#then we keep passing the ball who is going to tell or address the issue

[toastywindow]

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[scoobydoodean]

Hey there, I have SPN Thought Worms i thought you might appreciate: You know how there’s debate wether (in the biblical story) Abraham “failed” God’s test, if it was a blind loyalty test or to see if he’d put his moral and love over unquestioned orders? In the same vein, do you think Dean truly ‘failed’ Death’s test with the ring and carrying out his duties for the day? Like maybe Death actually wanted Dean to be unable to do it bc it proved he had limits or smth? Or did he just get Sam’s soul back despite the apparent failure because he has a massive soft spot for Dean? (relatable tbh). Hope I made myself clear lol, the concept is jumbled-up in my mind, and have a great day!

This is a really interesting question! I also have a feeling I'll have a lot better of an answer when I get to 6.11 on this rewatch and have the entire season fresh on my mind. That said, Death actually says in the end that the goal was for Dean to learn something.

DEATH Today, you got a hard look behind the curtain. Wrecking the natural order's not quite such fun when you have to mop up the mess, is it? This is hard for you, Dean. You throw away your life because you've come to assume that it'll bounce right back into your lap. But the human soul is not a rubber ball. It's vulnerable, impermanent, but stronger than you know. And more valuable than you can imagine. So... I think you've learned something today. (x)

I'd really like to watch through season 6 again to solidify this one for myself, but I have a feeling that this isn't about teaching Dean a personal moral lesson at all. I don't think Death is at all concerned with the fact that the nurse died because the little girl didn't from a moral perspective—he wouldn't have ever given Dean his ring if he was. That isn't why he said "good" when Dean said he would have acted differently if he could go back. We can guess it also isn't just a simple lesson about "bringing each other back" being bad and "letting go", because that'd be pretty hypocritical given Death is going to help Dean anyway with no one forcing his hand (and he tells us Dean has use). It isn't a moral issue Death's addressing. It's a lesson he's giving on the structure of the universe. It's about balance. As Death says cryptically later in the scene:

I think what Death wanted to get across to Dean is that souls must pass on, and their energy must be allotted to the appropriate areas in time and space. If one person doesn't die, passing their soul on as energy, another person must die so that a certain balance and energy level is maintained in the universe. Death plans to help Dean from the beginning, because "Right now, you're digging at something. The intrepid Detective. I want you to keep digging, Dean."

Death, as a person who can't ultimately involve himself without also disrupting balance, is ultimately hinting at Dean as best he knows how that he wants him to stop Crowley and Cas from sucking a bunch of souls out of Purgatory, creating absolute chaos. But he can't say that, so instead, he gives Dean a lesson. He tells Dean that human souls are extremely valuable, and that they need to go to the places the universe wants them to go and stay there. If they don't—if they are moved on a large scale—something terrible will happen. Death has to expect Dean to extrapolate all of this information, which is not an easy expectation to fulfill.

So I guess to summarize: I don't think Dean failed Death's test, because actually using the ring and experiencing what happened when Dean tried to change things was more of a lesson than a test. The test was how Dean reflected on the lesson after and evaluated his behavior. He passed when he said he'd behave differently if he could go back. Death wanted Dean to understand the idea of balance in the universe depending on where souls go, and how important it is not to disrupt their flow or move them around. Changing things makes bad things happen. When there's just one soul, the impact is small (something Death is willing to let Dean toy with by offering his ring for the day). But what if someone disrupted the flow of many many souls at once?

[hendolish]

Jude getting Hendo & Jack back together...maybe Trent is the other child (Hendo's ofc) and they're both sick of their (adoptive, oddly young but who's counting) Dad moping neglecting self care and living a beige existence bc he misses Jack's sunshine. so they track Jack down who is in an equally miserable condition without Jordan's love and support. the mission then is try to understand why the break up happened (drinking? commitment? parenting? Jack being more of a kid than Jude while Jordan is a control freak?) and what they can do to fix it...and ofc this is Lifetime Xmas movie romcom shit that Jack would appreciate, so Jordan & Jack miraculously address their issues and fall back in love and get their stupid happy ending in time for the holidays with their found fam

jack grealish/jordan henderson | found family ♡

As Winter sweeps through the streets of Liverpool, it paints a frosty picture. The holiday season is nearing, and every house in the neighbourhood gleams with festive lights and decorations. Every house, except one.

Jordan's house remains dim and quiet. Gone is the lively banter, the playful teasing, and the warmth of Jack's presence. Now, the silent rooms echo the emptiness that Jordan feels.

Inside the St. George's Academy, Trent and Jude sprint down the football pitch, passing the ball between themselves, exhibiting skills that surpass their young age.

They live and breathe football, but once off the field, their concerns as of late gravitate towards their beloved adoptive father and his melancholic state. It's undeniable; Jordan misses, needs, Jack's vibrant and banterous nature that once filled their home with laughter and joy.

One evening, after their training, the duo huddle together in their shared room, posters of their football heroes looking down on them. "We have to do something. Christmas is right around the corner," Trent begins, his voice thick with conviction.

Jude nods, determination set in his young eyes and strong jaw. "We need to find Jack. We need to bring him back."

They gather information, relying on fragments of overheard conversations and old photographs. Jack, they find out, runs a small café downtown. The place is lively, with Jack's unmistakable laugh floating through the air, but there’s an undercurrent of sadness in his eyes. The break is still pretty fresh, after all.

Jack’s eyes light up instantly when the two of them reach the front of the queue, greeting them excitedly. But the moment he connects them back to Jordan is evident behind his gaze, the light seeping from behind them slightly, intonation slipping from his voice.

“So boys,“ He begins once ushering them to sit down at the counter opposite him as he works, “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Trent and Jude share a glance before Jude gestures for his brother to go on and explain. Trent leans forwards on his elbows as he begins with a sigh, “Well, it’s Dad. He—“

“Oh— wait…” Jack interrupts suddenly, stopping with a coffee cup held mid-air, “Jordan’s… Jordan’s okay, isn’t he? You guys are alright?”

His immediate concern for Jordan’s well-being, as well as their own, gives Trent and Jude even more hope. Jack has never stopped caring for the three of them and he’s always made them feel safe.

Trent’s the one to quickly set the record straight and that easygoing grin soon returns to Jack’s cheeks. He’s glad, he tells them, and then Trent and Jude broach the real reason why they’re here.

They learn of the rift that drove the two apart - Jack's casual attitude towards life contrasting Jordan's more structured, disciplined approach. While Jack was spontaneous, often indulging in late-night drinks and fun, Jordan, as a father, craved stability and routine.

With their mission clear, the duo approach Jack with their plan. Hesitant at first, he soon gets caught up in their infectious enthusiasm. The two kids paint a picture of Christmas without him – a lacklustre tree, a father trying hard to keep up spirits, and two young hearts missing their beloved Jack.

As Christmas Eve approaches, Jack and the kids hatch a plan using the allure of a football match they'd be playing at their academy.

Jordan takes the two of them that morning and watches on from the sidelines as usual. He’s always full of praise for the both of them, shouting encouragements and getting pissed off on their behalves when a decision doesn’t go their way.

It takes a while, but as the game progresses, Jack, standing at the sidelines, catches Jordan's eye. There's a moment of stunned silence before recognition dawns.

The game ends, but neither Jordan nor Jack seem to notice. They talk. They bicker. They reminisce. Moments pass, with the chilly night air carrying whispers of their conversation.

Trent and Jude watch from a distance, fingers crossed. It’s not until they see their father wrap an arm around Jack, pulling him into a hug, that they allow themselves to cheer, followed by laughter when Jack shoots them an enthusiastic thumbs up behind Jordan’s back.

Christmas morning dawns bright and joyful. The Henderson household awakens to the sounds of Jack's laughter and the scent of fresh pancakes. The living room, once sombre, now twinkles with fairy lights. The tree, once unlit, stands tall and bright, bearing witness to a family's reunion.

As presents get passed around, Jack and Jordan sharing lingering looks, Trent and Jude exchange triumphant glances. Their mission, it seems, has been a resounding success. Christmas, this year, is all about new beginnings and second chances.

♡

[passionforfic]

Romancing Mr. Bridgerton vs. Bridgerton Season 3

Finished. I must say that the series keeps moving further and further away from the original material - the actual novels - and even though I like the adaptation, sometime I get mixed feelings. Romancing Mr. Bridgerton tells the love story between Colins and Penelope, his desire to find a profession and her desire to keep hers. It was Colins who dscovered that Penelope was Lady Whistledown, not Eloise. I liked the novel but I remember feeling that there were issues between Colins and Penelope that they did not address deeper in the novel, that are issues they disuss in Season 3. I like how they weaved the story and Colins reailzation of his affections for her. I also liked to see that Penelope and Eloise were able to mend their friendship. I liked that - unlike the books - we do get to see Franchesca with her first husband who she loved very much.

I also liked how the Bridgerton series took Anthony from one of the epilogues and gave him a spotlight. We see Violet interested in this man who seems quite nice. I'm also looking forward to Eloise's story, now that she will go to Scotland with Franchesca for a year. I have a feeling that the next story will be hers and not Benedict. The masquerade ball where Benedict meets his leading lady is to happen next season and if it follows the chronology, a year or so passes before he meets the mysterious lady again, so we might see a hint of Benedict's love interest while Eloise meets hers.

It is kind of sad, though that the series hasn't been able to retain the banter and sibling-hood we get in the books. Daphnie and the Duke are not mentioned at all in this season's episodes, Anthony and Kate are moving to India, so we won't have those next season. Will Colins and Penelope be no-show? I hope they continue to b e in the series. One of the things I love about the books is the relationship between the siblings and how they interact with each other even when they are already married and that is kind of lost in the series.

Still, I'm enjoying the adaptation and what they have been doing with the original material. Let's see what awaits us next season.

[the-baddest-of-batches]

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Children's War (Part 2)

Clones, soldiers, we keep to ourselves. Our version of a party is probably best described as seeing who gets drunk first, and shenanigans that should never make it into anyone's report, ever. The Imperial Gala is the exact opposite.

Opulence drips from the ceiling down the walls to the very marbled floors, likely imported from off planet. Naboo is something of a humbler planet by means of wealth, but that does not imply their humble decadence cannot rival a wealthier nation.

I glance past faces I've seen before to the ones I haven't. Senators of all species mill about the domed room. Many have brought their own security. Stormtroopers in dark armor lurk behind their appointed charge and threaten violence to try and impose on the tittering conversations and fake smiles.

We're set in a ball room. Imperial flags hang on the walls. I know the people of Naboo are peace lovers. They care not for the heavy hand of the Empire, but they clearly thrive under it.

Many people do not understand the peace the Empire represents. Few understood it during the Republic's years. Seems an age-old issue. And as the years have worn on, it's only gotten worse. The Moff was right, I've seen the HNE reports. I know the rumors. People are never satisfied with their honest or peaceful lives. It's not just the Jedi, it's all of humanity that craves war.

The Moff strides across the circular floor toward a gaggle of other Moffs, Admirals, and Senators who are each decked in long brown, silver, and blue robes. Many wear the colors of their homeland. It's a display of pure power.

I follow closely. I've been given something of a cleaner kit for the occasion. It's not my white and reds, but it'll do. It's still phase II clone armor and it's familiar. I asked for something familiar. The Moff delivers on his promises. I promised to keep him safe, so I'll deliver on mine.

My initial scan of the room's layout tells me there's a balcony overlooking a garden. Two Admirals stand near it. One of them has a blue skin tone and when he turns, I note his red eyes. They remind me of something I saw in a book somewhere.

Around the room I can spot nothing particularly suspicious. I remain close to the Moff regardless.

"It's a pleasure to see you here, Senator Organa," The Moff exclaims, reaching toward an older man with black hair and sharp, yet smiling features. The senator has no Imperial bodyguards with him, only two men in traditional Alderinnian attire. They're clearly carrying weapons, though.

"Moff Sharn," Organa's voice is a cold courteous one. It does not mirror the warmth on his face.

"And how are things in the Senate?"

"Ah, you know. The usual gambit of much arguing and little policy. Half our matters have been put on hold."

"A shame, truly."

I turn and look behind me. Conversation drifts in and out in snippets.

"Yes, I heard they are moving to reform the petition. I imagine it will greatly benefit your people once it's passed."

"It will benefit all people."

"This is the third month they've placed this bill on hold! I am growing tired of the endless arguments. We must pick a side."

"They will not, and you know it. The councils are set against us."

"Then they should consider more wisely what drawing this out will do."

I glance to the right.

"Yes, Admiral. I am aware of your plans. They have been passed along. Personally, I think the Emperor will take great notice of them."

"Indeed."

The voice is from the blue skinned man on the balcony. He's migrated past me. I never noticed him move. That unnerves me, so I keep a half eye on Moff Sharn, who has taken up conversing his favorite subject: Mon Calamari Opera. We're going to be here a while.

A voice breaks through the crowd, directly addressing me. It sounds familiar, the interference from a helmet mike masking the real tone beneath.

"You look out of place."

I try not to laugh as I side-eye the trooper, likely on a similar job to me. Out of place, interesting choice of words. I outdate every soldier here, if not by age, then at least experience. I note the deep black armor the other trooper wears, though and it clicks.

My armor, with its phase II clone wars look, white plastoid, and the pale shoulder bell I've had since Umbara, must look out of place. I turn my head an inch to ensure the Moff is still immersed in his discourse with the others present. Once that's affirmed, I can spare some attention and loop my thumbs in my belt.

"It's an original design," I tell the other trooper who lingers behind their own charge. "Holds up better than the plastic they ship out nowadays."

The trooper nods. "Hard to argue with that opinion. I used to wear it."

I cock an eyebrow under my helmet. This isn't some civilian. And he has my interest piqued.

"How long ago?"

"Feels like forever ago now."

It has been fourteen years. I lean back on my heels, realizing that the time has passed me by and I haven't been paying attention. It's just one day after another. I don the armor. But even I haven't worn it in what feels like an eternity.

"It feels good to be back." I scan the room, checking the perimeters.

There's a laugh from the other trooper. "You never left, Kian."

I blink. For the first time I look at the ID tag that popped up when the other trooper initiated conversation. A long time ago I would've seen his whole HUD as soon as we were linked, me being a Lieutenant, but these new kits and mine don't play as well.

But I know that ID.

"Headshot?"

"Before you say something, I'm just here for hire. I don't do this on the daily anymore. You, though." Headshot chuckles. "I'm impressed you're still alive."

"I'm not a field operative if that's what you're getting at."

"I can't believe they let you out."

"I train cadets."

Headshot snickers. "What goes around comes around, isn't that the saying? I hope they give you a hard time."

"I'm going to clock you."

"Better not do it here."

I'll do it later. My eyes narrow. I should've recognized that sarcastic tone the moment I heard it. I am getting soft.

And now that I know who I'm talking to, I almost want to tune back into the Moff, but I think I'd rather be dragged for being tight-lipped and anti-social than listen to another critique of last month's opera.

"How have you actually been, Kian?" Headshot edges a little closer. I can see now he's attached to the Admmiral the Moff has been entertaining for the past few moments. Headshot must agree that this is going to be a quiet night, though, as he edges up to stand closer. He pulls off his helmet and I blink.

Same face, but have we really gotten that old? The kid who laughed at gallows humor is there in Headshot's eyes, but his face, it looks weathered beyond both our years.

I reach up and remove my own helmet slowly. When I look up, I too am being stared at. Headshot says nothing, though.

"I'm fine," is all I can conjure up. I turn my gaze to the room and fix it there, following an invisible threat with my eyes.

I train rookies, that's it. Nothing special about the last few years of my life.

"What about you?" I manage after several quiet moments.

Headshot shrugs, clips his helmet to his belt, and moves up into my periphery. "Retiring got me enough to buy some land. Tried to get married." He laughs. "You can see how well that went. Got two kids, a lot of bills, and she got herself a lot better man."

"Sorry about that."

"It's nothing really. The kids are great. There's um...four now."

I turn with incredulity written all across my face. "Four?" Even my voice sounds weak.

Headshot smiles. "Yep. Ones adopted. His parents um...I was hired to protect them." Headshot looks down. Somber never did look good on him. "I had to do something, so I took him in. He's a great kid." A smile returns to Headshot's face and he's himself again.

I guess us clones never lose that sentiment of ignoring the elephant in the room. Grief, it can trample you.

I rock back on my heels again. "Fours a lot, but you always did have more energy than me."

Headshot nods and his smile broadens. "Anyone special out there for you, yet?"

"Yeah, she's called Corellian Red Ale and she's the most intense gal you'll ever meet."

Headshot laughs. "You never change, Kian."

"Thanks." My voice is hollow to my own ears. I know he means it well, but it stings. Should I have changed? I don't want to think about it. The universe is always changing and I'm stuck with that, so to hell with Headshot's comments. What's so wrong with sticking to what you know?

"Hey," Headshot's voice changes tone. He's pulling his helmet back on. "Twelve o'clock."

I look up. A familiar face moves through the crowd, accompanied by another I've only seen in HNE Reports. A young girl in her teens. Bail Organna's daughter, the princess Organna. The Moff spoke with the senator earlier, and if luck would have it, it looks like they're heading back out way.

"Better get back to standing around looking scary," Headshot says.

I nod and turn my head to prompt the Moff as he's involved in conversation. He looks up, catches my eye, and looks past me.

"The Senator is back," Moff Sharn notes to the other guests standing around him. He gestures to me. I'm already on his heels as he breaks from his personal crowd and crosses the floor toward the Senator. As we pass, I catch the eyes of the blue-skinned officer lingering at the edge of the crowd growing around Bail and his daughter. The stranger also wanders toward the Senator, but his gaze and steps are calculated. Something about him unnerves me.

I throw my helmet on quickly and take up a stance behind the Moff. He's exchanging more pleasantries. It seems the Senator is here to introduce his daughter.

"I hear you will be entering the political stage like your father," the Moff bows to the Princess. Leia, I think her name is.

"Yes," she says firmly. She carries herself like a soldier, as if she were raised by a drill sergeant, not a senator. I catch her looking over the Moff's shoulder at me and as soon as her father has entered another conversation with the Moff, she breaks away from them. She's dressed up, just like everyone here, but it's plainer.

Oddly, she looks nothing like her father. Maybe she gets her looks from her mother. Leia shoulders past a few other officers crowding to meet her. She commands the room.

So why is she coming my way?

"Excuse me," Leia holds her head high. She's shorter than me, but her presence stands head and shoulders taller than anyone else here. She'd give Tarkin a run for his money on intimidation.

"Young miss, can I help you?" I'm a bodyguard here, nothing more.

"Is that armor authentic clone wars era?" she asks, her brow furrowing in curiosity.

"Yes ma'am."

"I've only read about the clone wars," she's in awe. I shift a bit uncomfortably from the attention.

"Leia," her father snaps from amidst the crowd. "Where are you? You're supposed to stay close."

I realize Senator Organa has been whisked some feet away and Leia and I have ended up on the outside. I probably am not needed in the midst of the crowd. And she has people to meet.

"I'm fine," Leia calls out. "Trooper–" she pauses. "What's your name?"

"Kian," I say.

"Trooper Kian made sure I was safe."

"Come over here," Bail summons her. "You are not here for idle talk."

Leia sighs. I hook my thumb in my belt, and wave. She waves back, then vanishes back into the crowd.

You don't meet many kids this day and age who have a vested interest in old military history. Guess that makes me history. Kriff I shouldn't have thought about that.

"Kian," the Moff appears, having disengaged. "What was that about?"

"She was asking about the armor, sir."

Moff Sharn glances at me. "I knew I should've had you wear the regulation stuff."

"Why? It's a conversation point, sir."

Sharn shakes his head. "I'm going to wander the room. If you'd like, take a break and get yourself refreshments. I think I will be capable of handling myself."

"Yessir." I nod and let him wander off on his own. I slink to the edge of the room, find some water, and keep an eye on the party from where I stand. Leia has taken charge of the room. She's hard not to watch with the way she grabs one's attention. If she does follow in her father's footsteps, I think she might really make a change in this twisted world.

I've watched a few of her speaking events on Alderran on HNE. I don't know much about politics, but I know words have power. They're weapons in the right hands, and if a word is a weapon, Leia Organna is a war general.

And we are still at war. I can't forget that, despite the glittering distraction of wealth. I skim the room, flicking through a few channels of chatter that I've turned my HUD into. Nothing out of the ordinary. The moff said he expected nothing, but a man who doesn't prepare for the worst is a dead man.

I edge away from the crowd, keeping tabs on the Moff, but taking stock of my surroundings.

Leia is still talking in the center of the room, trying to migrate away from the crowds. She has a natural charisma, though. Impressive for a fifteen year old. Taking her would certainly be a large and strategic hit.

I put my hand to my blaster and move along the edge of the party just to get a better view. I reach the doors. A light flickers. The room goes dark.

My HUD flashes into night vision without a moment to buffer. I too immediately turn toward the murmur of panic rippling through the room.

"Kian, you bump a light switch?" Headshot's familiar voice comes in.

"No," I answer. "Do you have eyes on the senator?"

"Yeah. I can see her. Fill me in, what's happening."

I move toward the crowd, breaking into a jog. "I know as much as you."

"Great." Headshot curses. I'm surprised he got to it before me.

I run for the gaggle of officers, several raising questions about the outage, others trying to calm their wives and families. I have to get my priorities straight here. I might be attending for the Moff, but Leia is priority one. As I run, I patch into the general line for all troopers as the guests in the room begin to raise the levels of panic.

"Listen up, all unitsi n this room, I need two men covering all exits!" I shove into the crowd. "And identify anyone who isn't a guest!"

"What is going on?" Someone tries to grab me. I pull away.

"Find your security detail, all of you!" I snap at the officers. The Moffs, many of whom have seen similar situations, keep a stoic nervous silence as troopers and security flood the room.

A window shatters.

I lunge for Leia, caught in the middle of the throng of bodies, and grab her wrist. Her father's security have turned to the sound of the glass.

It's a distraction, I hiss mentally. "Princess!" I tug at her and lift my head to call out. "Moff Sharn!"

His face appears amidst the crowd as it breaks up, and subsequently surges back together as shots are fired across the room. Someone screams. That's all that's needed to break the wave of tension.

"Dear goodness!" a woman's voice raises to a screech.

"They're here to kill us!"

I tug Leia to me and she stumbles. Even with night vision this crowd is making any kind of movement difficult.

"What is happening?" she demands. Moff Sharn pushes his way toward us.

I lift my blaster, waiting to hear about the situation outside. The comms are all useless chatter, though. "Sir, Ma'am, we have a situation and I need to secure you both, understood?"

"Take her, I will be fine, Kian." Moff Sharn draws his own weapon. "Secure the princess."

I know she's putting on a brave face, but Leia's wrist is trembling in my hand. I nod, quietly, and let the Moff go as he shouts and waves people toward the exits. The room begins to clear and more blaster fire echoes in the darkness.

There's a snap overhead.

"Kian!" Headshot's voice echoes in my comm. "Overhead, get down!"

I grab Leia and shove her, both of us lunging as the chandelier in the middle of the room crashes down, scattering diamond and glass in dangerous shards across the floor. I scramble to my knees.

"Headshot, what's going on out there?"

"Still not sure, but I think we've got two bogies."

I don't know which of the black armored troopers he is, mostly because it's dark and even with night vision all I can make out is armor. There's two people cornered by the balcony. That can't be all of them.

"Get with the other units and flush them out, Headshot. I'm securing the princess." I help Leia to her feet and look for the nearest exit. Blaster fire echoes outside the door, though.

"Nevermind," I clench my teeth. "Ma'am–"

"I can handle myself," Leia says, but she's breathing hard, and she looks pale. I know she's just a kid. She's a strong kid, but a kid.

"I know that, ma'am, I'm just here to watch your back."

Leia nods. She grabs her skirt up. "Which way?"

I point to the other exit. "That way. Keep close, understood?"

She nods rapidly. I hear the blaster fire and it's getting closer. Kriff, this is bad. There may be more outside. I have to get Leia out of the building. We need to get everyone out of the building. A massacre would be bad for PR. And my job.

The chatter is filling me in though. "Bogies outside the main room, at least four!"

"It's a small group, try to apprehend them."

"We've got two more inside the main hall. Flush them out, go go!"

I tune in, holding Leia at my side as I search for an exit. The throne room doors are open wide and empty. There's troopers near them ushering people through. Blasterfire echoes behind me and I whirl around. "Time to go," I mutter to Leia. I pull her toward the throne room and she follows.

I help her through the exit, pushing past the senators and officers already inside. Leia tugs away, looking for her father. I keep a close eye on her.

I can hear from the comms that the resistance outside is putting up a fight. There aren't many of them, but it looks like they've got enough troops occupied that we can't pin them all down.

I open my comm channel. "All units, focus on the bogies in the room. Keep out any others. Understood?"

"Yessir."

"Copy that."

A rally of voices answer me and I can hear them adjusting their position. I feel oddly responsible. This isn't the time to bask in glory, though.

I turn and catch up to Leia. "Princess, we're going out the back." I look back to see the troopers at the entrance are hauling the doors shut as blaster fire echoes outside the room. Best to keep it contained.

I turn around, and Leia is gone. My stomach drops. I had one job.

Someone screams as the ornate glass window shatters in. Kriff, kriff, kriff. I run for the window. Our enemy must've gotten caught in here with us. They have Leia and they're trying to get out.

Not on my watch. I haven't changed in near fifteen years for nothing. I run for the broken window, shoving senators aside and yelling for them to get out of my way. The crowds part, stumbling. I reach the window, vault over the sill and land, rolling, in the royal gardens. Dirt coats my formerly clean armor. Suits me. I always hated being a shiny.

Figures run through the dark up ahead, clinging to a girl in a white dress. She's fighting. It has to be Leia. I plunge into the dark garden after her, snapping up my blaster and setting it to stun. My HUD adjusts for the new visual setting. I can make out the armor on the guys holding Leia. They don't look like the insurrectionists I've seen.

These guys are skilled, military, and they're armed to the teeth.

Something singes the side of my helmet. I duck behind a couple of plants for cover and fire stun shots after them. "I don't think these are our typical rebels," I say. "These guys aren't insurgents. They look military."

Another hail of blaster bolts. I can hear a muffled scream. Leia. I'll never be forgiven if I let these guys get away with the Princess. I promised to protect her. This is my job.

I lunge out and fire off another hail of shots. Nothing hits, that's to be expected, but I sprint across the grounds. Chatter pours in.

"These guys are organized, who the hell are they?" A long pause. I cover the ground between me and the two kidnappers as Leia bogs them down with her struggling.

I slam my shoulder into one man. It's not enough to put him down, but it surprises him. I turn, snap my hand up, and shoot the other man in the face. He goes down and lets go of Leia, who hits her knees.

Two hands grab me by the neck. I jerk, but I can't get a lock on the man behind me. I can't throw him off either, he's heavy, and cutting off my air supply like a trained soldier. I have to commed Headshot, someone-

Blasterfire echoes. The grip on my throat releases and I gasp, staggering forward. Leia drops a small holdout to the ground and moves back. She's terrified, and still trying not to show it.

My comm is static and voices. Troopers questioning the real enemy we're fighting. I myself have questions.

I turn and check that the man behind me is dead. I also take a good look at him, removing his armored mask. That confirms some suspicions. "Zann," I breathe. I tap my comm. "I've got Leia secured."

"We've got the ground situation handled," Headshot comes in. "Three captured two dead. Two unaccounted for."

"Got them right here," I say.

"Well then, guess that wraps this up."

I let the link die amd look up as Leia stands, dusting herself off. Her dress is torn, she looks a bit roughed up, but mostly uninjured. I move over to her and put out a hand. "Are you-"

She turns and throws both arms around me without warning. I start, and finally hug her loosely. "You're safe now," I remind her. "We'll get you to your father."

It sounds like she's crying, though. I don't quite know how to handle that. Leia has a lot of responsibility, charisma, and expectations on her shoulders.She's fifteen and already part of the world stage. She's a kid, and already fighting a war. My chest knots up and I hug her tighter.

It isn't fair, but I know how she feels. And there's nothing I can do but offer a sliver of comfort for the truth we both have to face.

We were only children. Asked to bear the fate of the universe.

Clones, soldiers, we keep to ourselves. Our version of a party is probably best described as seeing who gets drunk first, and shenanigans that should never make it into anyone's report, ever. The Imperial Gala is the exact opposite.

Opulence drips from the ceiling down the walls to the very marbled floors, likely imported from off planet. Naboo is something of a humbler planet by means of wealth, but that does not imply their humble decadence cannot rival a wealthier nation.

I glance past faces I've seen before to the ones I haven't. Senators of all species mill about the domed room. Many have brought their own security. Stormtroopers in dark armor lurk behind their appointed charge and threaten violence to try and impose on the tittering conversations and fake smiles.

We're set in a ball room. Imperial flags hang on the walls. I know the people of Naboo are peace lovers. They care not for the heavy hand of the Empire, but they clearly thrive under it.

Many people do not understand the peace the Empire represents. Few understood it during the Republic's years. Seems an age-old issue. And as the years have worn on, it's only gotten worse. The Moff was right, I've seen the HNE reports. I know the rumors. People are never satisfied with their honest or peaceful lives. It's not just the Jedi, it's all of humanity that craves war.

The Moff strides across the circular floor toward a gaggle of other Moffs, Admirals, and Senators who are each decked in long brown, silver, and blue robes. Many wear the colors of their homeland. It's a display of pure power.

I follow closely. I've been given something of a cleaner kit for the occasion. It's not my white and reds, but it'll do. It's still phase II clone armor and it's familiar. I asked for something familiar. The Moff delivers on his promises. I promised to keep him safe, so I'll deliver on mine.

My initial scan of the room's layout tells me there's a balcony overlooking a garden. Two Admirals stand near it. One of them has a blue skin tone and when he turns, I note his red eyes. They remind me of something I saw in a book somewhere.

Around the room I can spot nothing particularly suspicious. I remain close to the Moff regardless.

"It's a pleasure to see you here, Senator Organa," The Moff exclaims, reaching toward an older man with black hair and sharp, yet smiling features. The senator has no Imperial bodyguards with him, only two men in traditional Alderinnian attire. They're clearly carrying weapons, though.

"Moff Sharn," Organa's voice is a cold courteous one. It does not mirror the warmth on his face.

"And how are things in the Senate?"

"Ah, you know. The usual gambit of much arguing and little policy. Half our matters have been put on hold."

"A shame, truly."

I turn and look behind me. Conversation drifts in and out in snippets.

"Yes, I heard they are moving to reform the petition. I imagine it will greatly benefit your people once it's passed."

"It will benefit all people."

"This is the third month they've placed this bill on hold! I am growing tired of the endless arguments. We must pick a side."

"They will not, and you know it. The councils are set against us."

"Then they should consider more wisely what drawing this out will do."

I glance to the right.

"Yes, Admiral. I am aware of your plans. They have been passed along. Personally, I think the Emperor will take great notice of them."

"Indeed."

The voice is from the blue skinned man on the balcony. He's migrated past me. I never noticed him move. That unnerves me, so I keep a half eye on Moff Sharn, who has taken up conversing his favorite subject: Mon Calamari Opera. We're going to be here a while.

A voice breaks through the crowd, directly addressing me. It sounds familiar, the interference from a helmet mike masking the real tone beneath.

"You look out of place."

I try not to laugh as I side-eye the trooper, likely on a similar job to me. Out of place, interesting choice of words. I outdate every soldier here, if not by age, then at least experience. I note the deep black armor the other trooper wears, though and it clicks.

My armor, with its phase II clone wars look, white plastoid, and the pale shoulder bell I've had since Umbara, must look out of place. I turn my head an inch to ensure the Moff is still immersed in his discourse with the others present. Once that's affirmed, I can spare some attention and loop my thumbs in my belt.

"It's an original design," I tell the other trooper who lingers behind their own charge. "Holds up better than the plastic they ship out nowadays."

The trooper nods. "Hard to argue with that opinion. I used to wear it."

I cock an eyebrow under my helmet. This isn't some civilian. And he has my interest piqued.

"How long ago?"

"Feels like forever ago now."

It has been fourteen years. I lean back on my heels, realizing that the time has passed me by and I haven't been paying attention. It's just one day after another. I don the armor. But even I haven't worn it in what feels like an eternity.

"It feels good to be back." I scan the room, checking the perimeters.

There's a laugh from the other trooper. "You never left, Kian."

I blink. For the first time I look at the ID tag that popped up when the other trooper initiated conversation. A long time ago I would've seen his whole HUD as soon as we were linked, me being a Lieutenant, but these new kits and mine don't play as well.

But I know that ID.

"Headshot?"

"Before you say something, I'm just here for hire. I don't do this on the daily anymore. You, though." Headshot chuckles. "I'm impressed you're still alive."

"I'm not a field operative if that's what you're getting at."

"I can't believe they let you out."

"I train cadets."

Headshot snickers. "What goes around comes around, isn't that the saying? I hope they give you a hard time."

"I'm going to clock you."

"Better not do it here."

I'll do it later. My eyes narrow. I should've recognized that sarcastic tone the moment I heard it. I am getting soft.

And now that I know who I'm talking to, I almost want to tune back into the Moff, but I think I'd rather be dragged for being tight-lipped and anti-social than listen to another critique of last month's opera.

"How have you actually been, Kian?" Headshot edges a little closer. I can see now he's attached to the Admmiral the Moff has been entertaining for the past few moments. Headshot must agree that this is going to be a quiet night, though, as he edges up to stand closer. He pulls off his helmet and I blink.

Same face, but have we really gotten that old? The kid who laughed at gallows humor is there in Headshot's eyes, but his face, it looks weathered beyond both our years.

I reach up and remove my own helmet slowly. When I look up, I too am being stared at. Headshot says nothing, though.

"I'm fine," is all I can conjure up. I turn my gaze to the room and fix it there, following an invisible threat with my eyes.

I train rookies, that's it. Nothing special about the last few years of my life.

"What about you?" I manage after several quiet moments.

Headshot shrugs, clips his helmet to his belt, and moves up into my periphery. "Retiring got me enough to buy some land. Tried to get married." He laughs. "You can see how well that went. Got two kids, a lot of bills, and she got herself a lot better man."

"Sorry about that."

"It's nothing really. The kids are great. There's um...four now."

I turn with incredulity written all across my face. "Four?" Even my voice sounds weak.

Headshot smiles. "Yep. Ones adopted. His parents um...I was hired to protect them." Headshot looks down. Somber never did look good on him. "I had to do something, so I took him in. He's a great kid." A smile returns to Headshot's face and he's himself again.

I guess us clones never lose that sentiment of ignoring the elephant in the room. Grief, it can trample you.

I rock back on my heels again. "Fours a lot, but you always did have more energy than me."

Headshot nods and his smile broadens. "Anyone special out there for you, yet?"

"Yeah, she's called Corellian Red Ale and she's the most intense gal you'll ever meet."

Headshot laughs. "You never change, Kian."

"Thanks." My voice is hollow to my own ears. I know he means it well, but it stings. Should I have changed? I don't want to think about it. The universe is always changing and I'm stuck with that, so to hell with Headshot's comments. What's so wrong with sticking to what you know?

"Hey," Headshot's voice changes tone. He's pulling his helmet back on. "Twelve o'clock."

I look up. A familiar face moves through the crowd, accompanied by another I've only seen in HNE Reports. A young girl in her teens. Bail Organna's daughter, the princess Organna. The Moff spoke with the senator earlier, and if luck would have it, it looks like they're heading back out way.

"Better get back to standing around looking scary," Headshot says.

I nod and turn my head to prompt the Moff as he's involved in conversation. He looks up, catches my eye, and looks past me.

"The Senator is back," Moff Sharn notes to the other guests standing around him. He gestures to me. I'm already on his heels as he breaks from his personal crowd and crosses the floor toward the Senator. As we pass, I catch the eyes of the blue-skinned officer lingering at the edge of the crowd growing around Bail and his daughter. The stranger also wanders toward the Senator, but his gaze and steps are calculated. Something about him unnerves me.

I throw my helmet on quickly and take up a stance behind the Moff. He's exchanging more pleasantries. It seems the Senator is here to introduce his daughter.

"I hear you will be entering the political stage like your father," the Moff bows to the Princess. Leia, I think her name is.

"Yes," she says firmly. She carries herself like a soldier, as if she were raised by a drill sergeant, not a senator. I catch her looking over the Moff's shoulder at me and as soon as her father has entered another conversation with the Moff, she breaks away from them. She's dressed up, just like everyone here, but it's plainer.

Oddly, she looks nothing like her father. Maybe she gets her looks from her mother. Leia shoulders past a few other officers crowding to meet her. She commands the room.

So why is she coming my way?

"Excuse me," Leia holds her head high. She's shorter than me, but her presence stands head and shoulders taller than anyone else here. She'd give Tarkin a run for his money on intimidation.

"Young miss, can I help you?" I'm a bodyguard here, nothing more.

"Is that armor authentic clone wars era?" she asks, her brow furrowing in curiosity.

"Yes ma'am."

"I've only read about the clone wars," she's in awe. I shift a bit uncomfortably from the attention.

"Leia," her father snaps from amidst the crowd. "Where are you? You're supposed to stay close."

I realize Senator Organa has been whisked some feet away and Leia and I have ended up on the outside. I probably am not needed in the midst of the crowd. And she has people to meet.

"I'm fine," Leia calls out. "Trooper–" she pauses. "What's your name?"

"Kian," I say.

"Trooper Kian made sure I was safe."

"Come over here," Bail summons her. "You are not here for idle talk."

Leia sighs. I hook my thumb in my belt, and wave. She waves back, then vanishes back into the crowd.

You don't meet many kids this day and age who have a vested interest in old military history. Guess that makes me history. Kriff I shouldn't have thought about that.

"Kian," the Moff appears, having disengaged. "What was that about?"

"She was asking about the armor, sir."

Moff Sharn glances at me. "I knew I should've had you wear the regulation stuff."

"Why? It's a conversation point, sir."

Sharn shakes his head. "I'm going to wander the room. If you'd like, take a break and get yourself refreshments. I think I will be capable of handling myself."

"Yessir." I nod and let him wander off on his own. I slink to the edge of the room, find some water, and keep an eye on the party from where I stand. Leia has taken charge of the room. She's hard not to watch with the way she grabs one's attention. If she does follow in her father's footsteps, I think she might really make a change in this twisted world.

I've watched a few of her speaking events on Alderran on HNE. I don't know much about politics, but I know words have power. They're weapons in the right hands, and if a word is a weapon, Leia Organna is a war general.

And we are still at war. I can't forget that, despite the glittering distraction of wealth. I skim the room, flicking through a few channels of chatter that I've turned my HUD into. Nothing out of the ordinary. The moff said he expected nothing, but a man who doesn't prepare for the worst is a dead man.

I edge away from the crowd, keeping tabs on the Moff, but taking stock of my surroundings.

Leia is still talking in the center of the room, trying to migrate away from the crowds. She has a natural charisma, though. Impressive for a fifteen year old. Taking her would certainly be a large and strategic hit.

I put my hand to my blaster and move along the edge of the party just to get a better view. I reach the doors. A light flickers. The room goes dark.

My HUD flashes into night vision without a moment to buffer. I too immediately turn toward the murmur of panic rippling through the room.

"Kian, you bump a light switch?" Headshot's familiar voice comes in.

"No," I answer. "Do you have eyes on the senator?"

"Yeah. I can see her. Fill me in, what's happening."

I move toward the crowd, breaking into a jog. "I know as much as you."

"Great." Headshot curses. I'm surprised he got to it before me.

I run for the gaggle of officers, several raising questions about the outage, others trying to calm their wives and families. I have to get my priorities straight here. I might be attending for the Moff, but Leia is priority one. As I run, I patch into the general line for all troopers as the guests in the room begin to raise the levels of panic.

"Listen up, all unitsi n this room, I need two men covering all exits!" I shove into the crowd. "And identify anyone who isn't a guest!"

"What is going on?" Someone tries to grab me. I pull away.

"Find your security detail, all of you!" I snap at the officers. The Moffs, many of whom have seen similar situations, keep a stoic nervous silence as troopers and security flood the room.

A window shatters.

I lunge for Leia, caught in the middle of the throng of bodies, and grab her wrist. Her father's security have turned to the sound of the glass.

It's a distraction, I hiss mentally. "Princess!" I tug at her and lift my head to call out. "Moff Sharn!"

His face appears amidst the crowd as it breaks up, and subsequently surges back together as shots are fired across the room. Someone screams. That's all that's needed to break the wave of tension.

"Dear goodness!" a woman's voice raises to a screech.

"They're here to kill us!"

I tug Leia to me and she stumbles. Even with night vision this crowd is making any kind of movement difficult.

"What is happening?" she demands. Moff Sharn pushes his way toward us.

I lift my blaster, waiting to hear about the situation outside. The comms are all useless chatter, though. "Sir, Ma'am, we have a situation and I need to secure you both, understood?"

"Take her, I will be fine, Kian." Moff Sharn draws his own weapon. "Secure the princess."

I know she's putting on a brave face, but Leia's wrist is trembling in my hand. I nod, quietly, and let the Moff go as he shouts and waves people toward the exits. The room begins to clear and more blaster fire echoes in the darkness.

There's a snap overhead.

"Kian!" Headshot's voice echoes in my comm. "Overhead, get down!"

I grab Leia and shove her, both of us lunging as the chandelier in the middle of the room crashes down, scattering diamond and glass in dangerous shards across the floor. I scramble to my knees.

"Headshot, what's going on out there?"

"Still not sure, but I think we've got two bogies."

I don't know which of the black armored troopers he is, mostly because it's dark and even with night vision all I can make out is armor. There's two people cornered by the balcony. That can't be all of them.

"Get with the other units and flush them out, Headshot. I'm securing the princess." I help Leia to her feet and look for the nearest exit. Blaster fire echoes outside the door, though.

"Nevermind," I clench my teeth. "Ma'am–"

"I can handle myself," Leia says, but she's breathing hard, and she looks pale. I know she's just a kid. She's a strong kid, but a kid.

"I know that, ma'am, I'm just here to watch your back."

Leia nods. She grabs her skirt up. "Which way?"

I point to the other exit. "That way. Keep close, understood?"

She nods rapidly. I hear the blaster fire and it's getting closer. Kriff, this is bad. There may be more outside. I have to get Leia out of the building. We need to get everyone out of the building. A massacre would be bad for PR. And my job.

The chatter is filling me in though. "Bogies outside the main room, at least four!"

"It's a small group, try to apprehend them."

"We've got two more inside the main hall. Flush them out, go go!"

I tune in, holding Leia at my side as I search for an exit. The throne room doors are open wide and empty. There's troopers near them ushering people through. Blasterfire echoes behind me and I whirl around. "Time to go," I mutter to Leia. I pull her toward the throne room and she follows.

I help her through the exit, pushing past the senators and officers already inside. Leia tugs away, looking for her father. I keep a close eye on her.

I can hear from the comms that the resistance outside is putting up a fight. There aren't many of them, but it looks like they've got enough troops occupied that we can't pin them all down.

I open my comm channel. "All units, focus on the bogies in the room. Keep out any others. Understood?"

"Yessir."

"Copy that."

A rally of voices answer me and I can hear them adjusting their position. I feel oddly responsible. This isn't the time to bask in glory, though.

I turn and catch up to Leia. "Princess, we're going out the back." I look back to see the troopers at the entrance are hauling the doors shut as blaster fire echoes outside the room. Best to keep it contained.

I turn around, and Leia is gone. My stomach drops. I had one job.

Someone screams as the ornate glass window shatters in. Kriff, kriff, kriff. I run for the window. Our enemy must've gotten caught in here with us. They have Leia and they're trying to get out.

Not on my watch. I haven't changed in near fifteen years for nothing. I run for the broken window, shoving senators aside and yelling for them to get out of my way. The crowds part, stumbling. I reach the window, vault over the sill and land, rolling, in the royal gardens. Dirt coats my formerly clean armor. Suits me. I always hated being a shiny.

Figures run through the dark up ahead, clinging to a girl in a white dress. She's fighting. It has to be Leia. I plunge into the dark garden after her, snapping up my blaster and setting it to stun. My HUD adjusts for the new visual setting. I can make out the armor on the guys holding Leia. They don't look like the insurrectionists I've seen.

These guys are skilled, military, and they're armed to the teeth.

Something singes the side of my helmet. I duck behind a couple of plants for cover and fire stun shots after them. "I don't think these are our typical rebels," I say. "These guys aren't insurgents. They look military."

Another hail of blaster bolts. I can hear a muffled scream. Leia. I'll never be forgiven if I let these guys get away with the Princess. I promised to protect her. This is my job.

I lunge out and fire off another hail of shots. Nothing hits, that's to be expected, but I sprint across the grounds. Chatter pours in.

"These guys are organized, who the hell are they?" A long pause. I cover the ground between me and the two kidnappers as Leia bogs them down with her struggling.

I slam my shoulder into one man. It's not enough to put him down, but it surprises him. I turn, snap my hand up, and shoot the other man in the face. He goes down and lets go of Leia, who hits her knees.

Two hands grab me by the neck. I jerk, but I can't get a lock on the man behind me. I can't throw him off either, he's heavy, and cutting off my air supply like a trained soldier. I have to commed Headshot, someone-

Blasterfire echoes. The grip on my throat releases and I gasp, staggering forward. Leia drops a small holdout to the ground and moves back. She's terrified, and still trying not to show it.

My comm is static and voices. Troopers questioning the real enemy we're fighting. I myself have questions.

I turn and check that the man behind me is dead. I also take a good look at him, removing his armored mask. That confirms some suspicions. "Zann," I breathe. I tap my comm. "I've got Leia secured."

"We've got the ground situation handled," Headshot comes in. "Three captured two dead. Two unaccounted for."

"Got them right here," I say.

"Well then, guess that wraps this up."

I let the link die amd look up as Leia stands, dusting herself off. Her dress is torn, she looks a bit roughed up, but mostly uninjured. I move over to her and put out a hand. "Are you-"

She turns and throws both arms around me without warning. I start, and finally hug her loosely. "You're safe now," I remind her. "We'll get you to your father."

It sounds like she's crying, though. I don't quite know how to handle that. Leia has a lot of responsibility, charisma, and expectations on her shoulders.She's fifteen and already part of the world stage. She's a kid, and already fighting a war. My chest knots up and I hug her tighter.

It isn't fair, but I know how she feels. And there's nothing I can do but offer a sliver of comfort for the truth we both have to face.

We were only children. Asked to bear the fate of the universe.

Final Chapter coming soon...6/27!

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[redorich]

I absolutely adore the hermit canyon au both because you have such a fun writing style and because it just makes it so blatantly clear how much of a different level the hermits are on compared to the dsmp folks. Power mad admin who's effectively a god on the server? Just vore him, it's fine! Spooky egg that brings madness and suffering to everyone who interacts with it? Grian can handle it, give him 30 seconds. It's such a good portrayal of their differences and I'm absolutely delighted by it

thank you!! i try very hard to cultivate a writing style that's fun, rather than a slog. and yes, the difference in power level is absolutely one of my favorite tropes, so i'm glad so many people enjoyed it! speaking of the hermits' casual wielding of insane levels of power.....

"So, how are you going to fix the Era Three life system anyway?" Cleo asks. She and Xisuma are casually walking down the main hall of the canyon.

Xisuma never goes anywhere alone anymore. Even though a survivable amount of magic has been returned to the Dream SMP server and Xisuma is no longer infirm, all those months of staying by his side have left a lasting impression.

"Hm, it basically comes down to a charisma check-- have you ever played Dungeons and Dragons, Cleo?"

"Not really," Cleo admits, "but Joe does and he's talked about it before. Charisma check?"

Xisuma stops walking, opening the door to the small meeting room in the heart of the canyon and holding the door open for Cleo. As she passes through, he explains.

"We have a source of magic, and we have a plan to implement it. The only obstacle is convincing Mojang that they should; hence, charisma check."

"Hey, Xisuma," Joe greets as the admin follows behind Cleo.

"Hello, Joe," Xisuma returns, surveying the room. The chair at the far end of the table has been left open for the admin, and unlike the meeting with the Dream SMP representatives, the Hermits don't give a fuck about who sits where and what that says about their status.

Doc is sitting in the place two seats from Xisuma's spot, leaning back in his chair so that only two of its legs are on the ground and his croc-clad creeper toes are kicked up on the edge of the table. A few spaces down is Joe, minding his business and reading a book (upside down-- it's more of a challenge that way) and across from Joe is Etho, sitting patiently.

With a shrug, Cleo snags the nearest chair and turns it around so she can sit in it backwards and still face the table. No one planned on her being here, and she has no idea what's going on, but no one has really told her to leave, so that's pretty much implicit permission.

After making his way to his seat, Xisuma addresses the table. "Are we all ready? Etho, do you think you can convince whoever shows up?"

Etho hums in thought for a moment. "Yeah, I can do that. Still need to actually get one of the gods here, though."

"I'm on it," Doc says, already on his communicator.

Cleo squints at Doc. "You have the gods on speed dial?"

Doc shrugs. "We text sometimes."

"About what?!" Cleo says.

"Basketball."

Cleo squints at Doc. "Don't you, like, hold a grudge or something against Dinnerbone? I mean, he did literally rip off your arm."

"Got a cool robot arm out of it, though," Doc says placidly. "It's got a screwdriver in it."

"Like a Swiss army knife?" Joe chimes in, putting down his book.

"Yeah," Doc says proudly, "bottle opener too-- for beer."

"As fascinating as Doc's Sonic Screwdriver arm is, we do have something to be doing," Xisuma reminds the group wryly.

"Oh yeah," Doc says. "Agnes is coming."

Cleo drums her fingers on the table. "When will she be here-- oh!"

A radiant figure emitting soft yellow light appears on top of the table; although the figure is bright, it doesn't hurt to look at. The glow dims and the light coalesces into a small woman with pale yellow hair. The woman-- presumably Agnes of the Mojang pantheon-- opts to sit side-saddle on the table instead of in a chair.

"Hello! It's nice to see you again, Doc," she says, "oh, and Etho as well-- and Herobrine?"

"I go by Joe now," the man says simply.

Agnes smiles. "My bad, Joe. Now, what did you need me for, Doc?"

"Er, it's actually about the three-life system," Xisuma cuts in.

"Yes? What about it?" Agnes tilts her head.

"It was... a good system, doing what you could with the lack of magic," Xisuma says diplomatically, "but we think we've found a way to fix things. Joe?"

Joe takes over, setting his book down on the table after carefully bookmarking his place. "So the issue is the lack of magic, right? You couldn't support updates and player respawns after Notch took what he did."

"This is correct," Agnes says with a service industry smile, likely not appreciating the reminder of her pantheon's failure.

"So, use the In Between," Joe says. "It's got so much extra magic that it keeps sending people back in time; I was stumped on a way to fix it, but if you can give the magic to the players it's a win-win."

Eyebrows raising to her hairline, Agnes's face falls into a considering moue. "I'd much rather use it to push the next update," she says. "The Caves and Cliffs update is one of the biggest yet."

Cleo's unbeating heart sinks in her chest. Is this it? Is their only way to help these people going to be appropriated by well-meaning yet selfish gods?

"People are dying!" Cleo shouts. "Isn't that more important than your stupid update?!"

Agnes turns to look at her for the first time, and Cleo refuses to be afraid.

"I know it must sound callous of me, but... well, people die," Agnes says gently. "They always do. Even Era One players aren't immune. The better thing to do would be to improve their quality of life while they can still live it."

Shoulders rising in anger as she suppresses the urge to bite and kill and devour, Cleo takes a breath to rage when Etho of all people cuts in.

"Remember that IOU you gave me?" he says. There's a twinkle in his eye that only intensifies when Agnes groans.

"Don't tell me," she says. "You're seriously going to use that now? On this? I gave it to you centuries ago, I thought you'd forgotten!"

"Nope," Etho crows, "just saving it for a special occasion."

Agnes sighs, bringing a hand to her temple. "And what am I supposed to do about the Caves and Cliffs update?" she says tiredly.

"Cut it in half?" Etho shrugs.

"...Fine." Agnes disappears, dimming the room from the lack of her godly presence. Within a few seconds (relatively speaking, as time is more of a suggestion than a rule when you're powerful enough), a wave of magic washes over the group. It explodes outward from the table like ripples from a cannon ball, washing over the entire server. The change is palpable.

"Etho, I could kiss you right now," Cleo says, relieved beyond measure.

"Please don't," he says with a smile. "After all, I don't know where your mouth's been."

Cleo raises an unimpressed eyebrow, pretending to mull the situation over.

"Yeah, you make a good point," she says, and the group bursts into laughter.

[saeyoungchoismaid]

The King

Pairing: King!Lucifer x f!reader Genre: angst, fluff Warnings: uh minor character death, mention of war?, fighting, near-death experience???  Summary: Prince Lucifer, the eldest son of King Henry, has been exiled from his kingdom, but when his father becomes sick, he's supposed to become king once his father passes. The future king is to marry (Y/n) to join their kingdoms together. Instead of him becoming king though, his father chooses Lucifer’s younger brother to become the king.  Word Count: 5.3k words A/N: this fic is entirely based on the movie The King on Netflix!! I let you guys vote on who the fic would be about and most of y’all said Lucifer, so you ask and you shall receive!! If you want a better understanding to what’s going on, feel free to watch that movie!! The first part is from 13:25 and kinda just goes from there 

You feel your heart drop to your stomach when the man announces to the king, “Your majesty. Prince of Wales.” Your husband-to-be leans forward to look down the long row of men at the entrance, confirming that, yes, his brother is in fact here. After all this time. 

“My son,” the king starts, “come in.” You rise with the rest of the crowd, suddenly finding it hard to breathe as he walks down the aisle to the king’s throne, your hands starting to shake from nerves. Just how long has it been? Lucifer stops a little ways away from you, his eyes trained on his father. You could hear a dog barking outside the castle from how quiet it is in the room. 

You stop breathing when his eyes flicker to the right to look at his brother, only to freeze when they spot you right by his side. You stare right back at him, the sound of your heartbeat filling your ears. Both of you look away from each other when the king takes in a deep inhale before speaking. 

“I feel my life nearing its natural end, and yet, still even I must appear of ruder health than you.” He pauses and you watch as Lucifer blankly stares in his father’s direction but not actually looking at him. “The time has come for us to consider the issue of my succession,” the King announces, ending the sentence with a cough. This part makes you feel sick suddenly. 

Lucifer doesn’t know yet of his father’s decision? 

“You will not be king,” he states abruptly. Lucifer doesn’t react physically but you can tell, just by his eyes, that he is surprised, and maybe a bit disappointed, by this news. “While you are my eldest son, for reasons that are on display for all here to see, you will not inherit this crown.”

“Nor have I sought it,” Lucifer quips before you can even blink, venom dripping from his words. 

“That privilege and responsibility will instead fall to your brother Leviathan,” the king informs him. At the mention of his name, Leviathan sits up straighter. Lucifer’s eyes move to him before once again finding yours, his brother not seeming to notice the look Lucifer gives you. Well, he didn’t really give you a look, per se. Again, it’s in the eyes. 

I guess he’s starting to catch on to where this is heading. 

“He is soft, but he is eager. He will lead my army against the newly treasonous Solomon.” Your eyes flicker to your fiance, seeing him take a deep breath and look down. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he’s nervous about tomorrow. He wants to serve his father and make him proud. “I will assume that this news comes as neither surprise nor disappointment.” When you look away from Leviathan to focus back on the king and Lucifer, you find that Lucifer is, once again, staring at you. 

His gaze makes you feel pinned to your spot, air having a hard time finding its way to your lungs. “But it is my duty as king and father to say it to you directly.” His eyes finally leave yours to focus back on his brother, his eyes now pinning him to the floor. 

“And what of miss (L/n)?” Lucifer asks, your heart lodging in your throat at the mention of your name. All eyes turn to you but you can’t take your eyes off of those piercing, dark eyes. 

“Miss (L/n) is the bride to be of the next king, you know this,” King Henry informs. To prove his point, Leviathan reaches down and gently clasps your hand in his. You just hope that Leviathan doesn’t feel how clammy your hands are from how nervous you feel. You watch as Lucifer’s eyes flicker down to your conjoined hands, his own hands balling up into fists. 

“When do you fight?” he asks softly his younger brother, suddenly changing the subject.

“I set off tomorrow,” he informs, hand tightening on yours. “We fight by week’s end.”

“You need not fight. These feuds need not be yours,” Lucifer reassures instantly. You can see the fear and dread he holds for his brother. He’s never been much of a fighter. When you two would get into arguments, he’d either avoid the subject, instantly apologize, or avoid you altogether. When you were informed of his battle, you almost wanted to laugh. You’re sure that you’d do a better job at leading a war than he would be. 

“I have said what you were summoned to hear,” the king finalizes, bringing all of your attention back to him. Lucifer takes a deep breath as he looks up at the ceiling, clearly trying to keep his composure. “Leave us now.” Lucifer smiles, the clear disbelief he feels being evident. 

You watch on with solemn eyes as he leaves, your posture suddenly slumping with dread. So that’s that, you suppose. 

Luckily for your fiance and King Henry, you were the best healer in the country. Well, that might be a bit of an exaggeration but you were quite good. Because of this, King Henry allowed you to go with his son to the battle. No one would say it out loud but you were all sure that Leviathan would somehow end up injured one way or the other. 

You walk alongside your husband-to-be, coming to stand beside him as he sits down in a chair. “Lord Simeon,” he greets before sitting. “Are your men ready for the day?” he asks once he’s sat down. You pull your bottom lip into your mouth to chew on it, a nervous habit that you’ve picked up over the years. 

“They are, sire.”

“Very good.” A pause ensues. “Tell me of your preparations.” When Lord Simeon doesn’t immediately respond, you cringe a bit. Leviathan just seems so awkward and out of place here. 

“My lord,” he warns, staring off behind you two. You turn around to find the true reason he had gone silent. 

Lucifer moves towards you all on top of a horse, his brows furrowing for a moment when he sees you. He slides off the horse as his brother asks him why he’s here. “I will not allow this havoc to transpire. I’ve come to see it stopped,” he replies, eyes moving to look at you. You think he’s going to address you but Leviathan speaks up before he can. 

“This is my battle,” his brother protests. 

“If I have my way, there will be no battle.” He pauses before walking in between you two, his side brushing yours. It causes a shiver to go down your spine and you’re disappointed by your reaction to such a simple thing. 

“You, come ‘ere,” he says to someone behind you. Your heart skips a beat at how demanding and confident he is. 

“My lord.”

“You have no place here!” his brother declares as he turns around to face him once more. You keep your back to him though, afraid of how your body will react to him. 

“Go to the rebel camp. Deliver the following message to Solomon. Tell him that Prince Lucifer challenges him to settle today’s score man on man. He and I. We will fight in our armies’ places.” This has you turning around to look at him, eyes widened and heart racing for a completely new reason now. 

Is he mad?

“Yes, my lord.”

“Who do you think you are?” the man who was answering to Leviathan just a few moments ago asks. 

“I am nobody to you,” Lucifer says with a shake of his head. Lucifer then turns away from him to walk to a tent to get armor, eyes connecting with yours as he passes. You want nothing more than to chase after him, beg him not to do it, but you know better. 

You know that once he puts his mind to something, there’s no stopping him. It’s something you’ve always both loved and hated about him. 

Despite this, you still find yourself following after him. 

You follow him inside an isolated tent, his back to you when you enter. You just stand there though, not knowing what to do or say. “You will not stop me, brother,” he says as he starts to unbutton his shirt. With no reply, he turns around and stops halfway down his shirt to look at you. Your eyes automatically move to his bare skin before you can stop yourself. To your surprise, he slowly continues unbuttoning it. 

“I think you’re in the wrong tent, Miss (L/n),” he says lowly, almost playfully, causing your eyes to move up to his. You gulp a bit, trying to think of something, literally anything, to say. 

“I’m not. Why must you refer to me in such a way?” you reply, slowly walking further into the tent. He lets go of his shirt when he’s done with the buttons, his upper half on full display to you now. 

“In what way, Miss (L/n)?” he asks, eyes boring into your very soul. You suck in a breath as you stop at the table between you two, looking at the armor that covers it instead of looking at him. 

“Calling me that. You need not do so. You used to just refer to me as (Y/n),” you reply softly, fingers brushing across a chest plate that is cool to the touch. You’d rather be touching his chest but you would lose that finger if you were caught doing so. 

“That was when I thought you were my bride-to-be,” he informs. Your breath hitches at this, your fingers coming to a stop on the shiny metal. Does his heart beat for you the way yours does for him? Is he upset about losing you and not at the fact that he won’t be king? 

“You may still refer to me as such. This changes nothing…” you argue, eyes still refusing to look at him. Your heart skips a beat when he starts to walk, moving to go around the table to meet you. You avoid him though by going around the opposite way. 

“My brother’s sudden role of becoming the new king changes everything,” he argues, stopping on the spot where you once were. You stop in his old spot, finally moving your eyes up to meet his again. 

You find despair and desperation lingering in his eyes but you aren’t sure that if he knows you can read him so well. He’s so used to hiding his emotions and being seen as emotionless nowadays. 

“It doesn’t change the feelings I once held for you…” you whisper, suddenly afraid that someone might be listening in now. He stares at you silently for a long moment, your heart beating faster at his pause. 

“Does my dear little brother know that I was your first kiss?” he asks, tauntingly starting to walk around the table again, to which you reciprocate by redoing what you had done before. 

“Whilst I was yours too, if I recall,” you tease right back, a smirk coming to your face. He hums and stops at the other end of the table, pulling you to a stop too at your end. 

“So, what are we going to do? Keep playing this game of cat and mouse?” he asks as he slips his shirt off and drops it to the table, bringing his hands to the table to lean against it. Your eyes flicker to his arms, watching as his muscles roll under his smooth skin as he leans against it. You gulp before flashing your eyes back to his strong gaze. It takes you a moment to realize what he just said. 

You sigh and cross your arms over your chest, turning to look away from him. You don’t notice how his eyes move to your deep neckline then, drinking in the sight of your cleavage from the side. “Lucifer, you mustn’t say such things. You know we can’t…” you trail off, not wanting to finish the sentence. Maybe if you don’t say it out loud, it won’t come true. 

Maybe there is still a chance for you two. 

Before he can reply though, you hurriedly change the subject. “You’re a fool to want to fight Sir Solomon,” you jab. You wanted to beg him to take it back, to not risk his life for something that isn’t worth it but, again, you know it’d be fruitless. 

“I am no fool, Miss (L/n),” he replies shortly, tugging on a new tunic that has a thicker material. With that, you leave the tent. You mustn’t get such fairytale ideas, like the possibility of you two having a future, in your head. You are engaged to his brother, to the future king, and nothing can change that.

“You have no place here,” Leviathan asserts as soon as his brother comes out of the tent. He fixes his armor as he converses with his brother. 

“You do not know war, Leviathan,” is his calm reply to his frantic brother. 

“I do know war,” he argues. He doesn’t. 

“You do not,” Lucifer speaks your thoughts without knowing he did so. “You’ve been recruited to our father’s madness, to wars that need not be fought. These men are not our enemies. Our father has made them thus.”

“Why then are you here? You so disapprove of our cause and yet, still, you find it necessary to upstage me.” You aren’t able to hold back a snort. Leviathan is sounding more and more like a child throwing a tantrum by the minute. The duo turns to look at you at the sound, making you quickly start coughing to hopefully cover it up, knowing that if one of the other men heard you disrespecting the prince, the future king, in such a way, you’d surely be punished. 

Leviathan is too much of a coward to say anything to you about it though. 

“I do this not to steal your thunder, brother. I do it to save your life.”

“Pardon me, my lords. Our herald has returned from the rebel camp. They have refused Prince Lucifer’s offer. They want battle.” You can’t stop or deny the relief that fills your entire body. You watch as Leviathan walks away, once again reminding you of a child throwing a fit by stomping their feet. You don’t know why he’s acting in such a way though. He got what he wanted. 

You look to Lucifer to find him already looking at you, your heart skipping a beat from his gaze. You wordlessly follow after your fiance, not trusting yourself to be alone with the handsome male. 

Your eyes widen when you see the man of the hour ride up to your side of the battlefield, your fiance pushing through his men to reach the front. Without thinking, you follow after him. You don’t trust him to be civil or to not be a coward. 

“Where is Lucifer?” he calls, making your heart fall out of your chest and onto the dry ground. Has he reconsidered? “I come to fight him in our armies’ stead.” Yes, he did. Oh god, you might be sick. 

“No. His offer was refused,” Leviathan responds instantly, your eyes moving the back of your fiance’s head now. For once, you actually agree with the man-child. 

“The offer has been reconsidered.” No, no, no.

“I said no!” he shouts, making you cringe a bit. You don’t mean to be so mean to your future husband but he just doesn’t sound threatening at all. He really does just sound like a child to you. 

“Why is the little dog barking?” he asks and you want to laugh but you also know it’s not supposed to be funny. But, c’mon, he practically just read your mind! “Hm?” he hums with a taunting raise of his brow at your husband-to-be. “Where be the big dog?” he screams, making you flinch at his sudden volume. 

In a flash, Lucifer pushes through men and comes to stand beside you. “It will be done,” he says with his eyes trained on your enemy. He goes to move forward but you grab his wrist before you can tell yourself not to, his squinted eyes softening when he turns to look at you. 

“Lucifer, please,” you whisper for only him to hear, your eyes starting to sting. What if he gets hurt? Or worse.

Solomon chuckles to himself as he looks between the two of you. “And here I am with the whoring fool,” he starts, Lucifer seeming to not care about the words coming from his mouth. He was overall indifferent until his next words. “Have you claimed your brother’s wife to be as your own? I’m sure you’ve taken her innocence by now too. Takes a whore to know a whore.” Lucifer pulls himself from your grip and marches forward, coming to stand next to his brother. 

“This fight need not be had, Solomon,” Lucifer warns, doing his best to remain calm when really, all he wants to do is punch him in the jaw. “My father will soon be dead. Your grievances will die with him.”

“Don’t be afraid of our small contest, young Lucifer. I promise to finish it quickly and not embarrass you too much in front of your new whore,” he taunts before turning away from him. “Come on.” 

Lucifer is quick to move forward, his jaw clenched tight before it’s hidden by the helmet he slides on. His tongue poking the inside of his cheek is still very visible though, letting you know just how truly peeved he is. 

“Your father is plague to England,” Solomon declares as he slides his helmet face down. “Come for me, big dog!” he shouts as he points his sword at Lucifer. Lucifer does the same before getting into position, your whole body shaking from how nervous you are. 

They start to circle each other and do so for a moment before Solomon speaks up. “Once I claim your head, I might just claim your brother’s too before taking your whore. I think she’ll love bouncing on my cock and calling my name,” he taunts, trying to get a reaction out of him. 

A reaction he did receive. 

Lucifer instantly plunges forward with his sword, only to be blocked and pushed aside. The fight continues on for a while, each one getting in hits and gaining the upper hand before it’s the other’s turn. Your eyes leave them as three men ride up to the fight, watching the two hit and slice at each other. 

Lucifer ends up dropping his sword while Solomon is attacking him, slyly grabbing one of the other men’s daggers as he backs away from his opponent. Once they fall to the ground, fear swallows you whole as it seems that Solomon will deliver the final blow. Before he can though, Lucifer trips him and brings him crashing to the ground and before he can recover, he moves on top of him and stabs him in the neck. 

You almost cry from the relief that you feel. 

He removes Solomon’s helmet before marching towards his brother with it. “Someday this will be your head. Dropped at the feet of a man who might otherwise have been your brother. Come with me, Leviathan. Please. Walk away from this field.” You stare at Lucifer in awe, feeling just how much he cares for his brother. 

“After you just stolen its prized scalp?” He’s joking. He has to be. “This is what will be spoken of tomorrow!” He’s not joking. “This field was mine!” he shouts. God, you’ve already said this so many times but he really is just a child on the inside. He’s acting like Lucifer just took away his toy when it was his turn to play with it. “It was to mark my dominion. Instead, now it marks only this head. This bloody head!” You look between the two, hoping for Leviathan to just let it go and to realize that Lucifer just saved his life. 

“Move!” he screams. Guess no such thing will be happening today. You watch him go before turning to look at Lucifer, only to find him gone. You quickly pick up your skirts and walk speedily to the tent he was getting ready in. When you arrive, you find him tossing his armor off and dropping it to the earth. 

He stops when you come in, his eyes holding all of the words he left unsaid to his brother. He doesn’t say anything as he takes off the last of his armor, gently setting it down onto the table. Without thinking, you charge forward and wrap your arms around his neck. 

“I thought you were to die out there today,” you whimper, letting your tears free and land on the ground by his armor. He softly shushes you as he wraps his arms back around you, gently rubbing your back with one hand while the other cradles the back of your head. 

“Shh, it’s alright, (Y/n). I’m alright. I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, kissing your temple. You sniffle as you pull back, staring up at him with your watery eyes. You didn’t have time to pull away from him before his lips found yours. Now that they’re there though, you can’t bring yourself to deny him. You greedily kiss him back, praying that no one should walk in and find you two in such a vulgar state. 

He kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before, stealing the breath right out of your lungs and taking it for his own. Your hands move up his back to his hair, tugging on the long strands as he slips his pink muscle into your mouth. A moan tumbles past your lips and onto his without warning, making him hum and drag your body impossibly closer to his. 

A man’s barking laugh from outside of the tent snaps you out of your moment of relapsed judgment. You pull away from him and listen to you both pant, breathing in and out the same air from how close you are. “I must go,” you breathe before disappearing from the tent in the blink of an eye. Once outside of the tent, your hand grasps at your chest, trying to calm your racing heart and the blush that is surely spreading across your cheeks. 

It was odd hearing the news of Leviathan’s death soon after Lucifer had defeated Solomon. You had gone back to the kingdom, thinking the fight was over, only for your fiance to continue on in his desperate attempt to prove himself. He met his end in the western fields of Wales during battle. You didn’t cry though, you simply frowned and looked out the closest window to you. You never loved him, but you did care for him, just not enough for you to shed tears over his death.  

Soon after his death, you find yourself standing amongst the priests and minions of the king, frowning at the ill king as he rests in bed. He wasn’t the best king to rule but he was usually quite kind to you, so you held no hatred towards the man. You look away from him when you hear screaming, a sigh coming from you. 

His son doesn’t feel the same way, it appears. 

You watch him walk in, flinching a bit when he refers to his father as a monster. He walks past one of the men, saying as he walks past, “Move. Leave him.” 

“The king needs rest,” another man argues, standing up to the angered man before you. 

“Soon he will have it,” he quips, moving around this man as well. 

“He’s dying,” the man hisses, continuing to insist that he leave the king alone. 

“Leave,” Lucifer breathes, the single word dripping with venom. The man drops his argument then, slowly moving out of Lucifer’s way. When Lucifer reaches for his father’s covers, you step forward. 

“Lucifer,” you say softly but it was like you weren’t even there. He tugs the blankets off of him and drops them to the floor, moving around the bed to stand on the opposite side of you. It seems he also realizes that you’d be able to calm him if he just gave you the chance. 

He doesn’t want to be calm though. 

You stand still as Lucifer places his hands on the bed and moves to hover his head over his father’s, leaning in to whisper, “You feel this cold? Wretch.” 

You’ve never seen him like this before.

Your eyes begin to water as his father shakily tries to raise his hand to touch his son, your hands squeezing at the sides of your dress as you watch him gently touch Lucifer’s hair. Lucifer begins to rock, seeming a little unnerved by this. 

“Lucifer. Lucifer. You must be king, Lucifer. Please. You must be king, Lucifer.” It was honestly a strange sight to see him so weak, to see him begging his son for something so openly. Tears started cascading down your face as he starts to have trouble speaking, his face scrunching up in pain and...disbelief? Regret? Worry? Fear? You aren’t quite sure. “I know not what I have done,” are the king’s last words before he lets out one last groan before going still. 

You wipe at your eyes and cheeks, turning to watch Lucifer leave his father’s side to stand before the others. They all start to bow and get on one knee, your eyes widening a bit at the realization that he really is the king now. 

You lower yourself into a curtsey, watching fresh tears leave your eyes and fall to the wooden floors. “You know not what will become of you. So, I offer you this. The most blessed reprieve, the most dreadful misery. You shall suffer the indignity of serving me, the wayward son you so revile. But know now that you will be watched over by an altogether different king.” 

With that, he brushes past everyone to leave the room. You raise from your curtesy to quickly follow after him. You don’t bother calling out to him as you follow him, wiping away your final tears before taking a deep breath. 

When he finally stops, he is in front of a grand window that looks over the front of the castle and shows snippets of the town where he’s been living. “Lucifer,” you whisper as you come up to him, noticing that he seems to not hear you. You aren’t sure if this is because of how quiet you are or because he is stuck in his head. 

Becoming the king can do that to you. 

You quietly come up behind him and slowly wrap your arms around him, leaning into his back. You feel his body shaking, soft cries escaping him as you silently hold him. You feel his arms come up to rest on yours, tears splattering on your sleeves and skin. You let him cry though, not making a peep. 

There’s nothing you could say that would heal him right now. 

You’re there for every part of the ritual that Lucifer must complete to become king, your heart seeming to race the entire time. You don’t shout along with everyone else as he is pronounced king, everyone joyously shouting, “King Lucifer!” over and over again.

You’re right beside him at the table as you and the king's companions and allies eat to celebrate his success, your hands secretly conjoined with his underneath the table. Your new relationship, if you would even call it that, didn’t need to be a secret anymore, seeing as how he is king and you are to marry whoever the new king is to be, but just yesterday it was his brother and it almost feels wrong to be with Lucifer now.

Not that you were complaining one bit. The man beside you has had your heart since the beginning. 

You watch as the gift bearer announces gift after gift and you continue to watch on as Lucifer gives every single gift away to someone else. He’s so noble. It makes you swoon each time you see him act in such a way. It wasn’t until Dauphin’s gift was presented that his mood suddenly shifted. 

“From the Dauphin, son of his majesty Charles, King of France,” the announcer says before stepping to the side to allow Lucifer access to whatever was inside the decently sized box. Your brows furrow as you watch him stare down into the box, becoming more concerned the longer that he doesn’t move. He finally reaches in and takes out something that you cannot see. You don’t have to wonder for long what it is since he announces it. 

“A ball.” A heavy pause. “There is no accompanying message from the Dauphin?”

“No, my liege.” Another long pause. 

“I shall keep this gift. This one is sent only for me. For the boy I once was,” he says softly before throwing the ball against the wall and catching it single-handedly. You aren’t sure why such a simple action makes heat come to your cheeks. He then walks back over to his seat and sets the ball down but doesn’t set himself down. 

“I have a gift of my own that I’d like to present now,” he says as he raises his hand to cut off the announcer from announcing whoever’s gift was next. Everyone appears just as confused as you, your eyes turning up to look at him instead of the announcer. You find his eyes already on you, along with a gentle smile. “(Y/n),” he says as he offers you his hand for you to take. You wait for him to continue but he says no more. You gently place your hand in his and allow for him to help you stand, your free hand gathering up your dress. He leads you to the fireplace behind your chairs, the heat of the fire not helping the blush that appeared only a moment ago. 

“My darling (Y/n), ever since I met you, I knew you and I were to be wed someday. Now that I am king, that day is closer than ever before. I hope you will accept my gift,” he says softly to you, not really caring if others heard him or not. He then removes something from his pocket before going to one knee, your eyes widening even though you two are already engaged. You look down to your left hand and see the ring that has been passed down through his family for generations. His eyes move to where yours are, a small grunt leaving him as he brings one hand to take it off. “My gift to you is a proper proposal that you may decline if your heart so desires. I shall no longer ask you to be my wife because it is your duty. I shall ask you to be my wife because I want you to be.” Your eyes sting at his confession, your heart trying to beat out of your chest to fly into his hands. 

“I want to be with you too, Lucifer,” you whisper, afraid if you spoke any louder, your voice would give out. He smiles brighter than before as he slides the ring he picked out onto your ring finger, putting the old ring into the box in place of the new one.

He then stands and wraps his arms around you in a hug, your eyes burning from the oncoming tears. He swiftly pulls back though to share a passionate kiss with you, clapping and shouts of joy ringing around you. When you both pull away from the kiss, you let out a watery laugh as you look down at the beautiful ring. “You and I will rule this kingdom together until we meet our end. You shall be by my side every step of the way, no matter what hardships we may encounter. I love you, (Y/n).”

You sniffle and wipe at your teary eyes with a big smile. “I love you more, Lucifer.”

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[causeiwanttoandican]

Harry, Meghan and me: my truth as a royal reporter

I've covered elections and extremism, but nothing compares to the vitriol I've received since I started writing about the Sussexes

By Camilla Tominey, Associate Editor27 March 2021 • 6:00am

It is probably worth mentioning from the outset that I never, ever, planned to become a royal reporter. I mean, who does? It’s one of those ridiculous jobs most people fall into completely by accident.

I certainly wasn’t coveting the position when I first found out how bonkers the beat could be after covering Charles and Camilla’s wedding in 2005. Desperate for ‘a line’ on what went on at the reception, journalists were reduced to flagging down passing cars in Windsor High Street and interrogating the likes of Stephen Fry about whether they’d had the salmon or the chicken.

Watergate, this wasn’t.

Yet when my former editor called me into his office shortly afterwards and offered me the royal job ‘because you’re called Camilla and you dress nicely’, who was I to refuse?

Having planned to get married myself that summer, and start a family soon afterwards, I looked to the likes of Jennie Bond and Penny Junor and figured it would be a good patch for a working mother as well as being one I could grow old with. Unlike show business, when celebrities are ‘in’ one minute and ‘out’ the next, the royals would stay the same, making it easier to build – and keep – contacts.

So if you’d told me that 16 years later, I would find myself at the centre of a media storm over a royal interview with Oprah Winfrey, I’d have probably laughed in your face. First of all, only royals like Fergie do interviews with Oprah. And since when did journalists become the story?

Yet as I have experienced since the arrival of Meghan Markle on the royal scene in 2016 – a move that roughly coincided with Twitter doubling its 140-character limitation to 280 – royal reporters like me now find themselves in the line of fire like never before.

We are used to the likes of Kate Adie coming under attack in the Middle East, but now it is the correspondents who write up events like Trooping the Colour and the Royal Windsor Horse Show having to take cover from the keyboard warriors supposedly defending the Duke and Duchess of Sussex’s ‘truth’.

Accusations of racism have long been levelled against anyone who has dared to write less than undiluted praise of Harry and Meghan. But even I have been taken aback by the vitriol on social media in the wake of the couple’s televised two-hour talk-a-thon, in which they branded both the Royal family and the British press racist while complaining about their ‘almost unsurvivable’ multimillionaire lives at the hands of the evil monarchy. And all while the rest of the UK were losing their loved ones and livelihoods in a global pandemic.

Having covered Brexit, general elections and stories about Islamic extremism, I’ve grown used to being sprayed with viral vomit on a fairly regular basis, but when you’ve got complete strangers trolling your best friend’s Instagram feed by association? That’s Britney Spears levels of toxic.

Having a hind thicker than a rhino’s, it wasn’t the repeated references to my being ‘a total c—’ that particularly bothered me, nor even the suggestion that I should have my three children put up for adoption. At one point someone even said it would be a good idea for me to drink myself to death like my mother, about whose chronic alcoholism I have written extensively.

No, what really got me was the appalling spelling and grammar. I mean, if you’re going to hurl insults, at least have the decency to get my name right.

Yet in order to understand just how it has come to pass that so-called #SussexSquaders think nothing of branding all royal correspondents ‘white supremacists’ regardless of who they write for, or sending hate mail to our email addresses, offices – and in some cases, even our homes – it’s worth briefly going to back to when I first broke the story that Prince Harry was dating an American actor in the Sunday Express on 31 October 2016. Headlined: ‘Royal world exclusive: Harry’s secret romance with TV star’, the splash revealed how the popular prince was ‘secretly dating a stunning US actress, model and human rights campaigner’.

Despite my now apparently being on a par with the Ku Klux Klan for failing to acknowledge Meghan as the next messiah, it was actually not until the fifteenth paragraph of that original article that the ‘confident and intelligent’ Northwestern University graduate was described as ‘the daughter of an African-American mother and a father of Dutch and Irish descent’.

Call me superficial, but I was genuinely far more interested in the fact that Harry ‘I-come-with-baggage’ Wales was dating a former ‘briefcase girl’ from the US version of Deal or No Deal than the colour of her skin. A ginger prince punching well above his weight? This was the stuff of tabloid dreams. Little did I know then that covering the trials and tribulations of these two lovebirds would turn into such a nightmare.

The online hostility began bubbling up about eight days after that first story, when Harry’s then communications secretary Jason Knauf issued an ‘unprecedented’ statement accusing the media of ‘crossing a line’.

‘His girlfriend, Meghan Markle, has been subject to a wave of abuse and harassment’, it read, referencing a ‘smear on the front page of a national newspaper; the racial undertones of comment pieces; and the outright sexism and racism of social media trolls and web article comments’. Meghan’s mother, Doria Ragland, had apparently been besieged by photographers, while bribes had been offered to Meghan’s ex-boyfriend along with ‘the bombardment of nearly every friend, coworker, and loved one in her life’.

Suffice to say, I did feel a bit guilty. Although I hadn’t written anything remotely racist or sexist, I had started the ball rolling for headlines like the MailOnline’s ‘(Almost) straight outta Compton’ (referencing a song by hip-hop group NWA about gang violence and Meghan’s upbringing in the nearby LA district of Crenshaw), along with her ‘exotic’ DNA (which I subsequently called out, including on This Morning in the wake of ‘Megxit’ in January last year).

Omid Scobie, co-author of Finding Freedom, a highly favourable account of the Sussexes’ departure from the Royal family, written with their cooperation last summer, would later insist that the couple knew the story of their relationship was coming out and were well prepared for it.

I can tell you categorically that they weren’t, since I did not even put a call into Kensington Palace before we went to press for fear of it being leaked. (I did later discuss this with Harry, when I covered his trip to the Caribbean in November 2016, and to be fair he was pretty philosophical, agreeing it would have come out sooner or later. But that was before the former Army Captain decided to well and truly shoot the messenger, latterly telling journalists covering the newly-weds’ tax-payer-funded October 2018 tour of Australia and the south Pacific: ‘Thanks for coming, even though you weren’t invited.’)

The royal press pack is the group of dedicated writers who cover all the official engagements and tours on a rota system, in exchange for not bothering the royals as they go about their private business. It was a shame this ragtag bunch, of which I am an associate member, was never personally introduced to Meghan when the couple got engaged in November 2017.

I still have fond memories of a then Kate Middleton, upon her engagement to Prince William in November 2010, showing me her huge sapphire and diamond ring following a press conference at St James’s Palace with the words, ‘It was William’s mother’s so it is very special.’

I replied that she might want to consider buying ‘one of those expanding accordion style file holders’ to organise all her wedding paperwork. (Reader, I had given birth to my second child less than four months earlier and was still lactating.)

Not meeting Meghan did not stop royal commentators like me writing reams about her being ‘a breath of fresh air’ and telling practically every TV show I appeared on that she was the ‘best thing to have happened to the Royal Family in years’.

As the world followed the joyous news of the Windsors’ resident strip billiards star having finally found ‘the one’, the couple enjoyed overwhelmingly positive press culminating in their fairy-tale wedding in May 2018, which we headlined ‘So in love’ above a picture of the bride and groom kissing. I tweeted the wedding front page, along with the original story breaking the news of their relationship with the words, ‘Job done’. Yet, as Meghan would later point out in a glossy Santa Barbara garden, that was by far the end of the story.

According to the Duchess’s testimony before a global audience of millions, the seeds for their royal departure were actually sown by an article I wrote in November 2018 suggesting she made Kate cry during a bridesmaid’s dress fitting for Princess Charlotte.

Claiming the ‘reverse happened’, the former Suits star railed, ‘A few days before the wedding she was upset about something, pertaining to, yes, the issue was correct, about flower-girl dresses, and it made me cry, and it really hurt my feelings.’

She then went on to criticise the palace for failing to correct the story – suggesting that royal aides had hung her out to dry to protect the Duchess of Cambridge.

All of which left me in a bit of a sticky situation. As I told Phillip Schofield on This Morning the following day, ‘I don’t write things I don’t believe to be true and that haven’t been really well sourced.’

Having seemingly been completely bowled over by Meghan’s version of events, Schofe then went for the jugular: ‘I have to say, though, that’s all addressed in that interview, isn’t it, because she [Meghan] couldn’t understand why nobody stood up for her?’

Yet someone had stood up for her, on that very same This Morning sofa: me.

As I told Phil and Holly on 14 January 2019, as more reports of ‘Duchess Difficult’ started to emerge, ‘I think she [Meghan] is doing really well, she looks amazing, she speaks well. She has played a blinder.’

So you’ll forgive me if I can’t quite understand why Meghan didn’t feel the need to correct this supposedly glaring error once she had her own dedicated head of communications from March 2019 – or indeed when she ‘collaborated’ with Scobie, who concluded in his bestselling hagiography that ‘no one cried’?

Moreover, how did the Duchess know a postnatal Kate wasn’t ‘left in tears’? And if she doesn’t know, what hope has the average troll observing events through the prism of their own deep-rooted insecurities?

It appears the actual truth ceases to matter once sides have been taken in the unedifying Team Meghan versus Team Kate battle that has divided the internet.

Make no mistake, there are abject morons at both extremes spewing the sort of bile that, ironically, makes most of the media coverage of Harry and Meghan look like a 1970s edition of Jackie magazine.

It perhaps didn’t help my case that the day before the interview was aired in the US, I had written a lengthy piece carefully weighing up the evidence behind allegations of ‘outrageous bullying’ that had been levelled against Meghan during what proved to be a miserable 20 months in the Royal family for all concerned.

The messages – to my Twitter feed, my email, my website and official Facebook page – ranged from the threatening, to the typical tropes about media ‘scum’ and the downright bizarre. Some accused me of being in cahoots with Carole Middleton, with whom I have never interacted, unless you count a last-minute Party Pieces purchase in a desperate moment of poor parental planning.

Another frequent barb was questioning why the press wasn’t writing about that ‘pedo’ [sic] Prince Andrew instead – seemingly oblivious to the fact that no one would know about the Duke of York’s links to Jeffrey Epstein if it wasn’t for the acres of coverage devoted to the story by us royal hacks over recent years.

It didn’t matter that I had repeatedly torn the Queen’s second, and, some say, favourite son to pieces for everything from his propensity to take his golf clubs on foreign tours to that disastrous Newsnight interview.

Contrary to the ‘invisible contract’ Harry claims the palace has with the press, royal coverage works roughly like this: good royal deeds = good publicity. Bad royal deeds = bad publicity. We effectively act as a critical friend, working on behalf of a public that rightly expects the royals to take the work – but not themselves – seriously.

So when a royal couple preaches about climate change before taking four private jets in 11 days, it is par for the course for a royal scribe to point out the inconsistency of that message. None of it is ever personal, as evidenced by the fact that practically every member of the monarchy has come in for flak over the years.

If Oprah wasn’t willing to point out the discrepancies in Harry and Meghan’s testimony, surely it is beholden on royal reporters to question how the Duchess had managed to undertake four foreign holidays in the six months after her wedding, in addition to official tours to Italy, Canada, and Amsterdam, as well as embarking on a lengthy honeymoon, if she had ‘turned over’ her passport?

While no one would wish to undermine the extent of her mental health problems, could it really be true that she only left the house twice in four months when she managed to cram in 73 days’ worth of engagements, according to the Court Circular, in the 17 months between her wedding and the couple’s departure to Canada?

And what of the ‘racist’ headlines flashed up during the interview purporting to be from the British press, when more than a third were actually taken from independent blogs and the foreign media? The UK media abides by the Independent Press Standards Organisation’s Code of Conduct ‘to avoid prejudicial or pejorative reference to an individual’s race’, as well as by rigorous defamation laws. And rightly so – the British press doesn’t always get it right. But social media is the Wild West by comparison, publishing vile slurs on a daily basis with impunity.

Some therefore find it strange that such a litigious couple would claim to have been ‘silenced’ when they have made so many complaints, including resorting to legal action, over stories they claim not to have even read. There is something similarly contradictory about a couple accusing the tabloids of lacking self-reflection while refusing to take any blame at all – for anything.

In any normal world, informed writing on such matters would be classed as fair comment, but not, seemingly, on Twitter where those completely lacking any objectivity whatsoever are only too willing to virtue signal and manoeuvre.

As the trolling reached fever pitch in the aftermath of the interview, veteran royal reporter Robert Jobson of the Evening Standard called me. ‘Don’t respond to these freaks,’ he advised. ‘It’s getting nasty out there. Watch your back!’

Yet despite my general sense of bewilderment at the menacing Megbots, I can’t say it didn’t appal me to discover a close friend had received online abuse, purely by dint of being my mate. After discussing the lengths the troll must have gone to to track her down, she asked me, ‘Do you ever worry someone might do something awful to you?’ Er, not until now, no.

Of course it’s upsetting, even for a cynical old-timer like me. Worse still are people who actually know me casting aspersions on my profession on social media. Often these are the same charlatans who would think nothing of sidling up to me for the latest gossip on the Royal family, while publicly pretending that reading any such coverage is completely beneath them.

Most pernicious of all though – not least after Piers Morgan’s departure from Good Morning Britain following a complaint to ITV and Ofcom from the Duchess – is the corrosive effect this whole hullabaloo is having on freedom of speech. When you’ve got a former actor effectively editing a British breakfast show from an £11 million Montecito mansion, what next?

I cannot help but think we are in danger of setting race relations back 30 years if people are seriously suggesting that any criticism of Meghan is racially motivated. It’s the hypocrisy that gets me. When Priti Patel was accused of bullying, the very same people who willingly hung the Home Secretary out to dry are now the ones defending Meghan against such claims, saying they have been levelled at her simply because she is ‘a strong woman of colour’.

Of course journalists should take responsibility for everything they report and be held to account for it – but Harry and Meghan do not have a monopoly on the truth simply because the close friend and neighbour who interviewed them in return for £7 million from CBS took what they said as gospel.

If she isn’t willing to probe the disparity between Meghan saying someone questioned the colour of Archie’s skin when she was pregnant, and Harry suggesting it happened before they were even married, then someone must. There’s a name for such scrutiny. It’s called journalism.

The public reserves the right to make up its own mind – with the help of the watchful eye of a free and fair press. But that press can never be free or fair if journalists do not feel they can report without fear or favour. I’m lucky that a lot of the criticism I face is more than balanced out by hugely supportive members of the public and online community who either agree – or respect the right to disagree. Along with the hate mail, I have had many thoughtful and eloquent missives, including those that good naturedly challenge what I have written in the paper or said on TV, which have genuinely given me pause for thought.

I am more than happy to enter into constructive discourse with these correspondents, who are frankly sometimes the only people who keep me on Twitter. I mean, let’s face it, I wouldn’t be anywhere near the bloody thing if this wasn’t my day job.

With the National Union of Journalists this month declaring that harassment and abuse had ‘become normalised’ within the industry, never have members of Britain’s press needed more courage. As Winston Churchill famously said, ‘You have enemies? Good. That means you’ve stood up for something, sometime in your life.’

Who would have thought that the preservation of the fundamental freedoms that we hold so dear should partially rest on the shoulders of those who follow around a 94-year-old woman and her family for a living?

If I’d known then what I know now, would I still have written the bridesmaid’s dress story?

Yes – doubtlessly reflecting sisterly sobs all round. But after two decades in this business, I am clear-eyed enough to know this for certain: whatever I had written, it would still have ended in tears.

[sugako]

sweetness

osamu xf!baker!reader sum: your unrequited crush on the man you sell to is weighing heavily on you until one little party later it isn’t an issue cw: 18+ minors dni, a lil fluff, a lil angst (reader is sad bc they don't think samu feels the same), mentions of drinking/alcohol/party (no one is drunk during), kinda confessions, first time with each other, nipple play, oral (receiving) wc: 3.5k a/n: hi !! uhh i have had this is drafts for months bc i struggled to post it and idk why,, it's def a little longer than usual and little more plot-heavy(ish) but i hope you all enjoy pussy king samu <3

It felt as though you were admiring him from a distance even when he was standing right beside you.

The afternoon that the owner of Onigiri Miya had called up your small bakery to partner with his business you had been overjoyed. Honestly, you were still happy, it was just tinged by something deeper or different now. You were certainly still happy to sell your goods through the business, but your feelings had really gotten the better of you.

The day, actually the moment you met Osamu you told yourself to get over the petty crush you had developed within minutes of meeting him. His big, tall frame made you feel as though he could wrap his arms around you and everything would be okay. His pretty, steely eyes and soft features relaxed you, made you feel at home.

A week later you were groaning into your pillow when he texted a simple, polite compliment about your baked goods. Desperately, you hoped that the fuzzy feeling would melt away any day now.

Every single time you had to see him again and again to drop off your bi-weekly delivery, the feelings didn’t fade. If anything they grew stronger. The quick, comfortable banter you shared made your chest fill with molten gold that always seemed to harden into a tough little peach pit, strangling the words from your throat whenever you got back into your car.

A month later you were crying to yourself at 2 AM about how you couldn’t get over him even though you hadn’t even been close to a relationship. It was impossible. How were you supposed to get closure from someone you were merely business partners with.

You cursed the way your heart sped up when you got a new text from him. Over and over again you had to remind yourself that it was purely business.

Onigiri Miya (Osamu): Hi, do you want to swing by tomorrow? Lunch is on me

Fingers swiped over the keyboard, groaning as you asked what you should bring for the restock, not realizing it had been two weeks already.

Onigiri Miya (Osamu): Everything is selling fast, but I won’t need anything for a bit, just wanted to chat not about business

Without hesitation you agreed. Even if you were sure he didn’t feel the same, it wouldn’t hurt to keep up a personal relationship with a business. The fact that he had texted you deep into the night without prompt didn’t make it into your busy mind.

Those two little texts were how you found yourself taking a deep breath outside the Onigiri Miya a little after the lunch rush. You stepped into the nearly empty building, immediately greeted by Osamu’s soft, low voice.

“I have to run to the back, but I put a plate for you out.” He calls, disappearing just as the door closes behind you.

It’s painful to admit how your heart swells at the gesture. Your favorite onigiri of his is neatly plated in front of a corner seat at the bar. The two other people on the opposite side of the store are quietly chatting, paying no mind while you settle into your seat. Before you can take a bite he’s bustling back in.

“Sorry ‘bout that, got a call.” He says, leaning over the counter in front of you. The way his broad chest is squished by his shoulders.

“No worries.” You say just before biting into the food. He snatches one of the rice balls from your plate, but your mouth is too full and you’re too grateful to protest. “So,” you begin after you swallow, “what did you want to talk about?”

You can’t tell whether the air is thick with awkward tension or if it’s just you.

“I mean, obviously not business.” As you speak, a strangled, little chuckled forces its way out of the back of your throat, but you take another bite of food before it gets out of hand.

He’s silent for a moment, slowly chewing his food. Maybe savoring it or maybe thinking, you can’t quite tell which.

“Can you take nights off from the bakery? I remember you saying ya do a lot of baking and prepping at night.” His expression is impossible to read and you want to tell him that this is, at least for you, business talk, but you hold back and simply answer the question.

“Well, yeah, if I needed to. Uh, why?” You catch how his shoulders tense and lower, his eyes shifting across the windows in the front. Unfortunately, his own anxiety does very little to quell any of your own.

“My brother is having a party and I’m… obligated to go, but I won’t know many people there, they’ll all be his teammates, so I was wondering if you would like to go with me? If you don’t have a… I mean, if you don’t have any plans.” His expression remains still, but there’s a small flush in his cheeks that you catch on immediately. Something in your heart softens with hope.

“You’re twin volleyball brother?” You ask, biting back a smile. “Also, you’ll have to tell me what time the party is and then I’ll let you know if I have plans, but I’m probably free.”

The flush deepens as he recognizes his mistake and slowly blinks, shaking his head. “Yes, ‘Tsumu, the volleyball brother. And the party is next Friday. Around nine.”

Within the limited time you’d spent with him he’d told you about his brother and his old friends. Confidence growing, but not quite steady, you uneasily treaded into your next words.

“Yeah, I’m not working next Friday actually, so that sounds good. Should I text you for the address or…?”

“Meet me here, I can take you. Best to take the train, but it’ll be easier if we go together.”

Deep in the center of the city, standing close enough to smell the soft fragrance of cologne, you still weren’t sure how easily you had ended up here at the house party filled with strangers hosted by your customer’s pro athlete brother. It was a little much to think about if you took too much pause. Before you could slip into your own brain too much your cheek smushed into the thick muscle of Osamu’s solid back that had suddenly stopped moving, and as you sputtered out an apology the door swung open without him even knocking.

“Hey! Did you really not a-” The blonde mirror image of the man standing directly in front of you eats whatever words are about to spill out of his mouth when he notices you peeking out from beside Osamu. Realizing how ridiculously childish you must look tucked away behind him, you clear your throat and step out so you’re by his side instead.

“Hi, I’m y/n.” You say politely, extending a hand for him to shake. Atsumu’s eyes flit between you and his brother, not bothering to hide a smirk.

“Oh, I know.” He finally says when he takes your hand. Out of sheer embarrassment or maybe anxiety, you feel pricks of heat chase out to your fingertips. The sensation is only compounded by Osamu’s feather-light touch that grazes the small of your back as he tries to lead you past his brother.

“Really,” you start, with a sly little smile, “he’s told me about you’re very impressive-”

“Okay.” Osamu says a little too sharply. He’s glad you’re at ease, but less glad that you’ve immediately taken to lightly teasing him with his brother. “Let’s head in.” The warm breath of his whisper jolts through you and you find yourself nodding, letting his touch lead you.

Just as the door is closing behind you and the excruciating reverb of the music seeps into your ears, you barely catch what Atsumu mumbles before he slips into the crowd of people. “Maybe you’ll finally show her how much ya like her.”

Osamu doesn’t respond, and for a second you think maybe he didn’t hear him, but the way his fingers dig into your back tells you otherwise. You simply pretend that you heard nothing, pointing to the drink dispensers lined up on the kitchen counter across the room. After a quick drink of the sweet, burning mystery drink and after Atsumu started to keep his distance - too busy hounding his one teammate with the dark curls whose name you couldn’t quite remember - things went smoothly.

Time passed quickly, helped on by the dozens of new people you were introduced to. The small talk and repetitive questions had you mentally winded, but Osamu’s constant touch whether on your elbow or back or shoulder grounded you. Instead of feeling your heart race as it usually did when he was near, you only felt calm.

It all came crashing down sometime deep into the night when most of the guests had headed home and those left over passed out, scattered everywhere about the house. Well, everywhere aside from the neat guest bedroom tucked away toward the back that Osamu had pulled you back to when the last man (who had drunkenly tried teaching you how to say ‘volleyball’ in Portuguese) had finally passed out.

The single drink you had gulped down hours ago was long gone from your system, but even without it you still found it easy to speak with him, even as his arms inconspicuously wrapped around your torso and brought you down to lie beside him on the bed. Staring up at the ceiling for a moment while the two of you remained in short silence, a thought came to your head, another thing you want to tell him or ask him. You’re not sure which because in the next moment, when you whip your head to face him, he does the same.

If you had been any closer your faces would’ve smashed together. Any farther away and you wouldn’t be brushing lips. Just as soon as the touch begins, it ends with you scrambling away, stopped from falling off the bed by his strong arm wrapping around and pulling you back to his chest. The silence thickens with every second that neither of you speak, but he thankfully breaks it within the minute.

The words fumble around the front of your mouth like your mouth is numb. “I’m so sorry that-!”

“Well, that wasn’t really a proper kiss.” He says plainly, a smile barely etching its way onto the corner of his lips.

“N-no, it was not.” You whisper. It doesn’t quite feel real when he kisses you for real, and for a second you’re worried you’ve deluded yourself. You sigh into his firm touch, finally releasing the tension in your chest and letting your own lightly trembling hands trace up the space between your chests to settle against his. His body is softer than you had thought it would feel, somehow so much more comforting and homey than you could have imagined.

After an endless moment, his mouth strains against yours as he forces himself to pull away with a little huff. Your eyes find his, bright and hopeful, and still a little bit surprised. Between all your personal longing and resignation that he didn’t feel the same, you hadn’t noticed the way he smiled more when you were nearby, the little blush that dusted his cheeks when you complimented his cooking that first time, and so much more.

“Wanted to do that for a long time.” He sighs, leaning his forehead against yours and letting his heavy eyes close. Hiding your grin in his chest, you nod, wrapping your arms around him and snuggling in closer. When your knee glides against his thigh in an attempt to get more comfortable and flush to him, he clears his throat. “We should get changed if we’re going to sleep here. I have extra clothes in the dresser.”

“Okay.” You nod slightly, not wanting to move just yet. He seems to be with you because, despite his own words, he remains exactly in place with his grip just as tight as ever around your waist. “...Samu?” You finally ask, pulling back far enough to look up at him.

“I wanna kiss you again.”

“Okay,” you repeat, “then kiss me again.” The crooked, giddy smile you’re giving him seems to tense him up even more.

He inhales deeply through his nose, eyes darkening as they flicker across the planes of your face. “I wanna, but I don’t want to push this unless you feel the same.”

If your tired heart could vibrate any harder it would probably be bursting out of your chest.

“Well, I feel that we should kiss again,” you press a peck to his cheek hoping it’ll steady your next vulnerable words, “because I’ve thought about you a lot, and I really like this.” You emphasize your words by glancing down at the negative space between your bodies and running your hand up the built expanse of his shoulders.

Humming, he cradles the back of your head, gracefully moving to straddle you and ghost his lips over yours. “In that case, tell me when to stop.” The hot breathy fan of air from his whisper barely hits your cheeks before he’s pressing a deep kiss against your lips.

You slot together like perfect puzzle pieces, limbs finding the just the right spots to fit into. Mouths move desperately, passionately and without thinking your fingers start dancing under the hem of his shirt, brushing against the hot skin beneath. With a tempered groan, he uncouples his lips from yours, kissing along your jaw and quickly moving to trace down your neck. The kitten nips and licks against your collarbone send electricity through your bones, forcing you to flex into him, hips awkwardly jutting forward for something more.

“You… you, ah, are so perfect.” You pant, eyes blinking wide open when the calloused tips of his fingers roughly trail under your shirt, up your sides, stopping just short of your chest to flip your shirt up.

Groaning so quietly you barely hear him, he buries himself between your breasts and sighs against your skin. “Yer even more beautiful up close and without all this,” he pauses for the briefest moment to undo your bra and lift it over your head with the shirt, “extra stuff on.”

Scoffing out a short giggle, you relax back, watching how his eyes drink you in as though they’ve been starved. “By extra stuff you mea-!” The quip is promptly cut off by the feeling of his mouth latching around one breast, the other being tended to by his opposite hand. Not a moment later he pulls away, smiling as you let out a pitchy whine.

“Yer pretty mouthy when yer comfortable, huh?” He mumbles, lips ghosting over your nipple while the one in his hand continues to be teased.

“N-no,” you rush to disagree. Judging by the eye roll he gives you, he doesn’t seem to believe you, but he doesn’t say anything more, simply bringing his attention back to your chest.

The way his suckles tiny, bright purple marks into your skin sends heat pooling into your stomach, hips noticeably grinding up against him now. As the seconds drag on, he doesn’t seem interested in anything other than your tits, enamored with the way they feel in his hand and mouth. It’s almost too much, and you feel your stomach tightening with every moment the teasing continues.

“Samu,” you whine softly, “samu, please, can’t s’too much, really need…” The words are jumbled and garbled. You can’t quite sort your brain to come up with anything coherent, distracted by the wet pooling in your underwear and the weight of his body crowding over yours.

“Sensitive tits?” He coos with a sharp glint in his eyes, gears obviously moving in his head for the future. “That’s okay,” he continues while pressing a soft kiss to each of your breasts, “What do you really need?”

“Need you to touch me.”

For a second, his mouth opens but he doesn’t speak. You fear he’s going to tease you, make you explain in lewd detail how bad you need him and where you want him to touch you, but he doesn’t. He simply nods, truthfully too caught up in the intoxicating feeling of your body and too impatient to feel you for the first time to drag this out.

“Good girl, I’m gonna take these off.” He starts, hooking his fingers under the waistband of your pants and underwear to take them off together. Without hesitation, his eyes travel between your legs. “Such a pretty, little cunt.” He hums already squeezing in between your thighs. Obviously distracted, he peppers little kissed up the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs, still caught up staring at your soaking mess.

“Samu, please…” You whine. While you know he isn’t purposefully teasing, well you don’t know but you don’t think at least, it’s just as frustrating. Your knees lock around his thick shoulders, pulling him closer to your heat.

“Okay, okay, pretty girl.” He grumbles, lapping right at the crook of your thigh and hip. There’s a split second of tense silence wherein he carefully spread your lips admiring the glisten of your slick under the dim light of the lamp. Your entire body is tense with anticipation, legs shaking as they struggled to spread around his wide frame.

And just like that quiet moment is over - he laps you up so desperately and greedily you’re twitching under his grasp, clawing at the wrinkled bed sheets below you for anything to ground you. He doesn’t stop when he shifts your legs over his shoulders and wraps his hands around the bottom of your tummy to keep your jostling hips in place.

When you finally look back down to grab his hand, keeping a vice grip around his fingers, you also glance down for the first time. His dark, hazy eyes meet yours and you completely relax at last.

The feeling doesn’t last long, not when he pushes his tongue into your tight, unprepared hole, slurping all he can get and pushing in as far as he can go. Osamu’s eyes roll to the back of his head at the sensation, your cum dribbling down his chin and coating up to his nose that keeps brushing against your throbbing clit.

With a solid, squelching pop he tears away from you. “Taste so good,” he heaves, lips coming back even as he’s speaking, ghosting over you. He buries himself in your cunt again, this time focusing solely on your clit, cycling through different motions until he finds the one that makes your hips strain under his sturdy hold.

“Feel so good!” You sigh. “Please, please wanna cum.”

Smirking against you, he takes the hand you’re not clinging to back under your thigh and props it against your ass, slowly teasing a finger in. Absolutely gushing now, it slips in easily. You can feel his smile grow again for a moment before he refocuses on your clit, motions speeding up and increasing the pressure with which he worked. It’s impossible to not shudder under him now, especially with one arm only holding you down.

“C’mon, pretty girl, cum.” He murmurs, easily hooking a second finger into you, pumping and curling them in time with his tongue. As he feels you flutter and cream he can’t help but rut into the mattress, cock swelling from the taste of you. The pressure inside is too much and your want to let go is pushing you closer and closer, although it’s his mouth and fingers that really push you forward.

“C-cu-!” The words get trapped in your throat, overtaken by a hushed moan you struggle to bite back, trying - but very much failing - to be mindful of all the half-sleeping people strewn through the house. He slowly brings you down, fingers winding down and tongue lapping up your swollen clit while you convulse at his touch in time with the fluttering of your cunt.

At last, you have to drag him off, needily tugging up on his hands until he lets go. You try to pull him in to kiss, but he hesitates, his strength far outweighing your weak, blissful one and he hovers above you. There’s no reason to ask because almost immediately his fingers that were inside of you, absolutely drenched, come up to his mouth so he can make a show of sucking them dry for you.

“Taste even better than the stuff you make.” He sighs, letting you drag him down to your face. You can smell and taste yourself so strongly on his damp lips, it clouds your already hazy senses.

“Hmm,” you manage out, when he rests his entire body weight against yours, lips pressed into the side of your head. It’s only when you go to shift that you feel him pressing so incredibly hard and flush to you exposed skin through his soft pants, that you perk up. “Samu,” you begin brushing your fingers through his soft, dark hair, “can I...wanna help you.”

“Mhmm,” he nestles against your neck, kissing over the spots he left behind earlier, “in a minute, pretty girl, we have a lot of time ahead of us.”

[onesillybeach]

New Beginnings Ch. 18

F!Reader x Liu Kang/Kung Lao

This one is short and I'm so sorry. Please don't hate me. Also, yay Helena cameo~ But also, aw, Helena cameo ;-;

@ancientowlgirl @poor-unfortunate-soul-85 @shang-hung

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 *15 16 *17

You two hadn’t had sex. You’d made out. You’d talked. You’d made out some more. You’d talked some more. You’d fallen asleep with Liu in his bed. His light snores had lulled you to sleep comfortably. Finally, relaxed.

You’d woken up the next morning when Liu had shifted. You felt his lips on your forehead and smiled before opening your eyes to look at him.

“Good morning,” Liu said softly.

“Sure is,” you said, then returned the kiss, but to his lips.

“Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s alright.”

“Did you want to train with me this morning?”

Yes. You did… But you trained with Lao in the morning. And today was supposed to be Lao’s day with you as well. If you ditched him for Liu… You didn’t want to think what would happen. But, instead of telling Liu that, you shook your head and snuggled under his covers, inhaling his scent. “I’m gonna sleep a bit more. I’ll see you at breakfast?”

He grinned and nodded as he got out of bed. “Take your time,” he told you, grabbing his gi-top from the floor and tossing it into a basket. He took another moment to watch you with a smile before stepping out into the hall.

As weird as it was to notice, Raiden had not been acting like himself lately. Him being distant wasn't new. Raiden had seemed to keep a distance between everyone. But as you trained with Kung Lao, you noticed Raiden watching with a solemn expression.

When you finished training, Lao had given you a kiss. Oh, that kiss. It wasn’t a simple kiss. No. You’d learned that Lao wasn’t a fan of giving you those little pecks. When he kissed you, he did so with purpose. He’d held your face. His lips engulfed you. That alone could be all the encouragement you needed to train harder. As he pulled away, your smile brought him to smile in return. You could tell the kiss encouraged him as well. It was a reward for both of you. But instead of following him to Breakfast, you told him you would catch up later.

You watched Lao walk off… watched his ass a bit selfishly, then turned your attention towards Raiden. He was watching you.

You gave him a respectful bow.

He gave you a bow of his head.

"Lord Raiden," you addressed as you approached him. "Are you alright?"

He raised his brows to you. "Of course I am, Y/F/N."

"You don't look it," you pressed.

Raiden took in a stiff breath. "I assure you, I am fine."

"You can't lie to a nurse," you told him. "We know better."

That got a little chuckle from him. "You are quite observant."

"I was trained for it."

"I suppose you were."

"So what's bothering you? Is it me? Am I not training hard enough?"

"You are doing well."

“The kiss? Was that awkward for you?”

“No.”

"Then what is it?"

Raiden sighed. His glowing eyes shifted away from you. "Your issue has painfully reminded me of my own."

"Of the person you loved?" You’d remembered.

"I still love," he corrected you.

"Didn't you say it's been like five-hundred years?"

He nodded.

"They're… still alive?"

"...No.”

"Oh..." You weren’t sure what to say.

Raiden sucked in another breath. You could tell this was difficult for him to talk about. "She was killed in a tournament."

"What was her name?"

Raiden frowned a bit. "Helena Morana," he'd breathed.

You blinked at him. "A human?"

He nodded.

"What was she like?"

“Just and selfless. She used her magic to help others, even myself.”

"She was a witch?"

“A sorceress.”

"Like Shang Tsung?"

Raiden frowned. "No. Not like Shang Tsung. Shang Tsung is a snake corrupted by evil… Helena Morana… My Helena… Was once a beacon of light and hope for me." As Raiden stared at you, you could tell he was hurting. You could see the pain in his eyes. He wanted to say something else, but no words came from his lips. You frowned to him.

"You are concerned for me?" Raiden asked, now amused.

You nodded. "She must have meant a lot to you.”

“She still does.”

You were quiet then. The way he spoke of Helena, as if she still existed, made you wonder. He must have read your mind again, because he chuckled and nodded. He then offered you his arm. You took it carefully despite your confusion. He began to lead you through the halls.

"What do you know of Mortal Kombat's history?" He asked you curiously.

You cringed. History was never your forte. You barely passed your history classes in highschool. And you honestly didn't remember much of what Liu had told you. You blew out your cheeks.

"Ah." Raiden nodded, not at all disappointed. "It is a complicated history. Do not worry."

"Liu told me all kinds of things. I just…" You made a vague motion with your free hand.

"It is alright. You are being forced to learn much in little time."

"Yeah…" You frowned despite Raiden's understanding.

"He did not mention my Helena?" He asked.

You shook your head. “I don’t think so. I know he told me about a bunch of people, but I think I would have remembered your girlfriend. It’s kind of… odd.” He lifted a brow to you then. You quickly tried to explain yourself. “I mean. You don’t usually hear about gods falling in love with humans… Except for like, Greek mythology.”

Raiden laughed. A good laugh. But he said nothing as he continued to lead you through the halls. Eventually, they grew totally unfamiliar. You'd never seen this part of the temple, but you knew you were deep in. The air smelled different… musty.

Raiden stopped before a large wooden door and turned to look at you. "Prepare yourself. I know mortals are rather uncomfortable with what rests behind this door.” And before you could answer, the door had opened and revealed to you the source of that musty smell.

Tombs. Catacombs. Hundreds--No, thousands— of bodies were at rest, lined neatly along the walls, dressed in robes. Most of them were nothing but skeletons now. Some seemed mummified. You quickly realised who these people were as you stepped in: Monks. Your brows knotted. Why had Raiden brought you here? And why weren’t you grossed out?

Probably because you’d seen your fair share of disgusting things. Being a nurse wasn’t all bandaids and booster shots.

“Come,” Raiden said, pulling you from your head. You turned to see him walking further into the catacombs. You quickly followed. “Those who perish in my service, do not go forgotten,” Raiden said.

“Are all of these people… Did they all serve you?”

“Yes,” he simply answered. The further he led you, the more you were grateful he was there to guide you. The catacombs were an absolute maze.

“This place is insane…” You whispered as you looked from one body to the next.

“Those here are only the ones who wished to be here… or had no other place to go.”

You turned your head to look up at him.

“You may be put to rest here as well, if you choose.”

Your jaw stiffened. You were sure Raiden meant that as a simple offer, and not a warning of what was to come. “Thanks…” You said. “But… I don’t think I’d match the dress code.” Joke. Humor. Always when awkwardness hit.

Raiden glanced to you. “There is no dress code.”

Maybe he just didn’t understand that it was a joke. “The robes… And the… bones. I think I’d look too fresh.” Oh, God, what was wrong with you? You weren’t a slab of meat! “I mean—”

“They were not all just bones and robes when they entered here.”

“No, I… I guess so. I just… I’m sorry. You just threw me a curve ball and I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Ah,” He nodded.

You must have followed Raiden for several more minutes before you began to notice a change. Some of the bodies wore armor instead of robes. Were those… fighters? Former Earthrealm defenders? Wait, if those ones were here… “You’re taking me to her, aren’t you?”

Raiden let a small grin pull his lips.

“How did she die?” you asked. “I know you said in a tournament, but… how?”

“Shang Tsung defeated her. He took her soul.”

The catacombs had twisted and turned the whole way so far, but Raiden now led you into a large, circular room. The walls were lined with more remains, all in different clothing. Some with beautiful armor, some in simple clothing. One section of a wall in particular caught your eye. Nine bodies, each with their own burning incense, were lined up on their own shelves. And the shelves and remains themselves were neat and clean. Stepping closer to them, you could hardly see a speck of dirt nor dust on either of them. It was such a stark contrast to the rest of the bodies in the room, and in the rest of the catacombs, where the bodies had mostly seemed left alone. But these nine seemed actively taken care of. Why?

“Kung Lao’s ancestors,” Raiden answered your curiosity.

Lao’s ancestors. Nine of them? Surely there were more...

“This room is for Earthrealm’s former defenders,” Raiden answered your thoughts again.

“So these are all the past Kung Laos?” You asked, stepping back to look them all over as a whole. “Then this one here—” you pointed to the one you figured was the oldest.

“The Great Kung Lao,” Raiden answered. He sighed then and rested his hand on the edge of a raised, open, sarcophagus in the center of the room. “And this is my Helena,” Raiden said slowly, painfully. He wouldn’t even look at his lover’s remains. It was too painful. You looked, though. You couldn’t help yourself. You’d stepped right over and peered down into the stone sarcophagus.

She wore a dark dress. You weren’t sure what color it used to be. She wore simple shoes, not too different from the ones you were offered by the temple. Her hands were folded neatly over her stomach. Her hair was long and black and draped over her shoulders. And you could tell, even with how horribly sunken her face was, how mummified she was, that she used to be pretty… gorgeous even. You frowned at the sight. “She’s beautiful, Lord Raiden,” you said softly.

A small, single sound of disbelief left him. “She is nothing but brittle skin and bone now.”

“Well… Yeah,” Your frown sunk. You supposed it did sound silly to say such a grotesque sight was beautiful. “But… That’s not how you remember her.”

Raiden nodded, then let his grin come back to his face. “No, it is not.”

“She’s beautiful, Lord Raiden,” You repeated.

“She is,” he agreed.

[crispyjenkins]

A third part to the JangObi locked in a cell/ weapons courting if there isn’t one yet. Jango or Boba calling Obi Mandokar. At least I think that’s the word. A Mando’s wet dream basically.

(this one entirely got away from me and i didn't get to Boba actually using the word Mandokar, but both Obi-Wan and Satine know what he's getting at (ノ*゜▽゜*)

again, i do not hate Satine, but I also do not particularly like her! she's clearly got some stuff to work through here >.>

Thank you as always, Roxy!)

  When Jango had told Boba that he'd finally get to see the inside of the Senate Rotunda (legally, this time), Boba hadn't been particularly thrilled. Why should he care about the politics of a Republic neither he nor his buir are a part of?

  Well, Obi-Wan is a part of it, but he also clearly doesn't want to be.

  To put it shortly, Boba hadn't had high expectations for his afternoon, especially since it was preceded by Obi-Wan taking him to Dex's and letting Kote teach him how to use two vibroblades at once. Why couldn't they have just waited by the Slave I for Jango to finish his politicking? 

  He supposes Obi-Wan makes it bearable, taking him on a tour and telling him facts about the building itself, as well as stories from the Sacking of Coruscant, but Boba's good will ends rather abruptly when they run into Kryze and Padmé in one of the main corridors.

  Tense pleasantries are quickly exchanged, and Boba realises they haven't seen Kryze since Jango had helped Obi-Wan save her from Darth Maul; Boba still isn't sure of the details of what happened after, but his buir had been furious. 

  When it takes all of two minutes for Kryze to mockingly call Obi-Wan General Kenobi, Boba shares the kriffing sentiment. 

  Obi-Wan heaves a sigh, and Padmé looks wildly uncomfortable. "My lady, I do not know what you hope to achieve by reiterating your position on the Order’s involvement in the War; I am but one Jedi."

  "A Jedi on the High Council. You are just as implicit in its continuation as the rest," Kryze retorts, and Boba may be thirteen and a little out of his depth with the Politician Speak, but he knows this isn't about the Jedi, or the War. "Do not think you can absolve yourself from fault."

  Boba looks up at Obi-Wan, eager for his witty retort, but he just looks tired, and Boba has to remind himself that Obi-Wan had loved her, once. 

  Padmé smiles apologetically, trying to pull Kryze's focus. "The decisions of the High Council are not made by Obi-Wan alone," she says, even though they all know that isn't really the issue. 

  "You’re right," Kryze agrees, not sounding like she agrees at all, "individual Jedi have absolutely no control over their political participation in needless violence." Boba grinds his teeth as she gives up trying to hide her scowl.

  And Obi-Wan just stands there and takes it, like Boba hasn't seen him talk entire armies out of battle, or fight off both Savage and Maul at once. He hasn't seen Obi-Wan like this since Waxer's death on Cato Neimoidia.

  Obi-Wan sighs again, trying to offer Boba a little smile. "Individuals always have a choice," he says, more to Boba than Kryze. "But preventing the death of millions outweighs our personal beliefs, don't you think?"

  Boba nods firmly as Padmé shifts on her feet, but doesn't disagree; she's certainly seen more battle in this war than Kryze. 

  Kryze who scoffs to hide what must be genuine hurt. Anger is rarely about the thing you're angry with, Boba remembers Lama Su trying to teach him, and he reminds himself that Kryze had loved Obi-Wan once, too. That was the real problem, wasn't it?

  "Back then, you avoided conflict whenever you could," she says, flat and a little sad, "you would always rather go around than force your way through. It saddens me, Obi-Wan, to see what's left of your honor."

  "At least Obi-Wan hasn't murdered an entire half of his people!" Boba snarls, deciding he's quite done listening to this nonsense. 

  "Boba, it's alright," Obi-Wan says softly, but he's also keeping his left arm behind his back, keeping Jango's vambrace out of sight, and Boba is livid.

  "'Gar taldin ni jaonyc,'" he says, because he knows the "Duchess" still understands Mando'a, even if she pretends she doesn't.  Bloodline means nothing. "I don't care who your clan was, or what title you claim to have: until you are ready to die for your people, they are not yours."

  Kryze stares down at him, and Boba can feel Obi-Wan prodding at his mind in question, in an attempt to calm, but Boba shoves him back out. 

  "It's easy to call Obi-Wan a murderer when you're hiding in your glass palace, when you wouldn't know the first thing about defending it. Do not speak of honor until you even know what that is."

  There is a tense beat of silence before Kryze rounds a glare on Obi-Wan. "I would hope you could speak for yourself, if the Senate trusts a third of the Galactic Army in your hands."

  "Satine," Padmé murmurs, glancing at the passing senators who aren't even trying to hide their stares. 

  Obi-Wan’s eyes are colder than Boba has ever seen them, the hand behind him clenched into a fist, and Kryze had known him very well at one point, Boba knows she can read between the lines of Obi-Wan’s blank expression.

  "And I had hoped we had reached an understanding that there was nothing else for us to discuss, my lady. There are only so many times we can beat a dead bantha."

  Kryze sniffs. "You need not show me so much disdain, Obi-Wan: we are not sixteen and foolish anymore." Padmé tries to cut in, but Kryze waves for her silence. "But I agree, I do not think any new peace can be reached here, and you should be getting the child back to his progenitor, no?"

  "Jealous hag," Boba chirps, rocking on the balls of his feet and wondering if she had had dreams of having kids with Obi-Wan. "You didn't deserve Obi-Wan back then, and you certainly don't deserve him now. At the very least, he can separate his feelings from his politics."

  "Boba, please," Obi-Wan sighs, setting a gentle hand on the back of his neck, and Boba gets to watch with a vicious glee the exact moment Kryze sees Jango's vambrace, the only piece of armor Obi-Wan wears, and realises he is far past fraternising with her enemy.

  Padmé puts a hand on Kryze’s arm and gently starts to lead her away. "We should return to the committee, Duchess. And I'm sure Master Kenobi has his own business to attend to."

  "Of course," Kryze agrees icily, and actually returns Obi-Wan’s nod of farewell; she barely spares Boba a glance, though he smiles innocently up at her and mutters,

  "Demagulka," just loud enough for her to hear.

  Obi-Wan casts him a stern look, but luckily doesn't get the chance to scold him further, when Padmé quickly returns without Kryze and looks harried enough for all three of them. 

  "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan," she says, hushed in the still rather busy hall, "You did not deserve that."

  "That's quite alright, my dear," Obi-Wan is quick to say, and smiles at his friend. "I'm afraid I'm quite used to such treatment, though perhaps not so... publicly."

  "I don't know if I've ever seen you in the Rotunda without the council, and I highly doubt you came all this way just to butt heads with the Duchess. What are you doing here?"

  "Ah, that would be this one's fault," he says, Boba yelping as Obi-Wan sticks his hand into his curls and tousles them roughly. He only smiles down at him when Boba growls and grabs onto his arm, and though he knows Obi-Wan could easily lift him like this, the Jedi would never do so here.

  "It was Boba, yes?" Padmé asks kindly, folding her hands in front of her. "What brings you to the Rotunda?'

  "Buir said he was meeting someone," he scrunches up his face. "But we're leaving right after so Obi-Wan was watching me and brought me over to meet him."

  Padmé’s smile only slips a little, looking back to Obi-Wan. "Fett's meeting someone?" she asks, even quieter, "Here?"

  "It is perhaps not my place to speak of it, we are still in the very early stages," he says mysteriously, tugging Boba around to lean against his front, arms draped over Boba's shoulders as if trying to make up for Jango’s resistance to public displays of affection. Grumbling, Boba still lets himself be held there, and meets every stare from passing politicians with a glare. "When we get a little further along, I would very much like to speak with the Delegation of 2,000."

  Bemused but not particularly surprised, Padmé shakes her head. "Of course, Obi-Wan. Are we to see you on Coruscant more often, then?"

  Obi-Wan winces and holds Boba a little closer. "The 212th is coming off leave at the end of the tenday, I'm afraid. And of course Jango and Boba will be returning to Mandalorian space."

  Padmé looks over Obi-Wan’s shoulder, smile becoming strained but not quite unfriendly. "Speak the name of the Dianoga," she sighs.

  Boba wriggles to look behind them and immediately perks up. "Buir!"

  Jango pauses on his path for the elevators, turning instead towards Boba's voice; the lines of his face soften at the sight of them, joining them after an encouraging finger-flick from Obi-Wan. 

  "Senator Amidala," he greets with a nod, and Boba thinks his buir actually likes Padmé, but won't admit it because Obi-Wan would never let him hear the end of it.

  "Mr. Fett," she returns, shaking his hand firmly like any good Mando. "Although, if my suspicions about your presence here are correct, I will be adjusting my term of address in the near future?"

  Letting Boba latch onto his side like a Corellian limpet, Jango raises a brow at Obi-Wan. "Haat'ade do not change their clan names at marriage," he says, Boba rolling his eyes at his buir's failed attempt at humor, and Obi-Wan rubs his eyes with one hand. 

  "Jango," he sighs, Padmé looking like Lifeday came early. 

  "Obi-Wan, you hadn't told me the Council had approved your request," she plays along, "When can I expect an invitation?"

  "After I'm done with him, never."

  "Now, cyar’ika," Jango chides, "it's best not to publicly threaten your–" 

  "Finish that sentence, and I'll have Anakin steal the Slave I," Obi-Wan says it into his hand, but Boba can see the edges of a smile. "Padmé, please don't encourage him, he'll be insufferable after this."

  Padmé casts a quick wink down to Boba. "You best tell Anakin next, if he's the last to know, he'll be whining for weeks."

  Jango brushes his fingers over Obi-Wan’s back like a sap, and his smile is even worse. Maker, Boba loves the both of them, but no one should look as smitten as his buir does any time Obi-Wan threatens him. "I don't know how we're going to fit your entire family on Concord Dawn, or all the kids." 

  "You mean the vode? Buir, I think Obi has more people on the Negotiator than have ever even lived on Concord Dawn."

  "Why in Corellian Hells would I agree to have it on Concord Dawn?" Obi-Wan wants to know. "Maker, but this entire conversation is ridiculous."

  Padmé tilts her head with a small hum, expression entirely too innocent. "Didn't you agree to marry Anakin on Tatooine for the one mission with the three-lekku Twi'lek and their five footed goa–"

  "Yes, THANK YOU, my dear, that's quite enough of that."

  Jango looks put-out, just short of an actual pout, and Boba wriggles against him in embarrassment. "You didn't tell me about that mission," Jango says, feigning hurt.

  Obi-Wan side-eyes him, and only gets a smile for his trouble. "You know," Obi-Wan starts casually, but with a mischievous twinkle in his eye that has only ever meant great deals of fun for Boba, "by Stewjoni rites, we're already married."

 Jango chokes on nothing, and Boba wonders if he'd even known where Obi-Wan was from. He should probably tell his buir he's already met Obi-Wan's grandparents.

Mando’a: buir — “parent”, gender neutral Demagulka — (from mandoa.org) “someone who commits atrocties, a real-life monster, a war criminal - from the notorious Mandalorian scientist of the Old Republic, Demagol, known for his experiments on children, and a figure of hate and dread in the Mando psyche” Haat’ade — slang for Haat Mando’ade, lit. “true children of Mandalore”, True Mandalorians cyar’ika — “darling”, “sweetheart”

*“Gar taldin ni jaonyc” from the full phrase “Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la,” lit. “Bloodline is not important, but you as a [parent] [is] the most valuable thing”,  used in the context of not judging someone by their lineage (blood or not) but by their own actions as a parent. I’ve used it here as Boba both calling Satine “dar’manda” and calling out her hypocrisy in criticising Obi-Wan/the Jedi from her ivory tower when she is a Kalevalen imperialist ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[whyjm]

Why I did not like the Spn finale

This is gonna be a long post..

I cannot get over my thoughts about how it ended and how bad I feel about it. I am so angry, sad and feel so utterly disappointed, I cannot wrap my mind around how this was supposed to be a satisfying tying up emotional archs ending??? Bc it was so far away from satisfying I would laugh if I was not presently crying over it..

There are several things that irked me a lot. Many people have voiced the problems of this show and its ending much more eloquently than I will ever be able to do.. But I gotta get these fucking thoughts and feelings out of my system.

I have been with Spn since the first episode aired. I am a straight woman, I don’t have to fight for representation, I don’t have to worry about coming out and being accepted for who I am, I don’t have the daily struggles of feeling anxious or depressed or suicidal or not being able to be who I am. I am lucky that way!

To me love is love and all love should be equal! And I stand with all who struggle and all who are not free to be who they are. I see you and I love you and I support you fully!!!

To see my friends having to fight, and then on top of that have a show that has meant so much to so many people be butchered and have a negative last message sent out, in its last 36 minutes of its life … It is a hard pill to swallow.

Cas and Dean  

In 15x18 we got to have a beautiful confession from Cas to Dean where Cas tells Dean he loves him and we know this is romantic love bc Cas begins by saying that the one thing I want I know I can’t have and then later I love you. Also Misha confirming it! This scene made me ugly cry so hard bc FINALLY.. (BUT what is missing from it.. the editing is strange.. bc Cas pushes Dean to the right but he falls to the left. Dean has no tears in his eyes while he looks straight at Cas when he talks, but he has tears in his eyes when he looks over his shoulder and see the empty. So what in this scene has been cut away and WHY?) Misha and Jensen did a great job with this and Cas got to find peace in just speaking his truth...  And it was beautiful to watch and after having seen Dean sitting sobbing on the floor the natural and logical continuation of this would have been to in the next episode address this, but in episode 19 no such thing happened. And I wondered where did Dean’s grief go where did his CARE for Cas go?? Dean who has been depressed and suicidal when Cas have died before is all of sudden cold and act like nothing have happened at least nothing that affected him very deeply.. It felt disconnected and strange. And it continued on like that and it felt very strange to NOT address such a HUGH plot point. It’s not enough to have Dean say to Chuck to bring Cas back or to see him wasted out of his mind, or hugging a dog like his emotional wellbeing depends on it.. This is not resolution or addressing it.

All of season 15 has felt like the relationship between Cas and Dean has been in focus and important to the overall arch of the season, and explored and then all of a sudden all traces of it are just ripped away, erased completely.. To have a confession like this go unacknowledged to me is poor writing bc you do not leave this big of a thing hanging in the air without resolution (fine you can argue Cas got resolution but I feel that no Cas did not get resolution either bc his feelings SHOULD have gotten a response no matter what that response was.. Dean did not, we never got to hear or see his version or his thoughts about it.)

I was thinking narratively they HAVE to address this, Deans thoughts and reactions to this gotta be shown. They HAVE to resolve this, acknowledge it. I have been sure a long time they would NEVER have Dean reciprocate Cas love  but keep it in subtext bc they are too fucking chickenshit to do that but at least have Dean talk about Cas….. that I expected him to do.. But it was not done in 19. I got the horrible feeling in my gut that they are not gonna resolve this they are gonna fuck this up, they are gonna go full brothers only and not give a fuck they are gonna push Cas out and show no care. Then we come to the final episode and boy howdy is there a lot to unpack with this episode.

(I had watched the long road home before the finale and when I watched that I KNEW that the end was going to be a letdown I felt it in all of me that I was gonna be disappointed. And I was proven right. And I have so many thoughts all jumbled up around each other that I don’t know in which end to start so sorry if what follows is incoherent and rambly.. )

15x20 - The end  

20 felt like a FILLER episode, right up until Dean’s death scene I was bored and was seriously considering turning my computer of and just not watch. (A finale should be as engaging and emotionally packed like episode 18 was. I refuse to acknowledge 20 as the end.. To me it ended on 19. That wrapped things up. Not completely satisfying but hell of a lot better than the disaster that 20 is.) But then Dean was impaled on that rusty spike thingy and I was watching with attention. I GET why they did Deans death the way they did, even if that is one shitty death for Dean and could have been fixed so he did not die.. I get what they wanted to get out of it: a brothers sad moment that they turned into a irksome thing. I actually cringed about the head thing and the hands and the farming of it all just urgh I got sick to my stomach watching that. What should have been a beautifully sad moment was put together in a romantic coded way and that to me ruined the heartfelt goodbye. Bc you do not touch and hold a dying family member like that. I KNOW I have said goodbye to my fair share of loved ones that I have loved soo deeply, but the thought of touching like that NO no way.. And also they have NEVER done that forehead touch in previous deaths, so to do this now just felt irksome.

They killed Dean a character that has struggled his whole life with being daddy’s blunt little instrument, who has self-worth issues and are suicidal, who has never lived for his own sake but have only ever lived to protect and raise another, he continues to put others before himself though (up until the last couple of seasons where we have seen them both break away from this toxic behavior). Finally he was allowed to LIVE and have a life that was not controlled, not running in a hamster wheel like a fucking puppet on a string. He was Free of all of that. He was free to go after what HE wanted for himself and what Dean wanted was LOVE, in my mind its perfectly clear that Dean loves Cas back bc that is what the story have been telling us.. its right there and the story do not make sense without it. Many others have done a great job at talking about this and describe this way better than me. So I leave further discussion about that topic to them.

Dean was looking for a job.  The angel Dean has loved since purgatory told him that he loved him and then died sacrificing himself to SAVE Dean yet again and then Dean dies a few days later.. How is this doing justice to Dean and what the hell kind of message does this send out to the ones watching?? They are saying it does not matter if you fight, your destiny is written for you and the only relief and comfort you will have will be death. They are saying Meh don’t fight it’s better to die bc it does not matter what you do. This is one of the fucked up messages this godawful ending sent to all those who have identified with Dean and Cas throughout the years.

They also say Cas who has been part of the story for 12 years is not important enough to have there, they IGNORED Cas, a mention in passing does not do justice to a character that has been crucial to the boys lives for 12 years. Dean Screamed in Sam’s face CAS IS FAMILY, Dean was destroyed when Cas died, he was hurt when Cas left bc everyone leaves Dean, Sam missed Cas etc… but still not important enough to show up in heaven in the last episode greeting first Dean and then Sam to heaven.. PFT…

To leave Cas and Misha out of the FINALE of a show that he has been part of for 12 years is so fucking disrespectful to Cas, to Misha and ALL the fans who love and adore both. It also makes no sense since  they all say how beloved Cas and Misha are. and don’t go fucking covid made it impossible bc the last scene with all those people without masks.. No that is just lying liars who lie…Covid my ass! This angers me a lot.

Family do end in ONLY blood apparently…..  

(And maybe lead to a lot of viewers for walker???  hence this very nice shirltess Sam scene............. ) shirtless Sam is always good though so no complaining here.

We see Sam and the dog give Dean a hunters funeral.. NO OTHERS are there?  How is it possible that none of the found family wouldn’t want to be there and show up?? Jack has restored everyone but still only Sam and the dog are there, no Eileen, no Jody and the girls, Donna, Garth, and the list goes on and on. Bc they wanna hammer in harder that supernatural has ever only ever been about two brothers and no one else matters ever.. It does not matter that this has not been true since the earlier seasons. The show of course is about Sam and Dean’s lives and journey through life, and I have loved to follow along on their journey.  BUT it was a long time ago this was the ONLY thing that mattered (bc if it had only been about the brothers the show would NOT have gone on for this long). Along the way they have picked up FOUND Family, and the message of the show has been Family don’t end in blood, Always Keep Fighting. But this last episode reverted back to season 1 and disregarded ALL character growth and storytelling of the past 12 years and went with fuck it ONLY Sam and Dean are important. So the next fucked up message they sent where: There is no Family don’t end in blood.. The only family that matters is blood. And then they have the balls to say Always Keep Fighting.. Are they fucking kidding????

Character development…….. who????  

Sam lives on after Dean dies and we get a montage of his life where he look miserable and is shown to not being able to get over that Dean died. We get a blurry wife and a kid named Dean. In his house there are photos of ONLY himself, Dean and their parents and maybe one of his son? Don’t remember all the details and refuse to watch that episode ever again. But no friends, no family, no happy moments are shown, it looked like a very lonely life. He dies with only his son there.. WHERE are Sam’s friends??? This montage of Sam’s supposed happy life is NOT happy bc he is not able to get over that Dean is dead, he can’t live a  happy life bc Dean is not there - again something that irked me and felt disrespectful to all the growth Sam and Dean have gone through. It was toxic codependency all the way through and that is not satisfying to watch. Especially since the brothers had actually broken that dependency. Sam had broken free, Sam have through the years wanted to get away from Dean and live his life as he wants and then he was happy…We have a moment way back in season 5 maybe? Where Sam runs away and this is shown as one of his happy moments in dark side of the moon.. No Dean in his happy places, Sam having thanksgiving with his girlfriend and her family, Sam alone with a dog. We have Sam and Amelia when Dean was in purgatory. So Sam IN text have been shown being able to be happy without Dean so why could he not do it this time?? Makes no sense! You can grieve but still have a good life.. But they CHOSE to show it like Sam was miserable bc Dean was dead and life was not worth living happily without Dean there..

The brothers have lately interacted like two individual adults, separated from each other, making their own decisions and trusting each other in making them, they wanted different things in life. And seriously WHERE DID EILEEN GO?? Why was Sam not reunited with Eileen that he some eps previous was shown to love, no instead they had blurry wife which feels like such a cop out. Sam did not get to live a happy fulfilling life and why did Sam not deserve to live a happy life with Eileen??? I know they are blaming corona for a lot of things missing in the finale that they intended.. BUT and this is a BIG BUT remember Jensen did not like the ending it did not sit well with him, he had a hard time digesting it, he objected to the ending! He spoke about that dying in battle would not be a satisfying ending - see the video of him talking about this at SDCC 2019. There is so much more to say about this but other people have voiced it so much better than I ever could so I move on to the next issue.

Dean in heaven  

Dean when he first arrives there happens upon Bobby who tells him John and Mary lives down the road and that Rufus and Arheta lives around there too. I hope Bobby’s wife was indoors, and that Jack with the help of Cas fixed heaven.  To this Dean only smirk/smiles.. and then Dean sees baby and goes for a drive ALONE with the words he will be here soon from Bobby again Sam is the only one that ever matter PFT. Dean who found a home in the bunker alongside Sam, Cas and Jack who told John: I have a family and that he was happy with himself and his life…. Spends his time endlessly driving around alone just waiting for Sam to appear.. ALL of Deans growth is thrown out the window.. he is reduced to salad dressing. Deans only purpose is to live for his brother and cannot possibly have what he WANTS for himself not even in death. He drives around for who knows how many years until Sam dies. HOW is this justice to DEAN? How is this a good and satisfying ending for Dean. Dean who wanted to LIVE, Dean who wanted to experience people in new ways, who had let go of Sam and saw Sam as his own person, now in heaven only drives around waiting for Sam to get there having no life or meaning of his own. It pisses me off to no end that they reverted back to toxic codependent Sam is all that is important to Dean shit.. They have broken away from this shit years ago and this is how they choose to end it right back at the beginning..

Now what is the point of telling  a story of growth and love and life if all that that journey amounts to is ending up at the exact point it started on?? You can watch season 1 and 2 and then this finale and it makes sense.. But having watched season 1-15 this ending does great injustice to the characters and the story. Again many others have written way better posts about this that expresses the great disappointment and hurt that is being screamed everywhere right now.

The Actors

I want to add the performance of all actors through the years, the love and care they have poured into their characters are amazing I have loved every bit of that journey. I love Jared, Jensen and Misha, and all the others for their amazing work and that is maybe why it hurts so much it ended in this way!

[fiveisnumber1]

Family Support | Five x Reader

Summary: When Five doesn’t know how to deal with his feelings for you he asks his family for some help and things don’t go exactly as planned.

A/N: Five and you are both going to be like 19 in this and everyone else is their normal age. Also AU-ish in which they managed to save the world in 2019.

Word Count: 1,535

Warnings: none

_____________

The Hargreeves children were a lot of things. Powerful, combative, traumatized to say the least. All of them however were not good at one thing: expressing feelings. All of them were bad at expressing feelings in different ways. Klaus was too open, Vanya barely expressed them at all, Diego was too strong with his and Luther and Allison well they were confusing. And then there was Five. Unlike the others Five had trouble understanding his feelings, let alone expressing them. For some time he was fine with his situation but then you came into the picture.

Five remembers when he first met you. It was during one of his trips to Griddy’s Donuts. You were working there as a server to help pay your way through college. As usual he sat down at the counter with his head in a book and ordered one black coffee from Agnes. She lightly placed the cup in front of him and he picked in up to drink. When he took a sip though it was as if fireworks went off. This was the best damn cup of coffee that he had in years. Calling Agnes over he questioned who made it and when she pointed to you it was as if the world faded away. From then on he would go to Griddy’s anytime you were working. The coffee you made was great but seeing you was better. It took him a few weeks but he finally worked up the courage to talk to you. From that point on the two of you quickly became very close. Your kind and happy demeanor was refreshing and somehow meshed with his tough and sarcastic one.

And that’s where his issue was. Even though he enjoyed being around you it made him so flustered. He had no clue what was going on with himself recently. Every time he was with you his heart started racing, his palms became sweaty, he felt warm all over, sometimes he felt like he couldn’t breath. He wondered if he was sick or maybe even dying. Trying to grasp what was going on he turned to his family for help. He called them all over to the house only telling them that it was an emergency. 

When his siblings arrived they all sat in the living room staring at him.

“Well what’s the emergency? The world ending again?” Luther questioned impatiently

“I think i’m dying” Five responded

“Oh shit.” Diego says

“Oh no. Five, what is it? What’s going on?” Vanya questions sincerely

“Well I don’t know for sure that I’m dying but I think I am based on my symptoms.” Five responded

“Which are?” Allison asks

“Heart palpitations, excessive sweating, possibly fever, trouble breathing, lack of concentration.” Five answers “And they always happen when I’m around (Y/N).”

Klaus starts to laugh.

“What’s so funny about my imminent death Klaus? Keep laughing and I’ll make sure you pass first!” Five shouts at his sibling

“Now I might not be a MD but I am a doctor.” Klaus replies

Everyone looks at Klaus for explanation.

“I’m a love doctor and you my dear Five have caught the lovebug.” Klaus says turning his attention to Five

“What? Love? No it can’t be. I mean I just like spending all my time around her and talking to her but I mean I wouldn’t say that’s love is it? Oh shit am I in love with her?” Five starts to rant to himself “I- I don’t feel well. I feel all warm and my heart is racing again. I’m going to lay down.”

His siblings all give each other knowing looks. Five is absolutely, deeply, madly in love with you even if he couldn’t see it himself, but they had a plan to help push him in the right direction. Without his knowledge they decided to set up a blind date for the two of you. Luther, Diego and Klaus were tasked with writing the note to get you to come over and Allison and Vanya were to plan the date. The three boys put their heads together to write the invitation, each writing on section of it and then had Diego deliver it to you at work on your break. Going into the back room you read it. It said,

Dear (Y/N),

You are a girl and that is pretty cool. I think you do a great job at your job.

In my opinion you’re absolutely kickass. I wish I could be as cool as you are. Talking with you is like lighting a library on fire.

Your eyes draw me in like a nice glass of aged whiskey. I feel like i’m teetering on the verge between life and death when I am with you. You’re a radiant sight to see and are prettier than the kaleidoscope colors of a good LSD trip.

So I’ve heard at least! I don’t do drugs!

But I’m not lame as hell either. I’m really cool and tough and brooding. I’m a man of mystery.

But like my dad’s liquor cabinet I’m easy to unlock and there is so much good stuff inside of me.

But I only drink in moderation with adult supervision! Anyway you’re really awesome, and I think it would be cool if you could come over to hang out, with me later today, after your work shift is over because it would be odd to hang out at my place if you’re still at work because you’d still have to work.

My address is on the back. Come by later.

Sincerely,

Five, the handsomest ball of sarcasm ever

You laughed to yourself, you knew this wasn’t produced by the Five you knew and very much loved. Nevertheless went back to work and decided on stopping by his place later. Back at the house though the ladies were trying to put together a nice time for the two of you. They decided on...well they couldn’t decide. Allison wanted a movie night and Vanya wanted a relaxing dinner with music. Granted, they were biased in their ideas because they wanted to show off to you. Allison wanted to show you her movies and Vanya wanted to play her music for you. Luther supported Allison’s idea and Klaus supported Vanya’s and by the time Diego got back the living room was a mess of pillows, string lights and miscellaneous foods laying about. The siblings started to argue amongst themselves about how each of their ideas was better. Startled by the sound of commotion downstairs Five went to check it out. He stumbled upon the 5 siblings all arguing.

“Luther your parts of the invite were so bland!” Diego yells

“Well I had to compensate for all the crazy stuff Klaus wrote!” Luther retorts

“Crazy? You mean crazy romantic!” Klaus adds

“No! Crazy! Just like this clusterfuck of a venue! What did you two do while I was gone?” Diego asks his sisters

“Movie night is more romantic!” Allison replied

“Not when the movies you’re watching are of you! What are you some kind of narcissist?” Vanya yells

“Oh that’s rich coming from you Vanya. You only wanted the dinner so you could show off your violin playing!” Luther replies

“And you only went with Allison’s idea because you love her!” Klaus chimes in while taking a drink from the liquor cabinet

Five had seen enough. Fed up with his siblings arguing he yelled,

“What are you pathetic excuses for human beings arguing about this time?”

All of the siblings stop their arguing and turn their attention to Five. They all look away in embarrassment at the situation.

“Well?!” Five presses

Klaus steps forward first and says,

“Well we just thought that...”

“Since you were having trouble telling this, (Y/N) how you feel about her...” Luther continues

“We thought that it would be nice to invite her over...” Allison adds

“And set up a surprise date...” Diego continues

“For the two of you.” Vanya finishes

“YOU WHAT!” Five yells “I can’t believe that you’ve done this! I really like (Y/N) and I mean REALLY like her. She’s going to think I’m a psychopath and want nothing to do with me if she sees all this. I get it you want me to admit to myself and her that I have feelings for her, but this? This is a mess! She’ll never want to be with me like that if she sees all of this!”

Five looks at his siblings who all have wide eyes.

“What? What are you sad sacks looking at?”

“Probably me,” You say making your presence known to Five

“(Y/N), I- I can explain.” Five stutters out as he turns around to face you

“No need. I do think some of your claims are false though,” You reply

“Huh?” Five questions

“I think I’d still like to be with you even with all this mess. I really like you too.” You say placing a gentle hand on his cheek

“Well if that’s the case then would you’d like to get some coffee with me?” Five asks

"I’d love to.” You answer

Five extends his hand out towards you and you grab it. With your fingers intertwining the two of you happily walk out the door together. As five is closing the door to his home you whisper to him,

“Your family is weird.”

“They are but they’re the best.” He says

[hanadolphieron]

princess!hyejoo; chapter one~

warnings; none

genre; fluff, slight angst

pairing; son hyejoo x female reader

word count; 1.3k

summary; a disguised handmaiden catches your attention and spins you into a whirlwind of adventure (that was dramatic)

training to be a handmaiden was a highly respected field of education- at least to some. i mean, you didn’t mind it, you’ve never been one to feel resentful about waiting on others. in fact, you’re quite the opposite, and have issues with saying no, even if you don’t mean it when you say yes.

but still, waiting on a royal’s hand and foot was not exactly ideal. it paid well and got you a spot in the kingdom’s gossip circle, but you’d much rather be off on some adventure, saving the world or something more exciting than sitting here, in heredia castle’s ballroom, learning how to sit properly.

“y/n, are you listening?” your instructor breaks into your thoughts. you look at her. everyone else in the class has stood up, while you are still plopped on a stool, one ankle over the other, hands clasped in your lap.

“yes,” you rush out, hurriedly righting yourself.

she sighs, muttering about you “being off in your wonderland again.” 

still not focusing, you stare straight ahead at the tapestry-adorned wall in front of you. however, out of the corner of your eye, you watch the other girls. they’re doing the same routine as you, which consists of curtsies, a few dance steps, walking in the “correct” way, and other intricate moves used in formal situations.

they’re dressed in flowing ball-gowns, all colors of the rainbow: crimson, emerald, magenta, royal blue, lavender, along with shiny leather heels. gems are clipped into their hair, sparkling in the light emitted by the candles along the walls. they look perfect, the definition of conventional beauty.

your heart hurts knowing that some of the girls, the people that are your sisters, your family, will succumb to the grooming the handmaiden system puts them through. some will stop thinking for themselves, so stressed from the pressure of materialism and appearance that they begin to live only for others.

and you can only pray you won’t reach that same fate.

one of the handmaidens catches your eye. you don’t recall her being there before. she must be new. however, she seems to already know her way around court etiquette. interesting, considering most handmaidens come from poor families that have never stepped foot in a castle before. you make a note to keep an eye on her.

something in her eyes feels off to you. you can’t explain it, but she doesn’t act like the other girls. there’s a certain nervousness, mixed with an heir of superiority almost, like she knows something everyone else doesn’t. 

the formation changes, and said handmaiden is now standing next to you. it’s your cue to step up to an imaginary suitor and accept an invitation to dance.

it’s quite a unique sight, twenty girls dancing alone in an empty ballroom, the only noise is the sound of heels tapping against the floor and echoing against the marble walls.

the familiar waltz plays in your head, even if you can’t hear it aloud. you’ve listened to it so many times, it’s as familiar as the voices in your mind.

as you twirl and step, your eye glances to the suspicious handmaiden beside you. her skirt flies up a teensy bit as she whirls around, and you catch sight of something shiny against her leg. a knife, you realize. why would she carry one of those? it’s quite an aesthetic, you must say, one that you have coveted for the longest time, but have never gotten around to playing with. there’s never been a need for weaponry inside this castle. and besides, your role is to run squealing to the nearest guard and faint in their arms if danger ever comes your way.

the dance ends swiftly, leaving you and the rest of your class panting slightly and fanning yourselves. it’s around 8:00 p.m., time for your evening repast. however, you opt to go to your room instead, in order to relax for a while and watch the night sky.

walking out of the ballroom and turning to the left, you catch sight of someone’s shadow. it can’t be any of the girls, they unanimously decided to eat dinner in the hall. the logical side of your mind tells you it’s probably just a guard, not the suspicious dark figure your mystery-loving self wants to believe. however, you quiet your footsteps as you follow the silhouette down the hallway.

you trail the person for quite a ways, down a couple corridors and through some turns. they’re making their way towards the edge of the castle, in the direction of the western gate. interesting, you think again. no one uses the western gate, it’s main purpose is as a backdoor that servants travel through in order to take out the trash and do other tasks. 

suddenly, you lose sight of the figure. quickening your pace to try to catch up with them again, you lightly jog down the last hallway you saw the shadow. it’s a dead end. no one’s there. 

however, taking your chances with accidentally alerting someone and looking like an absolute fool, you call out, “who are you? i know someone’s here.”

the corridor remains silent for a couple moments, before you feel a presence a few feet behind you. 

“why did you follow me?” a feminine voice asks.

turning around, you come face to face with the owner of the voice. they’re the girl from your class earlier, the one with the dagger strapped against her calf. hyejoo, if you recall what the teacher addressed her as.

“i was wondering who you were. the only people around were the rest of the girls, and they’d decided to go to dinner.”

hyejoo seems a little surprised at this, crossing her arms across her chest, although you don’t know what other kind of answer she was expecting.

“looking for trouble?” she inquires. the intention of being intimidating was there, but the execution was a little too gentle.

“maybe,” you respond, “but it seems not as much as you are. what are you doing down here?”

“i was lost, that’s all. in fact, i’ll be heading back to my quarters right now,” hyejoo defends, avoiding eye contact and making to turn around and scramble like an egg.

you don’t buy it. “why were you running then?”

“running? i wasn’t...” hyejoo glances at you, seeing the expression on your face and realizing that she’s not going to fool you easily.

“tell me what’s going on,” you say gently, “i’m not going to rat you out of or anything.”

“i can’t tell you what i’m doing, all i need is some answers,” she looks pleadingly at you.

“alright, ask away,” you say. you’ve hit the jackpot~ your think giddily to yourself, this is how storybooks start.

hyejoo hesitates, before quietly inquiring, “where is the king’s office?”

not what you were expecting, but you tell her, “the second right turn in the main corridor near the dining hall.”

she nods. “and the queen’s?”

“adjourning the king’s.”

her eyes glaze over slightly, she’s thinking about something. you don’t question her, knowing she doesn’t really want to be interrogated right now. however, your mind is still itching for more information.

“is there a secret way to get there?”

“yes,” you respond slowly, “but if you want me to tell you, i need to know why first.”

sighing under her breath and tensing up, hyejoo is silent for a while. “can i trust you?” she finally asks. you reassure her that you won’t pass up an adventure like this, to which she seems to relax a little.

somehow feeling guilty about making you do something risky like this, hyejoo makes you confirm your agreement, “yes, hyejoo, i do want to do this. besides, we’re handmaidens- we get caught and all we have to is play dumb. they’ll accept our excuses without batting an eye. it’ll be a piece of cake.”

she nods solemnly, a slight smile dawning on her face. “meet you at your rooms tomorrow evening?”

next | masterlist

[finalfantasy7]

Letting go

Despite all the crying, all the pain, all the disappointment that came from that little bookstore, I’m still scared of letting it go. Honest to god afraid of allowing it to become a distant memory where I can barely make out most of the details.

Little did I know going in I would barely register as a real job, strictly viewing it as a seasonal gig, only to leave it with bleeding heart strings.

I remember how at first I didn’t allow myself to see it as a long term gig, not after only staying as a seasonal at a previous location (a decision that admittedly ended up being a strike against my confidence). And yet, as the holiday season came closer to ending, the more anxious I became about being kept on passed the holiday season. It only became worse as I started to bond with the team there. Everyone and everything seemed to click. I very quickly found myself in a new “comfort zone” and much like love, it’s beautiful to experience and even scarier to lose.

What I failed to realize until now, was I had personally laid down the structure of the home I now associate with that environment. Yes, my colleagues were each as warm as they were individuals; each carrying a back full of personalized arrows and hearts full of dreams and fears alike. But looking back, so many of them highlighted how their kindness was not cheap and for some, certainly wasn’t free.

I now understand what [redacted] means when she says I seem to be the “glue” between people. A substance whose sole purpose is to hold things together and tightly at that. That being said, there are few cases of universal glue. No, in fact there’s specific types of glue for specific materials. I am nowhere near being a universal glue but I seem to be a decent brand for people…or at least those who can afford to be a bit vulnerable and honest.

To this day I will rave about my former coworkers, even more so about the ones I still keep in contact with today. But I’m now starting to see that the bookstore was home to me for a bit BECAUSE I made it home. I could have come in day in and day out and never looked back but I didn’t, at the time it almost felt like I couldn’t. How could I? When a small, insecure being was being suddenly labeled with tags and titles they had never heard before.

I wasn’t “[dead name]” when I stepped through those blue doors but “Finn Acosta”. Nor longer was I this lost entity, a ball of failure, fears and anxieties. No, I was now “Finn”; an attractive, fashionable leader who always seemed to “really see” people for who they were. But even at the time these words read hollow, not because I didn’t believe the genuine sentiment behind them but simply because I didn’t see that person looking back at me in the mirror. They unfortunately went from compliments to a heavy mask I felt I needed to wear, to proudly carry and maintain lest I seek to disappoint everyone.

There was a time period when “life was good” at work. I had recently been hired and I was hungry. You wanted to teach me how to make a table? Let’s do it. Need help with overnight inventory? Something I’ve never done before? I’m game. Wanna teach me how to rearrange every decorative piece on a table? Can’t wait. I suppose this time period could accurately be labeled as “Finn was bubbly” here or at least that’s how one manager described it when discussing how much I had changed by the end of my bookstore career. Managers seem to like this time period as much as I did. I used to think I was happy here and I suppose I was and yet, looking back it all seems so Illusionary? Perhaps our image of happiness changes more throughout our lives than we’d like to admit. But here I was in a relationship which I believed at the time was perfect, was in a workplace I believed was perfect and was starting to carry a new outlook of myself I had, you guessed it, deemed as perfect.

I sometimes wonder if I had the opportunity would I go back in time and warn that version of myself about the storm that was starting to brew? No, I don’t think I would. Even with the knowledge I have now, nothing could have prepared me for what was about to unfold, not really. Plus, who am I to rip off those rose coloured glasses off my past self- she was genuinely as happy as she could have been. I feel weirdly maternal towards that person. I know they were doing their best….unfortunately their best would soon be crushed by reality, more specifically, the flaws and beauty of what it means to be human.

Now going into my second year of psyche I can confidently say reading about humans and experiencing them are very different. To read about projection and have it’s description neatly grouped in small bullet points is very different from someone angrily shutting down your greeting because they’re having a bad day. I experienced a lot of projection at work and equally threw in my own.

It’s fascinating to think I experienced both appreciation and questioning of personality all at once in the same environment. I would be commended on how understanding I could be but equally questioned on how I couldn’t view things as more black and white the same people. How could you see only grays, is what I’d heard in my mind. Where was the fire? Where was the anger? Did it mean I didn’t care? Perhaps I simply didn’t give enough thought to these topics? But that wasn’t the case at all. For months on end I would ruminate about work; everything from issues of health and safety, union processing, to the well being of my coworkers.

This was my pack and I needed to care for it as best as I could…so I did. Someone didn’t feel comfortable addressing concerns to management? I’d do it for them. Let me check in with everyone I saw to see how they were. You look tired, allow me to buy you a coffee. Let me send out feedback forms to see what people need. Remember, each and everyone one of you matters and deserves nothing but care. Oh wait, management is also made up of human beings so I should also extend all this to them. Let me do this, let me do that, I will do this, I will do that. Eventually I became a husk of the person I started off at the beginning of the year. I felt bitter and broken. To put it frankly, I was exhausted.

I’ve never broken down so much in a place of work. I would sit in the corner of the washroom and cry (not too much so we couldn’t stop but enough to get a good sob out). No one ever knew. I know because I’ve now highlighted this to a few former coworkers and they each wear the same look of surprise, sadness and empathy. But why the tears? It was just a part time job and it was…until it wasn’t. Somewhere along the way this part time job truly became something else. I went from clocking in and out, to bringing every person who worked with me home. I packed up their fears in a precious bag and wore it around, how couldn’t I? They were afraid and I was used to carrying around people’s emotions with me. I was even better at wearing a bright toothy smile that hid my own emotions.

At some point I stopped being a CER and started to be..well..I suppose glue. But remember what I said earlier about different types of glue for different materials? Well, you see- management wasn’t particularly fond of the type of glue I was, at least a majority of them didn’t seem to be. You see in the eyes of my leaders, I WAS someone who was just clocking in and out and they weren’t happy with this. You see, the company preferred the type of glue that bonded workers and the company’s “vision”. Workers that were so bonded with that vision that it became almost indistinguishable of where the person started and the sales pitch ended. They wanted you to take work home with you, just not in the way I did. Ironically, because of this I was rated as a low performer; because I didn’t care enough, when all of my peers were telling me the opposite.

But there it was, the other shoe had finally fallen and little Finn isn’t as sturdy as they seem. No, in fact, I remember running out of the performance review in tears, rushing past my coworkers as I digested being told I was a failure (another notch to add to the belt). It’s true when they say, sometimes it’s not the information itself but how it’s delivered. I felt ganged up in the review; mine being the only that required the GM to be present (more like be the one who conducted it but I digress). My mind had completely shut down as my superiors watched me shrink into myself, using the little energy I had to not break down and cry. The surrealism of them joking around about not being able to find a seat in the mall to conduct the review as my mind turned into static. They told me I had “really up days and really down days”, a sentence that may as well be a death sentence if you deal with a form of mental illness. They noticed, they noticed I wasn’t neurotypical, that I was different and not in a good way. You know what hurts the most? These two women were part of a moment of trauma for me and they didn’t even try- for them it was just another day at work. They’ll never know how I spent the next few months psychoanalyzing myself, speaking with professionals to help me find “what I did wrong?”, “why was I a failure?”.

After months of pouring every bit of energy I had towards my team I was told I wasn’t good enough. A part of me wishes I could send this letter to those women, to show them “look what you did to me”. But I feel it would give them another opportunity to dismiss me when I’m most vulnerable, a moment similar to when they glossed over my anxiety disorder, chalking it up to, “I think we’re all anxious right now”.  At the end of everything I’m more hurt than bitter. I’m not a manager, I’m not a leader but I know I would never put someone in such a situation and at the very least I can sleep at night knowing that.

To say my time at the bookstore was a learning experience would be an understatement. One day I was at cash dealing with a customer who clearly wasn’t having a good day and I decided then and there, I needed to leave. So, I finally ripped the rose coloured glasses off and decided to give my two weeks. Those two weeks were the least stressed I had been the entire year. Ironically, I had to leave the bookstore to finally take to heart the kind words that were told to me in it. I remember how I was told at my previous location how incredible it was of how many interpersonal relationships I had made in the short amount of time and it looks like here was no different….but it was. I’m now permanently leaving this company behind and realizing if this is what I can do with a few months, a year, imagine what I can do in a permanent career setting? I think I’ll be just fine; not because I’m “Finn”, not because I’m glue but because I try and maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.

[twinkleallnight]

Marshmallow

(Part -15) Denouement

Book: The Royal Romance AU

Word count: 1974

Disclaimer: All characters belong to pixelberry.

Rating: Teen/ PG

Warning: None.

A/N: An AU with Drake’s POV, showcasing his life as a commoner at the royal palace. Catch up here

I meet Hana couple of times after the drunk incident but ignore all signs. We never speak of what happened that night. May be, because I don’t want to acknowledge the obvious feelings blooming between us and she is too embarrassed about her state that night.

*******

Finally, the day arises when the country is full of cheerful sounds and bright colours. The palace is being decorated with expensive flowers and exquisite tapestries. Tapestries that depict the valour and courage of the Rhys dynasty.

I stand with Liam in front of a blank wall in anticipation. A life-size portrait is raised up by the palace staff and I see Liam’s chest swell up with pride as his head is held high looking into the eyes of his ancestor King Fabian in the image.

“Your favourite person.” I look at him knowingly.

“My idol. When I wear the crown today, I want to be just and true to my people like him.”

I clasp his shoulder. “You will be the most compassionate king Cordonia has seen.”

“I hope.” Liam beams. “Would you like to come with me to the study? I plan to brush up my speech and then head for the lunch.”

“You go ahead. I think I will see you at the ball. Call me if you need me around.”

“May I know where are you headed to?”

“I have to be at the boutique for a trial.” I say sheepishly.

Liam’s eyes widen, “You are going to dress up?”

I grin, “It’s my best friend’s coronation ball.”

He cocks his head searching in my eyes. “Or is it Hana?”

“I won’t deny.” I reply bashfully.

Liam nods his head with a smile. “I like the new Drake.”

“It’s the same old me.”

“Well, that we will see in the evening.” Liam chortles. “See you at the ball.” He waves and walks away.

I make a beeline to the boutique and coyly enter in. Hana had assured me that no one will be there around at this hour of the day.

“Hana...”, I call out in a tense voice.

She sways down smiling at me from the back of the room and holds my hand. “I am so glad you agreed. You are going to love this.” She pushes me to the trial rooms in excitement. “Go on. Try it.”

When I walk out dressed in a grey suit, she lets out a gasp and scurries to me. Her arms wrap around my neck making me chuckle. She gives me a quick hug and steps back admiring. “Wait here. I want to show you something.”

She brings out another garment bag. She flips the bag to reveal a silver grey gown. “ I found something matching with your suit to wear.” She giggles. I shake my head smiling in disbelief.

“What? You find it funny?” she pouts, a bit disheartened.

“Absolutely not!” I raise her chin with my curled finger. “Look at me. I was the commoner who never showed interest in any of these pompous affairs. But with you around I feel like a different person. I want to try it all. It’s not funny. It’s just that I am beaming at the new me.”

Her eyes brighten up again. “I am so excited for tonight.”

“ I can see that. Me too.”

“Okay, now you need to leave. I have some more last minute things to finish.”

“You sure don’t need my help anywhere.”

“No. Thank you.”

She pushes me out of the boutique giggling in enthusiasm.

I have a quiet lunch and retire to my quarters till evening.

*************

Later in the evening:

The palace shines in all its glory with strings of lights twinkling around its edges. The nobles arrive in their luxury vehicles one after another draped in choicest of designer wears, waving out to the cameras flashing at the entrance. The media is covering the country’s most important event in decades, alerting their representatives to capture who’s who of the royal court.

I calmly observe the rush, as usual, from my favourite spot, the bar. Liam joins me soon.

“Hana has a great taste.”

“What?” I look at him quizzically.

He raises his eyebrows in praise and waves his hand at me. “The suit looks good on you. She chose well.”

“Chose well? You mean the suit or me?”

He laughs out. “She has improved your sense of humour too. You are no longer the grumpy one.”

“I was never grumpy except in Riley’s dictionary.”

Just then, Max sprints towards Liam, “Hey Li, have you seen the grumpy guy around?”

I turn to him, “Very funny, Beaumont.”

“Oh, is it really you Drakey!” He gropes over and cups my face, his voice, a note higher and melodramatic. “You gave away your denims for a suit? That must be so painful. Are you alright?” He places the back of his hand on my forehead, trying to test my temperature.

“Cut it out Max.” I shrug away his hands as I notice Liam stifling a laugh.

Hana and Riley join the gang and they get busy with the chit chat. I notice Hana stealing glances at me but her eyes have a worried look. Something seems to be amiss that I cannot place my finger upon. After sometime she excuses herself and I find her exiting the main doors. I follow her towards the lawn.

There under the silver of moon, Hana shimmers in her silver gown, standing alone, deep in her thoughts. I step closer to her and wrap my arm around her shoulder.

She turns around to face me and suddenly hugs me tightly. “What’s wrong?” I ask her softly.

She doesn’t utter a word but pulls out an envelope from her clutch and hands it over to me. I don’t understand the foreign language written in it but definitely know that whatever it is, it has upset her. Her voice is almost a whisper when she says, “It’s over. I have to leave.” Still looking down into the letter.

I hold her at her elbows and tug, “Leave? Why?”

She raises her head and I see her eyes are welled up with tears. “It’s a letter from my parents. They say if I am not Liam’s choice tonight, which they know well, I should be moving back to Shangai tomorrow.”

I feel like someone has sucked out the breath from me, as I stand speechless in front of her.

‘Is this how it ends? No. Is this how I want it to end?’ It’s a split-second decision I make in a trice. I embrace her tightly. I hear her gasp with my unexpected move. Her hands lightly resting on my arms, letter still held in one.

I cup her face and look into my favourite honey almond eyes. “Hana…” I gather some more courage to say things I intend to. “I don’t know what happens tomorrow. But I want you to know that you are the most amazing person I have ever met. You are epitome of perfection yet you ignore the imperfections people around you have. Hell, you turn those short comings into a silver lining. You do things for the people you care. It’s impossible to stay away from you once someone gets to know you. I don’t know if I even deserve to be with you. But I want tell you this, that I… I love you. And I won’t let this end here. It’s not over. Not yet.”

She tries to open her mouth to say something but before that I lower my mouth on hers and capture the warmth of her lips. My fingers, cupping her face, feel the wetness of her tears rolling down her cheeks. I roll my thumb to wipe them away without breaking the kiss.

********

“How do you think it goes from here?” Riley questions in general.

“I don’t have any idea.” I rub my hands over my eyes.

I had requested Liam for an urgent word regarding Hana’s plans, in turn he called Riley and now we are all seated with him in his study.

“Can’t you stay?” Riley asks Hana.

“No.” Hana speaks softly, looking into a hollow.

“Why?”

“This is how it was supposed to be. My parents wanted me to be in Cordonia so that I find a suitable match in some noble house. With the social season coming to an end tonight, they don’t want me to stay any longer without purpose.”

“Damn it!” I curse in frustration.

“So, we really can’t do anything?” Riley looks at Liam for an answer.

“Not immediately. We will have to wait.” Liam says brooding.

“How long?” Riley seems to be more restless.

“Until I take over the office as the king of Cordonia.” He pauses, “And I can’t directly pass the first orders for Lee family at Shanghai when there must be many pressing issues Cordonia is dealing with. So we will have no option but to be patient.”

There is a knock at the door. Bastein peeps in to remind, “I am sorry to interrupt but we are running against time, sir. The king has asked for your presence in the main hall.”

Liam gets up looking at the watch. “I am afraid, we will have to curtail this meeting. Drake, I will see what I can do. I will update you.” He pats my back and then addresses Hana.

“Hana, trust me, we will find out a solution. I am sorry that you have to go through this.”

She gives a forced smile. “Thank you.”

Riley hugs her in reassurance and they both walk out of the study. I keep looking blankly at her retrieving figure. Bastein clears his throat to pull me back from my thoughts. “I… I…”

Bastein walks to me. He places his hand on my back. “Son, you are dealing with the nobles here. Don’t jump into action too soon. Take one step at a time. Things will fall in place if all goes well. Tomorrow, the king will be the one who is your best friend. As much as I know the boy, he will always have your back.” I nod in agreement.

“Have faith and some hope. This too shall pass.”

“Thank you, Bas.” I compose myself and stride down the hall with him.

The coronation ceremony is conducted smoothly. Watching Liam bearing a crown is a moment of pride. Minutes later, the announcement for the queen is made and against all odds he declares his love, lady Riley, as his future queen. They exchange rings and pose to the paparazzi as an officially engaged couple.

My eyes are stuck at the grand clock, each passing second ticking in my ear. My heart is racing against time. I scan through the crowd once again. Hana stands on the other end of the hall with other suitors. Our eyes pierce into each other hers throwing away sadness and mine hoping against hope.

“You know if Liam can get true love, against all odds, you too deserve to be with the one you love.” I snap at the voice that spoke behind me.

“Leo? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t have missed my baby brother’s coronation ceremony.” He shrugs. We meet each other with a hug.

“So, you and Hana, huh?” he asks inquisitively.

“Didn’t you just come back to Cordonia? How do you know?”

He looks across my shoulder at someone. “She knows, so I know.” He raises his glass wine in someone’s direction.

I turn around to see whom he is pointing to. My jaw drops when I check the lady walking towards us. She stops besides Leo and he places a soft kiss on her cheek. Their arms wind around each other’s waist.

“You…and…Livy?” I falter, astonished at the sudden turn of events.

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