#I put Rose because I think objectively she’s the correct answer

[adastra-rising]

Which miraculous ladybug character would work a minimum wage daycare job with screaming toddlers (asking for a friend)

[wholesomefluffdaddy]

Service Wolf

After graduating Nevermore Academy Wednesday attends the prestigious Alighieri Institute to hone her psychic abilities as she continues her detective work. Enid joins her as her service werewolf; there to alert her of visions and try to keep her out of danger as much as possible. All characters 18 years or older. Wenclair.

—————————————————————

Chapter 4

"But we continued through the wood to stray;

The wood, I mean, with crowded ghosts for trees."

"Remember the acronym BARK." The professor said as she wrote it on the whiteboard. "Be aware of your surroundings, Alert as soon as possible, React immediately, and Keep track of time." Enid dutifully scribbled it down in her workbook before doodling in the margins. "Now, let's go through the importance of each." She said, scanning the room. "Who can tell me why it's important to 'be aware of your surroundings'?" A student raised their hand. The professor nodded at them.

"So they don't hurt themselves?" They guessed.

"That is correct." The professor said encouragingly. "It's beneficial to treat psychic seizures similar to typical seizures which means we want to clear our surroundings as much as possible. In addition to being aware of physical objects within the area we also want to be aware of people. Who might have an idea as to why that is?" She asked. Another hand rose into the air.

"Because it could attract attention?"

"Could you elaborate a little further?" The professor asked.

"Uh, people might think it's a regular seizure and call 911?"

"Exactly. It's best not to draw attention to psychics during such a vulnerable time. Many psychics and service werewolves have been separated as nonsupernatural healthcare providers jump in." The professor said, noting it on the board. "Let's move on to the next letter, A, alert as soon as possible. Why might-?" A few hands rose into the air before she had finished. She stopped and nodded.

"So we can get them to a safe area."

"So we can clear the area."

"Because they might not know they're about to have a vision."

"All excellent answers." The professor said, beaming. "I see you've been studying. Next letter." More hands shot up. Enid frowned as her mind began to wander back to the event that landed her here in the first place. She had followed the acronym. She had been aware of their surroundings. She had alerted Wednesday that the other objects would be dangerous. "R, react immediately." The professor said but waved down the numerous hands. "I trust you know why we should react immediately but I'd like to know how you would react." She said seriously. There were a few confused looks among the students.

"How far are you willing to go to protect your psychic?" She continued. "How much force is too much force? How do you prevent a scene from happening in public? How do you maintain an amicable working relationship if you are forced to restrain your psychic?" The professor asked as she started writing on the board. "Answering those tough questions will be your assignment." She said, turning back to them. "I'll provide you with a set of scenarios to choose from. Pick one and answer those questions. I expect a minimum of six pages with at least four peer-reviewed sources to support your answers."

There were a few quiet groans as they started to pack up. Enid put her workbook away and trudged to the professor's desk to grab one of the scenarios.

"Wait a moment, Ms. Sinclair." She said, pulling a separate paper out from her desk. "Since your placement here is more of a refresher course than anything, I'd like your paper to be a reflection." She said gently. "Same questions but what you would have done differently regarding the event from last week." Enid accepted the paper and nodded somberly. "It's not a punishment. Just think of it as an exercise in self-reflection." She said encouragingly. Enid tried to force a smile and nodded again. She didn't want to be reminded of her failure, as if she hadn't thought about all the things she should have done differently.

As Enid left the building she was surprised to find Wednesday waiting outside for her with a colorful drink in hand.

"Wednes?" She asked as she sniffed the air hopefully.

"I," She swallowed, "have procured this obnoxiously colorful beverage as…" She avoided Enid's eyes but couldn't help glancing back. "As recompense for my egregious and erroneous transgressions against you." She shifted her feet nervously. "I hope that it-" But her words faltered as Enid pulled her into a bone crushing hug.

"Wednes…" Enid whimpered happily as she squeezed her again before pulling back. She had to repress a giggle as she noticed how red Wednesday's face had become.

"I, yes, I hope that this can be an adequate first step in my reparations to you." Wednesday said, holding the drink out. Enid happily took it and nodded.

"So if this is the first step-" She pulled the straw to her mouth and took a sip. Her eyes fluttered shut as she savored the intense rush of sugar. Her mind temporarily went blank.

"Yes, I have planned many more steps. As many as it takes to earn your forgiveness for my foolishness." Wednesday said seriously. Enid beamed and took Wednesday's hand in her own.

"I hope they involve more drinks." She said, as she stared at the colorful one before her.

"They could." Wednesday acknowledged as they walked the campus. Enid pressed her shoulder against hers and glanced down at her. She could see that Wednesday had a slight frown and had started chewing her lip. Enid let out a small sigh. Wednesday was too easy to read. Wednesday looked over at her questioningly.

"What new thing did you find out about the case?" Enid asked, repressing a smile as Wednesday's face lit up at once.

"I followed up on your hunch about their digital presence somehow being the linking factor and-" Wednesday began immediately then forced herself to pause.

"-and?" Enid asked, tilting her head to the side.

"Do you wish to discuss the case or would you prefer we talk about a topic of your choosing?" Wednesday asked seriously.

"We can talk about the case." Enid said, squeezing her hand affectionately. "Thank you for asking." Wednesday nodded and leaned into Enid as she continued.

"At first I couldn't determine a pattern. Yes, there were the two professional athletes and a third professed their interest in pursuing a career as such but the others-" Wednesday shook her head. "I looked for anything tangentially related: coaches, school sports teams, sport enthusiasts in general, gym memberships, Kinesiology." She listed off. "And yet nothing of that nature presented itself."

"So I guess we could cross 'targeting jocks' off the list of possible motivations." Enid said, sounding stumped.

"I would have to agree." Wednesday said, stopping to pull a paper from her pocket and unfolding. "However, while I was investigating a link between the victims I stumbled across something linking these murders to another set of murders." She held out the paper to Enid. Enid squinted at the paper as she took it; Wednesday had printed out a webpage.

"Top 100 unsolved murder cases of the mysterious and macabre." Enid read aloud. She looked at Wednesday. The site looked less than reputable.

"There was a set of murders fifteen years ago that share some striking similarities." She said eagerly. Enid looked back at the page. There was a picture of the crime scene with broken bodies arranged in a curved line. "I looked into the victims and again there appeared to be no connection, except for one."

"Okay?" Enid said, scratching her neck. Wednesday reached over and started scratching behind one of Enid's ears. Enid shivered and pushed herself into Wednesday's hand.

"A brother and sister." Wednesday continued. "One of the recent victims was related to someone from this previous case."

"Uh huh." Enid said, only partially listening.

"So I looked back further." Wednesday said. "And while I couldn't find a direct link between two close family members I did find two distant cousins between that case and another from twenty six years ago."

"Were the bodies also arranged in a weird shape?" Enid asked. Wednesday nodded enthusiastically.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62565664/chapters/161142844

[from-the-clouds]

Kiss Me More (Part II) - Zemo/Reader

Masterlist || Part One

Summary: Part two, read part one if you haven’t already! Sam & Bucky put reader in charge of looking after Zemo....again. Series loosely inspired by this song.

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: Kissing, heavy petting, mentions of sex, minor TFATWS spoilers.

A/N: Wow! I was so shocked on the feedback I got on the first part of this story. It has nearly 800 notes. I’m not used to my writing getting that kind of attention so I really appreciate the love. I decided to make this into at least a 3-4 part series and there will be eventual smut, but I feel like there’s something sweet between these two that goes beyond an obvious physical attraction, so I do want to build that a bit before we get there. This weekend I rewatched TFATWS & Civil War because I’m officially obsessed with Zemo lol. Please let me know what you think, and let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist. :) 

-----

“Keep an eye on him.”

Y/N watched Bucky and Sam split off again. That was now at least the third time she’d heard that phrase since she arrived in Riga. Little did they know, she was probably the worst person to be put in charge of Zemo. Truthfully, it was starting to be a little insulting.

It was unclear why she’d been brought along on this mission, when half the time Sam and Bucky were talking in hushed tones just out of her earshot. There was always more to the story than they told her, but this time, it felt like she was more out of the loop than ever.

She adjusted the neckline of the sweater she wore out of an abundance of caution, checking subconsciously to make sure it hadn’t exposed the mark Zemo had left on her from the day before. It was a discovery she’d made that morning, and persisted despite her efforts to cover it up with makeup.

“According to those two, I must be the best at babysitting you,” she muttered under her breath. It was petty, so she wasn’t even sure if she wanted him to hear. But he did.

“Babysitting?” Zemo lifted an eyebrow. 

“You know, a nanny, a governess….whatever a Baron’s equivalent is,” she said, looking him in the eye for the first time that day, which was a mistake. He looked so handsome in that long, fur-lined coat, tall and refined, hair styled perfectly. There had to be warrants out for his arrest since escaping prison, and in his current getup, he was hard to miss. 

It wasn’t easy to ignore the stifling tension between them. The Baron hadn’t left her thoughts since she’d closed the door on him the evening before. Now they were alone again. She couldn’t decide if that was thrilling or terrifying, so she decided on both.

“It’s nice of them to give us some alone time,” Zemo stepped close to her, one gloved hand pressing between her shoulder blades. Despite the cool temperature outside, it was the first thing today that had her shivering. 

“Walk with me,” he commanded sternly. She saw no opportunity to refuse as they started in the direction opposite of where Bucky and Sam had disappeared. 

“Zemo-”

“Helmut,” he corrected her. “But go on…”

“We have to focus on figuring out where Donya’s funeral will be,” she said, feeling his hand slide down to settle on the small of her back, trying to inch away, but he just pulled her closer. “We can’t waste time.”

“I know Riga inside and out, that won’t be as difficult as you and your friends think,” he murmured. His proximity was already suffocating. Or maybe comforting. It was hard to tell. “Tell me, what is your business with them? You aren’t an Avenger. This was my first time hearing your name.”

She snorted, finally finding the strength to pull away, and he dropped his hand. That was one thing that had confounded her. He was confident, took liberties with what others would allow, but knew when to stop pushing. There was something alluring to his nature. 

“I’m not,” she responded, wondering how much she was willing to share. When she stole a glance out of the corner of her eyes, his head was lowered, leaning in, listening intently for her response. She wondered if he really cared, or if he was good at pretending. It was easy to believe that he did.

“Bucky and I aren’t that different,” she continued. “That’s why we’re friends. I’m not a super soldier, but I was taught how to fight, how to kill. I followed orders for too long without questioning whether or not I was doing the right thing. And at least now, I think I am.”

“You think,” he repeated, and corrected her again like he had the day before. As much as she wanted some kind of clever or quick quip back, she wore her heart on her sleeve for the moment and shrugged. There was nothing to defend when she still wasn’t sure what responsibilities she had in this world. 

Zemo halted, and she paused too, turning back to look at him. “So you were an assassin,” he murmured, reaching out. Nodding slightly, she lowered her eyes when his gloved thumb brushed across her face. The buttery, overpowering smell of leather took her over as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I would’ve never guessed. Du bist so süß.”

Her knowledge of German was limited, but she could see a flash of what looked like affection in his eyes. He couldn’t be lying, could he? She wondered. She wanted to trust that he wasn’t, wanted to identify every good part of him she could, so she could justify the overwhelming attraction she felt towards him. Something in her just kept pulling forward against her will, like a magnet.

“You’d be surprised,” she answered, but didn’t pull away. The intensity of his gaze made her feel weak, but there was something strangely reassuring in his eyes. It was just the two of them, standing on a crowded sidewalk.

She rose her hand to clasp around his, frowning when she felt the hard loop of a ring on one of his gloved fingers. It had gone unnoticed by her, until now. He still wore a wedding band. 

It would have been easy to vocalize the observation, gauge his reaction, try to regain some upper hand and remind him who exactly he was dealing with. But, it would’ve been pointlessly cruel, as she knew what that felt like to answer that question. Those days were behind her, now. 

As if the universe was scolding her, a loud car horn broke through the perceived silence. His hand dropped from her face, and they began to walk again. 

“I had lots of time to think in prison,” he said after a heady pause in conversation. “About the things I’d done. Whatever intentions you have, to someone, you’re always the enemy. What I thought was important, trying to serve the greater good, it isn’t always worth the trouble. I was trying to protect what I had already lost, the places and people I’d taken for granted.”

Deciphering his words, she took a moment before responding. “That’s actually...very insightful,” she said, partly surprised by what he’d shared, appreciating that he felt her vulnerability, and matched it in his response.

“I know you’re stunned I’m not a brute,” he answered, increasing his pace to a determined strut rather than a lazy stroll. She was forced to keep up with him. “You’ve been told what to think about me by Sam and Bucky.”

She scoffed. “Not just them. The entire world. All the people you’ve hur-”

He halted and turned to face her so quickly, she collided with his chest and her breath caught in her throat. 

“I’m not that man anymore,” his voice was nearly a growl, disgust laced in his features as he looked down at her. 

But as soon as she recognized it, he became expressionless again, backing away. Falling back into step beside him, they continued to walk, a bit faster than they had been before. She followed him, at this point convinced that she might get lost without his guidance, but a little startled by his sudden change in behavior.

“What do you think of Riga?” he asked her as they cut through an alleyway. His voice held none of the venom that it had a few moments ago, so she wondered if she’d just hit a sore nerve.

“It’s beautiful,” she answered, admiring the old brick buildings and fine architecture. “But I think I haven’t had much of a chance to appreciate it.”

“Have you been thinking about me?”

They ducked under an alcove, and she realized he’d carefully led her off the crowded streets. It was much quieter here. She suddenly didn’t feel as protected as she had been with him in the open. The temperature in the shaded space was much lower than expected. And he was standing over her, waiting for some response she didn’t know if she could give. 

“I haven’t forgotten about last night, liebling,” he continued. 

Of course she had been thinking of him. Nearly nonstop. What they’d shared, what it meant. She hadn’t been able to sleep until she relieved herself, fingers rubbing her clit and delving into her warmth, whimpering his name when she finally came. Still, it had done little to quell the ache inside her. 

It was a horrible thing, she’d decided. Objectively horrible, and unprofessional. There was the consideration of accessibility. What did he see in her beyond a means to an end? Was she really going to throw everything she’d worked for away to a man who was going to use her to scratch an itch?

Too much was at stake, Sam and Bucky’s trust, her reputation, her job, and she couldn’t allow it to go on. 

But oh, how much she wanted it to. 

“Yesterday was nice,” she straightened up, holding her own. “I won’t lie to you.”

The corner of his mouth tugged up slightly in a self-satisfied smirk. 

“But I’m not foolish,” she continued. “Coming on to the first woman you see after you get out of jail? Seems pretty convenient.”

At first, the Baron tilted his head to the side, his brows pulled together at her words. But after a moment, the smile returned, and he chuckled. “Is that what you think this is about?”

“Don’t insult me, Helmut,” she said sternly, trying her best not to feel embarrassed. She was only being honest.

“Are you always so severe to yourself?” he asked, tutting lightly. 

It would have been better to say nothing. Why give him anything at all? 

She didn’t answer his question, just backed away from him and began walking in no particular direction, wanting only to increase the space between them and regain her common sense. That was impossible however, as she was jolted backwards before she even knew what was happening, a firm hand on her upper arm, and she was chest to chest with Zemo once more. 

“We were in Madripoor together. I could’ve had my way with many women there if I wanted. But I didn’t.”

“Please-” she rolled her eyes.

“If all I wanted to do was fuck someone, I could have done it by now,” he stalked forward, the air pressure around them dropping, weighed by the tension hanging thick between them. “But that’s not what I want. I want you.”

His words, spoken in a soft, low purr rattled away every bit of resolve she had left in her. Some last ditch effort found her stepping backwards, but her body met the brick wall behind them and she realized he had her cornered. 

In more ways than one, she thought.

Taking in a shaky breath, she looked up at his eyes, clouded with lust. “I know you want me,” he said, not a shred of doubt in his voice. But why should there have been? He was right. 

Her eyes darted around, like someone or something around them was going to jump out and save her from herself. It didn’t go unnoticed. “There’s no need to be scared, liebling. I feel it, too.”

With that, he closed the gap between their lips. He tasted sweet, like the candies he’d been eating back at his flat. Turkish delight. She was drowning in him again, his scent, his touch, everything about him enveloped and beguiled her. Her shirt had bunched up slightly somewhere along their walk and his gloved hands explored the exposed skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

She surrendered, letting him tease open her mouth and claim her wholly. It was still bad, she knew. But there wasn’t any last bit of self-control left in her. 

The layers of clothing between them didn’t allow for the same proximity she’d had to him the evening before. Groaning in delight and frustration, she reached up to tangle and rake her fingers through his hair, as his fingers curled around the top of her sweater, revealing the sensitive skin of her neck. 

“Don’t hide this,” his lips left hers as his eyes focused on the stamp of affection he’d left behind the day before. “Let them see.”

“You know I can’t,” she responded, sheepishly pulling it back into place. Studying her with amiable consideration, his hand rose to brush tenderly across her cheekbone. 

“I thought you’d come to me last night,” she confessed, drawing away slightly, shocked by her own admission. But right now, she didn’t feel the need to put up as much of a facade. He looked positively virile; panting, his cheeks flushed and hair mussed, pupils blown out as he focused on her. To know she was the cause of his current state of disarray gave her an immense amount of satisfaction. A buried, salacious part of her wondered what else she could do to make him look even more unkempt.

“I considered it,” he said, sounding almost timid. “But I want to do this right.” He leaned in, pressed a kiss beneath her ear. “In private, so no one can disturb us,” he continued, lips moving down her neck. “We can take our time, you can be as loud as you’d like.”

The mental image he was currently painting for her was doing very little to strengthen her convictions, whatever those had been. The thought of her legs wrapped around his torso, naked bodies pressed together sent a bolt of electricity through the pit of her stomach, radiating outwards. She wanted his lips on every inch of her skin. Aching at the possibility, the present tease of his teeth nibbling on her collarbone wasn’t helping.

“You know we can’t,” she didn’t try to stop the thought as it came out of her mouth.

“What is there to lose?”

Everything, she thought, but didn’t answer. She couldn’t really, as his gloved hand was trailing slowly under her jacket and sweater, against her bare skin, and cupping her breast through her bra. Whimpering, she couldn’t control the way her body arched against his.

Hooking her knee on his hip, she let him press forward, feeling the warmth of his excitement through his trousers and her jeans. He ground against her once, teasingly, and she moaned softly into his mouth. 

He was the one to pull away, and she was thankful he did. “Think about it, liebling,” he said softly, pressing a tender kiss to her temple. “Du hast die Kontrolle.”

“We can’t,” she answered again, but even she didn’t believe herself. Raking her hands through her hair and adjusting her rumpled sweater, she straightened up. “We have a job to do.”

Brushing past him out of the alcove, each step she took away from him gave her the self control she desperately needed. She glanced over her shoulder to see him reluctantly trudging behind. At this point, she wasn’t foolish. There were only two ways this could end.

----

Part III

Series Taglist: @juice-1981  @sapphiredreamer26  @tatooineisdry  @marvelsvision @spookycereal-s @trelaney @fireghost-x @booksarekindaneat  @thunderingbats  @felicityofbakerstreet @takacsgram @mischiefmanaged71 @fanfictionedagain @merelyhooper @gyllord @mundaytuesday @friday18eo  @lovegood7553  @adara-wolfhart @a-djarin @farawaywasteland @sky-writes-stuff @fuckinglittlekitten @katyasrussianaccent @agent-jbarnes  @neoarchipelago @pattispunk @kpopnena @purebloodwitch @spookyconsultingcriminal @msmarvelwrites @professorrw @lazyradeecal @captainrexstan @notyourfuckingbusinesss

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged, or if I forgot to tag you for some reason! :)

[richmond-rex]

I'm not really interested in the War of the Roses but I was reading up on Edward IV lately and his 1475 will regarding Elizabeth Woodville is SO INTERESTING and endearing. I noticed a couple of things - 1) he calls her "dearest wife" like 5 times lol (along with "most entirely beloved wife" and "Elizabeth the queen in whom we singularly put our trust), 2) you mentioned books but he also seems to have basically given her all his goods - bedding, tapestries, ornaments etc 3) he mentions twice(!) that she should be able to do whatever she wants with them without the interruption of any other executors, 4) from what I understand he made her his primary executor? She's first on the list, 5) he made her guardian of their children, and I think that includes the crown prince? It definitely included their daughters.

The will was made 10+ years after their marriage which is interesting imo because I wasn't very aware of this era before but almost everything I've heard makes it seem as though he married her purely due to lust/desire. I've also seen several claims that his passion for her faded over time - which really doesn't explain their 10 children in 19 years but whatever. His affection and consideration of her is pretty evident in his will, and I saw a post about his reconstruction work in 1482 where he once again refers to her very endearingly (in a renovation document of all places 😂) and seems to have built their rooms very close together. I searched a bit about his mistresses as well because of his reputation and found it VERY strange that while contemporary reports mention his womanizing, there's literally no actual mention of any specific singled out women during his reign itself? It's very different from several former kings and their mistresses - after all, More's writing is not contemporary and was written (I think) three decades later, I can't find any continued emphasis on Jane Shore during Edward's actual reign. I wonder if the Croyland Chronicle, which was contemporary and stated that he had incredibly short term affairs and lost interest soon after (directly contradicting what More says), is perhaps closer to the truth? We'll never know I guess, although that itself is quite revealing considering how much more we know of other kings. Though like you mentioned, whatever the case was, judging by their many children, he very clearly still paid attention to his wife.

Correct me if I'm wrong about anything lol, im not familiar with this time period and thought I'd send this ask because I found his 1475 will very endearing

(Also Hannah Dodd is is a SPECTACULAR Elizabeth of York, you've found the perfect casting choice for her!)

[In response to this ask]

Hi! I agree with you, it seems like Elizabeth Woodville and Edward IV had a very companionate marriage! I will just make a few observations: 1) It seems to have been conventional for the king to refer to the queen as his 'dearest wife', 'our most beloved consort' etc in formal documents. I know Henry VII only ever referred to Elizabeth of York in such terms, but from what I've seen it is also true of his predecessors. It doesn't contradict the fact those men may well have truly loved their wives, though, of course! 2) I had a look at his will before answering the previous ask, and it seems like Edward IV left Elizabeth not all of his stuff but hers, the objects that were already in her possession and that according to his will should remain in her possession after his death. It's not a matter-of-fact procedure, because husbands were legally entitled to dispose of their wives' possessions as they saw fit at the time. So Edward could have left them to his mother, for example, but he made sure that no one could take Elizabeth's possessions from her. Incredibly, I've seen ricardians actually accuse Elizabeth of theft for taking her stuff to Westminster Abbey when she sought sanctuary there.

The post this person is commenting on also refers to the incident as 'looting'. That was literally her stuff, the stuff that her husband had secured for her in his will, even. He also gave her the keeping of all of his children (though that's not exactly the same as legal guardianship). And yes, she seems to have been the main executor of his will, especially given that Edward explicitly said that he ‘moost singulerly put oure trust’ in her.

About Jane/Elizabeth Shore, it's difficult to pinpoint when she turned up in Edward's court. More said she interceded for the merchants of London. Still, strictly speaking in contemporary terms, it is clear that Shore had some political power because Richard made such a case of neutralising and humiliating her (why focus on her so much if she was completely powerless). It's possible the Croyland continuator didn't want to dwell on Edward's misconduct too much (even when criticising Richard's allegedly libidinous Christmas party the continuator said he didn't really want to talk about it, so he asked 'why enlarge?'), but at the same time, it's also clear Shore never came close to displacing Elizabeth as the most important woman of the realm, and that Edward was still intimate with his wife up to the last years of his reign (when she was already in her forties, and after she had already given him an heir and a spare).

To sum up, although he refers to his wife in conventional terms, Edward IV clearly made a demonstration of trust in his last will. It's also clear he cared for her well-being and tried to provide so that she wouldn't suffer in material terms after his death.

About Hannah Dodd: I knooooow

[dreamywriterinthedark]

Recess sobs and bedtime resolutions

Pairing: fem!Reader x Spencer

Request: Ok so the reader is a psychologist and is married to spencer and they have a 5 year old daughter who gets in trouble for punching a kid because they picked on her because they didn't beleive her dad was in the fbi If that makes sense any who if you don't write this i get it I just want to see speancers reaction

Trigger warnings: bullying, physical violence. (let me know if i forgot something)

Category: fluff, slight angst.

A/N: thank you so much for this request! I hope you like it. The daughter sounds a bit older than 5, in my head she’s in the early stages of elementary school. Let me know what you think about it! I’d be glad to receive some feedback. (Btw I hurt my own feelings writing this, you can’t even imagine...)

You were in your office, a typical Tuesday afternoon until you heard your office phone ring once more. You held up your finger to make your client pause what they were saying, you picked up the phone only to hang up.

“I apologise for the inconvenience. Now where were we ?” you said trying to get your client comfortable again despite the ringing. As she was about to speak up again, your cellphone rang, Spencer’s name lit up your screen and that’s when you were starting to get concerned.

“I’m so sorry I have to get that.” You said exiting the office to take the call. You were happy to hear your significant other’s voice nonetheless you knew he wouldn’t normally call you during working hours.

“Hi darling, is everything okay ?”

“No, not really. The school called, there’s an emergency.” he responded wrapping his scarf around his neck as he was making his way to the elevator.

“What happened ?” you asked getting more and more worried.

“She punched a classmate in the face. Can you believe it ?!” he pressed the button 0 waving goodbye to his coworkers.

“What ? Our daughter? Jane ? Are you sure it’s not her evil twin ?”

“Eviler twin you mean ? No offense, Y/n, but if she had one, I’m pretty sure you would remember…”

“Alright, I’ll tell my secretary to cancel all my appointments for the day. I’ll meet you there.”

“Love you, bye.”

“Love you too.” You answered before hanging up. You made it a little bit of a rule to yourself to never say ‘goodbye’ to him because you thought that if you did it may increase the chances of you never seeing him again. You knew it was a bit silly but with all those times he was close to death, you’d believe in any superstition if that meant he would get home safe.

After taking care of your client and letting your secretary handle the rest, you hurried out of your office to drive to your daughter’s elementary school.

You pushed the interphone button, once you were allowed entrance you walked to the principal’s office. You softly knocked, when the door opened it showed Spencer sitting in a chair right across the desk, next to it was an empty chair meant for you.

“I’m sorry, I came as I soon as I could.” you apologized.

“Well, I assume you’re Jane’s mother. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Principal Walker.” he greeted shaking your hand. As you sat down, Spencer gave you his best polite white smile.

“Do you know what you’re here for ?” he inquired.

“You said our daughter was involved in a conflict with a student...” you answered.

“Your daughter punched a student in the face.” He said bluntly.

“Right…”

“Are you sure it’s Jane ?” Spencer asked still struggling to believe it.

“Wait until you see her knuckles...”

Spencer put his face in his hands in defeat, you rubbed his shoulder to bring him comfort.

“What happened exactly ?” you asked.

“Well, it was during the 10AM break. Jane went out to play with her classmates when a boy started arguing with her. Next thing we hear is a scream, the boy is on the floor crying.”

You and Spencer both looked at each other with an immense look of stupor.

“The boy, did he bully her ?” Spencer asked trying to find some innocence in the sweet child of his.

“Not that we know of.” answered the principal.

“Is he okay though ?” you questioned.

“Yes, just a minor injury. He went back home.”

You nodded, “So what happens next ?”

“We are giving her a warning but the next time something like this happens there will be harsher consequences than a simple punishment. Understood ?”

“Yes. we understand. Thank you for your time, sir.” you said as you rose up from your chair. Spencer and you both exited the room finding your daughter in the waiting lounge looking guilty as ever. You saw Spencer’s face look puzzled and hostile. To torture your daughter with even more guilt you told her to ride back home with her dad which she did not love but couldn’t protest.

Spencer hardly spoke to Jane the entire drive. He was dry, so much it looked like he ignored her. Jane was desperate to get him to talk to her.

“Please, dad. Don’t be mad at me!” she exclaimed.

“I’m not mad, I’m disappointed.” those words he pronounced cut like a knife. You knew that by seeing her dad’s reaction she would become aware of the gravity of her actions. And he actually wasn’t mad, at least not until he saw her pouting face. He loved her too much to be angry.

“Okay but can you just talk to me!” she whined.

“Oh we will, back home with your mom.”

That car ride lasted longer for Jane than usual. No music, no anecdotes nor laughs, just plain silence and introspection while gazing at the landscape.

Your house was in the suburbs near a forest, Spencer had all sorts of scientific arguments as to why living near nature was beneficial but you just loved the paysage before your eyes when taking your morning coffee. The location was perfect; in nature which means less pollution, noise and lower criminal rates yet a short car ride from the city which was full of cultural spots and with high quality education.

Jane tried to run up the stairs in hope to avoid her parents’ correction but was interrupted by your strict toned voice; “Not so fast, young lady.”

She shut her eyes stopping dead in her tracks, she lifted her stuffed animal and said to it “It was nice knowing you, fluffy.” She then turned around and sat on the couch.

Spencer was pacing around, “Why did you do it ?” He asked his daughter his voice slightly higher than before. She started melting in tears which truly pained him. You walked up to her, as you were sat on the couch next to her you started stroking her arm and drying her tears.

“It’s okay. We’re just trying to understand why you did that. There’s no way you would’ve done it without a reason.” you told her.

“Jeremy kept making fun of me…” she struggled to get out whimpering.

“How long has he been making fun of you ?” Spencer asked.

“Since Valentine’s day when everyone was exchanging cards but my box was empty.” You glanced at Spencer in shock of how long you hadn’t known your daughter was getting bullied, silently suffering.

“Honey, I’m so sorry you had to go through this.” you reassured her kissing her cheek and running your hands through her hair. “But what happened exactly that made you punch him ?”

“He made fun of dad, he wouldn’t believe he was in the FBI.” She answered tilting her head up. “I asked him to stop but he wouldn’t so I defended myself.” she affirmed seeming not so guilty anymore. You unwrapped your arms from her giving her a frown.

“That’s not how you deal with problems.” Spencer said sitting on the low table across the couch.

“Yeah, you could’ve talked to us first but you didn’t even try. You know you can tell us everything ?” You backed him up.

“I know but I thought I could deal with this problem on my own. You guys always seem so good at it. And I want to be just like you when I grow up.”

You glanced at Spencer both slightly smiling at each other.

“If there’s one thing I learned from my job at the FBI is that violence is never the answer. It’s only justifiable if it’s legitimate defence; when you life is in danger.”

“Dad, do you still love me ?” she asked watching her feet swinging on the edge of the couch.

“Of course, I love you. I always will, no matter what.” he responded taking hold of her hand. “Okay?” She nodded. She didn’t seem to understand that punching someone is wrong. You needed to have a talk with Spencer;

“Now go to your room and do your homework, we’ll talk punishment tomorrow morning.” You said.

“But-“ she protested.

“No buts, go to your room.” You ordered.

You joined Spencer on the couch, he looked completely defeated. “Hey, are you alright ?” You asked him while taking a seat next to him. “Yes.” He answered a bit too quickly. “I mean…No…Not really.” You knew exactly why he was feeling like this. “It’s not your fault, Spence.” you reassured him playing with his hair.

“This whole time…And I didn’t know she was struggling. What kind of father am I ?”

“I come home every night and I didn’t know about this. It’s not because of your job, it’s not because of us. I’m blaming the school, here. They’re the ones who are supposed to prevent bullying from happening.”

He rummaged his hair with his hands whilst his elbows rested on his knees.

“Plus it’s a good sign, she doesn’t get along with kids her age…” you said slightly smirking.

“How?!” Spencer asks slightly irritated due to his public middle school flashbacks.

“It’s a sign of high intellectual potential. Her emotional age is too advanced for kids her age to understand, they tend to be too insensitive for her. She believes animals and inanimate objects have emotions and that they are intelligent. She talks to her stuffed animal like it’s a pet. She took the pepperonis out of her pizza! Also she has an enormous amount of creativity and she’s highly sensitive to her surroundings. Have you seen how she profiled your every move and suddenly her emotions followed ? Just like you she’s protective of the ones she loves. She only punched that kid because he wasn’t exactly talking highly of you…”

“So you’re saying…”

“Our daughter could be a genius.”

“As mother as daughter.” he complimented with a smirk.

“Oh come on we know who’s the genius here!” you said slapping his shoulder playfully.

You both chuckled. You kept talking for at least half an hour to come up with a plan you both agreed to. It’s not good for a child to watch their parents disagree.

~slight time lapse~

An hour after dinner, you went up to your daughter’s bedroom as it was her bedtime. You leaned on the door frame admiring Spencer, sat next to Jane on her bed, reading a story to her about conflict to teach her what to do in the type of situations she got in. He learned that from you since you were a psychologist. He admired how resourceful and clever you were. He couldn’t be more proud to have you as his significant other and the mother of his child. Your foot made a cracking noise on the hard wood floor which caught Jane attention.

“Mommy! Come!” she exclaimed shaking her little hands.

“What’s up?” you ask sitting next to the bed.

“Me and dad were reading this book you got me and now i understand. I’m sorry for not coming to you first. I just didn’t like what they said about dad.”

“Honey, it doesn’t matter what people think of you. Seeking validation from people can be so unhealthy. If you keep bottling up your emotions you’re going to explode like a bomb and that’s no good.”

“Can you forgive me, mommy ?”

“Of course. You’re still growing, as long as you learn from your mistakes I’m confident you’re going to be alright.” You answered squeezing her hand. Spencer watched in awe, it reminded him how in love with you he is.

“Yes, please don’t ever do that again!” he said a bit too quickly with a high pitched voice that made you all burst in laughter.

“Alright, you should get some sleep.” you told her giving her a kiss on the cheek and tucking her in; “Good night, my love.”

Spencer kissed her temple and set aside the little book he was reading to her wishing her good night as well. You walked out switching the lights off. As you walked down the stairs you asked Spencer to stop in his tracks pointing your finger up; Jane was talking to her stuffed animal. You both had to muffle your laughs. The future looked bright.

[damn-stark]

For however long we have left

Porco Galliard x Marleyan!reader

Requested by anon “Hi! Can I request a Porco x Marleyan soldier reader where Porco is a bit hesitant to develop the relationship further because of how he views her as having no future with him due to how Eldians are perceived? Sfw or nsfw works. Thanks and just ignore if you don’t want to do this 😊”

Warning- Violence, angst, fluff

———-

There was never a difference between Eldians and Marleyans to you. However many times Marleyans, and your own family told you they were nothing but devils, you never viewed them like that. To you they were like everyone else, they were just like you. Your best friend was an Eldian. The guy you liked was an Eldian.

So to you there was no difference.

“Hey, y/n!”

You lift your head to see Gabi running towards you, leaving the rest of her friends behind just to jump on you and wrap you in a hug, the force of the impact almost throwing you off balance.

“Hello, Gabi. Happy birthday.”

Said girl jumps back down to the ground and looks at you excitedly with her big brown eyes. “So what did you get me?”

“Gabi you can’t say that.” Falco corrected her as he and her other friends caught up; albeit also getting ignored.

“It’s okay, Falco,” you assure the little boy, seconds later getting your attention stolen by one of the approaching young man behind him; “Hi Porco,” you smile sweetly.

His eyes, that you noticed he tried to keep off you, instantly turned to you at the sound of his name, it took him a moment to fully break from his stupor but once he did, he replied to your greeting. “Hey, y/n.” His lips tug into a smile, but he’s quick to hide it by looking away.

“So what about my present?” Gabi presses, pulling your attention away from Porco.

“Oh, yeah here.” You hand her a bag and she throws you a quick excited thanks before she and her friends run off to open her gift by the lake, leaving Reiner, Porco and you to slowly walk after them alone—“hello, Reiner, it’s good to see you here, I would’ve thought you’d still be out.”

Reiner shakes his head. “No, I got sent home for now, I’ll return soon though.”

“Pieck didn’t get sent home?” You ask, noticing she wasn’t falling behind.

“No, I don’t think she’ll be returning anytime soon.”

“Oh,” you sigh, frowning slightly and unable to keep your bestfriends well-being off your mind; even if she was a Titan shifter, you worried for her. Just like you worried for Reiner and Porco—“what about you Porco? Aren’t you getting sent out soon?”

Said man looks at you to answer. “Yes, I think I’m being sent out with your unit.”

You smile brightly and meet his gaze. “That’s good, now I’ll have good company on our way there. As sweet as the kids are, they can get annoying.”

Porco scoffs and smirks. “I’d be lucky to even get to talk to you.”

“I’ll make time for you.” You assure him, making him blush slightly and making Reiner walk off at the sight of the two of you flirting with each other; “The generals say that the war might be over soon. Or at least one of them. So I was thinking that after we returned, we could do something. Just the two of us.”

Porco swallows thickly and his eyes search yours for a moment; trying to search for an indication of a joke. He crosses his arms over his chest and tries to act nonchalant. “I don’t know. You’d really want to?”

You express a lighthearted scoff and nod, “of course.” You scratch the back of your head and stop to look at the lake that was now a few feet away, you feel your heart flutter and a warm heat burning your face. The silence that had fallen over the both of you made the tension grow stronger and your confidence falter. You would have never thought he'd take it so lightly. As much as the two of you flirted, teased each other and shared lingering looks, neither of you made the first move, you just kept your affection for each other untalked and simply just as if neither of you felt a thing for each other.

For you it was because of the war that was currently going on, but for Porco, it was reasons unknown. You wanted to know, but you also didn’t want to push it. You just hoped you’d talk about it. Although you just couldn’t hold it anymore.

So with that in mind, the feeling of raindrops falling on your hand breaks you from your train of thought and pulls your eyes back to Porco; to really explain what you meant by hanging out after the war. “But I do hope it’s okay if it’s as a date, and not just as friends.”

Porco’s head snaps to you and he looks at you with an unreadable, narrowed gaze. He remains silent and drops his arms back to his side, looking to the ground and seeming to search for his thoughts there. It only made you increasingly more nervous, it made you doubt and spit out once for all what you felt to ease the tension.

“I like you Porco. As more than friends and I have for a long time, I just didn’t want to say it until after our current war, but I…” you pause briefly as you see his light hazel eyes flicker to you. You wanted to read what he thought, but his face remained hardened, almost as if he was angry. “...I couldn’t hold it any longer. I want to be with you.” You grab his left arm and his gaze remains intent on yours. “You’re always so nice to me, and thoughtful, even if you try to act tough, you’re always so sweet. I appreciate that.” Your lips tug into a soft smile and you take a step closer, unbothered by the pouring rain and increasingly darkening clouds. “I think you’re very handsome and I just want to see where this could go. Where we could go.”

Porcos face softens and his eyes fall to your lips after your confession, he takes a step closer, as if wanting to close the gap left. But he stops before his lips could touch yours. Instead he looks at your arm around his, just below his armband and his hardened expression returns. He pulls away and scoffs, turning his softened gaze into a cold glare that matched the cold rain falling over the both of you. He rips his arm from your grip and his words turn bitter.

“I don’t need your pity. I know what you and your people think of me. I’m just another devil to you, so whatever you’re trying to do, stop.”

You gasp and watch him with a shocked expression, forcing your eyes from revealing what you truly felt at his words. Instead you just utter his name, as if that was going to help. “Porco.”

“Why?” He continues sharply, pinching his eyebrows together and trying to remain angry even if your current expression made him falter. “What future do you see in us, huh? I’m a Titan shifter, a devil, and you’re….you’re a Marleyan. If you haven’t noticed, our people hate each other.”

“I don’t hate you,” you mutter, “Porco, what our people think shouldn’t matter, we might be from different sides, but I don’t see it that way, why can’t you understand? I love you.”

Porco gasps and whatever act he tried to put up, fell and his face and eyes softened. That same innocent and sweet look in his eyes returned and he rose his hands to grab your arms and pull you in for a hug, or a kiss; his eyes fell to your parted lips again, but just as he was going to step in, he took a further step back and he moved a hand to brush his soaked hair out his eyes, then dropping his hand to fist them at his side; completely looking away from you.

“I’m sorry but I can’t return your feelings. I can’t bring you down with me. You don’t belong here. We can’t be together.” Porco begins to turn away, stopping to add a last comment. “Plus, I know that the moment you see me in my Titan form, you’ll change your mind; I’m doing this for your sake, y/n.”

Before you had the chance to argue, he completely turned his back to you, leaving you to be swarmed by Gabby and the rest of her friends. Leaving you heartbroken and cold under the pouring rain.

——

*MONTHS LATER*

“There's just one anti-Titan artillery left,” you inform your general whilst you drop back to the ground. “They’re just down to a few soldiers left, I can sneak towards them and throw a bomb to take them down!”

“No, it’s too dangerous, best we wait for the Titan shifters to show up.”

You scoff and begin to follow after him as he walks from you. “No, one hit and any of the Titan shifters can get killed!”

“And you’ll kill yourself in the process!” He argues as he swings back. “No! You’re staying put.”

The general walks off, and leaves you behind; making you climb back up to poke your head out of the trench, groaning as your idea didn’t leave your mind. Instead of following orders as you should have done, you jump back down to swoop the bombs gabby had built and race over the trench, ignoring the kids' protest and the rest of your fellow soldiers; just hearing your own thoughts.

Just one hit and we’re one step closer to winning, one step closer to home.

Without a second to fully think of your actions, you sprint towards your target undetected by the enemy, showing your toughest face and hiding your fear; you avoid even looking back. All you do is fix the bombs in your arm and look to the enemy trench, to the anti-Titan artillery and then light the bombs once you’re at a good distance. Again not looking back and instead throwing the object in your hand and waiting.

Waiting for the end. You’d never manage to reach your trench, or reach somewhere safe, the explosion would take you out along with them.

But you can’t let it bother you, instead you spin back around on your heels and try to run back, even if you’d never make it, you shut your eyes even if it blocked out your view. You waited and thought of only one person.

Porco.

You wanted to forget him, but you could never. In fact as you thought you were going to die, that’s all that invaded your mind; the memory of his smile, and his childlike behavior when he was around the kids, when he could take a break from fighting. You remembered his eyes and how pretty they were when the light reflected on them. You remembered how close you were, how nice he was with you before he cut you off and acted as if he didn’t know you.

You made Porco your last memory and waited. And waited.

However death never came, you heard the explosion, but didn’t feel the fire burn you and take you out. You didn’t feel anything but a breeze as you were suddenly swooped off the ground. All you felt was...rough and warm skin around you. When you slowly peeled your eyes open you saw a pale and huge chest.

“What the hell?”

You looked up and saw more human features, you saw blond strands that belonged to a beard. It had taken you a moment, but it then hit you.

It was Porco.

A happy and relieved smile twitches on your lips and before you could think of anything else, you’re being moved and seeing light again; you see Porco in Titan form as he moves his hand and you along with it to come face to face with his Titan form.

He didn’t do anything, he didn’t try to get out of his Titan, he just looked at you. He waited to see if you’d show fear like most people did at the simple sight of him. But you did no such thing, instead you smiled softly and reached to gently touch his white armored face. Showing him that he was wrong before, and that this part of him didn’t change your mind, or frighten you.

You liked him no matter what. You loved him no matter what.

He looked behind him and you instantly thought he was going to just drop you and leave you, but he then put you down and suddenly steam came out of his nape and seconds later he came sliding down his Titan. Showing you his angery expression.

“What the hell were you thinking?! That you’re some type of god or something?!” He shouts angrily, pointing his finger at you as he stomped towards you. “You could’ve died if I wasn’t close! You’re lucky I was even here!”

You try to match his anger, but in a reality you weren’t at all upset. You were relieved. This is the first time in months that you had seen him, you had no news on him in the past few months, all you knew was that he had to go somewhere else the moment you landed on enemy ground. So, all you were now was relieved and happy.

So instead of arguing back, you leaped forward to wrap him in an embrace. Not caring what he had said to you before.

Your actions surprised him and he had trouble knowing how to respond. He was completely frozen.

“Thank you, Porco.” You break the silence, moving your arm to wrap them around his neck, not feeling him return the embrace and wanting to break away. But before you could his arms wrapped around you.

“You’re an idiot,” he murmurs, “you could’ve died.”

You pull away and just as you’re going to talk, he cuts you off.

“We’ll talk later.”

——

“That was so cool!” Gabby exclaimed as she fell by your side. “You just ran and ran and threw that bomb like a badass!” She jumps into the air and pumps her fist to the air with an all too happy grin on her face. “I—”

“She was an idiot.” You hear Porcos voice join your small group. “She could’ve died.”

“Yeah,” you grumble, “you said that already.”

“Well I thought she was cool.” Gabby contradicts him. “Don’t listen to him y/n.”

You scoff, “yeah I might have to take your word on that.”

Porco scoffs and he rolls his eyes, pulling you to the side and just throwing Gabby a short excuse that has her and her friends leaving the both of you alone. And before you could give him a chance to say anything, you speak first. “If you’re going to say that I was an idiot back there, you already said it. Twice. So just save it.”

“No,” Porco sighs, “it’s not that. I just wanted to apologize for what I said to you a couple months ago. I didn’t want to hurt you, but I just didn’t understand why you liked me, why you weren’t scared of me. I still don’t understand.”

“I already told you why,” you explain, slightly lowering your head to meet his gaze. “I still feel the same way, that hasn’t changed, you know. And seeing you as Titan didn’t scare me, or change my mind, I want you to know that.”

“And yet,” he continues in a quiet voice, “I still won’t have long with you even if I do love you and want something with you. My time is limited.”

You cup his cheek and lift his face, showing him an assuring smile. “It doesn’t matter, I’ll be with you for however long you have left.”

“Are you sure?”

You nod, “I’m sure.”

[the-delta-42]

Infected

Infected

Ladybug darted to the Akuma’s side, ducking under its arm and conjuring a dagger to cut the object from the chain around the Akuma’s neck. Ladybug swung the arm holding the dagger, only for the Akuma to grab her arm and wrench the dagger free.

“Thank you.” Sneered the Akuma, before plunging the dagger deep into Ladybug’s side.

The Akuma leaned forwards, allowing Ladybug to rip the chain off their neck. The Akuma fluttered out and Ladybug caught it in her yoyo. She purified the butterfly and cast her Miraculous Ladybug. The scars that adorned the Eiffel Tower vanished, but the burning pain in her side remained. Ladybug looked down and saw the dagger was still in her side. Ladybug looked at the Akuma victim, before carefully wrapping an arm around them and taking them to the ground.

“Can you make your way home from here?” Asked Ladybug, looking at the citizen.

The citizen nodded and started to walk off, leaving Ladybug to head to the rooftops before she de-transformed. Ladybug just made it to her balcony, the dagger still in her side, it had to stay in to prevent her from bleeding out…right? Her transformation fell and the burning pain became blistering agony. Marinette looked down at the blade and wrapped her hand around the leather-bound handle. She quickly clamped her hand over the wound, as Tikki spotted it and flew off to get the first aid kit.

Marinette examined the dagger, the blade was roughly half the length of her forearm. On one side of the blade, it was serrated and on the other it was curved. Marinette’s first thought was that it was a hunting knife, before Tikki returned.

“You need to go to a hospital, Marinette.” Said Tikki, looking up at her chosen.

“And say what? I got stabbed fighting an Akuma as Ladybug?” Questioned Marinette, lifting her shirt up, “I don’t think it hit anything important.”

“That’s not the point, Marinette!” Protested Tikki, as Marinette put anti-septic onto the wound, “What if it gets infected?”

“Tikki, that only happens if the wound isn’t cleaned,” Sighed Marinette, carefully threading a needle, “I cleaned the wound, and this is going to hurt like hell.”

Tikki winced and looked away as Marinette stitched herself back up, “I still think you need to go to the hospital.”

“Tikki, I’ll be fine, what’s the worst that can happen?” Asked Marinette, climbing down into her room and carefully settling herself down into her bed.

I

Marinette scowled at the maths problem in front of her. It’d been a week since she had that knife jammed into her side and it was killing her, Lila had tried to trip her up and it was boiling. Thankfully, there hadn’t been an akuma today.

“Alright everyone, complete the problem you’re currently on and hand them in.” Said the Teacher, making Marinette sigh.

Alya glanced at Marinette’s paper, “Er, girl, you’ve only done three questions.”

“Sorry, it was really difficult.” Excused Marinette, collecting the papers and walking up to the teacher’s desk.

“Marinette, is everything alright?” Asked the teacher, frowning, “You look like you’re burning up.”

“It’s nothing.” Dismissed Marinette, handing the papers to them.

They had PE next, Marinette hoped that no one would question the vest she was wearing. No one even noticed she was wearing a vest, it hurt to move her arms. Marinette stumbled slightly and shook her head to get rid of the black spots appearing in her vision.

D’Argencourt had Marinette’s class standing in a line, “Today, we have guests, some from my fencing troop and others from other schools.”

Marinette spotted Kagami and gave her a small wave, before looking back at D’Argencourt.

“We will start our lesson off with five laps of the gym and then some stretches to warm up.” Commanded D’Argencourt, making everyone groan, “10 laps!”

Everyone was still grumbling as they started jogging, Marinette slightly slower than everyone else. Lila noticed and smirked to herself. They completed one lap, two, three. On the fourth lap, Lila ‘tripped’ and had Marinette run into the back of her.

“OW!” Cried Lila, gripping her ankle, as Marinette fell onto the floor on her side, “My ankle, it hurts!”

Everyone headed towards Lila and Marinette. D’Argencourt glanced at Lila and instructed her to sit on the bench for the rest of the lesson, before turning his attention to Marinette.

“Ms. Dupain-Cheng,” Said D’Argencourt, before frowning, “pretending to be unconscious isn’t going to work.”

Marinette didn’t move, making D’Argencourt sigh through his nose and grab her arm and hoist her up, “Ms. Dupain-Cheng!”

Rose looked over as D’Argencourt spoke and spotted a red patch blossoming on Marinette’s side. Rose screamed and pointing at the area, D’Argencourt followed Rose’s finger and froze.

“Le Chien; get the nurse, Raincomprix; call an ambulance, Lahiffe; get her parents.” Ordered D’Argencourt, carefully lowering Marinette to the ground and kneeling beside her. The teacher placed his hands over the wound and pressed down. He noticed no one had moved, “NOW!”

Nino and Kim shot off, while Sabrina ran to get her phone. Everyone was silent, as Sabrina returned with her phone. A couple minutes later, Kim returned with the nurse.

“Good lord!” Gasped the Nurse, before rushing over, “What the hell happened?”

“Rossi tripped, Dupain-Cheng ran into the back of her, I lifted her up and she started bleeding.” Grunted D’Argencourt, as blood seeped between his fingers.

“Keep compressing the wound, judging by the amount of blood it’s fairly deep.” Said the nurse, as Nino returned with Marinette’s mother.

Sabine froze, before she looked around. Alya looked like she was going to faint, while Adrien looked like he was staring death in the face. Sabine headed over to Alya, she might not be able to help her daughter, but she could help her friends.

“What happened?” Asked Sabine, touching Alya’s shoulder, jerking the girl from her daze.

“I, I don’t know.” Confessed Alya, “One second we were jogging, and the next Lila had bumped into Marinette and she passed out. Then Mr D’Argencourt picked her up and she started bleeding.”

Sabrina led a pair of paramedics into the gym, where they took over from D’Argencourt and the school nurse. A Police Officer entered a minute later, looking around and spotting the school staff. Adrien, Nino, Alya and Sabine were joined by Kagami and Luka.

“Looks like a knife wound.” Said a Paramedic, carefully removing Marinette’s blood-soaked shirt and vest. The Paramedic froze, “Apparently she tried to patch herself up.”

The Officer froze when he heard that, “I don’t suppose you know how to contact her parents?”

“Her mother is other there.” Said D’Argencourt, pointing at Sabine.

The office nodded and walked over to the Chinese woman, frowning.

“Mrs Dupain-Cheng?” Asked the Officer, looking down at the short woman.

“Mrs Cheng.” Corrected Sabine, looking up at him, “Is she going to be alright?”

“She should, at most the wound is an infected, shallow wound,” Responded the Officer, “I don’t suppose you know how she got the wound?”

Sabine shook her head, “No, as far as I know, she hasn’t come back in bleeding.”

“Is there anyone who you can think of, that may want to harm your daughter?” Questioned the Officer.

“No, I don’t think anyone would want to hurt Marinette?” Replied Sabine, her gaze falling back to Marinette.

“Are there any issues at home?” Asked the Officer, frowning.

Sabine’s head snapped around to look at him, her face going slack in shock.

“Are you trying to say that my husband and I did this to her?” Demanded Sabine, struggling to process the accusation.

“We’re considering all possibilities.” Answered the Officer, folding his arms, “We’ll be speaking to her when she wakes up.”

Without another word, the Officer spun on his heel and walked off, leaving a gobsmacked Sabine and silent Alya. The others had heard what the officer said, as well as what he’d implied.

“Marinette’s parents wouldn’t hurt her, would they?” Asked Lila, capitalising on the current state of shock.

“Her parents are the nicest people going,” Said Kim, frowning, “that guy was white, right?”

Nathaniel nodded, “He’s been hanging around the area, he’s actually known to be biased against anyone who doesn’t fit the aryan race.”

“Wait, he’s a nazi?” Asked Kim, giving Nathaniel a sideways look, “How’d you know?”

“His social media was featured in the news,” Responded the red head, “I thought he was suspended.”

“He is.” Confirmed Sabrina, getting ff her phone, “I just asked my dad if he’s been put back on duty. The answer’s he wasn’t.”

The class went over what Sabrina said, before the girl continued, “However, what he said about speaking to Marinette when she woke up was standard procedure, given how no one else can answer how she got that wound.”

“And the accusation that Marinette’s parents were responsible?” Asked Alix, glancing at the Paramedics, who were loading Marinette onto a stretcher and preparing to leave with her.

Sabine moved to follow them, stating she was Marinette’s mother. The procession exited the gym, leaving everyone in a flat silence.

“If that police officer is going to try and say that Marinette’s parents did this, we need to find a way to stop him.” Said Kim, as Alya, Nino, Adrien, Luka and Kagmai joined them.

“There’s a security camera that looked away from the school, it has Marinette’s balcony in the frame,” Said Alya, looking around the class, “it might’ve caught what happened.”

Everyone slowly turned and looked at Max.

“How did I know you were going to do that?” Sighed Max.

I

Everyone crowded behind Max, trying to get a good view of the screen.

“The School has to update their firewall and security systems, because it was far too easy to hack in,” Said Max, typing away at his keyboard, “Now, I just need to find the camera and the moment Marinette was stabbed.”

“Wait, you’re in?” Asked Kim, looking at Max.

Max sighed and slumped, “Yes, Kim, I’m in.”

“Ha, ha, classic.” Grinned Kim, as Max started his search.

“How far does the footage go back?” Asked Adrien, as Max brought up a video of Lila and Marinette.

“Well, this is the day Marinette was expelled.” Said Max, as Lila started walking down the stairs, “I don’t know what’s going on, since there’s no sound.”

Lila got to the bottom of the stairs, sat down and started screaming. Everyone stared as the teachers appeared and Lila accused Marinette of pushing her.

“That lying bitch.” Seethed Alya, pulling out her phone and opening google.

“What are you doing?” Asked Alix, as Alya glared at her phone.

“Research.” Growled Alya, glaring at her screen.

“Anyway,” Said Max, deciding to move forwards, “This is about a week ago, now we just need to wait for Marinette to appear.”

The group sat and watched as evening flew past, Kim laughed when he saw a pigeon fly into Marinette’s room and the girl throwing it back out the window. The evening progressed further, as the footage slowly got darker.

“This is surprisingly high quality.” Remarked Max, as a flash in Marinette’s room caught their attention.

Everyone froze as Ladybug appeared from Marinette’s skylight and swung off into the city.

“Okay, either Marinette’s Ladybug, she know’s who Ladybug is or she’s hooking up with Ladybug.” Said Kim, as Ladybug suddenly reappeared in the frame, with an Akuma chasing her.

“I missed an Akuma?” Whined Adrien and Alya, getting strange looks from everyone else.

“Are you two sure you aren’t one person?” Asked Nino, as Ladybug and the Akuma vanished again.

Everyone waited in silence for Ladybug to appear on the screen again. Max decided to speed up the footage, until Ladybug reappeared.

Ladybug roughly landed on Marinette’s balcony, where her transformation fell. Marinette sat crouch with her hand pressed against her side. A first aid kit flew up to her, with Marinette starting to patch herself up.

Everyone was silent at they tried to comprehend what they’d just seen.

I

Sabine watched as Marinette wriggled in the bed. A nurse stuck her head through the door, with Officer Raincomprix behind her.

“Marinette,” Said the nurse, softly, “This nice man was hoping you’d be able to answer some questions.”

Marinette scowled at the nurse, “I’m not a child, I’m fifteen and I know who he is.”

The nurse flushed, as Officer Raincomprix entered.

“Marinette,” Asked Raincomprix, sitting in a chair not far from the bed, “Can you remember how you got stabbed?”

Marinette looked down and gave a small nod.

“Do you know who did it?” Asked Raincomprix, leaning forwards.

Marinette shook her head, getting a disappointed sigh from Raincomprix.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone you’d been stabbed?” Questioned Raincomprix, running a hand down his face.

“I was embarrassed, I guess.” Mumbled Marinette, picking at the blanket.

Raincomprix sighed, “Marinette, you were very luck today. The doctors told me that the wound was become infected and, if it’d been left any longer, could’ve led to sepsis.”

Marinette continued to look and pick at the blanket.

“Marinette, the next time you’re hurt from an outside source, you need to tell someone, even if it’s a minor thing, like a bruise.” Implored Raincomprix, before getting up and leaving.

Sabine reached out and grasped Marinette’s hand, making the girl look at her, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You and Papa are busy.” Mumbled Marinette, looking back at her lap.

“I meant what you are doing as Ladybug.” Sabine gently squeezed Marinette’s hand, making the girl’s head snap back up to look at her.

“H-how do you know?” Stammered Marinette, her mouth suddenly dry.

“Marinette, please,” Sighed Sabine, “give your father and I some credit. We noticed how you were conveniently absent during attacks, and you kept returning as if you’d been running a marathon.”

“I thought I was careful.” Mumbled Marinette, looking at her lap.

“You were,” Assured Sabine, “but we live under the same roof. The only way we wouldn’t know is if we were neglectful.”

“D-do you want me to stop?” Whispered Marinette, glancing at her mother.

“No, I just want you to be more careful in future. Maybe you could take up some self-defence classes just in case something like this happens again.”

Marinette kept her head down and gave a reluctant nod, at least her mother didn’t demand she stop being Ladybug.

“Now, how did you get stabbed?” Asked Sabine, looking down at Marinette.

“I, kinda, conjured a knife and the Akuma forced me to stab myself with it.” Mumbled Marinette, but Sabine heard her.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

I

“We can’t show this to the police.”

No one looked at Sabrina when she spoke, none of them disagreeing with her. It was bad enough that they all knew Marinette’s Identity, they couldn’t go and blab to the police.

“We’re going to have to tell her that we know.” Stated Adrien, looking around, “We can’t keep this from her.”

“How can we tell her?” Asked Juleka, looking at the Model, “How can we tell her that we know she’s Ladybug?”

Adrien was silent for a moment, “Leave it to me.”

[rwby-necro-au-archive]

Death does not do you and I part completely.

Summer has a special meeting with someone in particular.

Tick tick tick

The clocks second hand went, ticking by, counting each excruciating second that he sat in that goddamn chair.

How long had he even been sitting here? Hours? Days? Weeks? It felt like he hadn’t left his office.

Could you blame him though? It was only a few months ago that the terrifying head councilman of Vale had him pinned to a wall with an iron grip around his neck, choking out every last little bit of lifesaving air he needed in order to live.

He was too scared to leave the council building. So he stayed in his office, that now seemingly small and empty office, the one with gunmetal grey walls, giant crystal clear windows, and carpet more expensive than the man himself sitting in his equally expensive chair.

Ironwood felt like he was losing his mind. Between the constant childish insults of the anons, his inability to track a location on them, and the fact that there was a chance that the people he saw around Ozpin were those only he could see, he wanted to just close his eyes for a few days.

Sleep doesn’t come for the weary though, and he had work to do. Paperwork. Of course it’s paperwork, as if his eyes weren’t already failing him with the lack of sleep.

He sighed and began his work.

Summer floated gracefully through the building, passing by countless who she couldn’t care less about, she only had 1 person in mind.

The man himself, the man who shot her in cold blood. God, how long had it been? She had been 28 when it happened, Ozpin was only 5 years into his position as councilman.

8 years at least is what it had to have been.

8 years for Summer to finally level herself out to have this conversation.

She knew he didn’t deserve patience, but she also knew that screaming at the man wouldn’t do her any good either.

Finally, after what seemed like a short eternity, she arrived at the door. A silver plate screwed into the door stated “Ironwood” in cursive.

She fazed through the door, looking around the office before seeing the person she was looking for.

And there he was, bags under his eyes, working as always, he didn’t look a day over 25. Unsurprising considering he was revived by her.

She stood and waited silently for him to notice her presence.

Ironwood continued to slave away at the busywork, getting irritated with each passing second at the fact that he had to do this while so torturously tired. He noticed that someone was now in the room with him, but paid them no mind.

“Pursuer. Get out. I am not in mood for whatever you have to say.” He spoke through gritted teeth, irritated at the insistent presence.

Summer tilted her head “I never liked how you spoke to your subordinates. Especially your younger ones.” she spoke in a gentle tone.

Ironwood froze. Rapid fire thoughts shot through his mind all at once, all telling him there’s no way the voice he was hearing was correct.

He slowly looked up, horror splashing across his features once he had done so.

In front of him stood a desaturated, dead looking and glowing version of Summer Rose. Glowing white sclera’s without Iris’s or pupils looked back at him, and an all too familiar white glowing scar graced the center of the woman’s forehead. She wore the same white cloak she had worn before, along with the same black turtleneck and floor length skirt.

Summer laughed gently “What’s wrong general? It looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Y-you’re supposed to be dead.”

“I am dead. You killed me, don’t you remember that silly?”

Ironwood sat there dumbfounded, fearful, and confused. She was dead, how was she here?

“What do you want with me?!” Ironwood demanded.

“Just to chat. I wanted to see how you’re doing after all this time. I’ve checked in with my family and friends, why wouldn’t I check in with you? Although….” She tapped a desaturated red finger to her chin.

“Although….?” He spoke nervously.

“Although….I’ve seen you around…”

“Y-you have?”

“Yes…..I saw every meeting you had with Ozzy, everytime you visited him and beacon, everytime he met you in Atlas. How sad that he had to put up with your poor treatment for that long. I’m surprised he didn’t snap sooner! Ozzy was never the kind of man to be patient like that.”

Ironwood gulped nervously. He was showing more of his fear than he’d like to, but at this point he didn’t care. “Really….?” Was Said barely about a whisper.

Summer crossed her arms and scolded the man in front of her like a child, “Mhm….and I saw you threaten my daughter. Now that wasn’t very nice, was it?”

“What are you trying to get at?”

Summer simply looked at him, silence the only thing coming from her.

“What are you getting at?!” He demanded.

She continued to stay silent, staring at him.

Ironwood slammed his hands down on the desk and gritted “Why. The hell. Are you here. To taunt me?! Make fun of me like a child?!”

Summer sighed and shook her head, refusing to speak still.

“TALK TO ME GODDAMNIT”

SMASH!

Ceramic echoed through the office as it hit the wall. Being thrown hard by ironwood in the direction of Summer.

“You can’t hurt me anymore. Don’t you know that?” She said quietly.

Ironwood gripped his head in his hands “SHUT UP!”

Summer kept her quiet tone, “I wouldn’t yell so loud. Your subordinates might hear you—“

“I DON’T GIVE A SHIT WHAT THEY HEAR.”

“You seem to be the only thing I can rely on, did you know that?”

Ironwood’s gaze shot up to look at the woman, “what?”

“I can rely on you because you never change. You haven’t changed since the day I met you James. Perhaps that isn’t necessarily a good thing.”

“The fuck are you talking about?!”

“It’s why Ozpin is happy.”

“Huh?”

“Ozpin is happy because Ozpin knows how to change. He’s a tree that knows how to bend in the wind, a house that’s built to stand the tests and changes of the tide. He knows when change is needed. And although there have been many changes in his life, he appreciates them all.”

Ironwood didn’t have anything to say. He sat in his expensive chair, gripping his head in his hands, staring at the women in awe.

Summer looked sorrowfully at the man in front of her, “you, do not want to change though. A tree that doesn’t bend in the wind is a tree that will snap in half, and if there’s nobody to hear that snap and see it fall, but to only see it’s aftermath, was it ever a tree to begin with?”

“You and Ozpin will be written into history books for years to come. Ozpin will be seen as a man who despite everything being ripped from him as a child, pushed through to see the light in the world and help those less fortunate than himself. He will be seen as a hero. And you, will be seen as a man who got everything he wanted, and yet still took more from those who could never get what he took back. You will be seen as a Villain. A monster.”

Ironwood took his hands off his head and gripped his desk “No. I won’t. Atlas will write me into the history books as a hero. You’re wrong.”

“What good is a title of hero if it only serves to cover the misery that one man has caused? A false hero, is no hero at all. Humanity will always find the truth, it is in our very nature to do so.” Summer spoke.

“You’re wrong. I’ll prove you wrong. Referring back to your tree metaphor, I won’t snap in half.” Ironwood clutched the desk further, gritting his teeth.

“You will. In fact, it’s already started. There are many who will seek to be rid of you.”

“I already know about how the necromancers feel about me.”

“I’m not talking about the necromancers.”

“What?” Ironwood questioned.

Summer gave him a pitiful look and shook her head.

“ANSWER ME.” He screamed as he slammed his hands down on the desk.

Summer continued to stare sorrowfully at the man in front of her. Questioning if this was truly the man she feared so much beforehand.

He slammed his hands down on his desk again, harder, putting a crack in it “FUCKING ANSWER ME.”

She continued to stay quiet, as he continued to scream, eventually throwing things at her. None of which hitting her but rather phasing through her.

Summer turned her back to him before speaking barely above a whisper “you truly never change, James.” Before disappearing.

Ironwood stood there silently, contemplating what happened. Before he could calm down, his door was cracked open slightly.

“Sir, Are you alright?” Violet asked quietly.

“GET. OUT.” He screamed at her, slamming another fist down on his desk, putting a bigger crack in it.

She flinched before quickly closing the door and running down the hall.

Ironwood collapsed back into his expensive chair and put his head into his hands.

He sat there thinking for a while, tired, exhausted, and confused. He couldn’t even fathom what he just experienced.

Soon, he whispered something so quiet, only he, in his office, that now seemingly small and empty office, the one with gunmetal grey walls that were now dented from the objects he’d thrown, the one with crystal clear windows, and carpet more expensive than the man himself was.

“I’m losing my mind.”

[razorblade180]

Overall thoughts on V8? Assuming you didn't answer this already.

I meant to do a volume wrap up review but I got incredibly busy and it fell to the waste side. The thing about me judging RWBY I have to come at it from two angles or I won’t feel like I judged it appropriately. There’s the casual, first time seeing the episodes and seeing this through the lens as a casual watcher who probably only sees the episodes once or twice. But then there’s the other side to that coin. I review these episodes, write aus, theorize, check extended lore, listen to the music, etc; that means I have to go back and watch episodes several times for any given reason and that’s when you start noticing the holes or picking up on things you didn’t before.

As a casual watcher, I’d give this an 8/10. There’s plenty of moments where characters do things that got me excited and plot points I wanted explored. This volume actually gave a decent amount of things I wanted for quite some time and some things I didn’t know I needed. Certainly there are things I don’t like in this but I’m open and curious to see where RT takes their storie because it’s their story.

Okay, now as a someone who’s had to deep dive and take a step back multiple times for a variety of reasons. 6.5/10 maybe a 7/10 if I’m being generous. A lot of my problems with this volume are problems that aren’t new to RWBY and that’s just how surface layer portions of arcs are and how a variety of choices/bonds don’t exactly make sense with what we were previously shown, or they only make sense because the writers don’t want introduce other complexities even though they should be there realistically. I’ll give a couple examples of these and yes, I’m aware what I say doesn’t bother everyone but it bothers me.

Qrow was never angry at or brought up Robyn being the reason their airship crashed in the first place because she started the fight; which aids in Clover dying.

Emerald follows Cinder, not Salem. Even if Cinder is working under Salem, why would Emerald be so willingly to complete shift to the side that actively goes against Cinder? There’s been no grand revelation to make Emerald believe Cinder doesn’t give a damn about her. Leaving made sense because she was about to get tortured. Going full turncoat right now doesn’t. No change happened. Emerald always hated being near Salem but adored Cinder no matter the crimes and the show hasn’t done anything to switch that view point.

I’m happy Whitley and Weiss had a touching sibling moment that implies they’re okay and making/made up, but there was never a conversation about the actual problem and thoughts that had them at odds in the first place. Weiss saving his and Willow’s life shouldn’t be the thing that smooths things over. It would’ve been terrible if Weiss do something to save their life. Whitley helping Penny is okay I guess because he really had no reason to contribute but did anyways. Even so, a person doing a morally correct thing doesn’t automatically warrant the conflict between him and Weiss’s resolved.

We got Cinder’s backstory; it didn’t tell us anything about how she eventually came into contact with Salem. Honestly her back story felt more in line of her main goal through the series was an absolute freedom by the means of breaking down the systems that trapped and didn’t give a damn, rather than her quest for power. Yes you can argue gaining power means it’s easier to maintain her freedom to do whatever she wants but I personally think that’s a little off the mark when you gave her a story that involves her trapped by rules and time rather than being too physically weak to gain freedom.

This show has built up that the Schnee family has suffered various types of abuse because of Jacques and uses Weiss as a medium to build towards breaking free from that. Not just overcoming but confronting the abuse by cementing it’s place below you. We don’t really get that. There will never be a moment where the siblings and mother truly get to break out of Jacques grasps emotionally and then put him in his place because he’s dead! Yeah they never have to worry about him again but even last volume they showed Winter still having turmoil and being able to get strung along by him. We don’t even really know how Whitley perceived his father. It feels so lackluster. Then they care to mention how it’s Weiss’s idea to save him like it’s an empowering moment when in actuality, it would be against her character, values of a huntress, and morality to let a person die in cell when you’re the reason they’re in a cell! Letting him die in there would just terrible. I don’t even know why he wasn’t let out in that scene! He’s a coward! He’d follow their orders to save his skin. All he has to do is shut up and walk through a portal.

Ironwood and Oscar both knew they could remove that staff to use it and Atlas wouldn’t drop immediately. Why did nobody have any kind of compromise with one another since there’s nothing stopping them from using the staff for something and then putting it back? They had this morally gray thing going on which I liked but then they decided to make Ironwood go full evil. I’ve never had to say this before but the song he got in V7 and the character they made him be in V8 just don’t connect. I got upset listening to that song recently because I liked that Ironwood.

Clover’s importance. RT tried making a character who had no more than 9 minutes in the series and one meaningful line of dialogue into the cornerstone of a side plot. Clover is such a nothing character. Vine did more than Clover. They try to make him have such a profound impact to the people around him but we never see him bond with his team; Harriet specifically. We get one scene of Clover telling Qrow the kids are fortunate to have Qrow even if he doesn’t think so. First, I doubt Clover knows Qrow decided to get drunk in a ghost town and the kids nearly died and cellar while he did it so that compliment doesn’t hold much weight for me. Second, We see nothing meaningful between the two. V7 has a time skip and just expects viewers to be on board with Clover being this influential change on Qrow without showing anything outside of a witty remark and Clover flexing his semblance. I would’ve bought it more of Qrow almost relapsed and Clover stopped him then had a real meaningful conversation.

Ruby goes against Ironwood only to then want to do a plan that’s aligned to longer term thinking than even his, talks about how everyone should be working together, but then adds a part in her video to actively antagonize and vilify Ironwood. Afterwards, she wonders where everything went wrong and doesn’t think of a plan or do anything to immediately help either kingdom until the final hour between the ultimatum being made, to everything getting destroyed. The inciting incident was disagreeing Mantle should be left in favor of Atlas but the main character didn’t do anything to help Mantle 90% of the season and hindered Atlas’s safety up until the final plan.

Yang is used to be the devil’s advocate in a bunch of situations, but she’s wrong most of the time or her lines just don’t make any sense. They weren’t doing just fine before Atlas. They almost died every step of the way. The team didn’t beat a Leviathan; silver eyes and a robot take credit for that. Why would Blake think less of Yang for wanting to go save people immediately? Blake was never mad at anyone to begin with. Yang consistently calls out people for following orders as if it’s objectively wrong, but is never called out on the fact she hasn’t followed anybody’s orders but her own and added discourse to every situation. I get RT is making her ask questions because that’s what Raven told her to do, but all she’s really doing is picking fights and disobeying every order. Yang states to Ruby they accomplished more than they expected. That’s false, getting Oscar back is correcting a mistake caused by her own plan that she didn’t even complete.

It took 6 volumes before Yang had anything to do with the Summer Rose subplot again and 7 volumes before her and Ruby had a sister to sister conversations; 5 if you wanna count Yang telling Ruby to leave at the end of volume three. The reason I bring this up is because in V8 , they treat their argument as if it’s a big deal but then have every character say it wasn’t that big a deal; but then have two circle back to that conversation later after having neither character discuss to anybody that the argument actually did weigh on them. Yang doesn’t think about Ruby until she sees her again and the closest we get with Ruby is Blake reassuring her that people need her and how Blake admires her. I like that scene but it’s not the same as Ruby actually airing out the specific point that Yang said something that Ruby found hurtful. Vol8 in general people trying to comfort others but nobody ever actually addresses what made them uncomfortable to start with. Except Ren.

This one is a nitpicking but I’ll say it anyways. Penny getting hacked only served as a purpose to go to the vault, a thing Ironwood already wanted them to do. Nobody got her because she was hacked. You can’t even say her getting hacked is the leading factor to her actually dying because Penny became a vulnerable human afterwards that can’t be rebuilt. Pietro was gone, and already stated last volume he doesn’t have the aura to build Penny again. If she died as a robot then it’s still permanent death. No core, no Pietro, and no aura; hacking her was just to create a Hound reveal situation and make them go to the vault on a different set of terms. I’m not exactly upset with this, but I don’t understand why the extra steps. The Hound was hunting her anyways. I would’ve brought some kind of value if she hurt a friend and it caused them to potentially hinder the plan later on or remove them entirely. Penny could’ve rekt Yang and it only adds value to Yang getting one shot later. I don’t know. I’m rambling.

I think I’ve wasted enough people’s time. Honestly, I do like this volume. I’ve enjoyed a bunch of it. But there’s things that legitimately make me think it’s not as good others and makes V7 even worse.

[eluminium]

Uh oh it’s a debate! (Fic)

Well uh, I’ve been dead for half a year. But now I’m back! Schools been a bitch but Summer break is here and I’ve written something out! Lets watch two idiots argue! Tracy Spacey belongs to @reginaldcopperbottom go follow them and Lucien Rousselle belongs to @quec-two follow her too

"Conductor, with all due respect, what will we gain from this plan?"

The varying tone of the Council Members' voice felt like acid in the Conductor's ears and the pressure inside her skull only increased. Elg felt a simmering irritation nip under her skin and she swore that she just popped a blood vessel. The sleek figure of her biggest rival, Tracy Spacey, stood with arms crossed across the table, unyielding in their questioning. A predominant frown showed their dislike, along with their stiff but straight posture. The air in Elg's lungs left in a huff, and the soft padding of her fingers traced her temples in circles.

"Didn't the older members of our honorable council teach you that you should never play all your cards on one possibility?" Elg challenge as her eyes traveled over the quarreling Council Member.

"Of course they did and that is why I am objecting to this self-destructive plan." Tracy fired back, a harsh glare treating Elg's larger form as she did theirs.

"To hide a large portion of our loot from our ally is only going to inspire mistrust Conductor, and for someone who fought so hard to establish it, I find it strange you'd risk it based on unfounded paranoia." They continued with a small smirk resting on their lips, the smugness leaking off their words.

Elg's lips were sealed while her form rose from her seat, the wooden chair digging into her hand. Her head lolled to the side, not unlike a curious dog.

"Unfounded paranoia? Mind elaborating on that?" She questioned, her fingers tightening around the rim of the chair.

"Tell me, do we have any reason to not trust The Masqueraiders and their leadership?" They spoke while their legs carried them towards the nearest window, gloved hands moving from gripping the other arm to gripping each other behind their back.

"There is no evidence of backstabbing after all." They continued.

"At the moment...Yes, there is no evidence of betrayal from our ally" The Conductor admitted through grit teeth, feeling the annoyance bubble in her veins as her eyes bore into the Council Member.

A satisfied sneer sneaked onto their face as their body twirled around to meet Elgs, displaying a feeling of victory and command despite standing a fair distance away from the Conductor.

"Then why are we having this debate in the first place? Order the Metallics to cease the transfer-"

The chasm that leaked words abruptly stopped as their gaze locked onto the finger that rose into the air, signifying them to shut up. A simple gesture for most, but those used to debates with the Conductor, it's a warning. Tracy felt a similar rage seething in their veins as the Conductor, but they chose to obey, crossing their arms with a grunt and a glare. They were however curious of what her counter would be.

Elg, satisfied with Tracy's silence, spoke.

"You are correct by saying there is no evidence of dishonesty from our ally-"

A snobbish glint danced in their eyes as they kept eye contact with Elg. In response, Elg's feet carried her forwards, closing the gap between them ever so slightly.

"-But have you forgotten what world we operate in Council Member?" She continued sharply while her steps danced closely to Tracy's personal space. Tracy felt their body react by taking a step back, and their arms sneaked back into a defensive position.

"I don't follow your line of thinking, Conductor" They rumbled as a counter, their asphalt-colored gaze hardening as they were locked with Elg's sharp ocean blue eyes.

With a confident step forward, and a small squeak from Tracy as their personal space was breached, Elg felt a dark chuckle escape her lungs.

"We're criminals, Council Member. We operate in a space where betrayal is rewarded greatly, and so are the Masqueraiders. Yes, they might not plan to betray us now, but in the future? Anything is possible. Besides, they might be planning to stab us in the back right now, we just haven't noticed."

For a split second, the room was silent. Not a single sarcasm-filled sound bounced off the metal walls. The only noises either of their ears could pick up were their own and the other's breathing. The space between them barely existed, their chests squished up against each other. Despite Tracy slightly outclassing Elg in height, Elg's more bulky form made them look quite small pressed up against her. The stillness continued. Tracy's mind drew a blank, Elg waited for a response.

But as the clock in Tracy's pocket ticked, both their gazes averted and both moved back a step, with the Conductor doing it calmly while the Council Members step was more panicky. Despite this, Elg quickly reestablished eye contact, refusing to look away until Tracy gave them an answer. Tracy, in their turn, fumbled a bit.

"D-Don't you think I know that?!" They spat out, flustered, while their body moved into a guarded stance. Their spine was erected and their foot hit the floor repeatedly.

"Well, If you did maybe you wouldn't be so naive!" Elg snarled back angrily, the rage in her blood starting to boil over. Both their tones drowned the room in toxicity.

"Don't patronize me, Conductor! I'm not a fucking child!"

"Stop acting like one then!"

"Oh, I could say the same to you! You're putting the stability of our alliance in peril because of some childish fear!"

"Why do you even care so much?! You were one of the biggest opponents of said alliance in the beginning! You fought tooth and bloody nail to prevent it, constantly calling me a false conductor who doesn't care about her people! And now that I'm actually prioritizing the Bowties you fucking fight me on it! What happened?!"

Their feet shifted their balance to their toes as a preventive scoff left them. Their body kept dragging in itself.

"It doesn't matter! People are allowed to change their god damn opinions Conductor!"

Suddenly, something clicked in the Conductors head, and her stare once again traveled over the huffing Council Member. The defensive position, the avoidance of the question, the almost fearful tone in their voice, bouncing around in her ear...

"You gotta be kidding me" She muttered spitefully, her stare turning into a glare.

"Wha-?" Tracy started but was caught off guard by the Conductors' sudden change in volume.

"It's that wasp-looking guy isn't it?! Lucien Rousselle, right?!" She raised her voice, the sound of fury echoing.

"W-What about him?! What the hell are you on?!" Tracy spluttered, a red heat traveling through their cheeks.

"Don't play dumb with me you clock-obsessed moron! It's so obvious even I can see it! I see the looks you give him! You're prioritizing your dainty little feelings over the safety of our faction!" Elg roared, the stomp of her steps slowly approaching Tracy once again.

"U-Uh n-no! That's not true! Uhm...uh...but but BUT WHAT ABOUT WEASLEY? YOU TWO ARE CLOSE! DO YOU SERIOUSLY THINK HE'D BETRAY YOU? YOU THINK HE'S JUST ANOTHER LUIGRA?!" Tracy bit back, panic rushing through their bones. They HAD to change the topic, and fast. Even if it meant hitting some weak spots.

Now it was Elg's turn to be completely bewildered. Her footsteps ground to a halt as she was forced to recalibrated her brain.

"What the...What?! Just because we're close and work together doesn't mean I'd sacrifice the safety of my fellow Bowties! And don't you DARE compare him to that...that greedy blue-haired fucker!" Elg stuttered out, confusion and anger dribbling off her voice.

"Well, maybe you should ACT like it then you daft idiot!"

"Hah! Rich for you to say love bird!"

"S-Shut up! I'm not in love with a fucking economics minister! You tried to teach Weasley how to play fucking POOL yesterday!"

"That has nothing to do with ANYTHING-"

"Oh doesn't it-?!"

"Conduta' Elg?"

Both of their mouths clamped shut as that familiar Arabic voice filled the room.

"Y...Yeah, Aynan?" Elg huffed out, completely out of breath from the shouting match.

"We nee' to le'ave tha' area soon, ya nee' to prepa' tha' train" He continued, his words soft and delicate like a cloud.

"Yes, yes of course. I'll head out now" Elg responded, her body taking her towards the door like she was on autopilot, with her Young Soul waiting outside.

Before she left the room, she once again stared into Tracy's thundercloud-like eyes. They were both gasping a bit, exhausted from the dispute turned screaming match. She was met by anger, confusion, and fear. Her own sky blue gaze showed similar emotions. From this, both of them knew this debate was far from over, and that they'd clash again one day soon.

[rainydayhogwartsimagines]

Hii I have a request if you are doing some rn it's for draco and its just before the war starts and him and the reader (snapes daughter) run off to a house dracos parents have but when the reader is told her father has died they have to go back for the funeral and see everyone again (eg. Harry, Ron, dracos parents ect) ❤️

Oh the angst that is about to happen

Note: Sirius is still alive in this, originally I had this idea that Draco actually saved his life in the ministry battle.

The house was silent with the exception of the faucet's drip and Draco's breathing. Right now the summer house was the only peace he had. You were off with the trio, doing God knows what, worrying the hell out of Draco before you walked in. Draco looked up, rushing to you. You seemed to be in this state of shock as Hermione, Ron and Harry all followed. "What happened?" He asked. You said nothing, your mouth slightly open, eyes wide in this state of shock. "...Snape..." Hermione swallowed. "Severus is... Dead." Harry said making Draco look at you. You still seemed unresponsive. "How long has she been like this?" Draco asked. "Since Snape said goodbye." Ron muttered, sitting on the black couch with his face in his hands. Hermione sat next to him, placing a comforting hand on his back. "Y/n... Please say something." Harry begged. You swallowed, staring at one spot on the floor. "Gone." Was the last thing anyone heard you say before your body seemingly gave out and you fell over, Draco catching you.

You spent the next few days processing what happened. No one could talk to you, not even Draco could get you to utter a word. You were an orphan and caught in a war you barely understood as a fucking child. No one should suffer this much, no one deserves that pain. When the funeral was planned Snape asked that his final resting place be in a muggle cemetery. The oddest request but a good one. This meant a very small chance of Voldemort disrupting it. You expected a very small crowd but that was not the case. Students from all houses, even a few death eaters and teachers all showed up.

Mcgonagall sat next to you, Molly Weasley on your other side. The two women spent their time raising you, helping you through all of this. You still had that numb expression on your face. You tried to recall a time with a very very happy moment with your father. There were plenty but none of them were real moments that stayed with you. You remembered him showing vulnerable emotions and expressions to you but you never recalled a true moment where your father seemed truly happy. Then it hit you. The grading papers.

You sat in a seat next to your father's desk. "Father." You muttered. "Yes Y/n?" He asked. "What was mum like?" You asked. He never gave you a full answer to that. But something about his expression told you that he was going to give you a full answer this time. "Mia was a very strong woman... You take after her." He said with a mindless nod. "What made you love her?" You asked. He pondered at that. "Her intelligence." He replied. "She was smart?" You asked. "She was more than that. She had an answer for almost everything. But not in the way you'd expect." He stated, writing on a paper. "Like Hermione?" You asked. "No. Like a philosopher." Snape corrected. You nodded. "Am I like her?" You asked. He stopped writing and looked at you with a soft smile, moving your hair and looking at the eyes that reminded him everyday how strong you truly could be. "In more ways than one." He assured. You smiled and he went back to writing. "You have your mother's eyes." He told you. A fact you already knew but it was so sincere in the moment, you nearly had tears form.

An observation that would stay with you. An observation that nearly made you cry. The last comment from your father that he told you. Even in his dying moments Severus placed a hand on your cheek, brushing away the tears and he told you "Even in war.... You still have your mother's eyes."

You bit your lip, wiping your eyes and gripping the hem of your black dress. Molly swapped seats with Draco, him sliding his hand into yours and you buried your face into his black suit jacket. He held you close to him, closing his eyes as people got up to view him. His parents were silent, Narcissa being genuinely upset that someone who kept Draco safe and away from all of this was gone. He watched Draco grow up, for God's sake, you grew up in their home. Lucius couldn't face you. Not knowing he contributed to the loss of such a man.

Harry didn't necessarily like the man. He was a disagreeable person but the one thing they always settled on was you. Harry was like your brother, keeping you safe and sound when he needed to. To see this man gone was a hard hit especially since you were in pain and Harry couldn't fix it. Not this time.

Hermione was the same as Harry. Snape tended to give her a hard time for being intelligent but she did enjoy seeing him with you. Snape, even in class showed a happier side to him, encouraging you to show your intelligence and to think outside the box. She may not have liked him completely as a person. But even she could admit he was a damn good father to you.

Ron was more conflicted. He didn't like Snape. Snape didn't like him. Like Harry, the only common ground he had with him was you. Ron tended to be a bit more hardheaded but his feelings became less bitter when Severus actually acted kind and accepting to Molly. When Molly treated you with kindness and provided a second home to you, Snape was glad for this and encouraged you to go to them when you needed to.

Draco was not like any of them. Draco grew up along side you, he knew Severus a lot better than the others. He saw the truly vulnerable moments, he was there for the arguments, the laughter, the smiles and the family he knew to be yours. Lucius allowed you to be around Draco, seeing Severus as a friend more than an enemy. Draco and you had each other's backs in the toughest of situations and Draco was glad to see that you had someone like Draco assuring you that you were stronger than most people. When Draco actually fell in love with you, Severus had no objections to you two being together. Only that you two be slightly secretive due to your open affiliation with the Order and Draco being a double agent. In the end, that same thing is what killed Severus, being a double agent. The secrets literally destroyed him.

As the casket was lowered, there was not one wizard who didn't raise their wand, using the light to signify one that they lost. You dropped a single white rose onto the casket, Draco holding with one arm and you raising your wand sadly. Eventually people began to leave, leaving you standing by his graveside. The rain began to fall, Fred holding an umbrella over you as you stared vacantly at the ground. "...He was always such a pain in class... But he always seemed happy when you were around." George muttered. You let out a shaking breath. "We're here Y/n. All of us." Arthur assured.

"... What's your favorite memory of Snape? Everyone." Harry asked. "...When he smacked Ron and you upside the heads because you wouldn't stop talking and Y/n nearly toppled over because Ron made a weird noise." Ginny answered. "When Fred accidentally stepped on his cape and he was pissed for weeks, growling at him in class." George said. "When he pulled two students out of a carriage at the Yule." Hermione said making Ron smile. "When he nearly set Draco on fire for kissing Y/n in front of him." Ron said. A small smile tugged at your lips. "When he would read to me and Y/n growing up and he did those voices." Draco said making you finally smile. "When he nearly cussed out Quirrell for releasing the troll in our first year." Harry said. Everyone looked at you and you swallowed. "When me and him sat in his office and he finally answered questions about my mother... And he told me that..." You took in a breath, staring the single white rose. "I had my mother's eyes." You said. Finally. You spoke.

Suddenly though, the trio understood what sent you into shock. Hearing those words again... It must've changed the meaning of the memory you had. Draco kissed the side of your head and you sighed. "This is hard." You muttered. "You lost your Dad Y/n... It's okay to grieve." Remus said, making you all turn around as him and Nymphadora walked over. Sirius put a hand on his shoulder, giving a nod to Draco as a greeting.

"Severus was always a tight ass in school. But God damn was he smart." Sirius said. You let out a sad laugh. "He always had a soft spot for your mother though." Remus said making you turn. "What?" You asked. "Your mother. Mia." Remus said. "You... She was a wizard?" You asked. Everyone looked at you surprised. "You... Didn't know?" Remus asked. "Dad never answered conclusively and she's buried in a muggle cemetery." You said, motioning to the other grave. "....She was Songbird." Sirius said making Fred and George gape. "She was a Marauder?!" George asked. "Yes." Remus and Sirius answered in unison. "How the hell did dad like her then? He hated you guys." You asked. "Well hate is a strong word--" "Oh no. He hated you." Draco nodded. "No one could hate Mia. Not even Filch." Remus finally answered. Sirius looked at you as you stared at Snape's grave.

Tears streamed down your face and you let out a long breath. "Are you okay?" Sirius asked. You nodded after a long silence, the rain hitting the umbrellas. "I think I'll be okay..." You began

"I have my family with me."

Taglist: @amhyeah @newtaholic-staygold @bbeauttyybbx @fleurho @yodeadxss @mariah-can-dream

[carewyncromwell]

The Cinderella AU is back...and with it, a proper introduction to the character who fills the “evil stepmother” role -- Carewyn’s cold, cruel grandfather, Charles Cromwell. If you’d like to learn more about Charles and his family’s canon counterparts, you can consult this post, but to summarize quickly, in Carewyn’s canon, Carewyn’s mother Lane ran away from home to elope with a Muggle, which ended up protecting Carewyn and Jacob from Charles’s emotionally abusive influence. (At least until R started going after them, because hey, what d’you know, in Carey-bear’s canon, Charles is R’s leader.) But in this AU, Carewyn has to answer to Charles for some reason...so yeah, that doesn’t bode well, does it? You’ll just have to read on to learn a little more about why that might be...

Fashion changed very dramatically during the Renaissance, thanks in large part to the cross-pollination of different cultures and influences that came from more extensive travel, the growing popularity of published works, and royal funding of the arts. Pre-Renaissance men’s fashion, at least for the nobility, was very big on oversized sleeves, which ended up creating a more “top-heavy” frame. (Just look at most portraits of King Henry VIII.) As the Renaissance went on, though, trunk hose (which creates that kind of “bubble butt” look that we’re used to seeing in William Shakespeare Halloween costumes) became the latest fad, shifting a man’s frame to be much more “bottom-heavy.” Women’s fashion briefly flirted with wide trumpet sleeves (as one can see in this portrait of a young Elizabeth Tudor, later Queen Elizabeth I), but by the time the 1550′s were over, rounded sleeves grew much more popular. Fitted sleeves also went in and out of style in a lot of Europe throughout the 16th century, though sleeves were considered a special feature on gowns, so they often had a lot of embellishments, such as paneling, embroidery, or puffs. One exception to this rule, however, was in Italy, where fitted, detachable sleeves that could be used on multiple gowns became fashionable. Fashion in Italy in the 16th century was notably understated and modest compared to a lot of Europe, which tended to favor a lot of ornate beading and embroidery -- there were even laws on the books restricting how “bedazzled” women’s fashion could be. One such law even banned stripes, as it was considered wasteful to use two different kinds of fabric just to make a pattern. That being said, there were plenty of people in Italy who said “screw the rules” and worked around them anyway. Carewyn’s dress in this picture is somewhat based on this design, but with some tweaking, most notably with a fuller skirt and more ornate and puffy sleeves.

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- and I hope you enjoy!

x~x~x~x

When the end of the month arrived, Andre requested that Carewyn come to his chambers bright and early in the morning. Carewyn had anticipated that the prince had some extra duties for her to attend to, but instead, he immediately led her over to a corner of his bed chamber that he’d drawn a curtain around. When he pulled the curtain back, he revealed a full tailoring station inside his walk-in closet, complete with organized rolls of fabric, various jewels and beads strewn about over a table, several unfinished hats stacked on the nearby desk, an entire separate wardrobe of unfinished pieces, and several mannequins with fine fabrics half-pinned on them.

One mannequin, however, was wearing a completely finished, luxurious dark scarlet gown. It was made of about six different fabrics, all cut and sewn together in a complex tapestry of folds and textures and trimmed with many sparkling beads and jewels. Also lying on the floor just in front of the dress was a pair of heeled shoes made of off-white cloth with red and white roses sewn into the toes.

Carewyn couldn’t help but gape. Andre was grinning from ear to ear.

“So?” he asked. “What do you think?”

Carewyn glanced out the side of her eye at the prince, over to the dress, and back.

“Did you...make this, your Highness?” she asked, amazed.

Andre laughed. “Carewyn, please, it’s ‘Andre.’ But yes! I got inspired while working on your shoes, so I stitched this up to go with it. ...Do you like it?”

Carewyn walked around the mannequin to look over the gown, not daring to touch it. She’d never seen so many fine fabrics on one dress before -- velvet, linen, silk -- and all the embellishments must’ve taken full days to finish --

“It’s -- well, it’s extraordinary, your -- Andre,” she corrected herself very quickly noticing the prince’s pointed smile. Even she was finding it difficult not to smile too. “The beading on the sleeves, the lace work -- the alternating wool and cotton paneling along the bodice...it’s worthy of an artisan!”

Andre looked clearly both incredibly pleased and impressed. “You have an eye for detail, Carewyn!”

His face burst into a bright white grin as he bent down and picked up one of the off-white cloth shoes.

“I’m pleased you like it,” he said brightly. “I thought it’d be the perfect thing for you to wear today. Lord Cromwell sent a message to the palace asking Father if you could return home for a visit -- so I worked all night to get this done in time so that you could wear it for your outing with your new shoes.”

Despite her best efforts, Carewyn couldn’t completely keep the dismay and discomfort she felt off her face.

“What? Oh -- oh, your Highness, I -- ”

“Ah, ah, ah,” chided Andre, “what have I asked you to call me?”

“Andre,” Carewyn corrected very quickly, her eyes drifting up onto the dress rather than at Andre, “this dress is...truly beautiful...but it befits a lady of status, not -- ”

“It fits you,” Andre said, undaunted. “I used the measurements from your uniform fitting. It should fit you like a glove -- or better.”

Carewyn felt like her stomach was shriveling up. She hated turning away such a lovely gift -- under any other circumstances, she would love wearing it out and about. But...

“That...that is...it’s so kind of you, to use me as your template...”

Or “dress-up doll” -- that is what the Queen said I would be, isn’t it?

“...but I simply couldn’t wear such a gift on my visit...not when I have no comparable gifts to bring my cousins. Many of them are around my age, and...and well, I know Heather, Iris, and Dahlia would be very upset, knowing I got to wear such a beautiful dress and they didn’t.”

None of her cousins had ever been very respectful of Carewyn’s personal belongings. Not long after she first arrived, her aunt Pearl’s two bullying sons, Kain and Arsen, stole her jewelry box while she was sleeping and sold both it and its contents for pocket change. Her youngest cousin, her uncle Blaise’s bratty son Tristan, had once thrown a bottle of red wine out the window that shattered mere feet away from Carewyn and soaked her dress so badly that it never washed out. Even Iris had -- after Carewyn caught the eye of one of her suitors who’d come to call -- ripped the sleeve off Carewyn’s dress so badly that she had to hide from sight for most of the day, until she’d managed to sew it up enough that her chest wasn’t exposed. Carewyn had had to hide her mother’s old dress from her cousins for years, for fear they might steal and/or ruin it.

Andre frowned deeply.

“Well, I hardly can send along anything for your cousins without knowing their measurements,” he said with a quick glance at the wardrobe full of unfinished pieces.

His face then brightened with an idea.

“How about this -- I’ll order you. I order you to wear this dress on your trip home, and to have your cousins give you their honest opinion of it. Then you must bring their opinions back to me. Goodness knows I could use some feedback -- and maybe a few new ideas, if they have them,” he added with a teasing grin.

Carewyn opened her mouth to object, but Andre cut her off.

“As your prince, I command you to showcase my work to your family,” he said through a broad grin. “Am I clear?”

Carewyn really, really didn’t love the idea -- but she had to concede that she could use this to her advantage. She needed a stable place at the palace in order to achieve her goals, and she could help maintain that stable place at the palace by justifying to Charles why she had to be there. And Charles’s whole interest in her being there was to try to endear the Cromwells further to the royal family, and maybe even secure one of her Aunt Claire’s daughters a space in that family...

So, with a heavy sigh, she put on a small smile and inclined her head respectfully.

“Very well, Andre. I’ll wear your work proudly.”

And so Carewyn set off for the Cromwell estate on horseback, dressed in the new shoes and dress Andre had made for her. The shoes were lovely and fit perfectly, but they were rather impractical for walking around outdoors. Carewyn thought to herself that she might have to continue wearing her old shoes when she returned to her palace work, if for no other reason that she hated the thought of getting them scuffed up.

As to be expected, when she arrived, her cousins reacted very hostilely to her appearance.

“Well, well,” sneered curly-black-haired Kain, “what do we have here? Playacting as a lady, little Winnie?”

“All hail Lady Cinderwyn, Duchess of Dust!” sniggered his similarly dark-haired brother Arsen.

He reached for her wide skirt, but Carewyn -- remaining on her horse -- steered herself far enough back that he couldn’t reach.

“I wouldn’t damage this, if I were you,” she said as coolly and levelly as she could. “It’s not mine.”

Arsen and Kain exchanged a mocking, wide-eyed look and an “oooooh.”

“Are you a thief now, little Winnie?” asked Kain. “How far you’ve fallen -- we might need to call the castle guard on you -- ”

“Cinderwyn’s a thief!” crowed tiny Tristan in a sing-song voice. “Cinderwyn’s a thief!”

Claire’s three daughters looked a lot less mocking.

“You have some nerve, stealing clothes from your betters,” spat dainty, brown-haired Heather. “Grandfather should lash you within an inch of your life -- ”

“I haven’t stolen anything,” Carewyn said very firmly. “Now I wish to see Grandfather. I have a message from the Prince he’ll want to hear.”

“Grandfather’s inside,” said Claire’s gangling, button-nosed son Elmer with a crooked smile. “I’m sure he’ll enjoy your new look, Lady Cinderwyn...especially with the finishing touch!”

He jumped right into a mud puddle that splashed everywhere. Carewyn just barely avoided the spray, but when she moved back, Dahlia and Iris successfully grabbed hold of her velvet brocaded skirt and yanked hard in either direction, as if trying to rip it.

“Iris -- Dahlia --  ” said Carewyn, her voice growing colder and harder as she struggled to hold in her temper and emotion as best she could, “if either of you have any ambition to marry his Highness, I would strongly suggest letting go of his dress this instant!”

All of Carewyn’s cousins stiffened.

“His dress?” repeated Dahlia, looking outraged. “You mean to say you took this from the Prince?!”

“He bid me to wear it, for my visit,” Carewyn shot back fiercely. “Or would you have me oppose his Highness’s will?”

“You...arrogant, pretentious, ungrateful little rat!” shrieked Dahlia. She tried to yank Carewyn off her horse, and there was a slight struggle as Carewyn tried to both comfort her horse and prevent Dahlia from dislodging her.

“Now, now, children,” said a very coldly serene voice, “a little less noise there.”

All of the Cromwell children looked up to see Charles Cromwell striding across the lawn. He was dressed in black, gray, and white with a dark red cape with black trim, and he supported himself on an ebony-wood cane with a dragon’s head carved out of black zircon for a handle. Behind him were Carewyn’s aunts, Pearl and Claire, with their husbands, as well as her uncle Blaise. All three of them were looking over Carewyn’s outfit disapprovingly -- Blaise looked particularly irritated, his upper lip curling as he rested a hand on top of Tristan’s shoulder that made the small boy flinch.

Iris and Dahlia were still clinging to Carewyn’s skirt, but they’d frozen up like startled cats when their grandfather appeared.

“Grandfather -- ” stammered Iris, “W-Winnie’s a no-good thief -- she stole this dress from -- !”

"I have stolen nothing,” Carewyn repeated coldly. She stroked her horse’s white mane several times to soothe it.

Pearl too had come up to rest a hand on Arsen’s shoulder and was looking at Carewyn very critically out her own almond-shaped blue eyes -- most of Carewyn’s family had them.

“Is that so?” she said, her voice a low growl in her throat. “Explain, then, what gives you the nerve to show up here dressed in such obnoxious clothes.”

“It’s positively garish,” added Claire in a higher, simpering tone from her comfortable spot in her husband’s arms, mirroring her sister’s disapproval like a child would imitate their older sibling.

Carewyn raised her eyebrows very coolly. “Prince Henri will be very disappointed to hear that. He worked very hard on this.”

This startled all of the Cromwells. Blaise looked scandalized.

“And I suppose that makes you think the Prince favors you somehow?” he spat, his eyes flashing dangerously as he released Tristan’s shoulder and approached Carewyn’s horse. “Rather than just thinking of using you as some saucy little tart and then discarding you, just like your wretch of a father did your mother -- ”

"I think nothing of the sort,” Carewyn cut him off coldly.

Don’t you dare talk about my mother.

Charles, the least visibly startled, took a few steps forward. Iris and Dahlia finally released Carewyn’s skirt so as to get out of the way, and Charles came to a stop about three feet from Carewyn’s horse, his own almond-shaped eyes locked on his ginger-haired granddaughter’s face.

“I believe you owe me a full report, child,” he said quietly. “Stand before me and give it.”

Carewyn’s red-painted lips pursed as she picked up her skirts and descended from her horse at last. She looked up at Charles with a very stoic expression.

“Prince Henri learned that I would be coming to see you, as per your request,” she explained. “He commanded that I wear this dress, for my visit. He’s heard about my cousins and desires Dahlia, Iris, and Heather’s opinions on it. Then he requested I deliver their feedback back to him this evening.”

The time limit was a flat-out lie, but one Carewyn knew she could get away with. She did not want to stay at the Cromwell estate overnight -- she’d rather sleep on a lumpy old cot in the servants’ quarters than on the floor by the kitchen fireplace. 

Claire looked at Charles, her face breaking into a rather eager expression. “His Highness wishes to hear from my daughters? He must have heard from the rest of the court of their extensive talents -- ”

“Or at least purported talents,” said Blaise under his breath with a rather cynical look. “Seems the rumor mill is working well...“

Pearl shot Blaise a glare, but Claire didn’t seem to hear him -- she had already whirled on Carewyn.

“Tell his Highness that the dress is a work of art, fit for a queen!” she said insistently. “And make sure that he knows that there are much better models for his work here, at the Cromwell estate -- Iris has a far superior build, Dahlia the most perfect shoulders -- ”

“I suppose Winnie can do far worse than inanely fawning over your daughters’ target on their behalf,” said Blaise in a rather cutting voice. “Mindlessly swooning certainly worked for you.”

“Blaise!” Pearl snapped reproachfully.

Charles’s eyes drifted over Claire and her three anxious-looking daughters thoughtfully.

“...What feedback...do you believe would most please his Highness, child?” he asked Carewyn.

“He appreciated it when I noticed the details,” said Carewyn. “I would think if anyone had any creative ideas to add onto it...or perhaps constructive criticism...he might react well to it. His Highness is very interested in fashion and tailoring...I’m sure he would appreciate knowing someone who could indulge in that passion with him.”

He must be awfully lonely, locked up in the palace all the time. It’s no wonder he tried to find things to do indoors that could bring him some joy, if he’s unable to go much of anywhere...

Charles’s eyes flitted over the silk and ornate beading on Carewyn’s sleeves.

“His Highness certainly does have an eye for finery...has the royal family come into additional wealth recently?”

“I don’t think so,” said Carewyn. “The castle staff is very limited. And although the nobility are all dressed and fed well and the castle is decadent, the staff is frequently short of common necessities like nails and coal for the fire. Not to mention the staff’s rations are sparse.”

Iris gave a loud, haughty laugh. “Ha! Probably just as well -- you could do with getting some of that meat off your thighs!”

“Iris,” said Charles very sleekly, even as the rest of Carewyn’s cousins sniggered.

His lips curled up in a smile that didn’t touch his eyes.

“...It seems that the King and Queen are indeed in need of our family’s charity. But we must indulge their pride. It’ll be far easier for them to accept help from a future daughter-in-law and princess than simply from a loyal servant of the realm. Carewyn -- you shall report back what his Highness wishes to hear. Customize three answers for Heather, Iris, and Dahlia -- one fawning, one critical, one creative. Whichever answer he likes best, we will then pursue that route with the cousin you’ve assigned to it.”

His almond-shaped blue eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly upon Carewyn’s face.

“And once we’ve secured an invitation from the Prince...I expect that you will step aside, to make room for your cousin to make her move.”

Carewyn’s expression didn’t shift.

“I’m not interested in courting princes,” she said lowly.

Heather, Iris, and Dahlia can knock themselves out. Andre will see through them sooner or later, and it’ll be all their own fault.

There was a cold, diamond-like glint in Charles’s eye. “...Yes...you truly don’t care to chase any man except for your brother...do you, Carewyn, my dear?”

Carewyn tried not to blink or look away.

“You have news of Jacob?”

Charles sighed airily. “I’m afraid not, my dear. I know he’s well, of course...but news from the War front, as you know, is simply impossible to come by...”

“You know he’s alive,” Carewyn shot back a bit more sharply than she meant to. “That doesn’t mean he’s well. No one could be doing well out there.”

“And yet I’m sure you’re happy that the first is guaranteed?” said Charles. “At least, so long as you do your duty to your family, and to me?”

It was a warning, but it was done so delicately -- it was like his voice was flirting with a threat, rather than flat-out making one.

Carewyn’s lips came together tightly as her gaze drifted to the ground.

“You know I wish no harm to come to either you or Jacob,” Charles said softly. “Losing a child was terrible enough, losing grandchildren as well...well, it would deeply upset me. And per our agreement, you are the one who must shoulder the burden of your brother’s and your debt to me...particularly since you have no dowry and no possible claim to my estate. Remember, Carewyn...you are responsible for how you are treated -- and for how Jacob is treated.” 

Carewyn’s eyebrows knit tightly together over her closed eyes.

“...Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now then -- rehearse the answers you plan to give to his Highness with your cousins. I wish them to sound convincing, so that when one or more of them is invited to the palace, they will be able to play their part appropriately.”

Carewyn hated every minute of hashing out responses with Heather, Iris, and Dahlia. Like their mother Claire, they and Elmer were all “follower” type personalities who tended to echo whatever they thought would please others -- so Dahlia, Iris, and Heather were constantly trying to steal each other’s ideas to “improve” Carewyn’s answers, despite all three of them supposedly needing to take three different approaches as part of Charles’s plan. Even the three girls’ hostile attitude toward Carewyn largely came down to her refusing to follow their direction, despite her lowered status in the family giving them authority over her -- something that, Carewyn believed, they would never do if their positions were switched.

When Carewyn was finally ready to leave (and successfully avoided Tristan’s muddy hands when the wickedly grinning little boy forcibly tried to hug her goodbye so he could leave stains on her dress), Blaise pulled Charles aside. As the male heir of the Cromwell legacy, Blaise had always followed in his father’s footsteps most, but there was one thing they didn’t agree on.

“Father,” he said, his voice very low in the back of his throat as he watched Carewyn ride away at a fast gallop, “I don’t approve of her returning to that place.”

Charles smiled coldly. “You always have disliked sharing your toys with others, Blaise.”

“It’s a bad influence!” said Blaise, whirling on his father. “We can’t monitor what she does, how she behaves -- who she speaks to -- how can we hope to keep her, if we consistently open her cage?”

Charles’s eyes, the same color and shape of all of his children and most of his grandchildren, sparkled with something crueler.

“Ah, my boy,” he said sardonically, “you have much to learn about cages. Physical cages have strong bars, but ones easy to see and constantly weathered. But a cage forged carefully in another’s mind...can become so strong that the prisoner willingly chooses to stay.”

Charles turned on his heel, his lips curling up further still even though his face remained so doll-like and emotionless.

“As weak and overemotional of a thing she is, Carewyn is far more like you and me than Lane ever was. She’s very resourceful and she’ll do whatever she has to in order to get what she wants -- and that drive fuels everything she is and does. It may make her spirited, but it also makes it so that as long as she sees Jacob’s life in the palm of my hand...so too will she be.”

Blaise’s eyes flickered with a strange skepticism. “And...if Jacob’s life were ever not under your sway?”

Charles’s expression grew even more detached and emotionless as his smile faded and his eyebrows raised.

“...Would Carewyn really want to contemplate what state he’d be in, if he weren’t?”

Carewyn couldn’t be happier to leave the Cromwell estate behind. She didn’t slow down her horse’s pace until she’d reached the outskirts of the market, well after the manor house was out of sight. Only then did she slow her horse down to a leisurely trot, so that she could enjoy some time on her own wandering down the village streets before heading back to the palace. The castle staff wasn’t expecting her back to work until the following morning, so she could take her time.

Unfortunately for Carewyn, there was another reason her cousin Tristan’s hands had been so muddy -- and that reason soon became apparent when Carewyn reached into one of the pockets on the side of her saddle, thinking to temporarily change out of the pretty shoes Andre had given her and were now pinching her feet for the ride home. When she reached into the pocket, she instead found the tiny snake that Tristan had stolen out of the reeds by the nearby pond.

With a scream of surprise, Carewyn flung the snake to the ground -- the snake arched back, hissing angrily, and that in turn spooked Carewyn’s horse. With a loud, scared whinny, it reared back, bucking wildly.

“Whoa!” cried Carewyn. “Whoa, boy -- whoa!”

Several passerby turned around at the sound of the noise. A few looked like they wanted to help, but were too warded off by the horse’s kicking feet. Carewyn tried desperately to calm her horse, stroking its mane with one hand and clinging desperately onto the reins with the other, but it was no use. She wasn’t strong enough to wrench her horse into submission. And so when the horse gave a particularly violent jerk, Carewyn was thrown right off.

“AHH!”

Out of nowhere, someone dashed forward. Carewyn ended up slamming right into them, and the two landed roughly in a heap in the dirt.

Carewyn watched her horse gallop off the street, her face very tense and distraught. She then looked down at the person she’d landed on top of, and she gave a visible start.

Her “hero” was a man about her age dressed in modest clothes with tanned skin, slightly-too-long dark hair, and a beard. His sparkling black eyes were squinted slightly as he winced in pain, but nonetheless shone with some concern as he looked her over.

“Are you hurt, Lady Cromwell?” asked Orion.

[dahniwitchoflight]

Struggle and Growth Patterns of the Classes in Homestuck

This came from person asking me what I considered to be the personal struggle of growth for Mages and Seers, since compared to the other classes, their function, Understanding, is non physical in nature compared to the other classes

And the struggles I have for them right now are more environmental rather than internal like the others. That’s very true, and also I haven't really re-looked at those classes in quite a while, more than a few years in fact.

It’s also not incorrect to say Seer/Mage are kind of a blindspot for me, being a Change class, it would be the thing I inherently understand the least, so I should put a bit more thought into it than the others and really hash it out

So! I decided to see if I could find an overall pattern between the supposed struggles of each class (Just the Main 12 tho, not Lord/Muse, didn't wanna over muddle differing factors yet) and I'm actually pretty pleased with what I got:

SO:

Actives in general, don’t struggle with using the flashy powers themselves, they struggle with situations where their power isn't the solution to their current problem OR finding out where their power is actually meant to be used.

Princes aren’t bad at destruction, they’re bad at not getting caught up in their own destruction/bad at reeling it in/directing its flow exactly where its needed, bad at being too destructive even or too heavy handed/scorched earth policy

Witches aren’t bad at change, they struggle with knowing when and where and why something should change at all, it's a very on the nose direct moral struggle

Knights aren’t bad at applying their powers, they’re very skilled, they’re just bad at recognizing when their skill isn’t the solution for their current problem (so they frantically keep trying the same thing over n over again and question why they haven’t found the solution yet)

Thieves arent bad at stealing, but they do struggle with situations where they need to give instead of take, sharing is caring

Maids arent bad at creating, but they do struggle with the internal decision of what they want to create/what kind of person to shape themselves into and perhaps struggle to take that first step at all

So in general, Actives have all the skills and tools at their disposal, their direct struggles in the exact things they want to do with their chosen skillsets and why and when and where etc

All of the Talent, none of the Motivation.

THEN:

Passives in general, DO struggle with the powers themselves at first and the ability to use them, and their growth is about perfecting that chosen skillset and about finding confidence in that skillset to use it to the greatest ability.

Bards struggle in avoidance of their power, their aspect overwhelms them at first, until they’ve ridden the wave, got a handle on things, and now they can destroy with a skilled and subtle confident finesse

Heirs struggle with change, they're comfortable, complacent, they like things to stay where they are, and they need to learn how to move on and not get stuck in a rut, to deal with change, and again, learn to ride the wave and be comfortable and use it, and then their skill with it grows.

Pages I don’t think i even need to say it, do I? They start out at point 0 completely inept in their powers, but through stubborn determination and constant practice they become masters of their craft

Rogues aren’t confident in their powers, or their ability to BE confident and take something by the horns, so they end up passing the buck over to someone they believe is more capable, (even if they’re not) So their journey is about becoming confident, that they are capable enough to handle what lemons life gives them

Sylphs also can struggle with their skills of creation, even though they tend to be very scrutinous of their chosen aspects. They're outwardly confident in their chosen aspects, will talk at length about their ideas as if it were gospel, and do have a tinge of thinking they’re clearly the person for the job when it comes to creative endeavors, but that confidence can blind them to where their skills actually fail or aren’t up to par. Aranea is the great example there. But also Kanaya wasn’t immune to overlooking concerns and failing in areas as well. But once they have been proven wrong, or, if they make sure to keep an eye out for their own failings and work on them, thats when their skills are truly honed.

So in general, Passives know exactly what they want to do with their chosen skills, and might even firmly believe they’re already at the necessary skill level to achieve their goals, but lack the actual level of skill necessary to achieve those goals

All of the Motivation, None of the Talent.

FINALLY:

What does the above imply for Mage and Seer?

Well, going by the pattern:

Active Knowledge Classes aren’t bad at knowing things, in fact, they’re really frigging good at it. So their challenge is figuring out where their knowledge... isn’t actually useful. So instead they struggle with recognizing when they DON’T actually have the answer. When an unknown catches them off guard or when their idea doesn’t work how they think it should. Their struggle is to admit when they might be wrong, when they’re not an expert on everything, and then to pass the buck to someone who DOES actually know.

case in point, Sollux was great and seemed to have all of the answers... up into the point where they finally reached their Doomed point that he predicted, after that, he struggled with knowing whats to come next and kinda gave up on trying to know at all. Since the answer just wasn’t immediately obvious to him. 

Meulin would similarly be at a loss if someone were have a different personality than the one she assumes that they have. And this explains why she is so trusting of Kurloz, despite what he does to her, because she completely cant imagine him being like that, that info is something entirely off her radar. she isn’t wary of who Kurloz is because she KNOWS who Kurloz is, she’s so intimate and close to him, also, she knows who everyone is, duh (in her own mind)

Mages: Good at being Correct, Bad at being Incorrect.

Passive Knowledge Classes then struggle to understand, to learn, to know, but they are motivated by an endless curiosity. They WANT to know, or.. at least come off as if they DO know. A point 0 Seer might actually not be all that knowledgeable about something (!), but they struggle hard with admitting that they’re actually ignorant. So, they bluff. They use Pseudo-Knowledge like objects of divination, or secretly ask questions of authority figures for the answer, or even just straight up bluff and lie their way through things they don’t know to supplement this lack of real solid knowledge, like crutches, and may be at a loss if those crutches are taken away. So their struggle is to become knowledgeable in their own right, which involves removing those crutches, to stop bluffing, stop secretly relying on something else and admit when they need to really learn it instead.

case in point: Rose and Terezi are EXTREMELY good bluffers. Kankri is also that (and just straight up an idiot about a lot of stuff). And all three are way too proud to admit when they don’t actually know something (at least in the beginning). They have the poker faces of a champ. And were extremely good at using what they knew of their aspect powers, to supplement knowledge that they didn’t know themselves. This has actually become much clearer now that we see Rose kinda removed from her main crutches, no more authority like doc scratch or skaia or horrorterrors to ask she is the adult now, no more light aspect seeing the most fortunate path for her. Now shes gotta know stuff on her own by herself, and figure things out on her own and shes doing really good! Terezi’s also struggled immensely with really knowing if she made the right choices at times, and you could consider her coin flip habit both a bluff and a crutch that she was very good at using

Because, if you split the timeline so that every possible answer to your question occurs, one of them has to be the right one, doesn’t it? And shes also doing much better nowadays too. Kankri did not unfortunately lol

Seers: Good at being Incorrect, Bad at being Correct.

TL;DR The thing with Mages and Seers is that your actually just a bunch of dumbdumbs and you don’t know it

(I kid, you guys are smart at smart things, but your dumb at dumb things too lol)

[dregstrash]

Knife in the Back (ch.5)

A/N: I know I’ve been a tad MIA, but I did not forget about this incredible fic that I did with @wafflesandkruge

AO3 Link

Inej gathered her files again, hating how thin they were. For what seemed to have been such a messy killing, there was very little they actually recovered at the scene. The killer had been meticulous, almost every clue seemingly a red herring or meant to confound. 

A glance at the clock told her it was nearly five.The morning shift– Nina– would be coming in soon. She stifled a yawn and continued straightening her desk. She’d run home and try to catch a few hours of sleep before returning in the afternoon. Surely they wouldn’t mind, she’d clocked more overtime this week than most people did in a month. She shoved the pertinent files into her bag and made a grab for her car keys, but they were snatched up by Matthias. She tilted her head up and gave him a questioning look. He looked troubled.

“I’ll drive,” he insisted, his voice a low rumble. “You look ready to drop.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. How will you get back to your place?”

“I’ll take the bus.” His tone left no room for argument. “Let’s go.”

The drive back to her place was silent, as the moments between them usually were. Inej snuck glances at him, trying to guess what he was thinking. He didn’t know about her past, the one Kaz had hinted about back at the station. Was he angry Kaz knew more than him? Or that she was clearly hiding something big from him?

But it wasn’t as if Matthias was an open book either. He’d transferred to Ketterdam two years ago after quitting from the force a few states over. Zoya hated his guts for some reason, and Nikolai tended to ignore him. And he had some kind of shared history with Nina, Zoya’s assistant. She’d done plenty of digging into his background, but there were too many sealed records and dead ends for her to find anything worthwhile. Matthias Helvar’s past remained a mystery and she was fine with that as long as hers could too.

The car rolled to a stop outside her apartment building. Matthias switched off the engine, but didn’t move. His fingers tapped his thigh nervously. “Inej…”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“What Brekker was saying…” he hesitated, clearly not sure how to phrase whatever was on his mind. 

“It doesn’t have anything to do with the case,” she said sharply. “And it won’t affect how I treat him. If he’s guilty, I’ll arrest him.”

“I don’t doubt that. But if there’s anything you need to tell me…” His pale eyes stared into hers. 

“No. There isn’t.” She held his gaze for a moment longer before holding out a hand. He handed over her car keys without another word and got out of the car. Inej followed, locking the car behind her. 

The sun was just starting to come up, its rays brushing the sides of her shabby building with gold. The neighborhood was alright by Ketterdam standards. She could afford to move into a better place now, but her apartment was comfortable and she was capable of taking care of herself. Her more unsavory neighbors knew not to bother her. 

She thought Matthias was going to say something else, but he just shook his head and waved goodbye before jogging to the bus station a few blocks away.

When Inej returned to the station a few hours later, Matthias was nowhere to be found, but there was a hot cup of coffee left on her desk. Her lips curled as she saw the familiar crow emblazoned on the side of the cup. Brekker’s Brews. Had Matthias gone without her to interview the employees again?

Her question was answered when Nina swept by her, leaving the scent of fresh pastries and roses in her wake. Her friend was carrying a box of donuts from Brekker’s Brews and she promptly set them down in the break room. Inej followed, her stomach growling. She hadn’t had time for breakfast.

“You should stop visiting that cafe,” Inej scolded half-heartedly as she snatched a donut from the box. The rest of their co-workers started drifting in, lured by the promise of sugar. “The owner’s a hit man.”

“A rumored hit man,” Nina corrected, her green eyes sparkling with amusement. She took a seat at the table and pulled her chair closer to Inej. “Besides, if there’s anyone you should warn, it’s Wylan. He goes almost every day just so he can chat up that barista...Jesper?”

Wylan froze, his hand halfway to a pink-frosted donut. “I do not,” he insisted. Inej just took another bite of her donut, noting the redness in his cheeks. She liked Jesper well enough despite his association with Brekker. She still hadn’t quite managed to figure out if he was involved in Brekker’s less legitimate business, a fact that irked her to no end. 

“Ooo, donuts!” a new voice exclaimed from the door. Inej looked up to find Nikolai Lantsov, the captain of the precinct, making a beeline for the pastries.

Despite his youthful appearance and mannerisms, he was well known around the country for cracking several notorious cases in the last decade. Zoya Nazyalensky, the precinct’s lieutenant, trailed in behind him with a roll of her eyes. 

“All of you get paid to solve crimes, not eat overpriced pastries from a criminal’s business front,” she scoffed. At her arrival, the break room became a sudden flurry of activity as everyone muttered their excuses and cleared out. Everyone, whether they admitted it or not, was more than a little scared of Zoya.

According to one rumor, she’d been with the FBI before quitting and moving to the precinct after meeting Nikolai during a federal investigation. Yet another rumor she’d heard was that Zoya was a former Ravkan assassin. Which was absolutely ridiculous. She hoped.

Inej lingered behind, waiting until everyone other than the captain and lieutenant were gone before shutting the door softly. Nikolai was sitting on the table and trying to get Zoya to take a bite of his donut. She didn’t miss how their hands were interlaced, or the soft curve of Zoya’s smile despite her harsh words. Their relationship was the worst kept secret of the precinct. 

Zoya noticed her first. “Something wrong, Ghafa?”

“It’s the Brekker case. Something’s not right about it.”

“He claims Rollins is behind everything, right?” Nikolai asked as he dusted off his fingers. “The gang leader we haven’t been able to put away?”

“Yes,” Inej confirmed with a frown. She leaned against the wall, trying to recall Kaz’s exact words. “He said...the Razorgulls were shacking up with the Dime Lions. That we weren’t seeing the bigger picture.”

Zoya frowned. “Brekker is full of shit. But that would explain the rise in gang activity we’ve been seeing near the Barrel.”

Nikolai’s face had gone serious. “Rollins is dangerous. There’s a reason he’s still free, and that’s because he covers his tracks well. If he thinks you’re on to him-”

“I’ll be fine,” Inej interrupted, a bit annoyed. She didn’t need to hear this warning again. From her boss, no less. Zoya shot her a warning glare. 

“Alright,” Nikolai said with a worried look. “It’s worth investigating if you believe Brekker. If you need more resources, let us know.”

“Will do, captain.”

“And make sure you keep tabs on Brekker too. It would be great if we could finally throw that little gutter rat in jail along with Rollins,” Zoya ordered. With a toss of her hair, she left the room. Nikolai followed her after giving Inej an apologetic shrug.

Inej sat in the room a bit after they’d left, contemplating Zoya’s last words. It was true she’d dedicated much of her career to trying to catch Brekker, but it seemed for the second time ever, their goals were aligned. 

She’d arrived in Ketterdam not as a detective, nor an immigrant, but a victim. Snatched from her family in Ravka, she’d been transported to Ketterdam as part of a human trafficking ring. She still had the scars to remember her time by- two bracelets around her wrists where handcuffs had been left on too tightly for too long and a long scar up her forearm where she tried to disfigure the peacock feather tattoo they’d branded her with. 

And when she couldn’t bear being an object any longer, she sought out someone rumored to help any problem go away for the right price. And that’s when she’d met Kaz for the first time

Sighing, she stood up and began to make her way to Wylan’s lab. Hopefully, he’d have more evidence for her or this whole day would be a bust. 

The precinct was unusually empty today, with most of the detectives out at scenes or on vacation. Matthias was still a no-show, which was strange for him. He usually called Inej at least a week in advance for absences of any sort. Just as she found herself missing his silent but reassuring presence, there was the sound of pounding footsteps behind her. 

“There’s been another body,” Matthias shouted, not slowing his pace. Inej broke out in a run, trying to match his longer strides. 

“Where,” she demanded as they turned the corner and exited into the parking lot. Matthias’ ancient, but reliable, convertible was waiting for them. Inej vaulted over the passenger door as Matthias struggled to open his with the keys.

“By the docks,” he said, his voice unusually tight. Inej realized why a second later. Nina lived by the docks, in a shabby apartment that Matthias was always bugging her about fitting with better security. 

“Nina’s fine,” Inej said in an attempt to reassure him. “I just saw her inside.” He didn’t say a thing, just started the car and tore out of the parking lot.

The scene was the same as the one from the last morning. A body. Two gunshots. And all evidence pointing towards Kaz Brekker. 

Inej dropped the corner of the tarp she was holding and stood up, done with her cursory examination. Wylan rushed by, snapping photos at every possible angle. Matthias was a few feet away talking to a uniformed officer. She took the moment to step back for a bit and think.

Two bodies in two days was an escalation if she’d ever seen one. Even if the real perpetrator was trying to frame Kaz, they were doing a shoddy job of it. Kaz’s kills were always spaced out, never more than one every few months. Or at least the ones she discovered. This time, there was a rag dotted with blood that Inej was sure would match Kaz’s once Wylan finished running his tests. 

She caught a crime scene investigator who was rushing by. “Do we have an ID yet?”

“Mila Jansen. Twenty-five, a student at the local university. That’s all we have for now. We can forward her address to you in a few.”

Inej nodded, distracted. Wylan was waving her over frantically, mouthing something she couldn’t make out. She dismissed the investigator and made her way over to him.

“What is it?”

“Well,” he started, fidgeting a bit. “I think Kaz was telling the truth.”

“What do you mean,” she snapped impatiently. 

“The body, while dumped this morning, was killed sometime last night. Between midnight and two in the morning. And Kaz was-”

“With me,” she breathed, the gears in her head turning. “I have to go. Tell Matthias I’m going after Brekker.”

[jovialyouthmusic]

Lythikan Liaison 2

After the death of Jackson Walker, Bastien Lykel finds himself with time to kill in the duchy of Lythikos. He strikes up an acquaintance with a female member of the Lythikan Guard.

Word Count 3714

Pairing  Bastien x OC x ???

A/N NS*W no under 18s please Scenes of a sexual nature from the beginning under the cut; threesome (FMF)

2 Three’s not a Crowd

Bastien snapped awake, aware of being in an unfamiliar room and of the person next to him stirring. For the first time since his mentor’s death he had managed a night’s sleep without flashbacks. For a split second he couldn’t remember where he was, but then his memory kicked in and he let himself relax, stretching his arm up over his head and settling his palm behind his neck. The room was cool, but he preferred that to waking up hot in a heated room.

‘Good morning, King’s man’ Marcia murmured, disappearing under the bedclothes. He tensed for a moment as he realised she was going down on him, then surrendered to her ministrations. He was more than a mouthful, but she was both enthusiastic and skilled, and he was surprised how quickly he came. She swallowed and came back up for air, licking her lips. Propping herself up beside him, she reached out to his forehead, but again he stopped her from touching his hair.

‘You’ll have to let me when you return the favour’ she said huskily, and reluctantly he let her go, watching her as she reached out to gently run her fingers though his hair. She gave a slow smile.

‘No pulling’ he said as he untangled her fingers and leaned down under the covers to press his lips to her belly and work his way lower. She sighed with satisfaction and threw her thighs wide for him to taste and tease her. She wasn’t quiet and was easy to read. Her hand went to his head, and she pressed her palm to his scalp, fingers drumming as she approached her own climax. Like his own release, it was easy and quick, and they lay side by side afterwards. She was the first to sit up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and putting on a warm robe, reaching under the bed for thick socks. He sat up and watched her with a pang of regret, wanting somehow to stay longer - until his belly rumbled. She laughed and threw another robe and thick woollen socks on the bed.

‘Here, King’s man, wear this. I’ll start the coffee and make oatmeal’ She left the room and he rose, shrugging on the garment which fitted reasonably well as she was a well built woman. He had gathered his scattered clothes the night before and folded them neatly, putting them on a chair in the bedroom. He retrieved his boxer shorts, wrinkling his nose at having to wear them again, but there was no help for it. After going to the bathroom he emerged into a narrow hallway and counted the doors as he made his way toward the main room. He heard her clattering around in the tiny kitchen which adjoined the lounge and stood in the doorway watching her.

‘How many of you live here?’ he asked. She handed him a cup of hot black coffee, indicating cream and sugar on the worktop, but he waved his hand to reject them.

‘There’s my companion Angela, who you met, and our foster son. He’s away at the training academy right now, but he’ll be back in a couple of days’ His stomach clenched and he sipped the strong black brew.

‘Foster son?’ he asked

‘Yes, we’re more his mentors than his guardians as you’d understand it. He’s applied to train for the guard and the two of us support him. It’s common practice here in Lythikos. We get this cabin and a small stipend in return, otherwise we’d be living in the barracks.’

‘His parents?’ he asked as she turned back to the stove to stir the pot of oatmeal, tossing in some dried fruit and nuts.

‘He’s an orphan.’ she said shortly, and he sensed it was time to stop asking questions before he gave out his own secrets. He didn’t hide the fact that he had been fostered, but it wasn’t something that he bandied about casually and he had only just met this woman. He just nodded and sat at the table, leaning back into the wooden chair and watching her cook in comfortable silence. Before long she had ladled out the food into two bowls and brought it across, pouring a little cream into hers before taking a spoonful. He tasted it and decided it was sufficient as was. He hunched over it, eating slowly so he didn’t overload his digestion.

‘So, do you want to come hunting with me?’ she asked ‘You can use Angela’s rifle if you don’t have your own gun’

‘I wasn’t expecting to hunt’ he admitted ‘But it sounds good. What sort of game do you expect to bag?’ she shrugged.

‘Deer if we’re lucky, rabbit if not. If we encounter any boar it’s best to leave them, they can get nasty. It’s more of a group effort getting those beasts’

‘Do we need to travel far?’

‘No, we just need to go to the other side of the valley, half an hour’s drive. This side has snow cover, the other is wooded so it’s great for game’ He nodded approvingly.

‘I’m in’ he said ‘I’d better let my Captain know what I’m doing but I don’t think he’ll object. I’ll have to go back to my billet to get a change of clothes too.’

‘Okay, you do that when you’ve finished eating and I’ll pick you up in an hour’

-------

It was mid afternoon and the winter light was fading when they drove one of the Lythikan Guard’s SUVs back to her cabin with a few rabbits and a young deer. He had been the one to bring down the deer but he didn’t quite match her skill with the rifle. She regularly hunted for the pot, whereas most of the time when he handled firearms it was a handgun on targets in the Guards’ shooting range. She handed over their contribution to the head of her cabin’s block, a dark haired older man called Greg. He grunted at the sight of the deer.

‘That’s a good size, folk will be pleased to have venison. We’ve got a bit of hog left if you want to help yourself, and there’s plenty of vegetable stew.’ He looked at Bastien. ‘I’ve seen you with Jackson. I was sorry to hear he fell in service. He was a good hunter himself though he didn’t get much chance once he’d been promoted to Captain’ Bastien nodded, not sure how to answer him, but he was spared the effort as a younger man walked up to assess the kill and take it away to be butchered for the pot.

Marcia led Bastien to the centre of the common to the cooking fire, which was not entirely open to the elements as it was sheltered by a wooden frame which had a tarpaulin roof and moveable wooden panels to shield it from any wind. A spit with pork on it stood at the edge of the fire to keep warm, while a pot was suspended at the centre of the fire, bubbling with an aromatic smell of meat and vegetables. A table stood beside it with a few ceramic crocks. She filled one with fragrant stew from the huge cauldron and sliced up a few pieces of pork and beckoned him to follow her back to her cabin.

They had eaten bread, cheese and tart apples when they’d taken a break from tracking deer, and the aroma of the hot food made his mouth water. They sat at the kitchen table as before with two bowls, and no sooner had they settled than Bastien heard the main door open then slam shut.

‘Marcie, I’m home!’ The voice was that of a young man, and he burst into the room, smile fading as he saw Bastien, who stood politely to greet him. As quick as he was, Marcia was faster, getting up and running across the room to embrace the gangly youth, who looked warily at Bastien over her shoulder.

‘Marco, you’re back early’ she cried, then drew back to hold him at arms length, regarding him with concern ‘What did you do?’ she asked. He snorted.

‘Finished top of all my classes’ he boasted ‘So they let me off.’ She pursed her lips sceptically, and the boy nodded at her guest ‘Who’s this?’

‘Marco, this is Bastien, he’s a King’s Guard. I took him hunting today’ she smiled ‘Thanks to him, we’ll have venison tomorrow’ Bastien stepped away from the table, extending his hand in the Lythican handshake he’d learned from his mentor, remembering his words. ‘Always do it like this, Lykel, one hand, then the other on top of it. It indicates you’ve no weapon and you’re not a threat. It will win you respect’ He hoped he was applying the correct pressure – too tight and you were communicating your superiority, too soft and you showed weakness. He judged that he should give firm but equal pressure because although he was the boy’s elder, he was a stranger in the house and non Lythikan.

‘Sir’ Marco intoned cautiously.

‘Take your coat off and come and have some stew’ Marcia said ‘I got extra for Angela but  you can have it. She can get her own when she comes off shift’ Marcia smiled weakly at Bastien as the boy turned to go back into the hall.

‘I thought we’d have more time alone’ she said quietly ‘But it’s good to have him home’ Bastien wondered where he’d be sleeping that night, a little disappointed at the thought of losing her companionship. They had worked well together when they hunted, and like him she was the kind of person who didn’t feel the need to fill silence with empty words. The sex had been more than satisfying, but he was used to going without for long periods. It was a shame nonetheless.

Marco came back and drew up a chair while Marcia served out the rest of the stew and pork, adding a crust of bread for each of them. The three of them ate, silently at first, then Marcia began to ask Marco about his studies. Bastien watched the two of them, feeling that he should leave them to their talk. He was first to finish, and took his bowl to clean it.

‘I imagine the academy is similar to the one at the capitol’ Marcia remarked to him.

‘I’m not sure, as I’ve not been there myself’ he replied ‘It’s likely.’

‘It can’t be that long since you graduated’ she continued

‘I had three years training for the King’s Guard. I didn’t start there until I was eighteen’

‘Oh’ she replied ‘Military training starts at sixteen in Lythikos’ She and Marco had finished eating, and he took their bowls too.  

‘I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do.’ he went on, seeing the young man regarding him curiously ‘I trained in karate when I was fifteen, and my foster parents encouraged me to join the Guard, although he was a maths teacher and my foster mother was an artist. It was a good decision – my job is very important to me.’ Marco looked up at him as he finished eating.

‘You’re fostered too?’ he asked, and Bastien nodded.

‘That’s right. I never knew my father, and my mother died when I was thirteen’ Marcia and her ward exchanged glances.

‘I’m sorry to hear that’ Marcia said ‘Marco’s parents died in an avalanche when the resort was being built’

‘That was unfortunate’ he said sympathetically. Marcia rose and doled out apples in the silence that followed. Bastien didn’t particularly want one, but took his as a good example for Marco.

‘I know I just got back’ Marco said, munching the crisp but sour fruit ‘But Brett invited me over. I thought if I went there tonight, I could spend Christmastide here’ He referred to Christmas and the day before and after, a traditional Lythican holiday. It reminded Bastien that there wasn’t much time before he could get back to the Palace and check up on the Walker family.

‘Were you thinking of a sleepover?’ she asked.

‘That’s right. He’s struggling with military history and he wanted me to help him with his assignment’

‘Is his sister Lydia at home?’ Marcia asked, and the young man blushed scarlet. Bastien tried to hide a smile, recognising that Marco most probably had a crush on the sister and was trying to find a way to impress her. Marcia’s eyes narrowed, and he looked sheepish, knowing she’d seen right through him. She reached out and slapped his shoulder.

‘Okay Marco, but just the one night. If I hear you’ve got into mischief, you’ll be grounded for the rest of the holiday, understand?’ He looked suitably grateful and embarrassed.

‘Thanks, Marcia. I promise not to get into trouble’ He threw his apple core into the compost caddy and loped out of the room. Marcia turned back to Bastien with a wide grin.

‘Looks like we have some more time together, King’s man. If you’ve nothing better to do’ He raised his chin and cocked an eyebrow.

‘I’ve not heard from my Captain, so my guess is I’m not needed’ he said in a neutral tone. She moved closer to him and spoke quietly.

‘Angela will be back soon. Perhaps you’d like to get to know her better’ His mind reeled as she nudged him ‘The bed’s plenty big for three, you know’ He swallowed – he wasn’t a stranger to threesomes, or moresomes for that matter, but he wondered if he could take on two Lythikan women. She seemed to read his mind ‘We’ll be gentle with you’ she murmured in his ear. He gripped the edge of the table and hoped he was up to the task, because he had no intention of backing down…

--------

‘Marcie!’ This time when Bastien heard the main door open and shut, the voice was female. Marco was gone, and he and Marcia were drinking wine. He stood as Angela, who had paused in the hall to remove her cloak, entered the room and raked him with her gaze. ‘Well well, you got a keeper here. Did you give him a good workout or have you been saving him for me?’ she purred. She was a little shorter and slighter than Marcia, fairer of skin and with pale brown hair, cropped as all the rest of the Lythikan Guard.

‘I think he’s got staying power, we’ve had a good time so far’ Marcia grinned ‘But don’t touch his hair, he doesn’t like it’ Bastien cleared his throat.

‘I always give my best, and I’ve yet to disappoint’ he asserted. ‘You can touch my hair, but don’t mess it up.’ he grinned and winked at Marcia as if sharing a private joke.

‘You’ll want to eat first’ Marica said, starting up for the kitchen, but Angela put her hand on her arm as she passed, stopping her. She leaned closer, still fixing Bastien with her gaze.

‘It’s fine, Captain laid on a spread for my shift. I’m good’ The two women smiled slowly and Bastien felt an urge to loosen his tie – except he wasn’t wearing one. He swallowed and squared up to the task, determined not to give way.

‘Well, ladies - shall we go to the bedroom?’ he suggested.

‘Whoa, whoa – hang on, King’s man. Let’s at least introduce ourselves’ said Angela. He tilted his head in apology.

‘Of course. Unless you want to persist with the nickname, the name’s Bastien Lykel’

‘A name that has merit. I’m Angela Firstfist’ she remarked, and advanced on him, stopping close. She raised her hand to his cheek. Their eyes locked and she leaned closer. He initiated the kiss, aware that he was outnumbered and needed to stay in control as much as possible, as we wasn’t sure just how much he could trust the two friends. She was an enthusiastic kisser, and her hand went to the back of his neck, open mouthed and with her tongue exploring. He became aware of Marcia moving behind him, and she also leaned into him, nuzzling at his neck and pressing her palms to his buttocks. He felt himself rapidly harden as the two women started to pull at his clothes. He followed suit, untucking Angela’s blouse and exploring her warm flesh.

The three of them worked at undressing each other, gasps and satisfied moans punctuating their movements. Angela sank to the couch and he followed her down as she parted her thighs and pulled him to kneel in front of her. He needed no prompting to start exploring with his tongue, and she proved to be only a little less noisy than her housemate. Marcia contributed with caresses and kisses to the both of them. Before she reached her climax, Angela stopped him, gasping and breathless. He raised his eyebrows at Marcia, who smiled.

‘It’s not your tongue she wants, King’s man’ she laughed. Angela pulled Bastien to sit on the coloured throw of the couch and pivoted to straddle him. She was slighter than Marcia, her breasts larger but her body toned and muscular. She reached down over her belly to wrap her fingers around his engorged member and her eyes lit up.

‘You were right Marcie, he’s more than a handful’ she bit her lip in anticipation as Marcia produced a condom, ripping the packet open for her. She sat back to roll it over him and repositioned herself. ‘We usually please ourselves’ she explained to him ‘but every now and again a man takes our eye and we take him out for a spin. You’re a lucky man.’ Marcia caressed Angela’s shoulders and nuzzled at her neck as she guided Bastien to her entrance, slowly sinking onto him. She wasn’t as tight as Marcia, but it was still a snug fit, and she rolled her eyes in bliss. He put his hands to her hips to steady her as she began a slow rising and falling. Marcia’s hand wandered between her thighs  as she watched them pick up speed, sighing with passion.

Bastien remembered what the madam of the Greek brothel he visited each year told him. He had gone there for advice on how to manage his size, being more than average in length and girth, and she had offered for him to spend a week annually, helping to train her girls in how to handle larger men. She had told him that in order to last longer, he should think of something distracting – a list of the monarchs of Cordonia or the duchies and their current dukes – anything boring and banal. He listened to Angela’s sighs and gasps as he thought of other things, and timed it perfectly to hold off until he was sure she was ready. She came with a great cry, writhing and arching, pulsing around him and triggering his orgasm. They slowed and came to a stop, letting their breath settle before she climbed off him and he made his way to the bathroom to clean up and dispose of the condom.

As he left the bathroom Marcia was waiting for him with an open mouthed kiss and lead him to the bedroom. They lay resting for a while, the two women either side of him, stroking him back to hardness. That didn’t take long – he had good recovery, and having twice as much stimulation as normal made it even easier.

’Have you been with two women before?’ Angela asked.

‘More than two’ he asserted, and Marcia laughed out loud.

‘I picked a good one. It makes up for your friend refusing Angela’

‘I’m sorry for that’ Bastien replied ‘He’s thinking of proposing to his girlfriend.’ Marcia frowned.

‘They allow marriage in the King’s guard? We don’t have that privilege. We have to be devoted to our jobs.’

‘It’s not common, but it’s allowed’

‘Would you have said yes if we’d both approached you last night?’

‘To be honest, I’m not sure. You Lythikans have a reputation, but I don’t usually back down from a challenge’

‘What would make you back down?’ Angela asked.

‘Knowing I’d lose for sure. It’s not worth the energy’ He turned toward Marcia ‘I believe you’ve missed out so far. Do you have any preferences?’ Her eyes darkened.

‘There is one position I like, but I’ll add to it a little. Just follow our lead’ She moved over to her housemate and whispered in her ear. Angela smiled and lay on her back, thighs open, and Marcia went down on her on all fours. Bastien grunted as he understood what she wanted, and went to the bedside table to retrieve another condom before he knelt behind her. He stroked her buttocks and ran his fingers over her sex, delving inside so she writhed and moaned as she in turn paid attention to the other woman.

The position was a real test of his endurance, as it was one of his favourites and he had to be sensitive to his partner. He couldn’t be too rough, though he was sure she would adjust and adapt to what he did. Her attention was split between them as he eased inside her. He went slow and gentle. The sounds the two women made threatened to push him over the edge, so he concentrated on remembering the duty roster he’d had to organise the week before. Angela gasped and thrashed under Marcia’s tongue, and came noisily. Marcia pulled her head away, panting with passion.

‘Harder, King’s man, harder’ she moaned as Angela rolled away and lay watching them, eyelids hooded, gaze slightly vacant in her afterglow. Bastien picked up speed, gripping Marcia’s hips, thankful for the firm mattress the Lythikan guard favoured. It gave him more purchase than a soft one, and he was soon pounding into her as she gasped and moaned in pleasure. At last he felt the flutter that signalled her climax, and he let himself go with a grunt, slowing and stopping as Marcia sank to the mattress, trembling and moaning. He mustered the last of his strength to dispose of the condom, and joined the two women in a tangle of limbs and bedclothes, swiftly slipping into a satisfied slumber.

@sirbeepsalot @stopforamoment @drakesensworld @katedrakeohd​ @texaskitten30​ @be-still-my-aching-heart @hopefulmoonobject @dcbbw @classylady1234 @rainbowsinthestorm @kimmiedoo5 @bascmve01  @ibldw-main @addictedtodrakefanfic @trappedinfandoms @fluffyfirewhiskey​ @kingliam2019 @bobasheebaby​ @marshmallowsaremyfavorite

[victoria-daydreams]

Till Kingdom Come

Chapter Six: Introductions

AN: When I first began writing this chapter I had an idea in mind, but seeing how long this chapter ended up being I decided to save it for the next chapter. Also, I was going to hold off on uploading this chapter, but I just finished watching the Lovecraft Country finale and now I’m depressed, so posting this is my boost of serotonin.

Word Count: 3.2k

Trigger Warnings: racism, racial slurs, dated/offensive terms, sexual assault

Chapter Seven: Target Practice

Two Months Later

The sound of a single gunshot cracked through the air, making the birds that rested in the nearby trees hurriedly fly away.

"You missed," Booker announced dryly, his breath a visible puff in the chilly, early December air that showed no signs of warming up.

Sabine eyes narrowed, "Thank you, for your wonderful commentary Booker," she said sarcastically, shooting him a glare.

"Just in case you didn't know," he retorted, lifted his hands.

"I have shot a gun before," Sabine reminded.

"So you've told me," he replied, moving behind her. "You aimed for the man's heart and somehow shot him in the ribs," he recalled, with a soft hum. "Great shooting there Sabine," he chuckled, and she could only envision the smug smirk on Booker's lips.

Sabine cursed under her breath, lowering the musket from her face as she stared at her target. Briefly, she wondered if the breeze had affected her aim, she had done everything right. The sudden contact of Booker placing his hand on her mid-back instantly made her body became rigid, her mind immediately flashing back to her time on the Martin Plantation.

"Don't get familiar," Sabine gritted out, looking over at him.

"I wasn't trying to!" Booker replied defensively, snatching his hand from her body. "Your posture was lacking and I was trying to correct it," he explained, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Well then find a way that doesn't involve touching me like that!" Sabine snapped, sticking her hand out to the side. "Matter of fact, just tell me next time," she suggested, with a slight shake of the head. Sabine exhaled and turned her attention back to the musket in her hands so she could reload. "What happened to Nicky and Josef teaching me how to shoot?" she questioned, glancing over at Booker before she brought the hammer to half-cock.

In the past two months that Sabine has known him, she's taken to calling Joe, 'Josef'. She liked the way it rolled off her tongue.

"It doesn't take two people to teach someone how to shoot a gun," Booker answered simply. "They were needed elsewhere," he added.

"And let me guess, Andy is busy as well?" Sabine asked rhetorically, and from the corner of her eye she saw him nod. "So, I'm stuck with you?" she asked, sliding the rifle down onto the butt.

"Sorry to disappoint," he quipped, a smile tugging at his lips. Booker unclasped his hands and began rubbing them together as he paced back and forth, trying to generate some warmth in his body. "You know, when I went looking for you in the wounded tent I had the strangest encounter," Booker stated, turning his head in her direction.

Sabine arched a brow, "And what's that?" she asked curiously, slipping her hand into the ammunition pouch.

"I came across this Irish fellow who warned me about and I quote, 'a she-devil, colored nurse'," he recalled, and Sabine's lips twitched up into a smirk.

Screams, yells, and moans of the injured echoed in Sabine's ears as she stood inside the field hospital tent. All around her, doctors and nurses were patching up anyone they could get their hands on. The air was thick with the smell of blood, bile, and other bodily fluids. The day was hard and encountering difficult and stubborn soldiers like the one in front of her, made Sabine's day more difficult than necessary.

Sabine went to reach for the injured Union soldier's leg again, but he jerked his body away from her.

"Get your nigg-" the soldier began to shout.

But Sabine was having none of it.

Before the man could finish his sentence, Sabine remorselessly jabbed her index and middle fingers into the gaping hole of the man's gunshot wound. The man let out a roar of pain and began thrashing in bed, unfortunately for him, nobody in the tent was paying attention to them because there were several men just like him screaming in pain. Only difference was, Sabine was inflicting it on purpose.

"Get my what hands off you?" Sabine questioned, staring down at the soldier as continued to scream in pain. "I'm sorry, I don't think I quite understood you. You said put my hands on you?" she asked again, pressing her fingers harder against the wound. The volume of the soldier's scream increased further more.

"Make it stop!" the man cried, writhing in pain.

"Say, 'I'm sorry, Miss,'" Sabine suggested, still maintaining pressure.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry Miss!"

"You wouldn't happen to know who that might be would you?" Booker wondered, staring at her with a knowing look.

"I bet that Irish bastard won't think to say it again when addressing me," Sabine remarked, grabbing a paper cartridge from the pouch a lot harder than necessary. "These ungrateful, Union bastards believe themselves to be all high and mighty compared to the seceshs," she continued, her grip growing tighter around the cartridge as her anger rose. "When they themselves, treat me like I'm some child who needs constant supervision or I'll hurt myself, disrespect me by calling me out of my name when I pass by them, or even as I try to help them. When they're the ones, bleeding out on the goddamn, blood soaked wooden floors of the hospital!" she seethed. "But hey, it's alright. Since the Union soldiers treat colored folks like me with a little more humanity than the Confederates would, I guess I should be grateful," she finished, sarcasm laced in her voice.

"Sabine,"

She looked over to Booker to see his hand hovering over hers. "Your hand," he said, and Sabine's eyes move down to where the packed paper cartridge once rested in her hand, but now there was nothing but black powder smudged all over her hand. "Here," he offered, digging inside his coat pocket and pulling out a handkerchief.

Slowly, she pulled the cloth loose from his fingers, "Thank you," she said quietly, lowering her eyes back to her hand. "I'm sorry," she apologized, shaking her head once more. "I don't know where that outburst came from," she stated, rubbing the cloth onto her palm.

"No, don't apologize," Booker replied, grabbing the rifle that rested on Sabine's body. "Your anger is righteous Sabine," he affirmed. "Let's take a break, eh?" he suggested, motioning to the grass where they could have a seat and Sabine just nodded in agreement.

She lowered herself to the ground, tucking the skirt of her dress underneath her as she went.

"Earlier...I snapped at you and I shouldn't have," Sabine commented, bringing her eyes away from her hand that she still cleaning the powder off from her skin.

"Don't let it trouble your mind, I deserved it," he defended, laying the rifle beside him. "You were right, I should've asked before touching you like that," he agreed, as Sabine slid her gloves back on.

She placed a hand on her forehead, "It's been a long day and it seems like nothing has gone right since the moment I woke up this morning," Sabine said, rubbing her fingers back and forth.

"Nicky and Joe told me about the nightmare you had this morning," Booker stated, looking over at her. "Was it about-" he started.

"No, it wasn't about the Orient woman drowning again," Sabine cut in, dropping her hand into her lap. "It was something much worse, if you can believe that," she added, a sardonic chuckle escaping her.

"Your time on the Martin Plantation?" Booker guessed.

"Yes," she answered, her voice suddenly becoming hoarse

"Do you want to talk about it?" Booker questioned, and Sabine remained quiet as she stared out in front of her. "Don't feel pressured-"

"It was three months ago," Sabine interrupted, craning her head to look back at Booker. "Only a month right before my death," she noted, feeling her arms raise in goosebumps.

Booker turned his body more to face her better, "What happened?" he asked.

"Have you ever heard of a mandingo fight?"

Sabine sighed as she sat in front of a vanity mirror, a look of pure disgust painted all over her face as she felt herself being pampered and doted on by Louisa and Joan, two female house slaves who were working on her "unruly" hair, as they liked to put it so. Tonight Master Martin was visiting the French Quarter for some "entertainment", but Sabine knew better, whatever Master Martin considered fun or entertaining was undoubtedly the exact opposite.

"Sabine, are ya payin' attention girl?" Louisa asked impatiently.

Her words snapped Sabine out of her thoughts and she shook her head, looking at the older woman who was no more than about thirty something years old, but already was sprouting gray hairs.

"What is it?" Sabine asked, irritation etched onto her features.

"I's was sayin' that ya hair and face is done,"

Sabine's gaze snapped towards the mirror on the vanity and she felt herself deflate. Her curls had been combed and brushed to the point that her hair was now in soft waves, styled into a middle part chignon. Instead of seeing her nude colored lips, she was greeted with the sight of them being painted a deep, sinful red. Her eyelids were blackened with eye paint, bringing attention to Sabine's dark brown orbs and making her appear more alluring, and her cheeks were tinged in pink rouge.

Who was the woman looking back at her in the mirror?

"T-this-" Sabine stammered out, looking at herself in horror.

She was never done up this nice for the Martin family parties, ever.

"Very pretty?" Louisa asked, with a bright smile.

"Lovely?" Joan offered, sharing the same expression as Louisa.

"No...not me," Sabine corrected, waving her hands in disagreement. "I am not this woman, and she is not me," she went on, pointing at her reflection.

"Yes, you are," a male voice objected. "You look more like a dignified negro gal now," he informed.

Sabine felt herself bristle as she saw the reflection of Master Martin leaning against the doorway. He was dressed in what Sabine could only imagine was a very expensive black suit, a waistcoat the color of sherry, and black patent shoes that seemed to have a small and mostly unnoticeable scuff on them.

"Ladies, will you give Cecile and I a moment?" he asked, giving a false smile towards both the house slaves who suddenly looked terrified at his presence. They both nodded and scurried out of the room, knowing it was good to leave Master Martin and his favorite slave alone.

Once the door closed Master Martin advanced onto Sabine who only kept her gaze on the mirror, her full lips drawn into a tight, straight line. He came behind her, placing a hand on her supple naked brown shoulder, a sickly smile on his face as he leaned down towards her, inhaling her sweetening scent. He chuckled lowly as he felt her shudder in repulsion, her eyes still hard as stone as she kept her gaze forward.

"Do you know how beautiful you are...?" he asked in a mocking tone, his hot breath on her ear.

"You have told me many times Master Martin," she replied curtly.

Master Martin would always call her beautiful, but she always knew those were words of spite and menace. He never saw her truly as beautiful. She was a mere toy.

His toy.

Master Martin then laughed lightly, grabbing a loose strand of her hair, tucking it hair behind her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. Sabine suddenly let out a loud gasp when she felt his large calloused hand roughly hold her cheeks, forcing her to look at him. Fear sparked into Sabine's eyes as she stared into the penetrating eyes of her Master. He gave her a tight lipped smile, his hand squeezing her cheeks, making her wince in pain.

"How many times have I told you to call me Aaron when we are alone?" he questioned, low and menacingly. Sabine knew not to answer, she could only stare into the face of evil. "How many?!" Master Martin shouted in her face, shaking her a little, making Sabine let out a slight yelp of fear.

Tears burned at the corners of her eyes as she felt him remove his large hand from her face and she squeezed her eyes shut, a few tears falling down her face as she waited for the pain to arrive. Master Martin never did like to hit her, however, on rare occasions he would. But the pain that Sabine was so anxiously awaiting, never came. Sabine cracked open an eye, seeing Master Martin, smiling at her ruefully.

"What...?" he asked mockingly. "Did you think I would hurt you?" he asked again, using the same tone.

Sabine nodded her head slowly, her body trembling lightly. Master Martin then tsked her, shaking his head lightly, walking over to her and then wiping her tears away from her face. The act seemed almost intimate, but she knew that it was far from it.

"Sabine, do you think I'm some kind of monster?" he asked, removing his hand from her face.

"Yes," she thought.

The thought of answering out loud had crossed her mind, but she was in no mood to be hit tonight. She just wanted to accompany him to this stupid outing and then go back to doing her duties as a house slave.

"You don't have to answer that," he said humorously. "Just come downstairs in the next five minutes. Our carriage will be ready soon," he informed, patting her cheek rather roughly. "Also, I want you to provide some music for this little get together we're going to. And none of that mongrel music I hear you sing. Sing something more dignified and more...white,"

Master Martin then cupped her cheek and gave her a soft and lingering kiss. Sabine resisted the urge to bite down so hard onto his lip that he would bleed or spit into his mouth. But she just simply kissed him back, though every inch of her internally was screaming at her to fight back. But she didn't. She couldn't.

She was scared.

Once Master Martin broke the kiss his gray eyes gazed into her dark brown ones in a very sickening love way and he smiled, running his thumb over her plump bottom lip. "Je t'aime…" he said softly, before leaning up and walking away from her.

And once Sabine heard the door close shut, she felt herself break down, tears running down her face as she choked back sobs that would surely bring Master Martin back to the room.

"In all the years I was on that plantation," Sabine began, tears flowing freely down her face. "He was never that physical with me until this year," she explained, with a sniffle. "And I-I don't know what triggered it. Maybe it was because Marc and Alain were gone, or m-maybe I-I did some-"

"Sabine there is nothing you did to deserve being assaulted," Booker cut in. "You hear me? Nothing,"

And Sabine just silently nodded in agreement, another sniffle coming from her.

"Now, go ahead and use my handkerchief to dry your eyes," Booker suggested, motioning to the cloth that rested in her lap.  "Be careful though, I'd hate to see gunpowder all over your face," he joked, a warm smile on his face.

A watery laugh escaped Sabine, "You liar," she responded, bringing the clean part of the cloth to her eyes. "You'd probably think its funny and let me walk around with my face all dirty," she pointed out, dabbing the fabric underneath her eyes.

"It did cross my mind," Booker remarked, with a chuckle. "Come on, we should get back to camp. We'll continue this tomorrow if all goes well," he said, before placing his hands on the ground to help him stand.

"No," Sabine answered, shaking her head vigorously. "We're not going back until I hit that target," she stated, pointing in the direction where the target was.

Booker let out a sigh of faux exasperation, "We'll be here till sundown if that's the case," he quipped, reverting back to his usual self.

Sabine's face broke into a grin and she balled up his handkerchief and threw it at him, smacking him right in the chest. Booker mirrored her smile, grabbing the cloth and stuffing it back inside his coat before pushing himself off the ground and dusting his coat off.

He stuck his hand out, "I'm only joking," he said, sticking his gloved hand out which Sabine took. "Well, only a little bit," he added, and Sabine just rolled her eyes.

She picked the rifle up from the ground and placed it on the butt as she did earlier. Taking out another paper cartridge from the ammunition pouch, she ripped open the top with her teeth and poured the pre-measured black powder into the barrel. Afterward, she pushed in the bullet, paper and all, into the barrel and began ramming the contents with the ramrod.

"Sabine," Booker called, and she glanced up from what she was doing. "That night you told me about, he didn't...he didn't..." he trailed off, struggling to finish the question.

"No Booker," Sabine answered, as she finished ramming down the bullet with the rod. "He didn't rape me, he was too drunk to do it," she informed, tossing the rod down. "The worst I got was some wet, sloppy kisses," she recalled, bringing the rifle to her face.

He cleared his throat and nodded to himself, a look of relief clearly on his face.

After a moment, Booker took a few steps back, "Alright," he started, clearing his throat once more. "Remember to stand up straight and stand your ground," he reminded. "That rifle is pretty powerful, so keep the butt of it pressed against your shoulder," he instructed. "And keep it steady," he added, eyes keenly set forward.

Sabine cocked the hammer back with two clicks, her finger curling firmly around the trigger of the rifle. A glossy bead of sweat formed on her forehead as she aimed her gun at her target. She used her other hand to steady the barrel, closing one eye in the process. Looking down the barrel, she aligned the sights toward the target, which was still slightly obscured by the midday haze. Tiny whispers of doubt began floating in Sabine's mind on whether or not she could hit what was in front of her, but those thoughts were pushed out of her mind as she squeezed the trigger.

First, there was a powerful bang, and immediately after a shuddering recoil pushed her back. Sabine kept her balance, albeit barely, but Booker rushed to her side and kept her grounded.

She blinked, "Oh. So that's what it feels like," she looked to the Frenchman and burst into a fit of laughter, seeing his lips twitch up as well. "Come on, let go see the damage," she giggled, after regaining her composure a little.

Lightly, she grabbed Booker by his sleeve and they made a brief journey to the makeshift target, a stump between a pair of bare trees. A few torn scraps of metal were all that were left of the tin can Sabine had been aiming for.

"Wow," she breathed, an awed look on her face, as she picked up a piece of the destroyed can. "I guess that was a lucky shot though," she added with a giggle, lifting her eyes to Booker's.

He sauntered up to her, hands in his pockets. "Don't sell yourself short," he commented, his mouth curving upwards. "There may be a markswoman in you yet,"

Chapter Eight: Tis’ the Season