#Sabine in tears because this is the woman who owns her soul: It's on your HEAD

[kate-embershield]

Warm Hands, Silver Tongues

AKA ah FUCK i had a terrible idea and got invested.

Alternate title - The MC (Kate in this instance) said Fuck It and embraces godhood.

Sabine suffers, Garnok's an ass, Kate finds out she can make deals, Khaan's about to have a very rude awakening.

Also chock full of Headcannons

13K Words of Sabine regretting everything under the cut + A little explanation

This was originally spurred on by the idea of how Weirded Out the Dark Riders would be if/when they find out the MC is connected to Aideen, and then it took off into this.

I love writing characters who fully embrace their powers and just go apeshit, and i think the MC would be a really fun character for this, especially with the way we're able to interact with the Dark Riders. I know personally i play like i'll offend them if i say something rude, so whenever i'm given the choice, ill always try to go the 'Talk it Out' route, which, in the context of this little fic, translated to Kate being terrible at Godhood. She's simply too nice and if i ever expand on this, it'll be fun to see how the rest of the Dark Riders interact with her.

Please come scream at me about your thoughts and headcannons! I have so many stupid little scenes that branch off this idea that i've already written

⚞☼⚟

“Sabine”, the General relaxed under the fingers running over her shoulders as Kate softly pushed the ebony hair out of the way. “I found the problem”, her voice betrayed her calm demeanour, strained and shaky.

“What is it?”, she turned to the Druid, scared lip scowling as the blond focused on the magic coursing through the Dark Riders body.

It was quiet for a moment, Kate intent on rooting out the problem before Sabine’s patience ran out. “There’s a tether between you and Garnok”, she started, and the General raised a brow. “Every time your magic grows-”, brilliant white light pulsed through her veins, and Sabine stiffened under the warmth, so different from the fire coursing through her body, but similar all the same, “-every time you use your power, Garnok eats away a piece of you”

“What are you saying?”

“Garnok is killing you to survive”, Blue met Amber, and Kate froze at the horrified look in the woman's eyes, “Pandoria won’t hold him for long”

“We’re dying?”, Her voice was quiet, far away, eyes unfocused as she stared at nothing.

“Garnok’s using you, and the other Dark Riders, to sustain himself while he's trapped”, the light pulling at her veins pulsed brighter, filling the room with a soft glow. “He’s killing you all just to keep himself alive”

“I guess that's why no Generals survive for long”, the Rider hummed darkly.

The air was heavy, as the two sat, stagnant silence between them. Sabine stared at her boots as Kate shifted behind her. “I might be able to help”

“How?”, her voice was low, arms resting on her knees as she leant back. “We made a pact with a God. I don't think there's any coming back from that one”, her eyes were closed, lips pulled into a thin line.

“I’m-”, Kate started, but the words caught in her throat. “The Keepers and the Druids really wish I wasn't, I know Avalon hates it especially”, She shifted, stretching her legs out along the couch, muscles strained from the uncomfortable way she had sat. “Sometimes I wish I had stayed away too, but then I guess I wouldn't have had this much fun”

“Spit it out”, Sabine growled, arm thrown over her eyes.

“I’m Aideen”, Kate draped herself over the arm of the couch as Sabine turned to her with the speed of a whip.

“What!”, she roared, bent over the Druid, amber eyes bright and fiery.

“Well technically I'm her reincarnation, but-”, Kate stammered, lips twisting into an awkward smile as she shuffled back. “-I can use a lot of her abilities, her light. I'm kind of like a boost for the other circles-”

“Your Aideen!?”

“Aideen’s Reincarnation, yes-”

“Your a god!”

“Not officially!”, She managed to squirrel her way out of the Rider’s shadow, “But if Garnok can make deals, maybe I can too”

“Your-”, Sabine eyed her warily, but a faint sparkle of hope burned in her eyes. “You want me to make a deal with you?”

“Yes”, the Druid leapt to her feet, staring up at Sabine with hope. “I'll be honest, I don't really know how it works, But I’m like 76% sure I can make deals too”

“That-”, Sabine turned away for a moment, arms crossed and foot tapping, “-Doesn't fill me with confidence”

Kate leant over the couch, resting her chin on her arms as the Dark Rider paced. “If it doesn't work, then it doesn't work, but if it does…”

“If it works, what happens to Khaan?”, Kate turned to the wide window, and the barn sitting quiet, warm glow spilling from between the slats. “He’s bonded with General Malumi, not…me”

“He might be corrupted, but he’s still a Starbreed, both of you are still bonded, I can tell”, Sabine had stopped pacing, arms still crossed, but she followed the Druid’s gaze to the barn, face neutral, but eyes betraying the sadness she felt at the thought of her loyal beast in pain. “Besides, I’m Aideen, if I can help you, I can help him”

“I thought you were just her reincarnation”

“Potato Tomato”, Kate smiled up at the woman, hand outstretched and smiling wide. “What do you say? Care to make a deal with God?”

Sabine eyed the hand warily, “What do you want in return?”

“Oh, uhh”, The offered hand lowered, arm hanging limp as she hummed. It was quiet for a moment, and then Kate turned to her with a hard-set look in her eyes. “You and I know that the Keepers will destroy Jorvik if it means killing Garnok”, the resourceful diplomat had returned, and Sabine wondered just how frightening this woman could be when she was determined. “They’ll justify it as a necessary sin, they don't care what happens to the people as long as Garnok is eradicated”, for a woman laying limply over the back of a couch, Sabine was amazed at how frightening she could look. “I won’t let them, I can’t. Not when the people of this island have no say in it. I’ve made my life here, and I’ve grown attached, and I won’t let Dark Core or the Keepers destroy the world just so the other doesn’t get their way”, Sabine eyed her curiously, starting to piece together what Kate would ask. “Help me stop Garnok, and whatever power he’s given you, whatever he's taken from you, I promise it's all yours”, Sabine eyed the woman, something curious shining in her eyes. “And I'll help Khaan. Those are my terms”

“You would have helped Khaan regardless”, The Dark Rider raised a brow, and Kate smiled.

“I would have. Mortifa and Acerbus and Jay and Katja too, if they'll let me. But now it's written in stone”, She held out her hand again, veins burning white hot as she smiled a deceptively sweet smile, as if she wasn't a God about to tie herself to her enemies most trusted General, as if Sabine wasn't about to gamble her own life for the second time.

The General took the God's hand, and the world exploded in white hot stars. It burned, like flames eating at her skin, her bone. Fire had never bothered Sabine, not when she was its master, but this, it felt like dying. A bone deep pain that ripped through everything she was, flaying her very nerves and sending blinding bolts of light through her. The point where her calloused palms met Kate’s, that hurt the most, like pure electricity racing between their palms.

Sabine screamed. Agony was barely enough to describe what she was feeling. If this was dying, she didn’t want it.

And then it stopped. Just as quick as it had started. The pain simply vanished and Sabine was left kneeling on the floor, wood biting into her palms and jaw locked shut as she struggled to breath. Faintly, she could hear someone calling her name.

“Sabine!”, the Druid was kneeling next to her, deft fingers running down her spine as the woman shook. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know it would hurt!”

The General turned to her weakly, head resting on the floor as static danced between the two. “I’m fine”, she knew the Druid didn’t believe her, if she focused enough on the little silvery thread coiled between them, she could tell that Kate was frowning, eyebrows pinched as Sabine lay still. But she couldn’t look at her, simply because she wasn’t corporal. She was hazy around the edges, eyes glowing and veins burning white, and if Sabine looked too hard, a headache would slowly start breaking her skull in two. 

Briefly, as she rolled onto her back, she remembered the pain that laced through her for weeks after she had sold her soul to Garnok. There was none of that stabbing agony here, not when the fire burning through her had died down to a warm ember. It was nice, she thought, and for the first time since Garnok, Sabine found that the wildfire that lived in her veins had calmed. It didn't eat at her skin anymore, it just…burned, like a campfire content to its bed of warm coals.

She could hear the Druid calling her name, but ignored it in favor of the sleep that came easily now.

[feysandfeels]

WE’RE BACK FAM! (She says to herself)

171. Honestly 10/10 to that little friendship between Hypaxia and Ithan. We love to see it.

172. Page 601 and I get my first Fury appearance. The fact that she was established as one of the most badass characters in this series and yet she only appears until now 💀💀 but tbf she was also established as one of the most like… not selfish… but very much with her own agenda… so like it makes sense that she dipped when she dippes.

173. Say what you will but Ember Quinlan is clearly a latina mom.

174. To me it is very wholesome that Baxian will have June and Fury too to talk about Danika, with Bryce and Ithan all the people that loved her best and remain will be together… and idk man that is how you live even when you are gone. That is how you move on too.

175. If Ithan goes to the Den carrying Danika’s sword I will cry.

176. I still find the character of Sigrid fucking useless… there should have been a better way for Ithan to rise to his power.

177. That old prime woke up served cunt (named Ithan his heir) and bounced. Forever my respects!

178. And apparently by “bounced” I meant… gets murdered by his *deep sigh* daughter. Sabine is the Cancer in this story.

179. Omg Ithan broke the sword!!!!!!! and i do think danika and the devil’s pack would have approved of this. I never once doubted you my love Ithan!

180. But also like wtf Sigrid eating her grandfather’s soul… like. Girl.

181. Sarah knows this blonde woman knows I will tear up at the mention of Connor… of Connor howling for his brother all the way from death. Somebody sedate me.

182. Ruhn’s “this is my first mission with my girlfriend. I want to impress her.” Let me just die single and alone.

183. NOT BRYCE OPENING A PORTAL TO NESTA’S LIVING ROOM JAJAJAJAJAJAJAJ we truly said “no♥️” to privacy.

184. Considering she’s barely up to my chest, I don’t think she’d made much of a shield” LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL. Me when I was dating that dude who was a head smaller than I am.

185. Sathia owning to this meeting. Go off queen.

186. Ay mk I’m sorry but the River Queen’s daughter causing a scene because Tharion married someoen else… girl! AMIGA DATE CUENTA (Friend wake up but sassier in a latina kind of way) HE WASN’T GOING TO MARRY YOU! IT HAD BEEN A DECADE. I mean have some dignity I am begging.

187. Bryce telling Nesta she did outsmart them. Well you were an asshole and then bounced… that is not outsmarting.

188. NOT BRYCE SAYING I BROUGHT COLATERALL AND THEN USHERING HER PARENTS FORWARD. I - JAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJA. The undignity of it all. But I mean sweet.

189. Mk, no… Nesta corazón de oro dando esa máscara. O sea, sí, hell of a risk dando eso nilly willy sin consultarlo con su corte… pero no, esto es corazón de oro de ella. Nesta bby, yo sé que Rhysand will give you hell, pero nada, amiga, CORAZÓN DE ORO. I stand by you.

190. Bryce closing the portal just as Rhys’ darkness appears. I love my husband ok? I love his theatrics! I love how everywhere he goes he MUST™️ MAKE™️ AN™️ ENTRANCE™️

191. The queen’s daughter saying she will marry Tharion after all this if he is alive and divorces Sathia… girl. Dignity. Have you heard of this concept? Have you no friends to tell you to GIVE IT THE FUCK UP? Even your mother is fucking embarrassed.

192. Celestina fancy seeing you here you doubled faced bitch.

193. Pollux has taken her sons?? CAN’T A WOMAN CATCHI A FUCKING BREAK?!

194. Hunt breaking free of his own halo

THAT’S MY MAAAAAAAAAN SHOW’EM KING

195. Hunt sassying Celestia.. go off King. You are in your right to do so :)

196. Another point for Bryce for helping Hunt through his rage… but girl when is this perspective for you and your selfish half backed actions?!

197. i can oh so vibrantly hear Bryce say to Aidas “Welcome to Midgard. Hope you have a pleasant stay.” And i love it. Ngl she was infuriating up until the got to Avallen and things started to improve with the “raise your hand who is disowned” moment. Like from there on her growth was a little more visible and her jokes started to land better… all and all a win.

198. I am deadass willing to forgive everything Sarah did to Bryce, the direction she took her character, if she gives me Connor one last time. Connor talking to his brother… Just Connor.

199. Connor. Just Connor. Forever Connor. ♥️

THEY TOOK OUT RUHN’S LIP PIERCING?! THEY! TOOK! OUT! RUHN’S! LIP! PIERCING!!

SOMEONE HOLD ME. SOMEONE HOLD ME RIGHT NOW. I AM ABOUT TO BREAK THE RULES OF TIME AND SPACE AN REALITY AND MAKE THEM PAY

MAKE THEM PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY

[lily-drake]

Fantasy/Twin AU

Sorry for being late and not posting for a bit. Was a bit burnt out and had writer block. I will go back to write the other days soon though. Also, sorry, I suck at writing wing aus, this is my first time doing it.

Earth J-236, an earth full of mystical life.  An earth where everyone is born with wings.  Your wings represented who you are; well not really, but that’s what people believed.  If your wings were bright and colorful then you were obviously an amazing person, but if your wings were darker or had little color, then you have great evil in your soul.  Marinette was born seconds after her twin, Damian.  It takes a few years before your wings fully grow in, usually to about 6.  But with the accelerated growth serums used in their artificial wombs, it took them till they were three for their feathers to sprout.  Damian’s were black like their father’s with subtle hints of red like their mothers.  Marinette’s were pure black, devoid of any color, and her mother was so proud of that.  She was the League’s charm, for it’s believed that anyone with pure black wings was pure evil.  Her only purpose being to protect her brother, nothing else was more important than her brother’s safety.  She would die for him, because if he died she might as well have died as well as her only purpose for living would be gone.

Damian glared at his sister, his wings ruffling in annoyance.  She was hovering close to him again, and she never said anything to him ever unless she was completely sure they were alone.  He did not believe that his sister was or could ever be, “pure evil” just because of her wings.  In fact, her mannerisms are the exact opposite of what people believed.  She, in her own ways, is caring, sweet, and protective.  He had seen, and helped, her nurse a baby bird that had fallen from its nest back to health.  She would often place little things around the base for only him to find such as some extra baklava, a throwing knife, a drawing of someone, beads, or other random objects.  Grandfather had always been extra hard on her, making sure she wouldn’t betray them, she wouldn’t become “evil enough to lose herself”.  Sometimes she would sneak into his room at night, and it tore him apart to see silent tears run down his little sister's face as small black raven feathers fell onto the floor from her days worth of training.  He had been learning how to fly, her wings had been clipped every two or three months so she could not leave the base.  She had learned long ago to control her facial and wing expressions, but he could always see the droop in them and the sad shine in her eyes as she stood on the ground while he was in the air.

________

Marinette looked up and watched as the fiery Phoenix flew through the air setting Nada Parabat aflame.  She didn’t feel much as she watched her grandfather get blown up.  She only felt great anxiety and fear as she could not find her brother.  She loved her brother, and if her job was to cause chaos, she would make sure she could prevent it from hurting him.  Grandfather had told her about how cursed she was, it’s why they had to be extra tough on her, and she understood that.  They couldn’t have her hurting anyone they needed, only the people they wanted gone.  She was angry at grandfather yesterday for taking some of her feathers for failing a task, this must have been her fault.  She didn’t want to hurt her brother, her wings had only proven nothing but destruction.  She had to leave now, then she could go where no one else was, and she wouldn’t have to hurt anyone else.  So like a coward, like the disgrace she was, she ran.  She kept her wings tight against her back making sure that no one could grab them as she ran.  An arrow hit one of them, but she didn’t have time to think about the burning pain as she ran and ran and ran farther and farther and farther away.  Tears ran down her cheeks as she silently prayed that her brother would be okay.

She didn’t know how long she ran, but she knew it must have been a really long time as she had just collapsed from exhaustion in the woods.  She looked back at her wings and slowly and carefully spread them out and hissed in pain from where the arrow had pierced her left wing.  Drops of red slowly dripped down her feathers and dropped on the ground.  She quickly closed them and made sure they were as small and put away as possible.  She looked up at the trees made of brass with different colored jade leaves.  Pearl-like apples growing on a few.  She watched a baby griffon follow it’s mother in the distance, turtle ducks waddling to a pond somewhere nearby, deer nibbling on plants, she could hear the rustling of leaves and branches from unseen creatures and everything was getting more blurry and dark.  She was cold, it felt very cold.  She slowly unwound her wings from around herself and closed them tightly around her, but that didn’t stop the chill that went deep down to her bones.  She was a failure, a mistake, she would only cause harm.  Here she wouldn’t be able to do that, and if she died here, then no one would be hurt by her again, and wasn’t that such a nice thought.

________

Tom and Sabine had finally been able to hire some trusted employees and explore places in Tibet.  They had made lots of money over the years with their successful bakery, and they thought now was a better time than ever to go on a real honeymoon as they hadn’t been able to afford it before when the bakery had first started.  It was during one of these forest explorations when they saw a trail of little drops of blood and felt they needed to follow it.  What they discovered broke their hearts.  There lying on the cold forest floor was what appeared to be a child hugging their very black wings around them.  They knew of the rumors and myths of black winged people, but they did not care.  They believed that their wings were not what made them evil, but rather situations put into their lives.  Sabine quickly checked for a pulse, and though it was slow she sighed in relief when she felt it.  She quickly handed the small unconscious girl to Tom and they both quickly went to the nearest hospital.  How could someone leave such a small child all alone to die like that?  It looked as if she had been injured if the dried blood on the small fragile wings said anything.  And worst of all, upon closer examination, they had been clipped, recently too.

As soon as they arrived they carried the small girl to the front and demanded that they take her in.  They waited until the doctors were done and gave them permission to visit claiming to be the girl’s adopted parents.  It wasn’t technically a lie, they would be soon even if Sabine had to force it to happen.

When Marinette woke up she knew something was off.  She was under a blanket, she’s never been given a blanket before.  The sent of bleach and chemicals were everywhere and it hurt her nose.  There was a beeping noise next to her that was giving her a headache.  She didn’t know where she was, and that was bad.  She opened her eyes a small fraction so nobody could see she was awake and looked around as much as she could.  The entire room was white and there were bright lights.  There were two strange people waiting in chairs near where she was laying.  She wondered if they were the ones who brought her here.  Slowly she opened them up all the way and silently sat up.  It’s best to make no noise, then she wouldn’t disturb anyone.

“Oh sweety, I’m so glad you’re awake.”

The woman said in a cheery and relieved manner, but she just continued to watch and study them silently.  Her wings felt stiff against her back, though she made sure they didn’t move or give anything away.

“How are you feeling dear?”

Silence greeted them, and her face remained as impassive as ever.  They wanted something, why else would they save a freak like her?  What were they aiming for here?

“Did your parents hurt you?  If so, we can take you away from them.”

Marinette’s eyes widened only a fraction.  These were randoms, innocents if you will.  They obviously had no idea who she was, and they seemed unafraid of her and her wings.  Did they not know how dangerous she was, didn’t they know that black wings meant she was cursed?  The man and the woman looked at eachother and spread their wings.  Marinette was shocked, but she wouldn’t show it.

The large man had light brown eagle wings while the small woman had white and black woodpecker wings.  She wanted to reach out and touch the feathers, but then something bad would happen to them, so she held her hands together.

“We don’t care what your wing color is.  Your wings don’t define who you are, it’s what you do with your life that does.  Can we please help you?”

The woman said sincerely as she gripped the man’s hand in hers.  She felt a pull to them, something telling her to accept.  She didn’t want to hurt them though.  But maybe she could protect them?  Maybe she could find a way around her curse and make sure they don’t get hurt?  Slowly she nodded and they both looked so happy when she did.  She hoped that she wouldn’t hurt them, they didn’t deserve to be cursed.  Maybe if she didn’t touch them things would be ok.  If she didn’t let them touch her then it wouldn’t spread.  She could do this!

________

Apparently she couldn’t do it because this is a very affectionate family, and the first thing that happened before they let her sleep on their —super fluffy, pure Heaven— bed was give her a hug.  She had made sure that her wings were tucked under her clothes and tight against her back the entire time though.  So they didn’t touch her wings, so maybe that meant they wouldn’t be cursed.

It was strange, because the next morning they went to a courthouse, and she was adopted.  She hadn’t said anything throughout the entire event, she just watched and observed what people did.  They stayed in Tibet for another few days before they flew to Paris, France.  This was supposed to be her new home.  The city of light and love.  Maybe here, it would stop her curse.  It was so bright that it had to block out her darkness.  She still always carried one of her knives with her, she felt naked without one.  Tom and Sabine seemed to understand somehow, and said that it was her business and that was enough for them till she was ready to talk about it.  It was strange not to be interrogated for now wanting to tell someone something.

Marinette had lived with the Dupain-Chengs for about a year now.  It was strange really, they were honest business people and their joy was always sincere.  They didn’t question much of what she did even though it was probably weird to them.  They didn’t punish her for messing up like the league did, and they never went near her wings without permission.  They never plucked her feathers, and they would often ask if they could preen her wings.  She would refuse every time, but she would often wonder what it would be like to have someone else touch them.  Think of what it would be like if she weren’t cursed.  When it was time for school she would always wrap them around herself then tape them so no one would see or be able to touch them.  Things were finally going well, she couldn’t risk it now!

There was a blonde brat that liked to act like she was above her, and because her wings were always hidden with no explanation she made sure everyone knew that she was “wingless”.  She didn’t care though, being wingless was better than being evil winged.  She never really said anything in class or to other students, she never gave much reaction keeping her stoic face up.  The brat left her alone soon after for being a, “ridiculous!  Utterly ridiculous freak.”  And nobody was the wiser.

Being Lady Chaos was….the best thing that ever happened to her if she was being honest.  Even with pure black wings, people still thought she was a hero.  She never flew, she was scared she’d fall and die.  She was never allowed to fly before, and even if she technically can do so now, it’s not worth the risk.  Her partner though, Mr. Bug has gold, red, and black wings.  He can fly through the air with ease she wished she desperately had.  Sometimes after patrol she would go to the very top of the Eiffel Tower and just stretch her wings out as far out as she could.  She would close her eyes as the wind blew past her and ruffled her feathers and pretend that she was soaring through the air.

________

Year three of living with Tom and Sabine she was comfortable talking to them more, and with Plagg there to control her chaos she finally let them touch her wings.  It was strange really, she never took care of her wings, never cared enough to.  When she first felt the hands on her feathers she had to will herself not to draw them back for fear of them plucking or ripped out.  But Sabine’s hands were so gentle and smooth that they seemed to move on their own and go closer to her touch.  Sabine would smile and hum as she gently preened the dark raven feathers that were soft and smooth.  Maybe she could finally tell the class that she wasn’t wingless soon, and maybe they would be okay with it.

No, they would not as she learned from listening to her classmates talk to the new student, Lila Rossi.  To them Lady Chaos was the only good black winged person because she was chasing after Mr. Bug to earn his affections.  Lady Chaos was obviously evil before she met Mr. Bug and she would always be evil no matter what she did.  Marinette felt nauseous that she ever thought about telling them the truth.  She had never felt more betrayed than she felt now, because she had given them her trust, and they broke it without even knowing it.  After that day, she made extra sure that her wings were hidden and wore a bit thicker clothing just in case.  Tom and Sabine are a little worried about it, but she calmed them pretty quickly.  She was fine, it wasn’t like they were all great friends to begin with.  That’s probably why everyone sides with Lila and decides that she’s a terrible person.

She had tried leaving her past behind, pretending that she didn’t hurt and kill people.  Pretend that she wasn’t a weapon.  She tried to push it far away, but it wasn’t enough.  It was never enough.  She had abandoned her brother.  She betrayed the league.  She did unspeakable things to please someone who would never care about her, just her use.  The city of lights seems duller than usual, it was probably her fault Hawkmoth came to be in the first place, afterall she was cursed to bring ruin everywhere she went.

________

Lila and Chloe thought it would be a great idea to bring everybody to the Crime Capital of the World for their senior trip.  Probably to watch people flounder and worry when things go wrong, which they definitely would.  She had stopped Hawkmoth a month before the trip, but Mr. Bug took all the credit for it. The arrogant self centered bas*.  Adrien kept giving her side glances that always made her feel uncomfortable and slightly disgusted.  During school he would try to touch her with every chance he’d get.  He almost discovered her wings at one point.  She couldn’t do anything about it before because of the stupid your-rich-so-do-whatever-the-heck-you-want treatment.  Now that Adrien’s family fortune is gone, and people don’t trust him because of what his dad did, so he has to be more careful.  He now kept some distance, which she was extremely grateful for.

She would have broken his hand, she had imagined it plus other things more than once.  But then Tom and Sabine would get in trouble by Gabriel for her actions.  They didn’t deserve that, they had been nothing but good to her since they found her abandoned in that forest.

She would be fine though, as long as Lila had a grip on his arm and she was in the back, away from him.  She listened to their tour guide, Richard Grayson, talk about the history and importance of WE.  The architecture was brilliant really, and you couldn’t blame her for having to draw and sketch it.  She often thought of Damian when she sketched.  She used to leave drawings for him around the base, little things that expressed her adoration for him without getting too close.  She wondered if he was still with the league, had he escaped, did he die?  She hoped that wasn’t the case, she hoped that he would be alive and well.  Bright orange and white wings nearly slapped her in the face if she hadn’t stopped right before the movement had occurred.

“Oh my gosh!  I’m so sorry Marinette!  Sometimes my wings just spasm out of control like that!  I didn’t hurt you did I?”

Marinette just silently rolled her eyes and took a few steps backward and watched the class glare at her waiting for her to comfort the liar.  She would never lower herself to do that.  She was still an Al Ghul afterall, even if she did leave it behind when she fled.  She was thankful when lunch came, she waited far away from the line and watched silently from a dark corner to make sure no one would hurt her.  Then she felt it, a hand touching her back feeling for something.  She quickly and instinctively grabbed the arm and twisted it behind them pinning it behind their back at a painful angle.

“Ukhti, let go.”

Marinette knew that voice.  She remembered that name and she could feel her heart stop.  The lunchroom was silent as they watched the small bluenette silently and quickly release the “Ice Prince”. Everyone watched with bated breaths to see what would happen next.  The boy’s wings were ruffled in agitation and fear.

“Where are they?”

He demanded.  Marinette knew what he was talking about, she simply wrapped her arms around herself and turned her head away definitely.

“Why are you hiding them, Malak?  Please.”

Marinette could feel her wings moving in defiance to what her brain was saying.  They wanted to be shown, they wanted to be touched by her brother again.  She looked down and slowly uncrossed her arms from her body.  Damian gently took her hands in his and looked directly into her eyes.

“Everything will be ok, Taw'ami.”

She slowly nodded and with shaky fingers reached under her hoodie and began to slowly unwrap the tape that kept her wings confined.  When all the tape was in her hands she hesitantly removed her hoodie and let her wings unfold from around herself and into the open.  She had made shirts that let her wings slip through slits in the back that were tailored to her wings specifically and were most comfortable.  Damian marveled at how big her raven wings had grown and how shiny they were.  He reached out a hand slowly and gently ran his fingers down the inky black that was her wings.

Shouts of fear and accusations were thrown at her, mostly from her class.  She didn’t listen though, she just observed.  The tour guide was coming over now, probably to kick her out.  He had such lovely wings though,  they were a deep navy blue that looked similar to black with dark red and light blue running through them.  They looked so well kept and soft.

“Damian, what’s happening?  Who is this?”

“Grayson, meet my twin sister, Marinette.”

“You have a twin?!”

Richard exclaimed loudly, drawing even more attention.  The insults and jeers stopped after that.  She looked over at the class and smirked when she saw their shock and confusion.

“Yes, keep up.”

Damian said brusquely.  They must know each other well then.

“Come, we must take her away from these imbeciles and take her to father.”

Damian grabbed her wrist and tugged, her quickly falling into line like she used to when he did this.

“Now tell me Ukhti, have you been taking care of yourself?”

She nodded as they came to an elevator and walked into it with Richard right behind them.  Marinette felt her feathers fluff up nervously.  She wasn’t in control of them right now, and she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Damian ran a hand gently down her right wing trying to smooth it down.

“Things will be fine Marinette.  Just watch, father will be glad to meet you.”

She looked him in the eyes and squeezed her hands together.

“No, I have not told him about you.  Things will be fine though.”

He seemed to understand her weird way of communicating, she still didn’t understand how he did.  Richard cleared his throat and both turned to look at him.

“Sorry to interrupt, but um…I’m Dick, I’m Damian’s, and yours I guess, oldest brother.  It’s nice to meet you.”

He spread his wings in a welcoming way that meant and showed safety and peace. Her wings involuntarily rose up as well to reciprocate his greeting.  When the door to the elevator opened again she quickly forced her wings to hide on her back trying desperately to keep them from sight.  Damian didn’t seem to like it, but he just grabbed her wrist and dragged her to a large office room.  The plaque on the door read “CEO Bruce Wayne”.  Their father was Bruce Wayne?!  She couldn’t go in there, she couldn’t curse him and ruin his life.  No, she had already messed up at the league, and she was just barely not messing up with Tom and Sabine, she would definitely ruin Bruce Wayne’s life, and she would not allow that to happen.  She tugged at his grip desperately trying to get away.

“Marinette, stop.  Your wings are not cursed, that was a lie.”

Marinette shook her head and kept trying to escape the iron-like grip.

“Do you not trust me anymore?”

She froze at that and quickly shook her head.  Of course she trusted him, it was her that shouldn’t be trusted.

“Good, because we’re going in now.”

And that was that, because the door was now open and she was being dragged into the office room where their father and another boy with large bags under his eyes stared at them.  Damian puffed up his chest and feathers letting his strong, big, and brilliant wings rise into the air.

“Father, this is your daughter, my twin, Marinette Erebus Al Ghul-Wayne.”

They both stared at her in shock and Marinette slowly and cautiously raised her despicable black wings into the air.  Both stared at them in awe before looking back at her, but she didn’t meet their eyes.  She didn’t want to see the disgust and hatred in their eyes.

After a few moments she looked up and saw their wings greeting hers like Dick’s had.  Their father’s wings were a mix of black and dark grey alternating the color in each row of feathers.  The other boy’s were black at the top and slowly turned to red at the bottom.  But they were welcoming her openly, so that must mean something!  Well, it was time to get to know her father, she guessed.

[phis-corner]

Can I get a 3 and a 10 with Marinette parents being some what salty and believing Lila and when the learn the truth they try to get her back from the kents and Bruce is like 10 to them cause he is her godfather now

3-  “Please don’t walk out that door.” 10- “I won’t let you.”

Disclaimer: I have no idea how transfer of guardianship works. Please bear with me here- half of what I wrote doesn’t make sense to myself, but I wasn’t really sure how else to fulfill the prompt.

TW: Mentions of emotional abuse.

They gave her up.

They willingly signed the papers that would temporarily transfer guardianship of her over to Clark and Lois.

Marinette expected them to, of course, but experiencing it for real was still a stinging slap to the face, no matter how horrible her parents were to her.

“Come on, Mari.” Jon’s hand is gentle on her shoulder, and his big blue eyes are looking down at her, even though she’s two years older. “Let’s go home.”

The flight back to the Kents’ apartment in the Metropolis couldn’t have been shorter. Clark and Lois give her time to unpack, but if she was being honest, there wasn’t really anything to unpack that wasn’t already present in the guest room that had slowly become hers over the last few months.

As the situation with her biological parents got worse (helped along by a certain liar), Marinette had simply stopped spending time in Paris, instead teleporting more and more to Titans Tower to hang out or train. 

Jon, who had declared himself her brother a year prior, noticed, of course. He was the first, but everyone did after the first month. Damian got his father to jumpstart the process of removing her from her parents’ care, and in the meantime, Clark and Lois offered her the guest room.

Marinette takes the last item out of her pink backpack- a photo of her, Tom, and Sabine at the kitchen counter, taken by Nonna Gina. She's young in this picture, maybe seven or eight, and her face is frozen mid-laugh, entire body coated in flour from a bout of clumsiness. Tom and Sabine are laughing with her.

She stares at it until she feels like she’s on the verge of developing heat vision, then tears the photo in half, separating Tom and Sabine from her.

The part with two people goes into the garbage, and the laughing girl is pinned to her bulletin board.

Healing takes time, and sometimes, it feels as if she has all the time in the world.

She has a support system now- a brother, people that are more like parents than her real ones, a team at her back, and her godfather is the freaking Batman.

Yep. Bruce Wayne, the richest man in the world, who dresses up as a giant bat at night to terrify Gotham’s worst into wetting themselves, declared himself her godfather, and really, who’s going to say no to Batman?

Damian and Jon suspect that he’s just irritated that Clark claimed the newest black haired, blue eyed child with a tragic backstory before he could.

Healing takes time, and she has so much time.

Slowly but surely, she heals, and moves on, with a new family and newly forged bonds that are already so much stronger than the ones she had with her blood relatives ever were.

Then, everything goes to shit again.

Tom and Sabine finally learn that Lila was lying, that everything she was accused of doing were just that- mere accusations. They come to Metropolis, knocking on their apartment door while Bruce and Damian are over for lunch.

“I’ll get it.” Marinette offers, then freezes when she opens the door and sees who’s on the other side.

She doesn’t react, rooted in place by Tom and Sabine’s stares, until she hears Jon from the dining room. “Mari? Is everything alright?”

Instead of a verbal response, she taps her finger against her thigh frantically in Morse Code. T-O-M A-N-D S-A-B-I-N-E. H-E-L-P.

The message must be relayed pretty fast, because everyone is crowding behind her back in an instant.

She doesn’t remember much of the actual argument between her biological parents and her chosen ones, only that she snaps to attention when Sabine speaks her name.

“Marinette.” She says coldly, with a sense of finality. “Come with us. You are going home now.”

Her brain screams no, that Metropolis, the Kents, are her home, and that Paris was nothing more than a cage, but her body, still terrified of the consequences (they never laid a hand on her, but your own parents believing you over a liar and the subsequent emotional and verbal abuse leaves its mark), starts to follow, feet stepping forward until another voice, one that isn’t Clark or Lois, rings out.

“Please don’t walk out that door, Marinette.” The voice is so different, yet the exact same as Batman’s low growl as Bruce Wayne’s blue eyes bore into her soul.

“Nonsense.” Tom snaps. “She is our daughter. We have every right to take her back.”

“I won’t let you.” 

Despite it obviously being a response to Tom’s statement, Marinette gets the feeling that those words were directed at her instead.

The billionaire pulls out a cell phone, dialing a number. “Hey, Tim? Yeah, do me a favor. Are Tom Dupain and Sabine Cheng currently in the clear to take back their daughter?” A pause. “Okay then. I see. Mhm. Thanks, Timmy.”

He hangs up and glares at the couple. “You’re not legally authorized to remove Marinette from Clark and Lois’ care.”

A strong but loose hand comes to rest on her shoulder. “Lois and I see Marinette as our own daughter.” Clark says calmly, his words filling her with warmth. “If you want to take back guardianship, we will fight for her.”

“And they’ll have Wayne Enterprises’ legal team at their back.” Bruce chimes in, and she can’t help the smile that splits her face there.

“We’d actually like to make that guardianship permanent.” A smirk curls across Lois’ lips, and Marinette is reminded of why this woman has gone toe-to-toe with death so many times and made it out alive. “It doesn’t have to be settled in court, but if you wanted to test that, I’m sure we could arrange for it to happen.”

Marinette decides that she’d like to add her own piece. “Oh, yes, please do. I’d love to testify against Tom and Sabine in court.” She smiles, the damage done to her just by their presence already being fixed by the steady support behind her.

They visibly flinch when Marinette addresses them by their names and not ‘Maman’ and ‘Papa’ like she used to. Good. That’s nothing compared to how she felt in those last few months.

Sabine smiles, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “That will not be necessary. Have a nice day.”

And with that, she and her husband turn around and walk away. Damian takes the opportunity to slam the door and make sure all of the locks are secured before sniffing, scrunching his nose up in disgust.

“The nerve of them!” He seethes. “How dare they come here and pretend nothing is wrong to try and take her back!”

“Thank you.” Marinette says to Clark and Lois. “You didn’t have to pretend that you wanted to adopt me though.”

“Who said anything about pretending?” Lois replies easily, and the beam that splits Marinette’s face is like a blinding ray of sunshine as she flings herself forward into her family’s arms.

permanent tags

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[soulmate-game]

Oneshot #3

Just one (1) imagining of Mari and Damian meeting as kids.

Darkness clung greedily to every street corner, and perhaps nobody would truly know whether it was the sheer viscosity of every shadow or the scope of talent in the newest Robin, but even clad in bright greens and reds and yellows the brand new vigilante easily slunk around unseen.

A shrill scream rang out in the air, sounding young. Unfortunately (or fortunately) Robin wasn’t the only one with the ability to slink around unseen in the Gotham night. His father and mentor followed close behind as they both made a beeline towards the newest disturbance.

What they saw was… not exactly what they expected. See, they had expected a little girl in the midst of getting kidnapped. While they weren’t exactly wrong, they had not at all been anticipating the kid’s apparent mother to be there.

Or that said mother had already beaten down four of the five traffickers after her daughter with a broken mop handle from the nearby dumpster.

The little pigtailed girl cowering behind her mother was scared without a doubt, tears pricking the corners of her startlingly bright blue eyes, but she was making a valiant effort to stay brave. She was biting her bottom lip, doing her best to suck in the tears and stay as silent as possible. And when the fifth and only attacker to remain conscious managed to slice along her mother’s arm with a knife?

Well, neither vigilante about to jump into the scene expected the terrified girl to grab a little grocery bag of trash that was nearby and toss it at him.

“Don’t touch my Maman!” She yelled in heavily accented English. The weak knot holding the bag broke when it hit the guy’s face, releasing used tampons and a half-empty bottle of milk over his head. The momentary surprise and disgust allowed enough time for the clearly Chinese mother to land another smack with her broken broom handle, and for Robin to jump down and take the fight away from the two civilians.

Batman stayed back, tying up and securing the already defeated traffickers while keeping a close eye on his son. The last thing he needed was for the boy, only on his second month in Gotham, to traumatize the little girl with murder.

But Batman made the mistake of dragging the goons to the corner of the alley by the street. When Robin rose his sword to deliver a killing blow to the guy’s heart, the Bat was too far away to make it in time.

“ROBIN!” He barked, hoping the tone of his voice would be enough.

It wasn’t.

Instead, a tiny hand came out of seemingly nowhere and latched to Robin’s wrist. The boy froze. Suddenly in front of him, blocking his blade from reaching its target, was the girl. They were the same height, he realized, and her blue eyes bore into his with startling ferocity despite the tears.

“He’s… asleep,” she told him, clearly meaning “knocked out” but lacking the right words to say it in English. “No killing. Will do nothing. Will only make you bad like him,” she told him sternly, scolding the vigilante despite the clear difference between them. One, a girl who threw a trash bag and the other, a boy who would kill with a katana without a second thought. “Maman needs… doc-tor,” she stumbled over the word, but despite the accent managed to get it out decently understandably. “Help her instead of hurt him.”

“Marinette!” The adult woman had finally gotten out of her shock, one hand pressing her sleeve over her shallow but long wound tightly even as she ran over to her daughter. She started to speak in French, and was halfway through asking her daughter if she was okay when Robin sheathed his sword without a word. As soon as the weapon was put away, a bright flash of green light erupted from where Marinette still clutched his wrist.

As if stung, the kids sprung away from one another. They both blinked, and when their eyes reopened it was to their vision suddenly being sliced in half like a video game. One half was their own perspective, the one they were used to seeing. The other was…

From the kid they just met?

Robin found he was staring straight at himself in half of his vision, and Marinette realized the same thing. They were seeing from both of their perspectives at once.

Bright, green-and-pink letters flashed before their eyes in bubble text, reading: Soulmate Game! Romance, Start (but not too fast)!

“YOU’RE my soulmate?” Was the first thing Robin asked, voice incredulous and unflatteringly surprised. “But-but you’re so tiny, and clearly untrained! Far too naive, and reckless, and you are wearing a bright pink skirt at night in Gotham City. There’s no WAY you can be my equal!”

Marinette puffed out her cheeks angrily. She might not have been the best at speaking English, but she was good at understanding it. She just had trouble forming the words sometimes, her mouth being too used to Cantonese and French to easily adjust to the more blunt and enunciated American English.

“And you’re mean and dumb and scary, but I didn’t choose you! Maybe it’s my job as your soulmate to make you nicer. Here, smile!” She lunged forward with all the audacity of someone who did not know Robin AT ALL. Pinching his cheeks a bit too roughly to be accidental, she pulled them apart and lifted them up so that he was “smiling.”

He batted her hands away, albeit a bit slower than usual. The multiple perspectives were incredibly disorienting, and he found himself confused as to which one he should focus on. Marinette didn’t seem to have that issue, easily shrugging off his rude gesture and lunging forward to try her assault a second time.

This time, when he tried to knock her hands away, Marinette grabbed one and locked it behind his back.

“Wha— I thought you were harmless!”

“Not my fault,” she cooed with false sweetness. “I never SAID I was har-harmless,” she kept his hand firmly pinned at the base of his spine, and while Robin knew he could twist away, she was still a civilian and his soulmate and he didn’t want to hurt her. Much. He did have the urge to flick her forehead though. “Maman teach me a little. She says she will teach more when I get older. See? I will be equal with you! Maybe not yet, but later!”

Damian bit his lip, forcing himself not to scowl. His grandfather had been of the mind that soul bonds were next to worthless, but his mother had a different opinion. She had raised him to treat his soulmate as nothing short of his equal. If he was an assassin Prince, then his soulmate would hold the same title. The universe paired everyone with who it deemed as the most complimentary to them. The one whose strengths would cover their weaknesses and vice versa. If he was strong alone, having his soulmate by his side would make him and his empire exponentially stronger and more stable.

So said his mother, anyway.

So he would not attack her. Not outside of a spar, that is. And they WOULD spar. He was not allowing his soulmate to only know rudimentary self defense, it was an insult to his name.

Whether he meant Al Ghul or Wayne, he didn’t know yet. Maybe both.

“Your mother TAUGHT you a little,” Damian corrected instead of insulting her like he would have normally done. Not much of a step up, but noticeable enough for his father to raise a brow behind his cowl. “Now let go, I thought you wanted us to get your mother first aid?”

Marinette huffed, clearly not pleased with his attitude still, but relented. She backed away from him, and followed him to where their parents were waiting for the police and an ambulance to arrive. The sirens could already be heard not far away. She waited until after her mom had a bandage firmly wrapped around her cut, which had also been properly disinfected, and had turned the police’s offer of a ride home down. She offered to give her statement the following morning instead.

The officers had been bemused, but Sabine didn’t care. Her daughter’s soulmate was a vigilante, and there was no way she was letting either of them run off without a talk.

“Don’t you sneak away, Batman!” The woman’s sweet but somehow terrifyingly stern voice cut through the otherwise silent air, stopping the vigilante in his tracks. He had been about to pull one of his signature vanishings, but apparently Sabine’s motherly instincts were not having it.

The little Asian woman firmly poked a finger into the much larger man’s chest, leaning in fearlessly with righteous fury in her almond shaped eyes. “My daughter is your prodigy’s soulmate, so you don’t get to just leave. Whether you like it or not, their connected now and I’m not about to let you keep them apart for her “safety” either. My little baby deserves a chance with her Destined. And that means she’s gonna be in danger because of your night life whether we like it or not, so I don’t care how painful this is gonna be for you. You’re letting us in on it. But ground rules? She’s not joining you. You might have taken other kids on this dangerous hobby of yours, but she won’t be one of them. What you CAN do is help me train her, so that she can at least protect herself from whatever danger might follow her because of this. What you CAN’T and WON’T do is ignore us once we go back to Paris and expect that I won’t hunt you down and make you regret ever trying to get rid of us. You and I are gonna make sure our kids get to have their soulbond and enjoy it to the best of their ability, and you don’t get a choice in the matter. Understand?”

Robin and Marinette were left blinking at the fearless woman as she laid into the well known vigilante and one of the founding members of the Justice League. Even more impressive, Batman didn’t seem to be capable of arguing with her. Every attempt was thoroughly thwarted until he was left with a growl of defeat in his throat and a triumphant Chinese mother smirking at him.

“Are you sure SHE isn’t my soulmate?” Robin whispered to Marinette, earning a snicker.

—*—*—*—*—*

THREE YEARS LATER

“The stadium is this way, Ladybug!” Adrien pointed the correct direction, but his heroine partner was still lagging behind.

“Hold on!” A familiar static had given her the warning she needed. Far too familiar static. “Keep going, I’ll—“

“Marinette, are you alright? Who is with you?”

The girl cursed under her breath, glad that at least she was the only one who could hear the voice.

“You’ll what? What’s wrong?” Chat Noir asked, slowing down as he looked back at her in concern. She sighed. Best to tell the truth.

“It’s my soulmate, just finish heading where we agreed! Right now he can hear everything I can hear!”

“Oh meowch,” the cat themed hero flinched. “That’s not great. I’ll just, uh,” he took an awkward step to the side before hauling tail away. Everyone knew better than to get between soulmates, especially when one was in potential danger.

“Who was that?” The icy voice of Damian Wayne persisted, and Marinette could pretty much FEEL the suspicion through their bond. At least he was still in Gotham.

“Just a friend! From school, yeah! A friend from school!” Unfortunately, though the pigtailed girl might have learned a lot when it came to combat ever since her soul bond was completed, she had never improved her ability to lie.

“Uh Huh. Suppose I believe you, What is their name?”

“Uh, Cha— Chane! Chane—“

“Marinette.”

“I’ll explain later! Gotta go, Akuma attack, taking cover!”

“If you’re taking cover then it is best I remain on audio only mode in order to make sure you get to safety.”

Marinette dropped into the stadium, a giant robot that should have only been inside the game Ultimate Mecha Strike Three slamming into the ground behind her.

“What was that? I thought you were headed to safety! That means AWAY from the danger, Marinette!” Yep, that was genuine worry in his voice. The girl winced, she’d be getting a lecture later for sure.

“Uhh, sorry I really—“ she dodged alongside Chat Noir, struggling to focus on both the conversation and fight at the same time. “Can’t talk— right now— very busy trying to get to safety!”

Another voice, completely deadpan and just as familiar as her soulmate’s, filtered in from Damian’s side of the audio connection of their bond.

“Oh really? That’s why you’re fighting a giant robot in the center of the stadium right now?” It was Nightwing, and he was in full Protective Brother Mode. Meaning, he was not amused at all and now she had double the lecture in store for her. Marinette gulped.

Her vision split in half, a sensation she had grown very accustomed to over the years since herbond was first completed. It no longer disoriented her like it had at first.

And her new perspective showed her and Chat Noir, right as she ordered her partner to try Cataclysm on it, in the stadium. Startled, she looked up to see two costumes figures standing with their arms crossed in the nosebleed section.

“Merdé, I am so dead,” she whispered to herself as she focused back on the gaming-themed Akuma. Having seen enough villain attacks in Gotham, she knew better than to assume they had won that easily. Therefore, she was not nearly as shocked as Chat when their enemy reformed his robot. Robin used the moment to drop in next to her. “I thought you weren’t coming to visit until NEXT month. You just got back from, you know, DEATH,” she hissed out of the corner of her mouth.

“I wanted to surprise you. Looks like I have good timing,” he replied equally softly. “And before you catastrophize—“ he started as all three of them pressed the red orb next to them, and jumped into the robot that spawned for them. Which… only had two seats…Robin shoved the cat hero out of the way. “—I am not angry that you are a hero. Merely surprised you did not tell me as soon as it happened. Oh, and feline boy, Ladybug and I will handle this. Just stay back and be quiet.”

“What— Who are you, and why are you taking my partner from me?” The blond asked, thoroughly caught off guard. Ladybug just got into her seat and sighed.

“Chat Noir, meet Robin. He’s one of Gotham’s vigilantes and my soulmate.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes, really,” Robin responded impatiently, his hands finding the controls of the robot easily. “And honestly, Ladybug, I suspected something like this would happen eventually. My family tends to be a horrible and very invasive influence. And it isn’t as if you lack the necessary skillset. Batman and I made sure of that much at least.”

“Uh, how are you guys doing this so easily?” Chat Noir piped up from where he watched as the two soulmates easily moved their robot with a fluidity that seemed profoundly natural. Marinette just smirked at her Parisian partner secretively.

“Robin and I are pretty used to combat games.”

Her soulmate laughed. She didn’t know if it was because of her inside joke, or the fact that he just found out their robot came with a cat saber.

—*—*—*—*—*

[winterisakillerwrites]

Becoming - Part Three

Title: Becoming

One Shot: 3/6

Character: Tom Hiddleston

Genre: Realistic(?) fluff; Angst

Rating: T

Summary: Learning about his son was only just the start of the story. As Tom Hiddleston struggles to adapt to this sudden change in his life, he comes to learn that becoming a father might be the biggest role he’d ever taken on. *Sequel/Continuation of Lovers’ Eyes*

Authors Notes/Warnings: This story came about because I knew there was still so much about Tom and his son that I wanted to explore. I fully intended this to be a quick flash forward into their lives, a snapshot if you will….They had other ideas and so here we are. This is technically all one story but has been broken down into parts to make the reading easier.

Thanks so much first and foremost to @ciaodarknessmyheart who has dealt with me throwing all of these ideas at her and has helped shape them into something coherent and wonderful.

Thanks as well to @tinchentitri who also helped provide wonderful insight.

Hope you all enjoy!

Tag List: @tinchentitri @messy-insomniac-bookgirl @noplacelikehome77 @blacksuitofdoom @nonsensicalobsessions @theheartofpenelope @ms-cellanies @nuggsmum @inkededucatednnerdy @redfoxwritesstuff  @just-the-hiddles​ @wolfsmom1​ @theoneanna​ @hiddlescastle​ @sabine-leo​ @alexakeyloveloki​  @echantedbytwh @finchbaggins  @kenzieam @ciaodarknessmyheart

PREVIOUS

Wordlessly, Tom nodded as his heart pounded in his ears. He didn’t know if he wanted to scream at Keira or hug her for pushing the issue…Or at least for giving him a chance to say the words aloud. “I…I do know him, Jaime.” He swallowed thickly, the words sticking in his throat. “I’m…Jaime,” he cleared his throat and plastered on what he hoped was a warm smile, “I want to tell you a story, if that is alright.”

Jaime’s brow scrunched in thought, his eyes never leaving Tom’s face. “Okay.”

Keira stood quietly, grabbing their empty plates, placing them in the sink and  walking wordlessly from the room.

Tom took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. He rested his arms against the table and let the words tumble from him. “A long time ago, before you were born, your mummy was at school. She was studying very hard trying to learn everything she could. And one day she met this person who ended up being your daddy. They enjoyed talking and reading and just being together.” He didn’t try to fight the soft smile that spread across his face at the memories which flooded through him. Eliza sitting in the library, surrounded by books, a pen twisted in her dark hair. The way her eyes would light up when he entered a room. The way his heart seemed to race when she took his hand. The joy that bubbled inside of him when he said or did something that made Eliza smile. God, he missed her. “Your daddy loved to make your mummy laugh and did everything he could to do so. But he also enjoyed making other people smile and wanted to learn more about how to do that…So he went to another school and studied really hard.

Your mummy was there, by your daddy’s side helping him. When your daddy finished learning all he could at the special school, he decided to take all he learned and travel around to help people smile. Your mummy couldn’t travel with him all the time but they talked on the phone as much as they could. Your daddy loved your mummy very, very much but he loved making people smile too. And people liked your daddy making them smile so he had to go away for longer and longer. Your mummy…She knew your daddy loved making people smile and she knew that she couldn’t go with him…So your mummy told him it was okay, that he could go on an adventure and help make people laugh and smile and be happy. And he did. He missed your mummy and your mummy missed him. But she was happy because she had you to make her smile.”

Jaime looked at Tom, his brow wrinkled in thought. “Was my daddy happy, making people smile?”

Tom choked out a strangled sob and quickly stuffed in back down, not wanting to upset his son. The guilt Tom carried was his own and he refused to push it onto Jaime. “He…He was. But he missed your mummy. He missed her so much but he didn’t know how to tell her.” His eyes closed involuntarily as he fought against the tears burning in them. They startled open as he felt Jaime climbing into his lap. “Jaime what are you…?”

“You’re sad. You need a hug. Mummy always said hugs make everything better.” The bold, simple innocence of the statement struck Tom speechless. Wordlessly, he accepted the comfort offered by the child in his lap, ignoring the quiet voice in his head telling him that this was backwards. He was the one meant to be comforting Jaime. The one who fought the monsters, both real and imaginary, and made the world a safer, better place for the people he loved. Jaime was so much like Eliza in this moment and it tore his heart.

After several moments, when Tom had been able to clear his throat, he murmured into Jaime’s soft hair. “Your mummy is a very, very wise woman.” He wrapped his arms tightly around Jaime’s small form, holding the boy to him in a vain attempt to return some of the simple comfort offered.

“Mummy said daddy was good at hugs too.”

Tom fought to control his breathing. “Did she now?” Jaime nodded against his chest and Tom let himself given into the impulse to place a soft kiss to the top of his son’s head. It was such a simple thing, something he had done so many times with his nieces and nephews…but never with a child of his own. His pulse stuttered violently at the thought before quickly kicking into overtime. His child.

“Did the hug help?” Jaime asked, pulling his head back enough to look up at Tom. “Mummy said my hugs are like Daddy’s and they always help the sad go away.” 

“It did,” Tom managed to choke out, fighting to keep his voice light and even. “It helped so very much.” He swallowed before lifting the boy from his lap and setting him back onto his feet. “Why don’t we go see if your Nan needs any help with the dishes?” 

Jaime nodded and, taking Tom’s large hand into his own tiny one, led the way into the kitchen. They found Keira standing before the sink, sleeves rolled up and hands sunk into warm, soapy water. She smiled warmly at Jaime before shooting Tom a knowing (and questioning look). He gave her a subtle shake of the head. He’d had the perfect opening and hadn’t been able to say the words. Her eyes narrowed slightly but said nothing. 

“We were wondering if you’d like some help with the washing up.”

Her nod was all the encouragement needed. The three worked in tandem; Keira washing, Jaime drying, and Tom putting the dishes away. It was early yet when they’d finished and Jaime pulled Tom back into the living room to resume their Lego building. The room he’d tidied earlier that evening was once more thrown into chaos. Lego pieces were strewn across the wooden floor and soon several half-built buildings and a fairly decent robot surrounded the man and child.

Laughter filled the room as Tom intoned the commanding voice of the invading robot set to destroy the half built city. Jaime manning the city with several action figures from the box nearest the window fought valiantly and soon the evil invading robot was driven back, much to the joy of the scared city-folk.

Time seemed to fly and it came as quite the shock when Keira poked her head back into the room to pry Jaime off for his bath and bedtime routine. Jaime’s face fell the same way it had hours before when Keira had called him for tea but this time, despite Tom’s gentle coaxing the boy refused to budge. 

“No!” Jaime hollered, throwing the Lego in his hands across the room. Tears streamed down his reddened face as he continued to scream the word over and over.   

“James William,” Keira reprimanded, ignoring the tears and the screaming. 

Tom was taken aback. Jaime had been such a congenial child in the nearly six months that Tom had known him; stubborn yes but usually easy going. He had been agitated and upset the first time Tom had left, but considering how close it had been to the loss of his mother Tom had taken it as a reaction to that more than loss of his newest companion. Seeing Jaime’s tantrum now, over what seemed to be such a mundane thing, set off quiet alarm bells. 

He looked helplessly at Keira, wondering if his presence was helping or simply making the situation worse. He pushed himself to his feet, thinking maybe a tactical retreat would be the better part of valor in this moment. Clearly, he was less than useless in this scenario and he has no desire to give Keira reason to consider putting a stop to his visits.

It came as a shock then to feel Jaime’s arms wrapped tightly around his left shin. “No! Uncle Tom I don’t want you to go!”

Tom’s eyes darted between the boy clinging to his leg and the woman standing in the doorway, arms crossed in front of her chest. “Jaime, darling boy…” Jaime’s red-rimmed eyes stared pleadingly back at him and Tom felt his heart crack at the sight. God, Mum was right. You can’t resist those bloody eyes.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly before commending his soul to whatever deity happened to be listening. “Jaime lad. You need to get yourself into that tub. If you listen to your Nan, and she says it’s alright, I will stay and read you your bedtime story. Would that be alright?”

Jaime sniffled, his eyes shining with hope and delight. “You promise?”

He let his eyes dart to Keira who, while clearly not wholly happy with the idea knew a losing battle when she saw one, nodded. He mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ and turned his attention back to the boy clinging to him. “I promise.” Tom reached down and ran his hand through Jaime’s sandy hair. “Now get yourself up and cleaned young man.” 

While nightly routines were completed overhead, Tom found himself puttering around the ground floor of the house. He still wasn’t used to being in this house, regardless of the circumstance. He’d been there only a handful of times with Eliza, each of those times were not exactly uncomfortable but awkward nonetheless. He’d been there more so now because of their son, because this was Jaime’s home, but still it felt strange. He was an interloper here, encroaching on someone else’s territory. He didn’t belong…but Jaime did and for his son he would do whatever was necessary.

He smiled, looking at the traces Jaime had left all over the house. The toys that were scattered around the living room, the artwork stuck to the refrigerator door and the cork notice board in the kitchen, the small jumper and jacket on the hall tree by the front door. Small signs that Jaime was part of this household. Small things he only dared imagine could be part of his own home one day.

Tom let that thought carry him up the stairs after Jaime was clean, dressed, and ready for bed. He’d smiled softly at Keira as the little boy, his little boy, took him by the hand and pulled him into his untidy bedroom. Jaime ran towards the bookshelf, pulling out a tattered copy of illustrated Disney stories, much loved by the look of wear it bore. He handed it expectantly to Tom before scrambling into the bed and pulling his blue duvet up to his chin.

Smiling, Tom settled himself on the floor beside the bed and opened the book to the main story list. He wordlessly scanned over the titles until one jumped out at him and he flipped to its start. Tom’s heart felt full to bursting as he watched Jaime’s eyes widen as he told him the tale Mowgli, the boy raised in the jungle, complete with voices. He didn’t know how often Jaime had heard the story or if it were brand new (though he doubted it was), but it felt as if it were the first time and it meant the world to Tom to see it.

Halfway through, he noticed Jaime’s eyes growing heavy though the boy fought his exhaustion valiantly. Tom continued on, half his attention trained on his son as the boy slowly succumbed to sleep. When his eyes were closed and his breathing even, Tom shut the book quietly. He sat for several minutes simply watching Jaime sleep before pushing himself up to his feet and carrying the book back to the shelf. As he reached to flip off the room’s overhead light, he heard Jaime’s small voice. “Uncle Tom?”

He froze, slowly turning back around. “Yes, Jaime lad?” 

“I wish you were my daddy.”

Tom fought to hold back the choked gasp threatening to break from his chest. He could feel his heart stutter then crash to a halt as Jaime’s words slowly sank in. He couldn’t speak for several moments, his mouth hanging uselessly open until finally he could, though the words came out in barely a whisper. “I am,” he breathed. “I am your daddy.”

But Jaime’s soft snores were the only answer he received. Biting his lip, Tom blindly reached for the switch and shut off the overhead light. He pulled the door closed as softly as he could and bolted down the stairs and out of the door, ignoring Keira’s confused calls.

He was half way down the motorway and even closer to his home when the magnitude of just what happened hit him. He had told Jaime, said the words aloud to his son. Claimed him. And it was something he couldn’t take back…Didn’t want to take back, not ever. But had the boy heard him? Had he understood?

“Fuck,” Tom breathed, merging lanes and trying desperately to keep his focus on the road before him. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” A small part of him was desperate to turn the bloody car around and drive straight back the way he’d come but he more rational part of his brain (which he was surprised had such a tight grip on him given the circumstances) prevailed.

It was late when he pulled his car into the street leading to his home. He entered the gate code with numb fingers and drove through. He hadn’t left the front lights on, he hadn’t expected to be gone this late, but the lights from the street lamps bled through enough light to ease his passage up the walk and to his door. He only dropped his keys once before managing to get them in the lock and open the door.

Tom spent the next several hours pacing first his living room, then the hall, and finally his bedroom. He’d tried to sleep and may even have caught small snatches here and there, but his mind refused to stop whirling. By near six in the morning, Tom gave up the ghost. He padded quietly down the stairs and into kitchen which caught the pale, red-pink light of the rising sun. He paced anxiously as he waited for the coffee to brew and drank two steaming mugs before jogging back up the stairs once more.

He’d thrown himself in the shower, hoping to clear his mind. When he emerged fifteen minutes later, he was clean but still burdened. Dressing silently he was down the stairs once more, sliding his feet into his boots and grabbing his mobile, keys, and wallet from the hallway table and was out the door. Tom wasn’t consciously aware of his destination until he’d found himself in Keira’s driveway. He killed the engine and sat, staring through the windscreen at the door knowing this was probably not the way he should be doing things. But when had that ever stopped him before.

Taking a deep breath, he slid from the car and made his way slowly up the walk towards the door. He knocked twice, cursing when he caught sight of the watch on his wrist and at the early hour. Christ, he was determined to make this woman hate him, wasn’t he?

Small, heavy footfalls echoed from inside the house and moments later the door was pulled open revealing a wide-eyed pajama clad Jaime. “James William!” Keira’s voice boomed from further down the hall, “What have I told you about answering the door?” 

Jaime looked back, a sheepish grin on his face. Christ, Tom thought, is that how I look when I do that? It’s a wonder I made it to adulthood.

“But it’s my daddy!” 

Tom stared in wonder at the boy standing before him, flashes of joy and disbelief flooding over him.

NEXT

[nisrinafm]

greetings   bubs   !   the   way   i’m   posting   this   late   because   i   spent   most   of   my   time   staring   instead   of   writing   asdj   .   i’m   gi   ,   and   wow   ?   i   am   so   excited   to   be  here   .   i   hate   to   say   it   ,   i   hope   i   don’t   sound   ridiculous   ,   but   rich   kids   plots   own   me   .   i’ll   be   bringing   you   the   complex   but   loving   nisrina   ,   and   if   you’d   like   to   know   more   about   her   just   keep   on   reading   .   

❝   UPCOMING   SINGER   NISRINA   VASQUEZ   SPOTTED   IN   A   SCREAMING   MATCH   WITH   AN   UNKNOWN   NUMBER                         WHO   COULD   IT   BE   ?   ❞      

        only   five   minutes   ‘till   midnight   ,   and   we   just   spotted   nisrina   vasquez   ,   known   for   a   single   diamond   hanging   between   collar   bones   ,   painted   fingers   ,   &   the   eagerness   to   lose   herself   in   the   moment   ,   at   club   nouvea   ,   ringing   in   the   new   year   !   the   twenty   one   year   old   is   usually   known   for   their   job   as   a   musician   ,   but   tonight   ,   they’re   just   another   reveler   in   the   crowd   .   when   they   wrote   down   their   new   year’s   resolution   ,   they   wished   to   find   forgiveness   not   for   her   mother   ,   but   for   herself   ,   release   her   first   album   ,   &   break   it   to   her   father   that   she   does   not   want  to   take  over   his   hotels   .   funny   enough   ,   they   had   also   mentioned   how   they   hoped   to   forget   about   the   time   that   they   REDACTED   .   for   what   it’s   worth   ,   i   truly   hope   they   can   put   the   old   year   past   them   .      

full   name.   nisrina  lluvia   vasquez   .   

 gender   ,   pronouns.   cis  woman  ,  she  and  her   .   

 date   of   birth.   august   seventh   ,   nineteen   ninety   nine   .   

 age.   twenty   one   .   

 zodiac   sign.   leo   .   

 hometown.   las   vegas   ,   nevada   .   

 current   living   place.   new   york   .     

orientation.   bisexual   ,   biromantic   .   

 languages.   english   &   spanish   (   fluent   )   ,   italian   (   conversational   )   . 

 tattoos  ,   piercings.    asdfgh   . 

occupation.   musician  .

voiceclaim.   sabrina   claudio   .

  had   nisrina   been   the   answer   to   a   couple   that   longed   for   a   family   ?   no   ,   not   even   close   .    she   was   a   solution   .   the   product   of   desperation   that   panicked   at   the   discussion   of   divorce   and   a   future   lost   of   riches   :      for   the   vasquez’s   ,   marriage   was   not   fabricated   to   contain   genuineness   ,   but   to   benefit   both   parties   while   providing   a   stable   front   to   the   media   .   what   was   expected   from   one   another   was   not   love   ,   it   was   to   withhold   the   agreement   that   landed   two   bodies   muttering   the   words   ,   “   i   do   ,   “   .   a   child   ?   was   never   spoken   of   ,   nor   wanted   .   getting   pregnant   was   a   hidden   trick   of   manipulation   ,   silent   words   of   leave   me   and   your   unborn   child   now   and   see   what   happens   .

    nisrina   was   a   pawn   in   her   mother’s   selfish   games   ,   an   accessory   placed   in   matching   outfits   and   paraded   around   .   motherhood   ?   it   was   everything   sabine   has   ever   dreamed   of   .   so   much   that   the   minute   the   door   closed   ,   the   minute   the   camera’s   clicked   off   ,   nisrina   was   placed   in   whoever’s   hands   were   the   closest   and   dismissed   .   such   a   loving   mother   ,   right   ?

      so   where’s   nisrina’s   father   in   all   of   this   ?   the   hotel   tycoon   was   the   complete   opposite   from   his   cold   hearted   wife   .   aloof   and   stern   melting   into   a   surprising   pool   of   pure   tenderness   for   his   child   .   he   might   have   been   angry   at   getting   stuck   in   sabine’s   trap   ,   but   that   anger   never   looked   at   his   daughter  ;   while   ezequiel   never   dreamed   of   fatherhood   ,   he   embraced   it   .   it   taking   all   of   one   second   of   staring   down   at   his   daughter’s   face   to   understand   that   she   was   now   his   sun   .

     growing   up   in   the   presence   of   someone   who’s   honest   about   their   lack   of   desire   to   be   a   parent   ,   was   not   something   nisrina   could   stay   ignorant   to   for   too   long   .    her   innocence   normalizing   it   until   she   was   old   enough   to   perceive   the   world   around   her   .   after   that   ,   it   became   something   that   was   sitting   right   in   front  of   her   face   .   it   was   in   the   books   she   read   ,   the   movies   she   watched   ,   and   in   the   feeling   she   got   as   she   surveyed   her   friends   mother’s   who   looked   down   at   them   with   tenderness   spilling   from   their   hues   .

     nisrina    ,   she   clung   to   the   good   in   those   around   her   ;   no   matter   how   many   times   those   people   proved   themselves   to   be   anything   but   deserving   of   her   love   .    and   with   her   mother   ?   she   tried   .   again   and   again   ,   nisrina   would   reach   out   for   sabine   .   cry   for   her   affection   ,   plead   for   an   ounce   of   interest   .   she   could   offer   gentle   smiles   ,   present   her   achievements   ,   even   tried   acting   out   in   hopes   that   it   would   earn   just   the   slightest   reaction  ..   but   nothing   ever   worked   ,   in   fact   it   seemed   to   just   drive   sabine   away   .   until   eventually   ,   nisrina   was   pushed   into   the   arms   of   a   nanny   and   sabine   was   on   a   plane   to   whatever   country   would   get   her   the   farthest   from   her   daughter   .

     ezequiel   smothered   nisrina   ,   went   to   the   extreme   lengths   to   get   her   anything   and   everything   she   could   ever   want   .   he   wanted   to   fill   the   hole   that   sabine   engraved   in   her   ,   swore   that   if   nisrina   would   let   him   ,   he’d   love   her   enough   for   the   both   of   them  .  

    with   sabine   always   mia   ,   and   her   father   never   staying   too   long   in   one   place   for   work   ,   nisrina   would   be   pulled   from   public   school  ,   and   enrolling   in   private   studies   .    giving   her   the   opportunity   to   learn   without   being   present   in   a   school   setting   ,   and   allowing   her   father   to   bring   her   along   with   him   .   nisrina   would   go   from   an   empty   house   with   staff   members   to   her   father   and   his   hotel   staff   .   not   the   biggest   difference   ,   but   to   have   her   father   always   one  room   away   made   her   feel   less   lonely   .  

   during   these   years   ,   she   would   only   speak   to   her   mother   less   then   three   times   a  year  ..   but   at   that   point   ?   she   was   long   over   begging   her   for   affection   .   the   media   would   brand   her   as   a   daddy’s   girl   ,   the   future   face   of   the   vasquez   hotel   chains   .   her   life   could   consist   of   penthouses   ,   ruling   the   hotel   kitchen   ,   running   aimlessly   around   hallways   ,  singing   in   the   dinning   hall   ,   and   finding   family   in   the   strangest   of   places   .   her   father   would   expand   from   las   vegas   ,   to   new   york   ,   to   the   caribbeans   ,    and   eventually   to   italy  .  

    before   her   eighteenth  birthday   ,   her   father   would   divorce   sabine   officially   .   putting   all   of   his   assets   in   his   daughters   name   .    this   would   cause   chaos   in   the   media   ,   and   land  sabine   on   their   front   steps   in   false   tears   and   apologizes  that   meant   absolutely   nothing   to   either   of   them   .   two   year   later   ,   sabine   would   remarry   and   final   ties   would   be   cut   forever   .

      where   is   nisrina   now   ?   nisrina   is   located   in   the   beautiful   city   of   new   york   ,   in   hopes   of   gaining   peace   and   mind   to   construct   her   first   album   since   being   signed   a   year   ago   .   she   is   still   an   absolute   daddy’s   girl   and   has   an   insanely   close   relationship   with   him   .    constantly   on   the   mission   of   bettering   herself   ,   and   moving   on   from   old   wounds   .

*   CONNECTIONS   .

YOU’RE   MY   BABY   ,   EVEN   WHEN   YOU   LEAVE   ME   .  

                                                      that   one   ex   that   she   cannot   let   go   of   ,    their   hold   on   her   too   great   .   it’s   something   she   refuses   to   admit   ,   is   embarrassed   at   how   much   she   loves   them   ,   how   she   keeps   coming   back     .   

I   DON’T   NEED   A   MAN   ,   SHE’S   MY   OTHER   HALF   ,   WE   GOT   SOMETHING   NOT   A   LOT   OF   OTHERS   HAVE   .  

                                                     their   relationship   has   surpassed   besties   ,   their   souls   were   made   for   each   other   .   they’re   each   other’s   person   ,   can   speak   without   communication   ,   bicker   like   sisters   ,   and   are   willing   to   hold   each   other’s   secrets   to   the   grave   .   a   package   deal   to   the   end   .   it’s   a   forever   thing   .

JUST   CAUSE   I   FUCK   YOU   ,   DON’T   MEAN   I   TRUST   YOU   ;   I   DON’T     .  

                                                     a   complex   relationship   of   something   more   but   it   never   crossing   that   line   .   these   two   can   share   a   bed   and   even   affectionate   touches   but   communication  ,   trust   ,   and   commitment   are   not   in  the  books   .

THE   NIGHT   IS   DARK   BUT   THE   MOON   IS   BRIGHT   ,   WE’RE   STARING   AT   THIS   SUMMER   NIGHT   ;   TAN   SKIN   LOOKS   DAMN   GOOD   IN   WHITE   ,   STRIPING   DOWN   BY   THE   HOLLYWOOD   SIGN  

                                                    her   girls   ,   the   definition   that   family   is   not   always   blood   .   from   spontaneous   girl   trips   ,   to   clogging   each   other’s   feed   ,   this   group   of   friends   are   known   for   their   closeness   .    you   either   hate   them   or   you   love   them   ,   but   regardless   they’re   always   going   to   ride   for   one   another  .   

OTHER 

                                                   confidants   ,   ex   friends   ,   close   friends   ,   flings   ,   hookups   ,   rivals   ,   people   she   just   bumps   heads   with   ,   on   and   off   friendships   ,   will   they   wont   they   ,   literally   anything   !!!   give   me   drama   ,   angst   ,   and   cute   friendships      .

[sabine-leo]

You are not alone…

Author: @sabine-leo

Wordcount: 1121

Trigger warning: grief after losing a loved one

Genre: Hurt, Comfort, Support 

Pairing: Loki / Reader

AN: Seeing this gifs made me sad somehow. It triggered this Oneshot, that somehow reflects my own expierience of looking fine but be nothing short of breaking on the inside. 

Also: I did not tag anybody from my taglist out of precausion because I don´t know if you want to read this. 

Somehow you had gotten through the day without breaking so far.

The day where you had to say your final goodbye to the woman who had raised you in your mother´s stead.  She had had a good live, a long live even, but that didn´t mean that it hurt less to see her go. She had taken with your antics as a child / teenager without ever raising her voice. She had shown faith and trust in you and your choices till the day you had started to work with a group of gods, heroes and brilliant minds that saved the world a LOT.

“My work is done…” She had said with a proud smile and hugged you tight.

“I am proud of who you have become!”

 Now you were scattering her ashes into the wind as her last will had been.

“One last adventure. One last trip to see the beauty of the earth. Let the wind take me to wherever it thinks I should be going.” A single tear dropped out of your eyes as you whispered a silent goodbye. Followed by another, then another. You tilted your head up and closed your betraying eyes, clutching to the last bit of ashes.

 Behind you was a wall of friendship, dressed in black. But those heroes and brilliant minds that could muster to stand up against everything, were unable to move. Heads tilted down, not sure how to handle a situation like this. They were used to saying goodbye as one of them had put it, but they were not used to handle grief. Or better put. They did not know how to handle your grief.

 “Is she not able to let go?” Someone hissed. “She is doing fine, just give her a moment.”

Loki was listening silently to what the others said and clenched his jaw. He still was not used to all of them getting along, more or less. But he could see that you clearly were struggling.

“Maybe we should leave her alone?!” Came a silent whisper from his left. “Maybe she wants to do the last goodbye without us watching?” His throat closed up for a second. He saw your shoulders tense and how your body spoke of held in sobs.  Your hand was white as a sheet, clutching so hard that all blood had left it in the process. “(Y/N) wanted to handle everything herself…we should step back…”

 Loki lost it. He turned halfway and hissed through his teeth. “We can´t let her do this on her own. We just can´t abandon her like that.” His brother looked at him. “Loki…” But Loki didn´t even let him take in another breath. “No, I of all people know what grief can do to you. And what it does to you when you are on your own with it.” He took in a sharp breath. “You call yourself her friends but friends don´t let friends down like that.” He took a step towards you. “Loki don´t!” Came another voice.

“She wouldn´t even let me hug her or offer comfort…”

 Loki rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“I can´t let her grief like that and just watch her crumble. I can´t let her face this alone.”

“But she had a good and long live…(Y/N) should just let go…” Loki looked at the commenter as if he was ready to stab him. “Does this mean that she should not feel what she feels. Does it lessen the loss? I don´t think so!” He slowly walked towards you, choosing the side where your free hand loosely dangled near your body as if it was channelling its strength into the other one that still held on. Loki did not say a word, he didn´t need to. He just softly took your hand in his and let his thumb stroke above it one time. Then he just held on, your shoulder against his arm, offering silent support.

 “Breathe darling.” After a minute you squeezed his hand and let out the breath you had been holding in for as along as you were standing here, only breathing shallow and superficially.

Loki looked at you. “You can let go now. I´ve got you…”

Somehow, hearing this from him, made you feel save and gave you the courage to do it.

You slowly lifted your hand and unraveled your sore fingers. A gust of wind came up and the ashes danced into it. Loki twirled his free fingers and a golden glow appeared where the ashes danced.

The mirage of your beloved one lifting a hand with a smile on her face in a silent last goodbye.

It made you smile in tears. Loki squeezed your hand and watched with you how the mirage set sail into it´s last adventure. “Goodbye…” you whispered and rested your head against Loki’s shoulder.

You didn´t know how long you were standing there, but Loki never left your side. Never let go of your hand. He just stood there with you and watched the beautiful sunset that held the colours of a bright soul leaving this realm, which still watched over you from wherever it might find peace.

“Thank you, Loki…” You said and looked up to him for the first time.

A tiny smile spread on his lips for a second, his eyes were sincere and held a profound pledge in them as he said. “You will never have to face anything alone. I won´t let you. May it be bad or good. You will always have me by your side for as long as I draw breath.”

 His words sank in and touched a place in your heart that was hurting badly and filled it with hope.

You untangled your hand from his and took a step to face him properly. You looked into his eyes for a second, then you wrapped your arms around his waist and rested your head on his black clad chest.

His arms came around you and tugged you closer as he rested his head on yours, closing his eyes.

He who was not good at touching people, or getting touched by them just held on to you as much as you held on to him. “You won’t either…” You softly said and felt the tension leave your body and heard his relieved breath leave his…

 There was a lesson learned by everybody standing there and watching the both of you.

Sometimes, even if you look unapproachable or as if you are strong enough to handle things on your own. You still need a hand reaching out for you, knowing someone is in your corner, that someone cares enough about you to make an effort even if you say you are…fine.

[thejamesoldier]

A Single Frayed Rope

AO3 Link :)

Prologue | Chapter 1

A/N: I've taken some artistic license with this. Sometimes I will stray from canon and some of the dialogue will not be the game script verbatim. I'm not changing core aspects of the plot/characters we know and love, I just wanted to enhance or elaborate on certain aspects of the story so its told the way I would like and not just a copy of the original. I really wanted to make you feel like you are part of the story, woven in as an integral piece of the world instead of just dropped on the surface. If that makes any sense lol. Anyway enjoy !!

Chapter 2 ~ Colter II

"Sorry!" You say on a choked inhale, air struggling to get past your heart that's lodged itself up into the back of your throat.

The apology was reflex if you are being honest, along with the harsh startle your body gave when you whipped around towards the voice.  

"What are you doin' there miss?" A man smeared in shadow asks in a dangerously neutral tone, taking a few ominous steps forward as he does so.

While you can't make out much of him, just a black silhouette against the slightly lighter black canvas of the night, your heart stutters over a beat or two as you recognize his voice. This is Arthur. This realization brings you absolutely no comfort. He justifies this feeling as he crosses his arms tight against his broad chest when you hesitate to answer right away. Your spine locks against your shivering, pulling your insides in opposite directions and straining the muscles in your neck.  

"I'm --," You grit your teeth at the pain in your head and the scratch in your throat and decide that you don't have the capability to lie (well) right now, "I was trying to steal from these saddlebags." You surrender with a hitch in your voice.

"I see," He indulges in a slow drawl, then after a long punishing beat of silence, "And how's that workin' out for ya?"

"Not well." You reply as you hug your arms around yourself, not being able to stand the cold and the fear at the same time.

"Yeah, Sabine here," You just make out Arthur sending a stiff nod in the aggravated horse's direction, "Tends to get possessive of her personal space."

"I noticed." You say.

"Well," He huffs, a strange curl to his tone making something in the back of your head stomp its foot, "How do you reckon we go from here?"

"Please don't kill me." You immediately rush, not above begging for your life. He just caught you trying to steal and he had already been talking about torturing you earlier so yeah, definitely not above begging.

Arthur seems to falter as he hears the genuine fear wobbling in your voice. You're not sure how you sense such a subtle shift in his approach to the conversation but you do as he uncrosses his arms and clasps his hands together in front of his hips, the movement loud in the twilight, before clearing his throat,

"Won't be doin' that just yet miss."

"Yet?" Your chest constricts and stars fall from the sky, swirling in your vision and making your head feel like air. That venison jerky you ate whole earlier tumbles like a brick in your stomach, and you regret eating anything at all as bile fills your mouth.

"Yes, it would be a waste of my effort to kill you so soon after savin' you."

"You were the one that saved me?" You whisper on empty lungs as the stars begin to collect around his outline.

A streak of bold moonlight cuts through the thick overcast and slants across his figure, highlighting small silver slivers of him -- the rim of his hat, the swell of a cheekbone, the rounding of a muscled shoulder; a mystery amidst his own galaxy.

"Miss?"

You feel yourself falling as the stars around him start to spin.

I'm getting really sick of fainting, you think before the black swallows you whole.

--

"Goddamn it!" Arthur curses as he lurches forward and catches her just before she crumples completely into the snow.

Once he's adjusted her in his arms, he finds himself frozen and unable to move. Holding her close in an ironically graceful dip, the light of the moon whispers across her face. It tangles in her lashes and kisses her brow, runs down her nose and lounges on the soft curve of her upper lip. Arthur is struck by her, again, and stunned in the silent night. The beauty of her, obscure and poignant and unnameable like all things in nature are, seizes Arthur and he --

He hates her because of it. Hates the softness it encourages in him.  

The anger that protects him from all his vulnerabilities gathers up around him like wildfire, burning that softness in him to ash and charring him into a familiar numbness. A numbness he feels when he beats a starving man for debt money, or shoots a noncomplying witness who was going to send the law on the gang, or sees helplessness eat up the good in John's eyes, or watches Jack collect stray wildflowers for his mother, or the gentle pinch around the skin of Hosea's eyes whenever he smiles at Arthur --

Arthur grits his teeth against the hollowing in his chest and hoists the woman fully up into his arms. He walks carefully but quickly back to the Marston cabin, trying not to jostle her too much as he would hate to have her wake. Why is it that this woman always ends up unconscious in his arms? Arthur's not even carried Mary this many times. His brain short circuits at the thought of Mary -- oil pouring over open flame -- and nearly grunts out loud with the effort he puts into shoving all things Mary related back down the dark hole it slithered up from.

The woman's body burns like a live wire against him through the layers of his clothing, the memory of her naked skin pressed to his making his blood boil. He shoulders open the door and lays the lady down in her place by the weak fire. Arthur snatches his arms out from under her when she's fully transferred to the floor, slowly backing away like she could wake any second and attack him.

"Hi Uncle Arthur,"

Arthur jumps slightly at Jack's small voice whispering at him from a couple paces away. The boy is kneeling at the head of John's cot, both John and Abigail are asleep.

"Go back to bed Jack, we'll be traveling tomorrow and you don't want to be tired." Arthur chastises through a tight throat, wanting to exit the room and put space between him and the feeling tearing up his insides as soon as possible. Because absurdly, he feels...he feels fragile right now. Hot and shaky and exhausted and fragile. He hates it, hates her for kicking him into this familiar spiral. Hates that nowadays he can be so easily sucked into it in the first place.

"Okay," Jack answers as Arthur quietly leaves the cabin.

Arthur doesn't know why he doesn't immediately return to his post once he steps out into the snow, doesn't know why he sneaks a glance back inside through the frost fogged window. But what he sees sends deep cracks through the fist of stone that lives in the bone cage of his chest instead of a heart. Jack remains kneeling by his father's side and slowly begins reaching one tiny hand towards John's head. The moment crystallizes and Arthur can't move, can't breathe. The boy shakes as the tips of two of his small fingers graze the bruised skin of John's face, the side without the bandages. Jack's fingers hover after the first pet, and when John doesn't stir Jack bites his lip with child-like concentration and lowers his whole hand with earth-shattering tenderness to press against John's cheek.

Time unpauses and Arthur wrenches himself away from the window, gasping around the devastation in his chest as he drags himself back to his post by the horses. The cold night cloaks him, trying to put out the flames as Arthur stands there unable to escape the riot of emotion wrecking havoc on what's left of his soul. The stars whisper to each other above the clouds about humans and their talent for self-destruction while the moon looks on, ruler of the lonely, and is only sad.  

--

You awake with a startle and a gasp, sitting bolt upright from your place on the floor.

A sharp twang sings through your body and you try to bite off your shout of pain. It takes a moment for the hurt to finish rolling through you, and your body to settle enough so you could try and focus. Once you do get a grip you see that you're back in the cabin, and it still seems to be night time. You don't know how long ago your unfortunate encounter with that man Arthur was, but you thank any and all deities that may be listening that you're not dead.

You figure there's not much you can do right now to immediately aid yourself, but that doesn't stop you from planning. You need to be smarter and being smarter starts with gathering your wits and getting your shit together. No more fainting (if you could help it), no more escaping on a whim, no more naive honesty. You need to adapt and you needed to do it now. Tomorrow would most likely determine your fate and you refused to give fate the chance to fuck you over even more than it already has. Falling asleep is out of the question as every worry and fret piles higher and higher only to bury you deeper and deeper. You give a small start when a tiny voice clears its throat.

"You know," The young boy murmurs to you from across the room, "When I have trouble sleeping I count my Mama's breaths."  His mother (Abigail, was it?) is curled around him tight, sitting with her back against the wall, her cheek squished against the ledge of the man's -- John, you remember -- cot, and her arms wrapped securely around the boy. "If...if you want, you can count her breaths too."

You recognize that he is offering you something precious, a tiny jewel sparkling in the dark room, and it lightens the horror of the past however many days you've been here.

"Thank you, um," You blank on his name.

"Jack." He provides quietly.

"Jack, thank you Jack. I just might."

Jack gives you a cautious half-smile before closing his eyes and snuggling deeper into his mother's arms. After you've fried your brain to a crisp with worry you eventually try to rest. For a time you do actually start to count Abigail's sleeping breaths, thinking it can't hurt to try. When that doesn't work though you try to count John's, then even little Jack's. All of this does nothing but expand your hearing, making you hyper aware of every insignificant sound: the wind howling through the frozen town, the stray creak of brittle wood, the muted crackle of a weak fire in the next room over. It all pushes in on you, suffocating you with paranoia.

When you can't stand it any longer, you jerk your eyes open and quietly but swiftly stand up. Since going outside would be pointless and stupid (as you hazard Arthur or someone of this gang might be out there), your gaze targets the door connecting this room with the adjoining one. You close the short distance to it and carefully turn the rusted knob. As you open it slowly in the hopes of making the least amount of noise, you wince when it protests with a loud creak. Fuck it, you think before yanking the damn thing open wide enough so you can quickly slip through. You're halfway into the next room when you stop cold.

There, sitting hunched before the fireplace, is the large bulk of a man who's cleaning a shotgun. He turns at the sound of your intrusion and sees you frozen in the doorway. You can't make out much of his face in the dark room and he doesn't speak so you can't identify him by voice, so you both just petrify into statues.

One beat.

Two beats.

Three beats.

Then --

He silently hefts his gaze back down to his gun, effectively shattering the moment but not cutting the tension. That certainly wasn't an invitation to come in but it also wasn't a hostile demand to leave. So, naturally, you remain fixed in the doorway torn clean in half with indecision. Most of his back is facing you so only a slice of his profile is visible, and even that is blurred by the orange light of the small fire flickering in the wooden hearth in front of him.

"What you want?" His words fire like gunshots into the space between you, mirth curling like smoke out of the corners of his mouth as the air in the room becomes charged.

The baritone of his voice resonates in your memory...

Arthur?

How is it you keep running into him? Another habit that needs to be broken.

"Thank you,"

You jump at your own voice, surprising yourself, and he stiffens before ceasing his cleaning entirely. Your heart pounds between your lungs and blood roars in your ears. Why did you speak, why did you speak, why did you speak --

"For, for saving my life." You clarify, your voice tight as it fights its way out of your locked jaw and heavy with a gratitude so dense your tongue fumbles around the syllables.

Arthur doesn't reply at first, just jerks back into methodically wiping down the long barrel of his gun after a moment or two of silence.

"You're welcome." He says eventually, tone hard and carefully blank, and its what you had been waiting for apparently because as soon as the words leave his mouth you're slinking back into the room you came from.  

Your heart doesn't stop racing even as you lie back down in front of the fireplace and watch the dim embers flicker, even as you try to listen for Arthur in the next room, even as you slip into an uneasy nightmare-plagued sleep.

--

This time you awake to your wrists being not-so-gently tied together.

A man with a mean glint in his eye and a cruel smile hovering over you is the first thing you see when your eyes shoot open. He's talking down at you with loud harsh words that try to stuff themselves into your ears at the same time, all sharp edges and poisoned corners as they tumble around in your head.

"Bill get her tied to the wagon beside the other O'Driscoll and then we'll be ready to set out." Says a voice you've heard once before. A man with black shoulder length curls and dressed like he's straight out of some Victorian drama leans into your vision over the shoulder of who you now know to be Bill. His gaze is piercing and the authority in his voice is unmissable. His name evades you though as you instead struggle to grasp all that's happening.

It takes you a second to realize what the man had said, and before the increasingly familiar grip of fear can truly settle in your bones, Bill wrenches you up to stand on your feet and shoves you out the closed door. The pain of smashing front first through the door, the shock of the cold, the light of the morning, and the noise of people and horses bustling about hits you all at once, stunning you into a stand still before Bill pushes you forward again. You almost collapse into the snow at the force of it, still infuriatingly weak and still fighting to keep up on the current situation. Bill grabs the scruff of fabric at the back of your neck, scoffing his aggravation at your incompetence, and proceeds to drag you over to one of the wagons being readied for departure that are lined up on the main road.

"O'Driscoll whore!" Someone hisses at you as you're wrenched kicking and screaming down the line towards the back.

You're too disoriented and focused on trying to maintain your footing in the snow to see who it was. Though the scratch in the woman's voice sounded familiar, almost like a vulture's caw.

"Bill is all that violence really necessary?" Comes another voice you think you've heard before, tone a bit brittle with age or maybe its just the cold. You're too busy trying to twist yourself free to look up to the source of the voice -- a man who's perched on the driver's bench of the wagon behind the one you've stopped in front of.

"Dutch said she was an O'Driscoll spy, possibly one of their whores, I'm treatin' her accordin' to her station!" Is the attempted justification of your abuser, then you're yanked hard by your hair so your back is forced to press against his front, "Makin' you squeal will be so easy," Bill hushes into your ear.

You don't have time to register the pain in your scalp because his foul hot breath pours over your cheek and collects in the shell of your ear along with the rub of his course full beard, making your stomach drop in violent disgust. A revolted sound half way between a shout and a gag rips its way out of your lips and he laughs at the noise, shoving you off him to crash into the wooden lip of the back of the wagon. A scuffed up man shivers in the snow beside you, hands bound like yours are but tied to the back of the wagon like livestock. You both just stare at each other wide eyed and scared as Bill manhandles you into more rope and more knots as he also ties you to the wagon. He cackles and hits your behind hard, promising you something you wish you hadn't heard before walking off.

'The pleasure of breakin' you for my own is gonna be so much fun.'  

Incapable of anything but choking on your panic, you flinch as the rub of the harsh rope against the skin of your wrists -- twin shackles of pressure and heat that only tighten further as you try to rip yourself free -- begins to burn.

"Don't yank or you'll make the ropes tighter," You jump as the man beside you murmurs urgently under his breath, "I think this will be a long journey and you'll want to maintain feelin' in your hands or you could lose 'em."

Lose your hands? Long journey? Your breathing cranks into hyperventilation and you feel yourself spiraling --

"Hey! I-Its okay, um my name's Kieran. Whats yours?"

You look at the man -- Kieran, and try to get yourself to take his bait, try to allow yourself to be reeled away from your panic. Smarter, you need to be smarter.

"Y/n, my name is Y/n." You force out in a hoarse voice between gasping breaths, desperately searching for some stillness in yourself amidst all the chaotic noise of your fear.

"Y/n, that's a nice name. It's good to meet you even if it is under unfortunate circumstances."

You can't manage a response but Kieran looks like he doesn't mind, just offers you a grimace you assume is meant to be a smile. But his effort to calm you is in vain, because your panic rockets back up when Kieran cowers as someone walks past him towards the wagon parked behind you. The man responsible for this reaction is tall, has a build on him that displays a kind of packed strength that contains true physical ability. Though something about his shape -- in the way he moves, sparks an ember of familiarity in your mind.

"Whatchu lookin' at?" The man challenges and stops dead in his tracks as he catches you staring, his shaded eyes lock with yours under the dark brim of his hat. His shoulders hold a tension that speaks to an intimacy with violence and his hands are fisted in great balls of bone and muscle. Its his voice that hits you like a thunder clap.

Arthur.

Making use of the daylight, you quickly pick out a few defining aspects of him to match to the Arthur in your memory then divert your gaze down and away, not wanting to risk his wrath. This is apparently the right thing to do because as Arthur dismisses the both of you with a grunt and heaves himself up onto the driver's perch of the wagon behind you beside an older looking man, Kieran shuffles closer to your side and warns,

"If there is anyone you don't want to piss off, its him."  

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

It probably makes you a horrible person but you're glad you aren't alone, glad that someone else is a prisoner too -- that there's at least one person who doesn't want to kill you. And if Kieran is claiming Arthur to be the worst of them, even worse than that Bill person, you think that maybe surviving this situation isn't going to be something you're capable of.

There's some clamoring around and shouts between the wagons as everyone begins mounting up, but it all blurs for you. You shake from the panic and the fear and the cold and the hunger...you go to a numb place. One where your senses dull, your mind blanks, and emptiness yawns in your chest -- eating up everything in its path. You dissociate hard because its the only way you can cope. When reigns are snapped and cries of 'Onward!' are released into the fridge air, all the wagons jerk stiffly into motion, you along with them, and your journey begins.

--

Arthur watches the two O'Driscolls struggling through the snow behind the wagon in front of him with a knot in his stomach. It was Micah's idea to have them walk tied to the wagon and not just sit secured in the back.

The wagon isn't going fast but its the terrain that's the problem. The prisoners first try to walk in the deep tracks the wagon impresses into the snow, but their ropes aren't quite long enough to allow them that far back so they end up just getting yanked forward. Then when they abandon this tactic and just simply try to keep up with the wagon by breaking their own path behind it through the knee deep snow, they tire -- fast. They inevitably begin to slow, their ropes loosing their slack, and they are once again pulled forward. There really isn't a happy medium, and no doubt all this dragging and yanking worsens the blood circulation of their bound wrists. Bill had tied them real tight and with short leads. Unnecessarily short in Arthur's opinion but whatever, he's too tired to bring it up and he figures that was probably Bill's intention anyway.

Exhaustion consumes Arthur as the caravan trudges down the mountain, the cold a great heavy iron blanket covering him from head to toe. Dutch has been running him ragged these past few weeks -- with fair reason -- but still, Arthur's gotten maybe a total of twenty-four hours of sleep broken up in small chunks throughout the past week alone. He worries he'll fall asleep at the reigns but is thankful Hosea chose to sit shotgun and is currently demanding to drive. Arthur grunts but relents the reigns, sore from the non-stop cold, lack of rest, lack of proper nourishment, and having helped Javier and Charles hack all the left over ice that froze the joints of the wagons off right before departing. Because while the storm did break and the sun had shown for the first time in days, it didn't mean the snow was going to thaw anytime soon.

"If you feel yourself fallin' asleep make sure to lean towards me and not off the wagon." Hosea says with that familiar teasing humor of his but Arthur can clearly hear the note of concern in his voice.

"I'd crush you if I fell asleep on you old man, better to fall clean outta the wagon and risk a scrape or two then kill ya tryna sleep."

Hosea gives a wheezing chuckle at that and the sound loosens a darkness from Arthur's heart he hadn't known he'd been baring. It lets warmth into his chest and shakes the stitches pulling his eyebrows together out too. Arthur is grateful for Hosea's attempt to lighten his mood, knowing Hosea himself has been sour this past week, as sour as Arthur's ever seen him. He's also never heard Hosea argue with Dutch the way he has been before. It worries Arthur, it worries Arthur greatly.

"Well crush me then, can't have you breakin' bones --," Hosea suddenly pulls the horses up short as the O'Driscoll woman in front of them stumbles to her knees, letting out a cry as she's dragged for a moment, before forcing herself back up. Hosea lets the two prisoners get a few extra paces ahead before encouraging the horses forward again and continuing, "Once we get down into warmer country I'll make an herb paste you can put in some hot water. Drinkin' it should help you recover."

"I ain't hurt." Arthur bites out on reflex.

"You ain't well neither." Hosea immediately shoots back, accompanied by a significant look he sends at Arthur's profile.

Arthur sighs and surrenders the argument, finding he could never win them against Hosea anyway. That was due largely to the fact that Hosea was mostly always right, but Arthur chooses not to think too much on that as his shoulders slump forward and his back aches something fierce. Also the base of his skull has been throbbing since yesterday but he figures that's also due to his exhaustion.

"Bill shouldn't have made 'em walk like this," Arthur hears Hosea mutter as the woman falls again, "No point in it. Will only slow us down."

"I don't think she's a spy," Arthur admits as he rubs his face with his gloved hands, sniffing hard once he's done to keep his nose from running.

"No?"

Arthur shakes his head and scratches his beard, the skin under the thickening stubble dry and cracked from the cold.

"Caught her tryin' to steal from my saddlebags last night. I stood six goddamn feet from 'er, didn't notice me at all." Arthur elaborates with a scoff, "Plus she apologized when I caught her. She ain't no thief."

"Why were you up?" Hosea questions with that fatherly fierceness of his, completely ignoring the rest of what Arthur said.

"Dutch put me on watch." Arthur shrugs.

Hosea is silent at this and when Arthur turns to look at him, Hosea has a rather hardened expression on his face,

"He should have let you rest."

"Ah don't worry about me, I'm fine."

Hosea doesn't validate Arthur's words with a response, only frowns deeper as the O'Driscoll man does his best to encourage the woman to keep going as she struggles to stand from another fall.  

"You think she's an O'Driscoll?" Arthur questions in the hopes of distracting Hosea from his thoughts, hating the dark look molding his face into a mask of muted ire.

Hosea only gives a noncommittal hum and continues brooding. Arthur realizes why Dutch always says he reminds him so much of Hosea, they have the exact same brooding face. Arthur clears his throat and returns his gaze forward knowing Hosea wants to not be bothered for a bit. A few beats of silence throb by and Arthur realizes Charles has been awfully quiet (not that that isn't normal for Charles but still).

"How you doin' back there Charles!" Arthur calls as he turns in his seat to face the back of the wagon where Charles is sitting, huddled and wrapped around himself tight, on one of the barrels.

Charles levels him with a look that makes Arthur immediately regret asking. Clearly Charles is miserable just like everyone else. Feeling a bit sheepish, Arthur is about to turn back around when Charles' face lightens out of its exasperation as he takes a breath to speak.

"I'm doing alright Arthur."  

Arthur nods, "How's that hand?"

"Better. It'll heal a lot faster once we get out of the cold."

"Good." Arthur grunts before swiveling forward, missing the rare small smile Charles gives Arthur's back at his concern.

--

You can't feel your legs.

At first it was just your feet, but as you continue to trudge through the deep snow the numbing feeling begins to crawl upwards. Maybe its a good thing you can't feel them, they probably would be aching just as insufferably as the rest of your body is. You don't know how much longer you can keep going for, you hope its long enough, but the snow is getting thinner and thinner so you figure once the snow is gone things will get easier.

Wrong. You are so wrong.

Since karma or fate or whatever is responsible for you is a complete asshole, you quickly realize how close you are to truly losing your shit. Once you leave the mountain feeling eventually returns to your legs as you travel into warmer and warmer areas, and the pain is excruciating. You haven't eaten anything but a slice of stale venison jerky, you've been on your feet for god knows how long, you're weaker than you've ever been, and you're surrounded by dangerous people who all want to kill you. Your panic is like a new limb at this point, constantly there living in the back of your head never sleeping just always on. Like a switch you can't turn off. And it drains you, drains you of everything you are. You've forgotten what its like to not be exhausted, what its like to be strong and safe and happy.

There has been a pretty constant stream of small talk happening in the wagon behind you, but you're still so distant you don't have the capability to pay attention to what they're saying. You're in too much pain to even try.

You hear the water before you see it. Kieran begins wrapping his hands around the lead of his rope, pulling him just short of the wagon. He nods at you to do the same,

"The river looks deep and the current looks strong, you don't want your rope to snap if you fall."

Before you can ask why, you catch a glance around the wagon at the deep river flowing towards the unmistakable roar of a waterfall. The wagons cross single file a yard or two away from the drop off, the horses snorting and neighing their protest at the force of the current. Your attention spikes like a plucked wire, all your nerve endings zinging to life as your wagon nears the water. You copy Kieran and frantically wrap your wrists in the excess rope, shaking as you do. Your panic ebbs like a tide in your brain, drawing back to crest in a tidal wave as you are finally forced into the cold water.

It's deeper than you thought. Much deeper and much stronger. The current takes your feet out from under you almost immediately.  

You open your mouth to scream but your lungs flood with water. Kieran can't do much but shout for you as your head goes under. You fight to gain footing, and once you do your head bursts through the surf with a gasp and you clamp your hands around the splintered lip of the wagon, holding on for dear life as the wagon trudges on.

--

Arthur's breath had stopped when he saw her go under.

"Careful of the rocks Arthur!" Hosea calls to him, snapping Arthur's attention back on driving.

The wagon jerks in the water as the left rear wheel crunches over what felt like a cluster of rocks.

By the time Arthur looks back up, the wagon in front of them is out of the water and on the otherside of the bank, and the woman sounds like she's coughing up a lung.

"Get us outta the stream!" Hosea then orders when he notices Arthur's attention has been stolen once again, "You gotta keep us movin', but calm --,"

Arthur interrupts him with a grunt and guides the wagon out of the river, they get maybe a foot onto dry land before a resounding crack echos up against the ravine and the wagon collapses.

"Ah shit!" Arthur curses as he pulls the horses up short.

"All right, let's take a look," Hosea sighs in a very obvious tone of exasperation.

The line of wagons halt, people shouting their concerns.

"You okay?" Javier calls from the wagon in front of them.

"Everything alright back there?" Bill says almost at the same time from beside Javier.

"Does everything look alright?" Arthur snarks, voice sharpened by sarcasm and aggravation at being the reason the line is held up as Hosea, Charles, and him all hop down to assess the damage.

The two tied O'Driscolls eye the situation from over their shoulders, huffing and shaking in exhaustion.

"Well, what's going on?" Javier says from his perch on the driver's bench, swiveled around to face them and squinting to see what all the fuss is.

"I broke the goddamn wheel!" Comes Arthur's tempered reply, gesturing to the wheel that's rolled off a bit as he walks to the back of the wagon.

"Alright, let's get it fixed." Hosea concedes as he waves Charles over.

"You need help?" Javier offers as Bill rolls his eyes at the entire scene and faces forward.

"I reckon we can handle it!" Hosea assures as he makes his way to the back of the wagon, "Alright Charles you and me hold the thing up, while you try to put the wheel back on Arthur."

As Arthur picks the wheel up and begins rolling it back over to the wagon he says,

"You still strong enough to hold up a wagon?" He phrases it like a jab, but he really does want to know if it'll hurt Hosea. They could always switch.  

"Shut up." Hosea snaps with a strange opposing gentleness, a special tone he always seems to use when he's being short with Arthur.

"I'm just sayin," Arthur grumbles as he positions the wheel onto its knob.

"Well, say less." Hosea grunts as he and Charles lift the wagon with the strength of their legs and their lower backs.

--

You fight the whole body collapse you feel simmering just under your skin and hollowing out your bones. This is the longest you've been still for who knows how long, and you're beginning to wonder if you'll be able to move again. If you have the strength to take even one more step. There's grunts and the sound of muscles bashing against wood as your wagon jerks into motion again.

"We'll meet you back at camp!" Calls the voice of one of your drivers, his accent sounds Hispanic though you can't place which country.

"Alright!" Someone shouts back as your body locks up in pain in anticipation of moving.

Your feet are throbbing, your knees feel like snapping, your hips and upper body feel as heavy as stone...how much longer...

--

I will try and update as soon as possible! Sorry for such a long break!! :( 

Chapter 3

Masterlist

[feelsgoodink]

DEJA VU (Elijah Mikaelson x Reader)

Your eyes locked in on Sabine as you shook your wrists forward, and though the woman you were glaring at looked like the beautiful, tragic which you had met months ago, you understood that you were actually staring at Celeste Dubois, your boyfriend's ancient, dead lover.

You had only seen her actual, real face in Elijah's fever dreams, you remembered the day his brother poisoned him with the vampire venom and you and Hayley had to practically nurse him back to help. Even though neither of you could do anything but sit there with him and watch as he lost his mind.

You wondered if not for his weakness, if Elijah would of ever told you about her at all, maybe not in the detail of showing you how it felt when the two of them kissed, or the warmth of her dark, bronzen skin pressed against his own paleness, but rather would he of told you of his love for her; and the strength of his attraction for her heart and soul rather than just her body.

You remember being surprised by Elijah's furiosity with her, his dominance that was light-hearted and quirky that even now you almost craved to see that side return to him. Often times, you wished you could tease him about the whole 'I believe there will be some sort of spanking in order' ordeal, often times when you were alone and the memory popped into your head you tried to conceal a giggle.

You weren't upset or jealous of her, rather remorseful for your boyfriend, and with her story you understood just why he so protective of you, why he tried his hardest to keep you out of the drama that was this entire war amongst the monsters, try as he might you knew that you were just as invested in this as anyone now. You knew that Celeste was an example of exactly what Elijah never wanted for you. And by the way she looked at you through Sabine, you could tell she intended to make you understand that.

"You've got me here in this damned cemetery. What do you want?" You asked her, your voice sounded off through the whole burial ground. "Killing me isn't going to get you any ancestral power, it's only going to piss off like 3/4 of the french quarter." You added, sarcastically.

"I'm sorry, I happen to have my own priorities besides supporting the rest of the witches, (Y/N). Starting by making Elijah Mikaelson realize he's made the same mistake too many times. Here he is, doing it again. Never thought he would be falling in love and taking two girls on down with him, though." Her voice seemed rehearsed, as if she was struggling with the jargon. As if English was not her native tongue. Celeste's french accent was begging to bleed through Sabine's New Orleans dialect. Two girls? You crossed your arms and tried to figure out what she was trying to say before she could elaborate.

"I gave him the choice of saving Klaus, Rebekah, or Hayley and he chose Hayley over his two siblings who he allowed me to die for? It's a shame I wasn't able to include you in that list. Then things would of gotten far more interesting." Celeste continued. You felt your heart knock a little harder.

Elijah and Hayley and their closeness had occupied the back of your mind from time to time in moments when you were insecure, the idea that Elijah could have more motives than his niece keeping him drawn to her had plagued the weaker part of you for a while. But you knew that Hayley was your friend, and above that Elijah was your boyfriend who had found you first in Mystic Falls, Virginia and taken you with him wherever he intended to go from there.

"Elijah would not let a child, born or unborn, be hurt, especially not his own blood. That's his niece and Klaus would of wanted her to be safe before himself- if he loves his daughter like we believe he does." You reasoned with her.

Celeste laughed. "Klaus doesn't care about that baby. He doesn't care about Elijah, or Rebekah. He's going to kill Rebekah within 48 hours, trust me, none of that family has loved eachother as strongly as Elijah loved either of them."

You grimaced, unsure of what she meant. "Elijah loved you, Celeste." You told her.

She smiled at you, with a nod. "Yes, he did. But he didn't love me enough to save me from his brother. If he truly loves you, he would of left you wherever you came from, he would of walked the other way. Because now, you're going to die for him."

"Just like you did?" You interred. She scoffed.

"He had a choice to keep his brother under constraints, but his maljudgement made him careless. Now his carelessness is going to cause his maljudgement. That's where we're different, (Y/N)." Celeste told you, in her words you could feel a betrayed, warped sense of hurt within her.

"He loved you and has still loved you every single moment that he has breathed even after you died. He always believed that you were a pure soul and a casualty that he blamed himself for in every waking moment. He's sorry, doesn't that have to mean something to you?" You pleaded to her, shaking against your restraints, chained against a concrete mausoleum with your hands falling asleep.

Celeste charged forward and grabbed your shoulders, you froze in a quick,startled fear.

There was a fire in her eyes that resembled the same fire that lit her family like candlesticks.

"He isn't sorry enough! But he will be. He's lost Hayley to the werewolves and he's about to lose you to the worms." The insanity in her claims caused your spine to rattle.

"Hayley isn't and never has been his, Celeste. You should know just as well as me if not more so how how protective he is of family, and unless you really are just an evil, decieving bitch, then you know that's one of the reasons why we love him." You directed your emotions on that accusation more so than anything else right now. You watched as she faltered.

"if you choose to love Elijah, you choose to die for him." Celeste told you.

"And If I die for Elijah, I will die for him. Then I will die for Klaus. Then I will die for Rebekah, I'll die for Hayley and I'll die for that babygirl. If I'm only here to die for someone, I'd rather be killed for a cause as noble as Elijah Mikaelson than from some disease that takes me when I'm 90." You felt a brave, dignified revelation crawling up from your throat and jumping to her with the venomous words and spit from your tweaking tongue.

"That won't be necessary, (Y/N). No one else is dying tonight." You beamed past Celeste and standing there in a clean pressed suit and illuminated by the moonlight was Elijah, who's dark knit eyebrows were furrowed together intensely and his lips almost appeared in a pout, his hands in his pocket.

Celeste rolled her eyes, pulling a razor blade from Sabine's jean pocket and holding it against your neck. You raised your head by reflex and closed your eyes, bracing yourself.

"Don't you do it, Celeste!" Elijah yelled, he charged and pulled her from you and to the ground. You watched as she stood back up and ensnared his hips with her hands, grabbing him like holding onto handles. "Or what Elijah? You'll kill me? I'll just take another body and when you fall in love with the next pretty thing you'll be stuck wondering if it's really just me. You'll never be happy again." She hissed at him. "I want to ruin you, Elijah."

She watched as he became speechless, she let her finger poke out his bottom lip and she stared past him and to you. "What would of happened if you would of had to choose between her and Hayley, Elijah?" She asked. You watched as she sent a wink your way. She turned Elijah around so that you could see the startled, confused expression on his face. His shoulders tensed.

"Tell her how you would save Hayley, even if there wasn't a baby involved, tell her that you would of let her die. Tell her how if Klaus were to tell you right now that he wanted her dead, you would drown her in a tub just like you found me-"

"Stop!" He yelled to her, pushing her to the ground, Elijah could not handle another moment of her sending flashbacks into his head of finding her under the cold water, lifeless. He once loved this very woman, and now the face was changing and Elijah could imagine that it was you in the water, and it terrified him.

"Tell her that if you had to choose between her and Klaus, look her in the eyes and tell her that you would choose her. Tell her that and I mean it and I won't kill her." Celeste was standing up now, and in her hand making a quiet clicking noise was a gun. Something that a vampire could care less about, but you, a human- this was a white oak stake.

Elijah's bottom lip quivered and his hands convulsed, you could tell that he was in deep thought, and you weren't upset with him for this. You knew just how much his family meant to him, you knew just how much Niklaus was priority to him, and as you had said, that was one of the reasons you had fallen in love with Elijah.

"Its okay, Elijah. It's okay." You told him, trying to smile and calm him, but the fear of dying had brought tears to your eyes. You noticed his were turning red and irritated with moisture as well. "Klaus is redeemable, I know he is just as well you do. If I have to die for that, then it's okay. Elijah I love-"

Elijah's lips hit yours before you even knew he was upon you, his hand gripped to one of your restrained wrists and his lips collided sloppily, desperately with yours. He parted from you and turned to Celeste, towering in front of you like a brick wall. "I would choose (Y/N) before Hayley, Rebekah, or Niklaus. I would choose her before myself. And if the choice would of had to been mine, then I would of chose her over you, Celeste. I have never felt a love so strong as my love for her." As you listened to his speech, you felt your heart flutter and your tears started to flow, you cried out knowing just how much Elijah cared for you, for him to say this to such an important person to him.

Celeste gasped, and you could feel as her heart broke again. She bit her lip angrily as Sabine and she clenched the gun in her hand. "I won't tear you apart, not yet. I want you to not be ready the day you watch her die. You better watch your back, (Y/N). You'll like my new face a lot more." With that, she aimed the gun to Sabine's head and she pulled the trigger, the shot caused you to squeal. You closed your eyes and refused to look at the carcass.

Elijah ran to you and sheltered your eyes, hearing footsteps. He looked up to find Monique Devereux, who disappointedly nodded to him. "You were right."

Elijah took you from your restraints. "Leave this cemetery and get back to the quarter. I'll see you when I get home. I am ridding us of celeste for good." He told you, as he looked up to Moni. You wrapped your hands around his neck before starting out the gate. "Elijah?" You called to him as you held the steel gate in your fingers. He longingly gazed at you. "I love you."

Elijah walked slowly over and kissed your forehead. "Always and forever. I extend that vow to you."

You thought about that your entire way home. As you crawled into the bed the two if you shared, you chuckled at how fast your heart was beating.

Always & forever.

[voulezvous-rpg]

DANCER: THE GOOD TIME GIRL

claudia “mademoiselle noire” mercier 22 years old dancer & courtesan played by symone. 24. she/her. mst.

No one knows exactly what it is you were running away from when you showed up here. Responsibilities? Traumas? Regrets? You’ll never tell. You turned your back on it all a long time ago. You left that life behind without a second thought, choosing for the first time in your life to do what you want, what gives you a rush. Right now, what you want is excess — a life of extravagance and indulgence so strong it completely overshadows what demons you've yet to shake. Some nights, that’s putting on the best damn show this place has ever seen; others, it’s a blur of liquor and drugs. All of it, though, is in the name of a simple pursuit — a good time. Good. Only focus on the good.

[CW MENTION OF SEXUAL AND PHYSICAL ABUSE]  

Some girls sparkled like diamonds, others shine like gold, and then there were those who were as plain as the noses on their own faces— a girl like Claudia. Raised from humble beginnings there was always a small ounce of shame that followed her around town, after all everyone had heard of her mother; a maid to one of the wealthiest families in Paris who was let go from her duties after she’d mysteriously become pregnant without a husband to call her own. They called it an affair, a small, small indiscretion in the eye of the man who sat proudly at the head of his table, but for the maid, a soft spoken poor woman named Sabine, the “affair” held more consequence than she could handle. Because of this Sabine was left with little choices and rushed into marriage for safety with a man named Edgar. He was a drunk, a liar and a cheat, but he was the only man who would claim her and short while after their union he claimed Claudia as well despite the obvious— with light eyes and skin to match, there was no hiding her parentage. Still, Edgar begrudgingly claimed the girl as his own, but never let her or Sabine forget how “kind” he was to them.

In spite of her father’s taunts and her mother’s passiveness, Claudia grew into a rather rambunctious girl, always hard to tie down, constantly found dancing or singing and had the most infectious laugh known to man even as the world around her began to unravel. Her mother came down with an incurable sickness, leaving Claudia to take care of her as well as her siblings. Edgar’s could hardly be bothered to keep a job and when he did she was forced to fight him if only to have money for enough scraps to feed them all. He would taunt her, push her around in front of the other children, but Claudia didn’t back down, she’d grown a thick skin from years of abuse at his hand. As long as her sisters and brother’s were taken care of, none of it mattered. Still her mother’s condition worsened and when she finally passed, they were all left at the mercy of Edgar who was sullen in the fact that her had several mouths to feed and no insensitive to do so.

Claudia did her best to care for her siblings pushing away her emotions in order to be responsible, but with her mother gone and their father spiraling into volatility, she began to run out of options and soon began to devise a plan to save her siblings; a plan the sixteen year old was forced to put into action when her father announced that she would be forced marriage into with a complete stranger. It didn’t matter to Edgar that the children would be without real  care and Claudia’s betrothed was as callous as he was, sending her off meant more money to gamble, one less mouth to feed, and one less headache to deal with. Left without another option, Claudia fled in the middle of the night, promIsing to return to her four siblings when she had a place for them all to live. She fled deep into the city doing her best to find work and a home, but with little to her name she soon found herself on the streets of Paris, fending her herself as winter drew near.

It was Minette that was her saving grace, the woman drawn to the plain girl freezing in the could, she was always dragging in strays and other oddities wherever she could find them and Claudia wasn’t one to turn down a hot meal. After a short discussion with the proprietor she was allow to stay on the property in exchange for labor. Odd jobs around the mesmerizing nightclub  as a maid like her mother before her. She instantly fell in love with her surrounding, the lights, the sounds, the colors. They were brighter and louder than anything she’d ever known before. She wasn’t used to such luxury and excess, where green liquor flowed like waterfalls and ladies danced circles, captivating everyone who laid eyes on them. They laughed and smiled like angels, seduced like devils and carried the mystery of everything in between— none of them better than Minette. All of that was at Claudia’s fingertips and she wished to taste it for herself.

In two years time she finally got her chance, the moment she stepped out on stage— Mademoiselle Noire they called her, her chest filled with a warmth she couldn’t explain with words. Finally eyes were on her and she didn’t hang her head in shame, careful of the whispers that would follow. Only applause came, the people whooping, hollering, begging for more as she kicked her legs high in the air. to be adored, to be seen, to be wanted. Her personality blossomed as her club persona took over, she was no longer mousy girl who shuffled in the background to prepare costumes or retrieve makeup. She was a clever, vivacious girl who told told jokes after too many drinks, and put forth bold moves to capture a man’s attention and give him a fantasy for the night. She wasn’t the most put together, nor was she the most talented, but bit Noire had a charm that couldn’t be replicated in the eyes of the patrons she captivated. for them she was fun— the embodiment of exuberance and mirth and that was what Noire lived to be. Finally she felt a freedom she’d been longing for her whole life, at the Moulin Rouge she was a bird fluttering through the air, nothing could shoot her her down— until the day the letter came.

She’d been wrapped up in her freedom she’d long forgotten about her siblings who had been left with their father. The letter entailed their demise— Edgar had drowned them in a fit of rage and shot himself to escape his own guilt. The news shook Claudia to her core, her heart was shattered and the guilt she felt for abandoning her goals of whisking her siblings away from poverty and despair was overwhelming. However the Moulin Rouge had no time for grief and she was forced on stage with a cracked smile and a guilty conscience. The only one who knew was Minette, and again the sparkling diamond came to her aid with a remedy to her aching heart. Opium, the drug changed everything for her it help to push away the hurt, the guilt, the sadness.  She could dance and not feel heavy, in fact she didn’t feel anything. The numbness that coated her being only pushed her to flirt more, entice better, to keep her lifted high until daybreak. And so it became routine. No one really questioned her method of coping, after all most tended to themselves and minded their business past idle gossip. She was free to do as she pleased and with her feelings locked away with the help of her handy drug, there was nothing to stop her from having the good time she so desperately required to get by.

It wasn’t a stretch to say her addiction kept her going, fueled her. All of her teasing, her flirtation was to ensure another hit to keep her her sedated, soothed from her woes. When the red mill went up in flames it was a wonder Claudia even made it out alive thanks to the haze she was in, the lioness pulled her to safety as the place burnt to the ground with minette and others in its clutches. It was a devastating loss, but the lost of her source of income, her highs, her freedom is what drove Claudia to tears. It was selfish, but she no longer knew who she was without the four walls of the Moulin Rouge to define her, she was nothing but a lost soul without the glimmer of its lights to keep the memories at bay. Thankfully she needn’t wait long. After six months of amusing herself in local opium dens and roaming night, she could return home to the Moulin Rouge where the memories could be pushed away and only the fantasy, the decadence could be seen in her eyes, it was all she needed.

You don’t want or need The Lioness hovering over your shoulder, attempting to parent you.

Some nights, once the clients are gone, you come up a little short on what you owe to the house; The Collector has had a stern word with you about it.

The Dealer keeps you in good supply; sometimes you pay up, other nights you offer them a few hours of your time in exchange for their goods.

FC: Zoe Kravitz

[kamen-rider-zed]

PML Sky Zine piece: you are my sky

So, my first submission as part of Project: Miraculous Ladybug was a collaboration with the INCREDIBLE @miraculousturtle. The theme, of course, was sky, so we did an AU with Chloenette as the centerpiece. First and third parts are mine, second and last are ALL Turtle! Enjoy!

you are my sky

In this world, there are born two groups of people: those with wings, and those without. The ones fortunate enough to be born with wings inherit the sky, finding a place amongst the extravagance of the flying city, Paris. Those without are cursed to live on the ground, The Below, constantly plagued by strife and want. This is a tale of two girls, one born to Parisian royals and one to bakers Below. One with wings and the other without. Though they come from different worlds, their destinies are intertwined and they both will someday find their sky.

Born on the same day, in the same moment, Chloe Bourgeois and Marinette Dupain-Cheng could not be more different. Chloe was born to the ruling family of Paris but unlike most Parisians, she was born without wings. Her mother, Miranda Bourgeois, known as Queen Bee to her people, wept for days, mourning her earthbound daughter. She soon after distributed bribes, threats, and blackmail to secure the silence of her attendants, for who would ever follow a royal without wings?

Marinette was born to a pair of bakers who made their living feeding the people of Below. A calm pregnancy and an easy childbirth gave Tom and Sabine a healthy daughter who they soon learned had been blessed, or perhaps cursed, with beautiful gossamer wings. The bakers immediately concealed the wings, for fear the Parisians would steal their child away from them. Marinette grew up happy and loved, though she always wondered why she must hide away her wings.

At the age of ten, Chloe was fitted with a special harness, concealed beneath the black and yellow bodysuit that was her customary royal uniform. Though this harness granted her functional wings, some part of her always knew she didn’t truly belong in the sky. And so, she began to turn her eyes, not towards the sky, but to The Below. She oft wondered what it would be like to live without the constant expectations of being a princess, without the constant fear of someone discovering her ‘deformity’, as he mother was known to call it.

It wasn’t until her fifteenth birthday that she worked up the courage to elude her escorts, fly down to The Below, and shed her wings for the first time in five years. She stowed her harness and her suit in the most worn bag she could find, stole...borrowed some clothes from a Below home, and made her way into the streets.

She soon discovered that everything she’d been led to believe about The Below was wrong: it wasn’t a cesspit filled with criminals, diseased inbreds, or wide-eyed lunatics.

It was beautiful.

From above, the buildings of The Below seem like roughly organized piles of rubble, painted in dull browns and grays. Now, walking through the winding, somewhat cramped streets, the skyline had an odd charm to it, and she could see the color and life around her that wasn’t apparent from so far above: market stalls draped with clothing that could rival Parisian finery, fresh produce, hand-painted portraits, home-made perfumes, fresh baked goods…

And a pair of dazzling blue eyes that could rival any shade found in the sky.

Her name was Marinette, and Chloe had no idea why she felt so drawn to her. She approached the stall on the pretense of buying some bread and asked about the girl and her wares, lying about being from another part of the town. Marinette warmly opened up and the pair stood talking about anything and nothing until just before sunset. At that moment, Chloe excused herself to go home, disappeared down an abandoned alley, and a few minutes later, took to the sky.

This became her routine over the next few weeks: every spare moment she could, she would fly to The Below and meet with Marinette. The baker soon introduced Chloe to her friends: Adrien, Nino, and Alya, and the three of them were quick to accept the princess, though Chloe ensured they remained oblivious to her lineage. Chloe also met with their families, and always had some excuse as to why they could never meet hers. It pained her to lie to her new friends, but if she desired to keep visiting them, she must keep everyone, including her family, in the dark.

(#(#(#)#)#)

When she was a child, Marinette would gaze longingly up at the floating city hoping, wishing, dreaming that one day--maybe, perhaps, if only she could--fly there and discover what it meant to be free. When she was a child, a wingless angel descended—sunshine hair outlined by a fine halo and sky eyes clearer than a day after summer rain.

When she was a child, the world didn’t feel like it was ending.

Angels should have wings, angels should fly, angels should not be plummeting to the ground. Should not lose their wings, should have wings, should have, should have—

The brick walls echoed her beating footsteps as Marinette raced down to get enough momentum, tearing at her coat to expose her wings. One step, the coat fell, two steps she curled into herself, three steps she lept into the air.

Her wings caught on a clothesline, the sun blinding her as Chloe’s halo fell to the Earth. Blood thrummed in her ears, a scream caught in her throat, the world ending and ending and ending.

Adrien shouted something from a rooftop, chasing her as she nose dived deep, the seconds stretching for eternity. Five: Chloe banged into a shutter plane; four: screams from below, three: Marinette crashed into a wall; two: it seems impossible; one--one--one: the moment stuck on one as Marinette cradled a limp Chloe in her arms, mere inches from the ground.

When she was a child, she wondered why she had wings, wondered why she had to hide them, wondered why she got them, wondered and wondered and wondered—

--when she fell for a girl from the clouds whose smile was sparkling and laughter contagious.

Marinette knew now as she heaved breath after breath, fevertly smoothing her hands over Chloe’s face, over her brows, her eyes, her lips, that some things best remain tucked away and hidden. Townspeople stared, whispering as her wings ache, unable to be tucked away too soon, unable to curl into the groove of her back.

Adrien stood at the outskirts of the crowd, trying to get through, but couldn’t. They locked eyes, worry painted over his features as Marinette tried to grimly smile in return, as some sort of reassurance.

She clutched Chloe closer to her beating heart, love causing enough movement in her veins to push herself forward and beat her wings to fly.  

It was a long journey, to the city in the sky. Marinette had never flown so high before,let alone with another person. Her arms burned, her heart hurting, her soul breaking because—

There were gates here, much like heaven. Golden, gilded arches, locking anyone out who didn’t belong. There were no guards as of yet, an odd hour where bells chimed somewhere in the distance.

Bleary eyes finally opened as they landed.

“Marinette?”

Chloe’s question rang like crystal and Marinette found herself smiling as she lowered the Princess back on the ground. It occurred to her that her wings got lost in the fall.

Perhaps—

“I…” she started. “I brought you home, Chlo.”

Chloe swallowed, realization sparking. “Yes, I can see that.”

Marinette took a wide step back. “You shouldn’t come back. Actually, don’t. Don’t come back.”

Chloe closed the distance. “Wha--what?! Why?”  

(She ignored the way Chloe’s voice wavered, ignored the tension of the moment, ignored the fluttering sound of powerful wings approaching.

She ignored a lot of things.

Like her own feelings.)

She knew that Chloe was waiting for an answer. Could see it her face, in her movement as she reached out and--

Marinette stood at the edge and fell backwards instead. She gazed at Chloe’s face that popped out from the ledge, two guards finally coming back to surround the wayward Princess.

Unlike Chloe, Marinette was no Icarus, but why did it feel like her own wings had melted despite the fact that there will be no sun now?

(#(#(#)#)#)

Chloe gazed upwards for the thousandth time since that day, and once again mourned how the blue of the sky had dulled since the day she last saw Marinette’s eyes. She lost everything that day: her friends, her freedom, and the girl she lo--

She squashed down the emotion. The pain was too great.

In the aftermath of revealing her wings, Parisian guards had descended upon The Below, invaded the Dupain-Cheng household, and taken Marinette against her family’s wishes. They forced her into the training camp at Garrison 13 to become a knight of Paris, and though she was so painfully close, Chloe was forbidden to interact with her or anyone from The Below ever again. Forbidden to do anything save for attend the lessons grooming her to become the next Queen Bee.

Forbidden to attend the wake for the knights who died in an Anti-Parisian extremist attack on Garrison 13.

There were no survivors.

After that day, Chloe poured herself into her studies. Became whatever her mother--whatever Paris--needed her to be. Nothing mattered anymore. She only desired distraction, anything to take her mind off of her loneliness, her misery, but every time she looked up to the sky, she saw Marinette’s eyes.

Now here she stood, dressed in full royal regalia, on her twenty-first birthday, about to ascend to the throne. She tore her eyes away from the sky out the window and to the mirror before her. She saw in it a young woman ready to take on the responsibilities of ruling her home. But for all her outward confidence, she saw the truth in her own eyes: pain, grief, emptiness. A gaping void in her heart that could only be filled by one who no longer lived.

“Your highness,” came a voice and a knock from the door. “Your mother awaits you at your coronation.”

The echo of her footfalls in the grand hall deafened her. Knowing every eye in the room rested on her made her skin itch. She acted and spoke purely on reflex, reciting every word of her oaths to the people in robotic rhythm. She knelt and her mother slipped the golden winged comb, the symbol of her authority, into her hair, then placed the gold and black mask upon her face. She stood and turned, attempting a smile of confidence and humility, and praying she had succeeded.

“People of Paris,” her mother intoned. “I give you your new Queen Bee!”

Applause thundered through the hall. When came the time to give her own speech, her own promises to the people as to the direction of her rule, her tongue froze in her mouth. She wanted to establish peaceful terms between Paris and The Below, to open channels of communication between the two worlds. But in reality, she wanted her friends. She wanted Nino, Alya, and Adrien. She wanted to apologize, because in her heart, she knew she was the reason Marinette was gone.

But instead, she spoke of prosperity for Parisians. Maintenance of the status quo, mimicking her mother’s coronation speech almost verbatim. She disgusted herself. And when she had finished, hundreds flocked to her, bowed, showed their respects. ‘My Sky’ this, ‘My Sky’ that. She heard none of it, yet responded in the same automated fashion that she delivered her address.

No longer was she Chloe Bourgeois. No longer was she the pitiful, wingless girl who cost her best friend her life. She was Queen Bee, ruler of Paris. She had a new name, a new title, a new life. And with it, the sincere hope that she could move on.

“My Sky,” came a clear, stern voice from behind her. She turned, and faced a bowing knight in peculiar armor: crimson plating adorned with black spots. Waves of raven-colored hair obscured the knight’s face, but judging from her voice when she spoke again, she was clearly female. “I have been assigned by your mother as your personal guard.” She lifted her head and upon her face sat a mask similar to Queen Bee’s own: red, the same red as her armor, patterned in the same spots. But her eyes...her eyes jolted whatever remained of Chloe within the Queen’s heart. It was...impossible. She was...dead… The Queen swallowed back the emotions as one swallows back rising bile. “If it pleases you, you may call me Ladybug.”

Queen Bee sniffed and turned her head away, unable to gaze into the woman’s eyes any longer. “If it pleases my mother, I will accept you into my service, Dame Ladybug.”

That night, Queen Bee dreamt only of Dame Ladybug’s eyes, and woke up weeping.

(#(#(#)#)#)

Queen Bee leaned against her balcony, the cool night breeze chilled her face like a forgotten lover’s fingertips. With starlight and moonbeams, the world felt like hers as she gazed into the expanse of the sky, her bedroom at the edge of her floating city. Forever velvet blue, an infinite plane where only the free could travel.  

“My Sky?”

Queen Bee snapped from her retrieve, found a mischievous smile lit much like the starlight she adored: an intense gaze found hers much like the haunted sky she longs for. “What is it?”

Ladybug rested her chin in her hand, her black wings fluttering beautifully in the night, just to the left of her head. “How did you get that scar behind your ear?”

The Queen self-consciously lifted a hand to her ear, a twitch in her heart, images layering over the other as finds herself at a crossroads of memories--of the love she lost and the--well, the one that might be blooming in her heart.

Chloe made herself look away, deciding to fixate on the rivers that ran in the marble.

One breath, then two. Two breaths, then one.

Her hand brushed the scar again, a tender touch that made her heart ached. “From a dumb girl.”

Ladybug snorted before perching herself on the railing. “A dumb girl? My Sky, you are better than that.”

Her heart stammered in her chest, bittersweet melancholy surging to the tip of her tongue as she spoke. “Well, maybe I’m the dumb girl, but she? She wasn’t. I just--wanted to see her so bad, you know. And I made new wings I didn’t test—” she trails. “And well, the rest is history: my fall, that is.”  

Ladybug whispered, “What happened next?”

Tears pricked at her eyes as she met Ladybug’s, the moment suspended in forever, much like the sky. “She died,” she choked. “She was my sky and she died.”

Ladybug stilled for a moment, lips parted before she leaned forward and—

Kissed her Queen carefully. A heartful, careful kiss where she raised a gloved hand and Chloe melted into it, pulling her down to make them equal.

When they broke apart, Chloe closed her eyes, unable to truly let herself believe. “Please tell me you’re my sky. Please,” she desperately says.

She feels Ladybug reached up and removed her mask before giving her a little squeeze to look and see. When Chloe opened her eyes, there’s—

Marinette/Ladybug/Her sky/Her love/Her—

Chloe threw her arms around her shoulders and sobbed in the crook of her neck, wailing. “Don’t you ever leave me again,” she sobbed.

Marinette held her just as tightly. “Can’t, I’m bonded to you after all, My Sky.”

Chloe planted a tearful smile against Marinette’s pulsepoint. “No, My Sky.”

(And they kissed under moonlight and starbeams and the sky that was forever theirs for the rest of eternity.)   

[voulezvous-rpg]

Congratulations, Symone! You’ve been accepted as The Good Time Girl — Claudia Mercer, with a face claim of Zendaya Coleman!

I knew this skeleton would be one that comes with some baggage, but wow, you really decided to hit me right in the chest with that backstory. With everything Claudia’s run from, everything she’s endured, it’s no wonder she seeks release wherever she can find it. You’ve brought us a character that’s so volatile, yet with so much heart — such a wonderful balance. I can’t wait to see what trouble she brings to the dash! 

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name/Alias: Symone

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 24

Timezone & Activity: CST, I do my best to keep up with activity but I do do a fair amount of my RPing from mobile if that matters at all.

IN CHARACTER

Desired Skeleton: The Good Time Girl

Name: Claudia Mercier, her stage name is Mademoiselle Noire (or just Noire)

FC: Zendaya

Pronouns: She/her

Age: 22

Occupation: dancer and courtesan

How long has your character been around the Moulin Rouge? Six years, she had humble beginnings as a maid in the dancers quarters, but soon took on the occupation of one herself after learning the ropes from afar.

How did the fire impact your character? When the Moulin Rouge burnt down, it triggered Claudia’s immediate fight or flight response. the deaths of her friends, her family hurt, but automatically being penniless took precedence over grief— at least until the proprietor made plans to rebuild when the dust settled. She does her best not to recollect on the incident, but can’t help but bring up Minette’s demise if only to get under the skin of the diamond and the phantom skin, after all it could have very well been either of them who left the sparkling diamond to perish inside the red mill.

Biography: [CW MENTION OF SEXUAL AND PHYSICAL ABUSE]  some girls sparkled like diamonds, others shine like gold, and then there were those who were as plain as the noses on their own faces— a girl like Claudia. Raised from humble beginnings there was always a small ounce of shame that followed her around town, after all everyone had heard of her mother; a maid to one of the wealthiest families in Paris who was let go from her duties after she’d mysteriously become pregnant without a husband to call her own. They called it an affair, a small, small indiscretion in the eye of the man who sat proudly at the head of his table, but for the maid, a soft spoken poor woman named Sabine, the “affair” held more consequence than she could handle. Because of this Sabine was left with little choices and rushed into marriage for safety with a man named Edgar. He was a drunk, a liar and a cheat, but he was the only man who would claim her and short while after their union he claimed Claudia as well despite the obvious— with light eyes and skin to match, there was no hiding her parentage. Still, Edgar begrudgingly claimed the girl as his own, but never let her or Sabine forget how “kind” he was to them.

In spite of her father’s taunts and her mother’s passiveness, Claudia grew into a rather rambunctious girl, always hard to tie down, constantly found dancing or singing and had the most infectious laugh known to man even as the world around her began to unravel. Her mother came down with an incurable sickness, leaving Claudia to take care of her as well as her siblings. Edgar’s could hardly be bothered to keep a job and when he did she was forced to fight him if only to have money for enough scraps to feed them all. He would taunt her, push her around in front of the other children, but Claudia didn’t back down, she’d grown a thick skin from years of abuse at his hand. As long as her sisters and brother’s were taken care of, none of it mattered. Still her mother’s condition worsened and when she finally passed, they were all left at the mercy of Edgar who was sullen in the fact that her had several mouths to feed and no insensitive to do so.

Claudia did her best to care for her siblings pushing away her emotions in order to be responsible, but with her mother gone and their father spiraling into volatility, she began to run out of options and soon began to devise a plan to save her siblings; a plan the sixteen year old was forced to put into action when her father announced that she would be forced marriage into with a complete stranger. It didn’t matter to Edgar that the children would be without real  care and Claudia’s betrothed was as callous as he was, sending her off meant more money to gamble, one less mouth to feed, and one less headache to deal with. Left without another option, Claudia fled in the middle of the night, promIsing to return to her four siblings when she had a place for them all to live. She fled deep into the city doing her best to find work and a home, but with little to her name she soon found herself on the streets of Paris, fending her herself as winter drew near.

It was Minette that was her saving grace, the woman drawn to the plain girl freezing in the could, she was always dragging in strays and other oddities wherever she could find them and Claudia wasn’t one to turn down a hot meal. After a short discussion with the proprietor she was allow to stay on the property in exchange for labor. Odd jobs around the mesmerizing nightclub  as a maid like her mother before her. She instantly fell in love with her surrounding, the lights, the sounds, the colors. They were brighter and louder than anything she’d ever known before. She wasn’t used to such luxury and excess, where green liquor flowed like waterfalls and ladies danced circles, captivating everyone who laid eyes on them. They laughed and smiled like angels, seduced like devils and carried the mystery of everything in between— none of them better than Minette. All of that was at Claudia’s fingertips and she wished to taste it for herself.

In two years time she finally got her chance, the moment she stepped out on stage— Mademoiselle Noire they called her, her chest filled with a warmth she couldn’t explain with words. Finally eyes were on her and she didn’t hang her head in shame, careful of the whispers that would follow. Only applause came, the people whooping, hollering, begging for more as she kicked her legs high in the air. to be adored, to be seen, to be wanted. Her personality blossomed as her club persona took over, she was no longer mousy girl who shuffled in the background to prepare costumes or retrieve makeup. She was a clever, vivacious girl who told told jokes after too many drinks, and put forth bold moves to capture a man’s attention and give him a fantasy for the night. She wasn’t the most put together, nor was she the most talented, but bit Noire had a charm that couldn’t be replicated in the eyes of the patrons she captivated. for them she was fun— the embodiment of exuberance and mirth and that was what Noire lived to be. Finally she felt a freedom she’d been longing for her whole life, at the Moulin Rouge she was a bird fluttering through the air, nothing could shoot her her down— until the day the letter came.

She’d been wrapped up in her freedom she’d long forgotten about her siblings who had been left with their father. The letter entailed their demise— Edgar had drowned them in a fit of rage and shot himself to escape his own guilt. The news shook Claudia to her core, her heart was shattered and the guilt she felt for abandoning her goals of whisking her siblings away from poverty and despair was overwhelming. However the Moulin Rouge had no time for grief and she was forced on stage with a cracked smile and a guilty conscience. The only one who knew was Minette, and again the sparkling diamond came to her aid with a remedy to her aching heart. Opium, the drug changed everything for her it help to push away the hurt, the guilt, the sadness.  She could dance and not feel heavy, in fact she didn’t feel anything. The numbness that coated her being only pushed her to flirt more, entice better, to keep her lifted high until daybreak. And so it became routine. No one really questioned her method of coping, after all most tended to themselves and minded their business past idle gossip. She was free to do as she pleased and with her feelings locked away with the help of her handy drug, there was nothing to stop her from having the good time she so desperately required to get by.

It wasn’t a stretch to say her addiction kept her going, fueled her. All of her teasing, her flirtation was to ensure another hit to keep her her sedated, soothed from her woes. When the red mill went up in flames it was a wonder Claudia even made it out alive thanks to the haze she was in, the lioness pulled her to safety as the place burnt to the ground with minette and others in its clutches. It was a devastating loss, but the lost of her source of income, her highs, her freedom is what drove Claudia to tears. It was selfish, but she no longer knew who she was without the four walls of the Moulin Rouge to define her, she was nothing but a lost soul without the glimmer of its lights to keep the memories at bay. Thankfully she needn’t wait long. After six months of amusing herself in local opium dens and roaming night, she could return home to the Moulin Rouge where the memories could be pushed away and only the fantasy, the decadence could be seen in her eyes, it was all she needed.

Potential Plot Points: I’m a lover of ultimatums and danger and I love to thrust my character in harm’s way even if the villain is themselves. With the way she drinks, she does drugs it’s only a matter of time before her vices come into play and make her look like more of a mess than she already does. I’d love to see it get her into trouble, maybe even force her to look at the root of what’s causing her the most pain, the lack of love, loss of love, and recreate the feeling over and over again only to lose it when morning breaks. Other than that, I’m open to whatever you throw at me.

FREESTYLE

Her playlist here

Her muse tag here