Maribat Oneshots

Forced Marriage

According to the League, Tim was chosen by a god of destruction to champion him. Yippee-ki-fucking-yay. He had to change into ceremonious robes, wear some type of traditional make-up, all of the jazz. And then?

He was told that he was to marry a girl his age who had been chosen by the goddess of creation. He didn't know if she, unlike him, had a choice, but it broke his heart.

Ever since he was little, he wanted to marry someone he was passionate about. He didn't want to end up like his parents, in a broken marriage with a child who never learned parental love. And now here he was, marrying a girl he'd never met. He thought he'd never met her at least. Who knew?

So at the first chance he got, he had tried to escape. But then he was caught and put into a room with tighter security. According to Plagg, the whole League and the Order would be invited to witness his wedding. Not attending would cause a scandal and another "Atlantis incident", whatever that meant (Tim really hoped it didn't mean what he thought). Maybe Damian would be there, alerting Bruce.

Probably not though. Bruce didn't care about things other than work very much.

A League attendant was cleaning his wounds, while another attendant was delicately braiding sections of his hair. There was light, pink makeup on his face and flowers woven into his robes.

Plagg had said that, to represent yin and yang, he would have to dress up like a creation soul. Light, floral, and creation-y. He wondered what his soon-to-be-wife was like. Would divorces work in the League?

Another attendant (seriously, how many people were there?) opened the door, telling them it was time.

Tim was led through complicated hallways, with five assassins at all sides. Eventually they stopped at a large room, where he was told to stand at the altar and wait for his bride. Tim shuddered.

He caught a glance of himself in a reflective glass. Tim's dark circles had been concealed, his eyes were at the brightest they had been in years, and– was that lipstick?

Suddenly music started to play and everyone began to whisper in hushed breath. A girl in blue walked out of the hallway, tears running down her face. Her mascara was running down her face, her deep red lipstick smudged, a black and blue rose bouquet in one hand, and she was breath-taking .

She was glaring at anyone who looked at her, with her deep blue robes bunched up in her other hand. Attendants surrounded her, making sure she didn't escape as she climbed the stairs to face him.

A priest started chanting loudly in Arabic, one of the few languages Tim didn't know. The other girl seemed to understand though, and after every second she looked more and more scared. Tim didn't know much about his soon-to-be-wife, but it seemed like she wasn't part of the League. And even if she was, she probably hated them now for marrying her off to a random man from Gotham.

Tim leaned next to her and whispered, "Do you know what they are saying?" God, he hoped she knew English.

"Yes," she said in a heavy french accent. "They are starting the bonding process. In the next three minutes, we will be forced to cut our wrists and pour our blood into some kind of magic water. Then we love-shot it in front of thousands of people, break the glass, and are expected to birth a strong and healthy male heir for the League. Any females are given to the guardians and bred to be their pretty little mercenaries." Her face fell a bit at the last part. Maybe she'd always wanted a little girl.

"And," she continued. "I am now property of the League, as they have branded me and are essentially selling me off to you , monsieur." She said "you" vindictively, and Tim couldn't blame her. He would hate himself too, had he been in her position.