#but he never shared himself with them. he always lived in secrecy. he HID HIS EARS AND TAIL

[ahrisaamariyo]

while im thinking about him (as i often am). i keep thinking about how g'raha puts his hood up before he dies as the crystal exarch. hiding his face, going out the way the people of the crystarium remember him. theres something about the way he gave up his sense of self that really gets me

[universallychaoticpan]

They'll never touch you again.

Chuuya x reader

CW: descriptions of torture, violence, and misogyny.

If there was one thing that was clear to anyone who could see it, it was that to Chuuya Nakahara, there was nothing more important than you. He'd lay down his life without a second thought if it meant you'd be safe, knowing there was no life where he could be happy without you now that he'd spent life loving you. You'd gotten married three years ago, eloped and told few people about your relationship to begin with. Those who did know were sworn to secrecy, the delicate nature of Chuya's work making it hard for you to simply walk down the street holding hands in broad daylight.

But this had never really been an issue for you. Time and time again, Chuuya had expressed guilt that he couldn't kiss you in public, love you the way you should be, that you had to live with all these secrets whispering at your back. And each and every time, you'd told him the same thing: That you didn't care how you lived as long as you were doing it with him. You were loyal to each other down the last bone, each of you becoming more and more tuned to the other as the years went by. And you were happy. Chuuya made it clear to Mori he needed time away from the Mafia and, since he was such a vital member but not one for doing the grunt work, Mori allowed him to live his life as he pleased unless there was some major conflict he needed resolved.

Slowly, you both carved out a life together, a cozy apartment where you hid away from the world. He'd go into the office most days, gone leaving you with a soft kiss pressed to your warm skin, but would be back at home with you in time for dinner in the evenings. Since you yourself didn't work with the Mafia and didn't come into any conflict with them, there was no reason for you to be in any danger. No one knew about you, about where Chuuya was spending so much of his time, and he guarded your corner of the world fiercely, protecting the woman he loved from the dark parts of his life. Every day, when he woke to the gentle feeling of you next to him in the darkness ans safety of your shared room, he felt himself drowning in gratitude. You were incredible and kind and there was no way he deserved you at all. And yet he still got to come home to your warm smile, wake up to your face, kiss your lips and fall asleep with you cradled in his arms.

It had been perfect.

At least, until, he'd gotten sloppy.

It had started when, in a fight with other members of the black lizard, the chain he had his wedding band on slipped out from under his clothes. Under the red glow of his ability, it almost went unnoticed. Or so he'd thought. Walked away from the fight and tucking the simple chain away again, the metal cool against the skin of his chest, he missed the lone survivor from the firefight limp away, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. As he left the scene, he walked over the corpse of his brother, eyes dead and cold on the ground but the image sending white hot fury through him.

He was a member of the Crypt Order, a new and shockingly threatening new band of fighters that posed a considerable threat to the Port Mafia's activities despite their small size. Each and every member was wildly strong, ability or no, meaning Mori had called in Chuuya to take out the trash. But now, there was someone alive who now had more than a vendetta against your husband. And if the ring around Chuya's neck was any indicator, there was a weak point ready and waiting to be exploited.

So, over the next week, he did some digging. It wasn't easy, he could admit the two of you had done a considerable job of covering your tracks. But there was always someone to be bribed, and if not, tortured, and he found his information eventually. Y/n L/n Nakahara, married to one Chuuya Nakahara for the past three years. From there, it was child's play finding your apartment, spending a few days simply watching. He was sure you knew something, and he was ready to strike at any moment to find out as much as he could. Even if you knew nothing, he figured the life of a Port Mafia executive's wife was equal repayment for the life of his brother.

So, one afternoon, when he was sure Chuuya was away, he walked down the hall towards your door, the metal of his gun cold in his hand as he knocked sharply on your door. Swinging it open, he was met with your face, eyes full of confusion but not unfriendly as you looked at the stranger.

"Hello, Mrs. Nakahara," he said, a sinister grin on his scared face. immediately, you tried to shut the door on him, a move that was unsuccessful due to the fact that he'd already shouldered himself into your home. If there was any doubt in your mind that you were in danger, it was gone now. How the hell did he know your name?! How could he have known of your relation to Chuuya otherwise. Bolting to your room, you slammed the door shut as the man simply smiled at your weak attempt to hide. Grabbing your phone from it's place on your bed, you frantically dialed your husband's number, hoping and praying he'd pick up.

The door began to shake as the intruder slammed his body against it, your call getting picked up.

"Hello, darling! What is-"

"Chuuya," you gasped, fear clear in your voice as the door fought against it's lock.

"Y/n!? What's that sound?!"

"There someone here, Chuuya, he knew my name, he knew we were married, he has a gun-"

"I'm on my way. Stay put as best you can-"

The call cut off just after your scream sounded through the speaker, dread filling Chuuya from head to toe and back again.

Bolting from the room, pushing past Port Mafia operatives, he sped his way to the other side of the city with only one thought in mind: get you back to his side, alive and well. Because in that moment, his worst dream had come true. You were in danger because of him, and he hadn't been there to keep you safe.

Meanwhile, your unconscious form had been slung over your enemy's back like a sack of potatoes, head lolling from side to side and blood leaking from the wound on your head. After he'd broken down the door, he'd knocked you out with the butt of his gun and was now running, knowing Chuuya was on his tail.

/

In another hour, you were awake again, but that's where your good luck ended. Blood was caked on your skin, your body sore and rope scrapping roughly against the skin of your wrists and ankles. In front of you, your kidnapper stood, sharpening an already wickedly pointed blade, looking up with a sickening smile acorss his mouth.

"Good! You're awake," he said, his chipper attitude out of place in the grimy warehouse and terrible circumstance you found yourself in.

Terrible for me, at least, you thought to yourself. He's probably having the time of his life.

"Now," he said, walked towards you slowly with the knife in hand and a gun on his hip, "there are two options here. Either you tell me what I want to know, or this pretty little body isn't leaving this place without a few more would-be scars. Either way, I get to have some fun with you."

"I don't know anything," you spat, venom in your voice and eyes hard as stone.

Grabbing your jaw, he roughly made you meet his eyes as he held the tip of his knife to the sensitive skin of your throat.

"Liar," he whispered, the metal digging into your skin even more as he pressed harder. "You know something. I know you do. Or are you so brainless you can't remember? Guess Chuuya has a type then, and it's the kind of girl who's only good for one thing. Maybe we find out, hmm? Just what you can do, yeah, pretty girl?"

You whimpered quietly at the threat, feeling blood bubble up just a little as you swallowed.

"Please," you pleaded, "I promise you I don't know anything. Please, let me go."

He slapped you sharply, the blow leaving your skin red and stinging as you sobbed.

"If you don't have anything useful to say, how about you just keep that mouth shut, yeah?"

Landing a punch to your face, he leaned down to inspect his handiwork. Blood was now coming from your nose in a thin stream, your eye swollen in a pretty shade of purple. Raising his gun, he pressed it to the side of your head, using his other hand to keep you still as you struggled.

"Guess you really don't know a damn thing. It's a real shame. I didn't want to have to kill you."

Squeezing your eyes closed, you felt yourself flinch as you heard a shot ring out.

And a gun clatter to the floor.

You were alive, and you could feel someone, somewhere, loosening the ropes around your body until you fell into their arms.

"Y/n," they murmured, worry in their voice as you faded away. "Y/n please, stay with me. You're gonna be ok, just don't fall asleep!"

Too late, you thought as you felt your mind go dark.

/

When you woke up, you were back at home, your husband at your side with nothing but terror in his eyes. The moment you opened yours, he pulled into his arms, tears pouring down his face in an instant as he held you.

"I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry," he whispered, pulling back to see you smiling...at him? You were still gracing him with your smile after everything?

"You don't need to be," you said softly, voice weak, and Chuuya holding onto every word. "You don't need to be sorry, my love. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't even be here!"

"And if it weren't for me, you wouldn't have been there, either. This was my fault."

"And what if it was," you said shrugging, still smiling gently, the love you had for your husband just as true now as it had been the day you'd gotten married. "I knew what I was getting into when I married you, Chuuya. I knew our life wouldn't be easy. I knew being close to you would put me in some sort of danger, and I chose to do it anyway. My being with you is a choice I make every single day, because I love you. I love you so damn much, and I know you'll protect me with. That's why I don't blame you. You remember what you told me on our wedding day right?"

Chuuya nodded, holding you close and breathing into the feeling of being loved by you.

"I promise to love and protect you down to my last breath, to give you the life you deserve until the stars fall from the sky."

And just like your love for him, like his love for you, like the changing of the seasons and the rise and fall of the tides, those words were just as real now as they had been the first time he'd said them.

It was just you and him, together against the world, loving despite everything, and living for times spent safe and warm in the other's arms.

///

I hope this was at least something like what you had in mind! I had so much fun writing it, and I hope you enjoy it. Thank you to the person who requested this, and to anyone else, likes, comments, reblogs, and requests are always welcome. (requests/asks are especially welcome right now haha.) <3

[bruhlsbees]

behind the mask ; 1/2 || baron helmut zemo x fem!reader

summary: helmut comes home late and for some reason won't take his mask off

pairing: baron helmut zemo x fem!reader

word count: 2,621

warnings: a little bit of dark zemo, smut, helmut wears his mask when y'all do the do, 18+, minors dni, nsfw

a/n: this is something i whipped up on my phone last night! i'm getting my internet hooked up today so i'll be posting bigger chapters again soon!! :) thank you all for being patient, hope you enjoy!

You hadn’t seen Helmut all day. You knew that he had some business he was attending after, but you didn’t realize it would take him this long.

For dinner you made a classic Sokovian dish with lots of meat and sauce that made the kitchen smell extremely savory. You knew that Helmut enjoyed the classic dishes from his childhood and wanted to make it for him as a surprise.

So yes, you were upset when dinner began to get cold and you ended up eating alone. You had spent all afternoon perfecting it to make sure that it was just the way Helmut remembered it.

You texted him at first, explaining that dinner was ready and that you were waiting for him. No response. You texted him again asking when he would be home. No response. It was the third time you finally called him and when the phone didn’t even ring, simply prompting you directly to his voicemail, you became worried.

Helmut was always attentive over you and your emotions. He knew you didn’t like to be left in the dark and especially tonight you were extra emotional. It had been a hard week for the both of you - living in secrecy after escaping prison, again, often left you both on edge. That’s why you had made the traditional dish that night, to make up for the week.

After putting everything away and taking a shower to clean up, you went into your shared room with Helmut and sat at your vanity, beginning your nightly routine as you got around for bed. Your anxiety overcame your anger as you desperately tried to not think the worst case scenario. Did something happen? Was Helmut in custody again?

Fumbling with your night creme, you sighed at the sight of your shaky fingers plopping the lotion against your face, rubbing it into your skin. It was going on eleven at night now - never has Helmut ever been this late.

As you went to set your night cream back down, the small container it was in fumbled out of your hand and rolled under the vanity.

“Shit!”

Leaning forward, you bent under the vanity and felt around for the container before feeling it in between your fingers, leaning back up to set it down.

When you came up, though, you nearly jumped from your skin at the sight of him behind you.

“Jesus! Helmut! What are you doing?”

Looking at him through the mirror, you saw Helmut behind you - his purple mask pulled over his face and his coat on, the fronts wrapped up to cover himself.

He didn’t say anything, only stared at you, which annoyed you deeply. Shaking your head, you continued to get ready for bed, deciding to just ignore him for the most part.

“Your plate is in the fridge. I already ate.”

Cocking his head to the side, Helmut took a step towards you, still remaining silent. He carefully walked up behind you, reaching over you for your brush that sat on your vanity before sitting up, gently pulling your hair down before beginning to brush out the knots.

Surprisingly to yourself, you kept up the cold shoulder act longer than you expected. You leaned your head back slightly and watched him through the mirror as he continued to run the brush through your hair.

“Where were you?” You finally asked. You would wait to say that you were worried and missed him, holding your affection back while your anger died down. However, it only began to rise again when he still said absolutely nothing, rolling your eyes as you began to stand up.

“I’m not playing whatever game this is, Helmut. I’m going to bed.”

Before you could fully stand up from the bench, Helmut took a step forward, placing his hands on either side of you onto the vanity, trapping you pinned in your spot. Your breath hitched to your throat with how close he was to you so suddenly, his chin resting now on your shoulder.

Slowly you began to sit back down, Helmut moving to the side of you slightly, still looking at you through the mirror in silence, his gloved hand stroking the side of your face, the leather running along your soft skin.

You felt him run his gloved thumb along your bottom lip, the leather grazing your teeth when he swiped it back the other way, this time between your lips. It sent a shiver down your spine at how ominous he was being this evening. He never wore his mask around you, what was this all about?

Looking at him, you shook your head and turned away, the tears now pricking your eyes, “Is there someone else? Do I know her? If there is, just tell me and I’ll go-“

Your words got caught in your throat when you suddenly felt his hand around your neck. He wasn’t choking you, but squeezed the sides of your throat gently, gaining your attention.

Even then, Helmut still didn’t say a word. He simply shook his head and leaned down, pressing his face against the side of your cheek, rubbing his face towards your hair before inhaling the scent of your shampoo.

You heard the quiet moan that came from him, his face pressing harder against your head as he squeezed your throat a little harder - still not enough to cause any pain or discomfort.

God, why did he have to do this now? When you were trying so hard to be angry with him?

Your eyes lulled shut when you felt his hand slip down from your neck and under your robe, squeezing your left breast until he heard you moan before pinching and pulling at your nipple.

As your head fell back, feeling his face press against your chest where your heart was, you ran your hand up his back and towards the back of his neck, grabbing at the bottom of his mask to lift up before he suddenly caught your wrist.

When he pulled away from you, holding your delicate wrist in his grasp, he looked into your eyes and shook his head, eyes crinkling as he smiled under his mask.

You smiled weakly back, closing your eyes when his free hand came up to stroke the side of your face. When he stopped, you opened your eyes and watched as he motioned for you to get on the bed.

Standing up, you went toward the bed before feeling him grab your waist, spinning you around to face him. At first you were confused, maybe you got the wrong message? He shook his head, reaching down to pull the string of your robe until it opened, revealing your naked body before he pushed the robe off your shoulders, letting it land on the floor.

You stood in your spot while he grabbed at you again, fondling your breasts and playing with your hair before he brought his right hand up to your mouth, wiggling his fingers for you to pull his glove off with your teeth.

Blushing, you leaned forward and kept your eyes locked on his as you gently bit down on the middle finger, pulling the glove off slowly before letting it hang from your teeth. Helmut smiled and reached forward, stuffing the glove into your mouth until your cheeks protrude out.

He took the other one off himself, letting it fall on the ground with your robe before turning you around, guiding you to the bed where he helped you on, placing you on your hands and knees. Helmut smiled at your position, his right hand coming up to cup your ass before giving it a good squeeze, bringing his hand back to smack you, leaving a red handprint against your flesh.

You moaned through the glove, your front half falling into the mountain of pillows you had on the bed, your ass sticking out still. Closing your eyes, you heard his light steps walk around you. You assumed he was now getting undressed.

And he was. Carefully taking off his clothes and stuffing them in his hamper, not wanting you to see the blood on his clothes that he hid under his jacket. Keeping the mask on, he headed back toward the bed, his now hard cock standing up as he knelt behind you, grabbing your hips to guide you back so when it was time, he could thrust into you easy.

But he didn’t want to jump into it just yet. He wanted to watch you squirm, forget how angry you were at him only seconds ago as your brain began to cloud over with lust. Helmut massaged your hips, rolling his hands up your back to massage your shoulders until he felt your muscles soften.

He couldn’t hear what you had said - your voice muffled by the glove that gagged your mouth, but Helmut assumed you were growing frustrated by the teasing he was doing, as the two of you hardly did any foreplay.

Taking his dick into his hand, Helmut leaned forward until he felt the tip slightly sink into you, the wetness already too much for him. How was he going to last?

Helmut let out a low grunt before rubbing his dick against you, letting your wetness coax over him before he couldn’t wait any longer and pushed himself deep into you.

You moaned out against the glove, your hands squeezing the pillows as he began to pump inside of you, the only sound filling the room was his hips slapping against yours and your own wetness.

It became intoxicating so fast, drool beginning to slip out of the corner of your mouth and roll down your chin and onto the pillows.

At the sound of your moans, Helmut only quickened his pace, reaching forward to grab your hair, pulling it so you arched your back more, head tilted up towards the ceiling.

With his free hand, Helmut reached around and took the glove from your mouth, massaging your jaw before his hand fell further down, cupping your left breast. He missed hearing you say his name, begging him to cum deep inside of you.

He could his own dick twitching inside of you, your walls clenching tight around him until it became almost unbearable.

“Please, Helmut...please cum in me. I want to take it all.” You whined out, pressing yourself further into his hips as his thrusts became more jagged and harder.

It came as a surprise when he heard you suddenly cry out, collapsing forward as your own climax began to leak around him, sticking to his pelvis as he continued to rut inside you.

Feeling light headed, Helmut pulled the mask off his head, tossing it to the ground before wiping his forehead, pushing his hair back before gripping your hips again.

“You’re mine.” He said suddenly, catching your attention and a faint whimper.

“I’m yours.” You whispered, feeling your stomach flip again, your second orgasm rising.

He slapped the sides of your ass, squeezing at the pillowy flesh as he dug his fingers into you.

“That’s right. And you’re the only one for me. So don’t ever fucking think I’m off fucking some other bitch. You hear me? You’re the only one I’m stuffing my dick inside.”

His words, while not cruel, were much harsher than usual. You nodded and let

your head fall forward, biting down on your bottom lip as you felt him lean forward and kiss your back. You smiled at the feeling of his lips on you, his tongue occasionally tracing shapes into your back before biting into you.

Helmut knew he was about to cum and he adjusted his position behind you, his knees shifting until he was pressed against you more. You heard him say a string of words in Sokovian, not sure what exactly, before he thrust one final time in you, keeping himself buried deep inside of you as he spilled in you.

Your second orgasm came only moments later, your body falling forward on the bed, panting as you tried desperately to catch your breath.

Panting himself, Helmut wiped his forehead with the back of his hand again before gently pulling out, the mix of both of your orgasms spilling out.

“Don’t move, I’ll be back”

He carefully got off the bed and went into the bathroom, finding a rag and getting some water on it before turning to the bedroom, sitting on the bed as he gently wiped you clean, knowing how sensitive you’d still be down there.

When he finished with you, he attended to himself, wiping himself off before tossing the rag on the ground with the rest of your dirty clothes that you had left out. He could only chuckle at the sight, noticing how different the two of you were, yet fit so well together.

You rolled onto your back and sat up, moving on your knees to sit behind him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You kissed his shoulder and up his neck before catching a dark bruise on his face. Carefully taking his face, you moved and tilted his head towards you, seeing dark bruises and cuts scattered across his face.

He frowned and dropped his head at the sound of your gasp, knowing that you would only be worried now.

“What happened? Who did this to you? Did this happen while you were out? Why didn’t you call?” Your questions came out so rapidly that Helmut didn’t know how to process them. Taking your hands off his face, he kissed your fingers before looking up at you.

“Business just didn’t go well today, that’s all. I’m okay now though, I’m back home with you,” You opened your mouth to speak and he quickly shushed you, “Calling you would not have helped. I don’t want you near these people. Okay? James...he came and helped me. I know we agreed to not contact anyone we know, but I knew James would help.”

You didn’t know what to say. It was all a lot to wrap your brain around. What mattered most was that he was home and safe with you now.

Leaning forward, you kissed him gently, not wanting to hurt him. “I’m glad you’re okay now,” You whispered, “I’m sorry for thinking you were seeing someone. For being so rude when you got home.”

He shook his head and kissed you again, pulling away shortly after, “You don’t need to apologize. I’m not angry.” He pulled you into his lap, holding you close while his head rested in the crook of your neck.

You ran your fingers through his hair, feeling his breathing steady against your skin. “Are you hungry? Why don’t you go eat and then we can head to bed?”

You were a little surprised when he hugged you closer, becoming a little more grabby than usual, “No...” he insisted, “I just want to lay with you, fall asleep in your arms.”

Smiling, you nodded and kissed the top of his head, pulling away to stand up and go turn off the light. When you came back to the bed, you crawled under the covers with Helmut, opening your arms for him to curl up into you.

As you rubbed his neck and back, kissing the top of his head, you smiled gently as you felt yourself grow tired.

“You know, maybe when you aren’t trying to hide your injuries from me again, you can put the mask on when you fuck me. I kinda liked it.”

You felt his smile grow against your skin before he looked at you, taking his left hand to your face, embracing you.

“Or maybe next time you can wear it.”

[fallenfurther]

Homecoming - A social call

Chapter 3 - Jeff and Colonel Casey

Continuing with Jeff's recovery and relationships with the main characters in TAG. Sorry this one is a little later out than I planned. A flat move and no internet means I had to wait until I had time to sit in a coffee shop.

Chapters 1 and 2.

Enjoy!

***********

Colonel Casey signed herself into the rehabilitation centre for her first personal visit. She'd seen Jeff for official business, the GDF helping to re-establish the astronaut's living status as well as for the obligatory debriefs. The interviews had happened in one of the rehabilitation rooms here. The debrief of his eight years in space had taken a couple of days to complete as they had been required to work around his routine and energy levels. It had been a shock to see the astronaut so tired and struggling, but it was to be expected. She knew Jeff was on a strict routine and diet plan to help him with his nutritional deficiencies and regain lost muscle, though what it entailed she wasn't privy to. She'd wanted to visit earlier, but her position in the GDF meant she had been tied down with paperwork. Now she could finally sit down with her old friend and catch up properly. Heading down the corridor, she found his room and knocked. A short sharp military rap.

"Come in."

The voice was faint, but oh so familiar. She opened the door and peered in, excitement building inside her chest.

"I thought it was about time I paid the great space survivalist a visit."

A grin spread across Jeff's face as he pushed himself out of his chair. She crossed the room in a few strides and hugged the man. He embraced her back, though she didn't fail to notice how weak his arms were compared to the bear hugs she remembered. Her own arms had been reserved so as not to crush his delicate body. The positive was that he seemed stronger than he was when they'd first met which was pleasing, and she hadn't missed how her friend was much steadier on his feet. The need to pinch herself was still present. Seeing that footage and message had been hard, having already accepted the man's fate and moved on. The world would just have to adjust to having Jeff Tracy back.

"It's been too long." The man whispered in her ear, his deep baritones warming her soul in a way only a long lost friend could.

"It's only been two months."

"That was official business. Your lack of uniform tells me this is the social visit I've been waiting for."

Jeff was right and the smile on his face said he knew it. He'd always been this way, so sure of himself. It was what had gotten him so far, and probably why he was still here now. The confident stubborn man. Memories of days gone by, from when Jeff had first started putting International Rescue into motion, flooded her mind. She'd been present at that first meeting when Jeff had asked for clearance for his new venture. Valerie had been a newly appointed Captain, and it was one of her first major meetings. That was the day she'd heard about International Rescue and it had been incredible to see the legendary astronaut stand up and ask for permission to start the organisation. She'd hid her unease and suspicions and had viewed the plans he'd presented in the meeting. The secrecy aspect of the organisation had worried her most, not knowing exactly what was going to be flying around, not knowing who was involved or the training they would be put through. The committee had debated it thoroughly. Five weeks of research, consultations and consideration and International Rescue was given a three month trial, to be extended upon review.

"You won't regret this."

Jeff had promised Colonel Henson when he had been told the news. She'd been present to see the historic moment. The firm handshake that had happened at the end of the meeting as if to solidify and seal the deal. He'd been right. International Rescue had not disappointed and had gone beyond anyone's expectations. They were granted permission to operate. There were still some in the GDF that disagreed with the amount of secrecy surrounding International Rescue and the lack of regulation and control the GDF had over the organisation. Some of that had eased slightly now the location of Tracy Island was now known to the higher-ups, but there were still those that were suspicious. Rumours still passed around, claiming the GDF had a dummy location, that it was all a ruse to make everyone feel comfortable with the situation and they were keeping the Thunderbirds and their secrets elsewhere. There were just some things she couldn't stop. She had been put in charge of monitoring International Rescue. Once introduced, Jeff had maintained contact with her allowing them to develop a strong working relationship, which ultimately led to a close friendship. Though he had always visited her, she'd gotten to know some of the boys before the accident, though now she knew them all extremely well. The boys had allowed more information about International Rescue to be made public, and shared further information still with the GDF, allowing for better communication between the organisations. It felt much better knowing exactly where they were, even if she had no idea what secrets they hid on the island. Scott had blessed her with a tour, allowing her to see what they were happy to share. Seeing it all in-situ had been a sight to behold and something she'd never forget.

"Sorry it's been that way, but you know how it is at the top. There is always a new situation that needs your urgent attention."

Jeff chuckled, a sound that Valerie had forgotten and almost brought a tear to her eye. It pained her how small things about a person could slip from your mind over the years. The man before her really was legendary. He was an astronaut people would talk about for years to come. He was also a great friend, who had always supported her journey through the GDF ranks.

"I used to know. I'm a little rusty and many things have changed. I've got a lot of catching up to do. I thought some of the technology Brains used to think up was way out there, but some of the new gadgets I'm seeing and hearing about are beyond that. I'm feeling old. Old and left behind."

Valerie noticed the change in his face and the slight dimming of the shine in those blue eyes. Jeff was old, but there was more to this than that. Placing a hand on the man's shoulder she guided him back into his chair and knelt beside him.

"I'm feeling old at the moment." Jeff continued with a sigh. "I'm all creaky, tired and struggling to keep up. They say I should get better, that my body has adjusted to the Oort cloud and that it'll take a while to shift back."

"You were never the most patient man."

That brought a smile to his face, but his head fell into his hand.

"I've spent so much time alone that I can't stand being cooped up in here anymore! The boys and Mum visit but I have less freedom than I did out there. I want to go home. Even if it means subjecting myself to both my mother's constant doctoring, and her terrible cooking."

"Maybe the staff are trying to make sure you're strong enough to stomach your mother's food?"

"Ha! I wish! Nothing on Earth could prepare me for Mum's cooking. I am handling food well though and if I'm honest, Mum won't mess up my diet plan. She knows how much it could set me back."

Valerie moved her hand in slow steady motions over Jeff's back. There was nothing she could do to change the situation, but she knew Jeff needed to let it out. She knew he was putting on a brave face for his family, that only the staff and therapists would know of the real internal struggle happening in the man. Jeff had told her enough about his life and the boys to know he'd do anything to protect his family. Maybe, eventually, he let them be the ones to protect him.

"You'll get there, Jeff. You just need time."

The man sighed, his whole body deflating. He'd had plenty of time in the Oort cloud, far away from everything he cared about. Now he was home, he was still being kept away. She knew the boys were visiting Jeff but it wasn't the same as being home with them. Especially with International Rescue taking them away so frequently. Valerie still got a weekly update on International Rescue’s activity, and although she doesn't read the full reports anymore, she still understood the operation enough to know the toll that it takes on the operatives.

"How has it been, the last eight years, for International Rescue? What's it been like from an outside perspective? Has it worked? Have there been problems? Have you any suggestions?"

Valerie sat back and surveyed her friend. Talk about going straight for the tough topics. She knew he'd ask about her later, but right now his boys were at the front of his mind. She also knew she had to be honest. There was so much Valerie wanted to tell the man, yet today wasn't the right day. Today would just lead the man to worry unnecessarily about his boys. When he was stronger and could enforce change himself, she might raise the latest annual International Rescue report with him. The GDF were concerned, but now was not the time to go down the official route.

"It was tough at first, not everyone liked Scott taking over everything at once, especially as he took on Tracy Industries too. But they rose to the challenge and got the job done, they've made improvements and they communicate more with the GDF now. We still don't know everything about your technology but that was always the arrangement from the get go."

Jeff sighed. "I never expected them to be needed as much as they are. Have you noticed how exhausted they are? Do you know when they last went on holiday? I think it's too much for them."

Valerie steeled herself, knowing exactly how she felt and how much the Tracy brothers would disagree. Everyone knew those boys worked too hard, but they were smart and never broke the flight hour rules, often maxing it out but never going over. The GDF couldn't ground them, even if it was for their own good, especially as there was often no-one else to do the job. Lives were at stake and no-one wanted to be the one to make that call.

"I have noticed the dark circles under Scott's eyes and the way he seems to carry the world on his shoulders. I don't often see the rest of them but the past few years have been pretty intense. I would say they were due a break, if only the world would give them one."

The small smile on Jeff's face showed her she had said the right thing. The concern was still there but the steel in his eyes said he had a plan formulating. She wouldn't pry. Not yet. She was sure she would find out in due course.

"So, you're a Colonel now, and Commander of the GDF. Can't say I didn't see that coming, but there must be a story behind it."

Valerie grinned at her friend, finally on a safer topic. This was what she'd come here for.

"Well, there is, but it's not quite as interesting as yours."

[alpineglowx]

I'll Do The Same {Din Djarin x OC} Chapter Eleven: Starlight

pairing: din djarin x female oc

warnings: none, except some fluff!

* * * *

“I was young. Eight, nine, I can’t remember exactly. My parents were killed in an explosion trying to hide me from the droids that invaded our village. I almost died that day; I would have if the Watch hadn’t shown up. I became a foundling that day. I was raised by the Watch, and I was happy to be in their care. They had saved me, after all.

“When I was older I joined the Tribe on Nevarro. It’s where I acquired my armor. Once I swore the Creed, it meant I could never take my helmet off again, or have it removed by another. If it was, I would never be allowed to put it back on again... I would cease to be a true Mandalorian. I was trained to be a warrior growing up, and once I was older I joined the Bounty Hunter’s Guild. It paid well, harnessed my training, and gave me something to do.”

Thell blinked slowly, processing his words.

“That was until I was assigned to kill the kid. I didn’t even know he was a child at the time. I knew as soon as I saw him that I couldn’t let him be taken... there are people out there who are risking everything trying to find him... for what, I’m not exactly sure. I just know that he’s more powerful than I understand... and he’s just a kid.

“I had always thought that all Mandalorians followed the Children of the Watch’s beliefs. I believed that all were taught to hide their faces, because our secrecy is our survival. But Bo-Katan took her’s off like it was nothing. They all did, and they told me they were true Mandalorians. I didn’t know until then that I had been raised by the Watch. Bo said it was a cult that broke off from traditional Mandalorian ways.”

“So... no one’s seen your face since you were a kid?”

He dipped his head. “Yes. When I joined the Tribe, I hid myself. My identity, my name... everything about me became a secret. It had to be that way.”

“For you to survive?”

“Yes.”

“Wasn’t it ever lonely?” Thell asked quietly. “The life of a bounty hunter doesn’t sound too glamorous.”

“It isn’t... and it is lonely. I don’t stop with the jobs. Once I finish one, I move on to the next. It’s always been like that. I don’t have time to sit and settle.”

“Hm... So that’s what you’ve been doing since you were young.”

“Yes. I stay primarily in the Outer Rim. Since the Empire fell, there hasn’t been a shortage of bounties.”

“... Don’t take this the wrong way... but if you know the Watch is a cult, and the other Mandalorians take their helmets off, why don’t you?”

“I was raised under the Watch. It’s the only thing I know.” He turned to face her, slowly. “This is the Way.”

“Well, for what’s worth,” Thell said. “You’re the nicest bounty hunter I’ve ever met.”

He chuckled, just the slightest lift of his shoulders that had Thell smiling back at him. She sat up, clasping her arms around her knees as she hugged them to her chest.

“Do you know a lot of Mando’a?” She asked.

“A bit... why?”

Thell shrugged, glancing back at the fire. “Well... I was wondering if you could teach me some.” When she sensed him looking at her, she glanced back over and tilted her head. “My dad was Mandalorian. I know that doesn’t necessarily make me Mandalorian either, but I want to know some of the language. I haven’t... I haven’t felt like I’ve had my own identity before. I guess I could start somewhere... I think we share that.”

The comment had been a risk, but after seeing how he had been over the past week, Thell didn’t expect him to get angry or storm off. In fact, it wasn’t even her first thought.

Because deep down, it was true. They were both orphans now, even the kid sleeping in his arms. They all had childhoods that were essentially stolen from them, raised in places that protected them, but under the surface, were also performing great harm. Din was a result of indoctrination, and Thell had been a slave to a cruel master. Now, as adults, they were free to choose their own paths.

He nodded anyway. “Alright. Ask away.”

Thell blinked. “Oh... um. What’s hello?”

“Su cuy'gar.”

“Say it again,” Thell asked, and he did. She tried her best at repeating it under her breath, but it only made her feel silly with Din watching her.

“Hey!” She laughed. “It’s not like I’ve ever spoken it fluently. Why don’t you give me an easier one?”

Din sighed and relaxed against the rock, the child still tucked peacefully in his arms. “Beskar'gam... can you guess what that is?”

Thell squinted, twisting her lip. “Something to do with Beskar, I’m assuming.”

“Armor,” Din told her.

And they stayed like that, talking quietly beside the fire under the canopy of stars and darkness. For a moment, it felt like they were the only people in the world, including the kid. Din taught her words, phrases, even a small bout of the history of the language, all that he knew. Their conversation slowly turned to ones of their own personal lives, sharing stories and experiences.

Thell kept finding herself smiling at him, even laughing at his dry humor. It was beginning to show itself more and more, and she had to admit that this was her favorite side of him. She had scooted closer, sitting criss crossed beside him while the kid was wrapped in a bundle of blankets just beside Din.

“And I stole it.”

“Really?” Din seemed appalled.

“Yeah,” Thell nodded, smiling proudly to herself. “Darand had a whole shipment of my favorite fruit come in, for himself of course, but I couldn’t deny sneaking myself a few when no one was looking.”

“I’ve never taken you for a thief.”

Thell rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t call myself one. It was probably just one of the most rebellious things I did back on Bespin.”

Her mind suddenly wandered back to her old home, to the neverending show of clouds and stars that was always overhead. Of nights crying herself to sleep after her mother died, of her fingers being rubbed raw from her chores as Darand’s servant.

He must have noticed that she went quiet because he spoke, just softly.

“Thell.”

She blinked, focusing back on his helmet. “Oh. Sorry...”

“What’s going on in that head of yours?”

He sounded genuinely interested, so Thell straightened. “I want to tell you something, something that happened to me while I lived on Bespin.”

His attention remained fully on her, and in the quiet of their haven on Naboo, Thell felt like he truly cared for her.

“My mom died when I was twelve. At that point, I basically fended for myself in Darand’s mansion. I had a lot of people try to take advantage of me, of my youth, of my immaturity. I was constantly being compared to my mother or being expected to be someone I knew I wasn’t... No one ever really saw me for me. When I was sixteen, I was walking back from the market when I saw a group of my friends. I had known them for a couple of years. We weren’t close or anything, but I was still glad to see them.”

Thell took a deep breath, glancing at the fire.

“Anyways, I went to go talk to them and everything seemed normal for the moment. But... I don’t know why it happened, but they attacked me. I didn’t even have anything on me. No credits, nothing.”

Thell could feel her hands trembling and clasped them together, hoping Din wouldn’t notice.

“They just left me there, in the dust of that alley. They called me names and told me I was useless and kicked me, and I didn’t do anything.... I just let it happen.”

“Why?” Din asked suddenly.

“Because somewhere deep down I felt like they were right,” Thell said, making eye contact with him again. “I felt like because everyone else had been saying those things to me, it must have been true. No one in Darand’s house liked me. No one saw me. I mean, hell, the one guy that I actually liked completely rejected me to my face and walked away like I was nothing!”

Thell leaned back, surprised and suddenly embarrassed by her disclosure. To her relief, Din didn’t seem bothered by it; he barely moved from his position. Taking it as a good sign, and inhaling deeply, Thell continued, lowering her voice.

“My only source of comfort in the world was gone and I didn’t have any else left. I was just a girl in a galaxy that looked at me like I was nothing. That’s why I was so adamant about going with you that night. Because I knew the consequences if I didn’t. I knew I had to speak up for myself. If I didn’t, I could’ve died out there, in the big world. But I always felt safe with you, even when you were standing in the middle of the hallway pointing a blaster at my face.”

To her relief, Din huffed out a laugh. “Not the best of scenarios to feel safe in.”

Thell smirked. “Maybe not. But I came along anyway.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“Really?” Thell perked up.

He dipped his head once. “It’s... nice to have someone to talk to.”

Thell smiled, feeling tears burn at the back of her eyes. “Yeah. Me too.”

“We have that in common, you know.”

“... What?”

“The thing you said... about no one seeing you.”

Thell’s eyebrows twitched, and she scrunched her fingers into her pant leg. “Oh.”

He was still looking back at her, suddenly gently in the firelight. Thell’s heart was full from their conversations and laughter, to his opening up about his own past to chuckling together about old stories. She was immensely grateful, and something about the warmth of the fire and the peace of the field were causing her barriers to fall.

“Thank you for telling me about yourself,” she said quietly. “I know it’s not easy, especially when you don’t normally share it. But thank you anyway.”

He watched her for a long moment before dipping his head softly, and Thell blinked. Taking a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart, she bent forward, clasping her hand gently around his that rested on his leg. She could feel him flinch under her palm, see how rigid he suddenly went under her touch. His hand was warm, large and secure under her hold.

Thell gulped, and her greatest fear came true when he slowly pulled away from her embrace, turning on his side to face the kid. Her hand dangling, Thell could only feel the need to smack herself, curse at how stupid and overly forward she had been. Why should she have expected it anyway, just because they were connecting over their sob stories and growing closer to reciprocate her feelings?

Frustrated with herself, Thell slowly rolled over on her side, dragging the blanket she had brought with her. She couldn’t face the Mandalorian tonight, not directly. So she let her gaze linger to the rocks casted in an orange glow, and to the darkness of the field beyond.

. . . .

“Wake up.”

Blinking steadily, Thell peered directly into the sun. She put up a hand to shield her eyes right as the Mandalorian moved in front of it, casting her in shadow. His hand was on his hip, one arm holding Grogu. He peered down at her curiously, cocking his head and looking back with dark, endearing eyes.

Thell suddenly remembered the night before, the awkward moment when he had pulled his hand out of her’s. If Din remembered too, he didn’t say anything.

Instead, he bent down, offering her a hand to help her stand.

“We’re going into town.”

Thell blinked, gathering her things from the ground. “Town? I thought we didn’t want to make ourselves known.”

“Not particularly,” Din said. “But we’re low on food. We’ll stay low profile.”

The village in Naboo that Din dragged her to was exquisite. Flowers and garlands of every color hung from pots or strung across archways. Ancient buildings soared above her view, the rounded green tops of settlements reflecting in the sun. Gardens with fountains and shining columns dotted the landscape, causing the air to have a sweet aroma. The corridors they walked through were not crowded, and the only inhabitants Thell saw were local humans called the Naboo. She couldn’t help but admire the elegant, flowing robes and dresses they wore, the ornate styles in which their hair was done.

But Din practically dragged her along, keeping her close as the kid hid in a satchel on his hip. Thell herself had worn a cloak, half covering her face. As for Din, there was only so much that could be done to hide the Mandalorian, so he stuck to sticking out in the crowd.

However, to her greatest relief, no one seemed to be bothered by them. In fact, they were more than friendly to the both of them, even the children offering them garlands of flowers as they entered the city.

But Din was meticulous, only wanting to spend as much time in the city as needed. Thell, on the other hand, wandered past vendors with crafts of things she had never seen, food she had never smelled or tasted.

And music.

The sound caught her ears immediately as Din was paying for a package of fruit. Thell turned, her ears perking up at the glorious sound. She had just taken a step forward when she felt Din’s hand on her elbow, holding her back.

“What is it?”

She looked over her shoulder, smiling widely at him. “Music. Don’t you hear it?”

“I do.”

She tugged at his arm. “Let’s go listen to it.”

“We need to go soon. It’s getting dark.”

Thell shrugged. “I know. But you were the one who said we needed a break. What’s a little pitstop?” When he didn’t move, Thell stuck out her bottom lip. “It’ll only be for a minute, and I promise I won’t drag you away again.”

When he finally nodded, Thell nearly shrieked in excitement as they followed the sound. She had heard music played on Bespin before, but only in moderation, and it had never sounded this beautiful.

They passed through corridors and dim hallways to an arched opening. It let them out onto a small balcony that overlooked a luxurious garden, surely owned by a wealthy family in the city. Thell could only tilt her head back and breath in the sweat air as she relaxed against the railing. The garden was speckled with wild flowers and trees of all varieties, twisting cobblestones paths between streams and pools that glittered like diamonds in the sunlight. Out in the distance, the sun was setting beyond the hills, casting the clouds in orange and pink glows. The railing was lined with vines that twisted around the architecture, spattering the balcony with purple flowers. Just beyond an archway in the garden Thell could spot the group of musicians playing, all holding different, beautiful instruments. A small crowd sat with their back to Thell and Din, and if Thell focused enough, it felt as if they were playing for just them.

She sensed Din moving closer, coming to rest his arms against the railing beside her. Grogu was at her feet, murmuring softly until she bent down to pick him up.

“See that, buddy?” She whispered, pointing in the direction of the musicians. “That’s a band. They’re playing music on instruments. Have you heard music before?”

He was babbling close to her ear, his eyes focused on the band. At a certain high note, his eyes widened and his ears pinned back, and Thell couldn’t help the giggle that rose in her throat. When the music settled again, Thell tucked Grogu into her arms, holding him as she began to slowly rock back and forth on her heels and hummed. Grogu seemed to enjoy it, eyes flickering to her when she pulled away from the railing, humming to the same tune as the musicians and spinning.

Grogu cooed happily, and Thell pressed her forehead to his before kissing his head. She giggled again, holding the baby in her arms and spinning while the music continued.

When she finally stopped spinning, and the music stopped, her hair was frayed and sticking to her face. But Din was looking at her, one arm resting casually against the railing and one leg kicked back. He was admiring her, not even bothering to look away when Thell paused, breathing heavily.

“Do you dance?” She asked, breathless.

She hadn’t known what came over her, except that Grogu was sliding down her arms as Din loomed over her, looking down at her through the helmet while starlight was beginning to glimmer on the Beskar.

“We have to get back. It’s late.”

Her heart sank, but she tried not to show it. “Okay.”

With one last glance at the garden, Thell turned and followed after the Mandalorian.

They returned to the ship a while later, but Thell opted to sleep outside again, under the canopy of starlight. Grogu stayed close by, choosing to sleep beside her as she settled her blanket on the ground. Din prowled the surrounding area, his blaster at his side, before coming up to Thell and Grogu. He peered down at the kid, cocking his head.

“Night, kid,” he said lowly, to which Grogu murmured softly.

Thell smiled down at the kid before glancing back at Din and asking, “How many days before we leave?”

“Two,” he said, and Thell nodded.

“It’s been nice.”

“It has.”

The silence turned to being rather uncomfortable, so Thell shifted, rocking on one knee.

“Well... I’m just going to get some water. Goodnight, Din.”

His voice was soft. “Goodnight.”

She had just returned to her makeshift bed on the ground beside Grogu, canteen in hand, when an object on her pillow caught her attention. Bending down, Thell gingerly picked up the item, rolling it over in her hand. It was one of the purple flowers from the balcony, the one that overlooked the musicians and where she had danced with Grogu. The one where she had desperately wanted to ask Din, too, as well.

“Din, did you-“

She went to look at the Mandalorian, but he was already sleeping on the other side of the fire, arms crossed over her chest. Thell let her eyes wander for a moment before settling down next to Grogu, letting her fingers brush over the petals as she drifted off.

[pandawritesmanythings]

Chapter Summary: Frigga helps you rethink some things, she truly is a blessing.

Word Count: 1,907k

Warnings: Mentions of arranged marriages.

A/N: I’m really excited about where all this is going! Some interesting revelations going on and I can’t wait to see where this story ends up! I have the general structure, but I’m still discovering a lot about this world, if you have any thoughts I’d love to hear them! Take care lovelies!

Masterlist

-

The rest of the day went by painfully slowly. Loki didn't even look in your direction, and the ladies of the court really did have the veracity of wolves that Loki spoke of.

"He looked upset! Have you seen him? He's been frowning all day!"

Oh, boohoo. Poor baby. You rolled your eyes internally.

"He had a lot in his mind." You tried to excuse with a faux worried expression.

That was your job, all day. Try to keep up appearances. Despite everything, you had agreed to play the perfect royal couple, and you would go through with it!

After the dancing, and towards the end of the night, you saw queen Frigga looking at you, intently. You saw where Loki got his conniving looks from.

She called you with a wiggle of her finger and you called Steve so he could follow you from a safe distance.

"I would like to speak to you in private, my dear."

"Of course." You smiled.

"Shall we go to the palace library?"

That piqued your interest. "That sounds lovely."

She linked her arm with yours and together, with Steve trailing behind you, you made your way towards the gigantic library that the royal family had.

Frigga pushed the wooden doors and rows after rows of books became visible to you.

"You may wait out here captain. I'll take care of her." Frigga instructed Steve when he tried to walk inside.

"With all due respect, your majesty. But my duty is to-" He began but you quickly interrupted him.

"It's alright captain." You smiled softly at him, trying to reassure him from a distance. "I'll call you if I need anything."

He wasn't convinced, you could tell, but he gave a quick bow and posted himself outside of the room.

The queen then turned to you and with a placid smile pointed towards the seats by the window to signal where you would be sitting.

You wordlessly walked on over there and placed one of the soft cushions on your lap, softly hugging it.

"It has been quite an eventful day, wouldn't you say, dear?" She asked turning a book she had picked out of the bookcase on her hands.

"I suppose."

"Well, I believe that getting to know your soon-to-be lawfully wedded husband must be quite eventful, is it not?" She pointed a look at you. "Especially when it comes to my son."

"He definitely hasn't made things dull. I believe we're still both wrapping our heads around the matter."

"That's understandable. After all, not marrying the woman he loves has taken quite a toll on him."

Hold on. Does she know?

She raised an eyebrow in your direction. "I believe you already know about this, do you not?"

"W-Well..." You tried to cover for him. Why? No idea. But you wanted to.

However, you could not find it in yourself to lie to the queen. "I... Must admit that I do..."

She had an unreadable expression. Sort of like Loki's. It was sort of scary how they looked nothing alike and yet he and his mom shared the same pointed looks, deep in-thought expressions, and poker faces.

"And does it not bother you?"

Could you trust her? If she was trying to help Loki, or looking only for Asgard's benefit, could you really tell the queen?

"Well, it is none of my concern. It certainly is unfortunate, but it wasn't his or my decision to enter the alliance."

"However, it was certainly your idea."

"Of course, but, your majesty, your husband is the one who offered your son." You explained. "I would have married any noble that you put across me. But it was Odin who decided it was to be Loki. I never chose him. He never chose me. So neither he nor I am to blame."

"I take it he understood this explanation?"

You smiled, when you thought back on it, he had been kind enough to understand that both of you had been powerless under this situation. "Yes. He was very understanding, actually."

"Then I am wondering what did you do to upset him so much that he would go from teasing you to ignoring you in the span of a less than an hour." She thoughtfully looked out of the window to the shoreline and the night sky.

"Your majesty." You called her and she turned to look at you directly in the eyes. "Everything I've done is in my people's best interest. I hope you understand that."

"So you've distanced yourself from my son for the benefit of your people?"

"I'm only trying to decide if I can fully trust him yet."

She nodded. "I believe then that his reputation has been brought up to you."

"Unfortunately."

"Whoever told you, they are not wrong. My son has the tendency to trick others into aiding his own plans." She agreed. "But my son underestimates the frailty of his own heart."

"You're saying I've hurt him?"

"He doesn't give people the silent treatment unless they have." She smirked and you chuckled at that.

You looked outside to find the stars twinkling down at you. At Midgard, you had never seen so many. That was the advantage of living close to the beach, wasn't it? It was absolutely mesmerizing.

"What should I do, your majesty?"

"Oh please, call me Frigga."

You looked back at her in surprise but a small smirk formed in your face. "Only if you call me by my name." You conceded telling it to her.

"Fair enough. Now, about your question, that I cannot answer." She said, a twinge of regret in her tone.

"I know... I just hoped..."

"My dear girl..." With her soft hand, she lifted your chin to make you look at her. "You've already done all that you could. Now, let everything unfold how it's supposed to. And don't close yourself off. You have a very powerful ally in my son. And I should know. I raised him."

You laughed and nodded at her response. 

"Help him and let him help you. His trust is not easy to earn, and you might have just made it harder for yourself today. But don't wait, before those scrolls are here, you and Loki must have come to terms and give each other the trust you deserve before they arrive."

Her voice suddenly had a grave tone to it. "If you don't, Loki can be still a very powerful enemy."

You nodded slowly, understanding how you needed to proceed. "Thank you, Frigga... Please know that... I really appreciate that you took the time to advise me."

A knot formed in your throat. You bit your lip to avoid to become a mess in front of the queen herself.

"Oh, my dear! But what has come over you?"

"Nothing! I just-!" You tried to look away, the heaviness of the tears pressing in the corners of your eyes. "It's just, only my mum has been like this with me."

Frigga sat, her face showing understanding. She placed a hand over yours. "You miss her much, don't you?"

"I do." You nodded, a stray tear falling down your cheek. You quickly wiped it before more could come down. "Pepper has been... The absolute best with me."

"I never got to meet her, she wasn't at Yggdrasil. Is she much like you?"

"You could say that. She helped my dad raise me, even if she only married him about a decade ago."

Frigga's confusion was obvious. "Forgive for asking, but... I must have been mistaken by believing that Pepper Potts was your biological mother?"

"Well, dad never hid it from me or Peter that we were both adopted." You shrugged. "But Pepper was always there, just like Tony, so they are in a way our mum and dad."

This left Frigga pensive. A shadow crossed her face. "You are very open for a person who still is looking for who to trust."

You nodded. "True. But that is because I know I can trust you."

"How could you?"

You smiled. "Your highness, when I look you in your eyes. When I see your kind words and actions, how could I not? I have not seen anyone else in court be the same for me here, besides my handmaiden. I trust you both."

"If so," She took both your hands in hers, "Please, my dear girl, promise me this: That you'll have patience with my son. He will be your greatest ally. But you must allow him to open up.

"I promise you that it won't be easy. He has secrets of his own that I know he will have a hard time sharing. But do not take his secrecy for betrayal. Will you promise me?"

You mulled over her words. In your heart, you had already decided to give Loki a fighting chance despite all the rumours, but your mind finally caught up to it. "Alright, I promise I'll try."

-

Steve was beginning to fidget where he stood. It was the most anxious feeling to have left you there with the Queen alone. Although, after all, you were with the Queen. You were her guest of honor. What danger could befall you?

Any. Literally, anything could happen. His own brain admonished him.

He didn't remember the last time he was this tense and fidgety. It was an unusual feeling. He had always been protective over you, but never to this degree.

Maybe it was because you were somewhere strange with strangers surrounding you. Yeah, that was totally it. 

There was no other reason.

None whatsoever.

...

Okay. Maybe yesterday had left him a little bit confused. 

Oh for God's sake, I'm not fooling anyone, am I? He mentally cursed himself. 

It had been such a strange feeling. The panic that settled in his bones when Vision told him that he and Wanda hadn't seen you for a while. The fact that the infamous dark prince had been last seen with you. And then suddenly you had disappeared and he was absolutely about to lose it.

King Stark had given him the chance to prove himself by caring for his daughter in this dangerous mission.

And it's not like he wanted the mission to fail. But since that night at the beach, he had suddenly seen how much of a woman you had become.

And when he saw you deal with the Asgardians, and answer questions, and strike deals... He just loathed the idea that all of the life that was inside you, your care, your kindness, it was all going to go to waste on a man who didn't know you. Someone who didn't see you as more than a political pawn.

It enraged him and made him wanted to sweep you off your feet and run away with you to keep you safe.

But he knew you wouldn't forgive him for that. Not when your family and your people were in danger. 

However, he had served his country ever since he and Bucky were young boys. He had done everything in his power to make Midgard a better place. He had fought valiantly against the Jotuns. Lost many friends and companions to the enemy. He wanted to be selfish for once. He wanted to forget about his duty to his country, to his king, and to you as his princess and be selfish.

But he couldn't... Because he loved you too much.

-

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[severusthehalfbloodprince]

SEVERUS SNAPE: LIFE | DEATH | REBIRTH

Personality: Cold, calculating, precise, sarcastic, ambitious, bitter, & passionate.

Occupation: Potioneer & Assistant to Professor Slughorn at Hogwarts.

Headcanons:

One of Severus Snape’s favorite reads in his pastime is The Prince by Niccolò Machiavelli. For Severus, there is a lot to be learned and gained from the Machiavellian way of thinking. Not only to see how people get power, but ‘show the cards’ to the people for a better understanding. Gain power without fear of betrayal.

Severus has never been one to keep up with grooming or really any self-care. There was never enough money for properly matched clothes growing up, so Severus stuck with robes and keeping them washed as often as possible. However, he was often teased for his greasy hair and bad teeth. Since school, Lucius has been immersing him into Pureblood society, forcing him to do some well-needed maintenance. Now, he keeps new robes washed often and his hair is a little less greasy; overall, looking much less unkempt. In fact, he goes for the robes that suit his line of work, without embellishments or fluttery sleeves that would get in the way of his potions. Usually, his color of choice is black paired with white. Although now, again immersed in Pureblood society, he does wear dark blues and greens (even browns) since black is the color of mourning - something he will wear for the rest of his life after the events of Godric’s Hollow.

With war coming, Severus always wants to be prepared. Thus, he carries, not only his wand, but a couple of vials of both blood replenishers and dittany on his person at all times. There are spots in the cuffs of his robes and cape as well.

Family Background: As an only child, born to a cold household, Severus does not dwell on his family life and wants very little to do with them. In fact, the only thing he has ever kept from his father is his last name. His parents were: a witch, Eileen Prince, and a Muggle man named Tobias Snape. An awkward boy with a raw gift for talent – often hidden in scribbles betwixt the pages in his journals. Severus never liked being at home, trying to outrun the hate, fear, shouting, mistrust, and overall broken nature. It was what made him stay out hours on end, and eventually, meet Lily Evans. From there, she became his family. From then on, it became a world of possibilities, hope, kindness, and…magic. It both made him eager to start Hogwarts school with her; but dread is they were going to be sorted into different house; see their friendship, and Snape’s first glimmer of good in the world, dwindle.

Biography Before 1979: Severus Snape was raised in the Muggle Dwelling of Spinner’s End – close to the Evans family home. His parents were: a witch, Eileen Prince, and a Muggle man named Tobias Snape. Growing up, Severus was an awkward boy with little-to-no social skills; however, he managed to befriend his neighbor Lily Evans. While she was Muggle-born, Severus had taken a liking to her because of Lily’s rare, genuine talent for magic just as he had at a young age. Plus, both were ‘freaks’ in her sister Petunia’s eyes. It made a friendship from a common ‘enemy’, or at least someone that was a bully, thus bonded together. Petunia was harsh to Severus – making fun of his mismatched clothes and scrawny figure. The young red-haired girl helped Severus forget her unkind sister, sometimes defending him, but always making him feel uplifted by their conversations. And magic, of course. With Lily being his only friend, Severus often stayed with her for hours at a time, trying to avoid the neglect and abusive life awaiting at home. And…since the pair were so close, the young boy yearned for the dream that both he and Lily would be sorted into the same house once they were at Hogwarts.

Although, this very idea was shot down by other bullies.

On the Hogwarts Express, other upcoming students had shared their space and fought over which house was better. From that very moment, Severus never forgot James Potter or Sirius Black – and their mutual disdain for one another grew even more over the years.

At the beginning of school, even with being sorted into different houses, Lily and Severus remained close friends. Severus had always been in love with Lily, but his interest in the Dark Arts kept her from returning his feelings. Ironically, he thought that if he were successful in those endeavors, it would grab her attention. The only thing the Evans girl could really do, was try and give subtle hints she didn’t want him down that path – and continued to be his friend.

While he believed it was unrequited love, the pair often made jokes, playfully flirted, day-dreamed, studied, and brushed off Potter’s ‘achievements’ as just a ‘crave for attention’ from the young Seeker. It was their sort of “small revenge” to poke fun at Potter since Lily had, softly, confessed that she once hated him when they were younger from how the Gryffindor boy used to bully her and Severus. Although, the Gryffindor had still been a bully to him all the while. The pair thought James was arrogant and the actions of trying to ‘woo’ Lily were trivial. It wasn’t until one day when Lily tried to stand up for the Slytherin that their friendship took a turn for the worst. As usual, James and his horde of Gryffindors used one of Severus’ own spells against him, levitating him upside-down to reveal his underwear to a vast number of students, including Lily. While she, like many times in their childhood, came to his defense, it only made the situation worse. In his rage, Severus lashed out at James to recover his lost dignity. Subsequently, Severus inadvertently called Lily a Mudblood. She refused to forgive him for it, even after his repeated apologies. This is Severus’ worst memory. Their friendship then plummeted. He was left without his best friend and love…leaving nothing but disdain towards the Gryffindor boys.

Yet, that fateful night, when James ‘saved his life’ from a changed Remus, Severus’ loathing practically manifested into its own creature. He thought the Gryffindor boy only did it to protect his friend and prevent expulsion, when really, Severus knew James was trying to keep Lily from (actually) hating him. If James had let her once-close friend die or be bitten from a werewolf, Severus knew Lily would never forgive her housemate. The Slytherin grew bitter at the advances James put toward the girl he loved and a bit jealous since she stopped brushing them off so easily. The Gryffindor boy claimed his immaturity had dissipated, (though the Severus knew better) and Lily began to date him.  Snape’s jealousy, rage, and resentment were to the point he’d never thought possible.

From that night on, Severus did all he could to learn more about the Dark Arts after being sworn to secrecy about his classmate by Dumbledore. The least he could do was gain the trust and respect of his own housemates. Perhaps, eventually, use his own spells against his bullies. Yet, he felt empty…having lost his only true friend…his first and only love…The influence of Slytherin had never taken more of a toll on him, shaping him into what he wanted to be after graduation. The Dark Arts completely fascinated him; as well as potions; having made commentary on his old textbook. Once Severus had become friends with his housemates, they showed him the world of Purebloods and, eventually, their cause. It was alluring…captivating…seductive.

Biography After 1979:

Soon after joining Pureblood Society, there was an immense pressure for Severus to join Lord Voldemort’s ranks after seeing the sheer passion and raw skill he had for the dark arts. In fact, many hid that Severus was a Half-Blood, calling his by the surname ‘Prince’ …all so that the young Slytherin could gain an audience with The Dark Lord and make his way into their ‘inner circle’ of The Death Eaters. Yet, there was a price. Many prices. Including the fact that he needed to gain their leader’s trust. It just so happened that, in early 1980, Severus saw Sybil Trelawney meet with Dumbledore for an interview as the next Divination professor and eavesdropped. He had not expected that it would be about The Dark Lord himself – or his demise. Unfortunately, he was thrown out and missed the ending of Sybil’s prophecy, arguably, the most important piece of it.

To gain Voldemort’s trust, he reported back what he heard. However, his heat plummeted to his stomach once his lord interpreted the target to be James and Lily Potter’s son. While it was dangerous to ask Voldemort for anything, Severus knew he had to try, and begged him to spare Lily – his childhood friend (and love; although, he would never admit such words to anyone in Voldemort’s ranks, much less The Dark Lord himself). Doubting Voldemort would keep to his word, Severus went to Dumbledore as well, asking him to do all that he could to keep Lily alive. Scolded by Dumbledore for such a selfish request, Severus amended his request by asking him to hide all of the Potter family in exchange to serve as the Headmaster’s spy in the Death Eaters. Desperate, Severus agreed.

Yet, on eve Hallowe'en in 1981, Voldemort arrived at Godric’s Hollow and murdered both James and Lily Potter. Saved by his mother’s love, Harry Potter survived, and Voldemort was killed. As the news of their deaths broke out, more violence was claimed by his comrades, while others shouted that the war had ended, carrying Daily Prophets with “The Boy Who Lived” as their headlines flooded the Wizarding World. After, Severus questioned Dumbledore relentlessly – claiming repeatedly that he would keep them safe. In that same breadth, The Headmaster said that they had put their faith in the wrong person – much like Severus had – and told him to protect Harry to honor Lily.

Replacing Professor Slughorn, Snape withdrew from the Death Eaters and Voldemort’s followers, and began teaching Potions at Hogwarts in 1981. Initially, he had wanted the position for Defense Against The Dark Arts, but Dumbledore refused, aware that Voldemort had put a jinx on the job, and rejected his application multiple times. Over the years, he led Slytherin House into success, flourishing as a young, ambitious professor, and guided them to many victories on and off the Qudditch pitch (much to McGonagall’s irritation at her once-student-now-colleague-and-even-friend). Although, that seemed to change its tune once Harry Potter and his class began at Hogwarts. Even so, Severus still kept his promise, protecting Harry Potter through the years.

Distrusted for his past as a Death Eater by those on Albus Dumbledore’s side, and hated by other Death Eaters for living as Dumbledore’s stooge for ten years, Snape continued living on to complete Dumbledore’s plan to protect Harry and defeat Voldemort. As a professor, Snape was a stickler for discipline, with little patience for foolishness, yet extremely effective in his job and well respected by the other professors. He treated Harry Potter with maximal coldness – never missing an opportunity to cause him trouble (as any variation from this would have cast suspicion on him in Voldemort’s eyes). However, in reality, he protected Harry on numerous occasions. While Severus was happy enough to cause the boy, who resembled his father (Snape’s hated rival from school days), humiliation and trouble, but never any actual harm or danger as he was still Lily’s son. He also had to avoid becoming too aware of Voldemort’s plans, so as to avoid being held responsible for allowing Harry and his friends to foil them.

Severus handled all this brilliantly – every action causing no mistrust on the part of Voldemort. During the 1991-1992 school year, he tried to prevent Quirrell from getting the Stone. In 1992-93 term, he tried to make sure Harry wouldn’t be expelled, though never treated him kindly. 1993-94 term, Snape brewed the Wolfsbane potion for Remus, though he suspected him of helping his old friend Sirius Black, and an attempt to apprehend the former, but the trio stopped him. Even so, Severus stood between the students and Remus, shielding them no matter the cost. Yet, nothing goes without consequence. Towards the end of the year, Snape revealed Lupin was a werewolf. Then, in 1995, when Voldemort returned, he was sent on a secret mission by Dumbledore to rejoin the Death Eaters and spy on the Dark Lord. When Harry began having visions, Snape was to teach him Occlumency, though their contempt made this fail. In July 1996, Dumbledore was cursed by one of Voldemort’s horcruxes. Gifted in dark arts, Severus was able to slow the dark magic, but knew The Headmaster-turned friend, would die from the enchantment. Dumbledore, of course, knew that Voldemort had tasked Draco Malfoy with killing him, but pleaded with Severus to kill him instead; gain the Dark Lord’s trust completely. Albus also invited Severus for an evening visit in his office, revealing the truth of Voldemort’s demise. When Snape learned that Harry had to die, he showed outrage and, ultimately, even after all these years, Severus still loved Lily – revealing his Patronus to be a doe. After making an unbreakable vow with Narcissa Malfoy, and during the Battle of the Astronomy Tower, Snape kept his word and killed Dumbledore himself, tricking both Harry Potter and the Death Eaters. Shortly after, Severus fled the school, rejoining their ranks as Voldemort’s most trusted follower.

After killing Albus Dumbledore and fleeing the school, Snape once more rejoined the ranks of the Death Eaters. In the summer of 1997, Snape informed Lord Voldemort that Harry was to depart from his relatives’ house four days before his birthday. On Dumbledore’s orders, Snape told the Death Eaters the correct date so as to continue Voldemort’s trust in him. Snape then fed Mundungus Fletcher the idea of using seven decoys of Harry Potter during his movement to a place of safety so that when the Death Eaters arrived, they would not know who the real one was. In order to be consistent in his own role as a Death Eater, Snape confunded Fletcher so that he would not remember who told him. Because of Severus’ information, when the Order of the Phoenix moved Harry from Privet Drive they were ambushed by Death Eaters, and the Battle of the Seven Potters ensued. During the battle, Snape accidentally sliced George Weasley’s ear off with Sectumsempra while aiming at another Death Eater. Shortly after the battle, Severus visited 12 Grimmauld Place where, in Sirius Black’ bedroom, he found Lily Potter’s letter. Snape had cut off the letter and took the page, which contained Lily’s signature and love. He also cut off the picture of Potter family and took the page, which contained Lily, for himself.

In 1997, Severus returned and was named Headmaster of Hogwarts. All the while, he helped guide Harry Potter to Gryffindor’s sword and fooling the ones who protected The Dark Lord’s most precious items and secrets – the horcruxes. Without giving away his true allegiance, Severus did everything in his power to help the Potter boy so that good could triumph. Severus knew the consequences, and yet he did so willingly…somewhere, no matter how far hidden, having to come to care for the boy. Later, he was summoned to the Shrieking Shack, with Voldemort having believed him to be the master of the Elder Wand after being the one to kill Dumbledore. In order to gain the upper hand and have his wand work for him, Voldemort reasoned that Severus had to die. Nagini bit Snape and injected him with poisonous venom. Snape released a cloud of memories and told Harry, who had watched from a hidden spot, to take them, then died…looking into the eyes that reminded him of someone familiar; an old friend…

[justtoarguewithyou]

9/26: Solitude

my contribution to the @swottypotter comfort minifest. :)

Sirius had broken out his uncle’s bottle of Old Midleton Irish whiskey. It was nearly time for a new bottle, as the refilling charm only worked so many times before whatever you were refilling tasted slightly of vinegar.

This whiskey was nothing like vinegar, though. It still tasted like vanilla, and fruit and the way the sun had shone on the golden grain the day it was harvested.

Sirius was in an artificially good mood, thanks to the whiskey. He listened to “Corcovado” for the third time in a row. The Getz/Gilberto record was one of many incredible things he had inherited from Uncle Alphard. Alphard had left him the whiskey, the records, his flat, an embarrassingly large fortune.

This record was calming. He needed it, as he was waiting for Remus to come home. Remus was overdue.

About a month before, after an interminably long and boring Order meeting, Albus had pulled Remus aside to give him his orders while Sirius was talking James and Lily into going out.

Sirius had just wanted to go out and get pissed with his friends. The Prewetts were always game for a laugh. Alice and Frank were going home to “have an early evening,” Frank had said, but they all knew what that meant. There was a lot of winking, and Fabian had teased Frank as Alice stepped into the fireplace. Frank had shot Fabian a vee, and floo’ed after her, saying Fabian was just jealous that he wasn’t getting any.

Fabian had shrugged. He certainly wasn’t.

Later, after they’d gone out, had laughed as much as they could, and were drunkenly undressing each other, Remus told Sirius that Albus had given him instructions regarding his werewolf liaison missions. He was leaving for a month, and that he was under strict instructions not to disclose any of it.

And Remus hadn’t. Not really. He told Sirius, because of course he told Sirius. Their reasoning was, if they shared everything with each other, they would know who had blabbed if it was information that only the other person was supposed to know.

“It’s a kind of insurance, isn’t it,” Sirius had said, kissing Remus, languidly, “I won’t have us ruining a perfectly good friendship and our truly spectacular sex life,” Sirius had added, divesting Remus of his sweater vest and unbuttoning his shirt another night after another interminably long Order meeting, “over a megalomaniacal You Know Who and a bunch of power-hungry, pretentious and pompous Slytherins.”

Remus had laughed at his alliteration, and then they had very intense, and incredibly sloppy…

Absolutely not thinking about that, Sirius thought, as Side B finished playing, and the arm lifted the needle off the record. He got up and turned the record over, and vocalized along to the opening bars of “The Girl from Ipanema.”

It had been their first moon apart in however many months. And for one month, Sirius had been very steadfast, and brave, and very patient. He’d run errands for the Order. He had eaten regularly (he knew Remus would get after him if he didn’t). He’d seen James and Lily, gone to Order meetings when they were called.

But he’d begun to unravel on the 31st day, and now, on the 32nd day, he’d been up since 6 a.m., and was drinking his second glass of whiskey at 10 a.m., and rifling through Uncle Alphard’s albums.

Sirius put on “Jazz at Massey Hall” for a few minutes, then let out a deep breath and put on Kate Bush’s “The Kick Inside,” but he decided he couldn’t listen to any of Remus’s albums.

He took it off and put on The Scream by Siouxie and the Banshees. He tapped along impatiently to “Pure.” But when, “Jigsaw” came on.

“This sounds like something the bartenders play when it was closing time at the pub, and they want everyone to leave immediately,” Remus had said.

Sirius had punched him playfully, and they’d kissed their way through the rest of the album and had very sloppy and incredibly intense… Sirius laughed to himself. There was no getting away from thinking about a naked Remus. It distracted him from thinking about a post-transformation Remus, who most likely needed him very much.

Sirius lay down near the stereo speakers, and thought about the several quiet conversations that he and James had had over the past several months since joining the Order. He and James were never quite sure what they thought of Albus Dumbledore. He was brilliant, yes, but there was something so very sly about him, too.

“He plays his cards very close to his chest,” James had said. “And I don’t understand the need for secrecy amongst our own.”

“I’m not sure I like it, either,” Sirius had replied.

Sirius sighed, and put on The Clash, and even broke out The Stooges for old time’s sake. Gideon had invited him to a pub that night. He needed to eat and stop drinking if he was going out later. If he was going to get through another day of waiting for Remus.

He left the flat and went to get some apples, peanut butter, the chocolate biscuits that Remus was partial to. He bought bacon and eggs and bread. He even bought a few vegetables. He remembered to get more tea for Remus: Earl Grey, jasmine, oolong, Darjeeling, Ceylon. Anything that struck Sirius’ fancy. They’d run out before Remus left. He also needed feverfew, lavender and chamomile from the apothecary.

He ran his errands, and picked up some take away he barely wanted. He went home to the (still) empty flat. He went out with Gideon.

He came home to the (still) empty flat and slept alone. He hated sleeping alone.

He waited.

The 33rd day was much like the 32nd day, except James and Lily came to feed him dinner, and he didn’t go to a pub. Instead, they finished what was left of a bottle of vodka together, and told stories, and gossiped about Order members.

“Did you know that Marlene McKinnon was seeing Dorcas Meadows?” Lily asked.

Sirius did know. “I saw them at the Moonlight Club earlier this summer, snogging while Adam Ant was onstage,” he said. “Marlene’s leather-clad swagger rivals my own. Dorcas had painted her eyes in heavy liner, and she’d teased her hair.”

Lily was absolutely chuffed.

“What about Peter and Mary MacDonald? Is Peter really interested, or do you think it’s going to be another Hestia Jones situation?”

James and Sirius just shrugged. Neither was sure they would ever understand Peter’s love life.

“I really do feel that Peter has not, might never, get over Amelia Bones…” Lily said, opening one of Remus’s chocolate bars. Sirius frowned, but said nothing. He’d get Remus more chocolate tomorrow. It would get him out of the house.

All evening, while talking with his friends, he waited. His skin crackled with the waiting.

Sirius slept alone. He hated it.

On the 34th day, Sirius finally finished the Old Midleton and went around to three liquor stores looking for a replacement. He blessed Uncle Alphard and his bank account when the shop owner rung him up for two bottles of the stuff. The shop owner had looked like Christmas had come early.

He went to Diagon Alley. He ate something. Probably.

Later, he felt very maudlin, and broke out his secret copy of The Carpenters’ The Singles 1969-1973, which he hid in the sleeve of a recording of Beethoven piano sonatas. He thought of Remus, and how they’d only just begun to live…

He fell asleep after listening to songs off at least 30 different albums.

The 35th day, he woke up, hid his Carpenters album, and went to brush his teeth. He almost choked on his toothpaste when he heard a key turn in the front door.

“Sirius?” Remus called.

Sirius practically apparated out of the bathroom, and held Remus so so close, almost as if he could hide Remus inside himself.

“Moony, Moony, Moony,” he cooed, his hands in Remus’s hair, pressing desperate kisses to his mouth, feeling Remus relax, melting against Sirius’s chest. “I’ve been so miserable without you.”

[thenovelartist]

Letters to Ladybug,pt 1

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~ AO3 ~ Fanfiction ~ Support me on Ko-Fi ~

This is a prize for a contest/late birthday present for @mini-minou who wanted to see a fairytale-esque story. So, she got this one ;) Hope you like it Mini!

Had you told Adrien that by the age of eighteen, he would fall in love with a girl he never met, he would have scoffed and shook his head at the absurdity. Yet, as the eighteen-year-old prince clutched her newest letter to his chest, staring out the window of his room, his mind mulling over the words that were so elegantly written on the page, he found that was precisely what had happened.

How this secret correspondence started was truly a mystery. He certainly wasn’t trying to start a correspondence when he hid his notebook full of poetry in No Man’s Forest between his kingdom and the adjoining one. It was to keep that embarrassing hobby from his father. However, two weeks later, when he returned to fetch it, there were notes hidden with it. The note had to have been written by a female if the paper decorated with ladybugs and perfumed with flowers were any indication. It had started with an apology for taking the book and reading it, hoping she did not cause trouble to him, yet that she found the poetry enthralling and wonderfully romantic.

His mother often teased him for being as curious as a cat, and in this instance, his intrigue was too high to simply walk away. He took the book back to his room, having discovered a place he knew his father would never find it, then proceeded to write a letter. He placed it as well as a copy of his newest poem in an envelope titled “For The Curious Ladybug” and hid it in the same spot he had hidden his poem book despite not knowing if she would ever return to the spot.

But she did.

Three years, their correspondence had gone on with a letter being exchanged once a week. He’d kept every single letter and drawing—she was an absolutely incredible artist—she’d ever sent him, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she, too, had a chest of his letters and poetry hidden in her room.

A knock from his door startled him out of his reverie. “Yes?”

“It’s Nino.”

Adrien relaxed. “Come in.”

The door opened, allowing his best friend to enter. He quickly spotted the letter in Adrien’s hand and gave a shake of his head. “Your lady love has responded?”

“Plagg just retrieved it for me,” Adrien confirmed.

Nino’s smile grew. “You are so smitten.”

“I can’t help it!” Adrien said, tossing his hands in the air with all the pent-up passion he had for this woman. “She’s incredible, Nino. She’s witty and clever and creative and—”

“Buddy,” Nino said, halting Adrien’s rant. “I know. I hear you argue in her favor all the time.”

Adrien sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “It’s just…” He shrugged, knowing if he said a word, he would launch into another rant.

“You haven’t even met her yet.”

“I don’t need to to know my feelings are real.”

Nino gave him a pitying smile. “I think your head is too far up in those clouds.”

“Well, you aren’t the only one,” Adrien mumbled. Plagg said the same thing. Constantly. The cranky knight was always complaining about going to fetch letters when Adrien couldn’t or how he had to listen to Adrien be a romantic sap.

“I think you should meet her before you determine that.”

His ears must have been deceiving him, for there was no way Nino would encourage such behavior. “If I could, I would, Nino,” he said. “In a heartbeat. Unfortunately, despite my wildest dreams, I doubt she would agree. She was the one who came up with the schedule so we would never see each other.”

“I know,” Nino assured, his tone belaying his exasperation. “She prefers to remain anonymous.”

Adrien nodded, turning toward the window once again.

“Which is why you’ll be happy the ball your father is determined to throw is a masquerade.”

His heart nearly stopped as he whipped around to face Nino once again.

His friend was smiling, something borderline cocky but mostly smug. “Ask her to meet you there.”

His heart skipped once, then twice. Hope suddenly bloomed in his chest. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? And at a masquerade, too. She was insistent upon not revealing herself, so she never would. Yet they could meet. They could talk in person. He could ask a question without having to wait a week for a response. He could dance with her, hold her, create poetry in person about her beauty.

For she was sure to be beautiful; he knew it.

Before Nino could say another word, Adrien was at his writing desk, hurriedly gathering the materials he needed to respond and ask her if she would do him the honor of meeting him at the masquerade. Whether she would agree to it or not was a mystery he preferred not to ponder over at the moment. He much preferred to lose himself in his writing.

…

Marinette felt as though she was floating on air. She wasn’t allowed to leave the castle today due to lessons she’d been postponing, so Tikki swore she would retrieve the letter for Marinette. She lived for these days, to read the letter her mysterious Chat Noir wrote to her. His poetry always sent her heart racing, and as of lately, his writings were about her and his love for her. How they could be so in love despite having never met, she didn’t know, but she would never question if their love was real.

A knock on the door startled her back to reality. “Marinette?”

She startled for only a moment before she recognized Tikki’s voice, which had her running to the door. “Yes?” she said, swinging the door open.

Tikki’s expression was pure delight as she extended an envelope to her.

With a squeal, Marinette snatched it and threw her arms around Tikki. “Thank you, Tikki. You are the greatest and I am forever I your debt.”

The young woman chuckled. “You’re quite welcome, Marinette,” she said, briefly returning the hug before putting Marinette back at arm’s length. “Now, go read it and tell me all about what scandalous poem he wrote you this time.”

Marinette felt her cheeks warm. “It wasn’t truly scandalous.”

Tikki hummed in challenge. “Clandestine meetings between two forbidden lovers?”

If Marinette’s face wasn’t ladybug red, she would be surprised. She had to chastise Chat Noir thoroughly in her last letter for that. It was almost too easy to picture the two of them together, dancing to the song of the night, fireflies lighting in tune with the chirping crickets, moonlight illuminating the features of her lover.

And that hadn’t been the most salacious part. She resisted the urge to press her fingers to her lips just recalling the way he’d written a kiss. She had been red to her chest after that.

Tikki giggled. “Let me read the poem and we’re even.”

“Fair enough,” Marinette quickly agreed before retreating into her room with Tikki in tow.

Settling down on her chaise lounge, Marinette wasted no time in opening the letter, pulling out the multiple pages. The poem was always first, and she always read it first.

Once to devour, twice to absorb, three times to truly appreciate.

“Considering your blush, it must be romantic.”

Lip between her teeth, Marinette bashfully looked up at Tikki. “It is.”

With a grin, Tikki extended her hand, and Marinette parted with the poem. Only then did she read his letter to her.

My Dear Ladybug,

I must apologize for letting my writings become indecent. It was not, nor is it ever, my intention to make you uncomfortable. Perhaps I let my feelings run away with me too far, so I humbly beg for your forgiveness.

Marinette bit her knuckle in shame, for it hadn’t been his writing that made her uncomfortable.

It had been the way she had wanted such affection from him.

She was almost sad how he swore he would temper his writings, but it was for the best he did. They were strangers in a sense, and wishing for a stranger to kiss her passionately while laying along the grass in the night was not acceptable for a princess.

She continued to read through the three-page letter he’d sent her, leaving as little out as he could. They had agreed to keep their identities secret, meaning that she had no idea of his station just as he had no idea of hers. The only thing she had to go off of was the quality of paper and how practiced his handwriting was. She could determine he was of the upper class, but nothing beyond that.

Finally, my dear ladybug, I have one last thing to ask of you. Seeing as I am uncertain you will even be able to grant me this wish, I write it hesitantly. In the Papillion Kingdom, there is to be a masquerade ball that will include most members of the upper class of both Papillion and Miraculous Kingdoms. I hope beyond the greatest of hopes you will be able to meet me there. It will afford you the secrecy you wish to keep, yet indulge me in my strong desire to meet you in person.

I will not lie to you by saying I will not be saddened if you cannot attend. Though I know you may realistically not be able to grant me my wish, my hope is still very high. Should you respond positively, I will be leaping with joy until the masquerade. There are few things more I want in the world than to be able to meet you in person.

With all my love, Chat Noir

Her heart was fluttering, and her cheeks were warm. She couldn’t temper down her smile at the thought of meeting him. While she had wanted to keep secret, she couldn’t deny her desire to meet him, too.

She was interrupted from her thoughts by the poem reappearing in front of her. Marinette took the page from Tikki and stacked it reverently with the letter.

“Marinette,” Tikki said with a sigh, “You should know I still don’t fully approve of this love letter writing, but for all that is good, his poetry is the finest I’ve ever read.”

Marinette giggled, her cheeks thoroughly pink. “Isn’t it, Tikki? It makes me feel warm inside.”

“As such writing should.” Tikki placed the back of her hand to her forehead in a mock faint. “Oh, tis so romantic.”

The girls shared a giggle before Tikki took her leave. “I know you have a very busy evening ahead of you, after all, responding to his letter. Just be sure not to stay up too late into the night. You have duties to attend to in the morning.”

“Thank you, Tikki.”

With a smile, Tikki shut the door behind her, leaving Marinette alone to respond to his letter.

…

Adrien walked out of his father’s office, his heart breaking into smaller pieces with each step. His father hadn’t done anything wrong this time around; Adrien was a prince, and it was his duty to protect the kingdom in any way he could. In this case, it meant forging an alliance between his kingdom and the Miraculous Kingdom.

And that was done through marriage.

Plagg met up with him as he walked through the halls to his room. The man was normally stoic and snarky, but he could always tell when Adrien was upset. “What happened?”

“I’m engaged to be married, apparently,” Adrien answered.

“To whom?”

“Princess Marinette, the sole heir of the Miraculous Kingdom.”

Plagg gave a single nod to show he heard.

“There are rumors of war going around,” Adrien said. “Not anyone waging war against us, but rather war between two kingdoms up north.”

“And I’m afraid I’ve heard those rumors, too,” Plagg confirmed. “A couple royal guests were complaining about it. Things are growing tense.”

“In order to stand a chance should things grow out of hand, we are allying with Miraculous to strengthen our army.”

Plagg simply nodded. “Understandable.”

The young men were silent as they marched into Adrien’s room. Plagg was quick to shut the door and pull an envelope from his black vest. “As ridiculous as this letter writing is, I think you’ll appreciate a distraction.”

Adrien looked at the letter, his heart beginning to flutter until he realized he would have to stop correspondence with her soon enough. It wouldn’t be proper for a married man nor would it be fair. He may not know Princess Marinette, but he would be a perfectly respectable husband to her.

He took the letter, though his heart was breaking into tinier pieces with each passing moment. “I can’t keep writing her.”

His admission, though quiet, was enough for Plagg to frown in sympathy. “I know. But what are you going to do if she accepted your invitation to meet?”

Adrien’s gut sank through the floor while his heart completely missed a beat. “I… I don’t know.”

Plagg gave him a pitying look. “You’ll think of something.” With that, he left Adrien in peace.

…

She had, in fact, accepted his invitation stating she was to be there, too and she couldn’t stand being in a room full of people knowing he was there yet not knowing who he was.

Which left him with the decision that he would meet her, spend a good portion of the night with her, and inform her that no matter how much it broke his heart, their correspondence would have to come to an end. He could only hope she would understand.

However, there was one catch to his plan. Namely, that his father had recently become insistent that Adrien spend the entire masquerade with Princess Marinette in order to get to know her better before the wedding.

“That,” Nino said, launching an arrow at the target, “places you between a rock and a hard place, my friend.”

Adrien nodded, absently noting how Nino’s recent shot put him in the lead. “I’m fully and dreadfully aware.”

Nino hummed in thought as Adrien set up his shot. “Maybe you could slip away long enough to meet her.”

“I don’t know,” Adrien said, right before he let the arrow fly. It struck the outside of the target, but Adrien couldn’t bring himself to care. “I don’t know how insistent this Princess Marinette will be to stay by my side. Furthermore, I fear my reputation will proceed me.”

Fiddling with his bow string, Nino grunted. “Possible. But it’s also possible this girl isn’t like Lady Bourgeois.”

“Or Lady Rossi.”

“Or Lady Raincomprix.”

“Or the countless other women who’ve made a hobby of throwing themselves at me.”

“To be fair,” Nino said. “You are a good-looking fellow who just happens to be in line for the throne.”

Adrien snorted. “Is it too much to ask a woman have some decency?”

While nocking his arrow, Nino hummed. “I don’t know much about women. It possibly could be.”

Adrien could only shrug while Nino sent his last arrow flying towards the center of the target.

With a winner’s grin, Nino turned back to Adrien. “Four rounds out of seven?”

Adrien snorted with a smirk. “I don’t think I’m up for it. I don’t think I was up for the first three.”

“You weren’t.”

“Some friend.”

Nino smirked.

With that, Adrien called the servants to clean up the arrows. “Thank you,” he and Nino both said when the men came to take their bows.

“My main fear,” Adrien continued once the two men were out of earshot of the servants, “is that Father is demanding I stay by Marinette’s side the entirety of the night. Even if this Princess Marinette lets me go, Father will not be happy. I doubt I’ll even get the chance to greet Ladybug.”

Nino hummed thoughtfully. “Knowing your father, I’m going to say that’s a very likely possibility.”

Adrien grunted his agreement.

“What if…” Nino paused in the hall to think. “What if I stole her away from you for a dance or two?”

“What if she’s stubborn and won’t go?”

“Who’s stubborn?”

The two men turned to see Plagg siding up to them.

“Adrien’s complaining about having to dance with Princess Marinette instead of his Ladybug.”

“How dare you betray me,” Adrien scowled at his friend, Plagg sniggering in the background.

“What is the issue?” Plagg asked, his amusement settling. “You don’t have to spend the entire night with her.”

“I might,” Adrien corrected. “And worse yet, Ladybug already agreed to meet me. She is already going to be attending the dance, so even if I tell her I cannot make it, it will be torture knowing that she is still there.”

“Shame you can’t be in two places at once,” Plagg snarked.

And that’s when inspiration struck. “But what if I could?”

Both his friends halted, meaning Adrien had to turn around to face them. “What?”

“Whatever plan this is, leave me out of it.”

Adrien frowned at his friends’ chorus. “Please, one night.”

“What do you even have planned?” Nino asked.

“I don’t think we want to know,” Plagg chimed in.

Nino then completely betrayed Adrien by nodding his agreement to Plagg.

“It’s a masquerade,” Adrien said. “Meaning that no one is truly going to know who’s behind the mask—”

“No,” Plagg quickly said. “No, no, no—”

“I never finished asking.”

“But I know you enough to know where you’re going with that thought and for the last time, no, I will not don a mask in your place.”

“Please, Plagg.”

“No.”

“And that’s a no for me, too,” Nino spoke up. “Not happening.”

“Ah, please,” Plagg dismissed. “Your skin tones don’t match. Even if Adrien did convince you, you’d be outed by his father immediately.”

Adrien scowled, meaning he really only had one option. “Plagg, please. I’ll never see her again.”

“You shouldn’t have started talking to the girl in the first place.”

“But I am, and now I asked her to come and she’s going to be there and there’s no way I’m not going to be able to not search for her and—”

“Buddy,” Nino interrupted. “Take a breath.”

Adrien did as told, biting his tongue for a good moment. “Please,” he begged.

Nino and Plagg exchanged a look before turning back to Adrien. “Look,” Plagg began. “Even if I agreed, that puts you in a bad position because there is no way the princess isn’t going to ask questions and start conversations. And then… what? I act like you best I can then she meets the real you that doesn’t recall anything that she talked about with you—rather, me—that night? There’s no way she’d believe it.”

Adrien frowned as his plan fell apart at the seams. He looked up at his friends: Plagg who was hiding a slight winner’s smirk and Nino who looked like he would beg Adrien to reconsider this whole scheme.

“What if…” he said, plan forming in his mind. “Nino, what if you went with him—”

“Why do you have to drag me into this?”

“Because I need you to convince the princess that Plagg is me and then vouch for me when we meet again outside the mask.”

Nino groaned, rubbing his hands down his face slowly. He mumbled something completely unintelligible before letting his hands drop. “We aren’t getting out of helping you, are we?”

“No,” Adrien said matter-of-factly.

With one last exasperated look exchanged between Plagg and Nino, they sighed. “Fine!”

“You guys are the best friends a man could ask for.”

…

Marinette felt numb. Some part of her mind recognized that the only thing keeping her upright was the fact she was leaning against the door to her room. Her breath came in long draws, not staccato bursts caused by near tears. It was as though she was in a trance she wasn’t going to surface from any time soon.

She was engaged to be married. To a man whom she’d never met.

Slowly, she sank to the floor, the world seemingly blurring away. Usually, meeting her parents was never an issue. They never asked anything severe of Marinette and were always immensely kind, but her stomach had tightened when she entered her father’s office only to see the pitying looks on her parents’ faces.

They told her she was to marry Prince Adrien of the Papillion Kingdom, the one across the way from No Man’s Forest. Her parents never wanted to force her into a union, however, their kingdom was small, as was the Papillion kingdom. They needed to unite if the rumors of war between two other kingdoms up north turned out to be true.

“We’re sorry,” they had repeated several times.

Despite her heart breaking and her stomach full of nerves, she had nodded. “I’ll do what is needed for my kingdom.”

And she would, even if it meant breaking off correspondence with a man who had somehow captured her heart.

A knock on the door startled her back to reality. “Marinette?”

Marinette gave a soft sigh of relief at the voice of Lady Alya, her closest friend. She forced herself to stand in order to answer the door. “Yes?”

Alya’s expression was sympathetic. “I heard everything,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

Marinette quickly tugged Alya into the room and shut the door.

“I hear Prince Adrien is a kind man,” Alya offered, forcing a pitying smile. “Handsome, too.”

“But does he write poetry?”

Alya’s expression fell again.

Marinette collapsed on her chaise lounge. “Worse yet, I am supposed to dance with this prince the entire masquerade even though I agreed to meet Chat Noir.”

Alya bit her lip, though quickly corrected the behavior she’d been scolded for many a time.

Marinette’s frown grew. “I wanted to meet him, Alya.”

“You already swore you would.”

“And I want to keep my word.”

Alya pursed her lips in thought. “We’ll figure out something,” she eventually said, voice full of determination that was so common for Alya. “Don’t you worry.”

Another knock on the door called their attention.

“Who goes there?” Marinette called out.

“It’s Tikki, your highness.”

“Come in, Tikki,” Alya called before Marinette could answer. “Please, and help us with something.”

Tikki entered the room, her brow already knit together in curiosity. “What’s wrong?”

“Marinette is arranged to be married.”

Tikki gasped, nearly dropping her tray of tea. “To whom?”

“Prince Adrien of the Papillion Kingdom,” Alya answered.

“Oh,” Tikki said, setting the tea tray down before she did drop it.

“But that’s not the main issue, Tikki,” Marinette said, sitting up from the chaise to look at her maid and close friend. “You know I already promised to meet Chat Noir at the ball.”

“But supposedly,” Alya finished, “she is supposed to dance with Prince Adrien for the night.”

“And I want to meet him,” Marinette continued. “I want to meet Chat Noir, but… but what if the prince insists we stay together the entirety of the evening? What if he won’t let me sneak away?”

“Surely, there’s a way,” Tikki insisted, her expression firm.

“We know there is. There has to be,” Alya said. “If we could only distract him with a dance, maybe.”

“Could I pass him off to you, Alya?” Marinette asked, hope suddenly filling inside her heart.

“A dance is hardly enough time,” Tikki said. “And Marinette promised to meet Chat Noir during the beginning of the night. Lastly, what if the prince is upset because he’s not dancing with Marinette. That would only sour the relationship between you and the prince.”

Alya scoffed. “If he’s upset he doesn’t get her the entirety of the night, that is not Marinette’s problem.”

“True,” Tikki admitted. “But this is the first impression. It has to be a good one.”

Alya frowned, tapping her finger to her lips in thought. “There has to be a way for Marinette to sneak off to meet him for the night and meet her masked ma—”

Marinette and Tikki regarded Alya curiously. “What is it?” Marinette asked, dread sinking in as she watched a smirk grow across her best friend’s face.

“What if,” Alya slowly spoke, her smirk growing more and more devious, “you don’t dance with the prince all night because we give him another ‘princess’ to dance with.”

“And where do you suppose we find another princess?” Tikki snipped sarcastically, her hands on canted hips and brow quirked challengingly.

“Not a real princess,” Alya said. “Just someone who could appear as one for the night.”

With a smug look, Alya stared at Tikki. And Marinette felt very lost as she looked back and forth between the two women.

In a flash, Tikki’s expression turned to horror. “No!” she said. “No, I am not going to pretend to be Princess Marinette.”

“For a night, Tikki,” Alya said. “And you’ll be wearing a mask, no one will know.”

“Oh please, Tikki,” Marinette begged, hope sparking within her. “Would you?”

“The prince won’t have it,” Tikki insisted, shaking her head.

“Not if I’m beside you the whole time making sure everyone believes you are the princess,” Alya said. “Trust me; nothing could go wrong.”

Instead of responding, Tikki leveled Alya with a doubtful glare.

“Tikki,” Marinette pleaded. “I’ll never get the chance to see him again. And I already gave him my word I would be there. I do not want his last memory of me to be believing me to be a liar who toyed with him. Please.”

While she stood with her arms crossed resolutely, Tikki’s resolve did not last long. She couldn’t argue with Marinette’s sad expression. “I’ll do it,” she relented. “Just because it’s you.”

With a squeal, Marinette leapt from the chaise lounge to engulf Tikki in a hug. “Thank you, Tikki!” she said. “I owe you all the cookies in the world.”

…

“I can’t believe you made me do this,” Plagg hissed at Adrien.

“And that I have to play along,” Nino mumbled.

“Quit your whining!” Plagg snapped. “You have the easy job of the two of us.”

“Stop it, both of you,” Adrien interrupted before the fight could intensify. “Honestly, you’re acting like children.”

Plagg whipped around to glare at Adrien. Or, so Adrien assumed. It was impossible to tell with the black mask Plagg wore.

“I owe you two for this,” Adrien said.

“And we’ll remind you until that debt is repaid,” Plagg growled.

Before any more bickering or complaining could arise, Adrien grabbed his friends’ shoulders to give them a thankful squeeze before disappearing out into the back gardens.

…

“Thank you again for this, Tikki.”

Fiddling with her dress, Tikki sighed. “It’s so fine,” she commented.

“Of course, it is,” Alya said, slipping on her mask, one that was colored a vivid orange and decorated with black and white designs. “You are supposed to be a princess for the evening.”

“Don’t worry, Tikki,” Marinette assured, grabbing her friend’s hands and giving them a reassuring squeeze. “Everything will be just fine.”

“I hope so,” Tikki said, worry clear in her tone. “I certainly hope so.”

…

Considering that he’d looked all over the expansive gardens and had yet to find one other person, Adrien knew he had to be the first to arrive. His Ladybug had not yet showed for the evening. Until she did, Adrien was certain his palms would be sweaty and heart would continue its rapid pace. It was odd how excited he was to see her, but tonight, he was nothing if not nervous. Why, he didn’t know. This was his Ladybug, the woman who brightened his day—nay, his week—with sweet letters and lovely drawings. His favorite had been a dancing couple, simply because he could easily see it being them.

And tonight… tonight, it would.

But his heart sank because he knew he would have to tell her tonight that this would be their one and only meeting. That after tonight, their correspondence would be no more. He would have to tell her of his arranged engagement, but he wouldn’t until the end. Tonight was a night he was determined to enjoy.

“Chat Noir?”

His heart may have been galloping before, but now it was completely stopped. He was frozen, rendered useless by his nickname said by the sweetest of voices coming from behind him.

He forced himself to move, to look behind him, only to discover a petite lady in a red dress that made her skin look particularly milky in the moonlight. Her hair was piled on her head in thick, black curls that gleamed blue. It was truly a shame her eyes were covered by an ornate red mask. He was desperate to know what color they were.

However, that thought only lasted a second, because his next thought was just how similar the red of her mask was to the red of her lips.

He forced himself to swallow. “My Ladybug?”

Those lips curled up into a smile that made his knees week. He’d only written about such reactions, but to experience them himself, to be at his Ladybug’s mercy…

It was a whole new experience.

“’Tis a pleasure,” she said, her voice gentle and sweet and smooth, “to finally meet you in person.”

That voice would ring in his head for years, he was certain of it. “The pleasure, my lady,” he said, taking her hand in both of his, bowing low over it, “is all mine.”

He then pressed a kiss to her knuckles and swore she gasped at the contact. But then again, it was entirely possible his ears were playing tricks on him.

He better keep his heart in check tonight because he knew if he wasn’t careful, this woman would end up stealing it, whether it was her intent or not.

…

Marinette laughed as he guided her around the gardens with surprising ease. She discovered he was light on his feet. It was the second thing to have discovered about him, the first being he was very handsome with his golden hair and well-tailored black suit. Even though his mask was stunning as well, different from the typical domino mask worn by men at masquerades, she found herself sorely disappointed that it covered his eyes. How she wished to see what color they were.

However, his looks or dancing ability or even his heart pounding poetry had nothing on his tongue. She quickly discovered that it was the one thing she had to be immensely careful about. Her heart couldn’t take his constant teasing or his flirting. And his voice.

Oh, his voice.

Smooth and rich and happy. So happy.

Her heart was already captivated, she knew. And breaking it at the end of the night would be torture. She made it a point not to look at the clock tower, but she knew their time would be over far too quickly.

Far, far too quickly.

“My lady, what is the matter,” he purred, concerned. His hand gently guided her jaw so she would be forced to look at him. “Your smile is so lovely. Why the frown?”

It was a struggle not to bite her lip. They had barely been together an hour, yet he already knew her. “Nothing,” she assured. “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

He looked at he skeptically. “Only if the lady insists,” he said, his tone proving he was not convinced.

“I do,” she said, forcing on a smile. “Now, lead me around once more before we go exploring.”

“Exploring?” he asked, the curious lit in his voice so alluring.

“Yes,” she said, smile widening. “I do have a penchant for gardens, particularly at night. They take on a whole new life in the moonlight.”

“The flowers close, though, do they not?”

“Not all of them,” she said. “And the ones that don’t, they look striking in the cool tone of the moon.”

His smile was another very dangerous thing about him. It would be far too easy to get used to that smile. “An artist through and through.”

She grinned. “You truly enjoy the drawings, then?”

“Very much so,” he assured. “I keep them protected and safe, for such a collection of works should be preserved to the best of my ability.”

“You preserve them?” she asked, surprised.

“With every last one of your letters.”

Her heart was pounding, and her head was light. Heaven help her, she just might pass out at his confession. He kept them. Just like she kept his, he kept hers.

“What caused you to become a poet?” she asked, hoping to direct the conversation elsewhere.

He smiled. “My mother,” he answered. “She loved poetry, but never took the time to write it. So I began writing it for her. Even after she passed, I couldn’t contain myself. It was my escape, even though my father disapproved of the activity entirely. Thank goodness for a friend who warned me to hide my poetry before my father discovered them in my room. And…” he trailed off, looking at her with what she would guess was reverence. “And I was blessed enough that my hiding spot led me to you.”

Her heart was in her throat, and she forced herself to swallow. “You weren’t upset with me, were you? I know you said you weren’t but you could have lied to me.”

His smile widened. “No, I was never upset with you. I couldn’t be, not when you validated me as a poet. My new favorite hobby had become writing poems for you, my lady.”

She was certain she was blushing.

The song floating faintly from the castle came to an end, and she and Chat bowed to each other, as was custom.

“Come,” he said, reaching out to take her hand. “I know the garden’s well. I’ll guide you.”

“Thank you, Chat Noir.”

The resulting smile caused her own to grow. “Anything for you, my lady.”

…

Adrien wanted to curse the clock, the one that was showing how little time they had left together.

Ladybug was nothing short of miraculous. If he wasn’t engaged, he would have proposed to her on the spot. He would have begged her to let him see her eyes, to take off her mask so he could know what she looked like when she smiled. Even if she wouldn’t grant him that wish, he’d thoroughly enjoy the push and pull teasing that would transpire between them.

Alas, he wouldn’t ask. He couldn’t. Meeting her, he determined, was hard enough knowing he had to end their possible romance tonight, all correspondence along with it.

“Chat Noir,” Ladybug spoke up, her voice still so sweet but hinting at nervousness.

“What is it, my lady?” It was a struggle to bite back his urge to call her his love. She was a ladybug, as evidenced by her red dress with black accents, but she had to at least be a lady. That title was appropriate and therefore created a distance. One not afforded with the endearment ‘my love’.

Because she would never be.

“I…” she paused, looking away before finding the strength to look back at him. “It is with deep regret that I tell you this.”

His heart sank. “What is it?”

She sighed, clearly gathering her courage. “I answered your letter with the desire to meet you,” she began. “To know who the man behind the poems was. However, days after I responded, my parents informed me that they… they arranged a marriage for me.”

His heart clinched. The fact that he, too, was engaged wasn’t lost on him, and he found it now as good of a time as any to admit it. “Then, that makes my unfortunate news easier to bear,” he began. “For I, too, have just been arranged to be married. I only discovered very recently, after I had already invited you to meet me.”

Her smile was bitter, a look he did not like on her. “Then what an unfortunate coincidence,” she determined. “That both of us must cease our correspondence.”

He nodded. “It broke my heart when I discovered it. Your letters were the highlight of my week. The thought of loosing it will be so disappointing.”

“Likewise,” she agreed. “I’ll miss your poetry, severely. You are such an incredible writer. Your poetry was always full of the sweetest romance. I’ve never read anything like it. But, it seems fate was cruel and the only poetry of yours I will ever read again is the poetry I’ve stored under my bed.”

His heart leaped. “You mean… you mean you’ve kept it?”

Her smile was one he wished to kiss. “Of course,” she said. “I couldn’t bear parting with it. Not then, and not now. They are my own collection that I will treasure forever.”

His heart swelled with pride and adoration for this woman. This beautiful woman he wanted to have for his own but knew he couldn’t.

“I suppose, then,” Ladybug continued. “This is good-bye.”

No. He didn’t want it to be, no matter how right she was. He looked at the clock again, then listened to the music floating from the castle. “No,” he said, standing from their seat. He extended a hand to her. “Grant me one last dance, my lady, before our good-byes become official.”

She looked at his outstretched hand long enough for the last few notes of the song to come out into the night. Just when he thought she was going to turn him down, she gave him a smile and placed her small, soft hand in his. “How could I refuse?”

…

Marinette was a coward. Truly. After that song ended, she was too scared to leave him and therefore granted him one last dance. And when the time came for them to part, she nearly ran from him.

But he stopped her.

“Grant me one last wish before midnight,” he begged.

She couldn’t say no. “What?” she asked, her voice week and whispery.

“What color are your eyes?” he asked. “I’ve been desperate to know all night, and I thought I could resist, but I was wrong.”

She wanted to know his, too. She wanted to know what color eyes she’d been staring at this entire night, but she couldn’t allow herself to be privy to such knowledge. She couldn’t. For her own sake.

“Blue.”

The clock chimed midnight, breaking the spell between them, and she ran.

She ran even though her heart was breaking with each step and tears wanted to spill over.

She avoided the ballroom. Instead, she scurried through the halls of the Papillion castle, her new home, and to the room that would become her own. The one that was connected to Prince Adrien’s room.

Tears threatened to spill over, and she barely made it to her room before they did. Ripping off her mask, she tossed it onto the bed, then leaned against the door, slid down it, and let her tears overtake her.

[lordsister]

The Color Red (Isaac Foster x Reader) Flower Shop AU!

Bandaged fingers spun the narrow stem of a spider lily slowly to and fro, the movement just as sinister as the spin of a knife or the cocking of a gun. The world outside the small flower shop was just beginning to wake up, more and more people appearing on the streets as they went about their daily lives, yet mismatched eyes remained trained on the ominous flower, contemplating, scheming, planning.

The shop was completely still except for the repeated motion of the spinning flower. Back, forth, back, forth. Zack knew he would have to open the shop soon, but not yet. It wasn't time yet.

There was one reason and one reason only that Zack was still running this damn shop and that   reason wouldn't make her appearance for another fifteen minutes. Considering how much patronage the shop received, he could have closed it and skipped town long ago, but for a single person who he just couldn't figure out.

After some blind old man he'd known for a week had left him the shop after kicking the bucket, Zack had decided to manage the shop because he figured he had nothing better to do. What else was there for a scarred orphan with no education and a questionable mental state? Besides, the old man had taken care of him- a strange child with obvious blood on his hands- without question, thereby earning Zack's loose sense of indebtedness. The least he could do was keep running the old man's smelly shop.

He'd quickly discovered that growing flowers was harder than it seemed. Zack was good at killing, the exact opposite of keeping things alive. Selling them was fine, people really liked flowers for some reason he didn't care to understand, but making them grow was nearly impossible...until he realized something.

He could only grow red flowers.

Maybe it was because they could sense his bloodlust and savagery, but any other kind of flower died. Only red flowers lived. And he had to admit it suited him.

Here he stood, a bandaged figure surrounded by flowers the color of blood, as a strange bubbling sensation swelled in his chest, bringing a shit-eating grin to his lips. His eyes sparked dangerously and he couldn't have contained the mad laughter that erupted from somewhere deep in his lungs even if he wanted to, which he didn't. The sound tore a hole through the previous silence and a shiver went through the flowers around him in revelry, petals glowing in the morning light slanting into the shop.

A few moments later, left panting and hungry, Zack turned toward the door and opened it, flipping the chipped sign hanging on a peg from "closed" to "open." Just in time, as he caught sight of you making your way up the street, the sunlight shimmering in your hair. Black and gold eyes took in your figure eagerly, greedily. You seemed to sense his gaze on you, looking up with a doe-like expression before smiling brightly and waving, picking up your pace as you made your way toward him.

His blood sung at the sight of you and that expression reserved for him alone, and Zack smiled back, just as happy to see you, a tingling, nervous, violent energy spreading through his body.

The stem of the spider lily still in his hand snapped between his fingers.

"They're beautiful, Zack," you murmured softly, bending over a bucket of roses. He watched intently as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

"You think so?" he scoffed, truly not understanding why people liked flowers so much. Sure, they looked pretty for five minutes, but then they died. Crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the counter, Zack continued to study you.

He'd known you for years now. Every morning you would stop by his shop on your way to work at a cafe nearby. And not once had you said anything about his bandages or asked him about his past. Anyone else who had ever seen him had immediately been put off by his intimidating look and walked the other way...or else tried to "help" him and regretted it.

Zack didn't give a rat's ass about other people, but you were different. Over time, he had come to see you as, well, his. Your daily visits were the only thing he actually looked forward to in this blood-stained, twisted life of his.

Few things in his life were truly beautiful, but he considered you to be one of them.

Straightening, you turned your gaze away from the flowers, meeting his relentless stare with a inquisitive tilt of your head. "Zack? Is something wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?"

He continued to look at you as he answered, "What are you talking about, idiot? This is how I always look at you."

Head still cocked to the side, a "hmm" escaped your closed lips as you continued to meet his gaze unflinchingly. Yet another thing about you Zack couldn't figure out. How you could hold his stare.

For a split second there was a shift in the atmosphere of the shop, not a romantic shift or a shift in tension, but a shift in secrecy. Like glancing a phantom, something big, something dangerous slipped into view and disappeared just as quickly.

Zack didn't have time to dwell on it as you blinked and turned away, breaking the spell. When you met his gaze again, a rose in your hand, there was a shadow in your eyes, a shadow that unnerved him...

Clicking his tongue, Zack flipped the sign on the door from "open" to "closed." He hadn't gotten a lot of business today, but frankly he didn't care. All he had wanted to think about was the strange moment he had shared with you that morning. He had always considered you as something fragile, innocent, naïve, but that look in your eyes...said otherwise. That look was all too familiar to him, reflected back at him from his own eyes every time he happened to see himself in a mirror or window.

Consumed by his own thoughts, he hadn't even realized how much time had passed until he blinked and found himself sitting in complete darkness, not even having turned on a light or lit a candle.

Damn, he was in a bad mood. He didn't want to go back to his shitty little cabin feeling like this. He wanted to destroy tonight, to feel the rush of his blood in his veins, to wreak havoc on this godforsaken world that hadn't shown a single bit of mercy to him from the day he was born.

Grabbing a very particular weapon he had acquired some months ago from the back room, he tore off his ragged apron, donning a brown jacket and immediately drawing up the hood. He didn't even care to lock the door of the shop behind him, deciding simply to flip the little wood panel, but before he could take a single step he heard the distinct crash of a trash can being knocked over.

A wild light in his eyes, he turned at the sound of a possible victim, teeth exposed in a wicked smile. Shadows moved out of the circle of light cast by a street light, two hulking black figures dragging a third, smaller, struggling figure down the street. A panicked scream for help echoed down the silent street and Zack blinked, the voice he knew so well echoing in his ears. His smile dropped into a snarl, a growl ripping through his chest and his vision turning red. If there was one person he needed to protect it was his person.

He took off, boots pounding the pavement and scythe held at the ready, as you were dragged into an alley. A bloodlust stronger than any he'd felt before took control of his limbs, his blood rushing uncontrollably. It only took a few seconds for him to reach the mouth of the alley, his mind consumed with malicious intent, but it was long enough for the distinct scent of blood to fill his nostrils. His heart stopped beating for a moment, his rage reaching a peak, but when he peered into the alley, thinking it was too late, he pulled up short. Gold and black eyes went wide as everything Zack had thought and expected was flipped on its head, the foundations of his already unstable world shaken.

The men he'd seen drag you into the alley were lying in growing pools of their own blood, torn open, their faces frozen in stunned looks of horror and fear. You stood in the middle of the mess, blood-soaked and trembling with a knife in your hand, your breath coming in gasps. For a moment, Zack thought you were shaking because you were scared, but when you looked up, your eyes meeting his in the moonlight, he realized he couldn't have been more wrong. The light in your eyes was a perfect complement to that in his own. There wasn't the least amount of fear, your body like a live wire as it hummed with an excited energy.

Zack couldn't help but think how beautiful you looked like this, proud, strong, confident.

A gasp escaped your lips as you registered his presence, reigning yourself in, the deadly light snuffing out. Your mouth opened and closed a couple of times before you finally looked down, features marred by shame. "I didn't want you to see me like this."

Zack could barely hear it over the roaring of his own blood, your words barely a whisper, but he ignored it even so. Something about the way you hung your head, the way you hid your blood-stained hands, the way you hadn't told him you possessed this side of yourself all these years pissed him off to no end.

"Zack-"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" He didn't yell, his voice low, husky, dangerous. "All these years and you never told me about this?" The blade of his scythe hit the ground, cracking the concrete. "ARE YOU SHITTING ME?!" You didn't flinch, didn't shy away from him, just stood there, silent, as he panted harshly. "WHY?! WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?!"

Your hair shadowed your eyes. "...Because this side of me isn't right, Zack." You gestured at the gore around you. "How is this right?"

He scoffed. "Not right my ass. It's you, isn't it? How could it be anything but right?!"

"How can we live in a world like this if this is right?" You chuckled humorlessly, your shoulders slumping in exhaustion. "I'm so tired of living as half of who I am, Zack."

"Then let's leave."

You looked at him, blinking wide eyes. "What?"

He strode closer to you, scythe dragging behind him. "Leave with me, (y/n). Let's go live the way that's right for us in this damn world, just you and me." He reached a bandaged hand out to you, holding your gaze.

You swallowed. "I thought you would think less of me because of this."

He quirked a smile. "I'm just as blood-stained as you are, (y/n). Besides..." His voice dropped, his grin taking on a possessive tilt. "You're mine. I'm not going to let you go."

When he pulled back, still offering you his hand, he couldn't help the shiver of excitement that went down his spine as the savage light re-entered your eyes. Without a hint of doubt, you reached out and took his hand. "Let's burn it down, Zack."

He pulled you close, an idea forming in his mind. "I know where to start."

Residents of the town watched, shocked and entranced, as firefighters desperately tried to put out a blaze that had quickly consumed a small flower shop on a street corner, but no matter how much they tried to put the flames out the fire only grew.

A few blocks away, a woman screamed upon discovering two bloody corpses in an alley, a crowd gathering in horrified curiosity as police arrived on the scene, trying the maintain order in both locations as whispers of wild criminals on the loose spread as quickly as the fire through the town.

A few people brought up the matter of where the owner of the flower shop was, but no one seemed to know who he was. Even if they had they wouldn't have been able to find him.

He was already far away with his precious blood-stained angel. Never to return.

Inside the blazing flower shop, wreathed in sickly sweet smoke, a spider lily's spindly petals caught fire and burned.

Painted in the color red.

A/N: I love Zack so much and he needs more love!<33 I do not own Angels of Death or any of its characters. I do own the plot of this fic. Thank you for reading!

[sunshinewhale]

an oxeye daisy

he loves me, he loves me not.

pairing: minhyuk x reader  pov: unnamed reader, second person, mostly past tense

genre: angst  word vomit: ~2800

warnings: i’m just writing the same stuff in different words and different situations. lol.

notes: not proofread. i was trying to do something small and short and quick but it turned into a monster. this was only supposed to be ~500 words.

Autumn wind caresses your skin with soft chills, but it pales in comparison to the frozen wasteland in your empty chest. It’s numb. The playground before you is flowing with youth and joyful screams of delight. It’s not as contagious as you thought it would be.

A child comes up to you. She clutches a tangled garden of flowers in her chubby hands, and specks of dirt glitter on her dress coat. Shyly, she offers one out to you. Your numbness thaws a little at the way her small baby fingers are clumsy and unpracticed.

You smile and thank her, taking the flower by the stem. You twirl it in your fingers and tell her it’s pretty and that she’s even prettier. The child beams with unrestrained glee and runs back towards the playground with a bounce in her steps.

Your sight focuses on the flower again, and it’s anything but pretty.

It’s withering. The stem is crumpled and bent horribly out of shape. The petals are carelessly smushed, discoloured and ruined at the tips. It was well on the way to death’s door before it was unearthed from its roots in the name of childish innocence.

A wild wave of nostalgia overcomes you. You wish you could to return to the honeyed fairy tales of childhood, when you didn’t understand how something as good and pure as love could ruthlessly maim beating hearts.

You run your finger over the wispy petals, and gingerly pluck one off.

He loves me.

And another.

He loves me not.

Another.

He loves me.

Minhyuk burst into your life on a somber spring day. He had carried the sun on his shoulders like he was meant to illuminate your starless sky.

You were strangers, then. At best, friends of friends, though you weren’t really sure what Kihyun considered Minhyuk to be.

That didn’t stop him.

He was so alight with life. He glowed with the watercolours of sunrise and the universe seemed to bloom into existence under his fingertips. He chattered on about anything and everything, weaving a unique melody of thrill and mischief that tickled your ears. The world excited him, the ordinary amazed him, and he wanted to share his exhilaration with you. It was annoying, but it was so annoyingly endearing.

“You don’t understand! Listen to me,” he said breathlessly, wonderstruck and awe thrumming in his voice. “We’re in such a boundless galaxy with years and years of history and look! We’ve meet here, in the same time and at the same place! That’s a miracle in itself! Wouldn’t it be such a shame if we don’t become friends?”

You remember feeling something in your wary heart stir, for the first time. Minhyuk had made a mere crack at the edge of your steel fortress, but it was enough for a trickle of his warmth to seep through and reach the slumbering eros beneath.

He loves me not.

Sworn to secrecy under the velvet moon, he confided that you weren’t exactly his type. Not that he really had a type, he hurried to explain, because types are such an inflexible concept and everyone is worth loving anyway, but he was furiously drawn to people who painted their souls vividly with emotion and wore vulnerability like golden armour.

You wore it like weakness.

He had thought you were solid diamond. Almost too unapproachable, too stiff, too aloof, too alike Kihyun. The lover in him ached, throbbing at the far distance you had withdrawn into yourself. He wanted to show you the magic the world hid in plain sight, but he had only meant to become your friend. He had a difficult time with guarded hearts that refused to flower in the sincerity of spring.

He loves me.

But then, he confessed, he saw how he made you smile for the first time, so silently sweet because you thought he wasn’t watching, and he fell just a little bit in love. He coaxed you to laugh for the first time and he fell a little bit harder. His heart swelled to the heavens and it couldn’t decide between skipping beats or beating faster when he began to realize how effortless your smiles and your laughter came for him, and only for him. Like the North star dazzling amongst billions of other identical stars, he felt so, so special.

One day, he watched you as your eyes hooked onto him in a sea of strangers. He watched as your face lit up in an indescribable, iridescent glow and the way your lips smoothly curled upwards in unrestrained beauty, and he fell completely, utterly, hopelessly.

“It was so enchanting, I couldn’t control it at all,” he breathed love against your lips, “I thought, we were definitely meant to be more than friends. I yearned to become yours.”

You placed your fingers over the heat of his heart, and you traced your name on his moonlit skin, as if you were searing it into memory.

“Is this mine, then?”

“Only yours,” he took your hand into his, and kissed his declaration into your soul as the night and all its stars bore witness, “and don’t you dare give it back.”

He loves me not.

You had hardened the outer layers of your heart into stone because you wanted to protect yourself against the dangers of unbridled passion, of loving and being loved in return. Minhyuk had given himself to you in sweet surrender, but you were reluctant to throw yourself in wholly. Just the very idea of loving entirely, emotionally, unconditionally, had always been difficult for you.

But Minhyuk made it so ridiculously easy.

He settled into your daily life as naturally as the sun rose at dawn and set at dusk. Whale-shaped cushions made themselves home on your couch, another coffee mug in the kitchen, an extra toothbrush in the bathroom. You fell into silken bedsheets with him each night, and you woke up to his handsomeness each morning. You were budding, bountiful and bright, allowing your roots to tangle with his as you bloomed thornless red roses and white ivy without poison.

You had stars in your eyes, and you were drowning in everything about Minhyuk.

His adorable uneven blink. The husky pitch of his voice. The precious crinkles of his eyes. The puppy-like curve of his smile. His large, warm hands.

His laughter was pure sunshine after the rain. He kissed like fresh dewdrops sparkling on the grass during sunrise, and embraced you securely like the way the summer sea hugged the horizon. His silly antics brightened even the bleakest of your days, and you’ve never felt so saturated with colour.

Minhyuk almost had you entirely. Almost. You were barely able to hold a small part of yourself back, but your sanity demanded you to do it. It was your last line of defence, your last hope before the ground underneath you gave way to raw vulnerability. It was small enough that it would’ve been inconsequential, but like everything else about you, he had noticed.

“You’re so enduringly careful, so cautious,” he asked into the dim light of the rising morning, “have you been hurt before?”

You tensed. Your shoulders curled into yourself out of defense, and unconsciously, you turned away from him slightly.

“No, but I’m afraid of being hurt. My heart is weak, and if I hurt I will shatter and I won’t know how to pick up the pieces and put myself back together,” your half-whispers had barely sounded in the soft silence, “that makes me afraid of you, too.”

He pulled you into his arms to unravel you, to undo the insecure knots you had wound yourself into. Minhyuk touched his forehead against yours, patiently coaxing you to look at him, and with little resistance, you locked onto his unwavering gaze.

You had nearly forgotten how to breathe.

His pupils were crystal clear and unbearably sincere. You saw endless love reflected in them, and then, you saw yourself.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he sweared, and his voice promised you eternity, “I’ll be careful, too. I won’t hurt you.”

He paused, body stilling. His eyes widened round, like he suddenly had a life-changing revelation.

“Oh my god, I would even eat a cucumber for you.”

Minhyuk had made a face, his nose scrunched in disgust as if the very thought of eating the cursed vegetable brought him pain. You remember your fear washing away into the unknowns of the ocean, genuine fondness bubbling in its place as you promised you would never subject him to such cruelty.

He loves me.

Without even trying, he left his traces on your forever.

He was the love you dreamed about in childish fantasies, the one that lived in every fairytale and every myth, every legend. The love that made mere mortals defy gods, destroyed kings and brought great empires to war and to fall into ruin. He was the love that made miracles that you could never even imagine, happen.

And miracle, he did. Minhyuk made quick work and smoothly demolished down every last barrier that shielded your heart from the world. He didn’t leave a single brick behind in his wake. Your heart was beating naked on your sleeve, bearing his name in bolded love letters.

Your heart was so in bliss you could barely contain yourself.

“I was so reserved, Minhyuk, wasn’t it hard? I think I was hard to love.”

He chuckled at your query, a mischievous glint in his laughter as he teased, “I’m not going to lie, you’re still a little hard to love. I’m amazing, I know.”

You pouted, and amusement shook his shoulders. Adoration oozed from his entire being as he patted your cheek like he was consoling a spoiled child, but the slight scrunch of his brow told you he was giving it some serious thought.

“It was a little hard, but the hardest thing was convincing you to let me love you. Compared to that, loving you came so, so easily.”

He cradled your face as if he was holding the most precious treasure in his hands. His eyes lowered as his voice grew tender, “but you know, when I saw the beginnings of love in your eyes, I knew it was worth everything. “

“You’re worth everything,” he repeated, and his lips found yours.

He loves me not.

Spring came to an end. Spring always came to an end.

On the water’s surface, there wasn’t a single flaw. Stars never stopped twinkling in your eyes whenever you caught his gaze, and you were constantly a crisp reflection in his. Kihyun had begun to joke about being invited to your summer wedding. Minhyuk was beyond delighted that someone else saw you so clearly in his future, and you took the idea as naturally as the changing season. Love firmly rooted you two together, and in unending selflessness, both of you would do anything for each other.

Maybe, there were warning signs hanging in the air all along, like small ripples that sailors paid no mind. Maybe, the hazy promises of love had made you two both willfully blind.

Minhyuk was the perfect child of fate and destiny, and you were the other side of the coin, ingrained in choice and chances. His heart was big and his love limitless, he gave too much and at times, it felt too intense. There was too much to bear. On your worst days, you wanted him to give less, to meet your needs halfway and give you a chance to breathe. You didn’t mind suffocating in his soul, but you were new in your steps and you had just learned to trust yourself in the hands of another. For you, this territory was unfamiliar, still strangely foreign. He mistook that for doubt because you didn’t feel secure enough in his embrace, so he gave you even more.

Maybe, that was your downfall.

He loves me.

You knew Minhyuk would never leave you because he had promised you forever, and that was simply an absolute truth. Every last cell in his body was willing to follow you in eternal vow, everything else be damned.

You are worth everything, his words had echoed in your mind.

No matter what Minhyuk thought, you weren’t everything. 

You couldn’t be everything. 

So beneath, the current was turbulent. In a book of relationships, there was a page you two just couldn’t agree on. He continued to pour his love onto you until his veins were dry and his pulse was weak with exhaustion, and he still insisted it wasn’t enough. Because you understood Minhyuk and his good intentions, you let his love fill you until it ached raw and wounded. You readily endured it even though the fullness bruised you, the blood underneath your skin silently screaming too much.

Like a sluggish toxin, love’s name gradually became weary and loving put a heavy strain on both of you. However much you and Minhyuk were willing, you knew it wasn’t right. The flowers of your roses began to wilt, but the vines thrived, growing sharp thorns. Your ivy buds shrivelled, feeding sickeningly sweet poison instead of honey nectar.

You knew, then.

When the sun dipped below the skyline and it began raining on the last day of spring, you murdered his beating heart.

“We’ve been trying too hard, Minhyuk, maybe we’re meant to just be friends.”

Your eyes had already been wet before the words even left you. Fear settled into the lines of his face as he reached out for you, to console you, to hold you and deny you of what he knew you intended to do. He tucked your head into the curve of his neck, and his fingers curled into you desperately like you would disappear if he let you go.

The comfort of his warmth broke you, and in a shuddering breath, you grieved in his arms. Your tears burned stains into his skin, and in an instant, you felt new wetness that didn’t belong to you.

“No, no, no, don’t cry,” his voice cracked, and his hands shook as they cradled your face, “you can’t cry because of me.”

Then Minhyuk had cried too, until his eyes turned bloodshot and his throat was hoarse with heartbreak.

“I love you,” he sobbed, “I’m sorry I ended up hurting you, I’m sorry I wasn’t careful enough, I’m so sorry—”

“You were careful. You didn’t hurt me. Maybe, it just hurts to love, but I chose to love you regardless,” you kissed his watery eyelids and ignored the sting of fresh tears at the back of your eyes, “I know you’ve been hurting too. We did our best.”

The sound of his weeping heart rang in your ears. It didn’t want to let go, and in all the truths of the universe, neither did you. 

One of the truths deafened you to his pain, gripped your hand and forced you to go.

What you want isn’t always what you need, the truth had said, what he wants isn’t always what he needs.

Minhyuk had promised he would never hurt you, and it was you that made him a liar.

He loves me not.

You had blinked, and autumn arrived at your doorstep.

Your life seems even bleaker than when you first met him. Your vision is colourless and your eyes cannot adjust to the vibrancy of the warm tones of harvest. All you can think of are of wilted leaves, barren trees, and dying flowers that have been robbed of too much time.

The skies are thick with cloudy misery, and the mornings are starting to darken into longer nights. You hardly see sunlight on the sidewalk, nowadays.

Even if it’s somewhere else, you hope the sun is still shining.

He loves me.

You hope he’s alright. 

You hope the gaping wound you left him as a parting gift has healed.

He loves me not.

You hope he has his head held high and he’s found light and life in autumn.

He loves me.

(He deserves to be happy, more than anyone else.)

He loves me not—

Your fingers tremble.

There’s a single petal remaining, limply hanging on the flower in your hands.

He loves me.

Bitterness claws up your throat and you can’t help but smile dryly at the cruelness of the universe. Familiar wetness stings your eyes and you breathe away the urge to cry.

You’ve should’ve known better than to think just loving would be enough.

The petals scattered at your feet look like fragmented pieces of memories from your spring. You watch as the autumn breeze picks up and carries them away.

You crouch down and carelessly cover the flower and the lone petal with loose earth. You bury Minhyuk and his starry kisses and sunlit smiles. You bury the what ifs and the maybes and the it could have beens.

It doesn’t matter, anymore.

His shattered heart is already six feet under.

[dumbledore-and-grindelwald]

Dumbledore and Snape:

-Both Dumbledore and Snape lived in an unhealthy familial environment. Albus because of his sister’s condition and his father’s imprisonment and absence and Snape because of his father’s hatred for wizards and because of his mother (if not himself too) being abused by him.

-Both were quite talented and explored magic in ways that few people of their age would have been able to follow.

-Both had friends but, because of their psyche, were still quite isolated on an emotional level; with few exceptions.

-Both fell for their best friends.

-Both got entranced by a dark wizard and broke out of it because of the death of a person they loved.

-Both had a plausible reason that lead them down that road: Dumbledore did not hate muggles but the wizards taking their rightful place would allow of incidents like the one that ruined his family to not be tolerated and they would have a chance at justice. Snape hated them because his first impression of them was through a father who discriminated his mother and his disdain for him probably expanded on his entire kind.

-Based on what we know, both remained celibate after they lost the love of their life.

-Both dedicated their life to a certain cause and died in service of it; partly as a way to cope with their regrets.

-Both of them were cut off the thing that tempted them (power and dark magic respectively) on a direct level, but they also kept dancing around it in other ways and still managed to keep themselves grounded and to not fall into all habits.

-Both of them are heroes because of this sacrifice. Many fans question it but a person can be a hero because he makes sacrifices and aims to help their society even if said person is not good and may even treat people badly on a personal level.

Their main difference lies in their approach to people:

Dumbledore always cared about those who were mistreated and became outcasts merely because the society did not care enough to understand them. He never stood for discrimination. He was a loving person even when his arrogance could cloud his judgment. On the other hand Snape was a person whose bitterness ate away at him and poisoned his feelings for other people and his behavior towards them; he hated muggles because he hated his muggle-father; he hated Harry –even though he kind of cared despite himself- because he hated James; he hated Griffyndor more than any other house because he had connected the house to negative experiences.

While both were trying to redeem themselves to an extent, Dumbledore was driven by his love for the Wizarding World while Snape was driven by his love for one person; Lily. However, even he starts to care about other people dying and he tries to prevent them from being harmed. The way he behaves to honor Lily eventually starts affect his beliefs. On the other hand, Dumbledore cannot escape the secrecy and the mistrust that he learned through Kendra in his young life and despite his plans aiming for the best for the people involved, the fact that he recruits them without giving them the full picture is a form of manipulation and it’s questionable. Interestingly, Dumbledore’s main fault is one that Snape does not share. He hid information but he did not ‘use’ people. Even when it comes to Lily he never manipulated her by lying about his ideals.

At the end of the day I think that Dumbledore and Snape are two sides of the same coin, which is further emphasized by the fact that one person ends up carrying the name of both.

[aethelar]

Hi! First of all, I fucking love you and your writing. And talking about genderfluid!newt... What about Percival Graces, who doesn't blink twice wether it's Newt or Artemis -and is absolutely and irredeemably swept of his feet anyway? And Tina, Jacob and Queenie, who are fiercely protective of their friend whenever somebody is a jerk towards Artemis? Not that the offender would dare to open their mouth ever again after Graves has a talk with them, anyway.

(a continuation of this piece here)

When Jacob first notices he asks, “Is this one of those magic things?”

Artemis pauses. It’s magic that allows her to shift outwardly between herselves, magic that lengthens her limbs or shortens his, magic that sharpens his features and softens hers. But inwardly? If she didn’t have magic, if she couldn’t change what she looked like on the outside, would she be trapped as one or the other?

“I don’t think it’s a magic thing,” she says slowly. “It’s just who I am. I don’t think it only applies to magic people.”

“Oh,” Jacob says, and adds it to his list of things he’s learnt that day: occamies hatch from silver shells, mooncalf pellets float, and people can have multiple genders.

Artemis blinks when she realises how simple it is for him and Jacob smiles bemusedly when he notices. “Why not?” he asks with a shrug. “I didn’t know magic existed until today either.”

Tina worries when she discovers. 

MACUSA governs a society that lives by secrecy, by being unnoticed and not standing out. Tina watched helplessly as her brilliant younger sister smiled and lied and said she always wanted to work tables rather than politics; she was too young then to know how to protect Queenie against a world that felt threatened by her differences. Now Queenie doesn’t need her protection (she gets it anyway, because Tina will never stop being her big sister no matter how terrifyingly competent Queenie is without her) but Newt, Artemis, both of them look at the world with wide eyed naivety. 

“I don’t mind,” Newt says when someone makes a cutting remark. “The important people don’t care. Why should I worry?” He smiles, awkward and half hidden, and if he sees the bigger picture, if he knows the danger that can rise when people think their snide comments are ok to make - if he realises what could happen, he doesn’t show it.

So Tina worries, and she hovers, and when some bright young idiot thinks he can make a joke of taking Artemis to the men’s room or of picturing Newt in sequined dresses - Newt might turn back to Pickett and pretend not to hear, but Tina makes damn sure they know she heard. She also makes damn sure they know not to do it again. And when she’s done, she spits fire and prowls around Newt’s shadow and makes damn sure the rest of the room took note.

She won’t let Newt be kept from his dreams the way Queenie was kept from hers.

“Why do you pretend it doesn’t bother you?” Queenie asks once. 

Artemis throws her a wide eyed, guileless smile that does nothing to hide her unease and shrugs, deliberately casual.

“There’s not much point being bothered,” she says.

The point, Queenie answers, is that she’s allowed to be. She shouldn’t have to hide it. Shes allowed to be angry at the way people dismiss her.

Artemis concentrates on the fwooper she’s grooming. Her thoughts churn. Queenie waits.

“My brother is six years older than me,” she finally says. “We overlapped at school for a year. He spent almost every Friday in detention because of me.”

She straightens a skewed feather.

“Jacob is a muggle. The fact that he even knows about magic is illegal, but he risks everything to square up to a wizard who treats me wrong. Tina - she thinks I don’t notice the bridges she’s burning. She’s making half of MACUSA her enemy just because they looked at me funny one time, and she shouldn’t. Not for me.”

The fwooper clicks its beak imperiously and Artemis holds her hand out with a treat. It takes it with a delicate chitter, fluffs its newly immaculate plumage, and leaves in a flurry of pink.

There’s more that Artemis doesn’t say, more than she knows how to put into words. She’s lived with it her whole life. She doesn’t like it, the side eyes, the way she makes some people uncomfortable, the way some of them try to ignore it and override her choice of name and gender and identity. The way those few that knew in the war tried to regulate him to the sidelines and keep him from fighting; the way her closest of female friends eventually pulled away from her because she was a guy, she wouldn’t understand, these things weren’t for sharing with her.

Of course she doesn’t like it. But as much as she wishes she wasn’t she’s used to it, and she likes even less the thought that her brother, her family, her friends are in trouble because of her. Not that she wants them to stop, because she doesn’t, because the fact that they care enough to speak up for her is - is - it’s more than comforting, more than important, more than anything but they shouldn’t have to make themselves outcasts just because she is, and isn’t she, in some way, selfish for wanting them to? But how could it be selfish to want what everyone else seems always to have had, to want the easy acceptance and for people to just stop making a thing of it, but - but - sod it. But. It’s just a mess. A tangled, confused mess in her head that she doesn’t know how to put into words.

“Isn’t it their choice?” Queenie asks, gentle and kind. “A lot of people are a lot of things behind the person they pretend to be. When Tina or Jacob learn that someone is cruel, or stupid, aren’t they allowed to say something?”

Artemis frowns. “But - “ she starts, and she doesn’t know how to finish. If she weren’t sometimes he, the hateful thought starts, people would be kinder; if he weren’t sometimes she, it whispers in her doubts, people wouldn’t look away. 

Queenie leans close and pulls her into a hug.

“Honey,” she says. “Honey, no. You’re not making anyone do anything. Nothing about it is your fault.” Artemis mumbles something, maybe a denial, but it’s muffled against Queenie’s shoulder. “Believe me,” Queenie says drily, “They were cruel long before you came along. They just hid it better.”

Artemis laughs weakly. “Even from you?” she asks, and Queenie’s voice is that tiny bit bitter, that tiny bit weary when she answers, “No one hides from me.”

The first time Artemis shifts in front of Graves is when some damn buffoon put his coffee on the top shelf of tiny auror kitchen and he can’t reach it, and without his coffee to start the day he’s in exactly no frame of mind to manage a levitation spell. He snarls at it in helpless frustration, his empty mug clutched to his chest like a battle wound, and Artemis rolls her eyes and stretches up into Newt’s lanky frame.

“Do you want me to start the coffee machine as well, or can you handle that?” he asks, tongue in cheek and unable to hide his grin. Graves glowers at him and shuffles to the counter like a caffeine-driven zombie, blindly stabbing buttons until the water starts percolating into his mug.

“Smartass,” he accuses once his coffee is brewed and he’s vaguely resembling functional again.

And, because he can, Newt shifts back into Artemis and raises a hand to her mouth in mock outrage.

“Such language, Mr Graves sir!” she simpers, batting her eyelashes to complete the over the top effect.

Graves raises an eyebrow, unphased. “Smartass,” he repeats - and mentally makes a record of the way Higgins has frozen in the door, eyes bugged out and staring at Artemis. He adds it to the tally and mentally reshuffles his day to make space for auror training in training room… three. Three should do it.

“Higgins,” he barks as he strides out of the coffee room. “Target practice. Eleven thirty. Don’t be late.”

Higgins squeaks a protest behind him and Artemis trots to keep up. “Target practice?” she asks. “Why, what did he do to you?”

And Graves doesn’t say it’s what he did to you that matters because Graves has allergies and feelings set them off, so he busies himself with his coffee and pointedly doesn’t answer.

Mind you, Higgins was new. It might have been genuine surprise. Graves is, potentially, willing to be lenient if it was genuine surprise.

If it wasn’t genuine surprise then Graves has a new auto-loading potion launcher that he’s been meaning to try out. Just. Just by the by.

[beautifulwhensarcastic]

Bucky/Sharon, king arthur/game of thrones type au, "a bloodless war"

As it’s the only ask I got for this game, I focused all my attention on it and got carried away. 

Title: A bloodless warPairing: Bucky Barnes/Sharon Carter; very brief mention of Peggy/SteveRating: ExplicitWord count: (would be) 3-7kSummary: Even the most bloodthirsty of leaders know that an unusual treaty is at times enough to win the war against a mutual enemy. The head of House Carter proposes one to the new leader of House Howl.  

~ * ~ 

The old oaks bent their branches lower, leaves dark with night and wet from rain licked the flickering flames of the torches set in the stone circle. Only a few, to disperse the thickest darkness, but not draw attention of any scouts who might traverse the valley.

James narrowed his eyes, searching the line of trees where he’s sure he noticed a glint just before. 

That much for the demand to come unarmed. Not that he expected Carter to follow her own request. Which he broke himself, too - his sword hidden underneath the fur-lined cloak draped over his shoulders. 

As the wind got stronger, a wolf’s howl joined its sounds.

James groaned at that, wiping the remnants of mist off his face. That’s the last thing he needed right now.

“Could you come out now?” He groaned impatiently. “We’re making no progress like this.”

He was met with silence. When he was about to turn around and leave the rustle stopped him mid step. 

Branches moved again and a silhouette slowly walked out of the woods. Dark cape shimmered with silver threads - the only piece of striking light the Carters always wear. 

Their bold, statuesque bodies draped in softest whites and cream, glimmering jewels and cold silver, deceived those who chose to focus on the veneer. Such fools quickly found themselves dead, having underestimated how deadly the Carters really are.

Seeing one of them dressed in dark, so easily blending with the surroundings, was a surprise for James. He forgot how cunning and practical the Carters were.

He bowed his head slightly, still not used to being her equal now. 

Never saw himself becoming the leader of a House. Much less marrying the head of a House as powerful as Carters.

He knew what the proposition is going to be before Carter’s silent messenger brought him a sealed letter asking him for that meeting. It was a treaty he considered himself, but doubted it’d be met with any consideration, given his status. 

He should really remember how pragmatic the Carters are.

She stopped in front of him, pulling the hood of her cloak off her head. Though her hair was damp, lacking any jewels that usually adorned it, and her face seemed paler, Sharon Carter still looked to him as the most beautiful creature. A strike of lightining in the gloom.

“You were supposed to come alone.” She said, looking to his side and narrowing her eyes as the beast emerged from the shadows.

“He’s a stubborn mutt, does as he pleases.” James replied with a shrug. “Never listens to anyone.”

The wolf growled and nipped at his cape. Its eyes, however, never shifted away from Sharon. Blue irises which used to look at her with less hostility.

“He did…” Her voice barely quivered, betraying a deep ache.

Sharon quickly looked away from the wolf, focusing on Barnes’ face. She frowned, seeing the fresh gash on his cheek. 

None of her informants reported of any battle the head of the House Howl engaged in recently, which proved what she’s feared for a while now - Barnes was smarter and more skilled than she gave him credit for. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was aware of at least half of her spies on his tail.

“You know what I wish to propose.” It was more a statement than a question.

“I got an inkling,” he nods, “though I’m surprised with the way you choose to go about it. Shouldn’t there be more official courting involved? A wedding feast?”

“Not if you wish to live.” Sharon snorted. 

She lifted her hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing the only jewelry on her - a vine shaped ear wrap. 

“A secret ceremony serves not only our security, but throws our enemies off their ledges once they find out the treaty has been made and sealed. Gives them no room for messing it up.”

James nodded. He’d been making his moves in stealth and secrecy for half of his life, which worked brilliantly combined with Steve’s open attacks used as diversion.

“I assume there’s more than what a standard political marriage provides that you wish to gain.” James knew his House has become a mouthwatering treat to many kingdoms since he conquered Aidruvell, but it’s not enough to sate a power like Carter’s.

“Yes.” Sharon tilted her head to the side, studying his face with a new flicker of curiosity. “Aside the support and aid in any political campaign or war, I want an exchange of skills. Londinium has a magnificent army, but no warrior in the world moves or fights like the Shadows of House Howl. I wish your men to train my.”

“Only the chosen twelve. And they’ll be at the command of House Howl as well.” He was quick to reply, keeping a blank face, though it irked him to share a hundred-years developed skills of their warriors with anyone.

“Twenty. And done.” A happy glimmer lighted her eyes for a second, but she shifted her eyes to the side and when she looked back at him James saw only determination.

Frown lines appeared on her forehead and around her mouth right before she revealed her next requirement. 

“An heir.”

Expecting to see a smirk on Barnes’s handsome face, she was surprised with his firm nod. 

He looked rather grim at the prospect of laying with her. Sharon felt a prickle of annoyance, though unable to tell what exactly angered her.

Not greatly thrilled about it, but she found no repulsion at the thought of fucking Barnes. She assumed it could be quite pleasant, at least looking at his pretty face during.

“I will give you an hair. To your kingdom.” James’ words held a cold finality to it, his voice a soft cling of blade drew from its sheath. “The title of head of House Howl is noninheritable. It will stay as such. And it will stay in the families of Howl.”

Sharon’s face hardened, lips pressed in a thin line. 

With his demand, Barnes guaranteed his House an autonomy, as well put a potential time limit on their alliance. After his death she, as his wife, wouldn’t have any power over Midgard. She also had no insurance they’d stay loyal to the treaty.

There were, however, other ways to assure Londinium and Midgard’s future stays on the same entwined path.

“If our child earns the support of Howl’s council?”

“Then they’ll become the Head of House.” Corner of James’ lips lifted in an amused smirk.

He had to give it to Sharon, she was extremely sharp and farsighted. She’d make sure their child grows into the perfect candidate for both thrones. His influence as a father will possibly ensure it further, at least for the House of Howl. 

Just like no one had a doubt if Steve had a child, it would be welcomed as the head of house when the time came. 

But that future would never happen. Now James had to build a new one.

“Then agreed,” Sharon sealed it with pleased lightness. “I do not wish to wait long for the ceremony, the situation is too critical. Next full moon. In White Cairns. I give you my word none of accompanying you people will come to harm in my castle.”

“Wait. I have two demands of my own.” Sharon arched a brow, as if surprised he dared to have requirements in a deal he should view as a greatest luck in his patchwork house’s history.

In truth, she expected him to list some, prepared herself for the few she estimated he’d name.

However, when he spoke, she found herself astound. Barnes’ demands weren’t ones she was prepared for.

“I want the witch.”

Maria had suggested Howls might find out they granted the witch asylum, but Sharon felt too confident in their stronghold to expect any spy to learn about a woman residing in the labyrinth beneath the castle.

It is something she shouldn’t have been careless about.

As she pondered on the demand the wolf beside Barnes’ became agitated. It snarled, his silver fur bristling.

“I don’t-”

The wolf snapped his teeth at her. 

Cold wave washed over Sharon. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she remained in place. She slipped her hands beneath the cloak to hide the slight trembling in her fingers. Her face, however, betrayed no fear as she held the wolf’s gaze.

“Fine.” Sharon acceded through gritted teeth. “I’ll give you her head on a silver platter as a wedding gift.”

“No. She’s to be delivered alive.” James spoke with unyielding authority, his tone promising cruelty and no mercy. “The wolf will mete her fate.”

Sharon felt a shiver of dread ripple through her bones. Once more she glanced at the wolf, into his familiar blue eyes now filled with pain and anger. 

She nodded.

“And the other demand?” She returned her gaze to James.

“Your sister’s remains will be taken to Brocklin.”

“No!” Sharon objected instantly, her voice a hiss sharp as a snap of a whip.

She took a step forward, drawing out a thin blade and pressing it against his throat. The warning growl and a snap of teeth didn’t deter her. James stood still, his hands itching more to touch Sharon than to draw out his own weapon. He did neither.

“She died a Rogers.” He said firmly, holding Sharon’s gaze.

Her eyes misted and she clenched them shut. Fingers tightened around the blade’s handle, pressing the tip into James’ skin and prickling it. 

He slowly lifted his hand and wrapped his fingers around her wrist, moving it away from his neck.

He kept her wrist in a gentle grip, thumb rubbing soothing circles over her steady pulse.

With a sigh, Sharon pulled her hand free and swiftly turned away. She hid the blade then quickly rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, before glancing over her shoulder.  

“Next full moon.” She said, forcing distance into her tone.

“Farewell till then, Sharon.” He inclined his head, looking at her with tenderness she didn’t want from him. From anyone.

Without another word, she pulled the hood over her head and left the clearing. 

James stood in place for a longer moment, watching her disappear in the depths of the forest. He felt the wolf move from its place, circle his legs then retreat into the valley.

James touched the small wound on his throat. When he lifted his fingers a smudge of blood stained his fingertips. 

Sharon Carter wanted to win a bloodless war, but he had a feeling it might cost him some of his.

[elliemarchetti]

A Red Lover

Old fic revised for AO3 

Words:1575

As he fell, he saw nothing but flames; they were everywhere, meeting him, crackling and sizzling as they destroyed all the memories they had managed to build before reaching the front. He was sure that not even a charred mush would remain of him, that his bones would turn to ashes, and there wouldn’t be a grave where people could cry for his loss. He bang his head against something, and in his field of vision appeared a thousand shiny stars. In fact, they weren’t stars but sparks. His uniform caught fire, carbonized, began to smoke, but it didn’t happen to his skin, and he felt no pain but the sparks’ heat, as if they were going through his body, as if they were tickling his nerves. It wasn’t a bad feeling to try before he died: he felt alive like never before, like a blind man who finally came back to see after a long time. He sensed something moving inside him, but it was no longer just the sparks: it was the whole flame, which slid over him, blackened his clothes leaving the skin intact. The flames were trying to kill him without succeeding. It was all wrong, obviously; he shouldn’t have been alive, he wouldn’t have to get a big cloud of black smoke around him, the floor wouldn’t have to start crunching and the walls wouldn’t have to crack. The fire became clearer and more aggressive, but after a while, it weakened, making Thomas feel stronger. It didn’t matter that he was falling again, that three floors of that area of ​​the building had been destroyed, or that he was almost naked. It didn’t matter because he landed on a pile of dust, or perhaps ashes, definitely battered, with sore muscles, but undoubtedly alive. He stood up with difficulty, the clothes that continued to fall apart. Above him, inside the building, in the areas that hadn’t been touched by the explosion, someone was looking at that havoc. How many had died because of Maven? Then he turned, sensing other looks, this time pointed at him, a red boy who had escaped that ruckus. Watching him, there were two guys: one was taller and thinner, and the other more sturdy and stocky, but the differences between the two seemed to end there. They definitely had to be brothers. Both had wide eyes. One seemed angry, the other confused. Then their expressions changed: the biggest seemed scared, and Thomas wondered how it was possible. He was thin and pale, nobody feared him.

"He's one of us." instead said the taller, the look drawn by a small scratch on the back of his right hand. Then he didn’t fully understand what else happened, he only knew that the boy approached and in a moment he found himself very far from there, in a place that with time he would’ve learned to define a house, among people who for those like Maven had envisaged only one destiny: death.

 Farley left him in a corridor, to ruminate on her words: he had always thought that there was only the distinction between reds and silvers, kings and slaves, and instead he discovered that there was much more, a range of nuances that he didn’t understand, in which he had precipitated unwillingly. He grew up wondering if he could have dinner every night, like any other red, and now he found himself in a place full of red with full bellies and enough energy to be able to fight against the silver. He had to choose and he had to do it quickly. Would he join the Scarlet Guard, ready to sacrifice himself and everything he wanted to reach the infamous common goal, or would he continue a life that he no longer had? Thomas knew that, after all, there was no choice: he couldn’t go back to the front, he couldn’t go home, and he wouldn’t even be able to live far from there, because when the silvers are on you, there's no far enough place. So he accepted that same evening, certain that he had just launched himself into a business that would’ve eaten him alive.

 He realized he wasn’t wrong only three years later, when Farley dragged him around midnight into a greenhouse in the Royal Palace. She didn’t explain anything to him, only that they had found new, important members for the Guard. They hid in the greenhouse in four: Thomas, Farley, Kilorn, a new recruit who seemed ready to sell his soul to please someone important in the Guard, and another girl, who carried a big assault rifle with her. She had to have little aim.

"Excuse me if I don’t do the reverence." Farley said, emerging from a grove of magnolias where she was hidden with Thomas, upon the arrival of two figures. One was Walsh, he had heard of her and had even seen her, sometimes, and the other was a girl younger than him, not so tall, thin and definitely not silver. It didn’t take a genius to understand it, yet he noted that someone had given her special care. She had to be Mareena, the one everyone talked about. Her real name was Mare, and she was like him.

"Farley." she said, greeting the Scarlet Guard’s captain. Therefore, they must have already met. He suspected it. Farley didn’t return the greeting, asking Walsh where the other was. Thomas had originally believed it was some red, someone who worked in the palace, but no one had ever been so excited for a simple recruit. Was him a newblood that had managed to stay hidden all that time?

"What does that mean? Who else joined?" Mare asked, too loudly, for Thomas's tastes, but not wrongly. He didn’t like all that secrecy and certainly wasn’t excited at the idea that someone else would arrive there at any moment, with the possibility of a betrayal.

“Maven.” Thomas heard his own voice whisper. He had grown up, but it was undeniably him. He didn’t know whether to scream with joy, to see him alive, or run away, because the last time he was next to him, he almost risked dying. He was a prince, a silver, the enemy, and yet here he was, along with Farley. Thomas felt his heart burst with joy. He had stifled his love for Maven long ago, had abandoned those stupid fantasies of a kid when he had taken the oath of the Guard. Holland, his companion, a red servant of a certain age, with many years of service behind him, seemed to burst with pride.

"Mare, I told you you're not alone." Maven said, and his voice was so different, that Thomas almost felt a stab in his stomach. He kept his hands on his hips and contracted them: he seemed nervous, probably because of Farley. Not that it was difficult to understand why: the girl had approached with a gun in her hand, almost as nervous as he was, but her voice was firm and decisive. Thomas remained hidden, even though he was sick of being just a spectator. He wanted to tell him that he was proud of him, he wanted to tell him that he remembered everything they had said six years ago, yet he stayed still, to keep his place in the Guard, because he was too used to taking orders. Farley, however, didn’t move an inch, causing Thomas's blood to freeze in his veins. Weren’t his words enough? What did she want more? Then, as if he had always known, Maven started talking again. He spoke of when he was twelve and his father sent him to the front, to temper him, to make him look more like Cal. Thomas felt a lump in his throat as he pulled out secrets that had only revealed to him, feelings that a prince should never have felt. Farley, however, snorted. Thomas never shared this abrupt and mean way; he believed there were better ways to inspire trust and loyalty, he believed that reigning through fear was something silver do, but he would never say it.  He knew that she had lost so much, but Thomas hadn’t really been a privileged in life, yet his heart hadn’t dried up like that.

"I don’t need a jealous kid."

"It’s not jealousy that pushed me here." Maven corrected her, and Thomas smiled. He hadn’t changed so much, after all. "I spent three years in a camp to follow Cal, the officers and generals, watching the soldiers die and fight a war in which no one believed."

Thomas closed his eyes, trying to shake off the nightmares. There was no honor or loyalty, whence he came, only madness and destruction, rivers of blood poured from both sides of the border.

"And our people have given so much more," Maven continued, implacable. He spoke like a river in flood that can no longer be dammed, and he spoke of a boy who was only seventeen, red and came from the cold north. He was speaking of him.

 "You should have told me!" thundered Thomas, on the way back. Farley didn’t even deign to look back at him.

"You knew everything, I told you everything!"

His anger was unstoppable, but fortunately, no one tried to use any kind of power in the vicinity, or he wasn’t sure he would be able to stop, once he started his revenge against the captain.

[anon-e-miss]

Stupid Snippet Because Stupid Muse is Stupidly Stupid

“How many bitlets do you have?” Jazz asked as he looked at the three mechlings babbling excitedly up at the dour Praxian. Like their procreator, they were all Praxian, all different ages. The youngest of the sparklings, correction, sparklings and newling. The youngest was close to his upgrade from newling to sparklings but the little grey and red mech was still uneasy on his peds, the second, all over blue was sure on his peds, a late first tier sparkling, and was chattering in a mix of binary and Neo Cybex, the third, grey and blue with distinct golden faceplates was speaking in proper sentences but with the sweet, innocent accent of a sparkling, from the looks of him, he had approaching his second tier upgrades, which explained why he was not in school, but the time was coming soon.

“Four,” Prowl replied, guarded, the Polihexian realized, vulnerable. “From youngest, to oldest, Bluestreak, Skids, and Camshaft. My eldest, Smokescreen, is at school. Mechlings, these mech is one of my colleagues, Jazz.”

“Hi!” Camshaft greeted him with unbridled enthusiasms, while Skids hid behind his procreator’s legs.

“Hiya bitlets,” the saboteur said, smiling at the brave, and the shy mechings. He looked to Prowl. “Everyone talks ‘bout how ya work insane joors, ‘n are always in yer office, but ya ain’t, are ya?”

“No,” The Praxian said as he leaned down and picked up his youngest. A panel on Prowl’s chassis slid back and the mechling latched onto the feeding line. It should not have been a vulnerable moment, but Jazz realized that it was. Prowl was looking away, looking as his creations, but at the same time not. Jazz was an intruder here. “I do work “insane” joors, a mix of here and on base. The majority of my work is done via telecommuting.”

“How did I not know?” Jazz asked, more to himself than to Prowl. “It’s my business to know everythin’ ‘bout everyone.”

“The nature of my family is known only to two mech, three now, I suppose,” Prowl explained. “Optimus Prime, and Ratchet.”

“The Raid on Tyger Pax, the one were ya saved our afts ‘n got yerself enlisted as a strat, these bitlets were with ya in the youngling centre Prime got cornered in,” the Polihexian guessed.

“I have always thought my actions there self serving, not the selfless heroics some have painted them to be,” the tactician said. “My life, those of my creations and other young mechanisms were in immediate, lethal danger. I saved my life, and there’s, Optimus Prime merely got lucky.”

“Did he ever,” Jazz let out a long vent, then asked. “Anything I can help ya, with, while ya take care of this lil’ mech?”

“Camshaft, please show Jazz to the fuel storage,” Prowl instructed. “I believe you and Skids would both like a snacks. Take a cube for yourself, Jazz.”

The Polihexian followed the happy little mech as he skipped into the alcove that served as the family’s fuelling are.  Considering the number of mechanisms living in the habsuite, it was really quite small, though painstakingly neat. Tactical Officer to Special Operations or no, wages within the Autobots officers were generally low. Prowl likely could not, or felt like he could not afford a larger suite. Considering he had  kept his young family a secret, he probably would not have wanted to draw attention to himself by renting a habsuite anyways. Why the secrecy, Jazz wondered. Other Autobots had bitlets, the tactician would not be an anomaly, but the answer, the saboteur thought would not likely be forthcoming. Camsaft led Jazz over to the fuel cabinet, and in a feat of surprising strength, he managed to pull the door opened. He looked up at the Polihexian, optics glowing with pride.

“Good job, mechlin’,” Jazz grinned as he gave the sparkling the praise he knew Camshaft was after. “So what would ya like? Some gels? Some energon?”

“Gels! Gels” Camshaft squealed excitedly. “Blue ones are my favourite, Skids likes pink ones. Bluestreak likes or’gin’s fuel best.”

“Bet ya did at his age too,” the Polihexian said. “What does your origin like best, Cam?”

“Mid grade with copper and zinc,” the sparkling replied. “And rust sticks!”

“Rust stucks, h’uh?” Jazz said. “Why don’t ya help me make up a lil plate for everybot to share?”

“Yah!” Camshaft cheered. He showed the saboteur where the rust sticks were kept, and help Jazz arrange them... artfully... on the plate. When the snack was ready, and the adult mech had mixed two cubes, the carefully carried the plate over to his originator, who at this point was sitting on the plush couch. Bluestreak was half dosing at this point, though Jazz could here him continue to suck. Skids was tucked in tightly to his originator’s side, watching the intruder suspiciously. Though at the sight of the plate of treats, he perked up.

“Hope this is alright,” the saboteur asked.

“It is, thank you,” Prowl replied.

“Sit with me, Skids!” Camshaft called to his brother as he sat himself, and the plate down in a makeshift nest of blankets Jazz guessed was the mechlings preferred spot to rest as they watched holovids. Lured by the streets, Skids slid off the couch and sat with his brother in their nest and helped himself to one of the pink gels. Jazz took up his vacant place on the couch, but not near so close to Prowl. He handed the Praxian the cube he had mixed for him.

“If secrecy’s what ya want Prowl, I ain’t gonna blab,” Jazz said. “Keepin’ secrets is as big a part of my job as uncoverin’em.”

“Thank you,” the Praxian replied. “I do wish my family to remain a secret. I do not want my commission called into question.”

“Why do ya think that’s a question?” The Polihexian asked. “Y’er the best tactician to join the ‘Bots. Y’er one of the big reasons we’re holdin’ our own.”

“I am their only procreator,” Prowl explained. He paused a moment and turned on the holo-imager. In an instant the chattering of the sparklings ceased and they became entranced by the cartoom playing. “That is enough to call into question whether it is acceptable for me to risk my life by actively serving, despite the fact I do not attend battles. Bluestreak’s young age is another matter.”

“What happened to their ‘genitor?” Jazz asked. If the other mech did not wish to answer, he would not press, but he need not have worried.

“I left him,” the tactician explained. “Praxus is Functionalist. Artists create art, musicians create music, strategists serve the Enforcers, or government, and originators bare creations. I have hyper-fertility. If I engage in interface during a procreo cycle I kindle. My arranged mate saw fit to use me as a broadcarrier. After four cycles, each resulting in a kindling, I knew I would die in emergence before he left me in peace, so I fled in the dark-cycle shortly after Bluestreak emerged.”

“Tyger Pax shouda been a safe but the ‘Cons thought they were buildin’ a super weapon,” the saboteur said.

“I prefer Iacon, and the Autobots,” Prowl replied. “I am able to use the abilities I have trained, with some anonymity.”

“Y’re afraid of being discovered?” Jazz asked, his plating prickled. It was good then that Prowl had let him into the secret. If any mech made a move on the family, they would be quietly disposed of, no better mech to take care of those sorts of problems than him.

“Less than I once was,” the Praxian said. “Iacon is actively opposed to Functionalism, it would be difficult for their progenitor to build a case. I am not altogether sure he would be bothered. Burning so many creations off of me was a matter of ego to him, he was less than concerned with our creations in general. Their care was entirely left to me, it was easy to slip away with them. Prior to being paired off with him, and my first carrying I served the Enforcers for vorns. Emerging sparkling after sparkling, raising endless creations was never what I planned for myself. I always wished to work It was a relief to return to some sort of service.”

“He ever turn up, Prowl, gimme a comm ‘n he’ll be gone,” the Polihexian promised. “Y’er an Op, sorta, ‘n I take care ‘o Ops.”

“Thank you, Jazz,” Prowl replied. “I do not believe that will be necessary, but should it be, I will take you up on your offer. My creations will not be raised Functionalist, and I will never go back.”