#the entirely of chapter 7 is so well produced but at the same times its so PAINFUL | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

temporoom · 3 years ago

Text

It all began with alchemy...

An analysis of the alchemy behind The Case Study of Vanitas.

Part 1: Basis of alchemy | Part 2: Theories (1) | Part 3: Theories (3)

This post uses elements from my previous post about alchemy, I would recommend you to read it before this one to help you understand what I’m writing about better.

Hi! It’s been a while (way too long tbh I’m sorry), I’m back with my alchemical stuffs. Last time, I gave you some basis on alchemy and how some of its theme can fit in the universe of VnC. This time, we will refine those in order to form theories about the story and what its future could be. So, what did we deduced last time which could help us in this endeavor?

Here are the things we established about VnC and alchemy:

The concept of multiple plans forming our universe and our being. (Human world, Altus, and the World Formula) Including a device capable of linking them to one another (The Book of Vanitas, the d’Apchier’s Organ), as well as the potential Christian imagery of this concept (The Tower of Babel, and the Garden of Eden).

The entire vampire race being issued from some form Chrysopoeia (transmutation of lead to gold), apart from Chloé d’Apchier (Argyropoeia), Luca Oriflamme (Aqua Regia), and Noé Archiviste (Philosopher’s Stone). (EDIT: There has been the recent addition of Loki Oriflamme who has dark blue eyes, however given that I started my research before his color palette was revealed I still don’t know what to associate him to.)

The presence of symbolic components capable of producing a Philosopher’s Stone, such as Mercury (Luna, Vanitas, Chloé…) and Sulfur (Faustina, Jeanne, Jean-Jacques…), and the different steps of the Magnum Opus being incarnated by characters in the story (Vanitas is Nigredo, Jeanne is Albedo, Dominique is Citrinas, Noé is Rubedo).

Now that all of those pieces of information are set, let’s work them out to form one Alchemical Theory, which should be either capable of explaining how the VnC universe work, and/or predict what should happen in future chapters. Let’s go!

Who is the alchemist?

Since the moment VnC introduced us to alchemy, most fans have been asking this question: who is Paracelsus? Is he still alive? What was the actual results of the Babel event caused by him?

Because those are recurrent questions, and the ones people expect me to answer the most with those posts, I’ll try my best to do so here. But let me change the question a bit then. Rather than ask who is Paracelsus, let’s ask, who is the Alchemist? Or even, who were the alchemists? The ones at the source of Babel.

Knowing who those alchemists were doesn’t require any alchemical knowledge, just some historical knowledge. We have most of the names already after all (you’ll see).

For a start, let’s look at the only piece of evidence we currently have: this panel in chapter 7. In it, we can see on the far-left Paracelsus, as well as his “helpers”: a bearded man, a dark-haired woman, and a blond man. Now, I will make a wild conjecture to guess their names:

The bearded man is Johann Georg Faust, contemporary of Paracelsus, and the main inspiration for Goethe’s tragedy Faust. (The play probably being the source of Faustina’s name). I couldn’t find a famous woman born in the 15th century for our dark-haired alchemist, I could make an entire post what her identity might be for the story, but this not today’s post subject. Finally, our blond man is none other than the Count of St. Germain, our dear Teacher. Look at his hair, it’s the same. (Not just that, but given the claims of the man himself, he could have been a contemporary of Paracelsus).

Now that we have established who is and who isn’t Paracelsus, we can go back to our main subject. Don’t worry, those three will come back at some point. But right now, I’m mostly trying to make conclusions with the information I had previously given to you all.

So, who is the alchemist? Who is the core of the VnC universe? We already have our answers from my previous post: Luna. Luna is the alchemist.

Luna fits all the criteria of the transformed alchemist:

They do not correspond to any forms of binarity: they are neither a woman or a man, both in appearance and mentality; they aren’t a human or a vampire either. (The resolution of contraries, the hermaphrodite)

They have a device capable of linking the physical world to the world formula: the Book of Vanitas. (The wish of being linked back to God)

They were exiled from an “Eden” and feared. (The link with God being severed)

The name given to them by others, Vanitas, is a form of art piece meant to remind of someone’s mortality. What a fitting name to insult an alchemist who had the arrogance of wishing to go beyond mortality. “No matter how long your life shall be, you too, will die one day.” (One of the alchemists’ goals, especially in Asia, was the creation of an Elixir of Long Life – more often called Elixir of Immortality in English-speaking countries, though the elixir itself does not grant it).

However, as I’ve mentioned at the beginning of this post, Luna can be associated with one of the catalysts of the Magnum Opus: the mercury. In that case, they are not the transformed alchemist, but rather a product of their experiments. But do we have a second possibility for the transformed alchemist? Of course we do, and you know him well: the Count of St. Germain.

Does not fit binary standards by always changing of appearances.

Considers themselves to be above humans and vampires alike, their true nature is still undetermined.

They are thematically associated with a golden color, gold being the result of Chrysopoeia, one of the abilities of the Philosopher’s Stone. Just like any alchemists, he could have been transformed from lead to gold (spiritually) by some sort of Philosopher’s Stone.

So, we now have two potential original alchemists at the core of VnC, one of which has most certainly been part of the events of Babel. What could that potentially mean? Well, on one hand, if we followed the color coding, the only true original alchemist should be the Teacher, given his gold. Making of Luna simply one of the catalysts of the Magnum Opus (representing the mercury), so, while they could have been one of the actors of Babel, they are not the alchemist at its source. But on the other hand, Luna is the one who has all the details which makes of them a transformed alchemist.

Could both of them be alchemists? Could they both be actors of the Babel event, as helpers of Paracelsus? Could perhaps the two other actors of this event, Paracelsus and who I named Faust, could still be alive and transformed into vampires? If that was the case, then the house that Luna took Mikhail and XXXX into could potentially belong to one of those two. But will we ever meet them, or know what happened to them?

In any cases, the presence of alchemists makes one thing clear: if there are successful alchemists, then there are Philosopher’s Stones.

Who is the Philosopher’s Stone?

Let’s hop right into our second part about the Philosopher’s Stone. The presence of a successful alchemist is the first proof to the presence of a Philosopher’s Stone around, the second proof of its presence is of course the omnipresence of the Chrysopoeia amongst vampires. If you have forgotten what Chrysopoeia is, it’s the process of turning base metals (lead) into noble ones (gold) using the Philosopher’s Stone.

Who is the Philosopher’s Stone then? Well, there is the simple answer, and the more complex one. I’ll start with the latter.

All vampires are Philosopher’s Stones.

Vampires in the VnC universe are smaller scaled version of Philosopher’s Stone by definition, their eyes can turn red (typically considered the color of the stone), they can rewrite the formula around them (transmutation), and the simple fact that they drink blood could be considered a side effect of the last stage of the Magnum Opus, the Rubedo, which is often called “staining in blood”.

However, following this logic, all vampires should have more agency on themselves. Which they don’t. First, they are affected by the Chrysopoeia, taking away their statue as Philosopher’s Stone, and reducing them to metals. The red in their eyes could then be simply the “trademark” of the original Philosopher’s stone. Second, if they were Philosopher’s Stones capable of turning base metals into noble ones… Then they should have the power to turn humans into vampires. Currently, in the story, they aren’t capable of such a feat.

So, rather than thinking all vampires are Philosopher’s Stone, let’s change that reasoning into vampires are the ones capable of being affected by the Philosopher’s Stone. In other words: humans are the alchemists, who can only be changed during the process of fabrication (the event of Babel and the years following it), while vampires are the metals transformed by the now complete Philosopher’s Stone. This order is to be remembered: always humans to vampire, to changes within vampires amongst themselves.

So now, here is the simple and obvious answer to who is the Philosopher’s Stone: Faustina, first Vampire of the Crimson Moon and Queen of Vampires.

The obvious about Faustina being the Philosopher’s Stone of VnC world is her link to its surrounding Chrysopoeia.

The Teacher has been by her side at the very start and is defined by his gold. He is her transformed alchemist.

The closer a vampire is in rank to her, the more often their eyes are gold. The only exceptions to this rule are Luca and his brother Loki, who have respectively green and dark blue eyes; and Jeanne, who is not someone of high rank but has somehow golden eyes as well. (We could also potentially count Ruthven since he was not born into nobility). Otherwise, most vampires have eyes with the color of base metals such as copper (brown) or lead (black). Again, the only exceptions to this rule are Noé Archiviste, who has purple eyes, and Chloé d’Apchier, who has silver eyes (or light blue depending on the point of view). In any cases, ranks or not, this happens too often to ignore the obvious Chrysopoeia.

Clearly Faustina is an active stone, still affecting the formula around her to produces alchemical transmutations. You could even argue that maybe her malnomen, Naenia, creates curse-bearer because of that power. It’s after all a malnomen which affects other vampires surrounding her. A form of corrupted Philosopher’s Stone.

What should speak to you more, however, is the homunculus imagery surrounding her.

It starts with what has been shown of her in the manga. Her first apparition is in an artificial tube filled with liquid, and since then this is where we assume her core is. (I say core since I don’t know if it’s actually her body or a clone of her body and the real one still in the castle). It then follows with her name, Faustina.

Faustina is both the name of a renowned roman empress, and the feminine Latin form of Fausto, which refers to the term Faustian, itself in reference to a renowned character of the German folklore: Faust.

Yes, here he comes again, Faust (I told you we would talk about that guy again). Now that we circled back to him, we need to decide how far we should push our research. Should we go at the source of the character of Faust? Or perhaps analyze the theater piece written by Goethe? To make that decision, I decided to look at the Wikipedia page for Faust in Japanese… They only talk about the one from Goethe’s works, so we’ll go with this one! :D (If the occasion present itself, don’t worry, I’ll talk about the source of the tale of Faust).

So, who is Faust? Well, Faust, the fictional character, is an alchemist who has come to a point where he is unhappy with his life and his research when a mysterious devilish entity, called Mephistopheles, appears to him and proposes to make a pact in exchange for his soul. The pact would last for twenty-four years, during which Faust could have anything he wants, and once he feels like he has accomplished all that he needed to, Mephistopheles would take his soul with him in hell to make of Faust a servant of the Devil. The story written by Goethe is separated into two plays, the first one being about Faust’ liaison with a woman called Gretchen, while the second is a philosophical adventure in search of salvation. This second play includes the presence of a homunculus created by Faust’s servant, Wagner, and serves to parallel Faust’s goal to become a spirit, since its own goal is to become human. However, the glass flask containing it falls over and breaks and kills it.

Yeah… We got all the clues needed to link Faust to Faustina here: the pact with a devilish entity, as well as the presence of the homunculus. (There’s a few other stuff, but please read the Wikipedia page for that). Though I admit I’m probably making a far stretch here, or am I? After all, the first mentions of homunculus are in Paracelsus works, a contemporary of the real-life inspiration for Faust. If in VnC, they had decided to work together, why would it be strange to suppose they created a homunculus together?

Okay, that’s enough Faustina talk! We have a second Philospher’s Stone at hand! The one named Noé Archiviste.

The orphan, the king in purple… The stone has many names, it’s strange that some of them fits Noé so well, don’t you think? Purple isn’t associated to many things in alchemy, actually, only one: the Philosopher’s Stone. Last time, I had mentioned that Noé was the potential new Philosopher’s Stone, but did not went into too much details about this, so now I will!

Noé Archiviste is not a complete Philosopher’s Stone, I’ll say it right now, he is only one in the making. But he has already some of the characteristics needed to become one:

Is under the supervision of an alchemist. Teacher, of course, but you can also consider Vanitas as Noé’s alchemist given that he inherited most of Luna’s traits (lack of binarity proven to us by Murr; a device capable of linking him to the formula, the book of Vanitas; as well as the name Vanitas). But unlike Luna and Teacher, Vanitas is, like Noé, waiting to be transformed. It’s not just Noé’s Magnum Opus, but also Vanitas’ one. (in an alchemical sense I need to remind)

His purple eyes already establish him as going through the transformation, making him immune to the Chrysopoeia alongside Luca, Loki and Chloé. Purple is also one of the colors used to refer to the stone.

He is thematically associated with the last stage of the Magnum Opus: the Rubedo. Also called the “tainting in purple” or the “staining in blood” stage.

However, what proves that he is not a complete Philosopher’s Stone is his inability to affect the vampires surrounding him in a Chrysopoeia… Not in a literal sense at least. Noé does manage to bring out the best in the people around him to make their darkened spirit into gold. You can see it with Vanitas and Roland in the Chasseur Arc, but also with Jean-Jacques in the Gevaudan arc, and finally Dominique (in a way) and Vanitas (again) in the Hunter in the Dark arc. We can also see him attempt a form of psychological Chrysopoeia with Astolfo but failing.

Though what makes it the more evident is the entirety of the story structure set in VnC for each arc and the story overall…

The Case Study of Vanitas’s story structure

Last post, I explained to you that each of our four main characters could be associated to one of the four stages of the Magnum Opus: Vanitas for the Nigredo, Jeanne for the Albedo, Dominique for the Citrinas, and Noé for the Rubedo. Let me push this further by adding something: each of our four main characters have a dedicated arc which corresponds to the Magnum Opus step they are associated to, and those arcs themselves can be restructured into a form of Magnum Opus themselves.

This is not a first, plenty of stories in English literature are based on alchemical structures, one of the most famous being… Oh, Romeo and Juliet, you know, one of MochiJun’s inspirations for writing a story after Pandora Hearts?

Anyway, let’s go back to our main subject, so, how does alchemy appear in VnC? Well, each arc can be cut into four different clear parts, each associated with a step of the Magnum Opus:

Nigredo: The darkest and lowest point of our character. They start divided (figuratively or literally), have different goals and different mindsets, and visibly something is bothering them.

Albedo: The clarification and purification of our character. They overcame the darkness of the nigredo to find the reasons behind their quest and gain new clues about what they should do next.

Citrinas: The awakening of our characters, after being tossed around because of their doubts in the nigredo and the revelations made during the albedo, they finally stand up thanks to the help of another character and set their mind on their goal without letting themselves be bothered by their doubts.

Rubedo: The final point of our characters. The arc is technically finished, and the situation is calming down, however, those calm scenes are disrupted by bite scenes in order to “spill blood” and complete the process.

You then rinse and repeat. How does that present itself withing the story then?

The Bal Masqué arc technically serves as the beginning stage for Noé, he is still at his prima materia stage and has not gone through the Magnum Opus yet. However, the arc has still the narrative structure of the Magnum Opus (most likely because it’s a common narrative structure for Japanese media):

Nigredo: The introduction to the characters set them as being literally divided for now. Each has their past and need to find a way to overcome it. Their views of the world are shaped by it.

Albedo: Dominique reveals that Noé was an orphan bought at the black market, and Vanitas reveals that the vampire of the Blue Moon has bitten him and made him a member of their clan. Clarifications are made about the past of the characters here. However, the true albedo is when Vanitas purifies (quite literally) Noé while he his spiraling into his past.

Citrinas: Harsh awakening of Noé and Jeanne by Vanitas, the first after killing a cursed child, the latter after forcing her to drink his blood.

Rubedo: Conclusion of the arc through the “What is Love?” chapter during which Jeanne drinks Vanitas’s blood, and Dominique Noé’s one.

The Chasseur Arc is the beginning of the Magnum Opus, it’s the Nigredo arc, focused on Vanitas. Everything is defined by its darkness and the color black: the color of their clothes, the dirtiness of the catacombs, as well as the themes (human experimentations).

Nigredo: Characters are figuratively divided. Vanitas wants to push away Noé, Noé wants to understand Vanitas.

Albedo: Vanitas reveals his past as a chasseur, as well as how his parents were killed. The true albedo is when they manage to communicate with Roland to clarify their reasons for infiltrating the catacombs.

Citrinas: Vanitas is awakened from his flash-back of Mikhail by Noé.

Rubedo: While Vanitas gets his blood drank by Jeanne, Noé gets his blood drank by Ruthven.

The Gévaudan arc is the Albedo arc, focused on Jeanne. It’s defined by its whiteness: Jeanne’s clothes, the snow, Chloé’s hair and eyes... Since the Albedo is one of the stages you can stop at to obtain a lesser stone capable of turning base metals into silver, naturally, the antagonist of this arc comes from Argryopoeia, (Chloé).

Nigredo: The characters are literally divided, Dominique in Paris, Jeanne stuck with Vanitas, and Noé in Chloé’s castle.

Albedo: Jeanne tells Vanitas her past with Chloé. Later on, when Noé is forced to drink Jean-Jacques’s blood and learn about the true nature of the beast, meanwhile Vanitas is getting his information through Dante. The true albedo, of course, is when Chloé clarifies her reasons for her actions and forces Naenia to take a physical form. (It’s metaphorically represented by Naenia going from black to white, nigredo to albedo)

Citrinas: Jeanne is awakened from her spiraling despair by Vanitas, who was inspired by Noé.

Rubedo: Jeanne drinks Vanitas’ blood out of happiness, Dominique has drunk someone’s blood out of despair.

The Hunter in the Dark arc is the Citrinas arc, focused on Dominique. It’s defined by the color yellow (gold): Dominique’s outfit/eyes/cover (volume 8), the lights of the amusement parc, the color of Teacher’s powers. It’s time to wake up from the dream… To become something greater.

Nigredo: Characters are psychologically divided. Dominique is focused on her trauma and her desire to protect Noé, Noé is also caught up in his trauma and his desire to protect Dominique. Vanitas is spiraling because of the return of Mikhail… Jeanne is having a fun time.

Albedo: Mikhail revealing his common past with Vanitas and how they met the Vampire of the Blue Moon, Luna. Mikhail also represents the Albedo through his white hair and grey eyes. His presence is meant to clarify what is unclear.

Citrinas: Dominique being awakened from her dissociative state by Jeanne and Noé, Vanitas being awakened from his hypnosis by Noé.

Rubedo: …?

And that’s right, the current arc is still not over! Which means that we have a missing step in our cycle. It also means that the next arc will be the Rubedo arc, focused on Noé, and defined by the color red… Maybe an arc in Altus? To parallel the first arc.

Conclusion :

So, what new clues did we get from this breakdown?

About alchemists, we have four roaming around the VnC world:

The alchemists of the Blue Moon, symbolized by the Nigredo, the beginning, and the mercury. The first one is Luna, who has made our current Vanitas their heir, and as such the new alchemist of the Blue Moon.

The alchemist of Crimson Moon, symbolized by the Albedo, the Rubedo, and the sulfur. I’ll suppose the first one was Faust, their heir was Faustina, and the current contender for the role is Ruthven (making of Faustina his homunculus).

The alchemist of the Golden Moon, symbolized by the Chrysopoeia, gold and transmutation. The count of St.-Germain is the one and only representant of this role.

Finally, Paracelsus, the Original Alchemist. His role and his symbolics are unknown for now, but I know we will meet him at some point.

About the Philosopher’s Stone, we have two roaming around the VnC world:

Faustina, Queen of Vampires, the stone tainted in blood, capable of Chrysopoeia, the corrupted stone.

Noé Archiviste, the Archiviste, the king in purple, the orphan, still unfinished, but will soon awaken to his true potential/nature.

And finally, that the story is leading us towards the inevitable awakening of Noé as the new Philosopher’s Stone of the universe of VnC, with his transformed alchemist: Vanitas.

This was longer than expected, so, against all expectations, there shall be a third and final post about my alchemical analysis: Religion and how it entails to the alchemy of The Case Study of Vanitas. The conclusion of my posts about alchemy.

#vanitas no carte #vanitas no shuki #vnc icons #tcsov #the case study of vanitas #les memoires de vanitas #alchemical analysis #analysis #theory #theories

60 notes · View notes

lubdubsworld · 4 years ago

Text

Better Man. ( Taehyung x Oc)

Rated 18 +

Post Divorce, Getting Back Together, Second chances, Angst.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 ~ Its okay to want something to end and also be sad that its ending.

With infidelity, its never black and white.

There’s different kinds of infidelity and you can’t ever say which is worse. That depends entirely on the people involved and the values they hold dear. What may be a small indiscretion to someone, may well be an unforgivable act of betrayal to someone else.

And that’s fine. People aren’t one dimensional. We can’t all have the same perspective.

So infidelity is also never one dimensional.

Sometimes its a one night stand. Something done and forgotten. Discarded from the mind like the used condom in the motel room floor.

Sometimes its a dear friend who betrays you, your best friend who apparently always had a thing for your husband and felt perfectly fine making a move on him. That one stings . Because you lose two people. Two very important people at the same time.

Sometimes its a coworker, someone who stays by their side majority of the day. Who offers a sympathetic ear when your husband wants to relax.

Sometimes men just fall out of love and are too much of a coward to say it out loud, opting to cheat on you instead.

Sometimes, they are jealous, of your career, of your kid, or your friends. Too lazy to win your affection they go find satisfaction in some one else’s bed.

Sometimes it never even gets physical. Sometimes its just someone catfishing your husband or sending him nudes.

And sometimes, its an emotional connection. They actually fall deeply in love with someone else and I think, for most women, that would be the one that would sting the most.

With Taehyung, it had been a night of drinking. He had had one drink too many, had tumbled into bed with some trainee a decade younger and had broken our marriage vows.

Not really a very thought out or planned mistake. He hadn’t cheated with the intent to cheat. He had just been too drunk to know better.

So, why did I leave him?

Because it hadn’t been about the cheating.

It had been the drinking.

When we first met, Taehyung couldn’t hold his liquor. Not that it mattered because he didn’t like it all that much. Didn’t mind sipping juice when other’s nursed beers.

But as he grew older, as he grew more successful, he had started accepting drinks from producers and directors and fellow actors... Because, it was rude not to and Kim Taehyung was nothing if not the personification of politeness.

His tolerance hadn’t increased but his drinking had and that was a bad combo.

:”You need to stop doing this Tae. You can’t just come home black out drunk, every time you have an after party.... You’re going to hurt yourself or god forbid someone else... some day and I’m not going to sit here and wait for you to wreck your entire life over a stupid drink....”

It was a speech I had made way too many times. The words recycled and reframed, and rearranged to try and give them more weight , to help him realize how serious the issue was. To help him understand that what he was risking, it wasn’t just his reputation. It was his entire career, his life if he somehow got behind a wheel someday.

And Taehyung, who had won a bunch of Daesangs for his acting always convinced me that he understood what I was trying to say. That he understood the magnitude of my words and would heed them the next time.

So really, what people didn’t understand was that....

That evening, when he stood in front of me and said that he slept with another woman because he got drunk out of his mind, it wasn’t the sleeping with the girl that had bothered me. ( at least not that much. it hurt of course but it wasn’t that strong. it stemmed more from a place of “why didn’t you just ask someone to drive you home, you idiot.”.. rather than, “ how dare you sleep with another woman?” )

It was the got drunk out of my mind thing.

That was what I ended my marriage over.

That was it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The details were hashed out easily and I didn’t particularly protest or change anything. Taehyung suggested an equal division of assets and I quickly disagreed. I wasn’t exactly poor. I worked as the Head of Marketing in a successful conglomerate. I had no use for excessive amounts of money. After some debate we agreed on setting up a trust fund for Hoshi with the money. He could use it after he turned twenty five.

And then came the next part.

Compensation for physical / Mental Damage.

I felt like i was spiraling.

“None On my side. None.” Taehyung said quickly and I swallowed.

Ms Lee gave me an encouraging smile.

“You can be honest Mrs Kim. We’re trying to go for a clean break between the two of you without any resentment carrying over. So its best to be honest. If you feel you need recompense for any emotional distress or abuse Mr. Kim may have put you through, you’re free to tell me. I’ll make sure it goes into record.”

And this was why I hated the idea of getting divorce.

That entire dialogue had sounded so...so... terrible. So accusatory and ugly. It wasn’t at all the way I felt about my husband.

It was just hurt. Plain and simple hurt because he didn’t take me seriously. Because he didn’t think my words were worth listening to. It was hurt laced with fear because he was putting himself in danger with his reckless actions and I wanted him to stop. That’s all it was.

It was hurt.

Taehyung had hurt me but it wasn’t emotional distress. It sure as hell hadn’t been abuse.

“None for me either.” I said firmly, honest .

I glanced at my husband, trying to tell him that I wasn’t just saying it. That it was true. I really didn’t want him to pay me money for what had happened.

But, Taehyung wouldn’t meet my eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taehyung signed over full custody of Hoshi with a smile.

“I trust you. “ He said quietly, penning his initials carefully on the document.

I nodded, feeling a little like drowning.

We had a very comfortable way of doing things as far as our son was concerned. Taehyung got Hoshi anytime he had time off and also on weekends.

With a very shifting schedule it was hard for Taehyung to pin down exact dates so we had long decided we would make things easier for each other. He would call me a day or so in advance and i would drop him off at Taehyung’s penthouse or the company. Special days like birthdays were always celebrated in a neutral place with both parties attending.

Hoshi loved it because it was a pleasant surprise for him, when his dad swooped in out of nowhere and took him off to amusement parks or arcades or swimming. He loved Taehyung .

So the visitation rights were easy to sketch out.

It was nothing new but to have it all put down on paper and initialed and notarized....it just felt invasive. Some judge somewhere would read all about how my marriage had crumbled to ashes and would pass judgment on me and that just felt odd.

Like airing your dirty laundry. Like letting strangers into your bedroom.

And the worst part was this : I felt myself getting upset , anytime Ms. Lee gave the slightest negative connotation to Taehyung’s actions or responsibilities. Anytime she tried to imply that he couldn’t be neglectful as a father, I wanted to jump right up and defend him. To tell her that he was a better father than the ones who lived 24/7 with their kids and didn’t know a damn thing about them.

That even as my husband, he had been so good to me. Had treated me like his best friend, his confidante, his lover. Had never shied away from showing me how much he loved me. Had been the best husband in the whole entire world.

And I hated myself for it.

What was wrong with me?

Why was I still so fiercely protective of him, I wondered. I hated the idea of him being criticized by anyone for any of it.

And it made feel like such a hypocrite because if he was so amazing, why on earth were we here??

Why on earth were we getting a divorce if Kim Taehyung was husband and father of the fucking Year?!!

Was I making a mistake? Had I made a mistake?

It confused me. These feelings that just refused to go away. I would never act on them because therein lay the path to misery but why were they still there?

This desperate clawing urge to make sure he came out of this whole debacle as a good guy. To make sure no one would brand him as a cheater . Because they would. When the divorce went public, they would dig things up and they would know.

I didn’t know how I’d gotten to this point where , I could somehow forget everything that was wrong, simply because I wanted to focus on what felt wrong....

Technically I should be happy.

Taehyung did something unpardonable ( for me, at the time. Now I wasn’t so sure. Now I felt like I could forgive him for it but he hadn’t asked for forgiveness. What he’d asked for was a divorce. ) and I left him. We were separated . And now finally we were getting a divorce.

Divorce meant we could finally get out of this no man’s land of uncertainty where we had hung for two whole years and move on, from each other and finally give a label to where we stood. Exes. We were exes. We were done. It was over.

Hadn’t I just yelled about him about how I liked labels?

And yet,

This entire divorce felt so wrong. So unnecessary.

And in a moment of clarity, as I watched Ms Lee read he whole thing over again for our benefit, I realized why it felt wrong.

It felt wrong because Taehyung was the one who wanted it.

Why did Taehyung want it? What had made him want to end it, officially?

Was he seeing someone else? Was he considering seeing someone else? Did he want to start enjoying the single lifestyle again?

Did he finally take a good long look at our marriage and found nothing worth salvaging anymore?

My head ached.

I couldn’t wait for the whole thing to be over. And yet my heart broke at the thought of it.

Ms Lee finally gathered up all the documents and gave us a wide smile.

“I wish every client I had was this reasonable. You two are a delight .” she shook her head. “ Should we get a drink to celebrate a day well spent?”

I opened my mouth to accept when Taehyung said, “ Sure, but it would have to be a juice for me. I don’t drink.”

I felt my heart take a swoop, nosediving to my knees.

I stared at him, stunned speechless.

“Haven’t had a drink in two years Mia. I’m done with that shit.” He said softly.

I swallowed.

“I didn’t know that.” I felt miserable all of a sudden, the weight of what we had just done pressing down on my heart like a 200 pound stone,

His gaze held mine.

“There’s a lot you don’t know.”

We stood staring at each other in silence and Ms. Lee cleared her throat.

“Uh... I just got a text from my next client. Maybe raincheck on the drinks? “

I nodded , watching her leave. Thank you i wanted to say, but for what?

For ending my marriage of eight fucking years?

And how ridiculous that very thought was. ..... She hadn’t ended our marriage, I had.

“I have the next two days off.” He said casually.

“You can pick Hoshi up from my mom’s place. I need to head back to the office.” I muttered, choking a little on tears that had sprung out of nowhere. .

“Hey.” his fingers closed over my wrists tugging me gently and I let myself get pulled into his arms. I hugged him, feeling my tears soak through the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m sorry it has to be this way.” I choked out.

He stroked the back of my head gently.

“Me too. “ He pressed a kiss to my hair and it only made me feel worse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note : Tae is 35, OC is 32

#taehyung smut #taehyung fics #taehyung fanfic #taehyung #taehyung fanfics #bts fanfics #bts smut #bts fanfic

147 notes · View notes

brandonjg227 · 4 years ago

Text

44 Years of Star Wars

As you know, I’m a HUGE fan of Star Wars. I like all the movies (including the prequels and The Last Jedi). Today is the 44th anniversary of the premiere of the movie Star Wars. This was the movie that was eventually called Star Wars: Episode IV – A New Hope, according to its place in the Star Wars Skywalker saga film lineup and Original Star Wars Trilogy. To be entirely fair, Star Wars was promoted before May 25, 1977, and previewed to some very lucky individuals before this date – but May 25, 1977 was the day the movie opened to the public. Since then, one whole heck of a lot of Star Wars has been produced and released to screens both big and small.

From 2003 to 2005, “Star Wars: Clone Wars” was developed and directed by Genndy Tartakovsky for Cartoon Network. This show was effectively rebooted and/or continued with another similar show called “The Clone Wars.”

In August of 2008, before the release of the episodic show of the same name, Star Wars: The Clone Wars was released as an animated film in theaters. This movie was compiled from episodes of the show, leading the viewer into the events of the show. Star Wars: The Clone Wars show started in October of 2008 and lasted for 5 seasons on Cartoon Network, another 1 season on Netflix, and another season on Disney+, for a total of 7 seasons and 133 episodes.

In October 2012, Disney acquired Lucasfilm for $4.05 billion dollars. In October of 2014, the television show Star Wars: Rebels started on the TV channel Disney XD and lasted for four seasons and a total of 75 episodes.

In December of 2015, Star Wars Episode VII – The Force Awakens was released in theaters, directed by J.J. Abrams. The Force Awakens, The Last Jedi, and The Rise of Skywalker were all released in December of their respective years. They were released in 2015, 2017, and 2019, directed by J.J. Abrams, Rian Johnson, and J.J. Abrams respectively.

Between the first and second Disney films, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story was released in December of 2016, directed by Gareth Edwards. Solo: A Star Wars Story was released in May of 2018, directed by Ron Howard. There are plans for at least one more Star Wars film so far – one called Rogue Squadron. It’ll be directed by Patty Jenkins.

Star Wars: The Bad Batch premiered on Disney+ on May 4, 2021. This episodic series is effectively the next chapter after the TV show The Clone Wars, following a group of rogue clones after Revenge of the Sith.

The live action series The Mandalorian was first released on Disney+ in November of 2019. The Book of Boba Fett is planned for release in December of 2021. Disney announced plans for additional series for the streaming platform, including Andor, Obi-Wan Kenobi, The Acolyte, Ahsoka, and Lando. And there’ll be more, too!

Star Wars total run time

If you combined the runtime of all the currently-released movies and watched them all back-to-back, you’d find yourself in front of a screen for more than 24 hours straight (actually approximately 25.16 hours). That includes all 9 Skywalker Saga films, Solo, and Rogue One.

A very rough calculation of the number of hours included in The Clone Wars based on average run time (movie and second show, all 7 seasons) adds up to approximately 2 days, 18 hours (or 56 hours). The entirety of Star Wars: Rebels clocks in at approximately 27.5 hours. The Mandalorian (seasons 1 and 2) total run time is around 10.5 hours. The Bad Batch (the first four episodes released so far) come in at a total of 2.7 hours.

As such, if you’re looking to have the ultimate Star Wars marathon, you’d do well to carve out a full 5.5+ days for yourself. That’s not an exact calculation, but as a general moment-in-time reference point, here in May of 2021, the total run time for all Star Wars movies and shows is 121.86 hours, which is a total of 5 days and 4 hours.

If you’re adding breaks to get up and walk around once in a while, it’s safe to assume you’ll be able to EASILY fill up a full week with 100% official canonical Star Wars shows and movies – fun!

69 notes · View notes

mothernerd · 4 years ago

Text

blood 7 - Strange/Stark!Reader

Relationship: Dr. Strange/Princess!Stark!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Adult Themes, eventual smut, adult language, implied sexual violence, general violence

Synopsis: Reader is the daughter of the legendary King Anthony Stark, Uniter of Lands, The Iron Defender, and leader of the realm. When the king disappears during battle, hope is lost and he is presumed dead.

When the late king’s uncle, Obadiah, takes the throne until your brother Peter is of age, he quickly arranges a marriage for you with a wicked king in a neighboring kingdom.

With the realms politics in question, and rumors of an upcoming siege to overthrow Peter’s rule before it starts, you quickly learn who is loyal to the crown and who is not.

part 6 - part 8 (coming April 13th)

Masterlist

Chapter Playlist

CHAPTER WARNING: Yee-har, thar be smut afoot in this here chapter. 18+

7- a king

Anthony Stark hadn’t expected all of this to come of his death. He foresaw of some of it.

Of Obadiah’s imminent betrayal and Brock’s general ambition, but when Wanda had approached him with her vision all those years ago, he couldn’t have understood what it all meant.

Now, however, he realized the violence that was soon to arrive at his kingdom’s doorstep. It was an uneasy feeling; the responsibility bestowed upon him to put men’s lives at risk. To make widows and orphans because of inter family squabbles.

But Tony knew that Obadiah and Brock both presented far larger threats in the long term.

A king who is hungry for power will never stop to consider the least fortunate in his rule.

It was a mantra Tony had created for himself after his father had let entire villages fall to win back some petty golden toy during the War of the Giants. In the end, the lives lost had been worthless and the giants returned to their mountains with more spoils than they’d started.

It had made him sick.

That was the moment Tony decided to be a better man. A better king. He took pride in his unselfish rule and lack of war among those who shared the boundary with his kingdom. By a miracle he’d gotten Brock into line, but Obadiah had gotten a taste of power from his position in the Giant’s War and wanted more.

Rumors turned to plots, and all at once Tony knew his family and legacy was in danger. He had a troubled relationship with the Wakandans after one of his own barons killed their king in a quest for vengeance after the Giant’s War. Steve had volunteered as ambassador with the shadowy James Barnes (who’d long had a positive relationship with T’Challa) and they’d managed to broker a deal benefiting both nations.

And Asgard.

That was a whole other bag of complications.

Odin had long been distrustful of Tony’s first wife, the late Queen Alexandra due to her Vanir lineage. The Asgardians had fought for centuries trying to eradicate what they’d seen as a dangerous race of uncontrollable magic users.

Odin had been a step in the right direction, after replacing his late father, but the prejudices still remained and Tony’s marriage to one of the few remaining Vanir royals had soured what little relations they’d had.

Still, in the end, they’d protected you when he so desperately needed help the Asgardians could only provide. To that, he’d offered her hand to the princes, and Odin took the offer into consideration, only backing off when an agreement was made between the two boys and yourself that affections lay elsewhere.

Which brought him to his latest challenge. Your engagement to the monster king, Brock Rumlow.

The popular story was that he’d had his late wife killed when she hadn’t produced a male heir. Every female baby prior had been fed to the dogs and at last, when her fifth pregnancy had yielded yet another female, she fell mysteriously ill and died a few nights later. Some say a villager found the baby’s water logged corpse shortly after.

From a strategic perspective, it made sense. You hadn’t been called upon by any serious suitors, often running around the kingdom with a begrudging Stephen on your coattails, and you were still young enough to bare a child or two.

Brock needed a means of securing trust in the kingdom, and marrying one of its beloved daughters was the way to do it. Not to mention, Obadiah got his army, Peter would be overthrown when he attempted to take his birthright, and both men would share in the mutual benefits of being involved in one of the strongest economies in history.

It was a clear cut plan for control of the kingdom, and it would have been more than enough for Tony to take action.

Except for one small caveat.

You.

You’d been born of the same Vanir blood as your mother and even as a days old infant, you had shown the Master Sorceress at the time an insurmountable measure of power.

It was an old and finicky magic, the woman had warned before your mother’s body had even cooled in bed. You would need trining, but there was no one left to provide.

The Asgardians had been thorough in destroying the ancient texts and any remaining Vanir had long fallen into hiding, often using enchanted amulets and trinkets to conceal their seidr from those with wicked intentions.

Your mother had been a victim of such vicious greed. She’d been open with her abilities, sharing a close bond with Orin’s own wife and his young son, Loki. The pair had conspired to learn all the forbidden secrets of the Vanir, and she’d begun to accumulate quite the library of resources from old temples and Asgardian burial tombs.

Frigga helped her translate and in turn, the relationship with the royal families had warmed considerably until a few days before your birth.

Things had fallen apart so quickly. The Northern Kree empire had infiltrated the castle after hearing rumors of the queen’s power. Someone had once written that a single drop of Vanir blood was worth thousands in gold pieces. A bandit had gotten through the gates while she labored, he had ambushed her in the birthing chambers and despite putting up an admirable fight- died with a dagger stabbed through her heart.

The beast had tried to cut it free in front of the midwives.

The Master Sorceress had only stepped from the room a moment to freshen up her herbal remedies. By the time anyone had made it to her side, she had died, and you’d been cut free of her with that same knife.

“Your majesty?” Wanda inquired, approaching where he sat by the fire of the rebellion campsite.

“Yes?” He blinked up, returning to the present at hand. The men who were preparing for battle around him. The women sharpening weapons and sewing leather.

The people he had asked to rise up for the betterment of the kingdom. The people who were prepared to die by his side for a secure future.

“Master Strange is to meet at my cottage in the hour,” she explained.

“And what would you advise Master Sorceress?” he asked, an amused expression on his face. “Shall we let him in on our secret?”

“With less than seven days to the wedding, it might be wise,” she reasoned sardonically. “Natalia has her own mission in securing the support from within. Master Strange is working with Peter and Loki on securing the vulnerable.”

“Do you think he told him?” Tony looked down at the fire pensively.

“Who?”

“Loki,” he clarified. “He and Master Mordo were among the few who knew. They had to have mentioned something to him. He’s- well- I’m not entirely sure what he is to her now, but he’s certainly one of the closest lines of protection to her.”

“Assuming the rune hasn’t already faded, I would think he either told him or Stephen found out for himself, my liege,” Wanda sat down on the log next to time, her gaze following his into the flames. “Her power is what Amora desires. It needs to be concealed until the princess is in safe hands.”

“Then he knows,” Tony decided, nodding to himself. “Amora would have done something stupid if the seidr had broken through completely. Someone is keeping it under control.”

“I’ll find out,” Wanda promised. “Would you like to speak to him?”

Tony made a disgruntled noise at the thought of approaching the sorcerer. House Strange had long served under the Stark banner, proudly riding at the front of the line when called upon for battle. When they sent their oldest to train at Kamar-Taj, Tony had been surprised.

The boy had a knack for strategy and was sharp as a needle point. Tony could have seen the young man easily rise in leadership in the house, ruling his own militiamen and managing the family affairs.

But apparently he had no interest in it, and in an unorthodox fashion, the assets had been passed to their eldest daughter.

Granted, in the end, none of that mattered- as the entire family estate had been stricken by a particularly nasty plague. The sole survivor was Stephen, who’d been away at Kamar-Taj when he’d gotten the news.

He’d rushed home, and in the process gotten sick himself, but with the help of his fellow sorcerers, recovered with the only remnants of the illness remaining in his hands. He often told others it had been a riding accident. Only a select few knew the truth and devastation of his loss.

Tony had met with the young man on his sickbed, assuring him the assets would remain in the family. That the castle would maintain the property while he fulfilled his obligations to Kamar-Taj. After all, there was no greater calling than to a life of service and compassion. It was the least Tony could do.

Well, until you had scared off every Master to cross the castle threshold and he’d gotten desperate and asked the boy for a favor.

He should have known better. You were close in age. Equally as ambitious and cunning. For years you’d been sneaking through passages and around the villages at night, often with Natalia at your side.

Stephen just made it easier, and helped Tony rest a little easier knowing the man would give his life for you, if need be.

Tony wasn’t dumb. He’d seen it the first night the you had met.

The sneaking smiles, the conspiratorial whispers in the corners of the ballroom, and when Peter’s cat turned into a lion almost identical to the Stark sigil, Tony knew that one day he might allow that young man to break the oaths he’d made for a single exception.

“Your highness?” Wanda pried gently for a clearer answer.

“Yes, I’ll speak to him,” he pinched the bridge of his nose. About a great many things.

(—)

“I somehow don’t believe you just found out about this,” you stated, sitting cross legged on one of the strewn about cushions, a teapot floating delicately from the palm of your hand.

“I’ve learned a number of thing recently,” he replied dryly. “Like Mordo is alive, and Brock wants to kill Obadiah once you’re wed.”

You lost your focus and the cup shattered on the ground.

“He what?” you gaped at Stephen while he repaired the ceramic cup with a wave of his hand.

“It ties into the whole secret magic thing, but it really isn’t an ideal situation,” he explained, setting the cup aside and dropping to the cushion across from you.

“I guess it’s good I’ve pestered you for your books over the years,” you mused, flexing your fingers in the air in front of you.

“It isn’t the same,” he sighed, watching while you lifted a few other stray objects and paused them between the two of you. “Seidr is... there isn’t documentation. The books were destroyed. Kamar-Taj had a few tomes but the Vanir language is nearly impossible to translate at this point.”

“What about Loki? Or Frigga?” you asked, moving both your hands at once and dropping a feather into his lap with a grin.

“Believe it or not, I’ve been focused on other issues,” he muttered dryly. “We’re going to have to seal this before you leave.”

“But you said it’s what preventing Amora from taking over my head,” you reminded him pointedly, summoning a small flame from an incantation you’d studied the day before. Extinguishing it between your palms, you looked up at him for a better excuse.

“But it is also the reason Brock is forcing you into a marriage and so she can control you, and in turn, your power better than you can,” he explained tersely. “She can’t know you’ve gotten partial control over it. Let her underestimate you, but until you can learn to conceal the energy yourself, you can’t risk exposure.”

“So am I being sealed or not?” you asked impatiently, floating a candle from you to him. He took it with an amused half-smile, extinguishing the light with a quick puff of air. “Can you do a... half seal? Hide the energy, keep some of the good parts?”

“Gods, I don’t know,” he groaned, shaking his head while he seat the canclde aside. “This is entirely new territory that I was not trained for.”

“That must mean you’re a terrible Sorcerer Supreme. What fool put you in charge?” you teased, reaching forward and tapping the top of his nose playfully.

“It’s not my fault you’re a freakish anomaly that’s supposed to be extinct,” he mumbled, pulling a frown while you laughed. “Give me your wrist.”

“Fine, but when this over I demand you help me train properly,” you stated and though he continued grumbling under his breath about being too old for your games, he agreed. “And Loki helps too.”

“Not part of the deal,” Stephen scowled.

“Fine, I’ll marry him then,” you smirked back at him. “You still haven’t asked, so I guess when my wedding tragically falls through, I’ll have to find respite with him.”

He pulled you forward, a glint in his eyes that sent a shiver through your entire body.

“I’m not going to chase after a betrothed woman, it’s bad taste,” he hummed, fingers crawling up your wrist and intertwining with your fingers. “I have a reputation to uphold, even if you feel comfortable hiding away with strange men in dark places.”

“Is that supposed to be a joke?” you whispered, sitting up on your knees and tilting your head.

“Do you not think I’m funny?” he murmured, reaching with his free head and tilting back your chin. A smile played on the corners of your mouth, both of you sizing the other up and daring the other to make the first move.

“I can think of many things you are,” you lifted his hand and pressed a tender kiss to his palm. “But funny?”

“You laugh at all of my clever wit, don’t try to deceive me princess, I know the truth,” Stephen sharply pulled your hand forward, forcing you to fall into his chest. He held your lower back, gazing down at you adoringly. “You’re trying to hide it, but I see it in your eyes.”

“Do you know what I see in your eyes?” your voice cracked ever so slightly, your hand cradling his cheek, your thumb lightly tracing the sharp features.

“What do you see?”

“Strength,” you murmured, transfixed by his opalescent gaze. All at once, it was like you were seeing him for the first time. You could feel the energy radiating off of him, seeing the waves of magic as they ripples through his body. “Devotion to... Stephen you’re beautiful.”

“Or so the stars whisper to the earth below,” his voice was soft, gentle, while his hand guided itself up your arm to your cheek. “But, what the stars do not see is their own radiance, their own ethereal light shimmering across the velvet heavens above. The stars do not know how the Earth worships the very flicker of their existence, tells stories of their magnificence and beauty. The do not know how the Earth finds its meaning in what little time it steals away to them in the night.”

It all happened very quickly after that.

You peeled at his robes, he worked at your corset, a frenzy of hands and mouths tasting one another in a way neither had ever imagined.

Discarding the corset, he worked his hands up your blouse, fingers lightly teasing the tip of your nipple until you let out a satisfied moan. Robes loose, you pushed him back against a nearby pile of cushions, climbing between his legs and peppering hungry kisses up and down his neck until he growled, clawing at your hips.

“If you’re-,” he tired protesting while you pulled away more clothing, pressing his leg between yours and letting out a whimper of pleasure when he shifted in just the right way.

That seemed to set something off in him.

He was over you, flipping you to the ground and pulling what little clothing remained between you, your naked bodies now flush. Stephen moved down to your breast, drawing a nipple between his teeth and watching you squirm under him at the incredible sensation.

“Please,” you mewed, an absolute wreck under him.

He took his time, moving to the other nipple and repeating his actions until you were begging for any kind of release.

“Needy are we?” he murmured in your ear, his voice low and so controlled, you couldn’t understand how he could stand it. Goosebumps erupted over your body, and he just smirked, continuing his exploration.

Teasing a finger at your entrance, he looked to you for final approval before easing the digit into you.

“Gods,” he hissed, moving the finger at an agonizingly slow speed. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes upon.”

He caught you in a kiss, speeding up his hand below, his thumb searching for the sensitive nub of nerves. When he grazed over the tender area, you nearly shot out of yourself, the sensation feeling downright sinful.

Pulling his finger out, you let out another whimper, this one of protest at the emptiness inside of you.

“Are you certain-?” he asked again, eyes scanning your face for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

“I’ve never been more certain of anything,” you replied honestly. It wasn’t an exaggeration. You’d been a make up to this point, untouched and with no interest in engaging in such outrageous behavior.

Yet with him, you wished you could give more. Your body. Your soul. Your love. What did it matter anymore? He was yours, sitting before you and showing you through his loving car assess and sensations you’d never known before this moment.

He eased himself in, giving you time to adjust to his length, the member much larger than his single finger. But Gods, did he feel incredible.

You’d never thought so much emotion and pleasure could occur in a single moment. For this tiny hidden corner of the universe, you felt like your souls had collided and merged.

It was a far cry from how Nat had told you it was.

This was- you anticipated each of his movements, raising your hips to meet his as he crashed inside of you. Your brain couldn’t form coherent thoughts and when he started to coax something feral from within your core, you let him lead you through it.

Pumping in time with strokes to your clit, you clenched your walls around him, pulling a hissed curse from the sorcerer.

A few more pumps and a final circle around the sensitive area and you felt your orgasm crash over you.

At first, you thought you’d done something wrong. Did you break something? How did this feel so incredible and overwhelming all at once?

While you rode out your bliss, you felt his hips tighten, finishing with a final grunt.

You both stated at one another, eyes wide, trying to catch your breath.

“Have you-,” you started but paused. “Like that before-?”

It was no secret Stephen wasn’t exactly a virgin. He had his vows but they were against attachment, not sex, and sometimes, as he put it, the spirit needed to be revitalized.

You’d called him a creep and moved on, but Gods did you understand now.

“I don’t know what happened,” he blinked, looking thoroughly bewildered. “That’s... I’ve never- my gods, you’re incredible.”

He pulled out, dropping to the ground next to you with a huff.

“I have a potion,” he muttered, pointing to the table above them. “Prevents pregnancy.”

“And here I thought you were devoted to me,” you poked him in the rib and he just laughed.

“I am,” he insisted. “However, I’m not devoted enough to end up in the gallows for deflowering a princess who is betrothed to a ruthless king. My apologies, my grace.”

“Hm, I’m sure I can find someone willing to make that sacrifice for me,” you hummed.

“And a fool he will be,” he leaned up on his elbow. “I still win the day. He would be hanged and I still get my princess.”

“Your princess?”

“Has it been any other way?” he asked, quirking a brow. “Truly, if I’m mistaken, tell me. I don’t want to sound too over ambitious.”

You considered it briefly. Had it?

No, you knew from the moment you spied those eyes at the ball welcoming him to the castle that he was your future. You just hadn’t realized what that meant at the time.

There was no world, no life, where you could live without him by your side.

The thought sobered you quickly, your upcoming nuptials springing to mind, the spell locking you in your private world, now lifted.

“Would you have asked my father?” you asked.

“In another life, we would have been married by now,” he answered earnestly. “I’m a fool for having hesitated and nearly missed my chance at an eternity by your side.”

“And Brock?” you asked, the name leaving a sour taste in your mouth. Stephen’s expression darkened at mention of the man.

“I’ll kill him before he touches you,” he vowed. “I will not yield your heart to such a monster, and I will stop this. I cannot risk you leaving my side. Not again, my love.”

You leaned forward and kissed him, soft, intimate, and gentle. Stephen wasn’t a fighter.

Certainly he could fight, but you knew him well enough to know that violence was a last option after all other options had been tried. And here he was preparing to declare a one man war on your betrothed.

Truly, the heavens were smiling upon you in this life.

(—)

Later that evening, when Stephen had returned you safely to your quarters, he met with Wanda at her cottage at the edge of the woods to discuss the next steps in the plan.

When she caught sight of him, her expression shifted from confused to elated to-

“What is it?” he asked, knowing she’d gotten a read of what he’d been up to previously.

“Do well to conceal your thoughts,” she warned, leading him inside.

“Conceal what-?” he asked after her, stopping in his tracks when he saw Anthony sitting at her table, sipping at a large horn of water.

Tony stood up, giving the man a once over, brows raised as he took him in.

“You couldn’t wait until the wedding night?” he grumbled, dropping back down in his chair with a long sigh.

(—)

8- a secret

TAG LIST (message to be added!):

@ayamenimthiriel @ladynothing

@im-a-bi-disaster-help @idkwhatthisislol

64 notes · View notes

lavendersb · 4 years ago

Text

Our Ultimatum

Chapter 2: Metal

Boba Fett x Fem!reader

Summary: As you settle into your new job at the palace, Boba’s interest in you only grows.

Warnings: Not much this time, Boba’s still flirting 24/7, hella sexual tension, Boba gets a little bit handsy

Also I lied last update, the smut will not be in this chapter, I’ve added a bit more plot.

You were pleasantly surprised how peaceful the palace could be.

When you had arrived you assumed the halls of the palace would be teeming with the same criminals that filled the throne room, but to your surprise it was fairly empty. Perhaps it was because of the area of the palace you worked in, Fennec had promised you work that was out of the way of the action and she really had delivered.

Your current job revolved around inventory. Since the palace had unexpectedly changed hands, Boba and his cohort hadn’t been able to fully document the weapons left by Bib Fortuna and so you found yourself taking records in the armoury most of the time. You started the job unable to tell apart a sporting blaster from a stingbeam, but now three weeks in you could identify even the most exotic weapons with ease.

You rarely saw anyone whilst you worked, with the armoury being off-limits to nearly everyone except yourself and Raab Bynes, who oversaw you whilst you worked. Raab was a hardened figure, at first not keen on talking much, but by now you’re pretty sure he’s warmed to you. He was a much older man, a retired bounty hunter that had worked with Boba Fett many years ago. Apparently the two were still on good terms, as he would frequently go for drinks with his old hunting partner or sit beside his throne on the dais and talk.

You yourself hadn’t spoken to Boba since your dinner a few weeks ago. It’s not that he was ignoring you. If he passed you in the hallway he would always give you a nod in greeting, but when he was always flanked by a team of warriors it seemed imprudent to attempt a conversation with him. On some very scarce occasions he would pass by with his helmet off and tucked under his arm. In these instances he would smile lowly at you, his dark eyes flashing with something you couldn’t quite pin.

He was a busy man, and now you were a busy woman too. Your respective roles in the palace kept you far apart, and strangely enough you started to mourn that. Part of you yearned to feel his gentle touch again or hear the way his rough voice sounded when he called you one of his many pet names.

“Bring me that data pad would you” Raab snaps you out of your reverie, he’s digging through a set of large crates and gesturing with one hand for the data pad.

You snatch it up, walking over to hand it to him, shaking all thoughts of Boba from your mind. It was a silly infatuation, one that you needed to quit before it was too late.

“Here,” you hand over the data pad and watch as Raab uses it to scan the contents of the box “what is it?”

“I’m not quite sure,” he says, running a hand over his grey hair “some sort of blaster canon. Not one that I recognise though”

Curious, you lean forward to inspect the canon yourself. It’s nestled in a foam casing with a set of protective gauntlets next to it, a sleek silver cylinder unlike anything that you’ve come across so far. It looks much too sophisticated to be here amongst all the slightly dated weaponry you’ve been working with.

“What does the system say?” you ask.

“Well that’s just the problem. It doesn’t say anything” Raab frowns “There’s no information on any weapon like this.”

He puts down the data pad and reaches into the box to inspect the canon closer, rotating it a few times to see the sleek control switches on its body.

“I’m going to speak to Boba about this, see what he wants to do with it. Take a break, I’ll come find you when I’m done.” Raab closes the crate’s lid, taking the data pad in his hand.

“Sure” You say as your colleague gives you a parting pat on the shoulder and disappears between the many stacks of crates.

Now left alone in the armoury, you turn back to the crate. Part of you is tempted to open it up again to see the strange canon again, but you’re far too worried you might get in trouble. Raab seemed cautious of it, and that coming from a man with such an extensive knowledge of weapons made you wary. You chose instead to leave it be and leave the armoury for a change of scenery.

----

Walking through the halls of one of the palace’s secondary towers you gaze out the windows to the Dune Sea, enjoying the warm breeze that brushes your face. You feel as though if you just looked hard enough you’d be able to see your old home of Mos Eisley on the horizon beyond the sand dunes. You’d been back there a few times since moving to the palace, going to some of the shops to spend your new money. Recently you’d been indulgent, buying little silly things you had never had the want nor means for in the past. A few simple pieces of jewellery and a long linen dress were amongst your favourite new purchases, and even though Raab had recently suggested you start saving for a home of your own, you really couldn’t find it in you to care. You were comfortable living in the palace, at least for now.

Growing bored of roaming the quieter halls you decided instead to seek out your new famous pastime. At first you had avoided the throne room like the plague, terrified of the type of people that socialised there. In the last week however, you had found a secluded spot at the back of the room to sit and people watch. You enjoyed being able to overhear the sketchy business deals and bets exchanged between the people that Boba entertained.

Making your way to the throne room, the peaceful hallways grew ever louder and busier. Slipping along the back wall you found the darkened booth at the end of the room. Each booth had a lamp attached to the table, in yours however the lamp was broken allowing you to fade into the darkness and remain undisturbed. As you settled into your seat you turned to survey your surroundings.

Despite being the usual crowd, it seemed slightly quieter. The figures in the room seemed on edge, every so often people would turn and face the empty throne, waiting for the return of its usual inhabitant.

A few members of Boba’s cohort sat were sat at the dais, notably the zabrak from your arrival. He sat on the edge of the platform, a large, curved vibroblade lay on his lap which he polished slowly. You had learnt his name was Yovu, a minor crime lord who had once run a sizeable spice running industry before joining forces with Boba. It wasn’t just you he had a short temper with, it was common occurrence to see the young zabrak threaten the guests of the palace. He was arrogant and rude, everything Boba Fett was not.

As if on cue the crowd on the far side of the room part to allow Boba Fett to pass through. He’s flanked by Fennec and Raab and you assume they’ve just finished talking about the mystery weapon. They seem in good spirits; Boba takes his seat on the throne whilst Fennec produces a bottle of spotchka for herself and Raab. The trio speak quietly amongst themselves for a few minutes, and you sense your break will soon be coming to a close, watching as Raab finishes his drink.

He spots you, pointing you out to Fennec before saying what you assume are his goodbyes. Raab descends the steps of the dais and you raise to meet him, watching him weave through the crowd to meet you.

“What did they say about the blaster canon?” You ask, curious to see if Boba and Fennec knew anything about it.

“Unfortunately not much. Boba wants to see it himself sometime, but it’s not a priority right now,” Raab looks back at the throne “It’s getting late, take the rest of the day off. We’ll start again tomorrow.”

“Thanks” You say. Raab gives you a farewell pat to the shoulder before taking his leave.

Now that you’re standing away from the dark of your booth you’re fully exposed to the eyes of anyone who wants to look at you. Tentatively you risk a glance at Boba. He’s slumped low into the throne and fiddling with the blaster in his hands. He stills when he catches your eye behind the visor, jerking his head back to urge you to come to him and holstering his weapon.

Your heart pounds within your chest at his acknowledgement and you barely think twice about crossing the room to him. So much for controlling that infatuation with him.

You come to stop in front of the dais, but Boba beckons you closer.

“Come up here little one, let us talk like friends” He says and cautiously you obey, raising the skirt of your dress to climb the stone steps and stand before the throne.

You lamely offer Boba’s visor a smile and hope that it disguises the sudden onslaught of nerves affecting you. His gaze is unwavering, and you only break it when Fennec offers you a small glass of spotchka. You accept, happy to have something to do with your fidgety hands.

“This is nice,” Boba says, reaching up and using the back of his forefinger to glide over the fabric of your dress just above your knee “Is it new?”

The action nearly causes your legs to give out under you. His touch is entirely innocent in its intention, moving up and down on your leg only an inch above your knee at most, yet the impact it has on you is devastating.

“Yes, I bought it last week.” You’re surprised you managed to get any words out at all.

“It suits you,” he says, his gruff voice sounding warm and sincere.

You’re about to respond, but the words die in your throat when Boba’s gentle stroking inches higher on your leg. You clear your throat and try to ignore the way his touch makes your thigh tremble. Boba’s attitude doesn’t change, acting as if he’s unaware of how flustered he’s got you. You manage to squeak out a pathetic little thank you.

“You seem to have settled well. Raab Bynes certainly thinks you’re doing well at your job” Boba says.

“Only thanks to him. I barely knew a thing about blasters before coming here, now I feel like I know everything” You manage through a small laugh.

Fennec laughs too and your cheeks burn when you realise she must have noticed Boba’s touch on your thigh, possibly also the way you’re subtly leaning into it. Despite your embarrassment you cant bare to pull yourself away.

“Have you ever shot a blaster before?” She asks.

“A couple of times, but I wasn’t very good at it,” You admit.

Boba hums, stopping his stroking and instead holding the outside of your thigh. His thumb draws little circles on your now hyper-sensitive flesh.

“Fennec could teach you,” Boba suggests.

“Or Boba could. His aim’s been getting worse lately, you could both use the practice” Fennec quips back with a smile.

You laugh quietly with her, stopping when Boba gives your thigh a warning squeeze.

“Would you want that little one?” He asks.

Before you can respond however, Yovu the zabrak interrupts.

“You had better be bringing me good news” He snaps, pointing his long vibroblade at two mercenaries that have approached the dais.

Boba’s other hand takes your hip, guiding you over towards Fennec so he can face the new arrivals. Fennec offers you a small wooden stool beside the throne and you sit, sipping your spotchka and watching the scene play out. Yovu jumps down from his seat on the edge of the raised platform and stalks towards the two men.

“Did you reach Jagba?” the zabrak questions “and what happened to the rest of your team?”

“We arrived at the planet fine sir, but the Kostah brothers turned on us” one of the mercenaries responds.

You feel very lost, much of the palace’s business is still foreign to you but you try to listen anyways.

“So you didn’t negotiate a deal with them” Yovu snarls.

“No, sir.” the mercenary confesses “They claimed to be insulted that you did not send someone of importance to speak with them. They killed most of us, and let us go to send their message”

“I’ll go,” Boba says with resolution “we can’t afford for these negotiations to keep dragging on like this.”

Yovu turns from the mercenaries to face Boba.

“Fett, with all due respect,” He says, in a tone not at all respectful “the Kostah deal was my mission. They’re spice runners too and so I should be the one to go”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion on the matter. I don’t want another let down; I’m doing to close this deal myself” Boba snaps. This is the Boba Fett you had heard rumours about. The bounty hunter of legends who ruled his criminal empire with a beskar fist, not the man who called you ‘little one’ and touched you like you were the most delicate thing.

“I’ll need you with me, gather what you need. We leave in the next few days,” Boba states to Fennec. She nods, downing the rest of her drink and stepping away from the throne.

“I’m sorry, meshla. We’ll finish our conversation some other time” Boba says to you, in a tone notably softer than the way he had spoken to everyone else. He rises from the throne and descends from the raised platform.

You supposed you shouldn’t be too upset he was leaving you; you’d barely spoken much before so you could hardly expect him to abandon this apparently important business for some silly conversation. Despite how much you told yourself this, you couldn’t help the pang of disappointment that his hands weren’t on your flesh anymore.

Rising from the throne he tells the mercenaries to follow him, wanting to further discuss the events of their recent trip. He passes through the crowd of the throne room, all swathes of black fabric and green beskar. You watch Boba pass into a corridor, keeping your vision trained on him until its not physically possible to do so anymore.

Now that Boba has gone you notice that Fennec too has slipped away, leaving you alone on the dais to feel horrifically out of place and still deeply flustered. Your palm rubs up and down the expanse of thigh that Boba had been toying with in a vague attempt at calming the nerves there that still sing for his touch.

“Do you still have a reason to be up there?” Yovu spits lowly at you from his spot before the dais. Trapped in the fiery gaze of the scolded zabrak, your voice fails.

“Well? Do you?”

Sensing that you’ve outstayed your welcome in the spot beside Boba’s throne, you take this as your cue to leave. Standing up, you slink away and retreat to your room, hoping you don’t have to see Yovu again for a long while.

#Boba fett x reader #boba fett #the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #boba fett imagine #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars imagines #my writing

84 notes · View notes

greytoiletpaper · 5 years ago

Text

Out on Allen Street, it’s 7 in the Morning

Set in the same-ish Street Siblings universe as First Contact by @cryptids-and-muses and @a-sketchy-character @streetsiblings (they’re awesome), I present my own built-on concept. It’s a bit angstier but sue me I’m an angst ball

AO3 | Deluge

Chapter 1: Drizzle

Jason Todd loved the rain. He remembered it pattering on the roof as he dozed off into the night, curled up with Sparky. Times spent splashing in puddles. Drawing a rare smile from Catherine as bright as the morning sun. Days without Willis, his head stuck in a worn copy of Huckleberry Finn and the ambience set only by the rain as it tracked ran down the window he leant on.

It was raining when Jason woke to his mother’s lax corpse, ears drowning out every sound except the rain’s as it plinked in time with the droplets that dripped down her arm.

In front of her, Faizul’s corpse is still. So still that Cassandra Cain can almost block out how the man’s body only radiated pain and fear and agony so strong-and-she-did-that-with-her-hands-her-hands-so-red-and-.

But she can’t, her head is still drowning in the memory, and all she can think about is the fear emptiness that settles in her body. Her gift to understand movement as if it were a language, she learns, is nothing more than a curse when Death comes by her hand. She wrings her red fist, as tainted as her soul because of what she had done. She looks away.

Father David has his arms outstretched, a smile so sharp and so bright that if he were any other man, she would have thought he was proud. He is, but underneath, Cassandra can see nothing but sick and profound glee at what she can do. The decision is easy.

As Cassandra springs out the window, its hinges blew wide open, her father David keeled over, the sky crackles and runs with the long red rivulets off her arms.

Now, five months later, Jason ducks his head under the fire escape in an empty alley, the rain in a duet with the nightlife of Gotham. He allows himself some respite as it steadily washes the grime off his surroundings, a pleasant ratatatata above the ambient din that is the dark of Gotham. He is so tired, but he’ll have to move soon if he wants to stay out of sight of kidnappers and killers and whatever else haunts the shadows of Gotham.

A howl slices through the Gotham night as some mug gets his face slammed into a wall. Jason knows this because he can see it right now as the same mook gets decked by a – a girl. Anyone on the streets knows that girls can hold their own but seeing some thirty-something-year-old man get his ass handed to him by a pixie of a girl – he thinks she’s his age, somehow – is something else. Seriously, the guy looks terrified out of his mind as he runs with his tail between his legs after a particularly nasty hit to his crotch.

As if sensing his gaze, the girl snaps her head to him, locking him in place.

“Uh… Hi?” Jason raises his hand in an awkward wave which the girl mimics, albeit a bit stilted, her head on a tilt. The silence between the two of them stretches until the girl seems to see something in him and nods. Out of ideas, Jason digs around his bag and produces a fresh enough apple.

“I’m Jason.” He points to himself.

A beat, and then the girl repeats the gesture.

“Cuh, cuh, cuh,” She struggles with the words, her forehead pinched. “Cuh, ah, ssss.”

“Cass?” The girl nods again, this time rigorously. Unsure of himself, Jason raises the apple to her. “Well, nice to meet you, Cass. You hungry?”

Cass grins, her eyes twinkling as she bites into the apple. Around them, the rain lessens. Just a little.

She watches two of her most precious children draw closer, children who will laugh and cry and burn for her love. Gotham watches them come, raises her arms, and weeps with her joy.

“Jason and Cassandra against the world,” Is what Gotham would have said if she had a voice. For years, the city is content to watch her children. She observes Jason and Cassandra as they starve, as they fight, as they grow. On one night, the weather nothing but pluvial, she witnesses them come across the strange car in the alleyway owned by her first child. On that night, she watches as the Dark Knight comes across her most perfect pair of children.

“Cassandra,” She looks up at the man they had been living under for the past two months, Bruce. She makes no answer, only staring blankly at him–they were betting on seeing how long it took for the man to get uncomfortable when she does that–who stares back. He continues as if they had not been staring for a full minute, which is not to Cass’ benefit. “Do you know where Jason is?”

Cass, willing to keep trying, keeps her gaze unrepentant. Under her scrutiny, the Dark Knight’s demeanour finally cracks a little. Internally, Cass is ecstatic, but she still really wants to milk it as she keeps up the act.

“Someone call for me?” Jay comes down the stairs. Finally, Cass can break her façade.

“Good morning, slob.” The slob, honest to god, freezes.

“No,” He grinds out of his teeth.

“Yes,” Cass gives him a crooked smile. “slob.”

“Am I missing something here?” Bruce is frowning. Oh right, he was ignorant to their scheme.

“Slob,” Cass repeats with feeling and delights at Jay’s fuming. “S-L-O-B. It means Stupid-Loser-Of-Bets,” She looks Jay dead in the eye again and calls him by the name.

Bruce frowned even further (his body projects such honest confusion that Cass almost laughs). “I was not aware you two had made a bet.”

“A bet I lost because of you, old man!” Jay pipes up, suddenly fuming at Bruce. “You’re Batman, and you can’t even keep from cracking when some girl stares at you for longer than a minute?”

Cass does not hold in her laughter anymore, something she broadcasts to all gathered. Bruce sighs, but at least he waits for her to calm down before he gets to his point.

“Regardless… I need you two to come with me to my office,” As the man leaves, the two share a glance.

“You gonna go after him?”

“You first, slob,” Jay grumbles the entire way to the office, where Bruce waves them in.

For a few seconds, the man awkwardly shifts before he pulls a sheaf of papers from behind his desk.

“I… I quite enjoy having the two of you here. With me,” Bruce admits, looking both of them in the eyes. He takes a deep breath. “I do not want to force this on either of you, but I would love to have you here with me for longer.”

“Permanently, even.”

Bruce lays out the papers on the desk, ‘Adoption Applications’ printed at the top. The letters draw a sharp breath from Jay, and Cass is confident enough with reading to understand what it means.

“Yes,” They both say immediately, and Bruce’s face goes softer than either have ever seen it.

When he asks for their surnames, Cass thinks about saying Cain. Instead, she says Todd.

Shyly, her russet orbs meet his azure ones expecting anger, but everything about Jason only projects love and acceptance. Her grin, something she had not got right yet, is almost identical to the one her brother wears.

“Always wanted a sister. Can’t do much better than you, eh, Cass?”

“Yes Jay,” she pauses. “slob.”

Outside, the sky is open in a light drizzle.

If there is anyone in the Waynes that Jason thinks is his favourite, it would be Alfred. An opinion he thinks Cass would be hard-pressed to disagree with. Of course, Cass is still in awe about the fact that Bruce Wayne is Batman (and isn’t that just fucking crazy), so it’s understandable. Conversely, Jason still remembers his first memory of the butler, a kind smile and welcoming arms that promised care for both of them.

“Master Jason,” The boy had looked up to see a crinkle in Alfred’s eyes that he had only ever seen from Catherine. The butler continued, somehow even softer than his usual. “Would you like me to fix that for you?”

Alfred gestured to Jason’s battered copy of Huckleberry Finn that he had cradled self-consciously to his chest. He refused, unsure why the butler seemed to be delighted to see Jason in the way only Cass and his Mom did. But there is something so trustworthy about the man that part of Jason is sure Alfred would do things like that no matter what he asked. So, automatic favourite.

Their older brother, Dick (“Aptly nicknamed,” Jay mutters under his breath.), yells whenever he comes to the manor. Most of his visits tend to cycle between him screaming at Bruce or yelling about them. He does make an effort to be a little quieter when he’s talking about the latter. Although, he still looks at Jay with an indecipherable mixture of emotions in his eyes. A pool caught between anger and something unknown to them. It’s not something that upsets Cass, but it puts both of them off, nonetheless.

On the other hand, Barbara is a little more forward in her dislike of the new kids. More often than not, her ire seems aimed at Cass specifically. Privately, Cass thinks Barbara was still angry about Bruce taking her role as Batgirl and giving it to Cass. But, she can see how every time the older girl gets less hostile, another part of her body was long past the role anyway. So, she doesn’t hold it against Oracle.

“C’mon Cass, repeat after me,” Jason waves the pages in Cass’ face, which elicits a giggle from his sister. Her giggling unbalances the both of them, so they have to waste another couple of minutes to make themselves comfortable again.

“What’s the use you learning to do right when it’s troublesome to do right and ain’t no trouble to do wrong, and the wages is just the same?”

Cass repeats the words, but she struggles at ‘troublesome’, so Jason repeats it for her. Silence, and then.

“What mean?” He thinks she isn’t asking about the word.

“Well, Mom used to say that it was just that. It might be harder to do the right thing, but it’d be better since you at least did it properly,” Satisfied, his sister merely nods and tries the words again. This time, she only takes three tries until she gets ‘troublesome’ right.

“I think she would have liked you,” He murmurs between phrases and instantly regrets it when Cass’ head turns to him so sharply she jostles him. He is about to brush it off when she nods her head shyly, snuggling closer to Jason.

He thinks, as they keep reading, that things are going to turn out alright. He has Robin now, and Robin gives him magic. Not only that but he’s also got Cass as Batgirl. Sure, she has that weird stitch mask covering her face, but it’s so fitting that he cannot imagine Cass with any other kind of costume. He knows her, and she knows him. For years she has been the sister he never knew he needed.

Together, Jason muses, they’re going to shake the whole damn world.

Whether they're from the Justice League or otherwise, everyone is always ready with a snide comment directed towards them. Or, more specifically, Jason. They use words and insults that don’t make sense to her, but she can see them affect her brother. When she asks, all he does is brush her off with lies and platitudes that they both know are fake. It isn’t until Troia huffs and says something that has waves of hurt rolling off Jason’s body that Cass decides she’s had enough.

“Honestly, I can’t believe you’d think you’d ever be like – ow!” Troia, poise flooded with nothing but condescension (she’s too angry to be elated at remembering a word Jason taught her) that Cass quickly corrects with a sharp jab. Like a deer in headlights, she turns and somehow has the gall to look indignant (another word). “Who did – Batgirl?”

“What, are you doing?” Troia fucking blinks. “Why are you treating my brother like this?”

She doesn’t even look guilty.

“Oh, don’t worry about all that. I don’t think it’s anything you’d understand anyway,”

She bends down towards her, apparently not noticing how still she is. Anyone who knows anything about Cassandra Todd knows her stillness means Death. Evidently, Troia is an exception. She's the only one in the room that's relaxed.

“Some people are simply born for this role. No street rat can ever hope to achieve that.”

Cassandra moves before anyone even blinks, her arms a flurry of jabs and punches and vicious kicks as she catches Troia off guard. Even when she finally regains her footing, the Amazon doesn't stand a sliver of a chance as Cassandra lays into her.

A block from Troia awards a savage stomp on her shin. A punch ducked under and followed through into a sequence of blows to the Amazon’s chest. When Troia grips her lasso and tries to restrain Cassandra, the girl only slinks her way past and wrestles it from her hands. Quickly and efficiently, she wraps it around the Amazon’s waist and pulls. For someone so small, Cassandra manages to lift Troia with the lasso with enough strength that when she releases it, the Amazon goes flying into a pillar in the Watchtower with a sharp crack.

Cass picks up her brother and shields him from the Leaguers, indifferent to their shocked and judgemental eyes.

The message is clear.

Even though they’re lost in a veritable sea of people, it still ends up being just the two of them, and Cass is more than okay with that.

Next chapter

83 notes · View notes

weavingthetapestry · 4 years ago

Quote

"Scotia is so named after the Scottish tribes by which it is inhabited. At first, it began from the Scottish firth on the south, and, later on, from the river Humber, where Albania also began. Afterwards, however, it commenced at the wall Thirlwal, which Severus had built to the river Tyne. But now it begins at the river Tweed, the northern boundary of England, and, stretching rather less than four hundred miles in length, in a north-westerly direction, is bounded by the Pentland Firth, where a fearfully dangerous whirlpool sucks in and belches back the waters every hour. It is a country strong by nature, and difficult and toilsome of access. In some parts, it towers into mountains, in others it sinks down into plains. For lofty mountains stretch through the midst of it, from end to end, as do the tall Alps through Europe; and these mountains formerly separated the Scots from the Picts, and their kingdoms from each other. Impassable as they are on horseback, save in very few places, they can hardly be crossed even on foot, both on account of the snow always lying on them, except in summer time only; and by reason of the boulders torn off the beetling crags, and the deep hollows in their midst. Along the foot of these mountains are vast woods, full of stags, roe-deer, and other wild animals and beasts of various kinds; and these forests oftentimes afford a strong and safe protection to the cattle of the inhabitants against the depredations of their enemies; for the herds in those parts, they say, are accustomed, from use, whenever they hear the shouts of men or women, and if suddenly attacked by dogs to flock hastily into the woods. Numberless springs also well up, and burst forth from the hills and the sloping ridges of the mountains, and, trickling down with sweetest sound, in crystal rivulets between flowery banks, flow together through the level vales, and give birth to many streams; and these again to large rivers, in which Scotia marvellously abounds, beyond any other country; and at their mouths, where they rejoin the sea, she has noble and secure harbours. Scotia, also, has tracts of land bordering on the sea, pretty level and rich, with green meadows, and fertile and productive fields of corn and barley, and well adapted for growing beans, pease, and all other produce; destitute, however, of wine and oil, though by no means so of honey and wax. But in the upland districts, and along the highlands, the fields are less productive, except only in oats and barley. The country is, there, very hideous, interspersed with moors and marshy fields, muddy and dirty; it is, however, full of pasturage grass for cattle, and comely with verdure in the glens, along the watercourses. This region abounds in wool-bearing sheep, and in horses; and its soil is grassy, feeds cattle and wild beasts, is rich in milk and wool, and manifold in its wealth of fish, in sea, river, and lake. It is also noted for birds of many sorts. There noble falcons, of soaring flight and boundless courage, are to be found, and hawks of matchless daring. Marble of two or three colours, that is, black, variegated, and white, as well as alabaster, is also found there. It also produces a good deal of iron and lead, and nearly all metals. 'The land of the Scots', says Erodotus, 'in the fertility of its soil, in its pleasant groves, in the rivers and springs by which it is watered, in the number of its flocks of all kinds, and its horses, where its shore rejoices in inhabitants, is not inferior to the soil of even Britain itself'. Isidore tells us: 'Scotia, with respect to the wholesomeness of its air and climate, is a very mild country; there is little or no excessive heat in summer, or cold in winter'- and he has written of Scotia in nearly the same terms as of Hibernia. In Scotland, the longest days, at midsummer, are of eighteen hours, or more; and, in midwinter, the shortest are of not fully six; while in the island of Meroe, the capital of the Ethiopians, the longest day is of twelve hours; in Alexandria, in Egypt, of thirteen; and in Italy, of fifteen. In the island of Thule again, the day lasts all through the six summer months, and the night, likewise, all through the six winter months. The manners and customs of the Scots vary with the diversity of their speech. For two languages are spoken amongst them, the Scottish and the Teutonic; the latter of which is the language of those who occupy the seaboard and plains, while the race of Scottish speech inhabits the highlands and outlying islands. The people of the coast are of domestic and civilized habits, trusty, patient, and urbane, decent in their attire, affable, and peaceful, devout in Divine worship, yet always prone to resist a wrong at the hand of their enemies. The highlanders and people of the islands, on the other hand, are a savage and untamed nation, rude and independent, given to rapine, ease-loving, of a docile and warm disposition, comely in person, but unsightly in dress, hostile to the English people and language, and, owing to diversity of speech, even to their own nation, and exceedingly cruel. They are, however, faithful and obedient to their king and country, and easily made to submit to law, if properly governed. Solinus, the historian, in describing the manners and customs of the Scottish nation of olden time, says:- 'In its social observances, the Scottish nation was always rugged and warlike. For when males were born to them, the fathers were wont to offer them their first food on the point of a word, so that they should desire to die not otherwise than under arms, in battle for liberty; and when, afterwards, they are grown up and able to fight, the victors, after drinking of the blood of the slain, besmear their faces with it. For they are a high-spirited race, of sparing diet, of a fierce mettle, of a wild and stern countenance, rugged in address, but affable and kind to their own people, given to sports and hunting, and to ease rather than toil'. 'The Scottish nation,' writes Isidore, 'is that, originally, which was once in Ireland, and resembles the Irish in all things- in language, manners, and character. For the Scots are a light-minded nation, fierce in spirit, savage towards their foes, who would almost as soon die as be enslaved, and account it sloth to die in bed, deeming it glorious and manly to slay or be slain by, the foe in the field; a nation of sparing diet, sustaining hunger very long, and rarely indulging in food before sunset; contenting themselves, moreover, with meat, and food prepared from milk. And though they are, by nature, a people of generally rather graceful figure, and goodly face, yet their peculiar dress much disfigures them.'"

Chapters 7-9 of the fourteenth century ‘Chronica Gentis Scotorum’ by John of Fordun, edited by W.F. Skene and translated by Felix J.H. Skene, 1872.

There is a reason I have quoted these chapters at some length, and it is not just for their interesting description of the mediaeval Scottish landscape. The last paragraph (Chapter 9) in particular is an infamous passage, and it has frequently been used to summarise the so-called ‘Highland/Lowland divide’ even in the modern day. In fact, it is a passage with a complex history and should be taken with a large pinch of salt, especially since Skene’s translation, though the most famous and widely used, is itself very much a product of its Victorian context.

John of Fordun was probably a priest who hailed, as his name suggests, from the village of Fordoun in the old county of Kincardineshire (now Aberdeenshire). His ‘Chronica Gentis Scotorum’ (’The Chronicle of the Scottish People’) is perhaps the earliest surviving example of an attempt to write a comprehensive history of Scotland from its mythical origins. Traditionally the entirety of the work edited and translated by the two Skenes in the nineteenth century was thought to have been composed by John of Fordun some time in the late 1300s, but recent research suggests that he only composed the first five books, covering the history of Scotland from its earliest times to the death of David I in 1153...

John of Fordun’s views on Scotland would be interesting because of his status as the country’s earliest surviving ‘historian’ alone, but chapter 9 (the last paragraph quoted above) in particular has a long history of its own. This firsthand description of Scotland by a fourteenth century Scot, who grew up in the Mearns only a few miles from the Mounth, is invaluable. Many have taken John of Fordun’s words in Chapter 9 at face value, and the first half of the chapter is frequently quoted in modern history books, though historians have often then reinterpreted the passage to fit their own preconceptions. For Victorian historians, his depiction of linguistically distinct, mutually antagonistic, peoples with markedly different dress and lifestyle seemed to confirm their heavily racialised view of Scottish history, with “Noble Savage” Highlanders and canny Lowlanders locked in an eternal struggle. More recent historians, less concerned with simplistic ethnic categories but still seeking to establish the roots of the so-called Highland/Lowland divide, have taken the account as evidence that the fourteenth century witnessed the birth of the Highlander as a distinct entity to be reviled by the ‘Lowlander’.

However some have argued that Fordun’s account might not have been entirely original. He references several Classical authors, which is not particularly unusual, but in some sections he seems to rely more on the accounts of these authors than the experience we might assume he had as a Scot himself. It has therefore been suggested that this part of John of Fordun’s history may have drawn on an earlier account, perhaps one composed by the author of Gesta Annalia I- this was possibly Richard Vairement, a thirteenth century Frenchman who acted as chancellor to Alexander II’s queen Marie de Coucy, and who would certainly have had cause to rely on classical accounts of Scotland. This raises further questions about whether the views of Scotland expressed in John of Fordun’s chronicle really reflect his own fourteenth century experience, or if they perhaps reflect an older viewpoint, perhaps that of a French immigrant in the 1260s.

Even if the account is John of Fordun’s original work, there are issues with both his viewpoint and the way it has been interpreted in the modern era. It is worth pointing out that the chronicle never uses the terms ‘Highland’ and ‘Lowland’- Skene’s use of the term ‘highlanders’ above is actually his own interpretation of the original Latin which seems to refer instead to the people who inhabit the islands and mountains. Instead of ‘Lowlanders’ we have the ‘people of the coast’, who speak the ‘Teutonic’ language- probably to be identified with what we now call the Scots language, which, like its close relative English, is a Germanic language. The people of the mountains are said to speak the “Scottish” language, presumably Gaelic. However despite first impressions, the people of the coastal plain and the people of the mountains cannot be easily equated with the modern concepts of Lowlanders and Highlanders. If we are to see the divide between the two peoples as linguistic, then it must be pointed out that, during the fourteenth century, Gaelic was widely spoken in many areas which are not generally considered to be the ‘Highlands’- notably Galloway and Carrick in the south-west of Scotland, but also parts of Fife and other areas.

If we are to see the split as geographic, with Lowlanders inhabiting the coastal plain-then it must be pointed out that areas which some people now consider to be ‘Highland’, such as Easter Ross, fall into this category, while many areas of southern, Scots-speaking Scotland, such as the Southern Uplands, are hilly and remote. And even if we decide to abandon the somewhat anachronistic terms ‘Highlander’ and ‘Lowlander’ when referring to Fordun’s account, I would argue that the ‘division’ of Scotland between two separate peoples was a lot less distinct, and a lot more fluid and complex in the fourteenth century than the chronicler suggests. Thus, although a fascinating source, we should beware of stereotyping ‘Highland’ and ‘Lowland’ Scotland during this period, especially if these stereotypes look rather like a Romantic fantasy of Barbarian Highlanders and Civilised Lowlanders.

Some additional notes:

- It seems that John of Fordun means Hadrian’s Wall when he says ‘Thirlwall’, and it looks like he associates the wall of Septimius Severus with Hadrian’s Wall as well, though the location of Severus’ wall is actually a bit of a mystery.

- The Northern Isles of Orkney and Shetland were not officially part of the kingdom of Scotland during the fourteenth century, which is why John of Fordun says that Scotland stretches as far north as the Pentland Firth, which is the strait between Caithness and Orkney. The whirlpool he refers to may be the Swilkie.

- Since Fordoun is only around ten miles from the Cairn O’ Mounth, a well-known pass through the Grampian mountains which was used by several armies in history, it is interesting to note that John of Fordun describes the mountains that “formerly separated the Scots from the Picts” as “Impassable (...) on horseback, save in very few places, they can hardly be crossed even on foot, both on account of the snow always lying on them, except in summer time only”.

- John of Fordun’s description of the upland parts of Scotland as "very hideous, interspersed with moors and marshy fields, muddy and dirty; it is, however, full of pasturage grass for cattle, and comely with verdure in the glens, along the watercourses” is intriguing. The ‘romantic’ appeal of Scotland’s upland scenery does not seem to have been widely appreciated in the Middle Ages, and although the first part of John of Fordun’s description, regarding the ‘hideous moors’, reflects this, his other comments are not wholly negative.

- The account of Scottish diet and agriculture seems to be accurate- peas, barley, and oats were common crops, while wool was an extremely important export. Certainly the country was rich in fish and, although the Scots were not able to exploit the herring to the extent that others did (the Dutch for example), Scottish salmon was a notable export. Highland hawks were also much sought after by the nobility.

- ‘Thule’ is a mysterious location often mentioned by mediaeval and early modern writers- theories as to its identity include Iceland, Shetland, Orkney, and Greenland.

- When John of Fordun states that the people of the mountains are ‘unsightly in dress’ we cannot necessarily assume that they wore what we consider to be ‘Highland’ dress nowadays- kilt, plaid, e.t.c. Kilts came into use in the later Middle Ages (it’s worth noting they are not likely to have been in use in William Wallace’s time) and even then they looked very different from the neat modern version.

- The statement that the people of the mountains are “hostile to the English people and language” raises a couple of questions. For a start, late mediaeval Scots speakers often used the term ‘Inglis’ (English) to refer to their language, rather than the Middle English spoken in the south of Britain, which was sometimes called southron instead. However Middle English and Old Scots were still often seen as being the same or similar languages, so should we assume that, by the ‘English people and language’, John of Fordun is stating that the people of the mountains hate the people of the coastal plain (i.e., that so-called Highland/Lowland divide?). Or should we interpret this as meaning English in the modern sense, and that the people of the mountains hate the English even more than their fellow Scots on the coastal plain? Since the next phrase talks about how they don’t like people of their own ‘nation’ either, this might be the case, but in the aftermath of the Wars of Independence, there was no shortage of anti-English sentiment among the people of the coastal plain either.

- “They are, however, faithful and obedient to their king and country, and easily made to submit to law, if properly governed.” - this is a sentiment which would not have been out of place in the eighteenth or nineteenth century, but it must be remembered that it comes from a very different, mediaeval context, not a time of kilted Highland regiments fighting for the Empire. There was some feeling in late mediaeval Scotland, however, that one of Robert Bruce’s successes had been his understanding of the west.

- The last part of chapter 9 is taken up by two passages from the ancient authors Solinus and Isidore and, although they are used to prop up John of Fordun’s own account, it would be wise to remember this before they are used to draw conclusions about the behaviour of fourteenth century Scots.

All in all, these chapters, and especially chapter 9, are an important and well-known source. Even though I would caution against taking the whole work at face value, it is certainly worth becoming familiar with, since it has influenced so many subsequent accounts of Scotland, for better or worse. For further reading, I would also recommend perusing Martin McGregor’s article “Gaelic Barbarity and Scottish Identity in the Later Middle Ages”, and Dauvit Broun’s “Attitudes of Gall to Gaedhel in Scotland in Scotland before John of Fordun”, both published in the book “Mìorun Mòr nan Gall: 'The great ill-will of the Lowlander'? Lowland perceptions of the Highlands, Medieval and Modern”, ed. McGregor and Broun.

If anyone has any questions about any of the statements made here, please feel free to fire them my way!

30 notes · View notes

hrtiu · 4 years ago

Text

Worthy of Devotion Chapter 6

Yeah so... obviously I didn’t stick to my weekly update schedule 😅 But hey, Chapter 7 is already halfway done!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28259979/chapters/72995721

Kaminoan breakfast was not to Riyo’s taste. It was all raw fish, squid, and shellfish chopped up and mixed together with some kind of acidic syrup and, as a native of a marshy moon with no oceans, Riyo found it disagreeable. Still, she dutifully slurped down the food and nodded along to Prime Minister Lama Su’s unhurried conversation.

“As you can see, our facilities are state-of-the-art, and the Republic is reaping the benefits of our skilled army,” he said.

Riyo nodded and picked up the last spoonful of her breakfast, hesitating only a moment before putting the tentacled mystery in her mouth. The food they fed the clones at the cafeteria had looked different, like a nutritional paste or some kind of fortified starch. This seafood hash was no doubt a delicacy meant to honor her visit, but she’d honestly prefer the paste.

“This is quite an impressive operation you have here, Prime Minister,” she said. “I look forward to discussing the future of the Republic’s relationship with Kamino at the summit.”

She set her spoon down and left her napkin on top of her plate, signalling that she was done with the meal—finally. She’d spent most of the previous night making last-minute preparations with Maja, and she didn’t think she could handle another moment of small talk and crustaceans.

Lama Su inclined his long neck. “Shall we?”

He rose to his feet and Riyo, flanked by Maja, Captain Rex, and Commander Fox, followed him out of the dining hall and into a spare, white conference room. Nala Se, Senator Burtoni and several other Kaminoan dignitaries were already seated inside, and the Prime Minister showed Riyo to her seat at the head of the table. Rex and Maja found their own spots at the far end of the group, and Fox stationed himself at the door.

Lama Su took the chair next to Riyo and cleared his throat, drawing the eyes of all the attendees to him. “I want to thank Chancellor Chuchi for visiting with us today. I am eager to discuss Kamino’s role in the Republic’s military moving forward, and to build upon the foundation of goodwill and trust that we have already established.”

“Thank you for having me, Prime Minister,” Riyo said. She waited for him to extend his welcome to Rex and Maja, too, but he moved right on to business.

“I’ll begin with the basics. As we on Kamino have provided the Republic with an excellent military in the past, no doubt contributing greatly to the Republic’s victory in the war, we believe the Republic would be amenable to extending our contracts. Perhaps the Republic no longer has need of such a large army, but surely some standing military force is necessary for the defense of our systems, and we are also in the process of developing new technologies and personnel specializing in peacekeeping and violence deterrence.”

Riyo’s mouth twisted. The phrase “peacekeeping” had been too-often used throughout the war to justify acts of aggression, and was he really going to completely ignore the clone legislation the Senate had just passed? Senator Burtoni had to have told him.

“The Republic does indeed owe a large debt of gratitude to its clone army,” she said, gesturing to Rex, “who protected citizens and defended our sovereignty at the risk and often expense of their own lives. However, you must understand that, given recent legislation involving the legality of pressing clones into military service, we cannot continue to use your services in the same way.”

Lama Su leaned over the table and laced his long fingers together. “Yes, Senator Burtoni informed us of this legislation. I fail to see why a practice that ensured the Republic’s victory in the war could so conveniently be deemed illegal after the fact.”

“The criticism is valid, Prime Minister, but unfortunately we cannot change the past. We can only try to move forward in a way that is consistent with our values, and creating sentient life only for it to be forced into military service is not consistent with our values.”

Lama Su’s giant eyes narrowed ‘til only a thin slice of grey iris peeked through. “What are you proposing, Chancellor?”

Riyo inclined her head towards Rex.

“All production of clone soldiers needs to end immediately,” Rex said. “The Republic has already paid, so it’s no harm to you. The Republic won’t commission any clone soldiers in the future, either.”

“This is outrageous!” Senator Burtoni said, addressing Riyo and ignoring Rex. “It is an insult to our relationship with the Republic!”

“The Senate’s vote is final,” Rex said. “Kamino is free to do what they wish, but all member systems of the Republic have to abide by Republic laws, which now prohibit the enslavement of any sentient beings for any reason.”

“Where was all this talk of slavery when the Republic ordered the army?” Senator Burtoni demanded. “I must say, Chancellor, this law feels rather pointed. If Kamino is to be singled out like this, perhaps we would not wish to remain-”

Lama Su held up a hand and Senator Burtoni closed her mouth, nodding in deference to the Prime Minister. “Chancellor Chuchi, we of course would wish to remain in the Republic, but you must understand how much our economy is tied to the cloning industry. We have invested decades of education, technology, and infrastructure into this endeavor. What you are asking is not so simple as turning a switch from on to off.”

Riyo nodded sympathetically, though it irked her to no end the way they continued to ignore Rex. “I understand your concern, Prime Minister, which is why I have already negotiated several agricultural contracts on your behalf. The nerf industry is very interested in your work isolating desirable genetic traits. Etrat Industries is also willing to hire Kaminoan geneticists to develop more drought-resistant grains.” Riyo passed a datapad to Lama Su and gave him a moment to look it over. “The current value of these contracts is about 75% of what the clone army generated for Kamino, but I believe these contracts can grow into a sustained economy that does not rely on one product, and no longer requires widespread war to be profitable.”

Lama Su’s dark eyes darted across the screen and he nodded thoughtfully. “We will need time to consider and speak with these contacts of yours before formally agreeing, but I find your proposal to be a compelling one, Chancellor.”

Riyo held back a sigh of relief. Maja had insisted that Kamino valued membership in the Republic enough to play hardball, but Riyo still hadn’t been sure the agricultural contracts would be tempting enough to soothe any hurt feelings. And as abhorrent as she found the Human factory here on Kamino, Riyo still didn’t want the Kaminoans to leave the Republic. For one thing, leaving the Republic would leave them free to create clone armies for other people.

The summit moved on and they first went through the new clone legislation and what exactly it meant. No, cloning wasn’t entirely illegal. Yes, cloning sentient beings for servitude was illegal. Then they went through each of the agricultural contracts line by line and Lama Su and his advisors discussed which ones they could easily take on with minimal capital expense. Lama Su was difficult to read, but Riyo thought she could see a pleased glimmer in his eye as he examined the proposed quotes for each contract. She made a mental note to throw a party for Maja later for pulling so much of that together.

“Well,” Lama Su said after several hours of debate, “You are our customer, so of course we will halt production as you requested. We are tentatively willing to commit to never producing clone soldiers again, but it will take some time before we can formalize the agreement. This was, as you know, the foundation of our economy for some time. We wish to remain in the Republic, but leaving is an option if we feel we are not being treated fairly.”

“I can assure you, Prime Minister, we will do everything we can to ensure that all citizens of the Republic—Kaminoan and Clone alike—will be treated fairly,” Riyo said.

“Excellent. That brings our summit to a close-”

“One more thing, if I may,” Riyo interjected.

Lama Su looked up at her, a frown of mild indifference on his face. “Yes, Chancellor Chuchi?”

Riyo’s eyes darted quickly to Rex at the end of the table, then over to Fox. She hadn’t had a chance to consult them about this part, but she was reasonably sure they’d approve. “As the price for the clones’ production and cultivation until adulthood has already been paid for, the Republic is willing to assume responsibility for the care and raising of all clones aged zero to three effective immediately, and for only half the cost the Kaminoan facility would have spent on their training.”

The grey brows above Lama Su’s eyes rose. “What do you mean, for only half the cost?”

“Your people would pay the Republic to take over the raising of these clones half of the estimated cost of training them here on Kamino. You would still come out ahead, financially.”

Lama Su’s nostril slits flared slightly and his eyes turned over to Senator Burtoni.

“They were created for the Republic. I suppose the Republic can claim them at any time,” Senator Burtoni said.

Lama Su’s expression remained impassive, but years of experience in politics told Riyo what he was thinking. He didn’t like the idea of capitulating to yet another Republic demand, but he was counting credits, and she knew the calculus would end up in her favor.

“If you insist, then of course we are willing to oblige our loyal customer,” he said. “It will take time to sort out logistics, so let’s say tentatively the handover will take place in six months-”

“I’ve already worked out most of the logistics on my end. We should be able to pick up the children in one month.”

A brief silence filled the conference room at her words, and Lama Su stared down at her. “As you wish, Chancellor.”

They closed the summit with all the necessary formalities, and Riyo walked from the room, her shoulders tucked back and her chin held high all the way until they reached the safety of her rooms. Then she let the tension of the negotiations go and her placid expression dropped.

“Oh my goodness, I wasn’t at all sure that was going to work, Maja.”

Maja patted her shoulder. “I told you they’re desperate to stay in the Republic. As an extragalactic planet, the Republic is vital in connecting them to trade and the political life of the rest of the galaxy.”

“Yes, but I really thought demanding all that, plus the younger clones—I was worried they’d reject us just out of spite.”

Maja smirked. “Pride is one thing, but credits are king.”

“You, my friend, are a genius.”

“Who am I to contradict the Chancellor?”

Riyo laughed, but her laugh quickly morphed into a sigh. “And now the work begins. Can you call back our contact with the Child Services Agency on Coruscant? And get in touch with those other agricultural conglomerates we haven’t heard back from yet.”

“On it, boss.”

Riyo started for the office near the back of her quarters, but a low cough turned her attention behind her. Commander Fox was standing there, helmet on and blaster still in hand, his posture stiff and formal. Next to him was Rex, helmetless, with a warm smile on his face.

“Yes, Commander? Captain? I’m sorry, I probably should have asked your opinion on this, first. I just had so many holo calls to make to work things out, and I couldn’t find either of you anywhere-”

“It’s not a problem, Madam Chancellor,” Rex said. “Thank you for caring. I know it means a lot to the boys.”

Riyo smiled at him. “Of course, Captain,” she said, then her smile fell. “After coming here, I couldn’t do nothing. I… I had some idea what it would be like here, but nothing prepared me for actually seeing it.”

“We’re clones. How else do you think we were raised?” Rex said.

“I know, it’s just… different when you actually see the trichbasa stuffed.”

“The what?”

“Oh, it’s a Pantoran phrase. Sometimes you don’t want to see the messy details of how something gets made. It’s… easier not knowing.”

“I’m glad you were willing to stomach it for us, ma’am,” Rex said.

“Ma’am?” Maja said, poking her head back into the hallway from the study. “The Chief Administrator of the Child Services Agency is on the holo.”

“I’ll be right there!”

She bade the two clones a hasty farewell and threw herself right into work. Committing to finding safe and nurturing permanent homes for thousands of young clones had meant taking on a huge amount of logistics in a short time, but she was determined to succeed. The clones deserved nothing less.

---

Riyo and Maja toiled late into the night and hardly slept before their scheduled departure the next morning. Riyo spent almost the entire flight back to Coruscant drafting up letters looking for donations and support for the child clones. She’d found enough backers the night before the summit to make the ask, but there were still so many more details to work out and more funding never hurt.

About halfway through composing a letter to a wealthy philanthropist from Bespin, Riyo’s eyes began to droop. She was so tired, if she just rested her eyes a moment she could finish this up. Yes… Just a moment was all she needed...

“Ma’am?” A gloved hand gently tapped Riyo on the shoulder, and she opened her eyes only to find her face smooshed up against the transparisteel of the observation window. She blinked blearily up at Fox, identifying him as the tapper.

“Yes, Fox?”

“We’re starting the landing sequence, Madam Chancellor.”

“Oh…” She sat up and rubbed at her eyes, then hastily swiped at the puddle of drool that had collected on her datapad. “Why didn’t anyone wake me!”

“We were informed that it would be unwise…” Rex said.

“I told them if they did I’d murder them,” Maja said from where she sat in the corner, her gaze never budging from the datapad in her hand.

Riyo laughed, then buckled herself in for landing. “And that’s why I picked you as my assistant.”

Maja raised the stylus she was holding and tipped it in Riyo’s direction. “Exactly.”

They landed and Rex offered to escort Maja to her apartment, which Riyo appreciated. Maja didn’t get the same security detail that Riyo did, but she could just as easily be targeted by political enemies.

Fox and Riyo took the high-speed lift up to Riyo’s secure apartment in Coruscant’s upper levels, and Riyo’s focus wavered as the lights of the city blurred by through the lift’s transparisteel windows.

“...Madam Chancellor?”

Riyo shook her head to rouse herself and looked to Fox, concentrating hard to make sure she wasn’t dreaming up his sudden desire to talk. “Yes?”

Fox’s helmet was clipped to his belt, but his expression was as opaque as ever. “Thank you,” he said. Then he spread his arms to the side, letting them hover awkwardly away from his hips.

Riyo furrowed her brow at him. She’d had way too little sleep in the past 48 hours to believe she was interpreting this correctly. “Fox?”

Fox cleared his throat, a ruddy flush spreading across his cheeks. “You can hug me, if you want.”

“Oh. Oh!”

That certainly woke Riyo up. She stood dumbfounded for a moment, then saw in the twitch under Fox’s eye that if she didn’t do something quick he might break the lift open and jump out. She fell forward into what she now recognized as open arms and wrapped herself around his torso. Her fingers barely met around the bulky backplate, but she would not be deterred.

Fox’s gloved hands rested uncertainly on Riyo’s shoulders, and she smiled into his chestplate. Not too long ago Fox had been alone and untouched in one of those awful nurseries on Kamino, just like all of his other brothers. She wasn’t about to let that travesty continue.

“I only wish I could have done more,” she said, her voice muffled by his chest.

He didn’t respond for a beat. Riyo was glad he didn’t lie to her, didn’t tell her that she’d done more than enough. There was still so much to do, so many wrongs to right. And she’d only been able to rescue the youngest clones.

“There’s still time,” he said eventually.

She squeezed him tight, her arms full of unyielding plastoid. Through all the armor, though, she thought she could feel a beating heart.

---

“But where are we going to get the money? This is the question nobody seems interested in but me,” Senator Taam said.

“Maybe because we are more concerned with sentient lives than with credits,” Senator Organa snapped.

Fox suppressed a sigh behind his helmet. These Armed Services Committee meetings got things done, but the process was painfully slow. Palpatine had been one evil piece of Sithspit, but at least he’d been able to move quickly. If he’d wanted a fully-funded clone retirement program he’d have just called a meeting, made a few benevolent threats, and been done with it.

“Concern doesn’t pay for programs! The budget does, and I want to get this bill funded as much as any of you. So we can actually provide something to these clones.”

“Whenever we needed new flagships we managed to find the money from somewhere-” Senator Organa said.

“Ok, ok, we’re not getting anywhere arguing,” Chancellor Chuchi said. “Senator Taam is right—it doesn’t matter how great our ideas are if we can’t fund them.”

“Exactly-” Senator Taam said.

“But Senator Organa is right that we can’t use that as an excuse for inaction. This is going to cost major credits, and the budget is going to feel it. So we need to make sure that the public sees it as the necessity it is.”

The table fell silent and the committee exchanged apologetic glances. The corner of Fox’s mouth turned up. Palpatine may have been more efficient, but moments like these reminded him of why he preferred Chancellor Chuchi’s methods. Aside from the obvious fact that she didn’t abuse his brothers and send them to their deaths.

“In my experience, the more civilians know about us the more they’re willing to support us,” Rex said.

Senator Organa nodded. “That’s an excellent point. Up until now the GAR has been used for propaganda, but soldiers have mostly been portrayed as distant, heroic figures. We can run a publicity campaign that highlights your individuality.”

“As well as your practical skills,” Senator Paulness said. “Clones should find more employers willing to hire them and invest in their training if they understand the clones’ unique qualifications.”

Chancellor Chuchi tapped her stylus in her assistant’s direction. “Maja, have Talia Tantipani draw up preliminary ideas for a publicity campaign, would you?”

“On it, ma’am.”

“That’s all well and good, but publicity alone won’t be enough,” said Senator Taam.

“You’re right. We need to also demonstrate the ways in which a retired clone army can benefit the populace,” Senator Paulness said.

“Plenty of the systems we fought on are in desperate need of reconstruction. The locals already know us and most are friendly to us—they might be open to clone workers coming to help rebuild,” Rex said.

“Hmm…” Senator Taam said. “We could expand the Relief and Recovery Agency and have it give hiring precedence to former clone soldiers.”

“I can work on incorporating more job training into the Relief and Recovery Agency, too,” said Senator Organa.

The senators began talking excitedly amongst themself and the energy in the room lifted. Fox recognized a breakthrough when he saw it, and he found himself tuning the chatter out. A twinge of guilt nudged at his conscience, that he wasn’t paying more attention to legislation that would affect the livelihoods of so many of his brothers, but there was only so much of this endless talk he could force himself to focus through. Besides, he had other things to worry about.

Like Daw Saetang. He was an agricultural lobbyist, and though he’d attended several meetings with the Chancellor already, he was slated for a one-on-one right after the Armed Services Committee finished up. One-on-one meetings called for more thorough background checks, and though Saetang’s check hadn’t raised any red flags, something about him still bugged Fox. Was it his smarmy smile? Or maybe the way he didn’t have face tattoos like all the other Pantorans Fox had met. Not that he’d met that many…

“Ok then, Senator Taam will reach out to the Relief and Recovery Agency, Senator Organa will focus on the publicity campaign, and Senator Paulness will head up our contacts in various employment and job training organizations.” Captain Rex said.

The senators all nodded their agreement, and Chancellor Chuchi started gathering up her datapads. “Excellent. I know progress can seem slow, but we need to give our veterans support as soon as possible.”

The meeting adjourned and Fox waited while Maja and Chancellor Chuchi chatted and collected their supplies together. The Chancellor was close enough to her assistant that Maja must be able to smell her perfume—a citrusy scent that Fox only knew because his damned helmet filter didn’t work very well any more. He’d have to request a new one, which would be a royal pain now that his position fell outside of typical command structures.

Yes, he’d have to get it replaced. That way, if the Chancellor ever wanted to hug him again, he wouldn’t be cursed with the memory of her perfume following him around all day. Though, who was he kidding? Why on earth would she ever want to hug him again? He’d been as stiff as a clanker. He’d heard the Kaminoans describe the clones as “droids but better,” before, and thinking back to his painfully awkward hug, he believed there might be some truth to it.

Maja and the Chancellor left the conference room and Fox trailed them a few steps behind. They followed the well-trod path to the Chancellor’s office, where Saetang was already waiting outside for them.

“Madam Chancellor! An honor to see you again,” the tall Pantoran man said, holding his hand out towards Chancellor Chuchi with confidence.

“It’s good to see you, too, Mr. Saetang,” the Chancellor said.

“Please, it’s Daw. And Ms. Joyo, always a pleasure,” he said to Maja.

“Likewise,” Maja said.

Saetang ignored Fox, which suited Fox just fine.

They stepped into the Chancellor’s office and Fox stationed himself by the door. He prepared himself to tune out yet another circular policy argument, but Saetang and his skeezy smile drew his attention. He kept his eyes locked on the Pantoran man and scanned for unusual traits that might signal some sinister motive.

Saetang’s eyes flitted to Fox, and for a moment Fox could swear the man could see his gaze through the tinted visor. But that was impossible.

The negotiations continued, and Saetang had a way of getting what he wanted while making it seem like he was losing that got under Fox’s skin. Still, he trusted Chancellor Chuchi to be able to deal with snakes like Saetang. She’d been around the Senate long enough to recognize the type.

“I’ll be sure to communicate your terms to my colleagues,” Saetang said smoothly. “We’ve had our eyes on that Kaminoan gene selection technology for some time now, and I’m sure we can strike a mutually beneficial deal with them.”

“Thank you, Daw. I very much appreciate your time,” Chancellor Chuchi said, rising to her feet to signal the end of the meeting.

“The pleasure was all mine,” he said. He stood, but made no move towards the door.

“...Is there something else, Mr. Saetang?” Chancellor Chuchi said.

“My apologies, Madam Chancellor, I was working up the nerve to ask you… I nabbed a reservation at Pantiat Ichi for tomorrow and was hoping you might accompany me.”

Fox’s hands held his blaster a little too tightly, and he had to make a conscious effort to loosen his grip. It was just an invitation. Why did it feel like a threat?

Chancellor Chuchi’s eyebrows rose. “Oh! I’m afraid I’ll be busy tomorrow evening. It’s such a shame, I’ve heard they have the best Pantoran food on the planet.”

Saetang offered her a rueful smile. “I understand, it’s so last minute. If your evening frees up, though, please let me know.”

“Of course.”

She walked him to the door of her office and he bowed over her hand before he left, bringing a bluish blush to her cheeks. Then he left and the door finally shut on the bastard.

When the Chancellor turned back to her desk, Maja was grinning at her like a tooka with a convor.

“Stop it!” Chancellor Chuchi said, and she shoved Maja playfully.

“Stop what?” Maja asked, eyes wide with innocence.

“He’s just a smooth-talking lobbyist. It’s not a big deal.”

“You know I actually could carve out time for dinner for you tomorrow night.”

The Chancellor eyed her friend doubtfully. “Are you serious?”

“Why not? He seems nice enough, and I’ve heard Pantiat Ichi is to die for.”

“He’s a lobbyist!”

“Yes, there are rules you’d have to follow, but I can make sure everything is square. Really, Riyo, why not get out and have a little fun? You haven’t taken a single personal day since taking office.”

“I… I suppose I could…”

Maja’s smile grew. “You want me to send him a message?”

Chancellor Chuchi threw up her hands. “Fine. Why not?”

“That’s the spirit!” Maja said, rushing the Chancellor for a surprise hug.

Chancellor Chuchi laughed and pushed at her friend, and soon Fox could no longer make out exactly what they were saying. He sighed and commed Thorn through his helmet’s built-in system. His helmet might be old and falling apart, but at least it was still soundproof with the dampers on.

“Thorn? Can we get another background check on Daw Saetang? Dig a bit deeper this time.”

---

The first human Bacara ever killed couldn’t have been much older than he was. At least, biologically. If he just went by years then Bacara was likely at least a decade younger. Regardless, the Twi’lek man Bacara shot in the chest was too thinking, too breathing, too sentient for comfort.

Bacara had never before thought to be grateful to be fighting droids, but he had to admit it was much easier to blow a clanker’s head off than a Twi’lek’s.

“Sir, the remaining Separatists have been cleared out,” Solus told him over the comms.

“Do a thorough sweep of the area. I don’t want any stragglers to catch us off guard,” Bacara said.

General Mundi joined Bacara at the top of the ridge overlooking the wooded battlefield. “Excellent work, Commander.”

“Just doing our jobs, sir.”

“Still, I know fighting against sentients isn’t quite that same. You’ve adapted well.”

Bacara nodded and put his hands behind his back. “What’s our next move, sir?”

“Once everything’s sorted here, we only have one more assignment before returning to Coruscant.”

Bacara smiled. He’d get to see his batchmates for the first time in months. And more importantly, he’d be able to tell them what he’d learned about their inhibitor chips.

“It is difficult to be away from the ones we love, isn’t it?” General Mundi said.

Bacara’s smile faded. He didn’t like when the General said things that seemed to respond to the thoughts in his head, especially not when his thoughts strayed too close to the inhibitor chips. “Captain Peke’s waiting to report in the command center,” he said, ignoring the General’s question. It had been rhetorical, anyway.

“Excellent,” General Mundi said, and together they headed for the command center, a collapsible durasteel bunker that had seen plenty of wear in all different kinds of terrain and atmospheres.

They stepped through the automatic doors and Bacara immediately sensed something was wrong. The doors slammed shut behind them and the lights extinguished. When they turned on again the General was surrounded by insurgents, one of them with a blaster held to his head.

“Don’t move! Or the Jedi gets it!” the man said, dirt and blood on his face and desperation in his eyes.

“Let’s just stay calm…” Bacara said, slowly setting his blaster on the ground.

“I tried to warn you, sir!” Captain Peke said from across the room. He was tied up to a chair, and another one of the insurgents held him at blaster-point.

“Everybody quiet!” the man with his blaster to Mundi’s head said.

Peke shut his mouth and Bacara slowly rose from his crouch, his hands held high with his palms open.

“We don’t want trouble with the Republic,” the lead insurgent said. “And we aren’t with the Separatists, either. We just want our planet to be in peace, we just want to live free without Republic interference.”

Bacara’s eyes darted to General Mundi’s, but the General seemed unconcerned. “This is not something you want to do, son.”

“Shut up!” the man shouted. “I know all about your Jedi tricks, and that won’t work on us!”

“This is not going to end well for you. If you leave now we won’t follow you,” Mundi said.

“We’re not leaving until you order all Republic forces out of this system!”

“This is your last warning.”

“Kriff you and your warnings! I’m the one with the blaster!”

With a sudden whoosh of power, General Mundi pushed outward from himself, knocking everything away from him in a perfect wave of energy. Bacara fell backwards and scrambled to grab his blaster before any of the rebels could get to it first. He grabbed the grip and rolled onto his back, aiming up at whoever might have followed his movements. But there was no one there.

General Mundi stood in the middle of the room, the blue glow of his lightsaber illuminating the carnage around him. The insurgents were dead. All of them. Eight bodies lay scattered around the room, burning wounds bearing testament to their singular cause of death. General Mundi looked down at their prone bodies, his mouth turned downwards and his eyes sad.

“...General? Are you alright?” Bacara asked.

General Mundi turned yellow eyes to Bacara. “Yes, Bacara, thank you. It’s just a shame.”

“...Yes, sir.”

“Well then. Let’s free Captain Peke, shall we?”

Bacara got to his feet and he and General Mundi untied Captain Peke from the chair. Bacara called for help with cleanup through his comm, and in only a half hour they were debriefing in that very same command center as if nothing had happened. All throughout the debrief, though, Bacara could see the shadows of the bodies around the room.

#foxiyo #commander fox #riyo chuchi #star wars #fanfic #tcw #the clone wars

21 notes · View notes

molluskwritesfic · 5 years ago

Text

Where the Roses Grow: Chapter One

The compound on Arvala-7 didn’t house one bounty, but two. Elsi Nokk is an enslaved nanny with more than a few tricks up her sleeve. She’ll do anything to protect her charge, even if it means standing against - and then with - a certain Mandalorian. Rated M.

This story can be found on Ao3 and fanfiction.net.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Mild violence, electrocution, reference to sexual assault, mild language, slavery and associated themes.

This Chapter - Next Chapter

Chapter One

“Subparagraph 16 of the Bondsman Guild Protocol Waiver compels you to immediately produce said asset.”

The thin metallic voice echoed faintly through the stone halls, but after a lifetime of eavesdropping she heard it loud and clear. Without missing a beat, she scooped up the tiny green creature that had been playing by her feet. To the baby, with his massive bat-like ears, the not-so-distant blaster fire must’ve been frighteningly loud. His dark eyes blinked up at her worriedly, ears held flat to his shoulders.

She pressed a kiss to his wrinkled forehead. With the child cradled protectively to her chest, she hurried across the room, neatly side-stepping piles of supplies and junk. The baby’s bassinet sat among the wall, small and unassuming among the scattered bits of droid and speeder parts the Nikto mercenaries had scavenged from raiding bounty hunters.

With practiced ease, she balanced the baby in one arm while opening the bassinet with the other. The quick press of a few buttons revealed the baby’s sleeping space. Small and dark, but made homey by several small blankets and a patchwork cloth frog, all lovingly made in the bright colors. Her fingers ached with the memory of each tiny stitch. She deposited the baby in its bassinet, tucking in the blanket corners gently.

He curled his little claws into the top blanket - the red one. His favorite. She smiled down at him sadly, wishing there was something she could do to stop the never-ending noise and violence; to stop him from being afraid. He was unlike any other child that had fallen into her care over the years. If he were, perhaps she could offer more comfort. But he always seemed shockingly aware of the galaxy around him.

He knew there were people dying outside. He knew they were coming for him.

She pressed a finger over her lips. It was something they’d practiced extensively. He copied the gesture, pressing one of his three fingers over his mouth with a self-pleased grin.

She could distract him, at least.

Despite the severity of the situation, she couldn’t help but return the smile. She leaned down to press a last quick kiss to the baby’s brow before pulling away and closing the bassinet’s shutters.

“Subparagraph 16 of the Bondsman Guild Protocol Waiver compels you to immediately produce said asset.”

A few armed Niktos swarmed through the narrow space, causing her to flatten herself against the wall to let them pass. She was of little interest or value to them. An extra piece of furniture that they had to feed. They sidestepped her with the same regard they gave to the half-forgotten piles of junk they housed her and her charge among. Her safety was the absolute last thing on their minds.

She was far too used to it to be offended. The heavy metal collar around her neck caused others to set her apart and then aside. It had once bit into her skin and drawn blood, but over the years the skin underneath had scarred and calloused.

Now it only itched.

Knowing that it was up to her to keep herself alive, she tossed a ragged tarp over the bassinet and piled a couple of other odds and ends on top in hopes that if anyone did make it through, they wouldn’t realize it contained what they sought. At least not immediately. Just long enough for her to get a bearing on the newcomers’ intentions. Specifically, whether or not they intended to harm the baby.

She had no love for the Nikto gang. They were just the most recent in the rather long line of hands the child had fallen into over the past two years - and those were just the ones she knew about. But as brutish as the group of mercenaries could be, they generally left her and the child to their own devices - so long as they weren’t in the way.

She’d had far worse masters.

But, should the newcomers be successful, She didn’t want to be seen as one of the mercenaries. That was a very easy way to get a bolt through the head. Nor did she want to show any support for the attackers. Should they lose, the Nikto would be sure to express their displeasure.

She slipped behind a few crates to wait, well out of sight but with a clear view of where the baby hid. Passive defense had served her well in the past, and she saw no reason to alter tactics now.

The battle outside was louder than ever, the usual blaster fire underscoring heavy artillery that made the air vibrate. She waited with bated breath, listening intently despite wanting to clamp her hands over her ears to defend against the volume.

Silence fell.

She waited.

There was movement outside. Footsteps. Two, at a guess, but there was no way to tell which side they were on. She stayed hidden.

She was startled by the sound of someone running. Someone close, too close. Before she had a chance to work out who they were and why they’d been able to get so close without her noticing, they were crashing into the barrels she had hidden herself behind and locking a hand around her throat just above the collar.

She wheezed as the grip tightened. They slung her around violently so that she faced them. It was Grod, the leader of the mercenary band. There was nothing particularly special about him - besides him being a little bigger than the rest... and the fact that he currently had the control fob to her collar.

Grod hissed something at her in Nikto, squeezing her throat tighter for emphasis.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, eyes wide and pleading. “I don’t know Nikto.”

It was a lie, of course. But the tide had turned against Grod and she had no intention of assisting him in whatever he had planned - which probably included running. A bad idea in the middle of the desert. Especially while being hunted.

Grod snarled, perhaps having caught the lie. He fished in the rugged leather of his jacket and revealed the fob. It was small - just the right size to fit in the palm of the hand - metallic and black. A dial sat in the center of the object, along with a few buttons.

She was painfully aware of its function. Cold fear washed over her, but she didn’t back down.

Grod turned the dial and pressed the button. The collar around her neck seared into her skin. Her vision went white. She crumpled to the ground, mouth open in a silent cry as her limbs jerked and twitched with electricity.

She wasn’t entirely aware of what happened next, but through the pain she saw Grod turn with his blaster only to fall at her side an instant later.

Someone loomed over her, no more than a pale shadow in her pain-washed vision. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, unable to get enough air to cry out. Her teeth gnashed and rattled in their sockets. She heard voices, but couldn’t make out the words through the ringing in her ears.

The electricity stopped, but the pain didn’t. She gasped like a fish, trying to force her lungs to draw in enough air to breathe through the pain. Her muscles twitched by their own volition, trying to work out which electrical signals they were supposed to obey now that the horrible surge had come and gone.

Darkness ate at the corners of her vision. She sank away into dizzying blackness.

. ~0~0~0~

“Nan!” Hetta’s shrill voice sliced through the air, shattering what had been an otherwise peaceful evening.

Elsi Nokk heaved a great sigh, trying to convince herself to be content with listening to her charge’s whiny shouts, so long as it bought her a few more minutes of solitude. She bent over her needlework with redoubled effort, so that when the child finally found her, it would seem that she’d been too preoccupied to notice.

“Nan Elsi!”

Nan, of course, was short for Nanny, as a slave could never hope to be awarded the title of Governess. It was a comparatively small insult, and one she was all too used to.

She didn’t like being called Nan. It made her feel old, which she wasn’t. Her wavy blond hair had yet to start greying, even if it did look a little mousy tucked away in the low braided bun she always wore. The weathered places lining the corners of her soft grey eyes placed her in her late thirties, though her true age was anyone’s guess. A stressful life had the tendency to age a creature beyond their years, and she was no exception.

Elsi had no guilt at leaving Hetta to search for her. At twelve years of age, the child was spoiled, bratty, and had the wit of a bantha. Each day, Elsi would take her sewing to the riverbank while Hetta took her mid-afternoon nap. She always sat in the same spot, underneath the same tree that acted as a protective screen sheltering her from both weather and prying eyes.

Despite having found her nanny in the same spot a fair number of times, Hetta couldn’t seem to come to the logical conclusion as to where Elsi could have possibly disappeared to.

It only took another thirty odd seconds for Elsi to give up the charade. Hetta was loud and shrill, which wasn’t good for the headache that had already been building behind Elsi’s eyes. She heaved a great sigh and tucked her sewing back into her bag, folding everything neatly and ensuring that the needle wasn’t going anywhere.

She stood and brushed away the low hanging leaves, parting them and striding out into the sunlight. “Here, Hetta.”

Hetta bounded across the short lawn and stopped in front of her nanny, where she stood bouncing on her toes. She was a blonde-haired bundle of sickeningly sweet pink and lace, a dress that Elsi had slaved over for weeks. Elsi’s keen eyes picked out the dirt smudged across the fabric covering her left knee and the slight tattering on the hem; two flaws that hadn’t been present when she dressed her that morning.

Elsi tried not to be harsh about it. Hetta was only a child, and she was constantly reminding herself that children were SUPPOSED to play and get dirty. Had the universe been different, Elsi herself might’ve been exactly like Hetta as a child . But she’d learned early on to keep her smocks clean and pressed, as those that taught her weren’t quick to make allowances.

She subconsciously tugged at the side of her simple blue dress to straighten the imaginary wrinkles. Lessons learned at the end of a whip didn’t fade with time.

Hetta didn’t seem to care that she behaved more like a common street urchin than the daughter of a nobleman. She had the same smug look on her face that she always wore when she knew something Elsi didn’t, which usually ended up being bad for the nanny.

Elsi was usually quite good at predicting potential outcomes and preparing for them. But an unanticipated scenario meant she had no contingency plan for it, which exponentially increased her chances of being punished for negligence of duty.

Elsi crossed her arms over her chest, jutting out her hip and tapping her foot impatiently. Hetta’s father, Lord Burkisn, might be Elsi’s master, but Hetta certainly wasn’t.

Hetta’s expression faltered under Elsi’s piercing stare. Her internal debate flickered clearly across her face: to bask in powerful sensation of teasing, or to risk some kind of punishment later on. Lord Burkisn cared for his daughter, but since the death of her mother and despite his severity towards his slaves, Elsi had almost absolute power over Hetta’s upbringing.

Elsi was not afraid to use what little power she had been allotted, and that’s what made her the best nanny an aloof widower Nobleman could possibly ask for.

“Father wants you,” Hetta explained, glancing sheepishly down at her nanny’s shoes.

Elsi quirked an eyebrow, hiding her unease with a lifetime’s worth of practice. “What for?”

“Dunno,” she said, then quickly adding, “But he wants you to hurry.”

Elsi doubted the child’s ignorance. Despite the threat of being reprimanded for a lack of punctuality, she fixed her charge with her best ‘no nonsense’ look that could cause plants to wilt and waited for her to offer a more acceptable explanation. It was better to be prepared than to walk into any situation blind.

Hetta loathed that look. While she loved to cause trouble, she couldn’t stand being IN trouble. The death-glare was one of the most effective weapons in Elsi’s child-rearing arsenal, and she saved it for special occasions. Although being called to her master seemed arbitrary, having been sent for by Hetta sounded alarm bells for Elsi; it meant everyone else was otherwise preoccupied, and Elsi hadn’t been aware of anything out of the ordinary.

“We have visitors. Daddy’s special guests,” Hetta started sheepishly. “And there’s a sick baby.”

~0~0~0~ .

Elsi found her way back to consciousness slowly; she had to coax it - her mind and body - away from the relief of dreamless sleep and into the light. It burned her inside and out.

She groaned softly and forced her eyes open. The dull sandstone ceiling twisted dizzyingly overhead. Nausea coiled in her gut like a serpent. She rolled over on her stomach and retched, but there was very little to vomit up.

The collar had been on a high setting, higher than the usual level used to punish a slave. Anything above 75% for more than a minute or two, and you ran the risk of causing permanent injury to the slave - brain damage, heart conditions. In other words, property damage - something no slave trader or master wanted.

If she had to guess, she would say that the collar had been set to somewhere around 90%.

Grod had probably only intended to give her a brief shock, a few seconds of electricity strong enough to break her into compliance. She imagined that he hadn’t expected to be distracted by the blaster bolts cutting down the thick Quadanium door. The Nikto had drawn his blaster, no longer caring about the woman writhing in uncontrollable agony at his feet.

Movement flashed in the corner of her eye. Elsi wiped her mouth and gathered what little strength she still had in order to lift her head. She found herself looking into the smoking cranium of the IG unit, presumably the same one that she’d heard earlier.

Panic filtered through her foggy mind. The hunter was dead. Had one of the Nikto killed it? Did she still belong to them?

Oh, how she hated not knowing what to expect. She’d survived this long by knowing how to play her cards; and though they were often shitty, she won by playing the other person.

Not knowing the other players could be fatal.

Instinctively, her head snapped to where she’d stashed the crib. To her dismay, the debris she’d hidden it behind had been tossed carelessly to the side. From her place on the floor, she could see that the shutters were open and the baby peeking out curiously at the man that stood between him and Elsi.

A Mandalorian.

She hadn’t met one before, but the trademark T visor was hard to miss. She’d heard the stories, and she wasn’t sure whether or not she wanted them to be true. They were supposed to be warriors, noble soldiers in shining armor that were indomitable on the battlefield. The best warriors in the galaxy.

Elsi couldn’t speak as to the rest, but this particular Mandalorian seemed to have seen better days. The only parts of his armor that could even begin to be described as shining were his helmet and right pauldron, and those were coated with a fine layer of dust and sand. The rest of it was mismatched, a hodgepodge of dented metal that he wore like scales, painted with rust red or a shade of tan paint that was faded and scratched.

If he gave a shit about his appearance, he certainly didn't show it. He stood nonchalantly with one finger extended to the baby, who was reaching for it with interested little coos. Although the baby seemed to be at the center of his attention, she could infer from the tilt of his helmet that he was keeping her in his periphery. He didn’t seem to feel at all threatened by her, though. But why should he? From what she could see, he had at least one blaster at his hip and a fearsome rifle strapped over his shoulder.

More than that, Elsi spied her slave-fob clipped to his belt.

Feigning another bout of nausea, Elsi grit her teeth. She hadn’t met a Mandalorian before, but from what she’d heard, they could be brutal… and tricky. Some lived by what most species would call honor, others lived by how their own personal code defined it.

He hadn’t killed her yet, so that was something. But there were much worse things that could be done to a female slave, a bitter lesson that she’d learned very young.

Slowly, Elsi worked her way up to stand on shaking legs. Once up, she kept her hands folded in front of her and her head bowed submissively. The T of the Mandalorian’s visor turned to fix her with an empty stare.

“What is it?”

Despite knowing exactly what he was asking, she played ignorant. “He is a child.”

“Yes.” The indignation only just caught on his vocoder. “I was told the target was 50.”

“I can’t speak to his age,” Elsi offered, “but he has been in my care for two years, and he looks the same as he first did.”

The Mandalorian grunted and dropped his hand, which went to his hip. Elsi stiffened, bracing for pain, but instead of her fob, he came away with a canteen. He held it out to her.

Wary, Elsi accepted it. She uncorked it and subtly sniffed the contents. Water. She took a few meager sips to help wash away the taste of sick, but didn’t dare drink outright. Water was precious in the desert. She wasn’t.

The last thing she needed now was to outspend her own worth.

She returned the canteen. While he clipped it back to his belt, he asked, “You good to walk?”

Elsi wasn’t optimistic about how far her legs would carry her. She was already exhausted, drained by her collar and subsequent illness. And if that weren’t enough, months of being confined in a compound hadn’t done her any favors by the way of exercise. But, the way she saw it, there were only a handful of responses she could expect from telling a new master that she was too weak to walk and thus work. The Mandalorian had yet to be cruel, and might be willing to allow her to rest a little longer before setting out.

But she couldn’t rule out the other options just yet. The baby was the valuable one. Elsi severely doubted any bounty he intended to collect would be for her own delivery. He could just simply kill her to save himself both time and trouble. Or he could leave her behind.

For the baby’s sake, Elsi couldn’t afford to risk either.

“I can walk,” she said. “But first, may I collect his things?”

The Mandalorian’s helmet adopted a thoughtful tilt, as if he hadn’t considered that the child should need things other than a bassinet.

He nodded curtly. “Be quick.”

Elsi dipped her head obediently and shuffled off to the abandoned corner she and the child usually occupied.

Her limbs were still wobbly and ached dully from the collar, but she ignored them and quickly packed the few meager possessions they had between them into a worn russack sack; several of the child’s robes, an extra dress for Elsi, a few days worth of rations and a large canteen of water, as well as a few other odds and ends.

Last but not least, Elsi’s special needle in its ornate casing was tucked away into one of the hidden pockets she’d sewn into her dress. The casing was made of rosy bronze metal, embossed with finger-worn roses and an image of a needle and thread. It was the only thing of worth she possessed, having inherited it from another slave. Although its contents had long since dried beyond use, she kept it close, waiting for the opportunity to fill it again.

She finished quickly and padded back to where the Mandalorian stood waiting. Her heart clenched when she saw him holding the little cloth frog she’d made for the baby. He held it up to his visor, turning it back and forth. Elsi held her breath, half expecting him to toss it to the side.

He didn’t. When he saw Elsi approaching, he returned the doll back to the child’s outstretched hands. The baby squeaked happily.

The Mandalorian held his hand out for the bag. Elsi gave it to him without question and watched with subdued frustration as he rooted through it and upset all of her carefully folded and packed items.

She picked idly at the bracelet snaked around her wrist. It was the only ornamentation she’d been allowed to keep over the last ten years or so. It was nothing special, just a long braid of twisted leather with little burgundy beads that wrapped around her wrist seven or eight times. It was cheap and looked it. But wearing it made her feel safe, and so wear it she did.

Satisfied that she wasn’t hiding any weapons from him, the Mandalorian stuffed everything half-hazardly into the bag before thrusting it back in her direction. She shouldered it without comment, hiding her displeasure at how lumpy and awkward it now was.

Unbothered, the Mandalorian tapped idly at one of his vambraces. The bassinet beeped in confirmation.

When he led the way out into the compound, the bassinet trailed after him obediently, its passenger giggling excitedly to his nanny, who forced a smile and nodded along to his babbling. Elsi, already dreading the journey, brought up the rear.

~0~0~0~ .

78 notes · View notes

josefavomjaaga · 4 years ago

Text

Letters from Naples, 1815

Some documents relating to chapter 3 of Helfert's book on Joachim Murat. I have not translated the report by Pauline Bonaparte's secretary about Napoleon's escape that Mier refers to in his second letter, as it's quite long and I assume it's been translated and quoted before. But I can do so if there is interest. Mier's letters however, are about Murat's immediate reaction to this news.

Mier to Metternich (in his own hand). (N° 21)

This 5th of March 1815.

My Prince! His Majesty the King received this morning a letter from Rome with the news of the escape of the Emperor Napoleon from the island of Elba. The Chevalier de Lebzeltern took advantage of this opportunity to announce this same event to me. Your Highness can easily imagine the effect which this news produced on the minds of Their Majesties. - The King sent for me to come to him to talk to me about this event, and told me that in a few hours he would send a courier to Vienna. Campochiaro was ordered to declare to our Court that in any event the policy of the King of Naples remained entirely subordinate to ours, that nothing could make Him deviate from this principle, and that He wished to know what course we would believe necessary to follow in this affair in order to comply with it. The King repeated to me on this occasion how much he wished to give the Emperor Francis proof of His attachment and His gratitude. While we were talking we saw several merchant ships enter the port. His Majesty sent to find out where they came from. It turned out that one of these ships had come from the island of Elba and had left after the flight of the Emperor Napoleon. The captain of this vessel gave the King details of which we were unaware, and communicated to Him the proclamation of the Governor of the Isle of Elba after the departure of Napoleon.

May Your Highness deign to accept the assurance of my highest consideration.

Mier. Mier to Metternich. (N° 22)

Naples 9 March 1815.

My Prince!

1) The departure for Rome of two officers of our Regiment of Prince-Regent Houzards, who have spent a few days here, provides me with a sure occasion to send my following dispatch to Rome and to recommend it to the care of the Chevalier de Lebzeltern.

2) It is only the day after I sent my report No. 21, that I learned that on the ship arriving from the Isle of Elba there was a certain Mr. Mary, secretary to the Princess Pauline. It is from him that all the details of Napoleon's escape were obtained. I do not believe that he brought letters for Their Majesties, at least the Queen has very definitely assured me of this. She has been kind enough to send me the attached document, written by Monsieur Mary.

3) I had the honour of informing Your Highness in my last report that I had been called to the King's residence at the moment when he had received the news of Napoleon's departure from the Isle of Elba. I found the King extremely agitated, not knowing where to stop his thoughts. It was obvious that he did not know what to desire. He maintained that the Emperor Napoleon landing in France would have the entire army, the whole of France behind him; that the Bourbons would be driven out; that Napoleon would not have risked this enterprise without being semi-certain of its success; that if he found a very doubtful party of the Bourbons resisting him, it would bring on a civil war in France. "What side will Austria and the other Powers take? It is a very unfortunate event, and one which may confuse all at the moment when the main questions had been happily arranged at the Congress. It is no less unfortunate for me in many respects: it may delay the arrangement of my interests, and in the long run I cannot remain in this position; I must know where I stand." He would go out at any moment to ask for news of the ships entering the harbour. After a conversation of more than two hours in the presence of the Queen, he withdrew when a ship from the island of Elba was announced. Afterwards I had a long conversation with the Queen who always consistent in her way of considering things, wise in her views and reasonings, putting character and perseverance in the party and the course which she once convinced herself was useful to her interests, not varying opinion at any event, always preaching uprightness and loyalty, gave me on this occasion new proofs of the essential qualities which distinguish her. One could see in her face how much this event had upset her. She told me that she was extremely worried about the fate of her brother, who was running towards his inevitable loss; that as a sister she could not wish for his death, but that she would have liked him to keep quiet in Elba; that she was convinced that, if the Emperor Napoleon ever succeeded in replacing himself on the throne of France, he would hasten to chase them out of Naples, a thing she never ceased to repeat to the King; that the Emperor Napoleon, once again Emperor of the French, will once more upset the whole of Europe; that she knows his character too well to ever doubt it; that it would be wrong to believe that age and experience have corrected him. "The King", she continued, "has a fine role to play, it is to remain invariably attached to the policy which he has embraced, to unite his interests as closely as possible with those of Austria, to repel all the perfidious insinuations which will not fail to be made to him, and to remain firm in his promises and declarations. This is what his honour and his true interests demand. You know me too well to doubt that I will not do everything to this end.

4) A Neapolitan courier sent to London carried the same declarations as the one that left for Vienna. The same day that the news of Napoleon's escape was learned here, the King convened an extraordinary Council of Ministers in which he declared to them that this event would in no way change the course of his policy. Notwithstanding these declarations and promises made to his people and his Allies, I know that his head is hard at work; that he has admitted into his presence several French refugees in Naples, enraged Bonapartists; that he has had several conferences with them; that he has sent secret emissaries everywhere (I have pointed out to Marshal Bellegarde two of this number who are on their way to France by way of Milan), and that his announced determinations are very shaky. This event instead of delaying his planned journey to the Marches seems to have accelerated it. His saddle horses and some campaign crews left last Monday for the Marches. His departure may take place at any moment. His mood, his words announce that he has projects in view, but that his ideas are not yet fixed, and that he is waiting for the first results of Napoleon's enterprise. If He remained in Naples, surrounded by the Queen and by a few sensible people who, without flattering Him, have the courage to tell Him the truth, one could count on His not being drawn into a few false steps; but in Ancona, returned to himself, surrounded by hotheads, there is nothing to be sure of. I have done everything to prevent this journey, I have begged and insisted that it should not be undertaken at this time, because of the bad effect it would have, and the suspicion that He would arouse by this step. I know that the Queen, Monsieur de Gallo, the Count of Mosbourg and many other reasonable people have positively advised Him against it; but all in vain; He seems determined to go. It is not yet known whether He will leave the Regency to the Queen.

5) Spirits in Naples are very agitated. There are people who make wishes for Napoleon, without knowing what they are asking for; but in general one would be angry here if the King interfered in an affair foreign for the moment to the interests of this country, and in despair if He took up the cause of Napoleon; in the latter case I believe that the King should not count on the fidelity of his subjects. If He wanted to make a diversion in favour of the Emperor Napoleon by going to France, half his army would leave Him; it would not be the same if He remained in Italy. He would find supporters there and could do us a lot of harm. Prudence requires that we put ourselves in this country in a position to face any event.

6) The Princess of Wales has openly expressed much delight at the escape of Napoleon. She told the King that she hoped for his glory that he would not remain an idle spectator of the events that were being prepared; that he should follow the example of the Emperor Napoleon, who with a thousand men despaired of nothing, while he with 80,000 seemed to let himself be imposed upon; that the course he would take in the present circumstances might lead him to immortality, etc. This inconsiderate woman wanted to follow the King to Ancona; but I have just been told that she has changed her plans and that she is leaving for Civitavecchia the day after tomorrow.

7) The Capri, a Neapolitan ship of the line of 80 guns, set sail several days ago to join the two Neapolitan frigates which left for the Adriatic.

8) Until now no movement of Neapolitan troops has taken place in the kingdom.

9) Count Széchényi leaves tomorrow for London. I have endorsed his passport for Rome. May Your Highness accept etc.

Mier.

(Completely unrelated question: What's the legal punishment for throttling a Princess of Wales?) I also love how Mier praises Caroline to Metternich.

#joachim murat #caroline murat #napoleon #hundred days #italy1815 #naples #helfert murat

13 notes · View notes

heyjude19-writing · 4 years ago

Note

Im the list anon again and boy do I have more for you but this time I also have some questions as well if your time allows and you are willing to answer of course. First with the other things I loved:

1) the fact that Ron warmed up to Draco so quickly! I genuinely think thats so much in character. Ron is not a distrustful person and as a middle child as they come is very easygoing and would for sure make stupid jokes at Draco

2) The patronus. My god the Patronus. I seriously put the phone down and made a small slow clap during that chapter. At first I was like hmmmm *insert unsure kombucha girl face* because almost all fanfics have him with a dragon patronus and leave it at that (and lets be honest at this point my expectations of you were quite high dont blame me blame your bloody brilliant writing) but then, and I dont know if you did this on purpose or not (I have a feeling you did) but the fact that the dragon was the same (pale white) wounded but still feral dragon that Hermione FREEED (!) from a bank (£££) dungeon, malnourished and used for its nature, surrounded by darkness, wealth and misery!! And it was Hermione who broke its chains!!!!! Is just *chefs fucking kiss* slow clap*

3) the way you describe sex scenes are so natural! Ive never read a fanfic or book that doesnt make me gag a little bit (I am not a fan of smut at all but ill go with it because of a good story) until I read yours. Its so simple but yet intricate and you make the entire act so intriguing and normal and intimate. Bravo.

4) I LOVE SASHA. I love that Theo fell for her head over heels and the way you portrayd her reminded me of a friend of mine who works as a sous-chef in London so I always pictured her when reading it!

5) Dracos inner voice is ON POINT. Like I genuinely think you shoud own the rights to that character now.

6) Ill say it again. I love Ginny. You should also own the rights to her character too.

7) my interest for Quiddich (even when reading the books/wathcing the movies) was on par, if not lower than Hermiones. You managed to get me interested in that too so yes another slow clap to you

7.1) Also such a clever career for Draco!! Made si much sense!

Now to some questions

A) What was the deal with Malfoy referring to Ginny as Weasly and refusing to aknowledge her Potter surname. And why did everyone kept correcting him? It was hilarious granted but I wanted to know whether the reason you included this time and time again had to do wih something deeper? Or was this included as just a funny recurring joke?

B) Why did you choose for Draco to have a “fantasy” to produce a patronus and not for example for him to have had to do that after theyd exchanged “i love yous”. Very interesting angle and i liked that it was sort of a loophole to all the ‘death eaters cant have patronuses’ but quite curious on the thought process

C) Why did you opt for Draco to remove his mark? Do you think that stands as reward for him more or for Hermione? Very smart solution by the way

D) if you have the time- Could you please elaborate a tad more on what the soul-bonding means? Why was it so taboo? At furst hand it seems like a very romantic/amazing thing to do with your partner right?

Lastly- Do you ever itch to make a second part to this? And in the most acceptable case that you dont, I always wondered what you had in mind for them in the future- because of the soul bonding thing, you mentioned that the generational curses will be erased, which means I guess that the Malfoys can have more than one child now, and girls as well. (I cannot believe im asking for this as I am the one to avoid any pregnancy fanfics but) do you imagine them with children and if yes, how many? How do they integrate muggle devices(I know youd agree wit me that Hermione would definitively bring some muggle stuff over!) and which devices would Draco really secretly like?

Pleasewriteasecondpartwhereyouelaborateyourthoughtsonthisthankyou.

Ok rant done. :D

List anon! You’re back with another amazing ask. I’ll do my best!

1.) I like to think Ron matured a lot post-war (not enough to stop making terrible jokes, though.)

2.) Regarding your beautiful analysis of my specific dragon breed for Draco’s patronus: How many points would you like for your Hogwarts house of choice? I will add that according to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, the Ironbelly’s scales are normally a metallic grey. I will also add that I subscribe more to book canon than movie canon. In the book version of events of the Gringotts escape, Harry breaks the chains and Hermione (with eventual help once the boys catch on) destroys the ceiling so it can have a way out. The partially blind dragon does the rest of the work on its own.

3.) Thank you, that’s very flattering.

4.) Does your friend also get you into fancy restaurants and can they make salted caramel bread pudding???

5.) Thank you, it was one of my favorite aspects of writing this story.

6.) Thank you, she’s so fun to write and flesh out from her book portrayal.

7.) Haha, I felt so validated by that line of dialogue in Cursed Child when Draco tells Harry he wanted to play quidditch professionally, but wasn’t good enough.

Now to some answers:

A.) It’s definitely a recurring joke. It’s up to the reader to interpret Draco’s actions here: is he doing it to be a massive troll? Or is he genuinely not retaining the information of her married name because he considers this fact so unimportant that he does not bother to keep it in his brain? Troll, snob, or both, you can decide!

B.) I’ll address the second part of this first, because it was not intended as a loophole. I 1000% do not understand the “death eaters can’t have patronuses” thing. It makes absolutely no sense. Snape has a Patronus. But beyond that… Umbridge has a Patronus (a cat). If we’re letting that woman have a Patronus, then yeah, I think Draco can cast one. As for the vision that Draco used to conjure it… up to you whether that’s a fantasy or a glimpse of a certain ritual actually working. Draco’s thoughts on the matter: “An image of such striking tangibility that he might have already lived it, or perhaps experienced time in such a way that he lived it now.”

C.) I wanted Draco to have a choice, obviously a recurring theme for him in RN. For my characterization of him, that symbol on his arm causes him nothing but shame and self-loathing (see the end of chapter 36 during his heart-to-heart with Hermione). He’d already exercised almost every known avenue to rid himself of it before Hermione entered his life (he lists these in chapter 44). Hermione already loved him (and has told him so) by the time she’s figured out how to remove it: “I love the man you are today and I will love that man tomorrow, bare forearm or not. I simply wanted you, for once, to have the choice. It’s your body.”

D.) Ooh anon, you are tempting me here. I really hate to be coy, but you might see some future writing on this very topic.

I can at least answer the taboo part: I think soul magic in general (horcruxes, the use of unicorn blood) is quite taboo in the HP universe. As no one knows what happens after death (not even ghosts, Nearly Headless Nick says as much when Harry asks him point-blank in OoTP) I think most magical folk would think the intense ritual (blending magical cores) an unnecessary thing anyway. As Draco explains in chapter 48, since no one actually knows the effects or if it works, it’s considered a bit over-the-top since it’s probably futile anyway. It is also not a Vow with a death component; Narcissa is obviously alive in this story even though Lucius is already dead. I wrote the generational curse protection theory in as a dig at Cursed Child for the way they handled Astoria’s character.

The idea of it I think is romantic, but I will stress it is very dependent upon the intent of the two participants. To quote Draco in chapter 48 again: “To twine one’s soul to another showed a willingness to not only physically tether one’s self during your time here on earth, but to commit to a blending of your magical cores, putting faith in your magic to recognize its bonded counterpart in another life. Should other lives even exist.”

If you re-read Draco’s experience during the bonding ceremony in chapter 51 (starting from this bit: “The cognizance of his own powers never felt sharper, more familiar, but suddenly another power pulsed within to join with his.”) you might find it bears a resemblance to the trajectory of their relationship.

Lastly- I’ve left Draco and Hermione to their wedded bliss. I’ve got nothing planned for them beyond where they are in the final lines of chapter 51. I don’t have that itch to write more into their future because it would feel forced. Draco laid out his two envisioned futures with Hermione in chapter 48 when they discuss having or not having children. They are happy and content in the life they chose together. That’s all I ever wanted for them.

You will see more from this story though. I have an entire series of one-shots and outtakes from the published Remain Nameless timeline that I’ll start posting soon.

Thank you so much list anon! These were fun to answer!

#remain nameless #dramione #list anon #asked and answered

19 notes · View notes

makeste · 5 years ago

Text

not a cavalcade of Katsuki panels

damn, anon. you stone cold came for me with that last part. and just fyi to all onlookers, this was before I had posted the headcanons ask proving this exact point lmao.

but a challenge has been issued now! so I will do my best to pick a variety of impartial panels featuring a veritable medley of characters. not sure I can really provide much in the way of insightful analysis of symbolism and metaphors and stuff, but I can certainly type a lot of words about the pretty pictures, and about how cool people look when they’re standing around all serious surrounded by clouds of billowing smoke.

why I like it: I figured we’d start off strong. no point in holding back. can the other panels possibly even hope to compete. maybe. we’ll see.

why I like it: because, you see, he punched a giant robot, and it exploded. you see that, there? and the text was all “SMAASH” in humongous comic book letters, and it was pretty cool. also Deku is very tiny and the robot is very big. and just to clarify, most of the time if a tiny fifteen-year-old child tries to punch an 80-foot robot, it’s not actually going to go all that well, and the robot probably will not explode. but in this case it did! and so this is a very novel and unexpected outcome, which makes it all the more visually striking, which is a very good thing to be when you are trying to show off the brand new superpower which your protagonist just inherited, and letting people see it in action for the very first time.

why I like it: so you may have noticed we just skipped a whoooole bunch of chapters lol. this is because there are almost 300 of them, and so I’m going to have to use a bit of discretion. anyway so this is a gorgeous panel. just, everything about it. the lighting; the expressions; Shouto’s hesitation; and his mom facing away, not looking back yet, and us not yet knowing how she’ll react. and the fact that they’re visually separated by as much distance as possible -- at opposite ends of a two-page spread -- and yet they’re so close, closer than they’ve been in years. mm. anyway it’s pretty.

why I like it: first of all because there’s nothing like seeing a deserving character get punched in the fucking face, and few characters IMO have been as deserving as Stain. and second because this is Deku, showing up to save the day out of nowhere at the last minute, because excuse you, but he’s a motherfuckin’ hero. sorry to interrupt your evening plans of stabbing a kid while lecturing him about why, philosophically, he deserves to die. but I’ve got a package here for a Mister Stain. it’s from Mister Smaassh, with two A’s and three S’s.

why I like it: fyi, anon said nothing about a cavalcade of BakuDeku panels. you didn’t think I’d let that loophole go to waste, did you? but nonetheless I will try to restrain myself until we get to the second ground beta fight. anyway, I like this panel because All Might’s canonically 7′2″ self looks about twelve feet tall here, and he is just TOWERING over these two boys, who’ve been tasked with somehow outwitting him during this curiously sadistic final exam. and it’s just an interesting perspective, because we know they both look up to him, and here they are physically looking way, way up, up, up at him.

why I like it: now this is how you do a villain entrance. I love absolutely everything about this. the sheer scale of destruction, and the way he’s just sort of casually hanging out there in the middle of the panel almost dwarfed by all this dust and smoke and carnage, and yet is unquestionably the focus of the page. the way that you can’t actually see his face, not yet. not until the end of the chapter. the way the clouds are drifting so calmly and peacefully in the night sky in stark contrast to the horrific events that are about to take place on the ground. this panel gives me literal chills, especially when I think about All for One’s creepy theme music playing in the background.

why I like it: this panel is so iconic to me that it’s one of the first ones I immediately knew I had to go and find when I got this ask. this entire fight is perfection from start to finish, and there are other panels that are more artistically striking if I’m being honest (in particular, the ones where he’s half-transformed with his face perfectly split down the middle between Muscle Might and Skinny Steve). but there’s just something about his determination in this panel, though. something about the fire in his eyes, and the way he clenches his fist. “my heart is still the heart of the Symbol of Peace.” I remember being sooooo fucking anxious when his true form was revealed, wondering if this was it, if the people watching were going to turn on him, if he was going to lose both the fight and their faith. turns out I was wrong on both accounts. basically what I am trying to tell you guys is that this panel was and is still the most badass thing I’ve ever seen.

why I like it: because he’s just a frail old man doing what he can to protect the last flickering embers of the thing that enables him to fight on. there’s something so fucking desperate and yet so determined about this image. he knows it’s futile, but still he persists.

why I like it: damn it was hard to find a “you’re next” panel with just the right angle I like best. this is probably as close as it gets, but I kind of wish Deku was somehow visible in this image as well. but at any rate this is an amazing moment, and All Might is dramatic af for basically no reason but IT’S BADASS. “no I’m not going to actually look where I’m pointing. it’s cooler this way.” or was it because he wasn’t sure if he could keep the emotion off of his face if he actually turned and looked? in this moment of knowing that it was finally over for him, that he would never be the Symbol again, and knowing that he had no choice but to move on and entrust that burden to the next generation? damn.

why I like it: I... fucking... okay, here’s a fun fact. did you know that I still get emotional over this panel almost a full two years after reading it?? obviously a good 84% of it is the context -- All Might losing his power; Deku being forced to take up the mantle before he feels ready; All Might feeling responsible for him; and both of them being so desperately grateful to have each other in that moment. but don’t underestimate that remaining 16% either though! this is just an extremely well-drawn hug, on top of everything else. All Might pressing Deku’s head to his shoulder with his fingers laced in his hair is some mighty fine fiercely protective hug tropes there, you guys. and the way Deku is clinging to his shirt so tightly his knuckles have probably gone white?? while he cries?? while both of them cry? ON THE BEACH? WITH THE WAVES LAPPING SOFTLY AT THE SHORE IN THE PEACEFUL NIGHT AIR?? jesus fucking christ. this hug contains more emotions than I am capable of carrying inside me at once. I just sort of have to let them flow in and out little by little until they finally subside.

why I like it: you bet I skipped right from Kamino straight to Deku VS Kacchan Part 2. no regrets. anyway, so these two panels are an absolutely gorgeous one-two punch. so much has changed from the days when they were innocent little kids marching off into the woods to have adventures. they’ve changed. their relationship has changed. and yet, at the end of the day, Izuku is still willing to follow Katsuki even without being given any kind of explanation. and Katsuki still seeks out Izuku when he’s on the verge of having a spectacular emotional breakdown. because he doesn’t know who else to turn to. and because despite everything, there is trust there still, on some deep, fundamental level neither of them fully understands or knows how to acknowledge. anyway, so these two panels just give me a ton of feels all about the passage of time and how everything changes and how you can’t get back what’s lost, but also sometimes if you look deep enough you find that parts of it were never fully gone.

why I like it: because in a striking display of dramatic main character energy, these boys decided to stage their life-changing destiny-affirming rival fight on the coolest possible stage in the middle of the goddamn night. and then Katsuki made it even better by producing WAY MORE SMOKE than his attack by all rights should have produced! and then they went and crouched down all symmetrically so as to more poetically make intense eye contact at each other. I really like panels with smoke and/or dust clearing dramatically. there are like four more of them coming up on this list. what can I say. it’s cinematic.

why I like it: I actually had this one as my icon for a while. it’s rare imo to see an action panel that’s so balanced and has so much going on and is so clean and easy to read. both of their poses are so dynamic. I like the way the arc of Izuku’s kick is drawn, and I love the way you can clearly see that Katsuki propelled himself backwards with his quirk in order to dodge it. it’s just a really cool little panel that for me perfectly sums up the general feel of this fight, and its awesome choreography.

why I like it: actually you know what, before I go any further, let me skip ahead a bit and add three more panels with this same energy.

I just really, really love these rare moments when all differences between them are momentarily forgotten and they’re just two teenage boys caught up in the intense pressure of an awkward social situation. the one enemy neither of them is the least bit equipped to handle. anyways Horikoshi clearly enjoys it too because he seems to delight in drawing it over and over and over.

why I like it: because it’s more billowing smoke and dust. because it’s Endeavor, the guy we all swore we would never ever root for, and then 160 chapters later Horikoshi pulls this shit without an ounce of shame. because it’s All Might’s pose, but tweaked juuuuuust enough so that Enji can avoid copyright claims. because he knew that pose well enough to know which arm not to use. because Endeavor is a profoundly flawed human being, wholly incapable of filling the void All Might left behind. and yet he still tries. because it’s better than nothing, and because it’s all he can do. it’s the one thing he can do, his sole redeeming virtue. he tries. he doesn’t give up. anyway so yeah, Horikoshi didn’t have to take the single most unlikable person in the entire manga and give him the world’s most controversial and openly scorned redemption arc. but he did! and I think it’s one of the best things about this entire manga.

why I like it: because nothing in BnHA is just black and white!! it’s messy and layered and complex, just like in the real world. Shouto despised his dad for almost his entire life. with good reason! Enji was abusive and selfish and treated his son more like a prized possession than a person. we as readers are fully aware of all of this, and we sympathize with Shouto 100%, and that’s completely by design. Horikoshi is well aware of this. so for him to still give us this little moment, where Shouto is so relieved that Enji survived that he drops to the floor and presses his face against his hands in this little prayer gesture -- whatever you think it might mean -- is just so fucking powerful, and again speaks to his commitment to refusing to let anything in this series be completely clear-cut and unambiguous. I love that the characterization of Shouto and Natsu hating their dad exists side by side with the equally authentic characterization of them being terrified that they’re about to watch him die. because those two things aren’t contradictory! sometimes that’s just how it is. anyway so this is a beautiful moment of nuance that instantly adds so much to this relationship with just a single panel.

why I like it: for once the symbolism is so obvious that even I can’t fail to miss it! Izuku’s face half in light and half in shadow as he thinks about the power bestowed on him. “All for One’s power.” anyway so in my mind Izuku having AFO could not be any more fucking foreshadowed if he was wearing a freaking t-shirt with the Musketeers saying on it and the background was peppered with little Sistine Chapel-esque images of AFO giving his quirk to his brother lmao. but regardless of how it does end up playing out, this is nicely done.

why I like it: I wasn’t sure whether I should include this image, given that I just made a whole separate post about it a few days ago. but I just really like it, okay. this is one of the all-time great entrances in the series. Bakugou being perched on that pole for absolutely no reason other than to add visual interest. Todoroki’s hair blowing dramatically in the wind. Katsuki’s frayed pant hems and characteristically asymmetrical facial expression. the fact that you just know both of them spent the ride home with their faces pressed to the windows of their taxi cab hoping desperately for an opportunity to break in their brand new licenses, and then lo and behold. that’s amazing you guys. it’s almost like you’re main characters or something.

why I like it: they did great.

why I like it: because I lost my fucking shit at this fucking reveal and can you even blame me?? we knew coming in how much trouble Endeavor and Hawks had dealing with just one of these Noumus, and then Horikoshi goes and divulges that the villains have at least A DOZEN MORE waiting on standby. including Hood right there in the foreground, which is a fantastic touch! this panel, for me, almost instantaneously established the League as a legitimate threat once again, and gave me the kind of spine-tingly evil vibes I hadn’t felt since the Kamino arc. and while the payoff might not quite have lived up to my expectations, the Mirko fight at least was more than worth it.

why I like it: BILLOWING SMOKE AND DUST CLOUDS. you just see this vast landscape of destruction that Tomura has oh-so-casually wrought, and this once-powerful enemy utterly defeated on his hands and knees bowing before him. and it’s just like, oh. Tomura just became a fucking king, didn’t he. he finally stepped up and became the main villain. really the main villain, not just an awkward fumbling NEET whose adopted dad is not-so-secretly pulling all the strings. he did this himself. he went out and conquered and Awakened and won himself a fucking army. and he’s just standing there so cool and casual in the aftermath of it all. and then he goes “oh wait, you guys have money right, that means you can buy us the good sushi.” yes, Tomura. yes.

why I like it: um because this panel is fucking amazing?? hello?? do I really need to explain this one. the detail is jaw-dropping. he’s got the little scars which are either from the head wound that caused his death, or from his Noumufication. his expression is fucking heartbreaking, and the transition from Kumo to Kuro is so subtle and seamless, and yet it distinctly is both of them. this panel is gorgeous and fucking haunting and almost made me gasp when I first saw it.

why I like it: the decision to have the night sky take up so much of the space in the panel was [chef kiss]. nothing says existential like the night sky on a cold winter’s night.

why I like it: this is the best panel in the entire fucking series.

why I like it: dude. showing his actual family holding onto him with their hands in the same spot as the severed fashion!hands was a stroke of genius in and of itself. but combining that with the emotional tension of them desperately trying to hold him back and protect him from AFO?? that’s just so fucking smooth it’s almost inhuman. just how much meaning can you cram into a single image?? sometimes I wonder just how far in advance Horikoshi plans these things.

why I like it: guess I’m just a big fat sucker for panels of Tomura calmly standing around in the ruins of his own senseless destruction. the sense of scale on this one is really great, too. and yet again, those dust clouds. gotta love it.

why I like it: because Tomura literally appears out of nowhere, like he’s ripping a hole through the fabric of time and space. it’s so fucking sudden and he looks evil as FUCK, and Deku and Kacchan are totally caught off-guard, and it is scary. this is one of those panels that made me say “holy shit” out loud. in fact I practically screamed it. and the angles are all funky and weird, and the sky is all BLACK FOR NO REASON, and it really just feels like Tomura could reach right over and just MURDER THEM like it was nothing. just like that. this panel is so incredibly effective at conveying how hopelessly outclassed the boys are. they’re not even in his league, and it’s honestly terrifying.

and on that happy note, we have come to the end of my list of favorite panels! and I gotta say, it’s really gratifying that a good deal of them are from this year alone. I said it in another post a few days ago, but imo the overall quality of the series has been insanely high as of late, and it honestly just blows my mind whenever I stop to think about it. the art is still this good six years into the game. the story is still this good. we are spoiled goddammit.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #all might #endeavor #todoroki shouto #shigaraki tomura #horikoshi kouhei #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #makeste reads bnha #asks #anon asks

87 notes · View notes

silver-embersss · 4 years ago

Text

Broken Horns and Broken Hearts Chapter 2

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10

Slowly, painfully, Tubbo cracked his eyes open, his entire head pounding like it was about to explode. The skin of his scalp felt too tight, and the pain peaked at two points on his temples.

The teen glanced around the mess that was spawn from where he laid on his front, cheek against the ground. It was then that he remembered, excitement and fear threatening to split his head wide open. He could have sworn he perma’d! But he survived?! Tubbo felt his mouth twitch into the beginnings of a smile - then the stress of being at war descended on him and his brain decided that, frankly, it’d much rather take a nap, and shut down rather abruptly.

When he awoke for the second time, he felt much better, the headache reduced to the occasional dull throb. The rest of him felt fine, signifying a successful respawn - so Tubbo headed off to L’Manburg, scratched communicator in hand as he read the message from Wilbur.

When he finally got there, the teen looked sadly at the ruins of L’Manburg, a small blackened van the only intact structure remaining - and even then it looked slightly patched in places. Tubbo stepped inside and was immediately engulfed in a hug.

“Tubbo!”

“Niki…!”

Fundy hugged him as well, tail swishing back and forth.

“We thought you were dead man! Like, deaddead!”

Tubbo chuckled dryly.

So did I, he thought.

“So where’s Tommy and Wilbur?”

The fox’s ears went down, and he couldn’t meet Tubbo’s eyes.

“They went to debate our terms of surrender…”

He mumbled.

Tubbo’s eyes went wide at that.

“We - He’s surrendering?!” But…”

Suddenly, everyone’s communicators buzzed in their pockets.

WilburSoot: Tommys having abow duel with dream!! Come quik!!!

All three glanced at each other before scrambling for the door. It wasn’t hard to see where the others were, and the revolutionists got there just in time to hear Wilbur finish his count.

“...Ten paces, fire!”

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

As they walked toward the bridge, Tommy looked up at Wilbur - at his calm, collected face, then back down to the bow in his hands. He took a deep breath.

“Do I shoot ‘im Will or do I aim for the skies?”

The president stopped, putting his hands on the teen’s shoulders and turning him so that they were face-to-face.

“Tommy, I want you to - I want you to do whatever your heart, says you should do.”

The blonde looked pensive for a moment, then his face hardened slightly and his eyes filled with determination.

His heart said he should shoot that green bastard in the chest.

Right?

---

“1...2...3...4…”

Dream pulled his mask down.

Tommy fit an arrow to his bow.

“5...6...7...8…”

Both held their bows ready, coming to full draw.

Tommy saw Tubbo, Fundy and Niki coming from L’Manburg, and felt thankful that Tubbo was alright.

His mind was clogged with guilt as he thought about what might happen when they turned around.

“9… 10 paces, fire!”

Two players spun around at his final word, two bows thrummed their deadly song, and two arrows whistled through the air.

But only one of them hit their mark, the other falling into the water at the side of the bridge, too far off to be accidental.

Only one of them sank to their knees, a sad expression on his face. The small crowd watched in shock - they were so sure he would win, he had to!

But he couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t.

TommyInnit was shot by Dream

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

Wilbur collected Tommy’s items, a sombre look on his face. When the teenager returned, he went straight to Dream and spoke a few words to him. They headed just out of sight behind a nearby building. Confused, Tubbo watched them walk away, only to come back a few minutes later. Dream was expressionless as always, while Tommy looked triumphant, but sad.

“I’ve done it, Will.”

He told Wilbur. He spoke quietly, his voice bleak and holding none of its usual emotion.

“I’ve secured our independence.”

He didn’t sound like someone who’d just won a war, but none of them could contain their excitement. All four of them whooped, hugging each other, dancing and grinning. Only Tommy stood by himself, his blank expression unchanging.

He was gone long before the other revolutionists started to make their way back to L’Manburg, singing the L’Manburg National Anthem at the top of their lungs. When they reached the singed battlements of the walls Tommy was already there, rebuilding them. Tubbo stopped there, watching him work.

“My L’Manburg, My L’Manburg… You coming, Tubbo?”

“Uh, yeah, in a minute...”

“Alright! Find Tommy, too!”

With that, Wilbur continued singing with the others, leaving Tommy and Tubbo alone.

Scraping his palm on the rough stone, the brunette clambered up to his friend, who was hacking away at a stubborn piece of blackstone.

“Tommy?”

They’d known each other since they were 5 years old and Wilbur found him in a box by the side of the road, just days after he found Tommy wandering around the forest outside Philza’s cottage. Whenever he was upset, the blonde would become quiet, easily missed, inconspicuous and emotionless - as opposed to his usual loud, centre-of-attention, emotional self. Even Tubbo had never seen Tommy cry, and he knew that the teen would just find something to do and do it, not stopping until he was forcefully dragged away.

“Tommy?”

Nothing. Not even a flinch.

It must be bad, if he can’t even hear me…

Taking ahold of his shoulder, Tubbo shook him - hard.

“Tommy!”

“Hm?”

“Tommy…”

“What is it, Tubbo.”

There was a slight hint of annoyance in his flat voice.

“What did you pay Dream?”

The teen looked slightly taken aback by the question, but he answered nonetheless.

“My discs. Both of them.” He mumbled resentfully.

Oh.

That was why he was upset! Tommy had worked so hard for those music discs, they meant everything to him! Tubbo hugged his friend hard, surprising both of them, but after a moment Tommy clutched him back anyway.

“Thank you…”

The two boys said it at the same time, eliciting giggles from the duo.

“Come on, let’s go back to the van. You’re the hero, after all! We should be celebrating!”

Tommy allowed himself to be dragged away from the walls, toward the cacophony of voices in the centre. Someone had produced fireworks out of nowhere, and the two boys watched, temporarily blinded, as red, white, and blue sparks exploded across the sky.

#mcyt big bang #mcyt big bang 2021 #dream smp fic #dsmp #dream smp #l'manburg #TommyInnit #Tubbo #Fundy #niki nihachu #my writing #Ember writes #philza #techno #technoblade #dadza #philza minecraft #sbi

8 notes · View notes

sondepoch · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 6

Written in the Stars (Lucifer x Angel!Reader)

Four thousand years is a long time. In the absence of your most cherished friend, it feels even longer. But when a certain student exchange program in the Devildom reunites you and Lucifer, things aren't the same. Because four thousand years of separation is a long time. And the love you once felt for Lucifer has changed into something different—something forbidden. But that might not even be your biggest problem, because with each passing day, your holy wings are turning blacker and blacker.

MASTERLIST

You're in your element.

All of you, really.

The demons love Solomon—well, "love." Most of them still avoid him, never really having taken the effort to look past the shadiness of his outward personality, but the few demons that have stuck around have been added to his collection of pacts, and they have iron-tight bonds with the sorcerer. You've never seen him so pleased.

And then there's Simeon: probably one of the most goodhearted angels even in the Celestial Realm, so blissfully kind that even the demons have grown used to him and his little antics. Of course, it absolutely helps that the angel is nowhere near as innocent as anyone expected, constantly keeping the demons on their toes, but they seem to consider that thrill an added bonus to his company.

Luke...well, Luke might be the one having the hardest time, if you're perfectly honest. He still gets teased by the lower demons for his youthful appearance, but once they grew to learn that he was more bark than bite, even they began to relax with the insults. By now, the angel boy is quite happy, with Beel readily available to taste whatever treats he produces, and Barbatos always equipped with a new "recipe he doesn't have time to make but would like to see made."

And of course, there's you.

Well, you always knew that R.A.D. would be a blast. Even if the lower demons hadn't grown to love you for your bubbly nature (a fresh change, they say), you had the entire House of Lamentation to keep you entertained. And not to mention the fact that you and Lucifer grew involved at the beginning of the year—that thought alone still sends a flutter of butterflies to your stomach.

But you can't think of Lucifer like that right now.

No, Lucifer is the enemy.

"MC, catch!" Luke exclaims, tossing two water balloons your way, which you somehow manage to grab without popping them on contact. "Everybody ready?"

You glance around at your teammates: the nine demons remaining alongside you, Simeon, Solomon, and Luke. Everybody has two water balloons in their hands, and your faces are all rock hard with the memory of your comrades who have fallen at the hands of the enemy team.

A firm frown fixes its way onto your face when you recall how Belphie and Beel had cornered you from the treetops earlier, and had almost released an entire bucket full of liquid onto your shoulders before you bribed your way out with promises of paying for dinner next time the three of you go to Ristorante Six.

"Alright, split into teams!" A demon shouts, and then you're at Solomon's side. The mage enchanted your body earlier with a weightlessness spell that makes it even easier to sprint around and evade balloons, and you're not about to leave his side after he already helped you out once. "And go!"

Wordlessly, you and the mage begin sprinting along the treeline, both of you harnessing the full strength of Solomon's enchantment to jump and land in the treetops, where you have the best view of what's going on below.

"What if someone else is in the trees?" You ask, making a long leap from one tree branch to the next. Your figure peaks out over the treeline every so often, but the giant oaks are so high up that you doubt anyone will see.

"Shouldn't be a problem. Demons don't like using spells to boost their bodies, and Diavolo said that shifting out of human forms will lead to an instant game-over for that person."

You nod, continuing the journey forward in silence.

The other demons may be taking this lightly, but for you (and the rest of your dormmates in Purgatory Hall), this is your only shot—and you all plan to win.

You briefly recall the assembly this morning from when Levi took the mic. At the time, you'd been shocked that the shut-in otaku was willingly giving a speech in front of the entire student body, but you quickly realized that this was a major source of his ego. At the end of every sentence, as Levi explained (probably for the thousandth time, since he remarked that this was an annual occurrence) the rules of the Water Wars, cheers would erupt from the entire student body.

It took a message from Lucifer to calm everyone down enough for you to actually learn the rules of the Water Wars, but they were simple enough.

There are only four rules.

Rule 1: No switching sides. Everyone is assigned to either the Southern Water Fortress or the Northern Water Fortress, based on which half of the campus their dorms are on. Friendly fire, even if accidental, is grounds for "Water death"—a fancy phrase Levi coined for being 'out,' but you're determined not to let it come to that.

Rule 2: No leaving the R.A.D. campus. Yep, for the annual Water Wars, Levi has clearance to use the entire R.A.D. (buildings included!), though the students who are more interested in playing will stay towards the center.

Rule 3: Participants must get one 'kill' every half hour. Evidently, the entire Water Wars game was framed in the image of an actual military war, so getting someone out counts as a kill, and being killed yourself really only means that you're out of the game. Rule 3 is what prevents students from hiding during the entire game, since it only lasts one day, and is enforced through an enchantment spell everyone was bound to at the start of the game.

Rule 4: Avoid killing. And now this is probably the only rule you actually have a problem with, since it only says "avoid" killing without explicitly prohibiting it, but Simeon reassured you that demons won't actually take it to heart.

But if Rules 1 through 3 attempt to create a semblance of order, the subtle openness of Rule 4 wrecks it all, perhaps the only reason why these Water Wars have begun to feel like actual war.

And Lucifer is the enemy.

It's nearing the end of the day, and both teams have suffered heavy losses. The enemy team is exclusively the remaining members of the House of Lamentation and some other odd demons, while your team's numbers are even fewer. But that's why you and Solomon are going straight to their base—to eliminate the brothers before they can eliminate you.

You glance at your wrist, where there's a timer that dictates how long ago your last kill was. Eighteen minutes.

"How much time is left for you?" You ask Solomon when the Southern Water Fortress becomes visible. It looks empty, almost completely abandoned, and the sight worries you.

"I need to make a kill within ten minutes," He mutters back, squinting at the ground in case any lingering demons are foolishly wandering around.

You don't bother.

This is the endgame, less than twenty people left on both teams after the eight-hundred that started the game, and no one who's lasted this long will be making careless mistakes.

"Ready?" You call to Solomon when the fortress grows close enough for the two of you to jump onto it. For a moment, you worry that his human body won't be able to take the force of the collision, before realizing that he's not stupid enough to allow something so trivial to kill him.

He nods.

The two of you jump, landing weightlessly in the heart of the enemy fortress not seconds later. Staying back to back, you slowly begin walking around until you realize that your earlier worries have indeed become reality.

"They abandoned their fortress."

"Damn," Solomon mutters, standing up straight after he realizes you're right. "Shit. Five minutes before Rule 3 gets me out."

"Same," You mutter worriedly, seeing that the timer has approached twenty-four minutes on your wrist.

But before either of you can further comment, an announcement from Diavolo interrupts you both, his figure lighting up the sky over the R.A.D. campus.

"Greetings, students!" He exclaims happily, arms crossed with a pleasant grin stretched across his face. "At this point, there are less than ten students remaining in Leviathan's annual Water Wars!" You hear a cheer go up, but you can't tell where it's coming from. "To keep with tradition, the formal betting will now begin! More interestingly, it is now exclusively exchange students versus demons, with three exchange students defending the Northern Team and seven demons remaining in the Southern Team!"

You and Solomon exchange wary looks.

Shit.

"In light of this turn of events, your host Leviathan has decided to refill both fortresses with holy water and hexed water! The rules of elimination have been altered: to eliminate an exchange student, you must tag them with hexed water; to eliminate a demon, you must tag them with holy water. That will be all! The next update will come in either one hour when this session of the annual Water Wars comes to a close or when there is a winner!"

Double shit.

"Um, won't holy water kill a demon if it touches them or something?" Solomon asks. "And won't the same thing happen with angels and hexed water?"

"Not quite," You murmur, grabbing Solomon's arm and using all your strength to jump up with the sorcerer, the enchantment carrying you high into the sky where you can already see a group of demons returning to refill their water balloons. The two of you float to the ground right in front of their fortress, realizing that you're in for an all-out battle. "It'll sting a lot, but that's about it. Levi is probably only doing it to make us scared so that we fight even harder."

"Alright…" Solomon trails off, nodding his head hesitantly. "So, what's our current plan for those demons heading straight for us?"

"The reason they're returning to their base is because they need hexed water to get us out, right? That means they can only tag us with normal water right now," You respond, grabbing your two sad-looking water balloons.

Solomon nods, grabbing your arm. "Ready?"

"Ready."

And then the two of you have jumped forward with all your strength, soaring over the demons and their looks of utter shock as you begin the return to the Northern Water Fortress.

***

You and Solomon had managed to reset your Rule 3 timers on your journey back, both of you dropping water balloons on an unsuspecting Mephistopheles. It hadn't counted as a kill, but it had worked to give the two of you an additional thirty minutes.

On your return journey, you'd been completely cautious, making every effort to avoid demons for the sake of your own protection.

It seems that Simeon, on the other hand, went all-out.

"I'm not sure how they got here before you did, but the Southern team attacked our fortress!" He exclaims with his usual pleasant smile, sliding you both water balloons filled with holy water. You would worry at his revelation, but he says it with such a calm demeanor that you can't help but be suspiciously at ease as well.

"How did you manage to evade them?" You ask, squishing a balloon experimentally.

"Evade?" Simeon asks, shaking his head with a smile. "Luke and I attacked them, of course! Though Luke sacrificed himself to take Beel out. The lower demons came in range of the water cannons, so I managed to get them out like that—but I actually had to venture out to fight the rest of the brothers." He shakes his head, frowning. "I was only able to get Mammon and Satan. Lucifer is still out there."

Who put this overpowered angel on defense? You can't help but wonder, realizing that he's successfully reduced the entire enemy team to one demon in a single attack.

"Simeon, you're amazing!" You exclaim, wrapping him in an excited hug. Before, your team was the underdog—but with only one demon on the other side, your chance at victory has never been higher!

"What about the rest of the brothers?" Solomon asks. "Levi, Asmo, Belphie—are they already out?"

"Levi couldn't play, since he's hosting the Water Wars. I think Asmo got out in the morning because he didn't want to play and risk ruining his face and Belphie…" You actually don't know about Belphie. "I'm guessing he fell asleep and also got out because of Rule 3."

"So that means…"

"Right."

There's only one enemy left.

"Alright," You say, crossing your arms. "Then let's make a plan."

In the end, it's really Simeon who makes the entire plan while you and Solomon stare at him in awe, wondering whether he was a battle commander in a past life. The angel's reasoning is perfect, and he thinks of everything: a counterstrategy, four different what-if scenarios, and a plan to throw Lucifer off-guard. And it absolutely helps that he still remembers everything about the fallen Morningstar, using his current knowledge of the demon to even pinpoint where Lucifer must be right now.

And, from your position in the treetops, it seems that Simeon was right.

You wave at the angel subtly, keeping movement minimal to not draw attention. He's hundreds of meters away, but you can still make out the subtle nod he gives you and Solomon, all three of you now in-position for the plan.

As expected, Lucifer is standing in the middle of an open field, arms crossed, with a bucket of water balloons next to him. His pride won't allow him to seek out the enemy on their terms, so he's forced the three of you to come to him, and now he waits. You know all too well that he's waiting for a single one of you to make a sound, so that he can pinpoint your location and throw a balloon filled with hexed water your way to knock you out. But you won't give him that chance. You bend your knees, hands firm around the two water balloons in your palms.

Ready, you mouth to Simeon. Solomon must do the exact same thing, because in seconds, the angel is moving—your own cue to begin the assault.

Simeon stays low on the ground, zig-zagging his way toward Lucifer as the demon pauses and aims, focusing on the angel while Solomon makes his own lunging jump forward with three haphazard balloon tosses.

Lucifer manages to dodge all three, barely taking a second to grab a balloon and knock Solomon out with it—the impact of the collision dropping Solomon's body to the ground, and you can't help but wince—before he's back to focusing on Simeon.

With the demon's brief shift off balance, you recognize your cue to make your jump out of the treetops, soaring over Lucifer while Simeon draws ever closer, and—

Oh no.

You can feel the precise movement when Solomon's enchantment wears off, likely caused by the sorcerer's sudden unconsciousness, and Simeon pauses for a moment to glance worriedly up at your flailing form. You've already jumped, but your body is no longer weightless, and you're charging headfirst at Lucifer with gravity pulling you down all the way.

Sensing Simeon's hesitation, the firstborn demon wastes no time in delivering a swift throw straight to Simeon's chest, the added sting of the hexed water crumpling Simeon to the ground in a hiss.

Still flying through the air, you decide that it's too late to turn back, so you do your best to take aim and throw your balloons at Lucifer, now approaching him directly overhead. Powered by your strength, the balloon cuts through the air faster than you, and it makes a streaming sound as if approaches Lucifer overhead, and it's so close to hitting him, just another hundred feet and he'll be out, and you're so close and—

Damn it.

Hearing the sound, Lucifer looks up, only briefly stunned by the fact that it must look like you're falling out of the sky armed with water balloons. His eyes widen, realizing that both his hands are empty, and then he comes up with perhaps the most frustrating solution he could possibly think of: throwing the entire bucket of hexed water balloons up at you, the pink and purple and yellow balloons soaring up into the air at top speed.

When they collide with the two balloons from your own throw, the sudden stop after such overwhelming speed is nothing short of chaos.

Seven hells.

The balloons collide in a deafening pop! that sprinkles holy water and hexed water everywhere in a mini-explosion: onto you, onto Lucifer, and every inch of space in between.

Your body streams through the suspended water particles in the air, and you hiss at the sensation of hexed water. On the ground, Lucifer is wincing with the same pain, feeling holy water sizzle on his skin—but really, that should be the least of either of your problems because your jump was extremely well-aimed and any second now gravity is going to your body all the way and you're going to collide with Lucifer and—

Goddammit—really, can you catch a break?

The two of you groan in pain, skin hurting from the holy and hexed water, bodies aching from you literally crashing into Lucifer from almost a thousand feet up in the air.

"Are—are you okay?" You manage to ask him, wincing as you try to stand up, only collapse onto his chest again.

"All...good…" He mutters, groaning. "And you?"

"S-same," You manage to stutter, holding your head.

And then you both black out.

***

Today's dinner is served in the House of Lamentation, with the food prepared by Luke and Beel.

At the beginning of the school year, you would all eat in your own dorms, separate from one another. But by the end of the second week of school, there was no point to it. You would always be texting the brothers on a group chat, Solomon would always be video calling Asmo, and it got to the point where even Luke, with his self-proclaimed hatred of demons, was texting Beel on his D.D.D.

Simeon and Lucifer got together and agreed that, to cut down on everyone's phone usage at the dinner table, your dorms would begin eating dinner together once a week. And then it turned into twice a week. Soon, thrice a week. And then it was every other day, and now the only time you guys don't eat together is on weekends.

But today, there's a competitive edge in the air, all of you having come fresh from the Water Wars. (Well, others did. You, Lucifer, Simeon, and Solomon were all temporarily stored in the infirmary until you regained consciousness.)

"Oh please, Asmo." Solomon crosses his arms, tapping his fork on his plate while Beel brings the dishes from the kitchen over. "You were out in the first half hour, there's no reason for you to act all cocky."

"Excuse me!" Asmo gasps dramatically, crossing his arms. "What if someone threw something at my face?! I know you're okay with being knocked out, but I have to look perfect all the time. You could never understand, Solomon."

"Alright," You interrupt, leaning back in your chair. "But I'm sure we all know that our team actually won, right? Lucifer totally lost to me."

"Those are bold claims, MC." Lucifer regards you with a smirk. "If I recall, I wasn't the one who was completely soaked to the bone afterward. Look, your hair is still wet."

"Shut it, Luci." You scowl. "The only reason it even counted as a tie was because gravity did all your work for you when I fell through the water. How did that feel, hm? To know that, if not for the Devildom's natural forces, then you would have lost?"

"Wasn't it you who came crashing into me, though? You needed me to break your fall. Are all your plans so thoughtless?"

"Only because Solomon's enchantment spell wore off!"

"And you didn't think of that as a possibility? Tsk, how disappointing."

"Hey!" You protest, crossing your arms. Lucifer still wears that devilish smile, daring you to continue. And you absolutely would, if not for Simeon.

"Now, now. No need to be upset, little lamb." Simeon pats your head, frowning slightly at the dampness before his lips curve upward once more. "We all know he's simply jealous because he knows we were the rightful winners."

"Simeon!"

A wave of laughter rises from the table as you continue to taunt each other, only finding eventual peace when Luke brings out the last of the food. You mindlessly take spoonfuls of whatever looks good, your plate a mixed assortment of Celestial and Devildom food. It took two months to get to this point, but you've finally grown used to the local cuisine.

Everyone seems extra talkative today, the excitement of the earlier events still not worn off. Levi chatters animatedly about everything that happened, regaling you with all the details you weren't able to see in person.

"Still, though. I can't believe no one thought to dry you off," Simeon tuts disapprovingly, a frown present on his face. "I hope you don't fall sick, little lamb."

"Oh, right!" Mammon exclaims, glancing at you. "I forgot that angels fall sick so easily. How ya doin', MC? All good there?"

"I feel fine," You say, stretching. "I think falling onto Lucifer was worse. He's not comfortable."

But as if on cue, you suddenly cough, a shiver following soon after.

Simeon sighs, his frown deepening.

The rest of dinner passes by quickly, but no one's in a rush to leave. As with tradition, the Water Wars took place on the third Friday of the second month of school, and no one has any plans for the evening.

The eleven of you end up spaced out over various couches (with Belphie napping on the floor) in the common room, chatting aimlessly about all the projects you have coming up. As usual, Mammon keeps trying to convince you all to play card games—and thus, to gamble on them—but Lucifer shuts him down quick enough.

Another violent cough is ripped from your throat, the room going silent at your momentary struggle.

"Little lamb?" Simeon questions, concern present on his face. "Are you sure you're alright? You know that this is how all our illnesses start, and I don't want—"

Another coughing fit comes from you, only stopping when Simeon moves forward to rest his hand on your back. "Little lamb?" He repeats, voice gentle.

"I, um…" You place your hand over your chest, where it still tingles from all your coughing. "I don't feel too good."

Simeon brings a hand to your forehead, and when he steps back, his frown is even deeper. He turns around, glancing at the brothers. "I'm going to take her back. Her forehead isn't incredibly hot, but it's warmer than usual."

But Lucifer shakes his head. "You know how cold Devildom nights get, Simeon. The journey back will only make things worse." He glances at you, worry written into his features. "It may be best if she spends the night here."

Simeon looks hesitant about the idea, still incredibly aware that the exchange students dorm separate from demons for a reason, but when he sees you shiver, he relents.

"I'll fetch her things," He says, unclasping his Celestial cloak in favor of using it to cover your body as a blanket. "Solomon, Luke, let's go."

"I'll come, too!" Asmo exclaims, jumping up as soon as his eyes settle on Simeon's bare shoulders. An amused smile dawns on the angel's face at the realization, but he humors the fifth-born and allows Asmo to tag along as he ushers the rest of the residents of Purgatory Hall out, Asmo practically clinging to his arm the whole time.

When they're gone, the air in the room changes.

"Are you alright?" Lucifer asks, moving to sit next to you on the couch. His lips ghost over your forehead, earning a small groan of protest from Mammon at the PDA. Even you're surprised at it—given that Lucifer has never liked showing affection so openly, even when it's as small as this—but when you look into his eyes, you see genuine worry.

"I'm fine," You respond, laughing a little. "Don't kiss me, or you'll fall sick, too."

"Demons don't fall sick as easily as angels," Satan comments from the other side of the room, leaving to give you some privacy. The other brothers soon follow suit.

Lucifer watches them leave, waiting until they're all gone before he pulls you into his lap, pressing his forehead to yours. "Excited to spend the night here?"

You laugh lightly, leaning into his warmth. Even with Simeon's thick cloak wrapped around your shoulders, you feel undeniably cold, and you shiver in the demon's arms.

"Still cold?" Lucifer asks. You nod, and he lifts you. (You have to stop yourself from gasping when you realize that he's carrying not only your body weight, but the weight of your Celestial cloak, plus the weight of Simeon's even-heavier cloak.) "We have a guest room in the House of Lamentation, so I'll set you up for the night in there."

"I can walk," You say, pouting lightly as he carries you up the stairs, but Lucifer ignores all your protests.

"You're sick," He justifies, entering a room you've never seen and setting you down on the bed. He goes as far as to tuck you into the covers, batting your hands away when you try to do it yourself. "Rest and sleep is the best remedy for a common illness like this. If we were in the Celestial Realm, I'd get you some medicine, but…"

"Luci," You reach your hand out of the blankets, slipping it into Lucifer's. "Don't stress. I'm fine."

You hold back another round of coughs, but not for long, and in half a minute, you're in a seated position once more, coughing into oblivion with no signs of stopping.

"Shower? Do you think a shower will help?" He asks as he helps you lie down, his eyebrows furrowed. "Or do you want warm water? I can get you some more blankets, too, but if you want some—"

"Lucifer," You interrupt, silencing him with a hand. "I'll be fine by tomorrow morning, really. I'm not as sick as you think."

But he's far from convinced.

"Fine, do you really want to know what might help me right now?" He nods, crossing his arms, ready to travel to the ends of hell to get you whatever you say you desire. "You. Come and lie next to me."

You tug him into bed, giving him no chance to retaliate as you snuggle into his side.

"Simeon will be returning…" He begins, hesitant.

"Shush," You say.

You close your eyes, forgetting how cold you are when Lucifer silently wraps his arms around you, keeping an ear open for the sound of a message on his D.D.D. or any approaching footsteps. But the only thing you register is the soft sensation of his hands as they go up to stroke your hair, and the feather-light kiss he lays against your forehead.

"Get well quickly," He murmurs softly, pressing his lips against yours as if he knows that you're already drifting off, and the action is more than enough to keep all bad thoughts away from your dreams as you're pulled into a deep slumber.

***

Simeon didn't leave your side the entire night.

Angels certainly fall sick more often than demons, but it's still unpleasant whenever it happens—and the last time Simeon had seen you shiver this violently was six centuries ago.

He frowns as another gasping cough tears its way through your lungs, your frame curled into itself as you try to stop the sickness from progressing, and a wave of sympathy washes over Simeon's heart.

Being sick is never pleasant.

But it seems that he's not the only one concerned for your well-being.

"You don't need to watch her from all the way over there," The angel calls, not bothering to turn around and face the demon standing at the door. "Come inside, Lucifer."

Simeon hears the firstborn hesitate before he finally accepts the request, quietly walking over to the other side of the bed.

"How is she?" Lucifer asks, raising a hand to your hair, brushing the loose tresses out of your face. You flinch at the contact, but your body leans in to the additional source of warmth soon enough.

"Worse. She began shivering around midnight. I think her fever started up two hours later. It broke for a while in between, but…"

"It's back."

Simeon nods, tightening his grip on your fingers as he holds your hand, thumb brushing over the knuckles as you sleep. He glances upward, trying to catch Lucifer's eyes, but the darkness is too overpowering. The moonlight falls into the room at the perfect angle, illuminating your body but neither the angel nor the demon, the two men as hidden from each other as their thoughts.

He watches with bated breath as Lucifer's hand trails from your hair to your cheek, gently stroking the skin in soothing circles, just how Simeon had done an hour ago.

"She's beautiful," Simeon comments, more to fill the silence than anything.

"She is," Comes Lucifer's response, a confirmation, but it's something more than that. It's an affirmation, a silent you're right, and you've done well that comes from the guardian of old to the guardian of new.

And then the angel doesn't bother saying anything else, because the silence that wraps around Simeon and Lucifer isn't a veil of awkwardness or edge, but one of serenity. Their faces are tranquil as they watch over your figure, at peace as they bask in the quiet knowledge that the bond they share—two guardians, past and present, connected through you—is something that words can never convey. Their bond goes deeper than brothers, deeper than the love they have for one another and deeper than any materialistic birthright that could bind them together: no, they are bound to each other by their love for you, pure as an angel in Simeon's case, passionate as a demon in Lucifer's.

The demon bends low against the bed, cupping your jaw gently with his hand to lay a chaste kiss against your forehead. It looks innocent, sweet; but Simeon knows the truth.

As Lucifer's lips ghost over you, you begin to stir in the slightest, eyes fluttering open as you look up for the first time since falling asleep. "Luci?" You ask, though it's more of a quiet mumble than anything.

"I'm here," He mumbles, leaning back. "Go back to sleep, MC. Save your strength."

But you don't heed his words, tugging insistently on his sleeve before he can draw your hand away. Your eyes are clouded with drowsiness, but your request is clear: "Come closer, Luci. Lie down with me."

There's a moment of silence, one where Simeon presumes the demon is raising his eyebrows in shock at the boldness of your request, before he lowers his head. The moonlight catches his eyes just the slightest, and Simeon can make out the question in his gaze—the silent May I? that Lucifer is requesting.

Simeon smiles. "Go ahead."

Lucifer is stiff as he shifts onto the bed, your body embracing him instantly with no regard for Simeon next to you in your compromised state. Your chest is soon rising and falling in a calm rhythm once more, arms wrapped tight around Lucifer's waist as you press into his warmth, but the demon is more preoccupied with Simeon than anything else. Now, in the moonlight, Lucifer's face is completely bare—the angel is the one who is concealed.

"Simeon, I—"

"You don't need to pretend," Simeon cuts him off, a soft smile present on his lips. "I already know, Lucifer."

"You...know?" Lucifer asks, voice incredulous.

Simeon can't help but laugh a little at that, the sound soft as it leaves his lips. He smiles, even though he knows that Lucifer can't see it in the darkness. "Being her guardian for four thousand years has taught me how to read MC well. She hides the truth with her lips, but not her actions. Even Solomon has figured it out."

For a moment, Lucifer is left speechless, evidently not having expected this of all things. And then, Simeon feels guilty for having his face hidden by the darkness and he sits on the bed, facing Lucifer where they can both have an honest conversation illuminated by moonlight.

"How long?" Lucifer asks, relaxing the slightest when he sees the kindness in Simeon's smile. "How long have you known?"

"As long as this has been going on, I suppose." Simeon taps his chin. "Though I only grew confident in my deduction that night before school started, when you called and covered for her."

Lucifer nods, remembering the night well.

And now, it's Simeon's turn for a question.

"Do you love her the way she loves you?" He asks, though he suspects he knows the answer.

"No," Lucifer murmurs, looking down at you fondly. "I love her more."

"I'm sure she would say the same thing."

"I don't think it's possible to love anyone the way I love her," Lucifer responds, raising his eyes back up to Simeon's. For once, the angel realizes that Lucifer isn't trying to hide any of his emotions behind his wall of pride, and everything is evident on his face: the love he harbors for you, the adoration, the inexplicable infatuation that nothing seems to surpass. "A part of me suspected that you knew," Lucifer comments, twirling a strand of hair between his fingers. "MC told me that you never asked questions, so that meant that you either hadn't noticed anything at all or you were consciously letting us be. And you've always been…" The edges of Lucifer's lips curl upward. "Observant."

"I wanted her to tell me when she felt ready," Simeon whispers. It's the truth—he knows that if he were to ask you an outright question, you wouldn't lie to him. "And I wanted to give her the option of keeping the secret. I can't imagine this relationship…"

"You can't imagine it has a happy ending."

Simeon nods quietly, dropping his gaze.

He knew from the start that this would happen. When you begged the High Seraphs to send you to the Devildom for Diavolo's exchange program, your heart only thought of Lucifer platonically—but that was before the element of temptation had been introduced in your relationship. When you used to both be two holy beings, proud and pure, it was unsurprising that only a friendship blossomed between you two. But when Lucifer's wings turned black, his nature changed as well, and four thousand years had only furthered your subconscious desires for the man.

And the High Seraphs knew it, too.

Part of Simeon's role as your guardian was to save you from temptation, to keep you walking the holy path and to halt any potential relationship between you and Lucifer. But he had never sworn it. And so when he saw the light in your eyes as you talked about the demon, he knew that he would not pry you away from the man who made you so happy.

Because he knew that in the end, the two of you would be separated regardless. So why not allow you the mercy of happiness in between?

"That night she left Purgatory Hall crying. It was two months ago, but I'm certain you remember. That night, she went to you. Tell me, Lucifer." Simeon's eyes darken, an occurrence rarer than a blue moon, but Lucifer doesn't flinch as their eyes meet. "Were you the cause for her tears that night?"

There's a moment of silence between the two, Simeon's protective instincts over you colliding with Lucifer's natural urges to shield you away, but Lucifer finally speaks.

"You are asking if I hurt her, correct?"

A nod.

"I did not." Lucifer casts his eyes away. "But I was inadvertently the reason she was crying."

A spark of curiosity lights Simeon's eyes for a moment, but it's gone as soon as it arrives. He does not seek forth anything beyond what is necessary, and the temptation for answers is one that cannot influence him. "Very well," He says, lips curved upward. "If you have not hurt her, then the two of you have my blessing."

Lucifer smiles.

The look in his eye is amused, and Simeon understands the reason for it. A relationship blessed by an angel is fated to succeed, it is said. Neither of the two know if this is truth or merely a myth cultivated from the heavens above, but both want to believe in it.

"Blessing a relationship that is doomed to fail," Lucifer mutters. "You have always had a strange sense of humor, Simeon."

"I have still yet to see a failed union that was blessed by an angel. Who knows? Perhaps, there will be happiness for you both in this."

"Perhaps," Lucifer responds.

The two of them remain in silence for the rest of the night, all things that needed to be said having been said. They only speak again to soothe you in hushed whispers when your figure begins to tremble particularly violently, or your cough grows especially bad. By the time the sun has begun to rise, you've broken out into a cold sweat, your entire body shaking as you try, in vain, to get warm.

"Are you leaving?" Lucifer asks when Simeon finally gets up, surprise written onto his features.

"Not quite. The High Seraphs gave me some medicine to use in case of an emergency...I know that a common cold such as this hardly constitutes as an emergency, but I'll deal with them later if I need to fetch more."

Lucifer nods, bidding Simeon farewell while the angel promises to return with Solomon and Luke, hoping that by the time he can bring you medicine, you'll be woken and eager to see your friends.

"Go," The demon says when Simeon hesitates. Only a final promise actually convinces the angel to depart: "I won't leave her side until you return."

***

As expected, mornings in the House of Lamentation are chaotic. Add all the residents of Purgatory Hall into the mix, and the house can hardly go a full ten minutes without a shout or the sound of something breaking.

Thankfully, both the parental figures of the dorms are locked by your side, tending to you while the brothers (and Luke and Solomon) pop in and out of the room.

"How long does the medicine take to work?" Lucifer asks impatiently, crossing his arms as he stares down at you. Simeon administered the aid over half an hour ago, but you've yet to show any signs of getting better. If anything, you've gotten worse.

"Relax," Simeon comments, amused at his friend's impatience. "It should kick in any second now. We'll know when it's working."

"How?" Lucifer asks, tapping his foot on the floor.

"Goodness, Lucifer," Simeon tuts disapprovingly. "Have you no recollection of how Celestial medicines work? We know it's kicked in when her angel form materializes. The natural boost to her magical power will force whatever toxins are causing this illness out of her system, and—"

"Her angel form will materialize?" Lucifer asks, with an intensity that Simeon doesn't understand.

"Yes. And then we'll begin to see symptoms of—oh look, it's already begun!"

Simeon watches with a pleasant smile as he recognizes the familiar light overtake your body, observing as you transform from human to angel. He hums approvingly, noting that it's been quite some time since he's actually seen you in this form.

And then the light fades.

Simeon's smile drops.

"Little lamb?" He whispers, eyes round in confusion. It quickly fades into horror, and then fear. This can't be right. His eyes are failing him, surely. How can it be possible that your wings, so pure and white and precious, have turned black?

The angel glances up at Lucifer, desperate for answers, for solace, for help, but the sympathy in the demon's eyes stops Simeon completely.

Lucifer knew.

There's another moment of confusion: a second of agony where Simeon simply doesn't understand why you would keep something so important from him but would tell someone else, why you would hide a change that must have torn your heart apart, why you would act like nothing is wrong when something clearly is.

And then the pain clears, and there's a flash of understanding where the truth dawns upon him. Not just the reasoning for your blackened wings, but truly everything. Why you never told him about your wings. Why you hid your relationship with Lucifer. Why you thought you could protect him if he never found out.

The two men glance at each other, eyes communicating more than words can ever say as they mutually vow to protect even this secret.

But then the sound of footsteps—the sound that they've both heard over ten times in the past hour alone—draws nearer once again, and they realize that while they can protect your secret, the moment the other residents of Purgatory Hall find out, it's over.

The door! Simeon's eyes seem to shout. But neither the angel nor the demon can move as they stand frozen at the sound of the footsteps drawing nearer. It roots them to the spot, freezing them like an enchantment stronger than anything they've ever experienced.

"Hey, guys!" The familiar voice of Luke calls out, drawing closer and closer. Simeon wills his legs to move, his mouth to say something, but his body isn't his own anymore. "Breakfast is ready!"

And then Luke is in the room.

Simeon doesn't think he'll ever forget the deafening silence of this moment, as the secret of your blackened wings that you've tried so desperately to keep hidden comes unraveled.

Because in one second, Luke is screaming at the sight, flinching at your impurity, and calling Michael's name at the top of his lungs, summoning the archangel in what he doubtlessly thinks is the right thing to do.

We failed her, Simeon and Lucifer seem to say to each other as they maintain eye contact, unmoving despite the sudden chaos that has gripped the room. They don't move, nor do they speak, nor do they flinch when the holy light of Michael's spirit materializes next to them, the rest of the brothers soon following suit.

I'm sorry.

The words are meant for you, a quiet beg for forgiveness that Simeon couldn't protect your secret. Would it have been different if he had known the truth from the start?

It matters not. I have failed her.

The angel's turmoil is written in his eyes, in his furrowed brow, in his slumped shoulders. But as the world around him continues to move in slow motion, he closes his eyes, sending a quiet prayer to God that this situation may somehow be salvaged.

Though in his heart, Simeon already knows that all is lost.

MASTERLIST

Word count: 7.1k

Notes: Posting this really late at night because today was wild :( Also i took a nap in the afternoon and i am like 90% sure that it was just a graphic sex dream (straight up porn, but like mild plot) which is extremely interesting because i am not a horny person and he’s the last brother i would expect to dream about but maybe its a sign that i should give him sum attention

Comment & Like

Next Update: 6/9/20

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

162 notes · View notes

capricornus-rex · 4 years ago

Text

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (15)

Chapter 15: Ahead of the Competition | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Requested by Anon

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

Requesting to be tagged: @heavenly1927

Also in AO3

Chapters: Prelude – 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 – 10 – 11 – 12 – 13 | Previous: Part 14 | Next: Part 16 | Masterlist

16 of ?

Irele landed on the receiving platform of the base installed among the mountains, not far from the tomb’s entrance courtyard. Her entrance had interrupted the conversation between an Inquisitor—whose back turned to Irele—and a Purge Trooper Commander of Irele’s unit. The girl’s presence compelled the Inquisitor to drift from their chat and turn around.

“Ah, I figured you’d be here,”

“Pleasant surprise, Second Sister,” Irele dryly welcomed.

The Second Sister was one of the most uncontested Inquisitors among the organization. Her prowess for combat and her stratagem for war tactics were unmatched, as well as her penchant with tech—which she was more secretive of than her other attributes. However, despite all this recognition, one thing she loathed about Irele was her own prestige with the higher ups: Lord Vader, namely, and perhaps extending to the Emperor—who was expressively keen in cultivating the Sith ways into the young girl as soon as she was extracted from Tatooine.

The older Inquisitor envied the girl over the privileges and favor that she’s so oblivious of, interpreting it as some kind of unjust immunity—although Irele doesn’t feel that way, she feels she’s just as expendable as the Inquisitors. She had ingrained the idea that one slip-up could spell her extermination from Vader, no less, thus her entire being in full survival mode—with the help of her competitive spirit keeping it in check.

Irele sensed hostility from the Second Sister, so she kept her distance as they spoke.

“Ran out of planets to search?”

Her instincts were roaring at her, telling her that Second Sister has come for the Jedi, most likely. But it was basically an unspoken race to see who catches the prey first—and Irele never liked competition. If she was forced into one, she must prevail in any way she can.

“Actually… this planet, specifically, piqued me. I know about the relics hidden in here and I don’t doubt that a Holocron—or something equal to it—might work to my advantage.”

“This island is basically an idyllic mausoleum. Watch your step though, the last one in command here died trying to hide her stash.”

Second Sister stepped closer to Irele to the point that they’re at each other’s noses. Irele glowered calmly at the Inquisitor while her words hissed through her bared teeth, “I’m not that stupid.”

She didn’t walk out the conversation without bumping Irele hardly against the chest to the point that the girl wobbled where she stood.

“What did I ever do to you—and the others—to be acting like some kind of angst-ridden teenager?”

The Inquisitor froze and slowly half-turned so Irele can see at least her face.

“Don’t go humble on me just because you’re better than anyone among us Inquisitors,”

Irele bobbed her head back, expressing an exaggerated sigh as she hugged herself with crossed arms over her chest, “Poor you. I’m just disposable as you guys are.”

“Liar!” Second Sister hissed, this time directly facing Irele front and center, and even went so far as stepping forward to her; but of course, the other girl was left unfazed and secretly pitied Trilla.

That’s how they really think of me, huh?

“I didn’t come here only for you to walk in and step up. I will get that Jedi and the Holocron—and those will maybe win me the Emperor’s favor!”

Irele doesn’t react to that declaration. She watches the Second Sister walk away angrily and slam the button on the control terminal that summons the elevator. Before the heavy doors would open to reveal the lift, Irele had one more thing to say.

“Remember this, Trilla: the fantasy you think I have is no reality of mine.”

Trilla’s jaw clenched and disappeared as the elevator sank.

–

Returning to the tomb, Irele found that the golden elevator has not returned to the starting point of the shaft, and so she had to make herself resourceful. Nevertheless, she took the path to the chamber, peeked over the edge and calculated her jump. It didn’t take much effort, she descended as gracefully as she did when she first faced Cal.

She landed atop the golden sphere sitting on the concave at the center of the elevator. The scent of aging metal intruded her nose that she cringed—and maybe even sneezed. She then examined this massive, ancient elevator; she dared come up and touch the rails to feel the cold smoothness of the gold, she looked closer and found they were shaped like the corals by the windows of the lower levels of Fortress Inquisitorius in Nur. She spotted a crack on the bottom part of the ornate wall, she crouched to take a closer look—this portion had grown brittle over the millennia, but it’s as though someone deliberately broke it off. She needn’t to think who did it.

She crawled through the hole and ended up in an antechamber. Irele made her way down using the platforms that looked like tiered steps; when she it to the ground, she heard a noise like two rough stones scratching against one another. She looked and saw the bronzium statue come alive!

Immediately whipping out her saber, one flick of her wrist loosened the center of the weapon—practically splitting it into two. Remembering her training back in the dojo, she was taught that her surroundings, the environment, can be used to her advantage. And so she did.

The tomb guardian raised its arms in mid-air, then its blue linings started to glow brightly and, even though it looked pretty, it wasn’t a good sign. Irele leaped up to the nearest stone platform on her left and watched the tomb guardian release a rod of blue energy out of the sphere in its chest.

“Okay, it’s got laser beams!” Irele points out.

Knowing that those beams are too powerful to be deflected using the lightsaber, she has to make use of whatever’s around her. Being small and nimble compared to the walking tower that is the tomb guardian, Irele favored the high ground: taking shelter on the platforms whenever the statue would emit its powerful energy beams and then returning to ground level.

She was starting to feel just how impenetrable the guardian’s metal shell is with her blows, but that didn’t deter her from ridding herself of this nuisance. Overwhelming the mute sentient with her lightsaber, she performed every trick in her list—which she thought was good practice—and ranged from single-bladed attacks, to duel-wielding, and saberstaff.

“I’m barely denting the thing!” she gasped, and then her eyes wandered in the antechamber.

The odd, large sphere might do something, and so she thought of how to exploit them; in a last-minute attempt, Irele lifted one—but in a struggle—and swung it towards the tomb guardian that was menacing marching towards her, its hand positioning into what ought to be a choke-hold—but Irele was too busy to notice that it was a first spinning in place, gaining momentum into a deathly punch instead.

“HA!” her own amused her—mostly because of the noise that the stone sphere and metal man produced. With the guardian disoriented, she gave it several swings; going as far as walking on the wall with great agility only to pivot and split the guardian open from its back.

At the last limbs of its life, Irele delivered the killing blow—a molten gash spitting sparks on every side on the bronzium tomb guardian’s back; three or five seconds silence rang across the antechamber, only the wind made noise with the hollow gong dangling on the beams, the mute metal sentinel was a fallen tree, the dust and sand of the ruins blanketed it in beige clouds. Upon its collapse, the ground shook under Irele’s feet and then the silence that played the gongs returned.

Irele can finally take a look around the antechamber without any interference. She heard the distant roaring of an animal she can’t identify, neither does she want to, and continued on. There were so many secrets hiding on each side of the walls, she doesn’t know where to begin.

Finally alone, only now did she notice that gigantic spheres were placed strategically on certain spots, a tall wall had been obliterated—possibly by the same object—and was positioned to the shallow, bowl-like sockets on the ground. Irele then approached the passages at the far corners of the room, the kind that ones is most likely to miss out—if one doesn’t know how to look—and didn’t find anything interesting, she only circled back to the main foyer.

“I know there’s something…” she sighed in chagrin. “Something I’m missing.��

Roaming through the first phase of the tomb, she either finds herself back to where she began or into another room but with less and less clues to pick up Cal’s trail. Her only trade-off is that she’s giving herself a history lesson, except there is no teacher to tell her.

Irele, as adventurous as she always has been, found herself twenty feet above the ground after scaling the walls and ending up on high ledges. At the other end, she found a gold light spilling through a hole in the wall and followed it. A golden sheen coated her brown irises, beige sand and aging gold had melded in color; her eyes fixed on the glass center of the floor and saw the sarcophagus underneath it. She descended from her perch and found that another tomb guardian had been felled; the odd one out in this empty yet grand-looking chamber was the wall on her left. It was not stone neither was it corroded gold; she approached it and determined it was tree bark, though she cannot say what kind.

“This bark doesn’t belong in this planet…” she deduced.

Irele hurriedly patted her pockets for her comlink and contacted HY-L33 with an urgency.

“Lady Irele, I’ve uploaded a brief data file on the scan sampling of the tree bark you sent,” the droid spoke over the radio.

“Kashyyyk,” the only thing she reads out from HY-L33’s scan file. “He went to Kashyyyk.”

At that moment, she had imposed contemplation on herself. For one, she could go back to the Anathema and fly to Kashyyyk; but a latter choice is more personal, and the thought of it is enticing, but it risks her directive and the expectations set upon her.

“What have I got to lose?” she whispered to herself and she looked for her way out of the tomb.

Once she got back to the outer plaza, inhaling in fresh air as if she’s been holding her breath underwater, she hopped back into her TIE and fiddled with the navigation computer. Her fingers hovered on the keypad, reluctant to type in the coordinates, until she worked up the nerve a minute or two later.

R-16.

As the TIE ascended from the ground, Irele tweaked her radio channel to a secure encrypted line to HY-L33 before she would go off-planet.

“Don’t ever tell them.”

–

From the other end, HY-L33 did receive Irele’s secret transmission. Apparently, Irele had prepared herself and the droid for this. The modified nurse droid’s photoreceptors flickered as soon as she received the frequency, and right off the bat, she knew what to do—and like any good, unassuming droid would do, it went on standby mode like it always has for the past two hours.

Meanwhile, in the deeper levels of the Imperial’s established base, the Second Sister oversaw the excavation operation inside the mountains of Zeffo. She noticed the faint chatter among Stormtroopers over the computer terminal and was beginning to have her suspicions, until one of her own Purge Troopers approached her from behind but kept his distance.

“What’s going on, Captain?”

“Reports say that they identified the TIE Interceptor of Lady Irele leaving the planet.”

“She flew alone? And her crew?”

“Apparently they don’t know she had gone off-planet.”

“She abandoned her directive,” Second Sister tells herself, and underneath that onyx-black mask, a white crescent shined over her bronze skin—she hadn’t realized she was grinning, she can’t tell if it’s in a triumphant manner or a sly, opportunistic one.

Now’s my chance to shine! She chuckled with a sinister intent.

7 notes · View notes