#;grande cup of apathy

[bucknastysbabe]

Untold

Boom bap skapoom ddededede lemme just drop this bad boy off at the park and run away. Reread fire and blood and wanted to experiment with that fake biography style which I’m not very good at but it was fun SKIDIBOP mmdada BOOM

Rating: General

Tags: Period typical assholery, lots of death, angsty, turNCLOAKS?!, Aegon is on Douchebag Hours until he got fucked the fuck up, targ princess reader, incest, Cregan said hol up we don’t play like that in The Fookin North

“House Rowan has been taken by Lord Ormund and Prince Daeron,” said the kinslayer. The maester with him wrote of Aegon’s hitched noise and lidded eyes opening with a snap.

The haggard Aegon stared at his brother, face puffy and eyes glazed from the milk of the poppy. He rarely was awake in his recovery. Prince Aemond figured their youngest sister’s safety would raise the twisted king’s spirits. Aegon had mumbled, “Get her to the…Keep.” He soon after returned to the world of sleep— exhausted from the mere act of eating.

In True Telling, Munkun writes that the arrival of princess would guarantee to distract Aegon more if he ever got well. Not to mention her priceless dragon Merigar, waiting in the Dragonpit. Her Rowan in-laws declared themselves Black until Daeron routed Lord Thaddeus. The Prince regent Aemond was very keen to get the young woman back in the walls of King’s Landing.

The princess later was watched by all, silent tears streaming down pale cheeks as her husband was put to the sword. She was merely 7 and 10 and married for a scarce year. No child was born of the union, much to the happiness of the greens. Especially the ailing Aegon, who had requested for her to stay by his side. The tale of the ‘little princess’ and King Aegon was of a bleak nature, like many others during the Dance.

From a young age she had always been known to bear love for her eldest brother. Even when the rest of their siblings avoided the wayward Prince like the red plague. She followed Aegon around, a pale specter at his heels. That love had long grown strained and non-existent before the Dance. Prince Aegon had settled into his debaucherous ways— drunken binges and periods spent off in Flea Bottom.

Aegon did not engage with her as much, likely discarded the princess for hedonism. Her personal journal stated she received nothing but apathy and slurred condescension when they interacted. Bitterness filled the younger’s heart and after she sought refuge either on her smoky dragon Merigar or a court favorite. Whispers circled around the keep about Aegon not being the only sibling to have a healthy, lustful appetite.

The jester Mushroom wrote that the young princess, fueled by Aegon’s rejection, turned to carnal desires to draw his attention. He claimed she had a retainer of comely knights, daring whoever could climb to her chambers could seize her maidenhead. Grand Maester Munkun disparages that, illustrating the girl was fond of the male gaze but remained chaste. All accounts at the time do mention the public schism between Aegon and his once favorite sibling.

When the striking girl was publicly engaged to the handsome Braxton Rowan in late 127 AC, approval rounded the court. It was a happy time for all, the birth of Prince Maelor had occurred a month beforehand. King Viserys, largely crippled, hastened the wedding on fears of expiring too soon.

Prince Aegon was not of a jovial spirit on the day of the betrothal. He slouched in the throne room with a sullen pout, leaving immediately afterward. The Prince by all reports proceeded to get irrationally intoxicated and escorted from supper by twins Cargyll of the Kingsguard. Ser Criston Cole wrote in concern to Septon Eustace on the occasion.

“I fear for our princess after Aegon’s behavior. You must pray that she will be looked after by the Maiden. He was wrought with jealousy, slamming cups and yelling like a child in the midst of a tantrum. The prince must be kept away lest he seek to claim her before the wedding.”

No other mention was made of the two interacting until the night before the ceremony. Lord Thaddeus Rowan and his retainer had arrived that morning. Comely Prince Daeron had made an appearance with Lord Ormund and his she-dragon Tessarion close behind.

Queen Alicent was said to be overwhelmed with tears, joyous at all of her children together. Eustace somberly notes that it would be the last time she would have the sight. King Viserys was resting in his solar during the reunion, Maester Orwyle tending to the King before the festivities.

Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon remained on Dragonstone with their offspring, an obvious slight.

The young lord Braxton Rowan was handsome in the colors of Goldengrove, strapping and tall with blue eyes and thick brown locks. The little princess was smitten, blushing when the heir dropped to a knee and kissed her hand. Lord Thaddeus proudly boasted that he had never seen his eldest son so lovestruck. Most could see why, the princess was silver and slim. She had taken after her mothers side— willowy and statuesque in appearance. Her and Prince Aemond were similar in that way.

Supper in the keep happened to be a less joyful event. Prince Aegon had joined in the toast to the soon-to-be wed couple. He drawled, “To my lovely sister and her betrothed, I hope she may find joy in an otherwise banal man and his meager lands.” The princess burst into tears, Lord Thaddeus and his sons had to be restrained. Prince Aemond shoved his brother back into his chair with a sharp look. In a fit Queen Alicent excused her drunken son, fretfully apologizing to the angered Rowan clan. Peace was restored in quick succession after.

Accounts are hazy on the occurence at the hour of the Wolf. Two things were consistent in Grand Maester Munkun’s and Septon Eustace’s books. Mushroom will be excluded as his tale was outlandish and inconsistent. One, that Aegon and the little princess did get caught in the godswood by Ser Criston Cole. Two being she had raked her nails bloody across his cheek, stating to Cole that she made a mistake.

Aegon wept during the wedding, disappearing after her red and black Targaryen maiden’s cloak was replaced with the gold and silver of Rowan. The princess smiled and shined for all to see in the meantime. She was cheerful and danced through the night, laughing even during the ribald bedding ceremony. The Targaryen recounted the consummation as a ‘passionate affair’. Off she went to Goldengrove, where Lord Braxton doted on his new wife. Plans were in progress to build a place for the handsome Merigar.

Most were sure the princess was for Rhaenyra; there are multiple records of her openly voicing that her elder brother was unfit for the Iron throne. Eustace with his known dislike for the half-year queen left the Princess out of the Rowan’s claim for the Blacks. When Daeron met with her, she cried and beseeched the Daring to spare her husband and good-father.

Upon her return to King’s Landing, Prince Aemond kept a tight leash on his sister, disallowing her to leave the keep. She was miserable. The girl cried in Aegon’s chambers or the godswood. Mushroom had even tried to lift her spirits, claiming the princess threatened to feed the jester to her dragon. Aemond complained of her dour mood to the Dowager Queen.

While Helaena descended into madness, the other grew hateful. She hissed and threatened to strangle Aegon in his poppy-aided sleep if she had to stay by his side any longer. Merigar felt his rider’s misery, killing two dragon-keepers in a fit of rage. She scrawled down in her diary, “I crave death. I hate him so and yet.”

During the fall of King’s Landing, the princess was given a good deal by Rhaenyra. Ride for the blacks and she would be pardoned on behalf of her ‘green blood’. The little princess swore fealty immediately. Upon hearing the news at Harrenhal, Aemond, already angered by the loss of King’s Landing denounced his blood with a snarl. Queen Alicent did not speak to her youngest daughter for the entire period of Rhaenyra’s rule.

The widow expressed doubts in her journal, fearing she was unable to actually kill any of her blood. She never got the chance to do that. The series of deaths during the half-year rocked the girl. She spent more time with her dragon than with humans after Daeron was reported to have perished at Tumbleton. In her cups, she lamented to many, “I fear I may never smile again.” True Telling mentions that the embittered woman kept quite true to her word.

Rhaenyra felt the growing dread in her half-sister and became uneasy. She was paranoid of turncloaks, especially after Addam Velaryon was questioned. Rhaenyra sent her dragonback on a fool’s errand to the Reach for aid at Highgarden. Dangerously she would be passing where the green army lie in disarray. Merigar and his princess flew North instead.

Sightings of the smoke colored dragon came as far as Last Hearth. Aemond and Daemon held their last battle, Rhaenyra too overcome with the unrest in King’s Landing to do anything about her sister’s disappearance. The princess grew gaunt and grey in the North, the life sapped from her bones. She supped with the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch before returning to King’s Landing.

Lord Commander Brune wrote in his memoirs, “She was exceptionally kind and forged of steel under her thin skin. I was baffled when she climbed on that black beast of hers and called down, “Valar Morghulis.” It was one of the stranger days on my watch.”

No one truly learned why the princess came out of isolation. She stopped writing in her journal after visiting the Wall. Orwyle theorized that she was growing mad, Mushroom shared a bawdy idea, Eustace and Munkun simply think the Valyrian was tired and missed home.

Home was much different now back under the reign of Aegon the Elder, rendered shattered and volatile. He was still mourning the loss of the golden Sunfyre. The city watch and small folk grew frenzied and nervous when the shadow of Merigar flew over the city. Multiple riots had to be put down around Flea Bottom. Construction on the Dragonpit was halted for atleast a fortnight.

She landed her mount in the outer yard of the Red Keep, falling off in exhaustion and obvious starvation. The princess slept for two days. King Aegon fretted over her health, having grown regretful and somber in regards to his sad life. Remarkably, Dowager Queen Alicent was found by her side. Upon awakening the princess dryly remarked, “I think I shall stay now.” The green queen wept and wrenched her hands.

The princess kept out of the rampant politics ensuing the rest of Aegon II’s reign. She remained without an opinion, oft apologizing to Lord Corlys. The king and his sister reconciled— likely from isolation and shared misery. They drank and reminisced on better times late into the night. She helped her brother plan his marriage to the Baratheon girl.

In the Testimony of Mushroom, there is a tale that may have an element of truth to it. The king and his sister were inseparable the last months of his reign. She was noted to stay in his bed at night, Alicent trying her hardest to keep that under lock and key. Mushroom claimed that Aegon the Elder had been regularly viewing his sister pleasure herself with a variety of wooden toys imported from Lys, him unable to copulate due to his broken body.

While the extent may not be that lewd, Septon Eustace did make a vague mention in his notes about Aegon hinting at instead marrying his sister, now nine and ten years of age. Nothing ever came to fruition as the king was poisoned in his litter. Immediately the ever present princess was questioned and thrown into Maegor’s holdfast.

She denied having involvement, stating blankly that her brother was the last person in her life that mattered. The interrogations could not find any proof and she fell into a catatonic state. The lack of involvement on the princess’ behalf is what sealed her fate. At the hour of the Wolf, Cregan Stark declared her a traitor to Rhaenyra and her heirs for choosing to become ‘a concubine for the thrice-damned drunken cur’.

She was executed by the Lord of Winterfell himself. Her last words are the subject of question. The teenaged girl sighed, “If only.” Merigar thrashed and broke from his chains concurrently during that fatal swing of Ice, escaping into the skies. The proud dragon was never to be seen again. Thus ended the ever shifting life of the little princess.

[stervrucht]

@steddieangstyaugust Day 7: Moonlight

“Things don’t look so bad in the moonlight.”

Steve looks towards the source of the sound. His posture grows rigid against the cool metallic surface of his car. He didn’t expect to find anyone at the junkyard—much less at night. 

The moon is full and bright, and it draws long black shadows over the ground. In the distance, he can see the outline of a person, drawn against the black silhouettes of busted cars and pine trees.

His life has been pretty shit lately—ever since Nancy broke up with him, and he fell out of grace with Tommy. When he can’t sleep, he drives to the junkyard and parks his car there. Smashes some things if the mood strikes, or just smokes and thinks.

“I’m sorry?”

“That's what my uncle says anyway,” the figure replies. 

Steve can hear the crushing of gravel underfoot, and the dragging of metal.  A few seconds later a person comes into view. Steve recognizes him from school. It’s that guy, Eddie Munson, who Tommy buys weed from every now and then. He’s wearing a leather jacket, curly dark hair reaching just past his ears, and in one hand he holds a rusty old pipe that drags over the ground as he walks.

“When you feel like shit, sit under the moon and remember how insignificant you are. Things don’t seem so bad then,” Eddie elaborates. He throws the pipe down and the metallic sound zings until it dies out.

“Not really a reassuring thought.” Steve shoots back. He doesn’t know how to feel about Eddie. He and Tommy have given him shit a few times, and Steve isn’t sure how much of a grudge that cultured within the guy.

Eddie walks over to Steve and settles into the spot next to him. The car dips and Steve winces at the sound of the chain hanging off of Eddie’s jeans softly hitting the metal exterior.

Eddie digs through one of his pockets and pulls out a pack of smokes. He holds it up to Steve, who takes one, and waits for Eddie to offer him a light.

“It isn’t?” Eddie asks with a cigarette between his lips. He motions Steve closer and cups his hand. The soft clicking of a lighter fills the air between them. When Eddie pulls his hand away, the end of their cigarettes lights orange in a colorless world.

Steve takes the cigarette from his mouth. “It’s—” 

“Nihilistic?” Eddie finishes. He throws his head back and releases smoke into the bright night sky. It makes Steve think of stags in winter. 

“Not the word I would have chosen, but yeah.”

“Well, here’s the thing, darling. Optimism hurts like a bitch—apathy is where it’s at. Nothing ever disappoints that way.” Eddie speaks animatedly with large hand movements. The car dips with his movements and whenever he motions his hand too fast, the tip of his cigarette lights up brightly.

“I think it’s a little too late for apathy for me,” Steve mumbles.

“Never too late.” Eddie shrugs. 

They smoke in silence for a moment and Steve looks up at the moon. It’s big and bright and perfectly round. Maybe Eddie was right. Maybe in the grand scheme of things, a break-up wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. Who knows how long they still have on this planet before the moon comes crashing down on it? 

Maybe Steve is turning into a nihilist by proxy.

“You’re quite the cynic aren’t you?” Steve tells him instead.

Eddie shifts and Steve hears the metal of his chain drag. “Comes with the territory.” 

“The territory being…?”

“C’mon now Steve Harrington, don’t act like you’ve forgotten your cute little pet name for me.”

Steve takes an uneasy draw of smoke. “I’m not like that anymore.”

“Not to my face.”

“Listen, I’m sorry okay? I used to be a dick.”

It feels weird to admit it. Steve realizes now that Tommy and Carol brought out the worst in him. That the people he hurt—people like Eddie—didn’t deserve it. Not really. With everything he witnessed last year at the Byers Residence, Steve can probably add himself to the list of freaks. He does sleep with a nailbat under his bed after all.

Eddie smiles contently towards the sky. “Apology accepted."

They smoke in silence until their cigarettes are burned down to their stubs.

“You know what, Harrington? Maybe you’re not so bad—in the moonlight that is.” Eddie smiles at him, and in the cold white light of the moon, he looks a little softer—a little kinder maybe—than his usual gruff self. Steve feels something flutter in his chest. The barest hint of something fond.

“You should see me in daylight.” Steve quips back. The words are out of his mouth before he can consider his tone. That definitely sounded like flirting. 

Eddie winks at him. “Careful, I might just take you up on that.” 

[sciencestyled]

The Art of Throwing Shade: How EcoArt Paints a Mustache on the Mona Lisa of Modern Environmentalism

In the kaleidoscopic circus that is our contemporary world, where science education and art tango with the reckless abandon of two drunken flamingos, there exists a genre of art so avant-garde, it makes Salvador Dali’s mustache twitch with posthumous jealousy. Ladies, gentlemen, and non-binary royalty, let me introduce you to EcoArt—the lovechild of Mother Nature and Banksy, conceived in a back-alley of urban sprawl, swaddled in recycled newspapers, and fed a strict diet of organic compost.

EcoArt doesn’t just tiptoe through the tulips; it rides into battle atop a giant, solar-powered snail, wielding a paintbrush dipped in the essence of "wake up, sheeple!" This audacious knight of ecological gallantry aims not merely to raise the banner of environmental awareness but to plant it firmly in the quicksand of our collective apathy, all while doing the Macarena.

Imagine, if you will, a world where landfills are not merely the festering sores of consumerism but the canvases for grand vistas of recycled beauty. Here, plastic bags don’t choke sea turtles; they’re woven into tapestries that tell the tale of a thousand grocery trips gone by, each one a haiku to human forgetfulness. EcoArtists transform the detritus of our disposable culture into Instagrammable moments that scream, “Look at me, I’m saving the planet, one bottle cap mosaic at a time!”

Let’s not overlook the pièce de résistance of this movement: interactive exhibits that make Al Gore’s PowerPoint presentations look like the sleepy ramblings of an intoxicated sloth. These are not your grandmother’s dioramas, oh no. They’re high-tech, low-carbon-footprint, experiential learning fandangos where you can virtually frolic through deforested rainforests or swim through oceans brimming with more plastic than fish. It’s like Pokémon Go, but instead of catching cute monsters, you’re snagging haunting realizations about your carbon footprint.

Consider, for example, the project that turned a dilapidated inner-city lot into a verdant paradise, using nothing but old car tires and the tears of Wall Street bankers. This was no mere garden; it was a statement, a veritable middle finger to the idea that nature and urban life must be at odds. Here, children learn that worms are not just bait for fishing but architects of the underworld, tirelessly toiling to turn waste into black gold.

Then there’s the artist who paints with smog—yes, you heard that right. By day, he’s just another commuter, faceless amid the exhaust fumes. By night, he’s a maestro of the particulate, turning pollutants into portraits of the very industries that cough them up. It’s as if he’s holding a mirror to society, only to reveal society is a chain-smoking orangutan in a business suit, obliviously flicking ashes onto a pile of dry leaves.

EcoArt is not just art; it’s a revolution with a green thumb and a wicked sense of humor. It’s the realization that if we’re going to go down with this ship we call Earth, we might as well do it laughing, paint-stained hands intertwined, planting seeds of change with each chuckle.

So, next time you sip your ethically sourced, fair-trade coffee from a cup made of recycled paper, remember the EcoArtists. They’re out there, in the trenches of the mundane, armed with nothing but their creativity, a profound love for this spinning marble of chaos, and perhaps a touch of madness. They remind us that art is not just a reflection of life but a hammer with which to shape it—a hammer wrapped in a velvet glove of moss, striking blows for sustainability and snickering all the while at the absurdity of human folly.

In closing, let’s raise our reusable water bottles to these jesters in the court of public opinion, these pranksters painting mustaches on the solemn portraits of environmental degradation. EcoArt, in all its wacky glory, doesn’t just aim to educate and inspire; it seeks to tickle the stern countenance of science and art, proving that sometimes, the most profound truths are best served with a side of irreverent laughter. And in this loony bin of a planet, perhaps that’s exactly what we need.

[iamsumati]

The Bitter truth behind sweet illusions

In a remote village in Rajasthan, I once encountered a scene that left me deeply disillusioned. It was a simple sight—a glass of juice being sold by a local vendor. However, what lay inside the transparent plastic cup was not just juice but a concoction of almost equal parts juice and sugar, glaringly visible to anyone who cared to look. This village juice stand, devoid of the sophisticated packaging seen in commercial products, presented its contents in a straightforward manner—a stark contrast to the polished façade of many global brands.

This encounter led me to ponder the power of presentation in shaping our perceptions. Whether it's a product, an idea, or even a person, how something is presented often conquers our impressions, regardless of its truth or potential harm. This art of presentation has permeated every facet of our lives—from politics and education to religion and business. In today's world, people seldom pause to scrutinize the dangers concealed behind illusionary presentations.

Politicians, in particular, have mastered the art of presentation to manipulate public opinion. Through the constant dissemination of misinformation via mainstream and social media, they orchestrate a systemic brainwash, masking their corruption and self-serving agendas under the guise of public welfare.

Consider the recent incident involving a minister's demand for premium mineral water at an event. The irony is palpable—a public servant squandering resources and time on extravagance, all at the expense of taxpayers. Yet, such occurrences often escape widespread scrutiny, contributing to a culture of indifference and apathy.

Even when scandals do surface, their impact on public perception is fleeting. Take, for instance, a minister fasting before inaugurating a temple—a spectacle orchestrated for religious optics rather than genuine piety. Despite its absurdity, such theatrics are normalized through relentless propaganda by political IT cells and compliant media outlets.

In this age of information overload, common sense seems anything but common. Misinformation masquerades as truth, while genuine voices are drowned out by the cacophony of falsehoods. Media organizations have succumbed to the allure of sensationalism and sycophancy, abandoning their duty to hold power to account.

As society hurtles towards unprecedented complexity, disillusionment becomes the new normal. We chase elusive ideals of perfection, oblivious to the contentment found in simplicity and authenticity. The remedy lies not in grand narratives or false promises but in reclaiming our discernment and rejecting the allure of presentation over substance.

In a world inundated with illusions, let us strive for clarity amidst the chaos. For therein lies the path to true enlightenment and lasting fulfillment. While the world is getting messier, it is quite important to mention couple of line from Song "Clarity" by 24kGoldn "It's not easy living with clarity; I just need a little more therapy."

[reginrokkr]

If this is a dream, wake me not. Stubborn until the very end his brain is, afflicted with too many sentiments to count that do naught but sabotage what little this seraph has left in his life. When emerald meet sapphire, there is a tingle of the indescribable buried beneath layers of sins to carry as the inheritor of the dead in Khaenri'ah. When al-Háitham's hand coils around his own and grasps it with all the certainty he seeks, wakefulness emerges in the form of recognition. This cannot be a dream.

Roseate lips press tentatively against their equivalents in a soft kiss, telling of thousands of emotions and dreams whose protagonists are Dáinsleif and him. His plump lips slip through his own, only to be caught just as gentle and tender in a slow waltz for them alone to perform. Slender fingers glide slowly from the plane of muscular chest to snake around his neck, small platinum hairs tickling the tips of eager fingertips to caress.

If al-Háitham's earlier confirmation that this is reality was not sufficient enough, the curl of his tongue to intertwine with his is catalyst to a soothing fire within that burns and sears and seeks to burst from the center of his chest to the furthest toe. Soft lips part to sigh every sorrow away. Hell and inconceivable underworld is the closest Dáinsleif has been the last time he was in Khaenri'ah. Now, if heaven were to have taste, it would have to be emerald's mouth.

Albescent lashes flutter to a close, finding the necessity to chase away the overwhelming emotions to be quenched of his weary soul when their lips part and one forehead finds another. You will make it, he says. And for the first time in the beginning of eternity, this fallen luminary believes for once. Vulnerability and weakness are still too strong to take initiative to remain realistic on his person, but al-Háitham's words— he would believe in them like he never did no god.

Heavy boots reverberate within large confines of uttermost height of House Daena, onyx tapping over immaculate white-blue. Streaks of white afford a luminosity befitting water's tranquility as he climbs the stairs that will bring him to the Grand Sekretar's desk. Quiescent is the fallen seraph in touch and care when he places a cup of freshly grounded coffee atop the wooden table, then he waits.

Glacial sapphires speak of words and sentiments that his weary body daren't in all its exhaustion and tiredness, in all its heart's apathy from wear and tear of the passages of time. Strong emotions have home no more in this frozen heart, albeit that merely scratches the surface of what truly occurs within weathered and withering psyche. For all the discord and corruption Dáinsleif has perceived in Sumeru at this dire moment, he is glad to see al-Háitham well and healthy. Long fingers push some more the delicate plate where the cup of coffee rests thereafter and thus the wait continues— for time is something that Dáinsleif does not lack and deep down, it will be a matter of time until his heart connects with the other's into quiescent realization and unexpected reunion, he knows.

The first step towards betterment is to accept that one needs help. Al-Háitham was glad to see the blond accept as much and let himself be helped. In moments of vulnerability that had to be amongst the most difficult things to admit and he did it. Now, a good beginning from his own end would be to ponder on possibilities for him to find his way.

He snapped out of his reverie when he felt one of Dáinsleif's hands move from his chest up to his neck and jaw to cup his cheek. A couple of slow blinks were given, then it dawned on him his trembling hand. How frail it felt despite how physically strong the man was, depicting how hesitant he still was despite everything he said. At least, this was another step he took in taking the initiative to do what he wished.

One of his own hands rose to hold the blond's as a manner to ground him, to let him know that what he was doing was perfectly fine. Then, he felt his heart race as soon as he noticed Dáinsleif's intention upon seeing his face getting closer to his own, his eyes shifting from his eyes to his lips.

The Grand Sekretar met his lips halfway without hesitation in a gentle yet firm kiss, more intense and passionate than it was the first time when he just woken up. The arm wrapped around his midsection tightened more to keep him close whilst he savoured every moment their lips touched and caressed one another, every gentle nip and lingering taste of his mouth when he deepened the kiss to reacquaint with his silky tongue again.

The notion of time was lost when he broke the kiss to gather some air, being unused as he was to this much intensity in a kiss after so long to press his forehead against Dáinsleif's to look profoundly into his eyes. The road was going to be difficult, but he had faith in him. He had faith that he would find his path, just as when he had faith in him that he would heal him to completion successfully all those years ago. "You will make it. I believe in you."

With that line spoken did a thought cross his mind for a possible opening for what they might be looking for. Currently, there is a group of knights operating Ruin Golems in three different points of Sumeru. Maybe... maybe if he introduced Dáinsleif to them, he would slowly find his way and he would realise how needed he is. For now, he would let him as much time as he needed to recover his strength while he investigated about those warriors and found a good moment to meet them.

[tau-mp]

Grande Cup of Apathy, Please

Starter thread with @seonghwaxmp

The mindless chatter all around the tall Blonde was perfect for reading in his opinion. It was something like white noise to him so coming to the coffee shop was always a nice little adventure.

Today, he had decided on a new book he had planned to finish in the time it took him to drink his coffee, so of course he was already nose deep into it before he had even sat down. Being used to reading at almost all times, Tau was so agile weaving through the crowd to get to a set, only managing to barely bump someone's shoulder with his own. For only a brief moment Tau looked up, barely offering what looked like it was meant to be a smile. "My apologies." That was all he gave to the man who was.. actually pretty striking, before he sat down and was right back where he was a moment ago.

Nose deep into a book about Chemical engineering. Which was his topic of interest for the day apparently.

[seimeinotaka]

Rêverie (An OberonXGudako fic)

MASSIVE LOSTBELT 6 SPOILERS INCLUDING OBERON'S PROFILE AND BOND CE

Summary: Oberon has been unexpectedly summoned to Chaldea. He wonders why he is even there as he reminisces what happened in Avalon Le Fae. But it seems Ritsuka isn't leaving him alone, much to his annoyance.

Thanks to jellyfishy for beta-reading this!

Once again, the story has major spoilers for LB6, Oberon's profile and Bond CE, as well as important plot points of Solomon, LB1 and LB5.

There's implied one-sided love, mentions of heavy topics such as loss, and mentions of deceased characters.

"Master, Master, you've gotten better at this!"

"Thank you, Gogh! I've been practicing a lot using the tips you and Oui gave me. Even Jeanne Alter praised my background, hehe!"

"Hey, I said it was passable. Pas-sa-ble!"

Ritsuka Fujimaru has been drawing something in the cafeteria, surrounded by many servants that come and go. No one asks what she is doing, they all seem to know or if they don’t, they don’t bother to ask.

It is so bothersome. Annoying.

So many people surrounding her, like an ultraviolet lamp that attracts all the bugs. Never mind that they end up getting zapped the moment they ever dare to touch it.

The people, the sound, the merriment, it all annoys Oberon, who only watches in silence as he eats some ice cream with melon.

To be able to smile like that, even after discarding all of those stories...Oberon doesn't hide a crooked smile. In the end, the lostbelts are no more than faint dreams doomed to end, forgotten by the winners, the panhuman history citizens. Ritsuka Fujimaru isn't different. For her, it's like reading the doujin the swimsuit berserker is making. Once the pages are closed, the story ends and it ceases to exist. She can choose to forget.

Truly detestable.

-

Oberon stares and then walks away, just as Ritsuka lifts her face. She looks around, the feeling of being watched faintly breaking her concentration.

But in the end he doesn't say a word as he leaves.

-

“Hey, you keep looking at Master!” Jeanne Alter slams her hands on the table where Oberon is sitting. Said Master is working again, too enthralled talking with Gogh to notice Jeanne Alter slipping away to talk to him.

“Does it bother if I do?” He gives her a crooked smile as she huffs and scowls. Though of course her face turns slightly pink.

“Tch, of course not! It's just your stare is getting on my nerves! Wouldn't you get distracted if someone is looking at you intensely?”

“I am a creation, not a creator. I wouldn't understand what you're saying. Besides, I wasn’t looking at her or you anyway,” he says mockingly.

“Hmph, whatever you say. Leave when Master is drawing, what she is doing is very important and I won't let you make it messy.”

“Hah, a page of your little comic? As if you need a lot of care. But fret not, I am certain that with your keen insight and guidance it will be something so memorable, up to the level of the famous writers here in Chaldea.”

“You bug...Bring it, I will burn you to a crisp! Moths do like fire, don't they? Surely you will feel at home then!” Jeanne Alter laughs. “I'll let you know that it is something so impressive that it would make you cry, if you're capable of that anyway.”

Though her Saint Graph right now is one of a Berserker, it seems the insight of the Avenger still exists deep within. After all, only those who are similar can recognize each other. Fake recognizes fake. Emptiness recognizes emptiness. Hate can only recognize hate.

Though come to think about it, Ritsuka has always been writing, he noticed she kept a small book on her, during quiet times. Perhaps a diary of sorts. It wouldn’t be surprising, to record everything she has experienced, as the writer of the winning history.

-

When we die, we'll become like those stories. Our lives are stories that might be discussed and forgotten, so it's not that different from your midsummer night dream.

A dream you forget once you wake up from your slumber.

“You're a tsundere,” Ritsuka says flatly as she rests her chin on her hand. She even dares to give Oberon a shrug and a smile, as if she can tell the truth between the lies.

“Ah, you're annoying.”

“That's exactly what I'm talking about, hehe!”

An obnoxious smile continues to be on her face, and he simply looks at her with unveiled disgust and apathy.

“Why am I even here?”

“Well, you answered the call, so you can only blame yourself for that.”

“What.”

“The rayshift system call can be refused. That's an inescapable truth. You lie a lot but there are some truths in your words. Or actions in this case. You wanted to be in Chaldea, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

“Ah there it is, your virtuous nature shining through. One day you'll be fooled by someone who is pretending to be your ally...ah, my bad, that has already happened, isn't that right? Maybe you should learn your lesson.”

“Ah, yes. But it doesn't change that you are here. And because you lie often, that means I can just take it whatever way I like. You'll just deny it even if I'm right. But you can't deny we get along pretty well!”

“We do not!”

“See, that's a lie!”

“Ah, I'm going to the cafeteria! Don't follow me!”

Yet we thrive on dreams, don’t we?

“How long do you think I've been in this business? Have you interacted already with some of the servants here? I can tell you don’t mind my company.”

“I quit, I'll break the contract!”

“So, one cube or two?” Ritsuka dares to offer him the sugar cube container, even holding some tongs, just to put the amount he requests in his cup.

“You really want a poisoned tea, right, wonderful Master?~”

Even if they are something that doesn’t exist, we yearn for them, even to make them a reality. No matter how impossible. No matter how painful.

That is why we can never get rid of them.

Even if we forget once the veil of dawn has ended, something of it remains.

-

“There's so much that is subjective. For example, you were Artoria's Merlin, weren't you? For a moment you were Merlin, that was her truth. There's different Merlins, I mean we have different Artorias here from different eras and classes. You were a different Merlin than the one I know.”

Ritsuka is busy trying different colors. Oui and Gogh got into a discussion on how to best get the tones she was aiming for, and they even went to do some research on their own. The reds of a forest seem familiar yet not quite right, not that Oberon was looking at the notebook.

It has to have a dreamlike feeling, that’s what she wanted, but that’s not easy to pour into a painting.

“What we see as a lie or as truth, it changes with our perception. Your lies and my truths might be different, but it's ok. In the end we have only one perspective. That's why lies and truths can mix, that's why contradictions exist. I mean, that is why you are here.”

“Here's some advice from the bottom of my heart, don't quit your day job, Master. Stick to the world saving and leave the philosophical dissertation to virtually anyone else.”

In the end, does the truth really matter?

Something that can change when you close your eyes. Something that is as fleeting as a moth's life.

Would anything change in the grand scheme of things?

To protect Ritsuka, Chaldea forged a story, one where Romani Archaman was at fault for everything that happened.

To the world that is on the verge of disappearing, that became the truth.

To everyone in Chaldea, the truth is that this girl worked harder than anyone to protect this world.

That was what Sherlock Holmes said once they met. Oberon didn’t like him, but in a way he seems familiar. Holmes is a great detective, but since he keeps everything to himself, he might be wrong the entire time until the last minute.

So it’s not like Oberon can take him that seriously.

Even so, he told him the story of the great journey before Panhuman History was at risk by the Alien God. A story of which he was somehow aware, but it seems different when it is told by someone else.

To Oberon, it was a story of selfish survival. A fitting story of those who fight in the mud to continue existing.

To Holmes, it was a story of humanity bravely fighting to avoid destruction. An unlikely event that might have inspired others. Or rather, that is how the Leonardo Da Vinci from that time would have framed it, since Holmes isn’t an author and the current Da Vinci is someone different now.

The events are there, what changes is our perception of them. Perhaps this is where truths and lies take root, the lie of today becomes the truth of tomorrow.

The lie allows the fake existence to continue even when the dream has already ended.

But in the end, everything will fade, so nothing really matters.

-

"Well, I don't know if it has a meaning, but doesn't that mean you can give it your own? Just like how I can take your lies the way I want."

"Aren't you a simplistic one? No, perhaps it is that kind of thinking that has let you get this far. What a naive Master Chaldea has. Though it helps you accomplish your goals. "

He is not sure why they are taking tea while chatting, but here he is. Perhaps it is to hide his annoyance, the Master won’t stop until she gets what she wants anyway, so he is just avoiding a pointless squabble.

"You can think whatever you want~ and in any case, even if the feelings of today will be nothing in the future, that doesn't mean they are worthless. Because they affect the you of today and that is the moment when you are alive.”

The joy of living, that is something Oberon can’t understand nor tolerate. It angers him.

Of course, he is an entity of the abyss so how could he comprehend that?

The will of self-destruction, the cessation of existence. That something is so fundamentally wrong that it must wiped out, for there is no way to fix something that crooked.

Faerie Britain wished for him because it had to be wiped away from all records, because it had no way of being salvaged.

Therefore, he can only listen to those words.

(Perhaps it is the envy of not having something? Perhaps it is the bitterness of no longer having something to do, to dream for? Or simple ennui that no matter what, in the end it doesn’t matter?)

Ritsuka ignores his silence, as she continues.

“I don't know but for someone who likes stories you don't seem like you're actually enjoying them.”

“Would you enjoy a story where you fade away like everyone in the lostbelts you have erased? Ah, my bad. Surely, as the winner you can afford to disregard those stories. Silly me, of course you would be able to believe that as the victor you can claim to be the true history. Panhuman history is in the end mankind's right path, after all, and everything else can fade into the abyss.”

Her smile is complex, almost a facade. From one angle it looks like a forlorn frown, from the other a faint smile. She plays with the spoon on her table.

"Hmmm, I wonder..."

 Dr. Roman, we finally beat the British Lostbelt. It was unlike any other places we were, and I keep thinking of Percival's words...

   I wish you were still here.

The sacrifice of someone can mean the whole world for a single person. The sacrifices of millions can become a mere statistic, a simple cold number to show how bad an event was. In the end, it doesn't matter.

What was once lost will never come back.

The void left in one's soul will never heal, it only becomes more bearable with time.

But even so, that lingering pain is the proof that someone was alive, that they left a mark on the others they met as one looks at the twinkling stars and reminisces of the never-happening-again past.

“Did you know the true opposite of love isn't hate but indifference?”

“Haaah? Perhaps you didn't think so but I was being honest about my suggestion. Thinking too much will only hurt your head. You should only focus on what's in front of you.”

“Whether you love or hate, you end up putting a lot of attention to the object of your affections, but if you're indifferent to it, it ceases to exist. Perhaps your hatred of everything is because there's something you cannot afford to lose.”

Titania was the wife of Oberon in Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream. She was the only one who could accept the king's eccentric personality.

But in reality, she was just a creation for the story, a being who was never real.

Of course, there isn't a person like that in the world.

Someone who accepts a hollow entity like me.

“I don’t know, if Arjuna Alter was able to come to terms with his own humanity, well...nevermind. I was just thinking aloud.”

(Ideals are just that.

A concept not belonging to this world.

It is when you reconcile with the flawed reality that you can grasp your happiness, the one you have.)

“Heh-Hahahaha, that's rich, Master!”

This is so sickening.

Only Titania could have loved(tolerated) such an unpleasant existence. Only Titania could have loved(tolerated) a being born of hate, a destructive force whose only purpose is to rend everything to ashes.

But the fact is, Titania doesn't exist. This means no one could accept someone like him.

That is the unpleasant truth.

That is why people are entranced(poisoned) by falsehoods, lies to sweeten the body and protect the soul. It's a sweet elixir to hide from the harsh reality, the ultimate end of the journey of everyone, a pointless, worthless life. Because at the end of the dream, no matter what one has accomplished, it doesn't change the finale of this story and it is doomed to be forgotten. 

Just as the one princess from before, who also fell in love with the Fairy King. The one who tried to give fire to his cold body. But he didn't notice this, not even when her snow body had ceased to move, a protection of love.

So in the end, if it's not acknowledged, it is the same as it never had happened.

“Tell me, does it matter to you? Are you going to tell me you know how I feel? That you understand what I'm going through? Come on, tell me your important story, that everything is going to be alright as long as I'm not alone-”

“I can't. I don't know how you feel. Even if we had suffered the same, I wouldn't know how you feel.”

Her words or her smile, the same as before. He doesn’t know which but it cuts him short.

“All I know is the pain of losing someone important to me, but that's not what you're feeling, right?”

The Titania I wish for doesn't exist in this world. The Faerie Britain that gave birth to me no longer exists, even if I have accomplished my goal. 

I am merely a dream whose purpose has been fulfilled and thus, the curtain shall be down as I exit the stage.

The things I yearn for are merely dreams. Even so, I hope, because I saw it existed for someone else. For another Oberon, not the one I am.

The illusion of happiness, the hope of a love.

I don't know how it is to not be Oberon, the lying king. The king without any other purpose. The villain that has exited the stage having won, but now even that victory is pointless.

Then, why am I still here? 

“For what it's worth, I like you. You're nice company, lies and all.”

“You’re an odd one.”

“I've been told that often.”

“It's not a compliment, you have no taste.”

“You know, for Panhuman history I am the hero, ensuring our world survives. But to everyone else from every lostbelt erased...I am the worst of the worst, the villain that destroys their world.”

Ritsuka traces the notebook on her hands. The contents of the rest could be disclosed but Oberon doesn’t open any of the other pile of notebooks, so they all lie on her bed.

“Patxi cursed me for showing him a world that he thought was happier than his.”

Tears fell from her eyes as she smiled weakly. “I wonder if that was ever the right choice.”

“Panhuman history isn't the perfect utopia you can imagine. Humans seek hatred and war, there's suffering and agony. While some can lead happy lives, there's so many who can't even enjoy a warm meal or think of a future. Kirshtaria saw that, he wanted to make a better world because ours was so imperfect.”

“Why are we still going?”

“Why was ours the correct one?”

“Even now, I don't know. And I'm not sure if I'll ever know. Any justification might seem a rationalization, something to feel less guilty for killing all those people.”

“That is why I cannot forget, I cannot let the history of those lostbelts be erased. Even if I'm the only one who remembers,” her grip on the notebook tightened, “I can never forget them.”

Like a dream, one time Oberon caught sight of what she was drawing, finally reaching the dreamy red hue she long sought, depicting the autumn forest Oberon knew and hated.

The words depicting what happened in Faerie Britain, the stories of Artoria, Morgan, of Barghest, Baobhan Sith and Melusine, of Aurora, of Mike, of Ector, of Knocknarea, of him.

“Even if the rest of the world forgets, I cannot. That's why I want to record as much as I can. I caused them to disappear, remembering all of them is the least I can do.”

“That's guilt for you.”

“...Yes, I can't deny that. I've caused many people to suffer, that is why I cannot stop.”

“You're an idiot. Pursuing a fleeting dream that will only cause you to hurt, as your heart tears itself apart with these thorns you surround yourself with.”

“I guess. But someone has to do it right? But even so…

“I enjoy the moments with everyone here in Chaldea and I can say I'm happy.

But I also feel deep sadness for everything that I have done and continue to do.”

There are many contradicting truths, woven into each other.

Like overlapping threads in a beautiful(horrible) story.

“I could think Panhuman history is the correct one because it was there. There was a reason why it was chosen.”

“And if there isn't? If there is truly no meaning to your journey? That the reason your world was chosen was a mere whim of fate, a sudden lucky roll of the dice? That there is nothing special to your world that makes you worthy of the title of proper human history?”

“Then I guess I will have to make it so that there is one.”

“And if you can't?”

“Just because I can't doesn't mean I shouldn't try.”

“Trying doesn't mean you will succeed. Morgan tried her hardest, but in the end, she still failed, crumbling in despair as her Faerie kingdom burnt to ashes.”

“Well, that will come bite me when the time comes, but for now, that’s all I can do, right?”

In the end, as long as it entertains, does it matter?

What is the purpose of a story? To bring joy(tears)? To break one from that moment of boredom, of despair, and heal the soul even if just a little?

And in the end, does it even matter?

-

“I like this Saint Graph more.”

It’s been a long time since he has donned the clothes as King Oberon. Once the façade was over, once he could ascend, he has never worn anything but the colors of the depths of the abyss. Anyone else would think they are unsightly, hateful, depressing.

After all, the warmth of King Oberon’s butterfly wings makes children smile, makes people trust him. His monstruous limbs right now are not enchanting.

“I thought you were a butterfly girl. And I have been wearing these ever since, why are you even saying this up until now?”

“I just wanted to say that. I like the fluffy cape and the butterfly wings, but you sound less pained right now. And this outfit is cool too.”

In the end, perhaps Titania isn't meant to be someone who brings the sun to your eyes, with laughter so contagious that she makes the bitterness of a day go away. She's not a neverending warmth on a cold winter, nor a guiding bright star up in the dark sky. She's not the simple to your complicated, the light to your dark, the smile to your frown, the opposite of your miserable existence that brings joy to your life. An illogical being that accepts you in spite of your incompatibility. 

Was I wrong all along? 

A companion when watching a wonderful(decadent) play.

Someone who walks by your side in a crumbling world.

Someone whose company makes the poison more bearable and hell, tolerable.

Someone who simply loves me for who I am. Who gazed at the abyss, saw the void yet didn't run away.

Ah, this is so laughable, an amateur terrible tragicomedy, a hideous play with no sickeningly sweet ending.

(Perhaps it is because Titania is a wretched creature herself. Or perhaps because Titania's wings have been torn off that she understands a small fragment of you. Even if true understanding is a lie, a pipe dream. Titania has seen her own hell and can sympathize with yours, with the emptiness and resentment you hold. Not fearing it, not judging it. Just accepting you as the flawed existence you are.

If that is the case, then there is nothing beautiful about Titania.)

But even so...

"...You are..."

"Did you say something?"

"No, nevermind."

Ritsuka smiles as Oberon looks away. He grumbles about the cramped space as he hoards the bed, swatting a mosquito away while she writes in her diary. The boring stories she writes that he doesn't care about even if his fingers have traced those letters.

But even so, he stays.

Ah, love is a bothersome thing.

-

Thank you for reading!

Now, OH BOY WHERE TO BEGIN. Title comes from Debussy's Rêverie. I wanted to play with it, seeing that Oberon's Bond CE is called Pavane for a Dead Princess, which is the title of a melody by Ravel. I am sure it is no coincidence. Both Ravel and Debussy were considered the cornerstones of Impressionism in music, however, they both HATED being labeled like that.

Pavane for a Dead Princess is one of Ravel's solo compositions for the piano. However, unlike what the title implies, Ravel specifically said that it wasn't meant to be a melody of a funeral, but he wanted to evoke the idea of a princess dancing to the pavane. However, some people didn't really listen to him. So in this case, I think that rather than to see Oberon's CE as a funeral to Blanca, it is a way to celebrate her story, even if it didn't end on the happier note we would have wished. You can listen to it here

Now Rêverie is by Debussy and it's meant to feel like a dream, hence the name. The melody became a massive hit, though Debussy later hated this piece because he felt that he had written better pieces but this one was the one that made him famous. Since it was written when he was young, he felt he was still lacking a lot, but the melody became one of his most popular compositions nonetheless. I think that story ties nicely with what we perceive vs what others perceive. You can listen to it here

Now onto the actual fic, I had this vague idea when part 3 was released, especially after all the spoilers about Oberon's true identity. I really wanted to get him, and I was super lucky. In between getting him, his profile and bond lines being translated, I just got possessed to write this as a way to honor and thank him for coming home AND to give him a sort of happy ending after Avalon.

Oberon in that bed is thanks to that comic on Twitter where he is eating chips without any care and the kind reminder of his voice lines that in spite of him constantly complaining, he spends an awful lot of time on our room. Hehehe.

Best of luck if you are pulling for him! And once again, thank you for reading!

[greene-rph]

bears in trees “and everybody else smiled back” album sentence starters

CUT CORNERS ON SHORT WALKS.

I have surely become insane.

broken by 14 with no chance for absolution.

they refused to open their minds’ eye and see we too were human.

we started savouring apathy and all of our bruises.

we’re done with the humdrum.

we used to be so pure.

am i remembering that right?

after that event my hair grew out matted and frayed.

I shaved off all my hair.

the light in my eyes reignited with a vengeance.

IM DOING PUSH UPS.

I’m not gonna lie here and wait for the ambulance, i’m doing push ups.

my marriage is falling apart.

It’s not your fault.

I just thought i should let you know.

you can take advantage of me, it’s not that hard.

your first love’s not gonna walk you home.

you called her and told her it’s over.

now you’re as hollow as you always said you’d be.

hold my hand.

please don’t touch me.

some things just aren’t meant to make sense.

do you wanna go cause a scene at the wedding?

BAGGY HOODIES.

we must’ve been there for at least two hours.

i know i cant convince you.

you’re happiest when you’re asleep.

well that’s not quite true.

your joy always seems so fleeting.

i say we/i love you, but you won’t believe me.

i lay there in silence for hours on end.

HEAVEN SENT IS A COFFEE CUP.

heaven sent is a coffee cup.

stand on the edge.

i never get the words right.

my tongue never caught up with the process, skipping syllables like it’s a protest.

heaven sent is the way you say ou’re proud of me, i’m unconditionally loved.

I couldn’t call it then when I saw your face.

It might take some time.

I could keep your bed warm while you’re stuck in class.

It’s not grand or romantic but it’s the little things that counted.

KEEP IT EASY.

I kinda like my converse messy.

I keep it easy, i keep it breezy.

I wanna smile so hard that it chokes me.

I hold your heart in my hand.

[name/pronoun] doesn’t tell us enough.

we’re all in love.

sweetheart, don’t look so scared.

the world ends around us every day.

ARRAY OF LIGHT.

I used to think I only had two states — forcibly yellow or a default grey.

we don’t need money to have a good time.

don’t worry about tomorrow.

we’ll burn those bridges when we come to it.

I know you’re filled with an emptiness.

I know that ache in your bones.

our days consist of avoiding being stepped on.

welcome to the family.

you’re stronger than you think.

MOSSY COBBLESTONE.

my blood soaks the cracks in the road.

if my body is a temple then this ruin is a mess.

please stay for tea.

i didn’t see a world for this at eighteen.

i’m so proud of you.

i’ll probably crash my car.

i’ll probably crash my car as soon as i can drive a car.

i’ll take you home.

CONFIDANT.

i awake from the comatose but the nurses never glance.

you were my home.

you didn’t want a boy to free you, you just needed a confidant.

you just needed a confidant.

i would be anything for you.

i lost that piece of us when my mind began to fray.

i let our house fall into disarray.

my ring fell down the drain.

i let your essence go.

i’ve not felt clean to this day.

LITTLE CELLIST.

it’s not selfish to not do all they expect.

it’s okay to be upset.

loosen your tight grip.

the weight of my worries is too much for you to bear.

even jesus christ himself needed help to bear his cross.

please feel free to lean on me if the world becomes too much.

he didn’t speak a word.

keep your eyes open.

SUN MACHINE.

she is doing her best to save my soul.

she preaches gospel truths down the hall.

i’ve never found love.

i’ve got something to prove, i don’t know what it is yet.

i want to find myself.

i want to find myself all by myself.

you can sneak through the window.

we could go for a coffee.

your friends don’t know me.

your friends don’t like me.

GREAT HEIGHTS.

we can’t sleep on concrete floors.

it’s the thought that counts.

i havent seen you in days.

tell me everything you saw.

i love everybody here.

i’m too scared to say it.

IF I JUST ASK POLITELY.

you’re going to church in the morning.

if i just ask politely would it stop for me

i used to glue my sutures in a sainsbury’s basement.

you were my drunken salvation.

nothing really changes.

someone’s crying in the hall.

what’s going on?

KLIMT PAINTING.

what’s a behavior that you want to change in your life?

i think i need to get more sleep.

i was surrounded by friends.

i was terrified of every lie i ever told.

i was terrified of every lie i ever told catching up with me.

[thquldnunc]

If she thought him an unfaithful servant, then so be it, for when did Walsingham spend precious moments thinking of the reputation savoured among the Spanish faithfuls? Never, would be the answer, his apathy hailed from land to ocean in one whisper caught behind cupped hands. But, there was a charm that refused to escape his attention, and so akin to a moth to the flame he continued, rubbing shoulders with her as if the ghosts of old haunts were not present with every step, or every turn of such a beautiful head. With his brows falling, however, Walsingham was not known for his easily read expressions, for every muscle was guarded with fore-thought, every calculation made behind the dark glean of his eyes as he escorted the Spaniard out into the gardens. 

It was true that the Dowager had preferred the gift of sparkling jewels to the lone thought of a cold meeting cast against varnished wood and adorned tapestries — but Thomas knew better than to give way to Anne’s simmering temper, to her constant need to be the great Boleyn Queen known across Christendom for fracturing all that had once been taken for certainty. For he had been raised beneath the boldness of Cromwell, then cast into the fires to aid him in the ascension of both his name and his future legend. But what else did he heed, when the time was right? He did not yearn for his name to be pressed with glory as Cecil or Wyatt may have craved, but there was surely a part of him that wanted nothing more than to be some aid in the cultivation of something grand. With the waver of a rare smile, Walsingham bowed his head, practising a coyness before the air stroked their warm-blooded cheeks.

“Ah, yes, his Majesty thought to continue the position offered by his late Majesty…” He answered, somewhat making note that the guest had either not been aware of his posting under Henry or thought it useless to comment upon the past. With hesitation, however, he remained her walking partner and bowed his head to her height to hear her tongue that grew complex with an accent he had once thought only to belong to the late Catherine. There had been no love between the past Queen and himself, that and he was barely recognised for Thomas was but a shadow lingering to pass on news of her complicit death to his own Master who waited beyond city walls.  Had he thought to talk about her, perhaps he would nudge a wound partly healed, splitting skin to reveal the wrath that came with being the enemy of — in her tongue — la concubina.

Though it had been some years since he had watched the daughter of Aragon take her last prayer whilst under heavy guard and solemn maids, he could not help but hear a stitch of her from within her country woman. Bare rooms. A warm bed. Then let the luxury of England be taken from beneath her feet, let the true reality of poverty rub against her the sole of satin feet — then the truth may omit some audience! And yet, Thomas allowed her to pretend, his lips sewn shut with the promise of being gentle and kind, to allow the space to sow seeds of her own greatness, to let this foreigner pretend was not a defeat but an orchestrated withdrawal. There was no need to burn the first embers of warfare among such a pretty atmosphere. “Well, as modest as it may be to eat upon the floor with nothing but God for company, I would be blessed to invite you among the greatness of English cuisine, if you are lucky I may organise something of which you may desire. What is it that has drawn you to our shores? To Suffolk and her kin? Should I also ask you, your Grace, to perhaps make merry with our King? Or our Princess?” He asked, thus forth refusing to mention the first born of Henry Tudor, the girl he had once twisted and manipulated to bring before her father once more.

The Duchess knew Thomas Walsingham to be a devoted servant, but an unfettered one, his reputation for guile and perfidy leaking into the oft-mangled reports her emissaries collected from the rabble of London. Walsingham’s loyalties, like his very faith, blew hot and cold; he swapped masters like playing cards, his former warden having been Thomas Cromwell, who was, himself, sculpted by the fat hands of a butcher’s son – the disgraced Cardinal Wolsey. Maria’s lip curled into an alluring smile as she twined her arm through the crook of Waslingham’s elbow, like a brocade-sheathed serpentine, admiring the blinking chain of estate wreathed reverently around Thomas’ thick throat. She’d met Cromwell, only once, many years ere his neck had been slashed from his body; so long ago that the memory, itself, was pale and warped at the edges, like a damp scroll of parchment. She mustered a diaphanous image of a serious gentleman who was, dare she say – a little dull? His conversation had been well-informed, as one might expect of such an august Caesar, risen from the ditches of Blackfiars into glory-basted eminence, but except with his henchman, Maria found him restrained by his own scheming and servitude.

One could overcome a vulgar tongue, an unlearned mind; but never the perversion of a low-born birth. His fortitude could not disguise the fact that he was a weary man, clinging to borrowed time, grasping at dimming favour, relying on the whispers of his apprentices and acolytes who were already rapidly retreating to the white-hot heat of another master, fluttering like moths to a flame, the tips of their brown wings molten. Walsingham, she found, was nothing like his former employer. His sparkling wit and natural grace might even awe Queen Mary’s stiff – albeit grandiose – Spanish entourage, lending animation to the distinguished furrow of his English brow.

Maria bowed her head to the Secretary’s entreaty, but refused to bend to the Boleyn’s authority; averting the liquid caramel of her gaze in mock-humility. With her hands folded against the dark material of her dress, the Duchess leveled, ‘I should think the Dowager would prefer the jewels I sent.’ She bit her tongue, on which clustered most foul words of condemnation, and simpered. If Maria had it her way, she would have sent the concubine a pair of leather gloves to hide the extra digit reputedly sprouting from the mounds of her palm – a lurid tale spread across the length and breadth of Spain that she took a particularly perverse delight in. In muttered tones, Maria grumbled, though it would appear she would have my written surrender before my goodwill.

‘It would be an honour, Lord Secretary.’ The Duchess spoke evenly, her thick skirts rustling across the pavement as the sun illuminated the rubies inlaid in her hood. ‘I understand you are now one of the King’s chief ministers. If you ever think to come to Spain, I vow to provide my services in turn. Ah, but I know you are married to England, sir, and would not think to whisk you from your post.’ His pleasantries elicited a deep rumble of laughter from Maria’s breast, ringing like the chiming of a Vespers bell. ‘Oh, good sir, flatter me not. My Lady the Duchess of Suffolk is this magnificent manor’s touch of brilliance. My late husband would tell you I have the tastes of a poor man, and indeed I would be contented with bare walls and a warm bed. It is but for the generosity of my kinswoman that I live in such grand estate.’ Her sherry-hued eyes cut across the Secretary, for her words, festooned with gratitude, made her case plain: it was Lady Suffolk, her blood as thickly royal as King William himself, to whom Maria referred to as a sister, confidant, and lodestar in England.

‘And if we were in Spain, and alone, Sir Walsingham, we would eat on the floor, and consume until God himself commanded us cease, speaking only in the rich Italian tongue, for that is how it is done in Alhambra. Instead, I ask you to lay bare to me the many wonders of a true English feast.’

[missturtleduck]

The Girls of Ba Sing Se - (Sokka x f!Reader) Pt.1

Part Two│Part Three

Toph Beifong is her parents’ greatest secret, so they require the upmost discretion. That’s where Y/N comes in; as Toph’s etiquette teacher, she lives within the Beifong estate, training the sole heir in being a suitable lady of society. However, when the Avatar comes knocking, Y/N respects her duty to Toph. In leaving the estate, she’ll become a great asset in the war, and a greater asset to her friends around her.

Knelt in her white robes, Toph Beifong tapped the floor in front of her with two fingers, gracious but silent for the tea that she had been poured.

“Good, Toph,” Y/N smiled, pouring her own green tea. “I’m glad you’re keeping up your basic etiquette. Your father will be very pleased.”

The blind girl snorted into her cup, sipping at it as gracefully as she could manage. It was a loud enough sound that it woke Kuai from his slumber; yawning, the wrinkled dog shuffled along the floor to come to Toph’s side. A grin overtook the apathy on her face as she fussed the dog’s head. As much as Y/N knew Toph had little need for a guide dog, it was comforting to know that she had Kuai if she ever felt alone in that big estate.

Placing down her empty teacup, Toph placed her hands innocently in her lap. 

“May I be excused for today’s lessons?”

“Of course, Toph.”

The noble stood, not very tall above the kneeling Y/N, and bowed low. She left, Kuai nipping at her heels as she went. Once she had left the room, Y/N’s pleasant smile fell from her face; she knew where Toph had been going for the past few weeks. Everyone who anything about Earth Rumble knew it was as coarse as river shingle, often dangerous for its competitors. The Gecko, the Hippo, and the Boulder? They were all bad news, and yet Toph had handed their egos back to them in swift and brutal fashion.

Y/N cleared away the dishes from tea. What if Toph got hurt? Or, perhaps even worse, what if her father found out? These thoughts had plagued her mind for a while now, leaving her torn between going to Lao, or dealing with it herself.

With the tea room clean, Y/N stepped into her quarters to prepare for a pleasant evening stroll. Loosening her hair from its rigid bun, it fell in relaxed tresses past her shoulders, easing the tension headache creeping in. On the inside of her jade cuffs, she slipped a small blade on the off-chance things turned messy on the streets of Gaoling. Throwing a thin cardigan over herself, Y/N set out to leave the house. Before she reached the door, a whine caught her attention.

Kuai was lying under a great circular window, the gentle sunlight not cheering up the gentle dog, nor the affection he was now receiving from Y/N. Perhaps it was sad look in those big brown eyes, or how his jowls seemed to emulate a crying face, but she convinced herself that bringing Kuai was a necessary thing to do. He could track her with his nose, she had argued. Clicking her tongue in command, the lump of a dog bounded to her feet and sat patiently, tail thumping a din against the floor.

Opening the door out into the gardens, Y/N stifled a laugh as Kuai practically fell through the open doors and onto the grass. He became caught up in the euphoria of rubbing himself into the peonies that he almost forgot she was there. Y/N chided him, struggling to keep the grin from her face. Now, they were ready to leave.

“Y/N, a lady shouldn’t be venturing out by herself,” A guard, one Y/N was friendly with, tutted.

“Lu, I am no lady,” She laughed, brushing off any status imposed onto her. “I am just a fifteen year old girl excited to spend my time drinking good tea in the city. And I have Kuai!”

Lu allowed the estate gate to be opened, albeit with some reluctance, Y/N leaving almost sated of the worry that tormented her mind. The streets of Gaoling were safer in the daytime, as with most places in the Earth Kingdom, but she had understood Lu’s objection. At any moment, the Fire Nation could launch an attack; the entire city buzzed with a quiet anxiety. Shops were closing earlier, people keeping their doors and window locked. What the city, nor the Beifongs, didn’t know was that if they truly launched an attack, Y/N could keep Toph safe. How, she couldn’t reveal to them.

It seemed that beyond being cute, Kuai had purpose. He hurtled far in front of her, darting back and forth at ungodly speed; he had found Toph. Following the dog – and cursing him for running so fast – she came across a tunnel burrowed deep into the side of a mountain. Its artificial shape, nothing like the natural caves in the area, told Y/N everything she needed to know. Here, she would find her earthbenders.

The dog bristled, whining lowly as he pawed at her leg. She hushed him, scratching behind his ears before venturing into the dark. Brushing her fingertips against the carved-out rock, Y/N guided herself through the dark until she could barely see a glimpse of orange light – flame.

As with most places in the Earth Kingdoms, the entire arena was formed entirely of rock. It was grand, if you ignored the complete absence of colour or natural light, big enough to make the largest warrior feel quite small. The bottom rows were completely devoid of people, bar three kids her age, maybe younger. They weren’t earthbenders. Y/N frowned, deciding to go with the earthbenders’ flow, clambering up with Kuai to one of the top rows.

She was right to do so.

A scream alerted the dog and girl duo, the boy with the wolf tail leapt back away from a large rock that had smashed into the seats a hairs breadth away from him. Perhaps she would have snorted in amusement if it weren’t for the shock.

“Welcome to Earth Rumble V!” A voice called above the commotion – though it seemed to only cause more, that being of the rowdy, excited type. “I am your host, Xin Fu!”

The sinewy man seemed as excitable as the crowd as he commentated on the matches. Each fighting man seemed to grow larger and more muscular as the night proceeded on with more matches; they fought dirty, and most were as immovable as the element they could harness. Well, all except the Fire Nation Man. He was a pitiful excuse for a warrior, Y/N decided.

As Kuai began to growl under her feet, Y/N perked up her head up.

They called her the Blind Bandit. Toph, her student and friend, stood proud in what short stature she had, a championship belt held high above her head. Not in her white robes, she wore proud green, a stark emerald. Her hair fell into her face, uncouth from an etiquette standpoint. Spirits, she was a little girl, tough but still so little. She may have had the best earthbending teacher that money could buy – money not being an object for the Beifong family – but it didn’t stop Y/N whispering a silent prayer, pulling Kuai onto her lap.

“The Boulder feels conflicted about fighting a young, blind girl.”

‘Yeah,’ Y/N thought, a sudden surge of rage filling her, ‘So you should.’

Toph, the meek socialite she was, curled up into herself, a quiver crossing her lips. “Sounds to me like you’re scared, Boulder!”

“Spirits, give me strength,” Y/N sighed, rubbing a hand across her face.

The ensuing fight was something spectacular. Every movement Toph made seemed entirely instinctual. It was over so quickly that Y/N almost thought she’d missed the fight. In a quick flurry of movements, Toph had humiliated, beaten, and confined the Boulder between three stalactites. Knuckles tightening as she grabbed the ends of her sleeves, Y/N didn’t know whether to be impressed or terrified. The terror, though, was not the kind etched on the Boulder’s face, but the kind that stirred in her stomach, boiling up nausea as she thought of what may happen if the Beifongs found out that their sweet daughter was an underground earthbending master.

Xin Fu entered the ring, provoking the crowd into roaring cheers as he held up Toph’s hand in victory. In his other was a hefty bag of what was likely gold; the crowd fell deadly silent the moment it was offered for a victory against the Blind Bandit.

“What?” He sneered, his confidence grating Y/N the wrong way. “No one dares to face her?”

Before Y/N could stand to volunteer, the youngest of the group nearly struck by a rock at the beginning of the tournament stood. “I will!”

Perhaps it was her imagination, but Xin Fu’s expression shifted to something sinister, only for a second before plastering on a smile. By Kuai’s growl, she assumed she was right. As the two fighters circled each other, they spoke, though not loudly enough for Y/N to hear way up away from the arena. The fight lasted longer than that with the Boulder, worrying Y/N and pleasing the audience. It was the final blow, however, that left Y/N speechless.

The boy, shorter and brighter looking than Y/N, pushed Toph off of the ring with the air.

He was an airbender – the Avatar.

Eyes widening, Y/N beckoned Kuai to follow as she hurtled down the seats as gently as possible. Calling after her, she worried that the Avatar’s shouts may have drowned hers out, but Toph merely stood in the mouth of the tunnel, seemingly ignoring the airbender.

“Bandit,” Y/N cut in, putting on her most menacing face. “We have a lot to talk about.”

As Toph closed the tunnel, cutting the two girls and their dog off from the tournament, Y/N could hear the indignant whining of the other boy, accusatory towards the girl who ‘cut off the Avatar’. She snorted, walking alongside the earthbender at ease now the fighting was done.

“So…” Y/N cleared her throat, a small smile playing at her lips. “Underground earthbending fights? Not very ladylike.”

Toph scoffed, fighting a laugh. “It beats staying home and reciting tea ceremonies.”

“I love a good tea ceremony!”

“That,” the girl said, “Is sad.”

There was an air of silence between them for a moment.

“Y/N, you won’t tell my dad, will you?”

At that, Y/N grasped Toph’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “No, but I will be coming with you if you decide to fight again. I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt.”

Toph laughed, clearly invincible, undamaged from her bruised ego. They snuck back onto the grounds easy enough, retiring to their separate bedrooms. Etiquette lessons seemed somewhat useless knowing that Toph was possibly the greatest earthbender Y/N had ever seen. On top of seeing the Avatar alive and in the flesh, the day had taken such strange turns.

Y/N had no idea of what was to come.

[danger-xylophones]

Family Reunion (Darth Maul x reader) Pt. 3 Madness

{masterlist}

story summary: reader reunites with Maul for the first time in twelve years and...the ex-sith lord gets a strange surprise

Warnings: Tiny bit of existentialism, canon-madness, canon-violence

Notes: Female pronouns, an OC child

Part 1, Part 2, current read, Part 4, Part 5

...............................................................................

You had no clue how long you‘d been following Morley, a while to be sure, but so far he had acted as a very competent guide. As of now, he’d safely guided you around the firebreathers and had helped defend you against the Junkers (there was a Junker taking aim at you that you hadn’t seen, Morley had slapped the blaster away to deflect the shot). However, you still hadn’t found a trace of Maul. 

Now, as you stood amongst the carnage of yours and Savage’s showdown with the junkers, Morley began to laugh. “Wow. Wow-hahahah-wow!” The snake beamed at the two of you, oddly pleased at the fleeing trash-beings. 

Savage simply looked down at Morley before looking at you where you stood slightly crouched next to him. The large zabrak male bumped your arm to prompt you to put your lightsaber away before urging the three of you to continue. You promptly fell in step with him as Morley slithered along behind. “So…” the snake soon drawled as he moved forward, “who are you looking for?” Savage and yourself shared a look, questioning if you should divulge that precious information. Morley seemed to sense your hesitation for he soon annoyingly begged you to tell him. 

With a heavy sigh, Savage relented. “My brother. We’ve been searching for him.” 

“Been missing for over ten years.” You huffed rather pathetically despite yourself. 

Morley, however, seemed intrigued. “Ehhh...does he look like you?” The large snake asked Savage. 

“Have...have you seen him?” Your voice lifted as genuine shock surged through your system. 

“Uh, no, no,” Morley deflated, “I just...heard stories about a horned man. I thought it was just an old local legend.” 

“How old?” Savage stepped in to steal your next question.

“Old.” Morley’s forked tongue quickly darted out of his mouth as he looked around the area, almost as though he was fearful of being overheard. “They say he drags things down, beneath, and they never come back up.” The air seemed to grow thick with the newly revealed information. Excluding the part about the horned man, that didn’t really sound like Maul. But...Savage did say that he might not be the same man you had once known. Perhaps it was him and he had changed-forced to in order to survive. “Oh, but it’s only a legend like I said.” Morley broke the silence and dismissively flicked his tail. As if to amplify the already bizarre mood, thunder crashed not far away from where you and Savage were standing, rooted to your spots as both of your minds reeled with wondering. Eager to move on, you began to walk once more in the direction Morley had been guiding you. Savage soon caught up, indicated by his heavy footfalls. 

You flinched as something stinging landed on your cheek. With one hand coming up to cup the area of irritation, you were met with more and more stings in the form of droplets as it had begun to rain. But what kind of rain stung? “Acid rain.” Morley tutted, winding around a piece of scrap. “It’ll melt us down if we don’t find shelter soon.” He further warned as Savage raised his left arm for examination. The armor was sizzling in protest as you found some suspended scrap metal to stand under. 

Savage looked around as you focused on rubbing the stinging sensation out of the back of your hands. Searing, prolonged pain you could deal with but this minuscule irritation that built up over time was so not your cup of tea. Savage seemed to spot something as he loudly exclaimed ‘over there!’ and bounded off in the direction of what looked like a large broken pipe with wood partially covering the mouth of it. Wary of your companion running head-long into a trap or someone else’s home, you sprinted after the speedy zabrak. 

The tunnel itself was a welcomed sanctuary from the acidic liquid dumping from the sky and you welcomed it with eager arms upon realizing that it was decidedly abandoned. Or at least, it would have been decidedly abandoned if not for the dead Junker hanging from the ceiling. Morley released a soft exclamation of surprise that you elected to ignore as Savage moved further in. Junk was piled up on all sides of the pipe and you unceremoniously tripped over a rogue sheet of metal as you shuffled in to check for signs of life. It was unneeded though as a soft blue glow caught your eye. “Savage, the talisman.” You mumbled, mouth suddenly feeling dry. The golden zabrak looked down at his chest and you could see his shoulders lift in relief that it had started working again. Like a silent game of hot and cold, Savage stalked around the pipe with you watching to see where the talisman glowed the strongest. He eventually stopped right in front of you whereupon the magic jewelry piece was glowing brighter than you had ever seen it before.

“This is it.” Savage confirmed and softly moved you to the side so he could investigate the pile of metal behind you. You quickly began looking for a hidden door that would hopefully lead you to what you hoped was Maul’s hideaway. What you thought to be a pile of metal turned out to be another dead Junker that fell over when Savage touched it, making you halt your own search. 

“It-It doesn’t look like anyone’s here, you two.” Morley offered unhelpfully to which Savage snapped at him and continued to search, growing more agitated by the second. You couldn’t be mad at him as you could feel desperation starting to rise within you. With a low breath, you stepped back into the center of the room and closed your eyes. You were trying to sense for either any life or a hidden door, whichever stood out first. You heard the clattering of another Junker being tossed to the side in front of you by Savage and felt your companion’s mind start to spiral as he backed up next to you. 

“Mother Talzin…” Savage muttered under his breath, prompting you to open your eyes as your focus wasn’t holding. “She betrayed me…” Savage’s voice grew more steadily into a growl. “My brother must be dead!” Savage smacked the body of a dead Junker away as you watched on, the familiar dull sting of onsetting apathy creeping into your bones. Your companion yelled in frustration, hands clutching at his horns as he tried to steady himself. You hated to be right. “Y/n, I-I’m so sorry.” Savage sobbed softly as he turned to you. 

You sighed low, face carefully constructed to restrain the heartache. What had you expected? Face purposefully neutral, you opened your mouth to console Savage who was most likely devastated only for Morley to cut in. 

“Y’know,” he dragged out, voice inappropriately peppy, “She’s not the only one who betrayed you.” Your eyes widened as the snake raised his tail and smacked it on the ground in front of you. Suddenly, the floor gave way, and you and Savage were sent plummeting down into the inky blackness below. “You two will make good offerings, and when my master’s finished with you-I get the leftovers!” Morley’s high pitched laugh echoed down the hole along with yours and Savage’s frightened screams. You didn’t know how long you’d been falling or how swiftly the ground was approaching but you did know that it was too far for you to force jump out and that the end of this road would most likely result in a few broken bones. Or at least, it would have had Savage not graciously acted as your landing pad. 

You landed with a huff and a sore stomach from where your front collided with Savage’s back. But, aside from what would definitely form into a bruise later, you were fine. Pissed, but fine. 

The place you had landed in was dark and you could scarcely make out the back of Savage’s head as you slid off of him amidst apologies. But it wasn’t so dark that you couldn’t see a form skirting a corner up ahead, making you freeze. “If we ever see that traitor again,” Savage grunted as he rose to his feet, completely unaware of what you had seen, “I’m going to kill him.” 

“Savage,” you grabbed your brother-in-law’s wrist without tearing your eyes away from the spot where the form had disappeared, “We aren’t alone down here.” As if to punctuate your statement, the sound of a creature skittering across the trash floor echoed around the two of you. Immediately, you put your back to Savage’s and pulled out your lightsaber, ready to defend yourself. Savage also brought out his lightsaber but did not ignite it. While the two of you waited with bated breath and the chittering grew louder and louder, you found yourself growing more enraged. Whatever was down here was going to die-you had a son to get back to. 

Something toppled over in one of the numerous tunnels resulting in an obnoxiously loud ‘clang’ that caught you both off guard. Savage, ever hopeful you guessed, decided it would be a grand idea to talk to whatever was down here. “Brother? Is that you, brother?” The zabrak’s voice reverberated unnaturally as it bounced from wall to wall down the dim tunnels. When there was no response and no other noise from the creature, Savage straightened his posture and activated his lightsaber. The zabrak bumped his hand against your arm to prompt you to look at him to which Savage nodded in the opposite direction the creature had run off to and began walking. You were forced to follow or be left in the tunnels. 

The walk was tense, silent, neither one of you wanted to speak for fear you would miss a noise that could prove vital to your survival. You both were also careful not to make any noise yourself, the only sounds being Savage’s heavy footsteps which masked your own and the soft hum emanating from your weapons. Every so often, you would swear that you could hear the creature but as soon as you would turn around or look above you, there would be nothing. Was the creature real, then? Or was that the morbid beauty of Morley’s master; he served no person just the excruciating onset of madness. You were happy you had someone else with you though. 

Cutting through the tense atmosphere like a stray blaster bolt across a peaceful field, the sound of metal scraping against metal immediately put you on edge once again. Savage called out once more, “Is that you, brother?” There was no response. The two of you rounded a corner and when you peered into the tunnel before you, you could see the outline of the creature. A human torso, a spider body, and what looked like antlers growing from its skull. 

When the creature noticed you and Savage, it growled in an almost human-like voice and backed away, as if desperate to avoid the light shining from your sabers. You paused, prompting Savage to do the same as the creature continued to back up-still growling and grunting like an angry, feral tooka. Fearing that it was getting ready to charge, you attempted to soothe it. You lowered your saber and spoke in a soft voice. “Hey, it’s alright, we’re not here to hurt you.” It felt like you were trying to calm a feral loth-wolf as the only response was another, even lower growl. Savage stepped in front of you, one arm out to shepherd you behind him as the creature grew increasingly more agitated. The second Savage did so, though, it bolted-racing away. Savage, like the moron that he could be decided to run after it which meant that you were soon racing after Savage too. 

You weren’t sure what his plan was (if there even was one) but you did know that you were going to keep him alive no matter what. Strange how spending two months traipsing across the galaxy with someone could change your opinion of them. 

The creature continued to flee, hissing, growling, and spitting with its strange ever-present chittering in tow and you continued to follow it. Occasionally, it would rear up, bringing its human arms up over its head as it backed away and the light from your sabers would almost reveal the features of the creature but before action could be taken, the strange abomination would back away. “You!” Savage had begun yelling at it by now as he gave chase. “What have you done with my brother?” You weren’t sure why he was so adamant that Maul was still to be found in these tunnels because every time you glanced at the talisman it would appear to be glowing but you couldn’t tell if it was from your saber or not. “You!” Savage tried again as the creature tried to back away into a tunnel leading downwards. “What have you done with my brother? Answer me, you monster!” That seemed to finally light the fuse in the creature’s temper. With a bone-chilling snarl, it charged right for Savage. One of its many legs kicked you away, sending you backward and against a wall of trash as your lightsaber sailed out of your hand. You lifted yourself off the floor and summoned your weapon back to you just in time to watch Savage get pushed into a different tunnel by the creature. Thinking fast, you took off after it with saber ignited, following the guttural cries of the tunnel dweller and the unmistakeable commotion of a fight. You rounded the corner in time to see Savage and the creature locked hand to hand, both trying to overpower each other. Still approaching, you raised your hand and focused on pulling the creature off and away from your companion. 

The strange mixture of spider and man twisted around to face you, teeth bared, fists clenched, and chest heaving with exertion and anger. You raised your saber, ready to draw the creature closer and run it trough but that was when you saw it-the creature’s eyes. “Maul?” Your voice broke as your brain registered not what but who was in front of you. Your grip went lax and your saber clattered at your feet leaving Savage’s talisman as the only light source. Even then, there was no denying whose silhouette it was. For a minute, you were still, your grip on Maul through the Force also waning as you both just stared at each other-you with elation yet simultaneous devastation at what your lover had become and him with the wildness of a rabid animal. The spell was broken though when your grip on him finally loosened completely. As though he had suddenly recognized you, Maul’s eyes locked with yours and his snarl fell away into what you almost thought was a grin but that did not last. Maul’s new spider legs moved far quicker than you could have fathomed and he was on you in seconds, nails digging into your bicep as he latched onto your arm. With a prolonged cry, Maul ran off, dragging you along with him.

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[kittyanonymity]

A Ladybug in Gotham #1

 Marinette knows no peace 

Ok fuck it, we’re doing it!!! Hang on to your pants guys! <3 Also, just wanna say, I have loved every single Daminette fic I’ve read in this tag. You guys are a bunch of talented folks; I hope you guys like this! Also feel free to send me asks, and ask questions! There are some things that happen in the six months before the trip that I just,,,,,, REALLY did not feel like writing lmao >.> There is an allusion to some heavy stuff, but we won’t be getting into that yet.

Ages are 17-18, and Lila has been back for 4 years by the time they get to Gotham. 

Damian: 18, 19 in a few months ( like august)

Marinette (& crew): 17, (Mari’s b day is actually the month they’re in Gotham, so like april/may-ish??) Also Chloe is already 18

Tim: 22

Jason: 29 

Dick: 35

Bruce: 48

Ao3

Part 1 :HERE: Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Enjoy my dears!! <3 <3

Marinette couldn’t stop the smile on her face as she leaned back in her chair, holding the acceptance paper over her head.

“We did it, Tikki! We got the trip!”

Tikki whizzed around, fluttering in front of her.

“Oh, Marinette, I know you could do it! Madame Bustier will be so happy!” Marinette smiled as her kwami nuzzled her cheek, and the girl laughed, cupping the little god close to her face.

“It’ll be just what I need for inspiration, Tikki! Gotham is beautiful in the spring I hear.” With a jolt, she sat up, her chair creaking under the sudden movement, “I have to go tell maman and papa!”

She left Tikki giggling as she raced downstairs to tell her parents.

It was one of the most exciting days of the last four years, truly.

With the fundraising done ahead of time, all she’d needed to do was write an essay on why her school deserved the trip. Despite how she personally had been treated by her class these last few years, the school still had them actively involved in the community; and while she may not like most of her classmates anymore thanks to Lila, they still took their responsibilities seriously. They had rightfully earned this chance, she thought. As the year rep, she had worked tirelessly with the other classes and their reps to arrange preparations in the event they got it, and Mme. Bustier had publicly assigned her the role of the essay; Lila had not been thrilled about that.

But she’d done it!

They were going to Gotham!

Telling Master Fu abou the possibility went well; her master trusted her judgement, and he understood her desire to go on this trip. To be safe though, he decided to send Kaalki along with her, in the event of an akuma; that way a speedy return was always possible no matter what.

She was excited; but it didn’t change the fact that the trip was still a good six months away, a good end of the year trip before graduation.

‘Just a little longer,’ Marinette thought, a rueful smile on her lips, ‘A little longer, and I’ll finally have a break.’

The four years since Lila’s return had not been kind, or even all that fun. She did her best not to dwell on her emotions, what with a madman running around praying on any and all negative feelings; but she couldn’t deny the apathy she felt at times in regards to her classmates.

Lila had made good on her promise, truly. None of her old friends cared about her anymore, bar Alix and - surprisingly - Chloe. Alya had even hit her before summer break, claiming that Lila had told her Marinette shoved her down the stairs again.

And Marinette had stared right at Adrien, her boyfriend, and he had done nothing.

And she felt nothing when she broke up with him later that same week.

Finding out he was Chat Noir over the summer had been like a slap to the face, and she was just glad he didn’t realize she’d put the pieces together; especially considering how often he visited her balcony as his hero self. He’d always flirt with her as Chat, whether she was Ladybug or Marinette; and at first, she’d almost found it flattering. Then it started to make her uncomfortable.

She’d reject him as Ladybug, only to have him come whine to Marinette while he also made passes at her, showering her in praise, and pushing her to get back with Adrien. She started avoiding her balcony.

It left her stressed and on edge; Adrien only talked to her as Chat now. He wouldn’t risk talking to her at school, and after they broke up, her parents had barred him from the bakery.

But still.

Six months.

Six more months of hell, and she’d be heading to Gotham to destress.

She couldn’t wait.

~~~~~~~~

The flight had been rather dull, despite Chloe being her seatmate for the whole trip; they’d giggled over some awful american movie for the last half, and Madame Bustier had been kind enough to room her with Chloe at their hotel. The Grand Gotham Embassy building was massive, and Marinette couldn’t help but gape in awe.

Chloe snorted as she walked up next to Mari, her own carry on in hand as they stepped off the bus.

“Careful, DC, you’ll catch flies.” Mari snapped her mouth shut, and gave Chloe a flat look; the blonde only laughed, and linked their arms.

“Come on Mari-bear, let’s get our room key so our luggage can be taken up.” Marinette smiled, and nodded.

“Yeah, I wanna get settled in too.” She leaned closer to Chloe as they walked arm in arm into the hotel lobby, heading for Mme. Bustier, “Tikki is starving.” Chloe nodded.

“Pollen is too.” She said just as softly. Marinette saw Alix wave from where she stood talking to Kim and Max, and Mari waved back softly. She averted her eyes the second Max looked at her, and Chloe hurried them away once they had their keys.

Their rooms were breathtaking, honestly. Each of the suites her class was staying in had two rooms, each with their own single bed; there was a shared seating area between the two, and one bathroom, but it still had privacy. They each had a door out onto the connected balcony, and once Marinette sat her carry on bag on her bed, she threw open the balcony door, staring out over the cityscape in wonder. Paris was beautiful, the city of Love; but Gotham was gorgeous this high up.

With a thought of mischief, Marinette scoped out some good swinging spots for later before turning to see the bellhops unloading her bags. She offered them a smile and a sincere thank you as they left. She heard Chloe settling into her room through the door, and smiled as she heard her talking to Pollen. Master Fu had decided to send Pollen along with Chloe in the event that Ladybug had to come to Paris; she could bring another ally with her if needed, without having to search one out. And since Chloé had figured out her identity two years ago, she had been the best bet. Her new hero identity, Hornet, helped.

Tikki flew out of the purse at her side, and smiled.

“We made it, Marinette! We’re finally here! Do you think the Gotham university will be what you want?”

Marinette sighed as she flopped back onto her bed, staring at the ceiling, “I don’t know, Tikki; I hope so. The website was super promising, and the woman I spoke to seemed to think I’d have no problem getting in.”

Tikki hummed as she flew down and dug a cookie from Marinette’s purse, “Well, we’ll be here for a month, so it’s plenty of time to go and see the campus. I think you’ll like it Marinette! And once we defeat Hawkmoth, maybe we can start a new chapter here!” Marinette smiled at Tikki, sitting up.

“I think I like the sound of that. I’m worried about how… Adrien will handle it though.” Her smile fell as soon as it had come, and Tikki frowned as well. She floated over to her chosen and rested her paw on Marinette’s cheek.

“Marinette, his feelings are not your responsibility. You and Adrien broke up, and the fact that he was disrespecting your wishes as his superhero self was a major red flag. I don’t know why you were so upset when the Guardian took his miraculous.”

Marinette groaned, covering her face with her hands, and Tikki wove herself into her long hair, hugging the girl.

“I know he was your partner, Marinette, and you don’t want to replace him; but you have to know, Adrien isn’t the true Black Cat.”

Marinette went still.

“Tikki, what are you talking about?”

Tikki hesitated, before floating in front of Marinette’s face, “Well, for some of the miraculous, there are multiple people who can be Chosen, and some of them are better candidates than others. Adrien was the best option out of the people in Paris, so the Guardian Chose him; but he is not meant to be your Black Cat, he is just A Black Cat.” Marinette stared at her Kwami with wide eyes, slowly processing.

“So… you’re saying he’s not my other half?”Tikki shook her head, “No; and he was never meant to be. His actions have done nothing but prove that. I’m sure once we return to Paris, we’ll be sent to find the real Black Cat.”

And in a moment of clarity, Marinette realized she was out of Paris, far away from Hawkmoth; so when tears rose to her eyes, she let them come. She covered her mouth as she sobbed, and she bent over, resting her elbows on her knees as she breathed.

“Oh, Marinette, don’t cry! Please don’t be sad!” Tikki fluttered around her anxiously as she cried, and after a moment, Marinette laughed; it was a bit raspy, but it was happy. She spared a glance at her, where, in a secret pocket, she had stored Plagg's slumbering miraculous; she looked back at her own kwami.

“Tikki, I’m-I’m not sad, I’m… I’m so relieved.” Her smile was weak, but sincere, “I was terrified that he was an inevitability I’d have to just accept…” Tikki’s frown grew, and she hugged her chosen again, little tears leaking down her face.

“I’m so sorry Marinette, I wish you didn’t have to feel so much negativity all the time.”

A knock at her and Chloe’s shared door cut her off before she could reply, and Marinette looked over in time to see Chloe peek in. The blonde’s eyes grew wide when she saw Mari crying, and she rushed over, sitting on the bed next to her.

“What’s wrong, Mari-bear?”

And Marinette laughed, wrapping her arms around Chloe.

“For once, nothing!” 

Chloe shared a look with Tikki while the kwami spoke with Pollen in hushed tones, but she just hugged her friend closer. They sat in silence for awhile, waiting while Marinette composed herself. With a final sniffle, Marinette leaned back and gave Chloe a grin.

“Since it’s a rest day, do you think they’d let us check out the surrounding boutiques? I wanna see what kind of fashion Gotham has.”

Chloe snorted, but it was in good humor, “Nothing they have here could compare to what you make, Mari-bear, or even what Paris has in general.” With a smile, Chloe reached over and tapped her nose, “But I’m sure Mme. Bustier will allow it as long as you’re with someone as amazing as me.”

Chloe had learned long ago not to pry into Marinette’s business, and since she’d split up with Adrien, Chloe had learned just how true that statement was; learning that the blonde boy was Chat Noir and that he’d been harassing Marinette on her balcony? That had been an accident, though Marinette had been the one to tell her.

Chloe could only watch Marinette flinch away from the Cat hero so much before she’d gotten concerned, and asked for an explanation. And Marinette hadn’t held back; she’d told Chloe everything, from the midnight visits, to how he constantly complained about Ladybug - herself -, and finally to how he flirted with her as Marinette, and kept insinuating that she get back with Adrien.

As the only one who knew, Chloe had doubled down on partnering with Marinette for everything after that; and now that his miraculous had been reclaimed, Chloe wanted to sigh in relief.

If you’d told either girl four years ago that they would be inseparable even at the end of lycée, they would’ve scoffed and told you you were crazy; and yet here they were, Chloe helping Marinette clean up her face before they went to see madame Bustier. It was only around 3 pm in Gotham, and dinner wouldn’t be until 8; and as much as Marinette wanted to enjoy the indoor pool, she would much rather see the city.

Once they were ready, Chloe led them down to the lobby, kwamis secure in their purses, and found Miss Bustier talking with one of the receptionists. Chloe - being, well, Chloe - walked over, and interrupted.

“Mme. Bustier, Mari-bear and I are going to look at the boutiques across the street. Call me if you need us.” And leaving their teacher spluttering and indignant, Chloe led them away, and out the doors. Marinette laughed a bit as they were out of hearing range.

“She’s going to kill you Chloe, you know that?” Chloe smiled while they stood at the crosswalk waiting to cross, and she flipped her blonde bob over her shoulder.

“Please. That woman wishes she could do anything to stop me.” Marinette watched as Chloe’s smile fell, and they walked as the walk sign lit up. “Besides, of course I’m not going to listen to a teacher who has let Lila just do as she pleases. She’s just as complicit in your abuse as the rest of the class is, Mari-bear, and I will not tolerate it. It's utterly ridiculous.”

Marinette felt her heart warm, and her smile softened before she hugged Chloe’s arm closer to her. “Thanks, Chlo. Though you know~” Chloe groaned, knowing where Marinette was going with this, “you also used to torment me pretty relentlessly.”

Chloe levelled her with a flat look as they walked into a store, “Yes, we’ve established that, DC, thank you for reminding me.” Chloe pinched Marinette’s cheek with a grin, “Such a goody goody, you know that?” Marinette laughed, and batted her hand away.

“Come on, let’s see what they’ve got, dork.” She ignored Chloe’s indignant squawk, and laughed as she started looking through the clothes.

Marinette and Chloe talked idly while they browsed, but found nothing of note in the first store other than a cute pair of bulky sneakers that Marinette couldn’t help but buy. Chloe had rolled her eyes and commented on how thin they made her legs look; which of course, made Marinette reveal the inspiration behind the choice. BLACKPINK was a pretty popular K-pop girl group, and Marinette had fallen in love with their style since day one. The baggy pants with big shoes they often used was something Marinette found herself enjoying more than she ever thought she would, but she just hadn’t found the right pair of shoes until now.

The next store was much better, in Chloe’s opinion; Marinette shied away from the Agreste line on display, and followed Chloe over to where her mother’s work was displayed. Audrey was a difficult woman, but neither of them could deny her talent in the industry.

Both girls ended up leaving with something to fit in their wardrobes. Chloe had chosen a deep purple blouse with ruffled sleeves; Marinette had giggled, telling her she reminded her of a witch, but the color was excellent on her. Marinette had gone more simple and fun, opting for a zip up hoodie inspired by one of Gotham’s own heroes, Robin. It may have been spring in Gotham, but being Ladybug, Marinette was very susceptible to the cold; she’d get sluggish and sleepy, and spring in the states was cooler than in France.

By the time they were bored of the shops, it was only five o’ clock. Chloe stifled a yawn, and Marinette looked at her.

“Why don’t you go ahead and head back Chloe? I’m gonna go sit in the park there, and try to design for a bit.” Chloe stared at her for a moment before she looked at the park. It was visible from the front of the hotel, and their hotel was in the better part of the city. Well, all that, and the fact that Marinette was Ladybug...  

Chloe nodded, taking Marinette’s shopping bag for her since the girl had already put on her new hoodie, “That should be ok. But I swear, DC, if something happens, I am not letting you go anywhere alone for the rest of this trip.” Marinette laughed, and waved off her concerns.

“Don’t worry, Chlo, if anything happens, I can handle it.” Feeling playful, Marinette raised her arm, and flexed, “After all, these guns aren’t just for show.”

Listening to Chloe laugh hysterically was always a treat, and it warmed Marinette from her toes to her head every time. In some small way, she was grateful to Lila; if it hadn’t been for her, she and Chloe would’ve probably never become such good friends.

“Ugh, no one likes a show off, Marinette.”

The smile fell from her face instantly, and Chloe’s laughter cut off like someone flipped a switch. Mari turned to see Lila standing behind her with a smug smile, though it had been Alya who spoke, Alya who was glaring at her with disdain. Nino was behind them looking kind of uncomfortable, Adrien next to him, backed up by Rose and Juleka, and even Sabrina. Marinette flinched under the harsh stares, and felt herself shrink as she stepped back, but before she could say anything, Chloe was there, a snarl marring her lips.

“Funny how you say that Cesaire, given who you’re friends with.” She blocked their line of sight to Marinette, though it was only Lila’s and Alya’s, and Marinette could feel Adrien staring at her, “You think what Mari was doing was showing off? Then what do you call Lila bragging about all the fake shit she’s done, huh?” Chloe didn’t even give her time to respond before she scoffed, and rolled her eyes, shutting down Alya's retort, “Oh, wait, nevermind, I forgot. You’re such a terrible reporter you don’t even fact check anymore, my bad.” Chloe smiled at the end, before making a shooing motion with her hand, “Now begone. I don’t appreciate sheep breathing my air.”

Lila turned on the waterworks as Chloe turned away, and gently guided Marinette down the sidewalk to the park they’d been talking about; Alya was shouting after them, but they continued on. Once they were out of sight, Chloe wrapped her friend in a hug, and Marinette cried. It was how it happened every time, for the last three years, since Chloe had decided to stick to the girl’s side. She’d only known about her being Ladybug for two years, but even before then, she’d made efforts to befriend the girl she’d bullied; because Lila was somehow so much worse than even Chloe was, and it was plain for the blonde to see. It had become routine at this point.

Lila and Alya would gang up on Marinette, Chloe would make them back off, and then comfort Marinette. Mari had told her time and time again, she didn’t need to do that, but Chloe knew she did. Chloe had messed up too many times to count, and she knew Marinette still cared about some of their classmates, especially Alix since she was the only other one who would hang out with them.

But Chloe?

Chloe had never cared about sparing people’s feelings until she’d become Marinette’s support. She would tear them down each time they came for her best friend. Alix had told her she was ‘fierce’, and Chloe thought it was an accurate description nowadays. They were nearly adults for crying out loud; you’d think her idiot classmates would’ve caught on to Lila’s lies by now.

“Are you ok?” Chloe asked softly. She rubbed soothing circles into Marinette’s back as the girl calmed down, her cries giving way to sniffles. Marinette nodded, pulling back and wiping her eyes.

“I-I think so. Thanks Chloe. It feels… It actually feels so much better to just let it out, and not have to worry about getting akumatized.” Chloe nodded, brushing some hair out of Marinette’s face.

“Good. Cesaire is lucky I didn’t deck her. Like, seriously, what a hypocrite.” Chloe was fuming, but she softened when Marinette laughed, “Do you still wanna sit in here and try to design?”

Marinette cleared her throat, and nodded, “Yeah, I do. It’ll be nice, I think.” She rubbed at her face some more, wiping the moisture away, but her red eyes remained. “I just want to decompress for a bit, you know?”

Chloe nodded, “Ok, then I’m gonna go ahead and go back to our room.” She gave her friend a severe look, “And I’m serious, Marinette. If anything happens, you call or text me, ok?”

Marinette rolled her eyes, but smiled, “Chloe you’re not my bodyguard, you know that right?”

Chloe scoffed, “Bullshit, I am so. And I am totally the best at it, by the way.”

Marinette hugged Chloe tight, startling the other girl, “Thanks, Chlo. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Chloe’s mind flashed back to a dark night on the Seine from three years ago; of tears, and horrible wishes, and she wraps her arms around Marinette in a tighter embrace.

“Probably get lost, and then kidnapped, honestly. Your sense of direction is awful, Mari-bear.”

It worked, sparking another laugh out of her best friend, and Chloe wanted to sigh in relief.

“Now go and find yourself a nice spot to sit. I’m going to make sure Lie-la and her little goonies are gone.” Marinette nodded as they separated, and Chloe booped her on the nose, “I’ll see you back at the room, DC.”

With that, Chloe waved and walked back towards the entrance of the park. She needed to talk to Alix. Lila always planned something big when Chloe defended Mari, and she was sure this time would be no different. She needed to be ready.

And without the risk of being akumatized?

Well.

Chloe couldn’t help but laugh.

Lila wouldn’t know what hit her.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Marinette found a soft patch of grass in the sun behind a wall of bushes, and sighed as she sat her purse on the ground, and flopped down. She could hear the rush of cars on the street over, and sirens in the far distance; there were birds singing in the trees around her, and children laughing over at the playground she’d passed. It was peaceful.

“Marinette? Are you ok?”

She smiled as Tikki nestled into her long hair, offering her comfort.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m ok Tikki. I just wish they’d stop. It’s lessened since Chloe became my friend, but it doesn’t change the fact that it hurts. Hearing Alya say such awful things to me, even now…” Marinette sighed, feeling her eyes tear up; nope, she was done for today, she could cry again tomorrow, “It still feels like a knife in my lungs.”

And she knew what that felt like; Sharpener had been an akuma from two years ago. She was a chef who’d gotten akumatized because her coworker had broken her best knife out of jealousy. Chat Noir had been distracted during the fight, and Ladybug had missed the akuma’s approach, taking the knife right between her ribs. Her Miraculous Cure had healed her, but Marinette still remembered the pain quite vividly.

She’d almost been akumatized after the fight was over, having been sent into a panic attack.

Shaking herself out of it, Marinette reached over into her purse and pulled out her sketchbook. She’d upgraded from her little clasp bag that she’d made to something with a bit more utility. It was a lavender shoulder bag with a cross strap, and it was large enough to hold her sketchpad, and a few other essentials while leaving plenty of room for Tikki and Kaalki, along with the pocket for Plagg's miraculous box.

“Marinette, I know their treatment of you still hurts. I’d be more worried if it didn’t. But remember,” And Marinette looked at Tikki, surprised to see the bright smile on the kwami’s face, “you’re Ladybug, with or without the mask, and if they can’t see how sincere and kind you are, then they never deserved you in the first place.” Tikki flew forward, and hugged Marinette’s cheek, “You’re  the best Ladybug I’ve ever had, and you mean so much to me. I hate seeing people hurt you, and I’m sorry I can’t do more for you, Marinette.”

“Tikki’s right, Marinette.” Mari glanced down to see Kaalki poking her head out of the purse, a smile on her face, “You’re an excellent Ladybug, and you’ll be an excellent Guardian one day, we all know it.”

Mari smiled, reaching down and rubbing Kaalki’s head gently, “Thanks Kaalki, thank you Tikki. I love you guys. You hungry?” Both kwamis said yes, and so Marinette handed Tikki a couple cookies, while Kaalki dove into the small pile of sugar cubes Marinette gave her. Tikki and Kaalki conversed quietly in her purse, and Marinette finally turned her attention to her sketchbook.

Humming to herself, Marinette drifted off as her pencil danced across the paper. It was easy to get lost in the sounds of the park around her, and she was thrilled with what she was coming up with. Already, dresses and casual clothes filled the next few pages of her book as she worked. She was just about to ask Tikki something when an explosion rocked the earth.

Marinette yelped as the ground beneath her rumbled, and Tikki burrowed into her hair in a panic.

“What was that, Marinette?!” Marinette shook her head, getting to her feet, and putting her bag over her shoulder, reaching in, and patting Kaalki in reassurance. She crawled to the edge of the bush where all the commotion had originated from, and peeked out carefully. Most of the people were gone, but she could still hear crying somewhere.

Then the laughter started.

Marinette felt a chill go down her spine. While her and the other reps of the school had been planning this trip, she had researched about every danger Gotham had to offer, looking at pictures, reading articles, and watching as many videos as she could find; she knew that laugh now.

She was just about to hide again, when she saw the source of the crying. A little girl with dark hair sat in the dirt behind a trash can, holding her hands to her eyes while she sobbed. Mind made up, Marinette dashed from the bushes, keeping low until she reached the child. She wrapped her arms around her, and when the girl tensed, she smiled gently.

“Shhh, it’s ok, honey, I’ve got you. Where’s your parents?” The little girl shook her head, tiny hands clutching Marinette’s jacket.

“N-not- h-here! B-babysitter left m-me…!” Another sob wracked the little girl’s frame, and Marinette hugged her tighter at the sound of gunfire. She needed to get out of here, get this girl to safety, but she couldn’t transform. Idly, Marinette toyed with the metal yo-yo in her purse, a gift from Master Fu that could help her fight as a civilian. She could do this.

Focusing back on the girl, Marinette pulled her back until they could look at each other; the girl’s eyes were a vibrant green, almost neon even.

“My name’s Marinette, what’s yours sweetheart?” The girl caught her breath long enough to answer, wiping at her face.

“M-Mar’i Grayson, miss.” Marinette nodded, looking at the girl in reassurance.

“I’m going to get you out of here. Let me check the area, ok? Stay behind me.” Mar’i nodded, clutching the sleeve of Marinette’s hoodie, while she leaned out around the trash can to observe their surroundings; and she promptly cursed her rotten luck.

Joker was strolling through the park with about three henchmen around him; 4 on 1 odds were not in her favor, especially with Mar’i. Marinette glanced at the little girl who was crying silently next to her, trying to not think about how much worse Joker looked in real life. Marinette found she was terrified.

No. 

She had to do something. She was Ladybug, with or without her damn mask, and she was going to protect this little girl with her life.

Marinette took a deep breath, and braced herself, “Mar’i.” The little girl looked at her with wide eyes, and Marinette smiled.

“Stay behind me, ok?” She waited until Mar’i nodded, and then they waited; and Marinette listened.

“Can’t seem to find her boss. She must’ve gotten out.”

“Oh hogwash! I saw that babysitter of hers scamper out of here without the brat, so Grayson’s daughter is here somewhere!”

Oh my god.

They were after Mar’i? Why?

‘Doesn’t matter, not gonna get her.’ Marinette thought aggressively. So she calmed herself, and she listened, and she waited until they were in range. And once they were, Marinette moved.

Leaping up out of her crouch, Marinette moved Mar’i behind her right as the group turned to look at them; but Marinette was already grabbing the trash can with both hands, and hurling it at the goons and their boss. It had the desired effect, and the group scattered, but it managed to take down two of Joker’s men, knocking one out from the sheer force while the other lost the grip on his gun, losing it in the bushes. Moving quickly, Marinette swiped Mar’i up with her free hand while she retrieved the carbon fiber yo-yo from her purse with her other.

Whipping it forward, Marinette snagged the gun of the third minion, yanking it away and to her; and then she ran.

“She’s got the brat! Get after her, you idiots!”

Marinette sprinted for the entrance of the park after throwing the gun away, running as fast as her legs could carry her; which admittedly, was quite fast. Years of being bonded with Tikki, plus the extra training she’d picked up in her free time made her formidable even out of her suit; and she was not about to let that clown get his filthy hands on this precious girl.

Marinette yelped as a bullet impacted the dirt next to her feet, and then she was bobbing and weaving, dodging bullets before she ducked behind the bathrooms.

“Get the kid, damnit! God, why are you all so useless!”

Marinette looked down at Mar’i, expecting the girl to still be terrified, but she was staring up at Marinette in awe.

“Wow, Miss Marinette, you’re like a superhero!” She said softly, and Marinette flushed, but gave the girl a small smile.

“You’re very brave Mar’i, but we’re not safe yet.” She could hear footsteps coming closer, light, matching the gait she’d heard from the Joker just moments earlier. With a small huff, she wrapped Mar’i around her again, and readied her yo-yo as she ran the opposite way. She stopped short for a moment as she came face to face with the other henchman, but thinking quickly, Marinette ducked his wide swing, and brought her head upwards into his chin, knocking him back and off balance; following up with a quick swipe at his legs, he hit the ground, and Marinette was running again.

‘Almost there, so close…’ “Merde.” She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but seeing Joker grinning at her from the entrance did not instill much hope in her. He tapped the barrel of his six shooter against the palm of his hand, watching her. Marinette sat Mar’i down, and pushed her behind her further, grip on her yo-yo tight.

“Now, now, little lady, we don’t have to fight. If you’d just hand that little girl there over, I’ll let you leave. With a smile even!” The grin on his face told her he was lying, even though his laughter was a clue in and of itself.

Marinette’s eyes narrowed, and she lowered her chin, “That’s not happening, clown. Step aside.” Joker’s eyebrows flew up, and he began laughing; Marinette hated that sound.

“She’s got some fight in her then! How interesting! And a foreigner too? So fearless!” Marinette let the yo-yo swing from her hand, swinging next to her leg, as he pointed the gun at her. She felt Mar’i grip her pants tighter with a small gasp. Joker’s grin grew, “But are you so willing to die for her?”

Marinette snarled, “Of course I am!”

The lack of hesitation made the Joker pause long enough for Marinette to make her move.

With a precision that startled even her, Marinette flung her yo-yo out again, managing to grab the Joker’s gun this time, and yanking it from him. It careened away into the brush, and Marinette snapped her yo-yo back with a trained hand; just in time to see a man dressed in black land on him from above.

Holy shit.

That’s Batman.

Shaking herself off, Marinette turned and picked Mar’i up, running the other direction; no child should see a fight like that. She had to get her to safety, to her parents, or the police, someone safe. The bathrooms? No, she’d left that goon over there, and she wasn’t sure if he was down and out or not.

“Think, Marinette, think, come on!” There had to be another exit in this park, away from the chaos of the main path; big parks always had multiple entrances and exits.

“Go that way Miss Marinette!” Marinette looked to where Mar’i pointed, and followed the girls directions. Flashing red and blue lights lit up the street, and Marinette could’ve cried with relief at the sight of the police officers.

An auburn haired woman was standing at the front of the police line, looking around in a panic, and the second her eyes landed on Marinette carrying Mar’i, she rushed forward.

“Mar’i, oh my god, baby girl, you’re ok!” The woman was crying, and Mar’i smiled, reaching for the woman.

“Auntie Barb!” Knowing Mar’i knew this woman, Marinette allowed the girl to be taken from her arms delicately, but she lingered by them. An older mustached man walked up, and held out his hand to Marinette, startling her.

“Thank you for getting her out of there. What’s your name?” Marinette flushed, reaching out and shaking his hand.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, sir. Please don’t thank me. I couldn’t have left her in there. Not with him.”

“I’m Commissioner Gordon. You don’t sound like you’re from around here, Miss Dupain-Cheng.” Marinette shook her head as she stepped back from him.

“No, sir; I’m from Paris. My school is here on a field trip.” The commissioner nodded.

“You’re the school Bruce Wayne sponsored.” Marinette offered him a tired smile.

“Yes, sir.”

“Miss Marinette!”

Marinette turned in time to feel tiny arms wrap around her legs, and she looked down to see Mar’i smiling at her, despite the tears on her face. Marinette crouched down to her level, and blinked when Mar’i wrapped her arms around her neck; she was quick to return the hug, even as she saw ‘Auntie Barb’ walk over.

“Thank you for saving me, Miss Marinette! You were really cool!” Marinette’s smile was small as she squeezed the little girl tight.

“Oh little one, you don’t have to thank me. I would do it again and again if need be.” She hummed contemplatively, “Though I think I’ll talk to your mama or papa about that babysitter; who leaves a little girl alone in this city?”

‘Auntie Barb’ scoffed, “When Dick hears about that, he’s gonna lose it.”

“Mar’i!”

Marinette looked over in time to see the police part like the red sea, and she was treated to seeing nearly the entire Bat pack escort a dishevelled looking dark haired man through the crowd. Mar’i broke away from her to run to the new arrival.

“Daddy!”

And Marinette smiled as she stood up, watching the two hug. Her father was patting her down, holding her close by the head, obvious relief in his eyes. It was a beautifully heart wrenching thing.

“Miss.”

Marinette jumped, looking to the side to see Batman staring down at her. She yelped, flushing.

“Y-yes, sir?”

My god, this man was intimidating! Was he going to lecture her? Bar her from the country??! Oh no, what if-?!

....Why was he holding his hand out?

Marinette blinked stupidly before she took his hand and shook it.

“What you did tonight was very admirable. You put yourself at great personal risk to protect the life of a child you’d never met, and managed to thwart a kidnapping by one of the most dangerous men in the city. You have my respect.”

Marinette’s cheeks grew more red, “Please, I-I’d do it all again, you don’t have to say any of that. It was the right thing to do; anyone would’ve done it.” Batman simply shook his head.

“No, Miss Dupain-Cheng, they wouldn’t. I’d like to get a statement from you, if you’d allow it.”

“Before that...”

Marinette and Batman both looked over, and she was surprised to see Mar’i’s father next to her. He gave her a smile.

“I would like to thank you for rescuing my darling, Miss… Marinette, was it?” Marinette nodded, fiddling with her hands; her anxiety was starting to peak with this many people. “If anything had happened to Mar’i, I… I don’t know what I would’ve done. Thank you. From the absolute depths of my heart, thank you for protecting my little girl.”

Marinette’s face grew impossibly redder, “Y-you’re welcome! It was no problem! She’s a wonderful girl.” She smiled at Mar’i as she sat in her dad’s arms. Shifting the girl to one arm, he held out his free hand.

“My name is Dick Grayson. I hope to see you again, but for now, I need to get Mar’i home before her mother gets any more anxious.” Marinette nodded as they shook hands.

“If I may, mister Grayson?” The man smiled, and despite the situation, it was shockingly cheery.

“Please, call me Dick.”

‘Auntie Barb’ snorted in amusement somewhere next to Marinette, but she tuned it out.

“Please speak to whoever was babysitting Mar’i today; they left her behind.”

Dick stared at her for a moment, maybe processing, before he nodded, a steely look in his eyes.

“Thank you for telling me, Marinette. We’ll take care of it.” Marinette smiled, before she dug around in her purse, and pulled out one of the many cookies she had for Tikki; she handed it over to Mar’i who took it with a smile of her own.

“You be safe, ok?” Mar’i nodded, giving her a bigger smile.

“I will! You’re the best, Miss ‘Nette!” Smiling at the nickname, Marinette waved to the little girl as the police escorted the family away; she realized Batman was still next to her, and snapped her attention back to him.

“S-sorry, sir. I’ll give you that statement now.”

The man seemed less intimidating for some reason, like he was quietly amused.

“You’re surprisingly humble in the face of all this, Marinette.”

‘Calm down, calm down, you’re fine.’ She thought, gripping her bag.

“I didn’t do this for attention, sir. I’m… not exactly comfortable being in the spotlight like this.”

The masked man nodded in understanding, and once he was ready, Marinette began her retelling of what had happened.

Distinctly unaware of the several pairs of ears listening in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Holy shit, you’re telling me pixie stick here threw a metal trash can at Joker?! Like a full on throw?!” Red Hood wasn’t buying it. The girl was so tiny, despite the toned muscles of her legs; she looked like she weighed ninety pounds soaking wet!

“That’s what the cameras in the park are showing, Hood.” He heard Red Robin typing away at something, before- “Holy shit.” Hood stood back by the police, flanked by Robin, and he turned his attention back to his comm line.

“What is it, Red?”

“That girl took them down with a fucking yo-yo, Hood. What the hell?”

The comm fell silent again before Jason heard all the air whoosh out of Tim over the line.

“Red? What now?”

“The… The audio. Hood, she was fully prepared to lay down her life for Mar’i. You can hear it in her voice; it’s like she’s a completely different person to who Bats is talking to.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed behind his mask as he frowned; he didn’t like the sound of that. Red Hood noticed the change in his brother’s demeanor, frowning to himself.

“What do you mean, Red?” He asked, and he heard Tim sigh.

“Look, just… wait till you get back, and I’ll show you. That girl’s good though; she’s got guts.”

A shrill call of the girls name had Jason turning, just in time to see a blonde girl tackle Marinette. She was speaking rapidly in French, checking her friend over thoroughly before she turned sharp eyes on Batman. Jason couldn’t help but grin as he watched Bruce’s eyes widen behind the mask, his eyebrows raising a little as the blonde started on a tirade.

Red Hood snickered, “Now this is funny.” He watched his father get berated by the blonde before she started guiding Marinette away; the poor dark haired girl was red all the way to her ears in embarrassment.

“Find something funny, Hood?” Jason looked at Batman as he walked over, and wished his old man could see the shit eating grin on his face.

“Course I did. It’s not everyday I get to watch a teenager yell at you.”  Next to him, Robin snorted. Hood and Robin waited until Bats had given Gordon the girl’s statement before the three of them left as one.

They met on a nearby rooftop, far enough away from the scene to be able to talk freely. Batman turned his comm back on, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Red, what do you have on her?” There was a sigh over the line.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, 17, nearly 18; she’s in her last year of lycée at Francoise Dupont in Paris. She’s the one who put together the essay that won her school the trip to Gotham. Her parents own a bakery, but her mother has a vast history in martial arts it looks like. Her grades are excellent, and I’ve found records of literally so many charities I’m not gonna bother listing them.” Bruce could almost hear Tim shrug, “She’s clean, Bats.”

Damian rolled his eyes, “You said she took them down with a yo-yo, Red. That’s not a standard weapon.”

“There’s records of her enrolling in gymnastics several years back; it’s probably a skill she picked up back then; maybe from the ribbon dancing? I’ll see if I can find anything else.”

“Red, just remember,” Everyone paused at the tone of Bruce’s voice, “This is not a malicious search; she saved Mar’i’s life; I don’t want to make problems for the girl.”

“Got it, Bats.”

Batman turned to Robin, and Damian sighed.

“Let me guess, stake out her hotel, make sure she stays safe?”

Batman nodded, “She managed to stall Joker and his goons long enough for us to get there, and she put her life on the line for Mar’i. The story’s already broke the news, along with her face and name. Harley and Ivy won’t give us any problems with this, but Joker has been working on something with Scarecrow for the last couple of months, and I don’t think he’s going to appreciate the hiccup in their plan.” Damian sighed, while Jason cackled, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Oh wah, Demon spawn, you get to go protect a cute girl for awhile; who knows, maybe you’ll get a date.”

Tim snorted over the comm line before he started laughing, and Damian flushed, his cheeks pinkening a bit.

“Go die, Hood.”

“Already did that, thanks, but no.”

With one last glare sent Jason’s way, Robin walked over to the edge of the building, preparing to make his way back to the hotel they’d seen the girl enter; then Jason just had to speak again.

“Oh yeah, did you see she was wearing your merch?”

Father probably wouldn’t let him kill Jason, right?

….

It didn’t stop him from trying.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh my god, Mari, you made it onto the news!” Chloe laughed as she lowered the volume on the broadcast. The cameraman had gotten a good shot of when Marinette had sprinted out of the park, and as she was speaking to the various people who had come up to her; though they mostly replayed her shaking Batman’s hand as he spoke to her.

“Tonight, the attempted kidnapping of Bruce Wayne’s granddaughter was thwarted by a passing teenager from Paris by the name of Marinette Dupain-Cheng, who managed to stall the Joker until Batman could arrive, while protecting miss Mar’i Grayson. This is not the first time the Joker has gone after a member of the Wayne family…”

Marinette groaned and flopped on the couch, covering her eyes with her hands.

“God, turn it off please, Chlo. It was mortifying explaining this to Mme. Bustier without having to hear more of it.” Chloe rolled her eyes, but turned it off anyway. They were lounging in the shared space of their suite, curtains thrown wide to provide a good view of the skyline as the sun set. Tikki, Pollen, and Kaalki were all sitting on the coffee table munching on their respective treats. Tikki flew up, hovering over Marinette where she lay on the couch.

“You were amazing Marinette! I was blown away!” Kaalki nodded as she swallowed a sugar cube, and then her face widened into a grin.

“That’s right, Mari! Your civilian side is super strong just like Ladybug is!” Marinette moved her hands, offering both kwami a smile.

“Thanks you two.” Chloe rolled her eyes, and plopped harshly on the couch next to Marinette.

“I’m glad you’re ok, Mari-bear. I wish I could’ve seen you in action.”

Marinette thought back to how she felt when she heard the Joker laugh, when he was pointing that gun at her. Knowing that without her, Mar’i could be killed, or worse yet.

“Chloe, I’m sorry, but I’m… I’m so glad you weren’t there.” She wasn’t going to cry again, damnit, she was nearly eighteen, but she still felt her throat close up at the force of her emotions, “The Joker is nothing like Hawkmoth, Chlo; he’s not even like the akuma we deal with. He’s in a category far removed from us. I got in a lucky shot because he hesitated.”

Chloe raised an eyebrow, and turned herself on the couch so she was facing Marinette, “What do you mean, Mari?”

Mari swallowed as she sat up, turning herself to the side so she was mostly facing Chloe as well.

“He… He asked me if I was so willing to die for her. And I didn’t even hesitate. I think it threw him off, because he just stared at me; it gave me the opening I needed to use my yo-yo.” She was starting to tremble, Chloe noticed, “I… I was so scared, Chloe. He was after that little girl. I couldn’t let him get his hands on her, I’ve heard about the things he’s done, and I couldn’t let that happen to a child.”

Chloe reached over, and gripped Marinette’s hand in hers, a look of concern on her face.

“That’s not all of it though... is it?”

Marinette shook her head, “I… I was so ready, Chloe; to accept that I was going to die. I forgot that I wanted to live until I saw that opening.” Marinette soon found herself buried in the cloth of Chloe’s sleep top, and she felt the hugs of the three kwamis too.

“Take a deep breath, Mari. You’re here. You lived, and so did the little girl. You did amazing, but not even you can be strong all the time. You can be upset while you’re here, Hawkmoth can’t get us.” Chloe tightened her hold on the girl as she finally cried her heart out; she’d been fighting it so much, for so many years. There was just... so much she’d repressed.

And Chloe held her through all of it.

~~~~~~~~~

Robin was many things. To his brothers, a nuisance, demon spawn Jason called him; to Gotham, he was the stoic boy wonder, both in costume and out. Damian Wayne was generally a cold young man, uncaring for most of the people outside of his own family for a long time. Yes, he cared about the innocents of Gotham as Robin, but as Damian? That was more difficult.

Yet as he sat concealed on the roof across from this girl’s - Marinette’s - hotel room, he felt an odd kind of weight settle in his gut. He couldn’t really read lips or hear anything from this distance, but he could tell she was crying. For some reason, it discomfited him. It was like a longing he'd never felt before, and it was very unusual for him.

And that wasn’t even mentioning the three strange creatures that were flying about the room.

This girl was… odd. Tim had said she was nearly eighteen, so she wasn’t much younger than him, but she was so… expressive. When she’d been talking to Batman, she’d clearly been anxious, but Damian had noticed her constantly sneaking glances towards Mar’i; like she was taking precautions. The girl obviously knew how to fight, as she’d been able to take down Joker’s thugs without taking a single hit.

That was honestly the weirdest part, he thought.

She’d come out without a scratch on her or Mar’i, both of them completely unscathed.

And then Tim had sent him the video he’d grabbed from the cameras, and Damian still couldn’t get it out of his head.

“She’s got some fight in her then! How interesting! And a foreigner too? So fearless!” Marinette let the yo-yo swing from her hand, swinging next to her leg, as he pointed the gun at her. She felt Mar’i grip her pants tighter with a small gasp. Joker’s grin grew, “But are you so willing to die for her?”

Marinette snarled, “Of course I am!”

When Tim had said it was like she was two different people, he hadn’t been kidding; and though at first, Damian had felt suspicious, now that he was observing her more naturally, it was rather obvious that the young woman had some self esteem issues. He’d seen the confidence in her during the video, but around so many people, it had gone out as easily as a candle. Which honestly, was a true shame.

Damian watched as another girl was let into the room by the blonde; this one had short, cropped pink hair. She looked like she’d get along with Beast Boy pretty well, a thought that made him grimace. The pink one crouched in front of Marinette, and even as far away as he was, he could see the concern on her face as her friends talked her through what he guessed may be a panic attack; but he had noticed that once the new girl had come, the three floating… things had scampered away, and out of sight. So she was keeping secrets then.

He sat there for a couple hours, watching the three girls as they spoke, and finally Marinette calmed down. He was just about to settle in for more observations when he noticed a shadow drop onto Marinette’s side of the balcony; before he could move though, he heard another body land behind him, and Damian came up swinging.

“Whoa there, demon spawn, it’s just us.” Jason dodged his hit gracefully, and Damian snarled.

“Damnit, Hood, don’t sneak up on me. And who’s on her balcony?” Jason sat on the edge of the building Damian had once occupied, and nodded towards the hotel.

“Don’t worry, it’s just Red. He’s setting up a listening device since we knew you wouldn’t be able to hear anything; Grayson is wanting us to take no chances with her safety.” Damian couldn’t fault his older brother’s logic; the girl had saved his daughter. Soon, Red Robin landed beside them, and took up a seat, pulling a speaker from his belt. Damian raised an eyebrow.

“Why the listening device now?” Tim shrugged, accepting the bag of chips Jason handed him.

“Bruce wanted to know if she’d tell anyone how she took the Joker down. We found a couple leads, but we don’t wanna push her too far.” Damian thought back to the three creatures he’d witnessed, but decided that was not his business to share. Besides, if his brothers lingered long enough, they’d see them themselves. So with a sigh, Damian sat back down next to Red Robin, and grabbed a handful of chips.

And they listened.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I CANNOT BELIEVE that asshole!” Alix shouted as she paced the floor. She whirled back to face Chloe, who had one of her arms around Marinette as the girl leaned into her, “You’re telling me Agreste and you dated for two FUCKING YEARS and he wouldn’t even let anyone know!!? What the FUCK!” Marinette nodded, while Chloe frowned.

“Keep your voice down, Alix, we’re not telling you so you can tell the whole hotel.” Chloe said while she rubbed Mari’s arm in comfort. Marinette sighed, looking up at Alix.

“He… He didn’t want anyone to know because his father had told him to make sure he kept Lila happy in class. Chloe knew, she was the only one I told. He-It-I mean, it was fine for awhile-.” Alix crouched in front of Marinette’s knees, and took hold of her hands, giving her a compassionate, but serious look.

“Marinette, no,” She said, “It’s not fine. For two years, he let Lila hang off of him, kiss him, and generally torture you during school, only to, what? Come and comfort you afterwards?” Hesitantly, Marinette nodded, and Alix swore steam was going to come out of her ears. “Marinette, when someone loves you, they love you all the time, not just when it’s convenient for them.” Alix managed a rueful smile, “It’s too bad you’re straight, or I’d totally take you out and show you how you deserve to be treated.” It worked, and Alix smiled as Marinette laughed, rubbing at her eyes. Chloe scoffed.

“Get in line, Alix; if any woman is taking my Mari-bear out, it’ll be me, thank you.” Alix gave her a grin, winking at the blonde and Chloe laughed.

“You can come too, Chlo. We’ll take our girl out and treat her special.” Alix looked back at Mari who was still laughing, and Alix softened a bit, “I know there are things you still can’t tell me, DC, and that’s ok. I’ve nearly got Kim and Max seeing reason finally. It’s gotten easier now that I just google whatever Lila says, and show it to them.” Her grin was bitter as she shook her smartphone for emphasis, “I’m sorry for how everyone’s been treating you these last few years. It’s like they’re just letting themselves be blinded by that little skank.” Alix wouldn’t lie, she was furious with the rest of their class for just letting these things happen; it was a testament to how exhausted Mari was that she didn’t even reprimand Alix on her words.

Marinette squeezed Alix’s hands, and she looked up at her. Marinette gave her a smile.

“Thank you Alix, but you don’t have to, you know. We’re almost done with school, and then we’ll be off to university. It doesn’t matter that much anymore.” Alix frowned.

“Marinette, you deserve to have the truth known. I don’t really care if they wanted to go their whole lives believing that witch, but it’s hurting you. You were always there for us, hell, you still keep spare clothes for all of them in case they need them! You deserve to have your good name cleared.”

Marinette smiled, but it was sad, and Alix wanted to rage against the world at the sight of it; her friend deserved nothing but the best, and she had been treated so poorly for so long. Alix had learned it didn’t matter if you spoke out, told Lila and Alya what they were doing was wrong; telling Madame Bustier didn’t do anything. Everyone just ignored it, unless they were actively participating.

“Alix, I have you and Chloe, and yeah, it would be nice to be friends with Kim and Max again; but I’m used to this by now. It’s… It’s been 4 years, and while the first one was… rocky, to say the least…” Marinette shared a grimace with Chloe, whose frown deepened at the memory, before she looked back at Alix, “I’ve gotten stronger for it. And if it hadn’t been for Lila, Chloe and I may never have become such good friends, and for that alone, I’m grateful to her.”

Alix grit her teeth as tears welled in her eyes, “But Mari! Alya has hit you! Adrien did nothing! They’ve ruined your sketchbooks, trashed your site, and tried to sabotage your university applications! How could you possibly be ok with any of that?!” Alix was surprised when Marinette’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m not, Alix. It hurt every single time. But what’s done is done, there’s no changing that, and there’s no going back. I can only keep moving forward.” Marinette sighed, giving her a pleased smile, “And I’m not alone, I never am. I have two of the most amazing, trustworthy friends I could ever have at my side, and an invitation to see one of Gotham’s most outstanding universities. Things haven’t been good, or fun, but they won’t stay that way.”

Alix stared at her in shock, and the tears rolled down her face while she hung her head, “We don’t deserve you, Marinette… I’m sorry.” Marinette pulled her up to the couch, and pulled her closer to herself and Chloe.

“Don’t be sorry, Alix. You and Chloe have stuck with me through it all; you’ve spoken out against Lila to defend me countless times. You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

Next to her, Chloe snorted, “Except for that t shirt, oh my god, where did you even find that horrendous thing?” Alix laughed, and gave Chloe the finger, which caused the blonde to huff.

“Rude.” But Chloe was smiling, and Marinette finally felt peace settle in her heart. Soon, she’d be gone from Lila for good, and everything would be nothing more than just a distant memory. She was fine; she was in a much better place than she used to be, even with her small slip up tonight in the park.

They were going to be ok.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t know french, what are they saying?”

Damian had a scowl on his face as they listened, but Jason had noticed how Tim had frozen; his two brothers were the ones who spoke french, damnit, why weren’t they translating? Finally Tim moved, and he buried his face in his hands.

“We shouldn’t have heard this…” Tim said softly, and now Hood was looking between the hotel, and Red Robin in concern. With a sigh, Tim raised his head, staring at the girls in the hotel room who were laughing now. “From what I can infer based on their conversation, Marinette is being bullied, and ignored by most of her class. Based on what these girls are saying, two girls, Lila and Alya, have been terrorizing her in class for - four years, I think they said? Not even her boyfriend would let anyone know they were dating, and he just stood by when this Alya girl hit her.”

Damian’s scowl deepened, and his hands clenched at his side, but Tim wasn’t done.

“And he’d go and comfort her after school, but the only one who knew is the blonde one there, Chloe. Apparently he’d let this Lila girl hang on him during school, and kiss him and junk. These girls have shredded her sketchbooks, trashed her site - whatever that means-, and tried to sabotage her university applications.”

Jason whistled low, “Damn, that’s harsh.” Hood frowned as he looked at the girls having a good time despite the heavy conversation they’d just had. She didn’t seem like the type of girl who deserved all that animosity. “How are we gonna help then, Red?”

The three of them paused as their comms crackled to life, and Bruce’s voice came over the line.

“I’ll take care of it. Come on home; Nightwing will take watch the rest of the night.” Damian watched as Chloe whacked Alix with one of the couch cushions, and an all out war broke out between the girls.

Next to him, Tim sighed, “Got it, Bats. Coming home.”

Jason turned first, and Tim lingered for a moment longer, but Damian was still staring at the girl. She was laughing as she beat her friend over the head with a pillow, the pink one - Alix - retaliating instantly. She looked… happy.

“Robin? You coming?” Damian nodded, and finally he turned away.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

@uGH_WHYME

OH MY GOD GUYS did you see the girl on the news???                                Looks like there could be a new Wayne! #onlyinGotham

#darkhair #blueeyes #mustbeaWayne #gothamites

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Holy shit, and that is chapter one y’all! Just a quick rundown on a couple things. Chloe and Alix are gonna be hella gay, and I can’t wait for you guys to find out who their GFs are gonna be >:3 It’s gonna be GREAT. There will be some minor Adrien bashing, but he will ultimately learn from his fuck ups; mostly cause I love my dumb ass boy, but BOI is he dumb sometimes. Alya bashing will hopefully be minimal cause I DO love her to death.

Also, Chloe is totally getting/got the redemption she deserved GDI. Zagg can shove that S3 finale right where the sun don’t shine. Oh, did I mention there will be salt??? Like TONS OF SALT probably. Also, I probably won’t post super often on tumblr; I’m primarily use Ao3, so things may end up going up faster over there. 

Hope you guys liked it! <3

Part 1 :HERE: Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

[onefineday20]

Ally [ Tanya X Mubaek ]

(A/N) : this is also available on my wattpad under the same u/n.

************

Anxious thoughts came crowding into my mind, no one is on my side here. I needed an ally who can keep taps on tagon, preferably someone already on his side. I tapped my feet under the table, raking my brain for answers. Who would be willing to betray tagon and join my side? The first name that flashed in my mind was none other than “saya". I sighed, saya is no better than tagon, they're tarred with the same brush, after all he's “the devil's spawn". I can't trust saya, he never takes sides unless there's something in it for him, he's always running after his own benefits. He didn’t hesitate to kidnap my people as hostages before, and he'd do it again if given the chance. I can't look at him without attributing his cruelty and apathy to eunseom. Oh eunseom, I wish you were here. I choked back a sob, now is not the time to drown in a stream of my own sorrows, I need to pull myself together and think rationally.

I walked into the balcony, getting some fresh air might help me gather my thoughts. I tightened my hands around the icy railing, allowing the coldness to chill my bones. The cool of the morning numbed my face to the point where I lost sense in it. I flitted my gaze skywards, in hope to get an answer from our great mother “the great white wolf".

“Who could be my ally?” as expected the sky didn’t open up and eject out a messenger carrying an answer. Disappointed, I squeezed my eyes shut. I knew that joining hands with taealha wasn’t an option either. Tagon might be oblivious to this, but taealha’s abilities makes me regard her as an even bigger threat than him. She's crafty and sharp, and not someone you can mess with.

Shivery and demoralised, I peeled my numb hands off the railing , in order to withdraw to my chamber. My gaze strayed downward, and fell on the figure of a man heading towards the temple entrance. I rejoiced seeing the face of the man who'd make an ideal ally, just the person I have been looking for. He's almost the only person who could possibly challenge tagon's authority. With the daekan's under his command, he is a fearless, and a highly respected warrior by the people. How come he never crossed my mind?

“YANGCHA!!!” not a second was wasted towards putting my plan into motion. Yangcha bulldozed in at my call “inform mubaek that I want to see him immediately” with a slight bow of his head, “tagon's spy" was gone. I grubbed for a brush, and a small pouch containing some lip paint in a small jar, and daubed it on my lips, to add a touch of life to my pale complexion. I had made up my mind, and the gentle knock on the door made me even more resolute “COME IN"

The barrel-chested, tangle-haired warrior raised a hand in greeting and bowed, always from a safe distance away “tanya niruha, you asked for me?” I can’t believe I’m about to do this, I plucked up my courage and pointed to the chair right across from me “you might want to sit down for this, I’m about to ask you to make a very tough decision”

He just stood by the door fixing me with an unblinking stare, did I overdo it with the lip paint? He finally broke the silence “I’ll be well niruha, but you have something on your teeth" oh great!!! I picked up my ornate mirror, and turned my back to him, wiping the pink smudge from my teeth. He politely waited until I was done. I presumed my authoritative aura again “what I wanted to tell you is, I’m going to strike tagon, but I’m going to an ally"

“And you want me to be that ally?” he finished off my sentence “yes, I have a plan, but I can't do it without your help, I need you"

“I need to hear your plan first, what do you have in mind?” I filled him in on my plan, and he listened intently to my every word. “We need to be chary if we don’t want tagon to find out about our plan, if we meet up too often, that'll raise his suspicions”

He stroked his beard “and what do you propose? I'm listening” I forced the words out of my mouth in a half-whisper “marry me!?”

“pardon???” “we should get married to join our powers, and dismiss any doubts in tagon" he smiled like he’d just heard a really funny joke, I knew he wouldn’t take my words seriously. I continued “isn't that what you people do here, marry for power or wealth. Asa mot and tagon did it, so why can't we?”

“Isn't it more suspicious if I marry you out of the blue?” he remarked. “Listen, I’m not asking you to love me, I’m just proposing it for the sake of our cause. I know you don't tagon to be a king either, if he seizes all power, he's going to wreak havoc in the union. As you may already know, he doesn’t trust me either. He has planted yangcha to spy on me, he'll get rid of me when I’m no longer valuable to him"

I took his hands in mine “I need to protect my people, so please think about it until tomorrow, and if you agree, meet me in front of tagon's residence"

Next afternoon right after I had my lunch and the maid cleared the table, a knock sounded on my door. I opened it and found myself face-to-face with mubaek “what are you doing here?”

“I came to escort you” I couldn’t help but smile when he held the door for me, then joined me by walking side by side all the way to tagon's residence. Our high status granted us access to the residence without raising any suspicious, and we paced the corridors awaiting tagon's arrival. I glared at yangcha who was still on our tail, and complained loud enough for him to hear “does he have nothing better to do, why is he still following us? I swear it he'd follow me to the bathroom if he could” Mubaek shook his head in laughter “he's just doing what tagon ordered him to, don't give him a hard time"

Quirking an eyebrow in yangcha's direction,I lowered my voice to a whisper “see, that's precisely why I proposed marriage as a solution, or else yangcha won't leave us alone"

With downcast eyes, he asked again “are you positive you’re making the right choice? You're still young I don't want you to regret making a rash decision later on"

I rubbed my hands together muttering “I won't"

“They're coming, think quick, how are you going to cause a scene?” he urgently demanded, I remembered what I told him yesterday about “causing a scene” To make our story more believable.

“By doing this, they'll believe we're in love" I inched closer to him, cupping his face in my hands, and despite his shell-shocked expression, I planted a kiss on his lips. His undesirous body language soon turned submissive as he played along with my ruse. Our efforts paid off when taealha’s titter rang loud enough to startle me and break our kiss. I feigned innocence like I had just been caught by my parents, doing something that I shouldn’t be doing “the high priestess and the brutish old warrior, who would’ve thought?!” She observed still giggling.

“so you two want to get married?” Tagon sought an answer from his position at the head of the long table in his work room.

I nodded “that's true" upon hearing my confirmation, saya dropped a book with a thud. I completely ignored him when he dusted it off, and gave a half-hearted apology.

Tagon did a steeple with his hand, seemingly noticing saya's reaction to the news “you know tanya, if you wanted to get married, the best candidate for you would be my son, after all you’re friends and of the same age" he gestured to saya in the far corner of the room. I gave saya a sideways glance, his expression was unreadable, marry the devil's spawn? No thanks.

“I'm into older men" I blurted out “and we're in love with each other” mubaek entwinedour hands and squeezed them, he tried his best to sound convincing, but I could tell he was cringing from embarrassment.

“I'm so envious of you two" taealha said under her breath, downing a glass, and pouring another. Tagon clapped his hands on the table, and stood up “will then it's settled, you have my blessing. Saya, you're in charge of the wedding preparations. A high priestess must have a grand wedding. I'll trust you with it son"

Saya merely nodded unwillingly. Tagon walked over to mubaek and hugged him with a broad smile “congratulations my old friend, you're finally getting married, it's right about time"

Saya wasn't pleased about any of this, I should watch him closely, in case he tries to sabotage the wedding.

I spent the following days preparing for the wedding, amid a flurry of activity, and a shower of congratulations, and wishes for a happy life from the people, the wahans, and the daekans. I saw my father when we went to the fortress of fire to ask for his blessing. He seemed particularly pleased with my match and welcomed him by heaping praises, and speaking highly of him. But when he mentioned my mother, I broke. I wish she was here with me at this time, it's a tough thing for a girl to get married without having her mother around, fussing about with the dress and the preparations.

Just a day before the wedding, I realized I was right about saya's intention in sabotaging my marriage. I was in my chamber getting my gown measurements for the last time, just in case something needs to be fixed before tomorrow. Saya loitered about not helping with anything in particular, all he did was make my blood boil. I was done with my gown, and sat before two large boxes of jewellery at my disposal, to choose from. I took a pair of dangly earrings, with a green precious stone in the centre. I was about to try it on, when saya handed me another pair of silver and sapphire blue earrings “this would go better with your gown" I tried it on and it looked perfect, he really has an eye for these stuff.

I admired the glistering jewels in the mirror, when saya's hands slid over my shoulders, kneading them “why do you want to marry that world-weary old man all of a sudden? Do you really love him?” he sneered close to my ears, giving me the shivers. I stood up and moved towards the balcony, taking my time to regain my composure, I answered with my back turned to him “yes, I love him. He has shown me nothing but kindness since I arrived here"

He tightened his arms around my waist “and what about me?” his voice cracked, is he jealous??

“I'm sorry, I don’t feel that way about you" I uttered flatly. When I turned to look him in the face, he was flushed, his lips trembled with the ghost of unspoken words, my words must’ve stung him deeply. He leaned forward, invading all body space, a dark look passed his face “does he feel the same way about you? Knowing you have cursed his brother, his only family, to death?” my hand instinctively flew to slap him across the cheek. His mad laugh echoed through the empty chamber. A moment later the dark look in his eyes softened, and he seemed to be on the verge of tears, when he clutched my hand and rubbed against the red mark on his cheek. When he spoke this time, his speech was frenzied, I realized how desperate he was to stop this marriage “it's not too late to change your mind, marry me instead , we'll take down taealha and tagon, and rule this land as king and queen. I have a better change of succeeding the throne as tagon’s son. What can that lowly warrior of a minority tribe give you that I can't?”

I couldn’t take it anymore, I pushed him away “saya, plea..se please leave, I need to rest, I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow”

I cried myself to sleep that night, part of me felt sorry for saya, and another part longed to be reunited with eunseom again.

My royal blue wedding gown greeted me first thing in the morning, I put it on with the help of four obliging priestesses. It's long sleeves satin sleeves, were veiled with a layer of delicate, thin lace. The lace covered the upper part of the gown, ending around my waist, where the velvety satire flowed all the way to the bottom.

Saya handpicked the fabrics and had it tailored for me. Speaking of saya, he waltzed in while I was busy wearing my jewellery, appearing to be oddly cheerful. He didn’t seem to have a chip in the shoulder about what happened last night. Not to mention the color of his attire matched mine, in fact our entire attires seemed to be designed for a couple. His royal blue attire was matched with a golden brocade giving him a regal look, he was always fashionable, but I couldn’t help but feel he was overdressed for a wedding that wasn’t his.

“you look beautiful” he chirped “and you'll be mine soon" his weren’t moving but I heard the last part loud and clear, because they were his thoughts. My heart lurched, has he done something to the wahans or mubaek?

The abruptness of my movement, knocked my chair over as I stood up “what are you up to?” I spat out.

“Why do you mean?” his fake friendly smile unsettled me. “niruha?” mubaek’s head peeked through the door, I heaved a sigh of relief “yes?” I tried to force a smile.

“It's time" he announced, crossing the room in a couple of strides. Saya looked between us both smirked, and took his leave.

“What's wrong?” he asked once saya was out of our way. “I think saya is up to something, ‘you'll be mine soon’ those were his thoughts. He wants me, I’m worried he'll either try to harm you or my people to get to what he wants. So before we go, I want to cast a protection spell on you”

“a protection spell?” “yes, it's just something my mother used to do when I was a child, I’m not sure if it's effective, but do you mind if I try it?”

“No I don't mind, if it puts your mind at ease" I took both his hands in mine “our great mother asa sin, the great white wolf. I tanya of wahan your direct descendant implore you with a heart rendered heavy with worry to protect this man from all evil that may befall him.

May all swords trained at his neck turn to ash

May all arrows aiming his way lose their path

May all eyes spying on him be cursed blind

May fear be instilled into the hearts of his enemies at his sight

And may all schemes of betrayal against him turn on their schemer

When I call this man my husband I tie his fate to mine" I released his hands, and slipped on my cashmere cloak, the ceremony was about to begin.

We ascended the podium hand in hand, determination burned in our eyes. I raised our interlocked hands above our heads, the crowd roared with shouts of respect and admiration. The people loved me, and now I had mubaek by my side, tagon your reign of chaos is coming to an end, on my hands.

[nurseofren]

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 15 (NSFW)

Read on AO3

Read chapter fourteen (NSFW)

Title: Come to Me

Words: 8300 (I... apologize greatly)

Summary: Yeah, maybe that wasn't the best decision after all...

Warnings: Bloodplay-ish, verbal abuse, humiliation, violence, light bondage.

ST Rambles: Well, well, well. With twelve minutes to midnight, I did get it up. I've been writing this thing all day (given I'd been avoiding writing it all week, buuut), and I think it works. I apologize for the length omg. Literally the longest thing I've ever written.

I didn't expect last week's response to be so... grand? I loved last week's chapter and I'm so happy y'all did too. Now, to work on next week's!

[Masterlist]

The bruising was nearly imperceptible after a week, even so you concentrated on your reflection, trying to rest Mason’s shirt over the ghosted mark splayed over your larynx. Mason’s apartment was never well lit anyway, acting as an additional cover for what had once required a skilled hand at concealer and powder. Pulling back on the shoulders of the borrowed shirt, you mussed with it until an exasperated sigh dropped your hands to your sides, a flat face staring back at you as you reluctantly surrendered after five wasted minutes of meticulous staging. Mason was always over-observant, a skill necessary for every physician, but only currently serving as a foundation to your overthinking.

“Hey, I threw your uniform in the washer while you were showering,” Mason called beyond the bathroom door. “It just finished drying. I’m gonna put it on the coffee table. Is that okay?”

Mason had always been a genuine person, always showing his affection in addition to saying it. After months of chaos, his little act of kindness warmed through your heart, a sense of home you had only ever felt when he was around. It had been so long since you’d got to spend quality time with him – gosh, it had to have been before graduation, before careers and superiors came into your lives – and it was nice having him near, feeling safe for the first time since returning to Starkiller.

“Yeah, that’s perfect,” you called back. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem. How’re those clothes working for you?” His voice carried closer to the door. “I made sure they were from my pre-jacked years.”

A laugh snuck something that resembled a smile into the mirror. “Yeah, okay, Mr. Tough Guy. I’m sure your gigantic arms would shred this shirt to pieces by now.”

“Oh, so you think I have gigantic arms, huh? Why don’t you come out here and I’ll give you a ticket to the gun show?”

You shook your head in the mirror, rolling your eyes and smiling. “You are ridiculous, Mason McCarty. Sometimes I can’t remember why I’m friends with you.”

“Oh, yeah right. You know you love me.”

With one last primp at your collar, and a tug at the tied drawstrings hanging at your hips, you pulled the door open and leaned onto the threshold. Mason was doing the same, only mirrored, looking down to you, crossing his arms across his chest. He was wearing a rendition of what he’d given you, only less worn. He wasn’t wrong, though, his arms were impressive. He’d gotten bigger since you’d met with him before the Finalizer.

“I tolerate you,” you teased. “Don’t get it twisted.”

He tilted his head, his face falling into an exaggerated pout. “Is that how you speak to someone who got your favorite for dinner?”

The question made you aware of the familiar aroma that filled the room. You looked behind him, spotting the take-out bag atop the coffee table, your uniform neatly folded next to it. This was all so nice, like a sleepover, though you suspected this arrangement would last at least a week, long enough to scout out your apartment and get the locks changed.

“Fine,” you shrugged, “maybe I do love you. But only for your food.”

The two of you bumped each other’s sides and laughed your way to the couch. Mason unpacked the bag, handing you a utensil and a handful of napkins before opening the take-out containers. You curled up into the corner of the couch, resting your food between your chest and legs, facing him as he dug in with you.

“So, now that I’ve provided you with food, water, and shelter, are you ready to tell me what the hell is going on?” He took a bite, looking over at you beyond your knees.

Life had looked so different since you’d last seen him; between Kylo Ren and your career, you were nearly an entirely new person. Though, instead of wisdom you had obtained an overwhelming amount of complications in your time away from Mason. Service between Starkiller and the Finalizer was only approved on official First Order equipment; your cell reception disallowing communication through space, keeping you from seeking Mason for gossip or encouragement when you needed it most.

Chewing the last of your bite, you quickly swallowed and rested your arms. “How long have you got?”

“All night, if that’s what you need. I’m worried about you,” your name was genuine on his tongue, true concern edging his tone.

“Jeez,” you sighed. “Where do I even start?”

The confessional acted as a refresher, a reminder of just how bizarre life had gotten while away. Mason had slowed his bites after you told him about your living situation, stopping completely after you walked him through the patient seizing and bleeding out. As you described the egregious scene, you subconsciously traced your hand over your throat, as if mentioning the events that had led to your bruising would make it obvious to him. When you told him about Talia, he seemed to have a peace come over him, like knowing you had a friend away from him had been a concern in your absence. He shared in your disgust over Hux, obviously angered at how much of a show he’d made of parading you through the communal area to his office.

“You called him Armitage? To his face?” He was stunned, at this point his food was getting colder, his hunger sated by your words instead of his meal.

“I will admit that it wasn’t the best choice. But, Mason, let me tell you… it felt so good.”

His brow creased. “And he just let you off the hook? No suspension?”

Your stomach curdled, the sight of food making you sick. Setting your meal back on the counter, you took a breath. “Well, not for now, but… at some point.”

He followed suit, putting his food down and leaning in. He sat crisscross before you, his elbows resting on his knees as he listened to your explanation of the circumstances surrounding your career. His face fell as yours had when you brought up the Board of Physicians, realizing just how deep the hole you had dug yourself had become. He said nothing, only listening as you recounted last night in more detail, still shivering at the memory of the damaged door, the faded pain at your back reappearing when you mentioned the winter that was the assessment room.

“And right after you hung up, he appeared out of nowhere, like some ghost.” Robbie’s voice vividly replayed as your recounted your run-in from earlier.

“But… I thought you said he’d been demoted. Why – how was he there?” He was expressive now, angry with Robbie as you were scared.

“He wasn’t supposed to be there. He left his station because he knew the Command Shuttle had returned.” Absentmindedly, you rang your hand around your wrist, the shadow of his clutch reappearing, the violation he’d wrought overwhelming even in the dim light of Mason’s apartment.

“And where is your – what was it – your master in all of this? You’d think he’d care more about the wellbeing of the care provider he picked himself.”

Though Kylo Ren was the root cause of everything you’d just shared with Mason, you had purposely left out any detail that mentioned him; you knew it was necessary to stay with Mason, understanding that any video evidence of you coming or going to your superior’s quarters at this hour would only expedite the Board’s judgement, but you still felt unease over disregarding the commands of your master. In an effort to put him off your trail, you’d left your watch in the assessment room, hiding it in his spare uniforms and hoping he hadn’t also pulled Mason’s file. Here was where you were safe from everything – Robbie, the Board of Physicians, and the manipulation of Kylo Ren – and you kept repeating that thought, trying to drown out the blaring reminders of just how unsafe you truly were.

Mason’s inquisitions had successfully torn down your efforts not to breakdown. His face twisted into shock before yours fell into your hands, tears that had been welling up since this morning falling without will, spilling over your cupped fingers and down your wrists. Mason scooted over to you, pulling you from the couch and into his arms, your wet eyes pressed against his warm shoulder. He ran his hands up and down your heaving back, your breath shattered as sobs hiccupped through you. It was a release that your body hadn’t felt safe enough to let out, only breaking when it knew someone would be around to hold you together as the torrent decimated your outward façade of apathy.

He shushed you, one of his hands smoothing strands of hair behind your ear. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“Mason, it’s not. It’s never going to be okay again.” The words left in broken spurts of muffled sobs. “I can’t fix this. I – I did this. All of this is my fault.”

He lulled your name, pulling you closer into him, seemingly keeping your chest from shattering. “You saved him, shh. If you believe that in your heart, you have to know that you did the right thing. And the Board will see that. I promise.”

He held you, his arms an anchor, keeping you from drowning in sorrow. Time was foreign, never considering its presence as your heaving lungs fell into gasps, and then into stillness. Eventually the only sound that you were aware of was how his heart thumped in his chest, strong and even – seventy-eight beats per minute, you regarded, mindlessly counting them out of habit. When you grew tired of his pulse, you focused in on his breathing, the clear sounds of his lungs matching the tide of his chest, leading your head with him. He’d rested his chin atop the crown of your head, his index finger continuing its tracing over your ear’s helix, the gentle touch the basis for your return from crisis.

Letting the security of his touch sink in for one last moment, you sighed and pulled back, his arms permitting your journey back to self-support. He kept a hand on your hair, his thumb tracing over your temple, his fingers splaying towards the base of your skull, an additional support as your puffy eyes sought his through hazed vision. Before recently, Mason had been the only person to see you cry; he never made you feel wrong about it, always riding out the storm and sticking around to help you rebuild. And nothing had changed, his presence right now only proving just how permanent a fixture he was in your life.

“How can you promise something you have no say in?” Your words were quiet, cracking at the ends.

“We were taught to never make promises we can’t keep,” he said, the dim light casting a heavenly contour over his cheekbones. “I know that you’re going to come out of this stronger than before. You know why?”

You sniffled and swallowed, looking between his eyes. “Why, Mason?”

“You won’t have to convince the Board of your character. They’ll know. Just like I do.”

“You know me.” The words were so simple, yet they swelled in your chest as you stared back at him, your eyes falling down to his lips for the smallest fragment of a second.

“I know you.” He followed in your glance, nearly imperceptible in its speed.

In the warm light, your heart seemed to glow at this exchange. Mason did know you. And you knew him just the same. He had been your safety for so long, a physical embodiment of protection whenever you needed or wanted it. Here he was before you, an incandescent reminder of the boy you’d yearned for, but knew was too unavailable to build anything with. Now, though, there was nothing stopping you from reaching out and taking hold of the energy surging between you; there was nothing to stop you from manifesting all that you’d pined after for all those years before settling on companionship.

You brought your hand up to his, matching your fingers over his and wrapping them across his palm. There was an influx of fluttering between both of your glances, a silent inquiry of are you sure shared in the proximity. Another hand came up to grasp the other side of your face, landing with the intent of stability; his lips parted, yours following suit, and he brought your lips towards his. It felt foreign as you followed into his hands’ slow path, chin quivering as your felt the warmth of his breath brush over your mouth. With a final glance of consent, he closed his eyes.

With a swallow, you steeled yourself and let your lids fall, breath stalling as you waited for the feel of his undiscovered lips; when his forehead met yours, you searched for the intensity you’d once known for him so long ago, regarding the salient lack of want even in his nearness. This was the farthest thing from how you’d always imagined this moment before; in school, you had dreamt so often of being with Mason McCarty, imagining how it would feel to be chosen by him, to be the golden girl he’d end up with among all the others you’d witnessed leaving his dorm at all hours of the night. Something felt empty in his hold, though, like you’d grown to want more than the boy next door.

His nose pressed into your face, his lips only millimeters from yours, completely unaware of the inward turmoil consuming you as he drew ever closer. Before you could shove it all down and give in to what you had sworn you’d always wanted, the door to Mason’s residence hissed open, the sound ricocheting through the silence. For a fragment of a second, you were relieved, accepting the interruption as a way to delay confronting the lackluster of Mason’s touch. That was it, though, the fragmented moment of peace shattering when Mason’s hands tore away from your face, the rest of his body following as he flew away from you, crashing against the back wall, the collision’s volume suggesting his frame was now permanently indented behind him.

Kylo Ren stood at the threshold, masked, gloved, and fuming. One hand was held out, compressing Mason’s body and keeping him suspended; the other hand was balled at his side, gloved fingers coiled around a band of loose-hanging metal. In the fractioned second you spent analyzing him, you looked closer, noticing a red glow emanating between his fingers. It was your watch; you could hardly believe how small his hand made it appear, nearly imperceptible in the distance. It was a doomed and pointless effort to begin with, purposely leaving the tracker behind, though you’d hoped – however fruitlessly – that maybe it would have deterred him from hunting you down.

Mason struggled against the wall as you stumbled from the couch and onto the floor, your elbow slamming against the coffee table on your way down. Kylo marched forward, hand still extended, grip twisting into a fist. You heard the struggles of your friend, eyes squidged shut in pain while you rubbed your arm, listening as he fell victim to a suffocation you knew all too well. It was unclear in the chaos if the trembling you felt was your own or if Kylo Ren’s modulated growls were reverberating through the room. The footsteps drew nearer, opening your eyes and finding two black boots pointed parallel to your knees.

“It’s up to you how much he suffers.” Behind you, Mason stopped fighting for air, his lungs sucking in just enough to fuel the thrashing cries of pain that followed.

Jumpstarted by the blood-curdling shrieking, you bolted up, hopping over the couch like it was the natural thing to do, wanting to reach him as quickly as possible. His cries faltered, dying into quick pants as his body fought to find equilibrium. Unfathomable rage enraptured you, twisting your face into a snarl when you met the chrome visor behind you.

“Let him down! Stop this!” The words shredded against your throat, your face burning with new vehemence.

There was no response, at least not from your Commander; the next sound to escape Mason was inhuman, like glass getting compacted and magma getting cooled. You turned again to him, looking up to his face, finding it twisted to match the noise which shuddered your spine; his arms and legs were splayed out, sweat collecting at his collar as he suffered through a torture you were sure you’d never known.

“Why – stop! I can- please! He can’t take this! He doesn’t deserve this!”

“No, he doesn’t. I agree,” he barked, the words drowned in feigned sympathy. “This should be you.” His hand turned over, Mason screaming out with new volume behind you.

“Then stop! Please, just leave him be, whatever you want, just stop!” The only reaction your body had left was to spark seething tears, one falling over your cheek as you begged for mercy.

“Your word means nothing. This”—he waved your watch into sight— “solidified that fact.��

The endless cries ripping through the room were fraying your nerves, evaporating your wrath and replacing it with a deep, burning sense of desperation. A choked whine left you, air leaving in staccato and urgent gasps. “God,” you screamed, “please just stop. I promise! Just please, please stop this!”

“Promise,” he spit the word, it’s existence a mangled sound of putridity. “Your virtue has even less value than your word.”

The howls of pain rang on, your patience for Kylo Ren’s torment wearing thinner with every new octave of his cries. Your back was cresting with each full breath, your head spinning in mayhem as you tromped over to him and gripped onto the arm twisting into Mason. Kylo’s visor bent down to you, the reflection of your heated expression a hyphenated portrayal as you caught view of your wet cheeks, the tears frenzied instead of solemn.

“Kylo,” you whispered, “just tell me what you want and you can have it. Just, please, let him go.” The words were buried, barely audible over the injury leaving Mason’s lungs.

He considered you, staring down at your pleading expression. You squeezed his arm, your face breaking into a desperate grimace beneath his stare. He’d taken your absence as a personal attack, completely disregarding the target on your back, like you hadn’t learned not to defy him at this point. And in groveling for Mason’s relief, you accepted that no matter if you deserved to be punished for disregarding his instruction or not, this was the only way you could ensure that Mason wouldn’t end up as collateral damage.

“Please.” Your lip quivered, a tear streaking to the corner of your mouth as you shook beneath his glare.

His arm flexed beneath your fingers, a final surge of terror ripping through Mason before he collapsed to the floor. Without thinking, you clambered down towards him, brushing his hair from his face, your fingers slipping over the sweat that had amounted. “Mason, Mason?” His name escaped in breathy gulps, your heart racing harder when his eyes weren’t opening. “What did you do to him?” you roared, fingers pressing into his carotids.

“Collect your things. We’re leaving.” Kylo’s voice was apathetic, unbothered by Mason’s limp body in your hold.

His pulse was there but weak, nowhere near the high seventies like earlier. His breathing was even and equal, coming slowly. The sweat that had gathered on his back acted to shift his posture, his weight taking you with him as you rushed to protect his head from the floor on his way down. His arm fell to the side, his lips parting and his jaw falling limp with exhaustion. Your fingers were smeared in his sweat, twisted into his nape as you smoothed over his features, hoping your touch would act as a salve while he laid beneath you.

“I can’t just leave him like this,” you sniffled, a tear landing on his chin.

“You will, or he won’t leave here again.” There was no hint of threat in the statement, only truth; a promise in the harsh modulation.

You blinked, two tears falling with the movement. “I’m sorry.” His brow was sweat-laden, too, your thumb gently brushing the moisture away as your eyes blurred, so ashamed of roping him into this. With a sweep of his hair from his forehead, you pulled his arm across his chest and stood at his side to face your master.

“After you, officer,” he said, the hand holding onto your watch motioning towards the door.

Sucking your teeth, you slipped your shoes on without breaking contact with his masked glare. Even as you meandered towards the coffee table to collect your uniform, you stayed locked into him, quaking with anger with each charged step. The animosity which laid within both of you was suffocating, only breeding more hostility as you walked past him with anger-twitching eyes. Kylo placed a hand on your shoulder, his grasp eliciting a short wince as it bit a bruise beneath Mason’s charity of clothing. Before the door hissed shut, one last shriek came from the room as Kylo popped the indented metal into its original unmarked condition, your shoulders shuddering at the echoed cries of the durasteel.

“How can you treat people like they’re expendable? Like they don’t matter?” He began leading you down the hall, his boot cutting into the back of your ankle when you weren’t keeping up with his stride.

Kylo didn’t respond, only digging into your shoulder to indicate a turn. With the length of his legs, you were half-jogging to keep him from running into your feet. You didn’t know whether to keep your head down or to keep a lookout for any cameras, feeling an unease being seen like this – baggy pajamas, work shoes, damp hair – with the Commander of the First Order attached at your back.

“I didn’t disregard your request to spite you, okay? If I came to you and I got caught and it was even suggested to the Board that I was sleeping with my boss? With my Commander? That would be it. That would kill me,” you explained, cataloguing the halls he led you through.

Still no reply, only an increased pace with every new sentence, more pressure dipping into your clavicle. His grip was nearing a fracture, sweat collecting at your nape as you fought to silence the pain. In your periphery you spied the red indicator of a camera, flying out of sight as he propelled you down new halls, wider and taller as his quarters grew closer.

After one final turn, a door appeared at the end of an expansive corridor, completely alone in its existence. His fingers bit down further, the doors sliding apart at the gesture while you winced inwardly. Before you could step past the threshold, his hand unhinged and you flew past the door frame, landing with your hands braced and your knees skidding across the glossed floor.

“It seems you’ve forgotten who you work for, officer,” he said, the doors latching shut behind him. “I can have whatever I want without your offering. The only reason your friend is still breathing is so I can use him as leverage, as it appears the only way to get you to listen is to threaten what you value most.”

In your crash, your chin had collided with the floor, your teeth gnashing into the back of your tongue. As you gathered yourself off of your hands, a drop of the iron that flooded your mouth fell between your bent knees. The colloid pooled under your tongue, slithering down your throat as you sat back on your heels.

“What is so hard to understand about me not coming here?” He stepped closer as you continued to regather yourself, steps calculated and quiet.

“I understand you’re being watched. I know that your life is on the line, and for half a second I believed that you valued it”—he tore your chin up to his visor— “but that can’t be true.”

His grip led you to your feet as he stared down at you. “If you truly held any stock in your life, you would do as you’re told without question. Without doubt.”

Blood dripped over your lip and onto your chin as he anchored your jaw open, his thumb bending over your bottom teeth, depressing the tip of your tongue. “Tonight’s lesson was centered around this incorrigible mouth, but I think you need to learn the true consequences of your actions. Nothing less.”

Below, he kicked your fallen uniform to the side, walking you back so your knees gave way to the arm of the couch, your hands reaching back to support you along the black leather. A low hum left his helmet, his visor tracking over your laid-out body. “Now, to turn these into what they really are”— both of his hands took hold of your shirt collar— “rags.”

The thin fabric of Mason’s old shirt gave way to Kylo’s will like the threads had never been bound together, splitting apart down the center of your chest, past your naval, and through the bottom hem. The shredded article hung open over your abdomen, your chest tiding quickly as you watched his shoulders drag along as coarse breaths left his helmet. His knee anchored itself between your legs, his visor pointed at your face. He kept your eyes in his while his thumbs tore the tattered garment down your arms, leaving raised red trails in their forceful paths; with the fabric bunched over your wrists, the only covering left over your torso being your bra, he yanked it past your hands.

At the motion, your support gave out and your head fell against the stiff cushions. In his hectic maneuvering, once the shirt moved past your waist, his fingers gripped into the waistband of Mason’s sweatpants, their warmth leaving you with begrudging ease even as the drawstring was double knotted above your hips. The thick fabric skated past your toes, every hair on your body stick-straight as the frozen air punctuated your skin’s search for warmth. Staring down at you, the leather sticking to your shoulders, he let the shirt fall, keeping hold of your pants, turning them over as his visor pinned you in place.

“These, though, seem to possess an asset of my benefit.” Out of your view, you heard more ripping, only much shorter of a sound. Before you had time to question what his intentions were, he began wrapping the drawstring from the elastic around his gloved hand, pulling it until the opposite aglet met his palm. “Sit up.”

There was no life in his command, frozen as the atmosphere. With a swallow, noting the blood didn’t replenish itself when you did, you sat up straight, looking up to him with seething defiance. His boots echoed as he paced towards you, stopping before he passed behind. The string-wrapped hand dragged two fingers along your sternum, stopping as they tugged down on the bridge of your bra. “Take this off.”

“And if I don’t?” Your brow raised in challenge.

The hand over your chest quickly shifted its attention to your tongue, pinching it between two tight fingers, a pitiful whine leaving when it did. “This has never been a negotiation. Do as I say and maybe you’ll have use of this—” he pulled your tongue forward, scraping the undersurface with his gloved nail “—after tonight. Do we have an understanding?”

Denying your want to roll your eyes, you nodded. Though, he wasn’t pleased with this response, pinching down harder. “Use your words.”

Flames bit under your cheeks, furious with his intent to embarrass you. A heated breath fled from your nostrils. “Yeth, Commanther.”

“Hm, now do as you’re told.”

You reached behind your back, never leaving his stare as he kept hold of your tongue. The hooks popped behind you, the flat sound too loud in the silent room; the straps hung loose over your shoulders before you hunched forward to remove the rest of the garment, letting it fall between your parted knees. The leather left your tongue as he knelt down, his hands ripping your arms behind you and gathering your wrists at the base of your spine.

“Not that I can’t do this myself,” he said, voice tinged with sly, “but it’s more poetic if you’re bound by your own defiance.”

“For the hundredth time, I didn’t do it to defy you.”

He worked masterfully behind you, the string unwinding from his palm and wrapping around and between your wrists in that same pattern. “Keep talking, it’s making me eager to shut you up; making me hard with anticipation.”

The thin string grew tighter as he wound it to its end, finishing the restraint with a tight pull and a final knot. He stood again once he’d completed the task, taking grasp of your binding and pulling you up to your knees. His hand came to the back of your neck and pushed you forward, your face falling into the firm cushion as your hands struggled to protect you from the collision, finding no give in the ties. The position – face to the side, hips high, shoulders bearing your weight – offered no view of your master, only allowing you to hear his intentions.

The couch shifted behind you, your body swaying to the side as his weight shifted the cushions beneath your knees. The texture of his gloves came between the bend of your hips, your skin emblazoning at the contact. He hummed, following the low sound with a breathy, barely vocal laugh. “I could light you on fire and you’d still be dripping wet for me, wouldn’t you?”

It was a rhetorical question, one you didn’t want to answer even if it hadn’t been. A pressure came over your entrance, the friction of taut leather revealing the erection residing behind it. The sensation caught your breath, your resolve stifling a moan before he could revel in your pleasure. “Really? Nothing to say?” His hips left you, followed by the removal of one of his hands.

“Maybe this’ll make you speak up.” A cold, unyielding object stung at your entrance, your hips bucking away from it only after your core throbbed in remembrance of the weapon.

A pathetic whimper came unbidden from your throat, your face burning in embarrassment that every part of him, even those not physically attached, could draw a reaction from your body. “Did this make an impact?” The metal pushed against you, your walls simultaneously screaming for more yet clenching away from it. “Mm, it did.”

The unforgiving solidity of the weapon made you wail as Kylo pushed it into you, using his hips to nudge it forward while gripping your thigh and pulling you back along its unbroken width. Your core fluttered around the injurious girth, every muscle below your abdomen flexing in response, your breath nonexistent as your body internalized the pleasure-pain its presence incited. While he pushed it further into your center, he twisted the hilt, your walls buzzing around the scraping ridges which resided along the handle. Though you could barely register it, when his flexed knuckles met the skin of your ass, you finally breathed, taking a moment of peace before he pulled it from you.

But he didn’t, standing from behind you as your walls achingly thrummed along the stagnant object. He walked out of view, passing your head and walking further into the room. “Come to me,” he said, modulation cold once more.

A laugh of disbelief left you. “Yeah, okay. Just let me situate myself.” He was insane to think you could move like this.

“My patience is wearing thin, officer. I suggest you don’t test it more than you already have.”

This was his way at asserting his power over you, making you complete various tasks of humiliation. He knew just as well as you did that you were in no shape to move, let alone cross over to him. It was dehumanizing, and all you wanted to do was scream, to throw a Kylo Ren-sized tantrum. But by the new shadows in his voice, and how he was obvious in proving his point, you knew to release the retched sound burning over your axons would never work to your advantage.

Thinking it over for a minute, you decided to try and slide your leg down, thinking you could easily lift yourself from the sofa. As you attempted to execute the maneuver, though, you grimaced, the weapon biting into your cunt with new pain as it indented into the tissue it bludgeoned. Containing a whine, you bit your lip, face growing slick with sweat against the leather. Away from you, you heard the familiar sound of his strokes, ensuing more rage as he drew pleasure from this sight of you.

In a second attempt, you used your shoulders, rocking into the back of the couch for leverage and support. With one too-ambitious shove, you catapulted onto the floor, landing on your back, your hands aching below your weight in their awkward placement, the crossbars of the lightsaber biting into the backs of your thighs. The fall knocked the wind out of you, the frozen floor stealing your breath for ten seconds before the facilities for oxygen returned.

Behind you Kylo grunted, the sound of his gloved hand sliding over his shaft quickening. “I never knew my whore could be so graceful.”

A week ago he’d stained your body with blood, but the wrath you’d felt then couldn’t be compared to the ardent resentment he was eliciting with his blatant enjoyment of your suffering. Using them to your benefit, you pushed off of your bound hands and sat up, your back to him, taking a moment of rest before shoving against the couch and getting to your feet. The weapon shuttered your breath, your legs barely permitting movement in the presence of the intruding object. A sharp set of yelps came as you took your first step towards him, your face twisting in pain as the stride caused friction against your walls.

He'd positioned himself against the wall opposite of you, making the journey to him long and strewn out, allowing him to watch your hobbled venture as long as he wanted. You’d matched the sound correctly, watching him drag his thumb from his head and down his shaft, his back resting against the wall with infuriating nonchalance, like this was any other day for him.

“That’s it,” he said, modulation thick with need, “one step at a time, officer.”

To keep from tripping forward, you stayed close to the furniture as long as you could, legs flexing when your balance faltered. Eventually, though, there was nothing to steady yourself with, your strides shrinking in their reach as you walked in the vacant distance.

“Is this what you enjoy, huh?” you gasped, his lightsaber cutting into you as you stumbled forward. “The Commander of the First Order, so big and strong as he fucks his hand to the sight of his own nurse? Seems a bit fucked up to me.”

“Fuck, I’m going to enjoy this.” He thrust into his hand as you tripped forward once more.

“I didn’t defy you, Kylo. I was safe with Mason,” you said, closing all but a pace of distance between him and you, your legs trembling with exhaustion.

He slowed his strokes, staring into you past his visor, his breath audible through the helmet. After a long pause, his chest came down in a heavy sigh. “Kneel.”

“I don’t deserve this.”

His hand came up and twisted, the weapon shifting between your legs and causing the crossbars to shred over the sensitive tissue. Your weakened stance couldn’t tolerate the electric pain, your knees buckling beneath you, cracking against the glass-plated floor. Before any pain could leave your lungs, he rammed every thickened, throbbing inch of his cock past your teeth and down your throat; you gagged against him, a mechanical seethe leaving his mask at the hiccupped pressure.

“Finally, some peace and fucking quiet.” His hands framed the crown of your head, fingers stretching to the base of your skull and guiding you into his thrusts.

Tears sprung at your eyes, the sudden pressure shocking your sinus tracts into defense. “I get to decide when you’re defying me,” he tilted your head further back. “I decide what you deserve. And yes,” he growled, “seeing you like this, broken for me, by me, pathetic and pitiful as you obey my every command – not because you want to, but because you have to – I obsess over it, your resentful compliance to everything I say; it’s what makes your defiance so maddening.”

Your arms began to strain, the pain trickling from your shoulders down to your tailbone, his weapon shifting with every thrust, making you wince onto his cock. “Shit. This is exactly what sluts like you deserve,” he roared, voice frenzying. “Leaving me to go fuck some physician who can offer you nothing, let alone safety? Yes, you deserve this completely.” He was yelling now, the modulation garbling his words.

A hand left your head, the other gripping into your hair as drool poured down your chin and collected in the earlier dried blood. A loud crash came from behind you, the noise forcing a flinch, your core clenching around the metal, another whine leaving you, your hands throbbing as your blood attempted to bypass the cutting ties which constricted its flow. He thought you’d been with Mason. In the chaos that had entailed since, you forgot how he’d first seen you at the residence, face pressed against Mason’s, your lips so close they may as well have been touching. This was barely about your compliance and wholly about what he’d perceived as your infidelity. And even then, was it even cheating if there had been no set rules? Not that he’d ever seemed to be conscious of his double standards, but it was ridiculous for him to assume you knew this was a monogamous arrangement. The only thing he’d ever ensured you were aware of was the fact that he could have you whenever and however he wanted, never that there was any agreement of mutual exclusivity to be respected.

“And to have you – a nurse, a nobody – continually disregard everything I ask,” his voice was natural now, raw and aching without the heavy modulation , “it drives me insane; the knowledge that you truly believed he could protect you is infuriating.”

His breath was heightening, your jaw straining as he kept fast, unrelenting thrusts into your throat. The strokes were erratic, losing pattern as he began to lose himself. “Even when it’s for your benefit you still choose to defy me, fucking – fuck – fucking whore.”

He pulled out from your throat, forcing you back on your heels, the weapon tearing deeper into you at the pressure. “Never tell me you what you think you deserve,” his hand was chaotic over his shaft, nearly colliding with your face in its ferocity. His breath stalled, and he growled, teeth clenched as a spray of spit veiled over your face, hot ropes of cum to join it, collecting onto your eyelashes and debilitating your sense of sight. “This is what you fucking deserve.”

He stroked himself through his release, breath coming in fast pants, dying into slow and separated sighs. A gust of air blew your hair over your ears, and the sudden feel of gloved thumbs swiping over your face permitted your sight once more, meeting the red face of your master, but also introducing you to the shocking sight of light, glinting over the rivulets of tears which streaked over his cheeks. It was disturbing at first, processing that his red eyes were for you, realizing that your decision had actually affected him and enraged him to this extent.

He shoved his thumbs into your mouth, not registering the taste as the expression which resided over his face haunted you with its familiarity. Once more he thought you’d abandoned him. Like those months ago when you’d come home late on the Finalizer, his eyes were ignited with that same sense of desertion. He was not justified in his actions, not that he ever needed to be, but you could acknowledge that this reaction wasn’t one foreign in its nature, but the only way he knew to reassert himself.

His hands left your mouth and reached behind your back, his eyes never leaving yours as he blindly unbound you. When you fell forward, your face pressed into his chest, his hands lifted you below your thighs, your breath seething as the movements caused the jagged weapon to shift within you; he placed you on your knees, one hand unmoving to stabilize you, the other clasping over the crossbars, gearing up to rip his weapon from your core.

The hand at your thigh gripped into you as he dragged the hilt out, your breath wheezing into his chest as it left, every inch leaving an immediate emptiness in its wake. A pain-sodden tear fell from your face to his skin, a gasp leaving as he pulled out the last of it.

“Kylo,” you said into his chest.

“That’s not how you should address me,” his voice wasn’t empty, instead guarded and rasped with the ghosts of his earlier rage.

You licked your lips and placed your hands on either of his shoulders, pulling away from him as his other hand came back to support you. “Kylo,” you repeated, watching his face, aching as he looked at you with so much betrayal.

It was an impossible thing to choose how to express your sorrow while also preserving your earlier explanation of why you didn’t come to him. Though it felt unfair, you couldn’t help but feel a piece of your heart break as you looked into the shattered face of the person who had given you a purpose. Words continued to evade you, the only thoughts processing being this is your fault, this could’ve been helped, what kind of nurse abandons her patient? They burgeoned in your head, capitalizing your indecision in how to say the right words without betraying your own beliefs.

“I didn’t – I’m… I can’t,” you grunted, your thoughts clamoring your words into stuttered nonsense. “I will never abandon you.”

It seemed like the best way to get to your point, maybe not encompassing everything you needed to say, but emphasizing on the highlights. His lips parted, breath falling out before you. His eyes twitched, no response coming to him as you analyzed every tiny change, watching as the wetness which plagued his cheeks dried as time passed.

“I didn’t kiss him,” you said, realizing what else may be haunting him. Every feature on his face stopped. Bingo. “I was going to… I thought I’d want to, but…”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze drifting between your eyes and down over your lips. “But what?” It was a whispered, raspy sound, so new and surprising.

“Something’s changed. Different.” Your looked between his eyes, over his freckles, and down to his lips.

“Something’s changed.” He repeated.

And as your energy charged into his, you found yourself completely yearning for his lips to be on yours, for his hands to be in your hair, or on your face, or his touch anywhere on your body at all. That was it. It wasn’t something that had changed. It was someone. And though you knew you had felt something for him before, accepting that you’d lost the last piece of whatever it was when you left the stars that night, you never knew how focused that feeling had become until you were forced to recognize that you no longer felt that way for anyone else other than the man before you.

His hands ghosted over your curves, trickling electricity in their trails until they buzzed in place over your cheeks. He brought your face to his, his lips enrapturing yours in the kiss you didn’t know you’d been seeking. It was powerful, how his mouth moved in rhythm with yours like he knew your every thought. He began to stand; as his legs straightened, he kept his spine bent, his hands unmoving from your face. You threw your hands up to his neck, teasing the coil of hair at his nape as your thumbs traced along his jawline.

He moaned into your mouth, his tongue gliding over yours as his hands moved down your curves before he bent down and took you from the floor, prompting your legs to wrap around his waist while he walked you through his quarters. You collected the remaining tears from his cheeks, either with your thumbs or dragging them along your own face as you kissed down to him, your hands brushing through his thick hair, reveling in the closeness which flourished between you both.

Distantly, a door hissed open and shut, and before you had opened your eyes, your back was against an expansive mattress. Kylo pulled away, your neck following him as long as it could before he was too far. He kept his honey eyes focused on yours, his hands working hard to remove his outer robes and padding. Even in this small distance, your body ached for his, the seconds burning beneath your skin as your core pleaded to be filled by him. Only him.

He threw his shirt off and loosened the fasteners of his pants, letting them fall and kicking them off before he climbed back on top of you, trailing kisses up your sternum, into your breasts, and up your artery as he made his way back to your face. He whispered your name into your mouth, legs positioning himself so the head of his erection slid between your folds, a moan leaving you as the sensation sung through every vein in your body.

“Kylo,” you whispered back, legs locking over his back, fingers treading through his locks, binding him to you in their hunger.

He took your hands from his hair, pinning them above your head beneath his own. He gazed down to you, his fingers winding between yours, his eyebrows raising as a means of readying you. In response, clasping your fingers into his, lifting your face and pulling his lips down to yours. He thrust into you, sating the void his weapon had incited. A cry left your mouth, the first one that wasn’t inspired by pain, but instead by need. By want. By completeness.

The grip on your hands tightened as he pulled his hips back, a groan leaving him, the vibration of his chest buzzing through your own. The friction of his body over yours was other-worldly, feeling simultaneously familiar and new. He rocked into you, his lips falling down to your jawline, sucking new bruises in their path, feeling heavenly when his teeth would scrape against your skin with urgent want. Without saying anything, as he knew everything you felt, the Force engulfed your aching clit, never having felt as powerful as it did now, your back arching into his chest as you cried out against his hair.

Everything combined to create a sense of celestial wholeness – the smell of his sweat-damp hair, the taste of your dried blood washing from his tongue to yours, his skin igniting atop your own, the way his cock made your walls chorus with sublimity. His thrusts came faster, the Force quickening and increasing in its pressure, his hands tightening further; he had constructed your release in minutes, sending you soaring into a limitless reality only he knew how to create.

“Oh, Kylo. Kylo. Kylo, Ky…” His lips pressed against yours just as he fell in line with his own release, moans ricocheting through his mouth and yours.

The hands which strangled yours loosened, staying in place as his pulse jostled into yours, his head falling just below your chin. He stayed there, his weight bearing over you, his breath brushing over your forearm as his bare chest tided with yours. Though it seemed misplaced as only minutes ago he’d tormented you, with him now, here in his sated state, you felt a protection you’d never expected. None of this was ever planned, and even if he didn’t feel a fraction of what you felt right now, you knew you’d never willingly trade it for anything, basking in every part of himself that he offered.

Kylo took a final breath before rolling off of you, keeping one of his hands with yours momentarily as the other peeled the blankets from above his head. His arms gripped over your shoulder and pulled you against him, the sheets gliding beneath and eventually encapsulating your body to his. The breaths that fell from his parted lips blew over your hair, tickling the stray pieces which framed your face before you nuzzled into him and placed your hand on top of his chest.

“The Board doesn’t have any say over what happens to you,” he said, voice tired and absent. “I do.”

Not quite believing he even thought that was true, considering he might be using your technique of saying something in order to make it true, you didn’t feel like ruining this quintessential moment. “Okay.”

And as you lied with him, listening to his heart – sixty-one beats per minute, strong and steady – you felt your own working to heal itself, coming back together as you promised yourself – inwardly, and however hopelessly – that this wouldn’t be temporary; that this had even the slightest chance at surviving the incoming monsoon life promised. And as you kept repeating that thought, you realized that your earlier dream – the one of falling asleep in Kylo Ren’s arms – was no longer a dream at all, the reality of his strength coiled around you being what lulled you into unconsciousness.

[rovingsolitarything]

Major Arcana Grand Tableau: 2021.

Apologies for my long absence. I hope everyone has been enjoying a safe and happy festive season, and that the New Year brings you everything you may need. As this is the beginning of a brand new year, I wanted to share and record my first reading of 2021, a Grand Tableau completed according to this post. I thoroughly enjoyed this reading, and hope to come back to it throughout the year to review my initial thoughts.

1. The Fool: What will begin in your life? Queen of Wands: Aries. Emotionally and otherwise, the Queen’s personality corresponds to that of the King, but is more magnetic. A dark woman or country woman, friendly, chaste, loving, honourable. Love of money. Courage, confidence, independence, social butterfly, determination.

- This card could indicate a number of things; for example, a new relationship with someone with cardinal fire energy. Perhaps it signals the development of this energy in myself, and I will be able to demonstrate a new sense of confidence and passion.

2. The Magician: What dream will manifest? Two of Wands: On the one hand, riches, fortune, magnificence, and on the other, physical suffering, disease, chagrin, sadness, mortification. Future planning, progress, decisions, discovery.

- Time will tell, but I am quietly hopeful that the Two of Wands here means that 2021 will bring me closer to my goals for the future, especially in terms of career and finances.

3. The High Priestess: What secret will be uncovered? King of Cups: Scorpio. Fair man, man of business, law, or divinity, responsible, disposed to oblige the querent. Also equity, art and science, including those who profess science, law, and art, creative intelligence. Emotionally balanced, compassionate, diplomatic.

- I’m unsure what the King of Cups may mean in this position. Perhaps something will come to light regarding a Scorpio in my life, like my sister, or even in relation to my creative pursuits. However, the secret is likely to concern relationships or feelings and strike an emotional chord.

4. The Empress: What will you harvest? King of Swords: Aquarius. Whatsoever arises out of the idea of judgement and all its connections - power, command, authority, militant intelligence, law, offices of the crown, and so forth. Mental clarity, intellectual power, authority, truth.

- An interesting card to draw in this position, but it could be that 2021 will enable me to cultivate a sense of power and clarity, perhaps literally in a position of authority, for example at work, or through intellectual ventures.

5. The Emperor: What will you have control over? Three of Cups: The conclusion of any matter. Plenty, perfection, merriment, happiness, victory, fulfilment, solace, healing. Celebration, friendship, creativity, collaborations.

- Hm, relationships, celebrations... I look forward to seeing what my social calendar looks like this year! Perhaps I ought to try my hand at event planning, or start a cult book club. Hopefully I will feel empowered to take charge of my own well-being as well as that of others.

6. The Hierophant: What will remain unchanged? Four of Swords: Vigilance, retreat, solitude, hermit’s repose, exile, tomb, and coffin. Rest, relaxation, meditation, contemplation, recuperation.

- Oh dear. This reinforces my feeling that 2021 may not bring an end to the isolation we all faced last year. I may need to be patient, and it seems I will remain an introvert at heart. On a more positive note, this year may allow for a generally relaxed pace and mindset.

7. The Lovers: How will your love life be? Eight of Wands: Activity in undertakings, the path of such activity, swiftness, as that of an express messenger, great haste, great hope, speed towards an end which promises assured felicity; that which is on the move, also the arrows of love. Movement, fast paced change, action, alignment, air travel.

- Ooh, ok. I admit it, I’m intrigued, and a little amused. A whirlwind romance? A fling, or two, or eight? Long-distance flirting? Perhaps a run-as-fast-as-you-can, so-glad-I-dodged-that-bullet scenario - or maybe it’s simply the year of... interesting online purchases and post.

8. The Chariot: What will make you victorious? Page of Swords: Authority, overseeing, secret service, vigilance, spying, examination, and the qualities thereto belonging. New ideas, curiosity, thirst for knowledge, new ways of communicating.

- In 2021, the active pursuit of knowledge and learning is likely to serve me well, as is a proactive, enthusiastic nature. I would do well to be keen and observant.

9. Strength: Where will you find strength? Page of Pentacles: Application, study scholarship, reflection, news, messages and the bringer thereof - also rule, management. Manifestation, financial opportunity, skill development.

- On a similar note to the above, it seems I would do well to remain focused, and above all dedicated to learning and honing new skills in my professional and intellectual pursuits.

10. The Hermit: What will you need to reflect on? Six of Swords: Journey by water, route, way, envoy, com-missionary, expedient. Transition, change, rite of passage, releasing baggage.

- Hm. Is it naive of me to hope this means I aill spend time mulling over travel plans and luggage? 2021 could be the year I address less pleasant baggage and embark on more difficult journeys. Onwards and upwards... eventually.

11. The Wheel of Fortune: Where will you find luck? Knight of Pentacles: Virgo. Utility, interest, serviceableness, rectitude, responsibility. Hard work, productivity, routine, conservatism.

- Late August/early September could bring a spell of luck. If I remain consistent and dedicated in my professional and personal pursuits, I may be rewarded this year. In 2021, commitment, structure, persistence, and hard work could pay off.

12. Justice: Who will avenge you? Four of Cups: Weariness, disgust, aversion, imaginary vexations, blended pleasure. Meditation, contemplation, apathy, reevaluation.

- Another card I find difficult to interpret in the context of this spread. I may have no willing avenging angel. There may be conflict or reluctance in giving/receiving aid. Perhaps I simply will not need to be avenged.

13. The Hanged Man: What will you have to sacrifice? Six of Pentacles: Presents, gifts, gratification, attention, vigilance, now is the accepted time, present prosperity. Giving, receiving, sharing wealth, generosity, charity.

- This card may mean that in 2021 I need to change my attitude to my finances; present prosperity and generosity may need to be sacrificed in favour of future goals/stability. I should perhaps be less indulgent.

14. Death: What will be reborn? Ace of Wands: Creation, invention, enterprise, the powers which result in these, principle, beginning, source, birth, family, origin, the beginning of enterprises, money, fortune, inheritance. Inspiration, new opportunities, growth, potential.

- Alongside the court cards drawn earlier in this spread, particularly the Queen of Wands, this card could mark my own personal renasaince of sorts. Sparks reignited. Passions awoken. New financial or creative ventures.

15. Temperance: What will bring balance into your life? Eight of Pentacles: Work, employment, commission, craftsmanship, skill in craft and business. Apprenticeship, repetitive tasks, mastery, skill development.

- Secure employment, dedication in creative and professional pursuits, and routine could help to create stability and harmony throughout 2021.

16. The Devil: What will you be most passionate about? Nine of Swords: Death, failure, miscarriage, delay, deception, disappointment, despair. Anxiety, worry, fear, depression, nightmares.

- Oh dear. Is 2021 going to leave me with a death wish? This is what I get for making Suffering™️ my brand as a teenager. Another interesting draw in the context of this spread. This could indicate a number of things, from a focus on my mental health or a fascination with all things morbid and gothic, to a resurgence of my ‘emo’ phase. I will have to wait and see.

17. The Tower: What will trigger a profound change? Ten of Wands: Oppression simply, but also fortune, gain, any kind of success of these things. A card of false-seeming, disguise, perfidy. Burden, extra responsibility, hard work, completion.

- Increasing my workload/responsibilities in 2021, could cause a surprising shift - multitasking and taking on as much as I can could be the name of the game. False alarms can also disturb the peace.

18. The Star: Where will you find hope? Nine of Cups: Concord, contentment, physical bien-etré; also victory, success, advantage, satisfaction, gratitude, wish come true.

- Seems fairly self explanatory - we shall see!

19. The Moon: What will stay clouded? Five of Pentacles: Material trouble, destitution, love and lovers, concordance, affinities. Financial loss, poverty, lack mindset, isolation, worry.

- Suffering will stay hidden? Well. Ignorance is bliss I suppose.

20. The Sun: What will bring you joy? Two of Cups: Love, passion, friendship, affinity, union, concord, sexual relations, that which nature has sanctified. Unified love, partnership, mutual attraction.

- In 2021, I will find happiness in my relationships.

21. Judgement: Which of your oppressors will be punished? Nine of Pentacles: Prudence, safety, success, accomplishment, certitude, discernment. Abundance, luxury, self-sufficiency, financial independence.

- Another one that I find difficult to interpret at present - though I can’t say right now that there is anyone I would genuinely wish punishment on, so I am content to let the universe handle this one. You know that really smug, posh, snob? Your rich neighbour with the exotic bird and perfect garden? Yeah, this probably won’t be their year.

22. The World: What will give you a sense of accomplishment? Two of Pentacles: Gaiety, recreation and its connections, news and messages in writing, such as obstacles, agitation, trouble, embroilment. Multiple priorities, time management, prioritisation, adaptability.

- 2021 looks set to be a juggling act, but an interesting one! Seems if there’s any time for a side hustle it’s now.

Identifying Court Cards:

- King of Swords: Aquarius, Fixed Air (January 21st - February 18th).

- Queen of Wands: Aries, Cardinal Fire (March 21st - April 20th).

- Knight of Pentacles: Virgo, Mutable Earth (August 24th - September 22nd).

- King of Cups: Scorpio, Fixed Water (October 24th - November 22nd).

Determining the Dominant Suit:

- Pentacles: Finances will be bright.

- Can’t say I’m disappointed. Interestingly, all three remaining suits were represented equally, suggesting that my passions, emotions, and mind will each play an equal if not dominant role.

Identifying Numbers that Appear at Least Thrice:

- Twos: a year of dilemmas.

- Nines: a year of completion.

- Hopefully this is indicative of a difficult but ultimately satisfying year; perhaps a sense of closure, decision making, or an end to certain challenges? Struggles you can overcome and draw a line under.

Highlighting the Ruling Colours:

- Blue, White, Green: spirituality, logic, innocence, intuition.

- Safe to say my little INFP/Ravenclaw heart will be more than happy if these prove to be the overarching themes of the year ahead!

Initial Thoughts:

I’m definitely intrigued to see what 2021 brings, and am feeling cautiously optimistic as so much of this spread tallies with my existing intentions/predictions for the year - though that could be bias/wishful thinking. There may be false starts and snags, but if I remain positive and work hard I may be in for pleasant surprises too! Time, as always, will tell. For now, I will take each day as it comes and try and enjoy the ride!

Intentions for 2021:

In all honesty, with the world in such an uncertain state at the moment, I’m reluctant to go into 2021 with any specific expectations or goals, and for now plan to take things one day at a time - I can’t say for sure if this will be a year for major life changes. However, there are certain things I would like to focus on that I can realistically incorporate into my current routine and I would like to hold myself accountable so here, in no particular order, are some of my ‘resolutions’ for this year:

Read at least one new book a month.

Create and follow a more structured training plan and diet to improve my running, and help me feel stronger.

Listen to new music.

Continue learning French.

Make it a priority to allocate time for creative pursuits - painting, drawing, writing (blog posts, poetry, stories, anything!).

Continue saving as much as possible.

Create and follow a monthly budget.

Keep an eye on career and housing opportunities.

Make my mental health a priority, starting by speaking to my psychologist.

Be more proactive in reaching out to friends and family and keeping in touch with people.

[zorkaya-moved]

“Come watch the sunset with me.”

@dandilys

The sunset’s turning the sky into a ray of colors as the Sun was going down, disappearing behind the horizon was something that fascinated many people. Zarina was like that when she was a kid, excited to watch the Sun set outside of Snezhnaya as she was traveling around with her mother while her father remained in the country. Such a long-forgotten memory resurfaced as she followed her curiosity to see the acting Grand Master, the one who Varka left before he went off for his journey or whatever-these-people-called-it. It wasn’t of her interest, but the way the Dandelion Knight seemed oddly at peace today was it different compared to the usual days. Zarina rarely witnessed Jean relaxed and not as tight up, she was prepared to joke around again to poke fun at her tight-lip nature and for her lacking any possibility to just take time for herself. 

However, the way Jean invited the winter in without even looking at her made Sokolova halt for a second. Not out of hesitation, but simply out of fascination with how different it felt compared the usual. Wasn’t Lisa supposed to be here to tell her off or give her a look to just dance away, but perhaps the Librarian had better things to do than to shoo the woman away from resting Jean. Zarina did carry some chaos behind her in terms of clownery and comedy, but it could be irritating to those needing rest. It was noted how the sunset was beginning, the silver-haired Snezhnayan shrugged and shook her head slightly as she stepped forward to admire the view with the blonde haired knight. 

“So commanding today, Master Jean, giving me tickles today,” the smirk was not there eve though the tone was speaking of playfulness and taunt. There was nothing of sorts, but if there was no provocation, it wasn’t her cup of tea. The lack of any fun was making her feel bored and was turning her towards apathy, a sensation she knew all too well as it was all more obvious if she wasn’t doing anything. Jean’s perfume was already memorized by Sokolova as she walked closer to her, playing with a pen she was using to write in her notebook. 

A glance at the knight was needed only one time to see her expression from the side - such a peaceful and beautiful woman at this very moment. If she wasn’t an acting Grand Master, Zarina would’ve certainly wished to share an evening or even a night with her. But alas, the woman next to her was a dandelion - a flower that would so easily disappear in the sway of the wind of time, but she’d leave seeds that will bring more heroes like her in the future. Perhaps, the world was not too gone. As if. 

“I would’ve drawn a picture of you right now, but everyone keeps saying my art is the worst nightmare you’ll ever see, so I would like to memorize this moment for a bit,” Zarina said as she placed a hand on her hip while the other continued to play with the pen, flipping it and twirling it between her fingers. Jean’s eyes were really akin to the sky’s endlessness, deep and beautiful but filled with hope and brightness that wasn’t harmed by the outside world. Not yet, at least. It made Sokolova wonder how they’ll change when war comes here and she’ll lose almost everything - will her eyes change? Will this look full of hope and strength shatter or will she stand proud and atop of everything like a true hero? It would be fun to learn, but not today. Her insatiable nature must be repressed for now with a small smile.  “The sunset’s pretty. But, of course, nothing would compare to your beauty, Jean~” A flirtatious remark must not be wasted, even if it’ll fall on deaf ears.