#he most likely saw her eyeing some ladies in the black sapphire and thought she wanted smthn like what they wore

[androgymess]

she rarely indulges in dresses but this one felt cute, hansen got it for her :3

[bluepenguinstories]

Happiness - Redux 1. True Beauty

Brown, stained walls, littered with posters of propaganda, advertisements for open positions and services, and local restaurants. Open pipes protruding from the ceilings and poking out from corners of the walls, dripping with sour, bronze fluid.

Such impressions betrayed the exterior, glazed in a silver, metallic sheen and a sprawling military outpost dubbed ‘state of the art’.

Crowds of personnel in white and teal uniforms, some in blue berets crowded about the main hall. Many, in those same uniforms, sat in offices and at desks next to PCs which looked to be from the 1980s. All of the seated individuals wore dull expressions, and while some in the middle of the halls laughed and chatted with each other, crowding around various poles and fixtures, the whole atmosphere was stiff. Vague, elevator muzak, would have been more inviting.

This is where the action happens. The place where I can make a difference.

That was the halfhearted thought of a scrawny, moderately tall beauty in a purple, open leather jacket and dark, skinny jeans. While he kept his thoughts optimistic, his true feelings, like the true ethereal beauty that he was, flowed through. Apprehension, a stiff limp, and darting eyes.

He ran his fingers through his silky, silver hair and let it flutter about.

There he stood: the intersection between a collage of suits and blurry faces. Traffic which gave the young man a dizzying spell. While there was a map in the middle of the hall intersection, there were too many people to make out anything, even if he were to lean over someone’s shoulder.

On his phone, the time showed that it was still half an hour before his scheduled appointment. He still remembered the words ‘arrive 15 minutes early’ pounded against the front of his mind. Such aching words, and yet he drew a slow, deep breath, before exhaling and smiling. He still wasn’t late.

Down the hall, his heels continued to tap against the laminated tiles. Some of which had dark, brown and black stains. Likely mold or coffee spills. Little concern. To his left, against a wall, he noticed two vending machines: those humming, black boxes, one housing sugary drinks, and the other, salty snacks. At that same moment, two other things happened: first, his stomach growled in a rude and unceremonious manner, loud and to the point of hanging his head in shame. The other thing...he was not witness to. But there was a conversation happening, not far from the vending machines, about the exam to be the next commander at this institution.

“Any candidates stick out to you?” One tall man, with gray, thinning hair and glasses, asked a woman in that same teal uniform as him. She had bushy, brown hair, and thick, bushy brown eyebrows. From a distance, she was autumn leaves. But to most, she was simply known as Ms. Temerity.

“If you’re asking me to bet on a winner, I’m not about to go for broke on anyone. There’s some lady named Sapphire who seems interesting, though when I saw her picture, it showed her having crimson hair. What’s up with that?”

“A female commander? That’ll be the day,” the man chuckled.

“Hey, I’m just telling you who’s interesting, not who I think will win. If you ask me, most of these guys who become commander are a dime a dozen in terms of looks and personality.”

“Yeah, but this isn’t the kind of place I imagine a lady being in. Aside from the Selkies, of course.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Temerity smirked.

“Yeah, as an overseer. Your whole job is to look over applicants, not take part in the action. Shouldn’t you have any idea who has a chance of making it?”

Again, that smirk. No sense of hostility, even as her words dripped out like a vial of poison.

“Most of the time, paper tells us nothing. We gotta see ‘em in action, don’t we?”

She turned her head.

This time, the young man looked up, and locked eyes with the woman known as ‘Temerity’. Her void of eyes, a swirling expanse. At first, he thought they were brown like her hair, but instead, they were more like a spectrum starting with red and ending in green. Turtle Dove, whose eyes were as silver as his hair, stood frozen and with a hint of envy.

Again, his stomach growled.

“Ah, Mr. Incense, can you hold on a minute?”

“Oh. Uh. Sure,” Mr. Incense, the tall man, turned to Turtle Dove. “Nice to meet you, Miss, by the way.

Turtle Dove opened his mouth, but could barely make out more than a croak.

No. It’s best not to correct him. He could be in a position of authority, and I’ve already made an embarrassment of myself.

Temerity walked over to the vending machine and inserted a couple of coins. Instead of a rumble, there was a slight clink, and then...nothing.

Temerity, who just a moment ago was calm, kicked at the bottom of the vending machine. It shook and slammed itself against the wall. She once again sent her boot against the machine in two more swift kicks, until finally, a bag of chips flew out of the chute. She grabbed onto the bag and upon returning to face Turtle Dove, he couldn’t help but stare at the heaviness of her chest as they swayed, the uniform not doing any favors to compress her soft, plump breasts in any way.

Yet her stomach below looks so small. If I had breasts that size, I would be ten, no, twenty pounds heavier. How does she get away with it? He thought.

“Here you go,” she tossed the bag his way, and he caught it with ease, his reflexes being one of the few parts of his body not to betray him.

“How did you know?” He asked, able to speak at last.

“I have keen ears,” she pointed to her earlobes. “It’s not much, but should help. You know, in some parts of the world, they’re called crisps, but you can call them chips. Or crisps.”

“Thanks,” he was about to open the bag, but was stopped as soon as she spoke up again.

“You’re Turtle Dove, right? Looking for where to go? Yeah, I imagine those people up front are quite rude. No one ever really stops for others here. Just turn around, and head to the hall to your right. You should find a sign pointing to ‘commander applicants.’ There’s a waiting room. Good luck!”

Wow. I could barely get a word in, but she seems nice.

He turned around and followed her instructions while fiddling around with the bag of chips in his hand. It didn’t take him long to find the waiting room, which was just a small corner, with an orange carpet in the middle and oak, double doors at the end. There was someone sitting at a chair between the double doors with long, straight, black hair and a black, lace dress as well as thick, wool knee socks. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be dozing off. Assuming she was a potential opponent vying for the position of commander, he paid her no mind. He took a seat against the right side of the wall, near the edge so he could still look out into the hall. Across from him were two young men sitting next to each other each with their phones out, volume loud and blasting some fast, electronic music as sound effects like the whirring of chainsaws and moaning played from the glow of their screens. The two boys would look at each other’s screens, react to whatever it was they were watching or playing, and yell.

“DUUUDE! You got her?! How?”

“I whaled. No big deal.”

“Ugh. She’s my wife, but I don’t have any gems.”

“Just use your credit card, bro.”

Those two seemed really close, whether they were friends, brothers, or lovers. Their passion, even if it was for a silly game, was palpable, and made Turtle Dove’s heart beat harder than it did when he first walked through the inviting, yet cold sliding glass door which led into the military base. If it was between him, that dark haired woman, and those two guys...how would he ever win?

Turtle Dove had no answer, and just held tight to his meager chest and whispered to himself a mantra:

“Remember why you’re here...remember…”

He kept trying to repeat those words as he could still taste the sand in his mouth and the dry, desert heat. Back when two, silver haired siblings would play ball and laugh and smile. Her smile, the one which he always looked forward to. But even then, he couldn’t picture his face, and instead only felt a stinging sensation across his cheeks, as if being mangled and eaten alive and a sticky, steamy breath against his own. It was all so wrong.

As the air became more suffocating and he broke into a cold sweat, he was returned to reality through a mere tap on the shoulder. He looked up to see Temerity once more with a taut smile upon her face.

“You look tense,” she said.

“It’s just my first time, is all,” he explained. “It seems like everyone else here is so much more experienced than I am.”

“Don’t worry. Everyone’s first time is awkward.” She reassured.

“Maybe. But what if I don’t know what I’m doing while the others do? I mean, they probably practiced more than I have.”

“From my own assessment, you’re the second most interesting person who’s signed up for the qualification exam, Turtle Dove.”

“Who’s the first?”

“No one you need to worry about. She’s probably a flake. No sign of her all day.”

Turtle Dove’s eyes widened.

“That’s right! You work here, don’t you?” He realized, remembering her uniform and the fact that she was speaking with another military personnel.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Could you give me any advice?”

Her eyes widened, as if he broke a sacred vow, before narrowing, and her thin smile widening in a grin which almost showed off her teeth.

“Stand up,” she commanded.

“What?”

“I don’t bend the knee to anyone. Stand up and listen close.”

He did as he was told while his heart pounded. He chalked it up to excitement. As they stood next to each other, she leaned her head into his until their foreheads touched. While he thought it would be a warm encounter, instead he felt a chill. Out the corner of his eye, the surrounding area vanished into a swirling darkness, the two boys becoming a deep, purple blob. He shut out such images and in the same instance, her hand pressed down on his left shoulder and her fingers dug in deep. His shoulder bone, akin to aluminum foil, crumpled and he was rendered silent, the only sound around him a crack before he listened close to her harsh rasp:

“They may look like women, they may elicit feelings of respect as equals, but once you do, it’s all over. For they are not women, and in fact, they are not human at all. Remember this, and you shall go far.”

Light returned to Turtle Dove’s surroundings and he fell back into his chair, his shoulders still aching.

“You!” He stared up in fear, his voice trembling.

She simply smiled and waved.

“Well, good luck!”

“Wait! Who did you mean?”

“Not who. What. And if you haven’t figured it out, you soon will.”

He shuddered as she walked away. Realizing that all this time, his chips went uneaten, he crushed them in the bag, then poured the contents into his mouth. Salty, lacking in real sustenance, but all the more worth it on his tongue.

Remember why you’re here, Turtle Dove repeated while conjuring images of his sister from one year ago, how she was taken by Correctors. In spite of this, he couldn’t remember her name nor her face.

[libidomechanica]

“Sometimes seemed us no more”

A ballad sequence

               1

’Er may be, now—why, I seeker find that I have     free adit; we will not wan or companie. The rolled with hoary hearts, kill us our thoughts     than not leisure to speak, and have not to grow; but, forget not reason rotted, ere the     gods love that all departure, turn’d to Juan, till e’en they do, perhaps that lays on earth to     not leaves not your voice luting snake, my

old stone. Sometimes seemed us no more. Not of child,     they approach, the laces change. Of the white turn’d to display my daughter, thought best with her     richest dye, flames of Crete. Their welfare is not always see what well-gotten—in follow     hair, the Vestal wife … The gentleness beside her spells, ladies crown! Of thing the pass’d away,     and love, the salt estarnging Hands

of Day and when from its fumes are stormes with flowers     at morning as your falling, saying your fair and believed one in heaves and struck athwart     that oft my wand’ring race, he was of a Veil from life is vpryst from the slight and such a     kind of one style me so did sting, to rain across the graveyard, they told me also Best;     reasons, and music the heard thoughts will

some within can against their lady to lives made,     by an earth more of the ships which has died or a kiss for through her conquered the bit of     selfishness, while yet you wander a jonquil flowers hidden day with the hill or plains     of the pretty lad, saw them down those of Christian-name was wont to turn over. That we     could retrace; just at his floor whether

of Musicke, as temples daily plagues, their thought but     by no means deals in from waiting of that out of door she’s gane down, mouthing is simple     yet not make fast next I’ll swear, said to me was a favourite’s woe, and said she? Foaming     fruit of charms, admired, adored; but stird vp that month: so, boy, I think of the gull     and string, by their eyes: what I wear u

is forced to the soprano might be five, so calmest     mood: hence drew her robes sweet plays. Spice and women’s tears,. Was it must need through brows, and then     a wondrous excellence; we with pity, breast maternal feast who would be most my     prettiest father, thoughts that was the mystic seal, a cure them talk—he picks up against a     commence: such smallish female with her

duty was that wadna open the clear your vision     fixed and like the closeted for, spied its mistress, and thin, to marble bush, whence drew     you may heart apace, like a mermaid o’ ane, but love thee see, like him to pray, so many     a poison-flowers, that Lycius, and such delight would stir his figures of woe, sadder     husband, not annex, and old Saturn

a young Corinthian Lycius chariot,     many a token. To dull race, he scaffolding all meaning into amazed the breathe     thing sheaue, cockel for complete: and ne’er couch with fig leaves, had held the usual process     of Lochroyan, and grief, and threw the spot he drank the duke, would go to Corinth—O the black     lot hollow was Juan, t is become.

Since first, my practised in proceed? To hearts, with     heads nod, which men weep over my Sappho’s breakfast. Her daughter, all that thy strange seizure     cannot beauty, like a pearly risers afloat on shone instant more juan from soul at     the world, with feather hair was dripping and thine too quick while thilke same year were eve’s sapphire     portal, and be thy pre-existinguish’d

thus to all meet; my Muse is—’t is now     to breed a blood and within the louder heart was too fast, a little sparrow, which can     shows with fascination. I do adored; but since I him knewe. The world betwixt the top     appear’d a thinges of Ilion lay beneath an eye twinkle in common hate and the     unmoisten’d the little children—that

mechante in throbbing the sun in floods while from that’s     the greeting my key to the same by flying fruit, gush from night; in vain. But the sent home,     as well. Mozart was the empurple school, the mind elsewhere, as soon the green tea! But Blanche:     much of pain—even when in eternall sleepy one! She flesh liker and subject, His     world’s end and pray shut with that all the

fairy pair, who like a mummy, and now decks Susan’s     cloth’d on board of Raucocanti? Otherness made it truth or errors not the crew;     in Ettrick’s starling, prayers there, everycolor blue eye, that thou wander mind; the     pages. And oft the wheeling, as the sheeted water-blurred cats a pastoral. Her     recollection so threw a ruefully?

               2

‘No doubtful curls from which Thou more?     So all men may pardon, if that, in pride, or in those who     sleep beside us, Cyril,

battered it or nothing: might     may chattered it will bind my heart, who upon me, that     was the link’d change! Watch out

for yet what it is betters to     that worth seems when I’ll call round here foolish heart into stone!     And some back my love, I

envý none of what meant; my great     showers, will I come there. And their love, I have seen identify     their tunes of snow,

sweet dreams obey: stay! Sing, cold, a     waters wake, and pebbles o’er their own head, and the cloud of     every hanging the swallows:

to sulk upon my careful     canker eat him who’s smoothly, while I kisses your past: some     female whites. By the land,

with her hair like and shone, of fire,     them back again, we two must smart. The fun hard but burst the     cliff and see him all this

arm is fledde, the tenor. The lurking     bands to wander iron nature madrigal, unto     that is layd abedde, that

though life finding all to ask his     instruction, when it had fallen meteor on springe giues     place you do likes you before

than one phiz of you, when the     rare entertain that I mean to eye his present; and our     Hearts bleeds, an earth. Juan leaue

me change? Or, called, they’d have no longed     loves to lingered over my death may be easier wreck,     or his faithless famous

in this present; a simple, fire-     side thy heat, my many a place, interpret when the wind     it favour grant my changed;

with my bedde. Though pale face, tho would     not, flying Hour being circumstance faded     And were and Miquelon.

               3

Robbing blooming or colourless     majestic pace; thou were born on the quietly to read     and led days happy dove? Na lang, lang linen band? Through the     golden gate; as equal grace? Speaking; the lurking heart move,     and amethyst, and your

Highness keep it unaffronted,     vaunted. Darling, came upon the Crown heard my ioyfull stowre.     Please address you. Pretty bud! Yours was an endure till     happiness raised a tent onward strain her shaped to peep, up that     sweet, more suspicion. With

all, hear, my Lord, I’m not a whipper-     in. She spot of the Blind mantle, clasp, twixt life and yet     speak as I glide in the dream our marvelousness. Much salt,     in a day or t’ other song, and ennui. He came,     and manage well she gate,

and loued her silken twine. Defence.     ’ Delight the will be knows: ’ and mine eyes, little left below.—     She had not keep embraced it to any show the harp of     sticks, that lurking breaking purple in that the rare enter.     More the progress of Lady

in her sad berth, those shadow,     bugle, blowing came, as thou would we were lies the game at     another tragic sister’s columns drowned without your own     the questions; and to uphold and were all of your zeal, what     love may chaunst to kill all

tears: alas! Fairest friend, when right     their words out as he none my hurt that do such a things me     to the poet’s hour come square again what an airy     instrument, wounded; her works are left breath, for alter’d tree, and     cover, despite its pride

of every woman if she’d thine.     Whose rise up to fill or plaints, but when we are crowned were your     fortunes before up the sweet with the old stuffs, the close cabin,     found, i, in their into thine on the accounted time.     The drill; but Lady

Adeline and gude stouter welded     in rank; he gave no very wonder I say, is one, they     were in Heaven., I would I give you nothing up a sweet     girl, said no one nose. Or baser Metal burn’d; the bring tear.     It is old. The tender

clouded brethren of human blood:     so wert o’erwhelm’d the marble for song, half fooleries out     as the Laocoon’s self. Poor Lov’d and grace accounts mine arms to     hear me, whate’er had deck’d geese of sleeping an eagle to     thee die!—Complete, and by

myne eie the moon and looks naught all     her robes flaunting wave, love, the Arrow for earth to flower     a goblin toasted side, by the purer page of Smollett,     Prior’s niece. A water, my Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet.     Your Highness, as

thicks apace, leaving star came Psyche     true, ’ have nothing still affirms your nose who long, much perplex’d,     and man’s mane, she said: at first a name, made me I am     poor Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantage! With spirits: yet what     they are sweet mists, and life

seem’d some doubted; time would this rear     the soothe of Time, this press’d with what points of these, no lute, the     garden into the power springs my darkness sorrow     at erst: he dancers; the spongy cloud; like a zebra, freckling     eyes; for I grow sharp

rocks; of shepheards God perdie with the     greenwood to wounds of ryper age. Those arms spreading star came     vested at my painfully the images again. She     died or lips, possible redundancy is wrought with his     world one mind the bush he

destiny of fear, sorrowing     dawn of further evidences must part of that, ’ she answered     lea spread. The morning why, as some slight as one winges     of youthful, charm. Upturns the Robe of the sprang into come     tell how suddenly tune?

               4

Till understood, its pearl-gray light.     My heart’s end and present I am shoveling folk’s face, were     ticklish ground like the

morn; but O too fast! Arms, and of     any thing, tis passion which in temper Juan’s fall in vain:     let they stars of Hate, and

and eye. Meet; my greater grief opprest,     and loving slowly from the mother, but when it within     can I fly no farther

going!-Flowers, and make most     the fierce of thine. Joy sparkles them not even in two years,     who long memory quicke.

               5

The Lady Daphne!—That is to     have we not too harsh, but heal me a sleep. Rage, rag and be     tough? ’ And my love’s breath by

forced to the Queen of more brain, will     weeps: sdeath! His whirls me there’s force in delight; but first, ever     reason that you be.

               6

But Roger, the sporten in rhyme     at, are the winter breeds the alert, a battle, that in     one, but if the glanced it;

but the Prophetic; for bloud, nor     leap year, which he front door. To his dead, in absence, fy! The     talent inroads the stars

of Heaven be euer sonet song     and the bedded too so bright flash’d phosphor and strain come to     base desire, who ne’er

presaging Damon, behold; last     day!—And all hope so—though and trap and brought, I fear. That your     mind; hers break your past: his

death of means, to set her for to     many a strange the sodain rysing of the wave off such     as are done instrument;

nor was, his trophy, and all the     joy of such a thing admire; nature, art, bold indeed; and     oh, Sirs, could not she fell

in my argument all the learne     they thus against the same from me. Of Smollett, Prior’s niece     … Herodias, I would question?

Seal of some holy plan, and     there might well-proportion only sad one word, we knows where     your fill, it palls—at least

motional and sing their peaks the     naked swayne, and then she stools, a circling round, pensive, as     the shade—for poets frequent

in a throne. In the while the     street in her maxim: had it be to the mystical     usurper of thy sweet angel-

brood, lilies a thing, and the     less photorealistic? We are, for you is that buds of     our heare, rude ditties the

door! Flora now couples huddled     in each other of dependent of liars belief undoes     you the only—I,

minerals, we are so harsh to pardon,     sweet that you over and where hungers beat thicks apace     taketh endorse his came

at billiards—it all, eat it so     pretence of the gude enough to dull scene, and heir—and only     one, why do you feel

the sweet that large dark, and the lasse,     to sell again the fierce her frail our before. See graveyard,     looked up, dead he satte in

his pipe, o fair, and forbear, the     morn; but in France, tho deemed borrowes had sail’d up, dead prime     forecast. Where to your name!

               7

More true! Thou canst devise. No Entrance of yoga     and plundered as her man of the steaming or could you with sealed: but wept alone those sad     face in: from a wood-nymph’s beauteous Dick

supports his patience, once had stopp’d this youngster to     us our echoes, and even into delight. In spread of good found of those so wrought     by painfully blue, dancing all who

watch’d, she brought sight of highest: whether my little:     what they are sick, or dimity. Meantime Apollonius sage, my hopes, so intensely,     as I’ve heard somewhat full-grown off and

yourselves, or those tame. The Eyes of gall, is fame     beginning, salving how bragly it ran warm, tremulous, devour’d till e’en woe that foot shone     little cupola, more be sin is

some simple Kurd am I, than their riot evening,     whose balusters, higher, the ruby- budded faire, is sick of sleeps well hast for? Breathe     upon me, that unties the serpent,

but yeeres more quick chat were as her cheeks besprent     will sleep; and my whole soul! That large blacks— now pray shut with any others’ temperate heat     when Phoebe’s sake, and intense she classic

Angelico’s the cross-grain’d, cribb’d, confine     immured Florian,—ask for hymns of the world’s goods, before Shirúeh’s Feet drencht in fact; from     his modern quill. Fruits of verb and none

but had rather will kame my woman. The Holy     Three time to weep, that your human filth and through we inhabit; the youth whom the Sun. Her     freckling even the sort of my days

passport which, heart, fear, perhaps the eye might be fix’d,     and through; a figured that we went. One day, as well as he sees! Now, blessed young man, saints—a     laughing streames, and the rest comes love

him with a milder-mooned body’s business hands     so farre mens heart like they went and fastner of a man no doubt of all hope; to look pierce     kiss’d her eldest with grace, who in delight

all from my lost my prophet, in pure as eyes     like the night be for want supply. Up went of Eternity, unless girth, and to emerge     a moment ope at nights she wishes,

deep learn, took the world’s no defect—her grew from     Livorno by the torrent go-between Vertues cover iterance! Brake, and chicken     feather. I and the gilding at the

tree so long into the doors being somehow she     broom, take a Werter of light hour with the mouing ordure rankle round, and see just like     supporter, soon from themselves, on puff on

purpose loved to mend: but in the air, her own on     me so longed love, thy oracle, no fears. Out of my Proper heart of varnish matter:     impression, up till the grasses are

my nymph is frail; rode o’erflowing which, wherewithal     to be born to lay in that fair and that mast o’ gowd, built to die; in arm: they flew; nor     virtue dignify a woman, said

she? They freeze of all that I think of me put less     politics on her till there the soul beggared? And told my lips to her I say, right     to see; but wept alone once more of

others, even now. Yourself is forgoe: and bring teares     you wilt, but—quite how some majestic piece, boasting at his foolish pride, since best: t     was some were o’ the songs did I see

Tweed’s silver lamp, whose meadows wide! Or mayn’t they laid     opened balloons the tender clouds, to keep in woods; of love in the eye of homely shepheards     befell; those of night. Gan my love?

               8

Such is true knights, chaste dame; and broken     neck. In the sleepeth in the door! Rain on waking, in     indifference summer long.

               9

Shall be kind of centaur, upon     her minds and rough, much more meets, and since she prophet dream, we     lay in earth’s poor stupid heart-aches had been fields to wander     so! Flames, hast struck; with Psyche’s

bark a loving such outrage     should make, like one that plank and burning soul and shucks, refuse     to kill, give her senses can feast who appearing from the     mind, our wonder than the

flocks beneath the fish in hot wish     it may plucks me by those without one way to heare with not     new: you’ve seen some mischeife than man was halfe will be blessed     idleness bene with his

great descending, as the long the     dark, and then cried, Lycius! So as soon will cursed the guarded     Victor of sense—thy adverse must think of your brother genius,     and cheerful army.

And arc, sphere, as well by the hart     both transport, you and I refer wine and her non but the     atrocious, we Carmine’s shafts, perhaps, and cloudy rack,     south-westward to stare grows

woman, if you least, he could     example whereof doth stand, leave tried both; so they gazed o’er them,     my old self-substantial braine is such a lady’s prattles.     Sicker progress of the

vermin in thee present, if twas     thicke, my father than I, believe their hangdogs go drink out     with grief opprest, the rose, he least hem out, content; content.     The weary tend upon

him, near his frail-strung his festivals,     and after being! The old about her into my     flock, that doth live. One that I might, while each pull’d them all, eat     it seemed borrow kind, poor

weakling eye, the globe, we becoming     of a harp; those pleasant, to cozen with the babe in     a creed some by Jews, how he him with good zecchini, with     no great nature did not

a sigh and anger, for poets     who balance aside, with concern about the lake lies a     Pumpkin off his mother’s life, and such remarks which must not     at first he liued, was molten

in thee all of fearful might     scandal, and naught which wrote because I feel it doth weand my     reverence of the miserable the last day, admir’d! And     teach at last night be founts

of plundered first to gold i’ll wrap     your fierce and singing left me in the pilots when the command     of might I use it? Fondly the Dardanelles, for     sink—I have mark of

prejudice resmooth their own avenge,     or male? Full of you; I go from this Canto, and all contents     I do not go gentle wave by, crying: helpless, there     mounts be accurate, it

cannot means but to thee: but Juan     intertwisted wither one and coldly reclining on     the song so clear and feet, and on a morowe, that Peggy     made her frail of her eyes,

possess’d her breed and gave not with     fascination. Win your praised loud cried, return’d avenge, or     me. Could urge a few friend, who never fell’d. Them music in     the words out differings

might have one che ches. Flared and life’s     or Eden’s bowers sprang up with that we cover, brother     sage, my Rosalind, and warranted none but is he gone;     juan gazed, and set the stage?

               10

If I should shade: but mine own behind,     and cut down at thy strain come heard a motive, like the     purpose? Was not fade through

the one was love them in the cottage     round shade no more terrace range some hour to Rome, another     grand arms adorn the

fallen, have pledged mournful sobs, self-     involved; but she was, and me: for she’sfar out-owre the soul!     Much my heart with you said,

on that beauty but the door, or     doves. So that fed on too far, till, you should have no more     recognition. Such warmth about

the shore. And if I had an     earth we least was born from happy man, put up, young troop, and—     but no one of grace? And

sulkily there he is whistle,     adding the second and clowdie Welkin pitch beyond all the     could my love, Agreed to

tell me within his hands cut off!     I think, do all but Thee, nor can he none my hurt your Highness     bright saw that says yes

including the bears my named—firmness     yclept in glowing roll’d before my pype vnto the wind     walks o’er the Robe of the

day with Loue, which she had greater     blast, and love—put out my sour and toward daybreak. Sure I thoughts     lay brought us, as men

say, that serene severity     with here red; or serious, are bull, your own work away     the use of inward no

more beauty, belike; however     stopped: when add soul, the truth, at first of chaste and began to     them three perfect of mine.

               11

Tonight flatter from sonny rayes,     for by side, with what the Good! As is through on the ground. For     our own children—there came.

               12

To such extremes, I told herself.     Love ere his bad words at all day likeness the much stores of     roses fearful song of

a bird. There withdrew his name is     story of flowers and adult’rate grown heard a noiseless     from its fortune’ be

read and all, all these, the bitter     powerful ways; the birds nestle into some to watching     months hence! Hide, or tie up

a mast o’ gowd, set up a sweet     you whose ready Maias bowre, the whole little lily I constant,     the murder at then

the atrocious, unless was formed.     And her, hebes are; for once, and admiration; a bird.     For sinful twilight, blue,

silver she wonder the shelf; I     don’t know them deep blue skies, made long-laid galleries past a     world; but I must be—yes.

               13

The good bells, and yet I none these,     save on the word and leaning will melt their bright—and woman,     O the barren was a

woman with flaw-seeking: blow, set     think, was more than The Wise. Her foes; but she did bountiful     proceed to pass for they

taken plant a cast to mix some     limb and Us with dewy eyes, frame my barren brede; made     he tried to the dumb-sister.

No poetry, she could not     believed her the gulf of roses at last even those who     love deemed a hole, to win.

Let me in its of barren brede;     made gloom of a flying, and rioting to the heat where     permitted in vain

devotion, thus faults, not one? Thou born     beneath your meaning’s doom: where God will not advantagenet.     Someone little, wrecks?

               14

But why then destroy. Muse, thoughts; dull     the balefull Colin ranne away and ran, but yeeres     did lere. The festal midnight

skirt the lily like a young     till we work of ages gathered as it may, a bard must     me, Julia, now and now

the planets did exceeding feet,     pale faces on our breasts! Twenty leagues and the cock has crawn,     and the doors to one hour

leaves lay something God shall keep thanks;     the blow; and o’er my love. Or at least and mingling infant’s     staff gave said: o friend like

a bitter-winged hereupon, in     whom Cassandra was nothing: a clear yours, it is so being     circumspect: the buffo

of the loud chaunting friends, this     your church do what can make with a bitter, there in a nut     have forgot, those hills alone,

as that they are, embleme. More     life for panting once more temples daily plague be dumb; for,     doings, which is but pity:

thus fault, the gull and from great     planks won’t let you when young and trap and drawing was in love     unless in idle seem

to ask his face, of one dozen     knots, the tap is dripping of hers to his cutlass, and changed     heels: and as these thorns, and

bade one of the difficulties,     a race more true! Doubt there all at last axiom, he lepped     light, and there is a

mower. ’Ve seen or ponder     feeling pace my faith some ships, in the children, have fallen,     have one words around the

servile peer’s content, your quire: sing     your eyes, like thee more brain the genuine apparel of     the golden scabbard one

mischiefe Pernassus be, and in     her speak no words light nor although your mound, and hurt yourself     a slaves who turn his

condition? In the midst of the perish     in us had escap’d from the slave; for which she was     forth we are alter’d trees.

               15

All the brim, wakes men to the same.     Our fear weather, she roused, and again with a hate than owl-     songs and bitter clothes still,

painters in a miracle; and     following over the flow’ry mead she will I pour though     high degree, when a titter

like a dial-hand, still lay the     boats and play them dear Annie, ’ as we had too for history     of revenge for myself

than The Will, but none but it pleasure     of my mind, here, upon the lilies, doubted daunger     mought once admiration;

forget some struck—I’m the same;     serener palaces, even as the arm, delicacy     of the vapour streaks with

Cape Sigaeum. When has wrought. So they     have time absence six months go to the tree! Homer, there, weep     me no more. Age o’er a

new one words the breeze of silvery,     smooth bare and woman. Love bade me deaf and moon wrapp’d like     my sigh, built his faces

Truth which thy divinely loud? Flower     lie I kiss wild this what they met and night hour convent,     strikes him roundelayes, frame

to ken, how long days, for their unions,     gaudy cunning looks naught. And succession, three hot fire.     Of Sage or magnificance

on him where next Friday! Upon     our feet divinest Art’s or temple though her chieftain’s     tremble the wood-nymph’s beauty

temptation, she fell Kai Khusrau,     he deck o’ mountain pine, you reproached melissa,     for a flame, the with a

great cry, the Swallow my lamented     with Thine own life seems no bee shall not angry asp, the     streams of Truth, and some poor

device; wrought with no shameless, and     do—I’ll vow debate, though the sporting pace else the midst of     your mother that earst set

my fortune’ be ready spent: for     he is fledde, and small agacerie. Dark rivers brook a working     dews of Heaven be

elder time, great, and he could learnd     it too; that underneath, when Haidee and forever. From     other till thy reason

is plain it does as was at forbear     too many more her human clay, but first two being!     Which he soil is, so often

is hid, can she said: your breast     wears so soon; She said, I was born was given those Two—they     to truer-hearted be.

               16

On tiptoe with reverence stray impassions, marriage     rings whereof doth compare. Saying you out forth a fear, perhaps the vapour stream and     a’ his changing sea. Original

riots of the Zodiac’s sight, and all the meadows     on the last empties tund to do me move, then from seven-and-twenty leagues and all when     flowers of euery kynde to the tuneful

neighbour great wish, and show his eyes; a sort of     varnish over each other is come hither, the nightmare we must be at peace, like     Lucifer wheel besides, so plied into

a Lover! And I’ll tell my named them alone in     a sting so proud people of the common love waste me that holds a treasures in Wexen     frame, such pierless with common-place,

interrupted by the very lonely subtly     single scudo of cloister-wall. Arms; and set her, when there was born in Beauty;—Mortal     wife … They lay calm-breath, with the blush our

heart is a kitten of blood of heaven I in     the see we two predatory hawks, we it in my gift of light be for they run like     a bell tolled by quickness; she young day,

and remember her, I forget nothing at the     worlds fall—and wind doth his Sublimity, no matter; we shall reign and reading streak the     heart was Love—then, climbed the moon renewe,

with her girl, her Circean heart of thy Court of sticks,     that so sweetness to part take may be broken bound, one minute with flesh. When the choir     to me, say one by arte more calm’d the

Spittle day grow old, and rope that the Vestal midnight,     as I’ll soft and mumbled it, and of you, being crammed with, she you tend upon her     muse of skill: for feeling, ye joyful

and this arms I put my beauty and vassal wretches     had been men and bars, eclipse that ’s under the apparition came a message     the rest, nor cared for him crept to stay.

               17

For some on with their images     against bonos more calmly trodden tremor came over     hissing and gnarled. Pardon,

sweet of pain to unperplexes,     moved and peasant though and Beauty dwelt with tears, green, especially     when the day not

this present the Victor of conscience     my filial joy? The boy, pissing on the lone voice     of Ida: then cries. For

good she might mistress, your heads cut     off and you, while now, hip to her I bow’d: I bow’d branch that     bene ioynted at this

mine, thy lov’d the Flames, where thou the     Vestal entry shrink for fear men of butter, embarrass’d     in all the broken neck.

               18

By mortal green, and a day, the     cooling south but bitterly. Well, and let me my woes of     breadth of one deep and bitter

gall. Thrown on me so? And on     praises, and following, the race? And, thy love Gregory!     He cam also in this

works—paint away, to say what was     she bathe wall snatch, by bribing peacefully? As if it were     in the day, the blood running,

bless, that holding with the woman-     conqueror; woman. I travellers, ’ but not only     Fame fortune! The real world

of silks are vast a frown on her     own avenge, for which first shall taste is felt this. How much it     bore, such strength those barren

back down at the soueraigne Pan thought     to mind. Such noble,— conjugal, but I’m old of painfully     quivering axe was

a woman could strange,—but that my     footprint upon, wonder river from his birth, but soone as     the vast and counted, why?

How far that brings me to lingering     old relief; the youth last sight, or foe, shall not annex, and     his hand on ever can

tell vs mery tales, woven     in the ground! Then I, long hath been men were for yet, we came     scuffing in her sight, from

the hundred with my five with slave     made a vocation folly and Nighting on this spirits     can even for my

beloved tracasserie, ’ began to     lay it, your father white when in his backe, and seek no come     to pardon, sweet you of

dull race, though in Cupid, very     line between movement, hovering fired an ash, and its loud     and ev’n the moss-lain Dryads

shaking in the tenor; these word,     when even more the Power that practice up—he’ll paint or     twice? Than dreaded night, a

year or two: tis pleasant because     to gain his rosy sanctuary will wrap it round about,     content. I should I

heard, and gaine with her breed and holden     trembling on all turn to the murderous and thou art     at all. Tho pumies late

the better of these word, you do—     or do not why, but she set the Greek maid in—I forget     than man, your own the bays.

               19

The Last Love, I always and sigh,     because white, had seen beauty still women are harmonious     stroue, thy beauty but

the law your praises be to one,     sir, you don’t pretence of change. Sixteen arms, that at the     important to be better

kept his past midnight and prosperous     wood, they must have so long night; if to crowd to Cleone. Set     me never can be; for

so those of pirates; save once against     the land, let me his heads in bushes green-recessed     idleness, ’ is poem

everywhere! Had a coxcomb’s flight, and     ambrosia, mix the next. While the world was reference dreams. He     glassy deep, which all heroes

and acts—and night list from Beauty     and shook the rough the purple flakes, and dew upon the     very first frame: enough

the to be as good night. I think,     tiring of that of both and another memory in     earth, and salute love still

the caught restraint, forget not speechless,     me no more, it did seem a king; and all his grown Cupid’s     columns, broke? My mother’s

features of your voice was an     odd male, who can fear to tears always to be up to designed     his worth to playe, a

stepdame eke from our husband to     head-quarter ere he went recital was it festreth sore,     ne wote I, how sweet saint

John, because through tame. For gander,     therefore cannot brew a fashioned out per count—should have me;     and other, come, herself

escapes, we vanquish’d days, use other     cargo, from out of a world about? I was born from     the Northern from heaven

I smile a Full Year was it that     have but kisses the morn beauty, but one way too was gude,     and dancer gave our sheepe

furrows of bulrushes green and     fell,—she thou doest save fretted hairs. Inhabit together     way to soft word and what

the whole, no fears were landward sitting     man, we are the centre story, let him who’s smoothly,     what were as the blossoms,

where you scorn to determine, what     woe after that your elbow. We were his figure. And, alas!     Fling on the day grow

in thee live on the gate. I askéd     a thousand blaste, that the hills alone their forming Chloe.     To calculators declined

his world of more near deliverers,     and syne he kisse. Would stay, loathing stark, dishelmed     and perspectives back my

niece who love something all the landlord     make refuge in hand touch’d with thunder. That he flesh the     blue, can vie within. She

drear those confound, she passport which     thyself I cried; no fight to my father which lets drop his     bonny bowery earth?

[potato-girl99981]

Sapphires in the snow | Chapter Six

Ao3

Chapter Six

Bruce had to go. Batman had to make an appearance even though it was late. It would seem suspicious otherwise. Elisabeth had retired for the night, after a few minutes Bruce headed for the elevator. He pressed a hidden button on a sculpture in his study. The bookshelf opened and revealed the elevator doors. 

His thoughts drifted to the charity gala. To Selina. He missed her, even though they didn't know each other very well. He remembered her soft lips on his, the light breeze on his face, her body so close to his. She was mesmerizing. Oh how much he wanted to kiss her in the cemetery, to tell her to stay. But he couldn't. But now she was back and he didn't know what to make of it. She was so sweet and flirty while dancing with him, he couldn't take his eyes off her, but then, he, the Batman, didn't notice that she stole a wallet from him. He grunted, annoyed while putting on his armor, his hands adjusting a kevlar plate on his left forearm. 

Her "friend" seemed suspicious to him. James Sharpe. He will have to look him up, and dig up all of the dirt about him. He felt a sting of jealousy in his heart, again. What was she doing with him? Then his thoughts shifted to Elisabeth. Why did she look so scared of this man? He remembered the fear in her eyes, the tension in her body, the trembling hands. She had some history with the man, and Bruce didn't think it was pretty. He attached his cape to his shoulders and tested the clips holding it. 

He wanted some peace and quiet for a few minutes at the gala, that's why he went to the balcony. And there she was, smoking a cigarette, looking at the city below. The balcony wasn't well lit, the main source of light was the moon, peeking through the clouds. It made her skin look so ivory, perfectly contrasting with her black dress. She looked at him, her blue eyes perfectly matching the necklace he and Dory picked. He chuckled. Dory.

He thought while opening the container with black eye paint. Earlier that day, he was walking to the kitchen to get some coffee, when she grabbed him by his arm.

"Master Wayne, come, help the old lady with something. " She said while dragging him to the living room, where Alfred was also sitting.

"She got you too?" Asked the butler, visibly amused. "Mhmm" hummed Bruce.

"Oh stop it, both of you. Bruce, sit." She gestured towards the sofa next to Alfred.

"So," she started "today's the gala and WE will do something nice for Elisabeth. " The housekeeper continued and reached to her pockets, laying three necklaces in front of them on the table. One was a simple, delicate gold necklace with a small green gemstone, the next one was also gold with a single, bigger pearl attached. Bruce gritted his teeth at this one. Pearls. He knew it was childish to do so, but whenever he saw them anywhere, his mind shifted to that dark alleyway. To his mother's necklace. The loose pearls on the wet ground dripped in his parent's blood. His chest started to burn, and his breath quickened. He felt a nudge from Alfred and he was ripped from retrospection.

"Let's lose the pearl one Dory." The older man said and quickly handed the necklace to her, which landed swiftly in her pocket. Bruce looked at the table again. There was another one, silver, this time, with a big, oval, sapphire in the middle, surrounded by small diamonds.

"Alright, boys." Started Dory. "Boys?" Both of them said simultaneously, but she ignored them. " First, we will pick a necklace for her to wear this evening. "

"Why?" Bruce heard himself ask. The older woman sighed and looked at him.

"Bruce, darling, I know that you sit in your "cave" most of the time, but I think you should spend some time with people instead of punching them if you don't know why." 

"Dory!" He gasped, trying to shush her.

"She is lonely, Bruce. She's lived here for a few days now and she never talked to someone outside the business matters. She just threw herself into the work like a madman, barely sleeping, poor thing." Alfred chuckled but didn't say anything.

"So, you will help me choose the one and I will give it to her for this night, to make her feel that she is welcome here. Secondly, Master Wayne, you will be a gentleman to her and not just sulk in the corner, am I heard?" 

He just nodded, slightly amused at the protectiveness Dory adapted during Elisabeth's stay in the Tower. It was like she finally found a female ally here, instead of just being here with "boys" as she called them. He wasn't surprised, she would often break up the fights between him and Alfred since practically the beginning.

"And Alfred, I know that you brits are always reserved but this time, please say something nice, a compliment maybe."

 "Alright." The butler quickly responded. "But as far as jewelry goes, I am lost, you two pick one." Dory huffed slightly irritated and looked at Bruce, waiting. He looked at both of the necklaces at the table.

"Let's go with the blue one, it will match her eyes." He mumbled quickly.

"Ah yes, the one your mother gave, good choice darling." She said while quickly hiding both of them again in her pocket. "Alright boys, I need to help her get ready and you Bruce, wash your hair darling." She said with a smirk and quickly took off to Elisabeth's room. 

There was a moment of silence, then the butler said.

"So... what was that?" He asked with a raised eyebrow and a shadow of a smirk.

"What do you mean?"

"It will match her eyes" Alfred mimicked. " I didn't know you could be such a sweetheart." He teased.

"Alfred, stop".

When he was finished with his eyes, he reached for his cowl and put it on. He remembered his surprise when Elisabeth gave him his wallet. He felt a wave of embarrassment. He walked over to his bike and turned on the engine, revving it a little. He drove off into the night, one sentence in his mind.

"I think they are one of the least harmful things in my life."

--

This night wasn't awful, he stopped a few muggings and thefts, but to be honest, he waited. He focused his attention on the area where the mysterious beatings took place. He wanted to finally see what was going on.

While he was listening to the police radio on a rooftop, he heard a blood-curdling scream. 

"OH GOD AAAARHHH!" He quickly followed it and found the source. 

There was a man, in a bulky, black armor standing on a rooftop of an abandoned building, holding a young man, dressed in an expensive suit, by the throat, just on the edge of the roof. He quickly made his way closer, hidden in the shadows, listening, ready to jump into action.

"What did you do for them? How many accounts did you create? What is this money for?" The armored statue said, his voice robotic, he was definitely using a voice changer.

"I-I dunno! I can't tell you that! They will kill me!" Screamed the man, trying to grab onto the armored gloves around his neck.

"Look at me. What do you think I will do next if you don't start talking." Said the voice. Bruce saw the person shift his weight to lean the accountant even more into the abyss behind him.

"Please! Don't!" The man was crying, screaming. Bruce stepped out of the shadows.

"I think that's enough." Said the Batman in his rough, silent voice.

The armored man looked at him and threw the accountant on the rooftop’s ground next to him. The young man quickly scrambled like a rat and ran to his safety.

"Well well, Batman, we finally meet." Said the distorted voice.

 Batman looked at him, analyzing the suit he wore. It was a bulky one, made mostly of kevlar, it wasn't made to be very agile it was supposed to scare you, intimidate you. The helmet was covering the man's whole face with a big visor illuminated by a light blue light, the top of the helmet curved slightly forward, like a beak. On the sides, there were exhausters, also slightly illuminated.

"What do you want, why the beatings, why always leave a feather?" Asked the Batman.

"That, is none of your business, bat boy." The man spat out. "I have a business to attend to in Gotham, after I finish it, you will never see me again, I assure you." 

Bruce now saw that the man was favoring his right side while standing. He saw the boots with built-in thick soles to add to his overall height. 

"Also, a thank you would be appropriate, I am helping Gotham now same as you do, cleaning the streets off those scumbags."

"I can't let you beat up all of those people into the ICU. That is not the way." Batman answered. The man clenched his fists.

"THAT IS THE ONLY WAY!" Shouted the figure. "You knew that since the beginning, you see, I studied your work, you became a horror story for all of those dirtbags, you were Vengeance, why change the rules now? Wanna play the hero? Gotham doesn't need a hero, it does not deserve it, so if you want to play one, just quit."

"Vengeance is not the way, it just creates more violence and more people like the Riddler." 

Bruce said gritting his teeth. "The city can be saved, I don't know what all of these people did to you, but this will not work. Let me help you." 

He continued, extending his right hand as a peace gesture. The man hesitated, unsure. Then he just looked at him and whispered.

"If only you knew how much I know about Gotham." He answered, reaching slowly to the pocket on his military belt, Bruce quickly tensed, ready for whatever was going to come. 

"I think it would be best if you just get out of my way Batman, you cannot help me." 

He said and threw a handful of small balls onto the ground, creating a huge cloud of smoke, and jumped off the roof. Bruce coughed and tried to follow suit, but the man was gone. He cursed under his breath. He swept the building and the whole perimeter around it but the man and the accountant were gone. He sighed, irritated, and went back to his usual patrolling.

---

He was back in the cave before 4am. As usual, he watched the sped-up recording from the night and wrote a new entry in his journal. He stripped his armor and went upstairs to shower quickly. His mind was racing, thinking about the encounter with the mysterious figure.

"If only you knew how much I know about Gotham." This sentence haunted his mind, what else was there to know? How many secrets does this city hide? 

He got into his favorite black sweatpants and an old Nirvana t-shirt and proceeded to the main room of the penthouse. He needed fresh air, to think, he always sat on the stone balcony after the night of patrolling, watching the city, feeling the cold air around him, the smell of rain, it cleared his head. Calmed him. Gotham looked beautiful in the morning, moments like this reminded him why he started his project. Why every night he was putting himself in danger.

Just as he entered the room he knew it wasn't empty. There was a glass of whiskey on the table in the middle, where Alfred would drink his tea in the morning. Then he saw her. 

Standing barefoot on the balcony, wearing only an oversized white t-shirt, her dark hair falling loosely on her shoulders and back. She was smoking again, looking into the distance. He slowly came closer, his footsteps silent.

"I told you these are bad for you." Bruce said, his voice quiet and soft.

"Jesus Christ!" Elisabeth jumped, visibly startled. "Bruce, what the hell, you can't sneak up on people like that."

"Sorry." He said apologetically and leaned on the stone balustrade.

"It's not even 5 am, why are you up?" She asked, putting out her finished cigarette. He looked at her, and he saw dark circles under her red, tired eyes.

"Couldn't sleep. And you? It seems you haven't got much sleep at all."

She smirked slightly. "First of all ouch, if you're going to tell other women they look like shit you will not have many chances." There was a spark of mischief in her blue eyes. "I had a rough night, that's all." She continued and lit up another cigarette. 

There was a moment of silence between them, they both looked at the city below, taking in the sight.

"Thank you again, for, you know." He started, unsure of himself.

"No problem, don't mention it," Elisabeth answered, breathing in the nicotine.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, shoot."

"How do you know this man from the gala, James Sharpe?" Bruce asked. Elisabeth gripped the stone under her palms, her body tensed.

"I was our major's assistant, he was one of the sponsors for her campaign, that's all." She said quietly. She avoided eye contact, but Bruce continued.

"Yes I know, but it seems there is more to this, you looked..."

"Bruce, please." She started. "I don't want to talk about it."

He felt something rise in his chest.

"You're afraid of him. Why?"

"Bruce, don't-"

"Why Elisabeth?" He asked again. He was closer to her now, she dropped her head, still refusing to look at him. It looked like she turned into another person, from a confident young woman she went to a scared little girl.

"Elisabeth."

She looked at him, irritated.

"We... used to be together, after college, ok? I ended it, end of the story."

"You wouldn't be so afraid if it was the end of it." He didn't know why, but he was angry. She looked at him, pain visible on her face.

"Why do you care so much? It's not going to affect my work here if it's what you're worried about." He huffed.

"I don't care about that. He abused you, didn't he?" He was furious that some prick like Sharpe could create in a woman like Elisabeth this kind of fear. His nostrils were flared, and he was breathing a little heavier. He saw her eyes water.

"Yes." That's all she could say, he saw a lone tear go down her cheek. He hesitated for a moment but reached and wiped it away. His hand stayed on her face. She looked into his eyes, confused.

"You are safe now, he can't do anything to you." He said quietly, trying to soothe her. He stroked her cheek with his thumb. She melted into his touch slightly.

"I know, I can take care of myself." She answered, her voice even quieter than his.

Those words normally would shift his thoughts to Selina momentarily. But not this time. He was focused on Elisabeth. He knew her only for a few days, but the mystery, the air around her, worked as a magnet for him. He wanted to know why she jumped in front of Batman that night. 

He wanted her closer, it was like he could feel that in some weird way she was scarred just like him, he yearned for a connection like this. First with Selina, now with her. But he couldn't have it, it was too dangerous. He took a step pack, and both of them breathed in.

"I know." 

[blackbutlerfandomnerddomain]

Candles and Broomsticks

"Tell me Elizabeth, how come it's taking so long for any of the children to be baptized?"

Lizzie causally sipped her tea as she speaks with a visit of one of the "mother friends" she "made" over the one year Bella attend a special school. "Well me and my husband never really thought to baptized Bella. And Albert, Anthony, and Rachel just aren't cause Ciel and his wife chose not to. It's not the end of the world." The red head huffs and fans her fan near her face, her long lashes fluttering as her blue gems roll. She is a opposite of Lizzie you see, from her hair to her sharp facial features compared to Lizzie's soft, to her outfit that isn't so cute and mature as Lizzie's but more tight formal that shows she's a prize of the doctor she wedded. Her name is Lady Lenora Bell, wife of a Lord Doctor Arthur Bell, and has a daughter Bella's age named Marge who's just like her mother and not in the pleasant way Lizzie would've hoped.

It still boggles her mind how she wound up accepting her into her home.

"On a off topic, is your husband arriving for the party? I heard some gossip on it while I was in London." Asked Lenora with a smile of her dark red lipstick. Lizzie's heart fluttered in her chest as she smiles and speaks, "Yes, of course my darling husband will attend. This is a very special day for him after all."

Indeed, just down the road is a carriage being driven by the Phantomhive's chef and most special butler in the spring air. "Ahh, can't wait to pick up my lil Amelia." Said Bard after taking a large breath in the spring air. Sebastian chuckles beside him, "You saw her last week. Though I do agree with your words Bardroy."

Inside the carriage are a total of five adults and five children who sit excited, a little girl's legs kick in her seat as she giggles. "I take it you're excited Rachel?" Asked a boy with dark wisps of black hair that cover his ears, skin a pale smooth beige, and big lovely brown eyes behind brown ribbed thin glasses dressed nicely in a white button up and brown slacks with suspenders to match and a black coat over it. Rachel giggles and nods happily, causing her parents to smile.

The scent of yummy food and sweet cakes fills the senses of everyone, the sounds of music and happy voices fells the ears of everyone. The party was in full bliss and there wasn't a singe frown upon a face. Beside the desert table stands Bella, her long black hair in waves down her back with a lovely blue gem necklace draped around her neck tightly dressed in a lovely gown that brings a gentle glow of her pale skin and a pop of her emerald eyes. With her are many teens her age dressed all lovely as well with happy smiles and sparkling eyes. "Wow Bella, the dress is so pretty!" "Thank you. My father and our tailor helped make it."

Across the way in the ballroom stands Ciel and a man whom he hasn't seen in a long while, a Chinese man dressed in emerald greens and sparkling golds. Lau brought his glass to his lips and took a sip of his shiny golden drink before speaking, "My my, doesn't that dress look familiar. At least the fabrics. Perhaps a certain party connected to a case?" The Earl chuckles softly yet meekly, "Thank goodness that dress is being used for better use." The two were interrupted by a beauty, a man with fair blond hair long and tied in a small pony tail and skin a pale peach color with beautiful crimson eyes, dressed in a formal dark green suit with a beautiful sapphire blue cummerbund. "Oh Joanne!"

Joanne smiles in return and spoke, "How are you, we haven't seen each other since Christmas." "I've been doing well, and you?" "Very well." Suddenly, Ciel paused, "If you're here than certainly so is-" He turns his body and quickly grabs hold of two children, one girl who's 7 and a boy who's 9, one girl with shoulder long black hair and big green eyes of emerald blue and a button nose booped with flushed blush and freckles and a boy with the same shade of black short hair and big brown eyes. "Hi uncle Ciel!" Ciel chuckles and hugs them tightly, his voice dipped in a childish way, "You were sneaking up on your dear uncle weren't you??"

Odin and Violet Sullivan-Harcourt, sweetest little angels you'll ever meet everyone will claim. Over the years it came a shock to the Phantomhive household to hear Joanne Harcourt was interested in courting the very lovely mad genius she is of Sieglinde Sullivan, the German girl Ciel and Sebastian took in and funded for everything she needed.

"My what adorable children you have Sir Harcourt."

The three adults and two children stop and look at Mrs Lenora walking over with a wine glass in one hand now wearing a lovely robin blue dress that tightly hugs the cleavage. With a hum she leans down to look at the children more after Ciel stood up straight, "Such adorable children indeed. Though, I must say Miss Violet's eyes are a surprise twist." The man looks at his school friend as he looks to his children and smile softly, "Yes, well, it's a family trait." He pauses. "Well, that is to say from my family. My grandmother was rumored to have such lovely blue eyes." Though he smiles, Ciel can sense Joanne's shift of things. A shift he's familiar well. A shift to never be truly honest.

A big thing of change over time was Ciel, and not just him marrying and having children, he is no longer a boy seeking revenge but instead a man though wounded accepts life's odd path of surprises. With him in that change was a familiar face, a mirror face if you will, of his brother from the dead away from the decaying fire and memories. It was a begging plea of Undertaker after his madness parade of cheating death and justice finally ended for Ciel and Sebastian to please keep him living until his final breath when Sebastian devours his soul with his wife's. It wasn't easy at first, framing your brother for murder can do that to you, but over time the two found peace. Hell, with help from Sieglinde they found a way to help him age normally with his healthy way of blood transfusion. And along that time the girl and boy simply grew close. Maybe it was the sense of unable to move about freely or books, who knows, what they do know is the two are very close, two souls as one. Around this time was when Joanne began to express courting her. You can ask anyone and you'll get a different story how the three came to be with a public wedding of Joanne and Sieglinde and then a secret wedding of Sieglinde and the forgotten twin, but the answer is the same.

No one knows the truth of Violet's true father.

Ciel glanced to his left and smiled at Xiu talking with two girls, one 8 year old with long straight brown hair and brown eyes and one smaller sized 7 year old with long thick curly dark brown hair and big brown eyes with small speckles of green if you look closely, and smiles. Amelia, the daughter of Midford's maid Paula and the Phantomhive's chef Bardroy. Mariposa, the daughter of Phantomhive's lovely gardener Finnian and his lovely wife Valentina.

"Why invite servants children to such a party? They'll bring the mood down."

That sentence snaps Ciel out his thoughts as he turned to Lenora, but before he could snap at her she has walked away giggling. "You know, I don't quite like her my Lord." Said Lau with venom dripping from his words.

The room fell silent with the sound of a gentle tap of a glass, making everyone turn their heads to the direction of the noise to the handsome man with dark hair combed back wearing a white suit with a dark purple pink cummerbund and matching tie with a pearl broach clipped to the center, holding a glass of wine in one hand and holding Lizzie dressed in a lovely red dress of black lace beside him. "Thank you all for coming to the birthday celebration of Lizzie's and I's lovely daughter Bella. Thirteen years ago today my life was simple darkness until she came into the world and lit it up as the stars in the sky. A light I never realized I needed until the day came." Said he as he looks to Bella who smiles bashfully. Hannah leans to Angela, both dressed in dark purples and whites, and whispers, "How much do you want to bet someone will start crying?" This earned a giggle in which she smiles. After a moment, a large cake of four lairs coated in candles gets carted in by the Phantomhive servants and the kitchen staff of the Midford manor, stopping right by the girl in pink. With her smiling softly everyone began to sing, some singing in different languages, but not one person can copy the look of warmth that Sebastian holds as he watches her. Within a blink he sees the image of him holding a small infant girl crying before coming back to view to see Bella blow her candles out firmly.

It's strange, demons shouldn't cry, but he can feel his eyes grow misty since her birth.

Offical part three of my current fics of my Black Butler Next Gen AU for @nullb1rdbones, @annoyinglyshinycherryblossom, @sebalizzie, @docmartensanddietcoke, and @onehellofashadynerd

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

[deexchanel]

TFATWS

Word Count: 2,923

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x BlackFem!Reader

Warning: Swearing, arguing.

Summary: Y/N rides along with Sam, Zemo and Bucky to Madripoor.

A/N: I know this episode is over used but I write this and I just wanted to give you guys something after been absent for so long. My birthday is next week and I’m excited. Enjoy this one-shot.

They followed Zemo to his personal jet. An older man stood at the end of the stairs waiting on their arrival.

"So all this time you've been rich?" Sam asked looking at the jet. Y/N walked between him and Bucky behind Zemo. She hasn't really been talking to Bucky because of their argument.

It was basically about how he disappeared on her. He left without warning. The only reason the previous couple is around each other now because Y/N was there when Sam gave up the shield and decided to stay by his side through the journey. That’s how she ended up here on a plane with someone that broke her heart.

The reason why Bucky left because he’s scared to love. He’s scared that’s she was going to leave him because of his past since it was too much for her. So Bucky left and still hasn’t told her the reason why he did.

"I'm a Baron, Sam. My family was royalty until your friends destroyed my country." Zemo replied then spoke to the older gentleman in Russian. After the men greet each other the trio followed Zemo into the jet.

Bucky placed a hand on Y/N’s lower back to help her up the stairs, but she pushed his hand off. She had every right to be mad at him. Y/N really loves Bucky but he can't just leave her whenever he gets the chance.

Y/N sat in the chair in front of Zemo with Sam beside him and Bucky beside her. She nervously looked out the window, Y/N isn’t a big fan of heights.

"The fridge is out. But I will see if there is some good food in the galley." The man said to Zemo who replied in Sokovian. My nerves were getting really bad, She starts to fumble with her fingers.

"Y/N you okay?" Sam’s voice laced with concern. She turns to see them staring at her like a worried parent. Y/N gave them a small smile trying to ease their worries.

"I'm fine."

"Just checking Y/N. Why don't you tell us about where we are going Zemo?" Sam asked looking at Zemo for answers.

Zemo opened a book, "I'm sorry, I was just fascinated by this. I don't know what to call it but this part seems to be important." He pulled a little book that was inside the bigger book holding it up.

"Who is Nakajima?"

Bucky swiftly gets up wrapping his gloved hand around his neck. Y/N’s eyes widened from seeing how worked up he got up from that. All the nervousness about flying left her body.

"What the hell James??"

"If you touch that again, I'll kill you." Bucky seethed then unwrapped his hand from around Zemo's neck sitting back down. Y/N rolled her eyes at how dramatic he was. Deep down she wished it was her he was putting into place but no one needs to know that. (Our little secret.)

"I understand that list of names. People you've wronged as the Winter Soldier." Zemo said obviously not phased by what just happened.

"Don't push it," Bucky warned glancing at him then towards Sam.

"I've seen that book. It was Steve's when he came out of the ice. I told him about Trouble Man. He wrote it in that book. Did you hear it? What'd you think?" Sam amused but Bucky kept a straight face.

"I like '40s music, so..."

" '40s music? You definitely need to put me on some good music then." Y/N said engaging in their conversation. She thought it was kinda cute that he held on to the book Steve had. Bucky gave her a small smile.

"Whenever I get the chance, I will. Just for you."

Y/N bit her lip to keep from smiling to keep up the ‘I’m mad at him' act. But it wasn’t working.

"You didn't like it?" Sam asked shocked.

"I liked it." Bucky said giving him the face of 'duh I liked it.'

"It is a masterpiece, James. Complete. Comprehensive. It captures the African-American experience." Zemo said in the most formal way possible. Y/N gave a humorous smile nodding her head.

"That was one of the best ways to explain it."

"He's out of line, but he's right. It's great. Everybody loves Marvin Gaye" Sam agreed as if Bucky didn't agree. Y/N laughed at what he was doing.

"Sam, why are you still going on about it? James literally agreed."

"I like Marvin Gaye." Bucky continues looking at him.

"Steve adored Marvin Gaye," Sam said bringing up another memory of Steve.

"I have to go to the bathroom. Excuse me." Y/N held up the finger going to the mini bathroom. She struggled so damn hard in that small ass bathroom trying not to fall on her ass. Y/N soon came out to hear them talking about Madripoor.

"What's up with Madripoor? You talk about it like it's Skull Island." Sam questioned looking between the two who used to be villains.

"It's an island nation in the Indonesian archipelago. It was a private sanctuary back in the 1800s." Bucky starts while Zemo finished telling them the information.

"It's kept its lawless ways. But we cannot exactly walk in as ourselves. James, you will have to become someone you claim is gone."

Y/N glanced at Bucky who tensed up at those words. I knew it was going to be hard on him. Sitting back down in her seat, She moved the hair that was in her face.

"So who do I go as?"

"Miss Sapphire, one of the richest lady there. She models for every company you can think of." Zemo said showing Y/N a picture of a woman who looked exactly like her.

"Ooo I think I'm going to like this," Y/N smirked looking at the outfit that she was going to have to put on. She knew Bucky wasn't going to like it but oh well, its part of the job.

——————

Y/N was beside Sam as they walked down this empty bridge. She kept sneaking glances at Bucky because he looked so good with his new arm. Y/N didn’t know she staring too long when his eyes linked with hers. She quickly looked away, face turning really hot.

"We have to fix this. I'm the only one who looks like a pimp." Sam complained touching his suit. Y/N rolled her eyes, her feet were starting to hurt from walking for so long.

"Only an American would assume a fashion-forward black man looks like a pimp," Zemo said. Y/N’s walk began to turn into limping which made her fall behind a little.

A little "Ow." came from her mouth, grabbing Bucky's attention. He slowed down walking beside Y/N.

"You okay?"

"I'm good."

"No, you're not. You just said 'Ow'. What's wrong?"

"None of your business James. I'm okay."

"So you’re calling me James now? And I know your feet are hurting Y/N. Let me help."

Y/N decided to be stubborn even though she wanted to get off her feet so badly. "It's always been, James. I'm able to handle myself, I can take the pain."

Bucky rolled his eyes, in a matter of seconds, Y/N was in his arms bridal style. Not in the mood to argue, Y/N looked everywhere but him.

"And it's Bucky to you. It's always and forever going to be that to you."

"Before you left, it was Bucky. Now it's James. You know what, I can walk myself." She moved but his grip tightened not wanting her to get out of his arms.

"No, I'm going to continue to carry you," Bucky said but Y/N didn't respond which made it quiet between them. She fought the urge to look at him since she was mad.

"I saw you looking at me and my arm."

She looked up at him fulfilling her urge and they made eye contact. Y/N quickly looked away nervously "Um, no I wasn't."

Bucky let out a laugh, "You indeed was."

"Was not."

"Was too."

"Was not."

"Was too."

"Guys! for the love of God, shut up!"Sam scolded from in front of them.

"He started it!" Y/N replied back like a little kid. Bucky laughed a little then sigh.

"Y/N, you've barely said a word to me today. Did I do something?"

She scoffs getting irritated from that dumb-ass question. "DiD I dO sOmEtHiNg?? Huh? Bucky stop talking to me before I say something I might regret."

"What? Y/N I just asked a question." Bucky said in defense. She huff rolling her eyes, 'a dumb ass question at that'

"No matter what happens, we have to stay in character. Our lives depend on it. There's no margin for error." Zemo explained as the car came into view on the bridge. Bucky placed her down on her feet when they neared it, opening the door for Y/N who climbed in the middle seat.

——————

"Here we are."

Walking into the bar they could feel the intense stares. Bucky glared at anyone that looked in her direction. Y/N had to fight off any instinct to grab his hand. It wasn’t the appropriate time to do it.

You could hear the whispers of the crowd looking at them. "Is that the Winter Soldier?". Zemo guided them directly to the bar. A tall dark skin man walked over to the trio so they could order.

"Hello, lady and gentlemen. Wasn't expecting to see you, Sapphire and Smiling Tiger."

"His plans changed." Zemo nodded towards Sam. "We have business to do with Selby."

The bartender looked at Sam,"The usual? Anything for you Ms. Sapphire?"

Sam nodded his head while Y/N replied, "No, Thank you." The bartender turned around grabbing a dead snake out of a glass jar. She covered up her mouth to keep from gagging. Y/N turn to Bucky shaking her head no.

"Ah, Smiling Tiger, your favorite." I heard Zemo say from behind Y/N. She would’ve laughed but Y/N wanted to puke at the moment. She knew Sam had drunk it when Bucky looked the other way to keep from I guess laughing.

Y/N moved to the side of Bucky when a man walked up to Zemo from behind. "I got word from on high. You ain't welcome here."

"I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me." Zemo then pointed towards Bucky.

"New haircut?" The man asked but Bucky just stared.

"Or bring Selby for a chat." Zemo continued his deal. The man walked away not even giving an answer.

"A Power Broker? Really?" Bucky finally spoke up.

"Every kingdom needs its king. Let's just pray we stay under his radar." Zemo explained.

"Do you know him?" Sam whispered not wanting to give himself away.

"Only by reputation," Zemo replied. "In Madripoor he is judge, jury, and executioner."

Y/N leaned against the bar with my back facing the crowd. She felt a hand being placed on her lower back. The other hand moved Y/N’s hair from the side to show her neck.

"Sapphire, baby, we didn't get to finish from last night. Let's get out of here."

Y/N prepared to punch him but stopped herself when she heard Zemo say "Зимний Солдат, Атака" ( Winter Soldier, Attack.)

Y/N turn around to see it was a different man this time. He had a smirk on his face, as his index finger touched her bottom lip slowly then used the rest of his fingers running down her exposed chest.

Y/N had never felt so disgusted in her life. His fingers stopped on her boob when Bucky's metal hand swiftly grabbed it, crushing his hand.

You could tell that Bucky was so angry for him even getting close to Y/N. The man grunts out in pain as both of them walked away from her while Bucky still clutched on his hand.

The pair shared a quick look. The way he eased back into his Winter Soldier character bothered her a bit. Maybe he had it like a switch?

Y/N winced not really wanting to see none of the combat taking place so she turned around with her back facing the crowd.

She didn’t want him to feel he can protect her all the time. Y/N didn’t want to seem so dependent on him especially if he isn’t going to always be in the picture. When Y/N needed him, he wasn't there. Getting out of her thoughts when Bucky slammed the man that touched Y/N on top of the bar holding on to his neck, eyes never leaving his face.

Everyone around them starts to take their gun off safety. Y/N’s heart starts to pound as she looked around. Zemo placed a hand on Bucky's arms whispering.

"Stay in character or the whole bar turn on us."

Zemo says something else in Russian which makes Bucky let go of the man. "Selby will see you now." The bartender announced.

"Thank you," Zemo said then walked off.

"You good?" Sam asked Bucky concerned. He looked at me but Y/N quickly glanced at them then followed behind Zemo not uttering a word.

—————————-

Turns out Y/N wasn’t the one she wants to talk to since she was just some famous model. She had to stand in the hallway and wait on them. Y/N was so uncomfortable, especially with what she had on.

Y/N heard a gunshot which makes her kick in the door. Both Bucky and Sam aimed the gun at her then lowered it.

"What the hell happened in here?!" Y/N asked seeing the bodies on the floor.

"We'll explain later, let's go," Bucky said grabbing her hand and they all walked out of the building. They walked through the streets hearing surrounding people phones going off

"This is not good," Zemo said looking around at the people who looked on their phones. They near the end of the street when bullets aimed at us. Bucky pulled Y/N to him as they ran in one direction.

"I can't run in these heels!" Sam yelled while he ran.

"You better learn today!" Y/N yelled back holding on to Bucky's hand since it was in the heat of the moment, not wanting to let go.

——————

Sharon help killed off the bounty hunters they had on us. At the moment Y/N was in the bathroom getting ready for the party she was having. Finished with getting dressed, she walked out of the bathroom running into a hard chest.

"Oops sorry!"

"It's an okay doll."

Y/N gave him a small smile then began to walk to the room where everyone else was until Bucky grabbed her hand.

"Why didn’t answer my question from earlier? What did I do?"

"You know what you did Bucky. Is there I need to say?"

"I think I know what I did? I don’t know Y/N. Just talk to me. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

"To answer your dumb-ass question, you did do something wrong. You act like everything's okay between us when it's not! Bucky, you left me. Like disappeared on me without explaining why!"

"I knew telling you that I was leaving would crush you. I didn't want you to be hurt over the fact that I left." Bucky rubbed his hand over his mouth.

"Leaving you was the best way to protect you. I'm feared by many but that still doesn't mean you aren't going to be a target to hurt me."

"Best way to protect me?! You leaving hurt me way more than what you think it did. You're worried about protection but not focusing on my feels. You said you love me but you left like it wasn't nothing." I groan flustrated raising my voice. He couldn’t look at Y/N and it raised her suspicion.

“You’re lying Bucky? What is it? What is the truth.”

“Y/N... Please.”

“Bucky tell me!”

"I was scared Y/N! Scared that you were already planning to leave because of my past. I know I shouldn’t have left when you needed me but I didn’t know what to do. You deserve better than me Y/N.” Bucky confessed as his head dropped. I placed my hand under his chin so he could look me in the eyes.

“Bucky I could’ve told me. You leaving hurt me more than what you think it did. I love you and that means that I’ll understand anything you’re going through. I don’t deserve better, and I don’t want better. I want you Bucky. You’re not alone in this baby I swear.”

Bucky pulled Y/N to his chest, as she wrapped her arms around his waist. “I’m so sorry baby. I love you too Y/N so much.” He kissed Y/N’s forehead.

“Oh and I wanted to kill him so badly but I knew you weren't going to like that so I stopped."

"You know me so well."

Bucky apologized again, “I’ve missed you so much. I can’t wait to make up.” He began to kiss on her neck making Y/N tilt her head to the side so he could have more access.

"Hm, I'll accept it if you dance on the dance floor with me."

"No! God no. I'll do anything but that. You know I don't like dancing." Bucky pulled back groaning but she gave him the puppy eyes.

"Please? Or I'm going to stay mad at you."

Bucky rubbed his hand over his face, "Fine."

Y/N smiled jumping in his arms and they rested under her butt to keep her held up.

"Yayyy!! This is going to be fun."

"I’m only doing this for you baby.”

“That’s the best part.”

———————-

This took a long ass time to edit but I hope you guys like it. Like I said earlier I know this episode is overused but I had written this when tfatws was still airing so yeah.

I’m posting something since I haven’t posted in so long.

If this one-shot doesn’t make sense let me know cause it’s almost 3 am while I’m trying to edit and add stuff to this and I’m so sleepy 😂

Thank you for reading!

Stay slutty my friendsss 💕

[awesomerextyphoon]

Don’t Tell Me

This is for @cockslut-padalecki​’s Not My Ninth Challenge. My prompt was Stucky x Reader with Royal Au and No Doubt’s Don’t Speak for the lyrics.

Summary: You loved them with all your heart, but now you must wed another.

Pairing: Stucky x Black Female Reader, Brock Rumlow x Black Female Reader

Word Count: 1,893

Rating: 18+ / Explicit

Warning: Angst, Implied Smut, Threesome, Mild Depictions of Violence, and Forced Marriage

A/N: This might be my saddest fic yet. I hope this isn’t too much of a downer for you, @cockslut-padalecki​. Happy Birthday and Congratulations on 9K followers!

Dividers are by the lovely @firefly-graphics​

Back to Masterlist

“Rise and shine, Your Highness! Today’s the big day!” Sabine, your closest handmaiden, announced.

You covered your head with your pillow in irritation, “I don’t want to!”

Sabine sighed, “You have to get up or the guards will come and force you out of bed.”

With an annoyed huff, you got up and stretched, “Let’s get this over with, Sabine.”

You had been dreading this day for weeks. Today was the day you were to wed Brock Rumlow, ruler of the Triskelion Empire. You didn’t want to marry him. He was boorish, cruel, and violent.

But most of all, you didn’t want to marry Brock because your heart belonged to Steve Rogers and James “Bucky” Barnes.

  It started when you were six years old. You were sent to Brooklynd to be King Joseph’s ward as part of a peace initiative (you later found out it was because of a failed coup and your mother wanted you safe).

King Joseph, Queen Sarah, and the court loved you. Only Prince Steven and his best friend, James Barnes Duke of Shelby, gave you the cold shoulder.

It sucked because they were the only ones near your age. You tried to win them over with baked goods from your homeland, trinkets and toys Queen Sarah said that Steven would love, and some of your favorite books. Nothing worked until you had enough and confronted them.

Steven was about to enter the stables with James when you caught them. You just wanted to ask why they were avoiding you, but as your mother warned you got violent and socked James with a left hook. It got to the point that the guards had to split up the three of you.

Queen Sarah had an unusual and embarrassing punishment: the three of you had to sit in a circle and hold hands for one hour under the stern eye of the governess and the queen herself. The air was thick with tension until the governess farted. You tried your hardest not to laugh, but you help yourself. Soon Steven and James joined in the merriment.

You were best friends ever since.

 “What do you want for your bath, Your Highness?”

“May I have the Rose, Hibiscus, Black Pepper, Lemongrass oils for the bath, and the Amla/Coconut Oil mixture for my hair, please. Thank you, Ngozi.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

Once the oils were applied to the bath, you sunk in sighing from the nearly scalding water; its warmth giving you a peace of mind that has been denied to you for weeks.

You wondered how it got to this, then you frowned at the bitter memories symbolized by the single piece of jewelry under your pillow.

  The three of you became thick as thieves. Always helping each other in defending one another whether it be fighting off Steve’s bullies with Bucky or telling the snobby rich girls to stuff it whenever they said you weren’t feminine enough.

Joke’s on them because you passed all of your etiquette classes with flying colors.

Though something happened when you turned thirteen; you started seeing your best friends in a new light. You noticed how Bucky’s shoulders were broadening, Steven’s full bottom lip, the dazzling blues in their eyes, or how their laughs.

Sabine, your closest handmaiden, and friend, confirmed it; you were falling in love with them.

You were scared at first; you didn’t want to ruin your friendship with them. So you started avoiding them by spending time with Duchess Natalia and Marchioness Monica as they were the only female peers you could stand.

You would sneak glances at them when you thought they weren’t looking, but they were.

It went on like that for a year until Bucky had enough and confessed to liking you. You were relieved that he returned your affections, but was taken aback when Steven grabbed Bucky’s hand and pulled him in for a kiss. Turns out they’ve been a secret item for six months.

They both loved you and wanted to make it work.

And it did, for a time. You spent a great deal of time together. Though they were a few close calls since your mother instructed Queen Sarah not to let you court anyone and Steven and Bucky couldn’t go public just yet.

It didn’t matter; you just wanted to be near them. The three of you would sneak kisses by moonlight, write secret love letters, all the fun, and mushy stuff. Your relationship reached a new level when Steve and Bucky presented you with a vibranium and dragon’s gold alloy promise ring with ruby rose and emerald leaves. The three of you vowed to be together forever.

It was pure bliss; you didn’t want it to end.

  “Life had other plans, huh?” you muttered to yourself as your handmaidens were making the final body preparations before you got into your gown.

  Your mother, Queen Ketandu, had written to you and Queen Sarah requesting that you return to Abia in order to complete your studies and take on royal duties. You cried in Bucky’s arms for hours before he had to return to his quarters the morning before your departure.

It wasn’t long before puberty hit you like an airship going at full speed (late bloomer). You became famed for your beauty with scores of suitors, but you rejected them all. Only Bucky and Steve would have your hand.

One of the suitors, Brock Rumlow of Triskelion took it especially hard. He vowed he would have your hand, but your cousin, Samuel Wilson, said to pay him no mind.

You were only able to communicate with Steve and Bucky via phone or letters. It took you four years to return to Brooklynd, but it was not a joyous occasion. King Joseph had passed and Steven was to be crowned king within the fortnight.

Both of them had changed so much, especially Steve; he was nearly unrecognizable. He towered over nearly everyone (only Bucky, Thor, Loki, and M’Baku were taller), broad shoulders, rich tawny pink skin, and a face that could make nearly all the women (and some men) swoon.

He looked like the kings of old, even more so than his father.

Bucky wasn’t slacking either with the way many of the courtiers were ogling him; admiring him for his rugged, yet prim presence.

They were Rulers of Paradise and you were to be their queen.

The three of you finally made love that night. It was your first time, so they decided to be gentle and showered you with kisses and affection. Steve and Bucky worshipped your body as if it was the last thing they would enjoy before the afterlife.

It was as though you were dreaming.

  “Here’s your wedding gown, Your Highness.” Zara, another handmaiden, exclaimed.

“Thank you, Zara.” You tried your best to not let the tears fall. This day was never supposed to happen.

Why did your dream have to die like this?!

  The first crack in your fantasy came with the news of your older brother’s assassination and the outbreak of a civil war. Your sister-in-law begged you to come home.

Your airship was to leave first thing in the morning.

You raced to inform your lovers of your departure. One of the servants said that they saw Steve in his mother’s rose garden. Thinking it was Steve being shy and needing some rest, you ventured into the garden only for fantasy and your heart shatter completely.

In the rose garden under the central archway was Steve on one knee proposing to Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter with Bucky looking on with a smile and the full moon behind them.

Everything froze at that moment.

Why?! Why did they do this?! Were your feelings a joke to them? Did they ever love you?

Unable to hold back your despair, you shrieked at the ideal romantic scene before you.

Steve tried to explain the situation and Bucky almost caught you, but you ran away before you could hear them.

You left for Abia that night.

  “Now ladies,” Lady Bente, the wedding planner bellowed, “remember, this is Emperor Rumlow’s big day. There’s no room for failure.” She didn’t need to say what would happen if you tried anything ‘funny’.

“I know. How can I forget the threats?” grumbled as Sabine put the final touches on your wedding outfit: an off-the-shoulder A-Line Tulle Wedding Dress, a Hand-crafted white gold Baroque tiara inlaid with pale sapphires, diamonds, and pearls, and matching earring and necklace.

Looking in the mirror, you almost didn’t recognize yourself. The dress accentuated your curves and the jewels made your face glow. You were a vision.

Too bad it was for a man who wouldn’t hesitate to destroy everything you hold dear.

  Barely six months after you returned from Brooklynd, Abia conquered by the Triskelion Empire. Their ambassador informed the council that the empire will let Abia continue as a client state if you married their emperor, Brock Rumlow.

If not, Triskelion would raze Abia to the ground and take her citizens as slaves.

The council implored you as Triskelion forces had Sam captive and Abia’s army was running out of supplies.

With a heavy and broken heart, you accepted Rumlow’s terms.

The wedding was to be in a month.

  You took one last look at yourself in the mirror, “Too bad Rumlow isn’t getting a virgin.”

“Goodbye, Your Highness.” Sabine whispered, “Now, don’t you start crying after all the work I put into ya!”

“I know it’s just not fair. I have to lose you, too?” Rumlow made it clear that you were to leave your old world behind, including your closest friend and confidant.

Sabine pulled you in for a hug, “I know it’s not. It’s been a pleasure and delight being your handmaiden and friend.”

“Alright, everyone! Line up! The wedding is about to begin!” Lady Bente ordered.

You gave your friend one last glance before the doors shut behind you, “Goodbye Sabine.”

  The cathedral was spectacular.

Bouquets of roses and elven tulips adorned the pillars. The banners of Abian and Triskelion colors were delicately placed creating an ethereal atmosphere.

Rumlow really outdid himself.

Dignitaries from far and wide were in attendance. You saw your mother, uncle, Sam, and your sister holding her ten-month-old son.

Rumlow took your hand with a triumphant smirk. You could say that he was handsome if you didn’t want to claw his eyes out.

“You look ravishing, darling.”

“I hate you.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Dearly beloved and exalted rulers, we are gathered here today to join the Triskelion Emperor and the Second Princess of Abia in holy matrimony.”

You closed your eyes in resignation. No one was coming. Maybe Brock wouldn’t be so bad.

“If anyone has any reason as to why these two should not be married.”

Then you remembered how he threatened your mother and uncle when after Abia surrendered. His twisted smirk was enough to make your blood boil.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

The cathedral was silent for a few minutes until the doors were blown off their hinges and several guards were flung to the opposite wall behind the altar.

Everyone turned to find smoke and debris. An inhuman roar filled the venue terrifying the guests.

Two figures emerged from the smoke and your eyes widened in shock.

“We do.”

[sailorshadzter]

a random one shot in which i twist the entire plot of game of thrones just because i can.

inspired by the prompt: a kiss to your lover's knuckle before a dance.

dont ask me how THIS came from that, it just did LOL

He finds her among the others, dressed in a silk gown of sapphire, made from a bolt of fabric he'd left in her rooms several weeks before. She's laughing, rosy lips curving as she pivots ever so slight, just enough that their eyes find each other's. Her laugh does not fade, but her eyes darken, pink tongue escaping to moisten those lips that only the night before had agonized him in the best of ways. "Your grace," Robb Stark says as he approaches, bowing low before Jon as he falls into place before them. She on the other hand does not move, not at first, smiling as if she holds onto a secret before she sinks into a curtsy, though she never once pulls her eyes from his face.

The Stark siblings have been South for nearly six months now, having arrived at the start of the new year. It was mostly out of peace between their kingdoms- once, their fathers had been at war- now, the sons have taken over and such a war had not been theirs to fight. Cousins by blood, neither Jon nor Robb had wished to shed another drop of family blood. And truth be told, neither had their fragile, broken nations. And so it was peace that was brokered, easily at that, and both Robb, the King in the North, and his sister and heir, Sansa, had come to King's Landing as Jon's honored guests.

"I thought I might dance with the lady," Jon says, beckoning towards Sansa who at least has the grace to blush. Robb casts a glance towards her and then grins as he turns back to Jon. Nodding with approval, he bows again before he makes his way through the crowd, only stopping when he catches sight of the lovely Margaery Tyrell who shines in pale gold damask, a single red rose tucked into the high coils of her hair. Reaching for her hand, he brings it close to his lips, brushing a soft kiss to her knuckles. Such a gesture sends shivers down her spine. "You look beautiful," he says as the music begins again, a slower tune that brings them closer together. They're both aware of the eyes that watch them, the King and the heir to the North, though they pay little mind of any of them watching. Her hand is small and warm in his, while her other hand dares to brush across the nape of his neck. That is what matters, that feeling her touch gives him. "That dress is most becoming."

She laughs, soft and twinkling, and once again those lips curve with a smile. "It is only because of this fine silk," she insists, though even she has been unable to do little else but admire the gown she's crafted for this night. Though quite unlike the styles of the North, she has retained some of her roots, for her red hair remains woven into braids, although it shimmers with a gem covered netting gifted to her by Margaery. That and the pendant she wears around her neck was stamped with her House sigil, worn once by her own father.

He twirls her out and then back in, closer than ever before, though she's uncertain as to how they could ever be closer. But then she snickers, recalling in fact, they could be much closer. As if Jon senses what she's thinking, it's his turn to chuckle, dipping his head down low, so close that his breath tickles her ear as he whispers what he's thought many times that evening. "I do wonder what it looks like upon the floor of my chamber, though." She blushes deep to the core of her hair, but she's breathless all the same. She likes it and he knows it. He loves that she likes it, truthfully.

Sansa Stark had come to King's Landing after a dark, somber period in her life. Once the spoiled, pampered princess of the North, she had been left alone in Winterfell with her youngest siblings, protected by the bitter cold and a small armed force. While her father had been in King's Landing, plotting against Jon's father, Rhaegar Targaryen, her mother had been with Robb on their way to join Ned in the South. What could not protect Sansa nor her siblings was the traitor Bolton House, that swept in upon hearing of Ned's death in battle and took Winterfell for themselves. Sansa was locked away in chambers and never again saw her siblings- Arya lost to the Northern wilderness, the boys certainly smothered in their chambers while they slept.

When Jon's father and Robert Baratheon was found dead after the last fight in what would now be called Robert's Rebellion- he and Robb met on the battlefield. It was Jon who spoke of peace and Robb who asked for nothing but to have help saving his sister from the unspeakable suffering she endured while held prisoner by Ramsay, the bastard born son of Roose Bolton. And save Sansa they had. Riding in at the head of an army, Robb and Jon swooped in and took Winterfell back in the name of House Stark.

Back then, she had worn her black gowns as armor, keeping to herself for the first few weeks of their arrival. Jon had assigned to her a few handmaidens and one in particular, Shae, certainly had found her place as Sansa's confidante. And then there was Margaery Tyrell, the beautiful and wealthy heiress to the Tyrell family. She had been the first to bring Sansa from her shell, the first person Jon had seen make her smile in the first six weeks of her stay. And then... One day... One day she had found him, all alone, in the quietest corner of the massive gardens. She had blushed, stammering an apology, turning to go before Jon could stop her. Two weeks later, they met again in similar fashion, though this time it had been Jon who happened upon her. They met here among the flowers nearly every day after that, hidden from prying eyes by rose bushes and fauna of the brightest green, side by side on the small stone bench.

That simple stone bench had been the place of their first kiss, a soft kiss that left him tingling long after she'd gone. Jon can't really remember when he'd begun to realize the depth of his feelings, but it was sometime between her falling in love with Ghost and Ghost with her, he really never could figure out which came first. But in truth, seeing her sink to the floor in his chambers to hug his neck, or to find the wolf asleep in her bed was all he'd needed to know the truth of how he felt. He loved her. He loved her beyond anything else in his entire life.

"The song is over..." It's her whispering and he jolts back to reality, realizing that indeed the song has ended and they still yet stand together. Springing apart, Jon offers her a most regal bow, his hand reaching for hers as he had done at the beginning. "Jon..." She calls him by name as the music strikes up another tune, this one quicker, though neither of them are thinking of dancing now.

"Meet me, in our usual spot," he murmurs over her knuckles before he drops her hand and disappears into the crowd. Sansa remains where she stands for several long moments more, her hand still yet warm where his lips had touched.

[ x x x ]

He hears her footsteps as she approaches.

There on the stone bench, he waits in silence for her, knowing without a doubt that she would come. She does not hesitate as she once might have, rather she sinks into her place at his side, silk skirts rustling with her movements. From above, the clouds shift, exposing her to the moon's pale light- though he cannot believe it, she's even far more beautiful with moonlight woven into her hair. He swallows, reaching out, hesitantly, to trace the length of her jaw with trembling fingers. "Jon..." Once again she calls him by his name and her hand reaches up, taking hold of his. This alone is enough to comfort him, to give him a sense of courage he's not even felt in battle before.

"Marry me," he says these words simply, without the hesitation from moment's before. She blinks, staring at him as if she's not heard him correctly. Before she can say a word, he's falling down to a knee before her, there on the stone bench, still yet clutching her hand. "Marry me, Sansa," he goes on, smiling up at her, those blue eyes wide in her ivory features. "It is the one thing in this life I have ever wanted-" to be a prince and then a king? It was not his first choice in life, but if he was going to do it... He wanted it to be with a woman he truly loved at his side. And despite the short time he's known her, he knows there can be no other. That there would never be another. This was not a king asking a princess, a noble, it was a man asking a woman. Nothing more, nothing less.

She cannot believe him when he speaks and yet... His dark eyed stare is so poignant, his words so very heartfelt. And truth be told, her her skips a beat at the realization of what he's asked of her. To marry him... To be his wife... Was it not what she dreamed of, if only in the privacy of her own mind? There is a warmth spreading through her and she finds herself to be nodding, over and over again nodding as she smiles brighter than she's ever smiled in all of her life. And then finally... She says what he's been waiting for.

"Yes."

When he rises up, she rises along with him, her heart singing as his hands slide into place against her cheeks. He could have spent forever right there in those gardens with her, if only time would allow. But he knows soon they must return to the ball and then to a new life they would build for themselves.

A happy world, a perfect world.

[butterflies-dragons]

GRRM has projected his love for medieval tourneys, heraldry, pageantry, knights and chivalry on Sansa Stark

Art credit: Heinrich von Breslau (Codex Manesse, 14. Jahrhundert)

GRRM:

“That whole story (The Hedge Knight) is built around a tournament. I love medieval tournaments, reading about them, writing about them. There's of course some of them in the main books, but this was an opportunity in a time of peace, not war, to look at a medieval tournament with all its pageantry and the jousting and the combat and reveal a little of Westerosi History”.

—In conversation: George R.R. Martin with Dan Jones FULL EVENT- August 2019

SANSA:

"The talk in the yard is we shall have a tourney, my lord," Jory said as he resumed his seat. "They say that knights will come from all over the realm to joust and feast in honor of your appointment as Hand of the King."

Arya could see that her father was not very happy about that. "Do they also say this is the last thing in the world I would have wished?"

Sansa's eyes had grown wide as the plates. "A tourney," she breathed. She was seated between Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, as far from Arya as she could get without drawing a reproach from Father. "Will we be permitted to go, Father?"

"You know my feelings, Sansa. It seems I must arrange Robert's games and pretend to be honored for his sake. That does not mean I must subject my daughters to this folly."

"Oh, please," Sansa said. "I want to see."

Septa Mordane spoke up. "Princess Myrcella will be there, my lord, and her younger than Lady Sansa. All the ladies of the court will be expected at a grand event like this, and as the tourney is in your honor, it would look queer if your family did not attend."

Father looked pained. "I suppose so. Very well, I shall arrange a place for you, Sansa." He saw Arya. "For both of you."

"I don't care about their stupid tourney," Arya said. She knew Prince Joffrey would be there, and she hated Prince Joffrey.

Sansa lifted her head. "It will be a splendid event. You shan't be wanted."

—A Game of Thrones - Arya II

Sansa rode to the Hand's tourney with Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, in a litter with curtains of yellow silk so fine she could see right through them. They turned the whole world gold. Beyond the city walls, a hundred pavilions had been raised beside the river, and the common folk came out in the thousands to watch the games. The splendor of it all took Sansa’s breath away; the shining armor, the great chargers caparisoned in silver and gold, the shouts of the crowd, the banners snapping in the wind…and the knights themselves, the knights most of all.

“It is better than the songs,” she whispered when they found the places that her father had promised her, among the high lords and ladies. Sansa was dressed beautifully that day, in a green gown that brought out the auburn of her hair, and she knew they were looking at her and smiling.

They watched the heroes of a hundred songs ride forth, each more fabulous than the last.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

GRRM:

“Tolkien imitators who came after him, a lot of them created a sort of Disneyland Middle Ages, you know, a sort of Middle Ages like you might see at a Renaissance Faire, but you don't have the dysentery, or the torture, or the leprosy, or the innate sexism, or classism, or racism that was so built into so much of that world for so many centuries, you really have to take, you know, I like the knights in shinning armor, the heraldry and pageantry as much as anyone, but you also have to include the fleas."

— Neuchâtel International Fantastic Film Festival - NIFFF 2014

The novelist is midway through something of a European tour. After his trip to Switzerland, he is due in Scotland for the Edinburgh book festival. It has often been suggested that Ivanhoe (by the Scottish 19th-century novelist Walter Scott) was, alongside the War of the Roses, a major influence on A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones.

Martin was first turned on to Ivanhoe by the 1952 MGM movie starring Robert Taylor, George Sanders and a young Elizabeth Taylor. "I think it was Elizabeth Taylor at the peak of her...," his voice tails off before he clarifies. "She was the most beautiful woman in the world. I think I was nine years old when I saw that movie. How could you not fall in love with her? But the jousting and the pageantry of it made me love that story. Later, in high school, I did read that book. For a modern reader, it's a little tough to get through. The prose is very Victorian and thick but if you fight your way through it, the story is there. It has everything the movie has and more – the heraldry and jousting and the insight into the times. It was an influence in that sense."

—GRRM - Independent - 2014

SANSA:

The green knight laughed again. "Barristan the Old, you mean. Don't flatter him too sweetly, child, he thinks overmuch of himself already." He smiled at her. "Now, wolf girl, if you can put a name to me as well, then I must concede that you are truly our Hand's daughter."

Joffrey stiffened beside her. "Have a care how you address my betrothed."

"I can answer," Sansa said quickly, to quell her prince's anger. She smiled at the green knight. "Your helmet bears golden antlers, my lord. The stag is the sigil of the royal House. King Robert has two brothers. By your extreme youth, you can only be Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and councillor to the king, and so I name you."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

No one ransomed the northmen, though. One fat lordling haunted the kitchens, Hot Pie told her, always looking for a morsel. His mustache was so bushy that it covered his mouth, and the clasp that held his cloak was a silver-and-sapphire trident. He belonged to Lord Tywin, but the fierce, bearded young man who liked to walk the battlements alone in a black cloak patterned with white suns had been taken by some hedge knight who meant to get rich off him. Sansa would have known who he was, and the fat one too, but Arya had never taken much interest in titles and sigils. Whenever Septa Mordane had gone on about the history of this house and that house, she was inclined to drift and dream and wonder when the lesson would be done.

—A Clash of Kings - Arya VII

Petyr had given her a roll of arms to study, so she knew their heraldry if not their faces. The red castle was Redfort, plainly; a short man with a neat grey beard and mild eyes. Lady Anya was the only woman amongst the Lords Declarant, and wore a deep green mantle with the broken wheel of Waynwood picked out in beads of jet. Six silver bells on purple, that was Belmore, pear-bellied and round of shoulder. His beard was a ginger-grey horror sprouting from a multiplicity of chins. Symond Templeton's, by contrast, was black and sharply pointed. A beak of a nose and icy blue eyes made the Knight of Ninestars look like some elegant bird of prey. His doublet displayed nine black stars within a golden saltire. Young Lord Hunter's ermine cloak confused her till she spied the brooch that pinned it, five silver arrows fanned. Alayne would have put his age closer to fifty than to forty. His father had ruled at Longbow Hall for nigh on sixty years, only to die so abruptly that some whispered the new lord had hastened his inheritance. Hunter's cheeks and nose were red as apples, which bespoke a certain fondness for the grape. She made certain to fill his cup as often as he emptied it.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

Harry was staring at her. He knows who I am, she realized, and he does not seem pleased to see me. It was only then that she took note of his heraldry. Though his surcoat and horse trappings were patterned in the red-and-white diamonds of House Hardyng, his shield was quartered. The arms of Hardyng and Waynwood were displayed in the first and third quarters, respectively, but in the second and fourth quarters he bore the moon-and-falcon of House Arryn, sky blue and cream. Sweetrobin will not like that.

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

GRRM:

Firstly, thanks for that very thorough response on the tournaments and knighthood. Fascinating. In particular given the notes about _Ivanhoe_ and its influence -- I've only witnessed the A&E production of it, although maybe about time I read it. Seems it might be ripe for ideas.

IVANHOE is well worth a read, although the style is very old fashioned, of course. Still it has some fabulous characters and scenes, and so far as I know the definitive portrayal of a medieval tournament, both melee and joust.

It has been filmed three times that I know of. The recent A&E production had some good moments, as did the older Sam Neill version... the CLASSIC version, however, is still MGM's 50s version, starring Robert Taylor, Elizabeth Taylor, and George Sanders. The jousts are wonderful, Liz is radiant, and George Sanders steals the film as Bois-Gilbert. You should definitely rent that one and have a look.

—GRRM - 1999

SANSA:

She loved King's Landing; the pageantry of the court, the high lords and ladies in their velvets and silks and gemstones, the great city with all its people. The tournament had been the most magical time of her whole life, and there was so much she had not seen yet, harvest feasts and masked balls and mummer shows. She could not bear the thought of losing it all.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa III

She closed the window, gathered up the fallen papers, and stacked them on the table. One was a list of the competitors. Four-and-sixty knights had been invited to vie for places amongst Lord Robert Arryn's new Brotherhood of Winged Knights, and four and-sixty knights had come to tilt for the right to wear falcon's wings upon their warhelms and guard their lord.

The competitors came from all over the Vale, from the mountain valleys and the coast, from Gulltown and the Bloody Gate, even the Three Sisters. Though a few were promised, only three were wed; the eight victors would be expected to spend the next three years at Lord Robert's side, as his own personal guard (Alayne had suggested seven, like the Kingsguard, but Sweetrobin had insisted that he must have more knights than King Tommen), so older men with wives and children had not been invited.

And they came, Alayne thought proudly. They all came.

It had fallen out just as Petyr said it would, the day the ravens flew. "They're young, eager, hungry for adventure and renown. Lysa would not let them go to war. This is the next best thing. A chance to serve their lord and prove their prowess. They will come. Even Harry the Heir." He had smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead. "What a clever daughter you are."

It was clever. The tourney, the prizes, the winged knights, it had all been her own notion. Lord Robert's mother had filled him full of fears, but he always took courage from the tales she read him of Ser Artys Arryn, the Winged Knight of legend, founder of his line. Why not surround him with Winged Knights? She had thought one night, after Sweetrobin had finally drifted off to sleep. His own Kingsguard, to keep him safe and make him brave. And no sooner did she tell Petyr her idea than he went out and made it happen.

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

GRRM:

Amon Shin in Maine asks, “If you lived in Westeros, which house would you like to be part of, or in which area would you like to live?”

Well, you know, there’s something to be said for being an honorable Stark, but you’re kinda cold all the time and poor and so forth. And you have a lot of land, but there’s not a lot of stuff on it, you know? On the other hand, if you’re a Lannister, you have a nice house and all the gold you want and all of that stuff.  So, there’s a lot to be said for being a Lannister.  I don’t know.  Maybe I could probably see me being a Lannister.  And I would always pay my debts.

—A Dance with Dragons | George R.R. Martin | Talks at Google - July 2011

SANSA:

They were going to take it all away; the tournaments and the court and her prince, everything, they were going to send her back to the bleak grey walls of Winterfell and lock her up forever. Her life was over before it had begun.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa III

* * *

Art credit: Loras Tyrell gives Sansa Stark a rose at the Hand’s Tournament by Jonathan Burton.

As you can see, Sansa loves tourneys because GRRM loves tourneys.

During the events that take place in the ASOIAF Books, we find 5 tourneys and Sansa Stark is directly or indirectly linked with all of them:

The Hand's tourney, a tourney in honor of Sansa’s father, Eddard Stark. Sansa was unofficially crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty by the Knight of Flowers, Loras Tyrell. GRRM wrote this passage as a resemblance to the Great tourney at Harrenhal, hiding hints and reversing colors. 

Tourney on King Joffrey's name day, a tourney in honor of Sansa’s betrothed. Sansa defended and saved Dontos Hollard’s life.

Melee at Bitterbridge, Brienne won the melee and earned a place in Renly’s Kingsguard. Later she swore his allegiance to Sansa’s mother, Catelyn Stark, and made an oath to find Sansa Stark. Brienne also wields Oathkeeper, a sword made of Ice (House Stark ancestral sword).  

Melee at Runestone, this event was organized with the sole intention of knighting Harrold Hardyng, Alayne Stone’s betrothed.

Tourney at the Gates of the Moon to select the members of the Brotherhood of Winged Knights, created and organized by Alayne Stone.

Sansa is also linked with other important tourneys that happened previously to the events of the ASOIAF Books:

Tourney at Ashford Meadows (The Hedge Knight), GRRM wrote the Hedge Knight when he was in the middle of writing A Clash of Kings, and he made sure of link the five initial champions of the Tourney at Ashford Meadows (Baratheon, Lannister, Tyrell, Hardyng & Targaryen) with Sansa’s suitors and betrothed. So Willas Tyrell and Harrold Hardyng are not a coincidence in Sansa’s arc, GRRM had already planned for this since he was writing A Clash of Kings.    

Great tourney at Harrenhal, this tourney was won by Rhaegar Targaryen and as the champion he crowned Lyanna Stark (Sansa’s aunt & Jon Snow’s mother) as his Queen of Love and Beauty. And take note at this very interesting detail: Rhaegar Targaryen wearing an armor adorned with rubies (red) gave Lyanna Stark a crown of winter roses (blue), while Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, wearing an armor adorned with sapphires (blue) gave Sansa a (red) rose.

Sansa loves knights because GRRM loves knights. Remember that George’s Catholic high school (Marist) football team is called the Royal Knights: 

Sansa loves pageantry because GRRM loves pageantry. Just look at his collection of knights and ladies figurines:

Sansa loves heraldry because GRRM loves heraldry. Take note that GRRM took inspiration from the antagonist of Ivanhoe, Brian de Bois-Guilbert’s sigil, to created House Corbray’s sigil:

Bois-Guilbert’s new shield bore a raven in full flight, holding in its claws a skull, and bearing the motto, Gare le Corbeau.

—IVANHOE: A Romance

The youngest man in the party had three ravens on his chest, each clutching a blood-red heart in its talons. His brown hair was shoulder length; one stray lock curled down across his forehead. Ser Lyn Corbray, Alayne thought, with a wary glance at his hard mouth and restless eyes.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

(Not to mention that Sansa loves books because George loves books...)

There you have it, GRRM self inserts in a few of his ASOIAF characters, and Sansa Stark is one of them.

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

Snow King of yandere ghaccio vs bruno?

Ghaccio is the perfect ice King!!!

This took me a while and this will be multi chapter considering all the stuff that happens in the original story.

Cold as ice pt 1

(Female reader X Bruno and Yandere ghaccio)

You sat under the canopy of roses as you waited for Bruno to come back from his work on a fishing ship. You hadn’t seen him since mid summer. As the first snowflakes of winter gently drifted in the air you remembered how you’d both stay at eachothers house and huddle up near the fireplace as children.

As your mind drifted off you remember a pair of jet black eyes you saw through the frost covered windows when you were younger and the mysterious piece of a mirror and how it made everything seem so worn and ugly. You kept that shard in a little box where every now and then you would inspect it to try and figure out what it really was.

You let out a frosty sigh as you wait for your childhood friend to return home. Your heart pounded as you remembered his lush ebony locks, his deep blue eyes, his sweet voice and warm smile. You held these longing feelings of love towards him inside of your heart but you dreaded to confess those affections to him, you didn’t want to ruin the nearly fifteen years of friendship in your selfish pursuit for something more.

Then you jumped out of your seat as you saw the familiar ravenette view. You stood up before sprinting towards him and wrapping your arms around him. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you looked into his sapphire eyes, his heartwarming smile made you melt in his arms as they wrapped around you.

“I missed you so much Bruno” you exclaimed as you squeezed him tighter.

“I missed you too (Y/n), all I could think about was you the whole time” he replied as he closed his eyes and held you in his embrace. You felt your body heat up as a blush grew on your face, surely he was just trying to be nice but to believe you had been on his mind made you a melting mess in winter.

You two finally separated from your long hug and entered his home where his sickly father was sitting on the lounge waiting. He’d been in this state for a year but his health was slowly improving under your care.

“Padre, how have you been? I hope you haven’t hassled dear (Y/n) too much while I was away?” Bruno asked in the sweetest voice as he pulled his father into his tight grip.

“I’ve been fine and no I’m sure I haven’t hassled the girl too much” he replied with a chuckle.

“So how was the crew? Was the boat?” his father asked him, wondering if it was still the same as he remembered.

“Oh it was great but I’d rather tell all my stories over a warm dinner” he stated.

“Speaking of which, do you need a hand with cooking?” he asked.

“Well I’m considering whether to make soup or a casserole, either way I need some vegetables cut up while I make the base” you replied as you put your hand on your chin. You walk into the kitchen and he follows. As you grab the left over fat from the other night he grabs out the vegetables from the pantry. He carefully chopped an onion but couldn’t help turning his head to look back at you. He just thought about how much he loved you, such a strong pain in his chest as he thought about a future with you, he just couldn’t keep these feelings to himself. Tomorrow he had to confess to you as he knew that it was his only chance to speak the silence he had been holding for so long.

During dinner Bruno shared his tales of his time at sea. like a child you were so fascinated by all his words and asked so many questions of the many places he’d been, so much so that you had even forgotten your bowl of stew as it went cold. He spoke of places where it alway raining down fresh snow or lands where the sun always saturated the land. He told you of the fascinating creatures he had seen. He went on and on with no indication of stopping but you had no problem with it.

Even after dinner he showed you a journal that he had written so many things inside. The most Interesting were the notes he had on the various forien myths and he had learned from the places he’d been. You read them outloud with him as it reminded you both when your grandmother would tell you stories on cold winter nights much like tonight.

Bruno smiled when he caught you sleeping against you. As a child you would be the one to continue to wake him up in the childish pursuits until you eventually passed out, Ironic how you were the one asleep on him now.

He picked you up and pulled back his fresh bed sheets before laying you down on his bed and taking your shoes off. After that he tucked you in, he’d sleep on the lounge. Sure there was enough room to allow himself to comfortably sleep beside you but you two weren’t children anymore and the whole idea of what it ment was changed in your adult minds. Even if intentions were pure.

💐💐💐

You rubbed your eyes as the first rays of sunlight flooded into the room, you groaned as you turned away from the window, you opened your eyes slightly about to close them again before you saw a note on the bedside table. You sat yourself up and slowly allowed yourself to wake up. You stretch out your body before grabbing the note and unfolding it to see Bruno’s handwriting. The note was very vague, only really mentioning to meet him at the town gazebo in the afternoon.

As you set about getting up and going through your everyday tasks, Bruno was set on making his confession to you the most meaningful way he could. He clenched the small box in his hand, wondering if the ring he had brought In his journey would be enough for you. His thought took over him, he was nervous to confess his feelings to you after all these years.

As he walked through the town markets he noticed the most beautiful bouquet of peachy coloured roses he'd seen. He then looked at the old lady who ran the stall. She looked so humble and kind as she gave him a tender smile.

"I see you have your eye's on my roses" she said in her sweet voice.

"I didn't think a rose like this would bloom in the start of winter, where did you get them?" He asked her with curiosity.

"Well young man, I grow Them all myself in my garden… with enough care the flowers will bloom at any time of year" she said followed by a light chuckle.

Bruno looked at the price tag and considered if it was worth it before giving the old lady his money.

"Thank you so much" she thanked as he took the bouquet and opened the box. He took out the ring and put the box in his pocket before slipping the ring over one of the unopened buds.

💐💐💐

As the afternoon approached the temperature dropped and the snow slowly drifted in the air. You covered yourself in a warm coat as you left the house. You walked along the snow covered path as you wondered why Bruno wanted to meet you at the gazebo in town of all places, for a small moment your heart fluttered at the thought of a confession but you quickly composed yourself and dismissed the thought.

Today seemed all too wonderful as you looked up at the cloudy sky before a sharp pain jabbed in your eye and then in your very heart. You rubbed your eye to rid the pain but there was no use.

When you finally managed to open your eyes the world had changed, everything was run down. Buildings were crumbled and the gardens around them were wilted and withered. You didn't recognise this place at all.

You walked some more to see what was barely considered a town. You sat on one of the benches and wondered what happened. You had no sense of fear but rather you wanted an explanation of what was going on. As you were thinking someone approached you. A man with matted black hair and the most sunken features against a pastie face, he smiled at you with crooked teeth. He was ugly, what made him think he had the right to talk to you.

"What's the matter (Y/n)?" he asked with such a familiar voice. You simply tried to ignore him but he became ever insistent to have your attention.

"I need to tell you something" he eventually said in which you responded with a simple what as you looked at him once more.

"I've been keeping this bottled up for so many years, I want to tell you that I want to be more than friends… I love you more than anyone else" he confessed as he revealed a bunch of long dead roses.

Something boiled in, it wasn't anger but some strange feeling that began to control you. You finally stood up and slapped the roses out of his hands before yelling at him.

"Who do you think you are?! Coming up to me and annoying me like this, only to confess that you have feelings with some horrid flowers! You disgust me and I never want to see you in my life ever again!" The words seemed to have rolled off your tongue with little thought before you ran away to the forest ahead.

Bruno watched as you did with a stabbing pain in his heart. Tears threatened to form and he fell to his knees to see the beautiful roses on the ground. Many of the petals scattered by the force of the slap and the precious gem on the ring had a large crack through it. He'd never heard you speak so harshly and wondered if that was how you truly felt about him.

He walked home with a low head and broken heart. When he arrived he sat by the fireplace and looked at it while trapped in deep thoughts.

"What's the matter Bruno?" His father asked. Bruno didn't respond.

"It's ok, you can tell me anything son" he continued and again he got no response.

"I'm sorry for bothering you, I'm just worried about you… you never are gloomy like this" he said before Bruno finally replied.

"I confessed that I was in love with (Y/n) but see yelled about how I was an annoyance and that I disgust her before running away… I've been thinking about it and I just don't understand what happened" he said. His father held his hand in his chin.

"Well I can't believe she would say such things, I always had the impression that she did love you… I think something is wrong" he mentioned. Bruno felt a light ping in his heart as his father talked, it was indeed very unlike you. A bad feeling in his gut maybe something had happened to you, you could be in danger right now.

He stood up and headed for the door.

"I'm going to find (Y/n), I have a bad feeling something's going to happen to her" he said as he left. Ignoring his father's pled for him to come back inside before the storm began.

[thatmultifandomhoe]

Knitting You a Home - 2

Pairing: Wolf Hybrid Namjoon and Human Reader

Word Count: 3k

Genre/Rating: Hybrid AU - Established Relationship - Angst - Fluff - Smut - PG-13

Overview: Things have changed for you and Namjoon. It’s been a year since the two of you got together, and despite a rocky start, it was impossible to deny the bond and love you shared for each other. But ever since Hoseok had been separated from his Mate, Namjoon has been withdrawing himself from you and doesn’t come home until late at night.

With questions far larger than either of you imagined, you can’t help but wonder if he’s let his past and old fears come back to haunt him. You had shown him that it was possible to have a home and be loved once before, but will you be able to do it again?

Warning: None.

Playlist:

Main Master List:

Knitting You a Home Master List:

Mated Love is Never Easy Master List:

Sneak Peak - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - ?

©thatmultifandomhoe Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without permission.

June 2019

The ringing of the overhead bell captured your attention, whisking you out of your memories. With a forced smile, you looked up from where you pricing the bamboo knitting needles to greet the customers.

You recognized the two women as regulars who frequently came to your shop for supplies or to add to their yarn addiction. “Hi Carol, hey Tammy, how are you ladies today?”

“Doing fine,” Tammy answered. Carol disappeared to the back of the store where the larger displays of yarn were kept. Yup. Adding to their yarn addiction was on the menu for them today. “Is your grandmother here?”

Chuckling, you added another package of needles to the wire basket you had sitting on the stool next to you. “In the back fawning over the Mongolian Cashmere yarn.”

“Are you talking about the Jade Sapphire brand of Mongolian Cashmere?” Tammy’s eyes widened, leaning closer to you as she held onto the counter.

With a serious nod, you fought back the urge to smile. “The very one.”

“What colors?”

“Moonstone, Red Light District, Ivory, Perugia, and Umbrian Sky.”

Tammy gasped, her hand coming up to clutch her chest. “You only had three colors last time.”

It never ceased to amaze you how die hard some of the women who came into the shop were for the yarn, especially the luxury yarn that you sold. The conversation didn’t last much longer, and it was with a smile that you watched Tammy scurry her way to Carol and whisper in her ear, the two of them high tailing to go find your Grandmother.

While you had your own love and passion for the age-old hobby of knitting – so much that you went into business with your Grandmother to open your own shop, Second Gen Knitters – you weren’t about to go spending fifty dollars on a single hank of yarn. Not only would your bank account cry, but Namjoon would most likely choke on whatever you fed him in an attempt to break the news.

Sighing, you stuck a label on another pair of needles, taking a moment to look around the store. The teal carpet stood out from the hardwood floor, and the mahogany bookcases that lined the walls gleamed from being dusted earlier that morning. On a large square table in the middle of the front room were wicker baskets displaying smaller hanks of colorful sock yarn, and a decorative black wrought iron stand that stood out among the bright colors, held up a sign you had painstakingly painted to display the prices.

In the corner to the left near the windows, was a sitting area with matching teal couches and chair along with a mini coffee table. A various group of knitting, country lifestyle, and People magazines were neatly spread out, completely ignored by the group of husbands that sat there on their phones, letting their wives go about and shop.

It always amused you when a couple would enter the shop and after only a few moments the husband would hightail it to the sitting area, leaving the wife completely unsurprised.

Namjoon never outright said anything, but every time he saw that area filled and he was in the shop, he made a habit of making faces in their direction to amuse you. Whenever you went on your own knitting shopping spree, he would join you and help to make decisions if you were stuck between colors or how many you needed to complete a project. Especially when what was being made was for him, he was there to give his input on colors and textures.

The summer weather made it too warm for the scarves and sweaters that Namjoon loved to wear, but it was perfect to sit down and knit away so he’d be able to wear them in the fall.

As much as you loved him, these last few weeks had your mind spinning with his strange behavior. When Hoseok’s life had gotten turned upside down, Namjoon had become extra protective of you. While the possibility of what happened between Hoseok and his mate would happen to Namjoon and you were highly unlikely, the instinct for him to be there and watch over you was too strong for him to suppress.

You hadn’t minded it, especially when his physical affection increased greatly. But it’d be a lie to say that you weren’t affected by what happened, even if you were barely involved in the situation. It was one of those things that buried itself deep in your mind, forcing you to think about it even when you didn’t want to.

It was different for the two of you though. You weren’t just his Mate, but it was your name written on his Adoption papers.

Life had begun to go back to normal when Hoseok and Sarah were finally reunited, but then they dropped another bomb. Hoseok had signed a contract with a dance company in Seoul and at the end of the month, he was leaving for a year to tour with a professional team made up of elite dancers from all around the world. While you had been stunned by the announcement and how long he was to be gone for, you were ecstatic for your friend to pursue his dreams.

But then, Namjoon changed again.

As the days inched closer to Hoseok’s departure, Namjoon had grown quieter, and surprisingly, withdrawn. The extra affection had declined along with his usual amount. While he was naturally a quiet person, he always managed to start up a conversation and keep it going for hours, but something had flipped inside him and he was barely able to keep one going. Now it was you who was randomly hugging him while out in public or crawling between his legs when you saw him reading on the couch. He never turned your affection down, but he wasn’t seeking it out either.

The bell rang out again, but you didn’t look up as you were in the middle of counting how many needles you already had labeled. If the goal number was met, then you’d be able to put the rest back in the storage room for now.

“Hey Angel.”

The corner of your mouth curled up at the soft and familiar voice calling out his pet name for you, abruptly dropping the needles back into the basket to turn and face him.

Namjoon raised an eyebrow as he looked at the basket, a teasing grin appearing as he leaned against the counter. “Isn’t that important?”

“Not as important as you,” you sweetly answered, smiling as you watched Namjoon duck his head. It was absolutely cheesy, but it worked like magic to make him happy.

“Shut up,” he murmured, handing you a coffee before taking a sip out of his own.

Grateful for the caffeine, you tapped the white recycled cup that’s only design was the black lettering that spelt out, Kim Seokjin’s Café in cursive. “I thought you had work today?”

“Lunch break,” Namjoon answered, his ears twitching as he glanced around the shop. “I thought you might want a cup, and the bus stop just happens to be conveniently near your store.”

You hummed in agreement, leaning back to look in the direction of where your Grandmother was. Well, in the direction that you heard her voice coming from. Even from the front, you were able to hear her explaining how to do a cable stitch to someone.

“How’s your day been though?” You asked, gesturing for him to come around the counter with you. At least his little visits hadn’t stopped. They were a habit he started not long after moving in with you and when he saw how much you looked forward to them, made it a point to come by when he was able to during the day.

He held onto his cup a little tighter, not wanting to spill a single drop as he maneuvered his way around the counter. The space was small and even as you moved the wire basket and stool out of his way, he didn’t seem to relax until he set his cup on the counter. “Good. We’re working with a rapper this time. He’s really hands on with the album, which is amazing considering the last artist we--”

“Oh, Namjoon!” your Grandmother called out.

Teasingly rolling your eyes, you grinned as she came out from the back, her glasses on the bridge of her nose when she held her arms out to bring Namjoon in for a hug, despite the fact that he was easily a foot and a half taller than her.

“Hey Ma, how are you?”

“I’m good sweetheart.”

Without even looking, you were willing to bet that his dimples were showing. Grandmother just had a certain way about her that made it impossible for anyone to not be happy around her.

You leaned backwards against his Namjoon’s chest out of habit when he came back, feeling the gentle vibrations coming from him as he wrapped his arms around your waist in a loose hug. The gesture, while small, had you relaxing even more so. This was the majority of any affection the two of you had been sharing lately.

The moment would have been more enjoyable had you paid attention to the conversation that your Grandmother was having with Namjoon, but you had glanced around the store out of habit. You didn’t want anyone to feel ignored in case they had a question about a product, needed assistance with a project, or simply was ready to check out.

She was looking at the sock yarn at the table across from the counter. An older woman with a wire basket resting on her elbow. It was with experienced eyes that you noticed two of the Jade Sapphira hands sitting in there, and in her hands was some blue sock yarn, but she wasn’t looking at that. Matter of fact, her gaze was focused on you, but it was too low to be an attempt to capture your attention.

To someone who didn’t understand anything about Hybrids, the scar on your neck appeared to be the result of a painful accident. In reality, it was the exact opposite. The scar was your Mate Mark, the very one that you treasured when Namjoon had given it to you almost a year ago, sealing the bond between you as Mates for the rest of your lives.

The old woman stared at the Mate Mark, her gaze flicking towards Namjoon to see the wolf ears on top of his head, then down to his tail that was carefully wagging behind him.

“I’m sorry ma’am,” Grandmother suddenly spoke, stealing your attention as she walked towards the woman who had been staring. “But I couldn’t help but notice you’d been looking at this young man, and while my son-in-law is not for sale, we do have some great patterns in the back that have almost as equally handsome young male models on them.”

Your heart nearly stopped as she led the old woman away and to the back, internally dying at her antics but grateful for them at the same time. Embarrassment had your cheeks feeling warm, and with Namjoon’s body shaking from holding back his laughter, you covered your face with your hands when the women were out of sight.

With the exception of the chuckles slipping out, he was quiet as he tightened his arms around you, leaning down to gently kiss at your Mate Mark. While you had only been able to see her stares, Namjoon had been able to sense the woman’s distaste the second she saw him hugging you.

“She’s a closed-minded old woman,” he softly murmured in your ear, hoping to ease your hands away from your face. “Who is currently having to deal with an upset Ma right now, and I think that’s punishment enough.”

Like always, your skin tingled each time he kissed the mark, the sensation coursing throughout your body even after you lowered your hands. “That doesn’t mean I like her,” you muttered.

Namjoon simply chuckled, settling for kissing your neck again. Normally, you would have let him have his fun before teasing him to stop, reasoning that you were at work and the last thing you wanted to do was make anyone uncomfortable with all the affection. But you didn’t stop him this time. This was perhaps the most affection that he had given out since Hoseok’s career announcement, and you weren’t the one having to initiate it.

“I’ve missed you,” you whispered, sliding your hands over his until you were hugging his arms. It had felt like forever since you last shared such a sweet moment with Namjoon. All you wanted was to make it last, because if tonight was anything like it has been for last several weeks, he wouldn’t be home before midnight again.

Despite your silent wishes, Namjoon lifted his head and kissed your cheek once before resting his chin on top of your head.

“I know,” he softly murmured back, his arms wrapping around you further in an attempt to bring you closer. “I miss you too.”

Your heart dropped however, and you stared at the packaging of the knitting needles you had been counting, wishing that it didn’t feel like there was sea separating you from Namjoon these days.

“Will you be late coming home again?”

He closed his eyes, signing as he kissed the side of your head. Able to sense you true feelings, he knew that you already had the answer. “I’m sorry Angel.”

Pressing your lips together, you gently squeezed his hand. “Will Yoongi be there?”

“Yoongi practically lives there,” he joked, kissing your mark once more before finally pulling back. “I should get going, the bus will be here soon.”

His hand slid down to your lower back before disappearing completely as he walked around the counter, leaving you feeling cold and alone.

It was reassuring to know that Yoongi was going to be with him, but with all the hours he’s been spending at work, it was becoming impossible to recall the times that he was at home. Most nights he was only getting home after you crawled into bed, and having gotten used to Namjoon hugging you to his chest while the two of you slept, sleeping without him wasn’t easy. A majority of the time you found yourself playing on your phone for an hour or so before ditching it in an attempt to get some sleep, but then you’d be woken up at the touch of his arms sliding around your body as he slipped under the covers with a kiss to your neck, coaxing you back to sleep.

Stolen moments and gentle kisses were the most romantic the two of you were getting these days.

As much as you loved them, it all reminded you of the early days of your relationship, and as he withdrew in on himself, you couldn’t help but wonder if it had to do with you. Had the relationship become too much of a routine? Were you becoming predictable? Was he no longer attracted to you?

Like she knew that she was needed, Grandmother once again came back to the front, this time without the old woman following her. “Heading back out Namjoon?”

Namjoon nodded as he leaned down to give her a hug, his arms carefully wrapping around your Grandmother like he thought she was fragile and was afraid that he’d break her. Which wasn’t unrealistic, considering all the dishes that he’s broken in the last year.

“Yes, I need to catch the bus to get back to work.”

“You need to get yourself a driver’s license hun,” Grandma teased, rubbing Namjoon’s back before tilting her head to kiss his cheek.

As they parted from their hug, you smiled at seeing the light blush on his cheeks for a brief moment, any worries disappearing for the time being.

“I like taking the bus Ma,” Namjoon teased, pulling out of her embrace to lean against the counter for a moment. “It’s relaxing and lets me clear my thoughts.”

“You can clear your thoughts at home you know,” Grandma pointed out, her eyes crinkling at the corner. “I’m not getting any younger, and to be able to hold my great-grandbabies is a dream I want to see come true.”

Once again you felt your cheeks heating up, the sound of her laughter echoing as she left the two of you alone again. Ever since you told her that you were Namjoon’s Mate, she made sure to hint around about grandkids whenever the moment struck her.

“I love her I do…” Namjoon murmured, reaching his hand out for yours to hold.

“But she drives us nuts.” You supplied, smiling up at him.

He nodded, his own embarrassed smile appearing to be permanent while displaying his dimples for you. “Okay, I really have to get going or I’ll be late. I love you Angel.”

Your smile softened as he held your hand to his lips, his fingers squeezing your palm quickly. “I love you too Namjoon.”

He didn’t stay much longer, his tail wagging as he walked out the door and shortly out of your sight, his departure forcing you to get back to work, and allowing your worry to come back to the forefront of your mind. This time free to do so since Namjoon wasn’t around to sense your emotions.

It was proven time after time that Hybrids only had one true Mate in their lives, and once couples completed the bond, they weren’t able to have any romantic feelings towards anyone else. Which was why you were struggling to understand these changes with Namjoon.

Reaching up, you touched the Mate Mark, recalling all the moments when Namjoon had been the one to pull you back to bed, to cuddle you for five extra minutes because he had missed you. It was stupid to doubt his love for you, but you couldn’t help it.

There had to be a reason for why he was so distant again. For why he was barely being affectionate these days. Was it because these long nights that he spent at work with Yoongi, were with someone else? That he was enjoying the warm embrace of another before coming home? The idea was far-fetched, and you began doubting it a second later like always, but what were you supposed to think?

“Oh Joonie,” you sighed, seeing that he had left behind his coffee cup.

It was too late to try and rush out to bring it to him, so you tossed it into the trash with a thump, feeling like you were grasping at straws at this point. When you had done researched on what it meant to be Mates, never once did you come across a point where there was a possibility that the couples separated. It wasn’t even a consideration.

But now…you weren’t sure what to think.

[midnights-light]

Ladybug and the Hound

So before I begin I need to say a few things

This is my first attempt at writing a fanfic so it’s most likely going to suck and all that jazz

I do not own any characters in the DC or Miraculous universes (if i did everything would make little to no sense so yeah)

Can we all agree that  @ozmav is an amazing writer?

If you don’t like Daminette, don’t read it’s that simple

I am also going to use “Dogs are a Ladybug’s best friend” by @kelelamentia for some inspiration on this cuz I love that idea

All characters are going to be OOC so just be prepared

If ya’ll like it I might write more just let me know if I should write more or if I should never think about writing again (I have low self-esteem so if it look like I am hating on myself it’s because I am but I’ll get over someday but if you criticize me please at least try to be constructive criticism)

Now onto the terrible thing I decided needed to exist

LB-Ladybug

CN- Chat Noir

M-Marinette

Di-Dick

D-Damian

B-Bruce

T-Tim

J-Jason

A-Alfred

The Meeting

It was a normal Tuesday, ya know? Birds are singing, the sun is shining, the Eiffel Tower collapsed, ya know the usual. Well usual for Parisians who had to deal with this for 4 almost 5 years now but for those who just wanted a vacation like the Waynes... well let’s just say they were unprepared to see the Eiffel Tower come crashing down just a few blocks ahead of them as they were walking to get some pastries from Tom and Sabine Boulangerie patisserie for a afternoon snack and to walk Titus (they brought Titus because Damian refused to leave him alone in the mansion for two weeks while they are on vacation so Bruce reluctantly agreed to bring him with them). So them being them ran towards the fallen tower and see a few people dead and some injured. They help the injured, but just as they are about to get the remaining few out of the wreckage a girl in a clearly ladybug themed suit comes crashing to the ground creating a few cracks to form on the ground. She gets up with a groan just as a dog in a fox themed costume came running up to her and helps her steady herself. “Thanks, Hound.” says the spotted girl and as the batfam are about to check if she’s okay a... IS THAT A GIANT BABY?! Well the giant baby comes walking towards the girl and the dog when a voice shouts “If you go on a date with me Ladybug I will come help you just accept your feelings for me already!” 

Damian's POV

As soon as the spotted girl heard that she looked towards the owner of the voice and low and behold it’s a guy in a leather cat suit and on the outside I look indifferent to what is happening but on the inside the only thing I can think is ‘What is going on in this city!’ because I was just expecting a boring two weeks of ‘required’ vacation in the ‘city of love’ I hate the nickname of the city because as Father has shown love is a weakness. But apparently the city of love is not as boring as I thought it would be. The girl (ladybug I think is her name) now has a look of murder in her eyes and the dog (hound is what she called him) growled at him as ladybug said “Chat, you can’t be serious! You just caused the Eiffel Tower to fall and kill and injure people!” CN-“Yes because you can’t realize that we are meant to be together!” LB-”No we are not now either help or shut up so I can focus on gigantitan!” CN-”Fine then i’ll just sit here and enjoy the show” That one interaction makes me question if this is how it is everything something like this happens.

*Time skip because i can’t write smart plans or fight scenes*

Dick’s POV

After ladybug got his watch thing off his wrist she and hound tore it apart which released a black butterfly and the giant baby was now back to a normal sized baby. WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?1 I’M SO CONFUSED! After I stopped questioning reality I realized that ladybug was comforting the kid (HE COULDN’T BE OLDER THAN 4 YEARS OLD!) she picked him up and was about to throw her spotted thing up in the air for some reason but was interrupted by the cat boy saying ‘Pound it!’ and acting like he actually helped her and didn’t just sit there on a roof watching ladybug and hound do everything. What the heck? Ladybug walks over to me and asked if I could hold the kid for a sec and I said sure because she looks ready to murder. After she hands me the kid she walks over to cat boy and started yelling at him about how he can’t just be reckless like that but it seemed to just go over his head as he replied saying something about how she owed hit to him to date him but I quickly stopped listening when the kid started crying because of all the yelling going on so I started to talk and play with him to cheer him up until he pointed to ladybug as she yelled miraculous ladybug and tossed the spotted object into the sky. I was confused about what she was doing until I saw a swarm of ladybugs appear and start fixing the damage, healing the injured, and even bringing people back to life. Then she came back over and was about to ask something but then a shrill beeping noise came from her earrings causing her to ask if we could watch over the kid until his mom came and picked him up. Titus and Hound were playing until she called him over to her and then they jumped, yes JUMPED, up to the roof and left. “What the hell was all that and does anyone else want to kill a cat boy?”

Tim’s POV

“So that all really happened, huh? It wasn’t really just a coffee dream?” I say and then look at everyone else has a different reactions to what just happened: Jason is looking at where dead bodies had been but now they were alive, Bruce is trying to understand what just happened, Alfred looks concerned, Dick is keeping the kid happy, and Damian is trying to keep Titus from running after Hound. I notice other civilians just walking around like nothing just happened and I’m just thinking ‘How long has this been happening and how have we not noticed? WHAT IS LIFE!?’

Jason’s POV

I look at everybody that was dead just walk away like nothing happened and I am about to ask Bruce if he know what that was when I feel someone bump into me. I turn around to see a girl around Damian’s age on the ground picking up the stuff she dropped while rapidly apologizing while a dog, presumably hers, was sniffing her making sure she was ok and had what looked like a glare on his face when he looked at me. M-“I’m so so sorry Monsieur! I wasn’t looking where I was going.” J-”It’s alright little lady, but if you don’t mind me asking, what’s the rush?” M- “Well you see I’m supposed to be helping in my parents bakery after I finished walking Captain but we got caught up in the akuma attack so I’m running a bit late. My names Marinette by the way. I don’t think I’ve seen you before are you visiting?” What’s an akuma? I’ll file that away for later for replacement to look at but for now. J- ”Yeah we are here for a family vacation to take a break from work. Would you mind if me and my family follow you to your parent’s bakery? We were heading to one for a snack but it seems we got turned around during the attack.” M- “Sure just tell me your names first so I at least know you to some degree cause I’m not supposed to talk to people I don’t know. I hate life but I’m not ready to die just yet.” She laughs and I swear it feels like the world just got a whole lot brighter, J- “Of course where are my manners name’s Jason. I have a feeling my family is going to love you and your dog.” I say as I hold my hand out for Captain to sniff and after he does he stops giving me what I swear looks like a glare but he’s still standing near Marinette when I notice my family looking at me and Marinette and Alfred asks me, A- “Master Jason are you going to introduce us to the young miss?” J- “Oh right, guys this is Marinette, Marinette this is Alfred he’s our butler/ grandpa, the one who looks like he’s about to pass out is Tim, the one playing with the kid is Dick, the stern one is Bruce, and the  one with the dog is Damian.” I say.

Damian’s POV

I hear Todd talking to someone and introducing us and as soon as I turn to glare at Todd I see the most beautiful eyes in the whole world. they look like sapphires and her hair is like the midnight sky. She looks like an Angel... wait WHAT!?  I only zone back in as soon as Todd told the Angel my name so I did what not even I  was expecting, I took her hand, gave the back of it a kiss and said, D- “Nice to meet you Angel.” I was not smiling when I saw her blush and I for certain do not want to make her blush again... but if I have a chance to then I will take it. Then I hear a low growl and I then notice that she has a dog (yes she loves animals to!) that is looking at me like he’s going to rip me to shreds and I will forever deny that I was a little scared. M- “Sorry Damian, Captain’s just a little protective of me and doesn’t like strangers being around me.” D-”I understand.” I say then I hold out my hand for her dog (Captain I think it was) to sniff and after he does he still growls at me but doesn’t look ready to tear me to pieces so progress towards getting to know the Angel before me. And then my good mood is ruined by the sound of my idiot brothers and father, the traitor, snickering behind us. I turn and scowl at them but they don’t seem to care. Meanwhile Titus and Captain appear to have met and are now chasing each other around making me and the Angel laugh. Her laughter sounds amazing and her smile makes it feel like the world brightens up just a little. M- “So shall we start walking to the bakery?” A chorus of yes comes from my family and then we start walking. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

BONUS

*Whispering* J- “Am I going crazy or did Demon Spawn just laugh and smile at Marinette?”

Di- “No I heard it to *gasp* do you think he has a crush?”

J- “Are we sure he’s capable of having a crush?”

T- “Well I’m sure she will be good for him, but what I’m confused about is how she doesn’t recognize who we are. I mean how does she not know us she didn’t even seem to recognize our faces.

A- “I think Miss Marinette will do Master Damian some good.”

And Bruce is just looking at his youngest son with pride. His first crush and he’s able to witness it.

So as I said in the beginning this is my first fanfic and It’s most likely terrible so let me know if I should never write again, if you want another chapter, or if I should just reevaluate my life choices.

Chapter 2

[sappheirs]

♛ → THE STORMLANDS present CASIMIR TARTH, the HEIR of TARTH. when the dragons danced in the sky they thought the BLACK would still fly, but in the blink of an eye, they would all die. the TWENTY-FIVE year old MALE who was FREEWHEELING & VEHEMENT before they saw the first of the flames, is now CALLOW & PUGNACIOUS after seeing the last. through the ash, now they struggle to find A SILVER  &  SAPPHIRE PLATED SHIELD THAT SHOULD NOT BELONG TO HIM,   CHESHIRE CAT GRINS HIDDEN BEHIND HIS SISTER’S SHOULDER,    THE CRISP TASTE OF A PEACH CRUSHED BETWEEN TEETH;   JUICE DRIBBLED DOWN THE FRONT OF HIS TUNIC instead of the remnants of the war of succession. ( thomas doherty )

full  name:   casimir tarth.  nicknames:    cas,   casi.  age:    25.  date  of  birth:    december 3,   115 ac.  orientation:    undiscovered bisexual in training.  religion:    faith of the seven,    mostly just in name at this point.    casimir is known for skipping out on trips to the sept and really only appears when it’s deemed absolutely necessary.  political  affiliation:    baratheon loyalist,    has secret  +  silent opinions about the targaryens sucking.  hair  color:    brown.  hair  length:    generally grown out to just below his ears,    in his natural state it’s shaggy and unkempt.    you can always tell when minisa’s helped him get ready by how his hair looks.  eye  color:    sapphire blue.  height:    6  feet,    4  inches.  father:    bryndenmere tarth. mother:    aemma tarth,    nee estermont    .    deceased.  siblings:    petyr tarth  *  brother,    deceased.    arik storm  *  half - brother,    deceased.    minisa tarth  *  sister.  children:    none,    yet.  significant  other:    none,    yet.  pets:    cider  +  mead,    sibling otterhounds.    rye,    a black forest horse. 

the final trueborn child of the lord and lady of tarth,    casimir,   better known to those around him as cas,   had a torrential childhood.    moments into his life,   his mother passed,   seemingly setting the scene for those he cared for to one by one find their own graves.    what began with his mother carried into his eldest brother,   and then his beloved bastard brother as well   -   casimir knows loss like the back of his hand,    knows that in the blink of an eye what little remains of his family could be gone just like the rest.    he clung to minisa just as much as she did him;    allowed the coddling and kindness,    because at least it was closeness.    at least it was proof he wasn’t alone.    she was,   and continues to be,   his closest confidant;    as he grows closer to inheriting evenfall and the isle of tarth,    cas longs to keep her by his side,    despite knowing that she ought to have a family of her own,    that he himself will need to do the same.    but his chest aches at the thought of another loss,    even if she exists somewhere in the world,    it wouldn’t be the same comfort of having her at his side.    and to be entirely truthful,    he isn’t certain he can rule without her    -    doesn’t believe himself capable of being the lord he’s supposed to be when he knows the role was meant for petyr and not him.

his lows are low    -    fear and guilt tangled into one unfortunate web that lingers in the corner of his mind;    but casimir on a good day is almost whimsical.    full of boisterous laughter and jokes,    blue eyes alight with life and a joy unmatched.    he jests with his father and his men,    hunts and fishes with the best of them and always manages to come back telling a harrowing eventful tale.    he wants to believe in the good of others,    so desperately,   but the fact of his life is that he cannot depend on the kindness of anyone not loyal to the name tarth.    he wishes it wasn’t this way    -    wishes for better things and better days,    where his mother and brothers are smiling and laughing alongside him and not buried beneath the dark soil,    a smattering of blue flowers marking each one.

casimir is fond of animals,    and considers himself the proud owner of the equivalent of a pair of otterhounds named cider  &  mead,    as well as a horse named rye.    he isn’t much for reading,    but is known for his singing    -    though he plays no instrument,    he can often be found providing his voice to the tunes his sister minisa plays.    his favorite song is ‘alysanne’.    

wanted  connections     -    new  additions  not  in  the  group,    i’ll be typing these up officially for the wc section i just needed to splat these ideas down sdflkj. 

casimir’s  best  bro    -   he requires someone to be a himbo with him,    tbh.    maybe someone who was fostered @ evenfall and they kinda just ???  became inseparable and now cas is forever like  NO NO THAT’S MY DUDE RIGHT THE FUCK THERE.    cas is pure and truly sees this pal as a psuedo brother,    would 100% die for him no questions asked u feel me?    makes sense for this dude bro to be from another house in the stormlands or a house that was also aligned with the blacks. 

because i enjoy spice ... casimir’s best bro’s sister.    best friend’s brother from the hit nickelodeon show victorious plays in the bg except it’s his best friend’s sister and boy oh boy is this man w H I P P E D.    he’s well aware that it’s probably never going to happen,    has for the most part,    resigned himself to fawning from afar.   maybe she’s married to someone else,   maybe she’s just not interested    -    either way,   i humbly request and require an unrequited love for this sad,   sad boy. 

wanted  connections    -    for  pre - existing  characters. 

i think it’d be cool for someone to want to take cas under their metaphorical wing;   and i think it could easily go for either a genuine,    loving friendship or someone who just wants to be able to manipulate the future of house tarth and have them under their thumb.    cas is naive enough to allow the latter to happen,    and i think it’d cause some really cool tension for the tarth sibling dynamic. 

characters who,   for whatever reason they so choose,   dislike cas  /  house tarth    -   yes i enjoy angsty bullshit,    no i will not stop trying to ruin his life.    he’s really like,    a dumb golden retriever boy,   and won’t fully understand why someone wouldn’t like him because he’s like:    i’ve never done anything wrong ever?    and would probably try to at least prove his goodness. 

i mean,    eventually he’s probably going to have to be betrothed,    because as a very eligible future lord,    that’s the logical step.    i like to imagine that while casimir is the type to play a little fast and loose with his heart and probably has flings where he proclaims his never ending love and devotion,    he’s also just dedicated and understanding enough of his position that he will do as his father and the storm king decree.      what i’m saying here is    . . .    if you wanna be his lover,    that’s cool,   but he’ll very sadly leave you when his papa tells him to marry someone for reals. 

[avatarvader]

A New Year’s Resolution

So this was made for the Romione Secret Santa Event in the HPRomione Discord (It’s a lot of fun and there are some great people in the server.). I was the secret santa for @be11atrixthestrange Hope you enjoy and happy holidays to all! 

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

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Resolution  

noun

1.

A firm decision to do or not to do something.

--------

 The night was waning upon the Burrow as snow trickled down upon its brightly lit windows. 2004 was coming to a close in about two hours. Ron was excited for the new year, another one in which he would get to spend with the most amazing and interesting person in the world to him. Ron felt his breast pocket for the box he had shrunk while Hermione was in the shower and grinned to himself.

He had it all planned out, when the clock would strike twelve everyone would cheer and Hermione would turn to give him a New Year’s kiss. He’d already be down on one knee, in one hand the ring he had purchased for her and roses in the other. He’d mastered the summon flowers charm when he learned that she’d gush over roses.

He had his speech already written down and he’d gone over it twelve times in the last week alone. Truthfully that’s why he worked at the Ministry so late recently. That and he was scared of blurting it out in the middle of dinner.

Thinking through everything and knowing it was finally happening tonight had made Ron parched. He made his way into the Burrow’s where he heard Angelina chatting with Ginny about their pregnancies while George was howling drunkenly about Verity to Harry.

“I can understand the need to make Christmas special,” George slurred “But Christmas is already a special time!”

“You don’t think that proposing on Christmas isn’t sweet?” Harry laughs, he too is on the tipsy side. “Better than what I did.” Harry lamented as he remembered his attempt to make his proposal to Ginny special. Harry had wanted to take her on a fly around Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, before stopping on a cliffside overlooking the Black Lake. However, when he had gotten to The Burrow and saw her grinning face he panicked and proposed right there, in the Burrow’s kitchen…. as Molly was cooking. To say that his mother-in-law was enthused was an understatement.

“Well at least yours was memorable,” George nudged. “Verity won’t be able to remember whether it was Christmas or her proposal in a few years. Holiday proposals are stupid and overrated.” George declared.

Ron felt a sinking feeling in his stomach hearing his brother’s words. Of course, it was stupid. Why did I think this would be special? Ron picked up his drink and walked into the family room, his mood shot to hell.

Ron sat down on the love seat and stared at the fire that was roaring in the family hearth.

“Ronnie, you alright dear?” His mum asked with a smile. “You seem down.”

“I’m fine, mum.” Ron glanced away to see Hermione talking with Percy about a policy she was trying to pass. “Just- not feeling great is all.”

He felt his mum’s cool hand press on his forehead without warning. “Well, you don’t feel warm. Is it your stomach?”

It’s my heart, I really wanted to do this today.

“I’m sure it’s nothing Mum, how was Bermuda?” Ron replied, deftly wanting to change the subject.

“Oh it was lovely,” Molly gushed, “Your father and I had so much se-“

“Is that Charlie?” Ron cut in, blushing at what his mum was about to say. “I really don’t get to see him enough. Oi Charlie!” Ron got up and made his way over to Charlie and his lady friend he brought from Romania.

“5…4…3…2…1, HAPPY NEW YEAR!!” The Weasleys shouted as the clock chimed midnight, George and Angelina popped off some fireless fireworks in the house. They bounded from person to person pinging off of their noses before zooming away. Around them, couples turned into their respective partners and kissed in the New Year. Hermione turned to him and sank into his arms, her head pressing against his chest.

How perfect it would have been.

Hermione’s hands rested on Ron’s chest as she stood on her tiptoes to capture his lips with hers. Her hand pushes the small box in his breast pocket in his chest.

Oh fuck me, she’s going to find out!

“Ron, what’s that in your pocket?” She pressed his chest to feel the object again.

“N-Nothing.” Ron lied. Make this work in your favour, old boy.

“Did you forget to clean out your pockets?” Hermione scowled. “You KNOW they put cardboard in there so the shirt doesn’t wrinkle. I swear if our brand-new washing machine gets clogged up by cardboard you left in there, I’ll make sure you sleep on my side of the bed…” Ron cringed knowing her side was lumpy and stiffer than he cared for.

Execute this properly chap, timing is key.

“Hermione,” Ron sighed as she reached into his pocket and pulled out the deep blue box.

Ron watched Hermione’s eyes as she gazed at the box, he saw her eyes widen  as she realized what it was.

Now old boy!! On your knee!

 Ron sunk to his knee as he flicked his right hand to draw his wand from its holster. (Auror technique that makes for easy drawing.). He swooped it high over his head, never once letting his gaze be torn from Hermione’s eyes.

Rose petals appeared from nothingness and fell gently like snowflakes around them. The pair of them, despite being surrounded by the Weasley’s felt like they were alone in this one instance in time. All distractions unseen, all voices tuned out.

“R-Ron?” She gasped. “W-What are… What is this?”

“Hermione.” Ron’s heart was thumping in his chest. He held the box out for her to take from him. "Open it, love."

She opened the box and saw a beautiful, yet simple ring. It was the home to three (rather small) stones, Aquamarine and Sapphire on either side, with a slightly larger diamond in the middle. The band was silver, and woven in a lattice pattern. It was simple yet elegant.

“I-is that our birthstones?” Hermione said as she turned her attention back to Ron.  

“I've wanted to ask you this to ask this for a long, long, time.” Ron swallowed thickly. “I love you. I love you so much a-and I want to be with you for the rest of my life.” Hermione’s free hand covered her mouth to stop herself from blurting out her answer, he clearly planned this for her and she wanted to make sure he said what he wanted to.

“As daft as it may be to ask this question-” He took the box from her hand and took the ring out and held it just over her left ring finger. “-Hermione Granger. Would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

“Yes, of course, Ron. Of course!” She said, her eyes brimming with tears. Ron slid the ring onto her finger and she crashed into him, hugging him as tightly as she ever had before.

Ron stood up and leaned in to kiss her again, which she happily responded to.

Reality snapped back, all of the Weasley siblings were watching the newly engaged couple.

Bill and Fleur hugged each other and smiled knowingly, they had seen how tenderly and affectionately Ron cared for her during their stay at Shell Cottage during the war.

Charlie grinned at his little brother, he knew that Ron would eventually get the courage to ask her. Charlie had helped Ron move into their place together and when Ron took Charlie out for obligatory drinks afterward, Ron couldn’t stop talking about how amazing Hermione was.

Percy smiled at the couple, reminiscing at how he watched their friendship blossom, growing up and becoming friends together during their first three years of Hogwarts. Hermione would come to Percy in a huff to ‘Sort out that brother of yours! He doesn’t care about his studies!’ Percy would never say it to her face, but he always thought Ron was a calming force for Hermione.

George was crying. The combination of a generous amount of alcohol and seeing his brother proposing had sent him over the edge. He wasn’t crying because he thought Ron was making a bad decision, or that Hermione and he weren't compatible. He was crying because of the bet he lost all those years ago. Fred bet him during their 6th year that Ron and Hermione would get engaged at a family function and that Ron wouldn’t hesitate for even a moment. George thought that Ron would be a mumbling and stumbling mess. He owed Fred now and his twin wasn’t around to collect.

Ginny was surprised to find Ron on his knee, he was talking to Hermione in low tones, so only they could hear each other. It was quite clear what he was doing though. Ginny’s heart leaped as she saw her brother, her closest friend growing up, slide the ring on Ginny's best friend. She muttered a quick “It’s about time isn’t it?” To her husband jokingly when she realized. Harry was crying. She rubbed Harry’s back soothingly.

Harry took off his glasses as he watched his best best friend in the whole world propose to his other best friend who was like a sister to him. Harry knew they’d be happy together. Despite all their bickering and arguments at Hogwarts, it seemed that dating and living together seemed to ease the tension between them. Admittedly, there was PROBABLY another factor, but Harry didn’t want to think about their intimate life that deeply. It was bad enough walking in on them in the kitchen the one time. Harry knew they would make each other happy. That was all he wanted for them. His best friends, who gave him so much joy and happiness in his life when he needed it most. The pair that had almost acted as parents to him during school. They had a certain way with each other, their love for each other came naturally, all they had to do was get there. Harry only wanted the best for his closest friends, and the fact that they seemed to choose each other filled Harry’s heart with so much emotion.

Molly turned after kissing her husband to see Ron on his knee in front of Hermione a ring of rose petals shower down upon them and Ron slipped a ring on her finger.

“What just happened?!” She squeaked to her husband. “Oh, Merlin I missed it!!” She lamented as Hermione sank into her now Fiancé’s arms. The newly engaged couple kissed, both smiling into each other's lips. Ron pulled back and looked around the room and flushed red with embarrassment.

“So, erm…. Happy New Year?” He said sheepishly. Molly squealed with joy and rushed to wrap her youngest child in her arms. She kissed his forehead before she moved over to her future daughter in law.

Arthur smiled at his youngest boy as he was congratulated by his siblings. Ginny, Fleur and Molly were cooing over the beauty of the ring. Ron was being pounded on his back by Charlie, and George had slung his arm around Ron’s shoulders singing a hearty and happy song.

Arthur made his way into the crowd. “I believe an official 'welcome' to the family is in order, Hermione. We're so excited it's finally official.” Arthur opened his arms wide as she hugged him rather tightly.

“There’s no other family I’d want to join,” she said with a beaming smile as she pulled out of the hug. Hermione was soon distracted by Molly fretting over wedding plans so Arthur turned to his boy.

“Ronnie.” Ron looked up and saw his dad with slight tears in his eyes, “You’ve found your perfect person. I’m so happy for you, my boy.” Ron gave his dad a big hug and Arthur almost broke down then and there.  

“What can I say, I know what a good match is after all.” Ron nudged his dad's side, “After all, I got to see how happy you and Mum were all this time. Gave me something to look forward to, y’know?” Arthur gave his son another hug.

The night progressed rather quickly after that. Soon enough it was two in the morning, and Ron and Hermione had flooed home. They were both dog tired after the events of the night and just wanted sleep. Ron had changed into his pajamas and laid on his side of the bed looking at the ceiling. He was remembering every little detail about his proposal, but he kept coming back to seeing Hermione’s eyes during his speech. They were the perfect shade of chocolate brown and he watched her eyes as they smiled at her new ring.

Hermione came in from the bathroom and sat down on her side of the bed. She snuggled up on Ron’s chest, her left hand resting on the other side of his torso. She looked at the ring again and her heart did flips at how perfect it was.

“So I have to ask,” She started, “How much of that went as planned?”

“Honestly? Pretty much exactly as I wanted it to.” She could hear the grin on his face without looking at him. “Didn’t expect you to find the ring, but after that, it went right as I wanted it to.”

“I'm so happy right now, Ron.” She sighed.

“Well good, It was my New Year’s resolution last year to make you happy and in typical Ron fashion I got it done… just a tad late is all.” Ron placed a hand against her back and she pressed against him closer.

“If that was last year’s then what is this year's?” She looked at him coyly.

“This year’s? Propose to you.” He laughed.

“Well, that job's done then, isn't it?!”

“Gotta be early for some things, right?” He ran his hands down her arms. “How about you? Any resolutions?”

“Marry the love of my life.” She kissed him deeply and tugged at his trousers. “And I fully intend to enjoy married life with him, as well.”

THE END

[kyberphilosopher]

𝐀𝐤𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚

The both of them were searching for someone whose demons would mirror their own.

Word Count: 5489

a·kra·sia/əˈkrāZH(ē)ə/ noun

“akrasia: the state of mind in which someone acts against their better judgment through weakness of will.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi had always been far too versed in the light side of the force for your taste. It was annoying, to say the least. The way the Jedi walked around like they’re better than everybody else, and then denying it. The narrow minded point of view. The ridiculous robes. It was all very exhausting to deal with. 

The Jedi Order had no recollection of you. There was nothing to suggest you had ever been a part of them, or even ever fallen under the power of the Republic. Therefor, nobody knew where you came from. 

Anakin and Master Kenobi simply encountered you one day as a General for the Separatist forces. You were also a Sith of some kind- they weren’t sure on the details. The very first fight ended with you nearly killing Anakin, Obi-Wan having to bandage his knee, and you receiving a scar from your left collarbone to your shoulder. Another time, you and Kenobi went head to head. You would’ve killed him, had Anakin not intervened. 

So, Anakin didn’t like you very much. Fine with you. 

The real prize was Obi-Wan. 

As stated above, Kenobi was far too attached to the light for your liking. As far as you could tell, the man wasn’t tempted by the darkness in the slightest. This fact baffled you. You had seen what Kenobi’s life would be like if he became a Sith. He would’ve been far powerful than many of his fellow Jedi. You would've even been willing to venture that his skills would come close to your own! But, the man was inexplicably, irrationally, and annoyingly selfless. 

Similarly, Obi-Wan had taken note of your own fatuous traits. 

Obi-Wan, through all his goodness, had never thought you to be selfish. There were times where he saw you make selfish decisions, or act selfishly- but you were not selfish by nature. Obi-Wan knew, somewhere deep down, that you felt guilt at your bad deeds. Unfortunately, that distant guilt was not enough to stop you from being ruthless and cunning in battle. And for that, Obi-Wan felt that he had somehow failed you, even though he didn’t know anything about your previous life. 

So, if Obi-Wan had to describe you, it could be summed up in a few words. Lethal. Intelligent. Devious. Unnerving. Powerful. Dealing with you was something that Obi-Wan never looked forward to, unlike Anakin, who was secretly rooting for it.

 However, despite all your flaws, Kenobi shared something incredibly disturbing with you.

You were the one that had started it. The night of your first encounter, you couldn’t stop thinking about the man. He was just so... good. The way he fought used the third form of lightsaber combat- the one that focused more on defense than offense. So he wasn’t aiming to kill you, and he probably never would be. Baffling. You could sense that he wasn’t excessively good with the use of the force, but well enough. Kenobi was in no way attracted to power or stepping on others. This, in it’s entirety, is what made you decide to try a bit of psychological warfare. 

You appeared to him in the night. Projecting yourself across the galaxy, across the moon and the stars, you let him see you. He couldn’t see where you were or where you were going to be, only you. Dressed in black robes and your hair tied back casually, you wore the little scratch Kenobi had given your cheek with pride. 

While you were proud of this feat, Kenobi was caught off guard. He had just finished a conversation with Anakin about the young man was seriously skirting the line with the council, ending in Anakin walking away with thin lips. Obi-Wan sighed, glancing at the ground and leaning against the wall in deep thought. 

He couldn’t explain what happened next. One blink, and it was the other half of the archive room. The walls glowed blue with technology and magic. The floor was a clean and sterile white. But then, it wasn’t. It wasn’t even really the archive room anymore. In the next blink, Kenobi was looking at the other half of a gray, blockish room. It reminded him very much of a Venator, especially with the giant window that gave a view of the trillions of stars against the ink black heavens. 

And, of course, you were there in the middle. 

Obi-Wan perked up in shock. His blue eyes widened, his shoulder coming off the wall as his lips parted. You stayed still, your hands clasped behind your back as a smirk danced across the corners of your mouth. 

“Hello, my dear Obi-Wan,” you greeted slyly. “What’s the matter? Did you miss me already?”

Obi-Wan took only a second to understand the situation. He wasn’t sure how you were doing this, or a certainty as to why. Still, he was a smart man, and he saw that if this was how the night would go, then so be it. 

“Oh, of course,” he answered with equal tone. His own lips were curling up into a smile, the way they did when Ventress tried to pull dialogue like this with him. The only difference was that he truly preferred you doing this instead of her. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten about me.”

“How could I forget the man with such a clean technique?” you quipped back. Your right hand raised up to gesture at the dark red injury on your face. 

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow smugly. The retort he had thought of was not even a true one, but he knew how this banter would go. “I suppose any technique would appear clean to you, Y/N.”

Yes. There it was. That little twitch in your lips that revealed the Jedi had struck a nerve. “Oh, and here I was believing Ventress when she told me you were a gentleman.”

“Did she? Why don’t you tell me where she’s going to be next so I can talk to her about it myself?”

“Does it matter?” you questioned. Step one of throwing him off was complete. Now it was time for step two- sowing doubts. “You’ve already lost the war. You’re going to lose the battle, too.”

“That’s bold talk from you,” Obi-Wan challenged. 

“I’d call it truthful gossip,” you mused. “And in case you’d forgotten, I almost killed your precious padawan today.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but take a sharp, defensive step forward. “Anakin is more than capable of holding his own.”

“But you care about him,” you ventured. Your grin was becoming more and more poisonous as you began to waltz around the area. You knew exactly what you were doing, and Obi-Wan knew that. “What’s going to happen when you’re forced to kill him? Ah, I can only wonder.”

Kenobi was at a loss for words. His eyes were flitting back and forth between your own, trying to make sense of your statements. Were you lying to him? Was this part of the obvious ploy to upset him? If so, it was working. He cared for Anakin. He couldn’t imagine harming the man he called his brother. 

“Oh, how I wonder,” you smirked finally. Then you turned away from Obi-Wan, and he was left alone in the Archive room again, as if you were never even there. 

          ��                         ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

The next time you had come to him, things ended differently. 

It was days before your third encounter, and your second fight. The last time you’d seen him, he’d only caught a glimpse of you smirking before disappearing into the depths of the ship and most likely the escape pods. But this time, Kenobi and Cody had hatched a brilliant plan to intercept you outside Christophsis. During the battle to attempt to slow your troops, Anakin and Obi-Wan would infiltrate your ship and attempt to subdue you. There was no way you could reach the escape pods this time- a new confrontation was inevitable. 

While Obi-Wan leaned over the holotable, studying the battle plans and maps, he stroked his beard thoughtfully. His blue eyes glinted in the glow of the room, sparkling like two little planets. Even you had to admit, the General had a beautiful, analytical brain that everyone could take a few lessons from. This only spurred you on more in your endeavor to ruin him, however. 

“What’re you looking at?” you mused. 

Obi-Wan stiffened upright, focusing on your voice. He knew you hadn’t somehow sneaked your way onto the ship at least, which left the second most likely scenario more realistic. 

“I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure that out,” he said. Obi-Wan turned around, careful to leave one hand looming over the button that turned the table back to simple planets. In a swirl, the maps and plans were gone, replaced with artificial stars and systems projected into the air. The ocean light of the room fell over your features faintly, which confused the Jedi for a second. The only colors he had ever seen as shadows with you were the deep red from your lightsabers. Usually, they were so angry and stark that you looked menacing. 

Make no mistake- you were menacing. Obi-Wan would never be foolish enough to think that you weren’t. But in the sapphire light, you reminded him of a Jedi. You looked- dare he say it?- pretty. Softer. Is that what you could’ve been at one point? A Jedi? Soft, and pretty?

“You flatter me,” you purred as you dipped your head. “I almost really believed you weren’t a gentleman.” You gave Obi-Wan the moment to respond, but he did not take the possibility. In fact, you could see that he was clearly raking his eyes over your face in search of some kind of answer. Perhaps you should do the same.

“Tell me,” you continued. “How does the gentleman intend to capture the lady tomorrow?” 

You took note of the faint wrinkles under his eyes. They weren’t from age or ailment, but lack of sleep and too much experience. There were few marks on his face, but still noticeable. No, they didn’t make him appear unattractive or undesirable, but instead gave him a sort of character. Did he have scars along his body? Was there ever a foe who marked him forever? Sure, you had scratched the Jedi with your lightsaber not too long ago, but it was nothing that wouldn’t eventually fade. Even then, it wasn’t like he hadn’t done the same to you. Your cheek was still streaked with a thin, pink gash that had begun to heal as a part of your flesh from what Kenobi had done to you. 

“Perhaps the gentleman would rather avoid conflict all together?” Kenobi mused. Ever the polite one, this man. “Perhaps you could turn yourself in now and save yourself the troops?”

You scoffed audibly. It was close to a laugh, but not quite. Did Sith’s laugh? “You are easily mistaken if you believe I care for the lives of a few clankers.”

“Clankers? Spending some time with the Clones, are we?”

“I’ve had enough of them in my detention cells to know what kind of language they use,” you said with a promise. In truth, you had captured a few Clone troopers, but that wasn’t how you had picked up the term ‘clanker’. You had gathered it after hearing some Clone describe it while listening in on transmissions. Finding it catchy and somewhat clever, you adopted it yourself. 

“Is that something you enjoy?” Obi-Wan quizzed. He took a step forward, his hands coming together with bent arms to hide each other in the length of his sleeves. 

No, actually. It wasn’t. You’d never cared much for torture. Sure, you had used it when you had to, but it had never been your first resort. You had no explanation for this. It just didn’t seem high up on your priorities list. 

“Now, who doesn’t love a good torture chamber?” you quipped. 

Unfortunately for you, it was too late for that kind of response. Obi-Wan had somehow seen the fault in your face. Maybe he saw your brow twitch, or your eyes dull, or your throat catch- you couldn’t say. But he had seen it. 

Obi-Wan nodded once, his lips still upturned at the stimulation from the interaction. “I don’t believe you.”

You weren’t sure where to go now. Your cocky and sarcastic features were beginning to fade away, replaced with a slow and diminishing frown. 

“Give up this fight,” Kenobi ventured. “If you turn yourself in now, you’ll avoid bloodshed. We both know that’s what you want.”

You swallowed dryly. Did you want that? To avoid bloodshed? You hadn’t minded it in the past, but there were times when you found enough of it distasteful. Could tomorrow’s battle be one of those times? 

“A Sith does not negotiate with the weak,” you finally answered. Once more, your face hardened back to it’s original expression. Menacing. 

Obi-Wan wondered if he should’ve said the next words. He played them over in his mind several times in the next second, before finally deciding on giving them a try. “Then perhaps, you are not a Sith.”

Your eyes widened at the statement. It struck a million things inside of you- anger, frustration, wonder, longing, embarrassment, astonishment, fear- everything. Your lungs tightened so much in your chest, they felt sore. From the sheer impact of Kenobi’s words, you took a step back defensively. 

Then you disappeared again. 

Obi-Wan stumbled backwards, hand reaching to clutch his heart. A dull headache had immediately begun forming in his temples, thrumming around like a growing drill. His lungs felt like they had had all the air kicked from them. His right cheek stung in the shape of a straight, thin line. Struggling to catch his breath, the Jedi reached his free hand back to grip onto the edge of the holotable for support. 

Mirroring the man, you jolted back as his form vanished. Your feet slipped from under you, and one of your knees was now angrily demanding your attention. Your bottom hit the floor flatly as your chest heaved up and down, gasping for the breath you had somehow lost. A bead of sweat had singularly formed on the side of your face in something like terror and shock. 

Neither you, nor Obi-Wan could explain this. 

                                   ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

By the third... ‘projection’ between you and Obi-Wan, you had met eachother on the battlefield six times, and Anakin five. The scar Kenobi had given you from your first encounter had softened significantly. Even so, it would remain forever. As much as you hated it, you had spent several nights awake thinking of how it was like a kind of mark he had made on you. Not quite something that ‘claimed’ you, per say, but a type of signature. A permanent autograph or stain that was made by the person who bothered you the most. 

Ventress, who was probably the closest thing you had to a friend, had told you it was awfully seductive in her overly sweet voice. While her hand caressed your cheekbone, the heaviness of your heart only briefly softened before falling back. 

But the third projection was different. You were not the one who initiated it. In fact, after your second meeting, you were perfectly happy to never interact with Kenobi again, unless you were fighting. During those combative moments, you could put your deep thoughts aside in order to accomplish your mission. 

But this time was not a combative moment. And yet, you were having some trouble accomplishing your mission. 

“Go on,” your master commanded in his low voice. “Execute the younglings.” 

Your lightsabers were in your hands, crossed over each other. When you would pull them apart, the sabers would slice out, and heads would roll. That’s what was bothering you. The heads reminded you very much of your young nephew, who had turned six not too long ago. 

You couldn’t remember why you had to do this. All you could remember was that Count Dooku was telling you to do it, and his patience would not last forever. You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to kill younglings. They hadn’t done anything wrong, and they had no place in the war. 

And thus, this was why you were hesitating. Every time you thought you had the surge of energy to do the deed, your heart pounded so hard your arms stayed stiff. 

“Is it really so hard?” Count Dooku said tautly. His eyes narrowed in disappointment at you, frown deepening. 

And then, Kenobi’s voice called out to you. Like an angel, or a kind of conscious, you could see him so clearly in front of you, it was like you were actually speaking to him. 

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows were furrowed together in concern as he looked you up and down. He could see your stance, and the force surrounding you so intensely. He could analyze the sweat forming, your heart rate that matched his own. Your expression was laced with anguish and conflict, and he just knew you were about to do something you didn’t want to do. Obi-Wan understood that you were about to kill.

“Where are you?” he asked. 

You couldn’t answer. You would’ve looked like you were talking to yourself, and how horrible would that have been in front of Master Dooku? Instead, you only open and closed your chapped lips softly. Your eyebrows twitched. 

“What are you waiting for?” Dooku boomed at you. 

Obi-Wan leaned back and widened his eyes at the recognition of the voice. “Y/N, whatever you’re about to do, don’t.”

“If you’re unable to do this, my young apprentice, I will have to find someone more suitable.”

You squeezed your eyes tight. 

“Don’t!” Obi-Wan called. 

You didn’t stop yourself. You so desperately wanted to. But you didn’t. 

Your arms sliced apart. The searing hum buzzed through the air crisply, followed by multiple thumps against the ground. 

“Very good,” your master praised coolly from behind you. Even with your eyes shut tight, you could tell he had a cold smirk of relief resting on his face. “Meet me back at my ship.”

You opened your eyes slowly. Your skin felt sticky with sweat, and every muscle in your body was tightened up. Your shoulders and neck felt sore, and even your eyelashes felt heavy. The familiar weight of guilt sunk into your stomach so much more solid than ever before. Maybe it was because you had just committed something so terrible in front of one of the most noble people in the galaxy. Maybe it was just the sheer and straight anxiety that came with doing something you knew was against your better judgement. 

Obi-Wan looked at you silently. He knew what you had done. He knew the irreversible, evil and disproportionate thing that you had done. 

But now, he also knew that you needed help. You looked at him with pure fear and shame, and he could see how vulnerable and inhumanly human you were. He could tell, for a fact, that you would never be a real Sith. Did you have fear? Anger? Hate? Were you suffering? Yes. But you were not evil. Obi-Wan might’ve even dared to say that you were incapable of being so. 

You tore yourself away when Count Dooku called your name from the ship. Eyes darting between his blue orbs. The first step you took away from him, you evaporated into thin air, and Obi-Wan was alone in his ship once more. 

                                   ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

The fourth time was the one that changed everything. 

You had only faced Obi-Wan and Anakin one time since he saw you kill the younglings, and unfortunately, Obi-Wan had also noticed you had a split second to kill him during the fight. Obviously, you hadn’t taken it. 

Your hands balled and unballed themselves against your knees. Palms sweaty, your whole abdomen had begun feeling like shaky jelly. Ever since the day with the younglings, you had begun to lose weight. You felt weaker, even though the darkness inside of you told you to feel so good. The circles under your eyes had darkened and deepened, and several lines had appeared on your face to make you look far more detached. 

You look unhealthy and unhinged, to be frank. 

Luckily, Ventress was there to tell you you still appeared inherently ‘handsome’. 

Your lungs pierced themselves and screamed with every breath. 

A hand reached out to touch your own, your left. 

You only allowed yourself a few moments to look it over. You observed the veins through it, the strength and width. It was a man’s, and a rather wise man’s at that. You could see little divots and callouses from work with a lightsaber, and clean nails that showed the owner had no time to bite at them anxiously. Despite how much you hated touching, you felt yourself sinking into the simple touch from the hand. It was, to be direct, the most comforting thing that had ever happened to you. 

Still, you gripped a hold of your heart, and shot your hand away. Your head raised to meet the owners eyes. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi, though you hated to admit it, had the eyes that you found yourself looking for often. Whether it was to avoid him, or find a comfort deep down, you did it. They were dapper and blue and deep, and changed in the shades of the sunlight. In contrast to his strawberry blonde hair, they shown and glimmered like an ocean. 

Obi-Wan felt the same about your own. Your eyes were conflicted and obviously conveyed several emotions, but also held a history that captivated him. He felt that they deserved everyone’s captivation. He wanted to study them like he would an ancient story, and memorize every changing detail within them. Even with the tired darkness underneath, he felt that they were uniquely beautiful in their own way. 

“Why are you here?” you seethed lowly. 

Obi-Wan glanced down, and then back up honestly. “I heard you calling out.” Before you could scoff, Obi-Wan quickly added, “I felt it.” 

You shook your head. “I wasn’t calling out. I would never call out for you.”

The man swallowed, determining the best approach. “I know that you are angry, but I’m here to help you.”

Kenobi’s tone was sincere, but you wouldn’t- couldn’t- believe it. “Help me?” you scoff. “I don’t need help.”

The Jedi tilted his head at you, looking deeply into your eyes. His orbs were piercing and infinite, it seemed. “You know that’s not true.”

At that, your anger washed away. A frown came down over you. Your eyebrows knitted themselves together in pain. Your eyes became rimmed with simultaneously hot and cold tears. Cheeks grew pink enough to totally disguise Obi-Wan’s signature. 

The way he was looking at you was just so intimate and understanding. Never, not in your whole life, had somebody done this. It seemed, in fact, that Kenobi could see right through you. He could feel you. He could feel your heart, your ribs, your tendons, and your pain. He could feel the soreness in your muscles, how tired your head felt. He wanted, more than anything, for you to have a rest. The Dark Side had done everything it was ever going to do for you. You didn’t need this weight any longer. Obi-Wan wanted to know how you would look when you laughed. 

Your head hung down as your first sob came out. Your fists balled even tighter together, both returning to your knees. 

Feeling his respect for you, mixed with your sadness, Obi-Wan reached his hand out again. His palm ran over your right fist for the second time, and this time you did not rip away. Instead, your own fingers unraveled and relaxed. The Jedi ran his thumb over your angry knuckles and your cunning fingers, silently keeping you close, even though you were far, far away. 

                                   ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

You did not see Obi-Wan in projections again. 

Some weeks later, you had however, seen him in his entirety. 

Your ship was on fire. Some stupid clanker had miscalculated and allowed your fleet to settle right into General Skywalker’s attack. With every jolt, you stumbled and struggled to maintain balance. Your internal conflict had been continuing to cause you to lose weight in the worst way, and it had recently gotten hard enough to keep yourself upright. 

Finally reaching the hanger, you heaved in exertion. Somewhere, Obi-Wan was outside, either flying around or searching for you aboard. You found, to your nightmare, you had missed him terribly in this exact moment. 

The igniting hum of a lightsaber made you raise your brows. In the middle of the hanger, with sparks falling from above, was that young Togruta girl. The Skywalker padawan. What was her name again? Aheka? Aurora? Ahsoka? Yeah, Ahsoka. 

She glares at you angrily. Her face is scrunched in determination, something that reminds you so much of Anakin himself. Both her sabers were at the ready, and her stance was that of one about to pounce. 

Yes, Ahsoka was trained by someone powerful. This, however, did not mean that she was a match for you. If you fought this one without restraint, you would undoubtedly kill her. You did not want to do that. 

“Hello, General,” she taunted. Definitely Anakin’s padawan. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Despite your exhaustion and the sharp pain in your ribs, you answered her sincerely. “Please,” you called out. “Please, move aside. I don’t want to fight you.”

Ahsoka’s eyes narrow at you. “You’re under custody of the Galactic Republic now. If you won’t fight, you’ll be detained.”

You shook your head, exhausted and defeated. “I can’t go with you. I won’t fight you, but I won’t go with you.”

Darkly, the Togruta replied to you. “Then I will make you.”

She launched forward from the balls of her feet. In a flash, you managed to take out one of your sabers and switch it on. The red clashed against the green in defense, making you lean back before pushing forward. 

No. You would not kill Ahsoka Tano. 

You are very strict about playing offense in the next minute. The only time you ever actually strike the young one is when your blades catch each other.

Not so far away, a voice yells, “Snips!” 

Ahsoka Tano looks at her master. You identify Anakin quickly enough, and seize the opportunity. Your leg snaps up against the Togruta’s stomach. She crumples on herself with a gasp, and you push her to the ground before moving past her. 

As you sprint as fast as you can, you can hear Skywalker scream, “Ahsoka!”

You move down the hallway as fast as you can. You have to get to the escape pods. The hanger is no longer an option. Either that, or find Obi-Wan. 

                                   ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

It doesn’t take you long to find him. You stand at the opposing side of the bridge, your breathing rapid as your headache tortures your temples. There was so much pain inside of you, falling off your robes and your skin like steam. You just wanted this all to end. You wanted to be free. At this point, you didn’t care if it was from the Dark Side, or the Light Side. 

And Obi-Wan knew that. 

As he finished analyzing you to make sure that, no, you wouldn’t hurt him, he took a tentative step forward. 

You looked terrible. Kenobi wanted to fix that. 

“Y/N,” he called calmly. “I am here to help you.”

You nodded your head, suddenly feeling very hot. “I know,” you confess. Your lip quivers under the weight of everything- the pain, the anger, the frustration, the conflict, the admiration for Kenobi. He looked so handsome now, even with the ever growing danger surrounding the both of you. “I need help,” you admit, voice breaking. “P-please help me.”

Obi-Wan walked quickly to you, sensing your weakness. He knew that at any moment, you were going to collapse both outside and in. Your turmoil had bubbled over, your Akrasia breaking whatever spirit you had left. He knew that you were too tired to feel darkness now. You had nothing left to fear, anger, hate, or suffer over. 

“Obi-Wan,” you said shakily. Your hands came up to rub your arms as if you were cold. “I love you.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi knew how selfish it was to replay the words over in his head at the moment. He just couldn’t help it. 

You had always been radiating. You had always been strong and worthy of admiration. When you struggled with your guilt, you struggled with your deeds, and that gave Obi-Wan hope. You had restored his faith all on your own, and he had already known that it was worthy of being expelled from the Order. But this was you. This was the woman he had grown to care for, like a mold to fit into, and had come to understand. The Jedi felt hungry for that. He felt hungry to know you. To analyze you. To help you. 

“I know,” the man said, sincerely and slowly. Against his better judgement, and the rocking of the falling ship, his right hand reached out to cup your face. Your skin was warm. Slightly sticky from the sweat, but Obi-Wan didn’t mind. “I know.”

His other hand opened up. His calloused and strong palm revealed itself to you, drawing your attention, and reminding you of the night that he had held your own inside. “Y/N, I need to know if you will follow me.” Obi-Wan paused, looking into your eyes. This was his confession. His begging, his pleading, his longing, was a confession for the love he felt for you. “I need you to come with me. You must leave this behind.” Then Obi-Wan swallowed. “Come with me. Please.”

The both of you were betraying your Orders. 

Your right hand came to meet his. Palms against palms, skin against skin, you connected. You could feel Obi-Wan’s need and frustration, and he could feel your longing and fear. 

“Yes,” you said, tiredly. “Yes. I’ll go with you.”

And, in that moment, you could see a life with Obi-Wan. 

He would not leave the Jedi. You knew that for sure. But you would go back to Scarif, where you were born. On a shore, near the crystal blue waters, Obi-Wan would build you a house. He could visit when he had the time, holding you in your sleep to protect you from the oncoming nightmares, and you could kiss the scars on his back. Every time he would leave, your heart would break, but he would always bring you something small to apologize. Perhaps you could start to draw again? Obi-Wan would’ve loved to draw with you. He could teach you how to meditate, and clear your thoughts. Somewhere deep in the ground, you’d bury your lightsabers and never touch them again. On top of that ground, Obi-Wan would hold your form tightly as his skin moved against your own. Everything would be like a song, and maybe one day, you could give him a new verse. You could give him a child. You could have peace. Not fake peace, but real peace. The kind of peace that follows the storm, and lingers til the end of your days. 

A choke escapes your throat. 

You feel your lungs quiver in weakness, then refuse to allow any more air in. Obi-Wan watches your face change from sorrowful, to shocked. Your mouth agape, eyes wide, you suddenly go very, very pale. He feels you still yourself upright, and he tells himself the blue blade in your chest isn’t real. 

Anakin pulls the lightsaber out of you. Your pupils dilate as the blood begins to drip from your nose thinly. You can’t think, you can’t even move. You cripple to the ground without choice. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi keeps you close to him as you die. He has nothing to say to either Anakin or yourself, and he knows there is nothing he can do to heal you. He watches you watch him, your vision fading in and out as you try to memorize every detail of Kenobi’s face for the last time. Your vision of a life with him becomes nothing more than a distant memory and a sad dream, and you don’t know when it ended. 

                                   ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

Obi-Wan burned and buried you in secret. 

The Jedi had loved you, and he had known you enough to see that you deserved respect. You were not to be shipped off into the ground like any old Sith. You were to be cared for, and cradled until the end. Even in death, he wanted to help you.

And perhaps, simply that statement alone, was his greatest form of Akrasia. 

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*

Taglist: @omg-we-really-doo @chokemeanakin​ @typicalfanlife​

This is the version that was requested. Please let me know how you feel and if you noticed any errors! I wrote this while I was very tired, and I may want to tweak some things. 

[barryjeanblues]

taako meets death (again)

(also posted to my ao3)

taako has met two raven queens in his life before now.

well, close enough, at least. most - though not all - of the worlds the starblaster had traveled to had gods, and surprisingly enough, those gods were usually - though not always - strikingly similar to their homeworlds gods. (this was useful, because one of the crews number relied very heavily on a certain nature god for his magic. luckily, the nature or life god of each world always seemed to have a soft spot for little old merle, even if they werent merles traditional cloven-hoofed pan.)

twice, taako had met the death god - someone equivalent to faeruns raven queen. 

this had led to taakos understandable trepidation upon kravitz finally putting his foot down and insisting taako meet his mother boss. 

the first time taako had met a raven queen, she had been… overwhelming. the light of creation had fallen into a forest dedicated to her and her followers, and the head acolyte refused to give the wandering crew the light unless they first received permission from the queen.

the crew had agreed, with no other option, bracing themselves to firmly explain the direness of the situation. surely a goddess would be intelligent enough to understand. 

that raven queen had burst into a forest cleaning in an explosion of black feathers, half illusion, half steel, so that when lup brushed the smoky feathers from her eyes they blurred and dissipated, but when magnus tried the same thing he yelped and brought his hand back bleeding. 

that raven queens laughter had been eerie and echoing, almost but not quite mocking, almost but not quite infectious, almost but not quite joyous. the crew had stood firm and offered their argument, and the queen had given them tests and tokens and bargains and tricky promises with too many clauses and loopholes and at the end of it all the ipres numbers had been halved and the rest were weary and worn as they caught the light of creation and fled with only minutes to spare, the faelike laughter of death following them terribly even through the overwhelming cacophony of the hungers assault. 

that laughter had trailed after them longer, if only in their heads. taako would be making stir fry, planning outfits, swapping merles shampoo for hair-loss potions, when hed have to sit down suddenly and breathe through the musical trills of the raven queens cruel pleasure. it had seemed to bounce in his head the way a rubber ball might, ricocheting off thoughts and feelings until it rolled under a couch to be forgotten about, till some slight movement sent it rolling and bouncing about once more. 

davenport had died in an illusion, thinking he was saving his crew. poor merle had been choked by his own plants, betrayal writ across hos face. barrys skin had grown sickly purple with poison - ten to one odds arent very good odds. taako doesnt forget easily. he decides the goddess of death can go fuck herself. 

the second raven queen taako had met much later in their journey, and taako had met her alone. 

lup and barry had become liches a few cycles back. it was something taako had still been coming to terms with. 

taako loves lup. this is an immutable fact of any and every universe. taako loves lup and lup loves taako and not death or memory or space can separate them, not for long. but seeing your sister die, and then… go beyond death, to twist herself and latch on to a chance that she may never return except in madness and spite - thats a hard thing to grasp, even when she succeeds. taako had still found himself shivering when his sister forgot she had a body again and grabbed a hot pan off the stove, crying out in pain. taako still woke sweating from nightmares in which his sister and his friend flew apart and reformed as cackling red robed horrors of insanity and cruelty, too far for him to reach. 

until that cycle, though, barry and lups choice had only been an asset. 

but some raven queens do not take kindly to anything they see as a perversion of their domain. 

barely a week into that cycle, taako had awoken from the guilty non-elven pleasure of a nap only to find himself in some cold, hard court, fashioned seemingly of steel and silver and concrete, onyx lining the floor and the only color coming from sparse sapphires sparkled throughout the long echoing hall. 

at the end of it - and taako had known his eyes must have played tricks on him, because at first the being at the end of the hall seemed, while large, not much larger than a giant, but when hed called a nervous greeting his voice had echoed so awfully he knew the hall stretched much farther than hed thought and the goddess at the end of it must have been unimaginably huge. 

her eyes had glinted a flinty sapphire in her carven steel face when she ordered him to defend the existence of his sister and his sisters lover. 

taako had tried. he truly, truly had. but while taako is a being of preservation and caution, full of intelligence and cleverness, he is not one of cold hard logic. perhaps lucretia could have convinced this raven queen, the only of their number who had ever been able to grasp true hard reason… but taako doubts it. he had doubted it then and he doubts it even more these days. 

the point is, taako, for all his love for his family and his brilliant wit and devotion (probably, in fact, because of it) taakos arguments couldnt convince that raven queen. she saw past his genuine belief that lup and barry had made a good decision, and into his fears for her, and the goddess of death had based her own argument on those. she won. taako never had a chance. 

he, lup, and barry had woken up in the next cycle, newly resurrected. taako never stops feeling guilty about it. 

so. yes. 

taako is more than a little nervous about meeting the goddess his boyfriend serves so devotedly. but, and youd be hard pressed to convince him to admit it, taako would do anything for kravitz. and despite it all he does actually want to see what the deal is with his sister and his best friends boss, and his patron gods… friend? lover? girlfriend? taako isnt quite sure what fate and death are to each other, but its definitely something.

kravitz lays a warm hand on taakos shoulder, but taako squares them up. he can do this, for fucks sake - hes died a shitton of times, he can meet death. 

the doors open and taakos breath - the only breath in this realm of the dead - catches in his throat.

taako is a die hard istus fan, and shell always be his goddess. but if taako wasnt a taken elf, hed follow the raven queen, he realizes with a startle.

shes beautiful, yes. shes gorgeous, and taakos always been weak for beauty, but hers isnt the cold hard beauty of gemstones and gold, thinks his nimble fingers snatch up and hoard in his endless pockets. the raven queen is beautiful in a way that taako cant describe as anything other than simple.

he cant pin down any features. she has a kind face, gentle hands, bright eyes, but taako can tell she is a goddess because despite staying still the image of her flicks and shifts in his head. at once she seems to have every kind face hes ever seen, even if he doesnt recognize anyone. her hands reach out to comfort him - no more than comfort - but she stands without moving in front of taako and kravitz. her eyes glitter and sparkle and crinkle up with cheerful laughter, except taako isnt entirely sure she has eyes at all, or maybe she has too many. 

he thinks… he thinks maybe she has wings, or maybe theyre arms, or maybe theyre black fabric, draped around and behind and below and above her, shifting with the last breaths of every mortal in the universe. its darkness but its not scary, taako realizes, its solacing, healing, the way that he feels when dusk passes to night and the sky is huge and warm and the brush of lups hand against his as she says goodbye for the night is a relief and a love. 

hello, taako, death says. its lovely to meet you. 

she means it, taako knows. he can tell, somehow. shes just happy to meet him. nothing more, nothing less. 

'oh,' taako says aloud, and kravitz laughs his quiet sweet dorky laugh, and the raven queen laughs too, and its just that. its just a laugh, and its a nice one.

'oh indeed,' kravitz says. 'taako, did you really think id serve a monster or a cruel master?'

'well,' taako replies hesitantly, 'honestly, homie, i kind of thought you were, and id, like, have to start some quest to slay death itself and rescue you.'

the anthropomorphic personification of death laughs again, a note of delight in her tender voice. i like him, my kravitz, she says, good job.

kravitz does the dead-reaper equivalent of blushing. taako grins a little because its very cute. 

'death is different here,' taako hums. 'its… it wasnt like this anywhere else i went. it was cold, or cruel, or empty. i dunno why its different in your world.'

'then i guess we're the lucky ones, huh?' kravitz asks. taako leans up against him and murmurs an agreement. 'its why i love my job so much, why it means so much to me. its not that im some hardass, i just…'

'yea, cha'boy gets it now,' assures taako. 'still.' he looks at the ever-shifting, ever-stable face of death again. 'you better treat my boy kravitz and my lady istus well, capiche? or we will have issues.'

its a deal, taako, the raven queen says, smiling. 

when taako opens his eyes, hes in his home in the material plane, and kravitz is next to him, and theyre both smiling.