#but when it became apparent that she was lying and changing the truth to suit her narrative as frequently as she was

[pynkhues]

Hey! Someone made a post just before rewatch today, and while they’ve deleted it now (although I was sent a screenshot of it, so I suspect others might have been too), I know most people who do rewatch have probably seen it and I would like to talk about the context of it.

Feel free to ignore this post, because it’s definitely personal fandom drama, and something I wish could’ve stayed private, but it’s also something that’s weighed heavily on me the last six months and I feel the need to talk about it now because quite frankly I’m being lied about. Those lies are something that has substantially contributed to me pulling away from the fandom over the last six months, posting less fics and answering less asks. Hell, it’s even made me contemplate deleting my blog and fic and leaving the fandom a few times now, and I just really need to get it off my chest so that I can hopefully put it behind me.

There’s a person in this fandom who’s been more or less relentlessly lying about me for the last six months. It’s somebody who has subtagged, gaslit, boycotted, and spread lies in DMs, public posts and tags, and while I won’t name them, I don’t think it’ll be particularly difficult for anyone to work out who this is.

She’s accused me often and tirelessly of calling her a bitch, which never happened and I have the screenshots of our chats to prove it, calling me (as a person) and my opinions shit publicly on her blog (again, I have screenshots of this), accused me of harassing her (after our friendship deteriorated, we had two dm conversations before I blocked her because of her aforementioned lying), telling everyone she blocked me when it’s the other way around (and I’m shocked she doesn’t remember relentlessly tagging about that after it happened too), and accusing me of policing fandom opinion. Her friends have called me in private DMs a ‘master manipulator’ and ‘disturbing’ and ‘exclusionary’ and accused me of playing the victim when all I’ve done is tried to keep my mouth shut or reach out to smooth things over (although again, I’ll admit when all this started back in August, I struggled with the former, but I haven’t subtagged in months, a courtesy that has not been extended back to me).

I originally fell out with this person because I told her I was struggling in the midst of Melbourne’s 111 day lockdown – one of the harshest in the world – and needed a break from the negative tone of her posts and tags (something I told her after she slid into my DMs to ask why I unfollowed her, not a conversation I ‘harassed’ her with, again, I have screenshots, so I’m not sure why she’s lying about this). I told her this wasn’t necessarily an unfollow forever, just for right now, and she told me she still considered us friends. Within hours, I was rewarded with my effort to protect my increasingly-fragile mental state with a relentless effort on her part to vilify me and victimize herself which after a few weeks led to me blocking her.

Every olive branch I’ve extended by including her in fic recs and even today’s thank you for the rewatch banner has been snarled at and twisted (the irony too of knowing that if I left her off that banner, it would be seen as an erasure and an attack). She’s painted me as a performative, two-faced bitch while having the audacity of accusing me of calling her the same, which I have never done. The most I have ever accused her of is behaving badly, which quite frankly, I stand by.

I am exhausted.

And for the record, I don’t know this because I stalk her blog. I see her posts still in reblogs (blocking only removes from your feed - if you check people’s blogs, you can see the reblogs of people you blocked), and numerous people send me screenshots of the things that she says that are clearly about me.

I’m not talking about this now for any sort of witch hunt or pity, I just want her to stop, for all of our sakes. It might be beating a deadhorse at this point for me to repeat this, but it has been six months now, and the thing that was supposed to preserve my mental health has instead set off this chain of nightmare events. All I wanted was space and for her to have an ounce of accountability for her negativity, and what I’ve gotten is relentless lies spread about me and harassment (which is fucking ironic given she’s just accused me of the same when literally the only way I’ve even acknowledged her in the last few months was in a fic rec and today’s banner).

I just needed to get this off my chest, because existing in this fandom and trying to hold my tongue while she’s made post after post and sent message after message in an effort to shape a narrative around me simply because I unfollowed her and then blocked her, has been really fucking hard for me. I’ve tried to keep this private, because I didn’t – and still don’t – believe it should concern anyone else in this fandom, but again, this is not a courtesy that’s been extended back to me, and the thought that she will just keep doing this (which she has proven - again - six months, and that’s not including the times I tried to talk to her about it before I unfollowed her) is just really, really exhausting. 

I guess the point of saying all of this is that I’m tired of letting her spread lies about me in thinly veiled posts, I’m tired of her saying that nobody includes her and then posting nasty shit about me when I try to simply acknowledge her as a contributor to this fandom, I’m tired of her twisting things that are supposed to be fun and good into another way that I’m a performative, two-faced bitch, and she’s trying to like - - escape my clutches? I don’t know. The mythology of her lies has evolved a lot over time. 

Mostly though I’m tired of letting her have power over me, because I’ve let her spread lies and ignored it in the hopes of making the space better for everyone else, but honestly? It’s making it worse for me.

So there, I’ve said my piece. I know she’s already been successful in changing some people’s opinions of me, and who knows, maybe they’ll see this and question some of what she’s told them, maybe they’ll just see this as me playing the victim again, I don’t know, the latter is certainly not my intent. 

I just wanted to defend myself, because I think I deserve that. 

Here’s the screenshot of her post today if you want it: 

And oh, here’s just one of the posts she made after I blocked her in August. There were and are a lot more, but I don’t feel any desire to share those. I’m just using this of evidence of just one of her lies and some of the shit she’s said about me.

I’m over it.

[sturchling]

Liars in Crime

So, this is based of a prompt from @chocolate1721

One day, Marinette is on a video call with Damian when she leaves to help with the bakery. He soon gets another call from Marinette, but instead he sees two girls destroying Marinette’s work. What will happen next?

Hope you guys like it!

Marinette didn’t know it yet, but this would be the day that the Lila problem was solved. And it would be all thanks to her friend Damian. Marinette and Damian were on FaceTime that afternoon. Marinette and Damian had been pen pals for a while by this time. They were originally paired up for a class project, but they had actually become very close friends. They eventually switched to email, which then became texting, and now they FaceTime almost every day. Sometimes, they don’t even talk while on FaceTime and instead work on individual projects and just enjoy the other’s company. This particular day, Damian was working on some homework, while Marinette worked on some new commissions. Jagged and Penny had asked for Marinette to make their outfits for the Wayne Gala that was in a few weeks. Damian and his family had also commissioned some new suits from the young designer, which she had completed and sent to them the day before. Marinette had just finished Jagged’s suit and just had to finish Penny’s dress.

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While the two worked, they chatted about their days. Well, Marinette was venting more than chatting. She had been dealing with the Lila Variety Show all day, and it had been a particularly rough day. Apparently, Lila had told Alya that Marinette had spent the night sending her nasty messages. This caused the whole class to glare at Marinette all day and call her a bunch of horrible names. A few had even tripped Marinette as she left the class that afternoon. The only ones who hadn’t been attacking her were Alix and Nathaniel. Adrien hadn’t attacked her, but he certainly didn’t have her back like he claimed to when this whole Lila mess started. Most days now, Damien heard all about Lila’s daily lying. He had grown to hate this girl without ever meeting her. The entire Wayne family hated this girl after hearing what she had been doing to Mari. They all wished there was something they could do, but Marinette refused their offer of legal assistance and it is not like Batman could deal with such a small problem that wasn’t even happening in Gotham. There was one good thing that came of all this, Batman had finally heard about what had been happening in Paris. He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t heard of Hawkmoth before this, but now he was working with the local heroes remotely, so as not to risk being akumatized himself. Somehow, during all this time, neither Marinette or Bruce had figured out the other’s identity.

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After they had been on FaceTime for about an hour, Marinette was called downstairs by Sabine. They needed help with a particularly busy rush. So, Marinette ended the call, saying that she would call back later. Little did the pair of friends knew, but trouble was brewing across the street, at the school. Alya and Lila were talking in the classroom. Lila was upset because Marinette had continued to send her mean texts, and had even started sending threatening texts. Alya was furious. How dare Marinette threaten her best friend!? Alya knew the young designer had changed a lot, but she never thought Marinette would sink so low. Alya wanted to teach Marinette a lesson. But Lila was too sweet. “No, Alya. I don’t want to hurt Marinette. Its fine, they are just words.” Alya didn’t understand how Lila could be so forgiving. “It is not fine Lila. She had been threatening you and needs to be stopped. What if we don’t hurt her, but just mess with her current designs a bit. She has been more obsessive about them than usual lately, so messing with them should teach her a lesson.” Lila hid her face so Alya wouldn’t see her smirking. “If you think that would work Alya. But won’t Marinette be upset?” Alya loved how thoughtful her friend was. “It may upset her, but she deserves it. She has been upsetting you.” With that, the two girls walked over to the bakery. They snuck in through the door to the apartment, right behind the Dupain-Cheng family who were all in the bakery. The girls entered Marinette’s room and began destroying everything they could find. But Lila made a major mistake. When she grabbed a sketchbook from Marinette’s desk, she knocked the mouse and accidently clicked on the call button on FaceTime. That one mistake put Lila’s downfall in motion.

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Damian continued with his homework, not expecting to hear back from Marinette for some time. But about 15 minutes later, Damian got a notification that Marinette was trying to call him. He just assumed that she had finished in the bakery quicker than expected. He accepted the call, but instead of his friend, he saw two girls destroying everything in the room. He quickly started screen recording, so he had evidence of what the two girls were doing. He didn’t know how these two were so dull, that they hadn’t noticed him on the screen. Damian recognized these two girls from Marinette’s descriptions of her class. This must be Alya and Lila, the liar making his friend miserable. Damian texted Marinette about the two girls in her room and how they were destroying her designs. The two had already ripped up the pages from Marinette’s sketchbook, and were now Lila trying to destroy the dress Marinette was working on for Penny while Alya cut up the suit meant for Jagged. Damian was furious and decided to try and get the girl’s attention before they did too much damage to the clothes. Damian cleared his throat and watched as the two girls froze.

  --------------------------

Alya and Lila had been cutting up the two outfits on the mannequins when they heard someone clear their throat. Both girls froze, wondering who could be in there. They had seen Marinette and her parents in the bakery. There shouldn’t be anyone else. They wildly looked all over the room trying to see the source of the noise. They almost thought they had imagined the noise when they heard “I’m on the computer you incompetent cretins!” Damian couldn’t believe how pathetically dull these two were. Alya and Lila whipped around to stare at the screen, and they saw a boy about their age with black hair and green eyes just glaring at them. Lila was terrified. If he said anything, everything Lila had built would be destroyed. They could go to jail, and Lila couldn’t become famous from jail. So, Lila put on her best pouty face while also trying to look flirty, and she sauntered up to the computer. “Oh, hello there. We are friends of Marinette’s from class. She told us we could borrow her notes from class, but she forgot to give them to us. She told us to come up and-” Before the liar could finish her newest tall tale, the door to the room burst open. Standing at the trap door was Marinette and Sabine, and they were furious! Marinette stared at Alya, who was holding a pair of scissors in one hand and the suit for Jagged in the other. “WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” Marinette rushed to Alya and grabbed the suit from Alya. Thankfully, she hadn’t managed to do much damage to the suit yet, but Penny’s dress was a different story. The dress was nothing more than scraps now. Marinette saw red and began yelling at Alya, who started yelling right back.

  --------------------------

In all the chaos, Lila tried to slip out the door, but the way was blocked by Sabine. “Oh no you don’t young lady. You two are staying right here until the police arrive.” Lila was terrified, she wanted to get out, but Sabine was standing on the only door out of the room. Alya at this point, was concerned. Her parents would kill her if the police were called. Alya tried reasoning with Sabine, “Wait Mrs. Cheng! We only did this because Marinette has been bullying and threatening Lila-” Sabine only got more angry replying, “Be quiet young lady! Even if that were true, that is no reason to break in and destroy my daughter’s property. You two have committed some serious crimes today! Did you two know breaking and entering is a felony? You are in major trouble!” Alya and Lila kept trying to appeal to Sabine, but nothing worked to convince her not to call the police.

  --------------------------

While, Sabine called the police to report the break in, Damian watched in silence. He was furious. How dare these two break in and mess with Marinette’s hard work. After a few minutes of Sabine and Marinette yelling, the rest of Damian’s family filtered into the room having heard the commotion. At first, they thought something was wrong with Damian, but then they saw what was happening on the screen. A short explanation from Damian, and the rest of the Wayne family was just as furious as Damian. Bruce was almost shaking with rage. Jason was muttering about going to Paris and teaching these two a lesson. Even Alfred wasn’t calm anymore, he was glaring at the screen and roughly twisting the feather duster in his hands. The Wayne family watched as Marinette and her mom kept the two vandals in the room until the authorities arrived. The police arrived shortly after and took the two girls to the patrol car, so they could be taken to the station. The officers then returned to the bedroom and began gathering evidence. They took pictures of the damage and then took a statement from Damian. After Damian gave his statement, he sent the police the video he had recorded of the two girls destroying the clothes and designs.

  --------------------------

While the police gathered evidence, Alya and Lila waited in the car. Lila was furious. How did things go so wrong? She was supposed to be laughing with Alya about the revenge against Marinette. She wasn’t supposed to be in handcuffs in the back of a police car. Alya turned to her and said, “Don’t worry Lila, once we explain everything, they will let us go.” Lila could not believe how dumb this girl was. Even if she had been telling the truth, that wouldn’t get them out of a felony charge. “Alya, even if the police believe us about Marinette, we would still be in a lot of trouble. Our best bet is to lie. Stick to the story I was telling Damian, we just went up to get notes. The stuff was already destroyed when we got there.” Alya wasn’t sure about that. Lying didn’t sit well with her. “But what about Mrs. Cheng? We already told her the real reason.” Lila was quick to respond, “Well, it will be our word against hers. We will just hope the police believe us.” Alya was still worried, but agreed to Lila’s plan. They worked out the exact details for their story, and by the time the police came back, they felt confident they would get away with it.

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When they arrived to the station, the two girls were placed in separate interview rooms, to wait until their parents arrived. Once their families arrived, the police informed them of the serious charges placed against them, and that the Dupain-Cheng family was pressing charges. The two families were horrified! Their daughters had committed two crimes in one day, including a felony. They were looking at some serious trouble, they could even end up in a juvenile detention center. That was even more likely, since they had also committed destruction of property while they were there and had damaged Marinette’s custom designs, which were worth a fair bit of money. Mrs. Rossi knew that her daughter could be looking at up to 3 years in a detention center. She was shocked her daughter would do something like this. The officers asked for permission to speak with their daughters and the families agreed, so long as they could watch from the other side of the glass. The police agreed to the request, and the interview began.

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Both girls stuck to the story they agreed on. Now matter how many times the police asked, the girls continued to say they had been invited in and were only there to get notes, and they had no idea how the clothes had been damaged.  The officers interviewing the girls were shocked at the ease with which the girls lied. The officers realized they needed to stop, and try something else. They left the room and the families started asking if they were cleared. “They said they were only there for the notes.” “They wouldn’t have done this.” “They wouldn’t lie to the police.” The police realized they needed to show the parents the video, so they pulled out a tablet and played the video for the family. As the video went on, the families grew paler as they watched Alya and Lila destroy the sketchbook and outfits. At the moment, Lila and Alya were back in the little holding cell, sitting on the bench. They were just chatting and laughing. The two families couldn’t believe how relaxed the two were. They weren’t guilty at all! Nora became enraged. How could these two be so calm?! Didn’t they realize how much trouble they were in?! Nora grabbed the tablet and stormed over to the two girls. Nora pressed play and watched as Alya and Lila grew pale as the video went on.

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Lila didn’t think there was any video of what they had done. How was she to know they had been recorded? Then, she realized by the camera angle, this was recorded from the computer. That brat on FaceTime must have recorded everything. The video clearly showed her and Alya ripping up the sketchbook pages and cutting up the two outfits. Lila and Alya began to realize they were in major trouble. Their story they told the police was obviously false and there was video to prove they were guilty. Alya started freaking out and yelling, “Wait! The only reason we did that was because of Marinette. She has been bullying and threatening Lila for days now! We just wanted to teach her a little lesson, its not like we hurt anyone!” Alya’s family stared at her in disbelief. How could she believe that Marinette would do that? Lila knew that it was a long shot, but it was her only chance. So, she turned on the water works and spun her story about how Marinette was threatening her by text for days. One of the officers walked up and said, “OK, then we need to see your phone.” Lila stilled at that and replied, “What?! Why?” The officer looked at her dubiously, like he already knew she was lying, “Because, if what your saying is true, then it may help your case. But you need proof. Luckily, texts stay on the phone and we can track the number.” Lila hadn’t thought about that. The class never asked for proof, so she hadn’t bothered to fake any. Alya turned to her and said, “Go on girl, show them the texts.” Lila didn’t know what to do. She handed her phone to the officer, hopping he would go to the other room to look at it, but he stayed right there and looked through all her messages. Eventually, after a tense minute, he looked up and said, “There are no texts threatening texts here at all. Alya turned and stared at Lila. That couldn’t be right, that would mean that Lila had lied to her. Lila wouldn’t do that. They were friends, right?

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Eventually, the truth came out. Everyone found out that Lila had been lying the whole time and had tricked the whole class. Just because she had been tricked, did not get Alya completely out of trouble. It did help her case however. The judge let Alya off with 100 hours community service and telling her she had to pay restitution to Marinette for the damaged clothes and book. Alya wasn’t necessarily happy, but she was grateful not to be going to juvie. Lila was not so lucky. After it was revealed that she was the mastermind behind everything, and how she had harassed Marinette, she was sentenced to 12 months in a juvenile detention center 10 miles outside of Paris, to hopefully avoid her being akumatized. Lila would also be on probation when she was released. After everything that had happened, Marinette decided to switch schools to a nearby art school. She did end up repairing the outfits for Jagged and Penny in time for the gala. She was very thankful that Damian had been there that day, and had recorded everything. He had solved the liar problem for her, from all the way in Gotham. Time went by, and Marinette got over the events that had happened in Mrs. Bustier’s class. Marinette was excited for what the future would bring, now that the liar was gone from her life.

[olivarryprompts]

Fanfic Friday #11

Welcome to Fanfic Friday! Each Friday I post a new here and on A03. Enjoy x

Read and save it on A03 here https://archiveofourown.org/works/33567529

{fancy suits from dad}

Ships: Peter Stark & Tony Stark, Pepper Pots/Tony Stark

Warnings: swearing, just fluff otherwise :)

Wc: 2,319

Here’s the thing, Peter Parker grew up in Stark Tower, which eventually became Avengers Tower of course. So whilst his whole class was buzzing about their field trip, all he could think was, “shit, shit shit.” His dad was going to embarrass the hell out of him. His Aunts and Uncles were going to endlessly tease him.

So, no Peter was not looking forward to the field trip. Not in the slightest. He still wanted to go, though. He knew that the rumors of his internship being fake were started by Flash, the annoying teen. He also knew that Flash had not once said his real name, preferring the name Penis Parker. It didn’t bother him as much as it used to. Also since highschool began, Flash had calmed down with his bullying. Well, maybe Flash hadn’t calmed down and high school was just bigger and he had thicker skin. And a new support system with plenty of people to go to.

Peter had been adopted by the Starks when he was a mere ten years old. At first, he was terrible at receiving any gifts or even too much attention. Slowly but surely, he got more and more used to it. Now, he wouldn’t not know what to do if any of that was taken away. Plus, he really did find a liking for expensive suits, however shallow. He looked good in them, and his father always insisted on buying him more and more. Tony would always find an excuse to spoil the kid a little more, however much Pepper tried to stop him.

“Peter, please see me after class regarding an urgent matter.”

Brough out of his thoughts, Peter swiftly nodded his head.

He looked at the board to see the words from before still written on them, “Field Trip to Stark Industries!” It might as well have said, “Dig Peter Stark’s Grave!”

“So, let’s get started with today’s lesson, graphing imaginary numbers on the complex plane!” He’d done this one a while back with his father. Something about not only learning applicable science and engineering. Peter tapped his glass, and the episode of Arrow he’d been watching on the car ride over began playing. He’d be ever grateful for his father’s gift of EDITH to him. Pepper had tried to ban him from wearing them to school, but hastily gave up when Peter pulled the spiderman danger card.

“Alright, class dismissed. Please remember to do this homework pages 11-18 on this unit’s homework handout.”

Peter, forgetting his teacher's previous request, was very glad to be on his way home. He was one foot out of the door when the teacher called his name. Now, his day had gone pretty well up to that point. Bucky made pancakes for breakfast, which were delicious. There was wayyy less traffic on the way to school. He’d aced an essay and a couple of quizzes, and then he even participated in PE effectively. But alas, all good things had to come to an end.

“Mr. Parker? The discussion.”

“Right,” Peter thought, joining the teacher at his desk.

“Peter, you are truly a great kid. I know you’ve been through a lot recently and in your life, but it is no excuse to make up an internship. We both know that it is not real. Now, acknowledging that you have a bright future, the administration and I have come forward with an offer. If you agree to write an apology, expressing that you understand what you did was wrong and immoral, you will both be allowed to come on the trip and no punishment will be given to you. If you choose to not take this opportunity, you will be banned from the trip and will be chastised.

Peter just stood there, not really comprehending. Apparently Flash’s little rumors were a lot bigger than he anticipated.

“I-i-I’m not lying,” was all he could manage. He had filed all the right paperwork and proved his internship.

“I’m sorry to hear that you will not come forward with the truth. You have up until the day before the trip to hand in the letter if you change your mind. Goodbye Peter.”

Peter just let his legs take him out of the classroom, then out of the school, and then to the road, a couple blocks away, where his dad picks him up from.

“Hello mini-me.”

“Hey,” Peter said, jumping into the passenger seat.

“‘Hi Dad, thanks so much for taking time out of your busy schedule to pick me up each and every day. Sick new car by the way! I’d love to drive it sometime!”

Peter just rolled his eyes with a smile, “Car looks great dad. McLarren’s are superior yet.”

“Ungrateful, so so ungrateful. What’s got you in a mood then?”

“Nothin,” Peter said, pulling out his phone.

“Oh come on, tell me. Tell me or I’ll call Ted.”

“Ned, Dad. We’ve been friends for like three years.”

“Not the point.”

“Just something at school.”

“Wow how very descriptive. You know I’m trying to do the whole feelings thing here, and you should appreciate that coming from my emotionally stunted self.”

“You’re so dramatic. Basically we’re having a field trip to your tower, and I’m not allowed to go because the teacher doesn’t think I really have an “internship.” Which, to be fair I don’t but that’s on you and not me.”

“Nah na na. I offered you an internship, and you said I’d be bored.”

“It would be. Doing a project for your company under strict supervision of some person would be sucky. I mean I can do anything I want from the lab you built me.”

“I know, but remember technically you are my intern. Remember we did that whole personal intern bullshit for the school.”

“Oh right. Is that why you keep harassing me about submitting all my completed projects.”

“No, that’s all your mother. Something about not wanting a lawsuit over a fake internship.”

“Make sense. She tends to be a lot smarter than you.”

“Ah, I feel so attacked. The abuse I suffer.”

“You’re terrible.”

“I am internally crying, kid. Sobbing.”

“Shut up,” we laughed.

“Who’s home?”

“You saw Buck and Sam this morning. Nat and Steve came back from their mission this afternoon. Thor and Loki are back for dinner tonight.. Strange might be coming round, not sure though. Cliff and the family aren’t back for at least a couple weeks. Oh and Bruce is wholed up in his lab as usual.”

“Shit. Everyone staying till the end of the week.”

“Yeah, oh the field trip. You’re screwed. You should have not told me.”

“Ughhhhh!!!”

“I love your life Petey.”

Peter walked into the kitchen and saw Steve reading a newspaper.

“Uncle Steve! Your back!” he smiled, dropping his bag off near the sofa. Steve got up to give the smaller boy a hug.

“Yep. Mission completed.”

“Nice. Can you tell me about it?”

“Yeah, it was nothing too interesting. We just needed some more intel into a terrorist organization stationed in the US. Most of the mission was recon. The next steps are being taken in a couple weeks.”

“Good to know there’s an active terrorist organization out there,” Peter said lightly.

Steve just smiled, not quite understanding the modern humor.

“Where is everyone else?” he said, realizing the living room was not in it’s normal chaotic state that he’d come to love. The chaos was his favorite reminder that he had so many people. He liked having lots of people, even after all this time.

“Nat and Buck are training, they invited you to join if you want. Bruce is in his lab, and dont worry he slept and ate last night. Not sure about the rest.”

“Right, thanks. I think I’m going to go train.”

Before he knew it, it was Friday morning, and his school was coming to his home. He was going to try very hard to ignore them. To do so, he asked his mum to let him sit in on some meetings. He had an easy in to the R&D and mechanical side of the company via the other interns. He was actually planning on hanging out with some of the “other” interns later that day. They were always happy to let Pete in on their projects and let him give them a hand. But he was always interested in getting more detail about the business side of the company, and he liked to get a window into it. Pepper was always happy to show her son the ropes. I mean he was heir to the company after all, even if he didn’t know yet.

He asked his mum to only schedule meetings after 12 as he requested a sleep in. Pepper was always happy when Peter slept as he was a little too much like his father. So, he woke bright and early at 11:00 o’clock.

After a scroll through his phone and a quick shower, he was ready to pull on his far too expensive Brunellio’s custom suit. It was one of his favorites. His father had got it custom made when he was in Italy, and told him he simply could not resist getting one for the kid. Pepper just smiled.

He had a large breakfast (enhanced metabolism) and headed towards the 34th floor where his first meeting was located. He’d been shadowing his mum for almost a year now whenever it was convenient, so he had the rointine down. He was almost sure he could take over a few of her meetings.

“Hi honey,” Pepper said, giving the boy a quick kiss on the cheek on the way to her own chair beside him. Peter blushed before resuming his professional posture and facial expression.

“Good morning everyone, as you can see Peter will be joining us today. I want to talk about some of the services we provide for our employees and their feedback. I’m aware we have a large portion to talk about so Kendra please take it away on that front.”

The first meeting went smoothly as planned. It was a discussion on the progress of the internal services, aka the IT department. Peter hadn’t learned much about their IT department, so it was good to listen in to. Pre these meetings, he, of course, does research into the background stuff, so he’s not completely lost. Pepper’s assistant usually provides him with a packet of info about the Stark Industries side of things. He is also given a list of key words and concepts he might want to make sure he understands. The research is fun for him, it makes him feel all professional.

Usually he spoke during the meetings, asking a couple questions and suggesting some ideas, but for this one he just learned and took in. The next meeting, however, was very much so his field. He’d spoken a lot with advertising, becoming very interested in the data analysis behind it. He even took a stats class so he could keep up. In that one he asked questions Pepper was on the verge of asking twice. He also contributed to the analysis of data once. Pepper usually liked him to participate as it was good for him, but he always felt bad suggesting stuff to the senior adults. He usually spoke to his mum or dad about projects for the company, preferring that.

They hung back in the room of the second meeting.

“Good job in this one Pete. Took two questions right off my tongue.”

“Thanks ma,” he said, always appreciating some approval.

“That’s all I’ve got for you today, kid. Rest of the stuff is, ya know.”

“Course. Thanks for these two. It was good to learn about internal affairs a bit more. Have a gap of knowledge there.”

“Yeah. Was that the first time meeting our CIT?”

“I believe so.”

“Well, next time we have a broader IA meeting, I’ll pull you outta school,” Pepper suggested.

“Really? That’d be epic.”

“Course, hun. Jarvis, sort that out please.”

“Of course Mrs. Potts.”

“Thanks J,” Peter yelled.

“Anytime mini-boss. No need to disturb the entire floor.”

“Are AI supposed to be so snarky?”

“Dad programmed it, what else would it be?”

“Valid point.”

“Right, got to run. See you later.”

“Bye, love you mum!”

“Love you too, Pete.”

“Jarvis, could you send me the tour plan for the visiting tour today?”

“Absolutely, sir. They’re on your phone now.”

“Thanks J.”

Looking at the plans Peter smiled. He had successfully avoided them the entire day. It said they were supposed to head back to school at 2:30, and it was about to be three. Smile on his face, he trotted down to the lobby to grab a coffee before going to meet Loki at the arcade. Don’t judge them, it was their thing. Taking the private lift down, and then walking straight to the coffee stand and ordering.

“Mr. Parker!” he heard the angry voice of his teacher, “How dare you show up here aft-”

Shit. shit. Shit.

“Edith, call dad, and tell him it’s urgent in the lobby.”

“Of course Peter.”

“Peter, are you listening to me! You are going to face extreme consequences for this.”

“Your coffee,” the man said, not realizing it was Peter, level ten personal of the tower, that was being yelled at.

“Thanks.”

“How dare you get coffee! In this building! Security!”

Tony arrived spotting his son instantly.

“Kid this best be impor- I see.”

“Hey Mr. Stark,” Peter said weakly.

“Mr. Harrington is it? Please stop harassing my intern.”

“H-he, he is y-your intern?”

“Yes. My favorite. Please exit the building and never question him again. You will be hearing from me.”

Let’s just say, Monday was an interesting day. At least Flash backed off, he was definitely an intern at SI, and no one embarrassed him on the trip.

[allygodot]

Taking Accountability

My name is Adam, but people online call me Coffee. I’m a 27 years old graduate of Chicago Law School living in Green Bay, Wisconsin. I am a heterosexual Christian, but am an ally to the LGBT community. My main interests are Ace Attorney, Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, and My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. These are all things my followers should know about me, so why am I telling you this? Well... what if I told you it was all a lie? I’m sure this is coming as a shock to a lot of you, and I sincerely apologize to everyone I’ve hurt with my deception. It is my hope that this post will clear up any misconceptions that have been spread about me, whether I spread them myself or otherwise, and that in the future there will be no animosity between us. I don’t expect to be forgiven nor do I deserve it, but if there is one thing I learned from my time in the church it is that all I can do is ask for mercy and hope for the best. But first... I think an explanation is in order. If all that isn’t the truth, then what is? It all starts in college, that nebulous period of my life that everyone keeps asking about and I keep bringing up. Before I went to university, I had always been completely unremarkable. I had always had the kind of fair weather friends who enjoyed my company, but never felt to invested in me. Combined with my status as a middle child, I always felt like I had something to prove to get people to like me. I would say and think whatever I needed to for them to stick around another day, and I’m sure you are familiar with what that means for teenage boys. I acted immaturely because it was what was expected... and anything outside of that was looked down upon it even forbidden. I never thought much of it at the time, but I realize now that I wasn’t allowed much self-expression when I was always trying to conform to their standards. Everything changed when I met him. My assigned college roommate, Anton, was everything my years of conditioning had taught me to distrust. Despite his tall stature, he was emotional and sensitive... even vulnerable. Even so, he wasn’t afraid to be unabashedly himself. The first thing that struck me as unusual about him was his clothing... he almost always wore pastel pink or yellow and I hardly ever saw him without his long, checkered scarf. His nails were always painted with a clear, glittery polish, and I don’t think he ever skipped a shower in his life. His hair was always soft and smelled like strawberry even at a distance... all this to say he immediately struck me as fruity so I wanted nothing to do with him, at least initially. Despite his kindness to me, I would always respond with either the cold shoulder or open scorn, which only amplified the more I learned about him. I discovered pretty quickly that he was a furry, since one day I came home from a day of classes to find a decapitated pink cat head on our couch. He patiently explained the whole culture to me while I glared at him skeptically, but he didn’t seem bothered at all. He even brought out his paws and tail and told me he was saving up for a full suit despite my open disgust. Looking back, I still have no clue why he put up with me during that time. Another curious aspect of Anton’s life was his addiction to a certain television series called “My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.” His room was filled with merchandise from stuffed animals to figurines, and I had nothing but disdain for the tacky and embarrassing decoration. I was afraid that if I ever brought a girl over to our apartment she would notice and make all sorts of incorrect assumptions... I couldn’t handle the embarrassment. I tried on multiple occasions to convince him to hide them in a secret box or something, but he always just smiled and shook his head. I even tried to sneak into his room and collect all the ponies for donation once, but he had anticipated this and hid a playful trap for me... I reached forward to grab one of his overpriced statues and immediately got a face full of multi-colored snakes. I was livid of course, despite it being my own fault for trying to pawn of his collection in the first place, but he wasn’t even phased by my tirade. I suppose he was 6’5” and I was (and still am) only 5′7″... but still, I had at least expected him to be somewhat apologetic if not fearful. Instead, he just laughed and told me I should watch the show with him sometime. I obviously had no intentions of taking him up on his ludicrous offer... until he promised that if I didn’t enjoy the show, he would move all of his ponies into a case that he would throw a big curtain on whenever I said the word. I reluctantly agreed on those conditions, positive that this was a bet I couldn’t lose. I still remember that night like it was yesterday. He lead me into the pony chamber and sat down on his bed, taking out his laptop to pull up his favorite episode. It was “The Canterlot Wedding” two part season finale, and although I initially protested that I only agreed to watch one episode, I eventually relented once he reminded me what the prize was. I was hesitant to sit beside him on his bed and lean over his shoulder to look at the small screen, but he assured me that it didn’t bother him at all. I wasn’t particularly concerned with how he felt about it... it was more so my own pride I was worried about. Nevertheless, I sat through the whole episode with him despite myself. Although I was disturbed by the tendency for his long and curly hair to gravitate into my mouth while I rested my cheek against his shoulder, I found the episode to be surprisingly enjoyable. The song in particular surprised me with it’s musicality... by the end of it I didn’t want to leave, but I was far too embarrassed to admit that to him earnestly. I told him I was interested in the show purely for the songs and that it could benefit my studies as a music major, but that he still had to uphold his end of the bargain since I was by no means enjoying it. He just smiled and put on another episode, and before I knew it the sun was rising outside his window. I realized just how tired I was and turned to tell him I would be going to bed only to discover he had fallen asleep. I began to suspect that he must have been asleep for several hours, letting the auto-play functionality do his job for him while he rested up for his exams. Although I was scandalized, I was impressed by his tactical prowess... he had managed to trap me in his room, since I couldn’t move from my spot without disturbing his slumber, and he didn’t even have to be awake to do it. Begrudgingly, I spent the rest of his room, until eventually the faint aroma of strawberries lured me into the world of dreams... This arrangement continued for quite some time. When I got home from my classes, Anton would ask me if I wanted to watch some My Little Pony with him and I only agreed so long as he put the curtain over the cabinet next time I asked. He always obliged whenever I asked him to conceal his collection, but eventually I stopped asking for him to do so and only reminded him not to break our contract before every episode out of habit. It became a ritual for the two of us to do this every night, and even once we had finished all of the episodes we would just watch them again. I found that I was becoming endeared to this eccentric man... and as much as I tried to resist it, I couldn’t help but feel my heart swell a bit in my chest whenever he would run his fingers through his hair or tighten his scarf around his neck. I told myself it was nothing... but it wouldn’t remain that way for long. I don’t know what possessed me, but one night I thought I would get to know Anton a little better. I started by asking if he was single, which to me seemed like an innocuous question, but the very fact I was asking seemed to amuse him. He told me that he was having trouble finding a guy who wasn’t immediately turned off by all the ponies, and I made sure to snidely comment that he shouldn’t be going out with guys anyway even though it made my heart skip a beat when he said that, as well as mention that if he would just give up his collection there wouldn’t be an issue in the first place. I don’t know what I was expecting, but he asked me the same thing: how was my love life going, especially considering my new hobby? I couldn’t help but get flustered and start making excuses. I told him that there was no shortage of girls lined up to date me, but that I just wasn’t ready to make a commitment yet. I spun a whole story about how a girlfriend would only hold me back... I almost forgot that the standard that Anton accepted was completely different from my old teenage friends. He wasn’t impressed that girls were apparently lining up to get a piece of me... he just seemed amused that I thought such a thing was realistic, much less desirable. He didn’t understand that compulsive need to lie at all... he thought it would be better if more guys admitted that they were vulnerable. That was the first time I’d ever heard someone say something like that... I suddenly felt extremely exposed, and before I knew it my eyes were full of tears. My first instinct was to cover my face with my sleeve and hide my shame, but he was already firmly gripping my arm and holding it in place. He told me that I didn’t need to hide anything from him. He asked me if there was anything he could do to help me... and so for what felt like the first time in my life, I told the truth. It was supposed to be just to try it. I wasn’t expecting to actually enjoy it, I just thought that if I got it out of my system all of the unnecessary feelings would finally stop tormenting me... but all they did was grow stronger. I kept telling him that I was still looking for a girlfriend and that once I got one this whole arrangement would end, but eventually I realized that there was no point in lying to myself anymore. I wasn’t ever even sleeping in my own room anymore. I hadn’t so much as glanced at any dating websites in weeks. I was committed, whether I wanted to admit it or not... and I didn’t want to admit it. I only wish that I had told him how I really felt when I had the chance... One of the many things we started to share, which seemed the most inconsequential to me at the time, was a webpage. Anton was the owner of a small subreddit dedicated to My Little Pony fursuits, and he asked me if I would be willing to help him moderate. It wasn’t something I felt qualified to speak as an authority on, since even as I became more open about my love for ponies I still didn’t really feel connected to furry culture despite accompanying him to several conventions, but I was willing to do basically anything just to please him. My job was mostly to stop people from publicly “yiffing,” and although it was a grueling line of work it wasn’t thankless. Anton was a poet with words of affirmation. Many of the compliments he paid me were certainly undeserved, but they motivated me more than anything else ever had... but I got too zealous. There was a certain user on the server who for the sake of protecting privacy, we shall call XxLesbianRainbowDash69xX. As a member of the subreddit they were of course a brony and a furry, but what made them stand out was their dedication to the Flutterdash ship. They were constantly posting couple’s cosplays of themselves dressed as Rainbow Dash, but the Fluttershy in each picture was always different. They were also exceptionally sociable and aggressively tried to make friends with everyone on the tiny subreddit... Anton and I included. I wasn’t so keen on pursuing another friendship that could very well ruin my reputation, but of course Anton was immediately taken with the idea. The two of them exchanged contacts and hit it off instantly, and I started having trouble sleeping at night because he was awake in the early hours of the morning texting his friend in another timezone. He always paid me just as much attention as always during the daytime, but once he saw that his new friend was online he would crawl out of bed to go converse with them in another room. He was trying so hard to be considerate of me, and perhaps it was selfish for me to expect that I would always be able to sense his warmth and scent beside me while I slept... but at the time I was blinded by jealousy. One fateful morning, he excitedly woke me up to tell me that XxLesbianRainbowDash69xX had gifted him tickets to a major convention, and that the two of them were planning to cosplay Flutterdash together. He apologetically explained that he would be gone for a few days since the convention was halfway across the country, but sensing the disturbance within me he assured me that he could probably convince his friend to let me tag along as Applejack... she was always my least favorite. It didn’t matter what Anton said to encourage me, because I was never going to accept any consolation until this threat to our sacred relationship was eliminated. I had to find a way to get rid of XxLesbianRainbowDash69xX by any means necessary... In a fit of rage, I whipped out the ban hammer and beat my rival to death with it, metaphorically speaking. It was a blatant abuse of my privilege as a moderator and I am ashamed to admit it now... but at the time all that mattered was covering up the evidence. I knew I had to come up with an excuse for why I had banned them, so I added a new rule to the subreddit: Flutterdash was prohibited. The news was not met with acceptance from the other members of the community. To some more in the loop with the situation, it was obvious that I had only banned XxLesbianRainbowDash69xX because of a petty personal dispute, but others saw it as nothing but an unfair rule. I was accused of being biased towards other ships like Flutterchord or Appledash and that I needed to accept other people’s ship preferences, or even that I was homophobic and couldn’t handle the thought of lesbian characters in my favorite show. Chants of “mods are gay” could be heard across the subreddit from all sides of the debate, and everyone was rallying for Anton to remove me as a tyrannical moderator. Sound familiar? I can’t help but notice some similarities between my situation and Mo the one over at Kristahlia Week... maybe that is why the drama captivated me so.  Anton tried to reason with me, bless his heart, but at this point I had completely devolved back into my screaming teenager mentality to cope with all the rejection. He was obviously disappointed in me for what I had done but he had no reason to believe it would ruin us... he couldn’t have handled it better. It really was my fault that things happened the way they did, but I refused to take accountability. What I told him still haunts my conscience to this day, even six years later. I told him that I never loved him, and that I was only using his companionship to fulfill my carnal desires. I told him that I didn’t care about what he did with his life as long as he didn’t do anything that kept him away from me. I even told him that I still thought he was disgusting and embarrassing. And the worst thing is... in that moment I meant every word. I was so selfish... I genuinely forgot that I loved him and treated him like he only existed to serve me. My actions were truly despicable and I deserved to suffer for it... and I did. For the first time, I saw Anton cry. I should have been there to comfort him like he did for me on that fateful night, but instead I let him run out of the house to go suffer by himself. By the time I realized how horrible I was acting, it was too late. He had disappeared into the night, never to be seen again. I came home the next day to discover all the ponies in the apartment finally gone... isn’t that what I had wanted? My moderator status on the subreddit had been stripped away, and I had been banned by all of the members of the group on nearly every social media platform. Another classmate later informed me that Anton had transferred to a different college... and that was the end. I have no idea what happened to him after that, but I can only hope he is doing well. Instead of taking this as an omen that I should improve my behavior, I began to become even more bitter than I was before I met Anton. I acted like my relationship with him was just an experimental phase that was doomed to fail from the start, and soon I was denying that it ever even happened at all. I convinced myself that the problem in our relationship was that I wasn’t supposed to be with men, and so I began to insist that I was straight and aggressively seek out relationships with women just to prove it to myself. I also started searching for strict moral codes that could give direction to my life... which is when I found the Church. I was attracted to their beliefs because they gave a very clear outline for how someone’s life should go and promised ultimate happiness to anyone who could fulfill the requirements, so I began to obsess over meeting those requirements. I wanted a Christian wife that could bear me many children not because that is how I wanted to live my life, but because that is how other people wanted me to live my life... and all I wanted was for others to tell me I was doing something right. The congregation was distrusting if me at first, and although they never said it to my face I know it was because they were aware of my past. Hardly a woman would come near me, and looking back on it I can’t say I blame them. The ones who were desperate enough for a husband to give me a shot were quirky repulsed by my egotistical behavior, which certainly didn’t help my reputation. Throughout all this, I still somehow told myself I was the victim because I didn’t want to admit that I had become the villain again. For a long time, the only person in the parish who would willingly hold a conversation with me was Lana. She was a fellow member of the choir and a devout believer in God, but she was often judged by the rest of the congregation for being an open lesbian despite her faith. She tried to convince me on several occasions that I didn’t have to perform any sort of identity to impress anyone and that I should “just be myself,” but I insisted that I knew what I was talking about. Eventually, she decided my well-being wasn’t her responsibility and gave up on trying to reason with me, but nonetheless she still treated me more kindly then many of the other churchgoers. I believe that my “dark past” is what drew Gabriella to me in the first place. She likely hoped that we could act as covers for each other until she figured some way out of her situation, but unfortunately I was too far gone to be of any help. I convinced myself that she was really in love with me and that she would be walking down the aisle soon enough. Whether or not I was really interested in her or just interested in what she represented I’m still not sure... but she truly was a wonderful person who didn’t deserve to have to suffer through my baggage. When she left me I was truly devastated... so much so that I even began to go through another crisis of belief that I recorded on this very blog. All I have to add is that I no longer bear any resentment towards Lana or Gabriella, and only wish them the best of luck. My relationship with Krissy began almost immediately after my breakup with Gabriella. I was desperate to regain the status I supposed that I had lost along with my girlfriend, so I latched onto the first woman who showed me any sort of positive attention. Her death and my downward spiral are all well-documented on this blog. I didn’t want to blame myself for her passing as well, so I developed a conspiracy to rationalize the whole ordeal. I even tried to act like a completely different person to try to keep the blame as mentally distant from myself as possible, but that didn’t work either. In the end, this is my cross to bear alone. So that brings us to now. What will become of allygodot? The truth is, I don’t know and quite frankly I don’t think that is the most important thing right now. I realized last night when I was looking at that art of Diego and Godot as Happy Tree Friends characters that I desperately wanted to be anyone other than myself... it really opened my eyes to the level of repression that had been burdening me since the incident six years ago. I realized that if I wanted to change, sitting around and thinking about how things could hypothetically be different isn’t going to do anything. If I want to make progress and truly become a better person, I’m going to have to act better, not just tell myself that I am. From now on, I will be defining myself on my actions and not my beliefs, as wise man once said. I hope that soon, I will have become a good enough person to meet Anton face to face again... I still love him after all these years, and even though I expect that he justifiably won’t want anything to do with me anymore, I still think that it is a guilt that needs to be resolved. If I ever come back to this blog, it’ll be as a different Adam to the one you thought that you knew. It’ll be as the Adam I’m trying to become... the true Adam that I know exists deep within me... Not allygodot, but as proudgodot. My name is Adam, but people online call me Coffee or Godot. I’m a 27 years old former music student living in Green Bay, Wisconsin. I am bisexual. My main interests are Ace Attorney, Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, and My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.

[beewolfwrites]

And When I am Formulated, Sprawling on a Pin - Chapter Twenty-One: Tread Softly

I’m sure some of you have been looking forward to this chapter. Some truths are starting to come out now :) 

I know I put this on every chapter, but if you’re new here, this is a Chishiya x OC/Reader fic, and i’ve put the link to the full fic on AO3 right here. 

Enjoy! And thanks so much for reading! You have no idea how much it means to me <3

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A shiver swept through me, and everything went still. The flames, the tendrils of smoke, the gunfire, they all blurred into nothing, and all that mattered was this very moment.

‘The other day, you asked me for the reason why you’re here,’ he said, ‘but the real reason had nothing to do with your usefulness to the Beach. It was because you were useful to me.’

He spoke as if he were telling a well-rehearsed story, as if he’d predicted this outcome all along. He wasn’t even looking at me, but simply staring off into the smoke.

‘From our first game together, it was obvious you cared too much about others. I was looking for a third person to complete the plan, and after the Tag game, when I brought you to that pharmacy, I knew you were perfect.’

Every word sent a new wave of disappointment washing over me, eventually settling and making way for numbness, as I realised how much he had played me for a fool. And the most devastating part was that I should have seen it coming. After all, he was the one who’d told me my naivety would be the death of me.  

‘And after that?’

‘Everything I did after that was all to gain your trust.’ When he finally looked at me, his expression was indifferent. Detached. ‘I was going to send you into the royal suite, just like Arisu.’

The wind shifted, and the cards grazed around our feet, settling once again on the rooftop. An orange glow had lit up the hotel windows, and as the fire spread, it sent embers floating up into the night sky. And in the middle of it all, was the million-dollar question.

‘So why am I still alive?’

‘Because somewhere along the way,’ he said, ‘I changed my mind.’

But... why?  

He was speaking in riddles, evading my question like he evaded everything, and quite frankly, I was tired of it. I just wanted out, and to not have to worry about whether he was going to throw me under the bus.

‘What are you saying?’

‘I’m saying I decided against the idea.’ He sighed, his expression darkening almost imperceptibly. ‘I’m not sure exactly when the decision happened. It crept up behind me, without me realizing it.’

I froze.  

‘It sort of creeps up behind you, and by the time you realise it’s there, it’s too late. You’re already trapped.’

Those words… they were mine, back from that time in the jewellery store. He knew how I felt, and he was still trying to get into my head and twist me.

My fists clenched. ‘Stop,’ I hissed. ‘Stop trying to play with me like this.’  

‘Play with you?’ His eyes shone with amusement. ‘Who says I’m playing with you?’

Hot tears spilled down my cheeks, and I squeezed my hands until the fingernails cut sharp crescents into my palms. The flash of pain offered little remedy. The fact that he was toying with me so casually... I didn’t know whether I loved or hated him.

‘You were going to use me for something else then,’ I said. ‘If not for your plan, I would have come pretty handy in a game. A human shield, maybe.’

He laughed, a soft huff of air. ‘The thought did come to mind, but like I said, I decided against it.’

Despite how much I wanted him to leave me alone and let me focus on finishing the game, there was still a part of me that childishly clung onto the hope that he was telling the truth. I despised that part... I wanted to stamp in into the ground until it was buried forever.

‘I can’t....’ I shook my head. ‘I don’t understand.’

For a long moment, he stared at the rooftop in quiet contemplation, and then he spoke. The words were low, slipping out as if they didn’t truly want to be heard, and something inside of me buckled.

‘You’re a train whistle.’

I cried, hard. Even while the wind scattered the cards around our feet, and the gunfire slowly ebbed away, I sobbed into my hands like a child because this was my dream, the vision that I had wanted for myself. Yet here he was, standing before me with his trickster smile and his cruel apathy, trying to steal it from me.

‘I’m sorry.’ I rubbed the tears from my face with the backs of my hands. ‘I just can’t believe you.’

His jaw tightened for a fraction of a second. ‘You can’t believe me, or you don’t?’

‘Both,’ I replied. ‘If you’re telling the truth, you’d have to find a way to prove it. And even then, you’ve lied so much, I just can’t trust anything you say anymore, even if I really want to.’

‘And if I found proof?’

I shook my head. ‘You can’t.’

That was the cold hard reality.

However, there was another reality, one that was surrounding us in swathes of smoke gusting from the windows downstairs. The fire in the hotel was spreading fast, aided by the cold breeze that seeped through the singed holes in the back of my hoodie and sent goosebumps across my skin. Chishiya didn’t seem particularly bothered by the flames. His impassive gaze was focused on the ground, and he seemed preoccupied with something else.

Probably whatever ‘proof’ he’s going to concoct.

‘We should pick these up and go back inside,’ I said, drying my eyes on my sleeve and eyeing the playing cards dotted across the rooftop. ‘We need to find the witch before we all burn alive.’

Chishiya was silent as he helped me collect the cards before the wind carried them off. Once we re-entered the hotel, I could hear his footsteps following behind me, but I didn’t turn. Until the timer on our phones ticked down to zero, we would be allies and nothing more.

------------------------------------------

The halls were empty, and as we made our way to the balcony overlooking the lobby, it became clear why. All of the survivors were gathered here, including Aguni and the militants. Chishiya and I stayed close behind a pillar, remaining hidden on the floor above while watching the scene. The air was stiff as the survivors backed away, crying before the militants who waited with their guns poised.

‘Kill them all,’ Aguni said.

The militants readied themselves, adjusting their grip, all except one who shakily clutched his gun. ‘Jun,’ he said to the man beside him. ‘I can’t... I just can’t do this anymore.’

‘We’ve gone too far to stop,’ Jun replied. ‘There’s no way we can go back to our original lives after killing this many people’

I flinched as Aguni kicked Jun to the ground. ‘You heard me before, right? Anyone who goes against me is a witch.’ His expression turned dark, and he pointed his gun at Jun’s head.  

‘Shoot me then!’ Jun cried.

I bit my lip, my fingers tightening around the balcony as Aguni placed his finger on the trigger.

‘That’s enough!’

That voice… he’s alive.

A familiar face appeared from the sidelines, and the crowd parted to make way for Usagi, the girl in the yellow t-shirt from earlier, and a boy I knew to be named Tatta. Between them, they were supporting a heavily injured Arisu. Blood was smeared across his face and clothes, but I was glad to see that he had made it.

I should go down there, I thought. I should be supporting them.

I made a move towards the staircase, only for Chishiya to wrap a hand around my forearm. Glaring, I tried to yank myself free. He only tightened his grip in response and shook his head.

‘Let’s end this game!’ Tatta said, moving back to let his friend stand upright.

Arisu hobbled over to Aguni. ‘I was tied up by you guys the entire time, even before the murder happened. I can’t be the witch, and if none of you guys are the witch, there’s no need to kill me. Please cooperate with me.’

Aguni casually strolled over, then smashed his fist into Arisu’s nose. There was a crunch as he kicked him square in the chest, and Arisu’s body rolled across the floor. I recoiled, turning my head in the direction of the staircase – anything not to have to look at Arisu’s bloodied features. Chishiya’s fingers squeezed.

Once again, Arisu stood up to face Aguni, who advanced like a predator. Before he could swing a punch, Usagi lunged at him. He tossed her aside like a rag doll.

‘I see now,’ she said, scowling from where she lay sprawled on the floor. ‘The reason you attacked Arisu even though he’s the only one with an alibi, it’s because you’re the witch.’

There was a moment where Aguni hesitated. Something unreadable came over his face, then he spoke, confident. ‘That’s right. I’m the witch.’

The room filled with whispers. Several people took a step back, eyeing the guns of the militants and Aguni’s unwavering certainty. There was something about it that didn’t sit right with me. Aguni had more of a reason to kill Arisu and Usagi than he did Momoka. Not to mention Kuina had been guarding outside his room earlier. He had been in there all evening.

‘Why is he lying?’ I whispered to Chishiya.

His mouth tilted knowingly. ‘I have a feeling we’ll find out soon.’

I bet he already knows who the witch is.

I scanned the room, trying to figure it out for myself, but there were so many elements to this puzzle. Aguni wasn’t the witch, that was obvious. He probably murdered Hatter though, and I had a feeling there was more to it than just rising tensions. It was only when he walked towards the militants’ outstretched guns, daring them to shoot him, that the bigger picture started to come together.

He wants to die…

Hatter’s death, he felt guilty for it, and now he wanted to die. Could that mean they had been genuine friends before things at the Beach got out of control? But that still didn’t make Aguni the witch. If this was a Hearts game, the real witch was someone we’d least expect… a solution that would leave us distraught.

Apparently, I wasn’t alone in thinking this, as Arisu yelled, ‘don’t shoot him! Aguni’s not the witch!’ With Usagi’s help, he lifted his head from the ground. ‘This is a Ten of Hearts game. Killing him won’t help you win.’

He’s right, it’s a Hearts game, which means the witch will be hidden in plain sight.

The rules stated that we had to find the witch and burn her body. They never mentioned anything about killing anybody, and the rules never lied.

It’s a solution that that still involves burning a body…

My eyes drifted to Momoka.

‘He has an ulterior motive,’ Arisu continued, struggling to his feet. ‘The one you killed wasn’t Momoka… it was Hatter. I found out after I saw your eyes. They were the same eyes I had after killing my best friends.’ He stumbled into middle of the room until he stood face to face with Aguni. ‘If you had this many firearms, the militants would have gained control a long time ago. In reality, you and hatter were both helping each other. There was no conflict at all. You were best friends with Hatter in reality, right?’

With one subtle twitch, Aguni’s expression gave him away, and he crashed his fist into Arisu’s head. Several people jumped onto his back, but he shook them off easily, picking up Arisu by the scruff and socking him once again in the jaw. It was hard to believe he was still conscious as he writhed on the carpet.

‘Just who is the witch?’ Usagi cried.

‘I know who it is,’ Arisu whispered. He swayed as he got to his feet. Then he pointed across the room, and everyone turned to the body lying there. ‘It’s possible that the witch is Momoka herself.’

I looked at Chishiya who was calm as ever. ‘You knew this already, right?’

He smirked softly. ‘So did you.’  

For the tiniest second, there was something else in his expression, something I didn’t have a name for, and some of the pain I felt softened in response. But the moment disappeared, as down below, the room erupted into disorder.

‘What a joke!’ Aguni threw Arisu to the floor yet again. This time, the action sparked something as all the remaining survivors threw themselves at Aguni, swarming in an attempt to subdue him. With gritted teeth, he flung them aside one by one. ‘I’m the witch!’ he yelled. ‘It’s me!’

It was no use. They circled him in a mess of limbs, arms grabbing and pulling desperately. If they could take him down, or at least keep him distracted, there was a chance the game could finally be cleared. But then a new voice broke through the madness, and things took a strange, strange turn down the rabbit hole.

‘Listen up everyone!’ The girl in the yellow t-shirt, Momoka’s best friend, stood unflinching in the middle of the room. ‘I’m the dealer for this game!’

A bright red laser struck the ceiling and pierced her body. She dropped, limp against the floor.

A Dealer?

My mouth fell open in surprise, and at the same time, it all fell into place… the reason why certain games had others playing against us… why they seemed to be designed and run by gamemasters rather than computers. Were the people in this world split into dealers and players?

I glanced at Chishiya finding him equally taken aback. His fingers slackened around my arm, and seeing my opportunity, I pulled away, heading towards the stairs.  

The least I can do is help them carry Momoka’s body to the fire.

I didn’t get far. Chishiya’s hand grabbed my hood and dragged me right back. I staggered, trying to get away from him after everything he’d done, only to freeze when he said firmly, ‘not just yet.’

‘Why?’ I hissed. ‘So you can use me as a shield in case they see us?’

He didn’t reply, but the look on his face left no room for discussion. Everything inside me bristled as he kept his hand tight around my wrist. He had no right, no right whatsoever to do this, keeping me here without even telling me why. However, the sting was washed away when I saw Kuina stumble into the room, Ann by her side.

Kuina!

It was such a relief and a joy to see her alive and uninjured, although at the same time I wondered how much she was in on. Did she know that Chishiya had been manipulating me? Was she only friends with me because he had told her to be? She had mentioned once that he was the one who asked her to bring me food that time when we first met. The confusion was tearing me apart; I no longer knew what was real and what was fabricated.

Ann held up the missing knife from the body. ‘The fingerprints on the handle show a reverse grip,’ she said. ‘Momoka killed herself.’

It only meant one thing; she had committed suicide for the sake of starting the game.

Then in that case, they were both ‘dealers’, whatever that means.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about this now. Were they forced to participate, or did they choose to create all this mess themselves? If so, why would they want to do something like this? And why would the girl in the yellow t-shirt help Arisu if she was in on the game?

‘FIVE MINUTES REMAINING.’

The acrid scent of burning fabric filled the air, and everyone looked around, trying to pinpoint the source.

The fire!

I had forgotten all about it, and now there was no time to waste standing around like this.  

‘We only have minutes left!’ Kuina shouted. ‘We need to get her body onto the fire.’

Several people scrambled to lift Momoka’s body and bring this entire massacre to an end. No more deaths. No more blood. No more betrayal. However, this was just wishful thinking, cut short by gunshots bursting through the lobby. A familiar figure stumbled out through the smoke, and I instinctively took a step back.

Niragi’s alive?!

He’d wrapped his torn shirt around his head, and every inch of his upper body was blistered with glistening red burns. In his hand was a submachine gun, and with an animalistic growl, he unleashed a spray of bullets throughout the room.

Bodies flew back and tumbling to the ground, blood splattering the walls and carpet as people stumbled over one another in a frantic struggle to escape. I saw Arisu and Usagi duck, while others crouched low, covering their heads. Bullets ricocheted off the walls as Niragi aimed wildly in every direction, shooting everything that moved.  

And then he looked up.

Even through the charred skin and the tatters of fabric, that familiar glint shone in his eyes when they locked with mine. Teeth bared in unrestrained fury, he raised his gun.

I felt Chishiya’s hands on my shoulders.

It’s just sound and fury…  

He fired.

[haliyam]

No matter what

eren x historia; yeager bro moments (or zeke wishes lol)

Summary: The time has come for Marley to choose its new Warriors, and Eren has a decision to make. (Also, "some things never change.") Warriors AU for erehisu day.

AO3 link if you prefer to read there

--

Happy erehisu day! I saw this amazing erehisu art by beforelightsout on twitter where Eren and Historia are Warrior candidates + Eren became a shifter. Since it's erehisu day and everyone has come out with such wonderful stuff, I wanted to contribute somehow and write something for that AU. I've been dying of work and a covid scare so I was running on the fumes of my love for this ship and everyone else's stuff and also VIBES while writing this in the last hour, so, it's barely edited, if it even makes sense. Sorry in advance. I hope you enjoy though! 

Also, for this AU (or really for the fic to work lol), my headcanon is that the war keeping the previous Warriors dragged on, so Reiner's generation don't get selected until they're this age (Historia and Eren are 17). As for Zeke... idk. Maybe Mr. Ksaver had more time too. Anyway who cares about Zeke here!!! (me I still do)

No matter what

“You know this counts as cheating.”

Eren shoots Zeke a look. They’re standing at the courtyard in HQ, watching the younger candidates wheeze through their training while Magath and his assistant instructors bark orders in the background. Days before selection, and with Zeke already holding the Beast Titan and Colt preparing to inherit, their generation doesn’t need to be put through their paces as often anymore—or maybe Commander Bruning is just letting them off the hook for the week.

They both doubt that. 

Up ahead, Falco trips over an unseen pebble, and Zeke sighs. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know?” he says, out of misplaced brotherly affection. Eren appreciates it, but that’s not what he needs right now. “You already have the armband.”

“This isn’t about me.”

“I know,” Zeke raises his hands in surrender, but the playful gesture doesn’t take away the scrutiny in his gaze. For all his levity, he doesn’t once glance away. Eren knows he’s seeing their father in him, trying to decide whether that’s a positive or a negative. 

“So?”

Zeke scratches the back of his ear. “You already know you’re in the running for the Attack Titan and the Armored Titan. Porco and Reiner are on your heels for the Armor. As for the Attack Titan…”

Zeke tilts his head in a shrug. Eren exhales, and then nods. “Thanks.”

His brother peers at him, a small smile curling at the corners of his mouth. “Thanks what?”

Eren is grateful, reassured, but not that grateful. “What am I, ten? I’m not calling you big bro.”

Zeke lets out a long-suffering sigh this time, the kind he uses to guilt trip the others into helping him with paperwork at his age. “You used to be such a cute kid.” He’s quick enough to reach over and ruffle Eren’s hair, and then withdraw before he can smack his hand away. “Now you’re all grown up.”

Eren rolls his eyes, but claps a hand to his brother’s arm in earnest. “Thanks, Zeke.”

The man gives him a thumbs up, and Eren belatedly catches a sliver of gold pass one of the windows behind the courtyard ahead of the other girls. His feet take him forward before he can bid his brother goodbye.

“Go on,” Zeke says, right as Eren catches himself almost sheepishly. He goes to her without another thought.

--

There’s no big to-do when it comes to the selection process. Apart from their generation of candidates, there’s only Zeke, standing to the side with the other instructors who assist the captain, while Magath and Commander Bruning themselves stand together, as imposing as the day they first met.

Maybe a little less now that they’ve earned their stripes, training for a decade with the extension of the war in the South, but Eren can feel the pressure of this moment bearing down on him. 

The others have been chosen. They stand at the other side of the room, putting on their most dignified expressions and trying to contain their shock at their commander’s question. 

“There remain two Titans, Eren Yeager,” said Commander Bruning seconds, maybe a minute ago. Eren’s mind is still reeling. “Which of them, in your estimation, best suits you?”

“Me, sir?” he had asked dumbly in response. Bruning had only nodded.

It isn’t supposed to happen like this. From the group ready to receive their red armbands, he feels Marcel’s eyes burning into his side. Marcel, who was pulled aside by Magath and Bruning earlier today. Eren expected the same treatment—not this. Is this a test? 

Porco and Reiner stand to his left, behind him because he’s stepped forward, and he feels hazel daggers ready to strike at his back. He doesn’t care about them right now. It’s the blue to his right that envelops his all. The air is replete with Historia’s expectation, drowning out all the others in the room. He feels weightless in it, a drop in the ocean that is her existence to him. 

Eren knows he could be more. If he gives the right answer, she might just see him as more.

But Historia isn’t the ocean to these people. She’s a tool, or she could be, and he cannot let that happen. Eren remembers the ground under his feet and peers into the commander’s eyes.

“If I may, sir, I believe Braun has always had the most endurance among the candidates,” he says clearly, just like he’s rehearsed with Marcel. He tries not to imagine the way Historia’s stomach drops. “Nowadays he takes Leonhart’s hits like they’re almost nothing. And for myself—I’ve come to specialize in close quarters combat. The Attack Titan would suit me best.”

Reiner sighs in relief not far from him. Porco and Historia are utterly silent. He can’t even hear them breathing.

Bruning and Magath seem not to notice. They only exchange glances, and if they think anything of Eren answering more than what was asked of him, they say nothing. 

After a few nods, Bruning turns toward them with pride. “It’s as we thought. I see no reason why we should delay for pointless suspense or further deliberation.” With a small motion of the commander’s hand, Reiner steps forward. “Congratulations, Yeager. Braun. You have earned the honor of becoming the new sword and shield of our great motherland Marley.”

--

The room erupts with excitement as soon as the Marleyans are surely gone from the hallway. Eren is already headed for the door when Porco tries to grab him by the shoulder.

“Eren, what the hell? You know this asshole isn’t better than me!”

Reiner sneers at him from behind before Eren can even shrug him off. “Apparently the brass knew different, Pock. Don’t take it out on Eren—he only affirmed what they were already thinking.”

Porco growls, turning on Reiner instead, which means it’s going to be one of those afternoons. Eren is happy to turn back for the door—he feels bright blue trained on him now, and it’s all he can do not to scamper for the exit.

Clutching the cigarette pack in his uniform pocket, he manages to get as far as two floors down before Historia catches up. She’s been calling out to him since she gave chase.

“Hey!” she yells. He was stupid to head for their usual spot. There’s a corridor in this building that’s gone unused for a while that they found, once, when it was their turn for cleaning duty. It’s been theirs since then, and one of the windows has the best view of the city right outside the internment zone’s walls—and the zone entrance itself. So they don’t forget what they’re supposed to do. 

“Eren!”

She’s starting to lose her breath, unable to match his longer strides. His footsteps start to slow, right as they reach that window. He turns around when hers stop too.

Hands still in his pockets, he stares down at her. “What is it?”

Historia glares at him, dignified even as she tries to catch her breath. “What the hell are you doing?”

Eren fishes out the cigarette pack from his pocket and shows her. It’s really Zeke’s, but he figured he’d need it after today. He isn’t wrong. 

She scoffs. “Since when do you smoke?”

“I’m going to be a shifter,” he shrugs. “It doesn’t matter much now, right?”

Historia shakes her head, smart enough to ignore the diversion. “Eren, what the hell was that? I thought… I thought we understood each other.” Always to the point. “I thought you and I would become Warriors together. Change things from the inside and convince the others to do the same.”

The truth of her confusion, her frustration and growing anger pulls at him. She’s everything she didn’t used to be, back when she was still playing the perfect little Warrior who unnerved him so much. It’s exactly why he needs to keep a straight face. 

“Ah… yeah. Sorry about that,” he murmurs, his tone completely level, fingers pinching at the cigarette pack in his fist. “I just gave it some thought, and… I think Reiner would be better as the Armor, not me. So—that left me as the Attack Titan.”

The pain in her eyes is almost too much for him. If only they were cold, just like she’d been the moment he saw her true self for the first time. That way he could crystallize himself in them and shatter instead of having to face her like this. But she hasn’t been cold for a long while, and the warmth in her gaze even after his betrayal does him in. 

“You’re lying,” she realizes the moment his gaze flickers away from hers. Eren curses himself for it. “You once said you could always tell when I was being fake. You think, after everything we’ve been through, that I wouldn’t know it with you either?”

Eren bites his tongue and forces himself to meet those eyes again. He reminds himself why he did it. It’s all that keeps his hands steady as he carelessly flicks the cigarette pack open and reaches for a stick. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Historia swipes her hand at his, knocking the pack from his grasp. It hits the ground with a pathetic smack. “Don’t lie to me, Eren!” she says, pleads even when she’s angry, because they’re friends, aren’t they? If only that were all she is. “You know I deserve more than that. Why are you doing this!? We were going to become Warriors together. We were supposed to have thirteen years together!”

She’s free to vent her frustrations in the hallway like they always have with each other, voice shaky and shakier still as the grief escapes her. By the time she mentions that number, Historia is on the verge of tears, but she blinks them away with the fury that remains. How unlike him, who wants to fold more than anything, feeling like the slightest breeze, the slightest word from her can knock him over. He can only stare at the ground as he swallows down the emotion rising in his throat, and that’s when he realizes it. She’s right, like she always is. He can’t stand lying to her. 

The prospect of having to utter his next words terrifies him more than the idea of paradise. But he manages it, because she deserves to know the truth.

“You know why,” he says, trembling only at the last word. Shamefully, face red with self-disgust, he lifts his eyes to hers, fearing the worst. 

She catches his meaning. Of course she does—she knows him best. He expects her to leap at him, punch him, anything that will make the guilt of his selfishness ebb even just a little, but she only stands there. Shocked, and then her cheeks flush in only the most beautiful way. He already knows he’ll never forget how the light from the windows illuminates her face like this.

But then her brows furrow, shoulders raising angrily, and she stomps her foot on the ground. “Am I supposed to be grateful for that?” she snaps. “Should I say thank you for making this decision without me? What about what I wanted?”

“No!” Eren stammers, hands up in submission as if that will placate her. “Of course not! I didn’t do this for your gratitude!” 

“Then why did you do it?” Her voice is still raised, but her tone is resigned. Historia knows that even if she gets the answer, Marley’s decision is set in stone.

That’s the thought Eren takes comfort in. The tears that dampen his eyes are tears of relief, no matter his shame, no matter his remorse. And here he thought he’d grown out of this when he turned sixteen. 

Pressing his lips into his teeth in an attempt to maintain his composure, Eren lets his gaze drop again. “I want you to live,” he admits, so quietly she almost misses it. “I want you to grow up and have a family like you wished you could, if you weren’t pushed into this when we were children. Get married, have children you’re free to love the way…”

He trails off. The last thing he wants to do is mention her mother. He knows she understands when she doesn’t press him to finish.

“I want you to grow old,” he continues. “Live past thirty. Get to fifty, seventy… Then you can be as grumpy as you want to be without anyone saying it doesn’t suit you. I want you to be happy.”

A slight hiccup leaves his throat, one Historia misses only because she does the same. Eren swallows it down, but his nose is already stuffy. When he looks at her again, he’s the most serious he has ever been, and it’s no performance. He reaches for her hands. 

“I’m not prepared to sacrifice your life for our cause,” he confesses. Eren imagines he could bear never to look out that window and see the walls torn down, the way they’ve dreamt together for the past few years, if it means she will live to see it herself long after he’s gone. He’s not articulate enough to say it, his ears and his throat so full with everything he wants to tell her in this moment that he’s speechless. How can he be otherwise, when she’s looking at him like that? All he can blurt out is, “I’m sorry.”

A silence brews between them. Eren wonders if it’s time to step away, to leave her to her thoughts. Maybe he can still beg for forgiveness later.

He loosens his grip on her hands, meaning to wipe his eyes, and that’s when she seizes his. “You stupid crybaby,” she murmurs quietly, fondly, “do you really think I’d be happy knowing you sacrificed yourself for me? Why do you think I promised you that we’d complete our mission within the next thirteen years?”

Eren can only look dumbfounded. 

“I wanted to spend them with you, you idiot,” she gives him, even as her voice quivers with the same desperate longing he’s felt ache in his chest for as long as he can remember now. “I would have been happier spending thirteen years with you, fighting together, than sitting out the fight and living the rest of my life without you. Isn’t that what we agreed on? To work toward what we promised? Together? What did you think I meant by that?”

Eren opens his mouth, body drained of the cool facade he’s found solace in the last few weeks since he came to terms with his greed.

“Historia,” he breathes. Remembers to. “You—?”

She’s had enough of him, he can tell by the look on her face—but he’s wrong again, because Historia grabs him by the collar and pulls him down to her, meeting his mouth with hers in a bid to help him see the truth. His fingers find her face on instinct, lips parting as they kiss so he can partake of her further. 

A moment, a hum from her and something stirring deep inside him, and Historia pulls away as if in punishment. She’s flush again, glaring until those blue eyes soften at his stupid expression. 

“Get it yet?” she asks.

His thumbs slide across her cheek, a small grin pulling at his mouth. She really is the ocean, Eren thinks, and dives in again, drinking of those soft lips, drowning in the scent of her hair, the feeling of her hands sliding down his chest. She’s everything.

What feels like both a moment and an eon passes as they stand there, him bent down as he kisses her, her tiptoed to grant it to him, until they eventually part. Only a little, because they can’t bear the distance just yet. Just so their foreheads are pressed together.

“I’m sorry,” Eren murmurs, before he’s lost in her again. “I didn’t know.”

Historia’s lashes flutter as she blinks away her own tears. This doesn’t change the consequences of the decision he’s made on his own, but she knows she can’t give him up, either. When she opens her eyes, she’s more resolute than he’s ever felt in his life. “There has to be a way,” she tells him. “Go to Paradis. Retake the Founding Titan… and come back. Then we’ll do as we promised.”

“Change the curse,” he replies, like they’ve planned, looking out at the stars from his roof in the zone. “Free our people.”

Historia nods. “No matter what.”

“No matter what,” he agrees. 

She smiles, and he can’t help that the way her lips purse when she tries to stifle it moves him. Eren draws closer—

“There you are!”

—and nearly stumbles as he and Historia untangle their limbs from one another, practically standing at attention when they hear his brother’s voice and Marcel’s surprised ah.

Unfortunately, not even the most perfect posture can erase the affection still blooming in their cheeks, or the slight swell of their lips resulting from that affection. Or the smiles they just can’t help for one another.

Zeke squints. Also unfortunately, nothing gets past this asshole. “Oh, so it finally happened?”

Marcel glances between the two of them, coming closer. “Seriously?”

Zeke snorts, palm open to the new Jaw. “Pay up, Galliard.”

Marcel scoffs. “Come on. Is it really fair if you had inside information?”

“Are you kidding? My baby brother tells me squat.”

“Oh. Yeah, I mean I guess I understand that…”

Historia lets out a very audible sigh. “Can we help you?”

Marcel meets Eren’s gaze, gratitude and apology in his smile, while Zeke tries on his new Warchief role for size. He clears his throat.

“Now that Porco and Reiner have settled down, Bruning and Magath want to see us again. Discuss our steps going forward, run tests on the new Warriors… The works. Time to go.”

Marcel sighs. “Talk about eager.”

“All right,” Eren says, finally, because he prefers serious Zeke to his annoying brother right now. He feels vulnerable enough, and he doesn’t care to be that way in front of these two. Or anyone else but her, really. “Lead the way.”

Zeke and Marcel turn to leave, starting to argue the terms of their wager as they disappear around the corner.

Historia and Eren look to each other. A shy smile finds its way to his face as he offers her his hand. 

“By the way, Eren,” Zeke pokes his head into the corridor again, finger waving at the mess of sticks on the floor, “you owe me a new pack of cigarettes. And clean that up.”

Eren groans. “Shut up!”

“But that was my favorite brand! The things I do for love,” his brother whines, to Marcel’s quiet chuckling, and finally they leave for good. 

“Sorry about that,” Eren mutters. Not that Historia hasn’t seen him like this before.

She only laughs as she accepts his hand. When she shakes her head, smiling as she pulls him forward, he feels like they might actually do it. That they might be able to find a way past those thirteen years.

And even if they don’t, he can’t feel regret. As long as they’ve managed to accomplish their mission… No, as long as he can ensure that Historia lives on, he’ll pay any price.

No matter what.

//

I'll take any opportunity to give Marcel more screentime. Well, I actually debated with myself whether it would be Marcel or Bertholdt in the last scene, but Marcel made more sense so that Zeke could whine about being an older brother to someone who could relate. (And yes, Marcel and Eren made a deal to have Reiner become the Armor. I’M SORRY REINER)

Writing Eren's parts made me realize how much I'm in love with Historia??? Like I've always loved her but I guess I realized I'm IN love with her XD Also my hc is Eren here likes to think he's the strong one protecting them both or he at least likes to project that image to the others, but really he takes his cues from Historia who is much stronger emotionally and mentally imo. Idk, I just think she's the boss in this relationship (though of course they are able to be vulnerable with one another which is the biggest thing for me).

Anyway. Thank you for reading! Happy erehisu day!

P.S. I forgot to mention that 'Commander Bruning' in my hc is the guy who tells Magath that it's a good idea to use child soldiers as their Warriors. I imagine he was in charge of a certain number of Eldian soldiers, including the Warrior program, while Magath was the 'captain' who directly managed the kids until his and Bruning's eventual promotions when they were able to conquer nations with such success.

[peakyswritings]

Another Love

Tommy Shelby x female!reader

A/N: hi! This is my first fic and I don’t actually know how I feel about it. I’ve been inspired by the song “Another Love” by Tom Odell and I used #13 and #40 from the angst prompt list. Please keep in mind that English is not my first language, so forgive me if you find any mistake

Warnings: angst, smoking, drinking, slight self-hate

The gif is not mine, credits to the owner

All my tears have been used up on another love

The first time you met Tomas Shelby was at the Garrison. You where new in town and you had just started working there as a barmaid, he was in the private room with his brothers, smoking and drinking whiskey. Harry had warned you about them, he had told you that every order was on the house and to be sure that they always had their glasses refilled in the shortest amount of time. You didn’t know exactly what kind of business the Peaky Blinders were in, but you were not blind. Three things caught your attention in the first week. First, they had blades in their caps. The second thing you noticed was the respect and fear people showed towards them. Last but not least, they always carried guns. You tried to follow Harry’s advice, trying to avoid any kind of personal contact with them and only getting close to them to take their orders and refill their glasses.

That was until that night.

You and Tommy had never talked much before- just some small talk, but nothing serious- and he never paid particular attention to you, but that night something changed. It was closing time, Harry had already headed home because it was your turn to close the Garrison. The customers were gone and you were cleaning up the last glasses, when he entered the pub. He was drenched by the rain and he looked exhausted. He didn’t say a word as he let himself fall on a chair and he lit himself a cigarette.

“Do you need something, Mr Shelby?” you asked politely. You surely didn’t expect him to show up at that hour of the night.

“Just pour me some whiskey, Y/N” he said taking a drag from his cigarette.

You did as he said, then you turned your back to him to keep cleaning the counter. You both stayed silent for a while and for the whole time you could feel his eyes on you. After a couple glasses of whiskey and what seemed a tremendous amount of time, he finally talked.

“You know, there was a woman...”

That night he told you about his previous girlfriend, Grace. Apparently, she was a spy for the Crown and he fell in love with her. She had left for America a couple months before your arrival in Small Heath and he had just been told that she got married with some rich man. You didn’t know what made him open up to you, maybe it was the whiskey, maybe his tiredness or maybe it was the fact that customers always talked about their problems with the barmaids. However, you could feel that he needed to take something off his chest, so you just listened to him.

You were surprised to see him like that. He always seemed emotionless and controlled, but that night he seemed...beaten. His usually neat suit was drenched and wrinkled, his hair was wet and he smoked cigarette after cigarette. In his worn out state he seemed more human and you felt something that you couldn’t recognise.

There was something about him that attracted you like a moth to a flame.

You didn’t talk about that again after that night and he acted like nothing happened. You thought that he probably regretted the way he opened up to you in his drunken state, but you decided not to bring it up. Actually, something did change from that night. You talked more, sometimes he would sit on a stool in front of you instead of staying in the private room just to keep you company. The more time passed, the more you found yourself catching feelings for that broken man.

I wanna take you somewhere so you know I care, but it’s so cold and I don’t know where

I brought you daffodils in a pretty string, but they won’t flower like they did last spring

Soon your friendship became something more. At the beginning things where amazing and you discovered that behind that hard exterior there was a caring and kind man. He always cared for you, making sure you where alright and he walked you home every night. Most nights you invited him in, you sat on the couch and you spent the night talking. However, as time passed by, you noticed that something was off, as if he was restrained and still deciding if he could trust you. He started to pull away, he sat in the private room of the Garrison more often, when he walked you home he didn’t come inside anymore.

Little did you know, that the cause of his detachment was his previous relationship. When Grace decided to go away, some part of him went away with her. He had feelings for you, but he was scared, he didn’t want to be hurt like that again. He knew that by pulling away from you he was hurting your feelings, he just couldn’t help it. He tried to make an effort to fix that, despite his fear and insecurity.

One morning he came to your house. The first thing you noticed when you opened the door was a beautiful bouquet of yellow daffodils surrounded by a pretty pink string.

“They say gifting a bouquet of daffodils ensures happiness” he said, handing you the flowers.

You gave him a big smile and thanked him as you took the flowers to put them in a vase, moving away from the doorstep to let him in.

“Do you want a cup of tea? I was preparing it” you said as you walked towards the teapot.

“Sure”

He sat at the table and you poured you both a cup of tea, before sitting in front of him. He was silent and he was trying to find the right words to say. He wanted to tell you that he was sorry, that he didn’t mean to push you away, that what he felt for you was real and that he was just scared. You were slowly becoming an essential part of his life and he was terrified. He ended up going away without saying a word about his feelings. Actually, he barely said a word at all, leaving you sad and confused.

And I wanna kiss you, make you feel alright

I’m just so tired to share my nights

I wanna cry and I wanna love

But all my tears have been used up

On another love

He didn’t want to lose you, nevertheless he kept on pushing you away, too scared to open up and to let you see the deepest parts of him, too scared to let you in only for you to walk away afraid of what you’d see. He knew that if he let you in, you would have noticed how broken and hopeless he was and you would have walked away. Just like Grace had.

He wanted to spend the night with you again, he wanted to kiss you, he wanted to make you laugh and to keep you safe, but he was restrained. He just couldn’t bring himself to do that.

Eventually you got tired of the situation. You had waited for months, given him the space he needed, but at some point it was just too much. A week after the day he left your house without an explanation you decided to confront him. It was late at night, you had just closed the Garrison and he was walking you home. As usual you invited him in and, just like every other time you had asked him in the past two months, he told you he was tired.

“Please, Tommy. I need to talk to you. If you don’t want to come inside, then we can talk here. But we can’t avoid this conversation anymore”

He knew it was a matter of time before you got tired and confronted him. He thought he had prepared himself for this, that he would have been able to face the situation when the right moment came, but he was wrong. Nothing could prepare him to let you go. You went inside and you hung your coat, then you turned to face him. He looked you in the eyes, waiting for you to talk.

“Tommy I can’t do this anymore. I’ve tried to give you some space, I waited for you, but now it’s just too much...” you said hoping to provoke something in him, something that could make him understand that he was losing you for good.

He looked hurt for a moment, but then he put on his usual mask of indifference, looking away from you.

“It’s fine, if that’s what you want” he said in a emotionless voice.

“So you basically don’t care” you crossed your arms and you kept on looking at him.

“No.”

Just one word. It was all se said before lighting up a cigarette. It would have hurt you, if you didn’t know he was lying. In the past months you had learned to read him and you could always tell when he wasn’t telling the truth.

“You’re lying”

He didn’t say a word and he kept on looking away from you. You knew he was acting like that because he didn’t want you to see that he was hurt. He did that because if he didn’t show any emotion, maybe it would have been easier to convince himself that he was not hurt. That he was alright.

“Stop running from your feelings!”

He took a last drag from his cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray and only then he looked at you.

“I want to stay with you, I want to be here for you, but I can’t if you don’t let me!”

His gaze softened when your voice cracked, but still, he didn’t say a word.

“Talk to me for God’s sake!” you snapped, exhausted.

After a few moments, he finally talked and, for the first time in a long time, he opened up to you. It was the only thing he could do if he wanted you to stay.

“I’m scared, Y/N. I’m scared to let you in because I know that you will walk away too. I’m afraid you’ll end up seeing me the way that I see myself” he looked away from you again.

You took some steps towards him and you put a hand on his cheek and stroking it gently, to make him look at you.

“There’s nothing to be scared of. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere. I promise. Nothing would make me walk away from you”

You said those words looking at him in the eyes, hoping to make him understand that you were telling the truth.

“I love you, Tommy. Nothing could make me love you less”

It was the first time you said it and you meant it. He looked at you speechless. You loved him.

You loved him.

He he moved closer, and he gently put his lips on yours. It was a sweet kiss, full of love and things unsaid.

“I love you too, Y/N. And I’m sorry. Please give me another chance. I want to make this right. I will make this right. I promise.” he said with his husky voice, looking at you with his piercing blue eyes. He meant that. You didn’t answer, you just pulled him in for a kiss.

You knew it wouldn’t be easy, that there would have been ups and downs, that his wounds wouldn’t heal so easily. Nevertheless, you knew that all of that was worth it, as long as you had each other.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 9

<- Chapter 8 | Chapter 10 ->

Summary: Your POV on what you’ve been up to since the breakup

1,915 words

The first week you just cried, and slept.

I shouldn’t have said that, you thought the minute you reached the hospital parking garage. You started to shake as you sank into the driver’s seat. Did that really happen? Then the tears started coming, and didn’t stop.

You crawled into the massive bed that you and Frederick used to share, that had been too big and empty and cold for too long, pulled the covers over your head, cuddled into the spot that used to smell like him, and slept. You slept as though you hadn’t slept in years. You slept until the gnawing in your stomach became too painful to ignore and you had to eat.

There was a picture of you together up on a shelf near the kitchen. Frederick looked so handsome—the scar on his cheek was barely noticeable, and he had that fake, smarmy smile he always put on for cameras. Still, because you were standing next to him with your arm around his back, there was a genuine crinkle in the corners of his eyes that wasn’t there for press photos. You almost smashed it, but you carefully placed it back where it belonged, and smashed a vase instead. Then you lay back in bed again, and slept and cried some more.

You cried so hard you felt sick. Then you did get sick. Work called when you were late, and you said you had the flu, which they believed by the hoarse croak of your voice, though it was more like every toxic pound of stress you’d been holding in for the past month was pouring out of you as in some ancient blood-letting ritual. Your body had been operating beyond its limits, physically and emotionally, for too long, and now everything was crashing.

What would he do if you just didn’t leave? As you stubbornly lay there sweating feverishly and refusing to move, you wondered how long you had before he would even check. He didn’t give you a deadline, just an order to get out. He wouldn’t be so cruel as to kick you out of your own house, would he? Where were you supposed to go?

You opened your laptop and searched for housing in Baltimore, and your head spun. Tiny, ugly apartments that you could barely afford. Maybe you could take that promotion you’d been avoiding because it would require too much travel. Nothing was tying you here anymore—no reason not to travel halfway across the country for weeks at a time. You were free now.

You shut the computer and pulled the blanket back over your head, shaking.

Part of the reason you couldn’t get out of bed was the ocean of sadness you were crushed beneath, which made it difficult to breathe and impossible to want to do anything. The other part was that, in truth, you needed it. You’d been spending so many nights lying awake worrying about whether your fiancé was going to die, waking up so many mornings at the crack of dawn just to see him before work, then going straight from work to the hospital without a break, you’d been on the verge of collapse.

When you finally emerged from the bedroom after a solid week of sleep, your head was clear, and the dark circles living under your eyes had gone.

Finally, you could think straight enough to be truly angry.

Frederick said a lot of things that he didn’t truly mean—rude things, patronizing, demeaning, even cruel. Not just since being hospitalized. He always seemed to make up for it somehow, to the point where you saw it as a cute quirk, and you always forgave him, even when he didn’t say sorry. This may have been one of those times. But he didn’t call to apologize. He didn’t call to check on you. To see if you were OK.

If he didn’t mean it this time, then he didn’t care about you. And you wondered why you ever put up with his bullshit.

Another day went by, and you looked at the picture up on the shelf. How genuinely happy you looked standing next to him and his fake smile and perfect hair, because you saw something in him beyond what the rest of the world could see. You saw the tenderness he safeguarded beneath the pompous mask. The real smile beneath his fake one. Everyone thought he was a patronizing ass, and he could be, but he craved your affection desperately and would go farther than anyone you’d ever known just to show how much he cared.

Everything was different now. He had no way to pompously preen, stuck in hospital robes with nary a tie pin to be seen, and removing his means of vanity had also eviscerated the secret kindness that went with it. The Frederick you knew was gone, and he would ever come back. Not the same as he was. He was too scarred.

The psychological scars were far more frightening than the ones on the outside. Once he was healed and no longer in pain, you wouldn’t mind those. You imagined him wearing a fine suit looking dashingly sinister with his exposed teeth, like a Batman villain. It sent a flush of heat between your legs just picturing it. But apparently that made you a shitty person—you remembered Frederick’s accusations and crossed your arms over your chest, hugging yourself. He wouldn’t be happy until you turned your nose up at him in disgust! Except that would make him miserable, too!

Why the fuck hadn’t he at least called? You wondered if he really did mean it this time.

Days went by. You returned to work and found yourself much more productive than you had been with all the extra sleep, though your stress was getting worse by the day. He still hadn’t called. At this point, you figured he was waiting for you to do it, but you were so tired of being the bigger person. Your entire relationship, you had to be the bigger person. In three years, you could count on one hand the number of times the word “sorry” came out of his mouth. Maybe two hands.

He never said the words, but you would come home to find a gourmet meal being served to you by candlelight. Or rose petals in the bathtub. Sometimes it was just a slow, tender kiss with his thumb brushing against your cheek. Or he would tease every erogenous zone on your body with his feisty tongue until you were shaking with overstimulation.

Now that you thought about it, neither of you were particularly skilled at verbal affection. You were both abrasive and quick with insults, and when you first met, you were like dueling cats yowling and hissing around a trashcan.

How had you managed to win his prickly heart when most of your “conversations” had been arguments? Because you started fucking each other. From that moment, however outwardly you pretended to loathe each other, you were both so cuddly you could hardly bear being separated. No matter what stupid, infuriating jeers he made during the day, you always wanted to wake up in the morning tucked under his arm, your face buried in a chest full of soft brown hair, smelling his intoxicating musk and day-old cologne. Even when you gave up being nemeses, touch was your first love-language. Laying his head in your lap while you read a book. His hand on the small of your back keeping you close at a big event. Combing your fingers through his thick hair. For every sarcastic little snipe, there was a gentle kiss to set everything right.

You couldn’t touch him. For over a month, his skin was too raw to be touched, and for over a month, all you’d had for physical contact was the slightest pressure over thick gauze—and even that was enough to make him wince.

Frederick was changed forever, and he was an asshole. But things might not have been as hopeless or forever-altered as you feared. Not being able to touch (combined with excruciating pain and trauma) had thrown your relationship out of balance, and that was a temporary problem.

Fuck it. You’d be the goddamn bigger person. Considering how much he’d suffered in one lifetime, he could have a free pass on being a dick. You may have said a few… inconsiderate things yourself.

The only thing you were afraid of was that he really did want you out of his life forever. Though you’d made up your mind you were going to see him and try to put things back together, the dread that your visit would only confirm once and for all that things were over made you put off the trip for another two days.

***

Your feet knew every turn and corridor to get to Frederick’s room so well by now, they could bring you there by muscle memory alone, dodging around busy doctors and nurses on autopilot. You slowed down and hesitated as you approached the door to his recovery room, holding your chest to quell the throbbing.

He might not want to see you. If his eyes met you with a scowl, your heart would break in two right there.

Stealthily, you tip-toed up to the door so your shoes wouldn’t make audible approaching footsteps, and you peeked in the little rectangular window. A curly-haired nurse was helping him lift his arms, stretching upward as high as he could manage. He gasped out little curses of pain until she released, and he sighed with relief.

“Good job today, Fred. We’ll work on that a few times a day for now, and then we’ll build on it, OK?” She patted his shoulder.

Oh, she’s in trouble, you grinned with schadenfreude, waiting for him to go nuclear at her for calling him “Fred.” But the explosion never came.

“Thank you, Pamela,” he smiled.

Flipping over to press your back against the wall, you clutched your chest tighter. He knew her name? He didn’t even know the names of half the nurses on his own staff! He used to pretend to forget yours, long after it wasn’t funny.

Worst of all, he looked happy.

He was happy without you. The smile he gave her was brighter than you’d seen him look at you in ages. You thought he would be agonizing over the breakup, but he was doing better since you were gone. You calmed your breathing, and poked your head over the lip of the window again. Now she was leaning down, and he was hugging her. Your throat started to close, and the backs of your eyes burned. It felt like the time you were in first grade when you fell off the playground monkey bars and landed flat on your back. All the wind had been knocked out of your lungs and you couldn’t breathe—you lay on the woodchips in a daze of confusion, mouth gaping like a fish, unable to comprehend why you couldn’t draw in air, and certain you were going to die.

Before you broke down in the middle of the hall, you turned to go home. No, not home, you corrected yourself. Not anymore.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● • 

Tags: @beccabarba​ / @caked-crusader / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy​ / @mrsrafaelbarba​ / @da-po

[artxyra]

Wake Me When It’s Over

Note: I must really like you guys enough to create a sequel for something that was never supposed to get one. Also, I kind of lost my train of thought as to where this story will end towards the end, sorry about that.

The miraculous magic flies through the streets of Paris, France. Those that were turned into stone now gasping for air and looking around very confused. On a rooftop, a certain model stands naked hoping that no one would see him searching for clothes and a way home. Back at the venue where the dance took place, Alya whoops at the defeat of the Empress of Mean. She holds Nino closes to her before realizing that something had happened to Lila. Her attention immediately goes to her phone messaging the one person that started this all.

No one knew what to say about the latest akuma victim. It was Marinette, the one person they never thought would fall into the hands of Hawkmoth. Was it really due to her jealousy of Lila? When was she akumatized? So many questions ran to through the student’s minds, that faithful night.

It wasn’t until Monday morning when everything came undone.

Throughout the rest of the weekend, the LadyBlog was receiving various comments about the Empress of Mean. Some comments were harsher than others. Alya couldn’t find it in her to make a new blog post regarding the aftermath or of the lack of thereof to her viewers. She wasn’t able to reach Lila at all and neither could rest of her classmates.

Entering the classroom, Alya could see that majority of the class was there expect for Adrien, Lila, and Marinette. She quickly managed to get the class huddled together.

“It isn’t like Marinette to be akumatized, especially about something so trivial as the dance.” Rose pipes up with a pout resting in her lips. “She handles stress better than any of us.” She then adds on causing everyone to turn to her.

“She was jealous, and that’s final,” Alya states, slamming her hands down on the desk in front of her. Everyone could see the twitching in the blogger’s eyes and a slight shaking of her body. Nino wraps his arms around her. “There’s no other explanation.”

“It was rumored that she and Adrien were secretly dating.” It was Nathanial who speaks up next. Soon all eyes were on him.

“You lie…” Everyone suddenly begins to shout.

“No, I’m serious. Marinette hangs out with Marc every now and then and he tells me that they were probably dating. I may an artist, but a broken heart can cause anyone to be akumatized if done correctly.” He continues before pulling out his sketchbook and begins drawing as if he didn’t just pull a fast one on his peers.

The classroom is met with silence aside from the sounds of a pencil against paper.

The classroom’s door opens revealing a frustrated yet silent Adrien Agreste with the one and only Lila Rossi standing behind him. Expecting cheers and concerns, they were meet with the opposite.

“Adrien, did you ever date Marinette?” Juleka asks with her voice dangerously low for all that can hear her. Her response came with an awkward neck rub and wondering eyes from the man in question. Juleka turns to Lila as if she had just woken up from a nightmare. Years of listening and believing the two people in front of her, denying everything her brother has ever said to her. Juleka didn’t know what to do at the moment. Emotions were not her strong suit even after all these years of being around the same people for years.

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone.” Adrien finally speaks up before walking over to his desk and pretend that last weekend did not just happen.

The room grows cold. No one knew how to respond.

“Oh my gosh guys, I’m so sorry for not responding to any of your text. After what Marinette had done to me, I really needed therapy. My mother was able to find someone at the last minute and I had no cell service.” Lila gushes about her latest problem hoping to grab some sympathy. Immediately it was meet by her “loyal” peers, all asking if she’s alright.

Those who weren’t as fooled by the Italian’s response, stood there wondering if she was lying or just pretending. Anyone with text receipts on knew that the girl had read their message and just didn’t respond.

“But you were dating Marinette?” Nathanial speaks setting his pencil down to give Adrien his full attention.

Adrien turns to the artist like a deer caught in the headlights. He could feel Lila’s glare on his back despite not looking at her. “Uh…We were never official. She knew that we were friends.”

“How long?” Juleka’s voice got softer.

“About a couple of months, why?”

With that, breathing became harder for those that knew Marinette well enough to know that the designer practically holds her heart on her sleeves. If Adrien thought they weren’t dating and Marinette did, that changes a whole lot of things.

Before anyone could tear Adrien a new one, Max mentions that class was about to start, and they should get into their seats. Only one seat stood noticeably out to everyone, and they knew she would be in much later.

Mild chatter about Lila’s therapy session broke the silence while everyone else waits nervously as more time past by. Their teacher has yet to enter the classroom nor has the class representative.

When Marinette finally did enter the classroom, everything goes silent. The loyalist of Lila’s group glares at the designer while the others couldn’t find the words to start something with Marinette without fearing the worst-case scenario.

Marinette had just sat in her chair when Mlle. Bustier entered the classroom in a panicking mess. Apparently, after the dance, a lot of parents were chewing out the school officials asking what caused the young designer to attack the school first and for the school not calling the parents. It was later found out that Marinette had no problems with the rest of school just her classmates and the partygoers were just so happened to be affected like everyone else which ends up causing more problems than less.

Caline couldn’t handle all this backlash. The school board officials decided that since Bustier’s class had the most akumatized victims out of all Dupont, Caline’s teaching habits must be reevaluated. They were sending someone in to review her class and teaching methods. All this being planned last minute which means that Caline was struggling to find the proper lesson plans and attitude before the official comes in.

“Today, we will be having a guest staying with us for the week. When this person enters please be on your best behaviors.” Mlle. Bustier stress to the class as she finally pulls out the last of her files from her briefcase.

Everyone, aside from Marinette, wonders who the guest will be. They receive their answer when the door opens once again to show an older-looking woman in a business suit with hair similar to Marinette’s overlooking the class before taking an empty desk in the back. The perfect view to oversee everything. Caline was seconds away from sweating bullets as she struggles to find the right word to begin the class period.

Lila, finding a new problem with this, tries to make Marinette look bad at every attempt she could get. However, all her attempts just made Caline’s teaching habits appear worse than what the school board could imagine. It was only a matter of time for Caline could kiss her job goodbye.

When the class finished, those that had a wake-up call rushed to meet with Marinette. Juleka was unsure how to feel when she saw her brother, Luka, and that fencer that was once an enemy talking to Marinette huddle close together.

“Are you sure that you don’t want to transfer?”

Juleka turns to Nathanial and Rose hoping that she heard wrong. Marinette could not transfer, it just felt so wrong.

“Luka?” The trio turns to the guitarist’s younger sister. They could see the fake smile placed upon Marinette’s face.

“I’m so, so sorry, Marinette.” Juleka followed by Nathanial and Rose immediately apologizes. Marinette stares at them with somewhat blank stares.

A moment past before Marinette whispers, “I forgive you. You’re not at fault here.”

The recently forgiven three runs to embrace Marinette. Tears of joys escape from their eyes.

Only a day later would the class of Mlle. Bustier finds out that their teacher has been suspended and will no longer be teaching the class. Their new teacher was strict and took no bullshit from the class. It was either hard facts or detention for the day.

Lila tried to lie her way out with the new teacher but was constantly shut down the moment she opened her mouth. As her web began to dwindle, she knew that it was only time before her super loyalist realizes the truth of their “best friend”.

It was a hard-felt battle to the end of the school year. Lila had tried everything to maintain her loyalist to her side. She even went so far to bully Marinette out of the classroom only to be defeated by a wave of Marinette protection squad from another classroom.

Alya still blogged about Lila’s so-called adventure with Ladybug, her following begin to dwindle with the announcement of a Ladybug sponsored blog called Miraculous Out. Alya had a hissing fit and tried everything in her power to control the damage.

For Nino, he was feeling the pressure to getting his big break. Lila had promised him so many opportunities and as the school went along realization began to sit. He tried his hardest to shake Alya out of her Lila induced daze as the time went by, but he had no luck. He wanted to apologize to Marinette for everything that he had done, but the fear of being unforgiven hold him back.

When the school year returned everything was different. Caline Bustier was no longer their teacher. Marinette had transferred out of the class and to a new school all together. Everyone that had a wake-up call suddenly felt sick to their stomach from believing in Lila’s lies and seeing the Italian native. Nothing would ever be the same for them, not after all of this.

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[jasontoddiefor]

As Lightning to the Children Eased Chapter 5

In which we are still not back on Naboo but Anakin has a Force-breakdown! Read on AO3!

Padmé hadn’t been sure what to expect of their Jedi protectors when she had first met them. They had certainly protected them well against the invading droids, but they had still come too late. Her planet had been invaded, her people hurt, beaten, and forced to endure whatever cruelties she didn’t even dare imagine.

And all of that because the Jedi had been too late and hadn’t been able to talk to the Trade Federation.

For the first few minutes, adrenaline rushing through her veins, fear clinging to her heels and guilt squeezing her throat shut, Padmé had been angry like a child. She had been so incredibly frustrated at them and her own helplessness, even though intellectually she knew very well that it was not the Jedi’s fault that Naboo’s situation had come so far. If anything, she should be glad the Jedi had come at all.

Without their aid, Padmé would likely be rotting away in a cell now, or perhaps even be tortured, or be forced to watch her best friends be hurt just so that the Trade Federation would gain whatever advantage they were aiming for.

For the first time since she had been made Queen, Padmé truly doubted her chosen path. She wondered if any of the other candidates would have done better than her, but when she looked at Eirtaé she only saw the same worries staring back at her. In that split second Padmé was glad that it was Sabé acting as the Queen and that she as Padmé, the Handmaiden, could allow herself a moment of weakness where she didn’t have to hide her emotions.

It had been easier to be Queen when she was a mere representative of the government and not its whole body. The emergency laws now in power gave Padmé much more power than she should carry. They had been created when entertaining the possibility of an invasion, not because they had actually thought it would come this far.

Naboo was a part of the Republic – what use was the Republic if it could not protect its own?

She was bitter and exhausted and she wanted to go home. Not back to the suit in the palace, she wanted to go home to her family. She wanted to hug her parents and play games with her sister and leave this all behind and for once let somebody with more experience deal with it.

Unfortunately, this was not meant to be.

And whatever she had hoped to achieve in the Senate had also crumbled to dust with the Trade Federation once more speaking out against her. Bastards that they were, Padmé wanted to take out her hairpin and stab it right into the representative’s chest, see how he liked it when his heart broke as his people suffered and starved.

“Do you think going back is really the wisest option?” Sabé asked her as they got dressed. Padmé became the handmaiden once more as Sabé took on the appearance of Queen Amidala. It was really been a miracle and a blessing to have Sabé at her side. The Naboo were skilled in hiding their faces and their intentions, but Sabé and her had a special connection, or so it felt at times.

They were closer than sisters. Padmé would even go as far as to call them soulmates, two halves of the same mask.

“I’m not sure,” Padmé replied. She ought to be lying, to be reassuring her friends, but they would all just see through it. They had been taught to read her entire mind by the curl of her painted lips. “But what other option do we have?”

“Think the Jedi will come with us again?” Eirtaé asked. “They were useful, even little Ani.”

Rabé snorted out loud and tugged her hair beneath her hood.

“'Can I fly the ship? Do you know what planets are in this system? Have you ever had Alderaani pudding?’” Rabé’s voice was a little high pitched as she tried to copy the voice of the boy. “’Do you know what makes a star collapse?’”

They all sobered up at that last question.

Anakin had truly chattered endlessly during the whole trip, seemingly untouched by the events that had taken place around him. While his sunny demeanor had been nerve-wracking at first, Padmé had come to enjoy it. It was nice to focus on something that wasn’t politics for just a few hours at a time. Besides, Anakin had been so sure that they would manage to save her people. He had looked so serious as he had said it then, as if it was a fact already. Something about that had just made her want to believe him.

Truth be told, Padmé hadn’t thought that Anakin was old enough to be accompanying them, he was so young for such an undertaking. The Naboo were known for getting their children involved in politics at an age most systems wouldn’t even consider doing such, but he had still looked so much younger than them. Nevertheless, Master Kenobi and Jinn had treated him as their full mission partner.

But who was Padmé to judge the Jedi for their practices, especially after they had helped them so?

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t hurt to ask,” Padmé replied. “And Sabé never did get to share her famed pear pie recipe with him.”

“Oh, don’t remind me!” Sabé groaned. “I’d kill for one of those now!”

The group of girls descended into blissful laughter, the death threats hanging over their heads fading into the background.

X

Anakin was distracted, Qui-Gon was exhausted and Obi-Wan had to prove to the Council that he was a capable Master and that this mission had gone as well as it could have. From the way the other Jedi Masters were staring at them, he got the vague impression that he was not being as convincing as he could have been.

“-and that was when we landed here,” Obi-Wan finished his statement. “Anakin has proven himself capable and followed my directives exceptionally well.”

The slight joke hit its mark as it did make many Masters smile, if not outright grin. It was well-known that Anakin Skywalker was a little stubborn and all too willing to do things his own way if he thought he knew better. Oftentimes, that ended in utter chaos, for all that Anakin had the knowledge of the entire galaxy stored in his head somewhere, he was still a nine-year-old boy and kids his aged tripped and fell.

It was Obi-Wan’s job to ensure he would also get up again.

“The Queen wants to return to her planet,” Qui-Gon added after he’d been silent throughout the entire briefing.

Obi-Wan barely managed to hide a wince. He had taken over leading their mission briefings a couple of years ago, preparing for his Knighting. Qui-Gon only really spoke up to add to it or, in the cases that had them all stuck up here for hours, to argue about whatever conclusion he had reached and attempt to convince everyone of his opinion. In that way, he was very much Anakin’s grandmaster. “She has called for a vote of no confidence after her Senator’s urging.”

And that move was more than just a little shady. Destabilizing the Republic leadership now was not exactly the smartest move, but Obi-Wan was not a politician and chances were that whatever upheaval would come, it wasn’t going to do much to the Jedi Order. The Senate leadership had become stagnant over the years and their relationship with the Order hadn’t changed much. With every changing terms, the Order maybe got some more requests from Senators that were usually talked over as everybody else was busy gearing up for a campaign. Involving Jedi in your political campaign was always a risky move as public opinion of the Jedi tended to vary a lot. It was a safer bet to keep them out of politics.

“They have requested that we accompany them again,” Qui-Gon finished.

“A wise course of action you think this is?” Master Yoda asked. “Tired Padawan Skywalker is.”

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan both looked down at Anakin. He was exhausted, yes, reaching to somewhere far away, zoned out right up until Yoda addressed him.

“I need to go,” Anakin insisted, back straight. “It’s important.”

Obi-Wan actually wouldn’t mind handing the mission off to another pair of perhaps a more experienced Knights, but he knew that expression on Anakin’s face better than anybody else. He was determined to see this through and there was no telling what he’d do if he wouldn’t return to Naboo. Perhaps sneak onto the ship of the ones who would go.

“Are you sure?” Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin nodded, his sun-kissed face oddly pale. “Something’s coming. I need to be there.”

His tone of voice was ominous, his words dripped from his lips like a poisonous prophecy. The Force called and Obi-Wan heard its echo.

And with that their decision was settled.

X

They made a small stop at the crèche to greet Ahsoka. The excited youngling lit up as soon as she saw them and excused herself in only a short few words before she rushed into Anakin’s waiting arms. From there she quickly climbed upon Obi-Wan’s back and let herself be carried throughout the temple. They didn’t have much time here, not for more for a meal which they had to eat in the cafeteria as Shmi was apparently not in the temple.

“Where is Shmi Skywalker?” Qui-Gon asked the nearest Jedi, a Nautolan Master only a few years younger than himself, as he got something to eat for himself.

“Padawan Skywalker you mean?” the Knight asked, their eyes twinkling with amusement.

Qui-Gon stopped shoveling fruit salad onto his tray. “Padawan?”

The other Jedi Master grinned. “Oh, yes. Haven’t you wondered why Yaddle didn’t attend the Council meeting? She decided to take on Shmi as her Padawan. It was the most brilliant thing.”

Obi-Wan turned to Anakin, who had been caught up in a silent conversation with Ahsoka, miles and two realities away from where they were. “Did you know?”

Anakin tilted his head at the question and closed his eyes for a brief moment, concentrating. When he opened his eyes again, they were a kaleidoscope of colors, a thousand worlds within his sight.

“Yes,” he said his teeth just an edge too sharp in Obi-Wan���s vision. “The kyber’s whispering to her now. She’s going to bring the cleansing fires.” Anakin’s eyes faded to their usual blue color, though the flicker of sunlight didn’t leave them as he reached for Ahsoka’s hands, holding them tight. “It’s not going to like it.”

“It? Who?”

But Anakin stayed silent.

X

After their meal, Qui-Gon got the notification that the Queen’s departure was delayed and so they had another two hours to relax. As expected, Qui-Gon was dragged back to the Skywalker’s rooms where Anakin and Obi-Wan repacked for their mission. Qui-Gon spent that time napping on the Skywalker’s sofa with little Ahsoka sitting on his stomach, rambling about what she had been up to since they had left the temple. Qui-Gon was fairly sure that when he had been her age, his teachers hadn’t let him even touch a training saber, but the child described in detail how much fun she had had training with one. Saying goodbye to her again hurt a little and silently Qui-Gon vowed not to abandon his lineage or active mission duty until he got to see Ahsoka fight and grow into the terror she was bound to be.

They took a speeder to the hangers of the Senatorial suits where the Queen’s party was already waiting for them. Qui-Gon was glad to see that all the girls were accounted for and visibly perked up when they spotted the Jedi approach them.

“Master Jinn, Master Kenobi, Padawan Skywalker,“ one of the Handmaidens greeted them formally. “We are glad you’ve decided to return to Naboo for us.”

“Of course,” Qui-Gon retorted. “That’s what we are here for.”

“Still,” she replied. “The Queen is aware that you are doing more than we can ask of you three.”

Qui-Gon inclined his head and opened his mouth to speak when suddenly the world shifted-

Pain ripped through him, through the Force, sharp as a lightning strike. A sudden nausea overtook him and Qui-Gon felt as lost as he never had before, not even after Thal’s death. He thought he was drowning, lost in a storm, suffocating endlessly. Something was pulling him into the dark depths of an endless ocean. The void engulfed him and no light from the surface fell into his eyes, leaving him not just blind, but deprived of all sensations. Ice froze his flesh, broke it to pieces, chipped away more and more of himself until only his very soul was left and even then, sharp claws dug into him, pressed intensely into his mind like needles. His consciousness began to bleed, red drops of innocent compassion dropping to the floor like raindrops, becoming muddled with darkness and dirt on the ground.

He vaguely registered Obi-Wan next to him, Anakin too, his shields frayed and bleeding out like a body on a surgical table. Qui-Gon could feel Obi-Wan reaching out, tugging at his own light and crafting bandages out of them, helplessly wrapping them around Anakin’s very being in hopes of mending the never-ending number of cuts. Where he succeeded, the shields that had always been a little like mirrors, transparent glass reflecting your self in the Force, became durasteel walls of protection, cutting Anakin off so rashly that Qui-Gon was caught off balance. Anakin’s presence in the Force was near unbearable when they had first met him, but his absence was even worse, leaving Qui-Gon a starving man in the desert. On unsteady feet, Qui-Gon stumbled after Obi-Wan and Anakin, whom he thought to see running into the ship, fleeing from the monster they had uncovered.

“Master Jedi?” He thought he heard the Handmaiden ask.

He wanted to reply, and perhaps the words ‘security check’ did leave his mouth, but he couldn’t be too sure, caught in this cruel spiderweb where every move only entangled him more, a prey ready for slaughter. He just walked forwards, hand pressed to his mind, clinging to the cool walls of the hsip, trying to stitch together what had been ripped wide open.

When he came to, he found himself rushing towards the fresher.

Obi-Wan sat there in the small room, looking so much like the boy he had taken as his Padawan in the aftermath of a terrifying trial he shouldn’t have had to go through in the first place. Qui-Gon had been so blind then and now he found himself struck with the same blindness, except the image that was starting to unravel was even worse.

Obi-Wan had collapsed against the wall and Anakin was half in his lap, clammy fingers holding onto Obi-Wan’s robes while his head was lowered above the toilet, vomiting up the few greens he had eaten for their last meal. His whole body seemed to twitch unnaturally like there was something hidden beneath his skin which was even paler than before. Anakin appeared like a ghost only inhabiting this shell for as long as it served its purpose, something much too grand pressed into this small body and rebelling against its constraints. Anakin kept throwing up until only acid burned his throat. He cried, tears running over his cheeks as the cold got closer and closer, so much that Qui-Gon expected to see his own breath as a hazy fog.

“Sssh,” Obi-Wan tried to calm his Padawan, his own eyes bloodshot, the afterimage of a night terror. “All is well, I’m here, we’re warm, we’re safe, all is well, I’m here…”

His ramblings were almost meditative, repetitive, drawing the same pattern, guiding Anakin towards steady breaths as much as they grounded Qui-Gon.

It took another few minutes, or perhaps hours, time slipped away as easily as the light of stars already dead thousands of years, Anakin managed to calm down. He was still a shivering mess in Obi-Wan’s arms, but he was no longer vomiting up his guts or crying uncontrollably.

“What-“ Qui-Gon couldn’t speak. He didn’t know how to describe it, this pain, this agony, the-

Poison, darkness, decay, tor, burn it, BURN IT, IT IS KILLING ME, US, EACH AND EVERY ONE OF MY CHILDREN-

“There was nothing,” Anakin mumbled his soft voice a contrast to the screeching in Qui-Gon’s heart. “It was nothing, just the absence, the end of space and of time and of life and he will deplete us of everything and there will be darkness and there will be no death, there will be nothing!”

Anakin’S voice grew more frantic, louder until Qui-Gon wasn’t sure if Anakin was truly speaking anymore or just carving his words into Qui-Gon’s mind.

“It’s infecting us, I’m sick, sick, bilious, and all that bubbles up my throat are decaying orbits. It’s devouring my flesh and I will leave and the fractures and bigger and bigger and it’s ripping me apart and I can see my heart beating!”

At this Anakin began to curl into himself, placing his hands on his heart. His eyes were glassy, seeing a world Qui-Gon couldn’t perceive and he couldn’t shake this double vision off. “It’s awful, take it away Obi-Wan, I don’t want to be here, I want to go, I want to go, it’s hurting me, I don’t want to be bound anymore, help me, Obi-Wan, please-!“

Anakin began to cry again, scratching at his own skin, deeper and deeper until the scratches turned red.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, his voice in a realm beyond panic. “Anakin, no, no, no, dear one, don’t do this.”

He took Anakin’s hands in his own, so he would stop harming himself, but Anakin only began trashing, resisting. They needed to sedate him and they needed to do it now.

“Sleep,” Qui-Gon ordered, focusing on Anakin.

He’d always been good with mind tricks.

Slipping into another’s mind, finding cracks where to insert your own thoughts and demands. His Master had been worried about it when Qui-Gon had been young. It was an ability easily misused, an ability that made him quite valuable in the right circles if word got out about it and his Master had been keen to protect him from it.

Qui-Gon would be the last to claim that he didn’t rely on it a little too often, but he was also one of the Jedi often sent into the worst of the worst situations. He had never dared to use it on another Jedi, would never think of using it on Anakin whose mind was an uncomfortable place to reside in even when he was peaceful.

There were certain boundaries in every mind. They shifted ever so slightly in every person depending on what you had experienced, but with Anakin, it was simply as if they had never been there in the first place. Qui-Gon didn’t want to look at what rifts ran through Anakin’s mind because he wasn’t sure they wouldn’t lash out and pull him in and swallow him whole. He’d be entrapped in the universe, in the melting point of a star, the heart of existence and he wouldn’t be able to escape.

But what other choice did he have?

“Obi-Wan,” he said, his Padawan’s name command, prayer, and apology all at once. Obi-Wan was the only one so deeply connected to Anakin that he could bear to stand in his revelation. He understood Anakin as much as anybody ever could, to a degree that was foreign to even Shmi and would likely also never be within Ahsoka’s reach. The bond Anakin had forced upon Obi-Wan when he had been driven more by instinct and need than wisdom and control sang with power.

Qui-Gon begged for the same strength.

There was no gentle way of doing this with Anakin.

Qui-Gon took one last breath of sweet air, then he stepped into the wildness of space. It was freezing, but not the all-consuming cold of before, that took from him until he had nothing left, not even his mind. This was cold of existence, the contrast between the endlessness and points of existence near stars that were just ticking bombs, waiting for their final explosion.

All of this was Anakin and Qui-Gon didn’t know what to reach for.

He followed a path of broken glass, sharp emeralds, kyber, dug into his bare feet, leaving cuts all over. Every step was agonizing, depriving him of his strength and taking more than a century. Around him planets were born and destroyed in the same breath as Qui-Gon moved past them into the tangled cadences of orchestras, strings tugging him in different directions, asking him to follow their tune. His vision swam with colors repainting the world he saw.

And still, despite it all, he carried on. The temptation was sweet, he knew he could be home here, in this place where he had been born and where he would go once he ended.

He was one with the Force and the Force was with him, always.

But Qui-Gon refused that they truly wanted him to remain here. This was like Ilum, the innermost sanctums of the temples he had visited, a trial to prove himself.

And Qui-Gon would not fail this child who needed him.

He pushed through another door and found himself embraced by the most humbling of experiences.

“How cruel they were,” Qui-Gon muttered, gazing upon eternity imprisoned in a mortal mind. “Forcing you into this.”

Anakin wept and tried to tear at the chains pinning him down, keeping him constraint in the body that had been crafted for him. He was a mess of blood, stars, nebulas, stories written in languages that had never been spoken and never would again.

Anakin hadn’t been meant to possess a consciousness, Qui-Gon realized. He hadn’t ever been supposed to exist at all. The Force had pushed a scalpel into itself to carve out something that could eradicate all its other infected wounds, but, as with all self-inflicted injuries, this action too had damaged it.

It was the utmost cruelty, to themself and to the being they had created. This task was too much for one person. The entire galaxy was a bleeding, festering wound and Anakin couldn’t be enough to clean it, never mind do all the stitches to close it afterward.

And here Anakin was now, trashing because he had become aware of the darkness growing right beneath their noses. He was panicking because he had glimpsed upon his purpose in this world and had understood down in his very core that he was lacking despite all the gifts he had already been given.

Anakin cried and cried, and Qui-Gon had to watch as the same gentle feathers he sometimes saw flickering outside his vision on his Padawan’s back were trying to cover Anakin’s many all-seeing eyes, take away that horrible truth he had choked on.

But Obi-Wan, for all that he likely understood more of the Force now than Qui-Gon had up until now, was still so young and not strong enough.

Qui-Gon didn’t know if he would be strong enough, but what kind of Jedi would he be if he didn’t at least try?

“Let me teach you one last thing,” Qui-Gon muttered.

Messing with memories was a delicate task. Qui-Gon had read as much about it as the temple archives had permitted him too. He had been terrified at fifteen that he might overpower his hold on another’s mind and would erase their self completely. That in his demand of obedience the Force had gifted him with, he wouldn’t heed its gentle encouragements and push beyond all reasonable requests.

The Jedi were skilled when it came to the manipulation of ones’ self or mind. Revan came to mind, a Jedi made Sith and forged into Jedi again. It hadn’t been perfect, hadn’t been stable, but this needn’t be either.

It just had to be enough.

Qui-Gon laid one hand on the first chain tying Anakin down and tugged at the Force and the way they bound the world together. He just had to reshape it, turn cold metal into warm blankets, not keeping him chained up, but giving Anakin a place to rest and retreat to. If Anakin forgot that these chains were meant to bind him, then perhaps he would cease struggling against them.

One by one Qui-Gon reworked the chains into sweet comforts and watched as Anakin closed his eyes, returning to a peaceful slumber. The child, so much larger than Qui-Gon in his own mind, impossible to entirely understand his beginnings and endings, didn’t grow any smaller. He nevertheless calmed, stopped struggling so that Qui-Gon had to worry less and less about Anakin accidentally cutting himself at these manipulations.

Only the future would tell how long these would hold him back and grant him peace of mind.

Or if Anakin would ever forgive him for this once he discovered how Qui-Gon had warped his reality just to keep him tied to them a little longer.

“It is done,” Qui-Gon announced, his voice echoing in the small fresher.

His knees buckled under him and he caught himself on the washbasin only in the last second.

Anakin was asleep in Obi-Wan’s arms, dead to the world.

“Is he- is he alright?” Obi-wan asked, clinging to his Padawan as much as Anakin was holding onto him.

Qui-Gon observed the steady rise and fall of Anakin’s chest, then sighed only tiredly. He felt much older than the years he had counted, the millennia within Anakin’s heart not fading away as quickly as he’d like them to.

“He will be,” Qui-Gon promised.

He didn’t know if he was lying, but he knew he was not speaking the truth either.

[cinaja]

Before the Wall part 44

Masterlist

----

Miryam is alone with Drakon in his suite. Nephelle and Sinna left them, the latter only grudgingly, to allow them some privacy. Now, Miryam and Drakon are sitting together on the couch, awkward silence between them.

“I can’t ask you to do this,” Drakon finally says.

“Well, you didn’t,” Miryam says. “I offered.”

Annoyingly enough, Miryam’s stomach choses that moment to let out a low growl. Fortunately, Drakon seems to be too caught up on his worries to notice. She looks around the room, hoping to find something like breakfast anywhere, but there’s no food to be seen, not even a glass of water. Asking seems unfitting, considering what they are just discussing, but she hasn’t eaten in almost a day.

“It was my mistake, Miryam.” Drakon shakes his head, frowning. “Knowing or not, I signed that contract. I agreed to the engagement. And I can’t… I can’t let you suffer for my mistakes.”

Miryam crosses her arms. “I didn’t know I would be suffering.” She presses her lips together and shakes her head. “Don’t you think I considered what I want before I went to talk to you?”

She spent the majority of the night thinking about it, while she worked on the spell to create the mating bond. She is fully aware of what she is doing, what it will mean for her.

Unfortunately, Drakon doesn’t seem to see that. “No,” he says, “I just don’t think you place much value in your own wellbeing and wishes.”

There’s little Miryam can say to argue with that. She could insist that she is fine with this, that it doesn’t make her unhappy, but she isn’t entirely sure if Drakon would believe her. Her own fault, of course. Several years of lying about being fine certainly impacted her credibility.

Drakon rubs a hand over his face. “Please don’t take this the wrong way,” he says. “That you’re willing to do this… I can’t even tell you how much it means to me. And I love you. But because I love you, I cannot agree to this when I know that it’s not something you truly want.”

Miryam sighs. “Even if you didn’t want to marry me, it would be perfectly fine,” she says.

Maybe presenting herself as the logical first option was a mistake. Their relationship is at a stage where most people don’t even think about marriage, and Drakon is a prince, which means that he always has his country’s best interests to consider. She couldn’t blame him at all if he decided that he didn’t want to marry her. It wouldn’t even be judgment of their relationship.

“And your choice certainly isn’t between me and Ravenia,” she adds. She hopes he already knew that, but she still feels the need to say it. She wants to do this, but not if Drakon thinks the choice is between him and Ravenia. “I could create a bond between you and any other person if you’d prefer that. But I think we should at least talk about this before making any choices.”

Drakon reaches for her hand. “It’s not that I don’t want to marry you,” he says, then smiles shyly. “I mean, I don’t want to marry at all at this point. But if I have to get married, I’d want it to be you.” He shakes his head. “But Miryam… You don’t want to get married, and unlike me you don’t have to. And you…” He gestures helplessly. “You want to live a quiet life after this war is over. And if you marry me, you’ll never have this. You will be Princess, and even if you decide to stay out of court life for the most part, there would still be expectations. For the rest of your life.”

Miryam nods. Presses her lips together. This, she considered as well, sitting in Drakon’s beautiful roof garden. It forced her to face more than once bitter truth, but face it she did.

“This quiet life is an illusion,” she says softly. “It always was.”

Even if she believed it for the longest time. And it was such a beautiful lie, too. No matter how terrible Miryam’s life might have been, how much she might have hated it, there was the idea that she could eventually live a normal life. A quiet village, working as a healer. But that future became impossible the moment Miryam stepped out on the balcony in Telique and started a continentwide war.

“I’ll still step back from Continental politics,” she says. “Reduce my role as far as possible. But you don’t get to lead half the Continent and then go live in a small village somewhere in the countryside. It simply isn’t how the game is played.”

If the Fae leaders are truly this scared of her, they will never allow her to vanish off the playing field. The position she currently has might grant her some small level of security – although even that isn’t enough if Zeku is to be believed – but if she gives it up and retreats to some unknown village, she will lose even that. It won’t be more than a month from then until someone decides to tie up loose ends and has her removed quietly.

“But you always said…” Drakon begins, then shrugs a bit helplessly.

“I spoke to Zeku yesterday,” she says. “I was going to tell you directly, but, well…” She smiles. “He told me I have to marry into a royal family if I don’t want to get murdered before the war is over.”

Drakon’s eyes widen. He even lets go of her hand in surprise. “You mean…” he stutters. “But you are leader of the Alliance! They can’t… That would be honourless.”

She snorts. “Apparently, they care more about the danger I might pose to their positions than they do about honour. Zeku thinks that if I were to marry, become royalty myself, that would tip the scales in my favour again.” Fae royal families on the Continent only very rarely murder each other. What Ravenia did to Drakon’s family was the exception, and it was what gave many countries the final push to turn against her.

“So you have to get married too?” Drakon asks.

Miryam nods. “I’m told in most cases, it’s more of a political contract,” she says, “But I can’t bear it. None of these people give a damn about me, they only want me to advance their own power. And if I were to agree, it would feel like I’m selling myself.”

Drakon doesn’t try to tell her that she is over-reacting, or that she’s being ridiculous. “And it doesn’t feel that way with me?” He asks.

Miryam smiles and shakes her head. “No,” she says simply, “It doesn’t.”

If her and Drakon marry, it isn’t about power, or about political positions. He doesn’t want her simply because of the position she holds in the Alliance, doesn’t want to collect her. Politics and such things might play a role in their marriage, but they will never be the sole reason.

“I don’t want to get married either,” she says softly. “But if I do have to, I’d want it to be you.”

Drakon takes her hand again. “So we’re actually getting married?” He asks like he can’t quite believe it.

“I think so.” Miryam smiles at him, more freely now that they’ve made their final choice. “And imagine all the things we might change that way.”

Slowly, Drakon begins to smile back. “You think we could find a way to establish human communities in Erithia?” He asks. “I know we were planning on separate countries, but just imagine…”

“I was thinking just the same thing!” Miryam grins at him. “Imagine if we actually got that to work! Humans and Fae living together in peace.”

Drakon pulls her to her feet, whirls her around. “It would be the first time in history,” he says. “And it will be difficult. But if we got it to work, it would change everything.”

Miryam laughs, suddenly giddy. Right now, in this moment, they can do everything, face everyone. “And imagine the look on Ravenia’s face when she finds out!”

A knot forms in her stomach, like every time she thinks of her, but this time, she doesn’t let it deter her. Ravenia lost, she lost once again, and Miryam will not allow that victory to be dimished by fear.

“Do you think she’ll know?” Drakon asks. “What we did, I mean.”

Miryam grins and squeezes his hand. “If she doesn’t, I’ll have to tell her,” she says. “It wouldn’t do to have her think this was chance and not our actions.”

----

Sinna listened to Drakon’s explanation in silence. She doesn’t comment, but her mouth tightens further with each word he says. When he is done, she shakes his head.

“I don’t like this,” she says. “You’re too young to get married.”

“It’s not like I have a choice,” Drakon says. “I have to get married within three days whether I want it or not.”

The one choice he does get to make is who he wants to marry, and he meant what he said to Miryam: She’s the only person in the world he could actually imagine marrying.

This doesn’t seem to soothe Sinna. “But why Miryam?” She asks.

The question takes Drakon aback. “Because I love her?” He says, question and answer in one. “Because she is the only person I could actually imagine life with.”

Sinna doesn’t seem satisfied. Not at all. But for once, she hesitates before speaking. It’s enough to make Drakon worry. In all the years he’s known Sinna, rarely ever hesitated before speaking.

“What is it?” Drakon prompts when she remains silent.

“Before I go on,” Sinna says, “I would like you to remember that I never interfered with your relationship to Miryam. I only have the biggest respect for her and what she’s accomplished. But I don’t think she is the type of person you should marry.”

Drakon frowns. Of all the reasons Sinna might have offered, he never considered that she might think he might disapprove of him marrying Miryam.

“Miryam is…” Sinna hesitates. “I don’t doubt that she is a kind woman, but she is far more similar to Jurian than she is to you.”

“I don’t see how that is a bad thing,” Drakon says. He understands Sinna is worried for him, but he doesn’t like the direction this conversation is going at all. “I’ll remind you that Jurian was one of my closest friends.”

Sinna sighs. She gets up and walks over to the window. Leaning at the window frame, she looks out of the city below. “It is admirable,” she says, “for someone who comes from the very bottom to rise as high as Miryam did. To start out a slave and end as one of the most powerful people on the entire Continent. But it takes a certain amount of ruthlessness as well.”

“And you think this is news to me?” Drakon asks. He can’t quite help sounding incredulous. “You think that after more than five years of friendship, I don’t know Miryam?” He shakes his head. “Have you ever considered the option that I might actually know her better than you do?”

He is perfectly aware that there is a duality to Miryam. That while they are very similar in many ways, they are fundamentally different in others. He knows that Miryam has an edge he always lacked, knows that she would always be able to make choices he would shy away from. If it came down to it, he doesn’t doubt that she would do what’s necessary to win this war.

It doesn’t make her kindness any less genuine, though. Doesn’t mean they don’t dream of the same things, don’t share the same ideals and visions for the future. If anything, it makes it more beautiful to Drakon.

“Don’t you think I might actually know her better than you do?” He asks.

“I’m not doubting that,” Sinna says. “And I’m not claiming she isn’t a good person, or a good friend.” She turns around to face him. “But are you entirely sure about her intentions when it comes to this marriage?”

Drakon blinks at her. It takes him a moment to understand what Sinna is implying.

“You think she wants to marry me for power?”

“And I wouldn’t blame her for it,” Sinna says with a shrug. “It would be the smart thing to do, for a woman in her position. And there are worse reasons to get married.”

Drakon shakes his head. “This isn’t why.”

The very idea is ridiculous. Miryam received marriage proposals from all of the Alliance’s most influential families. If she wanted to marry for power, she would pick Zeku. Drakon would love to tell Sinna as much, but he isn’t sure if that information is meant to be shared.

Sinna walks over and sits down next to him. “Then look me in the eye and tell me you are absolutely certain that you are not being played. If this is what you believe, without a single doubt, then I will drop this subject and never bring it up again.”

Drakon nods. He meets her dark eyes without blinking and says, “I am sure, without the shade of a doubt, that Miryam pursues no intentions with this marriage beyond the ones she told me about.”

Sinna holds his gaze for a moment, then nods. “Then that is settled.” She nods again. Straightens. “As far as people you want to marry might go, Miryam is a good choice. She isn’t from Erithia, which is a problem, but her talents and yours complement each other.” She nods a third time, as if to reassure herself. “Having her on the ruling council together with you will be good.”

Drakon nods, thinking of the plans they made.

“You’ll have a contract, of course,” Sinna continues. “Apart from the basics and the power divisions, is there anything specific you want, or can we tell the people who will negotiate that contract for you that they should allow Miryam to choose?”

“Miryam can choose,” Drakon says without hesitation. Marriage contracts are important for both sides, of course, but generally more important for the person who is marrying into a different country’s royal family.

Sinna nods and gets up. “I’ll pass it on,” she says. “And now that this is done, we should get going. There’s a lot to do if you truly want to get married tomorrow.”

----

A day is far too little time to prepare a royal wedding. Even a month would be too short, as an advisor whose name Miryam doesn’t know tells her. There are a million things to be done, and far too little time.

She barely sees Drakon. He is busy talking to his council, trying to help organize a wedding in a day. Meanwhile, Miryam is stuck in negotiations for the marriage contract. Drakon has people doing it for him, but Miryam lacks the advantage of being royal and doesn’t have any people working for her. She sent a message to Andromache, who came over from her camp to help, and Drakon got a lawyer from the city for her, which is a good thing because Miryam is completely lost when it comes to legal texts.

The meeting drags on endlessly. They aren’t even debating the contents of the contract – for the most part, Drakon’s people simply explain the options and ask Miryam after her preferences. For the most part, she even gets what she wants. But there are just so many things to consider, countless clauses they need to fulfil.

After three hours, they take a break. The Seraphim lawyer they have working for them nods at Miryam and Andromache, then withdraws.

“You’re crazy,” Andromache says as soon as he’s gone. “Just so you know it.”

Miryam shrugs. She still doesn’t quite realize what is happening. Ever since she heard about the contract, she has been thrumming with a frantic energy. She doesn’t feel tired, even though she hasn’t slept in well over a day.

“Do you think I’m being stupid?” She asks softly.

“Depends,” Andromache says. “I may not be entirely aware of the reasons behind this… spontaneous decision, but I assume you both have your reasons. And Drakon is a good person – it’s obvious that you love him, and he loves you.” She picks a rice ball off a plate one of the servants brought. “But have you truly considered the consequences? This is a very permanent decision, and you are still young.”

Miryam looks down at her fingers. She is perfectly aware of how permanent her choices are. The contract they are currently writing guarantees her many liberties (not to mention that it basically makes her the second most powerful person in all of Erithia). She can have lovers whenever she wants, can spend her time where she wishes. But if she choses to marry Drakon now, she will always be tied to Erithia. As its Princess, she will have duties. Always.

Still, she is nearly certain that this is what she wants. She can imagine life with Drakon, imagine it easily. She doesn’t have any doubt about that. It’s being Princess of a Fae country that worries her more, but even that will probably be bearable. As far as Fae countries go, Erithia is quite nice, and as Princess, Miryam will be in a position to make some changes together with Drakon. Maybe they’ll truly manage to establish human communities, a peaceful coexistence for humans and Fae.

“I’m sure,” she says. “This is what I want to do.”

Andromache nods. “That’s good.”

The meeting drags on. Another three hours later, the contract is finally ready. The Fae who oversaw the meeting informs Miryam that the text will go straight to a scribe to be written in its final form and will be ready for signature within a few hours. After that, Andromache has to head back to Telique, and Miryam is presented with a seamstress who needs to take her measurements for appropriate wedding clothes. As soon as the seamstress is done, a courtier appears to shoo Miryam into another room where an elderly Seraphim walks her through the protocol for royal weddings.

By the time Miryam is finally free to go, the sun has already set and the palace halls are lit by faelight. The courtier who sent her to her last meeting is there again, but he seems at a loss for where to take her next.

Fortunately for both of them, Nephelle appears in time to save them. “I’ll take her,” she says to the courtier, links her arm with Miryam’s and starts walking.

“Do you mind if I take you to Drakon’s quarters?” She asks softly. “You will have quarters of your own once you are married, but they aren’t ready yet, and I thought you might not want to spend the night in one of the guest suites.”

“Sure,” Miryam says absentmindedly.

The frantic energy that kept her going so far has vanished, leaving her completely drained. She stumbles over her feet and Nephelle grabs her arm to keep her upright.

“You look like you were run over by a cart,” Nephelle says. “Are you alright?”

“Just tired,” Miryam mutters.

“Quite hectic, right?” Nephelle grins and nudges her in the side. “I’ve always dreamed of seeing a real royal wedding sometime, but I never considered that it might entail this much stress.”

Miryam smiles. “I imagine most royal weddings have more than one day to be planned.”

“True words.” Nephelle’s smile fades. “I know this is a very short timeframe,” she says. “And as someone who has known Drakon from his childhood and considers him a younger brother, I’m beyond grateful that you are doing this. Still: You’re sure that this is what you want?”

“Yes,” Miryam replies, this time without hesitation. “I’m sure.”

“Good.” They have reached Drakon’s quarters and Nephelle lets go of her arm. “Do you want me to stay?”

Miryam shakes her head. “Thank you, but I just want to sleep.”

Nephelle smiles and leaves her behind at the door. Miryam quietly closes the door behind her. She barely manages to pull off her shoes before she falls asleep on the couch.

Soft voices wake her. Miryam stirs. Still heavy from sleep, she yawns and sits up.

“I’m sorry,” Drakon says softly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He’s still dressed in fine clothes, although they seem a little ruffled after an entire day spent running around. Sinna and Nephelle are with him. A look at the clock reveals that it’s three hours past midnight. With a start, Miryam realizes that she’s getting married today.

“Still awake?” She asks with another yawn.

“Yes.”

Miryam draws up her knees and motions for Drakon to sit down next to her. He does, Sinna and Nephelle sitting down on the other couch. Nephelle leans her head against Sinna’s shoulder.

“They’ve got the contract ready,” Drakon says and holds out a scroll. “I already signed, but you can read through it again before you do if you want to.”

Miryam nods and sits up. Her dress is hopelessly crumbled, but she still tries to straighten it before taking the scroll from Drakon. Simply signing a contract is distinctly unromantic, but for royal marriages, it has little to do with the actual ceremony. Contracts are signed upon engagement, and during the actual marriage ceremony, vows are exchanged.

“And I still need to cast the spell,” she says. “So that we can officially ‘accept’ the bond tomorrow.”

“Oh, yes.” Drakon hesitates. “Do you want to do it now, or…”

“Now is fine.” Miryam yawns again. “Just give me a moment to wake up fully.” The last thing she wants is to mess up with a spell as important as this. She reaches for Drakon’s hand. “I’m confident that this spell will work,” she says. “But you should know that there’s always a chance that it won’t fool the contract.”

Drakon frowns slightly. Sinna straightens. “How big a chance?” She asks.

“One out of ten?”

Drakon nods without hesitation. “Then I suppose I’ll have to take that risk.”

“Talking of risks,” Sinna says, “I think it would be best if news of that spell didn’t leave this room.”

Miryam frowns and Nephelle jumps in to explain. “Many Fae believe that mating bonds are sacred. They are seen as gifts from the Cauldron. If it became public that you cast a spell to recreate one, people might take it amiss. It could be considered to be blasphemy.”

Drakon makes a face at the word, but Miryam has a different problem.

“That won’t work,” she says.

“Why?” Sinna asks.

“I have to tell Jurian. The entire story.”

If she doesn’t, it will make it so much worse for him. No doubt the mating bond will be made into some huge romance by the Fae, who somehow think there is nothing more romantic than some cosmic bond tying two people together. And if Jurian thinks she married Drakon over a mating bond, that would be a hard blow for him.

“Of course.” Drakon winces. “He doesn’t even know about our relationship yet, if we marry without explaining…”

“And what if he tells?” Sinna asks sharply.

“Jurian is already suffering enough,” Drakons says, “I refuse to make it worse unnecessarily.” He turns to Miryam. “Do you want me to come when you talk to him?”

Miryam would love nothing more than to say yes. She is scared of talking to Jurian – not out of any fear of him, but because she knows how much this will hurt him. And she cannot bear to see Jurian hurt, least of all because of her. But she knows that taking Drakon along will just make it worse for Jurian, and she would be the worst kind of coward if she chose to make this easier for herself at his expense.

“I’ll go alone,” she says. “It will be easier that way.”

Sinna frowns at her, but doesn’t comment. Drakon simply nods.

Miryam straightens. ���I think I’m ready for the spell now,” she says. “I’ll go to Jurian afterwards.”

She gets up and stretches, then goes looking for her notes on the spell. She finds them on a small table at the edge of the room.

Nephelle leans forward. “I’ve never seen a witch spell,” she says. “This is exciting.”

Miryam shrugs. “I’m afraid this spell won’t be very flashy.”

Few witch spells are, to be honest. Fae can sense the power occasionally, but unless it’s something really big, the effect isn’t generally visible to anyone who isn’t a witch. This one certainly won’t be.

“I need you to cut your arm,” Miryam says to Drakon. “We need blood for the spell.”

Drakon winces slightly at the thought, but draws his knife and holds it over his palm. Miryam grabs his wrist before he can cut himself. “The arm,” she says. “Hand cuts get infected far more easily and are more painful.” Drakon angles the knife over his arm. “But not too deep,” Miryam adds.

“I know,” Drakon says with a wry smile. He slices the knife over his arm, wincing as he does. Miryam takes up the knife and runs it over her own arm. It hurts, but not much.

“Good,” Miryam says softly. “We need to press our arms together now.”

They grasp each other by the elbows and press their arms together. Miryam grips the paper with the spell with her free hand. A drop of blood falls on the paper.

“I’ll start now,” She says. “I might feel… I don’t know. Strange.”

Drakon nods. Miryam holds his gaze as she begins the spell. They burn in her throat as they always do, but her power plays along just fine. Smaller strings appear in front of her and weave together to a tight cord. With each of Miryam’s words, it tightens. She finishes the spell and the cord snaps into place between them. Miryam looks up and finds Drakon, Sinna and Nephelle staring at her.

“It didn’t work?” Sinna asks.

“Of course it worked,” Miryam says. She curiously looks down at the small cord that now connects her and Drakon.

“But nothing happened!” Nephelle exclaims.

“Not very flashy, like I said.” Miryam grins and tugs at the cord that now connects them. Drakon flinches.

“Was that…”

Miryam takes his hands and grins broader. “A mating bond.”

----

Ever since the battle, Mor’s life has been in a steady downwards spiral that shows no sign of stopping. By now, she is nearly certain that some higher power is trying to punish her for wishing for powers beyond what any person should reasonably have. Arrogant, that’s what it was, and now, she’s paying the price.

Part of that price includes facing her uncle’s questions.

“And you’re absolutely sure you cannot do it again?” He asks.

It’s the same question he has been asking over and over again since their meeting started, ever since Mor described what happened. It is becoming tiresome. Especially because her uncle is a talented liar himself, and lying to him is a challenge.

“I don’t even know how I did it,” she lies. “It just happened. I wouldn’t even know where to start if I was to replicate it.”

A lie, of course. Mor knows exactly what happened and would be able to do it again quite easily. She won’t, though. Even if it was her life at stake, she would never use her powers again. The very thought terrifies her.

“But have you tried?” The High Lord presses.

“Yes.” Mor sighs. “Nothing happened, though.”

And so they restart their game of question and evasion. By the time he finally allows her to take her leave, Mor is completely drained. She only barely manages to winnow back to Andromache’s camp.

“Evening Mor!” Yanis calls out to her from where he’s standing with some of the guards. “Had a fun meeting?”

“Sure,” Mor mutters, sarcasm dripping in each word. “Where’s Andromache?”

“Erithia.” Yanis shrugs. “Something’s up with Miryam. Or Drakon, I’m not sure.”

Mor frowns. “Something bad?”

“Not that I know of.”

Mor sighs. She briefly considers winnowing to Erithia to find out what this is about, but she doubts it would be any use. If she is allowed to know about what’s going on, she will be told sooner or later. Otherwise, asking around after secrets that are not for her to know will lead to nothing.

In her tent, she lies down on her bed and stares up at the ceiling. Even days later, the words she heard when she used her power still echo in his head. She wonders if they’ll ever go away. If there will ever be a day when she doesn’t need to hear that horrible voice.

She should never have used her powers. Some truths are simply too horrible to face.

Almost an hour passes until Andromache arrives. She steps through the tent’s entrance, dressed not in her armour but in fine council clothes. When she sees Mor lying on the bed, she smiles and sits down next to her.

“Did your uncle leave you in one piece?” She asks.

Mor nods. “I think he suspects I’m not telling him everything, though.” Considering that, her uncle was surprisingly polite. “And you? Any trouble?”

“No.” Andromache says. “Are your free tomorrow?”

“Yes?” Mor arches an eyebrow at her. “Anything specific?”

“Miryam and Drakon are getting married.”

Mor stares at her, not quite comprehending the words. “Miryam and Drakon are…” She begins, then breaks off.

“Getting married, yes,” Andromache finishes for her. “Don’t ask me why, though, because my guess is as good as yours.”

Mor shakes her head. “They are getting married,” she says slowly. “Within a day. And you don’t know why?”

“The obviously false reason is that they are mates,” Andromache says.

Mor yelps. “Mates?” She lets out a startled laugh.

Miryam and Drakon – mates. Who would have thought. They are hardly the typical pair, not as closely matched in power as mates usually are. Mor still finds the pairing fitting, though. They are both kind, both share the same vision for the future of the Continent.

“And you’re surprised they decide to marry?” She asks. “If they are mates?”

Andromache shrugs entirely too nonchalantly. “So what? That’s hardly a reason to marry within a day.”

Mor laughs and grips her hands. “Of course it is,” she says. “It’s a mating bond.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t see anything particularly romantic about some strange bond dictating your life choices,” Andromache says. “I’d much rather be chosen by someone who loves me than have magic make the choice for us.”

Mor frowns. She never heard anyone express a view like that. Most people she talked to saw a mating bond as the epitome of romance. “But it means you belong together,” she says hesitantly. “That you were meant to be together.”

“I’d still rather choose,” Andromache says. She smiles at Mor. “We chose each other, after all. And I wouldn’t change that for the world.”

Mor can feel herself blushing. “Of course, I…” She pauses, hoping that Andromache didn’t take her words the wrong way. It wasn’t what she meant. “I love you.” She leans forward and kisses Andromache on the nose.

She doesn’t say that she secretly hoped for quite a while that her and Andromache would turn out to be mates. That she thought it might fit, considered it to be romantic. She never considered that Andromache might not feel the same way.

The queen tugs her legs up to the bed and snuggles in next to Mor. “Maybe it’s a cultural thing,” she says. “A difference between humans and Fae.” She leans her head against Mor’s shoulder. “I think Miryam would feel the way I do, though,” she says. “Which is why I don’t believe that this is about a mating bond – whether it actually exists or not.”

Mor considers telling her that there’s no way to fake a mating bond, that Fae can sense if it exists, but she is tired of this topic. It makes certain differences between the way Andromache and her view the world become all too apparent and Mor finds that unsettling. She won’t want to be with you forever, not when your opinions differ so much, the voice whispers in Mor’s head. She will realize that deep down, you don’t understand, and she will leave.

Mor shakes it off. She smiles brightly at Andromache. “So there will be a wedding tomorrow?” She asks. “In that case, may I ask for the first dance with this beautiful lady?”

Andromache laughs and leans forward to kiss her.

----

Miryam leaves Erithia at dawn. Tasia arrived from Telique at late evening and brought some of her spare clothes, so Miryam is now dressed in a light tunic and pants. After running around in a dress for most of yesterday, wearing more covering clothes again is an immediate relief. It doesn’t quite manage to soothe the anxiety she feels at her conversation with Jurian, though.

This early in the morning, the camp is still mostly asleep. The guards on duty are at their posts and a few other soldiers are slowly crawling from their tents. Miryam calls out greetings to a few of them.

Jurian is in his tent, which saves Miryam from having to search for him, but also forces her to confront him right away. Remembering his reaction from last time, she knocks before entering. Jurian is sitting at his table. His eyes are bloodshot and there’s something wild in his gaze as he looks up.

“Miryam.” He jumps to his feet, knocking over his chair as he does. “You’re back!”

“Yes.” She tries to smile, but doesn’t quite manage. “There’s something we need to talk about.”

“Of course.” Jurian walks around the table. “I wanted to talk to apologize. What I said last time. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.”

Miryam shakes her head. He doesn’t want Jurian to apologize. He had a right to be angry then, and he has it now.

“It’s alright,” she says. Summoning all the courage she can muster, she begins, “I need to tell you that – “

“I was just so angry,” he interrupts. “I don’t know how you could ever suggest anything like this. I’ve always done my work, you know it! You can’t take that away from me.”

Miryam should probably reply to that, try to explain that she isn’t suggesting this to harm him. But she cannot open up another argument, not today. “I know,” she says as soothingly as she can manage. “But this is not what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m going to – “

“And I’m going to fix it all soon, anyways,” Jurian says. “Just trust me. A few days and it will all be fine. You’ll see.”

But Miryam doesn’t want to see anything. She wants Jurian to stop interrupting her, she wants to finally get the chance to tell him what she has come here to say before she loses her courage. It is already getting more difficult with each passing minute. Jurian is done, she sees it in his feverish eyes, in his too-thin frame. How can she put another burden on him?

“Jurian, I’m…” I’m getting married today and I don’t know how to tell you.

“I know you don’t like this,” Jurian says. “But you have to trust me. I know what I’m doing. I have a plan.”

“Jurian, would you listen to me?”

“I’m sorry.” Jurian runs a hand through his hair. His fingers tremble slightly. Miryam wonders if he’s drunk, or if he’s simply so close to the edge that there’s little difference anymore. “I’m sorry, Miryam. But I’m very busy today. I have an important meeting later today, you see, and I need to prepare.”

Miryam shakes her head. “But this is important.”

“I really don’t have time right now, Miryam,” Jurian says. He’s rambling now. “But tomorrow, yes? Tomorrow, it will all be better. And then, we can talk. It will all be fine, you’ll see, just give me a day.”

Miryam is still shaking her head. Tomorrow, it will be too late. She’ll be married tomorrow, and telling Jurian after it already happened will just harden the blow. She can’t wait for whichever idea Jurian is chasing after currently, they have to talk now.

“No,” she says, racing to come up with a way to convince him.

But Jurian is already pushing past her. Miryam almost thinks he’ll leave right away, without a goodbye, but he pauses. Slowly, carefully, he reaches for her hand. She lets him.

“Don’t be angry,” he says softly. “I have to do this. For us, for our people.”

Suddenly, there are tears in her eyes. “I’m not angry,” she whispers, voice breaking. She is so very far from angry. There is a terrible tightness in her chest and she cannot get herself to speak the words she knows she should be saying. “Promise that you’ll be careful,” she chokes out. “I know things between us have been difficult, but I still care. I’ll always care.” She wants to say that she still loves him, but that would come across wrong. She can’t make him any hope where there is none, even though the lack of romantic feelings doesn’t mean she loves him any less. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Jurian says. “I’ll fix this. You’ll see.” He lets go of Miryam’s hands and walks over to the door.

“I’ll be back tomorrow!” Miryam calls after him. If she arrives early enough, news of her marriage to Drakon might not have broken yet. She might still be able to be the one to tell Jurian. It might still be fine.

----

Tags: @croissantcitysucks

[mcwriting]

Starstruck (7)

I’m back again and so quickly! Ha! I’m getting soooo close to finishing this but now I’m distracted writing my other series lol. 

While writing this I thought a lot about how much Tom actually curses vs. how little I put in andddd it’s pretty disproportional. I mostly just don’t speak like that so it carries over into my writing, but whatever. I’ll stick with it.

Anyways pls enjoy

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

Fandom: Tom Holland

Ship: Tom x reader

Setting: Mostly LA, a little bit of South Korea in this one, but it doesn’t really talk about it

Word Count: 2146

Warnings: Mild language as per usual

Rating: K+

                            __________________________________

You tore apart your room looking for your favorite swimsuit, an olive green bikini top that accentuated your chest and a pair of black high cut bottoms that lengthened your legs nicely. 

It had been a few days since you went and stayed with b/f/n and she now wanted to go to the beach with you. You hadn’t gone out much since due to the paparazzi, who still hung around your house sometimes.

The suit was nowhere to be found, every drawer and cabinet searched high and low. 

And then you spotted something in the corner of your eye.

A beach bag slumped over the chair by your desk.

Could it be? 

No

Unless…?

You stepped carefully towards it, dreading opening up the bag and the subsequent memories attached to it. The hurt of what Tom did was still fresh, but better than before.

Neither of you had had contact since his final message to you, which was something you weren’t sure if you were happy, sad, or mad about. 

You’d thought about what Caroline had said in the past few nights, losing sleep over her words.

There’s no way I’ve caught feelings for the guy, right?

I mean, sure. He’s handsome, nice accent, great muscles, smells good, dancer, good sense of humor. The list could go on, I guess. 

Oh wait. Shit. 

Those thoughts flooded your mind as you dumped the contents of the bag onto the carpet, something landing with a heavy thud underneath the swimsuit you’d been searching for.

You peeled away the clothes and things to find a yellow glass bottle, Tom’s stupid unopened cologne now rested on the floor of your room. You stared at it for a few seconds, not knowing what to think.

You’d pretty much forgotten about it since the incident, pushed far from every other thought you’d had since that day.

A buzz suddenly sounded from your phone on the bed, revealing a text from b/f/n saying she was on her way. 

Not wanting to run late, you sat the bottle on the desk and ran to the bathroom to change before she arrived.

                             __________________________________

Photographers followed you and b/f/n at the beach, probably wanting to write a gossip piece about how you were “moving on.” Neither of you cared.

Instead, you both actively posed for the cameras for a little bit, laughing at the men’s persistence. Eventually, however, another of many celebrities in the area caught their eyes and they left, giving you much needed peace.

After a couple hours spent swimming, taking selfies, and tanning, the two of you gathered your things and headed for lunch at a nearby cafe. 

As you sat and ate under an umbrella, you found an article that had already been written containing photos from the beach earlier. It was titled “Moving on? Y/l/n spotted in spicy bikini with pal,” something that made you roll your eyes. 

“Wouldn’t it be funny if we reposted some of these pictures?” you joked to b/f/n. 

“Yes oh my gosh! That would be hilarious! Send me the article,” she agreed. 

You both screenshotted some pictures, picking your favorite to be the cover of your next Instagram post and intermixing some of the day’s selfies, too. Each of you hit post, tagging one another, and went back to your food.

                             __________________________________

The day had been long but perfect. 

B/f/n dropped you at your house late that afternoon, both of you tired from sitting in the sun most of the day. Since then, you’d spent the evening with your family and now prepared for bed.

You hadn’t checked your phone much since posting the photos, but you opened instagram to find that tons of Tom’s fangirls had liked and commented on your picture, most of them pretty supportive. 

Your caption had read “Apparently this is a spicy swimsuit and somehow it’s helping me move on from drama. Either way, today was a much needed beach day with my fav!” 

Other of your friends commented inside jokes, adding fire and pepper emojis, and called you spicy.

You spent a few minutes replying to comments when you decided to look at the likes. You searched “Holland” in the bar, wanting to see how many fans were liking it, but the first name caused your stomach to drop. 

Tomholland2013

There was a blue checkmark signifying it was him, too. 

There was no way he’d done it earlier, so you went back to the comments, where you found a new comment from only a minute before that read “OMG TOM LIKED!”

You were shocked to say the least. Was this some kind of a joke to him? Or was this his way of reaching out from a distance? Your thoughts became frequent and jumbled, and finally you decided to put up the phone and truly get ready for bed.

On the back of your desk chair was draped your favorite sleep shirt. As you went to grab it, the cologne bottle caught your eye once again.

You stared at it for a minute, then did something you’d probably regret later. 

You ripped off the plastic wrap off top and uncapped it. You took a heavy breath, and then spritzed the scent a few times over the sheets. 

It wafted up around you, filling your nose with the musky sweetness you were familiar with. 

After changing, you crawled into bed, the smell overcoming you, relaxing you. Surprisingly, butterflies filled your stomach as warm memories of yours and Tom’s night together came to mind once again. 

Ah shit. Caroline was right was the last thought to cross your mind as sleep overtook you.

                             __________________________________

Stan Twitter and Insta had blown up overnight as Tom’s fans speculated about him liking your post (and of course it just had to be one in a swimsuit). You tried not to think about it too much as you once again went to dance and tried to let off steam.

After class came and went, a parent came to let you know that once again there were dozens of people outside waiting for you with cameras and whatnot.

Your friends offered to help walk you to the car, but you were honestly angry. Enough was enough.

“I knew things would get crazy but this has gone on for too long. Celebrities might have to put up with this, but I don’t,” you spat, shouldering your dance bag and heading for the door. 

A few people tried to stop you but you just shrugged them off.

“Y/n, y/n!” the people began yelling, fighting to see who would get to your first. One woman beat out the rest and shoved a microphone in your face, the cameraman blocking your way.

“Tell us about your time with Tom Holland! We only want the truth!” she exclaimed with her feigned enthusiasm.

”You don’t want the truth, you want a story,” you began. Seeing the way people already looked uncomfortable with that statement, you continued.

“You take a good, normal person and turn him into your own little reality show. You build him up into a big celebrity just so you can tear him down in public.”

You were beginning to feel your face heat up and eyes threaten tears, but still you continued, looking out at the rest of the crowd.

“Just so you can sell magazines and TV shows? That’s really sick. And Tom Holland’s just one example. He’s talented and successful. He’s all the stuff lots of kids dream of having.”

Nothing you said had a hint of sarcasm or disdain, but rather it was a defendant tone. Now you took on an accusatory one directed at the reporters.

“But thanks to you, he’s had to give up some of the best things in life. Freedom. Privacy. Honesty. So congratulations, you’ve created a celebrity. But you have wrecked the human being inside. You should be ashamed of yourselves.”

You finished the tirade, a tear slipping onto your cheek as you remembered the night he spent at your house telling you about how he often missed normal life. There was a heavy pause but cameras continued to flash. The reporter turned to her cameraman.

“Did you get that?” she asked. He nodded, so she turned back to you.

“Y/n, y/n just one more question. In your opinion, who is Tom Holland really?”

You looked at her, taken aback. Your blood boiled.

“Who is he? I don’t know. The Tom Holland you’re all so obsessed with…” you took a moment to collect your thoughts. “I promise you I never met him. And I wouldn’t want to.”

With that, you pushed through the crowd and to your car, hoping they were satisfied.

                             __________________________________

On the other side of the world, Tom was becoming stir crazy. By the time Tom had awoken, videos and transcripts of your speech were already circulating the internet and he was overwhelmed and frankly angry. 

He was supposed to be getting ready for another press day, but how could he do interviews when everyone would just want to hound on him about you?

“Tom, we need to talk,” Harrison said sternly as Tom paced his hotel living room. Harry and Sam stood behind him in the entryway..

“Alright what on?” he asked as though nothing was wrong.

“Tom. Tell us what’s got you acting like this, saying what you did, and her making that speech through tears. You obviously liked that girl and something happened with her,” Harry stated.

Tom paused and turned to the group.

“What are you talking about? There was nothing going on between us.”

They all looked at each other and then Tom like he was an idiot.

“Look mate, you have no reason to lie to us. We always have your back and we’ll probably understand,” Sam added. The group took a few steps forward.

Tom was becoming more agitated and avoided eye contact with all of them. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest.

“First off, I’m not lying. And secondly, if I were, you all wouldn’t understand anyways because you aren’t me! None of you get what it’s like living my life and you never will!” Tom exclaimed, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.

The group was taken aback at Tom’s explosive statement and now Harrison was mad too.

“You know what, man? We came here to talk because we care about you. You’ve been a real dick the past few days and it’s getting old. All we wanted to do was help you out but instead you decided to go all movie star on us,” Harrison blurted. He turned to the twins, “Let’s go guys. He’s obviously beyond us.”

The three boys turned to walk out the door and Tom felt a weight drop in his stomach. Harry was just starting to open the door when Tom stopped them.

“Wait!” he paused and took a deep breath, “I’ll tell you all what’s really going on, but you have to let me tell the whole story first.”

They reluctantly turned back, eventually making themselves comfortable around the living room and letting Tom vent out the whole story, including how his management had made him cut ties with you.

“She was so honest and kind and I blew it. The more distant from her I can make myself, the better. I couldn’t let myself bring you in on this secret and feel bad too. She deserves to just hate me.”

The boys were all shocked and angered at what was going on.

“Tom, I love you, you’re my brother. But you are such a div! And I mean that in the most extreme manner possible,” said Harry.

“Yeah, come on mate. Just fire them! Why are you letting them control your life?” asked Sam. 

“You guys don’t get it! Singleness sells! I can’t jeopardize my career just because I found y/n to be the most beautiful and incredible and real person I’ve ever met. I mean, right?”

Harrison piped up at that.

“You really are more stupid than you look. Tom I’m gonna tell you straight. They’re living in some figmented reality where your relationship status determines whether or not you get hired. I mean, you’re Spider-Man for God’s sake. That has to count for something, right?”

Tom bounced his head back and forth in contemplation. 

“I mean I guess-” he started when Harrison cut him off again.

“You guess!” he stood up in disbelief. “You guess? Come on! Directors don’t care who the hell you’re dating if you’re giving them Oscar worthy performances and box office hits! And even then, who cares about your career when you’re putting your heart on the cutting board for it. Just go after the damn girl, Tom. And fire those assholes while you’re at it.”

                            __________________________________

A/N: Still can’t believe I got this out so quickly. Anyways, thanks for reading and as always, send me a message or ask if you wanna talk since I can’t respond to comments! (And keep an eye out for “the best revenge,” my new series)

TAG LIST: @marvel-lously, @jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl, @dreamyvans, @lisannehus, @honeymoonpeter, @shootingstarsaretearsofheaven, @chenellearose, @photoshopart15, @parkeret, @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch, @racewife2004 

[capricornus-rex]

The Haunt of Redemption (6)

Sequel to: A Path I Can’t Follow

Chapter 6: The Hermit | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: It has been months since your last encounter with Cal, at that time he was a fledgling Inquisitor. In an ironic twist of fate, you cross paths and blades with him once again, and he’s keen on turning you into an Inquisitor as well—unless you bring him back to the light first.

Tags: Dark Side! Cal Kestis, Inquisitor! Cal Kestis, Redemption Arc! Cal Kestis

Also posted in AO3

Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 | Previous: Chapter 5 | Next: Chapter 7 | Masterlist

6 of ?

So many questions rang in Cere’s mind, though she took her time in listing them up neatly in her mind. She started with the question why Imperials have arrived to the planet and started obliterating the biggest settlement.

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask Cal,”

“Cal?” Greez was taken aback by the mention of his name. “Cal was there?”

“Yeah,” your pursed your lips and clicked your tongue. “I suppose he’s an Inquisitor now.”

“What? An Inquisitor?!” the Lateron captain exclaimed in disbelief.

“Well, given the last time we saw him, we all thought it was highly likely, innit?”

Cere ticked off that question and went on with the next.

“[y/n],” she cautiously spoke this time, gulping the lump stuck in her throat. “Did Cal do all that? The town?”

You swiveled your chair to face Cere—and Merrin who’s standing by the woman’s chair—and sighed.

“Yes. He told me that it was his directive to attack the town. How he found us here is something I don’t know, but I have a theory: they might have had spies in the town, though I shouldn’t be surprised since there were troopers there in the first place. My gravest assumption would be anyone in the Yewa Docking Bay.”

Loud sighs and nervous murmurs spoke for everybody in the cockpit. Everyone couldn’t utter a word. You swiveled the chair back and started inputting coordinates on the computer.

“What are you doing now?” the captain scolded.

“He’s still after the Holocron we retrieved from Magyon. I know someone who can be a better keeper, he’ll be the very least the Inquisitors—or Cal for that matter—will expect. At the same time, we’ll make our trail cold.”

The captain confirmed the coordinates that you’ve encoded into the navigation computer and got the ship ready for a jump to lightspeed. He cranked the lever and the ship enters hyperspace. When the situation has calmed down, you spun your chair again to face Cere.

“Cere, a word?”

“Of course,”

The woman promptly stood up from her seat and settled yourselves on the couch at the holotable.

“Something on your mind?”

“When I fought Cal, he was so different—he’s gotten more aggressive and heavier with his attacks. It’s like I barely knew him, even though he was such a familiar face. Frankly, he was scary,”

“It apparently has something to do with the training he received as an Inquisitor,”

“There’s another,” you adjusted yourself in your seat. “You know about my Force-Halt, right? The day we left Bogano.”

She nodded, urging you to continue.

“Well, it turns out, Cal knows how to use it too,”

The uneasiness became more evident in Cere: her eyebrows furrowed, her head turned to the floor, staring blankly at it while she registers that information.

“But,” that word cut off Cere from further zoning out. “He bragged to me that he’s mastered it, though, it also lasted for a short time. That’s why I was able to break free.”

Comparing the durations between your Force-Halt and his, you recalled the last moments that unfurled in Koboth—that day, you were able to keep him under the ability’s influence even from a long distance; though you couldn’t pinpoint whether the distance or voluntarily letting go factored to him breaking free. Both possibilities were logical, but there only has to be one.

“Then it could only mean he’s learned it later than you did. Perhaps, he’s still learning the ropes of it. Either way, you have to be careful whenever he does use it on you,”

Without a doubt, Cal will use it on you the next time he does. For now, the thing on your mind right now is getting to the planet where that person may be, and then hop to the next planet.

The trip was long so you retreat to your room, changed into a tank top and fresh pants to let your drenched outfit dry up. You donned a poncho to keep yourself warm from the Mantis’s air-conditioning.

You fished out the Holocron that you have been keeping in one of your bags. You sat in the lounge, joining Cere who was strumming away with her hallikset, she noticed the cyan cube pulsating its light in your hand.

“[y/n]?”

“You know, we’ve kept it all this time and not a day goes by without me thinking what could be inside,”

You look to Cere for some sort of affirmation or reassurance. The cube weighed on the flat of your palm and you channeled the Force from yourself to the Holocron. A rhythmic clicking noise emitted from the golden frame of the artifact, the once-whole pieces reduced into floating shards until a projection hatched out.

It was Plo Koon’s list of the Force-sensitive children he’s discovered throughout his journey.

“It’s exactly like the first one,” Merrin commented.

All eyes wandered across the luminous, indigo hologram riddled with the names written in Aurebesh. The projection is visualized like a sort of map, hence its circular image, with the dots signifying the planets where they could be found. The projection continued to hover and illuminate the room.

“There’s something on my mind that I want to say to you, [y/n],”

“Shoot,”

“This planet we’re heading to, how did you come to know it? What makes you think there’s someone who can keep it safer than we could?”

It was a good question. You search for the Cere’s holocron, you reached for it using the Force when you spotted it sitting on the corner of the dining table. Cere understood your plan, and you haven’t even activated it yet.

“You actually think that he’s there—in the planet that we’re heading to right now?”

“Look, Cere, I know it’s funny and you probably think I’m crazy or stupid or both. I don’t blame you if you think it’s illogical but…” you scoffed out a weak laugh, trying to gather the best words to be coherent. “I can’t explain it. Even when meditating, I feel it, the Force—as if speaking to me, telling me to trust my feelings. At first I didn’t listen to it because I thought the Force is toying with me just because I’ve become vulnerable all this time. But this time, I don’t think I have an excuse to not trust in my own instincts.”

There was a silence in the lounge. The microphone’s feedback crackled and a muffled rendition of Greez’s voice rang through the speakers.

“We’ve entered the planet’s orbit.”

All the women marched to the cockpit and got a view of the beige, sandy planet. Even from that a great distance, you felt a strong pull of the Force leading you on. That feeling was enough of a reassurance.

You assisted Greez in steering the ship, pinpointing safe areas that you could find in your navigation computer and then transmitting them to his own screen for him to follow. The Mantis landed behind a ridge where they’re safe from prying eyes. You suited up a poncho over your jacket so you blend with the sand and then pull up the hood; your bag containing the holocron and a few necessary items slung across your back. BD-1 crawled up your arm and then perched on your shoulder.

“How long do we have before the next jump is charged and ready?”

“Give it a few hours,” Greez replied.

“I won’t be long,” you tell Cere.

“Be careful out there,”

“Don’t I always?”

“Not really,”

It was the truth, though it warranted a laugh out of you.

You left the ship and began your trek through the flat, sandy wasteland. The low-lying haze of dust swept through your calves as you stamp your feet across the terrain. It felt like you’ve brought yourself to a purgatory of nothingness—save the extreme combined heat of two suns and the winds constantly changing direction to whisk up towers of dust clouds.

The golden brown sediments pricked the pores on your cheeks, you’ve already pulled up the flaps of your poncho to cover your nose and mouth but it didn’t do much. When the winds have picked up again, you found yourself passing through a low trench, shielding yourself from the inconvenience out in the open.

“Spooky, isn’t it, BD?”

“Boooo…”

“Don’t worry, I’m here, buddy.”

You unclipped your saber but didn’t ignite it, readying yourself for any attack that comes in the way.

An animalistic howl echoed between the crevices of the rocks and then you were jumped by a Tusken Raider! The end of its staff struck you across the cheek before you could even attack, causing you to drop your saber. Its weapon jabbed hard on your shin—and the pain was stomach-churning. You scuttled away from it and towards your lightsaber lying in a cushion of sand.

You had your hands literally full—on one, you were pulling for your saber; on the other, you inflicted Force-Halt on the Tusken. With the enemy frozen, your scuttling doubled its haste in going for the lightsaber. Certain with your ability, you took your time in hobbling back to the Tusken Raider you’re your saber ignited while it was standing painfully still.

You struck it down and snapped for a stim. It wasn’t a total recovery, the stim only numbed the pain tolerable enough for you to run with a shattered shin. When the curb of the pass was in sight, you slowed down with the running, presuming there might be more waiting once you make the turn. You stalked the path carefully, apparently your would-be assailant lost its patience and sprung out of its hiding place; holding the staff above its head and bobbing it up and down to assert dominance while doing its primal call.

The broken shin messed up your balance, and subsequently your fighting form. A swing of your saber severed its war club and then you introduced the sole of your boot to its chin, disorienting it and preparing to strike it down—but you were denied that chance when another gripped you by the shoulders to drag you across the floor.

“GET OFF!” you growled, violently shaking its grip off of you.

You threw your sword arm upward and drove your saber into the Tusken’s jugular—which you assumed it to be—and then its lifeless body disturbed the sand. This angered the one whose staff you just severed. It charged angrily towards you, there wasn’t a shred of sentience or humanity in its stride; you felt something or someone land from behind—you were too afraid to look and it would kill you if you glance over your shoulder. The Tusken Raider, once so wild with its movements and flailing its arms with great assertion, shirked in fear and retreated to the pass where it came from.

You felt a pair of gentle, kind hands clutch your arms, hoisting you up from the ground.

“You caught yourself in quite a pickle there, my dear,”

Still stricken with the events that transpired just now, you slowly craned your head to the side. Your savior is dressed in a dust-caked cloak whose hemlines at the sleeves and body were tattered due to time, his beard has grown past the tip of his chin and covered most of his jaw, and locks of his hair as brown as the sand flopped and hung in front of his forehead.

You know this man.

“Master Kenobi?” you uttered the only thing that came to your mind after everything.

“Well, I don’t think the word ‘Master’ warrants any meaning here,” he dryly chuckled. “Come, you’ve only met a small scouting patrol. We’ll be in big trouble if we linger.”

You winced when you planted the balls of your feet on the ground. The former Jedi Master saw your limping leg and noticed the bruise forming up in your cheek.

“Oh dear, are you alright, child?”

“Yes, I’m fine,”

“I think not,” he insisted. He bent down on his knees and checked your leg. He placed one hand on the spot where the Tusken had jabbed its pommel and suddenly appeared to be focusing.

A calming sensation entered your body—it was cool like water in a stream and swirled about the length of your shin. Obi-Wan withdrew his hand and you bobbed your leg, feeling for the pain—there’s no more pain. You shot him a surprised look and a smile paints on your face, he repaid it with a kind smile but his serious and urgent tone returned in an instant.

“Come with me and we’ll talk somewhere safe.”

You followed him across the ridge, evading the areas where there would be more Tusken Raiders patrolling the plains. The rocks acted as your cover. Along the way, Obi-Wan engaged in banter with you to rid any awkward air between the two of you.

“I suppose I should start asking for your name,”

“[y/n], Master,”

“And how did you get here?”

“You mean the planet or that trench pass?”

“Humor me on both,”

“Well, I came to this planet with a ship and a crew. They’re staying with the ship,”

“While you head out here all alone?”

“Uh, I chose to be alone,” you mumbled. “Anyway, I trekked all this way to come looking for you.”

“I suppose you can tick that off in your to-do list,”

You chuckled, “Yeah, I guess.”

The two of you went uphill until a small cottage was in sight. He invited you into his house and offered you a glass of blue milk. You didn’t realize that the thirst was overwhelming that you chugged the whole glass.

“Sorry, the heat just took its toll on me,”

“It is a rather unforgiving place. Now then,” he settled himself on a seat across you. “What’s a young Jedi like you doing in this desolate planet in search of a tired, aging hermit like me?”

You unslung the strap of your backpack, producing the Holocron out of your bag and holding it in front of him.

“This Holocron was originally Plo Koon’s,”

Obi-Wan mouthed the name while running his thumb across his beard.

“This contains a list of all the Force-sensitive children in the galaxy. If fallen into the wrong hands, these kids will be tools of the Inquisitors or the Empire—not that there’s much of a difference between the two, anyway.”

“Inquisitors?”

“Basically, they’re the hounds of the Empire, snuffing out the Jedi to destroy them. Aside from the typical Stormtroopers of course,”

Discovering that he has missed out on much of the Empire’s workings, you became his window to the outside world. It has been years since he’s exiled himself here in Tatooine with barely any connection beyond the planet. You narrated everything that’s transpired—not just the events revolving around you and Cal, but for everyone else in the galaxy: the partisans in Kashyyyk and the violent occupation at Zeffo to name some.

“And how much destruction have they wrought?”

You shake your head, “Not sure, exactly. But all I can say is that the damage is irreparable.”

Eventually, you peppered in the story of Cal, how he turned into the Inquisitor, and that he’s after this particular Holocron. Without any more filler talk, you went right into your true reason why you sought Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“Hermit or not, you’re still a Jedi—whether you were or are, it doesn’t matter. I still believe it’s safer with you than it is with me. You won’t even come across the Inquisitors’ minds. I doubt it.”

“Well, [y/n], that does sound reassuring,” you couldn’t decipher if he’s serious or sarcastic with that remark.

He stands up to take the Holocron from your hands. He activated it and the relic emitted the luminous projection from its shell, his eyes trailed left and right, reading the children’s names and planets. There was a look in his eyes that you couldn’t read—unsure if it’s a look of resignation, obligation, or hopelessness. Then his eyes lit up, a secretive curl in his lip hid behind the scruff of his beard.

“I believe that he can keep it safe, but I will reveal it to him once it is time,”

Your eyes furrowed, “Who’s he?”

He lifted the lid of a box with a silver hilt resting inside, the Holocron eventually joined the weapon in the container.

“Our only hope.”

For the whole conversation, that was the most enigmatic answer you’ve heard from Obi-Wan Kenobi. You don’t believe that it’s the heat that’s gotten into his head. You truly believe that there was some meaning to his words, even though you’re not sure what to comprehend from that.

[dancingkirby]

Finally another Azula Chapter!

Yooooo, I’m all done with the first two acts of the story now!  (Except for editing and adding on any new ideas, that is.)  And, as promised, here is Azula’s second PoV chapter.

WARNING: Non-graphic incest in the first part.

PAST

Flush with the excitement of the rally and freshly scrubbed, Azula was preparing for the audience with Father that she knew was imminent.  It felt good to be back in her armor; the red and pink outfit had been both pretty and practical, but simply didn’t offer the same amount of protection. On the outside, she looked every bit the maiden warrior-princess.  However, her inner layers were not nearly as modest.

Shiza made her patented frown as Azula rejected her usual bindings in favor of Daddy’s favorite pair of lingerie.  Azula was fairly certain that Shiza had known about their secret relationship for some time; it would be hard for her not to since she was the one getting Azula ready most of the time.  However, they appeared to have reached a silent agreement that they would both pretend she didn’t know.

The knocks on the door came at the perfect time, just as Shiza was putting the makeup knife away. So it was Father who wanted to speak with her first, then.

“Are you…will you be all right?” Shiza asked tentatively as Azula turned towards the door. What an odd question.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she replied.  

The throne room was empty save for herself and the Fire Lord…just as it had been when he’d sent her on this mission over three months ago.  Azula stopped a respectful distance away, knelt, and pressed her forehead to the floor.  Even when she raised her head, she remained kneeling with her eyes downcast, only daring to look up when she heard him part the flames.  

“The conqueror of Ba Sing Se,” Father said.

Azula would have liked to bask in the praise, but knew exactly what she was expected to say. She made a noise of demurral before responding, “I would never have been able to do it if I hadn’t had such a wonderful teacher.”

“Indeed,” Father replied, slowly walking down the steps.  His nearness made Azula quake in her boots, and not entirely out of fear. But she couldn’t think about that now.

“And your brother slayed the Avatar,” he continued, tugging on his beard.  “I was surprised.  I didn’t think he had it in him.”

How was she going to make this story believable?

“I didn’t either,” she began, trying to stall for a few seconds to think up the details.  “I was busy fighting the waterbender.  But then the Avatar was preoccupied, and Zuko saw his chance and took it.”  Should she say he used lightning?  No, that would be stretching credulity a bit too much.  “Fire blast straight to the back.  It was so precise and powerful that the Avatar never even knew what hit him.  And if that didn’t kill him instantly, the long fall to the ground certainly did.”

There.  That seemed to be an acceptable enough fudging of the truth.  She didn’t mention that they still hadn’t got official confirmation that the Avatar was actually dead, which was making her a little nervous.

“Wonderful,” Father proclaimed.  The story appeared to have passed his muster, and Azula made an internal sigh of relief.

“I take it that you received my dispatches about the intelligence I gathered?” she inquired.  Father smirked.

“Yes.  They’re planning an invasion during the eclipse. How precious.”

Azula allowed her face to relax the tiniest bit, and said, “I have no doubt that they think they’re the first people to ever try such a thing.  The Earth King sang like a sparrowkeet about their super-secret plans without me even having to try. I wish you’d been there to see for yourself; you would have loved it.”  Those idiots. They would have had increased security measures that day regardless.  

Father gave a shout of laughter so loud and sudden that even Azula was startled.  

“So do I!” he exclaimed.  “But let us discuss that a little later, shall we?  There are other matters I would like to attend to first.”

And just like that, Father became Daddy, and Azula adapted accordingly.  She knew from years of experience how to change her entire demeanor in the blink of an eye.  As she tugged her hair out of its topknot and let it fall freely down her back, she allowed her expression to soften, looking up at Daddy through her eyelashes while biting her lip.  

“What a brilliant idea,” she said, voice changed from formal and measured to almost a purr.  This had exactly the effect on Daddy, who ran over, picked her up, and slung her over his shoulder.

“Ohh,” she whispered into his ear.  “Unhand me, you brute.”

“Do you have any idea how difficult it was for me to find a replacement for you all those months?” Daddy growled as they left the throne room and began what seemed like an unbearably long trip to his rooms.

Azula really didn’t want to think about who might have been her replacement.  Instead, she giggled and said, “I can imagine.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first time did hurt, a little bit, but that was to be expected, and nothing that Azula couldn’t handle.  The second time, Daddy wasn’t in such of a big rush, so he could help make it feel good for her, too.  After he had been thoroughly satisfied–twice–he was ready to talk strategy again.  Azula always felt a little uneasy when he did this, because she wasn’t sure how to categorize this.  It was sort of in between Father and Daddy; he expected her to be all business when she didn’t have a stitch of clothing on.  

“The Avatar may be dead, but his friends will be out for revenge,” she told Daddy.  “They should not be taken lightly.  The waterbender has improved significantly even in the time I’ve fought against her, and rumor has it that the earthbender has somehow figured out how to bend metal.  If that is true, our bunker is no longer impervious.”

Daddy frowned. “That is unfortunate.  So you think that those two are our biggest threat? We will put the best of the Royal Guard at the main entrance, then, to neutralize them immediately.”

“Actually…no, I don’t think that,” Azula clarified.

“Then who is?”

Azula felt a smile tugging at her lips as she said, “The nonbender boy, believe it or not.  His name is Sokka.  He’s the brains of the group, and apparently the one who, um, figured out how to take down the drill.”  Maybe not the best idea to remind Daddy of that.  She rushed on, “Get into his head, knock him off-balance, and their entire plan will fail.”

“And you believe that you know how to do that?” Daddy asked.

Azula’s smile widened.

“I do,” she said simply.

PRESENT

She was prepared for every eventuality.

Well, maybe not every eventuality.  She supposed that perhaps they would figure out how to make a replica of her drill. Or…or maybe they’d make a giant walking suit of armor that shot energy beams so powerful that they could annihilate anything in their path.

Actually, that last one was an intriguing idea.  She’d have to remember to write that one down later.

But those were exceedingly unlikely scenarios, and she knew it.  Without the Earth Kingdom’s resources, there was no way that they would have the wherewithal to make such powerful weapons.  She was still prepared for every plausible eventuality.

Azula was quite confident that the Avatar and his friends would be heading this way.  War Minister Qin had been instructed to misdirect them, and that was a simple enough task that she thought even he couldn’t mess it up.  Everything was ready.  She had her Dai Li as backup, perched in the rafters. (Really, she wished she could have had Mai and Ty Lee with her as well, but they were sheltering in their own homes.) The past several weeks, Azula had been occupied with perfecting her nonbending fighting and evasion skills.  She’d had Ty Lee give her some pointers, and even considered getting her lover to chi-block her to mimic the effects of the eclipse (all her research indicated that said effects were not pleasant). However, she had ultimately decided against it. That might set an unfortunate precedent, after all.

Speaking of which, she thought that the effects were kicking in now.  It wasn’t so bad if one knew to expect them; mostly a sensation of cold and mild nausea.  Everything was muted this far underground, anyway.

Then…footsteps and shouting outside.  Qin had succeeded in his deception.  She adjusted her posture so she looked exactly the right combination of threatening and casual.  As the doors were blown open with a gust of wind, she smiled.  

“So, you are alive after all,” she said, just as she had rehearsed in the privacy of her bedroom countless times. “I had a hunch that you survived.  But it doesn’t matter.  I’ve known about the invasion for months.”

The look of shock on the trio’s faces (the waterbender girl wasn’t with them; too bad) was quite possibly the most gratifying thing that Azula had seen in her entire life. Did they perhaps think of her as some sort of supernatural entity with psychic powers?  She was happy to let them continue believing that.  The somewhat more mundane truth was, they hadn’t been quite as good as hiding as they thought they were, and she had received intelligence from multiple islands about a group matching their descriptions.

“Where is he? Where’s the Fire Lord?” the Avatar demanded.  Did he honestly think she was going to just tell him?

“Mm.  You mean I’m not good enough for you?  You’re hurting my feelings,” she said as she stood up, letting the barest hint of the voice she used for Daddy seep through.  She would do whatever it took to keep them distracted.

“Stop wasting our time and give use the information,” Sokka demanded, gesturing with his sword.  He’d caught on quickly, just as Azula had expected. “You’re powerless right now, so you’re in no position to refuse.”

Pfft. Look who’s talking.

The earthbender (her name was…Toph?) added, “And stick to the truth.   I’ll be able to tell if you’re lying.”

“Are you sure? I’m a pretty good liar,” Azula answered. Quickly casting around in her head for the most ridiculous statement possible, she said, “I am a four hundred-foot-tall purple platypus bear with pink horns and silver wings.”

It took no effort at all.  Every successful member of the Fire Nation royal family learned to lie almost as soon as they could talk.  When one was in such a high-stakes position, wearing one’s feelings on one’s sleeve could be deadly.  Zuzu had learned that the hard way.  

“…Okay, you’re good, I admit it,” Toph said.  Azula managed to not so much as even flinch as the earthbender trapped her in a column that went up to her chin.  “But you ought to consider telling the truth anyway!”

So far, everything was going exactly according to plan; it was almost too easy.  By Azula’s mental count, about two minutes had passed since the start of the eclipse.  All she had to do was to continue to occupy them for six more.  

Azula and the Dai Li had agreed that the latter would make their presence in the room known as soon as Toph tried earthbending for the first time.  Right on cue, the column binding Azula crumbled into nothing.  Her trio of adversaries looked flabbergasted again; Azula could almost hear them thinking, “Wait…she can earthbend?!”

“When I left Ba Sing Se, I brought home some souvenirs…Dai Li agents!” she explained.

The fight that followed was more an amusement than anything else.  At last, Azula got to show off the results of her extensive practice. No matter what obstacle they might throw at her, she could leap, jump, or flip through it.  It was rather like what she’d always imagined that airbending would feel like; sometimes, she looked at Ty Lee’s gray eyes and wondered.

Finally, Sokka realized how much time had passed, and told the other two to stop attacking.

“She’s just playing with us.  She’s not even trying to win this fight!” he said, a note of panic creeping into his voice.

(If he thought Azula hadn’t noticed how his eyes raked over her body as she flew past him, he was deluding himself.)

“Not true!  I’m giving it my all,” Azula informed him.  Technically, this wasn’t even a lie, since she didn’t specify what “it” was.  They bickered a while longer, accusing her of wasting their time when they were doing a perfectly good job at it themselves.  Then Sokka got them back to their senses again, and the three of them turned and started walking away.

“It’s a trap.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Azula said.  There were only a couple of minutes left in the eclipse now; she doubted that they’d reach Father in time even if they did know the way.  And if they blundered their way into one of the rooms surrounding his…it would not be pleasant for them.

“Ignore!” Sokka urged them as they continued walking.

It was time.  She’d been looking forward to this moment for the whole fight.

“So, Sokka’s your name, right?” she began.  “My favorite prisoner used to mention you all the time.”

He halted, turned his head back to look at her.  She had him.

Azula continued, “She was convinced you were going to come rescue her.  Of course, you never came, and she gave up on you!”  As his face crumpled, she felt a surge of triumph and…something else?

Had she thought that her trick with the dagger was going to work?  Not really.  Things would be more convenient for her that way, of course, but it would have put this part of her plan to a disappointingly premature end.  In any case, Toph disarmed her and threw her against the rough stone wall hard enough that Azula was certain it would leave a nasty bruise, and Sokka had her pinned before she could retaliate.  

“WHERE. IS.  SUKI?!” he snarled.  Oh, did he think that Azula had tortured his little girlfriend?  She was happy for him to continue thinking that.  Father would have used torture, yes, but Azula didn’t see the point of resorting to it when there were other, more subtle ways of getting what she wanted.

She continued to smile down at him, saying nothing, and couldn’t help but notice that his Fire Nation topknot suited him well.  So did that primitive…thing that passed for a military uniform with the Water Tribe barbarians.  That darker blue was definitely his color; he should wear it more often.  

“Where’s Suki?” Sokka repeated, interrupting her musings. “Answer me!”  The Avatar tried to get him to back off, but he didn’t listen. “Where are you keeping her?!”

Azula simply smiled even more.  Making him angry was so…so…wait.  Was that just her feeling the eclipse about to end, or was her body responding to him?  Daddy had had her against walls, many times, and often as enraged as Sokka was now.  That was all it was.  Still…if she managed to take Sokka prisoner as well, maybe she could…

No.  Daddy wouldn’t allow that.  And even if he did, it was a stupid idea.  Thankfully, before her hormones could come up with any further less-than-brilliant schemes, Azula was bailed out by the sound of a large explosion coming from the general direction of Father’s room.  She could feel her own power resurging as well.  

“Oh!  Sounds like the firebending’s back on!” she said in faux-surprise.  She had herself freed within a few seconds, and generously informed her opponents of her father’s location.

Azula felt elated as she ran out of the room.  Her plan had been a complete success; Father would be so happy when he heard.  She didn’t have any time to check in with him, though; she had to hurry onto an airship to make sure the Avatar and his friends got out and stayed out.

…Right after she found a bathroom.

[orbitariums]

goodnight n go | peter parker + reader

goodnight n go | peter parker

     You stretched as you reached to turn off your desk light and closed your binders and notebooks, done with your extra homework at last. You had decided to take a break before your shower and finish it after that. It was a test of discipline but you were very well-disciplined and diligent, one of the reasons why you were a star student. But on top of being president of National Honors Society, the top five percent in your class and a highly esteemed member of various volunteer groups, you were also (wait for it): Spiderman’s girlfriend. 

     You hated to think or say that you were - of course no one knew that you were Spiderman’s girlfriend since to the general public he was just nerdy Peter Parker - Spiderman’s girlfriend, but the fact became very apparent on nights like these, when he was out late trying to stop bad guys from stealing and using dangerous equipment. He would tell you about what he was doing but never enough, so you never really did know. But what you did know was that you were worried about him. You believed in him enough, you felt like he could be Spiderman and that he could handle it, but he scared you sometimes.

           On nights like these, you would sometimes sit by your window and wait for him to swing by in his suit and tell you he was okay and on his way home. It was your unspoken agreement that he would do that. He knew how worried about him you were and that you wanted to make sure he was okay every night fighting crime, so he made it his duty to tell you that he was. And he always came by, a flash of red and blues in the dark blue sky, the stars beginning to twinkle in the obscure areas of the sky. He floated outside your window and told you goodnight, and sometimes if he looked battered up you forced him to come inside while you cleaned his bruises.

      Tonight though, he was nowhere to be found. He usually came by around midnight to check in with you, and if he hadn’t texted to let you know he was running late or he ran late without a text, you always made sure to send a text. A simple: You okay? sufficed everytime. But this night you ended up with an automated message that was customized specifically for you on nights like these, and it read: “busy fighting crime babe! text you later.” You sighed, trying to push away the urging feeling of nerves and decided to sit by the window and wait, your last straw. But when he still didn’t come by, and you were too tired to sit up and wait, pushing past your worries or any nerves, you pushed up your window in case he came in later.

      Despite your steady mannerisms, you still couldn’t help but glance behind you at the window one last time for any sign of him, before adjusting your tank top and shorts nervously, your teeth biting down on your soft coconut balm lips. You sent one last text to Peter that read: I hope you’re okay.

     You didn’t want to wait for a text back, you knew the anxiety of the wait would be too overwhelming, and that you wouldn’t be able to sleep if you waited too long for a text back. So you crossed your heart and hoped he was okay, telling yourself you were silly to even think anything wrong had happened to him. You tucked yourself into bed and fell asleep.

     When you woke up what seemed to be hours later the feeling of arms wrapped around you from behind didn’t fully kick in. You found yourself leaning into those arms and groaning quietly, sleepily, finding comfort in the strong arms wrapped around you. But you almost jumped when your eyes finally fluttered open and you actually saw the arms wrapped around you and hand firmly positioned on your shoulder.

     “Shit!” you bellowed, scrambling to sit up in bed, and then when you looked down you saw Peter’s groggy but awake face, his hair all tousled and spread out on the pillow before him.

     You still gasped upon seeing him and your breaths came in and out heavily.

     “Oh- oh, I’m-”

     “I’m sorry,” Peter murmured, honestly fighting falling asleep, his voice deeper than usual and the grog and sleep in his voice evident. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

     “Oh… you… you didn’t. That’s okay,” you caught your breath and glanced over at him again before sinking back down so your head fell on your pillow again.

     “‘m sorry. Was that weird? Should I have just texted you and gone home? I came in through the window, because you left it open for me. You did leave it open for me, right? I really really hope it’s not weird that I was just cradling you in your sleep and you didn’t even know until just now,” he rambled on and on apologetically, his nerves amping. 

You laughed quietly,

     “It’s a little strange, but I don’t mind because it’s you. Here, I’ll turn around, we can spoon again.”

     You turned so that your back was facing him and restraining from a goofy giggle, Peter nuzzled up against you, wrapping his arms back around you again, your bodies pressed against each other’s. For PJs he had changed into a band t-shirt and some shorts and you were still in your tank top and shorts too. The two of you didn’t fall asleep immediately, though Peter’s way of rubbing your bare shoulder softly with his thumb made you sleepier. You hummed quietly at the innocent touch and he nuzzled his chin in towards the crook of your shoulder. 

     And you were relieved - a part of you would’ve been pissed to be so abruptly woken up but instead you were just glad he was okay, and the fact left a faint smile on your lips. The intimacy was pleasant and soft, and you were glad you had Peter  to share it with.

He purposefully planted his face in your hair and tried to be slick and smell it, but you could feel his face in your hair and chuckled,

     “Peter, you’re sniffing my hair.”

     “Sorry,” he muttered, and went back to nuzzling his chin in your neck. “Your hair does smell nice though, what’d you wash it with? Lavender scent?”

     “Chamomile,” you responded, and he nodded, intrigued.

     “Oh! Nice.”

     “Thanks,” you murmured. 

After a bit of silence, he cleared his throat awkwardly,

     “Um. I’m sorry, YN. I should’ve texted, should’ve called. Things were just getting crazy, I couldn’t reach you. I just wanted you to know I was alright. But I didn’t want to wake you up so… this seemed to be the next best thing.”

      “It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re okay, baby,” you said, your voice beginning to drift into a dream state.

     “Baby?” Peter repeated, a big smile appearing on his face. “You never call me that.”

You chuckled groggily,

     “Yeah. I’m half asleep so. That would be it. Hey… everything okay?”

You glanced over your shoulder to get a good look at his face and your eyes met.

     “Mm hm. No bruises, I promise. You don’t need to worry about me.”

     “You sure?” you used your mom voice on him, because you knew it intimidated him and always got him to let you take care of him when he needed it most.

But he nodded, which meant he was telling the truth, and you turned your head again.

     “Good. Hey… what time is it?”

     “About two o’clock, why?”

You sighed, your eyes fluttering sleepily,

     “Shouldn’t you be home, with Aunt May?”

     “She thinks I’m over at Ned’s house,” Peter replied, getting tired again himself, twirling a finger in your hair to keep himself occupied and hopefully awake, at least for as long as you were awake.

     “Won’t she be mad that you’re here instead?”

     “Oh she would kill me. Like if she found out you and I were in the same bed right now? Absolutely dead. Yeah, a hundred percent. So… she doesn’t need to know.”

You sighed heavily,

     “I’m not lying to Aunt May for you.”

     “Exactly. You’re lying with me. As in telling lies and lying in bed with me! Genius. I mean, what are you gonna do, tell her the truth if she finds out?”

      “I mean… yeah. Essentially.”

     “Then be ready for the longest, saddest talk about your body and sexual health with my aunt,” Peter teased, and you nudged his foot harshly.

He winced and you grumbled,

     “Gross, Pete.”

     “Gross? Ouch.”

     “You know I don’t mean it that way,” you smiled and the two of you chuckled. “Just… let’s go to bed. And promise me you won’t do this tomorrow night because you’ll have checked in with me before I go to bed.”

     “Yeah, sure,” he kissed your neck gently. “Okay.”

You craned your head to kiss his lips just as softly and his cheeks grew a bright red, like he’d never been kissed before - but then again it was probably just the setting that was making him feel this way.

     “Your lips taste like coconut,” he choked out, and you smiled sleepily at his reaction, caressing his cheeks and chin in your hands before turning to the other side,

     “Goodnight, Peter.”

And just like that you both fell asleep, Peter cradling you in his arms. You fell asleep faster than he did - he just relished the moment, admiring how you looked when you were asleep, the way your lips parted as you breathed in and out, the way your rising and falling shoulders lifted his head up as you breathed. He tried to match his breathing pattern with yours and continued rubbing slow circles into your shoulder until the soft touch of your skin against his lulled him to sleep. And when the two of you woke up in the morning he swore he didn’t know how he ended up the little spoon- but you were sure he did.

[sparklyjojos]

CARNIVAL DAY recaps [4/13]

Today’s recap: The secret of the Ryuuguu family, the Reverse Reasoning, and Black Rook.

--

[BOOK FOUR — CARNIVAL DAY]

[Yasha’s first-person narration ends here. We resume the chapter numbering from Carnival and go by single weeks again.]

--

TWENTY-SEVEN

08 Feb 1997 — 14 Feb 1997

STATUE OF LIBERTY

--

Half a year after the beginning of the Crime Olympics, when the clock strikes twelve and begins February 8th 1997, a massive series of explosions shakes the entire world, moving steadily through the time zones as every country meets midnight. Countless buildings are destroyed, falling glass shards glittering like crystals, which leads to the event later being called the Crystal Nightmare.

It’s estimated that 130,000 people died during the Crystal Nightmare, among them the S-detective Frau D, who was caught in a hospital explosion.

RISE sends a new message to the UN announcing that the Crystal Nightmare was done by their Invisible Soldiers, that it marks the beginning of the second half of the Crime Olympics, and that August 10th 1997 will be “an unforgettable day for humanity”, “the destined day”—Carnival Day.

--

When all this is happening, Hyouma is sitting in the Sanctuary trying to recount every shocking thing that has happened since he got here about two weeks ago.

Encountering Yakuma (?) with a surgically changed face. Meeting Nemu, Otohime, and even comatose Jounosuke (Black Rook? Ryuuou?). Men in black who look like the samurai detective Suzukaze Unomaru, the JDC guard Nakamoto Hiroya, and even Hyouma’s old flame Takabe Yuu. Six out of seven S-detectives allegedly being those “Rainbow Sophists” with colorful masks, even Ajiro Souji. Several leaders of the world being RISE’s pawns.

Then that Shangri-la place was found, then the bloody equator happened... Hyouma is overwhelmed by everything, but decides he can’t give up before solving at least some of the baffling mysteries around.

They’re allowed to move freely through a big part of the Sanctuary, so Hyouma walks around and investigates. The giant submarine must be about 30 meters wide and 350 meters long (good thing there are automatic walkways everywhere). Plates by the rooms are all in Japanese. The Sanctuary has three levels, Heaven, Earth and Hell, with Hell being the uppermost. In the middle of the ship there’s a mysterious giant round pillar piercing through all three levels.

The bottom floor called Heaven has the docks, a round place with a fountain called Lebensborn, a completely dark room, a locked engine room, and the meeting room with the round table.

The Earth level is called the Morgue and is divided into four areas, Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter. Hyouma counts 120 rooms in total, each named after a specific color [and the author actually spends over a page just naming all these colors]. The Rainbow Sophists including White and Black Rook live in rooms named after appropriate colors. The remaining quarters belong to all the men in black, as well as to Hyouma and other “guests”. Every room can be opened by scanning the occupant’s fingerprints.

The Hell level is mostly taken by Dragon’s Center, wrapped around the giant pillar and hosting a multitude of machines and monitors, maintained by workers in strange silver suits and full helmets who ignore all attempts at conversation. There’s also a data room / library filled with bookcases, a surgery (locked), cold storage (locked), laundry room (locked), something called the Cosmic Room (very locked), and some kind of a big round depression in the floor with “circle mystery” written on the floor, a hatch in the ceiling above it.

Hyouma learns which rooms belong to Nemu and Otohime (“magenta” and “royal purple”, Hyouma’s own color is “shocking pink”, thank all that’s holy that the rooms themselves aren’t actually painted those colors). Knocking on the door can’t be heard from inside the rooms, so the only way to get in contact with the others is to wait outside until they happen to go out. No one else is walking around in the empty hallways.

The rooms all have the same layout and are completely dark aside from a glowing monitor. It serves as a TV and can be used to order food, clothes and other necessary items, which are delivered through a conveyor belt system that must be looping around all the rooms inside the walls. The entire Sanctuary apparently works using an AI system called LA.

--

On February 8th, White gets Hyouma to go with him to that “circle mystery” so they can visit RISE’s headquarters, the Moonbow Palace. Together they walk on top of an elevator platform, which is lifted up (so that’s what the hatch was for) through a shaft glowing with all colors of the rainbow. As soon as the elevator stops, Hyouma looks around the place and recognizes it with a feeling of dread.

The Moonbow Palace looks like Ryuuguujou.

--

TWENTY-EIGHT

15 Feb 1997 — 21 Feb 1997

VENICE

--

While the Moonbow Palace looks like the Ryuuguu family’s own house, there’s no entrance where there should be one, the entire place is pretty dark and empty, and no servants or staff can be seen.

In the room located where Jounosuke’s bedroom would be, deeply sleeping Jounosuke is lying in the bed in his usual checkered pajamas. Otohime and Nemu are sitting by his side. There are also the three Dots who look like Unomaru, Nakamoto and Yuu.

Hyouma asks sharply where Yakuma is, as he hasn’t shown up ever since Hyouma’s first day in the Sanctuary. White gives him a look through the eyeholes of his mask and says only that “Yakuma Suzume is no longer here”, because “his role has ended”.

White explains that it should already be obvious from how the Moonbow Palace looks, but there is a deep connection between RISE and the Ryuuguu family. Otohime coldly guesses what he’s trying to say—that RISE ordered her family to build Ryuuguujou designed after the Moonbow Palace. White confirms that and states that both of Otohime’s parents, Kintarou and Kaguya, are members of RISE.

Otohime accepts the news with her usual thoughtful calmness. Nemu denies the truth fervently. Hyouma doesn’t really know what to think, as he doesn’t even know the people in question (he only heard that they travel for the better part of the year), so he just notices out loud that they have weird names, like folk tales characters.

White explains that the Ryuuguus are descended from a man called Ryuuguu Tarou (and later Ryuuguu Momotarou), an Edo period fisherman who had some strange experiences in his life and became the model for all those folk tales heroes. Ever since then, all the Ryuuguu men were connected to RISE, and all would be given names containing “tarou”—all but Jounosuke. The full name “Ryuuguu Jounosuke” means “the one who protects Ryuuguujou” and symbolizes his role as a top executive in RISE’s grand plan.

All legends have a true point of origin. Many strange places from old folktales—the legendary Dragon Palace that Urashima Tarou found, the Demon Island that Momotarou visited, the Moon that Princess Kaguya returned to—were actually based on the Moonbow Palace. The tales grew around the true story of Ryuuguu Tarou visiting RISE’s base. And actually, the family name Ryuuguu was first given to them by RISE.

After delivering all these shocking news, White leaves them.

Hyouma and Nemu are both extremely upset by the news, but Otohime gets them to calmly think everything through. She’s sure that the person sleeping next to them is Jounosuke, but then who was that person who died in the plane crash? There might be imposters involved.

The three Dots who look like Unomaru, Nakamoto and Yuu may not really be the people they know, or maybe they really are their friends, but under some sort of mind control. Perhaps Yuu didn’t actually die all those years ago.

When they mention Unomaru, they realize that the giant underwater something that hit the ship near the Cape of Good Hope may have been the Sanctuary. If so, it would be easy for RISE to grab Unomaru from the sinking ship.

Who was that person who died in the plane crash? Christmas and Jouka both noticed a change in Jounosuke’s behaviour after he recovered from Alive, but apparently not enough to be too concerned. Jouka even got engaged with him and confirmed in a phone call with Otohime that yes, this definitely was Ryuuguu Jounosuke.

Why on earth would Jounosuke be a “top executive of RISE” like White claimed? Otohime can accept the possibility of her parents being involved, seeing as they spend most of their time away from home, but Jounosuke helping lead a terrorist organization sounds like a bad joke.

Then there’s that other thing White told them. About how when Jounosuke is woken from his slumber, he will “become Black Rook”, but if he’s not woken up, the entire humanity will be doomed. They still don’t know what exactly that means, but it feels like White is giving them a false choice, considering that it’s probably him that can wake up Jounosuke—if we assume RISE created Alive, they would likely have a cure on hand.

They probably shouldn’t trust anything they’re told. While those six Rainbow Sophists seemed to be the famous S-detectives, their faces were hidden at all times, so perhaps they were someone completely different. Yellow Bishop spoke in Ajiro’s voice, but maybe this too was just a trick.

Hyouma remembers what he’s just heard on the news this morning (when rushing out to meet White, so he didn’t catch a lot of info): the S-detective Frau D died last night in a hospital explosion. If he really was one of the Rainbow Sophists, RISE must have faked his death.

Nemu says slowly that she’s still not sure what’s going on, but one of the hypotheses her fuzzy reasoning brought her is that the masked S-detectives are real. She doesn’t know how to explain Frau D’s death away, but she knows that it’d be strange if the same improbable thing—the murder of an S-detective—just randomly happened more than one time within twenty-four hours.

Hyouma hasn’t heard the news yet, so he recounts all the S-detectives aloud, trying to figure out who died, and only realizes the horrible truth from the heavy silence and the others’ faces. But it can’t be possible. There’s no way that Otohime and Nemu especially would be acting so calm if that person died... right?

But the two women confirm his worst suspicion: the media announced that Tsukumo Juku had been murdered.

Hyouma just can’t wrap his head around this fact. It feels like the main character of a long series of novels died pointlessly in the middle of a new installment.

“Please don’t misunderstand,” Nemu says. “I don’t think that Juku was killed. I believe Otohime feels the same as me. It’s true that they announced Juku had been murdered, but you can’t be sure about anything these days. It doesn’t have to mean that he’s really gone.”

Nemu explains what she means. The newest Billion Killer case (that Hyouma hasn’t heard about either) targeted the Statue of Liberty and killed among others the S-detective Ronely Queen and JDC’s Ushiwaka Gigolo. It’s strange that so many splendid detectives—Frau D, Juku, Queen, Ushiwaka—would all go down so easily around the same time. Nemu believes that they might still be alive somewhere, though she isn’t sure if that’s not her own desperate hope speaking here and less her fuzzy reasoning. This hope is the basis for her claim that the six Rainbow Sophists might be the real S-detectives, and that some of them faked their deaths to hide from the outside world. Juku may have done the same thing to move more freely behind the scenes.

Nemu has some proof for her reasoning; the person who brought her to the Sanctuary was unmistakably the real Lemuria Sullivan.

--

TWENTY-NINE

22 Feb 1997 — 28 Feb 1997

DESERT PIT

--

After the Swan Knight case, Nemu saw a giant peach that on closer inspection turned out to be a dolphin-like submarine. A masked person in red came out, grabbed her and pulled her inside. Once the submarine was on its way somewhere, the person removed his mask and revealed himself as the missing S-detective Lemuria Sullivan, the one Nemu had been searching for this entire time. Like in the photos, he had sunken blue eyes, a shaved head and the vague atmosphere of a cold-blooded killer.

Sullivan brought her to the Sanctuary, where she met Otohime and was told by her about the sleeping Jounosuke. Otohime had previously fled her home guided by Sullivan, who had told her that she had to comply with their demands in order for Jounosuke to survive.

Nemu and Otohime talked about what they knew about Lemuria Sullivan’s past.

--

Back when Lemuria Sullivan had been active in the detective world, he was suspected of having ties to the Basque separatist group ETA, widely considered a terrorist organization (Sullivan was born in the Basque Country). That was never completely proven, but many other incidents related to Lemuria were revealed.

Lemuria Sullivan used Reverse Reasoning. Cases are usually resolved by reconstructing past events, but Lemuria did the opposite; he would know the culprit before the crime even occurred. To explain how it worked, let’s look at a hypothetical bank robbery:

1) A car stops in front of a bank, the engine still running. 2) Masked men with guns come out. 3) There are obvious shots and screams.

Many people would only fully realize and confirm what’s going on by the time of the event number three or number two. Those with great insight or paranoia could guess a robbery is about to happen during the event number one.

Lemuria Sullivan would know what was going to happen by the time of the event number zero. Just by observing the bank’s location, surroundings and guests, he would know several days earlier that a robbery would soon occur.

Reverse Reasoning had its flaws. The knowledge it gave was pretty vague, like prophecies or clues in a mystery novel, and could be interpreted in different ways. If a criminal’s plan was exposed before the incident, they would simply change those plans and choose another day, so it felt like the only point of exposing future crimes early was just delaying things. The not-yet-criminal could even accuse Sullivan of baseless slander.

Let’s talk about the difference between “prophecies” and “prior knowledge”. Imagine a prophet predicts their loved one is about to get injured in an accident. If they keep quiet, the accident happens as predicted, and so the prophecy hidden in the prophet’s head is fulfilled. If the loved one is warned, then even if they get into the accident, maybe they will be more careful and get away unscathed—then a weird paradox occurs, the prophecy being inaccurate specifically because it was accurate. Basically, a “prophecy” ceases to also be certain “prior knowledge” the moment it’s spoken out loud and so no prophet is 100% accurate. Looking at just the end result of Sullivan’s ability, it can look like “prophesying”, but his additional outstanding logical reasoning made it closer to “prior knowledge”.

Lemuria Sullivan was suspected of using his reverse reasoning to find people who planned crimes and blackmail them, getting money in exchange for not telling anyone about what he predicted. He would also sell them instructions on how to design crimes that his fellow detectives would have trouble solving.

In the end, no irrefutable evidence was found and Sullivan kept denying everything. Still, the investigation team kept rising new suspicions, so in the end Lemuria Sullivan became the first S-detective in history to be forever removed from DOLL.

Detective is a responsible job that many lives hinge on. You could say detectives are similar to clergy in a way; after they’re accomplished enough to become great detectives, they receive a lot of trust and love from people, which goes along with many responsibilities. Someone like Sullivan getting involved in crime would mean that the trust of people towards all great detectives—the reputation that DOLL has painstakingly built up over many years—would be irreparably damaged. Even the S-detectives would no longer be perceived like superhuman beings, but as normal, weak, flawed people. The only way to avoid it was to remove Sullivan before the situation got out of hand.

--

...and that was all that Otohime and Nemu knew about him.

Otohime had had a few occasions to talk with Sullivan in the Sanctuary and noticed the strange way he talked. Instead of “you”, he would use phrases like “that woman” or “that man” (eg. “I’m taking that woman to the Sanctuary” meant “I’m taking you to the Sanctuary”). Instead of a normal first person pronoun he used “this person”. Otohime theorized that this strange way of speaking was connected to Sullivan’s ability. Being more aware of the passage of time than anyone else meant he understood how everyone’s current identity is instantly turning into a past one—there’s no unchanging “I” or “you”—and so he used more impersonal and “objective” words.

Another strange thing about Sullivan was that he spoke perfect Japanese, despite all available sources claiming he didn’t know the language at all a few years ago.

--

Now that this digression is done, let us go back to the present.

On February 8th, the head of the Statue of Liberty is suddenly no longer on its neck, and hits the ground resulting in nineteen casualties. A skull is found like always. Since the Crystal Nightmare has just happened, the media don’t really focus on the Statue for now.

On February 15th, a loud rumbling noise comes from St Mark’s Clocktower in Venice, cracks run through its walls, and the tower collapses killing many people inside. Again the skull of the Billion Killer points to the culprit.

So many cases and crimes are plaguing the world that it’s almost impossible to keep track of what happened where, when, how, in which week of the Crime Olympics. The varying speed of information reaching mass media doesn’t help. Juku died before Frau D and Ronely Queen, but his death was the last to be publicly announced. As if three dead S-detectives weren’t enough, Firannu Meirunesia is then killed in the Billion Killer case in Venice. Things are looking worse and worse for the world.

On February 22nd, a new Billion Killer case happens in the Republic of Zaire, but the skull takes some time to be found.

--

THIRTY

01 Mar 1997 — 07 Mar 1997

PYRAMID OF THE SUN

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After less than a day spent in the Moonbow Palace, Otohime and the rest are led back to the Sanctuary.

Otohime feels horrible being confined to the dark, closed space of the Sanctuary for so long. It’s true that she’s never been the one to go outside her house a lot, especially after the accident left her paraplegic, but back home she still had the choice to go outside available.

After the accident Otohime chose to live in seclusion of her home, a lifestyle possible thanks to her family’s fortune. She willingly isolated herself from the outside world. And yet—now that she was forbidden from leaving the Sanctuary, she wanted to go out.

No human has yet managed to leave Earth (or at least not go very far), but humanity somehow didn’t feel confined to it. Perhaps the scale was too large to notice and comprehend it. Perhaps when Otohime had been living secluded in Ryuuguujou, she also ignored the scary truth of confinement.

She spends most of the time reading through the Sanctuary’s book collection. The library has quite a lot of books of all kinds, though sadly many are not reachable for someone who can’t climb the ladders. The books are written in many different languages, but a good one third is in Japanese. It seems strange, just like all the room plates being written in their language. Why would a worldwide terrorist organization have everything in Japanese? If those Rainbow Sophists really are S-detectives who come from different countries, how can every single one speak perfect natural-sounding Japanese?

Hyouma actually pointed this out loud once, and White responded that they weren’t actually speaking Japanese, but the “R language”. The only explanation Otohime can think of is that this “R language” must be only marginally different from Japanese, but she can’t figure out where that difference lies.

Otohime feels lost. She can’t deny the possibility that her parents really are cooperating with terrorists, can’t tell if those three Dots are the people they know or not—but she can’t possibly accept that Jounosuke is a top executive of RISE.

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Before they left the Moonbow Palace, White asked them for their final decision, so of course they chose the only possible option—to wake Jounosuke and avoid the destruction of humanity.

When he was finally woken up with an injection and Otohime called his name, the man with the face of her brother first nodded towards White with approval, then looked at Otohime with cold uncaring eyes of a stranger.

“My name is not Ryuuguu Jounosuke,” he said. “I am the Sanctuary’s Master, Black Rook—Ryuuou.”

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