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ginnyweasleymybeloved · 4 years ago

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heartbeat on the high line / fred weasley

unresolved angst for freddie because i felt like it <3

summary: fred broke your heart a long time ago and a walk through diagon alley brings up old memories for the both of you

word count: 2.9 k

warnings: post-war timeline, mentions of torture sort of?, mentions of being underweight because of said torture, fluff sort of if you squint?, angst, open ended, tiny mention of death, let me know if i missed anything!! <3

let me know what you think <3

this is based on the song “cardigan” by taylor swift but it’s not a song fic <3

Skies of dark grey released heavy sheets of rain onto the cobblestone streets below, the pitter-patter of the torrential downpour barely muted the sound of your high heels against the all too familiar stone street. A stark black umbrella held primly above your head shielded you from the typical English weather as you strutted through Diagon Alley.

Truthfully, you hadn’t planned on showing your face in the magical hotspot, not so soon after the war anyway. Years worth of memories haunted every twist and turn of the street you seemed to own in the moment, light grey stones darkened and slick from the rain completely devoid of any feet other than your own.

You recalled all of the significant moments, each bookmarked by a certain area of the various alleys. Flourish & Blotts; where you’d met your first love all those years ago, at the age of eleven you’d been so bright eyed and sure of the future, sure of him. In the distance you could make out the bright orange exterior of Weasleys’ Wizard wheezes; where you’d walked away from your first love, all those years later however not so long ago that the sight of his legacy, as vibrant and joy inducing as it always had been, didn’t elicit an uncomfortable pang to spring in your chest. As you progressed past Olivander’s, your lips quirked up ever so slightly as the aging paint of the shop expelled all misconceptions you had about the boy who still haunted all of your “What If?”s, the lightly rusting windows screaming at you as if to remind you that, actually, he hadn’t been your first love. Olivander’s Wand Shop had been the true site of your first love and you’d found that first taste of true, pure, untainted love in the form of your phoenix feather core, thirteen inch, English oak wand.

A wistful giggle left your lips, your feet unmoving, rain lashing down aggressively and sliding off the edges of your umbrella, creating streams of water that fell around you but never got close enough to you to so much as dampen your outfit. Losing yourself in the joy of recalling how happy you’d been upon being chosen by your fateful wand, you failed to notice the familiar frame who had made his way to the doorway of the shop. The creaking of the old door pulled you from your thoughts, a dazzlingly grin broke out on your face as Mr. Olivander himself leant against his propped open door, keeping himself dry inside the comfort of his warm shop.

A grin similar to yours adorned his lips as he called out rather loudly over the rain, “I do recall that smile getting you out of quite a bit of trouble, back in your Hogwarts days,” your smile only widened at his recollection.

“To this day it’s the secret to my success,” you beamed jokingly as Olivander shook his head and released a low chuckle. He had no doubt that you’d be going places, ever since the first moment he’d clapped eyes on you he knew you were destined for success, of course, it was also no wonder that bewitching smile of yours had helped you get there. Like your wand; you chose your company carefully, held nothing but passion for the things you craved, were fiercely determined and surprisingly flexible without breaking your morals.

“I also recall thinking you’d grow up to become one of the brightest witches this country had ever seen. It seems as though you proved me right, dear girl,” he spoke with such reverence that you almost wished to cower away from his gaze, however, you held your confident stance and let your smile melt into an adoring grin once more.

“Don’t act as though you had nothing to do with it, sir,” your voice carried through the wall of worsening rain between yourself and the older wizard, “If it hadn’t been for your encouragement during the war, I think I’d have simply given up in the cellar of Malfoy Manor,” it was a dark time, of course it was, it had been a war after all. You supposed, the love you held for your coveted wand extended to the man who had supplied it to you in the first place; Mr. Olivander, he was more than just the slightly daft wand shop owner, he had been- for longer than you cared to remember- your cellmate, the man who had slid you his rations from across the dungeon when you’d faded to nothing but skin on bones, the one who encouraged you to pursue your dreams of becoming a journalist with the hopes of shining light on issues far more important than the ones covered by that roach Rita Skeeter. He was a lot of things, but above all else, he was your friend.

“Now, now dear,” he chastised teasingly, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes as lively now as it had been on the day he was born, and, every day since, “You better be getting to Gringotts. Lots of galleons and sickles to collect I’m sure. Being the head of the Daily Prophet surely keeps those money bags heavy, eh?”

Your laugh echoed through the street one again, your lips which were painted black, supplied him with the very best smile you could possibly muster. “I suppose I should get going. Look after yourself.” Olivander shot you a wink before retreating back into his shop.

A familiar lamp caught your attention, the ghosts of your past passions rising as brutally as the rain fell. You could remember it, clear as day.

His laughter mingled with yours, the hearty belly laughs bellowing through the darkened street as the pair of you stumbled out of The Leaky Cauldron in the early hours of the morning, systems altered by the copious amounts of fire whiskey you’d managed to consume. His hand held yours in a tight grasp, he swung your interconnected arms childishly.

One second you’d been walking and the next he was twirling you around beneath the spotlight of the flickering post above you. Drunkenly, you’d spun your little heart out, spurred on by his slightly slurred, yet somehow sweet, singing. He admired you as you shimmied ahead of him, completely free, fresh out of school and not yet weighed down by the darkness that loomed in the distance. When your eyes caught his you shot him a smile, he knew it well, it was the smile, it shun like sequins when they caught light and he knew it was worth more than all of the gold in Gringotts. You beckoned him over to you with a finger, taking his hand when he got close enough you spun him around and laughed weightlessly.

The feeling of his hands gripping your waist would be imprinted on your skin for as long as you lived, you’d thought, charmed by the look in his brown eyes when you internally swore that you would’ve loved him for a lifetime.

What you didn’t know, as you shook off the phantom hands on your waist, was that he’d seen your eyes that night and despite his heavily intoxicated state, he noted your devotion and even now, when he’d lay awake and think of you; it was that look and that sequinned smile that haunted him. Just as the streets of Diagon Alley haunted you.

Thinking of the sequence of events that led you to walking away from the person you’d honestly believed to be your once in a lifetime, perhaps even your once in twenty lifetimes, or infinite lifetimes, did nothing but torment your already scarred heart. He was always hard to pin down, how could he not be? With a face like his and the world wrapped around his finger, he knew he didn’t have to settle for only one of each thing.

Chasing two girls excited him, at the time. All of the secret keeping, high stakes secret meet ups, illicit affairs and sensual politics had kept him energised. Until the novelty wore off and he was left with nothing but a side-piece whose favourite colour he hadn’t bothered to learn. But he’d known yours, he knew everything about you, he still did. He knew you, he remembered how you’d stared at him, eyes heavy with betrayal and filled to the brim with tears the day you’d confronted him, your bags already packed as you made it clear that; yes, you love him, but no, he couldn’t fix this. No matter how hard he’d fought to change the ending to your fairytale-esq love story, you’d slipped through his fingers like water.

Various knick knacks that had once been yours still lived in his flat, above the shop you’d encouraged him to open, back in school. For weeks, your scent lingered like a tattoo kiss on his skin, his clothes, his bedsheets, his everything as a constant reminder that he’d forced you away. He’d practically paid for your ticket for the last train out of London that day. He told himself that he was only seventeen; what on Earth did he truly know about love? And again he reasoned; he knew you.

Months before the war he swore time and time again that he’d seen your face amongst the busy, condensed crowds of Diagon Alley. On countless occasions he found himself chasing down strangers like a madman, hoping for nothing more than to catch even a glimpse of the woman who made his heart smile as beautifully as she herself did.

Chin tilted upwards as you passed his renowned joke shop, you walked with a sense of importance willing your feet not to stop, but you couldn’t deny the urge you had to check up on him.

The last time you’d seen him, the world around you had been in complete chaos. You’d only just been saved from the months of endless torture you were forced to endure. Nothing like now, you’d been frail and weak and hollow. But still, you’d saved his life. Without a word you’d saved him from being crushed, as if he had been just another person to save, as if he hadn’t shared the most intimate of moments with you, before rushing back off, back into the fray until the battle had been won. That was the last time he’d seen you in the flesh and he ached to see you again- so he could thank you, so he could tell you that he was grateful to be alive but his life wouldn’t be worth half as much if he never got to hold you in his arms again.

The rain smashed unyieldingly against the windows of the shop as he worked on the tills, the shop was unusually empty, nobody willing to do any sort of shopping on a day so miserable. With a bored sigh, he stared out the large window before him, only one woman walked the street, an umbrella struggling to fight off the rain. The raindrops that accumulated on the window blurred his view of the lady’s face but there was no amount of rain in the world that could hide your signature strut of defiance from him.

Quickly he scampered out from behind the counter, “George! Watch the counter!” He screeched, bombing it out the front door while George released a tired sigh, hoping his twin wasn’t regressing back to his chasing strangers phase.

As soon as he’d entered the open air, he was completely soaked to the bone. Your heels clacking like the countdown on a ticking time bomb as Fred stood frozen as few meters behind you. His hair sopping wet, his shirt sticking to his body and his face completely desperate as he called your name.

His heart was beating so aggressively that he was positive you could hear it from up the street. You’d stopped in your tracks upon hearing his voice, your stomach erupting with butterflies while simultaneously dropping in anticipation when you turned to face him.

“You’re here,” he stated dumbly, swallowing the lump in his throat as he took you in. As beautiful as you’d always been, he carefully inched towards you, you stayed rooted in your spot but let him advance on you. The phantom feeling of his strong hands on your waist clouded your judgment and made you long to have him come back to you.

You nodded your head, “I’m here.”

Fred nodded too, exhaling a deep breath now that he was sure he wasn’t imagining your presence as he had countless times before. Before either of you knew it, you were standing within arms length of each other, however, far too unsure to touch. The rain was roaring and Fred began to blink rapidly, the water hitting his eyes ruthlessly before you took a single step forward and saved him from the onslaught of droplets. You were close now, so close Fred could smell your perfume and see every detail of your face. The handle of your spacey umbrella rested in between the both of you, acting like a barrier so he wouldn’t tug you against his shaking form and hug the daylights out of you.

“You never let me say thank you,” he started, tears very quickly forming to mix with the raindrops that slid down his freckled face. “At the battle. If you hadn't been there, Y/n, I would’ve died.”

“Don’t say that,” you begged, you’d mulled the scenario of “what if I’d been too late?” over in your mind, more times than you were willing to admit, and the image of Fred cold and dead, despite how terribly he’d hurt you, made your gut wrench so violently that you thought you might be sick. “I was there. That’s all that matters.”

His brows furrowed and suddenly the hands on your waist weren’t that of a past ghost anymore, they were his; very real and in the moment. “Why didn’t you stay? After you saved me you just ran off, I couldn’t find you after it was over-“ his voice was so vulnerable, it cracked and hitched and you forced yourself to cut him off, your umbrella shaking in your hand.

“Because I didn’t want you to see me like that- the way I was after Harry got the others and I out of Malfoy’s,” you told him honestly, biting back tears as you offered him more elaboration while he shook his head in a frantic sort of disbelief, “I was weak and skeletal, I couldn’t face you. Not when I saw the way you looked at me.”

“I looked at you the same!” He exclaimed and you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Exactly, Fred! I was vulnerable and damaged beyond belief and even after everything- every screaming match, or slammed door or horrible words that we wish we could take back you still looked at me like I was your favourite thing!” You rambled, chest heaving painfully as you tried, uselessly, to keep your building tears at bay. Fred didn’t waste a second before he was pulling the umbrella from you and tossing the thing, that had become more of a hindrance than a help, away from you before he cupped your cheeks urgently.

Rain enveloped the both of you and Fred knew he shouldn’t have been thinking it, but merlin, you seemed to glow in the rain and he acknowledged the fact he’d been aware of all along; you were truly an angel.

“Because you were! You are,” his voice was dripping with honest desperation, “I might not have known anything else back then but I knew I missed you, I knew that hurting you would be the worst thing I ever did and when I saw you that day I knew I still loved you and my life wasn’t worth living if it wasn’t spent with you!” You were at a loss for words at his shouted, emotionally charged confession. His eyes searched yours for the look that haunted him, the promise to love him forever that was hidden beneath your irises and after the next words slipped from his lips, he thought that maybe he’d uncovered it.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make things up to you. You’re quite literally the only reason my heart is beating and I’d sooner actually die than let you go one more second thinking that you aren’t the greatest thing that has ever happened to me in my stupid, idiotic life.”

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n

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handwrittenhello · 4 years ago

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do you take prompts?? I would love to see Geraskifer and cuddling 💕💞💓💗 Thank u!!

well i don't normally but this idea sprang into my head fully formed lol so here you go, i guess. me, projecting my writer's block and touch starvation onto my favorite characters? it's more likely than you think

Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer Rating: T Warnings: none (ao3 link in reblog!)

Jaskier sighed, staring at the blank page in front of him. It seemed to mock him—master bard, he calls himself, and yet he can’t even put ink to paper and write something down. This manuscript was meant to be sent off to the Oxenfurt publishers in two days, and he’d barely made any progress on it. He was feeling the stress keenly.

Even more keenly, though, he was feeling the familiar claws of skin hunger closing around him. Geralt and Yennefer had forcefully made themselves scarce so that he could concentrate on his writing, but if anything, the low-simmering hunger had roared to life in their absence, until he could hardly think for want of yearning.

He jammed the quill back in the inkwell with perhaps more force than was strictly necessary. The stress of writer’s block and touch starvation was getting to him, he could tell, because it felt like his skin was prickling, a restless energy making itself known throughout his entire body.

Perhaps some fresh air would help. He wasn’t much one for exercise, really, but he supposed that a nice brisk walk around the manor would get the creative juices flowing, so to speak. Besides, it was a nice day, and Geralt was sure to be found either with Roach in the stables or with Yennefer in the garden, if he wasn’t inside with Jaskier. So what if he stumbled across them? Coincidence, surely.

Jaskier chose to forgo his doublet, the weather warm enough and the garden private enough to make do with only his chemise. Besides, if one of his lovers just happened to see him in a state of undress and take advantage? Well, he wouldn’t complain.

Geralt wasn’t in the stables when he checked, but Roach was, and she whinnied, either in greeting or in threat. She was grudgingly tolerant towards Jaskier on the best of days, and he chose not to tempt fate by getting any closer without Geralt there to soothe her.

Jaskier made his way to the courtyard, where Yennefer liked to lounge in the shade reading on quiet days. The prickling feeling got worse as he walked, a yawning chasm inside of him that wanted nothing more than to sink into a warm embrace and just be held until the hunger inside of him quieted.

He managed to retain a little dignity by not breaking into a run when he entered the courtyard, instead strolling casually over to where Yennefer reclined on a bench, her head in Geralt’s lap as he ran a hand through her hair. Jaskier fought off a pang of envy.

Geralt noticed him first. “Finished?” he asked.

Jaskier grimaced. “Not exactly,” he hedged. “Thought it might be time for a break, you know, rejuvenate the body and soul.”

“I do hope you aren’t getting any ideas,” Yennefer interjected, not looking up from her book. “You know the rules. No sex until you finish.”

“Those rules are cruel and unusual and you know it,” Jaskier groused.

“You set them,” Yennefer reminded him. “What was it you said? ‘Don’t bother me on pain of death’?”

“I don’t remember,” Jaskier sniffed, absolutely remembering. “But I didn’t come out here for sex, you deviant.”

Geralt, meanwhile, was frowning at Jaskier, his nostrils flaring ever-so-slightly in the way that Jaskier knew meant he was scenting the air. “You smell strange,” he concluded.

“I just bathed this morning!” Jaskier protested, though he knew that it wasn’t anything physical that Geralt was smelling.

“No, it’s… you smell stressed. And sad,” Geralt replied.

“I wonder why,” Jaskier deadpanned. “It’s not like I have a very important deadline looming over me or anything.”

“No, you’re right, Geralt,” Yennefer said, sitting up. She was peering at him intently, and Jaskier suddenly realized that she was reading his mind.

“You know I hate when you do that,” he objected, though she had likely already plucked the issue from his mind like picking a ripe apple off a tree.

“Then why don’t you get to the point? Tell us what you need, or I’ll portal you right back to that desk and chain you there until you finish.”

“Kinky.”

“Jaskier.”

“Alright! It’s just, sometimes I get this—this sort of hunger, where I—gods, this is embarrassing—where I just want to be… held, I guess.” It sounded so strange when he said it aloud like that. “It’s not sexual, or anything,” he rushed to follow it up with. “I just—I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Geralt answered, holding out his arms. Jaskier gratefully stepped into them, almost falling into Geralt’s lap. “We all need touch sometimes.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Jaskier mumbled.

“You bothering us isn’t any different from usual,” Yennefer teased, and Jaskier let her words bounce right off him, as he was well accustomed to. She snuggled up close, though, betraying her affection that was normally so hard won.

With both of his lovers close around him, Jaskier finally felt the void inside of him start to fill, the prickling along his skin dying down as he basked in the embrace. The three of them lay there for a bit while the sun moved lazily across the sky and a slight breeze rustled the leaves around them.

Jaskier was just on the verge of slipping into a doze when Geralt shifted beneath him. “Better?” he rumbled.

Jaskier sighed. “Much. I suppose I ought to get back to work, then…”

“Look at it this way—the sooner you finish, the sooner you can have us again,” Yennefer suggested. “And as a reward, we can try out that new toy you seem so keen on,” she purred.

“And if you feel touch starved again, you can always take a break and come find one of us,” Geralt added on.

Jaskier smiled. “Thank you, darlings. You know, I’m feeling quite inspired after that—with any luck, I’ll be done by tomorrow morning!” He leaped off of Geralt’s lap, filled with motivation and buzzing with energy, as if he’d absorbed it just from their embrace.

“Good luck,” Geralt called after him, settling back against the bench again, but Jaskier was already gone.

#the witcher #geraskefer #the witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg

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ffangirlingsince2001 · 5 years ago

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The Witcher and the Princess: Collecting Steam

Geralt of Rivia is not a babysitter, he is not a bodyguard, and he has no interest in transporting princesses across the continent. Until gold is offered and for the next 90 days he’s saddled with a chirpy, bubbly, princess, who is betrothed to the prince of Narok and has a desire to see everything before she’s trapped behind another set of walls.

A/N: All I have to say is whoo baby.

Geralt x Reader

Warnings: HORNY Witcher, angst, drunkeness, brothel, quick smut, language, talking about whores (like the profession)

They didn’t talk about it.

When she first woke her cheeks turned a bright red and then she turned away while pulling her dress back into place. And then it seemed all was forgotten. She thanked him for saving her life- a little dramatic if he did say so himself- and then insisted they keep moving. It had been two weeks since and still they didn’t talk about it.

But by god did Geralt think about it.

The feeling of skin on skin burning between them would not leave him alone. He could still feel the rhythm of her breathing against his skin, frantic fingers scrambling against his skin as she struggled to remember where she was.

It’s not that she was helping his case either.

It wasn’t that she was doing it on purpose. She didn’t mean to brush her hand against his when she took a strip of venison. She didn’t mean to look at him like that when she spoke to him. She didn’t mean to glow golden against the silvery light of freshly fallen snow and soft moonlight.

And yet, she did.

He never acted on it. He wouldn’t dare. He never caught her by the hand when she neared or brushed away the piece of hair that regularly fell out of her plaits, taunting him as it brushed her cheek. He never pulled her in by her waist or exposed soft shoulders. He never ran his hands beneath her skirt or hoisted her against a tree, legs wrapped tightly around him. He never coaxed his name from her lips amongst a thread of moans or bruised her hips with rough fingers while she rode him.

He never did any of that, but he reveled in imagining it.

“Geralt,” came the soft whisper and for a moment the fantasy was real. Then it came again, and he was abruptly ripped from his fantasy. “Are you okay?”

“Hmm,” he grunted, and she cautiously approached him, A she sat on the ground, she swept her dress out from underneath her and crossed her legs. He watched the exposed skin for a moment a cursed himself. He was acting like a little boy who had never seen a woman before.

“Are you sure? Did I do something?”

“Why would you think that?”

“You keep staring at me like you’re mad, like want to… kill something,” she whispered, and he grunted, fists clenching as she leaned closer.

“I’m fine.”

“You seem tense.”

“I’m fine.” She furrowed her brow and stared at the Witcher more intensely than he thought her capable of doing. He glanced over her shoulder to avoid her scrutinizing gaze making her huff before moving closer.

“Let me help you,” she proclaimed and twisted images of her writhing beneath him filled his head.

“No, Y/N I’m fine.”

“Would you stop pretending you’re fine. I know you don’t want to be here, but I don’t want you to be more miserable than you have to be.”

“Let’s go, we can make it to the next town before sundown if we leave now.” He brushed past her and ignored the little huff she made in his direction.

She didn’t push his mood any further as they rode closer to the town that he would have preferred not to stop at. Too many people knew him here, and too many people would take interest in his travel companion.

None of that mattered because he could protect her from all of them. It was his own intentions he wasn’t sure he could keep her safe from.

He paid for their room and turned to her, wincing at the look she was giving him.

“Get yourself some dinner and the go to bed, take a bath if you want, just don’t cause trouble,” he instructed her, ignoring her obvious roll of the eyes.

“Where are you going?”

“Whorehouse,” he grunted, and she burst into a fit of laughter, a smirk of her own taunting him.

“Of course, you are,” she said and then she slipped a few gold coins into his hand. He glanced at them; confusion written all over his face. “A tip, but only if she keeps you busy for a while.” And then with a scandalous wink she skipped off towards the bar.

The gold was heavy in his hand and he wanted nothing more than to chuck it at her before throwing her over his shoulder and showing her what it was like to be kept busy.

Instead he pocketed the gold and strode out the door towards the brothel that he frequented when fate led him to this town. They recognized him right away and a girl he never bothered to learn the name of pulled him into an unoccupied room.

“Let me take care of you,” she purred, and he silently shook his head before shoving her against the mattress. He hiked up her skirt and she struggled against the raw attack.

“Don’t fucking move,” he growled. If propriety didn’t allow him to teach his princess a lesson, he was going to teach this whore. She stilled and he smirked, imagining his keep squirming beneath him. She wouldn’t have listened he told her to keep still, she would have fought him tooth and nail. She wouldn’t have just let him in. She would have made him work for it.

She annoyed him and it seemed odd that he would even bother trying to replace the princess with this nameless woman. Her moans were high pitched, thinly veiled noises to hide the pain. It was too practiced, there was no surprise, no sign that she hadn’t been there a hundred times before.

“Fuck,” he grumbled pulling out and handing the whore what she was owed plus the coins Y/N had so graciously provided him. “The tip is to keep people out until I’m gone,” he snapped, and she nodded, shock written all over her face. The door slammed shut and he laid back on the bed, trying not to think about whatever stains were on the bedsheets.

He laid there for an hour, wasting time as she had requested. And then he wandered the streets for another, hoping she would be asleep by the time he returned to the bar. She didn’t infuriate him when she was sleeping. She was good and quiet and her eyes were closed.

She didn’t say things that made him want to throw her over his knee when she was asleep.

But it seemed luck was not on his side, because as he stepped into the pub she was doing exactly the sort of thing he wanted to punish her for.

She stood before him, on top of the bar, a drink far stronger than anything she should have been drinking in her hand. And she was leading the energetic crowd in a rousing rendition of Toss a Coin to your Witcher. A young man was holding her hand as she twirled about, though he seemed just as drunk as she was.

“Y/N,” he barked over the crowd and she turned to him with a grin.

“I told you it was about my Witcher,” she told the crowd. “Someone owes me money.”

“Get down from there,” he growled and she rolled her eyes.

“Are you going to catch me?” she slurred, pretending to fall. He jerked forward and she fell into peals of laughter. “Don’t be so uptight, I have everything under control. Don’t I, Sven?” The boy who was standing beside her nodded. “See, Sven agrees with me.”

“Get down,” he said once again but she shook her head and spoke to the crowd behind him.

“We have another song to sing, don’t we?” she asked, and they of course cheered, raising their glasses to woman standing above them. “You can join us, it’s about you after all,” she giggled, tipping a little too close to edge as she struggled to regain her balance. Geralt took the chance to grab her wrist and pull her into his arms. The crowd booed when they realized she was gone and through laughter she yelled that she would be back for an encore once he fell asleep.

“Don’t even think about it,” he growled and she laughed again, wrapping an arm around his neck as he carried her to their room. Once he had her inside he set her on the bed and she smirked before skirting out of his grasp. “Go to bed,” he ordered her, trying not to think too much about the coy look she threw over her shoulder.

“I have to take a bath,” she informed him and before he could protest her clothes were merely piles on the ground. He averted his eyes until she was settled in the water. Shadows hid the soft flesh he was forced to avoid, but he could hear the water lapping against her skin, taunting him, making him wish he could join her.

“How was your whore?” she asked softly, the nonchalance in which she asked surprised him. “Did she earn the tip?”

“No.”

“I’m not surprised, from what I understand they never do.”

“And what do you know about whores, little princess?”

“Men in court never hide their conquests, even if they had to pay for them. They’re always so disappointed but I don’t why they’re surprised. I mean what does a whore have that I don’t? Nothing, it’s what I have that they lack.”

“How do you figure?”

“Well, we both have a perfectly good cunt,” she announced, and he felt himself twitch beneath the tight fabric of his pants. “I can fake a moan and swoon just like every other woman, but do you want to know what I can do that they can’t?”

“Tell me,” he growled far too quickly. He had meant to sound humored, but it sounded thick and suffocated; however, she was too drunk to notice.

“Desire,” she purred, and it took everything in him not to rise, pull her from the water and into his arms. “No matter how good she fucks you’ll always know you’re paying. No matter how hard she tries to convince you she is completely devoted she never will, because the jingle of gold will always be there. I’ll mean it, or at least you’ll think I mean it because you’re not paying me. I’ve entered into your bed willingly, and by then I’ve already won.”

“What about experience?” Had she been sober she would have noticed him prying, but the alcohol kept her focuses on her rant.

“Oh please, you can’t tell me you would rather the struggle to fill some loose whore than stretch me out.”

“I don’t struggle in either case.”

“Of course, you don’t. but I know how men are. They like to own and being the first is a bit like ownership don’t you think. That’s why the preach about waiting, so your husband can own you.” He was throbbing now, aching to fill up the soft flesh she boasted so opened about. And now she was speaking of marriage, which only made him feel worse.

She was an innocent girl with a husband waiting at the end of their journey, and yet he wanted nothing more than to ruin her.

“Do you need the water?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? It’s still warm. You know someone stole my bath water once. Sold it as an elixir for eternal beauty. People bought it of course, I wasn’t one to ruin their fun.”

“Did it work?” She laughed and he was sure she was rolling her eyes.

“Don’t tell me your thick. Of course, it didn’t work. There’s no such thing as eternal beauty, everyone gets old and decrepit at one time or another. Except you of course, but you have much worse things to deal with them wrinkles, don’t you? Maybe it’s a blessing to die early?” she whispered softly, trailing off. He could feel her staring now, a soft of closed off stare that accompanied untold secrets.

“That’s awfully cynical of you, Princess.”

“I’ve been told,” she muttered darkly and then as quickly as it had come the darkness disappeared. “Would you hand me a towel?”

“Get it yourself,” he grunted, regret instantly filling his lungs.

“Suit yourself,” she laughed, climbing out of the bath, skin catching the light as she approached him. He could see every slope of flesh, every hill made for caressing, every inch of skin begging to be bruised. Her forced himself to look away, focusing on anything that wasn’t her. “So bashful,” she teased, “Weren’t you just fucking a whore?”

“You’re not a whore.”

“From you, that sounds like a compliment,” she said as she wound the towel around herself.

“Get dressed.”

“Or what?” She was testing him, and she knew it. He caught her eye and cursed beneath his breath. God, she was infuriating. He vowed to never let her drink again. It was dangerous for both of them when liquor sang rebellion to nineteen years of oppression and privilege. “What are you going to do about it, Witcher?”

“I’m getting a drink. Be dressed and in bed by the time I get back.”

“I’ll come with. I want another.”

“You’ve had enough to drink.”

“You’re not my father, nor my husband, so you can stop fucking telling me what to do,” she spat, completely unprepared for the force at which he yanked her closer.

“I dare you to say that again, because I have no problem teaching a spoiled brat a lesson.” Her hand shot out to slap him but he caught it without hesitation. Pressed against him, only a towel to cover her, he could feel her breathing. It was hot and angry, the swell of her lungs pushing her against him with each breath. She was at his mercy this way, wrists caught in his hands, naked and wet, waiting to take whatever he wanted to give her. He wanted to. He wanted to so badly it hurt to push her away. “Good. I expect you to be dressed and in bed when I get back.” He released her wrists and left the room. As he locked it he heard her scream in frustration, something heavy crashing to the floor. He turned away, ignoring the angry cries. He wanted to forget her and the painful feeling that he was losing something as he walked away.

***

Taglist: @mallorydoesstuff @facelessfiction @aphadriel-fanfic @raspberrydreamclouds @thegreattodd @saint-hardy @ravenclawsstolemybunies @queenofmankind @britty443

#geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia smut #geralt of rivia fluff #geralt of rivia angst #the witcher #the witcher fluff #the witcher smut #the witcher x reader #the witcher angst #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia fanfic #geralt of rivia fanfiction

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jemej3m · 5 years ago

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Listen bud, hunger games au, Andrews the mockingjay, Neil’s been captured by his dad aka the game maker

if you’re looking for an extended hunger games au @gluupor‘s on ao3 is my all-time favourite, but here’s a oneshot (are oneshots all i know how to do??)

Andrew doesn’t want to be here. The whole place is writhing with death and misery, but there’s a whole camera crew asking him to interact with these people, these men and women and children who are fighting and dying for an idealistic cause.

Andrew is not an empathetic person. Kevin says that doesn’t matter. Just the sight of him, with his Mockingjay pin, will be enough to inspire hope.

At least he’s here, shepherding Andrew around, doing all the talking. Nicky’s being all amicable too, crouched by overcrowded beds and talking nonsense. Aaron’s probably somewhere, being useful.

His team. His support. Coming out onto the front lines with him, because they genuinely believed that Andrew was going to change the world.

When Andrew volunteered in Aaron’s place, he didn’t think he’d ever see his family again.

Just goes to show: nothing is predictable. Not in a world like this.

Andrew beelines for the lonely kids, the ones without parents, shunted into the corner. There’s one with a stump instead of an arm, like Kevin, and one who was avoxxed in the raid, like Nicky’s boyfriend. They all learned sign language for him, so Andrew kneels on the floor and says hello.

The kid’s eyes light up when he realises Andrew can talk to him. The others get excited too, crowding around.

They ask him questions. He talks whilst he signs, keeping his voice low. He tells them what sunrise looks like from the capitol’s training tower, how to properly throw a knife, why you choosing your family is important, and protecting them even more so. Their eyes are as wide as saucers, drinking in every word. Andrew has always been good with kids.

He realises that the cameras have been trained on him and stops talking. The kids get sad, but then a nurse comes around to move Andrew along so that they can have their checkups. Andrew hoists himself up off the ground, ignoring his cousin as he comes closer. He has tears in his eyes.

“That was beautiful,” he says. “Neil would -”

“Shut up,” Andrew snaps, because there’s a lot of things he tries not to think about, and Neil is one of them.

His and Neil’s story is a long one. Andrew was in the 5th district, the fostered son of the mayor. He had a best friend, one he didn’t tell anyone about lest his older brother, Drake, discover how pretty Neil was. Neil’s mother was overprotective, hiding him away from the public eye, but together they would climb outside the district’s boundaries and play together in the woods.

Then Andrew met his biological family when Major Cass Spear was invited to the 12th district for diplomacy. He decided to stay. He was twelve at the time: he and Aaron entered the reapings that year. His cousin had three years left, but would never be voted in: he was also the son of a terrible mayor. When Nicky turned 18, Tilda died, his parents disowned him, and he looked after the twins for another 2 years before Aaron was reaped and Andrew took his place.

That year, a scrawny seventeen year old from the 2nd district, who wasn’t a career tribute, volunteered himself. It wasn’t until Andrew had met all the tributes in the capitol that he realised who that kid was: Neil, his childhood best friend, who was fulfilling an old promise of protection.

Andrew had hated him quite a bit for it: only one of them was meant to escape the arena. There were bets placed on how soon Andrew would kill him and how. None of them knew the truth. None of them knew that Andrew would rather die than kill Neil.

So, in the end, when it’d just been the two of them, they swore a truce. They fought against the capitol’s attempts at whittling them down till the capitol gave up. Andrew thought they’d beat the system: it took him a hellish victory tour, another trip back to the arena and losing Neil to the capitol to know that wasn’t true.

Neil. Neil, Neil, Neil. The other reason Andrew doesn’t want to be here. Neil’s back in district 13, recovering from his weeks spent being tortured at the capitol’s hands. The rebels weren’t given the chance to grab him before the capitol snatched him away. Andrew had paced grooves into the ground during his absence.

And when he came back? Well, Andrew would’ve rathered that Neil forgot him entirely. Instead they - his father, his worst nightmare and most talented gamemaker in the capitol - had turned Neil against him. Made him loathe Andrew with every fibre of his being. Enough so that he’d tried to strangle Andrew when they’d first been reunited.

He is better now, but still avoiding Andrew at every possible junction. Andrew inexplicably still wants to stay by his side. Abby says his memory will return with time. Andrew will just have to wait.

Nicky’s eyes go wide. “I thought you were going to sort things out with him -”

But then Kevin is yelling, sirens are wailing. The hospital begins to dissolve into panic. Andrew only has to hear someone yell “Bombs!” to understand, being directed out of the building. Someone’s trying to set up artillery to shoot them down. It’s too late. Andrew’s lot makes it out, but only a handful of patients are able to stumble out after them before the building explodes. Andrew looks over his shoulder as they’re running towards where their helicopter is descending. The warehouse structure has collapsed inwards. Those who hadn’t died in the explosion are being torn apart by shrapnel and debris. All those kids. Gone.

“Turn the camera on,” he murmurs, holding out his hands. The bomber planes aren’t turning around, but there’s a second fleet of carrier craft behind them, bringing peacekeepers by the dozen.

“Andrew,” Aaron says, stricken. The camera’s red light is already flashing.

“This is what you get for remaining neutral,” Andrew spat out, flinging a pointed hand behind him at the burning hospital. “Massacred. Think about that next time you assume the capitol will be on your side.”

He’s facing away from the carnage. It’s the only reason that he doesn’t see the peacekeeper aim and fire. He doesn’t even realise he’s been shot until the rest of him start screaming.

By then it’s too late: he’s falling, falling into darkness, wishing that he’d never involved himself in this stupid rebellion in the first place.

He blinks awake and stares at the ceiling. District thirteen, being a burner district, doesn’t have many variations in its ceilings, but Andrew knows this one all too well.

He’s in the hospital.

His hands go to his arms: the armbands are still there, but they’re rolled down and his knives are gone. There’s a morphine drip in his left elbow and fluids in his right. He can barely feel his body.

“I have your knives,” says a familiar voice. Andrew has to be dreaming.

Neil’s appearance has always fluctuated: when they’d first met, his hair had been black and his eyes natural blue. During the games he’d started off with brown hair and brown eyes, but a lack of resources meant that he’d ended up forgoing the contacts and letting his roots grow out. He’d forgone the brown eyes but kept up with the dye till the second games, which hadn’t lasted long enough for any major changes.

Now he is fully and unequivocally Nathaniel Wesniniski, son of Nathan, scarring on his cheeks, arms and torso telling a narrative that is a hard-won fight. Nathan and his lackey Lola had both been killed brutally in Neil’s rescue. Andrew is glad.

“Hey,” Neil says, when Andrew isn’t exactly forthcoming. “How are you faring?”

“You’re not here to finish the job?”

Neil’s lips quirk. “Drama queen. Your suit was fitted with kelvar: there’s a lot of bruising, but you’ll be fine in a week.”

Andrew drops his head back down onto his pillow. “Dammit.”

Neil snorts. He’s in a good mood. Andrew can tell he’s still on edge, but he was always a paranoid kid. It’s not going to take some genial bedside manner to undo everything his father did.

“I know that everything they told me was fake,” he says, looking at the knives in his hands. “I have always been a jumble of identities and false pretences. This shouldn’t be news to you.”

Andrew just hums. He can’t even wiggle his toes. How the hell did they had stuff this strong down here? They were all eating onion slop rations but had morphine good enough to even send Dan into a spiral.

“I gave this knife to you,” Neil continues, holding up a sleek blade. Matte black. Andrew’s sharpest blade and perfectly weighted for throwing. “This was my mother’s. You must have been very special to me if I gave you this.”

“I hate you,” Andrew says.

“Are you sure?” Neil asks. “Because I’m not.”

Andrew just huffs.

“I remember...” he hesitates. “I remember us. Together. In your district 12 victory house, after the tour...then again, in the tower before the 75th games.”

Andrew stares at the wall opposite him. He really doesn’t want to have this conversation. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“I think it did,” Neil says, softspoken. He’s never soft-spoken. “My father - he couldn’t create new memories. He could only twist old ones. For me to hate you as much as I did, I must have really...You know. Lo-”

“Don’t,” Andrew says, because this a war and if he hears something like that fate will go against him. “I’m not your answer, Neil.”

Neil shrugs. “Okay.” Then, with methodical precision, he checks Andrew’s vitals, removes the needles and rolls up his bands. Then he slides the knives in place, fingertips briefly brushing over Andrew’s skin. Andrew, for some reason, lets him.

“Your last morphine dose was seven hours ago,” Neil says, settling back into his chair. “It’ll wear off soon. You were asleep for nearly 2 days, did you know? Aaron says the bruising is horrific. You probably won’t be able to move for another 3 days. But hey, at least all the districts are in revolt now. You getting shot on camera actually helped the cause...”

He chatters innocuously. Andrew listens. Neil’s still nervous, still schooling his bodily reactions of hatred and disgust, but he’s here anyway. Distracting Andrew from his own snare of a mind.

Maybe there’s goodness in this terrible, terrible world.

Maybe Andrew can have it.

He’ll just have to live long enough to find out.

yeehawwww

#andreil #hunger games au #andrew minyard #neil josten #tw: canon typical violence #andrew is good with kids fight me #is that??? a love confession??????#all for the game

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heartslogos · 3 years ago

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newfragile yellows [1223]

The facts are simple.

Ellana Lavellan was never meant to pilot a jaeger. The Inquisition offered her when they took Mahanon in as a pilot. If Mahanon’s compatibility was so good then surely his twin’s would be too. And who better to co-pilot with him than his own twin sister? They would probably score some of the highest compatibility rates with the least amount of backlash and bleed over.

She’s not a fighter, though. All their lives Mahanon’s the one who’s fought. Mahanon’s the one who always felt he had something to prove. Mahanon is the one with his eyes fixed on some always retreating point on the horizon, clawing and chasing after it with the dogged determination of a starving man. Ellana doesn't know why. She doesn't understand it. All of the ambition that should have been split between the two of them went directly to him.

Ellana can’t remember ever feeling that desperate starvation. In her mind their lives were already good and settled. Their parents both worked full time. Their father, a postman. Their mother, a daycare employee. Their grandparents on both sides were in good health. Their numerous aunts and uncles and cousins could all be considered to be not he up and up of things. They both went to public school and got good grades, and Ellana made plenty of friends. Mahanon isn’t the sort of person to try and make friends, but he got along alright.

She got into a good community with scholarships, studied there for her undergrad until she figured out what she really liked. Then she transferred out to a private university with even more scholarships. She got her bachelor’s degree. Then a master’s. And then finally, a doctorate. And in between that she worked part time, then full time, at various jobs.

Ellana was doing well. She likes to think her brother was also doing well. She’d moved out for college but he'd remained close to their hometown. Whenever she went back he looked well. He was never struggling for money. He moved out into an apartment of his own that he shared with two other people.

And then the kaiju. And then the jaegers. And then the Inquisition.

To this day Ellana doesn’t know how Mahanon got the Inquisition’s attention. But they came and they took him and then they came and recruited her, too. They wanted to put her in a jaeger.

Mahanon wanted her in a jaeger.

She doesn’t think that anyone thought she would say no.

But she did and Ellana thinks that her brother may never forgive her for it. And now, with Mahanon unconscious and his fate uncertain, she doesn’t think she’ll ever forgive herself for it, either.

Maybe if she was in the jaeger with him he’d have been alright. Or maybe they both would have been dead. Or maybe he’d still be like this but without a sister waiting for him when he wakes up. If he wakes up.

After Mahanon — became like this, the Inquisition didn’t ask her to get in the jaeger. They told her.

Ellana didn’t have the strength to disagree, to fight. It wasn’t a battle that could be won. They would put her in that jaeger if they had to pull down the full force of every nation onto her. They would get her into that jaeger at gunpoint if they needed to. With whom was the question. Not her brother, certainly. But who?

The Iron Bull. The answer is the Iron Bull.

The Iron Bull who carries the weight of everything he’s ever done and things he can’t possibly be held responsible for like a yoke around his neck. The Iron Bull who looked at her and clearly didn’t want to be there either. The Iron Bull who didn’t want any of this but was stuck with it just like her anyway. The Iron Bull who made her laugh with his sharp commentary. The Iron Bull who stood like a silent wall between her and the world whenever she needed a moment to compose herself in the shock of war. The Iron Bull who didn’t hesitate to pick up for her whenever she stumbled and never held her inexperience and slow speed of acclimatization to violence against her. The Iron Bull who, despite his own low opinion of himself, really was sincerely kind to her when he didn’t have to be.

The Iron Bull who should probably have used some of that kindness for himself.

Or maybe he shouldn’t have been kind to her at all. Maybe if he was as terrible to her as he thinks he is things wouldn’t have turned out this way.

Ellana can still feel it. She can feel their handshake break apart. She can feel the pain exploding across his body as it bounces into her brain, her spine, her bones, her nerves. Back and forth between them like the world’s most twisted up version of ping pong.

He should have refused to work with her. He should have complained about how ill fit she is for combat. He should have been absolutely terrible to her, made her quit and cry and absolutely refuse. They should never have gotten along. He shouldn’t have been so decent to her. Maybe if he wasn’t then they wouldn’t have gone down so spectacularly badly.

Ellana wakes up. Her mouth is dry. Her body feels both like it’s weighing her down and crushing her and like it’s far, far away and disconnected.

The world is a blur of lights and sounds. Ellana’s eyes keep fighting to shut again, and refuse to focus on anything at all.

There’s a rush of sounds coming closer and closer to her. Shapes come in and out of her view but she can’t put together what those shapes are.

She gives up and lets her eyes slide closed and the noise crashes over her like waves. Her mind, like some greedy pit of quicksand, sucks her back under into restless memory.

She never should have gotten into that jaeger.

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

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x0401x · 5 years ago

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Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #1

Feel free to message me about possible corrections, and please consider supporting the creators by purchasing digital copies of the official releases: Novel || Manga || Fanbook. In case anyone is feeling generous: Ko-fi | PayPal. ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

Index || Next →

Cleopatra’s Pearl

Yesterday, for the first time in a while, I had a night shift in my part-time job at the TV station. I continued working there for just a little, to an extent that wouldn’t get in the way of my Saturday part-time at Jewelry Etranger.

Only the channel of the station I worked for was displayed in the muted TV of the night shift room. There was a history-type quiz show going on when I came in at six. It wasn’t a genre that I had any particular interest in, but…

“Hey, Richard, do pearls really dissolve in vinegar?”

“Cleopatra’s anecdote?”

“Whoa, as expected of a jeweler.”

“This is common knowledge.”

It was said that Cleopatra, once the queen of Ancient Egypt, had a battle with the Roman general Antonius as to which of them could arrange the richest dish. In a direct attack, Antonius showed her rows of delicacies from all over the world, but the queen used an unpredictable move. She dissolved one of the large pearls that she wore as earrings with vinegar that she had poured into a cup, drinking it up in front of Antonius. By the moment she smiled at a dumbfounded Antonius, saying that she could use the other side in case one had not been enough, their contest was already over.

As I talked about the anecdote of the unexpected trick, Richard nodded with a composed face. “That is Plinius’s description of it, right? If you look for a book called ‘Naturalis Historia’, you will find it written there.”

“So it’s true?! No, that’s impossible, isn’t it...? Vinegar can’t really dissolve pearls, right?”

“Depends on its density. If the acidity is strong enough to affect your body after you drink it, it can indeed dissolve pearls as well. But then I cannot conceive that the Queen of Egypt drank it.”

“Thought so...”

“I believe it is unreasonable to expect chemical accuracy from ancient Roman literature, but at the very least, it conveys the romance that he was attempting to tell. The worth of Cleopatra’s large pearls must be immeasurable.”

I had never seen pearls being used much in Etranger, but were there any requests from the clients, this magus-like jeweler would always stock up the necessary goods in rows. As I asked how much a pearl cost, Richard answered that it depended. When I formed a big circle with my fingers and asked, “What about this?”, the beautiful man sighed.

“A gem worn by a royal is a special good among special goods. There are no other comparable items for sale in this world. Therefore, the speculation of ‘how much this costs’ has next to no meaning.”

“So no matter how much money you pay, there’s no way you can get your hands on something that doesn’t exist.”

“Exactly.”

Antonius’s treat was food. It was not cheap, but one could manage acquiring it with money somehow or other. In contrast, Cleopatra all too abruptly dissolved something unique and drank it. I see.

“That’s Cleopatra’s value, huh. So moral of the story is that, even if it wasn’t true, Cleopatra was a step above in sagacity.”

“Right you are. Authenticity aside, it is possible to do a rough analysis from the nature of the anecdote.”

“Cleopatra loses in the end, though.”

Antonius and Cleopatra did join hands, but in the end, they lost to a different general who had come from Rome and both died. Apparently, the new general had no interest in Cleopatra’s beauty. It wasn’t like everything would go well for someone so long as they were good-looking. My break time had ended there, and right before the end credits, I received a task to guard the studio’s management counter.

I would take the night shift four days a week until I started working in this shop, and thinking back on it now, my body sure had endured it. My skin was three times bumpier than normal when I woke up after sleeping until eight o’clock in the nap room. I was by no means a peerless beauty type like Richard, so this was the kind of experience where I became self-aware that even the things we couldn’t see would wear down little by little. Speaking of which...

“Is something the matter, Seigi?”

“No... I was just thinking a bit about the relationship between beautiful people and gemstones.”

Gems lasted more than people. Richard had said before that stones nestled close to people’s lives.

“Gems are stones, so they don’t get damaged so easily and stay beautiful for about forever, right? The reason why rich people feel like collecting them might not be just for using up their fortunes.”

All human beings grew old. Someone had also told me in the past that “luxury is the same as dirt to the wind”. But I could understand why someone would want to think that, by some sort of exception, they would never age and things would always work out for them.

After all, stones – being stones – would retain their beautiful forms.

Richard exhaled curtly with a “hun”, sipping his royal milk tea. Today’s serving was a work I had confidence in.

“Seigi, do you know how pearls are made?”

“Eh? From oysters, right?”

“Precisely. In order to tell apart the way they are formed from the way that minerals form in the ground, they are called ‘carbonate minerals’. As oysters have soft bodies, they are weak to pollution and pain, and dealing with them normally requires meticulous care. It is exactly because they are sensible natural creatures that they have been loved as symbols of beautiful women since times of old. From the fact that the shellfish is nurtured for a long period and born out of the mother’s body, it is also popular as a protection charm for childbirth.”

“‘Carbonate mineral’... something like calculus?”

“You say such emotionless things. It can be considered a delicate gem, close to human flesh. If the owner can successfully manage to coexist with it, it can guarantee a graceful beauty.”

A sensible gem born from shellfish. Hence the “coexistence”. As expected of a jeweler. He said some smart things.

Had Cleopatra also tried to explain herself away to the enemy general like that? She probably had. But it’s useless when it doesn’t work.

“Would it have been useless to give the pearl that she had set aside to the attacking Roman general and say, ‘Please pardon us with this’? It wouldn’t work, huh...”

“You sure are obsessing over it. If Cleopatra had won against Rome’s Octavianus, history might have changed.”

“That’s a hindsight-based opinion, isn’t it? Beautiful people are also part of this world’s riches... Ah, just now! It’s not like I was saying this and that about you!”

“I get it, I understand. Do not shout so loudly,” Richard said, making a bitter face.

My apologies. Up until now, I had been complimenting the appearance of my beautiful boss over and over countless times, and would end up praising him too much, making his face get suspicious. Regardless of the day.

“Survival tactics sure are difficult, both now and in the past.”

“Gemstones cannot speak or hold grudges. They do not increase in numbers if left alone. While their owners change as the people in power are replaced, stones simply exist. The beauty of stones lies in their thoroughly passive charm. Even if there are interpretations for them, they cannot interpret people. That is exactly why people can accept them without any ado even if they belonged to an opponent. The same would not apply to a living person.”

“Speaking of which, it was said on TV that Cleopatra committed suicide in the end, I think.”

If she were truly an unmatched beauty, she might have had her life spared even if she had lost the war. But in that regard, I felt something like pride from a queen who had fought carrying a nation on her back. Like, “I am not the same as gemstones”. It wasn’t as if I knew what the actual course of events was, though.

“Gems also have it hard. Even if they’re cherished because they’re oh-so-pretty, they can’t pick their own fate.”

“So you say there are stones that complain about their own sorrows? How surprising. To think your knowledge of the spiritual side of things would be this deep.”

“That’s not what I’m saying...”

Richard asked, “Is that really so?” and I furrowed my brows. Eh?

“Stones also choose people.”

“You saying that for real?”

“For real. It is like a chance encounter. Just as people choose one another, stones choose people as well. It is precisely because fate ensues that they settle into a person’s hand, I believe.”

“Hearing you say ‘for real’ is kinda... nice.”

“Ha?”

“The gap is incredible, like seeing Cleopatra chug down beer from a tankard... Ah... Sorry about that.”

Richard cleared his throat in displeasure and stated, “Tea” with his usual tone. Whenever he was a bit embarrassed, he would chase me away into the small kitchen.

Today’s snack for the Etranger staff was ramune that we received from a client who had come from the Kansai region. The pastel-colored little spheres were tightly packed inside a lovely box that looked like those hat boxes from department stores. They dissolved in bubbles once we put them in our mouths. Though they were delicious and pretty, as one would expect, eating them in heaps with the clients while talking about stones could have a bit of a bad effect, and I felt like it would make me laugh, so we decided to finish them in private.

“I can even bet on it, but these are definitely tastier than a pearl dissolved in vinegar.”

“What do you intend to bet? How foolish.”

Richard and I absent-mindedly ate the sweets that most certainly neither generals from ancient Rome nor the Queen of Egypt ever got to tasting. We ate and ate but there was no end to them. While we were at it, it felt like we were binge eating pearls, which made me feel just a little sorry for Cleopatra.

As I grimaced a bit, the unrivaled beauty raised an eyebrow only slightly, looking puzzled, and then began wolfing down the ramune again.

#housekishou richard shi no nazo kantei #the case files of jeweler richard #jeweler richard #richard ranashinha de vulpian #nakata seigi #richard #tsujimura nanako #yukihiro utako #novel #my translation #jr short story collection

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ethelphantom · 5 years ago

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Always Been The Missing Piece

This is, uh, a sequel to the Maribat Secret Santa thing I wrote for @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry because Ailelie over at Ao3 gave me a good idea in the comments for an identity reveal fic because obviously they don't know the other isn't a civilian. So. Uh. I am planning at least one more sequel after this because I was given a perfect idea for BartAdrien identity reveal on the Maribat discord server and I need to write that too. Just, don't expect it to turn as long as either of these. And seriously, you really should read this only after Like You Could Be Family, because I seriously doubt this will make much sense without, but it's not like I will be able to actually stop you so....

(Also how the hell did I get to 13k? This has got to be the longest one-shot I've ever written please help me I have a problem)

Ao3 || First part | Third part

This is Maribat -- Don’t like; don’t read.

___________

“I don’t think disowning him is even necessary to make him my brother, and it seems there’s a chance we might become family regardless of whether this Bruce adopts me or not.”

Tim stared at the words written permanently on his wrist, rubbing the skin as though to see if they would smudge and leave. They did not. He had never truly thought of even getting a soulmate when he was young.

(Well, obviously he’d thought about it, rather often too. It was just that he always thought he wasn’t going to get one — either because his parents didn’t have one and he would surely be just like them, and then later, once he became Robin and later Red Robin, he thought that even if it wasn’t going to be because of his parents, then he wouldn’t get a soulmate because he wasn’t going to make it alive to 18.)

But, as all things that had anything to do with Fate always did, it didn’t go as he thought. After all, Fate was never quite so simple.

As it turned out, he made it to 18 and got a soulmark.

There was someone in the world Fate thought was the perfect match for him.

Then he for the longest time believed he would meet them while he was in the vigilante business because if his soulmate was a civilian, what would he even do? There was always a high chance of death because of what he did on a nightly basis, and it was certain he would have to disappear on multiple nights and occasions just to be Red Robin — no way he was going to give that up. That meant, that if he had a civilian romantic soulmate, they might accuse him of cheating, and then his life could be ruined because he was the damn CEO of Waye Enterprises and thus in the public eye all of the time. The words written on his wristed also sounded both like they could be romantic or platonic soulmates, since usually soulmates considered one another family of some sorts automatically — it didn’t necessarily mean his soulmate was speaking about one of his brothers becoming their brother-in-law. They all knew there was a chance Bruce would adopt his soulmate one day (no matter what they said about that being unnecessary.)

Then he actually met his soulmate.

He met Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

A sweet young woman almost his age, perhaps around a year younger than him (turns out he was right when she told him of herself later before he managed to go and search her up), with black hair the shade of midnight sky, her eyes blue as Morning Glories. She was kind, thoughtful, great at baking (she could so some pastries better than Alfred could, and that said a lot about her skills), and she shared Tim’s love of coffee (Dick had been horrified when he found her pouring energy drinks into extra strong black coffee after the first night she spent at the manor).

She was also MDC, Tim’s all-time favourite designer, and it was suddenly much easier to commission her when she could just show him the designs in person and talk about them — why she wanted this thing here and that thing somewhere else. Tim was also much more eager to pay her a whole lot more than what she ever asked for, even if that was partly because Marinette was trying her hardest to lower her prices for him.

Yeah no, that didn’t work with him at all — she was fantastic at what she did and he’d be damned if he let her do the work underpaid.

She never pushed his boundaries too far, only enough to have him open up a little, but because she never made him feel uncomfortable or like she was trying to use him, it was fine; He was horrible at opening up himself and wouldn’t have done it without her. It was clear she knew what was alright and what was not — most of the time anyway. And even when she did push his boundaries too far, it was because she tried to show her appreciation to him or got too excited, and when he or someone else pointed it out to her (because she was bad at noticing it herself), she immediately stopped doing the thing and apologised over and over because she never meant to violate his boundaries.

And then she made sure to never overstep it again unless he gave her the explicit permission to do so.

That told him more about her than many other things did or even could.

She was also intelligent, sassy and sarcastic when she wanted to be, had a strong sense of justice and he knew for a fact she knew how to fight and well. She’d mentioned having done martial arts for quite some time and because she made a complaint about having nearly no opponents on her level, Jason asked her if she wanted to try and spar with him. She agreed and won two out of three matches, and though there was a chance he was just holding back (unlikely, considering how much Jason had talked about it on patrol that night), Damian had challenged her after that and they came to a tie. Twice. Damian then won the last round, probably when he finally stopped underestimating her and holding back. There was no way she wasn’t good.

Marinette always tried to help people in need if she could and wouldn’t take no for an answer when she decided that a person beaten to a bloody pulp was in no condition to walk home, especially not alone. If she had to pay for the taxi to get them home, well, she did, never expecting anyone to pay back.

She was absolutely perfect, if you asked Tim.

The problem was, she was a civilian regardless of how well she fought or how intelligent she was. He could never risk her safety by being in a close relationship with her in case someone found out his identity and decided to use her against him. Wouldn’t be the first time that happened in vigilante business. It had given him enough of a heart attack to be with her while in civvies and get caught by the Riddler because of course he had to be there and there was nothing Tim could do to help her himself — the small and young CEO was not supposed to be able to punch a guy’s teeth in.

And then she’d gone and insulted his fashion taste. Tim agreed, definitely, that green and purple three-piece suit was atrocious, but it was a horrible idea if you were a civilian because the Riddler was extremely sensitive about his fashion choices and a villain and he had hardly any rules as to what he did and to whom, unlike some of the Rogues. Marinette didn’t even have any protective gear against him.

So yeah.

An almost-heart attack.

Turns out, she solved all of his riddles rather quickly, some of them with Tim once the Riddler noticed him, and in the end they all got out safely and unharmed.

At least half of the credit of that definitely went to Marinette.

The best course of action would either be to tell her, or cut ties with her, make her hate him or anything that got her out of the danger zone that came with being in a close relationship with him.

The second option was definitely not what he wanted.

And that was what led him to here, sitting at the table in the apartment he used (especially) when he needed an escape from his dear but way too invasive family with Kon and Bart.

“It’s just, I don’t know what to do! I like her, I really do, but I can hardly pursue a relationship with a civilian. I might endanger her life! We’ve seen that happen with enough many of us. Someone figures out our identity, kidnaps a loved one and puts them at risk. Or sees us too close to a civilian while in the suit and decides they’ll put the loved one at risk anyway. I can’t risk my soulmate’s life for something like that, she doesn’t deserve it,” Tim exclaimed, groaning as his head hit the table. Thank heavens Bart had pulled the plate from under him just in time before his forehead would have ended up in his food.

(Though it was likely he was going to lose half of his food to Bart as well, it was likely he was going to eat Tim’s food while Tim wasn’t there to protect it. Asshole friends and all that.)

Sure, Kon and Bart would have probably had fun watching him ruin his looks (and hair, especially his hair) because of the tomato sauce and spaghetti he somehow had not managed to burn, but maybe they were pitying him enough for his soulmate problems to not just let it happen for this one time. That, and he’d gotten injured in their latest fight and he would not honestly be surprised if they blamed themselves for it at least a little — that was what Tim kept doing if any of his teammates got injured when he was there and even theoretically could have helped.

“Tell her?” Bart suggested, shrugging as he filled his mouth with the spaghetti. From Tim’s plate. Oh well. Telling him to stop would probably not really help and it’s not like Tim couldn’t just steal Kon’s food later. Bart continued speaking as soon as his mouth was empty. “I don’t see why not. If she’s as amazing as you make her out to be, I can’t see a reason why you shouldn’t tell her. I’m gonna tell Adrien, by the way.”

“Do you have any idea when you’re going to do it?”

“Nope, but not yet ‘cause I don’t think it’s fair or appropriate since Paris just declared their heroes dead ‘cause they haven’t made any appearances — but that’s not to say they don’t know where the bodies are, perhaps they’re just protecting them? — in quite the while, but I will soon enough. Wouldn’t be fair to him to keep it a secret, right?” he chuckled and chewed on his (Tim’s) food.

Oh yeah. Paris’ heroes, the ones that were apparently dead. The heroes they had thought didn’t actually exist and were just a make-believe story to entertain people until Paris held a public memorial for them because they were nowhere to be found and told the people they just hadn’t found their corpses, but maybe that was just to protect their identities. The reminder they hadn’t helped them with their villain felt like a punch in the gut to Tim now, even if he hadn’t been the one to make the decision to not help.

He shook the thoughts away. This was not the time for blaming himself or anyone else for it, he could very well do that later.

“Kon?”

“I agree with Bart. If you think she’s good for you, I think it’s better if you just told her. It’s not like you would want to just cut ties with her to protect her and hurt the both of you at the process. It would definitely be like you, but I know you don’t want to do that to the one person meant for you.”

Tim sighed and stole his plate back. It was significantly emptier than it had been two minutes ago. Damn Bart. As a last-ditch effort, he stole Kon’s plate and scooped some of his food to his own plate, ignoring the rather offended look on Kon’s face. His fault, he hadn’t protected Tim’s food from Bart. Besides, Tim needed to eat something proper, after all. It might have been a little too long since the last time he ate more than an energy bar… so probably around three days since.

No wonder he was the smallest of them.

Munching on his food, he sunk back into his thoughts while Bart and Kon chatted animatedly, the few words he picked up indicating the conversation was about soulmates and Adrien in particular.

It had been a few weeks since he and Bart met their soulmates, but both of them were definitely interested in them — likely romantically, but only time would tell for sure. Marinette was amazing and sweet and Adrien must have been the only one as much of a sunshine child as Bart was, though according to Marinette, he could be a little shit when he felt like it. Then Bart and Kon had overheard Marinette discussing Adrien’s father with someone and turns out, Bart was ready to run to Paris and kick the man’s ass himself, regardless of whether he was in prison for being a supervillain and terrorising the city for years or not. Not that Tim would have stopped him. After all, Stephanie too had decided to ruin his father’s plans when it turned out he’d become a villain.

...That was something Adrien could probably bond over with Stephanie at some point. Maybe they’d found the “my dad’s a supervillain and I had nothing to do with it” club.

(“The list of bad dads just grows and grows,” Tim swore he’d heard Bart say afterwards with a suspicious grin on his face. Tim wouldn’t disagree with him though, he could name quite the number of them himself as well, one of them being his very own father.)

Then Marinette had heard Bart declare war on Gabriel Agreste and immediately told him she was joining — according to her, he didn’t have a choice in the matter because she really wanted to kick his ass again.

(Again? When had she managed to do it in the first place?)

So yeah. Having a civilian soulmate was difficult.

Then again… What if he made her a vigilante? She did possess all of the necessary qualities and even more to become a good vigilante that he could think of. Perhaps he should ask her if she’d like to do that. After all, she was now family, both Bruce and Dick had declared so (rather clearly and Dick loudly), accompanied by Alfred’s nods, Jason’s approving humming (and the way he started treating her better than he did most of the family), Cass’ silent approval visible in her smile as she looked at Marinette, and a little reluctant Damian as well.

It wouldn’t matter she didn’t have any superpowers like some people did — none of the family did, and they were all great at what they did, even if Gotham was nearly impossible to save at this point anymore. She was already good at martial arts, knew how to take care of herself (if it didn’t mean her inability to eat when she was supposed to or her reluctance to go to sleep (nightmares, perhaps?), but she knew how to defend herself and others.) She would make a good vigilante, especially with some special and personalised training. Now he only needed it approved by the rest of the family because she could and would put two and two together and realise all of them were involved with the vigilante business if he came clean to her as one.

Actually, that sounded like a good idea.

Then his phone chimed on the coffee table in the living room and he all but ran there, injuries be damned.

“Hey, careful there, you wouldn’t want us to tell Alfred you need new stitches,” Kon called after him before turning to Bart. “How much do you want to bet that was Marinette messaging him right there?”

“Nope, not betting anything when we both know full well it was Mari. There’s no one else he’d practically dive out of the table for and leave his food unguarded with us. Speaking of...”

“Bart! Do not even think about eating my food while I’m gone! It better be still there untouched when I come back, or so help me god I will kick your ass back to the next millennium!”

Bart just snickered.

God, why was he even friends with Bart?

Oh yeah, because he didn’t know how to live on without him (or Kon) anymore anyway.

⬷۵⤐

Marinette paced around her room in the Manor, panic clearly showing on her face. Adrien sat on the bed placed near the wall, leaning to it, seemingly unconcerned. He was mostly waiting for Marinette to calm down enough to stay still and just listen for a second in between her freak outs.

Thank kwamii for the fact they had gotten Wayzz to secure the room and create a shell in which they could talk without needing to worry whether someone heard them or not. No one would. They were safe.

...They also wouldn’t disturb anyone with it since it was way past midnight already.

“But this ruins everything!” Marinette exclaimed, finally standing in one place long enough for Adrien to decide paying attention to her would be worth it. Or, could be worth it.

Adrien rested his chin on his palm, tilting his head. “Now, Buginette, I love you and all, but this is getting ridiculous, utterly ridiculous (“Don’t you dare sound like Chloé right now, Adrien!”) Are you sure you need to panic about all this? As far as I see it, you could just, I don’t know, tell him. Gabriel isn’t a threat anymore, and even if he was, we aren’t in Paris,” he said, and plopped down on the bed, propping one leg on his knee. Plagg seated himself on Adrien’s head, ready to take a nap, while Tikki had nestled on Marinette’s shoulder. It was amazing how she was so used to Marinette freaking out that she could just stay calm on even a pacing Marinette.

“I know I could tell him because Gabriel is behind bars, and I should tell Tim because otherwise it won’t be fair to him and I like him, probably romantically soon, and I can’t let myself pursue a romantic relationship with anyone that doesn’t know because it’s too much to keep a secret, but I have no idea how to! What if I scare him off because right now it looks like the both of us are staying here in Gotham — or at least the States — and knowing the two of us, we won’t be able to just quit hero work either! Speaking of which, we have to design ourselves new suits because Paris just declared us dead like a week ago. Not Marinette and Adrien, obviously, but Chat Noir and Ladybug. Understandable, we just disappeared after the fight with Papillon and there’s no way anyone would believe him if he said he didn’t hurt us so why would they believe he didn’t also kill us and—”

“Nette, please, try to breathe and calm down. It’s not that serious of a situation,” Adrien tried but Marinette had resumed pacing around and it was clear as day she was freaking out. It was also clear she wasn’t listening to a word he said anymore, and barely even paid attention to the fact she wasn’t, in fact, alone in the room in general. He sighed and stood up, grabbing his best friend by the shoulders. Plagg shrieked before he shut his mouth because of his holder’s sudden movement.

Now that had her stop and concentrate her attention on him again.

“I know it’s difficult for you to reveal your identity to anyone, including me even long after I realised my behaviour was a big no-no and apologised to you, and that’s fine. It just means you’re being responsible. But. This is your soulmate we’re talking about. There are so many reasons why you should tell him and you know that if you don’t, whatever relationship you might end up in with Tim might go horribly wrong if all the while you’re keeping a secret such as this from him.” Adrien took a deep breath and looked Marinette directly in the eyes. “I am well aware you like him like, a lot, so there’s no way you’d want to risk losing him in either way — by putting him in danger or by having him tell he can’t take you disappearing on him all the time anymore.”

Damnit. Adrien was right. Marinette hated it when Adrien was right. Mostly, because usually when Adrien was right and even she had to admit it because it was so obvious, it meant that the kwamii also agreed with him. And well. When Tikki, the literal miniature goddess of creation, said something should be done, her word was final. She had no way out of this, now did she?

“Nope!” said Tikki from next to her ear.

Oh. She’d said that out loud. For crying out loud.

But yeah, she truly did like Tim, a lot. He was smart, could banter with her rather easily without ever making her uncomfortable by doing so, was never put off by sarcasm (which was, unfortunately, quite rare nowadays and that meant she found it rather refreshing), and he was kind. Also, he had a huge sweet-tooth and mostly a good taste which meant she could freely bake a lot and Tim would likely enjoy any and all of it. She could use him to test new recipes, too.

She also liked his appearance — a lot. His looks were definitely nothing to scoff at. His hair was black and silky, and his eyes were so enchantingly blue (as were many of his brothers’ and Conner’s, if she was being honest, but his were her favourites) and she couldn't help but just drown in them. He genuinely liked her designs (he says he loves them, her mind not so helpfully reminded her, because that made it even better and even harder to let go of him if the need be), he wasn’t pretending to do so because they were soulmates. Tim also had such great ideas for new clothing sometimes — he had been a massive help with the design for her latest dress that she was planning on making for the up-coming Wayne Gala where he (and the rest of the family) had invited her.

Yeah, and Tim knew how to paint nails a little too well. Marinette was certainly going to use that little fact to her advantage and have him do her nails at some point.

Marinette also truly enjoyed spending time with his family and him. All of them respected her at least on some level (gave her the basic respect Jagged had taught everyone was supposed to give her automatically unless she actually did something to warrant them to lose said respect) and didn't try to have her bake or design clothes for them or have her do their chores they were supposed to do because they wanted a little more time to themselves — especially not for free. Never for free. And, even if they did ask her to do something for them (usually it was Jay or Dick doing so), they never failed to remind her she could say no and that depending on what they asked her to do they’d compensate it to her as soon as possible in whatever form she wanted — whether that be money or new fabric or favours or them helping her the next time she baked something.

They didn’t take her for granted, and that was freeing.

She was genuinely happy to spend time with them. Their presence, especially Tim’s, was comforting to her, with him it was safe for her to just be herself.

Yeah, she was too far gone for one Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne and definitely did not want to lose him. She could only hope she was someone Tim could be himself with as well.

Honestly, her biggest problem with all and any of this was that Tim was a civilian and in case someone found out he was close to her, it would be no good for him to know. If the threat was magical, there was no way he could fight it off even if he was anything like his brothers when it came to fighting (she just didn’t know, but she did suspect he was). She herself could get out of problematic situations rather easily, but there was no telling just how bad situation could get until Tim would no longer have any way to get away. She figured he had to have at least some kind of basic training because so many in his family seemed to know martial arts, he lived in Gotham and was a CEO, but she had no idea to what extent he could protect himself.

And indeed, because the miraculous considered her an adult now and she no longer had a time limit after she used her special ability (whatever it was depending on the miraculous), it meant there was no way she would even consider stopping. Of course, she still tried not to push too far after she did use that ability as to not exhaust the kwami she was using too much and she’d made it her point to wear multiple miraculouses at once at all times so even if she had to detransform to let one kwami rest, she wouldn’t need to stop fighting right away or wait until they recharged.

In a city like Gotham where she could be needed, this all meant she could not stop being a hero. (Though, she knew that Batman wasn’t known for being too fond of magic users, or metas, whatever it was they called them, so she would need to have him somehow accept her presence or prepare to fight him and perhaps also all of his team that seemed to actually be his family — especially Robin seemed to still be a little child, younger than her when she received her miraculous.) Not since they had seemed to decide they were going nowhere from there, most of all not Paris.

They were never going to return, they really didn’t want to do so, what with the entire city being full of traumatic memories to them. Maybe they’d visit Kagami and Luka and her parents, maybe his aunt and cousin, but otherwise, no. Besides, their soulmates were both here, they had hardly any people they had good relationships with in Paris anymore because they’d both eventually stood up to their class, Gabriel was in prison — which, in turn, meant that the majority of Paris blamed Papillon’s actions on Adrien at least on some level. It didn’t matter to them that he had said that no, he had nothing to do with his father’s actions, and that his father actually abused him and he was glad to be finally free from him.

It wasn’t like they didn’t have a list of excuses to stay.

(Marinette wasn’t going to admit it any time soon, but she had an actual list of the excuses to stay written down in case someone asked her and her brain wouldn’t agree on cooperating at that time. It was also partly in case she ended up mentioning there were many, many, many reasons for them to stay and someone asked for a list; This way she could literally provide them with one. It was both on multiple papers and notebooks and on her phone — after all, back-up copies were very useful.)

Yet another reason as to why she should tell Tim — even though her Miraculous Cure healed and restored almost anything, it had mostly stopped working on her as it drew its energy from both her and Tikki, and now she was full of scars. Sure, it mostly healed the biggest injuries so she was rarely limping or bleeding long, and they never became devastating, but well. It still wasn’t any good that she had to keep covering some of the scars behind layers of makeup or hide them under clothing. Thank kwami Adrien had yet to report the same was happening to him.

There was no way Tim wouldn’t discover the scars’ existence at some point, regardless of whether their soulbond was romantic or platonic (although she certainly hoped it was romantic), so it would be far better to just come clean about it before he eventually found out about them on his own anyway.

So yeah.

She also had a long list of very good reasons to tell Tim.

The problem here was, she had no idea how.

She could hardly just walk up to him and blurt out she was Ladybug when it had just been announced that Ladybug (and Chat Noir at that, but it was up to Adrien to decide whether he wanted to tell his identity to anyone aside from Bart — he likely wanted to tell him) were dead, she would have to come up with a better plan to that. A lot better plan.

But perhaps… perhaps if she presented him with a miraculous and asked him to fight alongside her and Adrien… Maybe Bart could be there as well if Adrien considered it a good idea?

“Hey, Adrien, what do you think? Would Tim be a good miraculous user? And how about Bart?” she asked. Fiddling with the mouse necklace she was wearing, Marinette turned to look at Adrien who had, at some point, left from her side. Mullo was sleeping somewhere inside her hood. “They both seem like people that would like to help others if they could — I mean, Tim already tries as a CEO and I simply don’t know Bart that well yet — but I don’t know. I want to hear your opinion on this as well because even if I am now the guardian and could technically just do whatever the hell I wanted, you’re still my partner in crime… fighting, and since some of my previous choices weren’t too good…”

Yeah, she did mean Alya and Nino. Also others, but those she’d trusted the most, so…

“Are you seriously asking me if I’d like to have both our soulmates by our side if— no, when we are fighting possibly magic-based crime in Gotham or elsewhere in the States?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. She nodded slowly. Adrien arched an eyebrow as he looked at her like she had made the stupidest question he had ever heard in his life before. “Duh, obviously, of course I want them there. Bart would be good. He’s so fast already — no, seriously, I swear, he’s quicker at doing things than Plagg is at eating camembert —, he’s a quick thinker and okay, he’s a little impulsive, but most of the time his ideas haven’t been that horrible, so a miraculous could probably enhance all of it in a good way.”

“And Tim’s got a good sense of justice and he’s one of the smartest people I’ve met. He’d be great at any strategic positions and— you know, I think he could work either the snake or the dragon miraculous really well.”

Adrien nodded enthusiastically. “Now you’re talking my language. Mayhaps the fox miraculous would be good for Bart, he’d get to be creative and I’m sure if he got up to any mischief, Trixx would only be more than happy to help. Or maybe the horse— actually, no, forget about that, I don’t think that’s a good idea because he might get the idea to send us all to anywhere in the world because it seemed like a good idea to him for all of two seconds and that’s the one thing that would make everything really problematic.” Adrien sunk into his thought for a moment, tapping his nose with his finger absent-mindedly as he tried to think of something else. Then his eyes brightened as he came up with an idea.

“Oh, the turtle! He’s quick so it wouldn’t take him long to protect those in need of it, and maybe in some moments when he’s too impulsive, Wayzz could be there as a voice of reason and common sense in his head. I don’t actually mind his impulsiveness at all but sometimes all of us could use a Wayzz to help us slow down a little.”

Wayzz himself looked torn between agreeing, and strongly disagreeing and escaping before Adrien could convince Marinette to give him to Bart.

“I’m seriously considering this now. I have no idea how to give them one, though. It isn’t as simple as it would have been in Papillon’s Paris — we don’t have a Miraculous threat here and no one knows us. I mean, they’ve probably heard of the deceased Ladybug and Chat Noir, but not the ones we’re going to become. We can hardly just swing up to them and be like “hey have you ever wanted to be a hero? Well, here’s a miraculous that will transform you into a magical superhero with the help of jewellery and a god like in some anime—” God damn it Adrien, now I consider transforming into LB the same kind of thing as your anime’s girls with objects to make them magically transform.”

“They’re magical girls, actually. And well, I have to say, we kind of are magical girls, you know. Magical transformation, magic, magic provided superpowers, magical healing, double lives, way too obvious costumes for anyone to not figure out our identity yet none of them do it anyway… Oh, and we have specific words to transform us along with magical accessories or jewellery and we have a literal transformation choreography! Clearly magical girls!”

“Magical girls, then, whatever. Never compare us to them again.”

Adrien just snickered.

“Ugh, shut up, will you?”

“Of course. But yeah, you’re right, we can’t just appear behind their windows and give them a miraculous. That would be just stupid and irresponsible, now wouldn’t it?”

“Why do you sound so sarcastic?”

“That might be because I kind of am.”

“Go away.”

She had no idea how she could still stand Adrien. Why was he her best friend again?

Oh yeah.

Because he was the one who had stood right there by her side through thick and thin.

That’s why.

⬷۵⤐

“So. Let me get this straight—”

“In this family?”

“Shut up, Jaybird. So, what you’re saying is, you want to reveal us all to your girlfriend because you don’t want to keep secrets this big from her?”

Tim sighed and ran a hand down his face, exasperated. Hadn’t he just explained this? “No, Dick, first of all, she’s not my girlfriend — at least yet. What I’m asking is if it’s okay to everyone I tell her I’m Red Robin and get her to start training so she can become a vigilante as well. She’d be good at it. I don’t want to keep my identity from her in case we do start dating because then what if she thinks I’m cheating on her or up to some other not-good stuff when I keep sneaking out in the middle of the night and can’t even tell her what for.”

“And why do you want her to be a vigilante? You know it’s dangerous.”

“Then why is any of us doing it? It would anyway be her choice. Besides, if she was fighting beside me, she wouldn’t even need to worry about me that much because she could technically probably see me and not have to stay at home, you know? I know I can see there’s something in her that reminds me a lot of most of us, the need to fight for justice and for those in need of help because no one else does either. I can see the crave to fight in her.”

Dick sighed and tilted his head, his expression hard as steel. “You really thought this through, didn’t you?”

“Obviously. And as to why I’m asking you is because she’s actually smart and would definitely put two and two together when I tell her I’m Red Robin; The likeliness of Robin, Red Robin, Batman, Nightwing, Batgirl, Red Hood — yes, Jason, you too, have you seen the giant red bat on your chest you insist on wearing even though you claim to detest us half the time because we all can see it —, Black Bat, the Signal and the rest of us being close with each other, if not family, is quite high. Basically, she would most likely connect you all to the vigilantes running around.”

Bruce crossed his arms over his chest and shot him the Batdad-Look™, and if he hadn’t been so determined to get them to agree, it would have probably made him a… little too nervous to keep on talking. Alas, it wasn’t going to make him stop because he really, really wanted Marinette to fight beside him and if it meant he needed to bear with Bruce’s Batdad-Looks™, then so be it. He was not about to go down without first putting up a fight.

Tim couldn’t even explain how grateful he was for the fact Bruce stayed quiet despite the expression on his face. It helped his situation a little.

Instead, it did not help that he could feel Cass’ eyes on his back. She was sitting on the ground a small distance away from them, probably reading all of them like they were open books. He decided to ignore it for now — there was really nothing else he could do.

“And you know she’s a good fighter — you saw her spar with Jason! You saw how she fought against Damian who actually, officially challenged her, like she were equal. He doesn’t do that too often. We all also know neither of them wasn’t holding back too much on second matched anymore, if at all in the in the third one. She only lost once they stopped holding back and even then she put up a good fight — the matches weren’t over in minutes. Like, we’ve all gotten training from at least the Bat himself, likely from many others too. She has not. That makes it an impressive feat. With training, she could probably be one of the best of us!”

Steph lifted her hands above her head as to surrender and to draw attention to herself. “Alright, I’m cool with it. Timmy’s passionate about his cause and also I like Mari. It could be fun to have her in the team.”

Thank goodness, at least someone was on his side.

Dick’s phone chimes and he looks at the message, groaning when he reads it. “Babs told me to tell you all that she also says yes, that she trusts Marinette with all of this if others are fine with it as well,” he says slowly, before he puts his phone away. It’s strange seeing him not cheerful, but Tim can’t afford to care about it too much now .

Another voice spoke up softly. “I think… Marinette makes a good fighter,” Cass said from her spot, resting her body weight on her arms with the flats of her palms on the ground. She seemed thoughtful. Her words carried a meaning all of them understood, even if she didn’t say it out loud — she liked her too and wanted her in, but that she too would like Marinette to get some training first before letting her out.

Just in case.

They knew she wanted to lose people just as much as the rest of them — which meant, she didn't want to lose any more people she cared about.

Then, a sigh. “Yeah, gotta agree. Could be nice to have her on our side, she’s fun. And Timber’s right, she does seem like she’s achin’ to go fight a bitch. It’d be better if we made sure she’s got the necessary skills and stuff, and I’d rather not have to fight her because one of us considers her an enemy or because she thinks that of us. Girl’s got some mad skills. Also, B, if you think about it for a second longer, I’m sure you’d realise that if there’s a chance she is going out anyway, I’m sure you’d prefer she followed your rules, too, right?”

Tim… wasn’t sure when the last time he’d been grateful for Jason’s input had last occurred, but he was certainly ready to let Jason do whatever the hell he wanted with criminals during their next patrol together, that’s how grateful he was. Yes, even if it meant Jason shooting them in the fucking kneecaps.

“Yes, but she’s still—”

“She’s what, Grayson? She put up a respectable fight even thought she’s still clearly inferior to me, but I do not doubt she could do the same in the field. Her skills most certainly require improvement and bettering, and she needs to fine her techniques if she wants to hold her own out there without getting killed, but I’m certain she’s more than capable of getting to Todd’s level with guidance.”

Okay, wow. Damian was defending Marinette. He definitely needed to tell this to her — he was sure she’s appreciate hearing the little demon of the family respected her enough to speak up against Dick and his father, the only ones of them he’d ever openly admitted held his respect, even if he didn’t necessarily word it as “I respect you” or “you have my respect.” It seemed Marinette got the honor of being the third one, and she had been family for all of some weeks. She’d even gotten him to use the word “respectable” when talking about her.

She got him admitting to all of them, all of them, that he thought she was good and worth his respect. Now that was something.

So, Tim also appreciated him speaking up. This tiny (alright so he may not have been that tiny anymore and there’s a chance Damian was now taller than Tim, but who cared, he would always be tiny to Tim) teenager was still the only biological child of Bruce and also one of the hardest of them to impress, so if he said something of this sort about anyone (the last time it was something about Jon but Tim hadn’t cared enough to remember what it actually was about anymore), everyone would at least listen to him before simply jumping to decisions.

So yeah. If there ever was a time Tim wanted nothing more than to take his little brother out and let him find a few new animals to keep as pets, even if they weren’t good as pets, it was now. It certainly was now.

“I’m siding with Tim here — don’t give me that look, Dick, the ones already sided with him are scarier and more dangerous than you and Bruce together, so even if I didn’t agree, his side would be the wiser choice—”, Duke starts, shrugging, though there was a clear smile on his face. “But like, Marinette’s nice, like actually nice, and if she’s going to become family anyway, I don’t see why we couldn’t have her in this as well. Tim has a good point — several good points, actually, so the logic is also on his side.”

Yeah, Tim certainly couldn’t hide his smile any longer. Only Dick and Bruce were yet to say yes. Maybe he could actually do this.

Of course, he was not going to go through with any of this if all of them didn’t agree. He could risk his own identity to his soulmate, but there was no way he was going to force anyone else to do so for anyone, least of all for someone that wasn’t literally linked to them by their very soul. He would never compromise all of them for one person.

“Okay, fine. It seems everyone else is saying yes, so I guess I’m outvoted here. I just want every one of you to stay safe, you know? I don’t want this to end up being the reason any of you gets hurt.”

Yes, Tim knew that. Regardless of how annoying Dick managed to get a lot of the time, or how frustratingly stubborn he always was, or how his attitude was irritatingly similar to Bruce’s even when their personalities weren’t even remotely similar most of the time (that one was probably causation of Bruce taking care of Dick for like a decade), there was never any doubt his love or concern for any of them wasn’t genuine. That much was more than obvious.

He managed to give Dick a small smile, hoping it would convey he was grateful he finally said yes.

Now there was only one left to convince.

The most difficult of them (if you didn’t count Damian in, anyway) to convert.

Bruce was stubborn as hell when he wanted to, but seeing as he was stubborn even if he wasn’t trying to be, this could either be easy or the most difficult thing Tim had ever done. It had taken him a while to convince Bruce to make him Robin, but back then all he was trying was to have him take himself in and train him; Back then Tim wasn’t planning on telling his identity to someone who didn’t know yet, someone who could figure out the rest of them as well, and then have her trained to become one of them. Tim knew it, it was a lot to ask, but he wanted to do it anyway. It was important to him, alright?

Tim turned to look at Bruce. “Well? How is it?” He placed his hands on his hips and tilted his head, waiting for an answer. Any answer, really.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Tim. What if something happens to her? Or what if something happens to you? Or any of your siblings?”

“But what if something happens to her because I didn’t tell her? And besides, something could happen to any of us at any given time, given what we all do on nightly basis. We could have also just not done it, but we are doing it anyway and like hell is any of us going to just quit. Out world is full of what-ifs, we cannot help them, and I’ll be damned if I let them make me lose the one person actually made for me, the one person that I was tailored to.”

“With all due respect, Master Bruce, I must say, you have told your identity — even if only subtly hinted at it with a very specific set of words so that it’s enough for them to make the connection — so many times that I think you can hardly be against this. None of them were even your soulmate. Need I remind you of who everyone knew or found out without ever even becoming one of us? At least Master Tim is planning on bringing her in on all of this and planning to have her properly trained,” Alfred said, appearing in the doorway behind Bruce.

So sure, Cass and Damian knew exactly how to seemingly just appear and reappear without anyone noticing as though they could teleport, sure, Commissioner Gordon always complained about Batman doing it, and sure, the rest of them knew how to blend in with the shadows (they just didn’t always do it), but Alfred also seemed to possess this skill — better than most of them, anyway. Tim had absolutely no idea how, but he wasn’t about to complain.

Besides, it was Alfred, so it wasn’t surprising. Honestly, was there anything the man couldn’t do?

But the thing is, Alfred was also right. He had let Rachel Dawes find out. He let commissioner Gordon find out. Mr. Fox knew because Bruce had asked for help and equipment he then used as Batman while he was being Bruce Wayne — now that right there had never even seen subtle hinting. A whole lot of other people knew as well, though many had found out on their own — such as Tim, while some found out because of other, not so lovely circumstances, like Selina.

So, all in all, Bruce was the worst of them to say anything about it. True, he was mostly protective of them, always thinking up the worst-case scenarios about everything, something Tim himself did as well because that was the easiest way to make sure they were prepared for absolutely anything and everything, but Tim trusted Marinette. He wanted to trust her, just like Bruce had trusted some people. And in any case, he’d rather trust than live his life in suspicion of most people, like some people he knew did. Like Bruce.

Bruce opened his mouth to say something, but as nothing came out, he just closed it again. A defeated sigh slipped past his lips and he let go of the tensity in his shoulders, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine, I can see when I’ve lost. I want to meet her soon after you tell her, maybe right away after it, though, regardless of whether she makes the connection or not. I would prefer if all of you were here then,” he said, motioning at all of them before he placed his hand on Tim’s shoulder. “And that you—” he cast a pointed look at Tim, “—tell us when you are going to do it. I trust that you understand what you’re doing. I do not want to find out Ms. Dupain-Cheng is a danger to any of you, but especially you.”

“Of course. I take full responsibility of her and her training—”

“No you won’t. I’ll do that, although I do expect you to be there for her and to be a major help. I’m still your father and I don’t care if you’re already 19, because I’m not letting my children be that much of adults just yet.”

“Hey!”

Bruce just smiled (a tense smile, one that was half-forced on his face) and left all of them (except Cass whom Tim couldn’t see anywhere anymore) behind, gaping.

“Did he just—”

“Oh my god he totally did!”

“Please tell me someone recorded B calling himself a father and calling us his children.”

Tim had a vague suspicion that Cass had indeed recorded it, was going to send it to all of them, and then, depending on the reactions to it, would send a voice message of her laughing to their group chat.

Well, that definitely went better than he thought.

⬷۵⤐

“You know, I’m glad I have you as my soulmate,” Marinette began around a week later as they were sitting in the living room of the Wayne Manor. She snuggled closer to him and Tim wrapped an arm around her, comfortable and relaxed for the first time in a few days. “I’ve known you for not that long, but I already know I don’t want to lose you.”

She reached for his hand and took it in her own. Tim squeezed her hand back.

“Me neither.” Tim saw this as an opening — after all, most, if not all, of his reasons to tell Marinette who he was and all his plans about how exactly he should do it were born from the idea that he didn’t want to lose her. And so, he stood up, still holding her hand, and pressed a light kiss on it. “I need to show you something important. Will you follow me?”

A soft laughed escaped from Marinette as she replied, smiling, “Always, to the ends of the world.”

Marinette let herself be pulled up to her feet and led through the endless dark hallways of the manor. He quickly shot a message (“I’m prepared to do it, I’m taking her down now. Be there in five”) to the group chat before putting his phone away. When it vibrates in his pocket, he first looked at Marinette as though to make sure it was fine with her if he checked and possibly answered — after all, he knew it wasn’t too urgent or they would have called, and as far as Marinette was aware, this was supposed to be their time together to get to know each other better and all, not time for either of them to spend talking to other people via phone —, the corners of his lips turning upwards at her when she nodded with a smile on her face.

It seemed smiles liked to creep up on his face a lot more now that Marinette was around.

The message was from Jason, and Tim rolled his eyes fondly at it.

I thought you were supposed to tell her instead of fighting her, babybird.

shut up jason

You know pwefectly well what taking her down means int his case

Oh yes, I most definitely do.

It’s just so much fun reminding you of the existence of double meanings you either use to insult people or forget about completely.

But yeah, we’ll be ready.

“One of your brothers?”

“Yep. Jason is being a cumberworld.”

“And him being a cumberworld definitely makes you grin and roll your eyes as though he merely made a stupid joke and you, unfortunately, thought it rather amusing. Got it.”

“Wait. You actually know what it means?”

“Duh, obviously. After listening to you and your family for a while, it seemed like a good idea to do some research on different English insults so they wouldn’t fly by me all the time.”

Tim snorted. Of course. Only Marinette would. Only her. Everyone else outside of their family seemed to give up on trying to understand after a little while, but noooo, this girl decided she was going to spend extra time doing some research just to be able to understand — that, and also most likely to be able to laugh at them. She definitely fit in just fine.

It didn’t take them too long after that to get to the main study in the manor that Tim had earlier told her was Bruce’s and told her not to go in. Maybe that was why Marinette now looked quite nervous and anxious as he unlocked the door and pushed it open, motioning for her to go in.

“Are you sure we can go in here? Mr Wayne— I mean, Bruce, isn’t going to get mad at us? And you aren’t about to kill me, right?” she laughed, trying to mask her nervousness with humour, but walked in anyway. She relaxed a little and the tensity in her shoulders slipped away the slightest bit as Tim shook his head as no.

He walked to the grandfather clock in the room and let go of Marinette’s hand in order to be able to turn the hands of the clock. The clock hit 10:48 (Tim had always thought there was no one more grim than the Batman but then he actually met Bruce Wayne and found out you needed to turn the clock to show the time Bruce’s parents had been murdered, and was just like that forced to change his view on the matter) and the panel unlocked, opening the door hidden from view behind the clock.

Marinette’s jaw dropped open. This was most certainly not what she had been expecting, that much was sure.

“Well then, my fair lady, shall we enter?” he asked, grinning at Marinette’s flabbergasted expression even as she walked closer and tried to figure out where the entrance would take them.

She could keep trying; he was not about to tell her just yet.

The elevator took them down and soon enough, they were in the cave. He stepped out of the doors and waited for Marinette to follow him.

“...Where are we?” she asked, her voice a little strained.

“Uh.”

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, where in the world exactly did you take me?”

It seemed actually telling her turned out a little more difficult than he thought. Well, no use crying now — he couldn’t just brush off all of this like he hadn’t just taken his soulmate down to the Batcave either.

“Alright. So, this might come as a shock and for the love of all that’s still holy and sacred in this world please do not freak out. I just decided I needed to tell you this before we consider pursuing any relationship on a deeper and closer level than what we have now, regardless of in what sense it would be.

Marinette nodded slowly, encouraging him to go on even as she seemed suspicious (and anxious) about what was going on. Perhaps that was a good thing since they were in Gotham, in the city where you never knew who the person in front of you was or what they did in their free time (or at night).

Tim took a deep breath before dropping the bomb on her. “I am Red Robin, one of the vigilantes of Gotham.”

At his declaration, her jaw dropped. Again. “You— I— What?”

“I’m Red Robin,” he repeated and pulled out the domino mask he had taken with him and slipped into his pocket, putting it on his face. Thank heavens for Marinette and her need to give him big pockets whenever he commissioned her (and there was any reason to put pockets to said commissioned clothing) because of that one offhand comment complaining about too small pockets some of his clothes had. He scratched his chin awkwardly before realising what he was doing and pulled his hand down, pressing his nails to his skin to keep himself from bringing it up again. “I was also thinking, you’d make a good vigilante if that’s what you wanted to do. Obviously, I would need to train you first to make sure you’d be ready for Gotham’s streets, but I thought it could help you not to worry about me if you saw me in action and actually had the chance to help me if necessary?”

That… wasn’t supposed to come out as a question. Why did it come out as one?

But Marinette’s silence was worrying him. It would be understandable not to get an answer now, but he knew her well enough by now to know that she would be mindlessly rambling at this point if it were merely shock she was experiencing.

“You… You aren’t a villain or planning on becoming one, right? Because even if you were my soulmate, that would mean I’d have to take you down.” Almost certain he could feel Dick’s pointed (and amused, definitely amused) look on his back, he added, “I’m not about to go down the Batman-Catwoman route with this.”

That startled Marinette out of her shock and as she stared him dead in the eye, she blurted out, “Spots on!”

Tim could have almost sworn he heard an exasperated and quiet “Marinette, why couldn't you just tell him like we agreed?” as bright pink light enveloped her and soon revealed that in her place there stood a young woman in a red suit with black spots.

And a spotted mask.

Which made it a ladybug suit.

Or the Ladybug suit.

On his soulmate that came from Paris.

Paris’ Ladybug…

“Oh my god. You’re Ladybug. My soulmate is Ladybug. This is a thing now, apparently. Aren’t you supposed to be dead? Actually, no, I’ve seen enough people that were resurrected, it wouldn’t even be that surprising. How were you—”

Ladybug’s shoulders lifted to her ears and she smiled sheepishly. “Hi? I’m not a villain as you can see?”

It was Tim’s turn to simply stare at Marinette. He— he was not expecting this turn of events. He sighed and waved his hand a little in a “come here” gesture, knowing they were there and that they’d seen her transform anyway. That would mean there was no secret identity problem anymore as her identity wasn’t really a secret anymore, per se. Besides, since she was a hero already, they could very well just introduce themselves to her already.

He had to admit, this was absolutely wonderful as it meant she fit in perfectly — it was as though she had always been the missing piece of the puzzle that was his life and family.

Of course, though he was expecting fate to be a jerk and give him a civilian soulmate, Fate instead decided to cut him some slack and just give him someone that could actually keep up with him and the family he wasn’t going to get rid of anyway, no matter what he tried or wanted (not that he wanted to get rid of them most of the time).

But well. A soulmate was supposed to suit you perfectly, so maybe it wasn’t that surprising.

Ladybug didn’t seem to notice his family approaching them as she kept on rambling and tried to explain herself. “I’m also not dead and never was. Chat Noir isn’t dead either though he has died multiple times during akuma attacks and was resurrected by my Miraculous Cure. Paris just happens to have a tendency to get overdramatic and jump to conclusions, and Chaton and I decided we didn’t want the Ladyblogger on our backs any longer. Neither of us is too fond of her, especially not after the phenomenon that is Lila Rossi,” she said, sighing as she cocked her hip. Ladybug shook her head and turned her eyes to the side. It seemed the name meant a lot, just not in any good way. “Wait. If you’re Red Robin, then—”

“Hiii!”

Aaandd it seemed that Dick had taken that as his cue to make his presence known. How lovely.

Ladybug turned to Dick and then back to Tim, arching an eyebrow. “Since you’re Red Robin, I’m going to go ahead and suppose this is your family. Am I right?”

“Yeah, unfortunately.”

“They’re not going to try and fight me or drive me out of your city for having powers, right?”

Batgirl cuffed him upside the head as she skipped to them, walked past Tim and then looked Ladybug up and down before nodding approvingly. “Definitely approve, though that suit… Am I seriously supposed to believe you’re our sweet, wonderful, talented fashion designer? Also no, even if B-Man or Dickiebird over there tried, Timmers, Damian and I would fight for you. You’re staying because I like you. We all like you.”

Ladybug flushed lightly at the compliments and the otherwise sweet words, but to her credit, her voice didn’t even waver when she replied (unlike usually), “I just haven’t had the energy and time to change it yet. It’s magic, can’t change it that easily.”

“Oh, okay. Well, try and see if you can recognise all of us!”

Ladybug bit her lip and looked at each and every one of them separately, her calculating eyes feeling like they could see right through all of them. She walked between them and around them, a sly grin appearing on her face.

“Well, Bats here is probably Mr Wayne. He’s the oldest of all and I strongly doubt any of you could be doing what you are if he didn’t know — unless, of course, it was Alfred, and I don’t doubt Alfred’s skills at all, but I’m pretty sure that back when Robin wasn’t there yet, someone needed to look after Batman and I honestly think only Alfred could have that much power on him. So. Mr Wayne.”

Batman took off his cowl, indeed revealing Bruce himself.

As she moved on to Nightwing, she winked and laughed with an “I did do my homework on the flight here. Seriously, did you think I wouldn’t?” Then she turned to look Nightwing in the eye (or, would have looked him in the eye if not for his domino. “I’m going to say Dick. I’ve been watching you all while I’ve been here — in both forms, it seems —, and I doubt any of you could pull some of the moves, or the attitude, Nightwing does, except for Dick. Don’t give me that look, you did jump from the balcony at some point last week, landing safely on the ground after showing off and doing like a million spins and somersaults.”

Tim laughed. “Dick, I told you, someone else besides me was going to recognise you for your somersaults one day.”

“You too?”

“Oh yeah, I worked out Dick’s, Bruce’s and then Jason’s original identities because of Dick’s quadruple-somersault when I was a kid. Nightwing’s identity wasn’t difficult either since, well, it was obviously the previous Robin.”

“Of course you would.”

Then she turned to Oracle in her wheelchair. “Anyway. I know you’re Barbara, and I’m so glad to see you here too, but I’m nor sure about you alias,” she said, her voice clearly apologetic for the fact.

“It’s alright,” Barbara comforted her and gave her a smile, “I wasn’t expecting you to know it. I’m Oracle, it’s nice to meet you. I’ll probably get you on the comms at some point as well because managing things is what I do now. The woman in the chair, if you will,” she continued, making Marinette chuckle. Tim loved the sound.

“Then the big bad Red Helmet over there is Jason — no, seriously, Jay, why in the world are you the Red Hood if you aren’t even wearing one?” she asked, her face twisting as she looked at him. God, Tim loved this girl, she would happily stab any of their fashion sense with a smile on her face, and honestly, the helmet was horrible. Her words earned her snickers from all around the room. She was obviously pleased with herself as Jason took off his mask and gaped at her, offended.

She didn’t even pay him attention too much, continuing on with her list. “The scowling Robin over there is definitely Damian, only he could pull off those expression with a hint of Bat in them, and the current Batgirl is obviously Stephanie. Duke is the Signal — that was your name, right? Oh, and Cass, you’re Black Bat, aren’t you?” At Cass’ nod and her revealing her face, Marinette let out a sigh of relief. “You’re one of the only ones here with an acceptable suit.”

Ladybug transformed back into Marinette, a small creature appearing from her… earrings? before hiding inside her jacket. Tim decided to ignore it, maybe it was nothing. Marinette turned around, spinning on her heel to face Bruce. “Like, I know you need protection because there’s no magic to do so, but you could have protection with suits that looked less ridiculous and atrocious than this,” she said, motioning at their clothing. “That actually goes to most of you. I especially hope there’s a really good reason and a story behind Robin’s colours, because otherwise I will not possibly be able to understand why anyone would go around as a vigilante in colours this bright.”

“There is a reason behind the color choices,” Dick said disturbingly quietly from where he was standing. “They were my family’s colors.”

Marinette winced lightly — she too knew what had happened to them on that fateful night. “Alright. That’s a good reason, even if they’re still horrible colour choices. That would make you the first Robin, right?” Dick nodded. “It’s understandable for you to want to use your family’s colours.” Her solemn tone indicated she accepted Dick’s reason for it completely, telling them all she felt bad for saying they were horrible but knew she wouldn’t back off — and they wouldn’t blame her for that either —, and they all knew she was going to leave arguing and pressing for explanations away completely. Her limitless capability of empathy was admirable.

Then she turned back to Tim. “Is that offer about training still on the table? I’d love to take it if so. I could probably win any of you as Ladybug because magic and a goddess in my pocket, also known as Tikki— Oh, actually! Tikki, come on out, come say hi to Tim!”

A small red, ladybug-like creature flew from under her jacket to Tim, smiling brightly. He immediately recognised it as the fairy he’s seen earlier. “Hi! I’m Tikki, the goddess — or as we like to call ourselves, the kwami — of creation. It’s lovely to finally meet my holder’s soulmate!”

“It’s, uh, nice to meet you as well, I guess? I take it you’re the one that helps Marinette transform,” Tim said, a little confused by the flying, speaking creature.

“Yup, I’m an ancient being, older than anything and everything else, so while she’s not the only one I’ve helped — the history is full of Ladybugs —, she’s my current holder. Remember that if you hurt her, while Adrien can do a lot of destruction and damage —” there seemed to be a double meaning behind those words but he just couldn’t figure out what it was. “—I will be the one you actually want to look out for!”

Tikki’s words were single handedly the single most terrifying thing Tim had ever heard, and it did not help at all that she was smiling all through it, her voice gentle and kind, her entire demeanour bright even when she was threatening him. He didn’t even want to know what a goddess of creation could do as retaliation.

“If I hurt her, I’d let you do whatever you wanted,” Tim finally heard himself say. Those words were surprisingly true and ran deep, he realised. It… should honestly have been alarming. It was not.

“Good, you understood quickly. This one’s good, let’s keep him.” Tikki patted his head — and such a weird image it must have been, a creature maybe the size of his hand patting his head —, bringing Tim comfort for some reason. He had absolutely no idea how she managed it, being terrifying and so sweet and safe at the same time. He could totally see where Marinette got it from. “Also, some of you have definitely been in close — too close — touch with the Lazarus Pit, this place reeks of it. Marinette, tell me, why haven’t we already taken Plagg with us to the Lazarus Pit and gotten rid of it for good?”

Marinette shrugged, unaware of what was happening in the background behind her — Jason gaping, Bruce in shock, Damian just staring at them like he had seen a ghost, which was a rather disturbing picture because sometimes it seemed the boy could get fazed by nothing. The rest looked just confused. Maybe he should just leave them be and try to focus on Marinette and Tikki right now. “Jeez, Tikki, I have no idea. Maybe, maybe it’s because this has got to be the first time I hear about them and honestly, it should be more disturbing than it is that I, for some reason I don’t want to know, actually know what you’re talking about. Is that a guardian thing?”

Tikki nodded before speaking. “Well, we have to do it at some point. Let’s take the cat with us as well, I’m sure he’d prefer not to be left alone if we’re taking Plagg with us anyway. For now, though, I’m sure we can talk about it later.”

Tim shook his head, trying to concentrate. “Yeah, the offer is still on the table. I’d be happy to train you. You’d also get training from the Bat himself if you wanted — he actually insisted on it before this,” he laughed. “But yeah, I’ll be there anyway. Fun soulmate bonding and all that, right? Fighting, training and sparring until we can no longer stand on our own two feet, that’s all anyone could ever want,” he mused, odd warmth filling his chest as Marinette chuckled at his comment.

“Yes, you get it. Finally someone gets it — looking at you, Chat. Having said that, I do have to tell you it’s a little awkward and a huge coincidence you happened to ask me if I wanted to become a vigilante, as I was kind of going to ask you the same.”

“Huh?”

“You just beat me to revealing your identity and asking. I was wondering if you’d like to try using a miraculous, you know? It’s so much fun unless you’re trying to save an entire city that’s flooding and your partner is not doing what he’s supposed to and you have maybe five minutes left after you use your special ability but other than that, it’s great. I know you sometimes get even magical threats here, and I’m sure you’d rather be able to deal with them yourself instead of having to get the magic users not from here involved every single time since it’s your city. Also, since I’m not going to quit being Ladybug, and I will be out there doing my thing, I’d like to have my soulmate in the team sometimes as well, by my side. Obviously, you can refuse, but like, I could see you being a good snake. Sass would like you.”

Tikki nodded, clearly agreeing with Marinette. He knew better than to ask if they realised what sass meant, or to tell them that he was already familiar with sass, since it was probable this Sass was one of the Kwamies. Kwamiis. Kwamii? He had no idea.

Then she turned around to face the others whose attention — all of it — went immediately to her when she focused hers at them. “It could also be fun to see how any of you work with a miraculous once I get to know you better and know which kwamii would fit to each of you — I do have quite many of them travelling with me, after all,” she said, and the smile playing on her lips was easy to hear from her words. Come the next words (and the jab at most of them), Tim also knew for sure there was a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes. “That, and the kwamii come up with alright costumes most of the time even if you have no idea how to design a good one yourself. The suits are much safer than yours, too, because again, magic . And god-given powers, quite literally.”

The little fairy — kwami, wasn’t it? ... she. Something. — settled herself on Marinette’s head while Marinette took out a small box from her purse, opening it. A bright light with a yellowish or orange hue appeared in front of her as another one of the kwamii took form. Marinette put on a necklace that looked like a fox’s tail, which honestly looked logical as it resembled the kwami as well — if they had something to do with each other, that is.

“Heya Marinette! What is it today? Ooohhh, there are more people to mess with today! The cat isn’t here, I see… Wait, is this the soulmate thing you and Chat discussed? Is one of them your soulmate? Do I actually get to meet him before any of the others do?” The fox looking kwami seemed excited and it was a little bothersome to realise how much the kwami reminded him of Bart. They would probably get along, if they ever got the chance to meet. Probably not.

“Well, Tikki met him already, but yes, you’ll get to gloat about this to Plagg, Wayzz, Mullo, Longg and the others. Except for Duusu, that’s forbidden. She’s not in a good enough mental state for that yet. But anyway, Trixx, Tim is my soulmate, the one that’s probably standing right behind me right now unless he actually somehow managed to stay still even in the presence of something new he doesn’t understand just yet,” she said and pulled out two cookies, handing one to each kwamii present. Tim flushed as he realised she knew exactly where he was and why he was there.

Marinette didn’t pay any attention to any of them anymore, only the kwami in front of her.

“Besides, you complained about not having gotten to patrol in a long while last night and as it seems they don’t hate the idea of a miraculous user here, yet anyway — not that it would stop me, honestly, you guys need to get out and be used sometimes and as the guardian, it’s kind of my responsibility —, they might even let me patrol with them and thus give you a chance to go around. Chaton and Plagg won’t be there, though, and I’m not going to tell him about them, so keep your mouth shut. I know you love knowing things others don’t, but you don’t get to tell them because then you won’t be able to keep the knowledge of more heroes to yourself, and I’d honestly rather have Chat and Plagg only know I’ve told my soulmate now so he’s free to tell his. Also, they—”, she pointed at his family, “—Get to keep their secrets, so there’s that too.”

It felt a little too familiar to hear Marinette call someone Chaton, and it irritated Tim to no ends to know that he knew the one Marinette had called Chaton earlier by name, but yet could still only connect it to Chat Noir and Chat Noir only.

Trixx flew around Tim’s head a few times until deciding on landing on top of it. The kwami started to eat the cookie, still there on top of his head, damnit, leaving cookie crumbles in his hair. “Hello there, Marinette’s soulmate! You seem rather interesting. Are you going to be trying to use one of us? It’s going to be so much fun seeing what kind of a hero you could become with our help!”

But, just as Tim was about to answer, an alarm went off in the cave. They all knew it was a villain attack, and soon all of them got notifications of said attack to their phones, computers, tablets, clocks, anything they had promised to carry around everywhere for this specific thing. Tim groaned and ran a hand down his face.

Not now, we don’t have time for this.

Even so, Tim ran off to put on his suit. There was a big chance Marinette would be coming along since she was, apparently, already used to villains (even if quite different from theirs), and he wanted to be there to see it.

At least Trixx let him leave without following.

⬷۵⤐

Marinette watched in wonder as everyone got a move on the second the alarm went off. It was so different from Paris. She hoped the civilians had more basic common sense than Parisians did, too, and would try to escape the danger zone instead of trying to get into it.

Barbara went to get a small piece of technology before wheeling to her. She took Marinette’s hand and pressed it on her palm. “Here. This is a comm. I want you to wear it when you’re out in the field at all times so you’ll be able to contact everyone, me included, at any time you need. They can also contact you if they’re in need of help or something. That, and I’ll be able to locate you at any point I want or need to, so yes, you have to use it,” she told her, but Marinette gave it back. Under Barbara’s rather scary and very unimpressed glare, she decided to give in. After all, she was — even bound to a wheelchair — one of the scariest of them. She was also one of Marinette’s favourites in the family and would probably admit this to any of them at any given time, so she reasoned that played a part in her decision as well.

“Fine, I’ll take it, but I need to transform first or it will disappear, though I’m pretty sure I could actually connect my own, safer communicator to yours,” she said before stepping back. “You might want to close your eyes, the light can be blinding. Tikki, spots on!”

Once the bright light went away, she got ready to unify Trixx and Tikki together. It would take her a lot of energy, but the stealth abilities Trixx came with were useful, as were the illusions, especially in a city such as Gotham, and Tikki, well, Marinette knew how to work with her the best, and the Miraculous Cure Tikki provided was the best thing ever since it could repair anything and everything if she was involved in it with the miraculous (and better yet, no one would need to pay for said repairs.) “Tikki, Trixx, unify!”

“Alright, I’m done now. I can take the comm now if you so insist,” she said, opening her palm and waiting for Barbara to hand it to her again. “You can call me Lady Vixen for now until I come up with a better name, Oracle.”

Oracle smiled at her and dropped the comm on Lady Vixen’s palm. She put it on, adjusting it until it no longer felt uncomfortable in her ear. Red Robin had just finished suiting up by then as well, and with a grin on his face, he stepped to her side. He brushed over her wrist with his fingers and she did the same to him, because even with their suits covering up the skin of their wrists, it made them more comfortable, more at ease, more focused. Happier. They turned to look at the rest of the family, waiting for the go-ahead since she still needed one from at least Batman.

After Batman nodded to her and smiled (which honestly was not a smile and looked more like a grimace, like seriously, Mr Wayne needed some help with how to smile), Nightwing gave her a bright smile (like, an actual smile, unlike Batman’s) and said, “Welcome to the team!”

She didn't reply, she knew she didn’t need to, and decided that swinging off with her soulmate was going to be enough.

Yeah, she was happy to be a part of the team, a part of the family.

Especially if her soulmate was going to be there for her and stay at her side through all of it.

____

@the-navistar-carol @kris-pines04 @thethirdwheelfriend @daminett4life

#Timari #timinette #tim x marinette #maribat #tim drake #marinette dupain cheng #Bartadrien #ml x dc #dc #ML #miraculous ladybug #soulmates #fanfic #fanfiction #ethel's writing

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maemi324 · 5 years ago

Text

Heels

This is something that’s been running in my head for a while that will not leave me alone. Some Yandere Hawks with a very...Independent reader. essentially...what if instead of backing down, or cowering, reader fought back, and won? But not in the way you’re expecting. Honestly, this is just crack treated Semi-seriously. I didn’t even edit much. this was just for fun. It’s also a very bad not convincing Yandere Hawks, but I did what I could. Please be kind.

Warning: Mentions of stalking, knives, swords, robbery. it’s probably really not as bad as you think.

For weeks he’d been following you around, watching you from your bedroom window as you slept. Following you on your way to your high corporate job when he could spare the time.

He knew how you liked your tea, which quick breakfast meals were your favorite.

Now all that was left was to confront you. He looked down from his perch, you were walking home after a long days work. The night was warm and the air was somewhat cooling down, high heels clicking as you walked. He jumped from his perch, more than ready to grab your attention.

That is until some street thug decided that he was going to take your purse.

He really hadn’t intended on meeting you this way, but fate decided that you were destined to meet.

What he didn’t expect however was for you to go chasing after him down the alleyway, heels brandished as a weapon. With a quick flap of his wings, he sent a few feathers down and pinned the thug to a wall, the purse caught by a feather perfectly at eye height.

He landed down in front of you, wings all set up in a dazzling display.

You shoot him a grin as the feather gently hands you your purse. “Thank you, I was afraid he was going to get away”

The hero laughed, “ Not on my watch pretty bird!” he winked.

“Pretty bird, huh?”

“ I’ve seen you around the neighborhood, you’re very pretty” “Uh-huh” he could have sworn that you’d rolled your eyes. Did you not believe him?

“ Well, you know...for your rescue...i think you should...repay me a bit, don’t you think?” He loomed over you, the street lamp above you causing shadows to illuminate his avian eyes.

Oh, Heeell to the naahhh- nah nah.

“ Alright, listen here Bird brains-” his mouth clicked shut as you shifted, stance in an authoritative position, “ I know you’ve been stalking and watching me-What you thought you was sly? Oh Honey eyes, No, not with those blaring stop signs you call wings. Listen this stalking thing, ain't gonna cut it-”

“ N-now wait just a second-” he stuttered out, what sort of tables have turned here?! He turned his hand towards his back, a feather turning sharp like a sword, only to find a heel, which apparently had a blade inside of it, pressed against his jugular.

“ Don’t interrupt me, I'm not finished yet,” You paused a moment to catch your breath, “ Now, This whole stalker thing isn’t gonna cut it. If you want me, you’re going to court me properly, honestly you’re lucky I think you’re pretty cute too. Oh and if i get word that you start doing that weird manipulative shit? Going out with my friends to find you following me there? Or better yet, any of my male friends are now suddenly just up and gone? Nu-uh. No Sir, we don’t play that here, if we courting, we are committed, that comes from both of us. I don’t got time for that bullshit. If I catch you with that, you're gonna end up with your hand as your best friend again. Do I make myself clear?”

His brain was spinning, you wanted to be with him? After you had caught him being essentially a creeper? He nodded.

“ Good,” You took the heel blade from his neck, slipping its cap back on and putting on your shoes, “Now get mister purse thiever here off to his new place in jail. You know where I live, I’ll be seeing you soon” With that, you turned and walked away with the clicking of your heels keeping you in time.

Had….that really just happened?

The villain on the ground snorted, "Man, you just got bamboozled!”

#hawks x reader #bnha #bnha hawks #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo #yandere!hawks x reader #maemiwritesBNHA

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wardencommanderrodimiss · 4 years ago

Text

Dearest

Lucina and Robin have a conversation about the future; Lucina knows more than she wants to tell her mother.

----

The sea rocks their ships like a mother would a cradle. Lucina thinks of the palace in Ylisstol where there’s a baby who must have been laid down by this time of night, who should have been rocked to sleep by her mother. Instead Robin is here, on this swaying ship, with her daughter the interloper from another time, instead of the baby that is truly hers.

Their Plegian ship floats at the head of their Ylissean-Feroxi fleet, a fleet made of half as many ships as it was this morning. The water, full of ash and wood and bone, scrapes past the hull; hundreds of dead lie beneath the waves, damned there by one woman. Robin’s tactics are genius and unhinged and devastating for anyone who stands against her. Lucina learned the sword from her father, knew his skill and his potential from watching him, but she never could conceive of her mother’s tactical talent until now.

How many of the battles that she has led her friends through could have been won with more ease if she had her mother’s steady hand and level head guiding her? How many people could she have saved with her mother at her side? With both her parents?

Can she find out? In this time, she can find out, if she can save them.

(But if she must save only one—)

She is not their daughter, not really, and she should have stayed a distant ally but she clings to every moment she spends with them. Every word to her, every smile, even every stern glance, she commits to memory to refresh and supplement the oldest hazy recollections that she has been terrified to lose. She could not pry herself away now.

“Sweetheart? Can I have a word?”

Her mother’s hand on her shoulder; Lucina would carve that gentle touch into her heart. She would never again forget how her mother has never used a nickname or pet name for anyone but Lucina; she calls everyone else she knows and loves by their given name but Lucina alone is only Lucina in the heat of battle. Did she stop with Lucy and dear and the like before Lucina was old enough to remember? Or is this something new, her mother slightly different in a slightly different time.

“Of course, Mother,” Lucina says, and her mother takes a seat next to her on the deck, looking out across the dark water and the starry sky. The ocean is vast and unfamiliar; Lucina is not sure if she likes this new experience of sailing. She looks at her mother instead, searches for some familiar feature shared between them, a curve of the cheek or slope of the jaw. Lucina knows she most resembles her father, and her father’s face was not so lost to time and faded in memory as her mother’s, because Lucina could see him in herself. She wants to see them both in her bearing, carry them both close to her heart and in her every action.

(Even if—)

“What you said earlier, before the battle, when your father asked you about his death - you don’t know anything more than that about what happened?”

Robin speaks of it with an even tone, one Lucina does not know how she manages - but when she looks closer she can see the tightness at the corners of her mouth and the slight crease on her forehead. Robin wears a mask, not as obviously as her little Lady Marth did, but there is a sort of one over her face nonetheless.

“No,” Lucina says, and she presses her own lips together and tries not to think too hard about the memories behind what she is saying. When the Shepherds, what could even remain of the Shepherds without Chrom and Robin, came home with the Fire Emblem and Falchion and not the man who wielded them. The one memory that could never fade with time, that still burns fiercer than anything else she has ever known, is what it was like for Lucina’s own heart to break.

“Nobody - no one wanted me or Morgan to hear more than we had to.” And for good reason, if the pieces that Lucina knows fit together the way she fears they might and prays they don’t. “There were just whispers I wasn’t supposed to hear and then - then everyone who knew all that happened was - then they were gone too.”

The remaining Shepherds never spoke of that day, and they fell by ones and twos and left no one who could even talk about it. They left only orphans, just like Lucina.

She discarded her mask long ago but for a moment she wishes for it. She turns her head away and lets her hair fall between them, a curtain to hide behind. “Oh, darling, I’m sorry,” Robin says, and she reaches out and sweeps Lucina’s hair back out of her face. “I don’t want to make you think more about it, but I had to ask. I’m sorry.”

“What did you want to know?” Lucina asks. She won’t have the answer that Robin wants but she wants to understand even a part of how her mother’s mind works. She wants a glimpse into the thought process of a woman who can set the seas aflame.

(If she can better understand her mother then maybe she can finally grasp why she—)

“If you knew who the name of who it was that betrayed him.” Robin hooks Lucina’s hair back behind her ear, and her hand lingers on her cheek. “There would be no point to telling your father, of course. He’d never believe a one of us capable of such a thing, even if our own Lady Marth told him.” The smile on her face is fond and wistful and sad. Lucina deeply admires her father’s faith in people; she has never been able to muster the same. “But I thought… if you knew, I couldn’t let you shoulder it alone. Anything I can do to help, I will. For your sake. For your father’s sake.”

It takes all of Lucina’s strength to not break into tears. How much Robin loves Chrom - how could Lucina ever suspect her of doing the unthinkable? And how could she not, when there is no one that Chrom loves more in return? Betrayed and murdered by his closest friend - who could that be but the woman sitting beside Lucina, swearing to do her utmost to save Chrom from betrayal and death?

“What would you do, if you knew?” Lucina asks. “I don’t know what I would do, if I knew, and I’ve come all this way but I still don’t - I’m not a great tactician. I can’t - I can’t do what you can.”

“What I would do is nothing,” Robin says curtly, before Lucina can admonish herself any more, “because sometimes it’s better to assess, not act. If I first knew who, then I could try to understand why. And once you know why, you can glean from that the best course of action.”

Why, why, Lucina has laid awake so many nights across time wondering why. Why would a bond such as theirs break? How could this be their destiny after so long at each other’s sides? How long had they known each other when they fought together against Emmeryn’s assassins in Ylisstol, when Lucina saw not just her parents but two seamless halves of one great warrior? How long had it taken them to reach the point that Chrom could duck and Robin cast lightning over his head, through the space where moments ago he had stood, to strike the opponent in front of them; how long for Chrom to learn to not even glance back, trusting that Robin would not hit him? How long for Robin to learn to not bother looking over her shoulder when she sprinted ahead, trusting that Chrom would be right behind her?

Before she was his wife and mother to his children, she was his tactician, and they loved each other as much then as they do now. Lucina saw that clearer than anything else.

Tears are more and more difficult to hold back. “There was so much I wanted to learn from you,” Lucina says. She presses the back of her hand against her mouth. “Your magic - you promised me that once I had mastered all the basics with Falchion that you would teach me magic - and Father would show Morgan the basics of swordplay - he was supposed to learn the sword from Father, not from me—”

So much was supposed to happen. Morgan was supposed to be taught properly, not lean on his magic in battle because his knowledge of the sword is pieced together from imitating Lucina. Lucina was supposed to learn magic instead of sticking to her one sole strength. Lucina was supposed to be strong, and stay strong, for the sake of everyone she has to save; Lucina isn’t supposed to be crying on her mother’s shoulder in the middle of the ocean, aboard a vessel given to them by the kingdom responsible for all of Lucina’s nightmares and the end of the world.

“I’m so sorry we couldn’t keep our promises,” Robin said, her voice somewhere above Lucina’s head. “Oh, Lucy, I’m so sorry. Tell me whatever you want to learn from me and I’ll make the time for you. Your brother already harangues me at odd hours for tactical guidance, you know. Ask him to bring you next time.”

Lucina chokes on her laugh and it transforms into another sob. Of course he does. She wants to remember - gods, does she want to remember - every moment she had with her parents long ago, stolen in between their duties and their battles. Morgan has forgotten, and so he does not crumple under the grief of remembering promises broken by two people who wanted nothing more than to keep them. But someone has to remember the future if it is to be changed. To lose all of that pain would mean losing her foreknowledge, and if she forgets how her father died then how can she save him?

In her mother’s arms it would still be so easy to forget what she knows of her father’s murder. Lucina sits back and wipes her eyes.

“How old were you when we died?” Robin asks, like Lucina has ever mentioned her death. There is so much about her in Chrom’s dying days that Lucina does not understand, but Robin speaks of Chrom’s death as though it is a given that Robin died there too. As if they could never have a separate fate.

And if Lucina could forget what she heard whispered when she was not supposed to listen, then she would believe without hesitation the same: that Robin would die before she left Chrom’s side, for whatever good or ill that would do. She would believe that her clever, clever mother could lose her level head and any sense of living to fight another day if she saw Chrom fall before her.

(So how could she also believe that—)

“How long do we have to prepare? It must have been - well, obviously Morgan was born by then, for one thing. How much older than him are you?”

“I - I don’t remember.” How long ago her parents died, or how old her brother is, or how old she is, or how many years between them. “It was like time stopped, and - and sped up so much more. It feels like it’s been an eternity since then but it was also maybe yesterday.”

She feels like a fool saying such but her mother nods solemnly. “It’s always felt like that for me, too, in times of crisis. The war against Plegia lasted either a week or a thousand years - I know for sure it was one or the other, but I still can’t say which.”

All that Lucina could answer is that it was a shorter war than expected, and its end was bittersweet; she skirted through the streets of Ylisstol and found them full of crowds celebrating Plegia’s defeat and mourning their Exalt in the same breath. Lucina saved Emmeryn only for her to die weeks later, but it was her death that caused the bulk of Plegia’s soldiers to lay down their arms. Lucina saved her father from the dire injuries that plagued him through all of her memory, so that he could personally lead the armies of Ylisse and Ferox to victory over Gangrel, claiming the Mad King’s life and with it, justice for his sister.

“That war with Plegia lasted many years longer in my time,” Lucina says.

A deadlock, with two rulers too hellbent on taking the other’s head. Gangrel would never offer peace and Chrom would never accept it unless it came with Gangrel’s heart on a platter; Chrom would never offer peace unless he already had that platter while Gangrel would never accept because his conception of peace was the death of all Ylisseans. And the arrival of Valmese ships on the shores of Ferox and Plegia merely created new fronts for each nation to fight on; they never ceased hostilities to unite against the threat from across the sea.

“Father always wanted to lead from the front lines, but sometimes his injuries prevented him.”

Some of her earliest memories are of watching him train while she tried to mirror his movements with a wooden sword, but so often he was forced to stop sooner than he wanted because of the strain on something that did not properly heal. Lucina learned quickly the importance of staying in top condition, of never taking a bad blow; if one injury slowed her down, that left her open to take others. Her father’s scars were not just from the assassins that fateful night in Ylisstol. His wounds compounded each other time and again.

“And you were always reluctant to leave him.”

She hadn’t realized how inseparable her parents were until she arrived in this time and found they weren’t. Was that because of Chrom’s injuries, too? They had been together, Chrom and Robin, on the palace grounds when both Lucina and the assassins found them. In the time that only the assassins found them, when Robin must have seen Chrom nearly killed right in front of her eyes, was she always fearful that she would lose him if she weren’t ever-vigilant?

“All of my childhood, the two of you traveled back and forth. From the palace with me, to the battlefield, and back again.”

She has piled so much upon her mother that she doesn’t know what to expect her to respond to first. “Years,” Robin breathes. “The war with Plegia lasted years - gods, I can’t imagine.”

“You were gone the longest when you went to Valm,” Lucina says. “And when you finally came home—”

But some of them didn’t, brave Basilio’s life lost facing down the cruel conqueror. Lucina set foot in the arena in Regna Ferox praying that the events she set in motion would end with Basilio still living, but Emmeryn is dead and they are sailing to Valm and she is terrified still.

She takes a steadying breath. “When you finally came home, I got it in my head somehow that you wouldn’t leave again. For a while you didn’t, because it was quiet on the Plegian front. But that was just a farce, masking their true intentions, but we were all so tired of war that you hoped…”

“We didn’t have you to warn us,” Robin says.

They didn’t have Lucina, a prophet bringing them foreknowledge while trying to be a hero like Marth; they had Lucina, a child whose favorite pastime was getting to go down to the training yard with her brother and her parents, who didn’t realize how her world, balanced at the edge of a precipice, could so easily fall and shatter.

“You shouldn’t have had to warn us,” Robin adds, before Lucina can muster any words. “It shouldn’t be a daughter’s job to protect her parents. It should be the other way around.”

Robin’s tactics have kept Lucina by her side every battle that they have fought together when Lucina has been Lucina and not Marth. “She has already seen that I am more than capable, hasn’t she?” Lucina said to Chrom, after the second skirmish with Risen, surer then of her place with her father than with her mother. “You know that I can fight.”

“You are our daughter,” Chrom told her firmly, a hand on her shoulder, “and we will always want to protect you. Give her time - give us time. We committed to this war hoping to create a world where our daughter would not have to fight, and here she is now, already on the battlefield. Right now I can only turn my back on you because I know that your mother won’t.”

“You did your best,” Lucina says. “You always have.”

“I’m sorry it wasn’t enough.”

Lucina closes her eyes. She remembers Ylisstol, burning.

“When you finally got wind of what they were planning, you and Father took the Shepherds and an army to put a stop to it. So that they couldn’t resurrect Grima and keep the war going.”

Her voice breaks.

“And we couldn’t,” Robin finishes, “and they did.”

“Yes. You were too late to stop the Fell Dragon’s return.” Lucina inhales deeply. Too many winding paths of possible futures lay before them, each battle a new branch. How many of them are scorched and dead at the end? “And even now that we know what is coming, if the Grimleal find out that we know what they’re doing, then they may hasten their own plans. Grima might awaken at any time. We cannot trust that we will have a year, or five years, or a decade.”

“I could not live a decade in Ylisstol with your future hanging over us and do nothing,” Robin says. “When the war in Valm is over we must take the fight to them.”

“You did. You went there and - and you never came back.”

Lucina wore the Hero-King’s name like a mask, praying for his strength; now she seeks the strength of her parents. All of her armor still encases a little girl waiting all this time for her father to come home. He wasn’t done teaching her to wield a sword.

Something must show on her face, because Robin reaches out and lays her hand over Lucina’s, squeezing it. “We have you with us now, my dear. We’ll all make it back home to Ylisse, together.”

Can Lucina believe that? Why must she distrust reassurance from her own mother? Why must she in every battle both fear for her mother and fear her mother on her father’s behalf?

“It was Frederick who came to us with the news,” she says. “Aunt Lissa was still too much in shock to speak. She started sobbing every time she saw us. But Frederick brought Falchion and I realized, just - just a moment before Morgan asked where Dad was, why didn’t he have Falchion with him?”

Morgan’s memory is haze, everything but the past few weeks of the here-and-now made of faint impressions and distant visions. Lucina is the one who remember. She has to remember. She remembers the nights when Morgan crawled into bed next to her, wrapped in their mother’s old dark coat, both of them too tired to cry and too tired to sleep, and Falchion propped against the wall, its silver blade reflecting the moonlight.

“Frederick told us that Father was as brave as ever and fought for us until the end. The things you tell children. But I - one night I remember hiding in the hall listening to Frederick and Phila talk, that they thought they’d failed to protect them both now.”

“Phila?” Robin repeats, and Lucina is about to ask how she cannot recall the captain of her own pegasus knights, but she realizes at the same time that Robin does. “Of course - she died in Plegia, when we went to rescue Emm. But if, without your warning, Emm died in Ylisstol, then Phila might still have…”

Emm pierces Lucina’s heart like a spear. That is how Chrom always referred to his long-passed sister; she has no recollection of Robin doing the same, but when did Robin ever speak of her? How long had they known each other, Robin and Exalt Emmeryn? Does Robin even notice what she’s said, or is this an unconscious habit adopted from Chrom, another mark of their closeness?

“Phila asked him how this was possible, what could have happened,” Lucina continues. “How Chrom could have left with his most loyal Shepherds who would have all died for him and - and they all returned alive when he didn’t. And Frederick said that there was a betrayal. That Chrom was betrayed and murdered by his dearest friend.”

The math is easy, when she looks at it with a clear eye and level head. Chrom died, betrayed by someone dear to him. The Shepherds were his closest companions. Robin was the only other Shepherd who did not come home.

Robin is her mother, so Lucina finds it very hard to maintain a clear eye and a level head.

“If your father didn’t make friends as easily as he breathes, that would be a bigger hint than it is,” Robin says.

And a part of Lucina would scream until her throat is raw, go hoarse spitting blood, demanding her mother to stop pretending to be obtuse, stop pretending that she does not realize. It is you, it has always been you! That will not change in a year, or five, or ten! It could only ever be you! You must know that it is you! You killed my father and damned the world!

And a part of her would cry until her eyes are sore like she is the child she was when she last sat beside her mother too long ago. Of course her mother cannot realize. Robin would not think herself Chrom’s closest friend if that person is responsible for killing him. Lucina could not think her that person either, had she not been orphaned and heard for herself those hushed words. And even now - even after everything - a part of her thinks that she still must somehow be wrong. How could Robin do such a thing to her dearest friend, her husband and father of her children, her commander and her prince?

She wouldn’t - she couldn’t. Lucina sees that clearly. But Lucina has also stood in the midst of Ylisstol burning and seen the Fell Dragon’s gleaming eyes. These are two incompatible truths to the world. Robin would never betray Chrom, and Robin betrayed Chrom anyway.

Chrom was the one Lucina knew she could always rely on, her safe harbor in a storm. Nothing of him was a mystery - her father is a good man, kind and noble, who passed down to her the Brand in her eye and her ability to wield Falchion. Everyone who knew him loved him, and spoke of him with that love made evident. Robin was the unknown, the one who Lucina has been terrified to love again. But she does. She always has. She wanted to learn magic from her.

A few days ago, Robin handed her a Levin sword, and she smiled warmly and showed Lucina the best way to arc the lightning from a distance when she admitted to never having wielded one before.

“Are you all right, dearest?”

“Yes,” Lucina says. “I - yes, I’m fine.”

Robin raises her eyebrows, obviously doubtful, but she acquiesces and says, “It’s been a long day and we’ve had a great deal to talk about, besides. It might be best if we head in for some rest before anyone comes looking for us. Just, please remember,” she adds, squeezing Lucina’s hand, “anything you need from me, ask and I will.”

Anything. She doesn’t know what she offers by saying anything. Your life? Would you give me your life, for Father’s, if I asked?

“Yes,” Lucina says. “Of course.”

She prays she won’t have to ask. She prays it will never come to that. She doesn’t understand how it could. But it did once already, and carving a new riverbed for the path of time to flow down is harder than she anticipated.

A voice echoes across the deck. “Robin? Are you out—”

Chrom emerges from the gloom, his brow furrowed but relaxing when he catches sight of Lucina and Robin. “Isn’t it a bit late for you lovely ladies to still be up?” he asks with an easy smile, one that has always been able to calm Lucina’s heart, the one she missed most. “Robin, I do recall a conversation we had just the other day about getting enough rest and not overworking yourself.”

“I’m not sure how you think time spent with our daughter would constitute work,” Robin replies, and the expression on her face as she glances from Lucina to Chrom and back is full of such obvious fondness that it makes Lucina’s heart ache. How could this end the way it did?

Chrom is waiting, looking expectantly to Lucina, and as she stands she realizes that he is asking her to confirm or reject Robin’s explanation of events. “We only spoke of tactics for a little bit,” Lucina says.

Of his death - of his murderer - but she does not wish to mention that. They can pretend it was for any other battle ahead or passed. “Of course you were,” Chrom says with a slight shake of his head, but his smile is the same, full of affection. “Lucina, would you like to know just how soon after your birth your mother tried to get up and go back to work?”

“Chrom!” Robin scolds. “You don’t need to keep dredging that up!”

Lucina could already have guessed that the answer is too soon, and despite herself, despite the weight on her shoulders, she giggles. Chrom laughs too, and Robin, stifling a grin, smacks his arm with the back of her hand. In battle, they almost seem to function as one unit, so keenly aware of and comfortable with how the other fights. But in these moments, in the quiet, the way they speak to each other, act around each other, is filled with that same comfort and ease. It is a warmth Lucina is happy to linger at the edge of, as she follows them belowdecks and bids them good night.

She missed them both so much. How is her heart to survive it, if she is to lose them again?

But she cannot keep stopping to grieve when she has not yet lost them again. Better to find every way to save them from that fate. Hitching her shoulders up, she tells herself to set these thoughts aside for the night. The conqueror’s war is the most immediate threat to her parents’ welfare. That day in Plegia is still yet to come; she cannot know when, but it will not be tomorrow. They may make landfall in Valm tomorrow.

Morgan found a tiny room probably meant for a few supplies and claimed it as sleeping quarters for himself and his sister. Lucina eases the door open, hoping she can slip inside without disturbing her brother, but immediately she is blinded by the firelight that immediately engulfs the room. The light fades out as her eyes adjust; Morgan, sitting straight upright, wide-eyed, slowly dims the flame he conjured in his hand.

He always slept with a tome beneath his pillow the way Lucina and some of the others kept a blade. The chance of accidentally harming himself with it was much lower, but the threshold for consequences if he did was much higher. Lucina doesn’t know enough about magic to know how much can be done just with a tome nearby, without conscious will. She never learned to wield magic. She never asked.

“Oh,” he says, sinking back down but still holding the light up for Lucina. “Just you. Where were you?”

“I was talking with Mother,” she replies, checking to see that Falchion still rests propped in the corner. “She had some questions about - about the future.”

“Oh,” Morgan says again. He is quiet, dark eyes flickering about everywhere but Lucina, and then he adds, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not remembering. Everything Mother told me about your future was awful, and that was just secondhand. You lived it all. Except I was there too, we lived it all, but you can’t even talk to me about it.”

Morgan’s coat - the coat that was once Robin’s, haunting eyes embroidered down the sleeves, scorching at the cuffs from magic cast by mother and son both - lays over his legs. Lucina has Falchion; Morgan has an old coat. He adores their mother. Even in that nightmare time, long before Morgan forgot everything, she never told him what she heard about their father’s death. Orphans, both of them, and he the little brother who she promised to protect - how could she take their mother from him again?

“It’s okay,” Lucina says. “It’s probably better for you not to, anyway.”

Morgan is quiet. Lucina isn’t sure she sounded at all convincing. But he does not have those specific griefs as she does, and since she does remember them, it is fine for Morgan not to. She just prays that she won’t have to take their mother from him in this time. She’s not sure he would ever forgive her.

The more she thinks about it - she told herself not to, not now, but laying in the dark with her brother breathing softly nearby she cannot help but think about the first time they lost their parents and what she learned of it—

The more she thinks about it, she wonders if Chrom would ever forgive her, either, if to keep him alive she had to take Robin’s life.

Anything you need from me, ask and I will.

If she truly meant that, then maybe the person most likely to forgive Lucina, should she be forced to kill Robin, is Robin.

The rocking of the ship, the huge hollow cradle taking them closer to war and unkind destinies, does not help lull Lucina to sleep. And when she does she dreams of flames on the sea, and on Ylisstol, and on the training grounds cast from her mother’s hands, the magic she promised to but never could teach Lucina.

#roddy fanfics #yes i am still letting chrom and robin destroy my life why do you ask! i still think about their family A Lot!

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