#the T in Thirteen is capitalized

[mmeqkoi]

ah yes, a face of a 13 year old 😭😭

[xiii-e]

//ooc posting: I NEED to find more fun/silly things to do with my two they are Not meant to be all agony all the time I swear- I just have a penchant for the dramatic and they're a little in the torment nexus o(-< but on god they will Have Fun too

[sunfudge]

The biggest lack of media literacy I've ever seen is that there are real people who think this man was being serious when he said he's thirteen years old

[leviathanspain]

Hey could you write a Finnick odair / reader where snow forces them to pretend to date like he did with katniss and peeta? The whole convince him and get married as a distraction thing? Thanks :)

the pretender

finnick odair x reader

synopsis: being reaped from the victor’s pool changed your life in more ways than you imagined

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you were his favorite girl.

girl. you were a girl when you had been reaped, a girl when your feet stepped off the platform, more shocked that you didn’t immediately blow up into bits. a girl when you had committed your first kill. you remembered the sound of your knife slicing into human flesh for the first time. the ringing in your ears had become permanent after you had been too close to the explosion that had killed half of the tributes. an explosion that you had accidentally caused.

your rebellious spirit was fun at first, for the capital to laugh and delight in, until you stopped using the scripts that they had written for you, and tried to destroy the idea of the girl in their minds.

snow subdued you, tried to barter your family’s life with cooperation. unbeknownst to him, you hadn’t seen your family in years since they had abandoned you, for fighting against your father’s abuse.

“kill them. do whatever you want to them. just leave me alone.” your own words haunted you since the day snow had presented evidence of their murders. you didn’t dare flinch in his presence, holding a strong facade that you didn’t care, that they were beneath you.

as he left, irritated at your refusal to comply, letting ideas stir in his head with what to do with you, you broke down. tears shed as you realized that they were gone because of you, because you couldn’t let your anger go.

but snow liked you, he must’ve had a reason to keep you around for so long, and until just a few days ago, you hadn’t known why.

you breathed deeply as you heard your name called. it was deja vu, and suddenly you were back to the thirteen year old girl, who was so emaciated and starved that when her name was called, she believed she was hallucinating.

you looked crudely into the screen, not offering any smiles or sign of pride that you had been reaped, all over again.

“y/n l/n.” hearing your full name made you turn around immediately. you were slightly blinded by his blonde hair and pearly white smile.

“finnick odair.” you realized who the man was, quicker than you’d admit. the last time you had seen him was at a ridiculous capital party that snow had forced you to attend. finnick had been leaned against a wall, with two capital sluts hanging onto his shoulders, whispering in his ears simultaneously.

he smiled, not surprised that you didn’t say anything else besides his name. you had that tendency about you, to shoot down any attempt at conversation. even going as far to avoid it all together. “i’m glad you haven’t tried to run away, not after i had caught you eyes and you dashed off at that party. how long ago was that? three,” his speech hung onto the words, “four?”

“five months. it’s been five months, finnick.” you remembered his gaze, and remembered how your feet made you run at the sight. you had heard stories about finnick, and you weren’t exactly planning on ever talking to him.

“that’s right.” he smiled, “i hope you’ve been well since then. it was nice seeing you in something other than a bloody shirt.” his gaze suddenly seemed very far away, as if he was remembering exactly what you wore that night.

you shrugged, deciding to change topics, “everyone else is polishing their weapons,” you heard a guttural war cry, and saw another tribute lunge at a partner, “and methods.” finnick turned to the source of the cry and laughed slightly, “oh yeah? what’s your choice of weapon, again?”

“knives. anything long and sharp.” you always had an affinity for knives. it was second nature to you, an art of your district. your mind drifted away slightly to the array of knives that you had collected during your games. every tribute that you had slaughtered had a knife, and you collected them as a token. by the end, you had 23 knives, all representing a kill.

it had been upsetting when you went on your victory tour, to see the look on their family’s faces, but you had blurred out their emotions, and at the height of your submission to snow, had given out the same apathetic speech to every district.

finnick watched as your mind drifted back to reality. wherever you had gone for the better half of a minute, was a place finnick spent every waking moment, running away from.

he grabbed your shoulder, squeezing it slightly as he looked into your eyes, whispering your name, “hey, hey.” you focused on his eyes, gaze shifting to his mouth as they shaped the syllables of your name. you swallowed thickly, “im sorry-i…” you pulled away, his hand falling free of your shoulder. finnick watched as you exited the training room, your hands balled up into fists as you disappeared through the doorway.

“absolutely not.” you had spent your childhood under the thumb of one man, and you had barely made it out from under snow’s. this was only another way to get you under it once more.

finnick had his head bowed, having listened to snow’s pitch to make the two of you a couple. he needed something to distract the capital citizens from peeta and katniss, who everyone knew, was just a thorn in snow’s side.

“my dear, i really don’t think you have a choice in the matter.” snow’s eyes narrowed at you and you sighed, “what else is there left for you to do? im already being marched to my death, again, just speed the process up. poison me like you do the rest.” you took a good jab at one of the many secrets you had obtained, living in his cage.

snow laughed, “i would’ve done that a long time ago, y/n.”

just as you were beginning to argue again, finnick looked up, eyes catching yours. he held your gaze for a minute, blinking his wet eyes at you. there was something that was telling you that this wasn’t just about you.

finnick.

oh how could you forget finnick.

there was something clearly at stake for him too, otherwise why had he remained silent this entire time?

compliance was something he had to get used to, also under snow’s control.

“okay, fine.” you felt yourself swallow bile, “i’ll do it.” you looked at finnick, your future husband, and the reason why you were even agreeing.

“why did you do it?” his voice cracked, a raw noise as he looked over at you. you had been silent the whole time since leaving the meeting with snow. you shuddered with the strong winds, having been sat out on the stoop of the building, housing all the reaped former victors.

you looked at finnick, having caught his gaze, holding it for a moment, “my entire life i’ve been selfish, and i guess i realized that it isn’t always about putting myself first.” you knew the stories, heard the rumors. snow had barely played with the idea, making you like finnick, but you had always refused. there was nothing left for him to leverage, and so it never went anywhere.

but this, pairing the two of you was nothing short of cruel. finnick who has everything to lose, with you, who he probably didn’t expect to agree.

finnick hitched a breath, understanding what you weren’t saying. “thank you.” he breathed, “and im sorry.”

you stood up suddenly, nodding as you turned towards the entrance, “just-“ you cut yourself off, waving a hand as you continued inside.

he made the announcement. finnick had decided that with the pull he has on the capital, that he would be the one to do it. especially since he was so beloved, the attention from it was to challenge katniss and peeta’s.

you had agreed to play the part, and now you had to act like it.

there was loud cheering and applause from the crowd, and you were pushed out onto the stage, more cheers erupting as finnick stood up to meet you halfway. you kissed his cheek, grabbing his hand tightly as you two fluttered across the stage.

caesar flickerman was already standing there with a bright, capitol smile. “this is your lovely bride. we hear the honeymoon is the arena?” he looked at finnick who tipped his head back for a laugh, but didn’t answer outright.

you gave a soft laugh, “we just loved each other so much, we couldn’t wait.”

caesar looked at you, as if remembering who you were exactly, “wow.” he seemed truly amazed, perhaps even shocked.

finnick noticed the heaviness in the interview and turned his head at caesar, trying to keep the attention on the union rather than the individuals.

he grabbed your hand suddenly, clutching it tightly. as he held it for the rest of the interview, you staring at the faces in the crowd, more love struck than you, you wondered if he was trying to comfort you or himself.

“finnick.” you looked around behind you, only seeing peeta in front of you. the first few days in the arena had been a blur. you had stuck by close with finnick, who made it his mission to stay close to katniss. there was something he wasn’t telling you, but you didn’t once doubt him.

“finnick?” you whipped your head around and couldn’t find him. you were always in front of him, so he could remain in his eye line at all times. except you had failed to make sure he was in yours.

your ears started ringing as the panic set in. you scanned the trees and couldn’t find any sign of him or katniss, realizing this as peeta shared your same panicked look. your throat felt tight as you screamed his name, “finnick!” peeta suddenly took off, feet blazing towards more greenery. you had no choice but to follow, knowing finnick would’ve had you stick with peeta.

as you barely caught up to peeta, you saw him hit the floor as you ran up. whatever he had bounced off of was holding katniss and finnick back.

you looked at finnick, unable to catch his eyes as he looked up frantically. there was something you were missing, there were just bir-

“jabberjays.” peeta groaned out, “they can’t hear us, but they hear our screams.” he swallowed thickly, resting near the force field. katniss was knelt down at the edge, eyes tightly shut. you stared at finnick, at a loss for words. the panic in his face looked so real, you wondered who he was hearing.

you tore your eyes away, watching him suffer was not something you had signed up for. you felt defeated, unable to do anything as you and peeta sat like sitting ducks, waiting this torture out.

you hadn’t talked to him since the jabberjays. peeta had comforted katniss, in any way she’d let him. but they were different, you and finnick were different.

yes, you were married, he was your husband. but the issue was, you hadn’t much time to even begin to share intimate details, let alone have a good conversation. this was what snow wanted, an empty marriage to stir up all the attention.

except you knew your performance was failing. the audience could see right through you.

“hey.” finnick had snuck up on you. you had stayed a few feet away from him and the others, unsure how to handle it all. but it seems like finnick was trying to make it work. but it should be the other way around.

“finnick.” you breathed a sigh of relief unintentionally, hoping he didn’t catch on, you watched as he sat down on the sand beside you. he grabbed your hand, and for a moment you thought it to be genuine, until he raised an eyebrow.

right.

“i’m so sorry.” your voice hitched, and finnick steadied his gaze, “seeing you like that-“ you faked a choked sob, “i just couldn’t do it. i couldn’t look at you and see-“ you cut yourself off, throwing your head in your hands.

snow had to be happy that you were selling yourself off to protect finnick. but beside that heart to heart you had with him in the beginning, you had nothing else to go off of.

“i heard you.” finnick’s voice cracked, “you were screaming, these terrible, horrible screams.” he shook his head, as if he were hearing them all over again, making you realize that he was telling the truth. “and it wouldn’t stop.” he breathed. his breathing got harder and you found yourself kissing him to make him stop. finnick panted into the kiss, as if you had grounded him. you pulled back, catching his eye as you looked away.

your hand that he had been holding gripped his harder. you looked out into the water, watching as it’s dangerous waters moved, unsure on how you would survive this.

with or without him.

[cr-ok]

contains some spoilers for the ARG

Bill Ci. My Brainrot Guy.

Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill List Overview & Entry Syntax

a little disorganized

yell at me if I’m missing codes or if something is wrongly categorized

do not worry about spaces/some punctuation marks (",", ".", "-", "+", "&", "@", parenthesis, quotation marks, and slashes)

i. e. "THEYLLSEE"/"THEYLL SEE"/"THEY'LL SEE" all work & have the same output

site does not accept entries with "?"

all characters are capitalized automatically

Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill You All are Wonderful People

Busy_Abroad370 CranberrySoft8335 DCode Dog_core fishy--friend FRAMER_FRAMER Hacker88774770 Global-Pepper-5823 marzinstarz moonwytte mothford ohnoimonfire RiotingSpectre themoonweaversden themysteryofgravityfalls thisisnotawebsitedotcom-com wolsalwastaken

Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill Where to Click

book button below the screen dagger dial below the screen “McGucket Labs” above the screen gold tooth on skeleton jar link below the prism

Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill Relevant to The Book of Bill

BOYFRIEND/LONELY/LOVE/MARRY ME/ROMANCE/SOULMATE/TRUE LOVE CRYPTOGRAM CODEX DESTRUCTION IS A FORM OF CREATION SCARY/SPOOKS/SPOOKY/SPOOKEMUPS T. J. ECKLEBURG

Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill Bill, Past & Present

BABY/BABY BILL/DADDY/LALALA/LALALALALA/MOMMY DIVORCE/BREAKUP/ROCK BOTTOM EUCLID/SCALENE/SCRIMBLES EUCLYDIA FAMILY MATTERS FORGET THE PAST IRREGULAR JUST FIT IN RUBBER HOSE

it ends, eventually

SEVEN EYES TANTRUM THERAPRISM VALLIS CINERIS WELL WELL WELL BEING

three outputs

Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill Stanford, Past & Present

AD ASTRA PER ASPERA DOES GOD EXIST/FACE OF GOD/FRILLIAM/GOD/HELP ME/IS GOD REAL/IS RELIGION REAL/REVEAL GOD/REVEAL GOD TO ME/SAVE ME/SHOW ME GOD/WHAT DOES GOD LOOK LIKE/WHAT IS GOD/WHO IS GOD EVEN HIS LIES ARE LIES I’M STILL ON YOUR MIND/ON YOUR MIND OROBOROUS SORRY

Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill Riddles

answers in book

RIDDLE

NO/YES

MOUNTAIN DON'T

LYRE LIAR

HAROLD'S RAMBLINGS

UNION MADE

29121239168518

GREBLEY HEMBERDRECK

A RAT/RAT

3466554

TINSEL SNAKE

TORTURE MENTALLY

XGQRTHX

333 SUNDAPPLE LANE, COZY CREEK, IL, 60714-94611

CAESAR, ATBASH, & VIGENERE/MULTILEVEL MARK

EMMALINE BUTTERNUBBINS/BUTTERNUBBINS

DISPENSE MY ANSWER

Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill Zodiac

DIPPER

enter five times

FORD/SIXER/STANFORD/STANFORD PINES GIDEON

two outputs

GRUNKLE STAN/STAN/STANLEY/STANLEY PINES/STAN PINES

enter eight times

MASON MABEL - enter thirteen times FIDDLEFORD/FIDDLEFORD HADRON MCGUCKET/FIDDLEFORD MCGUCKET/MCGUCKET PACIFICA PLATINUM PAZ ROBBIE SOOS WENDY

Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill Bill Addressing the User

BAAAA/SAY BAAAA BLACK SHEEP BOO BERRY DESTRUCTION IS A FORM OF CREATION NAITSUAF

use the button and the knob

UNREALITY

Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill Canon to Universe

ALGEBRA/GEOMETRY/GREECE/GREEK/SHAPE/SHAPES/MATH/PLATO/PYTHAGORUS/TRIGONOMETRY BABBA/DISCO GIRL BLENDIN/BLENDIN BLENJAMIN BLANDIN/BLENDIN BLANDIN BLIND EYE CLONE/PAPER JAM/PAPER JAM DIPPER/TYRONE DUCKTECTIVE FORDTRAMARINE HECTORING HOTXOLOTL JUST BLENDIN KINGS OF NEW JERSEY KOOK KUBRICK L IS REAL 2401 LOVE YA BRO PINES PORTAL REALITY R34LITY SEVERAL TIMES/SEV'RAL TIMES SUCK IT, MERLIN

use Cipher Font B

WEIRDMAGEDDON YOU'RE INSANE

Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill Directly from "Gravity Falls"

AM I BLANCHIN' BYE GOLD DEER TEETH FILBRICK

Stans's father's name

FIXINIT1 DUCHESS APPROVES/THE DUCHESS APPROVES HOLOGRAM REALITY UNIVERSE/THE UNIVERSE

Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill Unsure of the Canonicity

ANALOG HORROR/CREEPYPASTA/HORROR/URBAN LEGEND/URBAN LEGENDS BURNED INSIDE BURNSIDE CARD/MY CARD

two outputs

CURSED CURSE WITTEBANE HEY NERD LIES OCCURREMUSITERUM OWL TROWEL PAPER IS BOOKSKIN SHAVE YOUR GRANDMA

Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill Ciphertology

CIPHERTOLOGY

two outputs

DIONARAP GOODNIGHT SALLY STOD EHT TCENNOC TOURIST TRAP WHICH RELIGION IS RIGHT YOU CAN'T KILL AN IDEA

Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill Easter Eggs

ALEX/ALEX HIRSCH/ALEXANDER ROBERT HIRSCH/HIRSCH ANSWER ASSHOLE/BITCH/CUM/CUNT/DICK/FUCK/FUCK YOU/GANG BANG/GLORY HOLE/JIZZ/MILF/PUSSY/SEX/SHIT/TITS/SLUT/TED CRUZ/WHORE BOOK OF BILL/THE BOOK OF BILL CHIP/DORITO/NACHO

jumpscare warning

CRYPTO/DOGE/ELON/FORTNITE/GYATT/NFT/RIZZ/SKIBIDI DEATH DISNEY/DISNEYLAND/EPCOT/MICKEY/MICKEY MOUSE/WALT DISNEY EASTER EGG FUCK YOU ALEX/FUCK ALEX HIRSCH GUN/THE GUN HISTORY

four outputs

HOW DO I DIE? HOW WILL I DIE? I SEE/THEY’LL SEE/THEY’LL ALL SEE IS HELL REAL? IS THERE AN AFTERLIFE/WHAT HAPPENS AFTER I DIE/WHAT HAPPENS AFTER WE DIE/WHAT HAPPENS AFTER YOU DIE/WHAT HAPPENS WHEN WE DIE/WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DIE LIFE MEOW/MEOW WOW MONSTER MORALITY NOT A PHASE NOTHING PEAK PINATA OH YES THEY BOTH ONE-EYED KING QUESTION SCREEN SCIENTOLOGY SEASON 3 SEASON 2 SEASON 1 SKELETON SOMETHING TELL ME HOW I'LL DIE TITANS BLOOD TRIANGLE

two outputs.

I'm convinced one is a typo

VIRUS WHO ARE YOU

Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill Reference to the Show

ABUELITA AXOLOTL BILL/BILL CIPHER/CIPHER/LLIB/LLIB REHPIC/REHPIC

three outputs

BLANCHIN/BLANCHING CARYN

Stans's mother's name

CIA/FBI/NSA CRAY CRAY CRAZ/XYLER DIPPY FRESH GIFFANY

enter this six times

GLASS SHARD BEACH GLOBNAR GRAVITY FALLS JOURNAL 1 JOURNAL 2 JOURNAL 3 MYSTERY MYSTERY SHACK TAD STRANGE TOBY DETERMINED WADDLES

Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill Cameos

CONSPIRACY GAME THEORY/HELP ME MATPAT/HELP US MATPAT/MATPAT/THAT’S JUST A/THEORY WEIRD

Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill Does Not Work; I'm in Shambles

ASS BILL IS SANS BLIND IVAN DRAKE FIDDLEFORD H. MCGUCKET/HADRON FINGERS IN HIS ASS HENCHMAINIACS LEBAM LIGMA LUCIFER MERMANDO OVERLOOK/OVERLOOK HOTEL PLEASE SATAN SEXYMAN SEVRAL TIMEZ SIGMA THEY WILL ALL SEE TOOT TOOT MCBUMBERSNAZZLE TWINK JULY 4/7-4-1921

Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill ⚠︎ 𓁺 ⚠︎ Bill I Have Been Mislead/Fuck You, Internet

BRAINROT BUBBLE

eye in the jar element ID

CUSSES FOURTRAMARINE

spelling error

GOD BUBBLE MCSUCKIT OK KO REPHIC

spelling error

SMALL STILL ON YOUR MIND

incorrectly-remembered

[imagines--galore]

||The Thread of Fate|| Part Twenty-Four

Summary: Soulmate AU. They say the Thread of Fate connects you to your one true love. It may tangle. It may stretch. But it will never break. Wrapped around your little finger it tightens when it feels your soulmate is close and loosens when they are far. And becomes visible with the colors of your soulmate’s Nation when you finally fall in love with them.

Pairing: Zuko x OroraOC (ATLA)

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T+ Romance. Adventure.

Previous Chapters - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen, Part Eighteen, Part Nineteen, Part Twenty, Part Twenty-One, Part Twenty-Two, Twenty-Three

A/N: We are getting close to the Day of the Black Sun people! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!!!! THINGS WILL START HAPPENING NOW SO HANG ON TO YOUR HATS! And I know Orora's part is all over the place but only because that's how she feels right now? I dunno? Hope you enjoy!

The wind blew softly through her hair as she sat with her arms resting atop the saddle, staring out towards the wide open sky and ocean that flew by beneath them. The sun had almost set, the last rays of sunshine peaking over the horizon, turning the sky a beautiful hue of orange, pink and purple. Behind her, she could hear her friends but she hadn't really felt like adding anything to the conversation, so instead she opted to admire the view.

And though it painted the perfect picture of serenity, her mind was anything but.

Orora was still a little disconcerted about the dream she had had a few nights ago. It seemed strange, that after so long she would dream about Zuko, one that did not involve a nightmare.

She'd stopped having nightmares weeks ago, and her mind had simply opted to not dream at all. Well, that wasn't really a conscious choice on her part, but it seemed her sub-consciousness was giving her a break by letting her sleep peacefully through the night.

Until a few nights ago that is.

When Zuko had appeared in her dreams.

Held her.

Kissed her forehead.

Touched her.

Comforted her.

And though it was a dream, it had all seemed so real.

Which was utterly ridiculous because how could she feel everything physically that had happened in her dream?

And yet Orora could actually recall the feeling of the wind in her hair, the smell of the sea, the sensation of the sandy beach under her bare feet. If she closed her eyes, she could hear his voice in her mind, promising her what she dared not repeat to herself lest a fickle thing known as hope grow in her heart and just set her up for future disappointment.

Not to mention that when she awoke, her string had been glowing red. And it had stayed that way for quite sometime even after she woke up.

Glancing at her string, which certainly wasn't glowing right then, she wandered if perhaps the closer they got to the Fire Nation capital, would Zuko be able to feel her near?

And that made her nervous.

Was what he said to her in her dream a figment of her imagination, or had it been real?

She wanted to ask someone else's opinion about everything so badly. Maybe Aang? He would know something about it. But she didn't want to worry him. With the Invasion coming up the poor kid already had so much on his mind.

Katara wasn't an option either. The poor girl was only just starting to recover from her ordeal with Hama. Orora felt a shiver run down her spine as she thought of that old crone. No, no point in making Katara worry over her when she had her own demons to fight.

Sokka would be a good choice, but his mind was preoccupied with the Invasion plans and going over each and very detail over and over again. He would be the last one to go to sleep sometimes, and the first to wake up, pouring over maps. Not Sokka then.

Toph? Maybe? The girl did give good advice for a thirteen year old. Not to mention, out of all four of them, Toph knew the most about her situation with Zuko and the conflicted feelings she still had for the Prince.

Talking to Toph sounded good then, she mused, chin resting atop her arms, her eyes closing as she slowly began to doze off.

That is, until she caught sight of something from the corner of her eyes just as she closed them.

Or rather someone.

Instantly, her blue eyes snapped open, head whipping to the side as she stared at the empty spot next to her.

She blinked. There was no one there.

But she could've sworn.....

"Ice Princess? You okay? Your heartbeat is going crazy?" Once more her head whipped around to look at her friends, who were all staring at her a little confused at her sudden reaction. Toph was staring at her, eyes narrowed, and for the first time she felt how fast her heart was beating.

Shaking her head, Orora smiled in a reassuring manner. "Nothing. I just nodded off and had that weird feeling like I was falling or something." Aang, who sat upfront nodded. "I get it! It's happened to me too! And its weird since I can't even use airbending to stop myself from falling in my dreams." He added with a laugh. Orora responded with a smile, thankful that she could always count on Aang to distract her with his cheerful disposition.

Though, as she moved to sit next to him to avoid Toph's observant unseeing gaze, the fact what she had seen remained at the back of her mind.

Not a what, rather a who.

A who with very distinct scar on his face, and amber eyes that had haunted her dreams a few days ago.

"You alright there Orora?" Aang spoke up from beside her. Pursing her lips, and deciding to be truthful, the girl gave a shrug. "Honestly? I don't know. The closer we get to the Fire Nation Capital the nervous I get." She revealed, despite having decided just a few moments ago that she wouldn't burden Aang with her thoughts.

Giving her a look of understanding and a sympathetic smile, Aang reached out to rest a reassuring hand on her forearm. "Is it because we're gonna be storming the Capital, or because you're nervous about seeing Zuko again?"

Orora chewed on her bottom lip as she averted her gaze to the calm ocean flying by beneath her. "Does it make me selfish if I say the latter?" She finally asked after a moment of silence, raising her gaze to look at Aang once again. The young airbender shook his head. "Not at all. But maybe you should ask yourself, are you feeling nervous because you're going to see him again? Or are you feeling nervous because you think you won't be able to face him if the situation calls for it?"

And that was what worried her.

Would her past feelings allow her to face him one on one? Whatever anger and anguish she had felt over his betrayal lay dormant within her. Maybe she should reawaken it be reliving the moment under Ba Sing Se again?

"There it is!" Sokka's voice suddenly cut through her thoughts as he stood pointing towards an island that grew larger in size as they approached. "Argh! Finally! I feel like we've been flying forever." Toph groaned, eager to feel the earth under her feet again. Pulling on the reins, Aang was able to guide Appa into a smooth landing just beyond a clump of bushes.

Everyone quickly dismounted, making their way through the bush. Orora smiled at the sight of the koala sheep that were sleeping peacefully in the clearing. The sun had set about half an hour ago, and though it was still early in the evening, she was tired. Rubbing her eyes, the girl stifled a yawn as Sokka walked around, looking at his map.

They all waited patiently, albeit sleepily, for him to give the all-clear.

"This is it!" He finally exclaimed, prompting Toph to jerk awake where she'd been dozing off on her feet. "The official rendezvous point for the invasion force." Well it was rather peaceful, Orora mused to herself, moving to help Katara and Aang get their bed rolls from atop Appa. "How did you pick this place?" Toph asked, turning to Sokka who grinned proudly.

"Before we split up, my dad and I found this island on the map." He explained. "It's uninhabited, and the harbors surrounded by the cliffs seemed like the perfect secluded place."

As she spread her bed roll on the floor, Orora hummed. "Thank Spirits no one lives here. We can really relax and sleep without having to stay on guard all the time." Picking up another bed roll, she frowned at it before throwing it in Sokka's direction.

The lump of clothing hit him in the face with a soft thump. He pushed it off, glaring at Orora but she was too busy undoing her hair to pay him any mind.

"Nice choice, Sokka." Katara praised her brother, as she too untied her hair. Having seen Orora's little prank and wanting to avoid a scuffle between them both she continued. "And we're here four days ahead of schedule."

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say.

Aang who had only just laid down, suddenly scrambled to his feet. "Wait! Four days?" He cried out, his voice anxious, his face panicked. "The invasion's in four days?" Orora glanced at him, before she yawned hugely once more, her eyes tearing up as she did. Sokka, having unrolled the bed roll Orora had thrown at him, yawned.

"Whatever. That's like four days from now. Let's just calm down and-" He didn't even finish his sentence before he was snoring away. A little ways away Toph was beginning to snooze as well, her feet elevated so she wouldn't have to see during the night.

"For once I agree with Sokka." Orora muttered sleepily, her mind exhausted from over thinking throughout the day. She hoped tonight would be one of those nights where she didn't dream.

Katara nodded. "Sokka's got the right idea, Aang. We're here. We're ready." Orora barely heard the rest of Katara's sentence as she began to drift off, her eyes closing. "The best thing we can do now is get plenty of rest." So saying the waterbender laid down, falling asleep almost instantly. Aang looked around at his now sleeping companions.

"I guess."

Silence settled over the small clearing, broken every now and then when one of the sleeping children would turn over in their sleep, or in Sokka's case, would let out an occasional snore.

And though in the beginning she slept soundly, as the night crept on, a frown creased Orora's forehead and she tossed and turned, as she began to dream.

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She was being led through and open space. Her wrists and ankles were bound, her clothes were in tatters. The sky above her glowed an ominous red. Her gaze flitted around, trying to find any means of escape, yet nothing rose to mind. There were Fire Nation soldiers all around and not a single familiar face in sight. A hand at her back pushed her forward, prompting her to stumble and fall to her knees.

Somehow she caught herself before her face hit the dirt. Shrugging off the hands that gripped her arms, Orora rose to her knees, her gaze tilting up to the sight before her.

There was Ozai, standing over her with a look of contempt on his face. He cut an extremely imposing figure dressed in his royal robes, and his face was just as cruel as she had seen in the village statue of him. Azula stood next to her father, her features settled into a look of utter glee as she regarded the waterbender. Somehow they both appeared even more fierce and powerful looking then they probably were in real life.

"So, you are the one." Ozai spoke, and though he didn't give any further information, she knew what he was talking about. Orora didn't speak though, she continued to look back at them both. Her face was devoid of emotion and that seemed to annoy Azula.

"May I get rid of her father?" The younger girl all but cooed gleefully, as if she would delight in ending the other girl's life.

And she probably would.

Orora watched as Ozai opened his mouth, to agree with his daughter, to.........what? End her? Torture her? Make her bleed?

Whatever it would be, Orora closed her eyes as she sighed, she could not fight the inevitable. Funnily enough, she wasn't scared.

A shadow fell over her. Probably Azula coming to play with her. To have her fun.

"You'll have to go through me."

Her eyes shot open as her entire body went rigid with utter shock.

No!

It couldn't be!

Despite her disbelief, she managed to tilt her head back and look up to the person standing over her.

His back was to her, but there was no denying that all too familiar head of hair, the stance not to mention the swords he gripped in his hands.

Zuko.

It was Zuko.

Zuko was standing over her.

He was protecting her from his family.

Saving her.

Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. Her gaze flitted from his back, to his shoulders, to his hands, to his finger.

The finger that held his string.

That glowed a bright blue.

Perhaps she whispered his name? Or maybe she called out to him out loud?

Whatever it was, it compelled him to shift his head slightly so he could look over his shoulder at her.

Orora barely managed to catch a glimpse of his scar, barely saw his lips as he called back to her.

Before her eyes snapped open and she sat up fully awake.

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His life was beginning to get rather tedious. Sure he had enjoyed all the luxuries he had been denied during his banishment and then his subsequent life as a refugee, but since his arrival at the Capital he had slowly begun to realize that he kind of missed that life.

Over the three years he had spent searching for Aang, Zuko had seen the entire world and it had amazed him just how powerful and yet beautiful nature could be.

Rather like his soulmate, he figured.

It wasn't until he began to interact with the people who lived in the world, did he realize that they contributed to the beauty of the world.

Unlike the Fire Nation.

He frowned as he looked at the hot towel that had been offered to him, before he closed his eyes in resignation and dabbed his face with it. Orora would hate all the fuss, he realized. She had told him that one of the other reasons for her leaving the North Pole, other then her family, had been because she wanted freedom to do whatever she wanted. Sure that meant giving up some things she liked, but in the long run, it had all been worth it.

Maybe the luxuries were unexciting because there was no one else to share them with.

As he walked out of the Palace, his gaze flitted from one side to the next, as if he were waiting for someone to suddenly appear.

But no one did.

And he frowned.

It had been several days since he had last seen Orora, in his dreams or otherwise. And while he did think of her everyday, it was nothing compared to the comfort her presence had had.

Though the constant glow of his string did serve to remind him just how deep his affections for her ran, despite her not being there with him.

He needed to speak with someone, he mused to himself as he reached the gates of the Palace and looked to the mansion just across the street.

Thank the Spirits he had someone he could trust and who trusted him.

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Pulling out the fabric she had bought so long ago, Orora smiled at the color.

"Hey! When do you get that?" Katara asked, reaching out to feel the texture of the fabric. Her smile turning sheepish, Orora gave a nervous laugh. "I got it from the hustle money." She admitted, to which Katara gave a disapproving glare, but shook her head. "Well, what're you gonna do with it?" She asked, as Orora moved to get the small sewing kit she had also bought.

"Well I don't want to face the Fire Nation is their colors." She gestured to the clothes she had on. "I want to fight them wearing the colors of my tribe." The other girl nodded in understanding. "But isn't it a little darker then what you would usually wear?"

Orora nodded as she looked over all the rough sketching she had done over the past few weeks. "Well I figured warriors wear dark blue when they go into battle." She admitted, to which Katara gave a small laugh. "Trust you to go against tradition." She said, playfully nudging Orora to which the older girl grinned at her. "Oh? And which one of us beat up Pakku so he would teach her how to fight?"

Giggling Katara peered at the sketches Orora had done, smiling as she picked up one. "Maybe you should do this one?" She suggested, holding it out for the older girl. Orora nodded. "I needed a second opinion. Thanks Katara!" So saying the girl moved to pick up a pair of scissors.

Grabbing the corner of the fabric, she lifted it in the air to shake it out.

But then her gaze caught sight of someone standing just at the other end of the cloth. Her mouth fell open in a sudden gasp, and the corners slipped from her fingers as the fabric dropped. Behind her Katara continued to go through the sketches, leaving Orora to stare in disbelief at Zuko.

Their eyes met, ice blue on warm amber. He looked just as she had seen him on that final day in Ba Sing Se, only before what had happened in the catacombs. He smiled at her, that soft happy smile that only she managed to get out of him, and her heart physically ached at the sight.

The dream she had had last night suddenly came back to her. And how, despite the obvious danger of her dream she had not been afraid.

Almost as if she had known.

Known that he would come and save her.

Her string glowed a bright red, prompting her to raise her hand and inspect it briefly. Zuko mirrored her action, so that she could see the blue of his string.

"-ra? Orora?"

The young waterbender was jilted out of her entrancement when Katara's hand landed on her shoulder. She let out a startled cry, tensing up and dropping the scissors she had been holding as she pivoted on her feet.

Her heart beat fast in her chest, and she panted, prompting Katara to frown at her in worry. "You alright? I've been calling your name for awhile now?" She asked, as the older girl turned to look over her shoulder where Zuko had been standing a few moments ago.

The space was empty.

"S-sorry, I was.....lost in thought." The girl finally admitted, reaching up to brush her hand back from her face where it hung around her shoulders in soft waves. Katara's worry did not dissipate as she continued to frown. "How about I help you with cutting the fabric?" She offered, picking up the scissors as she did.

Giving a small nod, Orora turned her attention back to her little project, hoping to push away the sight of her soulmate standing just across from her from her mind.

It helped.

But only a little since her string glowed red throughout the day, serving as a constant reminder of the depth of her feelings for Zuko.

                                           ————————–

"So have you given any thought to what I said?" Mai asked as she set down the teapot and held out the cup of tea she had just poured. Accepting the cup, he took a small sip from it, his eyes darting to the open doorway. Mai seemed to catch his silent question and quickly reassured him with a nod.

No one was out there to eavesdrop on their conversation.

"I have." He finally revealed. "But I'm still working on all of it, it'll take me some time to go over everything. Make sure I'm ready." He revealed, keeping his response as vague as he could. Mai nodded.

"I get it, though I figured you would want to prepare after the all-day war meeting coming up?" She revealed, taking a sip from her own cup as she did. Zuko frowned.

"War meeting? What are you talking about?" He asked, his voice sharp. Mai looked surprised before continuing. "Azula mentioned something. I-I assumed you were going, too." She said, as she too frowned at his confusion. He was the Prince wasn't he? Shouldn't he be aware of the meeting like Azula had been?

Zuko tried not to let that disappointed feeling settle in his heart. He had thought that perhaps his father would actually treat him like a son, but that hope had sailed out the window. But not even treating him as Prince of the Fire Nation?

That truly gutted him. "I guess I wasn't invited." He finally said, ending the conversation with a sip from his teacup. The both of them sat in silence for the rest of his stay. A simple goodbye was all they offered one another as he departed, leaving him with his thoughts as he rode the palanquin back across the road.

Why did he keep setting himself up for disappointment one moment after the other?

It was actually starting to get pathetic, even in his eyes. Orora would surely have his head for allowing himself such false hope. Honestly, he liked to think he had more chance of Orora actually forgiving him then his father treating him as his own son.

Though he doubted it would be easy.

As he walked back to his room, his string glowing an ever constant blue. Once ready for bed, he dropped onto the soft mattress, reaching under his pillow to retrieve the blue dragon comb. He set it at his side, where he could see it and just relive the memories of the owner.

                                           ————————–

Her fingers were beginning to cramp by the time she was done cutting the desired shapes and outlines. There was no point in actually starting her sewing till the next day since the sun had set awhile ago.

She hadn't spent the entire day cutting. Somewhere inbetween she had taken a lunch break as well as a bending break with Katara. The Master waterbender had taught her some new moves that would help her in the upcoming battle. In turn, Orora had gone through some basic leg movements to teach Katara how to waterbend with her feet and legs.

All in all, it had been a productive day.

Aside from the fact that she kept seeing Zuko here and there throughout the day at the most random of moments.

Now that everyone was finally asleep, including Aang, who had come rather late to where they were all sleeping, Orora sneaked away to the small river outlet she and Katara had been practicing in the entire day.

Looking around, she removed her shoes, before stepping into the water. Inhaling deeply she closed her eyes, concentrating with all that she had.

And when she finally opened her eyes, he was standing right in front of her, just a few feet away.

"What're you doing here?" She demanded, ignoring the way her heart leapt at the sight of him. He shrugged in response, crossing his arms over his chest. "You called me just now, didn't you?"

The sound of his voice had every single memory of him rising to the front of her mind. Slightly overwhelmed by the emotions, Orora did her best to not let them overtake her completely.

"You alright?" He asked, obvious concern lacing his tone as he peered at her from under the fringe of his black hair that covered his forehead.

"Why should you care?" She spat out, allowing her anger to rule her tongue for once as she glared at him. The water responded to her shift in emotions, rising in a small wave around her. He didn't seem at all perturbed by her sudden outburst. Instead he sighed, suddenly looking really really sad.

"You know why." He finally responded as he raised his finger, the string glowing blue. She exhaled angrily. "That is not a reason. It shouldn't be. Not after what you did."

It was stupid. She was talking to someone who wasn't even there.

And yet.......she couldn't help it. Couldn't help show the hurt and anger that had laid dormant for so many weeks. Though this was only a small trickle of it. Most of what she felt was still behind a wall she had built within herself.

Doing her best to calm herself, she turned her head so she wouldn't have to look at him. "Please, just go away."

She didn't have to look up to know he was gone. Though she did in the end.

Just so she wouldn't have to see her string flicker with color.

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"Sokka, get up! I needa know what day it is!"

The startled, panicked cry of Aang was what had her sitting up even before she had opened her eyes. The night had been restless for her, and she'd only managed to catch a few hours of sleep.

And now there was Aang screaming at the top of his lungs, first thing in the morning. She forced her eyes open, only to be greeted with the sight of Sokka jumping up and hitting his head on a nearby rock. Despite the fright she had gotten, Orora couldn't help but snigger at the boy's expense. Beside her Katara and Toph sat up as well.

"Relax! It's still two days before the invasion!" Toph reminded, as Aang began to pull on Sokka's limbs to try and get him to stand up. Now that the sleep was out of her eyes, Orora was finally able to see the state Aang was in.

His hair was in disarray, there were bags under his eyes, and he looked frantic and panicked as he insisted that Sokka perfect his rock climbing skills, because of a dream he had.

"But that was just a dream." Sokka reminded before insisting. "I'm a great climber!"

The young Avatar was having none of it as he pointed towards a nearby cliff. "Then climb that cliff! Climb it fast!" They all turned to the take in the sheer size of the cliff. Sokka returned his gaze back to Aang who simply pointed even more adamantly, if that were possible. Sighing the Water Tribe boy reluctantly began to climb the cliff, grumbling under his breath as he did.

Shaking her head, Orora moved to put on her shoes.

"Don't drink that!" Aang suddenly shouted, pointing at Toph who had just taken a gulp from a water skin. She spat the water out, straight onto Katara who grimaced in disgust. Orora muffled her sudden giggle as Katara glared at her in annoyance.

"Why? Is it poisoned?" Toph exclaimed, as Katara waterbended the water off her.

"In my dream, we were right in the middle of the invasion, and you had to stop to use the bathroom!" Though she was listening to what Aang said, Orora stood to start preparing breakfast. "We died because of your tiny bladder." Seeing movement out of the corner of his eyes, Aang's gaze suddenly shifted to Orora where she was fathering ingredients for breakfast. "And you!" He shouted, pointing towards the older girl, startling her into dropping her ingredients. "In one of my dreams you made something to eat and we all got sick and none of us could fight in the invasion."

Orora blinked at him. Alright, now she was starting to get a little worried about his state of mind. But Aang didn't stop there, he pivoted on his feet, turning to Katara and pointing at her. "And you need to start wearing your hair up. In my dream, your hair got caught in a train, and-"

But he didn't complete his dream. Katara's hand on the side of his face had him pausing. "Aang!" She spoke loudly and firmly over his panicked gushing. "I know you're just trying to help, but you really need to get a grip." She tried to reassure him. "You're unraveling."

Aang blinked, taking a deep breath as he shook his head. "You're right. I'm losing my mind." He groaned softly. Reaching out Orora patted his head gently. "How about we all have some nice breakfast. Maybe that will calm you down?" She offered, smiling kindly at the younger boy. "I promise I'll be careful with my cooking." She joked, winking at him playfully. Somehow he managed to smile back at her.

However, an hour later, Orora realized that there was no helping Aang. He was still pacing around, his eye twitching, his fingers rotating and fumbling as he fretted over what was to come on the day of invasion.

"It's like every time I think about how stressed I am, I just end up more stressed. I'm like a big growing snowball of nerves." As he paced some more, she found her eyes flitting to Katara who looked back at her. They both exchanged a look of concern.

Sokka who had been hammering away at a piece of armor for Appa turned to look at Aang. "Of course you are. That's 'cause you gotta fight the Fire Lord, the baddest man on the planet. And you better win or we're all done for."

Orora slapped her forehead while Toph sighed at Sokka's lack of attempt to calm Aang down. Katara stood up and approached her brother.

"Sokka! You're not helping!" She stated in an annoyed tone, to which Sokka stood up and shrugged. "What? It's true. That's the deal. He knows it." Before Katara could respond to her brother's lack of tact, a flash of blue flew through the air, catching Sokka around the mouth and freezing there in place, effectively shutting him up. As Sokka began to struggle with the ice mask, courtesy of an annoyed waterbender from the North Pole, Katara walked towards an even more nervous looking Aang and touched his shoulders.

"You know what, I've got just the thing! Get ready to be de-stressified!" She said, smiling and leading Aang away. "If your trick doesn't work, I'm next!" Orora called out to their retreating backs as a shadow loomed over her. She raised an eyebrow at the sight of Sokka who made several muffled angry sounds before pointing to his mouth.

She rolled her eyes. "Next time, be more tactful." She warned, waving her hand and allowing the ice to melt away from his mouth. In response, the boy stomped back to his personal project, grumbling under his breath.

Orora turned her attention to the half sewn shirt she had dropped in her lap, picking it up and resuming her task. She was so engrossed in what she was doing, that she barely noticed when Toph and Sokka walked away with Appa, to mold the shape of the armor that would be using metal to his size.

"What're you making?"

Her hands stilled, but she didn't look up.

"I am making a new outfit to wear for when we defeat the Fire Nation." She heard herself say. Why she spoke to him though was beyond her. She should just ignore him and he would disappear.

And yet, some small part of her, the one that still held that soft spot for him, that missed him, wanted to speak to him, to hear his opinion.

Even if, in a way, she would be speaking to herself.

"So, not a new outfit because you're meeting me then?" His voice was teasing. She still didn't look up.

"Don't flatter yourself. I'll be busy fighting to take down your nation to even think about you." Lies, her inner voice told her, but she ignored it.

He was silent for a few moments. "You know, I always wandered how you would look in blue. I mean I did see you at the North Pole, but you were kind of covered in blood then." She could feel the smile in his voice as he continued. "I bet you'll look beautiful."

His compliment, threw her off guard.

Her eyes widened, and despite her initial promise to ignore him and just focus on her fingers as the needle and thread flew through the fabric, she looked up.

Only to see that he was gone.

Leaving her with a hollow feeling in her chest, and a flickering string.

Luckily distraction came in the form of a disgruntled looking Avatar. "Well Katara's sauna method didn't work." He grumbled turning his heavy lidded gaze towards Orora who set her sewing aside. "In that case, lets see if I can help you relax."

So saying, the girl led him away to a location that was partially covered by a big outcropping of a cliff side. It provided enough shade that their ice sculptures wouldn't melt.

"Making sculptures always helped me." Orora explained, as she led Aang to stand in front of his block of ice. "It helps keep my mind focused on one task and helps me relax." She explained further, gesturing for him to start whenever he was ready.

"What should I make though?" He asked, looking back at her curiously to which she shrugged. "Whatever comes to mind."

Aang stood still for a few moments, probably contemplating on who or what to mold from the ice. Finally his arms and hands began to move and Orora watched, in growing horror at what he created.

It was an ice sculpture in the likeness of Ozai. However, he appeared more like a demon spirit then his real self. Aang had even given him horns, a forked tongue and about six eyes. She winced as Aang stepped back, clear fear and shock written across his features as he took in what he had created.

"Erm....maybe, you shouldn't have let your nightmares guide you so much?" Orora suggested, to which Aang let out a groan of frustration. "What am I going to do?" He lamented, as Orora waved a hand and his sculpture melted away. "You're had nightmares before Orora." He suddenly recalled, turning to her, his face desperate.

"How did you get rid of them?" Orora blinked, frowning slightly in thought. "I don't know if my nightmares were at the same intensity as yours Aang. I mean the emotions behind them were very different. I just had to let out all that I was feeling for the nightmares to stop."

She looked at him, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I should think for your nightmares to stop, you just need to face your fear." Her suggestion had Aang's eyes widening in panic once more and his entire body to tremble. "But that doesn't mean you have to do it alone." She reassured him quickly. He was so much shorter then her, and it only made her feel all the more protective over him.

"I promise, when you face the Fire Lord on the day of the invasion, I'll be there with you." She promised. So saying, she wrapped her arms around his slight frame, enveloping him in what could only be described a soothing embrace. It took him a few seconds before he returned the gesture, and for a few moments, Aang was able to feel safe and secure rather then the crippling fear ad anxiety that had hounded him for the past two days.

Once he had pulled back from the embrace, she smiled at him. "Maybe you should talk to someone about what you're feeling? Talking always helps, maybe Sokka can be the perfect candidate for that?" She added to which Aang nodded.

"You're right! I'm gonna go find him! Thanks Orora!" So saying, the young Avatar raced away on an air scooter. Once the air had settled, Orora turned her gaze towards the ice sculpture that she had created for her own purpose.

And that purpose was quickly realized fifteen minutes later when she stood in front of an ice sculpture of her soulmate.

"Why do you have to be on my mind so often?" She whispered as she put the final touches to the sculpture before stepping away. "You should mean nothing to me after what you did, and yet I still find myself thinking about you. And it feels like I'm betraying our cause when I do."

Silence.

Her only companion was the glow of her string and an ice sculpture that melted away with a wave of her hand.

                                           ————————–

The meeting had just adjourned.

And he had been invited to it. his father hadn't wanted to start the meeting until he arrived. He had sat beside his father, in the seat of honor, had been the perfect son, the ideal prince.

But then, as he walked down the corridor towards his room, why did he feel so alone?

For so long he had wanted nothing more then love and acknowledgment from his father, from the man who should be there to guide him and help him should he stumble.

But that meeting, what his father had decided, helped get rid of that notion once and for all.

He was never going to change, Zuko realized. That man was going to remain hard-hearted and unforgiving. He would destroy the entire world for his gain. For glory.

During the entire duration of the plan his father had told so gleefully, all Zuko could think of was all the lives that would be lost because of that plan.

All the plan who would loose their homes, their loves ones.

Everything.

Zuko had lived among those people. They had shown him kindness when no one else could ever have. They had helped him, his Uncle and Orora as well.

How could his father be so cruel and unfeeling?

Orora had been right.

Try as he might, he would never gain his father's approval the way Azula had.

And his Uncle had been right too.

He had to forge his own path, his own destiny.

While his initial drive had been to find Orora and maybe stop the Fire Nation from damaging the world too much. Now? It was completely different.

Now his destiny included helping the Avatar end the war and defeat the Fire Nation.

Once and for all.

                                           ————————–

The whole day she had worked on her outfit. It was almost finished and just needed a few embellishments. Orora hoped she had gotten the proportions right.

"Its turning out great."

If only the mirage of her soulmate would leave her alone.

She looked up from her task, glaring at Zuko as he sat opposite her. He met her gaze with a small hesitant smile. "You know, if you want to say something to me, about what I did, you can." He suggested after a brief moment of tense silence. Orora shook her head, returning her attention to her clothing, her needle flying.

"What would be the use?! You're not here so I would be yelling at nothing and my friends already have Aang's spiral to deal with. I have no desire to burden them with my troubles." She responded, wincing as she accidentally pierced her thumb with the tip of the needle. Wiping away the drop of blood, she continued.

"No, I am going to yell at you when you're actually here in front of me. Because that is what you deserve for what you did to me. To your Uncle." Her hands trembled as that anger that had festered within her for so long in the darkness began to reach a boiling point.

"And I look forward to it." She blinked, her gaze once more finding his. Her brow creased in a confused frown. "To my yelling at you?" She asked, thinking that maybe her mind was really spiraling like Aang's.

Zuko shook his head. "No. To see you."

Her eyes widened at the absolute honesty on his face as well as the smile of utter happiness that played about his lips.

She shook her head, closing her eyes. "This is all in your head." She whispered. "This is all in your head."

Orora couldn't afford to get her hopes up. But it seemed fate was just setting her up to be disappointed all over again. Starting from the dream where he had promised he would come back to her, and now, his mirage appearing to her and saying things like that.

Tears of frustration pricked her eyes as she finally opened them and saw that he was gone. Trying not to let that sinking feeling in her chest make her feel anymore hollow then she already was, she returned to the final stitches of her pants.

Only to glance up when a gust of wind blew by her. Or rather an airbender with his arms in the air and a cry of complete panic echoing as he went by. Orora blinked at his retreated back, wandering what had scared him like that.

A moment later Toph followed his path and she had her explanation.

"What did you do?" She asked, prompting the blind girl to scowl at her. "How'd you know I did something?" Se asked sounding a little offended to which Orora rolled her eyes. "You're always doing something sinister or planning it Toph."

A beat of silence before Toph grinned and nodded. "That's true." Kicking up dirt she walked to sit beside Orora, using her knitting basket as a footstool to keep her feet elevated.

"So, mind telling me why your heart is racing like you just ran as fast as Twinkletoes?"

Blue eyes blinked at Toph for a few brief moments before the older girl sighed, her shoulders drooping. "I'm just thinking about tomorrow and how I might.....run into Zuko." She finally revealed to the younger girl.

Toph hummed. "You know I've been wandering the same thing. I mean we're gonna be taking down the Fire Nation and he is the Prince of the Fire Nation. How're you gonna handle it?" Setting aside her sewing in favor of pulling her legs to her chest, Orora sighed. "I honestly have no idea." She admitted, allowing her fear and uncertainty of the situation to leak into her tone.

Toph was silent next to her for a few moments. "Well, whatever happens, and no matter what the outcome, we'll all face it together." The waterbender glanced at the earthbender from the corner of her eyes. Slowly a small smile pulled at her lips as she nodded. "Yeah, I suppose we will."

Grinning Toph pulled her hand back and punched Orora in the shoulder, prompting the girl to let out a grunt of pain. "I see your method of showing affection has not changed." The girl said, rubbing the sore spot as Toph grinned. "Nope, and it ain't happening either Ice Princess. So get over it!"

"Hey guys!" Katara's voice cut through their moment of silence, prompting them both to look towards the source as she raced towards them. "What you want Sugar Queen?" Toph asked. Ignoring the nickname, she simply grinned. "I think I found a way for Aang to sleep." Behind her, her brother was racing to catch a koala sheep, prompting Orora to raise an eyebrow at his antics.

"Has Sokka started to loose it too?" She asked, to which Toph added. "More so then he already had." The both of them laughed at their own jokes, prompting Katara to huff and grab their wrists, pulling them up.

"Come on! This is brilliant."

She spent the rest of the day catching koala sheeps and creating the world's softest bed for Aang. And not for the first time, Orora was grateful for the friends she had accepted as her surrogate family.

Because honestly?

They were all worth the pain and sacrifice.

                                           ————————–

And as Orora laid down to sleep that night, her string colorless, she knew what tomorrow would bring.

                                           ————————–

And as Zuko laid down to sleep that night, his string a bright glowing blue, he knew what tomorrow would bring.

                                           ————————–

Tomorrow would be the day she would face the Fire Nation. And with her family, friends and allies at her side, there was no way they would loose.

                                           ————————–

Tomorrow would be the day he would finally leave the Fire Nation for good, free his Uncle and join Aang on his journey to restore balance to the world.

And beg Orora to forgive him for what he had done.

He had a long journey ahead of him, but for once, Zuko wasn't scared.

He was at peace with what fate had decided for him.

And he would see it through this time.

                                           ————————–

Tag List - @wavesofchaos​ @violet-potter​ @rennysketch​ @emma-andrea1 @lovesammikinzz @fuzzyfestcat @msrawog @notsaelty @lust-for-pan @aces-tattooartist @jinxxangel13 @lotr-got @bitterspoons @realrintaro @gatorgirl151 @inutheangel @heartfully10 @lucaaahhh @juniper-july19 @anuttellaa @gfksz @bussyvussy @punksnotdeadbutiam @ablofftoneverland-blog-blog @slut-for-menn @vyliie @army-moa75 @juwhls @aqlodun @lovelybaka

[windvexer]

disappointment anon, i didnt actually know you could create spirit doors i thought i just had to hope that the spirits heard me after i called them to me because i dont have clairsenses or good divination.. LOL but thank you for that post that was extremely helpful :)

Hi! In Traditional Witchcraft and other related practices, I think I especially want to say Fairy Faith, the idea that the practitioner has the ability to find, capitalize on, or simply create portals, gateways, and roads into the spirit world is a dominant theme.

The only time I ever see this referenced in 101 stuff is casting a circle! The concept in Traditional Witchcraft is more or less the same as a Wiccan circle, but we call it a compass. If a lot of your education is coming from online sources, you may be unaware that a primary function of a magic circle is to "join the worlds" and, as Kelden puts it,

On a deeper level, though, and most central to Traditional Witchcraft, the compass is a liminal place, a doorway through which we can enter into the Otherworld.

On one hand, the word compass is synonymous with the word circle, but it also denotes the well-known navigational tool used in travel. This second meaning makes a lot of sense in the context that Traditional Witches use the compass round to navigate and traverse the different realms.

Kelden, The Crooked Path, 2020 (emphasis my own)

For a spirit-working witch, the skill of learning where to find spirits and how to reliably call them is a skill which I believe is separate from brokering deals. I also believe that working with these gateways is probably a fundamental skill of witchcraft.

The witch has many tools at their disposal for creating gateways into the spirit world and walking back and forth between this world and the next, with new knowledge, allies, and powers.

Some of these gateways are physical locations, each of which may lead to a different place in the otherworld, or make it easier or more difficult to access certain powers.

A small, secluded cave half-filled with water at the bottom of a steep riverbank may be the ideal location to enter the Underworld, or commune with chthonic powers.

A tiny thicket formed by the arch of a rosemary bush where it tangles with the branches of a thorny rose may be an excellent location to leave tiny gifts for the Greenwood and commune with the green folk.

Much more accessible for many of us is indeed just the concept of crossroads, either a 4-way X or a 3-way T. These locations are long famed for being the meeting places of spirits, or ideal locations to leave offerings or broker spirit deals. The Devil Himself is often said to be haunting just such remote crossroads.

But these gateways don't just have to be found. The witch has the power to create them.

Exhibit A - casting a circle (or more accurately to say, laying a compass).

Also, I believe the creation of a spellcasting altar, if properly magicked and tended to, begins to become liminal in and of itself - it literally becomes a doorway to the otherworlds.

Certain human-made locations, like gas stations and grocery stores, are often considered to be gateways and have been used by some practitioners to fulfill spellwork.

Various charms and talismans can assist with creating doorways navigating the liminal, most famously the Holey or Hag stone.

Robin Artisson details several methods of understanding, discovering, creating, and working with such doorways, I believe in Witching Way of Hollow Hill, but especially in An Carow Gwyn, in the section called The Breaching Charms: The Gateways into Sorcerous Experience.

Daniel Schulke, at least in Viridarium Umbris, provides several sigils and charms for obtaining entrance into the otherworld.

Roger J Horne, in A Broom at Midnight, details thirteen "gateways" to spirit flight. While these are specifically methods of entering astral travel, any student of the concept of gateways and doors within witchcraft I think would benefit from studying the rituals within.

Speaking of astral travel, many common methods espoused include imagining that a person is climbing down the roots of a tree, or inside of the trunk of a tree and floating down like an elevator; or going down a well. All of these things are analogous to (or, the same thing as) mentally seeking out a gateway to the otherworld, searching in mental constructs of places in nature where gateways are commonly found or believed to be found.

Indeed, the concept of roads, gates, thresholds, and doors, is (I think) a vital contemplation to the understanding of Witchcraft itself, and it is upon these bedrocks that a great deal of witchcraft has been built.

[livwritesstuff]

heyo! loving the steddie dads. was wondering if either of them suffer from nightmares or ptsd after everything they've been through? and how they might deal with that on a day-to-day/anniversary basis.

Hi friend -- took some time on this one because this is a Topic for me.

Short answer – yes, 100%. I don’t think any person on the planet could experience that kind of thing and not come out of it with some serious issues to work through. 

Longer answer, and not to abuse my psych degree, but it’s really tough to say how they would be affected 10, 20, 30, etc. years down the line because PTSD and trauma are both so unbelievably complex – for many reasons, but in part because PTSD can do two things (sort of) simultaneously.

Wane over time

Completely and permanently alter the “wires” (neural pathways) in your brain

I think that there’s sometimes this perception in the ST fandom that every character in the show who experienced a trauma would have PTSD by default, but that might not necessarily be true. Stats actually show that the majority of people who experience trauma in some capacity will in fact not display PTSD symptoms. I think Mike and Dustin at the onset of season 2 are a fantastic example of how two people can go through the same events together and come out of it affected very differently.

(Sidebar: I think Stranger Things has a fantastic opportunity to show how varied the effects of trauma can be. Granted, I don’t think that’s the story they’re telling, but they totally could.)

Experiencing a traumatic event is not necessarily a one-way ticket to PTSD symptoms and/or a PTSD diagnosis – to be clear, this doesn’t mean that there are not lasting negative effects from that traumatic event, but it is still distinctly different from PTSD (in its official definition) – and right now it’s not clear why this is the case. 

I have individual thoughts about each character as it relates to what they specifically experience and how I think they would be affected by it long and short-term, HOWEVER I also recognize that I haven’t answered your actual question, so I digress.

Rather than dive into whether or not I think Steve and/or Eddie have PTSD, we’re just gonna call it capital-T Trauma and move along. You’re welcome.

Anyways, by the time Steve and Eddie (as they exist in this ‘verse) are in their fifties, I doubt that any residual effects of their Trauma would still be anywhere near debilitating. Generally speaking, they can go about their day-to-day lives without thinking about what they went through all that much.

I do think that those effects may temporarily worsen around anniversaries, but even that really isn’t all that noticeable by the time they hit the 2020s.

They’ll still occasionally have nightmares and I don’t think Steve ever fully lets himself believe that it’s truly done in a way that Eddie doesn’t relate to because he never had to experience what it’s like for it all to come back.

(Small potatoes, but I also don’t think Steve could ever own a dog no matter how much his daughters campaigned for a puppy when they were in elementary school).

I think the Trauma that Steve experienced shows itself in his adulthood when it comes down to raising kids. 

I’ve talked before about how Steve has a moment when Moe turns ten where it kind of clicks for the first time just how young Erica had been when he allowed her to get caught up in everything. He hadn’t been able to see it until he was a fully-fledged adult raising a ten-year-old, but he gets really hung up on it, and then he spends the next few years being like – Moe’s eleven, that’s how old Eleven was when she broke out of the lab; she’s twelve, that’s how old Will was when he got stuck in the Upside Down; she’s thirteen, that’s how old Dustin was when he almost got eaten by demobats in those tunnels. 

Then the girls start hitting their high school years and Steve starts realizing – oh, it wasn’t just the younger ones. I was also a kid still and put in a really fucked up position. It’s the thing that makes him truly see how few adults he had in his corner.

Eddie has a similar moment when Moe graduates high school and he realizes that his oldest daughter is as old as Chrissy ever got to be.

That being said I also don’t think Eddie gets as torn up over Chrissy as the popular opinion suggests but i’m a little afraid to voice that one lol

I definitely think Eddie and Steve never let themselves forget how Max, Chrissy, Patrick, etc. were vulnerable to Vecna’s curse because of a very specific circumstance – they were grappling with something internally that they didn’t feel they had the resources or people they trusted enough to address outwardly. Sure, they know that their kids aren’t at risk of being possessed and murdered by an evil monster, but the notion of bad things happening when people don’t have the support that they need is a very real phenomenon with very real consequences. By no means was that exclusive to Hawkins and it certainly didn’t go away with the Upside Down. 

I think that this becomes the crux of Steve and Eddie’s mentality behind parenthood – to make sure that their kids never feel like they can’t go to their dads for support, to never allow their children to be in a position where they have to suffer in silence. That, to me, is absolutely rooted in the parts of their Trauma that re-wired their brains irreparably.

Anyhooooo this is really just the tip of the iceberg imo but this is long enough already lol (but if anyone wants to hear more about the Stranger Things-Trauma paradigm, let me know because I could probably talk about it for hours).

[fatherforgivethem]

Hotd meets the Hunger Games 🫢

“I keep wishing I could think of a way to show them that they don’t own me. You know, if I’m gonna die… I wanna still be me.”

Alicent Hightower had never expected for her name to be called at the reaping. She had never expected to talk to Otto Viridis as a crowd laughed at her sweet words. She most certainly did not expect to win her games and make it back home to Distract 4 when she was only sixteen years old. Her life seemed to be full of surprises; and it had not ended there. She had met Criston Cole by chance when she was walking down the docks in town. He had been bringing baskets of fish back to his shop when Alicent had bumped into him. And after a few words of apology, her life had changed once again.

She had taken a job at his shop where he sold the fish he caught. She needed something to do after moving to Victors Village. From there they got to know each other, and it was in that little shop that they fell in love. They had married and before she even knew it, they had three children, soon four, running around the docks.

Her life had continued to change when her son’s name was called at the reaping, when her eldest son at volunteered for him, and when it had happened all over again two years later. She had to watch them again and again go through what she went through, watch the way that they became killers like she did. Her arena had been so different from there’s. It was hot, dead, unlivable. She had only won when she had found poisonous berries that she forced two people to eat. The sound of their cannons going off still rung in her ears. And now it wound ring in her children’s ears for the rest of their lives as well. It was a cycle, and it would take a certain kind of person to break it.

Criston Cole never would have thought that he would have four children and wife that he called his. He hadn’t even expected to live past thirteen, let alone twenty. But he did, and he met the love of his life and they brought the most beautiful children into the world. A world that would take them away from their parents.

He had been forced to watch his two oldest boys kill others to stay alive. On most nights, he was either waking up in a cold sweat, or trying to get Alicent to wake up from one of her nightmares. Since winning their own games, Criston had been traveling down the hall to help Aegon and Aemond as well.

His life was full of horror as he watched those he loved crumble before him. When it would end, Criston would never know. What he did know, was that he would find a way to make it end, all of it.

Aegon had always been told to keep his head down. His mom made it clear that he was to never say the words “I volunteer!”. Those were words for careers, and Aegon and his siblings were not careers; they were the sons and daughter of a victor and a fisherman. And, if his mother could help it, it would stay that way. But it hadn’t; not when Aemond, who had only been thirteen, was called at the reaping.

Aegon had never raised his hand and said words so quick before. It was so quick that it almost felt like a thought that had slipped through his head. But it had happened, and before he knew it, he was being pulled to the stage and asked what his name was. He had tried his best to ignore the look of horror and unshed tears in his mothers eyes.

The capital had loved him. They loved his confidence, the risky jokes he would say. They saw him as a flirt, someone with a dashing smile. It worked, and before Aegon even knew it, people were placing their bets on a fifteen year old Aegon. He had hoped for an arena full of something similar to what he grew up with, maybe trees and water, but when he was shoved into a suit meant to keep him warm, he knew it would be an arena meant to kill. His hopes were crushed even further when he rose to an arena full of snow, a frosty forest, and a frozen and freezing ocean.

He had been the son of a fisherman, and it showed. He had set traps made out of rope that would strangle the other tributes. He had only won the games because he was a good swimmer. And so, when a boy from 2 and Aegon were in the water, Aegon was able to keep the other boy under as he continued to tread above the surface. Aegon had almost died from the cold. When Aegon was on the train back home, he swore he would find a way to make it all end, to stop the games.

Helaena hated each reaping with every fiber of her being. She hated the way that parents cried and children clung to friends and family. She hated seing videos of her mother, who was only a little girl, forcing another child to eat poisonous berries. She hated them more when her brothers were taken away from her, changed and never the same. She hated so many things, and it was because of the games, because of the President. Those however, were words never to be spoken out loud. Not if she wanted to have her family live to see another day.

When Aegon had won, stylists from the capital had come to their home in District 4 to force Helaena into puffy clothes and pin her hair back until her head was pounding. The times that she did love were when the games, the PR that her family did, were over and done with. It was a time that allowed her to sit by the water and sketch her designs. Or where she could bake in the kitchen as Aegon and Aemond taught Daeron how to play chess.

Her name had never been called, and for that she was incredibly grateful. It spared her parents more pain than they needed. It spared herself the pain. So, for now, in between games, she would simply be with her family.

Something was brewing, she could feel it in the air. She could see it when Aegon and their mother went on long walks in areas no one was allowed. Something was about to happen, a storm, and Helaena would try her best to be ready for it.

As soon as his little brothers name was called, Aemond had done the same thing his elder brother had done. He’d volunteered. He had done the one thing his brother had to go to the games for. It was as if they were in a cycle, like someone was testing to see how strong their family could hold. Well, whatever it was, Aemond was falling into the trap like the fish he caught each day.

With Aegon as his mentor, Aemond had felt prepared, something very rare when going into the games. His brother had prepared for almost everything. On how to survive the night if it was cold without attracting other tributes. He even taught Aemond how to appeal to the capital. They had loved his confident, yet shy, demeanor. People had commented on how much of a mix Aemond was with his older brother and mother. With Aemond entering the games, they had become obsessed with his family, and Aemond had tried his best to hide his distaste for their awing behavior.

He had hoped each night before bed that his arena would be nothing like Aegon’s. And when he had risen into an arena full of mountains and flowing waterfalls and rivers, Aemond had tried his best not to smile. Throughout his games, he did all he could to survive. He avoided the cornucopia and instead stole a backpack from a boy from 7. The way that Aemond’s flying knife had logged itself into the boys chest still popped into his head before he went to sleep every night. The boys name had been Luke, and Aemond would always remember that after having to give a speech to the boy’s family.

Aemond had won his games staying up and catching the smoke of the last four tributes. He had climbed high into the trees and had skillfully let his knives drop onto them. He had done it to get home. And when he had been pulled into his brothers arms on the train ride home, he knew that it had been worth it. To survive is to kill.

It had been hard to watch her little boy die by the hands of another child. Because Rhaenyra knew, within her heart, that the boy from 4 had no choice. And if her own son, if Luke, was given the chance, she hoped he would have done the same. She supposed it was better for Luke to go in the beginning than for her to watch him die as he got nearer to the end. Almost close enough to reach out for and touch, before being ripped from her. No, the boy from 4, Aemond was his name, had done her a kindness. However selfish it might have been. She had seen the sadness, the regret, when Aemond had come to district 7 on his victory tour and had given his speech.

She thought that she was given peace after her sons death, but as the games went on, another boy’s name was called. Her boy, her Jace. Another son was taken from her, Though, Jace had fought and he had lived. She didn’t know what was worse, watching her son die, or watching the other live yet die inside of himself. He had never been the same, it had taken months for him to sleep in his own bed. He had, after some months, finally been able to chop wood without having to cover his ears and sit curled into himself on the ground. He wasn’t a victor, he was a victim of the capital’s wicked games.

So, when her son, after coming home from another game of mentoring, had taken her deep into the woods to discuss a brewing rebellion; she had listened, she had agreed. It would end, it had to.

His brother had been killed and now he was sent to do the same thing to other children. Children like him who only wanted to survive. But only one was allowed, and everyone wanted that to be them. Jace included. It had only been two games since his brother had been killed, and now, at eighteen, Jace too had been chosen at the reaping. Not a soul had volunteered. All of the boys around him had stayed quiet, had looked down at the ground. Jace didn’t blame them. If it wasn’t for the shock, Jace would have laughed. It was his last year to get picked, and after seven years of not, he was chosen. What a joke.

His mentor had only taught him one thing, and that was to never team up with others. No matter what they offered, Jace was to refuse them. Luke had made the mistake of being naive, and Jace wouldn’t do the same. He wouldn’t let his mother lose another son. After their father had died, it had only been the three of them. And then Luke had been taken away, and then Jace. Each smile he graced the wretched capital with, he did it for his mom.

The arena he landed in had been a shock. After being able to finally open his eyes against the light, Jace had looked upon a land of sand. Only sand. It had taken more supplies than he wanted to find an oasis. He had been lucky in winning his games. He had gone against what his mentor had said and he had teamed up with others. When the rest of them were asleep, four cannons had gone off, and it had been Jace that had slit the throats of the other two tributes whilst they slept. It had been an easy win, is what the capital said. However, like the majority of other victors, it hadn’t felt like a victory.

It didn’t take much convincing to join the rebellion. After returning home, his mentor had taken him out into the woods, away from prying ears, and had told him everything. How there was a plan, how the famous Hightower family from District 4 was in on it. That after this coming games, they would bring an end to the Hunger Games and the conniving capital once and for all.

….Part 1 of 2

[yunamedkostobot]

Jacegan Week 2024: Day 2, Canon

drabble, 1.4k words

King Jace, AU, minor jacela(political marriage), mentioned jofhaera and Addam/Rhaena

The sun sets over King's Landing as Cregan stands near the Princevault — so this building with the slate roof and high carved doors is called now, with prince Daeron Targaryen, formerly the Daring, kept here. 

It was the surprise when not so long after the war ended, King Jacaerys Targaryen, former Velaryon, declared that his uncle, who barely survived the battle of Tumbleton, would not be executed, but instead held in lifelong captivity.

« I understand your concerns, my lords». — he said to the Small Council. — «But my uncle is not dangerous now. His dragon is dead. He lost his left arm and half of his foot in the last battle, he has numerous burns… He will not be able to fight for the throne. Nobody will follow the king who is crippled to such an extent. And he is still my uncle, and I don’t want to spill the blood of my relatives.»

«Why won’t you send him to the Nightwatch, your Highness?» asked Corlys Velaryon, Master over the Ships then and Cregan, who stood by here with Hand’s brooch on his doublet, was more than agree with him. 

If there hadn’t been a Bitterbridge massacre, Cregan could have even felt pity towards the fallen prince. But not after him demanding to kill all of his inhabitants even after the true killers of prince Maelor were executed. No, he does not understand why Jacaerys spared him. 

« He may be kidnapped by remaining Green supporters during the trip. Here, he would be under supervision. His niece may still visit him, though.» — Here he chuckled.

The only niece the imprisoned prince had was princess Jaehaera, who just goes out from the Princevault, in her blue dress, with her hands hold by both King Jacaerys and Queen Baela. The girl looks not really happy, but content — a wildly different from the tear-eyed, trembling girl Jace described here to him they found when the capital was captured. 

At first, when they didn’t know what to do with her. She was the daughter of the fallen king, of the man, who usurped his mother and abandoned his wife when she lost her son and went mad. But she was still a young, eternally frightened girl too. The better choice was to marry her to someone loyal to the king, who will not rebel to get a crown and has the possessions of his own. There were four men who may possibly wed her - king’s brothers Joffrey and Aegon, or his bastard brothers Alyn and Addam. Some people expected young Aegon to wed Jaehaera, but the King stopped those talks and decided to marry the girl to the middle brother, and also to marry lady Rhaena to Addam, who became the heir to Driftmark. 

«I do not think that Joffrey will be against his bride visiting her uncle when they visit the Red Keep. I am not gonna wed them now cause it’s gonna be nothing, but a farce in this case. I’ll wait until the princess turns at least thirteen and their wedding will happen here.»

«And your brother?»

«Will get a Dornish mark. It’s a hardly controlled region and we need  strongholds both against Dorn and usurper’s sympathizers in the Reach.»

Here, the king doesn’t tell all the truths. Jacaerys never told about it to the Small Council, but said once to him that the reason his uncles usurped his mother may lay in the fact they would not get anything except reduced to mere toadies if she will get a throne. His uncle and stepfather was a son of the king, but didn’t get anything except a place in the Small council and nothing to give his children except the dragon eggs. Cregan thinks there is nothing to pity the usurpers for, but he more than agrees that Jace’s brothers deserve to get their own lands. Granted, prince Joffrey has Dragonstone now, but when Queen Baela will give birth to the son, it will come to him. So, there are the Dornish mark for Joffrey, Cape Kraken for Aegon and Rain House, whose Lord’s family lost  it due to its association with usurper, for young Viserys. And two of them will get new keeps for their families, when the said keeps will be built. 

Cregan sighs as the King gets down on one knee, hugs his niece and then rises and kisses his cousin and wife, who looks gorgeous in her red dress despite being heavily pregnant, on her forehead. He is not of those who can think a lot about his past, but he hardly can believe that only two years have passed since the green dragon and his rider landed nearby Winterfell. Once they hunted together, played snowballs in secret,watched the night sky and  shared kisses in its darkness. Once merely a young grandlord and prince with a young dragon — now Hand and his King, who is gonna be father soon.

But are they the same persons who have fallen for each other during the visit to the North? 

Once they reunited after Jacaerys’s coronation and his mother’s funeral, he voiced his concerns about it. Jacaerys, who there did his best to make Cregan call him «Jace» again, didn’t smiled in vain attempt to make the situation look easier, but lowered his gaze and genuinely said that he didn't know this. He was thrown out of balance by the betrayal of the dragonseeds he recruited, his brother's death and his mother being killed by one of Larys Strong’s spies. Than, they couldn’t find the words to sooth each other and barely sat alone in the cabinet,  pressing their foreheads against each other, and somehow, this was enough. 

And so they decided — no matter what, to be here and watch for each other.

The princess and the Queen leave King Jacaerys, as he goes to him. In the sky, the dragon’s cry is heard, and Cregan wonders, what sea monster is brought to keep by Moondancer now. Last time, Queen Baela’s dragon dragged the whole shark to the Red Keep. 

«We need to discuss some things privately.» says Jace, when he comes to him and Cregan nods. 

Since the war, huge numbers of armies of North, Riverlands and Vale and Blacks supporters from other Kingdoms have occupied the Westlands, Stormlands, Kingslands and Reach — as the lands whose lords betrayed their true queen. In retaliation, they will be put under direct control of the king’s through loyal people for a temporary time. Kermit Tully got the Westlands, Lord Rovan got the Reach, Corlys Velaryon got the Stormlands, and Jeyne Arryn’s heir Joffrey Arryn got Kingslands. And Cregan thinks that the reason Jace called him to his rooms is somehow connected to this. 

They reach the king’s cabinet in a minute and the guards salute to them. They enter it a second after and Jace closes the door. 

Cregan can see the said cabinet. Poets and bards often talk about how wonderful the Red Keep looks like, and sometimes Cregan is ready to agree with them. There is the broken model of old Valyria made by Jace’s maternal grandfather, king Viserys, a huge table, a chair nearby and a fire burning in the fireplace. There are a bunch of letters on the table and a  ream of sheets next to them. 

Then, Jace shows him a bunch of letters. Cregan reads them patiently. These letters come from different cities - or better to say, from unions the prominent ones of these cities, like merchants or most skilled craftsmen. The number of cities are impressive: Weeping town, Vinetown, Pebbletown, Hull, King’s Landing itself, Duskendale, Lannisport, Tumbletown, Bitterbridge… The prominent ones of these cities are afraid - it’s visible in the tone of their letters. The war left them with no protection from the marching armies of lords, especially the traitor lords and so they are asking the king for protection. They will pay money directly to his representatives, will form city militias or empower the existing ones and put the directly to the king’s service if he’ll support them in their initiative.

And there Cregan understands. Now, there are Tully, Stark and Arryn armies keeping the order in former rebel territories, but it ain’t gonna last forever. Sooner or later, but they need to leave home… And then…

« Are you going to use city councils against the former rebel lords?»

And the smirk blossoms on Jace’s lips.

«Exactly». 

[eccentricgrace]

Once Bitten, Twice Shy || IronDad

summary: in the midst of a very high fever, peter accidentally calls tony instead of may.

tags: fluff, sickfic, fevers, humor, hurt/comfort, tony acting as peter parker's parental figure

wc: 3,749

cross-posted on wattpad under the same name!

He hasn't felt like this since he was thirteen going on fourteen, and his muscles ached and he had cold-shakes and he just kept thinking, shit, May just got her new job, she doesn't have health insurance yet— and, oh, he'd been nursing an infected spider bite. Radioactive, specifically.

Giving May a big ol' smile and convincing her that he felt fine, she could definitely work, he'll be okay— and then going unconscious for twelve hours at a time, kind of thinking he was going to die.

Obviously, he didn't die. Actually it felt like he did kind of the opposite, 'cuz then suddenly he had like, abs, and no asthma, and he could sit on the couch and actually see every pixel of May's cheesy medical dramas without having his (broken, taped) glasses.

And also he could do things like avoid bullets. Or not avoid bullets, bleeding all over Flushing Avenue, and still live to tell the tale. This is how, two-ish years later and at the ripe age of sixteen, he knew he'd live through whatever nasty virus this was, too.

Viruses be damned, though, he'd rather take a bullet.

He felt like shit. Capital S-H-I-T. The Bo Burnham song reincarnated into his sweating, fleshy form. His eyes burned, everything ached, and he was pretty much resigned to lying completely still on his lumpy twin-sized mattress and taking shaky, measured breaths until he fell asleep.

He's pretty sure the fever's gotten worse since May left this morning, and he was only able to convince her to leave to begin with because it had been low. A measly 100. Not great, but not the worst either.

May had given strict instructions before she did finally backtrack out the door: keep down as many fluids as he could, and to check his fever every two hours. Call her if he needed anything. And Peter said, "Okay."

Now, he's been so-so with the first instruction. He had a pitcher— literally, a pitcher. The kind that store a gallon vat of iced tea or lemonade, or god forbid iced tea-lemonade in the summer— and he filled it to the brim with water and had just been sipping at it.

This seemed insane, and kind of was, but he didn't want to keep getting up to fill a puny 12oz water glass when his legs felt like they were about to fall off, and his bed was so warm, and the outside world was so cold, and the pitcher worked, damn it.

But he'd finished that an indeterminate amount of time ago, somewhere after 'the-neighbors-are-still-watching-Curb-Your-Enthusiasm' timebut before 'my-eyes-feel-like-they're-not-real' time. Either way, his neighbors have moved on to watching Scrubs, so clearly it's been a while.

As for the second one, the thermometer is on his bedside table, and he thinks he checked his temp a few times, maybe, but he keeps forgetting the results. And he keeps forgetting if he actually checked his temp or if he just thought really hard about checking his temp and his brain decided to keep those thoughts as the word of God. (Also, he really likes the word 'temp.')

He should probably check his fever again. He doesn't really know what time it is— he's been using Scrubs episodes as a clock, and he's may be hallucinating but he's pretty sure he's slept through at least half a season. Or there were a lot more Christmas plotlines than he remembered.

Unfortunately, all the evidence points to the fact that Peter must resort to step three. Call May. So makes a half-hearted series of motions, all shivering violently as the blanket lifts up to expose his skin to the air, and grabs his phone off the charger.

His hand is fumbling blearily through his phone through his contacts, the starred ones, because he can't focus at all and he's pretty sure May is at the top of the list— makes it all easier for him in emergencies.

The phone is ringing and his ears are ringing and his head is ringing and J.D. is monologuing to Dr. Cox about a Super Bowl party he wasn't invited to, and then the line clicks.

"May," Peter greets with as much cheer as he can muster. He can't tell if he's speaking very loudly or very quietly but his throat rasps and it hurts and he wants to go back to sleep. "Hi, May."

"Peter? You sound like you just got hit by a bus," a voice answers, and it sounds muffled, like it's talking through water. But Peter's chest eases at the sound, like he's hearing home, so he smiles and his dry lips crack open a little bit. "Kid? Please tell me you didn't get hit by a bus."

"Haha," Peter says, and yeah, he literally says the word 'haha.' He doesn't have the energy to actually laugh. "I wish!"

He's been hit by a bus before. He's been punched through a bus before. Way more of an enjoyable experience.

"You've what?" The voice slices, a sharpness cutting through on deaf ears. "What the hell? Peter, where are you? Isn't it a Tuesday?"

"Home sick," Peter mumbles, his eyes slipping shut as the sunlight moves just enough to stream in through his blinds.

"You're—" a pause. "You're homesick? For what, kiddo? I— alright, back up a moment. Are you safe?"

Peter groans, shutting his eyes tighter as sunlight continues to infect his little cave. The light stings at his head. "Owww. May, 'm so sorry."

"Hey, talk to me," the voice says, so strong, so parental that Peter can't help but feel equal parts soothed and scolded. "Why're you sorry? Are you hurt? FRI, bring up schematics, vitals—"

"Today was such a big day," Peter says, his tongue feeling numb as he stumbles along each word, going slower than molasses at the speed of which his mind supplies them. "You had to do the thing and then the other... and I told you I'd be okay, but 'm not feeling okay anymore. I need you. 'M sorry."

"Okay," the phone says. "Peter, it's okay. I'm on my way, alright? Are you bleeding?"

"Mm," Peter mumbles a faint disagreement, feeling absolutely miserable. "Jus' tired. I drank all the water already and I can't get up. An' I think they're watching it out of order."

"Who's watching what out of order?"

And Peter can't find the proper words to explain that it's the apartment across from them, who's definitely watching Scrubs out of order, because now J.D. is being locked on the roof of Memorial Hospital, and that's definitely a season one episode.

"Right," Phone says, befuddled. "You're sick, aren't you? Caught the spider-flu?"

Peter groans again. Loudly, to emphasize the misery.

"Okay. I can handle sick. Listen, thank you for calling me, I know that's often difficult for you," Phone seems to laugh, like he's poking fun of Peter about something.

Peter's not amused, as much as he really, really would like to be. Phone seems like a funny guy. Phone seems like he tells really funny jokes, and Peter would love to be laughing at them right now.

"It is," Peter sulks instead, because it's true, andit's not funny, and he wants his aunt.He sniffles. "It is really hard. I don't wanna 'nother spider powers. Ugh, my head hurts so bad..."

"Aw, Pete," Phone chuckles, and sighs. "I know, buddy. Alright, hang in there. I'm gonna send a call to your aunt, quick. Stay there, capiche?"

This is a silly request, because Peter can't go anywhere even if he wanted to— which he resolutely does not. His limbs are so stiff, and heavy, and he's so tired that even twitching a finger is a Herculean effort.

His phone drops lamely from his hand as he waits for something, but he forgot exactly what he was waiting for. He thinks May. May is supposed to come back, right? And take care of him?

He ick-shivers and cold-shivers and listens to the distant muddy voice of Zach Braff and someone singing about Superman to a banjo, and then everything goes blissfully fuzzy.

For the next whenever, he can't genuinely tell what is a dream and what isn't.

A hand soothes over his forehead, and when he flutters his eyes open it's all blurry— someone tells him to go back to sleep. It sounds like Ben. Peter didn't realize he got home from work so early.

"Oh, kid..."

Peter listens to Ben, and dreams again.

The hand returns, this time to take his blankets. A cold shiver racks through his entire body, every notch of his spine. He can feel the sweat gathered at his neck, the crooks of his elbows. He grunts his disproval and grips his fingers onto the fabric, pulling it back towards him.

"I know, but we have to bring your temperature down. Let go of the blanket, Spidey."

"That's a secret," Peter croaks. "'M not Spider-Man. I'm Peter Parker."

"Yeah, well, I'm Iron Man. So you have to listen to me. Let go of the blanket, Peter Parker." Someone tugs again at the duvet.

Peter peaks an eye open again, to verify the identity of his assailant. He blinks a few times, feeling dizzy even with his head pressed back firmly against his pillows.

Iron Man was not in his bedroom.

Tony Stark, however, was.

"Mr. Stark?" Peter furrows his eyebrows, shifting around on the bed. He wants to sit up, even if the thought alone makes him sort of crosseyed. His muscles don't budge more than a few inches before aching again. "Is'ere a mission?"

Tony quickly leans forward, gently guiding Peter back down. "Easy, killer. No mission."

Peter's brain short-circuits momentarily, and then starts the slow process of reboot. He blinks. Then sniffles.

Tony looks amused, his head tilted in a funny way. His mouth quirks up on one side, dimpling at his cheek. He clears his throat, and gestures to the blanket again. "You willing to work with me here?"

Peter starts, and looks back down at the blanket forlornly. "But..."

"I'll trade you. Why don't you go take a shower, and I'm going to change these sheets for you, something I have done maybe once in my life," Tony rattles off. "See? We're good for eachother. Can you stand?"

Peter sluggishly twitches his hand under the blankets. He thinks of all the ways he could say no. (Negatory. No-siree. Nopers. Thumbs-down. Absolutely not. Not gonna happen.)

He squints, and slowly gives Tony an affirmative nod.

Tony's eyes focus very intensely. Peter kind of feels like he's about to explode from the sheer power of his gaze, or like, be blown to bits with lasers.

Peter slowly shakes his head.

"Maybe a bath, then." Tony finalizes. He pulls the blankets off, ignoring Peter's whines, and helps him up. Used tissues fall to the floor, and Tony's nose curls up. "Alright, kiddo. Let's get you to the bathroom."

He lets himself be led into the bathroom, wincing as the lights are flicked on. Tony starts running the bath's faucet, one arm still outstretched like he's ready to catch Peter if he falters. It's kind of humiliating, but as it stands— Peter can hardly stand, and they both know it.

His cheeks burn red.

"I'm not a baby," Peter points out, just so they both remain aware of this fact. He's shivering so hard that his teeth clack against each other.

"I know. That's why I'm not staying in here," Tony says offhandedly. He runs his hand under the water and shakes it off once he's seemingly satisfied with its temperature. "Don't prove me wrong by drowning, will you?"

"I'm cold," Peter complains, trying not to shift from one foot to another. Every movement makes him lightheaded, which really wouldn't prove... whatever point he was starting out with.

"I know, buddy." Tony pulls back from the bath. "You able to get in there on your own? The water's not cold. Rapid cooling is a no-no these days, I got the rundown from FRIDAY on the drive here."

"I'll say thank you to her later," Peter shuffles over to the bathtub and sits down at the edge. He takes a moment to breathe and then nods. "I'll be okay, I think."

"Alright. Yell if you need anything. I'll be just across the hall," Tony says, backing up. "Do you want me to leave the door closed, or open a crack?"

"Does your old ears need it open a crack to hear me if I yell?" Peter asks unthinkingly. A moment of silence passes. Then his mouth opens, and he stares blankly, like a fish. "...Uh..."

Tony's scrubbing at his face, and his eyes are covered but it almost looks like there's a smile pulling at his lips. "I'm going to close the door. You little shit. Don't drown."

Peter smiles weakly and gives a thumbs up. Tony retreats, the door shutting softly behind him, so Peter starts peeling off his sweat-soaked pyjamas. He grimaces, and tosses them to the floor with as much effort as he can (they land about a foot away from him).

The water is not warm. Peter's still shivering when he slides into the tub. It's not as cold as the air, though, so he soaks into it and relishes as the water starts to soothe the ache in his joints. It's nice not to stink like a middle school locker room, too.

He can hear Tony outside the bathroom, rummaging around through a closet, shedding the sheets off his bed, all rustling sounds of fabric— and then the beeping of the washing machine being turned on. His footsteps creak back and forth on the old wooden floors of the Parker apartment.

The realization of his circumstances suddenly seems very, very funny. He accidentally called Iron Man instead of his aunt, and now Iron Man is doing his laundry. Iron Man is probably cleaning up his disgusting snot-tissues. This really is the timeline he's living in.

Anyway, the longer he's in the water, the better he feels. His thoughts are coming back to him a little clearer now, for better or worse, so he scrubs himself head to toe with soap and then lets the bathtub drain.

Tony, apparently, had grabbed a pair of fresh clothes for him before they'd even left his room, which Peter now clocks on the bathroom counter. He tries not to cringe as he pulls on a very old, very faded Stark Expo shirt that Ben bought when he was eight. (Peter begged for an extra extra large adult size, so he would never grow out of it, because "it's limited edition, Ben!")

To add insult to injury, it seemed Tony also picked out the cursed Hello Kitty pajama pants. At least they were warm, but Peter knows that wasn't why they were picked.

He drudges out of the bathroom and pushes open his door. The window's been cracked open, the whole room being filtered with New York's closest approximation to fresh air. Peter's sheets were in-fact changed, and all of the popsicle sticks, tissues, and miscellaneous pill bottles have all been cleared out.

Tony's crouched over, filling a laundry basket with the sporadic mess of clothes strewn across the floor. His head turns up at the door. "There he is. You feeling better?"

Peter answers by crawling into his bed and sighing with all the breath his lungs could hold.

Tony makes an amused noise and sets the laundry basket down. He takes the thermometer from Peter's newly cleared bedside table, and Peter shuts his eyes as the cold plastic smooths over his forehead gently, down the side of his face, stopping at the back of his ear.

It beeps twice in quick succession, which could be worse. Last time Peter remembered it beeping a lot more, and the light was red, which is notoriously not a good colour for a light to be.

"Well, your fever didn't break, but it is significantly lower," Tony clicks his tongue. "Congrats. You're no longer cooking your brain."

"Yippee," Peter says dryly.

"I'm making you tea," Tony decides, putting the thermometer down. "Are you hungry? You want soup? You a chicken noodle guy?"

Peter blinks open an eye, feeling a youthful hope spark up in his chest. "...I think we have cans of minestrone in the pantry?" He says quietly.

"Minestrone? Sure. I'll look for minestrone." Tony clears his throat. "I filled you an actual water bottle. It has ice in it. Drink that, I'll be back."

"Please don't burn down May's kitchen," Peter calls after him, sinking into his pillows. "It's seen enough!"

"We'll see about that!" Tony calls back.

Peter decides to sip at the water for no other reason than he knows he should, and checks his phone while Tony is suspiciously rummaging through cabinets.

Ned has been messaging him all day, talking about things he's missing: a broad spectrum ranging from Spanish quizzes to that squirrel who apparently found its way in the cafeteria again. Peter sends him back a text that (to reiterate) Iron Man is making him soup, because if anybody could understand how bizarre this was, it would be his best friend who had personally seen him in his fanboy phase.

May has been sending him texts, too. Ones that he apparently had already replied to, although he doesn't even remember getting them. He decides not to let her know about that particular detail and goes right on to updating her.

tony came over he's making me soup against my will

LOL. I know, baby. Tony called me.

How are you feeling? You sure you don't need to me come home?

feeling better now

i'm okay, promise

they need you over there! you're too special and important and amazing to leave

😋Alright, that's enough out of you

Drink lots of water. I'll be home soon ❤️‍🩹

i will, larb you!

Larb you too ❤️

He looks at his phone blankly for a measly few seconds before he once again realizes how exhausted his eyelids are from staying open. He sighs and falls backwards onto the pillows, and lets himself drift.

It seems like it's only a few seconds before he's gently shaken awake again, just a hand sweeping over his knees. He makes a grumbly noise and peeks an eye open, and Tony is there again, a mug—(a mug?)—of soup in his hand, and a bottle of pills in the other.

"Take these," Tony says, handing him the bottle. "Take three. Drink your soup so you've got something in your stomach to help digest it." 

"How do you know this stuff?" Peter mumbles, but does so anyways. He pops the pills in his mouth and swallows them down with some water. "Thought only parents knew that."

Like May, his mind suggests.

"May told me," Tony confirms his thoughts as if he had spoken them out loud. Peter nods in understanding. 

He sips at the minestrone, wincing as the liquid passes over his scratchy throat. It's bland from how congested he is, and the steam makes his nose start to run again, but the warmth feels good in his stomach. 

"Why're you here?" He rasps out finally, because his brain is finally catching up now and while Tony being here certainly wasn't unwelcome, he also cannot remember when or how or why he got here. There's definitely some pieces of the story he totally missed due to being only quarter of a functional human.

Tony raises an eyebrow, sitting down on Peter's bed. He kicks his feet up so they're resting on his spinny desk chair. "Why? You waiting to kick me out already?"

"No," Peter rolls his eyes, smiling. "Although you may wanna get out of here while you can. You might catch whatever super-flu knocked me out, and then where would we be? No Spider-Man and no Iron Man? That's like, half the Avengers right there."

"Very funny, kid," Tony says, trying valiantly and in vain to bite back a grin. "You'll be back on your feet in no time. Until then, I don't mind staying around to make sure you don't brain yourself on the windowsill or something."

"I wouldn't do that. The bathtub, maybe. But the windowsill, doubtful."

"Great, well, at least you know your limits." Tony clears his throat. "You should take a nap. Let those meds kick in."

"I've been sleeping all day," Peter complains— and he's not entirely sure why he does it, because yes, he has been sleeping all day, but he really wouldn't mind sleeping for another week. Maybe two weeks. He's really, dreadfully tired, and if a literal coma is what is gonna get him up and swinging around the city again, then it is what it is. 

But Tony is right here, and something about that makes him want to stay awake a little longer. Maybe it's because this situation as a whole is so bizarre and rare that he kind of wants to fiddle with the buttons, mess with some switches, see how far he can take it before Tony calls him out on it. 

"Alright, well you're certainly not gonna be running laps, so," Tony lifts his arms in a 'what'll-you-do' motion, a half-assed cocky shrug that he's really perfected over the years. "You can stay up long enough to drink more water, but then I'm knocking your ass out."

"You'll stay with me?" Peter blurts. Then he feels an immediate wave of regret and embarrassment, and makes the rapid fire decision to just power through. He puts on his best smile, tries not to think of how he probably looks miserable anyways. "We can watch stuff together on my laptop, it'll be fun. I'm just about to start the second season of Scrubs."

Tony scratches at his chin for a moment, and then sighs. "Yeah, alright. Punch it, Chewie."

So Peter drinks the rest of his soup and lets the fever reducers finally settle in his system. His eyes grow heavy with every line the Janitor says— and he's not entirely sure, but before he drifts off, he thinks he feels Tony run a hand through his hair, smoothing down his unruly curls, tucking them behind his ear.

"Thanks for calling me, kid," he thinks he hears Tony murmur.

Peter responds back with two spots of drool on his shoulder. Thank you for answering and I love you.

He thinks Tony will understand what it means.

[kemetic-dreams]

Haitian Immigration : Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries

Many Haitians moved to Louisiana during and after the Haitian Revolution, which began in 1791 and lasted for 13 years:

The long, interwoven history of Haiti and the United States began on the last day of 1698, when French explorer Sieur d'Iberville set out from the island of Saint Domingue (present-day Haiti) to establish a settlement at Biloxi, on the Gulf Coast of France's Louisiana possession.

For most of the eighteenth century, however, only a few African migrants settled there. But between the 1790s and 1809, large numbers of Haitians of African descent migrated to Louisiana. By 1791 the Haitian Revolution was under way. It would continue for thirteen years, result in the independence of the first African republic in the Western Hemisphere, and reverberate throughout the Atlantic world. Its impact would be particularly felt in Louisiana, the destination of thousands of refugees from the island's turmoil. Their activism had profound repercussions on the politics, the culture, the religion, and the racial climate of the state.

From Saint Domingue to Louisiana

Louisiana and her Caribbean parent colony developed intimate links during the eighteenth century, centered on maritime trade, the exchange of capital and information, and the migration of colonists. From such beginnings, Haitians exerted a profound influence on Louisiana's politics, people, religion, and culture. The colony's officials, responding to anti-slavery plots and uprisings on the island, banned the entry of enslaved Saint Domingans in 1763. Their rebellious actions would continue to impact upon Louisiana's slave trade and immigration policies throughout the age of the American and French revolutions.

These two democratic struggles struck fear in the hearts of the Spaniards, who governed Louisiana from 1763 to 1800. They suppressed what they saw as seditious activities and banned subversive materials in a futile attempt to isolate their colony from the spread of democratic revolution. In May 1790 a royal decree prohibited the entry of blacks - enslaved and free - from the French West Indies. A year later, the Haitian Revolution started.

The revolution in Saint Domingue unleashed a massive multiracial exodus: the French fled with the bondspeople they managed to keep; so did numerous free people of color, some of whom were slaveholders themselves. In addition, in 1793, a catastrophic fire destroyed two-thirds of the principal city, Cap Français (present-day Cap Haïtien), and nearly ten thousand people left the island for good. In the ensuing decades of revolution, foreign invasion, and civil war, thousands more fled the turmoil. Many moved eastward to Santo Domingo (present-day Dominican Republic) or to nearby Caribbean islands. Large numbers of immigrants, black and white, found shelter in North America, notably in New York, Baltimore (fifty-three ships landed there in July 1793), Philadelphia, Norfolk, Charleston, and Savannah, as well as in Spanish Florida. Nowhere on the continent, however, did the refugee movement exert as profound an influence as in southern Louisiana.

Between 1791 and 1803, thirteen hundred refugees arrived in New Orleans. The authorities were concerned that some had come with "seditious" ideas. In the spring of 1795, Pointe Coupée was the scene of an attempted insurrection during which planters' homes were burned down. Following the incident, a free émigré from Saint Domingue, Louis Benoit, accused of being "very imbued with the revolutionary maxims which have devastated the said colony" was banished. The failed uprising caused planter Joseph Pontalba to take "heed of the dreadful calamities of Saint Domingue, and of the germ of revolt only too widespread among our slaves." Continued unrest in Pointe Coupée and on the German Coast contributed to a decision to shut down the entire slave trade in the spring of 1796.

In 1800 Louisiana officials debated reopening it, but they agreed that Saint Domingue blacks would be barred from entry. They also noted the presence of black and white insurgents from the French West Indies who were "propagating dangerous doctrines among our Negroes." Their slaves seemed more "insolent," "ungovernable," and "insubordinate" than they had just five years before.

That same year, Spain ceded Louisiana back to France, and planters continued to live in fear of revolts. After future emperor Napoleon Bonaparte sold the colony to the United States in 1803 because his disastrous expedition against Saint Domingue had stretched his finances and military too thin, events in the island loomed even larger in Louisiana.

The Black Republic and Louisiana

In January 1804, an event of enormous importance shook the world of the enslaved and their owners. The black revolutionaries, who had been fighting for a dozen years, crushed Napoleon's 60,000 men-army - which counted mercenaries from all over Europe - and proclaimed the nation of Haiti (the original Indian name of the island), the second independent nation in the Western Hemisphere and the world's first black-led republic. The impact of this victory of unarmed slaves against their oppressors was felt throughout the slave societies. In Louisiana, it sparked a confrontation at Bayou La Fourche. According to white residents, twelve Haitians from a passing vessel threatened them "with many insulting and menacing expressions" and "spoke of eating human flesh and in general demonstrated great Savageness of character, boasting of what they had seen and done in the horrors of St. Domingo [Saint Domingue]."

The slaveholders' anxieties increased and inspired a new series of statutes to isolate Louisiana from the spread of revolution. The ban on West Indian bondspeople continued and in June 1806 the territorial legislature barred the entry from the French Caribbean of free black males over the age of fourteen. A year later, the prohibition was extended: all free black adult males were excluded, regardless of their nationality. Severe punishments, including enslavement, accompanied the new laws.

However, American efforts to prevent the entry of Haitian immigrants proved even less successful than those of the French and the Spanish. Indeed, the number of immigrants skyrocketed between May 1809 and June 1810, when Spanish authorities expelled thousands of Haitians from Cuba, where they had taken refuge several years earlier. In the wake of this action, New Orleans' Creole whites overcame their chronic fears and clamored for the entry of the white refugees and their slaves. Their objective was to strengthen Louisiana's declining French-speaking community and offset Anglo-American influence. The white Creoles felt that the increasing American presence posed a greater threat to their interests than a potentially dangerous class of enslaved West Indians.

American officials bowed to their pressure and reluctantly allowed white émigrés to enter the city with their slaves. At the same time, however, they attempted to halt the migration of free black refugees. Louisiana's territorial governor, William C. C. Claiborne, firmly enforced the ban on free black males. He advised the American consul in Santiago de Cuba:

Males above the age of fifteen, have . . . been ordered to depart. - I must request you, Sir, to make known this circumstance and also to discourage free people of colour of every description from emigrating to the Territory of Orleans; We have already a much greater proportion of that population than comports with the general Interest.

Claiborne and other officials labored in vain; the population of Afro-Creoles grew larger and even more assertive after the entry of the Haitian émigrés from Cuba, nearly 90 percent of whom settled in New Orleans. The 1809 migration brought 2,731 whites, 3,102 free persons of African descent, and 3,226 enslaved refugees to the city, doubling its population. Sixty-three percent of Crescent City inhabitants were now black. Among the nation's major cities only Charleston, with a 53 percent black majority, was comparable.

The multiracial refugee population settled in the French Quarter and the neighboring Faubourg Marigny district, and revitalized Creole culture and institutions. New Orleans acquired a reputation as the nation's "Creole Capital."

The rapid growth of the city's population of free persons of color strengthened the "three-caste" society - white, mixed, black - that had developed during the years of French and Spanish rule. This was quite different from the racial order prevailing in the rest of the United States, where attempts were made to confine all persons of African descent to a separate and inferior racial caste - a situation brought about by political reality in the South that promoted white unity across class lines and the immersion of all blacks into a single and subservient social caste.

In Louisiana, as lawmakers moved to suppress manumission and undermine the free black presence, the refugees dealt a serious blow to their efforts. In 1810 the city's French-speaking Creoles of African descent, reinforced by thousands of Haitian refugees, formed the basis for the emergence of one of the most advanced black communities in North America.

Soldiers, Rebels, and Pirates

Many Haitian black males eluded immigration authorities by slipping into the territory through Barataria, a coastal settlement just west of the Mississippi River. Some became allies of the notorious pirates Jean and Pierre Lafitte, white refugees of the Haitian Revolution. Surrounded by marshland and a maze of waterways, Barataria was an effective staging area for attacks on Gulf shipping. The interracial band of adventurers dominated the settlement's thriving black-market economy.

But pirates and smugglers did not make up the whole of Barataria's fugitive residents. Some two hundred free black veterans of the Haitian Revolution, including Lieutenant Colonel Joseph Savary, a former French republican officer, were among them. In 1799 seven hundred soldiers, opposed to Toussaint L'Ouverture fled to Cuba and later migrated to Louisiana. By 1810 this movement of Haitian soldiers from Cuba had created a black military presence in Louisiana that seriously worried Governor Claiborne. He anxiously requested reinforcements. The number of free black men "in and near New Orleans, capable of carrying arms," he wrote, "cannot be less than eight hundred."

Colonel Savary and other republican veterans of the Haitian Revolution remained committed to the French revolution's ideals of liberté, egalité, fraternité (freedom, equality, fraternity.) They regrouped to aid insurgents attempting to establish independent republics in Latin America. In November 1813 Savary offered to send five hundred Haitian soldiers to fight with Mexican revolutionaries. When their effort to establish a Mexican government in Texas failed, Savary and his men returned to New Orleans. Within the year, however, the colonel and other Haitian veterans would be rallying against the forces of the British crown.

As British forces threatened to invade New Orleans in 1814, American authorities sought to win the loyalty of battle-hardened black soldiers like Colonel Savary. They were also well aware of the prominent role that free men had played in slave rebellions. With the English approaching, pacifying them would be strategically sound.

General Andrew Jackson arrived in New Orleans in December 1814 and immediately mustered 350 native-born black veterans of the Spanish militia into the United States Army. Colonel Savary raised a second black unit of 250 of Haiti's refugee soldiers. Jackson recognized Savary's considerable influence and knew of his reputation as "a man of great courage." On Jackson's orders, Savary became the first African-American soldier to achieve the rank of second major.

The Haitians in Barataria also fought in the battle of New Orleans. In September 1814 federal troops invaded their community and dispersed the Lafittes and their followers. Hundreds of refugees poured into the city. Andrew Jackson offered them pardons in return for their support in defending the city. After the victory, he commended the two battalions of six hundred African-American and Haitian soldiers whose presence in a force of three thousand men had proved decisive. He praised the "privateers and gentlemen" of Barataria who "through their loyalty and courage, redeemed [their] pledge . . . to defend the country."

Jackson observed that Captain Savary "continued to merit the highest praise." In the last significant skirmish of the battle, Savary and a detachment of his men volunteered to clear the field of a detail of British sharpshooters. Though Savary's force suffered heavy casualties, the mission was carried out successfully.

Within weeks of the victory, however, Jackson yielded to white pressure to remove the men from New Orleans to a remote site in the marshland east of the city to repair fortifications. Savary relayed a message to the general that his men "would always be willing to sacrifice their lives in defense of their country as had been demonstrated but preferred death to the performance of the work of laborers." Jackson, though not pleased, refrained from taking any action against the troops. In February, the general even lent his support to Savary's renewed efforts to rejoin republican insurgents in Mexico.

Afro-Creoles and Americans

In colonial Louisiana and in colonial Haiti, military service had functioned as a crucial means of advancement for both free and enslaved blacks. After the battle of New Orleans, however, support for the black militia declined among free people of color. The disrespect shown to the soldiers who fought so valiantly, along with their disappointment at not receiving some measure of political recognition, contributed to their disillusionment.

Afro-Creoles' anger mounted as Louisiana's white lawmakers embarked upon an unprecedented and sustained attack upon their rights by formulating one of the harshest slave codes in the American South. In 1830 the legislature reaffirmed the 1807 ban on the entry of "free negroes and mulattoes" and required slaveholders to ensure the removal of freed people within thirty days of their emancipation. In Louisiana, as elsewhere in the South, segregation, anti-miscegenation laws, and the legal ostracism of racially mixed children signified the imposition of a two-category pattern of racial classification that relegated all persons of African ancestry to a degraded status.

Reduced to a debased condition, deprived of citizenship, denied free movement, and threatened with violence, Afro-Creoles, both native-born and immigrant, developed an intensely antagonistic relationship with the new regime. Under the United States government, black Louisianians had anticipated an end to slavery and racial oppression and had looked for the fulfillment of the democratic ideals embodied in the founding principles of the new American republic. But contrary to their expectations, the process of Americanization negated the promise of the revolutionary era. Instead of moving toward freedom and equality, the new government promoted the evolution of an increasingly harsh system of chattel slavery.

From Revolution to Romanticism

Following the example of intellectuals in France and Haiti, Afro-Creole activists in Louisiana - led by Haitian émigrés, their children, and French-speaking native Louisianians - had been nurturing their republican heritage. As political expression was stifled, they poured their energies into a new vehicle of revolutionary ideas, the Romantic literary movement.

New Orleans' highly politicized black intelligentsia thereby tapped into the Atlantic world's ongoing current of political radicalism, protesting injustice in their literary work. Their principal forum was La Société des Artisans. Founded by free black artisans and veterans of the War of 1812, the organization provided local Creole writers the opportunity to exchange ideas and present their numerous artistic works in a friendly setting.

Among these young writers was Victor Séjour. His father, a Haitian émigré, was a veteran of the War of 1812 and a prosperous dry-goods merchant. The young Séjour had been educated at New Orleans' prestigious black school Académie Sainte-Barbe, under the tutelage of Michel Séligny, the most productive Afro-Creole short-story writer. Séjour's audience at La Société proclaimed him a prodigy, and his father, determined to see his son fulfill his artistic potential and anxious for Victor to escape the burden of racial prejudice in Louisiana, sent him to France to complete his education. In Paris, the youth quickly came under the influence of another writer of African-Haitian descent, renowned novelist Alexandre Dumas, author of The Three Musketeers (1844), The Count of Monte Cristo (1844-45), and many other celebrated works.

Séjour made a dramatic debut on the literary scene with the publication, in March 1837, of an impassioned attack on slavery, "Le Mulâtre" (The Mulatto), the first short story by an African-American writer to be published in France.

Following the publication of "Le Mulâtre," Séjour embarked on a remarkably productive artistic career. When he was only twenty-six years old, the famed Théâtre Français produced his first drama; it would be followed by two dozen more. In one season, French theaters produced three of his works simultaneously, and Emperor Napoleon III attended opening nights of two of them.

Ironically, Séjour's first story, though it may have circulated privately within the black community, was never published in New Orleans. It fell within the parameters of an 1830 Louisiana law prohibiting reading matter "having a tendency to produce discontent among the free coloured population . . . or to excite insubordination among the slaves." Violators faced either a penalty of three to twenty-one years at hard labor or death, at the judge's discretion.

Despite such restrictions, the city's free people of color managed to fashion a vibrant literary movement, dominated by Haitian refugees and their descendants. The influence of the French Romantic movement among New Orleans' black intellectuals became more evident in 1843 with the publication of a short-lived, interracial literary journal L'Album littéraire: Journal des jeunes gens, amateurs de littérature (The Literary Album: A Journal of Young Men, Lovers of Literature). Its most prominent black founder was Armand Lanusse, of Haitian ancestry and one of the city's leading Romantic artists. Lanusse and his fellow writers, both émigré and native-born, ignored the 1830 literary censorship law and, like their fellow Romantics in France and Haiti, used their literary skills to challenge existing social evils.

In a series of introductory essays,the anonymous contributors to L'Album deplored "the sad and awful condition of Louisiana society," where the spectacle of rampant greed, unrelieved poverty, and institutionalized injustice "grips our hearts with deep sorrow, showering grief over all our thoughts, filling the soul with terror and despair."

Within a year of its debut, L'Album disappeared from the literary scene after critics attacked the journal for advocating revolt. Lanusse then edited a collection of poems by Creoles of color in 1845; Les Cenelles: Choix de poésies indigènes was the first anthology of literature by African Americans in the United States. Les Cenelles was much more subdued in tone than its predecessor. Still, Lanusse in his preface emphasized the value of education as "a shield against the spiteful and calamitous arrows shot at us." He and his colleagues considered their art form a springboard to social and political reform.

The Haitian Influence on Religion

In 1847 Lanusse and his friends helped to assure the survival of a small Catholic religious order dedicated to charitable work among the city's enslaved people and free black indigents. The congregation of the Sisters of the Holy Family was founded in 1842 by Henriette Delille, yet another prominent Afro-Creole of Haitian ancestry. As Delille's sisterhood struggled to maintain their community during the 1840s, a coalition of Afro-Creole writers, artisans, and philanthropists obtained corporate status and funding for the religious society.

When Delille took her formal religious vows in 1852, she headed Louisiana's first Catholic religious order of black women and the nation's second African-American community of Catholic nuns. Bearing striking testimony to the enormous impact of the Haitian diaspora, the first Catholic community of African-American nuns, the Oblate Sisters of Providence, founded in 1829 in Baltimore, originated in the Haitian refugee movement.

In 1848, Armand Lanusse and other Romantic writers took concrete measures to promote reform by establishing La Société Catholique pour l'Instruction des Orphelins dans l'Indigence (Catholic Society for the Instruction of Indigent Orphans). Through their organization, black activists executed the terms of a bequest by Madame Justine Firmin Couvent, a native of Guinea and a former slave, to establish a school in the Faubourg Marigny for the district's destitute orphans of color. Appalled by the indigence and illiteracy of the children, Couvent donated land and several buildings for an educational facility of which Lanusse became the first principal.

While Lanusse pursued his reform agenda within the existing institutional framework, another contributor to the volume, Nelson Desbrosses, followed a nontraditional path to empowerment and change. He traveled to Haiti before the Civil War, studied with a leading practitioner of Vodou, and returned to New Orleans with a reputation as a successful healer and spirit medium. Desbrosses undoubtedly recognized Vodou's historical significance in Haiti's independence struggle. During the revolution, the religion served as a medium for political organization as well as an ideological force for change. On the battlefield, Vodou's spiritual power proved decisive in reinforcing the determination of revolutionaries in their struggle for freedom. In the North Province, houngans (Vodou priests) sustained the revolt by mobilizing as many as forty thousand enslaved people. 

Vodou thrived in New Orleans until the 1803 Louisiana Purchase, when President Thomas Jefferson and other political leaders sought to undermine Creole predominance by Americanizing the culture of southern Louisiana. The post-1809 influx of Haitian refugees, however, slowed the Americanization process and assured the vitality of New Orleans' Creole culture for another twenty-five years. Immigrant believers in Vodou infused the religion's Louisiana variant with Afro-Caribbean elements of belief and ritual.

In the relatively tolerant religious milieu of antebellum New Orleans, Haitian immigrants joined with Creole slaves, free blacks, and even whites to assure the religion's ascendancy. Through Vodou, practiced in secrecy, Afro-Creoles preserved the memory of their African past and experienced psychological release by way of a religion that served as one of the few areas of totally autonomous black activity.

In transcending ethnic, class, and gender distinctions, Vodou helped to sustain a liberal Latin European religious ethic that recognized the spiritual equality of all persons. Vodou's interracial appeal and egalitarian spirit, reinvigorated by Haitian immigrants, offered a dramatic alternative to the Anglo-American racial order.

Beginning in the 1860s, Vodou assemblies were systematically suppressed, but the famed "Vodou Queen" Marie Laveau continued to exert great influence over her interracial following. In 1874 some twelve thousand spectators swarmed to the shores of Lake Pontchartrain to catch a glimpse of Laveau performing her legendary rites. By that time Laveau and other Afro-Creole Vodouists had fashioned some of the nation's most lasting folkloric traditions, as well as a religion of resistance that endures to the present moment.

The Civil War

Federal forces occupied New Orleans in 1862, and black Creoles volunteered their services to the Union army. The newspaper L'Union - whose chief founders, Dr. Louis Charles Roudanez and his brother, Jean-Baptiste, were of Haitian ancestry - announced its agenda in the premier issue. The editors condemned slavery, blasted the Confederacy, and expressed solidarity with Haiti's revolutionary republicans.

An 1862 editorial written by a newly enlisted Union officer, Afro-Creole Romantic writer Henry Louis Rey, urged free men of color to join the U.S. Army and take up "the cause of the rights of man." Rey invoked the names of Jean-Baptiste Chavannes and Vincent Ogé. Their ill-fated 1790 revolt had paved the way for the Haitian Revolution:

CHAVANNE [sic] and OGÉ did not wait to be aroused and to be made ashamed; they hurried unto death; they became martyrs here on earth and received on high the reward due to generous hearts...hasten all; our blood only is demanded; who will hesitate?

The editors of L'Union described Rey and the Afro-Creole troops as the "worthy grandsons of the noble [Col. Joseph] Savary." The paper insisted that military service entitled them to the political equality that had been denied their ancestors who fought valiantly in the American Revolution and the War of 1812. Furthermore, its editors warned, the men had resolved to "protest against all politics which would tend to expatriate them."

When federal officials undermined their suffrage campaign, Afro-Creole leaders took their case to the highest level. In 1864 L'Union cofounder Jean-Baptiste Roudanez and E. Arnold Bertonneau, a former officer in the Union army, met with President Abraham Lincoln; they urged him to extend voting rights to all Louisianians of African descent.

In L'Union, and its successor, La Tribune, the Roudanez brothers and their allies foresaw the complete assimilation of African Americans into the nation's political and social life. During Reconstruction they called on the federal government to divide confiscated plantations into ten-acre plots, to be distributed to displaced black families. They insisted that the formely enslaved were "entitled by a paramount right to the possession of the soil they have so long cultivated."

The aggressive stance and republican idealism of La Tribune prompted the authors of Louisiana's 1868 state constitution to envision a social and political revolution. The new charter required state officials to swear that they recognized the civil and political equality of all men. Alone among Reconstruction constitutions, Louisiana explicitly required equal access to public accommodations and forbade segregation in public schools.

The Consequences of the Haitian Migration

After Reconstruction collapsed in 1877, Creole activists fought the restoration of white rule. In 1890 Rodolphe L. Desdunes, a Creole New Orleanian of Haitian descent, joined with other prominent rights advocates to challenge state-imposed segregation. Their legal battle culminated in the 1896 Plessy v. Ferguson Supreme Court decision. Though the nation's highest tribunal upheld the "separate but equal" doctrine, the decision included a powerful dissent that would be used to rescue the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Amendments in later Supreme Court decisions. The descendants of Haitian immigrants would play key roles in civil rights campaigns of the twentieth century.

Haitians exerted an enormous influence on eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Louisiana. Their sustained resistance to Saint Domingue's regime of bondage forced repeated changes in French, Spanish, and American immigration policies as frightened white officials attempted to isolate Louisiana from the spread of black revolt.

The massive 1809 influx of Haitian refugees ensured the survival of a wealth of West African cultural transmissions, as well as a Latin European racial order that enhanced the social and economic mobility of both free and enslaved blacks. In early-nineteenth-century New Orleans, the immigrants and their descendants infused the city's music, cuisine, religious life, speech patterns, and architecture with their own cultural traditions. Reminders of their Creole influence abound in the French Quarter, the Faubourg Marigny, the Faubourg Tremé, and other city neighborhoods.

The refugee population also reinforced a brand of revolutionary republicanism that impacted American race relations for decades. With an unflagging commitment to the democratic ideals of the revolutionary era, Haitian immigrants and their descendants appeared at the head of virtually every New Orleans civil rights campaign. Their leadership role in the struggle for racial justice offers dramatic evidence of the scope of their influence on Louisiana's history. From Colonel Joseph Savary's militant republicanism to Rodolphe Desdunes's unrelenting attacks on state-enforced segregation, Haitian émigrés and their descendants demanded that the nation fulfill the promise of its founding principles.

In his 1911 book Our People and Our History, Rodolphe Desdunes described Armand Lanusse's anthology, Les Cenelles, as a "triumph of the human spirit over the forces of obscurantism in Louisiana that denied the education and intellectual advancement of the colored masses." African Americans in Louisiana triumphed over these forces in their distinguished history of military service, their embrace of artistic and scholarly pursuits, their campaign for humanitarian reforms, and their Civil War vision of a reconstructed nation of racial equality. Their Haitian heritage was central to those victories.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Sky Full of Stars - Chapter Nineteen.

I'm so sorry I missed an update last week, guys. Friday was a busy one for me! Hope you enjoy it, and happy Friday to you all :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 4,351

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

The normalcy of being home; it was something she craved above all when her life and career took her far away from it, Jade standing softly singing to herself as she stirred a pot of sauce upon the stove, her dogs milling around, Salem in his usual place upon the rug. Their other cat, Juno, wasn’t present, the big, pale grey Mane Coon exactly where she always was whenever they were home; welded to Adrien’s side.  

It was very fair to say she was daddy’s girl.  

They had four days left with one another before he would fly out to Rome to begin shooting his next project, the film entitled Third Person, the locations switching between the Italian capital, Paris and New York for twelve weeks, Adrien’s stint filming in Italy taking up nine of those. She would be leaving just before he came home, off to LA to work on a film she’d very much been looking forward to, a biopic about musical legend Gregg Allman, in which she would be playing a woman – who became an even bigger legend than he, if you asked her – he'd been married to for three years back in the seventies.  

Yes. She was playing Cher. And god, she was so excited. She’d nearly pee’d with elation when the lady herself had called her up and congratulated her, the women enjoying a long conversation about the upcoming role. ‘Just make sure you play me right, kid’, the icon had told Jade, who had walked around her house in a daze afterwards, only able to mutter ‘I just spoke to Cher on the phone, and she’s bloody lovely!’ on repeat for the following hour, giggling too.  

She giggled to herself all over again at the memory, wobbling a little, the fact that she’d only eaten half a bagel and a salad that day playing havoc with the fact she was on her second large glass of wine. Looking up, she saw the back door open, her paint flecked husband coming in, a very contented Juno riding his shoulder.  

“There’s my baby love,” he cooed, “cooking things that smell entirely too good. What are we having?” 

“Baked Ziti.” Ahhh, yes. Marry a girl from Italian roots and damn, the food she’ll cook for you. “And a fuckload of salad. I can’t have more than a few mouthfuls. I need to keep small to play Cher. Her body in the seventies was something else!”  

“I think you can spare a little more than that, Burtie,” he spoke, wrapping his arms around her, Juno jumping down to the floor neatly. “Really, you’re like a pin with great tits as it is.”  

“Pin with great tits and a six pack!” she shouted playfully, yanking up her t shirt. Any chance she got to flash her abs, she took it, Adrien bending to blow a raspberry against her stomach.  

“Sexy as hell, honey.” Giving her a big kiss, he reached for the open wine bottle, pouring himself a glass before jumping to sit on the counter, a nearby Brando rising up on his hind legs to place his paws on his knees, chew toy proffered forth. “So, gimme the rundown. You’re in LA from April seventeenth to May twenty first, and then what?”  

Giving the sauce another gentle stirring, she then put the hob on beneath the large pot of water to take care of the pasta. “Then we’re flying straight to the UK to headline the Friday at Download festival, then onto Germany to do another open air, then spending a week out there before moving onto the festival in France, then Spain, meaning I’ll arrive back on the July fifteenth with three days to spare before big pony gets here!” 

Oh, how excited she was for the arrival of her horse, everything ready for Mia when she got there, Jade having spent an eye watering amount of money on all the associated paraphernalia horses needed, including many thousands on a horse truck to actually bring her back from the airport in. She was worried about her having to be flown over, scared of her becoming panicked, being on the plane, but calmed a little for knowing she would be given a mild sedative prior to her flight, plus the fact that Wolfgang, the groom from the riding school would be flying with her.  

“And then it all calms down for a while,” he spoke, letting Brando win their tug o’ war game, the dog shaking his rope and trotting off to chew it over the other side of the kitchen. “It’s gonna be so damned strange, spending almost three months at home before I’m back working.”  

They had a few commitments between late June and mid-September, a few public appearances, invited to the Malaysian Grand Prix, a few charity events in New York, LA and London, a movie premiere for the last film Jade had shot and two for Adrien, but mostly they would get to enjoy a slower pace for once. It was virtually unheard of, for a couple who worked as hard as they did, both very much looking forward to an extended period of being able to spend some quality time together. 

“What’s this here?” he then asked, leaning over to reach for a handful of printed sheets of paper. 

“Oh! I meant to show you that and then I had wine!” 

Snorting a laugh, he looked at what he held, turning the pages as he tried to make sense of it. “It’s a teeny house of some sort?” 

“It’s a hen house, complete with roost. I’m making it myself since I couldn’t find anything I liked the look of online,” she spoke, sipping her wine and slotting herself between his thighs, Adrien wrapping his legs around her. “Stop laughing.” 

“I’m not.” That was negated somewhat by the shaking shoulders as he at least attempted to keep it in. “Burtie, we both know you and assembly don’t go hand in hand. You can’t even do flatpack.” 

She was aghast. “I bloody can!” 

Oh, the little bubble of delusion his beloved liked to live within. “The shelves in the bathroom?” 

“I got them done!” There was a pause. “Eventually.” 

“The bed at your place in the city? Granted, that was before my time, but Jen told me that you called her having a meltdown when you couldn’t get it assembled.” 

“It was difficult holding things together while lining the screws up!”  

“And you think joinery is gonna be any easier? With the nails and the sanding and the measuring?”  

She tightened her lips, trying not to laugh as he raised one eyebrow significantly higher than the other. “Will you let me help you before I go away?” 

“I can manage fine, Bug.” 

He hummed, resting his chin atop her head. “I’m not convinced at all. I don’t want to come home to a wife whose missing bits of herself, and the idea of you using a saw unassisted is scary as hell.”  

“How dare you cast such aspersions upon my DIY skills!” she gasped comically, flicking the papers in his hands with her finger a couple of times. “I’m working to plans! I measured, I even plotted out ground space, too!”  

Looking at them again, he concentrated, pointing at the measurements at the top of the page. “The roof will overhang the actual structure by four feet.” He couldn’t help but laugh at the sour face he was greeted with. “Stop scowling because you’re wrong. I’m helping you.”  

She finally smiled, realising that he was right and yes, she could likely do with a little assistance with her project. “Thank you." Kissing him, she went back to the pot upon the hob, picking up her phone and ordering all the timber needed from the nearest lumber yard, choosing the express option that would have the items delivered by noon the following day.  

When noon arrived, what began with good intentions after the delivery had been dropped off soon became a lesson in why couples, even those who rarely fought beyond stupid bickering, should never, ever attempt a joint DIY project.  

“No, that’s a side panel. It isn’t a floor piece.” He took a breath, at least attempting not to let his temper be further prickled.  

“It isn’t. The floor pieces are flat, the side panels are ridged. I haven’t nailed the last one together yet.” 

“Well, why the fuck not? It needs the last side panel putting on before the floor!” 

“Because as I just fucking said, I haven’t nailed it together yet!” 

“Then why not do that first instead of doing the floor?” 

“Because then I’ve got a space to easily get in and out of it to put the floor pieces in, haven’t I? If I don’t, then I’ve got to crawl through the pissing tiny little hen door, and I’m about four feet too fucking tall for that, Adrien!”  

“Or, and how about this for a revelation, since the roof isn’t on yet, just turn it upside down and nail the floor into the frame that way, so the nails then go up into the side pieces too and give it more support! Fucking hell!” 

Her jaw tightened staring at her husband, pointing the claw hammer she held towards him. “Knock the sarcasm off. You’re being a prick for the sake of it.”  

“And you’re being your usual, insufferable self who can’t get things done logically.” 

“Oh, alright, fucks sake!” she yelled, dropping the hammer with a thud. “So I didn’t think to upend it to nail the flooring on. True to form, you just have to be an all-knowing arsehole about it, don’t you?” 

He snorted, shaking his head. “And you wanted to do this by yourself. You’d have ended up with something like Homer Simpson had when he was making the doghouse.” He couldn’t help but laugh, realising how stupid their argument had become, looking up fondly. “I’m sorry.”  

“Fuck off.”  

“Come on, Jade. I said I’m sorry. Help me turn this over and we’ll get the floor nailed on.” While he was all for moving on with things speedily, Jade was a stewer, and stew on it she did, looking at him from under a furrowed brow. “Ow! Jesus fuck, Jade!” 

“What now?” she shouted, wishing for nothing more than a packet of matches, so she could set fire to her very bad idea. Why did she have to be so fussy? Why couldn’t a pre-assembled hen house have been good enough? 

“You just dropped it on my hand!”  

“Shit, are you alright?”  

“No.” She went to approach him, Adrien pointing. “Uh-uh. Bad to be near me right now. Very bad.” 

While he stormed off in the direction of the house, grasping his hand, she stood and took a deep breath. Big things they never truly argued about, somehow they seemed to have a very efficient synergy for dealing with larger problems they faced, but little things? Oh, they blew up. Both acting like stubborn idiots mostly.  

Knowing he needed time to cool down, she nailed the floor pieces on herself, then assembled the side panel, carefully turning the roost over to affix it. The roof frame was placed on, long nails hammered in to secure it to the main frame, only the roof panels left before it had to be affixed to the base frame, lifting it up high. She was about to begin nailing said panels on when a familiar scent drifted under her nose, Jade turning to see Adrien over to the side of the house, sitting on the outdoor couch on the patio. 

“Wow, I drove you to weed, hmm?” 

He side eyed her, picking up the bottle of beer he’d also brought out with him. “I think I might have driven myself to it, too.” That time, when he laughed softly, softness was returned, his wife moving to sit at his side, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and kissing it.  

“How’s your hand?”  

He sniffed, holding it up. It was marked with a bright red line and a few grazes. “Had to yank out a few splinters. Nothing that being a little stoned won’t fix.” 

“Or you’ll fall asleep,” she shrugged, moving to lie her head on his lap, taking the joint when he passed it to her. 

“There’s a fifty percent chance of that,” he winked, making her snort softly.  

“Oh, not so mad that I won’t get the brunt of the horny sex demon, then?” she chuckled, blowing smoke down her nose.  

He leaned to her, kissing her forehead. “No, but I will fuck you angrily, Moo.”  

Any lingering tension melted away as she boomed a laugh, taking another drag, feeling the strong weed beginning to work. Her giggles only intensified, moving to lie with her head on his lap. 

“Look at you, fucking weed lightweight,” he spoke. Neither were particular hardened to it, though, smoking it as infrequently as they did. “What’s funny?” 

“The fact that we...” She sent him into a snorting mess, watching her hiss with laughter. “The fact that we can weather the hugest of storms in our life without so much as a crossed word, but building a hen house is what tips us into all the yelling and the rage!”  

“And then we get stoned and laugh about how completely ridiculous we are. Works for me,” he spoke, supressing a cough, taking another drag and handing it back to her, beginning to bounce his thigh beneath her head. 

“No, stop. You’ll give me motion sickness.”  

Why that was so hilarious, he had no idea, but it took him a good three minutes to stop laughing. Looking down, he continued to snicker, seeing Jade prodding her tongue against the zipper of his cargo pants. “You’ll wake him up.” 

“Maybe I want to.” Moving her hand, she pressed against his crotch, feeling a swell of semi-erectness there already. “Mmm, already awake, so I feel.” Moving astride him, her fingers glided through his hair giving it a little tug as she tickled his lips with her tongue, kissing him with slow, syrupy heat. “If you'll excuse me, I think I need to kiss you right here.” she purred, grasping his rapidly thickening cock with a soft moan, tongue flickering against the stubble upon his throat.  

“Eventually,” he grunted, mouth moving to her neck, pulling her black vest top up. “After I’ve sucked your tits.”  

Who was she to deny a man who hungered for her nipples? Pulling off her top while he flicked her bra undone, she gasped at the contact, the bud of her nipple bathed in a warm, wet hug, his big hands kneading softly as she rocked against him. Pressing herself against his cock had little shocks tingling within her, a soft mewl leaving her pretty lips when her other nipple was closed upon with a bite, his hands moving to smooth up and down her back.  

“Get these off," he instructed, tugging her cut offs, Jade backing off him to do just that, sliding them and her little red thong off, yanked back into his arms, his fingers pushing into her folds as he resumed the suck around her nipple. “Fuck, you’re so wet already.”  

The warm honey of her cunt saturated his fingers as he embedded them in her, a shallow push to begin with, nudging her sweet spot, gliding them in further with a sumptuous rotation that had her clenching around them, his mouth finding hers as they panted and moaned into urgent, feverish kisses.  

With his free hand, he undid his pants, Jade assisting by yanking them down his thighs for him to somewhat awkwardly wriggle out of and kick off, pulling his t shirt off. Moving his hand, he then impaled her on his hardness fully, teeth sharp at her neck, her cry filling the air. “Not that I don’t love being stretched wide around it, but this isn’t getting your cock sucked, is it?”  

He rumbled a chuckle, kissing her again. “Tell you what, I’ll make you come first, then blow my load right down your throat. How about that?”  

“Mmm,” she purred, “can’t wait for you to make me choke on it.” Their mouths crashed together, the rocking of his hips against her sending darts of pleasure as he hit her clit every time, her grinding down on him sending further streaks of bliss that ignited the embers flickering to full burn.  

"Oh god, fuck, oh!" she cried, feeling him shift forward, grasping her legs. She moved them, crossing them behind him, the move allowing her to sink down further upon him, his cock hitting her deep as their bodies rocked together ferally. Each press of him right up against her summit had neon bursts radiating within her, crying out as she clasped herself around him, sucking his tongue, staring into the sunlit, moss green of his eyes. "Fuck, I love you." 

Those words never failed to make his heart thunder harder, conveying the same in how he kissed her, standing to carry her to the back door, her body pressed against the glass, pinned there by his chest as he moved his hands, gripping her thighs and holding her spread, beginning to fuck up into her with savage need. 

The heavy pressure of his cock was a sharp-edged pleasure, her body banging against the glass she was pressed into, the raw, primal need of it suffusing down to her marrow. Oh, when the horny sexy demon in him came out to play, how he brought the fire with him. The warm wet of her clamped around him strongly, each thrust pounded into her harder to fight the tension gripping onto his cock, his groans all earth and salt as he buried his mouth against her neck.  

The continued deep, rapid spearing of his cock into her had the pleasure pooling golden, her thighs tightening upon his waist, hips rolling against him as she cried out like a wounded animal, the lightning arcing through her, the release pulsating up her spine. With his own fluttering at the base of his cock, he pulled from her, carrying her back to the couch, hands entwining in her hair as she took him in her mouth and let him fuck the plush of her squeezing lips, until with a gritted groan he filled her throat with cum.  

What began as a day of construction and petty yelling ended in a naked evening, neither bothering to dress, lying together on the couch outside drinking beers and relaxing under the warm, spring sun. A state of relax was how they spent their last two days together, Jade kissing him goodbye at the airport, dashing home again feeling a little sad for him leaving for nine weeks. It didn’t matter how used to it she was, she loved being near her husband.  

Having the house to herself was nice, though, continuing her daily workouts in order to remain ripped enough to easily pass off as a nineteen seventies Cher, with how lean her body was back then, the project ever drawing nearer. The week before she was due to depart, she had a house guest come to stay in the form of Katie, a little lonely herself since Charlotte was on tour with Crimson Shrines, the death metal side project band she played in.  

“Bro, this is so ready for chickens!” the lady herself spoke, she and Jade standing back to admire the project they’d teamed together to complete. The latter was going to complete it with her husband, but wanted to spend some time of greater quality with him in his remaining days before he’d left.  

“It is, my friend. It is. Shame there won’t be any in it for a couple of months, unless Adrien decides to buy some while I’m gone,” she mused, opening the gate as they headed back towards the house. “Oh! I almost forgot to say, I have a package coming at any time, but I have to take Atlas and Bear to the vets for their jabs. Can you be around to hear the bell instead of outside?” 

“Sure can, baby. I was planning on playing cook tonight anyways,” she spoke, Jade spinning to grasp her arms. 

“Please tell me you’re making your chicken teriyaki burgers!” Anyone who’d ever eaten one of Katie’s famous creations would understand the urgency. They were beyond delicious. 

“Can confirm, I am making my chicken teriyaki burgers. Where’s your charcoal at, gonna barbecue ‘em, they always taste better that way. And don’t make that face! I texted Adrien to ask if I could use it and he said yes, just to keep you well away from it!” 

Jade pouted, remembering the incident that had almost led to their very expensive, Big Green Egg barbecue overheating, Jade lighting it but not opening the vent. Her husband had gone berserk and banned her from going anywhere near it in the wake of almost trashing it. “Fine. I’ll make salad.” 

Wrapping her arm around her shoulders, Katie kissed her cheek. “That’s a good lil’ woman.” A hard slap greeted her backside for that comment, laughing and bending over. “Ooooh, gimme another! You spank way harder than Charlotte!” 

“Get in the damned house, you bloody menace!”  

While Katie began her dinner prep, Jade got her two biggest dogs into the harnesses, kissing her friend goodbye and picking up her keys and bag. Opening the rear of her Jeep, the hounds jumped in, Jade affixing them in safely and shutting the door, throwing her bag onto the passenger seat. She loved living somewhere where she could do that and not worry about anybody smashing her window to steal it.  

Selecting an album to listen to, she placed her cell phone into the cup holder and reversed out, driving around to the front of the house and down the long drive, noticing how full all the trees lining it were beginning to look. The new ones she’d planted a year before were budding nicely, too, still supported by long bamboo canes to assist in their fledgling stages.  

Slowing her car, she pressed the fob to open the electric gates, looking back in the rear view at the trees again. She wondered where she’d be in life when they’d finally reached a significant height, driving through the gateway slowly, about to pull out of her drive when she heard something hit the back of her car.  

“Is that one of you fat headed buggers?” she muttered, turning to look at her dogs, see which one of them had decided to bang their face against the window. Neither had, both growling at the source of the noise as the baseball bat was swung again, chaotic barking following as the window cracked, Serena swinging it again and this time shattering the glass completely. 

“Get out here or I’ll fucking kill your dogs, Jade! Get out of this car now!”  

Her mouth dropped open, her limbs already feeling light and tingly, her stomach plummeting like she’d swallowed a led weight. Now was not the time to wonder how on earth her stalker had escaped a treatment facility, Jade grabbing her phone and calling nine one one, asking for the police and giving her address, trembling as she did. She was advised by the operator to stay in the car, but as Serena continued, she knew that wasn’t possible, the rear windscreen beginning to crack.  

There was no way she was risking the safety of her dogs, big and ferocious as they were, even a mastiff would be lucky to survive a crack to the skull with a baseball bat. With adrenaline coursing through her, she cut the engine, jumping from the car and storming to the rear of the vehicle.  

“You fucking dare threaten my bloody dogs, you fucking psychopath!” she bellowed, that famous roar she was known for gravelling her voice. “You want some? Come fucking get it.” Striding for her, Jade remembered her fight training from one of the last movies she’d done, having to accurately portray a hard as nails mercenary. She wasn’t a fighter in reality, not at all, but when presented with the animals she thought of as her babies coming under attack, the protector came out.  

Serena screamed in all-out rage, swinging the bat, Jade ducking, her leg shooting out to round kick her in the thigh. The move knocked her aggressor off balance, the bat grabbed, the women wrestling one another for supremacy, Jade towing her near enough to throw her forehead straight into her nose, the bone breaking with a sickening crack, wrenching the bat from her grasp and hurling it as far away as she could throw.  

A melee followed, Jade punched in the eye, reaching for Serena’s hair and slamming her head off the back of the Jeep, the dogs still barking furiously within. “Stay away from me, you sick fuck!” she roared, smashing her head against the taillight again, Serena suddenly lurching forward. 

“Fuck you, fuck you!”  

She felt it hit her side, something sharp and cold, again and again, the pain like cold fire burning as with both hands, she made one last valiant effort, hurling Serena’s head so hard into the Jeep, blood exploded over the paintwork, finally going limp as Jade threw her to the ground. Looking at her side, the horror of her damage was evident, her grey t shirt and blue jeans becoming soaked in blood, sirens wailing in the distance as she fell to the ground.  

Her dogs barking. 

A copper taste filling her mouth as she wheezed. 

A tall, handsome police officer calling for immediate backup and an ambulance on his radio, his voice telling her to stay with him as he applied pressure to her wounds. 

A puddle of blood pouring from her side.  

Her eyes fluttered, heavy, coldness dragging at her, luring, beckoning.  

Black.  

Lights in her eyes, people shouting stats at one another, motion, another bright light. Sirens wailing. “Thirty-four-year-old female, multiple stab wounds...”  

Black.  

Light, bright light.  

Pain. 

Shouting. 

Nothing. 

Black.  

[jessicas-pi]

EVEN MORE TBAB AU QUOTES

Sabine, T-posing in the doorway: Greetings, Hera. Hera, not looking up from her caf: Good morning, problem child. --- Sabine: You’ve got to learn to love yourself. Ezra: But don't you hate yourself? Sabine: Yeah, but this is about you. Stay focused. --- Okadiah, looking at the Spectres: Okay, so I need to become a therapist faster. ---

Ezra: Did Hera let you get a tattoo?? Sabine: This isn't a tattoo, it's a birthmark. Kanan: I've known you since you were ten and that was never there before. Sabine: Yes it was, you've just never seen me from the left side until now. --- Leia: Why are we friends? Ezra: Poor decisions on your part. --- Okadiah: *Watching Kanan and Hera together* Okadiah: They're cute. I would put them on a boat. Sabine: You mean... you ship them? --- Ezra: In case you haven’t noticed, I’m weird. I’m a weirdo. I don’t “fit in” and I don’t WANT to fit in. Have you ever seen me without my helmet on? That’s weird. --- Ezra: Bad news—Ahsoka locked us outside of the Phantom. Ezra: Good news—we didn’t have to wait around for Hera to come pick us up. Ezra: Bad news—Okadiah finds it very concerning that I know how to hack a ship's lock, and tried to unlock my Tragic Backstory(TM). I was too embarrassed to admit that the reason I learned it was because, at thirteen, I figured that was the kind of skill that would impress cute girls. Ezra: Good news—a cute girl saw me do it. Ezra: Bad news—it was Sabine, and since she’s already seen me fall out of several trees, cry because I saw an abandoned baby Loth-kitten, walk around with a dish towel over my head, and knows I listen to the Mission: Impossible theme inside my helmet during missions, she’ll never think I’m cool no matter what I do. It’s too late. She knows. --- Hera: I don’t need to touch grass, I need the fall of capitalism. --- Kanan, singing: I don’t want a lot for Life Day, there is just one thing I need— Ezra: A family who doesn't disappear. Sabine: Mental stability. Ahsoka: Revenge. Chopper, from the comm system: A corporeal body. Kanan: Kanan: Can you chill for, like, two seconds— --- Sabine: Next time I get possessed, I’m just gonna be like, “Okay, take it from here, good luck sis.” --- Hera, holding a rock: Kanan just gave this to me and said "I feel like you deserve the moon but all I can give you is a rock". Ahsoka: If you don't marry him, I will. --- Sabine: Hera? I mixed redbull with caf and now I can see sounds, should I worry? Hera: Padawan, I swear to the Force— --- Ezra: I didn’t even realize how sarcastic I was being. It’s starting to become a problem, I think. --- Hera: You kidnapped Prince Organa? That’s illegal! Sabine: But Hera, what’s more illegal? Briefly inconveniencing Prince Organa, or giving up on this mission? Hera: Kidnapping Prince Organa, Sabine!!! Ahsoka: Hera, listen. These kids are counting on you to inspire them! Hera: What, to kidnap people?!?! Ahsoka: To work together! Hera: TO KIDNAP PEOPLE?!?!?!?! Ezra: Hera, we all agreed a politician is not a people.

[cartrs]

application :

[ ! ] — it seems that [ angelina carter ] has entered the scene ! she looks exactly like [ laura harrier ]. this [ 31-year-old ] is the [co-ceo ] of [ better wealth ]. it’s a small wonder since she is known for being [ trustworthy & adaptable  ] and [ nit-picky & a pushover ]. she has been involved with the company for [ 3 ] years.

statistics : 

faceclaim : laura harrier name : angelina edith carter gender & pronouns:  cis-woman , she & her birthday : april thirteenth  birthplace : manhattan , new york  age : thirty - one  occupation : lawyer height : five feet , nine inches  scent : byredo vanille antique 

family heritage : 

the carter empire has dominated the tech landscape for decades, capitalizing off the boom that came with the invention and release of the world wide web , CRTR (carter) has been the leading producer of desktops personal computers since 1995. the company is spearheaded by three sisters , evangeline , rose and meredith (her mother) , who founded the company after meredith graduated from college in 1992. they worked tirelessly, day in and day out making a name for themselves until they earned the top earning spot in the dot-com bubble . since the turn of the millennium , crtr has solidified itself as a household name, shifting with the markets to remain one of america’s most trusted brands .

past : 

you are born with a silver spoon between your lips . not one that was passed down from generation to generation but one that was earned , that tastes of the blood , sweat and tears of the woman who birthed you and her mother who made her who she is . from a young age you are taught that the beautiful life that has been afforded to you is one that the rest of your family has made for you , not one that was given. you are the first to carry your family name , and even as a child , you must do so with pride . 

the weight placed on your shoulders is much too heavy for someone so young to bear . a little girl trusted with the task of standing on such a powerful name , your childhood is one that’s bittersweet to say the least . you’re spoiled , but only when you’re deserving of it . report cards and behavioral marks become the deciders of your fate , birthday parties , christmas presents and everything in between all rest in the stroke of a red pen ⸺ which luckily seldom ever leads you astray . 

throughout the years , academic validation becomes the only thing you seek . craving the proud look on your mother’s face when she opens yet another perfect report card . you think it’s worth missing out on all the things that make growing up fun , refusing party invitations in favor of putting the finishing touches on your english papers and turning down dates to instead spend quality time with the princeton review. it’s sad from the outside looking in , watching all of the people who tried to call themselves your friends come and go after each new batch realizes that your studies are the only thing that could ever hold your attention . 

it’s not until the end of your senior year that you realize just how much you’ve missed out ⸺ standing above your graduating class as valedictorian , looking out into the crowd during your speech only to be met with a sea of faces none of which you know by name . cliques full of people to your left and right yet here you are alone , standing on a pedestal with a title that essentially holds no value once the tassel is switched to the other side . 

you have to get away , not too much longer will you be able to sustain a life like this ⸺ a life that over the last ten years you’ve barely lived because of how far your nose has been stuck up a book . college lends the perfect excuse , an application to imperial college london slipped between the ivies and privates your parents had been shoving down your throat since you were thirteen . it’s hard to not feel a little guilty , knowing that if (when) you get accepted you’ll have to leave your siblings behind to cope with the pressure that now rests on their shoulders as you leave it behind . 

moving across an ocean feels a little dramatic at first , but something about it just feels right . as it becomes time to settle in the school you say yes to all of the things you used to turn down before . you go out , you make friends , you live life , all while learning to master that delicate balance of work and play , a slippery slope in both directions that you sometimes find yourself struggling to keep yourself grounded to . 

it pains you to have to move back after your studies are over , but an acceptance to columbia law is something you could never justify passing up. returning home doesn’t take away from the fact that you’re still so different from the girl who left there years ago .  experiencing life on your own allows you to set boundaries with your family that weren’t there before  , placing a hard divide between angelina the student and angelina the daughter , two sides who have finally found a way to live in a harmony you don't plan on soiling any time soon .  

you think your path is mapped out for you : law school , master of law and then the torch will be passed to you . a position in your family's company already lined up for your graduation without you so much as having to ask . but is it bad this isn't the life you're willing to accept ? sure , the job is exactly what you wanted , corporate law always meant to be the end goal to culminate your years of hard work , but is working with for your family as good of an idea as they make it sound ? you need to find something good , something better , quick .

the idea of better wealth doesn’t exactly pique your interest at first. it seems too risky and upon first glance didn’t offer as much reward to make up for it . but there was a plan , a good one , a business model that had to be cursed if it somehow failed and they needed you to work behind the scenes . it was something new and promising , a way to prove that your carter blood hasn’t gone to waste just because of your refusal to take part in your family business ⸺ so of course , you’re in. 

that was three years ago , and still every day this company, your company , manages to reach beyond your expectations. you feel so lucky to have found a job that you genuinely enjoy , sure , sometimes the work gets boring but to you there’s no harm in that . routine is good when it comes to things like this , routine means stability , and stability means success . you've made it ⸺ and now , it's time to have fun .

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 7.20 (before 1940)

70 – Siege of Jerusalem: Titus, son of emperor Vespasian, storms the Fortress of Antonia north of the Temple Mount. The Roman army is drawn into street fights with the Zealots. 792 – Kardam of Bulgaria defeats Byzantine Emperor Constantine VI at the Battle of Marcellae. 911 – Rollo lays siege to Chartres. 1189 – Richard I of England officially invested as Duke of Normandy. 1225 – Treaty of San Germano is signed at San Germano between Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II and Pope Gregory IX. A Dominican named Guala is responsible for the negotiations. 1398 – The Battle of Kellistown was fought on this day between the forces of the English led by Roger Mortimer, 4th Earl of March against the O'Byrnes and O'Tooles under the command of Art Óg mac Murchadha Caomhánach, the most powerful Chieftain in Leinster. 1402 – Ottoman-Timurid Wars: Battle of Ankara: Timur, ruler of Timurid Empire, defeats forces of the Ottoman Empire sultan Bayezid I. 1592 – During the first Japanese invasion of Korea, Japanese forces led by Toyotomi Hideyoshi captured Pyongyang, although they were ultimately unable to hold it. 1715 – Seventh Ottoman–Venetian War: The Ottoman Empire captures Nauplia, the capital of the Republic of Venice's "Kingdom of the Morea", thereby opening the way to the swift Ottoman reconquest of the Morea. 1738 – Canadian explorer Pierre Gaultier de Varennes et de La Vérendrye reaches the western shore of Lake Michigan. 1799 – Tekle Giyorgis I begins his first of six reigns as Emperor of Ethiopia. 1807 – Nicéphore Niépce is awarded a patent by Napoleon for the Pyréolophore, the world's first internal combustion engine, after it successfully powered a boat upstream on the river Saône in France. 1810 – Citizens of Bogotá, New Granada declare independence from Spain. 1831 – Seneca and Shawnee people agree to relinquish their land in western Ohio for 60,000 acres west of the Mississippi River. 1848 – The first Women's Rights Convention in Seneca Falls, New York, a two-day event, concludes. 1864 – American Civil War: Battle of Peachtree Creek: Near Atlanta, Georgia, Confederate forces led by General John Bell Hood unsuccessfully attack Union troops under General William T. Sherman. 1866 – Austro-Prussian War: Battle of Lissa: The Austrian Navy, led by Admiral Wilhelm von Tegetthoff, defeats the Italian Navy near the island of Vis in the Adriatic Sea. 1871 – British Columbia joins the Canadian Confederation. 1885 – The Football Association legalizes professionalism in association football under pressure from the British Football Association. 1903 – The Ford Motor Company ships its first automobile. 1906 – In Finland, a new electoral law is ratified, guaranteeing the country the first and equal right to vote in the world. Finnish women are the first in Europe to receive the right to vote. 1917 – World War I: The Corfu Declaration, which leads to the creation of the post-war Kingdom of Yugoslavia, is signed by the Yugoslav Committee and Kingdom of Serbia. 1920 – The Greek Army takes control of Silivri after Greece is awarded the city by the Paris Peace Conference; by 1923 Greece effectively lost control to the Turks. 1922 – The League of Nations awards mandates of Togoland to France and Tanganyika to the United Kingdom. 1932 – In the Preußenschlag, German President Hindenburg places Prussia directly under the rule of the national government. 1935 – Switzerland: A Royal Dutch Airlines plane en route from Milan to Frankfurt crashes into a Swiss mountain, killing thirteen. 1936 – The Montreux Convention is signed in Switzerland, authorizing Turkey to fortify the Dardanelles and Bosphorus but guaranteeing free passage to ships of all nations in peacetime. 1938 – The United States Department of Justice files suit in New York City against the motion picture industry charging violations of the Sherman Antitrust Act in regards to the studio system. The case would eventually result in a break-up of the industry in 1948.