#maven / mirror

[lunalapine-art]

A promise.

Margot claims that he lost his heart that day, and she'd be right. The love and light of his life was now gone, all because of him. It was all his fault. The best he could do now was to carry on, and be the family that he can be for his kids.

His only reminder of her that he has left..

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Maven Black-Briar, to Laila Law-Giver, when the Empire takes Riften: Chin up, darling. Both of them.

[corrupted-nightmare]

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Pining - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Jinx and Silco differ on certain subjects...

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

Silco knew that better than anyone. He'd always had a taste for collecting broken things. His way of preserving a piece of himself in others.

But preservation didn't always equal protection. It didn't equate to care. And every so often, when the night was at its deepest and the party was in full-swing, Jinx would catch Silco's eyes wandering past the roomful of bodies decked in sequins and satin. Past Maven, working her wiles on some unsuspecting big-shot.  Past Medarda, gliding with languid elegance toward him with two champagne flutes in her hands, and a scheme spinning behind her smile.

He looked past them all—up, up and beyond, to an unseen realm where the sky rose high above the rooftops and the stars burned bright in a vaulted blue that gained luminosity with every passing month.

Plotting, Jinx sometimes thought.

Other times:  

Pining.

His expression would drift into a dull state of dissatisfaction, and his hand would tighten, ever-so-slightly, around the stem of his wineglass. Jinx knew that look, though it wasn't one she saw often. Certainly not on Silco.

She'd seen it on her own face, though. In the mirror, in the aftermath of a first kiss. Her eyes glazed-out, the glow dimmer, yet somehow more focused.

Lost, then found.

Was her old man grieving for a love long-gone? Vander? Nandi?

Or was the pining closer to home?

On those occasions, Jinx would finish her dessert in two bites, then trill a cheerful 'Excusez Moi' to any nearby dignitaries. Then, she'd grab Silco's wrist and haul him out to the dancefloor, a blur of sapphire chiffon skirts and black serge suit, until the strange sheen faded from his eyes and they snapped front-and-center.

Back to the moment where they Daddy and Daughter, in love with a dream that'd come true in spite the odds.

Together, they'd been to hell and back. They'd dragged their city from a bloodied maw. They'd changed the rules of the game. And those rules had changed them, the pressure diamondizing their hearts, transmuting them from sump-scum to starstuff.

Two Zaunites who'd seized their rightful claim to their city's crown-jewels: power, promise, progress.

But there was a price.

Secrets piled so high between them it felt sometimes as if they weren't balanced on a karmic scale, but a powderkeg. Both waiting, for a single mistimed move, to blast it all to kingdom come. His dealings with Maven; his dealings with Medarda; his dealings in general.

And Jinx, his double, laying her own cards, one after another, in an endless cascade that could topple the whole operation, and Zaun with it, if he ever caught a glimpse of her hand.

If he knew of her agenda: separate from his, yet, not.

Two Truths and a Lie.

"Silly?"

"Hm?"

"Tell me a secret?"

"A secret?"

"Is there anything goin' on between you and the Queen Bee?"

They were in the limo after a gala. The nightscape unfolded in technicolor through the opera window. A Daddy-daughter driveby, just like old times. Jinx drowsed, her head nestled in her favorite spot between Silco's ribs.

A rarity: he so seldom indulged her cuddlesome moods lately.  To be granted permission meant she must've pleased him greatly tonight.

Well, a twenty-million Hex threshold of high-rolling investments would please the most stone-cold critic. 

Burrowed up against his breastbone, Jinx stared from under her lashes at the scenery through the window. A cityscape unraveling into deeper dimensions of twilight.

Changing, Jinx thought, her cheek warm against Silco's black heart. Like me.

Like us.

Silco's heart beat through the suit fabric. The old wonky tune. Thumpity-thump.

"Queen Bee?" Silco murmured idly.

"Medar-la-dee-da."

"She's a businesswoman. I've no patience for queens."

"Answer the question."

"Why the interest?"

"Just wonderin'." She nuzzled her cheek harder into his ribs, and closed her fist over his heart. "You smile a lot when she's around. She smiles a lot too."

"I smile a good deal more with you."

"Answer the question."

"Jinx... "

"You keepin' secrets, Silly?"

Silco rubbed his left temple with two fingertips. His bad eye, at this bell, often throbbed. Like it was lined in burning grit.

Once they got home, she'd give it a triple-shot of synthetic Shimmer to soothe the ache.

It was near the Equinox: the burnt-over Shimmer fields had shown the first fragile saplings of blackflower. In time, they'd be able to harvest the fresh crop, and replenish the supply with the real-deal.  Meantime, the stockpile, each petal carefully rationed, had been holding steady for research in the F12 lab. 

They were in the final stage of development for medicinal Shimmer, and its corollary: a treatment for Gray Lung. 

Tonight, Singed would put the final touches on the formula. The subjects in the floating shanties—once mass graves on water—were showing signs of recovery. The ones in the early stages of infection had kicked the lung-rot nearly overnight. Even a few in the advanced stages had begun acquiring a rosier bloom to the cheek.

Not all the damage was irreversible: organ failure could be slowed to a halt, but the damage sustained would remain.

Still: if nothing else, it was a fighting chance.

Soon, the official announcement would hit the airwaves. A miracle elixir for the masses, halfway through production, with enough supplies to treat even the ugliest cases. A cure—not an illusory fix—and free of charge.

Once the patent was de facto, the Safeguard Act's rollout would begin. Shots distributed everywhere from public health offices to back-alley chemist's stalls. Every Zaunite would have equal access to a remedy that'd once been as distant as the stars.

Soon, Zaun would heal from festering sickness. Soon, the vaccines would eradicate Gray Lung altogether. Soon, other ills and ailments would follow.

Soon.

But Silco's Devil-eye, Jinx knew, would never fully heal. The sclera would stay ichor-black. The damaged optic nerves would never regenerate. He'd stay permanently half-blind: able to discern shapes, and identify light sources, but little else.

And the scarring? Maybe a cosmetic procedure could smooth out a majority of the physical pitting, if only he'd permit it. Except Silco refused any procedure involving sedation.

Too much like drowning, Jinx guessed.

And too much vanity, for a man who'd learnt to revel in monstrosity.

Jinx didn't mind. That Devil-eye was half hers. And the rest of him?

Stock, lock, and barrel.

"Why," Silco murmured now, "the sudden interest in my private affairs?"

"Just keepin' my facts straight." Jinx tapped Silco's shoulder like a door-to-door census-taker. "You get... kinda drifty during our outings. Like you're thinking 'bout stuff. People."

"People?"

"One person in particular." She went on tapping a bouncy drumbeat. One-two-three, one-two-three. A Sumpside Waltz. "C’mon, fess up. Who is it? Man, maid, mutant?"

"You're a riot, child."

"You get that stare, Silly. I recognize it."

"Do you now?"

"The special stare for somebody who matters."

Silence slipped between them: a gauzy interstitial layer between tension and ease. Jinx was certain he'd disengage, or worse: shut her out. That'd become his go-to, whenever Jinx pried too deep on too short notice.  She was beginning to wonder if he no longer saw her as his equal—merely another lackey, expected to fall in line.

Or maybe he'd stopped seeing her at all. Only the woman she was becoming. An endgame glimpsed at the horizon; beyond reach yet impinging closer everyday. The gulf between them growing: a distance accrued by time's march and the secrets they each hoarded.

So she was startled when he reached for her hand. He imparted a brief squeeze, withdrawing before she could twine their fingers together.

It was the closest to closeness he'd shown in weeks, and she latched on: figuratively if not literally,

"What," he said, mildly, "is so special about this stare?"

"Sorta soft. Kinda sad. Makes your left eye go all smoldery."

"Pity I can't see it."

"Pity’s right. You look like something carved outta cremation ash."

"Somebody's a poet."

"Somebody's avoiding the question."

Silence again. No gauze between them, now. Just stripped-down stillness.  The cityscape wheeled by in a jewel-toned carousel.

Until:

"Let me put your mind to rest," said Silco. "There is no special someone. Man, maid or mutant."

"Not even Maven."

"Maven is special the way an eel is a good bedtime companion. An acquired taste."

"Spoilsport. What about Medarda?"

"You know full-well my relationship with Mel is strictly business."

"Mel, hm?"

"We are on a first-name basis."

"'Cuz you're buddies?"

"'Cuz—" the mimicry was dead-on; Silco delivered it so drily Jinx couldn't help snort, "—our interests align. She is well-connected in her sphere. Therefore: useful in achieving Zaun's political goals. To say nothing of the coin her endorsement lends our coffers."

"What if your interests stopped aligning? What then?"

"Then our relationship would conclude. Without a pang of regret."

"Wow."

"Is that sarcasm?"

"More like a healthy dose of skepticism. I mean—yowser. No love lost at all?"

Silco's profile, darkening and brightening between each sweep of the streetlamps, grew remote. All of him, in Jinx's arms, but none of him within reach.

Where did he go, when he sank into himself like that?

"Love," Silco said quietly, "is never a factor in the equation."

"I think," Jinx retorted, equally quiet, "we both know it's not that simple."

"In a philosophical vacuum, no." Silco was nothing if not proficient at turning a conversation inside-out: subversion, deflection. He never answered a question directly, least of all concerning the nature of his true desires. "Real life's different. Private impulse is anathema to practical governance. And I gave myself to Zaun long ago."

"So there isn't any space in-between? Y'know. Between impulse, governance, and everyone else."

His pause was a pinched nerve.

"A sliver," he said carefully, "I grant you that. But in matters of the heart—"

"Which you don't have."

"I do." Unexpectedly, he reached down, palm curving over her shoulder. His cool fingers imparted a squeeze. "You, Jinx."

Jinx caught her lower-lip between her teeth. The flush of little-girl pleasure caught her off-guard. To dispel the feeling, she mocked it with a hard nudge, half play-fighting, half-hiding her face in his suit.

She should've outgrown her silly tells by now. But Silco, even at his most distant, still treated her as a little girl. And sometimes, try as she might, she couldn't be anything but that girl, even as the double-edged blade of grown-upness cut deeper and deeper.

Maybe it'd hurt less, if there was nowhere else for her to run, except straight back to him?

"Aww," she drawled, flippant despite her smarting cheeks, "you sure know how to sweet-talk a gal."

"Sarcasm again?"

"More like proof. Try as we might to keep our eye on the big-picture, the heart wants what it wants."

Silco's fingertips rested, light as a blade's tip, between her shoulderblades.

"The heart always wants," he said. "It's the nature of the beast. But to conflate want with need is folly."

"That's not what I'm saying."

"Oh?"

"I just... it seems a shame, doesn't it?"

"What does?"

"For us—for Zaun—to suffer for suffering's sake. Solitude makes you strong, sure. But does it always have to be a zero-sum game?"

Jinx chose her words with a rare precision. There were many things Silco found intolerable: one was sloppy word-choice. She'd used to bristle at his fixation on semantics—until she realized how easily Silco caught the tail-end of the argument and bent it to his terms. Clear word-choice kept him from seeking an entrypoint into a rebuttal.

"If loneliness can make us stronger," she went on, "shouldn't love—real love—make us invincible?"

He smiled, one-sided.  Because semantics or not, she'd still be a little girl. Little enough that he stared at her now from the distance of nearly twenty-five years, the tunnel dark with the difference of a lifetime of heartbreaks endured and trust betrayed, all so he could give her this: a city of neon and witchfire, where her own innocence would not flourish, but sharpen into the acumen essential for survival.

Jinx was a little girl. But she was also Zaun's champion. A symbol of revolution.

Symbols didn't get the luxury of growing pains.

"Real love," Silco rasped, "is what you deserve, Jinx. And there will always be someone worth falling in love with. But..."

"But?"

"But love, too often, becomes the raison d'etre for abrogating all else.  A fairytale framed as fact: love redeems, love is pure, love conquers all."

"You don't think so?"

She didn't quite understand his smile. It was softer, almost sorrowful. The shadows, so often cloaking him in enigma, seemed briefly to chip away the topography of long-lived violence to bare the tired bones beneath.

Her mind flashed to the car-wreck on the cliffside beneath the Bridge. The Wishing Wagon, an old jalopy whittled bare by decades of the time's buffeting tides.

"Love," Silco said, "is self-consumptive. It has only one true purpose."

"To make us happy?"

"To propagate a legacy."

"Yeesh. That's romantic."

"I've little room left for romance, Jinx."

"Because of me?"

Silco's palm sealed over her nape. The squeeze was tender, and very, very tight.  Was it because they were monsters, she wondered, that he clung until it hurt, even when he held her at arm's length?

Or because the real monsters of the world had done their level best to rip them apart?

"Yes," Silco said simply, "because of you. Because you have already given me everything. Every purpose, every dream, every breath."

The cicatrix between her ribs gave a familiar twinge. Gratitude—or grief?

"What if you could do it over?" she whispered. "If, instead of starting Zaun, you'd let yourself...?"

"Have the life another man might've lived?" There it was again: that shadow-smile, fading now as the darkness returned to engulf him like teeth. "That man wouldn't be me, Jinx. He'd be Vander."

She didn't shiver. But the chill that catwalked over her spine was kissing-kin to premonition.

"D'you ever think," she murmured, "he made the right choice?"

"No."

"Never?"

"He took his path, and I took mine."

"What if you'd... deviated? Shared that path with someone else? Like... if Nandi had lived? If..."

She stopped. This landscape of shared history bore a perimeter of barbed wire: memories that could gut a man. Silco seldom mentioned Nandi, or the possible future he might've shared with her. Never once summoned the specter of family—flesh-and-blood, not borrowed and blue.

Perhaps he couldn't bear to, any more than Vi could mention Caitlyn without a muddy film creeping into her eyes. Any more than Ekko could, without a crack in his voice like broken knuckles, and eyes that sought Jinx's in hopes of someone else looking back.

Grief was like that. It meant always looking backward.

Whereas in Zaun, forward was the only path worth taking.

"An exercise in futility," Silco said, though not cruelly. "And dull in the extreme. Why does it even matter, Jinx? You can't possibly believe I would trade everything that's come to pass—everything we have fought for, together—for a shot at a fairy-tale?"

"I dunno," she mumbled. "I guess... I just wondered."

"Wondered, what?"

"If you didn't miss your shot at a happily-ever-after? If, here and now, there could be a second chance?"

Unexpectedly, Silco caught her chin, tipping her face to his. His fingertips held a chill, but there was warmth, too, in his mismatched eyes. A bitter warmth, like blood between the chinks of teeth.

"Happily ever after, Jinx?"

She shrugged, but there was no evading his grasp.

"Is it...I dunno... so impossible? I mean, sure. The Pilties are uptight shits with sticks up their bums. But there's been so many milestones. So many strides forward. There must be folks out there—good, strong, trustworthy types—who'd be worthy of letting in?"

"Good," Silco echoed tonelessly. "Trustworthy."

"Look, I know. They're stupid adjectives. But action's what counts, right? Anyone can pay lip service to Progress. But the ones who make it happen...who believe in what we're building..." Jinx's tongue, so adept at quips, tripped over the unaccustomed tangle of sincerity, "...the ones who wanna be part of the process—couldn't they be good company, too?"

Something shifted in Silco's countenance. A rearrangement of bone and muscle.

"What," he said, "are you asking me, Jinx?"

"I'm just asking: would you? Could you, ever?"

"Could I, what?"

"Love somebody." The limo's temperature was chilly. But sweat broke across Jinx's hairline. "Else."

"Why?"

"Why not?" In a rare fit of discomfiture, she dropped her eyes. "D'you ever feel like—you're being unfair? Denying yourself? I mean—you're the Eye of Zaun. You see all. But who...looks out for you? Sees you, as you really are?"

"Sees an opening to stick a dagger in my back?"

"Sees you, and has your back when shit hits the fan. Because—" A sneak-peek. She didn't mean to bring specifics into the equation. She'd meant this conversation to remain unclouded by detail, theoretical in the extreme. And yet, her instincts compelled her onward.. "—Because that's what love means, Silco. Or could, if you let it."

A prolonged quiet stretched between them: filled only with the crunch of wheels against slick asphalt.

On Silco’s face, another rearrangement: slower, colder. The grinding of glaciers.

The hand cradling her jaw stayed gentle.

"Since," Silco said at last, "you insist on putting me to the hot-seat: shall I be honest, Jinx?"

"You know you can."

"You wish me to be?"

"Duh."

"Then listen closely. If you think love will patch over decades of inequity and strife between cities; that it can fill the hole left in Zaun's belly after a lifetime's starvation; if you think, above all, that my choosing to let someone 'into my life', as it were, would not be tantamount to cutting a vein and offering Topside free reign to drain us dry? Then Jinx: you have not learnt a single lesson, and I have failed you utterly." 

She flinched, but he held fast.

"Love," Silco went on, a soft sibilation slithering through his tone, "didn't save Vander. It killed him. It killed Nandi. Nearly killed Zaun in its cradle, before she drew her first breath. Now she lives, under our auspices. By our willingness to commit the worst sins, and bleed ourselves dry for her survival. Love did nothing for Zaun, because nothing changes the fundamental truth: the Council will bury us alive if we falter."

"The Council can try," Jinx shot back, "but there are plenty of folks willing to stand in its way."

"For survival. For profit. For progress." Silco's grip tightened imperceptibly. A tacit threat, telegraphed in tactile language. "Love has nothing to do with it."

"One day," Jinx returned, undaunted, "we'll win. But winning won't be enough, Silco. Zaun'll need more than survival, or profit, or progress. She'll need love. Because without it, what's left to hold onto?"

"Do not lecture me on future scenarios, Jinx. I've lived decades to earn my dues as an augur." A ghost of black humor crossed Silco's face. "Leave the divination to me."

"It ain't divination, Silly. It's fact. Everything needs love to grow."

"What lets a city grow, Jinx, is cold currency and hard power. You forget that every day on the edge of annihilation is an act of war. And in wartime, sentiment gets the first axe."  His notched lip bridled to bare jagged teeth. "My mistake—and Vander's—was forgetting that lesson. I learnt it at Vander's hands, at the bottom of the Pilt. He relearnt it at mine, when I drove his knife into his back. All I've done since is to make sure I'd never forget."

His grip, gentle, hardened. But the eyes, grim-set, held an undertow of tenderness.

"Love's a fool's errand, Jinx. It didn't birth Zaun." His thumb described a tear's burning arc down her cheekbone. "You did."

Jinx's eyes were bone-dry. But there was a strange stricture in her throat. When, she wondered, had the accolade begun to feel like a strangulation?

"I'd do it again," she said hoarsely. "Again and again."

"I know."

"Because I did it for you." Her hand, trembling, lifted to curl over the hard knob of his wrist. "Because I love you."

The gentleness, in both eyes, deepened into a peculiar gleam: half-pride, half-sorrow.

"I know that, too."

"So why not risk it?" she said, trying to smile. "I gave you Zaun. And you gave me almost everything."

"Almost, hm?"

"We could have it all, Silco. We didn't before. But we could, now. If we tried. If we were brave. If—"

Silco tipped her head back to kiss her crown. The gesture felt strange. Out of context. As if she were a child seeking reassurance, not an adult making an impassioned case for the future.

His lips were soft as snowfall. The cold imprint burned on her forehead.

A bullseye as indelible as her scar. 

"If Topside believed as deeply as you do," Silco said quietly, "we would not be here now."

"But—"

Implacable, he cut in, "We are alone, Jinx, because we earned our power. No shortcuts. No middle-ground. Nothing can bridge that gap. Especially not love."

"What if they surprised you? If you gave 'em half a chance?"

"That," Silco said with a deathly calm, "is a betrayal brewing on the horizon."

Jinx, lip bit, fell silent.

Silco kissed her again: forehead, nose, eyelids. Brands of frostbite, doubly cold in the absence of her tears. She didn't cry much, these days. Maybe because when she did, her tears were the other sort. The dangerous sort. Spilling free between kisses that tasted, not of despair, but a hopeful refraction of light.

The glow of a star before it went supernova.

"You're right," Jinx lied. Her voice came steady, scraped clean of all girlish lilt. "Love's a song best skipped."

She thought Silco might smile. He didn't. Only held her in his single-eyed scrutiny.  He seemed to be waiting, for her to reveal some hidden hand; a dark truth, held in reserve. 

Jinx didn't. Only curled herself closer to his side, and shut her eyes.

After a beat, she heard Silco exhale. The tension passed.

"I hope," he said, in his ordinary timbre, "you know that I love you, Jinx. Always. You are the one weakness I wear on my sleeve: in plain sight. Except you are not a weakness. You are strength untold. And you made yourself that way—not with fairytales or false pretenses. Just by being you: bloody-minded and brave as hell."

"I didn't have a choice," Jinx whispered. "At the Cannery, if you hadn't found me..."

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that I did. I found you. I chose you. And I'll always choose you. No matter the passels of pretty faces who come and go. No matter if it's a Medarda shining in gold, or some other bored blueblood flaunting their wares. It's only us, and it will always be us." His arm, encircling her narrow ribcage, squeezed. "Remember that, even if you forget all else."

The little-girl flush was back, riding the coattails of ghost-tears. Jinx burrowed closer. Her heart burned with secrets, but the rest of her was a steel trap of silence.  Two truths for every lie, just the way Silco had taught her.

Taught her well, because even as she stayed a little girl nestled in his arms, she knew how rapidly she was outgrowing the nest.

Change was due full-throttle: Jinx could sense the countdown in her bones.

[bruised-punk]

The Calore Bros are Nightwing and Red Hood Coded

"Do you think we're brothers in every universe?"

Yes! 

Welcome to Punk's mental gymnastics, this episode we're talking about how Cal and Maven Calore, are Dick Grayson (Nightwing) and Jason Todd (Red Hood) coded.

I know you’re thinking, but Punk, how could you say this? Dick and Jason didn’t have that great of relationship before Jason died, after all Dick had already moved away, he was well on his journey as Nightwing, and he and Bruce weren't on the best of terms, and he and Jason didn

Sit down, allow me to explain.

Red Queen 1 Maven and Cal are Dick and Jason during Jason's run as Robin. Putting aside all that was going on with Dick and Bruce and the fact that Jason and Dick never really lived together.

Maven and Jason were always trying to live up to the expectations other people put on them because of who their older brothers were. Dick was the first robin, the boy wonder, he's every aspiring hero's idol, the golden boy, he's the leader of the Titans, Batman's greatest creation, the Dark Heir, he left Gotham and built his own legacy, Nightwing the hero of Blüdhaven. For a young hero in the DC universe if there's anyone you want to become it's Nightwing. For Bruce, Nightwing is everything that Batman was supposed to be.

In this sense Cal is similar to Dick. He's the perfect son, the golden heir. He's that last connection his father has to his mother, Coriane. He was wanted. When people look to him they see Norta's glittering future, they see a strong and powerful son of House Calore. A warrior, a battle strategist, a master of his Silver ability. Everything Cal does is impressive and exceeds expectations. People know he will be a good king. He is everything a prince of Norta should be.

When it comes to Jason it's the exact opposite. People were pissed when Jason came along as the new robin (or so I've heard, I wasn't alive then). They didn't like that he was replacing Dick and everything he did was met with some form for backlash. (The fans literally voted for Jason to get killed off). (There was a fan who wanted Jason gone so badly that they voted a bunch of times just to make sure Jason got killed off). This is where the whole "Jason is the violent Robin, Jason is the angry Robin, Jason is the aggressive Robin" comes from. Even though Jason was a pretty silly and happy at the start of his Robin run. When he and Bruce start having tension over Jason's use of "excessive force" it begins establishing this idea that Jason will never be good enough, he'll never be Nightwing, which follows him into his Red Hood era. For most young heros in the DC universe, for the robins that came after him, Jason is a cautionary tale. For Bruce, Jason, Red Hood, is Batman's Greatest failure.

Here's where Maven mirrors Jason. Because like Jason, Maven will never and was never going to ever measure up to his brother. It didn't matter if he was a scholar or that if he was a student of the arts like theater or literature (also like Jason). He's not as physically strong as Cal, he's not as good of a fighter as Cal, he doesn't have as much control over his ability (yet) as Cal does. In the scope of things his father only needed him to be there in case something ever happened to Cal. (Whether you want to debate Tibe's love for Maven is a whole other conversation). He's the spare but he's not perceived as a very good one. In the eyes of the Silver Court, he's weak and thus a very bad prince of norta.

So of course further down the line all four of them become everything they were expected to be, no matter if they wanted to or not.

Dick doesn't want to become Batman, he already has his own identity, his own life, but he takes up the mantle because he knows that someone has to wear the cowl, Gotham needs Batman.

As the Red Queen series goes on Cal doesn't want to be the king that his father was, or expected him to be, but he assumes the throne because he's under the impression that Norta needs a king, that the cost of the change that the Scarlet Guard is trying to achieve will result in too high of a price to pay.

Eventually though both Dick and Cal renounce this role that they don't want to play. When Bruce comes back from whatever weird adventure he got caught up in, he becomes Batman again, and Dick goes back to being Nightwing. And in Broken Throne, Cal renounces the crown, the Kingdom of Norta dissolves into the Nortan states, and he's free to pursue a life of his own choosing.

Maven and Jason become their "true" selves, or the selves that everyone always figured they would become either because of their emotions (in Jason's case) or because of who they were related to (In Maven's case), and its made possible by just how isolated they were when they were younger. Unlike is predecessor or his successors, Jason didn't have a superhero team when he was Robin. Occasionally he would go on missions with the Titans but they weren't his Titans in the same way they were Dick's or that Young Justice was Tim's. His world was school, home, and Batman and Robin. That's it. He didn't really have any friends. Neither did Maven. Cal had friends. Dick had friends. Jason and Maven not so much. They had their brothers (for the most part in Jason's case) and one parental figure each to sort of make up their social circles.

(Not that I'm comparing Elara and Bruce. Bruce has his issues, but nothing like Elara. That's a whole other conversation).

So naturally there's nothing really keeping them from becoming the "monsters" everyone always expected them to become.

Maven does what he does because he believes that this is how he’s going to beat Cal, this is how he’s going to BE Cal. He commits every violent, vile act with the intention of being just as ruthless of his mother because he’s supposed to be just like his mother.

Nothing stops Jason from becoming Red Hood, from trying to punish Batman for not avenging him, for attacking Tim in Titans Tower while wearing a robin costume (these theater kids jesus). He does that all on his own because well he's the "violent" robin isn't he? He thinks well, it's his fault that he got killed isn't it? He trusted someone he shouldn't have (his mother, oh would you look at that Maven was also betrayed by his mother, I'll explain more later on) she betrayed him, gave him up to the Joker, and he got killed. Bruce didn't get there in time, but he's not upset that Bruce didn't save him. No, Jason's upset that Bruce didn't avenge him, that Bruce didn't break his no kill and put the Joker down after he killed him.

In the same way Maven's resentment towards his father comes from both the constant comparisons to Cal, but also because his father wasn't paying attention. Even though Elara was the one who cut out parts of his brain, even though Elara was betraying him—and she was betraying him because she was his mother and she was supposed to protect him, to keep him safe, she wasn't supposed to hurt him—in his mind, if his father had been paying more attention then he could’ve done about it. It doesn't matter that it's actually not that easy, or that Elara kept him isolated for that very reason, Maven won't ever know if his father could've done something about it. Just like Jason doesn't know that Superman kept Batman from beating the Joker to death.

Dick and Cal are the only people in Jason and Maven's lives who have always looked out for them. Dick was pissed when Jason died and Bruce didn't tell him. He was pissed that he missed the funeral. Dick killed the Joker for Jason (even though Jason doesn't know this) and the only reason the Joker is still alive is because Bruce brought him back. Even when they were fighting each other like that one kinda weird comic where Jason dresses up like Nightwing (this theater kid I swear) Dick is still trying to save Jason because this is his little brother and he already lost him once and he's not going to lose him again.

Likewise Cal never stopped trying to find ways to help Maven throughout the series. It's literally every single other character (which it's understandable for a lot of them) who look at him like he's lost his damn mind whenever he suggests the possibility of finding someone who can give his little brother the mental health care he needs.

Because of this, Jason and Maven both give their respective older brothers a means of relief from the pain of what became of their respective relationship. Jason writing Dick a letter saying that they could try and see if they could still be family. Maven pushing Cal away with hurtful words to make him believe that there was nothing in him that could be salvaged (when there was) and saving him the anguish of executing what he thought was still his little brother.

Bit of a long one but there you go! the Calore bros are Batbros coded with many differences the main one being that for the Calore bros death was final in their story.

"Maven Calore: Beloved Son, Beloved Brother. Let No One Follow"

And for Jason and Dick death was just a turning point in theirs.

"In Memory of Robin: A Good Soldier"

[jgoddesstarot]

Pick-A-Pile: Their Career: What Profession or Field is Your Future Spouse In?

👑Check out my masterlist to see all of my pick-a-card readings😊

✨ Visit my shops at Ko-fi.com or J.Goddess Tarot✨

🔮Disclaimer: This reading is for entertainment purposes only. Tarot readings are based upon my intuitive interpretation of the cards and about possibilities based on your current energy. Energy is forever changing and nothing is set in stone. Always remember, you have your own free will to make whatever decision you feel is best.

🔮How I read: I use a mix of tarot cards, oracle cards, along with my intuitive abilities of claircognizance, clairaudience, and clairsentience.

🔮How this works: Close your eyes and take deep breaths, pick the pile you are most drawn to. If you aren’t drawn to any pile then that’s okay, these messages aren’t for you.

Pile 1

Tarot Cards: 5 of Cups, The Lovers, The Hermit (in reverse), Queen of Cups, The Chariot

Ah, my sultry Pile 1's! Embark with me on an intoxicating voyage to uncover the career secrets of your elusive future love.

Picture a soul who's tasted the bittersweet symphony of life. They've endured setbacks, but here's the allure: instead of languishing in bygone disappointments, they've channeled these lessons, forging a path glowing with promise. Like a phoenix, they've taken their setbacks and used them as fuel, emerging brighter and more determined.

Now, imagine them weaving through a world where harmony and connections reign supreme. Their charm lies in the art of building bridges, mending fences, and orchestrating unions. Their profession thrums with the rhythm of relationships, be it in the hallways of legal battles, the nuanced dance of consultancy, or the embrace of human resources. Their every endeavor is painted with passion, fostering environments dripping with mutual respect.

But, the plot thickens. Rather than being an isolated genius, they thrive in the pulsating heart of collaborative arenas. Their days are painted with group dynamics, team brainstorming, and the infectious energy of collective creation. Every project, a harmonious dance of diverse minds.

In this riveting tale, their heart emerges as their compass—a wellspring of empathy, care, and intuition. Whether in the healing embrace of healthcare, the nurturing realms of social work, or the soulful corridors of counseling, their profession beckons to souls in need, offering solace and understanding.

And as our tale nears its climax, the essence of sheer willpower and ambition becomes palpable. This lover is destined to blaze trails, to dominate arenas with a fierce determination that sets the world alight. They are a force, a whirlwind of goals and victories, and their chosen field echoes with their triumphant strides.

To tie this enigmatic tale together, enchanting Pile 1's, your future lover’s career is an exhilarating blend of resilience, harmony, collaboration, empathy, and fierce ambition. This tantalizing mix promises a partner whose professional life mirrors a journey of challenges, triumphs, and heart. As Destiny weaves its tapestry, these revelations hint at the captivating tale of your shared future.

Pile 2

Tarot Cards: 5 of Swords, 10 of Wands, 2 of Swords, Ace of Cups, 8 of Wands

My tantalizing Pile 2's, prepare to embark on a riveting journey, delving into the exhilarating career landscape of your enigmatic future love.

Visualize a realm teeming with cutthroat competition and exhilarating duels of wit. In this world, your future spouse emerges as a master strategist, a maven who thrives amidst the electric tension of challenges. Their arena? Perhaps the high stakes corridors of corporate warfare or the intricate dance of political maneuvering.

Yet, with power comes responsibility. They might be ensnared in a web of weighty expectations, but ah, they wear their burdens like a king wears a crown—regal and undeterred. Every decision, every responsibility is borne with a grace that makes you wonder if they were born for this.

Peering deeper, we find them at the crossroads of pivotal decisions, casting judgments that ripple through time. The gavel of authority, the responsibility of steering ships through turbulent waters, they're at the helm, orchestrating outcomes with a finesse that's nothing short of mesmerizing.

But what fuels this fire? An undying passion, a wellspring of love for their craft. They're not just chasing gold or accolades, but a deeper calling, a passion that lights up their soul. Their realm could be awash with colors on a canvas, the poetic dance of numbers, or the rhythm of heartfelt melodies.

And as the tale unfolds, a whirlwind of motion emerges. Envision them dashing through airports, or fervently connecting with souls across continents, weaving stories, striking deals, or capturing moments at the speed of light. The pulse of journalism? The adrenaline of sales? The world awaits their next move.

In wrapping up our delicious tale, my alluring Pile 2's, Destiny paints your future lover as a formidable force in a world of strategy, responsibility, passion, and ceaseless motion. Their journey promises thrills, challenges, and the sweet taste of fulfillment. As the stars align and tales intertwine, remain receptive, for destiny has its own rhythm, and your dance is just beginning.

Pile 3

Tarot Cards: 10 of Pentacles, 3 of Pentacles (in reverse), 6 of Wands (in reverse), 10 of Swords, 3 of Swords

Ah, my alluring Pile 3's, immerse yourself as we journey into the opulent tapestry of your future lover's career. Let the tantalizing revelations unravel, revealing a narrative you'll surely find hard to resist.

First, picture a world awash with prosperity—a realm where luxury isn't just a fantasy, but an everyday reality. In this gilded domain, your future partner thrives, perhaps manipulating the strings of business empires, orchestrating the ballet of real estate, or mastering the cryptic language of finance. They've crafted an empire, not just of wealth, but of ambition realized and dreams manifested.

But ah, the plot thickens! Every gold thread in this tapestry was spun amidst trials. In their earlier days, shadows of doubt and walls of disregard might have threatened to eclipse their brilliance. Yet, with indomitable spirit, they emerged, carving a niche where their genius could no longer be overshadowed.

Despite the accolades and the tangible trophies of success, there's an enigmatic humility to them. They waltz through the corridors of achievement, not with boisterous fanfare, but with a quiet confidence. They let their masterpieces echo their tales, garnering silent respect from every corner.

As our tale takes a riveting turn, we find them at a crossroads—a dramatic shift that upended their world but paved the way to their destiny. A switch that might've tasted bitter initially, but ultimately led them to their passion, their true north.

And oh, the finale? A heart so vast, so tender. Their profession might echo with the soft murmurs of comforting words, the healing touch that mends broken spirits. Whether in the embrace of healthcare, the sanctuary of counseling, or the comforting realms of social work, their purpose is clear: to heal, to comfort, to uplift.

To wrap up our sumptuous saga, delectable Pile 3's, Destiny paints your future lover as a beacon of resilience, prosperity, humility, transformation, and boundless compassion. Their career is not just a job; it's a testament to a journey of trials turned triumphs. As fate weaves its stories, savor these revelations and remain enchanted by the cosmic dance of love and Destiny."

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[askror]

Hey Marine, have you ever heard of a shaggy dog style joke? I feel like it's the sort of anti-joke Blaze would love for some reason, though I'm curious how Surge would take the punchline too.

"So there I was, walkin' up the street with two big rutabagas in my hands. Biggest bloody veggies I'd ever had in my life. I was walkin' around all those rain puddles and trying to avoid all the fresh paint that was on the doors. Took me ten bloody minutes, what with the size of the rutabagas and all! 'Struth, it was a pain in the butt! But finally, I get myself back to the house, and I walk right up to Tabby, right? Drippin' wet but with the 'bagas, holdin' 'em over me head, and I say, 'Gotcha the biggest bloody rutabagas on Windmill Island, cobber!' And you know what this galah says to me?"

Blaze, who had been somehow managing to listen to this five minute long story with rapt attention, tilted her head and blinked those great big golden eyes: "No. What did he say?"

"He says 'I've seen bigger, Marine.' " Marine held her hands out dramatically to either side as if she'd just performed some acrobatic feat and was waiting for an applause. The feline rapidly blinked, her face slowly shifting between different shades of confused.

"I don't understand. Is Tabby perhaps a... Rutabaga aficionado? A vegetable maven of some kind? No... Wait. Tabby is a well-traveled individual, yes? Perhaps he discovered something strange in his travels. An isle of mammoth produce!" She smacked a fist into her hand, suddenly driven with powerful resolve. "Where is it, Marine? Next time we visit the Southern Sea, we could slay a few and have provisions for quite some time. Gardon makes impeccable vegetarian stirfry." "That's... urgh." Marine had had a feeling this would happen. Blaze was way too serious to laugh about something like this. Or even conceive that the joke was basically that you wasted someone's time in the grand scheme of things. She'd try Surge, though. That sheila knew how to laugh! Surely, she'd pick it up.

----

Gardon yawned as he stepped onto the deck of the Firewind, freshly brewed coffee in hand. What a beautiful morning! The sun was rising over the endless blue horizon, unimpeded and free. A world of mirrored glass, blue and sprawling. Nothing but the sounds of the sea for miles and miles-

Creak... Creak... Snore...

The koala guardsman looked up with bleary eyes to find Marine dangling above him, all wrapped up around her midsection by a rigging rope and hanging off of the mainmast like a Halloween decoration. Her mouth was open and noisily sawing logs, the raccoon somehow having managed to fall asleep in this state overnight. Pinned to the rope around her chest with a tack was a piece of paper with jagged, messy handwriting scrawled on it: " IN TIME OUT FOR BEING REALLY FREAKING ANNOYING. FEEL FREE TO USE AS TETHERBALL"

Gardon sighed wearily: "I'll get the ladder."

[maveys-baby]

what’s ur headcanon for what maven’s type in women is?

do you think he would be into mare outside of plot happenings?

This is an interesting question!

Tbh, his biggest criterion for a relationship is anyone who would choose him over Cal. Once Mare said she had thought Maven was better than Cal in the dungeons, my boy was sat and he wasn't letting her post-betrayal clarity ruin his vibe.

I know it's canonically confirmed that Maven is bisexual, but my personal headcanon is that he's pansexual; he sees people for who they are and not their gender, appearance, or blood status. In theory, he could be with anyone who fits with him. I think things even could have worked out with Iris if he'd been more open-minded and wasn't so hung up on Mare. But of course, he was doomed by the narrative.

He is Elara's son, so he likes to be the master manipulator pulling all the strings; he wouldn't want to be with someone who tries to trick him into doing stuff (as seen in RQ).

He would want someone who is submissive to him in public, but challenges him in private, if that makes sense. He wouldn't want to be confronted in front of people (example: Evie bringing Mare to his party to make a point in KC), but I also don't know that he'd like someone who goes along with everything he says and does. I think he likes the back and forth; someone who has the same fire in them as him and isn't afraid to call him out behind closed doors.

He doesn't like alcohol because of his father, so he probably wouldn't be with someone who drinks too much.

He'd need someone who can keep up with him intellectually.

Ik it's cheesy but deep down, I think Maven just wants to love and be loved. After so many years of his mother taking from him and trying to change him, he just wants someone to love him for who he is.

In terms of personality, I think Maven and Mare are twin flames, and that can go either way (together forever or catastrophic fallout) because they mirror each other. But as I said, Maven's biggest turn-off is someone who chooses Cal over him, so it would all depend on Mare.

[ball-of-butter]

what do you reckon the mareven children would be like

omgggg like,,, mareven is a couple i barely imagine having kids. in my mind they’re 9 times out of 10 doomed by the narrative so i never see them lasting that long 😭 but i have thought about it in the sense of the arranged marriage scenario, where maven and mare are probably expected to have an heir. because by themselves without social pressure i don’t think they’d be a couple to have kids…. or maybe i just have to think about it more.

i think they’d have one kid and that child is almost exactly like maven— in looks and in personality except she’s a girl. she’s ambitious and cunning and snarky and scheming and clever and cruel. she’s lonely. and she’d have the doomed eldest-daughter-is-the-unwanted-mirror-of-their-father dynamic with maven. because i think maven would be more sweet on a child that looks and acts like mare, but would be more distant with a child that is exactly his carbon copy. how to approach the product of the shell he’s always felt was inferior? his daughter feels like karma to him.

and to make things more interesting i feel like this daughter is 100% her momma’s girl and has complete loyalty to mare over her dad, similar to maven and elara just without the toxicity. and mare loves her sooo much like her daughter is her whole world even though she is exactly like the husband she hates so much (but if she can adore someone exactly like maven than how can she completely despise maven?? hmm food for thought). maybe mare gets a taste of the desperation elara had felt when she watched maven get shunned by his father too.

either way i haven’t seen much on oc mareven kids but in my mind this is personally the most interesting dynamic to me. they gotta carry on the calore curse in being the most angstiest family known to man

[pempeeeperem]

Considering how Oswald ran the business it isn’t that shocking the building never got electricity installed.

As for the Post Cards they add better to the game then a simple email. Plus Oswald has that vibe of being the uncle who sends WAY to many postcards.

Right, I forgot the TV and Oswald's general shenanigans. Maybe he never had the money or he's somewhat old-fashioned.

So they got TV and lights (the bulbs on Roxanne's mirror do look like light bulbs). And whatever Luna has (computer screens?). Yet the heroes guild uses candles. It's a wild mix.

Hm... I can't think of anything fantasy-ish for how the TV work. I was going on a limp with the phone already. Maybe Rafta is just that new still? The town doesn't seem to even have a police (unless the hero guild is taking their place), because neither Roxanne nor Finn got jailed or even arrested. And because customers keep commenting how quickly the town grows. Infrastructure might still be a work in progress.

What was Rafta's backstory again? It's been just ~20 years since Maven's defeat (looking at Robin's age, he looks to be in his mid twenties), but even during (and before?) Maven's time people lived on the island. People lived on the island even though the fight caused contamination, I understood that the town was ok just don't venture further out without radiation tonics. Still, development wasn't much a topic I suppose, there were just too few people to get everything up and running especially if there were repairs to be done.

When Oswald ran the shop many people hadn't come yet and many things weren't yet established. My guess is he didn't run the shop for longer than five years and I'm being generous here (he did accumulate an insane amount of debt and that should take more than a mere year - I HOPE).

I guess you can go wild with the world building here. I wanted to go for something more fantasy-ish here, but I guess it's a fantasy setting with some modern influences. They might have gaming consoles, too, or toasters and probably coffee machines (since Luna recounts a lot of options that I'm not sure you could do without certain appliances).

Actually, this makes Sylvia's shop look even shoddier. Girl can't even have a light bulb. Well, she can argue that she's going for a certain aesthetic I guess...

[siderealmaven]

2024 Retrospective + 2025 Plans

"I want to write astrology posts that make people feel good about themselves. I want them to read it and it feels like a warm hug after a hard day. I want to inspire a sense of hope and optimism in people that don’t have any of their own. I want to be the spark of inspiration in someone who looks in a mirror and sees nothing they like anymore. I think that is what astrology was for me, a soul searching, a desperation to understand myself and how I fit in the world. But instead I found my spirituality, confidence, and strength and self awareness. That is what astrology should be used for, what I am going to use it for." -- Sidereal Maven / @siderealmaven

Hi, hello my lovely Readers :)

Like many of you, I am using the end of my 2024 to prepare for 2025. This includes looking back on the content I've made this year, what I think worked and what didn't. A lot of this is determined by how much I enjoyed creating it but it's also determined by your feedback. I pay a lot of attention to what gets engagement and what doesn't. So if there is any content this year that you really loved, that you want to see more of, let me know with a like or comment!

While going through this process, I ran across the above quotation from my journal last January, when I was working on 2024's content calendar. I wanted to share it because I feel like it really illustrates where I was last year with Sidereal Maven and the goals I wanted to achieve, as well as the goals that I have for my Patreon in 2025.

When I walked into 2024, I decided I wanted to take Sidereal Maven in a completely different direction than I had from 2020-2022. I no longer wanted to focus heavily on transits or horoscopes for a few reasons. The main one is that once the date for said content passes, the content dies too. It's no longer useful to anybody, which is upsetting considering this type of content takes some of the most thought, consideration, and energy. The other reason is because I was determined to break my own habit of nervously anticipating negative consequences to every incoming transit (which quite frankly was just unhealthy) and this is easier to do when you're not writing about it every month.

Instead, I was/am determined to create a library of natal sidereal astrology content for both beginners and advanced students to explore and reference. There are loads of books and youtube videos out there about how to read your tropical birth chart and your Vedic sidereal birth chart. There are articles and classes out there for sidereal students who don't use the Vedic framework, but these are few and far between. My mission is simply to fill this gap by writing everything I know, so that you and others can benefit from it at your own pace.

But to surmise my motivations as simply filling an obviously large gap in natal western sidereal astrology content on the internet or otherwise, is only half the story. The other half of it is that in the past, not only did I anticipate negative outcomes to every transit because of my own anxiety about the world, but these negative attitudes bled into everything that I wrote. Once I realized this, I felt embarrassed and ashamed. I do not want to push my negative feelings/beliefs about life onto my readers, who are going through their own hard times.

Secondly, I realized a big part of this issue was that I consumed astrology content that reaffirmed my negative beliefs and feelings, until they felt so overwhelming that for a while there, I was unable to have a positive relationship with astrology itself or have any hope for my future as an astrologer. I had to step back and really reconsider what astrology was to me, why it mattered so much that I had already dedicated years of my life to writing about it, performing readings for the public, and starting this patreon to begin with. This took a lot of soul searching, some grieving, and re-calibrating.

I wrote this in my journal during a time when I desperately looking for a reason to keep believing in myself and this work. It might be easy to say I keep writing because it pays a bill, or that I've already invested too much to stop even when it feels like nothing is quite working anymore, but it wouldn't be true. I am not someone who does things because I feel obligated, in fact that is usually motivation for me to burn a bridge if my Fire Dominant chart is being honest.

The truth is that I love astrology because of the way it has helped me see and reimagine myself, over and over again. I love the way astrology has inspired me to see my strengths and act on them, to take control of my life and the story I tell myself about who I am. Without astrology, I am not sure what kind of person I would be or where my life would have gone. This is why I devote myself, my time and my energy to astrology over and over again.

As for Sidereal Maven and the Patreon, I devote myself to it because I want other people to have the ability to use astrology as a tool of empowerment, the way it has been for me. I'm not here to poke and prod at your traumas, indoctrinate you into an ideology, or predict doom and gloom in the years ahead. Equally, I won't be predicting endless sunny skies either. I have no intentions of spouting vague spiritual advice or passive aggressive hot takes about your zodiac sign that hit you below the belt.

What I will be doing is slowly but surely building my library up with the hope that one day, whatever question you have can be answered with a search through my page. I will be taking my time to create content that shows you how to use astrology in a way that positively impacts your life, should you choose to study and apply the information I provide.

Here's what you can expect from Sidereal Maven in 2025

2025 Year Ahead Tarotscopes (Coming January)

Tarot Explored Series cont. starting with the Major Arcana

The Planets through every sign and house

Astrology 101 tutorials

Memes & Pop Culture analysis

1 Free & 1 Paid post every month (at minimum)

What else would you like to see? Let me know in the comments :)

Reminder: You can get 50% off your first month of Sidereal Maven's full post archive by using the code DECEMBERBABY until the end of December 2024.

[thewinter-eden]

almost summer | kim seungmin (04)

04 : I'M SORRY I LIED

Pairings: KIM SEUNGMIN x OC | YANG JEONGIN x OC

Rating: mature

cross posted on AO3 under the_winter_eden and wattpad under alone-at-last.

Warnings: post-breakup emotions, angst.

almost summer masterlist

< last chapter | next chapter >

Somewhere I had lost someone—so dear or so great or so fine that I never cared again; as if time dimmed, and color and sound were gone. -William Stafford

Sublevel four had an armory and a garage. A number of military-looking vehicles were parked in stalls, maintained by numerous mechanics who staffed the floor. Agent Hwang brought Maven and Seungmin downstairs, showing them to the Jeep that would be their transportation while they worked.

He took them into the armory and showed them the lockers that had their names spray-painted on the doors. They had at their disposal a set of ghillie suits, various munitions and tactical gear, and an assortment of surveillance devices.

Outfitted in neutral outdoorsy colors and a bulletproof vest, Maven reported to the garage stall where Lieutenant Seo and Agent Hwang stood waiting. They eyed her as she approached, scanning the MK18 that hung from her rifle sling and the M45 MEUSOC on her leg.

Tucking her thumbs into her belt, she nodded to Lieutenant Seo. "Ready to go, sir."

The way that the supervising officer always seemed to stare down at her like she was some kind of insect crawling over his shoe didn't appear to be personal prejudice. As far as she'd seen, he beheld everyone that way, even Seungmin and Agent Hwang.

"Then let's go," Seungmin appeared at her side, finishing clicking his vest into place. He nudged her arm with his elbow the same way he'd done in Captain Lee's office.

Maven stepped away, blood boiling at the touch.

Neither of the senior agents seemed to notice.

"You'll take your jeep to the end of the tunnel and take it on foot the rest of the way." Agent Hwang announced, laying a map out on the hood of the vehicle. "This is where the tunnel lets out." He pointed at a spot of terrain that looked like a hill or a rise in a field. "That spot is about a quarter of a mile from the portal site. There isn't much cover once you're under open sky, so watch yourselves. Do not take the jeep all the way. The integrity of this assignment relies on your not being detected."

Maven leaned in to examine the map, wondering how they'd walk a quarter of a mile in full tactical gear and be invisible to any onlookers. A river ran all along the tunnel that Hwang indicated, which she assumed might provide some cover.

"Any questions?" Agent Hwang wondered.

Beside her, Seungmin shook his head instantly before Maven could say anything. "Nope, we're good." He yanked open the driver's door and hopped into the seat, giving Maven a significant look.

Weary of him already, she shot a look to the senior officers. "We're off, then." Crossing around the front of the jeep and letting herself in on the passenger's side, Maven slammed the door shut after her and watched Hwang fold his map.

Lieutenant Seo and Agent Hwang both looked tired of dealing with young agents.

Seungmin turned the ignition and the jeep roared to life, rumbling beneath them like a box of loose parts. "You don't have to be so stiff about everything. Loosen up, Maven. You always were so rigid in public." He uttered with a condescending laugh, adjusting the rearview mirror.

The way he spoke to her with familiarity hit her like a ton of bricks. After a year of no contact, he had decided that it was okay to take their mandatory partnership and treat her like they were old friends who had simply parted ways? Fixing him with a seething look, Maven let her eyes burn into his face.

The boyish features and warmth of expression that had held her rapt attention so long ago suddenly caught her off guard. Every time she thought she could hold her anger towards him, she would be struck by his painfully familiar presence and everything would slip a little.

You always were so rigid in public.

"We're not together anymore, Seungmin," she started calmly, biting down the urge to hurl insult at him. "You don't get to micromanage."

He shrugged, flashing her an amused look. "Seriously, though, Maven. That was a year ago. It's time to let it go, don't you think? Come on, let's be friends." He reached a hand out and smacked her arm good naturedly.

Struck speechless, Maven stared at him. That was a year ago? Time to let it go? "Isn't that what you said when you broke up with me? That we'd be friends?"

He grinned, looking back and forth from the tunnel road to her. "And now look at us. Friends. See?"

Unbelieving, Maven huffed out a dry laugh. "I don't know why I'm surprised, what with all the running from hardship that you used to do. Still an avoider, I see." The words came with a vicious malice that had been brewing on her tongue for a year.

Seungmin didn't answer.

You both made mistakes.

It's not your fault.

You did everything you could.

He left you.

Everybody said those things, like it made it any easier. As though shifting the blame off her and dropping it onto him changed the fact that he had abandoned her. As though them telling her over and over again that she would be okay and that she would get through this made anything better.

He was gone.

He left.

He turned his back on the relationship they'd built.

Without even allowing an opportunity to fix their issues together, he'd given up and walked away. All because he didn't believe or didn't see that putting work into relationships is the only thing that makes any of them work.

He left her a month before the date of their wedding.

He broke their engagement without making a plan to work on it.

They'd done so much and come to know each other so well that they could have made it work. But he was a coward and a fool and he dumped her.

She hated him.

A year ago, every night she would go to bed thinking she would wake up and everything would be okay, and every morning she woke up only to weep at the emptiness she'd been left with. All the motivation seeped out of her bones. Nothing interested her. Nothing held her attention.

She hated him.

The tears never stopped. Her appetite for food seemed like it would never return. She trudged from task to task with heavy feet and numb hands. Everything inside her hurt. He had abused the beautiful memories they had made and had destroyed the future they had planned. He turned her life inside out and then crushed it.

She hated him.

They had both made mistakes. She punished herself for the immaturity she'd treated him with. She went to bed every night calling herself worthless, useless, and despicable. She'd been stupid and inexperienced and had taken advantage of the purity they'd cultivated together. He had hated the way she always seemed to be mad at him, or at least that's what he said when he told her over the phone that he didn't want to marry her anymore.

Coming to terms with the consequences of her carelessness had been a reality check. She'd sworn to get herself together, to focus on bettering her behavior and actions, to go through books and studies to get herself in the right frame of mind for honoring a relationship. She'd committed to going to counseling with him, to work on things together. He had no regard for the penance she was trying to pay.

She hated him.

He was a liar and a coward. He hid behind false assurances and assaulted her with pent up frustration and hurt in droves when he couldn't keep it to himself anymore. He hid from conversations and withdrew into himself and wouldn't open up to her, rather promising that everything was fine. He'd been lying since her birthday the year before, when he'd inexplicably blocked her for a week and then came back like nothing happened.

She hadn't been able to take him at his word since, and it had created a bitterness in her heart. She'd been stupid to react in self-defense so often. She'd been careless to let herself be hurt by trivial things. She'd been wrong to make demands of him when he was hurting.

Every memory of their joy and excitement continuously floated back to mind, every second of every day. The moments they loved and laughed and adored each other. The moments they'd shared as boyfriend and girlfriend, the times they'd tackled together while engaged.

There were so many more good days than bad ones.

There was so much more worth fighting for than giving up.

She didn't hate him. She never could. She loved him with all her heart, and she missed him with all her soul, and she'd give everything to have him back. He'd abandoned her. He'd abandoned her when they were so close to being together and learning how to be husband and wife. He abandoned her.

And she still loved him.

At the mouth of the tunnel, Maven and Seungmin disembarked from the jeep and headed out on foot. Rolling fields spread out before them in every direction. Far out in the distance, they could see the dark landscape of the portal site, where Nokken troops moved about in the Texas sun.

Picking their way down a narrow valley that had been carved out of the field by a small river, the VALOR agents followed the water in silence all the way to the portal site, out of view of anyone standing in the field above them. Local law enforcement had been instructed to leave the enemy outpost alone as long as none of the soldiers attempted to cause any trouble, so the VALOR team had no potential interference to worry about.

Maven let Seungmin take the lead.

He hadn't said anything since her outburst in the jeep, and she watched him switch into working mode instantly. He moved along in front of her, his head on a swivel, his boots picking the quietest path along the riverbank.

Rifle mounted to her shoulder, Maven kept her attention on the noises around them, particularly behind them. If anyone came up on them then, so close to the portal site, the likelihood that they could be overtaken and captured by the Nokken was high.

After a few moments of hiking, Seungmin came to a stop and held up a fist to gesture for her to do the same. He glanced back, signing that he would move up the embankment and make sure they were clear to crawl out of the riverbed.

Acknowledging his message, Maven focused on the other side of the river and the path behind them. As of yet, no one had followed or noticed their intrusion. She hadn't expected anyone to, as the Nokken were reported to be oblivious security guards rather than strategic operational scouts.

Seungmin hissed to get her attention. He gestured for her to follow him up the embankment.

Crawling on their stomachs, the VALOR special agents edged their way onto the field and came to a rest behind the cover of a bushy rise that overlooked the portal site. They set their rifles up on the ridge, peering through the scopes at the activity below.

"I'm not seeing any guards beyond their perimeter fence." Seungmin muttered, referring to the twelve-foot chain-link and barbed wire fence that surrounded the facility. "Looks like they're not overly proactive about security."

Maven found the portal. A collection of dark gray megaliths in the corner of the fenced area glowed with a bright purple energy, heavily wired to some kind of containment structure that she recognized from the satellite photos. When the portal was activated, that purple energy swirled within the containment structure and presented the gate between worlds.

She examined the machinery that surrounded the megaliths and portal. The enormous cables that connected everything together led her to believe that the machines provided some kind of power source.

"As long as they haven't placed any unmanned security measures." Maven responded, examining the ground between them and the fence. "Pressure sensors or cameras or something."

Seungmin followed the direction of her suggestion. "Could be. There should be a detection device in my pack. I'll run a scan." He set his rifle down and carefully drew the device from his backpack in as few moves as possible.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you." Maven muttered. She had her eyes on the front entrance gate, looking for whatever mechanism caused it to open. "I don't want to be hostile."

Seungmin paused in planting a sensor in the dirt. He watched her for a few long seconds and then shrugged, shaking his head. "It's okay. My comment was insensitive." He drove the sensor deeper into the ground and then plugged the trailing wires into a handheld monitor. "I wanted to be friends back then. But it was hard, you know?"

The gate didn't appear to have any electronic opening mechanism. As far as she could tell, it had a simple latch and lock. It looked just as thrown together as the chain link fence.

His words swirled around her head. "It wouldn't have been so hard." For a second, she pulled her face away from her scope and met his eyes. Gently, throat tightening, Maven prayed her words would sound right. "You abandoning me with futile hope was hard."

When he held her gaze, she offered a saddened smile—a small peace offering.

The look on his face changed a few times as the seconds rolled past. Surprise, guilt, defensiveness, surrender. Finally, he nodded once and turned back to his monitor. "You're right. I'm sorry I never texted you."

Sorry he never texted me like he said he would. Sorry he left me hanging like he said he wouldn't. Sorry he didn't want to be friends like he'd told me we would be. Sorry he lied. Again. Maven put her eye to her scope again. A lance of pain struck her directly in the heart, corroding over instantly with more anger. Can't trust a word out of his mouth. Can't tell the difference between a promise and a lie. Can't tell an apology from a false assurance.

Their vantage point looking down on the portal site had yielded a potentially comprehensive observation of troop movements in a given day. They noted the security rotation that had been graphed for them by University Station's surveillance team, and the army's training drills that took place on the west end of the camp.

They watched soldiers move back and forth from the temporary barracks on the east side multiple times a day, and in and out of another temporary structure in the northeast quadrant. Maven documented that structure as one that prior surveillance hadn't reported, one they would have to move to identify in following excursions.

Over the course of the day, they watched only eleven soldiers come and go from the facility that VALOR had sent the agents to investigate. In their assessment, infiltration of the building might be difficult if only because there wasn't much regular foot traffic going in and out.

Seungmin's detection device hadn't alerted them to any kind of unmanned security features surrounding the camp. The Nokken guarded the inside perimeter of the fence and nothing else. Evidently they were too cautious and afraid of the Scourge that they themselves had released into the wild to keep any security outside of their camp.

After a few hours laying motionlessly in one position, Maven and Seungmin moved inward, moving closer to the facility. They took up station in a wide burrow, where they could see that the river cut into the portal site. There were runoff pipes protruding from the south side of the building, pouring into the very river that Maven and Seungmin had come in through.

They spent eight hours laying in that field with minimal movement. Seungmin scanned for devices, Maven took notes in her field book. He snapped pictures from every angle of the portal site, and she kept count of soldiers who didn't operate in formation.

Only two hours into their day, Seungmin started complaining. He was uncomfortable, the ground was hard, the sun was hot, he needed to get up and move around, he was sweating into his eyes, he felt crushed by his equipment.

Maven grumbled at him every time he sighed heavily in discomfort, urging him to shut up and deal with it in silence.

He hadn't seemed to be listening to her.

When, finally, it was time for them to retreat back down the river, the freedom was like a breath of fresh air. Maven and Seungmin traversed down the little creek, returned to their jeep in the mouth of the tunnel, and returned to University Station.

"They put you and Seungmin on a project team together?"

"Yes." Maven turned up her Bluetooth speaker, an Elvis song increasing in volume so that Seungmin in the next room wouldn't overhear her phone call with her mother. "It's just him and me and our supervisor. I have to work with him every day."

"Oh, honey." Louisa Spanaway moaned forlornly. "How are you doing?"

At the rising emotion in her mother's voice, Maven felt her own throat tighten. "I don't know. It's hard. It's really hard. He acts like we were just friends, or nothing ever happened, or it was mutual or something. He acts like everything's okay, and it's not."

"Of course it's not okay." Louisa declared.

Maven sank down on her bed. "To get this project done we have to work together and trust each other. I don't think I can just do that."

Louisa scoffed. "Nor should you. He lied to you like it meant nothing to him. He was so careless with you and openly deceitful by the end of it."

Maven leaned back against her pillow, her eyes closing. She clung to her phone desperately, like her mother's voice could pull her away from all of the old pain that was reawakening every day. "I'm trying so hard not to lash out at him. I'm not doing very well, but you know. It's the reason he left me and I don't want to prove him right."

"Maven, he abandoned you. He threw off his obligation to you and destroyed your relationship without even trying to work through the troubles you were having. He tried to change you into his build-a-wife, and when you struggled to conform to his plan, you had emotions. You're allowed to have emotions."

She'd heard it all a million times before.

"I don't care if you made mistakes and should have controlled them better. You were 23 years old, in your first relationship, trying to graduate college and plan a wedding in a different state at the same time. Of course you didn't know how to control your emotions the way you should. You hadn't had the life experience to learn how yet. He committed to marrying you."

It all just sounded like excuses.

"He promised that you would work through all things together and build a marriage together. When you made mistakes, he ignored you for a week and broke up with you and blamed you for everything. When he made mistakes, you apologized all over yourself and begged him not to leave you. You are allowed to be angry right now. Even at him."

Tears tracked down Maven's cheeks at the words she knew were true but battled daily. "I hurt him, Mama."

"People hurt each other, honey, especially when they're married. They do stupid things and make terrible mistakes and they hurt each other. But if you're committed to each other and you want what's best for each other, you fix them and you do better. He hurt you far worse than you ever hurt him. You did everything you could, and more than you should have. He broke what you had for an inconsequential reason. He broke your heart and your trust and he threw you away like you were nothing, and he blamed you for it."

Sucking in a deep breath before the sobs could break free, the young agent wiped a hand across her face. Heavy with emotion, she stared at the wall ahead of her. "But these things happen. They happen to everybody. How do I do this?"

How many times had she asked Louisa that in the past year? How many times had Louisa been there to listen to her cry and rant and break over and over again over Kim Seungmin's abuse?

Louisa Spanaway took a calming breath. "Have you been able to talk to him yet?"

Maven snorted. "Not really. Not about what he did."

"If you get the chance, let the conversation happen. Let yourself get angry if you need to. He broke your engagement without discussing anything with you. You need to get everything out. Put it on the table, make him hear it, and walk away. You've carried the consequences of his actions for a year. It's time to hand them back to him." Louisa sounded serious and completely calm. "After you talk, then you can let everything be okay. Then you can work on trusting him again. But don't trust his words. Trust his actions."

Bolstered by her words, Maven nodded to herself. "Okay. Okay, I will."

"Be strong, honey. We're praying for you." Louisa encouraged softly.

"Thank you."

"Don't apologize anymore, Maven. You've apologized enough. Where you are now, at this point? You're well past any mistakes that you ever made in that relationship. You've grown and matured. You need to let this out so you can show him how strong you've become without his hold on you."

Maven sighed deeply, comforted. "I will. I don't want to be angry."

"Then let the conversation happen. See if he's grown up too, or if he's still the little boy that ran away."

[moonspires]

ISABEAU DUVANT, MIRROR OF THE WIDOW'S WAKE.

STATISTICS

name: isabeau duvant age: thirty-five gender: cis female, she & her sexuality: bisexual hometown: paris, france languages: french, english, spanish, italian, german occupation: stage actress & soprano (formerly), mirror aboard the widow's wake. inspirations: irene adler (sherlock), nina zenik (six of crows), lestat de lioncourt (interview with a vampire), satine (moulin rouge),

BIOGRAPHY

our story begins in 1693, in the murky candlelit back room of a brothel nestled in the corner of marseille’s wealthiest neighborhood. lined with velvet and teeming with secrets this room had seen many miracles come and go but none so lasting as the birth of isabeau duvant. her mother had long since abandoned the girl she’d been born as, a name as inconsequential as the life she’d held before arriving on france’s bustling shores - and so they became duvant she insisted, a name nobody could rob them of. isabeau was raised among the gold-crusted hairbrushes and perfumed airs of marseille’s most exclusive brothel. the madam was strict, exacting, but she insisted that isabeau be educated in all the manners and academia of girls from far above her station. her mother, fearing the worst of her young daughter’s fate made a choice. when isabeau was seven she wrote to the marquis étienne de sauveterre, once a dear lover who had offered her a favor in exchange for a night of honesty away from the brothel. piled with all the finery of her life and the promise that she would write to isabeau at her new home in paris her mother sent her off with only a glint of sadness on her face. isabeau was terrified, dropped at the grand steps of the marquis’s estate to rap her tiny hand against that door - and true to his word the marquis took her in. he never claimed isabeau as a ward but he kept her fed, clothed, and educated enough to stir up contention in paris’s high society. at one of his salon’s the girl mimicked the performance of the leading actress with such precision that the entire room was enraptured by this mark of talent. the next week the marquis installed her as a student and performed of the le palais de rêves, the palace of dreams. it was the most promising crucible for a girl of her potential to rise in. at ten she became a beloved child star, performing scenes far before her time and singing arias that experienced performers found difficult. by seventeen she was a fixture of salons and the stage, performing nightly to packed adoring crowds. by twenty she had lovers in every arrondissement, sponsors from dukes, and an invitation to perform at versailles for the dauphin and his new bride. though she would later claim the experience was exceptionally dull. she had everything she’d longed for, accolades, the love of the public, more riches than she could have dreamed. but the question of her unanswered letters to her mother lingered heavy. as the years passed her fame wilted as it does for all young, beautiful, and talented girls. newer, younger actresses with better connnections began to populate the stage she had once commanded. rumors swirled of a difficult temperament, her obscene extravagance, her fading voice. the final nail in the coffin came when she accepted a marriage proposal from bastien vaucresson, the romantic son of the duke of burgundy. he was a poet, a maven, one of the most desired men of the paris’s upper echelons. isabeau, always an idealist at heart was swept up in his promises. for years she’d invented her own legend - one day she was the orphaned daughter of a pirate king, the next a girl spirited away from the convent when the power of her voice reached through the stone walls that split the rolling hills, always carefully curated and thoroughly entertaining it had remained a charm. but her true origins had always been obscured by these gauzy, ephemeral tales of genesis. the duke - resentful of his son’s choice in bride - exposed her in society. he branded her a social climber and seductress and bastien was spirited away abroad in the night with not so much as a letter left behind, she never saw him again.

isabeau was now thirty, marriage-less, prospectless, and watching her most beloved career dwindle before her appears. she disappeared in the dead of night with a false name and a sack of jewels and finery to sell tossed over her shoulder. she found the crew of the widow’s wake five years ago in tortuga after spending weeks hustling in gambling halls and taverns snatching purses with a well placed word or act. she approached them first as a young man her hair tucked into a hat voice low and gruff, then as a spanish barmaid making their drinks with a suspicious confidence, then a grieving widow a black veil splashed over her eyes as she sent the tavern into chaos with her wailing. “you give me a room,” she said to them after the fighting was done, “and i shall give you any face, voice, or story you desire.” and so isabeau duvant, woman of many names and faces by then, etoile of paris’s stage became a pirate. what had once elevated her became the weapon she expertly wielded, her performances. now at thirty-five she’s a star in shadow upon the ship. she carries a lace trimmed handgun, an emerald handled dagger, and extols to those captives tied upon the ships mast the importance of shakespeare’s work. her stage has expanded far beyond the eye could see.

PERSONALITY

upon first meeting isabeau is flamboyant, theatrical, and larger than life. she naturally draws the intention of a room with a flourish of her hand or the boisterous sound of her voice. all the world's a stage and isabeau is the star. she can shift the emotional tone of conversation on a dime, speak with poetic adoration of nearly any subject, and laugh so loud it seems to shatter the silence. she's flirtatious, irreverent, a pool of glittering charisma always aware of her affect on others and how to wield it. but the past she's run an ocean away from seems to follow her endlessly. wounds have been carved in her that she rarely acknowledges blanketing them with mystery and joie de vivre. she's obsessed with the perception others have of her careful to control how she's seen even if it means nobody truly knows her. her trust issues underlay every relationship in her life and any sign of rejection can send her spiraling to leave before she's left. in private moments she's introspective and melancholic, performing to no audience. she knows what people want to see and gives it to them. but she's selfish and unrooted to any particular place. she'll disappear for days at a time without warning only to reappear as if nothing happened. she'll withhold information if she thinks it will alter the perception of any of her persona. she clings to attention naturally. her loyalty is conditional on been seen and appreciated. the widow's wake is simply her current stage and everyone else her background players.

HEADCANONS

sleeps with a dagger under her pillow and never an unlocked door.

ties specific perfumes to the different identities and personas she invents.

writes letters to her mother she never intends to send.

often performs for herself alone on deck, singing an aria or reciting a monologue she loves.

cannot enter a room quietly. she must always make a grand entrance.

keeps a private trunk full of costumes, wigs, clothes to ensure that her characters are flawless.

is writing a play about her own life titled, "the tempest's daughter" it is heavily fictionalized.

[lucy-the-cat]

I got requested to write a part three to I'm Going to Hell (Bathtub Scene Smut) and I started but I don't really think I can finish so here's what I wrote:

“There’s a hickey on your neck.”

I jolt, almost swallowing the pin in my mouth.  Iris doesn’t flinch, merely gesturing to the paints beside the mirror.  “I have some makeup.”  She studies her nails.  “So he doesn’t hunt the poor soul.”

Beside me, Evangeline laughs.  “First Cal, then this.”  A pin floats beside her, but it doesn’t move to help me.  “You’ve no self-preservation, but I can’t say it isn’t funny.”

I spit out the pin.  “Aren’t you supposed to be helping me?”

“No.”  She waves a hand.  “Just to supervise.”

Iris turns, black hair cascading over immaculate white silk.  “I don’t suppose your shadow can do my makeup?  I’ve heard House Haven specializes in beauty.”

Evangeline flicks her earrings, twinkling stars I know she can turn to daggers.  “She left.”

“Hmm.”  Her lips purse.  “What terrible hospitality.  I’ll make a note of it to my husband.”

“We’re at war, Your Highness.  I’m sure he has more important things to worry about.”  Her dress ripples, coins upon coins layered atop lace.  “Your maids will have to do.”

She eyes us in the mirror, smiling.  “And my ladies.”

I stab a pin through silver ribbon, scowling.  “I’m no lady.”

“You dress like one.”  Iris dabs a brush in the nearest tin.  “And sometimes you even behave.”

I have no answer to that.  Was I behaving, when I bed Maven that night?  Was I behaving, when I gave him what he wanted?

Iris softens.  “Come.”  She rises from her chair, patting the cushion.  “And sit still.”

I’m not a dog, I almost say, but I’ve found less and less truth in it by the day.  The cushion is no finer than the ones in my chambers, and it disconcerts me.  In some ways, I’m like a princess.  In most, I’m like a ghost.

Her hand nudges my cheek, and I flinch.  Evangeline huffs.  “It doesn’t matter how you paint her–”

“Hush.”  Iris tilts my chin, studying my neck.  “There’s more at the start of her neckline.”

Maven’s touch flares again, my collar, hips, and thighs.  Wren hadn’t dared erase it. I didn’t need more reminders.  “Please stop looking.”

She shrugs.  “Other people will.”  The brush dabs in the tin again, brushing along the first hickey.  “My colors know Maven’s never stopped.”

I swallow.  “Right.”  My fingers tap the table.  “He–”  I squeeze my eyes shut.  “He never does

Evangeline cuts between us.  “Get a healer already.”  Her foot taps against the wood.  “Stop making a production.”

“Healers are witnesses.”  Her hand lazes, painting a streak across my throat.  “And we don’t want those, do we?”

I brush her off.  “I’ll chance it.”

She doesn’t blink.  She doesn’t stare.  Only adjusts her skirt as if it never happened.  “Go ahead, then.”

A slit parts in Evangeline’s gown as she yanks me to the hall.  The scent of flowers makes me dizzy, the strain of the manacles pulling at my senses.  My wrist aches from her fingers.  “What is it?”  I growl, barely able to keep from lunging at her.  “Sad one of your toys is about to break?”

Her grip tightens.   “You were supposed to convince him.”

Silence.

I lower my head.  “I guess he convinced me.”

Slowly, it dawns, her gaze softening to something more human.  “Strange.”  She draws back, letting go.  “I didn’t think he’d actually touch you.”

“Me neither.”

“I’d say this changes things, but it doesn’t.”  She circles me, earrings turning to knives.  “I hope you didn’t think it would.”

I scowl.  “I’m not an idiot.”

[coallise]

Spark of hope

@Haven-for-maven-ravens I hope you enjoy your secret santa story

“He’s coming~” Hermes giggled as he passed threw her palace. Circe sighed, the man was going to make a stand, he was either brave, or foolish. In this world, it was one in the same. The nymphs went to hide at Circe’s command, the queen brushing her hair in the mirror, waiting.

“You wont hurt my nymphs, I swear to the river Styx. I will sooner die then let you hurt them,” Circe told the mirror as she waited for the captain of the ship.

When her nymph came yesterday telling her of a ship that landed on her shore, Circe felt her stomach clench. The men came to her easily, only one had ran back to shore, and the captain himself who had stayed behind.

Yet they didn’t leave.

Those men were the most dangerous. They are either fools, or loyal to their men. If they are fools, she can easily kill them, but if they’re loyal, they go to extreme measures to get their men back. Circe prayed this man was a fool.

But of course he wasn’t.

Luckily, this man didn’t try to hold one of her nymphs hostage, he came to her calmly and hoped to make a deal for his men return, a hope they could do this peacefully.

They both knew it couldn’t end like that. He had taken moly before approaching, he held his sword tightly in his grasp, still in its sheaf. A bit of hope, a glimmer of hope in his eye that he could just leave peacefully. That no one needed to get hurt.

If asked, Circe would say the moly cost her the fight. She knew it wasn’t true. The man held on to his hope, even when his blade was poised to strike, never scratching her.

Then, the final crack.

The man was loyal to his men, for sure, but when given the option to save them by sleeping with her, he begged for another.

Even after twelve years, the man couldn’t bare to cheat on his wife, that hope caused her to break.

Circe felt like she would regret her mercy in time, but in the moment? In that moment the man’s hope infected her and she dared to hope.

Many years later and another ship landed on her shore. A young captain came to her door with a familiar face and asking for directions as they had gotten lost.

“You remind me of your father, come inside for a bite and I can help you on your way,” Circe told him.

“You know my dad?”

For the second time, a ship had left her shore, none of the men were pigs, and all of her nymphs were safe.

[haveihitanerve]

What I truly believed would happen at the end of Red Queen- spoilers ahead- and also I ask for everyone else to also refrain from spoilers as I have only read the first book and am still seeking to read the next, just wanted to get this out first-

Its over. We’ve lost. The guards swarm us, surrounding us, guns raised. Maven watches from above, a cruel, cold smile twisting his lips. I look at Cal, but he is still focused elsewhere, eyes darting around, seeking, searching, hoping, praying for an escape, for a rescue mission, for a wish that does not come true. There is no hope, and I know it, he knows it, shoulders slumping in defeat as he faces me, our hands reaching instinctively for the other, taking small steps closer. Though all we have been through together, against each other, we do not want to die alone. Cal’s eyes drift above me, and I want to tell him its no use, theres no escape, when I realize he’s looking at Maven. When his eyes drop back to me, I smile, his face mirroring my own. Slowly, he starts to hum. I recognize the tune as the sad song, the one we kissed to in a room full of moonlight. I join him. We surge for each other, joining somewhere in the middle as our lips meet, his hand reaching up to cup my cheek as I let my hands bury themselves in his hair. What might have been… What we could have had… And Maven’s worst fears. His nightmares come to life, his inferiority being burned into him by his own brother and me. Us. I kiss Cal, and as Maven roars his outrage to the world, his jealousy, his curse, as he screams that terrible, vile, damning word, as the guards rain fire down upon us, as bullets pierce our skin, we begin to laugh. Laughing until our teeth are coated red and silver alike, both of us, because our mouths are still connected, still together, and it isn't until we collapse to the sand, blood pooling below us from more bullet holes than I can count, mingling just as our breaths were moments before, that we finally separate, still holding hands, still laughing up at the sky. The Traitorous Prince and The Red Queen.