#for worse. but like. the master can dress them up and make herself a part of them. the doctor is already at their core.

[quietwingsinthesky]

Drabble 54/366 - Doctor Who

Their outfits match, the Doctor thinks, bitterly.

Even’s outfit matches; Missy’s is her own, he corrects, guiltily.

Even’s vest is buttoned protectively beneath their coat, and where contrast should call for white at their throat, instead, a flush of dark red surrounds it. There’s no tie at their collar, only an old watch and chain. Missy touches them, constantly, casually, without reaction, complaint.

The last time the Doctor tried-

He turns his head away when Even speaks to Missy. Gallifreyan. The dialect is one from his childhood, doesn’t belong on their tongue.

He wishes he didn’t recognize them at all.

[nadas-dirthalen]

At Fanfare's End (6)

What would she let herself be guilty of next, just to feel anything more than his cold breath on her skin?

The next instalment in The Traitor's Gambit, following the events of the Magnae Accessio (Better Judgement Bared). Read here on AO3!

Pairing: Heinrix van Calox x Rogue Trader Heliora von Valancius

Summary: The Lux in Obscuro makes way for the Atlas Reach system, on Heliora's order.

But the war she runs from has tensions high between her and the Inquisition's pawn—and under it, both of them snap.

(Welcome to a long distance horizontal tango over a biomantic zoom call, featuring Phantom Pegging™.)

AO3 Tags: Angst and Feels, Yearning, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Romance, Regular Ol' Heinrix Wanting To Dry Heave With Yearning, Crime Lord Rogue Trader, Iconoclast Path, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Almost Kiss, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical PTSD, Biomancy, Heinrix POV, Masturbation, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Inappropriate Use of Biomancy, Phantom Pegging™

Word Count: 6,124

6. Warp-Bent and Yielding

Heliora

Like all voidborn, the stars were once a cradle to Heliora. Returning to them has her heart lighter, literally and figuratively.

Surface worlds are one sort of burdensome gravity. The weight of governance is another, and worse.

From the throne of the Lux in Obscuro, she can lord over what she knows: the bellyaches of a ship. The way it rumbles against the outer reaches of the Dargonian atmosphere. The slow and inexorable pull toward the heart of the Mundus Valancius system, a star’s gravity that the engines must work against. Eyes closed, she can pretend her existence is a simpler one: that she’s on the Misericord, that old Calixian Chartist vessel, where people know her as nothing more than Heli Stubbs. That life never became more complicated than smuggling anyone who paid handsomely—or offered their servitude—to slip free of the Inquisition’s iron clutch.

It’s a perfect dream, a perfect life, apart from the scarlet signet still weighing heavy on her middle finger even while her eyes are closed.

A war is coming to Footfall. Heliora is charging in the opposite direction. With luck, she’ll slip from the Inquisition’s jaws before they snap shut over the Expanse—but she’s still got one fang aboard, whose breath quickens when he passes by her throne, even if he doesn’t notice.

Heinrix takes up the post of Master of Maneuvers as they break free of Dargonus’ orbit: apart from aiding in maneuvering during infrequent voidship combats, it is largely a place for him to ask questions of Master Ravor that Heliora can hear if she strains.

He knows that, probably.

Tonight she sees in the way he moves, forgetting his own rigidly straight posture, that there’s still some old part of him that comes to life around the cogitators of the post, watching over the movements of the Lux. Some part of him that never could forget the thrill of flight, whose old life as a would-be pilot is an indelible mark somewhere in him; so similar to the scar across her nose that earned her the moniker Heli Stubbs and the whole life that went with it.

She lets a smile cross her, this high up and far removed: a smuggler and a pilot of an Imperial Knight, somehow less complicated than what they’ve become now. His every look, slower, questioning, of late—like he expects her to strike him, or to send him to his knees and make him repent just like he had before under the folds of her dress. Like he expects one, but needs the other… only to speak like she’s a stranger until the moment they’re inches apart and he can’t keep up the pretense any longer.

The smuggler she was might’ve tormented the Knight Pilot he would’ve been: might’ve met him in some shadowy part of nowhere and fell to her knees, teased and taunted until the only words he could form were blasphemes.

The illusion breaks when she gives the order.

Atlas Reach. A worthy aim: a search for a Chartist vessel, Aeldari refugees.

Heinrix snaps a look at Heliora from below, shattering the convention of Lord Captain and well-mannered Inquisition tagalong. His expression is a dozen accusations in one.

It’s a far and dangerous trip, while the rest of the Expanse verges on war. He knows it. She knows he knows it.

It’s why this is the first he’s hearing of it.

She’s running—and nowhere promising.

Around them, the ship groans and quakes, like it always does during the transition to warpspace. This is home, as much as anywhere’s ever been: an enormous puzzle whose pieces she knows well, as much as one can. The visors lower over the grand windows, and the lack of view holds the same comfort as a tight swaddle: relaxing in its constriction.

Heliora pretends not to notice as the hours drag on. No stars pass them by, and after a time no one needs to relay the Lux’s coordinates to her. She keeps her eyes from Ravor’s post—from Heinrix—and relaxes in ways she knows he can feel when he passes near her throne to resume his usual post on the bridge.

A spy’s vantage: dead center, in range of everyone and everything else. Impossible for Heliora to avoid each night when she retires, given his proximity to the elevator to her chambers.

How many times has she thought of all she’d do on her first night back aboard? Daydreamed of chasing into near-unknown stars, flying far from anywhere the word Inquisition holds any weight, and dragging her Interrogator down to mark her chambers as properly hers?

It’s a fool’s game.

There’s nowhere the word Inquisition holds no sway.

No life where she would want him for the space of only one night.

It’s exhaustion that takes Heliora down from her throne at the beginning of the night’s first watch. She makes a point of keeping her gaze ahead, not meeting Heinrix’s eyes—even when his breath hitches as she passes him, even when he trails her on soft steps.

Even when his voice comes from close behind. “Heliora…”

Low, only for her. Roughened. Thick—with anticipation. Want, that he more than likely feels under her skin.

The heat that’d simmered in her middle floods outward. Her every inch, molten in the space of a blink—and desperate for someone else’s solidity.

Again.

She only awards him a turn a second later, when she’s stepped onto the elevator platform. His eyes are already lowered, darkened, as they bore back into hers.

Like always, his breath runs shallow from nearness alone, pulse racing audibly. Like always, the world narrows to just them, just the next moment, and every inch between her body and his.

His attention drops to her lips. This is a dance with practiced steps, by now: she hears his heart stutter around the sight of her mouth and lifts her hand, just barely, in anticipation of the one she knows is coming to lift it into the space between them.

True to form, his palm cups hers. His gloved fingers curl to hold her own in place. In the same fluid motion, he angles to where he knows no one can see them posed like this, his back to the prying eyes across the bridge.

She lets him—because it’s the only way he keeps from kissing her. Because this is all they’ve shared, now, for weeks.

There are countless dead who won’t forgive her. Not a small number among the living who’d hunt one or both of them for this.

All of them vanish, just for a moment, as his breath runs warm over her knuckles. Between her fingers. “Lord Captain...”

No standard salutation—looking up from where the dim light reflects in her fingers’ splints, his mismatched eyes find her like a worshipper’s do their idol, bent over an altar, guilty soul bared.

She would bring him up by the jaw, smother his prayer against her mouth, if they were alone—if each of them were anyone different.

“Tell me what you want,” she says instead: half order, half plea.

“You—” he starts, and stumbles at the first hitch of her breath— “know this is an unwise decision.”

If anyone is staring at the bend of his back, Heliora doesn’t want to face them. Not yet. They won’t hear him at this low a rasp. He’s speaking only to her augments—voice stern, breath hotter against her skin.

“Would you come to my office to tell me why?” she asks, just as low, a challenge meant only for his ears. “Would you remove yourself from your post for the space of a night… like you used to?”

Once, he’d have entertained it: a debate across their desk that ran from one watch into the next, through several cups of recaf. That ran him ragged, trying to explain why the destruction of Rykad Minoris could ever be called kind.

By the end, he was more man than uniform to her exhausted eyes—and she, from then on, was doomed.

Doomed to see something more than the rosette chained around his neck. More than countless homes, countless people, burned to ash.

Doomed to shudder at every kiss he lays on her skin now—every finger, every knuckle, around Xavier Calcazar’s scarlet signet. Never on the token itself, this promise of his death in her name that weighs on them both, day in and day out.

Nothing is as it used to be. Not now that each has tasted the other. Not now that the Inquisition has marked her with more than just an Interrogator’s mouth—and that her worst secrets are all split down the middle, half known and half obscured.

“Would that answer be different if I were someone else?” she asks him in his silence. Heinrix lifts his attention, lips parted, but Heliora cuts him off. “An Acolyte of the Inquisition, perhaps?”

His hand unwinds from hers, leaving it to the empty air, while he straightens. She can see the cut of her words ripple out over his expression, no matter how well he thinks he keeps it hidden. The lack of sharp movement, of quick retort, is answer enough on its own—no matter how he pretends at stoicism.

“Goodnight, Interrogator.” She keeps her chin lifted long enough to see his brows crease, unbidden; his lips, spasming faintly at a corner. There’s a noise, an almost-word, that he traps in his throat. Even there, it splinters, and sends a pang through her chest. “Heinrix.”

“Lord Captain,” he manages with a polite dip of his chin, rooted in place. Before she reaches to press a mechanism in the elevator, he opens his mouth to speak again. “May you find good rest… Heliora.”

Even then, it looks as though he’s on the verge of more.

But in his continued quiet, she sends the elevator down, into secluded dark.

Now, her own portrait greets her. A recreation of her Magnae Accessio—Heliora was asked to sit for the piece in her mother’s dress, days later, trying not to feel the ghost of Heinrix’s mouth between her thighs.

The chain decorating her hair had never been mended, and lay broken down the side of her neck, just out of view.

She turns her eyes from it. Pays it no mind. In the Warp, the air holds an echo, memory laid over memory in storied places like this one. Too long dwelling, and she’ll hear Heinrix’s confessions against her skin, or the centuries-old sounds of her father’s grief.

Given the choice, she’d recreate a different past: from even the night before her Magnae Accessio, and the weeks leading up to it. Debates with Heinrix across her desk, or over the regicide table, hands curled together while she watched his logic unravel. She could hear his bones hum with every laugh. His diction would slip as the hours wore on. He’d pretend not to be tired, refuse to employ his sorcery to keep himself alert, and have her laughing while he tried to explain away his own dark circles.

Tonight she doesn’t look at desk or table, either. She moves down the hall, banishes the staff who’d see to her ablutions, and closes the doors to her chambers alone. Without anyone fussing over a gown, undressing is quick business: Heliora leaves her clothes in a heap, jacket included, and crawls into bed in some silken night-thing made for her on Dargonus.

With no stars outside to take comfort in while hurtling through warpspace, she turns out her lumens and stares up into pure dark.

The woman from Malfi—the one she used to be—would’ve killed her way out of an entanglement as damning as this one.

It’s her fault that she hasn’t. That she can’t make herself move on this particular game board, one way or the other. She’s played herself into a corner, and escaping it would tear her to pieces no matter what she chose.

She knew she would be plucking an Interrogator from Rykad Minoris. That the shadow of the Inquisition would lay over the Lux. She chose to give him an empty suite close to hers—one that had belonged to Edelthrad, hastily emptied of his possessions—for the guards to pay better, closer attention to him. A biomancer could kill her in a blink; better he did it out in the open, with many sets of eyes upon him.

She kept him so close, they fell into orbit around one another. Grew roots into one another. Every late night conversation, every searching look, every bit of his misplaced shame and her misplaced reliance…

Each time he reached out with a sliver of his sorcery, sinking a chill into her chest in the dead of night, just to sense a few squeezes of her heart.

Void take her, he is more than the rosette that chains him. Never in her life would she have entertained such an idea before—not when the names of those lost to purges have outweighed everything else for so long. But he is, and she has herself to blame for the knowing.

She let herself ask his counsel. She let him make her laugh. She didn’t cut off the warmth of their first few hours together—no, she sank into every pensive quiet he offered her, grateful for any semblance of sanctuary. Held his hand and pulled him against her in a Black Ship, held her hands to his temples and unspooled when his breathing calmed.

She kissed him, snuck away in the middle of her own coronation, like she could bandage his worry with the press of her mouth. She wanted to. Needed to try.

He’d let her—no, not just let her. He’d thrown off his gloves and raked his hands where so few had ever touched. He’d watched Xavier Calcazar strip away her defenses and then pried her stockings free under a splash of moonlight, his lips roving over skin until she forgot every wrong she’d ever done.

Over and over, she’s talked herself down from baring the truth to him next. Quieted the foolish girl inside her, who calls herself Heli Stubbs and believes wholeheartedly anyone can flee anything if they pay the right toll, and reminded herself of Malfi. Of a ship reduced to dust, scattered to the stars, and all the corpses of her loved ones scattered with it.

He’s a victim, the young thing in her says. He doesn’t know.

Not how to express worry without brandishing punishment; not how to suffer gentle touch without flinching; not how to stomach the nightmares of his upbringing.

Heli Stubbs would’ve been the kind of person to help him run—somewhere, anywhere. Heliora von Valancius would never have arrived in time.

He was molded into something else decades before she made it to the Lux, just like the woman she’d been on Malfi. He’s been sold a lie: one that has him acting, still, in service of the Lord Inquisitor, no matter the protests of her younger heart.

Some sick part of him, given the truth, might approve of what she’d done. What she’d run from.

War is coming. Ingratiating herself with an Interrogator—even one whose name she savors each time it finds her tongue—would mean throwing herself into its crossfire, jeopardizing some twenty thousand people on her ship in the process.

What would she let herself be guilty of next, just to feel anything more than his cold breath on her skin?

How far gone is she, that this is even a question? How sorely does she crave him, that she is willing to stake everything she has on the press of his mouth, the deft glide of his tongue, the sounds of his surrender against her lips…

A hand slides down her hip, then hikes up her silken hem until it pools at the small of her waist. Beneath it, she’s bare. There’s little use attempting otherwise, knowing any underclothes would be damp and cold in minutes. No point pretending this isn’t the story of all her nights; not after weeks of them. 

And Void take her, she needs to sleep. If she does nothing—like she��s tried, so many times over, trying to recite the names of the dead until exhaustion takes her—this will go on for hours, and the pitying looks he gives her come morning will begin the horrid cycle anew.

She traces where she last felt his lips, that night: not some chaste parting kiss, but a field of them laid between her thighs. Two fingers, and she can almost imagine his roving mouth, the sighs he left against her skin, warm without his sorcery to leash them.

A few seconds’ caresses send shivers down her spine, relaxing her hips 'til her knees fall wider apart. They have her arcing like she did in the chair of that vanity, ready to thread fingers through his hair—

Her free hand presses flat-palmed down her mound. Her ringed middle finger slips into the slick between her folds, circling over the swell of her clit. A sweet ache unfurls: down her legs up her middle, along her spine. It tilts her hips, eager to move in tandem with her own teasing.

Breath falling harder from her chest, she knows this could be over in minutes. Her eyes would fall heavily shut, and she could saddle the morning with tonight’s worries.

But come next watch, she’d be coiled even tighter than now, having suffered more of his wanting looks, more breath on skin that goes nowhere.

No: tonight she wants to—needs to—shatter, until there’s nothing left of her faculties for the dark to claim. She’ll fall into sleep stretched open, spent, no thought left of dragging him down into this dark chamber with her, come what may.

She reaches into a bedside table. Fumbles for something she knows the shape of: a curved length, delectably soft and smooth, firm everywhere she needs. It’d been damned hard to locate one on Footfall with a handle at its operating end to spare her loose-jointed wrists the exertion, the telltale stiffness the following morning.

It has her biting a lip in anticipation the second she runs its tip through her slick folds. That it is cold against her, that the wet of her want cools against its surface, only stokes her traitorous body’s eager core.

His mouth had been so near here, and that much had left him panting against her. What would he surrender to her ear, the crook of her neck, if she had him like this, teasing her entrance? How long would it take for that rigid control to snap in twain, if her hips rolled against him in invitation, like now?

What would he sound like, if neither had to pretend to be anything other than starved for this?

Another roll of her hips, and she pushes—this thing, this length that’s not his but has made his name spill from her lips a hundred times—in to the hilt, ‘til the knuckles gripping the handle brush against her skin. It stretches her, pulls a gasp down her throat. All she can manage is to trap the sound in a roughly bitten lip. 

It’s no bigger than a man of his make would be, but that is what she chases, this impression real enough it has her free hand clawing at the sheets, all for the want to grasp what—who—isn’t here.

She would bring him over her, hands knotted in thick, dark hair, nails raking over his scalp. There’d always been a thrill in watching him unravel, half-mad—and if he’d stayed there under the moonlight with her, dress left in a pool on the floor, she’d have kissed up the pillar of his throat to hear every sweet noise relinquished near her ear by the time she finished with him. All the soft, broken notes he sighed between frantic kisses; all the tiny, almost-voiced breaths she’s almost certain he didn’t hear himself leaving against the soft of her thighs.

Spine arched, head tipped back into the plush of a pillow, one just like then leaves her parted lips: a fractured sound that almost could shape his name, if she had the breath for it.

She wants it to shudder through him—wants it, wants him, here, now. Needs the way he peers down at her, over and again, eyes half lidded and darkened. Needs the way she saw him, wanted him, then: the first flush she ever witnessed across his cheeks, sweat beading on his brow, broad chest heaving with the way he left himself panting before her.

Every stutter of his breath would—and did—set her alight. She’d seize them this time, trap every one against her mouth, take his lip in her teeth, until he kissed her with that desperation again—again. He’d claw for purchase and she’d give him her every inch, all for the way he was near to rutting into her petticoats that night. All to feel it again—all of it, all of him—flush against her hips, nothing left between them but the unspoken truth.

Let him take her on the edge of madness. Let them both grasp for each other, lonely and famished, until they—

A sliver of cold threads inside her ribs, sinking bone-deep from nowhere.

A shard of biomantic sorcery, winter’s bite around her heart.

Heliora freezes in place, too late.

—  ⭒✧⭒  —

Heinrix

This is a lapse.

It has to be. Something has possessed him, something that is in these sheets with him, here in this room the Lord Captain has given him, the room of a distant relative, a dead psyker. Something has wormed into him, put down roots, scratched and gnawed at his integrity—

He would never—never—have reached for her in the middle of warpspace. Never extended his senses without reason, never admitted reason not rooted in evidence, in cold, hard logic.

A second. A heartbeat. That’s all he was after: to know she still drew breath, that no xenos had invaded her chamber. That she had invited none inside, damn it all.

A moment, that’s all, his senses extended, not far—less than fifty feet, so few bodies occupying the halls at this time of night.

A little allowance.

A mistake.

But it is more than her heart that he feels. He should have known. Damn it—damn him—he has felt her every inch across the halls, around the corners of rooms. Has drank her in so many times that she is as familiar, as necessary, as air. How could he expect not to feel all of her, when that is what he has measured his hours by every day in that forsaken palace?

Her spine is arched. The tether he once reached out and found her with, in the brief periods they journeyed through safer realspace, or in the sparing occasion he could afford to do so in the warp. The gilded column that identified her from where he could not see, that led him to her heart, that allayed his racing pulse on the worst nights.

If that were all, this would be—everything would turn out fine. This would be like any other restless night.

But her head is tipped back. Her lips, parted in pleasure when he found them, now hang agape in shock. Exposed to the air, they’re… raw. Freshly bitten.

They weren’t before, when she bade him goodnight.

If that were all—she could forgive this.

If that were his only misgiving—

Her knees lie parted, weighed upon lightly by what he must assume are plush covers his senses don’t feel. One of her hands lies to the side of her hip, knuckles and tendons grasping tightly at what must be her mattress.

The other is curled around something between her thighs. Shapeless to his senses but for the press of the… the handle��� in her palm. Formless, without dimension—

Except for where she is stretched around it, Emperor forsake him. Where her whole body is alight with feeling, every nerve a live wire—every breath, every microscopic twitch sending another jolt through her, another flood of warmth.

A flood. No. No. More than that.

More than anything he has ever felt from her. All that want, that slick and aching need, that invitation that coloured so many of her looks—

Throne. Throne.

Heinrix can barely breathe.

She knows. He’s intruded on her body before—just the measure of her heart, just to ease his own, just for a moment, just to sleep—but never like this. Never in the middle of…

She lies perfectly still, seconds later. Both of them do: she in stunned silence, and he in some sort of red-handed mortification. She on her back, and he on his front, like he’d meant to be when he surrendered himself to sleep.

He should end this. Retract his senses. Pretend this never—no, apologize—no, offer himself up to the nearest airlock and grant her the permission to…

He’s waiting for the measure of her anger. Some cue to tell him how low to bow, how far to run, like he can’t already guess.

That his own heat has bloomed under his navel, that his desire already throbs against the soft of the mattress, tells him enough.

Heliora pulls the—apparatus—from deep within her, its contours dragged slow along her walls. Heinrix fights to stop a shudder down his spine, fights to—damn it all, can’t stop the noise that leaves him, hissed through his teeth. His body might differ from hers in this, but her ecstasy still takes form in some phantom part of him, sweet agony unfurling from an unknowable place in his middle.

The rest—his legs, his hips, every other Throne-forsaken nerve—responds exactly as hers. All the knots in him long to come undone, just the same.

It should be over, though: now the device should slip from her flesh and into the unknown around her, where his senses can’t feel it save for where she holds it.

He’ll apologize. It was a mistake. It is a—

A wretched, broken noise falls from Heinrix’s mouth, poorly smothered in fabric.

Sweet agony—no, more, more than that—pushes back up his—her—middle. So deep she longs to break apart around it; so much he feels that longing down every one of his nerves.

She shouldn’t—

This should be the end.

She knows he’s here, still. It must be as cold inside her ribcage as it is beneath these sheets.

He does shiver, the second time she pulls at the device; the second time it stretches her insides in a reverse course, its own unique euphoria.

Above, her brow pinches tighter. Her entire form tenses in anticipation of something—and even that has her nerves singing praises, and his echoing their refrain.

Her mouth moves. She shapes a word, too fast for him to make out the movement through his senses alone.

Another bend of her wrist, and she brings her hips up in a tantalizing arc to accept the next push, the next rush.

And he, in error, on instinct—

A bead of moisture seeps  into his underclothes where he strains against them, hips rolling against the sheets. Another sound—Throne curse him for it—hisses through his clenched teeth.

This bed is a cloud compared to what he’s used to, and here it moulds perfectly to his shape—including what is now hard as stone, hot under his own stomach, aching for relief. Contact. Her.

His breath quakes, and not from the cold surrounding him.

Several walls away, Heliora’s lips move. Curve into something he’s seen before—felt before physically, under his thumb, against his mouth. 

A small, conniving smile.

She knows what a risk this is. She’s known—loved—other psykers.

There’s a slowness, a deliberate slowness, to how she pulls back next. An arch of her hips before her wrist bends and the length inside her shifts, pressed up into a spot that sets her entire core alight—across the breadth of her hips, up through viscera, her spine. It’s enough that his eyes fall shut, his mouth hangs open, and he is arcing back over the mattress for the promise of the next rush in.

Because he wants the next touch—the next, the next. His training warns him otherwise; Emperor’s mercy, experience warns him otherwise.

But extending the range of his senses takes so little of him. There are far worse things he’s done in warpspace, for longer.

And damn him, the way she bends, the way she smiles, the way she knows he is here and takes her pleasure in it…

Another roll of her hips, and she’s filled with it again, this thing Heinrix cannot feel but for the way it pushes at her walls, stretching the bounds of her and curling his hands in want. He drives himself down in the same moment her spine arches anew, another tide of euphoria, another sound he tries not to make.

Something whispers over the skin at the small of her waist. Soft, light, dry, pooling where it’s been hiked up—a night dress, high enough that her hips are bare under her covers. A more yielding fabric than her skirts had been; easy to push up, to work under with a wandering hand. So easy to push aside, remove, pry apart if he had to—all for the supple heat of her skin on his, for the privilege of the sight of all of her beneath him.

Like this—he on his front, and she on her back—it’s almost impossible not to see behind his closed eyes. Some approximation of her: pallid skin; splinted fingers; subtle curves; hips arcing to meet his; gold augmetic set between breasts whose softness invites the mouth. Her head tossed back in ecstasy, lips parted for heaving breaths, sweet noises of surrender—

For a stretch inside her that nearly matches his size, her knees parted far enough to invite a frame so much like his own.

When she quickens her pace, he’s powerless not to follow, rutting against the plush of this bed she has given him, drowning in this euphoria she is pulling them both into.

Her free hand lifts and travels up the curve of her waist; a hard press of her palm that Heinrix’s mirrors unconsciously, left hand roaming over fabric. Her touch moves up her ribcage, sparking a shiver—then a gasp, when she closes savoringly over a breast.

A thrum through her chest, up her throat, as a moan leaves her: long, slow, indulgent.

“I know,” Heinrix rasps in answer, nowhere near her—nowhere near enough. His hand closes around a knot of fabric, not the soft mound his palm hungers to claim.

She can’t hear him—not likely, not here, even with her temporal augmetics’ assistance. Yet he can’t help the way he speaks now, moves now, heedless of everything else but the pulse of her arousal.

It’s been so long since something like this was his: euphoria felt in twain, all inside his skin. He’d almost forgotten the searing thrill of every movement, every sensation; two bodies' race toward release, warring for purchase on his nerves.

And he hadn’t come to care for them, those few before—not like—

Her index and thumb pinch, and electric pleasure jolts up from both their chests. A gasp, and he bows his brow against the edge of a pillow, relinquishing her name to cold, unfeeling cloth. Cants his head so his nose, his lips, brush over this softness that is all he has, because in any other life this would be the crook of her neck, rough kisses scored over her pulse.

He’d drag her against him, were he not the abomination he is. Bring his hips down against hers, fill her in this way she needs, lavish her with lips and tongue and all the praises he could conjure.

But he is nothing more than a maimed freak, his scars plastered over. It’s blasphemy, the way his want has him fucking into a bed that isn’t even his, not really. That her name—pouring from his mouth over and over, smothered in folds of fabric that he wishes, instead, were hers—sounds like prayer and confession both.

Yet she wants this from him. Wants him here—to stay and stay, here of all places, until she has had this use of him.

The knuckles wrapped around that accursed handle are warmed, now, by her wet, slick want.

She lets her breast go from her grasp—as the silk resettles over her pert nipple, another jolt fires through him—and forges downward. Over ribs; abdomen; the slope of her mound, the thought of which parts his mouth in primal appetite.

Her middle finger extends down between her slick folds. Heinrix’s nerves ignite. One testing circle around the concentration of nerves he dreams of finding under his touch, and he is starved for breath. Tremoring, for how tightly she’s clenched around this length that could be his, in some other life.

Throne curse him, what he would do for that life to be his. What he’d give to feel the vice of her, to finally taste the want that’s chased them across the Expanse and have that taste still on his tongue while buried to the hilt in her. To share in that bittersweetness, her tongue sliding against his through open-mouthed kisses, panted breaths—

Something weighs on this circling finger, more than the others.

Something Heinrix placed there first. A scarlet signet. His promise; the guarantee of his death in her service, solid as metal and stone.

A piece of him—something his fingerprint still marks, maybe. A ghost of his hand, his touch, where she—

“Heliora,” he chokes out, “Throne take—I—”

A fractured sound falls from his lips. Loud; unchained by sorcery or any shred of restraint.

His breath comes in short, ragged gasps. Braced on an elbow, one hand still knotted in sheets, he shakes from the shoulders down. Where his motions have hiked up his shirt higher on his back and the covers have fallen around his waist, frost crawls over his sweat-dampened skin where it’s bared to the air.

Her motions quicken: teasing circles to maddening tracks around nerve endings that sear against his senses, obliterating every guard against his own feeling. He moves in time with her hips—he can’t stop, not now, not when everything he is is tethered to everything she wants.

Her mouth moves, eyes screwed shut, head driven back against the plush of her pillows.

Two syllables, tongue pressed just behind her front teeth on the ending. Lips parted again to push out a breath as she cries, again—his name.

“Heliora,” he pleads in answer, a moan breaking through the middle. The air in his room swirls, cold as ice by his making. His eyes sting. His jaw clenches. 

Emperor have mercy upon him.

Heliora have mercy upon him.

She takes that wretched length in faster. Harder, taut muscles rougher with each thrust.

Heinrix moves in answer, begs for absolution in answer, for this is what he’s been reduced to. “Throne take me—”

She pushes deeper, until the core of him threatens to snap, his name savored in the twist of her mouth.

He wants the hum of her throat against him. Around him. “Take me—darling— please—”

Pressure builds in her, a storm of feeling that threatens to swallow him. She craves it, lip bit, starved for air. He craves it, shuddering from cold and strain and unchecked desire. The promise of release dawns on her horizon, a torrent feeling that threatens to obliterate him, make a meal of his self control. Her chest squeezes, her core tightens—

And Heinrix recoils, senses snapping back to close proximity, leaving him alone in the dark. 

Safe. 

Safe, in spite of himself.

Shaking. Throbbing. Nearly sick with need.

A hand plunges down his underclothes, grasping for himself. He jolts at the cold of his touch against the heat of his length, but pulls at himself before he has time to adjust. He rolls to a side, opposite hand wresting down the front of his underclothes, freeing his strained desire—and the moment he is free, his movements become fast. Erratic.

No time to erase the scratch of his handprint. No time to slick oil-thick spittle down his length.

He pumps his arm quick, rough—punishing, if not for the way he arches into it, a lip trapped violently in his teeth until his mouth falls open in a wretched groan.

He fights for her name, but it only half-forms in his mouth between gasps, every line of his body tight. He pulls harder, near to painful, for what she’s made of him.

For what they have made, now, of each other—

He spills with a broken sound, shaking through the pulses of his climax, no time nor grace to contain it.

He fights to catch his breath in complete silence.

Shudders in the cold he’s made—that has already leeched the heat of his exertions, and cooled the spend that dampens his sheets—until sleep takes him from this secluded dark.

Emperor have mercy upon him now.

[grapejuicestyless]

Endless Empathy(People Pleaser pt.2)

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: A continuation of the People pleaser short writing that is both linked in my master list on my page and on the top of this part!!! This Can be Read separately!

Angst to fluffy(kinda!)

Read part 1 here!

If you asked Y/n Y/l/n what her favorite feeling in the world was, it wouldn’t even be a second thought as to what her answer would be. It was so obvious to everyone who was lucky enough to be consistently surrounded by her energy. Y/n loved love.

It wasn’t necessarily the feeling of being loved. The girl, as much as she had drifted off into daydreams, fantasizing about her silky white wedding dress and her ideal bridesmaids, her desire for the feeling of love cut much deeper.

It was the knowing feeling that she could give back to someone who needed it. The fuzziness she gained every time she could provide a sense of reliability to someone close to her. The idea she was able to earn their trust because they were just that close made her feel less alone on the nights she spent across the world from her home.

Y/n loved that feeling. The way it would spread from her chest and expand into the pit of her stomach, making it all fluttery and warm. So much so, she found herself altering herself to fit the impossible standards she held herself to.

She found herself doing things she really had no desire to, her passive aggressiveness only grumbling through her lips when she was sure enough she was alone, out of ear shot. Quickly, her lack of want would be overtaken by that euphoria she felt again, the intense sense of happiness making up for her discomfort she subjected herself to.

From afar, it looked like an addiction. The girl constantly itching to do good, to be better. To be the best version of herself in order to lift those up around her, to make everyone proud of her. She wanted people to not feel ashamed when her name came up in conversation. An addiction so bad, the girls need for approval and longing to please everyone at once, her body often moved before her mouth could catch up. Her mind could be screaming no, but she would already have said yes.

It’s not like it had a cure. How can you cure a pathological people pleaser? You can dote on them and smother them as much as you want. Do anything they need, go out of your way to make their life easier, but ultimately your effort will only make it worse. Devoting your time to someone who doesn’t want it in that way. They begin to feel like a chore, an inconvenience that they need to make up for. And the cycle begins again.

——————————————————————————

A burden is often what I felt like these days. Feet swung over the arm of the couch, head pressed back on the cushion that was Harry’s lap. His hands brushed between my hair, which had been stuck on my forehead in an intense sweat that I had broken into while rehearsing for our upcoming show in Cardiff.

We’d only reached As It Was by the time Harry decided it was time for us to conclude our soundcheck.

It was confusing, the way he said it. Almost like it was directed towards me. He sounded like he had been worried, eyes focused in on mine carefully.

Maybe it was because of the scene I’d caused just the show prior or the fact I was sure I was probably shining under the stage lights in my pooling sweat that caused an uneasiness to rise in Harry’s mind.

“Y/n? You ready to call it?” I blinked rapidly, opening my mouth, I was a fish out of water. Sentences became impossible to correctly piece together as an extra layer of heat covers my face. A blanket of blush covering my already irritated face, I felt embarrassed.

Why would he stop such a crucial part of each show for me? What if something had happened during our closing songs tonight? The unsettling lump in my throat expanded into what felt like vomit rising, even with my throat completely dry. The idea that something could be jeopardized, ruining the great experience that is Love On Tour, could all be caused by my inability to keep pushing for just a few more songs made me sick.

Yet, the look Harry gave me as his hands slipped around my waist, lips caught in a worried line sent an all familiar struggle in my bones.

I wanted to make it right, make sure everything was double checked. There would be no issues and everyone could have their two hours of love promised by Harry and the love band, but I also longed to make sure Harry was content, constantly unbothered. If I continued to push the bile down hard enough, I could focus on doing what’s best for one person, forget about everyone else involved.

So it became a blurry mess, between the moment Harry called soundcheck quits to where we found ourselves now. Cuddled up in the relief that was well filtered air conditioner. Harry’s hands tangling and detangling between my hair, pulling lightly on my scalp to relieve any possible pressure, his eyes fixated on the TV which played some ninety’s sitcom with a beautiful group of friends that the public was made to believe were considered average.

While he seemed content in the position he was in, in the moment, I couldn’t put my mind to ease, the anxiety that I could do exactly what I feared most poisoning any sense of relaxation I had previously.

How do you make everyone happy at once when nobody seems to be on the same page? How can you spread love evenly when you’ve already spread yourself so thin? My face was greyed, mind plagued by my deepest fears. My harshest wounds.

Realistically, Harry’s final decision had benefitted the entire crew greatly. Everyone tired and worn from the continuous heat wave that was a blanket over the earth at the moment. But the way it was phrased, the way I was shot sympathetic smiles made me uneasy. As if their benefit was more of a loss and a waste of time.

Looking up at Harry, I studied his face carefully. He seemed at ease. Unbothered by it all. His eyes trained on the screen, a soft laugh escaping his throat. Completely relaxed. Like he didn’t realize I was just barely a foot below his eye level, eyes watering as I slowly died. I promised him to stop being such a push over, such a people pleaser, but you can’t cure a sickness that’s not truly an illness.

How can you love someone you don’t know is sick?

——————————————————————————

I wish I could say I stuck to my word. Continued to be the person I vowed to become after my incident weeks ago. Stopped being a push over, stopped forgetting about myself. Stopped putting on other peoples shoes before my own. But I’m not a liar.

The air was thick, the humidity unforgiving and unrelenting all morning. Everything felt off from the minute my foot left the hotel room booked for the crew. Yet, I took no time to dwell on my own feelings, pushing back the unsettling pit in my stomach and focusing on the day ahead.

Elin sent a quick text to our band group chat. An old one we’d made without Harry to surprise him for his birthday. It was short and simple. The flags were there, ruby red and waving in the wind. The fact that the request was hidden from the one person who pushed back for me. The only person who could say, “no” for me without anyone protesting.

She wrote, “Hey, y/n/n! I’m running a bit late. Would you mind picking up some coffee and treats for everyone? I’ll send the address for the shop!” It was less of question, I realized, reading it back. More of a request or even a demand. Still, it was short and a simple task. Nothing unmanageable.

She sent the location, and only then did I fully recognize my regret. The shop was almost thirty minutes away from the arena, without traffic. Considering morning rush hour was in place, I could count on being late.

But I had agreed. The guilt of being late ate at me, but even the thought of letting everyone down was nauseating. Making my head spin and eyes water at even the slightest vision of their frowning faces and furrowed brows.

So, I got in my car, ignoring every text as I broke every law of the road to reach the coffee shop as quickly as possible. Eyes squinting at the morning sun and arms sticky from condensation.

——————————————————————————

When I arrived to the arena, it was bustling. The stage crew rushing around to find parts of equipment needed for the upcoming soundcheck, managing security debriefing down the hall for barricade procedures. The heat almost unbearable in each hallway.

It all led to the one room that everyone gathered in. A larger dressing room that was more of a living room. Colder than most of the building and more decorated too.

Laughter filtered through the cracked double doors, cold hair slipping through like a small taste of what heaven felt like in that moment. You could see everyone standing in a circle, cups of water held loosely in each one’s hand as they joked around as a tight knit group of friends would.

They must of smelled the goods, it must have wafted because without even a noise being made, Nyoh, Pauli and Mitch were looking straight at me. Smiles painted on their faces wide and welcoming, reflecting their actions as I was swarmed by every single band member at once. Hands grabbing at the donut box and tray of coffee all but ripped out of the palm of my unsteady hand.

Their gratefulness was overwhelming at first. Supplying me with that addictive euphoria I longed for with each task I put myself through. They hustled around to take a peak at what I had bought. Ready to stuff their faces with a little of each as I settled in for the day.

Silence fell over the room suddenly, a deep breath being inhaled only to be held. Almost as if someone was trying to find something to say, but had come short. Unable to figure out the right articulation of their statement.

“What, is something wrong?” I smiled sweetly, walking over to the table. Sarah shrugged, turning to me with a sweet smile, hand on my shoulder almost like it was a support for what was about to be said.

“Oh, nothing. We just don’t really like these flavors.” Nyoh shared bravely, smiling halfway, still focused on the opened and not crinkled donut box.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry guys, I wasn’t told if you guys wanted anything specific. I can run back and get some more?” Somehow, even in my greatest efforts, I still came short. Guilt eating at me that I had probably ruined their morning. Delaying their breakfast because I had to be a screw up. It made me sicker than the pit in my stomach this morning had made me.

“No, no. It’s okay. I’ll just order some online. It’ll be here quick.” My face looked just as blank as my mind was.

In that moment, I lacked all ability to respond. Thoughts running wild, much to fast to say anything except a pathetic squeak.

“Oh.” Is what I said. If I wasn’t such a coward, such a push over, a walking talking door mat, I would’ve yelled. Ripped the hair from my scalp.

“Why did you make me drive all the way there this morning if you could just order it? What about the money I spent? Are you going to pay me back or is this just another involuntary favor I’ve gone out of my way to complete?” If I was Harry, which I’m not, I would’ve said that. I would’ve yelled and cried and defended my name with all my willpower. Not letting anyone interrupt. I’d have some self respect but that wasn’t me.

I am Y/n Y/l/n. The girl who sits in the back of the stage, doing so much for so little. The girl who gives up everything for everyone because she can’t control it. Because she’s sick in the head.

So I said, “Oh.” Like an idiot. My throat dry and my eyes watery. I nodded, firm and short. Ready to make my exit.

Everyone turned back to their circle, laughing again as the order was placed. In a room full of my brothers and sisters I couldn’t help but feel out of place. Unappreciated. Suddenly, it was like my endless empathy and compassion wasn’t enough for them. It wasn’t good enough. And if that wasn’t good enough, I wasn’t good enough.

And as I disappeared behind the double doors, not a soul called back for me. A ghost to everyone. Unappreciated and unaware of the intense heartbreak I was facing.

In this moment, I believe it’s where it got bad. Worse than ever before. My brain no longer silently resisting as my entire being longed for that nod of approval and the appreciative conversations that came after it.

It continued, like this, all day. My feet padding against the pavement and onto the tiles of the hallways. Sweat sticking to my forehead and dripping down my neck. It looked in my shirt.

All day I’d been running around helping. The itch to be better, to do better overwhelming. If it was fetching a water bottle for the sound guys or searching up and down religiously for a missing headset for the lighting crew, I was first on the scene to assist in every way possible.

Each nod and smile sent my way fueling my addiction. Each action I pursued further breaking my promise to Harry more and more. I felt myself slipping away.

I just wanted to be good. Longed for it every waking minute. Like if I kept pushing, kept reaching that desired feeling, achieving each goal to make another persons life easier, I lost more and more of myself. Stress building like a ton of bricks throw on my shoulders. The weight unbearable. Heavier and heavier each minute.

Harry had finally shown up, ready to begin soundcheck. His in ears hung around his neck carelessly. White shirt stuck to his body in sweat. The words crinkled to a point where they were unrecognizable. His shorts were short and shoes light on the floor. He looked satisfied, light and well rested. The opposite of everything I felt.

“Hey, angel!” He called enthusiastically.

For the first time that day, my cheeks lifted from a genuine smile. Not one caused by a success in helping another person, or a result of devoting all my time and energy to another. But because someone who never asked anything of me and still held as much if not more appreciation for me had welcomed me into his arms without any requests.

I let myself melt into his touch, eyebrows relaxing and heartbeat slowing for the first time all day. His lips rested flat against the top of my head, arms held tight around mine, chest pressed against mine. We were a sweaty tangled mess but I couldn’t have been happier.

“Ready to do some test runs?” He questioned, moving back to brush away beads of sweat that had collected on my rosy face. I nodded eagerly, though inside I felt weary and panicked at the idea of having yet another long task to do.

Another swift peck was delivered to my forehead, Harry’s hold retreating from my body. He led the way to the stage before stopping.

“Shit, I forgot the waters. Y/n, would you mind grabbing them? I left them by the water fountain.” I nodded, blinking harshly. My feet pivoting away from him, shoulders hunched and muscles tensed.

My feet moved quick, running down the halls to find the pack of water bottles Harry had instructed me to grab.

The plastic was soon in my line of vision. Full and cool to the touch. They were heavy. Nothing I couldn’t carry normally, but the unforgiving tension within my muscles made it hard to move. Multiple times I stopped to set it down, breath jagged and heavy. Hands slipping away from the plastic cover as my palms were lathered in sweat and leaking water from inside the package.

And suddenly, the hallways that was once so short became longer and longer. A never ending straightaway that only felt hotter and hotter with each step. My mind weighed me down. Pulling me into a spiral of negative thoughts and emotions. I began to believe I couldn’t do it. No, I knew I couldn’t do it.

No matter how much I wished, longed to do the only thing Harry, my best friend, my lover, had ever asked of me, I couldn’t physically continue. The bricks building finally reaching the maximum and breaking the camels back. This final request dealing my final blow. And each thought, each straining muscle crashing underneath it.

The crash was loud, when I went down. Knees hitting the floor, the sound of bones hitting concrete muffled by the squeak of water exploding throughout the thin passageway. The plastic breaking and the singular packages of the liquid bouncing around. Running off and away.

Only then did the panic reach an all time high. As if the severity of it couldn’t get worse. It did. My hands reaching out to grasp at any stray bottles. Holding them close to my chest. Keeping the few I could reach close to my body. I shook, unable to breathe suddenly.

Maybe it was the humidity, or the heat. Maybe it was another heat stroke. But no, to anyone passing by, or anyone who could have seen it from an outside perspective, it was clear that this was not the weather. This was deeper than that. This was pure panic. Something I’d buried for years all surfacing at once like a tsunami of pain washing over my lungs and drowning me in it.

A sob racked through my body, the cry escaping my clenched jaw with such force, my throat burned after. The rising nausea Id felt all morning turning out to only be a lump of anxiety that had grown ten times its size and finally escaped its cage.

Everything hurt, in that moment. My lungs on fire and my eyes crying themselves a river. The tips of my finger scratched at my throat. The only breaths that manages to get in and out being the gasps for air between each sob. I tried to grab my throat, grab my chest. Anything to make it easier to breathe. Yet, my hands were locked around the water like a vise. I couldn’t pry myself away from it if I had tried.

My head pounded, my body growing weaker, aching into less of a dull pain and more of a searing sensation pricking across my skin like pins and needles.

My ears were ringing, downing out everything other than the heaviness of my breathing and volume of my cries. So much so, I hadn’t heard the heavy footsteps rushing in my direction. I hadn’t seen Harry in a full sprint rushing to my aid.

No, in my full blown panic attack, I hadn’t even been able to process he was there with me until his fingers curled around my shoulders and his green eyes looked into mine.

I watched his mouth move rapidly, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. Still unable to hear, eyes moving too fast to read his lips.

“H-Harry I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.” I all but yelled. My breathing loud, sounding of a wheeze.

Even in my state, the dining intense and my body still burning, I understood he was doing his best to calm me. Familiar with the feelings that had overtaken my body.

In the mess, he has somehow managed to rip the water from my grasp. My hands flying to his shoulders, head buried between his shoulder and neck. His shirt wet with my tears.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” The words came out like a prayer.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I didn’t know why I was sorry. Maybe for not doing my job I promised him. Maybe for adding stress to his already full plate. Maybe it was me convincing myself I was only becoming more of an inconvenience to him. Either way, I felt him shake his head.

“Don’t say that. No, stop apologizing. Fuck, stop it.” He begged gently, hands rubbing along my spine in an attempt to soothe me.

In some ways, it worked. The ringing fading into the background and my lungs becoming a little less tender. But the burning was still there and breathing was still a struggle.

I shook my head against his skin, eyes shut in embarrassment.

“I’ll pick it all up. I’ll clean everything that spilled. I’ll-I can fix this.” I pleaded, more for myself than for him. He held me tighter.

“No. No you won’t. It’s not your problem. Y/n, stop. Stop. Please, listen to me.” He sounded more stern than calm now. A different approach being taken to get me to snap out of it.

“Y/n you did everything you could and that was more than enough. You are more than enough. Please, believe me. Please, try to understand my perspective.” By now, my eyes were dry, all my tears used up. My breathing heavy but manageable. The gasps fading into soft hitches of breath from my intense sobbing.

“You promised me, you promised that you would stop doing this. Stop overworking yourself for the benefit of others. And I believed you, but I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have because I know you. I know you better than anyone here, so I know you’ll never change.” I looked at him through my eyelashes, slouching further into myself, I sat away from him. Head pulling itself off of his shoulder to face him.

“I’m so-“ He cut me off, not wanting to hear another apology slip past my lips.

“I wish. I wish you could see what I see. How everyone else sees you. How you’re more than enough even without all these extravagant attempts to ease our stress. Y/n, you do so much more for us in one week than we could ever hope to do in one year. You put yourself last in every single situation. You’re selfless and the most empathetic person I have ever had the privilege to know. You’re brave, a-and passionate about everyone. How can you not see that? That this enough? You just being here is enough?” It was like the roles were swapped. My eyes drying while Harry’s filled with tears. Filled to the brim along his waterline. He blinked them away, my thumb quick to find the few that fell past his eyelashes and wipe it from his skin.

“I wish I could promise you that I’ll change, Harry. I wish I could tell you I’ll never do this again, but if I’m completely honest, just for a second, I can’t do that. It’s like, my brain is wired specifically to aid to everyone else’s issues. I can’t rest until I’ve done everything I can, Harry. I just can’t. And my chest hurts. It physically hurts me not being able to make everyone happy. I just feel like I’m always doing something wrong. Like I’m disappointing everyone.” I ripped myself open completely with my confession, showing a vulnerability I hadn’t even had the courage to admit six inches away from a mirror.

“I don’t expect you to change, love. I just hope that one day, you’ll be able to see what we all see. What we all recognize everyday. That you’ll figure it out.” His hands held mine. His steady hands drilling my shaky ones.

My eyebrows furrowed into a sad expression, but it was a good sad. One that needed to be expressed.

“I love you.” It was quiet, barely a whimper. My throat dry and eyes puffy. He smiled, sighing softly. Not out of irritation, but admiration. A soft smile playing on his face.

“I love you more.”

In that moment I felt less of a failure and more like a success. Like ultimately, even if I had failed myself in more ways than I could possibly count out loud, ultimately, in some odd, twisted way, I had won. Guilt continued to eat at me and my stomach would always twist at the idea of letting someone down, but it was lesser than before. Being told I was more than enough sparked something small inside of my brain. I couldn’t promise to change, I couldn’t promise to stop overthinking and pushing myself down. But I knew I could get better. I could work on it. I know that, and I’m thankful for that.

[dreamersparacosm]

can you give us tpod oc’s corporate character traits and tips. i need to be like her honestly..

ABHHHGLGGKGLGK i’ve been waiting for a question like this.

welcome to tpod!oc’s inner workings!

closet confidential.

You’ll rarely catch her without a blazer on.

Structured. Sharp. Tailored. Best believe that thing is freshly ironed.

It’s not just a style choice, though; it’s armor. It says: I control the room before I even speak. As a woman, I know how cutthroat this industry is and especially in large fashion houses. Marketing sounds willy nilly but it’s NOT!!!! The silhouette is intentional: broad shoulders to stand taller, cinched waist to remind them she carved her own shape in this industry. It’s all some lil strategy.

Her wardrobe is her fortress. She doesn’t just dress to impress men (ew.)

Each outfit choice in this story is a…. wait for it… a choice. She wears different things based on what she’s feeling.

Ex: Hotel lobby in sweats = my vulnerable angel, burnout, white flag of surrender — do I even need to go on???

Teaser, spoiler (kinda): in part 9, her outfits scream her mental state.

Clothes are the last line of defense. And when she strips the armor off, even just once, even for him, it means something.

ALSO!!!! Peep the heels in the corner? Yeah those are the heels. You know.. part five? Rides him with heels on? There they are in the flesh 🫶 (we all know my girl will only ever wear Louboutins)

who the fuck is she?

You want to be like her????? Okay. First, set your alarm for 5:45 a.m., not to meditate or journal but to literally just check your inbox before anyone else does.

Hyper-competent to the point of obsession

She doesn’t do ‘good enough’. She doesn’t even do ‘exceptional’. She does ‘perfect’. This shows up constantly: her all-nighters, her need to review every detail herself, the way she micromanages launches because she doesn’t trust anyone else to care like she does.

Strategically guarded

She doesn’t let people in easily. Emotion is a liability. Vulnerability is a breach in protocol. This is why she’s ice-cold with Jungkook at first, and why she flinches away when he gets too close, and also why she tells herself their hookups mean nothing (or any hookups. My girl is every fuckboy’s wet dream.)

Painfully self-aware (but still stuck)

She knows she’s emotionally constipated. She knows she pushes people away. She just doesn’t know how to stop. We see it every time she tells herself to stay away from Jungkook, and then shows up at his door anyway. Every time she feels something and shuts it down with logic. She’s not necessarily cold-hearted, just exhausted!!!

Sharp tongue, even sharper instincts

My girl has the mouth of a sailor. Or something way worse. Maybe a misogynistic 40 year old man who only gets away with everything because he has an AMEX (she has a gold AMEX too, don’t worry.) but she’s smart and witty so it makes up for it!!!

tips n tricks for the average corporate woman!

Ah, you’ve come to the right place. Here’s her handbook on success (ripped straight from my life!!!! From a girly who’s climbed the corporate ladder for so long I am starting to turn into one of the rungs)

Be early. Be prepared.

You don’t walk into a room hoping to be respected. You walk in already knowing you deserve it (because you do, DUH.)

Silence is not a weakness!

You don’t need to raise your voice when you’ve mastered the power of a well-timed pause. Let them ramble. Let them reveal themselves. You’ll speak when it matters, and when it lands, it lands.

Always look like you have somewhere more important to be.

Because you do. (Even if it’s just pretending not to be affected by Jungkook in a t-shirt.) People trust what looks effortless, so make exhaustion look elegant.

Keep your secrets.

Don’t tell them you cried in a bathroom stall after a campaign delay. Don’t tell them you miss your parents. Don’t tell them you feel safe when Jungkook makes you eat fries and finish your wine. Feel it, but never say it (only think it in your nut brain!)

Most importantly…. (Words from TPOD!oc herself)

Do not fall in love at work.

But if you do? Make sure it’s with someone who can take a little heat. Someone who sees your ambition and says yes I would like more of that. Who fucks you like he wants to ruin your life but has a great aftercare technique. (Still. Probably not a great idea.)

Ok onto my grand unveiling..

(Please do not come for my neck on my photoshop skills. I am just a girl. A girl who has a very important corporate job and does not have time to actually make it work. But also — I don’t even know how to do anything fancy. So this works.)

Zoom in to read our girls fake LinkedIn page! It would be VERY professional. I mean.. she’s CMO for crying out loud?!!!?

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What are your favourite “Bella” moments from either your fics or the source material

My top ten Bella Swan decisions from canon.

Beyond that I love Bella deciding Jessica's the worst after the movie adventure for not wanting to hang out with her anymore, Bella's "I'll make it so my dad isn't traumatized by my disappearance" speech during the James debacle which is "I hate you dad and I'm running away!", her impassioned Switzerland speech that she honestly thinks will make the shapeshifters and Cullens get along with one another, Bella's "you're killing my buzz" when Edward's panicking post sex because she looks like she's been beaten with a baseball bat and Bella's trying to tell him it was the single greatest night of her life, Bella's speech to Jacob that "I can totally have sex with my vampire husband like any normal person" and not blinking an eye with the wolves have to literally drag him screaming out of her wedding reception, and well basically every moment.

Bella's a fucking delight and honestly, I am but a humble apprentice who cannot capture the sheer insanity of Bella Swan compared to the master of Stephanie Meyer.

I try and always fall short.

But from fics (hijacking from my and @therealvinelle's cowritten stuff as well)

Bella the Sad Fucking Clown from Blue Moon

Bella thinks she's having sex with Edward, that he's inviting her to his house to have sex or at least get closer to having sex. Bella takes this very seriously and decides to make herself look sexy with makeup. Trouble is, Bella has 0 experience applying makeup and ends up looking like a clown.

The worse trouble is that Edward wasn't there to have sexy with Bella: the plan is Bella's now having sex with his father.

Bella gets dropped off by Edward to fuck his dad while dressed as a sad sad clown.

(She decides to have rebound sex anyway and convinces Carlisle into this by being too pathetic to function.)

Bella I Need to Pass My Classes but Oh No I Put in No Effort from Painting Red Madonnas

Bella fucks up and signs up for the wrong class. Bella then proceeds to forget she's actually taking the class and ends up failing it both to her absurd lack of talent as well as the fact that she stopped doing any work in class.

She then proceeds to move in with the aliens so she can... save Marcus... maybe... it's unclear.

Bella the Aliens Want Me to Get Pregnant from The Less Than Immaculate Conception (by me and @therealvinelle)

Bella concludes from Marcus being in the right roman baths (while Bella's in the wrong one) that Marcus must want to sleep with her because his alien overlords want to study human intercourse/get her pregnant with a weird mutant alien baby.

Bella decides this is a great idea and proceeds to have sex with Marcus.

Marcus thinks she wants sex because she's a virgin and her only other option are creepy dudes at frat parties.

Bella Everyone Killed Jacob from And Then There Were None (by me and @therealvinelle)

Unable to cope with the idea of parting with Jacob or Jacob's suspiciously timed death, Bella proceeds to blame her entire family, including Edward, and murders them all. When she's shown proof that her family did not, in fact, murder Jacob and it was all a tragic accident she decides that they made her kill them because they made her think they killed Jacob.

She then proceeds to kill everyone else for killing Jacob.

Bella's Impassioned Speech from For the Love of a Woman (bu me and @therealvinelle)

At the end of the story Bella has learned things about not letting your romantic relationships define you. She's learned so many things. She's also learned that being hot and a vampire is amazing and solved all her problems.

She kind of lost the thread of that speech somewhere in there.

Bella "Let's Form a Polycule" and "Jacob, I've Come Up with a Brilliant Plan to Murder Esme" in Leech in the Rain (by me and @therealvinelle)

In the emotional fallout of Bleach on the Brain (by @therealvinelle) Bella looks to Jacob for emotional support as Edward... isn't doing so well. She decides that she and Jacob and Edward have always been in a polycule because uh emotions and needing each other and emotions. Bella convinces exactly 0 people that this is a legitimate and non-toxic relationship. Bonus points that Carlie gets to hear about this from Renee.

Also a winner, Bella's plan to kill Esme that backfires horribly when Jacob ends up dying instead.

Bella "I'm in Love with Hong Bellamy" from The Seventh Seal

Bella decides she's in love with what, to her, looks like a supernatural god-like pretty boy who can tell the future among other things. She's actually fallen in love with an almost personalityless alien, derived from her own soul, who is sick and tired of her bullshit and just wants to make a baby in a cave.

Bella then gets upset when said alien doesn't tell her the truth about being an alien but later elopes with him and becomes a vampire (much to Carlisle's infinite distress).

Bella "Renesmee is Really Ruining this Vacation" from Last Christmas (by me and @therealvinelle)

Bella loses her three-year-old daughter at the airport, said daughter is then held hostage by the Volturi. Bella decides this is all Renesmee's fault, she clearly wanted to be lost then kidnapped, and that she's singlehandedly destroying the family out of her self-centered actions.

Bella "I'm Not Cheating on Edward" and "Oh my god, does Edward actually love me?!" from Dark Fantasies/Writhing Coils (by me and @therealvinelle)

Upon realizing she's been bamboozled by a shapeshifting tentacle hentai monster, Bella has to justify to herself whether or not this was cheating and decides it's not because she's helping a poor creature and the Cullens would definitely do the same if informed. For a variety of reasons, the Cullens don't get informed, Edward makes Hentai monster's acquaintance and Bella then wonders given Edward's response if he's actually attracted to her at all. She then slides into a deep depression where she dislikes the tentacle monster (she quickly forgets about this the next time she and tentacle monster meet but not before she explodes with tentacle hentai squid larvae)

Bella's "Carlisle is wrong! Sex is amazing!" and "Maybe Carlisle was right :/ Sex kind of sucks" from Prima Nocta (by me and @therealvinelle)

Bella and Edward get talked into sleeping with Tanya and Eleazar. Bella briefly feels very liberated and sexually awakened and is appalled that Edward's curmudgeny unenlightened father is upset about this. Later, Eleazar sleeps with Edward in front of her roleplaying as Edward and Carlisle (Bella is a sexy lamp) and Bella's feelings do an abrupt one-eighty.

[ladybellissima]

Finding Love Katakuri x Reader Part 8

Slowly (Y/N) opened her eyes and got up. Her throat was screaming for some water, while her face burnt of the dry tears. Getting up she walked to the bathroom and washed her face with cold water. Every move she made felt odd. Like a robot, an empty vessel which just worked automatically. Looking into the mirror she gasped of her image. Her hair was standing in all directions and black mascara painted her cheeks. She didn't recognize herself anymore.

"What words are able to do…", she thought sadly and started to clean her face to get a glimpse of her self confidence back. Pulling the dress over her head she gave it one last glance. She would never forget the stunned look in his eyes after seeing her dressed like that. His expression soft and happy. She remembered how her heart fluttered nervously after getting closer to his side, while the others were gasping in awe. She didn't wear it, because to get admired. She wore it to show him that she cared for this event and his family. To support him as his wife. Shaking her head she smiled bitterly, while putting it back into her wardrobe.

"I am really pathetic…"

A sudden knock let her jump of fear. She wasn't prepared for him now. She couldn't endure his cold look and emotionless attitude without breaking out in tears again.

"Lady (Y/N)? May we are allowed to bring you some food?", a servant asked through the door and let her sighing in relief. Showing herself the servant gave her a kind smile and presented her a plate with fruits and pancakes. Smiling she took the food from his hands.

" Lady (Y/N) are you feeling alright? ", he asked uneasy.

"I should ask you if you are alright and not scared to death after his outburst of rage… I hope he didn't scream at you as well?", she asked and surprised the servant. Flustered he was in tears of hearing her sweet and caring words.

"Lady (Y/N)…. You are too kind… We are so happy to have you here.", he spoke while other servants in the back nodded happily. Smiling brightly she felt much better. There are still people out there, who cared for her feelings. Looking back into her room she remembered that her table was a broken mess.

" I think I have to eat at the dining hall.", she spoke uneasy and was about to go, but stopped in her tracks. "Is… Is he here?", (Y/N) asked nervously. The servants understood that she needed time to recover. Katakuri's bad mood wasn't something easy to handle and never did they hear him shout like that. That she even stood against him, without any harm was a miracle for them.

"He had to travel to whole cake island. Big mom wanted to see him"

Nodding she left to eat her breakfast alone and in silence like she used to. But this time it felt more lonely. What should she do now? Hiding for a lifetime wasn't an option. Plus Big mom wanted her doughnuts. If not she would be in more trouble and Katakuri's mood would become worse. A never ending circle of troubles.

"If life gets hard, don't give up. It could always be a new opportunity, a new chance to experience something new. " her grandmother's words popped up in her mind.

"I don't give up. She can call me all the names she want. I will always get up and stay strong.", she whispered and walked into the kitchen to get her apron.

"Lady (Y/N)? Are you making doughnuts for Master Katakuri?", a cook asked stunned and took her by surprise.

Normally she made them for him. Every day she had made all kinds of specialties to make him feel better. To support him.

"I know what I do with Big mom, but Katakuri is another story…."

Without to answer she started to bake, while the others gave her understanding smiles and time she needed. The smell was incredible. Like magic one doughnut after another filled the baskets. Wiping the sweat away from her forehead she focused on the details. Every coating, fruit or candy had to be perfect. Everyone was helping to fill the baskets and cheering of the beautiful creations. But sadly they didn't recognize a shadow, which slowly appeared behind their backs.

Xxx

"Big brother Katakuri!", Pudding's voice reached his ears and let him stop before the doors of the chateau. Looking down to her he waited patiently for her to go on.

"I… How is (Y/N)?", she asked uneasy. Taking a glimpse of the future he could see tears in her eyes and apologizing.

"She is at home. If you want to apologize you should go to her than me.", he spoke short. Pudding forgot about her brother's ability and was struggling for words.

"You know that she was totally honest about every word she said?", his deep voice gave her a shiver of fear.

Tears rolled down her face and she rubbed her eyes while apologizing. "I know.. Never was someone so nice to me. Never was someone so caring and happy around me. I.. couldn't deal with it.", she sobbed, but was pulled up by her collar. Gasping she looked into Katakuri's angered eyes.

"so you didn't show her your real self and on top of that you didn't tell her how to deal with Mama's behavior towards you. (Y/N) was standing up for you and you knew that. You let her run into a knife with your manipulating words of how poor you are..", he spoke seriously and gave her a fearful shiver. His outbursts of rage were scary, but his serious, cold acting side with this intense glare, made you terrifyed.

"I was jealous brother. I am so sorry. Mama wanted me to spend time with her to learn how to act as a wife, who is forced into a marriage. But the way she smiled after speaking about you. And how happy she seemed with everything. I couldn't believe it. I wasted time to come late. (Y/N) didn't know that Mama gets mad about that. And with styling (Y/N) so beautiful, Mama got her attention even more. It was clear that Mama would say something bad about me after seeing that she was dressed with more effort than I was….",she spoke shaken. Katakuri let her fall to the ground.

" Don't go on my nerves.", he spoke coldly and started to leave.

" Wait I am really sorry. I didn't want that it escalated that bad. I didn't imagine that she would make a deal or that Mama went berserk. But mostly I didn't wanted to destroy your feelings for each other. ", she sobbed and watch Katakuri froze in the spot. His blood boiled with anger. Why did he let her go with Pudding? He should have known that there was something off with her over friendly attitude. To hear that (Y/N) was happy with him let his heart pain even more.

"I swear if you ever hurt (Y/N) in such a way again, I forget that you are my sister.", he spoke in a threatening voice and let her shiver of fear. Nodding quickly Katakuri left her behind without another word.

Xxx

"Lady (Y/N) I have to say these are the best that you ever made.", a cook spoke amazed next to her. (Y/N) smiled brightly and was beyond happy. Before she was able to hug the cook of happiness she froze in the spot after feeling something cold and sharp by her neck. Gasping the other servants stood still terrifyed.

" what a sweet little maid we have here…", a deep voice whispered into her neck and she could feel how he smelled her hair.

"How iresistable… I knew we would find some treasures in here….", the dark clothed figure added and grabbed her hair roughly. Whimpering in pain (Y/N) tried to get out of his grip, but it was useless.

"stop that…you are at Katakuri Charlotte's mansion! If you leave now, you maybe get out of this alive!", one servant tried to handle the situation, but the intruder pressed his blade deeper into her neck.

"Fine with me. We already have what we want. With this sweet cherry on the top.", he smiled evily and let the others gasp of shock.

"Don't you dare. I think you don't know who she is!"

Laughing amused he turned (Y/N) around and looked into her frightened face.

"Well okay. Tell me. Who are you sweety?", he asked in a mocking tone. Shaken she took a closer look of this man. Clothed in black, dirty and smelling like he hadn't showered for ages with a deadly aura around him.

"I… I am (Y/N) Charlotte. Katakuri Charlotte's wife. ", she spoke her full name for the first time and was surprised how powerful it sounded. Laughing out loud he grabbed her hair and pushed her to the ground, while the other servants were attacked by bandits as well.

"You think I believe this shit? That the most feared pirate Katakuri has a wife, which stands in the kitchen baking!? You are just a maid who tries to escape with such an awful excuse.", he laughed and dragged her with him. The immense pain in her head let her scream, while one servant after another was slashed by the bandits. (Y/N) was pulled along by her hair the whole way to their ship. Her legs were cut open with scratches from the stones and dirty from the mud. Feeling dizzy of the pain she found herself pushed on board.

"Oh where did you get this beauty?", a big fat man also clothed in black and wearing a stupid hat with the words "no mercy" came to their side to have a good look of her.

"I told you boss that at his mansion we would find something useful as well. Rare Flour, money and we got a nice maid to sell for a good price.", the man spoke and cheered with the other bandits.

Shocked (Y/N) fell onto her knees shaken violently. Terrifyed she didn't know what to do.

"good work. Big mom will regret that she denied my offer to invade Islands for her. She thinks we are not worth her money. This old hag! She will pay for saying we are too weak! We are not scared of her. And now with these precious goods, others will be impressed and fear us for our courage. We robbed the Charlottes! Look at us. We are the black bandits!!.", he laughed and ordered to leave the island immediately.

Her look fell back onto Katakuri's island, while the distance got bigger with every minute. Pushed into the next nightmare she felt her heart breaking. Not only because she feared her future. Also because the last time she saw him was at her room with him loosing his temper and shouting those hurtful words.

"Will you come to get me back?…"

[another-whump-sideblog]

Jane’s Pets Chapter 84: Truth or Dare

TWs in the tags

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“You need a haircut.” Jane tugs on your hair. “Look at how long it’s gotten. Did you cut it at all while you were gone?”

“I didn’t.”

Jane tsks and yanks you by the hair to the bathroom. “Kneel.”

You kneel.

Jane starts cutting your hair. You’re not as afraid, this time. You know better than to completely let your guard down around Jane, but you’re not panicking. She didn’t hurt you when she did this last time.

“Do you still think you can kill me? Are you still planning ways to escape?” Her voice is cheerful and casual, like she’s just trying to make conversation. Maybe she is.

“I don’t, and I’m not.” You say. It’s the obvious right answer, and you don’t want to say the wrong thing while Jane’s holding scissors so close to your face.

“Good.”

You expect her to keep going, but she doesn’t.

You have an opportunity here. Jane’s relaxed and entertaining herself with something not painful for you. Maybe…

“What would you want? In exchange for leaving Kitty alone. What could I give, what could I do, to make you stop drugging them? Even for just a day.”

Jane laughs. “I can make you do whatever I want without going easy on Kitty as an incentive. Why would I bargain with you?”

“I… don’t know.”

Jane tugs on your hair playfully. “Stupid Bunny. You’re so cute. Sweet, stupid, soft little Bunny.”

She’s right, it was stupid to try. At least you didn’t get punished. Stupid.

Your hair falls on the floor around you.

Jane hums cheerfully. “I should dress you up like I do with Puppy. Do you think that would be fun? Do you want to play dress up with me?” She pitches her voice up to make herself sound more childish.

“Whatever you want, Master.” She’s in a good mood and you don’t want to ruin it, even though her being in a good mood doesn’t tend to make her stop wanting to hurt you. It makes her more charitable when it comes to whether she sees your actions as defiant or not, at least.

“So cute. If you keep being so good for me, I’ll get you a reward.”

Oh, it would be nice to have painkillers again. Or maybe she’d let you save Kitty or Puppy some pain as a reward.

“If I asked you to stop drugging Kitty, would that be a reward?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, I said only if you keep being good. But yes, I could stop drugging Kitty for a day or two as a reward, if that’s what you ask for.”

“Th-thank you, master.” You force out. If you’re good you can help Kitty. You haven’t felt super motivated to do anything, lately, but this- this is something worth trying for.

You want to help Puppy too, but Kitty is having complete breakdowns on a near daily basis and Puppy is not. You have to prioritize. At least for now.

The snipping around your head stops. “There we go. Your hair looks so much nicer!”

“Thank you, master.”

She ruffles your hair. “Good Bunny. We should play a game or something tonight.”

You tense up instinctually. Jane laughs. “You’ll be okay. Go tend your garden or something.”

And without any fanfare, she’s gone.

—

Jane sits on the couch, braiding Puppy’s hair. Kitty kneels at her feet, eyes foggy. You are trying to read a book, but mostly keeping an eye on Jane. As if you could do anything if she started hurting them.

Jane smiles. “We should play something. Truth or dare, Kitty.”

They blink slowly. “…what?”

“Pick one. Truth or dare?”

“…Truth?”

“Have you ever tried to kill Puppy?”

Kitty winces and nods slowly.

You haven’t heard that one before. You’re sure Jane’s trying to make it sound worse than it was. You’ll ask Kitty about it later.

“Bunny, truth or dare?” She asks.

“That’s not how truth or dare works. It’s someone else’s turn to pick someone.” It’s stupid, to argue over semantics. She’ll make you do whatever she wants either way. But she’s framing it as a game for a reason. There’s some part of her that enjoys pretending that this is a game instead of the set up for a torture session. Maybe you can spoil her fun.

She hums thoughtfully. “Alright. Your turn, Bunny.”

“Jane. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“How did you get your powers?”

You don’t think she’ll give you an honest answer. That’s not the point.

She doesn’t seem phased. “Same way you got yours, mage.”

She says it like it’s a dirty word. You were hoping she didn’t know you were a mage…

But that’s not the most important part of what she said. Barron said everyone has magic inside them, and using it to cast spells makes you a mage. Is she implying she was born with these powers? That doesn’t seem right…

“Okay, Bunny, truth or dare?”

“Still not how it works. You don’t go again until everyone’s had a turn.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re getting really comfortable talking back to your master. I don’t think I’ll get you a reward after all.” She nudges Kitty with her foot. “Your turn, Kitty. Pick someone.”

Kitty furrows their eyebrows, thinking hard. “If I pick Puppy, will you… let her talk?”

“Sure. I was going to let her talk once I got to her, anyway.” Jane unbuckles Puppy’s muzzle and yanks it off her face.

Oh… Puppy’s face has pressure sores where the muzzle sat. Some look like they might be infected. You didn’t think Jane would leave marks on her face.

She takes a remote from her void and presses some buttons, and then it disappears again. “You can speak, Puppy.

Puppy stretches her jaw and doesn’t say anything.

“Truth or dare? Puppy?” Kitty asks.

Puppy hums a soft note. Testing to see if the collar will shock her, you realize. That’s why she hasn’t been humming lately.

“…Dare.” She settles on. Her voice is so hoarse it takes you a second to understand what she said.

Kitty nods. “Jane? If I dared her to… drink water, or something, would she get punished if she… did it?”

Oh, you didn’t even think of that. Jane looks pretty annoyed. Her fun has been ruined, at least a little.

“Why don’t you dare her to do it and find out?”

Kitty frowns. “Then… I dare you to… to clap your hands together once, I guess.”

Puppy claps her hands together once.

“Now it’s your turn, Puppy.” Did she sound… gentler, talking to Puppy just now? You can’t be positive.

“Bunny.” Puppy clears her throat. It doesn’t help much. It’s been a long time since she used her vocal cords at all. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

Generally, truth is the much safer option, even when you’re not playing with a torturer. You trust Puppy, of course. But you’d still rather take the safer option.

“How have you been?”

You laugh. “Ah, you know. Same old, same old.”

Jane makes a gagging sound. “You guys are fucking boring. Bunny, truth or dare?”

Her calling you boring sends a chill down your spine. Your hope was that by ruining her fun you’d get her to leave you alone, but… that was naive. She just wants to hurt you more when she’s bored. You shouldn’t have talked back… Stupid. You’re always stupid.

“Truth.”

You’re sure whatever she asks will hurt to answer, but at least you won’t have to bandage yourself up afterwards.

“How many people have you killed?”

Fuck. It was just the one guy, right? And… and Ray. “Two.”

“Wrong answer!” The remote is in Jane’s hand again. She presses a button and Puppy starts to spasm and cry out in pain.

“Wha- why her!? Stop!”

Jane shrugs. “She’s closer. I’ll stop when you give me the right answer.”

Puppy twitches and gasps. Jane twists a dial and she screams.

“Stop, I’m sorry! Four, it’s four! Because it’s my fault they died! That’s the right answer, stop!”

Jane hits another button, and Puppy goes limp, breathing shallowly. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? It’s your turn.”

You blink back tears. “I don’t-“

Jane grins. “You can give up your turn if you don’t have any interesting ideas.”

“Yeah- um, yeah. I pass.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Great! And you two pass on your turns too, right?”

Puppy and Kitty nod.

“Puppy. Truth or dare.”

“Dare.”

…Why would she pick that?

“Finally! Puppy, I dare you to make Bunny cry. Shouldn’t be hard.”

Puppy slowly gets up and approaches you. You’re so stupid. It was stupid to try and ruin Jane’s fun, to try and get anything out of this.

You wrack your brain for other thoughts that might make you cry, so Puppy doesn’t have to hurt you. It’s your fault Diya and Barron and Ray are dead. You’re never going to get out of here. You’re never going to save Puppy and Kitty.

Tears stream down your face. Puppy looks back at Jane.

“I said for you to make him cry. He did that all on his own.”

Of course. Of course it could never be that easy. Puppy leans in close to you.

“I think… you would rather I hit you than say cruel things to you. Am I right?”

“…Yes.” You don’t think you could take Puppy saying it was your fault, or that you’re stupid, or that you only make things worse for everyone.

Puppy steps back and punches you in the face so hard you feel your nose crack and see stars.

—

“Peyton!”

Peyton flinches, then sighs. “Jane. What’s up?”

It’s been a bit since I’ve gotten to talk to Peyton. “I’ve been busy lately. I got my Bunny back.”

“…How are you feeling about that?”

“Great! Took a while to get him trained again, but now that I’m done with that things are just amazing. They’re all being very well-behaved.”

“Is that what you came here to talk about?”

“…Pretty much, yeah. I took some video of the process, do you want to see?”

Peyton sighs again. “You know I don’t. Does this make you happy? Making me uncomfortable?”

She’s gone down this conversational path before. I shrug. “It doesn’t make me bored.”

“What happens if you get bored? What’s so horrible about boredom that all of this is worth it just to prevent it?”

“Bored-“

“Isn’t the right word, yes, I know. It’s just the closest thing to it you can get to with a mortal language like english. I could never understand because I’m mortal. We’ve had this conversation a thousand times.”

“Then why are you starting it again?”

“Why do you think?”

“…Cause you have a bad memory?”

“Jane.” Her tone is lightly scolding.

“Cause you like going in pointless circles? Cause you think one day doing the same thing will get a different result and I’ll stop torturing people? I don’t know, I figured it’s some sort of stupid therapist thing.”

“You still haven’t answered, not really. What happens if you get bored? Why is that worth anything to avoid, when no other emotion is to you? I’m sure grief changes in ways mortals couldn’t understand when you’re immortal, but you don’t avoid that. In fact, from what you’ve told me, it seems like you sometimes trigger it on purpose in order to not feel bored. So what’s your deal? Why is boredom so much worse than any other negative emotion?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Help me understand, then.”

“It’s different. It just is.”

“You don’t… avoid suffering, from what you’ve told me. You’ve said you miss feeling physical pain, even. Why is boredom different? Why don’t you seek it out in the same way?”

“How many times do I have to say ‘you just don’t understand’ before you’ll believe me?”

Peyton rubs her temples. “Do you think, maybe, boredom feels out of your control? That you feel like you can control when you feel other bad things, but not boredom?”

“You’re a shit therapist. Your clients must hate you, you never listen. I’ve told you. You don’t understand, you could never understand. Quit being useless or I’ll tear out your vocal cords and eat them.”

“What do you want me to say, Jane? What would be useful?”

“Anything!” Peyton is being so worthless today. “Anything that you haven’t said before! I only keep you around because you’re interesting, but if you want to die, this meaningless repetition is how to do it.”

“When’s the last time you ate?”

“You’re fucking useless. No one likes you, no one needs you, they all just feel too bad for you to stop being friendly. No one will come to your funeral when I kill you. They’ll joke with each other about how relieved they are that they don’t have to pretend to like you anymore. Worthless piece of shit, worthless excuse for a therapist. I’ll send them videos of me torturing you and they’ll be overjoyed to see you in pain. They’ll only ever visit your shallow, hastily thrown together grave to mockingly ask ‘when’s the last time you ate?’”

“…Are you done?”

I scream as loud as I can, which is pretty loud. Peyton just covers her ears. Acting like I’m just a kid throwing a tantrum, acting like I couldn’t kill her with nothing but my teeth, I’m going to burn her fucking house down. I’m going to kill all her clients, and the only thing connecting them will be her, and she’ll get thrown in jail. I’ll feed her body to my pets.

I teleport away. Useless therapist. Never should’ve bothered with her in the first place.

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else!

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @whump-in-the-closet @scp-1296 @fuzzybucketz @quins-whump-stuff

[aidanchaser]

Boulangérella: A Miraculous Fairy Tale AU - Chapter Five

Table of Contents Read on Ao3 Prologue

beta’d by @7wizardsshallanswerthecall, @mothmanhamlet, @ccboomer and @aubsenroute​

Chapter Five The Crown Prince

Marinette ran into her mother quite literally on one of the palace’s many staircases. She nearly toppled back down, but her mother caught her and pulled her into a hug.

“Oh, Marinette, I’m so glad you’re all right! What happened? Where were you?”

“Um—” Marinette stumbled over her lie, as she often did. “Prince Félix sent me to get help, so I did. Did Ladybug take care of everything?”

“Well, I am no longer gold, so I think she must have. You’re sure you’re all right, Marinette? You look flushed.”

“Just… running around looking for you, Maman!”

“Let’s get down to the kitchens and get you something to cool you down.”

Marinette followed her mother obediently, though she knew that running was only part of the reason she was flushed. She really had not expected Prince Adrien to ask her personally to the ball. Well, he had asked Ladybug, which really wasn’t the same thing as asking Marinette.

Tikki was safely tucked away in her apron pocket, and Marinette did not dare talk to her in front of her mother, but she had an idea of what Tikki would say. Using the miraculous gift to attend a ball was an abuse of her abilities. That’s not what the gift was for. It was for helping people, and it was not a party trick.

Besides, Marinette did not have time to attend the ball. She would be working on dresses for half of the kingdom by the end of the day, and that work would take up all of her time. There would be no time for a dress for herself, and surely she’d be up all night working on repairs for nobility during the ball itself. She was unsure that she would even have time to patrol the city as Ladybug in the evenings like she had gotten into the habit of doing, let alone get all of her work done.

But the idea of going to a ball did sound nice...

Her mother led her down into the kitchens and sat her down with a glass of water. “I’m so glad that monster didn’t hurt you.”

“She’s not a monster, Maman, she was just cursed. It could happen to anyone.”

Sabine Cheng looked skeptical. “Lady Bourgeois is not the kindest person I’ve ever met. I’m surprised it took this long for something to irritate her to the point of being cursed.”

Marinette responded with a noncommittal murmur as she took a sip of water. “Did you get everything taken care of with the Duchess for the pastry order?” she asked.

“Mostly.” Sabine picked up the suggested menu she and Duchess Amelie had been discussing before Audrey Bourgeois’ attack had interrupted them. “Did you finish getting the princes’ measurements?”

“I finished measuring Prince Félix, but I didn’t get a chance to see Prince Adrien.”

“It certainly is kind of your master to let you handle an order of this magnitude. He must trust you a good deal to let you work with the royal family.”

“It’s just measurements, Maman. Master Fu will do all the design work and detail himself, like he always does for our bigger clients. But I’m sure I’ll get to make plenty of dresses for all the girls who want to attend.”

“What about your own dress?”

Marinette laughed. “There’s no way I’ll have time for that. I won’t be going, but I’ll get a lot of work out of it. And I can use all of those contacts when I start up my own shop this spring.”

“Surely you could go for one night.” Sabine loved that her daughter worked hard, but she knew that fun was equally important for Marinette’s health. “Your father and I have agreed to let Alya and Nino off for the last night so that they can go.”

“Is Nino invited?”

Sabine pursed her lips. “I’m not sure if boys are invited. It seems rude to invite only girls, but I suppose he could just put on a wig.”

Marinette and Sabine broke into laughter, and they were still laughing when Duchess Amelie Graham de Vanily arrived.

She looked no worse for wear from her time spent as a golden statue. Her black dress still hung evenly and unwrinkled, and and her rouge still looked freshly applied. Even the dark lines around her eyes were neat and thin. Her smile, however, was a bit strained as she approached Sabine and Marinette.

“I’m terribly sorry that our discussion was interrupted,” she said. “Everything is in order now. I’m glad to see that you and your daughter are unhurt.”

Sabine dipped her head. “Thank you, Your Grace. And you and the princes are all right?”

“Quite,” Amelie replied. She turned her thin smile on Marinette. “Prince Félix told me how you saved him, at least briefly. We appreciate your kindness.”

Marinette hurriedly dropped into a curtsey. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t do more, Your Grace.”

Amelie’s smile faded, and her deep green eyes slid towards the stairs. There was something weighing down her shoulders, but Marinette could not identify it.

“I’m afraid I will have to cut both of your works short. Madame Cheng, you have enough to place your order and begin your work, do you not?”

“Oh, yes. Is everything all right?”

“We had a… development in the throne room after Ladybug saved us. I don’t believe Lady Bourgeois is in anymore danger, but she is certainly displeased with Mademoiselle Rossi. Until King Gabriel makes his appearance, Prince Adrien and I shall have to deal with them. So I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me. And Mademoiselle—er—” She tipped her head as she looked at Marinette. “Mademoiselle Cheng?”

Marinette curtsied. “Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, Your Grace.”

“Ah. Of course. Well, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, we will have the princes’ measurements sent over later today. I’m afraid Prince Adrien will be occupied for some time.”

“As it pleases you,” Marinette curtsied again. “I did already finish with Prince Félix, if that helps, though he said I ought to consult with you about the style and scheme.”

Amelie waved her hand and turned to go. “Whatever Félix said is fine. Thank you again for your assistance, both of you.”

And with that, Marinette and her mother were dismissed from the palace.

“Well,” Sabine said as she opened the umbrella to shield her and Marinette from the downpour of the storm, “look at you, visiting the palace twice in a week. And a personal thank you from the Duchess, no less.”

Marinette could not help a smile. She loved that her parents were proud of her, and she was so grateful to them for supporting her work. It would have been so much easier for her parents to insist that she follow in their footsteps and run the bakery just as they had and just as her grandfather and his father had, but instead they had seen a passion for design and had supported her in that. They had helped her find her apprenticeship, and while she knew that her work doing deliveries for the bakery paid for some of her apprenticeship, it did not pay for all of it.

She leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder, both to avoid the worst of the rain and to show her gratitude. She loved her parents, and it was hard to lie to them about her secret life as a hero. It helped, at least, that she was confident that they would support her as they always had.

Her master’s shop was closer to the palace than the boulangerie, so Sabine stopped to let Marinette out from under the umbrella.

“You’ll be home for supper?” Sabine asked.

“Yes, Maman,” Marinette promised. She hoped that since Hawk Moth had struck that morning, he would not bother to attack again that evening.

Sabine kissed her cheek and continued onto the boulangerie, and Marinette opened the door to the shop. The bell above the door rang to announce her entrance, and she found her master already seated at the low tea table.

Master Fu was an elderly man who had trained in his craft around the world before finally settling down in the city and opening his own shop. His back was stooped from years spent bent over fabric, and now he was hardly half of Marinette’s height, but despite his elderly age, his eyes were still keen and could pick out any mistakes in Marinette’s stitches from across the room.

He was not an unkind master; he was patient with Marinette and had taught her well. He often trusted her with work for his wealthiest customers, and had allowed her to begin using her own designs and patterns with some of their clients.

She hovered in the doorway, unsure why he had poured tea for two. It was odd, she thought, for him to take a break in the middle of the day when they were surely already overwhelmed with work for the ball. “Is everything all right, Master?” Marinette asked.

“Everything is quite well, Marinette. Please, sit.” He gestured to the silk pillow set on the floor beside the low table.

When Marinette had first met Master Fu at the age of thirteen, she had thought that his low table and floor-seating had to do with his compressed stature. It wasn’t until she was older and had been exposed to much of the wider world through stories of her master’s travels and her mother’s family that she had understood this was simply what tables were like elsewhere in the world.

As Marinette reluctantly shuffled towards the table, she tripped over the rug. Her Master, however, was quite used to Marinette’s unending war with gravity, and waited patiently for her to seat herself comfortably. Once she was settled, he handed her a cup of green tea.

Though Marinette had been ignorant about many things when she had first arrived at Master Fu’s shop to begin her apprenticeship, green tea was not one of them. It was her favorite part of these quiet, serious chats because the earthy smell reminded her of her mother.

“It is quite a storm out there,” Master Fu said, his dark eyes turned towards the shop windows.

Outside, rain still pelted the windows. The thunder and lightning had subsided, but there was an occasional flash overhead. The air still felt charged with the storm’s energy, and Marinette’s ruby earrings felt unusually warm and heavy.

“And after the storm, there will be a unique sort of beauty.” Master Fu took a small sip of his tea. “Something new is always created in the wake of chaos and destruction. It is a beautiful relationship, is it not?”

“Er—yes, it is.” Marinette was not entirely sure where Master Fu was going with this. She wondered if she had made some sort of mistake and Master Fu was going to show her how to fix it. She chewed on her lower lip, trying to remember if she had double-checked the measurements on Monsieur Stone’s waistcoat or if perhaps she had taken it in too tightly.

But when she searched Master Fu for clues, she found none. He continued his serene gaze out the window. The red and white linen tunic he wore was comfortable and casual, no different from his normal work attire. He had not brought any new work out into the front of the shop to show her. She did notice a small stack of papers on the table beside him, but Marinette was used to order forms constantly at Master Fu’s elbow, especially with how overwhelmed they must be today.

There was nothing Marinette could do but wait for her master to be ready.

Finally, he lifted one of the papers from the table and passed it to her. “This arrived for you today, shortly after you left to take the princes’ measurements.”

It was identical to the invitation that Audrey Bourgeois had been cursed with. Marinette stared at it blankly. “I—I knew I would get one, but Master—surely I can’t attend.”

Master Fu raised an eyebrow. “Surely?”

“I mean… we have so much work to do.”

“And what is the point of working so hard if we do not take the time to have fun?”

Marinette chewed on her lower lip. “I won’t have time to work on my own dress.”

“Then allow me.”

“I couldn’t—”

Master Fu raised a hand to silence her. “It is tradition for a master to give a gift of craftsmanship to his apprentice when they are ready to strike out on their own. Allow this to be my gift to you.”

“I—I suppose Maman said she was going to let Alya off for the third night. It might be fun to go with Alya…”

Master Fu smiled. “Then it is settled. You will attend the third night, and I will have a dress ready for you.”

Marinette ran her thumb along the invitation. She traced Prince Adrien’s name. He had invited her personally—no, he had invited Ladybug. Prince Adrien only knew her as the girl who had tripped and nearly spilled his dessert right into his lap.

“Thank you, Master.” She set the invitation aside. “Was there anything else?”

“There is one other thing.” Master Fu lifted a small stack of papers and presented it to her. “These are the notes I have gathered for the orders for the princes. I would like you to manage it.”

“Me?”

Master Fu nodded. “You, Marinette. Consider it your commencement piece.”

“That’s six outfits! From scratch! Six designs and patterns and—and for the royal family—”

“I have full confidence in you. Do not worry; I shall manage all the gowns and tailoring that come through, and I think I will need to hire an assistant to take care of small stitches and modifications, but I will allow you to devote all of your time and attention to these six suits for the princes.”

Marinette scoured her brain for another protest, an argument, anything to counter her master’s insistence, but he looked as calm and confident as he ever did. He trusted her, and she was determined not to let him down.

“Thank you, Master Fu,” she finally said. “It is a great honor.”

“I am sure you will meet it spectacularly.” There was a twinkle in his dark eyes as he smiled at her. “Now, I think you ought to get started, no?”

Marinette stood, stumbled only once, and disappeared into the attached storage room that had slowly been converted into her private workspace.

She spent the rest of the day in that room, poring over the notes her master had on the royal family. There had been orders from balls in the past, when the princes were younger. Years ago, Master Fu had prepared Emilie and Amelie’s dresses before Emilie had become Queen, and had even done several of Amelie’s dresses for Queen Emilie’s many balls. He had also helped the royal tailor with the entire mourning wardrobe for the royal family after Queen Emilie had fallen asleep and Amelie’s husband had disappeared.

Marinette had helped with that order, too. She had not worked closely with the royal family as her master had, but after hunting down the flower to dye the fabric with, she had stitched each gem and ribbon into place, and she had thought of how hard it must have been for those boys to lose so much family in a single night.

She remembered Prince Félix’s comment, that he would prefer to wear mourning attire to his own birthday celebration. She supposed a year would not be enough to get over the loss of her father. She wondered if Prince Adrien felt similarly. He certainly hadn’t appeared to have any reservations about the ball when he had invited Ladybug.

She may not have had Prince Adrien’s measurements yet, but she had plenty to help her get started on new designs.

Marinette was about thirty sketches deep before she heard a knock on her door. She stretched her surprisingly stiff shoulders and opened the door of her workroom for Master Fu.

“Is it lunch time already?” she asked.

“You worked through lunch,” he said, only a hint of chastisement in his voice. “It’s very nearly supper time.”

“Oh!” Surprise quickly turned to worry. “Oh no, I promised Maman—”

“There is someone here to see you.”

Marinette frowned and stared over Master Fu’s head to the shop doorway. The storm still raged outside, but between the dark, gloomy windows, she saw the silhouette of a person. It didn’t look like Nino or Alya, and as she squinted, her visitor stepped into the light of the foyer.

“I hope it’s not too late to have my measurements taken?”

He had golden hair and bright eyes, but it was his fine, deep black mourning attire that truly gave him away. Though she did not know how to tell Prince Adrien and Prince Félix apart, she could at least guess by the question that this one was Prince Adrien.

“Oh—I just—I wasn’t expecting—” Marinette stared, unsure what exactly she was supposed to say. She dropped into a curtsy.

“You don’t have to…” Prince Adrien bit down on his lip and glanced over his shoulder. In a flash of lightning, Marinette could see the gilded carriage outside their shop and the shape of a burly bodyguard positioned at the door.

“I don’t have a lot of time,” Prince Adrien said, turning back to Marinette. “And I don’t get out of the palace often, or at all really, but I managed to convince my father that it would be too much to ask you to come back to the palace in the storm, and the best thing would be for me to come to you.”

Adrien had bartered hard for this small glimpse of freedom. He needed out of the palace, away from the demands of Lady Bourgeois and the smug smile of Lila Rossi. If he had been able to just slip away from his duties altogether, he would have turned into Chat Noir and braved the storm, but he was forced to sit at his father’s side and listen to two women whom he did not love make passioned pleas for his hand in marriage. And, once it was finally over—with no real resolution other than placating promises that he would reserve a dance for each of them on each night at the ball—he had been told that he had to wait before retiring, that his father would send for the tailor right away.

If Adrien had been forced to sit in that palace for another minute, he was afraid he might lose his mind. So he had exchanged his precious, few free hours in the evenings—time that Chat Noir might have spent patrolling with Ladybug—to his father, extra hours going over reports from advisors or practicing harpsichord or fencing, whatever his father deemed a fitting use of his time. It seemed worth it for one, free breath of fresh air outside the palace as Adrien Agreste.

Well, he was still Crown Prince Adrien Agreste, but if the seamstress would stop curtsying, maybe he could forget that for a moment.

“Is it… all right that I’m here?” Adrien asked.

“We are more than happy to have you,” Master Fu bowed. “Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng has been hard at work on the designs for you and your cousin, as well. Perhaps, if you have enough time, you can review them with her once she has finished with your measurements.”

Adrien blinked in surprise. “Oh, really? My aunt said you were the one who did all of her dresses when she was a girl.”

Master Fu smiled. “I assure you, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng is up to the task. Please,” and he gestured to Marinette’s workroom door.

Marinette hastily cleared away papers from the center of the room and kicked aside a stool so that there was room for Adrien to stand in the middle.

“I’m sorry for the stress—I mean—the mess.”

Adrien’s smile was soft, gentle, and a little bit sad as he surveyed the designs tacked to the wall haphazardly, the work desk piled in disorganized notes and sketches, and the mirror with more sketches pinned to it and fabric draped over it. “My uncle was an artist, too. I seem to recall the same sort of organized chaos in his work.”

Marinette swallowed hard as she took in Adrien’s melancholy smile. She remembered Felix’s grief too, though it had seemed harder on the edges. The princes looked alike, certainly, but they carried their burdens differently.

“Um, Your Highness, would you like your guard in here, since, well, you’ll need to, er, undress?”

Prince Adrien shrugged and glanced at the open door. “Your master isn’t far, is he?”

“No, I suppose not.” And Marinette wondered why her face was so hot as she helped Adrien out of his outerwear. She had not been nearly so embarrassed with Prince Félix. In fact, he had complimented her professionalism, so why was it so different all of a sudden?

She swallowed down her embarrassment and reached for her measuring tape.

“My cousin said you’ve been doing this for a while now.”

Marinette scribbled down the measurements for Adrien’s arm-length and his wrist. “Yes. I’ll be finished with my apprenticeship by the end of the year.”

“That explains why your master trusts you so much, then.”

“He’s trained me well.” As Marinette measured the breadth of Prince Adrien’s shoulders, she searched for a professional line of conversation. “Have you thought about what exactly you want to wear to the ball?”

Adrien glanced at his clothes that she had neatly folded and placed on her stool. They were the only orderly thing about this place.

“I’m not sure,” he confessed. “I’ve been wearing black for so long. It’s definitely what I’m most comfortable in. But…”

“But?”

“My father won’t approve.”

Marinette stuck her pencil in her mouth as she measured Adrien’s inseam. “Dubess Amewie said bat Pwince Féwix could poose his owm oubfibs.”

Adrien tried and failed to hide a smile. “Duchess Amelie is a lot less demanding than my father. I expect he’ll want me in red and gold, just like him.”

“I did a few designs in the royal colors,” she said as she scribbled down her notes. There was something unsettling about Prince Adrien’s measurements… She finished his chest and height measurements hurriedly, then flipped through her notes to her measurements of Prince Félix earlier that day. The measurements were identical. She supposed they were cousins, and it wasn’t that odd… But when she flipped back through her master’s notes on the royal family, she found that the prince’s measurements were identical there, as well. Every single measurement, every single time they had been taken, matched perfectly. Even their mothers, who were identical twins, had subtle variations, but not the princes.

But before Marinette could make sense of this oddity, Prince Adrien said, rather abruptly, “I don’t really feel ready.”

She looked up from her notes and noticed that Prince Adrien’s eyes weren’t the same steely gray-blue as his cousin’s. They were a brilliant green. She wondered if it was the same green that Master Fu had described in his notes on Emilie from her time as a Duchess.

“‘Ready?’” she repeated.

“To… to switch out of mourning attire.”

But it sounded like a half-truth. Marinette could not imagine what the rest of it would be. She wondered if perhaps the burdens of being a prince were not unlike the burdens of being a hero.

“I think,” she managed, “that if I lost my mother, I’d never quite feel ready.”

He smiled, but it was still sad. It seemed like all of Prince Adrien’s smiles were sad, and she could understand why.

Marinette yanked a few of her sketches out of the disorganized pile. “You know, there are three nights of the ball. I had some ideas—well, it’s your choice, but what do you think about these?”

Adrien took the sketches from her hand, careful not to smudge the charcoal. Some of them were even still damp with paint. He was amazed that she had done all of this in just the time since she had left the palace. He was more amazed by the care she had shown in the designs before she had even spoken to him.

The first one she handed him was, as she had said, in the colors of the royal palace. Red tights, a white and gold doublet, braiding appropriate for a prince, all things his father would approve of. There were others in blacks and dark blues, likely designed with Félix’s request for mourning attire in mind, but there was no way King Gabriel would let Adrien wear something like that.

But the sketch that made Adrien pause was of a white doublet, paired with a jerkin decorated in pale greens and white lilies. Adrien did not know how this young seamstress could have known his mother so well, but there she was. It was her style, as certainly as if Emilie Agreste had commissioned it herself. He brushed the sketch and his fingertips turned green from the still-drying paints, but he did not care.

“How did you…?”

“Master Fu used to design your mother’s dresses before she became queen and had a royal tailor. He gave me all the notes for your mother and your aunt. When Prince Félix told me that he wasn’t ready to give up his mourning attire, I had thought that maybe you would feel similarly. Or that maybe you might want a bit of your mother in your outfit.”

Adrien swallowed hard, surprised by the way tears welled up in his throat. He had cried plenty of nights alone in his room, but he had not come this close to tears in front of another person in a long time.

He returned the sketches to the table without looking through the rest. “It’s not really up to me. You can have your designs sent to my father, and he’ll let you know what he thinks.”

“Oh. Well, I can do that, but I’d also like to know what you think. You’re the one who has to wear it, after all.”

“I’ll do whatever my father thinks is best. Thank you, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, for all your help. I’m sure what you put together will be perfect.”

Somehow, Prince Adrien’s eyes did not seem so green anymore as Marinette helped him back into his clothes. She searched for a smile, even if it was his sad one, but she found no trace of it.

“Do you—” she bit down on her lip, surprised the question had even dared to breach her lips. “Er—never mind.”

Prince Adrien tipped his head to one side. “What is it?”

Marinette scrambled for a lie, for some other question she could ask, but she came up empty. Despite having lied about moonlighting as a hero for the past year, she had never quite mastered the art of deceit. “I just thought, well, my parents run one of the best bakeries in the city, and I didn’t know if you had eaten, and my mother said she’s making supper, and… Sorry. It was silly, and I shouldn’t have asked it.” But he had just looked so terribly sad, and she wanted to offer something to help.

At least he smiled now. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you, truly, but I ought to return to the palace before my father sends the entire guard to fetch me.”

Marinette gathered up her notes and sketches so that she could continue her work at home and walked Prince Adrien to the door. She called a brief good night to Master Fu and the shop bell jingled over hers and Prince Adrien’s heads as they stepped out into the storm.

The large, burly guard had an umbrella ready for the prince and held it over his and Marinette’s head to hold off the worst of the storm. Marinette remembered belatedly that she had not brought an umbrella. She had walked to the palace with her mother that morning, and had not thought to bring her own. She tucked the sketches into her coat and prayed to Tikki for a bit of luck getting it home safely.

Adrien scanned her empty hands. “Why don’t you come with me in the carriage? We’d be happy to drop you at your home so you don’t have to brave the storm.”

Marinette’s mind reeled from the very idea of her, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, bakery girl and tailor’s apprentice, riding in the royal carriage with Crown Prince Adrien Agreste. “I—I couldn’t—”

“I can’t let you walk home in the rain alone.”

“The bakery is in the opposite direction—I—you said that your father would worry. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

Adrien glanced back in the direction of the palace. She was right, of course; his father would worry. The curtain had fallen on his brief playact at freedom. “Then at least take the umbrella, to keep you and your sketches dry.”

Prince Adrien took the umbrella from his bodyguard’s hands and placed it in Marinette’s. As her fingers brushed his, her cheeks grew hot and a strange spark seemed to travel up her arm, not unlike the magic that filled her when she was Ladybug.

Words clamored up her throat, all a mess, jumbled, fighting for freedom and in the end, she could not even stammer out a thank you.

As the bodyguard opened the carriage door for Prince Adrien and he stepped out into the rain, the umbrella collapsed on top of Marinette. She yelped in surprise and Prince Adrien gasped—and then he burst out into laughter.

It was unexpected on both his part and his bodyguard’s part, and Adrien wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed. Well, Chat Noir got to laugh, and Prince Adrien laughed politely, but Adrien could not recall the last time he had truly laughed in earnest. It felt… good.

Marinette pushed the umbrella back up into its proper position and could not help but smile shyly. Prince Adrien’s green eyes were bright again and he looked genuinely happy. Even though the laughter faded and she could still see sadness in his smile, she was certain that there was the tiniest bit more joy in it. Something new burned in her chest that she could not describe.

“Thank you again,” Prince Adrien said, unbothered by the rain that still pelted him as he hovered between the shelter of the umbrella and the cover of the carriage. “I look forward to seeing what you create.”

Marinette could only nod, utterly dumbfounded and at a loss for words.

Adrien climbed into the carriage, uncaring that he soaked the white linen cushions and their gold embroidery as he sat down. The moment that the door closed, Plagg flew out from under the seats and nestled onto Adrien’s shoulder.

“Hey, what happened in there?” Plagg demanded. “Did I just hear you laugh? Like really laugh?”

Adrien rubbed his jaw, like even he could not quite believe his own smile. “I guess I did. Sorry that I couldn’t bring you with me. There’s not exactly anywhere for you to hide while a seamstress is taking measurements.”

“What did she say to you, though?”

“She didn’t say anything. She just… it was funny.” Adrien shrugged. “She was kind.”

As the carriage rolled away, Marinette could only stare after it, still stunned. Once it was out of sight, her wits slowly returned to her, but the burning in her chest did not fade. Unsure what to do with the energy that swelled in her, she ran home.

It was a cold winter storm, but she hardly noticed the biting wind. Everything in her felt hot, and her breath came fast and desperate as she ran. When she reached the boulangerie, she hardly heard her parents greet her and tell her supper was nearly ready. She ran up the three flights of stairs to her attic bedroom and dropped her sketches onto her bed.

They were perfectly dry, thanks to Prince Adrien’s umbrella. Even the green thumbprint that Prince Adrien had left behind on her designs was unsmudged.

She stared at them, unsure what to do with the giddy feeling that was climbing from her stomach and into her throat. It burst out of her in a silly, girlish giggle and she clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle it.

Tikki slipped out of Marinette’s cloak pocket and hovered in front of her at eye level. “Marinette, is this a crush?”

Marinette shook her head desperately, but she knew that she was lying. She swallowed hard and reached for the notes she had just finished on Prince Adrien’s measurements. Her cheeks felt hot as she looked over them.

“I can’t, Tikki! He’s a prince. I can’t have a crush on a prince!”

Tikki’s smile was both kind and mischievous. “I don’t know that you get to choose, Marinette.”

Marinette fell back into her chair with a groan, unable to take her eyes off of her sketches. As the storm finally lifted, and raindrops stopped pelting the windows of Marinette’s attic bedroom, she was forced to admit that not only did she definitely have a crush on Prince Adrien, she was going to spend the next month thinking about nothing except his body and how to dress it. She supposed she would have to make time to patrol as Ladybug, or she would go absolutely mad obsessing over a prince.

[bleachanimefan1]

Deadly Desire Part 4

Iscariot Organization,

Rina slowly opened her eyes and slowly sat up. She saw the sunlight shining through the curtains signaling that it was possibly near dawn. Rina played with a strand of her hair thinking about last night, meeting the strange Hellsing organization merry band group. She didn't blame them for being wary of her even after revealing herself to them that she was a dhampir. Integra was a smart and strong leader, Alucard was interesting but seemed to be hiding some pain behind that sadistic smile of his and blood-colored eyes, Seras seemed timid but friendly. Then Walter came into her mind, his cold blue eyes piercing into hers. Even though he looked very similar to her past lover. Ezra.

Walter's hair was slightly darker than his, Ezra's eyes were brown, compared to Walter's blue ones, however they both had the same body shape and strong jawline.

But, Walter wasn't Ezra. He was gone and was never coming back. And it was her fault that he died in the first place by letting him get close to her. Rina sighed releasing her hair and it fell loosely.

"Maybe I was a bit rude to him last night...Next time, I see him I'll apologize." Rina said softly and she got up and got dressed, tying her shoes. Rina stepped out of her room and started to walk down the dimly lit hallway. After a few minutes, trying to figure out the large mansion, Rina felt like she was being followed. No, she was being followed. After a few pauses, Rina heard footsteps coming to a quick stop trying to match hers. Rina turned around looking behind her only to see a glimpse of blond hair a few feet away.

"Hey you." Rina called out to her, causing Seras to squeak in surprise. Rina saw Seras slowly peek out, smiling sheepishly.

"You knew that I was following you?"

"From a mile away." Rina smirked then motioned Seras to come closer. "Come here, I want to talk to you." Seras blinked and hesitantly shuffled over to her.

"Relax. I'm not going to bite." Rina smiled, making a small joke. "We didn't really get to talk much when we met. So, your name is Seras?"

"Yes. I'm Seras Victoria." Seras told her.

"You serve under Alucard? How did that happen?" Rina asked her.

"There was a vampire attack in Cheddar. Most of my squad in the police force were killed, except for me. Alucard saved me from the vampire before it could drain my blood or do something worse to me. But in order to do so, my Master had to shoot me, destroying the vampire. My master gave me a choice if I wanted to become a vampire. I didn't want to die so I took his offer."

"Was it hard to accept it at first?" Rina asked her.

"Yes, it was. I refuse to drink blood at first. It felt like I would lose apart of myself if I did. That was until..." Seras paused and trailed off.

"Seras?"

"I helped her become the badass she was meant to be!" A man's voice spoke.

Rina blinked and to her surprise, she saw Sera's arm transform, turning into a red void. A man dressed in a dark brown military uniform with messy ginger hair that was tied in a braid and green eyes, his right eye had an eye patch. He appeared through the voice as half of his body popped out. His face had sharp features and a bandage across his nose. 

"Must you say it like that, Pip!?" Seras spoke, embarrassed. Pip grinned.

"Why not? You're my girl!" 

"So, you two are lovers?" Rina asked them. The two of them blinked and Seras smiled, awkwardly.

"In a sense you could say that. He lives on in me."

"So, do you know where Alucard is or anyone else? I still don't know my way around this place." Rina asked her.

"My master is not exactly a morning person." Seras smiled. "He's probably still sleeping down in the basement. I'm supposed to be resting as well but I decided to stretch my legs for a bit before turning in. As for Sir Integra, she might be in her study and Walter might be with her. You can maybe check there."

"I see." Rina nodded. "Okay, thank you for telling me."

At the main entrance to the estate, Integra received a notification that some Catholic priests were coming to visit her. Iscariot. A man with blue eyes and long blond hair and a woman who's face was covered in bandages and had a prosthetic arm and leg. Tension filled the air as the two rival organizations each other down. Integra forced a smile, greeting them.

"Why are you here?"

"I've heard rumors that there were recent vampire attacks. And it seems your organization has been hit again." Maxwell sneered at her. "We'll be taking care of driving those demons out."

"That won't be necessary I've already got my men to handle the situation." Integra frowned.

"You! You will die shitty butler!" Heinkel shouted enraged unable to contain her anger seeing Walter standing beside Integra. Maxwell shot Heinkel a glance and the woman stopped in her place. She gritted her teeth, gripping her fists tightly at her side and blood began to drip slowly as her fingernails cut through the skin.

"You should learn to heel unless you want to lose your other arm and leg again." Walter remarked.

"Walter, enough." Integra warned, shooting him glare.

"We did not come here to fight-" Maxwell spoke before a woman's voice interrupted him.

"Hey, Walter, I wanted to apologize for last night-" Rina called out and the group saw her coming towards them. Integra tensed up a little while Walter shot her a glance telling her to stop. Rina stopped in her tracks, wondering why. Then she saw the two priests standing near them.

"Heathen!" Heinkel shouted. Rina blinked confused and was surprised when she saw Walter step in front of her, blocking her from Heinkel.

"What in God's name is this, Sir Integra!?" Maxwell demanded.

"You're not exactly impressive yourself." Rina retorted. "You know what they say, never trust a catholic priest." She received a glare for Maxwell and Heinkel.

"You godless-" Heinkel scowled before Rina spoke cutting her off.

"For you information I do believe in God, just not your beliefs. Maybe you should look at the bible more about judging someone."

"This is one of my informants for the vampire investigation. She has the weapons to supply us." Integra explained, smiling. "And I think you overstayed your welcome."

"We do have business to attend to with the vampires. Watch your backs, Hellsing." Maxwell spoke and he turned and left. Heinkel glared at Walter then to Rina then snorted and left, following Maxwell and the two left the estate.

"So, ex-girlfriend of yours?" Rina asked Walter.

"Nothing of the sort." Walter spoke.

"She seemed clearly pissed off at you." Rina said.

"During the Nazi invasion, a former member of theirs, Anderson, was killed by Alucard. Walter, who at the time betrayed us, desecrated Anderson's corpse and also killed another member, Yumi, when she attacked Walter." Integra explained.

"Oh, I see. So, she attacked first by rushing in blindly and got herself killed. It was clearly self-defense." Rina spoke, nonchalantly, receiving a surprising blink from Walter and Integra.

[snzhrchy]

HEYYY:) may I request some Chishiya x reader angst? So reader is like a citizen (queen of diamonds or one with no confirmed face)

So reader and Chishiya dated before the beach burnt, but after it burnt reader mysteriously disappeared.

So Chishiya is going into readers game and when he sees reader he gets all emotional but doesn’t say that, although reader can see through Chishiya.

So when the game gets to the last 2 players (Chishiya and reader) reader decides to sacrifice herself because she wants Chishiya to lead a life outside the borderlands and she can’t bare to see him die.

Extra: Chishiya also gets a little more information about the borderlands thanks to reader maybe?

(I may have already requested this bcuz my hands slipped & I didn’t see if I pressed ask or not. if I did can you reply to this one instead? I’m so sorry lmaoo<3)

—☆ QUEEN OF DIAMONDS !

chishiya shuntaro x fem!gamemaster!reader

summary; chishiya got to a chance to play one last game with you. notes; this concept >> taglist; lmk if u wanna b on it !

The aftermath of the Ten of Hearts game was enough to make even Chishiya horrified. He could only stare in horror at the burning building in-front of him, knowing that countless lives were taken and brutally murdered there only made him feel worse.

However, what terrified him the most was when he looked over to the surviving members of The Beach, you weren’t there.

He felt his heart caught up in his throat — he looked over to the remaining 40 or so people, scanning each and every one of them carefully. He was hoping you would be hiding amongst the crowd but much to his dismay, he couldn’t find you.

He panicked. It was unlike him to ever be emotional over another person but to know that the only person he ever truly trusted and confided in was taken away from him? He was desperate to find you.

The fact that the so-called “next stage” in the games was about to being only made him more angrier and distressed.

He frantically searched across what he now knew as Shibuya for any sign of you, any sign that you were ever with him but to no luck, he couldn’t.

Once the King of Spades started to attack the unexpecting players, Chishiya’s mind was only focused on your well-being and where you might be. He didn’t dare think of the alternative.

After getting separated from the group, Chishiya searched as much as he could to find you but to no avail. The King unrelentingly shooting players only made him more concerned.

That was, until, he decided to join the Queen of Diamonds game. A small part of him hoped that he might find you playing one of these games.

He wished he was wrong.

As he entered the game, there were 5 more players already present, he was the sixth and final one. He observed the crowd and scanned each player to see if any one of them was you. He was left utterly disappointed.

Once he picked up the phone, the game began.

You walked up to the unfortunate players, introducing yourself as the Queen of Diamonds.

Chishiya's breath hitched. He was in awe. Seeing you there, dressed up in your fanciest clothes with a smile on your face, referring to yourself as a Queen.

He couldn’t believe that he ever fell in love with a game master — he disliked you for playing with his feelings but he hated himself even more for falling for someone like you.

He never was the one for romantic relationships; he despised them. However, he unfortunately fell for you. He knew that the relationship between you two wouldn’t last long because sooner or later, he would’ve broken your heart. What he didn’t expect was that he was the one being betrayed all along.

He had always been calculating; he had always been two steps ahead of everyone. But when he saw you there, he wished his eyes were lying to him. He wished that this was just a cruel lie to mess with him.

Unfortunately, he had to accept the truth that he never truly knew you.

As the game went on, you and him barely contacted as you were more focused on eliminating the other players. Chishiya didn’t say much either.

Until it was only you two left. 'You don't have to act all strong with me, you know. I can see right through you,' you stated with a fake smile plastered over your face.

Did it hurt you to toy with his feelings like that? Of course not. Kuzuryu and Mira had already informed you of what it would've been like at The Beach so you prepared yourself for the worst.

However, a small part of you did feel guilty for ever manipulating and hurting someone like him. You did feel guilty for making him believe something that never truly was there - whether it was the love you showed him or your actuality.

Or was it really all fake? Maybe there were truths hidden in all the romantic gestures you showcased towards him. Maybe, just maybe you did end up falling for him the way you made him believe, maybe.

'What do you mean? I'm not pretending,' he spoke ever so casually though it literally broke him to even make eye-contact with you now. He felt, betrayed, hurt but even after all that. he didn't blame you. He didn't blame you for anything - he blamed himself for ever being so naive.

'Chishiya,' you called out to him, 'I'd like you to know that everything that happened between - at The Beach - was real. Though, I know you don't want to believe it but we both know that the love I felt for you was there.'

'Why are you telling me this now?' He asked, trying hard to stay calm even though your words were breaking him apart slowly but surely. He tried to appear nonchalant and stoic but failed miserably. He loses himself whenever he's with you and to know that you were really his enemy all along only broke him more.

You ignored his question, 'love can get you to do the most dangerous of things - things that you have declared to fear.'

Chishiya was unsure of what you meant by that statement until he looked at the display screen in-front and his eyes widened in realisation of what you meant.

It was your turn to play and consequently, it was your last turn of the final round.

'I truly did have feelings for you; it wasn't fake, it never was,' You spoke as you went ahead to play your last turn and answered it wrong. You made yourself lose, on purpose. It wasn't a fair game but it was a mandatory sacrifice.

'Live a long for me, Chishiya, live a life that you're content with,' you said as you smiled widely at him, awaiting for the moment you'd finally be free.

The laser shot down from the sky, it's crimson light finally allowing you to be free. You weren't scared at all, you were rather content with what you had done. After months of planning skillful and tactical games, resulting in multiple deaths, you finally had a chance to save the life of someone you loved and you gladly took that opportunity.

As your lifeless body collapsed to the floor, Chishiya ran towards it, holding your limp body in his arms as a single tear fell down from his eye.

[phoenixyfriend]

When Obi-Wan gets to AotC, there's also about two dozen Anakin clones on-site. They're all girls because... IDK Anakin is trans. They have a hive mind and are developmentally a few years younger than Anakin himself.

It's incredibly unsettling to Obi-Wan.

It's almost definitely a "fuck with Anakin's already fragile mental health" ploy by Palpatine, along with a "what if Jedi Black Widows, for me, a Sith Lord. Wouldn't that be neat? That would be neat."

Anakin is torn between "this freaks me out" and "GANG OF BABY SISTERS LET'S GOOOOOOO."

(I just finished reading Like Real People Do by glimmerglanger, so this is definitely inspired by that and the obligatory 'lay back in bed and daydream variations on plot points of that fic you just really enjoyed,' and also a little by Same Heart, Same Blood by loosingletters.)

They're physically like 14-16 on average, and Anakin's vibrating out of his skin with a million conflicting emotions, but when he tells Padme she's just like "oh, you have a handmaiden gang!"

I told this to @willowcrowned and she suggested:

Once Anakin decides to repress the part of him that’s weirded out and just regard them as baby sisters he gets. A little strange about it The first time one of them dies he may or may not slaughter every person he can [in response to Padme's comment] Anakin starts worrying that he needs to get them cool matching outfits

I also chatted about it with @firebirdeternal and they said:

Gang of Unsettling Smol Siblings is exactly the Karma that Anakin deserves

Do you think the Clones have a kind of Collective Name that they use at first that eventually just kind of morphs into a new last name? Skysisters or something? Like Palpatine was trying to be clever and name them like the Nightsisters.

I initially went with "functionally one person" hive-mind but I'm torn.

I think maybe they're BASICALLY one person on Kamino but drift into Separate Consciousness once they're far enough apart physically that their minds don't blend from proximity anymore.

Then they start Dating (like half of them are dating Fett clones because they grew up with these dudes, it's like childhood friends romance), and Anakin loses his mind about Protecting Them and They're Too Young.

Padme: You're nineteen and we just got married, they can date. Anakin: THEY'RE EIGHT. Padme: And the Fett clones are ten and dying for us in the field. Get them rights before you panic about their love lives.

Firebird:

it could be worse, one of them could imprint on Obi-Wan. "Anakin I promise I won't yell at you for the next five stupid things you do if you can figure out a way to stop this baby from having a crush on me" (I like the idea of Obi-wan bargaining not with "I won't be mad at you ever" because they Both Know That's Not True, and instead haggling with specific allowances. Like he's handing out Stupidity Coupons)

Please imagine Mace and Obi-Wan's personal responses to the idea of suddenly having to deal with not one, not two, but OVER TWENTY SKYWALKERS.

Plo is delighted to take one off their hands.

So is Yoda.

Willow:

Mace is like. okay suicide isn’t the Jedi way but on the other hand. i physically cannot deal with this Yoda: a skywalker, you say? one who is tall enough to reach the top shelf, you say? such a skywalker, bring me

Anakin would be given at least one because fuck you, suffer with us, but he's still a padawan so Ugh, fine, no.

I want to say one stays on Coruscant to hang out with the Guard, and ends up half-adopted by Padme. She keeps dressing up the Aniclone left with her in handmaiden outfits and sending selfies to Anakin.

"Hanging out with the little SiL!"

Anakin has so many issues about WHEN his genetic material was acquired.

And there's some confusion from the Fett clones about how much of a hive mind is normal for Jedi. They are confused that the answer is basically none, and "this is WHY nobody clones a Jedi"

ONE OF THEM STEALS BOBA FROM THE ARENA ON GEONOSIS.

Firebird:

"I have followed in our progenitor's footsteps and acquired a sibling." holds up a struggling Boba "He bites."

Willow:

Ooooo okay so if they have a sort of hive mind then they probably don’t have names other than their designations on Kamino right BUT When they SEPARATE The one that picks Boba up on Geonosis gets a name specifically for that. Okay what if the one Padmé picks up gets some variant on ‘pretty’ because she’s always being dressed up BELLE Maybe Yoda’s Ani has a name that means thief? Because obviously Yoda is using Anakin to steal sweets

So, to make the timeline work...

I don't think anyone would give Anakin one of his sisters until after he's knighted at least.

So obviously when they're doing initial placements none of the sisters go to him or Obi-Wan.

Once he's knighted, of course they're already all placed with someone, and Anakin instead gets Ahsoka. He loves Ahsoka. She is also a little sister. He said so.

At some point afterwards, one of the sisters is left without a place because the Master that was in charge of her died in the field battle.

That sister then gets placed with Obi-Wan, because he's already mostly-successfully raised one Skywalker, so he can do it again.

Anakin gets to hang out with her basically all the time.

Ahsoka is very very jealous of this girl stealing Anakin's attention.

Anakin is oblivious to the rivalry.

He asks Barriss to look after them while he's discussing Adult War Things with Luminara and Obi-Wan, and Barriss gets an eye into This Mess, which is quickly colored by Ahsoka growing a puppy crush on the lovely Miss Offee herself.

Firebird:

Ahsoka: Ah yes, my nemesis. Anisister: Ah yes, my new older sister whom I want to impress so bad.

"I will impress her by being Stoic and Competent" "Oh my god she must think she's so much better than me what a bitch"

Anakin is oblivious to most things to be fair Anakin: Laser focused precision fighting machine who can read the tiniest body movements and predict your moves seconds in advance, who also cannot understand even the most basic social nuance. I was originally writing this as to Dunk on Anakin but then I made myself sad, because none of those things are really his fault.

So you know that post about like, Sasuke and Brooding, specifically in the context of "Brooding" as it's used to refer to Nesting Chickens? Grouchy and protective and sitting on a tennis ball trying to hatch it because they're just. "These are my Babies." Anakin Broods. Baby sisters. Must protecc. "I'm actually fine and extremely deadly in combat." "MUST PROTECT."

Bad Guy: [catches Ahsoka in a Trap] Aniclone: Must rescue sister! Aniclone: [fights, is not winning fight, gets ouched] Ahsoka tearing her way out of Trap: I lived bitch. Also: stay the fuck away from her. [murders so hard]

Ahsoka catches the Protective Older Sib feels by the traditional method: "Hey, only I'm allowed to be mean to them."

Willow:

Oh Anakin has no clue what’s going on. He walks in on Ahsoka glaring at the Ani and is like!!! Little sisters!!! Bonding!!! When Ahsoka was about three seconds away from tossing her out of the airlock. Ahsoka mistakenly assumes that Barriss has a crush on the Ani, and gets even MORE jealous.

Obi-Wan is like oh god. I can’t take care of an Anakin going through puberty again. He’s great with periods and other stuff because he read about a billion books. He is TERRIBLE with everything else, as he was the first time.

Barriss is like???? YOU'RE BOTH CHILDREN, PLEASE CALM DOWN, I HAVE ZERO INTEREST IN DATING ANYONE, LET ALONE SOMEONE YOUR AGE.

IDK how old Obi-Wan's Aniclone is, probably physically the same age as Ahsoka?

Per @atagotiak on discord:

Also something something, similarities btw Anakin and Obi-Wan where like. "Am I a parent? That seems uncomfortable, I'm too young to be a dad to a kid this age, I mean I'm cool with being a mentor/caretaker but..."

Obi-Wan can't even sidestep parenthood this time.

"Is Anakin basically your dad?" "Uhhhhhh" [Muffled discussion] "So Obi-Wan is your dad." "Okay!" "WAIT NO I DIDN'T AGREE TO THIS"

Ahsoka: She's stealing my brother, that BITCH. Obi-Wan's Aniclone: new sister new sister new sister gotta make a good impression

Firebird:

I feel like the Sister Squad would make very effective interstellar espionage agents Even like, kind of by accident. They just get encouraged to branch out in their interests and figure out what they want to do with their lives and end up all over the dang place, and since they're all pretty dang competent they tend to gravitate towards Important Positions wherever they end up. Except for one sister who just retires to raise Space Sheep.

I like that in this AU Palpatine is just like "I will create an army of Loyal Murderers who will obey my every whim and also be a big psychological lever on my Other Pet Murderer," and then they all just Baby Duckling imprint on the first Jedi to be nice to them instead and he has to just be like "Wait no not like that."

AND one of them Steals Boba

I want Obi-Wan's Aniclone to start dating Fives. All the sisters judge her for it, because he's a Goof. A very competent, ARC Trooper goof! But a goof.

Not as goofy as Anakin, though.

Firebird:

Who expects a clone of Anakin Skywalker to not make questionable lifelong romantic choices impulsively?

[viisator]

The Corpse’s Bride • • • Teaser

Tittle : The Corpse’s Bride

Pairing : Nishimura Riki x F!Redear x Yang Jungwon

Genre : Fantasy, Tragedy, Fiction, (angst, fluff)

Warning : Death, skeleton, Corpses.

Summary:Y/n is the daughter of the famous dressing merchant, and she is to marry the son of the Baron in the west. But one event ruined it all when Y/n found herself wandering in the land of the dead and accidentally marrying a dead boy on the side of the river.

Inspired by the movie ‘Corpse Bride’

Not Proofread

(This fanfic I wrote is inspired and I made it so like the movie 'Corpse Bride’. I just love that movie so much, so I think It’ll be fun making an en- fic abt it … So yeah. I wrote this. And I wrote this 'cuz it’s kinda sad letting go of the things, and people we love so much, and I hate letting go of stuff/someone, so I just wrote this.)

– Can I have a request, please? After/before you read this(thanks for checking this out btw) like or reblog, or both; is really appreciated!! And it will help my blogs reach other ppl too!! Thank you!! Have a good time reading!! –

• • • • •

“I, L/n Y/n, take you, Yang Jungwon, to be my husband,” Y/n starts, taking a breath, “to have and to hold from this day forward,” she continues, wandering more, taking her feet to somewhere. “for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish…” She then crosses a river, jumping through rocks by rocks, “till death do us part–” Y/n looks at her hands, knitting her eyebrows. “according to God’s holy law, and this is my solemn vow.” She finishes, with a perfect tone, and the right words to say. “ Do you, L/n Y/n, take, him as your husband?” She mimicked the priest’s voice, saying those words in a deep voice while making expressions, after that, she sighs then she saw a ring that was sitting on a rock near the river, the cold ring was slipped into her finger, while smiling to herself “Well, of course!… I do.” She said, lifting her hand, and giggles left her mouth. The wind seems to blow a little faster, and the moonlight seems like it’s glistening, reflecting the flowing river next to her.

'I hope I can do this good next day!’ She excitedly thought.

Then crows came out of nowhere making flapping and 'caw! caw!’ sound and the cold wind blew rapidly, giving her goosebumps and startling her, gasps, crossing her arms blocking the crow out of her face, and when she lifts her arms away, a horrifying figure pops up before her, terrified she was, making her feat run none stop, little twigs are on her way that cuts through her skin and ripped part of her dress, she keeps on running until her feet are sore, she did not stop until the figure is nowhere to be seen, and when she stops out of breath and chest are going up and down, her terrified eyes scan the field in front of her, but when she finally relaxed, she turned around, her eyes are wide while breaths are shorts, a hand grabs into her shoulders, she screams louder than she ever had, voice echoing across, the thing was wearing a dirty black tuxedo covered in dust and mud, while the crows fly circling above them, Y/n did not stop screaming throwing her hands and fist into the figure in front of her, and then it spoke.

“I gladly take you as my wife.” The dead spoke to her in a raspy low voice making her mouth shut, stopping her screams and their faces are barely apart when his lips touched hers.

Master list

Read : PART ONE

© viisator 2022

[caitimetravels]

she’s insignificant

chapter 3: the dangers inside

the umbrella academy x reader

disclaimer: i do not own the plot/storyline of the netflix tv series and i do not own the umbrella academy characters.

warnings: swearing, mentions of death

masterlist

y/n stared at the blue energy in the courtyard before deciding to join her siblings as they rushed to see what it was. as she ran down the stairs she caught sight of klaus holding a fire extinguisher.

"what are you doing?" she caught up with him.

"something" he shrugged, bursting out the door first. "out of the way!"

"thats not going to- klaus what the hell?" y/n went to stop him only to watch as he tried to extinguish the mass of energy. she shook her head in disbelief, stepping beside vanya.

klaus chucked the extinguisher when he realised it wouldn't work.

"what is that gonna do?" allison shouted over the loud noise. klaus threw his hands up.

"i don't know. do you have a better idea?" he stepped back in surprise as another flash came from the portal. luther pulled klaus back.

"everyone get behind me!" and in true sibling rivalry diego nodded, shielding vanya and y/n.

"yeah, get behind us!"

they watched, brows furrowing at the familiar figure that dropped to the ground. as they stepped closer the vortex disappeared.

"is that-?" y/n looked up at vanya, peeking around diego to see.

there, in a too large sized suit, stood their missing brother. he pushed himself to his feet taking in their appearance.

"does anyone else see little number five is that just me?" klaus questioned as they walked closer. the said boy stared down at himself in confusion before looking back at them.

"shit" he cursed.

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

they all moved back into the kitchen, letting five do as he pleased while he explained what he needed to.

he placed a chopping board and knife on the table while the others stood at the other end. y/n stood off to the corner, not entirely comfortable with them after being accused of murder. "what's the date? the exact date"

five walked around, grabbing bread to make himself a sandwich. vanya answered, "the 24th"

"of what?" five pushed walking back over.

"march"

"good" he pulled out two pieces of bread, laying them on the chopping board.

"so, are we going to talk about what just happened?" luther raised an eyebrow, expectantly but five stayed silent. "its been 17 years!" luther stood, frustrated but five wasn't taking any of his bullshit.

"it's been a lot longer than that" the shorter boy walked towards him before blinking behind him to grab the marshmallows. luther sighed,

"i haven't missed that"

"where'd you go?" diego piped up, unfazed.

"the future" five sighed, "and it's shit by the way" he opened up the bag of marshmallows.

"called it!" klaus raised his finger.

"do you want one?" five looked up at y/n, referring to the sandwich, a soft gleam in his eyes. the others shared a look, of course he had only missed her. she gently shook her head with a small smile. "i should have listened to the old man" five walked to the fridge, pulling out a jar. "he knew. travelling through space is one thing, travelling through time is a toss of the dice"

he paused as he opened the peanut butter, looking up at them again before noticing klaus' attire. "nice dress"

"oh, danke" klaus twirled loose material around. allison rolled her eyes.

"how did you get back?"

"in the end i had to project my consciousness forward into a suspended quantum state version of myself that exists across every possible instance of time" he continued making his sandwich like he hadn't just shocked them.

"that makes no sense" diego scoffed,

"well, it would if you were smarter" five shrugged, ignoring the way diego stood up to fight him. luther held him back.

"did you put a decimal point in the wrong spot?" y/n asked, surprising the others. she crossed her arms, thinking "it was probably a miscalculation in your proof of the existence of a bound for the number of limit cycles of planar polynomial vector fields of fixed degree."

five paused, thinking it over before realising she was right. "it should have been 0.57" he mumbled.

"how long were you there?" luther changed the subject, obviously confused.

"45 years" five went back to his sandwich making. "give or take"

everyone sat back down in shock.

"so what are you saying? that you're 58?!" luther narrowed his eyes in disbelief. there was no way.

"no" five looked up, speaking through gritted teeth. "my consciousness is 58. apparently my body is now 16 again"

"how does that even work?" vanya croaked out, still shocked at the situation.

"delores kept saying the equations were off" five shrugged, stepping away and looking off into the distance as he took a bite of his sandwich. "bet she's laughing now"

"delores?" vanya asked. y/n froze, he had kept her? at the girl's movement, or lack thereof, allison looked over at her, raising her eyebrows.

y/n shook her head, waving it off.

five picked up the newspaper on the table, staring at the picture of their father.

"hm.. guess i missed the funeral"

"how'd you know about that?" luther questioned, defensive.

"what part of the future do you not understand?" five narrowed his eyes, slightly amused by his brothers incompetence. "heart failure, huh?"

"yeah-" diego started only to be cut off by luther.

"no" there was silence for a moment before a kitchen knife stabbed into the table beside luther's hand.

"if i had murderous intent, luther, you'd be the first on my list" y/n scoffed, walking out.

they all stared after her in shock.

"nice to see nothing's changed" five sighed before following her out.

"thats it?" allison asked, turning towards him as he walked. "thats all you have to say?"

"what else is there to say? circle of life" he called back.

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

vanya walked up to five in the parlour where he stood staring at his painting.

"nice to know dad didn't forget me" five turned to her, "read your book by the way.. found it in the library that was still standing"

he started to walk around, noticing y/n sitting on the balcony above. she had her legs dangling through the bars, calmly reading a book. he turned back to vanya.

"thought it was pretty good, all things considered" he stared her down, "definitely ballsy, giving up the family secrets. sure that went over well"

"they hate me" vanya frowned,

"well there are worse things that can happen" five was obviously trying to cheer her up, in his own way.

"you mean like what happened to ben?" there was a pause, both thinking it over.

"was it bad?" five asked softly, he knew y/n was still listening. he heard the faint sound of a book shutting. he looked away as vanya nodded.

"y/n had a hard time dealing with it.. the worst of all of us. dad forbid her from going on missions after her reaction.."

"her reaction?" five turned back, eyebrows furrowing, this wasn't in vanya's book.

"she nearly tore our souls out.. she was devastated and couldn't control her emotions. dad said it helped her though, something about a new ability. he trained her alone from then, forcing her to find you" vanya shrugged, sighing, going silent.

"find me?" five pushed, "what do you mean find me?"

"she said she did.. did she not?" vanya looked surprised now.

"no, no she did.. just didn't stay long is all" five shook his head, frowning.

"yeah well, they stopped trying when she lied to dad"

"she lied?" five looked back up at where she was previously sitting but now she was gone, the only thing left behind was her book and a wisp of smoke.

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

"ben.. i'm- i'm scared" eight sat cross legged in front of his statue. "my powers are getting stronger and i'm scared to hurt the others. i wish you were still here" she refused to cry no matter how much she wanted to. she couldn't let the same thing happen.

"i'm scared ben. what if i can't control it? what if hurt somebody? you're not here to help me and i-.. it hurts sometimes. dad doesn't understand, he never did but it hurts to suppress my emotions like he wants me to. we try so hard and he still never thinks we're enough.." she paused, pulling her knees up to her chest. "what if i am weak? what if he's right?"

unbeknownst to her ben's ghost sat beside her. "you're not weak" he shook his head, moving to look at her face. "you'll never be weak, you're so strong. please keep being strong for me" he pleaded with her as she continued to blame herself. he hated this. he hated not being there for her. he just wanted her to be okay.

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

y/n walked beside five, standing under his umbrella with him. they didn't speak as they walked back out into the courtyard. the siblings all stood in line with luther in front of them, carrying their dad's ashes.

"did something happen?" grace looked at them all, smiling despite the occasion. they all looked up at her.

"dad died.." allison answered, confused. "remember?"

"oh, yes of course" grace nodded, expression turning more somber.

"is mom okay?" allison asked, now worried about how grace was acting.

"yeah, yeah she's fine" diego quickly defended, "she just needs to rest, you know, recharge" allison looked incredulous but dropped it nonetheless.

pogo stepped forwards, looking up at luther. "whenever you're ready, dear boy"

luther breathed out, opening the lid and dropping the ashes in a pitiful pile. they all frowned.

"probably would have been better with some wind" luther griped,

"does anyone wish to speak?" pogo ignored it, looking at the rest of them. everyone stayed silent, looking away. "very well.. in all regards, sir reginald hargreeves made me what i am today, for that alone i shall forever be in his debt. he was my master and my friend and i shall miss him very much.." he paused, "he leaves behind a complicated legacy-"

"he was a monster" diego cut off, still staring down at the ashes. klaus laughed. "he was bad person and a worse father. the world's better off without him-"

"diego" allison scolded, glaring at him in surprise.

"my name is number two. you know why?" he looked over at her. "because our father couldn't be bothered to give us actual names, he had mom do it"

"would anyone like something to eat?" grace asked, smiling again, unaware of what was happening.

"no, its okay mom" vanya denied, albeit confused.

"oh, okay"

"look, you wanna pay your respects" diego stepped out in front of them, "go head, but at least be honest about the kind of man he was" he looked at pogo now.

"you should stop talking now" luther warned, anger growing. diego glared at him for a moment before fully turning to face him.

"you know, you of all people should be on my side here, number one"

"i am warning you-" diego ignored him,

"after everything he did to you" y/n sighed, crossing her arms to her chest, fighting wasn't going to fix any of them. klaus and five shared a look. "he had to ship you a million miles away"

"diego stop talking-" luther tried again. diego was definitely hitting a nerve. he jabbed a finger into luther's chest.

"that's how much he couldn't stand the sight of you!" luther grabbed his arm and swung at his head. diego ducked. they begun fighting while everyone else backed away.

"boys! stop this at once!" pogo attempted to stop them, moving back despite this.

klaus held an arm out to shield five and y/n. the former slapped it away. they continued to fight, diego egging him on and landing several punches. klaus began to chant while vanya yelled at them to stop.

"klaus" y/n warned, gaining both his and five's attention. her eyes were turning black, she was struggling.

"y/n? are you okay?" five hadn't been there, he didn't know what she would do if she lost control. pogo walked away, not wanting to stay. klaus nervously watched y/n while the others watched luther and diego fight.

"i don't have time for this" five sighed, beginning to walk away, leaving y/n with klaus under his small pink umbrella.

that was when it happened. y/n froze as they knocked ben's statue.

"aw" klaus complained while allison glared at them.

"and there goes ben's statue"

"klaus?" y/n's voice scared them all. she sounded weak. she gripped his jacket, tightly. "klaus"

"what's wrong?" he looked down at her, watching as she fought her emotions. her eyes were turning black but she kept fighting it.

diego pulled out his knife and vanya's shouting at him to stop made it harder for y/n to calm herself. he threw it at luther, cutting his arm.

"klaus" she called again and he held her arm unsure of what to do. "i-i can't.. i can't-" she let out a pained whine as her eyes darkened, she was letting go. suddenly diego and luther let out shouts of pain.

"what's going on?!" allison watched them, confused and distraught. vanya quickly left their mother's side, pulling y/n into her.

"its okay, you're okay" vanya whispered to her, trying to calm her. "it can be fixed, you're okay, just relax. try to relax" listening to vanya's heartbeat she slowly calmed down, the blackness of her eyes seeping away and diego and luther straightened, no longer in pain.

y/n stared at them in shock and guilt before shaking her head and running inside. she locked herself in her room again. she was truly a demon.

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

one by one the siblings left, y/n watched sadly as they all abandoned her again. she was always left alone, the family problems only got bigger when they got together. she sighed, maybe she was better off alone.

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

y/n looked up from her book as she heard frantic footsteps around the mansion. peeking out her door she noticed vanya slowing down in front of five's room.

"oh thank god" she disappeared through his doorway but y/n could still hear her voice. "i was worried sick about you"

five had talked to vanya? why hadn't he come to her?

"sorry i left without saying goodbye" five's voice answered softly. what had he been doing? y/n quietly left her room to hear better. she wanted to be apart of her brother's plans too. she didn't want to be left out anymore.

"no, i'm the one that should be sorry. i was dismissive and i guess i didn't know how to process what you were saying.." vanya paused, "i still can't to be honest"

"maybe you were right to be dismissive" five huffed, that didn't sound like him at all? what was he really doing? "maybe it wasn't real after all.. it felt real. but well, like you said the old man did say time travel could contaminate the mind"

well vanya referred him to a therapist y/n tried to sense the room. something else was going on. carefully using her power she felt another person.. klaus. when vanya walked out y/n quickly turned to smoke, gliding along the floor, past five who watched vanya leave. klaus pulled himself out of the closet.

"that's so touching, all that stuff about family and dad and time"

"will you shut up? she'll hear you" five warned him, walking back over.

"you're lying to vanya?" y/n appeared next to klaus, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.

"it's nothing you should worry about" five dismissed before looking klaus over again. "i thought i told you to put on something professional"

"what? this my nicest outfit" klaus gestured to it. y/n snorted when five scoffed.

"we'll raid the old man's closet"

"whatever, as long as i get paid" klaus shrugged, beginning to walk behind five.

"when the job is done" they stopped just above the stairs.

"so, where are we going?" she followed along, smiling innocently at five who raised an eyebrow at her.

"not we, just klaus and i" five shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"five" she frowned,

"y/n" he mocked.

"just let me come, please don't leave me in the dark. i just want to help you" she pleaded, she had missed him.

he thought it over before sighing, "fine" he turned to walk again but klaus stopped him.

"but just so we're clear on the finer details" he waved his hand around, talking over the plan. "i just got to go into this place and pretend to be your dear old dad, correct?"

"yeah, something like that" five agreed, exasperated.

"what's our cover story?" klaus continued, ignoring five's look of annoyance.

"what? what are you talking about?" five shared a confused look with y/n who shrugged.

"i mean was i young when i had you, like 16.. like young and terribly misguided" five agreed just to get him to stop but he didn't. "your mother, that slut, whoever she was, we met at.. the disco and you can be his sister"

"i am his sister?" y/n raised an eyebrow, but klaus only smiled, clicking his fingers.

"okay, remember that. oh my god the sex was amazing"

y/n scoffed, walking away first, five following. "what a disturbing glimpse into that thing you call a brain"

"don't make me put you in time out" klaus waved a finger at him.

as they walked out the door onto the street y/n paused.

"what's wrong, baby sis?" klaus asked, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "you're not backing out already?"

"no!" she quickly denied, looking up at him as she snapped out of her starstruck daze. "it's just.. i haven't left the house in 16 years.."

klaus and five shared a sorrowful look. what had happened to her?

tags: @rxses-and-reverie

[derekscorner]

Fated Rantings: Mordred

I have begun watching Fate Apocrypha pt 2

I mentioned two characters that stand out to me from Fate Apocrypha and while the first is Astolfo the second is Mordred....good lord this poor child.

I can see why she’d be popular for a myriad of reasons. “Saberface” for one is a known inside joke from Type Moon but also a valid marketing stunt because fans do like them a “saber face”.

Others may cast their own worries or beliefs on identity or gender onto her. Many more may simply like her character for far simpler reasons. If anything, I’d argue focusing her on face or projecting your own ideals onto her doesn’t really do her justice.

For one, Mordred is fully aware of their unnatural origins and shared face with their “father” Artoria Pendragon. Fans may like it or find it entertaining but in-universe this can’t be a light subject.

Similarly, Mordred nearly cuts down her master for being referred to as a woman yet is fully fine with dressing as one or things that would be seen as womanly.

That alone tells me Mordred world view is highly complex for reasons that are very similar to Artoria yet also unique. Any fan knows that within the Nasuverse that “King Arthur” acted as a man because women simply wouldn’t be accepted as king. Even if they were chosen by a holy sword.

In this respect, Mordred will also have hard feelings since only “King Arthur’s” “son” could be an heir to the thrown. They were quite frankly done unjustly by the time they lived in.

This was only made worse by the decisions Merlin made while raising and guiding Artoria in the decades prior to Mordreds birth. Merlin himself being fully aware of his own disconnect from humanity.

Truly, a huge reason Mordred even exists or succeeded in destroying Camelot was because Artoria herself acted as a “perfect” king but not a “human”. She suppressed that humanity and you could argue she had a hard time even feeling it due to her agelessness brought on by Caliburn and Excalibur.

Of course, you’re at this point likely asking what this has to do with Mordred or you’re typing a response of hate that a 90s pale as paper man would even dabble in topics that I (in earnest) know little of. To tumblr’s dismay I am indeed a straight male.

I only brought up these views because I do think projecting on Mordred can simplify the depth while the character itself says little on such subjects in story. I’ll see how wrong I am by the end of the anime I guess....

Back to Artoria. Why is the six or so previous paragraphs important to Mordred? Simple. The limited views of women during that era and Merlin’s disconnect from humanity quite literally fucked both Artoria and her “son” Mordred.

From what I understand, Morgan le Fay hated Artoria because (in this universe) they were both full blood sisters yet Artoria was set up for kingship when Morgan herself held the specific magic that marked Britain’s rightful king.

Morgan’s efforts to ruin her sister were wide and many but this directly affected Mordred as well. The very act of Mordred’s birth is rather horrible if you think about it.

The irony is also palpable. Merlin and Urther Pendragon went through some lengths to make Artoria the promised king. Artoria’s upbringing created someone who suppressed her humanity and desires, was rendered ageless by a holy sword, and even invincible by the scabbard Avalon.

But there was one thing Artoria couldn’t cheat, her inability to bear a child with her wife Guinevere. Merlin’s big brain idea was to use magecraft to temporarily make Artoria male or at least a hermaphrodite of sorts.

Morgan caught wind of this, got into the castle, and quite frankly charmed and took advantage of her own sister. This isn’t just sick on the level of “slipping a woman a roofie” but an act of malice.

Morgan’s malice, on top of the magecraft involved on both Merlin and Morgan’s parts, caused Mordred to be born with Artoria as the legitimate “father” but Mordred was rendered a homunculus.

Not only was her face and body a copy of Artoria Pendragon but her lifespan was laughably short. She aged and grew at a rate that’s just sad for me to even think about.

Worse yet, Morgan either didn’t care that Mordred was her child or didn’t see her as a person/child in the first place. The treatment Mordred had compared to her siblings was supposedly quite stark. I do not know if that includes a physical abuse but there is a strong manipulation involved.

In Mordred’s own flashbacks she was shown to be raised solely to sneak into Artoria’s court and seed rebellion. When Morgan saw that this was failing due to Mordred being enamored by “King Arthur” she chose to shatter Mordred’s happiness by revealing her heritage to Mordred knowing full well it’d end in rejection.

Mordred was so sure she had fixed Artoria’s heir issues only to be met with a rejection. This moment is where I see the depth and tragedy of her the strongest.

In Mordred’s mind, she was rejected because because Artoria hated Morgan. She just assumed that as a child of a “witch” born under very dark circumstances that she was hated by proxy.

Given Mordred’s words in the anime I can even infer that Mordred may have thought this, in part, because of her own hatred for Morgan. She says things that display a clear dislike for her mother.

The tragedy here is worse than this. Mordred lived a short life with a mother that thought little of her existence, was told to keep hidden in her armor for most of her career in Camelot, and was an unnatural being as far as the world itself was concerned.

What she wanted was acceptance from someone. She can go on about being a king or what have you but her relationship with her master mage tells me that she just wants some level of acceptance.

This fact alone is what makes Artoria’s flat rejection all the more painful. Mordred assumed it was for petty personal reasons but no, Artoria, Mordred’s ideal king and “father” rejected her based on cold fucking logic.

Artoria, true to her own upbringing, deduced that Mordred did not have the makings of a king. There was no malice in her choice as stated by her in a flashback.

In other words, Artoria rejected her progeny with neither hatred, guilt or good intentions.

Mordred wasn’t even worth feelings of hate or love from her father. That is, by far, the worst kind of rejection you could possibly garner. To be a non factor at all.

Of course, Artoria’s emotions were suppressed not nonexistent. It’s entirely possible that she did hate Mordred during the rebellion but the actual rejection that led to that rebellion is the issue.

The damage was done. Mordred was doomed to fulfill her mothers goals through the faults of Merlin and Artoria. I wont say this makes Mordred blameless entirely given that the fall of Camelot came at great loss of life.

She’s not a saint after all but it is entirely possible to emphasize with her. She wasn’t given a chance to be more than this. Mordred is also far more human and in touch with her desires and emotions despite being arguably less human than her parents.

That is why I find Mordred to hold so much depth. That depth only grows as she interacts with her master in the anime. There’s a complex and dejected soul there, one that will slit a throat yet keep innocent “commoners” (as she calls them) safety in mind.

She has a heart and it is entirely tragic that the failings of her time and parents led her to this outcome.

=======================

For my other experiences with Fate go here: https://derekscorner.tumblr.com/tagged/fated-rantings

[jackoshadows]

 “You,” Ned said, kissing her lightly on the brow, “will marry a king and rule his castle, and your sons will be Knights and princes and lords and, yes, perhaps even a High Septon.” - Eddard, A Game of Thrones

My featherbed is deep and soft, and there I’ll lay you down, I’ll dress you all in yellow silk, and on your head a crown - Arya, A Storm of Swords

“Aegon has been shaped for rule since before he could walk. He has been trained in arms, as befits a knight to be, but that was not the end of his education. He reads and writes, he speaks several tongues, he has studied history and law and poetry. A septa has instructed him in the mysteries of the Faith since he was old enough to understand them. He has lived with fisherfolk, worked with his hands, swum in rivers and mended nets and learned to wash his own clothes at need. He can fish and cook and bind up a wound, he knows what it is like to be hungry, to be hunted, to be afraid. Tommen has been taught that kingship is his right. Aegon knows that kingship is his duty, that a king must put his people first, and live and rule for them.” - Kevan, A Dance with Dragons

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

So this is an essay of sorts on my speculation/theory that Arya is going to end up as a leader of the North by the end of the series. I will split this into several parts:

Arya and leadership

Arya and Northern leadership

Arya and Nymeria

Skillsets

Importance of being a Warg/Skinchanger

Succession

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

Arya Stark and leadership

“Know the men who follow you,” she heard him tell Robb once, “and let them know you. Don’t ask your men to die for a stranger.“  - Arya, AGoT

Arya has always been a leader rather than a follower. Just like Jon at the wall, she initially chafes at having to follow orders instead of doing what she thinks is the right thing to do. Despite Gendry and Hot Pie being older than her, she’s the one giving the orders and making the plans. She manipulates or forces characters into doing what she wants – getting Gendry to leave Harrenhal and forcing Jaqen to help her free the Northmen.

Arya took the lead, kicking her stolen horse to a brisk heedless trot until the trees close in around her. Hot Pie and Gendry followed as best they could. From time to time Arya glanced over her shoulder, to make sure the two boys had not fallen too far behind, and to see if they were being pursued - Arya, ASoS

Like most of our protagonists, Arya is ambitious and interested in being an active participant at the top. She wanted to become a King’s councilor and build castles. That entire little speech that Varys gives about the ideal candidate for ruling fits Arya to a T.

Arya has gone hungry, scrubbed and cleaned, cooked and kept house, sewed and mended clothes, bound up wounds, been hunted, been scared for her life – and done all this with limited protection. Just survived on her wits. Arya can wield a sword, is fluent in several languages and has studied with a Septa.

We also see war torn Westeros and the suffering of the smallfolk through Arya’s eyes in ACoK and ASoS. It doesn’t matter if it’s Stark or Lannister, the smallfolk suffer the same – Septon Meribald’s ‘Broken Men’ speech in AFfC embodies what Arya observes. After Arya frees the Northmen using weasel soup and Vargo Hoat betrays the Lannisters, there are reprisal killings, torture and rape enacted by Stark bannermen and the sellswords. The smith, Maester and the head maid are executed for merely serving Tywin – something on which they had no choice. Gendry points this out to Arya and she feels guilty for her part in all this.

“I hate this lot worse. Ser Amory was fighting for his lord, but the Mummers are sellswords and turncloaks. Half of them can’t even speak the Common Tongue. Septon Utt likes little boys, Qyburn does black magic, and your friend Biter eats people.”

The worst thing was, she couldn’t even say he was wrong. The Brave Companions did most of the foraging for Harrenhal, and Roose Bolton had given them the task of rooting out Lannisters. Vargo Hoat had divided them into four bands, to visit as many villages as possible. He led the largest group himself, and gave the others to his most trusted captains. She had heard Rorge laughing over Lord Vargo’s way of finding traitors. All he did was return to places he had visited before under Lord Tywin’s banner and seize those who had helped him. – Arya, ACoK

"It’s not a village, it’s only black stones and old bones. “Did the Lannisters kill the people who lived here?” Arya asked as she helped Anguy dry the horses.

“No.” He pointed. “Look at how thick the moss grows on the stones. No one’s moved them for a long time. And there’s a tree growing out of the wall there, see? This place was put to the torch a long time ago.”

“Who did it, then?” asked Gendry.

“Hoster Tully.” Notch was a stooped thin grey-haired man, born in these parts. “This was Lord Goodbrook’s village. When Riverrun declared for Robert, Goodbrook stayed loyal to the king, so Lord Tully came down on him with fire and sword. After the Trident, Goodbrook’s son made his peace with Robert and Lord Hoster, but that didn’t help the dead none.”

A silence fell."  - Arya, ASoS

"Wolves, she thought again. Like me. Was this her pack? How could they be Robb’s men? She wanted to hit them. She wanted to hurt them. She wanted to cry.” - Arya, ASoS

The smallfolk in the Riverlands are caught between the Starks, Tullys and Lannisters with no good choices. And on the ground level, Arya sees this, understands this and acknowledges this. Her actions benefited house Stark and no one else. She understands the cost of war.

Arya is also very keen on justice. In that she not only thinks that characters deserve justice, but she wants to actively participate and deliver justice. She considers the execution of Dareon from the NW as a just one.

Dareon had been a deserter from the Night's Watch; he had deserved to die. - Arya, AFfC

“Guilty!” Arya shouted with the rest. “Guilty, guilty, kill him, guilty!” …

Arya could only think of Mycah and all the stupid prayers she’d prayed for the Hound to die. If there were gods, why didn’t Lord Beric win? She knew the Hound was guilty… - Arya, ASoS

Her father beat her so often and so brutally that she was never truly free of pain or fear until she came to us.”

“Did you kill him?”

“She asked the gift for herself, not for her father.”

You should have killed him.“ - Arya, ADWD

Arya drew back from him. "He killed the slave?" That did not sound right. "He should have killed the masters!" – Arya, aDwD

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

Arya and Northern leadership

I would sooner my men die fighting for the Ned’s little girl than alone and hungry in the snow, weeping tears that freeze upon their cheeks. - Hugo Wull

The North has famously never had a female leader in House Stark. So is it possible for valiant Ned’s precious little girl to become the first Lady Stark to lead the North?

In terms of personality, Arya resembles some of the other female leaders/members of Northern houses. She is bold and forward like Lyanna Mormont and Wylla Manderly. She has trained with the sword and learned how to use a bow and arrow. She proactively engineers her own escape like Alys Karstark. Characters like Ygritte and Alys remind Jon Snow of Arya.

Arya venerates Ned Stark. She follows his advice as much as Robb, Bran and Jon do. Even more so. She executes a NW brother for desertion. And that is important for the Starks.

I should kill them myself. Whenever her father had condemned a man to death, he did the deed himself with Ice, his greatsword. - Arya, ACoK

The blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks, and we hold to the belief that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. - Bran, AGoT

“The Starks do not use headsmen. Ned always said that the man who passes the sentence should swing the blade, though he never took any joy in the duty.” - Catelyn, ACoK

“Rickard Karstark, Lord of Karhold.” Robb lifted the heavy axe with both hands. “Here in sight of gods and men, I judge you guilty of murder and high treason. In mine own name I condemn you. With mine own hand I take your life. Would you speak a final word?” - Catelyn, ASoS

The pale morning sunlight ran up and down his blade as Jon clasped the hilt of the bastard sword with both hands and raised it high. “If you have any last words, now is the time to speak them,” he said, expecting one last curse. - Jon, ADwD

Arya is one of the Starkiest Starks of the whole lot. She is also the only Stark to actually have the Stark look. She is stubborn and determined to do things the Stark way. She often uses her father’s advice to guide her way.

Her father used to say that a lord needed to eat with his men, if he hoped to keep them. “Know the men who follow you,” she heard him tell Robb once, “and let them know you. Don’t ask your men to die for a stranger.“ - Arya, aGoT

Arya had loved nothing better than to sit at her father’s table and listen to them talk. She had loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms.- Arya, AGoT

Whenever her father had condemned a man to death, he did the deed himself with Ice, his greatsword. “If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him go look him in the face and hear his last words,” she’d heard him tell Robb and Jon once. - Arya, ACoK

Now there are theories that it is future Bran who was communicating with Arya through the weirwood at Harrenhal, but she does gain strength from her father’s words when she prays to the Old Gods.

Gooseprickles rose on Arya’s skin, and for an instant she felt dizzy. Then, so faintly, it seemed as if she heard her father’s voice. “When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,” he said. “But there is no pack,” she whispered to the weirwood. Bran and Rickon were dead, the Lannisters had Sansa, Jon had gone to the Wall. “I’m not even me now, I’m Nan.” “You are Arya of Winterfell, daughter of the north. You told me you could be strong. You have the wolf blood in you.” - Arya, ACoK

And while Arya is travelling incognito, GRRM keeps her connected to the North, house Stark and the Northern plot. She starts her journey from KL with a NW brother Yoren. She’s disguised as a boy like Danny Flint, Manderly requests a song about brave Danny Flint at Ramsay’s wedding with ‘Arya’. In the Riverlands, Arya’s plot intersects with her father’s bannermen, she participates in the capture of Harrenhal for house Stark and is there for Roose Bolton’s war council. She meets both Roose Bolton and Aenys Frey – our antagonists in Winterfell facing off against Stannis in ADwD. She meets Robett Glover – who is currently in White Harbor - when she lets him out of the dungeons. She gets Jaqen to help her father’s men.

“Vargo Hoat’s come back with prisoners. I saw their badges. There’s a Glover, from Deepwood Motte, he’s my father’s man. The rest too, mostly.” All of a sudden, Arya knew why her feet had brought her here. “You have to help me get them out.” – Arya, ACoK

Arya looked. She knew all of her father’s men. The three in the grey cloaks were strangers. Arya, AGoT

Twin towers. Sunburst. Bloody man. Battle-axe. The battle-axe is for Cerwyn, and the white sun on black is Karstark. They’re northmen. My father’s men, and Robb’s. - Arya, ACoK

Harwin?” Arya whispered. It was! Under the beard and the tangled hair was the face of Hullen’s son, who used to lead her pony around the yard, ride at quintain with Jon and Robb, and drink too much on feast days. He was thinner, harder somehow, and at Winterfell he had never worn a beard, but it was him—her father’s man. Arya, ASoS

“I bet there are Winterfell men too.” Her father’s men, the Young Wolf’s men, the direwolves of Stark. - Arya, ASoS

Arya is also involved in betrothals/marriage – first to Elmar Frey and then married off to Ramsay Bolton to hold the North. As a side note, her connection to all these bastards is indeed interesting - Elmar Frey, Ramsay Bolton, Gendry and Jon Snow. Is GRRM trying to say something here?

We now have the Northerners and Freys that Arya sees in Harrenhal transposed to Winterfell and ‘her father’s men’ rising up for Arya Stark.

Now, we can speculate and assume that these Northerners would have done the same for the other Starks, but that’s not the point here. In the books, GRRM has written this story to revolve around Arya. The mountain clans are marching for ARYA. The Northern houses are fighting alongside Stannis for ARYA. When lady Barbrey Dustin points out the anger of the Northmen at the treatment of ‘Valiant Ned's precious little girl’ she is talking about ARYA.

GRRM has Stannis wanting to rescue Arya for Jon. He has Mance trying to rescue Arya for Jon. He has Jon breaking his vows and dying trying to rescue Arya. A large part of what drives this plot forward is that it’s Arya, and her special relationship with Jon Snow influences a lot of what is happening south of the wall. The story only happens this way with Arya in the North. And that’s why it’s Arya’s story and not that of any other Stark. Superimposing this or that Stark in place of Arya to make a case for why they would be leader of the North makes no sense. GRRM writing in the marriage of Arya Stark to hold the North makes the case for why Arya is important to the North.

So, Arya has actively helped free Northmen in the Riverlands, engaged with important Northerners and Freys at Harrenhal and drives the plot to take down the Boltons in the North. With her leadership skills, her ability to wield a weapon and fight, looking like Ned, following in Ned’s footsteps and advice, her fierce personality, her loyalty to bannermen, her desire for justice and to help the weak and powerless, her huge direwolf - she would be like the Kings in the North of yore.  I think the Northerners will be fine with Arya Stark being the Stark in charge.

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Arya and Nymeria

“What if the wolves come?” “Yield,” Arya suggested - Arya, ACoK

The direwolves are an important part of the books, and an important aspect of the Starks.They are as much a part of the Starks as Dany’s dragons are a part of her. They cannot be ignored as unimportant pets who will end up serving no purpose.

“He is part of you, Robb. To fear him is to fear you.”  - Catelyn, ASoS

Ghost did not count. Ghost was closer than a friend. Ghost was part of him - Jon, ADWD

“Part of you is Summer, and part of Summer is you. You know that, Bran.” - Bran, ACoK

“Wolves and women wed for life,” Haggon often said. “You take one, that’s a marriage. The wolf is part of you from that day on, and you’re part of him. Both of you will change.” - Varamyr, ADWD

You have five trueborn children,” Jon said. “Three sons, two daughters. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord…The direwolf graces the banners of House Stark,” Jon pointed out. -  Bran, AGoT

“Roose Bolton has Lord Eddard’s daughter. To thwart him White Harbor must have Ned’s son … and the direwolf. The wolf will prove the boy is who we say he is, should the Dreadfort attempt to deny him.“ - Davos, ADWD

GRRM has mentioned several times that they are important.

The Lannisters are always likening themselves to lions, for example, and their motto “Hear me roar” speaks of a certain way of looking at life. But I think for the Starks it goes a little bit beyond that, especially in this generation, with these direwolves. It’s more than just a handy metaphor with them - GRRM, interview

"Wolves have been part of European folklore, of which America's descended, going back thousands of years. In Rome, Romulus and Remus -- there's always been this relationship between wolves and men." That relationship is seen time and again in Martin's series, and it's one that will Martin says will continue as the last two books are eventually released. Arya's wolf, Nymeria, in particular, will play an important role. "You know, I don't like to give things away." says Martin, a grin spreading across his face. "But you don't hang a giant wolf pack on the wall unless you intend to use it." - GRRM interview

The direwolves are important especially for Arya whose theme is ‘The lone wolf dies but the pack survives’ and there are constant mentions of the pack in her POV chapters. Nymeria is an alpha, a leader of her pack like Arya is a leader of hers.

“She says there’s this great pack, hundreds of them, mankillers. The one that leads them is a she-wolf, a bitch from the seventh hell.” - Arya, ACoK

Throughout ACoK and ASoS, Arya mentions the wolves in the Riverlands. They appear to be just ahead of her or behind her. In her chapters there are mentions of wolves eating people, of Roose going wolf hunting. It’s almost like the wolves are traveling with her. They even help her escape – the wolf howl giving the signal – from harrenhal. And it’s possible the pack was picking off Roose Bolton’s riders chasing Arya because they were following right behind.

She could hear the sound of her own breath, and the wolves as well, a great pack of them now. They are closer than the one I heard in the godswood, she thought. They are calling to me. - Arya, ACoK

Once, from the crest of a ridge, she spied dark shapes crossing a stream in the valley behind them, and for half a heartbeat she feared that Roose Bolton’s riders were on them, but when she looked again she realized they were only a pack of wolves. She cupped her hands around her mouth and howled down at them, “Ahooooooooo, ahooooooooo.” When the largest of the wolves lifted its head and howled back, the sound made Arya shiver.   - Arya ASoS

Nymeria keeps amassing this huge wolf pack and Arya being a strong warg can sense this

She was no little girl in the dream; she was a wolf, huge and powerful, and when she emerged from beneath the trees in front of them and bared her teeth in a low rumbling growl, she could smell the rank stench of fear from horse and man alike. - Arya, ASoS

She dreamed of wolves most every night. A great pack of wolves, with her at the head. She was bigger than any of them, stronger, swifter, faster. And her brothers and sisters were with her, many and more of them, fierce and terrible and hers. - Arya, ASoS

In her wolf dreams she was swift and strong, running down her prey with her pack at her heels. - Cat of the Canals, AFfC

The wolf dreams also helps Arya connect to Bran, Jon and Rickon. We see Ghost able to sense the other direwolves and Bran trying to communicate with Jon.

Nymeria is a grey wolf and the stark sigil is a grey wolf on a white background.

 “The rain had washed the guard’s blood off her fingers, she wore a sword across her back, wolves were prowling through the dark like lean grey shadows, and Arya Stark was unafraid.” - Arya, ACoK

“Arya had her father’s eyes, the grey eyes of the Starks.” - Reek, ADwD

What’s in a name? I have already mentioned in another post, the symbolism of the names for the direwolves and them being an indication of the future for the Starks. Arya’s direwolf is named Nymeria – a Rhoynish warrior queen who led her people to safety. Something that Arya may well do in the future when the North is under attack from the Others.

More importantly, Nymeria in Dorne changed the customs and rules of house Martell to follow those of Rhoynar and allowed for female rulers. Nymeria herself was the first female leader and was followed by her daughter. Nymeria changed the norm for Dorne and we could see the same happening with Arya Stark in the North.

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Skills and Education

Look with your eyes, Syrio had said, listen with your ears.- Arya, ACoK

Education at Winterfell:

Arya was mainly taught by Septa Mordane and received the same education as Sansa. She would have been taught history and about the Faith by the Septa, she can read and write, and is good with sums. She’s better than Sansa at managing a household. She can ride a horse like a Northman and is an excellent swimmer. She knows some high Valyrian. Besides the Septa, Arya also hangs around Ned Stark when he is teaching the boys. Many of his words of wisdom that she remembers is from when he is teaching the boys. She mingles with her father’s men, the cooks, the stable boys etc.

Kings Landing:

Water Dancing style of swordfighting from Syrio Forel.

Harrenhal:

Being incognito allows Arya to move around like a mouse or the ghost of Harrenhal and observe and learn things. She is privy to Roose Bolton’s war council and listens to them discuss the Northern campaign against the Lannisters. We get the first inkling of the Red Wedding in these chapters between Roose and the Freys.

Arya observes the different people, analyzes their movements and figures out how to approach them.

The night she was caught, the Lannister men had been nameless strangers with faces as alike as their nasal helms, but she’d come to know them all. You had to know who was lazy and who was cruel, who was smart and who was stupid. You had to learn that even though the one they called Shitmouth had the foulest tongue she’d ever heard, he’d give you an extra piece of bread if you asked, while jolly old Chiswyck and soft-spoken Raff would just give you the back of their hand. - Arya, ACoK

And as lords and ladies never notice the little grey mice under their feet, Arya heard all sorts of secrets just by keeping her ears open as she went about her duties. Pretty Pia from the buttery was a slut who was working her way through every knight in the castle. The wife of the gaoler was with child, but the real father was either Ser Alyn Stackspear or a singer Lord Lefford made mock of ghosts at table, but always kept a candle burning by his bed. Ser Dunaver’s squire Jodge could not hold his water when he slept. The cooks despised Ser Harys Swyft and spit in all his food. Once she even overheard Maester Tothmure’s serving girl confiding to her brother about some message that said Joffrey was a bastard and not the rightful king at all. “Lord Tywin told him to burn the letter and never speak such filth again,” the girl whispered. - Arya, ACoK

She aids in the escape of the near hundred Northmen imprisoned in the dungeons and even Roose is impressed enough to make her his cupbearer. And the next time, she conceives of, plans and executes their entire escape all by herself. She plans for the logistics – weapons, transportation, people, travel route, what to wear.  She makes sure she is warmly dressed, takes the map from Roose’s chamber, uses her position of cupbearer to manipulate several men,  manipulates Gendry into escaping with her, takes down the guard and leads them away. It’s an endeavor that showcases her intelligence, cunning, determination, ability to strategize and lead.

Arya also shows a lot of restraint and keeps her secrets. She doesn’t trust the Glovers or any of the Northmen in Harrenhal - and considering the Red Wedding, it’s a good decision.

Their captors permitted no chatter. A broken lip taught Arya to hold her tongue. Others never learned at all. - Arya, ACoK

Arya watched them die and did nothing. What good did it do you to be brave? One of the women picked for questioning had tried to be brave, but she had died screaming like all the rest. There were no brave people on that march, only scared and hungry ones. - Arya, ACoK

On the road Arya had felt like a sheep, but Harrenhal turned her into a mouse. She was grey as a mouse in her scratchy wool shift, and like a mouse she kept to the crannies and crevices and dark holes of the castle, scurrying out of the way of the mighty.- Arya, ACoK

Braavos:

Arya’s education here is not limited to killing for the Faceless Men. She is also educated in poisons and languages. She improves on her high Valyrian and is now fluent in Braavosi and other Essosi languages. She learns acting/mummery. Not showing emotions on one’s face, detecting emotions in another person.

“A man does not need to be a wizard to know truth from falsehood, not if he has eyes. You need only learn to read a face. Look at the eyes. The mouth. The muscles here, at the corners of the jaw, and here, where the neck joins the shoulders.” He touched her lightly with two fingers. “Some liars blink. Some stare. Some look away. Some lick their lips. Many cover their mouths just before they tell a lie, as if to hide their deceit. Other signs may be more subtle, but they are always there. A false smile and a true one may look alike, but they are as different as dusk from dawn. Can you tell dusk from dawn?”

Arya nodded, though she was not certain that she could. “Then you can learn to see a lie… and once you do, no secret will be safe from you.”  - Arya, AFFC

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People skills

“I will remember, Your Grace," said Sansa, though she had always heard that love was a surer route to the people's loyalty than fear. If I am ever a queen, I'll make them love me.” - Sansa, ACoK

Arya’s ability to make friends wherever she goes highlights her people skills. And Arya is able to communicate and connect with people from all walks of life.

Sansa knew all about the sorts of people Arya liked to talk to: squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and naked children, rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Arya would make friends with anybody. - Sansa, AGoT

She had loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms. She used to throw snowballs at them and help them steal pies from the kitchen. Their wives gave her scones and she invented names for their babies and played monsters-and-maidens and hide-the-treasure and come-into-my-castle with their children., Arya, AGoT

Her father used to say that a lord needed to eat with his men, if he hoped to keep them. “Know the men who follow you,” she heard him tell Robb once, “and let them know you. Don’t ask your men to die for a stranger.“ - Arya, AGoT

Cat had made friends along the wharves; porters and mummers, ropemakers and sailmenders, taverners, Brewers and bakers and beggars and whores - Cat of the Canals, AFfC

Her girls were nice as well; Blushing Bethany and the Sailor’s Wife, one-eyed Yna who could tell your fortune from a drop of blood, pretty little Lanna, even Assadora, the Ibbenese woman with the mustache. They might not be beautiful, but they were kind to her - Cat of the Canals, AFfC

She’s also loyal to her pack. She doesn’t betray Jon even to her father. She helps free her father’s men. Despite Gendry talking of leaving Lommy or Weasel behind, she refuses. And despite the odds, she tries to help Gendry.

It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that they had Gendry. Even if he was stubborn and stupid, she had to get him out. She wondered if they knew that the queen wanted him. - Arya, ACoK

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Importance of being a Warg/Skinchanger

She was the night wolf, no scraps of skin could frighten her. - Arya, ADwD

Since this is a fantasy series, magic is a big part of the story with a magical existential apocalyptic threat on the horizon. The North is the first bastion facing this threat. Jon and Dany both have magical pets and prophetic dreams. Bran is the 3ER. They are leaders or will become leaders by the end. Arya is a strong warg/skinchanger. Apart from Jon and Bran, she’s the only other Stark to use these abilities so far. As GRRM as indicated, having a direwolf is going to be useful in battle – we are going to be seeing direwolves involved in the battle for Winterfell for example. Arya is able to warg Nymeria from all the way over in Braavos. She skinchanges cats and sees through their eyes, when she is blind. She is deft with a sword, knife and decent with a bow and arrow (she could be better now using her FM senses). She would be an effective fighter to have against the Others and her warging skills could prove useful in battle.

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Succession

I’m not a lady, Arya wanted to tell her, I’m a wolf. - Arya, ASoS

And finally we come to succession. This is the hardest part and entirely speculation and we need the next book to get an inkling of where GRRM is heading towards. I am also basing all of this on Hibberd more or less confirming that King Bran on the Iron Throne is GRRM’s ending.

So of the true born Starks, Arya is pretty much last in line. With the inclusion of Robb’s will, we have 5 Starks left. Bran is the rightful heir to the North. Taking him out of the running, leaves Jon, Rickon, Sansa and Arya. Assuming Jon ends up North of the wall – in his dreams the Old Kings in the North in the crypts reject him, maybe foreshadowing that he doesn’t belong in Winterfell - that leaves Rickon, Sansa and Arya.

As for Sansa, again there is a plot significant reason for why GRRM has put an obstacle in her path, allowing for Arya to jump the queue. Sansa is currently married to Tyrion Lannister, a marriage that cannot be easily annulled (With an enemy regime in KL) or ignored like the show did. Robb Stark has most likely disinherited/removed her from the line of succession and named a legitimized Jon Stark his heir and Lord of Winterfell. If he has the support of the Northern houses who want an experienced, older Stark to lead them, Jon Stark could well be the next KITN over Rickon Stark. I don’t think a 7 year old Rickon would object to Jon in charge. So that makes it Jon Stark, Rickon Stark and Arya Stark.

Does Rickon have to die for Arya to become Wardeness of the North? It’s possible Rickon dies, but it’s also possible he doesn’t.  It could be that Rickon does not want to lead the North – by the end of the book, he would be 8 or 9. Of course there’s the argument of a regent doing the job for Rickon until he’s ready. Or, he could just give way to his sister because he wants to. Something similar to Aemon refusing the throne and it passing to his younger brother Aegon.

Or we could have the traditional situation where Rickon becomes lord of Winterfell as next in line, while it’s Arya who is involved in running the day to day affairs. However, that would very much be status quo - with Rickon at WF and Bran down south in KL, it would be men ending up in positions of power everywhere once again, except maybe Dorne. If this happens, then Arya would be a leader of the North, but the Stark line would continue with the male line.  

It’s possible Jon Stark as King could change things for the North. Jon treats the spearwives the same as the brothers of the NW, he respects Val’s abilities, he trusts in Alys Karstark. If Rickon refuses the mantle, it could very well be that Jon Stark relinquishes his position to his favorite person ever, Arya Stark, to be the next Wardeness of the North.  Thus paving the way for Arya Stark to be the first female leader of the North like her hero Nymeria in Dorne.

It would be fitting for the character who introduced Jon Snow to equal rights for women.

“The Lannisters are proud,” Jon observed. “You’d think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. He makes his mother’s House equal in honor to the king’s.”

“The woman is important too!” Arya protested. - Arya, AGoT

Could King Jon reverse Sansa’s disinheritance after her marriage is annulled when KL is in friendly hands? Sure. But we don’t know how the Sansa/LF/Vale group will react to Jon as KITN and whether they will mount a challenge in Sansa’s name. And if Jon has to choose between Sansa and Arya as to whom he wants in charge of Winterfell, we know who it is he will think is more capable and will always choose.

I do think Winterfell succession will not be as clearcut as many Stark fans are hoping. Too many factions supporting the different Starks. GRRM loves to write about dysfunctional families and the Starks are not anything special in that regard. TWoW will tell us of whether there will be any kind of Stark civil war.

Is Arya too young for all this? I predict that by the time we get to the end of the books, about 5 years would have gone by. At 14, Arya would still need a regent – one of the many lords of the houses in the North. But I think considering her experiences, skillsets, a huge direwolf, Ned Stark’s wisdom and strong connections to the North, she will be an able leader. As GRRM said,

“[Arya is] older than some of the 40-year-olds in the book.” - GRRM

Either way, whether she gets Winterfell or not, Arya will end up as a leader in the North. Either she rules for Rickon and takes care of the day to day responsibilities or she does so in her own right as Lady of Winterfell/Wardeness of the North. She’s not going anywhere or sailing off on a boat. The show’s ending makes absolutely no sense for a character yearning for home in 5 books after going on the nightmare ‘adventure’ from hell. She will be in the North, in Winterfell, being a leader and continuing Ned Stark’s legacy.  She will counsel her brothers and build and her people will love her just like they loved her father.

So in conclusion, I think there is enough story, character build up, characterization and set up for Arya to go North and take over as a leader of house Stark to face the threat of the Others along with Bran, Jon, Dany and Tyrion.

[piplupfluffwritingstuff2]

Gotham City Sirens Sickfic- Part 5

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

By the time all the testing was said and done, Y/N felt absolutely exhausted. She heard Alfred and Nightwing talking outside the med bay. If she were a little more alert, maybe she could have made out what they were saying.

“It’s that serious?” Nightwing asked.

“I’m afraid so, Master Dick. An illness like this does not have a natural cause.”

“What kind of cause does it have, then?”

“…Do you remember the year Mr. Crane poisoned the water supply?”

Nightwing’s eyes widened.

“You think she’s run into a toxin of some kind?”

“I don’t think anything, Master Dick. I leave the thinking to you and Master Bruce. But based on the results of the testing, it looks as though Miss Y/N has found herself in a precarious situation.”

Nightwing nodded and stepped into the med bay. Y/N sat up when she saw him.

“Hey,” Y/N greeted weakly, “what’s up? Did the test results come in?”

“Uh,” Nightwing looked nervous, “yeah… yeah they did.”

“And?” Y/N prompted, “can you fix me?”

“Y/N,” Nightwing said slowly, “when you were at Selin- Catwoman’s apartment, did anything… unusual happen?”

“The whole thing was unusual,” Y.N said, sitting up, “there were three girls all dressed like they were going to a Comic Con.”

“Right, right, but,” Nightwing paused, “did the girls do anything to you?”

Y/N thought back to the last couple of nights, which were mostly in a haze. There was the girls taking her temperature a couple of times, and Harley giving her something in her water…wait. The water.

“There was…one thing…” Y/n said hesitantly.

Y/N coughed a couple of times before continuing. She realized that she had only started feeling worse after Harley had given her the drugged water.

“Harley… had given me something.” Y/N finally said, “she said it was supposed to make me feel better, but-”

“Flower!” a voice called, “Are you in here?”

“It’s us, Doll!” came another voice, “We came over for a visit!”

Nightwing turned as Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn entered the med bay, with Catwoman right behind them.

“I let them in, they were insistent,” she said.

“Didja figure out what’s wrong with her, Boy Wonder?” Harley asked.

“It’s Nightwing, and I have a few questions for you, Harley.” Nightwing replied sharply.

“Well sure, what’s the problem?” Harley said, “is this about the Children’s Hospital again, because-”

“Did you poison Y/N?” Nightwing asked.

“What?”

Nightwing stepped closer so that he and Harley were only inches apart.

“Did. You. Poison. Y/N?”

“Wha- no! I was trying to help her, why would I poison her?”

“Harley.” Poison Ivy put a hand on her shoulder, “What Nightwing wants to know is… what did you give Y/N the other night when you medicated her?”

“Well, I gave her that plant you were working on- the one with healing properties.”

“What color was it?” Poison Ivy asked gently.

“Purple! Why does that matter?”

Ivy put her face in her hands.

“Harley… the healing plant was blue, the purple plant is a slow-acting toxin. It enhances illnesses, it doesn’t cure them.”

“Y-you mean I,” Harley started, ‘poisoned her?”

“It’s okay, Harley,” Poison Ivy tried, “we know you didn’t mean to-”

“I POISONED HER!?” Harley cried.

Harley ran over to the side of Y/N’s bed; she took her shaking hands in her pale ones.

“I am so, so sorry Doll,” she said, tears brimming in her eyes.

Y/N felt a twinge of sympathy.

“It’s okay,” she said feebly, “I’ll be fine...”

Y/N felt a sudden sharp pain in her head. She fell back against the pillows, holding her head.

“Honey?” Harley asked, “what’s wrong?”

“It…it hurts,” Y/N whispered.

“It’s the plant,” Ivy said, “the side effects will only get worse from here. I need to get to my lab.”

“What’s going on here?” A gruff voice said.

Everyone turned to see the owner of the voice. A large, shadowy figure stood in the corner of the Bat Cave.

Batman.

Part 6