#fairy plays top forty

[asha-mage]

I don't ship White Knight but the idea of a complete reversal from the dynamic at Beacon is DEEPLY funny to me.

Like cause to one side you have Weiss who has just discovered that Jaune is the fairy tale hero she crushed on her entire childhood, the literal legendary knight who she would play pretend 'saving' her from her lonely isolation. And on top of that she has discovered that he will also remain SMOKIN well into his forties and show a superhuman level of caring and devotion to those he loves. Of course she wants to Get Up On That, and hey it's been an appropriate amount of time since his last girlfriend died and he was SUPER into her back at Beacon. This will be easy.

But then you have Jaune who is still dealing with the fallout from spending decades trapped in a fairy tale/divine nursery on top of abruptly being seventeen again. He no longer has arthritis but he also no longer recognizes the person staring back at him from the mirror. He keeps trying to pay for things with good stories and cool rocks he found, and one morning when he wanted to sleep in he tried shooting down the sun sort of expecting that to work. The urge to reason with sandstorms and help unionize farm animals is Strong In Him. And he knows it's all wrong, that he's not in the Ever After anymore, but he's having to overcome decades of brain hard wiring in his efforts to adjust. Jaune barely has time to work on re-bonding with Nora and Ren never mind dating. He doesn't even have the extra brain power needed to recognize that Weiss is flirting with him, and when he does it's easy to convince himself he's just imagining it, or getting an inflated ego again. She's Weiss Schnee, of course she has better thing to do then flirt with some loser she shot down already, and he's the Rusted Knight now, he has no business dating at all. There is a WAR on.

The rest of the Becaon crew is incredibly divided because on the one hand it's a little sad to watch, on the other it is VERY funny to see Weiss make a fool of herself the way Jaune used too.

[maxverstappensflatbrim]

Show Me Yours | Matty Healy [44]

chapter forty-four, act five: the ballad of me and my brain

masterlist

-this is the final chapter of this part, I'm slolwy writing the next part but I am alos doing my midterms right now so there may be a wait until it's out.

December 25th 2017

It’s Tommie’s first Christmas alone in five years.

She doesn’t really know what to do with herself, she’s currently sitting on the floor of her kitchen, staring at the TV that’s playing some shitty hallmark film in her living room.

She’s waiting for her pizza to finish cooking, she doesn’t want to eat a cooked dinner alone.

Adam invited her to go along to Christmas with him, but he’s going with Carly’s family, who she doesn’t know that well. So she lied and said she’s going back to LA to spend it with Phoebe in the studio. 

She’s not entirely alone, she has Allen who is currently curled up beside her on the floor, and Button who she’s been tossing a ball for every now and then the last few minutes.

There’s a letter in her hands.

Printed on the front is that familiar messy writing with her address spelled wrong and scribbled out.

Ross dropped it off three weeks ago now, she still hasn’t opened it.

Allen nudges the letter closer to her with his nose, as if he can smell the scent of his owner on it.

She sighs and nods, patting his head gently, “I know, Als.” Allen looks up, “I miss him too.”

Then despite her better judgement she finds herself tearing into the envelope. 

Dear Baby,

I don’t know how to start. I’ve written fourteen letters to you and every single one has ended up being crumpled up at the bottom of my bin. I know the reason that I can’t write is because deep down I don’t deserve for you to hear me out. I fucked up. I fucked up way too many times. And he was right. About you giving me too many chances, letting me walk all over you because that’s what I did, what I do. I took advantage because I knew you’d always be there. I knew I could fall back on you and you’d pick me up because that’s what you do. You’re so good. I don’t deserve that.

One of the therapists I’ve been working with here told me to write letters to the people most important to me. To the ones who I feel that I’ve wronged with my addiction. Apparently it’s a part of my healing journey. I think it’s just to make me feel like a dickhead.  I wrote to my mother first, for falling down the hole she worked so hard to steer me away from, the hole she herself fell down.  Then to Louis for being a shit older brother. To the guys for what happened in San Jose. And now to you. For everything I’ve ever done to you.

I’m not going to list all my mistakes. I’m sure you already have your own list highlighted and neatly stashed away somewhere. I’ve had a lot of time to think while being here (And I already know what you’re thinking, ‘wow, didn’ know you could do that’). I’ve had to think about what to do when I get out of here. I’m not sure if you’ll want to see me. But in my head the first thing I’ll do is come and see you. I’ll get on my knees before you, lit up by those fairy lights we spent three hours trying to hang on your front porch. You’ll open the door and you’ll probably be wearing that old AM concert shirt and your stupid rugby zip-up I keep telling you to replace but you won’t because you’re too sentimental (it’s one of the things I love the most about you). I’ll beg you to just say that you forgive me. Even if you don’t really mean it. And I know you will. I know you would forgive me in an instant because I know you. Then we’ll have everything we’ve wanted, our own studio, we’ll be back on the road, never having to settle, just us the guys and the open road up ahead of us. Endless music, endless time, whatever we want. But I’m going to stay away. Or at least I’m going to try to. I want you to move on and have a better life without me. You’ll do great things. And I can’t be a part of them as much as I want to be. It’ll be hard, for both of us, but in the end you’ll come out on top. You’re the smarter one, with the talents, you have the voice, the skills, the lyrics, the heart. I just have the confidence. I’m nothing without you. Matty Healy is simply nothing without Tommie McDuff, it’s always been that way. But Tommie McDuff is everything. You are everything.  I’ll watch from afar as you keep doing amazing things, with Phoebe, alone, whatever it is you’re doing. I’ll be your biggest supporter, I want you to know that. But I’ll do it from afar. I’ll try to do it from afar.  I say try because you’re my strongest addiction. It’ll take everything in me to stay away. I’ve always been addicted to you. More than any drugs I’ve ever taken. I’m addicted to the way you touch me, a hand on my arm as you laugh, the way you smile at me, those little sarcastic ones you do when I annoy you are my favourite because I know you’re trying your hardest not to break into the biggest grin. I’m addicted to the sound of your voice. And the way your mind works, from your lyrics to your solos, I want to see inside your mind. To study you like an old Victorian sculpture. I’m addicted to your laugh, even when it’s directed at me. To the way you love and the feel of your lips. Ever since your lips first touched mine I’ve searched for others who may make me feel some sliver of the way you did. None have ever compared. Not one. They’re not soft enough, not gentle enough, not exciting enough, they’re not you. They’re never you. I hate myself for doing that to them, to myself, to you. Most of all to you. I hate myself more and more everyday as I sober up, because as each day goes by I’m forced to sit with the knowledge of how I treated you for longer. 

One of the questions I’ve been told to answer is what would I do if I saw you again? What would I do for you? I’m not sure if you’ll want to see me again. But if you did, if you gave me that gift of blessing my eyes with you one last time, I’d hold you. For as long as you let me, hours, days, weeks, months, years, until we both grew old and grey. I’d love you until the moment I died, and even longer if you let me. I’d wait as long as you wanted me to, until the earth ends or just the first sign of spring. I’d collect the stars and bottle them up because I know how much you love them. I’d create a whole new religion just to worship you. I’ve realised now that I’ve rambled. (I’ve run out of paper and only have three lines left) But I have so much more to say. I’ll sum it up in a few words for you. ‘I would give you the moon.’

Yours, Matt.

She puts the letter down. 

One tear escapes her eyes.

There’s a knock on the door.

taglist

@thereisaplaceintheheart, @indierockgirrl, @sofaritsalrightt, @julezs-bl0g, @eaglestar31, @sophinthealpss, @noacfemcel, @if-my-heart-bleeds, @befrwime, @fallingforel, @sexorchocolateorpillowsorclouds, @3terna15unshin3, @1975sophie1975, @thesocraticjunkiewannabe, @littlesoldierelleora, @procrastinatinglikeapro, @beatr2x, @byyourside28

-let me know if you want to be added :)

[j0kers-light]

I have a oneshot request/idea (only if you want to and think it’s a good idea). The the oneshot idea is that Y/n is bored and hesitantly asks joker what life is like in Arkham asylum, what it’s like being on the run, what’s it like to come face to face with Batman. And how he came across her book. Joker eyes her first and make her nervous but answers anyway.

Then she tries to ask about his personal life, before he became who he is but joker shuts it down immediately.

While she thinks this information could be good in her new project but joker doesn’t know that. Kinda like a small dedication/remembrance after he leaves in the future.

His Lighthouse: Probing Questions (LedgerJoker x f!reader)

Probing Questions - Oneshot

KEEP IN MIND THIS IS NOT A STORY UPDATE!

Author’s note:  

Hey hi anon!! 🖤✨

I read this email last night and immediately stopped working on the chapter update to fill this request! I know know, counterproductive BUT! I couldn't help myself!!

Naturally I didn't add any spoilers- meaning I didn't fill the request fully in the way you asked. (I already have the dedication page scene written out for J beloved 😝) I edited this while waiting in my doctor's office so if there's any errors, I'm blaming them. 👀Enjoy!!

taglist:

@blackreaderatrisk @twinkledinkle @clemdango04 @l3ejm @tears-of-amber @what-an-angel @darthjokerisyourfather @thatsnoteii @dollster @cheetahspy @kaidennnnn @urdariingdoll @motivation-idontknowher

Wanna be included in the His Lighthouse journey? Join the taglist!

It always rained in Gotham City but tonight it was a terrifying downpour. Thunder shook the Earth and lightning filled the night sky.

Lower parts of Gotham City had active flash flood warnings and your neighborhood in Old Gotham was put on a power outage alert for the next few hours.

The apartment building's backup generators kicked on forty minutes ago with limited power on the top levels. Your penthouse was a dark eerie place and looked near haunted with the vaulted ceilings and windows casting gnarly shapes of the gloomy mess from outside.

It was as if Solomon Grundy's fateful night was happening all over again. The weather outside was that horrid.

Joker wasn't bothered by it and prepared himself for bed but you insisted he join you in the living room under your blanket fort. You couldn't sleep in these conditions and got carried away with the assembly.

He eyed the monstrosity that took up a good portion of the room and approached the 'door.'

He couldn't knock on a sheet but he saw your shadow on the other side and decided to play along.

"Knock knock. May I uh.. come... in?" He shook the bag of food in his hands. "I brought snacksssss."

You peeled back the polka dot sheet for J to enter, smiling wide. He had to bend at the waist to crawl inside but he quickly grew comfortable amongst the nest of pillows and blankets you created. It took you an hour and a half to build the fort and he had to admit, not bad at all. You even strung up some fairy lights that gave the fort a soft cozy vibe that he liked.

You smiled in thanks as Joker passed your favorite snack to you.

"So, you used to errr make blanket forts when the uhh power wentT out as a kid? You're such a dork, Bunny." He teased.

You fixed the 'door' closed before scrambling back inside to nuzzle into Joker's lap. "I don't see you complaining. In fact, someone made themselves right at home."

Alright, you had him there.

This fort of yours was well insulated since the central heat was off and he looked every bit a crowned prince reclined on the ottoman you dragged into the intimate area. You were gonna tease him further when the power went out completely; plunging the entire apartment into darkness.

You squeezed J tight and tried to calm your beating heart when a roll of thunder rattled your bones.

"Awww, my Light is scared of the dark."

You glanced up into Joker's eyes. They were the only source of light left. It was unnatural how they glowed but for once you didn't question it.

So what if you were a little spooked, everyone is scared of something right? "Y-You're not scared?"

Joker scoffed and automatically pulled you closer when another clap of lightning streaked across the sky. His instincts were screaming at him to protect you.

"Nah. What's a uhhh, guy.. like me to be scared of, hmm?"

Good point. But still. Everyone had their fears. Joker was no exception.

You rested your head on Joker's chest to let the soothing sound of his heartbeat calm yours. He was The Joker. People feared him and he survived the toughest prisons and mental institutions the world had to offer. What was a little thunder and lightning to him?

You hated how quiet it was. Surely Joker wouldn't mind talking to pass the time? The severe thunderstorm warning was expected to end around midnight..

"J-J... um. What was Arkham Asylum like?" You knew you hit a nerve when he flickered his gaze down at you and stared for the longest.

He didn't blink and you were unable to look away from the venomous green bewitching your soul. His silence was making you nervous.

You felt J's arms tense around you and knew he wasn't going to answer. Joker was a naturally guarded person and here you were asking personal questions, expecting him to share.

His laughter scared you witless. "Mmmm, my little bunny is very curious tonight. Whaddya want to knooooow?"

You bit your lip. What did you want to know? You weren't expecting an answer but since Joker was open to do so, you would use this opportunity to get some intel out of Joker for your current wip.

It was rare that Joker talked about himself so you would take this little miracle and run with it.

"Like... everyone knows about the asylum but w-what's it like as a patient? How were you treated?" You asked.

Joker exhaled and unknowingly drummed his fingers on your back. It was the same beat to a song you sang yesterday during lunch. And he said he didn't like it. Liar.

How could he answer without giving away too much information? He couldn't think of one.

So he told the truth.

"It's like hell, Bunny. You know it exists— ya don't wanna go, but once you get there... you do everything you can to survive until.." Another loud boom outside made his story ever more haunting, "...you just can't take iT anymore and escape."

Joker held you close, gently rocking you to comfort not just you, but also himself. He didn't know what came over him to talk about his past experiences; the words just tumbled out of his mouth.

"They treated us lower than dirt. You are the scum of society and these walls separate you from the good, upstanding citizens of Gotham, blah blah blah. Garbage is all it is. They drilled that spiel into our brains as they shocked the rest with electricity."

"W-What?" You paled.

"Mhm. Shock therapy Bunny. I got ahh used to it after the first weekly rounds but sometimes.. I-I can feel it. Lit-le tingles every now and then as if they're poking around for somethin' they'll never understand. Y/n, you're shivering. Hmm, should I stoP?"

Of course you were shivering, his account was inhumane! You couldn't imagine the pain Joker went through on a daily basis for years to talk about it so casually. 

No wonder he always escaped...

You didn't realize you said that last sentence out loud until J chuckled. He kissed the crown of your head and hummed. "Yep. That's why."

You twisted in Joker's arms so you sat sideways in his lap. This way you could look up into his neon green orbs and still be held.

"That's awful! So, what's it like being on the run and coming face to face with Batman?" Joker growled and smacked your thigh in anger.

You forgot he didn't like you saying his name in the apartment. Such a jealous man you love. He didn't have to be so heavy handed though.

"Bats and I have a errr, love/hate relationship doll. I love proving his opinion about the world wrong and he hates me in general. It's always... fun running into my bestie. It's addicting since we both know Bat is obsesssssed with me and, heh.. the feeling is mutual. Oh don't pout, baby doll. I only have the hots for you. C'mere."

Joker suddenly attacked you with kisses.

You were caught off guard and screamed as Joker tickled your sides in hopes of distracting you from your inquiry. He didn't mind answering your questions but he knew with your inquisitive mind, there would be no end to them once you began.

J didn't let up his assault and you landed on your back with him kissing and biting down your neck. You knew where this was going, however you had more questions to ask!

"Ah! I-I'm still curious how I have a r-role in all of this.. You seemed to tolerate me from the start, as if you already, ah yess.. l-liked me or something. How did you become a f-fan of my work again, J?"

You really couldn't talk straight when he kissed your body like that.

Just then a flash of lightning struck, illuminating Joker straddling you from above.

His hair was a bird's nest (courtesy of your hands tugging it) and that gorgeous face you grew to love was shining down at you with a level of love that had accumulated much longer than the four months you knew Joker.

You always had the feeling Joker loved you much longer than what he led you on to believe but without proper evidence, what could you do?

Perhaps today you would get some more insight.

J flashed one of his canines at you. God, his handsome smile was to die for. "You had me hooked with Welding the Sun my dear Light. I uhhh, killed someone searchin' for a copy.."

You pushed at his shoulders. "You did WHAT? J, are you serious?"

"I'm always serious bunny. That... That poem of yours... it.. messed.. me uP. I was soo lost back then, it was a uhh sparK that got me thinking differently about my life. It.. your words touched me. What kind of creature in this broken cruel world penned this powerful message? I had to know."

"So! I did a lit-le digging and found you. Perfect, beautiful, sweet little you and I couldn't. Get. Enough! I read every wo~rd ya printed. Watched every interview, consumed every last biT of media with your name attached to it. If it was related to you, I knew about it. You filled a void in me that was empty for soo long.. Imagine my surprise when I bumped into ya in Chinatown all those months ago. A uhh dream come true for mee."

Okay.... so what if Joker fell into the creepy fan category? You reciprocated his feelings so no harm no foul. It was kinda hot being desired with such an intensity.

But what did he mean by lost? Did he mean back when he was still.. normal? Did.. did you inspire J to become The Joker? Your thoughts were a plenty, trying to create a rough timeline of events here.

When did you finish your poetry project in school? When was the first spotting of The Joker recorded?

PAUSE. Was there an age gap between you and Joker?!

This conversation opened up too many doors for you to address at once. For now, you dialed it back and set about prioritizing the most important thing.

You reached a hand up to caress Joker's cheek.

It was soft to the touch thanks to all of the skin products you had him using at night. A shame it would never heal his scars but you loved them and the man they marred. It was another mysterious piece to the puzzle of who Joker was.

Would you ever truly know Joker? You wanted to try.

"I won't even ask how you heard about my poetry project. My part wasn't even published." J kissed your palm and scoffed.

His stare carried the message, I have my ways, and you didn't want to know the details.

"I'd love to read it if ya have the uhh original manuscript."

You rolled your eyes and moved yourself to sit in front of Joker. He was dodging the trauma being shared by changing the subject.

Joker watched as you began to fiddle with his hands in your lap.

They were so large and calloused compared to your dainty, smaller ones. One pair murdered and destroyed whereas the other created and inspired, yet they both found themselves in the other's company.

Such a small, interesting world indeed.

"I do. It's in a composition book in storage. J.. can I ask you another question?"

"Ya just did." You ignored his joke and inhaled a shaky breath.

Something told you he wouldn't like this next question but you knew your intended audience.

Welding the Sun wasn't a light and carefree read. You penned it when you were upset and confused with the world.

"You said my poem touched you.. back then. That was at least ten years ago. (*Longer depending on your age) W-what were you like b-before.. you before you came to be the Joker? I.. I can't help but wonder..."

You leaned forward to cup Joker's face in your shaking hands. His countenance was like stone, eyeing you down.

"Who hurt you so badly to make you change?" You cried.

You watched Joker's eyes swiftly freeze over. Whatever moment the two of you were sharing in this blanket fort was gone.

The severe thunderstorm outside was nothing compared to the storm brewing in Joker's dark jade eyes. Every wall that he originally tore down, was shutting you out once again.

Months of hard work coaxing Joker to open up and let you in was ruined with one sentence.

He stood up, taking the structural integrity of your fort with him as he escaped its comfort. It caved in on itself and trapped you inside.

"Joker! Wait! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–" You cried out as you scrambled under the layers of bedding, desperately trying to stop Joker from leaving.

By the time you breached the top of the pile, Joker was already out the front door and headed into the howling storm outside.

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review 18 – Princess Floralinda and the Forty-Flight Tower by Tamsyn Muir

This is the first in the giant pile of shorter books and novellas I’ve been powering through over the last three weeks to catch up with my extremely aspirational ‘read and review 60 books in 2023’ new years resolution. It’s also possibly the only thing longer than a short story I’ve listened to in audiobook format in, like, a decade? (and that was one of the Veronica Mars spinoff novels).

All to say I may have rushed this one a bit more than I should have to properly appreciate it, and definitely didn’t retain as much from listening to it as I would from reading it. So this is going to be shorter and probably sloppier than previous reviews.

And with all those disclaimers out of the way – this was such a fun fucking book.

The basic premise is that a witch has kidnapped a princess and locked her at the very top of her tower until a prince fights his way up forty floors of monsters (as is the done thing among witches). Unfortunately, this time the witch has rather outdone herself, and the diamond-scaled dragon she has to on the ground floor (putting the most expensive monster on the ground floor being the sort of artistic, avante-garde move this witch wanted to try) turns out to be really quite excellent at the job of prince-slaying. So it’s left to Princess Floralinda, with the variably voluntary help of a stranded fairy by the name of Cobweb, to fight her way all the way down the tower and free herself.

I’ve always really loved the whole fractured fairy tale genre when it’s done with the right sort of sense of humour, and Muir is just perfect at it. Dry and sardonic without ever really tipping all the way into meanspirtedness, and always playful and willing to indulge in a bit of absurdity. Listening to it as an audiobook really did help as well, I think – the narrator was just a delight, and had an amazing sense of timing and delivery for most of the jokes.

I know I say this about altogether too many things, but the whole novella honestly reminded me quite a lot of the old adventure games I played as a kid? Both the tone and just the fact that so many problems required the ruthless exploitation of the automatically regenerating bread, orange and water the witch had left Floralinda with. ‘Use bread knife and fire on curtain rod to make a spear you can use to fight the goblins with’ just very much seems like the sort of thing that would end up in a GameFAQs walkthrough, you know?

Speaking of ruthless exploitation – Cobweb and their interactions with Floralinda were just a delight. Honestly wish fewer words had been devoted to mechanically working their way down floors so we could get more on their dynamic developing. But then I’m a sucker for affection hidden behind sarcastic unpleasantness.

And they are both really truly unpleasant at times, in amusing sorts of ways. Floralinda’s whole arc takes her from sheltered passivity to something more active and terrifying, but it never exactly makes her likeable. Which, to be clear, is not a complaint. Quite the opposite, really. Muir really is excellent at writing spiky women.

Anyway yeah, not the most substantial read in the world, but incredibly fun time.

[neednothavehappenedtobetrue]

novelettes include but are not limited to

-witch-kissed (dragons and princesses and politics and family drama)

-touch-typing (sad spaceships! you can't really kiss a spaceship but you sure can make bad relationship choices about it)

knife fight (just the worst married couple, being an instrument of dystopia, when I voted for the leopards-eating-faces party I never thought the leopards would eat MY face)

crime math (families are complicated and so is solving your dad's murder for the FBI)

ghosts speaking in my mother's tongue (sibling relationships in an extremely haunted castle)

destiny blues* (nobody talks about how depressed you get after fulfilling the prophecy.)

so if you want to vote for any of those specifically, click "novelettes" and comment below!

*to be scrupulously accurate, this one might not be a novelette, I just started it and it's too early to be sure, but it has novelette vibes.

[primordialsoundmeditation]

The Pine Tree Fairy

A tall, tall tree is the Pine tree,

With its trunk of bright red-brown—

The red of the merry squirrels

Who go scampering up and down.

There are cones on the tall, tall Pine tree,

With its needles sharp and green;

Small seeds in the cones are hidden,

And they ripen there unseen.

The elves play games with the squirrels

At the top of the tall, tall tree,

Throwing cones for the squirrels to nibble—

I wish I were there to see!

Cecily Mary Barker - Artist and Poet

The Heirloom Gardener John Forti

[mybookplacenet]

Featured Post: Do You Believe in Magic | Book 1 by Jim Melvin

About Do You Believe in Magic | Book 1: Recommended Review by Kirkus Reviews (top 25% of Indie books): "A delightful beginning to a promising series that’s sure to appeal to teen readers who feel like outsiders." ��� Kirkus Reviews, October 2024 The winner of 11 international awards. In this exciting and enchanting fantasy novel, readers are invited to journey into a world where magic is not merely a fairy tale but a powerful reality. This gripping story revolves around an everyday boy leading an ordinary life until a chance encounter transforms his world forever. Suddenly, faced with inexplicable happenings and being able to perform magical feats, Charlie grapples to understand his newfound abilities. Little does he know, he has become central to a battle between forces beyond his comprehension, a war underway in the invisible realms around him. Book 1 of the teen fantasy adventure "Dark Circles" explores the timeless human question – do you believe in magic? – in a context that feels entirely fresh and unpredictable. It takes readers on a fantastic adventure, filled with wit, mystery, action, and a touch of romance to tie it all together. Targeted Age 13 and older Written by: Jim Melvin Buy the ebook: Buy the Book On Amazon Link to Series Buy the Audio Book: Buy the Book On Amazon Buy the Print Book: Buy the Book On Amazon Author Bio: I grew up on the shores of western Florida and spent much of my childhood swimming in shark-infested waters long before the movie Jaws put a scare into everyone. At the time, I was too skinny to attract a shark’s attention. About ten other boys my age lived on my same street, and we hung out morning, noon, and night playing the usual sports that young boys love — football, baseball, “kill the carrier,” etc. — but as a group, we also played fantastical games that contained magic, monsters, and superheroes. It was in this setting that my imagination as a writer of magical fantasy was born and nurtured. I moved from Florida to Upstate South Carolina about twenty years ago and drove from Tampa-St. Pete to the Clemson area on Interstate 75 many times. It’s about a 10-hour drive, which is quite wearisome. And the traffic around Atlanta can be horrendous. I’ve always found the rest stops to be a bit spooky, especially at night. My MC Charlie Magus also found them to be spooky. If you read Do You Believe in Magic?, you’ll get the picture. My first home in SC was on forty wooded acres that included a creek that wound through a forest to a waterfall. It wasn’t as magnificent as described in my books 😀, but it did serve as the inspiration for the story. I am at home in the mountains. It’s where I now live, and I do long hikes at least three days per week. Characters in fantasy novels tend to wander around a lot in the wilderness, so I feel comfortable writing about natural surroundings. I have written “Dark Circles” with young teens in mind. I tell potential readers that it is appropriate for 13 and older, though readers as young as 10 and as old as 80 have enjoyed it. When I say appropriate, I mean that there are no sex scenes and only very limited profanity. But like most epic fantasies, the series has its violent moments — sort of like the later Harry Potter books. But just because a series is appropriate for young teens doesn’t mean that it has to be sophomoric. To the contrary, “Dark Circles” is a sophisticated work with a lot going on between the lines in terms of themes, allegorical elements, symbolism, foreshadowing, literary tropes, etc. My newsletter (Jim Melvin’s Realms of Fantasy) goes into extensive depth about this. Some of the themes in my series are obvious: bullying, good vs. evil, coming of age, heroism. But in the end, the most important theme of all is the idea that only the best among us are willing to sacrifice themselves for the greater good — the literary equivalent of a soldier throwing himself on a hand grenade. Follow the author on social media: Learn more about the writer. Visit the Author's Website Facebook Fan Page Twitter LinkedIn YouTube Read the full article

[science-fantasy-superheroes]

PE AU: Scene 1-8

Scene 1:

Ben is being fitted for his coronation outfit.

Adam: “How is it possible that you’re going to be crowned king next month? You’re just a baby!”

Belle: “He’s turning sixteen, dear.”

Ben: “Hey, pops?”

His parents are too caught up in their side conversation to hear him.

Adam: “Sixteen? That’s far too young to be crowned king. I didn’t make a good decision until I was at least forty-two.”

Belle: “Uh, you decided to marry me at twenty-eight.”

Adam: “Yes. And that was a great decision.”

She eyes him, but her smile betrays whatever annoyance she’s trying to convey. Adam’s coy smile turns fond as they hold eye contact and start to lean towards each other.

Ben: “Mom, Dad…” He’s glad they have a happy marriage, but he still doesn’t want to see them kiss.

They finally notice him, and the rest of the scene plays out the same as he tells them about his first official proclamation to bring the VKs to Auradon.

[(Belle and Adam’s romance counts as part of the romance!) I would allow Adam’s original response, “It was you or the teapot,” if the writers went the “trouble in paradise” route. But they didn’t, so I got rid of it.]

Scene 2 (on the Isle of the Lost) is all the same.

Scene 3:

The VKs get out of the limo and meet Fairy Godmother before Ben steps forward.

Ben: “It’s so good to finally meet you all. I’m Ben.”

Audrey steps up beside him, hanging off his arm.

Audrey: “Prince Benjamin. Soon to be king.”

He looks a bit displeased that she mentioned that, but doesn’t say anything.

Evie: “You had me at ‘prince.’ My mom’s a queen, which makes me a princess.”

Audrey: “The Evil Queen has no royal status here. And neither do you.”

Evie glares at her, a silent grudge forming between them.

Ben nervously looks between them before attempting to distract them.

Ben: “This is Audrey.”

Audrey: “Princess Audrey. His girlfriend. Right, Bennyboo?”

He balks when she puts the attention on him, knowing there’s no good answer that will help the situation. Fortunately, Fairy Godmother steps in to save him.

Fairy Godmother: “Ben and Audrey are going to show you all around, and I’ll see you tomorrow. ‘The doors of wisdom are never shut,’ but the library hours are from eight to eleven. And as you may have heard, I have a little thing about curfews.”

After she leaves, Ben realizes he still hasn’t properly greeted them and steps forward to shake their hands.

Ben: “It is so, so, so good to finally mee— Oof…” Jay greets him with a rough punch to the shoulder. “… meet you all.” Mal looks him over judgmentally when he shakes her hand. “This is a momentous occasion, and one that I hope will go down in history–” He gets something on his hand from Carlos. “Is that chocolate?– as the day our two peoples began to heal.”

The camera focuses on Evie being very pleased to shake his hand as she holds onto it (being in the prime position as the last to get her handshake).

Mal: “Or the day that you showed four peoples where the bathrooms are.”

The camera shows Evie being a little put-out when his attention goes to Mal and he steps away.

Ben: “A little bit over the top?”

Mal: “A little more than a little bit.”

Ben: “Well, so much for my first impression.”

The camera cuts to a wider shot to see Audrey catching Evie giving her a smug look in the background, which infuriates her all the more.

Audrey: “Hey! You’re Maleficent’s daughter, aren’t you? Yeah, you know what? I totally do not blame you for your mother trying to kill my parents and stuff. Oh, my mom’s Aurora. Sleeping—

Mal: “Beauty! Yeah, I’ve heard the name. You know, and I totally do not blame your grandparents for inviting everyone in the whole world but my mother to their stupid christening.”

Audrey: “Water under the bridge.”

Mal: “Totes!”

They end with a fake laugh, the whole display only making things all the more tense, so Ben tries a bigger distraction.

Ben: “Okay! So, how about a tour? Yeah?” He leads them through the front gardens. “Auradon Prep, originally built over three hundred years ago and converted into a high school by my father when he became king.”

He stops in front of a statue and claps. The statue transforms into a depiction of “The Beast,” spooking Carlos.

Ben: “Carlos, it’s okay. My father wanted his statue to morph from beast to man to remind us that anything is possible.”

Mal: “Does he shed much?”

Ben: “Yeah, Mom won’t let him on the couch.”

Mal snorts, but immediately silences herself. When Ben and Audrey turn around, she makes a face, mentally scolding herself.

Once they get inside, she’s recovered from her “blunder” and refocused on her goal of why she’s there.

Mal: “So, you guys have a lot of magic here in Auradon? Like wands and things like that?”

Ben: “Yeah, it exists of course, but it’s pretty much retired. Most of us here are just ordinary mortals.”

Mal: “Who happened to be kings and queens.” There’s a bit of a bite to her tone.

Audrey: “That’s true! Our royal blood goes back hundreds of years.” She smugly smiles at Evie as she lifts Ben’s arm around her shoulders.

Evie gives Audrey a hard glare, and Ben can practically see the fight about to break out. Fortunately, Doug finally arrives and he finds a new opportunity to avoid conflict.

Ben: “Doug! Doug, come down.” He meets him at the bottom of the stairs. “This is Doug. He’s going to help you with your class schedules and show you the rest of the dorms. I’ll see you later, okay? And If there is anything you need, feel free to—”

Audrey: “Ask Doug.”

After another fake laugh between Mal and Audrey, Ben doesn’t even mind Audrey dragging him away, he’s just glad it’s over.

Doug decides it’s best to not ask about that and just do what he’s there for.

Doug: “Hi, guys. I’m Dopey’s son. As in Dopey, Doc, Bashful, Happy, Grumpy, Sleepy, and…” Finally getting a good look at the VKs, he loses his train of thought when he sees Evie. “Heigh-ho…”

He shakes his head, ashamed of himself for acting like that, but Evie is completely unbothered. Staring in awe is one of the ways she’s flattered to have her beauty appreciated.

Evie: “Evie. Evil Queen’s daughter.” She smiles politely.

He awkwardly smiles, hoping that means no hard feelings, before focusing back on his clipboard.

Doug: “Okay. So, about your classes, I, uh, put in the requirements already… History of Woodsmen and Pirates, Safety Rules for the Internet, and, uh, Remedial Goodness 101.”

Mal: “Let me guess. New class? Come on, guys, let’s go find our dorms.”

He’s caught off guard by her immediately catching onto the school’s intentions and so abruptly ending their meeting.

Doug: “Oh, uh, yeah. Your dorms are that way, guys.”

Evie: “By the way, you forgot Sneezy.” She says as she passes.

Doug: “Oh.” He is smitten.

[Ben doesn’t linger on Mal when he shakes her hand; it’s just a (the only, compared to the others) normal handshake. They make each other laugh, but there’s no “lovey-dovey” staring between them. Ben is loyal, and Mal isn’t looking to make friends (much less get a boyfriend).

Evie’s “how to get a man” lessons may have included doing what they want, like acting dumb and helpless, but The Evil Queen wouldn’t skip out on teaching her “tear down the competition.” (I just want Evie to have a little more beef with Audrey for dissing her royal status. It also gives Audrey an excuse for stepping in when she does, since she no longer has to worry about her boyfriend cheating.)

Doug’s not a Pick Me™ Nice Guy™, and Evie doesn’t flirt with him because he’s not a prince.

This is an unnecessary change, but Doug should know all his uncles’ names. But then I also thought it would be cute if Evie had studied the Snow White story back to front (not expressly known to her mother) and is one of the few people who knows all his uncles’ names. And since I did say the goal was to make the romance romantic, this does count.]

Scene 4 and 5 (in their dorms), 6 (at the museum), 7 (Remedial Goodness 101), and 8 (at tourney tryouts) are all the same.

Masterlist

[witchesoz]

The Nome King: The Magic of Oz

The Nome King makes one last appearance in the « original fourteen », the fourteen Oz books L. Frank Baum wrote (before his publishers continued the “canon” by forming what is known today as the Famous Forty).

The Nome King’s last appearance is in “The Magic of Oz”, the thirteenth book of Oz, actually published one month after Baum’s death (the final of his Oz books, “Glinda of Oz”, will be published the next year). Since it was released in 1919 the imprint of World War I was still quite present – the book in fact was dedicated to “the children of our soldiers, the Americans and their allies”.

The novel opens up with the Aru family. The Arus are part of the “Hyups”, one of the minor ethnies of Oz. At the eastern edge of the Munchkin Country is Mount Munch, a big, tall hill touching the Deadly Sandy Desert (noted to exhale poisonous fumes that can exhaust even the birds flying above it). The Munchkins never went up Mount Munch, because the sides are too steep to climb, and so they lived in perfect ignorance of the Hyups, who live at the top of Mount Munch (the top being saucer-shaped, broad and deep). The Munchkins might ignore everything of the Hyups, but the Hyups are not ignorant of the world, despite never leaving their mountain. Indeed, Glinda is aware of their existence, and when Ozma of Oz published a decree according to which no one was allowed practice magic in her dominions (except Glinda and the Wizard of Oz – no mention of the Witch of the North, who by this point had been entirely forgotten by Baum), Glinda sent an eagle to inform the Hyups of the decree. Among them lived Bini Aru, a Sorcerer. He had never seen Ozma of his life, but he knew that she was the ruler of Oz, so he obeyed the law: he destroyed most of his magic tools and powders, stopped practicing magic… but there was one thing he could not destroy. A new way to practice transformation, a thing unknown to any other Sorcerer that Bini discovered on his own (the narration note that it is ignored by the Wizard of Oz, Glinda, Dr. Pipt and old Mombi). [Note that in earlier books, Baum had established that transformation belonged to the wicked and evil forms of magic – it was performed by Mombi, the Nome King, Mrs. Yoop, but Glinda was for example against it and refused to do any transformation, even for the sake of Oz. Though later Baum abandoned this rule by having the Wizard of Oz and the Good Witch of the North perform transformations.] This method is easy: a simple word. “Pyrzqxgl”. You just need to know the exact way to pronounce it. Say out loud who you want to transform into what (the spell only works on people like humans or animals) and then pronounce the word, and it will be done. This is basically a magical revolution because usually transformation requires big rituals, long incantations or other powders and herbs. So Bini Aru wrote the word and how to pronounce it underneath one of the floor boards of his bedroom.

Now, Bini Aru had a wife, Mopsi Aru, a famous huckleberry-pie maker, and a son, Kiki Aru. Now Kiki Aru is a boy (yes, despite the name) and a frustrated one. He wants to go down Mount Munch to explore the world, but since there is no way to do so, Kiki grew up frustrated, which made him “cross and disagreeable”, which resulted in him refusing to participate or help in the Hyup community, which then resulted in people not paying attention to him, which only made Kiki more unhappy. A vicious circle, you could say. One day, the Hyups held their traditional annual festival (where the adult men play music and tell fairy tales, the adult women cook feasts, and the youth dance and sing – yes I am just thinking now about the implications of an isolated community grouped together for so long, and yes, this is messed up. Let’s continue). Kiki Aru, being the antisocial kid he is, refuses to participate in the festivities and stay at home while his parents go (and even in the years before he just stood outside watching everything without dancing or singing). Exploring his father’s bedroom he discovers the loose floor board and the magic word. Too happy to finally find a way to escape Mount Munch, he learns the word by heart and turns into a hawk. But he immediately realizes that he cannot explore Oz, because either Glinda or the Wizard of Oz would discover he illegally used magic and would punish him for it (yeah, many readers have pointed out how Ozma’s ban on magic book after book turned Oz into a kind of soft and “kind” dictatorship where precious resources like magic are kept by the rulers and their close friends).

So Kiki Aru simply goes out to explore the world outside of Oz.

Now… we get a quick tour of the different realms outside of Oz. Most of them are actually lands and kingdoms that Baum created for other, non-Oz books – but it has been years now since Baum has turned all of his books into a shared universe through crossovers (it was his attempt to attract readers to his less-successful side works. It failed.) This tour also allows for yet another retcon of the geography of the Ozian continent (to which Baum never gave any official name, though later authors tend to use the name Nonestica). Across the foul and poisonous Deadly Sandy Desert is Hiland and beyond it Loland (ruled by John Dough, the Gingerbread Man). Remember, in previous works it was the land of Ev that was located East of Oz. Now it’s not. North of Loland you have Merryland, ruled by a wax doll, and following the curve of the desert you find the Kingdom of Noland (located North of Oz). There Kiki Aru turns back into a boy and rests at the house of a couple, who welcome him, give him dinner, a bed and breakfast. Then he turns into a white dove (noticing that he goes much faster and sees more as a bird): he checks the capital of Noland, then flies west to the Kingdom of Ix, and still going west he finally enters the land of Ev (so… Ev is either on the North-West either West of Oz now). Of course, all the lands visited prior were cameos of non-Ozian Baum works. Anyway. There, Kiki Aru has a harsh discovery: the inns of Ev only give bed and food to people with money. And Kiki has no money, since in Oz money is not used (yeah that’s another big topic that deserves its own presentation). Kiki Aru so simply decides to steal money – taking the shape of a magpie, he steals gold from an old man. He is shamed by a talking sparrow, who tells him that magic is “wicked and unlawful” and that stealing is a “greater crime” – to which Kiki answers that he doesn’t care, that he didn’t know he was being wicked, and that if he was he is glad to be, because he hates good people. In fact, he concludes he always wanted to be wicked but never knew how. (Yeah, this boy visibly has more problems than we thought).

Hearing this, someone laughs and tells him “That’s the spirit! Shake my hand!”. You can guess who it is. An old man with a fat body and a big round face… Yep it is Ruggedo. His description is again slightly changed by Baum: now his limbs are said to be “thin”, his long flowing white beard has been replaced by “bushy white whiskers”, he wears dull-gray and tight-fitting clothes with pockets stuffed to the max, and finally it is mentioned his white hair forms a point at the top of his head, all things that Baum actually added to match with the illustrations of the book, not so much with his original depiction of the Nome King (he even adds the fact that Ruggedo is “crooked” and thus cannot stand straight, another element found nowhere else). Now, if you remember, last time we saw him Ruggedo had been stripped of his role as the Nome King by the Great Jinjin and Quox the dragon, but had been pardoned by the new Nome King Kaliko and was welcome back in the Nome realm if he behaved good – in fact, Ruggedo was now an humble and sorry man(creature?), it was even implied that his power and wealth where what made him cruel and greedy, and that once deprived of it all he realized how useless it was to be a bad person. Here? FORGET EVERYTHING IT NEVER HAPPENED! Or rather, it happened, but half. You see, we could thing that Ruggedo was kicked out by Kaliko because he reverted to his bad habits, but no, Ruggedo explains that he was actually forced to abdicate (which he affirms is a synonym for “being kicked out”) by the people of Oz, who harassed him for no good reasons, since he was a “good King (at least for myself”). He even explains that the rule of the “I could take as many things as my pockets could hold” was something the Ozians imposed upon him – no mention of how it was actually said by a dragon, or a punishment of the Great Jinjin, one of the most powerful Fairies in existence.  The Nome King becomes good pal with Kiki, explaining to him the values of gold, jewels and the like. He also tells him that in all of his wandering he brooded and thought long and hard about the vengeance he wanted to inflict upon the Ozians, coming up with a plan to become King of Oz. But before he reveals it to Kiki, he proposes him a bargain: he will offer the boy all the jewels, gems and precious metals he has in his numerous big pockets, in exchange for the secret of his transformations. Kiki is not stupid, so he refuses, not wanting to tell the secret word for anything in the world. The former Nome King threatens to denounce the theft of the gold to the inn-keeper Kiki paid the night prior; and Kiki simply answers that he will turn into a lion, tear the inn-keeper to pieces before he can say anything to anyone, and then fly away where no one will find him. [Yep, this boy has SERIOUS problems]. The Nome King is impressed, and offers to share his conquest with Kiki, making him the ruler of Oz while the Nome will be his Prime Minister, in exchange for the secret, but again a refusal. Ruggedo succumbs to one of his famous “anger-crisis” where he chokes and jumps up and down and loses all control, but Kiki just laughs at the sight. Ruggedo attempts a new bargain: he abandons (or at least fakes abandoning) his project to rule over Oz, saying he only wants revenge. He will conquer Oz and let Kiki rule it as its king, and in exchange Kiki will give Ruggedo the magic of Glinda and the Wizard, enough magic to allow Ruggedo to regain his Nome Kingdom. Kiki thinks it over, not accepting but not refusing either. Ultimately, Ruggedo slowly but surely manages to get Kiki on board with his plan (because Kiki is searching for the wealthiest and most beautiful of the lands existing, and everywhere he goes people say Oz is the most marvelous and beautiful countries of the continent).

Here is what Ruggedo’s plan is. It is true that if they went in Oz, they could easily be noticed by Ozma with her Magic Picture – but the Magic Picture only shows Ozma what she wants to see, and if she never knew they crossed her borders, she won’t search for them. Then there is the matter of Glinda’s Book of Records, which notes down everything people do in Oz the minute they do it. And here is the secret: people. The Book does not record the activities of beasts or animals. Ruggedo wants Kiki to turn them both into animals to avoid Glinda’s detection. Then, they will go to one of the thick and wild forests of Oz: there live savage and cruel animals, who never bothered the people of Oz, but merely according to Ruggedo because they had no leader urging them to – and this leader will be him. He will rally all the savage and wild animals of Oz under one rebellious army, and turn them into the Emerald City, promising the animals to turn them into humans as a reward, and to punish the humans by turning them into animals. Thus, Ruggedo and Kiki would take power in Oz. Kiki and Ruggedo agree to work together on the plan – though Ruggedo is keeping his eye on Kiki to find his transformation secret, planning to turn him into wood to burn the minute he finds it, while Kiki knows Ruggedo is not trustworthy and plans to turn him into a marble statue the minute they conquered Oz.

[At one point, Ruggedo mentions that all of his magic tools to perform transformations were taken away by the Ozians, and that he could not fight them because they had eggs. He mentions that if a Nome touches an egg, he is ruined for life. Should we remind him that he was hit by two eggs in the face in Ozma of Oz? At the same time, it was Roquat, not Ruggedo, though the two are the same…]

The two villains settle for the Forest of Gugu. Located at the “central western” part of the Gillikin Country, it is the biggest forest of Oz, adjoined in the east by rugged mountains “covered in underbrush and small twisted trees”. It is home to most of the wild beasts of Oz, and a place where no human lives and where they rarely visit – the bigger beasts live in the forest per se, the smallest in the underbrush of the mountains. Animals, like people, cannot die in Oz (yeah, that’s the late rule), but being animals they are still wild and aggressive and they would tear each other apart – if not for the laws. Indeed, the animals, despite wild, still have a kind of “civilization”. They have laws, that forbid all fighting between animals (though they still do so from time to time, resulting in beasts with missing eyes, ears or limbs). The laws are made by the forest’s government: its king, the yellow leopard named Gugu (he baptized the forest after him), and his three counselors, Bru the Bear, Loo the Unicorn and Rango the Gray Ape (all are noted to be fierce and ferocious beasts, reaching their high ranks because they are more intelligent and feared than the other beasts).

[Just on the note of the rule, Baum has an annoying habit to precise that no one can be killed or die in Oz, since the fairyland is free of death and sickness. But he still says that people and beasts can be “destroyed”, though it is very hard to do so. The exact difference is quite unknown, but basically I guess he implies you can be turned into sentient dust or goo if you are not careful. However, this book introduces a neat twist to the rule: no Ozian is sure if this magical protection extends to visitors from non-fairy lands, such as Dorothy or Button-Bright. Hence why the Ozians will do everything they can to protect them, because they can, maybe, die.]

To appear even more ferocious and powerful than the locals, Ruggedo and Kiki decide to turn into a mix of several animals: heads of lions, bodies of monkeys, wings of eagles, tails of wild donkeys with golden knobs at the end. They call this species Li-Mon-Eags. They arrive when the “four lords of the forest” ended a meeting about a huge fight that happened in the morning between Chipo the Wild Boar, Arx the Giraffe and Tirrip the great Kangaroo. Ruggedo claims that they came to warn the forest that the people of Oz plan to enslave the animals and turn them into beasts of burden. Gugu answers that for ages the people of Oz have let them alone, nor friends nor enemies, and they know that if they enslaved them they couldn’t make beasts of burden out of them – Gugu concludes the weird newcomers are telling lies. His Unicorn counsellor however believes them – which allows Ruggedo to propose the “turn them into animals” deal. That is received very coldly, because the beasts don’t care much about the “nice things” people have. However, asked to prove their power, Kiki turns the Unicorn into a “fat, chubby little man dressed in the purple Gillikin costume”, and finds it much funnier than being a unicorn. The other beasts are not convinced and decide to do a great gathering of all the beasts of the forest to put it under the decision of a vote.

And boy is there a lot of beasts in this forest… wolves, foxes, hyenas, lynxes, monkeys, pumas, jaguars, tigers, lions, bears, bisons, wild donkeys, zebras, unicorns, rhinoceri, hippopotami, elephants, walruses… Ruggedo presents them the “threat” and his “plan”. Some beasts answer yes we’ll do it, other no we don’t, some stay silent… the opinion is split. A loud debate begins… until suddenly Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz appear, riding the Cowardly Lion and Hungry Tiger. This disturbed deeply Kiki, who is afraid of the Wizard and tired of Ruggedo treating him as a magic slave, so he begins to randomly use the word – turning the Wizard into a fox and stealing his magic black bag ; turning Dorothy into a lamb, the Lion is turned into a little boy in Munchkin costume. Ruggedo, understanding that Kiki’s panic is ruining everything, tries to stop him but is turned into a goose. The Hungry Tiger, noticing it, tries to stop Kiki but is turned into a rabbit. And then Kiki, who is attacked by the animals of Gugu, turns the king leopard into a fat Gillikin woman, which results in the animal fleeing into one huge stampede, not wanting to be transformed. Kiki, having stolen the “Black Bag” where the Wizard keeps his tools of enchantment, tries to use it – but he has to admit that, being no sorcerer or magician, he actually doesn’t know how to use or make the tools inside work, so he just abandons it on a branch and flies away.

Ruggedo, now a goose, helps the other searching for the missing bag of magic (whose tools can break the transformation enchantment easily – sigh, do you remember back in the second book when transforming back someone needed grand and long rituals? Those were the good times), pretending to be a random animal that was transformed, but then tries to find Kiki Aru and leaves them – that’s when they discover the Goose was another one of the “magician beasts”. Ruggedo is at this point furious at Kiki for spoiling his plans, but also dreadful afraid – because goose can lay eggs. You get the idea. He finally finds back Kiki, who actually didn’t fly too much away. Kiki is pondering what to do, because yes the Nome was rude and overbearing, but he knew how to plot, plan and scheme, while Kiki is not wise, so he took time to ponder what to do now, surprised at himself by his own crazy reactions. [Have I mentioned before that this boy has problems?]. Ruggedo, realizing that the boy is actually not the brightest light, decides to manipulate him with kindness and forgiveness: Kiki returns him to his Li-Mon-Eag form, and they discuss a new plan: Ruggedo wants Kiki to turn the fifty monkeys of the forest into giant soldiers with sharp swords, that he will then force to attack the Emerald City. Kiki points out that the swords are no good since no one from Oz can be killed: Ruggedo answers that they can be cut up into little pieces, and these living pieces scattered everywhere. [Yep, Oz became a horror show]. Kiki agrees and starts turning the monkeys, one at a time, into giants – to do so he goes away, so that Ruggedo doesn’t hear the word, but unknown to him the Wizard-Fox crawled nearby and hears everything. The Wizard immediately turns Kiki into a hickory-nut and Ruggedo into a walnut – well he tries a first time but fails because he pronounces the word wrongly, but the second time it works. The Wizard also undoes all the enchantments of Kiki.

After that the book forgets all about them for a long time, until the very end, once Ozma’s birthday party is done (yeah it is another minor plot point). Ozma, learning of what happened, refuses to let two living beings in the shape of nuts and asks the Wizard to give them back their original form (they still don’t know their real identities). The Wizard advises against it, because the two were powerful magicians, knowing a word of transformation whose great power can’t match those of the Wizard or of Glinda’s. But Dorothy comes up with a solution: upon transforming them back, the Wizard only needs to make them extremely thirsty too, and they will put near them a cup filled with the Waters of Oblivion, so that they will drink from it and forget everything. It works with Kiki Aru – and everyone is surprised that it is a young boy and not a dreadful magician. Since he had his entire memory erased, to the point he doesn’t even knows what a “boy” is, Ozma and co decide to keep him in the Emerald City and teach him all the ways of goodness. And… that’s it. We never hear of Kiki again, he never comes back, and we never know what happened of his parents back in Mount Munch.

Then, they reveal the identity of the second magician as Ruggedo – who also gets his mind erased. This time, the characters acknowledge that they did force him to drink of the Waters of Oblivion once, and that it worked into erasing his evilness, but according to them he “learned back” all the “wicked ways” when he was sent to his original home of the Nome Kingdom. So as to avoid this, they decide to keep Ruggedo in Oz, and just like Kiki, teach him the ways of goodness – and thus the former Nome King found a “new home, peaceful and happy” and passed his days in “innocent enjoyment”.

The end.

[archduchessofnowhere]

Series review: SISI (2021) Episode 1 and 2

It's been 123 years since Elisabeth, Empress of Austria and Queen of Hungary, died aged 60 at the hands of an anarchist. And yet, she remains as famous, and I would dare to say as, if not more, beloved than ever. On-screen depictions of the Empress date as early as 1920, and over the course of the years dozens of actresses have made Elisabeth come to life in films, TV series and theatre. The most famous of all of them being the great late Romy Schneider, who played the Empress as a young girl in the classic Sissi Trilogy (1955-1957) directed by Ernst Marischka, and later reprised her role as a more mature, mysterious character in Luchino Visconti's Ludwig (1973), a biopic movie about Elisabeth's cousin, the ill-fated Fairy Tale King of Bavaria, Ludwig II.

When the series Sisi (2021) was announced, there was of course those who reacted with rejection, saying "Romy Schneider is the only Sisi! If is not her I don't want anyone to play her!!" (Romy's been dead for almost forty years now so this statement just means "never again make movies about Sisi"). But for those who, regardless of their feelings towards the Trilogy, really like the historical Elisabeth, this news were met with joy: perhaps, finally, we'll get a truthful portrayal of Sisi's youth. Casually, around the same time Netflix also announced their own series about Sisi, theirs named The Empress, which is currently being filmed and it's expected to premiere next year. And on top of that, two other movies, these centered on the later years of Elisabeth were also announced (Corsage and Sisi und ich, both also expected to premiere next year). Quoting a line from Elisabeth das Musical, "Elisabeth ist in".

Sisi (2021), therefore, had not only the weight of "carrying" Schneider's legacy, but also the pressure of having a direct competitor. While I highly doubt The Empress had any influence in the series' script or direction, it does creates this strange situation in which there is an informal "race" for becoming THE new series about Elisabeth. A race in which Sisi (2021) has a head start, for it already finished its production, has a release date of December and was renewned for a second season. Last month the first two episodes of the series premiered at the Cannes Series Festival in Paris, and for the delight of the "fandom" of the late Empress, these two episodes were available to watch for free in the Festival's website for two days. The subtitles were only in French, but that didn't stop us, non-German and non-French speakers, from watching them.

Starting in episode one with Elisabeth daydreaming about her first crush and ending in episode two with her waiting for Franz Josef in her bedchamber to consumate her marriage, these episodes were a first taste of what to expect from the rest of the show, from tone to characterization. Before the premiere the production team started to talk about how this was going to be a modern take on Sisi's life, and while I wasn't thrilled, I wasn't against it either. There's been a boom for modernized period dramas (The Great, Bridgerton, Dickinson, etc.) and I actually think that they can work very well, it all depends in what are they going for. However what is Sisi (2021) going for with it exactly is still a mystery to me that those first two episodes didn't solved. What it did solved was the mystery of what were we going to get out of this series in terms of telling one more time the story of the Empress Elisabeth. And boy do I have very mixed feelings about it. So, exactly how was this Sisi?

To begin this review with the more positive points, the production value of this series it's very high and it shows. When the first pictures were released I was worried that it might look "cheap", but I was very wrong. This series looks REALLY GOOD, the cinematography was on point through out the two episodes and it really plunged you into the story. This might be a bold statement given the gorgeous landscapes that are the background of the Sissi Trilogy, but honestly I think that this might be the best looking depiction of Sisi ever (as of now).

The costumes (for which I might write a review on their own) were honestly a dissapointment once the first behind the scenes photos came out and it was obvious that they weren't going for accuracy, but instead choose a modernized, artistic look. And yet surprinsingly they actually work very well on set, mainly for two reasons: first and most important, there is consistency. A lot of time historical costuming fails not because it's not "accurate", but because it's so inconsistent that you can't even point which era they're supossed to recreate (for a clear example, search "reign costumes" without reading the series' synopsis and try to guess in which year the story it's set). In Sisi, most of the costumes have a consistent silhouette so even if the dresses don't actually look like 1850s dresses they still look like they all belong to the same time and place. And thus, when a dress stands up, it does it on purpose (Elisabeth's black dress not only looked quite modern, it also looked drastically different to other dresses we see on the show and that it's the point). The second reason why I think the costumes work it's because they blend into the scene. The pallette color of the gowns (greys, blues, beiges) it's the same pallette color of the series, so the gowns naturally merge with the background: once again, even though they aren't accurate, they look like they belong there. Lastly, I'll add that since the direction the show took it's "modernized retelling of Sis's life" these stylized, modern-looking costumes make sense within the story. I'll expand upon this point later, but the series does have very over the top fictional plot lines that would be even more jarring if everyone was wearing extremly accurate clothing. By dressing Elisabeth and company in clearly syntetic fabrics, it's easier to accept that what you are watching it's fiction.

The acting in these first two episodes was quite solid, it should be noted that this is Dominique Devenport debut as a protagonist and still she seemed very confortable in her role. I feel she captured Elisabeth's charm very well, although this aged up version (I think they never mention Sisi's age but there is no way for Dominique to pass as a fifteen years old girl) isn't shy like her historical counterpart was; on the countrary, this Sisi is quite bold. Meanwhile, Jannik Schümann as Franz Josef is... something else, for sure. His acting was good if maybe a bit exaggerated, but I think that mostly comes from the script that they gave him, which made some wild decisions when it came to the Emperor's characterization (I'll talk more about it later).

Having mentioned the most positives aspects of this series, it's time to talk about the less positives, at least to me: the plot and characterization (the most important things lol).

I'm going to start by clarifying that I actually don't have a problem with historical fiction making stuff up. Sometimes there are things that need to be adapted or modified to work on screen, there are gaps that need to be filled. And that is the fun of historical fiction: to imagine what is in those gaps, what where this people saying and feeling behind closed doors. Of course, that doesn't mean that I have to like what is invented in these stories, specially if it's something wildly inaccurate or just straight up disrespectful to the real people being portrayed. Or, even worse, if it's something that it's just simply bad writing, regardless of wheter it actually happened or not (for example, I didn't dislike Versailles because it's very inaccurate, I disliked it because it's a poorly written TV drama). So when the creators of the show announced how this series was going to put a "modern" spin on Elisabeth's story, I new that there was going to be a least some fictionalization.

It turns out, "at least some" was an understatement.

The first episode covers the famous weekend at Ischl in which Franz Josef takes one look at his teenage cousin and becomes obssesed with her forever. This episode has a very good pacing, I was hooked watching it and I didn't even noticed that almost an hour had gone by until the credits started rolling, and even though it was retelling once again the most told moment in Elisabeth's life, it still felt fresh. I appreaciated the incorporation of Count Richard, a man that worked in service of Sisi's father Duke Max and was her first crush. The Duchess wrote many love poems about him and was very heartbroken when this young love came to nothing. I might be wrong, but I think this was the first time he ever appeared on-screen. Overall, this episode isn't too fictionalized, and the only Big That Didn't Happen Moment ocurred when, riding in the middle of a forest, Elisabeth and Franz Josef are attacked by Hungarian rebeles that randomly pop out in a very action packed scene.

My main problem with that scene it's that it has no consequence to the plot. Sisi comes back physically hurt and with her dress ragged from something that should've been a traumatic experience for a girl who grow up in quite, happy Possenhofen and has never faced the dangers of the world. She was almost killed and yet by the next scene it's all forgotten and she never seems to have been affected by any of what happened to her. The Emperor almost gets killed and still no one brings it up ever again. What was the point of adding something that just never happened if you aren't going to do anything with it? It seems that the sole purpose of it was to create a "brutal forest scene whose layered sexual adrenaline fast-tracks the relationship [of Elisabeth and Franz Josef], but as one of equals". Wasn't any other way of creating a moment like this?

And this isn't even the most over the top fictional plot line we get: the second episode, in my opinion far inferior to the first one, ocupies about half of its run time in a made up story so random that it almost feels like filler. I know that this isn't a documentary, as I already said I was expecting it to have fiction, but this was just too dumb. Am I really supposed to believe that the future Empress of Austria was left to go riding alone (!) in the middle of the night (!!) to a brothel (!!!) and that she befriended a woman that works there and later make her pass as a countess so she could be her lady-in-waiting (!!!!!!)? The woman literally just walks into Possenhofen, says "I'm the countess of... hmmm... Place I Just Made Up" and everyone else it's like "Ok, we'll blindly believe you, you can be the lady-in-waiting of the future Empress, no background check whatsoever". Really? This is the best they could do?

Ultimately, the reason why I prefer the first episode over the second it's because even as frustrating as the Hungarian rebels scene was, at least it doesn't take half of the episode (and it does serves the purpose of "spicing things up" between the main couple, even though I think that could have been achived in a different way). At the end, most of the episode it's still grounded on historical facts and the main storyline it's the very real weekend at Ischl. However the second episode, as I said, feels like filler: we spend a considerable time with the fictional brothel storyline, and in consequence we see little to nothing of the actual engagement and how it took a toll on the very young Sisi. Why not show us instead the intense "crash courses" she had to do, trying to compensate the very informal education she had so far? Why not show us Elisabeth's Hungarian history teacher, Count Johann Mailath, who was probably the first person to positively influenced her about Hungary? Why not show the constant lavish presents that she received, to the point that it was so overwhelming that she had no interet in them? Why not show us how enduring all of this was for her, how she grew more and more melancholic as days passed? Why don't show us her siblings helping her with her studies and being her emotional support, why don't show how they all went to Vienna with her? (I personally really like the Wittelsbach siblings and it genuinely annoys me how often they get sidelined or straight up ignored in films and series about Sisi when she often spent more time with them than with her husband).

Another of the downsides is that the series continues to perpetuate the narrative of "Ludovika scheming to make her daughter Empress and Duke Max being the only one that cares for the girl's feelings". The truth is that Duke Max was an absent figure throughout his children's childhood, he was uninterested in family life and much preferred traveling to far away places. Later in her life Ludovika would say that Max only started to treat her well after their 50th (!) wedding anniversary. I understand that the idea of Good Duke Max is very ingrained in the myth of Sisi, but I think it's time to stop romanticising the man, specially if it's at the cost of making Ludovika look unscrupulous. The evidence we have does show us that there was a parent that cared for their children's wellbeing, and that parent wasn't Max.

Lastly, let's talk about the biggest red flag this series gave me: what was up with the characterizations?

I already talked about Sisi's character and to be honest I don't have anything else to add. I can see some parts of the real Elisabeth in Dominique's Sisi, and I can also see the more "bold" attitude that the screenwritters gave her. Which I don't mind that much since it's just an interpretation, although I do wish they at least kept her shyness. Now, what were they going for when they wrote Franz Josef's character? He is literally the opposite of his historical counterpart: they made him a ruthless, violent, rude, condescending, total frat boy. I go a bit more in-deep about what they did to Franz Josef in this ask, but quoting myself: I said before in a post that I tend to find FJ quite boring as a character in movies/series about Elisabeth (Elisabeth das musical being the exception, but that’s because all characters there are great), so I found this portrayal quite interesting for a change (this man is def not gonna bore us) but also worrisome. I’m all out for a protrayal of Franz Josef in which he isn’t a cardboard Prince Charming, but going all the way to make him practically unecognizable from the historical figure ain’t it either. Let’s hope that they do a good job with him in the rest of the episodes because as of now his whole characterization it’s the writers looking at the real Franz Josef and saying “I can make him worse”.

But the most dissapointing characterization wasn't that of the Imperial couple, but of Helene, Elisabeth's sister. Although hurt for what happened in Ischl Néné always remained close to Sisi and supported her through her hardest time. She loved her sister and never resented her. And yet here Helene is spiteful and mean towards Elisabeth because she envies her. Ugh. Much for this being a feminist show (still I have hope that in the rest of the episodes this changes).

All in all, I have mixed feelings mainly because while I enjoyed this episodes (the first one way more than the second), the truth it's that this wasn't the Sisi that I really wanted. Some people keep asking why are they still making movies/series about Elisabeth where there's already a lot out, and I'll keep answering that it's because none of them have got her right yet. As long as this modern retelling it's a good series I'll like it, but I also will regret that it's not actually about Elisabeth, but just inspired in her. Specially if the sacrifice of accuracy it's the cost of making trashy dramatic storylines full of stereotypes while simultaneously trying to pass as "empowering" and "feminist". Helene doesn't need to become in a spiteful sister, Franz Josef doesn't need to be villainized and Elisabeth definetly doesn't need to be "girlbossificated" for this series to be feminist: showing the life of this woman as it was, showing her struggles, weaknesses and strengths, in summary, being truthful to her life and to the lives of the women that were part of it would have been enough to have a real feminist message. Still, even after saying all that, I'm not pesimistic about the series: I saw potential in it, and I think that potential can be met. And at the end of the day, even if it end ups not making for a good historial series, I think it will be a fun watch nontheless.

[neednothavehappenedtobetrue]

my writing projects

tell me what to work on today!

[lady-literature]

for us to collide (part 4)

anyway who actually expected me to end this thing in 4 chapters lol

rip me ig

Read on Ao3 | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 (final) | deleted scene

After the not-so-impromptu interrogation courtesy of her friends (because there was no way they hadn’t planned that, it was too coordinated) Robin doesn’t stop by for two weeks.

Which is… fine. Marinette is plenty busy anyways. The extra time she has free now that she isn’t entertaining a bratty vigilante, goes to more productive uses of her time. Like watching bad horror movies with her friends and jeering at the horrible acting and special effects.

(Red Hood stops by in the middle of watching Grizzly Rage and proceeds to rant for twenty minutes about ‘shitty, unrealistic blood splatters’. Marinette has long since passed the point of being worried about it.)

So, yeah. She doesn’t see Robin.

But Damian, oddly enough, seeks her out.

It’s early, and there isn’t anyone else in the studio right now which means Marinette has her music blasting and she’s humming along as she hand paints silk for Clara’s dress. It’s loud and she’s in her zone, so it’s only by Tikki warning her that she realizes someone entered her sanctuary.

Her eyebrows raise when she sees who it is.

“Uh, bonjour Damian," she greets confusedly, reaching over to lower the volume on her speakers. "I hadn’t expected to see you here. Is there something you need?”

He stops before her workstation, only slightly bigger than the ones the rest of her staff use due to the sheer amount of open commissions she normally has. She has an actual office on this floor, but Chloé uses it more than she does. Marinette likes the open space and being around her designers more than she likes the privacy.

His eyes catch on the two bouquets of flowers she’s yet to take home, neither of which have even begun to wilt—and likely won’t. (She’ll have to take them home soon before people start asking questions.)

“I was called here by Father, but he’s currently indisposed. I’ve been told to wait.”

She waits a moment for him to continue, and when he doesn’t, she asks, “So you came to visit me?”

“Yours is the only tolerable presence to be found.” His lips purse, and he crosses his arms. “And that includes that imbecile Drake who is no doubt still in his office like the pitiful insomniac he is.”

Her tongue is already halfway around a joke about excuses—she didn’t befriend Felix for nothing, okay? She knows how people like Damian work—when she realizes what he just said.

“Wait. Tim’s been here all night?”

Damian snorts. “He certainly didn’t return to the manor.”

She’s out of her seat in an instant, frowning and muttering up a storm as she rummages through the storage cubes pushed up against the far wall. She has a blanket, pillow and plain cotton shirt in her hands before Damian registers that she even moved.

“I’m going to kill your brother,” she says simply. “Would you like to come with?”

She’s gotten closer to Tim since working in Wayne Tower. He’s a notorious recluse and rarely leaves his office when he’s in the building, but Marinette makes it a point to visit him during lunch and before she leaves for the night.

He isn’t one of her Waynes, but he is a Wayne and her Waynes love and care for him so there’s not much of a difference really. She does like to think they might be something close to friends at this point though. And if the way Tim comes down to visit whenever he ventures out of his office means something, she might even be right.

Another thing that should be noted, is that Marinette is very much a ‘ride or die’ kind of person when it comes to the people she cares about. She will ruthlessly bully her loved ones into taking better care of themselves on threat of death because she is the semi-hypocritical mom friend and damn proud of it.

Damian looks her up and down, eyes lingering on the items in her hands and the determined set to her jaw and says, “Of course.” Then he’s plucking her things from her hands, offering her his arm and saying, “Shall we?”

Marinette laughs as she loops her arm with his. “We shall.”

***

She spends ten minutes scolding Tim before wrangling him onto the couch in his office and wrapping him up in the blanket so tightly he’d need to be an escape artist to get out of it. He tries to struggle anyway, but Marinette has too much practice at this and he doesn’t stand a chance in hell.

Damian stands at her shoulder and smirks the entire time, eyes dancing with amusement as she forces the CEO of Wayne Enterprises to take a fucking nap. Then, she’s treated to the sound of his surprised laughter as she begins switching out all of Tim’s regular coffee for magic-decaf—not that Damian knows it’s magic.

(By the devilish smirk playing at his lips, she’s starting to think that maybe Damian really is just as sadistic as Duke and Jason say he is.)

***

Damian starts dropping by more often after that (read: starts dropping by at all). Not that Marinette minds. She quite likes his company, actually.

He normally stops by first thing in the morning when Marinette is the only one in the workshop, walking in like he owns the place. For the first couple days, he asks about Ladybug and the rest of Paris’ Court, claiming that he’s curious about them.

She answers them, but only as far as she’d answer them for any reporter and is careful not to give away any sensitive information not known to the public. He gets a bit frustrated at one point, complaining that she must know more, but she stays stubbornly silent about it and, sometimes, steers the conversation deftly to the Great Bat and his Flock instead.

He eventually stops asking about the Parisian superheroes and instead their morning conversations turn to a thousand random things. Complaints and anecdotes and a silly back and forth between the two.

Marinette’s never been much of a morning person but having Damian there to keep her company is… nice.

She almost finds herself looking forward to mornings now.

***

When her Waynes learn that she’s started a food kitchen and makes a habit of spending her weekend there, they immediately insist on joining her, despite her protests.

“You guys really don’t have to do this,” she says even though the three of them are already in their aprons and Cass is eyeing the boucher, Vivian, and her collection of knives with glittering interest.

Duke grins at her, “We know, M. But we want to.”

Jason finally turns back to her from where he’s been staring at the kitchen with something just shy of awe on his face. “You’re downright incredible, you know that?” he waves a hand out at the seating area, and then at the people in the kitchen assembling the healthiest and cost-efficient meals she and Felix could find after days spent researching. “I would’ve killed for something like this when I was on the streets.”

“It’s not just me who’s got this up and running-” she tries protesting but then Fiona, the woman Marinette actually put in charge of this place, is at her side and all but shoving the four of them into stations.

Marinette ends up by the pastries, like always, and she can see Jason making sandwiches. Duke's been roped into making eggs and bean casseroles and Cass, by some grace, actually ended up by Vivian and is having a blast cutting up all the meats as fast as she can.

They don’t stop until lunch, all four of them helping prepare meals for the upcoming week in bulk. After, they all go out for ice cream by the pier and Jason smears chocolate on her nose and Duke carries her around on his back when she complains about being tired.

Cass takes pictures of it all and later, Marinette gets them all printed out.

It ends up being a really good day.

***

The buzz from the charity gala and all the press regarding her and Damian’s non-existent relationship had calmed down weeks ago. There was still the odd article about Marinette being seen with her odd assortment of Waynes and the newspapers still called her ridiculous names when they got a picture, but it was about as close to normal as she gets.

The quiet lulled her into a false sense of security.

Ice Prince and Sweetheart Finally Seen on Date: Fairy Tale Romance or Publicity Stunt?

The ‘date’ in question was a coffee and lunch run for her designers and also Tim (because kwami knew he'd work through lunch if allowed).

Damian normally didn’t stay past Lilliane arriving in the morning (the poor dear was chronically late and always the last to arrive) but he hadn’t shown up until after she came that day and overcompensated by hours—which she hadn't minded. He kept to the fringes of her workspace and didn't distract her, instead focusing on his own thing. She wasn’t quite sure what he was up to, but she knew he was switching between his computer and sketchpad every so often.

(She's pretty sure he was hiding from Dick for some reason. He’s the only Wayne brother who doesn’t visit her at work, seeing as they have their bi-weekly gymnastic sessions; recently, with the addition of Mar’i, who still calls her ‘twin’ and whom Marinette still adores.)

And then lunch had rolled around, and it was Marinette’s turn to go out so she brought Damian with since he was still there.

They were out together for forty-five minutes. Tops.

“Why me?” she whines into the surface of her desk.

Damian, the asshole, just laughs at her and she can’t even be mad about it because he’s only just started laughing around her and not hiding behind so many of his walls. He laughs and Marinette knows it's precious so instead of shooting him the glower he deserves, she finds herself having to hide the smile slowly creeping on her face.

***

They’re splashed across the papers again less than a week later, only this time she has her Waynes there too.

Marinette's wearing her bright red sundress and she's somehow convinced Damian to wear a jacket with elaborate crowns and snowflakes embroidered up the sides. Because, as Chloé says: if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

They see the camera this time and the photo splashed across the page the next day is of Marinette laughing with Jason’s arm slung across her shoulders as both he and Damian flip off the camera. Meanwhile, Duke and Cass stand just far enough in frame to capture their expressions of pain and amusement respectively.

(Marinette makes a mental note to order apology gift baskets for the PR department.)

There are a lot of headlines the next day about Marinette’s ‘harem of Waynes’ and how she’s a ‘horrible influence on such bright children’. She spends about ten minutes trying to decide whether she should be horrified or laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it and eventually decides on both.

Adrien, the little shit, sees the headline and immediately prints it out to hang in her kitchen.

It reappears every time she tries to take it down.

***

Gotham does not smile upon daytime heroes.

Not to say that Gotham really smiles on anyone, but it’s especially vicious to those that think they’re owed anything. She’s heard the way Gothamites talk about Superman and The Flash—it’s not exactly what one would call adoring.

But Ladybug's been a daytime hero her entire career and it is not difficult to see that there's something distinctly different about the way daytime heroes and Gotham’s vigilantes operate.

Something more vicious, maybe; something more restrained.

Without the light of day and without the people’s eyes watching them at every moment, the Gotham Bats have become something else entirely.

Signal, their Daytime Protector, is especially strange.

A bat who's meta, straddling the line between day and night. The Day Patrol, trained by the night.

Sometimes, when she and Signal talk about heroing, there is such an odd type of disconnect that it throws her. Nothing horrible or major, but little things she’s sure she wouldn’t notice if she wasn’t so intimately familiar with it all herself.

They don’t always talk about heroing though. After two months, Ladybug is proud to say she seems to be worming her way past his outer shell nicely. He tried so hard to keep his distance from her, but Ladybug’s always liked a challenge, and it isn’t long before she has him relaxing around her. 

Well, for a definition of relax anyway. He's still a bat after all.

But then, it’s pretty easy to get past Signal’s barriers when she’s already had practice breaking through the more stubborn bats like Robin and, to an extent, Hood. Not that Signal, or any of the bats, know that.

Which, speaking of the bats, isn’t it a bit weird she’s only met three spread across two of her alter egos? As Ladybug, she’d expect to be hounded by a few of them but the only one she’s met is Signal. She can’t decide if it’s because he’s the only one that operates in the daylight, or if they just don’t want to spook her into running or something.

Either way, they’re going to start giving her a complex. She’s heard so much about the rest of the Batfamily, and not one of them even wants to meet her? Either her?

(Maybe Marinette should ask Robin and Hood what’s up with that? The way they talk about how nosy Red Robin is, she’s surprised he didn’t drop by months ago and- is it weird that she’s offended by vigilantes not prying into her private life?

…Probably.)

***

Marinette blinks, stopping dead in her tracks.

Damian's on her fainting couch, sketchpad in his lap as he waits for her.

“Why are you wearing a beanie?” she blurts out instead of greeting him like a normal person. "You never wear beanies."

Luckily, Damian scowls at her question rather than at her. It’s a subtle but very important difference.

“Sorry,” she apologizes anyway, putting her bag down. “I haven't had coffee yet.”

He hums, then nods to her desk where she finds a steaming to-go mug. Her face lights up and she quickly snatches it, breathing deeply the lovely aroma. “You’re a godsend.”

That brings a quirk to his lips, closer to a smirk than a smile, but progress nonetheless.

After a moment, where she sips at her overly sugary monstrosity—just the way she likes it, when had Damian even noticed that?—and he continues sketching she asks again. “Okay but, I actually am kinda curious. What’s up with the hat?”

He sighs heavily, closing his pad. “It’s… better than the alternative.”

Marinette snorts. “Alternative to what? A top hat?” But instead of snapping back like she expects, he just continues to frown. Immediately, her lips turn down into a concerned frown. “Is there something wrong?”

“Yes,” he grounds out and Marinette puts her coffee down. She’s just about to open her mouth and say something else when he reaches up and rips the beanie off his head.

For the second time in less than five minutes, she stops dead.

Marinette opens her mouth. Closes it. Blinks, but the scene doesn't change.

His hair is still blue.

Damian Wayne's hair is blue.

Damian Wayne’s hair is vibrantly electric blue.

Her hand shoots up to cover her mouth as she tries to stifle her giggles.

Damian’s scowl deepens. He moves to shove his ridiculous beanie back on his head but her hand snaps out before he can.

“No! No, I’m sorry I just-” she giggles again. “You looked so upset by it and you took me by surprise. I like it!”

He glares up at her, still sat on the fainting couch so it’s her who has the height advantage for once.

“Don’t patronize me.”

She rolls her eyes, the hand that wasn’t settled on his arm reaching up to touch the bright strands. It's slow enough that he can stop her, but he, surprisingly, makes no move to.

His hair is a lot softer than she expects it to be. But she supposes he didn’t use that gel stuff today, planning on keeping his hair under a hat the whole time.

“It looks good on you,” she says softly.

He snorts disbelievingly and she smacks his shoulder lightly. “It’s true! I swear you could look good in any color.” She clicks her tongue longingly. “I wish I had your skin tone. I’m too pale to wear pastels like I want.”

He wrinkles his nose at her. “Pastels?”

“Oh you hush,” she quips, finally pulling her hand from his hair. “Anyway, if you don’t like it, why’d you dye it blue in the first place?”

“I… lost a wager with Todd.”

She laughs, starting to move around and get ready for the day. She doesn’t have any meetings scheduled, which means she gets the whole day to create. She’s pretty excited about it.

“I should’ve guessed it was Jason’s doing.”

Damian shrugs, settling back into the cushions. He drapes himself across them in a way that’s effortlessly elegant and like he’s ready to be photographed for a magazine cover or something. Must all her friends be so pretty? It’s playing hell on her self-esteem.

“But blue is your favorite color, right? So there’s that at least.”

Damian hums. “Todd had threatened to dye it pink or some other equally garish color.”

“Hey!” she exclaims in mock outrage. “What’s wrong with pink? I’ve been wanting to dye my hair pink for ages.”

“Nothing. It’s just simply not a color I appreciate.” He makes a face. “Like orange.”

Marinette huffs, but there’s a smile on her lips. It's quiet for a moment, for long enough that she thinks the conversation's been dropped. But then-

“Why don’t you?”

“Huh?”

“Why haven’t you dyed your hair?” he repeats. “Your friends—Couffaine and… Kubdel? They both have colored hair.”

Marinette shrugs. “I dunno. Never got around to it I guess. I suppose I could do it now. Dye mine in solidarity,” she jokes. “Oh! We could match even! Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“I thought you wanted pink?”

“Well, yeah. But blue is nice too. Besides,” she smiles wryly over her shoulder, “you just said pink was ‘garish’.”

Damian frowns slightly, shaking his head, “On me, perhaps. But I think you’d look very fetching in pink.”

“Oh,” Marinette pauses, feeling her face grow warm at the sudden compliment. “Well- Uh, pink it is, then.”

***

(Damian watches the blush rise on her cheeks as she turns away to try and hide it. Yes, he can’t help but think, fetching in pink, indeed.)

***

Luka insists on being the one to dye her hair, citing that he’s the one who had dibs all these years, but Alix and Jason both all but demand to be there too.

Her bathroom is not big enough for all four of them to sit in.

Not a single one of them cares.

Cass and Duke ask for progress pics along with Uncle Jay, and all her Parisian friends cycle through standing at the bathroom door to see how it's going.

The constant stream of people looking at her makes her feel not unlike an animal at a zoo. (When she wryly tells this to Alix, all she gets is her friend cackling on the ground.)

But, after all the bleaching and conditioning and waiting, she stares into the mirror with soft pink hair the color of bubblegum and thinks, yeah, it was worth it.

She thinks it again when Damian walks in the next day and almost trips over his own feet.

(She’s also wearing her Robin themed sundress, complete with hood, matching boots and personal touches not found on the mass-produced version—but Marinette doesn’t know why that would be relevant.)

Her favorite reaction to her new hair color though is, by far, Mar’i’s.

Marinette doesn’t see the young Grayson until a week later when she’s invited to the monthly family dinner Alfred insists all the Waynes attend—which includes her now, apparently (she tries not to show how pleased she is by that).

She arrived with Damian, who was kind enough to pick Tim and her up from work, and Mar’i takes one look at Damian and her standing next to one another before she starts babbling excitedly about Lilo and Stitch and Angel. A character who is—apparently—Stitch’s girlfriend and the complimentary pink to his blue.

Marinette is momentarily surprised, but Mar’i’s enthusiasm is contagious and it isn’t long before the rest of the Waynes are teasingly calling them Angel and Stitch. Marinette thinks it’s all very funny and adorable.

Damian, on the other hand, most certainly does not and threatens everyone who calls him that ‘ridiculous nickname’ with graphic depictions of bodily harm.

‘Angel’, oddly enough, sticks for Marinette. She finds she kind of likes it.

***

Later, Damian asks her about nicknames.

Well, he calls them ‘asinine titles’ and doesn’t so much ask as demand she explain why she allows anyone to call her by them seeing as she has a ‘perfectly serviceable name,’ in his opinion.

Ignoring the fact that she’s heard Dick call him multiple nicknames he hadn’t protested to, she says, “Well, I guess it’s that everyone uses Marinette. A nickname is something… special. A little more personal, I guess. And, I dunno. My parents named me Marinette, but it’s nice to share something between other people. And it shows they care.”

Damian looks confused after she’s done, but also thoughtful. He doesn’t say anything to that and Marinette doesn’t really expect anything to come of it.

She's proven wrong when, a week later, Damian calls her Starling instead of Marinette.

(And the transition from Dupain-Cheng to Marinette had been enough to make her beam—this is just ridiculous.)

***

When Robin disappears a second time, Marinette doesn’t get the chance to notice his absence on her own. He’s only stopped showing up four days ago—which is longer than normal, but not unheard of—when she hears unfamiliar voices on her balcony.

Looking out, she finds three semi-familiar individuals clustered around the plate of treats she leaves out for Robin and Hood.

Nightwing and Red Robin are both stuffing their faces full of the fruit tarts she had made while Spoiler glares at them and seems to be cursing the fact that her mask covers her mouth the same way Hood always does when she makes those raspberry scones he likes.

The scene is… odd. For many reasons but most pressingly that their arrival has come out of nowhere.

“Well,” Nightwing explains when she asks, “We wanted to visit ages ago, but baby bird threatened to stab us all if we tried.”

“He’s very… particular about you,” Red Robin tacks on while Spoiler nods sagely like she hasn’t crafted some strange straw monstrosity just so she can drink tea while still wearing her mask. Red Robin has one too, but his for the aesthetic rather than out of necessity.

Marinette stares at the three of them. “That… does not explain why you are here now.”

“Robin can’t stop us now, obviously,” Red Robin says casually, like he hasn't just kicked her heart into high gear with a few words.

“What? Why?” she demands, trying very hard not to sound panicked. “Is he okay? Was he hurt?”

Red Robin blinks, going quiet in that way Hood and Robin do when they’re judging her just a bit. She hates this family.

“No, he’s… fine.”

“B’s just benched him for the time being,” Nightwing helpfully supplies, amusement flickering at the edges of his lips. “He’s a little too… conspicuous at the moment.”

Marinette’s shoulders relax even as her brows furrow. Conspicuous? What in the world is that supposed to mean?

“Does that mean he won’t be coming around for a while?” she asks before she can think better of it.

The three vigilantes in front of her share a look before Spoiler says, “Probably. But the gremlin’s never been one to sit still so who knows?” she smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners as she leans toward Marinette conspiratorially. “But don’t worry. We can keep you company in the meantime!”

“We’re much better company than the demon anyway. Certainly less insulting.”

“Oh, he’s not that bad. He’s an ass, for sure, but you can tell when he means it and when he’s just stumbling over himself.” Marinette smiles fondly, “For someone so dignified, he trips over his tongue quite often.”

Now the vigilantes are really staring at her. She’s starting to feel pretty uncomfortable about it all when Nightwing beams at her, jumping up from his seat to sweep her into a hug. It startles her, but she doesn’t push him away, instead laughing at the sudden affection.

“Oh you really are perfect!” he exclaims, setting her down and still grinning like an absolute lunatic.

She’s smiling, because Nightwing’s joy is infectious, but she's even more confused than before. And then, before she can ask what he means, Red Robin’s wrist computer lights up—and damn, isn’t that cool? Marinette wonders if Tikki could do something like that for the Ladybug suit—and the three are moving to swing back out into the night.

She waves them off and they all promise to visit again.

Marinette shakes her head before going back inside with the empty pastry plate and four empty mugs.

***

Damian knows of Marinette’s friends of course. It'd take more effort not to when she talks about them every chance she gets and tells him all the wild stories about their escapades and misadventures.

(They also all came up in the background check he ran on her when they first met.)

Most of her friends are exceedingly normal oddly enough. Well, they’re all mildly famous and the leaders of their various fields, but they’re just civilians.

The only exceptions being, Bourgeois, Agreste, and Graham de Vanily.

Bourgeois is a former hero like Marinette, only she doesn't seem to still be in contact with the Parisian Court. All the articles he could find spoke about how Queen Bee was deemed unfit for her mantle and later replaced by the new bee hero, Ambrosia. Agreste was caught up in the scandal of his father being Hawkmoth, but he was found innocent and ignorant of his father's crimes (something Damian made sure to confirm). He now works at and is being groomed to own the bakery Marinette's parents run, seeing as their daughter has little interest to do it herself.

And finally, Graham de Vanily, Agreste's cousin, has a history of causing trouble wherever he goes. Nothing villainous, and rarely even malicious, but there's something about him that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Not everything is as it seems with the Graham de Vanily heir.

Besides those three outliers, Marinette's friends seem to be untouched by the vigilante life. Which means he thinks they must be utterly boring.

Only, when her friends start coming around to visit and drag her out for lunch or some other random outing, Damian keeps finding himself baffled by each of them.

They act strangely and with a dangerous air none of them should possess, except for Tsurugi. The questions they ask him are strange and the jokes they make have no sense. He's been warned about how he better treat Marinette so many times, he's started to lose count. (Which is ridiculous. He treats her just fine and would never intentionally harm her. What are they trying to insinuate?)

But, by far, his most memorable encounter is with Lahiffe. A veritable wolf in sheep's clothing.

Marinette is excitedly babbling about her newest idea for her summer collection, pressed up against him on the chaise and practically shoving her sketches in his face as she demands his critique and thoughts.

Her hands are waving every which way and, on more than one occasion, he has to quickly lean back so she doesn't hit him in the face.

He’s focusing on what she’s saying so much—because she has a habit of forgetting things if she doesn’t write them down and needs someone to remind her of the ideas she had at a later time—that he doesn’t even realize Lahiffe is there until he clears his throat.

Marinette jumps, almost elbowing him in the stomach. “Nino!” she shouts, springing up and flinging herself at the other man who catches her like this is something she does often.

“Heya, Nettie.”

“Wait- what are you doing here? You’re not-” she jolts back to look at Lahiffe’s amused expression. “Oh kwami, is it time already? Shit. I wasn’t paying attention. I’m so sorry! I have to give this one thing to Publishing but then I promise we can go, okay? Like, just five minutes!”

She's already moving before she finishes speaking, sweeping up papers and rearranging files and putting things away with all the swiftness and agility of a speedster. Damian watches her go about her routine, occasionally handing her something she’s dropped or pointing out a thing she’s missed, weaving around her chaos with practiced ease.

Then she’s sweeping out of the office with a distracted “be right back!” and he’s alone with Lahiffe.

The second Marinette leaves, the man’s attention swings onto him with a strange weight. For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything and Damian’s hackles raise with every passing second.

He doesn’t snap at him though, because he’s one of Marinette’s friends. Insulting him would only serve to make her upset and that’s something Damian's been trying to avoid causing as of late.

“Man,” Lahiffe says at last. “Alix wasn’t kidding about the whole besotted thing, huh?”

Damian rears back, straightening up to his full height. “I beg your pardon?”

Lahiffe laughs and waves his hand about like that’s supposed to mean something. “Ah, no need to be embarrassed about it, dude. You’re far from the first of us to fall for her charms.”

“What.”

“Yeah, we've all been there. I think over half of the Paris crew crushed on her at some point, including myself. None of us are into her like that anymore, so as long as you treat her right, you got nothing to worry about."

“I’m not- I'm not interested in Marinette,” Damian tries to protest but Lahiffe just calmly steamrolls over him.

“Nah. Everyone loves Nettie. It’s universal law or something. First, there was me and Adrien, then Luka—who she actually liked back for a while there but are now practically siblings. Chloé liked her in collége, but she hadn’t really come to terms with that at the time. Alix might’ve, but she’s pretty grey-ace and fluctuates on the romance points, so who knows.

“Oh! And Nath. He also snagged a date with her, but he was an Akuma at the time so I’m not technically sure that it counts. And he’s with Marc now anyway. Thinking of adopting a kid, last I heard. Anyway- my point was: everyone loves Nettie. And don’t bother trying to fight it, because it only makes her pull of gravity worse.”

Lahiffe then claps him on the shoulder like their talk amiable and not the most confusing speech Damian’s ever heard.

And then he doesn’t even get to say anything to that because Marinette is sprinting back through the door, grabbing her jacket and bag, telling him goodbye, and dragging Lahiffe out to who knows where.

Damian stands there longer than he cares to admit trying to make the world make sense again.

***

A week and a half after she learned Robin was benched, Damian catches her staring off into space as she doodles tiny robins in the margins of her sketchbook.

He gives her an odd look when she scrambles to hide them, blushing hotly and babbling about how she’s “Just fine! Nothing to worry about! I’m just, maybe, perhaps, a little worried for a friend even though I shouldn’t be, because his family says he’s just fine and-”

He looks contemplative when he leaves that day, but he didn’t ask about her outburst, so she extends the same courtesy to him.

***

That night, Robin returns.

“What,” she says around the laughter threatening to bubble out of her throat, “are you wearing?”

Robin scowls from behind the full cowl he has on that she’s pretty sure belongs to Red Robin. It makes him look a whole ten years older and she can’t get over how ridiculous he looks. If he keeps doing stupid things with his face while wearing that monstrosity, she is definitely going to laugh at him.

“What are you wearing?” he shoots back petulantly.

She blinks in confusion, then realizes she’s still wearing her Red Hood inspired jacket right now. Tan colored fake leather with fuzzy, red inner lining, done with all the same pockets, buttons, and zippers Red Hood has on his own jacket. It looks almost exactly like the jacket she fixed for him all that time ago, except she's also added a soft, crimson hood and his own personal bat symbol stitched across her shoulder blades.

As far as things she's designed goes, this is one of her simpler ones. It's nothing like the elaborate creations she makes for the Ambrosia or Ryuko themed items.

But Red Hood was a simple kind of person, and she likes that it’s reflected in her work.

Robin doesn't seem to agree if the poorly concealed disdain on his face means anything.

“What?” she asks teasingly, “You jealous?”

He scoffs and looks off to the side. “Of course not. I simply do not understand why you’d want anything to do with that simpleton. Especially not when I know you have clothing articles referencing far superior individuals.”

She snorts good-naturedly, "What 'individuals'? You mean you?"

The way he raises his nose self importantly is answer enough, and she can't stop herself from rolling his eyes. "Well, it's certainly a start. But I'm not the only one."

"Oh, yeah? And who else is marvelous enough to stand on the same level as you?"

"Multimouse."

Her mouth goes dry, and she can tell Robin is pointedly not looking at her.

“Come inside,” she blurts in lieu of all the things she really wants to say—which are mostly just embarrassing variations of I missed you. “I can, uh, make us tea. If you want.”

It's the first time she’s ever invited him inside and she can see the small bit of shock on his face—well, what she can see of it anyway—before he schools it.

“Yes,” he says in a tone of voice that implies it was his idea in the first place. “That sounds… good.”

She steps aside, allowing him to pass her by into the flat. Only instead of just walking past her, he stops halfway through the doorway and stares at her. She’s about to ask what’s wrong when he reaches out with his hand to gently grab a lock of her hair.

“Pink suits you, by the way.”

She quirks her lips, “Yeah? You don’t think it’s… too much?”

The corners of his mouth turn down, “Absolutely not. You look…” he trails off, mouth flattening into a line and dropping his hand.

She blinks at the odd behavior. “Nice?” she offers tentatively.

He nods, but it’s a little jerky and strange. But before she can ask about it, he’s already turning to enter her flat like he owns the place, remarking about her choices of tea and if she’s finally acquired an ‘adequate teapot’.

She shakes off the moment and goes in to follow him before he wrecks her kitchen in his careless search for tea supplies.

***

MinnieMouse: COME GET YALL JUICE

and by juice i mean me

I still do not have an american license

JaneAustenStanAccount: what do we get out of it?

MinnieMouse: ???

the pleasure of my company??

also youre literally the one that invited me to watch megamind

JaneAustenStanAccount: and??

daisyduke: shut up jay

we all know youre soft for M stop tryin to play tough

MinnieMouse: this is why duke is my favorite

he’s a living callout post

swanlake: :(

MinnieMouse: second favorite

im so sorry cass ily

swanlake: :)

daisyduke: i aint even mad

JaneAustenStanAccount: I AM

guys wtf

MinnieMouse: you brought this on yourself

maybe you should be nicer to me

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

daisyduke: ‘get fucked jason’ -marinette 2k20

btw im omw for you now

MinnieMouse: thnx ur the best

also im bringing scones as movie snack

daisyduke: noice

swanlake: !!!

JaneAustenStanAccount: FUCK YEAH!!!

MinnieMouse: you dont get any Jay

JaneAustenStanAccount: >:(

i hate it here

***

Marinette doesn’t know a lot about Robin’s past, which she assumes is by design. Secret identities don’t lead well to handing out details and concrete information about one’s personal life.

But, she thinks, one would have to be blind, deaf, and dumb to not see that whatever facsimile of a childhood Robin had was about eight different levels of fucked up.

It’s in the vague allusions to ‘training’ and the scorn filled way he says the word ‘mother’. It’s in the not-quite-confusion—because whatever family he has is better now, at least—of Marinette telling him about her own parents. About the happy memories she’s shared with them, of learning to bake bread and croissants and macaroons under the loving guidance of her father and practicing delicate designs and frosting techniques with her mother.

So, yeah. She knows he’s kind of messed up and definitely checks off the childhood trauma box that’s apparently one of the requirements for being her friend.

So when Robin suddenly decides to go against everything she’s learned about him up until this point and actually share something about himself—and when that thing he shares just so happens to be a story from his childhood—well… Marinette wouldn’t say she’s prepared, but she’s not- prepared.

He’s in her kitchen, because Marinette has learned her lesson about bleeding vigilantes on her couch, and she’s pretty sure he could’ve gone back to the Cave for this, but he came here for whatever reason. (Was closer, he said. Marinette doesn’t know if she believes him.)

She’s cleaning the knife wound on his arm, and she has his cape laid out across her island. There’s a hole in it she plans on sewing back up after she finishes sewing the hole in her reckless vigilante back up.

“You need to be more careful,” she scolds. “You’re lucky this didn’t nick something important.”

“It's hardly the worst wound I’ve ever acquired,” he tells her in a tone of voice that he probably thinks is reasonable. “At seven years old I had to dig a bullet out of my side in the middle of a Himilayan snowstorm while still making it back to base with time to spare after having successfully assassinated a Russian ambassador.”

Marinette pauses where she’s smoothing the gauze onto his bicep. Her eyes flick up to his, and she sees the exact moment he seems to realize what he just told her. He’s gone utterly still beneath her hands, with terror or worry or the effort it takes not to bolt out the window immediately, she doesn’t know.

“That’s horrifying,” she tells him as she finishes securing the obnoxiously bright bandage, “Never tell me that story again.”

She then drops a kiss onto his bicep, subtly imbuing it with enough luck that it will keep off any infection—the wound was filthy when he came in, seriously, was he in a sewer?—and pats his cheek warmly before moving to clean up all her supplies.

She feels his eyes on her the rest of the night, but every time she turns to him, she can’t tell what he’s thinking. All she knows is that he seems… softer, in a way.

***

Three days after Marinette’s unexpected look into Robin’s past, she finds a box on her desk. It’s a jewelry box, and the only reason she doesn’t immediately freak out is the fact that it lacks any of the miracle box markings.

Still, she opens it hesitantly, and inside, she finds a necklace. A completely normal, non-magical necklace that’s simple and pretty and very much shaped like a tiny toy mouse.

There is no note.

***

(Lahiffe was right.

The Earth spins around the sun. The sky is blue.

Everyone loves Marinette.)

***

The necklace is obviously supposed to be a reference to her Multimouse days, but that doesn’t exactly narrow down who could have left it for her.

Or well, it does, but all the people it narrows down to don’t make any sense.

Multimouse is a badly kept secret, but it’s still a secret. Most people outside Paris don’t know about her and the people in Paris didn’t exactly recognize her off the street either.

Her Court knows, obviously, and so do the Waynes and the bats. But her Court wouldn’t leave her mouse themed gifts, they tend toward ladybugs or their own animal motif as a gift (the amount of cat and bee themed items she owns is ludicrous).

Which leaves the Waynes and the bats.

But her Waynes wouldn’t leave the gift on her desk, and they certainly wouldn’t forget to put a note, so Duke, Jason, and Cass are out.

She must stand there thinking about it too long, because then Jeremy's walking in, just as bright and early as ever.

He sees her holding the box and his face turns a strange mix of curious and outraged. “Is it your birthday? I swear, Boss if you didn't tell us it was your birthday-”

“No, Jeremy,” she says, amused despite her confusion. “That’s not for a while yet. I found this when I walked in,” she shakes the box slightly for emphasis, “but there wasn’t a note.”

“Oh.” A smile slowly spreads across Jeremy’s face. “Oh?” he purrs, waggling his eyebrows at her. “Does the boss have a secret admirer?���

Marinette blinks and- what?

“What? No. I can’t- That doesn’t-” she splutters but Jeremy just laughs and walks over to his station to start setting up for the day, leaving Marinette to her breakdown.

Because this can’t have been left by a secret admirer. That’s just crazy.

There are exactly two people who could’ve left this for her and neither of them would be an admirer of any kind. And she wouldn’t want them to be anyway because that would be stupid and ridiculous and weird.

She doesn’t like Robin or Damian like that…

Right?

***

(It’s impossible not to love her, he realizes, mostly by accident.

She loves, wholeheartedly and unafraid and so much more than Damian had ever thought one person could. She loves with a ferocity and passion no person deserves or can match.

And Damian, foolishly, loves and wishes to be loved by her anyway.)

***

There are roses on her desk the next day, potted and still healthy.

The day after that, there’s a box of expensive chocolates. Like, the kind only Adrien, Felix, and Chloé buy without a second thought. The gossip has spread far enough that all of her designers know about the gifts and probably-admirer.

On the fourth day, there is a box full of high-quality pencils and a new sketchbook, one with nice thick drafting paper, but small enough to fit in her favored bag. Her name is embossed across the front, along with her personal motif of delicate apple blossoms.

On the fifth day, she shows up to find there is only a drawing, which should point to it being Damian, but drawing-her is holding a robin in her cupped palms which cannot be a coincidence. Drawing-her also looks serene and beautiful with her mouth curved slightly and her eyes gentle and soft and Marinette is as touched by the image as she is frustrated by it.

There are hair sticks on the sixth, and delicate pins shaped like flowers on the seventh. Another stunning drawing of her on the eighth, a bottle of wine older than Master Fu on the ninth, the softest cashmere blanket on the tenth, a basket of sweet floral lotions, a glass statue of a bird in flight—she gets so many gifts, Marinette has to stop keeping count.

It’s somewhere around day six that her designers must’ve ratted on her to either Felix or Chloé because it’s not long after that, that all of her friends learn about the gifts and start being terrifically unhelpful about the whole situation.

They each try to give her advice, which would be sweet if it wasn’t all equally terrible and conflicting.

They’re also placing bets on who they think her admirer is, Damian or Robin. They’re trying to be discreet about it—which means they’re failing miserably.

Marinette, admittedly, never expected any different from them.

***

Marinette begins watching Damian in the mornings with a newfound interest.

The gifts are always there before she arrives, which means they're also there before Damian arrives, so she’s in a prime position to catch his reaction.

Or, she would be, if he ever reacted. He barely glances at them and never says anything unless the gift is particularly obnoxious, like the giant stuffed mouse she found sitting in her chair last week. (It was almost as big as she was. Adrien, Nino, and Alix had ended up on the floor from laughing so hard when they’d seen it.)

Damian almost never comments on the gift she received that day, but whenever she uses or wears something that her mysterious admirer had gotten for her, he makes sure to compliment her. Which would be  very suspicious except that Robin does the same thing.

It’s just- they’re both so frustratingly silent about it all! Marinette is this close to just grabbing one or both of them by the shoulders and just shaking until they tell the truth.

It’s driving her insane! Before the necklace appeared on her desk, she didn’t even know that she liked Robin and Damian.

And now she’s overanalyzing their nonreactions. She hates it.

It feels too much like she’s back in collège, trying to sort out her feelings for Adrien and Chat. (Who ended up being the same person—which was just very inconsiderate of him, really. The least he could do is let her angst have meaning dammit!)

And- ugh. What if she doesn't even like either of them? What if her mind is just making her think she does because the idea of them liking her was presented? What then? Or what about the fact that the two boys are also ridiculously similar when she thinks about it. What if she only likes one and is just projecting her feelings onto the other because her mind associates the two?

Oh, she doesn’t like that thought. That thought makes her feel upset and like she wants to cry into a tub of ice cream.

Nino happily indulges her and doesn't even complain when she eats her way through his stash of mint chip as she dramatically complains about stupidly confusing boys.

Honestly, she may as well be back in lycée.

***

(What Marinette does not realize in the midst of all her careful analysis of his reactions, is that it’s not the gifts he’s focused on.

When she wears the necklace and hair sticks, she misses the way his eyes linger on the slope of her neck. As she cares for her roses, she doesn’t notice the way he follows the easy nimbleness of her fingers. She uses her sketchbook and eats the expensive chocolates and doesn’t pay attention to the way he steals glances at her lips. She doesn't see the way his hands twitch when she ventures just near enough to touch.

(She exists next to him, in any form or light, and he is captivated by her very presence.)

Marinette looks, but it is in all the wrong places.)

***

Strangely enough, it’s Signal who helps her with her internal crisis—completely unintentionally and in a very roundabout way—but he helps all the same.

He’s taken an… interest, she supposes, in her magic. One that is entirely his own and has very little to do with that Bat from what she can tell.

His abilities and hers stem from different origins, but she would be lying if she said his weren’t oddly complementary to her own. His precognition abilities stemming from his photokinesis has been useful on more than one occasion regarding the experimental spell matrices she, Tikki, and Nooroo have been testing out.

The magic is normally invisible to people without a Miraculous, but Signal seems to have little trouble seeing what she’s doing, even if he can’t interact with it the way she can.

(There is also the fact that she seems… more when he is around. Days that he spends watching her do her work go by faster and smoother than when he is away. Her magic is easier, and her mind spins with ideas and creations faster.

It’s an odd phenomenon and Ladybug is looking into it.)

There has been more than one occasion where Signal had warned her of the matrix’s imminent collapse with enough time for her to prepare herself for its blowback.

The version she’s working on today is their fifth iteration. It’s supposed to pull the miasma out of the building, filter it through her and Tikki’s own magical energy, before flowing back into the brickwork. Marinette had thought of the idea while talking with Nooroo.

If she can get it to work, it will shift the misfortune into good luck and order and release it back into the environment. Then she’ll only need to cleanse strategic portions of the city in a lattice network, and the creative and destructive energies will mix from there, balancing themselves without much input from her at all.

Of course, that’s only if she can actually get it to work. It’s been almost a month and this is the fifth version and it’s already collapsed on her three times in the last hour. Signal must see the frustration on her face and has taken to trying to distract her with small talk.

She’s very thankful for it, actually. If he wasn’t doing that, she would probably start screaming right here and now, on this random rooftop in the residential district. Which would just be very startling and embarrassing for everyone involved, so. You know. Glad she doesn’t have to do that.

Eventually, she asks him, apropos of nothing, “You’re a detective right?”

He pauses, and blinks at her, likely trying to follow the train of thought that led her to that question. She assumes he did not find it because when he speaks, he still sounds confused.

“Yes? I guess that’s technically what I am.”

“So you’re good at figuring out who’s behind a crime?”

Signal only looks more confused. “Yeah? But Ladybug, what-”

“Great, so. Hypothetically, if you had two suspects for a—well it’s not a crime. A… thing? Situation. How would you figure out which one of them is actually behind the… situation?”

Signal’s lips quirk, just a bit despite his confusion. “I think I’m gonna need a little more to go on than just ‘a situation,’ LB.”

Ladybug purses her lips and stares down at the light weaving intricate patterns in the space between her palms. Slowly, carefully, she tells him, “There are items being left where a person can find them. But the identity of the person leaving them and their intentions are unknown.”

“Are the items dangerous?” he asks worriedly.

Ladybug shakes her head. “No. They're more like gifts.”

“Are the gifts unwanted or creepy? Unsettling? Threatening?”

Another head shake. “Just confusing and… thoughtful.”

“Someone is leaving you thoughtful gifts and you're worried about that… why?” Signal asks, slowly and disbelievingly. 

“It’s because I- wait! I’m not the person!” she panics, causing the magic to spark dangerously in her hands but she barely notices. “The person doesn’t even exist. It was a hypothetical question!”

Signal stares at her. She can’t see his eyes or the top half of his face, but she just knows he’s raising his eyebrow judgingly at her.

“Stop that!” she snaps. “Stop being perceptive! I have enough perceptive people in my life so knock it off!”

Signal laughs like the horrible person he is. “But don’t you need me to be perceptive? That’s like, a requirement to be a detective.”

“Stop it,” she says again, mulishly and very childish.

And isn’t that an odd thought to have? Ladybug being childish.

How novel. Ladybug has never once been childish. She can’t afford to be, because when she is behind the mask, she is all the most important parts of herself. She is the Grand Guardian, is the one who must be in control at all times because she has an entire team to keep safe and alive.

Behind the mask, she’s all of her greatest responsibilities.

But here, in Gotham and with Signal, she is none of those things to him. She is simply another hero, that is his age and very much like him in ways so few are. Ladybug, in the moments she spends with Signal, is probably the closest she has ever been to carefree while in the mask.

It’s as comforting a thought as it is terrifying.

Signal raises his hands in surrender, but his lips are still quirked in amusement. 

Ladybug regrets starting this conversation.

She regrets it even more when, five minutes later, Signal manages to pull the rest of the story from her… along with a name.

She realizes her mistake a second too late to stop herself, and then all she can do is watch.

She watches, with ever-growing horror, as Signal slowly puts the pieces together. She watches, as her whole secret identity starts unraveling around her for the first time ever. She watches, stricken, as Signal opens his mouth to speak.

And then she grabs both sides of his head and Orders him to sleep.

***

The second Marinette bespells him, she regrets it.

She was panicking, okay? And Marinette panicking is very different from Ladybug panicking and truly, she creates messes just by existing.

Nooroo flies out of his hiding place to make distressed noises at the now unconscious Signal with her, which is… actually kinda soothing, if not exactly helpful.

At least she knows she’s not the only one upset right now.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no!” Nooroo frets, flitting around her head with agitated wings. Hers aren’t much better, if she’s being honest. “What are we going to do, Guardian? He knows who you are! This is bad.”

Marinette worries her thumb between her teeth, shifting her weight from foot to foot. With a thought, she's back in her civvies and Tikki is perched on her shoulder, blinking at the scene she’s suddenly a part of.

“Well,” Tikki says, sounding far too calm for the situation. “This isn’t ideal.”

The laugh that escapes Marinette is on the edge of hysterical. “You think?”

“It’s not ideal,” Tikki repeats firmly, “But neither is it a disaster.”

Nooroo lands on her other shoulder as she kneels down beside Signal to rearrange his limbs to not be so uncomfortable. “But he's unpredictable!” he argues, curling into the side of her neck like she will hide him from the world. “We don’t know what he’ll do with this information!”

Tikki hums thoughtfully. “Then we will have to ask. There are far worse people we could have been revealed to. We're lucky it was a friend rather than foe.”

“You think so?” Marinette asks softly, voice barely louder than a whisper.

She knows the Bat’s flock are good people. Many of them are her friends, or people she hopes to call friends soon.

But she doesn't know if these people Marinette calls friends could be Ladybug’s allies.

The bats hoard secrets like black holes, and perhaps they would keep hers just as well, but they could just as easily use it against her. Batman barely tolerates her presence, she can tell by the way Signal talks sometimes, and it is no small stretch of the imagination that he would use this to try and kick her out of Gotham.

Marinette cannot, as a Guardian, leave Gotham.

But more importantly, she doesn’t want to leave Gotham. It’s… her home now. Her friends are here. Her family is here. Robin and Hood and the other bats are here. Damian and all her Waynes are here.

Leaving Gotham would not only make her sick and jittery at the imbalance, but it would break her heart.

If, when Signal tells Batman, he reacts poorly, there is so much that Marinette is set up to lose. And that terrifies her.

Some of that thought process must show on her face—or perhaps Nooroo has just picked up on the turmoil in her chest—because the two Kwami are pressed on either side of her face, nuzzling and hugging as much of her as they can reach.

“We’ll make it through this, Marinette,” Tikki says firmly, no room for argument. “Don’t worry so much. Both of you. Everything will turn out just fine, you’ll see.”

***

@bluesimani @how-to-fuction-properly @chocolatecatstheron @mystery-5-5 @nickristus-dreamer @mochegato @thenillabean @animegirlweeb @novaloptr @darkdaysandfakesmiles @optimistically-pessimistic0524 @clumsy-owl-4178 @g-arya @undecisioned @smolplantmum @blackmagicforever @i-wanna-be-a-ninja @wannajointhecrabcult @paintedhope7 @redscarlet95 @roselynfey @ira-sairain @lozzybowe @tumbling-down-hills-and-stuff @2confused-2doanything @pepelachanel @too0bsessedformyowngood @miraculouspenta @itsmeevie01 @corabeth11 @jalaluvsu

[gumnut-logic]

The Cane (Part 2)

@flyboytracy​ asked:

Steampunk AU: five uses for a cane and one time Scott used it for its intended purpose 😘 

Part 1 | Part 2

And here we have number two :D A bit longer than expected and I will be falling face-first into bed shortly, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Many thanks to @janetm74​ @tsarinatorment​ and @scribbles97​ for all their help and amazing support of my crazy. And to @flyboytracy​ for asking in the first place.

Use Number Two...

-o-o-o-

2.

There are places in the ocean where the natural forces of the planet cause a lack of wind, a becalm that is the bane of wind reliant seafaring vessels.

Thunderbird Five had no such issues and in times of need, these quiet, still places were a refuge for tired bodies and minds.

A series of rescues off the coast of Chile that saw not only strenuous physical activity, but also almost violent politicking on John’s part. The world agreed, in the majority, to the advantages of an International Rescue organisation, but there were some outliers.

Suspicion was high in a few countries and while John spoke a multitude of languages, not all the brothers had managed as many and the grapevine had identified their country of origin to be English speaking.

Not everyone loved the English speaking world.

Regardless, International Rescue persisted. There were lives at stake and they needed saving.

Sometimes it wasn’t easy and this was one of those times.

Grandma had called for time off, and it had been with some relief John steered his ‘bird out into the expanse of the eastern Pacific into one of those pockets of beautiful calm.

They were lucky this time. The ocean surface was gentle, the swell minimal and Five had been able to surface. A careful manipulation of her propulsion system and she was maintaining a stable hover. Her huge expanse had her forming an island in the middle of calm sea.

Waves brushed against her flanks.

From her dorsal hatches a weary crew crawled out into the sun.

Grandma was adamant that they all receive regular sunshine and here in the sub-tropics, there was ample.

Scott climbed the ladder, cane in hand, body aching from the roll down a mountainside it had endured the day before. He had bruises on bruises and Virgil was hovering like a flying bug that just wouldn’t go away.

His fingers gripped the edge of Five’s hull and he clambered out on to the damp cahelium.

She was already warming in the sun, her stealth-dark, midnight blue skin sucking in heat and drying quickly.

Scott straightened, stretching his back. His cane hit cahelium with a thud.

“You watch you don’t scratch John’s ‘bird. He’s upset enough after having to deal with that governor.” Virgil poked his head out of the hatch behind Scott, following like the shadow he was.

Scott couldn’t complain too much. Virgil had been the one to pull him off the side of that mountain and he had received quite a scare.

The hovering was the result.

A whine from within in the submarine. “John, you’ve got an obstruction in the dorsal hatch. Have you got a torpedo I can borrow?”

Virgil twisted and glared into the hatch below. “Gordon!”

“You have a tear in your breeches, dear brother. I’m seeing things that would have Grandma blushing.”

Virgil grunted, twisting again. “Very little makes Grandma blush. She has seen you in your birthday suit multiple times, after all.”

“Move your derriere, Virgil. I need some sun.”

Scott turned his back on the both of them and limped across the top of his brother’s ‘bird.

Dividing the massive expanse was her huge dorsal fin. It served a dual purpose. There was, of course, the stability it supplied to her underwater flight, but it also provided a division between the two hidden launch platforms embedded in her structure.

Five needed to surface just like this to deploy two of her sister Thunderbirds. On the starboard side a huge section of her hull opened like a door to the sky...which is exactly how it felt when Scott was sitting in One and Five’s hatch levered her vertical enabling him to launch into the blue.

On the port side, the hull would slide back and the floor of the hanger would angle up, pointing Thunderbird Two at a forty-five degree angle so Virgil could fire her engines. She launched in as spectacular a fashion as her sister, engines clawing into the stratosphere.

But neither hatch was open right now. Both One and Two were hidden in their hangars, ready for new deployment as soon as it was needed.

The mud they had had to clean out of their ‘birds had taken a long time.

He exhaled and let his shoulders relax just a little. The salt in the air was ever so refreshing.

“How are you feeling?” Virgil’s voice was quiet behind him.

Scott fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Perfectly well, Virgil.” He may have been leaning on his cane a little more than usual, but that is what the thing was for, wasn’t it?

His brother grunted, eyeing him. “Do you want to sit down?”

A glance at Virgil and his eyes were caught by Gordon behind him, hauling several folding chairs out of the hatch, followed by a chattering Alan.

The sounds were rather homey and reassuring.

Grandma appeared with food and drink and Scott actually smiled.

Their grandmother was an amazing woman. Not only was she a medical doctor, one of the first women to take on that traditionally male qualification, she was also determined to look after them despite the fact they lived on a submarine.

Scott could have argued that Thunderbird Five was no place for a lady – if he wanted his intestines served up to him on a plate.

He didn’t.

His grandmother was a staunch supporter of the women’s suffrage movement. Scott couldn’t help but agree with women’s rights when he had such a capable and strong example right before him.

That and she could cook like she was heaven sent.

His brothers spread out the chairs and a few tables. Grandma had obviously picked up some supplies from their stop over in California the week before.

Scott took a seat and both a small stack of sandwiches and a tall glass of lemonade appeared beside him. He would have complained about the smothering, but he was distracted by an argument brewing between his two youngest brothers.

The lemonade was divine.

“She is big enough.”

“No, she’s not.”

“Yes, she is. I bet you fifty dollars.”

“Gordon, if you think Johnny is going to let you play baseball on the back of his ‘bird, you are off with the fairies.” Virgil was striding over to both of the youngest who were hovering off to one side, obviously conspiring.

The thought of a baseball match was amusing when he pictured John’s response.

But for once, he let it go. Virgil had it in hand, his second discussing the topic with Alan and Gordon in a low but strident voice. Trusting his brother, he ignored them, focussed on his lunch, and drank more of that delicious lemonade.

At some point, Grandma sat down beside him and they discussed their next movements – whether to follow the weather or centralise ready to respond as quickly as possible wherever they were needed.

It became very obvious that his grandmother had picked the topic for a reason as she eventually made her point that they needed some extended rest time.

She even informed him that Virgil had also been injured the previous day. Mildly, but a wrenched shoulder was an injury nonetheless.

His grandmother had held him back and hissed at him to keep it quiet. Virgil was taken care of, but he and the rest of his brothers needed time to recuperate.

Scott seethed that his brother, who was still frowning at Gordon, hadn’t informed him of the injury. Grandma claimed that Virgil had come to her for some of her creams and she had no wish to betray his trust, but they needed to slow down for a little while.

Scott shifted where he sat and his entire body complained.

Perhaps she had a point.

He sighed, swearing under his breath enough for her to frown at him, but he nodded in agreement. Three days of rest.

His grandmother had a beautiful smile.

Especially when she achieved her goals.

She patted his leg gently before standing up. A shadow passed over the sun and Scott looked up to find her propping up one of her parasols on the back of his chair.

“What are you doing?”

“Too much sun can burn. You know that. But you need the fresh air.” Her purple satin skirts rustled about his shoulder and they triggered memories of his younger self spending time with her.

It was comforting.

Enough for her to secure the parasol and scamper off to do the same for John, who had fallen asleep three chairs over, before Scott could object further.

His red-haired brother was exhausted, and his head had fallen back, gaping at the sky. In that position, it was likely his tongue would get sunburnt.

Grandma was right…as usual…they needed time to recover.

Alan, Gordon and Virgil were still huddled off to one side and the murmur of their discussion, combined with the warmth of the day and the lap of the ocean, melted him just a little. His muscles unwound. The aches in his leg and his bones were still there, but with the thought of time to rest, some of the tension began to slip away.

He must have dozed off at some point because he was startled awake by the sound of breaking glass.

“Oh, hell.”

“Alan, you clutz!”

“Gordon!” Virgil’s admonishment had Scott blinking into full consciousness.

The remains of that amazing lemonade lay spread across the table, his pants, and Five’s hull.

There was glass everywhere.

“What?”

Alan came hurrying over. “I’m sorry, Scott!”

He stared wide eyed at his little brother. “What were you doing?”

“Uh, playing baseball.”

Scott stared at him before turning to see both Virgil and Gordon looking rather sheepish on the far side of the submarine. Gordon had what appeared to be a length of wood in one hand.

Grandma bustled over and handed Gordon a rag and an empty bowl to gather up the pieces of glass.

There were stern words.

Scott’s brain was still trying to connect the dots, his brain slow to cycle up.

Gordon elbowed Virgil in the ribs and whispered something at him. Virgil glared in return.

Grandma reappeared with a broom and Alan was marshalled into sweeping Five’s hull.

Scott closed his eyes and shook his head before grabbing his cane and levering himself to his feet.

Everything creaked.

A stride or two towards his guilty-appearing brothers and his body loosened into its more familiar flexibility. “What exactly are the two of you trying to prove?”

Gordon stuck out his chin. “That baseball can be played on the back of a giant submarine in the Eastern Pacific.”

Scott stared at him a moment before dismissing him as a lost cause and turning to Virgil, who he had thought was much smarter than this.

“Your excuse?”

Virgil shrugged. “Just having some fun, Scott.’

And there it was – the likely reason Gordon and Alan had involved the engineer. Virgil never did anything without a logical reason and when asked he always…always…had the answer that softened Scott to the point of forgiving almost anything.

However…

“What about John?” He glanced over at his brother and found him still down for the count. Ever so tired. “You could have hit him, or Grandma or me. Baseballs are not soft. You could have done some serious injury.” It was very much unlike Virgil to take such a risk. Even Gordon wouldn’t do such a thing.

“That’s why we didn’t use baseballs.” Virgil held up a round white object which he then proceeded to squash between his fingers. “I used some of our aerated rubber solution to make a dozen or so soft balls. They float, have low impact damage, and Gordon is planning on a swim to collect every single one after the game.”

Logical and always had the answer.

Scott picked the ball out of Virgil’s hand. It was soft, very squishy and made from the rubber foam they stored in Two for stabilising structures.

He squeezed it again.

It was rather satisfying to watch it reinflate.

“Want to play?” The dark eyebrow that arched up at him knew exactly what it was doing.

Scott pressed his lips together.

Virgil fought back a smile.

Damnit.

“Fine. Who’s pitching?”

Gordon snorted a laugh. “That was Allie and he took out your drink.”

“It wouldn’t have broken anything if you were half capable of hitting a ball.” Alan sounded very put out.

Grandma urged him to keep cleaning.

Scott broke into a grin. “How about I give it a go and you pitch?”

Gordon matched his expression and stole the ball out of Scott’s hand. “Sure. Batter up.” He held out the chunk of wood that was apparently serving as a bat.

Scott frowned. It looked suspiciously like a table leg. Hmm…

“No, I think I’ll use this.” He held up his cane.

Gordon arched an eyebrow. “Really?”

Scott smirked a little. “Yes, really.”

His brother shrugged and threw the table leg down with a clatter that had John muttering in his sleep.

Scott dug his little brother in the ribs.

“Oops, sorry.”

That earned him a grunt.

They ended up moving the game further away from their sleeping brother. Gordon complained that he would have to swim after all the balls and every single one was likely to end up in the water.

Virgil said it would do him good and might even be fun.

Gordon’s response was enough to earn him a glare from Grandma.

Scott bit his lip to stop grinning harder.

Virgil set himself up as catcher. Gordon paced out a distance and curled up in a way that was somehow what a pitcher was supposed to do. The brass of his prosthetics shone in the sun.

But then Gordon had always been an odd pitcher.

Scott levered his cane onto his shoulder and tensed, ready to hit the ball.

Gordon grinned somewhat devilishly.

“Bring it on, fishboy.”

-o-o-o-

John had slept very well. Fresh air often did that for him. By the time he woke, the sun was starting to dip towards the horizon.

“How are you feeling?” Grandma was sitting beside him, a small smile on her face. A book lay in her lap.

“Good.” John returned the smile. The breeze had picked up a little and he could hear it in the waves as they sloshed against the side of his ‘bird.

A frown. “Where is everyone?”

“Hiding.”

He sat up. Most of the tables and chairs were missing and he could only assume they had been tidied inside.

“Why?”

“Because Scott apparently doesn’t know his own strength. Or how to play baseball.”

John’s eyes widened. “What?”

Grandma pointed up at Five’s giant dorsal fin.

The very top of it was bent over to one side.

“How on Earth…?”

“I would think it was the cahelium Virgil worked into your brother’s cane. Virgil says he’ll have it fixed within the half hour.”

John stared at her. Five had rammed ships in the past with barely a dent.

His grandmother smiled and patted his leg. “All will be well, dear. Don’t you worry.” She rose from her chair, turned and folded it, heading towards the hatch obviously go inside. “Don’t stay out too long.”

The wind tousled John’s hair as he stared up at the damage to his ‘bird.

He had no words.

-o-o-o-

Next

[mandoalorian]

Sugar and Spice [Maxwell Lord x Reader] - Chapter 1

Summary: When you are evicted from your apartment by your toxic ex boyfriend and have no place to go, who do you turn to? Alone in the city as the countdown to Christmas begins, you find yourself applying for a job as the assistant of the world’s biggest entrepreneur; Maxwell Lord. Little do you know, he has other intentions for you. No doubt about it, this Christmas will truly be like no other.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Eventual smut, mentions of a previous verbally abusive relationship, typical 80s misogyny (but very little of it), mentions of food and drink, alcohol consumption. This is a sugardaddy x sugarbaby fic soooo... a daddy k!nk too oops.

But in this chapter - mentions of a verbally abusive relationship

Author’s note: Happy November 1st! Here is chapter one of December Magic. I am so so grateful for how many people have asked to be part of a taglist/enjoyed the prologue. It makes me so happy. If you want to be tagged in future parts please let me know! Enjoy x

MASTERLIST | SUBMIT REQUESTS

PREVIOUS - CHAPTER ONE - NEXT

Waking up on December 1st, you had no idea what was in store for you. You had no idea how the coming month would change your life forever.

It was that time of the year again. Your favourite time of year, and boy were you a sucker for tradition. Any excuse to light your cinnamon and pinecone scented candles and wear the cosiest wooliest sweaters you could find. The time of year where you would search around in storage for your favourite cashmere gloves, tartan scarf and faux fur hat. It was the time of year where you had to have your car defrosted every morning. The thought of your peppermint mocha warming your hands as you did your Christmas shopping was something to look forward to all year round.

The crisp cool air hung above your shoulders. Washington DC felt bigger than life when you were amongst the bustling December crowds, city life filled with people running around trying to get sorted in time for Christmas. The whole city was painted in thick layers of white snow and an abundance of glittering fairy lights. WHAM’s new Christmas song was a number one hit and the catchy melody filled up the department store on every main street corner. But this year was different to any other.

“You can’t pay, you can’t live here. You have three days to box up your stuff before you’re evicted.” Your landlord, Tristan, said sternly, his voice completely monotone and with no empathy whatsoever. You knew it was coming. You had determined that this was your karma.

“Please, it’s Christmas and I’ve just been laid off from my job. You know my family don’t live in the state and-”

“Not my problem,” Tristan snapped back, a small smirk playing on his lips. He had a habit of interrupting you, but doing so at this very moment irked you like no other time. “You’re a big girl. Figure it out.” And with that, he slammed his door in your face.

You stood there momentarily trying to process the confrontation that had just occurred between not only your landlord, but also ex-boyfriend, Tristan. You consider yourself lucky to have a place as nice as your apartment. It was located right in the centre of Washington DC, a two bedroom, one bathroom, with an outstanding view of the city. You always admired how it looked at night, with eccentric tall buildings lighting up the skyline. But now you were essentially made homeless, and you knew for a fact that Tristan was getting a rise out of making you suffer like this.

That’s exactly why you broke up with him. He liked to have power over you, and everyone else he met. He wanted to be the top man. He wanted to be feared; and by the rest of the people in the building? He was. But by you, not so much. His attempts to make you scared were foolish and you wouldn’t stand for it. You’d think for someone who made a living from robbing people of their hard earned money, they would be able to afford a better anniversary dinner than Pizza Hut— but no. The two of you sat in the restaurant and you were lazily dipping your nachos into the cheese sauce when he came out with something preposterous. 

“I’m thinking about upping rent,” Tristan informed you with his signature smile. “By forty percent.”

You almost choked on your food. “Forty percent?!” you gasped, covering your mouth as you coughed slightly. “You can’t do that!” You knew that you could get out of paying it because, girlfriend privilege. But you were also aware of the financial status of your neighbours. The family of five who could barely afford to put food on the table, and the teenage boy who had to drop out of school to work and make an earning so he could provide medication for his sick mother. They were already struggling and with a rent rise, you just knew they wouldn't be able to take it.

“And why not?” Tristan raised an eyebrow quizzically, taking a bite of the floppy slice of pizza. You scrunch your nose up as you watched him eat with his mouth open, bits of cheese falling out and onto the table.

“Because it’s not fair,” You told him. “It’s greedy. If you need extra cash you could always look for another job. Even if it’s just part time! I heard Black Gold Cooperative are hiring and you just know the pay will be good-”

Tristan slammed his fists on the table, making you jump at his sudden movement. A few heads turned to face you both and you felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “Black Gold Cooperative?” He snarled. “And work for that self righteous asshole Maxwell Lord? I don’t think so, sweetie.”

You sighed at his audacity to call anyone else self righteous before giving the chance to check his own behaviour.

“It was just a suggestion.” You mumbled, avoiding eye contact with him.

“Right, because you don’t think being a landlord is a real job.” Tristan said nastily. His tone of voice sent a shiver down your spine. He was doing it again. He was speaking down to you because it was the only way he could exert power over you. “Says the girl who pours coffee all day and only works twenty hours a week and barely makes enough to avoid a goddamn bowl of pasta from Pizza Hut.” He pointed at your bowl of nachos that you had selected from the Starters menu.

You were getting really sick of his attitude. “It’s dishonest work.” You growled back at him. “You overcharge families and people who can barely get by just so they can have a roof over their head! Don’t you see how immoral that is?”

“Someone has to do it.” He shrugged cooly, taking a sip of his red wine.

“But you’re going about it the wrong way!”

“Right.” Tristan stood up and grabbed your arm. He pulled you out of your chair and dragged you outside of the restaurant. 

“Let go of me!” You cried out, yanking your arm out of his hard grip. You rubbed where his fingers had dug into your skin and had no doubt it would leave a bruise.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is the broke ass barista telling me how to do my job? You’re the one to talk. You’re nothing. And you’d be nothing without me. Look at yourself,” Tristan scoffed, and suddenly he was making you feel very self conscious. “You were foolish enough to think you could move to DC and make something of yourself. You have ambition but you don’t know how to use it. And the way you tried to embarrass me during our anniversary dinner…” He was doing what he always did. Villainsing you.

“I never want to see you again.” You spat, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. Your voice was shaky but you didn't want to break down in front of him. You didn't want to give him that satisfaction.

“That’ll be hard since we live in the same building,” he rolled his eyes and tried grabbing your hand again but you flinched away, fear prevailing in your eyes. “Oh come on baby.”

“Don’t call me that.” You said through gritted teeth. “I’m calling a cab. And don’t bother calling me. See you around Tristan.” 

And that was the last time you had seen Tristan, until today— talk about bad break-ups. 

You shuffled upstairs back to your apartment and slumped against the door trying to figure out how you were going to find a new place to live in three days. Maybe if you found a job you could persuade Tristan to let you stay a little longer. You knew that's what he wanted. Everything he had done, everything he said, was to scare you. But Tristan was attached and despite threatening to evict you, he didn't want to see you leave.

You wanted out. Your apartment was filled with bad memories and maybe this was your opportunity to start fresh. This could be your calling. But judging from your current situation and the time of year, you figured you’d be lucky just finding a roadside motel to spend Christmas day in— and you really didn't want that. You grabbed the phone book from under your coffee table and walked over to the dial up phone hung by the kitchen door. Locating one of the most popular property marketplaces in central DC, you dialled up and found your fingers twirling in the telephone wire.

“Hey,” you greeted.

“Hello!” an older sounding lady chirped on the other end of the line. “How can I be of service?”

“I um, I gotta find a place to live— and fast. I’m getting evicted and my budget, well, I don’t have a lot-” your eyes scanned the living room as you weighed up possible things you could sell for just a little more cash.

“Oh, I’m sorry dear. We’re shut for the holidays and there's no place in DC that will help you find a place before new year,” She said sadly and you couldn't believe your bad luck. No place at all? “It really is a shame that you're being evicted, but if you drop into our store after the new year, I’d love to help you find a place that is suitable for you and your budget!”

You were left rendered speechless. “I- I’m going to be homeless.” you said to yourself, the fact finally dawning on you. You knew that you wouldn't ever be truly homeless and that Tristan would be more than happy to let you stay with him during the holiday season but the thought of having to go back to him knocked you sick. You’d rather freeze on a street corner than feel his embrace once more. You wondered if you could travel back home to see your family. “Hey, are there any train trips or flights to Oregon?” you asked.

“Nope,” the lady popped her p and she sounded far too cheery for your liking. “Tickets have been sold out for months. I could get you a flight for January 12th?”

“No.” you mumbled. “My car broke down… but what are the chances I could get a cabbie to Oregon?”

“You want to get a cab to Oregon?” The woman on the other end laughed in disbelief, and you supposed that could be justified. “You can't be serious. Besides, Astoria bridge has been closed down due to last week's snow storm and I can't see it reopening until after the snow has cleared. Heaven knows when that will be.”

Tristan had really caught you in a loop. “So there is no way I can find a place to stay, nor travel to Oregon, at all, this month?”

“I’m sorry dear.”

“Okay, well thank you for your help.” You said wistfully, feeling dread forming in the pit of your stomach.

“Merry Christmas and have a hap-” You hung up on her.

You weren't ready to give up hope just yet. If there was one thing you always clung on to, it was faith. Your belief that everything happens for a reason and everything is sure to work out for the best in the end. You figured you could go job hunting and then tell Tristan you would be able to pay him double once you got your first paycheck. No, it wasn't ideal but what other choice did you have?

You grabbed your jacket and purse before leaving your apartment. Did you have a plan? No. You didn't even have your resumé with you.

You plodged your feet through the snow, your socks dampening even through your boots but finally made it to the bustling main street. You looked in the windows of all the different department stores and in desperate search for hiring signs, even going inside and inquiring with members of staff— but there were no positions available.

Just then, you found yourself outside of Black Gold Cooperative and you remembered that they were hiring. Granted, you didn't know what the position was, and figured you almost certainly didn't have the qualifications to work for such a prestigious business.

You looked up at the tall building, always feeling like an overwhelmed tiny insect when you stood next to it. It sparkled a sleek black and in a large, gold, cursive font BGC was displayed so high it looked over the whole city. It was certainly the tallest skyscraper you had ever seen with your own pair of eyes. In that moment, you almost backed down. But this wasn't a choice anymore and you had to shoot your shot. Just roll with it. You told yourself.

You were able to take a peek at the lobby in the double door entrance. Everything was marble with gold embellishments. If you hadn't known any better, you would've thought it was a palace. Trodding over the red carpet, you were stopped by a man’s arm, not allowing you to enter. “Name and business?" He asked, his voice rough. You looked up at him. Tall and broad, no hair and dressed in all black. A doorman that looked like a nightclub bodyguard. If you weren't intimidated you would've laughed.

“Sorry?” you asked, trying your best to sound as innocent and polite as could be.

“Name and business.” He repeated, his tone of voice the same. He didn't budge— still standing there with his arms folded against his chest. You weren't even sure if he was looking at you, with his black sunglasses hiding his face.

“Uhm,” you stood on your tip toes and took a glance at the clipboard which was pressed between his forearm and chest. Names that had been typewritten were printed on the page and most of them had been crossed out— bar one. You read out the name. “Barbara Minerva.” you said confidently. He looked at you for sure this time and pulled his glasses off, narrowing his eyes. He took the clipboard and checked for your fake name and sure enough, there it was.

“You’re Barbara Minerva?” he beckoned, raising an eyebrow.

“The one and only.” you lied with a charming smile. “And my business is…. actually I'm here for a job interview.”

“Oh!” the man grinned, like something had clicked in his mind. He scribbled out Barbara's name on your clipboard and ushered you inside. “Mr Lord’s office is on the top floor. Best of luck Ms Minerva.”

When you entered the lobby, warmth washed over your body and you couldn't help but smile. It was all lit up with yellow fairy lights and an enormous twelve foot Christmas tree in the centre. The tree was decorated with red and golden baubles. It was simply magnificent and looked like it was straight out of a catalogue.

You walked over to the elevator and pressed the button. No way would you be walking up 22 flights of stairs to the top floor. You really couldn't believe you were even granted access to the building, nevermind the fact you now had an interview with the self acclaimed and prestigious mutli-billionaire Maxwell Lord. A feeling of dread filled your stomach. What if he caught on? What if he figured out you weren't this Barbara woman? Could you go to jail? You tried your best to shrug the feeling off and remain confident. To be honest, you'd rather spend Christmas locked away in a cell than with Tristan. You promised yourself that this would be worth it.

The top floor was sleek, a long and wide corridor with an office at the very end. Marble statues were dotted around, and the walls were filled with oil paintings bordered with solid gold frames. At the front, not too far from where the elevator had dropped you off, was a help desk. Three women with sleek hair and matching pencil skirts scoped you out, almost glaring at you. You were sure you noticed one of them stifle a laugh. But you were too mesmerised by your surroundings to care. Everywhere you looked was just so magnificent.

"Can I help you?" one of the ladies snapped you out of your thoughts. Your head bolted in their direction.

"Oh!" you exclaimed, pulling off your faux fur hat and sliding the gloves off your fingers. You shoved them hap-hazardly in your coat pocket. "I'm Barbara Minerva," you introduced yourself with the politest smile you could muster. "I have an interview with Maxwell Lord?"

The three girls gawked at you in silence. It was like you had grown a third head. "You have an interview with Mr Lord?" one of the women raised her eyebrows. She flicked her blonde long ponytail and settled a hand on her hip.

You hesitated, considering her rude attitude for a moment. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do."

The three girls started at you for just a beat too long before one of them, with the sleekest ebony hair you had ever seen, handed you a document. "You need to sign this NDA." she said simply, rolling a pen over to you.

Your eyes scanned the document which just so happened to be very vague. "Why the need for a non disclosure agreement?" you beckoned. "It's just a job interview."

The blonde girl snorted and the ebony haired girl slapped her arm. "Yeah, just a job interview." The blonde assistant rolled her eyes, a small smirk playing on her lips. "We don't make the rules, Mr Lord does. And we know better than to question him."

This was really odd. You wondered if it was really worth it but you had already come this far— you couldn't just walk out now. You sighed and signed your name over the NDA. The blonde girl let out a cackle.

"Is there a problem?" you questioned, stone faced and unamused.

Your heart was racing. These ladies were so pushy and you were certain that if it was going to go wrong at some point— it would be now.

"No, not at all," a girl with chestnut hair smiled. "That's just Stephanie being a bitch as per usual." The blonde girl, who you now could identify as Stephanie gasped.

"I am not a bitch!" Stephanie cried.

"You kinda are." The ebony haired girl shrugged her shoulders.

"Shut up Amanda!" Stephanie spat. Amanda rolled her eyes and blew a bubble of gum before analysing her nail beds.

"Brittany started it." Amanda accused and before you knew it, the three girls began to cat fight each other.

"I- I'm just going to take a seat over there." You said, trying to speak over the girls who were shouting at each other.

"Amanda you know Mr Lord hates it when you blow bubbles with your gum!" Stephanie accused, narrowing her eyes.

"She does it because he still won't let her blow him." Brittany cackled.

"That is not true." Amanda gasped again, shaking her head.

You felt yourself waver out of their little argument, truly taken by surprise at how unprofessional they were being. You expected higher standards from people who were employed by Maxwell Lord. You shuffled into the black leather sofa, trying to get cosy when the double doors to his office opened. You adjusted yourself, watching as a young looking girl walked out. She didn't make eye contact with anyone, her movements were almost robotic.

"How do you think she coped?" You heard Stephanie whisper.

"Look at her," Brittany replied. "She's a mess. I better go check on Mr Lord."

"No, I'll check on Mr Lord."

"NO, I'll check on Mr Lord."

Once again, you muffled out their argument and paid close attention to the girl. As she neared you, you saw her lipstick was smeared to one side and her cheeks were tear stained— black kohl eyeliner smudged just as much as her lipstick. Had she been crying? You felt your nerves increase and you picked up on the fact that she was walking with a limp. Noticing the three girls race to Maxwell's office, you took the chance to approach the young girl. You stood up and held your hand out.

"Hey, are you okay?" you asked her, taking a compact mirror out of your purse and handing it to her. She shook her head, rejecting your sentiment. "What- uhm, what's he like?" You asked her hesitantly.

"He's just the way you imagine him to be." She told you with a shaky exhale. You rolled your shoulders back as you contemplated her words. You hadn't really thought much of Maxwell Lord. Of course, everyone in the world knew who he was. For generations, the Lord family had shares in the oil drilling enterprise, but Maxwell Lord IV made a name for himself when he bought out 90% of the oil fields around the world; his father only owning a measly and yet still impressive 15% before him. The front page of Forbes magazine three years in a row— practically the face of 80s television with his cheesy infomercials being broadcast on every channel, every time of the day. Everyone knew his face, they knew his voice, they knew Maxwell Lord. Stories about him graced the tabloids, speculating who his latest lover was, whether or not there had been a new strain on his family and what his financial earnings looked like circa 1984. "He's just getting cleaned up now," the girl informed you with hazy eyes. "Maybe do yourself a favour and bring yourself tissue."

"That bad huh?" you bit your finger anxiously.

"No, he's amazing." the girl swooned. "I just hope I get a call back."

Okay, now you were really confused. "Well, good luck." You offered her a warm smile but she just bit her lip and continued limping to the elevator. A few moments later, the three girls who manned the main desk approached you. Stephanie took a step forward, offering you quite possibly the fakest smile you had ever seen.

"Mr Lord will see you know."

Taglists: [comment or drop me an ask if here if you would like to be added]

December Magic: @goth-topic (im so sorry it won’t let me tag you) @kiwi-the-first​ @100layersofdaddyissues​ @mrschiltoncat​ @honeymandos​ @thisisthe-way​

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @ah-callie​ @luvzoria​

[music-of-melody]

A Fanatic Heart

Author: @acotazriel

Word Count:  7k

Rating: T {canon-typical violence & language}

Relationships: Riven/Musa 

Summary: What if all the Winx fairies were specialists and all the specialists were fairies? What if Riven doesn't realise how he feels for Musa before it's too late? What if he never has another chance again? May be continued into a series.

A/N: So this started out as a simple picture but ended up being an entire universe thanks to the amazing @acotazriel - Skye you have been honestly incredible throughout this all, especially given that I gave you like 3 sentences to work with so all the kudos to you! It has been a joy editing this and being a part of the creative process!

Riven hovered on the balls of his feet as he scanned the forest clearing. The woods were far too silent, with no noise in the way of birds, insects, or even a breeze among the treetops. The forest was waiting, like him. He scowled, feeling familiar eyes on his back but not turning around to face them. The Burned One had disappeared only thirty seconds ago; he knew it couldn’t have gotten far. He took the brief moment of respite to wipe the sweat from his brow as his eyes raked over the stand of shrubs, seeking any and all movement that might betray his quarry’s presence.

A twig cracked to his left and from the corner of his peripheral vision he caught sight of a charging, blackened figure. He whirled and dropped into a crouch just in time for the Burned One’s misshapen claw to swipe uselessly at the air above his head.

It fucking snuck up on him. How the fuck had it done that?

Riven didn’t waste time wondering; instead, he leapt backwards away from the swinging, venomous claws. The Burned One snarled and snapped but still Riven danced backward, drawing his opponent onto the offensive, forcing it to take the lead. After several seconds of distanced swipes, it took his bait and pounced forward—just as Riven anticipated. He timed his own leap to react to the Burned One and took the smashing blow right in the center of his reinforced chest plate.

He smirked even as he staggered two steps backward from the force of the blow. Right where he wanted.

The Burned One was strong, and in the following second Riven focused his mind on that kinetic energy it had imparted on his chest plate. He lifted his hands upward with his palms out and then let forth that same force in a wave of energy, blasting right at the Burned One’s approaching figure.

Riven grinned as the Burned One immediately tumbled backward, heels over scaly head, until it finally rolled to a stop forty feet away. “Thought you’d like that,” he taunted.

It slowly got to its feet, baring jagged fangs at Riven as it straightened to reach its full height. Riven sank into a crouch and raised his hands, palms outward again, and focused on the Cinder at its core.

It charged, screaming its demonic yowl, legs striding faster and faster over the uneven ground. It was thirty feet away and closing fast. Riven’s leg wobbled beneath him, still sore from the wild kick it had landed on him when it had first jumped them from above. At least it hadn’t broken his skin—he wasn’t Infected.

Yet. He reached out with his mind and felt the Cinder as it smoldered within the approaching Burned One—hot to the touch and full of dark energy, friction, and hatred.

Fifteen feet away now, screeching for all it was worth, reptilian feet pounding over the earth as it lunged. Riven drew a deep breath and visualized the Cinder bursting into smithereens.

Nothing.

The Cinder stayed intact and still the Burned One charged. Riven exhaled sharply in frustration and rolled to his right to dodge.

The Burned One spun on its heel to follow Riven’s progress, and he braced himself for the bite of its claws into his left shoulder—

Just as Musa leapt over his head and slashed her staff downward with both hands against its neck.

It screamed again, that horrific squall that chilled Riven to the bone (though he’d never admit it), Musa’s staff splitting into the three sections with which she fought as she charged the Burned One. She was a blur of forest green and ivory, her staff appearing as three pieces or as one when it suited her, leaving no place for her opponent to dodge or avoid the striking metal. Riven watched with satisfaction as she struck its head, its gut, its thigh, and its neck in quick succession. It slumped to its knees in agony, its maw gaping with an unheard scream of pain, and Riven raised his hands again and closed his eyes.

The Cinder beat like a defective heart, seething and bubbling with aimless rage. Riven clenched his fists as if squeezing the Cinder from the outside and Musa raised a forearm to cover her eyes. The Cinder exploded into a thousand fractals of light and energy that ricocheted outward through the forest and faded harmlessly into nothing.

When the reverberation deadened, Riven opened his eyes to see Musa bracing a booted foot against the Burned Ones’ corpse to roll it onto its back.

She jerked her staff upward in the snapping motion that folded the three pieces parallel to each other and lifted her gaze to him. “Thought you were going to take that one down by yourself?” she asked in a mock casual as she sheathed her staff into its quiver on her back.

“I had it under control,” Riven said with a grin as he straightened up. He scanned his body quickly, looking for any tears in his armor or breaks in his skin. Coming up empty, he cocked his head towards the unmoving corpse. “Just didn’t want you to get lazy.”

She huffed a laugh. “Right,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah, I’d be a real couch potato if I didn’t have to jump up and save your sorry arse every five minutes.”

“I was fine. I could have taken it,” Riven said. One of these days he’d take one down all by himself and prove to Farah he didn’t need Specialist support. Prove to himself that he didn’t need anyone.

“Whatever. Toss me the sampling kit.” She knelt to the ground beside the Burned One while Riven unclipped the small leather pack at his belt. He tossed it to her and she caught it deftly, unzipped it, and withdrew Professor Harvey’s biosampling tackle.

He watched her scrape some of the Burned One’s scorched flesh into a vial and wished he’d paced out his cigs better. Now he was restless and directionless until they could return to camp. “Maybe I’ll just let it get you next time,” Musa said after a long beat. He arched an eyebrow at her. “Once it Infects you and I have to kill it, maybe you’ll see why Farah wants everyone to fight in teams.”

“Yeah, Farah’ll really go for that,” Riven scoffed.

“Farah says mutual trust—”

“It’s not a question of trust,” Riven cut her off. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against a tree trunk with his eyes narrowed. “It’s a question of you doing your job, and me knowing that you’re gonna do your job.”

He’d lost count of the number of times he’d had this conversation. He avoided her frustrated expression and uncrossed his arms to withdraw the small throwing knife he kept in his boot, running his thumb over the blade to test its sharpness. He checked that Musa was still busy with the sampling kit and made another notch in his leather chest cuirass. “That makes nine,” he announced.

She wrinkled her nose. “I thought it was eight?”

“No, I’m counting that one back in the moor for us.”

She huffed another laugh. “Sure, just don’t tell Silva that—I already saw him tally it up in his count.”

Riven shook his head and clucked his tongue. “He really lets getting chosen by a dragon get to his head, doesn’t he.”

Musa laughed, for real this time, her chestnut brown eyes glinting with glee. “You’re just saying that because he’s the only fairy to beat you in hand-to-hand combat.”

“That was a technicality—” Riven had just begun his retort when a loud shout echoed behind them. They both whirled, Musa already jumped up and her staff drawn and ready, studying the surrounding woods for the source of the noise.

“There,” Musa pointed out. In the far distance Riven could just make out a couple of trees that were swaying back and forth in an unnatural motion—not from the trunks, but from the roots. Another cry—this time a feminine scream.

They broke into a sprint at the same time. “I think it’s Flora,” Musa panted as they darted between trees and over shrubs.

“Nah, that’s Brandon’s style,” Riven refuted, thinking of the motion of the tree trunks. “Besides, I got way too good at recognizing Stella’s screams back when she was with Sky—”

Musa shot him a glare, but they both saved their breath as they ran through the woods. They reached the top of a ridge and paused when they caught sight of two Alfea uniforms—one Specialist, one fairy.

Brandon was down, lying on his side with one hand clutching his stomach and the other outstretched in front of him. Stella’s twin swords flashed in the sunlight as she hacked and parried the Burned One in front of her. The ground beneath their feet rippled and rolled like waves on a pond—every time the Burned One raised its arms, it stumbled on the erratic ground while the forest floor beneath Stella remained as steady as a rock.

But she was hurt, too—Riven could see from the way her left arm lagged behind her right, and sure enough, within a few seconds the Burned One managed to knock her left blade from her hand.

Musa and Riven didn’t wait another moment. They charged down the hill, Riven already reaching his palms outward, making sure to stay two steps behind Musa’s staff.

This one was bigger than the one they’d just killed - it towered over Musa’s compact form, although he knew this just played into her strength: speed. She was a flurry of flashing metal and darting green as she dodged the Burned Ones’ swipes and claws.

Riven reached Brandon and crouched on his haunches. “It got you?”

“Fuck me, yes,” Brandon hissed, and pulled his hand away from his stomach for long enough for Riven to see a smear of red blood and black Burned One bile webbing outward from the wound. “Got Stella too.”

“We’ll take care of it,” Riven promised. He rested a steadying hand on Brandon’s shoulder and turned to look back at their Specialists. Musa and Stella had already managed to bring it to its knees, and within a blink, Musa drew back with a powerful swing and leveled the Burned One with a furious strike to its neck. It keeled backward, and Stella raised her right sword with both hands and stabbed it downwards into its chest, pinning it to the ground.

Riven approached, palms outward again, and now—with little danger from the lifeless form—cradled the Cinder in his mind, then crushed it with minimal effort, squeezing his eyes shut as the energy rippling outward nearly surged through them.

Stella let out a slow, rattling breath as the Burned One’s life force drained away. She staggered back, catching her breath, and then immediately hurried to Brandon. In the span of seconds she reached his side, knelt, and rolled him onto his back. Riven and Musa approached as well, Riven drawing forth his first aid kit from the pack at his belt.

“I’ll be okay,” Brandon said thickly. His breath was ragged and both hands clutched at the wound in his stomach. His eyes never left Stella’s. “I’ll be okay.” Riven had the sense that his words were more of a plea than an assurance.

“Of course you’ll be okay,” Stella shushed him as she cradled his head in her lap. “It’s dead, we just have to get you fixed up.”

“And you’re okay, Stel?” Musa asked, running a questioning hand along Stella’s left arm.

“Fine,” Stella answered absently. “Just nicked my wrist, that’s all.” To justify her nonchalance, she extended her left hand out to show Musa and Riven. Her sleeve had torn and there was a line of blood where her forearm met her hand, but it didn’t appear serious.

Riven handed over gauze and healing potions. “Think you can walk?”

“I’ll be okay,” Brandon repeated. “Just give me a second.”

Musa took Riven’s forearm and pulled him backward to give Brandon and Stella space. They watched from behind Stella, handing her additional bandages and tinctures as she tended to her fairy. Within a few minutes, the color returned to Brandon’s face, although he couldn’t hide the pain that flicked over his features when he tried to stand. Riven offered an arm to help Brandon limp back to camp but the other fairy brushed him off. “I’m fine, I’ll just go slow,” Brandon said.

Stella looped Brandon’s arm over her shoulder so she could help him walk. “We’ll see you guys back at camp,” she said. “And thanks for the assist.”

“Yeah—thanks,” Brandon forced out before Stella led him forward.

Musa and Riven watched them walk away for a long beat before Musa collapsed her staff back into thirds, sheathed it, and then ran a hand through her hair. “That was a little scary.”

Riven shook his head dismissively. “I’ve been telling Brandon for weeks he leaves his core too exposed when he fights. And I’ve heard you yourself telling Stella she needs to tighten up her left side.”

She glared at him. “That’s harsh, Riv. People make mistakes—that doesn’t mean they deserve it.”

“I didn’t say they deserved it—and we don’t make mistakes,” he grinned. “We haven’t lost yet. Not with real ones, anyway.” The simulation Burned Ones that they’d faced back when they were still training didn’t count.

“Yeah, but…” Musa’s lips formed a thin line as she stared after Brandon and Stella’s receding forms. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re going to be saying that shit behind my back if I ever make a mistake.”

He hissed an exhale in frustration. “You think I wouldn’t have done the same for you? I’m doing my job, Musa, which means I’m not leaving you on the ground to die.”

“Even if I left my core too exposed or didn't tighten up my left side?”

She threw his words back at him, her tone mocking, and he stopped short and turned to face her. “Fine, you want me to say it? I do. I do care about you. You’re a fucking good fighter and I don’t want anyone else at my side.”

Her mouth curved into a mischievous grin. “So you do trust me.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“That’s what I heard.”

He huffed a sharp exhale through turned-up lips that ruffled his quiff. “Whatever. Let’s just keep patrolling.”

Before he followed her forward, he notched another mark on his cuirass.

===

They returned to camp a few hours later. The first thing they did was check on Brandon in the infirmary tent being tended to by Harvey, and then Musa went to wash up while Riven headed to the mess tent.

He loaded up his tray with as much food as he could fit before looking for Sky in the fairy tent.

“Heard you had a productive morning,” Sky asked from his cot, looking up from the throwing stars he was cleaning.

Riven nodded through a mouthful of stew and puffed out his chest to show the two new notches he’d made. “Told you we’re the best team,” he said with pride after chewing and swallowing. “What did you and Bloom do?”

“Killed three, actually.”

"Bullshit!" Riven exclaimed, but Sky just chuckled and shook his head.

“Ask Silva.” He stood up. “Actually, I’m heading that way, you should come with. He asked me and Bloom to try out his new idea—”

Riven's eyes narrowed, projecting his disappointment as irritation. "What about our debrief hike?"

Sky’s gaze dropped back to his hands and the pile of cleaned throwing stars at his feet. "Can't today—I already promised Bloom I would."

Scowling, Riven picked up his bread. "Right, can't compete with a shag now, can I?"

Sky frowned and glanced back up. "It's not a competition, Riv. I'm just moving our mates time, I'm not bailing so I can get laid."

"Right—you're just bailing and getting laid."

Sky rolled his eyes, set down his rag, and grabbed his cuirass from its hook over his bed and pulled it over his head. “You’ve got a letter, by the way,” he changed the subject and pointed at the desk against the far wall.

Riven lowered his head to his lunch and shrugged, ignoring the spike of inadequacy at its likely contents. "Don't care." Sky fastened the straps on his cuirass with a puzzled expression that made Riven's ears burn. He hated pity, and in his desperation to fill the silence with anything else he spoke again. "It's probably just Dad telling me not to come home next time we get leave."

"Riven..." Sky's tone was so full of unsolicited sympathy that it further frayed Riven's already irritated nerves.

"Read it, I don't care," he said through another bite. "Go on."

Sky finished tightening his chest harness, walked to the desk, and slit open the envelope. "'Dear Riven, you are most welcome at home in two weeks,'" he read, his voice rising hopefully. Riven raised a hand for him to read on, and Sky looked back down at the letter. "'...however your stepmother and I will be on holiday in Melody. You can let yourself in. Write soon.'" He finished, deflated, and dropped the letter back onto the table, at a loss for words.

Riven shrugged to prove to Sky that he didn't care. At least it was longer than his father's usual letters, he thought dryly.

"I'm sorry, Riv.” Had Riven been less peeved then he would have appreciated the sincere apology in Sky's voice. "Let's do our hike when I get back."

"Yeah, sure," he replied dully. "Enjoy spending time with your ball-and-chain."

"She's not my ball-and-chain, Riven," Sky sighed, exasperated as he laced his boots. "She's more than that... she's my lifeline."

Riven made a retching noise in the back of his throat, gagging at Sky's sentimentality, but after Musa’s comments this morning, the comment hit closer to home than he thought it would.

"Right, well, see you when we get back." He left the tent, leaving Riven to finish his meal in silence.

===

As soon as he was done Riven tossed his tray back into the mess tent and shoved his hands into the pockets of his uniform. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he couldn’t help but feel let down by Sky. Sky was the one who’d dragged Riven on these hikes at first, a way for them to have some time to themselves away from the girls, just the two of them like before. Riven had gone along begrudgingly at first but had in the last few months found himself looking forward to them—a chance to compartmentalize and destress with his best friend from the furor of battle and camp life.

And now, Sky had blown him off.

He set his jaw as he paced through camp. He knew that Sky didn’t mean anything by it, but it still niggled angrily in the back of Riven’s brain. He kicked a rock in the path, savoring the sweet agony in his toe because it distracted him from the nervous energy in his mind. He could have that relationship with Musa if he wanted—he just didn’t want to. They were soft, all of them, and if Riven knew one thing it was that the people you trusted always let you down in the end. If you gave them a piece of your heart, it was inevitable that they would crush it.

“What is it?” A voice in front of him spoke and Riven looked up, surprised to find himself in front of the infirmary. Musa looked up at him from where she knelt in Professor Harvey’s herb garden. “Does Dowling need us?”

“What? Oh, no,” Riven said quickly, silently cursing himself. He knew better than to connect the dots that thinking about Musa led to him finding himself arriving at one of her usual haunts. “I, uh— how’s Brandon?”

To his surprise, instead of a simple answer Musa glanced back into the tent, then stood up and brushed the dirt from the knees of her trousers. “Let’s talk out there,” she said quietly.

Riven nodded, falling into step beside her as they paced along the path and out through the temporary barrier erected around their campsite. “Huh, I didn’t know it was bad.”

“It hit his aorta,” Musa admitted, pushing aside the underbrush as they walked vaguely north. “He’s not Infected or anything, it’s just going to take him a lot longer to heal than they thought.”

“That sucks,” Riven agreed. Still sensitive about Sky’s comment, he chose not to offer any more opinions about Brandon’s form—in fact, he regretted his previous remarks. He thought back to his earlier conversation with Musa and cringed. “Stella must be pretty cut up.”

“She definitely feels guilty,” Musa admitted in a low voice.

Riven pressed his lips together, holding a branch out for Musa to walk beside him and not get whacked in the head. “She shouldn’t—it wasn’t her fault. The one they knocked heads with looked like a nasty bugger.”

Musa allowed a small smile up at Riven. “It was—and someone’s being generous,” she teased. “Did Riven grow a heart?”

“Wow, say something nice about a guy on death’s door, and suddenly you’re a saint,” Riven shot back. “Brandon’s a damn good fairy. We need him.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Musa said, her tone dropping from teasing to mocking. “He’s just doing a job.”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“That’s what I heard,” she said again. She drew up short and turned to face him. “Tell me, have you ever trusted anyone?”

He stopped as well, feeling a twist in his gut. He didn’t want to continue this age-old conversation, but for a different reason than usual—he was alarmed that she was upset. He didn’t want one more person to push him away. “Why does it matter to you?” he asked. “Why do you care so much about trust when we should be worried about Burned Ones and Rosalind and fucking psycho Beatrix—”

“Because if I’m just a job to you, Riven, then I can’t do this.”

His lips parted and he stared, dumbstruck.

“If you can’t trust me then I don’t want to do this. I’m going to ask Dowling to be paired with someone else.”

His brain sagged at her announcement, briefly flashing through his life if he didn’t have his Specialist next to him. Having to start over with someone new… someone likely less capable… someone worse. Someone that wasn’t her.

“Musa—”

“No, don’t, Riven—”

An otherworldly scream cleaved the air above their heads. Riven flinched and looked upward in time to see a Burned One drop from a tree above their heads.

Fuck.

He reacted instantly with his training and skittered backward, stumbling at first and then more skillfully as his training took over. The Burned One had missed them in its initial lurch, but it was already upright and snarling towards them as they hurried to overcome the surprise.

“Got a shot?” Riven shouted as he ducked beneath a swipe of its jagged claws. He rolled to his feet and glanced quickly at Musa—thankfully she had kept her staff with her, and it was already twirling in her hands, a blur of metal and ivory.

“Take it,” Musa yelled back, and Riven acknowledged with a quick “Aye!” She was asking him to use his energy absorption powers to take a blow and then reverse the energy back onto it. Riven straightened up and danced backward, taunting the Burned One to prowl forward and away from Musa while she got her bearings. “Come here, you little fuck,” Riven shouted, hoping to distract it.

It lunged and Riven leapt sideways to take the brunt of its force on his breastplate. It struck true and Riven almost laughed in delight as he focused that energy back through his palms, and blasted the Burned One twenty feet backward.

With some breathing room now between the pair and the Burned One Musa charged. Her staff was a spinning twirl of silver and white as she advanced and struck forward as the Burned One pushed itself to its feet. Her staff struck over and over at any exposed areas the Burned One left open, causing it to keel backwards in pain. Musa rained so many blows on the creature that it keeled backward, stunned by pain, and if it had been anything but a Burned One Riven would have felt sorry for it.

Riven advanced with palms out, his mind sharpening on the Cinder at its core. Musa struck out again and again on Burned One while he located that beating mass of rage and hatred. He closed his eyes and focused on it, imagining it bursting into smithereens.

“Now,” he called out, their sign for her to shield her vision, and the Cinder exploded in another blast of light and energy.

The silence that followed the Burned One’s destruction felt more weary than usual. Riven dropped to his knees, cowed by the surprise and viciousness of their sudden fight, and opened his eyes to see Musa shakily folding her staff by hand into thirds before glancing over at him.

“Fuck, they’re getting bolder,” she said, and he nodded.

“Got to be on guard.”

“Luckily we’re ‘the best,’ right?” Musa said with a jittery chuckle. Riven’s lips thinned—they’d been caught by surprise. Only their training had saved them.

“Yeah, the best.” He righted himself, dusting off his uniform where he’d rolled on the mossy forest floor. Despite himself, he couldn’t help replaying Musa’s earlier words from that morning in his head—so you do trust me.

He knew by any other metric that’d be true. Riven finally forced himself to admit it. If Bloom was Sky’s lifeline, then he knew Musa was his. He could call it whatever he wanted, but it was trust.

The thought of admitting it to Musa made his gut twist again. It went against almost everything he stood for, to admit that he was wrong—except for his number one principle: honesty. If that meant admitting to Musa that he trusted her, then that trumped everything.

He opened his mouth.

Musa cocked an eyebrow at him—waiting for his smarmy retort—but before he could speak the brush behind her solidified from thorny oleander to the shape of a Burned One.

His words died on his lips, replaced by a silent scream.

The Burned One struck out at Musa from behind—her staff lay limply in her hand and her eyes were fixed on Riven. On him. Instead of herself and her back and the slim body that he should be defending.

It was like she recognized what had happened before he did. Her chestnut eyes sought his as the Burned One’s claw sank into her back, and he felt her scream on every level—physically, mentally, psychologically—and even fucking deeper than that. He felt her scream in his very bones.

He watched her fall almost in slow motion, her arms raising first in reaction to the pain, the staff falling from her grip and clattering uselessly to the forest floor—then her legs as she pitched forward, knees buckling, and the rest of her body followed, a rag doll to the deep wound from the Burned One’s dagger-like claws.

And her face. Her fucking face. Warped in surprise, with pain glossing over her features in a slice that made Riven feel as much if not more pain than she. His Specialist, in pain—attacked.

She crumpled. The Burned One stood over her body, crowing victory in its nonverbal tongue and still slashing at her body, and Riven felt a fire that he’d never felt before alight in his veins. It spread from his heart to his gut to his extremities, carrying surprise and rage and a loss that he had never before felt in his life.

Musa. It had hurt Musa. It had hurt Musa to the point that she’d collapsed and he was still standing, and he ceased to be Riven—he became a pillar of furor and mania.

It had hurt the one person who had fought by his side the last six months.

It had hurt the one person who was always there when he needed her, conscious or not.

It had hurt the one person who knew him inside out and still chose to fight beside him.

It had hurt his Specialist. His Musa.

He screamed in guttural rage and it felt as though his voice ricocheted through the entire forest.

Suddenly, in the midst of his fury, pain exploded between his shoulder blades. It wrenched through him with enough violence to cut short his cry, and he staggered forward as if pushed by an invisible force. Beneath the anger and passion he felt something else—something kinetic and physical, something fundamentally different about himself.

He fell forward onto his knees and pressed his hands to the dirt, blinking back tears of pain as something huge—something massive erupted against his back, ripping his shirt in half at the back seam. He crawled forward on his hands and knees, seeking to escape the burden on his shoulders, to slither out from beneath whatever-the-fuck-it-was now weighing him down and pressing him against the earth. It had to be a Burned One—another had snuck up on them, and gotten Riven this time, and this was what it felt like to be Infected, to have the venom coursing through his body, paralyzing him—

He wouldn’t be able to help Musa.

The thought made his head fly up and face her, every atom in his body resisting that thought. He had to save her. He fucking had to.

He grit his teeth through the pain and dared a glance behind him. Another yell escaped his throat at the sight—this time from surprise. Indigo talons twice the size of an eagle’s hovered over his shoulders, almost dagger-like in shape, connected with a lighter purple webbing—

He choked as he connected the pain between his shoulder blades with the apparition in front of his eyes.

Wings. He had fucking wings.

Riven fought to regain his breath as he pulled himself to his feet, stumbling a little as he compensated for the additional weight on his back. His shirt and reinforced breast plate fell from his chest but he barely noticed. He had wings.

More than that, he realized—he had power.

He could feel it thrumming through him—where before his magic had been a murmur, now it was a roar. It vibrated against his bones and he could feel it crackling at his fingertips. Power.

He barely had to focus—the only thing in his mind was Musa, collapsed at the Burned One’s feet, and Riven simply raised his palms.

The Burned One took a step backward, daunted by the change in Riven’s appearance. He flexed muscles that sixty seconds ago he didn’t know he had and spread his wings as wide as possible to make himself appear larger and more intimidating.

It recovered from its fright and charged at him in a frantic frenzy, but Riven found his reaction times halved by his normal standards—each swipe of the Burned One he met with a slap of his own hands, swatting it away before it could puncture his skin. It yowled in frustration and tried to clap its hands together around Riven’s torso but he simply ducked, leaving it hugging itself in a bizzare embrace. He closed his eyes—almost lazily—and within milliseconds cradled that Cinder in his mind—He didn’t need to concentrate on his focus nearly as much as before.

He focused that rage and energy onto the Cinder and felt it explode into nothing, from boiling hatred to empty peace, and then he opened his eyes.

It was gone. The Burned One had disappeared but Musa still lay on the ground. He knew she wasn’t in danger of Infection, but like with Brandon’s injury there was no time to waste. He scooped her into his arms bridal-style, and when her head lolled against his chest he felt a plunge of something deep in his chest, near where his wings had taken root.

Musa. His Specialist. He needed her.

He didn’t even know how he knew to take flight, but he just knew. His wings carried him through the forest, low and darting as a dragonfly over the brush and through the trees. His shoulders ached with the exhaustion of muscles weak with lack of use, but Riven didn’t care. He forced himself forward, not stopping until he reached the barrier, and even then he pumped his wings forward until he reached the infirmary.

He landed awkwardly on his feet and barrelled inside, Musa still in his arms, knocking aside equipment and paraphernalia left and right with his wingspan. He didn’t care. The only thing he cared about was the seep of her blood onto his shirt and then the floor, and how he had to stop it.

He had to save his Specialist. The one he trusted with his life.

Professor Harvey straightened up from Brandon’s cot, his eyes as large as saucers as he took in the sight of a winged Riven holding Musa’s limp body. A healing fairy stood in the back of the tent behind him, her jaw agape, gaze locked on the violet daggers of Riven’s wingtips.

Riven lifted Musa towards Harvey as if presenting a macabre offering. They weren’t helping. They weren’t moving. They just fucking stared.

“Help!” he bellowed at Harvey. “Help her!”

Harvey blinked but the spell finally broke. He leapt forward to take Musa from Riven’s arms and the fairy behind him hurried over as well. Riven and Harvey lowered onto a cot, her back and the worst of her injuries facing upward. Riven sank onto his knees and ran his hands through Musa’s hair, then over her face as if he could stroke life back into her. Her face was paler than he’d ever seen—even her lips looked desaturated. Her eyes were closed and looked far too relaxed, as if she was asleep, but he couldn’t think that because that’s always what people said when they d-

He forcibly stopped that thought and clutched at her head. “Musa,” he choked. “Musa, wake up—”

“Riven, I need to get by you,” Harvey said above him. Riven felt a pressure on his right side somewhere unusual and realized that Harvey was trying to lean over Musa through his still-flexed wing. He shifted two steps to the left so he was at the head of the bed, but he felt a hand on his arm.

He looked up at Sky, concern written all over his blue eyes. “Riven, come with me—”

“No,” Riven said, clutching closer to the metal frame of Musa’s cot. “No, not without her—”

Sky’s hand closed more firmly around Riven’s arm. “Riv, you’re in the way—let the healers work.”

Maybe Sky was right—the healing fairy squeezed past his wingspan to reach the supplies above his head—but he couldn’t leave her. It was his fault she was hurt, they’d been arguing—he should have protected her.

But Sky wasn’t leaving him a choice. Silva appeared next to him, and between the two of them they grasped Riven’s upper arms and pulled him from the tent, his errant wings still knocking bottles from shelves and curtains from their rods. Riven’s vision stayed fixed on Musa, dread pooling inside him at how small and frail she looked on that cot.

He didn’t even realize they had dragged him into the strategy tent until he blinked and Silva was snapping his fingers in front of Riven’s eyes to rouse him.

“Riven,” Silva said. “What the hell happened?”

Riven stared at Silva, but he wasn’t really seeing him. He saw Musa, her face torqued in pain, the way her knees and elbows bent as she fell, her brown pigtails splayed out against the earth. His fault.

“Riven,” Sky reached out with a hand and turned his chin to force eye contact. “Riven, are you alright?”

He swallowed thickly and jerked his head downward out of Sky’s grip to stare at the ground. “Burned One came out of nowhere—we killed it, but then there was another—camouflaged somehow. It got M—” his voice caught and he stopped, unable to finish.

“But you killed it?” Sky prompted, and Riven managed a brusque nod. “Musa’s gonna be fine, Riven—she’s hurt but not Infected.”

He screwed his face up at that. Sure, she wasn’t Infected. She was just unconscious with pain and incapacitated for who the hell knew how long, and it was his fucking fault.

“Riven.” He wished they’d stop saying his name. He didn’t want any of them—he wanted to be alone. With her. With Musa.

He felt another hand on his arm and tried to pull it away, but the hand clenched harder, forcing him to look up. Silva stared down at him, expression full of something akin to sympathy. “I know you want to blame yourself, but it’s possible to make no mistakes and still lose. That doesn’t mean you’re a bad partner—it means you are alive. That’s life.”

Riven shook his head, but as he ran the fight back through his head, he found the smallest bit of solace in Silva’s words. He drew a shaky breath and gave Silva the barest hint of a nod.

Silva released his grip on Riven’s arm and nodded back. “Want to tell us how you got those?”

Pushing aside his guilt about Musa meant that the sensations of his body all came roaring back, and Riven grimaced in pain. His shoulders ached at the notch of his wings, his chest was sore from taking the Burned One’s blow, and he felt a general sense of exhaustion from his flight back to camp. “When the Burned One got her,” he said and lifted his gaze to observe the tendrils of purple reaching above his head. “It just happened. I was so angry—and then they just burst out of me. It hurt like hell.”

“Looks cool as hell,” Sky said with a grin, circling Riven to admire the wings from all angles.

“What else happened?” Silva asked, and Riven turned back to face him with a quizzical expression. Silva gestured to the wings. “Anything besides these?”

“Yeah,” Riven said slowly, recalling that thrum of energy that had surged through him. “Power. It was like my magic was twice as powerful and half as easy. I’ve never killed one so quickly. Not on my own.”

Sky wolf whistled in admiration and Riven allowed a small grin.

Then his grin vanished, replaced by a grimace of pain. He stumbled forward and grabbed Sky’s shoulder to keep himself upright as his back muscles wrenched and contorted. A keen of pain escaped his clenched teeth—it felt like his back was splitting open between his shoulder blades. He gasped and sank to his knees, pulling Sky down with him, his legs unable to support him in his agony.

As suddenly as it started, it stopped. Riven stayed on the ground, hands on his thighs, breathing away the memory of the pain. He felt lighter and somehow lesser—more muted. He looked up and confirmed what he’d suspected—his wings had vanished, receding inside him.

“Now that was cool,” Silva chuckled.

Riven grimaced again and used Sky’s shoulder to haul himself back upright. “Does this mean I can go back now?” he asked, looking from Silva to Sky. “I can stay out of the way.”

Silva and Sky exchanged a glance, at which Silva nodded. At the smallest motion Riven immediately turned for the tent flap and hurried forward.

Sky came with him, for which Riven was silently appreciative. Even though he didn’t want to talk, he didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts either, and Sky was his best friend. He would be a silent companion if that’s what Riven needed.

Harvey begrudgingly let Riven back inside and Sky left Riven in an out-of-the-way corner, an agitated but quiet spectator to Harvey’s ministrations. He returned a few minutes later with water and a clean shirt, both of which Riven accepted gratefully.

They waited long into the night, Riven’s gaze never leaving Musa. Sky’s head drooped against his shoulder and he reflected on what his friend had told him earlier, about his Specialist being his lifeline. Fuck, he’d been right.

===

Some color had returned to Musa’s cheeks, but she was still weak from loss of blood and the extent of the Burned One’s claws in her body. Riven only left her side to eat, which Harvey did not permit in the infirmary. The other teams came in at various times to wish her well and congratulate Riven on his transformation. He always hated when they brought that part up. As impressive as it was (so they said), it was without a doubt the worst twenty minutes of his life.

After a few days’ recovery she lay on her stomach with the white bandages still wrapped around her torso while Riven perched on a stool beside her cot, one foot up on her bedframe and the other tucked on the crossbar of his stool. “I’m still mad I’m the only one who never got to see them,” she sighed and rested on hand beneath her chin. “Stella says they wouldn’t have been out of place at a spring fashion show.”

“My wings were extremely masculine, thank you,” Riven said, and Musa laughed hard enough to grimace in pain and clutch at her ribs. They fell silent and Riven ran a thumb along the seam of his trousers, still unable to think back to that time without flinching. “Maybe I’ll learn to control them, but until then I honestly hope you never see them.”

She gave him a bracing smile, and he knew she understood without him having to say it—that if it took Musa getting mortally hurt for his wings to appear, he’d rather never transform again.

She reached her hand out and he took it, thumbing a wide arc over the back of her hand. His Specialist. His partner. His life.