kept the pieces of his heart together just enough to function as a human being.

[mrlnsfrt]

Best Friends Forever

Have you ever had someone angry with you? Have you ever been confused regarding why someone else just seems to hate you? For me, it is easier to bear someone being angry with me when I know the reason, but it drives me crazy when someone is upset with me and I have no idea why. It is even worse when I have done nothing wrong. Perhaps you have been there yourself.

Perhaps you’re there now. (I addressed this in more detail on Persecuted)

In this post, I will be taking a closer look at 1 Samuel 20 and together we will witness the power of friendship and the blessings it can bring into a life.

The Problem

Then David fled from Naioth in Ramah, and went and said to Jonathan, “What have I done? What is my iniquity, and what is my sin before your father, that he seeks my life?” 1 Samuel 20:1 NKJV

This friendship is complicated. Imagine the father of your best friend wants to kill you. Or imagine that your father wants to kill your best friend! I tend to read the story and place myself in David’s shoes, but in this story, I want to switch it up and place myself in Jonathan’s shoes. This story is unique in that David is passive and remains in the background for most of the narrative. This story also demonstrates once again that David did not ascend to the throne through treachery or any underhanded or dishonest schemes.

Jonathan does not want to believe David. Jonathan can’t believe that his father, the king, would desire to kill David an innocent man. Also, King Saul always shared with his son Jonathan, his plans and Jonathan had not heard of his father’s plan to kill David.

 So Jonathan said to him, “By no means! You shall not die! Indeed, my father will do nothing either great or small without first telling me. And why should my father hide this thing from me? It is not so!”

Then David took an oath again, and said, “Your father certainly knows that I have found favor in your eyes, and he has said, ‘Do not let Jonathan know this, lest he be grieved.’ But truly, as the Lord lives and as your soul lives, there is but a step between me and death.” - 1 Samuel 20:2-3 NKJV

David points out to Jonathan that his father could be hiding his plans from him since he knows that he is David’s friend.

They need a plan.

The Plan

David devises a plan involving him being absent from the royal court for two days and misses a sacrificial meal associated with a new moon festival (Numbers 10:10). Jonathan’s part in all of this is to observe his father, the king, and how he would behave when he noticed David’s absence. David also adds that if he has done anything wrong that Jonathan should kill him himself instead of taking him to his father to kill him.

Therefore you shall deal kindly with your servant, for you have brought your servant into a covenant of the Lord with you. Nevertheless, if there is iniquity in me, kill me yourself, for why should you bring me to your father?” -1 Samuel 20:8 NKJV

The Covenant

Oddly in the midst of the devising of the plans and figuring out the details Jonathan asks David to be kind no only to him but to his descendants as well.

And you shall not only show me the kindness of the Lord while I still live, that I may not die; but you shall not cut off your kindness from my house forever, no, not when the Lord has cut off every one of the enemies of David from the face of the earth.” So Jonathan made a covenant with the house of David, saying, “Let the Lord require it at the hand of David’s enemies.” - 1 Samuel 20:14-16 NKJV

Jonathan understands and accepts that David will be king and that God will cut off all his enemies. It is also worth mentioning that in 1 Samuel 19:17 Saul identifies David as his enemy. This foreshadows David’s ultimate victory, but it also says a lot about Jonathan who loves David instead of resenting him for being successful, for being chosen by God, Jonathan is willing to accept God’s will trusting Him to know what is best.

Love your neighbor as yourself

There are those who like to suggest that Jonathan’s love for David and David’s love for Jonathan might be of a romantic nature. However, the language used does not imply this.

Now Jonathan again caused David to vow, because he loved him; for he loved him as he loved his own soul. 1 Samuel 20:17 NKJV

Jonathan and David simply following the moral and ceremonial laws as expressed in Leviticus 19.

“You shall not take vengeance, nor bear any grudge against the children of your people, but you shall love your neighbor as yourself: I am the Lord.” - Leviticus 19:18 NKJV

Imagine with me what the world would be like if we had more friends like Jonathan! We all want to be David and have a friend like Jonathan. But that is beyond our control, we can wish and search for a friend like that, and that’s about it. That’s why I would rather encourage you to be that friend. To be a Jonathan to someone else. Because that is under your control. You can behave like Jonathan, and that is one way that the world will have more people like that. We can be the one who loves the other as we love ourselves!

King Saul does want to kill David

Sadly, as the story progresses we discover that indeed Saul wishes to kill David. Saul is furious that David is absent from court and blames his son Jonathan.

Then Saul’s anger was aroused against Jonathan, and he said to him, “You son of a perverse, rebellious woman! Do I not know that you have chosen the son of Jesse to your own shame and to the shame of your mother’s nakedness? For as long as the son of Jesse lives on the earth, you shall not be established, nor your kingdom. Now therefore, send and bring him to me, for he shall surely die.” - 1 Samuel 20:30-31 NKJV

Pay close attention to Saul’s words and how he distances himself from David and even his own son. Saul refers to David not by name but rather as the son of Jesse, and he refers to his son not as his son, but rather as the son of a perverse, rebellious woman. Saul tries to get Jonathan to change his position using three powerful motivators, shame, guilt, and greed.

Shame - Saul tells Jonathan that it is shameful to choose David over his own family, over his father, over his king!

Guilt - Saul accuses Jonathan of being guilty of bringing shame upon his mother’s nakedness. An odd argument since Saul had brought shame upon her by calling her a perverse, rebellious woman.

Greed - Saul reminds Jonathan that he will never be king as long as David is around. Jonathan would have wealth and power only when David was dead.

After attacking Jonathan with those harsh words Saul orders him to send and bring David for he must die.

Jonathan is not swayed by his father’s words. Rather he argues with his father questioning him regarding David and what he had done to deserve death. As king over God’s people, he should not break God’s law, and the law prohibited the execution of the innocent.

Keep yourself far from a false matter; do not kill the innocent and righteous. For I will not justify the wicked. - Exodus 23:7 NKJV

Saul answer’s his son’s questions with a spear, and it was then that Jonathan knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that indeed his father was not very good with a spear (1 Samuel 18:11; 19:10; 20:33), and also that he truly desired to kill David. Jonathan leaves the table furious and fasts for the remainder of that day. However, Jonathan is not upset that his father just tried to kill him, but rather he is upset at how his father has treated David. Jonathan realizes that life will never be the same. Jonathan will have to part with his best friend, and also things will never the same between him and his father.

Be like Jonathan

Jonathan is one of the best examples we have in the Bible of a good friend. Jonathan could have allowed his pride and personal ambition to ruin his friendship with David. Jonathan could have been Jealous, like his father. Jonathan could have been greedy and wanted the kingdom to himself. He could even have argued that the kingdom belonged to him and not David. But Jonathan stood up for David, Jonathan confronted the king. Jonathan cared more about what was right than about personal wealth and power. Jonathan stood up for his friend when others wished to harm him. Jonathan supported his friend even though his friend would become more powerful than he was.

Can you be like Jonathan?

Are you willing to support a friend who is going to surpass you?

Will you stand up for what is right even if the king wants to do what is wrong?

The world needs more men and women who behave like Jonathan. Who are loyal friends, who love others like they love themselves, who stand up for their friends and want to see their friends succeed.

I want to encourage you, to be like Jonathan, because you will contribute, even if in a small way, to making the world a better place, and to reflecting kingdom ethics. Living life on earth according to the values God has made clear in the Bible.

"Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no commandment greater than these.”"  -- Jesus (Mark 12:30-31)