#me: this title shall have capitals but the next three shall not

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Brave [2 of ?]

Pairing: Orc!Steve x Reader

Summary: As you begin to acclimate to life in the pack, your new leader seems to take a keen interest in your ability to survive. 

Warnings: 18+ Only, Genre typical violence, Warlord Nomad AU, Dark Fantasy AU, Enemies to lovers, Eventual smut, References to past abuse

A/N: i really hope you guys enjoy this next piece! mind the warnings ❤️

You run your tongue across your chapped lips before reaching for the skin of water hanging from a long strap across your shoulder. The liquid inside is over-warm from the sun hanging mercilessly overhead, but you are grateful for it still. 

Where are we even going?

The river had been days ago—three, perhaps four at your best estimation—and the pack had been pushing on ever since, riding out into the grass sea further than you had ever thought possible. When you had asked, your father had told you simply that there was nothing out there, his breath stinking of ale as he reminded you to keep your mind to your housework, else he would ensure you found out for yourself. And now, for all the fates cruel humor, you had found out anyway. 

You had been spared death at the river, but the same luck that had kept you breathing now also bound you to the blue-eyed-orc and his pack. You had tried twice already to sneak away in the darkness, only to find yourself practically nose to nose with your captor, his eyes bright even in the dark.

Dangerous out there in the dark, Sweetmeat, he’d said, turning you around with one huge hand on your shoulder, tapping the flat of his blade against your backside as your cheeks flamed with hot anger and embarrassment. If you’re looking to raise an army for vengeance, you should ride in daylight. Even now, your face heats with anger. You had no intention of riding to the capital to raise the alarm—even if you knew how to get there, you doubt anyone would care for the fate of a tiny village in the borderlands. 

You slip dangerously in the saddle, yelping as you grab for the reins, righting yourself. You had never ridden a horse before now, much preferring to watch the huge beasts from afar rather than subject yourself to them up close. The stallion beneath you seems to know it, tossing his head irritatedly as you pull back haphazardly. 

“I’m afraid the saddle is too big for you.” The voice startles you, and you almost slip down out of the saddle again as you whirl to look at its source. Mirthful blue eyes meet your own. “We shall have to find you a smaller one.” 

You glare at him, your mouth stubbornly shut. 

“Oh come now. Are you still angry about last night?” He makes no effort to hide his amusement. You keep your jaw locked, refusing to answer—which only serves to amuse him further. Finally, your ire loosens your tongue.

“You would have killed me three days ago,” you bite out through gritted teeth. “And left my corpse in the dirt.” 

“Aye,” he answers, cocking his head. “Yet I did not.” Somehow, this enrages you even more. 

“You hunted the others for sport—” You half choke on the words. “You ran them down like dogs.”

“What use is a lame horse, Sweetmeat?” He asks. “Or a dog that won’t hunt?” There is no derision in his words, only indifference. “I cannot ask my riders to carry that burden.”

“So you kill them.” 

“Aye.” You see reflected in his eyes the same cool apathy a wild dog might give a rabbit. “Would you ask a wolf to apologize for feeding its strongest cubs, Little One?” You bristle, but he continues before you can speak. “Perhaps because it is removed from you, you do not see it. But I have seen it. I have seen your great cities of men, and the bodies that line the ditches of their streets. There is death for them everywhere.” You want to deny the truth of his words, but they settle on your skin like oil. “Better a quick death by my steel than a slow one beneath the heel of the man you call King.”

He stops his horse, and you mirror him, watching the orc warily. 

“If you wish to return to it, you’ve my blessing to do so, Sweetmeat. May you go and die in whichever way seems best to you.” 

You are overcome with the urge to dig your heels into the stallion’s sides and take off, to cut through the swaying sea of grass like a clean blade—but you hesitate. 

Your life in the village had been one of little note and much misery; tending to your father as he sickened himself with either too much ale or for the want of it as the days ground on and on. You’d felt little sorrow at his passing, considering he’d blacked your eye only three days prior. There were, no doubt, several villagers that had escaped on horses of their own, racing back toward the mountain to warn others of the orc-pack roaming the borderlands. You suppose you could rejoin them—the same people who had watched as your father’s druken rages consumed him and done nothing to help you. 

Your skin prickles with distaste. 

“No?” He asks after a lengthy silence. “Then let us ride on.” 

You watch sullenly as he takes his place at the front of the group, the other riders falling into a loose line behind him. 

—

No one offers to help you as you struggle down from your horse when they break to make camp, and you drop unceremoniously to the ground. For the most part, the rest of the pack ignores you completely, regarding you with the same indifference one might pay a rock as they go about setting up their bedrolls and hobbling the horses. They dwarf you as you all line up to fill your water skins, and the one with chestnut hair—-the blue-eyed-one had called him Buck—narrows his eyes at you. 

“What’d you do to earn water today?” He sneers. “Get to the back. We’ll see if we have any left for you.” You dig your heels in gritting your teeth despite your fear. The protestation is there on your tongue, but before you can voice it, someone else speaks instead. 

“Give her the water, Bucky.” The blue-eyed-orc rests a hand on his shoulder. 

“Steve, she will do nothing but slow us down and rob us of our food, our water—”

“Calm, Bucky.” He holds up a hand. “The human will hunt tomorrow, and tomorrow she will earn it. Tonight, give her the water.” For a moment there is tension between them, a charged current you can’t see, but it soon breaks. Reluctantly, Bucky fills your water skin, shoving it into your hands with a grimace. 

“It was fine to give her Roth’s horse—he fell, he’s got no need for it now,” Bucky spits irritatedly. “But Tarrath’s a fortnight’s ride from here. She’s going to need to earn her water.” He frowns at you. “Like the rest of us.” Steve nods his understanding. 

“Aye. She will. Consider it half my portion.”

Angrily, you shuffle back over to your horse and begin unstrapping your bed-roll from its back. Nothing has been said outright, but you sleep away from the others, setting your roll up at the edge of camp. You know you aren’t welcome. You know you shouldn’t care at all for your usefulness, but you aren’t sure you’d fare any better wandering the grass sea alone. Your horse—Roth’s horse—stares down at you judgmentally while you wind the length of rope around his front legs, and you frown deeper. 

“Even the blasted horse,” you mutter, kicking aside a few loose rocks as you lay down the roll beside him. You don’t know how to hunt—it wasn’t as if your father had taught you, and you doubt he had the knowledge to do so in the first place. There is large bow strapped to the saddle, thus far untouched by you, and gently you undo the bindings. It is heavier than it looks, and you hold it aloft clumsily, the string biting hard into your fingers as you struggle to draw it back. 

“You won’t catch anything like that.” 

You don’t turn to look at him. 

“You didn’t have to give me your water. Steve.” He chuckles at the sound of his name on your lips. 

“I won’t be doing it again, Sweetmeat. So you’d better learn how to use that thing.” This time you do turn. He is closer than you anticipated, and you squeak with surprise as he plucks the bow from your hands with ease. “Hold it up, like this.” He draws the string back, the muscles rippling across his bare chest. “This is the sight, here, this notch.” He runs his thumb over the place where the arrow head will sit. “Come.” 

When you don’t move, he grips your hands firmly, winding them around the bow. 

“Like this, put your hand here.” His hand curls over yours, covering it completely. You’re practically trembling when he pulls away, your palms sweaty against the lacquered wood. “One last piece of advice, Sweetmeat.” 

“What?”

“Don’t miss.” 

to be continued

next

[bokuaosubs]

I’m Eren, who’s left-handed. (Sugiura Eren 1st blog)

Everyone, it’s nice to meet you.

I’m Sugiura Eren from Boku ga Mitakatta Aozora!

Given how this is my first blog, I thought I’d introduce myself, but turns out I don’t really know who I am just yet, so I’ve decided to post a short blog this time.

(Once I finished writing this, I decided to look back on it and… it really isn’t all that interesting….)

Please take a look if you feel inclined to do so.

Name: Sugiura Eren

Age: 15-years-old (I’m a pupil in 3rd year junior high school) Actually, I’m the fourth youngest in the group!

Birthday: 19/06/2008 I like the number 0619 because it’s quite cute lol

↑ Speaking of birthdays、、、 I used to have my photos taken here [in front of the blackboard]!

Did you guys see the introduction video? I danced in the pool while holding a deck brush 🕺 I was very nervous, but in the end, I was happy because it turned out to be a very nice video 🥰 I’ll post some more photos from the MV / intro video shooting sometime in the future!!

Please watch it again and again!

Birthplace: Aichi Prefecture It’s the same as Imai Yuki! I love Aichi! manaca [Nagoya, the capital of Aichi, is said to be in the center of Japan, and, given how ‘manaca’ is derived from the word ‘mannaka’ (center), this word designates Nagoya’s center-like attributes] for life!

Blood type: Type O

Now, allow me to mention my – very carefully selected – favourite anime. They’re Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, Shingeki no Kyojin (Attack on Titan) and Sora yori mo Tooi Basho (A Place Further than the Universe).

I had a lot of trouble when coming up with the titles for this one, but I decided on these three, they’re the ones I really like!

Related to that, I also went to the 10th anniversary exhibition of JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure that was held in Nagoya a while ago and! I now like Jojo more than ever!

Ah! Speaking of Jojo, there’s this movie currently airing in theatres, called ‘Rohan Kishibe Goes to the Louvre’. It was actually really interesting! I’d like people who’ve never seen Jojo to give it a try, too…!

If you have any recommendations whatsoever for anime, manga, dramas or movies, please let me know 😻

Favourite food: Monjayaki [type of Japanese pan-fried batter], ramen and gyoza.

I can eat these at any time and for every occasion. [They’re] The best 🍜🍜🥟

Eyesight: …Not the best

Things that made me happy recently:

Eating monjayaki with the members

Seeing a film together with the members

And… last but not least… turning 15 years old.

Is this it for now?! What did you think? This has been my self-introduction!

I want you all to get to know me better and better through the course of my activities, so this shall be the end of my self-introduction!

Initially, I was actually going to write about what happened during the second round of the audition, but I feel like this blog would probably become too long, so maybe I’ll write about it next time! Well, it is what it is!

I’ll keep blogging freely like this, so please keep checking it out if you’d like to do so 👀

I’m also thinking that, someday, I would like to answer some of your questions left in the comments of the blog 🌐

So if you have any questions about me, Eren, I’ll be waiting for them!

Thank you for reading all the way to the end!

So long and Arrivederci!

[TL by: yuzuiro]

[channeleven]

Prevalent Entertainment: Misunderstood or Mockery?

I don't know about you, but I'm all funned out when it comes to rip-offs. You hear one accusation, you grow numb to many others. I never saw Highlander but knowing people have to harp on a low budget show made for first run syndication just to validate it makes me want to avoid it like the plague, and of course Rob Paulsen is a dumbass who doesn't know the difference between coconuts and sponges.

And yet I'm more than happy to rag on Star Giant Productions.

Let's face it, it is incredibly easy to call anything a rip-off, so long as it has something in common with what it is compared to. But don't get me wrong, there are blatant cases where movies/shows are made to cash in on existing titles. Some exploit loopholes or adaptation principles in order to justify being sold to consumers, like Golden Films and GoodTimes flicks, some are made in foreign countries and otherwise liberally change certain elements in order to be similar but not an exact copy. But what happens if you call something a rip-off through nothing more than a platonic idea and surface level observations? Well you're either desperate to pad out the length of a video or you just see a very simple video is afoot, thy name is Saberspark.

One such company was pigeonholed into taking the mockbuster label, and I honestly feel it doesn't deserve that, it deserves ridicule everywhere else, but because of what their films are like, people immediately go for the obvious, "I don't know what to say about these movies, but hey clickbait." Enter, Prevalent Entertainment, and their two movies The Prodigy and Life's a Jungle: Africa's Most Wanted.

Background

Prevalent Entertainment was created by Robert D. Hanna. While he boasts a whopping 25 years of experience, his IMDb shows beyond those two movies listed before, he was attached to three short films that otherwise didn't see much of a release to begin with. It is suggested he was an artist on Shrek and Shark Tale, but little confirms it, lest IMDb's full of shit or they were desperate to get one of their movies off the ground.

Prevalent was stationed within Peace Arch Entertainment, a Canadian production company in its third incarnation, previously Medco Productions, then Vidatron. Peace Arch initially acted as a television production company, helming stuff like Electric Playground, The Immortal and Sausage Factory. The company also released content on home video, but that branch, along with kids division Kaboom! Entertainment would be sold off, and would become Phase 4 Films, think A Talking Cat!?! and Legend of Sarilla, aka the worst instance of attempting to cash in on the success of another film, and actually facing consequences for it.

Point is, Peace Arch had some connection to mockbusters and low budget movies as well, and that may be why Prevalent got immediately lumped in, especially since the only barrier between either company was a literal door. So, would the claims hold true for this company? Or are people just riding off some joke made by a reviewer and sticking with it because reasons? Let's go over these one by one, shall we?

The Prodigy

The Prodigy was released in 2009, and is considered to be a rip-off of Kung Fu Panda. Let's get this out of the way. Mockbusters are typically released around the same time a movie debuts in theaters or would be released on DVD, with the deal being that customers would be fooled into buying their version. Why would you release a movie to capitalize on another a few months too late?

Not to mention the next Kung Fu Panda movie wouldn't be out until 2011 so pre-release hype was out.

Then there is the name, let's look to other notable examples. Chop Kick Panda and The Little Panda Fighter, movies that go by similar sounding titles to symbolize what they're trying to cash in on. The Prodigy does not sound anything like Kung Fu Panda if the name is anything to go by. Then there's the box art. While there is a panda on the front cover, the actual leads are present as well. Yes, the panda is more prominent, but we get to see everyone we need to give a shit about in the movie. Referring back to other examples, GoodTimes Entertainment were known for issuing their own adaptations of fairy tales which would be adapted into Disney's takes. GoodTimes made their box art closely resemble conventional Disney titles in order to fool buyers, and they were sued for that.

About the only things this box art has in common with Kung Fu Panda is the panda and the eastern theme, but otherwise with the inclusion of the actual leads, there isn't as much deception. If you've seen Kung Fu Panda in theaters you'd know humans don't exist. The connections are slimmer than you think.

First big thing is that the panda is know as simply Master Panda... and there is another character who is named Po, Prince Po Kwan. Where the name applies, it seems more like a reference than a direct theft, because alot of these things seem more like derivatives or lifts from elsewhere. They did use an emblem that looks strangely like that of Mortal Kombat's logo, I guess the actual main character can pass for Chun-Li, or perhaps her millennial daughter.

Earliest review I saw of this was by ToonGrin, he likened this to a video game, and while it seems like he was desperate to have something to run with, I can kinda get the idea. This movie looks like it was animated through RenderWare's technology, like an in-game cutscene. I heard one film was created entirely on Unreal Engine.

Then there's the matter of the story.

Compared to Kung Fu Panda, this movie's story is more stripped down, just a simple rescue mission and whatever obstacles are along the way. The lead female, who I immediately forgot the name of, is a prodigy, who learns better than all other students, as Master Panda puts it bluntly. The monsters they encounter, even the very prospect of humans being in this movie makes the Kung Fu Panda connections incredibly slim, the only glue between both is the Eastern influence. The antagonist, at the very least, isn't the adopted son of Master Panda driven corrupt by the desire of power, rather seemingly like a cheap love conquest.

Look, please don't assume I actually like this movie, on its own it looks exceptionally cheap and its story doesn't hold much to it. From what I saw, some people grew up with it, so there is some entertainment value it seems. Compared to something like Little Panda Fighter and Chop Kick Panda, this isn't as blatant as those when it comes to being a direct mockbuster, but this does strongly suggest this was cooked up in the course of a few months. They were able to make something different enough to avoid litigation, and release it around the time Kung Fu Panda was fresh in everyone's mind.

Life's a Jungle: Africa's Most Wanted

I mentioned Phase 4 previously right? Oh well, good tales are worth telling twice. This film was distributed by Phase 4 Films, one who basically succeeded Peace Arch Entertainment in terms of asset management. Phase 4 figured it'd be really cute to release movies with derivative titles, even if their movies have little to do with what they are trying to mimic. Once more, they did it when they acquired The Legend of Sarilla for distribution, and used a not only derivative title, but the font with which the original title was written, and they got sued for it.

About two years prior, they decided to release a film whose title has more than a passing similarity to the Madagascar movie Europe's Most Wanted, and if you're desperate, take the second movie's Africa setting and there you go. Because of these surface level elements, people immediately assume this is a Madagascar rip-off, thank you Alex.

Really though, this seems more like a rip-off of Open Season, where a domesticated animal gets lost in the woods and adjusts to life there, eventually parting from their owners. I just summed up the entire plot, only difference is that Life's a Jungle is the sum of its plot, complete with the typical character arc of a douche becoming more adept to the real world. The Madagascar gang have never given up trying to make it home by the way least as far as I could remember.

In this situation, I'm not saying they ripped off Madagascar, I'm saying this is another situation where people fucked up the connections, again. It's another Coconut Fred situation, where people think coconuts are sponges. They just hear a familiar title and voila, they got a Saberspark video. What really destroyed the prospect of calling out rip-off is how common it has become, of course there's no such thing as being truly original, but really, if something was a rip-off, why hasn't there been any litigation for 90% of most shows and movies?

Yes, there are some blatant cash-ins, but there're so many that any movie with even a slightly similar premise is ran into the ringer just to have something to post that day. If you have to defend something against a rip-off, that would imply you feel it is on the same level. Think about it.

Phew, Enough of that Tangent

So, is Prevalent Entertainment misunderstood, or a mockbuster company? Well a lot of the stuff in their two movies are derivative, that's for sure, but compared to its contemporaries it is different enough to be sorta its own thing, albeit a cheap story that you'd readily find in the bargain bin, with the animation to match. However, there are some elements that may be seen as copying off of minor things, and at least one indirectly or not ripped off a much older movie.

The first movie didn't directly imply its connection to Kung Fu Panda, and any similar elements to it aren't as common place. The second movie used title bait, and the distributor became infamous for that, and again, more of an Open Season derivative in terms of a domesticated dog, not zoo animals.

Then again, Canada is part of North America and would face litigation regardless, so they had to cover their bases however they could, make something similar, but different enough that they could slip into stores while another movie is hot. Prevalent did a little better job burying the lead, but it's clear they did not have the money or resources, of course they were just stationed within an existing company, itself likely in a suite in an office building, so it's astounding they were able to conjure up anything at all.

And that's all I have to say, literally. See ya.

[fictional-worlds-are-exquisite]

tag game

thanks for tagging me @brokenwarlock (even though this is going to be so hard)

Rules: spell your url using song titles.

Follow your arrow by Kacey Musgraves I love you always forever by Betty Who Chasing hope by Alex G The village by Wrabel I think I’m in love by Kat Dahlia One of the drunks by P!ATD New Years Day by Taylor Swift Angel with a shotgun by The Cab Liability by Lorde - Wherever you go by A Rocket To The Moon Old Flames (Can’t Hold a Candle To You) by Kesha Riptide by Vance Joy Love someone by Lukas Graham Don’t be so hard on yourself by Jess Glynne Strangers by Sigrid - All night by Icona Pop Roundtable Rival by Lindsey Stirling Everything by Superfruit ft. Inara George - Everybody Talks by Neon Trees X (ok listen that’s a really hard letter i don’t know)  Quarter past midnight by Bastille Ugly Heart by G.R.L I choose you by Stan Walker Songs I can’t listen to by Neon Trees It ain’t me by Kygo & Selena Gomez Tell me how to feel by Maggie Eckford Everyone is gay by A Great Big World

tagging: @uselesspileofstressandsadness @gay-emo-musical-nerd @ausllymonkey @tumultuous-scribblings (if you want to)

[nagito-kissmaeda]

Mr. Komaeda’s Lesson

THE FILTH ARRIVES

Summary: You should really proofread your assignments before submitting them... AKA: Professor Komaeda fucks you over his desk (literally my dream) Word count: 4258 Contains: she/her pronouns, explict sexual content, unsafe sex, professor/student relationships, gentle dom nagito (he’s very gentle i swear) Read on AO3  ミ☆ Please send me a DM or an ask if you’d like me to write something for you!

The soothing smell of camomile lemon tea wafts around the small office. The blinds are half open, casting the orange light of the setting sun across the smooth leaves of a peace lily that resides in a pot hanging in front of the heating unit. The warm air rocks it gently back and forth. The atmosphere in the room is light and pleasant, but it does nothing to ease your nerves. 

“Do you want some?” Professor Komaeda asks as he pours himself a cup of the aforementioned camomile lemon tea. He has a little teapot sitting on his desk, it’s very cute. 

You clear your throat, fidgeting in your seat, “No thank you, I’m fine.”

“Okay, let’s get started then, shall we?” 

You’ve been dreading this meeting for weeks now. Your professor had been very insistent that this wouldn’t be a discussion about the quality of your work, but more about what he could do to help you maintain focus in lectures. There was also a brief mention about your most recent assignment, he said that he wasn’t concerned, but did want to run through a few things with you. 

He was very polite about it, which makes the true nature of your distraction only more reprehensible. 

“So, first I want to start with a simple question. How are you doing?” 

“Uh, fine?”

He nods and takes a sip of his tea, “No problems outside of our classes? You don’t need to answer if you aren’t comfortable.”

“No i- uh. I’m fine outside of classes too.” You fidget again, twisting your hands in your lap, “I’ve been...tired? But that’s my fault, I stay up too late.” 

He hums thoughtfully and rests his chin on the palm of his hand, “Could that be having an affect on your focus? I can see that you have been distracted in our most recent lectures and just want to make sure it isn’t a fault of myself or my material.” He laughs a little to himself, “I know I can be a little boring sometimes.” 

Professor Komaeda is not boring. He’s probably the most engaging lecturer you’ve ever had, passionate about his subject matter and very enthusiastic about class participation. He also wears really tight trousers and has long dexterous fingers that you can't help imagining inside of your-

“I mean, being tired could be the problem?” A bold faced lie. 

“Well in that case there isn’t much more I can suggest than a good night's rest.” He gives you a long look that makes you squirm in your seat, “I only graduated a few years ago myself, I understand the urge to make the most of your day, but you can’t keep burning the candle at both ends.” He takes another sip of his tea, a drop misses his mouth and rolls down his chin. He catches it with his thumb, which he then brings up to his lips and sucks. You swallow deeply, tearing your eyes from where his lips are meeting his skin. Your knee starts bouncing. Nerves. 

“Would it help if you sat a little closer to the front of the lecture hall?”

It wouldn’t. Especially not on warm days when he loosens his tie and undoes the first three buttons on his shirt. You spent a whole lecture transfixed on the dip of his collarbones once. Not great for your note taking, “maybe I’ll give that a go next week” you say. Another lie.

“Okay, try that out and let me know if it helps.” He gently sets down his teacup and starts working his white hair up into a bun. His fingers are so delicate as he combs through the strands, pulling his hair up and away from his pale throat, exposing the length of it to your hungry eyes-

A noise escapes from your mouth. Almost a whine, but not quite. Professor Komaeda doesn't say anything, but his intense eyes meet yours for just a moment. You clench your thighs together.

“Are you ready to talk about your assignment now?” He asks, picking the teacup again. It’s decorated with sunflowers, almost criminally cute, “No reason to be nervous. I want to make it clear that this matter hasn't had any affect on your grade, just some advice for next time.”

You nod shakily. Despite all of his reassurances, you are still very nervous. Partially because you wanted a good grade, partially because you had worked on that essay day and night with the intention of impressing him. So stupid. 

He gives you a pleasant smile and rifles through his desk for a moment, pulling out what you quickly recognise as a printed copy of your essay, “Take a look, i want to see if you can figure it out first.”

“Um...okay…” You skip past the title page and into the meat of the essay, reading through all of your points and making sure there weren't any obvious spelling mistakes. There wasn't anything that you could see, “Sorry...um...what page is it on?”

His teacup clinks when he sets it down again, leaning forward on his elbows and resting his chin on his hands. You can feel your heart fluttering in your chest, your palms are getting sweaty, “It’s on the title page actually. I’m surprised you didn't notice it.”

You shoot him a quizzical look and flip back to the first page. Your stomach plummets. 

Titles have never been your thing, summing up an entire essay in just a few words isn’t easy, so you usually use a placeholder right up until you submit it. You remember changing it, you remember triple checking it was changed before you emailed it through. But something must have gone wrong because in big bold capital letters, the title of you assignment reads: 

ESSAY SO GOOD PROFESSOR KOMAEDA WILL FUCK ME OVER HIS DESK 

Your hands are shaking, the edges of the paper crinkling under your tight grip. You are going to fail...you are going to be expelled...you are going to-

“Ah. I see you’ve realised your mistake, hm?”

Your head shoots up, forgetting for a moment that he is still sitting across from you. 

“Professor...I-I’m...obviously I’m…” you can’t get out a goddamn sentence, your mouth has all dried up, “I don’t even...I can’t…”

You are taken aback, when Professor Komaeda giggles. It’s a light little sound, he covers his mouth with a hand, “You are very bold, aren’t you?” 

“I….” 

“No need to worry, I’m not reporting this to the dean or anything like that. I see no reason to expel you over a silly little mistake like this one.”

“You...You dont want me to drop you class?”

He laughs again, you shrink under the intensity of his green eyes, “I’m not going to make you, no. If the situation isn’t going to make it even harder for you to focus during lectures, you can still come to class. I won't stop you, it is your choice.”

He is being remarkably cavalier about all of this, it’s almost unsettling, but you don't want to drop his class so you can't help being grateful, “Thank you so much, I...I promise i won't do this again.”

Professor Komaeda hums aloud, eyes half lidded as he looks at you from across the desk, “Won’t do what again?” he asks, though honestly its more of a purr, “Won’t think about me fucking you, or wont make the mistake of writing it down?”

Hearing the word fuck drop from that perfect mouth of his sends you into overdrive. Your thighs are clamped so tight together that your legs are shaking, you can feel yourself breathing hard, “I...uh...I....” you swallow, “I won't do...either?”

“There's no need to lie to me.” He breathes, standing up from his chair and rounding the desk. You can feel yourself quivering in his shadow, he towers over you. Your breath catches in your throat when one of his hands makes contact with your chin, slowly lifting your head up until you meet his eyes. His expression is positively hungry, “I want to make something very clear. This is your chance to leave, if you do we will never speak of this again. If you don’t, well…”

All you can do is stare at him, mouth going dry with realisation. 

“Your essay was very good, by the way.” He leans down until his nose is almost pressed against yours, you can smell the tea on his breath. You can feel the warmth of his skin, you can count his eyelashes, “Good enough that i’ll fuck you over my desk if you still want me to.”

In a moment of hungry lucidity, you grab him by the tie and tug his lips down to yours. Colliding in a positively ferocious kiss. You feel him laugh against your mouth before he slips his tongue in between your lips and traces your upper row of teeth, his tongue is wet and warm, your thighs are rubbing together as you grow desperate for any sort of friction. Professor Komaeda must be in a similar state, because he grabs you by the waist and tugs you up to your feet. Pressed firmly against him like this, you can feel the evidence of his arousal through his slacks, a moan escapes you when you feel his hips buck. 

He laughs again, pulling away from your mouth to press a hot kiss to the side of your throat. You feel his long fingers toying with the hemline of your skirt, slowly slipping up underneath it, “These pretty little things…” he whispers, tugging on the top of your thigh high stocking and releasing it with a snap, “do you wear them for me?”

There’s no point lying anymore. You can’t stop shaking, “I...yes…”

You feel him moan against your skin, sinking his teeth into the join between your neck and shoulder, “Did you really think I wouldn’t take notice? Of the way you undress me with your eyes in class, of these tiny little skirts you started wearing?” He grabs a handful of your ass and you squeal, “you’re so gorgeous. You could have anyone in that class if you wanted, but here you are with me-“ he grinds up against you, cock warm and hard through his slacks, “-I don’t understand what I’ve done to deserve this.”

His voice is so soft and gentle, even while he’s palming your ass and grinding his hips against yours, he still talks like he’s giving a lecture on historical literature. It’s hot, how easily he is able to maintain his composure while you are little more than a quivering mess beneath him, but still...you want to see him come undone.

You hear more than feel your knees colliding with the wooden floorboards. Professor Komaeda is unable to give little more than a surprised look before you have his slacks and boxers shoved halfway down his thighs and his cock in your mouth. He lets out a shocked little moan, burying his long fingers into your hair as his hips stutter forward. Now that was the reaction you wanted. 

“Oh...ohhhh-“ he whines, slowly moving himself in and out of your mouth as you tease his head with your tongue, “ahh...your mouth feels so good, angel.” 

You were not expecting him to call you angel. It’s like a bolt of lightning to your cunt, your hands jump up the dig deep into the meat of his thighs as you moan downright salaciously around his cock. 

“I can feel you moaning.” He whispers, “I can’t believe how much you’re enjoying this” you look up at him through your lashes and see his cheeks are red, his perfect lips are swollen from his biting them incessantly. You moan again just from the sight of him, he hisses and his hips cant forward deeper into your mouth, “wow. You...You really like doing this don’t you? Wrapping your perfect soft lips around my filthy cock?” 

Filthy? That makes your eyebrows jump. You could always tell that your professor had some sort of inferiority complex, but you didn't realise it was...this intense.

“S’pretty.” You managed to slur around him, “Tastes good.”

He laughs again, it explodes from his mouth and shakes his shoulders. Unbridled, almost wild. He grins down at you, “I’m sure it doesn’t taste as good at you.” He purrs, tucking your hair behind your ear, “get up on the desk.”

Well, you weren’t going to say no to that. You give his cock one last long lick before standing back up from the floor, just before you hoist yourself up on the table, Professor Komaeda grabs you by the wrist, “Panties off, please.”

You feel yourself turn crimson, but dutifully shimmy out of your panties and let them drop to the floor. He smiles at you, hands curling around your waist as he leans into your ear, “that’s my girl.” He whispers, and lifts you up onto his desk. His hands are cold on the bare skin of your thighs peeking out from the top of your stockings, your stomach twists and curls as he slowly edges your legs open, and drops to his knees between them.

“Oh my god…” you squeak, he’s staring up at you with a look that is downright sinful and he doesn’t break eye contact, even when one of those perfect fingers slips inside you, “agh!” 

He chuckles warmly, gently thrusting his finger in and out of you, “you’re so wet, angel...I can’t imagine why someone like me is making you so aroused, but I’m not complaining.” 

His finger curls inside of you, and your hips jolt, “Mmph! Pro-Professor I-“ 

He smiles saccharinely as a second finger pushes its way inside you, “Nagito.” He corrects, pressing a hot kiss to the inside of your thigh, “We’re well beyond the need for formality. Don’t you think?” You cover your mouth to muffle a squeal as he adds a third finger. Your knees are wobbling and you can barely breathe, he’s just sitting between your legs and grinning at you, “Now let’s see if you taste as good as i imagine, hm?”

He pulls your clit in between his lips and sucks. You have to bite down on your hand to keep yourself from screaming, “F-Fuck...Nagito...I--hng!” 

“It is after hours, you know.” He whispers, you can feel his breath on your cunt and you shiver, “There’s no reason for you to restrain yourself.” He licks your clit again and moans, “Haa...It may be selfish of me, but i want to hear you. If you’ll let me.”

“Oh god-” You hiss out when his tongue starts circling around you, “-keep doing that, and you’ll hear me alright.”

Nagito giggles and peers up at you, “Then I suppose I'll get back to work.” He hoists your thighs over his shoulders, and starts eating you out in earnest. You lean back on your elbows, and watch his soft white hair bob between your thighs as his tongue works it’s magic, he alternates between running the flat of his tongue up the length of you and focussing directly on your clit. Your toes are curling, mouth wide open with a constant stream of moans and whimpers that you have no hope of stopping. It feels so good, you had dreamt about this alone at night in your bed and even in those fantasies it hadn't felt this good. 

His fingers slip out of you, but before you even have a chance to complain, they are replaced with his tongue. You moan so loudly that it rumbles through your chest, your hips rise up to meet his mouth and his hands curl around the soft flesh of your thighs, tugging you even closer. He groans. The wet muscle is slowly thrusting in and out of you when he presses down firm on your clit with his thumb, “I--mmph...Nagito m’gonna cum…” your hips are grinding relentlessly up against his face and you can feel your hair sticking to your forehead with sweat. 

“Cum for me, angel.” He whispers, thumb rubbing your clit in brutal circles, “I want to feel you squeezing around my tongue.” 

You throw your head back in a howl as his tongue slips back inside, the desk rattling with the force of your quivering hips. You can hear the slick sounds his mouth is making against your cunt, the way he is panting and moaning just from the taste of you. The tightness in your stomach grows unbearable, then he curls his tongue upward, and it snaps. You see whiteness behind your eyes, thighs shaking with the intensity of it. You can feel the vibration of Nagito’s moan inside of you and his fingers dig tight into the meat of your thighs. He’s enjoying your orgasm almost as much as you are. 

When he finally pulls away from you, the lower half of his face is glistening with your wetness. He gives you a pleased smile, eyes half lidded as he brings his wet fingers up to his mouth and licks them clean, “I knew you would taste good.” He whispers, wiping the mouth with the back of his hand, “Think you can cum again, angel?”

Just watching him suck on his fingers is enough to get you going again, “Yeah, I definitely can.”

He laughs and stands up from the floor. His cock is flushed red and dripping, you suddenly realise he hadn't touched it that whole time, he must be painfully hard at this point. You lick your lips, you can't help it. He follows your line of sight and smiles, “Be a good girl and bend over the desk for me, please.” 

You slide down off the desk, ready to follow his orders but quickly stop yourself, “Oh. One second.”

“Hm?”

You grab the teapot from the desk and quickly rest it on the windowsill, “Sorry. That was a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Ah, yes. You’re right.” His hand slips up to your cheek, thumb resting on your lips. He smiles when you pull it into your mouth and suck, “I’ll have to thank you for saving my carpet. Unless you see any other hazards, i would still like to fuck you.”

That word again. It sounds doubly filthy when he says it, the way his lips mold around it is downright sinful. A shaky moan drops from your mouth as you turn around and do as he asks, your breasts are squished up against the sturdy wood, and the desk is a little too tall for you, your feet are dangling just above the floor. You’re shaking with anticpation, and it grows even worse when you feel the warmth of Nagito’s palm caressing your ass, “For my own peace of mind…” he whispers, his other hand running a finger up the length of your sex, “When do you graduate?”

You laugh, “It’s a little late for that, isn't it, Professor?” you feel his hand still on your ass and you clear your throat, “Uh, this is my last semester. A few months.”

He sighs pleasantly, “Ah, that’s good. This has been very fun, though i'm not sure we should do it again.” You feel the head of his cock kiss your entrance and hiss through your teeth, “At least...not for a few months.” You can hear the smirk on his face.

“I’ve waited this long.” You say, grinding backwards into his cock, “I can wait again.”

He leans down until his mouth is right beside your ear, “Good girl.” He whispers, and finally thrusts inside of you. It feels so good, he fills you so well. Your cheek is pressed firmly against the hard wood of the desk and a pathetic little mewl escapes your mouth at the feeling. You cunt already dripping from your last orgasm, you take him so easily, so smoothly. It feels like he is meant to be inside you. 

You feel a hand on your lower back, pushing you further down onto the desk and Nagito hisses through his teeth. Pumping slowly and deeply inside of you, like he is savoring it, “You’re doing so well, angel. I--fuck...You’re so warm.” his breathing is laboured, the rhythmic sound of his hips hitting your ass is echoing around the room, “I still can’t believe you’re letting me do this to you. I must be the luckiest man alive.” 

“Please...more!” you whine, trying to force him deeper inside of you with the movement of your hips. 

Nagito lets out a strangled moan and starts pounding faster, one of his hands slipping down between your legs to circle your clit, you cry out at the extra stimulation, toes curling inside of your shoes. The desk is shaking with the force of his thrusts now, there's a cute little statuette of a frog that falls down to the carpet with a clatter, but he doesn't stop. 

“You feel so good, darling...I--I don't think i can-” a groan rips through him and you can feel his thrusts growing sloppier, “-you’re so good for...so perfect...I can't hold--ah ahh” he swallows, “Please, angel, i want to feel you cum again.”

You’re close, mouth raw from panting and moaning, legs going numb from behind suspended in the air. Then, the finger on your clit presses down firm and his cock grinds up against your g-spot. That is all you need, you come unraveling under him, the walls of your cunt clenching impossibly tight around him.

“Ah, yes!” He cries, grabbing your hips and pounding you desperately, relishing in the feeling of your hot, tight cunt. Milking him dry, “Good, girl. So good for me.” Then, he cums, you feel his cock throb deep inside of you as his hips stutter and slow. 

It is only now that you are hit with the realisation. You just fucked Professor Komaeda. Holy hell.

All you can do is lay there while he slowly pulls himself out of you. Wincing a little at the wierd feeling of emptyness. You manage to roll yourself over, laying flat on your back with your legs still dangling from the desk. Nagito laughs and presses a kiss to your cheek, “Are you alright?”

You laugh weakly, “We’re going to get in so much trouble.”

“Not if no one finds out.” He tucks some of your hair behinf your ear, “Don’t worry about it, I’m very lucky with this sort of thing.”

“I just dont want you to get in trouble.”

He giggles, “That’s very kind of you, but this was as much my choice as it was yours.” he runs his fingers down your cheek and gives you a gentle kiss on your lips, “I meant what i said, about meeting up again.”

You manage to pull yourself up until you are sitting upright, you give him a sleepy smile, “Yeah, me too. I like you a lot.”

“How very sweet of you to say, angel.” He presses his forehead to yours and tangles your fingers together, “Let’s get you cleaned up now, hm? Can’t have you walking home like that”

To be honest, you aren’t sure you can walk at all.

____________________________

A few months later, you are sitting in the local cafe and applying for some jobs on your laptop. You did well on your final assessments and graduated with flying colours. It’s only a few more days before you need to officially move out of the dorms, and finding a new apartment (along with a job to pay for it) has not been easy so far. 

You huff and push your hair back from your face. Your phone pings, and you ignore it. It’s been pinging for the past few minutes and you are not in the mood to check it. The job you are currently applying for made you retype all of the information in your resume even though you just uploaded it, and you are not happy. 

The phone pings again and you groan, grabbing it and flipping it over. It looks like it’s just the group chat, as loud as always. As you go to close the message notifications though, you see one from about ten minutes ago that isn't from your group chat. Your heart is racing. 

Hello!

I still have your number from when you asked for an assignment extension at the beginning of last semester. I hope you don't mind me using it. It’s been a few months, I'd like to see you again, if you wouldn't mind.

-Nagito

Oh shit. Your heart is beating a rapid tattoo in your chest. You had been so caught up in the job hunt and apartment hunt that you had all but forgotten about...this. You swallow and manage to force your shaky hands to type.

Oh hey!

It’s nice to hear from you. I’m free this weekend if you want to meet up, I still live in the dorms though, so it’ll have to be your place.

It's only about a minute before you get a reply.

Lol! I was thinking we could start with coffee, but I'm not going to lie and say i wasn’t hoping it would end up in my bedroom. 

This weekend works for me. I can pick you up around 11?

You smile at your phone, cheeks turning crimson.

Sounds good. I’ll see you then.

You quickly update his contact details in your phone from Professor Komaeda, to Nagito <3.

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: would you be so kind Ship: obikin Second: Ten years ago, Obi-Wan Kenobi met Anakin Skywalker, a charming young mage from Naboo, but as fate willed, they could not be together. A decade and thousands dead later, Alderaan’s High Court Sorcerer meets a Forger and his excited apprentice. AN: I forgot to post this on tumblr apparently, but here’s the first chapter of my second long WIP I am working on!

Then

The ship was crammed, filled to the brim with people clinging to one another, staring either at the home they’d lost or the home they hoped to be sailing to. Hundreds of ships had left Dromund Kaas already, carrying refugees across the ocean to safer harbors. The tension was high and sharp enough to cut as they sailed away from the doomed country and only relaxed when the pressure of the country’s shields finally left their shoulders.

“An awful sight, isn’t it?”

Anakin startled, instinctually pulled his coat around himself. Were he in a better shape, he would have lashed out immediately, winds, bindings, blood—

But the power flowing through his veins was too constricted, caged like a wild beast. Instead, Anakin just turned to look at the person who’d addressed him. An old woman with snow-white markings and long lekku stared at the dying country just as he had moments before, grief and resignation painting a sorrowful picture. “I never thought I’d leave this place. Did you?”

Wordlessly, Anakin shook his head. No, he certainly hadn’t thought he’d ever leave this place again. He’d been ready to be buried under the ashes of marble altars, not see this new dawn.

“I was born here, married too. All my children were born within the boundaries of this country and perhaps that is the reason they all left,” the woman continued. “I am glad that they weren’t here. If I think about what could have happened to them were they anywhere near the capital… I apologize; I hope you don’t mind my rambling. You looked like you needed company. Are you traveling to Naboo?”

He opened his mouth to reply, to give an affirmation, but stopped. He hadn’t quite thought where he’d go, except as far away from this place as he could. Naboo was certainly an option; Padmé would be glad to see him, he was sure. She’d take him in without asking a single question and defend him against the storms that were sure to come.

But Padmé was his friend and Anakin couldn’t allow her to shoulder his burden.

“No,” Anakin heard himself saying. “I’m not traveling to Naboo.”

“They are quite defenseless right now, yes, you are right. The fact that it’s the first stop of this ship is tempting enough for most to disregard what troubles might find them there.” The woman nodded in understanding. “I’ll be going to Alderaan myself. My eldest lives there, and in a country as strong as that, a tragedy like this can’t strike.”

She turned to look at the remains of Dromund Kaas again. The coastline used to be covered by beautiful large trees; his Master used to tell him how vital they were for its defense.

Now there was nothing but ash and darkness. Even here on the outskirts, where it had taken the longest for the remains of the catastrophe to reach, nobody was safe from it. Dromund Kaas had been in a pitiful state after the last war, which had made it an easy place to hideaway in. Alderaan might be stronger, the blooming center of magical education, but Anakin doubted they’d be able to defend against an attack like this. Nothing could save them from an attack such as this.

But Alderaan’s distance to this cesspit of disease was enough to provide a different kind of security.

Thousands of refugees would search for safety there, and Queen Breha was as cunning as she was kind. No one would be turned away and Anakin could slip in just right with them.

“I’m going to Alderaan as well,” Anakin replied.

The woman looked him over, then she beamed as if she were a young child and not already among the older members of her species.

Her smile was the first Anakin had seen in weeks. “Looks like we’ll be traveling companions then! You must tell me your name, young friend. I’m Raya Tano.”

She held out her hand and Anakin awkwardly shook it with his own left.

“My name is—”

Now

“Anakin Skywalker! Your automaton is ruining my kitchen!”

Sighing, Anakin let the spell sink back into the metal and settle into it. So much for working on his commissions today. A quick glance around the workshop told him that it was not one of his automatons running wild. Artoo was currently charging up and Threepio was keeping himself busy cleaning up. All the other small automatons Anakin crafted when he was bored were either asleep and charging or hurrying around the workshop, washing up the floors and putting away the tools Anakin had been using.

Anakin tugged off his gloves and threw them to a tiny and eager little automaton before picking up his softer everyday gloves. The leather was still quite resistant and had more runes stitched into it than most people dared to weave into one cloth, but they were nowhere near as excellently crafted as his work gloves. The dragonhide gloves were worth a fortune and so they never left his workshop unless Anakin had to. Anakin watched the little automaton put the gloves in their usual compartment until he could hear the click reassuring that the lock was in place. At first, that had only been a measure against thieves as he hadn’t had much to his name, but by now, it was a habit.

And it discouraged Ahsoka from stealing them for her own projects.

Anakin walked out of his workshop and crossed the courtyard to the small cottage he called his home, finding a kitchen in disarray, Raya standing on a chair with a small red automaton attempting to clean the floors.

“Look what a mess it’s making!” Raya said accusingly. “Instead of polishing my floors, it’s dirtying them!”

“I can see that,” Anakin hummed. He waited until the small automaton had reached his feet, then he bent down and pressed his hand flat on its small back, stopping it. Ahsoka’s handiwork was getting better; this little guy had kept moving for a while despite her absence. Anakin had no idea what the formal apprenticeship for forgers entailed, when they ought to hit what milestone, but he was willing to bet that Ahsoka was years ahead of her peers. Her spells were strong, her rune work fantastic, and very few actual weaknesses were left to explore in her automatons.

But Anakin was still a Master and Ahsoka only an Apprentice. Her work was not yet good enough to keep out foreign interference. Without much thought, he deactivated the automaton completely.

“This was your granddaughter’s handiwork,” Anakin commented. “She’s improving in leaps and bounds.”

Raya huffed and stepped from her chair. “I’m glad to hear that, but weren’t you meant to teach her control?”

“I am,” Anakin said, the argument an old and fond one. They returned to it frequently, mostly to annoy the young Apprentice. “And were she still as much of a mess as three years ago, she hardly would be able to craft such a fine automaton. Can’t do anything about her manners.”

Especially since she’d become a teenager. Anakin didn’t remember being as much of a pain as Ahsoka could be.

“And here I was thinking Masters were supposed to teach their Apprentices a medium of decorum.”

Anakin snorted. “Yeah, well, that’s what she has you for, doesn’t she?”

Raya’s expression softened. “That she does.”

Anakin sometimes wondered how Raya managed to stay so kind and calm when the world had taken so much from her. Her husband, country, her children— and yet she still stood straight, caring for the fellow traveler she’d never allowed to leave and the granddaughter that had been dumped on her with just a warning for Ahsoka’s generally explosive tendencies.

“Where is Ahsoka anyway?” Anakin asked, looking around the kitchen as if she would jump out in the open any moment. “I sent her on an errand earlier this morning, but she hasn’t returned yet.”

Unfortunately, Raya couldn’t tell him either. “I have no idea where that girl is running around—”

“Anakin!”

Speak of the dark and it shall appear. The door was thrown open and Ahsoka rushed inside, tracking even more dirt all over the floor, causing Raya to throw up her arms in defeat in a way Anakin knew meant Ahsoka would be left with all her favorite chores for the next week.

“Welcome back, Ahsoka,” Anakin said. “You’re late.”

“Yes, yes,” Ahsoka replied and rolled her eyes, obviously disinterested in what he had to say. “I got all you asked for and ordered the new metals, but look at this!”

Ahsoka raised her hand, revealing a ripped-off poster. It was tasteful in design, fine cursive writing on light blues, gold ornaments in the corners and, of course, the royal crest right in the middle of it.

Her Majesty the Queen of the Kingdom of Alderaan, Breha Organa, invites all Alderaani Practitioners of the Mythic Arts to attend the festivities in the capital of Aldera—

“Absolutely not,” Anakin said before he could even read the rest of the text. “We’re not going to Aldera to some festival.”

“Why not?” Ahsoka shot back. “It’s no summit, but it would at least be something.”

Her bitterness did not go unnoticed. Ahsoka had begged for months to attend this year’s summit. Every five, all magic practitioners gathered on Tython to exchange notes on their craft and pretend they were not also discussing the politics of their respective countries, forging alliances and the like. Anakin hadn’t been to the last summit, it having been just after Dromund Kaas, and the one before were tainted by the memories that followed, no matter how sweet the time had been. Ahsoka, of course, had begged to attend this year’s one, but it would only be foolish and reckless. He couldn’t just walk into the biggest gathering of mages in the whole continent and expect to get out of it without anyone realizing who he was, asking questions, concluding what he’d done.

Anakin had too much to hide, too much to lose, and he wasn’t going to risk his little Apprentice for it.

Not that Ahsoka knew any of that and wasn’t in the least satisfied with Anakin’s reply and immediately made her displeasure known.

“What would you even want to see there?” Anakin asked, trying to downplay how entertaining such an event was. “It’ll just be all the posh court sorcerers showing off with their fancy focusing crystals. It’s utterly boring and uncreative.”

“Like you wouldn’t use a focusing crystal if you had one,” Ahsoka muttered, arms crossed. “It’s just— there’s nobody else around here who can do magic. And all you ever do is work on machines.”

“Which requires a lot of concentration as it’s not just the manipulation of one aspect, but—”

“—but many, yes, yes, I know the speech,” Ahsoka said and dutifully listed all elements that went into their craft. There was a reason why not many forgers existed. Most mages lacked the talent, patience, and education to learn this craft, or were just plain afraid that they’d permanently damage their ability to use magic at all.

And with the speed technology was evolving and magic weaponized to terrifying new heights, not too many people still had use for forgers. Where two-hundred-years ago, you wouldn’t have gone out to hunt a dragon with a simple sword, but only with one crafted by a Master forger, nowadays you didn’t necessarily need one. Battle magic was on the rise again, especially with more and more countries growing uneasy, peace treaties falling apart. Combined with the threats from the northern continents, it was no wonder people cared less and less about expensive forgers when they could mass-produce and enchant simpler items.

“I just hoped you’d allow at least this,” Ahsoka finished. Her shoulders dropped. “Should have known better. I’ll go finish my readings.”

Ahsoka turned around, her shoulders still hanging, her head low.

Damn it.

Anakin knew that she was doing it on purpose. His Apprentice was cunning and had learned how to play into his every weakness. Slowly she marched into the direction of the door, dragging her feet behind her for effect and dramatics.

Raya raised a brow at him. She usually stayed out of Ahsoka’s tutelage, knowing next to nothing about magic herself, but even with his past being little more than a mystery to her, she could read him better than anyone else.

“Urgh, fine,” Anakin heard himself say. “Fine, we can go to the festival.”

Ahsoka turned around quicker than light and jumped up. “Yes!”

“But that means you’re not going to bring up the summit again!”

“Yes! Of course!” A moment later, Anakin had an armful of an apprentice. “Thank you so much, Master, you’re the best!”

Once she let go of him, she went to hug Raya and hug even her dirty automaton to her chest, still radiating happiness. “I need to go pack my bags immediately!”

“The festival is not for another week—”

Ahsoka obviously didn’t care. So caught up in her joy, she rushed upstairs, heading to her room to start packing. It shouldn’t surprise Anakin that she was so motivated. Ahsoka was a person who thrived on interaction, being surrounded by other people. While the people of their village were friendly, none of them were mages or even just sensitive to magic. It was one of the reasons Anakin had decided to stay without too much fight. But growing up so far removed from other mages had made Ahsoka twice as curious to meet others.

The thought made his stomach churn. He’d have to give Ahsoka formal lessons about their trade now, just if somebody asked questions that were too pointed. She’d also need a bit of the know-how on how you usually interacted with other mages and which pretentious bastards to call sorcerers before they threw a hissy fit. All these capital folks were much too sensitive about terminology after all. Anakin had never bothered to tell her the differences before, but Ahsoka would kill him if she accidentally embarrassed herself because he hadn’t seen it fit to instruct her properly. Forget teaching Ahsoka how to improve her automaton, the next week would be full of etiquette lessons. Skies, there’d be people trying to steal their spellwork too. Had he even mentioned that kind of theft before? Anakin honestly couldn’t recall.

“Already regretting it?” Raya asked, her voice just a touch amused.

“Just a bit,” Anakin replied.

“It’ll be good for her,” Raya said, convinced and confident enough for the both of them. “And good for you as well. I’ve known you for years now and you’ve never even brought a friend over. I’m not going to be young forever, you know. I do expect to be introduced to your future spouse at some point.”

“And this is my cue to go packing as well,” Anakin announced and followed Ahsoka up the stairs with Raya’s laughter following him.

He had no intention of being with anyone, ever, unless he could find glamours that held up even when majorly distracted. On his way up the stairs, Anakin caught a look of himself in the window, saw black vines curling around his neck, inviting someone to take a closer look.

It was better this way.

[writingxfootballl]

know that it’s you (g.w.)

(ginny weasley x reader)

it only took seven years for you to get your happy ending. 

warnings: mentions of death, light cursing, men, sarcasm, and no capitalization

word count: ~2.5k

a/n: first hp fic! hope i did okay- i tried my best to capture ginny’s character but it’s not perfect <3

format inspired by @ravenclawwriting ‘s masterpiece- “turning time”

title- hold on, flor

——

first year 

the aura of confidence she gives off smacks you straight in the face when she passes by you on the platform. 

not that you needed any help noticing her. 

her flowing red hair caught your eye almost immediately. 

oh how you wished to be her friend. 

~~

“gryffindor!” 

you let out a sigh of relief. 

slowly you pick yourself up and walk to the table, where the pretty red headed girl is sitting. 

she looks up and smiles at you, gesturing for you to take a seat next to her.

when you do, she sticks out her hand and introduces herself. 

“ginny weasley.”

taking her hand, you do the same. 

“y/n y/ln.”

~~

when ginny goes missing later that year, you blame yourself. 

you should’ve noticed that she was getting quieter and quieter.

you should’ve noticed that she would be gone for hours. 

you should’ve noticed. 

when she disappears for a few days, she takes your heart with her.

so when harry fucking potter swoops in and saves her, you let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding, and it feels like your heart can finally beat normally again. 

second year

now that you got her back, you were inseparable. 

screw fred and george, you were the new duo at hogwarts.

just kidding, no one could beat the iconic mischief seeking twins, but you sure gave professors a run for their money. 

the red headed girl always seemed to have something up her sleeve, and no matter good or bad, you followed her. 

~~

that summer, you’re invited to the burrow for the first time. 

the two of you share a room, and what started out as separate beds and shy company slowly turned into fleeting glances and lingering touches.

hand holding, cheek kisses and cuddling, all the “platonic” displays of affection. 

and then, ginny invites you to the quidditch world cup. 

you’ve never been a quidditch fan, but you’d go a thousand times over if she asked you. 

really, you’d do a lot of things if she asked you. 

third year

you can see her concern for harry when he gets drawn for the triwizard tournament.

it makes you want to rip his head off. 

and then, slowly, you begin to notice it all. 

how when you were constantly staring at ginny, her eyes followed a certain boy’s every move. 

how she’s a flushed, nervous, bumbling wreck around him, so different from the confident and assured girl you knew.

it makes you want to rip his head off even more.

but you don’t know why. 

harry’s always been a nice guy. 

arrogant, sure, but a nice guy, certainly someone you shouldn’t hate.

so you ask hermione. 

~~

the golden girl just laughs when you tell her. 

“oh, my dear y/n, you’re just jealous.”

now you’re even more confused. 

“jealous? why would i be jealous?”

hermione chuckles a little bit and looks up from her book. 

“you fancy her y/n.”

you scoff a little at that. 

“me? fancying ginny? no way!”

hermione rolls her eyes and motions for you to leave her to her studying, before mumbling quietly:

“no wonder you were sorted into gryffindor and not ravenclaw.”

~~

you’re determined to somehow prove hermione wrong.

so when seamus asks you to the ball, you consider accepting. 

but then you think about ginny.

your sweet, beautiful ginny.

you tell him you’ll get back to him, before running across the school to the courtyard, where you know she’s at. 

your question somehow makes it through the panted breaths and heaves. 

“would you like to go to the yule ball with me?”

ginny’s face splits into a grin. 

“i would love to.”

~~

when you see ginny at the ball, you have to remember how to breathe. 

“you look stunning.”

ginny blushes a little at your compliment. 

“so do you.”

your heart races in your chest at her words. 

you clear your throat at the silence that follows and- 

“so, shall we dance?”

you smile and nod graciously, taking her hand and following.

with one of her hands on your waist and the other tightly clasped in yours, hermione’s words flash in your mind.

“you fancy her y/n.”

your eyes meet and you can’t believe you’ve never taken the time to admire how much of a golden honey color they are. 

but then. 

of course. 

“hey um- could i speak to you ginny?”

dean fucking thomas.

ginny lets go of you almost immediately. 

she glances at you apologetically, and despite the nagging ache in your chest, you nod and let her go.

after she leaves with him, the rest of the ball passes in a blur, where you can’t focus on anything else except the tenuous strain of your heart. 

maybe hermione was right after all.

fourth year

turns out hermione was right. 

so very very right. 

ginny had you wrapped around her finger. 

and for the most part, this year wasn’t bad. 

with the exception of dean of course. 

when he comes into the picture, it shatters you. 

but she couldn’t know that. 

so you listened to her talk about him, biting back the i could treat you better from the tip of your tongue. 

~~

despite the fact that ginny has a boyfriend, the two of you grow closer. 

you’re both members of the DA, helping each other with spells and practicing in your free time.

“ugh gin it’s not working-“

ginny rolls her eyes at you. 

“it’s not that hard y/nn, do you want to watch me do it again?”

you nod enthusiastically and ginny giggles a little. 

“alright move aside then.”

you move and watch from the side, somehow ending up eyeing along her side profile rather than watching her hex. 

eyebrows furrowed, lip bitten in concentration-

dear godric she’s so pretty-

“y/n are you even watching?!”

you shake your head and blush before stuttering out: 

“u-uh, s-sorry could you d-do it again?”

ginny watches you with an amused smirk and takes a step in, closer to you. 

“you’re kind of cute you know that?” 

her finger tracing your jaw, she emphasizes the end of her sentence with a pop and a nose tap.

your mouth drops open, and all the blood in your body rushes to your cheeks.

ginny steps away and seeing that you were still frozen there, turns back and teases: 

“aw come on y/n, the bat bogey hex isn’t going to learn itself now is it?”

merlin, this girl was going to be the death of you. 

~~

when ginny tells you she broke up with dean, you want to go out and scream in happiness.

but instead, you stay put and say, “aw gin im so sorry, i’ll be here if you need me.”

you’re woken up later that night when ginny crawls into bed with you. 

with her face buried in your neck and her hands wrapped loosely around your waist, you can’t help the smile teasing the corners of your lips.

it’s everything you’ve ever asked for.

fifth year

then, fifth year happens.

you could see harry and ginny growing closer and closer, and it felt like she was leaving you behind. 

your weekly hogsmeade trips slowly became less and less intimate, as the golden trio began joining the two of you.

a butterbeer was poked at mindlessly with a straw by you at the three broomsticks, all while listening to ginny chat with harry, and ron chat with hermione. 

it doesn’t surprise you when ginny and harry disappear together after a little while. 

it doesn’t surprise you when ginny starts spending less time in your room, and more time in his. 

it doesn’t surprise you when you spot ginny with her head on his shoulder one day.

it doesn’t surprise you, but it still stings. 

it stings a lot.

sixth year

the golden trio is gone for almost the entirety of this year. 

before they leave, harry breaks up with ginny, and she doesn’t react really. 

she accepts it. 

but you’re there for her even if she says she’s fine and she doesn’t need it. 

then one day, she needs it. 

~~ 

you walk into your room to see her sitting on her bed. 

it takes you a second to realize she’s crying. 

you’re by her side immediately.

“oh gin- what’s wrong?”

she doesn’t say anything, just turning to you and without a word, you wrap your arms around her. 

and you stay like that for a while. 

when she goes quiet, you whisper out:

“gin?” 

and then you realize she’s fallen asleep. 

you try to bite back your poorly contained smile, gently guiding the girl off your shoulder and onto your lap. 

you softly tuck a loose, fiery red strand behind her ear, a blush lightly tinting your cheeks when she exhales softly in her sleep.

merlin, i love you.

your cheeks flush even more when she grasps the front of your robes, pulling herself even closer to you. 

with your heart hammering in your chest, it’s a wonder ginny hasn’t woken up yet.

you pull out your transfiguration textbook quietly, and try your best to focus on the page, rather than the girl laying there on your lap. 

it doesn’t work. 

but for once, all is well. 

~~

eventually, you get absorbed into your studies, distracted enough to miss the girl on your lap beginning to stir.

your brows are furrowed as you scribble down the last words of your essay, and you bring your quill up to your lips before ginny’s hand gently pushes them away, startling you. 

“don’t do that, you’ll stain your teeth.”

you blush sheepishly and drop your hand.

“you’re awake.”

ginny smiles. 

“well i’m talking to you aren’t i?”

you grin softly.

“i suppose you are.”

ginny rolls her eyes and sighs, her brown eyes locking with yours immediately after.

her hand comes up to tuck a loosed strand of hair behind your ear and suddenly, the air seems to thicken. 

for a moment, neither of you move, too caught up in each other’s eyes. 

when ginny’s eyes drop down to your lips you can hear your breath catch in your throat. 

you feel yourself being pulled in by some invisible force, your eyes dropping down- 

then neville knocks on the door, and just like that, the spell is broken. 

“y/n- oh hey ginny.”

ginny sits up and darts away from you so quickly you would’ve missed it if you blinked.

“what’s up nev?”

neville shuffles nervously. 

“sorry for catching you at a bad time- um it’s just that professor mcgonagall wanted to see-.”

“all right i’ll be there in a minute.”

neville nods and then, it’s back to the two of you. 

it’s quiet for a moment before you both speak. 

“you should-“

“i really-“

both of you stop and flush a little before you continue. 

“i really should go see what that was about.”

ginny nods and gestures for you to leave. 

and you do, not before taking her hand and pulling her up into a tight hug.

“i’ll see you later?” 

ginny nods. 

“yeah. later.”

~~

when the golden trio returns to hogwarts and all hell breaks loose, the two of you are separated. 

in fact, you haven’t seen most of the weasleys since the war began. 

you’re left alone with neville for the majority of the fight, and you spend most of it worrying about ginny. 

one day when you’re just walking along the edge of the forbidden forest, you catch a glimpse of red hair on the opposite side of the field. 

your breath catches in your throat.

as you get closer, you can tell who it is. 

and then you start running. 

~~

your body almost collides with hers as you wrap your arms around her. 

at first, there’s relief.

“you’re here you’re here you’re-“

ginny shushes you and pulls you in tighter, drawing out the sob you tried to hard to keep down. 

then the relief turns to anger. 

and frustration. 

you pull away from the hug abruptly and ginny sends a confused look your way. 

“ginevra molly weasley! if you ever, ever do that again i’ll-“

“aw, seems like someone missed me.”

you scoff.

“don’t joke! i thought you were killed- gin you have no idea i was so worried- worried about where you were, what you did-“

the rest of your confession is cut off when ginny grabs your tattered tie, pulls you in, and kisses you. 

it’s quick.

lips unmoving, it’s really more of a peck than a kiss. 

but it still hit you the same way. 

ginny pulls back abruptly when you don’t react, but taking the smile that graced your lips as a good sign, leans back in. 

this time, you’re ready for her.

your arms wrap around her neck, her’s falling to your waist, and finally, you’re content. 

it’s soft and sweet and then there’s tongue and lips and teeth and you really can’t believe this is happening-

“hey y/n! quit snogging my sister!”

ron’s exclamation startles you. 

you flush red, and break the kiss, trying to pull away from ginny out of embarrassment, but she keeps an arm firmly attached to your waist. 

hermione grins next to ron.

“about time you two. about time.”

~~

harry defeats he who must not voldemort in probably what is the most anticlimactic final battle ever.

but just like that, 

the war’s over.

seventh year

propped against a tree, ginny runs a hand through your hair, the other tangled with yours in front of your chest. 

“hey.”

ginny smiles softly down at you. 

“hey to you too.”

“i love you.”

the red headed girl smiles and leans down to give you a soft kiss before replying.

“i love you too y/n.”

your smile is almost blinding, and out of pure happiness, you confess:

“i’ve loved you since third year gin, did you know that?”

the red headed girl almost looks surprised.

“i was gross third year.”

you scoff and mutter: 

“you could never be gross.”

ginny just laughs and leans down again. 

“i love you y/n. i really do. i’m sorry it took so long for me to realize.”

you look up at your girlfriend with pure adoration in your eyes.

with her lips on yours and fingers tangled together, it felt like the world was finally at peace again. 

ginevra weasley was your happily ever after. 

cheesy ending, but i loved writing this one.. i hope you guys like it too <3

[peashooter85]

A Pickle for the Knowing Ones

Timothy Dexter was an American businessman who is probably best known to history for failing upward and becoming extremely wealthy through the most ludicrous and sure to fail business schemes that by sheer luck always worked out.  This included selling bed warmers, wool mittens, and stray cats to the Caribbean islands. Sam O’Nella Academy has an excellent video on him.

In 1802 he wrote his memoirs which he titled A Pickle for the Knowing Ones. The book contained no punctuation, random capitalization, and he made up his own spelling. While he wrote it as his memoirs really the book was just a collection of his random thought, beliefs, and endless ranting. Here is an excerpt from his book about how he plans to build a museum...

“Ime the first Lord in the younited States of A mercary Now of Newburyport it is the voise of the peopel and I cant Help it and so Let it goue Now as I must be Lord there will foler many more Lords prittey soune for it Dont hurt A Cat Nor the mouse Nor the son Nor the water Nor the Eare then goue on all in Easey Now bons broaken all is well all in Love Now I be gin to Lay the Corner ston with grat Remembrence of my father Jorge Washington the grate herow 17 sentreys past before we found so good A father to his children and Now gone to Rest Now to shoue my Love to my father and grate Carieters I will shoue the world one of the grate Wonders of the world in 15 months if Now man mourders me in Dors or out Dors such A mouserum on Earth will annonce O Lord thou knowest to be troue fourder hear me good Lord I am A goueing to Let or shildren know Now to see good Lord what has bin in the world grat wase back to own fore fathers Not old plimeth but stop to Addom & Eve to shoue 45 figers two Leged and fore Leged becose we Cant Doue well without fore Legd in the first plase they are our foude in the Next plase to make out Dexters mouseum I wants 4 Lions to defend thous grat and mistry men from East to wist from North to South which Now are at the plases Rased the Lam is Not Readey in short meater if Agreabel I forme A good and peasabel govement on my Land in Newburyport Compleat I take 3 presedents hamsher govener all to Noue York and the grate mister John Jay is one, that maks 2 in that state the king of grat britton mister pitt Roufus King Cros over to france Loues the 16 and then the grate bonnepartey the grate and there segnetoure Crow biddey—I Command pease and the gratest brotherly Love and Not fade be Linked to gether with that best of troue Love so as to govern all nasions on the fass of the gloub not to tiranize over them but to put them to order if any Despout shall A Rise as to boundreys or Any maturs of Importence it is Left france and grat britton and Amacarey to be setteled A Congress to be always in france all Despouts is to be thare seteled and this may be Dun this will balless powers and then all wars Dun A way there [15]fore I have the Lam to lay Dow with the Lion Now this may be Dun if thos three powers would A geray to Lay what is called Devel one side and Not Carry the gentelman pack hors Any longer but shake him off as dust on your feet and Laff at him there is a grate noise aboute a toue Leged Creter he says I am going to set sade black Divel there stop he would scare the womans so there would be No youse for the bilding I should have to E rect sum Noue won Now I stop hear I puts the Devil Long with the bull for he is a bulling 2 Leged Annemal stop put him one side Near Soloman Looking with Soloman to Ladey venus Now stop wind up there is grat ods in froute I will Let you know the sekret houe you may see the Devel stand on your head before a Loucking glass and take a bibel in to your bousom fast 40 owers and look in the loucking glass there is no Devilif you dont see the ould fellow but I affirm you will see that ould DevelUnto you all mankind Com to my hous to mock and sneare whi ye Dont you Lafe be fore god or I meane your betters think the heir power Dont know thorts and Axsions Now I will tell you good and bad it is Not pelite to Com to see what the bare walls keep of my ground if you are gentel men you would stay Away when all is Dun in marble I expect to goue out myself to Help if thous grat men will send on there Likeness all over the younited States I wish all the printers to give Notis if pleases to in form by printen in the Nouspapers for the good of the holl of man kind———I waus to make my Enemys grin in time Lik A Cat over a hot puding and goue Away and hang there heads Doun Like a Dogg bin After sheep gilty stop see I am Afrade I Rite toue hash my peopel Complane of backker spittel maks work to Cleane it up——in the women skouls A bout it spit in ther hankershif or not spit A tall I must say sumthing or I should say Nothing therefore make sum Noise in the world when I git so ouely to Nash my goms and grising for water and that is salt water when brot A yong Devel to bring it and A Scoyer to wate and tend on gentelmen A black Suier his breth Smelt wos then bram stone by far but Let the Devel goue in to Darknes an takeld his due to Descare mankind for A Littel while this Cloven foot is seen be sum but the trap will over hall the Devel in tim I pittey this poore black man I thinc his master wants purging a Littel to har ber mr Devel A most but I did Not say Let him Run A way good Nit mr Devel Cary the sword and mwney with you tak John mekel Jentel man good Not”

There’s 22 pages of this nonsense. It sold well enough in New England that another edition was printed in 1805. I shit you not. You can read it for free at the Gutenberg Project.

https://www.gutenberg.org/files/43453/43453-h/43453-h.htm

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Orbital Strikes part 1

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord )

"What do you mean you will not commence the invasion!?"

The high councilor's outburst caused several of the nearby bridge crew to wince in pain. Inuly vocal cords could reach a far greater spectrum of sound waves to generate compared to human vocal cords; to which the supreme commander of united forces Victor Gobbins had learned  the hard way.

United forces had fought hard the last several months and had carved a deep gash into the territory controlled by the Umba Empire. Now resting at high anchor off the sentry world of Gulvan IV, the final stronghold standing between allied forces and the Umba home system, the united forces had gathered aboard the flagship Orion's Belt to decide the fate of the upcoming invasion.

The leaders of the various species each put forward a plan ranging from a wide spread global invasion from multiple landing sites to a single massive wave of troops sweeping across the planet. Casualties were predicted to be heavy as the Umba people's warrior culture engrained into them at birth had created one of the universes most proficient militaries. The body count pushing this far had already been near morale breaking and had it not been for the increasing stream of supplies and manpower from humanity the offensive would have ground to a halt three systems ago. This factor was one of the main reasons a human was, begrudgingly, placed as the supreme commander as it was the only way to ensure their continued support. So it was somewhat surprising when after hearing all of the various plans Victor announced that he would not be launching the invasion at this time.

High Councilor Veemen was particularly vocal with her objections to which only now after several moments did Victor and his crew regain a measure of their hearing.

"Admiral Brea," the supreme commander said without even bothering to acknowledge the high councilor, "bring our ships into line with the Orion at the front."

The admiral nodded and began relaying orders to the fleet. A flurry of ships icons began moving across the display in response to her orders.

"So you do plan to begin the invasion then." Victor turned to see the high councilor looking at him with an expression of smugness and gloating plainly written across her face.

"In due time councilor, in due time." His lack of stating her full title was one of the easiest ways to get under her skin and he fondly used it regularly.

"Communications, send out a message on all frequencies requesting communication with the Umba leadership."

"What is your plan?" the High councilor asked, but before she could get a reply the communications officer broke in.

"We have communication; patching it in now."

The large screen of the bridge cut away from ship deployments and shifted to reveal the striking visage of their foe.

"I am Lopono Vak, sentinel lord of Gulvan IV."

Victor stood and presented himself; his clean pressed uniform and adorned medals making for a powerful image of authority.

"I am the supreme commander of the united forces Victor Gobbins."

The Umbaan regarded Victor in silence as this was no doubt the first time the Umba Empire had seen the face of the man who had orchestrated the downfall of their recent holdings.

Lopono nodded to himself as if satisfied and continued. "I shall say this once supreme commander Gobbins; surrender to me or face your destruction."

Victor stood silently as Lopono continued. "The Umba fleet is already enroute and should arrive here within a week." This remark caused some of the leadership behind Victor to gasp as though their fleet was substantial it was not enough to slug it out with the full might of the Umba navy. This did not appear to phase Victor however and he calmly continued as if nothing was amiss.

"Why are you sharing this information with us? Surely it would have been more beneficial for you to let us begin our invasion and then attack us with our ground forces already engaged on the planet."

Lopono's mouth opened for what Victor assumed was a smile. "You have shown yourself a worthy foe, and such deceitful tactics are unbecoming of the Umba Empire."

Now it was Victor's turn to smile and surprisingly he tilted his head to the monitor. "You have my respect for such honorable behavior and so I feel it only kind to return the favor." A subtle nod from admiral Brea off screen was given before he continued.

"The sun should have just set in your capital yes?"

Lopono looked confused. "It has."

"Then I give you until the rising of it again to surrender to the united forces."

Everyone surrounding the supreme commander went silent save for the grutal chuckling of Lopono.

"And pray tell, why would I surrender when I know you will be defeated in a week?"

"Because within the next twenty hours you will be defeated sentinel lord," Victor said as he kept the grin, "we'll keep the line open for your reply."

Before Lopono could respond Victor motioned his hand and the transmission was cut.

"Admiral you may commence firing."

With that the admiral began issuing a series of crisp orders to the bridge crew that were in turn  relayed to the entire fleet.

"Are we not going to talk about what you said?" Once again the high councilor cut in over the chatter of the bridge. "How do you plan to make them surrender in a single day?"

Victor turned to face the councilor for the first time, his eyes unimpressed with what he saw.

"Tell me, have you ever seen what a bombard cannon does to an enemy capital ship?"

The question was seemingly random but the high councilor recovered quickly.  

"It bursts the shields and crumples the armor as if it was made of stone; what of it?"

Victor tilted his head to the display showing a line of ships now tracking the rising dawn on the planet below. "And have you ever seen what happens when a bombard cannon is fired against unshielded and non-reinforced materials?"

Before the councilor could answer a strong shudder ran through the ship. The outside void of black space lit up for a moment and a series of bright trails appeared and were now pulling away fast from the ship. From the view screen a series of red icons were likewise being shown from every ship that had formed up in the combat line.

"This was your grand plan? To fire on the surface and force them to surrender?!"

The supreme commander sat down and watched from the view screen as the bombard shells rapidly cut through the planets atmosphere, hurtling towards the surface with ever increasing speeds.

"When the people of Gulvan IV see the light of the rising sun they shall also be witness to their destruction." The first shells impacted the surface and even from orbit the light of their detonation was bright enough to be seen. "By the time the sunrise reaches the capital it will have been twenty hours and they will fully know what is coming for them."

"But where is the honor in this?" The councilor protested. "Surely this is no just way to win a war."

It was the supreme commanders turn to laugh, and as he did it rarely it was an unnerving sight to behold.

"As a wise man once said, you win wars not by dying for your cause, but by making the enemy die for his."

From high anchor the fleet could see the destructive sunrise begin to wash over the planet slowly as more and more shells were fired towards the surface.

"They will surrender, or be buried in what is left of their world."

[ilonga]

new chapter of Master Krell!

ao3

Anakin's second introduction to the Jedi Temple is nearly as strange as the first.

Sure, the first time it'd been completely overwhelming—his first time off planet, and suddenly he was on Coruscant, the capital, in the heart of the Jedi and already being presented to the Jedi Council. But now he's returning, and in the meantime he's seen a Jedi die, a planet nearly collapse under siege, and blown up an entire droid control ship from the inside out. 

And he's returning not as a terrified to-be reject, but as a Jedi padawan.

None of this feels real.

Obi-wan had cut his hair, back on Naboo, and arranged his new Padawan's braid; apparently it was tradition for the Jedi Master to do it, but after correspondence with the Jedi Council and Master Krell it had been decided that in the interests of smoothing out his transition, Anakin would be skipping out on most of the formalities and ceremony.

Anakin's not quite sure how he feels about that, yet. Maybe the formalities would have made it feel less like the ground was falling out from under his feet but, then again, maybe they would have made it even worse.

He'd said his goodbyes back on Naboo—to Jar Jar, the clumsy but kind and good-hearted Gungan, to R2, that crazy daredevil of an astromech, and to Padme, the brave and brilliant Queen (he still can't believe she had been the Queen all along, that he knows the Queen of a planet). He'll miss them, he thinks, though of course not nearly as much as everyone he'd left behind on Tatooine; his heart aches for his mother, for Kitster, and the rest.

What does your heart tell you?

His heart says he'll meet them all again someday—the Naboo and the Tatooinians. So it must be true. 

"Nearing the atmosphere," the pilot says, and Anakin looks up only to meet Obi-wan's uneasy gaze. 

"Best strap in," he says, though it looks like there's something else at the tip of his tongue. "Just a few more minutes now, and you'll meet Master Krell for the first time. He'll be waiting at the Temple."

"Okay," Anakin says, though what he really wants to say is I know. Obi-wan's repeated himself enough on this trip that Anakin's practically got his words memorized.

Obi-wan watches him for another moment before turning away.

"Landing sequence activated," the pilot says. Anakin cranes his neck around the safety restraints to get a look at the planet's surface. The last time they'd come here, he'd been both too nervous and too far from any viewports to get a good look.

It's. . . incredible.

Seeing Coruscant from afar had been nothing compared to this.

The entire surface is covered in glittering, distorted metal structures as far as the eye can see, shooting up for the skies with fervent vigor. As they get closer, he can see what looks like hundreds and thousands of ships and speeders, descending from the skies and rising from below and twisting and weaving between buildings and streetlights. His eyes catch on a strangely shaped metal dome to the side, rising out of the masses like Gardulla's palace in its glory days.

"Uh," he says quietly, tugging at Obi-wan's sleeve before he can think the better of it. "What's that over there?"

"Hm?" Obi-wan says, startled at the contact, but then follows his gaze and sees what he's pointing at. "Ah. That's the Senate Rotunda—it's where all the galactic governmental duties are carried out. It's where Queen Amidala went before, to request aid against the Federation's blockade."

His gaze catches on something else and he gestures to Anakin. "If you look over there," he says, pointing ahead, "you can see the Temple in the distance. We're very close now."

Anakin follows his line of sight. All he can see are the spires, really, and the hint of the rectangular form below. Their first visit had been rather rushed; he doesn't remember much but high ceilings and long hallways, and the endlessly intimidating Council Room. Hopefully they can skip out on that part this time. He's been accepted for certain, right? No need to go through the tests again?

Obi-wan coughs delicately and Anakin realizes with a start that he'll be living at the Temple now. If all goes well, for maybe even the rest of his life.

The thought settles strangely against his chest and he jams his hands under his seat to stop them from shaking.

"Just a few minutes now," the pilot says. 

They pull ever closer.

*

They land without much fanfare. 

If he had been just a little bit less nervous, Anakin would have begged to watch the landing sequence from the cockpit—the Naboo pilots had been so nice to him, and this ship has got to be one of the most beautiful he's ever been on in his life—but as it is, he stays glued to his seat instead.

Obi-wan is the first to get up, and gestures for Anakin to follow him with a jerk of his head. On the landing pad, he recognizes Master Yoda and Master Windu. Behind them, there's a tall alien whose species he's never encountered before and a few other figures he remembers from the Council Room.

"Knight Kenobi," Master Windu says gravely. Suddenly Master Qui-gon's absence feels like a gaping hole—everyone keeps shifting as if to accommodate someone who isn't actually there. Obi-wan glances to the side and meets Anakin's eyes instead; he purses his lips and quickly looks away. 

"Commend you, for the feat you have achieved in defeating the Sith, we do," Master Yoda says. "A great deed you have done, young Kenobi."

Obi-wan blinks. He looks to the side again. "I only did my duty," he finally says.

Master Yoda speaks again, but this time, Anakin doesn't catch what he says. He's trying to take in as much of his surroundings as possible without being too obvious.

There are about six others with him and Obi-wan right now—Master Yoda, who's still speaking, Master Windu, three others he remembers from the Council, and the imposing reptilian figure who has both sets of his arms crossed. Could this be the Master Krell Obi-wan had mentioned before? The one who Obi-wan had said would take over Anakin's training?

The figure huffs and trains his gaze on Anakin, and Anakin quickly looks away. 

The rest of the hangar is a cavernous, elegant space; transports and shuttles of various builds line the walls, with Jedi (mechanics? Mechanic Jedi?) dotting the walls here and there, busying themselves with repair work. The floor below them has its tiles arranged in a bright, colorful pattern, almost reminiscent of Naboo's palace though not nearly as ostentatious. 

A passing mechanic (Jedi?) looks up and meets his eyes. She's a blue Twi'lek, probably just a few years older than Anakin himself. She grins and waves.

Hesitantly, Anakin waves back.

"We've bored you two enough for now, I should think," One of the Masters from the Council says, and Anakin snaps his attention back to them. "Shall we move on to a more pressing order of business?"

"Ah - yes. Yes, of course." Obi-wan says. He turns to Master Yoda. "If you would - "

The reptilian figure steps forward and speaks, cutting through Obi-wan's hesitant stutters. "That is more than enough, Knight Kenobi." 

"Master Krell - " The same Jedi from before says - Master Billaba, Anakin remembers now. She'd been in the Council Room during his original examination, but had barely spoken at all. Her voice is nice, Anakin decides. Soothing. "Perhaps we should take it with a bit more . . . patience?"

Master Krell - so Anakin was right, he was the mysterious Master Krell - concedes and steps back. "My apologies, Master Billaba. I am . . . eager to begin."

"Understandable." Master Billaba says lightly, but her gaze continues to rest on him. Is there something Anakin's missing, here? Some friction between the two of them? Master Billaba hadn't spoken for or against him during the examination - but maybe she was one of the ones that didn't want him trained, and even Master Krell's appointment didn't change his mind. Maybe he'll need to be on his best behavior to impress her. Or maybe it'll be better to avoid her entirely. Out of the corner of his eyes Anakin sees Obi-wan fold his arms into his sleeves.

"Then, if I may?" Master Krell says, beginning to move away from the group. The surrounding Masters nod their consent, followed by Obi-wan with a few seconds' delay. Vaguely Anakin wonders how Master Qui-gon would react to all of this, if he could see it now. Would he be happy Anakin was being trained? Upset, that he had been replaced by a different Master? Would he have changed his mind entirely, decided that Anakin should have been left behind after all? "Come with me, Skywalker."

Anakin can do nothing else but follow.

*

They walk down the long, winding hallways for what seems like forever before Master Krell finally decides to speak.

"Young Skywalker," he says. "You have heard by now that you are to be my Padawan, correct?"

"Yes, sir," Anakin says quickly. He wonders when Master Krell found out. Had he volunteered? Been forcibly assigned to him? Had he just found out before they landed in the hangar, or known days in advance?

"Good." Master Krell says, keeping his gaze trained on the hallway ahead. "This means, of course, that for the next decade or so until you become a Knight, you are under my authority as my Jedi Padawan. I will teach you, direct you, and train you every day until you meet and surpass the qualifications necessary for Knighting. I can make you into the greatest of the Jedi, as befitting of your title of prophecy - but only if you listen, and obey. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," Anakin says again.

"Excellent." Krell says, leading them further down the hallway. Maybe any moment now, they'll be coming up on Anakin's new rooms. His own rooms - he can hardly believe it.

"You will be the very best of us, Skywalker," Krell says, sounding rather less like he means it as a compliment and more like he means it as an order. "The very best."

Anakin doesn't know how to respond to that, but he's saved from the efforts by Master Krell's satisfied huff.

It rather seems like his new Master prefers the silence.

[alarawriting]

52 Project #41: The Blood Mage

Based on the prompt here.

***

Ailurin was five when she learned what she was.

Her older brother, a lanky eight, had just run away with her favorite doll, laughing. Ailurin ran after him, screaming “Give her back!”, but the boy was too entertained by his sister’s impotent rage to heed her. He ran straight up to the pond, grinned malevolently at his shrieking sister, and tossed the doll into the pond.

And then swayed on his feet, dizzily, his skin – ruddy from exercise – turning pale as snow. Ailurin stood in front of him, her little fists clenched, her eyes lit from inside like any magic user’s would be, her face a mask of fury as her brother toppled to the ground, narrowly avoiding falling into the pond himself.

In another town, there might have been a very different outcome. A child summoning magic that nearly kills another child? Somewhere less sophisticated than Ailurin’s town might have burned her as a witch. But she lived only an hour’s ride from the capital of their homeland Paozo, her father an experienced merchant who went to the city all the time, her mother a nurse in the Healers’ Guild, and so she had a far more auspicious fate than that.

It was the next day, after her brother had been fed with bloody meat and wine so watered down it was barely even alcoholic, and she’d been fed leafy greens, mushrooms and trout to help her avoid the muscle cramps that came with magic overuse, that her father put her on the back of his horse, and they rode together to the capital, where the Queen’s Academy of Magicks stood.

***

All magic was based in an element, but there were focused specializations.

A general earth mage could perform workings with dirt and rocks. A metal mage could do nothing with dirt and rocks, but had a level of precision control over metal that a more general earth mage couldn’t match. Likewise, there were general water mages who could change the flow of a river, and then specialized ice mages who could manipulate water only when it was frozen.

There were combination specialists as well. A weather mage fell under water, air and fire, but couldn’t affect a river or put out a blaze, directly – by bringing rain, perhaps, but the magic that could call lightning couldn’t affect a fire. A lodestone mage specialized in iron and other lodestone metals, but could call lightning just like a weather mage.

But one thing was true of all elemental mages. None could directly affect living things. The water and air within an animal’s body, the green growing things on the earth – those were subject to no magic anyone had ever heard of.

Ailurin broke that mold. Her specialization fell under water, but she could do what no water mage had ever been able to do in all recorded history… and control blood.

There were many tests to find the limits of her power – tests that were presented to her as games. She could not cause a body to move by pulling on the blood inside it (and how she cried for the rat she accidentally exsanguinated while they were testing that. Pulling on the blood inside a body only pulled it out of the body.) She could not work with the “blood” of plants or animals without spines; a heart and circulatory system were needed. She could cause blood to clot, but once it was a clot, the only magic she could perform on it was to dissolve it.

What could she do then? Well, her mother was a nurse, and had many suggestions for her teachers in magic. She had already proven she could slow the flow of blood to different parts of the body… her brother had fainted because she’d interrupted the flow of blood to his brain. She could also speed the flow of blood, to aid the recovery of a person who’d fainted for more natural reasons. When people suffered the sickness of terrible pain within their veins, Ailurin was able to find clots inside their bodies, blocking the flow, and she could dissolve those. People with the bleeding disease, whose blood would never clot and seal their wounds… she could close those wounds.

And when a person’s heart seized and stopped, she could usually get it moving again by taking over its function, using her magic to push the blood through the body until whatever had blocked the heart was gone, and it could beat naturally again.

For a child with such magics, there were only two possible choices: the soldiers’ corps, or the Healers’ Guild. But a girl who cried for the rat she’d accidentally killed had no temperament for using her control over blood to kill, and her mother had many contacts within the Healers’ Guild.

Ailurin spent three years studying her own magic, learning its limits. Then she was apprenticed to the Healers’ Guild, learning how to care for the injured and sick, so she could discover how best to use her magic to heal.

And what a healer she was! With Ailurin’s magic, the healers learned many new things about bodies. For instance, in many of the cases where a person was felled by a sudden stopping of their heart, it was because their veins had narrowed and it was too difficult for blood to find its way through. Some of these people could be helped by leech treatment. People who suddenly lost the use of limbs on one side of their body, and the proper working of their tongue, often had a clot inside their brains, and if it was dissolved immediately, they could sometimes make a full recovery. Tinctures of cinnamon and turmeric could make it harder for the blood to clot, and when Ailurin dissolved a clot in the body, the patients treated with such tinctures were less likely to relapse.

By the time she was declared Doctor – the title for a person fully trained to diagnose and treat a patient within the Healers’ Guild, as opposed to a Master Doctor who could take an apprentice, or an Intern who was an advanced apprentice – Ailurin and her magic had been responsible for the discovery of many new secrets of human and animal bodies that no healer had known before, and the discovery of treatments to help against things that had previously killed or maimed without warning or cure.

***

Most of the nation’s guilds were in fact the nation’s guilds. Ailurin’s nation had a leatherworkers’ guild, and the nation to the north had a leatherworker’s guild, and the two to the south both had their own leatherworkers’ guilds, and so forth.

Not so the Healers’ Guild. There was only one Healers’ Guild, spanning the known world. All healers swore their primary allegiance to the Healer’s Creed:

·         I will treat any patient in need, regardless of their creed, their nation, or their customs.

·         I will cause no harm to any, save in the preservation of life and health for those who come before me.

·         Though I may charge a fair and reasonable fee for my services, as set by the Healers’ Guild, I will never charge more than such a fee.

·         I shall have no sexual or romantic relations with one who comes before me to be healed. Should my own husband or wife fall ill, or one with whom I am courting or engaged, I will refer them to one of my colleagues, unless the situation should be so dire that that is not possible.

·         Likewise, I will not treat my family members, but refer them to a colleague, unless life or health should fail immediately if I do not.

·         In conflicts between nations, I will not take sides. I will swear again on my own life that I will treat any who come before me, even soldiers engaged in warfare on my nation.

Every company of soldiers traveled with Healers’ Guild members, and there was a Healers’ Tent at the site of every battle… often a tent that contained the healers of both the armies meeting in combat. It was an ironclad rule that no soldier could keep their weapon within the Healers’ Tent, and that soldiers or civilians from either side of the conflict were welcome in the tent if they were injured.

Ailurin began her career treating elderly city dwellers with pains in their chest, but she thought that her magic might be more needed on a battlefield, so she began to travel with military companies.

She saved many, many lives. Men who would have bled to death survived, because Ailurin was able to keep their blood inside their bodies until the wound could be cauterized or stitched. At times, she could even restore a severed limb; if the limb and the place it was severed from were both washed in the strongest of spirits, to drown any of the evil spirits that caused illness, she could cause the blood to flow between the limb and the place it was severed from, as her colleagues sewed the limb back on. The arms and legs that were so restored were never as strong as they had been, and those soldiers usually returned home as war-wounded with their pensions… but the limbs that had been severed cleanly by swords were back on their bodies, weaker but still of use.

Ailurin found as well that her magic could transfer the blood from a dead man, if he was freshly dead, to a dying man who’d lost too much blood to live otherwise. She learned to detect the spirit of the blood, to match it with a soldier of similar spirit… and, knowing of these spirits through her magic, she was able to devise a test that other healers could use to tell if the spirits would be friendly to each other, or hostile. Healers’ assistants who went out on the battlefield to retrieve the injured now retrieved the dead as well, in hopes that their blood was still fresh enough to save other soldiers. Often, ice mages, whose talents had been traditionally used in the Healers’ Guild to make poultices to reduce swelling and to preserve potions that would otherwise go bad, found themselves keeping dead bodies cold. Ailurin was still the only blood mage, but what she could do with magic, other healers found ways to do with potions or devices.

Within the Healers’ Guild Ailurin was remembered for the many discoveries she made or helped to make, and the many lives she saved directly. But there is another thing they remember her for as well.

***

She was traveling with a company from Paozo when their battalion met one from Shemora, and a fierce battle broke out. A Healers’ Tent was stood up between the camps of both battalions, and within that tent, Ailurin and her colleagues were very busy.

In the evening, when the battle was done for the day and both sides had retreated to lick their wounds, and the Healers’ Tent was especially busy, the general of Paozo’s forces came to the tent in person.

His soldiers who were conscious and could move their limbs saluted him. The soldiers of Shemora watched him. The healers mostly ignored him, with the exception of the Master Doctor in charge of the tent, who didn’t really have that option. She finished setting a soldier’s leg bone where he’d been trampled by a horse, and then went to speak to the general.

“What can I do for you, General?” she asked.

“You can get these Shemoran scum off these beds,” the general said. “We’re not wasting our resources healing the enemy.”

“Excuse me?” The Master Doctor was shocked. “Our creed is to care for anyone who needs healing.”

“I don’t give a shit about your creed,” the general said. Soldiers of his battalion filed into the Healers’ Tent. “We’re taking this Shemoran trash as prisoners of war to free up these beds for our injured.”

“No. You’re not,” the Master Doctor said. “The Healers have no specific allegiance. We treat both sides equally.”

“Yes, that’s part of your creed,” the general said. “And the other part is to do no harm.” His soldiers drew their swords. “You have no weapons. You have nothing to stop us but your bare hands.” He turned back to his soldiers. “Kill any of them that are too badly injured to walk. The rest can march to the prison or die.”

“No,” Ailurin said, turning away from the man she had been treating. “I have a weapon.”

The general laughed. “Oh, yes, I can see you’re a great warrior!”

Most mages were bone-thin, unable to keep on any weight, for magic was fueled by life force. Ailurin was beautifully plump, looking more like a pampered noblewoman than a powerful mage. Her face was soft, her belly round, with voluptuous breasts and hips. Her blood magic had allowed her to learn how to slow her metabolism when she wasn’t using magic, to keep her weight on… not because she was vain and sought beauty, though beautiful she was, but because she needed the fuel for stamina. When your magic is the only thing keeping a person’s blood moving through their body, because they were stabbed in the heart, endurance in your magic becomes the most important trait you can have.

With her soft skin and rounded curves, Ailurin looked like a wealthy woman who was waited on hand and foot, not someone who’d ever lifted a sword in her life. But when she faced the general, her expression was hard and her eyes were cold. “I need no weapon,” she said. Her eyes glowed like any mage's would, and the general reached for his sword, gesturing with his other hand  to his men to be ready.

It didn’t help them. His men dropped like stones, their eyes rolling back.

“What have you done?” he shouted,  drawing his sword.

Ailurin stood her ground with no sign of fear, her eyes still glowing.  “I am Ailurin the Blood Mage, first of my kind, and my creed – the Healers' Creed  - is to do no harm except when needed to preserve the life and health of my patients. You threatened my patients. “

“So you killed my men?” the general raged.

“They’re merely unconscious. I am sworn to preserve life; I don’t kill if I can avoid it.”

“Ah. Well, then.” With no warning, the general lunged forward buried his sword in Ailurin ‘s heart.

She stumbled back slightly from the force of the thrust, but didn’t scream, or fall down… or bleed. As the general pulled his sword back, he stared in shock at her chest, and the complete absence of blood staining her healer’s robes. “What…?”

“Blood Mage,” Ailurin said impatiently, her eyes still glowing, showing the world that she was still using magic. “That was a very bad idea, general.”

And then the general began to bleed profusely from every pore of his body. He looked down at himself, at the blood trickling out of him everywhere, turning his uniform dark red. “What—what are you—you can’t—”

As he fell to his knees, dizzy from blood loss, Ailurin said, repeating the words of the Creed, “I will cause no harm to any, save in the preservation of life and health for those who come before me.” She looked down at the general. “You threatened to kill my patients. This is preserving their lives. You are no patient of mine, or anyone here.”

The general fell all the way to the floor then, lying in a pool of his own blood, dead. Ailurin looked up. “I’m sorry, Master Doctor. I’ll need to clean this up.”

“Doctor Ailurin!” One of the nurses ran to her. “Are you—”

“Doctor Ailurin, I saw you were stabbed!”

“How are you--?”

“I’ll live until I sleep,” Ailurin said. “He pierced my heart. I can keep the flow of blood going with my magic, but when I sleep, I’ll die.”

The Master Doctor called orders to the nurses. “Take the men who fainted, confiscate their weapons and keep them sedated for now. Orderlies, please remove the general.” As the healers’ assistants jumped into motion, she said to Ailurin, “Doctor, we can argue later about whether your actions were justified. For now… how well can you endure pain and use your magic?”

***

It required potions that dulled the pain without removing her ability to focus, but Ailurin was able to keep her own blood under control while her colleagues opened her ribs up and stitched the hole in her heart.

The soldiers who’d fainted were kept sedated with potions while Ailurin was recovering. The fact that their general was dead was something the healers considered best for them to find out after the Blood Mage was back to, if not her original strength, at least enough of her strength to defend the healers again. The ones who’d already been in the tent, being treated, knew – because the healers had told them – that if the general had succeeded, the healers would have withdrawn from the Paozon army entirely. If the neutrality of the healers could not be respected, they could not afford to give their services at all.

After the battle, the Master Doctors convened to determine whether Ailurin had broken the Creed. They determined that, because she had acted in defense of her patients’ lives, she would not be banished from the Guild, but that five years would be added to the time before she could become a Master Doctor, and take apprentices of her own. This didn’t bother her; no Blood Mages had been born after her. She had no one to train.

***

It was understood after that day that the Healers’ Creed allowed the healers to defend their patients with deadly force, if necessary. No other general attempted to force the healers to violate their creed. There was only one Blood Mage… but many mages of other specialties were healers, especially mages of Water and Air.

Many years later, after Ailurin had had her Master Doctor status for several years, the Guild sent her an apprentice… a girl whose magic let her see and manipulate the invisible spirits that cause disease, or good health, in people and animals. She was the first mage to have powers over what lay within living things since Ailurin herself. No one was certain what her magic was a branch of; eventually they’d guessed Air, because she commanded tiny invisible spirits, but the truth that Ailurin was beginning to suspect was that life itself was a fifth element.

Eventually, her brother – the one who’d stolen her doll, so long ago – had a grandson who had blood magic, the same as Ailurin had. And others appeared, slowly – mages who could make flesh heal, mages who could grow crops, mages who could ease the minds of the mad. She had been the first of the life mages, but she was not the last.

[bard-llama]

Phillipa, again in Vergen, learns that Saskia wants to marry for love (and maybe a little as a political statement) Iorveth: "Well, we have to find a way to gain some political benefit out of it. At least he is not Stennis, though..."

OH GOD NOT STENNIS!!! I mean, I usually kill the fucker anyway, even though I don't think Geralt would let him die, canonically. BUT knowing that he never faces ANY punishment in canon, I let the fucker die.

But for canon, I do have a WiP where, post-Witcher 3, Iorveth recruits Roche to help him murder war criminals (sans themselves) who profitted off of others' suffering. He figures they need to work their way up to King Stennis of Aedirn. I know that's not what this ask is about, but I love this part, so I'm gonna include a snip under the cut.

Anyway, Philippa - she would 100% find a way to bilk their marriage for all its worth.

So I’m gonna include 2 snips from the WiP whose working title is “Becoming Terrorists Together” 

You know what? Fuck it. Here’s 90% of the whole WiP lmao Seriously, there’s only like, half a page after this.

When Nilfgaard dictated terms that actually favored you after they literally tore a swath across the continent, a reasonable person would listen.

Vernon Roche was not a reasonable person. In point of fact, he typically enjoyed spitting on reasonable people. Especially if they were Nilfgaardian.

Unfortunately, no one asked him his opinion. In fact, there was very little asking going on at all.

“What do you mean, ‘congratulations, you’re in charge now’!?” Roche bellowed. He had a very good bellow, developed from years and years of yelling orders over the battlefield. 

Emhyr var Emreis, Emperor of the Nilfgaardian Empire, King of Cintra, Lord of Metinna, Ebbing, and Gemmera, Sovereign of Nazair, Temeria, and Vicovaro, and Overlord of Aedirn, Redania, and Toussaint was not impressed. “I mean, congratulations. You’ve successfully managed a Free Temeria. Now you have to rule it.”

Roche sputtered. First off, ‘Free Temeria’ was a helluva way to say ‘Temeria, Protectorate of Nilfgaard’. Secondly, “I’m not a ruler.”

“Aren’t you? Shame,” Emhyr said tonelessly. He didn’t look up from the report he was reviewing. “What’s the problem? Isn’t this everything you’ve been fighting for?”

Roche gnashed his teeth together. Unlike a certain former intelligence operative, Roche’s goal had never been to rule. Why the fuck would he want to do that!? Roche was a behind the scenes kind of guy. He most certainly was not the guy to wear the crown.

Also, he’d seen firsthand how much paperwork the guy with the crown had to do. No thank you.

“I don’t know how to run a country,” he growled.

“Then you’re in for a sharp learning curve,” Emhyr shrugged. “I’d get started if I were you. Your swearing in ceremony is in an hour.”

“My fucking what?”

“Your swearing in as the Imperial High Commissioner of Temeria, Administrator of Mahakam, Governor of Ellander, and Presiding Overseer of the Northern Imperial Capital of Vizima, of course.”

Roche gaped in horror. “There’s no way in fuck that I’m becoming – that.”

“Oh?” Emhyr raised a single eyebrow. “Would you prefer that I assign a Nilfgaardian administrator?”

Roche grit his teeth. If Temeria were ruled by a Nilfgaardian still sore about the war efforts, then Temeria’s people would be subjected to harsh treatment, and that was the opposite of everything he’d worked for, dammit.

Still… ruling Temeria? Him!? And that fucking title – no way was he keeping that.

Ah hell, he was going to agree, wasn’t he? Emhyr played him too damn well, knew that Roche wouldn’t be able to say no.

He pursed his lips, frowning deeply. “What exactly would I have to do?”

Emhyr smirked, eyes still focused on the report in front of him. Roche had never wanted to stab anyone quite so badly in his life.

Forty-five minutes later, he was dressed in absurdly expensive Temerian blue robes and three maids were attempting to remove his chaperon.

“Sir, you are to be sworn in as the ruler of an Imperial protectorate! You must look dignified.” Emhyr’s chamberlain insisted.

“I shaved, didn’t I?” Roche shrugged. What was it with Nilfgaardians and beards, anyway? Who really cared if he had a five o’clock shadow?

“You did, sir. But I am afraid they absolutely cannot place your crown over a chaperon. So if you would remove it–”

“Wait, wait, I don’t need a fucking crown!”

“It is Nilfgaardian tradition, sir. Every Imperial Representative has been sworn in with a crown. The people expect a crown. You simply must wear it, I’m afraid.” Mereid, the chamberlain, somehow managed to look innocent and helpful, even as he nodded for the maids to grab at his chaperon again. 

“The people expect an actual fucking ruler,” Roche muttered, dodging the maids. “Chaperons are traditional headwear amongst Temerian nobility. If anything, it’s more dignified to wear it!”

Mereid’s eyes narrowed and Roche felt a prickle of fear at the base of his spine. This was a man who even the Emperor deferred to. He was not to be messed with.

But dammit, did it have to be the chaperon?

“Sir,” Mereid began, his tone icy. “I must ask that you refrain from further struggling and remove the hat.” His eyes looked exactly like Ves’s three seconds before she knifed someone.

Roche removed the chaperon. 

As casually as if he hadn’t just won a protracted battle, Mereid snapped his fingers. “Tend to his hair,” he ordered, and the maids immediately launched themselves at Roche again.

It took every bit of control he had not to bolt. 

Ten minutes later, his hair was slicked back with a truly ridiculous amount of oil to tame his curls. Combined with his undercut, it looked absolutely ridiculous, but apparently Mereid was pleased.

“Now,” Mereid clapped, “we must proceed to the throne room.”

Roche blinked. “There’s not like, actually going to be an audience for this, is there?”

Mereid gave him a look. “The purpose of a coronation is for it to be witnessed, sir.”

“Ah fuck, Ves is never gonna let me forget this,” he groaned. 

“It shall be forever memorialized, of course,” Mereid said casually. “The court painter is already working on your portrait.”

“Oh my gods, I hate everything.”

“Shall we depart, sir?” Mereid gestured to the door in a way that clearly suggested that it was not a question.

Roche glanced at his reflection in the mirror and thought of this being how he was remembered. “Fuck,” he grunted. Nonetheless, he followed Mereid when the chamberlain started out of the room.

Ves laughed at him, of course. She didn’t even have the courtesy to hold it in until after the ceremony. Instead, Roche had to listen to her cackle as Emhyr fucking var Emreis slowly lowered the crown of the King of Temeria onto his head.

Despite what Ves later claimed, he did not tear up at all when Foltest’s crown came to rest on his brow.

“People of Temeria,” Emhyr proclaimed grandly, “I present to you, the Imperial High Commissioner of Temeria, Administrator of Mahakam, Governor of Ellander, and Presiding Overseer of the Northern Imperial Capital of Vizima, Commander Vernon Roche!”

Roche felt vaguely like throwing up even as he stood and faced the scattered applause.

––

A month later, Roche did not want to set everything on fire any less than he had from the start. If anything, the urge had only gotten stronger with each paper he signed. 

He was also, somewhat disappointingly, actually pretty decent at ruling a country. Temeria was doing better than it had since the war had started, and the economy was projected to be back at the level King Foltest had achieved by the end of the year.

Roche still hated it.

With a heavy sigh, he took off the crown and reverently placed it on a cushion. He would love to just be able to toss it aside when it got too heavy on his head, but it was Foltest’s crown. He couldn’t treat it with anything but the appropriate amount of solemnity and respect.

His robes, on the other hand. 

Roche tore off the ridiculously heavy clothing as quickly as possible, leaving his hair a rat’s nest above his head. Then he headed for the one luxury he actually appreciated – the huge opulent bathtub. It was truly ridiculous – made from polished copper, it was inlaid with mother of pearl edging and was everything he hated about rich people – and also really, really nice to soak in.

Once the tub was steaming, Roche slid down until the surface of the water tickled his ears. The tub was deep and he let himself relax into the heat, tilting his head back and letting out a long sigh. The stresses of a life he’d never wanted began to sluice off of him with the water and he rolled his shoulders back against the side of the tub, stretching his neck with a yawn.

When he opened his eyes, he encountered dark red fabric and an olive green eye about three inches from his nose. It took his brain a half-second to process what he was seeing and then Roche found himself screaming, high pitched and shrill, as he grasped frantically at his chaperon to cover himself with.

Jerking back at his scream, the elf wanted in every northern kingdom and Nilfgaard blinked at him. Iorveth, somehow hanging from the ceiling, just stuck a finger in one ear and grimaced at the noise.

“Stop screaming, it’s me,” Iorveth said, offering him a bar of soap as if the leader of the Scoia’tael interrupting his bath wasn’t reason enough to yell.

“What the fuck!?” Roche yelped. “How the fuck did you even get in here!?”

Iorveth shrugged, still hanging upside down. “Your security needs work.”

Roche sputtered. “Why the fuck are you here!?”

“Why, to pay respects to the new Imperial High Commissioner, Administrator, Governor, Overseer, and Commander, of course” Iorveth smirked, mischief sparkling in the eye that was still far too close to him. 

Roche poked Iorveth’s forehead with his pointer finger and pushed him away. “Ever heard of space? Privacy? Not being a shithead?”

Iorveth snorted, and did some sort of complicated flip through the air that left him standing next to Roche’s bathtub. Roche frowned. On the one hand, he didn’t particularly want to be naked and unarmed with Iorveth in the vicinity. On the other hand, he literally just got in, and it would be such a shame to waste the hot water.

Decided, he crossed his arms and glared at Iorveth. “What the fuck, Squirrel?”

Iorveth ignored his glare, poking around his room instead. “There’s no way you aren’t hating every minute of playing king.” The elf flicked the tip of Foltest’s crown.

Roche scowled. “Why are you here? And why aren’t you – you know – killing me?”

“Even death isn’t enough to escape Nilfgaard,” Iorveth said.

Roche’s forehead wrinkled and he squinted at Iorveth. Iorveth continued to search through his room, though the elf considerately stayed within Roche’s sightline.

Roche was suspicious.

“There were rumors you’d died,” he finally said.

Iorveth shrugged. “Not the first time. What, did you believe them this time?”

“No,” he found himself admitting. “Only I’m allowed to kill you.”

Iorveth glanced back at him with a smirk. “Don’t seem to be trying at the moment.”

“Water’s still hot,” Roche grumbled. Iorveth muffled a laugh and Roche was hit by the utter strangeness of chatting casually with fucking Iorveth while sitting in a ridiculously fancy bathtub that he only had because he was currently ruling Temeria.

What the fuck was his life?

Gods, the bathtub really was fantastic, though. He slumped back against the tub and let himself enjoy it, muscles slowly unwinding. If Iorveth killed him, the elf would be doing him a favor. But Iorveth was right – even in death, he probably wouldn’t be able to avoid fucking Nilfgaard.

Roche hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until he opened them to see Iorveth staring at him again, though fortunately from much further away this time. “What?”

“This ruler thing isn’t allowed to kill you before I do,” Iorveth said eventually, turning back to poke at the shit decorating Roche’s room. “Fucking shit, your shoulders look tight enough to chop wood on.”

Roche snorted, shrugging shoulders that really were painfully tense. “What, are you offering a massage?”

Iorveth dropped the trinket he’d picked up and fumbled catching it, graceless in a way Roche had never seen an elf be before. Then Iorveth turned to him with a wide eye and what Roche almost thought was a blush. Roche’s eyebrows rose slowly.

“Actually,” Iorveth cleared his throat, “I was thinking of a more violent type of stress relief.”

“What?”

“Nilfgaard wants to quell all unrest in their lands, so they’re not going to prosecute any war criminals. Which means they’re fair game.”

Roche blinked at him. “Iorveth,” he said slowly, “you do realize that technically we are both war criminals?”

Iorveth just shrugged. “‘Least we haven’t gotten rich off of other people’s suffering.”

That was true. At least he and Iorveth had fought for a cause, even if what they did was monstrous. People driven by pure greed disgusted Roche, and he knew there was no shortage of greedy predators preying on those devastated by the war.

“Are you… inviting me to go murder assholes with you?” Roche asked in disbelief.

Iorveth tilted his head, shrugging again. “Essentially.”

Roche sucked on his lower lip. It was a terrible idea. He was leader of a country now, he couldn’t just swan off and do whatever he wanted. And what would they do, run around like vigilantes, punishing the cruel?

That actually sounded really fun. When was the last time he’d had fun? Definitely before fucking Emhyr’s grand fucking idea.

He pursed his lips. It really would be an awful decision, but gods, for the first time in ages, he actually felt interested in something. Excited about something.

“Huh,” Roche huffed, “I don’t think I’ve killed anyone in at least two months.”

Iorveth looked mildly impressed. “We could fix that.”

“It is definitely wrong to long to murder people,” he pointed out.

“Moralize later, dress now,” Iorveth said, picking through his wardrobe. “Where’s your armor? There’s no way you let them take it away in favor of these ridiculous things.” Iorveth held up a velvet brocade robe to support his point.

Roche laughed. Iorveth wasn’t wrong, after all. “Under the bed. Had to hide it from the chamberlain.”

Iorveth turned to the bed, an absurdy lavish four poster bed with chiffon draped ever so precisely around the bedframe. Laying on it felt like laying on a cloud.

Roche hated it. He usually slept on the floor instead. 

“We’re waiting until my bath is done to leave, though,” he said and Iorveth shot him a disbelieving look. “I can’t just waste the hot water,” Roche justified, flushing slightly. A lifetime of little money had taught him that nothing should be wasted. Baths didn’t cost him coin now, but old habits died hard.

“What, and I’m just supposed to wait for you?” Iorveth grumbled.

“Hey, no one invited you here,” Roche pointed out. “I don’t care what you do, but I’d recommend not getting caught at it. You’re still wanted… pretty much everywhere.”

Iorveth smirked proudly, “I know.”

Roche rolled his eyes, yawning and leaning back in the bath, stretching his neck from side to side. 

“That’s a gigantic bathtub,” Iorveth said, something contemplative in his tone.

“Uh huh,” Roche grunted.

“If you’re enjoying the hot water, I don’t see why I shouldn’t,” Iorveth said nonsensically, and Roche opened his eyes to stare.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Iorveth just arched an eyebrow and reached for the straps holding his weapons. 

“Are you fucking serious?” Roche asked in disbelief. It wasn’t that he objected, necessarily – years and years of military life had removed any shame he might’ve felt at being naked in front of his enemy. But naked and sharing a bath? “You know this is weird, right?”

Iorveth just snorted, now setting about removing his numerous weapons. Roche was a little impressed by how many the elf managed to fit on his body. “You, Vernon Roche, are currently ruler of Temeria. Is there any part of your life that isn’t weird nowadays?”

Roche opened his mouth to respond – and then closed it. Iorveth wasn’t wrong, after all. “Claiming to be part of my life?” he finally asked.

“Of course I am,” Iorveth said confidently, “I’m your nemesis and you’re mine.” 

Roche swallowed at that, watching as Iorveth removed his belt, gloves, and all the various straps that held his hodgepodge armor together. Apparently he was really doing this, really planning to join Roche in the bath.

Seriously, what was his life now???

Instead of thinking too hard about that, Roche cleared his throat, jerking his gaze away as Iorveth pulled his chainmail over his head. “So, this murder thing…”

“Mm?” 

“You have a hit list or something? Or were you just planning to run around until you found an appropriately irritating war criminal?”

“Wouldn’t be that hard,” Iorveth muttered. “Stennis of Aedirn is top of my hit list, but not necessarily the best place to start.”

Roche blinked. “Stennis… as in King Stennis?”

Iorveth shrugged, and in Roche’s memory, he could hear that brash voice easily declaring, king or beggar, what’s the difference?

Back then, Roche had had many opinions on the difference. The likes of King Foltest could hardly be compared to some beggar on the streets. Or even some whoreson who had somehow found his way into power.

Now? Now Roche had the blood of two kings on his hands, and really, what was a third?

“That will require careful planning. He’s probably got good security.”

Iorveth was silent for long enough for Roche to look at him again, and he flushed when faced with the sight of Iorveth’s bare chest, ribs visible and skin a handful of shades darker than Roche’s. Iorveth’s gambeson lay in a pile next to him, and the elf was currently working to remove his hose – only at Roche’s words, he’d apparently stopped to stare at Roche instead.

“What?” Roche asked, hoping the heat from the bath hid his blush. Why was he suddenly feeling awkward about nudity? It wasn’t like they hadn’t seen the worst of each other before. Who cared if there was a bit of skin on display?

His eyes caught on the peaks of Iorveth’s nipples, darker than Roche’s – almost the color of polished cedar. Roche bit his lip, feeling oddly fixated as Iorveth’s nipple hardened in the cool air under his gaze.

“I’d heard you killed kings now,” Iorveth said eventually, shifting enough to break Roche’s gaze and when Iorveth bent to remove his hose, Roche quickly turned away. His face and ears felt hot and he sank lower into the tub.

“Gods, I hope people aren’t going around gossiping about that,” he groaned. “Both were supposed to be fucking secret, dammit.”

Iorveth pursed his lips, staring at Roche. “You really did it,” he said slowly, and there was something in his voice that made Roche look at him. Standing naked with absolutely no shame, Iorveth frowned at Roche. “Radovid I get. You got a Free Temeria out of it, and even most dh’oine agree he was insane. But Henselt? Really?”

Roche cleared his throat, determinedly keeping his eyes trained on Iorveth’s face and not the miles of bare skin that lay in front of him. “He deserved it,” Roche grunted.

“He was a king,” Iorveth said, as if that explained everything. Roche frowned at him. “What did he do to drive you that far?”

Iorveth sounded genuinely curious and Roche swallowed. He didn’t really want to talk about this, didn’t really want to remember the way the Kaedweni king had stolen his family from him. He closed his eyes and grit his teeth, trying not to go back there. 

A touch on his shoulder startled him and Roche jerked around, blinking wildly as he realized that the touch had been Iorveth – what, comforting him? That was fucking weird. Still, Iorveth’s touch was cool against his slightly-overheated skin, and the look on the elf’s face was more akin to understanding than pity.

Roche supposed that was acceptable. He swallowed harshly and forced himself to answer, “he murdered my men.”

Iorveth inhaled sharply, clearly not having expected that. “Oh,” the elf murmured, obviously lost for words. 

Roche cleared his throat. “So, King Stennis…” he changed the subject, shifting in the tub to allow Iorveth room to climb in.

Iorveth was silent as he took the invitation and stepped into the bath, sighing softly at the touch of hot water. They sat facing away from each other, and the press of Iorveth’s back against his was oddly hypnotic. Roche found himself only able to focus on the places they touched – and the places they didn’t.

“I’m… sorry,” Iorveth eventually said.

Roche blinked, shaking himself out of his daze. “Why?”

Iorveth tapped his fingers against the side of the tub. “Enemies deserve respect,” he said. “The Blue Stripes were uncommon enemies – efficient and ruthless and well-led. I may not feel anything at their deaths – but they were your unit.”

Were. Roche swallowed roughly, digging his fingernails into his palms. “Let’s talk about Stennis,” he grunted forcefully. 

Iorveth sighed, and for a moment, Roche almost thought that Iorveth’s shoulders pressed against his more intentionally. Offering comfort again? What a strange thing for his nemesis to do.

“Why did you come to me?” he asked, not sure if he expected Iorveth to answer truthfully or not. 

Iorveth hummed. “We are remnants of a past age,” Iorveth said slowly. “Our skills are no longer needed nor wanted. Instead, we’re supposed to fit into nicer, less controversial boxes.” Roche could feel Iorveth shrug against him, “I’ve never been one to conform to societal expectations.”

Roche snorted, “yeah, no shit.”

Iorveth huffed in amusement. “I figured you probably hated all this as much as I do.”

Roche grunted in agreement. “The bathtub is nice, at least.”

Iorveth actually laughed, twisting around to face him. “It is. And yet, you still look tense enough to string a bow.”

Roche grumbled. He hadn’t really thought about how he’d left his back exposed to his nemesis, not until cool fingers hesitantly touched his shoulders. Inexplicably, he didn’t tense further, even though touch typically meant violence, especially coming from Iorveth.

Only Iorveth didn’t hurt him. Actually, Iorveth’s touch was gentle as he traced the line of the tattoo that spanned Roche’s shoulders. Roche shivered at the light scratch of Iorveth’s bow calluses, unsure why he was allowing this.

Except that it had been so very long since anyone had touched him in kindness and Roche couldn’t make himself pull away. If he was lucky, this wasn’t some sort of ruse to get him to let his guard down before Iorveth slit his throat.

Though really, Iorveth could kill him right here and now with little resistance – and yet, he continued to live and breathe. Instead, he felt Iorveth’s fingers dip under the surface of the water, continuing to trace the tree tattooed across his back, each branch a tribute to the men he’d lost. 

Roche swallowed, suddenly feeling the urge to cry. He pinched his index finger and thumb together tightly, letting the pressure ground him. 

“So,” he coughed. “King Stennis? Why do you want to kill him?”

“He poisoned the Dragonslayer and faced no consequences,” Iorveth said, a growl in his voice. His fingers traced back up the trunk of the tree on Roche’s back and then he dug his thumbs into Roche’s traps.

Roche gasped sharply, the pressure a painful ache until his muscles slowly unwound under Iorveth’s touch. 

“Seriously,” Iorveth said casually, as if he weren’t apparently giving Roche a shoulder massage. “How are you even able to move right now? You feel like a brick shithouse.”

“Gee, thanks,” Roche snorted, wincing slightly as the heels of Iorveth’s palms kneaded between his shoulder blades.

Then he felt the moment his tension released, and he practically melted into Iorveth’s touch, feeling looser and more relaxed than he had in… fuck, who even knew how long?

Iorveth continued massaging his shoulders, moving up to circle his thumbs against Roche’s neck and dipping down to work at his back on occasion. But Roche wore his stress in his shoulders and Iorveth spent the most time there, fingers strong and agile, pushing and pulling at his muscles with surprising ease.

Roche sighed deeply, closing his eyes and trying to remember the thread of the conversation. Right. Stennis. And the Dragonslayer. He poisoned her? Really?

“I thought the Dragonslayer was alive and well and running the only country that hasn’t succumbed to Nilfgaard?”

“She is,” Iorveth responded, voice low. It added a sense of privacy to their conversation that made Roche feel oddly special. “Geralt and the fucking sorceress healed her. The peasants wanted to make Stennis pay, but apparently Gwynbleidd’s morality won’t allow for a lynching. The nobles, of course, don’t care if Stennis is a poisoner, because he’s royal, so…”

“So now it’s left to you to get revenge?”

“Some might call it justice.”

Roche turned his head to look at Iorveth over his shoulder. “Somehow I doubt anyone would picture either of us as agents of justice.”

“Who cares what others think?” Iorveth shrugged, sliding his thumbs up the nape of Roche’s neck. 

Roche turned back around and let him. “Most people,” Roche answered, leaning into Iorveth’s hands. 

“You don’t,” Iorveth said, voice utterly assured. “As long as it’s for Temeria.”

Roche huffed. He wasn’t wrong, but still. “I think I’m supposed to care now. The whole ruling thing and all?”

“You hate it.”

“Of course I fucking hate it. That’s probably why fucking Emhyr forced it on me.”

Iorveth hummed in agreement, massaging Roche’s neck and the base of his skull. It felt ridiculously good and Roche felt his body melting into Iorveth’s touch, putty in the elf’s hands.

Iorveth could have done anything and Roche wouldn’t have been able to stop him. He could slit Roche’s throat, could drown him in the bath, could break his neck, hell, Iorveth could even suffocate him in a chokehold.

The elf did none of that. Instead, when the water began to cool, Iorveth slid his hands down Roche’s neck and across his shoulders, squeezing them briefly. Then, cool lips pressed against the curve where Roche’s neck met his shoulder. By the time his gasp found voice, Iorveth was already pulling away, rising gracefully to his feet and stepping out of the tub, stealing Roche’s towel.

“There’s a Redanian,” Iorveth said casually, as if he hadn’t just kissed Roche. Roche gaped at him, but Iorveth didn’t appear to notice as he began dressing. “Former general, hoarded medical supplies and food and charged exorbitant prices for them. Located in the Outskirts of Vizima, so figured we could start with that.”

Roche swallowed, belatedly pulling himself out of the tub. Iorveth helpfully passed him the already-wet towel and Roche took it with a grumble. “What’s the target’s name?”

“Arnold of Denesle,” Iorveth answered, still acting like absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He’d even pulled Roche’s armor from under the bed and laid it out for him.

Roche sucked on his lip as he dried off quickly, reaching for his armor. Technically, he supposed, a kiss wasn’t that much stranger than the rest of this situation – i.e. Iorveth having snuck into the royal palace, joined him in the bath, and even given him a massage. Maybe Iorveth was playing some sort of mind game with him?

If that was the case, Roche should really push it from his thoughts. As he got dressed, he tried to do so – but there was something about the way Iorveth’s chapped lips had brushed against his skin that had him shivering, the spot still tingling.

Sometimes, he felt he knew his nemesis well enough to know how Iorveth thought. Other times, it was very clear that as much as he’d studied Iorveth, he had no idea what went through Iorveth’s head.

If Roche’s tattoo sounds familiar, it’s ‘cause I used the same concept in How to Fluster an Elf. This WiP was actually written first, though.

[cynergy-laughter]

Obey Me! One Master to Abridge Them All! Ep. 5

5. Rewind... Rewind... Rewind...

Leviathan: W-What?! No, that doesn’t happen!

MC: Uh, yeah it does.

Diavolo: Enn doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would lie about something so detailed... I think we know who the winner is...

Leviathan: No... NNOOOOO! *changes into demon form* You shouldn’t know any of this! You are just a newbie wannabe! You got into TSL in such a short time, and now this... I will not accept this... I will not recognize you as a fan!!! *runs at Enn*

MC: Oh shi- *falls down* Mammon!

Mammon: I’m comin- GAH! *slips on some melted ice cream* Dammit! I can’t get there in time... run!

Levi: I WILL NOT BE DEFEATED BY A NORMIE!!! *reaches out hands to wring Enn’s neck*

*Freeze!*

MC: *voiceover* This is me, I know what you’re thinking, this is a huge jump from the last time we left off. Oh dang... I look so scared at that frame... who even got that angle of me? Well they deserve a raise... uhh anywho, you’re probably wondering how I got here... well good, fleeting audience, I shall tell you how.

*rewinds two days and two nights ago*

MC: *groaning, brushing their teeth and getting ready for bed* I knew I shouldn’t have eaten that garlic and ghost pepper devil potato salad... best potato salad I’ve ever had, but feels like a detox coming out... *sprays and finishes up in the bathroom*

???: H-Help... Help me...

MC: *eyes widen* Oh please tell me I’m not in a bathroom fever dream...

???: Please... help... follow my voice...

MC: ... Yeah, cause that always goes well...

*follows to the attic stairs anyway*

Lucifer: *pops up out of nowhere* Go back now. There’s nothing up there for you.

MC: For me? Now you’ve piqued my interest.

Lucifer: Well there’s nothing at the peak for you, go back to your room. Don’t ever go up to the attic.

MC: How do you spell attic, by the way?

Lucifer: ... A-T-T-I-C.

MC: Ah! You naughty boy, why were you looking down there?! *puts hands over chest* My eyes are up here.

Lucifer: *blinks and blushed mad, realizing what he just said* Room. Now.

MC: *tries not to laugh as they go to their room*

—————

MC: *sitting at breakfast, alone with Mammon, zoned out*

Mammon: Hey! Are you even listening to me?!

MC: Hmm? Oh, sorry, as soon you started talking crap about me I kinda just turned your ranting into background noise.

Mammon: ...Well... don’t do that, you don’t just skip over The Great Talkative Mammon’s dialogue, that’s rude.

MC: Did you... really just add another adjective to your Name Title?

Mammon: Yeah, what you gonna argue with The Great Infallible Mammon?

MC: I literally made you enter a pact with me two nights ago.

Mammon: Shut up! Gah! Why did I have to be the one who be paired with you. It’s all Levi’s fault that I’m with you in the first place... no, it’s all Lucifer’s fault... none of this would have happened if it wasn’t for him...

MC: *sighs, and goes on another daydream, he wanted to know how to get past Lucifer*

*Earlier last night*

MC: *Casually walks toward the stairs* Hey Lucifer, can I see what’s upstairs, please?

Lucifer: No.

MC: tch, almost had him... *walks back to room*

*present*

Mammon: ...Lucifer’s color scheme reminds me of those OP DeviousArtsy original characters, like Red and Black? Seriously? Get a better outfit, especially if you’re gonna wear brown shoes, why can’t you wear black, you’re already wearing so much of it! Oh and to top it off, his feet reek... not that I’ve... ever smelled them... but I’m saying it, so it’s true-

MC: Mammon, what’s in the attic?

Mammon: Don’t change the subject, right now we’re discussing Lucifer’s feet, which, by the way, freaking stin- wait what?

MC: ... Mammon. Attic. What’s up there?

Mammon: ... Geez, you really don’t know how to mind your business do you?

MC: I do, but I feel like I’m already more involved than anyone could ever realize...

—————

Mammon: *walking with Enn to Levi’s room* If you wanna get past Lucifer and find out what’s in the attic... You’ll need something that Lucifer wants, and I think I know just who to go to for that something...

MC: *looks at Levi’s room door* ... So why the hell are we outside the Ultimate Otaku’s door? What does he have that Lucifer wants?

Mammon: *whispering* There’s a record of the limited cursed edition of the TSL soundtrack in there, he absolutely loves it, so we just gotta ask Levi for it, it’ll be easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

MC: One, don’t ever say that again. Two, I don’t know how easy it’s gonna be since Levi wants nothing to do with me, and three... oh what the hell. *knocks on the door*

Levi: What’s the secret phrase?

MC: *looks at Mammon* Yeah, Mammon, this sure is gonna be lemon squeezy.

Mammon: Okay, Levi, let us in, it’s The Great Older Brother Mammon, and his pact slave.

MC: *leers at Mammon* You’re about to be the Great Fat-Lipped Mammon in a minute.

Mammon: *shied away a couple of steps* At least capitalize the T in the word The...

Levi: I am known by someone outside the door as the Ultimate Otaku, and to gain entry, you must say the secret phrase.

Mammon: *leers at Enn* So great, he was listening the whole time, and you’re calling me names?

MC: Ugh... umm... Rurichan is bae? Mammon’s an idiot? Enn’s a Normie?

Levi: ... while it is all true, bzzt! Wrong! Access denied.

Solomon: *appears behind them* Well, if it isn’t the celebrity and his newfound pet demon~.

MC: *jumps up, and holds Mammon close to them* Get the hell outta here, Goblin King, we ain’t wishing for nothing.

Solomon: *smirks* Sorry for scaring you, Enn. *knocks on the door* The fifth lord...

Levi: ...couldn’t keep his huge rod in his pants and took the Lord of Corruption’s wife to bed...

Solomon: And for the betrayal done unto his home...

Levi: The Lord of Corruption named him the Lord of Lechery, and cursed him with eternal unattainable climax. Secret phrase approved, welcome to my kingdom.

Solomon: *smirks* Peace out suckas. *hits the whip, and nae-naes backward into Levi’s room*

MC: *still holding Mammon protectively* So the Goblin King had an invitation?

Mammon: *blushing* ... You do know that was the secret phrase right?

MC: ... *knocks on the door* The Fifth Lord-

Levi: Bzzzt! The password has been reset! Bitch you thought! Next time know more about TSL before you try me, normie!

MC: *growls and bangs on the door* GAH! Go to Heaven you K-Pop Justin Bieber!

Mammon: Enn! ENN! Don’t, you don’t wanna get in trouble with Lucifer, not this early in the year... *pulls Enn away*

Levi: *with in the room* You see what I have to deal with? The violent life of the yucky otaku.

Solomon: Hmm...

*interviews*

Solomon: *bursts out laughing* PFFFTHAHAHAHA! K-Pop Justin B-Beihihiberrrr! Oh my god, I have to text that to Asmo... *starts texting* Man, as belligerent as Enn is, they sure know how to roast someone...

MC: Don’t worry, this makes day 4 that he hasn’t noticed. But... I have to find a way to get him to give me the record... God, I don’t know what it is with Levi, he just knows how to push my buttons... have I let him get to me?

—————

Mammon: So... why am I gonna be watching this with that human... and Beel... why are you here?

Beel: A Movie marathon means popcorn, and I had a craving.

Mammon: ... Of course you did.

MC: *comes in with a huge tub of popcorn* Alright, a huge tub of popcorn, extra butter and salt for Beel, a pack of chocolate coins for Mammon, and a sensible bowl of popcorn and soda for myself. Oh, I also made all of us slushees.

Mammon: *blinks* slushees? What are those?

MC: It’s cherry and blue raspberry.

Beel: *eyes widen* Why is it that you continue to amaze me with your snacks?

Mammon: Did you really just ask that question? Did YOU... just ask that question? The bigger question is how did you make these?

MC: Not important. Alright boys, 12 hours ain’t gonna watch itself, let’s get ready... The Tale of The Seven Lords... *presses Play*

————— The next day...

Levi: Human.

MC: *looks at Levi* Wow, look at who decided to grace us with his presence after spending his whole day in his room.

Levi: Don’t talk down to me just cause you have all the time in the world to do what you want, like having a TSL marathon. Totally not fair by the way.

Mammon: Wow, talk about nosy, were you spying on us?

Levi: No, Golden Moron, I heard it from Lucifer.

MC: First of all, don’t steal my joke, I worked hard for that, and second of all, for someone who minds his business, you sure do like knowing everyone else’s.

Levi: I don’t want to hear you talking especially since you are the ruler of not minding your business! Just cause you’re trying to suck up to me, doesn’t mean we’re gonna be all buddy-buddy. So get it through your thick head.

MC: Leviathan, I challenge you to a TSL Fan-Off.

Levi: *blinks* Excuse me? Are you serious? You really think that you, a human normie is gonna out-fan me?! LMMFAO! That’s not even a contest.

MC: Wow, I never knew you were a chicken, Levi.

Levi: ... what?

MC: I’m just saying if you had your own fursona, it would be a chicken. Ba-GAWK!

Levi: ... You take that back. I would N E V E R !

MC: Because you already are Levi, just cause you didn’t accept. An Otaku Chicken, I can see the Fanart now!

Levi: You know what, I was gonna spare you the embarrassment, but now I’m gonna make it my goal to destroy you in that Fan-off, human. When I’m finished with you, your time in the Devildom will be cut short. But, if by some odd miracle you best me, I’ll join Mammon as one of your pacts. Not like it’s ever gonna happen, I mean, I’ve only been following TSL all of a millennia. And that, compared to your 12 hour marathon, should speak to how much more knowledge I have of TSL than you. So let’s see who Fans off more. Student Council hall, today after school, and don’t chicken out.

MC: Heh, just I eat chicken doesn’t mean I am one. I’ll see you then.

*there was an intense stare down, until there was a loud cackling from upstairs*

Asmo: BWAHAHAHA! K-Pop Justin Beiber, I’m done! Solomon, I am done with you! AAAHH! YAAASS!

[fuckallthegood0nesweretaken]

The Dove and Her Hound - CH. Thirty

Title: Epilogue 

Words: 1,476

Warnings: None

A/N: This is it, the last of the series. I can’t believe that it’s over! If you’d like to request something, please don’t hesitate to send me an ask! I’d really love to write for you! Hope you enjoy!!

Taglist:  @tonbluemchen @affection-rabbit @art-flirt @10morgan10 @thatting @iwontdance-dontaskme @simsvetements

Previous Chapter

Sandor Masterlist

Game of Thrones Masterlist

Masterlist

~~~~~~~

You made your way down to the docks where you would say goodbye to Jon. Sansa led the group of six. Arya pushed Bran behind her and you were followed by Sandor. His arm was around your waist and you could see Jon looking at him, his face expressionless.

 “I wish there had been another way,” Sansa said to Jon. “Can you forgive me?”

 “The North is free thanks to you.”

 “But they lost their King.”

 “Ned Stark’s daughter shall speak for them. She’s the best they could ask for.”

You could see the pride in Jon’s eyes when he spoke to Sansa. She had grown up so much over the past years and she most definitely deserved to rule over the North. Sansa was fighting back tears and hugged Jon tightly. Next up was Arya.

 “You can come to Castle Black to visit me. Anytime you’d like.”

 “I can’t.” Arya said.

 “You think that anyone would tell you that women aren’t allowed?”

 Arya let out a chuckle then looked down at the ground. “I’m not going back to the North.”

 “Where are you going then?” You asked her.

 “What’s west of Westeros?”

 “I don’t know,” Jon said with a laugh.

 “No one knows. All of the maps stop there. That’s where I’m going.”

 “You have your Needle?” Jon asked her, throat tight.

 “Right here.” Tears were welling up in Arya’s eyes. One tear fell and Jon wiped it away, pulling Arya in close as she wept. After a moment Jon managed to pull himself away to kneel in front of Bran.

 “Your Grace,” he said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

 “You were exactly where you were supposed to be.”

 Jon stood up and walked to you next.

 “Would you like to see your nephew?” You asked him gently.

 “Yes.” You handed him your son and leaned back against Sandor as Jon rocked the babe in his arms.

 “What’s his name?”

 “Eddard Stark. I decided to name him after Father.”

 “That’s a good name,” Jon whispered.

 “I’m glad you agree.” You were smiling softly at the scene in front of you. You heard Jon sniff lightly and you surged towards him.

 “No, no, no. Don’t you dare start crying. I’m already on the verge from our sisters, you don’t get to make it happen.”

 Sandor took his son out of Jon’s arms and you crashed into him, squeezing your brother as hard as you could. Sobs escaped your mouth and Jon shushed you, tears in his eyes.

 “The three of you are always welcome at the Wall as well,” Jon said into your hair after he kissed the top of your head.

 “I know. We’ll visit when we can.”

 “And you,” Jon said to Sandor. “If I find out you hurt my sister again, I will not hesitate to desert my post and kill you.”

 Sandor wasn’t exactly intimidated by Jon, but he knew that it was not an empty threat.

 “I understand. That was the biggest mistake of my life and I do not intend to repeat it.” Sandor looked at you with love in his eyes and you smiled warmly back.

 “Glad we’re at an agreement.” Jon looked at the last of his family and left without another word. Your eyes started to water again as you watched your brother leave. You grabbed Sandor’s hand and he pulled you close to him. With a last backwards glance from Jon, he was gone.

 ---

 You had been back at Winterfell for two months and today was the day of Sansa’s coronation. She was to be crowned Queen in the North and you were very happy for your little sister. She definitely deserved it after all the shit she went through. The time had come and you were standing by the front of the Hall, your babe in your arms and your husband by your side, when Sansa walked to you. Everyone was kneeling as she walked by them and when she got to you, you curtsied slightly. Sandor bowed and Sansa nodded her head, a bright smile on her face.

 After Sansa swore vows to protect the North, the Maester performing the ceremony had her kneel and placed her crown on her head. She then sat down on her throne and her people began to chant.

 “The Queen in the North!” They said, your voice among them. The ones with swords held them high in the air. They were pleased that Sansa was their Queen and you were too. She was the best fit and you couldn’t wait to see her grow.

 ---

 Sansa had been Queen for five years now. She was doing excellent at it and you were extremely proud. Your son was now five and some months old and he made the castle very lively. Sandor had taken your name as his own and was now Lord Stark thanks to Sansa. It had taken him a while to get used to it, but it made you laugh when someone caught him off guard with the title.

 You and Sandor had made up completely soon after Sansa’s coronation, and now you were expecting your second child. Sandor was beyond happy as were you and the both of you waited impatiently for them to arrive into the world.

 You had gone and visited Jon three times since he had been put back into the Night’s Watch. He was always happy to see you and Eddard. Jon had become the Lord Commander once more and it always put a smile on your face to see him in his element. You hadn’t seen Tormund since you gave birth, but Jon kept you updated by raven when he could.

 You hadn’t really heard from Arya much, but she did sometimes send a raven to let you know that she was okay. She had found some islands on her journey, but no big mass of land. In her letters she sent detailed reports of what the islands had on them and if there were any people on them. Along with the reports, she sent drawings. When you got them you immediately had your cartographer add them to your maps. Arya wanted it to stay secret until she got back from her journey and you kept that promise. All of the letters, maps, and drawings were kept in a secure room with you holding the only key. The cartographer was sworn to secrecy as well.

 Gilly and Sam were in King’s Landing with your little brother and they kept you well updated. Sam was now the Grand Maester of King’s Landing and Gilly had given birth to a beautiful baby boy they named Jon. They never really had the chance to go to Winterfell, so Sansa named you Ambassador of the North. That meant you got to see your brother and your friends. Eddard loved going with you and his papa to the Capital and he loved seeing his best friend, Jon. Sandor never really enjoyed going back there, but he did it for his family.

 One day after traveling for about a month, you were in the Capital once more. This time it wasn’t for political reasons. Sansa had said that you needed to stop working for a little while and to spend time with your family. So you had decided to take a trip to King’s Landing to visit your other family. Originally you had put down the idea of leaving Winterfell so late in your pregnancy, but Sansa and Eddard helped change your mind.

 She had one of the many Maester’s go along with you to make sure everything was going well.  That had eased your thoughts, but you still didn’t want to go. You only realized the decision was made without you when you walked into your little house and everything was all packed up and ready to leave. Exasperated, you just looked at your husband and your grinning child and sighed in defeat.

 “Let’s go mother! I can’t wait to see Uncle Sam, Aunt Gilly, and Jon again!” Little Eddard had exclaimed.

 “What about Uncle Bran?”

 “And Uncle Bran.” Eddard was grinning from ear to ear and you had laughed lightly.

 “You be on your best behavior, understand?” Sandor told his son. “You do whatever your mother or I says. Without complaint.”

 “Yes father!” Eddard raced off to the carriage and you looked at your husband.

 “I really don’t want to go.”

 “I know, Dove. But you really need the break and Eddard loves it up there.”

 You sighed and grabbed Sandor’s hand. He brought it up to his lips and kissed the inside of your wrist softly. A giggle escaped your lips and Sandor’s thumb caressed your cheek.

 “Go to the carriage. I’ll bring the bags.”

 “Alright. I love you,” you whispered, kissing your husband.

 “I love you too.”

[battle-of-alberta]

OCtober: Cal and Ed

It’s finally over. I’m sorry for the delay but stuff has been Happening. If there’s a tourism site that attracts you more to one city or the other, let me know.

Calgary | Edmonton

Below is some meta stuff about the ‘research’ (if you can even call it   that, it was more of a vibe check) I did for re-doing the profiles. Read  on, if it intrigues you. And I gotta mention there’s a bonus rabbit hole I went down for Calgary’s self-image that is. Well. A Lot.

Major Cities: Calgary and Edmonton

We made it team, the heart of the Battle of Alberta, the major city rivalry that defined generations. Calgary is the largest city in the province and the centre of southern Alberta, a young, fast-paced major city that oscillates wildly between boom and bust and is attracting both attention and employees from the traditional major cities in Canada. Edmonton is the capital of the province and the the most northern major city with a metro population of over one million on the continent, a little older and more blue collar, somewhat more stable economically, and quickly rising to meet the challenges presented by open data and sustainable urban planning. And, as we know, they've been antagonizing each other since the 19th century, but collaborating as well.

Website Round Up Premise

While I was revisiting these character profiles, I took a look at how cities represented themselves on their municipal sites and tourism sites rather than how cities were represented in the news or in stereotypes, as the latter already tend to live in the back of my head. I was interested to see who the target audiences for each city were, what they considered their strengths, and how much effort each city put into putting its own identity on display. I was also interested into what ideas sort of fed into any pre-existing confirmation bias I had about each city's personality as well as interested in what narratives might be used to counteract negative stereotypes.The first thing I tended to notice was the overall information architecture of each city's website. How easy were they to navigate? What kinds of information did they have? How did they organize it? How did they communicate that information?

Out and About

There's a sharp difference between the websites of major cities from other cities. They are very careful to separate the corporation of 'The City of' from the cities we might know, and therefore both websites have a much more business-like tone and more distance from their civic identities. This means no traditional "About" pages as other cities might have.

At the time I'm visiting, Edmonton's page has some ADORABLE art of a nuthatch that's making me very homesick. Calgary has a seasonally appropriate snowy skyline.

Calgary does have an "Our Organization" tab which describes the City as a corporation, and likewise Edmonton has a "City Government" tab that performs a similar function. Edmonton's is in alphabetical order which is only a little annoying and Calgary's reads like a very perfectly chunked business portfolio that doesn't... really say as much as it looks like it does, but it does get bonus points for vision/organization/accessibility.

I have never seen a more concise history of Calgary in my life. It's literally three bullet points and a couple of bracketing sentences, but it does do the job. Calgary is, more or less, what it says it is (although I do take slight issue with its self identification as a trading post - it may have functioned that way but that was not what it was founded for and in fact the trading companies gtfo'd asap in those early days). It goes on to paint a very good sketch of the city in as few lines as possible in the text, and there's a little video at the end that feels like it was voiced over in 1988 even though it's clearly not.

Edmonton's City government page is even vaguer. Let's make a more dynamic and resilient Edmonton shall we, the page suggests. Resilient against What Exactly, I wonder. Winter? The boom-bust? Calgary? who knows. The majority of the sub pages are even more mysterious and essentially paint the picture of a city. It's a normal city. Trust us. We do city things. Here is exactly how government works and how to raise and lower a flag. In Edmonton, which is, in fact, a city.

I'm begging you if you think Calvin is hokey and annoying please read the Our Culture page and see it's EXACTLY how I intended to portray him because it's eXACTLY what it's already like. "The Four C's of Our Culture" give me a break.

Edmonton offers me a picture of the skyline and says "City of Opportunity: City of You". I suppose this is true. I don't know what it means. I fear slightly for its intentions.

I keep seeing "Calgary: A great place to make a living, a great place to make a life" and it's like. Stop! I won't go! You can't make me! (and again the Strong and Resilient Calgary. these kids are always catching colds because they don't eat properly.)

Although Edmonton makes literally zero attempt to define itself (outside perhaps the official symbols page hidden under Facts and Figures), what strikes me is that it is portraying itself as a very future-oriented city, which, when I was growing up we really never were. We were an inward city constantly wishing we were somewhere else which is partially still true, and we were a city with such an intense nostalgia (that unlike Calgary we failed to really capitalize on) that grated roughly against a complete failure to preserve history. It does kind of make me glad that the city is looking towards the future and just like, acknowledging basic realities (like snow) and trying to involve people in urban planning more (and throughout the website the city LOOOOVES to share data which I also called, haha). There's also an adorable animation of the city road map in its strategic planning pages. It's interesting that for a city that leaves itself up to your own interpretation, it does have a LOT of information about itself collected and available.

Tourism

Oddly enough, neither city has substantially changed their tourism homepage to accommodate COVID-related staycation plans, although each does mention that many things may be closed or unavailable as a result of the pandemic.

CaLGARy, Be PaRT of THe EnERGy!!

I like how Edmonton's self-presentation is "original" and "we do things differently". It's like a Keep ___ Weird thing but in an understated self-assured way that makes me laugh a little. Like yeah, I guess we are kind of different, I guess we're just not used to seeing that as a good thing.

In the tourism guides there isn't much to say about Calgary's that isn't just "oh, classic Calgary" but I do think the fact that they have "quick facts" to explain what timezone it's in and what currency they use is adorable to say the least. also the title of the guide is CALGARY (and the canadian rockies) and that sums up Calgary pretty well, which I'll elaborate on more.

I actually can't find Edmonton's guide, if it has one, but that's ok. The website hits all the buttons that I would and I actually use exploreedmonton quite frequently because it has a nicer event calendar than the city website does, which is important in a place nicknamed Festival City. I really appreciate how things are organized by month/season and even down to "what's happening today/tomorrow/this week" because it makes planning trips for my visitors easy, so now you know my secret : ) I wish I could just beam this site directly into people's brains when they mention "oh yeah thats where the mall is" when I say I'm from Edmonton.

Interestingly enough it's Calgary's turn to be vague, which I can only assume is part of its "exactly what it says it is" charm. This desperation to find a shred of self-description outside of things to do and places to stay led me down a rabbit hole I will elaborate on in a moment that truly showed me I Knew Nothing about how deep Calgary's branding goes. Otherwise, the website is very practical and functions more like an answer to questions you had about the what and the how and less so the why.

Also, the "Locals" page on Calgary's site has tips on hosting friends and family from around the province safely during the pandemic which is kind of cute. Edmonton doesn't really have a local page (i guess because if we had a hashtag like #loveyyc we'd ruin it)

Bonus: The Rabbit Hole

I wondered why Calgary's tourism page, which I expected to be the most in your face description of the city possible, fell kind of flat. I learned this seems to be because tourists are not the target audience that Calgary wants to attract. It's companies and corporations, and they get their own page.

Boy oh boy do they get their own page

This led me down this frightening path of getting validation like being repeatedly punched in the face by what On Brand Calgary truly means and I'm frankly quite speechless about it - all I can say is that you need to see it for yourself.

The tourism site gestures to a Billion reasons why you should hold your next meeting in Calgary and here is where the self definition as Big City Energy and Western Hospitality starts kicking the tires and lighting the fires. Likewise with the media-oriented page. Suddenly stuff like the Calgary Bucket List starts popping up and I can't help but go hang on, why not suggest this to tourists?

"It's cowboy spirit, but also refined and cosmopolitan" [sighs into hands]

Suddenly all the "Calgarians love visitors! Calgarians love the outdoors!" stuff is spilling out like water from a dam here. "Where's Calgary?" [Link that reads FIND US].

Like i literally feel like the tourism side on the left is the Kids Menu, it's the corporate stuff on the right that I'm actually finding the type of information I want on. Eventually, I somehow make my way to Calgary's Destination Strategy which is trying to make Calgary a place that... well, people go. Like, internationally. Like the Olympics but MORE of that.

Then I find the Brand Evolution. Then I find Calgary's Economic Development site. The poetry about rocky mountain prairie skies and "where a handshake still means something" starts to reach its peak.

Then back through the tourism site I find the video. And the video makes me shake because it suggests the premise of The Powerpoint.

The Powerpoint. I cannot summarize the powerpoint in any meaningful way or how my emotions were a rollercoaster further and further up and down the longer i scrolled. Everything I know and suggest about Calgary seems to be unequivocally true, including the sense that Calgary as a person is the sort of person who makes powerpoints about his own identity crisis because that's precisely what this is.

And then I get to the part of the powerpoint that suggests I imagine what kind of person the city of Calgary might be (and implied: does that person think about anything other than the mountains???) THEY EVEN DID AN OCEAN PERSONALITY TEST FOR THE CITY I KID YOU NOT

Hi, City of Edmonton, hire me to take an OCEAN test for our fair city. I'm begging you.

[gloves94]

Kingdom of the Sun [Fire Lord Zuko] 1

Story Warnings: Violence, NSFW, Smut Chapter Warnings: None Rating: M Pairings: Zuko/OC Summary:  It has been three years since the end of the war. Fire Lord Zuko has his Empire to reconstruct and multiple assassination attempts to worry about. Across the sea Tsai is occupied with the Restoration Movement in the new Republic of Nations. Together they must: define their relationship, push some boundaries, bring down a dangerous enemy and most importantly work together to restore order and prosperity to this new world. Kingdom of the Sun MASTERLIST Last Airbender MASTERLIST My MASTERLIST

- SEQUEL to: SUNBURN . You don’t have to read Sunburn to enjoy this story, but if you want go ahead. - This story is loosely based on the ATLA comics, so don’t read if you don’t want spoilers. No Korra spoilers since I haven’t watched it myself.

AN: Woo!! We are finally here. I’m really excited about this story (also kind of very nervous, it’s going to be pretty different from Sunburn so let me know how I do!) I’m almost done writing it and it should be about 10 chapters long or so.

xxxxxx

Zuko lay awake in his bed.

It was a cold night despite the spring season that graced the Fire Nation's capital. He let out a miserable long sigh before turning to face the empty side of the bed. It was then that a rustling behind the bedroom’s maroon curtains nearby caught his attention.

Paranoid, he quickly sat up glaring in the direction where he could've sworn, he heard an intruder's movements. His eyes scanned the darkness of the room, heart at his throat as he held his breath waiting for his attacker to show.

It was then that he felt it, the blade pressing tightly across his neck. It seemed the assassin had finally gotten to him. His body was stiff for a moment before relaxing into the knife. He let out a deep breath and allowed the blade to take him…

Xxx

Zuko awoke alone and cold still heaving from his night terror. His eyes danced around the room fearfully scanning every possible nook, cranny and hiding place for an assassin. He sat up and ran a hand through his sweaty bangs pushing them back, catching his shaking breath. It wouldn't be the first time somebody broke into his room and tried to pull a stunt like that…

He exhaled a sharp breath and again collapsed back on his pillow. He couldn't believe he had caved into the assassin's blade like that. It had only been a dream, but still... For a moment he had forgotten his will to exist. After all, did anything matter? Every day was the same over worked routine of a Fire Lord having inherited a monarchy on the verge of a colonial disunion and at the end of a lost war. Not to mention the frequent assassination attempts he had to endure from the New Ozai Society. A group of loyal members of the Fire Nation mainland who were still supportive of his father and wanted to see Zuko dead and off the throne. But worst of all was that he had never felt as alone as he did now… He was cold, alone, unhappy… Did anything really matter?

His eyes turned to look at the painting he had framed next to his bed. It had been the last painting that him and Tsai had gotten. He wore his royal garments and head piece, she sat next to him hugging his arm. It had been painted that day the two saw “Love Amongst the Dragons,” the last time they saw each other...

He missed her. He needed her in his life now more than ever.

He dreaded the morning that was to come. He already knew he had a mountain of work to do, but the worst part about it were the Fire Sages. He did not want to be in the same room with a handful of them and a dozen of elite Fire Nation women who were all considered 'fit' female suitors eligible enough to one day take seat next to him as the Lady of the Throne.

"Will you be making your decision today Fire Lord Zuko?" One of the Sages had inquired hiding its hands in his sleeves. It had been weeks now and all those old crones did was pressure him into seeing these girls.

Traditionally Fire Sage's were the advisors to the crown and all royal marriages were arranged. However, considering there was no former Fire Lord in power to order such decree no such arrangements could be made.

His eyes glazed over the nervously fidgeting dark haired women before him. Some looked awfully nervous, others giggled at the situation hiding their blushing smiles before waving fans.

He was silent, his eyes boring ahead.

"I already know the one for me."

Xxx

"Wake up!" A loud voice shouted.

"Wake uuuup!" The voice repeated in an even louder tone.

Tsai lay exhausted and alone in her bed. She let out a grown and pulled the sheets over her head. "Get out of my room Mecha!" She shouted loudly at her older sibling. However, he had no mercy, he ripped the covers off her waking her up.

She glared at her brother upset.

"You overslept, again." He said with his arms crossed over his chest. The scarred man glared down at her. "This isn't like you," he said frowning slightly.

She ran a hand through her messy hair in hope of taming it down a little. "I was up late last night," she grumbled. "Has there been another bombing? Another protest?" She asked more accustomed to being awoken due to the sporadically protest of the Anti Revolutionary Movement that was against the independence of the Fire Nation’s colonies.

"Oh yeah?" He challenged arching an eyebrow, ignoring her questions. "Doing uber important things like midnight snacking or writing sad poetry about your ex-boyfriend?"

"Out!" She roared throwing her pillow in his direction.

He caught it with ease. "Be ready." He said cooly sounding like their over-bearing mother and throwing it back in her direction with all of his strength making her slightly jerk back.

She sighed hugging the pillow and hunching her shoulders over. It had been three years since the One Hundred Year War was over and since the Fire Nation colonies had been liberated, and lot had happened since then. Ever since, her family had renounced to all of their royal titles, after all the Vice-Royal Colony of Yu Dao was no more. Instead now this territory belonged to the sovereignty of the United Republic of Nations. After losing his position her father had become… She didn't even want to think about it. Thankfully, her mother had forgiven her for everything that she had done during the time of war and her family now focused on running the United Republic of Nation's first newspaper. She did that and also working as an ambassador for the young nation, attempting to solve the thriving nation's issues a strong leader of the post-war restoration movement.

She had also ended her brief relationship with Zuko. You think dating is hard, imagine when your ex-boyfriend is the Fire Lord? She let out an exhausted breath and looked up to see the painted portrait of the two of them that hung on her wall. It was small and simple, her red head and broad cheesy smile standing out as she hugged onto his arm. He wore a smile as well and wore his hair down and wasn't wearing his royal robes. He was like she remembered him, he was simply Zuko, he wasn't his Lordness. She couldn’t even remember when they had gotten that painted. It had been a little more than a year since their breakup and she missed him dearly…

Dating of course had been an option but nobody had come close to filling the void she felt inside when she thought of him. She would never admit it out loud but a part of her was miserable without him in her life.

She missed him.

The memory of their breakup still fresh, she shook her head and clapped her cheeks lightly hoping to smack some sense into herself and push that depressing memory back in the attic of her brain. She didn't want to think about what had happened in the Dragon Catacombs the last time she had been in the Main- in the Fire Nation. She corrected herself.

Xxx

"Aang! Katara!" Tsai stood in what was now the former palace's tearoom as she welcomed her friends. She embraced Aang and then Katara tightly. She had been happy to have kept in contact with them after the war. Katara was usually traveling between the Republic of Nations and the South Pole to visit her family, so they would see each other whenever she was in town. Aang was pretty much the same, except his travels were more worldly, after all, he was the Avatar. The bridge in between all nations as well as humans and the Spirit World. Tsai's mother had arranged for an elaborate tea party for just her children and their two friends. It was very over the top with teas, pastries and decorations, but then again, that was just the type of woman she was.

"It's so great to see two!" She said. Her brother greeted them both with a rough hug and took a seat next to his sister.

Aang was taller, fitter, and looked more mature. However, he was still his same goofy self and wore his nation's symbolic colors of yellow, ochre and orange in traditional robes. Katara had grown to be even more beautiful, her hair was longer, and she still wore her trade mark hair loopies. The two of them had been inseparable and had started dating at the end of the war and were still together. Distance and other factors not str Tsai poured a brewed floral tea and the four made idle talk catching about what the most recent news in town were, trending restaurants, theater, each other travels and what not.

"So, we've come with news!" Aang said excitedly shifting on his seat. He hadn't even touched his tea. Katara smiled at him lovingly and hugged his arm taking his hand in her own. "Shall we tell them together sweetie?"

Tsai arched an eyebrow, she mentally gagged at Katara's pet name for her boyfriend. Yikes, those two were so sappy. She took a sip from her tea to hide her smile.

They spoke loudly in unison. She wasn't sure if she had heard right. She was only aware of the sacred sin she had just committed. She spit out her tea in surprise spraying the couple before her who were overjoyed and simply laughed at her surprised reaction.

"Congrats!" Mecha stood up from his seat and walked around the table to give the couple a congratulatory pat in the back.

Tsai still sat stunned unsure of how to process the news.

AANG AND KATARA WERE GETTING MARRIED? Was Aang a child bride? Sure, he was now past sixteen, the customary marriage age, but really what was the rush? She shifted uncomfortably in her seat before realizing she had to say something to them.

"Congratulations!" She said sincerely excited going around the table and hugging the both of them again. "Katara, let me see your necklace!" She said inquiring about the engagement jewelry that Aang had made for her. It was a traditional Water Tribe necklace that had carved the Air Nomad's symbol in the middle. It was very cute.

"We'll be sending invitations out soon, but we wanted to tell you two in person." Aang explained.

"We were both very moved by your family," Katara began. "I know it's not usual for people to have interracial marriages, but when I saw your family- Your mother being from the Earth Kingdom and your father's side being from the Fire Nation. I saw what my future with Aang would be like." She said once again hugging his arm, he smiled at her and kissed the top of her head.

Both siblings noted how she mentioned her "father's side" and not the monster himself but said nothing.

"We are getting married here in the Republic of Nations. However, Gran Gran is getting a little too old for travel so we're having a ceremony in the Southern Water Tribe and we'd love for you two to come!" Katara beamed.

xxx

"You have to go." Her brother insisted chasing after her as they walked back to the dining room where they would now be joining their mother for dinner. "No. I don't. I have work." She barked back; fists clenched at her sides. "No," he drawled out stepping around her stopping her walk. "I'm staying so you can go. Besides, you already agreed. You can't back out now."

Tsai glared at her older brother; he could be such a pest sometimes. "I only said that to be polite!"

"Come on," She lowered her shoulders her brown eyes meeting her brother's forest green ones. "I look like crap- and well you know he's going to be there."

She said referring to Zuko, a thought that made her stomach twist nervously at the thought of seeing him again.

"So? Are you scared of him?" Her brother scoffed. "What's the worst that can happen?"

She remained silent.

"Who knows," he began moving out of her path. "You know he is married to his work, just like you. Odds are maybe he won't even show," Mecha said optimistically.

'Maybe… Just maybe he was right?'

next: https://gloves94.tumblr.com/post/624849870080131072/kingdom-of-the-sun-firelord-zuko-2