#and that's it !! they most assuredly did not make a third one

[fiddles-ifs]

DEAD SPACE REMAKE JANUARY 27TH 2023

[pilesofpillows]

Stars Aglow Ch. 2 || Okoye x Attuma

A Sea of Stars ~ Part 3 of 3

Ch. 1

Summary: It's time! Okoye is in labor, and everyone gets a lil panicky.

Warnings: Fluff, Family Feels, Pregnancy, Childbirth

Tags: @theeblackmedusa @theemfingmenace @xenokattz @tvreadsandsleep @mickimomo @xblackreader @ariyannah @iccedays @karimk2 @mamajankyy @dontruinmymorning @formyloveoflove @princess-of-gondor

A/N: Remember how I said we would meet the babies in this chapter? Yeah... I was wrong. 😅 Technically (!) its not my fault. The muse was musing and I had to flow with her. I also didn't want to drop a beastly 6k word chapter on y'all.

Anywho!! Babies for abso-frickin-lutely in Part 3, I pinky swear.

It started slowly.

She didn't even notice at first.

Small twinges in her back and side were ignored. Light cramps left her winded momentarily, but they were a near-daily occurrence, so she pushed through. Pain and discomfort were old friends. 

Then, she, Nakia, and Junior were having lunch at an old favorite when a longer cramp hit, making her wince visibly. 

"Sisi? " Nakia froze and put her fork down, quiet concern in her voice. 

Okoye's fork hovered over her plate of cassava ravioli, and she braced one hand on her stomach. "I'm fine," she held up a finger to stop her sister's protests, "The children are just active today."

Nakia looked disbelieving but didn't push. They finished their meal and wrapped up to pay when she was struck with another cramp. She breathed through it silently, not wanting to draw attention to herself. As the trio made their way back to Okoye's house, she felt a third cramp. The fourth and fifth came after parking Toussaint in front of the television and heading to the nursery to fold and coo over baby clothing. They were short, a little over 30 seconds, but they were steady and consistent, one coming every half hour. 

She glanced at the elaborate sun-shaped clock on the nursery wall, a gift from Attuma's brother, silently counting how long she'd been having contractions.

"Four hours," Nakia said, answering her unvoiced question. 

Okoye's eyes snapped to hers, and she swallowed thickly. "When did you start counting?"

"You had one just before Attuma left this morning. And one more shortly before we headed to the Square. I wasn't certain until we were seated for lunch."

Okoye stared blankly for a moment, setting down the stack of infant-sized tee shirts in her hands. Her mind raced as she realized what this all meant. 

She needed to call Attuma. 

"Sisi? Ulungile? [Are you okay?]" Nakia's voice was a distant thing. 

Another glance at the clock told her he would be home in less than an hour. She could wait until then. There was time; Dr. Langeni told them she could be in labor for 48 hours. But then again, they didn't know how quickly things would move, especially considering her children could be enhanced. They were the first to be born between the surface and the sea. And despite the gambit of tests that had been run on her, Attuma, and the babies, there were more than a few unknowns. Her heart began to race as the next contraction hit, the sixth since lunch. This one came a little faster than the last and lasted longer than the others. 

She needed to call her mother. 

"Okoye." Nakia was standing in front of her, hands gripping hers. "Listen to me, usisi. I need you to breathe."

She exhaled slowly and felt her eyes watering. 

She wanted Attuma.

"Can you-," she started. Her voice was a choked whisper as she fought back the tears that would most assuredly prove useless and tried again. "I need-," The words were stuck in her throat. Her breathing was rapid and uneven, and her eyes burned. 

Panic serves no one. Ramonda's voice was clear and crisp, resonating in her mind. A reminder from the early days of her Dora training, one that had served her well from War Dog extractions to alien battlefields. She clung to it ruthlessly, letting the Queen's voice anchor her drifting thoughts. 

Fear is acceptable; falling apart is not. She would not fall apart. 

Closing her eyes, Okoye took a deep breath. She held it for four seconds and exhaled for six. Again, in for four, out for six. Nakia realized what she was doing and went silent, breathing in tandem. A few more cycles, and she felt her heart slow and her mind calm. 

Find your strength and conquer your fears. Fear was acceptable and conquerable, and she would conquer hers.

Okoye opened her eyes to see the familiar brown she'd known since childhood. Nakia was here, steady as the river of her home. Her sister nodded with a small smile and helped her into the rocking recliner in the corner of the room.

She squatted in front of her. "Tell me what you want, 'Koye," Nakia said, squeezing her fingers. "Should I call Attuma? Or would you like me to activate the protocol? I know it's early, but we can go in now; everyone is ready."

Okoye considered her options. Activating the protocol would only incite panic; she'd only agreed to it in case of emergencies, and this was not emergent. Calling Attuma would also be futile. He would be home soon, and they could head to the palace then.

"Call Mama," she told Nakia quietly. "Attuma will be home in less than an hour, and we'll all go together."

Nakia didn't hesitate. "Okay."

When Attuma entered their home 43 minutes later, he froze, momentarily caught off guard by the extra bodies in their house. Afternoons were typically reserved for the two of them; their walk, nap, and hammock time were practically ritual, and while deviations occurred, they were rare and communicated ahead of time. He dried himself off and stored his armor. He passed by Toussaint, placing an affectionate hand on his head. Their nephew barely moved, thoroughly engrossed in whatever was playing on the holographic screen before him as he intensely colored a map of Wakanda. Attuma leaned over her quickly to greet her mother, who stood behind their sofa, pecking her on the cheek and muttering a polite, if confused hello. He glanced down, watching her mother as she wove her braids together to keep them out of her face while she labored. Okoye wondered if he would notice the reason for their presence before she told him.

Her beloved watched for a few more moments before dropping to a knee in front of her and cupping her face, kissing her gently. "In K'iino'." Her easy smile was rewarded with another kiss before he moved his hands down to her belly. "In eek'o'obo'. [My stars.]" he murmured, placing three kisses across her bump and smiling proudly when he felt his children respond, pushing back on his palms. 

Okoye marveled at the peace that stole over her at the familiar greeting. Her mother's arrival had helped settle some of her nerves, but her heart had ached for him. And now, here he was, smiling up at her with unmatched adoration and devotion. 

She wanted him forever. 

"Welcome home, sithandwa sam," she smiled, running her fingers through his hair and cupping his cheek. His eyes were the loveliest shade of brown she'd ever seen, and they shone with love so deep, she thought she'd drown. Her thumb found the scar from their first encounter, her scar, and she traced it gently, utterly enraptured by him. 

Okoye's mother cleared her throat, breaking their reverie, and announced that her work was done. Attuma's eyes darted up, and he smiled at the woman before grasping Okoye's hand and kissing the center of her palm sweetly as he stood. He moved to sit with her on the sofa, and she let out a quiet hiss, another contraction hitting her sharply. 

Attuma's reaction was immediate. He dropped back down to his knees, cradling her face and belly with wide, panicked eyes. "In yakunaj? Ma'alobech? [Are you well?]"

As the contraction passed, she let out a low hum and smiled wanly at him. "I was going to wait until after you took a shower, but I suppose now is as good a time as any." She covered his hand with her own. "It seems your stars are finally ready to make an appearance." 

Okoye watched him process her words, fighting back a snort, and failed to stifle her amusement as his eyes widened, darting between her face and belly. 

"Truly? Is it-? Are you-?"

"Yes, sithandwa, my labor has begun," she confirmed with a smile.

"Then we must go to the Citadel. Immediately!" Attuma urged, his words tumbling out in a rush. He looked beyond Okoye to her mother. "Mama, would you activate the protocol and take Chan Báalam ? I will carry our bags and in K'iino . Where is Nakia? Are we taking the transport? Of course not, it is not safe. Can you call Nacom Ayo or perhaps Ixjaw Shuri? One of them could fly a hovercraft here. We must-"

Okoye grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him, silencing his panicked rambling. She released his lips slowly, drawing back."Breathe, Attuma." 

He blinked, letting out a deep breath, and she slid her hands to the nape of his neck, massaging the base of his skull. "Nakia went to collect her and Junior's things; she will return soon. Mama is going to call Ayo while you shower, and when you're done, you can carry me and the bags wherever we need to go."

"The protocol-"

"-can be activated from anywhere on the surface or below. It will certainly work aboard the hovercraft."

His brow was creased, dark eyes staring up at her, worry bleeding into his tone as he pleaded, " In K'iino' ..."

Bast help her if their children ever fixed her with the same pitiful look on her beloved's face. 

"In Xook … I promise you; no harm will come to me or our children if you take 30 minutes to wash the day away. I will be right here when you return," she assured him.

Attuma looked intensely torn, his face downturned in a frown. He sighed deeply and kissed her once more before rising to his feet. 

"I will return in 15 minutes. I don't wish to delay any longer," he said and strode quickly out of the room.

Okoye watched him leave, shaking her head lightly. She held back her chuckles until she locked eyes with her mother. They stared at each other for a moment before bursting into peals of laughter, drawing Toussaint's attention from his place on the floor. 

"What's so funny, umakhulu?" he asked, removing his headphones and drawing himself to his knees. 

Okoye's laughter intensified at his question, and it fell to her mother to answer him. Her mother pressed her lips together, trying to contain her amusement as their laughs faded into snickers, and she wiped a tear from her eye as she sat down beside Okoye. "Just your uncle, umfana omnandi [sweet boy]. Your umakazi loves a very dramatic man."

T'Challa looked utterly confused by the statement. "What's dramatic?"

Okoye's laughter rang throughout the house once more.

~~~

They left their home 27 minutes later. 

Nakia returned with her bags and Aneka as Attuma emerged from their bedroom. Aneka informed them that her wife was five minutes out, and Okoye rolled her eyes at the absurdity of using the royal hovercraft to go from her house to the palace. She attempted to get up from the sofa to collect her things but was immediately stopped by every adult in the room. A trio of stern gazes and one worried look from Aneka made her stay put, breathing carefully through another contraction as her family gathered everything on the detailed checklists her mother had made nearly two months ago. 

Aneka assisted Toussaint with packing up his things, and he petitioned her to hang his brightly colored map on Okoye's refrigerator. Her sister-in-arms took the picture after a nod from Okoye and strode over to do as he asked. Her nephew settled himself between her legs, taking it upon himself to have one more conversation with the babies before they were born, instructing them to be good and to come quick because he was excited to meet them and play. She kissed his head sweetly, explaining that the babies would not be ready to play for a long while once they were born. 

T'Challa nodded sagely. “That’s okay, umakazi.” He leaned down, cupping his mouth as if telling a secret. "When I am six," he attempted to whisper to her belly, "I will teach you all Go Fish."

Okoye giggled into her fist, then bit down, her amusement turning to a hushed groan as a contraction struck fiercely. Attuma's head snapped toward her, having heard the muted sound of pain, and she held up a hand, assuring him she was alright. As the cramping sensation passed, the quiet whoosh of the hovercraft landing announced Ayo's arrival, and they filed out to the ship, Attuma carrying her into the Royal Talon Fighter as promised. 

As they landed in the palace courtyard, Toussaint hugged her and Attuma goodbye. He would be staying with M’Baku for the duration of her labor, and Nakia squeezed her hand, saying she would meet them in the Amnio after dropping him off. Ayo and Aneka parted ways with them once they entered the palace, the General heading off to change out of her uniform into something more suitable for supporting one of her oldest friends while she birthed new lives. 

Shuri and Dr. Langeni met them at the elevator bay, the princess chewing on her lower lip nervously while her obstetrician greeted them with a wide smile and asked about her early labor. Okoye filled her in on the duration and length between her contractions elevator ride, ignoring Attuma's pointed stare as she informed her that she'd likely been having contractions since the late morning. Dr. Langeni let out a huff of laughter and assured them that she'd had more than a few mothers who mistook early labor signs as day-to-day pregnancy discomforts. 

"Ixtli and her team are already getting set up in the Amnio, and the other half of our team is on standby, ready to jump in when we need them. Let's get you set up, and once we get a better idea of how far along you are and how the babies are doing, we can talk about what to expect. Sound good?"

"Sounds good," Okoye said, glancing up at Attuma, who nodded once. 

The older woman gave her a wide, reassuring smile. "Good! Then let's go have some babies."

~~~

Several hours and too many contractions later, she and Attuma were on their third lap of the Royal Gardens, trying to move things along. Her contractions were getting longer and closer together, but her water had yet to break, so things were stalled for the moment. 

“Have you given any more thought to names?” Attuma asked her as they passed by the sweet-smelling peonies.

Okoye blew out a breath; names were a topic they’d stalled on many times. They both knew names were burdensome things, and she wanted to see her children’s eyes before giving them a name that might not fit. Attuma had agreed with her, but now it seemed something had changed. She looked at him, studying the set of his jaw in the soft moonlight. “Have you?”

He was silent for a moment, looking to the stars before answering her. “I know we agreed to wait and know our children before we have them names, and I still wish this.” He gazed back down at her with pleading eyes. “I also wish to name one of our sons after my father. He was an honorable war chief with a courageous spirit.”

“So confident in your assertions that we will have sons, krebe,” Okoye said through grit teeth, tightening her grip on his hand as a long contraction rippled through her. Attuma paused their walking and braced a hand on her back, silently supporting her as she continued their conversation as though nothing was happening. “What will you do if we have a daughter?”

“Pray to Bast, Chaac, and perhaps Hanuman as well that she is not nearly as lethal or stubborn as her mother,” he quipped back.

She shot him an unimpressed glare and pressed on with their walk after the pain passed, meandering through the proteas. Okoye quietly considered his request, already knowing her answer. She recalled the story of Attuma’s father sacrificing himself to protect Talokan when her beloved was just a boy and how his loss shaped the man he was now. 

Okoye hummed and ran her thumb over Attuma’s knuckles, voicing her approval. “Cadmael is a strong name, my love.”

“May Chaac & Bast help him to live up to it,” he replied, squeezing her hand.

Okoye squeezed back. “If he has even a tenth of your courage, I know for certain he will.” 

Attuma’s smile was brighter than the stars, and he kissed her tenderly, murmuring his thanks against her mouth. Their lips parted, and she smiled as he pressed another kiss to her forehead. They continued down the path, coming to the marble and vibranium fountain in the garden’s center, and Attuma stopped to grab a drink of water. 

“Well, at least one of our children has a name,” she chuckled before sobering, staring at the panthers wrought from Bast’s gift, remembering simpler days when she, T’Challa, and Nakia would play in the wide basin. They’d splash each other until they were drenched, then lay under the sun on the warm cobblestones to dry off. The pang of his loss resonated in her heart.

“I think… I would like to honor T’Challa.” Her voice wavered. “I know Toussaint carries his name, but I want to give our children a piece of him as well.”

Attuma pulled her into his arms, holding her as close as he could, resting on the ledge of the fountain’s basin. She tucked her head under his chin, letting the rumble of his voice soothe her. “I know he was more than a king to you, in yakunaj. Your brother was an honorable man, a noble one. I believe that whatever piece you choose to impart on our child will honor him and our son.”

A gentle breeze blew over them, and somehow, Okoye knew it was T’Challa. Accepting the blessing for what it was, she shut her eyes tightly, letting the bittersweet tears spill down her cheeks. Attuma stood as a silent sentry to her grief, allowing her the space to mourn without judgment. T’Challa’s body was gone, but his spirit remained, and she clung to it. Okoye took a deep breath and opened her eyes. 

She stepped back slightly and glanced at the stars, resting her hand on her lower belly. “Perhaps,” she started, “if we have another son, we might name him T’Khwezi.”

Attuma cupped the back of her neck and brought their foreheads together, placing his hand over hers. “A king of stars,” he whispered. “It is fitting, in K’iino’.”

Okoye laughed wetly. “That it is, ukrebe wam.”

His hand slid around her waist, resting on the curve of her back, and they lingered there for a moment longer. A strong contraction broke them out of their reverie, and she leaned into Attuma’s hold, bracing her hands on his shoulders. Okoye clenched her jaw as she felt the ripple of pain in her back. Attuma began singing a quiet tune he used to soothe sore muscles and aches, and she sighed at the small amount of relief it brought. Okoye straightened slowly as the cramping faded into a dull ache and shifted her stance. 

“Back inside?” Attuma’s question was more of a gentle suggestion, and she nodded. He stood to his full height, and they began their slow stroll back into the Citadel.

As they rounded the corner past the bush lilies, Okoye stopped suddenly, gasping as the sudden rush of wet between her legs alerted them to her water breaking. Her face heated in embarrassment, but the fierce tightening in her abdomen pushed any thoughts of humiliation from her mind, and she groaned.

“I think,” Okoye said, breathing heavily, “it may be time to get in the pool.”

Attuma’s eyes were filled with trepidation and concern as he waited for the contraction to pass. He made to pick her up, silently asking for permission, and she nodded curtly, wrapping an arm around his neck as he scooped her into his arms and carried her back into the palace.

A/N 2:

Nakia notices all things. It's why she's a really great spy.

Panicky Attuma fit the bill; argue with a wall.

You can pry adorable, no concept of time having Junior from my cold dead hands.

Yes, T'Khwezi is an entirely made-up name (thank you to @theemfingmenace) Khewzi means star in Xhosa and the T' prefix is a tribute to our fallen king (RIP CB 💕)

Ch. 3

[faintingheroine]

Random "Wuthering Heights" passage:

‘It is strange,’ I began, in the interval of swallowing one cup of tea and receiving another ‘it is strange how custom can mould our tastes and ideas: many could not imagine the existence of happiness in a life of such complete exile from the world as you spend, Mr. Heathcliff; yet, I’ll venture to say, that, surrounded by your family, and with your amiable lady as the presiding genius over your home and heart—’

‘My amiable lady!’ he interrupted, with an almost diabolical sneer on his face. ‘Where is she—my amiable lady?’

‘Mrs. Heathcliff, your wife, I mean.’

‘Well, yes—oh, you would intimate that her spirit has taken the post of ministering angel, and guards the fortunes of Wuthering Heights, even when her body is gone. Is that it?’

Perceiving myself in a blunder, I attempted to correct it. I might have seen there was too great a disparity between the ages of the parties to make it likely that they were man and wife. One was about forty: a period of mental vigour at which men seldom cherish the delusion of being married for love by girls: that dream is reserved for the solace of our declining years. The other did not look seventeen.

Then it flashed on me— ‘The clown at my elbow, who is drinking his tea out of a basin and eating his broad with unwashed hands, may be her husband: Heathcliff junior, of course. Here is the consequence of being buried alive: she has thrown herself away upon that boor from sheer ignorance that better individuals existed! A sad pity—I must beware how I cause her to regret her choice.’ The last reflection may seem conceited; it was not. My neighbour struck me as bordering on repulsive; I knew, through experience, that I was tolerably attractive.

‘Mrs. Heathcliff is my daughter-in-law,’ said Heathcliff, corroborating my surmise. He turned, as he spoke, a peculiar look in her direction: a look of hatred; unless he has a most perverse set of facial muscles that will not, like those of other people, interpret the language of his soul.

‘Ah, certainly—I see now: you are the favoured possessor of the beneficent fairy,’ I remarked, turning to my neighbour.

This was worse than before: the youth grew crimson, and clenched his fist, with every appearance of a meditated assault. But he seemed to recollect himself presently, and smothered the storm in a brutal curse, muttered on my behalf: which, however, I took care not to notice.

‘Unhappy in your conjectures, sir,’ observed my host; ‘we neither of us have the privilege of owning your good fairy; her mate is dead. I said she was my daughter-in-law: therefore, she must have married my son.’

‘And this young man is—’

‘Not my son, assuredly.’

Heathcliff smiled again, as if it were rather too bold a jest to attribute the paternity of that bear to him.

‘My name is Hareton Earnshaw,’ growled the other; ‘and I’d counsel you to respect it!’

‘I’ve shown no disrespect,’ was my reply, laughing internally at the dignity with which he announced himself.

He fixed his eye on me longer than I cared to return the stare, for fear I might be tempted either to box his ears or render my hilarity audible. I began to feel unmistakably out of place in that pleasant family circle. The dismal spiritual atmosphere overcame, and more than neutralised, the glowing physical comforts round me; and I resolved to be cautious how I ventured under those rafters a third time.

Oh, I love this part!

““It is strange,” I began, in the interval of swallowing one cup of tea and receiving another—“it is strange how custom can mould our tastes and ideas: many could not imagine the existence of happiness in a life of such complete exile from the world as you spend, Mr. Heathcliff”

Lockwood fixating so much on their isolation is so revealing. He fancies himself a loner but him being so preoccupied with it reveals him as a poser.

“yet, I’ll venture to say, that, surrounded by your family, and with your amiable lady as the presiding genius over your home and heart—””

Lockwood here is trying to impose sentimental, rather Victorian domesticity on this weird family. Feminist critics (rightfully) had a field day with this.

““My amiable lady!” he interrupted, with an almost diabolical sneer on his face. “Where is she—my amiable lady?””

Here we have the first instance of Heathcliff imitating the speech of the people he mocks. He knows the mistake Lockwood made and is thoroughly enjoying himself asghhj.

““Mrs. Heathcliff, your wife, I mean.”

“Well, yes—oh, you would intimate that her spirit has taken the post of ministering angel, and guards the fortunes of Wuthering Heights, even when her body is gone. Is that it?””

Again, Heathcliff is making fun of Lockwood’s sentimentality by imitating it. This is something Heathcliff often does. His whole revenge is a grotesque parody of the way the people he hates live after all.

Also he is talking about Isabella here but his actual beloved is a ghost so foreshadowing.

“Perceiving myself in a blunder, I attempted to correct it. I might have seen there was too great a disparity between the ages of the parties to make it likely that they were man and wife. One was about forty: a period of mental vigour at which men seldom cherish the delusion of being married for love by girls: that dream is reserved for the solace of our declining years.”

People like to think of Emily Brontë as otherworldly and unaccustomed with societal norms but it is bs. She gets Lockwood’s pompous tone and societal truisms completely right. And to be fair to Lockwood in this instance his truism seems to be true to me. A 60-year-old rich man is probably likelier to marry an 18-year-old than a 40-year-old.

“The other did not look seventeen”.

Lockwood perceives Heathcliff to be about 40, he is actually 37. He perceives Cathy to be 16, she is actually 17.

“Then it flashed upon me—“The clown at my elbow, who is drinking his tea out of a basin and eating his bread with unwashed hands, may be her husband: Heathcliff junior, of course.”

Lockwood is again making a blunder. But he is also partially right because Hareton is like a son of Heathcliff. We are also seeing how “uncivilized” Hareton is at this point.

“Here is the consequence of being buried alive: she has thrown herself away upon that boor from sheer ignorance that better individuals existed! A sad pity—I must beware how I cause her to regret her choice. The last reflection may seem conceited; it was not. My neighbour struck me as bordering on repulsive; I knew, through experience, that I was tolerably attractive.”

Lockwood calls this way of living “being buried alive”. Not very misanthropic.

Lockwood’s conceited aside is great, I love this book. It gets people right despite its extremities.

““Mrs. Heathcliff is my daughter-in-law,” said Heathcliff, corroborating my surmise. He turned, as he spoke, a peculiar look in her direction: a look of hatred; unless he has a most perverse set of facial muscles that will not, like those of other people, interpret the language of his soul.”

We see Heathcliff’s hatred towards Cathy. The second sentence is very nineteenth-century with its preoccupation with physiognomy and whether facial expressions reveal inner emotions.

““Ah, certainly—I see now: you are the favoured possessor of the beneficent fairy,” I remarked, turning to my neighbour.”

Lockwood’s sexist sentimentalism continues. We will see presently that Cathy is more “witch” than “fairy”. Wuthering Heights very deliberately makes fun of domestic sentimentality. Also remark the word “possessor”. Men possess women.

“This was worse than before: the youth grew crimson, and clenched his fist, with every appearance of a meditated assault. But he seemed to recollect himself presently, and smothered the storm in a brutal curse, muttered on my behalf: which, however, I took care not to notice.”

Hareton of course takes it more personally because of his crush on Cathy and the strife between them. Good foreshadowing of that.

““Unhappy in your conjectures, sir,” observed my host; “we neither of us have the privilege of owning your good fairy; her mate is dead. I said she was my daughter-in-law: therefore, she must have married my son.””

Heathcliff is again imitating Lockwood’s diction “your good fairy”. Heathcliff is aware and witty and funny and sarcastic and is having the time of his life. Everyone who ever called Heathcliff just a beastly brute owes me a fortune.

Also I like the word “mate” here instead of husband or spouse.

““And this young man is—”

“Not my son, assuredly.”

Heathcliff smiled again, as if it were rather too bold a jest to attribute the paternity of that bear to him.”

Heathcliff is not someone who enjoyed being uneducated and he is not someone who appreciates a lack of education. He deprived Hareton of an education precisely because he values education and respectability in his own way. He wished for Linton to be a son to make him proud, got him a tutor etc. He professed to prefer Hareton because even despite Heathcliff’s efforts Linton is “tin polished to ape a service of silver” and Hareton is “gold put to the use of paving stones”. Hareton might be gold but he is still put to the use of paving stones and despite his poorly-disguised affection for Hareton, Heathcliff does not want to be taken for his father. Heathcliff wants to be respected. And he is half-offended half-amused that Lockwood took Hareton for his son.

““My name is Hareton Earnshaw,” growled the other; “and I’d counsel you to respect it!”

“I’ve shown no disrespect,” was my reply, laughing internally at the dignity with which he announced himself.”

Hareton’s pride in his family name revealed. Lockwood doesn’t seem to make the connection, but the astute reader might remember the name on the door of Wuthering Heights and guess what happened here, especially in light of Heathcliff not fitting the house he owns in looks and manners.

“He fixed his eye on me longer than I cared to return the stare, for fear I might be tempted either to box his ears or render my hilarity audible.”

As if Lockwood could beat up Hareton lol. But then Edgar did punch Heathcliff so anything is possible I guess?

“I began to feel unmistakably out of place in that pleasant family circle.”

Sarcasm. Nice. Also “family circle”, this is a family but a very odd one with a confusing family setup. Heathcliff did succeed in making the children of his enemies his family.

“The dismal spiritual atmosphere overcame, and more than neutralised, the glowing physical comforts round me;”

Wuthering Heights is not a decrepit old house, a dirty pigsty or a Gothic mansion. It is not the house under Hindley’s management either. Heathcliff keeps the house in good order, always has an efficient female housekeeper and his house has “glowing physical comforts”. The atmosphere there is Gothic and dismal, not the physicality.

“and I resolved to be cautious how I ventured under those rafters a third time.”

Hahajaha

[fictionalnormalcy]

So I know I haven’t been all that vocal about this aside from the occasional reblog, but I’m not the biggest fan of HTTYD The Hidden World. I do need to make a full-on post as to why I was unappreciative, but I would like to give a short version. At least what didn’t sit right with me the most.

The ending. Where we see that final intimate moment where Hiccup’s and Toothless’ foreheads are pressed together, and we see the reversal of the scene that hit us hard the most. Them drawing away from each other.

I knew from before, that the ending was supposed to parallel the ending of the HTTYD books. But I abhorred the execution of it.

I’d seen interviews before, where Dean Deblois said himself that ever since they found out the ending of the book series, he wanted the franchise to end the same way. The last book was released here in the States in 2015. Just a year after HTTYD 2, and right at eve of release of Race to the Edge.

But I feel that the way it was structured was absolutely horrendous.

The battle to rescue all the imprisoned dragons and liberate Toothless and the Light Fury, Hiccup saying that humans didn’t deserve dragons, I wanted to tear my hair out.

Because even if you don’t change a single detail of the battle, I hold to this belief and it is rooted.

They always had the capacity of ending it EXACTLY like the books. In that where the dragons didn’t have to leave, but did so anyway. But Hiccup vowed to protect them in his lifetime.

Yes, before I get pummeled, the franchise can be considered a different universe compared to the books. Lemme remind you, Deblois said himself as I wrote above, he wanted these endings to be similar.

The books were a completely different circumstance. The protagonist was Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III. The franchise one may bear the same name but not an explanation as to his predecessors. Closest we get is in Riders of Berk with the episode of “Portrait of Hiccup as a Buff Man”, which gives us that an ancestor of Hiccup’s was indeed a runt as well, although he probably came to change his name.

The series indeed had higher stakes then the events of THW. From Book 9 to Book 12, it was a FREAKING WAR. Between dragons and humans. Either the humans are exterminated, or the dragons. Hiccup was caught in the middle, considered a traitor by both sides. And how it drew its close? The race to find the King’s Things. Hiccup being crowned King of the Wilderwest, living on the island of Tomorrow.

The dragons coming to back down after Furious, the leader of the dragons as the alpha, a Seadragonus Giganticus Maximus who had been raised alongside Hiccup Horrendous Haddock II, had been killed. Hiccup the Third and the second-in-command, a white-scaled dragon named Luna, came to negotiations. Hiccup had undergone all of these trials, been proven king, and he vowed that he would protect the dragons as long as he was alive.

Why? Because as the history of the three Hiccup’s had proved, dragons and humans would always be at odds, always be a fragile peace. After Hiccup the Third had passed, it could happen anew that dragons would become slaves to humans. Three Hiccups, spanned over hundreds of years, displayed that the peace between them could not be held.

That’s what the series was. Hiccup had written his memoirs of what he had undergone in his life that led to it. How as he came to old age the dragons gradually came to disappear, retreating to the depths of the earth. How one day he knew not even Toothless would return. The memoirs were left, for in the future when the dragons would assuredly return. To use what he had written to bring about a peace that would hold more solidly.

To bring it back to the franchise, think about it. Hiccup might as very well have done the same. His little narration at the beginning of nearly everything. For HTTYD 1, Gift of the Night Fury, Riders of Berk, Race to the Edge, HTTYD 2. He is telling us his story of what he endured for six years.

Then THW omits the little narration. Sure there’s the This is Berk, but this was for the dragons they’d rescued, not just for us viewers. When Grimmel gets to Toothless and the Light Fury and the other dragons are forced into the warlords’ cages, these are not the high stakes as presented in book series. Then it takes a pep talk from Hiccup, and it takes six young adults in dragon suits to rescue tons of dragons. The dragons joining in and smiting their captors.

Their ships went down easier than the Dragon Hunters! In RTTE it was dodging arrows along with weapons that could not be obliterated with mere dragon fire. It was three separate dragons, and at one point there was even an extent where even the damn ships were dragonproof. In THW the dragons literally bust through the cages on their own. I could go on but my point is the warlords were far too easy to defeat compared to other adversaries.

They defeated them so easily, yet Hiccup still told Toothless that the dragons had to go. The Hidden World was a safe enough sanctuary for them. He just proved, everything else from the past six years as proof too, that they could fight to make sure dragons were never oppressed.

That’s why him saying they had to go, seemed too out of character for me. The fact of six years of fighting, that the warlords seemed like a simple battle compared to others. Hiccup could have made that same promise as his book counterpart. To vow to protect the dragons as long as he lived.

I want to wager to say that there’s small hints of others trying to instigate peace as well. Before Hiccup’s time. I don’t have enough to say the Hiccups before him, but that at least other Vikings tried. The Book of Dragons short, Bork wrote the book just like the Riders had done. He didn’t write about the best way to kill them.

Also, the Riders of Berk episode I mentioned before, “Portrait of Hiccup as a Buff Man”. What did Hamish accomplish that he felt the need to even hide the fact that he was a hiccup, born small just like Hiccup the Third. We don’t even know if he could be the second or the first. Then I do have another post on this, somewhat wild but I tried to find some kind of rationality. But the creation of the Dragon Eye. I still find it hard to believe that it was created for the hunters to hunt dragons down. Its creation and what it pertains exceedingly sounds like Bork and his book of dragons.

Anyway, that’s what it seems like. Six years of wanting dragons to be free, coming to be that a young man who was called a Dragon Master decided to stop fighting and had the dragons retreat to the depths of the earth. When there was a possibility in front of them.

[clouseplayssims]

Up next, the Fiore family!

This is most assuredly a marriage of convenience, possibly more than any other pairing in Edirann.

Nazario Drago was a knight in the kingdom of Ghalyvudd, and really created the gold standard for the position. Even Arndt Blumenthal has a great deal of respect for him. He never had much interest in marriage, and knew his duty as a third son was to either join the clergy or become a knight. As his twin brother Mattia wanted to join the Brotherhood of Zeus, knighthood it was.

(An aside but Technically Nazario rolled as gay like Mattia did, but he’s never shown any interest in anyone and I’ve always viewed him as asexual.)

Going to Tenby, escaping from the war and the rebellion, did not sit well with Nazario. But he needed to get Sia Kenton and her unborn child out of the kingdom before they were recaptured... and protecting them took precedence over bravery.

Once in Tenby he felt pretty useless. The forest was enchanted, and for the most part protected them all - even the humans. There was no need for a warrior like him.

Enter Agostina and her proposal.

Agostina is a very, very driven woman. It was shocking to her whole family when Illaria left the family tavern to Agostina, skipping over her own sons AND grandson, but it really shouldn’t have been. Agostina was the one who loved the tavern, who flirted and cleaned and did everything she could to make it an attractive business. The tavern was her heart’s blood.

Of course, with the war the business was lost, but Agostina started fresh, reasoning that even escapees, hiding in the woods, needed a place to relax and unwind after a hard days work. In the process she raised sister (it’s complicated) Cesarina, Ian Long, and Joshua Smith, hoping one of them would show an interest in the business and she could leave it to them. But Ian and Cesarina made the difficult decision to leave - which Agostina supported - and Joshua just wanted to go home.

Which was a problem, because who would run the Boar and Badger?

Agostina knew she’d need help, she couldn’t do it on her own, and available men were limited in Tenby. Not to mention, she still had high standards for herself. If she was marrying it was going to be to the perfect man. A man like Nazario Drago, known in several kingdoms for his impeccable behavior, hard work, diligence, and chivalry.

To say he was surprised is an understatement, but feeling as he was, useless and like a burden, yet still with a heavy loyalty to the Kentons (and Agostina is a Kenton by blood, even if her father was born on the wrong side of the blanket) it made sense. It helped that Agostina didn’t ask for much, just hard work and one child to inherit the tavern.

Together they’ve made it work, and even had the child they needed though that was... well. An experiment they aren’t eager to repeat. Not that they don’t love Iolanda, quite the opposite, she’s their entire world next to the tavern. But they’re happy with an intimacy-free partnership.

And Iolanda? Well, she knows that her mother and father have a unique relationship, but they’re kind to one another, respectful, and she thinks if one must marry for the sake of something other than love that their marriage really is a shining example of what that should look like.

She’s a terribly practical girl, if a bit boring, and seems to be shaping up to be the third Fiore woman who will competently manage a tavern much to the delight (and relief) of Agostina.

[back-and-totheleft]

Empathy turns nasty

W., director Oliver Stone’s biography of President George W. Bush, received quite a bit of buzz leading up to its late 2008 release. After all, the shoot and post-production for Stone’s third film dealing with a U.S. president were done in a matter of months to create an air of immediacy around a film centering on a sitting (though soon departing) president.

Stone actually went on the record saying he rushed the film into an October release in the hope it would change a few minds. Whether it did or not we may never know, but judging it as a stand-alone piece raises plenty of other pertinent questions.

For one, why did Stone make the film at all? When W. was released a few weeks before election day, the president’s approval ratings were in the toilet and he was about to drift into infamy. The film’s trailer portrayed it as a silly satire with look-a-like actors cast to play up each of their characters’ most notorious flaws. It was an abrupt change of pace for a director who’s past looks at presidents (JFK in 1991 and Nixon in 1995) were as dark and dour as dramas come, but it also starkly contrasted Stone’s last film, the straight-faced melodrama World Trade Center.

W. immediately caught fire from critics who seemed especially turned off by Thandie Newton’s tight-faced portrayal of Condoleezza Rice (PopMatters own Cynthia Fuchs, however, called the performance “creepily pitch perfect” in the film’s original review). Others seemed disappointed in the film’s lack of satiric edge. With so many well-publicized travesties during his eight years in office, many felt Stone was a little soft on the much-maligned commander-in-chief. Even the left-leaning Rolling Stone critic Peter Travers said the movie “comes perilously close to being W. for Dummies.” Though it had its share of supporters, W. was as quickly dismissed as it was made.

Yet, looking back on it now, W. seems surprisingly relevant. It stands as a surprisingly entertaining historical landmark of a time everyone would assuredly rather forget. What may have appeared to be a broad overview at the time seems like a gentle reminder today. We see plenty of the Bush back story, including lots of juicy interactions with Bush Sr, but the lowlights of the presidency are present as well. The mission accomplished speech. The lack of WMDs. The near-fatal pretzel. The appearance of each brings back a dearth of memories more powerful than any precise reenactment.

The only occasion missing is 9/11. What seems like an obvious, presidency-defining moment to include was most likely left out for two reasons: Stone had just made a tribute to the events of that day in World Trade Center, and he probably found it impossible to break up the comedic tone of W. by including an event completely absent of levity. It seems glaring when pointed out post-viewing, but the film’s flashback structure keeps it moving forward without questions.

The composition also helps paint the president in a shockingly harsh light. What first appears to be empathy turns nasty by the film’s final scene. Instead of critiquing Bush Jr. in a more commercially appealing light (the anticipated SNL skit style jabs), Stone lets our own decisions sink in throughout – how could we have elected such a spoiled, confused doofus (twice)?

-Ben Travers, “Reconsidering the Oliver Stone Filmography,” PopMatters, Sept 23 2010

[doomedandstoned]

Lady Luna and the Devil Unleash ‘Vampiric Visions’

~By Tom Hanno~

Lady Luna and the Devil are already back with a new album! 'Vampiric Visions Vol. 1 - Living Blood' (2022) is their third full length, "a theatrical tale of horror, blood, and vengeance told across three acts", and is the perfect follow up to the tales of sin told of on their 2021 album, The Mother of All Sin.

One of the best aspects of this band are the vocals of Lady Luna, who also handles string and choir duties. Her voice is aptly suited to the stories that this band has chosen to tell, and if you compare the vocals of the last album with the new one, then you will assuredly hear growth in their performances; something that makes the new music more powerful and entertaining.

Each act of the album is introduced by narration backed by creepy synth parts, some of which may bring about comparisons to the synth work in classic '80s horror films. These short bits separate each section nicely, helping to fuse the story into one cohesive tale, but the over the top, typical vampire accent the narrator used feels like too much of a stereotype of what people think vampires should sound like. That is the only thing on this record that could have been done better.

Vampiric Visions Vol. I: Living Blood by Lady Luna and the Devil

"Queen of the Night" is like doom tinged King Diamond/Mercyful Fate. The lyrical content only adds to these comparisons, but the riffs are where that vibe is really felt most.

The lyrics tell of the death of a young man named Christian, whose name seems to be a metaphor for his family's religious leanings. His death also sets up the story and helps to create "The Slayer" that is introduced in the track of the same name.

"The Slayer" is the best of Act I's three tracks and uses the catalyst of Christian's death as a way of furthering the story, also introducing his sister Scarlet as "The Slayer."

The opening keys are haunting, having just the right amount of vampire movie tone mixed with an almost church organ sound as well. The guitars are less King Diamond, and a bit more Candlemass this time around, and Lady Luna sounds exceptional here as well.

Act II consists of four tracks, with "Countess Victoria '' both introducing the name of our blood sucking vampire and being the best of the four.

The riffs for "Countess Victoria" are doom metal through and through, helping to convey the terrible fate that our main character is about to meet at the hands, or fangs, of her supposed "savior." The very first riff we hear just oozes evil before heading into Candlemass territory, perfectly setting the mood needed for this track.

"Vampiric Visions" is up next , and it follows up on the promises of "Countess Victoria" by being both lyrically and musically heavy.

The doom metal influences are still present here, but a slight Epica feel also makes its presence known; add in a blazing guitar solo by guest musician Tony Piccoli, and you have yet another excellent song!

Scarlet has had the misfortune of being a victim of the very vampire she was hoping to slay, and the "Vampiric Visions" she sees are painful, thus continuing her story of torment and vengeance.

Act III has but two tracks, "Let Them Come" and "Return Me to Dust."

These two songs carry all of the elements that have made this album so amazing, and end(?) the story of Countess Victoria and Scarlet the Slayer. How did this story conclude? I am going to leave that blank, if you want to know then you must immerse yourself in the world of bloodlust, tragedy, birth, death, and rebirth that is chronicled within this record.

While I really enjoyed last year's 'Mother of All Sin' album, there were parts that seemed flat to me, maybe a little repetitive as well, but 'Vampiric Visions Vol. I - Living Blood' does not suffer from the same issues. The songs are written with more expression, the riffs are doom goodness throughout, and while the story may not be totally original, it is still wonderfully put together, all of this making for one of the better releases of October 2022.

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[ticklystuff]

Two-Part Gift

Summary: Happy birthday to Ayato from Thoma and Ayaka

Word Count: ~2.9k

Characters: lee!Ayato, ler!Thoma, ler!Ayaka

Notes: this is a tickle fic!

i really enjoyed ayato’s trailer and it also happens to be his birthday! this originally was supposed to be a thomato drabble with lee!thoma but i decided to make it lee!ayato last minute and made it more platonic so that ayaka wouldn’t have to third-wheel lol

---

Ayato hurried himself as the first few drops of rain made contact with his face, signaling the start of the rainy spring season for Inazuma. The crowds of people around him had taken notice as well and Ayato found himself side-stepping around children and hastily apologizing to others that he bumped into while heading for cover from the changing weather. The plinking of water against steel rooves steadily grew and Ayato opted to remove his coat, draping it over his head as temporary cover from the light drizzle. He hated getting his hair wet.

The road to the Kamisato Estate would most assuredly be drenched by the time he’d be able to reach the outskirts of the city and would not be ideal for travel by foot. Ayato had found this out the hard way just the other year and ended up ankle deep in mud, ruining his fine leather shoes, not that it mattered much to him, but Thoma always nagged him about looking the part of the Yashiro Commissioner. To prevent future stressful shopping trips, Ayato veered off into one of the side streets, travelling further into the city and away from his original destination.

It had been quite a while since his last visit to the Komore Teahouse, but the exterior looked pristine as ever. Ayato couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Thoma busying himself over every little detail to keep the place clean and tidy. It wouldn’t surprise him if he did catch Thoma cleaning outside in this weather, risking a cold for his job. Thankfully, he was not.

A warm glow emitted through the glass windows of the teahouse, despite being afterhours, indicating only one thing. Ayato gently opened the door and stepped inside, greeted not only by the scent of incense, but three familiar faces as well.

“Huh? Hello, milord!” Thoma eagerly waved at Ayato, balancing Taromaru on his head as the shiba happily waved his tail and whined to greet the familiar face.

“What a surprise to run into you here, Ayato,” Ayaka said, lifting a hand to wave at her brother.

“One second, I’ll go start some tea,” Thoma told the two, reaching upwards to grab at Taroumaru. “Taroumaru, c’mon boy, down you go.”

While Thoma struggled with Taroumaru, Ayato slipped his arms back into his coat as he approached the counter. “My goodness, you’re in high spirits. Thought you’d have a party without me?”

Ayaka shook her head in response. “No, actually we came here to make some plans for your birth-”

“Ahem, milady,” Thoma coughed quickly, catching Ayaka by surprise, but the damage had been done.

Ayato couldn’t help but chuckle at the slip-up. “So that’s it.”

“Ah, my apologies!” Ayaka quickly bowed her head to cover her flustered face, causing Thoma to break out into a fit of giggles as well.

“It’s quite alright,” Ayato told her, briefly placing his hand at the top of her scalp for a reassuring head pat. “Unfortunately, I actually won’t be able to make it to my own party this year.”

“What?!” The two said in unison, looking at him in shock.

“You know how work goes for me,” Ayato said with a half-hearted chuckle. He really did want to celebrate his birthday with his favorite people, but being commissioner wasn’t easy.

“But you already missed yours last year,” Ayaka sighed.

“Well, why don’t we celebrate tomorrow?” Thoma suggested. “Stores are closed right now and I’m still going to need some groceries, but if I wake up early enough, I can probably whip something up.”

“I actually need to depart tomorrow morning,” Ayato told the two, watching as both their faces dropped in disappointment for the second time that night.

“Milord..”

“Ayato, breaks are important too.”

“Come now, don’t be like that you two. We can still do something today,” Ayato said reassuringly. He’d be lying, though, if he said that he wasn’t disappointed as well. “Thoma, why don’t you brew the tea? Let’s chat about our lives. It’s been a while.”

“I-I’ll help too,” Ayaka stuttered, clearly still let down at the news.

“Don’t worry, milady, I got this!” Thoma told her as he stood up from the chair, finally setting Taroumaru on the floor. “I’ll join you the two of you in a bit!”

As Thoma busied himself in the back, Ayato followed Ayaka into one of the adjoining rooms, with Taroumaru in tow. Every time he would come back after having been gone for lengths of time, Ayaka always seemed to mature just a little bit. Despite this, though, he’d always see her as his baby sister, so he never failed to pull at his own heartstrings whenever he felt like he let Ayaka down. He’d have to make it up to her, somehow.

“Sorry, I didn’t have time to go shopping for a gift yet,” Ayaka said as she sat down by the table, Ayato taking a place beside her. “I would’ve made time had I known sooner.”

“No need to apologize,” Ayato told her, watching Thoma walk in with the tea set and brewed beverage. “The chance to see you both before then is more than enough.”

Before Ayaka could speak up again, Thoma leaned in from the other side to whisper something into her ear. Ayato watched the two, quirking an eyebrow when Ayaka started nodding to herself and giggling in response. Eventually, Thoma pulled away and started setting the table once more, but Ayato caught the sneaky glances the two gave each other as Thoma moved about.

“What are you two scheming now?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Ayaka covered her mouth as she giggled, clearly hiding something from him. “Let’s just enjoy ourselves for now.”

Ayato looked at Ayaka, then to Thoma, wary of how their moods had suddenly changed. Still, though, he’d rather have this random bout of cheeriness than the gloomy nature from before and he happily accepted the current situation as he offered to pour the two some of the freshly brewed tea. Once poured, the three gave cheers and conversed amongst each other, sharing stories from the time Ayato had been away. Although traumatizing at the time, the three laughed together when Thoma recalled how he nearly peed himself in fear when the Shogun attempted taking his vision away. There was also another time when a guest that looked almost identical to Thoma had paid the Komore Teahouse a visit and Ayaka had thought Thoma dyed his own hair red. Ayato joked that maybe they had finally found Thoma’s replacement, earning himself fierce protests from the blond.

“It’s good to have you back again, milord,” Thoma remarked contently after Ayato had finished sharing his own stories during his time away. “It’s not as fun when you’re gone.”

“I guess Ayaka is too boring for you, huh?” Ayato giggled to himself when Ayaka reacted with a playful slap to his arm. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Thoma chuckled when Ayaka shot daggers at him from the other side. “By the way, the two of us have an early birthday present for you!”

“Oh? Ayaka, I recall you mentioning how you didn’t have enough time to go out and purchase a gift.”

“Ah, it was a last minute idea by Thoma himself,” Ayaka told her brother, avoiding eye contact with Ayato when he turned to look at her. “I’ll still go out and grab something nice for you, but this will have to suffice for now.”

“Oh, and it’s in the other room,” Thoma mentioned as he and Ayaka stood up together. 

Ayato looked up at the two smiling yet suspicious faces. He had grown up with the two, so it was plain as day to him when either of them were plotting something. Neither of them were great liars. “You guys can’t bring my gift to this room?”

“It’s, uh, fragile?” Thoma said unconvincingly, chuckling awkwardly when Ayato quirked an eyebrow at him.

Something was definitely up and Ayato instinctively grew wary, but he decided to play along for their sake. He stood up after quickly finishing his tea, and nodded at the two to lead the way, Taroumaru following right behind him.

The room across the hall was the exact same from before, with no fragile present in sight, further confirming Ayato’s suspicions that this was some kind of set up. “I don’t see anything noteworthy about this room.”

“You have to close your eyes first,” Ayaka quickly told him. “It’s a surprise.”

Ayato’s eyes shifted between the two, but gave in with a sigh. “Just don’t try anything funny.”

He closed his eyes and listened with heightened senses as the other two shifted around, giggling and whispering to themselves. When everything went quiet, Ayato held out his hands, figuring the two were waiting to give him their gift. Unbeknownst to Ayato, Thoma and Ayaka were standing directly in front of him, readying themselves to pounce as the two silently counted to three together.

“Wha-! Hey! What the-” Ayato yelped as he was pushed to the floor by the two, pinned down by their collective efforts, with Ayato at his upper-half and Ayaka sitting on his legs. Taroumaru also seemed to want to partake in the fun and wagged his tail by Ayato’s head, watching the three curiously.

“Gotcha, milord!” Thoma snickered with a triumphant grin.

Ayato scoffed and shook his head with a smile. “I normally would never fall for something like this, but went along with it anyway for you two. I’m assuming there is no present, then.”

“Yes there is!” Ayaka piped in. “Thoma, why don’t you show him.”

Ayato felt himself tense up when he felt Thoma’s hands grab at his sides, but quickly composed himself as he figured out what the “present” was. He simply gave Thoma a little smile, not from the tickling that the two had planned out, but to convey they weren’t going to break him that easily.

“Thoma, why isn’t he laughing?” Ayaka asked as Thoma attempts at tickling Ayato failed. “Thoma, I thought you said you’ve tickled him before.”

“I-I’m trying, milady,” Thoma stuttered as he tried switching methods, from squeezing his sides to tasering him. “I swear I’ve gotten him before!”

“You’ll have to try harder than that,” Ayato said with a wink, amused at the frustrated expression on Thoma’s face. Ayato even helped them out and spread his arms across the floor, giving Thoma open access to attempt at his underarms, but even that didn’t work.

“Hmm, let me help,” Ayaka said when she noticed nothing was working. Ayato stifled a grunt when he felt her small hands squeeze at his thighs, but he still managed to keep his cool, showing no signs of breaking.

Ayato had to hold back a yawn as he felt multiple hands try their best to evoke at least some kind of reaction. He could easily turn the tables on the both of them if he so chose to and Ayato knew very well how sensitive the two of them were, having tickled both of them countless times, but it was cute watching them struggle at some sort of revenge.

“Maybe I was wrong, milady,” Thoma sighed in defeat, finally stopping to turn to her. 

“Just know that I will be getting my revenge on you two la-GAH!” Ayato quickly clamped a hand over his mouth when he felt Ayaka’s nails graze over one of his knees. Despite his trousers acting as some kind of barrier, he was still able to feel a tickly shock shoot up his leg, creating a kneejerk reaction.

Thoma’s face lit up at his sudden reaction. “Wait, try that again!”

Ayato felt the same motion start up on his other leg and did his best restrain himself, but failed when a snort managed to slip past. Ayaka began skittering her nails against his knees, causing his legs to fidget, and Ayato felt himself slowly beginning to break down. “Pfft- O-Okahahahy! I’m ticklihihish!”

“Thoma, hurry! Get him again!”

Ayato gasped before dissolving into a giggly fit as Thoma brought his hands back to his sides. Now that the floodgates had been broken, it was harder for Ayato to contain his giggles and maintain a more relaxed state, feeling multiple shocks from two different parts of his body.

“We did it!” Thoma exclaimed giddily as his fingers dug into Ayato’s sides, using a mixture of gentle pinching and poking. “Smiles for the birthday boy!”

Ayato clamped both hands over his mouth as he laughed in an attempt to stifle his giggles, knowing full well how loud his laughter could get. It had been quite a while since the last time he was actually tickled and the sensations felt foreign and fresh, as if no one has tickled him before. Normally, he would be in a position to shut down any attempts from Thoma and Ayaka, but now that they had managed to get him laughing, it felt impossible for himself to recuperate.

“Ahahaha! Guhuhuhuys!” Ayato giggles continued to spill through his hands as the two switched spots. Thoma had gone back to digging his fingers into his underarms, while Ayaka started skittering her nails against his thighs again. The two spots hadn’t tickled before, but now that he was already laughing, he couldn’t stop himself.

“How does it feel have the tables turned on you?” Thoma grinned eagerly, not that Ayato would be able to see through shut eyes and his hands over his face. Since his hands were being used to cover up how embarrassing his face looked, this gave easy access to Thoma’s underarms and made sure to take advantage with swift pokes and prods.

“I think he’s almost as ticklish as you, Thoma,” Ayaka giggled as she started squeezing at Thoma’s thighs, but her words fell on deaf ears due to how focused Thoma had become.

“Tickle, tickle, Aya- er, milord,” Thoma taunted, which just seemed to make things worse as he was not used to being in a position like this.

“AH- HahaheheheHAHAHAHA!” Ayato burst out into fresh laughter at the feeling of his hips being pinched, probably the most ticklish he has felt yet. His laughter echoed throughout the room of the teahouse, drowning out the dampened pitter-patters of the falling rain outside. 

Ayato suddenly felt a hand push away at his own hands at his face, revealing his laughing face to the two. He quickly brought his hands back, but Ayato felt the other hand come back to push them back once more.

“No need to hide your smile,” Thoma said, trying to keep one hand at Ayato’s hips while he his other hand focused on keeping Ayato’s hands away from his face. One less hand tickling him eased his laughter somewhat, until Ayaka brought her hands back to his knees, this time focusing on the undersides. This was somehow worse than the tops of his kneecaps and his legs began to twitch and spasm under Ayaka, renewing his laughter.

“GAHAHAHA! HAHAHEHEHAHA!” Ayato didn’t even try to cover his face at this point as tears brimmed at the corners from his shut eyes. He had never been tickled to such lengths before, but he was somewhat thankful that it was only Ayaka and Thoma that had to see him like this.

“O-Oh?” Thoma suddenly stopped once Taroumaru started pawing at his arm, whining at the blond as he did so. “You think we should stop?”

Taroumaru seemed to understand and barked in response, wagging his tail as he walked back over to Ayato’s head and giving his face reassuring licks, causing Ayato to giggle from the unexpected sensation. Even the puppy kisses tickled.

“I guess Taroumaru knows best,” Ayaka said as she removed herself from the floor and stood up. “Sorry, Ayato. I hope we didn’t take it too far.”

“Here you go, milord.” Thoma got up from straddling Ayato and offered his hand to help the other off the floor.

Ayato wiped away the few tears that had remained and took Thoma’s hand in his own to sit up. “Well, that was certainly not a birthday present I was expecting.”

“Well, neither of us were prepared on such a short notice and Thoma had the idea of sending you off with as much smiles and laughter as possible,” Ayaka told him, her eyes glancing at Ayato apologetically. “I didn’t have anything prepared for you, so I went along with it.”

"No, I appreciate it.” Ayato stood up and smiled at the two, opening his arms for a group hug. “Even though it’s not my actual birthday, I’m still glad I got to spend it with the two of you.”

Ayaka and Thoma both beamed at how content Ayato seemed and eventually joined him in a group hug, with Taroumaru jumping up and down as if he wanted to join as well.

“Happy birthday,” Ayaka said happily.

“Yeah, happy birthday mi- Ack! Nohohoho!”

Ayaka gasped in shock but soon fell into a giggly fit with Thoma as the two were tickled by Ayato, trapped in his embrace. Ayato hummed happily to himself as he listened to their laughter, delighted with how his birthday was going so far.

“I loved my gift so much that I hope you guys don’t a mind part two.”

[bridgertonbabe]

I know you’ve kind of touched upon this previously & in your writing but when Sophie worked as a maid for the Bridgertons, when did each of them realise there was something between Ben & Soph? Or what was the moment for each of them that made them realise? 🧐 I mean Violet probably knew straight away but I’ve always wondered when exactly people knew & also what went through their head as Ben showed up for surprise visit the 123 time that week 😂

So I agree that Violet knew the moment Benedict introduced Sophie to her, but as for his siblings and in-laws;

Anthony: had been encouraging Benedict to settle down (if he could get a Kate, he was sure his brother could find his own Kate) but noticed his brother seemed distracted since he returned from Wiltshire, when he notices his brother exchanging charged gazes with their sisters lady's maid, he goes to his mother to reveal this big news to her only to be told by Violet that he was very slow on the uptake since everyone else was well aware there was something between Benedict and Sophie, leaving him disgruntled that no one felt the need to mention any of this to him

Colin: as soon as his mother told him that his sisters new lady's maid had been brought to Number Five by his brother, he just knew there was something between them, though it wasn't until he saw them in the same room together after Benedict had fallen off of his chair and Sophie had come racing over to check he was alright that he realised that there was a deeper connection between the pair and that his brother was quite literally head over heels for Sophie

Daphne: following the chaotic afternoon in which Benedict came to Sophie's aid, she noticed how adoringly Sophie looked to Benedict as he held Caroline and she also noticed the way her brother gazed back at her with equal adoration in his eyes, then once she was informed that Benedict had met Sophie back in Wiltshire and had brought her to London, she knew for certain that the pair were in love and had most likely formed an attachment at My Cottage

Eloise: the first to know that there was something between the pair, when Benedict had returned home from Wiltshire and she began wittering away to him, she realised he wasn't even remotely paying any attention to her, looking straight past her to where Sophie was sat with their sisters, and she knew in an instant that her brother was in love and infatuated with the woman he had insisted his mother hired as the girls lady's maid, she had wondered if the feeling was returned but all it took was her notice of Sophie glancing at Benedict before blushing and shyly looking away for her to know assuredly that both parties were deeply in love with the other

Francesca: when Benedict popped round the day after bringing Sophie to Number Five she had thought it sweet of him to check in on the lady's maid to make sure she was settling in alright, it was only when he returned a second time that very same day that she cottoned on that her brother was in love, and it was upon his third visit where Sophie had dropped the pins she was dressing her hair with upon the announcement he would be joining them for dinner that confirmed her curiosity that her new lady's maid possessed the greatest of affections for her brother

Gregory: didn't know until he was summoned from Eton for the wedding day, got given the lowdown by Hyacinth and was confident had he been present he too would have picked up on the love between Benedict and his new bride

Hyacinth: saw Benedict kissing Sophie in the garden and went about threatening him to stay away as Sophie was the best lady's maid she had ever had and didn't want him ruining it for her

Kate: saw Sophie walking away from Benedict as his fingers skimmed the ribbon of her apron and knew right away there was something between them (but opted not to tell Anthony, lest he charge in and make a mess of things)

Simon: heard his wife regaling the events of the chaotic afternoon in which Benedict came to the new lady's maid's aid, automatically thought to himself that his brother-in-law was in love with the young woman from the sounds of it (but like Kate, opted not to say anything to his wife and get her excited for a possible wedding on the horizon)

Penelope: recognised Sophie as the woman in silver when she first met her, assumed Benedict knew her identity as he was so clearly enamoured with her (also she didn't think Benedict stupid enough to not recognise the woman he fell in love with that night)

Newton: humped Sophie's leg and picked up on how angry Benedict was that time, continued to hump Sophie's leg or even approach her just to get a rise out of Anthony's brother (because Newton loves messing with Anthony's siblings for his own amusement)

[whetstonefires]

heavier than a mountain, lighter than a feather

[my take on @misskirby's not-prompt about obi-wan beating palpatine to death with an office chair]

-

Obi-Wan had once touched the cold-burning edge of the Dark Side to give himself the extra edge he needed to cut down the Sith who had cut down his Master. He had fought with rage pushing him, he had fought with all the fear that Qui-Gon lay expiring on the reactor floor, that he might yet win and find himself seconds too late to bring the emergency med-treatment necessary to survive a lightsaber to the chest.

(Not that it had mattered; all he’d gotten from his desperate, hasty win was a few seconds of farewell bereft of comfort, and the burden of Anakin hung around his neck, and oh, he wished his padawan was not a burden. There had been no option but to take him and thus taking him must have been right, but no one should take on a student they did not feel ready for, and he had.)

If he had fought that way this time, he would have lost.

The Sith Master would have done what the apprentice could not, and twisted the Dark Side within him as it rose, and snared him in it, so he could not find his way back to the Light, and used that grip to bear him down with Sidious’ greater power, because the Sith said the Force will free me but it was the way of the Dark to place one will over another by pure force, so even what narrow freedom there was on the dark path was offered to one alone. Even in the best case, he would have been overwhelmed too heavily to fight for more than long enough to finish him.

Perhaps he would not have been killed. Perhaps he would have been kept alive to be used as leverage against Anakin. But assuredly he would not have been able to win.

Obi-wan however had what he would have thought of, if he had allowed himself to think about it, a trick for using his attachments and the desire not to lose them as fuel without reaching into the destabilizing, consuming whirlwind of the Dark Side. It was a dangerous, stupid trick, really, at least the way he used it, although Obi-wan thought of that way as fundamental to being a good Jedi, which would have explained a great deal about him if anyone had known.

The trick was this: it was easy to push yourself to where your limits should have been and beyond using your attachment to a person, without falling into the hungry selfishness of the Dark Side, if you simply did not intend to survive.

When he was thirteen, he had tried to persuade Qui-Gon Jinn, who had not yet been his Master, to use the bomb in his recently fitted slave-collar to blow open a door, killing Obi-wan but allowing him complete the mission, which was not Obi-wan’s mission

It was not difficult to return to that place, that space in himself where serenity came easy because soon there would be nothing left to go wrong or to lose—Anakin had made it difficult, for a long time; Anakin he was obliged to raise and train. Anakin who needed him.

All his obligation to the war and the Council and all the men under his command had not pinned him to himself the way his duty to Anakin had, and—knighting him had been helpful. It had been a relief, to finally cast off that weight. There is no death, there is the Force was much easier to believe of oneself than of those one grieved, and some weeks Obi-wan breathed it in and out with every breath, and there was no fear.

He knew several things, as he entered the Senate through an entrance that was technically, perhaps, a window. One that did not open, at that. That the Chancellor had some kind of failsafe embedded in the GAR’s brains. That the Chancellor was a Sith Lord. That the Chancellor had been using his access to Anakin all these years to hurt his Padawan.

That if he took the time to assemble the rest of the Council and try to stage this as a proper arrest, word would have time to reach Palpatine of Obi-wan having been publicly informed, because Maul was the least subtle sentient Obi-wan had ever had the misfortune of meeting more than once, and that if Palpatine knew the jig was up he would use his fail-safe.

So Obi-wan needed to do this alone.

It was possible, of course, that it wouldn’t be difficult. Sidious was a creature of stealth and insinuation. He spent most hours of his life maintaining a posture of harmlessness. When could he have found the time to do regular lightsaber drills, let alone practice live combat?

But Maul probably feared the man for a reason. So Obi-wan was going to do this as quickly as possible, but he wasn’t going to be hasty.

Spring the trap.

He’d closed himself down in the Force before he got near the Senate building, jumping through the hole he’d sliced into the window with only his physical strength and no Jedi edge, and only when he got near the Chancellor’s office did he reopen his senses just a thread, to make sure there was no one in there meeting with Palpatine whom he needed to keep alive. The Force didn’t slam into him with a warning, which would have to be confirmation enough.

Obi-wan yanked the door open, hurled five primed thermal detonators in the direction of the great ship-like slab of an occupied desk, slammed the ornate portal shut again, and threw himself to the ground at the foot of the wall, as far away as he could get, head tucked under his arms. He was fairly sure he’d seen Mas Amedda in there, standing beside the desk as the Chancellor in his thronelike chair raised his head with a gratifyingly startled look on his face.

Pity. The Vice-Chancellor could probably have explained so much of what had been going on behind the scenes, all this time.

The blast left the office door half-shattered, belching smoke, but Obi-wan escaped with just one splinter, not terribly large, in the back of one calf. His robes and boots had absorbed the rest of the shrapnel that had made it that far. He tugged it out as he got up—no time to do anything more, it wasn’t bleeding much. He drew a deep breath of half-clean corridor air and dashed into the opaque ruin that had been the Chancellor’s office, senses fully unfurled now that the time for stealth was over. Though in the interest of not being an irresistible target, he did not ignite his lightsaber just yet.

The Force guided him through the smoke, and he brought his sword to light even as he swung it through the murk.

It stopped, humming, against a bar of red light that hissed into being at the last instant, and that felt equally inevitable.

“You.” Sheev Palpatine’s face looked like a Sith Lord’s now, twisted with hate and lit red from below. And, gratifyingly, somewhat scorched. His hair had sizzled from the heat, and his left arm seemed to have something at least mildly wrong with it. Obi-wan hoped the explosions had affected at least one of his legs, as well, since his own maneuverability was cut by the shard of door to the calf.

“Me indeed, Chancellor,” he said, taking advantage of his two-handed grip to bear down against the block with extra force. Palpatine bore up admirably, but as his snarl tightened it was clear that it was not without cost. “Or should I say, Lord Sidious?”

The smoke was starting to thin, leaking away out of the shattered room. Sidious was still behind his ruined desk with its weakly sparking console, which seemed to have taken much of the impact for him—he was standing, anyway, sadly. Mas Amedda’s corpse, on the far end of the desk from the one Obi-wan had circumnavigated, was one of the things that was still smoking. Most of the brocade and other decorative fabric in the room must have been thoroughly treated with fire-retardant, but he had not been.

“I thought you might have learned my true name,” Palpatine said, far too complacently for someone whose long deception had been uncovered and who was staving off death one-handed. “But what brought you racing here in such haste?”

“Well, you see, they used to call me Sith-killer because of Maul, and since that’s been proven regrettably in error, I thought I had better—” Sidious tried to fling him back against the opposite wall with a sharp jerk of his wounded hand, and Obi-wan had to push back with the whole of his will and stance to slide back only a few feet.

This had freed their lightsabers, though, and Sidious chopped low with a terrible speed. Obi-wan leapt clear, knowing the blood soaking into the pale fabric of his pants was betraying the weakness in his leg—Anakin had had a point, he admitted grudgingly, about black hiding all kinds of stains.

For better and for worse.

He tried to catch Sidious with an overhead slash while he was up, to keep that red lightsaber busy for the most part, and when it was intercepted used the force of that impact to somersault back in a momentary return to his master’s old Ataru style—not too far, though, at all costs he must prevent the Sith Master’s escape.

Sidious wouldn’t need to get far, just to a room with a working holo transmitter, to destroy everything.

He flung himself back in.

Palpatine sidestepped his next attack, parried another, stepped back with the third. His single arm was telling against him, and while he was regrettably fast his movements were stiff enough that he had clearly taken at least one other hurt. Probably somewhere in the right hip. Obi-wan stayed on the offensive—it was how he’d beaten Maul, after all, though he was at pains to avoid overreaching to the point of recreating Anakin’s loss to Dooku.

His attacks did more damage to the sparking desk, bisected the thronelike monstrosity of a chair, which turned out under all the gilt, padding, and chromium to be mostly of durasteel, got close enough to put additional charred rents in Palpatine’s ornate sleeves. Nearly a minute had passed since he threw those detonators, and Sidious was still alive. Too long.

“Really,” said the politician, dropping his stance to one that would allow him to parry more from the shoulder, his first hint of fatigue. His style was not quite Makashi even as he adapted to the one-handed approach that was clearly not his preference, but there were some notes to it that rang so strongly of Dooku they could come from nowhere else. “What do you hope to achieve?”

“You won’t have Anakin,” Obi-wan said, the plot that had been in retrospect laid so horribly bare with just a few sentences from Maul, supported by a few more from some of their most trusted troopers, put together with a hundred hints and oddities and he should have guessed on his own.

Sidious grinned, the amiable wrinkles of his face lying deeper and more correct, somehow, in this attitude of wild, infinite gloating. “Possessiveness, Master Jedi?”

“No,” said Obi-wan, and it was true because he had given Anakin up, given everything up before he came here. He was holding onto nothing, he was an object in free-fall but not falling, because he was at exactly the right place and momentum at the outer edge of a gravity well that would let him remain at a constant height.

Orbits degraded, given time, if not carefully maintained. And if they were disrupted sharply enough it meant a violent, flaming spiral down into explosive doom, or sometimes out into the fathomless dark. This was not a true, secure serenity like a Jedi should strive for. But it would serve. For today, it would serve.

He fell on Sidious again in a flurry of blows, pushing his physical advantage, but although the Chancellor was clearly straining to keep up this defense, his stamina continued to fail to run out or even noticeably decline, as though he had learned to subsist on some constant well of the Force alone.

Probably he had, because it was welling up out of him, filling the room, an endless pit of the Dark that had lain concealed like a trap under pinned canvas and scattered leaves all this time. He was drawing heavily upon the Dark Side now and that wasn’t precisely goodbut it was promising.

He was beginning to develop something that was not quite optimism or confidence but approached both by the time the progress of the humming, crashing process of the duel took them past the far end of the desk, back into sight of what had been Mas Amedda. Palpatine angled his next fractional retreat toward the corps, away from the cracked and blackened windows, avoiding the treacherous footing of a shattered vase that had probably been a valuable antique.

Obi-wan tried to take advantage of the change in angle in the next rapid, whirring clash of lightsabers.

Unlike every other time they had crossed blades this duel, Sidious simply—shut his off in the moment before contact.

Obi-wan had committed a little too much of his weight to the blow to abort it entirely. Sidious ducked away from the remainder with a sinuous grace even as he activated his weapon again, now on the inside of Obi-wan’s guard—trakata, executed with terrible excellence.

The need for the dodge was the trakata maneuver’s great weakness, and gave Obi-wan time to avoid the worst of the stroke, but even still the red lightsaber clipped him across the wrist—not a clean sweep slicing off the hand entire, but a glancing blow, that seared through the skin and flesh and took a significant bite out of the ulna.

Obi-wan didn’t try to repress his strangled scream, and Sidious leaned into it in the Force, pressing at the pain, stoking it and encouraging it to drag him down into the Dark, where he would be the Sith Master’s plaything. He was smirking now, more deeply and honestly than ever, a laugh rising into his mouth, for if Master Kenobi had had a slight edge in their fight with two hands to one, with the Jedi’s primary weapon-hand incapacitated, the Sith would surely dominate.

In that moment, Obi-wan moved to rebalance the odds. His blue lightsaber chopped down—not onto Sidious’ flesh, which it was clear he guarded with the preternatural awareness of a being whose own self was as valuable as all the Galaxy else, but to sheer through the emitter end of the crimson lightsaber.

It spat and burst but, unfortunately, tragically failed to explode.

As Sidious raised his eyes from the ruined weapon looking like he might explode in its place out of pure outrage, Obi-wan brought his sword back up to go for the decapitating blow now that the Sith had no weapon to block with, but in that moment Sidious’ burnt and broken hand jabbed up, and shot a gout of lightning into his face.

His back arced so violently it threw him off his feet, and it was all Obi-wan could do to keep hold of his lightsaber in his good hand and deactivate it as he went down, to avoid doing himself a worse injury than Sidious had yet managed. The lightning followed him down, scouring its way from just beside his left eye down every nerve ending he had in a screaming, jerking chorus of pain.

The deep lightsaber burn on his right wrist somehow hurt more now than it had to receive, but the force of his constant convulsions kept him from screaming again.

Then it stopped. He had no idea how long it had been, and wondered if Palpatine had become too fatigued to keep up the electrocution. There had to be a limit to how long he could maintain that kind of power output. His chest was heaving, trying with animal need to make up for lost oxygen. Smoke and the scent of dead Chagrian weighed down his sensory world, since his eyes declined to open and most of his body would only say pain.

The whisper of expensive Senate slippers crunched toward him over the rubble of the ruined office with a surefootedness that no one would have expected of the elderly Chancellor. At least he was still here; Obi-wan had angered him enough to bother sticking around to kill him rather than running off to activate the troops.

Or maybe he was confident he could spin this whole event to his benefit—Obi-wan had destroyed the security cameras that would have recorded his Sith activities, after all. Maybe he would say Master Kenobi had been tragically killed defending him from the dreadful Sith Lord. Maybe he would ask Anakin to become his constant protector in Obi-wan’s memory. Anakin would do it.

He was struggling to turn his lightsaber back on and raise it, though getting it between him and the next round of lightning seemed unlikely when he was exposed in a supine position, when Palpatine kicked it. Kicked his hand, actually, so hard at least one bone cracked and the lightsaber went flying.

This weapon is your life.

“Should I summon it back and use it to kill you?” Palpatine murmured, with a deadly, vicious good humor that suggested he knew very well Obi-wan had no backup coming, that the only interruption they could expect would be Commander Fox and his men in red, here to protect the Chancellor. “Or should I step on your throat until you breathe your last? Or should I keep you alive and put you on trial, and drag the name of the Jedi in the mud through you, so that when your Order falls it will be your name that the Galaxy uses to call the killing just?”

Horror twisted in Obi-wan’s chest and Palpatine chuckled, a whispering foul sound that still resembled his polite politician’s laughter. “Yes, very good. I’ll make young Skywalker believe you tried to kill me out of pride and greed and because you despised him, until he curses your memory. Everything that happens now will be your doing.”

The rage and the fear that he had left behind when he entered were flaming up now in Obi-wan, the orbit deteriorating, the gravitational pull of abandoning them and letting the Order down and ruining everything and too little, too proud, the same hopeless arrogant padawan and of that terrible, world-tearing no dragging him down to shatter in fire against them, like he had on Naboo all those years ago but so much more utterly and irrevocably and--this wasn’t all him.

He sucked in his breath, shaking through teeth still clenched too convulsively tight to pull apart for a witty retort to all that poison, and melted away inside himself.

Over him, Sidious frowned, feeling the Jedi escape his grip in the Force. “Are you dying already, Master Kenobi?”

He thought Sidious had mentioned summoning his lightsaber through the Force to encourage him to try it. It wouldn’t be impossible. He knew the feel of it in the Force like he did few other things in the Galaxy; he didn’t need sight to reach for it.

But it was too small, and too far away, and his senses were too scorched and blasted by that awful lightning. Long before his weapon could make it to his hand, Sidious could kill him, even with no working lightsaber of his own. He couldn’t win that way, or even (that far lesser goal) live.

Instead, Obi-wan grabbed for the closest large object he knew to look for that wasn’t a corpse: the sliced-loose upper half of that baroque monstrosity of a desk-chair, conveniently bulky and only a few long steps away, just behind the desk he’d fallen from behind.

It came, and in coming swept Palpatine’s legs from under him, knocking him not quite sprawling, and then the curve of it had smacked into Obi-wan’s outstretched left palm, jolting the broken bone which did not matter in the slightest, and he rolled up onto his knees, graceless but fast, the slab of steel and leather still moving with the momentum that had dragged it to him, and clobbered the sitting-up Sith Lord across the face with it.

One of Obi-wan’s many faults was his tendency to take a vicious glee in striking low his enemies, but he did not think he had ever taken quite the joy from any beautifully executed maneuver that he did from watching Palpatine knocked to the floor by a slab of office chair. Obi-wan lunged after him, not bothering with niceties like getting to his feet, and brought the chair-slab down on his face again, this time with the strength of both arms—his right hand was mostly numb but for hurting, only the thumb and forefinger would move at all, and it was very weak, but none of that interfered with placing his whole forearm against the upholstery and slamming the searing-hot, bare metal inner side down.

There was a crunch, probably nose, and then instead of diminishing the awful seething presence of the Dark Side rose like a hurricane, and Obi-wan felt his throat close as from a powerful phantom hand, cutting off all breathing.

This caused him not an instant’s hesitation, because he had come here fully intending to die.

He raised the sheered-off slice of chair, adjusted the angle so the sharp edge where he’d cut the durasteel was pointing down, and aimed for the throat.

The ensuing explosion threw him after his lightsaber, and he knew nothing after hitting the wall.

[blacklister214]

Gilmore Girls: Life and Death Brigade Post AYITL

I’ve had this little scene nugget in my head for a while now. It’s a reaction to the fact Rory seems set to part ways with the Life and Death Brigade as part of her break-up with Logan. It crushed me how sad they all were and I’d hate to think they’d just give up without a fight and thus this silly exchange was born. Enjoy!

Colin: So we’re agreed, this is the only reasonable course of action?

Robert: Absolutely. The group should not suffer due the terminal stupidity of one member. 

Finn: I’ll drink to that.

Colin: You’ll drink to anything. 

Robert: The question remains: Which of us should it be?

Finn: I vote Robert. They have a torrid romantic past.

Robert: One date does not a passionate affair make, especially when said date was shanghaied by the Persona Non Grata responsible for this mess. My vote is for Finn. She did say she’d miss him most of all.

Colin: She just said that because he was third, like in the movie. It could have been any one of us.

Finn: No, I’m most assuredly her favorite, however, our love is of a decidedly platonic nature. Courting Mother would be too incestuous. I have many complexes, as my analyst can attest, but Oedipus is not among them.  

Robert: Nobody likes the idea, Finn, but someone is going to have to make the sacrifice. 

Colin: If the two of you are going to be babies about it, then I guess it’s up to me. It can’t be that much harder than poaching assets from another company. The right approach and incentive package and before she knows it BAM she’s locked into a long term contract with no escape.

Finn: To be clear the “BAM” wasn’t you hitting Mother on the head with something heavy was it? Because I’m strongly against such tactics.

Robert: As am I...Though the extreme head trauma is the only way the plan might work.

[dailycharacteroption]

Conversion Corner: Various Gaming Races part 5

Chozo

 I do enjoy me a good highly-advanced peaceful alien race that can absolutely kick butt when forced into a combat role, and I also enjoy the Metroid franchise immensely. With Metroid Dread out now, I think it’s time I tackled converting another alien race, this time the Chozo, crafters of advanced technology and living parasite exterminators, and also the species that took in Samus after the death of her parents and destruction of her family home.

Once, long ago, the bird-like Chozo were a proud warrior race, but declining birthrates and the slowing of their technological advancement led to them abandoning their warlike ways in favor of peaceful exploration and scientific advancement. Most tribes went along with this, including the Thoka, the clan that raised Samus. However, the Mawkin tribe had other ideas, seeing no reason to break from tradition, a difference that would have far-reaching implications throughout the entire franchise, as revealed in Metroid Dread.

The Chozo resemble humanoid avians, complete with beaks, feathers, and talons on the end of long arms and legs. Apparently, they once had a third pair of limbs in the form of wings on their backs, but they apparently lost them long ago to evolutionary pressures, though some statuary still depict a chozo with wings. Whether or not this is accurate to the biology of the represented individual, an armor upgrade, or some allegory for their piety or other virture is debatable, though we do know that some chozo power armor does have wings.

Regardless, the Chozo make up for this with their incredible agility, moving much faster and more assuredly than would expect given their towering height, and are apparently highly adaptable to many different environments, and this is all before implementing their incredible power suits, which push their abilities into the fantastical.

For all their technological advancements, an aspect of their culture that often gets overlooked is their spiritual one. Of particular note is the ascetic clan of Chozo that lived on Tallon IV, whose mystical ascetic lifestyle allowed them to glimpse the future and the past, and potentially transcend their living forms, though with the coming of the Phaaze Leviathan meteor, this did not end well.

Even still, while most chozo chose the path of peace with or without their technology, they remained warriors at heart, storing away their weapons technology with their partially-organic guardian statues for the worthy who had need.

 Chozo

Ability Adjustments: +2 Dex, +2 Int, -2 Cha

Hp: 6

Size and Type: Chozo are large humanoids of the chozo subtype with a space and reach of 10.

Agility: Chozo gain a +2 to Acrobatics and Atheletics checks.

Natural Weapons: Chozo are always considered armed. They can deal 1d3 lethal slashing damage with unarmed strikes, and those attacks don’t count as archaic. Chozo gain a version of Weapon Specialization with their natural weapons at 3rd level, allowing them to add 1-1/2 × their character level to damage rolls for their natural weapons (instead of just adding their character level).

Science and Magic: Chozo gain a +2 bonus to Engineering, Life Science, Mysticism, and Physical Science.

Toxin Resistance: Chozo are resistant to atmospheric poisons, gaining a +2 to Fortitude saves against inhaled poisons and toxic atmospheres.

That does it for this week, but I hope you enjoyed it!

[robininthelabyrinth]

AU where the Nie clan has dragon blood in their lineage, and usually it just manifests as bad temper and a generally martial inclination. Except, once in a rare while, generations apart, an actual dragon will be born among them... (aka nobody really expected that NHS was the latest Nie dragon).

The Nie sect’s ancestors were butchers; that lowly heritage is well known and widely celebrated, much to the not-entirely-concealed disdain of some of the more refined, gentlemanly sects. Butchers at home and butchers at war – everyone knows that.

What’s rather less well known is that the third sect leader, colloquially known among his descendants as ‘that idiot’, rather heroically saved an imperial princess in battle and then – and this was why he was that idiot – married her. She was a proper princess, too, the true-born daughter of the emperor; other sects might see that as a good thing, since for all that cultivation sects saw themselves as being above petty things like the politics of the common folk, a princess was still a princess.

The Nie did not.

The reason for this was quite simple. What does a cultivation style that already incorporates an increased chance of death through anger most assuredly does not need?

The blood of the eight-clawed dragon, that’s what.

Arrogant, explosive, unruly –

It was a mess.

The sixth sect leader came up with the saber halls to honor his father and grandfather – most especially his grandfather, who’d had a bad tendency towards slit-pupiled eyes when he’d been especially enraged, and whose saber had absorbed every ounce of his ferocity – and the next few generations made a point of finding especially meek daughters or sons for their children to marry, and that was that; everyone hoped that that idiot’s mistake could be diluted out of existence.

It was, for the most part. 

But every few generations, imperial blood ran true, and not only in terms of majesty or arrogance, and then the entire sect had to close its doors to the outside world and pretend with all their might that no, of course there wasn’t a rampaging beast of an especially draconic variety raging behind the extremely sturdy walls of the Unclean Realm, what nonsense that would be.

Still, if Lao Nie had to wager on one of his children being a dragon, he probably would have put money on it being his firstborn: already far too tall for his age, a brilliant prodigy with his saber, and a temper that rivaled some of the older members of the clan.

Certainly not Huaisang.

The only time that child hadn’t been a disappointment was when he was a baby: he’d been remarkably lazy even back then, sleeping more hours of the day than he didn’t even past infancy, and what had been a relief to his nursemaids quickly turned to annoyance by everyone else. It was commonly believed that such a weak and unlively child was likely to grow up to be slow-witted and dull, and, worse, the doctors confirmed his muscle tone was underdeveloped; even with a great deal of practice, he would likely always be a bit behind those his own age.

As he grew older, his penchant of sleeping twenty hours out of every day got even more noticeable, and the family largely lost interest.

Well, most of them. His older brother, who’d quietly taken on the responsibility for caring for Huaisang when no one else in the family had had the time or, truthfully, the interest in the disappointing son of an especially fortunate (unfortunate?) family maid-turned-concubine, indulged him far too much, even carrying him from place to place.

“You’re not a mule, Mingjue,” Lao Nie scolded one day, reinforcing the lesson through swipes of the flat of his saber. “Have some dignity! If Huaisang wants to go places, he can damn well walk there himself!”

Nie Mingjue bowed his head, obedient and filial in every way except for the fact that he didn’t listen; if anything, it got even worse from that point on, the boy barely being seen anywhere without a napping toddler as an accoutrement.

“Did you hear what I said?” Lao Nie roared at him.

“I’m not a mule,” Nie Mingjue recited. “If he wants to go places, he can walk there himself.”

“If you heard me and persisted regardless, you’re undisciplined,” Lao Nie said, arms crossed.

“I accept whatever punishment is appropriate,” Nie Mingjue said, and that was most irritating of all: why would his otherwise perfect eldest son insisted on being beaten once a week when all he had to do was leave that useless lump behind in his rooms, where he’d be happier anyway? It wasn’t as though Nie Huaisang even wanted to be outside: sometimes it seemed he’d only learned to talk in order to complain about how uncomfortable he was, how hot, how sweaty – and he even had the gall to keep complaining even after his older brother fetched a fan for him, like a loyal dog.

Discipline was paramount in the Nie sect; to be undisciplined is to risk being monstrous, and with their cultivation style they could not tolerate such a thing. That was why their punishments were so strict, even if the rules were relatively sparse - more principle than rule, really. But on the other hand, their family had always been the sort that would rather break than bend: if Nie Mingjue wanted to pay for his willfulness by accepting punishments, he was entitled to do so.

Still – there was punishment, and there was wanton cruelty; at some point, one of the men in the punishment hall abandoned the former for the latter. He was a popular man, the son of another sect’s diplomat that had married a close cousin of the main family and stayed in Qinghe; for some reason he’d developed an intense dislike of Nie Mingjue – a dislike which was mutual, and likely to cause trouble in the future when Nie MIngjue became Sect Leader, but which currently put Nie MIngjue in a very bad position given the man’s status as his elder.

Lao Nie only learned about the whole matter much later, and when he did he was so spitting mad he grabbed his saber and would have spitted the man on it, cousin or no cousin, if he hadn’t been held back; but at the time he had no idea, busy as he was defending the borders of his lands against troubles caused by that ever-smiling bastard Wen Ruohan.

When he did hear about it, though, he was infuriated: his son and heir had been beaten three times the usual amount, a compilation of a thousand little offenses that could only technically be termed breaches of discipline, forced to complete several dozen of their most demanding exercises, and then made to kneel outside on the hottest day of the year; to no one’s surprise, he had eventually collapsed rather than yield and beg for mercy, his skin cracking and lips starting to bleed as his consciousness left him.

He was after all a Nie. 

Who knows how far that bastard might have gone, his eyes fixed on a prize he would never inherit with his outsider’s surname, if Nie Huaisang hadn’t been there, tucked away curled up underneath a shady tree and made to watch despite Nie Mingjue’s request that he be sent back to his rooms.

Those who were near enough to see – and Lao Nie had plans to punish the whole lot of them for not having interfered: what was the point of a clan motto that prioritized justice and suppression of evil no matter what the consequences if they would allow it to happen in their own damn home? – said that it didn’t happen at once, that there was a pause when Nie Mingjue’s body hit the ground; perhaps it was only that Nie Huaisang was slow to realized what was happening.

Perhaps it just took a while for the change to happen.

Either way, everyone agreed on what happened next: the unfurling of a serpentine body twice the length of a fully grown man, although only about as wide around as a goat, a red-eyed glare that was backed with teeth and claw, and a roar of challenge at anyone who even thought about pulling Nie Mingjue’s body away from the center of those coils.

Apparently Nie Huaisang had needed all that sleep because he was still growing. Who would have known?

It was the youngest full transformation they’d ever had in their clan by far. The boy hadn’t even reached the age of three!

“If he’s stopped sweating, he has heatstroke,” Lao Nie told his apparently not useless younger son, having been urgently summoned to the training field. “He needs to be taken inside at once; you’re only making things worse.”

Nie Huaisang bared his teeth at him, and Lao Nie bared his teeth right back.

He might not be a dragon, but his son’s blood had come from somewhere.

“I am your father,” he snarled. “You will listen to me and obey. You hear me? You will get off of him this instant. If he doesn’t get water soon, he will die.”

Lao Nie will never know if it was the demand for filial piety or the threat to Nie Mingjue’s life that got Nie Huaisang to comply – he suspected the latter – but Nie Huaisang gave in and backed off, allowing the clan’s medics to rush over and take Nie Mingjue away.

Lao Nie looked at the dragon, thinking to himself that the vastness of the underground caverns beneath the Unclean Realm weren’t for nothing: if this was what a two-year-old dragon looked like, he’d be a full-fledged calamity when full grown.

His saber itched in his palm at the thought, but he ignored it. The embarrassing yao-derived portion of their bloodline aside, the Nie sect set itself against evil, and Nie Huaisang was lazy, not evil.

“This is going to be trouble,” he finally said. “It can’t be allowed to get out.”

You can’t go out, he meant, but maybe Nie Huaisang in all his laziness wouldn’t mind being restricted to the Unclean Realm. Maybe, if they were lucky, they could teach him to like paintings and books instead, since he could never be allowed out to join a proper battlefield.

He’d be locked at home forever, unless the Sect Leader decided otherwise - and that meant Lao Nie would be the one responsible for it.

Ancestor or not, damn that idiot. 

In the end, Nie Huaisang didn’t respond to him at all, merely took to the air – flying must be inherent, since he didn’t seem especially bothered by what should be something brand new – and headed inwards, aiming towards…

His brother’s bedroom.

Not really a surprise, that.

A bit of a surprise that he could find it so quickly, though, from such an unfamiliar angle…

Lao Nie’s eye twitched.

If his stubborn older son had known about this, he was going to wish he’d died of heatstroke.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 5 Birthday Plot Bunnies 2

If you want this to become my next WIP, be sure to shower it with lots of love!!  🥰 💖 All the story starters will be linked back to this masterpost.

Title: For the Love of My Husband

Summary: Bilbo is a thief and a conman who has tricked Thorin, Crown Prince of Erebor, to marry him as an escape from a tight spot. He thought their marriage was happily enough, but Thorin feels a disconnect from the hobbit he’s married. To appease his family and strengthen their bond, Thorin asks Bilbo to take the Trial of Souls with him. Problem is, Bilbo doesn’t want Thorin to know anything about him because they are most assuredly not Ones. And if Thorin learns the truth, Bilbo will find himself back in the streets or worse...

In a darkened pub deep under the kingdom of Erebor, a hobbit and a dwarf squared off. The waiting crowd was near silent as they waited to see what would happen next. The dark haired beast of a dwarf looked fairly confident as he shared a smirk with his two friends directly behind him.

“What’ll it be, Took? Fold or settle?”

The hobbit nonchalantly lifted his overturn cup to sneak a peek at the two dice lying inside. 

“How about I raise you instead?”

It was silent for a moment before the dwarf, Drulik, burst into laughter followed by his cronies.

“Raise? You have nothing left to bet with.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure of that.” Bilbo stated before pulling out a silver harp-shaped brooch with thin golden strings.

The dwarves surrounding the gamblers all began murmuring at once, some trying to lean in for a closer view.

“Is that…?” One of Drulik’s dwarves gaped.

“Yes.” Bilbo announced calmly. “The Courting Gift of our dearly departed queen, Mahal rest her soul.”

“How did you get that?” Drulik demanded.

Bilbo gave him a wane smile as he tucked back into his vest with a pat. “It doesn’t matter. The question you should be asking is how much do you think it’s worth?”

The gambling den awaited Drulik’s long drawn out answer. It almost made the hobbit want to roll his eyes at the melodrama. However, after years on the streets, he knew a good show could sometimes be the difference between success and failure. And Bilbo didn’t fail. Finally, Drulik pulled out another bag, spilling the golden coins onto the pile between them.

“Settle.” Drulik demanded before revealing the contents under his cup.

The crowd cheered and whistled much to Drulik’s ego at the combined total of eleven from his dice. Nine Rings was a gambling game loved by Durin’s Folk and Men alike with a very simple premise. Highest total won. So you bet and bluff to convince your opponent that you have as close to twelve beneath the cup as possible. However, there was one small exception. Nine always trumped any other number. Therefore, when Bilbo lifted his cup to reveal the five and four, there was a near frenzy of excitement. Drulik was rendered speechless as Bilbo lifted his pint in cheer before downing the ale all in one go. Producing a sack from his coat pocket, he raked all the golden coins towards him.

“Well lads, this has been more excitement than any hobbit can take, but I think I’m going to leave now while my fortunes are in my favor.”

“You cheated.” Drulik growled. “You had to have.”

“Check my dice if you wish.” Bilbo offered with a shrug.

The tavern owner, Nifror, who ran as honorable a den as one could for thieves and ruffians was at their table in a flash. Bilbo had heard a tale that the last dwarf who cheated at the game got their loaded dice pinned, one to each hand, with a knife made by Nifror’s wife. He threw the dice a few times and each time they landed with a different number. He shrugged.

“The hobbit’s clean.”

“But that’s impossible.” One of Drulik’s own gaped.

“Yeah, we loaded them ourselves!” The other snarled.

There was a pause and then Old Nifror was on them in a flash. Some moved to help the old barkeep out. The rest roared and placed bets on the winner. Meanwhile, Bilbo used this as the perfect opportunity to sneak away. He dropped the loaded dice he had smuggled into his pocket on the ground with a snort. Like he would be that stupid. Now most would have worried walking around with that much gold around the dregs of Erebor’s underworld. Fortunately, Bilbo was a professional at remaining quiet and unseen. A talent he had been forced to pick up early in his life. Which is why he nearly screamed when a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Make a good haul?” The dwarf smirked.

Bilbo turned around with a glare. “You know you don’t have to be so smug every time you manage to catch me off guard.”

Nori, Bilbo’s oldest and dearest friend, just raised an eyebrow as he tried and failed to hide the mischievous superiority oozing from his every pore.

“Just like to remind you, you’re not the best just yet.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes as he continued on his way knowing the dwarf was following.

“We both know I was headed to your place eventually so is there a reason you’re bugging me now?”

“Can I not worry over the sake of my friend?” Nori gasped overdramatically.

Bilbo snorted but made no arguments or agreements.

“Well, if I were coming to find you, it might have something to do with the fact that your husband finished up his duties early today to surprise you.”

The coin he was holding nearly slipped from his suddenly numb fingers.

“Valar above!” Bilbo swore. “That dwarf. He’s positively incorrigible!”

“He’s in love.” Nori pointed out.

Bilbo scoffed. “Love. Well shit, looks like you’re going to have to take this to our hiding place for me.”

Bilbo shoved the bag of gold into the dwarf’s chest before power walking towards the secret tunnels. Nori kept stride with him, clearly not done delivering bad news.

“Are you anywhere close to the right amount?”

“I’ve nearly two-thirds at this point.”

“Bilbo, you only have a week left.”

“I’m well aware, Nori! Maybe it's enough to...buy me more time.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t the whole point of you marrying some rich noble supposed to give you easy access to the treasury?”

“It was, but there was one teeny detail we didn’t take into account.”

“What’s that?”

Bilbo paused, his face falling into a grimace. “In-laws.”

***

One of the first things Bilbo and Nori did upon their rushed and unplanned move to Erebor from Ered Luin was scope out the best places for a quick getaway. They just so happened to make kind with a chatty miner named Bofur who, while deep in his cup, told them that the royal wing originally was meant to be on the other side of the mountain. When the architects realized the disadvantage of having the royal family so far from the guards’ posts and war meeting rooms, rather than just move the furniture back down only to go back up on the correct side, they cut unmapped tunnels around the outside of the mountain. It also had the added advantage of getting their monarchy out quicker in the case of a coup if the knowledge hadn’t been lost through time. It was perfect for the thieves’ needs. In almost no time at all, Nori and Bilbo had found the tunnels and utilized them fully. 

Something the hobbit was thankful for now as he flew down the tunnel to get back to his room. He welcomed the blast of mountain wind to rapidly cool the sweat on his face before ducking back into the opposite entrance. There was a small alcove where Bilbo’s fancier clothes lay and he all but threw himself out of his worn threads for the finer silks and cotton. The last thing he did was pocket the brooch before sprinting back down the tunnel braiding and beading his hair on the run. Once he was back in the royals’ wing, he ducked his head out to make sure the coast was clear, and then silently made his way to his suite. After closing the door behind him, Bilbo relaxed against it, heaving a sigh of relief.

“And just where have you been, Husband of Mine?”

Bilbo prided himself on the fact that he did not squeak even if he did jump nearly two feet in the air. Thorin, Prince of Erebor, was lounging in the armchair by the fireplace looking rather pleased with himself. Bilbo attempted to calm his racing heart as he stepped forward, plastering what he hoped to be a loving grin on his face.

“Just a walk on the cliffs with Nori. Surely, you would not deny this hobbit the feel of fresh air and sunshine?”

Thorin stood at that point, meeting him about halfway. His thumb gently caressed Bilbo’s cheek.

“If I had it my way, I would deny you nothing, ukradê (my greatest heart).”

Bilbo hummed in practiced delight as he met his husband’s lips with his own. The hobbit was at least content with the knowledge that as far as dwarves went, Thorin was stunningly handsome. Not a sentiment necessarily shared with others of his race. Which worked out just fine for Bilbo as it left a prince of all things, uncommitted and available.

“By the way, look what I found this morning.” Bilbo stepped back with a teasing smile as he produced the brooch from his pocket.

“My mother’s brooch!” Thorin gaped as he took it reverently. “Where…?”

“It was under my bed. You must have dropped it when you paid me a surprise visit last night.”

Thorin smirked as he latched onto Bilbo’s hips. “I remember the night well.”

Oh, and he was a really, really good bed partner. No, Bilbo was well aware he could have it much worse. It was just the dwarf’s nauseating romanticism that nearly caused him to roll his eyes more than once. Thorin gave him a long lingering kiss before he bent forward to press his forehead against Bilbo’s own. Their hands found their way into each other’s naturally interlocking.

“I promise, it won’t always be like this.” Thorin murmured when he finally pulled away, his blue eyes shining brightly.

Like this. The dwarf was so dramatic. It constantly made Bilbo feel like some player performing for the court. Heaving a sigh as he looked down between their conjoined hands. 

“We’ve been married for eight months, and two of those have been spent here in Erebor. If your family was going to accept me, they would have done so by now.”

Thorin released his hands so he could lift Bilbo’s chin to look at him.

“Don’t lose faith yet, amrâlimê (my love). I have a plan.”

It was a good thing Bilbo was a talented actor. He laughed, causing Thorin to smile.

“You have a plan? That sounds dangerous.”

“Tease all you want, but I have all the confidence in this plan.”

“Well, out with it. What have you come up with?”

Thorin shook his head teasingly. “You’ll have to wait. I want it to be a surprise.”

Bilbo linked his arms around the dwarf’s neck for leverage as he started showering him with kisses at his jaw, the corner of his mouth, and his throat.

“And I couldn’t persuade you to tell me any sooner?”

“You are cruel, thundanûd (tiny embrace).” Thorin moaned, his hands resting on Bilbo’s arms.

“It’s only cruel if you don’t accept the invitation.” Bilbo teased back as he pulled at the prince’s tunic to allow him access to his collarbone.

Thorin shuddered once with want before finding the strength to pull away. He grasped Bilbo’s hands again as he kissed him deeply as an apology.

“Later. There will be time later. But now...we are having dinner with my family.”

Bilbo’s building fire of lust was immediately doused, a small frown settled on his forehead that Thorin attempted to kiss away. Lovely, the in-laws.

It certainly wasn’t that Bilbo wanted them to like him. He could honestly care less. It was just their dislike of him that made it really difficult for him to do...well, much of anything. Thrain, still mourning the loss of his dead wife, remained suspicious and hardened against Bilbo for the sheer fact that he was a hobbit. Their marriage had yet to be announced to the Council or even the mountain in general. Keeping Bilbo out of the public eye was Thrain’s number one priority which was certainly no hardship. It was Frerin and Dis he had the biggest problems with. Thorin’s brother and sister, ever loyal to him, seemed to think Bilbo wasn’t good enough for the dwarf, and constantly had Balin, the royal advisor, keeping tabs on him. Bilbo was reluctant to admit the dwarf’s keen eyes and sharp wit, but it had taken quite a few of Bilbo’s best moves to lose his tails before entering the secret tunnels.

Therefore, coming together in the Royal Dining Room for “family dinners” was a...stilted affair. There were only two redeeming features to those evenings. One, it was always the best food Bilbo had ever eaten in his life. And two, Thorin’s nephews, Fili and Kili, were not the least bit bothered by him and had some story worth telling that took the edge of him for a little bit at least.

“And then the axe sailed through the air and straight into the boar’s head. So technically, technically we aren’t responsible for the mess in the trophy room.” Kili finished.

“No.” Vili, their father snorted. “Just responsible for startling the poor guard that set off the chain of events.”

“Well how were we supposed to know he was right there?” Fili defended.

Bilbo snorted in spite of himself. “Watch the shadows.”

He immediately tensed after he said it as he waited for the barrage of insults to be hurtled his way.

“Spoken like a true thief.” Dis sneered.

Yep, right on cue.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t corrupt my sons.” She continued.

“Namad…” Thorin warned softly.

Thrain’s hand met the tabletop in a harsh bang. “What have I said about speaking our language in front of the Halfling?!”

Bilbo sighed and turned his attention to his soup as the line of Durin flexed their tempers. Thorin rising to his defense, Dis and Thrain attempting to argue their points louder, Frerin leaving snide quips here and there, and Vili trying and failing to keep the peace. The joy of family dinners.

“Actually, while we’re on this subject, I have something to say.” Thorin demanded, his voice low and regal. “I will be gone the remainder of the week.”

Everyone, including Bilbo, froze and stared up at Thorin in relative confusion and outrage. The prince’s eyes were boring holes straight into his father whose scowl would be enough to frighten wargs off at this point.

“And just where will you be?” The king finally spat.

Thorin reached down for Bilbo’s hand making the hobbit supremely discomforted. Thorin’s eyes were soft and pleading though as they met his.

“We will be taking the Trial of Souls.”

“We’ll be doing what now?” Bilbo questioned.

“Thorin…” Dis murmured at a surprisingly subdued volume, her eyebrows knitted together.

“Finally! A sensible idea!” Frerin declared. 

All eyes rested on the brunette as he raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t you think? I mean, to put it bluntly, everyone at this table has been trying to convince Thorin out of this marriage in some way. When they don’t emerge from the tunnels together, that would be a pretty good indicator of the truth.”

“We haven’t. We like Bilbo.” Kili reminded softly.

Bilbo shot the troublemakers a quick smile of thanks. They were idiots, but they were sweet. Meanwhile, Thrain was rubbing his beard in thought before nodding once.

“Yes, this will do well. In fact, if you make it through all five chambers, I’ll hold a feast in honor and publically accept your union.”

Thorin nodded, still looking rather cross with his father. “As I’d hoped.”

Bilbo found he couldn’t take it anymore. “Now, wait! Wait just a minute! What is this...Trial of Souls?”

Thorin stared at his father for permission, and the king granted it almost the picture of satisfaction. Being a gambler, it made Bilbo largely nervous as Thorin turned back towards him.

“It’s a series of tests to prove two dwarves...or in our case, a dwarf and a hobbit, are Ones.”

Bilbo’s mouth opened and shut a couple of times, but no words were able to come out.

“Problem, Halfling?” Dis questioned with mock innocence.

“Thorin, a moment if you please.” Bilbo was finally able to say as he pulled his stone-headed husband out into the hall.

“Are you serious?!” He finally rounded on him.

“What?” Thorin questioned.

“Thorin, I…” Bilbo fought for the right words without making this worse. “I don’t understand. What exactly do we have to prove? We’re married. Shouldn’t that be enough?!”

Thorin sighed. “It should. You are correct, ibinê (my gem). But don’t you see? It’s perfect! My family will be satisfied by our success at the Trials, and it’ll be irrefutable evidence to the rest of the mountain if any rose to challenge us. And politics aside, I want this for us.”

“Us?” Bilbo repeated too numb to be completely in control of his mouth.

“Yes!” Thorin nodded eagerly. “Couples that pass the Trials of Souls find they become closer than ever. Our...relationship hasn’t been for very long, and I respect that your past is painful to you, but I want to know you azyungel (love of loves). I want to know everything there is to know about my husband, and share myself in return. What do you say?”

Now being a hardened thief, the hobbit knew a thing or two about how to get out of a seemingly hopeless situation. However, as his mind swirled and swirled around the damnable logic of Thorin’s decision, he found himself becoming dizzy and nauseated. That was it then. Bilbo was doomed. He had just enough time to get out a soft ‘nope’ before he fell over in a dead faint.

[cle-guy]

Projecting Story Elements for Magic: the Gathering in 2022

OK, I love the Magic: the Gathering storyline which ranks near the top on my list of favorite hobbies on Tumblr.  This year brings numerous opportunities to speculate on the story elements for this year’s premier MTG sets!  So for this post I am going to speculate on: 

1.  Potential story elements of the set

2.  Specific events which may occur

3.  Planeswalkers who may appear in the set

I will go set by set, and try to incorporate as much known knowledge as possible!  I may update my thoughts as sets (and stories from released sets) become known as the year progresses.  Without further ado!

Innistrad: Crimson Vow

Technically not in 2022, but coming soon none-the-less!  We know lots about the story elements, considering Crimson Vow takes place directly after Midnight Hunt.  

Story Elements:

The first known thing about Crimson Vow is the “Biggest vampire wedding in Innistrad history!” which will unite the Voldaren and Markov bloodlines.  We also know from the story so far that night on Innistrad is overcoming day.  Humans who once turned to Avacyn for safety increasingly look to other sources for protection, including ancient magics forgotten when Sorin created Avacyn.  One Coven seeks to restore the balance, and needs the Moonsilver Key in the Celestus to perform the ritual.

We also know part of the Gatewatch: Teferi, Chandra and Kaya came to Innistrad to assist Arlinn Kord, who seeks to help restore the Day/Night balance on her home plane.  Now, while Arlinn & the Gatewatch succeed in finding the Moonsilver Key, and also succeed in starting the ritual: I do not believe the ritual passes.  I suspect Olivia Valdaren ends the ritual and blocks it based on the card: Olivia’s Midnight Ambush.  The flavor text on this card reads:

"And you were almost finished with that ritual, weren't you, darling? How very rude of me. To make it up to you, I'll send you an invitation to my wedding."

I suspect her raid ends the ritual, kills the Coven leader, and spirals us into Crimson Vow.  

Overall, this suggests that much of the plot of Crimson Vow will surround new attempts to restore the balance between Day and Night.  I suspect Sorin Markov, who fights Sigarda in a rage, will unite with the Gatewatch (and Arlinn Kord, & Sigarda) to save the plane.  How they do this is not revealed as of yet.  However, I suspect one plot detail has been spoiled for the set and thats....

Specific Events:

Edgar Markov marries Olivia Valdaren.  

Olivia is the known progenitor of the Voldaren line, as Edgar Markov is the known progenitor of the Markov line.  At first I felt Sorin would marry Olivia, but I find this unlikely as Olivia despises Sorin (and refuses to save him at the end of Eldritch Moon).  Sorin may care for the future of Innistrad but he remains hedonistic and petty; he spends the end of Episode 2 in this story line griping about how nobody sacrificed as much as he did for the plane and why should he be expected to give more?  He also treats Nahiri quite shallowly when she arrives on Innistrad to demand he help her fix Zendikar.  

More importantly, however, we also get card evidence that Edgar Markov is involved in this story, specifically: Fateful Absence.  The flavor text for this card reads:

“Sensing a plot, Sorin raced to his grandfather's resting-crypt. But someone else had gotten there first.“

The plot going like this, I suspect, for the story:

A) Our heroes (the Gatewatch, Sigarda, Arlinn) regroup after Olivia invokes eternal night by defeating the ritual.

B) They join up with Sorin Markov, who is now angry at Olivia for convincing his grandfather to marry her, and hatch a plan to stop the wedding

C) Olivia marries Edgar

D) The wedding turns into a bloody mess as the Gatewatch, Arlinn, & Sigarda all try to reverse the damage.  Sorin spends the story finding a way to get revenge.  

E) One of Edgar or Olivia survives

F) Emrakul is released and everybody dies (Just kidding)

Anyway, with all of this laid out that leaves us with potential planeswalkers.

Planeswalker Appearances:

Each set I will assume only three planeswalkers appear, with speculation for a fourth & fifth.

We already know Arlinn Kord, Teferi, & Sorin Markov will get cards; Arlinn & Teferi will not get cards in this set since they appeared in Midnight Hunt. Sorin Markov appears on the packaging, which nearly guarantees his appearance as a card in this set.

Slot 1: Sorin Markov, WB

Now, Chandra Nalaar and Kaya both appear in the story.  The next quesiton would be: do they get cards in the 2nd set since they are known to appear in the story?  It’s a tough call.  Chandra would fit in nicely since Sorin will almost certainly appear as a WB planeswalker granting a third color for balance purposes.  Kaya, on the other hands, presents two problems.  First, she shares her color identity with the story’s likely main character.  Second, she already got a card recently in Kaldheim (which is still in Standard).  I would guess she lacks a card in the set.

Slot 1: Sorin Markov, WB Slot 2: Chandra Nalaar, R

Now we’re into more speculative territory.  I highly doubt we only get two planeswalkers in the set, which leaves open a spot for a new planeswalker (likely a blue  planeswalker).  That being said, I would not be surprised if Tamiyo makes an appearance in the 3rd slot; she appeared in both previous stops in Innistrad, and two of her colors would fill out the color balancing in the set so far.

Slot 1: Sorin Markov, WB Slot 2: Chandra Nalaar, R Slot 3: Tamiyo, U

Other potential planeswalkers include the aforementioned Kaya, Tibalt (who would love to spoil a wedding), & Davirel Cane.  If I had to make a stab at a fourth walker I’d gamble and guess Davriel, with a final list of:

Slot 1: Sorin Markov, WB Slot 2: Chandra Nalaar, R Slot 3: Tamiyo, U Slot 4: Davriel Cane, B

Kamigawa: Neon Dynasty

Story Elements:

So little is known about the new set except that the set takes place concurrently in the present, and that the set will feature both a new planeswalker, Keito, and that the current Emperor of Kamigawa is “someone we’re familiar with” which sadly does not tell us much. Let’s start by considering some known characters from the original block:

Toshiro Umezawa.  Toshi is definitely not the emperor.  First, Toshi was sent to Dominaria by the Myojin of Night’s Reach at the end of the block (and his descendent will eventually kill Nicol Bolas).  Second, he’d almost assuredly be dead by now.

Hidetsugu.  An ogre who joined with the Oni of All Consuming Chaos, he could conceivably be alive at this point, although he would not be my guess.

The Myojin of Night’s Reach.  Unlikely.  While powerful enough, ambitious enough, to try: I just do not see her being able to take the power.  She was defeated by Bolas sometime after the events of the original block, for instance.

The Sisters of Flesh & Spirit.  Better known as “That Which was Taken” and “Michiko Konda” both characters join at the end of the 3rd book.  They’re the most likely candidate to run the whole plane, the only downside is I doubt many players actually know who they are, or how they became one.

However, their union would potentially explain the futuristic nature of the plane.  If the Emperor is both spirit and flesh, then the spirit world (Kakuriyuo) & physical world (Utsushiyo) may have joined as well, giving the plane its current futuristic (dare I say: neon) appearance.

Specific Events:

I will only predict one event in this set, and that’s the appearance from Tamiyo’s story circle.  I would be shocked if this relatively well known gathering is not referenced in the set.  It would be a surprise, to say the least.

Planeswalker Appearances:

First thing’s first: Keito is confirmed for the set.  We do not know what color identity he has yet, but they did call Keito a “cyber ninja” in the video.  Ninjas are a pretty evenly split tribe between blue and black, so I will call Keito a UB planeswalker for now:

Slot 1: Keito, UB

I cannot imagine them returning to Kamigawa without bringing back Tamiyo.  I know she literally is predicted to appear in Innistrad: Crimson Vow but I think predicting her here is also plausible.

Slot 1: Keito, UB Slot 2: Tamiyo, U

Next, they also mentioned that a “mysterious planeswalker” would make an appearance in this set as well.  Now, they did not say whether this planeswalker was a new planeswalker or a returning planeswalker.  Some planeswalkers we know of who I would classify as mysterious include: Kasmina, The Raven Man, The Wanderer, Davriel Cane, Ashiok, & Aminatou.  Ashiok is currently investigating New Phyrexia and shares my predicted colors with Keito; Davriel (I think) is a strange fit on this set, and I do not see us learning about the Raven Man absent Liliana.  That leaves the Wanderer, Aminatou, or Kasmina.  We did just see Kasmina and I do suspect she plays a role in whatever arc they are building up to, but she conflicts with Keito & Tamiyo.  That leaves the Wanderer or Aminatou.  Given Mark Rosewater’s doubts about Aminatou (and her own conflicts) I predict The Wanderer.

Slot 1: Keito, UB Slot 2: Tamiyo, U Slot 3: The Wanderer, W

That does leave room for a walker with red and green.  Samut fits in, but I will guess Sarkhan who originally appeared Gruul, and may visit with Narset.

Slot 1: Keito, UB Slot 2: Tamiyo, U Slot 3: The Wanderer, W Slot 4: Sarkhan Vol, RG

Streets of New Capenna

Planeswalker Appearances:

So little is known about this new plane that I will limit myself to guessing planeswalkers.  Ob Nixilis is confirmed, and this is a wedge set, so I am predicting they finally print Nixilis as a Rakdos planeswalker.

Slot 1: Ob Nixilis, BR

They also confirmed this plane is “special” to Elspeth.  You do not name drop that and not include her.

Slot 1: Ob Nixilis, BR Slot 2: Elspeth, W

OK.  As far as I know: Ajani has not reunited with Elspeth yet, which suggests to me that there is room for a reunion in this set.  

Slot 1: Ob Nixilis, BR Slot 2: Elspeth, W Slot 3: Ajani Goldmane, WG

Calix would be my second choice, same colors, since he is currently chasing her.  If there is one other potential walker I would guess a new walker.  I honestly do not see what other walker would fit here, especially with Nixilis taking up the BR space in this scenario.

Dominaria United

Specific Events:

If you read the first story from Midnight Hunt you know that Teferi helped Wrenn find her seventh tree to bond with, and that Wrenn offered to help Teferi repair the damage his spell phasing out Zhalfir from Dominaria did to both his home and his plane.  Given the name I predict Teferi works with Wrenn to restore Dominaria to its full state.  

I also predict that Teferi, Karn, & Ajani all work together to plan out the destruction of New Phyrexia (with an eventual showdown sometime in 2023).  

Planeswalker Appearances:

I think Dominaria United will act like a traditional core set.  So, with that being said, I think the following walkers appear:

Slot 1: Teferi, U Slot 2: Wrenn, G

As said above, I think a big part of the story line is Teferi bringing Zhalfir back to Dominaria.  That requires both Wrenn and Teferi, and since this is a core set both will get only a single color.

Slot 1: Teferi, U Slot 2: Wrenn, G Slot 3: Ajani, W

Ajani will return helping Teferi and Karn plan the destruction of New Phyrexia.  Since Ajani is base white its a good fit.  There are plenty of mono red planeswalkers but only two which make story sense.  The first is Koth, but since I doubt he leaves New Phyrexia I do not think he makes an appearance.  My guess is Jaya Ballard, a native Dominarian, will show up in the fourth spot instead.

Slot 1: Teferi, U Slot 2: Wrenn, G Slot 3: Ajani, W Slot 4: Jaya Ballard, R

The 5th spot is the one I am not sure of; if Wizards wanted to tell a largely Dominarian story they would bring back Liliana Vess, but I do not think she quite makes sense for this story as she is in hiding and as far as I know her appearance would not sit well with Teferi and Ajani (Gatewatch members).  I will toss out three possibilities: 1) Sorin Markov (guessing Teferi recruits him to protect Innistrad against an inter-planar threat), 2) Davriel Cane, or 3) Karn (and go colorless).  They could also just include Karn as a 6th walker like Core Set 2021.  For now, I will assume Karn as the 5th walker.

Slot 1: Teferi, U Slot 2: Wrenn, G Slot 3: Ajani, W Slot 4: Jaya Ballard, R Slot 5: Karn, C

The Brothers War

This set does not require speculation since the story has already been told.  I would highly recommend reading the book.  The only thing I will say for certain is: Urza finally gets a real planeswalker card.

[potentialproblem01]

Minor Acts- a Jan/male reader fic

For @thesunflowersutra You wanted some fic, I have delivered. A week late but who’s counting.

Also posted on my AO3 if you prefer to read it there, mark for later, etc, whatever. 

Minor Acts- 1.6k E-rated pwp smut

Jan looks at you over the cherry of his burning smoke. You'd been planning this for a while now, pouring out papers and schematics across the floor of his room. The work was finally coming to fruition. 

Tension had been growing since you’d levered yourself off the floor earlier that day, nearly slipping on a stray paper before hauling Jan up too, ending up pulling him into your space. There'd been the hum of tension and anticipation as you packed bags and gathered supplies. 

The plan was solid and it worked. The two of you watched the bomb go off from across the bay hidden by the night and old ocean-swept trees and distance. Coffee in one hand, cigarette in the other behind matching smiles watching the flames catch, shockwaves echoing across the water. The collapse of the human anaesthetic of TV. 

You turn to him, euphoria of a well executed plan simmering and transforming into something a little more wild and further untamed; less satisfaction and more hunger. The discipline of the fight slinking out of you as you catch his eye, trailing over his nose and his scruff. 

He sees you looking and like always, it’s a battle of who gives in first. You chuck your cigarette aside.

You’re never really sure who wins or loses these games but you lean in first, catching his bottom lip. The night stretches unlimited by possibility as you push him over on the blanket, climbing on top and sitting across his hips as you feel his interest start to grow. He can feel yours assuredly as you press him down, ribcages preventing you from getting closer. 

The wind had died down from the day and the peace of starlight and calm water tempers the flare of need you have despite the carnage across the bay. You go slow, enjoying his taste; nicotine and the sweet remnants of the joint from earlier, cheap wine from lunch, the salt and freedom of the sea. 

He gets his hand under your shirt, trailing over your abs and toying with the band of your jeans. His eyes glitter in the dark, full of mischief with the promise of indecent misconduct. His hands move back up, across the thin lower ribs and brushing against your nipples as they push up, encouraging you to lift your arms and discard your t-shirt. The worn out cotton lands in the grass and you move your hands back down to him, getting one hand in the longer hair on top of his head and a forearm to the side to keep from smothering him. His arms come around your middle, digging into the soft muscles of your back. 

You give him another kiss before peppering his face with them: cupid's bow, tip of his nose before dropping them across his beard line. He lets out a soft sigh and grinds up against your ass, using his grip around you to lift himself into you, being his usual needy self. You press down with your hips, angles of your bones clicking with his, your arousal trapped between you. He still struggles with trying to create some friction but you don’t let him. 

You latch onto his neck, nibbling and sucking to bruise, pulling his head back to give you space to work. Torturing him when he so clearly needs you. You pull on his hair a little more, not to hurt but to tell him to behave. 

You sit back and pull him up a little, letting go to get his shirt off too. His rough skin tastes like the sea as you lick at him. Down over the soft swell of his pec to lavish his nipple in reward for a job well done today. He mewls so pretty, soft chest fuzz sliding against your afternoon coarseness. 

You nose along his skin before crossing over to the other side, giving the same reward to the other nipple. He moves his hands to your hair, dragging fingers across the shorn velvet part at the base of your skull before tugging on the longer strands. You resist his insistence to hurry as you back down his body, savoring his impatience as you kiss down his linea alba, playing with the hair there. 

You hook your fingers into his waistband, sliding them around to undo the button and pull them down and off. You stand up to shuck your own jeans off too, reaching for the backpack. He props himself up, watching you halo orange in the firelight. The night air is cooling you faster than the draining remnants of danger. 

You packed the lube in the side pouch. 

You settle back between his legs popping the cap and squeezing the cool liquid across your fingers. Tracing down the seam, pressing the soft skin before skipping down and pressing gently into his hole. He’s still a little open from the morning and your finger sinks in so easy. He’s wiggling, begging for another and you oblige; he did so good today, he’s earned it. 

You dip in a second finger, pushing at the heat of his ring before hooking up and pressing gently at his prostate. He lets out a soft shout, not prepared for you to get to him so quickly. You usually take your time, but you have no patience for that tonight as your work burns behind you. There’s something driving you to skip the foreplay and get right to being close, like a final closure to the plan. Like spending the stolen cash. Like hanging the stolen art.

The papers in the morning will speculate about an accident but the evening editions will display the note he left about TV being the opiate of the masses on the front page. 

You dip in a third finger, pulling at his ring teasing and lilting. Feathery touches to his thighs and the cut of his hip bones. He’s a squirming mess beneath you, so beautiful in the dark and smelling like the remnants of plastic explosives. 

You withdraw your fingers and pull him in by the hips, grabbing the lube again and drizzling some over your cock before spreading it over yourself. You grab his hips to line yourself up before pulling him up your thighs to get close enough. You angle his hips with one hand and guide yourself to his hole with the other before pushing in, the resistance light as you enter him. 

His face makes the most exquisite scrunch as you stretch him open again. You fit yourself in and let go of his hips to drag a slick hand up his stomach, lube sticking to his happy trail. You tweak a nipple before leaning in to steal a kiss. He kisses back with a whimper, chasing your lips as you pull away and grip his waist. 

You thrust slow and sure, his heat incredible in the night air and you want this to last. 

His skin is warm against you, sticky with the ambient salt, his hair stiff with it. When you run your hand through the strands, they stick out in every direction, softening him in your eyes. Here, under you, he’s hardly just a hard-eyed revolutionary, he’s one of the most beautiful people and minds you’ve ever met. You’re pretty sure the image of him spread on your cock as a satellite station burns behind you casting long orange shadows across the salted bay will stay with you forever. 

You keep thrusting in with easy and slow strokes until he looks so fragile he might cry. You like when he cries but now is hardly the place to put him back together after. You pick up the pace, changing the angle by getting further under him. 

He soon starts to shake, tightening around you. You’re not near enough to the edge to come at the same time but you think you’ll have plenty of chances to synchronize in other aftermaths. With another drag across his prostate, he’s coming, ropes painting his stomach and reaching up his chest. Some hitting you. In his blissed out state, you fuck into him with abandon, seeking your own release until you find it burning through your core and burying deep inside him.

You stay there, buried in him, panting. He’s starting to come down to earth himself, looking at you with hazy brown eyes. Your breaths eventually even and a calm settles over your little beachy cliff. The stars are obscured now by the smoke and light of the flames but you can feel them up there, twinkling away because everything is as it should be. 

You pull out of him, cock soft and wet with lube and come. You back away to wipe off with the edge of a blanket and lean in to look as your come dribbles out of his ass. It’s one of your favorite sights. You plant a kiss on both his thighs, licking up some of his cooling come before wiping the rest away with the blanket too. 

He lets out this beautiful sigh and you know he’s about to pass out. You’re safe for now. Content. Something bordering happiness crawling up the base of your brain stem. You hate to think it’s love but if the bomb detonates...

He falls asleep after he comes like he usually does, exactly in the position you left him in. His arms are splayed on the blanket, legs pushed out from his hips where you cleaned him off. 

You let him sleep for a while. The sirens have only just started blaring, red and blue lights not yet flashing across the water. He’s gorgeous when he sleeps, looking much less angry with the world. He’ll have another idea when he wakes but for now you bask in the heat of the flames and his love. Tomorrow will be another plan.

After all, what’s a minor act of terrorism between lovers?