#ONLY HALF A JOKE. I THINK HE HAS MANY QUALITIES THAT WOULD ENDEAR THE LORDS TO HIM

[mohntilyet]

okay this is actually just bias now so before you read what i have to say i did warn you. yes illario would never be able to beat lucanis at being a crow or an assassin but you know what he would beat him at. being a lord of fortune. hold my hand as i take you through my mind palace and introduce to you my ideal post-game vision for illario dellamorte

[sombrashe]

Lord Otto

content gn! reader, older! troy, legal age gap, first meeting, reader’s parents are dead in this, no smut only fluff

note(s) how many times did I put simply and quite? | I see reader as being early 20’s and troy being more his season 8 age so like early to mid-30s

“Excuse me, Sir Otto?”

A voice startles him out of conversation with his brother. Tilting his head to the left he waits for his brother to respond. Only you never take your eyes off him. Bright and wide they look deep into his as you anxiously wait for a reply. You're breathtaking and he nearly misses his brother's words.

“Well, Troy? Are you going to make them wait? They clearly cannot wait to have an audience with you.”

He’s enamored by the way you ignore his brother's exasperated response. Annoyance going unheard or simply ignored as you bow low to show him you mean your words. Rising your fingers never leave their spot glued to your heavy-looking rich skirt. Eyes shining despite him never uttering a word.

“My lord, may I have this next dance?”

He gives a short laugh. A half smile shows off his snaggletooth. One of the only endearing qualities he believes he has. That and his money… he doesn't have many qualities. None enough to catch the attention of someone as starry eyes as you.

“Can not find another suitable dance partner?”

You frown and present your nearly full dance card to him. All different names written in perfect penmanship with one single blank at the very bottom. Keeping the card presented he realizes slowly that you are waiting for him to sign it. To take you up on your offer for him to dance.

“How enigmatic.”

“Vexing is the word you are looking for brother. Asking you to dance, ha, a waste of time indeed.”

He simply shakes his head and takes the small pencil hanging from your card as if not in control of himself. Here he was of noble blood taking up your offer to dance instead of the correct way around. He has to wonder where your chaperone was. He can’t help the prickles of fear that wash down his spine as he signs his name, bold against the ivory paper. Set resting pretty in a diamond-encrusted case. Something he remembers was never offered to the common guests of his ball. Straightening up he doesn't miss the wide smile that fattens your cheeks. You take in the crooked letters for a moment as if hypnotized.

“Brother, you must be joking. Father-.”

“I do not care what father has to say on the matter, Jake. Now if you will let me go I have a dance I need to attend.”

Ripping his arms from his brother's grasp he fixes his waistcoat, white as sugarcane, before allowing you to wrap your arm around his. Following him he maintains a decent distance from you. A given with how many eyes are on you both. Watching the youngest Otto and this random individual who must have bribed him to get him onto the dance floor. Or maybe this was all a ruse set up by his father. An attempt to fix their soiled name. Or maybe, just maybe, you were genuine in your interest to dance with him. Your fingers flex against his linen sleeves, but you do not attempt to pull away as he leads you toward the middle of the floor. Instead, you keep that simple sweet smile plastered on your face as he turns to face you.

“That was a bold move, asking me to dance. Especially in front of my brother.”

“I tried waiting for you to make your rounds. Hoping you would find me eventually and ask me to dance. Only you never left your corner so I decided to make a move myself. I hope that is okay, my Lord.”

“That is quite embarrassing. Having to be approached, especially as a man of my stature.”

“That was not my intention at all, sir. I deeply apologize.”

He watches as your eyebrows furrow together. Something so cute he notices as you start to frit. Bottom lip being chewed on, an action he notices you frequent if your lips are any indication of your actions.

“It is quite alright. I do not mind as one might think.”

You visibly relax and it helps settle an air of calm over the both of you. He settles into routine, step, pivot, step, spin, step, step, twirl. Over and over he moves in tandem with you. Your lips part to allow nonsensical words to fall from them. He listens to you ramble and takes in every word. He doesn't understand why he does. This is a one-time dance. A bored young individual who wanted to fill up the last spot on their card. Nothing more. Yet, he can’t help but fall hook line, and sinker for every single syllable you utter. He learns you are a patron of the arts. Using your valuable resources to fund specifically writers. Taking the time to study up on dozens of authors all of whom seem to fight for the spot as number one in your mind.

“By a Lady is a wonderful writer, she is quite exquisite in the way the letters flow from her pen to the paper. Oh, but there's also the woman who wrote Frankenstein. I really enjoyed how she describes the creature. It is quite sad. Or-.”

“Frankenstein was written by a man. A woman could not write a book with such depth.”

You laugh at him. You laugh at him and he can’t even find it in himself to get mad.

“Forgive me my lord, but a man could not have written that book. The creature is a sensitive thing. There are plenty of great male authors, but only a woman could write and understand the creature the way she does. Of course, you do not have to agree with me and I apologize for speaking out of turn I am simply passionate about writing is all. It’s silly.”

“Please do not apologize. Having strong emotions towards your interests like you do shows that you are quite intelligent. It is sweet. I am quite sure your future husband will think the same way.”

Step, turn, twirl, and your dance is completed. He means to wish you a good night and farewell, but when your hand reaches out to keep him in place he finds himself following you out of the crowd and into a slightly less populated, yet still suffocating, hallway. Smiling up at him you comment how you had a wonderful time dancing with him and how you wished to have one more with him if he so desired.

“I am not one much for dancing. I do apologize.”

Seeing you frown makes his heart ache and he almost leaves right then and there. He has much more important matters to attend to and yet here he is, his heart weeping at the sight of you so destroyed by his simple words.

“That is alright, my Lord. I understand. I will let you go then. I do not want to keep your company for longer than necessary.”

You stay still waiting for him to excuse himself. You have broken enough tradition it seems. Instead, he extends his bent elbow to you. You look up at him with the sweetest gaze as you gently wrap your hand around his bicep and he courts you throughout the halls. Your conversation is boring and he enjoys the time basking in your glow.

“What about sports, Lord Otto? Are there any that you are particularly fond of?”

“Boxing,” his answer is quick and he doesn't even notice that he’s responded until you're looking up at him with those gorgeous eyes of yours. Full of wonder and intrigue as you listen. “I am fond of boxing. I regularly attend matches and participate in quite a few of them.”

“Do you win? When you fight?”

He pauses and looks down at you. Innocence coming off of you in waves as you await a response. He’s never been asked that before winning, only ever being expected of him. Never an option. Starting up your walking again he formulates a response through a green carpeted hallway.

“Yes, I do, quite a bit actually. I’m just below Mr. Clark. Do you know who that is?”

“Of course. He is one of the top performers. He is quite a large man with thirty-odd wins under his belt, is he not?”

He is completely and utterly confused. There is no way you could know of his man. It was uncommon for men who didn't actively partake in the sport to know of him let alone someone of your stature. He proceeds carefully.

“He is. How did you know?”

“He is my uncle. I ask him about his fights every time he comes to visit. He gets a little too into the details, but I do not mind. The fights always sound so… brutal. Bloody too, I imagine.”

You kept your voice low to keep your conversation a secret. A young person like you should not be engaging in conversation where the topic involves two men beating each other to a bloody pulp. But despite the confusing descriptors you used what was most confusing was the fact that you were related to the Clark bloodline.

“You are a Clark?”

“My mother was, my father was something different altogether. She took his last name, which means I did as well. So, I am the last of my father's name.”

“Your parents, are they not?”

He was trying to be gentle. Keeping in mind what his brother taught him throughout his childhood. He was to keep unsavory questions to himself, but he couldn't help himself. He was simply much too curious about your answer.

“No. They are dead, my lord. Have been for nearly three years now.”

What a sad response. He dutifully caresses your hand with his. An apology for your loss quickly on his tongue. He has been following your lead and has done little to dissuade you from where you wanted to go. Until now. The estate was a sight to behold in the broad daylight and even now the darkness did little to hide its natural beauty. Moss and vines grow towards the heavens, covering the sides of the home with the front cleaned to perfection for guests. Plant life covers every inch of landscape, only the gravel path for carriages left unnatural. He begins to slow his descent down the stairs as he starts to notice in the distance a large hedge. Upon closer inspection, it seems to open in the middle like a curtain, permanent and inviting. Both words describe you. He should be pulling away. Making a scene to allow everyone from the ton knowledge that he was not the kind of man to be whisked off into a dark corner of the property for god knows what.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To the gardens, it’s just through the maze.”

“Where is the lady or master the house? I’m sure they would want to know before we go walking off into their precious gardens.”

“I believe they will be fine with it. I guarantee it.”

“You know this how?”

“Because they are me. I am quite alright with simply showing a guest my elaborate maze and gardens. It is talked about a lot, I know. Quite expensive. I spend every morning pruning the poor little things. This heatwave has been particularly mean to my Hydrangeaceae”

“This is yours?”

He can’t help the shock that seeps into his voice as he speaks. An entire estate taken care of by one person. Someone as young as you? Not even grown men can do it alone and here you were a few years out of your debut with no husband yet a house to take care of.

“It is quite hard, yes, but I have Ms. Daley. She has helped quite a lot and will continue to help me with all the paperwork as she was shown by my father. Until I am married, of course.”

You finish leading him from your home over to where the garden sits, hidden in the middle of an acre of thick hedges elaborately woven into a maze. It was absolutely gorgeous and he never once makes you stop. You simply do. Right in front of the large open hedge which starts the beginning of the maze.

“I go left and you go right? See who makes it to the garden first?”

He is once again reminded of your age as you offer this simple game he was fond of as a child. Grinning he breaks away from you with a nod.

“Deal.”

With that, you're hoisting up your skirt and rushing off towards the middle of the maze. Huffing he sprints to the right stopping at a turn before skirting behind it and following the twists and turns of the maze with little trouble. All the while your loud giggles and huffs of annoyance at getting lost in the dark are crystal clear this far away from the soiree. Shouting out he asks for help when he comes face to face with a decision, right or straight… he feels particularly keen on continuing straight. You simply laugh, an intoxicating sound that god himself must be listening to on such a clear night. He follows his gut instinct and follows the dark hedges straight, straight, straight until he comes across another right-hand turn which leads to another hedge much like the one from the beginning. Stepping through the opening he comes out the other side surrounded by fauna and flora. The garden is massive, with dozens of different types of flowers and even more greenery swallowing the small resting area provided.

“It’s wonderful, is it not?”

“It is.”

He doesn't close the distance, opting to inspect the naturally made bouquets. The sheer mass of flowers that litter the ground and grow upwards towards the heavens has him in awe. The splashes of reds, greens, purples, and pinks look muddied in the moonlight, but he can still see the beauty in the care you have provided for them. The silky feeling of the petals is exquisite and he feels heat rise to his cheeks as he wonders what you might feel like, silken like the petals or sharp like the thorns hidden beneath the leaves. He can feel his skin physically react when your soft hand presses against the sleeve of his top.

“I maintain a lot of primula vulgaris, different types of rosa rubiginosa, and a few bushels of lonicera. That's not all of course, but those are my favorites to work with. Quite a tasty snack when I have been working for a while.”

“They are beautiful.”

You look up at him with a small smile gracing your lips. The bumps and pits that decorate your skin are filled with dark shadows that dance across your face when you shift and he finds it difficult to move his eyes away. When he finally does he hopes you don't mistake the stare as what it is. Staring at the muted colors he thinks of what to say next. He is not one to be tongue tied and yet here he is completely and utterly befuddled. The sun is starting to rise and he lets out a breath he had no clue he was holding. Pinks and oranges start to light up the dusky sky. Turning his head he watches as those colors reflect themselves off the slope of your nose and the curve of your cheeks. You were mesmerizing and only inches away from him. He wants nothing more than to lean down and catch those soft pink-hued lips with his golden-streaked ones. Instead, he simply smiles and decides now is as good a time as any to end the night with you. Knowing how these parties went you would host a breakfast where all the ton members would sit and chat for a few extra hours before letting you alone to rest for the day. Gently he gathers your hand in his palm and raises it to his lips. Pressing those mellow painted lips against the dorsal side it sends a shock of electricity through to his toes.

“It was wonderful meeting you.”

“And I you, Lord Otto.”

A mumbled goodbye against soft skin and he’s separating himself from you. Refusing to look back he leaves you alone with your garden of beauty. A flower sitting unattended.

[shatouto]

another sequel to @obiwanobi's ex-sith anakin au (here and here), and at this rate… yea. yea we’re gonna have to archive this on ao3 (soon)

anyway here’s 2.8k words of tonal inconsistency

et si les étoiles sont cachées

Obi-Wan barely sleeps a wink through the night. His mind turns and whirls as he battles between second-guessing his decisions regarding the former Sith sleeping in his bed and planning on what to do going forward. Anakin knows how to cloak his own signature well enough, that much Obi-Wan can observe, but he will not stand a chance if Masters such as Yoda or Windu search his presence. And then there is the matter of the elusive Darth Sidious’ death, as well - Obi-Wan can only assume that it would be classified information on the Confederacy side, but even then, the Force only knows what kind of hell would break loose once his body is discovered. It doesn’t help that he could barely pull his hand out of Anakin’s without him frowning in his sleep and stirring. He simply has to stay put, with Anakin’s very likely feverish body pressed up against his side in a bed that is only snugly enough for two.

In meditating all of those scenarios, he forgets to account for the hell that breaks loose in his own quarters upon the return of his apprentice.

“Master, what were you thinking?” Ahsoka hisses, eyes darting from him to the closed door of his bedroom, from where the sound of Anakin’s pacing is obvious. Her hand is still clutching one of her lightsabers, alert.

“He was an injured man who crawled to my doorstep for aid, young one.” Obi-Wan sighs. “Surely you cannot expect me to simply turn my back to him, can you? That wouldn’t be the Jedi way.”

“Yes, but…” Ahsoka pinches her own forehead, shoulders dropping in a harsh exhale. “He’s a Sith lord, Master. We’ve all seen what he has done and can do!”

“He was a Sith, Ahsoka. Leading him back to the Light means one less darksider for the galaxy, and no more lives lost. I have always been trying to accomplish this.” Obi-Wan realizes, all of a sudden, that he is trying to convince himself rather than his apprentice. “He came in a moment of need, with nowhere else to go. He no longer wants to remain with the Dark.”

Ahsoka blinks. “And you just trust him? Just like that?”

Well, Obi-Wan wants to say, you didn’t see him on his knees in the hallway with blood covering half his body and bruises the other half; and you didn’t see him hang his head as you took his lightsaber and then his ruined arm off before setting him to bed. Then again, nobody would ever see that: the exact devastation and distress the once-Darth Vader was in last night, at his door. “That is the case, Ahsoka. I would like to trust him, for the time being.”

Ahsoka grumbles something about tried to kill me earlier, didn’t you see that? which of course inspires a twinge of guilt in Obi-Wan - because indeed, this borders on being a foolhardy venture, that his Padawan is dragged into solely by virtue of her sharing quarters with him. She shakes her head and speaks clearly again for him to hear. “...Fine, I get it. Where do you even plan to house him, Master?”

Obi-Wan pauses. He has had plenty of time in the night to consider this, and still he cannot find any better solution than the one he is about to suggest. “I suppose there is no place safer than here.”

“Here? You mean as in, your own quarters, in the Jedi Temple?” Ahsoka stresses on the last few words, incredulous.

Something crashes inside his room, followed by Anakin’s muffled curse. Obi-Wan looks his apprentice dead in the eye as he lets out a sigh, and says, “Yes.”

—

Anakin is strangely good at cooking.

Obi-Wan supposes he shouldn’t have presumed; after all, being a Sith apprentice should probably not interfere with the more mundane aspects of life. But not only is Anakin’s cooking distinctly above average (how did he learn enough skills to make a three-course meal out of the few basic ingredients in Obi-Wan’s pantry, and at what cost?), he also seems to undertake the task with zeal. It’s rather endearing to watch him shuffle around the kitchenette in warm beige pants that barely reach his ankles, and a left sleeve that doesn't need to be rolled up because it's already too short for his long arm.

It’s been less than a week since Anakin first comes to his door. He clearly doesn't like Ahsoka, but with one arm and no lightsaber and Obi-Wan firmly telling him to behave, he eventually, and clearly grudgingly, tolerates her presence, from time to time. The gleam in his eyes is still worrying, from time to time, but the most Anakin does nowadays when Ahsoka passes by is turn his back to her. He seems to be trying his best, which is why Obi-Wan feels immensely guilty for having to preface their meal with a rather somber question.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, as Anakin sets down before him a plate of steak that smells nearly the same as that one luxurious dish he once had while in disguise as a socialite at a prestigious fine dining party. It isn’t the materiality that is distracting, but the efforts that must have gone into it. “I would like to ask you a question.”

Anakin sits down opposite of him, balancing himself. Even with the Force, he’s unused to not having a weight elbow-down on his right hand. “What? Leftover is in the kitchen for your apprentice. If she wants it.” His voice still sharpens at your apprentice, defensive. “I didn’t mean to let her starve.”

Obi-Wan is torn between a smile and a grimace. “No, that isn’t my question, Anakin. I’ve been wondering if you knew of your allies’ plans.”

“What kind of plans?” Anakin’s eyes narrow, warily. “It depends. Dooku knew most. I just did battlefield strategy.”

“You don’t happen to know if there has been recent plans to assassinate the Supreme Chancellor, do you?” It has been on Obi-Wan’s mind ever since he was summoned to an urgent Council meeting days ago. Investigative teams reported that the Supreme Chancellor has gone missing; then midway through the meeting, another report came, and so they ended up discussing how to keep peace while the Senate would break the staggering news of the Supreme Chancellor’s death to the entire galaxy and organize an emergency election. The timing fit too well with Anakin’s arrival, and he doesn’t know what to make of it.

“Oh, there’s never any.” Anakin shrugs, tension melting out of his shoulder. He begins to cut into his steak without a care.

Obi-Wan frowns. There has been plenty of attempted assassinations before, as well as kidnapping - he himself has been sent to protect the Chancellor on many occasions. He’s loath to contradict Anakin, though, so he asks, carefully: “And you are sure?”

“I’m sure,” Anakin says, swallowing a mouthful. “My mas—Darth Sidious, is Palpatine.”

It takes Obi-Wan a stunned moment, while Anakin just continues to eat.

Well, the Council had their suspicions, but it was never so direct. Some have speculated, very privately, that the Chancellor might be linked to a darksider in some way. Perhaps somebody who is in opposition to Count Dooku, another Master has raised. But for the Chancellor *himself* to be this elusive, mysterious Darth Sidious, seems downright unfathomable.

“You…” Obi-Wan pauses, rewording the sentence in his mind for the seventh time. “I would like you to be serious, Anakin. That was not a joke, was it?”

Anakin, unsmiling, turns his eyes up to him with a look of confusion as if saying What’s a joke? “Darth Sidious is Palpatine,” he repeats. “I’m not allowed—I was not allowed to call him that, though.”

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath. The timing does line up far too well. “Anakin, that means you have... disposed of the Supreme Chancellor.”

Anakin scoffs, scrunches up his nose, and shrugs again. “If you put it that way,” he mutters, slouching down even lower as he pointedly eats his food.

Obi-Wan opens his mouth, then closes it again. He sighs at the ceiling, and picks up his fork and knife. Might as well enjoy a good meal before the migraine sets in.

—

To his own amazement, Obi-Wan is getting used to the way Anakin follows him around like a hatchling, whenever he is home.

During the first few days, it took Obi-Wan a considerable amount of patient explanation to convince Anakin not to sit on the floor at the foot of the door frame until he came back. His reasons ranged from “It’s rather undignified for you” (to which Anakin said, “I’ve done worse,” at which point Obi-Wan had to switch subjects immediately, putting a pin in it for future unpacking), to “You might catch a cold, sitting here for so long” (to which Anakin answered, “It’ll go away on its own,” which prompted Obi-Wan to check his temperature immediately, only to realize that Anakin had been cloaking his fever for at least a day, and - well, that was another pin on the board). In the end, it was only the allowance for him to use the kitchenette that kept the former Sith from waiting at the door like a hound, rather busying himself at the stove instead. It was a great decision through and through, considering how much Anakin improved the quality of their meals.

But otherwise, Anakin still makes no secret of his immediate attachment to him. Perhaps there should be no surprise in that, considering the sort of upbringing he must have suffered through; not that Obi-Wan knows much of it anyway, considering how quiet Anakin remains and how reluctant he himself is to ask personal questions. Nevertheless, from the way Anakin acted - finding his way into the Jedi Temple and declaring his trust to a sworn enemy rather than relying on his own Sith allies - it isn’t hard to infer that this man has had precious little reason to put his trust into anybody in his surroundings. It also aligns with the Sith ways, Obi-Wan speculates - and could only dare speculate, because truth be told he does not know all that much of the Sith outside of his research on ancient texts. Contemporary Sith are few. The Master might just make his own rules, and Darth Sidious - the Supreme Chancellor, Force have mercy - seemed like the type to play cruel games. So he has every reason to understand and empathize. And he truly does extend his most heartfelt compassion to this wayward Force-wielder.

That doesn’t make it any easier to deal with Anakin’s irritability whenever Obi-Wan comes back from a mission.

He’s clearly unhappy about Obi-Wan being away, especially if he discovers that the mission has been with Ahsoka. He only grows more upset and quick-tempered as time goes by; it begins with him upturning the decorative datapad shelves in the living room, escalating to a series of broken glasses and plates in the kitchenette; finally one day Obi-Wan comes back home to knives lodged in the wall, Anakin in the midst of pulling them out.

Anakin has the decency to look sheepish, even just slightly, as he silently puts away all the knives and hides himself in the kitchen completely. He cleans up, at least. In fact, he was almost always in the middle of cleaning up when Obi-Wan caught him in the act, which prompts the question: How many other times has he done this while left alone?

Obi-Wan only sighs. It does border on cruelty to keep somebody alone in these cramped quarters for weeks on end. He also knows that whatever measures he has set up to keep Anakin safe here - from the world, and from Anakin himself, - it would be a fatal oversight to underestimate the ability of a former Sith. He has no doubts that Anakin, even while one-handed and saber-less, could escape if he truly wanted to. The fact that Anakin willingly keeps himself stowed away in a Jedi’s quarters while desperately and entertaining himself through destructive means only to then be embarrassed about it… is a testament to some budding virtue, Obi-Wan supposes. And it only intensifies his guilt: it’s as if he’s taking advantage of Anakin’s trust to confine him to solitude, while he himself pushes back and back the kind of work a true mentor would need to engage in to help Anakin. The fact that he is fighting a war, or whatever is left of it, is no excuse.

It is with resolution that he stands up and heads into the kitchen. Their eyes meet as soon as he steps in; clearly enough, Anakin has been watching him. Anakin’s fingers grip the counter, knuckles blanched. Obi-Wan holds up his hands, moving as slowly and unpredictably as possible, and cuts to the chase.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go outside, Anakin.”

Anakin’s brows shoot up, but he still doesn’t unclench his jaws.

“I believe it’s rather unfair to keep you locked inside,” Obi-Wan explains. “After all, cooking can only do so much to spend all of one’s pent up energy.” He gives a small, gentle smile, inwardly anxious because of the way Anakin still looks at him with his guards up, shoulders squared, halfway between fight and flight. “I am not suggesting anything much, Anakin. Only a walk in the park, if it suits you. The decision is up to you.”

A moment or two passes in thick, awkward silence. Then Anakin, hesitantly: “Will you be there?”

It’s the first pleasant surprise Obi-Wan has had in what felt like an age. His smile grows, unbidden. “Yes, I insist.”

—

Autumn winds reel through his hair before rushing off to rustle in the foliage. The nightly air is crisp on his cheeks, and Obi-Wan doesn’t even think to tighten his robes around him; he enjoys a nice, chilly evening. Silence is alleviated by the song of insects in the grass, as they make their way down the serpentine path, round fountains and beds of flowers. Their robes flutter, and their hands are firmly linked.

It’s nothing that cannot be explained by strict necessity, or so Obi-Wan reasons: He must be able to make sure Anakin never strays from his sight, for safety reasons; and he dislikes the thought of putting any kind of binding or chains or even just a simple tied thread on Anakin. As usual, when all else fails, undertaking by hand is the solution - hence Anakin’s hand in his own, their palms warmly interfacing, their calluses fitting together.

The contact is also enjoyable, but that’s beside the point.

“I like the sky at night,” Anakin says, sudden but quiet. Obi-Wan glances at him to find Anakin not looking back at him for once. Anakin’s hood has long since slipped off because of the way he tips his head back to turn his eyes to the stars. Most of them are shrouded by gathering clouds, but some of them still shine through the dark.

“I see,” Obi-Wan muses. “May I ask why?”

For once, Anakin doesn’t hesitate to answer. “I like to look at the stars. They’re just suns, but far away. Can’t burn you, only blink at you.” Anakin’s hand tightens just a little. A patch of wildflowers gently glows when the two of them pass by. “When you blink back at them, you’re not alone.”

“And what if the stars are hidden?” Obi-Wan gestures, voice light, even as his heart sinks. He knows a lonely child, or one who used to be a lonely child, when he sees one. “What do you do then?”

The sigh that follows is lost in a gust of wind. There’s only the slightest of tremors in Anakin’s fingertips. They fall back into silence, deeper silence this time, as even the insects seem to quiet. The air feels earthy and damp with a coming rain. The sky blackens as clouds roil and thicken, and suddenly it’s dark as pitch and the comfortable coolness splinters into shivers under his skin. When the first drop falls, Obi-Wan reaches over to draw up Anakin’s hood for him. Anakin turns to him, eyes downcast.

“Then I’m alone,” he answers, belated and small.

—

“Maybe you’re right, Master.” Ahsoka picks up her steaming mug of tea, sinking comfortably into her amply cushioned seat on the couch. A strip of morning sunlight draws lazily across the room. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s working. He’s getting... nicer, lately. You should keep walking him.”

Obi-Wan chuckles at the turn of phrase. Walking him… “I don’t think it’s my doing,” he says, pouring a little more tea for himself. Anakin shuffles from one corner of the kitchenette to another, apron strings fluttering behind him. Obi-Wan shakes his head and takes a sip of tea, smiling. “I don’t think it’s my doing at all.”

[katsucutie]

i hate your guts (m)

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader genre: smut, humor warnings: smut, swearing (you know the good stuff) overview: class 1-a has this belief that you and katsuki hate each other, though one incident has their minds changed word count: 4.2k author’s note: this was written to fight my writer’s block and i happened to find a psycho-analysis of katsuki which helped somewhat and its quite interesting. anyways...the song choice while writing this was house of cards, also this was written in three days and i tried using any relevant medical terms i’ve learned so far in uni. hope you enjoy!! masterlist | ko-fi

Walking through the azure-rimmed gate you knew the day would be the same. Homeroom for ten minutes then classes back to back with a minor minute break in between, next an oh-so-needed fifty-minute lunch, and finally two classes to end the day. Not that you could complain, heroes in training must earn some type of education.

Though school wasn’t the worst thing invented, you can definitely say occasions in English class were not lackluster with Present Mic as the teacher. Or in math, when Midoriya yells out an inaccurate answer only to be corrected by Yaoyorozu. It's the little moments that bring laughter, or maybe it’s watching someone embarrass themselves in front of a class that's joyful.

And you could never forget the times where Jirou teased Kaminari for short-circuiting.

While all those moments are fun and dandy, 1-A can also be quite the chatterboxes and gossipy, especially when it comes to your feelings towards Bakugou. Believing that your relationship consists of mutual hatred, class 1-A constantly manages to tease both you and the blonde-headed male. Even All-Might manages to separate the two of you during training.

Although you never said anything against the rumors, it's quite humorous to see a school be so wrong in their thoughts. Is it not obvious that the glares the two of you send are not out of anger but endearment? Clearly not to Todoroki who claimed that Midoriya was All-Might’s secret love child, but that's beside the point. Additionally, you’ve yet to hear an accurate hypothesis as to why you and Bakugou would hate each other. Many of the theories revolve around Bakugou’s ‘anger problems’ but honestly, who doesn’t get mad?

Nonetheless, the rumors surrounding your alleged detestation toward the blonde sparked a little prank between you two. Pretending to hate each other until people catch on that you’re dating.

And the joke has been going on for quite a while, four months to be exact. Four months of pretending to hate in front of crowds, yet loving behind closed doors. Four months of experiencing the rush of adrenaline when you sneak around to his dorm room in the late hours of the night. Four months of leaving your friend groups to hang out during lunch.  

Four months of waking up early to walk to class with Bakugou. And don’t forget about four months of the blonde-headed male constantly breaking you away from your thoughts.

“Oi Y/n, break out of that daze and let’s go, we have thirty-minutes before class and I’d like to spend that time not pretending to hate you” Bakugou calls while molding his fingers into yours.

“Oh please, I’m not pretending you know I hate your guts” You smile, leaning into the broad male walking towards homeroom. “Do you think today will be the same?”

“Yes, those idiots could watch us kiss and still think we hate each other, though I can’t complain, their oblivion is better than if they were to pester us about our relationship” he snarks.

Mindlessly nodding in agreement, you and Bakugou wander through the purple-stained floors of U.A., passing by random classrooms, and peering out the glass windows that overlook the campus.

After twenty-five minutes of strolling through the halls, Bakugou and you turn down the corridor leading to class 1-A, while unlocking hands and prepping for your fake and falsely-interpreted loathing glares.

“Today marks day ninety-six of the class believing we hate each other” you whisper.

“They’re hopeless….”

“But if at any point, you want to stop pretending let me know… I wouldn’t mind, jokes are funny but you’re my top priority”

“Is Bakugou Katsuki getting soft on me?”

“No.. shut up-”

“And they're back at it again Ladies and Gentlemen… the feud between Y/n and Bakugou seems everlasting” Kaminari calls sliding open the tall door leading to class 1-A. Way to ruin a cute moment.

“Honestly the two would probably be best friends if they didn’t hate each other, they both like the same things” Oh they wouldn’t believe the interests you two share.

“Yeah, but their personalities are so different, they’re just not meant to be and that’s fine” What a shock your relationship would be then.

“I’m so glad that you’re interested in my ‘relationship’ with Lord Explosion Murder… but I have more important matters to attend to such as earning my education so that I can be a top pro-hero” you remark sliding into your chair. Your comments are never intended to insult your boyfriend, but teasing his choice of a hero name couldn’t hurt anyone.

Waiting for the remaining two minutes for class to start, you check your phone and see a message notification from a familiar contact.

Babe 💗: storage room during lunch?

Quicker than your mind made a decision, your fingers don’t hesitate to press the send button.

You: i’ll bring the key        

----------

Bakugou was a master of three things. Okay maybe more than three, but three traits excel. His talent, his mind, and his ability to use his fingers.

Bakugou’s talent is tremendous and has been able to advance his goals of becoming a pro-hero. He acknowledges that he was born with such an extraordinary quirk, and has a flair for using it. Notwithstanding the male’s breakdown and internal belief that he is inferior to his pre-quirkless childhood friend, Bakugou unceasingly exerts himself to be more than a student with talent.

His mind is magnificent and allowed Bakugou to comprehend multiple topics of interest. Placing third in the class’ midterm exam, it’s evident that he shines in academic settings. And though few peers in 1-A state that Bakugou fails in the social aspect, you claim the opposite. In their eyes Bakugou is brash, however, after spending time with the boy, you have viewed him as self-reflecting, with social skills that others cannot see.  

While brains and talent may all be magnificent qualities of the blonde, nothing beats Bakugou’s ability to use his fingers. Combined with both his talent and his mind, Bakugou has the ability to make both inanimate and living things explode. And that isn’t related to his quirk.

“You’re imagining events that haven’t occurred yet. Am I truly that talented?”

Flushed and blinking in a shocked manner towards the male in front of you, you ask him if his quirk was mind-reading.

“Hmmm… No, but after seeing you so embarrassed I’d love to have such a quirk so that I’d be able to view the thoughts inside that mind of yours, but I was gifted with explosions... You, on the other hand, were blessed with the ability to swap items on your command. A quirk so useful, especially in times like these when I don’t have a key to the storage room”

“Oh please, just admit that you use me to gain entrance into forbidden rooms” You tease, giving Bakugou the janitor’s key to unlock the storage room.

The male chuckles unlocking the door to the storage closet, “Maybe a bit, though you reap the benefits of getting it” Change of thought, maybe he is brash.

Shutting the door behind you two, you finally express your raw emotions towards your boyfriend, engulfing him in a hug.

“I missed you”

“You came over my dorm last night” What an ass, couldn’t he just accept your affection?

“Yeah, but you go to sleep at like eight-thirty, which means I have to leave you dorm before then, and then I’m stuck in my dorm with nobody to talk to until I go to sleep at midnight, that’s about three and a half hours being alone”

“You’re so clingy… it's cute”

“Is there anything else I can do to make you feel less lonely since I go to sleep at like eight-thirty and leave you alone’”

Bashfully looking down at the floor rather than your boyfriend, you mumble your request.

Releasing the hug, Bakugou smirks, poking fun at your diffidence, “With that ask, I don't think you can be shy… Are you sure that's what you truly want?”

Nodding your head you look up to the red-eyed male, taking in his dilated pupils. It's always been him that you’ve desired.

Accepting your form of consent, Bakugou kisses you, enveloping your figure while you sneak your hands around his neck to deepen the embrace. And although the two of you are in a storage closet skipping out on lunch, the feeling of epinephrine dispersing within your bloodstream, inducing fast heart rates, is blissful. A salacious rendezvous with the man you’ve come to love could never hurt anyone… as long as they didn't find out.  

And if one were to catch you two, would they truly stop two aroused students halfway from committing adultery? Would a teacher not be embarrassed if he/she watched as Bakugou hurriedly zips down your green skirt in order to slide his fingers inside of your warmth? Or would someone scamper along hearing the lewd mewls arising from your throat?

“You’re so loud Princess, we have to keep it down or else someone will hear us, okay?”

Yet the person to blame for such noises was Bakugou himself. One could imagine the boy having rough, unmoisturized hands from his explosive quirk, but his inheritance of glycerin allows him to easily travel in and out of you.

“You’re close aren’t you? I can tell. Your walls are contracting at a faster rate and tightening each time I pump my fingers into you. It's really hot too, especially knowing that the world believes you hate my guts when behind the scenes, I rearrange yours”.  

Words cannot describe the pleasure Bakugou exposes you to. A thumb pressed against your clitoris, his middle and ring finger dug past your labia, and you’re unraveling beneath him. He has you under his full control. And how Bakugou feels will determine your release. An untroubled Bakugou can earn you multiple chances of release, whereas the current Bakugou you’re experiencing will rip your attempt at euphoria, despite you being almost there.  

“Katsuki please, I was right there… I’m so close you even said it yourself” You plead, wanting to reach a climax.

“I don’t know… strenuous activities make me tired and I wouldn’t want to upset you with the hour I may fall asleep” Bakugou smirks while tasting his digits, “You taste like caramelized sugar, I wonder where that came about?”

“Suki please, don’t leave me like this”

“It’ll only be for a little while babe, but lunch is almost over, we have to go back to class. I’ll help you out at my dorm alright?”

What more could you do but nod, put back on your skirt, and pretend to hate Bakugou once more in public?

----------

The walk back to class was internally embarrassing. Arousal saturated your underwear, heat filling up between your legs and left you with a foggy mind. You couldn’t imagine pretending to hate Bakugou now when all you could think about was Bakugou hovering above you in his dorm room, aggressively ramming into your hole as you pleaded for mercy. But you’re in school containing students who are not Bakugou to distract you from your misery.

“Y/n pay attention to me, and why do you smell like caramel?” Well shit, is the cat out of the bag?

Looking up at the voice calling, you smile faintly in means of apologizing and mutter an incoherent response to Mina’s question.

“Sorry, and thanks I guess... It might be from the sweets I had during lunch”

“I see, well since you like sugary foods we should go to the bakery today after school, I’m sure the others would like to come too” The pinky bounces brightly.

“I can’t today, sorry! I’m super behind on work and barely understand what's going on in class, let’s go this weekend when I’m free?” What a Lie.

Fortunately, the promise of a raincheck is enough for Mina to back off from the situation and accept your rejection. Today would have been a perfect day to go out with friends, yet the blonde-headed boyfriend of yours decided to be unfair, leaving you to crave his affection. Though, the school day would be over soon enough with only two periods following lunch. And only then would you be able to gain some type of relief.

As if that ideology would be so simple.

Bakugou Katsuki is a man full of pride --rightfully achieved, of course, meaning he knew how and when to push your buttons. Right now being one of those times.

Despite wanting to pay attention in your world language class, Bakugou made it very difficult to do so. Especially knowing that he is the cause of your phone silently vibrating every three minutes in your pocket. He doesn't want you to forget he is the cause of your erotic thoughts. Rather, he’ll keep reminding you that he is controlling your excitement.

However, from the glance across the room, Bakugou didn’t look like the lead in this relationship. His eyes were majorly dilated, with his red iris visually smaller in circumference. Additionally, a prominent cherry hue spread across his cheeks, that one may call flustered from afar. Although, only the two of you understood each other’s physical response towards seduction.

Babe 💗: you look dazed

Babe 💗 : I don’t think that’s the best for someone who wants to become a hero, don't you think?

Babe 💗: this class is so important

Babe 💗: …

Babe 💗 : don’t look at me

Babe 💗: i'm not the teacher

Babe 💗: your so cute trying to ignore these texts

Oh how badly you wanted school to be over

-------------

As the clock hit 2:45 PM, you watch everyone around you hurrying to leave the school and have freedom. And once five minutes go past, 1-A is a semi-empty classroom with two students remaining. Two hormonal, amorous, epinephrine-surged students patiently waiting for their peers to leave the school grounds, so that they can walk to the dorms together in peace.  

Whilst hand-holding may be a shock to onlookers, if they had the capability to read your mind, myocardial infarction would sure to follow. Outstandingly too, if they did not foreshadow the events of you walking within the fourth floor of heights alliance and entering the second room from your left.

“Your room is so homey” You comment. Despite visiting the blonde’s dorm room on multiple occasions, the comforting aura never ceases to relax you.

“I would hope so, I don’t want to be reminded that we’ve been moved from our homes to our school campus in fear of malicious attacks against students”  

“Thanks for that… truly an amazing choice of words” You sarcastically remark. Not everyone needs a reminder of the traumatic incidents students of U.A. have been through, especially when it's clear that students of 1-A (and others) have not received enough therapeutic aid to cope with the events suffered.

One would think that Bakugou of all students would be most affected by trauma, starting from falling victim to the Sludge Villain incident, to being kidnapped by the infamous League of Villains, though he shows the opposite effects. While you cannot see inside the mind of Bakugou and tell if he is extremely traumatized by the incidents and is repressing his memories as a form of coping, you can see what he is physically doing. And at this current moment, you cannot see someone disturbed by his past, but impassioned with the ideas of what is to come.

Tossing your backpack to a discarded corner of Bakugou’s dorm, you throw yourself onto his bed, relishing in the comfort of his bedsheets. You’ve always loved his bed, your favorite moments with him have occurred there. Random naps while cuddling on Saturday afternoon, binge-watching cult-classics after a big exam, or simply having Bakugou’s powerfully built arms wrapped around you like they are now is unforgettable.

“I don’t understand how you’re so built? We go to the same school, attend the same classes and both do athletic training. I mean I’m not complaining because you definitely look good, but it's interesting how my figure compares to yours”

“That's like me asking why you’re so attractive, it's just luck within life, plus I like your figure, it blends perfectly with mine”. A man with such words can only follow with actions that prove it, and the blonde was sure to do so.

Except for when his phone goes off multiple times.

“I think you should check your texts, it may be important”

Halfway sliding off of your body, Bakugou pulls his phone out of his pockets to read his text messages. “It's nothing important, Kirishima just wanted me to join him and the others to go to some bakery since you didn't want to go”

“Oh okay-” Again you were cut off by the sound of his phone going off, however this time, the alert was a long-lasting ring, signaling that Bakugou was receiving a call.

“He’s so persistent, why would I want to go to a bakery when the best dessert is in front of me”

Lightly throwing his phone on the floor of his dorm, Bakugou discards any form of human interaction outside of the bed, focusing his attention on the one he loves.

“You know I really fucking love and care for you?” You do. You fully understand his love for you, from the way his iris shrinks to the rosy pigments formulating on his cheeks when looking at you. And you’ve never once questioned his devoutness towards expressing his adoration for you.

In moments like these, where Bakugou gently strips clothing from your body admiring every crevice, you know the two of you are in love. The boy may come off as an entitled brat, but when push comes to shove, he will bend over backwards trying to make you feel happy.

“You’re so mushy when you're in the feels”

“Oh forgive me for wanting to praise my girlfriend”

“I’m joking, but it is nice to know the feeling is reciprocated”

His silence you took as acknowledgment. ‘I love you too’ was a phrase you didn’t say often, it sounds too forced. Being obligated to say a phrase in return is meaningless when both parties understand each other’s feelings. And it's even more worthless when the actions committed speak louder than words. Bakugou does not need to hear you say ‘I love you’ constantly when he knows you dragging the zipper down of his pants and springing free his cock from the restraints of his underwear means the same thing.

And when you free yourself from the fondling of your boyfriend to meet your lips with the tip of his enraged dick, Bakugou has fallen prey to submission. Having yet to insert the body part into your mouth, you take notice of the male in front of you. Cheeks flushes, head lolled back, visible veins peeking from his sand-colored skin, and light pants as a result of excitement. Hot.  

One kiss to his head and you feel a little twitch. He wouldn’t last long. Understanding that thought you decide to mess with the male, putting half of his length within your mouth and pumping the other half. It was a shame he toyed with you earlier, now he’d face the repercussions. Light squelches filled the quiet air, and Bakugou’s groans got increasingly vocal overtime. The combination forming a sexual melody awaiting to be abruptly paused.

Releasing your lips from the now wet surface of the blonde’s dick, you hear the annoyed groan of the male. “Why’d you stop?”

“I’m sorry were you close?”

“Obviously, but that doesn’t answer my question”

“It’s just that strenuous activities make me tired Suki, and I wouldn’t to make you upset if I accidentally fell asleep”

Tch. The little sound of irritation fell from Bakugou’s mouth, only signaled one thing, rough sex.

“How I’ve come to date such a slutty brat is beyond me. Getting back at me isn’t going to help you in this situation. All you’ll receive is a punishment, though knowing you, you’ll probably enjoy it”  

Although enticed by the proposition, you failed to speak out after being muffled by your boyfriend. Your own skirt which the male had managed to take off earlier now laid scrunched up in your mouth. In addition to that, your arms were now constricted by a gold-rimmed belt.

And while whining in complaint about the new restrictions placed on you, Bakugou alters your kneeling position into one laying beneath him. The primal glare he sends you would signal fear to others, however, you know that the fun is only about to begin.  

Widening your legs apart Bakugou spares no time plunging two fingers into you, stretching the pair apart. Despite being unable to speak, your moans are heard loud enough by your boyfriend to increase his speed. Every sound encouraging the male to continue to berate your walls.

Thinking that the punishment you’ll receive is overstimulation by being one step away from ecstasy, you’re disturbed by the sudden absence of feeling in your core.

“I didn’t say you could come”

Twice today he’d done that. One denial was not enough for him, and that’s when you identified your mistake. Bakugou had the power to reject your advances to climax however many times he’d like. Maybe being a brat today wasn’t the best idea.  

Granted that Bakugou could undeniably be the most ruthless person when it comes to sex, today marked the first time he’d ever advanced into you without warning. The thrusts he implemented assaulting your hole. Even so, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“My god Y/n, you’re so tight, so perfectly made to take my dick”

“You make it so easy for me to unravel within the warmth of your pussy”

“Fuck I’m so close baby, I’m sure you are too”

He wasn’t wrong. The magnitude of the thrusts presented plus the physical restraints and multiple orgasm denials has sped up your ability to reach a climax. You were a mess underneath the man, hoping that soon he would grant you the gift of release. And by the looks of it, Bakugou would provide you with it soon. His cock inconsistently twitching in your warmth, notifying both you and him that he would come soon.

So when the removal of your gag began, you were not surprised. He was close and needed the extra aid of your uncovered moans to aid him to let go. Bare lewd noises ricocheted from the walls of Bakugou’s dorm, and you became thankful that Kirishima went to a bakery rather than located next door. Though had he been, he would have been overhearing an occasion so pornographic, one would think you’re in the business.

They wouldn’t be fully wrong either. Whilst uploading an adult video while training to be pro-heroes sounds absurd, Bakugou has no problem taping to two of you in the act. It may be the idea of possibly getting the video leaked or a similar exhibitionist-like kink, but the blonde constantly acts to videotape during sex.

“This would be perfect on video. The noises you make before you come are so fucking hot I’d replay them until the end of time”

Yet Bakugou is gravely mistaken. Yes, the noises you exhale are angelic, but compared to the rugged groan he calls while releasing his load in you is divine, and never fails in making you follow suit. So when you recognize that tone in addition to the feeling of warmth coating the inside of your walls, you have no choice but to mirror his actions.

“You’re so perfect” He states, slipping himself from your cunt and delivering pecks to your lips while he unbuckles his belt from your wrists. Post-sex always has Bakugou sappy, but how could you complain.  

Wrapping your freed arms around his neck, you pull the male closer to your embrace while nuzzling your nose into his neck. You felt the rapid pace of his heartbeat begin to slow down.

“Are you guys done, because I still haven’t received a response from Bakugou about if he wanted to go to the bakery or not?” What the fuck.

“Did you not press decline when answering Kirishima’s phone?”

“I thought I did…”

“Is that a no or?”

“Of course it's a fucking no, and don’t tell anyone else what you heard. Why were you even listen-” He hung up.

“You think we can go another day pretending to hate each other?”

“Nope… he definitely told the entire class”

“That's a shame, it was fun having them think I hate your guts”

“Awe how tragic… now get up so we can clean you off, heroes in training don't get UTIs”

How sweet.

----------

The trek to school the next day seemed no different than the past. You woke up early to walk to class with Bakugou and strolled the corridors. Only this time while sauntering into homeroom, nobody greeted the couple at the door, rather class 1-A smiled awkwardly as you held hands walking to your seats. Although you wouldn’t have known the reason for the tension in the classroom had Kaminari not jokingly mumble to Sero that he would’ve never expected the blonde to be an exhibitionist.

“Hm, if I recall correctly, I said not to tell anyone”

“I’m sorry my phone was on speaker when I called you” Great.

[rather-impertinent]

Impatience

A/N: some future fluff for any Thursday blues 💞 (how is it only Thursday?! The week is dragging so much. I need it to be Sunday more than I need oxygen!) Enjoy friends xo

***********

“Good morning, my love,” Dwight greeted Caroline as she entered his study just before ten o’clock.

“‘Good morning, my love’,” Caroline mocked, in a voice that sounded nothing like Dwight’s. Dr Enys frowned at her mockery. “It is not a good morning, though, is it?”

Dwight’s frowned deepened. “Why ever not?” he wondered. The sun shone fiercely outside, he did not have to be at Sawle until midday and it was Friday, which meant that Caroline would have scones for breakfast - her favourite. Had he forgotten something?

Caroline scoffed in frustration, as though he should already know why. “Have you any notion how long it took me to get out of bed this morning, hm?” She pressed her hands to the aching small of her back.

“Are you tired?” he asked gently, sympathetically. Caroline had been very tired of late as her time grew nearer and she had also had difficulty sleeping.

“Of course I’m tired!” she snapped. “I am growing a person! A rude person who kicks my ribcage in the middle of the night! And who has no regard for my back and will not cease growing! I want it out, Dwight, today,” she huffed impatiently, stamping a foot. “Is there nothing you can give me to arrange such a thing? There must be something. But of course you shall not give it to I because I am not one of your precious patients and so my trials are not as important to you,” Dwight opened his mouth to protest the absurdity of her claim but Caroline was not finished her frustrated rant, “Thank you very much for desk coupling, Dr Enys!” she scathingly concluded, slamming the study door shut as she exited in a full tantrum.

Dwight stared at the closed door with a mixture of utter confusion and slight bemusement; he fought the overwhelming desire to laugh. But laugh he could not, for if Caroline was still on the other side of the door, she would place him into her bad books for “mocking her trials” and only the Lord knew how long it might take for her to cross his name off the naughty list.

With a quiet chuckle and a shake of the head, Dr Enys returned to his reading material and picked up his quill to make notes on the manifestations of psychosis.

Frowning in deep concentration as he annotated his book, his mind racing at a mile a minute, Dwight’s ears suddenly pricked at the sound of clicking heels. He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, which informed him it was now half-past ten.

Tap, tap.

Dwight could not fight a snickering smile at the sound as he recognised the reluctant knock. “Come in,” he called, amusement colouring his tone.

The door slowly opened and Caroline appeared from behind it and closed it. She and Dwight stared at each other for a moment and Caroline rocked on her heels. “It’s possible I may have overreacted,” she conceded, dipping her foot in a stream of sunlight on the wooden floor.

Dwight chuckled, slightly pushed his chair back from his desk and held out his hand, beckoning Caroline over.

Pleased at having been so easily forgiven for her tirade, Caroline practically skipped over and carefully sat down on her husband’s lap. She felt his arm snake around her waist to hold her in place.

Dwight immediately pressed a soft kiss against her lips, which were sticky and tasted vaguely of plum preserve. So, she had eaten her scones and was feeling better. “I’m sorry you are feeling uncomfortable, my love,” Dwight murmured. “If there is anything practical I can do to help relieve it then let me know.” Practical as in not giving her a draught of ergot to facilitate early labour.

“I will,” she promised, her eyes soft; she reflected that she was lucky to have a husband who cared, for many women did not have that luxury and were simply a man’s chattel. Caroline loosely tied Dwight’s unknotted neckcloth into a pretty bow. She then comfortably wrapped her arms around his neck. “Dr Enys,” Caroline began, “I have been thinking.”

“Hmm?” Dwight wondered, absently drawing circles on her back.

A wry smile tugged on the corner’s of her mouth. “One day I think we should tell the child how they came to be,” she half-joked as she motioned to the desk.

A laugh erupted from Dwight’s chest and bounced off the walls of his study. “Are you mad? Why?”

“It appeals to me,” Caroline said with a smile, as though all things which appealed to her should automatically be given.

Dwight looked up at her, mirth dancing in his blue eyes. “Why so?”

Her mouth stretched into an amused grin. “It would be funny,” was Caroline’s only answer, which was punctuated with a casual shrug of her slender shoulders.

“So humour is justification for mortifying one’s child for life?” Dr Enys wondered, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Precisely, I knew you’d understand.”

Dwight laughed heartily but then sobered slightly as an observation about the time of day dawned on him. “Have you gone for your morning walk today?” he asked, narrowing his blue eyes at her.

Caroline avoided his gaze and drew lovehearts on the spotlessly clean desk for a moment. She then turned to look at her husband wearing a petulant pout and her best doe eyes. “I don’t want to,” she whined quietly. “My back aches and my feet ache, can we not skip the walk today?”

A firm shake of the head gave Caroline her answer; her sweet doe eyes and pretty pout no match for Dr Enys’ concerns for her wellbeing. “No, we cannot. It is important to get a little light exercise every day, it helps to keep you strong,” he patiently explained for the tenth time this month. “And you need to be strong,” Dwight said more softly, smoothing his hand over her swell.

Caroline shot him a sympathetic look; it seemed the closer her time came, the more concerned Dwight became. He was worried and excited in equal measure, and he had been very excited from the moment she told him she was with child. Of course Caroline knew that childbirth was precarious, everyone knew that, but she could not say that she was afraid - for she knew Dwight would be by her side, and would see them through. “Alright,” Caroline placated, reassuringly rubbing his chest. She then sighed and leaned forward. “Well?” she asked with her fair eyebrows raised at her husband, “Give your rotund wife a push so that she may stagger to her feet like a drunkard,” Dwight laughed at this, “and then pray escort her to see the swans,” Caroline cheerfully commanded, a light smirk on her face.

Obeying her orders, Dwight gently shoved Caroline with one hand on the small of her back and held her hand in his other one to steady her. Without too much difficulty, Caroline was on her feet, peeking out of the window and enthused by the cloudy, sunny day which awaited them.

Dwight stood up and shook out his legs to regain the feeling in his numb thighs; he then looked across the room and whistled. “Horace, come boy,” he beckoned, tapping the desk with his palm.

Horace sighed heavily and trudged his way across the room, pausing twice to control his laboured breathing.

“Why have you summoned him?” Caroline asked with a quiet laugh of disbelief. “You know he will not walk.” Her eyebrow was arched and her lips pursed into a smile.

“I had hoped he might like to chase the swans; he could use some exercise,” Dwight pointed out as the pug wheezed and grunted miserably at their feet.

Caroline laughed musically. “He barely chases treats anymore, Dr Enys. We both know that he shall join us, walk perhaps five steps and then proceed to lie down on the grass and refuse to move unless carried, yes?”

A sigh escaped Dwight’s lips. “I suppose you’re right,” he conceded, narrowing his eyes at the family pet, who frowned up at the doctor with wide puppy-eyes. They stared each other down for a moment; Caroline schooled a smile, knowing full well how this showdown would end. “Oh, dammit, fine,” Dwight caved with a heavy sigh, bending to pick up the obese pug from the floor; Horace stuck his tongue out in smiling victory.

Caroline scrunched her nose at Horace and smiled as she reached over and scratched his ears fondly. “I thought dogs did not to be carried, Dr Enys?” Caroline quipped.

The doctor scratched under Horace’s chin. “They are not,” he confirmed. “But when one’s dog will not walk unless carried first then what choice does one have?” Dwight and Caroline shared a chuckle.

“It is quite the conundrum,” Caroline conceded, her tone only slightly mocking, “But thankfully I know of doctor with a brilliant mind who should have no trouble solving such an issue,” she smiled softly at him and Dwight returned a bashful smile. “Shall I write to him and ask his opinion?” she then teased.

Dwight shook his head, laughing quietly. “You are unbelievable.”

“You love me,” Caroline said in a confident sing-song voice.

Placing his hand on her shoulder, Dwight leaned in and kissed her; her lips were still sticky and he found it oddly endearing. “I do,” he confirmed. “Very much so.”

Horace barked impatiently and wriggled under Dwight’s arm. The doctor struggled trying to keep him aloft. “Horace!” he hotly reprimanded. “Alright, enough, we are going!” Dwight informed the pug, who seemed to be appeased by this information.

Caroline, too, was glad to finally be going, having already envisioned the warm sun on her face, the smell of the grass, the wispy soothing breeze, the gliding of the swans; she sighed happily.

“Did you know swans mate for life?” Dwight asked conversationally as he opened the door of his study for them to leave.

Caroline gently rolled her eyes; Dwight’s daily fact firing made her feel dizzy at times. How did he even know these things? It was quite impressive, if a bit exasperating. “You and swans shall not have that in common if you delay my walk a second further, Dr Enys,” Caroline warned, the ghost of a smile on her pink lips.

Dwight grinned at her humour; one of his most favourite of her many endearing qualities. “Understood, my love.” Dwight offered his wife his free arm, the other being preoccupied with holding Horace, and Caroline accepted it.

Feeling momentarily sad that their frequent walks together - which involved Dwight’s undivided attention - would soon end, Caroline leaned into Dwight’s side and laced her fingers through his, deciding she would savour their last few weeks or days alone. As Dwight rubbed his thumb gently against her hand and placed a tender kiss against her temple, Caroline forgot all about her aching feet as they walked out the back door and into the sunshine, chattering animatedly about what the future held for them.

[royal-writer]

A Garden Flourishes

Yes a lot of this was absolutely inspired by prompts and ideas from Ammy I won’t deny that. But not all of it. Good it feels so good to write Essamon again.

Essätha twisted her mouth up and down with confusion. The paper in her hands crinkled as she looked over the sketchy design; turning it over to the left and the right. The drawing looked like any other fungus to her. A bulbous cape shape that drooped low with a thick steam.

“I don’t see what the big deal about this thing is. It looks like any mushroom to me.”

To her left, Amon cleared his throat softly. Her eyes shifted over, watching as he adjusted the rolls of his sleeves. Her eyes naturally drifted over up to his face, finding the neutral restraint in his expression. His level-headed gaze made sweeping gestures over the ground, and up to her where the sunlight struck his features perfectly.

“Addison’s blood are saprophyte that have a lot of health benefits, actually,” explained the nobleman. “The scribble the man offered us is hardly accurate; on average they have very flat caps and more girth on the stalk. Their tops will be a brilliant red tapering into a pinkish hue, with a brownish-pink shoot.”

She gave a quiet snort in response. “Yeah, I heard him going on about the potion. I’m just hoping I pick the right kind of red mushroom, and not something poisonous.”

A brief glimmer of hesitation came upon the Briarton Lord. His lips formed a thin line as he fidgeted with the edges of his cloak.

“If you’re feeling uncertain, perhaps let me take a look before grabbing something. The only known specimen similar would be a fly agaric, but their caps are speckled with white spores that is distinctly different. Still there are toxic or hallucinogenic properties to many fungus, and if you feel at all uneasy, I might be able to identify… Why are you looking at me like that?”

Realizing that she was staring with her mouth slightly agape, Essätha snapped her jaw shut and offered a polite grin. She drank in the vision of his flustered appearance. A deep burgundy color arising over his face and the rounded edges of his black pupils as he shifted uncomfortably beneath her gaze.

Trying to withhold her giggles, Essie murmured gently, “I just find it fascinating how broad your mind is. You seem to know a little about everything. I appreciate the offer, I’m sure I’ll need it.”

Amon gave a gruff note in response. His hand twisted into his collar, loosening it from his throat as he muttered: “I wasn’t always considered so gifted.”

“Well no one is born with intelligence, you earn it. Besides,” her own cheeks grew rosy as she swallowed nervously, “I think you’re wonderful- I m-mean it’s wonderful or I suppose, you’d have to be wonderful to, to know so much uhm… It’s an endearing quality, that’s all.”

A lope-sided grin greeted her. A splash of unease settled into a steady appearance of warmth and calm. He tentatively reached out to her, placing a hand upon one of hers that held to the edges of the parchment.

“I appreciate that, Essätha, thank you. You’re not disappointed to be working mushroom hunting with a half-wit un-masculine scholar?”

“Firstly, you are no half-wit scholar. Secondly, no I am not. I consider myself very lucky. I get both a brilliant huntsman and well-read man at my side. I’ll be both safe, and in good conversation. Thirdly, if anyone were to taunt your manhood simply for understanding plant-life, they should be ashamed. I think it’s a both a useful trait to avoid deadly plant-life and adorable, because you can distinguish specimens and grow your own gardens and crops. I’m fairly sure I got the best partner in this search. I appreciate the brawn as much as the brain.”

The rough calluses on Amon’s hand folded gently over her own. There was such care in his grasp that her heart leaped and stammered against his touch. His thumb pattered a swirl against the back of her hand. It stalled her of air; looking up into the magnificent gallant traits of the handsome Lord’s complex. Her fingers craved to stroke through the depths of his black hair and comb the sections that fell over his his face to better gaze upon all the imperial shaping of his features.

A twinkle glistened in his gaze from the dappled sunlight. Much of his blush began to dissipate, leaving only a wash of faded red behind.

“You think too high of me. A man with too much time and his head stuck in volumes of books is not so impressive.”

“Or perhaps you think too low of yourself,” she countered with a cocky smile.

When he passed her a doubtful glimpse, the Yuan-ti added on firmly: “Not all choose to learn, or to better their understanding of the world and its horizons, but you have. You work your mind, as you do your body. Both are important. I think it says a lot that you tended to feeding all portions of yourself. It rounds out your characters. You use both to win the battle. You use both to care for and look after the best outcomes for those you protect. Learning might not seem impressive, but what you do with it can be. It’s amazing the knowledge you hold. You’re very brilliant m’lord; I’d trust your insight, instinct, and intelligence any day with great appreciation.”

Chuckling quietly, Amon brought her hand closer. His words came through a soft exhale as he praised: “It doesn’t matter what anyone says to counteract you, does it? You always have a thousand well-placed phrases to dispute them.”

“There is no dispute, m’lord, I am simply correct and I know this.”

“You most certainly are, Essie,” he agreed, guiding her hand further up. “My apologies for doubting you.”

If her heart had fluttered before, it absolutely danced now. A feather-light kiss brushed against her knuckles as Amon bowed his head in an apologetic display. She swallowed; finding it difficult against the hammering of her pulse beating so rapidly through her veins.

As her hand was released, Essie brought it nervously back to the paper. She began nervously folding the creased edges together once more. It was a poor attempt to hide her shakiness. The very least it did was give her an excuse not to stare directly towards him. How just a small peek at him made her head dizzy, her knees weak and wanting to collapse. A light feeling entered her chest and by the gods, the angel’s sang a chore about him.

Men should not be allowed to be so pretty. Amon most certainly should not be allowed so many miraculous qualities. It made being around him nearly impossible. Where did the wonderful qualities about him end? He was sharp, inventive, kind, hard-working, trustworthy, fearless, observant, funny, charming…

“By any chance, did you ever hear the tale of how Addison’s blood came to be?”

Tucking the folded scrap into her pocket, Essätha gave a shake of her head as she dared to glance back up to the gentleman.

“I’m afraid I do not, m’lord Amon.”

For all the amusement that had been in his appearance when he’d kissed upon her hand, the slate had been wiped clean. He stared at her for a few breathes, his gaze searching. A fraction of awe began to dawn on him, and the nobleman appeared to shake it down before he answered.

“They say that when the world was new, Pelor aided in the creation of humans. He created a woman so lovely, the gods themselves fought over her. Pelor, too, became deeply infatuated with her. A feud began the likes of which had never existed. Those on the planet and those in the heavens; men and women were entranced by the pure essence of this woman’s divine beauty.”

“Eventually, the gods tried to ascend her into their heavenly realm,” he continued; his voice dropping a few levels. “However Vecna; a wizard who obtained godhood, snapped his fingers and destroyed her. Some will swear he was jealous, some stories say he despised her looks, and other tales are written to say it was just his madman quality to try burning the joy of all people to the ground; and if it meant taking the life of the maiden to cause all the suffer, so he would do so.”

“And with her death,” Amon sighed, “the woman’s… remains fell upon the earth; painting the earth crimson with her blood and what was left of her body. From the woman; Addison’s, remains the earth fed upon her and birthed a new plant. The mushroom has a healing property either in honor of her, or because of her for she was as beautiful on the inside, as she was on the out.”

As Amon grew silent, she stared past him with her nose slightly wrinkled. All of that, just to gain a woman’s favor? What did she think of all of this? What a burden, she must have thought to have carried when not just one, but multiple realms, deities, and people were hurtling themselves into fights for your hand.

“That sounds… awful. That poor woman.”

“It is a shame,” he agreed softly. “I’m sure she had much more to give the world than just her appearance.”

She nodded slowly in response, looking away. This whole experience now felt ten times more dreadful. If one were to believe such a legend, they were harvesting a plant that was in creation to a completely unnecessary and horrible death. It made the simple looking mushroom seem both sinister and depressing now.

Essätha hoped the woman; if she was real, could forgive them using the fungus born from her unfortunate demise to create healing elixirs.

“Gods must have grown sightless, wiser in their control, or must have a pact not to meddle in mortal’s lives anymore,” Amon whispered, stepping past her. “I couldn’t imagine the endless battles they’d have in your name for a chance at your hand. It would be a catastrophe… A simple man wouldn’t stand a chance.”

A startled rush of head bloomed suddenly in her face. With a choking sound for air, she studied Amon’s backside as he continued walking ahead without her, checking the leaf litter and along tree bases as he went.

By the gods, what did he mean? Was that some sort of admittance? A joke? A compliment but in mean’s of other men? What was the point of that?

What if she didn’t want a god, she wanted to argue. What if I don’t want a god? What if all she wanted; all I wanted, was one good, honest, ‘simple’ man? One with a good heart. One that, one could hope, would have plenty of love to share…

Her lips shook, and she reached up to nervously fiddle with the bangs hanging to frame the outline shape of her face. Unwilling to voice her questions, she rummaged low on the banks of the forest floor, hoping for signs of a reddish growth.

From the corner of her eye, she could make out Amon kneeling low. His head turned slightly in her direction and he stared. No shame, no remorse, just a quiet unspoken interest lingering in the air.

She turned her face away to continue half-haphazardly studying the undergrowth, before risking her face bursting into flames beneath the handsome Lord’s hopeful regard of longing.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was frustrating just to be sitting around all day. There was nothing ‘relaxing’ about wasting time at some patrician’s estate, waiting around to see if the cultists would strike again. They should be out there doing something. With as many people as they had in their group, at least half of them could be out trying to gather evidence and reports on the whereabouts of these villains while the other half sat on their areses.

The only good that came out of all of this was that she was given the opportunity to be alone. With a lush cultivation of plant-life out back, Essätha found plenty of space to wander in silence.

There were rows of colorful buds and blooms. Flowers that reached for the sky, and others slunk low. Various textures and designs, so many things to fill the flowerbeds to the point they spilled into the walkway. It was a spacious acre of greenery, with no shrub or plant standing over four or five feet. It seemed unlikely that anyone would be able to hide well out here from sight, but it didn’t let her guard drop.

She greeted the agriculturists with a respectful ‘hello’ as she passed, eyeing them a bit while they worked. Her mind held to each face best she could. She hoped none of these people to be the help of some nasty creed, but thought best to try memorizing their features just in case.

A few rows away, Essie spotted the estate owner’s young son admiring the garden. His upturned face lit with joy as he caught her eye, waving an ecstatic hand her way.

The sun’s rays played off his cream garments and cool umber skintone wonderfully. As Essätha turned the corners of the garden, she made note not of his shining eyes staring with anticipation upon her, but upon the shadowy figure hidden close to the princely boy’s side.

“Miss Essätha-”

“Master Lucas,” she greeted with a nod and smile. Her head inclined slightly to the right, glancing over the figure that stood beside him.

The other nobleman was slightly hunkered down, examining the plants. His face showed some distaste for the root system of one of the small hedges, which appeared to be entangled and popping out of the soil as another nearby brush tried to ensnare it’s position in the ground. The slightest breeze ruffled the sections of hair that hung lower against his face, which he pushed aside with an absent hand.

Her smile shone in her words as Essätha mouthed quietly, “M’lord Amon.”

The nobleman grunted, leaning back on his heels as he raised a squinty-eyed look up to her.

“Ah. Yes, your compatriot Amon thought it would be wise to have some sort of security if I was to leave the building.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Essätha stated with a smile. “Lord Amon’s simply looking out for you. Wouldn’t want someone snatching you up now, would we?”

As she spoke, the Yuan-ti woman stepped around the duke. The man appeared to deflate to the lack of recognition offered his way as she offered out a hand to Amon. He offered a broad smile in response, grasping upon her palm with a gentle grip as she helped hoist him back up.

“Thank you, Essätha.”

“My pleasure, m’lord.”

It took Amon a minute to gradually let go of her hand. Essie brought it nervously up to her face, pushing the hair out of her face that the small gusts tried to blind her with. From beneath her lashes, she looked up shyly into the quirky handsome smile the Briarton Lord offered her.

“Ahem,” Lucas coughed, taking hold of her arm gently. “I now have you here, Essätha. I feel quite safe in your presence. Perhaps we could enjoy the privacy of the garden together?”

She snorted, giving a short airy laugh to the man’s suggestion. Beside her, Amon gave a narrow-eyed glance to the side and shifted his jaw unpleasantly.

“I appreciate the praise, but I’m not the safest person to be with. If you want security, you won’t get much better than Amon. He’s a true fighter. I’m simply a parlor trick of a woman, nothing more.”

Lucas opened his mouth to respond, but Amon headed the charge first as he cut in: “Essätha, do not tell this man lies. You are a skilled sorceress. Your casting abilities and spells take on an art form. There is a raw power to your magic that cannot be denied or argued.”

Her cheeks blushed faintly. Fumbling for her words, she turned her face from him to Lucas as the later finally put his own voice to action.

“You see? Amon agrees you are capable. We should be safe alone.”

Exhaling a breath, Essätha passed the young man a smile. Her eyebrows pulled down in a sign of uncertainty as he ran his hand over her arm, dropping it away from her to beckon with his fingers for her to take his hand.

“Well, I feel much safer with Lord Amon around…”

This time she couldn’t miss the shade of disappointment on the young heir’s face. It was small and brief, before he controlled his features masterfully. His pain closed up, and Essätha felt immediately bewildered and ashamed. She’d only responded with honesty. Of course she wanted Amon around, why would anyone want to discourage his presence?

She gave a small gasp as Amon lightly placed his hand upon her shoulder. He moved to retract it, but she reached back to place her hand over top of his.

A glimpse over her shoulder, and the eclipse over her heart fell away. The heat in her face burned with an inferno as she smiled, meeting the sea of blue she found herself lost swiftly in.

Lucas made a sound in the back of his throat, and their hands dropped away, the moment lost. It left a strange feeling of cold in her soul as their eyes tore awkwardly apart to stare separate ways.

“Miss Essätha, if I may-”

She peered back at the aristocrat as he spoke up, spotting him plucking a flower from upon a large leafy stalk. He’d barely raised it towards her, when Amon’s arm shot out to block her frame.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the Emerald Expanse Lord snapped. “Essätha, don’t accept that flower.”

The younger nobleman knitted his eyebrows together. He opened his mouth to explain, but Amon stepped forward, gently coaxing her back.

“It was a gift-”

“That is foxglove, you dolt,” Amon fumed. “Handling the plant alone can drop your heart-rate. What are you trying to do, hurt her?”

“I- I didn’t know-”

“You don’t know what’s in your own garden? Pelor boy, don’t touch anything then.”

Infuriated, the lad ground his teeth together. He dropped the bloom, taking a step forward and straightening his posture as he hissed: “It was an honest mistake!”

Amon curled his lip. Essätha gazed between the two of them, dumbstruck by their explosive fury. Each of them were rigid and tense like a bowstring ready to pop, or let lose an arsenal of arrows.

“What would you give to her next? Hooker’s lips? Clitoria?”

“Amon!” Essätha gasped. Part of her was astonished by his venom, and the other part shocked to hear such vulgar names. There couldn’t possibly be plants honestly named that…

“It sounds like you’d be well experienced in such names,” the man coolly responded. He adjusted the layers of his clothing to try appearing nonplus to the attack on his smarts. It didn’t settle well, with his flared nostrils and slits for eyes.

“A true gardener would know a vast variety of plants, and what is in his garden. Like how you shouldn’t have camellia in the same flowerbed as periwinkles like you do; they need different soil types.”

Swatting Amon lightly on the shoulder, Essie passed an accusing look up at him. He seemed to lower his haunches; so to speak, and relaxed his posture. Though he didn’t appear any more or less pleased, he looked off to the side with a huff.

Sighing, she dropped her head politely to the adjacent man as she murmured, “Master Lucas, I’m so sorry-”

“It’s not you who should be sorry, miss Essätha.”

“You’re right,” Amon agreed quietly. “It should be the one offering potentially dangerous plants in a poor attempt at courting.”

“I will certainly never try to do miss Essätha any intended harm,” Lucas shot back in a gravely low tone. “What would you have given her? A rose? Commoner ideals.”

Hoping the two bickering nobles would unruffle their feathers when parted, Essie reached out and tugged upon Amon’s wrist. He begrudgingly budged, but did not remove his glare from upon Lucas as they stepped around him.

“Roses are traditional,” Amon grumbled softly. “There’s nothing wrong with roses.”

“Typical-”

“Although,” he drawled, grounding his feet. For a horrid moment, the Yuan-ti woman thought for sure they were going to gripe into another confrontational argument but as she tossed a cross look up to the Lord, she realized his sights were still solely upon her. An endearing smile, and awaiting pupils moving over her face the moment she looked up to him.

“I would search years for a kadupul plant, for her.”

A curious silence followed his words. Finally, Lucas resented with an irate tone to ask the question both he and Essie had been thinking.

“What is a kadupul plant?”

Smugly, Amon raised his voice as he explained: “A plant that flowers only every four or five years. It blooms only at night, and by day the petals wilt and cascade to the ground. Pick it, and the delicate petals fall apart. It’s a very rare and hardly witnessed flower; priceless, you might say. Much like Essätha herself.”

She knew her mouth was hanging open, so she clasped a hand over it to try hiding her shock. It didn’t, of course. Her eyes were wide as saucers as she looked out into the garden. The whole world seemed strangely brighter than it had just a few moments ago.

Who could respond to something like that? Gods she must look stupid. She fidgeted her hands in front of herself with a timid energy. That was the compliment that overruled all compliments; said with clear sincerity and warmth. But if that’s how he thought of her, then…

“I’m going back inside,” Lucas bitterly spoke up. “Enjoy the garden view.”

“I’ll definitely be enjoying the view,” Amon murmured.

Despite knowing exactly where the cliché statement was going to lead, Essätha focused her peripherals on the frame of a proper, dignified man at her side. Sure enough, the Illiad Patriarch had his face turned towards her.

As the sound of stomping feet carried down the path, she jolted as Amon’s arm moved beside her. It created a hooked impression close to his side, as he waited with a patient, hopeful expression.

“Would you care to enjoy the garden with me?”

She cast a shy gaze up to Amon while linking her arm through his. Her cheeks puffed up; reaching out to give him a gentle shove with her other hand.

“That wasn’t very nice, m’lord.”

“He was going to give you a poisonous flower; was I supposed to just let him?”

“I meant everything after the lethal foxy flower thing you said,” she stated, clutching her fingers to the bend of his elbow.

He gave a rough exhale, glancing up to the sky as his free hand reached up to scratch his beard. In the very next breath, he responded: “Foxglove. It was foxglove… And yes, I suppose you’re right. I was just frustrated. I have a feeling these people picked random plants they thought were nice, and threw them together without knowing the standards they require to raise. I’m not sure if their gardeners are aware of what they’re handling. Some of these could cause someone or a pet to become very ill. It’s irresponsible.”

“Well if that’s how you feel, maybe we should browse while we walk so you can mark things incorrect?” she teased.

He gave a quiet chuckle at that, slowly nodding his head as though the thought appealed to him.

She thought of asking him about his other hostilities, but bit her tongue. Or if he’d meant what he said, about the rare couple-year blooming flower.

But it all seemed so surreal. Maybe it was just the spur of the moment thought. Maybe he was just trying to show off his field of knowledge (which, truth be told, she could stroke the man’s ego for hours on given the chance). It felt like the moment had hardly existed, even just mere seconds ago.

With an encouraging hand, she felt she was floating down the walkway as Amon began to point out different plants to her. All the while, sneaking out facts; or voicing his unhappiness to their treatment or how their colors were off due to their environment.

Essätha just smiled, nodding along to his comments or asking her questions. Even the ones that made her feel stupid, that he answered without so much as a snicker. Calm and understanding; present in the moment as she was.

By the Gods, if it didn’t make her want him even more.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It didn’t matter anymore.

They all knew.

Everyone knew her for the failure she was. What she had done, where she’d come from, what she was capable of. The string of messes left behind. The people who trusted her and found themselves torn to pieces. By Hell’s Gates even she was surprised; hearing her father was alive and existed out there somewhere. There was someone out there who should have; could have been there for her her whole life and found it easier to be absent.

They had built up a trust in her. Friendship. Family. She even thought; she almost believed, that maybe, there was something…

A soft rapping echoed against the door.

Essätha stilled, burying her face further into the comfort of her pillows and blankets. Given enough time, they would go away. Their persistence would stop.

“Essätha? Could you open the door, please?”

A muffled groan echoed in her throat. Grabbing a fistful of the sheets, Essie yanked them partially up over her head.

There was a sigh outside the door. She could hear the quiet thud of Lord Amon’s boots as he paced up and down the hall.

They never left.

He paced up and down the hall relentlessly. Sometimes there was silence, as he came to a halt before the door. Then the pacing would begin again, and he would sigh once more.

She could imagine his hand pushing through his hair with frustration. The illuminated candle light from the hall moving over his eyes. The shift and grind in his jawline. The way he would breath out heavily and rub a hand over his face, against his whiskers, and stare at the door.

The hours of the night grew longer. Still she could hear his feet dragging.

Tilting her head, she drew out her voice in a hiss: “Go to your room.”

Amon’s pacing came to a halt, and a whispering voice pressed to the door: “After I’ve spoken to you. Essätha, please… You never gave up on me. I’m not giving up on you.”

Her lip wobbled. Tucking her face into the nearest pillow, she let out a quiet sob. Every muscle strained. Grabbing for the edges of the cushion, she howled with grief into the mattress.

All that remained of her pride was a wounded animal, licking scars that healed in disjointed fractures. Too many years of swallowing her hollow desolation. All she ever did was try to keep the past beneath her; try to keep the taint of her touch from breaking anything or anyone else. She’d finally began to feel like the strings that controlled her no longer existed.

It no longer felt so. Spiraling out of control; down the drain through the hole into a void.

As the shuffling began again in the hall, Essätha gradually clawed her way to the edge of the bed. Her face was dry; her eyes not red with tears that she could not find. But her insides ached, and as she got to her feet and crept for the door, she shook. She hesitated.

She didn’t recall grabbing the doorknob, but it did indeed open into the dimly-lit hall with candlewax lanterns turned low.

Amon stood perfectly silhouetted into the doorframe. His head angled down; staring into her shrank form as she looked upon the floor.

“I have nothing to say-”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Essätha,” the nobleman retorted swiftly. “You were defending yourself.”

She grabbed for the edge of the door, but Amon placed his hand against it. It moved as she pulled it forward; but slowly. He would let her shut him out, if she wanted. But he would continue to wait outside her door, with shadows under his eyes, until he had gotten it out.

“And now I’m trying to defend all of you from me,” she snarled. “So if you would just please-”

“I’m not afraid of you, Essie.”

There was reassurance in his voice. A soft lull; certain and gentle. She didn’t shy away from his touch as he took hold of her hand, removing it from the door to run his fingers along tenderly.

She snorted. “You should never trust a snake, m’lord.”

“That is like saying you should not trust an Illiad, because of the misconceptions of a father.”

“There is a difference. Snakes bite. They strike. They can be poison-”

“No snakes strikes without giving a warning,” he countered, stepping closer. “And you’re no one’s poison. You were alone with the world standing against your survival. The man was trying to kill you, Essätha, you were defending yourself.”

“What about the man at the dock, or the boy at the river, or the boy in the fire-”

“Those were accidents; you had no intentions of hurting anyone. It’s not your nature. It’s not because of what you are. I’ve never met someone who would do anything to save a life. You think you’re indifferent to it all, or that some part of you is wrong for what happened but you’ve been robbed of a life you should have had. By Pelor’s Light, Essätha, you are not what people have written you out to be.”

The weathered hands that held to her own let her go. She plunged into icy waves; drowning for a brief moment before the warmth returned. Carefully holding to her face, Amon gently encouraged her to lift her head up to meet his eyes.

“Look at me, Essie. Do I look afraid to you?”

She swallowed the thick lump in her throat, shaking her head.

A small smile formed on his face. The broad shape of his rough fingertips circled beneath her wet eyes. Incomprehensibly soft; it seemed to make the tears spill over more as her breath labored.

“You are just a flower, hiding your light deep in your roots. You didn’t know how you would bloom; you could not see as you did, chasing the sun even on your darkest days that as you opened up to the world how beautiful you came to be.”

“You have a kind and inspiring heart of beauty, Essätha,” Amon murmured as he wiped away tears from her cheeks. “I’m sorry the world has mistreated it so. You deserve much more then what it handed you; much, much more. But I promise: I’m not here to hurt you. I won’t turn away from you. I am here for you, whenever you want me, always.”

In the ugliest, most distrustful, frightened part of her mind a voice whispered that he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t possibly mean it. No one wanted to stay. No one wanted her. No one wanted the trouble, the baggage, the constant looks over the shoulder. No one was capable of sticking it out. She couldn’t blame them for it either; she was a mess. Fueled with quiet insecurities, a big mouth, enough sass and pride in all the strangest places to drive anyone crazy.

Yet even the most doubtful sounds in the back of her mind doubted themselves. There was an earnest look in the worry carved in the sculpture of his gorgeous face. He stroked away her tears with cautious fingertips; as if touching her too roughly would bring her pain. Such honest intentions in his words; such devote affection in the graze of his hands.

She crumbled. She cracked.

All the words she wanted to hear; all the understanding she prayed to have. None of it she expected of him. None of it she dared to want far or wide; only wishing her mother was there, with her innocent sense of self and ability to see good and love in all things. That had been her unattainable dream. Never guessing the reality of it could ever come from anyone else.

When she thought she would collapse, Amon let go of her face to hold her in close. When there was no more strength in her legs, and she hung limp in his arms and her face pressed into his shoulder, he cradled her. The strength in his arms never wavering. The softness of his breath tucked against her ear as he whispered soft words of encouragement she could only just barely make out as she wept against him.

It felt like releasing a lifetime of guilt and shame. Which, essentially, is exactly what it was.

And with it, an empty place inside of her began to fill with something entirely different and overwhelming all at once. A seedling erupting from it’s shell all at once; showered in tears and warmth and light so that it flourished all at once.

It was thrilling. It was scary. It was overwhelming and felt like utterly too much for her heart to contain.

In that moment, she knew she loved him far more then she could have ever imagined. It had been there, hiding, growing, hidden beneath the crushing weight of buried doubts. When the rocks were cracked, the life took off across vast parts of her heart and soul until there was no greater feeling to reside so safe and snug in his arms.

How ever was she going to live without him, she no longer knew. And that petrified her more than any monster, villain, or lonely night ever could.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

From the relative safety of the balcony, Essätha looked down upon the courtyard with an easy smile. The sun was bright and high in the sky, and the days were finally growing warm enough to take off the spring cloak and let the gusts of warmer air caress over bare shoulders. The air smelled of fresh life, and an unfortunate aroma of manure.

Though the later was an unappealing scent, it wasn’t going to last long. A week at most once they got the spread and weathering going, along with some cedar chips mixed in to try keeping out unwanted pests.

The very best part about it was, of course, the view. Placing her arms upon the banter, Essie leered down at Amon’s shirtless frame as his spade hit the ground. He’d remove a pile of dirt, pitch it aside, and continue the pattern until he was satisfied with the depth. A wonderful dappling of sweat, just barely visible in the light.

Every God could come crawling out from their cosmos and realm to shame her, and she’d simply shrug. What could you do? With a body like that, her Lord have mercy. It was an enticing view, and she had a wonderful view from up here The muscles in his back shifting, the firmness of his arms, the ripple in his shoulders, the taut physic, the slight tummy, his chest hair, dear Gods.

Her tongue darted out as she let out a hum of appreciation, pressing her legs restlessly together. The only way to get a better look was to have him front and center. She’d caress her hands all over him; nice and slow, leisurely. He’d try to touch her and she would tut him gently, pushing his hands away and like the gentleman he was, he would obediently let her have her fun with him. He’d groan her name; raspily begging to stroke her, to kiss her, anything. And she’d smile sweetly; trying to ignore the hunger that gnawed at her lust, and press her lips over every inch of him until they were both panting and-

While swiping a handkerchief across his forehead, Amon looked up to catch her staring from her perch on the second level. His smile was all teeth; almost feral.

“Care to come down here and lend a hand, my lady?”

She didn’t know what was hotter: her face, or the friction between her legs.

“That depends,” she called back down, “Will I need to remove articles of clothing?”

A maiden down below tending to another flowerbed visibly jumped, and her choked laughter rose up into the sky.

To his credit, Amon didn’t seem the very least bit discouraged or humiliated. If anything, he seemed to only grin broader as he hitched the shovel over his shoulder in a pose that was something you’d expect out of a brothel to entice lady’s.

“Unnecessary, but preferred,” he announced loudly.

She stuck her tongue out in his direction, a goofy grin on her face. Ridiculous man. He was going to need a proper bath when he was all said and done; glistening with sweat, smelling like the garden, and grass, and of dirty man…

Just to tease him; knowing she still had a brassiere beneath her thin shirt, Essie lifted her arms and tore the garment off to toss it down upon his smiling face.

“I’ll be right down!”

Essätha had barely turned when Amon ripped the apparel from his face, crying back up to her, “I think you forgot to take off the most important part!”

“No I didn’t!” she laughed, shaking her head.

He was utterly, totally, and completely ridiculous.

She wouldn’t have the love of her life any other way.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The first blooms of their renovated garden were beginning to come in. The colors spanned the spectrum's of the rainbow. Most were common; the reds, pinks, whites, and yellows of hardy, well-known species. Others were more rare; blues and purples here or there.

With a pout, Essie stared the spot where she had planted her own flowering plant. The plot was small; a test space she’d picked out just for her. She’d done all the research herself, refusing any and all help Amon tried to offer.

She wanted to prove to herself, and everyone else, that she was more then capable of gardening all by herself.

No matter how much she stared at the green leaves bursting forth now from the ground, it did not grow any faster. It seemed to taunt her now. She had began life, but could she continue to make it thrive?

A shadow fell over her, and her small sprout.

“Still staring at it?”

“Yessss,” she grumbled, reaching up without looking to paw at her husband. “Now step aside, m’lord, it needs sun!”

Amon gave a quiet chuckle, scooting close to her side. She leaned away from the hand brushing along the curls against the side of her head until it became a distraction. Her eyes darted up to him as she tried to pull away, but he lightly grasped upon her shoulder.

“Just a second.”

Drawing her eyes up at an angle, Essätha could make out the frills of an elaborate deep maroon carnation. It rested in the edge of her vision as the Illiad heir slipped the steam neatly behind her ear, so that the radiant peek bloom neatly displayed for all the world to see.

Much like the blossom, her face changed a rich shade of red.

“Are you using me to show off your perfectly pruned flowers now?” she teased.

Amon gave a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat. He leaned in, skimming his nose against hers playfully as she giggled.

“The flower is an accent for you, my darling Essätha, not the other way around,” he promised, placing a kiss upon the tip of her nose.

“Could have fooled me,” she sighed, casting a dejected look down to the dirt.

Coaxing hands reached up, softly cupping her cheeks to bring her focus back to the shining gaze of his dark eyes.

“Give it time, my dear. All things start small. It’ll grow.”

“Are you just saying that to make me feel better, or have you been sneaking out here tending to my zinnia when I’m not around?”

“Neither. Well, the first perhaps a little. But I believe in you, Essie. Give it a chance. It’ll prosper before you know it.”

Her eyes softened gradually. Much like their love and their lives, it might be a struggle, but if she nurtured it just right, it would grow.

She had all the tools at her disposal. The sun, the ground, daily watering, and Amon’s help if all else failed. He’d taught her much on what to check for overwatering; how to properly make a drain and what was too loose or too firmly packed around the root systems. She’d learned about replanting and transplanting; of what to examine in the colors of the leaves and so much more.

She’d spent days reaching each and every volume she could find on basic gardening, and then found the one plant she was sure she could handle. No help, just what she learned and read up on.

This zinnia would live, dammit. She was going to make sure it lived.

“You are so sweet,” Essätha purred, reaching up to take hold of her beloved husband’s face. She pet along the shape of his sideburns, dragging his face down to softly press her lips to his.

An appreciative growl greeted her. Before she knew what was going on, Amon bent lower at his knees and placed a hand to the back of hers, knocking her off her feet with a yelp and into his arms.

“For goodness sake, m’lord-”

“No more plant watching,” he half-scolded half-laughed. “It’s past lunch time. You should get a bite before we our guests arrive for the land negotiations.”

“Uggghhhh why did you have to remind me,” she wailed with forced desperation, throwing her head back dramatically as the deep, humbling laugh she cherished pressed into her side. A roll of laughter followed his own from her; peels and giggles and little snorts as Amon rubbed his face into the bend of her neck, tickling her with his beard as he kissed her sensitive skin.

The little plant stood a little straighter as they walked away; reaching for the sun as it seemed to sway to the sound of laughter.

Or perhaps, simply to the light breeze. Who was to say?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Essätha placed the watering can back into the small cellar space with a faint smile on her face. She reached up, wiping her brow of specks of sweat as she gave a satisfied sigh. Hands on her hips, dirt beneath her fingernails, and smears now against her forehead where she had just wiped.

Her zinnia was growing larger every day now. Maybe it was going to actually survive, after all. But it didn’t appear to be budding yet.

Still, she held on to hope. If she could come back from her hellish life, and her tiny seedling had made it through an unexpected frost, then it could take on anything!

She’d barely turned to step out through the heavy wooden door back into the courtyard when a soft whining captured her attention. Her eyes turned down, spotting the droopy muzzle and beady dark eyes staring up at her.

Hanging from Caesar’s maw was a row of trimmed freesia, in a multitude of arranged colors.

“Oh gods,” she whispered in a hush, bending down to take the mouthful from Caesar’s maw. They were coated with strings of drool and some of the steams crushed; unsalvageable in a vase unless someone cut more off.

There were further freesia however, all tucked beneath the mastiff’s collar. As she reached to pull them out, Caesar finally gave in to a full-body shake, sending both flowers and petals flying in every direction.

Essätha raised her eyes with her tenderly raised bouquet in hand, spotting Amon staring just on the other side of the courtyard with an eager little smile.

Flushing pink beneath his gaze, she brought the blossoms to her face to sniff the faint fragrance as Caesar snuffled her side.

There was no question in her mind if it was possible to love someone more and more each and every day. Even when she was sure she couldn’t possibly love him any more; that there was no more room from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, she always found room to wiggle in a little more. Because with each new dawn and dusk, she found something more to love; a little more to appreciate, a new swelling sensation in her chest that made all things feel at ease and warm and happy.

Of all the parts and pieces of her heart, soul and life, he was the part she loved the very most.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A shriek loud enough to wake the dead pierced the air. She frolicked, she jumped, she danced with eager joy. Her heart, how it sung! There was nothing more delightful than this, the sweet success of victory!

The door that lead into the cellar opened, and a wide-eyed Amon stared out into the yard.

“Essie? What in Pelor’s name- I thought someone was hurt-”

“Amon Amon Amon Amon Amon, look!” Essätha squealed, bounding across the lawn to dash over to him. He leaned back, taken by surprise as she grasped his hand and dragged him out from the manor. When he no longer resisted her tugs, she spun and danced with his hand lightly holding to hers, with his eyebrows drawn together with uncertainty.

Pulling her heart’s desire over, she stood before the clustered plant filled with buds. Only, one had opened to form the first zinnia flower. It’s magnificent petals soared upward in a lush shade of violet.

“Look!” she cheered, grasping his hands. “Look I did it! I did it! It’s alive and it’s blooming I made it grow! I did that all by myself!”

Just as quickly, she let go of his hands to twirl in a circle. Her fists balled up into fists, punching the air with success as she giggled and chanted a series of ‘yes’s with eagerness.

Lord Amon tore his gaze from her, to the flower, and back again. His heart tightened reflexively to her joy; so merry and filled with life. He found himself impulsively smiling to her own happiness as it reflected in his own.

“You’ve raised Green Bean and more then half a dozen people,” he teased, reaching out for her hand. “This is what excites you?”

“To be fair, you were all technically adults already,” Essie laughed; following his train of thought. “And this is different. I’ve never gardened before! It’s amazing. I took a tiny seed, and I made a big plant!”

A hearty laugh escaped the Lord of the Emerald Expanse. Her glee was infectious. The things that made her so overjoyed were at times, unexpected. But there was nothing better than to see her explode into such radiant energy. When happiness colored her, it changed everything. The atmosphere of the world seemed to change. Colors grew brighter. Paintings that seemed to leer were suddenly smiling. Plants grew taller; the sun shone brighter, the clouds disappeared and all things, by Pelor’s name, all things felt possible and right in life.

Slipping his fingertips between her own, Amon joined her in swinging around in wide, dramatic circles. He listened to her laughter; pure and sweet and innocent. Delighted so completely by something such as a flowering plant.

He couldn’t be more proud of her.

He couldn’t be more happy for her. With her. Along side her.

As her energy tapered and her steps grew wobbly and dizzy, his beautiful Essie still giggled as he pulled her in close to wrap his arms around her. Dragging in the faded scent of soap in her black hair as he rested his chin upon her, and kissed the crown of her head.

He rocked her back and forth in the grass. Soft laughter still bursting forth randomly from her lungs; nested into his ribcage as she buried her face against him.

For a brief moment, his eyes locked upon the zinnia, and then back down to the strong, gentle, beautiful woman in his arms. His heart swelled enormously in his chest, pressing another kiss upon her forehead.

“Congratulations, my love. You did a marvelous job.”

“I utilized what you taught me,” she muffled into his shirt. “I treated it with sunshine, clean water, respect, dignity, and a lot of tender, love, and care.”

Amon chuckled faintly at that, rubbing his palms up and down the length of her spine. Turning his head slightly, he rested his cheek against her, humming softly as his arms grew tighter just as his throat did.

Silly woman, he scoffed to himself. Didn’t she knew she was the one who taught him many of those things in the first place? There would be no Lord Amon without his Lady Essätha. She was gardening before she was aware of it. Replanting and rejuvenating his ashen fields with a flurry of life, light, and endless pollinating butterflies and bumblebees thriving within his soul with each new love he found for her; making a perfect field of flora just for the two of them. A perfect world, all their own.

There was nothing else he wanted out of life. This wondrous love; his sweet angel, and the happiness they grew, together.

[nebris]

Ernst Hanfstaengel 

Ernst Hanfstaengel, the son of a wealthy publisher and art dealer, was born in Munich, Germany, on 2nd February, 1887. He had an American mother and his grandfather, William Heine, was a general who fought in the American Civil War.

Hanfstaengel was educated at the Royal Bavarian Wilheim-Gymnasium where his form master was the father of Heinrich Himmler. He completed his education at Harvard University. After graduating in 1909 he joined the family business on Fifth Avenue.

Hanfstaengel remained in the United States during the First World War and did not return to Germany until 1919. Soon after arriving in Berlin he met Captain Truman Smith, a military attache at the American Embassy. It was Smith who advised Hanfstaengel to go and see Adolf Hitler speak at a National Socialist German Workers Party (NSDAP) meeting.

Hanfstaengel later recalled:  "In his heavy boots, dark suit and leather waistcoat, semi-stiff white collar and odd little moustache, he really did not look very impressive - like a waiter in a railway-station restaurant. However, when Drexler introduced him to a roar of applause, Hitler straightened up and walked past the press table with a swift, controlled step, the unmistakable soldier in mufti. The atmosphere in the hall was electric. Apparently this was his first public appearance after serving a short prison-sentence for breaking up a meeting addressed by a Bavarian separatist named Ballerstedt, so he had to be reasonably careful what he said in case the police should arrest him again as a disturber of the peace. Perhaps this is what gave such a brilliant quality to his speech, which for innuendo and irony I have never heard matched, even by him. No one who judges his capacity as a speaker from the performances of his later years can have any true insight into his gifts."

Hanfstaengel became one of Hitler's inner circle. He was one of his earliest financial supporters and in March, 1923, provided $1,000 to ensure the daily publication of  Volkische Beobachter. The newspaper, an anti-Semitic gossip sheet had previously appeared twice a week. With Hanfstaengel's money it was published every day. As the author of The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich (1960) has pointed out: "It became a daily, thus giving Hitler the prerequisite of all German political parties, a daily newspaper in which to preach the party's gospels."

In November 1923, Hanfstaengel took part in the Beer Hall Putsch. "Hitler began to plough his way towards the platform and the rest of us surged forward behind him. Tables overturned with their jugs of beer. On the way we passed a major named Mucksel, one of the heads of the intelligence section at Army headquarters, who started to draw his pistol as soon as he saw Hitler approach, but the bodyguard had covered him with theirs and there was no shooting. Hitler clambered on a chair and fired a round at the ceiling."

After the failed coup he hid Hitler in his villa in the Bavarian Alps. Hitler was eventually arrested and put on trial for his role in the Beer Hall Putsch. If found guilty, Hitler faced the death penalty. While in prison Hitler suffered from depression and talked of committing suicide. However, it soon became clear that the Nazi sympathizers in the Bavarian government were going to make sure that Hitler would not be punished severely. At his trial Hitler was allowed to turn the proceedings into a political rally, and although he was found guilty he only received the minimum sentence of five years. Hanfstaengel visited him during his prison term at Landsberg am Lech and helped to reestablish his political career after his release. The two men remained close and Hanfstaengel became a member of his inner-circle.

Hanfstaengel later recalled that Hitler talked to him a great deal about America. He was especially interested in the ideas of Henry Ford and the Ku Klux Klan. "In his questions Hitler revealed to me that his ideas about America were wildly superficial. He wanted to hear all about the skyscrapers and was fascinated by details of technical progress, but failed utterly to draw logical conclusions from this information. The only American figure for whom he had time for was Henry Ford, and then not so much as an industrial wonder-worker but rather as a reputed anti-Semite and a possible source of funds. Hitler was also passionately interested in the Ku Klux Klan, then at the height of its questionable reputation. He seemed to think it was a political movement similar to his own, with which it might be possible to make some pact, and I was never able to put its relative importance in proper prospective for him."

His biographer, Louis L. Snyder, has pointed out: "A towering 6-foot, 4-inch giant with an enormous head, a pugnacious jaw, and thick hair. Hanfstaengel endured the nickname Putzi throughout his career. He was a gifted pianist who used his huge hands to pound out the more flamboyant passages of Liszt and Wagner.... Hanfstaengel, the only literary member of Hitler's inner circle, introduced the coarse Austrian to the Munich milieu of art and culture and attempted to make him socially acceptable.... The tall Bavarian was a gay and amusing companion on political campaigns. With his practical jokes and broad sense of humour, he was regarded as a kind of Shakespearean jester whose main task was to provide relaxation for the harried leader."

The journalist, William L. Shirer, met Ernst Hanfstaengel while working in Germany: "An eccentric, gangling man, whose sardonic wit somewhat compensated for his shallow mind, Hanfstaengel was a virtuoso at the piano and on many an evening, even after his friend came to power in Berlin, he would excuse himself from the company of those of us who might be with him to answer a hasty summons from the Fuehrer. It was said that his piano-playing - he pounded the instrument furiously - and his clowning soothed Hitler and even cheered him up after a tiring day. Later this strange but genial Harvard man, like some other early cronies of Hitler, would have to flee the country for his life."

in 1931 Hanfstaengel was appointed Foreign Press Chief of the Nazi Party. Over the next few years he tried to use his contacts to improve the image of Hitler in other countries. He also spent time with foreign visitors. This included Unity Mitford, the daughter of Lord Redesdale. According to Armida Macindoe: He (Hanfstaengl) was more of a means than an end, he introduced her to Nazis." Hanfstaengel admitted that Unity and Diana were outstanding Nordic beauties: "They were very attractive but they made-up to the eyebrows in a manner which conflicted directly with the newly proclaimed Nazi ideal of German womanhood." As a result he insisted they removed some of it: "My dears, it is no good, but to stand any hope of meeting him (Hitler) you will have to wipe some of that stuff off your faces."

Ernst Hanfstaengel arranged for British journalists like George Ward Price and Sefton Delmer to meet Hitler. He pointed out in Hitler: The Missing Years  (1957): "Sefton Delmer of the Daily Express took a great interest in our campaign and became very much persona grata with the nazi leadership. He was really very partial to Delmer and, when he became Chancellor, willingly agreed that the Daily Express man should be given the first exclusive interview." He also introduced the British politician, Robert Boothby, to Hitler: "I received a telephone call from my friend Putzi Hanfstaengel, who was at that time Hitler's personal private secretary and court jester. He told me that the Führer had been reading my speeches with interest, and would like to see me at his headquarters in the Esplanade Hotel. It is true that when I walked across the long room to a corner in which he was sitting writing, in a brown shirt with a swastika on his arm, he waited without looking up until I had reached his side, then sprang to his feet, lifted his right arm, and shouted Hitler!, and that I responded by clicking my heels together, raising my right arm, and shouting back: Boothby!"

Hanfstaengel  had serious doubts about Hitler's radical political beliefs. Louis L. Snyder has pointed out: "Hanfstaengel attempted in subtle ways to influence the Hitler to moderate his political, religious, and racial views, while Hitler on his side resented any interference. On one occasion at a crowded reception, Hanfstaengel loudly called Dr. Paul Joseph Goebbels, Minister for Public Enlightenment and Propaganda, a swine. This kind of frankness did not endear him to the Nazi establishment."

In March 1937 Hanfstaengel was warned that Joseph Goebbels was involved in a conspiracy to murder him. He later recalled: "The evil genius of the second half of Hitler's career was Goebbels. I always likened this mocking, jealous, vicious, satanically gifted dwarf to the pilot-fish of the Hitler shark. It was he who finally turned Hitler fanatically against all established institutions and forms of authority. He was not only schizophrenic but schizopedic, and that was what made him so sinister."

Deciding he was in danger, Hanfstaengel fled to Canada. In the summer of 1942, Hanfstaengel was interviewed by John Franklin Carter. He left the meeting convinced was eager to work for the Allies against the Nazis. President Franklin D. Roosevelt agreed that Hanfstaengl should be recruited but Winston Churchill disagreed because he feared that it would confuse people into believing "that there are good and bad ex-Nazis". Roosevelt eventually got his way and on 24th June, 1942, he was flown to Washington under the name of Ernst Sedgwick. In July 1942, he was established on a farm in Virginia under the control of Donald Chase Downes. He later was used by Roosevelt as a "political and psychological warfare adviser in the war against Germany."

After the Second World War Hanfstaengel returned to Germany where he published his book, Hitler: The Missing Years (1957).

Ernst Hanfstaengel died in Munich on 6th November, 1975.

http://spartacus-educational.com/GERhanfstaengel.htm

[rantsaboutponies]

My Little Pony: The Movie

Yes, this is the 2017 one I’m talking about. I’m not going to pull a switcheroo and review the 1986 one. Like I said, bad title.

If you want to read along while watching the movie, you may do so as long as you’re not in a theater. DO NOT LOOK AT YOUR PHONE IN THE THEATER. I don’t care if you turned the brightness down or if you hold it in your lap; EVERYONE CAN STILL SEE IT. YOU’RE BEING AN ASSHOLE.

Anyway, on with the review! Spoilers abound, so fair warning!

Oh, and this movie is rated PG for “mild action”. What the hell is wrong with you, MPAA?

Good lord, the absolute grandiosity of the title logo... All right, all right, I’m not going to nitpick something as minor as the logo. Calm down.

My thought process: “Hey, this synth bit sounds kinda like the intro to ‘We Got the Beat’ by The Go-Go’s. I wonder if they realize that.”

Two seconds later: “OH, FUCK, IT IS. IT IS THAT SONG. NO. STOP. STOP RIGHT NOW. RRRRRGGGGGHHHH.”

Well, THAT threw me for a loop! Holy shit, am I glad the show’s budget isn’t large enough to include covers of popular songs.

Ah, we’re showcasing the new animation with a flyover/through of Canterlot. I’m not going to be mentioning the animation quality every other paragraph (even though I could), so instead I’ll just say everything up front. I mentioned in an earlier post that it looked like the animators were suddenly unaware of how to use the program, as though they had all traded jobs or something. It turns out that wasn’t far off! According to sources, the animation software being used on this movie is Toon Boom Harmony, not Flash, so the animators working on this movie are either 1. the same animators using an unfamiliar program, or 2. different animators who are used to working with Harmony but are not used to animating this show. And if you look at the stuff they’ve worked on, they’re all either just 2D (The Simpsons, The Congress) or just 3D (The SpongeBob Movie: Sponge Out of Water), not anything that has attempted to integrate both. The opening shot of the ponies flying through the clouds and through Canterlot looks like 2D assets trying to move through a 3D environment! It doesn’t help that the 3D assets (like the buildings and the landscape) are all really, really cheap-looking, like they were resources saved from a movie from 10-20 years ago and never updated. Also, the 3D assets tend to move fluidly (like 3D assets do), whereas the 2D assets attached to the same figure move with a lower framerate (like 2D assets do), which is a little jarring.

And holy crap, look at those two characters walk towards the screen! That’s some first-year animation student work right there!

Okay, okay, I said I wasn’t going to harp on the animation the whole time. Fine. Instead, here’s a complaint I’m sure will sound familiar to regular readers: Wow, you really like your exposition dumps right out of the gate, don’t you, writers? Except this time, you don’t have the excuse of “Well, we only had 22 minutes, so we had to get all the information out there quickly!” This movie is 99 minutes long! That’s four-and-a-half times the length! At this point, it’s just sloppy!

Random pony: Princess Twilight is great under pressure!

Twilight: Oh, my goodness, I can’t handle this!

Trombone: Wah-wah!

Oh, goddamnit, are we bringing back the wah-wah jokes? Son of a...

GAH! That closeup shot of Twilight is just creepy! Adding more details just because you’re closer to a subject isn’t always the best idea!

“What’chu talkin’ ‘bout?” FUCK STOP FUCK STOP FUCK STOP FUCK

Still creepy! Why do her eyes look like that? This is unsettling! Please stop focusing on her face!

Ha, Pinkie Pie was blowing a balloon into the camera, and then she turned and revealed it’s actually a really long balloon, but we couldn’t see that because of the angle we were watching from! Ha ha ha! ...Was...was that meant to be a joke? Because I really can’t figure out what other reason you would have to show it that way. These new animators are bizarre.

Oh, hey, she was making Discord! He’s not actually in the movie, but, you know, fanservice!

All right, Angel dressed as a parrot made me chuckle, but why the hell would Fluttershy force him to do that?

“Faster if I do my Sonic Rainboom!” How? How would that help you complete this task any faster? What sense does that make? Oh, wait, don’t tell me...fanservice.

“Raised in a barn!” Yes, thank you. You have beaten that joke thoroughly into the ground by now. Please move on.

Ah, good, Pinkie Pie is continuing her trend of being loud, irritating, and making things worse by opening her stupid face. Some things haven’t changed.

Okay, this is two songs in the first eight minutes. Just how many are there?

“Eeyup!” HE SAID IT.

Yeah, you can show me Cheese Sandwich all you want. I know “Weird Al” isn’t in this movie.

Security guard #1: “Do you have visual on the buttercream?”

Security guard #2: “Visual confirmed, go for cleanup.”

...

Audience: *cough*

I mean, they left in a pause for laughter and everything. They were expecting that to get a laugh.

Balloon: *gets squished*

Random background pony: Bryan! Noooooo!

Me: 

I don’t...I’m not...are these...jokes? I’m...I...

You’d think they’d have heard of this villain. He seems like he has a wide sphere of influence.

“There’s one of you! And hundreds of us!” Yes, Luna, I’m sure they brought that giant airship because there’s only one of them. This is why you’re not in charge.

Wow, the, uh...the crystals forming over Cadence are, um...am I allowed to say anything more about the animation?

DURR HURR IT’S FUNNY BECAUSE THEY THOUGHT THEY GOT TWILIGHT BUT IT WAS ACTUALLY DERPY AND ANYTHING INVOLVING DERPY IS FUNNY. FAAAAAAANSERRRRRRVIIIIIIIIIICE.

Every word out of this minion’s mouth makes me want to punch him. It’s Michael Peña’s best role since CHiPs! Apparently he ad-libbed most of his dialogue. It shows.

“Yay.” SHE SAID IT.

“Boingy boingy boingy boingy!” UGH.

Pinkie Pie: “Anypony up for a game of I Spy?”

Everypony else: “UGH.”

See? SEE?! I’m not the only one! She’s even starting to annoy the other main characters by this point! What are you even doing?

So Tempest got...a phone call...except it’s not a phone call, it’s a potion that you pour into a brazier...but it still has a ringtone...and it sounds like a dial-up connection... How do they use it more than once? Also, FUCK YOU WITH YOUR STUPID FUCKING

Why does the Storm King’s emblem look like the Starcraft II logo?

“Sorry, bad spell service.” FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

Meanwhile, in the town from Assassin’s Creed...

“Hmm. Interesting.” Well, I know someone who’s getting a lot of furry fetish fanart made of him!

“I’ll take the picture of your sister!” Heh. Okay, movie. That’s two.

Wow, Taye Diggs’s voice does not fit that character design.

“...parts will fall off.” Did the guy immediately grab for his crotch when he said that? Wow, movie! Where’s your PG for “mild rude humor”?

Someone should tell the animators that Spike isn’t pursuing Rarity anymore. Since, like, Season 2.

Oh, god, don’t sing! I was kind of starting to like you, Capper! This doesn’t really seem in-character!

Why does it seem like this character would have been Discord if they hadn’t “redeemed” him like three times by this point?

Yes, Fluttershy is afraid of bats. Great knowledge of the character there, movie.

“Ooh! So many fun breakables!” Fuck you, Pinkie.

Good lord, Emily Blunt really could be intimidating if she weren’t undercut by Michael Peña at every fucking TURN! It’s the slugs from Epic all over again!

Yes, “The Girl from Ipanema”. A common song all throughout Equestria or the Badlands or whatever. The random popular songs interspersed throughout a movie (based on a show that does not HAVE them) that also has its own original songs really do not fit! They really don’t! Just because you can afford it now doesn’t mean you have to do it.

“WAIT!” *random cat noise* That...might have made sense if you didn’t play those two sounds at the same time. I’m not sure how he could talk and yowl simultaneously. Come on, sound editors.

Boy, how convenient that Tempest found them at that exact point, huh?

Y’know, showing Pinkie Pie grinning like an idiot as they’re all running for their lives doesn’t exactly endear me to her, animators.

Oh, no! Pinkie fell! What a tragedy! Maybe if you let her die, she wouldn’t keep fucking up your shit!

GOD, I HATE THIS FUCKING MINION.

Bird Guy: “We scar ‘em...”

Rarity: *gasp*

Bird Guy: “...emotionally!”

Fluttershy: *cries*

Pff... All right, you got me! That one was actually worth an audible laugh! That makes you three for...I don’t know, fifty?

I have a serious question. Was this supposed to be released in 3D, but then they dropped that for some reason? There seems to be a lot of “stuff coming straight toward the camera” action.

Are we seriously still doing the “people trying to kill each other stop when the shift whistle blows” joke? That was old 50 years ago!

I’m not sure I’ve seen a musical with songs this...out of nowhere. I mean, I’m sure worse examples exist, but none that I’m familiar with.

Are these pirates supposed to be...giant parrots (because, y’know, pirates and parrots)? Why does this world have giant parrots? Everything in the entire series is the size it is in the real world. Including the parrots we saw earlier in the movie! Why giant parrots?

Ah, good, Rainbow Dash is still a FUCKING IDIOT. Glad you’re keeping that change from the show, too!

So let me get this straight. Storm King is concerned about projecting an image of fearsomeness and strength...but he sells bobbleheads of himself as merchandise? You know, you don’t have to be this stupid, movie! You don’t! You really don’t!

GOD, they need to stop showing closeups of their faces. THEY’RE. SO. CREEPY.

“Oh, this is inteeeeeense!” WELL, IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN IF YOU HADN’T SAID THAT. LET A MOMENT LAND, MOVIE. LET. A MOMENT. FUCKING. LAND.

Oh, good, here’s where that terrifying shot from the trailer comes in.

And Rarity stopped to look at herself in the mirror while falling to her death. HURR HURR HURR.

Oh, look! Pinkie is about to get them killed again! GET RID OF HER.

“That’s it! I simply cannot even!” Oh, fuck off. Whoever wrote that line, fuck off.

“I hate epic adventures!” I’m sure starting to.

Wow, Twilight, you held your breath for, like, 10 seconds. Good job.

Well, here it is. We knew it was coming. Seaponies. Honestly, even though I should be annoyed (because FANSERVICE), they actually fit this world pretty well (way better than giant anthropomorphic cats or whatever the hell the inhabitants of that Badlands city were).

But then they turn the Mane Six into seaponies.

And I’m reminded of “The Crystal Empire (Part 2)”.

And you only introduced these characters to sell new toys of the Mane Six, didn’t you?

And fuck you.

“Yay.” SHE SAID IT. AGAIN.

Don’t sing. Please don’t sing. I think what makes these songs even more out-of-nowhere is the fact that all the other non-pony characters are immediately in on the song, no matter how they were feeling or what they were doing right before it started.

Um...Twilight’s not wrong, you guys! Everyone you’ve come across so far has tried to fuck you over! Including the seaponies! Why wouldn’t she just try to steal the thing?

But, of course, she wouldn’t get captured if everyone else didn’t leave her all alone to mark the act break. The rest of them are even seen sitting on a gray and dismal seashore afterwards! Jesus Christ, it’s like all the tropes from Scriptwriting for Children’s Movies 101 are in this thing! You are allowed to try harder than this, you know!

Twilight: Why are you doing this? You’re a pony, like me!

Me: I’m nothing like you!

Tempest: I’m nothing like you!

Me: Come on!

Oh, god, don’t sing. I can hear the lead-in. I can see you want to express your emotions and fill in your backstory so badly! Please don’t! Please don’t please don’t please don’t AGGGGGHHHHH

Man, I bet when the Ursa Major scratched her face, Tempest bled so! Ha! ...I’m sorry.

Are you kidding me? She has the same character motivation as Starlight Glimmer? Her friends (all two of them) left her in one particular incident, so now she’s sworn off friendship forever (instead of just, I don’t know, finding new friends? You had to have had more than two.)

Hold on, did Tempest...beam that flashback into Twilight’s head? Because otherwise, I don’t know how she would have gathered that information.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in! Himself!” Um...burn?

NO. BULLSHIT. HOW DID THEY ESCAPE? HOW? IT DOESN’T COUNT IF YOU DON’T SHOW IT. WHY WOULD YOU CUT OUT A POTENTIALLY AWESOME ACTION SCENE FOR THIS SHIT? NO. FUCK YOU.

Then again, there are only five pirates left. I guess the rest were slaughtered.

Honestly, the Storm King just looks like Tirek. They might as well have reused him.

Boy, I haven’t seen Liev Schreiber play such an nonthreatening villain since X-Men Origins: Wolverine. Blast from the past! I’m glad he’s been in the movie so much up to this point so that I actually give a shit about him being the main bad guy for the last 20 minutes!

Uh-huh. And where were the other two pirates hiding? Only three jumped out of that cake.

The guard was taken down by...cupcakes. Do you even care anymore?

HOLY FUCK PINKIE’S FACE IS TERRIFYING. NEVER SHOW ANYTHING LIKE THAT AGAIN. YOU ARE SERIOUSLY GOING TO GIVE CHILDREN NIGHTMARES.

And he’s using Spike like a flamethrower. He can’t...oh, whatever.

Why does she even need her horn restored? She seems pretty powerful as she is.

“Why are you saving me?” “Because this is what friends do.” No, this is what decent fucking people do! if you’re about to watch someone die and you can do something to prevent it, you don’t have to be their friend to do so! You just have to be not a sociopath!

Oh, no! Twilight flew off with the main villain! She’s dead for sure! Oh, what? She’s not? What a shock. Nice heavy-handed angelic imagery, by the way.

Couldn’t she have blasted the XBOX rock out of the way or grabbed it or something instead of letting it hit her?

“So...now what?” “Now we rebuild.” No, wait, that’s the ending from San Andreas. A much better movie, I might add.

OH, THE FIRST ONE THEY DECALCIFIED WAS DERPY. EVERYTHING IS DERPY. DERPY DERPY DERPY.

Okay, who the hell was the “Way to go, guys!” pony? That was very obviously supposed to be someone specific, but I am unaware of this behind-the-scenes tidbit.

So they unfroze everypony, but they still didn’t fix Tempest’s horn? What a bunch of dicks!

“You know, your horn is pretty powerful, just like the pony it belongs to.” Didn’t I say that? What the hell was the conflict here?

That’s what you end the movie on, eh? Pinkie Pie’s squealing? Okey dokey then.

AND DERPY’S IN THE CREDITS TOO HERF DERF WERF LERF

And, of course, no kids’ movie would be complete without LUKAS GRAAAAAAAHAM.

Wait, Rachel Platten sang that cover of “We Got the Beat”? The singer who gave us “Fight Song”? Well, no wonder it sucked!

Rating: 1/4 stars.

This movie had a review embargo on it on Rotten Tomatoes until the release date. That’s never a good sign.

I think maybe they thought that, by making the movie darker, it would make it more suitable for theatrical viewing. It doesn’t. It’s just...odd. Especially when they add really stupid jokes to lighten the tone.

I can say that you can probably see the movie without having seen the show, which is a positive. There aren’t any plot details that require outside information to understand, but WOW is there enough fanservice if that’s what you’re looking for. In fact, it might be better if you haven’t seen the show because boy, oh, boy, do they introduce a lot of characters that the ponies on the show would definitely be aware of if this made any sense. On that note, if this is set in the canon Equestria from the show, then holy shit are the ponies the most callous and/or oblivious sociopaths I’ve ever seen in a children’s program. Not only are they all apparently completely unaware of the fact that everything outside of Equestria is complete shit (aside from the fact that everywhere seems to be impoverished, they’re all totally oblivious to the fact that the Storm King has taken over THE REST OF THE WORLD), but they don’t actually fix that by the end! I guess the hippogriffs can come out of hiding now, and the Storm King’s faceless henchmen all seem to be good guys at the end since they’re all at the party, but for all we know, the badlands are still inhabited entirely by goblin monster things and their shady black market shit! We never saw what happened to them! And if the parrots are now all pirates instead of merchants, does that mean they’re going to start robbing everyone? Congratulations, Rainbow Dash! You’ve significantly increased the amount of crime across the entire world! Good job, you fucking idiot!

Twilight is ridiculously selfish, which is really odd considering we know she knows better by this point. Her moral in this movie is that she has to learn to rely on her friends and not just try to do everything based on her own effort and ideas. Y’know, AGAIN. How many fucking times has Twilight had to learn this lesson over and over and over again? And people say that Fluttershy’s episodes are repetitive.

I was hoping that at some point I would become used to the animation. For comparison, Fantastic Mr. Fox has a really ugly animation style, but you don’t really think anything of it after the first 20-30 minutes. That never happened with this movie. Every time I thought I was getting used to the animation style, someone would turn or move or make a face, and it would just look creepy or just plain awful again.

You know what’s kind of sad, though? Emily Blunt is really good in this. She’s really putting in a lot of effort for this character, and the design is pretty good, too! She’s actually kind of awesome, especially compared to Liev Schreiber (who so could not have given less of a shit about his role) and Michael Fucking Peña, who are just terrible. Even if I didn’t entirely understand her nonsensical motivation, Tempest was honestly the best part of the movie.

Boy, between this and Leap!, if an animated movie advertises that it “features an original song by Sia”, run!