#Lineage cousins au

[ironborealis]

"I take Anakin Skywalker as my Padawan learner." The words rip themselves from his throat before he even has time to think them.

He's not cut out to be a Master, he knows this. The Council knows --

"It wasn't even ten years ago, as I recall, that you swore before the Council that you'd never take a Padawan again." Mace's eyebrow rises with skepticism, as he looks to the other council members for the confirmation that he doesn't actually need.

Qui-gon remembers perfectly what he said then.

"Much fear, I sense in the boy -- and long time it has been since the responsibility for a Padawan you have had." Yoda adds, eyeing both Anakin and himself with skeptical eyes.

"The boy must be taught." He insists, digging his heels in, something that only works with the Council a little over half the time.

"We're wandering off topic," Depa announces, breaking off the silent stalemate between himself and his grandmaster. "If Qui-gon is right and he did encounter a Sith on Tatooine and is targeting the Queen, then Qui-gon must go with her back to Naboo." Depa's lips purse momentarily as she scrolls through her data padd. "Knight Muln is an excellent pilot, the obvious choice for your second during the attempt to negotiate between the Trade Federal and Naboo -- but if this is a Sith, you'll need a second much more skilled in combat against other lightsaber users --" The corner of her lip curls upward with pleased surprise that sours Qui-gon's stomach because there are only a few possibilities -- "Fortunately, it seems that Knight Kenobi is available to join you for this mission."

"Absolutely not --"

"Why not? Knight Kenobi is a skilled duelist, and if anyone could help give us an accurate assessment of your readiness to take on a Padawan, then surely it would be your own lineage brother." Knight Kenobi's ability to assess Anakin's suitability as a future Padawan goes unsaid in Mundi's harrumph.

He's not seen the boy -- the man? -- since he left him on Bandomeer, after the boy had helped him defuse the bombs (had offered his own life to help him escape), in order to pursue Xanatos.

He'd sent a message to his estranged master after he departed, urging him to take the boy on as a Padawan, ignoring the fact that his master's own Padawan had fallen only a few months earlier.

It shames him now to think that the fall of Xanatos all those years ago has left him mired in such grief that to this day he feels unready to take another Padawan; yet he had been quick to throw a child at his own master, no matter their strained relationship, whose own wounds at the time were more recent.

"Then it's decided: Knight Kenobi will accompany you and the Queen to Naboo in order to confirm the your sighting of the Sith and assist in defending the Queen." Mace looks pleased as he makes his announcement.

Qui-gon has a bad feeling about this.

///***///

Anakin is frustrated (NOT angry!) and confused, as they stop briefly at Mr. Qui-gon's quarters (so small, so full of green) and the "quartermaster" to get supplies and fresh underclothes for Anakin.

The Council doesn't want him to join the Jedi because he's too old and too angry (too powerful?).

Mr. Qui-gon seems to have summoned an Idiot's Array from thin air by declaring Anakin as his Padawan, forcing the Council to accept him.

The Council has decided upon adding yet another test, for both him and Mr. Qui-Gon, involving a brother of Mr. Qui-gon's -- even though Jedi aren't supposed to have families...

He'd ask Mr. Qui-gon, but the man is in a mood that Anakin knows from hard experience to avoid in Masters. Whether that rule also applies to Jedi Masters Anakin is unsure and not eager to find out.

When they arrive at the dock where the Queen's ship is moored, there is only a Jedi standing stiffly in front of the gangplank. This must be Knight Kenobi.

Knight Kenobi appears human, and seems to present as male. His hair is much lighter than Qui-gon's, a dark sand-like color with a red tinge that hangs around his chin. He's short -- at least compared to Mr. Qui-gon who is very tall. His face is rounder and his eyes much grayer than Mr. Qui-gon. Some of that may be because Knight Kenobi is so much younger than Mr. Qui-gon -- like at least half his age.

They must have different fathers.

"Master Jinn," Knight Kenobi bows to Mr. Qui-Gon, and Mr. Qui-gon makes a face like he just took a drink of black melon milk as he nods in response. "Mr. Skywalker," Knight Kenobi turns and gives him a smaller box.

Anakin doesn't know what is stranger -- being called 'mister' or be *bowed* to of all the things.

"Knight Kenobi." Anakin makes a clumsy attempt at the bow Knight Kenobi gave Mr. Qui-gon. It's not like a slave's bow at all - the Jedi bow is all straight lines and sharp angles instead of the curved back and hunched shoulders that he's used to. It feels so unnatural.

When he comes back up there's a sparkle in Knight Kenobi's eyes, like he might be laughing at Anakin -- but as much as Anakin would like to tell him off, he knows that his future with the Jedi will depend on gaining Knight Kenobi's good opinion, so he'll hold his tongue.

"You and Mr. Qui-gon are brothers?" Slips out of his mouth instead before Anakin can stop it.

"Yes," Knight Kenobi says, at the same time Mr. Qui-gon says, "No."

Mr. Qui-gon gives Knight Kenobi a hard look before he marches up the gangplank and disappears into the ship. Anakin knows he should follow the man, but frustration (...and anger?) he feels from Mr. Qui-gon make him freeze in place instead.

He's been so busy worried about impressing the Council and now Knight Kenobi, that he's never considered what might happen to him if he upsets Mr. Qui-gon. Can a Jedi Master reject a Padawan?

Knight Kenobi has turned his head to watch Mr. Qui-gon leave. Then he, shockingly, crouches down until he's at eye level with Anakin. There's a slight smile Knight Kenobi's lips, but it doesn't reach his eyes, which are hard to read but maybe look sad?

"It's complicated; nothing for you to be concerned with." Knight Kenobi says.

The man stands back up, his grin growing a bit broader, a bit faker.

"Now, as we are the last two to board, we had best hurry before the Queen and Miss Padmé decide to leave us behind," Knight Kenobi's voice is cheerful as he steps to stand alongside Anakin and gestures towards the gangplank.

Padmé would never leave him behind. He's not so sure about Knight Kenobi though.

Knight Kenobi lets out a soft snort that's almost like laughter -- but Anakin is sure he didn't say anything this time -- can the Jedi really read minds?

[lunar-serpentinite]

u do not know the sheer happiness the friendship between luna and harry give me 🥹 theyre so precious to me i love them

[yuridovewing]

Adderswift lineage is like "Okay so not only are Spottedleaf and Redtail Tigerstar's aunt and uncle, but Tigerstar is also first cousins with Darkstripe and Graystripe, this is indisputable canon btw you can't argue against this it's totally set in stone and what we intended the entireeeeee time. Oh also Patchpelt fathered a bajillion babies and Longtail and Swiftpaw are siblings for some reason because obviously Swiftpaw has to be Longtail's baby brother for him to give a fuck about his death. You can't feel sad someone died unless you wanna fuck them or they're family. This 100% makes sense btw and you cant contest this"

[quitealotofsodapop]

me and @silverlycanthropelover have been discussing LMK Nezha x Ao Bing focused ideas in the notes of this post, and I'm obsessing cus of S5 going to be focused on Nezha's family issues and his tumultuous relationship with his bio dad Li Jing.

I just want Nezha and Ao Bing to meet again and chill about their terrible fathers.

And maybe fall in love.

One idea is that their legendary fight was orchestrated to pit the in-love kids against one another.

Mostly because the love match of the Jade Emperor's Grandson and a Dragon Prince would pose immense political unrest between the factions - they were all notably fighting during the Investiture Crisis/pre-Zhou Dynasty. The Celestial Realm wouldn't stand the next potential royal Consort/Empress being a Dragon, and the Royal Dragons did not wish for their lineage to be tied to the celestials that oppressed them.

So someone in the background stoked unrest that led to the two royal children destroying one another and themselves.

I love ideas of Ao Bing being alive in the LMK timeline, either in stasis in the Underworld, frozen, or confined to a wing of the Eastern Sea Palace. Mostly so he and Nezha can meet once more and confront their childhood mistakes.

We agree that "Utpala/Blue Lotus" would be the name of a fanchild - if not an au version of Mei. Mostly cus the Utpala flower is another sacred flower in Indian Buddhism, and is used to symbolise the "Cold Hells/Narakas" of the Underworld. A very appropriate name for a Divine Serpent/Royal Dragon combo with flower imagery and ice powers respectively. And for a pairing where both have technically died.

One idea we shared is that the "dragon pearl" that Ao Lie "destroyed" in his introduction in Jttw was actually him hiding a pearl-turned-egg Nezha and Ao Bing had unknowingly created together (via the Power of Love™), and refusing to snitch on his fave cousin to the Celestial Realm/Royal Dragons.

The baby dragon/celestial lotus-snake is lavender coloured, and contains enough power to bring gods and dragons alike to their knees (cus she's so cute). <3

[starcurtain]

The Kinda Unhinged Ratiorine Fic I Want to Read

In an (admittedly very contrived) AU situation, Dr. Ratio finds out he's about to be cut out of his (mostly estranged) family's inheritance forever because of his complete lack of interest in continuing the family line. Which, all factors considered, does make perfectly logical sense. Investment of capital should go to the branch of the lineage most likely to benefit from it, and Cousin Tiberius has five sons and daughters already. Let the house and the trust fund go to them.

But the library.

There's absolutely no way Veritas could bear to be permanently parted from the staggering assemblage of paper volumes under his collected family's auspices. Not only would being separated from tomes so full of memories be heart-wrenching, but think of the devastating blow to his research! There are records in those archives that no other mortal eyes have ever gazed upon!

So there's only one solution for it: He needs to pass on his family name, immediately.

(Andddd the rest is under a read more because what is brevity?)

Problem 1: Veritas Ratio is very gay.

Problem 2: Statistically, single men have the lowest chance of being selected for adoption placement, and this Child Welfare Agent is looking at his alabaster head very, very strangely.

Think, Ratio, think. What is the most efficient way to solve such a tedious quandary?

The obvious first step is to increase his likelihood of being selected by the adoption agency, and the quickest way to do that is... Eureka! How elegant a design! He just needs to enter into a (temporary) committed and stable partnership to demonstrate a degree of domestic dedication and home-building prowess!

Problem 3: ...Where in the universe is he going to find a stable and committed man willing to marry him?

Ratio does not exactly possess the world's most endearing personality. He might... never have had any form of romantic relationship lasting past a one-night stand even, because it turns out most people don't like being scored a 2/10 on their technique during intercourse.

So he's probably not going to find a stable and committed man.

But... He might at least find someone willing--for the right price.

Enter Aventurine (stage left). He's as expensive as they come, the greatest reward saved for the highest bidder, but despite his festering ambitions, he's still trapped as nothing more than a high-class escort, owned by a company the IPC has on the books as selling everything but what they actually trade in: Avgin slaves.

Sigonians... The reputation--and sleazy men's curiosity--precedes him, and though he only has to get on his knees for the truly bold nowadays, he hasn't yet been able to make the ultimate gamble, pull the last string needed to finally gain his freedom: the freedom to live his life as he pleases--and to enact every ounce of vengeance he's been storing for decades like cards up his sleeves.

Until now.

Until an absolute madman shows up at the underground headquarters waving around an offer that no average person would possibly make: He wants to buy Aventurine and wed him.

(Because marrying a Sigonian thrall is a safe and sane thing that safe and sane people do.)

The offer is far too good to be trusted: A real marriage certificate but a perfectly fake marriage, a no-fault divorce once an adoption is finalized, and a guaranteed sponsor for his citizenship documents. A year or two of fake homemaking, this Veritas Ratio claims, and then Aventurine can walk away a completely free man, no strings--no chains--attached.

Well, Aventurine of the Myriad Stratagems has always held one skill dearer to his heart than any other: a crystal clear knowledge of when to fold--and when to go all in.

(...Problem 4: Amber Lord help him, Aventurine's new husband is the most irritating man in the entire universe.)

Alas, if only that was their biggest problem. Somewhere between learning to navigate the citizenship process, the adoption process, a truly unacceptable level of systemic racism, and also, increasingly, each other, Ratio and Aventurine discover that the circumstances of their lives might be far more entangled than they ever could have imagined from the beginning, and the same shadowy parties that profited off Aventurine's existence might have a vested interest in parting Ratio from valuable research secrets--permanently.

While struggling to maintain a charming and loving facade and struggling not to kill each other behind the scenes, Aventurine and Ratio also end up having to out-roll and out-plan a particularly dangerous enemy; something they can really only do together.

Or, tl;dr: Dr. Ratio chooses the most efficient but most unhinged method of finding a husband that intelligence could possibly contrive, only to determine that marrying a guy whose track record for unexplained deaths matches his track record for card counting really is the encyclopedic opposite of "committed and stable." Ridiculously enough, the trouble they get into is almost entirely Ratio's fault, the only one who is remotely convincing in front of the Child Welfare Agency is Aventurine, and sometimes it turns out the guy you married for the library ends up being the guy you married for life.

[lilacmingi]

OPPOSITES ATTRACT

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with ne ir any of my works.

Pairing: Gryffindor!Jongho x Slytherin!fem reader

Word count: 4,408

Note: Final installment in the Hogwarts AU series! If you don’t know, the Hogwarts imagines for the other members are linked at the end! Reminder that this is an imagine from my Wattpad from 2023 so there will not be extra parts or continuations

Jongho wizzed through the air, holding the Quaffle close to him as he zoomed towards the opposing team's hoops, successfully tossing the ball through the goal, scoring yet again for Gryffindor.

"Yes!" You cheered only to quickly clamp your hand over your mouth afterwards, your outburst earning you some glances from your fellow housemates.

Maybe next time you should sit with the Gryffindors—then again, you'd stand out like a sore thumb. It was hard not to cheer for Jongho. He's the best quidditch player on the whole team, watching him is enough to put you on the edge of your seat. Yes, you two are from opposing houses, but you're the best of friends and you don't let old rivalries stop you from hanging out together.

The game came to a close and Gryffindor took the victory as expected. You had to keep your excitement at bay as you exited the stands to meet with your friend on the ground, holding it in long enough to part ways with the rest of your house.

Jongho approached you looking oh-so-handsome as usual, a thin layer of sweat on his face giving him a post-victory glow.

"That was awesome!" You squeaked.

"It was nothing." He huffed.

"Nothing? Every time I watch you play I'm on the edge of my seat. Honestly, there was a couple times I wasn't sure you'd score, but you pulled through every time."

His warm laughter filled the air as his cheeks turned pink, though that could have just been from all the activity out on the field.

"You act like I'm the best player on the team."

"You are!" You said enthusiastically, giving him a light punch on the arm. "We should celebrate your victory."

"By doing what?"

"We could go to Hogsmeade and grab a butterbeer." You suggested. "My treat."

Jongho's eyes lit up.

He loved butterbeer. You could remember the first time he tried it, the fond memory replaying in your head.

"When?"

"Tomorrow."

That heart-melting gummy smile of his broke out on his face as he nodded.

"Sounds good."

You and Jongho had been friends from day one, literally. You met on the train to Hogwarts and he was nervous as ever. He had only just recently found out there was magic in his family lineage and wasn't sure what to expect at Hogwarts as he had only found out it's existence a few weeks prior to the start of he school year.

"I don't know anything about this place and I'm nervous to be away from home for so long."

"There's nothing to be nervous about. You'll have fun, trust me." You told him. "I've been looking forward to this for a whole year. My older cousin told me they have entire feasts at Hogwarts. There's all sorts of food lined up on these really long tables that stretch across almost the entirety of the room."

"Wow. That sounds much better than instant ramen."

"Instant? Muggles have instant ramen?" You asked with wide eyes.

"Oh. It's not instant, it's just made in a shorter amount of time. We don't have magic so we have meals that can be made easily."

"Ooh. How long does it take?"

"Usually about three minutes unless you want to add extra stuff or cook your noodles longer."

"Three minutes is still really quick." You responded. "That's amazing."

"I guess it is." He chuckled.

Jongho thought so-called "muggle" things weren't special. After all, it's just how he goes about daily life, but seeing your reaction was amusing to him.

The both of you became friends very quickly during the duration of the train ride. You even sat together at the sorting hat ceremony, where you briefly explained what would occur.

"I hope we get into the same house together." You remember Jongho saying.

Unfortunately, you got sorted into different houses, you in Slytherin and him in Gryffindor, but that didn't bother you, nor did it stop the both of you from spending time together.

You and Jongho signed up to take a muggle appreciation class together where you paired up with each other since the professor wanted muggles or half-bloods to pair with purebloods. That was one of your favorite classes. You enjoyed learning about how muggles got through everyday life without magic as well as some of the things they had that you didn't, like pens, you found those to be quite fascinating. Your professor had a few and allowed everyone to try them out to see what they thought. You loved the pen and wondered why the school never used them instead of quills.

"You did so good at the game yesterday." You told Jongho.

He smiled, looking down bashfully. "Thanks."

"You're the best quidditch player at Hogwarts." You continued praising him.

Jongho was visibly holding back a bright grin, doing his best to keep it concealed as he fiddled with the packaging of his chocolate frog he purchased from the candy trolley.

"I get so caught up in the game. I'm sure my housemates want to kick me out." You chuckled.

He had seen you cheering him on many times before, even when Slytherin was against Gryffindor. It warmed his heart that you always cheered for him despite being in opposing houses and seeing you in the stands always gave him an energy boost during quidditch games, but he would never say it aloud.

Once you arrived at Hogsmeade, you couldn't contain your excitement, rushing Jongho off the train. He was fairly excited as well, but he wanted to keep his cool, putting on a calm exterior as he followed behind you through the metal archway with the town name on it.

Jongho's eyes glimmered in wonderment as he gazed at all the shops like it was his first time seeing them.

"Here we are." You announced, looking up at the sign for The Three Broomsticks.

Jongho was quick to step ahead of you and hold the door open. It was a small gesture but it made your heart flutter. Stepping inside the tavern, the both of you made your way to the bar, seating yourselves on the wooden stools that lined it. Someone came around shortly and took your orders before grabbing a couple glass steins, filling them with the sweet amber liquid you and Jongho came for.

"Two butterbeers." The barkeep said, setting the glasses down.

You rummaged in your bag and placed enough coins on the tabletop to pay for the beverages.

"Hey." Jongho frowned in disappointment, his hand halfway shoved in his pocket from trying to dig out money to pay himself.

"It's my treat." You smiled, lifting your stein up. "We're celebrating your big win, after all."

Jongho raised his large mug as well, clinking it with yours before taking a few large gulps of the butterscotch-flavored beverage.

Jongho let out an ahh sound, setting his glass down on the bar top. You chuckled softly at the foam that clung to his upper lip which made him look even more adorable than usual.

"What?" He inquired.

"You've got a little something here." You gestured on your own face.

"Oh." He laughed, his ears turning a light shade of pink as he grabbed a napkin and wiped his mouth.

"You got hit pretty hard by that one chaser on Slytherin. I thought you were going to get knocked off your broom. Are you alright?"

Jongho instinctively rubbed his shoulder while thinking back on the moment he got rammed in the side by one of Slytherin's chasers the day before.

"Yeah I'm fine. A little sore, but he didn't hit me that hard. It's nothing I can't handle."

You shook your head and stifled a laugh.

Jongho was a tough cookie and a strong person both mentally and physically, but that didn't stop you from checking up on him.

"So, should we shop while we're here?" You inquired before taking another drink of your butterbeer.

You could see the faintest hint of a smile playing at Jongho's lips. He loved Hogsmeade and always seemed so entranced by what it had to offer. Even after all these years you can still see how mesmerized he is by everything.

"We could... you know since we're in town." He responded.

"Alright. We can go wherever you want."

His face lit up at your offer.

Once your glasses had been emptied and your craving for butterbeer had been satiated, you and Jongho set off into Hogsmeade to browse the shops and see what grabbed your attention.

"Could we go into Spintwitches?" He asked you in an almost unsure manner, but you could tell by the gleam in his eye that he really wanted to go.

"Of course. Like I said, we'll go wherever you want."

As soon as you stepped foot in the sporting goods shop, you could see Jongho's face brighten, his eyes darting to all the different displays inside.

"Check it out." He marveled, scurrying over to one of the brooms on display.

Your eyes moved to the card set up with the name written across it.

"Hogwarts House Broom." You read aloud.

"It's enchanted to display the house colors of the owner." Jongho informed.

"Woah."

"Yeah. It's pretty awesome, isn't it?"

You nodded.

Though you were a pureblood wizard and Jongho was muggle-born, he seemed to have much more knowledge on quidditch than you. He knew anything and everything about types of brooms and what they do, whereas you didn't.

"This one can go up to seventy miles per hour." He pointed. "It's called the Silver Arrow. You see how the broom itself is made to look like an arrow?"

You nodded.

Honestly, you could listen to Jongho talk about brooms all day just to be able to see the enthusiastic expression on his face. Often times you find yourself thinking back on the day you first met him and how nervous he was to be attending Hogwarts. Now, he fits right in.

Jongho continued spouting off facts about each broom while you both perused the store for a few more minutes before deciding to move on.

"Where to next?" He inquired.

"How about Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop?"

He nodded and you both made your way in that direction.

Upon entering the quaint shop, the scent of parchment and ink reached your senses, a content smile settling onto your features. Displayed on the shelves were different quills that ranged in appearance. Some had fluffy, white feathers while others were flat with patterns on them. Your attention was drawn to a stunning peacock quill, the vibrant array of colors piquing your interest.

You had always been drawn to the captivating quill ever since you enrolled at Hogwarts years ago. Though with its flamboyant appearance, you had passed on buying one, not wanting to cause a distraction during class.

"I never really cared for quills." Jongho commented. "They're difficult to use and you have to keep dipping it in ink."

"Yeah, I can't understand why the school would still want to use them when there are things like pens."

"Ah." He chuckled, thinking back on when your professor for muggle appreciation class allowed everyone to try one out. "You were mesmerized by those things."

"How could I not be? They're much more convenient than a quill. You don't have to constantly dip it in ink."

"Stopping to dip your quill in ink seems like a waste of time if you think about how many times you have to do it during one class period." Jongho mentioned.

"Exactly!" You pointed. "I didn't even think about that."

A small laugh of amusement slipped out of Jongho as he shook his head. Seeing you getting fired up about pens versus quills was entertaining to him.

Moving right along, you started browsing the parchment and notebooks stacked on a shelf. One in particular had caught your eye and had you walking over to it, picking it up from the stack. You ran the pads of your fingers over the intricate embossed design in the leather of the notebook, tracing the swirls and curls on the cover. You enjoyed journaling and writing down good and exciting things that have happened to you, even sometimes writing down bad things just to vent your emotions. The pages in the current notebook you owned were only halfway filled, so there was no need to purchase the one you held in your hands, but it sure was pretty. Maybe you'd come back for it later when you needed a new journal.

You proceeded to the next display, perusing the items for a few moments before noticing Jongho's absence. He was standing with you when you first entered the store, but now you weren't sure where he had wandered off to.

After searching the shop for about a minute, you found Jongho looking at an inkwell filled with rainbow ink, turning the small glass jar around in his hand with a confused pout on his pretty lips that had your heart doing front flips.

"Do people actually use this?" He asked once you were close enough to hear him.

"Only for fun or pranks. It's not really suitable for classwork."

"Ah." He placed it back on the shelf. "People here seem to love their jokes. Prank quills, prank socks, a prank shop."

"Yeah." You chuckled. "Some people do. You'd be surprised how good business is at Zonko's."

"Are you ready to go?" Jongho asked, looking to see that you didn't have anything in your hands.

"Yeah. I didn't find anything."

"Alright. Moving on, then."

Your day at Hogsmeade was a lot of fun. You had stayed in town so long that you decided to grab lunch. Unfortunately, you weren't quick enough and Jongho had paid for your meal, which you shyly thanked him for. At the end of the day, you each left town with a bag of sweet treats from Honeydukes and a new piece of clothing from Gladrags. Jongho found a nice jacket and you managed to snag a pair of pants you had your eye on for a while.

"Thanks for taking me out today." Jongho told you on your walk back to the school.

"It was nothing. I wanted to celebrate your big win, plus I needed a day out. Can't be focused on studies all the time."

"Right." He chuckled.

Once inside the castle, the both of you parted ways to head to your respective dormitories, Jongho standing in the hallway for a moment, watching you walk away.

I should have said something. He thought to himself. It would have been the perfect opportunity. He let out a short huff of disappointment.

Maybe next time.

Jongho took a deep breath in an attempt to calm his racing heart. He had gone over everything at least a hundred times.

"Just say what you need to say. It's no big deal."

Gryffindors were supposed to be courageous and brave, but Jongho was currently lacking that trait. He wanted so badly to confess his feelings to you, but all he could think about was the many ways you'd reject him:

"I only see you as a friend."

"I like someone else."

"I'm sorry. I don't feel the same."

"I don't date muggles."

He groaned, throwing his head back in exasperation. It shouldn't be this big of a deal.

If only he had something that could help him out, give him that little boost of courage he needed.

Then, suddenly, a lightbulb went off in his head. A bravery potion. That's it! He knew how to make that. He just learned it a few weeks ago in potions class. Pulling out his cauldron, he went through the ingredients he remembered were used in the concoction, pulling them out and lining them along the desk.

Less than an hour later, he held a glass bottle in his hands, swirling the liquid around inside while examining it. He had never taken a potion before and was a little nervous, but he needed this. He was afraid he wouldn't be able to confess properly unless he had just a little bit of courage.

"I hope this works." He murmured before downing the potion.

You were walking down the hallway when Jongho came around the corner with a little pep in his step. It was evening and classes were over for the day, so you assumed that's why he appeared so chipper.

"There you are, pretty."

Your body stiffened, your heart leaping at the unexpected nickname.

"Pretty?" You whispered under your breath.

As soon as you were within reach, Jongho took hold of your hand and rubbed his thumb affectionately across your knuckles.

"I'm glad I found you. We need to talk."

"We do?" You questioned. "About what?"

"Follow me."

Jongho led you down the stone corridors of the castle until you arrived at a somewhat secluded area of the school that was, for the moment, free of any students or teachers.

"Is everything alright?" You asked, mildly concerned that he needed to discuss something serious with you.

"You're so beautiful." He sighed out, ignoring your question. "Have I ever told you that?"

Your eyes widened as a faint warmth touched your cheeks. "No."

"You are. Y/n, you are so stunning."

What's with the sudden compliments?

Jongho gazed at you dreamily. "You make my heart race every time I'm near you and when I see you in the crowd at quidditch games cheering for me, it makes me feel so giddy I can't even explain it. Sometimes I wish I could run up to you after a successful game and kiss you. I'd lift you off your feet and spin you around just like in the movies."

"Jongho." You uttered in disbelief.

"I love you so much, Y/n."

You could see the look in his eyes and tell by the way he was sputtering all of these confessions that something wasn't right.

"Are you okay?" You asked him.

"I'm fine." He giggled. "Better than ever."

You pressed your lips together in concern, cupping his cheeks to examine him.

"Please kiss me, Y/n."

You gasped softly at the request, your cheeks set ablaze. Oh how you wanted to give in. You wanted so badly to lock lips with him right then and there, but this wasn't right.

"What did you do, Jongho?" You asked.

"My name sounds so nice coming from your mouth, pretty." He sighed out.

"Jongho."

He giggled in response.

"What did you take?"

He reached into his bag and pulled out an empty bottle, handing it to you. You brought it to your nose, sniffing it, the scent of bubblegum reaching your senses.

Babbling Beverage.

"Jongho." You groaned. "What have you done?"

"It's a bravery potion, Y/n. No need to worry." He smiled almost drunkenly.

"This isn't a bravery potion, this is a Babbling Beverage. It makes you speak nonsense."

He scoffed in offense. "I'm not speaking nonsense."

"Come here." You brought him over to the corner of the secluded hallway, so you'd have a little more privacy.

"Are you mad at me?" Jongho asked.

"No, but why did you do it?"

"I wanted to confess to you but I was too scared. Isn't that silly? You told me Gryffindors are brave, and I usually am, but not today." He rested his head against the wall. "I needed something to help me so I brewed a bravery potion—or at least I thought it was."

"You... wanted to confess to me?"

"Yes. I like you so much, Y/n. You're so beautiful and funny and kind and you made me feel so welcomed on that very first train ride to Hogwarts. You were the first friend I ever made."

Your heart swelled with adoration at his words. Though he was under the influence of a potion, his words seemed genuine.

Jongho took his bag off, letting it fall to the ground as he stepped closer to you.

"I want to kiss you so badly." He murmured.

"I'm not sure that's a good ide-" Your sentence went unfinished as he gently took your chin between his thumb and index finger.

Staring into his captivating eyes, you found yourself wanting to give in, your gaze darting down to his pouty lips and imagining how soft they probably felt. Having his face so dangerously close to yours had you wanting to throw caution to the wind.

"Can I?" He asked.

The tone of his voice was so soft yet temping at the same time. Without mulling it over any further, you nodded.

Jongho didn't let another second pass before his lips landed on yours—and yes, they were soft. Right away, you reciprocated his actions, kissing him back with just as much fervor.

His fingers released your chin, moving to the back of your neck to pull you even closer, the action also causing your lips to press further into his. You could feel every dip and curve of his mouth, the sensation making your closed eyelids flutter. Your hands, which had been balled into fists at your sides, latched onto his shoulders, staying there for only a few moments before your fingers slid into his hair. Jongho's arm snaked its way around your waist, pulling your body flush against his. You gasped at his action, noting how strong he was and how tightly he was holding you against him with just one arm.

It was clear Jongho was starting to get comfortable as his kisses got more heated and somewhat sloppy. He began nipping lightly at your bottom lip, letting out quiet sighs when your nails grazed the nape of his neck.

"Keep doing that, pretty." He exhaled against your lips, sending a shiver down your spine and a rush of butterflies to your abdomen.

You boldly grabbed a handful of his hair and gave it an experimental tug, a quiet groan from him vibrating against your lips immediately after. His hand that was cupping the back of your neck dropped to your waist, squeezing your hip tightly. He then took a step forward, backing you against the stone wall behind you.

"You have no idea how long I've dreamt of this." He murmured, placing a kiss on your jawline

Heavy breaths escaped your lips, your chest heaving up and down while attempting to catch your breath. You had no idea Jongho could kiss so passionately... or boldly, and you were pleasantly surprised by this discovery.

"You're not the only one." You confessed.

He lifted his head to meet your gaze.

"I'm not?"

"No."

Jongho knew when you kissed back that it more than likely meant you felt the same about him as he does you, but hearing you practically confess had him reeling. He wanted to hear more.

"It's probably obvious at this point, but I'm head over heels for you, Jongho."

Still under the influence of the potion, Jongho blurted the first thought in his head.

"I love the way you say my name."

His lips were on yours again, hot and heavy. His kisses were desperate and fast-paced, making you weak in the knees. The Babbling Beverage made one speak nonsense and didn't have an effect on how they kissed, so this was all Jongho.

Your fingers curled around the collar of his robes, fisting the fabric in desperation while he practically devoured you.

It was at that moment, your foot bumped something on the floor which caused you to part ways. Glancing down, you found Jongho's bag that had been discarded only a few moments earlier lying on its side with something sticking out of it.

"What's this?" You asked, reaching for the object that had fallen out of his bag. It was wrapped in brown paper with twine tied around the it, a sprig of lavender tucked into the bow knotted neatly in the middle.

"Oh." The look on his face told you that it was something you weren't supposed to see.

The effects of the potion seemed to be wearing off as he dropped his head into his hands, letting out a groan of frustration.

"I was supposed to give that to you first, before I confessed." He grumbled, his voice muffled by his palms.

When he lifted his head, he saw that you were smiling.

"You got me something?"

"Yeah, but I messed it all up. I had a plan. Give you the gift, then confess. That stupid potion." He muttered the last part.

He only wanted something to give him a tiny boost of courage and instead he made the wrong thing and made himself babble like a fool. Then again, he did have an incredible makeout session with you, so did everything really go wrong?

"Here." He picked up the item and handed it to you.

You carefully took the gift from him, running your fingertips over the lavender.

"You wrapped it yourself?"

He nodded, holding his hands behind his back and rocking back on his heels.

Plucking the sprig of lavender out of the twine, you undid the knot and pulled back the wrapping. Inside was the leather-bound journal you were admiring at Scrivenshaft's just a day ago.

A quiet gasp left your lips. "How did you know?"

As far as you were aware, Jongho had been looking at inkwells when you were perusing the journals.

"I saw you eyeing it in the shop." He responded, holding back a grin, clearly proud of himself.

"You didn't have to."

"I know."

"Thank you." You embraced him in a one-armed hug. "Also, don't worry about how things went today. I think everything turned out perfect. And if I'm being honest, I really enjoyed that little kiss we shared."

"Little?" He raised a brow.

"Okay, not so little."

"I'd be happy to do it again." He grinned, leaning forward only for you to press your finger to his lips, halting his actions.

"Maybe later. I heard some voices down the hall a few seconds ago. Don't wanna get caught."

He pouted, his pillowy lips pressing against your index finger. Unable to resist his puffed out cheeks and pleading eyes, you let out a short sigh, caving immediately.

"We can go to the library. We're less likely to get caught there."

Jongho nodded vigorously in agreement, taking your hand and pulling you down the corridors towards the library, eager to lock lips with you once again.

Hongjoong ⟡ Seonghwa ⟡ Yunho ⟡ Yeosang ⟡ San ⟡ Mingi ⟡ Wooyoung

Masterlist ᝰ — enjoyed this imagine? reblogs & comments are very much appreciated!

DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate my works in any way

🏷 @h3arteyes4mingi @weird-bookworm @poppy2007 @parkjennykim @evidive @mxlly143 @lizzymizzy-blogg @minhanbyeol @dinossaurz @laylasbunbunny

[feyclowns]

Are Cosmo and Jorgen related in your AU? I've seen people say that they're distant relatives in canon (I think)

sure are! in cosmo rules [S7/E33] (iirc) it's stated cosmo and jorgen are cousins. now in my au cosmo and jorgen are a liiiiittle more distantly related..

but they still are. sometime i'll make a nice tidy family tree. but this'll do for now. nana von strangle's son married a carina cosma, and took her name (as surnames are generally matrilineal especially in high-end fairy culture)

athena didn't marry a fairy with close fey lineage so their daughter, euphemia (mama cosma) ended up as a larger-than-average fairy, and euphemia married into a low class family so by the time cosmo and ezra came around you wouldn't know they were related to the von strangles at all unless you were REEEEEALLY into the failed end of the cosma lineage

[monbons]

WIP Wednesday

Posting actual WIPS on a Wednesday? Imagine that.

As long as we are all baring our hearts on tumblr, I have to admit that I have been struggling to write anything since I wrapped up Eternal Life (back in the first week of April). At first I figured I was simply burnt out since I wrote all 42k words of that fic in just about a month, but given that I've started three separate WIPS since then and made zero progress on any of them, I'm wondering if I am just out of stories. I hate all my words--even though I really love some of these concepts. So, as you may have noticed, I've been distracting myself with sewing projects because good progress is so clearly visible there...

Anywho, to motivate myself, I decided to post a snip of each today and hope that having bits out in the world will motivate me to finish at least ONE of them! All untitled. Set up and snips below the cut.

Very creatively titled "Party Robot," this WIP is a silly/fluffy one-shot inspired by an article I read a while ago about a growing trend in American weddings. This one is the furthest along and will likely see the light of day eventually...

A nervous bounce.  From a robot. I recognize that bounce. “I thought you said Shepard was working tonight.” My voice is tight. “He is.” Bunce replies, similarly strained. “What did you say he does again?” Panic rises in my chest.  “He’s in entertain–”  Whether Bunce trails off or I simply don’t hear the rest is irrelevant because the music has changed from easy dinner instrumentals to much-too-loud techno and the show is clearly starting. As the synths build, driving towards a crescendo, my brain reels with the growing realisation that Simon would never just abandon me at the last minute, would never send me anywhere alone, certainly not my cousin’s gay wedding, which is every kind of milestone given his Old Families lineage and Pitch blood specifically and– “PARTY PEOPLE!” The DJ booms into the mic. “Have the grooms got a treat for you!”

A multi-chapter AU I have lovingly nicknamed "Baz in a Bubble." It is sad and angsty and is proving significantly more difficult to execute (despite having a complete outline) than I once thought it would be. Who could have guessed having one home-bound character would make me too sad to write? Thanks to @thewholelemon and @hushed-chorus who've listened to more than their fair share of my griping about this one. Anyway, here's the first bit of BAZ POV:

There are exactly 297 stars in the sky above me. I count them while lying in my bed every night. They do not twinkle or flicker hello like real stars. Instead, they glow a constant yellowish-green that reminds me of the colour artists always make toxic sludge in the cartoons I grew up watching. It's the colour of superhuman villains and their evil plots. Of poison. Of danger. It's the colour of the plastic star stickers Fiona put up on my ceiling when I was 10 and spent the whole year crying and begging her to go outside. Just once. Just for a minute. Because I was starting to forget what fresh air smelled like or how it felt to have grass prickle against your bare feet or how the stars lit up the night sky in Hampshire. There are no stars in the middle of London. Not outside my window. Not in this room.

And then the WIP I have the least progress on (literally almost nothing) but I so desperately want to write and could really use a thought partner to help me brainstorm/plot/figure out what the hell I'm doing--- a canon divergence where Simon successfully exposes Baz as a vamp and Malcolm steps the fuck up as a father. Here's a bit of Simon POV:

It didn't matter anyway. Pitch Manor was empty. While [the Mage] ranted and raved, I wandered into Baz’s living room. The TV was still on. Peppa the Pig was playing. A half-dressed Barbie was splayed on the couch next to a small bowl of grapes, all cut in half. I picked up the doll and brushed her tangled hair out of her face.  Why didn’t I know Baz had a sister? A family that ate snacks together in front of the TV? Parents who loved him so dearly they fled their whole lives under cover of night? In the days that followed, I sat in meeting after meeting with the Coven, listening to The Mage. He demanded the casting of tracking spells, pushed through more dark creature reforms, and rambled about the miscarriage of justice and the dangers of harbouring monsters.  But Baz wasn’t a monster.  He was just a boy.  A scared boy.  A boy who ran because he wanted to live. 

Anyway...here's to accountability via tumblr. Maybe once I've slept for several weeks and feel more refreshed I won't be so frustrated by every word I know, or more precisely, all the beautiful ones I can’t seem to find…

Thanks for the tag @bookish-bogwitch. Cannot wait to devour the new chapter of BPD!

Hellos and high-fives to all. May your words (and art) be faring better than mine: @raenestee, @cutestkilla, @roomwithanopenfire, @facewithoutheart

@emeryhall, @artsyunderstudy, @aristocratic-otter, @larkral, @rimeswithpurple

@drowninginships, @valeffelees, @shrekgogurt, @blackberrysummerblog, @iamamythologicalcreature

@run-for-chamo-miles, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @arthurkko, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @youarenevertooold

@beastmonstertitan, @supercutedinosaurs, @rbkzz, @fiend-for-culture, @theearlgreymage

@brilla-brilla-estrellita, @skeedelvee, @ic3-que3n, @talentpiper11, @ivelovedhimthroughworse

[thewickedspinster]

The Protector & the Prince (Aedion Ashryver x Reader)

a/n: this character and plotline has been in my head ever since i read throne of glass, so i'm lowkey thinking of making this a series? to explore the character and also her relationship with aedion? because there is a criminally low amount of aedion love out here (i'm happy to provide). lmk your thoughts in the comments!

content: aedion x fem!reader, aelin x reader platonic, rowan whitethorn ofc, spoilers for empire of storms & kingdom of ash, slight au where reader is taken by maeve instead of aelin

requested by anon

The Protector & the Prince

The dawn was chill and damp against your cheeks. Dew rose from the meadow below, kissing your hair and skin. Welcoming you home.

In the rocky hollow behind you, the Bane packed up camp. They were battle-weary, exhausted to the bone after years of fighting in the mountains. Last night at dusk, when the company had stopped, you had just been able to make out the spires of Orynth across the next hill. It had been a trial in will to halt, to take stock, to rest before making the final push across the Staghorns.

Today, you would return to the home you had been forced to abandon, to the people you called your own. To your queen. To your friends. The war had been won, they said. Word had come over the mountains in the form of a white-tailed hawk; the king himself had come to find you and call you home. He had said his queen commanded it.

Against your will and better judgement, the memories of the past decade flowed freely as you and your company hiked down into the vale, then up the other side, crossing the last line of mountains. The loss of Aelin, the fall of Orynth, the Assassin's Guild, the land of Erilea, the return of magic, and the nightmares of war. Yet by midday, Terrasen unfolded before you, green and golden as ever. Your heart strained against its cage, and the Bane's pace hastened to the city's gates.

When you had last seen this city, it had been white and glistening, a kingdom in its prime. You were but nine years old, a nameless child with no family, no wealth, who had been taken in by King Orlon, of all people, to guard his young niece and heir, Aelin Galathynius. Since, your fae lineage had been revealed, and his choice in you had become clearer; only you could have followed Aelin to the ends of the earth as you did. Only you could have kept her safe.

Now, Orynth was rebuilding. The people had begun to return, but their wariness was palpable as they turned from their work to observe the Bane walking down the main thoroughfare. Some bowed, but there was no fanfare. There was little room for celebration as the dust of war settled, and the work began.

Your mind was a muted whirlwind of thoughts. You had little idea what to expect upon seeing Aelin. You hadn't seen her since the day on the beach, when you had been taken by Maeve in her place. The war done, you no longer knew your place.

Besides all this, your heart pounded for entirely different, unwelcome reasons.

Aedion would be here.

Aedion, Aelin's cousin, the Wolf of the North, fearsome general and protector of a fallen kingdom, had always been your best friend. Your first friend in Orynth, the lifeline you held onto while training with Arobynn. Your closest confidant. The only person you needed. And gods, did you need him now, with the uncertainties rising and the past creeping in... As you approached the towering doors to the castle, you actually considered whether you could do this.

The walk up the sweeping marble steps took a millennium. Untouched, no one had been able to steal their grandeur, though the great doors were still missing. One step over the mighty threshold, two steps, and you had yet to collapse. Three steps, and you were blindsided, barreled into with such force you stumbled.

"Y/N," came Aelin's shaky breath in your ear. She clutched you close, her fingers digging into your leathers. You clung to her in turn, holding her as tightly as you could, breathing in the smell of her, free of blood and iron. "You made it."

"Hi," you laughed breathlessly. "Gods, Aelin. Hi."

And suddenly, everything was entirely right in the world. You were home. You were with your best friend. You had made it.

Reluctantly, Aelin let you go and addressed your company. The Bane, ever having been Aedion's to command, had been given to you in the wake of your return to the continent. You had earned their respect, earned your place as their general. But they were, of course, Aelin's to command. Her arm still around you, she thanked them and dismissed them.

Before you knew it, you'd been swept up to a grand chamber, Aelin with you, to wash and eat. Your head swirled with the welcome, with the shock of being back in this place you'd once called home. She spoke softly, bringing news of Rowan, Chaol, Dorian, Elide, and Manon. She skirted talk of fighting, of that day on the beach, and for that, you were grateful.

"How is Lysandra?" You asked, pulling a comb through your wet hair. The sun was setting, but you would luxuriate in this time with Aelin for as long as she'd allow. "I heard she became a sea dragon."

"She did. That, and more." Aelin laid out a tunic on the bed for you, and it all felt too much like evenings at the Guild, preparing for grand soirées (and murders). "Her and Aedion have finally made up. Thank the gods for that - the tension was borderline unbearable."

Your eyes flicked to hers in the mirror, but only just. You blamed the exhaustion for the way your heart stuttered. "I'm glad to hear it. One big happy family, right?"

She snorted. "Yeah, a right happy home we've got."

A knock came on the door, and a servant entered, summoning Aelin to her council chamber. The young queen groaned, but you saw how she straightened - how the mantle settled on her shoulders in a way that no longer looked entirely unbearable. She turned to you, saying, "You should rest, Y/N. Eat up here, and we'll talk more tomorrow."

You turned to look at her in full, smiling faintly, strained. "Tomorrow."

Your queen disappeared. In the sudden dimness of twilight, you were alone.

But, you supposed, there was a tomorrow. That alone was enough to help you breathe.

~~~

Dawn came too early. Despite your fatigue, you'd hardly slept. First, it was the dreams. Then, it was the contemplation. Would Aelin send you away? What would she have you do in service of her court? Would you even have a place? As a demi-fae of no noble birth and little standing, all you had was your training. Your violence.

You supposed that was worth something.

It was what drove you down to the training yard in the gray light before the sun, moving through the familiar dance of swordwork. Before long, sweat poured down your spine. As the sun rose over the yard, more soldiers came to train, though they hardly had a swordmaster to tutor them. Quietly, you placed your weapons back on the racks and slipped away, unnoticed.

It was down the second stone corridor you turned, then, that you first heard the soft laughter, the hushed tones.

"Isn't it too early for this?" A gasp, a giggle. "Surely there's a better place."

"No one will come down here. Besides, it's never too early for this."

You stopped dead. You knew that voice. You'd know that voice anywhere. You'd heard it in your dreams. You'd followed it in your darkest moments, guiding you home.

You turned on your heel and stalked in the opposite direction, chest aching, as the sounds of Aedion and Lysandra's tryst faded behind you.

~~~

Aelin had called a meeting for midmorning, and you were notified last moment. You were still straightening your fancy new attire - silver, threaded with dark vines - as you entered the privy chamber. It was nearly exactly as you remembered. Eerily exact, as it was. You kept thinking you'd see King Orlon leap out from behind the curtains to say it had all been a cruel jest.

Luckily, you'd had plenty of time to right yourself, as Aedion was embarrassingly late. Though you knew the likely reason why, you kept your mouth firmly shut, instead braiding your hair and reporting to Rowan Whitethorn on the state of the Bane. When that was through, and only then, did the doors open once more, and Prince Aedion swept in, not a hair out of place.

"Forgive the delay, Aelin," he said softly when his cousin gave him an arch look. "There were... urgent matters to attend to in the yard."

Rowan grunted, "Those soldiers need a proper swordmaster."

"Which is why we're all here," Aelin said, as if it were obvious. She was clearly bored with the court business, but she looked between you and Aedion as though she were expecting something... more. After an awfully long pause, she continued. "Now that we're all together again, I figured some rearranging of duties is in order. Aedion, the Bane are yours, should you want them. And Y/N, my Queensguard is yours."

Aedion looked satisfied, but you were rooted to the spot with shock. "Aelin, your Queensguard? Why not have Chaol do it, or something?"

"Because Chaol has his own wife, child, and parcel to handle."

"You're more capable," Rowan chimed. "Wouldn't have anyone else protecting my wife."

"I'd also like you to be my envoy to Rifthold, for the time being." You actually had to take a seat. The closest one was a large armchair adjacent to Orlon's massive, ancient desk. "You know the city - and the affairs of Adarlan - better than any of us. And Dorian asked for you. You're a far better diplomat than I ever was."

"You were simply never a diplomat," Aedion said flatly, but his attention was fixed on you. Had been since he entered the room.

"Thanks, I know." Aelin flipped her hair over her shoulder, perching on the edge of her uncle's desk. "Much more of a decisive type, don't you think? Anyways, Y/N, would you accept both positions?"

You truly had to think a moment. You were reeling, your breath coming shortly. You had feared that Aelin wouldn't have work for you, and now, you were to captain her Queensguard and act as envoy to Adarlan? The responsibility almost seemed too much to take on.

Without thought, you glanced over to Aedion, who was still watching you. You caught his scent as you did so, and the desire to launch yourself into his arms after so long apart, after such hardship, after thinking you'd both die, took your breath away. But he was steady as he watched you, and as he nodded once.

You returned it. Rose, squared your shoulders, and bowed to your queen. "I'd be honored to accept both charges."

Aelin and Rowan shared a glance this time, before Aelin said, "Don't answer right now, Y/N, but there was something else I wanted to ask." You quirked a brow. "If you'd join me, I'd have you as one of my bloodsworn. You've followed me through everything, given up everything for me, and there is no one I can count more loyal than you. I would have you by my side, in all things."

The blood drained from your head, but you felt uncommonly steady. You couldn't give her an answer, but you could reassure her that you weren't going anywhere.

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around her, and she returned the embrace fiercely, burying her face in your shoulder. "My path has always been beside yours. Past and future. Not going anywhere."

Aelin lifted her head, eyes teary and brilliant. "Never again."

Flashes of the smell of iron, the taste of iron, the smothering of iron. Of a cell, of shattered realities, of a white wolf. They haunted your sleeping and waking moments. Had consumed you for so long.

The meeting was, for all intents and purposes, over. After parting, you gave barely a fleeting glance at Aedion, unable to deal with that emotional disaster at present, and strode from the room, already calling for all soldiers to report immediately to the yard.

You had work to do.

~~~

A month had passed, and your life was consumed with dust, sweat, the grunting of fighters, and the clash of steel on steel. You had selected a Queensguard from the soldiers who'd been in the city, but training them was something else entirely. They'd all seen combat in the war, of course, but that didn't mean they even knew how to swing a sword without tearing a muscle. It had been nigh on ten years since Orynth had had an organized militia of any kind. You were starting from scratch.

The men and women you'd selected were, of course, learning quickly. You wouldn't have chosen them if you didn't think them trainable. But they were reaching a plateau, and their progress was slowing. You were spending long hours training under the blistering sun, and even longer hours planning rotations and the coverage of major events in the castle. Aelin needed two guards with her at all times, and given the state of the Queensguard at present, you hardly trusted any of the new additions to protect her without you present.

Aelin's queendom was in its infancy, making it particularly fragile. Anyone could come for her - or the king - in an effort to change the political balance. It was something you couldn't chance, even if both king and queen could protect themselves admirably on their own.

All that being said, it was well into the evening, and you couldn't recall the last time you'd slept more than three hours. Or eaten a meal, actually. You sat back and threw down your quill, rubbing at your eyes. They'd grown weak and scratchy as you wrote by candlelight. The moon hardly helped, casting a silvery glow across the floor of your chambers.

A knock came at the door, and you didn't bother to sit up before calling, "Come!"

"Prince Aedion, Commander Y/L/N," the servant said. A second later, Aedion stepped in, shutting the door behind him in the servant's face.

You were still, watching him from under your brows as he approached your desk.

He stopped before you. "You look like hell."

"Thanks."

"That's a compliment."

"An absolute charmer, you are."

"I only mean to say you've been working hard. Aelin appreciates it."

"I know she does."

He suddenly looked like he was at a loss for words, something he hadn't been around you for... ever.

"Have you slept?" He finally managed.

"Do I look like it?" You gestured to your desk. "Lots to do. And I'm due in Rifthold next week."

"Are you going to take the blood oath?"

You sighed. "Don't you have something more useful to do than interrogate me?"

"I don't, actually," he snapped back, anger sparking. "Nothing more important than making sure you're alright."

"Funny, I thought you had a kingdom to defend. My mistake."

"The Bane are getting well-deserved rest. And thank to you, they're in top shape." He crossed his arms. "You led them well."

"I'd assume you'd know that, considering it was you who wanted me to lead them."

"Only because you needed something to do that would keep you safe."

Silence swallowed you whole as you stared at him. Fury turned your chest cold, your fingers numb. "Keep me safe?"

"You had no business being near the final battle for Terrasen," he snapped back. "Considering what you went through at Maeve's hands, you couldn't have been ready."

"So you sent me to babysit your troops?" You hissed, rising to your feet abruptly. "Are you serious, Aedion?"

Aedion sighed, exasperated. He held out placating hands. "This is going all wrong, Y/N. I'm not trying to upset you. I'm trying to make sure you're okay."

"What, because I was tortured? I can assure you, I'm a big girl. I can handle a few nightmares."

"Because I can hardly believe that you've healed," he nearly shouted. You leaned back. He said, quieter, "Because I know you haven't. You're throwing yourself into work to distract yourself. But it won't work forever."

He couldn't know just how right he was. It hurt, like a raw blister, the way he saw right through you. The way you wished you could bare your soul to him, let him comfort you, let him take care of you. You'd never had that, but you'd only ever wanted it from him. Your jaw was tight with hurt, and with fury.

"I gave you command of the Bane because I needed someone I could trust in the Staghorns. No one else could have earned their respect as you did." Aedion's gaze softened. "And selfishly, I wanted to keep you safe."

"I can take care of myself," you said, rather childishly.

"I know that."

"I don't need you to look after me. Not when you have other people to worry about."

The last had slipped out, unbidden, and you immediately cursed yourself for even saying it. Straight away, Aedion knew. His eyes sharpened, and you were glad to have the desk between you as his eyebrows rose.

"Lysandra," he said simply.

You stared back at him. "It's only natural."

"What? That I... frolicked with her, or that you're jealous of it?"

You scoffed. "'Frolicked?'" Seriously, Aedion? Are we twelve again?"

"We may as well be, for how well I feel I know you right now."

"You've known how I've felt about you for ages, Aedion. I know you have. You're blind, but you're not that stupid."

"Well thank you for that," he said, anger entirely abated. The snark of his remark missed its target. "Honestly, I only knew because Aelin told me."

"She told you back in Rifthold. I know. Before Arobynn was dead. Before I was free of him. Right in the midst of a shadow war." You gave a one-shouldered shrug. "But you always knew me best, Aedion. You had to have known before. But whether you did simply doesn't matter."

"How could it not?"

You straightened under his piercing stare, under the question in his eyes. "Because I have a job to do, and so do you. Aelin will always come before me, and I would never let anything, even you, come before her."

Aedion's mouth curved into a sad smile. "I know that."

Put off by the starkness of his honesty, you added, "And to be clear, I wouldn't be jealous of Lysandra. Her and I have been through enough. She's beautiful, and more than that, she's good. You deserve her."

"Lysandra has gone to Wendlyn."

"What?"

"We... I thought we'd gotten over the deception leading up to you being taken by Maeve, but we hadn't. She requested to leave, and Aelin gave her a job across the sea."

You were dumbfounded. So much so that you had to sit down. Lysandra, Aelin, and yourself had been the only ones to know of your plan to glamour yourself before arriving on the beach that day to greet Maeve's forces. As demi-fae, you had few powers, but one of the strongest was casting glamours. It was part of why you'd been so successful as an assassin at the Guild. Glamoured as Aelin, you'd been the one to be taken that day to Doranelle.

Anything for Aelin. Anything. Always.

Your voice shook as you said, "I will not be your second choice, Aedion."

"I'm not asking you to be," he murmured. "I'm asking you if you're alright."

Nearly. You nearly bent and broke, straight into him. Your mouth wobbled, but you managed to stand straight as you whispered, "I don't know who I am, now the bloodshed has stopped." When he said nothing, you drew a deep breath and continued. "Which means I'll keep fighting until I can sleep through the night."

"That's not how this works," he said evenly, and finally, he reached out, stopping himself just as his fingers grazed your sleeve. "You don't get to do this on your own, Y/N. We've always done this together - let me help you."

"You couldn't understand, Aedion."

And it was true. The things you'd gone through at Maeve's hands, at Arobynn's before her, no one could understand, least of all this prince. But as he touched you, for the first time in years, you felt your will against him falter.

You could have him, you thought. He's right there.

"Let me try," he breathed. His gold-rimmed eyes were desperate, soulful. Full of something you'd hardly dared admit to seeing before. Before Lysandra, when it was just you and him against the world. Desire. Admiration. Love? "Let me take care of you, Y/N. You've spent your whole life caring for us. Let me shoulder the burden, just for a little while."

The space stretched between you and Aedion, infinite. A breath. There was the truth, you realized. And you whispered:

"I'm scared, Aedion."

"I know, sweetheart."

He sensed it before it happened, and was around the desk in an instant, even as you fell back into your chair. Your breath came shortly, your chest crushed beneath the iron vice of memory. You'd failed to realize what it was to be rid of the constant routine of fight or flight, and now, that freedom came crashing down upon you as a wave, crushing your breath into teary gasps of air. Into sobs.

But Aedion was there, perched next to you, drawing you as close to him as he could. He pressed his mouth to your hair, your temple, your cheek, murmuring that he had you. That he was sorry. That Lysandra was only ever a distraction. That he'd loved you since you were children. That he had you. That he wouldn't let you go.

That you were safe now.

When the sobs subsided, you managed to lift your head, to look up at him through bloodshot eyes. He gazed on you fondly, his own eyes limned in silver. His hand smoothed over your hair, a gentle caress.

"You are the strongest female I have ever known," he murmured. "You may feel lost now, but we'll take this on together. Alright?"

"You have some explaining to do," you replied with half-hearted severity. "Frolicking with Lysandra isn't entirely forgiven, I'll have you know."

"Figured it wouldn't be."

"But... Together?"

"As it's always been, Y/N." He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. "I swear."

"I'll hold you to it."

"Wouldn't expect anything less from my most fearless warrior."

You smiled, and leaned up just enough to take him by surprise, kissing him softly. With the tenderness of ten years of longing, of ten years of sacrifice and love.

He tasted of beginnings.

[roomba-mangga]

dunmesh modern AU headcanons & story threads masterpost (melini-centric)

also projecting my culture as a treat, hence the photos below for reference. names are changed to be appropriate to the setting but i'll just be using their canon names for most of this.

premise / background

set in the philippines, mostly around manila. part family drama teleserye, part urban fantasy monster-of-the-week shenanigans. overall mood is a blend of absurd, light-hearted, and dramatic

the melinis (merinos) are a wealthy but cursed family whose lineage can be traced back to the spanish colonial period. their patriarch, delgal, notoriously relies on the family's engkanto kasambahay/helper, thistle (lirio), to solve most of their problems, mundane or otherwise. thistle has acted as the family's guardian spirit and loyal servant for a couple generations now, but the pressure is starting to wear on him

as delgal approaches the end of his life, thistle fights to keep him alive by any means necessary (mainly via witchcraft)—all while skirting around his strained relationships with the rest of the family, particularly over matters of inheritance and his future

the other melinis aren't as fond of thistle as delgal is, especially in light of his controlling behavior, so there's a painfully real chance he could be disowned at the end of the day. on paper they'd just be dissolving his contract, but on a personal level it goes much deeper than that. things get nasty when delgal considers entrusting the inheritance to thistle instead of eodio or yaad

meanwhile, the touden siblings (ilyas and fina) are scraping to get by in the city after running away from home. laios works at the port and harbors a secret fascination with engkanto while falin is a med student. after crossing paths with the melinis and senshi, the siblings find themselves entangled in the family's personal—and supernatural—affairs

(more character and story headcanons below)

dramatis personae

thistle (lirio) — colloquially known as tinik ("thorn"), the scary little shit has garnered a fearsome reputation in the seedier parts of town, hunting down anting-antings and components at any cost. he's been shaking hands with questionable characters, eliminating rivals, the whole nine yards. 50/50 chance the dark shape emerging from an alleyway is actually him instead of a holdupper (most would prefer the holdupper). he goes through college once a generation and this time is accompanying yaad; they attend the same high-end school in manila's university belt (eyebrows frequently raised since they both look 16ish but it's waved off as them being accelerated students. or a terrific new strain of nepotism). when he isn't practicing dangerous magic or hovering over his family, thistle haunts local comshops and does urban photography

yaad — sheltered good-natured church boy, certified kuya, altar server, etc. he's cursed with perpetual youth (not immortality, just youth) and thistle drags him up mount san cristobal every year to renew the spell. it's an open secret that yaad's "cousin" (tito? yaya? satan?) is an ancient being who's been performing rituals on the family. he finds thistle overbearing yet is the only one who sympathizes with him, understanding how fucked up his position truly is while helpless to do anything about it at present. thistle takes it upon himself to chaperone him when they're out and about. they have a more-or-less functional, if teetering, relationship

eodio — head of the family but barely, because..... thistle. as a child, eodio was sickly and thistle would see to his health, but when his condition worsened, thistle resorted to cursing him in order to save his life. this brought unforeseen complications that come back to bite them both. he and thistle have the most contentious telenovela-esque relationship among the cast, as he resents being dependent on thistle to stay alive—plus the ritual to renew the spell involves eating the most heinous shit. it's all deeply undignified. there was a time delgal promised thistle he'd still be able to look after and love the next generations of his family after he's gone (that is, before his fear of death got the best of him), but the strain in thistle and eodio's relationship soured that possibility

delgal — at death's door, sorry king. delgal isn't cursed with anything beyond glamors to make him appear less sick; cheating death itself has been a long-running project of thistle's, at his request. in spite of having a brotherly relationship with thistle, delgal has never stopped viewing and treating him primarily as a yaya, which was thistle's original role when first brought into the family

laios and falin (ilyas and fina) — originally from a rich family up north, laios fled south to live independently, even if his prospects aren't great. after reuniting with falin in manila, where she's attending college in the same area as the melini boys, they settle in a barangay in calabarzon and hang out in the city. laios is deeply fascinated by the world of engkanto and seeks a way in (and further than that, he wishes to become one, if possible), while falin is seemingly content with her lot in life, even if it's spent in someone else's shadow. time will tell if that changes for her

as for the rest of the party, manong senshi is the merinos' cook. thistle found him scrounging the garden and yaad took pity, so they took him in. he's a gift to the household. izutsumi is a vagrant who likes to sneak into the melinis' garden to nap and pester yaad. they're besties. marcille (maricel) is a researcher secretly dabbling in occult magic, and thistle views her as a rival/threat. chilchak is laios' coworker and a tito. no elaboration needed. tito chil. you know it's true.

story threads

re: immortality, the most viable spell thistle is able to uncover calls for a complex engkanto feast, far beyond his capabilities. if only there were a pack of weirdos somewhere out there who could pull it off…

laios suspects the tyrant of the comshops is an engkanto in disguise and investigates. to get this persistent nuisance off his tail, thistle points him to the side of town that deals in ancient magic in hopes he'll get snatched by a tikbalang or something (who knows, maybe they've broadened their palates beyond innocent maidens lately). when laios gets there, he runs into senshi doing weird esoteric grocery runs and the two strike up a friendship over monster food. a successful project of theirs catches thistle's attention due to the aforementioned spell he's working on and, after much internal deliberation, he outsources that part of the ritual to these weirdos under close supervision

a magical mishap between marcille and thistle causes falin to be transformed into an engkanto. they discover she's able to sniff out other engkanto and has a sense for magic. now knowing such a thing is possible after all, laios continues to pursue his goal of becoming engkanto himself

shenanigans ensue in the process of acquiring + preparing + tweaking recipes for the engkanto feast. though squeamish, marcille counts herself in on this since it's relevant to her own studies, even if thistle remains wary of her. laios and senshi decide the ideal arrangement for the ritual has to be a boodle fight (look at the imagery, it's divine), but that would require the entire melini clan to be willing to feast together on monster cuisine with nothing but their bare hands, which is a tall fucking order. thistle is forced to try to make amends on their terms

the toudens wind up befriending yaad and, by some miracle, thistle. wrt the latter it comes as a shock to everyone because that boy doesn't do friends, strangers are dogshit under his heel, what the hell—but turns out treating him like a person is quite effective. thistle doesn't realize this consciously; he denies any sort of attachment beyond his family, but yaad is relieved this ill-advised project is allowing him to build a network

a figure known as the Winged Lion, rumored to be an all-powerful diwata, comes knocking at the melinis' door to collect his dues, making tempting offers to the rest of the cast to fulfill their desires at the expense of the family (down the line, marcille and laios decide to make a joint bargain with it)

in spite of his efforts, thistle's conflict with eodio escalates to a breaking point. in an extremely teleserye turn of events, eodio is killed by one of thistle's spells, and thistle's incredibly well-adjusted response to this is to preserve his corpse, stick his soul in a jar in the form of a moth, and add necromancy onto his sorcerous TDL. he winds up carrying this jar around and dedicates significant effort to keeping the moth alive. yaad is super going through it

Holy Week vacation arc feat. beach episode where, after an extended period of family drama, thistle and yaad forgo vacationing with the family to hop on a flight with the toudens and manong senshi to rural mindanao. they touch grass. yaad discloses his personal feelings on the mess and lets himself get a little mad. eodio's jar is there. the chismis back in the city is insane—everyone thinks they got disowned or kidnapped by hooligans

in another extremely teleserye turn of events, there turns out to be a connection between the toudens and the melinis which further complicates the inheritance issue

at some point a boodle fight does happen, just not between the melini clan ;)

might add more details as they come to me in other posts. much to think about, all very fun. the slice of life scenarios have me in a chokehold

more fun stuff

teleserye clichés to play with

[ironborealis]

Lineage Cousins AU pt.2

Part 1: (link)

The Council is calling it a 'sabbatical' -- a chance for him to rest, reflect, and 'recover' from the stress of Galidraan and Komari being found unfit for Knighthood.

Only a senior padawan, Komari had slain twenty well-trained Mandalorians in their armor on that snowy battlefield. Then she'd turned to him, smiling brightly and so very proud and he'd known that things were about to go horribly wrong. He could see in her eyes that what she wanted was more than just the approval of her master -- she craved something from him that he could never provide her.

He'd dispatched his second, Master Syldatna, to take Fett on to the Governor, as the Senate ordered, while he pulled Komari back into the ship -- one of the many mistakes he made that day -- to try and make the foolish girl see reason.

She'd kissed him as soon as the door to the ship had shut.

He'd pushed her away, tried to make her see that this was a silly fantasy brought on by a post-battle adrenaline crash and likely not enough meditation (his own master's cure all for every wor).

They would forget it ever happened and neither would speak a word of it -- no one, but especially not the Council had to know.

There was shame enough on his lineage for having lost his grand-padawan to Falling so recently, and he'd not double down on the disgrace by losing his own padawan to something as fleeting as lust.

Komari was strong-willed though, something he both admired and cursed about her at times. Trying to make her see reason with a calmly stated rational argument was rather like trying to hold onto sand with a clenched fist -- a futile effort.

He'd been blunt, the only way to get through to her when she got this way: After the battle today he'd been ready to nominate her for her Jedi Trials. All of that was now in jeopardy with the revelation of her inappropriate attachment to him. She had until they returned to Coruscant to decide whether to become a Knight or to chase a foolish fantasy that would never be.

He hoped it'd be an easy choice for her to make in five days. Yet, when she stepped before the Council he'd known with only the intuition that a master could have about their padawan that she'd failed him. With a grieving heart he informed the Council of her attachment. Her subsequent outburst at his 'betrayal' had killed any future she may have had as a Jedi Knight.

She'd stormed off to join a task force headed towards Baltizaar, hard-headed as per usual, determined to prove both him and the Council wrong.

At least she'd finally broken her unseemly attachment to him.

Then the Senator from Naboo had disclosed to the Council the terrible truth of Galidraan -- that he and his fellow Jedi had murdered hundreds of innocent Mandalorians and assisted in selling the sole survivor of the massacre into slavery. The Council had bowed their heads in collective shame and then interrogated him for hours trying to find some fault in him that caused the confrontation to turn into a conflagration -- unwilling to say a word against the Senate who had not only given him the poor intelligence in the first place, but had demanded the surrender of any survivors to the Governor. Surely, the fault for this catastrophe lay mostly with the Senate --

The Council had demurred and invited him to take a period of reflection, which then was formally extended into months once word had returned of Komari's death at the hands of the Bando Gora.

This unwanted "sabbatical" is really a chance for him to set all his affairs in order with the Council none the wiser. Jenza has been hinting for years that with their father gone there could be a place for him on Serreno. Their brother is certainly making a mess of it currently.

There's no denying that he's grown tired of the Council's scheming and politicking that saw Mace Windu promoted to a Council seat before him.

Perhaps he may even be able to do some good once he slips the Senate's leash on the Jedi.

He's sorting through his personal library, deciding on which book he should pass on to Jocasta for her collection and those that he will keep for himself when the message comes.

It takes him a moment to realize that his communicator is going off, a series of strident rings. He's of a mind to ignore it -- commiserations on the loss of Komari have been pouring in non-stop, to the point where he'd actually silenced the Sith-cursed instrument just to get some peace...

Except... there were very few who had permission to override his silencing of the damned thing... and none would do so without a good reason.

He digs through the stacks of books to retrieve the obnoxious little device with an aggrieved sigh.

The message is short:

.bandomeer.

.obiwan kenobi.

.the boy must be trained.

The brevity and lack of capitalization meant that it could only be Qui-Gon. Some excuse about the keys being too small for his fingers, if he recalls correctly.

How interesting that Qui-Gon should reach out to him now, after a decade of strenuously avoiding him without an explanation ever given.

Stranger still that Qui-Gon would recommend to him some initiate washout who'd wound up in one of the "Jedi" Corps... Qui-Gon knew how he'd felt about the Corps, Stars knew they'd had enough "debates" on their utility to the Order back when Qui-Gon was his padawan.

It's a week or so out to Bandomeer, to go and gawk at Qui-Gon's newest pathetic lifeform and try and figure out what about the child had enchanted his former padawan so.

What does a delay of two weeks really matter in comparison to leaving the place that has been his home for over 60 years?

***///***

The limited space aboard the ship means that there really is no escaping Kenobi -- they're sharing a berth space at the Queen's command, along with Anakin, although he suspected there was enough space among the ship crew's quarters for *one* of them to bunk down there instead...

He's careful to never leave Anakin alone with the man, even though he knows that it's illogical. Kenobi did not see him at his best the last time they met all those years ago on Bandomeer, and he won't have the man dripping poison into the boy's ears.

Kenobi has been thankfully reserved at every strategy meeting, his attention mostly focussed on his own holopad where he jots down notes that he doesn't share. Qui-Gon would accuse him of shirking his duties, were it not for the occasional well-thought out suggestion that Kenobi offers when the silence grows too long between himself, the Queen, and Captain Panaka, as they desperately grasp for any semblance of a real plan to defeat the Trade Federation that isn't dependent on an outrageous amount of luck.

He'd sworn to himself that he would be civil to Kenobi as befits a Jedi Master, but after four days his patience with his unwanted companion has grown as thin as a Tooka's whisker. Especially the last two nights when Kenobi has taken up with the Queen's handmaidens after dinner in the mess hall until late into the night. The mess unfortunately shares a wall with their berth, and he can hear their raucous games of sabacc, what he's pretty sure are poetry readings, and occasionally Kenobi's lilting voice singing lover's ballads --

Speak of the Sith and he shall appear.

Qui-Gon groans internally as the door slides open to reveal Kenobi performing the sort of overcomplicated bow down the hallway that would not look out of place in one of those Alderani "historical" holodramas.

"Good night, fairest ladies," Kenobi calls out -- and Force, Qui-Gon thought Rael was bad!

There's a flurry of giggles, before a chorus of "Goodnight, Ser Kenobi"s comes from the handmaidens.

He's mollified to note that Kenobi's garments are undisturbed, the folds still crisp. Not that anything too untoward could have happened in a place as public as the mess hall.

Tonight it seems the handmaidens have elected to play with Kenobi's hair, arranging it in a braid that encircles his head like a crown. Kenobi's hair is still too short to do a proper version of the style, and short pieces hair stand out from his head. The handmaidens have covered these in some sort of wax that makes them curl up sharply at the tips.

Kenobi looks like a sun-bleached Zabrak.

"Good evening, Master Jinn," Kenobi takes a seat on the bunk opposite of Qui-Gon's, and begins to undo the braid, held in place with what is revealed to be an alarming number of pins.

"Kenobi," he replies, but it comes out sounding hostile so he adds, "You seem to have been having fun."

Force, that came out even worse.

Kenobi lets out a vague hum in response, running his fingers along his scalp to break up the last of the braid.

"Rabé was eager to experiment. Apparently Stewjoni hair is supposed to be more naturally inclined to sculptural styles than their own, and Eritaé and Sabé decided to join in."

"Not Padmé, then?" He's glad that not everyone seems to have fallen for "Ser" Kenobi's charms.

"No, I rather imagine the Queen has other things on her mind than pantomiming Courtly Love."

Kenobi reveals the Queen's identity so casually that Qui-Gon barely resists the urge to suck at his teeth - he can feel the ghostly cuffing of Master Dooku's palm on the back of his head every time he's tempted to.

My padawan will not act like a common farmer was the frequent rebuke.

Judging by the length of Kenobi's hair -- it's practically tradition for young Knights with hair to let it grow untamed for a time once they're no longer obligated to wear the traditional padawan cut -- Kenobi must have been knighted two to three years ago.

Qui-Gon thinks he may have received an invitation, but he'd been terribly busy with the mess in Ankorhajj that he absolutely couldn't tear himself away to attend something as frivolous as a lineage brother being knighted.

Then Master Dooku left the Order shortly afterwards and there hardly seemed a point in reconnecting with Kenobi at all. Their Master hadn't even deigned to leave a note.

"They're teenagers," He scolds, because while Qui-Gon's not unfamiliar with the concept of 'Courtly Love' in the Naboo sense, he's also aware how quickly attachments can form. Attachment has been the downfall of so many in their lineage...

"They're children preparing themselves to fight in a war," there's a flicker of what can only be described as an 'infinite sadness' in Kenobi's eyes, before the anger that Qui-Gon remembers most about Kenobi as a boy burns it away.

"The Naboo make a sport of Courtly Love. I'm already a lost cause by their rules, since my vows as a Jedi warn me away from developing the sort of jealousy required to even be capable of 'love' by their definition." Kenobi sighs and his anger cools, his gaze becoming distant.

"If pretending with them for a few hours every evening, however, keeps their minds off the horror that awaits them upon return to Naboo, then it's no hardship for me to entertain them."

Kenobi's expression becomes haughty and Qui-Gon is unpleasantly reminded of their mutual master. "It should comfort you to know that Captain Panaka has volunteered to act as their chaperone. He stopped looking ready to disembowel me after a couple hours last night and tonight started regaling us with the details of the courtship of his first wife. A romance worthy of a holodrama I believe was the consensus,"

Kenobi melodramatically collapses back into his bunk as if swooning.

This conversation is not going any place where Qui-Gon thought it would. He feels like he should apologize, but he's concerned that if he gives even a little that Kenobi will take a whole parsec. Their master certainly knew how to, and made certain to teach his padawans the skill.

"I should not have been so hasty in my judgement," Qui-Gon settles on. "I do not know you well enough to make such judgements about your character."

"And whose fault is that, brother," Kenobi replies with only the faintest hint of bitterness, as he sits back up and begins to remove his boots carefully.

They both sit in the uncomfortable silence that follows as Qui-Gon fights the urge to feel stung by Kenobi's accusation.

There was a grain of truth to it after all, at least from a certain point of view. Kenobi had messaged him multiple times in the early years of his padawanship, but there had always been something more important that needed Qui-Gon's attention immediately. Once Qui-Gon found the time to write a response months might have passed and he frequently found himself with nothing to say at all.

Eventually, Kenobi got the hint and the messages stopped.

Force, why couldn't Kenobi be satisfied that Qui-Gon had found him a master to make him into a knight and leave it at that?

Kenobi has moved on, placing his boots at the end of bunk, and standing as he begins removing his leather obi.

Kenobi pauses, staring into the dim red glow of the wall chronometer for a moment, before looking over his shoulder at Qui-Gon with an absolutely wicked look on his face.

"It's ten in the evening, Master Jinn, do you know where your padawan is?"

[novakaiserart]

FE Awakening AU; Verdant Pegasi House

I finished these like 2 weeks ago but I've just been procrastinating lmao Last house‼️ Last three houses can be found here, here and here To the west lies the continent of Valm, home to the ancient gods Mila and Duma. Long ago, King Albein Alm Rudolph II and Queen Anthiese von Lima united the kingdoms to form Valentia. Union wouldn't last after their reign and as such, the continent was divided once again. Small countries throughout the land popped up, each with their unique cultures. 15 years ago, King Walhart Alm Rudolph I sought out to reunite the continent of Valm under one empire, thus crowning him Emperor. Though Valm pledged allegiance to no Gods, Tiki became a symbol of divinity and was embraced. As such, she allowed them one house in her Academy. The Verdant Pegasi gain their names from their vast and beautiful green plains and the abundance of wild Pegasi in many of their regions. They value honor, hardship, determination and kindness. Walhart II: Eldest son of the Emperor, he's determined to continue his father's rule over the continent and keep the empire afloat. Stern and headstrong, he's not afraid of a challenge. He enrolled in the Academy to strengthen his skills and hopefully make new allies. Yuu'ya: Only son of Say'ri, he embodies the image of a warrior of Chon'sin. Opposed to the united Valm, he's secretly amassing a rebel army to go against the foreign occupation of his land. Usually quiet and reserved, he rarely lets his presence be known. Kazu'sa: Oldest son of Yen'fay, he openly rejects his father's submission to Valm. He's growing to detest his father and his actions and strives to free his country. Despite having the same goals as his cousin, he's the polar opposite. Loud, brash and vulgar; he doesn't care for tradition and prefers to express himself freely. Nah: Nowi and Donnel's youngest daughter, she's pretty composed and reserved for her age. Growing up amongst so many other manaketes in the Church has allowed her to understand her culture and come to terms with her human half. Naga's descendants never usually take up any last names, but Nah insisted in taking her father's as a way to combine her two backgrounds. Aurelia: General Pheros's only daughter, she's hopes to become a Knight of Naga after graduation. She dedicates her life to her faith and holds Tiki in extremely high esteem. While she should usually inherit her house, she has stepped away from her noble lineage to pursue her dreams. Benedict: Youngest son of The Great Ignatius of Valm, his father's war prowess inspired him to follow in his footsteps. With great honor, he's taught himself all ways of magic to assist Walhart II in his future endeavors. Rumor has it, though, that he's terrified of boats. Hildegard: Daughter of Commander Farber, she's delicate as a flower. Shy, reserved and unassuming; she enrolled in the Academy to become a great healer to save lives. She fully expects to be married off for political gain, since she's a noble; but her only hope is to help those in need. Gerome: Heir to the Head of House Rosanne, Gerome focuses on his strength above all else. His father surrendering his homeland so easily to Valm has left him estranged from him over the years. He enrolled in the Academy for 2 reasons; to learn from his Mother, who's an instructor and to reunite with Lucina and the others in hopes of gaining their strength to drive back Valm. Crest of Duma: May half damage of an attack. Crest of Mila: Heals 20% of HP at the start of every turn. Crest of Chon'sin: Increases Crit chance by 20% Crest of Naga: Allows wielder to transform into a Manakete. Crest of Rosanne: May nullify effective damage

[ilreleonewikiart]

Baelor Targaryen and Alys Stark for the @ohmyarda Ocs challenge From my fic The Doom in Our Blood Comes Back

As I mentioned in my past stories I've decided to submit my 16th illustration to a second challenge, as the characters of this drawing are both my ocs and I wanted a reason to talk more about them ☝️😊

This couple has appeared before in the TDIOBCB ship challenge and i gave some vague details about their backstories.

For the ones who already read my fic, Baelor already appeared and we also saw his birth, as he's one of the main characters of the story, while Alys is only briefly mentioned, as her appearance is not important in the events of the main story, at least till now.

However for the ones who still don't know them, this is a brief description, however, it will contain a major spoiler of my fic:

"Baelor Targaryen, or Baelor of Harrenhal, is one of the main characters of this story. He's the first and only son of Prince Aemond Targaryen and his first wife, Alys Rivers, the High Priestess of the Isle of Faces. Because of his mother's lineage, who was half human and half Children of the Forest, it's implied that Baelor inherited her powers and can practice magic. At the age of twelve, he claims Silverwing, becoming her first rider after Queen Alysanne. After his father marries his cousin Baela Targaryen, he becomes her stepson and her heir, however, he decides not to inherit Dark Sister. At the age of seventeen, he marries Lady Alys Stark, daughter of Cregan Stark and together they have one daughter Alyssa. Alys Stark is the first daughter of lord Cregan Stark and his second wife, Alysanne Blackwood: because it was Alys Rivers to arranged for her parents to meet and marry the two decided to name their first child after her. It will be later implied that Alys Rivers did that because, already back then, she knew that their daughter was destined to marry her son. In 146 AC, years after the events of the main story, she meets Baelor, who went to Winterfell in visit and the two will later fall in love. A year after they will get marry and have a daughter, Alyssa, who later will became the new Lady of Crows, like her grandmother Alys. "

(warning: these illustrations are inspired by an AU Divergence and have nothing to do with canon (book or tv show) events and are not meant to be reposted outside of their contest)

[anonymousboxcar]

I have a fic/au idea that I don’t have the spoons to write in full prose right now, but I’d like to put it out there.

So. Henry arrives on Sodor and an outraged Fat Director demands to know who built him. Henry tries to answer all his questions, but he soon realizes he doesn’t know much about his builders either.

He first came to in a damp shed with boarded-up windows. He never made out any faces, only ever hearing low voices around him. This was done to keep him from identifying anyone involved.

Once this is clear to Henry, it eats away at him. All the other engines on the NWR know their builders, their inherited legacies, and their engine families (siblings, cousins, etc.). Even worse, he’s not the engine the Fat Director wanted. He can’t help any of this.

…but he can figure out who his builders are. And maybe being able to answer those questions would make the Fat Director a little less angry with him. Maybe he could find out what family he might have out there. Maybe he could get an explanation from them.

So Henry asks engines coming in from the Mainland for info, with Edward and Thomas also asking around for him. The crew assigned to Henry sees how much this matters to him, and, growing fond of him, write letters to the place Henry was built.

They don’t make much progress, however, until Gordon arrives.

Gordon and Henry both feel very shaken when they see each other. Their designs are so close that it can’t be coincidental.

Their investigation is impeded somewhat by Gordon not wanting to associate with Henry. For him, it’s uncomfortable to acknowledge an engine so similar to him and yet so wrong. He looks at Henry and sees what could’ve been his fate, as an experimental prototype. And that doesn’t even go into the blow to his Gresley lineage and prestige as which he perceives Henry.

But then it only makes sense, a bitter Henry argues, for Gordon to disprove the idea that Henry’s a real Gresley engine. And so Gordon relents (with some sternness from Edward and some scowling from Thomas as well).

Gordon then admits when they question him that some plans went missing from Doncaster. It was before his time, but he overheard some people still speculating about who could’ve done it.

He says nobody saw the plans as a great loss — that they were rejected for having too small of a firebox for a locomotive of that size.

But as Henry and his crew begin looking into who stole those plans, suspecting a rival of Gresley, things go wrong with his trains. Things like loosened couplings, damaged track that was fine an hour ago, and trucks catching fire.

It’s all sabotage. Henry has become a liability to his builders by trying to expose them. And seeing as they already got the money from his sale, they have no further need of him.

Henry is horrified, make no mistake, but he’s also angry. He’s done with this nonsense. He wants to see his builders face-to-face, to draw them out, to get some kind of explanation from them.

And so he makes the impulsive decision to stop in a tunnel.

He’s miffed that the Fat Director matches his expectations and bricks him up, but not surprised. He does his best to explain himself to his crew once the hullabaloo dies down. But as he lays out his idea, his confidence wavers.

He’s not sure if he can face the people who built and then abandoned him. He’s not sure if he’ll come away from this safely. And even if does, he’s not sure he hasn’t burned every bridge on this railway and any hope of a future here. Can he trust anyone here?

He doesn’t tell them this, though. It’s too late to go back. He can only see this through.

That night, some strangers approach Henry’s tunnel. They’re his builders. They’re here to dispose of him. He finally sees their faces, even if he can’t put names to all of them.

The way they talk to him confirms that they never cared about him. He was always a means to an end. He was always one of a kind, the product of a jealous grudge against another engineer.

And yet it doesn’t hurt the way Henry thought it would. He sees them and feels no connection, no obligation to them. He realizes they’re not and never were his family — that he never had to please or live up to them.

So when they give him one last chance to shut his mouth, to keep quiet about who they are, he laughs in their faces.

He takes great satisfaction in telling them they can’t command any kind of loyalty from him. He knows he could never trust them and he’s fine with that, because he feels nothing for any of them now. He doesn’t need them.

The only thing that scares him is the thought that he won’t get away from this. As the builders advance on him, he thinks that he’s grown fond of Sodor and this ridiculous railway. He wants to roll his eyes at Thomas’ quips, to watch the sunrise with Edward. He might even want to bicker with Gordon. He wants a future here.

And then his crew leaps out of hiding, getting into a scuffle with the builders.

It’s long enough for Thomas to come barreling down the line, followed by Edward and Gordon. They bring the police, having been informed of the “stake-out” plan… and the Fat Director steps off Thomas’ footplate, too.

The builders are summarily subdued and arrested, and all the engines and crews ask Henry is he’s alright. (Well, Gordon does so in a very roundabout, emotionally constipated way, but he still asks.) Henry is overwhelmed. He was right to trust them, it seems. He could more than trust them.

Henry and the Fat Director then hash things out. It’s a tense and messy conversation, especially because Henry is still reeling from the events of the night so far. But the Fat Director says that, regardless of his own opinions, it’s clear the rest of his engines and workmen would riot if he turned Henry away now. And he can’t afford that.

“You are needed here,” he says. It’s not quite an apology, but it’s close — an undoing of the bricks between them. “You are useful.”

Henry doesn’t say thank you, because this is the bare minimum. “Yes, sir,” he says, trying very hard not to cry anyway.

And so Henry is let out of the tunnel and remains on the NWR. It’s not perfect — far from it, sometimes — but it’s home. It gets better over the years. Decades pass before the Thin Clergyman starts asking around for the story of Henry’s tunnel.

By now, not many people know about what really happened. The knowledge of Henry’s leading designer would’ve torpedoed a workshop’s reputation, one which turned out to be uninvolved in what one of its designers did in his free time. Many people would’ve lost their jobs and locomotives would’ve lost the ability to find homes. So in the end, the scandal was hushed up and the builders were charged on the more minor offenses they committed.

For that reason, Henry and the others quickly rule out telling the truth. Nor does Henry want to revisit that time in his life. He doesn’t want to be associated with his builders in any way.

Thomas’ cheeky suggestion about him not wanting the rain to spoil his paint isn’t very flattering, but the others’ suggestions are even worse. (Edward’s idea of Henry being in the tunnel for a heroic reason is outvoted, though Henry appreciates it.) He also has to admit the Fat Director doesn’t look much better in that version of events — he looks arguably worse than Henry.

Is it petty? Yes. Does Henry go along with it anyway? Yes.

The Fat Director, now the first Fat Controller, accepts this without comment. He’s learned and grown quite a bit since the early days of his railway. He’s not the same man who bricked up Henry; he doesn’t think it’s worth getting so worked up over a small dig at him. (And while he’d never admit it, he thinks it’s a way to somewhat atone for his part in it all.)

But even if the Fat Controller did get upset, Henry wouldn’t be afraid in the slightest. He knows the engines here have his back. He knows he’ll always have his family.

[the-madara-squad]

UCHIHA WEEK - PROMPT 2023

17th July - 23rd of July

A week to celebrate all members of the Uchiha clan! Share & reblog the event to your favourite artists.

Day 1 - 17th July 2023

Uchiha kunoichi/ Brotherhood Shine a light on the women of the Uchiha clan, art, stories, headcanons // the meaning of brotherhood/sisterhood for an Uchiha

Day 2 - 18th July 2023

The clan of love/ Uchiha Hokage  "When an Uchiha comes to know a strong feeling, it's as if a torrent is unleashed". Any and all things related to love, romance and passion // Any Uchiha as Hokage. 

Day 3 - 19th July 2023

Modern Uchiha/ Timeswap AU What would the Uchihas be like as a modern family in 2023 and how would they interact with the world around them // What would happen if the Uchihas from different generations got swapped around in the Naruto timeline?

Day 4 - 20th July 2023

Uchiha traditions/ Uchihas Online  Headcanons, art, or stories about the Uchiha Clan's traditions and customs, jutsu’s origin (including your original creation) // Imagine how the Uchihas would interact in the online world of social media.

Day 5 - 21st July 2023

Uchiha x shonens / Chat with Madara AI An Uchiha comes across an other shonen or an other shonen character meets an Uchiha *suggestion : demon slayer, one piece, FMA, bleach, Jujutsu Kaisen, dragon ball ect… // Use our exclusive homemade AI bot in this link and chat with the man himself, Madara. Share with us the convo you had with him.

Day 6 - 22nd July 2023

What if...?/ Uchiha x OCs Scenarios canon divergence ( *suggestions : What if the clan aligned with Madara? What if Fugaku had led the coup? What if they stopped the 9 Tails? What if Izuna survived? What if Itachi lived? What if Shisui succeeded? What if Obito never met Madara? What if Sarada was raised among her clan? ect ect…) // Introduce us to your OCs and/or self inserts who are paired with an Uchiha! use a picrew and our blank OC sheet to create your perfect pairing ! - Solo Picrew for OC : LINK 1 || LINK 2 - Couples Picrew : LINK 1 || LINK 2 - Solo OC sheet + UchihaxOC sheet :

Day 7 - 23rd July 2023

Sasuke's birthday ! All about Sasuke! You have to organise the perfect birthday for Sasuke, what would you do? Who would you invite? 

!! RULES !!

1. Use the hashtag #uchihaweek2023 or #uchihaweek

2. At least one Uchiha-born needs to be the focus of your art : Main Uchihas : Sasuke, Madara, Itachi, Obito, Fugaku, Mikoto, Izuna, Tajima, Izumi, Shisui, Naori, Kagami, Sarada, Indra (yeah… technically not an Uchiha but he fathered them all!) Minor Uchihas : Inabi, Tekka, Uruchi, Teyaki, Yashiro, three unknown Madara’s brothers

3. Loose interpretation, and/or NSFW version of each prompt is allowed except inc*st and paedo***.

NB: incest concerns family relationship : parent/children, grandparent/grandchildren, sibling/sibling, first cousin/first cousin. A clan is different, by definition it's a mix of different family lineages which see themselves as descending from the same distant ancestor (in this case Indra).

4. If you need help to brainstorm your ideas, join our Uchiha Week channel in our Madara Squad discord HERE

5. Send us comments/asks/DMs or contact directly our mods @al-hekima-madara-blog and @margretesonigiri for more informations !

[nerdraging4point0]

Blood of Eden // Part Eight // Noah Sebastian Urban Fantasy AU Fic

Tropes and Tags: MM, MF, MFM, MFM, instalove, too much sex, tattooed men, polyverse, shapeshifters.

CW: 18+ only minors DNI. Urban Fantasy romance, Smut. Angst. Fluff (ish), Story includes D/S themes, mentions of blood and gore, mentions of drug use and distribution, mentions of prostitution, unprotected sex, male receiving oral sex, female receiving oral sex, cuckolding, P/A sex, P/V sex.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

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Jolly strode into the grand council chamber, adjusting the lapels of his suit and surveying the scene before him. Fellow mages mingled in small groups, their hushed conversations echoing off the circular walls and intricately carved marble pillars. His gaze swept down the stairs to the center of the room, where the massive, oaken table of the Head Magistrate sat, its surface polished to a gleaming shine and inlaid with intricate sigils and runes. Flanking it were the four smaller tables of the Council Elders, simple and unadorned in contrast. Off to the side, almost as an afterthought, were the utilitarian desks of the Secretary, Scribe, and Guardsman, stacked high with parchment and quills. Jolly slumped into his seat at one of the Elders' tables, crossing one leg lazily over the other and leaning back with a sigh. Another mind-numbing meeting awaited him, just like all the others this month. These interminable gatherings were the bane of his workday existence. He often found himself zoning out as the Magistrate droned on, his imagination drifting to literally anything else - magical experiments in his workshop, reading in the archives, even watching paint dry. Today would be no exception, he mused, stifling a yawn and steeling himself for the boredom ahead.

Jolly's mind wanders to Rosa as he waits for the meeting to start. He thinks back to this morning at the breakfast table, when he caught a brief glimpse of the intensity simmering behind her eyes. For just a moment, he saw the aurora glow of her irises - greens, blues and purples swirling together like a cosmic storm.

As Jolly poured himself another cup of coffee in the kitchen, he overheard Rosa telling Noah about the victims of the disease she called The Rage. But it wasn't really a disease at all- just uncontrolled magic consuming Unclaimed Mages from within.

Jolly shudders at the thought. Where would he be now if his own magic had spiraled out of control like that? He feels a swell of gratitude for his mentor, who helped him harness and master his abilities. 

His family was a lineage of mages with a magic that spanned generations, each adept at wielding the immense power of water. He had a cousin who made her home right on the tumultuous waves of the Aegean Sea in Greece - open her back door and the ocean spray hits you in the face. Another cousin was an Olympic swimmer - clearly the family gifts gave him an advantage in the pool. It was no coincidence they hailed from the icy north, where snow covered the ground most of the year. His parents were in their element among the glaciers and snowdrifts. They never understood why he felt compelled to head west to the sweltering city.

The simplicity of it resonated within him. Blood. The one common thread that bound humans, mages, and hunters together as one. Its rhythmic flow coursed through every living being, connecting them in an intimate dance of life. As he stood among the pulsing thrum of bodies, feeling their sanguine energy swirl around him, he found peace. In that moment, all differences faded away, and there was only the blood - the vital, crimson river that made them all one.

As she sits down next to him, he can't help but notice her defeated sigh, though her appearance exudes anything but. Maria's dark caramel locks cascade in perfect curls down to the middle of her back, effortlessly framing her sweet mocha skin. While her heather grey suit accentuates her figure, her aura commands the room. He knows Maria to be a confident, successful woman who carries herself with poise and grace, yet in this moment she seems weary. Though she looks as put together as ever, her sigh betrays her, hinting at an exhaustion or worry she tries hard not to show. He wonders what could be weighing on her mind to make her shoulders slump ever so slightly under that perfectly fitted jacket.

Jolly's lips curl into a playful smile as he asks, "What is it this time, Maria dear?" The two have been best friends ever since his arrival from Sweden. Maria herself was born and raised in Brazil - two foreigners who found companionship in one another.

"What isn't the matter?" she exclaims, throwing her head back in defeat. "My experiments are failing left and right. And my herbal farm in the west? It got hit with an unexpected frost. Half our stock is dead and the rest are in shock." Poor Maria lets out an exaggerated sigh, hands slapping her face as her fresh red manicure slides down pulling her skin with it. 

With a warm smile, Jolly noticed the sparkling diamond ring on Maria’s finger. "So how's Oliver handling his new promotion?" he asked.

Maria sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "About as well as can be expected. He's determined to support the hunters and make me proud, but I can tell his mind has been preoccupied." A frown tugged at her lips as she absentmindedly twisted the ring. "I just hope all the added responsibilities aren't weighing too heavily on him."

Jolly nodded in understanding, giving her arm a reassuring pat. "I'm sure he'll get the hang of it. Oliver's got a good head on his shoulders." He offered an encouraging grin. "And if he needs any advice, tell him to give me a call. I'd be happy to help however I can."

The magistrate's presence silenced the room as all eyes fell upon him. His receding dark hair and heavy-lidded eyes, now dulled by age, did nothing to diminish the air of authority he exuded. With shoulders squared, he strode in with the confidence of a man accustomed to commanding obedience. Though time had etched its marks on his face, the magistrate's piercing gaze and imposing stature ensured that he remained an intimidating, powerful figure that few would dare defy. Flanked by armed guards with hands ready at their weapons and fierce hunters prowling in his wake, he exuded power. The assembled mages and council members watched with bated breath as he took his place at the head of the room. His piercing gaze swept over the crowd; with but a look, he could end any man's life. When he spoke, his deep voice echoed off the stone walls, steel underlying his every word. This was not a man to be trifled with. All knew that to defy him meant certain death. His will would be done, one way or another.

The magistrate called the meeting to order, his gravelly voice booming through the crowded hall. As the magistrate continued explaining the agenda for their meeting, Jolly listened intently, waiting for the right moment to make his case with passion and conviction. Jolly had been concerned about laboratory finances being off for months now, although it was only slight loss each month he wanted to propose more access to the financial bracket in order to ensure the funding was being spent appropriately. As the head researcher at the biotech firm, Jolly took pride in running an efficient and productive lab. He had assembled a top-notch team of scientists who were making great strides in genetic research that could lead to new disease treatments. However, Jolly had noticed some peculiarities in the monthly budgets that left him scratching his head. Each month, there seemed to be a small but consistent discrepancy between the approved funding for equipment, materials, and salaries and the actual spending. The differences were not huge - usually just a few thousand dollars - but they bothered Jolly, who liked to have full transparency and understanding of his lab's finances. He began to wonder if the discrepancies were a sign of innocent accounting errors or something more concerning like misconduct or fraud.

 The council chamber erupted into a tumultuous debate as the mages representing the western territories voiced their strong objections to the proposed expansion plans. The western mages were incensed, but controlled in their anger, as they argued against the council's designs to push westward, establishing new laboratories, research facilities, and magical institutions on their lands. They fretted that such development would tax their resources, both material and magical, to a breaking point. More than that, the mages worried how the humans living in the west would react. So much of the mages' livelihood and profits depended on providing services to the non-magical humans there.

The western mages implored the council to reconsider the westward expansion, lest they lose the faith and business of the humans and thereby undermine the prosperity of mage and human alike. But not even ten minutes had passed when Jolly's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pressed it between his palm and thigh, silencing it until the buzzing stopped. A minute later, it buzzed again. Maria turned to him, concern swimming in her soft brown eyes. Jolly never got calls during meetings, especially not with the High Council of Mages. He was always diligent about turning his phone off beforehand. Yet here it was, buzzing insistently in his pocket, disrupting the solemn proceedings. Jolly shifted in his seat, ignoring Maria's worried glance. The phone vibrated again, persistently. Noah knew better than to call during High Council meetings, but after the third buzz, Jolly discreetly slid his phone out from his deep pocket and tapped back a quick message: "In a meeting."

The phone hummed once more against his leg. He offered Maria an apologetic nod before slipping to the back of the room. He could feel the eyes of the other Mages following him, their curiosity mingled with annoyance at the disruption. What could be so urgent that Noah would risk the ire of the High Council? Jolly's grip tightened on his phone as he stepped into the shadowed recesses of the hall.

"Noah, what's going on?" he whispered.

Before Jolly could even finish the question, Noah blurted out: "It's Rosa. She's been sick all morning, shaking and sobbing. I think she's having trouble breathing." Jolly could hear Rosa whimpering and choking back sobs in the background. His heart sank with worry.

Jolly ended the call and quietly returned to his seat beside Maria. Crouching down, he saw her eyes widen as she took in the evident concern on his face.

"Go," she whispered. "I'll check in after the meeting."

NOAH’S POV

He glances down at Rosa's small, trembling body curled up in his lap. Her fever still rages even as she finally drifts into a fitful sleep. He gently rubs circles on her back, hoping to provide some small comfort as they huddle near the warming fire. Jolly has been on the phone with Maria all day, both of them racking their brains trying to figure out how to make Rosa feel better. They've tried everything - bland foods, rest, warm baths, piles of blankets - but nothing seems to break this persistent fever. He feels so helpless watching his young mistress suffer. His heart aches to see her so miserable and weak. If only there was something more he could do to ease her discomfort. He continues rubbing her back, wishing he could absorb her illness into himself and spare her this torment.

Late into the night, the apartment was dark and still. Noah's eyes peered through the shadows, his night vision sharp. In the next room, Jolly tapped away at his keyboard, the occasional thud against the desk revealing his frustration. They were all on edge.

Before the knock came at the door, Noah caught their scent on the air - the earthy musk of Oli mixed with his wife's exotic floral perfume. Hushed voices murmured as Nick let them in, arms laden with bags. The commotion stirred Rosa from her sleep. She groaned, turning her head in Noah's lap as the visitors carried in their chaotic noise. He stroked her hair, hoping to soothe her back to rest, even as his own nerves remained taut. 

Noah gently scoops her up, cradling her in his strong arms as if she were the most delicate porcelain doll. Carrying her down the hall to the room she shares with Jolly. His face softens as he gazes down at her, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. Oli and Nick follow closely behind, ever-watchful guardians ready to protect their cherished friend.

Oli takes up his post by the tall windows, his tall, lean frame leaning casually against the glass as he keeps a close eye on the surroundings below. Nick stations himself firmly by the door, arms crossed, prepared to ward off any disturbance.

Noah lays Rosa down tenderly on the bed, tucking the blankets snugly around her resting form. His touch is feather-light, yet secure and comforting. Oli and Nick exchange a quick glance, reassured by the care Noah takes with his vulnerable mistress.

Noah stops tucking her in, looking up at Oli with a questioning gaze. "She's different now," Oli said, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. "Since that night. Something's changed."

Nick chimed in, sounding puzzled. "She's sick, right?" But he had never even seen Rosa before. How could he know?

Oli hesitated, sensing there was more to it. "No, it's...something else. Something more." His tone was laced with curiosity and unease. 

Noah gazed upon his mistress' sleeping form, a knot of unease twisting in his gut. She was his to protect, yet he sensed a power within her that gave him pause. As she shifted in slumber, a lock of hair fell across her face. But as his fingers grazed her cheek, her eyes flashed open, swirling with the cosmic colors of the morning sky.

He whimpered, feeling her gaze pierce his soul. His body shuddered, dropping to all fours in supplication before her might. With but a glance, she commanded the room. Oli and Nick, too, succumbed, bowing as beasts before her.

Though uncertainty gripped him, Noah felt no fear. He would surrender all to keep her safe. There was power here, yes, but no evil. Only light.

JOLLY’S POV

Jolly's leg bounced impatiently as he watched Maria pore over the results for the fifth time. "Well?" he finally burst out, unable to contain himself any longer.

Maria glanced up, one eyebrow raised. "This is unbelievable," she murmured. "Nightshade serum? Created in someone's home lab? Preposterous."

She turned back to the email, reading through it again with pursed lips. Jolly groaned and leaned his head against the back of the couch.

"I just can't wrap my mind around it," Maria said after another minute. "This Rosa woman managed to synthesize a complex biochemical compound using makeshift equipment? And achieved these kind of results?"

He sits casually on the couch, legs crossed, as he considers the situation. "Seems like it," he muses. "She's been getting nightshade from some garden shop over on the east side."

Maria thinks quietly to herself. "Well, I don't own that shop. And I certainly don't sell deadly nightshade here." She shakes her head slightly.

Jolly sat up, placing both feet firmly on the ground as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His hands clasped together tightly as he looked at Maria expectantly.

"Well, will any of that mumbo jumbo you brought actually help or not?" he asked, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice. He needed something real, something tangible to help Rosa get through this.

Maria just leaned back in the office chair, clicking her tongue thoughtfully. "I might be able to whip something up, but it may only provide temporary relief. She may just have to ride this thing out."

Jolly shook his head, countering firmly but not unkindly, "She needs strength, real medicine, if she's going to recover and get back on her feet. Something to help her keep food and water down, not just take the edge off."

Maria nodded contemplatively, eyes glazing over as she turned ideas over in her head. "Let me see what I can do. Oh, and when she's better, I'd love to be able to pick her brain a bit." At Jolly's confused look, she continued, "My experiments keep failing, but with a brilliant mind like hers, maybe I can finally achieve what I'm looking for."

Jolly sighed, but had to admit her skills could help. "We'll see when she's back on her feet. For now, let's just focus on getting her well."

Maria spins out of the chair, gliding across the room before she rummages through her bags with eager hands, searching for the ingredients she needs. Maria finds them and gets to work, pouring and mixing with practiced motions. Several syringes are filled with a murky green concoction. She tidies her workspace, then picks up one of the syringes. gives it a flick, making sure there are no bubbles, before securing the needle. Her eyes gleam as she admires the fruits of her labor.

Jolly scrambles to his feet as she catwalks out of the room, her words trailing behind her. "Let's see if it works." He hurries after her, struggling to keep up with her long strides. They make their way down the hall to his room. As he opens the door, they both freeze, startled by the sight before them.

Between the soft cotton sheets and warm down blankets, Rosa rests peacefully, her head propped up on the plush pillows. Next to her, Noah, rests his furry head on her belly, his legs twitching occasionally as he sleeps curled up close to Rosa, ever watchful and protective. At her feet, paws crossed over her legs, lies Nick, snoring softly in tranquil slumber. And there, curled perfectly at Rosa's thighs, eyes open and alert, is Oli, the vigilant comander. 

Jolly leans against the door frame, crossing his arms as he watches the faithful guardians wake and look at Maria with curious yet cautious eyes. They have locked onto the syringe in her hand. Noah turns to Jolly, who offers a reassuring nod as Maria approaches slowly. The protective canine companions follow her every move, never leaving their posts at Rosa's side. Jolly looks on calmly from the doorway as Maria grasps Rosa's arm, finding the right spot and delivering the medicine from the syringe. When the syringe is empty, Maria walks away, and the devoted guardians snuggle into Rosa even tighter, continuing their vigil watch.