#but his manners are already significantly improved

[msburgundy]

training cats is easy

[maxenceandrebisset]

Can you please write how SEVENTEEN would act if their boyfriend was their back up dancer for a concert or performance?

The anon later added that they specifically wanted the Performance team

JUN

Oh, Junhui would absolutely ravish your presence in the most shamelessly teasing manner possible.

He already constantly brings up the fact that his boyfriend is a talented dancer just like him on every single occasion that occurs - can imagine him showing the other members your dance videos with a beaming proud smile on his face -, thus something like you landing a gig with Seventeen? He wouldn't be able to shut up about that for weeks prior, looking forward to it more than the actual comeback or award show, you would be practicing for.

This man wouldn't be able to keep his hands to himself if you were anywhere nearby to the point where he would need to be scolded by others and probably even by you and told to be professional and focus on rehearsing, cause he would really be insufferable.

Suffocating back hugs, which would come out of nowhere, resting his arm almost possessively around your waist whenever you gathered into a circle to discuss something together or were just standing around and listening to the instructions of the choreographer, slipping his hands underneath your clothes with the most innocent and yet smug expression on his face or never-ending slapping of your butt... He would have the time of his life. Not even talking about how clingy he would be during breaks when everyone just sits around the practice room and rests because he would literally ignore everyone else and act as if you were the only person in the room with him, pulling you on his lap and keeping you on there even if others were looking, cornering you against the mirror just to whisper compliments about your dancing or looks into your ears, you get the rough image...

Of course, he wouldn't mess around to such an extent during the actual performance (though it would be tempting him for sure), however, he would still send you all sorts of looks whenever you happened to face each other, even if for just a brief moment, from air kisses, winks to smug smirks and suggestive raise of eyebrows, that would sometimes throw you off slightly, making you curse at him quietly and probably even blush from the embarrassment of how easily he was able to toy with you.

HOSHI

Some would perhaps say, that Hoshi wouldn't be that much different from Junhui in this sort of situation, but I believe that your presence would only double his professionalism.

He wouldn't draw a thick line between his love and career life by straightforwardly ignoring you, he would in fact focus on you more than on any other backup dancer, but definitely not like Junhui.

His professionalism would reflect in him being significantly stricter with you than with anyone else in the room - reproaching you for even the slightest mistake like a different angle of your arms, missing one single beat, or not mirroring the exact energy of the song, he would really give you a hard time in a way that would maybe come off as too harsh in the eyes of some, but neither of you would view it like that and feel hurt by it afterward.

If Hoshi ended up with a professional dancer, he would certainly make the dancing aspect of the relationship some sort of competition, which both of you would wholeheartedly enjoy. You would literally end up challenging each other into proving who is able to give out a better performance or just learn the choreography quicker. Still, the competition wouldn't have any unhealthy toxicity in it - sure, you would scold each other pretty mercilessly if one of you messed something up, probably even get into a bit of an argument cause you would both strongly believe that the truth is on your side or that you are the one who knows better when it comes to dancing, but all of it would be done with the intention to help the other improve and wouldn't reflect into your love life in a drastic manner.

If you were really hopelessly struggling for whatever reason, Hoshi would take you to the side during the break when everyone else would go sit down to catch a breath and distract their mind with something else than the choreography, and he would willingly sacrifice those twenty minutes of rest to give you a private lesson step by step just to make sure you overcame the struggle.

Naturally, he would use physical touch on you significantly more than on anyone else while teaching you something or just correcting a slightly off posture or angle - that would be, in my opinion, his only way of telling his surroundings that you are his boyfriend during such moments.

During actual performances, that's when he would straightforwardly ignore you, especially if it was some sort of award show performance when it would be genuinely important to be professional and leave the best impression possible, or not exactly an upbeat joyful sort of song when being all smiley and touchy with others on stage would be fitting.

You can tell by the length of this, that I am really into the idea of Hoshi's partner being a professional dancer.

MINGHAO

Another member, who I believe would be extremely professional about it, though in a slightly different way.

Minghao gives me the vibe of someone, who would just like Hoshi more or less ignore you and focus on the learning of the choreography, differently said, acting as if none of the backup dancers was his boyfriend and it was practice like any other, but who would also inevitably end up observing you with admiring eyes and a soft smile on his lips in a subtle way cause he would absolutely love seeing you dance, twice as much when you were confidently killing it in front of others.

He would approach you during the break - probably take you with him to sit down on the couch in the corner and snuggle together for a while. It wouldn't be the same case as Junhui with one of you sitting on each other's laps, you would be way more modest with showing affection in public meaning leaning against each other, one leg thrown over the other's, playing with each other's hands (for some reason I can see Minghao gently playing with your rings if you wore some as some sort of calming method of his) and just casually talking in a quiet tone of voice - he would definitely throw a genuine compliment about how well you managed to grasp the choreography and he would also be more than willing to help you out if you shared your struggles with a particular move, being extremely patient with explaining it to you and correcting you.

Later on during the performance, he would treat you like any other backup dancer, read as ignore you, mainly not to distract himself from performing, though he would undoubtedly go and check on you the second the music would stop if it was a particularly exhausting and intense performance and you visibly struggled to catch a breath and drag yourself down from the stage.

DINO

He would definitely struggle to focus, but not like Junhui. For some reason, perhaps because I am imagining Dino with an older partner, who would in this particular case be more experienced dance-wise than he, I really believe that he would become a bit shy if you were among their backup dancers - whether because he would feel some sort of unspoken pressure not to mess up in front of you and indirectly embarrass even you or because looking into the mirror and seeing your face there would make him be unable to concentrate on the dancing and not you, I am not sure, probably both of those combined and several other aspects.

He would undoubtedly be teased by his Hyungs for it because they would right away know the origin of his unusually agitated composure and wouldn't hesitate to harmlessly joke about it, making him do a miserable job in denying it and you to come to him and give him a supportive hug while sharing a laugh with others.

Lord have mercy if the choreography includes something like you two interacting, cause that would be the real impossible challenge for him - even if it was just a brief interaction or eye contact, he would very like struggle with erasing a flustered smile from his lips for the rest of the performance. Overall, he would have to put all his willpower into viewing you like just another backup dancer on the stage and performing as he normally does.

Nevertheless, I can see him saying "fuck it" and going to you as to his boyfriend in the middle of a stressful practice or rehearsal just to get a hug, a bit of reassurance, and maybe a shoulder to cry and complain on.

At the end of the day, he would, despite all the struggle he would experience due to it, recall that occasion as a happy core memory of your relationship.

[bellaxgiornata]

Hi...do you have any suggestions for a beginner fanfic writer?? Maybe some tips?? Love your work btw....i absolutely love your falling for the devil series

Ahhh, thank you so much!! 💖I'm glad you enjoy FFTD!! That series also tends to be my favorite of everything I've written, too. There's just something about FFTD Matty...

I could certainly give you some tips/suggestions that I've learned along the way! I've been writing and reading fanfic since 2005 so I've been around for a bit 😅 Though if there is something more specific that I didn't address--like something more specific with writing or editing or something--you (or anyone else who's curious) can certainly always send me an ask and I will always answer when I have a few minutes! But I'm not going to claim I'm remotely an expert on all of this, either. This is just from my experience and talking with other fic writers.

As always, the answer is below the cut!

First, I think it's always important to keep in mind that the more you write, the better your skill will grow with writing. Which goes for everyone, no matter how long you've been writing for or whatever your age is. I always see an improvement in my writing when I read something from even just a few months ago. And I even cringe at things like the very first Matt fic I wrote or even some early FFTD installments. So don't be too hard on yourself!

I think it's also important to remember to not compare yourself to others. We all have different styles and voices and that's a wonderful thing in writing. If everyone wrote the same or had the same ideas, there'd be nothing interesting to read. Everything would sound the same which would be boring. Personally, I didn't find my writing style/voice and grow comfortable with it until almost a year and a half ago when I started writing for the Daredevil fandom, so it's completely okay if you are still searching for yours.

Don't let any negative comments you might ever receive writing fanfic drag you down. Everyone gets them, and some fandoms have different dynamics than others where it may happen more often than in another one (though come on y'all, can we please practice the don't like don't read rule??). I think anyone who writes fanfic long enough will receive at least some hate. I've certainly gotten plenty over the years, and yes, it sucks and it can hurt or piss you off, but you have to remember to brush it off. There are likely many others enjoying your story to make up for that one person who's being rude. Block buttons can be your friend if you need them.

If you're having trouble writing a character that already exists in the fandom, studying them in the source material is always a good route. The amount of times I've gone and re-watched Daredevil, Punisher, or Kin in order to feel like I capture any of the characters in there just right is absurd, but it really does help to see their mannerisms, speech patterns, and to begin to get a feel of how they'd react in different situations based on how they've reacted in the show.

Lastly, when you write chapters for your fics and it begins to feel daunting, know that you can always break things down into more manageable chunks. I used to struggle to write much at a time until I learned to focus on the story in this way as opposed to focusing on everything that I still needed to make happen. Just focus scene by scene or even line by line. How to get Character A to do this or get to that point, for example, and it should hopefully seem significantly less terrifying. If you try to think of everything that needs to happen in a chapter all at once, it might begin to feel overwhelming and you may have the urge to give up. Try breaking things down and focusing on one thing at a time.

I could absolutely go on but I don't want to ramble! If there's something more specific you're curious about that I didn't touch on, or maybe you'd like more detail about, absolutely feel free to send me another ask! And this goes for anyone who made it through all of this! I always love chatting, sometimes it just takes me a moment to have time to sit down and answer. Hopefully any of this was useful/helpful though! I am always happy to help encourage others to write!!💕

[essentionesque]

Xiritas and Oraius, being from worlds where the explosion happened, would have to teach their respective versions of Goliath how to use the power of the IRIS safely.

Xiritas, being Hithistrus (the one who listens), takes a more meditative and sort of spiritual approach. He would mentor Goliath in a manner that would allow him to synchronize with the IRIS, to descend into and ascend from it on a whim, and refine his senses to where it is almost as if the IRIS is speaking to him.

Goliath would learn how to listen to it and act accordingly. It would become a sort of secondary thinking voice to him after he refines his skills and he would allow its power to idly flow through his body as if it were his blood, ready to be utilized when needed with the guiding voice helping assist him in what he has to do. Here, the IRIS is more of a part of his core essence rather than a practical tool; it becomes a part of him in mind, body, and soul.

This would provide him with his own sort of special headspace he can retreat into to meditate, take a break from the world, or guide someone through descension. He can morph this headspace to his whims to look like anything and to serve any purpose related to the IRIS. If he has to use its abilities for combat, it would be more in the form of either enhancing himself or similar to using magic.

He could also summon IRIS-based manifestations of beings that have merged with him like the Mothohive and the Ether Snakes; the latter more in a sort of form similar to what Serpentine Goliath might look like with non-exploded Goliath. Sort of like Personas in a way.

-------

Oriaus, being Wondramite (the one who thinks), would guide Goliath in a more practical manner; to see the IRIS as a tool rather that a part of one's self. A tool is a neutral item, how it is used depends on the one who holds it. Oriaus wants to just make sure Goliath knows how, not what... Especially how to use the IRIS without accidentally hurting anyone.

It's a gradual process that would require Oriaus to create a sort of pocket dimension just for what they're doing. They would start with the smaller sort of abilities while working their way up. Goliath may be a quick learner but even he knows that the IRIS is a very, very powerful item. He has to sharpen his thought process and his strategic prowess in order to progress through his lessons.

As a result, Goliath comes out with a much more sharper mind. His already great skill in strategy improves significantly and he can easily use the IRIS on a whim. While his counterpart in the Timeline of Hither is more metaphysical, this Goliath would work more with creating temporary constructs of different things. Weapons, tools, objects, the sort. He would be able to summon them and then dispel them as he so desired. Alongside this he would be able to project various hologram-like images from his mind's eye in order to visualize something and show it to everyone.

[tiredassmage]

it is exactly this kind of thought process that makes me subject even my blorbos who i never intended to be in the main character hotseat, let alone alliance commander kind of main character syndrome, to the kotxx electric boogaloo. there's a post or smth that lives rent free in my mind about something to the effect that "not so much blatantly out of character, but what circumstances would lead the character to do x or act in x manner" and smth about if you can find that you can make almost anything believable but it's that first part of the ~wisdom that's really given me a lot to chew on.

i think the only tech class i haven't super spent a lot of time plugging into the commander seat is bounty hunter, but len did make it that far at least once and i'll do it to him again now that i have a better grasp of who he is.

[i have too many blorbos so in the thought of sparing dashboards, let me put a cut]

if i get to die on the hill convincing muts and fellow swtor-ers that agent is actually an epic kind of character to put through the expansions then i'd die happy. it... makes sense to me in a way that idk if i can generally explain it very well and it's... incredibly individualized to what happens to the agent in their class story. tyr fits the role of commander in a way that i think some would still call surprisingly well, but there's the argument that what is 'commander' but another role or mask to play, and especially for someone like tyr who is invested in building his team because the better his team, the better he was able to do his own job, he's... a natural at it, really. and tyr has been the type that's been looking for a kind of change (in his life, in his own circumstances, maybe in the whole galaxy) for so long that regardless of being thrust into the commander's seat or not, he would've found himself in the alliance. a man so driven by his ideals finally getting an escape out of being a ghost in the rather binary system of the galaxy is almost a relief - sans, y'know, the ancient sith emperor bouncing around in his head, but he's dealt with migraines before, so it's another day that ends in y for cipher nine.

his trooper au edition handles it all with... a significantly less amount of grace, to put it nicely, lol. troopertyr was kinda unsteady by everything he endured in the class story era and the early expansions to begin with, and his anchor was his team, to keep things short. being shorn of that support network that helped build so much of his identity and sense of purpose brings out the worse edges of him. he unravels a lot under the pressure, but being in that kind of position, nobody else can afford to stop him and ask if he's okay, which lets him spiral pretty far and get into a series of behaviors that he'll loathe himself for and have to spend several years after the alliance is no longer in his hands (he doesn't want the pressure, and he'll turn down reinstatement to republic special forces even as he hands what remains of the alliance freely over to the republic and sets whoever doesn't want to go loose) trying to unlearn and recover from. arguably, the ex-co of havoc squad should be relatively well-prepared for a role like alliance commander, and that spin through the story really improved my thoughts on trooper and my love for it, but troopertyr i built a very... special kind of cocktail about how he came into special forces and havoc squad where it... wasn't really the best fit for him to be there to begin with, but it was the circumstances he was dealt, so the further pressures found the cracks that had already formed and just drove them deeper.

i have toyed around a little about what it'd do to leo, one of my smugglers - arguably one of the least qualified people to ever have to handle the situation based on his credentials and disposition for handling pressure and decisions, which.... naturally meant i just had to figure out sooner or later what it'd do to him, right? so, for leo, ending up with the whole valkorian problem and trying to wrangle the alliance starts with being in the wrong place at a really bad time, and it preys on his fears about loss. leo's not nearly as good an actor as my agents are - they're trained for those kind of scenarios so they come by it quite naturally in comparison, but at the end of the day, leo finds himself in situations often where he puts on some kind of mask to get through the situation. and he's desperate to protect the few people he cares about. he's a much smaller picture kind of person, rather than the grand overarching picture of the galaxy and its interwoven problems that most of my other characters have. leo making a deal with valkorian is less, initially, about personal power or ruling an empire as it is a don't hurt them. which is easy enough for valkorian - it's not really a lie to say they won't come to harm by his hand when they're barely significant enough for valkorian to notice, right? and not that leo is.... gullible, exactly, but he's... scared in that kind of scenario. scared enough to lose the few people he loved, and astronomically stressed and overwhelmed by the impossible nature of the task set before them, and not particularly a good leader. i think valkorian can manipulate him into spinning taking over zakuul as the kind of... become more powerful so they can't touch you kind of narrative. a bit similarly to what leo thinks of his reputation in the wake of nok drayen's treasure and taking down the voidwolf. no reason to not take advantage of the power and the fame in the ways he can, and double down on keeping the claws at hand gripping desperately to the precarious position it puts him in to have that kind of notoriety, right? it's.... incredibly unideal for him in a lot of ways, and something that could arguably make him worse without a counter from one of his old gang of friends and beloveds to steady his perspective on things. he doesn't become malicious out of ill-intent, exactly, but he... can be driven to lock down and lash out in the interest of self-preservation and protecting the few people he cares for. if he's going to be forced to run this shitshow, he'll.... make it work for them. it has to work... this is what they want, right? right?

and len is... on a superficial, baseline thought it's... it can be as simple as the fact that the man doesn't know how to turn down a challenge. he's bullheaded. and while he's "smart" enough to know in the throne room he can't simply put a blaster bolt through the immortal ex-sith emperor and solve everything so simply, so take his deal, he is also incredibly, belligerently independent and stubborn in a 'this is good advice, but don't tell me what to do' fashion that ends up making him mouthy with valkorian, anyway. and len, thankfully(?), has a background in imperial black ops prior to his career as a bounty hunter that gives him some military training in addition to his several years as a hunter and experience in the great hunt that make him a prepared fighter and, admittedly, a surprisingly decent leader as far as assigning forces. he's not the most emotionally available man there ever was, and as mouthy and belligerent as he's known to be, he also knows tossing his head too much and trying to fight being given the reins on the alliance won't actually achieve any of their goals for anyone. he'll still make comments about it, sure, he's got a reputation to maintain, after all. can't have all these whelps thinking he's gone soft or somethin' on 'em. but he's also nothing if not a man about getting his jobs done, and this is another job. and he fucking hates losing. xD

smushing every class into the Commander role isn't the best decision storywise but asking how your particular character adapts to the role - whether they're unfitting or not - is always very good for the creative cogs

[alecbicheno]

Blog post 6 - LGBTQ representation in games

History of representation

Over the history of video games, the LGBTQ representation within them has evolved over time, reflecting the societal changes. The 2000s were a turning point for representation with some choose-your-own-adventure style games allowing the romance option with the supporting characters regardless of gender. The Sims (2000) had this feature too with same sex relationships as an option, however there would still be a lack of LGBTQ characters within mainstream games until we would see a rise in them over the 2010s.

Games with representation

Dragon Age: Inquisition (2014) featured a character named Dorian who the player was able to pursue as a romantic option, provided they made choices that pleased him. His backstory described how he was forced to undergo an in-game form of conversion therapy, which didn’t work and only strengthened his resolve, something that some players may deeply resonate with. He will also only be with and marry a man, so if the player has a female character, they don’t have these options. Furthermore, Dorian is a gay man of colour, something rare, though we do see another example of this around a similar time in Steve Cortez from Mass Effect 3 (2012), who can also only be “romanced” by the male player character.

The Last of Us (2013) had Ellie, one of the protagonists alongside Joel who are both trying to survive their journey across a post-apocalyptic United States. While we don’t find out much about her personal life until the near the end, where she mentions a girl she loved, the expansion The Last of Us: Left Behind (2014) explores her past with said girl more deeply. Then in The Last of Us Part II (2020) we see Ellie with her girlfriend Dina, but also see Lev, a trans character who escapes his abusive family. There was some controversy of course, with the simple inclusion of Lev and Ellie drawing fire from anti-LGBTQ groups, but the LGBTQ community also had issues with the game, specifically with how graphic what Lev goes through is, after we already know about their traumas. Despite this, I think it represents progress within the games industry as these characters have depth and are being handled with greater care, instead of being some stereotypical portrayal.

It isn’t just narrative driven games that feature LGBTQ characters, several multiplayer games feature characters which represent different parts of the community. The popularity of these games helps significantly represent these parts too as it’s relatively easy to find this information about them. Overwatch 2 (2022) features Tracer who is a lesbian, Baptiste who is bisexual, Soldier: 76 who is gay and many more. Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six Siege (2015) features Flores who is gay, Pulse who is bisexual, Sens who is non-binary, Osa who is trans and many more. There are several other games like this which feature a cast of characters which represent different aspects of the LGBTQ community, while there isn’t much focus in the characters themselves, they are still being represented and portrayed to a wide audience and done so in a respectful manner.

Improvements to be made

In recent years there has been a notable increase in positive LGBTQ representation in video games, with the above mentioned Last of Us II receiving acclaim for the portrayal of LGBTQ characters and storylines despite the controversy and criticism. However, even with this progress, stereotyping, lack of representation and harassment by players persist. The industry is continuing to navigate the complexities of this topic, by promoting inclusivity, diversity, and challenging stereotypes to create authentic representations of sexual and gender identities.

Bibliography

Anon., 2022. The diversity of our LGBTQ+ characters through the eyes of their writers. [Online] Available at: https://montreal.ubisoft.com/en/the-diversity-of-our-lgbtq-characters-through-the-eyes-of-their-writers/ [Accessed 1 December 2023].

Anon., 2023. LGBTQ representation in video games. [Online] Available at: https://www.lib.ncsu.edu/news/collections-highlights/lgbtq-representation-video-games#:~:text=Life%20is%20Strange%20(Life%20is,relationships%20in%20an%20organic%20way. [Accessed 1 December 2023].

BIOWARE. (2014) Dragon Age: Inquisition. [DISC]Xbox One. Redwood City: Electronic Arts

BIOWARE. (2012) Mass Effect 3. [DISC]Xbox 360. Redwood City: Electronic Arts

BLIZZARD ENTERTAINMENT. (2022) Overwatch 2. [DISC] Xbox Series X. Irvine: Blizzard Entertainment

Differ, M., 2023. Video Games Celebrating The LGBTQIA+ Community. [Online] Available at: https://www.thumbculture.co.uk/video-games-celebrating-the-lgbtqia-community [Accessed 1 December 2023].

MAXIS. (2000) The Sims. [DISC]PC. San Mateo: Electronic Arts

NAUGHTY DOG. (2013) The Last of Us. [DISC] PlayStation3. Santa Monica: Sony Computer Entertainment

NAUGHTY DOG. (2014) The Last of Us: Left Behind. [DISC] PlayStation3. Santa Monica: Sony Computer Entertainment

NAUGHTY DOG. (2020) The Last of Us Part II. [DISC] PlayStation3. San Mateo: Sony Interactive Entertainment

UBISOFT MONTREAL. (2015) Tom Clancy’s Rainbow Six Siege. [DISC] Xbox One. Saint-Mandé: Ubisoft

Villemez, J., 2020. The history of LGBTQ representation in video games. [Online] Available at: https://outinjersey.net/the-history-of-lgbtq-representation-in-video-games/ [Accessed 1 December 2023].

[j-graysonlibrary]

The Xiang Chronicles: Book One Chapter 9

Title: The Xiang Chronicles: Book One

Author: Jay Grayson

Word Count: 83k

Genres: Fantasy, adventure, drama, LGBT+

Available on: my website

Synopsis: Every few centuries a hero is born—one chosen by the God Tiandi to carry out his will in the mortal realm. The Xiang. Whether it is to quell a war instigated by the forces of shadow—of Shakti herself—or whether it is the miasma that poisons the world, the Xiang is born to bring the world back into balance.

Shu Pangu Min knows what his purpose is and he does his best to fulfill it even if he doesn’t fully understand all of the details. He must travel from city to city—lord to lord—to clear out the miasma. Along the way, he is to enlist the aid of four disciples. Each is to be of a different country and each must have high resonance and deep faith.

The holy men who raised him have great confidence in his future successes and they leave him to begin his journey on his own. But, can Pangu live up to the expectations of those around him? Can he really save the land like all other Xiang before him or will his unconventional methods doom them all?

Full chapter 9 under the cut

Chapter IX

The atmosphere of the capital city of Castelle was a lot different than when Pangu and Raine had left. A dark veil clung to the air and Pangu could tell that the miasma had worsened quite a bit. He shared a look with Raine who could tell that something had shifted as well.

Kira stayed close by them as they made their way directly to the palace.

After being in so many small towns and cities, the capital was really an impressive sight, Pangu realized. He had been blown away when he first saw it but now that he had other places to compare it to, there was no doubt that it was the home of the most important man in the country.

At the gate to the plaza, Ryu and Sampra stood in the same spots as Pangu had last seen them. In contrast to the somewhat gloomy mood of the city, the two men were wearing smiles.

“Xiang!” Sampra called out first and waved. “You have returned!”

“I have, indeed, my good sirs,” Pangu said and really studied them. He could see that Ryu had taken his advice so he decided to ask, “How was the date?”

Sampra blushed while Ryu looked to the side bashfully. “Xiang, I appreciate your assistance in the matter but it is rather impolite to ask about such a private matter.”

He laughed. “It went that well, did it?”

That time both of them blushed.

Kira raised his brow as the situation dawned on him. “Pangu, did you set these two soldiers up on a date of the romantic persuasion?”

Pangu looked back at him before he smiled and nodded. “Well,” he corrected his disciple, “I really only suggested it.”

“I was under the impression such relationships were forbidden by your god,” Kira mentioned and crossed his arms. He had noticed that the Xiang had not condemned him for his past ‘relationships’ but he hadn’t expected him to be so supportive of regular folk on the matter.

“I am the mouthpiece of Tiandi currently and I say it is okay.”

His explanation was far simpler than Kira expected as well. He couldn’t help but smile. “You are more interesting every day, dear Xiang.”

“You have improved my life significantly,” Sampra spoke up, “And for that, I could not be more grateful. I did not even realize that Ryu thought of me in that way…”

“It was obvious to me,” Pangu responded and snickered. “Anyway, I am thrilled that things worked out for the both of you.”

Both of the guards nodded and then gave a more proper bow before the Xiang and his party continued onward.

 Raine had already come to accept that Pangu’s methods and ideologies were slightly different than the Xiangs before him which he, personally, had no qualm with. If the Xiang said something was okay, he believed him.

It was Kira who was still in slight shock. Throughout his life he had met plenty of religious zealots who had claimed all manner of things about the sins of love. To those people, Tiandi’s rules on two men or two women being together was as set in stone as the rotation of the sun.

But Pangu seemed to disregard it entirely. And Kira had an idea as to why.

The Xiang led the way into the hall of the King where Din Raime Cast awaited them. This time the guards around him were more relaxed, even with the addition of Kira to the group.

“Your majesty,” Raine greeted the man in the usual fashion before stepping back behind Pangu. Kira waved a little but made no effort to properly greet the King. Raine cut his eyes at his far too casual approach but said nothing.

“Song Raine Sei, it is nice to see you again,” the king responded with a simple head bow of his own. His eyes moved to Kira. “Is this your new disciple, Xiang?”

“Yes, your lordship,” Pangu answered, “This is Kira. I now have only Agni and Enlil left for my last two disciples. With my great progress so far, I hope for a full group soon.”

“That would be best for all of us,” the King agreed before shifting the conversation, “Devati gave you a missive for me, correct?”’

“Correct,” he confirmed and retrieved the letter. He smoothed it out and handed it to one of the guards who then delivered it into the King’s hands.

“Do you mind if I read it now?” Din Raime Cast asked with an arched brow.

Pangu hoped the letter wasn’t too long because he gave him the go ahead. He folded his hands in front of him and, occasionally, looked back at his disciples who seemed nervous and bored respectively.

“…He wants more troops…” the King announced with a heavy sigh, “I cannot continue to ignore the real possibility that Lord Devati is planning a coup.”

“That didn’t seem to be on his mind, your lordship,” Pangu stated, “There were a lack of people in the cleanup and many soldiers lost their lives because of the storm. I will not take sides on the matter but you could be reading too much into a situation that does not exist.”

“Xiang…” Din Raime Cast narrowed his eyes. “Remind me again of who your father is.”

“A fisherman, sir.”

“As I thought. Not the previous King of Kyrie as mine was.”

“It is not my intention to argue with you,” Pangu raised his voice, “I am stating what I observed in Liun. If you wish to declare a war on your own sub lord then so be it but I will not help you nor will I return to Lord Devati to assist him.”

“Since the dawn of the Xiang, they have been an impartial worker of Tiandi,” the King replied, “but you and I both know that miasma is amplified by discord and distress. So if my dear lord in Liun is wishing to wage war and attempt to steal my crown then you must agree it is best to stop him in the interest of peace.”

“I am interested only in purifying the miasma of this country.”

A silence persisted for almost too long. Then the King sighed and shook his head. “I see. You have other countries to attend to as it is and I am aware of the consequences I could be looking at if I were to keep you within my borders for an extended period. We have peace with Terra but they are always on a hair trigger.”

“I must make my way there as soon as possible,” Pangu agreed with him, “But clearing the miasma here in Castelle is my top priority.”

“And cleared it needs to be…”

Pangu heard all he needed so he and his disciples left the palace. A ceremony would be announced for later in the day so he had some time to waste until then.

Kira rushed over to him once they were outside the plaza. “Pangu, that was incredible!”

“What was?” The Xiang tilted his head to the side.

“You just told the King to fuck off,” the man said and laughed, “I loved it.”

“I am surprised his majesty did not lash out,” Raine mentioned, sounding less excited and more worried, “If you were not the Xiang, you would be facing a harsh penalty for that.”

“Good thing I am the Xiang then.” Pangu smiled a little but, in truth, the encounter had given him stress. He hated arguing with people and he was aware that the lords and clan leaders across the land would not all be as devout of Tiandi followers as Din Raime Cast. What he did in there would probably not work as well in Terra and especially not in Agni where there was the highest concentration of atheists.

He would have to think of other methods to use rather than relying on his inborn divinity. For the first time since he had started traveling with Raine, he wished his teachers were back so he could ask their advice.

Raine and Kira held on a conversation but Pangu only partly paid attention to it. Some of what they touched on was the very thoughts he was struggling with—how the religious and spiritual angle would only work on the eastern half of the land.

“How much money do you have, Kira?” Pangu asked, breaking up their talking. “I’d like to buy some souvenirs. Maybe some snacks as well.”

“There are many good vendors down by the market,” Raine mentioned and pointed.

“Are you exceptionally familiar with the food here?” Kira asked and smirked, “I’ll take your suggestions.”

“I have a few favorites,” the man responded and, with more excitement than he’d had since their arrival to the capital, he led them down the street.

Pangu tried all of Raine’s favorite foods and snacks, successfully getting his mind off of the upcoming ceremony altogether. It wasn’t until his disciples started to walk him toward the center of the city’s square that he realized what time it was.

A huge crowd gathered, dressed in their best robes and headdresses for the occasion. Pangu actually felt under dressed when he looked at all of the people and he wondered if he should swing by a seamstress to pick up something nicer.

But it was already too late for that.

A band played, giving him music to dance to for the first time. Pangu smiled a little as the crowd started to clap to the tune and cheer—some even started to sing. It really helped the energy and his dance improved as well.

He felt for the miasma, knowing it would be a heavier burden this time. No matter how used to it he had gotten since the past few ceremonies, it was visible here so he knew he would suffer some draw back.

The heaviness never came nor did the lightheaded sensation. Pangu pulled the air toward him with a little more force and found traces of the miasma but it wasn’t coming toward him. He frowned slightly but continued his dance, trying to find where the poison was being siphoned into.

His eyes scanned across the crowd as he zeroed in on where the air was really going. Raine, he noticed, and then he felt the pull into Kira.

The Terran disciple flicked his wrist subtly and the miasma flowed into him. Pangu didn’t only feel it but he saw it. Kira was absorbing the miasma—not him.

He almost stopped dancing but reminded himself that this was for the people—not the actual purification process. The dance was almost over anyway as the air became clear and light.

Pangu stopped and the band’s song faded out. Cheering erupted from the crowd but he couldn’t look at anyone besides Kira.

Had he been doing that since he joined or had he just done it now? He couldn’t be sure but he knew he couldn’t allow him to continue.

“You’re right. It definitely was a different dance,” Raine mentioned to the man beside him.

Kira snickered but he didn’t move his eyes from Pangu. The Xiang had been staring at him since halfway through his ceremony and he wondered if he had finally noticed.

When he asked to speak with him privately, he knew it for certain.

Raine left to visit his home or what he considered his home. The orphanage outside of the market district where he and around thirty other children grew up. The matron there, Song Ranmu Sei, was like a mother to him. Pangu and Kira stayed at the fancy inn close by the palace (their rooms being paid for as a gesture of goodwill from the King).

On the balcony, overlooking the city that was lit up by lanterns in the night, Kira sat across from Pangu. They each had a glass of wine on the table with a candle settled between them.

“How can you absorb miasma?” Pangu asked, bluntly.

“I’m not sure,” Kira answered and drummed his fingertips on the wood of the table. “I just learned I could.”

“It is my duty,” he insisted, “You are not protected by Tiandi—it will rot you from the inside out.”

“And it has no effect on you?” the man countered as he leaned forward in his seat. “I saw how out of sorts you were when you first absorbed it. You could barely stand and there was hardly any of the stuff in the air.”

“Then how can you take such a large amount without it affecting you?” Pangu’s brow furrowed in confusion. Kira had barely shown any difference in behavior or in his well being since he sucked in all of the miasma from the capital. If he had done it himself, he knew he would still be recovering.

“I really don’t know, Pangu. I just can.” Kira shrugged before looking out to the city. “If it doesn’t bother me like it bothers you then shouldn’t I be the one to do it anyway? You’re the Xiang…your health is more important.”

He frowned. “I am still so confused. I can no longer feel it around but there is an energy coming off of you. Is it possible you have some natural ability for this?”

“Well,” his disciple said with a sigh, “I’ve always been a sponge for negativity so it makes sense in a way. My life has been seeped in dark energy and negative emotion so maybe I’m just more used to it than you are? Miasma is the manifestation of all of that shit, isn’t it?”

“Dark energy?” Pangu repeated and waited until he looked at him before continuing, “What is it exactly that you are used to, Kira?”

He smiled a little but there was sadness behind the expression. “A lot.” After a moment of silence and a rather large sip of wine, Kira proceeded, “My mother was a prostitute. Not officially though—she didn’t belong to a brothel or anything like that. It was just what she did for money. I was an unfortunate side effect of her lifestyle. But, once I grew to a certain age, she realized I could be more than just a burden. I could be used to make money as well.”

Pangu frowned and looked down at the table. “How could a mother do such a thing to their child?”

“Who knows? She never saw herself as my mother, if that helps. She used to tell me I was a curse from the evils of the world and I didn’t really come from her at all.” Kira turned his wine glass in his hand and licked over his lips. “Hearing things like that really messes with how you think of yourself, you know? But, I digress…I left her a while ago. Joined the military for a time but…it didn’t work out.”

“It didn’t work out?”

He shook his head gently. “No. It didn’t.” With a quiet laugh, Kira added, “Don’t tell Raine but I always wanted to be someone more like him. It’s impossible for me though.”

Pangu surprised him by immediately responding, “You don’t need to be anyone but you, Kira. I think you are fine how you are.”

His jaw dropped slightly before another laugh, this one dry, came out of him. “Well, you’d be the first.”

The Xiang smiled. “I’m alright with that…if…if it doesn’t bother you—the miasma—you can keep absorbing it. I mean, I have a feeling you will regardless of what I say. But do know that I will be checking on you and ensuring that it isn’t harming you. If you start to show signs of poisoning, I will forbid you to continue.”

He smirked. “Sure thing, boss.”

“I’m not your boss.”

Kira downed the rest of his wine, cringing a little as it went down. Then, without looking at the man across from him but with a smile still on his lips, he said in a soft voice, “Thanks, Pangu.”

[bloggismagency]

Benefits of Hiring Experienced Resume Writing Services

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1. An Impeccably Written Resume

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Hiring someone with a relatively higher level of experience can reduce the number of areas that will or can have faults. From an experienced resume writing services provider, you are bound to receive a resume that is of high quality and has zero errors.

With a top resume writing service provider, you will have to yourself a resume that is efficient enough to portray the skills of your candidate in such a manner that it is able to attract the recruiters’ attention. A good resume insinuates how brilliantly a person has gone about achieving different things in their career. Hire a top resume writing service provider and have the most outstanding resume amongst your fellow applicants.

2. No Redundant Stress

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In today’s world, competence plays a key role in helping a candidate stand out amongst a plethora of other potential employees that have applied for the very same role as them.

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A resume is not just a prerequisite for getting a call from a company but something that helps a candidate stand tall in various stages of her or his interview or application process. There is but one person who can provide as perfect a resume as the latter mentioned one – an experienced resume writing services provider.

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While we might want to believe ourselves to be the best judge of our strengths and weaknesses, having someone else’s perspective can always help.

An objective, critical appraisal of one’s resume can help one identify their weaknesses in the best manner possible. This objective viewpoint can be used to better our resumes and tailor them into something that is noticeable by employers.

While we can always ask around for a myriad of opinions vis-a-vis our resume’s curation, it is hard to beat a professional, someone who has a lot more experience in resume building than all of our peers combined.

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While a resume is of paramount significance in a job placement procedure, it is not the only thing that employers look forward to as they go through the profiles of dozens of applicants.

They visit LinkedIn pages and other social media profiles of the candidate. This is done to check the transparency of a profile, to see how aligned one’s actual personality is with their formal resume.

Conclusion –

You may save time and money by using professional resume writing services, and your resume will be as powerful as possible. The experience, expertise, and abilities of seasoned resume writers will enable them to transform your job application into a work of literary merit. They will have a deeper understanding of the job market than you have, allowing them to produce resumes that showcase your qualifications and experience while still being competitive in today’s employment market. Experienced resume writers will also be more adept at customising your document to meet the needs of various job descriptions and organisations, improving your chances of being contacted for an interview.

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[hoshinierabareshimono]

Genesis was tempted to roll his eyes at Sephiroth’s expression of distaste at his usage of the dead language once dominant across three continents, though the sentiment was perilously close to morphing into acerbic indignation when Sephiroth proceeded to grossly misinterpret his suggested training exercise.

In fact, he was but a hairsbreadth away from demanding if Sephiroth regarded such blantant ignorance as point of pride when finally, it seemed to dawn on the great hero himself where Genesis’ true intentions lay.

“Well, obviously,” he remarked with a dismissive wave of the hand, this time allowing exasperation to seep into his voice for the duration of that single word. “Anything else would be a waste of time and opportunity. But looking ourselves in the eye, facing our every flaw and weakness? That, I believe, will allow us to hone what distinguishes a true warrior from an ignorant pawn.”

And with that, he joined Sephiroth at the console, logging into his file and setting his own data as the enemy he would be facing.

Sephiroth’s challenge itself elicited an amused scoff from him.

“Gladly,” he drawled, giving the other SOLDIER an exaggerated bow before he strode towards the combat area with his head held high.

The battle itself he initiated without preamble, content to let his actions speak for him – as well as those of his digital copy.

Contrary to whatever fleeting reservation he may have entertained about allowing Sephiroth to partake in what was essentially a deeply personal experience, there was nothing disconcerting about crossing blades with a recreation of himself despite it being immaculate down to the finer details pertaining to his mannerisms and combat techniques.

Prior to his arrival at Midgar, he had already made it a point to attain a deeper understanding and awareness of his own body language, determined to turn what was often a vulnerability into a powerful asset.

There was thus commonly a deliberate component to how he articulated and carried himself.

Instead, even as his digital clone attacked with the relentless viciousness that was beginning to shape his reputation on the SOLDIER floor and defended as though his every move were predictable to him, Genesis was delighted to confirm the extent of his growth and more than anything, opted to relish the challenge itself.

Truly, he did not see himself tiring of this lethal dance of his creation anytime soon, the sophisticated rhythm that would have sent any lesser opponent staggering to the ground with a fatal injury all but instantly.

The ferocious grin lighting up his features spoke volumes about his passion for their shared craft, making his his eyes appear brighter, even, until their intensity was reminiscent of blue fire, all-consuming and purifying.

And yet, his enjoyment was but a secondary objective for that night, and Genesis thus dedicated an identical amount of scrutiny to mapping out his areas of improvement, to devising a strategy centered around exploiting them.

There was nothing novel about the truth that his technique was founded on speed and agility, at times compensating for raw physical strength – but actually fighting himself, Genesis recognized the dire necessity of acquiring an additional advantage over opponents whose physical strength surpassed his own.

More than anything, the blistering spite governing his very essence prevented him from accepting any outcome other than a decisive victory.

His free gloved hand lighting up with potent fire magic, he risked adopting a thus-far unproven method of spell casting, putting his own thesis to the test.

The fireballs he launched at his opponent in rapid succession he infused with a significantly greater amount of magical energy. Instead, the blazing projectiles retained their shape and potency even as his digital clone evaded them one by one, leaving them to hover in the air like a sinister omen.

Genesis forced himself to disregard the increasing exhaustion threatening to weigh down his every limb like leaden shackles, neither ceasing his relentless onslaught nor allowing even a single projectile that had missed its mark to dissipate.

Suddenly, he balled his hand into a tight fist, and every single fireball he had conjured thus far targeted his digital clone at once from various angles, leaving him with no way of escape.

Helpless now, his opponent vanished behind a wall of fire, and with that, the simulation ended.

Genesis Rhapsodos collapsed to his knees the instant of his victory, lightheaded and utterly spent.

And despite the eloquence he prided himself on possessing, words eluded him.

He made a look at the words in another language. He pinpointed the dead language, but it wasn't one he spent his time studying enough to speak and hear fluently. But the other seemed to translate soon after, and he raised a brow.

Was this some roundabout way to make show of his efforts so far? Perhaps this SOLDIER Rhapsodos was taking the opportunity to flaunt. If that was it, he was wasting his time. Sephiroth's opinions should not be of worth, and he didn't exactly feel enticed over the idea of simply besting former efforts.

He was willing to go along with this, to a point. He glanced at him, though, gaze pointed. "Is that to say we conquer sessions we've already overcome? Or are you proposing we program the simulator to project our own battle skills?"

Did he suggest they truly conquer themselves?

It would certainly...be interesting, he believed. If not somewhat unwelcome for reasons he couldn't pinpoint.

He looked to the computer, tapping into his information, and also looking up Genesis' as well, glancing over his recorded data with curiosity. But he looked back to him once more.

"You want to tell a story, then go on and tell it." he invited.

[qandle5]

Enhance the Efficiency of Your Organization with Employee Attendance Management System

Recordkeeping of employee time and attendance is an essential function for every company, regardless of its size. This function must be managed and maintained. The precision and effectiveness of a company’s method for tracking employee attendance have a direct bearing on how well that organization functions as a whole. An attendance management system that is ineffective and poorly performed has the potential to create a bottleneck for all other activities, which in turn would significantly affect the organization’s overall productivity. A method of recording attendance that is controlled manually is inefficient and prone to making mistakes. The process of manually entering data is one that is both time-consuming and laborious. An automated Attendance Management system that automates critical operations and saves your business time and money is the key to overcoming all of these limits and putting your firm on the path to success.

 A workforce management system is a software application that is dependable and efficient, allowing it to manage the presence of personnel in a business in an effective manner. As soon as you begin putting this system into place, you will have the ability to establish a work record for every minute of every employee’s shift. You are able to establish precise performance statistics for each individual worker in your firm thanks to the attendance management system that you have. It is possible for you, with the help of high-quality and efficient attendance management software, to automate the tasks listed below, which will ultimately lead to an increase in the productivity of your company: automatically import and process attendance data for every employee working for your organization, based on the data received from the attendance tool. Automate the process of recording information like arrival time, vacation time, overtime, early departure, late grading, absenteeism, and vacations.

 The system successfully creates work schedules for workers in his organization, reports holidays, overtime, vacations, attendance, and other relevant information, and inserts existing data into the payroll software in an efficient manner so that payroll processing may be performed. One of the most significant challenges associated with managing attendance in large enterprises is the manual scheduling and rostering of personnel. It is very vital, for the sake of improved corporate performance, to ensure that personnel is assigned in an appropriate manner to their respective work divisions. Using management systems that are already in place is one option for doing this. It guarantees that every instant of productive work is documented and wonderfully rewarded, which will act as an incentive for workers since it is captured and beautifully rewarded in real time. As a consequence of this, workers will perform at their highest level and make significant contributions to the expansion of your business.

 An automated attendance management system will not only make the procedure simpler overall, but it will also offer a report that is both clear and analyzed on the attendance of staff members. In order to optimize revenues, it will assist you in allocating and using the available human resources in timetable management. The software for tracking attendance has been designed to be simple to use and adaptable to the requirements of any organization that want to monitor the presence of its staff members. You have the option of pursuing alternative approaches, such as outsourcing, for various aspects of human resources management. PEO services allow you to delegate several aspects of employee administration, including payroll processing, the formulation of work policies, and more. PEO services are particularly beneficial when it comes to the management of foreign labor groups. The author is a management company that works with a variety of clients located in a variety of geographical areas to provide attendance management systems. He has a great deal of experience in this particular industry. In this essay, he discusses the many ways in which a business might profit from using an attendance management system.

 How Employee Attendance Management System Can Enhance the Efficiency of An Organization

 Your company will be able to take advantage of all of these important advantages when you use a solid attendance management software like Qandle:

 Data on Attendance, Which Are Now More Accurate

 The manual entry of attendance data is fraught with the possibility of human mistakes. Each mistake in the data results in lost time and money for the organization. An automated Attendance Management system is the answer to this issue, it solves it. Because of the prevalence of computers, the risk of making a mistake is almost nonexistent. You will also be able to have a far more accurate view of each employee’s work schedule as well as their level of timeliness if you use automated record keeping. This provides you with a more accurate representation of the functioning of your company.

 Integrating Software for the Management of Payroll

 The amount of time an employee has spent working is an essential piece of information for any payroll management software to have. Best software for handling payroll for small businesses. When using a manual attendance management system, the data would need to be captured and put into the system twice: once in the attendance system, and then again in the payroll management system. In other words, the data would have to be entered manually twice. A comprehensive Attendance Administration system will allow for an easy interface with your payroll management software, which will reduce the need for duplicate data input and make the system more efficient overall. As a consequence of this, the time that was previously spent on such labor-intensive physical duties may now be diverted to more meaningful pursuits.

 Provided on Your Own

 By allowing workers to access and make changes to their own records and personal information, an employee self-service system significantly lessens the workload placed on management. By allowing employees to submit their own requests for leaves of absence or holiday time using the software, management may cut down on the quantity of paperwork associated with such duties. Employees also have the ability to access their historical records. Because of this, they will be able to more effectively manage their time. Your organization’s production has increased as a direct consequence of the decreased amount of work placed on management as well as the improvements made to the personnel database.

  To know more: https://www.qandle.com/blog/enhance-the-efficiency-of-your-organization-with-employee-attendance-management-system/

[fursasaida]

A lot has been said about Pelosi’s idiotic, offensive, bullshit statement about the Chauvin verdict, but what’s sticking in my craw more is actually Mayor Frey’s (of MPLS) similarly fuckshit statement. Please note the emphasis I’m adding to this with the bolding:

George Floyd came to this city to better his life. But ultimately his life will have bettered our city. The jury joined in a shared conviction that has animated Minneapolis for the last 11 months. They refused to look away and affirmed he should still be here today.

This is similar to Pelosi’s statement in that it casts George Floyd’s death as a kind of redemptive martyrdom for which “we” should be grateful, rather than a horrific tragedy that should make us angry or active or otherwise something other than placid and self-satisfied. But it exposes the underlying idea more clearly, and that idea is extraction.

This formulation says: George Floyd came to the city with hopes and intentions, and the city ate him to fuel itself. (It has been animated!) It says, the city robbed this man. It says, his future was never his future; it was fuel to continue and even improve the city. There is nothing mutualistic about what this says--no sense that people come to the city because of what they hope it can help them do, and in the process of achieving it their efforts also become part of the city, and all of these efforts, together, make the city what it is and make it better and more, even as they also make the city a place where people can achieve the things they want. (Even dry, conservative economists are capable of articulating “the city” this way, in their own terrible jargon.) The city apparently does not need people to live in it to be bettered. It only needs people to bring themselves to be ground up.

I wrote a paper in January about the carceral system as a system for extracting time, as a “natural resource,” from the lives and bodies of racialized and criminalized people. In the paper I pointed out that “time” can mean a lot of things, and if we are going to talk about its extraction then we need to ask what it is in its “raw” form and what it is processed into and used for upon being extracted. I said that raw time was simply potential and possibility, and that from this potentiality of life state practices like harassment, surveillance, arrests, killings, incarceration, prison transfers, parole, all manner of political theater, and so on produce temporal products the state can use like duration, events, and rhythms. Rhythms are useful because they synchronize and organize the workings of the state’s various systems and integrate them into the coherent whole called territory. Duration means sustenance or maintenance: the continuation of the state’s current configuration. And events are useful because they a) can be used to construct other rhythms (like cycles of “reform” followed by crackdowns, adjusted for various political purposes) and b) are the things you hang a narrative on.

What these politicians are doing with their rhetoric is very literally processing the time, the potential and possibility, what Ruth Wilson Gilmore called “the resource of life,” that was taken from George Floyd into an event. (The trial itself was already doing that, of course, but now they are eventalizing the event further.) This event is supposed to link into the sanitized--”folkloric,” as Osita Nwanevu put it--narrative of the Civil Rights movement. The nature of that narrative is to lock struggle into the past, to treat the losses that were part of it as finished, justified, nobly necessary, and the objects of awe and respect rather than sources of grief or motivation. (ETA: Decent thread here pointing out how Biden’s explicitly linking last year’s protests to the 60s skips over decades of public mobilization in between, including the formation of BLM in 2014 when Biden was still VP.) Whether we regard this as extending that narrative into the present or shunting George Floyd’s life and death into the past doesn’t really matter. Either way, the future that is left open here for those of us alive to encounter it is what is called “the future anterior,” a future that is only an extension of the past--more of the same. The “future to-come,” as a meaningfully different and significantly unknowable future, a future with the “raw time” possibility of being different that makes the future what it is, is deferred. All these practices do that--separate future anterior from future to-come, and use the predictable guarantees of the former to generate value while deferring the latter.

Many, many Black and other intellectuals have written about how liberalism and capitalism have been built on extracting value from the people they racialize and criminalize. I doubt anyone reading this far needs that explained. I just find it revolting how clearly Frey has articulated that here. “Our city is better because it killed George Floyd. Be uplifted.” Yes, he ended on “he should still be here.” I suppose that’s better than if he hadn’t. But I can barely hear that closing over the first two sentences ringing in my ears.

[lamentingwclf]

If not now, when? If he did not drag these out of her now and she continued to bottle the grief that buzzed under her skin at a frequency that called to his own, then what? She'd explode and doom herself. Bucky wanted Wanda better for their time together, not worse. "I believe in you." He offers, good - bad - ugly - however this was going to end, he wanted to offer her that. If she failed, he knew she would carry it with her, but she did not have to carry it in shame. "I believe in you, and I know you can do this."

Not just because he did not want to die, but because she was strong, and she was more than death and destruction. She was power in the purest form. But it was hers to control, not the other way around.

Just a flesh wound that sunk deep into the muscle tissue and caused flesh to hang haphazardly. She didn't need to know about the claw he'd already pulled free - a mistake by any basic medical training, it should have been left in - or how he felt the hole it left in his rib that would never heal. He didn't want her to know how deep it ran because if she could just close it, his body would do the rest.

Bucky closes his eyes to the feel of her touch, gentle and cool against burning skin. He leans into her, letting her know he's still present and here when his eyes roll closed to the press of their foreheads. An underrated intimate touch that solidifies his thought, whether she admits it or not. She's attached, and his lips tug into a smile. "It would significantly improve your bedside manner."

Then, he laughs, a full body laugh that's rattling dangerously and inevitably cuts off from pain, but there's no regret in it. In these final moments of pure joy. If he wasn't drowning in his own blood, he might even kiss her. But he doesn't. Nor does he tell her that he went for Gimli because she compared their kill ratios, or how he'd always wanted to be Aragorn himself, but had settled for Bilbo at the beginning of the Hobbit. How he'd never really wanted the adventure, just a home. But he says none of this, he focuses instead on the way his side is warm, and trying to figure out if the flow of blood is really slowing and clotting, or it's just his imagination.

He stills and remains quiet so she can focus. Until it's not his imagination. Until he's no longer bleeding, and his skin feels tight and new as it is knitted back together. It is not perfect, and it will never be perfect again - there will always be a scar that will fade in time to look less harsh. But it's enough. It's enough that he feels more comfortable to sit up and support his own weight - pausing only when his vision darkens around the edges or starts seeing spots.

From the new vantage, he can see why - the grass around them is drenched in his blood and it's jarring. He knows he's still pale, but the sweat is starting to dry and his clothes cling uncomfortably to him. As does the taste when he runs his tongue across his teeth - thinking better of spitting and choosing instead to swallow with a cringe. Standing would be a very bad idea, they should wait to be collected and transported out of here, but Bucky is stubborn, and if he's alive and breathing, he can walk.

But he will take it slow, given his difficulties sitting up, and he's not sure if it's the movement that lets her hand slip from his side, or her realization that the touch is no longer needed, but it leaves him cold, and missing the presence. Just as giving them space in simply sitting up has caused him to regret the distance between them. He is neither surprised nor startled by the realization he wants to touch her again...and worse, he wants her to touch him.

Once on his feet and convinced he won't keel back over, he extends his right hand to her. He has not forgotten her own injuries, and the uneven gait as she ran towards him. He has not forgotten the amount of power and energy she's lost today. Bucky will carry her out of her if she cannot walk herself. He doesn't just pull her to her feet, but pulls her flush against him, feeling every soft curve and physically aches from it.

His lips drop to her forehead, "Thank you, Gandalf."

I owe you one. Dies on his lips before he can even make the joke.

"Let's get out of here, you need a shower."

The closer she got to him, the worse he looked. Painted with blood and grime, and far too pale when sweaty, glistening skin shone through. Wanda was in no prize state, she knew, but Bucky looked like he had one foot out the door (one foot straight in the grave) already. It was chilling and she had to swallow a wave of panic. She was too late, she was too late to do anything she was too late to say what needed to be said. But no— no panic, simply remaining calm. He was the focus. She was a witch, she could heal, and she was not letting this end right now. So F O C U S.

He was (dead weight) heavy, but Wanda was searching for the source of the pain and seeking some way bring about relief that the weight was barely an afterthought. She tried a smile at his words, because ha ha what a joke, and attempted to return it, “All those characters and I’m Gimli? I would say Gandalf, but fine.” Lame, but if a distraction was what was required then that was fine. Wanda could play along.

She was aware of his hand at her cheek, head tilting slightly into it until there was that little tug of her hair. Her smile was a little more true but the sadness was undeniable. Her eyes kept flickering away to search for the source of his main injury, the big one, the one that needed fixed now— But her attention was caught by such grandiose words! The smile on her features almost had an actual hint of sincerity to it. What a thing to say. But before she could reply, he was speaking again.

And he stunned her for a moment.

Like him. Now there was a little light to her eyes, a touch of warmth finally reaching her again. Oh did he think that? Well, perhaps he was right. But did this have to be the moment she delved into this feelings? Why accept something when it was about to end? Wanda didn’t daydream of big confessions and romantic atmosphere. She had let her feelings grow, exploring where her curiosity for him had led. She had followed those emotions and could admit to herself she liked him, but she had known this very situation was a possibility. And had known that someone’s affections could be a burden. She’d no plans of how to tell him she liked him. Wanda didn’t want to think time was running out, but perhaps her hand had been forced.

But first... Where was the injury? This wasn’t her moment.

She was silent as he moved her hand gently to the wound, closing her eyes and repressing a shiver at the feeling of blood. Wanda wasn’t squeamish, but the severity of this injury completely terrified her. Wanda wasn’t a healer. She could create, she could alter, but her powers were so chaotic and destructive. To heal something of this scale wasn’t impossible, but it was improbable. And losing him when she was terrifying. She opened her eyes and pressed her hand to his side, keeping the physical pressure going. Almost instantly, Wanda began to try and HEAL. She had to do it. It wouldn’t be instant and the fight had taken a large toil on her. But she could do it. Surely. Even if just simply to stem the blood flow, it had to work.

Wanda understood what he meant, but the thought that this was hurting her now was in her mind instantly. This was painful, an ache. But nothing could drag that thought from her and make her say it aloud. Wanda wasn’t going to tell him that the current sight of him caused her pain. Besides, she knew what harm he was talking about. She knew why he asked and though she didn’t want to think of him being gone, if it was what Bucky needed to hear then she could at least say those words and mean them. “That won’t happen. I’m not leaving.” Though surely he could make a promise not to leave, too.

“And I can do it.” The steel was back in her gaze and tone. Determination was something she could grab and run with. “I can heal you. I’m not going to focus on anything else.” Wanda was not yet ready to plan for failure. “Just a flesh wound. I can heal those.”

Her free hand moved to his face, past his cheek to his forehead. The sensation of sweat mixed with grime was instant but did not put her off gently brushing the wet locks of hair away. Soft fingers gently playing over his forehead, almost a clean track left in their wake. And then she leant forwards - careful to keep her hand pressed to his side, letting the magic and energy flow through her and from her fingers to him - tilting her forehead to touch his. Buckets earlier words still running through her mind. Her eyes closed softly.

“Do I need to admit it aloud?” Opening her eyes, Wanda clarified with a soft smile, “I need to openly state I like you? Everything else wasn’t good enough and staying here like this isn’t enough?” She wasn’t good at these things, but perhaps he was right. And maybe it needed said. Softly, but clearly, Wanda said, “I like you. You’re a pain the ass and truly such a MESS, but I like you. And I will be so pissed off if this is where your time ends. I’ve not got it in me to like anyone else. And who else could put up with a Gimli like me?” She didn’t say such things often. Maybe she didn’t have a planned confession or know ‘what the right time’ was, but did it have to be like this? It was CRUEL.

[mishkakagehishka]

Old Friend | LDB-Martin Septim/Sheogorath-HoK

repost from my old blog, without the tags

Hopefully the people I’ve tagged haven’t already forgotten about this lol if anybody did… well, I hope it’ll be good enough to be considered a nice surprise! It’s been over a month, but it’s finished! Have fun reading :)

Word count: 6,232 Warnings: blood and slight gore (canon compliant) Concept: Martin Septim found himself in Skyrim, 200 years after the Oblivion Crisis as the Last Dragonborn. There is next to no hope for any of his friends’ survival, but an encounter with the Prince of Madness might just restore some of his faith.

It has been a little over a month since Alduin was defeated. As it often is in Skyrim, the weather was atrocious. A snowstorm was on the way, and the dry, cold wind was picking up. Martin, the hero who vanquished Akatosh’s eldest, pulled the fur-lined hood over his head. His shoulders were pushed forward in a manner that should have helped him close himself off from the cold, but it didn’t help much. Shivering, he rubbed his hands together and blew air onto them. The skin on his knuckles broke from the winds, and traces of blood decorated them. He couldn’t remember if the cracks and cuts were a result of the winds or the fights.

He was walking alone, having just told the smith from Falkreath that he couldn’t find his dog, after all. Well, a dog was found, although not one that was expected. Martin, nevertheless, was satisfied with it, able to place another Daedric artefact in his travelling pack. The reason for his infatuation with the Daedra returning so suddenly was the trip to his homeland that was cut short due to grief. Regret. Or maybe it was simply holding the Rose again. After returning from Cyrodiil, his first choice was to lose his grief in a mug. The man in robes at the inn had similar plans, he offered Martin a challenge. A staff, should he win. And however embarrassing the aftermath was, the previous heir, now a champion in his own right, won fair and square.

He looked around himself, noting he was alone. No beast nor bandit were to be seen. With a glance to the sky, he frowned at the dark clouds above. The wind was picking up. “Lok vah koor!” he yelled out into the sky, the shout bubbling through his throat. After each shout, with this one being used to clear the skies and improve the weather, Martin would feel himself left with a burnt throat, as if he had drunk a spirit straight. Clearing the skies wouldn’t help much, but it was better than the breath of fire. It would, yes, warm him significantly, but while a different shout felt like alcohol, that one burnt and clawed at his throat like a heated knife.

As the clouds dissolved and travelled farther down the celestial dome, his mind wandered to his current goal. The Sanguine Rose was in his hands once more, but he still craved the other artefacts. It was a fascination borne of his grief, the focus he gave finding the cursed items serving as a distraction from his regrets. Unhealthy, of course, and there was a part of him, however small, that kept aching from how wrong it all was. He had already gone through a Daedric phase when he was young, it ended badly to say the least, and he was supposed to be over it. Done with it. But it was a distraction. Alduin defeated, the apocalypse staved off, the world saved – once more – and he just wanted to go back. Back to his youth, perhaps, before he knew he was a Septim, before he met the Blades, before he had a chance to bond with Baurus, with Jauffre, with that hero. That hero whose name, existence, seemed to have disappeared at one point. He laughed to himself in an amused, but bitter, manner; the remains of Cloud Ruler Temple burnt into his mind’s eye.

The skies were only clear for an hour, but it was enough to warm up slightly. Moving up northward, Martin managed to just avoid the storm, and the vast fields of the Whiterun hold were now stretched out in front of him. The wind was cold, still the pale sunbeams warmed him.

When he finally arrived in Whiterun, the sky was already littered with stars, and so he immediately went to the Bannered Mare, wanting of a long rest and, maybe, a meal. Hulda told him how the city was in disarray; the Harbinger of the Companions, the symbol of their town, was killed. He, naturally, offered his condolences before paying for a room. Perhaps it was unwise trying to seek out Daedric artefacts in Whiterun at this moment, he thought. Even though he had heard the Jarl’s children were possessed by an evil force – a Daedra no doubt – he decided against meddling. Instead, he would leave next morning and move on to another city that might offer him what he wants.

But that night, Martin dreamt the most peculiar nightmare. It was that day, again, when he broke the Amulet of Kings. Just like in the nights before, he dreamt of the Hero telling him not to do it, that they can find another way, that they will find another way. But as he looked at them, at the dark abyss where their vibrant face once was, Martin smiled bitterly. The Hero’s voice was distorted as they cried out, and though their face was blank, their pain was obvious. They reached out, but the Amulet broke, and the bright lights absorbed Martin. That night’s oddity starts there; the dream didn’t end like all the past nights.

When he awoke, or rather, when he of his dream awoke, it was in a dark forest. The vibrant colours of Cyrodiil were muted to a dull greyscale, not unlike the wintery tundra of Skyrim. Yet Martin knew this wasn’t the northern province, the florae were all recognisable as that of his homeland. That said, even the sky was a muted blue, with no sun, nor clouds, in sight. It was as if all the colours were sucked out, leaving the forest in a desolate state. As he got up and brushed the dust off his legs, he saw a fox drinking from a river in the distance.

The fox was the same muted grey colour as everything around him. Its fur was matted and dirty, with likely painful knots, and it appeared to be dangerously thin. He tried walking towards it, but the closer he got, the more distorted it looked. Its legs pulsated wildly, bones crunching as it crouched and straightened up again and again.

The river turned redder with every step he took, replacing the grey river of before that he now missed, but from up-close, the fox truly looked terrifying. Its claws were overgrown, and its eyes were bloodshot, sunken. It looked up at him, before darting away. It ran further into the vegetation, amongst the dark trees that now grew closer and closer to each-other, creating a claustrophobic and nauseating feeling. Martin ran after it. The fox came to a stop by a tree, where it laid and relaxed, as if it only ran to lead the man to that spot.

Martin placed a hand on his mouth and nose, which was then assaulted by the first scent he felt in that dream. It was the strong stink of blood and death. His eyes widened in horror as they fell on the object next to which the animal cuddled up. A severed head, skin flayed, or peeling off, revealing rotten meat and grey bone. Grey, like everything around them.

There was rustling in the tree’s branches and a swarm of butterflies flew down. He raised his arm to protect his face from the sudden pink-and-yellow wind, and watched them fly away to the distance. It was then that he noticed his sleeves, very unlike the dark blue he was always wearing, it was white. And his hands themselves, they weren’t his. Looking down, he wasn’t wearing any of his robes, but a guard’s armour. A black wolf’s face was staring at him from the front of the cuirass, and he recognised its white eyes. The dream around faded into nothingness as he was left to wonder on the reason behind it.

He left with the sunrise the day after. Martin made as few stops on his trip as he could, wanting to get to Solitude sooner. The metropolitan capital of Skyrim, at least for now, might have some fresh rumours, and work, for him. He kept off the roads, noting the small, but ever-present battles that cluttered the roads nearby some of the many forts of the land. Even though the end of times was stopped, the people had no time to celebrate. Political tensions were just as high as before the dragons appeared. At least, Martin assumed so. He hadn’t but second-hand accounts of what happened before he awoke in the cart headed to Helgen.

With Solitude’s walls now in sight, the Dragonborn leaned on a fence overlooking the harbour. He wasn’t in a rush. The afternoon sun was warming the dock workers and some people who came to trade at the small market. It was an idyllic view, and Martin spent a few minutes simply watching the people go about their business. Pushing himself off the fence, he looked at Solitude’s imposing gates, large even from a distance, and huffed. Ever since witnessing the murder in Markarth, he has become overly nervous about the large cities in the holds. He bit the inside of his cheek, the layers of guilt pinching his heart once more.

But Solitude was as peaceful as always today. Some people recognised him, and bid him hello. A child thanked him for saving them from the dragons. Martin smiled back at the people, feeling appreciated, loved. However, it was a shallow feeling. Every time he felt a sliver of joy, he was reminded of his dearest friends, of the Blades, of the Hero. They could never feel joy again, and why? Because he was too late in saving Tamriel in the dusk of the 3rd era. Why should he, then, feel happy and accomplished, when his friends couldn’t? It was insufferable. He knew he didn’t deserve this joy, and he cursed himself for not openly rejecting it.

He pulled on his hood, obscuring his face further, and walked down the streets of Solitude. It was slightly warmer in the city, but Skyrim’s weather was felt all the same. It wasn’t long before he saw a Bosmer in rags walking in circles, talking to himself and twitching all the way. He seemed distraught. A regular bystander would assume he was just mad, but Martin recognised the lost and lonely look in his eye. While he was there on a mission to find more Daedric artefacts, his throat constricted at the sight, and he knew he should help him somehow, if only because he knew what such a violent loneliness can do.

The Bosmer was talking to himself about his “Master”, repeating how he didn’t like being left alone and how he wishes he would just take him back as a servant. Whenever a person would walk close enough by him, he pleaded with them, begging them to help him find his Master. Martin took pity on him, seeing as how it wasn’t long before people started avoiding him with a sour look in their eye. While the Dragonborn’s pity was out of kindness and understanding, the others only held dislike and annoyance.

“You!” the Wood Elf jumped, running up to Martin. There was a spark in his eye accompanying the painfully desperate look he was giving the Dragonborn. “You’ll help me! You help people, right? That’s what you do? You’re Martin?” “Yes, I am. It’s okay, tell me, what’s wrong? How can I help you?” Martin removed his sleeve from the Elf’s tight grip, reassuring him that he won’t leave. Some passers-by sent sour looks their way, whispering amongst each-other. Martin spared them no thought, but strategically turned the Bosmer so he wouldn’t notice them. The man was distraught, there was no reason to have him suffer at the hands of gossip-hags. “My master has abandoned me! Abandoned his people… And nothing I say can change his mind. Now he refuses to even see me. He says I interrupt his vacation! It’s been so many years… Won’t you please help?” Martin’s heart clenched at his words. It was guilt, not for the Elf’s situation, rather for seeing in his words what would have been the words of his friends. While not a master, he abandoned them, too. He abandoned his people, as Emperor. But, now was not the time to think about such things. “Yes, of course I will help you. Tell me, friend, what is your name?” “Thank you so much! It’s Dervenin, actually, and my master, you can find him in the Blue Palace, he’s visiting a friend,” he said, “oh, but not the Jarl, no, no, no… No, he doesn’t like such mundane people… You’ll need to get into the Pelagius Wing to find my master.” “Pelagius Wing? But that is-“ “The forbidden wing, yes. But that’s where my master is, he-he’s taking tea with a friend… he hasn’t seen in a long time. Maybe, Falk Firebeard… or the maids can help you get in? Surely, they will listen to you, you’re Martin! Ah, and you’ll need this…” Dervenin reached into the small ragged bag he was carrying, taking out a pelvic girdle. Martin cringed, his eyebrows rising at the sight. “The hip bone! No entering Pelagius’ Wing without it…” “Uh, right… thank you.” Martin, somewhat uncertainly, took the girdle and stuffed it into his own bag. Just what sort of thing was he getting involved in? “Um, here. Take this,” he quickly regained his composure, handing Dervenin some coins, “I shall speak to your master. In the meantime, get something to eat at the Winking Skeever. I will come get you when I am finished.” “Oh, thank you so much! I was right to ask you, after all!” And with a bow, he left Martin’s sight, supposedly running off to the tavern.

The Dragonborn sucked in his teeth and cocked his head to the side while palming the bone in his bag. Up until that point, Dervenin seemed like nothing more than a Mer down on his luck, but Martin had seen enough skeletal remains in his adventures. Those bones were as real as the hand he grasped them with. Not to mention, he was to head into the always-locked forbidden wing of the Blue Palace. It was all so strange. Nevertheless, the Bosmer was someone who needed help, and Martin would rather be damned than pass up a chance to lend a helping hand. It was, after all, what made him feel alive the most, even after all the bloody one-man battles in which he’s been since discovering his voice. There was a new bounce to his step as he strode to the Palace grounds.

“Good afternoon!” he greeted one of the maids, Erdi, with a bow of his head. “Would you know how I could get into the Pelagius’ Wing?” The raven-haired Nord stopped sweeping for a moment, as if in thought, before hesitantly beginning to speak, “That’s the forbidden wing… I’m afraid I can’t help you.” “Please, I just need the key,” Martin smiled, “I won’t bother you for anything more.” “Oh, I’d get in trouble for that… It’s not allowed. Besides, it’s scary in there!” “And that’s exactly why I need the key. See, I promised to help someone, and it involves the forbidden wing.” Martin knew Erdi had a weak spot for chivalric stories, given how often she lamented on wishing for a knight to sweep her off her feet, so he hoped mentioning the honourable motive behind his request would help soften her. “Well…” and it seemed to work well, with the woman glancing into a corner in the ceiling while fishing a key out of the pocket on her dress. “I suppose, in that case, it’s okay to let you in. But only briefly! Be careful, and come right back!” “Of course! Your kindness has made me very happy!” Martin gently took the key out of her hand and booked it to the southern wing – Pelagius’ Wing.

The door was heavy, and squeaked in protest when Martin pushed it open. The air inside of the wing was stuffy, and the man sneezed after breathing in some of the dust. Cobwebs littered the corners of the room, and he was certain he saw a small skeever scutter by. Everything around him was a dull grey and covered in layers and layers of dust, of abandonment. He proceeded carefully into the bowels of the hallway, pondering just how anyone could stay a room that was certainly in the same run-down state.

For a moment, the idea of being duped crossed his mind. Had that Wood Elf tricked him? But, why would he? He couldn’t imagine it was just to rob him, as the wing wasn’t available without the key, of which Martin was a witness. Then, just to waste his time? He could hardly be angry at such a prank, if that was true. His steps gradually became heavier and heavier, his soles hitting the ground at much slower of a pace. Stopping for a moment, the room around him was spinning. Sudden dizziness incapacitated him, and he lowered himself down to a kneeling position. The sudden ringing in his ears deafened him, and he closed his eyes whilst wincing. The ground underneath him disappeared, and his stomach rose as a wind floated around him. He was falling.

When he came to, he was lying on some grass, the blades tickling his cheek. Bolting upwards, he noticed he was no longer in Solitude, no longer in Skyrim, either, from the looks of it. The muted green wintery grass beneath him, and a grey cloudless sky above him, littered with tiny stars that glowed and glimmered like miniscule flames. The edges of this meadow were defined by large carved stone arches, three of them. Perhaps, the strangest part of the predicament in which he found himself was the long table fit for a noble family in front of him. It was stone, as were the chairs, and strewn across it were various treats and delicacies – a feast. From roast meat, to pies, to cheese. Lots and lots of cheese. There were only two men, however, sitting at the table. A man who looked remarkably ordinary, and one who looked anything but. In a set of brown fine clothes and with tied back blonde hair, the ordinary-looking man contrasted terribly the one sitting in a throne. With his white hair and matching beard, and the most ridiculous clothes Martin had ever seen. One side of his vest was pink, other red, but both had intricate patterns flowing down his torso, until the hem of the purple trousers with interwoven strings as its pattern. And such striking yellow eyes. That must have been the Mad God, Sheogorath.

They were having a conversation, but Martin’s ears perked up only when he heard the word Septim. “You are the best Septim that’s ever ruled!” Sheogorath stated firmly as his fist made contact with the table, shaking up the plate with a sweet roll. “Well, except for that Martin fellow. But he turned into a dragon god, and that’s hardly sporting…” Martin’s brain stuttered, as he mulled over those words. He didn’t turn into a dragon god, he was still alive, here, as himself. Well, it was the prince of madness talking, anyway. Sheogorath continued talking to the other man, “You know, I was there for that whole sordid affair. Marvellous time! Butterflies, blood, a Fox, a severed head… Oh, and the cheese! To die for.” The way he enunciated each word gave away his identity as the Mad God most, as far as Martin was concerned, but the words said struck quite the cord within the Dragonborn. Whilst he was thinking over if he should approach them, the two continued their conversation.

Martin now took the time to look at himself, noting how much lighter he felt. He was no longer wearing his robes, nor did he have his bag on his back. Instead, he was dressed in a set of plush fine clothes, brown, almost identical to the ones of the blond man. A matching hat was set on his head, but the lack of all his items worried him. He tried to make a flame, a small one, just to test if he could rely on magic should things go south. Somehow, this world felt off and he wasn’t certain his magicka wasn’t being drained. As he suspected, no flame turned up. That must have been the reason for his drowsiness at that moment. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he quickly turned around. The man was now gone. And Sheogorath was staring at him.

Martin wasn’t new to the Daedric subculture, he had done his homework and read up on all of the princes, and he knew Sheogorath was one of the more dangerous ones. If his myths were anything to go by, the Mad God was insane, not in the same way poor Dervenin might have been, but in a completely sadistic and malicious way. The things that made sense to him didn’t make sense to others, instead they incited a feeling of horror. He knew he had to watch his step. Dervenin, then he remembered. This must have been Dervenin’s master.

“I come with a message!” Martin announced before approaching the Prince. There was unfaltering confidence in the way he carried himself, a result of the extensive training he had gotten as a hero. “A message? Really?” Sheogorath’s eyes glinted as he leaned on his elbows on the table. “What kind of message? A song? Summons? Well then, spit it out, mortal! I haven’t got an eternity! Hm, or I do.” Expecting a far madder manner of speech from the supposed Mad God, Martin was taken aback at how almost casual his words were. Somehow, the way he spoke was even familiar. “You- I was asked to bring you from your vacation.” “Were ya now? Tell me, little mortal, have you any idea who you’re speaking with?” Sheogorath stood up from his chair now. “To tell, to demand of me such nonsense! Tea breaks don’t last less than three decades, do they now?” “I know very well who you are, but the subject matter is that you have abandoned your servant, and he requests your return. I have given him my word, that I will find you, and I am a man of my word.” “Hmph! I do not believe you know me. Perhaps you did, once, but you’ve forgotten. Or maybe you haven’t. Have you?” He paused for a beat, and the strong gaze almost made Martin falter, but he merely straightened his spine and returned the fire with honour. “My servant says I abandoned him, so? Did he seem sane? Was he not begging you? Do you think a man abandoned by Sheogorath would be begging in the streets and carrying bones with him, all in the hope of burdening some boringly sane hero to find me? Did his eyes seem like ones belonging to one abandoned by the Mad God?! Don’t make me rip out your ribs and make a percussion instrument out of ‘em!”

Certainly, such threats were to be expected from Sheogorath. Still, Martin was silent for a moment, merely trying to swallow down the heart that was beating in his throat currently. But in a second, Sheogorath’s demeanour changed. He clapped suddenly before continuing, “Doesn’t matter! I suppose all this lollygagging has been getting stale. Too boring, far too boring! I’ll leave, return to all my lovely duties, but on one condition!” “Which is..?” Martin asked, knowing full well it wasn’t going to be something he liked. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll love this. I’ll leave, but only if you find a way out! It will be entertaining, won’t it? You already took a look-see around when you arrived, didn’cha? This place, as you’ve noticed, isn’t just any old garden. Oh, no, where you are, is in the mind of ole Emperor Pelagius III! Pelly the Mad, he was! Still is!” “And… I’m sorry, could you repeat that? We are, where exactly?” Martin knew he should have expected something like that from the Prince of Madness, but the very mind of the most insane emperor? Surely, that would be overkill, even for Sheogorath. “Oh, you heard me, Marty, my boy. You’re in the head of a dead, homicidally insane monarch. But I am not all that evil, no, so I am offering you some help… the Wabbajack!” Sheogorath raised his arm, materialising the infamous Daedric staff from thin air before handing it to Martin. “Marty, huh…” he mumbled under his breath. He wasn’t called that in a long while. Nevertheless, he accepted the staff. The moment his hand made contact with the powerful artefact he could feel its magic. It was unstable and unpredictable, but incredibly potent. “Well, go on then, off with you. Before I change my mind. I’m known for changing my mind,” Sheogorath’s voice dropped for an octave, and Martin knew he wasn’t joking about that.

He hadn’t the time to rack his brain on just why Sheogorath somehow seemed less malicious than he expected him, nor why, instead, he felt familiar, even calling him by a nickname he hasn’t heard since the dusk of the 3rd era. It was all odd, but now he was standing in quite the literal fork in the road. The three arches from before were tempting him terribly. He hadn’t a clue on what was expecting him beyond each one and, with only the staff’s powers at his disposal, he did feel a bit nervous. The arch in the centre called out to him the most, and he glanced over at Sheogorath who was… not paying attention to him at all. The Mad God was carving a piece of cheese. With a deep breath, the Dragonborn readied the Wabbajack and proceeded through the central arch.

Immediately he heard Sheogorath’s voice. His words echoed inside his brain and made his head throb in pain. The Prince relayed information about the path he chose – Pelagius’ night terrors. After a minute of walking through on the foggy path, he came across a clearing. There was a bed in the centre, with a man, Pelagius, sleeping on it. His face was contorted in pain, and Martin could assume he was having nightmares. Empathetic to his troubles, the man frowned whilst taking a few steps closer to the bed. He wasn’t sure what he was to do, but surely it would be nothing too strenuous. With no real idea on what to do, he tried waking Pelagius. After all, that’s what his own father, well, his adoptive father did to him whenever he’d have obvious nightmares. Yet Pelagius wasn’t budging, his sleep was sound. “Perhaps, in that case…” Martin wondered out loud, before pointing the Wabbajack at the former emperor. Using the staff was rather simple, and Martin was sufficiently trained, so the spell easily latched itself onto the sleeping man. Rather than end his nightmare, however, it summoned a wolf nearby.

It was obviously hostile and, probably impulsively, Martin used the staff rather quickly on it as well, deciding he would rather not risk getting chomped. The wolf turned into a goat, and Martin had a moment to regain his composure. He quirked his eyebrow, noting just how appropriate Sheogorath’s staff was to his name. He repeated this process of zapping Pelagius and then the hostile creature summoned a few times, before the man finally awoke and Sheogorath alerted him of his success. Martin had to wonder if all the trials would be similarly nonsensical.

When he returned to the central clearing, Sheogorath was still busy carving that wheel of cheese. For now, it was taking on the shape of a winged creature, but Martin chose not to bother him. He didn’t want to hear any more of his creative threats. Instead, he chose to pass through the next arch eager to finish this more literal than figurative fool’s errand.

The second trial was slightly more hands-on. In the clearing, Martin saw two men fighting, or, rather, one man beating the life out of another who was cowering beneath the flurry of fists. With each hit, the victim shrunk, until he was so small that Martin could barely see him. Sheogorath dubbed these men as Pelagius’ anger and his self-confidence. It wasn’t hard to guess which was which. The Dragonborn focused on Anger first. He, perhaps innately, concluded that Pelagius’ confidence couldn’t be fixed while his anger was allowed to wreak havoc. Through Wabbajack’s power, he shrunk Anger until he was at the same stature as Confidence. That being done, he opted to grow Confidence to the height of an average man, not attributing much thought to making him overconfident. Sheogorath, once again, announced his victory, and so he moved on.

Returning now, Martin noticed that Sheogorath was done with the carving. A bright yellow dragon, and the Mad God seemed proud enough of it. The dragon was standing on its hind legs, wings spread apart and head positioned towards the skies, as if it was in mid-roar. “Well?” Sheogorath inquired. “How’s it going? Gone mad yet? You’re more than welcome up in New Sheoth. We could share a strawberry tart!” “A strawberry tart? Um, the self-loathing and nightmares are gone now.” “Hmm, so they are.” “You ought to get ready to leave. I believe I only have one more trial.” “My, you mortals are just so entertaining! Are you ordering me around? Again? Do you need me to make a drum out of your skin? Oh, you annoy me! Go, solve his paranoia, your face bothers me!”

He should have expected that, really, but such are conversations with Sheogorath. You may start them positively, and end them with threats, or vice versa. Unpredictable, just like his staff. At least, Martin thought, he had gotten a hint on what was to happen during the final trial. Paranoia, he said. To be sure, the Mad God explained and provided the needed context behind each of his complexes, and so Pelagius’ paranoia was known to be a result of his rather odd mother. This was the trial with which Martin had the most troubles. Try as he might, he just couldn’t make his atronach stronger, or the enemy’s weaker, to the point of victory. The small arena in which they were fighting was bordered with tall walls, and opposite Martin were three men, his enemy, and what he would assume were the enemy’s bodyguards.

Martin had spent some ten minutes casting spell after spell on his atronach before growing exasperated at the Sisyphean task it began to resemble. No matter what new form his atronach took, the enemy’s creature adapted accordingly, and he was back to square one. “It’s no use!” he lamented. The Dragonborn laid down the Wabbajack before sitting down himself. Lost in thoughts on just how he was to conquer this trial. Sheogorath, however, found it the perfect time to mock him. “Aww, are you not having a grand time? Perhaps you’re… simply missing your target!” the Mad God laughed at him. Martin had half a mind to scream, yell at him to shut up, but in a split moment he came up with an idea. Missing his target, yes, perhaps that was it. It wasn’t the atronach on which he was to cast spells. Martin was supposed to defeat his enemy using the Wabbajack.

He quickly grabbed the staff again, pointing it towards the bodyguards who were sat behind his enemy. Now he realised, why this trial was called paranoia. The bodyguards were engulfed in a similar fog the creatures from the night terrors trial, and when the fog lifted, wolves remained. Martin looked away as they tore into the man’s flesh, devouring him alive. His screams died down soon, and Sheogorath’s laughing congratulations echoed in the Dragonborn’s mind once more.

“I’ve finished the tasks!” Martin yelled out as he walked back to the Mad God’s feast. Said Prince was still sitting on his throne in a casual position. Not very regal, but his aura was definitely one of an ambitious and fearsomely powerful Daedra. “You have! Good for you, good for you! You’ve made my wonderfully insane Pelly into a boringly sane man. Well, a deal is a deal, don’t you think? Let me grab my things and off we’ll go.” Sheogorath slapped his thighs before getting up, producing a soft umph as he straightened his spine. He must have been sitting for a long time. “Wait, before you leave… when I arrived here, you mentioned a Martin Septim.” Martin now powerwalked into a position right in front of Sheogorath, his hand outstretched and dangerously close to making contact with the Daedra’s chest. Sheogorath’s eyebrow quirked, but the sudden widening of his eyes betrayed his surprise. “Hm, are you now stopping me from leaving? After bugging me and pushing me to leave? A wonderfully unexpected twist!” “No, you are mistaken. I don’t wish to keep you, but I must ask about.. Martin. You said he had… turned into a dragon god. Is that true?” “I would have scolded you for not knowing, but given who you are, well. Speaking of which, you don’t have to speak in third person, it makes you look insane! Or like a Khajiit. Or both. You know, I drove some Khajiit insane once! Or, actually it was my champion. Well, my champion who was me. But you don’t need to hear me blabber about my youth, do ya? What I mean to say is,” Sheogorath paused here. His eyes seemed to have softened for a moment, and Martin almost shrunk under his gaze. “I was waiting for you. Hoped you’d have learnt something from these tasks. Ya don’t have to hate yourself for surviving, ya know? Look where that got me!” His laugh felt less maniacal than before, yet somehow not true either. “What are you talking about, you madman?” Venom dripped from Martin’s voice, who was utterly disgusted at his words. Was he mocking him? Just what was he getting at? “I’m just saying, Marty-boy, wallowing in self-hate is not the life the Blades would have wanted for ya. Neither is it a life I would have wanted for ya. You got a second chance, don’t waste it. Anyway, where is my luggage?!”

Sheogorath’s moment of lucidity lasted for only that conversation, which left Martin’s brain filled with fog. He was getting dizzy trying to comprehend the Mad God’s words, but why was he even trying? Is it not logical that the Prince of Madness would attempt to make him go mad as well? And yet, those words. He knew that manner of speaking, and though the voice and face may have been foreign, he could have sworn he knew the person who called him Marty and Marty-boy so many times before. Why was he unable to remember?

Dervenin was summoned now. Sheogorath seemed bored with him, but his usual words with no meaning, and yet five meanings at once, returned. He was back to himself. The Bosmer thanked Martin profusely, but the Dragonborn hadn’t the strength to answer. Words escaped him, and he was out of breath. The Mad God sent Dervenin away, and was just about ready to disappear himself. “Farewell, old friend. Keep the Wabbajack. And do join me in the Shivering Isles one day!” Those were the only words Martin actually heard drop from Sheogorath’s lips, and, in that moment, it clicked. He opened his mouth to say the name, the name of one of his dearest friends, the friend that was with him in his last moment, the moment he turned into the aspect of Akatosh and defeated Mehrunes Dagon. It all came back to him. But though his throat strained and vocal chords hurt from the pressure, no sound came out. Sheogorath, no, the Hero of Kvatch, was gone. And Martin was back in the old, run-down Pelagius’ Wing of the Blue Palace.

“20th of Sun’s Dusk, 2E 201,” Martin wrote in his old journal, “It’s been two days since I completed Sheogorath’s task and was bestowed the Wabbajack. Upon returning to Skyrim, I gave his words much thought. I took a day trip to the Sea of Ghosts. I wanted the cold seaside air to clear my thoughts, maybe make my choice clear. If I even had one. In the end, I decided I was done with the Daedra. This time, seriously, I hope. The Rose, Vile’s Masque, the Oghma Infinium are all resting on the bottom of the sea. Far from mortals’ hands, as the Nine would want it. I have strayed from my path and, ironic as it may be, it was Sheogorath who showed me the error of my way, yet I can’t bring myself to part from the Wabbajack. Its powers are unneeded to me, and far too unpredictable for any usefulness. But this may just be the last thing by which I can remember my friend, even if they are now a Daedric Prince. Maybe, if I keep it, I shall see them once more. Again, I can only hope. For now, I must right the wrongs I have done in my search for these artefacts. May the Nine forgive me once more, for the crimes I have foolishly repeated.”

[rosewood-multifandom-writer]

So after I saw the trailer of Resident Evil 4 Remake, I have a lot of positives about the game so far from the story trailer and gameplay showcase.

Positives:

Ada’s true colors being shown. I loved how she remained the same from RE2MAKE and straight up told Leon that Ashley was too far gone and told her to leave her behind.

Ashley’s design. It’s five times better than what we got from the original. I’m happy not too much was changed because I had no problems with her colors surprisingly enough. It was mostly how they were being used.

Plagas Ashley being mind controlled to attack Leon? I hope that’s the case because I felt like that element of Plagas Ashley was missing.

Which brings me to my next point: the way Plagas looked on Leon, Ashley and the Villagers.

Leon, Ashley and Ada ALL interacting. It was really weird seeing Leon and Ashley interacting then Leon and Ada interacting, because there is no way Ada and Ashley just don’t interact with each other at all.

The dark atmosphere of the village. It fits just how far gone the entire village in Spain is in the game.

The good redesigns. I already discussed Ashley, but what are my thoughts on Ada, Luis and some of the villagers? Solid. Ada always had great designs, so you would have to try really hard to mess that up, Luis’s fashion is significantly better, and the villagers at least from the glimpses I’ve seen are all looking creepy. Especially the cult who were holding Ashley hostage.

The action is staying. Thankfully.

You can counter the chainsaw attack with your knife. Is it unrealistic? Yes. Is it awesome? Also yes.

Negatives:

The character voices. Specifically Ada and Luis. Leon and Ashley are fine, but I was so distracted with how Ada and Luis sounded. Also, Luis looks like he’s Heisenberg’s equally smug little brother.

No Krauser yet. Hopefully they didn’t change him too much for his redesign because his old design was perfect for the type of character he was.

Barely any glimpses of the villains. Salazar and Mendez were shown in the trailer, but in a blink and you’ll miss it manner.

Not too much changed on Leon’s design from what I’ve seen.

Overall, I think RE4MAKE has the potential to be the better Resident Evil remake and actually improve upon the original aside from design and gameplay, but that’s just my hopes and dreams. Alternatively, it could be similar to what happened with the previous RE Remake with RE3MAKE where specific content got cut or the inconsistent writing could come back in a different way. Or there are barely changes to the story. 🙃

But either way, I will play this game. It’s been a while since I was hyped up for a few games like Bayonetta 3, RE4MAKE, and Silent Hill 2 Remake. Not to mention that the graphics for all three look amazing.

[tommysparker]

Never Forget You [Chapter 1]

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Jedi!Reader

A/N: here’s the first official chapter! thank you so much for the support this series as already gotten. chapters will be posted every Saturday! enjoy :)

Warnings: angst. fluffy flashbacks. this isn’t even the worst of it mwhaha. paragraphed italics = flashback

                                            [10 YEARS LATER] 

The sky was as blue as his eyes. Not as dark and cloudy, but gave the same feeling of hope, peacefulness, and comfort. You could picture them vividly in your mind, even the small crinkle at the edges and the kindness they held, a warmness that matched your current aurora.  

The two of you sat in the gardens for what felt like hours, deep in meditation. Your force signatures quickly became entangled with one another, your bond radiating around you, creating almost a shield bubble between the rest of the world and the two who sat inside. 

Obi-Wan was the first to open his eyes, having never been one to sit still for long periods of time. He’s improved since he was a youngling, but still had a long way to go. 

You, on the other hand, looked completely invested in your meditation. Your face was relaxed, although every now and then your eyebrows would furrow as you tried to maintain concentration. It was hard when a certain other was very distracting, even if he wasn’t aware of it. 

“I can feel you staring,” you said, eyes still closed. Obi-Wan was thankful for that fact because it means you wouldn’t see him blush in embarrassment from getting caught. 

“I can feel you blushing, too.” This time, you opened your eyes and smiled. “I knew you wouldn’t last long.” Anytime the two of you tried to meditate together, it would always end with Obi-Wan getting bored and asking to duel instead. 

He quickly hid his face, pulling the hood of his robe over his head. “I’m not blushing, that’s childish.” 

You giggled, leaning forward to lift the front of his hood. “Obi-Wan, you are the most childish person I know.” 

The young man was about to protest before you hushed, eyes already closed once more as you returned to your deep state of awareness. 

You opened your eyes and sighed, long and deep. 

Standing up from the cold floor of your room, you looked out the window and gazed at the cloudy sky of Gyfill. The air felt chilly from the lack of life-forms in the area. After your first week on the planet, you decided it was a safer idea to seek shelter away from town. Considering your mission was to spy on the local Separatist groups, keeping a low profile was essential. 

Today was different, however. The same cold and dull atmosphere were present, but the future is what held the divergent. For today, was the day you were finally to return home. 

Home. The word itself felt familiar but distant. As a Jedi, you trained to hold little sentimental value. Attachments were forbidden, a path to the dark side. They provoked fear. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering. 

Once your bag of belongings was packed, you made your way to the marked location someone from the Jedi council sent earlier that morning. Mentally, you were not prepared to see everyone again. After being isolated for years and having limited contact with any life form outside of business, the many faces from your time at the Temple became slightly blurry. Except for his. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi was on his way to the Archives when he bumped into Ahsoka Tano. 

“Oh, Master Kenobi! Perfect, I was about to go look for you.” 

“Ahsoka,” he smiled. “What can I do for you?” 

“Who’s Y/n Y/l/n?” 

Obi-Wan froze. The sound of that name echoed in his mind, paired with memories that he had locked away in the back of his mind. “Well...that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time,” was all he could manage to say, still trying to process all the past recollections that suddenly surfaced. 

“So, you know them?” 

“Uh, yes I suppose so. We were...close as younglings and trained together as Padawans. They were...the most skilled Jedi I ever had the pleasure of knowing, almost as good as Master Yoda.” 

“If they’re so great, how come I never heard of them before?” Ahsoka tilted her head and raised an eyebrow, resting a hand on her hip in classic ‘Ashoka manner’, 

“They were sent away on an important mission years ago as far as I know. Er, why do you ask? And how did you come to know of that name?” 

“Oh right. Anakin said the Chancellor told him that Master Y/l/n was returning today. He told me to ask you about it.” 

Once again, Obi-Wan’s world paused. 

He stood across from you, trying to maintain a neutral expression as he watched you load your bags onto the ship. However, you knew him better than that. 

You walked up to the young boy and he took in your appearance. Gone was the braid that draped over your shoulder. Gone were the long robes you liked to hide in, in their place was a heavy jacket that looked like it was built to keep out the cold. Perhaps you were going to Hoth? 

“Obi, you know I can’t tell you where I’m going. Master Windu was strict about his instructions,” You sighed, sensing your friend trying to deduce as much as he could. Your Master was very clear when he told you how classified the mission was. No one can know, especially Obi-Wan. 

“Can you at least say how long you’ll be gone?” He practically begged, wanting something, anything he could get to keep his hope alive. Hope that you'll return soon. Hope that you weren’t truly leaving him. 

You looked away, staring at the towers and passing hover-vehicles that littered the planet you’ve grown up on. “I don’t know.” 

Everything had happened so suddenly. You were called into the council room that day to hear the news every Padawan dreams of. When Master Windu said you were ready for the trials, the first thing you went to do was tell Obi-Wan. The two of you celebrated that night in the gardens, a moment you would treasure for the rest of your life. Soon after you gained the title of Jedi Knight, you were once again called into the Jedi Council room to be debriefed on your first mission as a proper Jedi. You didn’t want to mess this up. You couldn’t. 

Obi-Wan resists the urge to pull you into a hug and never let you go, instead opting to hold your shoulders and give you his signature charming smile. “Be safe, darling.” 

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. You held his wrist, bringing his knuckles to your lips and pressed a hesitant kiss to them before pushing them to his side. “May the force be with you.” 

There was no pet name at the end, no ‘my friend’ or even his own name. It was a sentence that was meant to bring comfort, but the way you phrased it, the edge in your voice, made Obi-Wan feel everything but comforted. 

He didn’t get the luxury of responding, for all he did was blink and suddenly you were on the ship, taking off into the clear blue sky. 

You gazed at the clouds passing by as the ship flew into Coruscant’s atmosphere. The bright light and sunny day was a harsh change from the grey sky that fell over Gyfill. The energy emitting off of all the life-forms gave you a headache. You felt the Force all around you, swirling in the air and penetrating your soul. It was like a breath of fresh air after drowning for over a decade. 

You flinched at the light as the door opened, suddenly feeling like a hermit crawling out of its shell. Slowly walking out of the ship, you pulled the cloak hood over your head, inhaling the strange but familiar scent of the Jedi Temple. You were still wearing your Gyfill civilian attire, the wool fabric made the Coruscant heat much more intense causing a few beads of sweat to form on your forehead. Or was it just the nerves of seeing all the people you left behind? 

Master Windu stood at the end of the drop door, a smile on his face at the sight of his former Padawan. It was an occasion that called for a little joy, a moment to celebrate outside the war that raged through the galaxy. 

You descended down the ramp, taking in a sharp breath at the feeling of another force sensitive. “Master Windu”. You bowed your head and he did the same to you. 

“Master Y/l/n, it’s great to see you in person rather than as a hologram.” 

You both chuckled lightly. “The feeling is mutual, Master. It’s...it’s good to be back.” Your eyes wandered over the people that roamed about. Jedi Masters walked with their Padawans at their side. Distant memories resonated within you. Some time ago that was once you and your Master, the man who stands before you know who has grown significantly older. Then again, so have I, you thought to yourself. 

Unbeknownst to you, you weren’t the only one registering your growth. Obi-Wan stood behind a pillar, glancing over the hanger in search of a familiar face. He was aware it would not be the same face he knew as a young boy, but he certainly was not prepared for what he saw. 

You look older, which was the obvious and expected observation. He noted how you wrapped yourself in your cloak, similar to how you would in your youth. You stood tall in front of Master Windu, another trait you had kept since your days as a Padawan. He remembered how you would always act mature in the presence of Masters, something he never really understood until becoming a Jedi Knight. The need for approval by the superiors was a constant.

It wasn’t just your appearance that had changed either. He could feel it in the Force. There was a shift in it when you had landed that made an excited yet nervous chill run down his spine. You were stronger and held more control in your signature. 

Before, he remembers being able to feel it from across the Temple. Now, it was barely there. He remembers feeling your bond drift farther as he watched you leave, and how it had dimmed over the years you were gone. He remembers the pain that tortured him every night as he laid awake in bed, trying to reach out across the stars but only being met with the vast emptiness of space. There was something in him that broke the first time he slept without having a tendril of your force signature connected with his. He felt cold, resorting to sleeping in his Master’s quarters in an attempt to ease the loneliness. 

Overall, it would appear that nothing about you had changed, and yet it seemed everything was different. Almost everything. 

His eyes were just as blue as the last time you saw them. They looked tired, haunted by the ongoing war but still filled with determination. Classic Obi-Wan. 

You quickly broke eye contact the moment it was made, but that one second was more than enough for Obi-Wan to get lost in the familiar colour. His favourite colour in fact, not that he would ever admit you had any part in the decision. 

“Master Obi-Wan?” 

He jumped at the sound of a voice and suddenly became aware of the presence right next to him, that presence belonging to none other than Master Yoda. 

“Master Yoda! I er I was just...uh...looking...for Anakin! Yes, uh have you seen him around by any chance?” Obi-Wan quickly tried to cover his stutter, feeling embarrassed about getting caught gazing from afar. Not that Master Yoda would know he was looking at you...right?

“I see,” the little green creature smirked in amusement. “Whatever it is, wait it can. Council meeting about to begin there is.” 

Obi-Wan furrowed his eyes. Typically he was able to keep a good track of the meetings, but this was news to him. “What’s it about?” 

“Master Y/l/n.”  

“Hmm?” You hummed absentmindedly.  

“Are you listening?” Master Windu raised an eyebrow.

“Oh uh, my apologies Master. I’m just...readjusting.” You tried to focus your attention on what Master Windu was saying, but the recognition of his presence made it difficult. For years, you tried to forget about him. You ignored the empty feeling in your stomach at night, the thoughts and memories that plagued your dreams. After some time, they eventually began to fade but never forgotten. It was for the best. 

Master Windu crossed his arms. “There will be plenty of time for that after your debrief of the mission. Master Yoda and the rest of the council await.”

Oh, Force, not the council. 

You would never dare to admit or even show it, but the council and being in the council room had always intimidated you. How could it not? You had to stand in the center of all the best Jedi of that era while they stare at you, judging you, sitting high and mighty in those stupid chairs.  

“This way, my old Padawan.” 

You followed Master Windu through the large halls of the Jedi Temple. You masked the nervousness that was no doubt radiating from your force signature. A multitude of thoughts ran through your mind, good and bad. Worst case scenario, you had done something so wrong that you were about to be kicked out of the Jedi Order. Nothing came to mind when you tried to think of any offence you had committed in the recent weeks since you earned the title of Jedi Knight. 

You were pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of the large council room doors opening, the creaking of the hinges made you cringe slightly.  

The room was ominously lit, the only light source being the setting sun shining through the glass windowed walls. Master Yoda sat in his seat. All the other chairs were empty. 

Master Windu took his seat as you stood before the two of them. He could see the questions rise from your confused facial expression. “Everything we discuss in this room stays between us, young Jedi.” 

You nodded, inhaling and exhaling slowly in an attempt to calm yourself. “Master Windu, Master Yoda. What is this about? Have I done something wrong?” 

The two men looked at each other and shared an unreadable expression before turning back to you. Master Yoda was the first to speak. “Sending you on a mission we are. To Gyfill you will go.” 

Whatever anxieties that you held before were washed away with this information. You contain your excitement, but the sudden mood shift was still noticeable. “Who am I going with? When do we leave? What’s the mission for?” It was rare that a Jedi would be sent on a mission alone, typically you were partnered up for safety measures. Obi-Wan’s face flashed in your mind, and although it was unlikely, a small part of you hoped he would be going with you. 

“This mission only requires one Jedi. There’s a Separaist organization on the planet and we’re sending you to gain intel and report back to us. No one outside of this room can be aware of this information. You leave within the week. Understood?” 

You frowned, “Forgive me Master, but why can’t anyone know?” The idea of having to leave your home seemingly without a trace made you iffy. Obi-Wan once again appeared in your mind. 

Master Windu and Yoda exchanged a look before Windu responded almost hesitantly. “We have reason to believe someone in the Order is a traitor, and the number of people who are trustworthy is very limited.” 

“You mean someone has betrayed us?” You asked in shock. How could anyone do such a thing? And a Jedi nonetheless. 

“Time to answer your questions, there will be, young one. Prepare for your first mission now, you must.” Master Yoda said. “Prepare to say goodbye you should.” 

It was as IF he could read your mind, which he probably could. You dreaded the idea of saying goodbye, especially when it was clear that there was no guarantee of your return date. How would you explain to your friends that you won’t be around anymore? What will Obi-Wan think? 

“That is another subject that needs to be discussed.” 

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what else needs to be discussed? who’s the traitor? how will obi-wan and y/n get on after all this time? lemme know what you think!!

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[more-than-a-princess]

Knowing her personal secretary, Sonia guessed that Cecily would be over the moon if Shirou contacted her for an extended stay. In charge of Sonia's diary and correspondence since Princess Sonia was fifteen, Cecily was physically eight years her senior and mentally...well, far beyond that. She too had a keen interest in Sonia's romantic life, if just for the reason it would impact her professional one significantly. And compared to the assortment of men Sonia usually chose to date, Sonia had a feeling that she'd see Shirou as something of an improvement: no bad manners, no inappropriate conduct in public, no arrest warrants. And a smile, if not muscles, that would have the power to dazzle much of the household at Boudry House, much less the culinary skills to attract those unfazed by his physique.

She would have to remind her, yet again, that Shirou was an old friend and not a romantic prospect. But each time she did, Cecily looked to her employer over silver-rimmed glasses with a doubting, skeptical expression on her face. How can a man with those looks and those skills not be a romantic prospect, even for the likes of you, a princess primed to inherit a nation one day?

"Do not worry, my privacy is invaded all the time," She told him, though Sonia was quick to elaborate in case he thought the worst: the press and aristocratic mothers hoping they could marry off one of their sons into the Novoselic Royal Family. "By my cousins, mostly: Liam and Sam treat Boudry House as a cafe, a restaurant, mental health respite, personal theater, and goodness knows what else, though I have warned Liam that under no circumstances is he ever allowed to host a party here." If just for the amount of stains and general disarray he and his friends would leave it in. Though, as Sonia gave Shirou a side-eyed glance, she realized that if word got out that Shirou Emiya was indeed a frequently invited guest at Boudry House, her cousins would likely be unable to resist the temptation to check him out for themselves. Sam, concerned for Sonia's emotional safety. Liam, for a multitude of reasons, some of which would certainly center around Shirou in some state of undress.

Another matter of family politics she'd have to mention to Cecily, Sonia thought. It took pure willpower not to allow a migraine to form as she swallowed more spoonfuls of yogurt, though it wasn't long until Shirou's comment nearly made her choke on it.

"I have my less-than-beautiful moments, I assure you," Sonia told him flatly. Like the present: with a bit of yogurt at the corner of her mouth while trying to recline in a cushioned chair in a cocktail dress, her stiletto heels already discarded on the floor. She paused to wipe at her mouth with a napkin. "I just hope it will not take much of my life to be listened to and considered, much less have my plans acted upon." In other words: did she have to wait for her father to die in order to be taken seriously? A question she didn't want to consider, ever: both the length of time that it would likely take, and the idea of being without him. Out of all the adults in her family, he was the one she could rely upon the most.

She'd tried to focus on the movie, but between her neglect in remembering who exactly she was speaking to, and the slight chill in the room, Sonia found herself distracted. "It is good you made friends at university, I am glad," She said, wrapping her arms around her waist in an attempt to warm up her bare arms with her hands. "But no, I am afraid I did not visit those areas of London. I tended to visit only when there was an event I needed to attend and thus spent much of my time in Oxford at school, or visiting the estates of friends throughout the country." Mostly, it was the fact that the likes of Baker Street were far too close to the tourist trap that was Madame Tussaud's, and Sonia was not to be seen in or near such an establishment. And Fleet Street? Not anywhere near the likes of Mayfair, Knightsbridge, or Chelsea, where she was supposed to be seen socializing.

"I did visit Carnac a few times, with Hilda," She mentioned. Perhaps that was the one thing they'd have in common with their time in England: the Edelfelt twins. Rin had mentioned in a letter that she was 'acquainted' with the eldest and heir, Luviagelita, who owned the luxury department store. But it was her younger sister Hilda whom Sonia had come to befriend at In Utero, well before she'd arrived at Hope's Peak Academy. She'd made it a point to visit Hilda whenever time allowed, with the store being a frequent destination due to the privacy it allowed, whether the girls were shopping or dining within. She chose to leave some of their more wild exploits out of the conversation: reunions with old In Utero classmates, Sonia bemoaning at McDonald's well after midnight when the ice cream machine wasn't working and instead, both girls settling for doner kebabs from a sidewalk stand a short walk from the more fashionable private members' clubs, of which they both held memberships to. "But besides that, I am afraid I am not terribly familiar with Kogoro Akechi stories, save for the inspiration from Sherlock Holmes. What is the plot of this particular film?"

In his younger years Shirou might have been an oblivious one, but as an adult he was aware that some people could get the wrong idea about the nature of his relationship with Tohsaka. Or perhaps it was the right initial idea: she was his first crush after all. Since their days back at Homurahara Academy the raven-haired mage was someone who would easily catch people’s attention as she was beautiful, had some of the best grades in the whole school and also had flawless physical performance in sports. On top of that all, she’d never flaunt nor brag – in short, all the boys saw her as the perfect girl. Obviously he would count among the boys. She was unattainable, so he’d never gave a thought about even trying to talk to her until he almost died. After that she became his master and revealed that beneath the façade of elegance there was someone who was extremely bad with mornings, could have some questionable personality flaws and would have him pretty much as her manservant. They have been together for a long time, she had saved his life many times and helped him in ways that he is never going to be able to repay. Another complicated relationship would be with Sakura. He did approach her as the gloomy young girl seemed very lonely, then somehow she started coming to his place when he got hurt at his part-time job and wind up becoming part of the Emiya Residence. At some point she started blooming into a beautiful woman, curves appearing in the right places and her motions causing him trouble – it was his fault, not hers. It was inappropriate to see his friend’s younger sister in that light, even as she was developing into a nadeshiko. Still, he would be protective of her until leaving Japan and to this day, which could also lead to misunderstandings.

Then it came the moonlight. Someone who made the steel feel light, the ugly sound of clashing blades ring beautifully. The embodiment of the moonlight, a star that shines bright in the sky and gives warriors hope. She would shield them and protect her people, even when the people didn’t protect her. Truth be told, he was infuriated by how she was treated by her peers. He loved her. But she was unreachable. And just like the moonlight, the sun was also beyond his reach. Like Saber, Sonia was also nobility. Unlike Saber, they were both alive in the same era. Both of them are source of inspiration for their people, albeit through different means and Shirou meeting both in very different stages of their journey. One was in the sunrise of her brilliant path in front of her, whereas the other was atop a pile of corpses at dusk. He would never forget that night with Sonia, both tired after a miserable incursion to a “haunted house”, when he lend her some pajamas that were a little oversized in places and too tight in others, revealing her pale skin in the dimly lit room. She had a boyfriend at the time, so it was highly inappropriate of him to even have those thoughts. In fact, it was still inappropriate for him to have the thoughts even now. Sonia was the crown princess, someone with the world within the reach of her fingertips. A former Ultimate like her ex would make for a far more appropriate partner; he’d recall that Tanaka was the Ultimate Breeder, someone with deep knowledge of all sorts of animals and instrumental in the repopulation of endangered species – a field that could change the world. Many of her former classmates too were equally as extraordinary, each able to inspire hope and perform incredible breakthroughs for the betterment of mankind. But Emiya Shirou ? He was a guy with a gun. And now he was all messed up. Not really prime material for a princess or the (former) Ultimate Princess. Besides, he recalled how it aggravated Sonia the unwarranted attention of the Ultimate Mechanic.

The yogurt felt bitter, yet it had been consumed. ❝ I’ll make sure to try to contact Cecily before showing up to visit. I can’t help if we end up running each other but at least in your house you deserve to don’t have your privacy invaded. Although… this time it was very fortunate I did. ❞ he could have been captured by the enemy and it could have been a fatal mistake.

❝ You always look beautiful in everything you do. ❞ his opinion was direct and sincere ❝ Your beauty is only matched by your passion and your commitment. I’m sure it is just a matter of time and the correct alliances before you get all the projects and amends you want to go throughout. It takes a little of practice. ❞ Shirou lost count of how many times he said or done the wrong thing and ruined perfectly aligned plans. Thankfully Sonia was someone far smarter than he was – his only advantage over her was his practical experience.

A chuckle escaped him, causing some of his stitches to sting a little. ❝ I did visit Whitechapel. ❞ he mentioned. ❝ But I think this one I wasn’t with Tohsaka. I was with some of the guys who wanted to show the Japanese guy some of London’s best tourist spots and apparently showing Jack the Ripper’s route and other things like that were their idea of fun. That, Baker Street and Fleet Street. Did you ever went to any of these ? We did it during the day but it was rainy and fog so it was rather interesting. ❞ he finally placed the bowl by the nightstand, avoiding to  get up or move about as much as possible – something told him that the wrath of Sonia Nevermind could be as fearsome as Tohsaka Rin.