#would it be something dumb like “i will condition your frizzy hair” or would it be related to the plot?

[second-second]

Recently when i began to write fanfiction again i found myself having a really good time and then i felt something i hadn't felt for years. It took me a little while but i recognized it was the same feeling i had when i was a child playing with dolls (or any objects to be honest). Figuring this out was so freeing because the feeling i had when writing previously was more akin to presenting a show. But right now, when i imagine myself swinging the characters i like back and forth like dolls, i am the show is only for me.

Also it makes me feel more at ease and a lot more silly. Like i am kind enough to share the awesome story i made with these two dolls, some duct tape and a toothpick.

[syndxlla]

Part eleven of the More To Love series

Summary: You get a chance to reflect on who you are, where you are with your relationships, and what you really want in life with the help of your mother, the Queen of Corellia. You meet some new seemingly friends, who quickly prove you otherwise.

Word Count: 7.1k, NO USE OF ‘y/n’

Warnings: Non-consensual kiss, swearing, alcohol

Author’s note: i am LIVID. why tumblr only lets you have a certain amount of paragraphs in a post IDK! it’s dumb haha and the only reason i went over is because there is so much dialogue in this. BASICALLY. I am making the decision to go easy on myself. I know earlier today I said part 11 would be split into two, but i am going to just make the second half be part 12. SO. i made a new moodboard for this chapter! i hope you like it :).

i wanna say a big THANK YOU to @stinky-child for helping me edit this chapter and getting it out on time!

PART 12 WILL BE RELEASED THURSDAY, MAY 27TH AT 6pm PST, 9pm EST.

part ten

Koska escorted you back to your quarters, the castle corridors were finally starting to calm down a little bit, however, more and more special guests who would be staying in the palace over the weekend walked in and out of doors, most of them not paying any attention to you because of your drab attire. You hoped the knight made it to his meeting on time and dry. There was no way to know until tomorrow morning, however. Koska was silent as she walked behind you, her footsteps much lighter than the knight’s. Your hair was thick and frizzy from the effects of the elements, and you kept your face down out of a foreign sense of shame.

Keeping your face down can’t hide that sense of shame from everyone, however, and before you can make it to your room, you’re hearing a joyful gasp and footsteps pattering in your direction. You look up from your walk of shame to see someone very important to you, it’s not your Knight, it’s not even Soniee, no. It’s your mother, the Queen of Corellia. She’s accompanied by three Corellian guards and she’s wearing the most beautiful yellow gown you had ever seen. It was clearly a gift from Bo-Katan. You smiled brightly, relieved to see someone you love. It had only been a few weeks but it felt like an eternity. You had completely forgotten she would be coming to your engagement ball. You’ve been so preoccupied with the plans and teaching the Knight how to dance that it completely slipped your mind. Your mother had a wide smile on her face, too, and wore the traditional Corellian crown. You ran to her and embraced her fighting around the waist, something that was not appropriate for royalty in public like this but you couldn’t care less. You had been so emotionally confused over the last few weeks that there was nothing you needed more than a fulfilling hug from your parent. She hums with joy when you come into her arms, and she runs her slender fingers through your beautiful hair. You sigh of relief in her embrace.

“I had forgotten you were coming.” You admit, holding back tears of relief. She chuckles in response.

“You look a mess.” She replies and you’re the one to chuckle this time.

“I’ve had quite the day.” You smile, blushing as you remember who you spent it with. “Come, I have so much to tell you.” You pull away, holding her hands in yours and then leading her to the closest sitting room. You were finally starting to understand the layout of the Mandalorian palace, it only took two weeks. This room was the same blue as the royal color, you guide her to sit by you on the sofa, and Koska awkwardly follows. You look over to the handmaiden before standing and walking in her direction. “Lady Reeves, you are dismissed.” You nod while speaking in a regal tone, but after stating it, your voice hushes and you whisper to her, “Is he going to be alright?” You ask in reference to the Knight.

She nods once, “Even if he was late, he’s bound to duty by the Queen, he’ll be okay.” Your stomach twists.

“What does that even mean?” You ask, there is much he is not telling you.

Koska sighs, she seemed to regret saying that. “I’ll worry about him, you enjoy your time with your mother.” She nods to the Queen who was patiently awaiting your return. You smile a “thank you” and walk back to the Corellian Queen. When Koska closes the door finally, you slouch into the couch, feeling pure relief as you were alone with your kin.

“You look absolutely exhausted.” Your mother says.

“I am, life here is exhausting. There are so many rules, much more than back at home.” You awkwardly shrug.

“We miss you.”

“I miss you too, more than you know.” You were so homesick these days. “I had to spend four days learning all the rules and customs and I still take private lessons from the literal queen so I don’t embarrass her anymore.” You roll your eyes, knowing that you couldn’t express this arrogance to anyone else in the palace and taking advantage of the chance now.

“Oh, I'm sorry love, I worried that there might be a bit of a culture shock.” She takes your hand with hers, stroking the stop of it with her own cold hands.

“Is father here?” You ask, your eyes hopeful. That glimmer immediately fades when she sighs, her eyes leaving yours. “What? What’s wrong?”

“He’s not coming…”

“What? Why?”

“He’s… sick, I didn’t want to tell you but it’s your right to know. You would have eventually found out anyway.” She somberly explains.

“Is he okay?”

“Yes, we think so. But traveling and socializing in his condition was not realistic. We understand that rumors will start, but his health is necessary before an impending war.” She frowns, and you try not to let it upset you too much. “Enough of that, tell me about this place.” Her tone immediately flips.

You smile, “It’s so hot, much hotter than Corellia. I mean the heat is exhausting and the dresses are heavy and the tea parties are always outside and I always feel overheated.” You complain.

“Do you at least like the prince?” She asks. “Is he cute?”

Now you must choose if you’re going to lie, like you have for the last fortnight, or be truthful with the only person you feel that you can be. You sigh, and just look at her, defeated, hoping that would be enough to tell her.

She hums empathetically. “Oh dear.”

“Yeah…” You sigh, happy she understood and you didn’t have to make the decision of communication.

“Well, keep your head up, I didn’t really like your father all that much until we had you.” She chuckles.

“What?” You ask, your eyes showing surprise. “I had no idea…” You weren’t sure how much you liked that thought, your parents had always been an example of a couple you’d like to experience for yourself. “Why had you never told me?”

“There was no reason for you to know before now. The older you get, the more you’ll learn what you need to hear.” She explains. You supposed she was right. “And remember, it’s supposed to be a partnership—marriage that is— it’s not so bad if you work at it.”

“Well, he certainly likes being solo.” You humph. “He’s very kind, and it’s clear he cares for his kingdom but-“ You knew you weren’t being completely truthful with her.

“But what?”

You debated your next words. You wanted to tell her, more than anything you wanted your mother to know what was really going on, but you knew you couldn’t. You knew she wouldn’t understand. This marriage is a diplomatic solution to an oncoming war of her home kingdom. She wouldn’t understand the strife. “Nothing.” You feel untruthful to yourself, but you can’t do anything about it. “I just feel like I will be unhappy in our marriage.”

“Marriage isn’t supposed to make you happy.”

You hated that, it wasn’t the first time she had said it to you, either. When an arranged marriage was first brought up, she said it then for the first time. The other time she said it to you was about three weeks ago, just before you were going to leave Corellia and come to this ornate prison. It was your last attempt to try and get out of it, but she uttered those words and you had to live with it.

This time, you pulled your hand away from hers. “But what about love? I thought you loved my father!?”

“I do love him, but that didn’t happen for a long time, like I said, not until you were born.”

“So then what’s the reason for all this? For sending me here for a big ball and a fancy wedding if I am not supposed to love the man I’m sharing these parties with? How am I to enjoy marriage before children then?” You stand up on these words out of frustration. You hated feeling like your only purpose in this world is to bear children, to produce an heir.

“Love between royals is not a natural thing, it can’t just happen between any two people. There must be that connection there and it often isn’t developed for a while.” She chuckles. “What? Did you think you were going to live inside one of those fairytales your wet nurse used to tell you before you went to sleep?” She asks, looking up at you, surprised.

“What do you mean ‘between royals’?”

“We must do what’s best for our people, it’s selfish to marry for love when you are royalty.”

You feel defeated.

“No… No, there's so much more to love. Love is not selfish, in fact, I believe that loving someone with our hesitation and unconditionally is the most selfless act one could ever do.” Your voice raises just a bit. You meant every word you said.

“If you feel this way about love, then surely you must love the Prince. What’s the problem then? We’ve been preparing you for this reality for years, it’s not a new concept that you would not love immediately, I can only imagine you would feel so emotionally because you have those feelings for someone.”

Did you?

You consider what she was saying, your eyes trailing to the side as you thought. You supposed she was right, there would be no reason for you to feel so passionately about it if you hadn’t experienced it for yourself.

But you weren’t having that experience with Korkie, the hell you weren’t.

Did you love the Knight? You don’t know his name, you don’t know his face, you don’t know anything about him and yet you are starting to think that infatuation has grown into adoration. Your legs feel weak, and you have to slowly lower yourself onto the couch again, feeling woozy from the realization. How did you let it get so far? Your confused face turns to look at your mother’s, eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly open.

“I sense you realized something you didn’t already know.”

You slowly nod your head. Unsure of how to react, you fiddle with your fingers, trying to gain your bearings again. You expect your mother to speak up but she never does.

Before the conversation continues, however, the door is pulled open and three Knights are walking in, a Butler steps in, “Her Majesty, The Queen.” He says before nodding and stepping away. Bo-Katan glides into the room, regal as ever. You and your mother stand up from where you sat, curtsying for your hostess.

“Your Majesty.” She takes your mother’s hand, both of them smiling and kissing one another on either cheek. “I trust your travels were comfortable?”

“Yes, your coachmen were very hospitable.” Your mother nods.

Korkie then enters the rooms with another young Prince who you hadn't met before. He was blonde, and skinny as a twig. He wore a white and gold ceremonial cloak that covered his right shoulder. You smile at Korkie out of Obligation, and he and the other prince bow to the women in the room.

“Princess!” Korkie cheers, “This is my cousin, Prince Hugo of Bespin.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.” He takes your hand and kisses the top of it, his smile charming and blue eyes bright. You were flattered by the gesture, humming.

“The pleasure is mine.” You follow royal protocol. Then, another woman enters the room. She’s tall, an intricate headpiece adorns long, black hair and she has hypnotic, black eyes hidden by deep set, hooded eyes. She’s beautiful, with toned skin and red dots drawn under her lips making her stand out from everyone in the room.

“Ah, Her Majesty Queen Clarya of Naboo.” Bo-Katan introduces. The Elven Queen Ahsoka then enters the room, and everyone, even the Queens bow out of respect before the door is closed. The parlor is suddenly very full, and your intimate moment with your mother is lost entirely. You are suddenly very aware of your disheveled look, and try to run your fingers through your hair a few times.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you.” Clarya says, smiling. “I’ve heard so much about you.” Taking your hand and giving you a friendly squeeze.

“Oh… I’m afraid I haven’t heard much about you.” You apologize.

“No troubles, You are all the gossip among the other Kingdoms.” The eastern queen explains.

“Yes, It appears you are.” Korkie says, moving to stand by your side. “How wonderful that my beautiful wife-to-be is regarded so highly across the world.” He tries to take your hand but you pull it away, not necessarily meaning to, but it was a reflex that you failed to suppress after realizing you were in love with an entirely different man. He clears his throat, and the aura in the room is awkward, you aren’t sure what to do, so you just say the first thing to come out of your mouth.

“Have any of you gone to the beach? It’s lovely!” You awkwardly smile before walking over to the drink cart underneath a portrait of a Manda’lor of a past generation. You try to ignore all the people, feeling a little embarrassed that they were all seeing you dressed like this. You didn’t even think of what suspicion could be born out of that phrase.

“Oh yes, our sandy beaches are widely loved by all.” Bo-Katan takes a seat on the sofa in the place you had sat at just moments before, crossing her ankles under her gown. You shakily pour amber liquid into a crystal glass, your hand shaking as you bring it to your lips, taking a sip of the alcohol.

“Nothing like the Corellian beaches, I assume?” Your mother asks. “Our beaches are rocky and often frozen over.”

“Ah yes, but the Corellian ship fjords are lovely, what a wonderful exposure to culture you raised your daughter with!” Ahsoka sings.

“She turned out alright.” Your mother teases and everyone chuckles warmly. You turn around after drinking, and sheepishly smile. Gods you hope she meant that.

“Well, we are all very excited for the ball tomorrow.” Clarya says, “My assistant worked on a mask for hours the night before we left. It will be an extravagant sight to see everyone dressed so festively.”

“Of course, but we all know none of us can compare to the fashion and extravagance of the Naboolians.” Korkie hums. Everyone chuckles again. You nervously looked out to all of them, you had just made possibly the biggest mistake of your life and none of them paid any attention to you despite it. You had just shown Korkie your first and only sign of true disinterest the night before your engagement ball and you desperately wished you could go back in time and take his hand instead of denying the act of affection, even if you didn’t feel good about it.

“I think you will all be pleased to hear that it was the Princess who came up with the Masquerade idea.” Bo gestures to you. You smile with your teeth, trying to act normal and not like you were secretly dying inside. There is general amusement when that is said, and you can’t help but fidget with the crystal alcohol glass, wanting to leave the room and return to the comfortable embrace of the Knight on the beach.

“Beautiful and smart!” Korkie’s cousin laughs, putting emphasis on the ‘and’. “It’s not every day you find a woman like that!” Everyone laughs again, and this time you force out a faux chuckle to seem more involved in the eyes of the others. “You better hang onto her, Kork!” Korkie smiled at his cousin's words, looking over to you. You feel weak, not liking all the attention. If this much attention was making you feel this way, what would the ball with hundreds of guests tomorrow night be like?

“Yes but, I can’t seem to remember going to the beach with you?” Korkie asks, his diplomatic voice cutting through the laughter. You nervously laugh. He knew something was up. How could you be so careless?

“What? Did I say something about the beach?” You try to play it off cluelessly.

“Oh come on, we all know you aren’t that ditzy.” His cousin groans

“Your fiance asked you a question, dear.” Your mother prods.

“Yes, did you go to the beach sometime during your time here?” Bo-Katan is the one to ask this time, and your legs are starting to feel unsteady.

“It’s not a bad thing, we just want to know.” Korkie takes a step in your direction, making you feel closed in. “We all love the beach here and we are happy you have gotten the chance to enjoy it.” You sensed there was an undertone with his true meaning.

You weren’t sure if you believed him when he said this, “Is it hot in here?” You chuckle, “I think I’ll have another drink, would you like one, Korkie? You ask before turning around and pouring another glass of brandy. He can see how shaky your hand is as you try to fill the cup. He stands behind you, wrapping his arm around you and cupping your hand with his in an attempt to make the pouring more steady. The action startles you, and you flinch as a reaction, dropping the crystal glass in your hand. It was already partially full, and it falls down to the floor in slow motion, golden drink splashing out of it as glass shatters on impact, making a loud, crashing sound that sends shards out across the floor and leaves a puddle of alcohol to soak into the bottom hem of Koska’s sister’s dress. The women of the room gasp from shock, and Hugo walks quickly over to see the mess. You look down at the glass in shock of what you just did, your heart sinking and stomach churning. Lady Tano is the next one to walk over to you, taking you by the shoulders and guiding you to one of the arm chairs, helping you sit down. The room was deathly silent now, you could hear your pulse ringing through your ears. Ahsoka crouches before you, ruling your hand with hers and trying to comfort you from the unexpected shock. Korkies hands are balled into fists. Was he angry with you?

“No worries.” Hugo laughs, trying to be an entertainer, “Butler!” The Butler opens the door.

“Is everything alright?” He asks after bowing.

“Yes, we just made a little mess, would you be so kind as to clean it up?” Hugo walks Korkie, who seems to be just as shocked and embarrassed as you, over to another armchair. The butler snaps and then whistles and three young maids come in, each one getting on their hands and knees to pick up the pieces of glass.

“Princess?” Your mother says, “Do you have something you would like to say to the Manda’lor?” She awkwardly asks, clearly trying to make good from the situation, side-eying Bo.

Your pale face turns to look at Bo, who had that same disappointed frown that you always see on her.

“My deepest apologies, your Majesty.” You clear your throat before painfully looking over to where Korkie sat, his hand resting in his palm and expression down turned.

“Well!” Hugo takes the center of the room. “No use in sitting here in silence, mistakes happen! Right Auntie?” He says to Bo.

“Of course.” She smiles, physically accepting your apology with a reassuring nod.

“Lovely, would anyone like some music?” He asks.

“That would be lovely, Hugo.” Lady Tano says in her ethereal voice. He smiles and walks over to the baby grand piano in the corner of the room, the same baby grand that you played at for your Knight a few weeks ago.

“The Princess plays!” Your mother says, trying to alleviate any tension.

“She does?” Hugo makes direct eye contact with you. “Would you like to play a duet with me?”

“Hugo, she just-“ Ahsoka begins but is interrupted by your mother.

“Oh won’t you play for us Dear?” She asks, smiling.

“Please! I have wanted to hear you play since I was told you could.” Bo-Katan asks. It would be rude to decline a request from the Queen and the Host of the night.

You nod and stand up, that could be just the thing you need to feel better. You walk over to the piano, stopping just before Hugo.

“Bass or Soprano?” He asks, muttering so quietly that only you can hear it.

“Soprano.” You say. He pulls the bench out and sits first since he would be playing the lower part. You then sit next to him, your hands still slightly shaking.

“Do you know the ‘Dathomirian Waltz’?” He asks. You nod. “Lovely, key of D minor then, I’ll follow you.” He pulls his hands up to the keys, and you follow, taking two deep breaths, the first to calm your shaking hands, the second to conduct both of you in at the same time. Together you play a set of intricate chords, Hugo emphasizing on the bass notes, playing a complex scale that brought his left hand over his right several times. You carry the melody, playing just slightly louder than him and allowing yourself to fall into the trance of performing. Your hands finally quit shaking after a few phrases of the music, allowing it to soothe your nerves. Music has always done that for you. All of the nobles in the room smile, the Naboolian Queen sighing at the beauty of the complicated piece. You can’t keep the smile from pulling on your lips. Korkie’s cousin was very talented, much better than you. His hand brushed against yours several times and you couldn’t help yourself from thinking about the Knight when Hugo touches you.

This was something you would never get with him. You would never get to share a memorable moment with others, never get to rub hands against each other in front of three Queens, never get to look one another in the eye without shame or secrecy. The thoughts start to overcome your consciousness, causing you to play a sour note. No one seemed to notice, but you were more aware of it than you should have been.

A beautiful piece, carefully composed and rehearsed, performed with the intent to dazzle, the intent to impress. However there will always be the sour note, an incorrect chord that the audience might not hear but those giving the show will dwell on undoubtedly.

Like the Kingdom of Mandalore.

——————————————

“Rise and Shine your Highness!” A sing-songy voice calls out to you before pulling the long, draping curtains apart and letting the warm Mandalorian sun pour into the room. You groan and flip over onto your side, your body is still exhausted from yesterday evening and you would like to sleep in a little longer.

“Oh, don’t give us that.” A more brash voice groans and you recognize it as Koska’s. You can hear a number of other bodies file into the suite, maybe three or four. The handmaid's pull in the elven dress and a light breakfast. You can still smell the salt water on your forearm as you swing your hand over your eyes. You were not a morning person. Koska walks up to your bed before sitting on the edge of it, placing her tan hand on your shoulder. “We’ve let you sleep in long enough, we have to get you dressed and ready for tea with the Queens.”

“Queens?” You mumble, slurring the ‘s’ out.

“Yup, both Bo-Katan and your mother as well as the Queen of Naboo and Duchess of the Felucian mountain Kingdom are all eager to spend brunch with you in the Garden.” More guests arrived this morning while you were still sleeping, but it wasn’t until Koska explained to you about the women waiting for you that you remembered what day it was. You opened your eyes wide, flopping your arm onto the mattress beside you and looking up at her drowsily.

“The masquerade is today.” You say out of realization. She smirks and slowly nods her head. Soniee budges into your conversation, sitting on the opposite side of the bed.

“We have two dresses for you to wear today! This one,” She pulls forward a gown that isn’t quite as full and round as the dress for the ball, but is still a lovely dress with a pretty skirt and pearls embroidered into the bodice. “And of course the elf dress.” She nods to the pink and gold gown that sat on a sewing-bust, shimmering in the light. “We won’t get you into the ball gown until later tonight.” She hums.

“Now, we have to get you cleaned up, your hair is a mess.” Koska stands up and pulls the heavy down comforter from off of you. The loss of warmth elicits another sleepy groan from your lips and you stare up at the ladies in waiting frustratedly. “Up!” Koska’s serious voice commands and you’re scared enough of her that you jump up out of bed, pulling the nightgown sleeve up that has been slowly slipping down your shoulder and showing more and more skin. “That’s better.” Koska hums, “Let’s get you a bath, yeah?” She walks towards the bath room, opening the golden gilded doors and into the naturally-light room. You will always admire the beauty and effort put into the Mandalorian palace despite the internal battle with living here. You follow her into the room, still sleepy and walking slowly but eventually making it to the tub in the center of the room. The bath has already been drawn, which they must have done in your sleep (they’ve never done that before). You strip out of the cream-colored nightie and dip into the warm water. It smelled of lavender and honey and you allowed your muscles to relax into the bubbles. It was perfect, exactly what you needed to clear your racing and stressful mind. Your muscles were sore from yesterday and the warm water and flowery oils soaked them blissfully. You sigh at the sensation but before you can enjoy it anymore, Koska is dumping the warm water over your head, wetting it completely. It’s unexpected and you gasp from shock, your eyes glued shut to keep the water out of them. Damp hands come up from out of the water to wipe your eyes but then another dump of water is pouring over your head and you’re back at square one. Koska was a much harsher bather than Sonnie was.

All is forgiven however when she starts massaging your scalp, cleaning your hair. You relax back into the tub and enjoy the seawater and wind getting rinsed out. The other ladies come in, one on either side of the tub who files your nails, and Sonnie brings in a towel and silk robe. The other handmaiden works at your calloused feet with a pumice stone and you try not to let it tickle too much. It was true pampering and you loved every second of it. Usually there’s only one maiden to bathe you but five was divine. You assumed this was the treatment the Queen always received.

After you are properly cleaned, your Corellian tea is brought in and you’re left alone for as long as you like. You slowly sip on the purple shaded drink, waking up from it’s comforting properties. You sigh deeply, allowing the fragrant air to fill your lungs while you look out of the tall, narrow window in the center of the outside wall. You could not see the ocean from here, but instead the distant roofs of Keldabe. It was a beautiful summer day, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky and you could hear the birds who have nested in the nooks and crannies of the towers chirping. You knew you had a long day ahead of you, and you wanted to try and enjoy it as much as you could. You never really enjoyed the social aspect of royalty, and that’s all today will be, but you’re ready to brave it head on.

An hour passes before you are finally dressed in the first gown of the day. Your hair is braided back so that it will have a desirable wave for the ball tonight. You are snuggly tied into the pearled bodice of the dress, and you run your hands up and down the beading, allowing it to tickle your soft palms.

Koska pulls open the door, and you’re expecting to see the Knight standing there stoically as always, but he isn’t. The hallway is completely empty, in fact, and you can’t ignore the dreadful feeling that overcomes your body. Where was he?

You clear your throat, and look back at Koska, who was adjusting the skirt of your gown as you walked.

“Where is he?” You ask, your voice hushed almost to a whisper but not quite. There were a million possibilities behind his absence and not a single one of them was ideal. Koska lifts up from her crouched position, smoothing the front pleats of her dress.

“What?” She asks and you sigh out of frustration, there was absolutely no way she didn’t know what you were talking about but you had to be vague because of all the ladies in waiting listening in.

“Who will be accompanying me to the garden?” You say with a forceful tone, trying to prod at a deeper meaning to the question.

Luckily, Lady Reeves picks up on it, and she looks behind you. You felt like she was avoiding eye-contact and it only made you more stressed and confused. “I’ll be escorting you, Highness.” She nodded, moving a step forward and then taking the lead down the corridor. You follow hesitantly, and wait until you are far enough down the hall from the other ladies back in your suite to speak again.

“Don’t horseshit me.” You mutter behind her. She keeps her chin up high as usual. “He’s in trouble, isn’t he.”

Koska doesn’t answer.

“Koska, you promised me he would be okay.” You try not to let the emotion show through your tone but that was a challenge. You felt guilty for some reason. If he was in trouble, it would be entirely your fault. The words shake in your throat and maybe it’s the tight corset and the fact that you are descending the stairs but you’re out of breath and it’s hot, so hot.

“He’s fine, I swear to the stars.” She whispers, saying it straight forward instead of turning back at you in an attempt to stay calm and unsuspecting to watchful eyes.

“Well then why didn’t you tell me that?” You ask, twiddling your thumbs.

“I couldn’t… there’s more to it but-“

“But what? What could be so secretive that you have to keep it from your future queen?” You say through gritted teeth and immediately after, Koska is spinning around on the staircase and looking up at you with a furrowed brow. You felt like you were being scolded by an impatient tutor despite the fact that you out-ranked her.

“You don’t even want to be the Queen.” She says in a whisper-shout, starting to sound as angry and emotional as you were just moments before.

“You’re right, I don’t-“ You bite back.

“So why are you here, then?”

You aren’t sure how to answer, the obvious answer is for Corellia. You were promised something in return for your ability to produce an heir and look like a porcelain figurine on a high shelf. But you also knew it would make your family happy, and your Kingdom. You would be making them proud by marrying so rich. You made a promise.

But now you think you’re starting to stay for an entirely different and unethical reason. Something that is inherently a trap and you know it, and yet here you are, fussing over it at every change you have.

Koska rolls her eyes and scoffs before continuing down the stairs.

“Who spit in your porridge this morning?” You reply.

“You did.” She groans in response.

“I’m sorry, but what did I ever do to you?” You ask when you complete the steps down and start down another corridor, one section of the massive palace closer to your destination.

Koska is the one not to answer this time.

It infuriates you that everyone is keeping secrets from you, your entire experience in Mandalore feels built on deception and being left-out. And now, the two people who finally seemed to be on your side aren’t with you in one way or another on such a big day. Koska is angry with you for no reason and you have no idea where your knight is.

The rest of the walk to the Gardens is silent, and before you know it, you are plopped down on an uncomfortable wicker chair in the hot sun, sipping on lukewarm lemon tea and wondering how much longer you have to suffer. Your mother and Bo were giggling about something, the rest of the court buzzing with conversation and ignoring you as always. Was it possible that you were the problem? You ask yourself this after another sip of the tea, a lemon slice bumping up against your upper lip a few times. As you think, you hold the dainty cup against your mouth, losing yourself in thought without realization. Your pretty eyes stare down at the green grass of the Garden. The grass never gets green back home.

You start subconsciously bouncing your leg as you thought to yourself. Everyone seemed to ignore expect for Korkie and your Knight— who both want to fuck you. Maybe that was the only desirable thing about you. This wasn’t the first time you felt insecure about the relationship you have developed with the Knight. He’s so quiet, so different from you. Were you falling for a trick?

Was he?

Tea must have gone by fast because just before the pearls of your dress start to burn against your arms from the heat exposure, you’re excusing yourself and wandering back inside.

“Strange girl.” One of the noble ladies says to Bo when you walk away. You don’t hear it, you can’t hear anything except for your deafening thoughts.

“Are you sure she’s the one for your nephew?” Another asks. If you had known your mother was silent for all of this in fear of losing her reputation or even the deal between Corellia and Mandalore, you would have been furious.

“Well his father was an outcast, too.” One chuckles. “I guess you Kyrze’s attract the wallflowers.” A few hummed in amused response.

“Well his father wasn’t just an outcast, he was a downright scandal-“

“My sister loved him, and that is all that matters.” Bo interrupts. The laughter quickly dies out.

“Don’t tell me you believe in love, too.” One laughs.

“You aren’t married, what could you know of love?” The same one bo interrupted says.

“I do believe in love, which is why I am not married.” The Queen reiterates. “And I don’t think she’s the right fit for my Nephew, she’s too… outspoken. He needs someone who won’t outshine him.” They chuckle again, all do but your mother, who is still meekly silent.

“Well with the engagement Ball tonight, it is far too late to back out now.” One teases, and the laughter only grows.

Bo-Katan stares in the direction you left.

You huff down the hall, your arms folded and neck sweaty from the heat. You are looking back and forth, studying the layout of the hall in search of something. You’re looking for the smallest idea of where the knight could be but you aren’t very successful.

While all the fully armored guards of the Mandalorian palace are dressed identically, you are almost certain you would be able to spot your boy in a crowd of a thousand of them. You aren’t sure why, but there is something different about him, something that sticks out from the rest. Somehow you two were connected, and it made it so he was always plaguing your mind, even when you are with your literal fiance. Even when you are far away from him and have no clue where he is for the first time in two weeks.

Separation Anxiety.

You aren’t watching where you’re going, which makes you run into a tall, lanky boy. You yelp out in apologetic surprise, looking up at the person blocking your stressed search. A blonde boy flips around to look at you and you’re half expecting to see Korkie but it isn’t.

His Cousin, Hugo, looks down at you with his same charming smirk as always.

“Princess!” He bows.

“My apologies, Hugo!” You exclaim.

“Oh please, you are perfectly fine. You looked distressed? I hope It was not something I did?”

“Of course not!” You reassure, awkwardly smiling. “Uh- may i ask what you were doing in the center of the corridor?”

He chuckles, “Admiring this art.” He nods to an expansive, framed oil painting on the wall. It was of a tall man with a long face and alarming smirk. What stuck out to you, however, was that he held in both hands the same black sword from the royal portraits upstairs by the war room.

“The art is beautiful here.” You smile.

“Yes, my Aunt Satine worked hard to make it culturally rich.”

“Did you know her?”

“Yes, I am a bit older than Korkie, and I knew her for several years before she passed.”

“Are you… second in line?”

“I am.” He says with a classic amused smirk.

“So maybe you can answer a question for me, then.” You ask as you look up at the art. “What in the world is that?” You ask in reference to the blade.

“That, my foreign Princess, is the Dark Sword of Mandalore.”

“The what?” You cluelessly ask.

“A sacred weapon that the rightful ruler possesses, it’s rather powerful.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it before.” You look up at it in awe.

“Hah, yes. It is made of pure obsidian. The white is enchanted quartz veins. It is practically invincible, an elven Mand’alor forged it when he was just a boy.”

“What? There were Mandalorians who were part elf?” You ask, your eyes peeling off of the art and onto your companion.

He looks at you almost confused, “There is much you do not know about my Kingdom?”

“No… I’m afraid not.” You shamefully admit.

“Most don’t,” He shrugs and returns to the conversation unbothered, “It’s history is rather complicated.”

The two of you were quiet for a long time. Your eyes were glued to the stern face of the man in the portrait. You wondered who he was. Hugo is the first to speak up.

“You played beautifully last night.” You doubted he didn’t notice the incorrect notes and mistakes you made several times, maybe he was just being polite by ignoring them. You turn to look at him and smile kindly.

“As did you.” You return the compliment. He looks at you, and you must have been distracted by something other than him because you weren’t aware that his eyes were darting between your eyes and your lips.

Hugo forces a kiss on you.

Just like how Korkie did a few weeks ago in the library. It’s fast because you angrily pull away just as fast as he placed it on you.

“What?” You say like an idiot, looking up at him in shock.

“Oh come on, don’t tell me you don’t feel it?” He gets defensive immediately. The worst part is that it wasn’t even that bad of a kiss, much softer than Korkies, but nowhere as tender as the kisses the Knight would lay on you in the water or behind a closed door. Your entire body seemed to seize up, and you couldn’t get any words out. Not any words that you wanted to say. You just looked up at him, vulnerable and confused. He leans down to do it again but you’re able to turn your head to the side, keeping his lips off of you.

“I am… in love with another man.” You say, clearing your throat.

“You and I both know that isn’t my cousin.”

No use denying it at this point, “yes, but I am still engaged to him. I cannot just be disloyal to the future Mand’alor.” You mutter, embarrassed but trying to keep your cool. You knew you were lying, because you weren’t staying loyal to Korkie. No, you were outright cheating on him and you were falling in love with the boy you were cheating with. You were falling in love. You were very exposed, after all. Anyone could turn the corner or look through the windows and see you. It was different this time, however. Usually hiding your kisses are exciting, but that was only with the Knight. “Please,” You voice betrays you, and the emotional shake is heard through your clenched jaw, “Excuse me.” You push passed him frustratedly, making sure to shove him over a little with your shoulder. You angrily walk back to your room, finally getting there without help for the first time.

When you turned down the Corridor to your suite, you were hoping to see the beskar-clad boy who held you last night, but he still wasn’t there. You hold back emotional tears, but not seeing the one who brings the most comfort to you makes you break. Two crystal tears roll down your cheeks.

You have been taken advantage of too many times in this forsaken castle.

You pull open the door, the golden afternoon light reflecting warmly off of the gold-leafed furniture and decorations is a stark contrast from the bleak hallway. Your bed has been made, and things have been tidied up since you were in here last. You flop onto the mattress, your arms stretched out from your sides, looking up at the sheer canopy above where you lay.

Two hours pass. You think you fell asleep but you cannot remember. If you did, no dreams were had.

Soniee opens your door with trepidation after two soft knocks, “Princess, It is time to prepare for the ball.” Her voice is so timid. You twist your head to look at her, the other ladies from this morning were behind her. Koska was not with them.

You sit up from the bed, rubbing a crook in your neck from how you were laying...

—

authors note (again): i know this isn’t the best chapter ending but ya know... IT WASNT SUPPOSED TO BE

Anyways..... see you tomorrow? i guess? haha

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—

part twelve

[ahsokryze]

Oh my gosh hi I love your writing!! If you're still doing prompts can I suggest 8. Patching the other up. With obiwan caring for anakin bc all I do is write and read anakin skywalker being beat up until he's cared for, that dumb clever idiot, bless him ha. Thank you!!

ahh thank you so much :’))

of course! thanks for the prompt // from these prompts

8 - patching them up

~~~

“Oh Anakin, will you ever try not to give me a heart attack?” Obi-Wan mused, taking the damp cloth in his hand and dabbing it ever so gently over the angry red scrape running down the side of Anakin’s face.

“I saved your life, old man.” Anakin mumbled, wincing as Obi-Wan brushed over a particularly sensitive part of the wound.

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan dipped the cloth into the bucket of water on the floor beside Anakin’s feet, wringing it out, before reaching back up to start cleaning the raw, scraped skin on Anakin’s shoulder, now that he had removed all the dirt and blood from the wound on his face. “I would hardly call throwing yourself in front of a giant sand bear “saving my life”.”

“It was about to attack you!” Anakin retorted. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “You didn’t see its eyes, Obi-Wan—its eyes—it was gonna—mmm—”

“Sorry.”

Anakin squeezed his eyes shut, tilting his head back with a groan. “Ooh—ow...”

“Sorry...” Obi-Wan murmured. He quickly cleaned around the rest of the scraped skin on Anakin's arm, all the way down to the frayed prosthetic attached to his elbow, making a mental note that they would need to attend to the damaged extremity as soon as he had finished patching up the more urgent of Anakin's wounds. It wouldn't be too hard to fix—Anakin would be able to mend it in no time. Obi-Wan let out a sigh, once again dipping the cloth into the bucket and wringing it out.

“So.” Obi-Wan gently began to dab the cloth along the largest of the scrapes, which stretched all the way down the side of Anakin’s leg. “You jumped in front of that aggravated sand bear and let it drag you half way across the field, before you finally managed to wrangle yourself out from its grip—” Anakin’s breath hitched as he attempted to clean a particularly deep part of the scrape next to Anakin’s knee. Sorry, my friend. “—all because you thought it was going to attack me?”

Keeping his eyes closed, Anakin shook his head. “You didn’t see its eyes, Master.”

“Oh, well, my utmost sincerest apologies, my friend—let me rephrase that—you jumped in front of that aggravated sand bear and let it drag you half way across the field before you finally managed to wrangle yourself out from its grip, all because it had ‘scary-looking eyes’?”

Anakin let out an exasperated groan. “I was saving your life.”

“Actually, Anakin, I think you may find that it was I who ended up coming to the rescue and saved your life; a detail you seem to have sorely missed.”

“Hey!” Anakin protested. “I—”

“You may have forgotten,” Obi-Wan cut in. “but the only reason you got out of this mess in one piece was because I managed to soothe the creature with the force and send it on its way, before it could harm you any further.”

Anakin opened his mouth. Closed it again. Then he crossed his arms, letting out a disgruntled huff.

"You're insufferable, Master," he grumbled. “It would’ve harmed you if I hadn’t moved into the way.”

“You don’t know that.”

“But you didn’t see its eyes, Master! It was—”

“Oh, enough about the eyes, Anakin.”

Setting the bucket and cloth aside, Obi-Wan opened a tube of bacta, squeezing out a liberal amount of gel onto his fingers.

“This might sting.”

Looking at Anakin's face, Obi-Wan began to dextrously apply the bacta gel to the angered area of skin, smoothing the soothing substance over the side of his forehead, eyebrow and cheek, in gentle, circular motions, encouraging its nurturing properties sink in. Reaching into the force, Obi-Wan grasped a slither of healing energy, sending it through his fingers and into Anakin’s skin, in small, comforting waves. He wasn't a healer, but he knew enough to at least ease some of the pain, and push the healing process along.

“That feel okay?”

“Mmhmm.”

By the time he moved on to rubbing the bacta gel into Anakin’s arm, and down to his leg, Obi-Wan could feel that Anakin was already a lot more relaxed under his touch. His small attempt at healing must have succeeded, even if it had only eased some of Anakin’s pain.

When Obi-Wan finally finished applying the bacta gel, screwing the cap back onto the tube and setting it down, he looked at Anakin’s face, noticing how his skin had already faded to a softer rosy-pink colour instead of a fiery red like it had been minutes before.

“Ah, it looks like your skin is already beginning to heal.” he murmured. He gently ran his fingers through Anakin’s still-slightly-dishevelled hair, plucking out a few blades of grass and a couple twigs that seemed to have made a temporary home within his copper-blonde locks.

"Hm, it's like a treasure trove in here," he said with a chuckle. Anakin rolled his eyes. Though Obi-Wan didn't miss the grin that crept up his lips a moment later. “Wonder what else i’ll find...”

Leaving the rest of the mess of Anakin’s hair to be dealt with later, Obi-Wan cleaned his hands with a damp cloth, dried them, before taking out a roll of bandages from the medkit.

“Could you lift your arm for me, please.” Anakin nodded, lifting his arm, allowing Obi-Wan to wrap the bandage neatly around his bicep. “Thank you.”

Obi-Wan carefully wrapped the fabric around the worst of the Anakin’s scrapes, being as gentle as he could, trying not to aggravate the tender skin underneath.

“This all right?”

“Mmhmm.”

After wrapping the worst affected areas, Obi-Wan tucked the excess bandages away into the medkit, and slid it to the side, focusing back to his injured friend.

Anakin was running his fingers over the scratched and frayed wiring in his prosthetic, brows furrowed in concentration. Obi-Wan moved closer, lifting the hand of the damaged mechno-limb to inspect the damage.

“Will you be able to fix it?”

Anakin nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I’ll have to replace some of the wiring, and fix the servo here—” Anakin pointed to the servomotor in the wrist of the prosthetic. Obi-Wan nodded. “—but it won’t take long.”

“That’s good.”

“Obi-Wan?”

“Yes, Anakin?” Obi-Wan replied, lifting his eyebrow. Anakin bit his lip.

“Um…would you be able to bring me my toolbox please?” he asked. “It’s just…I don’t really want to move right now because of…” he gestured to his bandages. Obi-Wan nodded knowingly.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Only a little, but I just…”

“That’s all right, I understand.” Obi-Wan smiled empathetically, picking out another stray twig from Anakin’s hair. He flicked it away, before smoothing back a few frizzy strands of Anakin’s curls. “I can bring you your toolbox.”

Obi-Wan turned to leave the small medbay of their shuttle to search for Anakin’s toolbox, but stopped when Anakin made a strange noise behind him.

“Wait!”

“Anakin?”

Obi-Wan turned back round to see Anakin recoil slightly, looking at him with an almost guilty expression.

“Um…would you also be able to bring me something to eat, please?” he said. “I’m kinda hungry after saving your life.”

Obi-Wan snorted with laughter.

“Yes Anakin, I’ll add ‘bring Anakin some food’ to the list.”

“Thank you.”

“On one condition.”

“Which is?”

Obi-Wan smirked. “I’ll bring you some food,” he said. “But only if you admit that I was the one who saved your life today.”

“But—”

“Anakin.”

Anakin gave him a piercing gaze. A beat passed. Another beat. And then…he let out a sigh.

“Thank you for saving my life today, Obi-Wan.” he mumbled.

“What was that? I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Thank you for saving my life today, Obi-Wan!” he exclaimed dramatically. Wow. He must really be hungry. “There. I said it. Was that what you wanted?”

“Anakin, that was more than I could’ve dreamed of.”

“You’re welcome. Now, please could you bring me some food?”

“Yes Anakin. Anything for you.”

~~~

[amelialincoln]

Electric Love pt2

sorry im working on an amelink fic but its hard cause i have little to motivate me with. soooo here's marecal

     They both awoke to the sound of an alarm blaring continuously over their heads. This happened on occasion and as terrifying as the situation was, the couple had almost gotten used to it. After the war the idea of democracy had been popular among the regions. With red and silver becoming equal, the solution had seemed obvious. But it would be wrong to say that the idea of everyone living in harmony was accepted by all. It was mostly the silvers that had an issue with it all, still craving the power they once had maintained. The small rebellion had formed about a year after the war, and raids had been happening throughout the palace almost every month since then. It was rare that anyone would come near their apartment but Cal had built an underground bunker just in case. The raids never resulted in much, other than terrifying those who lived there. Occasionally, they’d take a staff member or government official but eventually would set them free after their pleas went unanswered. 

Mare stumbled out of their bed, still half asleep. However, Cal tugged at her arm, wide awake. He’d already secured his bracelets and a dim flame lit up their bedroom. He couldn’t help but worry that since word had gotten around about Mare’s pregnancy, they may somehow be a target. To which Mare had responded, days earlier, that no silver in their right mind would come anywhere near the two of them, in fear for their lives.

“Feeling nauseous?” He asked as she gripped the stair railing and swayed softly.

“When am I not,” she grumbled, following him down into the blackness. Cal sighed with relief as he bolted the door and pulled the string to an overhead light. The concrete room contained a double bed, a cabinet full of snacks and a pathetic sink that sat in the corner, almost always dripping. Mare crawled into the mess of duvet and leaned back against the bed frame. She was usually unfazed by the break-ins and normally slept through the entire event, unlike Cal who usually spent the night watching the door and allowing flames to creep across his fingertips. He glanced over to find her hands pressed against the small bump that had formed on her midsection earlier that week. Her first trimester was exhausting her and Cal had never felt more helpless.

“You should rest,” he noted. “Practice starts at six tomorrow because of the holiday on Monday.” He knew that despite tonight’s events there was no way that Mare would miss even an hour of training.

“I would lie down but I’m trying really hard to not throw up,” she responded slowly. Mare wasn’t known as a ray of sunshine when functioning on little sleep. “I would appreciate it if you could get your child to give me a break, Tiberias.” She tried to sound bitter but he could hear the fragility in her voice.

“Do you want the plain crackers? Those usually help,” he suggested.

“Do we have any down here?” 

“No.” He expected her to yell at him but instead she leaned back in exhaustion. 

“Can you just come sit with me?” Cal glanced over at her apprehensively, not wanting to leave his position by the door. Mare rolled her eyes at his hesitation.“Cal, for fucksake it’s absolutely fine--” As if on cue the sound of their apartment door banging open echoed through the flat. Mare fell silent as the sound of moving furniture filled their ears. Someone was looking for them. Anxiety raged inside her and lightning sparked on her palms, growing brighter by the second.

“Mare, control it,” Cal hissed. Her ability was becoming more and more unpredictable as her pregnancy went on, to the point where they were in the midst of getting a necklace made out of silent stone for moments like these. Cal couldn’t help but wish they’d had it by now.

“I can’t,” her voice wavered. The light above them brightened immensely before popping and surrounding them in blackness. Light bulb glass reflected red as Cal’s flames dimly lit the room. Mare silently prayed that her purple sparks would not reappear. “Do you hear that?” She asked, as a familiar voice called out to them, calling their names over and over. “It’s Gisa!” She moved to the side of the bed

“No Mare, it’s not.” Cal’s eyes darkened, willing her to lie back down. 

“Cal, I think I would know my own sister--” 

“It’s a voice manipulator, it’s trying to convince us to come out.”

“How do you know--” She wanted nothing more than to answer the voice calling out to her. 

“Because I hear Maven,” Cal hissed, his eyes begging her to be quiet. Mare had never wanted to throw up more. She finally processed the idea of silvers rummaging through their apartment, playing tricks on their minds. Suddenly the situation was more nauseating than the smell of Cal’s green smoothies he’d been forcing her to drink lately. He noticed her gag and shot her a look of sympathy. Eventually the calling diminished and they heard less and less footsteps above, though neither of them wanted to go back upstairs. Eventually Mare fell asleep but Cal couldn’t bring himself to leave the door, waiting for the voice of his brother to return.

She awoke the next morning to find Cal missing from the bunker. A handwritten note was left on her pillow.  

Mare,

Taking the kids up the mountain today. Don’t try and follow us, we'll be back soon enough. Rest and please just be safe.

Love, Cal

Classic. She threw her head back in frustration. Despite the break-ins being an inconvenience, they always put Cal on edge. She was surprised that he’d decided to let her out of his sight, even if it meant her getting some extra hours of sleep. She walked lazily up the stairs to find their apartment torn to shreds. Furniture was pushed over and destroyed. Picture frames had fallen off walls and glass lay shattered on the floor. Although she hadn’t been too involved in the design of their place, she couldn’t help but feel awful that all of Cal’s hard work had gone to waste. She smoothed the crinkled photos that had fallen out of their frames. Most were of her and Cal, apart from some of Mare’s family and Cal had one photo of Coriane, which he cherished greatly. She couldn’t help but grin at the thought of racing up the mountain to meet the group, the idea didn’t seem too bad to her. Undoubtedly would piss off Cal, which was always fun. She didn’t bother having breakfast, through trial and error she’d learned that eating before noon would result in an hour spent in the bathroom. Eventually, after a while of trying to tidy up the apartment, she was dying of boredom. She tied her hair back into a messy braid and pulled on her training uniform before swifty leaving the apartment, locking it behind her.

“Hey!” She whipped around to find Evangeline morphing the garden fountain into a rather inappropriate image. “Cal cleared my schedule to sit around and wait for you to try and leave.” She narrowed her eyes, obviously upset by her change in plans.

“That’s dumb,” Mare shrugged, turning to leave.

“He also lied about where he took the kids today. If you go up that mountain you aren’t going to find them.” Mare stopped in her tracks, cursing. “Why do you want to go so bad anyways?” 

“Because what else am I supposed to do?” she huffed.

“Domestic life not treating you well?” Evangeline teased, Mare glanced up at her, realizing how much she had begun to miss everyone she’d gotten close with last year. She hadn’t seen Farely in what seemed like months.

“How’s Elane?” She changed the subject and Evangeline took the bait, never upset when speaking of her girlfriend.

“She comes to visit today,” her eyes lit up with excitement. “I’m going back with her in a week and then staying awhile. There isn’t much to do around here,” she admitted, Cal had mentioned that her ‘government’ role had been less riveting than she’d anticipated.

“Yeah, no kidding.” Mare couldn’t help but grin at the idea of Evangeline in a stuffy room talking about politics.

“He did seem shaken up this morning though. The raids were bad last night?” Mare could tell Evangeline was trying to keep her from leaving but at that point she didn’t care. There were twelve off campus training sites scattered over Montford and the group could be anywhere. She sat down on the edge of the fountain and tried to look as if she wasn’t bothered.

“They don’t usually search our apartment.”

“Ah,” Evangeline responded. “Probably something to do with the bun in the oven.” She gestured to the small bump that Mare had been desperately trying to hide with baggy clothing.

“I don’t know what they think they could possibly achieve by trying to harm either of us.” She rolled her eyes in annoyance.

“Yeah, it’s messed.” Evangeline bit her lip. “The group is expanding though. If you go downtown there’s signs up everywhere. The silvers aren’t happy.”

“You think after last year people would want a break from the violence.”

“I don’t know, would be nice to have a little fun.” The rings on her fingers were morphing into tiny daggers on her palms. Mare couldn’t help but laugh.

“You haven’t changed.”

“Have any of us, really?” Evangeline shrugged. “Come on, Barrow, I know you miss silver blood on your hands.”

“We crave the chaos now but the moment we’re back in it we’ll wish we savoured these moments.” She shook her head but couldn’t suppress the rush of euphoria that passed over her as she imagined what Evangeline was suggesting. 

“You think there will be another war?” Evangeline’s voice was hushed, as if someone was listening in on the pair’s conversation. Mare nodded grimly.

“Cal’s been seeing Julian almost every night. I can tell they’re hashing out the beginnings of some plan. He’s been downplaying the silver’s revolt. I don’t know why he’s treating me like I’m too weak to handle the truth.” 

“Probably doesn’t want to stress you out.” Evangeline brushed a piece of her frizzy blond behind her ear and smirked as she watched Mare gag at the idea of her condition was making her incompetent. “Just go,” she finally caved. “They’re at the training centre in Elm.” Evangeline chuckled as the lightning girl’s eyes lit up with delight. “Tell him I told you and I’ll give the silvers a key to your underground bunker,” she added darkly, trying to hide her amusement. 

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Judging from the time of day the group would probably be on their trek back by now. Mare decided to go anyways. The idea of getting a rise out of Cal was too appealing to pass up. He deserved it for treating her like she was useless. The dirt road was longer than she remembered or maybe she was just more out of shape than the last time she’d run it. She pushed herself faster at the thought. It took a lot for someone to sneak up on Mare. Cal failed miserably almost every day. Which is why, when she was pulled back suddenly, she froze in shock rather than fought back. Before she could react a knife was pressed to her neck and it drew a small amount of blood that began to pool under her chin. She felt the silent before it even started reaping her ability from her, tugging her strength away.

“Not so powerful now, sparks.” She could hear the enjoyment in the unfamiliar silver’s voice and wanted to spit at the nickname. The knife, however, permitted her from doing such.

“I’ve got guards watching me,” she forced out a lie. “Letting me go would be a smart move.” To her dismay the group of silvers only chuckled.

“Look Red Queen, you're the issue here. You’re the reason that reds think they can waltz into our cities and act like they aren’t the worthless vermin that they are. You may have deceived the prince but there’s no mistaking your true intentions.” Mare couldn’t begin to guess what they were talking about.

“He’s not your prince anymore.” Was all she could think of to say. Cal didn’t want anything to do with the crown anymore, or so she hoped.

“And that’s where you're wrong.” The new silver’s voice was calm and poised. “Tiberias Calore VII has been working to revise the new laws. The democratic system is flawed. It’s only a matter of time before it splits. Your boyfriend is working hard to fix the damage you caused.”

“That’s not true.” She could hear the falter in her own voice.

“So that leaves you as the problem. A red can never sit on a silver throne.” Mare could feel the knife digging deeper into her skin. 

“I don’t want your stupid throne.” She managed to kick her leg back, connecting with the soft area that she’d been aiming for. The man yelped in pain, allowing the knife to drop. Mare whirled around to find a larger group than she’d expected. As the sky began to darken she noticed a line of sweat was starting to form on the silent’s forehead.

“Get her in the vehicle,” the woman ordered, Mare could sense the weakness in her voice knowing she wouldn’t last for much longer. She could feel the static energy increasing in the air, begging to strike. The men came at her quickly. She dodged the first couple easily but more kept advancing. The silent held on to her dismay and eventually she was surrounded. It was the knife guy that hit her first, undoubtedly holding onto some sort of resentment. After that the rest was blurry until she doubled over in pain and blackness invaded her vision.

[syekick-powers]

self-esteem improving talks under the cut, look if you wanna see me talk about how hot i am i guess

i know i used to post a lot about feeling ugly and shit and how my old selfie tag used to call my face “horrible” and shit but honestly. honestly. i have some fucking good-ass genetics. like seriously, just making a bulleted lists of traits:

all the afab people in my family line on my mom’s side age like fine wine, often looking 20 years younger than they are, and i know i’ve inherited this because ive been mistaken for being younger repeatedly throughout my twenties.

my face skin is super fucking nice; i get pimples on my face VERY rarely (even on testosterone!) and my skin legit looks so good that when i was growing up i never had to wear makeup because my skin was so smooth and blemish free that i pretty much never needed it. i literally don’t even have a skincare routine because i dont fucking need it. aside from washing my face off with soap in the shower my skin is literally so fucking good that i don’t need to do any fancy skincare routines to look this good, it just looks like this completely naturally with no effort on my part at all.

my teeth are super nice. aside from some wear due to grinding when asleep, my teeth are in pristine condition. the last time i had a cavity was when i was a little kid, and ever since then my teeth have been perfect. every single dentist who examines my teeth is like “wow, aside from grinding wear, you have really nice teeth.”

my hair is super duper thick and takes like a week to get dirty (and, in fact, my hair actually dries out and gets frizzy if i wash it too often) meaning i can wash my hair and it’ll look nice for like 4-5 days without having to bathe at all. kinda similar to the dentist thing, every time i get a new hairdresser the first comment out of their mouths when handling my hair is “wow your hair is so thick!”

my face is nice. like i used to call my face “horrible” in my selfie tag but honestly? honestly. i have a nice face. nice sharp jawline. good smile.

my eyes are fucking pretty. like even when i thought i was ugly as a teenager i knew i had beautiful eyes. the outer ring is super dark blue while the inner ring around my pupil is very light which makes the pupils super piercing and intense. also there’s a little pattern around my pupils that reminds me of a flower.

my face is very expressive, meaning i can make some really fucking goofy expressions. this is a positive for me because my humor is a key aspect of my personality and being able to make dumb as shit faces ALWAYS improves the quality of my jokes.

body type. i used to think of myself as “fat” but honestly i carry my weight really well. i remember back in 2014 when i still worked at that grocery store i brought up my weight in front of one of my coworkers and she was like “no way!! you can’t possibly be that heavy!! you don’t look that weight at all!!” and honestly? i’m pretty heavy, and if you saw me with no clothes on you’d see where the weight is, but i no longer see it as a bad thing. like when i was a teenager i hated the fact that my thighs were so fucking big, but now that big thighs are the sexy thing, i feel less like i’m “fat” and more like “yes i am so thicc. the thiccest. truly dummy thicc.”

this is related to testosterone/transition but. ever since i started T i grew a shit-ton of muscle without any exercise at all and now i’m a LOT stronger than i was when i was estrogen-dominant. like before i started T, back in 2015 or so when me and my friends would work out at the planet fitness, we’d work on the weight machines and my arch enemy was the ab machine. i fucking hated the ab machine so much because my ab muscles were SO weak and i could barely do ten reps on the thing without collapsing into an exhausted heap. then i start working out in a new gym after being on testosterone for a while and i get on the ab machine expecting it to be as torturous as the previous one was. i set it to the lowest resistance. it feels like fucking nothing. i turn the resistance up one. still nothing. i keep turning the resistance up and up and testing it again and again looking for a setting that actually feels effortful and i get up to 45 fucking lbs of resistance and then and only then do my ab muscles feel even the tiniest amount of exertion. i do like 50 reps on that setting no fucking problem. even better, i get on the leg machines that work out like your thighs and shit and my legs are so fucking apeshit bananas strong that i’m doing like 200-something lbs of resistance on the leg press and it still barely feels like fucking anything. i will fucking crush ur head with my thighs.

not really related to appearance but another thing about myself that i like a lot is my laugh. a lot of people have told me that i have a really wonderful laugh that they like listening to. it makes me feel really happy to know that my laugh is such a nice sound that people wanna keep hearing it.

also not related to appearance but more to streaming: everyone tells me i have a really funny scream. this helps me when streaming because people are able to have a laugh when i screech rather than find it annoying. i didn’t really realize how important this was for creating content like streaming until i watched some other LPers and realized that funny screaming will often make or break a streamer/LPer because if their voice/scream is annoying it will really drive people away.

idk bro. i’ve thought of myself as ugly for so fucking long because my measure of how attractive i was, was directly proportionate to the number of people that approached me for a relationship. like i thought that the amount of people asking you out on dates was the hardline indicator of how attractive you are, not necessarily how you look but how other people perceive how you look. and for a while my idea of body positivity was not caring if other people found me unattractive because i didn’t need to be attractive to be a complex human being that deserves respect. and this is undoubtedly true, and should be what all body positivity should strive to do--but i do think i am beautiful now. i didn’t used to, but i do now.

honestly, looking back at my school years and how no one asked me on dates... i honestly think the number one reason why no one asked me on dates was not because i was ugly, but just because i gave off such an intense “Don’t Fuck With Me” aura that people were too intimidated to want to date me. like i’ve legitimately been mistaken for a bodyguard in the past because i give off such a powerful vibe in public. so misguided younger me assumed that because no one approached me that meant i had to have been too ugly for it.

bro you’re not fucking ugly you’re just so used to projecting this incredibly defensive aura that people are genuinely too intimidated to approach you. you’re not ugly. get a fuckening grip.

[fashiontrendin-blog]

5 Women on Why They Stopped “Taming” Their Hair

http://fashion-trendin.com/5-women-on-why-they-stopped-taming-their-hair/

5 Women on Why They Stopped “Taming” Their Hair

From a young age, most girls are acutely aware of the difference between “good” hair and “problem” hair. One ripples and bounces across TV screens during shampoo commercials; the other is spelled out on the bottles like a diagnosis: frizzy, dry, coarse, kinky, or — my favorite — unmanageable, as if the worst thing hair could do is defy your grooming attempts.

This impossibly narrow beauty ideal has all kinds of consequences for those who don’t fall within it, from bullying and alienation all the way to racial discrimination. This means it doesn’t just cost girls and women money or time, it can cost them a sense of inherent belonging or self-acceptance.

The silver lining of being force-fed dumb rules is the freedom to be gained by breaking them. The natural hair movement, which has done so much valuable work in eschewing and reshaping beauty conventions set with one type of (white) woman in mind, is one example of what shattering those rules can look and feel like.

There’s no shame in enjoying spending time on your hair, or reveling in the manipulation of it, but there remains something undeniably meaningful and subversive about skipping that process in favor of wild, frizzy or generally “unkempt” hair. To celebrate the literal and figurative beauty of that defiance, I asked five women who don’t tame their fluff to tell me how it feels to let it fly free.

Jasmine Burgos

Jasmine is a journalism student at Hunter College and a fashion intern living in Long Island.

How would you describe your natural hair? When did you start wearing it like this?

BIG, bouncy and wild! Since I was little, my hair has always taken over my face. Sometimes I can’t even see or I’m accidentally invading someone’s personal space. It’s great. I began to consistently wear my hair naturally by my freshman year of college.

Did you used to try to “tame” your hair?

My childhood consisted of hair relaxers and regular trips to the Dominican hair salon. You wouldn’t see me without sleek, straight hair. I remember all of the countless hours spent under the hairdryer ’til my ears burned and, to top it all off, the constant tugging away at my roots with a scalding blow dryer. But I endured every minute of it because, at the time, this was what girls with “difficult” or “time-consuming” hair did. It was my normal. I eventually grew to be obsessed with the process because the end product was beautiful.

Growing up, you’re taught that beauty is pain. I felt beautiful with my straight hair — it was softer, longer and a whole lot easier to take care of. If my hair wasn’t straightened, it was twisted up into a bun. Eventually, straightening my hair became inconvenient because I enjoyed exercise and I hated having to be careful with not sweating “too much,” or being super anxious to leave the house when it was raining or humid. It was an exhausting way to live. Once I began attending school in New York City, where it was much more diverse than my hometown, I began to care less about looking perfect, looking like everyone else, and looking like someone everyone else wanted me to be. I began to present myself comfortably and naturally, and that started with my hair and makeup. So far, it has been the most liberating decision of my life.

What’s your hair routine like now?

On wash days — typically Sundays — I wash with shampoo, detangle with a deep conditioner, let the deep conditioner absorb into my strands while I wash off the rest of my body, then rinse it out and end with a leave-in conditioner. Most of my washing/conditioning products are by Shea Moisture. I don’t rinse off most of the conditioner. If I want extra shape, I’ll add DevaCurl shaping gel or Cantu styling cream. I add all products while my hair is still wet, then I prefer to let it air dry if I can. Once it’s mostly dry, I’ll use the blow dryer on a cooler setting to get my volume up.

All other days of the week I refresh my curls by wetting them and reapplying conditioner to ensure they’re being moisturized every day.

What’s the most common comment or question you get in regards to your hair, and how do you respond?

Where do I begin!?

Is it yours? Is it real? Is that a wig? How do you, like, get it to do that? Do you curl it every morning? (This one is especially funny because I barely have time to apply makeup every day let alone tirelessly curl every single strand on my big head.) How do you even deal? Have you tried straightening it? And the biggest one of all: Can I touch it?

I realize that those who ask these kinds of questions just aren’t as exposed to black hair or big hair or any sort of different hair for that matter, so I can’t really blame them. I try to educate those genuinely curious. But for those who are clearly just trying to make me feel uncomfortable, I smile and show them that I’m proud of my kinks by simply saying, “Yes, it’s all mine and no, you may not touch.”

How does your hair make you feel?

Powerful. Funky. Unique. Audacious.

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Katie Stockton

Katie is a Clinical Information Manager living in Staten Island.

How would you describe your natural hair? When did you start wearing it like this?

Fluffy, curly, yearning to spread its wings and become trapped in the car door as I close it. Aside from a few forays into bangs and some sporadic straightening with my mom’s CHI flat iron (which I never gave back, sorry Mom), my hair has been the same since high school.

Did you used to try to “tame” your hair?

I went through a couple phases of hair suppression. When I was younger, it was all about detangling and keeping it contained in a ponytail. If I ever complained about my hair being too hard to brush, my dad would offer to chop it all off with his pocket knife. I did not take this lightly because once at a softball game he cut a fat wad of gum out of my teammate’s hair after her fed-up parent gave him permission.

When I got a bit older, my mom tried to teach me how to blow dry it, which I never had much success with and wasted a lot of John Frieda Frizz-Ease in the process. Then the CHI came into our lives and I’d spend an hour or more making it super straight. Like, lifelessly-plastered-to-my-head straight. People paid me attention and were very complimentary whenever I wore my hair straightened, but in retrospect, I don’t think it was worth the time and effort. And it’d start to puff back up in any amount of humidity or sweat. Especially my baby hairs and cowlick.

I started consistently wearing my hair as is out of laziness and burgeoning self-acceptance.

What’s your hair routine like now?

I wash my hair every three days or so. I’ll brush out all the knots and shed hairs right before I get in the shower, then shampoo, comb through my conditioner with a wide tooth comb, clip it up, do my other hygiene activities, then rinse out thoroughly. I’m currently using the Acure Organics clarifying shampoo and OGX coconut milk conditioner. My go-tos used to be the Acure Organics moisturizing shampoo and conditioner, but I haven’t tried them since they reformulated.

The most important part of my routine is the air-drying. Right out of the shower, I very gently wrap my hair up in a classic bathleisure towel situation. I use one that is highly absorbent — NOT terry cloth — and waffle-textured. After that sits for 20 minutes or so, if I have the time, I’ll do the same thing again with a dry Turkish bath towel.

Once I’m tired of that/need to leave my house, I’ll take it down to finish air drying unrestricted. No touching, unless to flip it to the opposite side to encourage volume up top. If the ends look too dull or sad, or if I feel like smelling great, I’ll use some Stark Skincare hair oil. But I don’t rake it through! Just press it in.

What’s the most common comment or question you get in regards to your hair, and how do you respond?

“It’s so long!” is a frequent one, and it does not earn more than a one-word response from me. I feel like when people say this, they’re going for the most innocuous comment possible, which makes me afraid they are secretly thinking mean things.

Strangers and acquaintances also love to touch my hair without asking. Their eyes glisten and their hands shoot out while they tell me how much they love my hair. Thanks so much! But please don’t touch me without my approval!

How does your hair make you feel?

Sometimes like I have a bug on me. But it’s only a stray hair.

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Beatriz Williams

Beatriz is an artist, grad student and future therapist living in Manhattan, New York.

How would you describe your natural hair? When did you start wearing it like this?

My natural hair is wild and alive. It has a mind of its own and I’m OK with that. I started wearing my hair as big as it is now a few years ago, after I graduated college and moved to New York City.

Did you used to try to “tame” your hair?

Up until a few years ago, “taming” my hair was always a part of my life. I remember trying out different products when I was younger including moose, gel, leave-in-conditioner… whatever would give me the least amount of frizz possible. Frizz was the enemy. Perfect, shapely, bouncy curls were the goal. Wearing my hair “big” now is definitely something I have grown into. Sometimes I actually make my hair frizzy on purpose and brush it out just to get an even fuller effect. My hair has become part of my identity. It reminds me every day how proud I am of my Latin/African roots. Because of this, I wear it big to make a statement.

What’s your hair routine like now?

I wash my hair maybe once or twice a week and put conditioner in it after I get out of the shower. I let it air-dry and shake my head from side to side, and up and down to help it dry with the most possible volume. Then I just let it do its thing.

What’s the most common comment or question you get in regards to your hair, and how do you respond?

A lot of people tell me that they like my hair and ask what products I use. I also have gotten that my hair looks like a pillow and they want to take a nap on it. I usually just say thanks and laugh it off. Some people do ask me if they can touch it and I tend to say yes more often than not.

How does your hair make you feel?

My hair gives me superpowers.

Sandy Sanchez

Sandy is a copywriter living in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

How would you describe your natural hair? When did you start wearing it like this?

My natural hair is black, frizzy, a mix of very wavy waves and tight springy curls (especially in the bottom layer of my hair), with lots of baby hairs. The top layer, near my roots, sometimes has its flat days. I’d consider my hair a mixture of 2C and 3A, I think? It depends on the curl you pick out of my hair. I started wearing it naturally in 2013. Aside from my childhood years, of course.

Did you used to try to “tame” your hair?

I was a very curly-headed baby. My mom always told me that strangers would ask her if they could touch my hair. Once I hit around second grade, I started becoming self-conscious of my curly hair. I’d wear my hair in a tight, low ponytail every single day to keep it low-key and out of the way. I did this up until seventh grade. This was around the time side bangs and sleek straight hair was “in.” I still think about that scene where Mia in Princess Diaries gets a makeover and has her frizzy hair straightened out and she suddenly becomes “beautiful.” That scene would end up impacting me for years to come. I straightened my hair every single day starting in 2006 up until 2013 once I discovered the straightener, because I thought that beauty meant no curls and no frizz.

The straightener was my savior but my frizz always won the battle. I’d try so hard to have straight hair and by the end of the day, I could see the curls starting to come in again. It was a cycle of me hating my hair, straightening it, still being frizzy, seeing the curls coming back, getting mad, and then straightening it some more.

One day in 2012, I decided to wear my hair curly to school because I was getting sick of having to straighten it. I was absolutely terrified and I ended up getting so many questions. How come you’ve never worn your hair curly before? Did you curl your hair today? Omg, you look so different. I was still hesitant to wear it curly but then finally in 2013, the year I started college, I began to wear it natural every single day and I grew to love it more and more every day. For the first time ever, I didn’t care if I was a ball of frizz and regretted all the years I tried to hide it. Plus, I felt more like myself than I ever had in my entire life.

What’s your hair routine like now?

My hair routine is extremely low maintenance and I love it. I usually wash my hair one-to-two times a week because I’ve trained it throughout the years to not need to be washed so often. I comb my hair dry before washing it, so I only brush it one-to-two times a week as well. I’m not super loyal to any hair brand but right now I’m using the Pantene Curl Perfection and I’m loving it. Every once in awhile I use the OGX Coconut Curls Curling Hair Butter. Products always claim they’re going to “defrizz you,” but they never do and now I really don’t care if they do. I like to shower at night because then I can fall asleep on my wet hair, let it dry overnight, and wake up with tight, fluffy curls that are all over the place. It’s my way of “styling” it with my pillow overnight.

What’s the most common comment or question you get in regards to your hair, and how do you respond?

People are so sweet when it comes to their compliments and it makes me happy! Most of the time people say they wish they had curly hair, too. If someone doesn’t feel comfortable with their frizz, I like to tell them to just embrace it. A little frizz never hurt anyone! Another common comment about my hair I get is that “the frizz works on me,” so I guess that’s a compliment? Once in a while, I’ll get, “Do you ever get tired of the curls and straighten your hair?” To which I respond with: No, not really. Another question I get is “Can you let me straighten your hair one day? It’d be so fun.”

How does your hair make you feel?

It makes me feel so comfortable and cozy! My hair kind of feels like a part of my identity. I love that I don’t have to worry about how it looks. I don’t care if there are flyaways or frizz or a weird part sticking up in the back. I love waking up in the morning and leaving my apartment with my bedhead because sometimes, those are my best hair days. It’s also funny because, when you have big, frizzy hair, your friends can spot you from anywhere.

Hair is a pretty recognizable and signature part of you and, in a way, a form of self-expression, so I’m glad it makes me happy now! The fluffier, the better. I love meeting other fellow frizzy, curly-haired people because everyone has such unique curls and they’re all various shapes and sizes with different frizz levels and each curl is just so special and adorable.

Stacy Collado

Stacy works in a fashion showroom and is also a working model and dancer living in Bushwick, Brooklyn.

How would you describe your natural hair? When did you start wearing it like this?

Dry, frizzy, unkempt. I started wearing it like this when I decided those words didn’t have to mean “bad,” which actually wasn’t until… a year ago, maybe, out of the 23 I have been alive for.

Did you used to try to “tame” your hair?

My background is Dominican, so although it’s extremely common for people of my heritage to have naturally poofy/curly hair, it’s also customary in the culture to use various products and heating methods to tame it. I remember being really young, visiting relatives in the Dominican Republic, and sitting in someone’s living room while they put a hair-relaxing treatment on my head. Smooth and straight was the beauty ideal even among women who could never truly achieve that genetically. Now I know that those treatments were just chemically frying my hair and that it didn’t look good, just damaged.

What’s your hair routine like now?

For me, the trick is to rarely shampoo because it majorly dries out the frizz, and I love to condition so I do that daily. I don’t know if that’s a good thing to do or not. I air-dry, never wear product, and kind of just let my freak flag fly on the regular. I’m interested in dabbling in product these days, but I have yet to find the perfect recipe and I am really into letting it be.

What’s the most common comment or question you get in regards to your hair, and how do you respond?

My goodness, there are so many. “Do you ever straighten it?” followed by, “Does it take forever?” I just take it as an opportunity to go into a tangent along the lines of: “Yes, I spent many years of my life straightening and using all the frizz serums ever invented and realized unruly hair can be sexy AND professional AND just fine the way it is.”

How does your hair make you feel?

Like myself, which I think is probably the most important and most badass thing to be!

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Photos by Emily Malan; follow her on Instagram @emilymalan.