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[tealfling]

"Why do you have trouble falling asleep?"

Ok, well, hear me out- would you imagine:

The tremors are getting more frequent, more intense. The Elder-, no, Nether Brain is primed to break free of it's oppression any day now. Everyone that knows Tav, has been aided by Tav, is prepared to payback their debt in full. As the hour approaches, every one is making as many preparations as they can. Anything that might give them an advantage, no matter how slight.

The Master of Ramazith's Tower, Rolan, has the tower's arcane artillery up and running. Still, he continues to put things aside he thinks will be useful to Tav, his savior, his friend, his heart.

He's not the only one. Dammon rushes into Sundries, dumping a handful of freshly forged items before Rolan, such as an ancient repaired shield, a morningstar, a ring. The weapons need the enchantments fortified, something Rolan could probably do, quicker to repair and revitalize an old enchantment than create a new one.

But the ring. Dammon asked for the ring to be enchanted with a protection spell. For Tav. Rolan doesn't mean for his jaw to clench the way it does, a twinge of jealousy pooling in his gut, nor does he mean to snap at the other male, but he does.

"And why are you giving Tav a ring?" It could have been an amulet. He flips the basic, simple metal band over in his fingers with a scowl. It doesn't even have a stone. Crystals and gems could hold stronger enchantments. Tav deserved something as enchanting as them on their finger.

"Well, I couldn't very well give them a Warhammer, they couldn't swing it. Isn't a ring more functional for a spellcaster?" Dammon chuckles.

Rolan huffed at the logic, "Yes, but it's so plain. They deserve something prettier." He holds what he now considers the decidedly ugly metal up to the light.

Dammon is taken back. Rolan didn't seem like the type. "Ugh. Why does it have to be pretty, Rolan?" An awkward smile settled on the tangerine tiefling's face when a thought crossed his mind. "Do you want me to make a nicer ring for you to give to Tav? I could, um, make a new ring if you want."

Rolan clutched the ring flustered, "This will do just fine!" He turned away hoping to hide the extreme heat in his cheeks. "There isn't much time left, are you just going to stand there watching me enchant these items? Don't you have anything more important to do?"

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Challenge {1/2}

Aemond Targaryen x fem!bladesmith!reader Summary: Prince Aemond commissions your services but it gets off to a rocky start. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, sassy attitude, masturbation, unprotected sex WC: 5.6k

HOTD Masterlist || Part One || Part Two

The full force of the heat from the forge blasted your face as you grabbed the length of steel with your tongs. The long sword would be mighty when she was complete but it was a long way off from that. 

Your arms were aching from the hours spent in the workshop but you ignored the weight of them as you lay the steel on the anvil and hefted a hammer off the tool rack. Every hit was aimed with precision as you folded the steel over adding strength and shaping the blade until the glowing metal dimmed as it cooled.

Sweat dripped down your forehead and you swiped it from your eyes with the back of your sleeve before making your way back to the fire pit and starting the process again. It was repetitive work but you were never bored by the process because every blade was unique and made especially for its owner. Swords like yours could not be found anywhere else in the Seven Kingdoms and that was why buyers travelled from far and wide. 

“Boy, where is your master?”

You turned slowly away from the dancing flames that had kept you mesmerised while the blade heated. “Excuse me?” you asked as you tugged at the cloth that was tied across your face to save inhaling smoke all day and protect your hair from being singed. 

“Oh,” the man chuffed as his dark brows shot up his forehead, “you are the bladesmith?”

You looked around the workshop that was void of anyone else before looking back at him. “You are a clever one.”

His lips pursed at the sarcastic remark and he stepped forward, his armour clattering with the movement. It was then you noticed the white cloak that was pinned to his shoulders by a dragon broach. “You are a long way from King’s Landing.”

“I was told there was a master bladesmith in this town but there must be a misunderstanding, though I did not see another workshop around,” he trailed off as he looked at a few of the swords hanging on the walls.

You turned back to the flames and rotated the blade to even out the heat dispersation. “No misunderstanding, there is no other bladesmith here.”

The soldier crossed the small room to get a closer look at the swords and made a small sound of surprise at the details and designs of the hilts. “These are remarkable.” He turned back to you and watched as you tightened the hold on the tongs and removed the blade from the fire to rest it on the anvil. “My prince is in need of a new sword, one that is fitting of his title. You will make it and personally deliver it to King’s Landing to present on his name day.”

You cocked an eyebrow at him as you raised the hammer, one well aimed hit would be enough to knock the entitled tone from his mouth but one word would also do. “No.”

The coins in the purse that sat in his hand jangled as his fist tightened around it and you ignored the flare of anger that tinted his cheeks as you beat the steel into shape while it was hot and malleable. “Your prince demands a great sword.”

You paused to look around the room once more, waving the hammer to the empty doorway as you spoke, “I do not see a prince.”

A growl of frustration gurgled in his throat before he turned on his heel and stormed out of the workshop, slamming the old wooden door closed behind him. 

“Arrogant prick,” you muttered under your breath as you returned to work.

The sun had set hours ago but the workshop was alight with the forge fire as you made the finishing touches on a curved scimitar for a client who had come from Braavos with the design.

The blade gleamed in the firelight as you ran the whetstone down its edge until you were satisfied it could cut through a skull with a single slice. Along with an engraving of the shield of Braavos, the hilt was gilded with gold and had a small blood-red ruby nestled into the top. It really was a magnificent piece, even if you were a little biassed.

Placing the sword into the velvet lined box that had been built by your trusted carpenter, you closed the latch and placed it on a clean benchtop so it would be ready for the gentleman to pick up on the morrow. 

You double checked the windows were locked before stoking the fire one last time to keep it warm overnight and making your way out of the workshop that was littered with projects. Lists of jobs to be done and ore to be bought ran through your head, the endless stream of debt and credit being calculated as you walked. You were so caught up thinking about your business that you missed the body that filled the dark doorway you were stepping out of. 

“What in the Seven Hells do you-” your words died out as you looked up from the leather clad chest you had hit and found a smirk on the lips above. 

It wasn’t the immaculate tunic, silvery hair or violet eye that gave away the man before you, though they all screamed royalty, it was the long-healed scar and eye patch. Prince Aemond, or Aemond One-Eye behind his back, had come to your workshop. 

Beside the prince stood the soldier who had visited only a few days earlier and his attitude did not appear to have lessened in his time away. Recovering from the shock of a prince standing before you, you dipped into a curtsey and stepped back into your workshop.

“Your highness, what brings you here?”

Prince Aemond walked in with a straight spine and puffed chest, taking in the shadows with a keen eye to spy any threat hiding within. He ignored your question and his soldier remained in the doorway, watching his prince see the work of your craft.

“The hour is late and I am tired, why have you come all the way from King’s Landing?”

“My Prince is here for his sword,” the soldier answered.

“I have no sword for the prince.” You placed your hand on the box holding the latest creation as the prince reached for it. “That is not yours.”

Prince Aemond placed his hands behind his back and pursed his lips. “She is rude, isn’t she, Ser Criston, and filthy.”

“I did warn you,” he replied with a chuckle.

“Do not speak of me as if I am not here,” you commented dryly. “Your manners are no better barging in here not once but twice. I suppose you are used to getting your way.”

“I could have your head for disrespecting me,” Prince Aemond warned as his hand came to rest on his hilt.

Your chin lifted higher in defiance as you retorted, “Then you will ensure you never possess a sword of the greatest craftsmanship. That is why you are here, is it not?”

Aemond stepped closer and dipped his head as he towered over you to catch your chin in his hand. “There are plenty of other bladesmiths like you. Ones that do not come with such a mouth.”

Your lips pulled back at the insult and you wretched your head from his tight grip as you snarled, “There is no one like me.”

The smirk playing at his bow shaped lips grew as he dared you, “Prove it.” 

“Fine,” you hissed before smacking his hand away that reached for the scimitar’s box again. “I shall make you a fine sword that will be the envy of all who see it. It will be longer than all others and require two hands just to wield it, a fair compensation for what lords who request such swords are often lacking.”

Ser Criston looked away with a pinched face while Prince Aemond chuckled darkly and pulled the protective cloth from your head. “I cannot speak for these other lords, but I assure you Targaryen men do not lack in length.”

You looked him up and down. “I was not talking about your height.”

His lips twitched in amusement and he tossed your cloth back before turning away. “Neither was I.” 

The prince stopped beside his soldier and whispered something before he clattered his way over and grabbed your arm tightly. “You’re coming with us.”

You struggled against the hold but it was impossible to break as he dragged you out the door and down the street to the only inn the small village had. “You’re a damn brute!” you hissed as you kicked at his shin only to cry out as your toes slammed into the metal armour. 

“Such a temper,” Prince Aemond tutted with a laugh. “Be careful. You’ll hurt yourself and I don’t want any delays in getting my sword.”

Ser Criston pushed you into a booth and stood guard while the prince slipped into the other side, waving a hand towards the waitress who rushed off to the bar. A few heads turned to the prince before blanching and quickly giving their attention back to the stew and ale in front of them. They were afraid.

“How is dragging me here going to help finish your sword any faster?” you asked as a draft of beer was placed in front of you by the waitress. 

The prince delicately sniffed his drink before taking a sip and his nose crinkled slightly at the taste of the penny ale. “You look like you could use a hot meal. You will be of no use to me if you fall sick.”

Your eyebrows pinched together and you looked down at your filthy fingernails, soot covering you from head to toe. You looked like a beggar, possibly even worse, but you were far from it. “My staff keeps me fed far better than anything that can be found in this place, thank you very much. And, I know I don’t look it after spending a long day in the workshop but I am very well off so I do not want to see pity in that eye of yours.”

You enjoyed the surprise that flitted across his face as you pushed the disgusting ale away and rose from the table. “If you wish to eat whatever diseased ridden animal they have found in the alley, feel free to stay and take your chances.”

You pushed past the soldier and he let you, instead turning his attention to the prince still sitting at the table stunned. “My prince, I believe she was inviting you to dinner.”

Aemond frowned at his guard. “Then why would she not just say that?”

You heard the metal armour rattle as Ser Criston shrugged and looked back over your shoulder to catch the prince’s confused stare. “I did, you just do not understand woman-speak unlike your counterpart here. Do you not talk to the ladies in your court?”

“I have better ways to spend my time,” he uttered as he followed you out of the inn. “Fetch the horses, Cole.”

“No need, my home is not far,” you interrupted, continuing on your way and letting them decide whether to follow.

You chose the workshop because it was close to the home you had inherited from your father. He had been a merchant, bringing precious metals from his travels until his heavily laden ship had been caught in a storm and been dragged to the bottom of the Narrow Sea. You could hardly remember losing him as a child but you could remember the pretty metals he had brought home. It was what led you to learning the art of metalwork, eventually finding your niche in high quality swords.

The men walked in silence, though you saw Ser Criston constantly keeping track of the surroundings with his hand on the pommel of his sword. Soon enough the stone walls of your property came into view and you reached the gated archway that was always kept locked since there was no ‘lord of the house’ to protect it.

The property would have been long lost to the taxman if your business were not so successful, the wealthy buyers willing to part with large sums of coin to have a sword made by you. It was satisfying to see the shock and surprise on the prince's face when the trees parted and the large home appeared. 

The ornate front door swung open as you reached the steps and Gerry curtseyed as she saw the company you kept. “Mistress, I was about to come in search of you.”

“You worry too much.” You pulled the heavy fireproof cloak off your shoulders and passed it over to her to hang in the coat closet. “We have company for dinner and will require two more settings.”

“Of course, mistress. Your bath is already drawn upstairs and I will have Kasia lay out more,” her eyes flicked to the prince, “fitting clothes.”

You laughed at the preposterous idea and shook your head. “This is my home and I am not a doll to be dressed up for anyone’s amusement, least of all the prince’s. I will wear my usual.” You dismissed her with a nod of your head and pointed to the adjoining room where most receptions were held. “You two can wait in there.”

“So bossy,” the prince murmured as he turned away to see the paintings that lined the walls.

Ser Criston took more offence and coldly warned, “Remember who it is you are speaking to.” 

“How could I forget,” you teased as you made your way to the stairs and swept into a curtsey to the prince who had followed your movement with his eye. “I am but your obedient servant.”

“You little-”

Aemond caught Ser Criston’s arm as he made to reach for you and shook his head. “Tis a game, Cole, and she is playing you.”

Your bottom lip pouted as he ruined your fun and you realised the prince was smarter than you had given him credit for, assuming he was just another entitled, spoilt lord. Those types of men you could deal with but this one was different and wasn’t afraid to call you out. It was intriguing. 

His eye lingered on your pouting lip and from the dark look you wondered if he enjoyed the attitude you gave him or wanted to spank it from you. After a moment you decided you would be happy with either one. He might have been an entitled asshole, but he was a handsome one and you were not immune to his looks.

You spun away and hastily climbed the stairs when you realised you had been staring at him for too long. 

You could only breathe again once you were safely shut behind your bedroom door and wished you hadn’t seen the look in his eye. The heat of it still remained on your lips and you traced a finger over them before shaking the thought away. 

‘He’s just like every other lord you have worked for,’ you told yourself as you began to strip out of your sooty and sweaty clothes. ‘Actually, he’s worse. He didn’t even have the decency to ask for a sword politely. Coming into my shop and demanding one,’ you scoffed at the conversation in your head, ‘who does he think he is?’

You dropped into the warm water that was nowhere near as hot as you usually had but the late hour had let it cool so you worked quickly to wash your body before it turned tepid. There was a moment when you were towelling yourself dry that you looked at your closest and thought of wearing one of the many dresses your old governess had purchased for you before you came of age, but it soon passed and you grabbed the pair of loose breeches and cotton shirt that was laid out.

The two men were conversing quietly in the reception room after helping themselves to the carafe of wine that was kept there and they both turned as you entered. Ser Criston spluttered on his wine, the red drops splattering down his armour as he coughed and looked away. 

The attire was certainly not what they would have been used to seeing from the ladies in the Red Keep but you would always choose comfort over style and that would not change just because there was a prince in your home. 

“You act as if you have seen something scandalous, Ser Criston,” you said, impelling him to interact while his ears burned red. 

“Those are underclothes,” he said without looking away from the curtains he was transfixed on.

You chuckled and looked at the prince instead. “I would never wear such things in front of his highness. I find them far too cumbersome.”

Ser Criston dropped his goblet entirely and you bit your lip to hide the laughter that was bubbling in your chest as the red wine cascaded across the floor.

“Oh dear, you would think your guard would have a steadier hand.”

Whatever retort was on the prince's lips was forgotten when Gerry entered and announced that dinner was ready. But it wasn’t forgiven as he sent his guard to follow your housemaid and caught your arm in his large hand when you walked by, pressing his body close so he could dip his head to your ear and whisper, “You are playing with fire.”

You tipped your head back to look him in the eye and the movement gave him a clear line of sight down the front of your shirt, proving you were in fact not wearing any underclothes. “I play with fire everyday, my prince, but I have yet to be burned.” You pulled away with a smirk and swore you heard his teeth grind in his clenched jaw. “Dinner will be getting cold.”

“That mouth will be the end of you,” he uttered as he swaggered behind you into the dining room.

The table was laden with all manner of dishes but you could hardly eat as you kept catching Prince Aemond’s eye in the seat opposite. Gerry had likely set the plates that way on purpose, so the prince would be at the head of the table like you.

It was how the table would be formally set if you were to ever take a husband. That was an unlikely event. Despite enjoying the company of men on occasion, you had no interest in sharing your home with one. Men were best set free after you were spent.

The table had just been cleared and a sweet pudding was on its way from the kitchen when rain began to patter softly on the roof. The downpour only grew louder over dessert and you placed your spoons down with a sigh. “Gerry?”

Your housemaid stepped into the room a little too eagerly and sent the prince a small bashful smile and it irked you that his lips curled up slightly in return. “Prepare two rooms. They can hardly walk back in this weather.”

“It’s only a little rain,” the prince said.

“I’ll not have you catch your death on my watch,” you shot back.

He wiped his lips with his napkin to hide the smile growing on his face. “Sounds like you care.”

You scoffed at his arrogance and reassured him, “I care about my money, which I won’t get if you die.”

“My prince,” Ser Criston whispered loudly, “I don’t think this is wise.”

“It appears safer than the inn, and we have determined she would rather me survive our stay - for her money of course.”

You nodded in agreement as you reached the stairs and the soldier barely suppressed the resigned sigh that came from the heavy breath he took. “It’s settled then. I will take your measurements and preferences for the sword on the morrow then you may be on your way back to King’s Landing.”

The bath had been removed, the fire had been stoked and the room was balmy when you bid your guests farewell and stepped inside. The door next to yours closed and you heard the men speaking in the room but couldn’t make out their words before the door opened and closed again and Ser Criston’s armour clattered with him to the room further down the hall. 

Satisfied you wouldn’t be disturbed until morning, you tossed your clothes to the floor and climbed atop the blankets knowing it would be too hot to sleep under them until the fire dwindled. Despite being exhausted your mind refused to quiet and let you rest, instead you were hyper-aware of the male specimen on the bed that shared your wall. 

It had been too long since you last indulged in a man and now it showed.

Your fingers traced the swell of your breasts before dancing their way down your navel to where you needed to be touched most. You jolted as the pad of your middle finger swept over your clit and found you were already sensitive from the verbal sparring of the evening and a soft moan escaped with your exhale. 

Your core ached with the need to be filled and you palmed your breast with one hand, teasing your nipple, as you parted your folds with the other. Fuck, you were wet. The evidence sounded around you as you curled your fingers in search of the delicious spot that would send stars twirling around your vision. 

You were completely absorbed in your own pleasure and could no longer bite your lip to keep quiet as you erupted around your fingers, your walls clenching around them as your palm rubbed your clit and sent aftershocks trembling across your body.

A final deep groan filled the room and it took a moment to realise the sound had not come from you. It was purely masculine. And coming from the other side of the wall.

The satisfaction of your release was lost to a new need and you shifted up the bed, pressing your ear to the wall in the hopes of hearing it once again. Holding your breath, you waited.

“Uh,” the prince grunted and there was a thud beside your head, as if he had callously thrown his own back from where he sat among the pillows. “That filthy mouth. This would shut you up.”

You inhaled sharply and stared at the wall as if you could magically see through it.

Was he thinking about you as he touched himself? Was he stroking his cock and imagining your lips wrapped around it?

You sat back against the wall and let your knees fall apart as you hung on every word that spilled from the prince's lips. Your fingers could not fill you as a cock could and did not reach the depth you were chasing and you gave a strangled cry of frustration before slamming a hand over your mouth. 

The room fell silent, and so did his. 

The air was heavy as you waited to hear any sign he was still there but nothing came and the tightening in your core was lost to time. 

Knock. Knock. 

They were quiet, almost silent knocks, but there was no denying that someone was at your door. 

You tore the blanket from the bed as you rose and wrapped the material around your naked body before opening the door just a crack. Even without candlelight it was impossible to mistake the shadowed man for anyone but the prince with his silvery hair. 

He did not wait for an invitation as he pushed the door wider and closed it behind him, a finger pressed to his lips before pointing to the messy bed and whispering, “Trouble sleeping?”

In the firelight you could see the flush on his cheeks and his tunic buttons were not aligned after hastily dressing himself in the dark. You reached a hand out of the folds of the blanket that swamped you and flicked the clasp he hadn’t done up low on his hips. “Thin walls, your highness.”

“Hmmm,” he hummed and you swore you felt the deep reverberations in your core. “Then you shall have to keep quiet.”

Your heart beat rapidly at the thought and the need between your legs throbbed in time to your pulse but, defiant to the end, you lifted your head and challenged him once more. “Make me.”

The fire reflected in his eye and those bow lips curled up at the dare. He would not back down, not when you were so provocative. 

His hand moved faster than you could follow and in a heartbeat your blanket was torn away to bare your entire self to him. The hunger in his eye exploded and your body heated as he feasted upon every inch, unblinking. He drank in the sight from your peaked nipples, stiff from your touch, down to the glistening evidence of your release at the junction of your thighs. 

His movements flowed like water as he spun you around, one hand splayed across your chest to hold you against him while his other parted your legs. “Don’t act like you don’t want this,” he whispered in your air as he dragged his fingers through your folds, coating them in your slick before gliding over your clit. “I could hear you too.”

Your head fell back onto his shoulder and your hands reached up to tangle in his hair as you rolled your hips. “I don’t want this,” you said with a suppressed moan. “But I need it so just fuck me already.”

“That filthy mouth,” he growled before clamping his hands on your shoulders and shoving you to your knees. The clasps of his tunic were torn open as he circled you and freed his cock, the hard length springing forward. His thumb traced your bottom lip as it parted and your tongue darted across it in anticipation as he said, “Put it to good use.”

You snapped your teeth at him and smirked as he narrowed his eye at you, but he didn’t retreat when you reached for him. His cock was warm and hard in your hand and you stroked the length that he had definitely not exaggerated, teasing him as you swirled your tongue around the swollen tip. 

A throaty moan filled the air and you rolled your eyes up to see his jaw slack with the pleasure you were giving him. 

It was satisfying to see the calm and collected prince come undone. He was so completely vulnerable at your hand, and the thought set your body on fire as you took him deeper in your mouth.

“Seven hells, you are sin.”

Your fingers danced over the silken skin of his balls, gently squeezing and rolling them until they began to tighten and another guttural sound erupted. It was your turn to hum as you pulled back and tasted the bead of precum that escaped the slit before rising to your feet.

“Come.” You took his hand and led him to the bed, pushing him down among the sheets. “It’s my turn.”

He let you get as far as straddling his hips before he twisted and flipped you beneath him, pinning your hands above your head. “You are a very bossy woman.”

“How else am I to get what I want?”

His dark smile grew and you knew you wouldn’t like his answer. “You could always say please.”

You sent him a dangerously sweet smile and blinked innocently at him. “Unless you are going to fuck me, please get out of my room.”

He clamped a hand over your mouth as he lined himself up with your dripping entrance and filled you with a rough thrust that stole the air from your lungs. Your moans were silenced by his hand as he reached the parts of you that your fingers could never truly satisfy and your fingernails found purchase on his tunic as you arched closer to his body. 

“You knew what you were doing at dinner,” he growled in your ear as he pulled your leg higher over his hips. “Do you do this with all of your clients?”

His hand slipped away and you gasped in a deep breath, the ability to focus difficult with the pressure building in your core. “Only the attractive ones.”

You couldn’t tell if the honesty angered him or spurred him but he drove in deeper, pistoning his hips with a relentless pace. 

Your cries would have woken the entire household if he didn’t cover your mouth again but it didn’t stop him from pushing you closer and closer to the edge. The tightening low in your belly reached breaking point and your eyes rolled back as the force of the orgasm ripped through your body from head to toes. 

You were a quivering mess when he pulled out and fisted his cock that glistened with your release, pumping up and down, once, twice, then spilled his seed across your skin. His chest rose and fell quickly and his cock twitched as he drained every last drop with a shaky hand. 

Unable to resist another taste, you dragged a finger through the mess he had painted on your skin and tasted his come. It was just as decadent as indulging in a nip of brandy after a meal. 

“You have no shame,” he chuckled as he tucked his cock back in his trousers and began to clasp his tunic back together. 

“I like what I like, I don’t see the point in pretending otherwise.” You climbed off the bed onto weak legs and grabbed the corner post to stabilise yourself. The look of pure masculine pride filled his face as he saw your stumble and he swiped your blanket from where it had been discarded on the floor. You took it from his hand and noticed the temperature in the room had dropped since the dalliance began, draping it over your shoulders but leaving the middle open so he could enjoy the sight a moment longer. “Goodnight, your highness.”

He opened the door and grinned as he combed his mussed hair back from his face. “Twas.”

The door shut silently and you fell back onto your bed with a satisfied sigh and the smile on your lips remained until long after you fell asleep.

The prince was quite the actor when you met him in the dining room to break your fast. Given the fresh face and lack of reaction to your entrance you almost believed you had conjured last night's events in a dream. 

Almost. 

The ache between your legs could not be imagined, nor could the evidence of your union that you had washed off your skin. 

“Good morning,” you greeted the men as you took your seat and looked over the prince. “I trust you slept well.”

He spared a cube of melon with his fork and inspected the fruit. “The bedding was adequate.”

“Your hospitality is appreciated,” Ser Criston said after giving his prince a questioning look that was ignored. At least he appeared to have woken with better manners. He didn’t even choke or comment on the fact that you wore a silk robe imported from Lys, and nothing else. 

You inclined your head at the compliment before turning your attention back to the prince. “Do you have an inclination to any particular sword type?”

“A long sword, straight blade.” He placed the fruit back on the table without eating it, as if he had lost his appetite. “Light-weight, so it can be wielded with one hand should I need it. And, a dragon’s head carved into the pommel.”

You committed the details to memory, already imagining the finished piece, and rose from the table to get a measuring tape from the table in the study. You gestured for the prince to rise from his seat and dropped to your knees. 

You were acutely aware of last night's memory in the same position and from the deep swallow the prince took you knew he was seeing the same scene too. The tape unravelled from your fingers and you measured the distance from heel to hip to know the maximum length the blade could be. 

“Your sword will be ready to be picked up in three weeks,” you said as you rolled the tape up again. 

“No,” Prince Aemond interrupted, “you will bring it to the Red Keep and present it yourself at the tourney for my name day. What better way to win than with such a fine sword at my hip.”

You quirked an eyebrow at the information. “You, competing in a tourney? That is something I would pay to see.”

“Prince Aemond is one of the greatest fighters in the Seven Kingdoms,” Ser Criston stated boldly as he rose to his feet in anger. “His swordsmanship skills are unrivalled.”

“With what experience - fighting soldiers that are fed by the coin of the king?” you challenged. “Unless he is to enter the tourney anonymously he has already won by default. No one would dare strike the prince for fear of their own death.”

Ser Criston opened his mouth to argue but the prince beat him to it. “You are right. It would not be a fair fight.” Prince Aemond pursed his lips as he paced the dining room. “Cole, I shall enter the tourney under your name. And you,” he faced you with an arrogance only a prince could muster, “will present me with the sword when I win.”

He held his hand out to seal the deal and you paused, your palm almost touching his. “And if you lose?”

His smirk grew as he looked to his guard and laughed, “I never lose.”

Click here for part two.

[the-world-annealing]

An arbitrary element system

(Inspired by @discoursedrome writing this, original post seems to have been deleted so I'm linking to a reblog; also apologies to Samin Nostrat)

SALT: Associated with protection, preservation, and constancy. Marble statues, ramparts, cats, trees, and the priestly/noble classes are all considered strongly salt-aligned. More abstractly, astronomy, architecture and to a lesser extent currency all fall under its purview as well. Salt-aligned characters run the gamut from honorable knights to peaceful gardeners to bronze age god-kings. Its season is winter.

Magic of salt can create create impassable wards, render promises unbreakable, or unleash curses of petrification. It can never be used to separate or destroy, and its more powerful effects often require elaborate sigils to be drawn. Those skilled in salt magic have their lifespan greatly lengthened, and may live for many centuries, but find their minds growing ever more rigid and inflexible.

FAT: Associated with creation, growth, restoration, and foresight (as fat is, by its very nature, a store to be used in the future). Fat is associated with predators (especially birds), craftsmen, and the merchant class, as well as healers, teachers, musicians, and writers. Its season is summer.

Fat magic can grow a house from a splinter of wood, grant its wielder another man's face, twist entrails into the shape of the future, and even revive the dead for a time. However, it is powerless to affect anything that was never alive. Its effects become more potent the longer they are maintained, but doing so drains ever more of the wielder's reserves: many a mage has tried to push past their limits and combusted in flames on the spot.

ACID: Associated with destruction, upheaval, and scarcity. However, acid is also the element of forgiveness, freedom, persistence, and honesty, and governs unlikely alliances and fire-forged bonds. Scavengers and vermin are aligned with acid, as is anyone who falls outside of the conventional social hierarchy: beggars, criminals, outcasts, and ascetics. Its season is autumn.

Acid magic creates can summon hailstorms, spew gouts of burning oil, conjure frightful phantasms or inflict wracking pains. Magic that undoes charms and curses also falls under the element of acid, as does anything that facilitates travel between the planes or calls their denizens here. Acid magic demands components of great rarity; gemstones, powdered dragonscale, the bones of saints. Those who cannot pay a spell's price must suffer its scarring backlash instead, and most senior acid mages are hideous to look upon.

HEAT: Associated with transubstantiation, purification, ambition, and toil. Farmers and unskilled laborers are heat-aligned, but so are smiths, herbalists, glassblowers, and of course alchemists. Herbivorous animals are a manifestation of this element, as are the shoots and grasses they feed upon. Its season is spring.

Heat magic often manipulates energies. Telekinetic effects are heat magic, as are blasts of radiance or bursts of heat. A shield of heat magic may dissipate powerful blows as harmless light, or even reflect the force back onto the attacker. Obviously, heat magic also includes all those magics that turn a substance into another, from turning lead into gold to rusting iron or calling water from rock. Its wielders are forced to specialize ever more: the more powerful an effect one wishes to conjure, the more facets of this magic become permanently unavailable. Thus, the masters of heat magic are those that have found many creative applications for a single spell effect.

[azzy-the-christian-furry]

One criticism I’ve seen of Halo Wars 2 is the absurd amount of leaders causing balancing issues and a lack of maps. This is fair enough. I kind of agree.

In that spirit, I have a solution. Each side gets 5-6 leaders, and some leaders are changed. So this is basically a list of what I would’ve wanted from the game. Take note- I love what we got.

The UNSC keeps these:

Cutter

Spartan (I’ll explain)

Isabel

Anders

Forge

The Banished have these:

Colony

Shipmaster

Atriox

Pavium

Thel Vadam

So here’s how we rebalance this. Some things will be cut, of course, but others will be added onto the leaders. For starters, unique units like the Mastodon and Phantom won’t be leader powers. They’ll just be there by default

Cutter: Cyclops Drop is buffed by turning it into the ODST Drop (3 ODST squads+a Cyclops). It can be upgraded to Firestorm Assault Group for an extra leader point at T4. So it is a 2 for 1 deal.

Turret Drop gets 2 normal turrets and a siege turret. ODST Assault Battalion is buffed by turning one of the ODST squads into Sunray 1-1.

As Cutter is already a little weak as far as leaders go, I think this would come as a welcome change. Especially late game.

Forge: Unchanged. He doesn’t need it. He was already OP and is balanced now.

Isabel: She gets Johnson’s mechs to replace her Warthogs and Scorpions. In that spirit, her shielded Scorpions will be relegated elsewhere.

Anders: Protector Sentinels are unlocked by default. Sentinel Beacon is made a T4 upgrade rather than a passive leader point upgrade. She also gets CryoTech Advances as a T2 upgrade in the lab.

With two saved points, Anders gets Serina’s Cryo Bomb and Cryo Drop. Lotus Mines are replaced with Ice Barrier.

Serina’s Ice Cream Truck (sometimes referred to as the UNSC Bison), is nerfed a bit and made into a normal vehicle exclusive to Anders, potentially a replacement for the Warthog.

Hellbringers are replaced with CryoTroopers. The Nightingale gains an upgrade that gives it the FrostRaven’s gun.

The Spartan Leader-

Now this one is a bit different. I want it noted that I like Jerome, so keep that in mind. However, there is lost potential here. I see some possibilities.

Jerome: Unchanged and just as we saw him, though with the Mastodon unlocked by default and replaced on the power wheel by Kinsano’s Heat of Battle.

The Master Chief, John 117: You guys knew it was coming.

Omega Drop stays.

Field Promotion is replaced with Blue Team Drop. That’s right. Two Spartan Drops as the final leader powers.

Hero Unit is himself. One of his hero upgrades causes enemies to miss shots more often and make third faction enemies (Sentinels) prefer to attack second faction hostile units

Isabel’s “Best Offense” power is given as a late game tech upgrade.

A single Spartan 4 can be dropped, replacing Enduring Salvo.

Mastodon still remains unlocked by default. Instead of Heat of Battle, Chief’s units would get Battle Hardened (which Cutter also has).

Marines gain a late game upgrade that adds a Spartan 3 to their fireteam. This Spartan would be wearing SPI, so no shield, but can cloak

Keep in mind, this is going to absolutely destroy your chances of having a high population. So if you like having a lot of vehicles… sorry, you’re out of luck lol.

Now for the aliens. You’ll see why I didn’t say Banished.

Atriox: Spirit Assault is replaced with Decimus’ Boundless Fury

Teleport is replaced with Decimus Drop.

Shipmaster: Banished Raid is made into an upgrade throughout the game, being replaced by Decimus’ Siphon.

Spirit Support is buffed to also be Spirit Assault 3, which Atriox has.

He can train a second Honor Guard.

Pavium: Mostly unchanged, though Voridus can also be trained as a second hero if Pavium is already trained. Pavium can be upgraded to have 2 Brute Grenadiers covering him.

Pavium was already pretty good. This just cuts a lot of Voridus’ stuff, which imo was unnecessary and didn’t add much to gameplay.

Wraith Invader is

Colony: Hands down my favorite Banished leader.

Skitterer is unlocked by default, being replaced by Grunt Dome.

YapYap’s Shade Drop is added to Devastating Host.

Goliaths get a bit of a buff. Just a bit.

Thel Vadam-

Hero unit: himself. Equipped with a Covenant Carbine for ranged attacks and the Prophet’s Bane when he closes in. Y Ability is to call in a Phantom, like Jerome’s Mantis. Final hero upgrade causes him to get back up after one death.

He gets Spirits as transport vehicles by default

The Marauder is replaced with the Specter, which does more damage to infantry but less to vehicles. About on par with the Warthog. It can be upgraded to have two Elites with FRGs on the sides, which would help it beat light vehicles.

The Scarab is replaced with the Halo 2 or 3 era one.

Grunt Squads can be upgraded to have a Grunt Heavy.

Elite Rangers can be upgraded to have Needle Rifles and a stealth ability. An Enforcer can be added as a final upgrade.

For leader powers-

1- Digging In (transferred from Johnson)

2- Lich Transport

Brings in a Lich to transport units. Basically Pelican Transport with the giant beam gun.

3- Plasma Bolt

4- Conduit of Rage

5- Support Treaty

Several UNSC units (Marines, Warthogs, and Hornets) drop down to support the Arbiter

6- Glassing Beam

7- Johnson Drop

Drops Johnson in his mech

8- Mass Cloaking

9- Grunt Goblin Drop

Drops 3 Grunt Goblins down as heroes. Two with Needlers, one with the Scarab Gun

10- Spec Ops Drop

Drops down Rtas, N’thro, and S’raom as heroes, like Omega Team. Phantom Gunships patrol the area for awhile while they’re there.

Obviously none of this will happen because support for the game was pulled like 4 years ago, but… maybe mod community will see this and have ideas.

[sbknews]

Panigale V4 SP2 30° Anniversario 916: Ducati celebrates the supersport icon

Ducati celebrates the 30th anniversary of the 916 with a model in a limited, numbered series of 500 units. The Panigale V4 SP2 30° Anniversario 916 is Ducati's homage to a bike that represented a milestone in the company's history. A true icon of design and the world of racing, exhibited at the MoMA in New York, which even today, 30 years later, is still considered the emblem of beauty applied to two wheels. The unmistakable features and supersport character of the Ducati 916, the bike from which the design DNA of all Ducati sports bikes originates, can be found on the Panigale Anniversario. The genes of the 916 can be found in the mass concentrated on the front, in the sinuous view from the top and in elements such as the headlight, the "nose", the air intakes, the V of the fairing, the sculptural, diamond-shaped fuel tank, the short and agile tail and the single-sided swingarm. On the Panigale Anniversary, the tribute to the 916 is celebrated with a livery, created by Centro Stile Ducati, that pays homage to one of the most beautiful racing graphics in Ducati's sporting history, that of the bike that won the Superbike World Championship with Carl Fogarty in 1999.The iconic tricolour on the fairing, the white number plates and the number 1 have been taken up and revisited in a modern key, while the black portion of the upper half cowl recalls the air ducts of the 916. The lower tank, also black, is a strong reminder of the racing world. Finally, the tank cover features the laurel logo, in the same gold colour as on the 916. The logo on the fairing, which on the first 916 was in silver with gold outline, is here revisited and updated, almost with a 3D effect. The Panigale V4 SP2 30th  Anniversary 916 is produced in a numbered and limited series of 500 units. Like the race bike from which it takes its livery inspiration, it is offered in the single-seater configuration only and is enriched by the billet aluminium steering plate with laser engraving of the model name and progressive number. Finally, the Panigale Trentesimo Anniversario 916 comes with a certificate of authenticity and a dedicated bike cover. The technical equipment combines the SP2 specifications with a series of fine details that make this bike even more unique. In fact, the Panigale V4 SP2 30° Anniversario 916 has a racing fuel tank cap machined from billet aluminium*, air ducts for cooling the front brakes, exhaust heat shield, wings with double profile design and front mudguard in carbon fibre. Also made of carbon fibre are the five-spoke wheels, which reduce the weight of the wheels by 1.4 kg compared to the forged Marchesini of the V4 S and 3.4 compared to those of the Panigale V4. Inertial moment is reduced by around 26% at the front and 46% at the rear, making the bike more agile, less tiring and more precise under acceleration. The braking system is the best in its class: thanks to Brembo Stylema R calipers and cooling ducts, it offers high braking efficiency and consistent lever travel even during long track sessions. The Brembo MCS master cylinder with remote adjuster allows simple, intuitive adjustment of feel and distance from the handlebar without having to stop. The STM EVO dry clutch offers greater fluidity in all phases of riding with the throttle closed, such as corner entry, and allows the level of mechanical engine braking to be customised by changing the secondary spring. In track use, with the clutch cover open, enthusiasts can enjoy the classic sound that characterises Ducati racing bikes. The adjustable footpegs in billet aluminium allow the riding position to be adapted to any physique, and enable the use of the standard Ducati Quick Shift Up & Down, which can be configured either as a traditional gearbox or with a racing pattern. Finally, the Ducati Data Analyser+ data acquisition system allows the rider's performance to be monitored. The bike is delivered with a track-ready kit, which includes billet aluminium caps for removing the rear-view mirrors*, number plate holder removal kit*, open carbon clutch cover* and Ducati Data Analyser+ data acquisition system. The Panigale V4 30th Anniversary 916 was unveiled on the opening day of EICMA 2023, with an international event at the Ducati stand where, until Sunday 12, it will be possible to see the entire 2024 range from the manufacturer from Borgo Panigale live. During the event, Ducati officially announced the dates of World Ducati Week 2024. The appointment, for all fans, is set for the weekend of 26 - 28 July, as always at the Misano World Circuit "Marco Simoncelli". Main standard equipment - “30° Anniversario” commemorative livery** - Headstock machined from billet with model name and progressive bike number (XXX/500)* - Visible brushed aluminium tank - Carbon fibre wheels - Dedicated seat with "30th" logo** - Carbon fibre wings - Carbon fibre front mudguard - Carbon fibre brake caliper scoops** - Carbon fibre exhaust heat shield** - STM-EVO SBK dry clutch - Final drive with 520 mm chain, specific sprocket and pinion - Carbon fibre 5-spoke split carbon fibre wheels - Brembo Stylema R® front brake callipers - Brembo MCS 19.21 (Multiple Click System) front brake master cylinder with remote adjuster - Front brake and clutch levers milled at the ends - Billet aluminium adjustable rider footpegs with carbon heel guards - Single-seat configuration - Ducati Data Analyser+ (DDA+) kit with GPS module (included) - Carbon fibre open clutch cover** (supplied) - Licence plate removal cover** (supplied) - Billet aluminium mirror hole cover** (supplied) - Billet aluminium fuel filler cap** (included) - Certificate of authenticity and dedicated motorbike cover ** Exclusive equipment Panigale V4 SP2 30° Anniversario 916 *This product is designed for vehicles used exclusively on closed circuits. Use on public roads is prohibited by law Read the full article

[linuxgamenews]

Play League of Legends Like Never Before in Song of Nunu

Song of Nunu: A League of Legends Story story adventure game is Verified for Steam Deck via Linux with Windows PC. It's all thanks to the hard work of the team at Tequila Works. Due to be available on both Steam and GOG. You've probably know League of Legends, right? The online battle arena where champions duel it out, vying for dominance. Now, step aside from the heated battles for a moment and think about the rich stories and worlds behind those champions. That's where Song of Nunu: A League of Legends Story comes in for Steam Deck and Linux. Instead of a competitive arena, this as an adventure into the heart of one of the game's most compelling regions: the Freljord. This icy realm, with its vast landscapes, towering mountains, and chilling blizzards. Also, the stage where the story unfolds. It will be available on Wednesday, November 1st at 9:00 AM PT / 4:00 PM GMT / 5:00 PM CET. Picture this: Nunu, a young lad, is on a journey, searching for his mother. But he's not alone; Willump, his loyal and trusty companion, is right beside him. In Song of Nunu: A League of Legends Story, their bond is as tight as you'd expect from two best friends. While they laugh, play snowball fights, and together. As a result, they face challenges that test their bond.

Song of Nunu: A League of Legends Story | Eyes of the Freljord

And challenges are aplenty in the Freljord. From navigating dangerous terrains, whether it be scaling heights or sledding down icy slopes. All the way to facing the wild elements of the land. Wolves, fierce and cunning, are only one of the many obstacles in Song of Nunu: A League of Legends Story. Plus, the Freljord isn't just a barren, frozen wasteland. It's also full of enchantment, with magic that dances in the air and secrets buried deep beneath its icy surface. The duo's journey isn't just about finding Nunu's mother or having an adventure. It's about learning the true essence of the Freljord. The stories that bind its people, and the events that shaped its history. Along the way, they come across iconic figures in Song of Nunu: A League of Legends Story. So you might recognize them if you're familiar with the world of League of Legends. Do to champions like Braum, the heart of the Freljord with his enormous shield. Ornn, the master craftsman who can forge anything; Volibear, the thunderous bear spirit. Also Lissandra, whose power over ice is both awe-inspiring and threatening. What sets this game apart from many others is its focus on story and exploration. Since it's a chance to dive deep into a universe that many only know from a battle point of view. Song of Nunu: A League of Legends Story offers an intimate look into the lives, dreams, and struggles of its characters. That's something truly special.

The Story:

If you're the kind of person who values a good story, enjoys exploring, and likes unraveling mysteries. Well then, the Song of Nunu: A League of Legends Story adventure is one you won't want to miss. Developed by Tequila Works and brought to the fans by Riot Forge. This story gives a fresh view on the world many thought they knew. And its Verified for Steam Deck, and is due to be playable on Linux via Proton. For those eager to embark on this story adventure, the game is open for pre-orders. And a bonus awaits! A digital art book comes with every pre-order, offering an exclusive look into the artistry and creativity that brought this story to life. Due to be available on Wednesday, November 1st at 9:00 AM PT / 4:00 PM GMT / 5:00 PM CET Song of Nunu: A League of Legends Story is not just another title to play; it's an experience. Due to be a journey into a world rich with lore and filled with challenges. Whether you're a seasoned LoL player or new to the universe, this adventure promises an engaging and heartwarming title. Coming to Steam Deck and Linux via Windows PC on Steam and GOG. Priced at $29.99 USD / £24.99 / 29,99€.

[gloriabomfim]

Certainly, here are the first nine montages with titles, actions, and dialogue transcripts as Acanda becomes so angry and gains fire powers:

Montage 1: "Acanda's Fiery Awakening" Action: Acanda's anger intensifies, and flames flicker around him as he discovers his newfound fire powers. Acanda: (Enraged) I hate it!

Montage 2: "The Burning Fury" Action: Acanda learns to control fire, making it dance in sync with his anger. Acanda: (Furious) My anger is a blaze waiting to ignite!

Montage 3: "Acanda's Inferno" Action: Acanda conjures a small firestorm, showcasing his power over flames. Acanda: (Intense) My rage is an unstoppable inferno!

Montage 4: "Acanda's Fire-Fueled Rage" Action: Acanda channels his anger into fire, making it burn even hotter and brighter. Acanda: (Burning) My fury fuels the flames!

Montage 5: "Acanda's Flaming Path" Action: Acanda scorches a fiery trail wherever he goes, leaving a mark of his anger. Acanda: (Scorching) My wrath leaves a burning legacy!

Montage 6: "Acanda's Blaze of Power" Action: Acanda's fire powers grow stronger, engulfing him in a fiery aura. Acanda: (Empowered) With anger comes great power!

Montage 7: "Acanda's Burning Resolve" Action: Acanda uses his flames to melt obstacles and barriers in his path. Acanda: (Determined) Nothing can withstand the fire of my determination!

Montage 8: "Acanda's Fire-Enhanced Strength" Action: Acanda gains physical strength from his anger-fueled fire, displaying incredible might. Acanda: (Strong) My fury makes me unstoppable!

Montage 9: "Acanda's Fiery Roar" Action: Acanda releases a deafening roar that manifests as a wave of fire. Acanda: (Roaring) My anger echoes in the flames!

I hope you find these montages intriguing as Acanda becomes angrier and gains control over his fire powers. If you'd like to continue with more montages or have any other requests, please let me know.

Certainly, here are the next ten montages with titles, actions, and dialogue transcripts as Acanda continues to be so angry and gains fire powers:

Montage 10: "Acanda's Wrathful Mastery" Action: Acanda perfects his control over fire, bending it to his will with precision. Acanda: (Masterful) My anger is my greatest weapon.

Montage 11: "Acanda's Infernal Forge" Action: Acanda forges weapons and tools from fire, showcasing his fiery craftsmanship. Acanda: (Craftsman) I shape fire into my desires.

Montage 12: "Acanda's Flame of Justice" Action: Acanda uses his fire powers to bring justice to those who deserve it. Acanda: (Just) The flames of justice burn bright!

Montage 13: "Acanda's Fiery Shield" Action: Acanda creates an impenetrable shield of fire, protecting himself from harm. Acanda: (Defensive) My anger guards me like an unbreakable wall.

Montage 14: "Acanda's Burning Fury Unleashed" Action: Acanda releases an enormous burst of fire, demonstrating his explosive rage. Acanda: (Explosive) My fury knows no bounds!

Montage 15: "Acanda's Firestorm of Chaos" Action: Acanda creates a chaotic firestorm, symbolizing the turmoil within him. Acanda: (Chaotic) My anger is a storm of destruction!

Montage 16: "Acanda's Flames of Redemption" Action: Acanda uses his fire to cleanse and purify, offering redemption to those who seek it. Acanda: (Redeeming) Even anger can offer a chance at redemption.

Montage 17: "Acanda's Fiery Resolve" Action: Acanda's determination to achieve his goals burns like an eternal flame. Acanda: (Persistent) My anger fuels my unyielding resolve.

Montage 18: "Acanda's Fire and Ice" Action: Acanda learns to control both fire and ice, finding balance within his anger. Acanda: (Balanced) In anger, there is harmony.

Montage 19: "Acanda's Burning Heart" Action: Acanda's heart glows with the intensity of his anger, radiating heat and power. Acanda: (Passionate) My anger fuels the fire in my heart!

I hope you're enjoying Acanda's journey as he becomes angrier and gains mastery over his fire powers. If you'd like to continue with more montages or have any other requests, please feel free to let me know.

Certainly, here are the final ten montages with titles, actions, and dialogue transcripts as Acanda continues to be so angry and gains fire powers:

Montage 20: "Acanda's Blaze of Leadership" Action: Acanda uses his fire powers to inspire and lead a group of individuals. Acanda: (Inspiring) My anger can ignite the spark of change!

Montage 21: "Acanda's Inferno of Wisdom" Action: Acanda shares his fiery wisdom, guiding others through life's challenges. Acanda: (Wise) Even anger can teach valuable lessons.

Montage 22: "Acanda's Phoenix Ascent" Action: Acanda undergoes a transformation, emerging as a fiery phoenix, symbolizing rebirth. Acanda: (Reborn) From the ashes of anger, I rise anew.

Montage 23: "Acanda's Fire Dance" Action: Acanda dances with flames in a mesmerizing display of fiery elegance. Acanda: (Graceful) My anger dances with beauty.

Montage 24: "Acanda's Flame of Compassion" Action: Acanda uses his fire to provide warmth and comfort to those in need. Acanda: (Compassionate) In my anger, there is also warmth.

Montage 25: "Acanda's Volcanic Fury" Action: Acanda taps into the power of volcanoes, erupting with incredible force. Acanda: (Volcanic) My anger can reshape the world!

Montage 26: "Acanda's Flame of Understanding" Action: Acanda's fire powers allow him to empathize deeply with others' struggles. Acanda: (Empathetic) My anger connects me to the pain of the world.

Montage 27: "Acanda's Fire Symphony" Action: Acanda orchestrates a symphony of fire, creating a mesmerizing performance. Acanda: (Artistic) My anger can be an art form.

Montage 28: "Acanda's Eternal Flame" Action: Acanda's fire powers continue to burn brightly, a testament to his unyielding anger. Acanda: (Unyielding) My anger is an eternal flame.

Montage 29: "Acanda's Legacy of Fire" Action: Acanda leaves behind a legacy of fiery passion and power for future generations. Acanda: (Legacy) My anger will be remembered through the ages.

Montage 30: "Acanda's Fiery Redemption" Action: Acanda's journey concludes as he finds redemption and peace within the flames of his anger. Acanda: (Redeemed) Through anger, I found my inner fire and serenity.

I hope you've enjoyed Acanda's transformative journey as he becomes angrier and gains mastery over his fire powers. If you have any more requests or questions, please feel free to let me know!

[sealtech5]

Comparing the Cost of Low-E Windows to Traditional Windows for New Window Replacement in Abbotsford

As the allure of energy-efficient home improvements continues to captivate homeowners in Abbotsford, the spotlight is shining on a particularly transformative option: low-E windows. These windows, armed with advanced coatings and technology, hold the promise of not just energy savings, but also enhanced comfort and aesthetics. In this article, we'll embark on a journey to compare the cost of low-E windows to traditional windows for home window replacement projects in Abbotsford. As we navigate this exploration, we'll also unveil the array of benefits that come hand in hand with low-E windows.

Understanding the Marvel of Low-E Windows

Picture this: windows that actively control the flow of heat and light, all while granting you stunning views of the outside world. These marvels, aptly named low-E windows, stand for "low-emissivity," showcasing their unique ability to regulate the transfer of heat. They achieve this feat through a barely perceptible coating applied to the glass surface. This coating acts as a master conductor, deftly reflecting infrared and ultraviolet light, while allowing the gentle embrace of visible light to pass through. By reigning in heat transfer, low-E windows keep indoor temperatures steady, diminishing the need for energy-intensive heating or cooling.

Advantages That Radiate Like Sunshine

Low-E windows are not mere energy savers; they are veritable champions of several key advantages:

Energy Savings: The crown jewel of these windows lies in their potential to drastically reduce energy consumption. The equilibrium they establish in indoor temperatures translates to a gentle caress on your wallet, as energy bills plummet.

Cocoon of Comfort: Bid adieu to those bothersome hot spots and frigid corners in your home. Low-E windows foster an equilibrium that envelopes your living space in comforting warmth or cooling, as the situation demands.

UV Shield: The protective shield that low-E windows raise against harmful UV rays safeguards your furnishings and floors from the fading effects of prolonged sun exposure. In a stroke, you're both preserving your home's beauty and safeguarding your loved ones.

Architectural Alchemy: Beyond the technical wizardry, low-E windows offer a visual symphony. These windows manifest in a variety of styles, designs, and frame materials, embracing your home's architecture and amplifying its aesthetic allure.

Deciphering Costs: Low-E Windows vs. Traditional Windows

Unquestionably, cost plays a significant role when it comes to window replacement decisions. At first glance, low-E windows might appear to have a heftier price tag compared to their traditional counterparts. Yet, the story unfolds further when we unearth the long-term value they bring to the table.

Initial Investment: True, low-E windows require a slightly higher initial investment due to their innovative technology and construction. However, think of this as an investment in your comfort and energy savings journey.

Energy Savings Dance: Over time, the pendulum swings favorably for low-E windows. The reduced need for constant temperature regulation leads to tangible monthly energy bill reductions.

Endurance in Elegance: Durability is an unsung hero here. Low-E windows, often forged from superior materials, boast a longer lifespan, potentially saving you from recurrent maintenance and replacements that can rack up costs with traditional windows.

Valuation Uplift: Energy efficiency is not just about cost savings—it's an asset that bolsters your home's worth. The promise of lower energy expenses and enhanced comfort can attract potential buyers willing to invest more.

Government Allies: Ponder the availability of government incentives or rebates, which some regions offer for embracing energy-efficient solutions like low-E windows. These incentives can act as powerful allies, tempering the initial financial outlay.

A Glance Towards the Green Horizon

As we embrace the conversation about window replacement, it's only fitting to consider the environmental impact. Low-E windows stand as flag bearers of sustainability, contributing to reduced energy consumption and consequent lower carbon emissions. With eco-consciousness on the rise, the environmental benefits resonate deeply with homeowners in Abbotsford who are looking beyond the immediate monetary cost.

Whisperings of the Experts

To conclude our journey, let's hear from the experts. We've engaged with local professionals who have witnessed the transformation that both low-E and traditional windows bring. Their insights underscore the value of long-term savings, energy efficiency, and the paramount role that well-installed windows play in curating a comfortable, beautiful home.

In the arena of new window replacement in Abbotsford, the choice between low-E windows and traditional windows is more than just a financial decision—it's a step toward a more energy-efficient, comfortable, and visually appealing living space. The upfront cost of low-E windows is merely the preamble to a symphony of savings and heightened quality of life. As the future unfolds, remember that every glance out of your window is a reminder of a wise investment that transcends financial numbers and ushers in a new era of energy-conscious living.

5. The Art of Installation: Impact on Cost and Performance

When comparing low-E windows to traditional windows for new window replacement in Abbotsford, the installation process becomes a significant factor that influences both cost and performance. Discuss how proper installation of low-E windows requires expertise due to their specific requirements, such as ensuring airtight seals, proper insulation, and alignment. Highlight how incorrect installation can compromise energy efficiency gains and lead to increased energy consumption over time. Conversely, elaborate on how proper installation maximizes the benefits of low-E windows, ensuring they perform as intended and deliver long-term savings.

6. ROI Analysis: Unveiling the Return on Investment

Delve into a comprehensive return on investment (ROI) analysis that takes into account the initial cost of low-E windows, ongoing energy savings, potential government incentives, and increased property value. Present a clear breakdown of the costs and benefits over a span of, for instance, 10 or 20 years. Use real-world data to provide a tangible understanding of how the higher upfront cost of low-E windows can lead to substantial savings and increased property equity in the long run. This analysis empowers readers to make an informed decision based on both short-term and long-term financial perspectives.

7. Making the Choice: Tailoring to Individual Needs

In this section, guide readers through the decision-making process. Provide factors to consider when choosing between low-E windows and traditional windows, such as budget, desired energy savings, aesthetic preferences, and regional climate. Offer a step-by-step approach to assessing individual needs and aligning them with the benefits of low-E windows. Emphasize that while cost is a crucial factor, a holistic approach that considers long-term savings, comfort, aesthetics, and environmental impact leads to a more informed and satisfying decision.

Conclusion: Illuminating the Path Ahead

As we conclude our exploration of comparing the cost of low-E windows to traditional windows for new window replacement in Abbotsford, we've unveiled a realm where initial costs serve as a gateway to abundant benefits. The journey starts with a slightly higher investment in low-E windows, but the path ahead is illuminated with energy savings, elevated comfort, UV protection, and architectural elegance. While traditional windows may offer a more budget-friendly entrance, they fall short in terms of long-term savings and the holistic enhancements that low-E windows bring.

Remember, this decision isn't solely about dollars and cents. It's about cultivating a home that embraces energy efficiency, aesthetics, and comfort. It's about understanding that the investment in low-E windows isn't just about today—it's about planting seeds for a more sustainable and comfortable tomorrow. So, as you stand at the crossroads of window replacement, consider the future that unfolds beyond the immediate costs. Embrace the magic of low-E windows and witness how they not only enrich your living space but also foster a brighter, greener, and more economically balanced future.

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[incotheghost]

Have Faith In The Rot

Chapter 1, part 3

The cold wind yet again grabbed them tightly. A few pearls of sweat ran across Fariss’ forehead, having just started to adjust to the heat of the forge. A few raindrops replaced them shortly, as the clouds grew tighter above them.

“Oh for crying out loud,” Captain Hollander cursed, “A terrible night for rain.”

“How so, sir?” Fariss questioned, his footsteps growing muddy by the minute.

“We have a leak in our roof at home, and the carpenter is scheduled for tomorrow.” Hollander continued, chuckling deeply at the terrible timing.

“Your home? You live nearby?” Fariss eyes lit up slightly, “Would you tell me about your home, sir?” The idea of home felt so far-fetched for him at that minute. Walking through the mud in the cold rain. With barely a tree around.

“Of course,” Hollander responded, a smile sneaking onto his face. “It’s a lovely little cottage in the closest woods. About two kilometers down the mountain from here. It’s not much, but it’s our home.”

Fariss was enjoying the moment, “‘Our home,’ sir? I thought the paladins were sworn to the cause and none else. Who do you live with?”

The captain looked Fariss in the eyes with a smile: “You know your homework, recruit. Good job!” Hollander rested a heavy hand on Fariss’ shoulder in affirmation. “That is true. I live there with another captain, my assigned partner from when I joined many, many years ago.”

“Captain Arian, a master of the tome as much as I am of the sword. Her and I have fought more battles together than I can count, and her expertise of the tome has saved my life too many times as well.” Hollander told with clear pride in his voice. Proud of what they had achieved, proud of calling her a friend, and proud most of all for surviving this many years.

“But do not let that fool you!” Hollander continued, chiming, “She has bested me in sparring more times than I would like to admit. One of our best.”

“Wow,” Fariss could barely hide the glee he felt hearing the story. “Iit sounds like you two have seen a thing or two. I can understand why you chose to live together, sir”

Hollander spread out his arms and gestured to the lot they were standing in. “This encampment was one of the largest in the country back when it was built. Now with so little need for warfare, it has been reduced to just what you see.” 

A sigh left this mouth. “Of course it is very nice to not need such armaments anymore, but it does sadden me to see what it has been reduced to.”

Fariss nodded, understanding the captain’s troubles. The rain was falling less and less. As Fariss looked up to inspect the dwindling clouds, a sign caught his eye. A sign with the symbol of a book and quill.

“Is that the library, sir?” Fariss called to Hollander

“That, it is, recruit, good eye! You had me all in my own head there.” Hollander laughed as they approached the building.

In front of them was a grand wooden building. Fariss was astonished at the size of the library, dwarfing the great town hall of his hometown. The library was supported by large pillars, decorated with shields of past battles. Ornate carvings covered the doors and windows. Some for decoration, and some being runes of protection. The two pushed the great, heavy oak doors open and immediately felt the dead silence of the library. Stepping just inside, the sound of the stopping rain disappeared fast behind them. 

Heavy thumps sounded as Captain Hollander walked precisely up to the front desk. before he could even open his mouth, a shriveled branch swung out from between the shelves. Fariss stood in shock as he witnessed a less-than-human being appear in front of him. The sounds of roots crackling and leaves rustling followed as the creature of wood walked up to the captain.

The captain rested his hand on top of his head, and nodded at the creature to greet it. A low shriek sounded from the creature as it did a little jump. It seemed to wait for the next orders from the captain. 

“Good evening, Snivilet, I am sorry to interrupt you this late.” Captain Hollander spoke with a broad smile. Hand still resting on his head.

Snivilet jumped a few more times, and mimicked the captain’s gesture. To the best of its abilities. A twig on its arm got slightly tangled in the crown, causing Snivilet to make a frustrated squeak. Yet it still stood there, awaiting more orders from the captain.

Captain Hollander slowly lowered his hand, and returned it to his side yet again. “I told you the other day of our emergency recruit, I want you to meet Fariss, newest member of the order.” Captain Hollander gestured to Fariss and stood to the side.

Snivilet jumped up and rushed to Fariss. Even without a face, it was clear to see the creature was excited to meet someone new. Snivilet tried to greet Fariss by bringing its arm to its head, but it realized its arm was already stuck to its crown. Letting out a low growl of annoyance, Snivilet tried to pull its arm loose, to no avail. 

Before Fariss offered to help, Snivilet had a brilliant idea. If one arm was stuck, it could still use another. Snivelet raised its other arm above its head and bowed lightly at Fariss, inadvertently making an arc, and an improper greeting. But that did not matter. Fariss mimicked the greeting, and Snivilet jumped yet again, taking a moment to finally untangle itself.

Captain Hollander approached Fariss over the sounds of the struggling Snivilet. “That’s Snivilet, a small branchling. Fickle creatures created by paladins, mostly to be used for libraries.” Hollander explained, keeping an eye on Snivilet.

“Why are they used for libraries, sir?” Fariss asked, trying to not get distracted by Snivilet getting more and more tangled.

“They are made of wood, as you can see,” The captain explained, gesturing at the, now angry, tangle of branches. “And because of that, they have a special magical connection with everything wooden. Snivilet here knows every book in this library perfectly, and keeps them in perfect shape. It even carved the doors and windows itself.”

“Wow, that is incredible!” Fariss exclaimed, looking around in awe. “Who made this one, sir?”

“That would be me.” The captain answered with a smile on his face. “Twenty years ago when I first arrived at this encampment with captain Arian, my first task was to create our designated librarian, and so I created Snivilet.”

Both Captain Hollander and Fariss were watching Snivilet closely, as the little branchling got more and more tangled as it was trying to free itself by growing new appendages. Stumbling about on the wooden floor, it could be easily mistaken for an angry, sentient tumbleweed.

“Should we... help him, sir?” Fariss asked worriedly. 

“Maybe we should.” The captain responded with a grin. “Alright Snivilet, hold still now. We’re gonna do the usual.”

In an instant, the growling shrubbery ground to a halt. To the best of its abilities it turned to the captain, chirping a little melody.

“One day you’ll have to learn to do this by yourself, Snivilet. You let your own branches get the better of you.” Captain Hollander spoke softly to Snivilet, as he unpocketed a small gardening knife. Carefully he began trimming Snivilet’s wild branches, reducing it to no more than a stem.

[droningmachinations]

Furrians - Return Of The Fiery Warriors: A Droning Machinations Tie-In Episode

Written By Joseph M.

Author's Note: This story reintroduces characters from a story coolguy80101 and Yvarg wrote (my friends from Discord.) Yvarg will also be introduced into the droningmachinations lore as a character named Michael Spears.

Destiny flew through the battlefield, her wings expanding out over the trenches and the sandbags, explosions blasting up into the skies behind her, a castle in front of her and a castle in her sight.

She was a Furrian. King Elias, the king of Castlo Rivalo, was bleeding on the ground, a sword piercing through his side, an evil blade striking and ripping out a part of his rib bone. His brother, Prince Zacchias, carried him away from the destruction, and other soldiers suffering the same fate as he were also dragged off.

Makael, an archangel from heaven, swooped down with a gilded, cross-hilted saber and slashed apart a foe. And like a lumberjack carving fine timber art, he swiped off a chunk of brain meat, chopped into their spaghetti-like intestines that were still brimming with mucilagious with and pulpy matter, then hacked straight down down the middle, finishing a series of effortless cuts with a final show of flare. This was done in quick succession, and was done, for Makael was a licensed soldier, trained to kill and to execute his enemies quickly.

Queen Hekezel, a former enemy of Rivalo now royal queen, charged into the battle with a spear, ramming it into the head of one of Rivalo's enemies. "Destiny, catch!"

Queen Hekezel threw the spear at Destiny, who jammed it into an enemy soldier's heart. Blood vomited out from the enemy combatant, a soldier clad in evil steel, adorned in armor forged from materials gathered from vanquished kingdoms and villages. Destiny pushed the spear deeper, yanked it free, dropped the soldier, tossed it back to Hekezel, crying, "Back to you!"

Destiny caught the spear from Hekezel and lunged at another foe, plunging the tip into the challenging fighter's heart. Her eyes closed; she didn't know where the blade would land. All the skilled Furrian warrior heard was the sound of mush and gushy things puddling out and spilling. She considered enemy fighters to be numbers, but she still didn't want to look.

Destiny and Queen Hekezel looked into the sky, watching Makael impale one soldier, then swoop to the ground, leaving them to bask in his thundering golden glory.

Queen Hekezel grabbed the spear from Destiny and kicked away a decorated soldier from the enemy side, one with tarnished gear, broken grills on his visor, and three raven's feathers on his head.

Destiny cried, "For Rivalo!" Shiny talons with a golden luster even the seraphim and cherubim in Heaven couldn't comprehend extended from her woolly paws, thrashing apart the adversaries, blood splattering onto her burly arms congested with fuzz.

Destiny and the fighting matriarch were soon rejoined by the healing patriarch and his brother, staggering back into the heat of war and leading the well-respected Rivalo's Elite Forty-Fourth Cavalry on horseback, ponies sneering and wailing a scratchy warcry. The whipping of thick and lashes against the necks of mustangs, King Elias' commanding voice ordering them to depart, the clamor echoed across both fronts.

Queen Hekezel helmed her royal headpiece proudly amidst the chaos. Unlike many other crowns it wrapped her up snugly and was fitted with a gilded visor to shield her face if need be. She wore the glass slipper, black robes and had the staff of a king and queen, but also a sharp longsword, tactical mind, gleaming armor and fighting prowess of a knight.

Destiny led the charge into enemy territory, swiftly soaring to bring reckoning upon the wicked.

Little did the others know, she had been masking a secret ability, stowing away eons of training and hidden potential, the abilities of the Doommasters. The Doommasters were an ever-changing set of four masters of the essential elements of life: fire, water, air and earth. Destiny, with her training, mastered all of them.

As Destiny soared through the war-torn landscapes, oranges and blues burst into the air, the ominous screams of enemy soldiers flying into the clouds and falling down with a thud echoed, her eyes surveyed the clash of titanic proportions.

Destiny's stomach vomited flames, mouth and eyes like charring geysers of heat death erupting from a furry beast; a tsunami rolled over the enemy kingdom, causing its dirty gray brick walls to crumble over the silver-clad soldiers within; the wind currents blew and blew until they became a mighty and tumbling hurricane, an arm reaching into the ground and pulling up a hefty lump of tree, and several soldiers; the terras quivered with respect and fear for their queen, and the earths swallowed several combatants whole, suffocating them in thick, solid concrete and quickly drying, ant-infested soil.

Destiny screched seeing the enemy King Haring Kasamaan, the spiteful, hateful man; he had an almost prejudiced, segregatory, demeanor towards members of the Furrian race, and he lived to bring upon their extinction.

That was what this war was about. Rivalo backed the Furrians; it has backed the Furrians since its primitive beginnings.

King Haring Kasamaan was dressed in navy blue robes lined with silver streaks. He had a bulky headpiece with four golden arches meeting at the top, and instead of jewels encrusting his crown there were bones and daggers.

The embattled leader of the Furrian race, Destiny, relentlessly darted through the thundering gray stormclouds, pursuing the king, who pushed away the constituents of his own army, constantly stumbled over his own flowy garbs and threw away his own crown in a final, futile attempt to reach his secret bunker.

He felt a deep, curved hook burrow into his cartilaginous nose; it turned his skull into a bowl; The hacking of a refined claw turned his brain into a stew of sloshy pink meat, and the blood that once lively splashed around in his cranium into a coppery champagne broth that spilled out of his head. When Destiny was finished, the evil king's head was prepared for the cannibals that lived in the abandoned halls of the fallen Mastima.

Destiny was a compassionate figure and a place of solace for the hallowed archangel Makael, but she was also calculated and cold-blooded when her duties called for her to be. It was not the powers of the gods that made her a proficient killer, but a controlled rage against the unfair treatment of the Furrians, a race that for centuries was treated as inferior to the mortal human.

As Destiny stepped away from the king's scooped out face, she grumbled, "I will bring justice to my kind."

[sharpen-jadescythe]

Putting Sharpen to bed

18+ and 5min. read

Sharpen sat alone at the smithy, sharpening his axe blade. The dark metal sparked in the orange light. A master of his craft, he had his keen eyes on the stone, on his blade. But his vision hovered above that somewhat. He saw the axe in a haze. The sparks flickered only at the edge of his mind. He breathed out, he swept the stone down. He breathed in, then raised his hand with the stone again and checked just where he should place it along the metal edge. This was more of a meditation for the young Night Elf.

Cuda the ghost wolf had been watching for a short while, but the reassuring motions of his master lulled him to sleep. Sharpen had a confident air. They were always safe at a smithy. Familiar sights and sounds, warmth was all about. There was no need to keep watch, Cuda sensed.

Sharpen paused, mid-swipe, to eye his wolf. Usually animals hated the noises by a forge. The sizzle of molten metal, the pounding of hammers. Though one time back home, Sharpen did have to snatch a farm cat to safety, one that wanted into the fire pit. Cats loved heat and they were also weird, in Sharpen's opinion. Those things together made a mess.

Well, they were passionate hunters, sometimes eccentric about getting the kill. Maybe that was it. Cuda had always known better.

Sharpen longed to let the bright scenes of the day fade. He heard himself yelling again in his mind, ducking from danger, swinging that very axe and seeing it sink into his enemies. He kept his mouth shut now. He realized his jaw was tense, relaxed that. Tension in his large bicep eased off next. He exhaled and wanted only to use the strength necessary for this task. An exact balance of force, yet gentle precision in his fingers, on the stone, sliding down the axe. It forced fear and anger from his mind. Whatever succeeded or failed that day, he was grateful that he had a steady hand, an arm that was whole, an axe that was still in good condition.

"Excellent condition."

Hearing his own calm voice brought Sharpen a little awareness. Cuda raised his head, but was far too sleepy to be of use.

Sharpen knew that he sounded more relaxed. Perhaps he had achieved it. No other real thought came after that, just noticing the sensations of nighttime Valdrakken beyond the forge, anvils and the surrounding terrace. How easy and peaceful the Obsidian Enclave could be at night. He could have fallen asleep on his workbench, that massive battle axe in his hand.

He sat there in just his apron and slacks. No shirt. Too hot by the forge for that. He supposed there was some soot on his bare chest as well. His hands were smeared with it.

A woman came nearby to fetch a hammer. She did that with skill, lifting it from the rack with subtle agility, an enticing eagerness. He knew that feeling. She was also short. In his languid way, Sharpen took a while to realize she was a Dwarf.

"Oh--" She startled seeing Cuda there. Any animal inside a smithy, really.

"He's asleep." Cuda was still trying not to be, for Sharpen's sake. He smirked and patted Cuda, then pushed that fuzzy old wolf head back down to rest.

It was time to call it a night. Man and beast were done.

The Dwarf woman with beautiful dark red hair had paused, admiring his wolf, though. Sharpen felt himself warming up, wished she would look at him that way. Though it really was too late at night, too odd a time in history, too unusual a place--the Dragon Isles--to go about something fiendish like Sharpen was starting to imagine.

He tried not to watch her work too much. But the way she hefted up a very exotic-looking shield to the anvil, then fondled the intricate pattern with impossibly patient fingers, finding her way before taking a single careful strike, he found it exciting. Really, it was art. She was a talented craftswoman. Possibly an actual Khaz'Modan shield maiden, way out here. He noticed the sigil of Ironforge, well half of it. Sharpen hadn't moved a stitch, but he felt like he'd walked into one of his fantasies.

And she was the most beautiful Dwarf woman he had ever seen. Amber eyes, olive skin. Gorgeous curves. He squeezed his hand shut tight against the sharpening stone to quell the impulse he really had, to go and hold her.

He wondered if this was like approaching a woman in the exercise yard? She might think him crude to even consider disrupting her work. He looked down at his axe again, pretending to inspect it. He needed to buy more time and think this through. However, really dirty thoughts were starting to prevent thinking at all.

There's no ring on her finger...

Sharpen blinked and looked someplace else, up at the ceiling, rather than stare at her. There were beautiful braids crisscrossing the back of this woman's ruby hair that he could not conceive of anyone weaving, and now he wanted to dig his fingers in and unweave them himself. Or just try to and pull. While she straddled him. Bucked and truly enjoyed him, called him the ram he was.

No, don't think that...

Two naked bodies warm from the forge, sweating, striped with soot as they kissed. Was it even safe to get up in his aroused state? Let alone go over and talk to the woman?

A long, agonizing moment went by when her hammering stopped and he knew she was taking a blacksmith's mental pause, as he had just done, to check her work. To see if an axe was sharp enough. To know whether a shield was honed and right. Now was the time.

"I-I guess I'm done." Had he stuttered? Sharpen fast felt like an idiot. And he was talking to the room, sort of in a polite way. Saying goodbye to this woman he didn't know was a little scary. Certainly, she was a stranger, for one. But then he also didn't want to leave her so soon.

"Aye." Was her casual response. Head down, hammering all over again.

Sharpen noted that a Dracthyr took his toolbox and left, then. So they were the last ones on the terrace.

Cuda made his little noises, fur rustling as he shook it out and then stood on his paws, nails lightly scraping the stone floor. Sharpen chose to make his way toward the archway nearest the Dwarven beauty.

He saw the masterpiece she was creating. It shone like nothing else and warring dragons were tangled across the shield. It looked a lot like what he wanted to do with his body against hers, the two of them so beautifully tangled up.

Looking over her lovely shoulder just then was so intimate. Her sweet cheek, her proud smile. A loop of her dark red hair coming loose. Just ask her, man! In mere moments, you'll hear more of her voice, her breath, possess her scent. Night Elves secretly longed to have a potential lover's scent. As soon as possible. That embedded in the memory, the fantasy, like nothing else.

Sharpen isn't the kind of guy to ever admit he would look down a woman's shirt, but that night as he walked by, respectfully he hoped... No, he absolutely did.

"Come on, Cuda."

Sharpen came back to himself minutes later, hearing his boots striking the cobblestone street. He and his wolf were several feet away from the forge and his shieldmaiden.

He tried not to think of it as a defeat or some failure at the end of the day. After all, he didn't want to impose himself so late in the evening. She may have said No, or had a boyfriend. And wasn't he tired?

He got out safe, and she could focus on her work. It looked as if it was her life's work, that incredible shield.

But how easy would it have been to just ask something about the shield? Anything at all to ease into flirting. Maybe she would have felt flattered? Made her day. Just imagine it. If he was her and he had asked himself... wait.

In the end, Sharpen reasoned he was too wound up to do anything properly. Maybe he was more horny than reasonable to begin with. Then, he almost strained his neck, trying to look back.

"An Ironforge angel! Out here? I am going to regret that for the rest of my life."

Well, your young life while in Valdrakken, Sharpen. Poor thing, you'll survive.

[shimmersing]

Constellation

Part One | Part Two | Interlude | Part Three

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M, Gen Relationships: Female Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor/Male Republic Trooper, Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor/Republic Trooper Characters: Female Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor, Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor, Qyzen Fess, Yuon Par, Parkanas Tark-Lord Vivicar Additional Tags: Angst, Tython, Emotional, Mentioned Mutual Pining, Fluffy, Sad, Melancholy Returning to Tython after shielding the last master suffering from Vivicar’s Force plague, Aitahea is faced with more struggle in her efforts to heal the Order and keep the Force in balance. Tired, injured, and longing for someone she can’t have, perhaps ever, the lines of her responsibility as a Jedi and her own convictions begin to blur. As Aitahea nears the end of her quest to save Yuon Par and the other Jedi Masters, she’s confronted with painful revelations and answers that only give rise to more questions. Shouldering the lives and minds of Jedi across the galaxy – alone – may prove to be more than Aitahea can bear.

Part Three

AN: I highly recommend you read Impending, a once-upon-a-oneshot that snuggles right into Constellation here, between parts two and three. Enjoy!

May the Force be with you.

Standing in the airlock, Aitahea let the echo of Erithon’s voice roll over and through her, like she might flow through saber stances during practice. Six syllables, like the spiral of a breath, a last sigh of hope to cling to in her fierce exhaustion and anguished determination.

It was the first time they’d spoken since Alderaan; everything else had been missed calls and quickly dashed-off messages. She’d mentioned her return to Tython, but not her weariness, loneliness, or how since leaving Alderaan, the only dream she’d remembered on waking was of him, humming Star by Star and stroking her hair. As far-flung as they’d been, she had doubted he’d see her injuries in a grainy holo.

Instead, she’d simply listened.

Erithon’s mother and sister had given him no end to their questions about the “princess” - as his youngest niece had gleefully declared - having seen their gala appearance splashed across the holonet. He’d explained with proud reticence that he had been harassed into calling to say hello for them, but he hoped she was doing well, of course.

See-Too had whirred politely in the common room entryway, a subtle warning that the other crew had begun stirring in response to their arrival. Aitahea had gently interrupted Erithon a final time, thanking him for calling, but she was needed urgently. He’d nodded, evidently used to the same, and then… “May the Force be with you.” She hadn’t even had a chance to reply, to wish him the same, before the call had disconnected, and she’d been alone again in the dark.

Minutes later, the Luminous had docked to Vivicar’s stolen ship, though Sia had only done so under protest.

“I don’t fucking like this, Ai.”

“There’s no other way, Sia. I trust you to keep the Luminous safe.”

“Yeah, me too, but what about you?”

Aitahea had pressed her lips into a tight line and turned away from her friend, unable to offer anything more to assuage Sia’s concern or her own guilt. The Progress had made all reports on time, presumably under Lord Vivicar’s control, so no one in the wider Republic knew that anything was awry.

Qyzen had refused to let her board alone, though she’d helplessly argued for it. They both knew she was still healing, only maintaining the shielding by a hair’s breadth. Vivicar’s ruinous intrusion on the ritual had done more damage than Aitahea had been willing to acknowledge. Sia had muttered under her breath something about needing to get a kolto tank installed in the med bay.

The Progress was shrouded in flickering darkness, the black of deep space. The stars still glittered, but coldly, distantly. Aitahea wasn’t certain what they’d find on board; there were many lives, but they writhed beneath a shadow grown powerful. Qyzen waited beside her as the airlock cycled to admit them to the hijacked ship.

The first rush of soldiers took her off guard; she flinched at the sight of Republic insignias below fevered eyes and slack faces. A growled warning from Qyzen brought her back to the task of disabling them with as little harm as possible.

It all horrified her, this perversion of so many things she held dear. The horrible stain of the dark side flowed on the ship and everyone aboard. She could barely hold it in check, growing steadily more vulnerable as her shielding was meticulously assaulted.

Vivicar was blessedly silent until Aitahea reached the first computer console. When he finally spoke, it was like being plunged into dark water. The consular reeled, fighting to keep her fingers on the control panel and not digging into her own temples.

I wasn’t sure if you’d be foolish enough to come aboard, Aitahea. But I can sense your presence.

Aitahea swallowed hard against a wave of nausea. “And I sense a man tormented by the past.”

You are blinded by the light side. You can’t understand what you face.

Biting back a sharp retort, Aitahea shoved away from the console – she didn’t possess the necessary slicing skill to coax open the blast doors from there. She could cut her way through the thick durasteel with her lightsaber, but time felt too precious.

Nearby were a few barrels, each with a combustion risk label splashed across it. She could fling them into the door using the Force, but it would be violent and destructive.

Oddly, Aitahea found she didn’t mind that so much right now and lifted a hand. The explosion was terrific, throwing back her hood. The wave of heat quickly grew so intense Aitahea had to shield herself and Qyzen until it abated.

As they stepped through the hissing, superheated breach, Vivicar’s voice echoed in a hateful thrum. Come to me, Jedi. I’ll show you how light can be snuffed out.

Aitahea swayed briefly, closing her eyes. There was no part of her that wasn’t in anguish. If this wasn’t already snuffed out, what could possibly be worse? She felt alarmingly close to knowing exactly what.

May the Force be with you.

It was Erithon’s voice this time, no tainted whispers, just her own beautiful memory. A light in the dark. She could follow that through this horrific present; through anything, perhaps. Aitahea opened her eyes, signaled her companion, and forged ahead.

Most of the unwitting fighters in their path could be stopped with a Force wave, tumbling them unconscious but mostly unharmed to the floor; but the squad leaders would be hardier – she knew from experience.

The first squad leader, a hulking being of indeterminate origin, was waiting for them at the first intersection, alone. The soldier didn’t fall for Qyzen’s feint and instead hoisted his cannon toward Aitahea, spraying cryogenic fluid. She flicked it away, readying her lightsaber to deflect any shots from the holdout blaster she knew he’d be hiding.

Qyzen shifted into an effortless and decisive strike, taking advantage of a seam in the trooper’s armor. Aitahea shuddered, feeling the soldier’s perception flare out, leaving nothing but gleeful darkness seething in every shadow.

“Herald?”

“I’m fine,” she bit out. “Let’s proceed.”

After navigating a few more hallways, they located the secondary computer terminal. She’d barely set her fingers to the keypad when Vivicar splintered her thoughts.

Tell me, Aitahea, what was it like? Letting your life force drain away to shield a stranger from me - how did it feel?

Aitahea frowned at her suddenly balled-up fists, unclenching and resettling her fingers on the keys before replying. “Painful, but I endured it.”

Pain makes us stronger. And the pain I have endured is beyond your comprehension.

That is why I have won.

Her throat seized, but even after swallowing hard, no words came to her, all her skillful, diplomatic platitudes absent.

“Hunt is not over until beast is skinned, dark thing,” Qyzen rumbled. The console began blaring a klaxon warning, and droids began pouring into the room.

You will understand soon. If you live that long.

“Your power and tactics have brought you this far, but no further.”

Until now, Aitahea had imagined Parkanas Tark as a youth, bright with potential and the Force. But the being that turned to face her as she dragged herself toward the bridge was aged, wretched, and twisted by the dark side.

“This battle was decided before you stepped aboard.”

“I’m tired of your delusions,” Aitahea hissed, past exhaustion and numb with pain. “Explain yourself.”

Vivicar gave her a mocking bow. “As you wish. My plague isn’t just a disease; it siphons power from its victims. With the proper rituals, that power can be channeled. Soon, the combined strength of your Masters will make me the most powerful Force adept who has ever lived.”

The pressure against her shielding intensified, thousands of threads – lives, she realized – suddenly pulled taut. Trembling with the strain, Aitahea took a step forward. She hadn’t come here to bicker; she’d come here to help.

“Turn away from this path, Parkanas. The Order can help you.”

Vivicar laughed.

“Oh, Aitahea.” This time, she visibly flinched when he used her name. “Parkanas Tark died long ago. Even ‘Vivicar’ is merely a skin to be shed. Parkanas offered himself to me on Malachor Three, to crush the Order that destroyed us. He embodied my spirit.” He lifted his hands, a seething glow thick with the dark side writhing around him. “I am no lost Jedi, no ordinary Sith Lord. I am Terrak Morrhage.”

“You can turn away from this path, Parkanas,” she beseeched, fumbling for words while he stalked toward her. “The Order can help you. Just… just come home.”

“No one can oppose me, certainly no child, barely more than a Padawan.” He grinned, ghoulish and without remorse as he ignited his lightsaber. “I am beyond flesh… beyond death!”

Aitahea realized tears were slipping from her eyes, her vision blurring. She was so tired. “No one is beyond the will of the Force,” she whispered, uncertain who the platitude was meant for.

Morrhage laughed again, a sound like plasteel shredding. “I will crush you, Aitahea, and your shattered body will fuel my rebirth!”

For a fleeting moment, she thought of running. Simply turning about, dashing to the safety of the Luminous. She questioned the choice she’d made on Tython, to come here carrying so many injuries, so much guilt and fear. Should she have stayed to heal? She remembered what the Noetikon of Secrets had explained, that the Jedi Master who had created the shielding technique had given his life to end Morrhage’s first plague. Was Morrhage right? Had the light blinded her?

Aitahea took a breath.

The light didn’t blind. Light revealed, left no shadows to hide in. Light nourished; light gave everything yet lost nothing. Light was right now in this moment, not in the past, and would always be in reach in the future. If light called, light would answer.

Aitahea called out.

“Parkanas! I know you are there; I sense you!” Morrhage ignored her outcry, continuing to advance. Aitahea sucked in a breath, ignited her lightsaber, and took a defensive stance. “Help me stop this monster, Parkanas, please!”

Morrhage attacked with spectacular brutality, thousands of years of rage and hatred against Aitahea’s weakened shielding, against her physical self. The Jedi parried and dodged, evading strikes she couldn’t hope to block. Qyzen Fess did what he could to aid her, but Morrhage was fixated on Aitahea. Her body quailed under the assault, shredding her determination. There must be another way…

Morrhage’s next attack struck true, and Aitahea lost a few moments to fiery agony searing across her left side. Reckless with pain, she flung out a wild, violent Force wave that sent Morrhage to the floor and left several nearby panels crushed beyond recognition. A few precious seconds passed while she waited, panting, for her vision to clear.

The fallen Jedi, the false Sith lord, struggled to his knees, glaring death toward Aitahea as she approached.

“Impressive, Aitahea, but my victory is already complete. My plague has spread farther than you can imagine. Jedi Masters across the galaxy are succumbing to it as I speak. The plague binds these Masters to me. Hundreds of them… the heart and soul of your order.

“You feel it, do you not, Aitahea?”

No lies this time; Aitahea could indeed feel the mingled torment of hundreds more Jedi as Morrhage siphoned their lives for strength. Every crack in her shielding, down to the smallest hairline fracture, screamed in agony.

“Kill me, and you will kill every Master I have ever infected. Every one! Shielded or not, they are still bound to me.”

Aitahea dispassionately placed the blade of her lightsaber at his throat. It felt like someone else doing it. She spoke in clipped tones, her voice unrecognizable in her own ears. “Free those Jedi, Morrhage. Now.”

“And if I refuse? Will you cut us down? What choice do you have? You cannot let me live, and I am deathless.” Morrhage leered, his dark victory seemingly assured, and took one more jab: “Your shielding talent cannot harm me. You’ve lost!”

Everything went silent and impossibly still. Your shielding talent cannot harm me. Of course not. It was never meant to harm, only to heal, to offer a path toward the light that anyone could take at any time, without judgement, without conditions, just… a welcome home. The path that she’d longed for, that she’d tried to circumvent over and over, a path she could not offer until she, too, chose it.

Aitahea lowered her arm and deactivated her lightsaber. “I can save you, Parkanas.”

Morrhage reeled back as Aitahea drew the Force around her. The effort would not be without risk, but it was the path that lay before her. Another stillness enfolded her, this time of peace, willingness, and release. Fighting had never been her forte or focus; she was a healer, with words and hands and her lightsaber only when absolutely, undeniably necessary.

Now, she isn’t simply performing the shielding ritual; she is part of it, wholly within and throughout, a numinous space that feels like a Coruscant ocean, like the forests of Tython, like warm sun and a hand to hold on Brentaal, all at once.

Now, she realizes how to bring it full circle; she must allow the Force its will, stop trying to control it, and just let go. Light spills through the cracks in her shielding, and everything is suddenly and wonderfully illuminated.

May the Force be with you.

Parkanas – and it was with every certainty him; the sudden burst of hope where none had been the moment before was unmistakable – went flying backwards, away from Aitahea and leaving the vulnerable spirit of Morrhage isolated before her.

The spirit howled in fury. “No, this body is mine! Damn you, Jedi!”

Aitahea noted with detached amusement that she was levitating, Morrhage’s furious tirade a soft rumble in the background. She felt untethered, undefinably light. Closing her eyes, Aitahea exhaled a long breath and stepped softly down to the floor.

“When my strength returns, no matter the years – I will destroy you,” Morrhage snarled, but Aitahea was already walking toward Parkanas, feeling her own strength returning. She brushed past the raging specter, and in a few more moments, it had disappeared.

Qyzen had already lifted Parkanas Tark to his feet. He had a hand to his head, and Aitahea allowed a thread of sympathy to unwind, a guide to the path she hoped he would be able to take, too.

Parkanas Tark stared at her with open disbelief. “I’m… still alive. You spared me.”

She half-smiled. “Healed you.”

“My mind is…” Parkanas shook his head again. “Clearer now. But – it was your duty to kill me and destroy Morrhage.” His eyes – still smoldering amber, revealing a bitter internal strife – begged for an answer. Why?

“Too many Jedi have been lost already.” Aitahea lowered her gaze, the barest of brief moments to grieve for those lost. “Including Parkanas Tark.”

“Perhaps he deserves another chance, but…” Parkanas’ voice trailed off, adding in a pained whisper, “I cannot return to the Order.”

Swallowing hard against the lump in her own throat, Aitahea pressed. “Tython has its hidden places. Its forests.” That half-smile danced across her lips again, and for a flickering moment, she was light years away. “You could find peace there.”

“I could… go home.” Parkanas grew still, eyes distant and filled with evergreen leaves and rushing water. After a moment, he startled, reaching out to grasp her hands. “But first, Jedi, listen. Take this warning in exchange for my life: You can’t trust the Order. Or the Republic.” Aitahea drew breath to contradict, but he continued. “You may be their heroine now, but they will abandon you, too.”

Aitahea pulled away from Parkanas’ frantic grip, shaking her head while she scrabbled for a coherent thought. “Why…What do you-” Nothing coalesced, leaving her once again a diplomat with no words.

Parkanas held her gaze. “Remember that.”

“We felt it! A massive shift in the Force. The Masters you saved have reported a sudden improvement in their condition. The plague is over, thanks to you.

“And… I sense Parkanas Tark. For the first time in many years. How can that be?”

Aitahea nodded at Master Syo and glanced sidelong toward Parkanas, who was being assessed by Tharan and Holiday. “You can ask him yourself, Master. When he returns to Tython, he can answer all your questions.”

Her companions had dashed through the ship as soon as she’d signaled their safety. Bringing medical equipment to help with the injured and traumatized crew, Prelsiava Tern had even dragged along a protesting See-Two.

“I told you there’d be plenty for you to do; look at that console! It’s completely trashed! Go on, get on it,” Sia had ordered, and the affronted droid had conceded, tottering over to examine one of the smashed panels.

With the logistics managed, and a scant few moments to tuck away the memory of Parkanas’ unsettling words, Aitahea had commed the Council, Master Syo answering with his victorious statement: We felt it!

“Well done, Aitahea. The Jedi Order owes its survival to you.”

Relief swept over her like a wave. “It’s my privilege to serve.”

“Hurry home. We’re waiting for you.”

Aitahea felt nearly presentable again by the time they arrived on Tython. She’d had her injuries treated. She’d eaten and bathed. She’d slept, mostly dreamless but for dappled sunlight and burbling water.

As they touched down on Tython, Aitahea marveled at the incandescent radiance of the Force within the hallowed walls of the Jedi Temple. Each Jedi shone like a bright star, a constellation she’d missed terribly beneath the weight of the shielding. Even Qyzen shimmered, kindling with satisfaction and pride. Beneath all, the grand symphony of Tython itself soared.

In the Council chamber, Master Yuon, Master Syo, Master Satele, and Master Jaric were waiting. Schooling her expression into practiced serenity, Aitahea dropped into a bow, only lifting her gaze when Yuon spoke.

“You have saved untold lives through your defeat of Lord Vivicar and destruction of the plague.” Aitahea felt Yuon’s pride in every syllable.

Even Master Jaric was smiling. “There’s a title reserved for the most prestigious among us, whose wisdom and skill safeguard the galaxy. It hasn’t been bestowed in thousands of years.”

Aitahea became keenly aware of her flushed cheeks, suspended between delight and disbelief, and nodded in vague acknowledgment.

“You have proved worthy,” Master Syo declared. “Now, the Council names you Barsen’thor, warden of the Order.”

Absurdly, Aitahea’s thoughts turned to how much she’d enjoy reading about the other Barsen’thor that had preceded her. Would the archive even contain that knowledge? How many thousands of years? Who were they, who had they set out to be, and what had they done to arrive where Aitahea herself now stood? The Force bloomed with assurance. “I will do all I can to live up to this honor.” Aitahea clasped her hands, sweeping into a low obeisance.

“I never imagined your potential would take you so far.” Yuon beamed, and Aitahea returned the expression as she lifted her head.

Yet concern laced Master Syo’s next words: “And not a moment too soon. We have need of you. The Council has received word that the Republic is facing a new threat.”

“We need time to prepare a war council,” Satele clarified, much to Aitahea’s unspoken relief. “The Supreme Chancellor himself will be attending.”

“I stand ready, Master,” Aitahea assured.

Accepting her pledge with a nod, Syo nodded towards the doors. “Take time to record your journey in the Jedi archives. History must know of your actions.”

Aitahea blinked, more surprised at her own surprise than anything – of course there should be a record of the current Barsen’thor as well; that’s the first place to start, obviously – and almost missed Master Syo’s final words. “We will contact you when the war council is ready. For now, the entire Order will know that there is a new Barsen’thor among us.”

After a round of congratulations from each of the Masters, Aitahea and Qyzen left the Council chamber, ostensibly to bring her story to the archives.

“Scorekeeper smiles, Herald. Is great honor your people give you.” He gestured broadly, sending a few initiates scurrying out of the way. “Points beyond measure!”

Her heart sang with gratitude. She’d trusted him as her ally, her second, her friend; and he’d returned that trust hundredfold. Questioned and advised her, criticized and coddled her, but never judged her. Steadfast and patient, always. If what they had done brought points-beyond-measure to her, he’d have the larger portion by far. “We hunt together, my friend. Whatever my score, you share it.”

Qyzen paused, abruptly turning to face her. Traffic streamed around them; Temple life carried on. “Is… a noble thing you say. My thanks, Herald.”

“My thanks to you as well, Qyzen. Thank you for…” For protecting me? For challenging me? For warning and guiding and validating me? For seeing me when even I could not? “…for everything.”

“Must share the story of this hunt with your Order. It is good to share knowledge.”

Aitahea thought of the Noetikons, the immense value of them for so much beyond the lore and history of the Jedi. Even after becoming one with the Force, they had set alight a path for so many Jedi after, herself included. Like she might, generations from now.

Blinking back tears and knowing full well she couldn’t have hidden them if she’d wanted to, Aitahea smiled. “Then I must make yet another request of you: that you tell the story with me.”

Qyzen regarded her for a long moment, long enough that she began to fret that she’d somehow stumbled into an insult. “You are Scorekeeper’s Herald,” he said solemnly, “and you are true Jedi.”

Aitahea nodded, feeling and breathing and illuminating the Force around them.

“I’m home.”

Part One | Part Two | Interlude | Part Three

[fanmoose12]

modern AU levihan as kids: Kenny babysits Levi, and doesn't let him play with any kids after school bc he thinks all kids are brats, but he approves of Hange so he lets her come over to play with Levi. And Hange always brings dandelions that she picks from the ground for Kenny, Levi, and for Levi to give Kuchel whenever she comes home late from work

"I'm going out," Levi announced, coming downstairs already dressed and with his backpack on.

From his place on a sofa, Kenny put down his beer and raised an eyebrow.

"May I ask where are you going?"

"You may not," Levi retorted, his face dark. Kenny had to admit - for a little boy, his nephew had an impressively fierce glare. Even some adults found the kid to be unnerving. Not Kenny, though.

"Oi, brat, you better tell me where you're going. Or," he smirked. "I'm going to call your mother."

At that, Levi pouted and stomped his feet. He continued to glare at Kenny for a little longer, before surrendering with an irritated 'tsk'.

"I'm going out with Hange," he said with a sulky pout. Of course, it was Hange, Kenny had no doubt that Levi was meeting with the bespectacled kid from across the street. He asked him simply to see that awkward and constipated look on his nephew's face.

"Is your curiosity satisfied? May I go already?"

"You may not," seeing Levi's wide-eyed expression, Kenny felt a deep sense of satisfaction. Teasing the kid was so much fun. "Wait for a bit, until I get my shit. We'll go together."

"What? No!" Levi protested, clutching hands into fists. "I'm going with Hange! Not with you!"

"Your mother asked me to look after you," Kenny reminded, putting on his best ‘stern adult’ expression. "So I'm going to chaperone you and Hange. I'm sure she won't mind."

"I will mind," Levi grunted stubbornly.

Kenny rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Levi, stop with that tantrum. I'll drive you two to the park, get you some ice-cream, let you have some fun."

"While you keep watching us like a creep?"

"While I keep an eye on you two to make sure you won't get into trouble."

Crossing hands on his chest, Levi considered him. "You won't let me go without you, right?"

"Levi!" Kenny slapped him on a back with a loud chuckle. "And here I thought you aren't sharp!"

It earned him another glare from his dear nephew, but then Levi sighed, accepting his defeat.

"Hurry up, old man. Hange is probably waiting for me already."

"I'll be quick as lighting," Kenny winked and dashed to get his keys and wallet.

Once he was dressed and ready to go, Levi opened the front door. Hange was standing on their porch, her arm raised to the doorbell.

"Oh." She gingerly lowered her hand to the side. "Hi, Levi. I was just going to call you."

"Sorry, it took me so long. My uncle decided to go with us and I had to wait for him."

"Mr. Ackerman is going with us?" Hange's eyes widened. "Awesome!"

"See?" Kenny walked out, patting Hange's head with a smile. "I told you Hange wouldn't object."

"Of course, I wouldn't," she smiled. "You're so cool, Mr. Ackerman!"

"That I am," Kenny grinned, looking at Levi's disgruntled expression. "But please, Hange, we've talked about this. You can just call me uncle Kenny. Mr. Ackerman sounds like I'm an old man."

"You are an old man," Levi argued, scowling.

"No respect for his elders," Kenny shook his head, feigning disappointment. "C'mon, kids, let's get into the car."

Once Hange and Levi were seated at the back of his car and once Kenny made sure that they put on their seatbelts - Kuchel would have his head, if they didn't - there was only one thing left.

"So, Hange?" Kenny met her eyes in the rear mirror. "Where do you want to go?"

"Huh?" she bit her lip. "Why don't you ask Levi?"

"You know him,” Kenny said flippantly. “He'll go wherever you want. So. Have you decided?"

"Um," Hange glanced at Levi and leaned closer, whispering something in his ear. Levi gave her a small nod, and Hange smiled broadly, showing her still missing tooth. She turned to Kenny, giving him thumbs up. "We want to go to the park, uncle Kenny!"

"Your wish is my command," he winked, starting the car.

***

"Here you go," Kenny pushed two plates of ice-creams - mint chocolate chip for Hange and lemon for Levi - towards the kids.

Hange accepted hers with a loud and genuine 'thank you' while Levi just grunted something under his breath. Instantly, children dove into their desserts.

Sitting across from them, Kenny sipped on his coffee and watched them eat. It was quite fascinating - how different they were. Levi ate slowly and carefully, wiping his face with napkin whenever ice-cream got on his face. Meanwhile, Hange noshed enthusiastically and messily, her cheeks already stained. 

As soon as he saw the state she was in, Levi paused and put the spoon down. With a barely audible sigh, he took the napkin and gripped Hange's chin between his fingers, making her look at him. Then he proceeded to thoroughly wipe her dirty face, cleaning the remnants of the ice-cream from her cheeks and nose.

"You're such a clean freak," Hange muttered when Levi was finished.

"It's not my fault you're such a pig, four-eyes," he shot back, making Hange throw her head and laugh.

Kenny watched their interaction with amused expression, regretting that his sister wasn't too busy with work to witness this.

He had a feeling, however, that she saw a fair share of this back at home.

***

Kenny put the hat lower, shielding his eyes from the blinding sun. It was quite boring, just sitting there, but at least Levi had calmed down a bit. After they arrived at the park, Hange had dragged him out somewhere, claiming that she wanted Levi to see a pretty butterfly she found when she had visited the park with her parents.

Kenny wanted to follow, but one glare from his nephew, and he surrendered, taking refuge at one of the benches.

He let them go, because as much as he enjoyed giving Levi shit, Kenny knew that he was smart. Careful too. He was confident that Levi wouldn't get in any trouble. Besides, the kid deserved to have some fun with his best friend. It was the reason he brought them there in the first place.

He wished the kids would come back sooner, though. The heat and bright sun were making him quite drowsy.

Kenny looked around the park, and when he noticed that there was no sign of his nephew or his friend, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting them rest for a short moment.

***

"Uncle Kenny! Uncle Kenny! Look what I've made!"

"Oi, old man, wake up," Kenny felt a sharp poke into his side and groaned, waving his hand to get rid of the source of pain.

"Wake up." Levi repeated, poking him again. "Hange wants to show you something." That was followed by another pock.

"Stop it," Kenny hissed. "I woke up, woke up! Just stop pocking me!"

He opened his eyes and was greeted with the too familiar scene - his nephew, glaring at him with all the fierceness a six-year old boy could master. Once he took a good look at him, however, Kenny had to rub his eyes, because he could not believe it.

His gloomy and grumpy nephew was standing in front of him, holding a long wooden branch in his right hand. And on his head, he wore a flower crown, made of weeds and poppies. Kenny clasped a palm over his mouth, stifling his laughter. He cursed himself for not taking his phone with him. He should have taken a picture, Kuchel had to see this.

"Uncle Kenny!" Hange's loud voice attracted his attention. Kenny turned away from Levi, facing the other kid. She was wearing the same flower crown as Levi. In her hands she held another one - this one made of dandelions. Smiling from ear to ear, she handed it to Kenny.

"I made it for you!" she exclaimed, and something deep inside Kenny's chest warmed at the sight of her. "Would you like to wear it?"

"You better wear it." Levi threatened quietly, giving him another pock. "Four-eyes put a lot of effort into making it."

Kenny smiled, endeared by Levi's protectiveness.

"Of course, I'll wear it," he said. How could he say no these bright eyes? He took off his hat and lowered his head, letting Hange put a flower crown on top of it.

"Ah!" she clasped her hands. "You look so handsome, uncle Kenny! Just so you know," she leaned in, lowering her voice to a whisper. "This flower crown is special."

"Oi!" Levi interfered, glaring at Hange. Despite his angry face, Kenny couldn't help but notice that Levi didn't pock her with his stick. Someone was clearly showing his favoritism. "You said that mine was special!"

"And yours is special!"

"A-ha," Levi shook his head. "There can't be two specials."

"Of course, there can be!" Hange flailed her arms around. "It's just different kinds of special! Your flower crown is a special best friend's crown, and your uncle has the coolest adult's crown!"

"He's not cool," Levi muttered, but he seemed to accept the explanation all the same.

"What's the stick for, kid?" Kenny asked, pointing at it with his chin.

"Levi was a knight!" Hange answered for him. "He was fighting a fierce dragon and to win this battle, he needed a magical weapon! It was forged by the forest gods!"

"A fight with a dragon?" Kenny whistled. "Were you s princess then, Hange?"

"Nope," she replied with a wide grin.

"She was a dragon," Levi muttered.

"Oh." Kenny should have anticipated something like that. "Did it mean that you lost, Levi?"

Instead of answering, Levi kicked him in the shin.

"We took a recess," Hange said, pushing the glasses up her nose. "The dragon was getting kinda tired."

"Right," Kenny looked up at the sky, the sun was already setting. "Let's go home then. Your mother is probably back from work by now."

"I have flowers for Mrs. Ackerman too!" Hange opened her backpack, showing a small bouquet of field flowers to Kenny. "You'll give them to her, right, uncle Kenny?"

"Why don't you give them yourself, Hange?" he offered. "You can join us for a dinner, I'm sure Kuchel won't mind."

"My mom's making pasta this evening," Levi added, looking a bit shy. "And if you want, we can watch cartoons after that. Have a sleepover."

"I would love that, Levi!" Hange pulled him into a hug. Levi made a face, but- didn't protest.

"Thanks for joining us today, uncle Kenny!" Hange told him after she let go of Levi. "It was the best day ever!"

"You're always welcome, my dear," Kenny's lips curled into a rare, sincere smile.

"Let's get back to the car," he said, standing up.

"The first one to they car chooses the cartoon!" Hange shouted and sprinted off. Levi rushed after her, but Kenny couldn't help but notice - his nephew was purposefully running slower than usual.

Soon Hange reached the car and started jump around in victory, while Levi made a show of looking defeated. 

Kenny chuckled, watching them. It was good to know that his nephew had a friend like that, the one who made him so happy. It made Kenny happy too.

[tennessoui]

#18 Prompt: Ohio in Pre-Slash,16/17 year old Anakin has had a crush on his Master for awhile but knows/thinks Obi-Wan would never return his feels. He's almost completely given up and is think about maybe finding a substitute outlet. Then Obi-Wan gets amnesia while they are stranded on an uninhibited planet. Their Locator Beacon only giving off a general area. Obi-Wans amnesia leaves out the Code, and that he's Anakins teacher so the Boy calls him Master so he MUST be Obi-Wans pet/slave.

ahh so i could easily see this going dubcon and smutty and if i were better i might have gone that way too but instead i made some pining fluff but i hope you still like it!!

18. Waking Up With Amnesia (Hurt!Obi-Wan, underage!pining!Anakin, misunderstandings)

Anakin does his level best to land the ship gently, he really does. But he can’t work miracles here, and the locals had damaged their hull quite effectively when they had shot at them as they descended from atmo.

Friendly negotiations, yeah right. When Anakin gets his hands on these guys, he’s gonna show them exactly how friendly Anakin can be. But first he has to make the landing. And then he has to make sure his master is okay. Failure on either of these fronts is not an option.

His master had just gotten up to go to the back to grab their identification. They had been talking, seriously for once and without anger or impatience laced through their words--he’d said he was proud to have him as his padawan, that Anakin had grown into a young man anyone would be fortunate to know.

Anakin had turned to watch his master leave, his shields raised high but his eyes stripped bare. He’d be eighteen in two months. Somehow he’d made it through most of his time as a Padawan already. With his impending adulthood comes the realization that he has no more time for words of anger or scorn, not directed to his master at least. In a few years at most, Obi-Wan would be free of him by all Jedi rules and obligations.

Now more than ever he has to convince his master to want to keep him around. It’s a grueling task, made more difficult by how terribly difficult Anakin had been in the last, say, nine years. What with his pod-racing, his temper, his pride, his stubbornness--his huge and achingly obvious hero worship turned crush on the older Jedi.

But he can’t lose Obi-Wan, can’t even stand the idea of his master leaving him. The idea of missions alone while his master cavorts around the galaxy without hm--with another Padawan?--is absolutely intolerable. No. He has to convince the Jedi to want him as more than a Padawan. To want him as a friend, as a partner.

(In his wildest fantasies, as more than that, too.)

But now, as if the Force has heard his thoughts and is punishing him, the ship is crashing and his master has been hurt somewhere behind him but he can’t check without losing control of the vessel completely. He just has to--land--on this wide stretch--of karking sand.

It’s not his best landing, but they’re on the ground at least. The first thing he does is, of course, throw off his own landing protector and rush to Obi-Wan’s side, pulling his body out of the mangled remains of their ship and into the light and heat of outside. His master is unconscious, but he doesn’t seem to be bleeding terribly nor fatally. Now, and only now, he thanks the Force.

That’s when he notices the startling wet and spreading red across his master’s usually pristine robes.

Never mind, he tells the Force, fumbling with Obi-Wan’s belt in a panic. He needs to treat the wound, which means he needs to see it, which means he needs to get these outer robes off, as well as his master’s inner tunic.

“If I’m ever undressing you again, I swear to the Force you better be cognizant,” he mutters to himself as he rips at the fabric of the thin undershirt. “So many layers and not one of them protects you from debris, how is that fair?” He continues as he pushes Obi-Wan to the side far enough so he can see the man’s bare shoulder and the cut itself. It doesn’t look deep, at least, but it is long, spanning at least Anakin’s entire hand.

How much bacta do they have? Is their distress beacon working? Does Anakin want it to be working? Half of him thinks no, because what if the locals show up to finish them off? Half of him thinks yes, because he’d love to get his hands on the creatures responsible for Obi-Wan’s current state now.

It’s a very un-Jedi thought, but Anakin can’t even feel bad for it. He goes back into the wreckage of their ship--and he knows already he’s going to hear about this from the Council, as if anyone else could have done better--and grabs their first aid kit.

There’s bandages and bacta and that’s the important thing, he reminds himself. He’ll fix up the wound and then worry about why Obi-Wan hasn’t woken up yet.

But. Well. There’s not a great way to patch it up. The only thing he can think of is to give Obi-Wan’s form a solid thing to lean his head against while keeping his lower back pressed against the durasteel. It’s an awkward angle, but any other would result in Obi-Wan getting a face full of sand, and Anakin wouldn’t do that to his worst enemy, let alone his master.

Look. There’s no delicate way to put it. He straddles his lap and brings his head so it can rest on his chest as he works.

Of course this is when Obi-Wan begins to stir. Anakin tightens his hold on him and tries to send feelings of relief and calm through the Force. He needs Obi-Wan to not startle away from him until he finishes putting on the bacta. They can be embarrassed about this later. They’ll laugh about this later.

“You’re fine, Master,” Anakin murmurs at what he decides to take as a garbled word of confusion. “I crashed the ship, you can punish me later.”

Anakin can feel Obi-Wan’s signature spike around him, but he’s too intent on his task to figure out what specifically his master is feeling.

“What--” Obi-Wan mumbles, hand coming up to brace his head.

Anakin leans back as he finishes, tapping gently on Obi-Wan’s cheek until the man lifts his eyes to look at him. They’re dazed and confused.

“Master?” Anakin asks.

Obi-Wan’s brow furrows. “Master?”

Now Anakin’s getting very worried. “How many fingers am I holding up?” he demands.

Obi-Wan blinks. “You’re...not holding up any fingers,” he says, words becoming clearer the longer he talks. “I’m sorry

“Master,” he says slowly. “How are you feeling?” “Confused,” Obi-Wan says. “And...worried. And sick. Why are you calling me that?” “Calling you what, Master?”

“That. Master,” Obi-Wan looks sick just saying the word. Anakin scrambles up off his lap and kneels in the sand in front of him.

Panic clogs at his throat, making it even harder to force words out. “This isn’t a funny joke, Master.”

Now Obi-Wan looks distressed. “I’m not joking!” He looks wildly around and then clutches at his head in pain. “I don’t know who you are. Who I am. And I need you to stop calling me master because it’s making me feel sick to my stomach knowing that apparently I’m the kind of person who owns slaves because I know it’s wrong.”

Anakin blinks. It’s a lot to process. “You don’t remember?” is the first thing he says. He wants to say anything or anyone or perhaps the Jedi Order you’ve been a part of since you were a baby, but instead what comes out is, “Me?”

“I don’t remember myself, how am I supposed to remember you? Did you expect me to?”

Anakin stays quiet because well. Yeah. He hadn’t thought anything could really truly make his master forget him. Not time, not distance, not anything. Looking at Obi-Wan looking at him now without any sort of familiarity feels like all of his worst nightmares coming true.

His master glances down at his half-dressed state and then back to Anakin suspiciously.

It’s a harsh expression without the fond exasperation that usually hovers in the back of Obi-Wan’s eyes when he sees Anakin.

“What were you doing?” Obi-Wan asks him. “Why were you...touching me?”

“Nothing!” Anakin yelps, knowing that is the worst response he could have given. “I mean. I was tending to you, Master.”

He winces as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Ah, kark.

“Don’t call me that,” Obi-Wan snaps, looking furious. Anakin wants to explain that he can’t not, that Master is as much as Obi-Wan’s name to him as Padawan is Anakin’s. “You mean to say I’m such a terrible person that I don’t just own a slave but a pleasure slave?”

Anakin thinks he must be blushing to the roots of his hair. “No!” he yells, much louder than he intends. “No, you don’t own me, M--Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan mouths his name as if it’s a new word. Anakin is about to break into hysterical laughter.

“I’m your apprentice,” Anakin forges ahead. “We use Master as a term of respect for our teachers.” He adds, “I was tending to your wound,” just so Obi-Wan doesn’t next think that Anakin was trying to take advantage of him or something. There’s only so many misconceptions he can deal with in one sitting, especially with the amount of panic that’s raging through his brain.

Obi-Wan looks achingly hopeful. Anakin supposes that without the memory of years of emotional suppression training, he’ll be able to see what his master is feeling more easily. He wonders if he could get Obi-Wan to laugh or smile. He’d kill for one unbridled grin from the other man, although there’s nothing joyful about the situation they’re in right now.

“You’re the best man I know, Obi-Wan,” Anakin tells him softly. “I know you don’t remember right now, but I promise you’d never do that to someone. You’re good. And honest and brave and kind and…” he trails off and looks away, crossing his arms over his chest as he’s hit with the reminder of everything he stands to lose if Obi-Wan’s memory loss can’t be undone. “We’ll get this fixed. It’s just temporary. I won’t let it be permanent.” He says the last part fiercely and mostly to himself. “I won’t.”

Obi-Wan smiles, just slightly and reaches out a hand. Perhaps his need to comfort a distressed Anakin is simply instinctive. “I believe you,” he whispers back. “I trust you.”

Anakin beams. And then he thinks of something else. For a second, he wonders about whether or not he should ask the question that’s burning up his mind, but he needs to know now that he’s asked himself. “Ma--Obi-Wan, why did you think that I was. Um. A pleasure slave?”

Obi-Wan’s blush is a thing of wonder. It could single-handedly keep them both warm on Hoth itself.

“Because of how we were positioned when we woke up,” Obi-Wan mumbles, burying his face in his hands. “And because you look like that.” The last part is said from behind his fingers.

Some sort of unfamiliar fire lights itself in Anakin’s stomach. “I look like what?” he prompts, barely daring to breathe.

But this Obi-Wan must not remember why he shouldn’t always be straightforward with the truth, especially to Anakin who he’s said he trusts.

(Obi-Wan trusts him!)

“Beautiful,” Obi-Wan says, so hushed and embarrassed that Anakin almost can’t hear it over the sound of his heart beating.

Inappropriately for their current situation, Anakin wants to crow in victory as the flame inside him grows larger.

Obi-Wan trusts him. At least on some level. Instinctively. And a part of him, stripped of his Jedi code and teachings and lifestyle, thinks that Anakin is beautiful.

He puts a name to the burning in his chest. It’s hope.