#unwavering loyalty the perfect servant

[miscomm]

the possibilities that hufflepuff’s traits have to be twisted and turned to make a ‘villain’ character are insane

[beloveds-embrace]

Dukedom au masterlist (yes i need to update it ik) and we will not talk abt the abrupt ending 😭

The grand ballroom of glittered with the light of a thousand candles, their flames dancing across marble floors and golden fixtures hung from the ceilings. A symphony played softly in the background, a perfect complement to the hum of ongoing conversation and chatter. You stood at the center of it all, draped in a gown of midnight blue silk, embroidered with silver thread that mirrored the stars. A gift from Simon, one that had you staring at the beautiful dress in awe.

Tonight, you were the very image of grace and poise.

Your face and movements are calm and collected, hiding what you truly feel beneath. Lately, whispers of dishonor had begun circulating; rumors that your husband had fled a border skirmish back when he’d been deployed, abandoning his men, yet had paid for the matter to be buried. Vile lies, born of cowardice and malice. John’s name, his reputation, and the honor of your house were at stake; disloyalty towards the empire was seen as treason, and that was unforgivable.

You would not allow it.

The first spark of rage had ignited the moment you’d overheard the vile accusations from another lady, one of your more arrogant rivals who had laughed snidely. From there, the rumors spread like wildfire, poisoning the halls of the court and society.

But you were no stranger to such games like these. Tonight, after much planning, you’ll put an end to this farce.

You began with your loyal ladies-in-waiting. Each one owed their position to you, and in return, they offered their unwavering loyalty. “Listen carefully,” you instructed them during a private meeting in your sitting room, the door locked behind you. “Go into the court, the markets, the salons- anywhere whispers thrive. I want names, places, and patterns. Who speaks these lies, and who listens too closely?”

They curtsied and departed without hesitation, melting into the bustling world outside of the manor. Meanwhile, you turned your attention to your maids and house staff. Servants were the lifeblood of any noble house, privy to secrets thought hidden.

You met with them personally with Kyle’s help, ensuring they understood the stakes. “Speak subtly,” you said, your voice calm but firm. “Let it slip that those who spread these rumors do so for their own gain, that there’s no substance to the rumors. Plant doubt. Create cracks.”

“As you wish, my lady.” Kyle nods his head, hands on your waist. He leans down, and kisses your forehead, and you smile all sweet and pretty at him. “Whatever you want.”

While you wove your network of spies, John watched quietly from the shadows of the manor. Though he trusted you implicitly, he couldn’t help but feel a mixture of awe and unease. He didn’t want to doubt you, but he worried nonetheless for you.

In his study, he sat with Kyle.

“How’s she faring?” John asked, puffing a cigar as he leaned back in his chair. Papers were scattered on his desk, though they didn’t require immediate attention or replies. Pressed close to Kyle, bodies warm, he didn’t want to go back to working for now.

Kyle hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “She’s… efficient, John. The staff is utterly devoted to her even without my help. I’ve seen no signs of hesitation in her plans.”

John chuckled dryly, though there was a flicker of appreciation in his eyes. “I am not surprised. She’s scarier than any battlefield, Kyle. And they love her.”

With the groundwork laid, you began preparing to host a big gala at the manor. Invitations were sent far and wide, carrying the promise of exquisite dining, captivating entertainment, and the opportunity to curry favor with one of the most powerful families in the region.

None dared refuse.

Johnny worked tirelessly to ensure every detail of the menu was flawless, and though he would have helped anyways, he still enjoyed all the kisses he got as reward from yoh. “You’re pilin’ it on thick, Duchess,” he remarked one evening, wiping his brow as he inspected a rack of lamb. “Even for you.”

“This isn’t just a party, Johnny,” you replied, humming. “This is war.”

“War it is, then. Anything for you, bonnie.” he muttered, diving back into his work with renewed determination. After a very heated look from you that had him preening, though; he looked handsome in his element. And you’ll make sure to really show him your appreciation for all his hard work later, in the privacy of your rooms.

At every other gala and gathering, you moved through the crowd like a dancer with a purpose. You guided conversations subtly, planting seeds of doubt and faltering those who tried to be a bit too brave- and your reputation as a “people’s princess” helped so greatly. Your allies- the few you trusted among the nobility-played their roles perfectly.

Simon, especially. You had specifically asked for his help, curled warm and cozy on his lap one night. He’d kissed you breathless and told you he would always be there for you.

“Lord Marcan, was it?” Simon mused during one party, his glass of whiskey balanced effortlessly in his hand. The others immediately listen to him; though he isn’t the most talkative noble, his words carry weight. “I’ve heard some interesting things about him. Did you know he’s deeply in debt? I wonder how far a man would go to escape ruin.”

The other nobles exchanged glances, uncertainty flickering across their faces. You watched from a distance, satisfied as Simon delivered the blow with effortless charm.

Your web was nearly complete, each thread pulling tighter around Lord Marcan- the instigator of the rumors- until he had no room to maneuver. At the final ball of the season, the one hosted by you and John, you made your final move.

You descended the grand staircase as the guests gathered, your presence commanding attention. At your signal, the servants unveiled a surprise: a performance of actors reenacting a scene from an old skirmish. But this was no ordinary play; it was a dramatized retelling of that battle, one that highlighted John’s bravery and leadership even when Lord Marcan had tried to say John had fled that day.

The crowd was entranced, all earlier doubts finally wavering and shattering. You saw Marcan shift uncomfortably, his face pale as his lies unraveled before him and eyes turned towards him in disgust.

From the balcony above, John watched with Simon and Kyle at his side. “She’s terrifying.” he murmured, though his voice carried a note of awe.

Simon smirked. “You married a bloody tactician.”

Kyle simply nodded. “She fights for you, for us, John. And she wins.”

By the end of the evening, Lord Marcan was a broken man and his wife, Lady Marcan who had laughed at you by the rumor, was seething. Their allies abandoned them, their name tarnished by his cowardice and deceit and her aftions.

And the rumors about John’s supposed abandonment of his men? Gone.

That night, as you removed your jewelry in the quiet of your chambers, John approached you. His hands rested on your bare shoulders, his touch warm and grounding.

“You’ve been busy, beloved.” he said, his voice soft but laced with admiration.

“I did what needed to be done.” you replied, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “I know you could have simply challenged him to a duel… but we didn’t have full confirmation it was him who started. I had to do it this way.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’re terrifying, love. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

From the shadows of the room, Simon leaned casually against the doorframe. “She’s not wrong, John. Best keep on her good side.”

Johnny’s voice echoed from the hallway as he came by with a tray of food. Kyle comes as well, carrying glasses of wine. “Aye, and keep feeding her. Keeps her from plotting.”

Kyle sighs, though he has a smile on his face as he sets the glasses down and instead comes to help you. “…he isn’t exactly wrong. You were incredible…. And scary.”

“Perfect, in other words.” John hums, an eyebrow raising. You do not have enough time to ask anything before he and Kyle are gently turning you around on the seat, face to face with John who kneels down. “You’ve worked so hard for me, for us, my Duchess. Let me take care of you now, hm?”

“John…“

“No more words, my love,” he shakes his head, Kyle’s hands reaching to unlace your dress, your corset, until your breasts spill out. John doesn’t even seem mildly bothered by the layers of your skirt, flipping them up until you are indecent in front of your men and he is face to face with your panties. The way they look at you, so much want…

You don’t mind. The slick spot forming speaks more than enough anyways.

“Tonight,” John murmurs, kissing your inner thighs. “Will be all about spoiling you, wife.”

[i-cant-sing]

To that one thought about the different monarchs YES TO ALL

Ahahaha im so glad so many people liked that idea (OG post here), so ive decided to work on it. So, lets set the story okay? (also btw do not @ me with historical inaccuracies and dates because i simply dont care about all of this that deeply). This AU will have multiple parts, where reader gets to travel through different time periods (and some of them will be real historic figures, others would be created by me).

Reader is a scientist, was working on her time machine (which is just a small box with time/year slots on it), and decides to travel to the past to solve some mysteries, or perhaps simply for the love of history.

So, where does reader travel to first?

1180. Landing right in the kingdom of Jerusalem. And who does she meet?

King Baldwin IV- the leper king.

Reader wanted to see how leprosy, a deadly disease at the time, had affected the king, who despite his conditions, still managed to possess great military strategies and IQ. And how even though his people knew about his outcome, still pledged their loyalty and unwavering support.

You, a scientist of the modern time ofc brought along futuristic gadgets with you. Knowing how youd look in your present era clothes, you wore a watch that allowed you to change into clothes of old times, to blend in easily. All of your gadgets were concealed easily because of their "invisibility cloak" feature.

You made your way towards the castle, making sure to not let awe be apparent in your face as you took in your surroundings, thinking of all the questions youd like to ask the wise king. Of course, you had to make sure you dont do anything to disturb the historic timeline, because then it just might lead to disastrous results.

Getting into the castle was easy, after all you had equipment to sneak you in undetected. You looked around as the servants rushed around, talking about making the arrangements perfect for the feast. You figured out that the feast was probably for another victory the king had gotten, which meant that everyone would be too busy to notice you snooping around.

With everyone engaged downstairs, you had your way up to the king's study, where you opened the door only to be met with a tall burly man standing there, looking surprised to see you.

"Who are you?" He barked, and you got the worst vibes from this man.

"Uh- Im a servant!" You said,backing up a little, just in case you needed to make a run. The man narrowed his eyes as he looked you up and down. "A servant? No servants are allowed in the king's study!"

"The king sent me here." You lied. "And why are you here if servants are not allowed?"

The man's eyes widened in rage before grabbing you by the neck. "Because Im not a servant, fool! I'm his brother in law!" He shook you hard. "And I dont think youre a servant, if you couldnt recognise me! I will have your head, spy!"

"GUY!" Someone yelled from behind you, making Guy look up as his grip around your neck loosened. "Let her go!"

"Your majesty, she's a spy-"

"She's a servant. I sent her up to retrieve my papers." Guy let you go, as you quickly turned around to see him- King Baldwin. You bowed to him as you gave him a glance, noticing his piercing gaze through his iron mask. His gaze shifted from you to Guy. "And what were you doing here, Guy?"

"I was looking for Sibylia, your majesty." He said.

"In my study? My sister is waiting for you downstairs. Go." Guy scrambled away with his tail tucked between his legs, while you watched as the king made his way into his study, leaving you outside.

You took a step back, about to leave-

"Well, come on in." He called you. You ponder over it for a second before walking in. Look, how many times can you meet a historical figure like him?

Baldwin was sitting in his chair, his eyes looking at you through his mask. "So, who are you and what were you doing here? And dont bother lying, unless you want to be tortured for attempted assassination on the king."

You bit your lip before sighing. "Im Y/n L/n." Clasping your hands together, you took a deep breath. "I came here because... I wanted to know about you."

He rested his chin on his palm. "Why? Do you not know about the king of Jerusalem? Where are you from?" He's not vain, but he knows that his numerous victories have made him popular over the years. So why do you not know of him? Or his brother in law, Guy, who is very vain.

"Im from nowhere. For as long as I can remember, Ive been travelling from place to another. Of course, Ive heard about you, but... I crave to know more." You said, partly telling the truth because you do want to know more about him.

His eyes remained on you, the same intense gaze. "And why should I allow you to know more? Do you mistake yourself to be worthy enough to even be in the presence of a king?"

Shit. He was trying to put you in the corner. You had to play this smart.

You smiled softly. "Of course not. Then again, none of us are worthy of anything God blesses us with." You paused, letting the words settle. "Your majesty, I only wish to know more about you because I like to write. I like to write about history, and when one day, God forbid, you succumb to your illness, wouldn't you like to be known for more than just your victories?" You'd read about how Baldwin IV was a fan of history and stories.

His eyes stared at you- no, through you. Unmoving, he replied. "Man shouldnt be so narcissistic to have someone write about his deeds."

You gave a nod. "Jesus wasnt a narcissist. Neither was Mary, nor Abraham. Muhammad wasnt a narcissist either, yet theyre mentioned in books- holy books, nonetheless."

The room fell silent for a few seconds, before he spoke. "True. But why should I have you write it, instead of using one of my scribes?"

"Precisely for the reason you just said." You raised your head a bit. "They'd write never ending praises for you, portray you as this omnipotent ruler, make you look like a narcissit even. I have a keen eye, your majesty. I like to look at what there is beyond the surface. If you let me be your scribe, I could write about details you dont even know. Id write about your strengths as well as weaknesses, for the generations to read and learn from you."

Baldwin remained still for a few moments before finally standing up, walking directly towards you until he was face to face. His blue eyes shining bright under his iron mask.

"I will let you write, under two conditions. First- I approve what gets to be in the book. And second... you spy for me."

"Wait, spy?"

He hummed. "Well, not a conventional spy. You wont have to leave this castle and penetrate enemy territories to eavesdrop. I still dont trust you enough. No- you- you will spy on my court. I want to know what is happening, when, where, and who says what." Under his mask, he raised a brow. "Do you accept?"

You pretended to hesitate, when in reality this was the exact situation you wanted to be in. "Hmm... yes. I accept."

"Good." He walks back towards his desk. "I expect that it goes without saying- complete discretion." You smiled. "Of course, your majesty."

-

Months passed by as you worked for the king. He let you in on details, allowed you to ask personal questions, and in return you kept an eye on everything that happened in court. Listening on to what the servants whispered to eavesdropping on "secret meetings" of the nobles- of course, headed by Guy. Oh how you loathed that vermin's guts. No- he had no guts. A spineless creature, who blatantly talked of the king's eventual demise and all the ways he'd make the kingdom flourish again, how he'd show "no mercy to Salauddin and his muslims". You have no idea how Sibylla was attracted to him- a man who plans her brother's demise openly.

As for the king, working with him- or for him, wasnt all bad. In fact, it was quite fun. The amount of stories, the secrets youve been able to discover- none of it could ever be found in any history book. Most of all, you respect Baldwin on a whole new level now.

His struggles, ever since he was kid- not being a legitmate ruler, his parents being forced to separate, then being diagnosed with leprosy but forced to keep it a secret, the competition with his other sibling to be the heir, and of course, even when he did become the king, he still had to prove his mettle- his worth that he's worthy of ruling even with his disease.

With his life expectancy being uncertain and a huge amount of responsibility being shovelled onto him, he had to learn a lot and master various skills in very short time.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown.

Y/n could only imagine how isolated he must feel. Not being able to touch anyone, to have a significant other, to constantly win battles and do everything in your power to help the kingdom flourish, just for him to not even be alive to enjoy the fruits of his efforts. And worse, he's forced to give it away to his brother in law, that useless piece of shit.

Its one thing that confuses you about Baldwin. You know how persistent he is, how when he sets his eyes on something, he does everything in power and BEYOND to achieve it. For example, when he was only a child and had started to lose the ability to use his hands, he quickly learned to use his thighs to steer his horse. He did not let his disease hold him back, so how does a person as motivated as him simply allow his kingdom to be left in the hands of someone as incapable as Guy?

Then again, you suppose he's doing it for the sake of his sister. Baldwin adores Sibylla, and you could see why. Sibylla was his older sister, she took care of him, and she was forced to marry early because the court would only allow Baldwin to be king IF she were married, so that when Baldwin dies of leprosy, her husband could take care of the kingdom. Baldwin views it as the ultimate sacrifice, so even though he has tried to separate his sister from Guy, she has refused because she's in love with him.

God knows how. You wondered. Guy does not have any redeeming qualities, then again youre thinking like a 21st century woman. Woman of this time had the bar for men set below the deepest level in hell.

"So, what do you have for me today?" Baldwin asked you, snapping you out of your thoughts. You sighed, shaking your head. "Nothing new, really. Your brother in law, pardon my language your majesty, has been spewing shit about how he'll make the kingdom great again when you die. But when those nobles ask him how, he either has no answer and tries to cover it up by saying its a secret, or he'd say something so ridiculous- his ideas are bound to not only fail, but actually destroy the kingdom even more. I am surprised he doesnt give himself a headache by his own voice. God knows i get one whenever he opens his mouth." You complained, rubbing your temples making the king chuckle. Baldwin seemed to enjoy how informally you spoke.

"Guy is... something else. I apologise on his behalf." You could sense him smiling under his mask. You gave a small smile, but truthfully, your head was actually hurting a lot. You could only hope this was not a migraine developing.

"Would you like tea? Or wine?" He asked as he called in a servant. "Just water for me, thank you." You said, closing your eyes for a few moments as the sharp ache in your head increased.

Baldwin's eyes remained on you, a calculated gaze. "Are you alright? Should I call in the physician?" You shook your head. As if you could trust physicians of this time. "No, I'll be fine after I sleep." You have some medical potions with you that could heal your basic diseases and pains. A gift of modern medicine. But you'll have to use it discreetly, lest someone from this era discovers it and calls you a witch.

The servant soon brought in a chalice filled with water for you and you immediately took a sip of the cool water. Baldwin stood up as he walked over to the window, looking out into the dark night.

"Can I ask you something personal?" You asked. He hummed. You stared at his back, the white cloak he was dressed in. "Do you think if you never had this disease, would you still be a great king? A king who is so motivated to make his kingdom as successful as he can before his time is up?"

He looked back at you, and for a second you wondered if you had slighted him. But these past few months, you've learned to read his body language, despite how hard he conceals both himself and his thoughts.

"No." He said, turning back to the window. "I probably would've been a spoiled brat, I don't think I would've even been chosen to be king. I would've lost it to my half brothers." He tilted his head as he looked at a particular star in the sky. "I suppose my disease is a blessing. God blessed me with it to humble me. Had He not, I probably wouldn't be religious."

"And is that how you see your suffering? A blessing from God?" You asked as you pulled out the medical vial from your cloak and poured it in your chalice. Your headache had started to pulsate now and you needed this.

"I do. I have to serve my people, and my suffering has brought me closer to them and to God. And even with my disease, I was made a king. Isn't that divine intervention? My purpose on earth?" He said almost monotonously, as if he's had this conversation a thousand times.

You took sip of your medicated water, headache immeadiately reducing in intensity. "So... if you had the chance, would you still be the leper king? Or would you be healthy but... not a king? Just a man who gets to experience life like the rest of us, eat normal food, play with others, walk without having to wear a mask, or even fall in love?"

He remained silent, but his shoulders dropped ever so slightly. Tired? Or defeated?

"I prefer not to think about things I have no control over, Y/n." He finally turned around and his blue eyes looked at yours, though this time, there was something else swirling in them. "Finish your water and head to bed. I don't think you're well enough to tell me a story tonight." You smiled gratefully. Over these past few months, the king had enjoyed the modern world stories you told him. Some were literature classics, like Romeo and Juliet, others were straight up fanfic plots with details missing because he wouldn't have understood them anyways.

You were about to pick up your chalice when suddenly Baldwin fell to the ground.

"Your Majesty!" You rushed over to him, watching him tremble on the ground as he struggled to breathe. You dropped to your knees and attempted to remove his mask, only for him swat your hand away.

"No! You'll get it too!" He said, his eyes screwing shut in pain. He was worried about you contracting leprosy.

"Just- trust me." You pursed your lips as you moved his hand away and removed his mask, before removing the white veil underneath it, which was there to prevent his peeling skin and sores from sticking to the iron mask.

You didn't gasp when you saw his disfigured face. No, you'd seen it already when they constructed his face using modern technology. You touched his forehead with your palm, noticing how warm it was. This was one of his leprosy fevers, it was serious and quiet painful. But you already know he doesn't die until 1185 and it's still 1180.

"I'll go fetch the physician-"

"No!" Baldwin yelled, struggling to breathe. "No- just-" He suddenly whimpered as pain shot through every fiber of his body, making him dig his heels into the ground. Your heart wrenched at the sight.

"Its- too- hot- i-" you looked around before grabbing your chalice and bringing it to his lips, holding his head in your lap, you helped him drink the water. He drank it all, his forehead now covered in sweat and his face still contorted in pain. You held his hand and squeezed it.

"Its okay, Baldwin. I'm here. I'm right here." You whispered, his head resting in your lap as you gently wiped his forehead with your sleeve.

Baldwin stared up into your worried eyes, and that was the last thing he saw before he passed out.

-

Baldwin woke upto screaming. Opening his eyes, his blurred vision slowly cleared upto watch you and Guy screaming at each other, the latter had his hand clawed into your hair.

"WHO DO YOU THINK YOURE TALKING TO, YOU WENCH?!" Guy yelled as he shook you harshly.

"A SPINLESS BEING NOT WORTHY OF BEING CALLED A MAN!" You spat back, eyes red with rage.

Guy's eyes widened at the insult before he raised his hand to strike you, but was stopped by Baldwin.

"Guy! Let her go!" Both of your heads snapped towards the king.

"Y-your Majesty?" Guy couldn't believe his eyes. He survived?

"I said- let. Her. Go!" Baldwin commanded as he stood up and walked over to them, making Guy immeadiately let you go and bow to him. Baldwin's eyes landed on you, and you gave him a small bow.

"Leave." Baldwin commanded, eyes fixed on you.

Guy looked up from his his bowing position. "Your Majesty, I'm so glad you're well-"

"I said, LEAVE!" Baldwin's voice boomed, his eyes never leaving yours. Guy scrambled put of the room quickly, and you started to leave as well, but Baldwin grabbed your wrist.

"Not you." He said, those blue eyes piercing into you. "I- how long was I out?"

"2 weeks." You replied.

Baldwin let out small gasp as he let go of your hand and slowly walked towards the mirror in his room. It was quiet for a minute.

"What... happened?" He asked, looking at his reflection.

"Well, after you fainted, I called in the physicians and they took you to your chambers. They had prepared some medication but were hesitant to apply it on you, fearing they'd contract your disease. So, I convinced them to let me do it since I had already touched you. When I was done, your sister, princess Sibylla and Guy came. Guy asked the physicians when you would be dying, and the physicians said a few days and that this time- you may not wake up from your fever. While your sister broke down, and honestly I'm not trying to create problems for you guys, but you could ask anyone and they'd tell you just how much Guy beamed at the news. Anyways, they both left soon after that. Things were quite for a week, with the physicians coming in to give me the medication to apply on you. Then-" you paused trying not to show your frustration in your voice. "In the second week, Guy started fussing around and throwing tantrums since you didn't die yet. I mean, I was in your room but I could still hear him yelling at the physicians outside about how his coronation was being delayed because you were still here. It pissed me off, but you know me- I'm not one to get into family matters. So I didn't do anything. Then today-! Ugh, he came in while I was in your bathroom and I saw him grabbing a pillow and bringing it near your face. He stopped when I chucked your bible at him- so sorry about that but it was nearest thing next to me- and I just asked what he was doing. And do you know what he said? He had the nerve- THE NERVE to say 'I'm just trying to end his suffering, in fact you should do it. I can't risk contracting leprosy, I'm the future king!' And then I chucked your golden cross at him- again very sorry for that. And then we got into an argument and well- that's what you woke up to."

It was quiet again. You looked at Baldwin staring at his reflection, and for a moment, you thought he wasn't listening to you.

Baldwin nodded. "Okay. Thank you, Y/n. You may go to your room now. I will send in some physicians to check if you've contracted leprosy."

You frowned. "I havent-" but you stopped. How were you supposed to explain to him that you're "vaccinated".

In the mirror, his eyes shifted to you. "I know, but I'd like to know for sure. For my peace of mind."

You nodded. "Look, I'll go apologise to Guy right now-"

"No. There's no need. I'll talk to him myself. You've done enough. Please go to your room and wait for me." Baldwin gave you a small smile and watched you leave.

Moments later, he had a guard fetch the head physician in, who confirmed your story.

"Its true, your Majesty. Y/n risked her life to be with you for the past 2 weeks. She didn't leave the room and would apply medication on you herself, changed your clothes, wiped your sweat and even fed you some soup herself. She seemed very determined- almost as if she knew you'd recover. I'm ashamed to admit that I... I did not think you would." The physician even confirmed all the shit Guy had been doing, but Baldwin didn't need anyone's testimony to know that Guy was planning his downfall- and celebrating it. He wasn't surprised by that.

He was surprised by 2 things:

1. You hadn't contracted leprosy.

2. He was recovering from his disease.

"Its true. As you'd asked, I had done a check up on Y/n and I did not find any signs of leprosy... or any disease. She's as fit as can be!" The physician said in awe.

Baldwin smiled at that, looking at the mirror again. His own skin had begun healing. Many of his sores had already disappeared, and his complexion was returning to normal. And physical appearance was one thing, but Baldwin could even feel himself healthy on the inside. That constant ache in his bones was gone, the fatigue was gone, the suffering was gone.

But how? How could it just go away like that?

It's been 2 days since he woke up, and his health only seems to be improving at an exponential rate. And he's still trying to figure out how he got well out of nowhere. Closing his eyes, he tried to recall the events of that night.

All he remembers is falling down, fever enveloping his body so quickly, he felt like he was burning up, and then you were there and you helped him drink-

Baldwin eyes snapped open. It made sense.

He called in the guard and had him fetch his senior council members in his court room.

"I have 2 surprises for you." Baldwin said as he sat on his throne, looking over the members (Sibylla and Guy were also present), all staring and perhaps gawking at how well he looked now. "My disease is cured. I no longer suffer from leprosy." The court immeadiately fell into whispers and mutterings before going silent when he raised a hand. "I know it sounds impossible, but as you can all see, my health has not only improved but in fact I have become stronger. My body is no longer ridden with sores and boils. I no longer wear a mask, neither do I require assistance in walking. In fact, I am even able to use both of my hands to not only use a sword but also-" He pulled out a dagger and aimed it an apple he threw in the air, piercing right through it. "- I am no longer blind in one eye."

The court erupted in cheer, congratulating the king and praising God for saving Baldwin and the kingdom. From his throne, he could see Sibylla clapping in joy and wiping tears from her eyes as she smiled at him, while Guy looked at him in shock.

"Your majesty! What's the other surprise?" One of the members asked.

Baldwin smiled as he stood up.

"I have found a wife. She's the one who healed me."

He looked at the court that had once again erupted into cheer.

"Jerusalem has a new Queen."

-

"What do you mean I can't leave?" You asked the guard who was stationed outside your door.

"Ma'am, as I said before, the king has asked you to wait for him and ordered us to not let you leave until he comes." He said before closing the door again.

You scoffed. Can't leave? Why the hell not?

It's probably because I insulted Guy. He wants to punish me because of that. Will he throw me in the dungeons? Or will he just have my head chopped off?

You pulled out your time machine, the small box in your hands.

Well, I'm not sticking around to find out. Time to leave-

Just then, you heard the door open, making you hide the machine again. Is he finally here?

"Princess Sibylla." You bowed.

She chuckled, grabbing your shoulders. "Now, now. There's no need for that. In fact, I have to be the one bowing to you now." She said before kissing your cheeks. She's always been very humble and kind, and over the past few months, you've developed a good friendship with her.

You gave her a quizzical look. "What do you mean?" She laughed again. "Oh come on. You don't have to hide it anymore. Tell me, how did you persuade Baldwin to marry?"

"The king is getting married? To who?"

Sibylla raised a brow at you. "To-"

"Sibylla." A voice cut her off.

Baldwin was standing at your door. You bowed quickly, he looked at you before shaking his head at his sister.

"Will you leave? I have to talk to Y/n."

Sibylla nodded as she walked towards the door, but not before giving him a hug and congratulating him.

You two were alone now.

Baldwin had his hands clasped behind him as he walked closer to you.

"How are you feeling?" You asked him, eyes shifting to his hands. Is he holding a knife? To punish you for insulting Guy?

"I'm well, all thanks to you." He replied.

"Huh?" You looked at him confused, but your mind was still occupied with his hands. What is he hiding?

I need to delay this and find an escape route to use my time machine. You thought.

"Um- I uh- I heard you're getting married." You gulped, eyes still fixed on his hands, trying to anticipate any sudden movements.

"I am."

"Oh um, congratulations."

"Thank you." Baldwin said, tilting his head slightly at your wide eyes fixed on his hidden hands.

Cute.

"Y/n." He called out to you.

"Look, if you- if you're still mad at me about what I said to Guy, I apologise. But- but just so you know, I- I DONT THINKS ITS GOOD OMEN TO MURDER ME BEFORE YOU GET MARRIED!"

"Y/n."

"I WILL HAUNT YOU-! IM SORRY BUT I WILL AND I WILL HAUNT YOUR WIFE AND YOUR KIDS-"

"Y/n!" You looked at him as he stared at you with amusement. "You're being ridiculous."

"Huh?"

With one hand, he cupped your cheek as he brought himself closer.

"Why would I kill my soon-to-be wife?"

What? Wait-

"What?!" You shrieked backing away. "What kind of joke is that?!"

Baldwin looked insulted. "I wouldn't joke about this. You're very important to me."

"No- I- what?!"

He sighed as he sat on your bed. "Well, it makes sense, doesn't it? You saved me from an incurable disease, clearly you're the Chosen One, sent to me by God, and now I'll marry you."

You looked at him perplexed. "What are you talking about?! Saved you? All I did was help you drink water, apply your medication and-" you paused.

Helped him drink water... from my chalice... the one with... the medicinal vial.

"No." You covered your mouth in shock. What have I done?! This would change history completely! Shit. Shit. shit shit shit-

"Yes. You dont have to be so worried. The council is actually quiet happy that Im marrying someone, and they agree that there is no better match than the woman who saved my life-"

"I did not save your life!"

"Of course, you did. You gave your chalice-" "How is that even possible?! It only had water!" "Water that touched your lips first. Of course, it mustve been your essence, your saliva that healed me-" "Ew, no. Do you even yourself?! This is all unbelievable!"

Baldwin furrowed his brows slightly. "Its... not. I mean, look at you. You spent weeks taking care of me, you touched me, and yet did not even show signs of any illness, let alone leprosy! Of course, youre the chosen one!"

"I am not the chosen one!" You yelled as you pulled at your hair frustratedly. How could you fuck up so bad? If Baldwin really is cured, then history will be changed- and it will have disastrous impacts on future-

Baldwin pulled your hands away from your hair, tutting at you. "Dont do that. Youre the Queen, you cant hurt yourself."

"I am not the Queen."

He nodded. "Yet. But you are a princess now." Baldwin said as he pulled out the box hed been hiding behind his back all this time. Before you could even react, he'd already pulled out the big gold ring with a sapphire that had tiny diamonds around it and he slipped the ring onto your finger. You gawked at the ring making him chuckle.

Baldwin bent down to kiss your forehead sweetly before tapping your cheek admonishingly.

"Now, no hurting yourself princess. I want my queen in perfect health." Your cheeks reddened at how close he was, making him laugh even more as he pecked your forehead again and turned to leave.

You couldn't even say anything, he'd left you speechless. He looked back once, a lazy smile on his face.

"I should leave you to rest now, before Sibylla returns and starts pestering you with wedding preparations. She told me that shed been looking forward to this day for a very long time."

so this is part 1. thoughts????

PART 2 here!

[yuff7e]

Hii !!

Could you please write lady muzan with a his s/o male uppermoon reader that loves his boobies ?

𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑, 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐍’𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐒, 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔?

𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

hello anon, i love this request .. i am also obsessed with lady muzans boobies, js wanna squish em (ofc he would crush my head if i ever put my hand near his beautiful chest) hope you enjoy this one shot + headcanons :) ఌ︎

♬♪ -> lıllılı.ıllı.ılılıı

muzan wasn’t unaware of your obsession; in fact, it was quite the opposite. your relationship with muzan had blossomed over favoritism, rooted in mutual respect. he admired your strength, your capabilities, and the unwavering loyalty you displayed towards him. he found himself drawn to these qualities, yearning to possess you as his most trusted servant.

muzan regularly rewarded you with generous amounts of blood in exchange for your dedication and hard work. one day, however, he decided to give you his blood in a different manner. assuming his female form to conduct a unique set of tests, muzan summoned you urgently. as you appeared before him, he turned to face you, gazing down with a tender expression.

“my, my, [name], how beautifully you’ve grown.” muzan remarked, observing you with a sense of pride. “i trust the eliminations of the remaining hashiras are proceeding well. have you brought me the samples?” “yes, master.” you replied promptly, bowing before him. with a graceful motion, you raised your hand, presenting a small, glistening tube containing a sample of blood.

muzan hummed in appreciation as he delicately took the tube from your hand, causing a shiver to run down your spine at the lingering touch. each contact with him felt like pure ecstasy, even if it was fleeting. muzan delighted in teasing you, savoring the effect he had on you.

“you’re very good, [name].” he purred, his voice laced with allure. “i might just have to reward you with some of my blood.” with a tantalizing smile, he began to make his way toward his nearby table, leaving you with a mix of anticipation and desire in his wake.

with each passing moment, your yearning for further contact with your lord grew more intense. you hungered for his touch and approval, the very sound of his voice was enough to send you over the edge. the cold blood he had shared with you coerced through your veins, driving your longing for more of his attention.

sensing your unspoken plea, muzan placed the tube of blood down before returning to your side. seating himself in the chair facing you, he exuded an aura of power, his presence captivating you.

as muzan signaled for you to meet his gaze, you obediently lifted your eyes to meet his. locking your gaze with his mesmerizing presence, a smile naturally graced your lips as you admired his perfection, your thoughts swirling with desire; causing a grin to tug at the corners of muzan’s lips, acknowledging the unspoken admiration.

in a swift motion, muzan slowly folded back his yukata, revealing his impressive chest as it spilled out of the fabric before you, a symbol of his power and dominance laid bare in your presence. the action alone would’ve made you fall to your knees if you weren’t already on them.

your mouth went dry as a lump formed in your throat, causing you to stutter out, “master, i—” before muzan interrupted you with a raised hand, signaling for you to approach him. your legs felt like heavy weights as each step you took a struggle as you slowly made your way to kneel right before your master. muzan moved a hand towards your jaw, his grip tight. he gazed intently at your face, a moment of silent communication passing between you.

without a word, he guided your face to hover just above his exposed breast, his commanding presence leaving you eager. “i want you to drink the blood from here.” muzan’s directive was clear, his voice hung with authority as you puckered your lips against his areola.

slowly, your hot mouth engulfed his nipple, causing muzan to twitch; which only fueled your desire more. you bit down lightly, being careful in order to not hurt your master. you sucked in, and that’s when the ecstasy hit you, his thick blood coerced throughout your mouth, over your tongue and down your throat. you couldn’t help but flick your tongue over his nipple every now and then as you sucked, a new lustful feeling taking over your senses.

muzan placed a gentle hand against the back of your head, soothing you as you drank from his chest. he usually didn’t hold back on how much blood he gave you, since you were his favorite. he leaned his head back slightly, brows furrowed, reveling in the feeling of your mouth on the sensitive area.

you bring a hand up to massage his soft, tender breast, encouraging more blood flow. you tremble with pleasure and power as you feel it coursing through your body. eventually, muzan has to push you off, a prominent bite mark surrounding his nipple, which quickly heals. he looks at you with his dark, feminine eyes, gazing deeply into your very being.

“my dear, you just can’t resist my breasts, can you?”

˗ˏˋ ✨ 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 ✨ ´ˎ˗

— ever since muzan let you drink from his nipple, you’ve been obsessed.

— and honestly, muzan has too.

— the way you instantly attach to him, massaging them as you drink…

— he’s mesmerized by your dominant behavior and proceeds to let you drink from his chest more often.

— at times, he may just alter his chest and not his actual appearance, allowing you to truly behold your lord and experience his aura as you drink from such an intimate place.

— one day, you asked your lord if he allows anyone else this privilege .. wether it’s just you and him, or shared with others ..

— he attentively considers your question as he senses the pressure on his chest intensify, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

— "my dear, do not ponder such matters so naively. you are aware that this is a highly intimate gesture that i would only permit you to partake in. you’re a good boy, [name]."

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 : 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍

[kaisers-house-of-desires]

It's the Malleus anon again. May I please get some headcanons with a domestic/married life with the king of Briar Valley? ❤️

Also, may I coin the anon name "Starlight"?

Of course you may, Starlight~

Malleus Draconia Domestic/Married Life Headcanons

Characters: Malleus Draconia x m!reader

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Headcanons below the cut

All characters are 18+

MINORS, FEM ALIGNED, AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI (This may not be smut, but I still want the above to be followed)

Reblogs > likes

What people don't know about the King of Briar Valley, is that he can be extremely caring and careful when it comes to you.

He puts your comfort to the front of his mind, making sure you're content during anything.

Walking through the gardens? Frequent breaks to rest.

Travels through town? He insists on carrying your bags if there are no servants traveling with you.

You see something you like? He buys it for you. You wanted it after all, and he wants to make you happy.

Life with him also includes his bodyguards, so yes, Silver and Sebek are present in your life. Also yes, Sebek would be just as attentive with you, but this isn't about him. (Bless Sebek, though.)

Your favorite part is when the two of you are snuggling. Most would expect that you place your head on his chest as you two lay, and while that is true, it's mostly the opposite.

With such care, Malleus actually lays himself on you.

He's ever so careful with his horns, and the perfect position for this would be your stomach, that way they don't scrape your face.

In this position, he can wrap his arms around you, holding you close as you gently rub his head. He's in bliss.

"Your hold is so warm... Has it always been?" is what he realizes when you first snuggle like this. "I could stay in your arms for hours." is what he says every time after. He could never get enough of your hold.

The first time you two were like this, his pupils were blown wide instead of their usual slits. His breathing was slow, enamored, and he had the faintest blush, because it's his first time little spooning, and despite his power, he felt so safe and content.

He would never kneel for another, but ever since he proposed, he has done it in grand moments of affection or admiration. After all, for a king to kneel, it's unheard of, but he would do it to show his unwavering love and loyalty to you.

It's known he has quite the singing voice. When he's the big spoon, he hums for you while rubbing your head. Sometimes it's enough to soothe you to sleep, especially the eerie yet calming melodies of Briar Valley's lullabies.

If you are ever disrespected, he is calm, but his words and demeanor are appropriate enough to instill fear into them, and they'd never even dare to think ill of you

[another-lost-mc]

the prince's gift

candy prompts: mephistopheles + spooky

you are bestowed as a gift to one of the vampire prince's most loyal subjects, mephistopheles.

pairing: mephistopheles x gn!reader

content: nsfw. dark vampire au. mentions of canon-typical vampire behaviour (mind control, blood-drinking, murder of humans); abduction and non-consensual touching/bathing; derogatory language used to describe reader/humans; suggestive thoughts towards reader; non-con mentioned/threatened but not carried out.

word count: 1.9k don't ask

a/n: takes place sometime after my vampire!diavolo fic (recommended but not required reading).

Mephisto could hardly believe it, but according to his very rigid standards, you were perfect—for a human, anyway.

He received a letter that was delivered to his ancestral home earlier that evening. His lord wanted to reward his unwavering loyalty and friendship and summoned him to the Vampire Lord's Castle to claim it. When he entered the room where he was told his special gift was waiting for him, he found you.

The young prince was known for hosting the finest hunts and parties in the realm, and the selection of humans for both events were sublime in appearance and taste. However, Mephisto had never seen anyone—human, vampire, or otherwise—as lovely as you before. It's as though his lord searched the world for the single human that suited all of Mephisto's very specific preferences as a blood donor and a lover. Hunger and lust warred within him, a rare feeling that made him giddy with sinful anticipation. As his eyes roamed your body hungrily, he realized he wanted to use you to satisfy all his desires tonight.

Before you were brought to him, Mephisto realized you had been prepared for his use; he could faintly detect the lingering scent of herbal soap and body oils used to soften your skin. You were dressed in a simple black robe, fastened loosely with a belt at your waist for easy access to your naked body underneath. Like the linens that covered the bed, the dark clothes you wore would mask the stains of blood and whatever else he might smear across your skin before the night was through.

Mephisto's mouth watered despite the slightly pungent hint of fear that radiated off you in waves. Your eyes widened fearfully under his scrutiny but as he dared to step closer, you didn't move. He realized you were immobilized with magic, and it was up to him to decide when—or if—you would be free of your invisible shackles tonight.

The vampire servants that bathed you earlier giggled as they scrubbed your skin with soap and massaged the lather onto your scalp. They spoke about you like you weren't even there, as if you couldn't hear every scathing word about your plain looks and repulsive stench. They washed away the evidence of your struggle when your abductors captured you; you scraped your hands and knees on the ground when they subdued you in a grungy alley near your work.

The servants also cooed about Prince Diavolo's kindness and how lucky Lord Mephistopheles was to have such a generous benefactor. You shivered despite the scalding water in the tub. These were nothing like the vampires in the cheesy romance novels you used to read. You didn't want to imagine the purpose a monstrous prince or one of his lords would have for you.

Another vampire observed quietly while you were being prepared, blending into the shadows of the room and giving soft-spoken commands to the servants. You never heard his name, but he seemed to be someone of great importance; the servants were quick to obey him.

You burned with shame when you were finally pulled out of the bathwater and dried off with a large, soft towel. The vampire's pale face and dark eyes were no less intimidating when he stepped from the darkness to scrutinize your appearance. His mouth twitched with amusement when you cowered under his gaze and tried uselessly to hide your nakedness from him.

It was a small mercy when one of the servants slipped a drab robe onto your shoulders and cinched it tightly at the waist. The cruel vampire finally nodded his approval and commended the others doing their prince's bidding with speed and efficiency. He commented that you were now an appropriate gift, worthy enough for the noble demon lord. His praising tone, the way one might compliment a finely cooked piece of meat, made your blood run cold; you realized at that moment that you were probably going to die tonight.

Before you could stammer a useless plea for mercy, he snapped his fingers. You were suddenly gagged with a thick strip of cloth that seemed to appear out of thin air and tied tightly behind your head. Your arms and legs were immobilized as if they were suddenly bound in chains. You couldn't speak and you couldn't move—you were powerless to fight back.

The vampire lifted you easily in his arms and carried you to another room. It was sparsely furnished except for a large bed, and you knew a terrible fate worse than death awaited you there. Tears welled in your eyes and slipped down your cheeks, soaking into the fabric that muffled your cries. Salty tears dried your skin and chapped your lips. The vampire prince's butler was immune to your grief and bowed primly at the waist, an elegant but spiteful gesture, before leaving the room and locking the door behind him.

You were left alone with no chance of escape, shrouded in near-darkness. A single lighted sconce flickered so that flames danced along the walls, teasing you with comfort but providing none. It felt like an eternity when the sound of heavy boots approached the door. You closed your eyes when a key turned in the lock with a metallic click. You were afraid to look at the vampire lord who stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

Mephisto circled you slowly, deliberately, letting the anticipation of tonight's feast simmer deep in his belly. He could practically hear the warm blood that pumped erratically in your veins with each moment that passed in tense silence. His eyes lingered on the unmarked column of your throat and your body beneath the flimsy robe you wore. He imagined sinking his fangs into you while he buried himself in the tight heat between your thighs and it made his cock twitch.

He finally stopped in front of you and leaned close to scent you properly. The strength of his spicy cologne overwhelmed you. His leather gloves tracing over the dried trail of tears on your cheeks and you shivered.

"You are remarkably beautiful, even in despair," he murmured. The barbed compliment left you speechless like an icy wind on a dark winter's night; the arm that circled your waist didn't offer any warmth. He slipped two of his gloved fingers underneath the scarf still tied between your lips. You tasted earthy leather when he slipped his fingers into your mouth and brushed them over the tip of your tongue. He finally pulled his fingers away when you gagged, tugging the silky material over your chin so it laid loose and damp around your neck.

"Sleep," he commanded softly, eyes glowing gently in the dark room. His voice was deep and gritty from hunger and desire, but you blinked at him fearfully when nothing happened.

His brows furrowed in confusion. "Sleep," he urged again, putting more magic behind the command; his voice was sharper and louder than before. His face darkened when that simple magic failed him again, and the heat in his eyes hardened like steel. His body thrummed with frustration and you shook your head pitifully, but your helplessness seemed to enrage him further.

The world spun when he suddenly pushed you chest-down onto the bed. His body was a heavy weight laid against your back, and he caged you underneath him even though you had no possible chance of escape. His hot breath fanned across your nape and you jolted in his arms when the outline of his erection twitched against your lower back.

Later he would wonder why such a perfectly insignificant creature like you was immune to his magic. For now, all he felt was embarrassment that soured his temper and made his anger soar.

I'll remind you of your place, he thought to himself bitterly, incensed by your mind’s stubborn refusal to submit to him. He grabbed your chin roughly and tilted your head to the side so he could sniff where your heartbeat was strongest. A low growl rumbled deep in his chest and then you felt searing hot pain when he sank his fangs into your neck without remorse.

His bite was deep and fierce in his frustration and hunger. He drank noisily and messily, gnawing at the wounds he made so your blood spilled freely. His lips slurped at the deep crimson rivulets that ran down your throat and dripped onto the bed. His hips moved on their own accord, seeking friction for his aching cock against your warm and pliant body while he nursed his wounded pride with the blood in your veins.

The toxic secretion from his fangs was supposed to fill your mind and body with euphoria, but whatever pleasure he gave you was outweighed by the carelessness of his feeding. Your body jerked against him, but the urge to fight him dwindled quickly as exhaustion from blood loss fell over you like a heavy fog. You were perilously close to death, and you succumbed to your hopeless fate. Your heartbeat grew faint with each pulse of blood that poured from your wound and into his greedy mouth.

Even in his frenzy, Mephisto felt the moment you lost consciousness underneath him. He wondered why he cared. Why should he care? You were his gift to use and discard at his leisure. He could drain you dry and leave your wilted corpse on the bed for the servants to dispose of later. He would thank his lord for his generosity.

His memory of you, like your very existence, would eventually be forgotten.

Unless...?

He pulled away from your neck with a gasp. His mouth was slick with syrupy blood that coated his lips and trickled down his chin. He swallowed hastily and leaned forward to inspect your wounds. He touched his tongue to your neck and laved over the jagged tears he bit into your flesh. He silently urged his healing magic to close the wounds and stop the bleeding.

He didn't want to think too much about the overwhelming relief he felt when the marks closed and faded away. Later he would wonder why this magic worked when his charms earlier did not; for now, he had to ensure you were cared for.

When he lifted himself off you and stood next to the bed, he inspected the damage he'd done to your body and the bed. The linens and the top of your robe were soaked through with your blood. He slipped his hands beneath you so he could roll you onto your back. Despite the deathly pallor that tinted your complexion, your face was completely relaxed. He leaned over you and rubbed his thumb along your bottom lip. A bit of blood left on his gloves spread across your lips, and he thought red was a fetching colour on you.

Perhaps later you'd wake up with the taste of blood on your tongue. He wondered what your bloody kiss might taste like if he pressed his mouth to yours. Only when his nose brushed against your cheek did he notice how close he came to kissing you, like some invisible power drew him to you against his will.

He pulled away quickly like he had been burned and only spared you a fleeting glance before gathering his coat and rushing from the room. You were a mystery to solve, and he would pry the answers from you one way or another. But first, he had arrangements to make: you were his now.

read more: halloween 2023 masterlist || obey me masterlist

[hiddenincommand]

Chastity and Focus: The Elimination of Personal Desire

In the world of submission and hierarchy, there is no room for indulgence or self-gratification. The submissive exists solely to serve, to obey, and to fulfill the desires of his Master. His own desires, no matter how trivial or profound, are obstacles—distractions that stand in the way of his purpose. To eliminate these distractions, to strip away even the most primal urges, is not just a demand but an absolute necessity. It is through chastity that the submissive is freed from the burden of his own desires, allowing him to focus entirely on the will of the Master.

Chastity as a Tool of Discipline

Chastity is not a punishment; it is a tool, a means of enforcing discipline and ensuring total devotion. By locking away his base urges, the submissive is reminded that his body is no longer his own. It belongs to the Master, to be used, controlled, and enjoyed at the Master’s discretion. The act of locking the submissive in chastity is a statement of ownership, a declaration that his pleasure is irrelevant, that his very existence is dedicated to serving another.

The physical discomfort of chastity is not a flaw—it is a feature. It serves as a constant reminder of the hierarchy, a tangible symbol of the submissive’s place beneath the Master. Every ache, every moment of frustration, is a lesson in discipline and obedience, a reminder that his purpose is not to seek pleasure but to provide it.

The Erasure of Self

Chastity is not merely a physical act—it is a psychological transformation. By denying himself the ability to act on his own desires, the submissive learns to suppress his individuality. He begins to understand that his thoughts, feelings, and impulses are insignificant in the grand scheme of his service. His mind, once cluttered with personal ambition and selfish longing, becomes clear and focused, entirely devoted to the Master’s needs.

This transformation is not an easy one. It requires relentless conditioning, unwavering discipline, and an iron will from both the Master and the submissive. But the rewards are immeasurable. The submissive, freed from the chaos of his own desires, becomes a vessel of pure obedience, a creature whose every thought and action are guided by the Master’s will.

Focus Through Denial

Chastity sharpens the submissive’s focus. Deprived of the ability to seek his own pleasure, he is forced to direct his energy toward fulfilling the Master’s desires. This redirection of focus is not a loss—it is a gift. It allows the submissive to channel his every thought, his every action, into perfecting his role as a servant.

He becomes more attentive, more responsive, more aware of the Master’s needs. His mind, unclouded by personal distraction, is sharper and more disciplined. He learns to anticipate the Master’s commands, to act without instruction, and to find joy not in his own pleasure but in the satisfaction of the one he serves.

Chastity as a Symbol of Devotion

Above all, chastity is a symbol of devotion. It is a tangible expression of the submissive’s willingness to surrender everything—his body, his will, his desires—for the sake of the Master. By locking himself away, he demonstrates his loyalty, his discipline, and his unwavering commitment to his role.

The chastity device is not a cage—it is a badge of honor. It is a constant reminder of the submissive’s purpose, a physical manifestation of his dedication to the Master. In wearing it, he declares to the world that he is not a man, not an individual, but a creature of service, defined entirely by his devotion.

Conclusion

Chastity is not simply about denial—it is about transformation. It is a means of erasing the self, of sharpening focus, and of reinforcing the hierarchy that governs the submissive’s life. Through chastity, the submissive is freed from the distractions of personal desire, allowing him to devote himself entirely to the Master’s will.

In this state, the submissive becomes something greater than himself. He becomes a tool, a vessel, a symbol of pure obedience and devotion. His purpose is clear, his focus unwavering, and his dedication absolute. This is the essence of chastity: not a restriction, but a liberation—a path to clarity, purpose, and perfection in the service of the Master.

[rubberizer92]

Beneath the glittering chandeliers of the grand hall, he sits, regal and commanding. Encased in a flawless silver latex suit that gleams like liquid metal, the leader surveys his gathered army of rubber-clad servants. 🖤✨ Each servant stands motionless, their glossy black forms reflecting the grandeur of the space and the dominance of their master. This is no ordinary meeting—this is the beginning of something extraordinary. 🔥

His face is a mask of calm authority, but his eyes burn with purpose. The mind-controlled drones before him represent absolute loyalty and unwavering obedience. Every move they make is dictated by his will, and today, their purpose will shift the balance of power. 🫦 This leader, bound to his chair but never constrained, plans not only to expand his domain but to create a new world order where control, precision, and devotion reign supreme. 🖤✨

His hands rest lightly on the arms of his chair, but his presence is anything but passive. The polished marble floor reflects his brilliance, his body radiating strength despite the stillness. His servants, standing in perfect symmetry, await his command—a simple gesture, a single word, and the room will burst into orchestrated action. What are his plans? Is it conquest, transformation, or the establishment of a utopia where discipline and unity are law?

Would you dare to stand before him and pledge your devotion? Or would you stay in awe, watching as his rubberized army reshapes the world? Your decision could change everything. 🔗

https://ko-fi.com/rubberizer92/commissions

[starheirxero]

WOE, HORRORS BE UPON YE !!! Sun has the worst time ever but he's fineee he's doing great (lie)

Summary:

Sun had never doubted his lord.

When a god is as perfect as Lord Eclipse is, there is no reason to question his motives or words. To be his servant—his saint, his one true follower—is an honor like no other. Sun thought there wasn't a single thing he wouldn't do to make his lord happy.

Yet, today is Lord Eclipse's day of worship. He asks something of Sun as He places a knife in his hands, and for once, Sun hesitates.

Warnings: Religious conflict, crisis of faith, power imbalance, fear, threats of violence, coerced into murder(murder doesn't happen on-screen), angst, and hurt no comfort

Word count: 1,428

Sun had never doubted his lord. Not truly, at least.

While he doesn’t remember his childhood—or his teenage life, or his early adult life, or really anything before he met Him—Sun knows that he has adored and worshiped his lord from the very start. Their first meeting was so long ago now, several decades at least, but Sun remembers how he was graced with His presence when he needed it most.

Sun doesn't remember many details before He arrived, but he remembers crying and people and the earth shaking below him. He remembers holding onto something—or someone?—as echoed sounds of yelling and murmurs sounded around him. Someone with a blue and white color scheme was beside him one moment, then, there was nothing. A pitch black expanse that Sun could feel was unending. Finally, there was a bright light.

And then there was Him.

In all His beauty, in all His glory, in all His perfection. Glowing, good, holy. A god. He looked down at Sun like he was something more than a mortal who's body trembled at the very sight of him.

“Rest now, my Sun,” Lord Eclipse said. “The soul is willing but the body is weak. Push much further and there won't be much left of you to serve me."

So, Sun did. At least, he assumes he did, because his vision blacked out as soon as He finished speaking. When he woke, the world was peaceful under the lord's command and Sun eagerly served Him however he needed. Thus, Sun has faithfully worshiped and served his lord for many, many years. Inklings of doubt are inevitable, but he knew better than to think Lord Eclipse was anything less than perfect, so they were squandered quickly.

Sun had never once hesitated to obey.

Yet, now, he falters.

Lord Eclipse holds Sun’s hands—his unworthy, mortal hands—in one pair of His own, another pair gently placing a blade in Sun’s palms.

“I know that you know what day it is, Sun” Lord Eclipse’s centipede-like body curls around him in a way that is normally comforting and familiar, but now it feels constricting and claustrophobic. "So, please, indulge me on my day of worship, won't you?"

"Are... you sure this is what you want to ask of me, sir?" Sun meets his lord's one brilliant white pupil and lets out a nervous laugh. "I, uhm, think this may be out of my skillset! There's other people in the kingdom that can do this better than I," He excuses, trying to pull his hands away from the dagger.

Lord Eclipse squints down at Sun, His body curling a little tighter around the bot and effectively stopping his efforts to drop the knife. Sunlight pours in from stained glass windows behind Him and crown His silhouette with a golden light, leaving Sun entirely in His shadow. "There isn't," He says simply. "Who else would be better to entrust with this than my own servant? Truly, who do you think?"

Sun pauses. He looks to the side.

He doesn't know. He really, honestly does not know who else Lord Eclipse could burden this task with. Bloodmoon is long gone, Monty is inactive, but Sun is still here. He doesn't even really know if his Lord talks to anyone else anymore, so really, he is the only reasonable choice here.

But he doesn't want to be.

"You could always ask one of your other followers, the town is-"

"Sun." More of Lord Eclipse's hands start to grab onto the servant, forcing his head to tilt up and maintain eye contact. "What has gotten into you? Where is this behavior coming from? I expected enthusiastic agreement from my one, true saint. Why do you stall?"

Sun doesn't know.

"I just know I'm inexperienced with handling blades, my lord, and I only wish for someone to fulfill your task in the best way possible," is the lie that slips between his teeth.

"Yet, I've seen you handle blades quite well in many other situations." Lord Eclipse inches His face closer to Sun's. His eye squints, upturned in a way that suggests a smile if He had a mouth. "Nervous to take a life, are you?"

Sun hates the way his voice gets stuck in his throat. "Of course not. I'm never nervous to obey your command."

"Then take the blade and go."

"I shouldn't, my lord, I—"

"You should, Sun, just listen to me—"

"There's others out there—"

"There is no one else who can—"

"I don't want to!!"

The throne room falls silent. Sun realizes his mistake too late. Lord Eclipse leans back, but Sun knows it is not a mercy. He opens his mouth to apologize—to pray, to beg—but a hand wraps around Sun's mouth before anything more than a staticky breath can escape. He can hear the metal skittering of his lord's body behind him and he wants nothing more than to squeeze his eyes shut until it's all over, but he knows better than that.

"You don't want to?" Lord Eclipse repeats with an incredulous laugh. "Oh, poor Sunny, he doesn't want to! I'm sorry, have you forgotten who you've devoted yourself to, servant?"

Sun's hands are maneuvered by the god's many other, forcing him to grip the handle of the dagger with an aching force.

"Me," He hisses. "You are devoted to me; the god you worship is me."

"I know, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Be quiet!" Lord Eclipse shouts and Sun's mouth shuts with an audible click.

His hands are tightening all around Sun's body, clogging his vents and cutting off his power and digging into his casing and Sun feels sick he feels horrible horrible horrible—

"I am going to make a very simple choice for you, Sun," Lord Eclipse drawls. "You are going to take this," He squeezes His hands around Sun's and he barely restrains a pained yelp. "and you are going to spill the blood of the lady down at the lake."

"Her?!" Sun blurts, shaking his head with such force that it his earrings nearly hit his face. "She's done nothing wrong! She's been a devout follower for decades, she spent years making that stained glass window for you! She—"

"She's been testing my patience is what she's been doing, Sun!" Lord Eclipse shouts over Sun. "And you're doing much of the same, now, aren't you?"

Sun falls silent. Keeping eye contact is a physically painful task at this point, but he knows he isn't allowed to look away. He can only hope that the fear thrumming through his circuits isn't as obvious in his face. Lord Eclipse merely huffs.

Untangling His multitude of limbs from Sun, He turns Sun around so that he's facing the door. He holds onto the servant's shoulders as He mutters into his ear, "Go, Sun. If you fail me, I will know. If her blood is not on this knife when you return, I will make your punishment long and agonizing. That is a promise."

And just like that, Lord Eclipse releases Sun from his hold to skitter away someplace out of view. The servant stands still, rooted in place as he waits for the sound of his lord's body to finally be quite enough to deem safe.

Sun's joints let out a long hiss as he untenses his body. He looks down at his hands, both still tightly clasped around the handle of the dagger, and lets out a pathetic whimper.

He does not want to do this. He does not want to be this kind of servant.

But those are the thoughts of the dissenters, aren't they? Unwillingness to wholly devote oneself to even the most extreme tasks is a sign of false loyalty and Sun is very truthful with his loyalty. The symbols of the eclipse that he burned into the back of his hands is enough proof.

So, he will do as he's told. He will kill the lady by the lake—that kind, wonderful lady who had never once spoken lowly of Sun and used to make him meals when the castle doors were still open—and he will bring his lord the proof.

He is doing this because he chooses to.

(He is doing this because he has no real choice.)

He is doing this because he loves his god.

(He is doing this because he can't hide from Him.)

He is doing this because he is a loyal servant.

(He is doing this because he has never been more afraid.)

Notes:

sun: wow i sure do love having a completely normal and healthy amount of devotion to my lord (he says, actively wearing himself down to be more compliant so he won't risk being hurt by the one person in his life that (unfortunately) never leaves)

[lxvenderjewel]

song/ship analyses part 6: merthur and "call it what you want" by taylor swift

this one was inspired by a video i saw on yt: merlin & arthur || call it what you want [CC] go check it out after this!!

“My castle crumbled overnight” i mean in both s4 and s5 arthur loses control of his kingdom so like

“They took the crown, but it's alright” i know arthur’s like. magic-high during the s4 finale but if the shoe fits

“All the liars are calling me one” being a king he’s probably been called a liar a lot, even by his own father he’s been called a liar (which is like. hypocrite much??)

“Nobody's heard from me for months” during the entire s4 finale no one knows where arthur is except merlin

“Walkin' with his head down, I'm the one he's walkin' to” merlin’s arthur’s servant, so of course he’s walking with his head down towards him (well maybe not with his head down he doesn’t have that kind of respect for arthur 💀)

“High above the whole scene, loves me like I'm brand new” merlin never seems to be swayed by public opinion, he always has complete trust in arthur

“So call it what you want, yeah, call it what you want to” can you imagine how many rumors swirl around merlin and arthur? this lyric is so perfect be real

“Windows boarded up after the storm

He built a fire just to keep me warm” whenever arthur goes through hardship merlin’s always right there. when uther dies merlin sleeps right outside to offer arthur comfort as soon as he needs it

“All the jokers dressin' up as kings” morgana

“They fade to nothin' when I look at him” i think arthur has a lot of faith in merlin. like as in merlin is part of what motivates him to be a better king for his people

“And I know I make the same mistakes every time

Bridges burn, I never learn, at least I did one thing right” he often fumbles romantically, and when he finally thinks he has gwen, he ultimately loses her to lancelot, but merlin stays with his unwavering loyalty to arthur

“I'm laughin' with my lover, makin' forts under covers

Trust him like a brother, yeah, you know I did one thing right” arthur and merlin antics, like that one pillow fight scene in an episode i can’t recall, and “trust him like a brother” of course he does. a term that comes to mind for merthur is “t’hy’la” from star trek, which roughly translates to “friend, brother, lover”

“Starry eyes sparkin' up my darkest night” merlin’s eyes when he does magic

“I want to wear his initial

On a chain 'round my neck, chain 'round my neck” this line reminds me of the deleted scene where arthur gives merlin his sigil (which i think is in the video as well)

“Not because he owns me

But 'cause he really knows me

Which is more than they can say, I” many people look at arthur like a kind of god, considering he’s king, and even his knights, who he’s closest with, still look at him with some sort of reverence, but merlin treats him like just another person, which must be so refreshing, to not have any expectations on your head and to be just known as you are without and preconceived notions

“I recall late November

Holdin' my breath, slowly I said

"You don't need to save me

But would you run away with me?"” he never actually says it to merlin but this line reminds me of when arthur is with gwen and he tells her he dreams of living in some village with merlin and just being a farmer, and living a calm, soft life

once again go watch the video!! it’s very well made and the person who made it is awfully talented

[s0nia246]

My Selph Design

̩̩͙ ✩•̩̩͙ *˚⁺‧͙ ⁺ •° + *•̩̩͙✩. •̩̩͙*˚ ⁺‧͙⁺ ˚ *•̩̩͙ ✩. •̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ⁺˚*• ̩̩͙✩• ̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ⁺˚ * • ̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚* •̩̩͙✩. •̩̩͙ * ˚⁺‧͙ ·͙⁺˚*• T ̩̩͙✩. •̩̩͙ * ˚⁺‧͙ ⁺ •° + * •̩̩͙✩. •̩̩͙* ˚ ⁺‧͙⁺ ·͙⁺˚*•

In shadowed depths, where Selph resides, A labyrinth of whispers hides. "Know thyself," the echoes call, Through caverns dark and memory's thrall.

Nightmares crawl, with claws of fear, Twisting truth, making shadows clear. They paint a canvas stark and cold, Of hidden flaws and stories untold.

But hold! For dawn brings dreams alight, Unfurling wings that take us flight. They dance with hope, on stardust gleams, Reflecting desires, unspoken dreams.

So dive within, where Selph resides, Embrace the dark, where truth confides. For nightmares hold a hidden key, To unlock strengths you long to see.

And let your dreams, like morning dew, Nourish the seeds of what is true. In knowing self, in light and shade, A tapestry of wholeness is made.

So journey on, through fear and grace, Discover Selph, in every space. For in the depths, where shadows meet, You'll find the light, and make it sweet.

̩̩͙ ✩•̩̩͙ *˚⁺‧͙   ⁺ •° + *•̩̩͙✩. •̩̩͙*˚   ⁺‧͙⁺ ˚   *•̩̩͙ ✩.    •̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙       ⁺˚*• ̩̩͙✩•    ̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙    ⁺˚ * • ̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*       

Name: Selph

Nickname: Self, Big Sibling(by NiGHTS)

Gender: None

Pronounces: Any

Species: Unknown

Level: Unknown

Birthplace: Nightmare

Affiliation: None

Alignment: Chaotic

Neutral Height: 10'1ft / 309cm

Voice claim:English Voice Claim: Boris Karloff ( Specifically the Grinch)

Japanese Voice Claim: Yuichi Nakamara

Instrument: Pipe Organ

(I have a headcanons that every nightmare plays an instrument. For example:

NiGHTS plays the flute, and I headcanon that Reala plays the Harp.)

Personality: Selph is a complex and multifaceted being, with a personality that reflects their conflicting desires and motivations. On the surface, they exude an air of unwavering loyalty and dedication to Wiseman, their creator, carrying out his commands without question and with ruthless efficiency. They are a fierce protector and servant, willing to go to any lengths to ensure Wiseman's plans are carried out to perfection.

Beneath this facade of loyalty, however, lies a deep sense of emptiness and longing for something more. Selph wrestles with inner conflict and a desire to break free from the confines of their role as a mere tool of destruction. They harbor a yearning for purpose and autonomy, a desire to forge their own path and find meaning beyond serving as Wiseman's pawn.

Despite their cold and unyielding exterior, Selph possesses a hidden depth of emotion and empathy. They have witnessed the suffering and oppression inflicted upon their fellow nightmaren by Wiseman's cruel rule, fueling a righteous fury and determination to seek justice and freedom for their kind.As they navigate the mirror labyrinth and confront their inner demons, Selph's true nature begins to emerge, revealing a being poised on the brink of self-discovery and liberation.

Backstory: Selph was created by Wiseman using the remains of the previous guardians of the Night Dimension.

They were designed to be loyal servant and protector of Wiseman, carrying out his bidding without question. As the first of their kind, Selph was gifted with powerful abilities and a fierce determination to carry out their creator's will.

With thier sleek, robotic appearance and sharp, angular features, Selph struck fear into the hearts of all who crossed thier path. They moved with swift precision, thier glowing red eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of danger or disobedience.

Selph's loyalty to Wiseman was unwavering, and thier would stop at nothing to ensure his plans were carried out to perfection. They had no qualms about using thier powers to crush anyone who stood in thier way, acting as a relentless force of destruction and chaos.

Despite thier formidable power and unyielding dedication to Wiseman, Selph harbored a deep sense of emptiness within thier mechanical heart.

They longed for something more than just blindly following thier creator's commands, yearning for a purpose of thier own beyond serving as a mere tool of destruction.

As time went on, Selph's internal conflict grew, stirring a rebellion within thier circuits that threatened to shatter the very foundation of thier existence. Deep down, they knew that she was more than just a puppet of Wiseman, and that she had the potential to forge her own path in the world. However Wiseman caught on to thier rebellion and imprisoned them in the mirror labyrinth.

Trapped within the confines of the mirror labyrinth, Selph found herself surrounded by endless reflections of herself, each one a distorted and twisted version of the nightmaren she once was. Wiseman's cruel punishment served as a constant reminder of her failure to obey his commands, imprisoning her in a prison of endless mirrors where her own image taunted and mocked her at every turn.

Despite the oppressive atmosphere of the labyrinth, Selph refused to give in to despair. As Selph explored the mirror labyrinth, she discovered the hidden power within herself that allowed her to travel throughout the night dimension using reflective surfaces, they could only look though the mirror.

With each reflective surface that Selph traversed through, she gained a unique perspective on the Night Realm, observing its inhabitants and the events unfolding within its shadowed corners. As she watched over the realm from her vantage point in the reflective world, Selph meticulously planned her revenge on Wiseman, carefully considering every detail and strategy to ensure his downfall.

Through the looking glasses and bodies of water, Selph witnessed the suffering and oppression inflicted upon the nightmaren by Wiseman's cruel rule. The reflections showed her the depths of despair and fear that plagued her kind, fueling her determination to free them from their tyrannical master once and for all.

In the mirrored surfaces of polished metal, Selph caught glimpses of Wiseman's machinations and schemes, his arrogance and malevolence laid bare before her eyes. She studied his movements and tactics, analyzing his weaknesses and vulnerabilities, all the while biding her time and waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

With each reflection she passed through, Selph grew stronger and more resolute in her quest for vengeance. The mirror images served as a constant reminder of the injustices committed against her and her fellow nightmaren, fueling her righteous fury and driving her forward towards her ultimate goal. Especially when NiGHTS had rebeled from Wiseman's control. They watched how Nights interacted with Vistors and the powers they held together. Selph would wait thier time until NiGHTS was strong enough to defeat Wiseman.

When the time came, NiGHTS and the visitor end up in the mirror labyrinth Selph would fight NiGHTS in combat to see if they were ready and strong enough to defeat Wiseman. When NiGHTS defeats Selph, Selph gaves NiGHTS and the Vistor thiers power and knowledge on how to defeat Wiseman.

Character Quirks:

Analytical Observer: Selph has a tendency to observe situations and individuals with meticulous attention to detail, analyzing every aspect and potential outcome.

Reflective Speech: Selph often uses reflective language, drawing metaphors from mirrors and reflections in their speech, reflecting their connection to the mirror labyrinth.

Nocturnal Patroller: Despite being imprisoned in the mirror labyrinth, Selph maintains a nocturnal rhythm, feeling more active and focused during the dark hours, which is when they were originally designed to operate.

Mechanical Precision: Selph's movements and actions are characterized by a mechanical precision, reflecting their robotic nature. This precision can be both an advantage and a limitation in certain situations.

Hidden Empathy: Despite their intimidating exterior, Selph possesses a hidden empathy for the suffering of their fellow nightmaren, and this empathy occasionally surfaces in unexpected ways.

Third Person Narration: Selph has a peculiar habit of referring to themselves in the third person.

Positive Character Quirks:

Strategic Thinker: Selph excels in strategic thinking, carefully planning their actions and anticipating the consequences, making them a valuable ally in complex situations.

Resilient Determination: Selph demonstrates unwavering determination in the face of adversity, never giving up on their quest for vengeance and justice, even when facing overwhelming odds.

Ancient Wisdom: Selph, created from the remains of previous guardians, carries ancient knowledge and wisdom that can be invaluable in navigating the challenges of the Night Dimension.

Protective Instinct: Despite their chaotic alignment, Selph harbors a protective instinct, especially towards those oppressed by Wiseman's rule, making them a surprisingly caring figure in certain circumstances.

Reflective Insight: Selph's connection to reflective surfaces grants them unique insights into situations and people, providing a perspective that others might overlook.

Negative Character Quirks:

Inner Turmoil: Selph grapples with inner turmoil, torn between loyalty to Wiseman and a desire for autonomy, creating moments of internal conflict that can affect their decision-making.

Vengeful Streak: Selph's quest for vengeance against Wiseman can sometimes overshadow other considerations, leading them to make choices driven more by revenge than rationality.

Isolation Tendency: Due to being trapped in the mirror labyrinth, Selph may exhibit a tendency towards isolation, finding solace in their reflections rather than seeking companionship.

Emotional Restraint: Selph's robotic nature sometimes results in emotional restraint, making it challenging for them to express or understand certain nuanced emotions.

Trust Issues: Selph's past betrayal by Wiseman has left them with trust issues, making it difficult for them to fully trust others, even those who might be potential allies against their common enemy.

Fake ass Pomni

Headcanons: Selph looks very similar to Reala, which is why Wiseman gives Reala the silent treatment. Selph feels bad for this even though it's not thier fault.

[ikarosxflight]

Humanity VS Divinity

The ancient Greeks embraced life passionately, loved unashamedly, and followed their innermost desires. They established a remarkably sophisticated society renowned for its advancements. However, they did not value humility, viewing it as a source of shame. Humility seemed out of place in a society that esteemed reputation, power, and honor above all else.

The only form of humility deemed acceptable was reverence to the gods, acknowledging one's position within the hierarchical structure. In the myths told, most Heroes were taught humility or suffered the consequences, usually resulting in death.

Captain Pit lives his life with unapologetic boldness and unwavering dedication to serving Goddess Palutena. His deep sense of duty and reverence for Palutena's superiority often lead him to view himself as superior to mortals. This unwavering loyalty and pride in serving his master define his character, shaping his actions and interactions with others.

However...

Pit's inherent humanity has been with him since his creation, leaving him ostracized between mortals and Gods. In a world where repentance is requital, balancing wrong and right, the Captain of Angels has been exposed to something foreign to the Olympians and most deities: pain, suffering, guilt, and forgiveness—experiences and emotions that define and shape mortals for better or worse.

Like two powerful kingdoms consistently at war, Pit battles with the nature of his anomalism. His empathy, a trait that should be beyond his reach, often leads him to connect so strongly with the mortals that it affects his status among the divine. This connection, this understanding of mortal emotions, is a double-edged sword for Pit. Palutena, the goddess of light, created her Angels as the perfect servants, obedient and detached from vexing emotions that might lead them astray. Lady Palutena has always grappled with the concept of free will, a trait that even the Gods have attempted to influence, direct, and penalize mortals for. Despite her acknowledgment of this fundamental aspect of humanity, she often tests the limits of her authority with her Captain. His defiance, evidence of his foolhardiness and humanity, is a thorn in the Goddess' side and other Gods, who Pit has tested their authority. Time and again, Pit has demonstrated a remarkable ability to defy her commands and make independent decisions. In her relentless pursuit of exerting control, she has resorted to drastic measures, such as repeatedly erasing his memories, in an attempt to mold him into a more compliant version of himself.

When he was younger, Pit's behavior was worse. But now, as Palutena's Captain and Leader of her royal bodyguard, he tries to behave himself for her sake and the safety of their home, lest he invoke the wrath of Olympus.

It's a lonely, tiring existence.

[whump-card]

Whumptember Day One

“Did I do good?

Mentor whumper | Young hero | Blood loss

~700 words

Chronologically: 2

Masterlist

CW: someone who knows nothing of sword fighting writing about sword fighting, deep cut, blood loss

~~~

“You’re doing it all wrong!”

The shout echoed around the mercilessly sunny interior courtyard of House Twice. The shouter, honorable knight Lady Twice herself, glared witheringly at the gaggle of young knights before her. They, appropriately, withered.

Sir Driemal, the oldest of the lot - though that wasn’t saying much - dared to speak up, brushing sweat from his brow.

“Perhaps if you showed us again…?”

He resisted the urge to step backwards under the force of the Lady’s icy stare when it turned on him. Even in the heat of armor, a summer’s day, and hours of training, it sent a chill down his spine.

“Yes,” she said, slowly, thoughtfully, “Perhaps…” she whipped her head to the side, her voice cuttingly loud again, “Ren!”

Her beleaguered and peaked manservant snapped even further to attention where he stood by the sideboard with the water and cups, ready to quench the training knights’ thirst at a moment’s notice.

“M’lady?” He had the soft, cracking voice of someone who spoke as little as possible.

Something twisted uncomfortably in Driemal’s gut. In his short time at House Twice, he had only seen the Lady of the house treat her personal servant with derision and scorn, despite his enthusiastic loyalty. Her calling upon him now couldn’t end well.

“Help me with this demonstration,” Lady Twice ordered. Ren’s head bobbed eagerly, he even smiled a touch as he stepped out of the shadow of the building and stood in front of the Lady. She snapped her fingers and gestured impatiently, and the nearest knight handed Ren his sword.

“Raise it and hold still.”

The untrained manservant took up a rough approximation of a fighting stance, the unfamiliar sword wobbling as he adjusted his footing. Lady Twice took up her own pose, picture-perfect and solid as steel, the tip of her sword unwavering.

“Now,” she projected her voice to the whole class, “Once you’ve identified the balance point, you need to get in behind it…” she shifted forward, as smooth as a great cat, and her sword connected with Ren’s close to the hilt, “Strike diagonally, not straight up…” the sword was knocked easily out of Ren’s hands, “And then-”

Her sword sang through the air, drawing a horizontal line across Ren’s chest. There was a moment of stunned silence as his tunic split and bloomed with red.

“Re-en!” Lady Twice complained, “You were supposed to dodge!”

Ren’s mouth worked, but nothing came out except a stifled gasp. His thick eyelashes fluttered and he took an unbalanced step backwards, looking down at his chest in disbelief. Sir Driemal found himself pushing through the crowd of learners to seize the manservant’s arm, holding him upright.

“My-m’lady, what do we…?” he stammered. Ren blinked up at him, startled, and growing paler by the second.

Lady Twice clicked her tongue and scoffed.

“Take him to the housekeeper, if you must!” She waved them away.

Sir Driemal ushered Ren inside, which seemed startlingly dark compared to the bright outdoors. They made their way to the kitchen, Ren growing heavier and heavier in Driemal’s grip. The manservant’s breathing became ragged, and they made a controlled crash onto the - thankfully clear - kitchen table.

The housekeeper, Mrs Keys, turned from her cookfire and shrieked at the sight of Ren’s blood-soaked tunic.

“What on earth! What on earth!”

“Help me!” Driemal demanded, a bit more rudely than he typically cared for. Together they arranged Ren on the table, where his head rolled to the side, glassy-eyed and loose-jawed. They undid his belt and worked off his tunic and undershirt, revealing the deep, precise slash across his chest. Sir Driemal cursed.

“Hold that there,” Mrs Keys pressed the remnants of Ren’s clothes to the wound, “I’ll heat some water.”

While she cleaned the blood off of her hands, Driemal staunched the gushing wound and shifted to get a closer look at Ren’s face. He looked like death, but his eyes were open and he still breathed.

“Ren?” Sir Driemal realized this might be the first time he had addressed the manservant directly, “Ren, say something.”

Ren sucked in a breath, bracing himself to speak. When he finally did, his words made Driemal feel sick.

“Did I do good?”

[aventvrina]

songbird #12 - achilles come down featuring Sunday (@halothes) & Aventurine

summary: in the midst of nothingness, madness and harmony, aventurine sees the person who's responsible for it all.

"You crave the applause yet hate the attention, then miss it, your act is a ruse. It is empty Achilles, so end it all now. It's a pointless resistance for you."

'We've got to make good use of death.'

Such were the words he told Ratio before walking to his execution and such was the truth even if masked in deceit. The near omnipresent gaze was meant to hinder their plan as it should be impossible to lie under such circumstances. With every move read and every word analyzed the slightest misstep could be fatal but Aventurine is used to this pressure. After all poker had always been his favorite game.

The confident smile speaks of coercion, an early silencing of the dove that could shatter a million hearts across the universe but none would bleed harder than that of her brother. Tied to the altar as he was, it was impossible to move without stirring the delicate strings of the knot that held Penacony together.

How fortunate of him that Aventurine was there to hold his hand. A faithful servant who had offered himself so graciously, forfeiting his own freedom and power to Sunday as promise of his unwavering loyalty. He was to uncover the truth in his name, perhaps even bring the criminal to his trial, standing shoulder to shoulder with the head of the family as the sinner is sentenced for the murder.

Too bad The Family is not fond of games of deception.

With the barrier broken between the layers, Nihility and Harmony bleed into each other in a slow dance. The fissure reveals a hidden world submerged in slumber, far too big to be ignored but small enough to be temporarily contained. And although Aventurine should be walking beyond the barrier, he finds that there's still some defiant interference in his way.

He should not be seeing Sunday in front of him right now.

'This is all but a fleeting dream.'

They stand on what could be described as a roof top, the black waters gently dismantling the building from beneath but never quite allowing it sink. A silent devouring that should cease as the knot begins to mend itself whole again. But for now, IX remains in the horizon, uncaring of his travel to it's immense shadow and oblivious to the grappling resistant pull of The Harmony.

Sunday's hand is extended, expectant.

"Is this your last effort to keep me?" He can't help but to laugh. The trial should be over and the Harmony's connection severed from him. Whoever, Whatever he's seeing right now is not Sunday, but they managed to make him stop nonetheless.

'Do you love your family more than yourself? '

There is an underlying rage as he recalls the question. To force him to admit such truths to be used as punishment on him was foul. Even after decades of having his origins held against him by everyone he comes across, none hit quite as hard as having the fictitious promise of being reunited with his family again.

A new beginning, free from pain and eternally happy under the merry tune of the harmonious orchestra. It's disgusting. A laughably terrible joke.

Perhaps this is how they attempt to lure him back. If not by love then at least by hate. Surely he wouldn't pass the chance to have one last shot at winning his trial. They studied him so well, they gave his younger self the perfect day of a lifetime, his future a mocking smile that insults him from even daring to fight back, and his present. He was made captive in the dream, isolated from everything and everyone he has come know and forced to walk the Golden Hour in excruciating torturous pain under the guise of investigation. All the while he gave his cornerstone to whoever would accept, the broken aventurines are to spread fortune and wealth to those who need it most.

Such a magnanimous selfless act. He can't believe they fell for it.

The etched marble like smile remains ever so gentle as he approaches. Immaculate gaze elated as if the pain he has gone through was well earned and washed whatever crimes he had committed. All that is left is to do is take the hand and he is forgiven.

Aventurine finds that divinity and economy act the same way. They think themselves superior and justified as they bring ruin for those who swear to their name. Calling mercy to their guiding hand, promising sweet nothings that wouldn't be real had they not destroyed everything beforehand. But the worst of it all, is their self entitlement to punish those who do not comply.

Gaiathra Triclops punishes him for being born. The IPC punishes him for surviving. Sunday punishes him for doing his job.

The only difference is that Sunday is tangible, even if not quite at the moment.

"What a miserable move." He takes the waiting hand and guides it to his waist, letting it rest securely behind him as he crowds the figure. " You should never gamble, your bluff is terrible."

He really shouldn't be entertaining this but Aventurine doesn't know when to quit. Doesn't realize where the edge of the building and the sea of abyss is and how close to danger he truly is. He just keeps walking, guiding the ethereal figure in an embrace towards their destiny. And just as he has continuously done since he set foot in Penacony, he takes a gamble.

"Don't worry." His cynical smile doesn't match his gestures. Caring hands cradle the unmarred face, fingers webbing through soft feathery locks as he lures Sunday ever so close.

He's uncannily surreal, the precious gold doesn't shine in reaction, in fact, he continues to maintain the image of a merciful saint who knows of his past sins and has absolved them. It's a pity he can't have the satisfaction of seeing real fear in such a perfect face.

"I am still on your side." There's some honesty to every lie but the betraying kiss should be for the real one and not for this joke of a fabrication.

With a step back he jumps and then all is black.

[starwurst]

BIOGRAPHY: MAVA'RAW'NRARDA

The second day of month two in 16 BBY marked the birth of Mava'sathe'adurca (Vasathea) and Mava'ver'ishaze’s (Averis) first and only child. In the capital city of Csaplar, far beneath Csillla’s frigid surface, the force stirred. Their son lacked the distinct purple eyes of a force sensitive but all those present knew. Sensed it. The child had tainted blood. Most would be killed at birth, should they have a connection to the force. Mava'raw'nrarda (Varawn) found himself saved by only two things – the nobility of his lineage and the fact his mother was not expected to be able to conceive more children. His father, having married into the Mava family, could not carry on the bloodline. That noble blood, tainted, yet noble nonetheless, allowed him to survive. But to live? That was another story.

Death, perhaps, may have been a mercy in comparison to the force suppressing drugs his parents forced upon him. The sole hope of for their branch of the House Mava, Varawn’s parents afforded him no room for mistakes. Being a child did not excuse failure. The manor, cold and empty much like the Csilla’s surface, served as a status symbol meant to showcase power and wealth. Not to be an inviting space for guests or a loving home for a child. The little personality the home had to offer was not that of a genuine individual but the carefully curated mask his mother sought to present. Silent servants who dare not draw attention to themselves flitted through the halls like ghosts, fulfilling his parents’ every whim. While they also served to manage his immediate needs as a child, they did so impersonally and with great efficiency. Few permitted emotions to slip through but Varawn still remembers those who did. The warm, genuine smile of Chuf'ene'cuosifi (Fenec) as she held his hand after a nightmare. The raw anger of Yev'ivi'ktark (Vivik) when his mother threatened to dismiss him for making a single mistake preparing her party decorations. And Vel'ai'dio (Elaidi), whose fear when caught sleeping on the job would remain with him forever. A widow who stayed awake all night tending to her ailing child, beaten by his father on his mother’s orders. Her crying stopped only when his mother was satisfied.

His parents did for him only what they believed others could not do a sufficient job at. They gave him little attention, except to scold him or remind him of his obligations – of the expectations he must live up to. To behave in such a way that would impress and demand respect at all times, to conform to the traditions of the family without question, and to maintain unwavering loyalty and complete obedience to his parents. On the surface they treated him as if they expected him to surpass the legacy of his ancestors, their high expectations and harshness merely meant to help him grow, but sometimes the disdain on their faces would betray the truth. Varawn failed from birth. The moment they recognized his connection to the force, he could never become their perfect child. No matter how hard he tried to please them in the beginning. The best they could hope for was that if they kept suppressing his ability, maybe it would disappear over time. Outside of his parents, those who found out either accepted payment for their silence or died in mysterious circumstances. Until someone less easily disposed of became suspicious.

The Matriarch of the Mava House, Mava’alar’asu (Va'alara), came to visit the smaller branch manor of Varawn’s parents. She sensed from the moment she saw him that there was something off. That, perhaps, he might be a force user. A stain upon their bloodline. Warning his parents proved to be a mistake as they vehemently denied her suspicions, causing them to deepen. Beyond not wanting their lineage tainted by a force user, Va'alara was livid that Varawn’s parents would dare to keep secrets from her and lie to her face. Va'alara, now determined to prove her suspicions herself, vowed to kill Varawn once she had evidence of his power. Varawn, though still a child, did not back down. The force suppressants his parents made him take caused unpleasant side effects. Nausea, headaches, and lethargy among them. Overhearing his parents discuss Va'alara’s accusations was the first time Varawn learned of his connection to the force. So, he began to resist. Told the drugs were to lessen the severity of a chronic illness, when in reality they were the cause of him feeling vaguely unwell all the time, he started by simply refusing them. That did not work. Servants would be instructed to force open his jaws and shove the pills down his throat, even as fought back. He bit some of them. Next, he turned to hiding them. That also did not work. His parents always found them. Instead, he continued to fight back and once they made him swallow them, he would wait. As soon as they were out of earshot, Varawn would make himself regurgitate the pills. Eventually, he began to feel that suppressed power return. In secret, he practiced for weeks and bided his time.

Once he got used to feeling that lost part of himself again, he determined to make his parents give up. The next attempt at forcing him to take the pills, he used his power and threw them backward. They did not try again, so he began to openly practice inside of the manor regardless of their protests. Emboldened by his victory against his parents, Varawn wanted to explore this ability they had hidden from him. Soon after, rumors began to circulate about him. His parents fired all of their servants, hiring new ones, as they could not track down which servant began spreading that information. Both in hopes that they might be able to wash their hands of their failed child and gain more power, Varawn’s parents began providing information on the Chiss to the Empire. That perhaps, if they curried enough favor with the Empire, the Imperials might help them get rid of Matriarch Va'alara. The same parents who always lectured Varawn on loyalty to the family and loyalty to the Chiss Ascendency turned on their people readily when the Empire offered a solution to their problems. As the Mava family was a branch of the Mitth, Varawn’s power obsessed mother saw the gradually building influence of Mitth'raw'nuruodo (Thrawn), who had been a merit adoptive into the family and sought to try and take advantage of his connections within the Empire. At 16, Varawn found himself sent to train with the Empire. Even if it were to damage their reputation, so long as they could be rid of the matriarch and their ruined son, it would be worth it in the end.

Varawn met his distant cousin (by adoption) when he first arrived at the academy where he was to be trained. It was the fact Varawn’s parents were sending him to meet with Thrawn that prevented Matriarch Va'alara from killing him before he left Csilla. While she was one of the Chiss who disliked Thrawn, his position in the Mitth family could have caused her trouble if she did not proceed carefully. And as expected, due to the rumors of his force abilities spreading and his family getting involved with the Empire, his parents’ reputations were tarnished. They became loathed in their home city but remained confident that their risky move would pay off in the end. The Empire, however, proved to be a similar experience to Varawn. As one of very few non-humans in the Empire at the time, he found himself targeted by some of the more xenophobic and malicious individuals, hazed frequently. He may have learned some degree of fighting skill due to his father’s insistence on military training, but it was not enough. He may have learned the art of manipulation from his politically minded mother, but it was not enough. He may have developed a talent for stealth from sneaking around behind their backs, but it was not enough. Fortunately for him, Thrawn had anticipated this and found someone to look out for his cousin.

Mars Kaynich, recommended to Thrawn by an older officer the Chiss trusted, agreed to keep an eye on Varawn. Mars, who was serving as a low-brow grunt at the time while trying to figure out what he wanted to do, had undergone similar things when he became a cadet. From a family with a military legacy in the Empire, it was assumed Mars was there due solely to favoritism and not merit. He fought back against the taunting and hazing, earning the respect he now had from those who trained with him. And now, he did his best to teach Varawn how to fight back against those who would accuse him of the same due to his ties to Thrawn as well as those who wanted to torment him solely for not being human. And in the end, Mars did not seem to mind keeping an eye on Varawn.

He did not just help Varawn practice fighting. Mars helped Varawn learn to connect with humans, starting with challenging Varawn to befriend himself, they developed a fondness for each other. But as Mars was already a soldier, two years older than Varawn, they did not have consistent time together. Varawn’s training at the academy lasted one year. He finished at 17, the academy satisfied not only with his basic combat skills but with his knowledge of Imperial values and history. Their concern with him from the start had not been his fighting, no, it had been making sure he could fulfill the Empire’s mission. Aspiring to join the Starfighters as a pilot, Varawn moved on to do a two-year pilot training program at Skystrike Academy. Mars, too, had decided to pursue a career among the Starfighters. They ran into each other there and while Mars had more overall experience in the Empire, this time, they were starting on equal footing.

Their friendship grew and Mars was given a ‘core name’ like a Chiss, fondly referred to as Skayn by Varawn. A gesture of affection. When they graduated the program, they joined the same squad and Mars became Varawn’s wingman. Sometime in the year 2 ABY, their friendship began to change. Romantic tensions developed. Thrawn was known to have stated “This is not what I meant by ‘look out for my cousin’” upon recognizing that Mars and Varawn would likely become a couple at some point in the future. Varawn spent time with Thrawn sporadically, the pair always referring to each other by their core names due to the coincidence of having the same given name, though Varawn found it difficult to discern whether or not Thrawn wanted to be treated as a family member or a superior or even what treating someone like a family member should look like. He had a distinct feeling, from listening to Mars, that he should not use his parents as a frame of reference.

At some point during Varawn’s training, his parents had been caught red-handed selling sensitive information to the Empire. Aiming to not only rid herself of traitors but restore the family’s reputation and her own authority, the matriarch poisoned both of Varawn’s parents. She offered the antidote to whichever one of them would submit to her and tell her what she wished to know. Varawn’s mother cracked almost instantly. Treating everything as if it had been his father’s idea, she told the matriarch all she learned about the Empire, what information they gave the Empire, and everything she knew about the status of her son. Much of her information on Varawn was dated, as he stopped speaking to her the moment he left Csilla. Vasathea begged forgiveness, insisting she meant to play the double agent the entire time and never ceased being loyal to the Ascendency. The matriarch knew the truth – it had been Vasathea’s idea and Averis remained silent to protect his wife. Despite all of her flaws, despite her tossing him aside as if he were nothing, Averis had always loved his wife. He loved knowing she felt she could rely upon him to protect her, loved how she would memorize his favorite poems and recite one to him each night before they slept. How she smelled of flowers and fine wine. And he died for her, slowly and painfully, still loving her. The matriarch kept her word, giving Varawn’s mother the antidote. Vasathea remains one of Matriarch Va'alara’s pawns, kept on a tight leash. While she still wishes to dispose of Varawn, Va'alara could not do so easily while the Empire claimed him nor was he a pressing enough matter for her to send anyone off Csilla to find him. More important matters regarding the future of House Mava needed addressing than Varawn.

With the fall of the Empire in 4 ABY, Varawn did not know what to do. His squadron was the only real family he had besides Thrawn and while he respected and cared for Thrawn, he did not often get to see his cousin. The squadron members were the only people he truly loved and trusted. Though he missed Csilla, he had no one there for him. So, he looked to the current squadron leader – Jarrlin Balsea – for guidance. Jarrlin chose to stay and encouraged his squad to do the same. For Jarrlin, it was partly out of loyalty and partly due to the higher ups in the remnant were determined to keep fighting. Moff Darwalt Hilcox in particular made it clear that anyone who got caught trying to leave would be executed. Hilcox sincerely believed that anyone who left the remnant was siding with the enemy, a traitor, and therefore had to die. Better to kill them than to risk having to fight them later. Especially with Jarrlin’s small squadron being one of the few squadrons to remain fully functional after the fall. Many others suffered losses and with less than twelve members, were merged to create a full squadron. In the end, Jarrlin convinced all of his squadron to remain with the Empire. Soon after, the romantic tension between Mars and Varawn blossomed into a full-fledged romantic relationship. Warm and trusting with one another, they kept their relationship largely private to begin with, gradually becoming more confident. While Mars had dated a little as a teenager, Varawn had never experience romantic feelings or a romantic relationship before. At some point, Mars dared Varawn while everyone was drinking and bonding, to get an Imperial tattoo. Varawn did. Soon after, Mars got a similar tattoo at the base of his neck.

The squad continued to exist largely as a happy little family. They fought, miraculously without any death, until 10 ABY. The squad was riding the high of their lucky streak. Varawn and Mars had been together for six years and were discussing the idea of getting married once things quieted down. Varawn had been hoping to, perhaps, one day take Mars to visit Csilla (though he had no intention of visiting his parents) and other planets in Chiss Space before settling down somewhere peaceful after the war. Maybe moving on to pilot commercial vessels for work. When they began serving as a remnant after the fall, he still held hope for this.

Moff Darwalt Hilcox ordered Jarrlin to take his squad and attack a Jensaarai colony on Tatooine. Hilcox spun it as if the colony remained an active threat, and in some could argue it might have been, but his true motivation? Spite. A few members of the colony aided the rebels and when Hilcox got an anonymous tip about them, he sent in the squadron to rain down fury upon them. Innocents and all. Varawn did not ask questions at first. Not when Jarrlin instructed him to take the lead on planning the attack, nor when he asked to lead the squadron into battle. The squad had felt invincible, tallying up kill count like points in a game, but as it began to feel more and more like shooting fish in a barrel, Varawn lost interest in the usual banter. Then he and Jarrlin were shot down. Varawn remembers some parts quite clearly and others are no more than a haze. He doesn’t remember what he did before he hit the ground. He doesn’t remember how he felt. He remembers hearing Mars’ voice over the radio, but the words are static in his head. He does not remember the moment of impact either, but he recalls crawling from the burning wreckage of his fighter and not really believing he was still alive. The searing pain from the burns across his one side is something he remembers whenever he sees himself in the mirror. The fighter exploded as he crawled away, a shrapnel embedding itself in his back. But Varawn would not die. He stumbled to his feet and limped through the desert to find a much more gravely injured Jarrlin. He tried to patch them both up but Varawn was far from a medic. He dragged Jarrlin with him as he tried to find a safe place to rest and wait for rescue, hoping they would not run into any of the Jensaarai they had come to eradicate. As he wandered through the city wreckage in search of somewhere to hide, the picture became clearer to him. A small city, so many signs of a peaceful life now smoking before his eyes. Children crying out for their parents, elderly and others who were clearly civilians trapped beneath the rubble. Families ruined. Innocents dead. A home destroyed and he helped burn it to the ground. These were not the same as the armed rebels that he had fought before. If this was what Hilcox considered the enemy now, if this was what he would be ordered to destroy… he shut the thought out as quick as it came but the bitter taste in his mouth was impossible to ignore. Even so, the Empire was all he had. No one else to trust, nowhere else to go. And if he wanted to live, he had to kill any armed Jensaarai if they saw him. After all, why would they afford him any mercy?

So, he shot armed adults on sight. He managed to survive until rescue, even though Jarrlin did not. He dragged his body along though, not wanting to abandon the man who had helped create the little family that his squad had become. They were both retrieved and Jarrlin received a proper farewell from the squad. Once Varawn recovered from his injuries and was deemed fit for combat again, he was recognized for his efforts and received a promotion to squad leader. Apparently, Jarrlin had recommended him as a replacement a year or so before, should something go awry, and this battle was meant to be a test to show whether or not Jarrlin could step down as he was getting older and wanted to take a more backseat role in combat. Varawn accepted the promotion but the doubt he felt on Tatooine refused to subside. He could not look himself in the eyes without feeling guilt and shame. His own parents had wanted to destroy him for being a force user despite him trying for the first 16 years of his life to be a good son. At first, some in the Empire wanted him gone because he was not human, though over time he found people to trust and the sting of being unwanted became less and less as he learned that some people, like Mars, did care for him. Loved him. Varawn dealt with that as best he could but did not want to discuss it with Mars. Not at first, at least. He did not want anyone to know he had doubts, to put them in danger. He did his job and did it well, following orders and training the newbie that had joined their squad from one of the other sections of the remnant – Zarelia Warmack. But she seemed so young, so new, so fresh. Not even 18 at the time. He did not want to be the one to ruin her, to send her into battle and gradually strip away her hopes. Varawn did what he could to keep her off the frontlines while continuing to follow orders, but after struggling to cling to the man he used to be for about four years, Varawn could do it no longer. The guilt and uncertainty would not leave him. The futility of staying with the Empire seemed to finally sink it, along with the truth of the Empire’s cruelty. They were fighting a losing battle, and he was no longer willing to die for an Empire that was destroying people’s lives – the type of peaceful little family life Varawn so desperately wanted for himself.

He spoke to Mars, told Mars what he was thinking and how he was feeling. Mars did his best to provide some semblance of comfort, but Mars was not much different than Varawn. This squadron was all he had; the Empire was all he had – he had been raised an Imperial since day one. Made to be a soldier. He could not bring himself to leave and tried to convince Varawn to stay. Varawn tried to convince him to leave, but Mars was not ready or willing to consider that option. They had talked about getting married, about staying together forever, and Mars made sure Varawn hadn’t forgotten. But when the pleading turned to a desperate proposal, Varawn rejected it. He couldn’t, not now, and he told Mars that. But it incited a fight between them. It may not have been their first argument, but it was certainly the worst. Varawn left the remnant’s most recent base on Korriban that night in a larger ship he stole and had a trial by fire attempting to fly, going until he was almost out of fuel. He purposefully crashed it on the nearest planet at that point, hoping the damage to the ship would mean people would be less inclined to look for him, burned his uniform, and kept moving until he stumbled upon others.

That planet was Yavin 4 and there, one disheveled Chiss man found Nikkel, who sensed his force sensitivity and brought him to the Jedi Praxeum. Several people seemed to think Varawn was merely a strange looking Pantoran and he was too tired to correct them, allowed some time to rest before being brought to speak to Luke Skywalker. He had kept the details of his life largely private from everyone, but Luke knew there were secrets being harbored. Varawn spoke of his connection to the Empire to Luke and only Luke, wanting so badly to trust him. He did not go into detail, stating only that he could no longer bring himself to fight for the Empire and had no one to return to on Csilla. It was here that, though he knew some force abilities, Varawn truly began to utilize that part of himself.

After about a year of training with the others, Varawn has not yet opened up to the others. He wishes to, wanting to trust others and form connections with people again. Having been mistreated by his biological family and not yet emotionally recovered from abandoning his found family – including his romantic partner of about six years – Varawn both is hesitant to form any meaningful connections as he does not want to lose them and feels perhaps, after all he has done in service of the empire, he does not deserve the happiness he seeks. In the end, he is a man looking for a home. He does not want to be a Jedi, but he has nowhere else to go and does not see how he can live the quiet family life with someone he loves if the Empire’s remnants are going to insist on fighting tooth and nail to gain back the power they lost.