#that got extended to the knighthood

[dr-dendritic-trees]

This is a very good point I had forgotten about

tortall was really like “yeah we have a box that makes people live out their worst fears. no we have no idea why. we put teenagers in it”

[thehighpriestess1]

Be Mine : The meeting

Summary : After finally waiting for 20 years Gojo Satoru finally met the woman he has been in love with. But love is not easy to conquer even for the strongest.

Pairing : Yandere King Gojo x Knight reader

Warning: Yandere themes. Mentions of violence and death. Minors do not interact!

Master list : Ask Box

It was not unusual for a woman to be a knight or a soldier. Although it was a bit unfair to those of your kind. In this kingdom were two kinds of people, one who had power, the sorcerers, not the kind of power that comes with a position but the kind you are born with. Power that is used to protect the others against the army of curses that have plagued the world for centuries. No one knows where these curses come from. No one knows how to eradicate them forever. But as goes the law of balance, there are people that are born with the power to kill these curses and the most powerful of them all, the man who is said to possess the kind of power that comes once in a century, the king, Gojo Satoru. 

The second kinds, your kind, people who are born without power. Even if they are born into the wealthiest of families they are bound to live in the shadows of sorcerers. You were neither born into a noble clan nor did you have any power. All you had was your strength and grit. 

You joined the forces to fight against the curses. What use were you to the kingdom without power? They always needed people like you to do the menial tasks during the war and use your sword to the best of your abilities. That you did very well. In a span of four years you climbed through the ranks fighting against the sexism and the casual disdain against you. It has changed you, hardened you. Now you were a rebel amongst legends and infamous amongst the infantry. 

But unbeknownst to you, there was someone who was watching your every move. Before the time you joined the ranks to the day of your knighthood. You were good. Fearless. Kind. But you were too far. Too far for his liking.The only way to fix that was to bring you closer to him. He wished he could reach out to you when he saw you on the battlefield. While he did protect you on the field with his powers, he wished desperately to be able to mend your wounds and kiss the pain away. But it was not ideal for the king to run across the battlefield and cradle a foot soldier. He wished he could lay next to you and wipe your tears but he could only watch from his ivory tower. It was the best use of his six eyes. When he was presented with the list of names to be considered for King’s knight he didn’t even look at it and presented his own recommendation. Who dared reject the king’s recommendation?

Gojo lay on the silk bed sheets as the moonlight filtered through the curtains. He stared at the ceiling with a smile on his face. Tomorrow he will finally have you close to him. He still remembered the first time he met you, 20 years ago. He was out in the kingdom with his father and had run off from the procession and snuck into a back alley of a bakery. There instead of sweet delicacies he ran into the sweetest girl he had ever seen. She sat at the steps of the bakery in a red dress with two pigtails with a white ribbon tied at the end. Gojo was dumbfounded and simply stared at her. Was she the fairies his mother told him about?

“ The bakery is closed! Come after 2 PM”. She said as she took a bite of her cupcake.

“What’s your name?”. He asked as he stepped towards her.

“My grandma told me not to talk to strangers”.

Gojo was dumbfounded. He stared at her blankly.

The girl rolled her eyes, “What do you want?”.

Gojo snapped out of his thoughts. “I…I want to buy…I want…I want what you are having”. 

She got off the steps and stood in front of him. She extended the half eaten cupcake and shrugged. “This is the last one and the bakery is closed”. 

Gojo stared at the cupcake, he had never eaten a half eaten cake. Heck he had never had to share anything in his life. But he stretched his arm forward to grab the cupcake and right before he could grab hold of the sweet delicacy the girl withdrew her arm and shoved the entire cupcake in her mouth. She grinned with lips littered with crumbs and mouth full of cupcakes. To his surprise instead of anger or contempt his heart was filled with this foreign feeling. It made him feel warm and he smiled at her.She was the embodiment of light, her toothy smile made his heart race and time stop. Before he could ask her name or give her his’ the guards surrounded him and led him back to his father. Before they could drag him away he stretched out his arm and grab hold of one of the silk ribbons.That’s all he had of hers now. For years Gojo tied that ribbon on his wrist. When it got too small for his wrist he tied it to his bedpost. The Kingdom grew and wars were won but he remembered the bakery and he remembered her. She never left his mind and once he was old enough to command power he had her details in front of her. Y/n L/n. 

-X-

Gojo stared at his reflection in the mirror. After two hours of going through an array of clothes, he finally decided on the staple navy blue with velvet red cape. He looked at the watch and realized there were still hours before the ceremony. It was getting harder for him to wait any longer, he had to see you once so he took the cape and the medals off and wore a long black trench coat and snuck out of his room.

He knew where all the to-be-guards would be waiting. He stood behind the curtains at the entrance and scanned the room for you but he didn’t see you. Did you refuse the position last minute? Did something happen to you on the way? He frowned and turned around to walk back to his room but stopped in his tracks when he saw you walking next to another man. Your hair was toed back neatly and your smile…it made time stop.But rage filled his nerves as she saw you laugh and punch the other man on the shoulder. Why were you touching him? Why was he making you laugh? Your silver batch, indicating your knighthood, shone brightly as you walked past him without sparing him another glance. His heart broke. You had forgotten him. He spent every day of the last 20 years thinking about you and you didn’t even remember him! Your scent lingered in the air as he stood there basking in it. Was he that forgettable? What was he going to do now? With anger in his eyes and sadness in his veins he was about to walk away.

“Oi!”. Someone called out from behind but Gojo was so lost in his thoughts he ignored it. 

“Oi white hair!”. 

Gojo frowned and clenched his jaw. Who dared speak to him like that. He turned around ready to order his men to behead the imbecile but his anger evaporated when he saw you standing behind him with a smirk on your face. You were talking to him. You were talking to him!

“Ye…Yes?”. He asked hesitantly. Unsure of whether you knew who he was or not.

“I owe you this''. You extended your hand forward and held a cupcake in your hand. 

Gojo stared dumbfounded at the cupcake. His heart raced faster than the best horses in the kingdom. You remembered him. All those years of planning to get you here was not a waste. You remembered him. He looked at you and let out a shuddered breath at how beautiful you looked. Your hair was in a neat ponytail above your head, even the metal armor you wore looked so delicate. Your eyes held the same hope and your smile, Gojo was ready to wage wars for that smile.

“You…you..remember me?”.

You chuckled, “Of course I do! Do you want this one or should I shove it in my mouth?”. 

Gojo chuckled and took the cupcake from your hand. “Thanks”. You looked different up close. Better. Prettier. You carried the same light within you as you did 20 years ago. 

“Are you here for the ceremony as well?”. You chirped.

“Yes…kind of”. 

You nodded your head and looked at him. He was just the same. Shy. Timid. “You have really pretty eyes''. You said absentmindedly. You didn’t know how the words fell out of your mouth but god were they true. 

Gojo’s eyes widened. You just complimented him? This was the first time you had complimented him! 

“Ummm yeah..thank..thank you”. He said, too shy to meet your eyes. He didn’t know what was happening to him. He wanted to be confident and strong for you and yet he was stuttering like a child.”What are you doing here?”. He feigned ignorance.

“I am about to be knighted to be the King’s personal guard”.

“Congratulations”. He smiled politely. 

“Thank you. What about you? I haven’t seen you in the ranks so…I guess you are not a knight”.

Gojo cursed himself mentally. “Umm yeah. I work in ….administration”. Not a lie, Gojo thought to himself.

“Nice.By the way, have you ever met the king? I’ve heard some pretty interesting things about him”. 

“No…I haven’t met the king..”. Gojo said, confused. Who was spreading rumors about him to you? Before he could ask any further about the baseless rumors another man came from behind him and wrapped his arms around you. 

“Niko! My man! So good to see you!”. You said as you returned the hug. 

Gojo watched you exchange formalities with Niko. When Niko had taken his leave you turned towards Gojo once again. “You were saying something?”.

“Is that guy your….man?”. 

You frowned and looked at Niko, “oh him? No. I mean not like that. We have been in the ranks together since the beginning and he has saved my ass so many times!”. 

Gojo smiled and looked down at his feet. If only you knew how many times he saved you from getting killed. “I see…what were you saying about the king?”. 

“Oh right! I have heard that he thinks only those with curse techniques deserve to occupy the ranks! Can you even believe him?! What a jerk! If that was true then people like me would always be treated like shit and would never get a chance to fight those curses!”. 

Gojo hummed. Though it was true that he believed that, you were here weren’t you? Though he believed it would never be acted on because he understood the importance of balance. “But..If that were true then…you wouldn’t be here”. 

“You see that’s where you’re wrong. It’s not about what he does. That fact that he says those things gives sorcerers even more reasons to..to bully us. Because now their ideology aligns with that of the king and the so called sorcerer king can never be wrong. What a joke!”. 

Gojo chuckled nervously. That stung Gojo. But you were right. It’s not only actions but also his words that have a ripple effect and eventually hurt the one he loves.

“But..wait…how do you know that I am not a sorcerer?”.

“I can tell”. Gojo added immediately, cursing himself. “Why did you join ranks?”. He asked immediately, hoping to change the conversation. Though he had a faint idea about it.

You smiled sadly,”You remember the bakery? It was owned by my grandmother. When the war began, the curses destroyed the town and ..killed her. So I decided that I will fight them until I am satisfied that I have avenged her”.

Gojo sighed. He remembered that war. Many died and many went missing. He was about 20 that time. The war had lasted for over a week and after a week he was able to create a shield around the kingdom to prevent any curses from getting in. He felt guilty now, if only he would have been strong enough back then he would have been able to save the bakery and you wouldn’t be risking your life everyday. “I’m sorry to hear that”. 

You sighed and shrugged. “That’s alright. Anyway we should go before the so-called ‘strongest’ arrives”. 

“I have something to take care of, you should go. I’ll see you soon”. 

“Okaaaay. What’s your name though? Or would you rather I call you snow white?”. 

Gojo smiled fondly and took a bite off the cupcake. “You can call me whatever you want”. He winked and turned around and walked aways. 

“Who was that?”. Niko asked you when you finally joined him and the others. 

“Just some nobel guy I met years ago”. 

“Ooooh you are fishing already?”. Niko smirked.

“Oh! Fuck off! I am just happy to make friends”.

“He seems weird”.

“Maybe, he was just nervous. It is a pretty important day”.

Amante, another woman in your ranks joined in, “I think he was quite handsome”. She smiled sweetly. But that was Amante, she was too sweet and too polite to be in this line of work.

Niko shrugged, “You know what they say about these noble guys right? They don’t last long in bed! His handsomeness alone is not enough”. 

You rolled your eyes at his comments. “Don’t listen to him, Amante. If you want I will happily introduce you to him and you are right, he is quite handsome”.

“Do you really think so?”. Niko asked, sipping from his chalice. He stood tall next to you, his brown hair neatly combed back and his sharp jawline freshly shaved. But from this angle you could tell the places he nicked himself. His brown eyes looked like honey in this light and though you would never admit it, you were jealous of his eyelashes.

“Yeah. I think he was quite good looking”. 

“Better than me?”. Niko smirked. 

You shook your head and ignored his comment. He was just being..Niko.

-X- 

It was a closed ceremony, only those to be knighted to be king’s guards were allowed to be there. The other ranks were commemorated by the chief of troops while you waited at the back and watched with pride as your friends got their lapel decorated. You wondered when it would be your turn and would you get to meet the king today? It came as a surprise that you were the only one appointed as the King’s guard, a non sorcerer vowing to protect the sorcerer king. Suddenly it didn’t feel right.

“Ma’am, he’s waiting for you”. 

You turned and looked at the older man bowing next to you. “Who is waiting for me?”. 

“His highness the King”. 

You blinked blankly and looked at your friends in the other end of the room. You nodded your head and got up to follow the man. 

You walked two steps behind the man wondering why was your coronation held separately and why couldn’t the king take some time off to know the people who swore to protect him a few rooms down the hall. 

“What’s your name?”. You asked, looking around and admiring the heavy velvet curtains.

“Ijichi”. The man replied in a tired tone. 

“How do I address you?”. 

“You may call me Ijichi”.

You hummed. “May I ask you a question Ijichi-san?”.

“Yes”.

“What is the king like?”.

“He is the strongest sorcerer”. 

You chuckled. That's what everyone says anyway. “I mean…as a person”.

Ijichi let out a tired sigh that made you wonder whether he didn’t like the king or he didn’t like you. “He is ..Eccentric”.

“Eccentric?”. You corked a brow.

“Yes. You will find out soon”. 

You didn’t want to trouble him anymore so continued to follow him quietly. 

Soon you found yourself outside a large wooden door with gold handles. Ijichi turned towards you and smiled, “His highness is waiting inside. If you need anything, you may call me anytime”.

“Thank you, Ijichi-san”.

“-and…The King is a good person. So don’t be hasty in making your judgment”. Ijichi smiled.

It was probably the first time you heard a little life in his voice. You smiled and nodded your head. “I’ll keep that in mind”. 

Ijichci took his leave and you stood outside the door staring at the gold inlay, wondering why would the strongest sorcerer appoint a non-sorcerer as the King’s guard?. Your heart was beating loudly and fear crept into your heart. You fought curses with just your sword and yet you were questioning yourself, it didn’t make any sense. 

“I can sense you standing outside”. The voice echoed from inside making you jolt backwards. He knew you were here. There was no going back now.So you took a deep breath and pushed the door open. 

“Snowwhite?”. You chuckled as you saw the back of the head of your old friend but when he turned around your smile dropped and eyes widened. You saw the medals on his lapel and the seal on his collar. Your eyes drifted to the crown kept on a stand nearby and your throat ran dry. You immediately kneeled on one knee and brought your fist to your heart and bowed in greeting to the king. “Your Highness”.

“Stand up, y/n”.

You got up but refused to look him in the eye. You could sense that he was walking towards you and suddenly the rose on the carpet was covered by a pair of black boots. 

Gojo placed his index finger below your chin and tilted it up, to look closely at the face he has been dreaming about. “Hello, y/n”.

You took a step back and stomped your feet. “It’s an honor to meet you, your highness”.

Gojo sighed, “Drop it already, will you?”.

You looked up at him, confused. “I..don’t understand you-”.

“Drop the formalities. We are friends. You can call me Satoru”.

You bit the inside of your cheeks. “I..I am sorry your highness…for..what I said”.

“Why? You were right”.

“I..meant the terms I used to describe you..”

Gojo laughed. “That’s alright. You are my friend so that’s okay”.

“I am supposed to be your guard, your highness”. You said sternly.

Gojo realized it will take time for you to open up to him, he had waited years now, he could wait a little more.

“Alright, do what feels right for you. If you have any questions then do not hesitate to ask me”. Gojo smiled as he clasped his hands behind his back.

“I do have one…question”. 

“Go ahead”.

“Why did you choose me to be your guard? I am not a sorcerer and you are the strongest sorcerer”.

Gojo smiled to himself. He had expected this question which is why he prompted you to ask in the first place. “Because you are capable. You are more capable than some of the sorcerers. It is not the curses I need the protection from, it is non-sorcerers”.

His response left a bittersweet feeling in your heart. “I don’t have any more questions, your highness”.

“Are you sure?”. Gojo corked a brow.

“Yes, Your Highness”.

“So you don’t want to know what I was doing at the bakery that day and why do I remember you?”.

You were taken by surprise. You had heard of his powers but many were still hidden, was mind reading one of his powers?. Regardless, you were determined to keep things professional between the two of you, you had already offended him enough. “Your Highness is kind enough to remember me”.

Gojo’s jaw clenched in irritation. This was not his kindness. This was his love. You were his love. But of course how could you know that? For you, you had met him after two decades. Unlike him you were not aware of his life. “It’s more than kindness y/n. You were the second person ever to treat me like an equal. I consider you my friend and friends , protect each other”.

You smiled politely, “Yes, Your Highness”.

Gojo smiled and straightened up. “Let’s get to business shall we?”.

“Yes, Your Highness”.

“First things first, I do not place much value on the old rituals of reading out your duties and having you take the oath. You are an honorable woman and I trust you that you will do your duty diligently”.

You stomped your right foot and pressed your fist to your heart, “Yes, Your highness. I promise you I will put my life on the line for-”.

“Everything except that”. Gojo cut you off. “I don’t want you to put your life on the line for me. Do not even think about sacrificing your life for me. Just stay by my side and…that’s it”.

You gulped nervously. “Ye..Yes, Your Highness”.

“Now, where were we?...right! You don’t need to wear that heavy armor anymore. I have asked the atelier to take your measurement and have your uniform ready. Ijichi will show you your room after your fitting, you can rest today and explore the palace grounds, in the evening we will meet at the stable where you will get to pick your horse, then you will join me for dinner. Is that clear?”.

“Yes, You-”.

“Just a yes will do”.

“Ye..yes. Clear”.

Gojo smiled. “Good. Tomorrow you will show up at my office at 7:00 AM and accompany me throughout the day”.

“Yes”.

-X-

You walked towards his office in your newly fitted uniform. It was eerily similar to his’. Navy trousers paired with a white shirt and a heavy navy blue overcoat. Your Knight’s badge shone on the left lapel and your cufflinks were just like his’. You wondered if it was on his demand or was just a norm. But your favorite part of the uniform were the stitched white roses on the inside of the overcoat. Absolutely hidden from the outside world, they were your own personal ornament. Your horse too was the same as his. A beautiful white beast with flowing silver hair. When standing side by side it was hard to differentiate between the two horses. When you asked Ijichi, he informed you that the other horse, the female counterpart, was bred and trained to be a companion to the male counterpart and Gojo had forbidden everyone from riding it. A part of you thought that he was saving her for you but that can’t be true right? How was he to know that you would meet after all these years. It was a surprise that he even remembered you.

Even your old sword was replaced with a newer one. To fight the curse, every non-sorcerer needed a special blade which needed to be pierced in the head of the curse to eradicate it. As the soldier moved up the ranks the sword was replaced by a more powerful one. As a King’s personal guard you were sure this was the most powerful blade to exist. But fighting alone was not enough. To protect yourself from the attack, you had a shield embedded in your amulet. All you needed to do was unclasp the lock on your inner wrist and a tiny amulet was turned into a full sized shield. Your new amulet was made out of white gold and had roses carved into them. It made a pretty shield. 

Your room was thrice the size of your old house. It was too spacious and you couldn’t believe that it was all yours. Everything from the carpet to curtains was made out of finest quality material. Your bed was soft as a cloud and your wardrobe was filled with your uniforms for different occasions. Your tattered leather bag seemed out of place in this opulence. You walked to the window and to your surprise you could see right on the King’s balcony. Maybe it was a security measure. You thought about him, how he treated you like an old friend even after all the things you said about him. He was not how others, especially Niko, had painted him out to be. He wasn’t aggressive, or crazy. He was gentle, Kind, and considerate. You didn’t realize you were staring at his balcony until he walked out and you immediately stepped back, hoping he didn’t notice you.

After a long sleepless night of thinking you decided that it would be best to stick to your rules rather than obey  his’. He might be kind and considerate but he was still a King, a sorcerer king, and a sorcerer and non-sorcerer can never be friends. You had never hated sorcerers. Not until the war. When you saw your grandmother lying unconscious on the floor you developed a deep seeded hatred for sorcerers. If only this was a world without sorcerers and curses then your grandma would still be alive. You joined the ranks because the only thing you hated more than sorcerers was curses.

You knocked on the door sternly, “Your Highness, may I enter?”. You asked. You could almost hear him sigh on the other end before granting you the permission to enter.

“I told you not to call me that”. He chuckled and shook his head. He sat behind the oak desk resting his chin on his knuckles.

“That’s the appropriate way to address-”.

“”I decide what is appropriate”. Gojo cut you off. 

“As you say, your highness”. You smiled and took your place next to him. You stood with your hands pressed to your sides and your gaze fixed on the door in front. 

“Are you going to stand all day?”.

“Yes”.

“What if I ask you to sit?”. He looked up at you.

“I can best react to a threat in this position”.

Gojo bit the inside of his cheeks, “Threat? What threat is there now?”.

“A threat does not extend an invitation…not even to the king”.

Gojo clenched his jaw. Who turned you against him? Everything was fine yesterday, whom did you meet? What did they say?. He frowned and cleared his throat. “I don’t need you to protect me”.

“I see”. You hummed. “So I am just an accessory here”. 

Gojo stood up immediately and turned you towards him. By protocol, you refused to meet his eyes. He placed an index finger below your jaw and tildted your head up, “Look at me”. He whispered.

You slowly lifted your gaze up and looked into his deep blue ones. “I apologize for my rudeness ,your highness”.

“Did someone say something to you?”.

“No, your highness”.

“Y/n… I want you to remember that no one, in this entire kingdom holds any power over you. No one can remove you from my side, not without my permission…and that I would never grant. So tell me now, what happened?”.

“Nothing happened, your highness”. You said, it was hard to avert your gaze from his eyes. They were hypnotic, like they held the secrets buried deep beneath the oceans. If you looked long enough, you were sure you could count each speckle. They changed color when he moved his head, you had never seen anything of such beauty. You had heard about the secrets of six eyes, the power they held. But now you wondered, maybe their biggest power is their beauty. Anyone who looks deep enough would find themselves trapped in the infinite void. 

“Y/n,?”. Gojo called out to you, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You jolted and stepped back immediately, “I apologize, your highness!”.

“What were you thinking?”. Gojo asked, sitting on the edge of the table.

“Nothing, your highness!”.

“I order you to tell me the truth”. Gojo smiled. If you were going to abide by the protocol then so would he.

“I..I just..You have beautiful eyes, your highness!”. You declared like you were rallying a message instead of speaking your mind.

Gojo smiled to himself. It was the second time you had complimented his eyes.. “You have told me that already but thank you. Now I order you to speak freely to me. Tell me every thought that crosses your mind, is that clear?”.

“Yes..your highness!”. 

Gojo raised a brow and tilted his head, indicating you to speak up.

“Firstly, I am sorry for what I said to you yesterday outside the hall. Clearly I did not know whom I was talking to. Secondly….”. You bit the inside of your cheeks. Your rebel attitude might have gotten you far in troops but this is the King you are talking to. He can blow a hole through your body.

“Secondly?”. Gojo asked.

Aahh well fuck it. If you die then you die speaking the truth. “It was your fault!”. 

“My fault?”. Gojo asked, confused. 

“Yes! What were you doing there? Why were you sneaking around in your own palace? Are you that bored? Why didn’t you tell me that you were the king? Or were you spying on me? Did you have fun teasing me?”. You blurted out in one breath, prepared to take your last any minute now. 

Gojo chuckled. Then he laughed. “Wow…okay. You’re right. It was my fault. I apologize”. 

Your breath hitched and you looked around hesitantly. Did he just… Did the king just apologize? To you?

“What else is bothering you?”. He asked.

You scoffed, “I didn’t realize this was a therapy session”. 

Gojo chuckled. “This is…get to know my guard session”. 

“Speaking of guards…I know why I am here. By your side”. 

Gojo’s heart skipped a beat. Did you really…

“Why is that?”.

You took a deep breath, “I heard the counsel talking … while I was going back to my room. I didn’t mean to snitch! And I am not complaining either!”.

“What..what did they say?”. Gojo asked irritatedly. He hated the counsel, always breathing down his neck, interfering with his work, demanding answers, but above all he hated them because of their mindset. Now he had another reason on his list.

“Well…They said that the only reason you chose me was because if you had chosen someone more powerful..a sorcerer then it would have become easier for them to keep you in line. So to keep them at bay you chose me because of my reputation but also because I am of absolute no use to you..”. You looked down at your hands clasped in front. “…or anyone actually”. 

Gojo gritted his teeth. Those rotten old raisins dared make you feel this way. He was going to avenge you. It was only fair. He sent a signal, invisible to your eyes and sat back in his chair. “Take your position, we are going to punish them”. Gojo winked.

“But you don’t even know who they were. I don’t even know they were”.

“Only two people will have the audacity to say something like that”. 

Soon two men walked in with their heads bowed down. “Your highness”. 

You watched them keenly. It was definitely them. But you wondered what Gojo would do. 

“Hizashi-san! I have good news for you!”.

The taller one out of the two straightened up. “Your highness you have honored me enough”. The old man smiled politely. He looked at you sideways and Gojo wanted to gouge his eyes out.

“Clearly not enough, Hizashi-san”. Gojo added. “Would Hizashi-san and Kyoshi-san appreciate the opportunity to help  advance our understanding of curse techniques?”. 

The other man stood up and looked at Gojo wide eyed. The last time Gojo had presented this opportunity to someone, That man was sent on a tour around the world and became a millionaire overnight. No one would dare refuse this opportunity.

The two men exchanged glances. Having been partners in crime for over two decades the two of them had the same vision in mind, leave the conservative kingdom and their annoying families behind and travel the world to meet exotic women! All they had to do in return was write a small thesis which they could fake because who was going to verify it anyway. They agreed right away and after discussing other small matters with him they left with a satisfied smile on their faces.

“I didn’t think you would reward them”. You commented with a sour taste in your mouth.

Gojo chuckled. “No. I did not reward them. Tonight when my soldiers will go to pick them up, they will be expecting to be led to the royal ship and begin their world travel. I am sure they would soon spread the news and before lunch everyone would know about it. But my soldiers will not lead them to the royal ship”.

You bit the inside of your lip, “Where will they be going then?”.

“They will be led to a dungeon outside the palace walls, where they will be thrown in with curses”.

“But they are sorcerers, experienced sorcerers?”.

“I am sure you are aware that even sorcerers have grades, the curses they will come across will be far beyond their imagination. I can assure you they won’t survive the torture till morning”.

“Torture?!”. You gasped.

Gojo smiled. Your innocence was sweeter than any honey head tasted. “Not every curse wants to ..kill. Some just want revenge from humans that created them. Death is too easy of a punishment for such…people”.

-X-

You lay awake at night in your bed. Thinking about how Gojo just condemned two people to death by torture only because they insulted you. You couldn’t sleep, thinking about the two men, who would now be on their way to death, blissfully unaware, excited by the prospects ahead of them. It dawned on you that the curses were not the that would torture them, it was Gojo. You groaned in your pillow. You needed a drink. 

The communal kitchen was open at all hours of the day. It was mostly used by guards looking for a late night snack after the night shift or sleepless guards who needed a drink to wash away the events of the day. You remained quiet as you poured the wine from a wooden flask into a glass. It was strictly against the rules to take away any eatables and wine back to the room but you were oh so tempted to take the entire flask back to your room. So you did. The rules be damned. 

If you had the ability to sense curse energies then the surprise awaiting you would have been spoiled and maybe you could have saved the flask of wine. But as soon as you opened the door, you saw the white haired sorcerer standing near your window with his hands behind his back, and the flask slipped from your hand, spilling the wine between the two of you, creating a small puddle of red. “Your Highness! I..I didn’t get your summon!”.

Gojo shifted his gaze from the puddle of wine to you. “Tough night?”. He smiled.

“I’m sorry. I know it is against the rules but I..needed something strong. I was going to return the flask! I swear!”. 

Gojo chuckled. “I understand. But now I feel guilty for ruining your plans”. He smiled.

“Oh no. I..I can clean it up in no time”. You rubbed the back of your neck. “Did you need anything, Your Highness?”.

Gojo suddenly realized that he did need a reason to see you. He couldn’t tell you that it was getting tough for him to sleep without you.”Oh! Right! I uh..I could not sleep either …..so..I..do you want to drink together?”.

“Now?”. You asked, wide eyed. There were no rules about drinking with the king so maybe it was allowed..

“Yes. I can get someone to clean up your room”.

You bit your lip nervously as you considered the offer. “I don’t know…I have to work tomorrow and…”.

“I am sure I can convince your boss to let you arrive a little late”. Gojo smiled his victory smile which left a fluttering feeling in your stomach. In moments like this it didn’t feel like he was the king. He felt like a friend. You liked that feeling.

-X-

You sat on the floor with Gojo, your head resting against the couch, giggling like long lost friends. One empty bottle of wine and one half filled bottle stood tall between the two of you.

“Tell me more about your life”. Gojo prompted.

“It is quite boring”. You added and took a sip from the crystal glass.

“Not to me”.

"Are you that bored of your life?”. You raised a brow.

“Not bored of my life, just interested in yours”.

“Well then, what would you like to know?”.

Gojo hummed and thought for a second, “Have you ever been married?”. Gojo asked. He knew the answer to that but he couldn’t ask directly if you had a boyfriend.

Your smile dropped for a second and Gojo’s heart sank. “I didn’t mean to-”.

“It’s fine”. You cut him off with a smile. “It was quite long ago so it doesn’t matter anymore”. You shrugged and took a sip. 

“So you were….married?”. 

“Engaged. Well..almost engaged”. 

Gojo’s heart was now beating loudly against his chest. How did he miss this?. “Why not, completely engaged?”. He asked, trying to keep his anger out of his words.

“Well because the guy…he cheated on me”.

“What?!”. Gojo frowned. How could he miss such an important detail? Who was this vermin who caused you so much pain?

“Yeah. We were together for quite some time but we managed to keep it hidden from everyone around us. When I decided to join the ranks he…didn’t like it. We had plans, you see. We wanted to work together to save enough money and re-build the bakery, get married, and all the other rosy-dosy stuff. I wanted to join the ranks because building the bakery was not enough for me. I wanted to avenge my grandma. Anyway, One day I returned from my training and found him with one of my friends..and I knew I couldn’t stay there anymore”. You took a deep breath and sniffled. “So I left the place and stayed with the troops and here I am”. 

Gojo remained silent. He knew you were currently in a legal battle with a man over the bakery but he did not know that this was the back story. He could have the bakery renovated and signed over to you before the sun rises but that would only drive you away. He wanted you to share these things with him so he could freely help you and gain your trust. “What happened to the bakery?”.

You swallowed painfully. “He took it from me. When I left, he forged the papers and took the bakery from me. He comes from a strong clan and I couldn’t do anything. I filed a case two years ago and there have hardly been four hearings”. You gave a defeated shrug, “It is highly unlikely it will go in my favor”.

Gojo hummed. Now he could make his move. 

“Enough about me, If I may be bold enough to ask, have you ever been in love, your-highness?”.

Gojo smiled to himself, “Yes. I have. In fact I am still in love with her”.

For some reason, the last part left a bitter feeling in your heart. You felt sad. But you shook it off to too much wine. “And..will we be getting a queen soon?”.

Gojo chuckled. “It is not going to be easy. I am not sure whether she feels the same”. 

“Who can reject you?”. You spoke almost too immediately, making Gojo laugh. 

“You think so?”. 

“Yes! I mean.. You seem like a good person and you are…good looking and of course you are the king”.

“The problem is that I am the king”.

You straightened up immediately and looked at him wide-eyed. “Is she a commoner? Or from a different kingdom?”.

“She is not from a different kingdom”. Gojo added.

“Wow!..you are in love with a commoner”.

“She is not a commoner either”. Gojo chuckled. He was having too much fun teasing you.

You frowned and looked confused. “So..if she is a noble-woman then what’s the problem? You can just go up to her and tell her that you love her”.

“Can I really do that?”. Gojo took a sip and looked at you from behind the rim of the glass. 

Even though you were slightly drunk, you were sure you felt the atmosphere shift. His voice turned an octave lower and the way he looked at you left your nerves tingling.

“I mean..yeah..Only a fool would reject such an offer”. You stuttered. 

“I want her to love me but not because I am the king”.

“Wow..you are really something. Respect!”.

Gojo threw his head back and laughed. 

“Wait! Is that why you appointed me? So you could ask me for tips to impress a woman? Oh my god your-highness!”. You laughed and shook your head. “Such a terrible decision!”. You shook your head and continued to laugh.

Gojo looked at you, it had been years since he last laughed like this. Since he was this happy. He watched your curly dance in the air as you shook your head, how your lips were tainted wine red and he was sure they would taste heavenly, the blush on your cheeks had his head spinning. He couldn’t believe that this was finally happening. He had waited twenty years for this moment and he was glad he did. 

“Alright, Your highness, I should leave now. Can’t be drunk and sleep deprived on duty”. You began to stand up and Gojo followed. Blood rushed to your head and dark spots lined your vision and you tripped backwards but instead of falling back you balanced yourself in the last second, leaving Gojo’s arm hanging behind you. “Woopsie! Sorry about that”. You chuckled and kept your glass on the side table. 

Gojo smiled and shook his head. Sometimes he forgot that this is all new for you. He had to be cautious and earn your trust the right way. One wrong move can push you away and he could not afford that. “Goodnight, y/n”.

“Goodnight, your-highness”.

Gojo stood on his balcony, leaning against the marble railing and sipping the last of wine but from your glass. Somehow it tasted sweeter. He watched your window keenly, waiting for you to reach. When the lights flicked on, he smiled to himself. He waited until the lights turned off and walked back in with a smile on his face.

-X-

The sun shone bright in the sky as you and Gojo sat under the shade of the tent and watched other soldiers spar. It was part of the regular training and it was his duty as the King to be present and motivate the soldiers. You sat next to him in a less ornamented chair and watched keenly. Few years ago you had been one of them, though you doubted if Gojo ever came to see you fight. But regardless, two hunks sparing was a sight to behold. Yes you were on duty but you could indulge in some eye candy. The soldiers fought in only loose trousers hanging low on the hip, you watched as their muscles flexed and relaxed under the sun.

“Y/n..”. Gojo called out to you but you seem distracted. “..y/n!”. He called out again and you snapped your head in his direction. 

“Yes! Your-highness!”.

“Enjoying the show?”. Gojo asked, frowning at the slight blush on your cheeks.

“Who wouldn’t?”. You retorted. 

Gojo bit the inside of his cheek and nodded. He turned his head towards the soldiers and cursed himself for bringing you here. What was he thinking, letting you watch half-naked soldiers brawl with each other?  He stood up and started unbuttoning his coat. 

You stood up behind him, “Your-highness, what are you doing?”.

“I think it would be really motivating for the troops to see me fight, don’t you agree?”. Gojo smirked as he handed you the coat and began unbuttoning his shirt. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea”.

“Why not?”. Gojo asked, struggling with one particular button.

“It can be dangerous”.

Goojo paused and stared at the ground. It was a massive hit on his ego. You thought him to be weak. “What did you say?”.

You sucked in a sharp breath and clutched his coat in your hand. “I..I mean that, you are a sorcerer and these men are not. It wouldn’t be a fair fight”.

“Who said that I was going to use any curse techniques?” He frowned. 

You could sense that you had offended him to some degree but there was no going back. He had an innate ability to sense lies and you did not want to risk lying on top of insulting him. “These men have relied only on their capabilities and strength to survive on battlefields. That’s all they know”.

Gojo hummed. “Pick one”.

“Pick one..what?”.

Gojo turned towards you with his shirt half buttoned and you had to fight every instinct to not avert your gaze. “Pick the strongest soldier”. 

“I don’t think that’s a good-”.

“y/n…Pick one.Now”. Gojo spoke sternly.

You remained silent, your quick tongue had gotten you into this place. You stared at him blankly, hoping that he would give up his pursuit soon. “You are the strong-”.

“Y/n!”. Gojo yelled, you flinched, everyone stopped and stared.

You let out a shuddered breath and looked at the row of soldiers, standing tall with their hands behind their back. Each of them seemed capable, yet your eyes landed on the one at the very end. He was almost as tall as Gojo and twice his size.You were unsure if you should really pick him or go for someone slightly weaker. But, Gojo had caught your gaze, he looked at the man and smiled like a devil. “Him? You think he is the strongest?”.

“Ye–yes, your-highness”. You admitted.

Gojo hummed and gestured for the man to step forward. He removed his shirt over his head in one quick motion and threw it on the chair. When you saw just how physically fit he was, it felt like someone punched all the air out of you. Who, in a million, years would have guessed that this existed beneath all those layers of clothes. Sure he was tall and broad but who could have guessed that he was this fit? You had spent years in camps with some of the strongest men in the kingdom but you knew now that they didn’t call him the strongest for his curse techniques alone. When Gojo stood opposite to the other soldier, you suddenly felt bad for the poor man. Gojo not only, towered over the man but also there was hardly any difference in their physical form.

They shook hands and bowed curtly and began. You were erect in your place, like a statue of a shell-shocked woman. As you watched Gojo deflect and attack in the same breath you wondered if it was even possible to do so.It was a move you had tried many times but failed to perfect and Gojo did it like it was as easy as breathing .The dust from the ground now clung to his skin and when the two men locked hands you knew it was over for the other guy. You realized…witnessed the difference between size and strength. Though you were no sorcerer, it was evident that Gojo was not using any curse techniques. Everything was raw and real. You could see the other soldier struggling to retain balance as Gojo landed one attack after another, hardly letting the other man catch his breath. The soldier was getting angry too, you could tell it was a matter of self respect for him as well and he was really giving it his all.You looked at Gojo and swallowed painfully, He was angry .A gust of wind had you covering your eye with the back of your hand to shield it from the dust, when the wind settled and you brought your hand down, you heard cheering and clapping. Amidst the cloud of dust you saw Gojo walking towards you, he had no expression on his face. He wasn’t happy that he won. People were cheering for him and yet it didn’t faze him. He refused to look at you and took the coat from your hand and walked away.

“Your-highness!”. You yelled as you chased after him. He didn’t even bother to look back as you ran through the corridors after him. “Your-highness!”. You huffed as you caught up to him but he refused to stop and kept walking. You tried your best to keep up with his long strides but it wasn’t easy. He had never walked this fast. “I..I apologize for my-“. 

Before you could finish that sentence, with one flick of his finger Gojo shut the door on your face. You stepped back and stared at the door. He was mad at you. “Fuck”. You muttered under your breath and took your place outside the door. 

Gojo rested his head against the rim of the marble tub and closed his eyes. His anger was slowly fading away with the ache in his muscle. He had to do it, he thought to himself, he had to show you that he wasn’t physically weak only because he had cursed techniques. It hurt him that you undermined him. It hurt him that you thought he needed protection when it was his job to protect you. He remembered the glint in your eyes as you saw the men fight, it was only natural for a fellow soldier to admire and respect the strength of others but it hurt him. Only he deserved to be admired by you. It hurt him to not see you the entire day, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t bear the look of admiration for another man in your eye. 

Gojo stepped on the balcony in his velvet robe and looked at your window, the lights were off. It was well past dinner time and usually this was the time you would be in your room, reading a book. Then why are your lights off? Why weren’t you in your room? Were you out with someone else? Your friend, Niko? Or one of the men you met today? His blood boiled and he stormed out of his room and walked down the hallway connecting his bedroom and office through a back door. He was hoping to find you in the office, waiting for him with a bottle of wine but he found the office just as dark and empty as your bedroom. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair.His mistakes finally caught up to him and now he couldn’t shake off the look on your face when he yelled at you. He closed his eyes shut and cursed himself, he treated you badly. He realized that now. He had to apologize to you, He had to correct his mistakes.He was about to send a signal to locate you when he heard a faint noise coming from the other side of the door.

Gojo walked slowly towards the door, immediately turning on his infinity. He pressed his palm flatly against the wood, trying to catch a hint of curse energy but found nothing. He frowned and slowly opened the door. 

“Your-highness!”. You straightened up immediately when you saw Gojo through the crack in the door.

“Y/n?”.Gojo frowned. “Yes, your-highness!”.

Gojo opened the door completely and looked either way but found no one. “What..what are you doing here?”.

You bit your lip nervously as you tried to keep your eyes away from his partially exposed chest. Now that you had seen him, it was hard to not imagine what lies underneath the robe. “You haven’t dismissed me yet, your-highness?”.

Gojo opened his mouth to say something but shook his head, “You..you have been here all day..because I didn’t dismiss you for the day?”.

“Yes,your-highness!”.

Gojo’s heart sank to his stomach. He looked at you, even in the dim lights, he could tell you were tired. “You are dismissed for the day”. Gojo added. He could see your posture relax as you indeed and gave a curt bow. 

“Goodnight, your-highness”. You turned around to walk away but Gojo was quick to grab your wrist.

“Stay”. He said. 

You turned around, and glared at him,”Why?”.

Gojo let go of your wrist and took a deep breath. “Have dinner with me”. 

“Is that an order?”. 

Gojo sighed, “No. It’s a..request”.

You raised a brow, “It didn’t sound like one”.

“Will you…please…have dinner with me?”. Gojo asked, hesitantly. This was probably the fourth time in his life he had to request something. 

“Are you still mad at me?”. Gojo asked, as he watched you finish your second bowl of rice”.

“Yes”. You replied, not looking at him and leaning over to grab the bowl of soup. 

“Why?”. Gojo whined and slid the soup bowl towards you.

“You yelled at me!”. You said, slamming the bowl on the table

“You undermined me in front of everyone”. Gojo added.

“I didn’t undermine you. I was just protecting you. That’s my job!”. You replied, while struggling to open the bottle of wine.

“No! You..you thought that I was not strong enough!”. Gojo grabbed the bottle from you and opened it in one go.

“And you proved me wrong so congratulations you won!”. You huffed, pouring the wine in two goblets.

“Then why are you still mad at me?!”.

“Because…you slammed the door in my face, refused to listen to me, and made me stand out there all day!”.

Uncomfortable silence lingered in the air. Gojo could see how hurt you were and it pained him. He didn’t touch his food because he was convinced that he didn’t deserve to eat.

“I..I’m sorry.. I should not have done that”. Gojo said.

“It’s not like it matters anyway”. You bit your lip and looked away from him.

“It does. It hurts me that I have hurt you. So please forgive me y/n. Tell me how do I make it up to you?”.

You looked at him with a frown on your face and then it hit you. Your frown turned into amusement and you stood up slamming your palm on the table, “Train with me!”. 

“What?”. Gojo chuckled.

“If you want to make it up to me then train with me”. You shrugged.

Gojo threw his head back and laughed.Were you really asking him to physically brawl with him? Like he could even bring his body to attack you. .“That’s not possible”. He added, shaking his head.

“Why not?”. You leaned forward, slamming your fist on the table. “If you can spar with those men then why not with me?”.

“Because..you are..you!”.

You poked your cheek with your tongue and nodded your head as you sat back down. “I see. Is it because you are the King?”.

Gojo looked at you, he wished he could tell you that it was because he cannot bring himself to hurt you even if it was for practice. “Yes..”.

You hummed in response. Obviously a King could not just train with you. It didn’t make any sense and you felt silly for even asking, “I guess then I will have to ask one of those men to train with me. I can’t-”.

“But I will make an exception for you!”. Gojo cut you off. The moment you said that his mind went into a frenzy. Another man sparring with you? Touching you? Throwing you on the ground? No. No. No. This was the perfect chance for him to get close to you.

“Seriously? Would you really?”. You asked, wide-eyed and excited.

“Yes. If it means that you forgive me”.

You smiled widely, “forgive you for what? You didn’t do anything wrong! You are the best King ever!”. You squealed with excitement.

Gojo laughed at how adorable you were. He rested his chin on his hand and watched you excitedly drink wine.  “So you agree that I am strong?”.

“Oh! Don’t even get me started on that! I don’t usually enjoy being proven wrong but I was pleasantly surprised!”.

Gojo watched with a satisfied smile as you went on to describe every move he made animatedly and how you wished you could do that instead. He didn’t even need to touch his wine to get drunk. Your words, your eyes, your smile was more intoxicating than all the wine of of the Kingdom combined.

@arisucat @bubera974 @ritsatoru @yevene @sofi786 @mokonasenpaiposts @allofffmypeaches @monsieurgucchi

@lilith412426

[ironborealis]

Lineage Cousins AU pt.2

Part 1: (link)

The Council is calling it a 'sabbatical' -- a chance for him to rest, reflect, and 'recover' from the stress of Galidraan and Komari being found unfit for Knighthood.

Only a senior padawan, Komari had slain twenty well-trained Mandalorians in their armor on that snowy battlefield. Then she'd turned to him, smiling brightly and so very proud and he'd known that things were about to go horribly wrong. He could see in her eyes that what she wanted was more than just the approval of her master -- she craved something from him that he could never provide her.

He'd dispatched his second, Master Syldatna, to take Fett on to the Governor, as the Senate ordered, while he pulled Komari back into the ship -- one of the many mistakes he made that day -- to try and make the foolish girl see reason.

She'd kissed him as soon as the door to the ship had shut.

He'd pushed her away, tried to make her see that this was a silly fantasy brought on by a post-battle adrenaline crash and likely not enough meditation (his own master's cure all for every wor).

They would forget it ever happened and neither would speak a word of it -- no one, but especially not the Council had to know.

There was shame enough on his lineage for having lost his grand-padawan to Falling so recently, and he'd not double down on the disgrace by losing his own padawan to something as fleeting as lust.

Komari was strong-willed though, something he both admired and cursed about her at times. Trying to make her see reason with a calmly stated rational argument was rather like trying to hold onto sand with a clenched fist -- a futile effort.

He'd been blunt, the only way to get through to her when she got this way: After the battle today he'd been ready to nominate her for her Jedi Trials. All of that was now in jeopardy with the revelation of her inappropriate attachment to him. She had until they returned to Coruscant to decide whether to become a Knight or to chase a foolish fantasy that would never be.

He hoped it'd be an easy choice for her to make in five days. Yet, when she stepped before the Council he'd known with only the intuition that a master could have about their padawan that she'd failed him. With a grieving heart he informed the Council of her attachment. Her subsequent outburst at his 'betrayal' had killed any future she may have had as a Jedi Knight.

She'd stormed off to join a task force headed towards Baltizaar, hard-headed as per usual, determined to prove both him and the Council wrong.

At least she'd finally broken her unseemly attachment to him.

Then the Senator from Naboo had disclosed to the Council the terrible truth of Galidraan -- that he and his fellow Jedi had murdered hundreds of innocent Mandalorians and assisted in selling the sole survivor of the massacre into slavery. The Council had bowed their heads in collective shame and then interrogated him for hours trying to find some fault in him that caused the confrontation to turn into a conflagration -- unwilling to say a word against the Senate who had not only given him the poor intelligence in the first place, but had demanded the surrender of any survivors to the Governor. Surely, the fault for this catastrophe lay mostly with the Senate --

The Council had demurred and invited him to take a period of reflection, which then was formally extended into months once word had returned of Komari's death at the hands of the Bando Gora.

This unwanted "sabbatical" is really a chance for him to set all his affairs in order with the Council none the wiser. Jenza has been hinting for years that with their father gone there could be a place for him on Serreno. Their brother is certainly making a mess of it currently.

There's no denying that he's grown tired of the Council's scheming and politicking that saw Mace Windu promoted to a Council seat before him.

Perhaps he may even be able to do some good once he slips the Senate's leash on the Jedi.

He's sorting through his personal library, deciding on which book he should pass on to Jocasta for her collection and those that he will keep for himself when the message comes.

It takes him a moment to realize that his communicator is going off, a series of strident rings. He's of a mind to ignore it -- commiserations on the loss of Komari have been pouring in non-stop, to the point where he'd actually silenced the Sith-cursed instrument just to get some peace...

Except... there were very few who had permission to override his silencing of the damned thing... and none would do so without a good reason.

He digs through the stacks of books to retrieve the obnoxious little device with an aggrieved sigh.

The message is short:

.bandomeer.

.obiwan kenobi.

.the boy must be trained.

The brevity and lack of capitalization meant that it could only be Qui-Gon. Some excuse about the keys being too small for his fingers, if he recalls correctly.

How interesting that Qui-Gon should reach out to him now, after a decade of strenuously avoiding him without an explanation ever given.

Stranger still that Qui-Gon would recommend to him some initiate washout who'd wound up in one of the "Jedi" Corps... Qui-Gon knew how he'd felt about the Corps, Stars knew they'd had enough "debates" on their utility to the Order back when Qui-Gon was his padawan.

It's a week or so out to Bandomeer, to go and gawk at Qui-Gon's newest pathetic lifeform and try and figure out what about the child had enchanted his former padawan so.

What does a delay of two weeks really matter in comparison to leaving the place that has been his home for over 60 years?

***///***

The limited space aboard the ship means that there really is no escaping Kenobi -- they're sharing a berth space at the Queen's command, along with Anakin, although he suspected there was enough space among the ship crew's quarters for *one* of them to bunk down there instead...

He's careful to never leave Anakin alone with the man, even though he knows that it's illogical. Kenobi did not see him at his best the last time they met all those years ago on Bandomeer, and he won't have the man dripping poison into the boy's ears.

Kenobi has been thankfully reserved at every strategy meeting, his attention mostly focussed on his own holopad where he jots down notes that he doesn't share. Qui-Gon would accuse him of shirking his duties, were it not for the occasional well-thought out suggestion that Kenobi offers when the silence grows too long between himself, the Queen, and Captain Panaka, as they desperately grasp for any semblance of a real plan to defeat the Trade Federation that isn't dependent on an outrageous amount of luck.

He'd sworn to himself that he would be civil to Kenobi as befits a Jedi Master, but after four days his patience with his unwanted companion has grown as thin as a Tooka's whisker. Especially the last two nights when Kenobi has taken up with the Queen's handmaidens after dinner in the mess hall until late into the night. The mess unfortunately shares a wall with their berth, and he can hear their raucous games of sabacc, what he's pretty sure are poetry readings, and occasionally Kenobi's lilting voice singing lover's ballads --

Speak of the Sith and he shall appear.

Qui-Gon groans internally as the door slides open to reveal Kenobi performing the sort of overcomplicated bow down the hallway that would not look out of place in one of those Alderani "historical" holodramas.

"Good night, fairest ladies," Kenobi calls out -- and Force, Qui-Gon thought Rael was bad!

There's a flurry of giggles, before a chorus of "Goodnight, Ser Kenobi"s comes from the handmaidens.

He's mollified to note that Kenobi's garments are undisturbed, the folds still crisp. Not that anything too untoward could have happened in a place as public as the mess hall.

Tonight it seems the handmaidens have elected to play with Kenobi's hair, arranging it in a braid that encircles his head like a crown. Kenobi's hair is still too short to do a proper version of the style, and short pieces hair stand out from his head. The handmaidens have covered these in some sort of wax that makes them curl up sharply at the tips.

Kenobi looks like a sun-bleached Zabrak.

"Good evening, Master Jinn," Kenobi takes a seat on the bunk opposite of Qui-Gon's, and begins to undo the braid, held in place with what is revealed to be an alarming number of pins.

"Kenobi," he replies, but it comes out sounding hostile so he adds, "You seem to have been having fun."

Force, that came out even worse.

Kenobi lets out a vague hum in response, running his fingers along his scalp to break up the last of the braid.

"Rabé was eager to experiment. Apparently Stewjoni hair is supposed to be more naturally inclined to sculptural styles than their own, and Eritaé and Sabé decided to join in."

"Not Padmé, then?" He's glad that not everyone seems to have fallen for "Ser" Kenobi's charms.

"No, I rather imagine the Queen has other things on her mind than pantomiming Courtly Love."

Kenobi reveals the Queen's identity so casually that Qui-Gon barely resists the urge to suck at his teeth - he can feel the ghostly cuffing of Master Dooku's palm on the back of his head every time he's tempted to.

My padawan will not act like a common farmer was the frequent rebuke.

Judging by the length of Kenobi's hair -- it's practically tradition for young Knights with hair to let it grow untamed for a time once they're no longer obligated to wear the traditional padawan cut -- Kenobi must have been knighted two to three years ago.

Qui-Gon thinks he may have received an invitation, but he'd been terribly busy with the mess in Ankorhajj that he absolutely couldn't tear himself away to attend something as frivolous as a lineage brother being knighted.

Then Master Dooku left the Order shortly afterwards and there hardly seemed a point in reconnecting with Kenobi at all. Their Master hadn't even deigned to leave a note.

"They're teenagers," He scolds, because while Qui-Gon's not unfamiliar with the concept of 'Courtly Love' in the Naboo sense, he's also aware how quickly attachments can form. Attachment has been the downfall of so many in their lineage...

"They're children preparing themselves to fight in a war," there's a flicker of what can only be described as an 'infinite sadness' in Kenobi's eyes, before the anger that Qui-Gon remembers most about Kenobi as a boy burns it away.

"The Naboo make a sport of Courtly Love. I'm already a lost cause by their rules, since my vows as a Jedi warn me away from developing the sort of jealousy required to even be capable of 'love' by their definition." Kenobi sighs and his anger cools, his gaze becoming distant.

"If pretending with them for a few hours every evening, however, keeps their minds off the horror that awaits them upon return to Naboo, then it's no hardship for me to entertain them."

Kenobi's expression becomes haughty and Qui-Gon is unpleasantly reminded of their mutual master. "It should comfort you to know that Captain Panaka has volunteered to act as their chaperone. He stopped looking ready to disembowel me after a couple hours last night and tonight started regaling us with the details of the courtship of his first wife. A romance worthy of a holodrama I believe was the consensus,"

Kenobi melodramatically collapses back into his bunk as if swooning.

This conversation is not going any place where Qui-Gon thought it would. He feels like he should apologize, but he's concerned that if he gives even a little that Kenobi will take a whole parsec. Their master certainly knew how to, and made certain to teach his padawans the skill.

"I should not have been so hasty in my judgement," Qui-Gon settles on. "I do not know you well enough to make such judgements about your character."

"And whose fault is that, brother," Kenobi replies with only the faintest hint of bitterness, as he sits back up and begins to remove his boots carefully.

They both sit in the uncomfortable silence that follows as Qui-Gon fights the urge to feel stung by Kenobi's accusation.

There was a grain of truth to it after all, at least from a certain point of view. Kenobi had messaged him multiple times in the early years of his padawanship, but there had always been something more important that needed Qui-Gon's attention immediately. Once Qui-Gon found the time to write a response months might have passed and he frequently found himself with nothing to say at all.

Eventually, Kenobi got the hint and the messages stopped.

Force, why couldn't Kenobi be satisfied that Qui-Gon had found him a master to make him into a knight and leave it at that?

Kenobi has moved on, placing his boots at the end of bunk, and standing as he begins removing his leather obi.

Kenobi pauses, staring into the dim red glow of the wall chronometer for a moment, before looking over his shoulder at Qui-Gon with an absolutely wicked look on his face.

"It's ten in the evening, Master Jinn, do you know where your padawan is?"

[secondjulia]

Dessert

Oh my god... it that 1.2 seconds of Ferdie getting felt up in Silo that can fuel an entire Dreamling fic?! It is? It is!

Rated: M for pretty clear implications Warnings: None Ao3 link

Dream gave a tiny, unimpressed sigh, his eyes flicking imperiously down toward the square of chocolate cake. 

Hob had spent centuries pining after that lordly, impossible-to-please face. And despite his efforts to drag his dignity and self respect into the twenty first century, there was still a small part of his heart (and certainly other places) that leapt to attention at the sight of Dream’s distain. 

Still, it seemed a bit harsh for a simple piece of chocolate cake.

“That was not the dessert to which I was referring, Hob,” Dream said, sounding as disappointed as he had when Hob shared the news of his knighthood.

“Well, the cookies are gone,” Hob said defensively, pushing the plate into Dream’s hand. “And this isn’t half bad. ’Bout as good as you can expect from a work party—“

Hob stopped abruptly as Dream’s free hand brushed his arse. 

Dream’s other hand set the offending cake aside where it might as well have disappeared into the void at the end of the universe. “I wished for… a different sort of sweetness.”

Hob swallowed hard as Dream’s long fingers more firmly explored the juncture at the top of Hob’s left thigh. Dream’s other hand moved to his right side. Hob glanced around at his coworkers milling around the History Department’s atrium in stupid holiday sweaters and availing themselves of the free food and wine. But he couldn’t keep his eyes off his horny boyfriend for long. 

“Dream.” Hob leaned in close and kept his voice down. “Did you learn how to use innuendo?”

Dream scoffed in the lowest, most dignified way a person could possibly scoff. “I am Prince of Stories, Hob. I know how to employ metaphor.”

“Yeah, but you don’t. Not here. Not like that.”

Dream shifted in his seat and pouted. “People’s wishes are… clearer in the Dreaming.” He looked up at Hob in that way he always did when struggling to explain exactly why the little absurdities of the waking world were so absurd. “I may craft stories, but even those things that pass the Gates of Ivory have a clear purpose. The waking world has more rules about what is said and what is not.”

“And you’ve decided to learn the ropes,” said Hob. “Brilliant!”

Dream’s left hand crept around Hob’s backside in what Hob could only assume was retribution for his snark and for underestimating the Prince of Stories. Hob’s breath caught as Dream’s long fingers pressed almost into the crack of his arse. He glanced around again at the lackluster party. It was not nearly crowded or exciting enough for an extended grope by the dessert table to go unnoticed. The front of Hob’s jeans was starting to feel uncomfortably tight. And the smirk that had replaced the imperious expression on Dream’s face said that he’d noticed.

“Perhaps,” said Dream, “with your… instruction… I might learn a great many things about the interactions of waking men.” He gazed up at Hob with a smoldering look which would have been abundantly clear even without the glaringly obvious words and absolutely lascivious tone.

“Yeah,” Hob breathed. “I could teach you a thing or—“

“Robbie! Robbie’s boyfriend!” An exuberant mass of dark hair appeared beside them. A bit of wine sloshed out of a plastic cup and onto Hob’s shoe. “Hello!”

“Hi, Jess,” Hob managed, making a valiant effort to smile in the natural and totally not-intensely-aroused manner appropriate for a work function. He wriggled slightly out of Dream’s grasp. He didn’t know if he should be grateful for the sheer quantities of alcohol academics could put away when they finally got a fucking second to relax. Or if he should be afraid of the tongues that might wag being loosened by it. “This is Morpheus. Morpheus, Jess.”

“Indeed. I hope you are enjoying the festivities,” Dream said, standing. “We are just taking our leave. Ho—Robbie was about to show me to his office. It seems he has left some of his… duties… as an instructor undone.”

“Of course! Holidays are the worst!” Jess rolled her eyes. “Can’t we ever get a break?”

“Never,” Hob said, taking Dream’s hand in a punishing grip, which his lover returned in full. “At least enjoy the food!”

And then he practically marched Dream out of the History building atrium and away from the prying eyes of his colleagues.

“You know I don’t have my own office,” Hob said as they wound through the deserted halls. “Seven other people have the key.”

“Hmm.” Dream looked thoughtful as Hob led him to his office anyway because what else was he going to do with a boyfriend who’d suddenly decided to use his indomitable power of words for such purpose?

When Hob opened his — thankfully empty — shared office, Dream paused in the doorway. Then in a swirl of sand, Dream was suddenly holding a shiny black mechanism.

“What is that?” Hob asked.

“A lock fashioned from the dreams of a master locksmith. No one in waking existence has the key.”

Hob’s breath caught as, in another swirl of sand, a part of the door dissolved into dreamstuff and Dream set the new lock in place and — more sand — reconstructed the barrier. The bolt slid shut with a hard, heavy sound.

And then Hob was being backed into the edge of his desk and there was no mistaking the meaning behind Dream’s questing hands nor the nature of the desert Hob would be serving his love tonight.

[netherese-blorb]

Blackstaff Ball

(View on ao3)

As a reintroduction back into Waterdhavian society, Gale has secured an invitation to Blackstaff Academy’s Annual Ball. He’s excited to introduce his beloved fiancé, the hero of Baldur’s Gate, to his peers and colleagues. But the idea of once again being among highfalutin academics brings up old insecurities for Cerela herself. Gale promises some... reassurance. - Lightly NSFW (Mature, but not Explicit) CW: mild mentions of bullying, body image issues, classism - There will be a Chapter 2, but this can be read as a cute little standalone piece.

“I’m certain you look wonderful in it, my love.” Gale called out from his sitting position on the bed, thumb tapping rhythmically against the book he had picked up to pass the time. “As I’m equally certain you did in the last three, had I the privilege of seeing them for myself.” 

Exasperation was beginning to soak into the edges of his mind. His fiancé had seemed so elated when he announced that they’d be attending her very first high-society event. Yet now, the selection of custom-made gowns he’d surprised her with was not getting the reception he had hoped for.

And, to be fair, Cerela was elated - for him. In the months since she’d returned with him to Waterdeep, Gale had been working hard to reestablish himself in academic circles in the hopes of securing a professorship at Blackstaff Academy. Receiving an invitation to their annual ball, she knew, was proof that his efforts were paying off. 

She was less enthused about her own attendance, however. Her previous experiences with the formally academic side of wizardry had been… troubled, and seeing the dresses laid out for her this afternoon - the level of finery she was expected to live up to - left her in a state of thinly-veiled panic. 

Growing up in Baldur’s Gate, their local academy was known more as a place for noble families, primarily of well-bred elf and human stock, to send offspring who were too snobbish for knighthood but too ill-mannered for politics. It wasn’t unheard of for some merchant or tradesman to roll the dice at their child being the exception, but few put up with the toxicity for more than a couple of years.

So no one but herself saw it as a failure when Cerela, the dwarf, the fisherman’s daughter, the soft-hearted baby of the family, lasted nearly five. 

It would be easier if the proof of that failure didn’t stare back at her in the mirror every day. She knew there were rules against altering spells, but the hours that immediately followed a particularly brutal round of insults from one's peers are never ideal for rational decision-making. Recreating something like a Disguise Self spell using transmutation magic should have, by her teenage reasoning, created a more permanent appearance-altering effect. She decided to start small; turning the mismatched eyes she got from her father into the bright, symmetrical blue she so desperately envied in her elven classmates. 

To her credit, she did get the blue to permanently cover one eye. But when she tried to bring it across to the other, it began to spread uncontrollably. A cloud of cerulean shadows reached across her face like monstrous two-dimensional tentacles. It extended beyond the boundaries of her body; onto the wall behind her, the bed beneath her, over every surface before spilling out under the door into the rest of her dormitory. It had taken several faculty members to contain the spell’s effect to its source: the swirling marks that, over a decade later, still cover the left side of Cerela’s face and spill into her hair like a stain. She was expelled the next day.

It’s those marks she sees now in the mirror. As she takes in the rest of her reflection, she remembers every word that’s been said about her short stature, the broadness of her chest, the gracelessness of her movements. It all looks so comical when placed up against the sophisticated gown she was fumbling into. Like a street cat that’s been given a lordly name. Even those endeared to it understand that it’s, ultimately, a joke. 

On any other day, she would welcome feeling a little foolish. Embracing the whimsy in her flawed appearance was the only way she’d learned to accept herself. But this would be Gale’s moment. She cannot risk him becoming part of the joke.

As she worked herself into an anxious lather, all she could think was what would happen if she failed at playing her part, and she was sure she would. She imagined fellow attendees sniggering over wines she couldn’t name, gossipping in their oafishly posh accents.

‘Have you seen that odd little thing Dekarios brought? Where in all the realms does one even acquire such a creature?’ 

‘Some tart he picked up in Baldur’s Gate, most like. A clumsy little street magician, judging by that dreadful eye, or else, uneducated enough to fall victim to one. 

‘Yes, she did seem quite simple, poor dear. Unthinkable of our man to keep such rabble among polite company.’ 

‘And says he’s to marry her! His reclusion must have cost him half his wits.’ 

‘Such a pity how far Mystra’s chosen has fallen.

On the other side of the divider, concern was cooling Gale’s impatience as he struggled to make out the frustrated mumblings emerging from behind the screen. “I’d love to help if I can. Did I misremember your measurements? “Or are the styles just not to your liking? I figured I would have procured at least one that suited you.” 

Cerela sighed heavily. Of course he would assume he’s at fault, gods bless him. “It’s not-” a breath,  “They’re all beautiful, Gale. It’s just that I’m- Oh! But what if…!” She trailed off excitedly and Gale heard her rummaging for something. A deep affection rose in his heart, melting away the day’s exasperation. 

It reminded him of her at camp, single-mindedly hunting through drawers and packs for some elusive elixir component. He imagined her doing just that back in his tent, wearing one of the dresses he brought her; the red one with an open neck he knew would frame the slope of her shoulders. In her enthusiasm, she would forget to accommodate for the restrictiveness of the garment. The skirt would quickly become rumpled by her constant movement, as her hair always did. Her bodice would threaten to spill over at every extension of her arms. 

Perhaps he’d let her finish her work and take the opportunity to tell her how brilliant she was, how she was one of the most brilliant, beautiful people he’s ever known. She would grin at him disbelievingly, like it wasn’t the most obvious truth in the universe. She would look at him like he had just given her the entire world.  

Or perhaps his propriety would fail him. One can’t always be a gentleman, after all. Perhaps he’d sweep her up into a heated kiss and place her down on the worktable, knocking aside any the vials or potions that dare be in his way. She would pull away from him flushed and breathless, the heaving of her chest straining at her bodice. It would only take one sharp tug…

“My knight, Could you hand me that hatbox over on the dressing table?”

His thoughts were interrupted when the subject of his daydream had popped her head out from behind the partition. 

He retrieved the box in question. But as he turned to walk it over, he could see just enough of her to tell she was, in fact, wearing the red dress he’d been picturing. He halted in place and, giving her a teasing smile, held the box out in front of him. 

“Dearest, I can’t quite seem to reach you,” he says with a sweet, casual smile. “Why don’t you step out a bit more?” 

She narrows her eyes at him. If they still had the tadpoles to connect them, she would undoubtedly be filling his head with all manner of curses and threats. But without psionic influence, all she had was what little intimidation her half-dressed, 4-and-a-quarter-foot self could muster. Which was to say, none. 

She turns her eyes away from him, looks back, looks away, and takes her first tentative steps out from the partition. When she meets his eyes again, Gale’s smug expression has vanished and he’s looking at her with unabashed awe.

“Gods, look at you.” He put down the hatbox so he could steady himself on the dressing table.

Suddenly feeling very vulnerable, she tugs at the garment. “I’ve already done far too much looking at myself today, but thank you, love,” she responds, barely resisting the urge to argue away his compliment. “Besides, I’m not even in it properly. These damn laces in the back.”

Gale exhales into a laugh, “I assure you, there are no complaints from present company,” He extends a hand to the empty room before giving her a small but gentlemanly bow. “Perhaps the lady may even allow me to offer some assistance?”

Cerela smiles despite herself and does as much of a curtsy as she can manage without losing her hold on the dress. As she crosses the room towards him, he knows his imagination didn’t do her justice. The draping shoulders of the gown created a neckline that perfectly matched the heart shape of her face, while leaving an open expanse to admire the contrast of soft, delicate skin over a strong frame. Deep red silk brought out the blue that swept across the left side of her face and into her hair. Like rivers into a bright, brilliant sea. 

Unlaced, the bodice dipped and hugged in unexpected places as she clung to it. She was always most irresistible when slightly disheveled, he found, like he had caught her in the middle of something. Unposed and perhaps a little scandalized. 

She walks over to stand at the dressing table with her back towards him. As he navigates the tangle of crisscrossing ribbon on her bodice, she removes the bejeweled tricorner from the hatbox and places it strategically over the most eye-catching parts of her hair. 

It was ‘Birthright’, the hat she’d purchased from Rolan at Sorcerous Sundries. Conveniently, she had dyed it a soft tan with red accents, which suited the dress well. It was a favorite accessory of hers as they bluffed and bartered their way through the final days of the Absolute. Whenever she wore it, people seemed to take her more seriously. She didn’t stumble over her words like she usually did. It made her feel almost charming. 

It also didn’t hurt to know it obscured the ‘worst’ of her face. 

A somewhat patronizing chuckle escapes Gale involuntarily and Cerela bristles. “Laugh if you like. I’m going to look ridiculous no matter what. At least the enchantment on this will keep me from sounding ridiculous, too.” She turns to make her retreat, but doesn’t get two steps before strong hands encircle her waist and bring her back against his front.

“I assure you, your eyes are much more enchanting than any imbued trinket.” he lifted the piece from her head and held it out in front of them both for inspection. His movements were gentle and his voice, even gentler. “But even if such powers were necessary, I would recommend against a sorcerer’s cap for an academy event.” 

Cerela’s heart sank. Idiot, she thought to herself. How had she missed such an obvious faux pas? She stared daggers into the ugly, stupid, retched hat as Gale placed it off to the side. 

“Oh. Right. Of course.” she replies, flatly. Though inside, a hellfire of shame and anxiety was screaming white hot in her mind. It was a small thing, she knew. But how many more unintended offenses would he have to save her from? How could she be anything but a complete embarrassment to him?

He walks them backward so he can sit on the edge of the bed, facing them both toward the vanity mirror on the dressing table. Now at eye level and with an unobscured view, he sees the misery written on her face. 

He presses a kiss into her shoulder. “What is ridiculous” his hands set to work again on the lacing, “Is my brilliant, beautiful fiancee thinking she would need any assistance in dazzling a room full of doddering old swotters like me.”  

Cerela fidgets uncomfortably with the sparkling tulle overlay of her skirt. She tries to play along with him, but her words come out more pained than she meant them to.

“If only all the wizards I’d met really were like you, my knight.”

Seizing the opportunity to distract from her ruminations, he uses the laces to pull her against him and melts at the gentle “Oh!” that escapes her as she stumbles. 

“While we could certainly do with fewer of those foul creatures you had the misfortune of encountering,” He says with a kiss to the marked side of her face, “I’m not sure I’d welcome the competition of all wizards.” 

She stifles a laugh and he lowers his lips to her neck, “As it is, I’m already dreading the cavalcade of hapless fools that will be vying for your attention all evening.” He smiles against her skin, “Gods know what I’d do if any of them had my smoldering charm.” 

That does get a full-bodied giggle from her, but as she bends forward, it pulls the laces, sinching the dress sharply. She gasps back upright and he quickly drops the ribbons to allow the bodice to expand back out. Laughter bubbles back up from both of them. As it calms, he slides his newly unoccupied hands around her waist and pulls her even closer against him. 

“Perhaps I might steal you away at some point in the night, if it becomes too much.” He perches his chin on her shoulder so he can see her reaction in the mirror; the reluctant smile and deep blush he’s made it his life’s mission to wring from her as often as possible.  

“Would you like that, my love?” He asks, with that edge of smugness he knows she’s weak to. “For me to sweep you away from the riff-raff so we can have a quiet moment of… mutual reassurance?”

She nods shyly and they each give each other a wide smile. “I look forward to it” he murmurs into her ear and returns his attention to the back of her gown.

[rohanneofcoldmoat]

I love those little moments when GRRM weaves together weather and emotion for his characters.

The boy got to his feet. "His lady. You're looking for her. Brella told me. She's his wife. Not Brella, Lady Sansa. So I thought, if you found her . . ." His face twisted in sudden anguish. "I'm his squire," he repeated, as the rain ran down his face, "but he left me." - AFFC Brienne II

Besides, it was Renly that she wanted. I swore I would protect him, and I failed. Then I swore I would avenge him, and I failed at that as well. I ran off with Lady Catelyn instead, and failed her too. The wind had shifted, and the rain was running down her face. - AFFC Brienne IV

Vyman was hovering by the door, waiting, and Jaime sensed that Peck was watching too. "Does my lord wish to answer?" the maester asked, after a long silence. A snowflake landed on the letter. As it melted, the ink began to blur. Jaime rolled the parchment up again, as tight as one hand would allow, and handed it to Peck. "No," he said. "Put this in the fire." - AFFC Jaime VII

There's ambiguity to them, the rain and snow function like tears would, running down their face or falling onto a paper they're holding at a moment of emotional turmoil. Apart from just being poetic language, this writing choice feels like it could have been made to emphasize the way Jaime and Brienne have internalized the "men don't cry attitude" that pervades Westeros. We know that Jaime got this lesson when he was "no older than Tommen" courtesy of Tywin. And we know that Brienne, who also seeks to take on a more masculine role, doesn't want to admit to things that would be termed a "woman's weakness," for fear of being mocked.

Truly? Then we must pray for the poor girl." And for me, thought Brienne, a prayer for me as well. Ask the Crone to raise her lamp and lead me to the Lady Sansa, and the Warrior to give strength to my arm so that I might defend her. She did not say the words aloud, though; not where Hyle Hunt might hear her and mock her for her woman's weakness. - AFFC Brienne V

Perhaps she is extending the same courtesy to Podrick, as he is a squire, aspiring to the hypermasculine role that is knighthood in their society.

Of course, there are moments where Jaime and Brienne do openly weep. Jaime when he loses his hand, though he's met by the Bloody Mummers' laughter and "he [makes] his eyes go dry and his heart go dead." Brienne's eyes fill with tears when she's talking to the Elder Brother under the confidentiality of her "confession," and she thinks about wanting to weep on Jaime's shoulder, a situation where she is self-admittedly imagining herself in a feminine role.

The thought was a bitter one, yet there was part of her that yearned for Evenfall and her father, and another part that wondered if Jaime would comfort her should she weep upon his shoulder. That was what men wanted, wasn't it? Soft helpless women that they needed to protect? - AFFC Brienne VII

But in those moments where "rain" is running down their face, or a "snowflake" is landing on a letter, the weather can be read as something they are hiding behind, to avoid directly confronting the reality of their tears and admitting to "weakness."

[dandelion-wings]

deep in my extremely specific and self-indulgent gender headcanons this morning

I keep thinking about. Kaeya knows being trans is a thing. He shows up at the Dawn Winery just as Crepus is starting to arrange fantasy hormone potions and shit for Diluc. And as he starts figuring out Mondstadt gender roles, which are a bit different from Khaenri'ahan ones, he knows he doesn't quite fit into their idea of A Boy any more than Diluc fits as A Girl. But the problem is, he doesn't fit as A Girl either. He's something different, and when he thinks about going through everything Diluc is just to end up playing another role that only sometimes feels good and right to take on... that's a lot for an endgame he isn't even sure he wants. So he'll just. Stuff all of that in a black box in the back of his head and pretend it doesn't exist. He has a lot of such boxes and he's good at ignoring them! And if he leans flamboyant as he gets older, that's fine, no one minds (make assumptions about his sexuality, but don't mind), and beside, he's a knight so some gender deviance is allowed

(because Jean is the first model he's introduced to for knighthood, even more certain of her destiny than Diluc, and the first binary Jean ever internalized was "knight" vs. "lady," later extended out to "knight" vs. "civilian." Eventually she finds out there's another binary and she's assigned one half of it by other people, which is sometimes annoying and inconvenient but mostly fine, but it doesn't matter half as much as her self-identification as a knight. Which is 100% fine with her mother and thus never gets countered by someone she considers an authoritative source)

and Kaeya's feelings only get reinforced when Lisa shows up. She makes her own hormone potions and she seems very happy with her gender and presentation, and he actually steals some of her mannerisms because he's 19 and still trying to figure out the right role to play now that "Diluc's shadow" is out, and she's a cool almost-30-year-old whose confidence in her own identity he envies. So he does have a moment of, maybe he could ask her--but she is extremely feminine in presentation in ways that, again, he only sometimes wants, so. Back in the box that goes! No point in opening that up

(meanwhile Eula got told she was A Girl simultaneously with being told she was A Lawrence--her own character stories imply that "oldest daughter of the clan" has some kind of significance--and therefore learned How To Be A Girl alongside How To Be An Aristocrat and gives them the same weight. Which is to say, from her own voiceline: "I was forced to learn all of the rules by heart, but even I don't take them that seriously." She is not particularly concerned about her own self-identification, because she trusts the people she cares about to take her as she is beneath the show, and that's all thar matters)

and Jean mentally genders both Kaeya and Eula as knights (Diluc was so emphatic about being A Boy that she accepts that comes first for him, he's just a knight too in the same way she's a woman too, and Lisa is unquestionably a lady), and ngl it's probably how she thinks about Amber too, and that's really what matters, isn't it, in the end. Which both of them would find acceptable if she said so aloud, if for different reasons

[machihunnicutt]

[falls out of baby it's you finale] Hello I'm Here To Ask You To Please Talk Some About The Extended Knight Metaphor I'm Feeling Super Normal About ("There he was, a knight in armor, lingering at the front steps, haunted by closed doors.") PLUS ⭐ a selection of your choice (if you'd like!!!)

YEAH OF COURSE ! long thoughts under the cut

I think BJ as The Knight works in a lot of ways for his thoughts/feelings/position throughout baby it's you. In flashbacks, I see him presenting this very protective/loyal/rigid/chivalrous persona to mask his insecurities/discomfort he feels trying to fit himself into straight manhood (and fatherhood & marriage). For example, with Peg (in chapter 4):

Alone together. The phrase rattled around in his head. He’d been alone so long that he didn’t know how else to be. Every time he reached for her he felt selfish. He felt like he’d grafted himself to her, or that they were passing through each other. He felt like he wasn’t supposed to feel so intensely. He felt like the words husband and wife should come more easily. He felt like he could sit there on the church steps for hours, rubbing her feet. “Should I carry your shoes? Or are you going to put them back on?” he said. She laughed, chin dipping. “Carry them. Just don’t step on my toes,” she said.

The attachment/devotion/service & the intensity of his feelings despite his lack of attraction to her...carrying her shoes, idk. BJ's internal conflicts, for me, always come back to the tension between who he is, who he feels he should be, and how he can reconcile & articulate his identity after repressing everything for so long. He's always coming back to these questions of duty & the roles he plays in other peoples' lives.

And, where you point it out in chapter 12:

“Do you let anything get under there?” Hawkeye muttered. “Under my armor?” BJ said, eyebrows raising. He could play along. He was good at it. He was better at it with Hawkeye than with anyone.  “I wouldn’t be much of a knight if I did, would I?” BJ said. “You’re no knight,” Hawkeye said, yawning. “You wound me,” BJ said, letting the smile win over his face.  “See, if you were a knight, it would take more to wound you. They’re stoic,” Hawkeye said. “I’m stoic. People tell me I’m very stoic,” BJ said, though his tone contradicted his point. “Hmm,” Hawkeye said.

I think it's significant that Hawkeye immediately sees through BJ as The Knight, and more so that he's interested in what's under the armor/persona. For Hawk, it's not about what BJ does for him...he loves BJ for who he is. (He's warm, under all the armor!! He's easily wounded!!)

BJ in 1970 is certainly in a less precarious position than he is in the 40s/50s, but I think he still plays The Knight. Particularly in the scenes in Le Cafe, he's always got an eye on Hawk (protecting him from his own actions? protecting him from Trapper? serving him by fulfilling all his wishes wrt the wedding??) Like Hawk describes in this bit in chapter 10:

Hawkeye thought about what Beej said at the bar. He thought about his hand on his waist, steadying him, holding him too tight. He thought about the space he’d given. He thought about BJ hanging in the margins: on the couch in the living room with a magazine, pretending not to eavesdrop, watching Hawk’s face in the bar, keeping track of Trapper’s comments at dinner, pacing, hiding his hands, talking a minute to cool off, managing his temper like he managed difficult surgical cases. It was like there was an invisible boundary between him and Beej. BJ always knew where the lines were, and had been trying, ardently, not to cross them.

I wanted it to take a while for Hawk to notice the way BJ positions himself the whole Vegas trip (and how hard it's been for him). BJ The Knight is always on the outside. He's got a job to do. He can't get too close. He can't get inside. He's got to be stoic.

AND, I wanted to use Knighthood to connect BJ & Erin. They really don't get much time together at all in baby it's you, but I wanted there to still be clear similarities in their thought patterns. She takes after him in good ways and in bad ways. They're both very hard on themselves. They both wrestle with these questions of belonging & duty & bravery & purpose. In chapter 11:

Erin had never gotten so much sun in her life. The summer’s activities had bleached her hair and tanned her arms. She’d be unrecognizable at Berkeley, come fall, she realized. It was a thought that made her insides squirm. It was like she’d been picking at a scab all summer, to get to the fresh, new, pink skin underneath. She was about to cast off this wild, reckless, ragtag version of herself. They couldn’t stay kids forever. “Why are you so afraid of what Fern thinks?” Benny said. “Don’t say it like that. It’s not as if I…well, it isn’t like I’m afraid,” Erin said. “It sounds like you are,” Benny said. “Well, I’m not,” Erin said, sharply. 

I like this idea of the dual purpose of armor for Erin & BJ: protecting/serving/being brave for others while simultaneously shielding/masking/hiding themselves from the judgement of others. Erin's picking at the mask/armor like a scab...she's got to cast it off in order to be herself, but letting other people under the armor comes at a price.

And, like Hawk, Benny sees through the persona (while at the same time understanding its function for Erin). In chapter 12:

“I’ve been acting like it’s us against the world. I never stopped to think about how that weighs on you,” Benny said. Erin sat up.  “You were right, though. I want to be the kind of person that you think I am,” Erin said. “You are,” Benny said. He shook his head vigorously. “There’s no doubt in my mind that you are.”

Benny believes Erin is as brave as she pretends to be. He still knows she's pretending.

Also...motorcycle/bike/noble steed??? The Hunnicutts are Knight coded.

[swiftscion]

✢⁎. INHERITED TRAITS.

A meta focused on the parts of Larcei that she shares with her parents, and those that are uniquely hers.

Ayra:

Hair & eye color

Body type. Follows her streamlined and lithe muscle development

Isaachian culture

Facial structure. Is cited as being similarly beautiful to her mother

Weapons & items

Minor Odo holy blood

Keen eyesight & fast reflexes. In reference to Nihil, the ability to avoid critical hits--interpreted as hits to vitals

Astra. More specifically, the ability for descendants of Od to enter the super-speed "Astra State"

Speed. In reference to Pursuit. While not technically an inherited skill, both start in the myrmidon class, which happens to be a similarity

Defiance. Neither women are known to take shit lying down

Naoise:

Stubborn loyalty, especially to house Chalphy. Larcei was similarly born into a kind of "knighthood"

Protection of the weak. Like Naoise, Larcei wills to stand up for those who cannot stand for themselves

Combat style. In reference to Critical, Larcei will often aim for massive hits on enemy weak points, trying to fell someone bigger than her in a single strike

Relentlessness. In reference to Charge, Larcei continues fighting until her target is eradicated. Doesn't believe in training rounds or second chances--something that extends to a long-term mindset with regards to the Loptyr Sect

Strength. Based on str growths Larcei is closer to Naoise in her ability to hit things hard

Hair texture. Soft and thin, but plentiful strands lend to pronounced bangs and a full head of hair

Voice. Larcei has high tones and nasally speech in the same way Naoise does. The way they differentiate is only in tone and pronunciation

Both:

Sword skills

Dedication to cause & repaying debts

Protective lover. Like both her parents, Larcei makes it her mission to keep someone safe when they are special to her

Early bird. Used to have to get up at the crack of dawn to check if she and the others in Tirnanog have been found out

Bound by honor. All three follow a strict moral code in combat, even if Larcei expresses some of it via an open disdain for ranged attackers

Meat enjoyer

Neither:

Strong reaction to romance & flowers. Both stem from following a Iucharba recruitment route and unpaired ending, wherein she saw Iuchar mistake talking to his brother to mean he lost her affection, and got himself killed by charging straight for her army

Hatred of the Empire & magic. Larcei does not yet know the whole truth behind the Loptyr Sect, and even if she did, she would be too enraged by their treatment of innocent people to grant them any pardon. The experiences she witnessed and were nearly part of (thanks Shannan) in her childhood are entirely her own, and have shaped her somewhat-spiteful worldview

Short fuse. Refer to the above

Secret sweet tooth

Impulsiveness. Thinks things through considerably less than either of her parents

Low stamina. Partly due to her nature, partly due to being on the run and up at arms at an early age. Had to condense a lot of her training instead of learning how to last the long haul in combat

Alcohol tolerance. Is lightweight and gets doubled over by this sort of thing. Semi-related to her low stamina

Personal Astra form. While somewhat reminiscent of Ayra's, Larcei was taught by Shannan, and mimics his style while incorporating some aspects of her own. She has also learned to apply it in other creative ways in TOA canon

Height. No one knows where she got the short gene. Maybe Scathach stole a few inches

Country slang. Wasn't raised in House Isaach's court or a knightly order, and talks & acts more like a commoner. Most people (in universe, and ooc) don't even know she's technically a princess

Desperation. In reference to Adept, which she learns upon promotion. Biting back against oppression has taught her to fight every battle like it's her last

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

#this is about rhaegar knighting gregor btw #you can’t tell me that’s not a deliberate commentary on rhaegar’s ‘honor’ or character (via @aeriondripflame)

#forget who birthed you who MADE you #jaime as an extention of arthur dayne rather than tywin #sandor refusing a maker #daemon b knighted by aegon iv #oh this is so intense. #but yes the absolute craziest is rhaegar knighting gregor #just fucking. insane (via @jonquilspool)

Gregor being knighted by Rhaegar is notably a major moment in Sandor's disillusionment with songs and stories and highborn nobility, in addition to his disillusionment with knighthood of course. (Never forget that the 6/7-year-old Sandor wanted to be a knight. He was telling stories to himself with the knight toy. He knows songs, he's not mocking out of ignorance, he grew up in Westeros's story- and knight-obsessed culture. Think Bran, pre-fall.)

Sandor was not born a cynic (dog etymology there btw), it was literally burned into him. And even then you know it wasn't until 5 years later, when the oh-so great and noble Prince Rhaegar rewarded his unworthy brother, that the die was cast and his hopes burned entirely away. Whether the knighting was because of squire Gregor's success in some tourney, or because Tywin (who may or may not have still been Hand, the timeline is ridiculous tyvm grrm) simply asked a favor, well, so much for the avatar of justice doing right. And so, “I am no knight. I spit on them and their vows.” (And I headcanon Sandor vocally refused dubbing more than once during his service to the Lannisters.)

Anyway, there is cachet in being knighted by someone important. Princes, kings, famous knights, etc. It is a legacy and a lineage. So hedge knights like Osmund Kettleblack, who claims he was knighted by Ser George Glass - sorry, "Ser Robert... Stone", or Glendon Ball's exchanging his sister's virginity for a knighting by some nobody douchebag - they're sneered at, laugingstocks for a reason. It may have nothing to do with their personalities mind you (Osmund yes, Glendon no), it's just the way things are, unfortunately. Like GRRM says,

Why should someone go to Harvard when they can get a degree from their local community college? There is great prestige in receiving your knighthood from a king, a prince, one of the Kingsguard or other celebrated, legendary knights. Getting knighted by a brother is like kissing your sister (we'll leave Jaime Lannister and the Targaryens out of that comparison) and getting dubbed by the local hedge knight is like graduating from barber college. You get a sheepskin, maybe, but don't try applying to law school.

So extending the metaphor, what happens when Harvard proudly graduates a student who turns out to be a liar and a plagiarist and altogether dishonorable? What questions should we be asking about "Harvard"'s methods of selecting their "students"? Especially when "community colleges" and "barber colleges" are turning out ugh I can't do this metaphor anymore actual true knights? And the truest knights are those who never "got a degree" at all?

Now personally (that is, when I'm not in kid-Sandor's head), I don't think it should reflect on Rhaegar's honor re Gregor as an conscious event, because Gregor's monstrousness was carefully hidden at the time. He hadn't even yet killed his father- he didn't become country-wide infamous until the Sack of KL and his brutal murder of Elia and Aegon. Even Tywin claims he didn't know what he had in Gregor right before the Sack, so how would a prince know about a mere Westerlands landed knight's son?

So in this case I believe it's less of "what happens when Harvard is responsible for graduating a criminal who actually attended the school", and more of "what happens when Harvard runs a service for rubber stamping degrees and does not do background checks". The point GRRM is making there, I think, is the irony that Rhaegar had an unknowing hand in his family's destruction. But then, Rhaegar also had an active hand in that destruction, sigh, so really it's just adding insult to injury (a common GRRM thing). The question is still important, mind you, but IMO we should be careful about drawing certain conclusions from it.

(Also the layers of irony in that Ser Clegane hid Gregor's mutilation of Sandor long enough for Gregor to get prestigiously knighted -- for which Gregor rewarded his father by killing him -- and knighted by Rhaegar -- for which Gregor rewarded him by killing his wife and son -- well. It explains everything about Sandor's sense of humor, doesn't it.)

lineage and legacy are fun conversations but let’s talk about lineage through knighting. something about who deemed you worthy, who raised you up and brought you into knighthood, and what that says about the two of them; the knightee as a reflection of the knighter.

[hexiva]

I have now read every single one of Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels, except for Live and Let Die, which I had to stop once I hit the chapter title which includes the N-word. Here’s a list of things you will encounter in these books:

James Bond throws up due to trauma at least once per book

Racism

No, really, more racism than you’re expecting

Yes, even for the 50s

At one point Bond writes a letter in his own pee

“All the real hep-cats smoke reefers!”

Many comments on the nature of American culture, including the “exotic pungency” of American road signs

Extended passages of James Bond being racist against various ethnicities you didn’t even know one COULD be racist towards

No seriously, James Bond inexplicably despises Bulgarians

A lengthy passage in which Bond shares his opinion that homosexuality is caused by giving women the right to vote

Bond gets tortured for the first time and immediately comes over all political and philosophical like, “Maybe communism is good actually, and also the Devil is a good guy?”

At one point Bond gets brainwashed by the KGB into trying to kill M

Bond is a grade-A Karen who delivers all of his restaurant orders with lengthy specifics as to how the food should be prepared, and gets pissy if it’s not up to his specifications.

“a gay, happy little crocodile” 

Bond is very excited to learn that in New York there are places where you can watch porn with sound AND color.

James Bond is The Most Boring Man in the World. His hobbies include golf and complaining about food.

Late in the books, Bond’s fiancee is killed right in front of him, and he starts showing PTSD symptoms and, instead of being all macho-man “I don’t need no help,” immediately starts going to every doctor available trying to get treatment

At one point the government tries to offer him a knighthood or some such and Bond messages back that he refuses the knighthood and that “My principal reason is that I don’t want to pay more at hotels and restaurants.” When told that this is too rude, he amends it to, “I am a Scottish peasant and I will always feel at home being a Scottish peasant.”

At one point the Bond girl is tied down by the villain of the book to await being eaten alive by crabs. Bond is terrified for her, but she, being something of an amateur zoologist, knows perfectly well that crabs aren’t gonna eat a living human, so she just chills there on the beach and waits for them to go away.

There is literally a damsel in distress tied to the actual train tracks, presented without irony

An MI6 agent speculates, in an official report to headquarters, that the target may be homosexual because he can’t whistle. Apparently men who can’t whistle are gay.

Bond is drafted to act as the villain’s secretary not once, but two separate times in two separate books. 

When Bond is at a boring party at a hotel conference room and is ordered by his employer to liven up the party, he accomplishes this by ORDERING THE HOTEL BAND, who were previously singing a censored version of some song, TO PERFORM A STRIP SHOW FOR HIM AND THE GUESTS WHILE SINGING THE DIRTY VERSION. This is his second idea, after he previously livened up the party by using one of the girls in the hotel band - the same one he wants to strip for him - as target practice by balancing a false pineapple on her head and shooting it. 

Bond exchanges a look with a fellow secret agent that is said to be “the recognition that exists between crooks, between homosexuals, between secret agents.”

“A hand-painted sign said ‘SNAX’ and, underneath, ‘Hot Cock Soup Fresh Daily’.”

The backstory of the villain of The Man with the Golden Gun is as follows: there was once a circus elephant who got REALLY HORNY and then went on a rampage and was shot by the cops, and then came back to the circus to  pathetically and tragically attempt to perform its circus act one last time. The child who was supposed to ride the elephant in the circus act witnessed all of this, and when the cops shot the elephant dead while performing its tragic act, the boy grabbed a pistol and SHOT ONE OF THE COPS in revenge for HIS ELEPHANT DYING. And that boy grew up to be a deadly, womanizing, hired gun, with three nipples, whom MI6 speculates must be gay because he can’t whistle. And that’s the villain of the book.

These books will make you hate the British as much as every single villain seems to

Waaaayyy more casual drug use than you would expect

like, seriously, at one point Bond is AT DINNER WITH HIS BOSS in his boss’s fancy-ass club, and he orders an envelope full of benzedrine from HQ and just casually pours it into his glass to drink with his champagne.

M lives with the man who used to be M’s Chief Petty Officer on his last naval posting, and who had followed M into retirement, and I am pretty sure they are boyfriends.

When Bond sleeps with the Bond Girl of Dr. No, she orders him to “Take those off and come in” and “You owe me slave-time. Do as you’re told,” proving once and for all that James Bond is a switch, I rest my case your honor

[jedibongrip]

love how so many people agree that the extended skywalker family has never once paid taxes in their life. anakin got to knighthood before someone told him that leaving filled waterbottles outside his door doesnt cover his taxes. padme didnt even know that she was supposed to pay taxes until her accountant asked her if she was using another accounting service to pay them. leia was excused given the whole, you know, planetary destruction thing. luke doesnt even know what taxes are. (obi-wan does know what taxes are by mind tricks every tax collector that tries to stop him. he learned from qui-gon, who, in turn, learned from dooku. its unclear if yoda has ever paid taxes)

[coffee-in-veins]

Day 20: Abandoned and Forgotten

an entry for darkest prompts promptober 2022  

previous days: 1, 2, 3,  4, 5, 6,  7,  8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19

now available on ao3 too

Abandon VERB - give up completely (a practice or a course of action); condemn someone or something to (a specified fate) by ceasing to take an interest in them.

Living in Hamlet was a constant struggle that required changing one’s way of thinking and approach to problem-solving.

An only operational road meant a frequent scarcity of supplies despite having a working harbour. Unless there was fog to conceal the stagecoach and the caretaker departed even earlier than usual, there was always a non-zero chance of facing an almost debilitating shortage of essential goods. Dealing with it personally wasn’t ideal either, as patrolling and keeping that road clean of formerly hired for the estate brigands and shore safe from meddling fishfolk required time, manpower and already limited supplies. Which constantly added worries to already troubled townsfolk and heroes alike, as if they didn’t have enough already.

On the other hand, it was oddly liberating. Reynauld was the sole crusader of the dilapidated town, and thus, was the representative of his Order, the virtues of chivalry and knighthood in general. He was revered, to a degree, and his words carried weight – not only for the townsfolk but also for other monks and followers of the Holy Light. Yes, at times it felt lonely, not to be able to share something as thrilling as the excitement of jousting or the happiness and pride of an armour exceptionally well polished, but Rey got used to it much like he got used to many other things.

After all, he had an unexpected audience for all of that.

Dismas frowned, flask already in hand, but patiently listened to his excited words:

“…so you need a pair of good long-neck spurs to control the horse while your legs are extended, you see,” he even drew those on the ground in front of them, using a dummy sword. They were taking a break in the Guild, and took turns, sharing things they were passionate about. Today it was jousting, for Reynauld. Dis, who feared and hated any animal with his whole heart, nodded sagely, as if he ever sat on a destrier in his life.

However, their levity was crashed when a cackling form of Caretaker stopped in front of them, cracking his long gnarly fingers.

“Sir Reynauld is asked to meet Her Lordship the Heiress,” he informed between bouts of uncontrollable laughing.

Dis and Rey shared a glance. This was probably related to the blackened stagecoach that came to Hamlet and to which no one was allowed to step even remotely close. Surely, it spiked yet another flooding of rumours, one more improbable than the last, but the highwayman and the crusader eventually got tired of guessing and returned to their routine.

“I shouldn’t keep the Heiress waiting,” Rey stood up. “I’ll finish once I return.”

Dismas’ tone was easy but his eyes betrayed worry.

“Break a leg, tin man.”

The mansion was as grandiose as it was run down, and even darker than ever, with each step being echoey and hollow, like in the Cove. Reynauld was led to the Heiress’ room where he, to his surprise, met those who came in the blackened carriage – a person fully covered in a white veil with whithering roses as her wreath and a young man in armour.

“Ah, Sir Reynauld,” Heiress’ eyes were just as cold as deadly as always when she gestured to the man. She didn’t even give him time to introduce himself. Huh. “Prithee showeth sir Aimery our lands while we break with our lordly matters with mine own guest.  I'm sure that gent shall beest fain to beest did accompany by another knight.”

What else could he do, but bow and say:

“Gladly, thy Grace.”

With that, both knights were immediately escorted out of the mansion and Rey had to play the host. Dear Light, it had been at least a decade since he had to do this. Thankfully, sir Aimery turned out a great conversant. They both shared a burning passion for jousting, and apparently, the knight also was part of the crusades, even if in the other part of the battle line where Reyuanld had fought. It was so refreshing to use proper speech and not have to explain himself. To talk about tournaments and horses and types of swords, of military tactics and great hunts, of prophets and saints.

The knight was seldom happy with his company, yet by the time they explored the town and were heading towards the bridge that led to the farms, he was starting to warm up to his unexpected acquaintance.

“Frankly, sir Reynauld, I cannot understand how you survive here,” the other man shook his head after he finished laughing at a shared joke about Brother Intendant's frugality.

“Oh, you know, sir Aimery, with a prayer to the Light and a sharp sword…”

“No, I mean, amidst all those lowly heathens.”

That made Rey frown a bit:

“I beg your pardon?”

“All those knaves,” the other knight stepped to the side of the bridge that oversaw the town. “I’ve been watching intently all the so-called ‘adventurers’ you have shown me, and by God’s Nails, I have never seen a worse herd of whoresons, armed turds and bumbling one-inch imbeciles in my entire life! Part of them are whores, another part is lowlife hegdeborns, while some of them are both, on top of being women! Truly, this land is a sorry state.”

“Clearly, you can’t mean everyone, sir Aimery,” Reynauld mused, remembering that he introduced Dismas too.

“Clearly, I do, sir Reynauld. I’ve seen peasant rebels which looked more impressive. Those are the bottom-of-the-barrel scraps save for a few professionals I’ve glimpsed. I understand your desire to protect the honour of your liege but, between us, your Lord has dubious standards of,” he paused, turning his head towards a faint squealing. “Light above! What is that?!”

“Convenience,” Rey huffed, shoving the distracted knight off the bridge and into the deep ravine below, and pondered whether or not he, too, was just as insufferable as this arrogant idiot. He couldn’t have been, right? Dis would’ve been at his throat all the time. Which he arguably did, until they got used to each other and learned to work in a team. Sure, the rogue called him a noble-bred snob but it couldn’t have been that bad, could it? Two years can’t change a man that much!

Or were they enough to force the knight to change his ways in such a drastic manner? And so thoroughly, no less, that he couldn’t even remember unless he faced a proper knight?

Huh.

In any case, it wasn’t the time, and Reynauld bellowed to rally his comrades against the coming onslaught. He had a swinefolk raid to deter and explain to Dismas what jousting was later that evening.

[racefortheironthrone]

jedimaesteryoda Would their parcel post and messenger services be particularly useful for the condottieri side, ie sending messages to commanders quickly across distances as well as cultivate connections in cities for intel?

Yes, in a number of ways!

In the interests of full disclosure, I should say that I borrowed this idea from Dorothy Dunnett's House of Niccolò historical novels, but it made so much sense for a mercenary company that I had to use it. It also fits a historical model, as we can see from the Tasso family from Lombardy who started their first courier service on the lucrative route between Milan, Venice, and Rome, which they then extended up to Vienna and over to Brussels - which eventually got them an Imperial knighthood, command of the Kaiserliche Reichspost, lands from Spain to Brussels, and eventually baronial, comitial, and then princely titles.

In a world in which travel was relatively rare and could be quite dangerous, getting letters and valuable goods safely to their destination could be quite difficult, and while one could contract with pre-existing merchant caravans heading in the right direction they weren't exactly fast or regular. Hiring mercenaries (often originally mercenaries who had been working as escorts for said caravans) to make the trip independently made a lot of sense, because they already had experienced cavalrymen who knew how to scout and ride cross-country at speed, and could defend your property by force of arms.

For their part, as you said, developing a postal and parcel service was a good way for mercenary companies to improve their communications, intelligence, and logistics capacities for when they later needed to move armies across those same routes.

A Guildsman Goes Forth to War, Inciting Event and Main Characters

Inciting Event:

The city of Brugghe is one of the largest and richest in all of Europe. It is a center of vertically- and horizontally-integrated textile production in wool, cotton, linen, and silk, and the people wear their reputation on their richly-dyed, patterned, and embroidered backs. As the northernmost of the cloth fairs that stretch all the way from Gallia to the southernmost reaches of the ancient Kingdom of Lotharingia), and the confluence of the North Sea and the Rhine, Brugghe is a natural entrepôt between the merchants of the Hansa and the commercial republics of the Lega, and thus one of the leading financial centers on the Continent.

A bustling cosmopolis of two hundred thousand souls, with a lively Foreign Quarter representing merchants and bankers from Portugal and the Basques to a half-dozen Lega republics to representatives of the Sublime Porte. In Brugghe, even the poorest and least educated rural migrants are bilingual (even if they insist on speaking only Gallician or Imperial), a respectable burgher is expected to speak at least four, and a man is considered educated only if he speaks six. A center of the printing trade (and thanks to its dyeing industry, a lively art scene), it is an unusually literate city, only more so thanks to the recently-established University.

For the last thirty years, the city has been ruled by the tolerant but firm hand of Baron Froederick van Zonder Vrees, although for the last ten the day-to-day governance has been conducted in his name by his significantly younger wife due to a long and lingering illness that has forced the Baron to a sickbed and (accoridng to reports) to his deathbed. Although by all reports a loving and capable partnership, the Baron and Baronness are childless. If the Baron should pass, what shall become of Brugghe?

Main Characters:

Margrit van Zonder Vrees (née Marguerite de Corbenic), Baronness of Brugghe

The daughter of a noble family from Brittany (with extended ties to Cornwall and south Wales) with a strong Gentry heritage of elfkind, Margrit (or Marguerite, depending on whether she's speaking in Gallician or Imperial) was sent to the Burgundian court following a romantic indescretion in her youth, where she became one of the court beauties and a poetess beside, reknowned for the strength of her Glamour and wit alike.

At the age of twenty, she was married to the significantly older Froederick van Zonder Vrees as part of diplomatic efforts to maintain Gallician/Imperial harmony in the Low Countries. Despite the age gap between the two, Froederick came to respect his bride's surprisingly well-educated mind and supported her patronage of the newly-founded University and the city's cultural industries, while Margrit came to admire her husband's commitment to light-handed and tolerant governance that had seen Brugghe reach heights of prosperity that it had not seen since the collapse of the Flemish revolt.

When Froederick began to fall ill, Margrit smoothly gained influence within the Baronial Council of State that governed the city until she became the Regent in all but name. At the outset of A Guildsman Goes Forth to War, Marguerite's dilemma is that she has no child to pass the title to upon her husband's death - and due to the complicated mix of family intermarriages, there will be claimants from both the Kingdom of Gallia and the Sacrum Imperium.

[Need to find a good picture]

Ludovico "Malasangue," Captain-General of the Bonafortuna Mercenary and Insurance Company, graduate of the University of Padua, and guildsman of the Arte dei Giudici e Notai of Florentia.

The younger son of the Bilancia banking family, Ludovico was the subject of considerable scandal, for from birth it was quite clear that he was Gentry-born of some rare and unknown lineage, while neither his mother nor his father had any such connexions. A brawler of violent temper, Ludovico was packed off to Padua by his decidely chilly and aloof father to avoid embarrassment - and to ensure that he would have a career that would avoid any interference with his older (some would say "legitimate") brother's inheritance of the family business.

The curriculum at the great university of the hills seemed to calm the intemperate youth and Ludo proved to be quite adept at both the Old Learning of the trivium et quadrivium, the New Learning of the studia humanitatis, and his chosen degree in Law. It was widely expected that, upon his graduation and return to the city of his birth, he would take up a respectable and conventional career in the leading Arti Maggiori. Thus, it came as something of a surprise when instead Ludovico and some of his university friends announced the formation of a new kind of mercenary company.

The Bonafortuna Mercenary and Insurance Company would be made up not of impoverished noblemen and ambitious peasants, but entirely of urban guildsmen recruited from among the Lega. In times of peace, the Company would make its income from providing a comprehensive suite of services from messenger and parcel post to commercial and residential insurance to private security, to individual and municipal clients alike - with significant discounts for joint customers of the condottieri side of the business.

[gffa]

So, I was  yelling about this in a previous post, but TIME TO YELL ABOUT THE JEDI TEMPLE DIAGRAM.  This is from the Star Wars Locations rerelase from 2016, so it’s considered part of canon, but take it with some grains of salt, as a lot of the older reference books tend to not actually appear much in canon/were still working with Legends material that isn’t always part of canon. (Also, only what’s specifically said in this book is canon, not what Legends context they used to have.  The Jedi having an Agricultural Corp--which has never been mentioned in any canon book/comic yet, by the way--doesn’t mean that the Jedi Apprentice books’ context for how the AgripCorp worked are canon.  Remember:  Dooku: Jedi Lost had an Initiate who was sixteen and would still wait another year, so the age limit is not canon.  And given that the infirmary is staffed by the Medical Corps, it’s possible that these branches aren’t separate from the Jedi Order at all, but instead are now career paths within the Jedi Order.)

"THE HEART AND HOME of the Jedi Order" HI THANKS I’M CRYING IMMEDIATELY UPON STARTING ON THIS

"It is a place of spiritual growth" also got me right in the feelings place

"Jedi scholars disagree on the location of the Order's first temple, making cases for Coruscant, Jedha, and Ossus as well as worlds shrouded in myth, such as Tython and Ahch-To."  First of all, I bet those discussions were NERDY AS HELL and second I love the reconfirmation that there are Jedi Scholars, that that seems to be their whole focus in life, just the study of the Force or of Jedi History or whatever else they chose.

"Jedi archaelologists teach that the Temple is not a single structure but agglomeration of many structures--one that tells a millienia-long story of expansion oand appropriation, ruin and reconstruction.  The Temple is an archaelogical treasure it itself, bearing the scars of Sith occupation and a patchwork of ancient architecture adapted for different functions over time.  Some sublime examples of earlier construction have been preserved intact as museums to the heritage of the Jedi."

MAIN SPIRE:

"Pinnacle room of the Temple Spire, the most sacred Jedi site, comprising the oldest known suriviving Jedi texts, is a carefully controlled environment." 

"Hall of Knighthood.  Padawans are raised to the status of Jedi Knight here in a ceremony of deep spiritual significance.  The status of Master is also formally conferred here."

"Meditation chambers where Padawans awaiting Knighthood spend the night before the ceremony, communing with the Force.”

"Memorial statues of most revered Jedi, surrounded in tower by repulsorlifts."

"Peak of the original sacred spire around which the earlieest incarnation of the Jedi Temple was constructed."

"Meditation blacony surrounding original peak."

"Lower balcony around peak presents a series of holo-depictions of the history of the Jedi.  The smallest younglings are brought here for their education."

"The sacred spire in its natural state, with ancient meditation balconies and access points to the original cave chapels."

"Chamber of Conclave, where representatives of the Jedi Order from across the galaxy meet once a year to hear reports from the Jedi Council."

RIGHT HAND SPIRE:

“Meeting chamber generally used by Jedi High Council."  

"Holographic situation map of galaxy."

"Each Council Tower has a data and planning center linked to the Library and Archives."

"Hangar for Jedi starfighters with extendable launch/landing platform."

LEFT SIDE SPIRE:

"Jedi Reassignment Council Tower houses Chamber of Judgement."

MAIN ZIGGURAT:

"Mosaic floor salvaged from the ancient Jedi Temple of Ossus."

"Communications control for Jedi Council Tower, where Obi-Wan alters the Jedi recall signall to broadcast instead a warning."

"Clerestories allow light into contemplation gardens."

"Offices of the Jedi Exploration Corps."

"Lightsaber crafting facility, with lightsaber practice gallery behind."

"Workshops, storerooms, and maintenence facilities, as well as control and switch rooms."

"Reading room of earlier Jedi Library salvaged because of its architechtual merit.  Now converted to a formal banqueting hall for ceremonial/diplomatic occasions."

"Ancient remnant of earlier Temple has been preserved as museum of Jedi history."

"Jedi Archives and Library includes holocron vauls with ancient lore accessible only by Jedi Masters."

"Temporary accommodation cubilcles for Jedi Knights and Padawans in transit or awaiting re-assignment."

"Jedi Agricultural Corps research labratory, containing alien flora for research."

"Library and Archives data storage stacks, with Analysis Rooms behind."

"Area around base of Tower of First Knowledge devoted to the ongoing training and education of Padawans."

"Arcade of stained-glass windows and statues honoring Jedi heroes who were instrumental in wresting control of Coruscant from the Sith a millennium ago."

"The Room of 1,000 Fountains lies beyond this arcade."

"Salvaged remnants of earlier Temple, believed to be about 2,000 years old."

"Holographic training area used by Padawans and Knights, in which realistic battle scenarios can be generated for practice in lightsaber skills."

"Tablets with the Jedi Code and laws."

"Service ducts running throughout the Temple."

"Early rotunda chapek, retained within modern structure, reserved as a place of meditation for newly selected Padawans."

"Ancient exterior wall of the Temple precinct, now closed by later sheathing."

"Medical center and infirmary, staffed by Jedi Medical Corps."

"Sith containment cells, constructed centuries ago to hold hostile Force-users and their creatures and servants."

MAIN ENTRYWAY:

"The Processional Way to the Jedi Temple terminates in this ceremonial staircase, crowned with the statues of two Warrior Masters and two Sage Masters."

"Formal entrance.  Massive pylons are decorated with sculptures of the Four Masters who founded the Temple."

"Monumental Temple entrace hall, where Yoda and Obi-Wan discover many of the Jedi dead after the attack on the Temple."

[tanadrin]

Dev Patel and the Green Knight

I finally got around to seeing The Green Knight. Overall, I enjoyed it--David Lowery does a good job capturing the essential weirdness of the tale, which is very much about taking a mundane circumstance (a Christmas feast) and suddenly catapulting the reader into a mythic otherworld through the intrusion of the alien and monstrous, and the fantastical costumes, dramatic lighting, and dissonant score all contribute very well to a sense of otherness that permeates the original story.

But I find it interesting--and, I'll admit, a little frustrating--that no modern film adaptation of medieval literature is really capable of taking the story it's adapting on its own merits. This isn't an objection to modifying the source text, or taking it in new, non-literal direction. I can think of plenty of adaptations of work that play with the source material in interesting ways, and are better for it. Even very faithful adaptations like Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings are inevitably going to alter the source based on the need to adapt it for the screen and the whims of the director. But when it comes to medieval classics, texts like Beowulf or Gawain and the Green Knight are always held at arm's length. An ironic layer is always interpolated into the original story, and even in modified form the story is never allowed to stand on its own.

Contrast, for instance, modern retellings of Arthurian legend; or Wagner's Nibelungenleid; or something like Neil Gaiman's book of Norse mythology. These are all adaptations of much older stories, all medieval; and the authors typically happy to let the stories operate on their own terms. In fact, that is often a selling point: dipping into these tales is a way of sampling an alien culture, one that is remote from us in time rather than space, and part of the sense of heightened drama is the understanding that these stories do not necessarily depict the world in the same way that modern realist prose does. They are fairy-stories, in the Tolkienian sense, and something not quite even like "high fantasy," which, although it is a genre which owes much to the mythic tradition, is usually *told* in the same manner as other realist fiction. And you could take these stories and re-cast them in a realist mold--that's definitely been done with Arthurian legend, either via anachronism or trying to place them in an era-appropriate historical context, and even that yields something quite like the original in tenor, even if the language used to relate the story is often very different.

Watching this movie, I was *strongly* reminded of Robert Zemeckis's Beowulf, in that this did not feel like an attempt to adapt Gawain and the Green Knight for the screen. It felt like an attempt to tell a story *about* Gawain and the Green Knight (the text), a story which does not stand on its own. You don't have to have read the text to understand the movie (although I think some directorial decisions would be a bit mystifying if you hadn't), but the movie definitely situates itself *as a response* to the text. Which is an odd choice! Actually, another good point of comparison is Spike Jonze's Adaptation. It started life as an adaptation of Susan Orlean's The Orchid Thief, but Charlie Kaufman sort of gave up writing that halfway through and wrote a movie about the difficulty he was having writing *that* movie, and the result is something very weird (and very good) that is full of metafictional elements that depend on the existence of this other work, in a way that a straight retelling of The Orchid Thief for the screen obviously would not. And while The Green Knight isn't that extreme, it is definitely playing on the structure of the medieval poem, and replying to it.

The core of the movie (as I understood it) is a tension between young Gawain's aspiration to knightliness, his ambition which is born at least in part from his mother's encouragement, and his own failure to live up to the heroic ideal of greatness. Not chivalric--this is a movie in which the ethos of chivalry makes not even the briefest of appearance, which is weird given that it's nominally an Arthurian romance, and that the chivalric ethos is extremely important to the original text. Instead we have a generic greatness being described, one which is associated with renown, with taking part in mythic events, and with achieving high rank and honor. In the service of seeing her son obtain all this, Gawain's mother seems to cast some kind of spell, whereupon the titular Green Knight appears at Arthur's Christmas-feast; and as in the poem, a game of beheadings is proffered. Gawain accepts the challenge, beheads the knight, and the knight rides away, promising he'll meet Gawain a year and a day hence at the Green Chapel. So far so straightforward. When Gawain sets off a year later to meet the knight, his mother gives him an enchanted belt to keep him safe from harm. Gawain goes on to have a couple of side-of-the-road adventures and mishaps, the kind of thing that's par for the course when you're telling an Arthurian romance, until he arrives at the house of a mysterious benefactor, just about a day away from the Chapel, who grants him hospitality until the day of his challenge.

Now, in the original story, this is where Gawain gets the magic belt, and it's hugely important: Gawain and his host promise to exchange anything they might receive at the end of each day, when the host has been out hunting all day and Gawain has been in the house recuperating from his travels. During this time, the host's wife repeatedly tries to seduce Gawain; and Gawain is trapped between the imperative not to sleep with his host's wife (a major violation of the rules of good chivalric conduct!) and the imperative not to offend the woman (also a violation of those rules). He succeeds, for the most part; he is forced at one point to give his host a kiss at the end of the day, since the wife kissed him; this is shown as him holding nothing back and acting in good faith on the vow he made to his host. When Gawain finally rebuffs the wife for good, she insists that, even if he won't sleep with her, he should at least take a magic belt she has woven that will keep him from harm. He does; but he does *not* give this to his host. When he finally goes to the Green Chapel, the Knight returns the original blow as promised--but only nicks Gawain lightly. He reveals himself to be none other than the host who was sheltering him; the nick was his reprimand for withholding that final gift, but because of his good conduct he is otherwise left unharmed. The whole thing was a test of sorts, one which Gawain passed. Despite flinching at first from the blow, and keeping the belt secret, he shows himself ultimately to be a man of good (albeit not perfect) conduct, and *that* is why he wins honor from the whole affair.

The movie takes this basic narrative and alters it in key places, completely changing the valence of the whole thing. First, Gawain gets the belt at the beginning of his quest, as mentioned; he loses it on the way, but when he reaches the castle, the wife of his host (who succeeds in seducing him with a handjob) presents it to him as if she had woven it herself. He does not actually engage in the game of exchanged with his host, who is *also* not the Green Knight. And we're treated to a monologue about the color green from the wife that feels beat for beat like it's been ripped off from someone's undergraduate essay about Gawain and the Green Knight, which is a little weird even in the context of the rest of the movie. Finally when Gawain reaches the chapel, the knight goes to return the blow--and Gawain completely chickens out and flees. We are then treated to an extended sequence of Gawain returning home; being feted as a hero; earning his knighthood (presumably by lying about what happened); succeeding Arthur as king; him abandoning his low-class beau once she bears him a son, and marrying a princess; going to war; his son dying in a war; and finally, as an old man, being trapped in his throne room as a besieging army breaks its way inside. Just before they do, he removes the magic belt from around his waist, his head fall off, and bam--we're shown this has been an Occurrence At Owl Creek Bridge thing this whole time, and the Green Knight has not yet landed his blow.

Gawain finally takes off the belt, throws it aside, and tells the knight to go ahead--and the knight bends down and congratulates him. In context, the reading seems to be this: the belt is a talisman of Gawain's mother's influence, of external expectations for what kind of man he is. The Knight is Arthur or perhaps an agent of his, and the test in *this* case is whether Gawain can be his own person. All the events leading up to this point are perhaps a part of the original magic Gawain's mother cast, an effort to Lilith Weatherwax her kid to greatness by putting him into an epic story. Implicitly, then, the Gawain and the Green Knight we all know is the false version of the tale, the tale as Gawain's mother would have it told.

This is all very clever. But I'm afraid it's so clever it falls apart in the end. Because the structure of the original story that this depends on is dependent in turn on taking the whole notion of chivalric virtue seriously, which this movie plainly does not. Gawain is shown as irreverent and lustful and a bit of a party animal--lovable and good hearted fundamentally, but definitely not an Arthurian hero. That's fine, but that's a very modern sort of character, one that feels out of place in a movie that is trying very hard also to be tonally unmodern, firmly embedded in a mythic otherwhen of Arthurian legend. Moments of slice-of-life mundaneness, while charming, strain mightily against the epic tone the movie tries to take in other places, and strange events like a ghost seeking her lost head or immense giants striding the landscape. We are jostled: are we in the land of myth? Or are we in historical Britain? We cannot be in both!

And this is a movie that was definitely made by people who had read the original text; not just the original text, but also a great deal of criticism *about* the original text. The movie namechecks the theme of fivefold symmetry that's incredibly important to the structure of the poem; there's the aforementioned undergrad essay about colors about 3/4th of the way through; and there's the fact that the structure of the original plot (down to Morgan LeFay in disguise as an old woman in the host's castle) is present in altered form in every detail. But none of these details add up to much. There's a weird homoerotic kiss with the host that implies that in fact *he* wanted to sleep with Gawain, in addition to his wife; the ghost Gawain encounters early on tells him the Green Knight is in fact someone he knows (and therefore *can't* be the host; I think it's implied to be Arthur, like I said, but this is never quite confirmed), and while all these things *about* the original poem are shown, none of them ever get integrated thematically into the plot.

I think as a result, whatever Lowery was going for, the whole movie kind of falls apart in the end. And that's a pity, because somewhere in there is just a really weird, visually striking, really gripping, embellished-and-polished-for-modern-sensibilities-but-also-thematically-true-to-the-source retelling of Gawain and the Green Knight. And that would have been a much better movie! What are we to make of this, a movie that purports to be telling a story-behind-the-story, but one that leaves no room or context for the original? After all, Gawain in the end does *not* flee, does not return home a coward and a liar; presumably, he earns his honor, and can be honest about what happened. But if he is honest, none of the rest of what we have been shown makes a lick of sense, or has any point.

One feels a bit as if modern directors, when confronted with medieval texts being a bit weird, a bit alien in their worldview, instead of realizing that's actually something people like some of from time to time, feel like they have to construct an artificial bridge between the Middle Ages and the present day. But because it is invariably metafictional and self-referential, as if to say "don't worry, we know nobody REALLY wants to watch a bunch of boring medieval shit played straight," it comes off as cringing and ashamed of its source material. This isn't a plea for historicity! Gawain and the Green Knight is not history. But one does occasionally want to see an adaptation of one's favorite works without directors being ashamed of the text they are adapting! And since most people will not have read the original, I am rather confused about what the director intends for the audience to get out of all these references that are dependent on it, but don't stand on their own merits within the narrative of the movie itself.

The acting was good, the set design and costumes were terrific, I loved the slow and measured pacing and the weird score, and the design of the Knight himself, and the landscapes and almost everything else about the movie. So I don't think it's a waste of time, especially if you have read and enjoyed Gawain and the Green Knight, in the original or in translation. But it's definitely a pity to see a movie that was, well, *almost* great, but ended up merely OK.