#afraid she had no purpose in the world beyond;; about

[amissafide]

We all do what we have to. We all walk the path we think is right. One day you may realize that said path had lead you into a fiery inferno but even then, all you can do is keep going. That all I've ever done. All I'll ever do.

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BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Emmeline Vance

ALIAS/NICKNAME: Emmy, Emms, Snake (those that dislike her), Vance

AGE: Twenty

BIRTH DATE: September 23rd, 1960

BLOOD STATUS: Half-blood

AFFILIATION: Order of the Phoenix (during the war), Ministry of Magic (currently)

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cis-Woman. She/her

CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS: Flat in Knockturn Alley

OTHER: Vance Manor (is considering moving there again)

OCCUPATION: Curse Breaker, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic, in support of the Auror Department

PETS: Barnaby (male, great horned owl)

WAND: Ebony, phoenix feather core, 12 1/2 inches, unyielding

PATRONUS: Chestnut Stallion

BOGGART: Losing her loved ones

AMORTENTIA: Unknown

SCENT: lavender, ink

INSPIRATION

SONG: I'm still here by Sia, Courage to change by Sia, Lean on me (J2 Version), I blame the world by Sasha Alex Sloan

PINTEREST: here !!

RELATIONSHIPS

PARENTS: Ismelda (muggleborn) and Alusius Vance (pureblood).

SIBLINGS: None.

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: None.

OTHER FAMILY: None known to her.

CHILDREN: None.

EDUCTATION:

SCHOOL: Hogwarts

HOUSE: Slytherin

EXTRACURRICULAR: Chaser for the Slytherin Quidditch team, Charms club Potions Club, Dueling club

CLASSES INVESTED IN: Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, Alchemy, Herbology, Potions, Transfiguration, Defense against the Dark Arts

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English, Italian, Latin

OTHER LANGUAGES: can read ancient runes

PHYSICAL TRAITS

EYE COLOR: Green

HAIR COLOR: Blonde

HEIGHT: 5′5

SCARS: Thin lines spreading like roots from the palm of her right hand up in the inside of her wrist due to dark magic firing back

PERSONALITY

INTELLIGENCE: High. Adaptive.

SKILLS: Wandless magic (minor, practicing), Flying (decent), Dueling (practicing, decent)

POSITIVE TRAITS: creative, resourceful, determined, caring, proud, observant

NEGATIVE TRAITS: desperate, impulsive, impatient, reckless, deceptive at times

MBTI: INTJ

BIOGRAPHY: (tw death, violence)

Emmeline was born to Ismelda and Alusius Vance on September 2rd, 1960 on a stormy night shortly before midnight. Her parents were an unusual pair as Aluisus believed in the ideals of the world he lived in and felt himself part of the pureblood society as much as the next one. While he had known that marrying Ismelda would be looked upon as odd, he'd been drawn to her from and simply pushed himself to believe that his one sidestep could not ruin the future of all there was. It had been a mistake that would eventually come to cost him dearly as with each passing day, and later the birth of Emmeline, society made it very clear that they did not in fact approve of his choice. Even though it wasn't the most widespread fact, their family still paid the price for it. Ismelda herself never found her place in pureblood society and in return disliked the purists and their idea of life. With Alusius' firm belief to raise Emmeline the way him and his friends had been raised, the young witch grew up resenting her mother as everything she learned caused her to believe things were very much her mother's fault. How else could on explain the way things had gone downhill? It started with her, surely it would end with her. Thus, the witch felt drawn to her father, doing her very best to impress him while growing up into a competent witch, who would upon being sorted find herself within Slytherin. For the very first time she truly felt at home, fitting right in with the crowd. The loss of her mother during her second year almost didn't bother had, was it not for the uncomfortable attention for the two weeks after. It wasn't until her seventh year that Emmeline began to change her view. The loss of her father, allegedly due to Death Eaters caused her world to crumble. For a while she isolated herself, graduated and joined the ministry and Gringott's for their training program of curse breakers before eventually finding herself at a loss for what to do. In those dark hours she found her way to Dumbledore, asking for a way out. The Order of the Phoenix became her new home and although she felt drawn toward her old life, loyal to those she'd once called family and friends, with each step she made forward, new loyalties began to grown on the side of the Order. Some bonds became strong enough that the fight began to make sense. Now that the war is won, the witch has moments in which she desperately yearns for either side as she misses the people more than anything. A part of her doesn't quite know what to make of a world without conflict, as she feels that it was all the world had ever been to her; a choice between light and dark, right or wrong. Emmeline is still very much getting used to the idea that people now know her as a former member of the Order; a fact she'd tried to keep under wraps for the duration of the war as it allowed for her to slip through the shadows. Over the course of the war her interest in potions increased, her passion for the brewing of those as well as alchemy settled with a part of her wondering if the path of an alchemist or perhaps even healer could be something for her. Emmeline is still figuring out who she is in this new world but she is no longer the girl she left behind at Hogwarts, during her darkest days.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Red Breath

Summary: Azula has been hiding that she has tuberculosis. Her secret comes out during the last Agni Kai.

For @the-mariachi-96 based on this post.

There is red on her pillow.

There is red on the cloth in her pocket. 

She tries not to dwell too much upon it. 

Today is her special day.

The mirror has no mercy. 

No sympathy nor compassion. 

It is a cold thing, and—had it a voice—it would speak clinically. Forward. Direct. Brutal.

In its own way it does have a voice and it speaks through images it reveals and the inner monologue that it inspires from the looker. Sometimes it is pleasant, mostly it is mundane and indifferent. These days it has been cruel; it shows Azula that she has been deteriorating steadily and rapidly. 

That something that was already well out of her control has spiraled much further beyond it. Either her skin has grown sallow or the palace’s warm lighting is making her complexion look more sickly than it truly is. For certain she has grown thinner, her robes had always fit rather large on her frame for comfort’s sake. Now they are too baggy for comfort. Sleep and illness have put bags under her eyes too.

She touches her fingers to her cheek, the texture of her skin is not quite right, but that could be because she hasn’t been drinking enough. Her cheekbones are more prominent beneath her fingers.

She wants to blame Mai and TyLee.

If they hadn’t chosen Zuzu…

If they hadn’t left…

Since finding out, they have always kept her fed and comfortable. 

She grits her teeth. It is her own fault for letting them care for her instead of learning to care for herself by herself. 

Even if they were there to feed her, she probably wouldn’t want to eat anyhow. The sickness is getting worse and it is stealing her appetite, her comfort, her strength, her motivation, and, most pressingly, her future. 

Her well kept secret is finally unraveling and she is glad that father isn’t around to witness it, that nobody is around to see it, she had made certain of that. And she starts to wonder…

She is always wondering, speculating, or overthinking about something or another. 

This time she ponders exactly what is to blame for her fraying mind, the fog within it, and the things that it shows her—the things that aren’t truly there. 

Can tuberculosis cause paranoia and hallucinations or was it the loss of Mai and TyLee that has put her mind of kilter. If the former is to be blamed then it might be that she is reaching her last days. And, by the spirits, it seems to have come about so quickly. She knows that she doesn’t want to be alone when she takes her last red, labored breath. 

Her chest hurts.

Her lungs burn. 

She is afraid to die.

But she is afraid to breathe.

.oOo.

To some degree, she wonders what the purpose is. Of the crown. Of this new title. Of anything really. Azula will be dead soon and she knows it. So why then? Why bother letting them fix the crown into her hair? A sense of duty, she decides, and to make father proud right to the very end. Her nation depends on her, especially now, with the comet barreling towards the world. Her firebending is charged, she can feel it in her core, but she is no longer certain that she could withstand its power. 

The Fire Sages hover the crown just above their head, they are just about to decree that she is the new firelord. She closes her eyes and when she opens them, Zuko is in front of her with the waterbender at his side and the bison behind him. 

Surely she is delirious with fever. 

But no, the Fire Sages are exchanging looks. 

Her already burning chest, flares with hatred. Resentment for the person who had taken her mother from her and then her friends. For the person who now wants to steal her crown—the very last thing that she has.

She is in no condition for an Agni Kai, but she will fight all the same.

She will fight to keep what is hers, fight for her nation, and fight for her honor. She will fight for her vengeance. She will fight for her friends—surely Mai and TyLee will understand then, how much they mean to her. 

She rises to her feet, her head is already spinning. 

Dear Zuzu has already accepted her challenge. Her fate, whatever it may be, is sealed. 

She closes her eyes and hopes that her coughing will subside just long enough for her to win this fight. 

She takes a labored breath and she takes a stance. She feels that breath, scratchy and searing. Like sandpaper dragging all the way down her throat. She holds herself rigid and ready in spite of it. 

Zuko makes the first strike, a powerful blast of orange flames that heat her face from well across the arena. She returns with a burst of her own blue and equally as scorching, if not more so. It isn’t a fair match; not in numbers, not with her state of mind, not with her state of health. She supposes that she has made her share of sneaky, honorably questionable maneuvers. A war is a war and it will not stop because she is feeling ill. 

And so she throws blast after blast until the chills start to wrack her body. Even then, she pushes onwards. Even then she wields her fire as she always had. But the more the smoke fills her lungs, the more agitated they become. 

She can feel the fit coming on.

“What, no lightning today? Afraid I’ll redirect it?” 

It is bait and she should know better. 

But it is an excuse; an excuse to end this match once and for all, before tuberculosis ends it for her. 

Perhaps this will be the last thing that she does. She wonders if Mai and TyLee will miss her. Or if they will be relieved to know that she is gone. The lightning crackles on her fingers and the fever crackles in her body. 

Both will be released, only one will claim its target. 

She sends the lightning off as disease rushes forward. Her lightning falls short, it splits the ground with a rumbling crack. It launches Zuko violently towards the other end of their arena. And it launches her body into a violent fit. Her coughs come on with such merciless furocity that it leaves her stomach aching and her body hunched forward. 

She can feel the blood behind her teeth. If she parts her lips, it will drip onto the ground. Perhaps not a dramatic spatter, but two or three little droplets. 

She glances at her right hand.

It is bloodied. 

She glances at the battleground. 

At two alarmed faces. 

And then she sees nothing at all.

.oOo.

Azula’s vision is fuzzy. There are figures around her bedside and she can’t tell who is who. She thinks that they are probably doctors. The same ones who have been attending her since she’d come home. The ones that Lo and Li had found for her.

Her throat hurts and her head is woozy.

Sounds hurt.

Bright light hurts as it streams through the window. A glorious light spills over her face but she has not earned glory. 

The comet has passed and so to has her coughing fit. But the tingling in her throat remains as a souvenir of her suffering and her lungs don’t seem that keen on expanding fully. For it, when her lips part, her breath comes out in a labored hiss. 

“Aang should be here soon, he can help with that.” It takes Azula a moment to recognize that voice as the waterbender’s. But of course. She might not be here if not for waterbending. And for the life of her, Azula can’t understand why Katara would help her. Especially when Zuko had also been harmed. Perhaps he hadn’t taken a direct hit but the lightning had fallen at his feet and the shockwaves had thrown him a respectable distance. 

Katara likes him better anyhow.

Everyone does. 

“Mai and TyLee?” Azula mannages. 

“They’ll be here soon.”

But she can’t imagine that they will want to talk to her. They are probably coming for Zuzu, to check on and comfort him. 

“I’m cold.” She mentions. But she is also terribly hot, her face has a thin film of sweat. 

“You have a fever.” Katara replies. “But I think that you know that. How long?”

“How long, what?”

“How long have you known?” And then she elaborates. “That you were sick.”

“None of your…” she falters into a half cough. “Of…” another half cough. “your…”  And then there is the first full cough. Finally another fit comes on in full. Silent tears leak down her cheeks, more so the product of physical strain than any emotion.

Katara hands her a glass of water. “Drink that. After you swallow I’m going to bend that water and try to soothe the inside of your throat. It will probably feel weird, but it won’t hurt…”

It wouldn’t matter if it did, her throat is already sore.

“...And you won’t drown.”

Fleetingly it crosses her mind, that maybe she would be perfectly content drowning. She drinks the glass and Katara takes hold of the water. The sensation is terribly unpleasant, like nothing she has ever felt. Like nothing she ever wants to feel again. But then her burning throat cools and the sharpest of pangs taper off. 

Katara lowers her hands. “No more talking, okay? You’ll agitate your throat.” Katara says. “Just rest.” 

Azula nods. 

“Zuko is in the bed next to you. Both of his feet are bandaged and he’s got a concussion so he won’t be walking for a little while.” Katara informs. “Mai and TyLee and my friends are on their way. You can go to sleep, I’ll wake you up when they get here.”

But she won’t be able to sleep. Her head is too preoccupied with troubled thoughts; knowing that she had failed her people and her father, knowing that she has lost everything including Mai and TyLee, knowing that her carefully guarded secret is now in the hands of the enemy. The enemy that is fixing her blankets for her and putting a cool rag on her forehead. 

“Why?”  Her voice is so hoarse. Hoarse and whispery, nothing like the elegant silk it had been. 

“Because, you don’t deserve to die.” 

It is a simple and impersonal answer. But it is just as well.

“I think that things can be different.” Katara adds. “Now that the war is over.”

Different.

She doesn’t particularly like ‘different’.

She thinks that she might be afraid of ‘different’. 

Even if ‘different’ could be better for her. 

“Get some rest, okay. I’m going to keep waterbending and I’ll have Sokka reach out to this herbalist that we met in Taku; she’s very knowledgeable and she has this troublemaking cat.”

“Miyuki?” Azula grumbles. 

“You know Miyuki?”

Azula nods.

“Does that have anything to do with how Miyuki got in trouble with the Fire Nation?” 

Another nod.

“That’s a story that you’re going to have to tell.”

“You said no talking.” Azula dodges. 

“Later on.” Katara replies. “Right now, just get some rest. We’ll figure out how to treat your tuberculosis.” 

Azula nods once more. Perhaps she will get to live a full lifetime afterall. She just isn’t certain of what sort of life it will be. 

[blues824]

Please forgive me English not mother language

Dormitory leaders with F!s/o that comes from conservative? (Hope I am using that right) house hold! But what I mean is. F!S/o parents still lives in the times were women had no rights nor did they speak their mind or voiced out their opinions! So in that F!s/o was raised to cook, clean home, bear children and take care of her soon future husband and children. She is a bit of a dunce? You could say she was home schooled and did not learn about the outside world and of its changes over the years... yes she does were clothes that over her ankles!

I love whenever someone says English is not their first language but then they have the most comprehensible English to exist. 

Riddle Rosehearts

His mom used to be a stay-at-home mom, but she was a doctor prior to and preceding Riddle’s birth and raising. However, when you are struggling in class, he elects to help you, just to find out about your upbringing. It was no wonder that you were struggling; you weren’t taught to go to school past a certain grade level, and here you are being thrown into a really tough curriculum in a really tough college. 

Not only that, but he’s seen you with the Heartslabyul first years as well as Grim. They push you around (Deuce, less so, but he is enabling), to say the least. So, he steps in and interferes whenever he can, refusing them for you. You looked at him with shock as he told you that you needed to speak up and defend yourself, which led you to quietly explaining to him that women weren’t allowed to speak up back in your world and only really had the purpose of learning how to serve their future husbands.

The whole idea shocked him, since there was no level of inequality like this within Twisted Wonderland. After all, four of the Great Seven were women. Shouldn’t those men back in your world know how to take care of themselves on every front? Bro is just absolutely flabbergasted, as it was an unusual notion. However, he does agree with the whole modesty thing, as he prefers to remain modest as well. But, your modesty goes beyond his, as you cover your ankles and are shocked by how many people in the town below the mountain NRC is built on wear shorts to deal with the hot weather.

Leona Kingscholar

This was something to get used to, as back in his homeland the women were the strongest. The day you stepped on his tail was a strange day because he forgave you so easily (he’s scared of women, remember?), but you were trembling and almost in tears. Leona’s moral code would not let him rest until he consoled you, as much as it annoyed him. However, this isolated incident led to a rather strange relationship between the two of you.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, you were alright. You pretty much started acting like his wife, and he kind of evolved into the role of your husband. He was your protector, and you made really good food. This was the first time where you finally found comfort, some sort of normalcy, within Twisted Wonderland. However, Leona wanted you to know that he was serving you instead of it being the other way around. He didn’t want to seem like a lazy, deadbeat guy to you. For you, he actually put in effort.

His only goal was for you to find your own freedom, hobbies, etc., and he was not afraid to snap at your ‘friends’ for walking all over you. He’s also not afraid to spoil you, even though he acts like he doesn’t really care. He doesn’t eat anyone else’s food besides yours… not even Ruggie’s. He may not be able to help you with your schoolwork as he always skips classes, but he will make sure you get to each class safely, which gets him to attend his classes by extension.

Azul Ashengrotto

Your clothing is in history textbooks that he read to try and learn about human history, yet you are wearing it? He’s not judging tall, but it is rather unusual. But, you are rather unusual. You seem to be struggling in class, and when the professor assigned him to tutor you (free of charge), he learned about your unfair upbringing. You hadn’t gone to school past the 5th grade. You were very quiet, and when he asked why you weren’t able to, you stated that women were supposed to stay at home and learn to be wives and mothers. The notion was weird to Azul, as the people of the sea had no such system.

He decided that he would take over in teaching you so that you could succeed in NRC’s curriculum, as long as you worked in the Mostro Lounge. Not only would it grant you exposure to the modern world, but only bit by bit as you cook and serve the food and work alongside men as their equal. It was a lot of work, but you seemed to be up to the challenge because you were waiting for an opportunity like this, even back in your own world.

When you actually get romantically involved, he lets you know that you have his full support in anything you wanted to do. He still continued to tutor you, but you became a strong, independent woman. Not even Grim had control over you anymore, and you have even made a threat to Crowley, saying that if he didn’t improve your living conditions free of charge, you would run to the press with the pictures you have taken of Ramshackle and bring down the reputation of Night Raven College.

Kalim Al-Asim

His mom was a stay-at-home mother, but she had the choice to work because she was greatly educated. However, with the many children she had, she opted to raise them as she wanted to have a close relationship with all of her children. You are a different case. He once was paired up with you in a project for a shared class between you two, and you both were completely lost. However, you seemed more distressed about it and he got you to talk about your experience (or lack thereof) in education back in your world. He was shocked that women typically didn’t go past the 5th grade, and the traditions were definitely very strange.

Unfortunately, he is a bit of a dunce himself, so he can’t help you much. However, surely Jamil will help! You didn’t like the imbalance in favors, so you opted to help the Vice Housewarden in any way you could. For example, you would help him in the kitchen, as you were very skilled in the culinary arts due to your time spent in the kitchen. It was better that Jamil watched over you in the kitchen anyway, as he could make sure that Kalim’s meal wasn’t poisoned.

As you are growing into your own independent person, you have Kalim’s support every single step of the way, both financially and emotionally. He is the type of man you would read in romance novels back at home, where he genuinely loves you and wants to provide for you and spoil you. You are working hard and are dedicated to making something of yourself, and your boyfriend here sees that and admires you for it.

Vil Schoenheit

He has never seen anyone wear clothing like yours out of habit, mostly just when they film movies. So, he wants to make you clothes that are a bit more up-to-date. If you want to maintain the same level of modesty, he will respect that and keep it in mind while he’s sewing. If you want to experience and raise the hemline of your skirts or pants, he will gladly do so. Also, if you are struggling with Potionology, he will volunteer to help you. However, you feel bad that he’s doing all of these things for you, so you rise early every single morning just to bring him a healthy breakfast that went along with his current diet to make sure that he had energy for the day.

Because of your mutual agreement, he acts as a protector of sorts. Your first year friends won’t try and walk all over you because you have the Housewarden of Pomefiore backing you up. Grim, Ace, and Deuce were all idiots that would hinder your learning, and he’s actually not wrong. However, you didn’t appreciate how he spoke about your friends, so you told him. It felt liberating to finally speak to someone so openly about how you felt, after your entire life being spent learning to conceal your emotions, thoughts, and feelings.

Whatever you decide your goal to be, Vil will be there to support you. But, he’s the type to not let you quit when things get hard. He knows that you can do it; he knows your capacity. Also, he’s not above threatening Crowley if he decides he wants to push any of his responsibilities on you, as he should be acting like the Headmage rather than a corrupt business CEO that pushes everything on his employees. You were a student, not an employee, and you deserved to be treated the same as your peers.

Idia Shroud

He thought your clothes only currently existed in anime that portrayed the ‘olden days’ and in museums, but from what he could see in his iPad camera in class, you wore it liberally. However, what really got his attention was when you had started treating Ortho like your own child. You were very gentle and motherly towards his younger brother, and it made Idia so flustered because you were very pretty and you come close to his room every single time you walk Ortho back to Ignihyde.

Your relationship started with him teaching you how to use various machines and technology, and you were very embarrassed at your lack of knowledge about these types of things. In turn, you once went over and knocked on his door, carrying various different sweets that you made. Idia was on the brink of fainting when he opened the door to see you… his crush… extending a tray of homemade candies towards him and thanking him for everything he has done for you thus far. With shaking hands, he took the trey from you, just for you to lean forward and place a simple peck on his cheek before leaving. Ortho rushed to catch the tray as it flew in the air while Idia fell to the floor unconscious.

As much as he wishes he could support you in-person, he rarely goes outside due to his family’s curse. However, you didn’t mind sticking by him as it gave you an excuse to be away from Ace, Deuce, and Grim. That’s not to say that you are not growing into your own person and your own hobbies, but in your spare time you retreat to your lover’s room. There, you would do homework and prepare dinner for the two of you. Old habits die hard, I guess.

Malleus Draconia

In case you didn’t know, his grandmother is running the entire land of Briar Valley. His grandmother is a woman, so he never really viewed any gender as ‘superior’. However, when you both met each other, he learned about the patriarchal system back in your homeland (it’s giving Ken). That night was short, but it felt long for both of you as you both talked and learned about each other. That conversation was ingrained into your minds, and you both fell in love at first conversation.

He will gladly assist you whenever you need help with any of the course work. You explained, very embarrassed, that you never went to school past Grade 5. Malleus was very patient, and he explained everything in a polite tone. His retainers were also in the library, covering their faces with books as they spied on the Crowned Prince. Eventually, once you got your work done, you found a book on one of the shelves that outlined the time that you lived in. It was surprising, as there was no such system of oppression like the one in your world, but rather the style of clothing and the beliefs were similar. Malleus read the book from front to back, and by the time he returned the book, he got more insight into your life.

The dragon prince is not afraid to spend money on you so that you can grow independently and dive into your own interests. He holds a lot of monetary influence at NRC, so when Crowley is feeling lazy and wants to put all of his responsibilities on your shoulders, he will threaten to defund the college. Eventually, you start to make promises of your own (because they’re not threats if you use the word 'promise'), and Malleus could not be more proud of you.

[attonposting]

Just thinkin' about how showing your companions the Force in KotOR II is about healing, about teaching them to confront their traumas and cope with them in a healthy way, and on a Dark Side run, it's about yanking on that trauma and twisting it until it becomes all that they are.

Atton is a goddamn mess of a person. The war wrecked him and shaped him into a sadistic monster who committed mega war crimes until he met the one Jedi who forced him to see what he'd become. And instead of taking any responsibility, he bolted, coping by drowning out the world and doing his damnedest not to feel. The Exile forces him to stop running and confront himself – to face all those emotions he chopped up into little pieces and wore like masks, his guilt, his hate, his fear. I don't think Atton ever thinks of himself as a Jedi; him learning to use the Force is him learning not to be afraid of it, and himself, anymore. Atton decides he's going to finally try to do something with his life – maybe not for goodness' sake, but because he owes that last Jedi that much. And a DS Exile extinguishes whatever seeds of decency she planted, destroys his last remaining shreds of idealism, and convinces him not to fear himself in a much, much scarier way.

Bao-Dur is a genuinely good guy, but he's shackled by guilt. It's not straightforward, and it'd maybe be easier for him to deal with it if it was - Bao-Dur simultaneously regrets and doesn't regret what he did. He believes... not necessarily that Malachor had to happen, but that the war needed to end. But he's horrified that it was his hands and his mind that conceived the Mass Shadow Generator, can never banish the sight of so much death at his hand. And he can't reconcile how what drove him in the war was pure hatred, and the galaxy treats him like his service was a noble thing when he knows it was anything but. That rage hasn't left him even though he tried to move on and turn his hands towards kinder things. Through the Force, he's able to move on and at last find peace – but a DS Exile convinces him to give into his anger and let retribution rule him completely.

Mira is at her heart a scared little girl trying desperately to prove to herself that she's tough and capable – that she's over everything she's lost, that she's not alone and afraid. She tries not to care about anyone, because the galaxy certainly doesn't give a shit, but she does despite herself. A LS Exile teaches her how to come to terms with the things that hound her, and in that, find true strength. A DS Exile teaches her to cover up that fear by preying on others so that nobody ever has the chance to hurt her again, and convincing herself that hardness means strength until it becomes true.

Brianna has tried to find purpose in servitude, but she's isolated in an otherwise tight-knit unit. She's desperate to prove herself, but she's never good enough for anyone, and she knows why she continues to fail even as she's unable to let the source go. A LS Exile teaches her to transcend those concerns and be true to herself above all else – not only to follow her own path, but to find strength and value in herself, for the first time in her life. What Atris thinks, what her sisters think, is immaterial. A DS Exile doesn't free her from her mindset of servitude so much as twist her loyalties. That Brianna instead becomes convinced she's better than her sisters, better than Atris, and takes her anger out on her ex-family and beyond – becoming driven by scorn, seeing nothing but the failures of the Jedi to live up to their own standards.

Mical lost his future at a young age – something that probably saved his life, considering everything that happened in the following years, but which left him trailing in the shadow of the Jedi seeking answers nobody could give. He wants to believe in the Jedi Order, but recent history has left him with far too much evidence to the contrary. A LS Exile acknowledges the flaws of the Jedi teachings, even personifies those flaws through their history, but convinces him through their actions that their core still rings true and is worth striving for. A DS Exile utterly demolishes his faith in the same manner. Mical takes the Exile's fall as yet another betrayal by the Jedi, but it's the hardest hitting yet - this sheer debasement of the figure he idolized most. It finally extinguishes his idealism, even gnawing away at the compassion that defines him until he's yet another soulless cog in the Republic machine.

And Visas is already attuned to the Force, but a LS Exile gives her hope for the galaxy and teaches her of the beautiful little moments of connection and the greatness people can achieve together, where she'd become convinced that life was pain and the only thing any being could aspire to was an end to the suffering. What she witnesses is strong enough for her to come to terms with the death of Katarr and choose to keep going despite all that's happened. And a DS Exile... doesn't. They reaffirm her desolation and then give her the callous end she sought.

The Exile themselves went for ten years avoiding connections, and then the Force thrusts them back into the role of a leader – a role they've got decidedly mixed feelings about, when it was literally their empathy that caused their self-destruction in the Mandalorian Wars. Major YMMV on how you characterize your Exile's motives, but the way I saw it, a DS Exile isn't going to be hurt again. They're not going to get attached to their soldiers – they've made that mistake before and it brought them nothing. They know how to say the right words to get people to fight and to die for them, and that's all it is. And for a LS Exile... they know the danger of caring, but they won't allow it to stop them from living any longer, not after they've spent ten years dead to themselves. And it's the human connections they form that heals them, that allows for them to touch the Force once more.

Obviously a DS Exile is bad and they should feel bad. For a LS one, though - the Jedi Council's repudiation of your powers at the end of the game used to really bother me until this part clicked. You're all a bunch of broken people who find each other and learn to move on. Even if you're drawing them in with freaky black hole space magic, they are genuinely better off for your presence, and it's because of who you are as a person, not any way you've molded them through the Force.

[hanayori89]

The Place Where Time

Stands Still

* Temple of Time*

It never ceased to amaze Link that beyond these doors lied the past, somehow perfectly petrified in the present. His first visit to the Temple of Time was one of the most unforgettable moments of his travels.

Everything in the Sacred Grove seemed to persist against the elements from when Link last visited. The bridges he had aligned in the gorge with his Gale Boomerang still sat, waiting for his feet to tread across.

Link couldn't help but feel it persisted too well. As if someone had come before him, setting the pace for his entrance.

Zelda. And hopefully only Zelda. Link trembled at Fado's recollection of Ilia hobbling around Ordon on all fours. He saw her head swivel around unnaturally as she crouched on his windowsill. He saw the weeping eyes, devoid of any human spirit that might remain in them. He could still smell the repugnant odor that scathed the inside of his nostrils with each breath he took.

"If you really love Y/N, you'll release her so she may continue to live. Otherwise, I will behead her like her gullible idiot of a father."

Link was nauseated by the memory of the shadow's threat towards Y/N. He willed himself to move forward. He would protect her. On his life, he would protect her.

From the outside, time had claimed what it truly deemed to be its property. The Temple of Time lay desecrated in ruins. Chunks of cinderblock were choked by vines that proudly defiled them, yet the door remained miraculously intact. It was the one piece of the temple that time couldn't touch. Link pressed a hand against the frayed granite doors.

He was about to enter another world.

Hero Shade's world.

"Oh Link, you'll never be forgotten. I can promise you that. Because I'll never forget you."

Y/N was right. He hadn't forgotten Hero Shade. For Link, Hero Shade was very much alive. His once beating heart of fortitude continued to beat on in the vessel that was now Link's own body.

He pushed the doors open with all his might, unaware of what fate awaited him but no longer afraid. Should he perish, his heart would beat within the body of another.

The Triforce of Courage would find him again, at another time or another place. And that person would exist solely for the purpose of defining what a hero was.

"A hero isn't the sword you hold in your hand. It's a trait you display in your heart."

Link walked forward, the luster of the past encompassing him. The last thing he remembered before walking towards the light was how foolishly mortal he was.

There would always be another hero to take his place.

But Link would forever be the one and only hero of Twilight.

And so, Link surrendered to the light. To his mortality.

To the unyielding beating of his heart and who it beat for.

*

You had managed to make your way to the Temple of Time.

Although what stood in front of you wasn't much of a temple, but a city of concrete ruins.

You had made your way to Hyrule Castle, demanding a council with Princess Zelda. The guards harshly turned you away. All but one particular guard, who happened to remember you. 

Fabian. 

He saw you, a sad little sight before him. He walked over, seizing you by the arm and dragging you from the castle stairs.

"Hey!" You hissed. When you were a safe distance from the guards on entry duty, Fabian whispered, "You were with Link and met with the Princess before, correct?" You nodded, trying to drop the temper that was threatening to make a council in your place.

"Why do you seek the princess now? It is rather late."

"I have my reasons. Please, I really need her assistance."

He continued to stare at you, his eyes regarding you with suspicion. "And you are not with Link?"

Before you could respond, Fabian cut in. "Because he is with Zelda. They aren't in the castle. I can give you no other information beyond that." Nothing in the way he spoke led you to believe he was being disingenuous.

"Then may I ask, are they at the Temple of Time? Please, I will go there if they are."

Fabian grunted at your incorrigible persistence. "Do you know how to get there?"

Despite the lack of confirmation, his question was confirmation enough. Link had upheld his promise. Was Ilia with him? Surely, she would be livid if he sneaked away on your behalf. At least with Zelda there, the tear of Midna and its warning didn't seem as critical. How much danger could Link be with Zelda present? You felt your heart begin to pick up its pace at the sheer idea of seeing him. You hated admitting to yourself how bereft you'd been since his absence.

But there was no lying to yourself when the erratic palpitating of your own heart pumped the truth.

"How do I get there?"

Fabian cupped his chin in thought. "From where we stand, you will stay north across Hyrule Field. It lies a bit yonder to the east. In what is known as the 'Sacred Grove.'

You clasped both of his hands in yours, shaking them frantically. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you so much; I truly appreciate your cooperation."

Fabian relinquished a sigh. "Just do not tell anyone that I gave the information I did. No matter how it was stated, I could be terminated. And make sure the princess is safe." Fabian gave you a gruff salute before briskly walking off.

You were thrilled at the divine timing at play. As you ran into the glittering moonbeams that graced Hyrule Field, you felt yourself convert into your Twili form. This was an ideal time to go. You could bend the shadows to your every whim and wish. You stalked within them, transporting yourself across Hyrule Field in a dizzying whirlwind of camouflaged energy. The other perk was that while you were concealed within the familiar domain of the shadows, you were virtually naked to prying eyes. 

And any possible prey.

Now you stood among the array of smashed granite and slate, bewildered. You had no reason to believe Fabian would lie to you. Why would he put his job on the line to tell you a lie? You studied your surroundings, noting the placement of every vine and crumbling column.

What struck you as most odd was the door. It stood perfectly whole. Immune to the indecent wiles of time. You walked among the rubble, stepping over to the other side of the door.

That's when you noticed something. A footprint was perfectly molded into the mud at the entrance of the door. Whoever was here had physically opened it.

Why would they open the door and not just walk through the rubble? It's not like there are even walls left standing.

You walked around to the front of the door. The sculpted footprint in the mud looked like it belonged to a boot. Its size was a tad too large to belong to a female.

Link? 

You stepped into the footprint with your own boot. You pushed the doors open, amazed at how heavy they were compared to their stature.

What will I say if he is in here?

Just that I love him. Even if it is Ilia whom he loves.

Your thoughts barely seemed to concede when a blinding light beyond the opened door absorbed you within it.

For a moment, you thought this was death.

But if you had died, why did your heart still wildly beat for its owner, who was beyond these doors?

Dying seemed less frightening in the brilliance of this light.

Less frightening than the heartbreak that may await you beyond this door.

Edited: 7/2/2024

A temple in ruins may become the home of a future heart in ruin. The Temple of Time, revered by many yet forgotten by most. How will the Master Sword react to its master coming back to visit?

Danger lies ahead, but the memo has been missed. It's a race through the past to claim the Rod of Dominion. 

Let's just hope an unruly shadow in the form of Ilia doesn't cross the finish line first. 

Check out my other completed OOT Zelda work- No Woman Beyond

[fanfoolishness]

Sprouts

Greez names a plant after Cal, and takes care of it through the years. (Based on a bit of dialogue in Fallen Order where Greez tells Cal he'll name a plant Kid after him.) Fluffy until it's angsty, filled with found family feels, Greez & Cal, 1340 words. Spoilers for Jedi: Fallen Order and Jedi: Survivor.

---

Greez wasn’t joking this time.  

Oh, sure, he joked about a lot of things.  But when he looked at the terrarium, filled to the brim with seeds Cal had scoured from the ends of the known galaxy, he couldn’t help but get a little emotional sometimes.  Everything that had been going on -- trying to find the Holocron, fighting off the Empire, defying death right and left?  Yet somehow Cal had remembered to collect a few seeds, just because Greez said he liked them.  It was enough to make a guy choke up.

One night he told Cal he was going to name a plant after him.  He’d call it “Kid.”  Cal laughed it off, with that little chuckle he used when he was afraid to really hope for something.  Greez got the hint, but he ignored it anyway.

Greez debated over which plant to use.  Featherfern, nah, too delicate.  Cal might be skinny, but the kid was strong as anything in all the ways that mattered.  Mushbloom?  No, the plant was a living joke.  Cal deserved something less goofy.  He wrote the Dathomir plants off right away.  He’d grow ‘em, but they were way too creepy for this.

He settled on the bonshyyyr, but he didn’t tell him.  Cal got weird sometimes when Greez or Cere tried to do the heart-to-heart thing.  He’d blush, or make some kind of deflecting joke, or even get sullen and snarky if he was really in a mood.  So Greez figured he wouldn’t embarrass the kid any further by telling him the truth.  

The little tree thrived, with sturdy lush growth that threatened to overtake the terrarium if Greez wasn’t diligent with his trimmers.  Sometimes when Cal was out on a mission, Cere would find Greez grumbling, head half inside the terrarium, arms contorted to trim the leaves back in just the right way.  She’d comment that she was glad he had a project.  He’d mutter and wonder why he’d planted a tree from a planet where everything grew eighty thousand meters tall.

---

The bonshyyyr left the Mantis with him, along with a few of the other old-timer plants; the dreamwort, the kalpi, the gillypod.  He knew Cal would never remember to look after them.  The kid barely remembered how to look after himself, even if he’d grown a bit over the last year or two, losing the last of the pinched look to his cheeks, his face and arms exploding with freckles under dozens of alien suns.  

It was rough, when they decided to split up and go their own ways.  Cere was noble but resigned, talking about new opportunities to grow.  He saw her wipe her eyes, though, when she thought he wasn’t looking.  Merrin insisted that she needed to find herself and a purpose beyond vengeance, but she hugged him even harder than Cere had.  And Cal?  Greez didn’t know if he’d ever get over the way the kid’s face just… crumpled.

Greez cried with the rest of them.  He gave Cal a fierce hug with every arm he had (three out of four wasn’t bad) and cried into the kid’s grimiest poncho.  He didn’t care if the kid realized. His great-grandma always said there was no sense hiding what was clear as day.

He bundled up his plants and stepped down off the gangway, and the dust of a backwater world called Koboh floated up to greet him.

---

The years snuck by, and suddenly Cal was strolling into Pyloon’s Saloon like it was the most natural thing in the world.  

It knocked the wind out of Greez, seeing the kid again.  He’d grown more (surely he was done by now?), he’d grown a beard, and he looked like he needed a damn good dinner and a solid night’s sleep.  

He hit the kid with a hug as hard as he could muster, and when they’d managed to catch up, he insisted on Cal getting some rest.  Cal protested, as usual (kid was infuriating sometimes, how had he forgotten?), but within five minutes of curling up on the extra bunk in Greez’s room, he was out.

Cal wasn’t the only one who’d had a rough few years.  Kid the bonshyyr had had a tough time transplanting to Koboh.  Humidity was much lower here than Kashyyyk.  Took a while to find a heat lamp that mimicked the one he’d had on the Mantis.  Worst of all the plant had lost a whole branch, which had scared the hell out of him, but he’d done some research on the holonet and figured out it was a pest.  It had been dicey for a bit there, but now the tree was doing better than ever.

He thought that maybe he should fill Cal in.  Let him know he’d made good on his threat and named it after him.  But he glanced up from the tree with its gleaming, tight-curled leaves and saw Cal, fast asleep but mumbling under his breath.

His heart sank.  Kid might be doing fine.

Cal still wasn’t.

---

That first night back on Koboh, after they lost Cere, Greez finally told him.

“You… you named a plant after me?” Cal asked.  He looked like a wreck, swollen eyes and blotchy face, covered in bruises from his fall in the desert.  Greez knew he didn’t look much better.

“Yeah,” Greez said.  “I don’t know if you remember, but we talked about it once.  I was grateful, you know?  That you brought me all those seeds for the Mantis, even with everything else going on.”  He nodded over his shoulder at the bonshyyyr in his room.  It stood proud and neat and sturdy, not a leaf out of place.  “That’s Kid there.  Looking better than ever.”

Cal tried to laugh, but the sound was too close to tears still.  Ahh, they were both a mess.  “Greez, you old softy.”

Greez shrugged.  “What can I say?  It’s made me happy, Cal.  Every time I look at it, take care of it, fuss over it like Granny Pyloon used to do over me…  It’s been nice.  Especially when --” His voice cracked.  “Especially when things are hard.”  He wiped at his nose, sniffing.  “Right, Kid?”

The little tree didn’t answer, but Cal managed a smile, his eyes bright.  “I’m honored, Greez.”  He swallowed, gazing off into the distance.  “Hey.  …you ever talk to Pili?”

---

Pili turned around, holding something nestled in her large, gentle hands.  “I have just the thing for you, Greez.”  She bowed her head.  “Cal told me of your friend, and her sacrifice.  I am so sorry.  The Empire has taken so much.”

“I know,” said Greez heavily.  “Cere was a special lady.  She’d really found a home on Jedha.  She might not have been a gardener, but I feel like she made that desert bloom, you know?”

“I understand,” said Pili.  “Take this.”  She pressed a tiny pot of burnt-orange sandy soil into his hands.  “Keep it dry, and keep it cold.  A harsh ultraviolet light or two, and just the rarest drop of water.”

“Thank you for this.  I mean it.  I know sometimes I tease Cal about his strays, but… I’m glad he met you.”

“I am glad, too.”

---

He did as she instructed.  Blasted the little pot with harsh light, kept it chilly, kept it in an aridification chamber.  And one day he got bold, and added just the smallest drop of water.

Greez waited.  Held his breath for days, nervously checking up on the plant any chance he had.  Finally one day he woke up to a tiny sprout, and he smiled for what felt like the first time in forever.

The sprout grew fast.  Once a desert plant decided to grow, once it got that bit of water, it was ready.  A sprout became a leaf, became two, became a stem, a bud.  

Became a Jedha desert poppy.  Its petals unfurled in silver-blue and violet, shimmering in the dry air, worth every bit of the work.  Greez blinked back tears.  It was beautiful.

“Hey there, Cere.”

[kidstemplatte]

Hi! I'm here to say I would read anything you have or make about Terzo as a dad!! 🥰🥰

the devil’s kiss

pairing: dad! terzo x female reader

summary: after giving birth to you and terzo’s first child, you discover there is something different about her.

message: hi angel!!! thanks so much for your request, i had an idea i absolutely loved, and as i kept writing it, i realized it could be split into several parts. what started as a few headcanons has now become a fully fledged story with characters of my own, and i’m a little in love with it if i’m being honest. it’s something very special and personal for me. i hope you enjoy this and i’m sorry if it’s not exactly what you wanted!!

When your baby girl, Violetta, was born, many tears were shed. First, tears of pain. Then, tears of joy, tears of fear, and tears of joy once again.

And just barely after she took her first breath, entered this world, she was taken away before you knew it. Before you could even process her arrival, she was rushed out of the room.

“What’s going on? What’s wrong? What’s happening?” you cried in a panicked haze, weary from medication and high on adrenaline.

You had never felt such fear in your life. Terzo held your hand and muttered soft, rapid prayers in Italian and words of reassurance into your ear while you let out broken sobs, desperate to hold your daughter for the first time.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. She will be okay.”

Little did you know, he was just as afraid in that moment. But he kept a strong face, for you. For her.

“May Satanas bless our baby girl.”

And that he did.

Soon, a nurse entered the room, holding your daughter. She was a young woman, highlighted blonde hair pulled into a bun, wearing a dainty gold necklace with a small cross on the chain.

“Is she okay? Please, tell me she is okay.”

“She is perfectly healthy. She has what is called a port wine stain birthmark. We weren’t sure what it was initially, that’s why we rushed her out so quickly. I can’t apologize enough for the stress that caused, but you can breathe easy. She’s doing perfectly." The nurse explained, heart beaming with kindness. “You did a wonderful job. And you too, dad. You two are going to be great parents. Congratulations.” She reassured you, and with care, placed your baby into your arms.

“You know, some people consider marks like these an angel’s kiss. I do.” She remarked.

After catching sight of the pitch black grucifix on the bedside table, she was drawn aback. She was scared. But upon seeing the love in your eyes you had for your little girl, she quickly realized that neither of you could be evil. She couldn’t be scared of something because it was different.

“Or the mark of the devil. It’s really whatever makes you happy. The figure you may believe in, whether it’s God, the Universe, or Satan, whatever it is: they have blessed her. She is a special baby girl. Congratulations, you two.” And in the last few moments you spent with the nurse, you caught sight of her name tag that read “Elizabeth”.

And you were left with your precious baby girl, Violetta Elizabetta Emeritus.

“She’s beautiful.” you said, tears rushing down your face.

Eyes resembling your own, his raven hair, and of course, her devil’s kiss, entirely her own; a perfect representation of your love.

You had introduced Terzo to so many kinds of love, but nothing like this. Nothing like the moment when he caught sight of your baby girl for the first time. Nothing like the first time he held her, her skin so soft and eyes so big and round. His heart ached. He wanted nothing more than to make a perfect world for this child, it was his purpose beyond anything else. Nothing else mattered. The years of fame, traveling, money, and success meant nothing; she meant everything. The word “Papa” had become something entirely different, no longer a term of power, but one of love. He was her Papa. Nobody else’s.

A few minutes later, after you had spent some time with your newborn skin-on-skin, the doctor came back into the room and gave you another explanation of her condition, one that wasn’t as kind, but to the point.

“These birthmarks are rare. There are some conditions she may develop which correlate to the birthmark, but nothing to be too concerned about. Everything looks stable. She’s not in pain.”

She was safe with you, and that’s all that mattered.

After the doctor exited the room, Terzo kissed you on the forehead and stroked your hair gently through his fingers.

“I love you, amore mio. Le mie preziose ragazze. Il tuo fiore prezioso.”

——————————————————————

AAAAAAAA!

that’s it!!!

i really hope you enjoyed and please stay tuned for more dad terzo!!!

i got a little emotional writing this ngl,

remember that you are beautiful and so loved!

[morganalefae]

s3 morgana being "beyond redemption" is soooooo crazy to me like yeah trying to kill the evil tyrant king whos been murdering every last one of your kind is sooooo evil lock her up and throw away the key!!

such a prime example of a kick the dog character too. like they cant condemn her for just fighting for her right to exist so they have her executing civilians and trying to have gwen executed to make her into the villian.

and! the same goes for morgause! literally what did she ever do wrong? uther conquered camelot (said by him in the episode where gili fights in the tournament) and then executed hundreds if not thousands of people with magic but morgause trying to kill the king is a step too far? why? its almost like the show is actually on uthers side 🤨🤨🤨🤨

which leads me to: the fact that we essentially watch the entire show through the pendragon perspective. merlin protects arthur so everything we learn about the purge and magic and the old religion is from uther/gaius. so, biased, to say the least. one of the most important things they tell you when researching history is to consider where your information is coming from and how that persons perspective influences their discussion of it.

which is why i also dont consider nimueh to be a villain. shes an activist! yeah she tried to kill arthur that one (?) time but he didnt even die so. doesnt count <3 but we SEE her having a conversation ALONE with uther where she says she didnt know what would happen to ygraine and i just cant imagine why she would lie. if she really wanted to hurt him she could have said she'd known and killed her on purpose but i dont think thats the case at all. she says she never would have helped him if she'd known what would happen. like, surprise, if you hunt and kill people for the crime of existing they will fight back and its not going to be the way you like it and innocent people will die. because thats war. you ruthlessly slaughter her people and she will slaughter yours.

worlds most unstructered post. professors hate her. anyway the show eventually starts to take on a very firm, "merlin has magic but ues not LIKE those other magic users therefore hes ok :) everyone else is evil tho. except the druids (sometimes :|)", whereby merlin using magic is only allowed if hes helping or saving arthur (except all those other times but we dont talk about those i guess) and his stance on magic eventually warps until hes just kind of horrible about it.

100% unpopular opinion but gaius should have died in s2 or 3. he influenced merlin far too much and basically never for the better. sorry to gaius lovers but i do NOT like that old man. he advises merlin EVERY time to not tell morgana about her magic (which she has no control over and therefore is manifesting in ways that will absolutely get her caught), to never help any of the unfairly persecuted people of the episode or even to use magic at all. hes a bootlicking coward who only helped people he cared for or when it suited him. how many people do you think he watched burn simply because he didnt agree with the way they used magic, whether it actually "evil" or not.

merlin's only friends who know about his magic are an old conservative man and a guy who dies right when merlin could have used the support of someone to help him "come out" to arthur about his magic.

im firmly of the opinion that had he told morgana about his magic everything would have been literally fine. because alone and with loterally no support system at all, is it any wonder that morgana would go down the road she did? after years of fear and watching people just like her be burned for the crime of existing, with no prophecy or friends to tell her that it wont always be this way. you dont have to be afraid because youre not the only one and i wont let anything happen to you. oh wait. she did get told that. by MORGAUSE. not about the prophecy but how can they be judged by trying to bring about change by themselves. by trying to kill a king whos killed so many of their own people.

if the intention of the show had been to give a poignant message about the cycle of abuse (morgana succumbing to bitterness and hatred just like uther) or how fear can control you (merlin eventually becoming essentially the bad guy, judging everybody who doesnt use magic the way he sees fit, staying silent and contributing to persecution of magic people because living in fear can make you paranoid and bitter (sound familiar?)) then i would applaud because wow did that make me fucking cry! and hit actually very close to home! and it was tragic and horrible but also inevitable

but as far as i can tell that was not at all the point, because in the end kilgharrah tells merlin the prophecy has been fulfilled, albion is united and magic returned! hurrah! but. um. did i miss something? when did that happen? oh, you mean when gwen is queen....? so.... gwen unites the land of albion and returns magic to the land? except, merlin seems to have lived on until the 21st century of our world and magic is not what i would call flourishing atm.

so i guess my question is... well actually i dont have a question. actually wait i do. what the fuck?

[nixie-deangel]

Hi, I hope you’re doing well, and that I’m not sending too many at once! But how about ✍🏻✍🏻🍼🍼🔥🔥

(I’m a sucker for some insecure Bradley, I can’t lie)

Hi Harry!!! Absolutely not sending to many! (if you want, or anyone does, feel free to send more! I'm actually making slightly more progress my stories because of these! )

(Insecure Bradley is like catnip for me XD)

✍🏻 insecure bradley - hangster

He knows this won't last. None of the things he wants or needs ever do. But Bradley can't help to still want and need it. To need Jake. To want him in all the ways he can. To desperately hope Jake could want him as well. To need him like Bradley does. Bringing his hands up, he scrubs harshly at his face as he lets out a self loathing laugh at the thought though. There was no way Jake would ever truly want him like Bradley does. To need him like Bradley does. Because really, beyond a good fuck and a few moments of fun, what good was Bradley Bradshaw to a man like Jake Seresin? Nothing. That's what good he was, nothing.

🍼 non navy bradley/fighter pilot jake as parents - hangster

Jake knows he's being an asshole. Knows he's being even worse than he'd normally let himself be. But what the fuck was he supposed to do? His little girl, his baby, was halfway around the world and sick. And he was fucking stuck on a carrier in the middle of the damn ocean when she needed him. When Bradley needed him. "You still being a bitch, Bagman?" Shoulders tensing, Jake doesn't turn to watch as Phoenix steps up and settles onto the guard rail he's leaning against. "Not now," he mutters, voice low, dark, just the barest bit threatening. "Yeah well, no one else had the balls to come make sure you unclenched your ass enough to get your head out of it."

🔥 virgin jake - hangster

Jake can't help but frown as he stares up at his tutor. "But wouldn't it make it better, if I were to learn how to please my vampire before I am given to them? Would I not be able to bring them more pleasure and fulfill my purpose better if so?" He watches his teacher's brow raise before they give a small shake of their head at his questioning. "No. No, I am afraid it is best if you do not learn before they are ready to teach you, young one." But before Jake could further question the man, the sound of knocking at the open doorway drew both of their attention and Jake couldn't help but flush as his eyes fell upon his personal guard, Bradley. Whom he wished he could give his heart, and body, too.

Make Nixie Write This Weekend!

[knight-dwx-09]

Return

After a long comfort from Juniper and the young girls including the still confused reaper and trying a different method to separated them like the boost himself and used the leaf which merely lead him to find himself once again. They were ready to went back to Remmant.

Oh yeah, Neo chose to stay there to fix herself. Nothing he should worry about, though he wishes the best for her.

After departing through the door, the five of them meet with the tree in her human form.

She began to retell the story of the god of brother, where two beings were created in the ever after for the purpose to take care of the place. Soon enough, they started to create a living being like the Curious Cat to fulfill theirs and even more. But their experiments became too much for the tree to handle, so it constructed a door to the greater beyond, allowing them to create even more.

She also say that how a dishonest path could cause a unfortunate change, and the horrible things about broken hearts is that there’s nobody send them back for the repair while holding the wooden statue of the cat.

The said cat suddenly hissed in his mind at the comment, seemingly irritated by what she just said.

He had asked if she can remove the cat from him. However, she told him that it was beyond her power, saying the cat and his soul had completely fuse together. If she severed it by forced, his soul will be damaged permanently, worst he could die.

Great, there’s nothing he could do to kick the cat out without gambling his own life.

She also give him Alyx’s knife and he became young again when he grabbed it, joy spread through him as he hold his own young face. He never thought he will never see it ever again, although he was dumbfounded by his own voice when he speak.

CCat: I prefer the old you. It’s much cooler and got the mature aspect around it.

And just like that, his happiness get wash away into the sea.

Soon after, the blacksmith open a portal behind them, a doorway back to Remmant.

CCat: Ohhh, This is so exciting! I can’t wait to see your world. I have been wondering the food there, how is it taste? sweet? Salty? And does the nugget really look like a dinosaur? I also want to meet your friend, especially this Oscar boy who have a old man inside of him. I have a ton of questions for the wizard like how it feel to inhabit the boy body or where the other soul go after he absorbs them. Agh! There’s simply too much I wish to know and see.

His eyes twitch in annoyance, letting out a sigh.

Weiss: Are you really fine?

Jaune: I… not really sure. Not only he irritated me to no end with his questions, I’m still afraid what’s this would do to me, how will it affected my mind as time goes by…

He turned back to Weiss with a confident smile that showed his resolve hadn’t falter.

Jaune: But I won’t let this stop me, I will find a way to get this bastard out of me if that’s the last thing I do.

Seeing him so lively in spite of his condition, all of them smiled.

Yang sling her arm around his neck and pulled him closer, pressing him against her chest and ruffling his hair.

Yang: That’s what I’m talking about! You can’t let that lying pussy win, we are gonna kick that kitty butt as soon he leaves you!

Blake didn’t say anything, merely giving a supportive smile as she place a hand on his shoulder.

Weiss: I can ask for the scientists’s help in Vacuo. I don’t know if they can do anything, though it’s still worth a shot.

Ruby: Don’t worry Jaune! We, team RWBY, are going to help to split you and the cat apart even if it takes years.

Jaune smiled at the young girls, proud for having a great friends around him.

Jaune: Thank guys

CCat: How can you say that Jaune? After everything we have we went through, we are practically a best friend.

Jaune promptly disregarded it.

Blake and Yang were the first to leave as they hold hand, follow by Weiss and then Ruby after she said thank you to the lady. Being the last one to leave, he started walk towards the portal, looking forward to reunion with his team and everyone after years of living alone.

Blacksmith: Wait!

He halted and face back at her.

Jaune: Do you need something?

Blacksmith: Can I request you a favor?

Jaune: what’s that?

Blacksmith: The cat, I know he can be very handful and immature.

Jaune: That put it Lightly.

Blacksmith: But he used to be kind hearted, he simply walk down the wrong path… And he need a good guide like you in his life to help him through. I know this a bit much of me to ask, but... Please, be at his side no matter what.

Both stared each other, not utter a single word for a moment. He turned back and marched into the light as he gives his answer.

Jaune: I will try.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Opinion  Lifelong lessons in coping with fear and humiliation

Age and time usually offer us the gift of learning to take ourselves a lot less seriously.

By Anne Lamott

+

As a woman of faith and cranky optimism, I am usually afraid of only a dozen or so things at any given time, which is a major improvement since childhood. I was the single most scared child on Earth in the 1950s. For instance, I was habitually afraid of being murdered while I slept, so I’d practice looking dead. Then the murderer would peek in my room and think, Hmmm, no one to kill in here; the little girl is already dead.

I don’t do that anymore (very often).

Now I am mostly afraid of my son and grandchild dying before me, beside which all other fears pale. I do worry about falling and breaking my hip. Gravity is a killer. I am, as we speak, on a long airplane flight, hearing a loud mechanical rattle, such as what a wing might make as it works itself off toward freedom. Also, I fear inheriting my mother’s Alzheimer’s, my father’s brain cancer, snakes, the election and the guy behind me coughing.

Maybe worst of all, I have to get my driver’s license renewed fairly soon, which means I have to take the written test. I would rather go to my periodontist and let her do the deep gum planing that she seems to enjoy. Even five years ago when I last went to the DMV to renew my license, I was full of dithery fear, bumbling around like Mr. Magoo on crack cocaine looking for the right counter. To my astonishment, I passed the test.

But now, only five years later, I have to do it again. It’s so wrong.

I notice a difference now: Back then, fear felt like a swamp inside, with Burmese pythons swimming around, patiently, so I sloshed through the DMV. With age, it is more shadowy, a sneaky menace. Ahh — gotcha! — and I’ve learned to quiet it one fright at a time.

They say that babies are born cute so that their fathers won’t eat them, and I think a similar thing takes place when we age. As we look older and somewhat more frail, we have a last chance to coax forth compassion and kindness from the world. As we surrender to the reality that, as we age, most of the systems of body and mind start to go on the fritz, we invite humility into our lives. There is no greater strength.

I am definitely running out of time, and I have (mostly) made peace with that.

When I was a child, one of the most important events of the year was the county fair. My friends and I would go on all the carnival rides and eat all the carnival food. But around 10 p.m., someone would notice the time. We’d have only an hour until our parents arrived. Suddenly we had a new clarity of purpose. We stopped wanting to ride the Gravitron or eat more cotton candy. We wanted to get one more funnel cake and then head for the Ferris wheel. This is what aging feels like. You suddenly realize you’ve got one hour left at the fair, and you get serious about how you are going to live.

Twenty-five years ago, my then-9-year-old son inadvertently helped me see the way: I was racing to an appearance at a theater on the docks of San Francisco Bay, holding a purse, a coffee, a batch of papers and my latest book, and trying to get Sam to hurry up behind me. Suddenly, some pages blew away toward some bored cormorants on the pilings. Sam caught them and then glared at me. “Mom,” he said, “you’re carrying too much, and you’re going too fast.”

You get away with this manic, burdened way of living for the first two-thirds of life, but as you transition to the third third, you start to wonder whether this pattern argues a wasted life. You slow down. You start to actually be here for your life. What a concept.

After all the losses, disappointments and deaths that every older person has experienced, we usually discover how life miraculously goes on, reshapes itself toward homeostasis and more grace than we could have imagined. We learn to look beyond our dire imaginings and trust that this miracle might just happen again. I once heard someone say that hope is faith with a track record.

Take this morning. Something humiliating happened to me professionally. It was not ideal, as I was nearly 3,000 miles and many days away from home.

I felt a kind of cold, vibrating sheet metal fear. It was way too early to wake my husband and close friends back in California. What to do? How to get through the morning, let alone my godforsaken life?

I cried for a moment, then fluffed up the despair with some rage and plans for revenge, which is the Christian way. This steadied me.

Then I remembered something: Deep breath! Oh, right — breathe. Get outside and look up. I dressed and raced out.

The morning’s icy blue sky told me that even though it was very, very cold, the blue was burnished by the sun and was an invitation. More warmth and light was on the way. I usually love the mysticism of clouds more than what I sometimes call the sky’s tyrannical blue, but some days you just can’t beat the brightest blue.

George Saunders said that what he’s learning as he ages into retirement is that “kindness is the only non-delusional response to everything.” I stroked my shoulder like the best mom, who knew how to keep the little patient comfortable.

Next, an overly large, gloriously unhealthy breakfast. Sometimes you need to lift off and fly, but sometimes you need ballast.

Back inside, no longer gasping like a fish on the dock, I picked up the 200-pound phone and risked waking my husband. He was apoplectic on my behalf and then helped me with my plans for vengeance — snake attack, of course, and hemorrhoids. Next I called my Jesuit friend Tom Weston. He said I had to arrange for a burnt offering at my next destination, to appease the ancient Canaanite gods. (They love barbecue.) Also, that the god of his understanding is very willing to help Protestants, most of the time.

His love made me a bit teary, but I found myself laughing with him.

Age and time usually offer us the gift of learning to take ourselves a lot less seriously. We smile ruefully at ourselves more often. And laughter is the Dippity-Do of the spiritual life, jiggly at first and then holding us firmly. The wiggle and jiggle play with your toxic internal attempts to control life, loosening the membrane between you and the moment, you and the ocean, you and your armored intellectual head; you and me. The hold held me like a rock.

[amissafide]

[carnalhaus]

if you STILL find yourself wondering why exactly sledge is so insanely fixated on praline, here u go :p

the whole reason sledge exists as a character is to show the impact praline can have on people. he’s actually not the only character used for this purpose, he just happens to be the only one still presently with her.

it’s worth mentioning that because of this, sledge has nothing else going on in his life. he had a completely normal youth with absolutely nothing traumatizing or strange. and then he met praline, and i think that’s when you really have to put yourself in his position. she quite literally plagues his daily life, he’s constantly responding to calls about this girl, she is the root of everything stressing him out. she’s doing crazy shit, cutting her face open, ripping her trailer apart (in the most literal sense), pulling knives on people, it’s the kind of thing that stays stuck in your mind when it’s the only interesting thing you’ve experienced in your mundane life.

he is very afraid of her because he doesn’t understand her or why she does what she does. he sees her throw herself into these dangerous situations without a care in the world and it’s mind boggling. it’s like watching a deer stare at the headlights. she can save herself, but she doesn’t, and he doesn’t understand. throughout the years that quite literally kept him up at night.

when she dies, the reason he becomes so fixated on it is because of guilt. he ends up realizing how much he failed her when he meets enid and actually *talks* to her, something he never did with praline, and figures out that these girls are just suffering. they were both beyond frustrating and hard to understand, yes, but all they needed was for someone to look at them and listen. he tries repairing this with enid, doing it right this time and actually trying to offer her support outside of her family that doesn’t care for her. hell, he even defends what she does sometimes because he’s so desperate to understand and protect her like he failed to protect praline. enid dying was his worst fear come true, and just a few months later, praline is killed too. both of those are enough to cement in his mind that he has amounted to absolutely nothing in his life. he goes off the rails from carrying the responsibility of two lives, two girls that looked to him for protection, and he didn’t protect them from jack shit.

keep in mind stuff like this isn’t really uncommon, in a sense. i went to an alternative school where a majority of the students there had horrible behavioral issues sparked by abusive homes, witnessing murders, involvement in gang activity, the foster system, etc etc. i even found myself getting irritated with certain people sometimes because no matter how hard you tried to understand why they did what they did, it just wouldn’t make sense, they wouldn’t listen. to put it in perspective, praline is exactly like these kids. she’s frustrating to the point where all you want to do is give up on her because she’s a lost cause. that’s what sledge did, that’s what most people do to kids like this.

he views her as a jesus christ figure because above all else, she quite literally “came back.” he ruined his life over guilt, and now he has to live with the fact that she’s alive, here, in front of him, staring at him, and he can’t go back and undo anything. he can’t get his job back, he can’t go back home, he can’t show his face anywhere, and it’s all because of her. he really has no other choice at this point but to stay with her, stat, and enid, because what else is he good for ? absolutely nothing. finding her was probably the only influential thing he’s ever amounted to in his boring miserable life. he’s dedicated to them because there is genuinely nothing else he’s useful for in the world.

it’s still mind boggling to him that she’s still alive, again put yourself in his position. that trailer had the bodies of six girls in it, all killed and torn apart, there is no logical way that she should’ve been able to get away that night. he was hanging onto a delusion that he wasn’t even fully sure he believed in because it was so outrageous, and it turned out to be true.

meanwhile, praline doesn’t think about him much. he’s not any different from other people in her life, ignoring her, doubting her, turning a blind eye. but there’s something deep down, in her 16 year old self way down there, that wants to keep him here. maybe not consciously, but she still holds onto the silly fantasy that maybe he actually can help her one day. but i think she knows that time has already long passed and now he’s just hanging around like a useless ghost repeating the motions from way back when. she can still wish he did something though.

[eyesaremosaics]

The world is in such a state, that I feel embarrassed sharing my thoughts or feelings about anything, especially something as petty as my personal problems.

I’m writing today for myself, and maybe someone out there can relate.

I’ve been going through changes for a while now. I’m definitely experiencing a spiritual awakening I have had many encounters (some I initiated, but most having to do with the random crossing of paths) that were very healing, some after ten years or more of silence between us. It’s almost like… all the wounding that I did and that was done to me in my twenties has come full circle.

I have felt overflowing love, understanding, as well as a consciousness of my part to play in every relationship/situation. It was painful to look at my shadow self so clearly. To peel back the layer of victimhood, and realize that maybe I was the problem, in many respects.

Yet in this process of fully realizing my faults, I have developed something I never had before: compassion for myself. I understand why I was the way I was, and looking back, I was able to see just how far I’ve come. It was a good feeling, a proud feeling. Tying off loose ends energetically from so many people from my past. People who were major players in my story (and I in theirs).

It’s bittersweet, the forgiveness is heartfelt on both sides, yet the empty echo of what was, and will never be again lingers on. Yet the older I get, the more I realize it’s all perspective.

With the impending eclipse, I have felt this urge to transform. This shedding of skin. I keep peeling it off like strips, like the bark from a very old tree. I’m uncomfortable being “comfortable”. I keep thinking beyond me, I constantly leave my body, float up to god knows where.

This quiet dissociation gets me into trouble.

On the regular.

Like a fever dream you live on, a heartbeat in my head. All the dreams, your shadowed face. All apologies. Wanting to speak to me. Whispering words I can’t remember upon waking. It feels like energetic stalking. Sitting on all these words I’ve written.

All the perspective I’ve gained in recent weeks… on each past relationship I had. The gifts I got from each lover, what I learned, and how I’ve changed. I harbor no anger toward any of them anymore. I understand it all. I see it from a Birds Eye view. The drop in the bucket, rippling out into ocean blue. The reverberation spills into areas I don’t even realize, to people I’ve never met.

Sitting with all the ugly things I’ve said and done in my life.

Comforted by the fact that in my heart I know I never meant any harm. I know myself now. I know I never hurt anyone on purpose. I was just trying to survive, through so much trauma and pain, just as they were.

I have compassion for each of them, and I also have compassion for myself.

The only way you can shift your beingness, is to live by example. Just be the thing you wish to see. Show up differently, and consistently. The more you practice, the easier it gets.

I’m doing a cleanse to prepare for the Ayahuasca ceremony. I need the purge, I need to purify my spirit. They say the first session is like opening a Pandora’s box. The second open heart surgery, the third is repair, or sewing you back up. I need this hard reset more than I can explain.

My friend Alejandro did the ceremony after both of his parents died rather suddenly. Therapy wasn’t working, so he tried Ayahuasca, and said it was like 100 therapy sessions in one. He said his dead mother (whom he had been very close to) came down and wrapped her arms around him and held him while he cried. He knew he didn’t have to be so sad anymore, because she was always around him, whenever he needed her. Powerful stuff.

I am a little afraid to open the Pandora’s box of all the SA I’ve experienced. I lost count. It’s really sad. I don’t talk about my traumas anymore, mainly because it just makes everyone around me uncomfortable. Plus I don’t like the way people change how they are towards you. It’s a part of my past, but it doesn’t define me. I am not what happened to me.

Fearful that I will have to relive some of these memories. Hoping to connect with some of those who have passed on. Hoping to resolve this thing with you that keeps cropping up in my mind nearly a decade later. Why is it surfacing now?

I used to write poetry. Now I don’t feel confident enough to string words together.

Yet I express myself in other ways. Or do I? Am I merely stunted? I feel like I can’t be myself with my partner, or with many people I am forced to deal with on a regular basis.

Started just being myself again, regardless of how I think it will be received. This has been to greet results. Yet I fear I am outgrowing many of my relationships… this is uncomfortable, as some of these are my primary anchors. Hoping to get clear about these things in the coming months.

I feel different, I’m not who I was, but I’m still in a state of becoming.

So many old wounds resurfacing. I know this is a time of healing, and I am eager to receive all the light.

Hoping you are all feeling the changes too in your own lives. Curious to hear if you’ve had similar things come up for you in these trying times… especially with all the transits taking place.

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Damage Gets Done - SAS: Rogue Heroes x OC - Chapter 1

Masterlist | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11

Summary: Seeking support for the foundation of the SAS, David Stirling finds himself a new recruit in the most unlikely of places, and Diana Fayed is offered her first opportunity to make a real difference in the conflict that has taken over her home.

Relationships: L Detachment x Platonic!OC, eventual Reg Seekings x OC

Warnings: Mentions of violence, language, descriptions of injury and sickness (fever, vomiting), death

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags: Please let me know if you wish to be tagged!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The room was spinning, the fountain - now broken beyond repair - spilling out a pool of water that edged slowly closer and closer. There was blood on her hands. On her chest, on her face, the taste of it reaching her tongue. One of her eyes was swelling shut, but even as her vision began to blur, she could not tear it from the body at her feet - him sprawled across the tiles, lying on his face, her sitting silently beside him, leaning back on her elbows, the metal pipe in her hand leaving her palm cold and numb.

There were footsteps echoing off the walls, approaching from the corridor behind her, speeding up from a stroll to a run, getting louder and louder with each passing second. But the sound scarcely reached her, the thrumming of her heartbeat the only thing that felt real. Solid. The only thing she could truly focus on.

How did she get here? Was this her mission - her purpose?

The footsteps reached her, and she grew aware of a figure standing beside her, pausing a moment to take in the chaos.

"... Fucking hell."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

David Stirling marched along the streets of Cairo with purpose, an idea blooming and taking root further in his mind with each laboured step, his crutches clacking noisily against the cobbles. The sun scorched the exposed skin of his scalp, and he cursed the layers of woollen that made him sweat so profusely.

This was a long way to come - especially alone, and especially in his condition - but Stirling was seeking affirmation in the best place he could think of. The SAS was an insane, reckless, borderline insubordinate notion. Who better to seek approval from than a General known for his insubordination, recklessness, and insanity?

Armed men were posted at either side of the mansion's main entrance as he approached, keeping watch with as much seriousness as if they were guarding Buckingham Palace itself. The pair watched David with keen eyes, and he tried to ignore them as best he could as he stepped up to the door, rapping upon the wood with his knuckles.

Barely a moment passed before it was flung open, and Stirling almost stepped back in surprise, his grip on his crutches tightening. He had expected a butler, or another guard perhaps. What he had not expected was to be greeted by General Hannigan himself - peering up at him between a thick brow and even thicker moustache, his front emblazoned with countless medals from the Great War.

"Ah! Stirling, I take," the General smiled, ushering him inside. "You look rather like your mother. Ears like your father, though, I'm afraid," He sighed, offering a sympathetic shrug. David might have been offended somewhat had he not been so busy being utterly taken aback by the man as he followed him deep within the house. He had heard stories about Hannigan - of his maverick tactics on the battlefield, of his staunch dislike of any authority that wasn't his own - and even remembered meeting him briefly at Keir many years ago. But somehow the General still defied his expectations.

The house seemed to expand exponentially on all sides, every surface covered in souvenirs from travels all over the world. At the centre of the building, an open hallway snaked around the perimeter of a large courtyard, palm trees casting shade in every corner, a huge fountain bubbling away in the middle. One of the garden tables was littered with military papers, at least half of which Stirling was undoubtedly forbidden from reading. Nevertheless, Hannigan invited him to sit without making any effort to conceal them. "Right, tell me about this idea of yours, then. I've heard it's really something," He prompted, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

But as David laid out the plan for his proposed regiment, littering enticing images of destruction and mayhem to further draw him in, he found his spiel derailed, distracted by two figures on the other side of the courtyard. One was a huge brute of a man, tattoos covering his muscled arms, handlebar moustache sliced through by a scar that covered much of his top lip - even from here it was as if he could sense the force that would come with each blow as he raised his fists. Standing against him however, was a girl. A whole head shorter than her opponent, bruised knuckles bared, she watched him with dark, sharp eyes, peering out from beneath freckled skin, an unruly mane of curls piled high atop her head. They were smiling at each other, smirking as if they had done this a hundred times before, and without a word of warning the man leapt at her. Before he could blink, the pair were going at it, wrestling against each other's bodies, hurling blows, their feet occasionally slipping against the polished tile floor.

Hannigan followed Stirling's gaze, and a pleased grin tugged at his expression. "Oh, yes. That's my Diana," He passed a glance at his watch. "If she's sparring already, we must be having tea soon. Perhaps you would join us?"

He ignored this offer, watching intently as they fought. Everything he had come to learn led him to expect that she would lose - that this man would hurl her on her back, knock her down with one blow, that she would be crushed beneath his hulking weight. But she was not. She held her own - hell, she seemed to enjoy it, grinning every time she sent her opponent reeling, clutching at his nose or crotch.

"She's good," He nodded.

"Well, she'd better be. She's been training near twenty years longer than any of your boys."

Stirling barely had time to respond to this before an ear-splitting crack echoed across the yard, making him cringe. He was unable to tell where it had come from until the man was knocked flat on his back and finally yielded, taking a moment to nurse his wrist, pain contorting his expression as Diana turned to approach the table.

"We'll need to find someone else for a while," She informed her father breathlessly, her fringe plastered to her forehead with sweat. "I think his wrist is broken."

"Very well," The General nodded, his tone startlingly non-committal despite the grunts of pain still coming from the man in the corner. "Diana, this is David Stirling - He's founding an exceptionally interesting new regiment, sounds like something you'd be interested in."

At this, David raised a brow, opening his mouth to speak but receiving no chance as Diana stepped forward, extending a hand to introduce herself. "Ah. Diana Fayed, a pleasure to meet you-?"

"Lieutenant," He nodded politely, accepting her hand with a shake, before suddenly remembering what her father had said. Still gripping her palm in his own, he turned his gaze back to the General. "Sorry, one moment - what do you mean she would be interested?"

"Oh, you really ought to take her with you, David. It's about time she saw some real action - not much use keeping her here so she can break the bones of every un-enlisted man in Cairo, is it?"

Stirling frowned, his brow creased with uncertainty. "Are you... familiar with parachutes, Diana?"

"Not intimately. Although I daresay I could manage it without paralysing myself," She smiled, and he suspected she knew more about him than he had previously thought. It suddenly occurred to him that this was exactly the type of person he was searching for to join his unit, and had she been a man he would have accepted her on the spot. It appeared the only person not thinking clearly here had been David himself.

"Have you enlisted?" He asked.

"Don't worry about that," Hannigan waved a hand dismissively. "I'll get the paperwork through by tonight, it's no matter. Now, let's call for some tea-"

"Actually," Diana interrupted. "I'm going out." With an affectionate kiss to her father's temple, she turned away, and made it halfway across the courtyard before calling out. "Aren't you coming, David?"

Unsure of what to make of such a family, Stirling's gaze travelled slowly from her to the General still sitting opposite him. Hannigan shrugged. "Don't look at me, son. Just do as she tells you, and you'll make it out alive."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

In all his life, David Stirling had never met anyone quite as bad at driving as himself. Until now, that was. Streaking at blinding speed down the streets of Cairo, he could have sworn the wheels lifted off of the ground on one side of their car as Diana took the corner at speed, her hair flying wildly at all angles in the wind. At one point, she almost hit a tradesman as he scurried about in the street attempting to hock some watches, and called out over her shoulder in Arabic a string of what was either apologies or curses - both of which seemed equally likely to him at the time.

"So, the plan is to raid the airfields and destroy the planes before they can take off, yes?" She asked, the vehicle slowing to a somewhat manageable speed. Stirling felt the sudden and rare urge to thank some higher power.

"That's right, yes. It's never been done before, which is why I need to find some mad, tough bastards to do it."

"You have anyone in mind?" Diana turned to look at him, tearing her eyes from the road, and he fought to suppress a yelp as they crossed a busy junction without so much as a pause.

"... Have you heard of Paddy Mayne?" Stirling asked, his fingers digging into the side of the leather seat to steady himself as they rounded another tight corner.

"Heard of him? I've met him - at least I think I have. Saw him in a bar a few months ago, he mistook me for a prostitute and then got arrested for punching some bloke's teeth out."

"That was... definitely Paddy," He admitted, running a hand over his brow.

"Well, he seems a good fit. If you can get him out of Ghadzi, that is," They drove in silence for a while, slowing as they reached traffic. "Where was it you needed us to go, by the way?"

"I will be getting out on the corner and going to the nearest bar I can find in an attempt to make myself forget every minute I've spent in this car with you, Diana. You will be going to Ghadzi, to pick up Paddy Mayne."

She raised a brow. "What?"

"I've already gotten him out of prison, it's all sorted. They will, however, be in need of a lift, and this car is... very large."

The pair rolled to a halt at the changing light, and Stirling seized the opportunity to get out of the vehicle, taking his crutch with him as he clambered out and closed the door. Before he could walk away, he bent down to poke his head through the open window. "Oh, and... let one of the others drive once you get there."

Diana chuckled, leaning across the passenger seat to call after him as he began to leave. "You're going to want to stop at the second nearest bar! The first one is... It's really bad."

"I will take that to heart," David nodded, and they offered each other one last smirk before parting ways.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Diana was leaning up against the bonnet of her car, hand raised to shield her eyes from the blinding afternoon sun as Paddy Mayne stepped out of the gates to Ghadzi Prison, deep in conversation with the man at his side. He appeared filthy and battered, but ultimately in no worse condition than he had been in the first time they had met. The man with him was dressed in the standard army uniform, head tilted towards Mayne as he muttered into his ear, occasionally letting out a huff of amusement at something the man said. Neither of them seemed to notice her presence until the moment she spoke.

"Lieutenant Mayne?" She called. For a moment, he looked irritated that someone had interrupted him, severing his train of thought, but once it appeared to register who was standing before him, he sighed.

"Noooo. No. No, no," Mayne shook his head, raising a hand as if to bat her away whilst his companion watched on with a furrowed brow. "Whatever you've been sent for, I'm not fuckin' interested, alright?"

"Well, Stirling was certainly under the impression that you were coming," Diana shrugged, watching as Paddy's expression twisted with indignation.

"You know Stirling now, do you? Christ alive, he'll let anyone in, won't he?"

"Do you know her, Paddy?" The other man asked, slotting his hands into his pockets as his gaze flitted between the two.

"I'm Diana Fayed," She smiled politely, and he returned the gesture, reaching out to shake her hand.

"Eoin McGonigal."

"Aye, we've met," Paddy scowled. "Handed me over to the MP's, she did."

"I did not. I suggested you should be removed from a club after you punched a man so hard half of his teeth fell out. And, if I remember correctly, you mistook me for a prostitute and tried to pay me to leave you alone."

McGonigal let out a bark of laughter at this as Mayne passed his weight from foot to foot, staring at Diana as he found himself suddenly short of reasons to be angry at her. With a clench of his jaw, he tore his gaze away from her, folding his arms tightly across his chest as he leaned his back up against the side of the car.

"Parachuting into the fucking desert," He muttered, his head still shaking side to side, seemingly unable to suppress the motion since the moment he had left the prison.

"It would seem so," Diana confirmed.

"General Hannigan's daughter, she is," Paddy told Eoin nonchalantly, gesturing to her with one hand.

"Oh, really?"

"Adopted," She shrugged - an answer that seemed to satisfy them all.

It fell silent between them, just long enough to become awkward. Diana craned her head to the side, glancing back at the traffic passing by behind them. Becoming suddenly agitated at their stillness, she let out a huff, turning to seize the passenger door handle. "Alright, let's go-"

"Nope." Paddy shook his head. She planted a hand on her hip, gnawing the inside of her lip irritably.

"Why?"

"Waiting."

"For who?"

His head lolled to the side, the corner of his mouth curling upwards in a smile she could tell was intended to annoy her. "Fresh meat."

Opening her mouth, she found her tongue had run dry of anything to say. Her gaze darted momentarily to Eoin, who stood to the side with his hands in his pockets, waiting patiently and quietly, content to ignore Paddy's attempts at riling her. Looking back at Paddy, she finally spoke, her jaw clenched. "... What?"

At that moment, the door to Ghadzi was pulled open again, the rusted metal hinges drawn back with an uncomfortable screech. As the guard stepped aside, a man emerged into the daylight, peering up at the bright sky above him. Blonde hair slicked back away from his face, he sported a slew of minor cuts and bruises, littered across his face and knuckles. He carried a small bag of his belongings and walked with a confident swagger, and it became alarmingly clear that this was Paddy's idea of a good candidate... although she wasn't entirely sure he was wrong.

"This is Reg," Mayne introduced, pushing himself away from the car with his boot, leaving a muddy imprint of his heel upon the door that made Diana frown.

"Pleasure to meet you," Eoin stepped forward, offering his hand. He seemed by far the most agreeable of the bunch, accepting Reg's handshake as the newly released soldier eyed him up and down.

"Another fucking Paddy," Reg teased, his accent thick, gaze travelling back and forth between the other two men as Eoin let out a chuckle. "This regiment isn't all fucking Paddies, is it?"

"Nah, not all, we have women too, eh?" Mayne teased, giving Diana a playful slap on the shoulder. Side-eyeing him, she stepped closer towards Reg, reaching out for a handshake. If Paddy Mayne sought to make her regret coming here, she would ensure he found it awfully hard work.

"Oh, yeah?" Seekings asked distractedly, shaking her hand as they introduced themselves to one another. He treated her far more graciously than he had the others, and she couldn't help but wonder how long he had been in Ghadzi - how long it had been since he'd last seen a woman.

"Right, if there's no one else lurking inside we need to collect, shall we go?" Diana asked, and Paddy nodded, the party turning towards the car. She had made it all the way to the driver's side door before she paused, her hand hovering over the handle before withdrawing. "David ordered that someone else drive the car. Apparently, I display 'a concerning disregard for the sanctity of human life', according to him."

Seekings laughed at this, and Paddy agreed to take the wheel, shunting her into the backseat. It would be a long drive to Kabrit, and God knows how long before she would see her father or her home again. For as long as she could remember, she had been preparing for this moment, fighting all her life to make herself into a soldier her father would be proud of. She was his prodigy, his legacy, and it was only now that she was here, swaying with each turning as they wove through the city and out towards the desert, did she realise what enormous pressure she was under.

The year had been 1920, some time after Diana Fayed's third birthday, although the exact date of this had long been lost to years of inadequate record-keeping. The ceiling of the tiny flat hung low, drapes covering every window to shield its inhabitants from the fierce afternoon sun, the water in the glass upon the table slowly evaporating in the sweltering heat. Years down the line, Diana would remember little of this time, save for the overpowering stench of sweat and sickness that bathed the place, an ever-present reminder of the life that ebbed further away from her mother day after day as she lay, curled up in the bed they shared, passing in and out of delirium, weak groans escaping her dry throat. A fever ravaged her body, droplets of sweat beading on every inch of her skin save for the dry flesh of her lips, which had grown chapped and cracked as she found herself increasingly unable to hold down food or drink, her vomit coming more and more watery with each passing day.

They could not afford a doctor. They could scarcely afford anything since the day Diana had been born, her father's death on the Middle Eastern front savagely ripping away the only real income they had. When she had been strong, her mother had been a seamstress, sewing gowns for the wealthy white women who lived on the nicer side of Cairo. When Diana had been a baby, she had been strapped to her mother's back, carried to and from their home to the lavish houses of her clientele, and laid to rest in a wicker basket as the woman worked away at her sewing machine, the constant whirring soothing the infant to sleep.

But once the sickness had set in, everything had stopped - the walks across the city, the comforting sound of work, the money. There was little food left in the flat, and what they did have was turning sour in the oppressive heat, flies gathering in the corners of the room, feasting on the fruit that had gone too foul to eat. For weeks now, Diana had survived on little more than scraps of bread, the meats and cheeses running out a few days prior. She had grown thin, waiting for her mother to die, her ribs sticking out under the thin fabric of her shirt.

When her mother finally died, her last breath escaping her in a violent fit of coughs, the sound of the child's inconsolable crying had alerted the neighbours, and an old woman had come to the door, holding a scarf to her face to ward off the stench that now permeated every inch of the place. She had taken Diana's tiny body in her arms, feeding her out of her bountiful pantry before taking her to the orphanage, handing her over to live among the other children who had lost their parents to war, sickness and poverty. She could not remember if Diana had been the name she had been born with, but somewhere along the line, it had become hers. She had always been Fayed. The people she had grown up around remembered her father, remembered his loss and remembered his name. If she had lost everything else she had been born into, she had always kept her father's name, the sound of it as it rolled off her tongue a constant reminder of how far she had come.

General Rupert Hannigan had saved her. He had brought her out of the gutter and into his home, had called her his daughter and never made her relinquish the name that had once been hers. The least she could do was make him proud.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Are you sure about this, David?" Jock Lewes asked sceptically, brow raised as the pair examined the file put before them. It had been alarming how swiftly these papers had found their way to Stirling's desk, as if Hannigan had had Diana's file assembled years ago, keeping it close to his chest, waiting for a chance to send her out onto the battlefield. As her photograph stared back at him, Stirling remembered watching her in the courtyard - the way she had taken that beast of a man down in moments, shattering his bone without hardly breaking a sweat. When the SAS had been but a figment of David Stirling's imagination, he had not known it yet, but Diana Fayed had been exactly the soldier he had in mind.

"I'm sure."

"You really want her?"

Stirling looked over to the man beside him. What they were doing was insane. It was unthinkable, the first of its kind, and unspeakably dangerous. And he realised then that this was one of the only things he was really, truly certain of.

"I need her, Jock."

[beatrice-otter]

Fic: Amber

fffx has now revealed authors! I wrote a fic that was, er, exactly in my wheelhouse, I would not be surprised if people clocked it was me. I feel people on the TGE discord especially are likely to have suspected, because I've brought up "given the technological level, they really SHOULD have trains, why don't they?" on more than one occasion. And then I couldn't resist writing a fic that is (partly) about that. And partly about politics and 'soft' power, and Csethiro and Maia's relationship.

Title: Amber Author: beatrice_otter Fandom: The Goblin Emperor Length: 11,698 words Rating: General Audiences Written For: swingandswirl in fffx 2024

Summary: "The Ethuveraz has been trapped in amber for a very long time. Preserved, beautiful, but … not useful. Not able to go out and do things. Not able to grow or change. Not like the rest of the world has."

On AO3. On Squidgeworld. On Dreamwidth. Rebloggable on pillowfort and cohost.

The Ethuveraz was a backwards place. That was obvious to anyone with a modicum of education who wasn't a hopeless chauvinist.

"Which is why, of course," Vedero said dryly when Csethiro said it, "that much of the Untheileneise Court believes us to be the height of modernity and the center of the world."

Csethiro snorted in an unladylike fashion and leaned back, tucking her feet under herself. She hadn't been a part of Archduchess Vedero's set before her engagement; Vedero was just enough years older to make an awkward gap when Csethiro had been a girl, and her friends were more likely to read academic treatises than adventure novels, as Csethiro's friends were. But she had cultivated her new sister-in-law's favor since the engagement, as she had cultivated Arbelan's, so that the Drazhadeise women might have a united front.

"I should invite thee the next time Maia has a family dinner with his Aunt Nadeian," Csethiro said. "Her description of daily life in the Corat Dav Arhos was … well. She was very good at not being too obvious that she thought us all backward country rubes, easily dazzled."

"Considerate," Vedero said, "since Edrehasivar is one, no matter how he tries to hide it."

Which was true; but Csethiro was most definitely not one, at least not by Ethuveraz standards, and it had been somewhat galling to have her nose rubbed into the fact that she might be by Barizheise ones. "Maia was fascinated with the idea of railroad trains from a mechanical standpoint," Csethiro said. "Apparently they make models of them, much like his model Istandaärtha Bridge. I've no doubt he'll get one as a present from his Aunt or his Grandfather at the next suitable opportunity to give a gift."

"Those are very hard to come by, in the Ethuveraz," Vedero said. "If he'd be willing to put it on public display for a time, I have several friends who would love to spend hours studying it. Not to mention playing with it."

"And why are they hard to come by in the Ethuveraz?" Csethiro asked. "We have craftsmen enough, and my husband can't be the only one who'd want one."

Vedero shrugged. "I am not one to study mechanics, nor the flow of trade; I have friends who might be able to answer that question, if thou art truly interested?"

Csethiro thought about it. "I think Maia would like to know the answer more than I would. He likes to know things, but is always afraid of being censured for the dreadful state of his education, so he hides both his ignorance and his curiosity."

Vedero nodded; she had undoubtedly noticed that herself.

"What I would like to know," Csethiro said, "is why we don't have the real thing. Models are all well and good but they serve little purpose beyond amusement. Real trains would be a boon to trade within the Ethuveraz. I'm told that some Ethuverazeise cities have little trains called trams for people to ride from one side of the city to the other. The technology exists; we can build the rails and the engines to run on them. Why don't we have trains outside of cities? It would seem to be much easier to build a rail line in the countryside than in the middle of a city."

"I suppose," Vedero said thoughtfully, "it's because we have such an excellent river network, and also because we are the best in the world at building airships. We don't need trains to go from city to city."

"The rivers are all well and good if you're trying to ship something down to Barizhan, or in the eastern half of the Ethuveraz," Csethiro pointed out, "but there are no great rivers in the western half—especially not up in Thu-Evresar. And from what Merrem Vizhenka was saying, railroads are faster than river travel or airships, cost less to build than canals, and can ship a great deal more cargo—or people—than an airship. While also being significantly safer to build, maintain, and operate." She shrugged. "At least according to Merrem Vizhenka. We are, apparently, the foremost manufacturers of airships because nobody else considers them worth the expense and danger; there are cheaper and safer ways of moving people and cargo quickly overland."

Vedero thought for a bit. "Assuming that Merrem Vizhenka was being completely honest and not, say, shading the truth to get the Emperor to favor railroads for the benefit of Goblin merchants, I do not know."

"She could have been doing both, of course," Csethiro said. "Being completely honest and trying to get Maia to favor the railroads for the benefit of Barizheise merchants." Merrem Vizhenka was a soldier's wife, not a diplomat's wife, and her husband had been chosen for his post at least partly because she was Maia's aunt. Still, if she weren't canny and loyal, she wouldn't be here.

Vedero dipped her ears in acknowledgement. "I do not know why the Ethuveraz does not use rail, but there are several people in my circles who are interested in steam-powered machinery; perhaps one of them will know."

"I would appreciate an introduction," Csethiro said.

***

Csethiro had expected the introduction to happen in Vedero's apartments over a ladies' tea, the sort of thing the Court took little notice of. If not that, perhaps at a salon Vedero hosted, which were becoming more and more fashionable as Vedero's position solidified within the court.

Instead, Maia received an invitation to view an amazing automaton of a horse (which had apparently been a unicorn at one time). And given how few places the Emperor went, it was sure to be noticed and gossiped about. Which was probably the point, when Csethiro thought about it; it was a way of signaling the Emperor's favor without directly saying anything. She took note of the tactics.

Dach'osmin Tativin was a short, plump woman with a button nose and lilac eyes. She wore a dress that did not fit the current court fashions, or any other fashion Csethiro was familiar with. She was also shockingly tactless, which was something Csethiro had not thought it possible to be at Court. After a half-hour's conversation, instead of being astonished that a daughter of marriageable age was allowed to live away from Court for most of the year, she began to be astonished that Dach'osmin Tativin was allowed at Court at all.

The horse was interesting, though; Csethiro had never seen an automaton of that size before, and though it would be more impressive if it could walk, it bowed its head and pawed the floor in a manner very similar to what a real horse would have done.

The horse was merely one of Dach'osmin Tativin's toys, and Maia and Csethiro were given a thorough tour of all of them before they were allowed to sit down for refreshments. Maia was enthralled. Csethiro would have been a bit bored, honestly; she did not need to see them all demonstrated and explained in quite that much exhaustive detail. But Maia's delight was contagious, and it was a rare treat to see him lose his self-conscious reserve. It was something Csethiro seldom managed to achieve. Unfortunately, not being a maker of novel devices, she could not try Tativin's methodology. But at last they were all sitting down to tea and pastries, and Csethiro could ask her question.

"It's the land rights, of course," Tativin said, nibbling delicately at a cheese puff. "And the question of tolls. And we don't have enough engineers. But mostly it's the land rights."

"Oh," said Csethiro. She had—quite naively—assumed that the problem would be a technical one. She tried to think through a possible route—say, from Csedo to Cevezho. Two towns with resources and a growing proportion of craftsmen, but no large rivers nearby to transport the goods they made to distant markets. Ideal for a railroad, to get their goods to the Istandaärtha and the cities that dotted it. Csedo was an Imperial town, and neither beholden to the local prince for governance nor required to pay taxes to him; they regularly had conflicts with the Prince of Thu-Istandaär. He would need to approve any such route; would he allow it, for such benefit to a town he was jealous of? And Csedo was near the border with Barizhan. Surely they would wish a railroad south to their Goblin neighbors and the larger markets beyond, and the Prince would like that even less. Such goods would pay tariffs at the border but not any taxes to the Thu-Istandaär. If they chose a route which led only through lands the Prince did not directly own, it might be possible to force it through against his will, but only if the Corazhas decided that a road with rails was not like any other kind of road between cities, which were automatically under the jurisdiction of the prince of the province. "We see. Who would own the rails themselves? Who would govern them?" (Who would profit from them?)

"In Barizhan, there are a variety of privately-owned rail companies," Tativin said. "They buy up land—or in some cases merely the rights to use it—for every new rail line they put in. They own the land, they own the rails, they own the engines and hire the people to run them. Then they get all the profit from the cargo they move and the tickets they sell."

"It must be very expensive, to buy up that much land," Maia said thoughtfully. "As opposed to airships, which do not take any more land than is needed for mooring masts."

"And of course most of the land in the Ethuveraz either belongs to the Emperor or to the noble houses or to itself with a witness to steward it," Csethiro said. "It cannot be sold, only inherited or gifted by the crown."

"It could be leased, which given a long-enough term would be as good for the purposes of most companies," Tativin said. "It's getting the nobles in question to agree to it, is the problem. Half of them disapprove on principle, think it would just encourage their peasants to run off to the city instead of staying home and working the estates. Or think it would let in foreign ideas. Or think that the merchants are getting too influential already. The ones that would be inclined to lease their lands all want the rights to put tolls on the railroads just as they would on a tributary river flowing through their territory. Which quickly adds up to enough money to make the project unfeasible."

"We do not think that putting a vital link of commerce under the sole power of the nobles would be a good idea," Maia said. "And we do not know that putting it under the power of a company would be any better. There is a reason the Istandaärtha belongs to the Crown."

"You mean besides the fact that the tolls on cargo moved along it are a significant part of the Drazhadeise purse?" Csethiro said.

"At least in theory, an Emperor should be working for the good of the Ethuveraz as a whole, not merely the profit of a part of it," Maia said.

Tativin snorted. "Not historically …" she muttered.

"The Istandaärtha belongs to the crown because it is too vital to be prey to petty squabbles," Maia said. His ears twitched as he thought it through, earrings shivering delicately. "Trade and messages cannot be held hostage to local problems. Surely, if there were to be railroads connecting cities that cannot reach each other by river, the principle would be the same."

"You would want any railroads to belong to the Emperor, as the Istandaärtha does?" Tativin said. "That would solve some of the land rights issues…."

"But it would greatly offend the princes, since roads without rails belong to them," Csethiro said. "And besides. You are both getting far ahead of yourselves. The Wisdom Bridge is barely started, and it required a significant amount of political capital to achieve. And it is much simpler a project than building an entire road network made out of rails. You'd need the Corazhas on your side, and probably the Houses of Blood and the House of Commons. They are unlikely to be very receptive to a second massive building project when the first is only just begun."

Maia's eyes lost their animation, though his ears held steady. "You are right, of course," he said. "We should not become caught up in cloud fancies. With the bridge, there already existed a large and diverse group of people who wished ardently for it and had all the plans ready. We merely ensured that they were heard, rather than ignored."

"You did quite a bit more than that, Serenity," Csethiro pointed out. "And it was more than your father ever managed." She was gratified to see that Maia smiled at her; she hadn't meant to douse his fire, merely channel it before he committed himself prematurely.

"There's an even larger faction that wants railroads," Tativin said. "Even many people who wanted the Istandaärtha bridged did not support the Clocksmiths, because they did not believe it possible. But railroads cannot be dismissed as a cloud fancy; many countries have them. And even, on a smaller scale, many cities in the Ethuveraz."

That might be true, but it would be some time before Maia had the political capital to bring another ambitious building project before the Corazhas. And while the Wisdom Bridge had been of a novel design, the principle of bridges was well-established: who owned them, who had the right to use them, who had the right to put tolls on them, who had the responsibility to maintain them. For railroads, all of those questions would have to be ironed out. "You mentioned other problems besides the political," Csethiro said. "A shortage of engineers?"

"Oh, gods, don't get us started," Tativin said. She heaved a sigh. "We don't really have any in the Ethuveraz, not the way Barizhan does. No places to train them."

"We beg your pardon," Maia said. "But what, exactly, is an engineer? Do they run engines?"

"No, Serenity, an engineer builds engines," Tativin said. "Designs them. And designs other things, too; any large mechanism, for example. Or the railroad itself—there is quite a lot of specialized knowledge required to figure out how and where to lay the tracks. As we discovered when we tried to build a railroad between two of our father's estates."

"What happened?" Csethiro asked.

"Oh, any number of things went wrong, and a great deal of it had to be ripped out and done again," Tativin said. "And our father thought it the greatest waste of time and money imaginable. Then there was the engine itself—we bought it, and had it shipped in at great expense. And then we had to train people to run it and maintain it, no small feat. But it works now, and saves a good deal of time and money when things must be shipped back and forth."

"And has it made up the cost in making it?" Csethiro asked.

"Of course not," Tativin said. "May not ever. If we could extend it to the nearest city and use it to ship our grain and things to market, then it probably would. But we were mostly interested in proof of concept, and in seeing it work." She sighed. "We wanted to build the engine ourselves, but our father forbade it. Too dangerous, he said, and we are not sure whether he knew enough about steam engines to know they can explode if made incorrectly or handled wrong, or if he knows so little that he thought they are as dangerous as making airships. He's not a stupid man, our father, but he'd not notice if the rest of the world disappeared, as long as his horses and his dogs were spared."

This being far from the worst thing Tativin had said about someone in the time they'd been in her apartments, Csethiro merely wondered how much similarity there might be between Tativin and her father; she suspected that Tativin wouldn't notice if the rest of the world disappeared, so long as her steam engines were spared.

Tativin continued in her response to Maia's earlier question. "But a real railroad—one between cities, not merely between two neighboring estates—would require a lot of engineers with more training than we have managed to cobble together. Then there would be the manufacture of steel for rails, and the manufacture of the train engine and cars—the design and manufacturing would take far more people with specialized training than the Ethuveraz currently possesses."

"How does one train an engineer?" Maia asked.

"In the Ethuveraz, one doesn't," Tativin said. "Architecture and mathematics are taught in the universities, but not engineering. The Clocksmiths' Guild has been experimenting with steam engines for quite some time; many clocksmiths these days spend very little time working on clocks and mostly build other things. But there aren't enough of them, and most masters only have a handful of apprentices and journeyman at a time, so the guild grows very slowly. And of course the military trains men to build and design things using similar principles, but they only work on projects for the Army. The airship companies and others that need engineers usually either train them in an apprenticeship program, or import them from Barizhan. Railroads are not the only thing we could do if we had more of them." She sighed.

Beshelar checked his watch, and cleared his throat portentously. "Serenity, Mer Aisava charged us to remind you of your other appointments this afternoon."

Csethiro started at the interruption. It was not that she was so wrapped up in the conversation that she had forgotten their surroundings, but rather that her subconscious tended to forget that nohecharei were not servants. She was used to being surrounded by servants and attendants who faded into the background until they were wanted, and were supposed to be ignored by their betters; she was not used to people who worked just as hard at being unobtrusive … but had the right and responsibility to interrupt and give opinions. It had been quite shocking to her, how much they talked with Maia, when she was first getting to know him—and them.

"Thank you," Maia said, climbing to his feet. Csethiro joined him.

Tativin scrambled gracelessly up and bobbed a curtsey. "Serenity, we thank you for your time and hope you were entertained by our hobby."

"We were, your creations were quite marvelous," Maia said. "Thank you for taking the time to explain them to us, we learned a great deal."

"Yes, it was quite informative," Csethiro said, politely but with less enthusiasm than her husband.

***

Maia had audiences that afternoon, and Csethiro had no public duties or engagements. She retired to her apartments to write letters; some were to personal friends who were not currently at court, but many were to people that she needed to cultivate. An empress' duty, besides bearing heirs, was to weave together the social threads that bound the upper classes, so that they would all form a tapestry in support of her husband.

Or, at least, that was the theory; in practice, the nobility of the Ethuveraz hadn't been united in one cause for at least the last few centuries, and Csethiro strongly suspected that the histories which claimed that they had been united and harmonious in the past were not entirely accurate.

Csethiro's goals were more modest: build up enough tolerance of her husband that nobody else would try to kill him. And, if possible, encourage support of his policies.

To that end, she had begun exchanging letters with every Princess, Duchess, and Countess not at the Untheileneise Court, whether she liked them or not.

The next letter in her rotation of correspondence was to Naraino, the Princess of Thu-Evresar. Csethiro sat at her desk in her solar, tapping her pen on the ink bottle, as she considered what to write. She had a store of gossip and news and politics ready to be shared; Csethiro didn't know the lady at all well, given that Naraino was forty years older than her and rarely came to court, but that would come in time, if they kept writing.

"Your grace, is there something troubling you?"

Csethiro turned in her chair to look at Dach'Osmerrem Eshanaran, one of her ladies in waiting. She had several, of course, but was in the habit of giving most of them the afternoon off when she had no public events or pressing business in need of assistance. They rotated which one stayed with her, and today by chance it was Dach'Osmerrem Eshanaran, a sensible older lady whose advice Csethiro had come to value. "Not troubling, exactly. But we were considering whether we should hint at our husband's new enthusiasm."

"New enthusiasm?" Dach'Osmerrem Eshanaran asked.

"He is much taken by the idea of trains. Roads made of rails, with great steam engines pulling many wagons, that could carry more cargo and passengers than airships can," Csethiro said.

"We have heard of them," Dach'Osmerrem Eshanaran said, cautiously. "But … surely he is not going to attempt to champion another mechanical wonder so soon? Before we even know if his first works as the clocksmiths have said, or if all the money is wasted?"

"He understands the need to be politic," Csethiro said, "and that his political capital for new projects is currently low and will not be replenished until we see whether the Wisdom Bridge is as wise as it seems like it should be." Or, at least, if he did not understand, he trusted her and Csevet when they told him. "This is merely an interesting idea that may bear fruit in the future, not a current plan of action."

"Ah," Dach'Osmerrem Eshanaran said. "Very good." She flicked her ears. "Then why would you even consider bothering people about it now?"

"We would like to lay the groundwork," Csethiro said. "We have not his enthusiasm for gadgets, but we want the Ethuveraz to be modern and not lag so far behind the rest of Osreiath … and it would be good for trade and so on."

"Mm." Dach'Osmerrem Eshanaran looked down at her embroidery. She thought all the world outside the Ethuveraz barbaric, Csethiro knew, and didn't care what foreigners thought of the Ethuveraz. But she was loyal and would not gossip. "Well, if it will be years before the Emperor can openly press for it, you certainly shouldn't be doing it now. If you think it important, what you should be doing now is laying the groundwork for it."

"Well, yes," Csethiro said. That was obvious. But asking what their thoughts on railroads would be too direct, and she hadn't come up with anything else. She spread her hands, hoping Dach'Osmerrem Eshanaran would have a more explicit suggestion.

"So ask them questions about the things that make you think the Ethuveraz should have railroads," Dach'Osmerrem Eshanaran said. "What things do they have trouble importing, or exporting? How much do they care about keeping up with Barizhan? How confident are they in the safety of airships, after what happened to His Serenity's father and brothers? That sort of thing."

"That is an excellent point," Csethiro said. She knew several people who were hesitant to travel by airship, even now that they knew the Wisdom of Choharo's destruction was due to Eshevis Tethimar's treason rather than accident or a peasant's grudge. Now that such sabotage had been proven to be possible, surely someone else would try it—and everyone knew the airship workers and manufactories were full of violent radicals. They might not need a treasonous duke to prod them into action next time. "We wonder if we should open the topic of railroads now," she mused. "After all, Varenechibel's death will not be so immediate a tragedy by the time the Wisdom Bridge is finished. People may have forgotten their mistrust of airships."

Dach'Osmerrem Eshanaran shuddered. "We shouldn't think so, Your Grace."

Csethiro turned back to her desk, and the view out the window to the gardens. Thu-Evressar was historically the poorest and most backwards of the principalities. It was scarcely populated, grew grain and cattle and sheep, and exported wool. Until the discovery of gold in Ezho, it had had few mines or other natural resources except for the portion nearest to the Istandaärtha. Its longest river was the Evresartha, which fed into the Istandaärtha but was itself too shallow and narrow, along most of its length, for the movement of large cargos. And it was too far north for direct trade with Barizhan. Like Thu-Istandaär, Thu-Evressar was beginning to produce goods that were worth marketing elsewhere; unlike Thu-Istandaär, Thu-Evressar had few good ways to get those goods to market.

"Do you know what Naraino thinks of the Wisdom Bridge?" she asked. "Or her opinion of the rising prosperity of tradesmen, manufacturers, and merchants?"

"No, Your Grace, we do not," Dach'Osmerrem Eshanaran said. "We have only met her a handful of times, and none of them were in places where such conversations would have been appropriate. Her husband has been silent on the matter, as well; he was not of Chavar's faction, nor any other." Dach'Osmerrem Eshanaran paused, biting off her thread and sorting through her box of embroidery floss for another color. "Naraino was from Thu-Tetar, and her family has many connections in the silk trade, but there was some falling-out a short while after their marriage. We have heard that she declared she would rather walk naked through the court than ever speak to any of them again. We do not believe she has any fondness for the society she was raised in."

"Which, since Thu-Tetar is so conservative and stratified, would probably influence her to be in favor of anything which challenged the power of the ancient silk merchants and the nobles they are beholden to," Csethiro said. "And then there is the potential profit to her domain, if the rising class of Evressaran merchants can get their goods to market faster and cheaper." Though that wasn't a factor she could count on; many Ethuverazheise nobles would prefer their peasants to stay poor and in their place, even if that contributed to their own impoverishment.

"Thank you, Osmerrem," Csethiro said. That had given her some ideas, and she began to write her letter. All she really needed was the gossip she had already collected for the letter, appropriately slanted; she did not need to win Naraino's approval now, merely open up the possibility of future discussion.

After all, she was playing the long game.

***

"How goes thy wooing of the absent noblewomen?" Maia asked over luncheon. They usually ate together in the Alcethmeret, when neither had another engagement. It was private, so they could relax, and Maia's cook was excellent. Today's spicy sour soup was delicious.

"Oh, as well as can be expected," Csethiro said, dipping her bread in her soup and nibbling at it. "I have little enough in common with most of them, but they all of course are quite prompt in their correspondence; Csoru did not trouble herself to keep in touch with any other than her own set, and thy mother of course could not even if she had wanted to. I've no idea what Leshan and Pazhiro's habits of communication were. So the opportunity to correspond with the Empress is an honor and a novelty."

"But if they have nothing in common with thee, how long can thy correspondence last?" Maia asked. "What canst thou have to say?"

"A great deal!" Csethiro said. She shouldn't be surprised; he had never been taught how to converse or build bridges with people of differing characters and tastes. But she was so used to living at Court where everyone could do it that she had trouble remembering that the art of conversation was not something everyone knew.

She took a sip of her tea. How to explain it? "Most people like gossip," she said. "And for nobles, knowing who has done what can be vital to any political plans they have, or any financial dealings. It wouldn't do to try and make an alliance with someone who had just been disgraced, for example! And living away from court means they do not receive it first-hand. There is always some amusing or scandalous story I can tell them."

"But what about the people thou gossip'st about?" Maia said. "Are they not harmed by the spreading of tales?"

"I do not spread those sorts of stories, of course," Csethiro said. "Only the harmless ones. Or the true ones. Not the cruel ones or the false ones. I'm not Csoru." That last was said with some tartness.

Maia's ears lowered. "Of course," he said. "We did not mean to imply thou wert inappropriate or cruel."

"Of course not," Csethiro said gently. She ate some soup, but Maia did not say anything, perhaps out of fear he had offended her. He was so sweet, but she looked forward to the day when he had more confidence in her and their relationship, and did not retreat when he felt he had made a mis-step.

"Aside from the gossip, well, most people like talking about themselves," Csethiro went on. "If one asks them about things they care about, and are willing to honestly listen and appreciate their thoughts, they will be very pleased to share. At worst, one has spent a few boring minutes; at best, they will go away from the conversation quite well-disposed to one."

"Like at Marquess Lanthevel's party," Maia said thoughtfully. "I asked him about his wall-hanging, and his studies. I asked many questions that night. And by the end of the party, Lantheval helped me convince Pashavar to allow the Clocksmiths their hearing."

"Yes," Csethiro said. "Showing genuine interest in their opinions and things they care about probably helped a great deal."

"But is it not … impolite to pry?" Maia asked.

"It can be," Csethiro said. "The trick is to ask leading questions on subjects thou dost not think are particularly sensitive, and allow them to say as much or as little as they feel comfortable with."

"Ah," Maia said. "I see." He pondered that for a bit, and Csethiro had to nudge him to eat his soup.

"And of course, if all else fails, people generally love to give advice, especially to young people," Csethiro sad. "Though I try not to use that very often; sometimes they become offended if one does not take the advice."

"That one wouldn't work for me, though," Maia said. "Emperors are supposed to give advice, not take it. At least, not from anyone but our advisors."

"True," Csethiro conceded.

***

Orshan was a minor goddess, not part of the Five-Fold Harmony; and yet despite being unfashionable, two of the major festivals of the year were in her honor. The first, Bel'Orshonei was a planting festival, in the spring, and as it was a traditional occasion for gift-giving, Csethiro spent many hours with Csevet planning out lists of who should receive a gift from the Emperor, and what they should be given.

"That seems to be a rather long list," Maia said dubiously, when they consulted him on the final details.

"It does not do for the Emperor to be stingy," Csethiro said. "Rich gifts are a traditional way to bind the loyalty of the nobles to the Emperor. The two Orshaneisei festivals are a customary time for such gifts."

"We believe the custom of gift giving at planting and harvest-time sprang originally from a belief that it would bring the goddess' favor and bounty," Csevet said.

Maia smiled at Csevet. "Thank you." He turned his attention back to the list. "We see many things on this list that were gifts to us on our birthday. Will they not think it … ungrateful of us, to give away what they have so recently given us?"

"Most gifts to the Emperor are not for his personal use, or not in perpetuity," Csevet said. "The ones that seemed more personal, or exceptional, such as the clock, will not be given away. But the rest—no, Serenity, they would think it odd if their gifts were not passed on, eventually."

"Empress Leshan was once given an exquisite dress made entirely of lace," Csethiro said. "She only wore it three times, and I believe a court painting was made of her in it, and then it was taken apart and the lace given to ladies whom she particularly favored. Even for an Empress, it was too extravagant a gift to keep."

"Ah." Maia frowned and thought for a few minutes. "What makes a gift good to give? That is, what political messages are we sending with these gifts? There must be something besides wealth."

"Oh, many messages to be sure," Csethiro said. "Gifts that you have commissioned specially for someone are much more highly valued than those which merely come from the Drazhadeise vaults and store rooms, for example."

"And the relative value of the gift given now with that of past gifts, and the gifts they have given you, must all be calculated," Csevet said. "If there is an imbalance, it will be noted. If they have given you something much more valuable than you have given them, for example."

"Nobody would say outright that we owed them, but they would think it," Maia said. "We knew that from Tethimar's gift of the silk bedchamber set." He bit his lip. "If we give a great many of a certain kind of gift, would it then become popular? That is, would people think it was something we favored?"

"It depends on who you gave it to, and when, and how often," Csethiro said. "If it was, for example, known to be a set given you by a person now out of favor—or executed for treason!—and you gave it only to people who were associated with him but not closely enough to fall with him, and never gave anything like it again, it would be taken more as a sign of your disfavor than anything else."

"Oh!" Maia smiled. "Then let it be done with Tethimar's sharadansho silk set, by all means. We think it a cruel trade, which enriches people like Tethimar, while the artisans who make it suffer for it."

"That can certainly be done, Serenity," Csevet said, making a note.

Csethiro had never thought much one way or the other about the silk-makers, but she supposed Maia had a point. She did rather think he'd look lovely laid out on a sharadansho silk coverlet—it would set his complexion off to perfection—but it wouldn't be worth it if it made him uncomfortable. Maia was so reserved, he was so easily distressed by the cruelty of the world, and so self-conscious of his own awkwardness, that she had to take constant care not to trample him.

It wasn't that he would not or could not speak up for himself; his sharp tongue was one of the first things she had learned about him as a person, and not as the Emperor. It was that he did not trust himself to know when to use his voice.

Maia had a few other notes and concerns about the gifts being sent in his name, and then left the matter in Csethiro and Csevet's care.

***

By the time Csethiro and Maia entered the Tortoise Room on the morning of Bel'Orshonei, the servants and secretaries had their gifts sorted and catalogued. The majority of them had already been taken to be displayed or stored as appropriate, and both she and her husband were presented with lists of what they had been given and by whom. Csethiro handed the list off to Osmerrem Mevaran, and sat down to open and examine the more personal gifts.

First was, of course, an envelope with Maia's cat-serpent seal on it. She broke the seal and extracted the letter. It was a promissory note for a horse—and a horse of her choice, at that!

"Oh! Thank thee, my dear," she said, giving him a kiss and smiling as his ears twitched with embarrassment. They went out riding when the weather was good. His horse was excellent, a gray gelding named Velvet that Csethiro had been envious of since first she saw him. Her own mare, Lady, was a fine animal … but she had been selected by Csethiro's father and perfectly suited his ideas of what a young lady should ride. She was pretty, reliable … and slow. Csethiro had never complained to Maia, but he had paid enough attention to notice her discontent. Csethiro sighed happily, joy at the horse and at his attentiveness vying for pride of place. "And wilt thou come with me to the Horsemarket?"

"I'll not be much use or help," Maia warned her.

"Oh, I know better than to ask for thine opinion of horseflesh," Csethiro said with a laugh. "But at least thou hast been to the Horsemarket; I have not, for my father did not deem it ladylike enough, to go to a common market."

"I found the Cetho Horsemarket to be a very uncommon market," Maia said.

"Yes, that is what I have heard," Csethiro said.

Maia opened her present for him; it was a set of novels she thought he would like. Nothing weighty or serious—he got enough of that day in and day out—but amusing and interesting tales. The Alcethmeret library had a wide and varied selection of works, but only a handful of novels published in the last fifty years; Varenechibel IV had apparently not cared for them.

"I thought we could read them aloud together," Csethiro said. "I'm very good at doing voices and things."

"Really?" Maia said. "I have no idea if I can do the same."

Csethiro waved a hand. "The stories are interesting regardless."

None of the rest of the gifts for either of them were surprising; all were within the range Csethiro and Csevet had expected. Maia's Aunt Nadeian had indeed sent him a model railroad.

"It seems part of the fun is putting it together yourself," Maia said reading the letter. "The track comes in segments that can be configured in many ways, and she chose a size that is approximately the same scale as the model of the Wisdom Bridge, so that if I choose to incorporate it into that model or display it next to it, it will look right."

"Interesting," Csethiro said. "And a very good thought, too; having it out on public display with the model of the bridge will mean people will see it, and begin to associate trains with the bridge as something possible to build in the Ethuveraz. And possibly stir up interest in both model trains and the real thing."

"But it is my present," Maia said. "I don't want it to be kept where I would have to go visit it."

How much time was he planning to spend with it? Csethiro wondered. "If it is only on public display for short periods, that will give it notoriety and interest. The rest of the time, it can be here in the Alcethmeret. And if thou truly canst not bear to part with it even for a short time, of course it is thine; I only mean that it would be a political coup for Barizhan to have the set on public display, and it might ease the way to future railroads in the Ethuveraz."

Maia nodded, turning his attention to the letter and the large box it accompanied. He opened the box, and bit his lip. "There are many parts," he said, taking a booklet from the top. He looked from the booklet to the array of gifts on tables lining the room. These were the ones that were either personal or from a giver of sufficient status to require Maia's personal attention to the gift. "But it would be rude to spend so much time on this when there are so many other gifts to look at."

Csethiro waved her hand. "Don't worry about it, my dear; Mer Aisava has already organized them, and we have time for thee to enjoy thy present; 'twill not throw the day off kilter. Is that not so, Mer Aisava?"

"It is, Your Grace," Csevet said.

So Maia sat down to read the booklet that came with his set, eventually declaring that the Tortoise Room was not suitable for his railroad. A footman was called to carry the box to the Jasmine Room, Maia leading the way, and Csethiro started in on the presents that would need thank you notes written in her own hand. First, of course, was one to Maia for the horse. Csethiro smiled as she contemplated what qualities to look for.

***

By the time she was finished with her notes (though she had not yet glanced at and signed the thank you notes that her ladies and secretary were writing on her behalf), Maia had still not reappeared, and she went to go look for him.

She found him—and Prince Nemolis' children—arrayed on the floor of the Jasmine room. Ino was lying on the floor under the watchful eye of her nursemaid, watching the train that had been set up. The tracks were laid in a figure eight, and the train was long enough that it almost hit its own tail, and Ino crowed every time it missed itself. Maia, Idra, and Mireän were sitting at a table with the box and a variety of little buildings and trees and people and animals made out of porcelain. Mireän was playing with the figurines, and Idra and Maia were poring over various papers, deep in discussion.

"I would have thought it would be rather more elaborate than that," Csethiro said dubiously, eyeing the train.

"Oh, that's only the simplest layout that we set up to test that we knew how it worked and to keep Ino occupied," Idra said. "We have enough track to cover the whole room with it, if we wanted to."

"It seems that before one can set it up, one must decide how one wants it to be set up," Maia said. "Aunt Nadeian thinks that half the fun is putting it together, and she might be right. In Barizhan, each of the rail companies has its own crest and colors, and you can buy different ones and different styles of buildings to show what part of the country you are in. But of course they don't have Ethuverazeise ones. Aunt Nadeian had the trains painted with the Drazhadeise crest, but if we want buildings that look Elvish—"

"—like the Alcethmeret—" Mireän interrupted.

"—like the Alcethmeret," Maia continued, "we shall have to have them custom-made."

"Cousin Maia has said that if he has custom figures made, we can paint some of them," Mireän said excitedly.

"Oh?" said Csethiro, who was fond of drawing and painting. "That sounds very interesting." Perhaps she could help with that. She hadn't had much time for such pursuits since she was married, and she missed it.

"We are also trying to decide how large we want the initial layout to be," Maia said. "And if we want to put it on the floor, or on a table. The floor would allow for it to be much larger, of course, at least until something of sufficient size can be built. But it would mean the room could not be used for anything else in the meanwhile."

Csethiro's ears raised. "How big are you planning on making it?"

"We have enough tracks that we could cover half the room, depending on how closely we put them together," Idra said. "I think, that since it is so easy to change how it is put together, we should just start building and see what we come up with."

"And I want a plan before we start, and it is my present," Maia said.

Csethiro sat next to him, and he showed her the various example diagrams in the booklet, and they debated amiably over which one they liked best until Csevet summoned Maia for his next appointment.

***

Social events were a fraught proposition for Maia. Although he was a much better conversationalist now than he had been when he came to the Untheileneise Court, he was still not at ease in social situations. At first Csethiro had thought that hosting small, intimate parties where he was not on display might be the answer, but unless he was with people he already knew and trusted, Maia actually preferred the larger court functions, where he did not have to talk as much.

At a formal dinner, he only had three people to talk to: the people to each side of him and across the table from him. And at a dance or concert, he could sit on his throne and watch the court, and no one would be offended that he did not speak to them. Those who did approach him did so one at a time. Maia was on display, but his conversational skills were less noticeable.

At a small, private gathering, he had to talk with everyone, and there was nothing to distract from any awkwardness.

Still, he was getting better, and there were some matters of politics that were simply not possible to handle any other way than sitting down with people and getting to know them. Thus it was that, once they were married, Csethiro had started hosting various gatherings where Maia might socialize with key members of his government and court.

Today's gathering was a quiet one: a few of Vedero's friends, the Witness for the Universities, the Chancellor, and their spouses, gathered for lunch.

About half-way through the meal, once all of the formalities were done and there had been enough wine and enough conversation to relax things, Maia turned to Lord Isthanar, the Witness for the Universities. "When we first put forth the Clocksmiths' Guild's proposal for the bridge on the Istandaärtha, Lord Pashavar asked a question for which we did not have the answer, and we think it a good question. We do not wish to accuse or censure, we are not looking to cast blame, we only wish knowledge."

This did not, in any way, reassure Lord Isthanar, who was looking more alarmed with every word. Csethiro kept her face serene and her ears still; they had discussed how to breach the subject, and though Csethiro thought the approach was good, Maia's manner was not. He was too stiff, and though she knew it for social anxiety, others took it for censure.

"Why was it the Clocksmiths, and not the Universities, which produced the advances necessary for the Wisdom Bridge?" Maia asked.

Lord Isthanar sighed. "Serenity," he said in some exasperation, "we do not, as yet, know whether the Clocksmiths have indeed produced what they claim to have produced. We have checked their math and found it good; but there is a difference between plans and reality, and between a scale model and reality. They have not even broken ground yet! It will not be a quick construction—nothing that complicated ever is, even without considering the newness of so many of the mechanisms. It will be some years yet before we know for sure."

One of Vedero's friends snorted; Csethiro was not sure which one.

"Nevertheless, the question remains," Maia said.

Isthanar spread his hands. "Serenity, universities are places for study thought and learning the higher truths of life and expanding the sum of Ethuverazeise knowledge. Not for tinkering."

"We should think the expertise that led to the design of the Wisdom Bridge is far beyond mere tinkering, whether or not it actually works in practice," Vedero observed dryly.

Isthanar bowed shallowly to her. "As your grace says. However, that is only obvious when looking at the final product. There is a group at the University of Cetho studying the design of the bridge, and it is obvious that it was not a single great leap forward in terms of materials and function. Rather, it is the culmination of a series of smaller advances over a long period of time that, when added up together, became a monumental difference in what might be achievable. And that is the problem. Each of those small advances was the result of tinkering with things that were already known, and judged of no great intellectual rigor. And now we are shown up—" and here his ears drew back, and his voice lowered "—by a craft guild." He said it in the same tone other men might use to speak of intestinal parasites or perhaps a venereal disease.

He shook his head. "You may depend upon it, Serenity, we do not intend to have it happen again. You are not the first to notice, nor indeed was Lord Pashavar. We'll not allow ourselves to be pushed aside for long, of that you may be sure."

"May we enquire what measures are you taking to prevent it?" Csethiro asked.

"Of course, your Grace," Isthanar said. "We've already decided to add engineering to the courses a university should properly have to be worthy of the title. The question is, how to do it, and about that there is much debate. The schools of architecture and design argue that it should be placed under their jurisdiction, and the natural history schools claim the same, but we are of the belief that it is a distinct enough discipline to merit its own college."

He was well-used to explaining things to the Emperor, apparently, for he elaborated. "Each university, you see, has several smaller schools within it. Each has its own specialty: philosophy, mathematics, theology, history, literature, languages, though of course there are many areas that overlap and so each college will also have offerings that overlap with those of others in the same university, and students regularly take classes outside their own college. There are common resources, such as a shared library, but in general each college can be quite insular. Its own classrooms and faculty, its own specialty library, its own refectory, its own dormitories. And, most crucially for our present discussion, its own hierarchy of professors. If we slot engineering as a specialty in some older, more established college, we are sure you can imagine what will follow."

"It will be forever coming second in its place to the more established discipline," Csethiro said.

"Exactly!" Isthanar said. "And that is not good. It would open the possibility to the Clocksmiths showing us up again."

Csethiro took a sip of her wine to hide her smile, and the conversation then turned to what would be needed to establish a new college at Cetho University. For that was where Isthanar was a professor, and had the most influence.

It turned out that it would be quite simple for the Emperor to achieve, for it was mostly a matter of finances. A suitable gift of money to build such a school and land to put it on would achieve it. There was a short digression into names—the expectation was that it would be named Edrehasivar College, or something similar, but Maia nixed that. "Chenelo Zhasan, perhaps," he said. "Or Archduchess Vedero." He lifted his glass in toast to his sister, who blushed prettily.

From there, conversation moved on to other educational needs in the Ethuveraz, and the possibility of copying the Barizheise system of trade schools. "For there are many trades, you know, that would benefit from a wider variety of people trained to them," said Osmerrem Lathevaran earnestly.

"Hm, suppose so," Isthanar huffed, once it was made quite clear that such institutions would in no way have the same prestige as the universities he represented. He brightened. "And they would be a place for some of the more practical disciplines to conduct their experiments—the natural historians do not only do history, for example; many of them study current plants and animals, and some work to breed them for specific purposes, or discern better ways of managing them. And they are always complaining that the gardens and greenhouses of the university are not sufficiently large for their purposes. The university obtained a farm for them a decade or so back, but it was not sufficient, either. And as for the school of architecture, they would benefit from the experience of designing and building the new schools …"

Osmerrem Renshavaran had some words to say about developing better-quality or hardier crops and animals, which could then be given to farmers and herders to improve their incomes and the taxes the sale of their produce would bring. And from there the discussion moved on to where, ideally, such schools should be located and how they might be funded so that the sort of people who farmed or went into the trades could afford to go to them.

It was all a cloud-fancy, at the moment, of course, except for the College of Chenelo Zhasan (or Archduchess Vedero, whichever they ended up calling it). But the ideas were interesting, and Isthanar went away very thoughtful, and who knew what might come of the seeds planted at that meal?

And, once the conversation got rolling, Maia was free to sit back and listen and did not need to lead the conversation, which helped him relax and enjoy his food.

Inviting Vedero and her friends to a meal with the Witness for the Universities had certainly been an inspired choice. Csethiro pondered what other such combinations of people would result in similar ease of conversation and take pressure off Maia.

***

Csethiro painted the figurine with delicate strokes—it was small enough that the embroidery at its collar was a mere squiggle, but she wanted it as precise as possible nonetheless—while Maia pondered the design of his train set.

"I wish I had thought of this earlier," Maia fretted. "It would be so perfect—but the table is all wrong for it."

The table he had ordered made to fit his original design. But Maia had found he liked planning out where everything would go, and had made several designs in the intervening months. Not one of them had been completed before some new idea had come to him, and he would take up all the track to start again.

Idra was annoyed by this, despite the fact that each version had been at least finished to the point of being able to run the trains on it.

Csethiro had decided to find Maia's enthusiasm charming. It was something he took genuine delight in, and as it was confined to the Jasmine Room it was no inconvenience to her. And she liked painting the little figurines even though none of Maia's plans had gotten far enough for them to be emplaced. "Couldst always commission a new table."

"I suppose I could," Maia said. "But then I would have to wait to start on it."

"And by the time it was finished, wouldst have had at least three more ideas, yes, that is a problem." Csethiro finished and set the figurine delicately down.

Maia's ears drooped. "I—yes, that is likely."

"Thou couldst finish this design, while thou wert waiting," Csethiro said.

"I would have to rip it all up when the new table was done," Maia said.

"Or thou couldst have two train tables," Csethiro said.

"But I have not enough track for both designs!" Maia protested. "Nor enough train engines. And I could use more cars …"

"All of which can be purchased," Csethiro pointed out. "And given that thy Aunt Nadeian and thy cousin Merrem Gormened know thy love for the train set, it is very likely that thou wilt receive additional pieces as gifts on the next suitable gift-giving occasion. And if thou displayest this set—completed, and with figurines hand-painted by thine zhasan—" she gave a half-bow from her seat "—it is quite likely that others will realize 'tis a gift thou wilt truly appreciate."

Indeed, in the long run, the problem was more likely to be that he was inundated with more train equipment than he could use. As difficult as that might be to imagine now, given his enthusiasm.

"Oh," he said, as if it had not occurred to him that people would be overjoyed to know that there was a gift they could give the Emperor that he would specifically appreciate as more than 'another lavish present to be passed on as appropriate.' Something that might actually win his favor and notice, instead of merely being part of the appropriate exchanges.

"And I suppose Idra would prefer it, if we simply finished this plan," Maia said thoughtfully.

"He would," Csethiro said.

***

Idra was suspicious when Maia told him his plans, and even when the last figurine was in place he did not quite believe Maia was not about to rip it all up and start over.

It was a very cunning design, and they all enjoyed controlling the trains and watching them weave through countryside and city and back again.

Maia hadn't gotten any more train sets by the time the second table was delivered, but Csethiro was beginning to suspect he enjoyed the planning more than the actual running of it; he had a catalogue of model train sets and pored over it, contemplating which pieces to purchase and what architectural and decorative pieces he should commission from local artisans. When Csethiro suggested he put the model on display in public, it was actually the children who were most disappointed at its temporary absence.

***

"You are quite a gifted painter, Zhasan," said Ashedo, Princess of Thu-Istandaär. She examined the figurines on the model railroad. "If you had not shown us which were yours and which were not, we should never have been able to guess. Your eye for detail is … remarkable." She glanced up at Csethiro and flicked her ears, then back down to the figurine.

"Thank you," Csethiro said gravely. If that particular figurine was—almost—a caricature of a certain lady of the court who was proving very intractable, well, there was enough doubt that Csethiro need not admit to it.

"The Emperor seems to have taken a great deal of care with his model," Princess Ashedo said, stepping back to view the set as a whole.

Csethiro nodded to the page boy whose job it was to run the train for viewers—and, in certain select cases, allow people to run it themselves—and he turned the knob on the controls. The train began to move on its course.

"Edrehasivar is quite taken with his trains," Csethiro said. "He is planning a newer, larger model; we have commissioned a replica of the Alcethmeret for it, as a birthday present."

"Indeed?" Princess Ashedo said. She stood contemplating the tiny train winding its way through hills and over a river before coming back in to the city.

"And it runs on ... electricity? A battery?" Princess Ashedo said.

"Why, yes," Csethiro said in some surprise. Most people assumed it was some sort of mazeise trick … though in that case, they would have needed someone with maza gifts to run it. But electricity was not common in the Ethuveraz.

Princess Ashedo hummed thoughtfully. "There is a proposal to convert the trams in Choharo to electricity. Currently, they are drawn by horses, and it would be too expensive to put a steam engine in each tram, not to mention requiring too much coal. But if the system were electrified, then the trams would be faster and we would save the cost of the horses."

"Indeed?" Csethiro said. "Edrehasivar would be very interested to hear about it—and to see it, if it should end up happening. Where do you get the electricity from?"

"They have several water-turbines along the rivers," Princess Ashedo said. "They were put in place to power factories; but they produce more power than the factories need."

"What is a water-turbine?" Csethiro asked.

"We are not entirely sure," Princess Ashedo said. "They get power out of a river like a water-wheel does, except they are entirely below the surface, and they are not a wheel."

Csethiro mentally added that to the list of things to look into.

"Perhaps His Serenity would be interested in a tour, when next he visits Choharo," Princess Ashedo said.

"We are certain he would be quite fascinated," Csethiro said with a smile. There were no such visits scheduled, but the Emperor did travel around the Ethuveraz as needed to attend various events and show himself to the people. Perhaps Choharo should be given greater weight, in deciding which events were worthy of Edrehasivar's notice.

***

Summer had turned into fall, and Maia was sufficiently practiced on Velvet that he was comfortable joining Csethiro and her new gelding Lightning for rides out into the countryside near Cetho.

They were attended, of course; besides the nohecharei, there were both Untheileneise and Hezhethoreise guards, her ladies, and Csevet. But the pack of attendants rode at enough distance to give them some privacy.

"Art discontent, Maia," Csethiro said. He had been reserved for a few days, so it was probably not an issue with the ride or the day.

He twitched an ear. "'Tis nothing. I am sure it will pass."

"I am sure you are right," Csethiro said. "But will it pass easier for being shared?" Maia got quiet when he was upset or uneasy; and the worse he felt, the quieter he got. Nor was he like to ask for help or reassurance, even on things she or others could very gladly and easily give.

"Perhaps," he said, but was quiet.

Csethiro rode next to him and enjoyed the day. If he chose to speak, she would listen; if not, well, he would be a poor conversationalist, but the ride itself was pleasing, and perhaps on the way back Merrem Renshavaran would indulge her in a race. (Lightning was very aptly named, and a joy and delight to ride.)

"It is stupid," Maia said at last.

"Not if it bothers thee," Csethiro said.

"It is only that I feel very … ineffective, at the moment," Maia said. "There is the bridge, yes; but that was approved months ago. And the college, but that could have been done by any number of nobles; all it required was wealth and the will to do it. It did not require the Emperor. In the meantime, I have sat through many meetings of the Corazhas and though I have learned to understand what they discuss and comment on it intelligently, truly, they could do their work very well without me. I have adjudicated many disputes, and virtually all of them are petty squabbles that should never have needed my attention. We have talked of schools and railroads and other ways to improve the Ethuveraz, and strategized how best to accomplish them, but none of them have come to the official notice of either the Parliament or the Corazhas. Model railroads are like to become very popular, but the question of real railroads has advanced not one bit. What have we done that a figurine such as adorn our model railroad could not have done?"

Csethiro snorted, a most unladylike habit neither her mother nor her stepmother had ever been able to break her of. "Oh, yes, thou only achievedst something thy father tried for years to bring about. That is certainly nothing worth mentioning or celebrating. Dearest, thy first few months wearing the crown gave thee a terribly skewed vision of what thy role may achieve. If thou measurest political change on what happens immediately after thou beginst to think on it, wilt be terribly depressed thy entire life. Even were it possible to simply dictate policy to the government, it would be horribly unwise. Taking time to listen and build support gives time to adjust policies as they are planned, before they are put in place—for nobody can ever truly think up all the possible outcomes and account for them on their own."

"I suppose," Maia said. "Even when it is a good idea, there is so much I still don't know."

"Couldst know everything thy father and all of thy forefathers knew, and would still not know all that thou needst know," Csethiro said. "'Tis not a slight on your ignorance. Take the question of the technical schools—everyone at that luncheon knew a great deal about education and how schools work. And yet, as the conversation has moved out from that first one, many people have brought forward challenges to be solved … and opportunities nobody there thought of. If such schools ever become reality, they will be much different than the speculation that day, and be the better for it!"

"True," Maia said. "I just received a letter from Prince Orchenis, with suggestions that were very interesting."

"Ah?" Csethiro said. "I didn't know he was interested in education." She tucked that away for her next letter to Dach'Osmerrem Clunetharan. "Consider thy father."

"I try not to," Maia muttered.

"Even so," Csethiro said. "At the time of his death, he was in his seventies, and still hearty and hale. Presuming thou dost not fall to an assassin, thou hast every likelihood of equaling or exceeding his life. That is fifty or sixty years to rule and shift the government's policies more to thy liking."

Maia started so hard that Velvet became jittery, and the next few minutes was taken up by soothing him back into good temper.

"Sixty years," Maia said. "That is three times as old as I am now. I can't even really conceive of it."

"Nor I," Csethiro said. "But 'tis true nonetheless. There's time. And I think it is better to take the time to do it right, to find allies and move the opinion of the government and the nobles and the merchants and everyone, so that they will support thy policies rather than oppose them." She made a face. "'Tis easier said than done, I know—my parents have always been counseling me to do the same with my relationships at court, and I never have managed. But I think this is more important than whether to trade the immediate satisfaction of hitting Csoru with the more long-term and lasting victory of persuading people that she is unpleasant, and so I am trying harder to remember it."

Maia laughed, as she had intended him to. "I suppose thou'rt right."

"If the rest of thy reign is even one tenth as productive as this first year has been, wilt be the most effective emperor the Ethuveraz has ever had," Csethiro said. "Edrehasivar the Reformer, they'll call thee."

"I could not do it without thee," Maia said. "'Twill be thy legacy, too. Csethiro the Modernizer."

Csethiro waved that off. "Oh, they never consider the legacy of the Empress, unless something truly dire happens which leaves space for her to take an unusual role. A regency, or a war, or a great disaster or something. And even then, not always."

"That's not fair; all my political acumen and strategy comes from thee and Csevet, and as a secretary he'll not be remembered, either."

"Oh, I doubt he'll stay thy secretary for the rest of his life," Csethiro said. "He's done too good a job, and been noticed. No, someone will hire him into one of the ministries—the Chancellery, perhaps, or the Treasury. Then he'll be promoted, and perhaps end up on the Corazhas."

"Thinkest thou so?" Maia said. "Nobody could deserve it more, only I wouldn't know what to do if he left me."

"He'd not leave until he was satisfied thou wert well enough served," Csethiro pointed out. "But I do think so. It was an impossible job, and yet he did it, and did it well, with no training and experience. Give it time, for him to train his undersecretaries, for thee to gain experience as Emperor, and for him to mature, and he'll be off to a job that will allow him the possibility of promotion."

"Time," Maia said. "We do have time." He sounded surprised, and after the tumultuous year he'd had, Csethiro didn't blame him. They rode on in silence for a while, as they thought of what the future might bring.

"If they did remember empresses and their legacies, what wouldst thou want thine to be?" Maia said.

"Beyond supporting my husband's causes?" Csethiro said. "Thank thee for choosing ones I can wholeheartedly support, by the way."

"Art welcome," Maia said. "But truly, I am curious."

"I've never much thought about it," Csethiro said. "It's never seemed … relevant." Idle dreams of running off to join the army, or perhaps running away to the sea and signing on to a ship and becoming a captain and having adventures, those she had had in spades. They'd seemed more interesting—and no less plausible—than the sort of question Maia was asking now. "I think … I think the Ethuveraz has been trapped in amber for a very long time. Preserved, beautiful, but … not useful. Not able to go out and do things. Not able to grow or change. Not like the rest of the world has." It was a metaphor she had most often used—in her own head—for her role as a daughter of the Ceredada. But it fit the Ethuveraz as well. "I want that to change. I want us to change. Not that I want us to become a second Barizhan, but—"

"You want the Ethuveraz to be what it could be, not merely what it used to be," Maia said.

"Yes, exactly," Csethiro said. "And if we could do that together, it would be well worth those fifty or sixty years' effort. Don't you think?"

"I do," Maia said. Lightning and Velvet were very close together, and he reached out for her.

She took his hand and squeezed it.