#who fights a losing battle against a city because one person saved is a child unorphaned without loving his city

[fixation-central]

he is made of love you cowards

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Breaking Ajax out of prison. *waves* Hi Wifi! Sending this brainrot in. Enjoy the vacation!

***

You are Wriothsley's well-traveled sister. You've been away from Fontaine for a while, growing your business in Liyue and Inazuma. You walked with a purpose, towards your brother's office in Meropide. Except, you know he wasn't there. He had taken the day off and you were one step closer to being a criminal. You were disgusted at the verdict of the justice machine installed at the Opera Epiclese. You received a letter from one of his agents and your friend, Violet, as you so casually called the Electro Cicin Mage. You rushed back home when you found out that Childe was behind bars.

How dare the nation of justice snatch away the only person who convinced you to live? You met Ajax during a dark period of your life. You had challenged the Oceanid in Liyue, with no intention of fighting back. It was a bit poetic how you wanted to lose your life to water, after leaving the nation of hydro. Ajax watched the battle unfurl from the edge of the mountain, only to notice that you weren't moving at all. You fell to your knees, eyes shut and waiting for the rushing tide that never came. When you opened your eyes, blue eyes peered at you with concern and curiosity. Electro buzzed in the air, only to dissipate with a flick of his hand, as he switched off his Delusion.

Now, it was your turn to save him. You only hoped that your brother's stories were accurate. Your brother has been trying ro recruit you for years, saying that your skill would be very useful in bringing in criminals. Little did he know that you would use the skill that he praised you for, not to bring in criminals but to break out one. Hall after hall, you walked, using the vapor in the air to conceal yourself. Ajax is a Harbinger. They would have kept him in the cells with more security. You just needed a distraction. Thankfully, Violet and her fellow agents, are there to cause a ruckus. You've reached the deepest part of the prison. Your eyes searched for dark, ginger hair - passing by a couple of cells before hearing a muffled groan. You followed the sound, dropping your cover and came face to face with eyes as blue as the depths of Fontaine. Ajax stares at you with alarm and parted lips. Placing your index finger on your lips, you requested his silence. You shut your eyes, concentrating as you became one with the water. Your body separated into tiny bubbles that passed through the small opening of the cell. Your flesh coalesced back into one piece. Ajax' arms found your waist, face pressed against your neck. He had gone too long without you. Your scent brought him comfort.

"Jax," you whispered. "Priorities." You pushed something cold into his hand.

"Oh. My vision," he smiled softly.

"Archons, please do not leave your vision behind. I almost had a heart attack when I saw that it was dull." You bit your lip, turning away. "I thought you.."

Lips pressed against your nape softly before settling on the back of your head. "Sorry. Never again."

A sigh escaped your mouth. You could never stay mad at him. Not when he had to endure being imprisoned. You eyed the inside of the cell.

"But love, now that you're here. What's the plan? When are you visiting again?"

You turn to Ajax with a winning smile, one that you often saw on his face instead of yours.

"I'm not visiting. We're getting out."

You explained how Fatui agents were ready to serve as distractions in different parts of the city. There were mekas prepared to go berserk and run loose. Fontaine is organized, they will subdue the threats quickly. You just needed enough time to get Ajax out.

"How are we getting out? My blades are sharp and ready. Or I could transform." He paused. "I just...i actually just didn't want to transform because of your brother. Didn't want to leave a bad impression."

Your hands found his cheek, stroking softly. He leaned into your hand.

"You've held out long enough. This time, I'm the one saving you. We're leaving without a trace."

His eyes widened slightly.

"I have been practicing a lot. I can do it now for extended periods of time. I can maintain the unseen form for more than one person."

Ajax titled his head to the left, giving your hand on his cheek a soft peck.

"Whatever happens, I'm proud of you. Thank you."

Before you could respond, there was a series of explosions. Shouting followed, then footsteps as guards ran towards the entrance of Meropide.

"Hold my hand. Don't let go."

Ajax stepped closer to you, slotting you against his body as he hugged you right.

"Well, that's also a way of holding me."

Ajax chucked, as he placed his chin on top of your head. Your locked your arms around him. Shut your eyes and both of your bodies dissolved into bubbles. This time, you needed something more advanced than bubbles, you needed to be vapor. Unnoticed and unseen. As vapor, you passed through the high security cells now devoid of guards. You passed through the halls. The strain of the concentration wore you down. But Ajax kept you going. Finally, you passed through the reception and the entrance. You were at the edge of Opera Epiclese but you kept the form for a little while longer. Your forms plunged into the water, now zooming towards Elynas. You online relinquished your hold and control once you've reached the shore. Your forms coalesced back into human bodies.

Ajax' arms were still around you when you fell to the ground in exhaustion. Your breaths came hard and your mind burned in pain. Worry etched over Ajax' face. He needed to take care of you now.

You opened your eyes after a deep sleep. A single crystalline eye peered at you. Happy chirps followed as Legacy nuzzled you.

"Legacy?"

Understanding the question in your voice, Legacy gingerly took a note from the desk and pushed it into your hand.

Childe's wrote: Legacy's face is not recognizable.

You were in an old house that seemed to have been abandoned. The bedsheets seemed cleaned enough. The floors look like they have been mopped recently. In the corner of the room, you spotted a mop with it's handle broken. Legacy must have tried to clean up. You smiled at the thought.

Breaking Ajax out of prison took more effort than you thought. But pushing yourself to the limit proved that you could do it. Your skill was useful after all. Legacy nudged your hand, asking for pets. You scratched behind his horn, earning a rumbling purr. You nuzzled into his side, while petting him. Although on the run and officially a criminal, you felt safest with Ajax and Legacy. You would break the law over and over again if it means keeping them safe.

MACCHIATOOOOO I MISSED YOUUU ;v;;;; AND THIS IS SUCH A MEAL I AM EATING THIS UP

you have to rest for a couple more days after you wake up- pushing yourself so much completely sapped your energy. Legacy does his best to care for you, fetching fruit and flowers from outside while you're confined to bed (the flowers are to cheer you up, because he knows you love them so) and nudging your shoulder with his head to get you to lay down. he desperately wants to make sure that you don't exhaust yourself more, and he WILL lay on top of you to make sure you don't move- carefully, of course! his head nestles in the soft skin of your stomach, brilliant sapphire eye looking at you stubbornly as he lets out a light huff, having found you trying and failing to stand for the third time that day. and once you begin to recover, he helps you walk, gently holding your hands with his claws or even carrying you in his arms to go sit outside for some fresh air, the cool ocean breeze washing over you

there haven't been too many mekas looking for you and Ajax- if you were being honest, you suspect Wriothesley being your brother had something to do with it- and the few that did come after you were swiftly dealt with by a protective Foul Legacy, eagerly bumping his forehead against yours afterwards for pets. he hasn't seen you in so long, after all, always shut away in Ajax's mind even when they were both thrown into prison. he tried to tell the Harbinger that he could help, he could get them out of there, but Ajax always refused! Foul Legacy was so lonely; it was like drowning in a cold, starless sea, bringing back memories he'd rather forget. so he clings to you now, craving the sensation of your gentle hands running through his hair, soft and fragile after being surrounded by the cold metal of the prison. sometimes he finds his thoughts drifting back to icy water and chains and bars and the crushing pressure of the sea, and he curls around you with a whimper, wanting to be held until he drifts off to sleep, comforted by your presence

when you're asleep and he knows no one else is around, Ajax takes over for a few minutes, pulling you close to his chest and murmuring that he missed you so, so much, speaking for both him and Foul Legacy

[baradorable]

Playmaker is my oldest Marvel OC, the first one I ever roleplayed with back in the day, and the one I always come back to the most.

Art by Mirio_K Full pictures at the bottom of the post

Name: Jack Lastman (AKA Playmaker) Age: Mid Twenties Gender: Male Species: Human Mutant Occupation: Henchman, Pop Star, General Shit-Disturber

Personality

The despicable villain who kicks you while you're down. The traitor and back-stabber you all know and love!

Jack is a huge asshole.

Nearly everything he says is drenched in condescension and sarcasm. He's always smirking and dropping backhanded compliments. In battle, he'll claim that he's scared or impressed in your abilities, but he'll say it with a grin that tells you he's lying through his teeth.

He loves playing with peoples' emotions, too. He has an uncanny ability to spot your emotional weaknesses and poke at them, just to make you feel bad. Sometimes he'll pretend to be your ally, then betray you. Then he'll laugh at you for being stupid enough to trust in him. Because he absolutely has to rub it in. He kicks you while you're down just to make you feel even worse.

Jack is also a person of extremes. One downside of his powers is that they amplify his emotions and feelings. He's openly lustful, prone to binge-eating, and on the rare times he loses his composure, he risks flying off the handle.

Another one of his extremes: pettiness. He's like a child that way. He'll constantly try to undermine others at every turn, even if it offers him no actual benefits. He's petty, even with people who have barely interacted with him. If you crossed him once, expect him to rear his ugly head over and over again, just to try and ruin your day.

At the same time, some of this behavior is performative. he has a fatalist attitude and believes that people are "destined" for certain roles in life. Some people are meant to be heroes, some are meant to be villains. Some people are born to follow in their family's footsteps. Trying to fight against it is pointless, so you might as well embrace it and make it easier on yourself. Have fun with it.

There's definitely an element of self-loathing there, but Jack's not going to unpack that. Though if you want to make him genuinely lose his cool, prove that worldview wrong. Believe he can be a good guy, even after he's betrayed you. Be a villain who's permanently turned to the side of justice. He refuses to accept the idea that he can be good, even if he wanted to.

Backstory

Fear, hate, sorrow, desperation Even you look miserable

Jack is the middle child among five kids. His mother was a dog groomer, while his dad worked as a car salesman by day. But by night, dear old dad took his Punisher idealization too far and would hunt and kill petty criminals. This lead to him being arrested and sent to prison.

On the plus side, dear old dad's bust came right off the heals of Jack discovering his powers, at age fourteen. Not wanting to be like his father, he focused on keeping a positive attitude, training himself, and becoming a real, proper hero that others could depend on.

At age twenty, after years of training in secret, Jackie decided to move away from home and strike out on his own as a street-level superhero. Chicago was less crowded than his home city of New York, so it seemed like a great starting point for a new hero.

He did okay for about about a year or two - a few criminals would escape, he'd fail to save some people. But on a whole, he did decently for a newbie. As Fusion Man, he was moderately successful enough to be recognized sometimes.

But it was feelings of self-doubt that really killed his career. It was the heroes that did better than him, or the people who defeated him. Combined with his own problems with anger, he was becoming more and more prone to violent outbursts and shunning other people.

It all fell apart on one particularly frustrating night, where he was struggling to defeat a bank robber with super speed. His opponent was literally running circles around him, and was kicking his ass whenever Jack showed any signs of confusion or exhaustion. Finally pushed to his limits, Jack tripped up his opponent with chains and tied him up. An attempt to further restrain the criminal lead to Jack accidentally killing the criminal.

It was a rude awakening for Jack. He decided that he was his father's son: he was nothing but a villain who thought he was a hero. He wasn't fit to be a hero. He didn't deserve to be one. He was never that good at it. He was too disturbed to be a hero. If anything, he wasn't any better than the people he'd been going after.

He was clearly meant to be a bad guy and couldn't be anything but; that was just his path in life. And it's one that he'd choose to embrace.

Jack would go on to do henchman work for various villains; mainly acting as a distraction to help his boss's other men get away, or scaring away rivals. Honestly, being evil was kind of fun. And it paid better than being a hero. But now he's back in New York, ready to strike out in the big leagues. He's gonna be a henchman for a big-name villain. Or, dare he dream, be a right-hand man?

It's the perfect scam, really. You get paid to commit all the crimes you want, and heroes will always prioritize going after the head honcho; with Jack's powers, it's easy for someone like him to slip away and go unnoticed.

At one point, he released a diss track for one of his business partners. Through various forms strong-arming, Jack was able to get his song on the radio, just to try and humiliate his frienemy. The song ended up being pretty popular, becoming the number 3 hit of 2018. It jumpstarted an actual music career for Jack. Now, he's a minor pop star. Which unfortunately means he has to hide his identity while out on missions, as his real identity is more well-known.

Powers

Give a little, get a lot That's just how you are with love

Jack has fusion-based powers, which activate when he makes contact with an object. He can fuse with nearly any object and apply its properties to his body, or simply just store it within himself. Anything he takes into his body is broken down to an atomic level, allowing him to hold virtually limitless amounts of stuff. Because of this, he's constantly grabbing and stealing anything that isn't nailed down, just so he can have it on hand whenever he needs it.

His main techniques include:

This Time, Baby, I'll Be: Since objects are absorbed on contact, bullets, knives, and most other conventional weaponry, will simply be absorbed without any harm done to him. Jack is bulletproof.

Chained to the Rhythm: Jack sends out chains from his body and wields them like tentacles. They're not very strong, but they make it much easier for him to grapple onto enemies.

Walker: Jack can't fuse with objects bigger than him, unless he breaks them down into smaller pieces. Guess his body can't handle a tank. That said, Jack can be fused with bigger objects. By letting himself be absorbed into a wall or the ground, he becomes one with the area he's touched. He can also choose which side of the object he separates from. This allows him to essentially walk through walls, or jump into the ground and hide. But if that object is broken, he's forced out of the fusion.

And the Diamonds: Jack has eaten enough diamonds to turn his whole body into diamond. He can also turn into metal, brick, and stone. But diamonds are flashier, and he's sure stealing Emma's thing pisses her off.

Mr. Sandman: He's also eaten entire beach's worth of sand, allowing him to go all Flint Marko Sandman. In theory, at least; right now, he can't get himself to stay together. But he can fire out ceaseless waves of pocket sand at people.

Fix Me: Jackie can recover from having his various body parts cut, as long as nothing vital is damaged. He'll use this to his advantage by cutting off his own ears and making himself deaf, then pulling out the loudest speakers you can imagine to blast people with horrible music.

Become One: Normally, Jack can't fuse with organic, sentient material well. Anything with the mental ability to resist their fusion, has enough power to reject his attempts. But if someone willingly allows Jack to absorb them, they temporarily become a new entity with a mix of all their attributes. The downside is that no one would is willing enough to fuse with him.

Telekinesis: A power he hasn't unlocked yet. Once an object fuses with his body, he has control over it once it leaves him. He can whip out items and telekinetically control them, make them fly, or fling them at others. They just need to stay within 30 feet of him.

A huge part of his strategy involves enhancing his durability, or sneaking away to avoid attacks. He rarely fights directly. He goes into most fights assuming his opponents can't touch him. He just chooses to avoid fighting anyone who can circumvent his powers.

Trivia

Despite being a proud villain, he has a no-kill rule. He just can't bring himself to kill anyone.

Any crimes he commits in his free-time are purely non-profit. They're about ruining things for others. He's stolen the face off the Statue of Liberty, eaten the Hope Diamond, stolen car doors, and

Not immune to poisons. He can't "digest" toxic things without getting sick.

Jack can't drink or do drugs. His powers aren't immune to their effects, and his powers make many of his feelings and senses go wild. The effects would be amplified and become extremely unpleasant for him.

Openly bisexual. And I mean open, because he flirts with way too many people.

His personality is heavily based on the mannerisms of Yuri from YGO ARC-V.

His parents are second generation immigrants, with their roots being traced to Brazil and Spain.

Jack has two older sisters (Charmaine and Miradora), a younger sister (Vanessica), and a younger brother (Nico.) Vanessica is a mutant with probability manipulation, albeit only on improbably large scales. Nico has the power to split into near-infinite amount of clones, but his intelligence is split between all of them.

He used to have a hideout in an abandoned theater, which was overrun with possums. He treated them as pets and even named some of them. Buckaroo is his favorite.

He's been cancelled several times as a celebrity. He's single-handedly set back mutant relations by fifty years. He just makes constant barrages of anti-human slurs online and in interviews. But he still retains a fanbase.

He's not even anti-human; he just likes getting under everyone's skin.

Yeah lore-wise, he's a pretty basic OC. I don't feel like he's as unique as my other OCs. I guess that's what happens when an OC is over a decade old. But he's the one OC I always come back to, since he's just so fun to write. There's something liberating about playing someone who doesn't follow conventional rules and can do as he pleases. It's like everyone else is playing Chess, while you're playing GTA an running over their pieces with a car.

[mizutori-heiko]

Mizutori’s bakudeku fanfiction master list [complete works]

Really really good writing by these incredible authors. In no particular order! These are all Top!Bakugou and Bottom!Deku. If A/B/O dynamics then it’s Alpha!Bakugou and Omega!Deku. Yes, I have preferences.

Canon World – until 15k

What The Fuck Did You Just Call Me? by reading_raindrop | 8,303 | Izuku starts calling him Bakugou and it pisses the explosive teen off a lot more than he thought it would.

Oh right, you were a little sh*t by SaysiWrites | 5,653 | When Midoriya Izuku gets hit by an age-reversion Quirk, the last thing anyone expected to find out is that Toddler-Izuku is a little shit. Except for one Bakugou Katsuki, who has seen this phase one too many times already. (Bonus+ the entire Little Sh*t (Kidfic) series)

Do Not Disturb by surveycorpsjean | 10,010 | Apply enough force, and something is bound to break.

And Atlas fell by supercrunch | 15,185 | They move in together, after a while. Katsuki joins Best Jeanist and Izuku trains under Gran Torino. They still take comfort in each other every day, curl up in bed and kiss and talk about how life is going. Their live are tumultuous, after all, what with villains and training and rescuing people every week. It’s nice to have something certain. At the end of a day filled with violence and adrenaline, Izuku knows he can come home to someone concrete. It’s perfect. Being a hero is scary and grueling and uncertain, but this part is just right. And then, one day, a child dies in Izuku’s arms.

be loved by bonnia | 5,403 | The kidnapping incident leaves bakugou traumatised about being touched on the back of his neck, and midoriya decides to take matters into his own hands.

Big Protein by Mysecretfanmoments | 13,683 | Bakugou Katsuki has a thriving hero career, an agent to manage his famous attitude, and absolutely zero romantic interest in anyone. With the exception of his favourite health food joint refusing to expand to his city, his life is pretty damn perfect—so why does a viral video revealing Deku's stash of dirty mags involving him and Deku together turn everything upside-down?

Chocolate cake and resin preserved flowers by Anoksun | 11,396 | Izuku loses his memories. Katsuki struggles not to lose Izuku too.

Twin Stars by theperksofbeinglarissa | 8,435 | When Deku saves a woman's life, her quirk is accidentally activated. Her quirk? She reveals a person's soulmate. A star-shaped mark appears on Midoriya's left arm... and on Bakugou's as well. Kirishima is the only one who knows that Bakugou is Midoriya's soulmate, and Bakugou isn't taking the news very well. Can the twin stars of class 1-A work out their differences and find their happy ending?

Unhealthy Fixations by Thesis | 12,522 | Izuku is an adult who knows better than to crush on his childhood bully. AND YET.

Like the Moon by osakakitty | 14,781 | Katsuki Bakugo is having constant, erotic dreams about Izuku Midoriya. He isn’t sure why, but they won’t go away. In order to make them stop, he needs to figure out what Izuku Midoriya means to him.

Worth a Second Shot by cinnabee | 13,080 | Katsuki and Izuku celebrate registering as a Hero Duo together with a big party. What could go wrong?

Like Something Out of A Shoujo Manga by Merrywetherweather | 2,971 | Deku ends up in a rather interesting quirk accident, one that triggers flag events as if he were the protagonist of an otome game.

Canon World – 15k++

Blood Moon by lalazee | 94,860 | The Thank-Fuck-We-Aren’t-Dead Sex had started then, and had never really stopped. Then came the feelings and the fights. The ego, the pride, the jealousy. And then there was Us.

The Way You Used To Do by edema_ruh | 669,463 | During a battle, Midoriya gets hit by a villain whose quirk detaches his soul from his body. Stuck in a ghost-like state, the boy enters a race against time in order to save himself from permanently dying. Much to his luck - or lack of it -, the only person who can see and talk to him in this state is no one other than Kacchan.

Just Like Breathing by MD_Daydreamer | 35,423 | Izuku got engaged. He didn't mind. If that made Uraraka happy, he could do it. He thought his life wouldn't change much.But then, Kacchan went to live in the USA.

briar roses (and hundred years of sleep) by vannral | 15,951 | In which Izuku is hit by a ‘Sleeping Beauty’ Quirk, Class 3-A tries to find his True Love and get them to kiss him, and Katsuki’s very angry about it all.

"what's your type?" by sapphicflower | 20,192 | In order to increase their popularity rankings as up and coming pro heroes, Izuku and Katsuki participate in the most popular late night talk show for hero duos - ‘Heroes Rising!’. They’re killing it, obviously, because they know each other from inside and out. Until one question stumps the two of them: “What is your hero partner’s type?”

and it was Just Right by cinnabee | 23,759 | Katsuki spends two years post-graduation in a furious one-sided competition with his childhood friend and rival's promotional photos - until they finally run into each other, and, well. You shouldn't believe everything you see in magazines. A love story about size differences.

Notice Me, Nerd by useless_donut | 40,000 | Bakugou is in love with Midoriya. He doesn’t hide it, in fact it’s so painfully obvious that the entire class of 3-A has him figured out in a matter of months (days, in some cases). Too bad Midoriya is the most oblivious motherfucker out there, and Bakugou is too damn stubborn to actually ask him out. A love story as witnessed by the class of 3-A.

in your dreams, nerd! by sapphicflower | 37,639 | In a strange and unexpected set of circumstances, Izuku and Katsuki find themselves sharing their dreams together whenever they happen to fall asleep at the same time. Being hopelessly in love with each other, they don’t mind it all that much. What better way to spend time with your crush than in a stupidly vivid dream?

Hear Me by my_name_is_Levi | 22,419 | It wasn’t as if nightmares were uncommon for the freshman class of Yuuei. They’d seen plenty of things, heard and felt and witnessed enough travesty in their lives to last them a lifetime. But Midoriya Izuku was screaming, and no one, not even Bakugo Katsuki could ignore it.

Bridges by supercrunch | 18,018 | Bakugou is signed up for a Calvin Klein modeling gig. The thing is, they really do need the money. And Katsuki's technically the leader of this bunch of morons, so he finds himself taking the job even though his pride will never recover. And even though nobody thought to tell him that he'd be working with his ex-boyfriend. You know, the cute freckled guy from high school who went and broke his heart. So, yeah. This whole situation kind of sucks.

objective truth by mamalade | 15,390 | Izuku gets hit with a truth quirk, as one does. He seems to be handling it well—until Katsuki shows up.

catharsis by dollcewrites | 15,071 | It's been six years since Izuku graduated.It's been six years since he confessed to his childhood friend; his classmate and his inspiration. It's been six years since he deleted Bakugou's number, asked his friends not to mention the name, spent every last effort of his heart turning off the TV and averting his eyes from the newspapers. It's been six, long, long years since he gave up on Katsuki Bakugou ever loving him back.

Here here, my friends and me (You are my familia) by Jeka | 128,832 | Bakugou Katsuki has made a great job of ignoring the fact that he is tragically in love with Deku, someone who could never love him like that and let's face it, he doesn't deserve. Now that he can't ignore it anymore, he has to find a way to keep his childhood friend and move on for his own sake. Or so he had thought, maybe he can have Deku, after all. Izuku has everything he always wanted in life. But suddenly he has to navigate the most important relationship in his life through different eyes.

Canon World – Jealous! 

Hands Off by SaysiWrites | 7,140 | When a new girl at school starts flirting with Bakugou, his friends quickly become invested in the idea of their friend experiencing love - even if he doesn't seem at all interested in her. What they don't see is Midoriya fuming in the background. But how can he get rid of her when they've spent so long keeping their relationship a secret?

Surfaces by surveycorpsjean | 25,225 | Katsuki has a new girlfriend, but something isn't right. As impossible as it is, Izuku can't help but wonder what it'd be like to be called Katsuki's girl.

Green-Eyed Beast by SecretKiwi | 4,721 | Everyone wants a piece of Katsuki Bakugou, but they should beware of the Green-eyed beast always lurking close behind him.

Green with Envy by Sol_Morales707 | 2,611 | Izuku Midoriya is not as innocent and pure as everyone thinks he is. The truth was he was very jealous and willing to do anything for a certain blonde.

Happy Camper by Arysa | 7,074 | Wanting a break from the stress of dealing with the rookie Pro Hero grind, a handful of students from Class A decide to go on a camping trip. Izuku's excited to relax and catch up with everyone, especially Kacchan. But, well, Kacchan's... Kacchan. And dating Kirishima.

How to stop time: kiss by Teddingtons | 31,693 | Deku finally asks Uraraka out. Everyone's supportive except Bakugou who can't even look him in the eye. Deku seeks him out after and is hit with truth.

What I Deserve by s_the_queen | 16,671 | When Izuku starts dating a student in General Studies, everyone is happy for him. She's super sweet and really caring. But something doesn't sit right with Katsuki.

Deku's Already Fucking Taken by asdfjkl129 | 20,704 | 5 times people don't realize that Deku is already in a very happy relationship and try their hand at asking him out, and then in Bakugou's unique and special style, get very firmly corrected, +1 time where no correction is needed.

His by sister_elric | 6,206 | Izuku would like to consider himself a pretty level headed individual. Sure, he had the occasional tunnel vision, especially when it came to training. And hero work. And Kacchan. But, overall, Midoriya felt as though he typically kept his cool. Well, maybe that was a stretch. But, at the very least he could understand his own emotions. So, it surprised even him when an unfamiliar emotion coursed through him as a first year approached his boyfriend, Katsuki.

Down the Red Line by MinervaHope | 7,804 | Izuku has been able to see the red strings of fate since birth. It's no surprise that his is connected to Katsuki.

Canon World – Fake Relationship Goes Wrong

how he should’ve known (and how it turned out) by vannral | 43,918 | In which Katsuki and Izuku pretend to be a couple to avoid journalists, the plan backfires magnificently because of course it does, and the act goes on. Includes feelings, pining, domestic fluff and jealousy.

Vicious by feelslikefire | 105,173 | Midoriya and Bakugou wind up in the very last position either of them thought they'd be in: Hero Partners. It's not fun, but they learn to cope. Their first big assignment together takes them undercover to infiltrate a cult, but the situation turns out far more sinister than they first thought.

What I can never tell you by Mikacrispy | 27,067 | After living in the US for 5 years, Izuku returns to take care of a concussed Bakugou who believes they're engaged. Now, Izuku has to pretend he's in a relationship with the man he's loved for most of his life, knowing that it's just a matter of time until Katsuki gets better and realizes it's all a lie.

Not-Dating by MiraChaDoodles | 14,290 | Katsuki takes Deku on a not-date to save his career, only to find himself wishing it were real.

we'll do the things that lovers do by ethereals | 29,544 | Izuku gets an invitation to Shouto's wedding and Katsuki is PISSED that he asks Kirishima to be his date (also he wasn't even fucking invited

Canon World – Friends With Benefits (?) 

Four Times Bakugou Katsuki Doesn't Intend to Sleep With Midoriya Izuku (And the One Time that He Does) by fallingraine85 | 17,601 | He hadn’t planned for any of this. He isn’t about to go delving into the ball of yarn that is Midoriya Izuku’s heart; he isn’t equipped to try and untangle and make sense of it all. He isn’t about to try to analyze how he’s feeling about all of this, either.... How many times can you repeat the same mistake?

We Wear Chains on the Weekend by surveycorpsjean | 35,086 | Well, in a day of revelations, it turns out that Izuku isn't as vanilla as Katsuki previously thought. Unfortunately, that fascinating discovery is overshadowed by Izuku's dumbassery, because he has zero concept of aftercare."Don't go to anyone else," Katsuki says, because screw it. He can do a better job anyways. Or; Katsuki finds Izuku on a bad drop.

Just for Now by Shiro_Kabocha | 48,135 | Katsuki's parents are out of town over a school break and to keep him from getting up to any shenanigans, they ask Izuku to house sit with him. What are two teenaged boys to do when left alone to their own devices? (Bonus+ the entire Just for Love series)

safe in the darkness by yoonskisses | 20,855 | Izuku and Katsuki had been meeting up secretly for months, with absolutely no feelings involved. Or so Katsuki thought at least. The dorm gossip about Ochaco and Izuku's new relationship seemed to set a spanner in the works for their arrangement.

Alternative Universe – No Quirks

Bluebird by EtherealBeing | 53,108 | Dialing a wrong number was no unusual occurrence. Everyone did it once in a while, and Katsuki was well aware of that fact. However, possessing this knowledge made it no less aggravating for him to discover — a full two minutes into his rant about his day — that he’d been venting his frustrations to a complete stranger. As if that wasn't enough, said stranger was also inexplicably determined to hear his story to its end.

Someone Borrowed by mynameis152 | 138,996 | It felt like hours that he stared at Izuku, coming to terms with the fact that a man, his childhood best friend, whom he hadn’t seen since their senior year of high school, was there in front of his very eyes. Then his brows furrowed and his jaw clenched before he uttered through gritted teeth the very name Izuku had longed to hear for years. “Deku.”

Dark Side of the Sun by Synnie | 51,598 | Staying up too late playing video games, Kirishima wasn't expecting to get an urgent call begging for help. Next thing he knew, he was letting his classmate Izuku Midoriya take refuge in his apartment - without consulting his always angry roommate.

Manage Me by Justaperson1718 | 10,756 | Izuku becomes Katsuki’s model agent.

Don't Set Your Drink Down by Crandberrycrush | 88,424 | With sudden clarity Izuku realized he had broken the first rule of going out. Never leave your drink unattended.

Livewire by pretty_rekless | 18,160 | Per Ochako's request, Izuku downloads a gay dating app in hopes to finally find a partner. Except every single one of his leads keep ghosting him or standing him up... That is until one hot, fiery blond enters the chat. Grindr/Tinder AU fic.

Drinking Watermelon by warschach | 8,906 | Katsuki works as a camp counselor, and Izuku is a boy made of summer heat and sunlight.

Precious Pet by Mikacrispy | 6,379 | When broke college student Midoriya Izuku found a job that offered lodging, food, and good pay for four hours of work each day, he thought it was too good to be true. But he called anyway. Turns out all he has to do is to be the spoiled little puppy of a rich businessman.

Our Eleven Summers by Dark_Mage_Ayumu | 34,472 | The first time Katsuki met Izuku was when he was eight. For the next eleven years, Izuku changed his life, and no one even knew. Their relationship was something they shared in secret.

sticky note crushes by ladyofsnails | 3,239 | Katsuki hates his roommate. The green-haired, freckled, artsy son of a bitch with his dumb pun t-shirts and paint-stained hands he can’t fucking keep to himself. Katsuki can’t leave a single assignment or paper out in his room because that idiot will just grab anything to draw on it. He’s like a shark that can’t stop swimming else it’ll die – he can’t stop drawing. Ever.

Don't Play Pretend by SweetSide | 10,103 | Actor AU: Deku and Bakugou get the leading roles for an upcoming TV Drama. They weren’t aware that they would be working with each other for who knows how long. It would’ve been completely fine if they weren’t exes.

97.6 FM by jamjars | 32,249 | Izuku can’t stop listening to the radio host with the deep voice who sounds like he’s stuck in 2010. It’s a harmless crush. That is until he starts calling into the show under the pseudonym Deku.

Read {between} Your Lines by greatcloudninja | 52,252 | Midoriya Izuku, up-and-coming actor, has finally hit his big break (...), Bakugou Katsuki, who has been acting for over twenty years.However, Bakugou seems to have it out for Izuku, leading to tension both on and off set. When some incriminating photos surface, the studio suggests (...): having Bakugou and Midoriya fake a relationship to get ahead of the rumors. 

I’m not looking for somebody with some superhuman gifts by PassingShadow | 5,522 | Izuku is a professional cuddler and Katsuki is his new client that’s just a little rough around the edges, and needs a natural healing touch.

Alternative Universe – Quirkless Deku

A Good Old-Fashioned Tattoo AU by lalazee | 14,437 | After their paths had split, Bakugou & Deku meet again as adults. While Bakugou begins to repent for the kid he used to be, he also starts to prove himself as he the man he is now.

Call Me a Safe Bet (I'm Betting I'm Not) by WTTTD | 10,803 | He wished he had some sort of heads up before seeing Deku again for the first time after nearly two years, looking like the essence of a lazy Sunday, smiling and surrounded with brand new, adoring friends. It was a little fitting that Katsuki burned for him so badly. (Support Department Deku)

In Which Kacchan Has a Ruff Time by OneshotPrincess | 14,511 | Bakugou Katsuki gets quirked into a dog, gets adopted by an unknowing Izuku and generally has a very rough few days full of realizations

While You Were Sleeping by Belkacaramelka (annabelleg) | 71,197 | The one where quirkless fanboy Midoriya Izuku rescues Pro Hero Todoroki Shouto, gets mistaken as his fiancé while he is in a coma, and gets caught up in the most unlikely fake engagement... until his childhood enemy and Todoroki's classmate Bakugou Katsuki tries to catch him out, and they both end up discovering a lot more about each other than they'd expected.

Let Me Assist You Personally by Seeress | 32,806 | Izuku is long-suffering Personal Assistant to #1 Pro Hero Dynamight.Dynamight can't keep a PA to save his career. They all quit crying after a few days weeks. Enter, Izuku—with enough money problems to brave the jaws of the cranky beast. Childhood friend turned glorified paid slave. Somehow it all works out. ‘Kill them with kindness’, his mom had told him once. If that were true, Bakugou Katsuki would be stone-cold dead by now.

Smile For The Camera by kurokonekokilled | 19,179 | Midnight has a cam site, home to millions of users, but one catches Katsuki's eye when he goes scrolled through it in search for something to help him release a little stress. A live stream and the best orgasm of his life later, his wallet is lighter, and he might be almost as obsessed with this Deku guy as the cam boy is with him.

Just Like The Comics by brichibi | 24,935 | Where Izuku works at a comic book shop because that’s as close to a hero as he’s gonna get, and Katsuki plays the part of heroic ex-boyfriend who is good at everything except winning Izuku back... maybe

Alternative Universe – Quirks

Get on my Level by Mikacrispy | 92,273 | Bakugou Katsuki is a Pro Hero whose boss demands him to take an intern. Midoriya Izuku is a UA student who needs an internship. When the two of them are put together, they learn about what it truly means to be a Hero and what it means to be in love.

A/B/O – Secret! Baby

Home by Emerald2402 | 87,214 | Midoriya Izuku left Japan in a rush, moving to America without a word to anyone else. But then almost 11 years later he arrives back Home and Bakugou Katsuki's Alpha is furious. Fuck that, Bakugou is furious, because Midoriya Izuku, an omega he tasted one time, has been keeping a very big, very blonde haired, green eyed secret.

Those Under the Same Stars by PerpetuallyPerturbed | 325,553 | When Katsuki Bakugo left Izuku Midoriya five years ago, he thought it was for forever. He put aside dreams and wishes of the omega to focus on his career. He was going to be the best hero, after all. He couldn't have an omega getting in his way. So when he's stopped on the streets one day by a pup begging for help for his mom, he isn't prepared to face what he gave up, and what the consequences of his actions were. (Quirkless Deku)

A/B/O – Quirks

Mark Me. Make Me Yours. by decadentbynature | 10,062 | Midoriya is the only Omega at UA and he's been hiding it well but there's one issue that threatens to expose him: his attraction to an Alpha, Bakugo. After being told to give some paperwork to Bakugo, Midoriya lets him into his dorm room and is immediately overwhelmed by his scent. Unable to help himself, he gives in to his urges, only to be discovered by Bakugo but instead of becoming enraged, Bakugo decides to give Midoriya exactly what he wants

Claim Me by ScientificallySinful (VampireGaaraCheesepuffs) | 114,449 | Being an Alpha has nothing to do with Katsuki's success as a Pro-Hero, the same way Deku's Omega status hasn't kept him from becoming Number Two. Secondary gender doesn't mean anything nowadays and “mating” is an antiquated practice. So when Izuku, his rival, asks Katsuki to Claim him in the middle of the night, there is only one logical thing to say. “What the fuck?”

Change of Plans by Mikacrispy | 185,965 | Alpha Pro Hero Bakugou Katsuki never planned to get married to some random omega but what he wants isn't an option anymore. One for All wielder Midoriya Izuku has suffered injustice too many times and doesn't plan in allowing his secondary gender to dictate how he must live his life. Falling in love was never in the plans.

Going Feral For You by ANGIE_fic | 17,977 | Bakugou has an aggression problem that might have to do with his Alpha. His job is on the line because of it. So what do you do with a pent up Alpha? Yes.Rut. (Quirkless Izuku)

i live for you, i long for you by jeonjeonggukkkkkie | 19,165 | The five times Izuku hinted he wants Katsuki to spend his next heat with him, and the one time Katsuki took the hint.

Baby's First Bloom by ContraryBee | 44,945 | Izuku blooms for Katsuki one warm day in their third year of middle school. What follows is both boys learning about themselves, their bond, and the society they live in.

As Fate Would Have It by ScientificallySinful (VampireGaaraCheesepuffs) | 88,737 | Katsuki Bakugo had plenty of reasons why he wasn't mated yet, not that he was going to explain why to just anyone. But now, Ground Zero was running out of time. If he didn't find someone soon, he'd lose his position as a Pro-Hero and he'd never get to be #1. So, when he finds out there's a male Omega recently arrested for prostitution that's headed to prison if he too doesn't get a mate…well it must be fate. (Quirkless Izuku)

A/B/O – No Quirks

Gravity by warschach | 71,477 | Izuku is back in his hometown and plenty hasn't changed much from the 8 years he was gone. Except, Katsuki Bakugou, the alpha king of their small town. He's hotter- because that's fair, right, God? -, stronger, a now-famous pro fighter, and noticeably nicer this round.Not that he cares, pfft. (Fine, he cares.)

Nine Months by greatcloudninja | 23,303 | Omega Midoriya Izuku connects with Alpha Bakugou Katsuki through an online singles ad. Izuku pays Katsuki to help him with his heat, ending up pregnant in the process. What follows is a pregnancy filled with ups and downs, but whatever hurdles come their way, they can make it through together.

The long dark by Ominous-Anonymous (Ominonymous) | 13,289 | He could have been really dangerous. He could be a fucking murderer for all he knew. But Izuku Midoriya, ever the reckless daredevil, was not thinking of that when he got into a car with a complete stranger. Completely ignoring the part where his mother always taught him to never gets into cars with alphas he didn't know...

[dameronology]

figure it out {din djarin x reader}

summary: din djarin doesn’t usually get jealous. not until he met you, at least {for the lovely and wonderful @stargazingcarol​} - 2.5k words 

warnings: swearing 

this is completely spoiler free!! just some good old jealousy and some antics with the kid. enjoy.

- jamie

You had a complicated relationship with the Mandalorian. 

On one hand, you were colleagues…of sorts. He’d spent two years coming to your outpost on Corellia when he needed his ship fixing – and after becoming fed up of traipsing back and forth, he offered you the job full time. It was a mutually beneficial situation. You’d been desperate to get out the city for years, and you were also the only mechanic he trusted. The prospect of a job that would take you all over the galaxy was exciting, even if it meant tiptoeing around one another in the cramped hull of the Razor Crest (and that was before the addition of the Child). But, when you spent days and days in hyperspace with nobody else to talk to, it was only natural that you became friends. It had felt a little awkward at first, as though you were trying to force conversation with a man who just didn’t want to talk -- but then the Mandalorian’s barriers broke down, and things began to change.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint when. It had probably been a few months in, not long after he’d saved your ass from a bounty who had thrown a punch in your direction. You hadn’t expected the Mandalorian to be so protective - and frankly, neither had he. It was after that he found himself doing things without realising; lingering touches on your back when he passed, his hands brushing your thigh whenever you were sat in the cockpit next to him. Then, you became unintentional adoptive parents to a weird, green creature - a bond between you that only seemed progressed naturally, as though you had no control over it.

One night, not long after you took the Child in, you’d both collapsed beside one another on the tiny bed in hull of the Crest. Usually, you would argue for a while about who got to take it, but on that night, neither of you’d had the energy. Under the covers of the dark and with the baby finally asleep, you were muttering amongst yourself - you couldn’t remember the conversation entirely, but it was sleepy, tired gibberish. Din found himself reaching to take the helmet off; he could hear you easier that way, and your voice was comforting enough to lull him off to sleep. In the quiet of the moment, and with the conversation between you reaching a natural stopping point, he’d gently closed the gap between you. It was simple; his lips on yours, only for a brief moment. Then, as though the Child had sensed that everything was no longer about him, he’d opened his mouth and let out a cry for attention.

You began to kiss more often after that; every night before bed, actually. As soon as the lights were off, Din would take the helmet off, give you a gentle kiss and then he’d drift off, holding you tightly to his chest. It was always that, followed by a good night, cyar'ika. Then the morning would come, and it would be good morning, cyar'ika followed by another soft kiss, before the helmet went back on and you both went about your days.

After a few months of that, you’d fallen into an easy routine. Neither of you had quite established what your relationship was, but it didn’t feel like you needed to. It’s not like there was anyone else around for you to have to worry about, or anyone else who would force you to define it. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t frustrating; Din Djarin had never been the type of person to plan ahead, and you knew that more than anyone. The idea of becoming attached to him, only to lose him or get hurt was enough for you to at least want to try and work it out. You weren’t expecting a deep conversation, or even one that you could walk away from knowing whatever the hell was going on between you two. 

It was just that with the addition of the Child, and the two of you growing closer each day, you wanted an answer. You wanted to know if you were wasting your time; if this was simply a pit-stop on your way to finding a more permanent settlement, or if this was it. Though you’d never admit it, you wanted it to be the latter. Din was reliable, and he cared about you. He was sweet in his own way and he’d have gone to the ends of the galaxy to look after you. He was protective in a way that let you fight your own battles, but not in a way you’d ever have to do it alone. You felt safe with him - as though you’d found everything you were looking for, except neither of you had been looking at all.

You brought the question up on a slow morning. The Mandalorian was between bounties, and you’d briefly landed in a dusty outpost on a thick jungle planet to refuel and find some food. The kid was snoring away in his pod a few feet away, clearly feeding off of the relaxed atmosphere that you’d managed to create. You were laying beside him, the lights still off and your head buried in his neck. Both of Din’s arms were wrapped tightly around you, gripping onto you as though you might slip away into the darkness of the vast galaxy. 

‘What are we?’ You asked quietly.

‘Humans.’ Right, there was the dry sense of humour.

‘Din.’ You grumbled. ‘I’m serious.’

‘What’s making you bring it up now, cyar'ika?’ He asked. ‘It’s early.’

‘I was just thinking.’ You sat up, pulling the covers with you. ‘We’ve been doing this thing for months but neither of us have actually worked out what the hell is it is.’

‘We don’t have to.’ He replied. 

‘Right.’ You murmured. 

‘It’s just-’

As though the little bugger had sensed a sudden onset of tenseness in the room, the Child let out a loud cry. You immediately recognised it: he was hungry. Even if you were ready to throttle anyone who dared come near him, you didn’t have a hard time admitting that he had a penchant for the worst timing. With that said, the fact he’d slept through the whole night without waking once certainly helped the fact.

‘Hey, buddy! It’s okay!’ You heard the mechanical click of Din’s helmet as he turned on the lights, allowing you to leap out of bed and stumble to the baby. ‘We’ll get you some food.’

That wasn’t the first time that something had magically changed the subject whenever you tried to bring up the status of your relationship with Din. If the kid didn’t decide to pull your attention away, it was the Mandalorian himself who veered away from the conversation. He always had to check on a bounty, or rush off to see if the ship was on the right route. It didn’t take a genius to work out that he was avoiding the subject entirely and you were starting to become frustrated.

After almost three weeks of trying to challenge him about it, you were close to giving in entirely. What if you were wasting your time? What if you were going to let yourself fall in love with him, only to find out you weren’t a permanent part of his plan? Fuck, did he even have a plan? Was that the life you wanted -

- it was at that point that your train of thought had stopped, because the Child sensed you were upset, and started bawling. Again.

A few hours after your fourth or fifth try at the conversation - once again to have it ended by the kid tossing a frog at you in an attempt to steal the attention back - the three of you ended up in a bar. It was a little cantina a few hours outside of Mos Eisley; it was much cleaner than the other bars you’d seen, and if it weren’t for your foul mood, you might have even enjoyed it. 

‘What’s up with you?’ Din asked quietly. 

‘Nothing.’ You murmured. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Your tone is off, cyar'ika.’

‘Leave it.’ You snapped. ‘I’m getting another drink.’

You moved the baby off your lap, placing him on Din’s instead. After digging around in your pocket for some credits, you quickly stood up and sauntered over to the other side of the bar, leaning against the wooden counter as you waited for your turn to be served. It wasn’t too busy - there were a few people floating about. Locals, you figured. It was a slightly fancier part of Tatooine, and you could see the difference in the people who were frequenting the establishment.

You were trying not to think about Din, or the fact he still refused to talk about what was going on between the two of you. You’d long surpassed the point of no return for your friendship - no, you were too invested now. Either he had to prove he was in it for the long run, or you had to walk away. Was that an unfair ultimatum? Not really. He’d started it, after all. 

‘What’s a pretty thing like you doing waiting for a drink?’

You glanced up to see a man beside you, a half-empty flagon of beer in his hand. He was tall, dark and handsome; the type you used to briefly date back on Corellia. He smelt of expensive aftershave, and his clothes gave the impression he was quite well-off. 

‘I could ask you the same.’ You replied. 

‘So you think I’m pretty?’ The man quirked an eyebrow at you.

‘No, I...I mean, yeahhhh.’ You turned to face him, offering him a smile.

‘You’re here with that Mandalorian.’ He glanced over his shoulder, before leaning a little closer towards you. ‘What’s his deal?’

‘Honestly, I couldn’t tell you.’ You snorted. ‘I don’t think he knows what his deal is.’

The conversation was completely innocent - after all, you had no intention of anything happening with whoever this guy was. And even if you did, weren’t you technically single? You certainly weren’t in a relationship, at least not according to Din Djarin. He had no standing ground, nor any right to be jealous. 

Still, that didn’t stop his entire body filling with rage the minute the man put his hand on your arm, and it certainly didn’t stop him immediately packing up all your stuff to leave the bar. Even the notion of another man touching you made him want to scream - let alone the actual sight of it. It was the way your new friend leant in a little too close, and laughed a little too hard at your jokes. You were funny, but you weren’t that funny.

‘We’re leaving.’ Din declared, suddenly appearing beside you. 

‘Okay.’ You shrugged, glancing up at him. ‘I’ll meet you back on the ship later.’

‘No, I mean we’re leaving.’

You snorted. ‘I think you’ll find that I’m staying right here- oof!’

You let out a small squeak as the Mandalorian grabbed you with his free arm, tossing you over his shoulder. Before you could protest, or even apologise to the man beside you, he was marching you out of the bar and into the cool evening air of Tatooine. All meanwhile, the baby was giggling at the site of you with your legs in the air and your face planted against Din’s back. 

The ship wasn’t far - probably not more than a two minute walk. Din had been conscious of the Child’s little legs when he’d parked at the outpost; he was becoming more independent now and insisted on walking places himself. It was just that he could only walk for five minutes before getting tired, but the little sod would cry if you tried to carry him.  He was lucky he was cute.

‘What the hell was that?’ You snapped, barely catching your balance as Din planed you on the floor of the ship. 

‘That man was flirting with you.’ Din simply stated. ‘I didn’t like it.’

‘You...’ you trailed off. ‘You didn’t like it?’

‘He was overstepping his boundaries.’

‘You were jealous, weren’t you?’ You let out a derivative snort, folding your arms across your chest. 

‘You knew I could see you.’ Din was still calm. 

‘And? It’s not like we’re in a relationship, is it?’ You murmured.

‘That’s not-’

‘ - let me finish!’ You cut him off. ‘I have been trying for weeks to talk to you about it, to see where I stand with you, and you always change the subject or try to run away from it! You have no right to be jealous, or to act like I’m with you because you have made it abundantly clear that I am not. Your high horse is basically a shetland fucking pony, Din Djarin!’

There was a silence between you for a moment. It felt good to have finally said it - you just wished you’d been a bit more gentle. Din had never seen you shout before, or even come close to losing your temper. He knew it was bound to happen but he had never imagined it being at him. Then again, if you’d tried to pick him up and force him out the bar against his will, he would have been angry too. (The thought of you even trying it was rather comical).

‘I was scared.’ 

That hadn’t been the response you were expecting.

‘Of me?’ Your voice was quiet.

‘I’m in love with you.’ He said bluntly. ‘That terrifies me.’

‘I...fuck.’ You felt as though the wind had been stolen from your lungs, and replaced with whatever grey smoke the Crest spat out when the engines were broken. ‘I love you too - but why does it scare you?’

‘Because it means I can’t ever leave you.’ Din continued. ‘And I want to give you the life you deserve but I don’t know if I can. Not with my job, not with the things I’ve done.’

‘Din.’ You took a step forward, his large hands enveloping yours as you did. ‘D’you think I care about any of that?’

‘I was afraid to ask.’

‘No offence, but you can be a bit thick sometimes.’ A small chuckle escaped your lips, even if tears were forming in your eyes. ‘I don’t care where we are or where we go, as long as I’m with you, then I have the life I want. That’s why I’ve been so off these last few weeks, because I was so scared you were going to turn around and push me away.’

‘That’s not going to happen.’ He said. ‘I’m not going to leave you - you have my word. I promise.’ 

‘So why don’t we just stop being scared and start just...being together?’

He briefly stepped away, hitting the control panel to turn off the lights in the ship. His helmet hit the ground with a thud, and a moment later, his hands were on your hips as he pulled you towards him. Din crashed his lips onto yours, closing the gap between you with a desperate kiss. You’d kissed before - more times than you could even begin to count - but this one felt different. It had meaning; purpose, in fact. It was as though the last few months’ worth of feelings that the Mandalorian had been pushing aside had finally broken.

‘I love you, cyar'ika.’ He quietly murmured again. ‘And I’m sorry.’

‘Stop saying sorry.’ You tearfully smiled, forehead still pressed against his. ‘And I love you too, even if you’re a bit of a dumbass sometimes.’

‘Say it again.’

‘I love you, dumbass.’ You quietly said. 

‘Is that now your equivalent to cyar'ika?’

[youareunbearable]

I've been thinking, but what if Beren knew Meadhros before the Dagor Bragollach and the Silmaril quest went down

Sure his father was sworn friends with Finrod, but Meadhros was the Watcher of the North, he probably had worked and fought alongside Beren’s father, Barahir of Dorthonion, Lord of Ladros and Chieftain of the house of Beor. Maedhros worked alongside a lot of men, and he was smart and likeable and a strong general, so he probably kept good relations with the Men that lived nearby that would be willing to lend willing swords to help him protect the March.

He maybe even was a guest to Barahir’s wedding, he maybe even sent a gift at the birth of his son. Beren fell in love with an Elf, and that love must have come from somewhere. As a child he must have visited Maedhros’ kept in Himring for a summer celebration that his family was invited to. He had never seen so many Elves before, and they were as beautiful as they were strange. There was one Elf, tall with dark hair, who could sing Songs so beautiful Beren felt as if he could reach out and wrap the sound around him like the world’s loveliest cocoon.

Even the Lord of Himring, the tall being with survival scars and glowing eyes and hair like living fire, looked gorgeous when he laughed. Apparently the singer he just complimented was his younger brother Maglor, and not in fact a beautiful maid. No one seemed to mind his blunder, and Maglor gave him a warm smile and a head pat so all was water under the bridge.

(Years later, Maedhros would continue to tease Maglor that his beauty and voice must be second to Luthien, if his young lover was able to forget him upon seeing her. Maglor just sniffs)

When the Dagor Bragollach happened, many of Beren’s people fled to Maedhros’ fort, and Maedhros kept them safe. When things calm slightly, he might even send out a search party for the missing Chieftain and his son. The scouts return months later with a sobbing Beren and the Ring of Barahir. Instead of letting the man wallow in his grief alone in the wilds, Maedhros would help him, help him be the leader his people need, help him take his grief out on the swarms of the Enemy at their gate, and help him deal with the grief of losing a father. He might even show him his father’s ring, the Feanorian star signet ring that he keeps as a necklace after his father’s death. Tells him how he gave this ring to his brother Maglor when he went off to go fight Morgoth, and how his brother returned it to him 30 years later after his rescue. Maedhros mentors and guides Beren for four years, long yet also just a blink of the eye.

Beren would lead fighting parties, he would become a swift and terrible blade under Meadhros’ wing, and a kind and just leader. But the bounty that Morgoth put on his head is still the same in this version, and he is still chased and hunted by Sauron until he flees into the woods of Nan Dungortheb, then into Doriath, and still falls in love with Luthien at first glance.

She still loves him back just as fiercely, and when Beren asks Thingol for Luthien’s hand, this time when he asks for a Silmaril, it is a snub towards the Noldor who have hosted and trained and, one could argue, even raised Beren. It is still just as an impossible task as before and Beren still accepts.

He knows he cannot go to Maedhros for this, he has his own battles at the North and Beren could never ask him to go back into the Enemy’s hands, so he writes him a letter explaining that he will not be returning home and still goes to Finrod. Celegorm and Curufin still try to stop their foolish cousin and his men from going on this quest. Finrod once again leaves with his small group of loyal men.

Except this time, as they leave Nargothrond, Amras and Amrod ride on to intercept them and encourage them to first rest, plan, and wait for Maedhros’ backup at their fort in Estolad. There they have more Men and Elves that want to join their group, and when Maedhros comes (furious about Thingol, worried about Beren going on this impossible task, sick with the feeling of the Oath forcing him to want to help send this young Man to his doom on the slim chance he might succeed) they create a real plan, get the schedules of the Enemy’s movements, and maps (a map of Fingon’s path into Angband, a map of Sauron and his lieutenants recent movements, patrol paths, and some secret paths that the trolls and slaves they rescued gave, and the layout of Morgoth’s halls that Meadhros himself remembers from his enslavement)

Maedhros also gives him a small, thin blade of Mithril. "It’s to hide on your person, if you get captured, this blade won’t break and is light as a feather." He gives him this blade, not to free himself or the others, as the purpose his brother Curufin had in mind when he made the blade for Maedhros after he was rescued by Fingon, but as another method of escape. The eldest of Feanor’s Sons grips Beren’s arm and tells him that there is nothing worse in Arda than being at the mercy of Morgoth and his pet Sauron. He tells him this blade may seem like a curse, but it is a gift. Meadhros doesn't pray, he hasn’t in centuries, but he dearly hopes that Beren will not have to use it.

This time, when Finrod sings his Song of disguise, it's over much more than a handful of followers. This time, when they reach Minas Tirith they are better prepared to sneak past the fallen city.

(This time, Curufin and Celegorm don’t kidnap Luthien so Celegorm will marry her, but to keep her safe. She still doesn’t appreciate it and still steals their dog. Well, it’s not stealing if the dog escapes with her. This time, when the brothers are still forced to leave Nargothrond, it's not under exile but as a polite but firm request to leave. This time, when they chance upon Luthien and Beren again, Celegorm isn’t fighting over his ego and heart being bruised, but because this bitch stole his dog, and because they made their dormant Oath writhe under their skin, which one could argue is worse. They still lose against the Man and the Half Maiar, and Celegorm’s dog still won’t come home. This time, when they make to to Maedhros’ Himring fortress, they aren’t screamed at for their political fuck ups, but they get a stern “Why do you two always make things so difficult for me” lecture of disappointment while Maglor plays an unsympathetic and taunting accompaniment)

They still fail. Finrod still fails in his battle against Sauron but he is able to do more damage to the former Maiar, and they free more of their trapped men before he is killed by a werewolf. This time it’s not only Arafinweian Elves that fall, but Feanorian as well. When Luthien comes to save him and carry Finrod’s body away, it is Meadhros’ men that send the news to his nephew in Nargothrond, and this changes things.

When they go into Morgoth’s halls again, this time, Beren uses the little mithril blade he was given. This time, he escapes with not one silmaril, but two. One for Thingol, and one for Meadhros and his Oath.

His hand is still eaten with the Silmaril by Carcharoth. And Beren still grieves for the loss, not because he has nothing to bring Thingol, but because he knows he can’t give Maedhros his due if he wants to marry the love of his life.

When he gives Thingol the Silmaril, he also gives a warning before doing so, that the gem may be cursed with Morgoth’s taint and while it’s shine is beautiful, it hides something darker, for nothing so lovely should make people bleed and die for it. And if Thingol was wise, he would give the Silmaril to the sons of Feanor before the Oath and the Curse of Feanor catches up to him.

Melian agrees. She is ignored. This does not change.

Beren and Luthien are wed, and Beren invites the Feanorians on the Hunting of Carcharoth, and it is Amras and Amrod that slay the beast with the help of Huan after it attacks Beren. Huan still dies. Beren still dies. Luthien still dies. Yet the Fenorians gain a Silmaril. This is different.

The Oath is not completed with just the one, but it is sated. This time, the Sons of Feanor do not send a letter to Thingol asking him to surrender the gem. This time Celegorm and Curufin do not threaten to burn Doriath to the ground on a refusal that never came. This time, Thingol does not tighten security on his borders. Melian still suggests that they give the Sons the stone after she catches her husband staring at it for too long. Once again she is ignored. That, at least, does not change.

Luthien still sings her husband back to life. They still retire tp Amros and Amrad’s lands, and this time Beren’s people in Himring join them. Dior is still born, and he plays and hunts with two red headed uncles.

(Nirnaeth Arnoediad is still fought. Maedhros is not betrayed by Ulfang, who had seen the light of the Silmaril the Sons hold, and does not cave to the sweet honeyed words of Sauron. His people are not cursed. And his sons still live to fight to survive the battle. This time, Nargothrond sends forces, and Luthien convinces her father to send troops as well. This time Fingon, and his men are not focused and he is able to defeat Gothmog. Fingon is wounded from this battle, and he still dies, but not to a Balrog. He dies as his father did, managing to land five blows on Morgoth before he is slain and the Dark Lord flees. Morgoth’s forces are dwindled down deeply, and there is a unity amongst the Free People’s of Beleriand. They still count heavy losses, but not as heavy as before. Maedhros grieves the death of his dearest companion, and retreats to Himring. While he was successful, he is still the shadow of the Elf he was before. He still wears golden ribbons wrapped around the stump on his right arm and he still weeps. His brother’s still don’t know how to help him. But this time, they do not suggest a second Kinslaying)

Thingol still dies to the Dwarves. Melian is still wounded and returns to Valinor in her grief. But this time Beren doesn’t kill the Dwarf Lord of Nogrod, he lets him keep the necklace but takes the Silmaril. Luthien, in her anger and grief, curses that the Dwarves of Nogord will one day succumb to their greed and become a stain upon their people.

(Unknown to Luthien or the Dwarves, thousands of years later, it is a descendent of a Nogord dwarf that convinces the King of Khazad-dum to continue to mine until they woke Durin’s Bane. It is a descendant of Norgord that was a spy for Sauron which allowed him to overtake Mount Gundabad. It is a descendant of Norgord that uncovers the Arkenstone. It was Narvi, a descendant of Norgord and Durin’s Folk that marries Celebrimbor, and whose death caused such a profound grief that became a weak point which Annatar was allowed to breach and convince Celebrimbor to craft with him. And it was in Narvi’s memory and honor that Celebrimbor crafted the Seven Dwarven Rings of Power. However, that tragedy could also be blamed on Feanor’s Curse.)

Dior still married Nimloth, he still had two sons and one daughter. His parents still die of mortal age and he once again becomes King of Doriath. This time, he gives his father’s bridal gift to his Elven foster uncles, Amrod and Amras. For this Dior was raised on the belief that this stone was indeed tainted by Morgoth. He knew and saw the death and destruction left in its wake. He heard Feanor’s Twins whisper about their broken eldest brother. How he blames himself for the deaths of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, and for the death of the former High Noldiran King Fingon. All because he was spurred on by the confidence the Silmaril gave him. He saw how it turned the greed of the Dwarves into slaying his grandfather and wounding his grandmother. This time, he saw and he wanted no part in it.

This time Doriath is the one to host the refugees of Gondolin. This time, it burns by the followers of the Enemy that followed the refugees there. This time, Elrond and Elros are not raised by the ones who burned their city. But instead they were carried out by their twin uncles Elured and Elurin. This time, they were found by Meadhros and Maglor (they were on the run, as Himring was forsaken and overrun by Morgoth’s filth) who takes in not one, but two sets of twins in.

For all their mannish blood, Elured and Elurin aged more like Elves, and therefore looked and acted like Elves of thirty-one, which meant they were children themselves when they fled their burning home. This is compared to their father and younger sister, who grew like Men and were fully grown by their mid twenties.

Elrond and Elros are still raised by the Sons of Feanor. Elrond still follows his love of healing by trying to help the broken Meadhros, and still learns to sing at Maglor’s knee. Elros still learns to fight and foster his love of leading by watching and copying and learning from Maedhros and still learns to love and care and cook from Maglor. Their travels across Beleriand still make the younger twins open minded and still want to love the other races. Elrond still wants to create a city that acts as a safe haven for everyone. Elros still wants to live amongst men and make the choice that his grandmother made.

This time, Elured and Elurin get a chance to live. This time, Elurin will learn that he loves working with horses. This time, Elured will learn he likes to build things with his hands. This time, they will live long enough to join Elrond in his safe haven of a city, and this time they will help him raise his children, this time they will help guard Celebrain on her travels to visit her mother and their family. This time, they will be captured and allow her to escape back to her husband and their children. This time, it is them that will sail because they can’t escape the feeling of being chased, running wounded through tunnels, and being tortured. This time, Elrond grieves, but his children don’t grow up without a mother.

But that is a tale for another time.

In this time, when the War of Wrath ends, Maedhros and Maglor leave their two sets of twins in Lindon. They gather their brothers who live there, and collect those that don’t. This time, all seven of the Sons of Feanor fight in the War of Wrath in an attempt to take the single Silmaril from Eonwe. Curufin and Celegorm are still slain together. Amrod still burns, but this time to a balrog.

This time their Oath is fulfilled, but for attacking a Maiar it still burns them. Meadhros, lost to the pain of his remaining hand and centuries of grief, leaves his remaining brothers and still tosses himself and one of the Silmarils into the fire of the earth. Maglor weeps, tosses the second Silmaril in the ocean, and tries to drown himself. For it was he who urged his brother to join the War under the cover of taking the last Silmaril, but Caranthir pulled him back, weeping himself.

Amras, weeping, throws the final Silmaril to Eonwe, who has caught up to them. He curses the stone and with the Oath complete, refuses to let it tear apart what is left of his family. Eonwe sends the stone into the sky, and it still becomes a token of repentance, and it is still cast as a star in the sky.

Amras, Caranthir, and Maglor limp back to Lindon, and they are welcomed by Gil-Galad and Celebrimbor.

Caranthir will choose to stay with Celebrimbor in Eregion. He will continue to do trade with the Dwarves, he will continue to make lots of wealth on his trade routes, and he will continue to raise his own Half Elven children he created with Haleth. This time, he will see Annatar for the evil he is and refuse to accept any of his gifts. This time, when Celebrimbor accepts Annatar into his halls, he calls his nephew a fool and he leaves Eregion Numenor. This time, Caranthir will help Elros’ descendants create Gondor and there he will live with his children well into the Fourth Age. He will die being ambushed by a small band of highway robbers traveling to Lothlorien with trade goods.

Amras will continue to travel the world until he finally settles with a band of Green Elves which eventually settle in Greenwood. This band will soon join Oropher's group of Sindarin Elves. Amras will eventually marry a Green Elf and they will have one daughter, Tauriel. Amras will join the Last Alliance during the end of the Second Age, and he will die in battle. His wife will be left to raise their baby daughter alone, and soon she will fade after a thousand years of grief. Tauriel will be raised as a ward of Thranduil’s (in honour of her father, who was Lord of Elves and who’s own brother raised two generations of their children) and becomes dear friends his own son Legolas and spends many evenings babysitting him and teaching him the shapes of the stars.

Maglor will continue to sing by the water, he will still have a hand burned by the Silmaril, and he still will have a mind half lost to grief and guilt. But he will stay with Elrond, Elured, and Elurin in Lindon, and he will join them in Rivendell after the War of Sauron and the Elves, and he will be a grandfather to Elrond’s children, and he will walk Elured and Elurin to the Grey Havens, and he will sing on the shore until he can no longer see their disappearing boat. And come the end of the Third Age, he will sail west with his son and his daughter-in-law with the ring bearers.

This time, the Sons of Feanor will all be reunited on the Shores of the Undying Land.

[rosethefrikiartist]

Yandere Friday Night Funkin Characters Headcanons

These headcanons are about the polyamorous relationship "BF x GF x Pico x Reader"

I TRANSLATED THESE HEADCANONS WITH GOOGLE TRANSLATOR AND MY LIMITED KNOWLEDGE OF ENGLISH. If anyone of you notice any grammar and spelling errors, please let me know.

Warning: The characters are OOC. In this headcanon BF doesn't speak with "beep-bops", he speaks normal. All characters are +20 years old. Contains mentions of unhealthy relationships, stalking, violence, manipulation, torture, and murder.

BF / Keith

Obsessive yandere.

Despite his street outfit and his mocking and sarcastic attitude, he is a child in need of affection

He is a love-struck guy and he had a few lovers throughout his life, but his obsessive tendencies only manifested with Pico, Cherry and (Y / N).

He knows a large part of Cherry's life and Pico's dark secrets, he needs to know even the smallest detail about you: your likes, your passions, your fears, your goals, your dreams and hopes, EVERYTHING. This leads him to review all your social networks to find even the smallest information about your life.

He is very detailed, composing and singing songs about you, saving the money he has to take you and Pico to eat or to the cinema (he doesn't do the same with Cherry because she always pays the bills before he can take out his wallet) and he graffiti their faces on the dark streets of Philadelphia.

He will not deny you having contact with your family, having friends, a work and other types of human contact, but he would be very distrustful of others, demonstrating it in passive-aggressive comments and small malicious actions (such as closing doors in the face).

He's not aware of his yandere tendencies at all, since he believes that what he does is completely normal in a relationship.

He usually feels very nervous when he doesn't spend time with you, Pico and Cherry, he constantly checking your social networks to see your latest connections. He only calms down when you text him or give him physical affection.

Disputes are very rare, but when happen he panics, because seeing and hearing the anger, sadness and disagreement drives him crazy, he will start crying and begging for forgiveness, even if he did not start the dispute. This is a bad combination with Pico's attitude, and you generally comfort him.

In case someone comes to insult you, he will go into defensive mode. His silver tongue is his best weapon and he will begin to destroy the aggressor with words, be it in a freestyle battle or in a verbal fight.

If things get physical, Keith won't hesitate to fight. This little gremlin has fast and light feet, being able to deliver several kicks in a short time. Although he doesn't have much strength, he makes up for it with his speed and agility.

GF/Cherry

Manipulative Yandere.

Don't be fooled by her relaxed attitude and her pretty face, this demonic girl can be a real beast when she proposes it to her.

She had many lovers, but none of them lasted more than a few months, since they were only interested in her because of her appearance or her money, but that changed when she met Keith and (Y / N).

She loves to be given handmade things, even if they are not expensive, because she prefers something made with love and dedication (like a letter, a dessert or a song).

She has no qualms about spending huge amounts of money on you and Keith (and Pico when he joins), whether it's shopping for high-quality clothes, dining out at fancy restaurants, or going to expensive bars. Money has no value to her, but seeing your happy faces warms her heart.

Like Keith, Cherry will not deny you have contact with other humans, but she will monitor them very closely, without ANYONE noticing her. This girl is an evil detector, and at the slightest hint of malice or interest on the part of someone, she will manipulate you to end any friendship or relationship, without raising suspicion.

She is aware of her yandere tendencies, but she justifies herself by saying that she does everything for the sake of her relationships.

She doesn't get nervous as Keith when she doesn't spend time with you (she doesn't care so much about Poco because she knows he can take care of himself, although she still keeps an eye on him), since she can check your social networks to see how are you. If that doesn't reassure her, she can hire someone to watch over you or she can use her demonic powers to do it herself.

Disputes are rare and when they occur she doesn't lose her composure. She will try to reach an agreement between the two of you to solve the problem, but if things don't improve or she doesn't like the agreement, she is not afraid to use her manipulation tactics against you. She has manipulate Keith and Pico on more than one occasion, don't challenge her.

In case someone comes to attack you, that person only has 2 destinies: pain or death. If it was only a verbal attack, Cherry may spare their life and only leave their with severe trauma and physical injuries, depending on what their said (and depending on whether it's just you and her or Keith is there too). But if it was a physical assault, that person is dead, either at that moment (especially if Pico is there) or a few hours later, but their will definitely not see the dawn of a new day.

Pico

Possessive and overprotective yandere AF

He has a hard time being able to open up to others due to his dark past, and it is even more difficult for him to be able to fall in love with someone, but when he does, oh boy! he fall hard. He has only fallen in love with 2 people: Keith and (Y / N).

He isn't a very expressive person with his affection, being quite serious at first, but as things warm up he will show more and more acts of affection.

He doesn't know how to react when you give him things, he gets very nervous and blushes, even if you give him small things or very simple details. Anything you give him (except food) he will keep in a safe and he cherished for a lifetime.

He is very suspicious and aggressive towards anyone who comes into contact with you and Keith, even they be close friends or casual acquaintances. He only relaxes when he's with Cherry, Darnell, and Nene.

The traumas of his past make him reckless and impulsive, being someone violent, but directing that violence against other people instead of against you.

Pico is fully aware of his yandere and violent tendencies, coming to feel guilty for longing for your love, but at the same time he's feeling jealous and sick if he imagines you with someone other than him, Keith or Cherry.

He is a total paranoid when you are not near him, because the voices in his head torment him telling him that someone is going to hurt or kill you, he will reach the extreme of stalking you to know where you are to be able to calm him down. If he can't do this, he ask Cherry to keep an eye on you.

Disputes happen with some frequency, generally caused by his paranoia and fear (or when he hears Cassandra's voice telling him in his ear that she will torture and kill you to make him suffer).

These disputes can quickly turn into verbal fights where Pico dissociates himself from reality (this is noticeable because his eyes go from graylish green to pure white) and he can say very hurtful things. By now, you and Cherry should calm him down (or knock him out, whichever comes first).

If these disputes escalate too far, Pico will leave the house, with gun in hand, to vent his anger and frustrations on the first petty thief he meets (however, no one will be bothered if an unidentified corpse is found in an alley in the dangerous area of ​​the city).

In case someone comes to attack you or Keith, that person is dead or invalid, without prior exchange of words. If it is a verbal attack, the bullet will lodge in their spinal column, and if it is a physical attack, in their skull, without any remorse. Suffering can be prolonged if Cherry is there.

[thefirstknife]

Iron Lord Saladin Forge

Season of the Lost dropped some major lore about Saladin and I love every piece of it so I will make a huge post detailing stuff about and what's important.

The lore is on Iron Banner armour which you can see in-game when you go to the armour section. The lore is the same on each class so it doesn't matter which one you read. It's in the order of how armour is set, so helmet -> arm piece -> chest piece -> leg piece -> class item. There's some extras on Iron banner weapons that I'll add as well.

The rest under the cut due to length and also spoilers!

I'll link to the Hunter gear because I'm a dirty Hunter main and I read it from there and that's what I have open because I couldn't remember the names for other two classes, but the lore is the same on all of them. The set is called Iron Forerunner.

We haven't really had any substantial Saladin lore in D2 besides few lore pieces from Chosen and Splicer. Not nearly enough I think, especially since he wasn't properly introduced in D2 at all and it was kinda assumed that everyone would know about him from the Rise of Iron expansion in D1. He had plenty of voice lines, but with no real context. His voice lines in Season of the Chosen were interesting, but also made a lot of people think he's a bad person and a warmongering coward who sat on his butt during the Red War and was then preaching action for action's sake.

The situation is obviously more complex, but I've always said that it's Bungie fault for not explaining more about him prior to his involvement in the Season of the Chosen. Well, now we got some really interesting information at last!

Anyway, helmet first!

Flavour text:

"Some know the legend. We threw ourselves on the blades of tyranny so others may live free." —Lord Saladin

This is referencing the Iron Lords' fight against the Warlords in the Dark Age. Saladin is heavily influenced by his time in the Dark Age. It seems like some really old Guardians never get over the trauma of living through that (Drifter is another example). Side note: this could also be referencing the battle against SIVA since Rasputin is also known as "The Tyrant." It's not fully relevant tho, as Saladin was equally affected by both periods in his life.

This first entry details something we don't really think about when it comes to Guardians: death. It's a temporary thing with them so it doesn't really matter. But Saladin recounts how he remembers his deaths and how each one felt. Despite the fact that he will be brought back, the pain and struggle of dying are very real. There is also the associated trauma of the realisation that you will go through this over and over and over:

He laughed when his Ghost reassembled him. Then, he cried.

It's not something mentioned often, and definitely wasn't a point raised with Saladin. It gives some context to how seriously he takes combat, training and the lives of his fellow Guardians.

Saladin remembers the day he stopped counting deaths. "Something about you is different," Jolder had said, and put her hand on his.

This explains that his worldview of the role of Lightbearers changed the moment he was invited to become an Iron Lord. It's also important to remember that he loved Lady Jolder very much (in whichever way you want to interpret it) and that watching her make the choice to die a final death has had a heavy impact on him.

Saladin remembers all this and more when he looks at the Crow. He feels rage form a hot pit in his belly when Osiris tells him about the young Lightbearer's suffering at the hands of his fellow Guardians. Osiris asks him if he can keep a secret.

"I don't like secrets," Saladin says, and that's the end of it.

Saladin doesn't really say this during Chosen and his interactions with Crow, but it's evident from this that he cares deeply about the young Light who suffered in ways Saladin only remembers people suffering during the Dark Age. It's also important to note that the Osiris he speaks to here is Savathun. Saladin seems to be uniquely unaffected by Savathun's schemes. This will repeat itself again later.

Second, arms piece.

Flavour text:

"Some know the legend. We were forged in the fires of a burning world." —Lord Saladin

Same thing as before. Referencing the post-Collapse Dark Age. The lore tab details a really tragic story of the Iron Lords burying bodies, including the implication of Saladin burying the body of a child. He recalls that these people were victims of Fallen Raiders.

"It's a vicious circle," Efrideet had said as she tied off a funeral shroud with great care. Saladin remembers the bundle being very small. "One day, I'm going to break it."

Saladin remembers how easily the body fit in his arms, how light it felt as he laid it in the grave. He remembers, with shame, pretending not to hear Efrideet's words so he wouldn't need to respond to them.

He remembers not having anything kind to say.

He obviously regrets not having a stronger stance on this in the past. Where Efrideet seems to have always been keen on ending the cycle of violence, he clearly thought differently and is now ashamed of it. This transitions into more about his relation to Crow:

Saladin remembers all this and more whenever the Crow talks back to him. Sometimes, he bites down on the inside of his cheek. Sometimes, he looks up to find his Ghost focused on him with a knowing look.

He doesn't say anything to his Ghost either.

Because Crow was saying things that reminded him of Efrideet. Breaking the cycles of violence, extending a friendly hand, not treating everyone like an enemy. It's evident that this turmoil is still inside of him as someone who spent most of his time fighting for survival, only to be told by those younger than him that there's a way out of that war. It's a very common struggle of people dealing with trauma and specifically PTSD to not be able to imagine and/or live in a world of peace and to outright reject the possibility of peace ever existing. Saladin is very clearly dealing with that and here, we see it from his own POV: despite sometimes being harsh to Crow, there were times when he chose to say nothing because deep down he knows that Crow is right. Accepting that is a long process though.

Third, chest piece.

Flavour text:

"Some know the legend. We rose from the ashes of a dying world to save humanity from itself." —Lord Saladin

Same again, but this is an interesting way to phrase it. He's talking about humanity being a danger to itself, not about any external threat. Ultimately, the Traveler's gift was the first thing that harmed humanity post-Collapse, despite later being the thing that saved it.

This leads into Saladin's thoughts on the Red War, something we've been sorely missing for a very long time.

Saladin remembers losing his connection to the Light. He remembers thinking that the Traveler must have discovered his most secret doubts; the darkest thoughts he shared with no one—not even his Ghost. He remembers the strange sense of relief that had washed over him until his radio crackled to life just moments later.

His deepest secret? Probably that Light is a burden. When he lost the connection to the Light, he specifically thought it had only happened to him and then felt relief. Freedom from the eternal war he has to keep waging. I'm sure he feels incredible shame for thinking it would be better to just lose the Light and die a final death, but alas, he is bound by duty. Especially a Titan's duty.

He stands there thinking about it for a while before finally deciding to embrace that duty. And now we know what he was doing during the Red War:

"Saladin," his Ghost said again, and Saladin remembers moving. He remembers clutching his radio and rallying survivors—those strong enough to make the journey—to the Iron Temple.

It's been abbreviated as him "sitting out" the Red War because he didn't fight. Of course it was strange that the last remaining active Iron Lord did not show up to the City to fight alongside all the others, both Guardians and ordinary humans. That Lord Saladin, someone who endured so many hardships and fought so many battles since the Dark Age, hasn't come to help humanity in its time of greatest need.

But now this hits different. He didn't fight, yes. He couldn't. Losing the Light wasn't just something that made him scared (like all Lightbearers): it was something that made him scared of how he might actually enjoy dying a glorious final death. To end the trauma and the memories of all the horrors he's been through. So instead of throwing himself into a reckless death, he chose to stay in the Iron Temple and protect survivors.

So yeah, he didn't fight, but he did something equally important. The Iron Temple is an extremely well protected fortress that's very difficult to reach and breach, so any survivor he gathered was perfectly safe there until the Red War ended. Sometimes "sitting out" is more noble than fighting.

Saladin remembers all this and more whenever the Crow challenges him on his cowardice during the Red War. He wants to break the young Guardian's back to teach him a lesson about what it's like to feel helpless, but something stops him.

He remembers hearing stories about the Crow's life on the Shore before he arrived at the Tower, and does not raise a hand against him.

The lore entry ends with telling us that Saladin was clearly very agitated about Crow's teasing. But in the end, he remembered what Crow has been through and realised that Crow already knows what it's like to feel helpless. He did not need a reminder and Saladin decided to take the teasing without a response. It truly frames some of those voice lines in a different light, knowing this background.

Fourth, leg piece!

Flavour text:

"Some know the legend. We crossed a burning world with sword in hand, bringing justice and blood." —Lord Saladin

Once more, we are told that Saladin was mostly forged (eheh) through his experience in the Dark Age.

The lore page details a bittersweet memory Saladin has of him with his fellow Iron Lords and friends enjoying some good time over a meal and song.

He remembers Radegast asking him to sing the song taught to them by the people of the blacksmith's village, but agreeing only when Jolder and Perun promised to join in. Their voices rose like wolves in the night and were so raw by morning that none of them could speak.

This is honestly heartbreaking. Saladin being this happy and free to sing and enjoy himself: compared to how he is now. But even with that, he has retained the need to do it again sometimes, if he ever finds people to be comfortable around.

Saladin remembers all this and more when Zavala tells him Amanda has taken the Crow out to drink in the City's streets. He wonders what song they'll sing, if it's anything like the one he's heard everyone humming lately—even though he hasn't tried it himself.

I love how he projects his past joy onto the two young people and wonders if they'll do the same as he did once. Here we also get another hint about Saladin apparently not being affected by Savathun's viral chant. It might be a point relevant in the future.

Finally, class item!

Flavour text:

"Some know the legend. We crushed the Warlords beneath our heel so that they may never rise again." —Lord Saladin

Nothing new here. Just Saladin recounting how hard they went against the Warlords.

The rest is a very poignant lore page that details the relationship between Saladin and Zavala. Zavala studied under Saladin who was his mentor and it's been repeated often that Saladin has retained a "soft spot" for him.

Saladin remembers the first time he met Zavala. He remembers thinking that the Awoken had regal bearing like the stags he once hunted on the Steppes. His shoulders were broad, and his chin held high. When he moved, he did so with the strength and purposeful deliberation of someone with the power to determine his own place in the world.

"You'll never have a son," his Ghost had said, "but it isn't too late for you to take an apprentice."

I love when non-Awoken describe Awoken, there's always something ethereal about it. But I'm mostly putting this part here because of what Saladin's Ghost says.

First, I am incredibly soft for older Guardians adopting younger ones as kids and teaching them. Easily my favourite dynamic ever. Saladin seeing Zavala as a son makes me cry a thousand tears.

And second, is this finally a full confirmation that Guardians cannot bear children? It's kind of a strange place to put it, but it seems to be the implication. It makes sense they wouldn't be able to, but it's also nice to have some direct lore information about it in case it pops up as a question. I'm sorry if this ruins anyone's fics.

Saladin remembers their sparring matches. He remembers how Zavala always got back on his feet, no matter how many times Saladin put him down. He remembers refusing to offer the younger Lightbearer a hand up. Until the day Zavala finally bested him in combat.

He remembers lying flat on his back, left shoulder dislocated and ribs shattered, a strange pressure on his chest that made it difficult to breathe.

"Finish it," Saladin had commanded because that was the way of things. His Ghost would revive him.

Saying nothing, Zavala hauled him to his feet instead.

I love how this is placed at the end, paralleling the beginning of Saladin remembering his deaths and the pain of dying. But instead of "finishing it," Zavala pulls him back up. It's definitely something Saladin hasn't experienced before, especially not before becoming an Iron Lord, when all of his deaths were just gruesome ends to a struggle. Then seconds after, he'd be back up. He took the revival for granted, until Zavala offered him the alternative. Again, an interesting perspective about something we don't usually think about much. I do wonder how Saladin healed afterwards though.

Saladin remembers all this and more when his former apprentice calls him into his office and tells him about the face behind the Crow's mask. Zavala says he knows that Saladin doesn't like secrets; that it's unfair to ask him to keep one of this magnitude, but there will come a time when the Crow needs someone—the way Zavala needed Saladin.

"You never needed anyone," Saladin insists.

Zavala only smiles.

This page ends with the two bonding again. Despite their differences and disagreements, there's mutual respect between the mentor and the apprentice. The father and the son.

And Saladin thinks Zavala never needed him, but that is obviously not true and Zavala tells him so. He also tells him that Crow, and implied Guardians like him, will need the same guidance.

It gives us a full circle back to Saladin's musings about his purpose as a Guardian and Lightbearer. He may have doubted his place in the world before, but seeing as he's still here with us and actively participating and helping; training us through Iron Banner, helping with the Eliksni, refusing to side against the Vanguard despite the difference in opinion, now serving as Zavala's ambassador for the Cabal and easily bonding with someone he would've considered an enemy not long ago...

I think Saladin knows his place. He's one of the strongest Lightbearers and most principled among them. He is not swayed by lies and deceptions, he does not abide by them and speaks plainly. He has deeply rooted beliefs in justice and he will not compromise himself, even if it means conceding his position to make peace with a former enemy when that enemy proves their worth, honesty and good intentions to him.

He is a Guardian.

He is an Iron Lord.

[algumaideia]

An analysis of Octavian

This post was actually going to be an explanation of why I think Octavian is an antagonist, but not a villain. But it ended up being an analysis of his character. 

SPOILERS

And as always feel free to disagree with me, just be respectful. 

Sorry, because it wasn’t well-written, I’m incapable of writing good texts. 

Backstory

I think it is important to say that since we don’t have any information about his backstory most of the thing said in this part of the review are what I think is his backstory. It is a mix of the facts stated in the books, the way Octavian acts and my interpretations. Besides the things I’ll make clear that were said in the books, the rest is not canon. And you don’t need to agree with me that this was his backstory.

His family is one of the richest of New Rome- In the books he also seems to act without fearing the consequences while taking the privilege/money of his family as garented. Octavian acts like someone that is seeking attention. It is so weird how he just do whatever he wants without fearing consequences when his family is right there in New Rome. For that to happen I think or his family neglects him or they are those kind of people who think the children can do no wrong and are all my baby didn’t do that. But I think that if they were the latter, they would be more present in Octavian’s life, but they are never there. 

He is an augere and feels very proud about it. I don’t think there is too much to add about it besides that I think he likes to be an augere because it makes him important and necessary.

No one likes him and this isn’t something new. In Son of Neptune, Hazel says half of the camp hates Octavian and most of his friends are bought. So, Octavian is a lonely child. And he is aware of this. He is a bad person, people dislike him for a reason. But it seems people have been disliking him for some years and he is a child. According to his wiki he was 10 years old when he came to Camp Jupiter for the first time, and he spent his tweens and teens years in a place where people did not like him. I don’t think this was a good place to grow up.

He is really smart and manipulative. I think that those traits are a little inconsistent. Because in the beginning of the SoN Percy says how Octavian is really good at manipulating people with words, but then in the ending of the book and in MoA everyone is shutting Octavian up. Isn’t he this kind of master of words, how he isn’t answering people back? 

We also know he’s been at camp jupiter for quite sometime. I’ll talk about it in another part of the post.

He is anemic and mentally ill. I’ll talk about those things in the Camp Jupiter, Treatment and Ableism parts. 

Other thing that I would like to say is that this post is not an attempt to ignore the bad things Octavian did and pretend he is not a bad person. It is just me trying to understand his better and show why in my opinion the fandom hasn’t treated him fairly.

Camp Jupiter

Camp Jupiter sucks and it does for a lot of reasons. Some of them being the fact they have a city full of adults and most of them were demigods trained in the camp, which means they have trained adults but instead tweens and teens are the ones who fights. Hazel said that if Percy dishonored the legion they both would be executed. Hazel also says that sometimes people die in the war games. There is also the fact that people are dying all the time in missions/wars. The Camp Jupiter also expects perfect behavior for its demigods, to them all know the rules and to do not commit mistakes and I don’t have adhd but this doesn’t seem to be a good place to people that has the disorder. There is too much preassure to do not do any wrong, apperently no emotional support and the punishments seems to be crazy. It’s not a healthy place to a chldren grow up.

Other point is how they value physical strenght, hand to hand combats and offensive approache more than a lot of things. Frank said how he wasn’t treated well because he was an archer, and this was seem as cowardice. Octavian is anemic, he doesn’t have physical strenght or energy to be able to fight. The only way to be respected in Jupiter's camp is to be a good fighter, and he cannot be that because of his illness. As I said Octavian is someone that is often seeking attention and validation by his peers, and I think that this is why being an augere is something so important to him. He cannot make himself important in the traditional way and by being an augere he is necessary to the camp. People cannot just dismiss him. He buys friends, he manipulates people, he becomes a centurion, he is always dominating the senate. He makes himself impossible to be neglected. 

Yes, Octavian is power-hungry. Yes, he is bad. But a lot of things he did during Heroes of Olympus was just Roman things (he was also mentally ill and his mental health was getting worse in each book). When Hazel says that Octavian will kill Percy if the greeks atack New Rome, but in the next sentence she says that Romans take oaths very seriously. However it is all written like it is Octavian being a horrible person. But it is not. The Romans are very harsh with their punishments, they seem to be violent, physical. When Octavian says the Romans should fight the greeks, he is just acting like a Roman, like someone who was raised in a enviroment that encouraged violence responses.

Treatment

Octavian wasn’t treated nicely by the narrative and other characters. I mean, this guy was the centurion of the first cohort and an augere. But no one seem to respect him. No one enters the legion without him saying yes (I know it is acording to what he sees) but he is treated like he isn’t important. He is the one that is responsable of saying what the gods wants, but no one seems to have problems mocking him. I mean fi he decides to give you a wrong information about what a god want you are dead. 

Hazel said how “obsessed” with the sibylline books Octavian and it was framed as him being irrational and dumb. But in the end he was right, if the legion listened to him Ella would have been save way sooner. But no, it is just Octavian being  “obsessed”.

Percy acts like Octavian doesn’t have any prophecy powers, but he saw the lighting in the Jupiter Temple. Then when Octavian is mad because there are three preators he acts like he is overreacting, and Jason and Reyna do nothing. And this is weird because it was made very clear that rules are very important to Camp Jupiter. 

When he decides to attack Camp Jupiter he is always villified and not seem as a mentally ill boy that has been getting worse doing the Roman thing. 

He is always dismissed, mocked, villified, ignored.

And the fact Luke was treated with sympathy, but Octavian not. Luke, who tried to kill Percy, a childre, a lot of times. Luke, who used Annabeth feelings and emotional attachment to manipulate her. Luke, who was 19-22 years old and groomed Silena, who was 14-18 years old. Luke, who poisoned Talia’s tree. Luke, who had no regards for Grover, the satyr that saved him. Luke was treated with sympathy. But not Octavian. Not the mentally ill child who was losing the touch with reality during the series. Not the guy who was just doing what he was raised to do. 

I mean, I don’t even like Octavian and I cannot stand it.

Gwen

Guys, Octavian did a lot of bad things but killing Gwen wasn’t one of those thing. It is so no sense for a lot of reasons. 

As we talked before he is anemic and he is also smart. This intelligent man, that is full aware of his physical limits, thought it would be a good idea to get in the midle of a chaotic fight? I don’t think so.

Some pages before that Percy hit Octavian and he fell like a straw man (according to the text, the first time I read it I thought he fainted). 

Octavian always makes things because of a purpose, he isn’t just being mean because. He does bad things because his actions will give him something. Killing Gwen wouldn’t help him with anything.

Frank for some reason decided to look to Octavian during that mess and that doesn’t make any sense. He is in the camp for a month at this time the guy should’ve already known that Octavian doesn’t battle, he only commands. He saw Percy fighting for a couple of seconds during the war game and was already able to say how he fought.

Octavian was without his knive, but just minutes before he fainted, he could have lost it when he fell.

Frank said that Octavian seemed interested and not worried. But this is not enough to blame the guy, this is not enough to assume anything execpt that maybe Octavian has low empath. 

Greeks

Octavian was a roman. To the romans the greeks didn’t exist anymore, and they were the enemy. 

So, a random greek shows up, spends some days at the camp, becomes preator, and two of your most important gods appear and give a lot of attention to this greek. This is really suspicious. This greek also says that the romans should work with the greeks so they can defeat Gaea. And why you should trust this dude? He doesn’t show respect for the Roman culture. Then this huge war ship appears and this suspect greek guy says that they all come peace and the romans should not attack. Obviously you don’t believe it, and what happens they attack! As the good roman you are, your answer is to attack the greeks back. 

The romans answers things with violence. This is why Reyna asked if Annabeth was a roman after the judo flip. This is why Hazel said she and Percy would be executed if he did a mistake during his period of probatio. Octavian was being roman. He was trying to protect and revenge his Camp against a long time enemy. 

Not saying everything he did about it was logical, but this is because of his upbringing and his mental health. 

Goals

I think it is really interisting the fact that Octavian main goal was to be a hero, not more powerful. Apollo didin’t say Octavian would become preator, he said Octavian would save New Rome. 

I mean, since Octavian wanted to be preator and then became the pontifex maximum, so the logical think it would be to him wants more power. But no he wants to be a hero. A hero is someone that is respected, admired, liked and even loved. All the thing Octavian isn't. Don't get me wrong, Octavian is a bad person, there is a reason people dislike him. But he is also a lonely child that is hated by most of the camp.

Ableism

Octavian is often described as crazy, mad, insane. In his first appearence Percy said Octavian had madness in the eyes, and this was the way of the narrative warning us he was one of the bad guys. He is obviusly mentally ill, his mental health is obviusly getting worse, but everyone ignores it. Everyone ignores it, execpt when they are describing how insane his laugh is, how crazy he looks, how intense his gaze is. Everyone ignores it, until they need to remind us he is one of the antagonists. 

Ending

The ending was terrible. 

Octavian was obiously having a psychotic break, he was stumbling, laughing “in an insane” way, and he didn’t realize his jewelry was in fire. And then what happens? Michael Kahale, the person he most trusted, his problaby only friends appeared, saw the situation and did nothing.

Octavian didn’t kill himself. He didn’t know his clothes were tied in the onager. It wasn’t a sacrifice. It was an aciddent. 

Nico stopped Will Solace who was trying to warn it because some “deaths are inevitable”. Nico, also a mentally ill character saw Octavian in the vulnerable state he was and did nothing to help him. And when Nico was seeing Octavian lunch himself to the sky he thought that this was a relief. No one was sad, no one thought this was a tragedy, no one cared. Octavian was dead and that was a relief. 

The guy was so desperate to be the hero and no one even cared about his death. It is horrible.

Another sorry for the weird tense of the text.

If you want to read this is my post about Octavian and Azula and how their mental illness were treated differently.

Best regards,

Me. 

Ps. We need to start talking how the way Bryce was written was ableist.

[allhailthecoffeegods]

A lonely kitty in Gotham

Chapter 1

Tired... Marinette was extremely tired. All she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sleep but instead she sat staring at the wall of her office in her small apartment she had bought and was now living in because her parents kicked her out.

Why was she staring at the wall you may ask? Short answer, she had finally done it! She had finally tracked down Hawkmoth and Mayura after 3 years of fighting she now knew both of their identities (Gabriel Agreste and Natalie Sancoeur) and not only that but she had an entire file filled with proof. Now all that was left was to take back their miraculous and hand them over to the police (not before cursing them first... obviously).

Unfortunately it’s not going to be as easy as it sounds. You see Marinette or Nettie which she goes by now was alone, completely and utterly alone.

No Parents, no family and no friends.

Three years ago Nettie had all of the above she was happy, she had a best friend Alya and a group of many friends from her class, she had two loving but slightly distant parents who ran the most popular bakery in all of Paris possibly even France and her amazing grandmother Gina who traveled the world and told her all about the crazy things she did (some of which she promised not to tell her parents about because it may have been considered breaking the law but nothing reallllly bad).

But all of that soon changed over the first year Hawkmoth terrorised Paris with his akuma and was later joined by mayura with her sentimonsters. Slowly she lost everything including her partner in fighting crime Mr.Bug holder of the ladybug miraculous.

Nettie is in procession of not only the black cat miraculous but also forcefully became the last remaining guardian of 18 other mini gods that are bound to jewels (excluding the butterfly and peacock (not that she would ever give them up because they are basically her family now and she will do absolutely everything to protect them)). How?

Running late to class 3 years ago she saved a (very) old man (186 years old to be specific) from being hit by a car, and for some reason that was enough for him to “gift” her the black cat miraculous as he saw her true chaotic soul and aura (it didn’t matter that she was only 13 YEARS OLD!) he thought it was a brilliant idea to turn her into a child soldier fighting a war against two supervillains more than double her age.

After and introduction to the one and only God of Destruction, who by the way is OBSESSED with the stinkiest of cheeses, she became one of Paris’ main superheroes Kitty Noir alongside her partner Mr.Bug who she guessed to be around the same age as her at the time. It was easy to deduct that he was going to be more of a problem instead of a partner due to his obsessive and intense flirting and lack of skills other than some possible fencing training, all in all he didn’t have a clue how to fight. He was also apparently extremely reckless... like more reckless than her pouring 2 energy drinks into coffee before downing it and has died so many times in a fight she now also has a close relationship with tiki the God of Creation having had to end the fight herself (honestly why did the old guy pick him because it seems like he didn’t even do a similar ‘oh help save me’ situation like he had with her otherwise the old guy would already be dead!) Even though she wasn’t that much better to begin with she did have some hand to hand combat training curtesy of Gina and her ‘friends’ (let’s talk about those later). And she was now training in martial arts and going to the gym to build more muscle and become better without the enhanced supersuit just incase (she also sticks a domino mask on before transforming because she’s paranoid okay and if she is ever forced to detransform she doesn’t want anyone knowing her identity right of the bat to use against her, okay!)

Alongside that she was also extremely smart (like genius level) great with technology and quick to come up with some absolutely insane but brilliant plans. This all resulted in her taking on more of a leadership roll whilst fighting akumas. Mr.Bug only got worse as time went on and her civilian life went downhill, it took 8 months for the old man (previous guardian of the miraculous and temporary mentor for 2 of the months) to become compromised and pass the roll onto her. And the first thing she did was take the ladybug miraculous back and erase the holders (Adrien Agreste her former friend) memories of being Mr.Bug.

The only problem with that was the battle Miracle queen where master fu (the old guardian man) was compromised, and so were all 8 of her temporary heroes except Viperion, holder of the snake miraculous, who had started to tour around the world with his farther Jagged Stone) this ment there were two consequences of taking The ladybug back, the first being she was now alone against two superpowered terrorists but also that she had to switch transformations at the end of a battle to be able to purify the Akuma and cast the miraculous cure to fix everything and yes that did include... resurrection of people who died in the cross fire.

Anyways, back to how Nettie is alone. Only a few weeks after the first attack, an exchange student transferred to the the newly dumbed Akuma class *sigh*. At first she seemed nice and had and was telling the class of her interesting life, her mother was a Italian diplomat and she’s traveled the world.

But Nettie had a bad gut feeling about Lila Rossi which unfortunately was correct. On her third day in the class she started gushing over how kitty noir aka Nettie dearest (obviously unknown to everyone else) saved her from and Akuma attack and they became “best friends”, to say Nettie was left speechless and confused at the lie is an understatement.

Regrettably Nettie was unable to prove her story was a lie because how would she know said superhero didn’t save her without revealing her secret identity.

But the girl carried on creating more and more outlandish claims, such as how she saved Jagged Stones cat on a jet runway (like come on seriously what airport would allow a CHILD of even a cat to run out onto the tarmac). But pointing this out was apparently a mistake which Nettie soon discovered in the girls bathroom after class. Lila sauntered in with a sickly sweet smile that was soon dropped when Nettie refused to give into this girls bullshit.

Hence she was pinned against the wall and threatened, that if she didn’t go along with lie-la’s lies she would lose everything she loved before leaving so she wasn’t caught. Not believing her Nettie continued to point out inconsistencies and facts that contradict her story’s but no matter how much proof was presented to the class lie-la was able to turn it around (meta theory coming into her head: maybe she wasn’t affected because of the miraculous magic) and plant the idea that Nettie was a bully into all her friends heads which apparently all share one brain cell ( or so she thought until Adrien confirmed he knew they were lies to but he was taking the ‘high road’ because nobody was getting hurt, it’s definitely not like lilas ruining all there future careers by promising favours and opportunity’s that will never come and convincing them they no longer need to put in any effort for their futures *insert eye-roll* ).

So life continued and her friends started to turn on little Nettie the scattered brained, clumsy girl who bent over backwards to protect and make sure they were all happy. It hurt more than words could describe the day Alya her BEST FRIEND led the class to turn their backs on her and declare they no longer want to be friends with a jealous bully anymore.

Luckily Nettie wasn’t akumatised but she came very close to it. The only things keeping her going were her duty to Paris and her family.

But as a consequence to that good luck, bad luck hit like a truck. She didn’t know for a few weeks until a guy named Jason called her parents to inform them that her favourite person in the whole world her amazing grandmother Gina had passed away in a accident somewhere in the United States. And if that wasn’t bad enough Lila also managed to place a seed of doubt in her parents around the same time. Life fucking sucked. She wasn’t able to process and grieve due to Hawkfuck still being around so instead she threw herself into creating her own business (NeTi Designs) doing commissions, did I mention she’s a talented fashion designer... no, well now you know. As well as diving head first into a very thorough investigation on mothfucker in between fighting Akuma, helping in the bakery, plus training and patrolling the city of lights for two hours each night.

Atleast she didn’t have to make excuses to not hang out with her ex-friends anymore heh heh *cough*.

Eventually this resulted in her parents questioning her on her disappearances from her room after randomly checking in one night while she was out patrolling and the conversation sort of went like this.

“Marinette, where have you been?! I just checked your balcony and you weren’t up their. It’s 2am” Sabine exclaimed when she dropped back onto her bed moments after detransforming. “Mamma I swear I was up there and I fell asleep in the corner near my pillows behind the deck chair. I just woke up from the cold and I thought I herd movement and panicked because ‘oh my gosh!’ Is it an Akuma but it wasn’t it was you mamma” Nettie responded with dramatic waving of her hands and a fake smile.

Sabine was NOT impressed and most certainly knew it was a lie but it was 2am and she couldn’t deal with this right now so she glared at her daughter whilst leaving her room through the trapdoor.

This continued for two weeks with both her parents randomly checking in. Nettie had to eventually relocate her research into a small apartment a few streets away from the library (which she paid for with commission money that nobody but her knew about especially since her business was doing well and she didn’t put it past her class to try and destroy that if they ever found out) and say she was studying to not be caught doing deep background checks on all her suspects, making files for every Akuma and tracking the butterfly’s on a app she created that has multiple resources available to the public ranging from an alert for attacks that can be activated all the way to videos she made in her hero persona showing things such as meditation or basic self defence that should only be used if they’re unable to get to a safe area away from the Akuma or to buy time to then get away depending on the powers of said Akuma. (Could also be useful in regular crimes like attempts at mugging)

This lead to longer disappearances to the point all her stuff that had any value to her or was related to business and miraculous matters (so basically everything) she was practically living there already. Not that she realised since she got maybe 5-6 hours of sleep and week? She was so enclosed in her little world when her parents decided they had enough (after multiple accusations of her sleeping around with older men and doing drugs (all tests came back negative because her choice of drug was caffeine) which where definitely lilas doing) her parents yelled at her to get out and never come back... so she did the only thing she had to grab where her pillows and fairy lights and she was out of the door, the situation was dubbed a future Nettie problem because ya know suppressing your emotions so the world doesn’t end.

(Authors note: I have plans on making this a series. Hope you guys like it 🙃)

[wondernimbus]

home — george weasley

pairing: george weasley x female!reader

prompt: after the battle of hogwarts, reader comes across a familiar face in paris and finds that he, too, needs healing.

T/W: brief mentions of death & blood, trauma, recovery, angst w/ a happy ending

a/n: i have never been to paris n have no idea what it’s like and it SHOWS but anyways .. please be mindful of the trigger warnings before reading!

The battle of Hogwarts left many people wounded.

It left behind marks of fractured bones and countless bruises from all sorts of dark curses and nasty jinxes; injuries that took a while to heal, but did, in the end, as most do. But while there were wounds that were temporary—those that faded and healed eventually—there were also those that didn't. Some scars stayed; the kind that were brought about by the pain of loss. Of trauma. Of witnessing death and destruction and carnage in the very walls the students of Hogwarts had come to call home.

They were children. Teenagers. They were young and barely even knew the workings of the world, but that hardly mattered because the wizarding world was at stake—and everyone who knew how to hold a wand had to fight. Including them. And even though they were supposed to be at school worrying about homework and petty things like crushes or which tie went with which shirt, instead they had to worry about far greater things; they had to worry about their lives and that of their friends, of their families. They had to fight in the crumbling stone corridors of what was once the Hogwarts castle, watching people die both because of them and for them, trying to ignore the bodies strewn across the ground in fear of finding a familiar face.

No one walked out of the battle unchanged, and just like so many others, [Y/N]—twenty-year-old [Y/N], who once dreamed of becoming a Healer but could no longer look at blood without hyperventilating and recalling memories of battle—returned home not quite the person she once used to be. She walked through her front porch and greeted her five-year-old sister with a poor attempt at a smile that only lasted for a few seconds before she'd started crying again.

Because, like every other child who'd fought that battle, she'd returned home bearing the burden of having killed someone. Of having failed to save a friend. Of having watched walls crumble in on people her age and some even younger who had so much life ahead of them but had it torn away in the blink of an eye.

She could have been one of them. She really could have.

But there she was, alive but not quite feeling like it, crumpling to her knees in front of her little sister as she hugged her as close to her as she could.

I killed someone, she wanted to say. They could have been someone's sister, just like you.

"Did you miss me?" were the words that left her mouth instead. And it was worth it—keeping thoughts like that to herself—because when her little sister pulled away, smiling, eyes gleaming with youthful innocence, [Y/N] believed that maybe, maybe there was a little sanity in this world left that she could hang onto.

Because the scars those memories leave behind aren't permanent. Nothing is, really—they just take a much longer time to heal. Those kinds of scars need patience and gentleness and comfort. Need understanding. Space. But most importantly, they need time.

So that's what [Y/N] gives herself. Time and space away from everything around her that reminds her of things she'd rather leave in the past. She finds herself traveling, even though her parents were against it at first—"You can barely even make your own food, honey, are you sure about this?"—they'd understood, in the end, that [Y/N] couldn't bear waking up in a place where everything held memories of war. The owls would come in the morning bearing news of recovery and rebuilding and those bloody obituaries. She'd made the mistake of looking at them once, only for her eyes to quickly land on a face she'd fought alongside during the battle. Some young Gryffindor boy no older than seventeen who wrenched her out of the way when a column had collapsed.

Colin Creevey.

That was his name, apparently, according to the cursive underneath his picture right next to the words may you rest in peace.

It took her a while to calm down after that. But the panic attacks always came. Her little sister once made the mistake of trying to surprise her once, by hiding behind her bedroom door and jumping out when she walked through it. [Y/N] had screamed, fallen to the floor, and started crying, and it frustrated her because she wasn't sure why but there was that horribly familiar, inexplicable feeling inside her chest that squeezed the breath right out of her and the tears along with it.

Even looking outside of her room window reminded her of Hogwarts' own stained glass windows. Of the sound they'd made when they shattered once hit by a curse gone astray. Of the fear she'd felt when Acromantulas crawled their way in through the window frames and devoured anyone in reach. Of all the blood.

The death. The screams.

She couldn't take it, so she left. it would take a while for her to come back—to heal—but she would. She knew she would.

— 

Paris is beautiful at night.

[Y/N] sits on a ledge overlooking the cityscape and watches the sun dip below the buildings.

Sitting so far up above everything else and not weaving through the stone alleyways, it looks different from here. Like a toy city. Tiny buildings sturdily built and easily moved. Sometimes it feels like she's on top of the world, towering over everything else as she watches the scene unfold before her like a moment frozen in time with the sunset reflected in her eyes. And sometimes they'd be filled with tears, but today they aren't.

In a city where everything is constantly moving, it's easy to forget things. Easy to lose herself in the bustling streets and the friendly people and the music that seems to come from everywhere she goes, always hanging in the air, the source unknown.

But when it's quiet—when she has no one but her thoughts for company and she sits away from everything else with her heart lodged in her throat and memories trickling back in despite her efforts to keep them locked away—that's when she remembers.

The blood. The death. The screams.

All the lives lost. The lives she couldn't save. The lives she took.

But she is healing.

It hurts, still. Of course it does. She doesn't think the pain really ever will go away, but it should, to an extent. And it will happen.

It will. She knows it will.

— 

When she comes across him—the boy with the smile like the sunrise and eyes like the stars, like diamonds in the sky, [Y/N] doesn't know right away what he will come to mean to her in the future.

She sits in a pub hidden somewhere along the cobblestone streets away from the main city. The bartender knows her by now, and she him; an old Muggle with a toothless grin and a kind voice. The first time she'd walked through the wooden door a few weeks ago he'd tried to ask her about her life—what she was doing in Paris, how she was liking it so far—the same way he would do to any traveler, but [Y/N] hadn't had much to tell him aside from the same story she'd practiced so many times before; that she was on vacation.

The Muggles buy it all the time. It's at times like those that [Y/N] is grateful for their obliviousness, and in a way, she finds comfort in how little they know. How they don't know about You-Know-Who, about the war, about everything that had happened mere months ago. Because it makes it easier for her to forget.

Until the wooden door to the pub opens and a familiar face walks through it, and [Y/N] is hit by reality again.

He doesn't notice her, at first, and strides straight to the bar. [Y/N] wonders if she's hallucinating—if somehow her mind has had enough of her pushing old memories aside and started making things up as a reminder of the past. But he's standing there and he's smiling at the bartender, who slides a tall glass of beer over the counter-top towards him.

"Thank you," [Y/N] hears him say, and then he's turning around and before she knows it they've made eye contact from where she's sitting in the corner of the room. A flicker of surprise crosses his face, and for a moment all the two of them do is stare at each other, both seemingly in just as much disbelief as the other.

[Y/N] does what's appropriate: she raises her hand in a wave.

Still looking incredulous, George Weasley's mouth falls open a little in what is probably a dubious laugh if [Y/N] were close enough to hear it. And then he's striding towards her table, sliding into the seat opposite her still looking pleasantly surprised.

"[Y/F/N], was it?" George asks her, and his eyes are still alight with wonderment.

She smiles at him. Nods. Wonders if he's thinking—remembering—the same things she is. "I didn't think I'd come across anyone I knew here."

"Can't say I was expecting to, either." He doesn't look like he is; he's grinning. But then again [Y/N] is too, and for a brief second she realizes once more how easy it is to pretend like everything is okay.

And judging by the look in George's eyes, he hasn't forgotten either. But they are so far away from Hogwarts. From home. From the remnants of war. So she decides not to address it, and even though it is unsaid, George decides to do the same.

She went to school with George. Just like everyone else at Hogwarts, she'd known him and his twin brother for their troublemaking antics, but to call them friends would be a bit of an overstatement; [Y/N] was a Hufflepuff and George a Gryffindor, and apart from the few classes they had together, she rarely ever had a chance to speak to him. But in the rare times that she did, she could tell that George was sweet and kind and certainly very witty. He would have made a good friend, if [Y/N] had been given the chance.

But they don't ask each other why they're there, thousands of miles away from England, because in a way they already know. So instead the pair of them talk about anything and everything else. About Paris. has [Y/N] been to the Eiffel tower yet? Yes, duh—it's the first place she went to. How was it? It was breathtakingly beautiful. George tells her that he thought so too, and asks her if she's heard of the festival next week. She tells him he hasn't and George tells her that he'd love to accompany her there if she wants to go.

And admittedly, part of [Y/N] wonders whether it would be better to turn him down. She could walk out of this pub and leave George Weasley, who brings back memories that she'd rather forget at the moment, behind, but the courageous part—the part of her that still takes chances and waits to see where they take her—nods and says, with a soft smile on her face, "I'd love that."

Come midnight, the pub closes and [Y/N] and George are practically kicked out, a little intoxicated but not enough to be drunk, waving exaggeratedly enthusiastic goodbyes to the barkeep who grins toothily right back at them.

They find themselves standing outside of the pub, faces dimly illuminated with orange from the street lamps lining the streets. George, with his hands shoved into his coat pockets, asks her where she's staying.

She tells him the name of the hotel she's been living at, and the smile on George's face is downright joyful. "Lucky me. I'm staying at a hotel not far from there," he tells her, grinning, and she can't help but grin right back at him.

And it feels like the proper time to be saying their goodnights and apparating away, but before she does, she finds a tiny sliver of bravery in her to address what has been looming above the pair of them since the moment they spoke to each other tonight. In a quiet, almost hesitant voice, like she's treading on thin ice, she says, "I heard about your brother." Her eyes are downcast, staring down at the stone underneath her feet. "I'm sorry about what happened to him. I truly am."

George falls silent. When [Y/N] brings her eyes back up to look at him, she almost, almost cries, because there's a pain in his eyes that [Y/N] has seen far too many times in the mirror. But he's smiling, anyway, and that just makes it all the more worse because there is nothing that hurts more in the world than pretending like everything is just as it should be when it's not.

In a quiet voice, he says, "I'm here for the same reason you are. I'm here to heal. To move on." Even under the dim lighting, [Y/N] sees the way he swallows like there's a lump in his throat. "And when I have, I'll head back home and pick right back up where I left off. But right now I'm just a twenty-year-old English bloke in Paris who's just come across a beautiful woman and wants to know if she'd be interested in spending the night with him in the city."

So maybe it's not quite time to say their goodnights. Not just yet.

[Y/N] smiles at him, with his smile like the sunrise and his eyes like the stars, and says, "Lead the way."

— 

George Weasley, [Y/N] learns, is a man of many charms.

George knows how to crack jokes when needed, how to make her laugh. George knows how to make her feel comfortable but not so much that he oversteps his boundaries. George always seems to know what to say and when to say it. But perhaps most importantly, George knows how to help her do the one thing she finds the most difficulty in doing: forget.

So in turn she does the same for him, and not much later than their opportune meeting at the pub hidden away from the city, they become friends. Or something more than it. What they are, [Y/N] really isn't quite sure, but all she knows is that she's found something in him that she wouldn't have if she'd decided to turn him down a month ago—and good grief, is she happy she didn't.

Because if she had, then she would have never learned that George likes his coffee sweet, with three cubes of sugar and lots of milk. She would have never learned that he has a fascination with anything related to electricity and only just barely suppresses his excitement whenever the pair of them would come across some form of Muggle technology he hadn't been aware of before. [Y/N], who is Muggle-born and is far too used to the "ordinary" world, finds amusement in his enthusiasm. (He damn near faints with excitement in his seat the one time [Y/N] drags him off to the movie theater to see a film.) [Y/N] also learns that George finds joy in poetry—something that comes quite as a shock to her, as he doesn't seem like the kind of person who would. But on a night out by one of the canal bridges, he turns to her and starts reciting something by Hamlet—"Have you heard of him? Old Muggle bloke, apparently, I think he's dead but he was quite good with words"—and [Y/N] stares at him, incredulous, and bursts out laughing.

"Well, aren't you romantic?" she teases, grinning, eyes curving when she smiles. "Reciting poetry on a night out in Paris. Really very touching."

George puffs out his chest, all pompous and suddenly very snooty. [Y/N] is laughing again, because she's started to do it a lot ever since they'd met. "What can I say?" says George. Judging by the slight smile on his face as he stares at [Y/N], he's pleased with her reaction to his antics. "I'm quite a passionate man."

George has a smile like the sunrise and eyes like the stars and a laugh that reminds [Y/N] of sun rays and clear skies. And it's odd because when she'd first seen him at that pub, she was instantly reminded of the war, but the more time she spends with him the more he reminds her of quite the opposite. George reminds her of a time in her life when she was at peace—when she was a young girl who didn't have to worry about blood on her hands and guilt on her shoulders.

But George, she knows, has worries of his own. And just like her, he's good at hiding them, until he chooses not to anymore.

— 

Two people alone in Paris who have gone through so much and lost so many. Two people who have found something that feels like peace in one another after everything they have been through.

George and [Y/N], who look at one another when they think the other isn't looking to admire the way the light catches in their hair. The curve of their throat. The way their eyes crinkle when they smile.

And it's only a matter of time before they finally find it in themselves to venture further into what has formed between them over the past three months they've been together, and before they know it they are kissing, gentle and slow and a little hesitant in [Y/N]'s hotel room, standing out by the balcony with that tiny city below them and the stars hanging above them.

[Y/N] learns that George's lips are even softer than they look. She learns that he kisses with a closed mouth. She learns that he is slow and intimate when he pulls her into bed, and she learns that he has truly come to value her when he asks her tentatively if she is sure she wants this.

[Y/N] learns, that night, just how easy it is to fall in love, how little effort it takes. How, the moment she tells him that yes, George, I want you and makes that brave decision to surrender herself to that almost constricting feeling inside her chest and she lets herself fall, that is all she has to do—fall. And let her heart do the rest.

Touching George's skin feels like falling into oblivion, and [Y/N] lets herself spiral down into him.

Come midnight, the two of them are still awake but only barely. George has his arm tucked underneath his head and the other on her waist, and [Y/N] with her head on his chest, arm draped across his stomach as she stares up at him, eyes dancing over the planes of his face like she's trying to memorize them.

There is a necklace around George's neck. [Y/N] can recall catching glimpses of the chain, but never of the pendant. She acknowledges it now, when the adrenaline in her has died out and is replaced by a drowsy sort of calm, by reaching out a hand to run her thumb across what looks like the metal arrow.

"This mean anything?" she whispers, and in the dim moonlight streaming through the window she makes out a picture at the base of the arrow.

She feels George tense underneath her, and knows the moment the light catches on the picture—the face imprinted on it—what exactly it means to him.

"Fred," she whispers, and it's not a question.

It takes him a while, but she feels more than sees him nod. And his voice is tight, riddled with emotion, but he gets his words out anyway and [Y/N] appreciates it, because she knows that talking about it hasn't gotten any easier. But he still does, because he trusts her enough and he has grown braver over time, and some of his wounds have begun to stitch themselves back together, even by a little bit.

"We have a clock back at home," he tells her, and his words stick in his throat for a second as he takes in a deep breath. His grip on her waist grows firmer, like he needs something to hang onto, and [Y/N] lets herself be an anchor to him. "It's got all of my family's faces on each hand. No numbers—just whereabouts. Work. Home. School. Garden. When we came back home after the battle, we found Freddy's on the ground."

Something wet lands on [Y/N]'s cheek. George has started crying.

"It fell off the clock," he whispers. [Y/N]'s heart breaks. "When he died."

And then [Y/N] is sitting up, gathering him into her arms despite him being broad-shouldered and so much bigger than her. At the moment he doesn't seem like it. Right now he is a boy who grieves the loss of his twin brother, and [Y/N] aches for him.

She knows far too well that no words will ever be able to soothe the pain, no matter who they come from. So all she does is hold him as close to her as she can, pressing comforting little kisses to the top of his head, his forehead, his cheeks, which are wet with tears.

Eventually, George falls asleep—or at least she thinks so, until she hears him whisper, just when the moon is beginning to disappear below the horizon, "Thank you."

Holding George in her arms feels like holding a promise, and seeing him lit softly by the final traces of moonshine, she thinks she might be able to keep it.

— 

But even still, part of her can’t help but fear that she might not mean as much to George as he has begun to mean to her.

When she wakes in the morning and finds that the other side of the sheets is empty, panic seizes her lungs and she scrambles out of bed.

Only to find that he is in the bathroom, washing his face, cheeks flushed pink from having just woken up.

But all it took was that one brief moment to realize how terribly big her bed is, and how cold, and how horribly empty without George to fill it.

And even though she knows fully well that George isn't the kind to make love and leave, she is still scared. Still a little uncertain. So she seeks reassurance, and her eyes shining with hopefulness, asks him to stay.

George, with his smile like the sunrise and his eyes like the stars, says—no—promises, "Of course I will."

—

When the two of them find the courage to come back to England many months later, it seems they've found a new kind of home—the kind that isn't made of walls or doors or windows but the kind that's built on promises.

Promises of healing. Promises that the two of them will bear the pain of the past together, and move through it together in baby-steps that may seem tiny but take a lot of courage.

And when George slides his fingers through the gaps in between hers as they apparate away, and the two of them leave behind Paris and return to England with scars that have faded but still remain, [Y/N] thinks, for the first time in a long time, that things might turn out to be okay.

[cyclicalaberration]

Naught But A Fool In The Body Of A God

(Gore + existentialism warning) A foolish gamers... character study? I think?

Totems were funny things. Made of gold and emerald, looking both very much and not at all like their creator. You could go your entire life never seeing one of them. It is a rare person who needs to to face a powerful and dangerous raid, or to track down a mansion, all of which are filled to the brim with Illagers, just to get lucky and catch an Evoker off guard.

Totems are particular about who they save, seeming to despise their own holders. Evokers almost always held one, but they couldn’t seem to use them.

They seem almost heretical, as though Death herself is only tolerating their presence. She does not seem the type to let a method of escape slide. Though, she is simply a collector, and totems can only be used once. Perhaps she created them, to give some sense of hope as she waited at the finish line, merely extending the bridge into the void.

That is not the case, however. The creator was a young god then, full of spite and bloodlust. He carved them in his image, gave them to those who followed him through lava and storms, across oceans and land. He was not a god of death but a god of dying, a conglomerate of souls of those slaughtered in his name. He is of much the same stock as gods of war and blood, power growing from violence and destruction.

He was older, though. Older than the concept of war. War implies thought behind destruction, implies plans. Dying is a natural aspect of life. Everyone is dying, ever so slowly. He was an intermediary, an active force on the field of Death, who, for all those who fear her, is quite passive.

You, most likely, do not fear death. You cannot, for you do not know what awaits you in her loving embrace. You fear dying. Your last breath leaving your body, laying still, moving for the very last time, thinking your very last thought. You fear the unknown and the end, the change. You do not know what comes after death and that strikes fear into your heart. You do not know what it is like to take your last breath, and that haunts you.

This young god, so new and so primordial, hunted. If he stopped moving, stopped hunting, stopped killing, he’d fade away and die. He sent his followers to hunt, to pillage, his need for souls insatiable. They hunted, and they warped, skin greying and eyes darkening. They began to shift from human to something else, something other. Infused with his power, they hunted, leading groups to hunt down more sacrifices to their god.

He grew in power, grew in strength. Death herself watched, for he was just like his creations. He was a totem, serving a greater power. He was sculpted from gold, inlaid with emerald eyes, given the wings of all her favored creatures, and he engraved himself with stories of his past, his triumphs, his losses, things he wanted to hold close to him forever.

--

Blood runs through the canals of those engravings, a trident plunging into the chest of the next breathing mortal, and the god, whose name has been long since lost, laughs. Another one came for him, not learning the lesson of its companion, and a sword is driven through their heart, buried up to the hilt, freed moments later by the golden flames eating at its nervous system, reduced to ash in seconds. He brushes them away as one would brush away eraser shavings.

Bodies lay strewn across the field when he’s finished, a one-sided war, headed by a mortal he’s already forgotten, over some sin he no longer cares to remember.

A chuckle rings out from behind him, and he whirls, sword drawn. “That’s quite the display.”

They were half-buried in a fog, extremities concealed in the mist that he knows for a fact wasn’t there. Their eyes glow with hunger, with spite, with a thousand emotions he couldn’t even begin to untangle. It hurts to look them in the eyes too long.

“A lot of flair for some bodies nobody will even see. Nobody but me, of course.”

“What can I say, I’m an artist.”

“Or a zealot.”

“What’s the difference? You won’t have the breath to tell anyone.” He swings his sword, runes glowing. Whoever they are, they will soon be ash, soaked by their own fog, as fire eats them from the inside out.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. My father wouldn’t be happy, he’s not nearly as forgiving as me.” He whirls again, seeing white eyes and a ruffled shirt, mere feet from his face, leaning back against nothing. He gets the feeling that they’re looking at him, truly looking at him, and he chokes, breaking his gaze away from swirling, dancing white, blank but never empty.

“How-”

“Foolish, that’s what you are. A fool.” The mortal- No, they are not mortal. No mortal stares a god in the eyes and calls him a fool. “Why do you fight?”

--

His companion smirks at him. He grins right back, rows of teeth glinting in the light of the enchanted blades. Centuries of fighting together made them a well practiced dance, a machine of blood and souls. Three arrows pierce the hearts of the guards, falling wordlessly from their towers. That’s all the warning they get. Before the night is out, blood flows so thick it sits for years, soaking the wood and drowning the now-ashen grass.

His companion’s footsteps wither and rot the wood on which they stand, warping it beyond recognition. They work their way to the center of the fortress, people charging to their deaths, impaled, sometimes, by naught but the thorny whips of their enchanted armor.

The stone crumbles beneath their feet, and the god would feel the effects, if he were not himself a statue, life breathed into him by the very goddess who steals it, made of pure gold, which doesn’t tarnish, doesn’t decay. Tapestries crumble to dust as his companion runs their hand along them. The god tosses a mortal to the side, its body lying crumpled, its soul buzzing as he adds it to his own. Another voice layered over his own, another voice to buzz with every angry word.

His companion grips a guard by their chin and laughs as it crumbles to dust beneath their hands.

The general of the army falls, and they dance in the blood of their enemies, spin in the blood of their victims. The hem of the smaller god’s dress sprays droplets of blood as they twirl, the god of dying laughing as his friend grabs his hands, dancing in victory, in elation, in completion. They propel themself into the air and spin him. They move as a unit, as they did in the heat of battle.

Later, the god will sit, stare at his companion, and say “You once asked me why I fight.” That day is not today. Today they will both fight, dance in the blood of their enemies, and move on, the fortress a shell of its former self, growing over with vines, breaking apart.

--

Two gods, a god of dying and a god of withering and ash, rest in a small village on the bank of a river. The withering god rests against a tree, long ago struck with lightning, telling a story to the village children, as the god of dying laughs, interrupting them with his own commentary on just how comically wrong they’re telling it.

It has been decades since they drew first blood, traveling for weeks at a time, collecting, remembering, rather than destroying. Fights found them, of course, mobs never learn, but fewer mortals have fallen to their stained hands in the past century than in their best year previous.

They still delight in the occasional bloodbath, if the chance arises, but as the world shifts towards calm, they drift away from senseless slaughter and towards traveling.

They pass by cities, or the ruins of what once were, and they ask themselves, “Was that our doing?” and they do not know, hundreds of civilizations having fallen to their blades, their arrows, and their fire.

But they sit, ancient, immortal warriors, telling stories to children, their hands still caked in more blood than these children will ever see.

Later, the god of dying will say to his companion: “I fight because destruction is control. Nothing exists that I cannot destroy, nothing exists that I cannot control,” but that day is not today. Today they laugh at incorrect accounts of tales they experienced, true histories lost, new memories formed. Today the god of withering and ash closes their eyes, and the god of dying makes the skies dance with light for the descendants of people they long-ago killed.

Later they will reflect. Today they will reminisce.

--

Two gods part ways, on a mission from Death. They will meet again, but it will not be the same. The god of dying, of storms, and of the ocean and all that that entails smiles down on his old friend, their white eyes glowing with hundreds of memories.

“I’ll see you soon, Old Pal.”

“See you soon.” They turn down different roads, one a path of explosions, of wars, of power-grabs and monarchies, and one down a path of self-reflection.

Their paths take them to the same destination: Redemption. Neither take the same road there, and neither path is straight, but it never is. And redemption is a place not easily found, but easily lost, easy to slip back into old ways for moments at a time, on a godly timescale.

The god of dying takes the name Foolish, a reminder of his past. He arrives in a strange land, full of holes and trauma and death. The place reeks of hubris. It makes him sick. It makes him hungry. The hunger curls in his stomach and the stench gives him a sickening headache, so he runs. Runs far away, and he builds.

Builds for control, builds for stability. Builds are his one constant, gigantic pyramids and sculptures and he can’t stop. His temple expands. A man, a man he has seen, a man who feels like too much and too little, too much in one body, a vacuum and a black hole, asks him for a kingdom. Simple enough. A child approaches him, telling him to build a mansion, a mansion larger than a country, for him, his husband and their son. He will be paid. He is not paid nearly enough.

--

A demon, a cat, and a not-quite-human man encroach on his summer home. They reek of vines and death, and Foolish loses his composure. They doubt his power. They threaten his home and he smiles with too many teeth and grows, grows to his full size. His eyes glow. They taunt him, threaten him.

“I’m a peaceful man, Ponk. But if I must defend myself, I can.”

“Defend yourself against this, then, Foolish.” Ponk hurls a trident at him, glancing off him, a mortal not strong enough to pierce his skin. He’s a fool, more a fool than the man who took it as his name. That is his weapon, carved of prismarine and ivory, more his domain than any other. For a moment, the god tastes blood.

“I may be a totem of undying, but in the past, I have been a totem of death.” He calls power to his fingertips, lightning in his eyes. “It’s not just one thing, Ponk. It's never just one thing. Have you ever tasted lightning? Smelt the ozone in the air, seen it dance across your skin before you black out from the pain?”

“Do you see where we are, Foolish?” In Ponk’s mind, the name is fitting. He has never seen a storm called from nothing before. Never seen a storm called at all, only harnessed. He disbelieves.

“It does not matter. A sunny day does not matter.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Let me show you.” He smiles, rows of teeth bloodied with the lives of thousands, millions of mortal souls. His voice layers, thousands of voices, screaming to be heard. The crack of lighting lands mere feet from the three. “Now begone from this place, and I don’t ever want to see you here again, am I clear?”

The vines must be resolved. The egg continues to hunger, but he has hope, hope that there is a piece of mortal soul left in them, a piece of morality that wishes to be free. He does not give up hope.

--

The gods’ paths cross again in a city, the totem and the king. A city drowning in red, twisting, oozing vines, calling out for blood. They spend hours weeding, burning red vines and laughing. His friend no longer flies, his friend hides their once-beautiful eyes, but they’re the same. They do not remember him, but they are the same.

“Foolish, have I ever shown you my eyes?” Of course they have, and he says as much. “I’m going to show you again, just in case.” Their eyes dance, with confusion and worries, and a deep-seated fear of rejection.

“Yeah, that’s the Eret I’m thinking of! The one with white eyes, the one with the netherite armor!” Foolish looks concerned, but this is nothing that they can’t fix. They’ve fought armies together, a few missing memories aren’t going to make him give up on them.

They attend a banquet. They dance for the first time in centuries, spinning in circles to the music played by that infernal catmaid. They attend a banquet and it goes south, hard, as all parties attended by gods do. It goes south and he makes use of his totem nature, wrapping around their heart, taking their place. They will not die to the monstrous egg before they get to dance together, and reminisce.

Soon, the god will say to his old friend, that he builds to replace. He builds to counteract the destruction he caused, and it will not replace the lives lost, but it adds something new, something beautiful to this harsh reality, but that is not the truth. The truth is, he creates for the same reason he destroyed.

--

Soon a mortal man in a cardboard mask will tell him that he let him die. Soon, he will be taunted by a mortal man, full of hubris, who says that his builds mean nothing, are nothing, bring nothing to the world, and a part of him will think the mortal man is right. A part of him whispers that he is selfish. That his ways are wrong. That he must pick up the sword once again, bleed mortals for their souls.

He will shove that part deep inside, and he will remind the man that no good comes of blood. He will tell the man that he too once believed that death was the answer, death would give control, but he will tell the man that he was wrong, and that he will be too.

You either die a monster, vengeful and wicked, or you grow. You adapt, you create, you reconcile. Some may never forgive, but many will. Mortals only get one lifetime, he must make the most of it.

He will not say that though. He will sit up against the side of his sphynx and sew hundreds of thousands of tiny dolls, breathing life into each one, giving each one a small hard hat and a job, so he will never be alone. He will build, children safe in the ender cradle, and he will give himself time to think. He will stop moving, for one moment, and he will not die. He may be the god of the seas, but he is not a shark. He keeps moving, a perpetual motion machine, purely out of fear of what his own thoughts bring, and he truly lives up to the name given to him so long ago. Foolish. For he is naught but a fool in the body of a god.

[four-loose-screws]

FE8 Novelization Translation - Chapter 7, Section 2

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations

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———————————

I call this a “section” because it is not a separate part of the chapter in the book, but divided from the rest of the chapter by a scene break.

———————————

Chapter 7: The Girl With Wings (con’t)

The trip back took many less days than the trip out, and in the end, Eirika’s army returned to the Frelian capital.

Compared to the devastation of the rural regions, Frelia’s prospering capital did not show even a sign of the darkness that was clouding the continent. Life there was as rich and refined as ever. Along the capital city’s main street were shops overflowing with high quality goods, and men and women in sophisticated dress laughed and conversed with each other as they came and went.

When Eirika’s army saw such glory, their days fighting monsters and attacking bandit hideouts felt as far away as a dream. 

When they returned to the palace, the person to come rushing out to greet them was none other than Tana herself.

The moment she received the news, she could not wait patiently in the reception hall any longer, and ran all the way to the gate. 

And when she saw Ephraim riding his horse next to Eirika, she blushed. "Ephraim! Um, you are Ephraim, right…? You're safe!"

Ephraim jumped down from his horse and walked over to her.

She clasped her hands together and looked up at him. "I prayed every day that you two would be safe. I prayed harder than I ever have in my entire life."

"Sorry for making you worry, Tana."

“It’s okay now, since you two made it home safe! I’m so happy! And that’s not all! We finally received the message from Brother that says he’s coming home soon!”

“From Innes?” Ephraim’s face hardened for a split second.

He and Tana’s older brother, Prince Innes, had never gotten along. It was likely because their personalities were the complete opposite. Ephraim was big-hearted and cheerful, and would never sweat the small stuff, whereas Innes was serious and uptight about every little detail. Even as a child, he rarely smiled.

Whatever Ephraim did, Innes found fault with it. And because Ephraim would pay no attention to what he said, while they wouldn’t fight, even the smallest disagreement would further drive an unrepairable wedge between them.

-

Prince Innes returned to the castle before long. Eirika and Ephraim went with Tana to greet him.

Tana looked happy, but she did not show her excitement like she did when Eirika and Ephraim returned, as Innes did not like it when she made too much of a commotion. She looked up to her serious brother, but also feared him a little bit.

“Welcome home, Brother! I’m so happy you’ve returned home safely….”

Innes glared at her.

Though he had just returned from a harsh battle and a long journey, he did not look even slightly tired. He was as prim and proper as ever, with not a wrinkle in his clothing nor a hair out of place.

“Of course I have. Did you really think that Grado riff-raff could hurt me?”

“N… No. Of course I didn’t. But still…”

“Don’t say “but.” It’s such a nuisance.”

“I’m sorry.” Tana looked down at her feet. 

While Eirika felt bad for Tana, Innes’ manner of speaking and attention to detail was the same as ever, and made her feel nostalgic.

His personality was in no way malicious, and he did not mean to bully his little sister, rather, he actually doted on her as much as Ephraim doted on Eirika. However, because he was so serious, he almost always behaved like a strict teacher with her. Eirika remembered him always searching for her with his brow furrowed the moment she disappeared from his sight when they were children.

Ephraim smiled awkwardly and extended a hand towards Innes. “Long time no see, Innes.”

“...Ephraim.” Innes’ expression slowly hardened, and his tone became increasingly sharp as he continued to speak. ”I have received word of Renais’ fall. It is shameful to see it be occupied by Grado.”

Ephraim’s expression was just as stern and determined not to falter nor lose to Innes.

But Innes' tone did not soften. “I warned you of this in the past. Your defenses were too weak for a country boarding a large nation like Grado. I think this was always the obvious outcome.”

Tana could not simply stand by. “Brother…!” She cut in. “You don’t have to speak like that, even if it is true! Imagine how much Ephraim and Eirika must be suffering… Their father is gone!”

“What happened to King Fado is a pity.” Innes’ expression softened for a moment, but his eyes stared at Ephraim just as harshly as before.

“However, there is no time to grieve. Defeating Grado and ending this war is likely the best way to honor his memory. I apologize.” Knowing that saying anything more would be meaningless, Innes turned his back on everyone and walked away.

Tana stayed behind and apologized sadly, “I am sorry, Ephraim, Eirika. Brother… I’m sure he didn’t mean anything wrong by what he said, but he was still too harsh…”

“It’s fine, Tana.” Ephraim said with a sigh. His stiff facial expression softened and returned to normal. “I know he hates me. I’ve already gotten used to how he speaks.”

“He doesn’t really hate you! He just thinks of you as a rival!” Tana whispered. “He’s been like that ever since he was a child. As a warrior, a human being, and a man, he almost always puts all his effort into never losing. And his way of speaking is just…” 

“Not another word.” Innes had amazing hearing. Even though he was seemingly far enough away from them, he overheard their conversation and walked back over.

Tana jumped and hid behind Ephraim.

Just as he was about to yell at Tana, Innes decided against it, then turned towards Ephraim and said bluntly, “A meeting is about to be held in the hall. You and your sister should attend.”

“Understood. There is something that I need to tell everyone..”

“I will go as well.”

After Eirika and Ephraim responded, Tana poked her head out from behind Ephraim. “Then me, too!”

“This has nothing to do with you.”

“It does too! I’m the princess of Frelia…”

“A war meeting is no place for a child. Go to your room.”

“But…”

“I told you to stop saying that, didn’t I?”

There was nothing she could do. Tana was visibly frustrated, but she had no real argument and couldn't fight back against her brother.

The princess returned to her room, and Eirika and Ephraim went with Innes to the hall.

-

The generals and chief vassals gathered together, and when the king entered the room to start the meeting, the tone was very cheerful.

That did not mean that the current state of the war was unquestionably good, but that Innes and Ephraim's return brought hope to the anxious people in the city. King Hayden's expression was also much brighter than when Eirika had first left.

First, the king expressed his words of gratitude to the two princes. After that, he tried to extend his blessing to the chief vassals, but Innes, who preferred to be concise no matter the situation, stood up.

"I don't want to waste time. Allow me to get straight to the point."

King Hayden frowned, but nodded slightly to his son. "Very well. Then let us begin. Innes, please give us your report of the current state of battle to the south."

"The Frelian Army is continuing to fight the Grado Army near the border. As it currently stands, our army has the upper hand. We also have soldiers to spare, so I believe that we do not have any reason to worry."

Expressions of relief spread across the row of chief vassals.

King Hayden nodded, satisfied, and also seemed to be in deep thought. "...However, I still cannot believe it. Invading suddenly and without warning, goes against everything we’ve ever known the Grado Empire to do. The emperor is praised across the continent for his virtue. Such a barbarian act would be unthinkable for him.”

Eirika mustered up all of her strength and stood up, gathering the attention of everyone present. "There is something I would like to say about this. While fighting to save Brother, I came close to people from Grado many times, and discovered the answer. They said that the Grado emperor’s true motive is to destroy the Sacred Stone in each country.”

As she had already explained this to King Hayden, he was not surprised, however, the same could not be said for his vassals. Many gasped, some nearly jumped out of their chairs, and the entire room broke out into a commotion.

The king raised his hand, quieting everyone. “Upon receiving this report, we strengthened the defense around Frelia’s Sacred Stone. We would be able to intercept the Grado Army even if their elite Wyvern Knight unit attacked. There is no need to worry.”

Hearing that calmed Eirika for the time being.

‘If Renais had been able to prepare beforehand, then…’ A pang of regret made her chest feel heavy. Prince Innes’ harsh words had been right. They’d become too used to peace. What happened was their punishment for neglecting their country’s defenses. Now, even if she regretted what happened, it was no use.

“Still, even knowing that, there is something that I do not understand. What does Grado stand to gain from destroying the Sacred Stones…?”

“Perhaps they are plotting to destroy all of the other nations’ Sacred Stones, and weaken their defenses?” One of the generals suggested. 

But Ephraim answered, “No, that cannot be it, because the Grado emperor said that they destroyed their own stone first.”

“What…?”

Everyone in the room looked at each other with expressions of disbelief. It wasn’t an unreasonable response by any means. Even Eirika, who had heard the full story from Natasha already, still felt that she couldn’t believe it.

The Grado Empire’s Sacred Stone… she remembered when Lyon had told her about the wondrous power it held.

-

"What I think, Eirika, is that the power of the Sacred Stone should be used to make everyone live happily. It’s been said that the Demon King’s power was sealed away within it during the ancient war. The Demon King no longer exists, but the world is still full of sadness and suffering. So I thought, ‘If I use the Sacred Stones, I can seal away all of those terrible things, can’t I?’ I want to create a world where no one is unhappy, and everyone can laugh throughout their lives." He said shyly. 

As Eirika listened to him, it warmed her heart.

The ideal he told her seemed like a vague dream, and could be seen as lacking any true weight even for a crown prince. But Eirika loved the earnest look in his eyes. He always worried about those suffering from poverty and illness, and it pained his heart greatly. She loved that kindness of his.

"You'll surely become an amazing emperor." She responded.

He shook his head in surprise. “I'm nowhere near ready yet… I am still far too inexperienced…”

-

That memory already felt like it had happened so long ago, but only about a year and a half had passed since they last spoke as friends.

How could things change so much in just a year and a half? Lyon’s dream for Grado’s Sacred Stone had already been destroyed by the very father he respected so much. No matter what his thoughts were now, he must be suffering...

“I don’t know if these two things are related, but…”

At the sound of her brother’s voice, Eirika snapped out of her reminiscing and looked up. He was looking around at everyone as he spoke.

“I have actually heard a concerning story as well.” Ephraim waved towards the door to the hall.

He must have said something to the guards earlier, as they seemed to know exactly what he meant by the signal and opened the door, inviting in a little girl who’d been waiting outside.

It was Myrrh. She had changed out of the simple clothing she’d worn while on their journey, and was now nicely dressed. She was standing up straight now, and looked even cuter than before.

She entered the room, maintaining her polite and proper posture as she walked, then kneeled down on one knee in front of the king.

King Hayden was confused that the prince had brought in a girl he’d never seen before, and looked at Ephraim. “Who is this girl?”

“Her name is Myrrh. Myrrh, this is King Hayden of Frelia.”

Myrrh nodded and bended over slightly.

Eirika, who’d been watching the events unfold and wondering what was going on herself, gasped.

Two giant wings spread out from Myrrh's back.

While they were traveling, she must have folded them up to make them small enough to hide. The billowing outfits made with a large amount of fabric that she’d worn must have been specifically to hide her wings.

Everyone in the room started talking all at once. Myrrh looked over at Ephraim with a nervous expression on her face as she stood back up.

“Myrrh, please explain to everyone what you told me.”

“...Could you tell them please, Ephraim?” She whispered in a voice that became quieter and quieter with each word, while refolding her wings with a light shuffling sound. Once she put on the cape she was holding in her arms, no one in the room could see any trace of them.

Ephraim started to tell the story. “She explained to me that she is a descendent of the ancient dragon tribe.”

“A Manakete…” King Hayden whispered in complete shock, and nodded slightly.

“Yes, that is correct. That is the name we use for her kind in our folklore.”

Eirika had never heard it before, but King Hayden went on to explain it.

“It appears many times in our folklore about the Sacred Stones. The Manakete are neither human nor monster, but an entirely different race."

As he spoke, the king’s eyes, full of emotion, were fixed on Myrrh. He couldn’t seem to shake off his surprise that a member of the tribe of legend was standing right in front of him.

Ephraim once again urged Myrrh to speak. She was still shy, but this time opened her mouth.

"We… lived quietly and peacefully in the Darkling Woods. But, one day, we felt an ominous energy.”

“An energy…?”

"It came from the south. We felt a very bad, scary energy."

Eirika pictured a map of the continent in her head.

The Darkling Woods was a forest region located roughly in the center of the continent. From ancient times, it was a land that humans had not entered, and was the one territory left that no country ruled over. And to the south of it was...

"Grado." Ephraim declared.

Myrrh nodded and continued. “My friends and I went to see what that energy was. But along the way, we became mixed up in the war, and were separated. After that, a group of bad people stole my Dragonstone. As they were about to capture me, Ephraim saved me.”

“I didn’t believe her story at first either. Manakete were just a thing of legend to me. However, when I saw her wings, I could not deny it. I don’t know what this “ominous energy” that she speaks of is, but I thought it might have something to do with Grado’s sudden invasion, so we decided that she would come with me.”

“Manakete were just a thing of legend to me.” ...Those words made Eirika think of the monsters she’d seen in the Za’ha Forest.

She’d thought of monsters as just a thing of legend, and would never forget her surprise when they appeared before her very own eyes. Manakete and monsters were different, but it wasn’t likely to be a coincidence that the two types of living creatures who had kept themselves hidden from humans since ancient times appeared before them at the same time...

Myrrh seemed to sense Eirika’s uneasiness, as she said, “Even now, I can still feel the ominous energy. It is the reason why the monsters that have slept for so long are beginning to awaken. I want to stop it.” Her voice was resolute.

Eirika thought of Myrrh as a mysterious girl that acted very mature of her age, but now that she knew she was a Manakete, she could believe it. Though she looked like a human, her ancient race had very long lifespans. She was surely decades… or even hundreds of years old.

 The serious and grave story they’d just heard left everyone at a loss for words. Not a single person was making a sound when they suddenly heard a loud noise.

The door burst open and several soldiers came rushing in.

The young soldiers were so worked up that they entirely forgot proper etiquette, and did not even bow before shouting at the king, “We have an urgent report, Y-Your Majesty! The Tower… The Tower of Valdi was raided, and the Sacred Stone was…!”

The moment he heard the words “Sacred Stone,” all of the color drained from the king’s face.

Eirika swallowed and looked at the soldiers.

“It was destroyed! By the Grado Army!”

“Wh… What? That can’t be!” The king panicked and stood up. “We should have had enough soldiers stationed there! We secured the defenses so well that they should have even been able to withstand an air raid!”

“They were led by two of Grado’s six generals… Tiger Eye Caellach, and Fluorspar Selena. Our army fought back, but was crushed in only half a day…!”

Eirika jumped when he said Selena’s name.

It was the name of the composed and beautiful female general she’d met in the mountain village that was attacked by bandits.

She’d said that there were no borders when it came to the lives of ordinary citizens, and given her all to try and protect the people of Renais… And Eirika remembered that she’d left their encounter with the impression that such people existed even within the Grado Army.

Seth, who’d been listening in complete silence from the back until now, quietly began to speak.

“Fluorspar Selena is the name General Dussel gave her. I’ve heard that the emperor also trusts her very much.”

“To send a main force like that… Do they really wish that strongly for the Sacred Stones to be destroyed?" A rush of exhaustion overcame King Hayden, and he collapsed in his chair. “I don’t know… What Emperor Vigard could possibly be thinking…? This ominous energy… Grado’s invasion… the destruction of the Sacred Stones… Just who is trying to do what…?”

“Father, now is not the time to stand by and watch!” Innes was the first to break out of his trance, and stood right back up. His piercing voice echoed through the room and snapped King Hayden back to reality as well.

“You’re right. Now is not the time to lament what has happened. If we do not act, things will only get worse. First, we must warn every country that houses a Sacred Stone. Renais’ and Frelia’s stones have been destroyed, so that leaves Jehanna’s and Rausten’s. We must protect their stones at all cost. We will tell them that they are in danger, and offer to fight alongside them.”

“I will go.” The first to step forward was none other than Innes. “This situation is extremely abnormal and difficult to believe. If we send a random person, then Jehanna and Rausten may or may not believe them. But if the prince of Frelia himself visited them, they would not be able to refuse us.” His words were full of pride. 

King Hayden looked at his son with eyes full of hope and trust. “But you’ve just returned from battle. Can you deploy so soon?”

“Of course. I will leave right away for the Kingdom of Jehanna, and form an alliance with them.”

“I apologize. I’m probably the one who should really go…”

“What are you saying? You cannot leave the country at a time like this. I will go.”

“Then I will go to Rausten!” Eirika shouted.

Ephraim’s eyes widened at her declaration. “What are you saying, Eirika!? We just came back, didn’t we? You can’t push yourself…”

“Inness is right. This situation is not a normal one. We can’t help being tired and in danger no matter where we are. And Rausten is closer than Jehanna. We’ll be there in no time if we take a ship up north. It won’t be dangerous.”

“...You’re right.” Ephraim realized just how serious his little sister was, and nodded. She may seem docile, but no one knew better than her twin brother that once she’d spoken, her mind would not be swayed.

“Then I will march to the Grado capital.”

“What…?” This time, King Hayden looked like he had stopped breathing. “What are you planning to do, Ephraim? Are you really going to invade Grado from here…?”

“Yes. If the capital is seized, then the war will be over. It would be best to end it as soon as possible, wouldn’t it?”

“You can’t. It is too reckless. The Grado Empire’s power is great… The force guarding the capital will be far stronger than the one that invaded Renais. And some of the other generals, particularly General Duessel, remain at the emperor’s side…”

Ephraim’s face clouded when he heard Duessel’s name, as he had once traveled to the capital to study the lance under General Duessel. The general’s sincerity had a profound effect on him, and he deeply respected him.

However, now was not the time to waver. “If they are my enemy, whoever they may be, I will have no choice but to fight them.”

King Hayden was amazed by Ephraim’s words. Hidden within his eyes, opened wide in surprise, was nostalgia for a time long gone. He relaxed suddenly and smiled.

“Please… don’t remind me of Fado. Your father was also a man known for his boldness. When he was young, he always made everyone around him so anxious…”

He was probably thinking about the old friend that he had lost. Eirika could see tears in his eyes.

But when he continued speaking, his voice was resolute. “Very well. Then I will entrust everything to you three. Innes will go to the Kingdom of Jehanna. Eirika will go to the Theocracy of Rausten. And Ephraim will go to the Grado Empire. Since you are each going in three separate directions, I cannot provide any of you with a large army. You will likely have difficult roads ahead of you…”

Ephraim nodded towards the king, then looked at Eirika and Innes. “If even one of us were to be defeated, then we would lose the war. Do not make any mistakes.”

“I wo-”

‘I won’t.’ Eirika tried to say, but Innes cut her off.

“This is me you’re talking about. Do you think I would fail?”

Ephraim shrugged his shoulders lightly. 

Eirika said, “I will fulfill my duty! You two be careful as well!”

-

At King Hayden's order, they each quickly began to prepare for their departure.

Though they were busy, Eirika and Ephraim managed to find time to speak to each other while slowly walking down one of the castle’s corridors.

Ephraim whispered, "If I were to be honest, I would say that I do not want you to go. Though you've gotten stronger, you are a woman, so I'd like for you to wait for me here."

"There is no need for you to worry about me."

Eirika smiled. When they were children, Ephraim had always had a habit of saying to others  “Don’t baby her just because she’s a girl!”

She also remembered when he would say to her, “You shouldn’t be quick to cry just because you’re a girl!” and drag her along with him as if she were a boy.

She wondered if that philosophy of his had changed now. But when she realized that he was just concerned about her from the very bottom of his heart, it made her smile.

“My journey to Rausten will be much easier than yours or Innes’... so much so that I want to apologize. I’m the one who should be worried about you! It’s too dangerous to face the Grado Empire head-on!”

“Me? There’s no way I would lose to Grado, is there?”

Despite his terrible relationship with Innes, they sounded just like each other. They themselves might not realize it, but they did have their similarities. They may look like total opposites on the outside, but their confidence and strong wills were exactly the same.

“You know I know very well of both your talent and luck.”

“It’s not luck. It’s all talent.”

“Of course. But Grado is just so strong that you can’t keep letting your guard down.”

“I know that. I do not pick battles that I cannot win. I will not die and leave you all alone.” Ephraim suddenly squeezed her hand.

It surprised her. His hand was warm and strong.

“Promise me that we will survive and meet again, Eirika.”

“...Yes. I promise.” She concentrated all her strength into her hand and squeezed back. When they were children, their hands were almost the same size, but now, his was far bigger. And his skin was now the hard and rough skin of the hands of a soldier.

It was not only a handshake as brother and sister, but also one of comrades in war. Eirika prayed from the very bottom of her heart that the day would come when they could hold hands like this once more.

-

After getting ready the next morning, Eirika came down the stairs to find two knights standing there, waiting for her in the corner of the hallway.

They were Ephraim’s most trusted men, Forde and Kyle.

“Good morning, Lady Eirika!”

“Are you going to deploy soon?”

“Yes. You are too, right? Please take care of my brother. Do your best to keep him from doing anything reckless…”

“About that...” Forde said and looked at Kyle.

Kyle proclaimed loudly, “It was decided that we would go with you, Lady Eirika.”

“...Huh?” Eirika tilted her head.

Kyle lowered his voice as he continued speaking, “King Hayden was very considerate to give Lord Ephraim the main force of the Frelian Army.”

“I… I see. He is going to be fighting the most important battle, after all…”

“‘And that’s why I don’t need you two worrying about me.’ He said. ‘I want you to go with Eirika.’ He said.” Forde grumbled.

 “But if you two aren’t at his side, won’t it make the battles more difficult for Brother? No matter how much of the Frelian Army is with him, without you two…”

“I feel the same way. But, depending on how you look at it, if he’s always worried about you, he might not be able to fight as hard as he could. If that’s how he feels, then he probably thought that telling us to go with you would allow him to relax.”

“Forde, don’t say it like that!” Kyle yelled at him, then apologized for his rudeness to Eirika. “Lady Eirika, our lord told us not to worry about him, and that we should instead protect you. As this was Lord Ephraim’s personal decision, I trust that it cannot be wrong.”

“Yeah, that is true. He’ll be fine even if we ignore him. There’s no one more tough and stubborn than him.”

Kyle glared at him for saying that, but Forde just grinned in response.

Kyle’s words resonated with Eirika. If it was Ephraim's decision, it couldn't be wrong. "I understand. Then please, come with me. You are the knights Brother trusts most… I look forward to fighting alongside you.”

"Ah, please don't bow! You've got the routine all wrong! Lord Ephraim would just say 'C'mon, let's go!'" Forde joked.

 Kyle finally could not hold back any longer, and stepped on Forde's foot, then vowed, "We will protect you, Lady Eirika!"

“For our motherland, Renais! And for Lady Eirika!" Forde chimed in, sounding serious just this once, as he was following up with what Kyle had said. But he was immediately back to his carefree self again, adding in his own words, “Let’s go! At our own pace!”

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Resol’nare - Part Seven

A/N: This part has a lot of bits that I have been excited to share. There are a lot of pieces of my own HCs in here, as well as a few plot hint crumbs that I’ve had fun developing, so I hope you guys enjoy this one! (Also sorry it was late- we got power back late last night and I was too lazy to post after making dinner. oops. Don’t worry, I already formatted eight so this won’t happen again next week) Also, also... Fennec and Boba are fun to write :) 

*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.*

Summary: The Mandalorian makes the journey back to Tatooine to take care of some things back at the covert after his run in with Navina on Nevarro. More is revealed about the goings on in the upper levels of Boba Fett’s complex, we learn what he and Fennec are up to, as well as a little more about how things are run below. And we finally hear what Bo-Katan has been itching to tell him. 

Warnings: descriptions of violence, death, talk of manipulating kids (if you’re unsure feel free to ask) 

Word Count: 5.6k

Tatooine. 

  The suns were sinking into the Dune Sea by the time he pulled Peli’s rental speeder into one of the hidden bays at the rocky base of Fett’s palace complex. There were three other occupied spaces, leaving just the one to his left empty. A quick scan of the vehicles that were there told him immediately who wasn’t. Fennec. Hers was the easiest to recognize. She had painted it a heavy matte black, accented with a weblike design of crisscrossing red lines. It wasn’t inconspicuous but she didn’t want or need it to be. If one of her targets saw her speeder and made the connection, it was already too late for them to turn and run. She liked knowing that they felt some modicum of fear or at the very least panic in the seconds before she struck, and he couldn’t blame her. They had it coming. 

For too long the scum that she and Boba were after had run nefarious crime rings that preyed on scared, young kids with nowhere else in the galaxy to turn. It was how they’d both ended up in their line of work, Boba swept into a life of violent instability in the aftermath of his father’s death, and Fennec developing a kind of admiration and a misplaced feeling of owing her employers for rescuing her from being sold to a brothel as a child. The slime had wasted no time in manipulating her, taking that gratitude and twisting it into something ugly and sinister, crafting her into a sniper, a trained, leashed killer, trading one horrible outcome for another. By the time she realized how trapped she truly was, the price on her own head had climbed so high it had very nearly gotten her killed. 

He winced thinking back to when he’d found her crumpled form in the sand. His thoughts had flashed so quickly to Grogu, to getting back to where he was and ensuring his safety, that he had only given Fennec a cursory check for any signs of life. Had Fett not been tracking the Mandalorian in search of his father’s armor, the woman would have died there in the desert. But the grizzled wanderer had found her, and saving the assassin from the brink of oblivion had given both of them a second chance. Fennec had been freed from the things that held her feet to the flames, and Boba had been given a reason to care for someone other than himself. He may have never been in any real peril on Tatooine- Not even in that pit if how I’ve seen him fight is any indication of how he handled that Sarlacc- but two souls were saved that day regardless. Though they worked as a pair and while Fennec deferred to Fett at first, she gave him her loyalty because she chose to, not because she was made to, and he gave her his respect because she had proven herself to be just as resilient as he was.  

Now, having taken the palace from the Hutt crime family and rooted out their presence on the planet, the two child killers turned vigilantes had started working on the galaxy’s other crime rings. Their sights were currently set on the Black Sun syndicate, and they had been working on picking away at one of their strongholds in Ord Mantell City, dispatching those who gave them no new information immediately, and freezing and bringing anyone who might have something useful to share back to the complex on Tatooine. Karga and the Bounty Hunter’s Guild on Nevarro had even been helping them, and more than a handful of the Mandalorians from the new covert had offered their assistance as a way to repay Boba and Fennec for providing them the space. Yes, they were taking the law into their own hands, but he had seen time and again how easily the New Republic could be made to look the other way, so he had no personal or moral objections to what they were doing. 

And so far they had brought three children under the age of thirteen back to the covert. The kids were being held captive as leverage so that the Black Sun leaders could keep control over their parents, often threatening them with things unspeakable should they refuse to do what their bosses required of them. The youngest was no more than five. After they’d been fed and tended to by the Healer and given a place to rest in the tunnels below, Woves one of the Mandalorians he’d first met on Trask, had set out to get in touch with the guardians of the rescued children. Since joining the cause to unite the clans, Axe had become increasingly interested in participating in educating and caring for the covert’s children, even assisting the Instructor in teaching new sparring techniques or sharing the perspective of someone who had grown up on Mandalore when it came to more cultural or historical lessons. Though he’d tried to make contact multiple times using the information that he had on the children- only their names and home planets- just the two older boys had been claimed by living relatives. 

The smallest, a girl barely reaching the top of Woves’ boot, didn’t seem to have anyone anywhere. Though he continued to try to locate the child’s kin, everyone knew it was only a matter of time before the Armorer was presiding over the gai bal manda, the man who had once been one of Bo-Katan’s most feared fighters kneeling in front of the entire Tribe and swearing to protect and raise the child as a warrior, as a member of his clan. As his own. 

Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad. I know your name as my child. Grogu. 

He felt a tug in his chest, just behind his rib cage as he dismounted the speeder, those big round eyes blinking at him from beneath that wrinkled green forehead and those over large ears filling his thoughts before he could guard himself. With a sigh, he wished for what could have been the hundredth time that he had been given the chance to take that vow, swear those words… Raise my son. 

Slinging his bag across his body and ensuring that the Darksaber’s hilt was clipped firmly to his belt with one hand, the other went to one of the leather pouches at his waist. Without needing to look, he pulled the small silver ball from its designated spot, spinning it twice between his thumb, index and middle fingers. We’ll see each other again. I promise. The metal sphere slipped smoothly in his gloved grasp, the object giving him comfort. It was something tangible, a link to the thing he carried in his heart for the child that had upended his entire world. Bo-Katan might understand Woves’ choice if she… He let out another breath and tucked the ball away. But all she can see is Mandalore. 

The sharp-eyed, orange- haired heiress was not too keen on her former companion’s sudden calling towards child rearing, but swearing an adoption vow, promising to care for a foundling, was such an integral part of Mandalorian beliefs, of The Way, that she knew better than to try to talk him out of it. She would lose any credibility that she had as a leader if any of the others caught wind of that. She still had Reeves, and Hast,  one of the few that had made it off of Nevarro, had also volunteered to help her search for other hidden coverts and lone stragglers in the far reaches of the Outer Rim, on the quiet, often overlooked planets in the Mid Rim, in the corrupt and crowded cities of the Core Worlds. And if she wanted more help I’m sure there are others who would go. 

He cringed, tilting his chin down to glance at the innocuous looking object knocking against the beskar tasset covering his left thigh with every step towards the tunnels he took. If she wanted, I could… He reached across his body to wrap his hand around the sword's grip. It still felt strange. Unnatural. I could order others to join her mission. Dropping it as soon as the thought crossed his mind, it hit the beskar beneath it with a loud clang that echoed in the dark passages that connected the speeder bay to the main hall. Leadership in a fight, in a battle, in negotiations, while all still outside of what he would have chosen for himself, were things that he could get his head around. But making demands? Setting punishments and enforcing laws? It was the things that ran in that vein of what it meant to be the Mand’alor that gave him the most pause now that the Armorer had assuaged some of his other doubts regarding the title that had been thrust upon him, unwanted. 

Thing after thing. Loss after loss. Responsibility after responsibility. That had been his life for nearly four decades, and it didn’t seem like his burdens would be getting lighter any time soon. For the first time since he left Nevarro two days before, he thought of the woman he’d run into there, whose stolen vambraces he was bringing back to be reforged. Navina. Though he’d only spent a few hours with her he had picked up the impression that difficult trials and heavy hardships followed her wherever she went, too. He wondered if that was uniquely Mandalorian, or if there were others who understood the same level of loneliness that sometimes came when such strength was constantly required of a being. She had spoken of her clan; of losing her mother and being separated from her father and the foundling that her family had taken in, not knowing after all that time if they were still alive. He knew the odds and she seemed clever enough to know them, too, and though he had sympathy for her, it also made him feel less like he was alone in struggling to carry an ungainly load. I have to remember to ask the others about her father… Harsa. That was the name.  

There were several things he had to do on this trip, asking about Navina’s family name just the latest addition to the list. After promising the Armorer on his last visit that he would begin training with the Darksaber, he knew that he would be spending at least two sessions with the Weapons Master, learning how to wield the legendary black blade. We’ll start with the beskad, though. He was firm in that and he knew that no one would argue with him. He wanted to check in with Fett, make sure that the arrangement was still working and that the man didn’t need anything from him. He had no doubt though, that if the man running things topside had any issues, he wouldn’t hold them back, not hesitating to contact the Mandalorian directly to launch his complaints. His directness was one of the things that he liked most about Boba, and one of the reasons that he had been so quick to trust him. I hope he’s free now. I’d rather start there then…

The last thing that he absolutely could not leave the planet without doing, was meeting with Bo-Katan for a debrief on the recruiting efforts and to begin discussing tactics for reclaiming their ancestral homeland. Hers, anyway. She wasn’t happy that he had put it off for as long as he had, but again, he knew that she wouldn’t voice her displeasure for fear of the optics of disagreeing with the Mand’alor. Politics. His top lip curled at the thought that he would have to get good at knowing how to keep people on his side, even when he knew that their endgames were slightly out of alignment with his. Maybe she’s in the sparring hall now. He knew that she spent hours training with Reeves and Hast whenever she came back to the covert, and he hoped that was where she was now. 

If he was being entirely honest, something about her still didn’t sit well with him, but he knew that he didn’t have to like everyone to work with them. 

Striding the last few steps through the winding passage, he finally reached the plain stone archway, a circular splotch of light from one of the torches visible on the other side of it. Two helmeted Mandalorians stood guard, but moved aside as soon as they saw the signet on his shoulder and the Darksaber on his belt. 

“Olarom yaim, Mand’alor.” The shorter of the two spoke with a nod, welcoming him home in a voice that cracked too adolescently for the modulator in the newly sworn fighter’s helmet to hide. A kid. He recalled the first few years after he’d finished his required training in the Fighting Corps, the cockiness, the harsh lessons that no amount of studying or practicing in the sparring hall could prepare him for. He’s just a kid. 

It was different though, the way that Mandalorians allowed Tribe members to swear additional oaths inducting them into the elite group of warriors at seventeen, than what the syndicates did, how they inducted their young members. We learn and train our whole lives for it. Understand what we’re agreeing to. Not like… He swallowed a sudden spike of rage at the thought that the quiet, innocent child that was likely still latched to Woves’ right leg would have otherwise ended up raised to be a mercenary -or worse- for the Black Sun. But she won’t now. 

“Thank you,” he responded to the young guard cursing himself for forgetting the Mando’a translation. I need to do better with that. Again he felt his thoughts backtracking to Navina and the way that he’d heard several Mando’a words roll easily off of her tongue. Maybe she can… when we meet again in a few weeks, maybe she can help me with… He sighed. There was a long list of things he needed to talk to her about when he saw her next, just like the list of things that awaited him at the top of the staircase he was currently climbing. He wanted to know more about her pendant, about the seam they had found in the metal that hinted at a modification that was made well after the piece had been crafted that would allow the Mythosaur to hold the peculiar stone that shone purple. He wanted to know more about what had prompted her family to leave Concordia, why they were running and why they’d had to separate. He wanted to know anything that he could from her and any other Mandalorians he encountered that might help him be the Mand’alor that the young guardsman and everyone else in the covert seemed to think that he was. 

As soon as he ascended the last few steps though, his thoughts were interrupted by a heavy arm falling around his shoulder. “Still in one piece then, Mand’alor?” 

Boba Fett’s gruff, gravely voice was oddly comforting, and he knew that he was likely one of maybe two people who thought that. He returned the one armed thunk that he supposed the other man took for a hug. “Seems that way.” The man’s heavily scarred face pulled up into a jagged looking grin, the expression almost jarring on such a serious visage, but then a rumbling chuckle came out and took the smile with it, leaving his features in their natural scowl. “Everything alright here?” 

The Mandalorian followed Fett through the large main hall, past the stone slab throne that he only occupied when passing judgement on those that he and Fennec brought back once any useful information could be wrung from them, and through to the long table that had been brought in for strategy meetings and sharing information with the Bounty Hunter’s Guild and others who agreed to offer help. “Everything’s fine,” he said with a grunt, gesturing flippantly with one hand, pulling a chair out from the table with the other. “The Princess wasn’t too thrilled when she found out she’d have to wait for you, but tell me, Mandalorian, is that woman ever truly happy about anything?” 

He had never so much as seen her smile. Pulling out a chair of his own, he simply shrugged. It seemed unlikely. “I’ll meet with her as soon as we’re through here.” Fett nodded. “I had… urgent business on Nevarro.” 

“Urgent?” One eyebrow rose on the man’s forehead. 

“Yes, I met another Mandalorian, only she was,” he tilted his head to the side as the image of Navina’s silver-gray eyes staring at him through her shattered visor flashed in his mind. “Different.” 

Boba answered with another gruff chuckle as he reached for the jug of spotchka that was never too far away. “Different, was she?” He took a long pull, the remnants of his teasing laugh still there when he lowered the jug and swiped the back of his free hand across his mouth. 

What? No, that’s- He leaned forward, elbows on the stone surface as he made a quick slicing motion with one hand. “No. That’s not what I meant.” 

It wasn’t. But as he dropped his palms back to the tabletop, he could recall the way it felt when he’d gripped her biceps, shaking her from her dreams. He had been concerned that she would hurt herself or more inconveniently, break one of the controls in the cockpit with the way she was thrashing in her sleep. But what he remembered now, hands flat before him, was how it felt to make contact with her skin, even if it was just through the thick padding of his gloves. He pressed his thumb down hard on the table like he had pressed it into the crease of her bent arm, squeezing the muscle there to get her attention. She felt strong and warm and solid and he almost held onto her for too long, caught up in the feel of another body beneath his hands. That isn’t what I meant. 

He cleared his throat and went on. “She hasn’t sworn the Creed, but she carries out the traditions, she can fight, knows things about Mandalorian history-“ he looked up at the man across from him, Fett abandoning his ribbing to regard the Mandalorian seriously. “She had a helmet and a dagger made of pure beskar.” 

“And you’re sure she’s not a thief?” 

Technically she is. But she didn’t steal the helmet or the kal. She didn’t steal the pendant. “They belonged to her parents.” He explained what the woman had told him about how her family had been split up- how she had known for a fact that her mother had been killed, but that since it had been years since she’d seen her father or the other child in her family, she had no way of knowing if they were still alive. “She… she asked me to spread word here at the covert, in case anyone knows where to find her father. Harsa. His name is Gavil Harsa.” 

Boba shrugged. “Don’t know any Harsa. But then, I’m no Mandalorian either. Your different girl and I have that in common.” 

She’s not my-

But before he could protest what had just been said, voices from the same entrance he had come through caught his and Boba’s attention, the other man standing as Fennec’s dry, smirking tone could be heard greeting the guard at the door. “You’re back.” He stated, opening his arms wide, his voice booming across the otherwise empty space. “What took so long?” He dropped his arms as Fennec maneuvered a carbonite block through the doorway. 

She cocked her head in the direction of the hardened, frozen slab containing what could have been any number of humanoid species, their features completely indiscernible but clearly contorted in terror. “Ixon here didn’t want to come quietly.” She turned to pull the block the rest of the way through, the unit hovering weightless and only needing her guidance for direction. “It was actually quite a workout.” She grinned. “For him.” Fett let out another gravelly laugh as Fennec turned her attention to the Mandalorian. “Mando,” she smiled and used one hand to push her long black braid behind her. “Good to see you.” 

“Fennec,” he nodded a greeting. “You’ve been busy, I see.” 

“Nothing for the Mand’alor to worry about,” she winked, shoving the block containing Ixon more roughly than necessary. “Just dealing with the trash.” She winked as she walked through, waving off Boba when he tried to assist her. “I’ll handle this one on my own.” She patted the side of the unit with an almost malicious gleam in her dark eyes. “It’s personal.” 

“I’d pity him if he weren’t walking slime,” Boba offered her the spotchka jug but she declined with a flick of her wrist. 

“He might not be walking when I’m done.” She gave the block another shove towards a door on the other side of the large room, her lips lifting in a quick snarl. “See you around, Mando,” she called over her shoulder, disappearing with Ixon, not waiting for a response.

“They say if you love your job you never work a day in your life,” he clapped a large meaty palm on the Mandalorian’s arm. “And Shand loves her new job.” That much is obvious. “Speaking of jobs, Mand’alor,” he gestured with his jug towards another set of stairs that led to the tunnels that the covert was using, the blue liquid sloshing gently as he did. “I’m sure yours is calling.” 

He stiffened. “Yes.” 

The man, gnarled by life and the things that had tried to drag him from it, set the jug down then. “Taking that planet back… well, you know what I think there.” I do. From first mention, he had not held back his opinion of the mission. “But bringing this many Mandalorians together under one roof? And they haven’t killed each other yet? I know you didn’t ask for this but,” he narrowed his eyes. “That’s no small feat.” 

It was as close to true praise as Boba Fett had likely ever bestowed upon anyone, and he knew that. It was also the truth. He thanked the man and crossed the room to yet another doorway that led to a different set of stairs. This time though, as he shifted the bag on his shoulder, the metal pieces inside clanging together, he did not stop on the landing and wait to pass off the reclaimed beskar to a middleman. This time, he continued down the second set that brought him to the forge. 

It was quiet, the Armorer taking a rare break from her unending task of providing the best protection and defenses that she could for her people. As a child it was easy for him to forget that there was a human beneath that pointed gold helmet. Her understated power, the sparks that flew frantically from her hammer, the ability she possessed to craft such stunning objects all contributed to the almost mythological status that he and the other small children regarded her with. He still admired and respected her and held her in higher esteem than anyone else in the covert, he knew that even the Armorer needed to eat, needed rest, needed to give her own ears a reprieve from the ringing of her tools battering hot metal. 

Entering the room for the first time since the covert relocated to Tatooine, he gave himself time to take the space in. Slowly turning his head he scanned over the work table, all of the tools neatly arrayed, each one clean and sharp and shining, each one a weapon in its own right. The forge itself was unlit, the mouth that usually spat fire simply open in a gaping yawn, but as he ran his hand over it he felt the residual heat that never completely faded. He wondered if what was left of the forge back on Nevarro still retained any warmth. 

Drawing his hand back, he stepped over to the small table that the Armorer used for meeting with the recipients of her work. Reaching into his bag, he took the vambraces that Navina had surrendered and set them on the surface between the two empty stools, leaving them for when the Armorer returned to her duty. She’ll know what to do. And where they came from. He would return to the forge the next morning to speak with her in more detail about the items’ provenance, and also to spread Navina’s family name to the member of the Tribe who was most likely to know it. He gave the room one last scan, slowly turning his head so that he could see it all through the eyeline of his visor, then left, continuing on with his own list of responsibilities. 

A handful of the covert’s children, some in the second hand helmets of the older ones, others belonging to clans that didn’t cover their faces at all times displaying smudges of dirt across round cheeks, were gathered in the widest portion of the hall. Engaged in some game that he likely played himself at that age, they shrieked and laughed and jumped. The kid would love it here. He could easily picture Grogu waddling into the group of young Mandalorians and fitting in without a problem, and he hoped that he had other children to be a child with while he underwent his Jedi training.

Continuing on and following the fork to the left, he headed next for the sparring hall. Unlike the forge, it was not empty. He could already hear the sound of practice staffs clashing, and the Instructor’s voice calling out advice to his trainees. One of the fighters grunted as they lunged or swung, and he knew right away from the sound that it was Bo-Katan, the heavy footsteps he heard suggesting that she was training with Hast. 

Since she was occupied at present, he stopped at the door beside the entrance to the sparring hall to arrange sessions with the Weapons Master. The man seemed pleased that the Mand’alor was ready to start working with the beskad in preparation for the Darksaber, and gave him his choice of available times for one on one training. Slating himself for three instead of the two he had planned on, he thanked the man and, with nothing left to do to push it off any longer, he entered the sparring hall and prepared to speak with Bo-Katan. 

She was still locked in a battle with Hast, the hulking man nearly twice her size but incredibly nimble for his weight and width. Blocking a swing of her opponent’s staff, the helmetless woman gritted her teeth and gripped her own weapon, holding it horizontally in front of her chest to take the force of the blow. Her feet slid back but she dug them in and gave a strong shove. Staffs still connected, the push set Hast off his balance just enough for her to turn the staff and whip it down and behind the man as he tried to regain his footing. In a sweeping blur she used it to take his legs out from under him, and he fell hard to the ground. Following all the way through to the finishing position, Bo-Katan flipped her staff around, jabbing it a few inches from Hast’s helmet, signifying her victory. 

It was impressive, but the Mandalorian knew that she was a skilled fighter, having seen her in live battle. She extended a hand to help Hast up, then turned towards the entrance. “You’re here.” It sounded almost skeptical, and he noticed the tiny twitch of her brow, hardly any sweat beading there after her workout. “Back from your,” she passed the staff behind her to Hast who took both of them back to the wall, the Instructor stowing them on their pegs. “From your urgent business?” 

He’d been expecting her to be upset, so the bite in her tone wasn’t a shock. “Yes.” He answered simply, not willing to allow her annoyance to spark his own. “I’m ready to discuss plans with you.” 

Her eyes narrowed, lips pressed together in a thin line as though that was the only thing keeping her frustration in. She swallowed, then let out a short breath and gestured toward the door. “Shall we, then?” 

The Mandalorian nodded and once she’d thanked the Instructor and Hast for the session, she followed him out into the hallway, the two heading for one of the smaller halls that had been designated for closed door meetings. “Thank you, for your patience.” He knew that she hadn’t been patient, but that she wanted it to seem like she had. “I had things to tend to, but I’ll be here for about two weeks, and I,” he opened the door to the room, letting her in before him and then closing it after he entered. Letting out a small sigh that he knew she wouldn’t be able to hear, he continued. “Aside from training with the Weapons Master I can spend as much time as necessary working with you.” 

Her cheek jumped as she gave a quick smile that was more of a forced smirk. “Well, that’s great news.” Pulling out a chair, she gestured for him to do the same, which he did. “Because we have a lot to discuss.” 

She went on to tell him that she, Hast and Koska Reeves had come back with ten adult Mandalorians from a covert located in the Mid Rim, and four children that had been part of their clans. There were a few that had chosen not to come back to Tatooine, but he and the others had all agreed that no one would be forced into joining them, that it was a decision only they could make for themselves. Still, adding fourteen to the Tribe in just one trip was something of note. For most of his life he had thought that his kind were far closer to extinction than they were. It was encouraging to see their numbers grow after so much time spent thinking that they were alone, and he hoped it gave the others that joined them there that same feeling of hope. That even if the quest to take back Mandalore were to fail, they would still have a safe place there where they didn’t have to hide in the shadows and only gather in groups of twenty or fewer. At least they were united now. At least they had a home.    

She went on to tell him about the old rebel base they had heard about on the remains of Concord Dawn, a planet in the Mandalore System that had all but been destroyed in the centuries of warfare that plagued that portion of the galaxy. Largely uninhabitable, and missing nearly a third of its mass, the planet had been abandoned ages ago. But it’s proximity to Mandalore made it a good candidate to set up a base of their own once the battle for their planet began. She outlined what would be needed in terms of weapons, fortifications and troops, and stated that once they had acquired and allotted the required supplies, she would like to accompany him on a trip to Concord Dawn so that he could see it for himself before the base was established. 

Agreeing to all of this, he listened as she laid out her plans for obtaining what was needed, giving her another two hours of his time before exhaustion started setting in so heavily that he wouldn’t have been able to listen to much more even if it was the most interesting topic in the universe. Assuring her that they could pick up where they left off the next morning, he excused himself from the small room and headed for the chamber that he always slept in when he was at the covert. 

He didn’t know why, but as he removed his helmet he thought again of the woman he met on Nevarro, and how he was about to begin a war to take back her home planet. Unbuckling the rest of his armor piece by piece and laying it out to be polished and cleaned, he wondered if she would ever go back to the place she was born once they had won it back, or if their own traditions would make her feel unwelcome there. Frowning, he hoped that wouldn’t be the case, that he would help build the kind of society that welcomed anyone who was an ally, whether or not they swore an oath. Would she take the creed? Pulling the breastplate cuirass over his head, he wondered if it was even something she would want to do. She said she wasn’t given the chance… what if she was? 

Shaking his head to clear her from his thoughts, he finished taking care of his armor for the evening, focusing on the lightness in his limbs that came from removing all that weight, and sunk into the mattress, finding sleep as soon as his eyes closed. 

But the head shake hadn’t cleared her completely, his dreams tinged with purple light and the echo of her name.

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[dreadwulf]

Love is a Burning Thing

(part 1) (part 2)

He is riding away from her. Farther and farther away.

Jaime is riding at the head of his battalion across the Crownlands. Glory trots along quite amiably, at pace with hundreds of other horses around him. Without his needing to move a muscle, at every moment Brienne is farther away. He can feel the distance stretching between them like she is still holding onto him somehow and pulling with all her might, ever since she had left him this morning.

It hurts. Like a steadily increasing stomachache, only it’s some other organ down there in his gut. If there is a structure in the body that secretes devotion like eyes spill tears, it is surely there, somewhere in his belly, and it is contracting violently, whispering at him to turn around and go back. But his gut is perpetually wrong, and cannot be trusted. This is exactly what he wants, to be getting away from Brienne as fast as he can. If it hurts, well, Jaime is quite accustomed to being hurt by the things he wants.

They ride for King’s Landing, and the ache simmers inside him like a low fire. But there is enough else to occupy his mind, and surely it will fade into the background, unimportant, beside the urgency of a Targaryen invasion.

His squire is watching him worriedly from his palfrey nearby, and Jaime straightens under the young man’s scrutiny. Smiles back at him until his squire grins cautiously back, and spurs his horse to ride over to the flanks. There, that’s more like it. Lord Lannister is no lovesick boy pining after some maiden. He made a foolish mistake, but fortunately it has cost him little. A few days away from his post, some chagrin before his men, and this wretched ache in his gut. That is nothing he can’t recover from.

His squire is riding, he notes, much more smoothly than he did when last they rode the Kingsroad, leaving the capital. He has grown tremendously in these months. Just as he had told Brienne, he will have to knight him sometime soon, Peck. Else some other knight will do it, and deny him the honor. He has been a good squire, and Jaime will regret losing him. 

Does he hope for it? Jaime wonders. At his age I thirsted for battle, and if there are truly Targaryens on the march there will be some promise of glory. If he knights him today, Peck will have to fight for his King. He will probably have to fight either way, but as a squire he will keep to the periphery, and a knight will be expected to charge on horseback, into the thick of the fighting. But Peck has not shown any remarkable talent at swordplay, not as Jaime had when Ser Arthur Dayne had knighted him. Not that, not yet. Let him squire a little bit longer.

His eyes drift to the wagon where the sons of the Riverlands are riding, where until this morning Podrick Peck had sat chattering and playing at dice with the other boys. What will he do with the hostages when they ride to battle? They could squire for his men. But if he loses any of them in battle, he will lose the cooperation of their parents as well.

I think Peck was sorry to see young Podrick go, Jaime thinks. His squire had taken the smaller boy under his wing, and the younger Payne had looked up to him with the kind of hero worship reserved by young boys for older, not-quite-grown boys. Peck enjoyed that attention, clearly. Podrick had a starry-eyed eagerness that his squire would be just outgrowing. An innocence. 

Jaime had spoken with the child as well, the night they had caught him sneaking into the camp. A scared and reticent boy to begin with, with a fearful glaze and a pronounced stammer that made one wonder if he had lost his wits. But with only a little encouragement, he had turned into a fair chatterbox. He had been startled to learn that the boy had squired for his brother Tyrion during the battle of the Blackwater; it had been he that saved his life, though not his nose. Timid he may be, but the young squire does not lack for bravery. It seems he had left King’s Landing looking for Tyrion, and followed the Maid of Tarth in hopes that her quest would lead him there. His brother had been good to him, Podrick said. 

As not many people have been, I’ll wager. Cast-off of a cast-off of House Payne, small for his age, and guileless as a newborn. 

Jaime had offered the boy a berth in his army. He could squire for Jaime’s cousin Addam Marbrand, or at least apprentice to someone in his camp, earn his keep. He would not be a hostage like the Riverlands’ noble sons, but he could still run about and play with them, as he seems to enjoy doing. I suspect the boy has not done much of that either, he notes.

Pod refused his offer, however. He said, with some hesitation, that he hopes Lord Tyrion is well, and thanks Ser Jamie for the kind offer, but he would rather stay with Lady Brienne, wherever she will be. He has a fair cavalcade of praise for the lady, which Jaime endures without comment. All in all, he seems a good lad. Loyal. From what little he saw, they are quite tightly bonded, the boy and his lady knight.

He ought to feel better knowing that. If he was to be sacrificed for another, at least the other was a good-hearted and clearly beloved child. It could have been Lem Lemoncloak. 

It does not make him feel any better.

He had gritted his teeth to look upon the boy, to be honest. Can one be jealous of a child? But Podrick very obviously had his lady’s love, and Jaime does not.

He has only just learned how much the wench meant to him, and how comparatively little he had meant to her in return. For her, at a moment’s notice, he had thrown over his family, his house, his responsibilities, to follow her into the Riverlands on the flimsiest of excuses, all because he thought she needed his help. It had been startlingly easy to do it, and as he walked away from his life he had felt lighter and merrier with every step.

What a fool he had been. As it turns out, she would not do the same for him - no, he was no more than a hostage himself, intended to free the companions she valued more. This boy, and that Hunt fellow, a hedge knight of some sort, who awaited them at the Dread Lady’s Gallows. Brienne had risked a great deal to come and find him, but the risk had not been for his sake. 

But no matter. She is gone now and he will not see her again. He will return to his life and go about forgetting her. That should make these feelings stop. It will have to end sometime, the crawling betrayal, the creeping shame, the sharp sting of rejection, and that time will come much sooner without the constant reminder of her presence. With time he will stop thinking of her, and it will be like he had never met that stubborn, ugly beast of a woman.

This is not making him feel any better either. Cheer up, he tells himself, tomorrow you may die. 

The Targaryen pretender has already taken Storm’s End in a rout. This “Aegon” has a band of supporters and a hired troop of mercenaries, the Golden Company, and at last word was riding out to face Mace Tyrell and the Crown forces. Of course it isn’t Aegon Targaryen - Jaime knows all too well the babe was slaughtered, skull crushed against the wall by his father’s creature The Mountain - but he looks the part, with the Targaryen hair and eyes. Perhaps he is some unknown cousin, some lost branch of the Targaryen family tree using Aegon’s name. Should Westeros be nostalgic for the relative peace of Targaryen rule, they might find the young man very persuasive.

He turns the details over and again in his mind. The Golden Company, a fearful force, and Targaryen banners stirring the populace to rebellion. They could be marching into a battle they cannot hope to win. Impossible to tell from the increasingly vehement missives he has received from the Queen Regent. She commands him to victory, but does she truly expect it? As has been amply demonstrated to him recently, he cannot expect even his closest allies to place much value on his safety. After all, what does anyone care if the Kingslayer should die?

My sweet sister would summon me regardless. She has shown that often enough. As coin she would spend me on a hopeless trial by combat merely to flaunt her purse. No doubt my beheading at the gates of King’s Landing would be just as gloriously pointless. 

Though Cersei, it seems, wants him only to return to her side directly, to serve as her personal bodyguard. She is grown obsessed with some prophecy that the children will all be murdered and her choked to death at Tyrion’s hands. Hearing that Tyrion himself is approaching the city has sent her into a kind of frenzy. Her last letter was nearly incomprehensible, raving. 

Yes, that had been the last bit of news the Spider had passed along, with the rest of his whispers: his own brother Tyrion rides with Aegon, and advises the Targaryen pretender how best to defeat their House in battle. That was the lowest blow, and it had knocked his usual confidence right out of him. Jaime does not fear battle, but he dreads this confrontation.

If one side wins, his sister and son are dethroned and probably executed. If the other side wins, he will have to kill his brother. Jaime loses either way.

He should not worry about defeat. The Crown forces are superior, the Lannister army vast and well-provisioned, and King’s Landing is by design a difficult city to take. But his brother is fearsomely clever, and he was Hand. He defended King’s Landing against Stannis Baratheon, and a man who knows how to hold the city will know how to take it. If he does, he will have his revenge for a lifetime of slights. He knows Tyrion holds it against him still, the lie he had told him about Tysha. After all the years they had been beloved brothers, after Jaime had set him free and saved his life, his little brother saw fit not only to murder their father but to conspire with their enemies to contest Cersei directly for the throne. He does not expect Tyrion will pull any punches now for old time’s sake. Not when they will face each other across a battlefield.

If there is anyone left who has not yet stuck a knife in my heart, they are running out of time to do it. 

He mulls over such thoughts feverishly as the dimming winter sun lowers in the sky. For a time he considers pressing the Lannister troops onward into the night to reach King’s Landing. It will be only a few hours march from here, and their summons have been increasingly urgent. Still, he would rather rest his men so that they can arrive fresh to the fighting and not exhausted from the road, and he commands them to set camp.

“Milord,” a lieutenant interrupts him tentatively as he unhorses, “we have Thoros of Myr bound in your tent as you requested, awaiting interrogation.”

Jaime smiles thinly. They have captured Beric Dondarrion’s Red Priest, who had somehow turned Catelyn Stark into the apparition who had lead the Brotherhood without Banners to capture him. Somehow during the conflagration with the Brotherhood he had run away and vanished into the trees. But Jaime’s scouts found him in the night, Thoros, stoking a meagre fire near Maidenpool. There was no time to deal with him in the morning, so they bundled him up and brought him along on the march - though they gave him no horse, and forced him to walk along tied to one of the wagons, thinking it would make him more cooperative. 

The Lord Commander’s tent is first to rise, and resplendent before ever he sets eyes on it, not that he notices. He leaves Peck to unsaddle his horse and enters it in full uniform. He will get through this interrogation before undressing and taking his supper.

He sits in the armchair they have carried across the Riverlands for him, and accepts a glass of sherry. The muddy priest is bound on the floor before his desk, and at his command his bonds are loosened, and he is allowed to sit in a wooden chair before his desk. Jaime observes all of this as he finishes the first glass of sherry, and requests another.

Once a huge man, both tall and fat, Thoros of Myr is now considerably diminished. His red robes are cavernous around him, his skin hanging loosely off his skeleton in great folds. Formerly a fierce swordsman, the fire that he once brandished by burning swords has seemingly gone out. The old Thoros could wear this one like a cloak. 

Even before Jaime can begin to question him, the Red Priest is firing questions back. First among them, “What have you done with the girl?”

“Which girl?” he stalls, disconcerted. 

“The maiden with your blade.” He may be physically smaller but his eyes are bright and sharp, and he holds Jaime’s gaze without flinching. The priest explains patiently, “the tall young woman with the king’s seal, she who brought you to the Brotherhood. I saw you strike her down. Where is she now?”

Jaime ignores this questioning; it is none of the man’s concern. Instead he asks him of his escape from the ambush that night, which quiets him a bit. He could have fought them, could have produced a flaming sword and defended his Lady Stoneheart, but instead he had fled. Thoros does not seem to be interested in explaining why, averting his eyes and answering  him shortly with “yes” and “no”.

He questions the Red Priest about Catelyn Stark, about Berric Dondarrion, about remaining members of the brotherhood and the commonfolk who supported them. Still Thoros turns the conversation back and back again to Brienne.

“But what of the Maid of Tarth? I saw her nowhere in your formation, amongst prisoners or soldiers.” He pokes and prods, Thoros, and his brow furrows with concern. “It has not gone unnoticed that she is gone. Some here have it that you have done away with her.”

His patience at an end, Jaime snaps back, “And what if I have?”

Thoros puts on a perplexed expression, blinking at him curiously. “That cannot be. Surely even you are not so cruel as that.”

“Surely I am, ask anyone in the Seven Kingdoms.” Thoroughly tired of judgement, he decides to go along with the Red Priest’s poor opinion of him, if it will loosen his tongue. “The wench lured me to my barely-averted death. I am well within my rights to punish traitors such as she.”

“Brienne of Tarth never betrayed you for a moment.” The Red Priest is disturbed, shaking his head sadly. “That poor, brave girl. She defended you to a crowd baying for your blood, said that you were a changed man, that you were not responsible for your reported crimes. We called her your whore. But you never touched her, did you? Wouldn’t trouble yourself with someone so pure of heart, when you have your sister the Queen in your bed.”

Ah, so Thoros still has a sense of humor after all. Jaime snorts. “So pure of heart she would lead me to my death, while calling me friend. How is that not a betrayal?”

“She was forced to it. Our dread lady commanded her to kill you and she refused. The entire Brotherhood demanded it and she refused. We offered her a choice, the sword or the noose.”

“And she choose the sword to save her own skin.” Jaime swallows from the glass. “I understand it, of course. It is a hard lesson for one such as her. No one is pure.”

“No!” Thoros smacks the palm of his hand against the commander’s table, and Jaime cannot help flinching. “She chose the noose. Brienne said she would not betray you and they put a rope around her neck and hung her, hung her choking and kicking from a tree. She would have died there without relenting but for Podrick Payne, the boy.”

No. No, it isn’t true, he tells himself. But it tracks with what the boy had told him. She did it for me, my lord, you have to understand… He had assumed the choice had been a simple one. Podrick or Kingslayer. But had there been another choice as well? Hadn’t he seen the angry red marks around her neck, or decided not to see?

“They hung him from the tree next to her, and when she saw him dying, she called for a sword. Not before. Not for herself. She would have died for you.”

“Lies.” Jaime has gone very still. Only the muscles of his hand flex, where he holds tightly onto the drinking glass. “The Brotherhood’s Red Priest. Why should I believe anything you say?”

The priest raises his hands, palms beckoning to the air. “What reason have I to lie about this? What benefit to me? I care no more for factions or grudges. I have seen war render this land a hell beyond anything my lord R’hllor or any the Seven could dream up. So far as I care whoever is left standing at its end is welcome to its rotten fruit. All that matters is that in the ruins of honor and justice I met a maid who embodied both, and now she is dead. That, my lord, is a calamity, and I would have you know just how great of one.”

He hardens his heart. “In this world you are either faithless or dead. She is both, and soon enough we will be too. It’s no calamity.”

“You utter fool.” The Red Priest has the nerve to look sorry for him. “Let me tell you: when we found that girl she was dying of fever, battered and broken by brigands, and all she would do is talk about Jaime Lannister. She said your name in her sleep. She said she had to find your honor. She pleaded for you to come for her when she was next to dead. Not her companions, or her kin. Only you. No sword could have been more loyal to you, and no woman more true to anyone.  

Jaime’s guts are churning now, his heart clenching painfully enough to turn him inside-out. What a stupid organ, the heart. If he could, he would carve it out himself. 

It makes him snap back at Thoros tightly, “Gold will buy loyalty as reliably, and a woman too.”

“Not like her, not to you. You are only too cynical or too stupid to see it. That girl loved you. She loved you.”

The glass in Jaime’s left hand abruptly shatters.

Thoros jerks back, more at the noise of it than anything else, and stares down wide-eyed at the Lord Commander’s desk. His hand had squeezed and squeezed the glass until it finally popped, in a small explosion of shards and blood. Now his hand opens and stretches, and the Lord Commander examines it curiously. A few jagged bits of glass stick out of his palm and fingers. It hardly hurts at all, but it produces an impressive amount of blood.

Lannister guards burst into the tent at the sound of breaking glass, and the sight of blood makes them draw their swords. Jaime waves them back. “My golden hand holds drinking glasses not so well as I’d hoped. Stay at your post.”

“My lord…” Thoros, distinctly alarmed at his lack of reaction, darts his eyes between the bleeding hand and Jaime’s impassive face. “Your hand…”

“It’s nothing.” For a second he moves to pluck the glass bits out of his hand, but his other hand is made of gold. Not much good for that. He can only poke at the bloody shards with a strange fascination. His guards watch warily, not leaving but keeping their distance. 

“You know I am a healer. Allow me.” 

He shouldn’t allow it, and his guards are visibly appalled, but Jaime makes no move to stop him when Thoros kneels at his side. He moves aside the golden hand, taking his flesh hand and extracting shards of glass with careful attention.

“I can’t imagine why,” the priest murmurs, “but Brienne thought very highly of you. I owe her some kindness, for what we did to her. If she is gone, you will have to do.”

Then it comes again; the pain. Worse than ever. Jaime bows his face to the floor at the weight of it.

“I let her go,” he manages to say, hoarsely. “I gave her the sword and I let her go. Her and the boy.”

“Truly?” Thoros looks up at him dumbfounded, uncertain whether this could be another of his jests.

But of course he let her go. What else could he do? He couldn’t keep her prisoner forever.

He sees it now, too late. Brienne in the cell, wasting away. The tears she had shed when he denied her Oathkeeper. How she had hesitated so inexplicably when he allowed her to leave. The way she had looked on him, as though she would accept any punishment he would give her. He had thought it was her simple goodness that made her contrite. But it could have been more. It could be true; somehow, she had loved him. 

When he could not bring himself to harm her, he thought it his own weakness that stayed his hand. Perhaps they share the same weakness.

He jumps up from his chair with that thought, snatching his one working hand back from the damned Red Priest and sweeping out of his commander’s tent. He strides rapidly to the stables and grabs the bridle of the first horse he sees. Honor, not yet unsaddled from their ride. 

Jaime rides hard against the twilight, back down the trail they’d come. Back to the place where he’d left her. It was a day’s ride back as an encampment, but a single man riding as fast as his horse is able made the distance in a few hours.

She won’t be there. She could have gone in any direction with a day’s advance. But if she stopped there. If she stayed to rest, and to think out her next move. If she waited there. If she waited for me. 

He urges Honor to run faster at the thought.

The Riverlands rush by headlong and the pounding hooves drive every thought from his head until he is pure instinct, animal-simple: find her.

The clearing is empty when he arrives, and quiet. 

Jaime slings down from his horse looking around him wildly. It’s dark. There’s no sign of anything. No fire, no trail, no sign she had been there at all except that he knows this is where he had left her. He knows that in his bones. He will never be able to forget this place. 

He walks aimlessly in one direction and then another. Which way would she have gone? East is Maidenpool, closest of anything, where she might find Tully allies. Riverrun in the other direction, a farther walk but where she might potentially find a ship, go back to Tarth. Or would she have headed singlemindedly North, towards the Vale, without even stopping to supply herself?

He takes not much time to decide. He thinks Maidenpool, then North. Climbing back onto Honor he rides East, alert for any campfires or single riders,scouring the forest hour after hour, and shouting out her name until his voice is nearly gone. 

He reaches Maidenpool with the dawn and sees no sign of her there. 

In a haze of desperation he accosts passers-by, one after another. Have you seen a maid pass this way, with a sword and a young boy? Riding a chestnut horse?

They all say no. They step back from him like he has gone mad; but of course it sounds a bit mad, doesn’t it? A lady knight with a Valyrian steel sword, as big as The Hound, with her own squire. While he’s at it, he should ask after Galladon of Morne, and mermaids, and the Crone with her lantern. But perhaps it is the stench of a cursed man they respond to, a man who has held riches and lost them. Such ill fortune is catching. They give him a wide berth, they murmur, they leave him standing in the street lost and alone. Perhaps they do not know a Kingslayer when they see one, but anyone can spot a man laid low by love.

Have you seen a woman, an absurdly large woman? With the bluest eyes you’re ever seen? A woman with a sword - a broadsword, two-handed? Looks like she knows how to swing it? Have you seen her? Big and strong as an ox but pure as a maiden? Straw-blonde, a hand taller than me, shoulders as broad as a barn. Has no one seen her? A knight? A true knight? The truest knight that ever walked this land? Tell me where she’s gone. Please, tell me if you’ve seen her. I saw her and I sent her away. She loved me, and I let her go.

******************************************************

The sun is marking mid-morning by the time he returns, and there are dark clouds looming in the distance, swirling up from the horizon.

He has hardly left the saddle before he is accosted by a barrage of debriefs and dreadful news. 

King’s Landing is burning. Aegon’s forces arrived faster than anyone predicted, are thoroughly breaking Mace Tyrell’s formation, and their secondary forces sneaking up the bay have set Flea Bottom afire. The Goldcloaks have surrendered already, and the Red Keep will soon be under siege. Even if they ride full-tilt for the capital it will be a rescue mission now, not a defense.

“Ready us to ride directly to battle in an hour,” he instructs his captains. “Leave the camp set here, and I set my cousin Addam in command. Peck, you and your lady Pia will stay behind with the hostages and the provisions. If we face defeat see that they are returned to their homes - quickly as you can, the Kingsroad will be dragon territory before long.”

His squire’s face turns quite red and he looks ready to argue with him, and Jaime quickly turns his back to him. He hears the lad sputtering behind him as he throws the tent flap aside and goes into his Commander’s Tent. 

Jaime sits alone in his tent for that hour and he burns. He feels the flames of wildfire in King’s Landing, hears the screeching laughter of Aerys Targaryen getting his fiery baptism at last. His most sacred oath is to guard his King, and his King is in mortal danger and he is not there. He left Tommen unprotected. Left his sister, his son, his duty. His doom awaits him there, is waiting for him still. He must go.

All around him his men are making ready for battle. He knows, with a dreadful foresight, that it is not a battle they can win. It will be glorious, and at the end of it he will be dead and he will never see Brienne again.

Brienne. Brienne. His heart blazes in his chest. 

He should have kept her with him. He should have let her tell her tale. His stupid pride would not allow it and now she is gone.

Where is she now? Sheltering in some rain-soaked forest? Hiding in some Tully supporter’s house in Pennytree? Could she have seen him foolishly asking after her, and held her tongue?

He has been cruel to her. He has let her suffer. He denied her Oathkeeper. He had been badly wounded, his pride wounded, his poor sore heart wounded, and he had wanted to hurt her too. When he saw her tears some sleeping part of him wanted to take it back.  He felt monstrous for doing it, and told himself it was because he was a monster. He had stood there and watched her with her shoulders hunched and fists balled at her sides, tears running down her face. What might she have done if he had tried to soothe her tears? He could have been kinder.

Now she will remember him as bitter and petty and hateful when he is gone, and there will be no one left in the world who thinks on him fondly. 

But at least she will not see this battle; at least he gave her Oathkeeper to keep herself safe. She will have to think on him when she wields the sword, and perhaps she will remember whatever it was that had made her care for him. Perhaps she will know, when she holds the blade, that he had loved her too.

Mother, let her know it for certain. Give her my love.

When the hour is up, he leaves his tent, mounts Glory, and rides to battle. 

[aboveallarescuer]

Daenerys Targaryen's tropes - A Mother to Her Men

This commander cares deeply about their men and exhibits it constantly. A mentor to the officers under them, they take a deep personal interest in their welfare and try to keep them out of harm's way. They would never say "We Have Reserves" unless they have absolutely no choice (and even then you can expect them to privately be torn up about it). Staff officers, engineers, and the Camp Cook will be treated with respect and made to feel as valued as the troops on the front line. However, they have no patience with the Glory Hound or the Obstructive Bureaucrat. They will never lay claim to their subordinate’s work, and will even downplay any credit that is due to them. They willown up to any mistakes, even those of their subordinates. In the latter case, they often follow up with treating their subordinate's mistakes as Career Building Blunders. When their followers are on the losing end of a battle, you better believe that No One Gets Left Behind. And when their subordinates actually die, they will remember all of their names and faces.

Gender flipped version of A Father to His Men with Dany.

Cares deeply about her followers and exhibits it constantly

Dany considered. The slaver host seemed small compared to her own numbers, but the sellswords were ahorse. She’d ridden too long with Dothraki not to have a healthy respect for what mounted warriors could do to foot. The Unsullied could withstand their charge, but my freedmen will be slaughtered. (ASOS Daenerys IV)

~

“...The slaves are weak from the march.”

“Freedmen,” Dany corrected. “They are slaves no longer.” (ASOS Daenerys V)

~

“No,” she said. “I will not march my people off to die.” My children. “There must be some way into this city.” (ASOS Daenerys V)

~

“Say the word, my sweet, and I will send you from this awful place. I will find a ship somehow and send you home. To Naath.”

“I would sooner stay with you. On Naath I’d be afraid. What if the slavers came again? I feel safe when I’m with you.”

Safe. The word made Dany’s eyes fill up with tears. “I want to keep you safe.” Missandei was only a child. With her, she felt as if she could be a child too. “No one ever kept me safe when I was little. Well, Ser Willem did, but then he died, and Viserys … I want to protect you but … it is so hard. To be strong. I don’t always know what I should do. I must know, though. I am all they have.” (ADWD Daenerys II)

~

Yesterday a wagon had been overturned and two of her soldiers killed, so today the queen had determined that she would bring the food herself. Every one of her advisors had argued fervently against it, from Reznak and the Shavepate to Ser Barristan, but Daenerys would not be moved. “I will not turn away from them,” she said stubbornly. “A queen must know the sufferings of her people.” (ADWD Daenerys VI)

~

“Go if you wish, ser. I will not detain you. I will not detain any of you.” Dany vaulted down from the horse. “I cannot heal them, but I can show them that their Mother cares.” (ADWD Daenerys VI)

~

When the gluttony was done and all the half-eaten food had been cleared away— to be given to the poor who gathered below, at the queen’s insistence— tall glass flutes were filled with a spiced liqueur from Qarth as dark as amber. (ADWD Daenerys VIII)

Refuses to forget her followers' names and faces and holds herself accountable for their deaths

“It was a cruel fate,” Dany said, “yet not so cruel as Mago’s will be. I promise you that, by the old gods and the new, by the lamb god and the horse god and every god that lives. I swear it by the Mother of Mountains and the Womb of the World. Before I am done with them, Mago and Ko Jhaqo will plead for the mercy they showed Eroeh.” (AGOT Daenerys IX)

~

Jhogo said they must leave her or bind her to her saddle, but Dany remembered a night on the Dothraki sea, when the Lysene girl had taught her secrets so that Drogo might love her more. She gave Doreah water from her own skin, cooled her brow with a damp cloth, and held her hand until she died, shivering. Only then would she permit the khalasar to press on. (ACOK Daenerys I)

~

“Your Grace,” said Ser Barristan Selmy, the lord commander of her Queensguard, “there is no need for you to see this.”

“He died for me.” (ADWD Daenerys I)

~

“Stalwart Shield shall not be forgotten. Have him washed and dressed for battle and bury him with cap and shield and spears.”

“It shall be as Your Grace commands,” said Grey Worm.

“Send men to the Temple of the Graces and ask if any man has come to the Blue Graces with a sword wound. And spread the word that we will pay good gold for the short sword of Stalwart Shield. Inquire of the butchers and the herdsmen, and learn who has been gelding goats of late.” Perhaps some goatherd would confess. “Henceforth, no man of mine walks alone after dark.” (ADWD Daenerys I)

~

“They are afraid for their children,” Reznak said.

Yes, Daenerys thought, and so am I. (ADWD Daenerys II)

~

Her freedmen were represented by the captains of the three companies she had formed—Mollono Yos Dob of the Stalwart Shields, Symon Stripe-back of the Free Brothers, Marselen of the Mother’s Men. (ADWD Daenerys III)

~

… but Daenerys Targaryen had other children, tens of thousands who had hailed her as their mother when she broke their chains. She thought of Stalwart Shield, of Missandei’s brother, of the woman Rylona Rhee, who had played the harp so beautifully. No marriage would ever bring them back to life, but if a husband could help end the slaughter, then she owed it to her dead to marry. (ADWD Daenerys IV)

~

“Who is Eroeh?”

“A girl I thought I’d saved from rape and torment. All I did was make it worse for her in the end. And all I did in Astapor was make ten thousand Eroehs.”

“Your Grace could not have known—”

“I am the queen. It was my place to know.” (ADWD Daenerys V)

~

No queen has clean hands, Dany told herself. She thought of Doreah, of Quaro, of Eroeh … of a little girl she had never met, whose name had been Hazzea. Better a few should die in the pit than thousands at the gates. This is the price of peace, I pay it willingly. If I look back, I am lost. (ADWD Daenerys VIII)

Her followers view her as their mother

“Mhysa!” a brown-skinned man shouted out at her. He had a child on his shoulder, a little girl, and she screamed the same word in her thin voice. “Mhysa! Mhysa!”

Dany looked at Missandei. “What are they shouting?”

“It is Ghiscari, the old pure tongue. It means ‘Mother.’”

Dany felt a lightness in her chest. I will never bear a living child, she remembered. Her hand trembled as she raised it. Perhaps she smiled. She must have, because the man grinned and shouted again, and others took up the cry. “Mhysa!” they called. “Mhysa! MHYSA!” They were all smiling at her, reaching for her, kneeling before her. “Maela,” some called her while others cried “Aelalla” or “Qathei” or “Tato,” but whatever the tongue it all meant the same thing. Mother. They are calling me Mother. (ASOS Daenerys IV)

~

Their eyes followed her. Those who had the strength called out. “Mother … please, Mother … bless you, Mother …” (ADWD Daenerys VI)

~

Daenerys Targaryen was wed, the guards on the pens had told them, laughing. She had taken a Meereenese slaver as her king, as wealthy as he was noble, and when the peace was signed and sealed the fighting pits of Meereen would open once again. Other slaves insisted that the guards were lying, that Daenerys Targaryen would never make peace with slavers. Mhysa, they called her. Someone told him that meant Mother. Soon the silver queen would come forth from her city, smash the Yunkai’i, and break their chains, they whispered to one another. (ADWD Tyrion X)

~

Hizdahr’s blunder with Grey Worm had cost him the Unsullied. When His Grace had tried to put them under the command of a cousin, as he had the Brazen Beasts, Grey Worm had informed the king that they were free men who took commands only from their mother. (ADWD The Queensguard)

~

“Is it true?” a freedwoman shouted. “Is our mother dead?”

“No, no, no,” Reznak screeched. “Queen Daenerys will return to Meereen in her own time in all her might and majesty. Until such time, His Worship King Hizdahr shall—”

“He is no king of mine,” a freedman yelled. (ADWD The Discarded Knight)