#even if they were knighted early because of the war (which i think is stupid and there is no evidence for that)

[acewizardinspace]

I think the 'the jedi use child soldiers' thing is stupid for a lot of reasons, but among those is that this is a complete misunderstanding of how children's media works. Kids want to see themselves doing amazing things and giving that an in depth analysis that boils down to 'all these adults are evil' is poor, bad faith, media criticism.

That being said, if you compare Star Wars to just about any other YA work, the jedi are miles better as far as child care goes. Canonly every single one of these 'kids in danger' has a dedicated adult who is ideally supposed to be with them to teach and protect them. Very uncommon for the genre.

So if people are mad at the jedi for this, I can't fathom what their reaction to other YA literature is. And if they hate YA literature, idk, maybe they shouldn't be reading YA. Just a thought.

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Vikings and their eras

Summary: what era would vikigns be in if they weren't in their own

Notes: I did a lot of text for this one, bc I loved thinking about this!! There are some pretty popular characters missing (Ragnar, Sigurd, Athelstan) where I just couldn’t imagine a certain era for them. Thank you so much for your request :)))))) Some of these eras aren’t wonderful or filled with positivity but that doesn’t mean these characters wouldn’t thrive.

tagged: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @leithdragon @demon-of-the-ancient-world @alicedopey, @ivarlover @levithestripper @batmandallyboy @akayxo09 @vrtualfairy (hmu to be added!)

based on this request | masterlist | requests are OPEN!

Lagertha

Lagertha would thrive well in times of crises and war (lmao). The black death, WW1 or 2, or long periods of war/famine/sickness is where Lagertha does well. Think about her what you will, but she brings people together, manages them, and takes care of them. She’s a natural leader, and a fighter, so she’s able to protect her community.

We’ve seen examples of this in the series, think during the sickness in Kattegat, or when she takes over and completely builds up Hedeby. People tend to trust her, and especially women look up to/feel safe around her. When disaster strikes, she would be able to save/take care of them.

Aslaug

I had to think about this for a really long time because I think that Aslaug fits so well into the era the show is set in, however, I finally decided on the 1920s. Even as a feminine woman in Viking Scandinavia, she had a lot of authority over herself and knew how to grow a business (Kattegat) when Hirst wasn’t feeling sexist.

In the 1920s, she’d live in a big city, maybe Berlin or New York, and she’d own some sort of speakeasy. I’d love to think that her speakeasy would be a place for the very few pagans of the city to meet up in secret, and she herself would still be a norse pagan, völva, etc. Also, she’d dip her toes into wild jewellery design (think Schiaparelli). Definitely someone who attracts artists and would be considered a muse.

Rollo

Middle Medieval Ages for sure. He thrives being a knight because he’s a manipulative little hoe that I can’t stand. Gets to do his performative heroism during tourneys and woo women only to leave them all alone.

Rollo is not a good person, esp. towards women. He constantly gets into trouble with the church and with fathers whose daughters he ‘dishonors’. Definitely needs a wife like Gisla to slap some sense into him. I think that eventually (mid forties) he’d start to mature. Also, having children would help him become a better person (I think they should have put that into a show).

Bjorn

Bjorn thrives well in the late 2000s to early 2010s, when travel blogs were on the rise. He’s one of the early influencers, and travels the world together with Halfdan. This only works bc cancel culture isn’t real yet. Bjorn would say some stupid shit and get hounded for it let’s be real. Nonetheless, there is always some rumour about him and Halfdan being a thing (they would be if they both didn’t constantly say ‘that’s gay’).

Alternatively, Bjorn might make a good colonizer (can I say that?), but it’s not like he isn’t that already.

Ubbe

Ubbe would thrive during the late medieval ages (defo not the Renaissance though). He’s the type of man who would enjoy the idea of the charming knight. I think Ubbe would definitely enjoy the idea of quests/saving damsels in distress/having the arranged-marriage-turned-lovestory (he’s a booktok girly tbh).

This doesn’t mean that all of this is totally pure. Ubbe gets some shit twisted in canon as well (ESPECIALLY concerning Margrethe). Maybe his first war was something crusade-like, and he went into it thinking of heroic acts and blabla and then got fucked up by battle and gore. Also has a religion and Madonna/whore complex problem.

Hvitserk

In the show, Hvitserk was always seeking sense/purpose while also struggling with balance, which is why I think he would thrive in the 1970s. This is THE era for protests and social change. Climate change, feminism and sexuality all became important topics. Going to protests would be able to give him a sense of change, and I think it would be liberating for him as well, to be able to free himself of his restraints by changing something.

I’ll go into communes a little more for Helga, but I think Hvitserk would thrive in an early commune a lot. He needs to have people around him taking care of his mental health, and this would be great for his mental health. Yes, therapy helps a lot of people, but I think if Hvitserk lived in our time, he would think that talk therapy is stupid, and completely close himself off to it. This guy just needs a lot of love, okay?

Also, he needs to smoke some 70s weed every once in a while.

Ivar

Just like Hvitserk, Ivar would thrive during the 1970s. However, this is for completely different reasons and also means that no one else gets to thrive. I chose the 1970s because it’s THE serial killer decade.

That honestly sounds terrible but we all know it’s true.

Ivar would be bitter about being discriminated/not being able to fully take part in society/not getting any women and that would turn him homicidal. He definitely overcomplicated his killings and does shitty bloodeagles to get some cool name but all he gets is like “the Viking killer” or something and he’s so mad about that he reveals himself on his deathbed to change his title. It doesn’t work.

Floki

Floki just wants to be where Helga is, but he would not thrive in the 2020s. I think he’d get in arguments with Helga about vaccinations. However, I want Floki to be in the 2010s/2020s with Helga. He definitely has some kind of hallucination-related mental illness at the least. I think that especially the season where he acted out against Helga (season 4?) shows that his mental health was making him harmful towards others and probably towards himself.

I can’t diagnose Floki, but I think we can all see that he might have some kind of bipolar disorder/mania disorder on top of a schizophrenia. He needs some kind of meds, and he needs someone to help him taking them.

Helga

This is very specific, but Helga would do AMAZING during the early era of Covid (like March 2020). Yes, she’s a very social person, but I do believe that Helga would be part of a quite isolated commune if she lived during modern times, and even during that time be isolated with Floki.

I would like to think that the commune could be self-sufficient and Helga just gets to go ham making banana bread and care packages. She thrives in this time where she doesn’t really have to go to work (even though she loves being a kindergartener too) and gets to take care of the people in her commune, and even further than that from the comfort of her own home.

Astrid

This woman thrives where no one else does, and that is toxic 2020s twitter. All she does is tweet, get cancelled, tweet, get popular, repeat. She’s so so annoying and bullies a bunch of people who don’t deserve to be bullied. Is most definitely blocked by trump, hailey Bieber and the Kardashians at least.

Makes a living by selling feetpics.

Ecbert

Ecbert thrives in the 1980s. Now. Hear me out. Ecbert in neon Zumba clothes. There, that’s my reason.

I’m just kidding, there’s more. I’m not old enough to fully understand most of the decades I’m talking about in here but the 1980s, it seems, were this extremely colorful and wild decade. Literally everywhere, color just kind of seemed to explode, and I think Ecbert would thrive in this kind of chaotic atmosphere.

(are there people in their forties or older on this post that can verify?)

Aelswith

I’m really sad that we didn’t go into Aelswith more in the show, but I firmly believe that Aelswith would make an amazing Sufragette. Thinking back to her time on the show, she was always very firm in standing her ground, more so than Judith or even Lagertha in some ways (especially in the sense that she was SO YOUNG). She directed and strengthened Alfred, and I think during season 6, she used a beartrap to defend her baby?

Anyway, I imagine her as a rich/aristocratic lady in London who definitely steers the household while Alfred brings the money in (he likes art) and she decides that, if she puts in the work in the house, she should be able to decide over the country that house is in as well.

[devildom-dedicated-daydreams]

An Unlikely Backer (Mammon x Reader) Chapter 4

Previous Chapter: Today I'm a Cute French Maid

Full arc title: The Unfavored Daughter Chooses an Unlikely Backer (link to arc masterlist here)

Chapter title: The Best Things in Life are Free, the Second Best Things…

Word count: 1.6K

Pairing: Mammon x FMC, Mammon x F!Reader

MAMMON

The duchy was falling apart. The mines had been stripped of every piece of gold and diamond they could offer and Mammon was now feeding his people from his own pocket. Sure the royal family would give a hefty award for winning the war but he had hundreds of people living in the dukedom, he had a lot of mouths to feed and he needed a separate award for the men who accompanied him to battle. The royal sum won’t last them long.

“You keep sighing.” It was his former nanny and current head maid, Everleigh. She brought him a pot of tea. He really didn’t like tea, but it wasn’t like they could afford wine or hot chocolate anymore. He technically could, but then what would the people eat?

“Leigh, what should I do? I suck at writing letters.” He had crumpled at least a dozen pieces of paper trying to find a way to ask for a loan from Viscount Leopold. 

“Take a break, Your Grace, you haven’t rested since you arrived yesterday.”

Unable to resist temptation, he snuck out for a drink at Ammencera Promenade without his men to clear his head. But of course, they caught him.

With another sigh, he gave up. “I think I will take a break.”

Leigh grinned before bowing and living his study.

He finished every drop of the warm tea before retiring to his bedroom.

The next morning he woke up earlier than the break of dawn, slipped into plain-looking trousers and the dirty white shirt he wore when he sparred with the knights, and escaped back to Ammencera Promenade. Everleigh didn’t like him going there, not because it was the so-called “land of the peasants,” but because she didn’t want him getting caught and ostracized even more by the other nobles.

He didn’t care what the other nobles thought about him though.

He passed by several decrepit buildings and a bunch of construction workers and glassware makers laughing.

“They look awfully cheery for men who are awake this early in the morning,” Mammon said as he met with Richard, the elderly toymaker he met with last night before getting his drink. 

“I hear business is booming.”

“Huh.” Mammon shrugged. “Ya got what I asked?”

Richard chuckled. “Ten dolls and ten soldiers, just like you commissioned.”

Mammon beamed and gave him his payment before taking the sack of toys from his old friend. “Thanks, Richard. I may need to come back again so do your best to stay alive.”

“Ha! Never gets old.”

Mammon hurried to the orphanage, where Winnet stood holding her own sack. “Finally! I thought I was going to freeze to death.”

“Why didn’t you wait inside?”

“I was worried you’d get lost with all this fresh snow.”

“I’m not that stupid.”

“I really doubt it.”

“Where are the wonder twins?”

“At home, exhausted.” Minette grinned. “They had a rush order and they found their new ‘muse.’”

“Really?” That was a first. 

“Well, come on, the kids are waiting.”

***

YOU

You were in the library when Lyrra informed you that your purchases have been delivered to the estate. 

“Send them to my room.” Without looking away from your book, you tossed her a coin, which she shakingly caught with both hands. 

“Yes, milady!”

“And be sure to call me when lunch is prepared.”

“Of course.”

The system watched the maid skip away with glee before dinging. [Won’t the family be mad about the giant hole you left in their pocket?]

You chuckled. “I’m counting on it.”

Lo and behold, your father was fuming when he caught you walking into the dining hall for lunch.

You ignored his and your stepmother’s glares as you made your way to your seat. No one spoke a word while the servants brought the meal. No one moved even when the last plate was set down.

Shrugging to yourself, you picked up your spoon to try the soup–the head of the house coughed loudly, an act that even a young child of any nobleman would deem inappropriate and rude.

You didn’t flinch, of course, in fact, you haven’t acknowledged his presence since you entered. The man has ignored this body 90 percent of the time. 

Smiling tenderly, you proceeded to eat first.

That set him off. “You dare eat!”

You set down the spoon and dabbed your chin with your napkin before making eye contact. He was a sour-looking man, with graying hair and a nasty set of distracting yellowing teeth. 

You offered a small but loose. "It is lunch time, is it not? You all seemed unwilling to eat so I went ahead and took the first bite to show you that the food isn't poisoned."

Your father turned pink so his loving wife stepped in, grinning forcefully at you. "I hear you went out shopping."

Your sisters lit up at the mention of the merchandise delivered at the door. 

"I saw everything. I didn't even recognize any of the branding," commented Deneve. 

“So many things and yet so little taste,” added Alma. “That reminds me you’re wearing an interesting ensemble today, sister.”

“Yes, the redness of your lips is so lovely. You look worthy enough to be married to Marquess Whitlock.”

Marquess Whitlock was an old man notorious for sleeping around with the so-called ladies of the night.

The two girls burst into a fit of muffled giggling, content with their wittiness.

“Now, girls, be nice to your sister. It’s your job to guide her during times like this.” Your stepmother was definitely smirking behind that veneer of pity and sympathy she showed you.

You merely hummed. “I don’t blame you for not noticing the brand names, after all, the Queen was the one who suggested them. She also complimented the glow of my face when I visited her the other day.”

The girls froze and a silence befell the room. To insult the Queen’s taste, the opinion of anybody from the royal family, was a major faux pas akin to social suicide. There was an old legend about a king from long ago who went to war and came home with a woman with origins unknown. Not much was known about her aside from her love of flowers. During a tea party, one of the guests innocently inquired why she wore a floral dress, as the pattern was commonly associated with little girls. The king cut the person’s tongue and florals bombarded the market for years.

Even if the majority found it over-the-top, no one would ever talk badly about how you previously donned the violet of the royal family or how your former fiance insisted on wearing flashy suits. (Not where it could be heard, anyway.)

“Nonetheless, even you have spent way more than necessary,” your father said. 

Before you could open your mouth, your stepbrother, Bardrich, defended you, “Father, Alma and Deneve have spent more on fur coats and hats this season, I’m sure a few more won’t be too bad.”

You narrowed your eyes but quickly smiled at him. 

Bardrich wasn’t horrible to look at. In fact, he was one of the female lead’s many admirers who made several appearances in the webcomic. They first met with her in a tree and she yelled at him for saying it was unladylike. He ate up the “not like other girls” act like grapes. 

However, your body had no memories of this man outside of being just one of the members of your distant family, so it was a big shock for him to defend you like this.

“I beg your pardon, my lord, my ladyship.” The butler arrived holding a silver tray with a single letter.

You knew exactly what it was–

“It’s a royal invitation to the celebratory ball.”

The mood in the dining hall lightened instantly as everyone discussed what to wear and who to expect.

You quietly finished your lunch before excusing yourself to your room, leaving the family to their own. 

[My Host, your ability to lie while smiling sweetly continues to impress me. Now please explain just what you’re going to do when everyone arrives at the ball and sees that Queen is wearing the same unflattering makeup!]

“No need to yell.” You picked up the boxes that didn’t have the Winfred’s logo. You unwrapped a wooden box freshly varnished and beautifully inlaid with rose flowers. You then went to find the other boxes that didn’t contain clothes or accessories. After finding the different glass vials, you opened the Witches’ Cauldron Chem Set and made a facial cleanser kit, then you made a hypoallergenic powder, a blush, and a lipstick, each one contained in ornate, professionally carved glass and metal containers. You had to thank Winnet for introducing you to such talented craftsmen.

You then wrote her a letter which included the usual greetings and polite chitchat in addition to your instructions: “Please avoid using your usual makeup during these three weeks as they will interfere with the treatment. If you must paint your face, please use the ones I have included in the box.”

When everybody was asleep, you rang for Lyrra. You handed her a delicately wrapped box and the sealed letter. 

You slipped her a pouch of gold coins. “This must be sent ASAP, and no one else but you and the delivery man is to know about it, understand?”

She nodded, arms heavy with your gifts to Her Majesty and her salary.

“Oh, and before you go.” You threw her something. “Consider this a reward for your good job.”

Lyrra drooled at the diamond bracelet between her fingertips. “I’ll continue to serve you faithfully!”

“I’m sure you will.”

[enbyleighlines]

Leigh plays Tellius prt 2

We got Soren's first crit on this map! Btw, this stupid pirate map took me THREE tries. Once I lost Mist, and twice the houses were burnt down before I could get to them. Ugh. This was the first map that gave me any trouble.

And unfortunately, it wouldn't be the last.

The prisoner's map! I decided not to do the stealth thing, and just killed everybody. I think I took a little too long, though, so I didn't get much bonus exp from this map. But it's okay, because I now have Nephenee and Kieran, two more fruits to add to my basket. And Brom, too, of course. I love him, but I'm sorry, I will probably never use him. Armored knights and I don't get along too well.

Gosh, I absolutely love the dynamic between these two characters. I 100% believe that Kieran has a crush on Oscar, and that's why he took Oscar's discharge from the military so personally. One day, Kieran will realize why Oscar's squinty-eyed face makes his heart go all pitter-patter. Until then, I will fully enjoy getting these two to A rank.

Yeeeee, Nephenee!! I have said it before, and I will say it again. I love how there is just a series of chapters in early PoR where you get to recruit a new anime waifu each map. In any other FE game, these would be Ike's love interests. But not in this game! I just love how Ike collects this group of cute girls with fun, quirk personalities, and then remains platonic friends with all of them. And of all the "recruitable waifus", Nephenee is definitely my favorite. She's just too damn adorable.

I made a terrible error on this map, and accidentally put Mia within the boss's range. Thankfully, she survived with 1 HP, and I was not forced to redo this map. Whew!

It's Port Toha time! I love that Ranulf pays such close attention to Soren. Apparently, in the Japanese version, it's implied in this scene that Ranulf knows Soren's secret, which explains why Ranulf keeps such a close eye on him. I wonder if this is Ranulf's first time meeting someone like Soren. I really wish the game had expanded on this. I bet Ranulf and Soren would have some really interesting conversations. If they ever remake these games and add support convos to RD, I hope Soren and Ranulf have a support chain.

The fucking humor in this game is so great.

I don't even know what to say about this line, but man, does it make me feel a certain sort of way. Mackoya is not the only character who expresses this sentiment, but I do believe it is the first we see it, this idea that soldiers will become weak without "a steady diet of war". It's a key aspect of Ashnard's entire philosophy. I like how this completely contradicts with what Mist says later, about "Doesn't everybody want peace?" Because no, they clearly don't. There is no use for soldiers in a world without war, after all.

Someone much smarter than me could turn this into an entire thesis paper.

I respect Zihark 100%, but man, his introduction is wild. Entirely unprompted, he's just like "how many men do you want me to murder? Give me a number and I'll start hacking!" It's a shame I never use him, because I love him as a character. I do wish we got to learn more about his past, or had his past tie into the plot.

I always snort out loud at this line, because like, what steps are you taking, Nasir? There are two defining features of dragon laguz, which are the forehead markings and the pointed ears. You have decided to conceal neither of these things. You could easily hide your ears in your hair. Your hair is long enough. And what is the point of those things around your forehead? Could you not put some dangling gem or something to cover up your forehead marking?

I will accept that most beorc probably don't know what dragon laguz look like, but still. Nasir has taken exactly 0 steps in concealing his identity.

This might be my single favorite line from Ike. Gosh, he's so funny, I love him.

And that's it for part 2! Next time, we fight some pirates!

[lemonhemlock]

imo an underexplored part of Corlys is how admitting to Rhaenyra's children being bastards would slight both his son and him, and his entire house. He'd rather play make-believe than admit that for one, he arranged his gay son into an unhappy marriage which eventually led to his early death, and secondly, actually give the rumours that his son is indeed gay and can't produce children concrete affirmation. for a story so concerned with misogyny, the homophobia is so easily handwaved away as if these two are not integral in upholding of cishet patriarchy.

what you're saying is true, but, at some point, it becomes a matter of just cutting down your losses and doing some damage control. where was corlys when laenor was spending most of his time on driftmark gallivanting with knights while rhaenyra was popping out babies he had nothing to do with? he didn't do a damn thing about it

i actually had a conversation with @duxbelisarius today where he pointed out that the silent five (aka vaemond's cousins whom viserys ordered their tongues be cut out) actually fought for the greens during the war and three of them even died in battle, that's how deep their grudge went. not to mention the fact that the remaining two plotted to murder alyn after corlys' death so that he wouldn't inherit in their stead.

so all this make-believe happy families fantasy that i see team black peddling, about how luke & rhaena would have made a great power couple ruling driftmark in peace, because they love and care for each other or whatever, is straight-up delusional. the velaryons would have assassinated luke as soon as possible to get him out of the way and, had they been sent joffrey as a replacement, they would have done the same to him. rhaenyra was living in la la land for making such a fuss about driftmark, while corlys was absolutely incompetent as head of the family for putting his house in such a precarious position that his death would be followed by in-fighting and instability

i think that he perhaps DID eventually realise what a stupid idea that was and, in the aftermath of the luke debacle, decided to make sure driftmark at the very least goes to someone with velaryon blood, but he went about it in the most annoying and unhelpful way possible.*

can you imagine the audacity of this man to clown on (dead) rhaenys' memory AND on rhaenyra's arse at the same time in order to engineer driftmark to pass to HIS bastard son? all the while claiming that alyn was fathered by his gay son? who everyone knew was gay? and couldn't have fathered joffrey? otherwise why would you break the law** to give driftmark to laenor's alleged bastard instead of his alleged trueborn son?*** corlys must have taken lessons from rhaenyra herself, because that's the most boldfaced lie i ever did see

this man was so annoying FORREAL. was there at least one member of his family he didn't fuck over in some way? truly an example of being prideful to the point of stupidity

*not to mention, of course, that he already had legitimate heirs of his own body in baela and rhaena. and, lacking that, there were other true-born velaryons who could have inherited.

[EDIT: i'm wondering if this isn't a behind-the-scenes reason for daenaera being presented at the maiden's ball. daeron velaryon (don't get me started on the audacity of him being named daeron as well) was vaemond's son and also contested driftmark after baela & rhaena had been passed over in favour of alyn. so i'm wondering if baela didn't devise this little match to placate her cousin with a trade-off: if he couldn't have driftmark, at least his daughter would become queen]

**i'm saying he broke the law bc grrm himself states that it's unclear where precisely in the line of succession legitimised bastards fall. whether they go by birth order in between the other true-borns or they just go straight to the back of the line, behind all other heirs born within wedlock. so the legality of shoving alyn in front of everybody else is debatable at the very least

***idek how to call this, he is literally using his gay son to cover up his own arse and inadvertently implies that laenor was both cuckolded by rhaenyra (in that joffrey isn't his) AND that he broke his own marriage vows to rhaenyra by sleeping with another woman. he truly is a poet in the way he manages to implicitly insult everyone left and right

[phoenixyfriend]

For your suddenly omegaverse au what exactly happened? Like I think obiwan and Anakin hop over from cannon verse to omegaverse but I am unclear on if there already existed obiwan and Anakin in omegaverse. Did they die early or do they just not exist or are they just not force sensitive and therefore not a part of the order? Is there still a sith conspiracy around Anakin?

Context: Original Post, Surrogacy, Worldbuilding, Obi-Mom, Soap Operas

So, from the original post:

There is no preexisting Anakin in the Omegaverse

Obi-Wan and Anakin just straight up don’t exist until they drop headfirst into the council room, already covered in blood.

To clarify: There has never been an Anakin Skywalker in this AU. There has never been an Obi-Wan Kenobi.

They don't know this for sure when they land in the AU, though. All they know is that the Jedi have no record of either of them. They figure, well, maybe they just got lost in the shuffle. Anakin wasn't found until he was nine, after all, and that was only by great coincidence.

The rest of this post has almost no mention of the omegaverse elements, FYI.

Warning: References to the Tusken massacre, explicit sedation and isolation of a mentally unstable individual threatening violence.

I don’t want to make light of institutionalization and involuntary holds, but Anakin is a character with a history of violence talking about repeating such an act, and that’s... a bit of an extreme case.

------

It's not that hard to convince the Temple to let them run a mission that lets them stop by Tatooine or Stewjon. Anakin cares a lot more, so Tatooine it is! Obi-Wan can tell there's something sketchy going on with Anakin's particular anxiety about this, but he rolls with it. Anakin was very specific about the timing for some reasons, and at this point, it's easier to just let it all play through.

They go well after the whole “congrats, you’re omegas... somehow,” thing has happened, a month or so before Geonosis would have happened. Obi-Wan has managed to help the council sabotage and delay the Separatist side of the war enough that they’ve gained... maybe a few weeks, maybe a few months. Just a little more time to keep a few more people alive. Nobody’s reached out to Kamino yet, and Jango isn’t staging a failed assassination to draw someone in, either. They’ve bought enough time for Anakin to spend his vacation time checking in on his mom seeing if he exists here, and Obi-Wan can go with him.

They get to Tatooine. They wander about, and Anakin doesn't actually explain where they're going, but takes them straight to where the Lars farm is. Obi-Wan lets Anakin tell him that it was the Force that led him to the right area. Anakin can sense that his mom is in there, and Obi-Wan chalks up the relief from his former padawan to 'she's here and we don't have to look for her.'

Anakin is... panicking. Just a bit. What if he shows up and it turns out this reality's Anakin is off doing something completely unrelated and she realizes he's the wrong person? Or what if she doesn't recognize him and he calls her Mom anyway? What if he fucks up and says something stupid or just starts crying on her? She'll think he's insane.

Obi-Wan... takes over.

Anakin stays hidden, listening. Obi-Wan knocks on the door, and asks if there's a 'Shmi Skywalker' in residence. Someone in town mentioned her. He explains that he has a young friend of about twenty years--they're not sure, exactly, because the friend doesn't know his own birthday, but it's about there--who happens to be a Skywalker, and they're trying to see if they can reconnect him with a parent. They don't have much to go off of other than the surname... the Shmi that lives here wouldn't happen to have ever had any children about that age?

No. She hasn't had any children of her own blood, actually, her only child is her stepson, but she'd be happy to meet this other Skywalker, if he's in the area. It's always nice to find family, and connecting with those that were separated from you is a big deal on Tatooine. She's not going to look a gift bantha in the mouth.

(Cliegg, dear, put down the rifle.)

Obi-Wan promises to let his friend know, bids them goodbye, and goes to find Anakin.

Anakin is having a bit of a breakdown.

As one does.

Anakin insists that they stick around for a bit, that they do what they can to protect the farm, because that's his mom, even if she's not really his mom, and Obi-Wan can tell there's a Lot Going On here. He assumes it's because Anakin's upset his mom doesn't know him, which is a little irrational on account of their two options being "Anakin doesn't exist (and so Shmi doesn't know him)" and "Anakin does exist (but Shmi doesn't know this Anakin, so she still doesn't know him)," but Anakin's not a very rational person.

Obi-Wan thinks tamping down the current crisis is probably a little more important than chastising Anakin's attachment issues, mostly because Anakin's hands are shaking, and he's looking a little wild-eyed, and like. Obi-Wan's not great at dealing with Anakin's many and varied emotions, but he's learned at some point when it's best to just... roll with it Until There's Less Risk of Stab or Sobbing Laughter.

He helps figure out some minor fuckery with the Force to hide the family in the homestead behind them from visitors, and to warn them to hide when someone comes by. It’s not a lot--mostly just meditating and asking the Force for a helping hand--but it’s nice.

Except, well, Anakin keeps fidgeting. He keeps panicking. He has them coming back almost daily for a week, always too scared to talk to his mom but insistent on protecting her, and always looking at the calendar. Obi-Wan wants to get back to the Temple, but whatever the actual hell is going on with Anakin is too big to just ignored.

A specific day comes and goes. Anakin is a mess of jitters and nerves, and finally Obi-Wan asks just the wrong (right?) question, and... they visit Shmi.

Anakin says they can talk later, he just wants to see his mom One Last Time.

(Obi-Wan is getting more and more worried, but he sits through the incredibly awkward meeting between Anakin and his alt-universe mom, watches as Anakin has no idea what to say and almost cries, and Shmi just kind of lets him do that and Beru--a sweet girl, Obi-Wan thinks, and very practical--tells him that this is all very normal for reunited slaves.)

(Obi-Wan wonders if maybe there’s some stuff Anakin never told him about how being a slave affected him.)

(Obi-Wan had thought they’d moved past most of this, but..)

The meeting ends. There’s hugging.

They get back to the ship, and Obi-Wan gets to watch Anakin fall apart. Obi-Wan gets to watch Anakin cry and scream into a pillow, hyperventilate and nearly punch a hole in the wall as he rages about how it was all for nothing! Obi-Wan gets to watch Anakin break into a million pieces in a way he’s never seen before.

Obi-Wan gets a confession.

Anakin tells him about the Tuskens.

It’s not an easy conversation. It’s not a short conversation, either. Anakin’s full of pain and misery and rising guilt, talks about how he’s been asking himself if it would be easier to keep his mother safe if he just killed them all now, except Obi-Wan would know, and be disappointed, and sure the Chancellor had said that they were little more than rabid animals, but Anakin doesn’t think he can kill the younglings again when his mom is still fine, and--

Obi-Wan sedates him.

He wants to say that he’s not proud of this, but... Anakin isn’t well. Anakin isn’t well in a way that is currently, specifically, revolving around doing extreme violence. Anakin is talking about going out and committing a slaughter as preventative maintenance.

Anakin stays sedated until they get back to the Temple, and he’s put in Force-suppressant cuffs--Obi-Wan quietly tells them to use something that can’t be sliced or taken apart by a droid specialist, and to avoid collars because Anakin was a slave for nearly a decade, and has a lot of traumatic associations--and in an isolated room.

It’s not a cell. Not technically.

He can’t just leave, though.

Obi-Wan hates himself for it, just a little. He doesn’t want to be doing this, not to his padawan, his brother, his son, but... a massacre. Even the younglings, he’d said.

(“He said he didn’t think he could do it again,” Obi-Wan mutters, half to himself and half to the mind healer that asks for his rundown of the situation. “I think he knows it was wrong, but...”)

(But he still did it, of course.)

It’s... better than Obi-Wan feared, but worse than he hoped.

Anakin is emotionally unstable. He has been, for a long time, but he’s usually functional. When the mind healer isn’t directly poking at his worst wounds, Anakin can more or less pass for... not okay, necessarily, but no worse than anyone else in the war had. He can say the right words. He can do a joint meditation. He can talk about philosophy the way a Knight that’s taken all the right classes does.

But part of Anakin still holds to the idea that the Tuskens deserved to die.

“This is my fault,” Obi-Wan whispers, more than once, resting his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. “I should have...”

“He was an adult,” says Mace, who isn’t Mace, not the one that Obi-Wan knows, but a newer friend, one that’s still figuring how to act around him. “Young, but still an adult. He made that choice.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t answer. Things aren’t that simple.

“The timing can’t have been a coincidence,” Obi-Wan mutters to himself, later on, but in the same spot, and the same position.

The Quinlan of this universe shrugs. He knows Obi-Wan better than most, right now. Psychometry’s helpful that way, and sharing Obi-Wan’s heat hadn’t hurt. “Seems likely. You said Sith were involved and setting traps, and a kid like yours, with that much power and trauma... ripe for the molding.”

Obi-Wan whines, and then catches the noise and stuffs it back down, locks it up tight with the other ‘instinct’ things he doesn’t like to think about having. The sound already has Quinlan shifting closer, and the smell is... intended to be comforting, he thinks. Reacting to his own distress, which he’s probably just pumping out right now, because he still doesn’t know how to--

“Can I help?” Quinlan asks, and Obi-Wan lets him.

Someone gets through to Anakin, maybe, or he just lets himself be ground down, or Obi-Wan’s entreaties that he can’t teach Ahsoka until he understands his crimes get through. He won’t be trusted around the clones until the Jedi can trust him to do the right thing, they inform him.

“I wouldn’t hurt the clones.”

“Nobody’s going to believe that until you understand your crimes and truly, actually feel remorse for them.”

There wasn’t a crime, technically. Not in this universe. That tribe is still alive, here, unknowing of the fate they escaped by dint of Anakin talking himself down from committing another slaughter.

(He tells the mind healer it’s because Obi-Wan was there.)

(He might have done it, he says, if he hadn’t thought Obi-Wan would be disappointed in him.)

(He says it like it’s a foregone conclusion, that Obi-Wan’s opinion is worth more than the horror of what he might become.)

“We’re going to keep an eye on anyone talking to Palpatine,” Shaak tells him one day, after Anakin’s been mental instability hold for two weeks. “We don’t know for sure how far the similarities extend from your universe to ours, but given everything else you’ve been right about...”

“That bad?” Obi-Wan asks.

Shaak grimaces, fangs glinting in the light. “I want to believe we’d have never allowed a child into such a position, but I can’t know what political leverage may have been used in your dimension... whatever reason was had to put Skywalker in those rooms, we know the consequences now--”

“What did he do to my padawan?” Obi-Wan demands, because Anakin won’t even tell him that. Anakin hasn’t mentioned Palpatine since they left Tatooine. Not to Obi-Wan.

“Nothing physical,” Shaak manages. “But the lies he told and the suggestions he planted... it’s good they haven’t met again yet in this life. We’ll all be keeping them far apart.”

He wants to take solace in that. “Why do you know before I do?”

“Skywalker values your opinion,” she says. “Only yours. He doesn’t want you more disappointed in him than you already are, so much of what is relayed to the council as a matter of security goes no further, but this was deemed necessary to share. He agreed to it, if you worried we’d broken his confidence.”

Anakin’s therapy would normally be entirely private.

Anakin’s therapy would normally not be in response to confessions of mass slaughter.

He hasn’t asked to be let out, which Obi-Wan hopes is a sign that he realizes at least subconsciously that he was in the wrong. The mind healer says he could have been released under watch by a Master probably a day or two after he arrived, but seems to be drawing some kind of comfort in knowing he couldn’t hurt someone even if he tried.

Obi-Wan is Anakin’s emergency contact. His next of kin. His healthcare proxy. Anakin has a right to privacy, minor as it is in such a situation, and everyone recognizes and treats him as an adult, but... Obi-Wan learns as much from the mind-healer as he would have back when Anakin was actually a child.

“He trusts you to make the right decisions,” the mind healer tells him, careful and unassuming. “He has... a lot of conflicting opinions about many things, including the order, the coming war, the nature of human reproductive dynamics, the Code... but he seems keen on the idea that you are his best reference on morality and ethics.”

Oh, good, more horrifying responsibility.

“He’s better,” the mind healer tells him. “I want to get him out of here before he starts going stir crazy while still relying on the perceived safety as a crutch for his mental health. And he--”

“He’ll be staying with me,” Obi-Wan says, heavy as anything. “I know.”

“Well... there’s a war coming,” the mind healer says. She offers a thin smile when he looks at her. “I don’t want him going out, but it makes him feel useful, gives him a direction for the aggression, and... the Council is adamant that we’ll need him as much as we need you.”

It’s true.

“Did he tell you why everyone called him the Hero With No Fear?”

“No.”

“Ask him.”

[astradrifting]

 AGOT - Jon I (Chapter 5)

There were times—not many, but a few—when Jon Snow was glad he was a bastard. As he filled his wine cup once more from a passing flagon, it struck him that this might be one of them.

I don’t know why D&D decided Jon could never lie, when literally the first line in his POV is a lie. He’s so good at it he can even lie to himself!

****

A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad, but down at this end of the hall his voice could scarcely be heard above the roar of the fire, the clangor of pewter plates and cups, and the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations.

A singer with a high harp and a ballad seems like a vague Rhaegar allusion. That Jon can’t actually hear him makes me happy in a very petty way.

****

His lord father had come first, escorting the queen. She was as beautiful as men said. A jeweled tiara gleamed amidst her long golden hair, its emeralds a perfect match for the green of her eyes. His father helped her up the steps to the dais and led her to her seat, but the queen never so much as looked at him. Even at fourteen, Jon could see through her smile.

I think this part is actually Jon being indignant on Ned’s behalf that Cersei was rude to him, by not looking at him when he escorts her, not that she never looked at Jon. Also, there’s those observation skills. He’s never been taken in by a pretty smile.

****

After them came the children. Little Rickon first, managing the long walk with all the dignity a three-year-old could muster. Jon had to urge him on when he stopped to visit.

Adorable!!!

****

Jon noticed the shy looks she gave Robb as they passed between the tables and the timid way she smiled at him. He decided she was insipid. Robb didn’t even have the sense to realize how stupid she was; he was grinning like a fool.

Jon’s a mean drunk I guess 💀

****

Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon’s vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister’s hair and his mother’s deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey’s pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell’s Great Hall.

Joffrey according to Jon: 👁👄👁

But Sansa looked radiant 🥰

****

He was more interested in the pair that came behind him: the queen’s brothers, the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. The Lion and the Imp; there was no mistaking which was which. Ser Jaime Lannister was twin to Queen Cersei; tall and golden, with flashing green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife. He wore crimson silk, high black boots, a black satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the lion of his House was embroidered in gold thread, roaring its defiance. They called him the Lion of Lannister to his face and whispered “Kingslayer” behind his back. Jon found it hard to look away from him.

This is what a king should look like, he thought to himself as the man passed.

Giving me big ‘muscled like a maiden’s fantasy’ vibes there, Jon.

Also, curiously enough Jaime’s introduced wearing black and red, Targaryen colours. Maybe a nod to the incest storyline, possibly leftover foreshadowing from when Jaime was going to become king, as per the outline.

Otherwise this means that, like everybody else in this story, Jaime is a secret Targaryen. He and Cersei can join the ranks of Jon, Tyrion, Varys, Mance Rayder and while we’re at it… *spins a wheel of names* Meera too.

****

His brothers and sisters had not been permitted to bring their wolves to the banquet, but there were more curs than Jon could count at this end of the hall, and no one had said a word about his pup. He told himself he was fortunate in that too.

His eyes stung. Jon rubbed at them savagely, cursing the smoke.

Jon spends half this chapter on the verge of tears, my angsty little lad.

****

Jon looked up happily as his uncle Ben put a hand on his head and ruffled his hair much as Jon had ruffled the wolf’s.

They actually call him Ben and ‘uncle Ben’ a few times in the series, which I honestly think might be a Spider-Man allusion. Surrogate father figure Uncle Ben’s early disappearance/death kicking off the plot… There’s also a saying that nobody stays dead in comics except for Uncle Ben - considering all the other resurrections in the books, metaphorical and literal, yet GRRM says that Benjen isn’t Coldhands, it might be the same for this Uncle Ben too.

****

Jon swelled with pride. “Robb is a stronger lance than I am, but I’m the better sword, and Hullen says I sit a horse as well as anyone in the castle.”

"[Garlan] is a great knight," Ser Loras replied. "A better sword than me, in truth, though I'm the better lance." (ASOS, Sansa I)

Love a Jon-Garlan parallel! Also thinking about Garlan being the older brother made me realise - in the story everyone thinks that Jon is younger than Robb, but timeline-wise, he has to be older, because Robb was conceived in the two weeks before Ned left to fight at the Trident, and Rhaegar must have at least already been in the capital by then to rally the loyalists, so Jon was conceived weeks, if not months earlier. Which means that Ned has definitely lied about when Jon’s birthday is.

Jon being the product of a ‘youthful indiscretion’ before he was married is less of a stain on Ned’s honour than him betraying his marriage bed but I imagine Catelyn’s fears about Jon usurping her children might have had more basis if he was known to be the eldest, so maybe that’s why Ned lied about how old he is.

****

“Daeron Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne,” Jon said. The Young Dragon was one of his heroes. 

"A conquest that lasted a summer," his uncle pointed out. "Your Boy King lost ten thousand men taking the place, and another fifty trying to hold it. Someone should have told him that war isn't a game." He took another sip of wine. "Also," he said, wiping his mouth, "Daeron Targaryen was only eighteen when he died. Or have you forgotten that part?"

Jon is unfortunately, a jock. And a bit of an idiot. 

There’s something about Jon’s hero dying at 18, Waymar dying at 18 just a few chapters ago... Jon has them all beat by dying at 17.

****

"You are a boy of fourteen," Benjen said. "Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up."

"I don't care about that!" Jon said hotly.

"You might, if you knew what it meant," Benjen said. "If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son."

Jon felt anger rise inside him. "I'm not your son!"

Benjen Stark stood up. “More’s the pity.”

Establishing Benjen as a somewhat contentious father figure to Jon - even more fuel for my brand new Uncle Ben ‘theory’.

****

The wolf pup padded closer and nuzzled at Jon's face, but he kept a wary eye on Tyrion Lannister, and when the dwarf reached out to pet him, he drew back and bared his fangs in a silent snarl. 

"Shy, isn't he?" Lannister observed.

"Sit, Ghost," Jon commanded. "That's it. Keep still." He looked up at the dwarf. "You can touch him now. He won't move until I tell him to. I've been training him."

Possibly he and Sansa are the only ones who properly trained their direwolves, considering how the rest of them will end up behaving.

****

“If I wasn’t here, he’d tear out your throat,” Jon said. It wasn’t actually true yet, but it would be.

Pffffft! Edgy edgy edge-lord 💀

Though I also always feel like issuing casual threats to Tyrion Lannister so I can’t really blame him.

****

Standing, he was taller than the dwarf. It made him feel strange.

He’s got a weird preoccupation with comparing his height to Lannister men in this chapter. My headcanon for the books is that Jon’s quite tall by ADWD but evidently he’s tiny in AGOT if he feels strange being tall next to a dwarf.

****

final thoughts:

Believe it or not, I didn’t actually have Jonsa in mind with my new Uncle Ben theory, but I did just remember that brown haired Peter Parker’s main love interest is red-haired MJ :P

[space-city-traffic]

yet again im back on my bullshit so... (gazes with mixed feelings at the TV show Firefly) i could fix him.

my extremely long thoughts about my Own Personal Good Version of Firefly (with plenty of spoilers for the show and the movie) under the cut:

things that are getting axed first thing no question:

out with the whole “let’s add in a thin veneer of Chinese cultural aesthetics out of context for ~flavor~” deal. just no.

instead, let’s hire some actors from a bunch of different cultures and work with them to figure out how their characters would bring those cultures into space with them!! and also hopefully bring some experiences with immigration/alienation/travel into it, since the Whole Core of Firefly is about how humanity always brings our doomed and silly and stubborn and unique warmth with us even into the cold void where nothing is familiar or homey in the slightest.

let’s respect our sex worker character shall we?

i do appreciate that Inara’s work as a companion is described as legitimate and well respected in the show. however please stop having your captain and hero call her a wh*re every five seconds against her clearly expressed wishes and portraying this as just a totally acceptable thing

let’s be more respectful of our characters of color and also have some more diversity, shall we?

others have put it better than me but yeah, the way Zoe and Book are treated is very uncomfy, and the rest of the show is depressingly monochromatic. come on let’s do better.

stop the weird confederacy hat tips

again others have pointed these out with much more thoroughness than I could, but the names of some characters and locations, as well as some of the language used to describe the browncoats, has uncomfortably confederate vibes. instead i propose we very Clearly tip our hats to the Alliance equaling space capitalism instead! you can’t go wrong with space capitalism as a villain.

don’t! make! the! psychotic! character! violent!

listen i love River Tam with my whole heart. but you should absolutely not portray your only character with psychosis as violent because of that psychosis!!!!!!! and yeah, a huge part of her character is that her brain got fucked up by the alliance and so she hallucinates and is also a super ninja. but like. she doesn’t need to be a super ninja for her character to work, okay? the crew does not need to be scared of her for her character to work, okay??? more on this later bc it would take a lot of care and nuance to make her character work but i really think it can be done

things we are absolutely keeping:

found family tropes my fucking beloved

this should be self evident. this is why the show is as appealing as it is despite its flaws, at least in my eyes.

malcolm reynolds, the knight in dusty armor

there’s something so appealing to me about what Mal stands for. because at his core is this ridiculous, silly, stubborn, doomed devotion to what he thinks is important and right, a romantic idealism thinly covered by cynical cowboy platitudes that he thinks make his bleeding heart totally invisible. and he is so obvious and entirely incorrect. bless. this is a man who will do anything for his family, who charges into swordfights to defend his friend from a man who wants to turn her into an object despite having no clue how to hold a sword. at his worst, he starts brawls in bars just for the martyr’s thrill of being persecuted for supporting the right; at his best, he inspires downright religious belief from his crew because he represents a romantic and chivalrous and doomed dedication to the right thing over any practical concerns. and then he throws a “selfish” quip over it with 100% confidence that everyone fell for his clever distraction and believes him to be a dirtbag. he’s oblivious and ridiculous and god he makes me want to be a better person because he’s just so goddamned sincere. stupid, but sincere. 10/10 himbo. <3

Mal and Inara ultraslowburn friends to enemies to friends to lovers to enemies to friends to lovers to friends to...

there’s nothing i love more than a ship that’s just two people who know each other way too well, and they’re each the only one who knows the other well enough to call them out on their bullshit. the way Mal and Inara interact in the show sometimes makes me uncomfy but like. the core of their relationship has to stay.

space western aesthetic

i need the cows on a spaceship scene to stay like i need air okay

that sweet sweet religious shit

mal, who lost his faith in gd and a whole lot else during the war. who lost his faith in himself, and now feels he has to hide the part of him that still wants to be good, because he knows he can’t be anymore, and he feels like it’s embarrassing for a guy like him to want something so unattainable. who takes a preacher on board, and the preacher has lost something, too. the preacher has his own past, and his own questions. but not questions like the observant neurodivergent girl, the one who wants to interact with and understand this thing that’s so important to him, but it just doesn’t click with how her brain works and she feels like something needs to be fixed, either the Bible or herself. and Mal takes care of them all, and slowly, he begins to find gd again, not in a prayer but in humanity. humanity doesn’t need to be fixed, like the alliance thinks. the shining imperfect strawberry sweetness of it in his family’s smiles is something to be worshiped and served and devoted to. and he finds he has something to believe in again. (and his crew find that he’s given them someone to believe in, too. and maybe suddenly he’s a saint.)

and finally, my brilliant ideas as to what i would like to add:

TRANS WOMAN KAYLEE RIGHTS

listen her femininity is so important to me okay? it’s so thrilled about everything that’s pretty, from dresses to the spaceship’s electric innards, and it’s so non-traditional and grease stained until it’s not and it’s pink and ruffly and twirly, and she never sees any of it as a contradiction, because none of it contradicts, it’s all just her! her gender is warmth and love and prettiness, feeling pretty and appreciating the pretty and making her friends’ days pretty too.

i want us to find out she’s trans in that episode with the ball, and i want us to find out alongside Mal who just never asked or never realized. Kaylee gasps and squeals at the dress in the shop window and Mal makes an off handed, ill considered comment, and then... someone yanks him aside and hisses a few very significant words in his ear. and suddenly he remembers what the blue white and pink she painted all over the engine room means, and he knows he has something to make right. so he buys her that dress himself and lets her know just how pretty she looks, and when he walks into that ball with her displayed on his arm like something precious, he looks the proudest out of any man there. and she notices. for a few seconds, of course, until there’s chocolate, and ‘nara, and a chandelier—and some horrible girls, but she’s used to that, until—suddenly, she finds her people. a group of old men who light up when she jokes about compression coils and whack presumptuous boys who ask her to dance. they adopt her as a treasured granddaughter, and Mal is beaming at her like a proud dad, and she finds that one of her new elderly friends gazes a little too long at her bracelet, and so she gives it to xem and teaches xem a few new words, and... it’s a good day, huh? it’s a really good day. (of course, then the captain has to go and punch somebody in the face, but it was a real nice party up until then.)

also she and Simon are both transhet t4t im correct and you know it

time for a better River Tam

the first thing we’ve established is that this version of her is not unpredictably violent and the crew is not scared of her!!!! it makes no sense to take a kid who’s primarily brilliant, experiment on her brain, give her telepathic powers....... and tack on the fact that she also has super strength and speed and dexterity and what not, AND say that they programmed her to be super violent. no! no. not only is that extremely harmful rep, that’s also just stupid.

instead!! my version of River is in fact not terrifying to the crew, but is actually the one they feel safest around. River has always been totally blunt, she was one of those kids you could tell realllllly early was autistic, and she doesn’t like being disengenous at all. so you can always trust her to tell the truth and not play weird passive aggressive games or have any hidden agenda, which makes her just a really chill person to be around. also, one of her longtime special interests is music and dance, so whether or not she’s nonverbal on a given day, there will always be some sort of beautiful sound when she’s around. she does have the singing voice of a dying crow unfortunately but that’s ok bc Simon’s is even worse and they’re both incredibly competitive so you’ll at least get free entertainment out of the affair.

my version of River does have psychosis and hallucinations because of the trauma of the experiments, and they are really troubling to her. she and Simon work together to find ways to cope and meds that help, and it’s a process, but there are some things that help.

the only thing she gained from the academy was the ability to hear people’s thoughts and sense the future a little bit. and yeah, that led to her picking up a few spooky secrets at the beginning, which, yikes. and for a while, it was hard to figure out which voices were real and which were hallucinations. but around her friends, she always feels safe to ask “did you just think about triple cheese burritos or was that just a me thing?”, and they’ll always tell her the truth no matter how embarrassing their thoughts are, bc it’s important to all of them to respect her and help her sort accurately through what’s reality and what’s not. and bit by bit, she gets better and better at figuring out what kinds of things tend to be telepathy and what kinds of things tend to be psychosis, and that each one feels a little different. and because of the trust and respect and support of her found family she’s able to do that in a safe environment!!!

trans man Simon rights

listen i wanted to keep him as just a side note on Kaylee’s list but he is my son and he’s important to my heart so here goes

out on the outer rim where Kaylee’s from, gender ain’t much of a big deal, there’s an individualistic quality to life out there, and so if the trail you blaze is the trail of a woman or a man or neither or both, that’s respected even in the rare cases where it’s not outright encouraged. but in the inner planets, where competition and connections and public faces and family names are everything, you have to be what’s expected of you to survive. you can’t change your brand, you can’t be anything other than what your family planned for you since before you were born, it’s incredibly hard to survive in such a hyper competitive environment, and so your very identity becomes just a tool in how to market yourself for better success.

needless to say Simon (just as autistic as his little sister and also very trans) fuckin hated it there. but he was very good at it. correction: he was very good at his very specific field of STEM, good enough to where people stopped talking about how cute he looked in bows and started talking about how impressive his work was from a very young age. and his work had no gender. he could be whatever he wanted to in equations. so that was where he could express himself, and gd, he got so much praise for it, he never wanted to stop.

not until he discovered that his sister needed him, and ran away, and needed a disguise, and realized... suddenly, every stifling rule and prying eye was a million miles away. he was freefloating, freefalling, with none of the charted paths he’d been following all his life... so you know what? fuck it. he’s always enjoyed the name Simon. and since it’s not on any legal records, it’ll make him just that much more untraceable.

and on Serenity, starting over with new people who never knew him before his transition feels like an unbelievable blessing that just dropped right into his lap. he has to keep up the secrecy, he has to make sure they never find out who he used to be, because gd, it’s so nice when they look at him and say his name right, and he doesn’t know if he can handle losing that, not when it’s so new and so important to the person he’s finally becoming. but then one day, the unthinkable happens, the wanted posters for his arrest have an old name on them, they’re looking for the Tam sisters, and... nothing changes. the crew of Serenity could not give even a tenth of a percent of a fuck, and it doesn’t seem like they even know they’re supposed to. huh. that’s new. Simon could get used to that, he thinks.

i’m sure there’s more i could add, but it’s 4:30 in the morning now, so if more occurs to me, ill simply add it in a reblog tomorrow. if you’ve read down this far, i am in love with you. please let me know your Better Firefly ideas, too, bc im always down to yell about this show!!!

[rokhal]

I want to know what Steven Grant’s first few days of autonomous existence were like, playing with the Moench continuity.

Marlene is, canonically in the Moench run, a competent hypnotist. She does it to Jack Russell, with his consent, to improve his chances of not-killing Moon Knight in werewolf form. Her brother works in sleep research. What I’m saying is, if the mysterious man who introduced himself by claiming to have just murdered her father, then stood up from death, wrapped himself in a tarp, and almost died trying to avenge her father, happened to confess to her that he never wants to be be Marc Spector again, she could have totally helped him disappear into Steven Grant.

She doesn’t know Marc Spector. She knows this guy “Frenchie” keeps calling Marc, who answers to that name, but Frenchie is the only person he allows to call him that, and he calls himself “The Moon’s Knight of Vengeance” or somesuch nonsense. He keeps the tarp from the statue of Khonshu wrapped around himself like a security blanket. The topic of false identities comes up early -- Marc Spector and Jean-Paul DuChamp are at best accessories to murder, thanks to their activities with Bushman -- and The Moon’s Knight of Vengeance, Moon Knight for short, isn’t too confident about his ability to force himself to put up with a regular job. Not when there are evildoers to punch and innocents to avenge.

“That sounds like a mental barrier,” Marlene suggests. “What if you convinced yourself that you were someone who wants a normal, peaceful life? With a permanent home, and a family, and a girlfriend?”

Moon Knight makes eye contact. He’s a little intense. “...I...had an imaginary friend, when...Marc, was a kid,” he says. “Steven. I used to pretend to be him, until my older brother told me to stop because it was stupid. But when I was Steven, I didn’t want to get into fights, and I got in less trouble at school. I just had to remember to use Marc -- my -- name.”

“Have you ever used this Steven alias, Marc?” Frenchie checks.

Moon Knight rubs his temples. “I don’t think so. No. Steven’s clean. I mean, I never used him that way. He...he never would’ve wanted anything to do with the life...I...led.”

“Because he’s peaceful,” Marlene says.

“Exactly. He’s a nice kid. Was. Everything Marc had to toss aside so he could go fight rich men’s wars for pay.”

“Marc.” says Frenchie sternly. “I will not hear you talk this way about my friend.”

The man in the tarp sighs, and smiles despite himself. “You got terrible taste, Frenchie.”

“C’est vrai,” Frenchie says wryly, with a sour twist to his mouth that Marlene doesn’t think Marc or Moon Knight notices. “Perhaps it is time you reconcile with those parts of your nature you ‘tossed away.’“

“It’s been so long,” he protests. “I don’t think I can. I don’t think he’d want to, not after what I’ve done.”

“Mental barrier,” Marlene says again. “You already know how to be a decent person, or at least act like it. And you want to become a good man.” She unclasps a chain around her neck, which holds the key to her father’s safety deposit box in Cairo. “I can help you convince yourself it’s possible.”

“We were fifteen, last time I was him. I don’t know if he’s even still here anymore.”

Marlene lets the chain and key dangle between her fingers and swings it back and forth. “I bet he is,” she says. “How about you relax, watch the pendulum, and tell me about him. I’ll bet he’s all grown up.”

“You think you can hypnotize me and get him back?” he demands, eyes lighting up. Beside him, Frenchie groans and drops his face into his palms.

“I think you can let me hypnotize you, and together, we can figure out what kind of man Steven should be,” Marlene says, a bit out of her depth but now feeling as though she is at least marginally in control of whatever is about to happen.

“What are you waiting for, lady?” the man in the tarp exclaims. “Let’s do this!”

part 2 here: https://rokhal.tumblr.com/post/676205820300640256/steven-grant-wakes-up

[that-crazy-five-foot-two-chick]

✨WIP/Prompt List✨

These are all my wips and ideas that I've thought to write. If one of them gets you hyped up, send me an ask, comment, or dm, and it might give me the motivation to get my butt in gear and write them (depending on busyness and current frame of mind)! I also may be up to PG-rated meme requests...is that even a thing? idk

They're all pretty happy/fluffy unless noted otherwise. That's just how I roll. All sfw. I do not take fic requests unless it really really strikes my interest cuz if ADHD brain don't go brrr, it ain't happening. Any wips that have posted content will have a link to the first chapter.

So without further ado:

👊 wip, some posted | 👉 wip, none posted | 💭 idea | italics stand-in title

Fullmetal Alchemist

EdWin

👊 Elric Escorts (EdWin and AlMei)—college/modern AU: the Elric brothers start a service at their college to escort people across campus after dark. On their walks, they meet people with pasts, presents, and futures that intrigue them

👉 Baby—modern AU, songfic, sequel to Hello Stranger: What do you do when you meet a stunning stranger that terrifies you with how much of an effect they have on you? Scrounge up the guts to ask them on a date. (And figure out how to get through the date) A/N: I figured if part one was a Stray Kids songfic, part two should be too ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Anyway, here's Wonderw—I mean Mixtape: Oh

👊 I Cain't Say No (but I wish I could)—modern/high school/theatre AU: Ed thought he could drop out after auditioning for the musical...and then he got cast as the lead. Cue situations that put the drama in drama class, including but not limited to a method acting costar, scruples over stage kisses, and stage makeup applied by a not-crush

👊 And Then It Hit Me—college/modern/enemies to lovers AU: Edward achieved every college student's dream: he got hit by a bus. Or, at least, he would have, if some know-it-all hadn't yanked him out of the way at the last second. There goes free tuition...

Other pairings/gen

💭 Havolina (Havoc/Catalina) Bar AU—Catalina wants to go out to a bar but couldn't possibly go alone because it just isn't safe, and Havoc agrees to be her knight in shining armor. Strictly to keep her safe, of course. Perhaps she can get to know him better this way, since Havoc tends to only make an impressive fool of himself with women he's on dates with. And this isn't a date. Probably.

💭 Royai nonsexual FWB, mutual pining, probably modern AU—one day I thought "you know what would be a great/possibly terrible idea [for actual real life situations]? Non-sexual friends with benefits." Like, you're not in a relationship or have romantic feelings for the other, but want a semblance of that in your life. You need cuddles, a plus one for an event, somebody to do stupid romantic (but not for real) things with, someone to tell you you're pretty, someone to ward off creeps, maybe a kiss? Boom. You got it. So yes then I thought it'd be funny/cute to make that royai with a side of mutual pining.

💭 FMA Vietnam War AU—tbh I'm undecided on which generation I would focus on with this one, but there are so many parallels between the American side of the Vietnam War and the military events and perspectives in FMA. Royai/Team Mustang would be the early recruits that willingly shipped off to war while Ed would be one of the disillusioned latecomers to the war. I'm thinking because of his age and circumstances, he'd be a researcher for the military rather than a soldier. Still doing it for Al. There are a lot of loose ends and no particular plot thought up yet, but the similarity is so striking, I couldn't not write it down as a possibility to write. Obviously, being war-based, it would be a more mature, angstier fic, although it still probably wouldn't break the T rating, knowing me as a writer and since it's more character-based than action-based. And yeah, I'm a history nerd, fight me 👊🏻 although usually not military history nerd

💭 Ed's comic books—What if the comic books Ed had on his research tab were encoded alchemy texts? But of course, telling Mustang would take all the fun out of it.

💭 Mei & Hughes—just a couple of excitable throwing knife wielders that really should have met. I have no plot. I just think the two of them in the same room would be n e a t.

Mystic Messenger

👊 You Infect Me, covid/lockdown fic (Seven/MC)—Saeyoung Choi is bored to tears during quarantine, so he figures why not text one of the most available RFA members? But after a while, he realizes he's gotten in over his head... A/N: I haven't updated this since January, help. It was also the first fic I wrote, so I've definitely become a more comfortable writer since I started this

👉 The Song of Your Soul Is Not What I Expected (But It's Better) (Jumin/MC)—originally intended to be written for Mystic Messenger Reverse Big Bang 2021, but that didn't happen lol. For Jumin's first birthday as a married man, he decides to let his wife choose how they spend the evening. She chooses to go to an open mic night, but he never expected that to be her music taste. ...Blink-182. she sings Blink-182. Jumin may do some "MC research" and might learn a Fall Out Boy song as a comeback.

👉 Vanderwaiter (Vanderwood/MC)— MC is new to the world of being a businesswoman, and tries her best to navigate a dinner with a client. Which would be easier if the waiter weren't distractingly good looking. And if the restaurant didn't explode into chaos because his mission as a secret agent went south. (Definitely going to have an action scene, probably involving guns, but no graphic violence)

RWBY

👉 Insurance Scam (Renora)—Nora bursts into Ren's insurance agency asking for medical malpractice insurance for a pillow factory. Let the circus begin, clowns and all. A/N: this was a crack fic/prompt that my sister and I came up with when she was sick and loopy and I took it as a challenge. This will also be my first contribution to FNDM. Maybe I just haven't checked Ao3 since the last two seasons came out (I haven't caught up, don't give me spoilers 😩), but there is a sad, sad lack of good monogamous renora fics out there, and that really should be remedied.

Fruits Basket

👉/💭 Kyoru Bar AU—Tohru thinks it would be fun to go out to a bar with Kyo for their one-year dating anniversary. Kyo agrees, despite his misgivings. Includes: a heavy dose of Kyoko backstory fluff, a dash of Kyo backstory angst, and mayyybe a dash of jealous Kyo because Tohru collects hearts wherever she goes 👀

Ugh I'm finally done, this took so freaking long to get out 😩

As far as meme requests go if that's even a thing, if I've posted about a fandom, it's fair game. If you're not sure if I'm in a fandom, just shoot me an ask/comment/dm. And while I pretty much don't take fic requests, I'm totally open to getting asks on my thoughts about fandom stuff, because I can nearly guarantee you I have some sort of opinion, and I love the attention.

[mrsjadecurtiss]

What do you think of Robert? What are your opinions on him, do you think that if the war never happened that he'd still go down this self destructive path?

I think Robert was fundamentally not made to be a king - He has the charisma and the looks and is an able warrior, but his negative character traits are indulged and enhanced by his position and led him down an almost unavoidable path.

Robert is someone who above all wants to enjoy and live an easy life:

"You need to come south," Robert told him. "You need a taste of summer before it flees. [...] Flowers everywhere, the markets bursting with food, the summerwines so cheap and so good that you can get drunk just breathing the air. Everyone is fat and drunk and rich." He laughed and slapped his own ample stomach a thump. "And the girls, Ned!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling. "I swear, women lose all modesty in the heat.[...]" The king laughed happily. Robert Baratheon had always been a man of huge appetites, a man who knew how to take his pleasures. - Eddard I, aGoT

"Robert wanted smiles and cheers, always, so he went where he found them, to his friends and his whores. Robert wanted to be loved." - Sansa IV, aCoK

He has just enough of a moral understanding to at least know when he is doing wrong and to even feel bad about it at times, but not enough to actually change anything about himself.

The rage was gone from him now; in his eyes Ned saw something sad and scared. "I should not have hit [Cersei]. That was not … that was not kingly." He stared down at his hands, as if he did not quite know what they were. - Eddard X, aGoT

Robert desires to have an easy life, he wants to be loved, he wants to have fun, but he does not want to deal with the hard and unpleasant things. In times of crisis, he wants to take the easy way out, and he prefers to avoid uncomfortable truths.

Lord Tywin stared at him as if he had lost his wits. "[...] When I laid those bodies before the throne, no man could doubt that we had forsaken House Targaryen forever. And Robert's relief was palpable. As stupid as he was, even he knew that Rhaegar's children had to die if his throne was ever to be secure. Yet he saw himself as a hero, and heroes do not kill children." - Tyrion VI, aSoS

"Well, now I know Jaime's dark sin, and the matter can be forgotten. I am heartily sick of secrets and squabbles and matters of state, Ned." - Eddard II, aGoT

"Most likely the king did not know," Littlefinger said. "It would not be the first time. Our good Robert is practiced at closing his eyes to things he would rather not see." - Eddard IV, aGoT

He feels most comfortable when he is surrounded by people who love him and know how to handle him/want the best for him, and steer him onto the right path in a way where he can still feel good about himself.

"These are difficult times. I need good men about me. Men like Jon Arryn. He served as Lord of the Eyrie, as Warden of the East, as the Hand of the King. He will not be easy to replace." - Eddard I, aGoT

In an environment that works against him, or goes against his wishes even if it is for the better, it creates a destructive energy in him. He cannot stand dissent to his wishes because it robs him of a pleasure he desires, and creates unwanted conflict. He also cannot handle constructive criticism because it makes him confront unpleasant truths - he always wants the easiest path with the least tension. If he is presented with a situation that strains his limits as there is no amiable solution to a difficult/disturbing problem, his reaction is a toxic one; turning to rage and violence even towards his own child.

Not for the first time, he wondered what he was doing here and why he had come. He was no Jon Arryn, to curb the wildness of his king and teach him wisdom. Robert would do what he pleased, as he always had, and nothing Ned could say or do would change that. - Eddard II, aGoT

He may act against what he knows is right, because it is the easiest route; like when he has the wolf Lady killed to please Cersei:

“A costly pelt,” Robert grumbled. “I want no part of this, woman. You can damn well buy your furs with Lannister gold.” [...] "We have a wolf," Cersei Lannister said. Her voice was very quiet, but her green eyes shone with triumph. It took them all a moment to comprehend her words, but when they did, the king shrugged irritably. "As you will. Have Ser Ilyn see to it." - “Robert, you cannot mean this,” Ned protested. The king was in no mood for more argument. “Enough, Ned, I will hear no more." - Eddard III, aGoT

"I am sorry for your girl, Ned. Truly. About the wolf, I mean. My son was lying, I'd stake my soul on it." - Eddard VII, aGoT

And when Ned reprimands him about Daenerys he will not hear dissent, even though he knows deep down that it is wrong:

He gave the king a long cool look. “Would [the man who spared Barristan] were here today.” Robert had shame enough to blush. “It was not the same,” he complained. “Ser Barristan was a knight of the Kingsguard.” - “Whereas Daenerys is a fourteen-year-old girl.”

[...] “Not another word. Have you forgotten who is king here?” - “No, Your Grace,” Ned replied. “Have you?” - “Enough!” the king bellowed. “I am sick of talk. I’ll be done with this, or be damned."

[...] “I will not be part of murder, Robert. Do as you will, but do not ask me to fix my seal to  it.” For a moment Robert did not seem to understand what Ned was saying. Defiance was not a dish he tasted often. Slowly his face changed as comprehension came. [...] “You are the King’s Hand, Lord Stark. You will do as I command you, or I’ll find me a Hand who will.” - “I wish him every success.” Ned [...] laid [his badge of office] on the table in front of the king, saddened by the memory of the man who had pinned it on him, the friend he had loved. “I thought you a better man than this, Robert. I thought we had made a nobler king.” Robert’s face was purple. “Out,” he croaked, choking on his rage. “[...] Go, run back to Winterfell. And make certain I never look on your face again, or I swear, I’ll have your head on a spike!” - Eddard VIII, aGoT

“Gods have mercy,” he muttered, swallowing his agony. “The girl. Daenerys. Only a child, you were right . . . that’s why, the girl . . . the gods sent the boar . . . sent to punish me . . .” - Eddard XIII, aGoT

Robert is a man who always wants it easy, he wants his demands to always be fulfilled, to be loved and have fun without dealing with the bad things; but an important theme that is repeated over and over in asoiaf is that you can only act good if you are willing to face the bad that may come with it, and if you cannot live with the consequences, your action might not be justified.*

Bran thought about it. "Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?" - "That is the only time a man can be brave." - Bran I, aGoT

"Sacrifice . . . is never easy, Davos. Or it is no true sacrifice." - Davos VI, aSoS

"The blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks, and we hold to the belief that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die." - Bran I, aGoT

Ned stood, gently disengaging himself from Sansa's grasp. All the weariness of the past four days had returned to him. "Do it yourself then, Robert," he said in a voice cold and sharp as steel. "At least have the courage to do it yourself." - Robert looked at Ned with flat, dead eyes and left without a word, his footsteps heavy as lead. Silence filled the hall. - Eddard III, aGoT

This is why putting him on the throne was poison - all the power in the world, and noone who would dare go against his wishes. It indulges all of Robert's worst traits, and buries anything he had inside him that was salvageable.

Ser Barristan Selmy spoke up. "Your Grace," he said, "it is not seemly that the king should ride into the melee. It would not be a fair contest. Who would dare strike you?" - "Ser Barristan is right. There's not a man in the Seven Kingdoms who would dare risk your displeasure by hurting you." - Eddard VII, aGoT

I am surrounded by flatterers and fools, the king had insisted. Ned looked down the council table and wondered which were the flatterers and which the fools. He thought he knew already. - Eddard IV, aGoT

And Robert knows it - he knows being a king isn't for him, that he doesn't enjoy the actual work that goes into governing, that he doesn't have the personality for such politics or to deal with the people involved, and that he would much rather spend his time enjoying life and doing what he loves...

"Look at what kinging has done to me. Gods, too fat for my armor, how did it ever come to this? [...] I swear to you, I was never so alive as when I was winning this throne, or so dead as now that I’ve won it." - Eddard VII, aGoT

"I swear to you, sitting a throne is a thousand times harder than winning one. Laws are a tedious business and counting coppers is worse. And the people … there is no end of them. I sit on that damnable iron chair and listen to them complain until my mind is numb and my ass is raw. They all want something, money or land or justice. The lies they tell … and my lords and ladies are no better. I am surrounded by flatterers and fools. It can drive a man to madness, Ned. Half of them don't dare tell me the truth, and the other half can't find it. There are nights I wish we had lost at the Trident. Ah, no, not truly, but …" - Eddard I, aGoT

Robert groaned with good-humored impatience. "If I wanted to honor you, I'd let you retire. I am planning to make you run the kingdom and fight the wars while I eat and drink and wench myself into an early grave." - Eddard I, aGoT

"Let me tell you a secret, Ned. More than once, I have dreamed of giving up the crown. Take ship for the Free Cities with my horse and my hammer, spend my time warring and whoring, that's what I was made for. The sellsword king, how the singers would love me." - Eddard VII, aGoT

And yet he doesn't do anything about it and keeps staying at the position he hates - he does not want to deal with the uncomfortable consequences that would come with upsetting the status quo, or making changes to his own personality and going through growth, or confronting ugly truths about himself in a productive way, etc etc.

He does make a talk of changes at times during aGoT, and seems to have a sense of responsibility about his Job, but as it is his desire for changes came too late, and what responsibility he felt mostly served to paralyze him in place.

"The sellsword king, how the singers would love me. You know what stops me? The thought of Joffrey on the throne, with Cersei standing behind him whispering in his ear. My son. How could I have made a son like that, Ned?" - Eddard VII, aGoT

"I'm still young, and now that you're here with me, things will be different. We'll make this a reign to sing of, and damn the Lannisters to seven hells." - Eddard VII, aGoT

In a way Joffrey is to Robert what Ramsay is to Roose: an exploration of the inherent flaw in their way of life, demonstrated in the most extreme case. In Joffrey's case, it shows what happens to give someone unlimited power with noone daring to oppose them.

Do you think that if the war never happened that he'd still go down this self destructive path?

It's a little unclear which war you mean, so I will briefly touch on several points:

There could have been ideal circumstances where he might have worked out as a king, if he was surrounded by people who know the perfect way to deal with him and make him work past his flaws (intuitively doing the work of a modern therapist), but the average life is not ideal and grrm shows the realistic fate of a man like Robert.

I think by the time Ned arrived it was sadly too late to change - maybe if the Lannisters didn't exist, or this or that event hadn't happened, but Grrm shows that most of what lead to Robert's downfall was in the end caused by himself. Cersei kills him because she came to despise the man he was, and for good reason as he abused her during all her marriage - and while he has some scenes of feeling bad or even apologizing for it, he never made any attempts to actually change the terrible way he was treating her.

If Robert's Rebellion never happened, he would have probably made an able enough Lord of Storm's End; delegating his "boring" administrative duties to his advisors and maester, enjoying the privileges of highborn life, and having just enough responsibility to feel like the alpha male of his society yet not enough to do as lasting damage as he did for the throne. He would not have been the best Lord, but sadly there are many worse in Westeros, since the entire dynastic ruling system is inherently flawed. If he would have been a better person depends on who he is surrounded with, if circumstances would have motivated him to change, or if perhaps his position of power and outward influences would still just have indulged him into the man he was in aGoT. Ultimately, there are a lot of butterfly effects leading to different results that i’m sure have been explored in many fics.

"Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature." - Eddard IX, aGoT

This was the boy he had grown up with, he thought; this was the Robert Baratheon he'd known and loved. If he could prove that the Lannisters were behind the attack on Bran, prove that they had murdered Jon Arryn, this man would listen. Then Cersei would fall, and the Kingslayer with her, and if Lord Tywin dared to rouse the west, Robert would smash him as he had smashed Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident. He could see it all so clearly. - Eddard VII, aGoT    

What do you think of Robert?

Since i am someone who frequently enjoys morally grey and villainous characters, despite his many negative traits i have a fondness of Robert; I think he is an interesting character and very human in his flaws, and there is a lot of melancholy to his story that makes me somber about him even if it obviously does not excuse his bad actions. I also think he has a great character design that's fun to draw and some fun boisterous scenes, and some of his positive qualities remind me of people i know.

*Stannis is an interesting character as Robert’s brother, as he is the opposite to him in this regard, as well as in many aspects of their personality and even their outward presentation (like how Stannis crops his beard short to contrast Robert’s wild one)

[alrighty-anubis]

I would never be angry at you (Anakin & Obi-Wan)

2No Warnings Apply 

During a game of twenty questions Anakin finds out that his master isn't the perfect Jedi. This sparks his confession about the Tusken Raiders and his marriage to Padme.

(Mentioned Obi-Wan X Cody)

Find it on AO3

Obi-Wan entered their shared quarters and flopped onto his bunk, all the grace of a Jedi Master replaced with exhaustion.

“Bad day?” Anakin asked, words mumbled by his mouth stuffed full with sweets.

“Yes.”

This was an under-exaggeration, Anakin thought, if the man hadn’t told him off for talking with food in his mouth.

Obi-Wan pulled his outer-robes and boots off before reaching under his bed.

“What is that?”

“Wine.”

“That does not look like wine, Master-”

“It's from Bail. Old, strong and illegal in 12 systems.”

“Master,” Anakin drawled out, knowing his tolerance was nothing compared to the other’s and if Obi-Wan admitted it was strong…

Obi-Wan sighed and reached behind the drawers, retrieving another (Anakin-friendly) bottle.

“How did you know that was there?”

“I’m your Master, you can’t hide things from me.”

“Why didn’t you confiscate it, then?” Anakin asked, confused by his rule-following Master allowing Anakin to stash alcohol - he’d been using that space since he was 15.

“You’re an adult now, Anakin. And quite frankly I was just glad you had friends.”

“Hey-” _________

Anakin and Obi-Wan were leaning against each other on his bunk.

“I know,” Anakin smirked, “How about we play a game.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan looked down at Anakin.

“Twenty questions.”

Obi-Wan let out a breath laugh of amusement. “Okay, then. When was the last time you tested Ahsoka on her cultural studies?”

Anakin scowled.

“Well, you’re lucky I’ve been taking over the theory instruction of our Padawan.”

“My Padawan.”

“When she’s misbehaving.”

“Hey! Anyway, I have a question. Would you rather kiss Windu or Plo Koon?”

“It's Master’s Windu and Koon” Obi-Wan corrected.

“So you don’t mind speculating about which one you’d kiss, but the lack of ‘Master’ is where you draw the line?”

“I would kiss Plo, he is a dear friend of mine and quite frankly not as scary.”

Anakin laughed, “You’re afraid of Windu?”

“Like you aren’t," Obi-Wan feigned thinking before planting a smirk on his face, "Okay, what is your Grievous tactic?”

“How do you know that?” Anakin burst out.

“I just have a second sense when it comes to your stupidity,”

“I swear if Rex told you-”

“Wrong trooper.”

“Wrong trooper! Which other ones have you been hanging out with? Wait. Are you stealing my men?”

Obi-Wan just smiled.

“Fine. Ahsoka sits on my shoulders and we wield four sabers like him.”

“By the force, Anakin -”

“We spin them manically and-”

“Wait. Where did you get the fourth lightsaber?” Obi-Wan interrupted

Anakin grew quiet, his voice reluctant, “Sometimes Cody doesn’t return it to you immediately, and we both know he’s weak to Ahsoka’s tooka eyes, like most of the men,” Anakin trailed off. Just as Obi-Wan was going to scald him he carried on, “What would you do if you weren’t a Jedi?”

Obi-Wan decided to let go of his line of questioning in hopes of avoiding going grey early. “I don’t know - I’d want to help people. I could say something rather Jedi-like, such as work the land. But I’m afraid I was put off that when I was sent to the Agricorps. Realistically, I’d probably still be a general as I am now - just without a lightsaber. As much as I hate war and the bloodshed that comes with it - I am rather good at it. As much as I try to be the perfect Jedi, my skills lay in an area which juxtaposes that. It is ironic, I suppose, that I was never meant to be a Jedi Knight, I become one anyway, and then my speciality recognised by the Council is the furthest thing from peace.”

“What?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed on his glass and his signature resonated with shame, “I had planned on never telling you that. But it just felt like you needed to know. I’m sorry if I’ve shattered your image of me.”

Anakin’s face lit up with relief, “You’re not perfect”, he breathed out.

“No,” Obi-Wan’s low chuckle was exasperated and self loathing, “No, Anakin, I’ve never been perfect.”

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?”

“Because I was ashamed of my past, still am. I was a run-of-the-mill youngling: too much anger and too much pride. No Masters wanted me and I was sent to the Agricorps.”

“What do you mean no Master wanted you? You and Qui-Gon were so close!”

Obi-Wan looked down and moved away from Anakin. “We weren’t as close as you think, these memories are from when you were young and naïve. We were too different, we fought and I always knew he didn’t want me. You saw how quickly he threw me away for you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You were the best thing to come from him,” Obi-Wan’s voice was steeped in a resentment that Anakin had never thought possible.

“You were angry. As a youngling”

“Very much so. Anger and attachment were always my biggest pitfalls. I’ve worked hard on them, but I’m afraid my issues with attachments have grown rather than disappeared.”

Anakin smiled at that, taking Obi-Wan’s hand, “You know, I never realised how much like me you were. Nearly as much as a disappointment to the Jedi.”

Obi-Wan laughed, body shaking as a smile replaced his reminiscent scowl, “Well, only one of us has left the order.”

“You’re joking”

“No, Melida/Daan. Qui-Gon wouldn’t stay to help the children in the war. I did.”

“Your experience being a General before this?”

“Yes.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, comfortable in each other's presence. But as Anakin stewed in the other’s words his anxiety leaked into the force.

“This could have really helped me when I was a Padawan.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It was selfish to want to maintain the way you saw me - the perfect Jedi.”

“I always compared myself to you, looked up to you, I resented you for a bit because of it.”

“I know. And I knew at the time. I was not the Master you needed.”

“You were the best Master you could be,”

Obi-Wan laughed self-deprecatingly.

“No, Master, I mean it. You weren’t the problem. I was,” Anakin paused and wringed his hands as he considered his next words, “My anger was-is a problem. I have done things I regret and that you would hate me for.”

Obi-Wan’s shock at that statement had him sitting straight and placing a hand on Anakin’s cheek, “No, Anakin, I could never hate you, never, you’re my Padawan. I love you.”

Anakin recoiled from the touch, not believing he deserved his Master’s love at this moment. A man so ashamed of leaving the Jedi to save children in a way zone as a Padawan. Anakin had much worse things to be ashamed of. Things he didn’t think Obi-Wan could ever even imagine himself doing. Tears gathered in his eyes as he looked down at his lap through his lashes.

“I killed the Tusken Raiders. They hurt my mother - she’s dead - and I killed them all,” the tears began streaming down his cheeks.

“Oh, oh, Anakin, dearest” Obi-Wan whispered.

Anakin couldn’t stand that tone. He stood up and began passing. Eyes puffy and hands shaking, he began to shout, “I cut them down and felt nothing. The children - they screamed for their mothers - like I had - and I cut them down like animals. I hated them. And the dark, the dark it curled around me - it was like someone was choking me and cutting me off from my body and my emotions like I was a puppet killing them all.”

He grabbed his hair tightly in his hands and pulled, sinking down to the ground, “I killed them, I killed them,” it was as if the fog had cleared and Anakin was realising this for the first time.

“Hey,” Obi-Wan stepped forward and gently grasped his Padawan’s wrists, trying to untangle his hair from his unyielding grip, “Anakin, stop. You’re hurting yourself.”

“I hurt them.”

“Yes, you did. And you can’t change that,” Obi-Wan took a calming breath and repressed his shock and upset, his Padawan looked so small and this darkness wasn’t all his own.

“Anakin, what you did was wrong and entrenched in darkness. But you are light. This action hasn’t changed that. And I do not think it happened without influence. But Anakin, so many Jedi struggle with the dark. We have the power to enact our own judgement and no one can stop us. That is why we need to stop ourselves. And this time you didn’t. You can’t bring back the Tuskens, but you can let go of your anger and make sure this won't happen again.”

“I don’t know how to let it go.”

“Oh, Anakin-”

“It is so deep inside me, tangled with all the light,” Anakin let Obi-Wan take his hands away from his hair, staring far into his eyes, “Master, help.”

“I wish I had seen this sooner. Anakin, tomorrow morning we will start. We will meditate together and I can guide you.”

“Please, I’m sorry.”

“I know, dear one,” Obi-Wan collected Anakin into his arms.

“Will you tell the council?”

“No, at least not for now.”

“They will kick me out and then I’ll have to leave you and Ahsoka and Rex and-”

“Anakin, if they expelled you we would all follow.”

“Oh. Why won’t you tell them?”

“I don’t trust them to judge the situation fairly, there is something not quite right in the council. They’re stuck in ways from times which have long passed. And Quinlan and I may be doing some under the radar investigating that which is influencing and amplifying your darkness may help.”

“You’re both taking a mission they’ve denied.”

“They can’t deny that they don’t know about.”

Anakin smiled for a moment in the comfortable silence before sombering again. “I thought you’d be angry at me,” Anakin whispered.

“No,” sadness filled Obi-Wan as he gently took Anakin’s face into his hands and placed a kiss on his forehead, “No, my Padawan, I could never be angry at you.”

He pulled a blanket to him with the force and wrapped them in it, “I wish you had told me, but I wasn’t the most approachable Master. I put walls between us unintentionally, to protect myself I guess, and you. I didn’t want you to grow attached. I knew I was and wanted to spare you the judgement and the pain. I wasn’t a good role model so part of me felt better when you despised me in your late teens. I’m truly sorry I wasn’t a better Master, Anakin. But know now, you can tell me anything and I will always love you. I raised you, all parts of you.”

“I’m sorry.” Anakin’s eyes were dry, but red and puffy, he had run out of tears and exhaustion hit him. “I’m also married to Padme.”

“I know,”

“I broke the code again.”

“Yes, but that is the order’s code - not the Jedi's.”

Anakin looked at him in confusion.

“You know, I am in a relationship of sorts with Cody.”

Anakin burst out of the blanket in shock, suddenly very awake, “Cody!”

“I thought it was obvious, even the council knows, unofficially of course. Another reason they make life harder for our lineage.”

“I didn’t know.”

“-Because you were trying so hard to conceal your own relationship. I mean, you mentioned only earlier that he carried my lightsaber.”

“I didn’t think it meant anything.”

“Aren’t I always telling you that your lightsaber is your life?”

Over the shock of the new information, desperately trying not to think about Cody and his Master, Anakin asked: “How did you know about Padme and me?”

“Everyone knows, you’re not very subtle.”

Anakin huffed in annoyance.

“It's okay, Anakin. I forgive you for everything. I only ask that you forgive me for not making sure you understood the rule of attachment and for not teaching you my own interpretation.”

“What I have to forgive you for is nothing compared to what I did.”

“And yet I forgive you. I always will so long as you realise that you were wrong and want to do better. I think we forget that the Jedi code is not what we should or can be, but an ideal we should strive for, to be as close to as we can.”

“What do you think about not allowing love?”

“I think you mean not allowing attachment. Love and attachment are different. Love is selfless, attachment selfish - something that would lead you to do anything to keep those that are yours. Attachment is possessive, love is not.”

Anakin looked as if the origins of the universe had been revealed.

“Some Jedi believe we should not love, for love leads to attachment. But to be a Jedi is to live enveloped by the force, to welcome all aspects of it. Not to command it, like the dark, but to embrace it. The force is life, and loving is such a fundamental aspect of life that to ban it is to sensor a huge chunk of the force. Jedi are taught to be compassionate, and I believe it is only by loving truly, selflessly and in a way open to all life forms that we can truly be so to all.”

“How do you stop love becoming attachment?”

“I don’t know - it's never been my strong suit. If you were taken I would tear cities apart to find you, just as you would for Ahsoka - and I would too.”

“I would for you as well.”

“I’m not sure if I should say thank you or not. I know that I would not react in a very Jedi way. I have these attachments and they won't go, and I’m not willing to work on letting them go. But if you were ever to be killed, which I pray to the force doesn’t happen, I would have to accept it. It would kill me to do so, but I would - eventually. And I have in the past. I think, the law of attachment, is recognising that you are attached but building boundaries that you won't cross. I may be angry, but I would try my hardest not to let go and act on it. I would think about how you wouldn’t want me to fall. Although this is all easier said than done.”

“I can love Padme, you, Ahsoka, Rex, my men and my droids and do everything in my power to not let them get hurt so long as I don’t hurt others in the process.”

“Yes. We are not judges. Nor do we have any right to execute our will because of our emotions. But we do have a right to feel those emotions. For example, I would travel anywhere to save you, but not if it put the lives of all my men at risk. I am responsible for them, and my attachments aren’t theirs.”

Anakin nodded and tears welled in his eyes, “I want to be like that. Good. Like you. But I wasn’t. How do I know that I will be next time?”

“You know that you can talk to me, or at least I hope you do,” Obi-Wan stood up.

“Yes,” Anakin took the other’s hand and was pulled upright, they headed towards Anakin’s bunk where Obi-Wan unceremoniously plonked him, “When did you get so wise, Master?”

“I always have been,” Obi-Wan chuckled, “You’ve just never listened before.”

Obi-Wan returned to his own bunk and laid down, closing his eyes. Just as he began to drift off Anakin woke him, “Wait, all those nighttime council meetings that were too secret for me to attend, were you fucking Cody?”

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan scalded before a blush sprayed across his cheeks, “Yes, but unlike you and Padme I enjoy the illusion of discreteness.”

“Ugh, Master, I didn’t need to know that.”

“You asked,” Obi-Wan sounded all too amused at his Padawan’s disgust. “Now rest. I’m sure tomorrow will be exhausting.”

“And yet you always tell me meditating is restful.”

“Not when you’re complaining the whole way through.”

“I won’t, I promise. Not for this. Good night, Master.”

“Good night, Anakin.”

Words: 2600

Feel free to message requests

[passable-talent]

How about something with suitless Vader? Honestly I find dark Anakin with yellow eyes very attractive (even more than Jedi Ani!)🚶‍♀️

ooooh girl me 2

gun to my head, it’s Jedi Ani. but holy shiiittt sith anakin,,,,

At nineteen, you married Anakin Skywalker. That’s where our story begins. 

You were a Jedi, just like him. You were made a knight too early, so that you could fight in the Clone Wars, just like him. The two of you walked through life side by side, from the moment you met. 

And so, you forged a bond in the Force. 

It wasn’t strong. You couldn’t communicate thoughts, and certainly couldn’t transport matter. But you could feel each other’s presence, you could feel the other’s emotion. 

It was a tool, and you used it, both in your marriage and on the battlefield. Like no other Jedi you were a team, rivalled by no one. 

Such a bond allowed Anakin a disturbing vision. 

He would wake up in the dead of night, hearing you scream. He felt the grief deep in his stomach, and even through the haze of sleep knew what it meant- he knew that you were meant to die. 

He confided this fear to Chancellor Palpatine, who took advantage of it. You know the rest- his fall to the dark side in order to keep you safe. 

The moment Anakin sliced off Mace Windu’s arm, you fell to the ground in the middle of a battle. Your legs couldn’t hold you- there was pain throughout your body, so intense, so deep, you could barely move. It forced all of your muscles to lock and tighten, as though you were subconsciously trying to force it away. You curled up, and when your will failed, you began to scream. You feared you’d never stop. 

It was pain, anguish, horror. Grief and sadness and rage. All of them, so tangled up underneath your ribcage, and you held your fist against it. You didn’t know what it meant, it was too violent to make sense of, and you couldn’t much focus anyway. 

Luckily, Obi-Wan was there. He got you to safety, and you curled up in a bed in a ship. 

For weeks, you just tried to survive. The pain never ebbed, in fact, it got worse, but slowly you were going numb. You had escaped to Tatooine with Obi-Wan after the Clones turned on the Jedi, and he let you be. Your pain combined with your grief, for Anakin had been killed- you couldn’t imagine what had taken him down. You just had to hope it wasn’t Rex. 

Not far from Anakin’s family’s home, you lumbered around with phantom pains, barely eating, never sleeping. The intensity of it had become your normal, eyelids always heavy, muscles always locked. 

You trembled with every step, and your lips were constantly bleeding, from when you’d bitten and been unable to let go. There was a line of scar tissue bisecting each palm, where your nails had ripped them open, again and again. You lost weight, rarely eating, and so looking so sickly, your muscle still toned from constant tensing standing out underneath paled, tight skin. It wasn’t a good look, and so you’d stopped looking in the mirror, not wanting to see the ghost of a Jedi, the one who hadn’t even tried to help in the final days of the Clone Wars, the one whose skin had sunken in around their eyes and cheeks.

“Have you gotten any better?” Obi-Wan asked, bringing you a meal. You were watching the binary sunrise, trying to meditate- it was how you spent a lot of your time, now, fists clenched under your chin, biceps tight, but your mind as clear as it could be. You tried to reach out to Anakin through the Force, hoping your husband could give you even the slightest bit of encouragement, and to the Jedi who’d been lost, and even to Shmi. It never worked. You had to assume that the grief and rage coiling in your stomach kept you barred from the Force.

“No,” you replied dryly, opening your eyes. “I don’t think it’s ever going to let up. Not until I die.” 

“Or Vader dies,” Obi-Wan said, a small smile on his face as though he was joking. 

But what in the world did that mean?

“Why would Vader have anything to do with this?” You asked, and though you couldn’t see it, you suddenly sensed Obi-Wan begin to feel anxiety. 

“I- He doesn’t. I meant that his death might bring you a little reprieve, him being a Sith and all.” 

“No,” you said, slowly rising to your feet, your fists held at your side, but now there was suspicion in your voice to match them. “You meant, somehow, that all of this is connected to Vader. Like this is-” Your words dropped off, as you considered what it could have meant. 

You had a Force connection with Anakin. Obi-Wan carelessly joked that this pain had to do with Vader, which would mean you had a connection with Vader. 

Which would mean that Anakin was Vader. 

“You told me Anakin was dead,” you growled, and now all of the rage in your stomach felt your own. “You told me you watched him die!” 

It all made sense. Obi-Wan taking you away, never looking back. The time you spent on Mustafar, curled up on the floor of his ship, not knowing what he was doing. The way the pain got worse as time went on. His choice to bring you to Tatooine, where Anakin was born, where his mother died, where he would never willingly return to.

“He is!” Obi-Wan insisted, taking a step back. “Anakin Skywalker is dead!”

“No!” you shouted, and reached out, calling your saber to you. You hadn’t used the Force in so long. “He’s alive! And all this time, all this grief I’ve been feeling- he was grieving for me!” You shoved back Obi-Wan, to the door of his home. “How could you keep this from me?” The pain was familiar, and now, it was all your own. 

“Y/N, wait!” By the time Obi-Wan caught you, you’d stolen his ship. 

Now knowing exactly what you felt, you could open yourself to it. Sure, it hurt, it made the pain so much worse, but only by opening yourself to the anguish would you begin to feel Anakin behind it. 

For the first time, you started to sort through it all. 

Anger. Fear. Hatred. Grief. Sadness. And all of it- all of it was because Obi-Wan had kept you from him. Obi-Wan had known Anakin was alive, and he didn’t tell you. He didn’t trust you enough, didn’t trust Anakin enough, to let you meet. It was all Obi-Wan’s fault that you’d become so ill, that you’d been in this much pain for this long. He kept you weak. Anakin probably didn’t even know you were alive!

Returning to like Coruscant was like returning home. It had been so long since you’d seen the beautiful, sparkling skyline as it stretched on towards the horizon under a golden sky. You touched down your ship onto the Senate’s landing platform, and strapped your saber to your waist before stepping outside. 

A droid was there to greet you. 

“What’s your name?” The stupid tube of wires asked, and you turned your face toward it with a glare. Your head hung low, and your breaths were irregular, forced out with the tensing of your diaphragm as you moved through waves of anguish that haunted your every step. 

“I’m (F/N) (L/N),” you said, “And you will tell Lord Vader that I am here to see him.” 

“Uh, I don’t think I-” the droid got no further before you ignited your saber and bisected it with all the contempt of a General of the Clone Wars. You turned to the next droid, voice even more commanding, even more angry.

“You will tell Lord Vader that I am here to see him.” Thoroughly threatened, this droid did as you asked. 

You stood on the landing platform, waiting, and the longer you waited, the more it hurt. The more it got to you. You started curling, as you always did, pressing your forearms into your stomach, your spine hunching over. 

And then it disappeared. 

It took you a moment to realize the way the pain vanished, your muscles so tight, so you slowly uncurled, more confused than relieved. You looked at your hands, and shifted your legs, not having felt this light, this free, since... since you’d seen Anakin last. Did that mean...?

You looked up to where the droid had disappeared to, and there he was. 

“Anakin.” Your voice was soft, in a way you hadn’t heard it in a long time. Suddenly you had all of the grace and lightness you’d once been proud of, and you ran to him, jumping into his arms. He caught you, like he always does, and spun you as he lowered you, and the hug was so tight, you’d never let go. You curled your fingers into his robes, and he surrounded you in them, enveloped you, his flesh hand bringing his fingers into your hair. You held his neck like it held your life, keeping him as close to you as you could. 

“You’re alive,” he whispered into your neck, sounding emotional. You probed into him and felt it, too, pure relief and happiness invading the Force anywhere near him. And after weeks of nothing but pain, it was sweet like nothing else in the galaxy. 

“You’re alive,” you responded, pressing your whole body deeper into him. “I thought- Obi-Wan told me-”

“Obi-Wan wants to destroy us,” Anakin said, cutting you off. “He ambushed me on Mustafar and tried to kill me.” He pulled his chest away just far enough to press his forehead to yours. “I’m sorry you had to survive being with him. If I had known- I’m so sorry.”

“You couldn’t feel me?” You had felt his pain so clearly, even if you hadn’t known it was his. Why couldn’t he feel yours?

“No, I...” he lowered his head to kiss you, briefly, and you chased his mouth as he left. Like you were teenagers hiding in the hallway of the Jedi temple, you tried to speak in between the kisses, in the moments where you repositioned or pulled away to breathe. “I must’ve-” he lifted you up, holding you against him, hands pressing and holding all over you before moving on, as though he were checking that every bit of you was still there. “I must’ve been too focused on my own grief.” You pulled away for just a moment, cupping his face. 

“It’s okay,” you breathed, “I’m here now. We’re here- we’re okay.” Only now did you notice the gold in his eyes, but it complemented the way he looked at you, and you sank back down into another kiss. 

He took you inside, and you couldn’t be damned to notice anywhere he carried you. You just rested your body on top of him, pressing your lips to his neck every once in a while, feeling content like you hadn’t since... probably since you were married, before the Clone Wars began. 

Wherever he’d taken you seemed to be his home, based on the way the bed was unmade. He always left the sheets scattered. He sat, setting you into his lap, and you once again let your hands come to his face, your fingers slipping into his hair, your thumb running over his scar, staring into golden eyes. You missed the blue- but the gold made you shiver. He cupped your face to match, and you pressed your cheekbone into his flesh hand. 

“What happened to you?” He asked, rubbing his thumbs along the dark skin under your eyes. 

“I haven’t been sleeping,” you admitted, letting out a breath. 

“I don’t blame you,” he said with a small smile, “Obi-Wan hovering over you, and all. Luckily-” With a twist of his hips he tossed you onto the bed, and followed, crawling over you, caging you in with his arms. “We’ve got a bed right here.” 

Laying on your back, you looked up at him, and this view was so familiar, it ached deep in you to see it again. The corner of your mouth turned up in a smirk. 

“Are you actually going to let me sleep?” His eyes flicked over you for a moment, considering. 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

~~~

With Anakin by your side again, you regained your strength. With you strength, you began training. With your training came anger, with anger came rage.

You’d been left to waste away for nearly a month, because Obi-Wan was too afraid of Anakin. Afraid of you! He feared what you could become if you returned to your husband, and he was right to. You, like Anakin, felt more powerful than you ever had before. With you alive, and by his side, he felt no anguish, you felt no pain, and so you could jump higher, strike faster, the Force flowed through you like wind, guiding you toward a mountaintop. Your saber skills were stronger than they’d ever been, you were faster, your focus clearer. 

And your latest focus had been one Emperor Palpatine. 

He was... a character, that’s for sure. You didn’t hold malice toward him, not the way you did Obi-Wan, but his choices in the past certainly were questionable. Maybe he needed to get into power, and maybe he needed to start a trade war to do it, but he certainly didn’t need to put Padme in danger. 

You had a number of small grievances with him, but there was one major issue. 

He sat in a throne clearly meant for Anakin. 

Anakin was the chosen one, meant to bring balance, and he had. Anakin had ended the war when he destroyed the Separatists and he’d brought down the oppressive, misguided Jedi order. Anakin was the most powerful Force user in the galaxy, it was plain to see. Palpatine was just a manipulative politician who hadn’t realized the full extent of the Sith teachings- that the master was meant to die. The student was meant to kill. If anyone was meant to rule the galaxy, it was Anakin! He was meant to bring balance, and had learned from the dark and the light side of the Force. That was certainly more than Palpatine could claim!

You’d spent your time around politicians. You knew how they think. You’d spent time around Sith, and knew what they valued. 

Which made Palpatine was easy to read. 

“You want to kill me,” you stated, one night, when you’d gotten him alone.

“My friend-”

“You know that I’m the one thing that keeps you from controlling Anakin completely.” Sidious didn’t respond, knowing he was caught. “And you need to control him, because you know he could destroy you, if he wanted to.” 

“That’s fine, I respect that,” you said, a nonchalant shrug to your shoulders. Anakin’s pain had been such a raw, burning feeling, for so long, that nothing affected you anymore. “Just know that if he knows you’re involved in my death at all, he’ll turn against you. Know that I won’t die without a fight- and the louder a fuss I make, the less he’ll trust you.” You turned from him without being excused, and approached the door, stopping within its frame to add one more thing.

“He’s smarter than you give him credit for,” you said, a threat in your tone. 

Palpatine had told Anakin that you were dead, that day. So now, he knew that Sidious was willing to lie to him. 

Anakin doesn’t take to deceit very nicely.

So, not long after the very nice conversation you had with Sidious, the throne and title of Emperor belonged to Anakin Skywalker, Emperor Vader. 

The details of how such a change happened don’t matter to much. Palpatine was very old, you see, he’d lived quite a long and successful life...

The grandest achievement of it, of course, the Galactic Empire, was passed on to his once-pupil to rule as he saw fit. 

And damn, did it look good on him. 

-🦌 Roe

[fific7]

Dangerous and Divine - Part 5

Billy Russo x Reader

Summary: Billy Russo is an itch you don’t want to scratch. But he’s all over you like a rash.

A/N: This does not follow canon except for a few random points mentioned this time. It’s mainly fluff, lemon zest 🍋 and a bit of angst. There’s also some Billy POV in there. The GIF is from Exposed, unreleased pilot show in case you’re wondering 😌... Billy vibes.

Warnings: Some drinking & swearing.

(My GIF)

A grin curved his lips upwards, “How d’you like your eggs in the mornin’, ma’am?”

“Over easy,” you grinned back. He tapped his shoulder a couple of times with the kitchen spoon, “Ummm.. how about scrambled? And then I’ll give you the “over easy” version afterwards.”

That damn smirk of his, you thought, it’s downright dangerous.

The two of you were sitting at your kitchen island, eating breakfast. The scrambled eggs were really tasty, you complimented him. He’d preened a little, “I’m quite a good cook, sweetheart,” he said, “learned how to look after myself quite early on in life.”

Suddenly he put his fork down, and looked over at you. His face was serious, and you saw some sadness in his eyes. “My mother abandoned me when I was a really young kid. She was a junkie, and couldn’t look after herself never mind me, so I suppose I should thank her. I’d probably be dead otherwise. Got put in a group home, stayed there until I aged out and went straight into the Marines. And got my degree on the government’s dime.”

Your hand moved to cover his, “Billy, you’ve done so well, and you’ve achieved it all on your own. I’m proud of you, and I hope you’re proud of yourself too.” He beamed at you, eyes crinkling at the corners, “Yeah... yeah, I am. Thanks, angel, I appreciate you sayin’ that. I wanted to tell you about it, wanted to be honest with you. In case when you saw the suits, the car, the penthouse and all, you thought I was some kind of privileged trust fund kid.”

He looked down, “There’s a stigma about growin’ up in the system, y’know? I wanted to get it out on the table so you know who I really am and where I came from.”

“I don’t care about that, Billy.” He nodded, thumb stroking your hand which was still on top of his. “I really hoped that you wouldn’t ... but I wanted to be sure, and I’m really glad you feel like that. Also I needed you to know that I’m bein’ honest with you.”

You thought you saw a closed-off look on his face for a moment, but then it was gone and he smiled over at you.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You had spent the rest of Sunday together, lazing around, watching various shows on Netflix before venturing out for a late lunch to a local diner. Billy had eventually headed home after another steamy session in the bedroom, regretful about not spending the night, sighing that he had a really early start in the morning, a ‘job’ he couldn’t tell you anything about.

He’d explained a bit more about his work earlier in the day while you were eating in the diner. How a lot of it was classified as it was military or political in nature, so he couldn’t go into detail. You’d nodded, and said you understood. But you’d asked some questions nevertheless; how many of the assignments did he go on himself, just how dangerous they were, had he or his men ever been injured.

You got the impression that, although he couldn’t tell you much about who was involved or why they needed protection details, he was pleased you were showing an interest in his work.

The two of you agreed that you’d meet up during the week, Billy saying he’d text you to confirm when and where as he wasn’t sure how long this job would last, maybe at least a couple of days.

He’d insisted on putting his numbers into your phone himself, so you’d unlocked it and handed it to him, wandering back to your bedroom to put some more clothes on. Shortly afterwards he’d kissed you long and hard and made his way downstairs to his car, and you’d watched from your balcony as he drove away. Then you’d laughed at yourself - you were acting like some medieval damsel watching her knight disappear off to war or something.

Sliding the glass door closed, you went to the fridge to pull out a bottle of wine. The apartment suddenly felt very empty without Billy in it. How quickly you’d got used to him being there.

You wandered across to the sofa with your newly-poured glass of wine, noticing your phone on the coffee table. Oh yeah, Billy had added his numbers. A sudden twinge of insecurity hit you. What if he hadn’t actually put his direct numbers in there, and just pretended to? You sat down, looking at it lying there. I mean, it wasn’t like you couldn’t track him down at Anvil, but you would no doubt have to go through a receptionist and you could be endlessly stone-walled.

You eventually picked up the phone and unlocked it. Scrolling to your contacts, you suddenly burst out laughing. Billy had put his numbers in there and had also taken a selfie, him smouldering into the camera. He’d attached it to the contact details with a description.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy drove away from her apartment, truly wishing he could’ve stayed over again.

But then he’d shaken his head slightly, laughing to himself; she’d definitely got one thing right - he was a big sap. Since when did he find himself almost playing house with a woman? Telling her she was his girlfriend - as she’d put it - after five minutes? He was a one-and-done kinda guy!

But then Billy Russo admitted to himself that something had hit him smack in the heart when he’d first seen her, sitting there looking stunning and somehow fragile with that creep trying to come onto her. Well turns out she wasn’t fragile in the least! However when those beautiful eyes had met his... well, he was a goner. Solid gone. And then he’d pursued her like a lovestruck idiot.

He hadn’t ever seriously thought about love. Or believed in it, for that matter. Certainly not when he’d been bedding all those women when he’d been on leave or since he’d left the Marines. All that shit just wasn’t for him. And now? Yeah, not so sure.

Billy almost felt like he was under some kind of spell, it had hit him so quickly. Yeah, like she’d enchanted him or something ridiculous, straight out of a Disney or Harry Potter movie. Was this love, then? His stomach clenched every time he saw her, he just couldn’t stop thinking about her, wanted to be with her all the time, hell he was even jealous of Jake though he wasn’t a threat. Was he? No, surely not. And what about Steve, the other one? Yeah, there he was doing it again - unreasonable jealousy.

And when they’d first slept together, he felt like he’d finally understood what making love meant.

Billy Russo, who until a few days ago had spent most of his leisure time in life actively fucking women - how he’d always described it to himself and others - was now a confirmed big sap. He chuckled to himself.

He suddenly remembered ripping the shit out of a young Marine in his squad who’d come back off leave totally besotted with some girl. The kid had confessed (stupid move) to all the guys that they’d made love, a distant and dreamy look in his eyes. At the time, Billy had scoffed at him and endlessly humiliated him about it. In an affectionate way of course, he told himself.

But he felt guilty about that. Who’s the one with the distant and dreamy gaze now, Russo?

In all truth, Billy felt like he was having some kind of out of body experience. As if Previous Billy Russo was looking down in horror at his new self, yelling at him to get his fucking head back on straight. But New Billy Russo wasn’t listening because, well because he realised he liked feeling this way.

And he thought that she felt the same. He knew she was fighting it and wouldn’t admit anything to him, but there were little tells that had given her away. He decided he’d stay on his best behaviour, just keep trying to win her over, and he felt in his bones that they would be together.

But he did feel a sting of guilt. He had been honest with her, but he’d also been selective with what he’d told her about Anvil, how it all started, and this ongoing shit he and Frank were still embroiled in. One day... one day, and hopefully soon, he could tell her absolutely everything.

His phone, clipped to the dash, vibrated.

He rolled his eyes when he saw the caller ID, hit the button and answered it.

“Dinah... what can I do for you?”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You, meanwhile, had just finished your second glass of wine and were admitting to yourself that you were really missing Billy. Oh this is bad, your brain yelled at you, very bad. You’d only known this guy for a few days and you were falling for him. Or - okay - had already fallen for him. It scared you, quite honestly.

He was charming, funny, handsome, sexy. An amazing lover. He’d been disarmingly honest with you about his past, but... but what? Why was there a ‘but’? Because there was something niggling at the back of your mind. Just a couple of expressions you’d seen on his face, quickly gone. An indication of more happening just underneath the surface than you knew about. Billy had a distinct air of danger about him, and you wondered what else was going on inside that dark head of his.

You’d fallen for him, yes... but you were also going to remain wary of him, until you were certain you knew everything you could about him.

Reaching over and pulling your laptop towards you across the coffee table, you typed Billy’s name into Google.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

The next morning, Billy parked his car and walked into Anvil. His reception staff wished him a respectful Good Morning, he nodded to them and headed upstairs to his office. Frank was already there, reading a newspaper.

“Mornin’ Bill,” he said, looking up. “Frankie,” nodded Billy, “want a coffee?” and kept on walking towards the coffee machine in the corner. “Nah, just had one, thanks.”

He poured out an Americano for himself, then chuckled loudly. Frank quirked an eyebrow at him, and Billy shrugged back. “I met someone last week. She owns two cafés, and she’s a coffee snob. Gonna refine my palate, she said.”

Frank looked back down to his paper before commenting, “I’m impressed you know that much about her, Bill. Didn’t think you bothered cos you usually cut & run.” Billy smirked, knowing he couldn’t dispute what Frank had just said, but he was going to enjoy the next slice of the conversation. Even just to see the expression on Frank’s face.

“I....like her. A lot. I want something with her.” “Something?” Frank chortled, “...you mean, like a relationship, Bill?” He looked closely at Billy, saw the shit-eating grin he had on his face and his jaw dropped. “You do, don’t you?! Fuckin’ hell! Never thought I’d see the day, Russo.” Billy burst out laughing.

“Well, that makes two of us, Frankie. But...” he spread his hands out to either side of him, “...it is what it is. And I’ll fill you in on all the details later. Now, this thing with Madani and Homeland - let’s get it nailed down.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

That same morning, you sat at your desk and slowly twirled from side to side in your chair. You sipped your cappuccino, and thought about Billy.

Little cousin had done you a favour this time and earlier on had delved into her company’s database, digging out some further information on Billy and Anvil which Google couldn’t provide you with. All it had given you was the bare minimum of the company’s founding date and numerous photos of Billy looking hot in his designer suits.

She told you she’d heard of him, and had also seen him at several events similar to the one you’d attended. You’d admitted you were seeing him, and she’d firstly screeched down the phone at you, nearly bursting your eardrum, before saying, “Now see, if you hadn’t gone in my place you wouldn’t have met him!” “Yeah, yeah, alright. Tell me what you’ve got for me.”

In a more serious tone, she said, “Just be careful though, his company seems a little... well, shady let’s just say. I mean, in the security business,” her voice lowered, “there’s usually some dodgy dealings or other going on. But him and his colleagues seem to have got themselves in some deep water with two federal agencies. I’ll email this stuff to you now and you’ll see what I mean.” You thanked her and hung up before she could tell you that now you owed her another favour.

You’d read through the attachments she’d sent you, and your eyes had got wide as you read that Billy and Anvil had originally been funded by a shadowy CIA guy, who’d then been killed in a gun battle between un-named protagonists. You sussed out that Anvil must’ve been one of those involved, as Billy and his friend Frank had been arrested and interrogated by Homeland Security before being released without charge. That struck you as a bit odd, but there were no more details available.

Your phone had chosen that moment to buzz with a FaceTime call from the man himself. You’d hesitated then accepted the call, and Billy’s handsome face popped up in front of you, with a wide smile plastered on it. You could see he was in his car. “Mornin’, sweetheart,” he said in a low sexy voice, and you felt your stomach tighten with excitement. This guy... the effect he had on you....!

You’d smiled and replied, “Morning, Billy.” He tilted his head towards you, dark eyes drawing you in, “Missin’ me? Because I’m missing you.” Shaking your head, smirking, you said, “We only saw each other a few hours ago so no, I’m not.” A cheeky grin from him this time, “Don’t believe you, angel, I think you can’t wait to see me again.” “You’re such a cocky bastard, Billy,” you laughed, “Why are you calling, exactly?”

His smile was a genuine one as he said, “I just wanted to see you before I head off to this job. Not sure when I’ll be able to call next. Remember - I’ll let you know as soon as I can when we can meet up this week.” You nodded, “Yeah, don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten.” He blew you a kiss, saying “Bye, angel,” before he rang off.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

One of your friends had called shortly afterwards to ask if you wanted to meet up for lunch, as you hadn’t seen each other in quite a while. Deciding that you could do with some girl time, you arranged to meet her in a steak house near the Chrysler Building, and then decided you’d better get some work done before you headed out for your long lunch hour.

The two of you had met up just outside the restaurant and had gone in chatting away to each other. Being shown to your table, you sat down only to spot Billy Russo walking in behind a small dark-haired woman. Your mouth dropped open, and your eyes took in every detail of her. She was pretty, with big dark eyes, olive skin and wavy hair in a shoulder-length bob. Billy, you noted, had his hand on her lower back, guiding her to their table, just as he had with you when you went for your first drink with him.

You leant forward to your friend, “I’m so sorry about this but we’re gonna have to go somewhere else.” She looked concerned, “What’s wrong?” “Someone I need to avoid just came in,” you explained, “c’mon, I’ll tell them I’ve had an emergency at work or something.” You both stood up, and you fled from the restaurant before you repeated your actions at that house party, which had got you arrested. You didn’t want to end up in jail this time just because of that jerk and his little lady.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy looked up as two women who’d been sitting near him stood up and started rushing towards the door. Weird, he thought, they hadn’t even been served judging by the menus still laying on their place settings. He looked back at them, and one of them turned back briefly to her friend behind her as they exited the premises.

His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. It was her. His angel. Oh fuck! Did she..? Yes, she must’ve seen him and... he glanced at Madani across the table from him, reading through the menu choices. She glanced up, smirking at Billy but it quickly dropped off her face, when she saw the expression on his.

“Billy?” she said, but he’d dumped his napkin onto his plate by now and was standing up.

“Sorry, Dinah... I gotta go.” An annoyed look on her face, she growled, “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not. I... there’s someone I gotta catch up with, and I just saw them leaving.” He walked away from their table, and towards the door of the restaurant. As he did so he heard Madani say in a harsh voice, “Is it a woman, Russo?” but ignored her.

He made it out onto the street, looking around him in all directions, heart sinking as he couldn’t see her anywhere.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@blackbirddaredevil23

[blossom-hwa]

Danger: Onyx |1| - JUYEON

Pairing: Juyeon x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, royalty!au

Triggers: death, semi-graphic depictions of blood

Word Count: 5.1k

Lesson 6: when all seems lost, do not falter. Just because it seems hopeless does not mean it is.

Previous: Ruby >> Onyx: Part 1 | Part 2 >> Next: Crown

TBZ Masterlist | Danger | Kingdom

[ Send a dm or an ask to be added to the taglist! ]

The meeting room is abnormally quiet when Somin enters. It could be due to the newly empty seat on the right side of the long table, but not even a whisper hangs on the lips of the remaining mages.

Somin’s mouth doesn’t even curl at their submission. As much as she would like not to show it, the failures of the man who used to sit on that empty seat affected her. Not because she felt particularly fond of him – though she will admit she was sad to see High Mage Jung’s disgrace and demotion, or simply Mage Jung now – but because it left her with a one less competent head at her table.

At the head of the room, she turns, eyes roving over the heads bowed in respect (or is it fear? Pawns and kings, does it even matter?). Her lips curl, but not in joy. In disgust.

One gave her a plan that fell to pieces. Another let a powerful Onyx mage escape from his clutches. Three more on three separate occasions were unable to track and capture the thieves running around and stealing her jewels, with one of them lacking the wits to save her compatriot from the knife of that dratted prince. And when Somin finds out who let it slip that the ruby was to be held at the gray mage’s shrine…

The loss of one semi-intelligent mind means much in this room full of bumbling idiots.

Somin takes a deep breath. High Mage Jung was not infallible either. He failed to anticipate the revolt of the prisoners entrusted under his care, failed to prevent the theft of one of the last three jewels. All because he was sleeping.

She allows a slight smirk to cross her lips. His mistakes will not go unpunished, at least. One of his daughters already awaits retribution for her father under this very palace.

“Sit,” Somin says, purposely embedding the single word with ice.

Everyone sits. Somin does, too, smoothing her full skirts under the table as she tries to hide hands that shake with anger. “It has come to my attention,” she snarls, voice dripping acid, “that this is a room full of failures.”

Several mages flinch. The others remain still, even Lee Minho, who stares at the wooden surface in front of him as though it will give him the answers to the world.

At least Somin can count on his silence, now. Much better than his inability to shut up from before.

“You are lucky that I have a brain as well,” she hisses. “I do wonder what they teach you as mages, if not a single one of you could put together a plan that would not fail on every single level. Even without your specialized training, between dividing my troops and evading Onyx attack, I was able to come up with a plan to lure that insufferable band of jewel thieves into the open.”

Silence.

Somin tuts. “None of you will ask your queen what she intends to do?”

Bom clears her throat quietly. Her stomach wound has long healed, but she still hunches over the table like it never went away. “What is your plan, Your Majesty?”

Such a good puppet. Somin almost wants to pat her head, despite the fact that the mage is at least ten years her senior. This is why Bom sits at her table. It is a table meant for those more powerful than she, but Somin needs someone blindly loyal to her cause to remain close by, no matter how dull-witted.

“We are winning the war,” she starts, allowing a slight smile to curve her lips. “This gives me leave to bring some of our generals back to the capital for, ah, a respite of sorts. I’m sure many are eager to pledge themselves to the new queen and her king, just as all of you were.”

Mouths tighten. Faces whiten. Somin represses a smirk. A gentle reminder of what she holds over their heads never hurts. “I will host a competition of dual blades,” she announces. “It is an art widely practiced among the noble and royal classes, even in some of the common pawn circles. Anyone will be free to join, and the winner will receive the onyx stone as a gift. Spoils of war.” Her smile widens. “Who could resist?”

Minho’s eyes shift from the table to her. “You believe the Onyx prince will fall for this obvious trap?”

Somin returns his gaze. “You believe he won’t?” She laughs. “The prince needs this stone. Even if he has the other four, he has no way of completing the crown unless he somehow takes this one too. He may realize it is a trap, but what other choice does he have?”

Mage Choi Jinhee, at the end of the table, raises her head. “Will you use the real stone?”

A sigh leaves Somin’s lips. Does she really need to spell everything out for them? “No,” she snaps. Her gaze turns to a certain cat-eyed mage, whose mouth thins into a line. “The real stone will be left with the crown in a place no one can access but I.” She sneers. “Need I remind you of what happened last time I listened to such foolish advice?”

Jinhee falls silent, but Minho opens his mouth. Somin curses internally. “The prince is of the Onyx bloodline,” he says, bravely (or foolishly – she’s more inclined to believe that) meeting her stare. “He will sense whether or not the jewel is real. And if it is true that a mage travels with them –”

“Which is why it will only be revealed on the last day of competition, when the winner has fought their way to the finish,” she cuts him off. “No one will see it before then, so no one will know it is fake. The prince will fight until that day, at which point he will be arrested in front of all spectators so they can see just who has managed to trespass into our kingdom during a time of war.”

“How are you so sure the prince will make it to the last day?” Minho challenges.

Somin actually laughs at that. “Have you ever watched the Onyx prince at swordplay?”

A shake of the head. Somin’s smile turns into a smirk. “I have.” She leans forward, staring Minho in the eye. “When I tell you he is skilled, I do not lie. He was taught by Wang throughout his adolescence, and he specialized in it when he underwent his knight training.” Her smirk deepens. “I will not make the mistake of underestimating him.”

Minho’s lips twitch. Somin can’t tell if it’s a result of annoyance or a smirk, and that frustrates her. “It is sometimes just as crucial not to overestimate an opponent, Your Majesty.”

Somin scoffs. “I do not overestimate him,” she snaps. “If he loses early on, we will only arrest him earlier. Perhaps it will not draw the crowds I would have liked, but as long as he is executed the next day and leaves the Onyx Kingdom without an heir to the king’s crown, it does not matter.”

No one argues with that. Silence falls over the room once more.

A smirk creeps up Somin’s lips, and this time, she allows it to show. “Now, then.” She leans forward. “Who will be tasked with creating the fake?”

. . . . .

Juyeon isn’t stupid. A contest in swordplay offering the last crown jewel as the winner’s prize can’t be anything but an obvious trap.

Personally, he feels slightly offended. Does Somin really think he’s that dumb? He might not be Jisoo with her mind for battle tactics and foreign affairs, but Juyeon has a brain that he often utilizes well, despite what Kevin sometimes likes to say.

(No matter what the amethyst heir says, Juyeon will maintain that cutting himself on a rose bush is far less stupid than setting an entire hill on fire. At least his wounds were healed. As far as he knows, half of that hill is still blackened.)

But the longer he looks at the poster Jacob brought back from the town square, the more it becomes obvious just how well-wrought this trap is. It may be obvious, yes, but more likely than not, Somin’s accounted for this. She has rarely been one to underestimate her enemies, after all. Which means that she expects him to come, knowing it’s a ploy to catch him.

Juyeon swears, throwing the poster to the ground. Of course he’ll come. Of course he will. He may have four of the crown jewels, but he needs the last one. The other four mean nothing if he can’t complete the crown.

So he has to join this contest.

He looks at Jacob and Kevin, both of whom stare at the piece of paper on the dusty ground with similarly grim expressions. Looking at them, a familiar sensation of unease grows in his mind, a tingling suspicion that someone is missing.

Which is impossible. Yes, Sunwoo left a hole in the group that can’t be filled, not even by Jacob, but this feeling is something different from the grief that still grips his heart every time he remembers the death. And then he inevitably remembers knives ripping through flesh, blood pooling on the ground, watching the life drain out of Mage Han’s eyes next to Sunwoo’s already blank expression –

Enough. Juyeon pulls himself out of his thoughts before he can spiral. This feeling isn’t the same as that of Sunwoo’s absence. It’s more like someone or multiple people are supposed to be here, helping him, which makes no sense. Hwanwoong and the others never could have stayed, and Juyeon certainly wasn’t going to drag High Mage Jung along. Jacob might really have committed murder then.

So no one can be missing. No one.

But ever since Juyeon woke up, thorn wounds completely healed after a dream of ruby roses and pain, he knows someone is. And he’s pretty sure he knows who – the shade who healed him, whose face he almost saw but didn’t because his body decided to wake up right then and there.

Which doesn’t make any castles-damned sense.

“Someone has to go.” Kevin’s voice breaks Juyeon out of his thoughts, brings him back to the present problems that have nothing to do with unnamed shades and roses. “And Juyeon’s the best at swordplay. Especially dual blades.”

Juyeon winces. It’s true, he can handle a sword and a dagger extremely well. He just much prefers the stability of a single one.

Besides, dual blades are an Ivory citizen’s weapon of choice. Normally this wouldn’t pose problems – royalty of both kingdoms, especially those who take the knight’s oath, often learn to wield multiple types of weapons – but even wearing white makes Juyeon want to crawl out of his skin, now. Using an Ivory weapon instead of his own?

A grimace crosses his face that he can’t shove away.

“It could be a fake,” Jacob interjects. “In fact, it probably is – why would Somin use the real stone, especially when we already have the other four?”

“Even if it’s a fake, we could get something from it,” Kevin argues. “Traces of magic, maybe. A mage would have had to create it, so couldn’t we track the traces again?”

Jacob frowns. “That took so long last time, though.” He sighs. “I’m not saying we have other choices. But if we could figure out something else…?”

Juyeon shakes his head. “I don’t think there’s another option.” His mouth thins as he presses his lips together. “She wants me to come, that much is obvious. Somin watched me practice when she used to visit the kingdom. She’ll expect me to get to the end of the contest, even against other highly-trained soldiers and generals.”

“You could just be being pig-headed and arrogant,” Kevin says, lips raised in a teasing half-smile. “What if she doesn’t actually think you’ll make it, huh? You have that much faith in your abilities?”

“You –” Juyeon punches Kevin in the arm, unable to force back the smile growing on his face. “You’re one to talk. Didn’t Wang call you one of the most pathetic students he’d ever had?”

Kevin sniffs. “I throw knives better than you ever will.”

“Are you two done puffing your chests around?” Jacob interrupts, cutting Juyeon off from arguing further (which he really couldn’t, anyway – Kevin has the best aim of anyone he’s ever met). He’s smiling too, though, and a wave of gratitude washes over Juyeon at Kevin’s ability to lighten up the mood. But the smile slowly disappears as he opens his mouth again. “Juyeon, if you’re going to do this, you can’t show up with your face on display. Attending the contest is bad enough, but parading around in the open is even worse.”

“Dust masks.” Juyeon turns to Kevin. “Can you make something that’ll hide my face well enough?”

He nods. “Just give me a day, I’ll have it ready. In the meantime, you need to somehow find a pair of dual blades to practice with.”

Well, that’s an issue. Juyeon’s just about to frown when Jacob points to a few lines on the poster he hadn’t read yet. “Blades will be provided so no contestant has an unfair advantage.”

Relief, then anxiety fill Juyeon’s chest. “Which means I’ll have to make another appearance to sign up for this and pick out my size.”

Kevin’s lips thin. “Show up first while wearing the mask. It’s all you can do.”

“And if someone asks?”

“Then say the roads are too dusty.” Jacob coughs. “Which they are.”

It’s a bad plan, not well thought out and far from foolproof, but if worst comes to worst, Juyeon has long legs and knows the capital well enough to get around and maybe hide.

“Well.” Juyeon sighs. “Anything’s better than setting a hill on fire.”

“Queens,” Jacob mutters. “We really need to stop using that as a baseline to judge our bad plans.”

. . . . .

Kevin follows Juyeon to competition registration. It isn’t too hard to stay inconspicuous among the masks most people are wearing, but Kevin keeps his head lowered and gaze alert all the same. It wouldn’t do for anyone to catch them before Juyeon even enters his first swordfight.

But it’s hard when dust keeps flying into his face with every step he takes. Even when he deliberately tries to place his foot down with as little force as possible, it floats into the air with a deceptive grace that itches his nose and makes tears spring in his eyes.

Queens, it was never this bad all the other times Kevin visited, and he’s traveled here a lot over the past few years. Under the previous queen, the roads, though still dusty – it’s inevitable, especially in the dryer months – were much cleaner.

It’s not just that. Even here, in the square, the usual bustle of chatter and cheer sounds so much more subdued than he remembers. When he was younger, he and Changmin and Juyeon would come here on their visits to wreak as much havoc as their tiny bodies could handle. They’d get caught, eventually, but people were always up for a joke or a prank.

Now, though there’s still noise, the level is nowhere near where it used to be. Everyone’s face looks drawn, taut, a little wary, even, as they exchange coins and goods.

An unpleasant tingle runs down Kevin’s back. The current queen is probably too focused on the war at hand to care for her citizens. A scowl crosses his face as he thinks of Somin sitting high and mighty in her palace or wherever she is, directing people to do the dirty work for her.

One of his angry feet kicks a cloud of dust into the air. Kevin starts coughing again. Pawns and kings, it couldn’t get much worse than this, could it?

Just ahead, Juyeon approaches a large white building. Kevin stops where he is, standing idly by a small store as Juyeon flashes him a look that he returns. He disappears into the doors.

Now all there is to do is wait.

Heart in his throat, Kevin does his best to look casual as he lingers in the town square, vaguely gazing at several of the stalls as he tries not to catch anyone’s attention. No meeting eyes, no staring, no looking interested –

“Excuse me?”

Castling queens.

Kevin braces himself, expecting some random Ivory citizen to maybe ask him why he’s loitering around without buying anything. An excuse pops readily onto his tongue as he turns, a slight, wary smile on his face to mimic those of the others prattling around the square –

In the name of the Board and all that is holy –

It takes all of Kevin’s effort not to widen his eyes, not to curse, not to show anything in the face of Lee Jaehyun, a boy he once used to know, a boy he used to play around with on his visits to the Ivory Kingdom. As they grew older and took on different duties, they saw each other less – in fact, the last time they talked was probably a couple years ago – but there’s no mistaking it. This is Lee Jaehyun, the youngest general of the ivory army, knighted when he was just sixteen.

Juyeon himself wasn’t knighted until seventeen, and he’s one of the best fighters Kevin knows. If Jaehyun is here…

Smile. Breathe. Change your voice. Kevin prays the disinterested expression on his face from before hasn’t left as he looks at Jaehyun with veiled curiosity, heart pounding. Thank all the higher orders that he’s wearing a mask. “Yes?”

“You just seemed a little lost.” Jaehyun smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Is it just Kevin’s paranoia, or does he look suspicious? “I wondered if you needed directions somewhere.”

A brief laugh forces itself out of Kevin’s throat, stilted and deep and nothing like his normal snorts and giggles. Good – even less chance of Jaehyun recognizing him. “I don’t, but thank you.” He jerks his head toward the registration building. “Just waiting for a friend.”

Jaehyun nods. “Not signing up yourself, then?”

“Oh, no.” This time, Kevin doesn’t need to lie. “I don’t have the skill to compete against generals of the kingdom.” He cocks his head, feigning interest. “Are you?”

The smile on Jaehyun’s unmasked face tightens, but he nods. “Yes, I am.” He laughs, short and forced. “Who wouldn’t want the glory?”

“Glory,” Kevin repeats, trying to decipher the unreadable look Jaehyun wears. “Is that what matters, then?”

His tone must have been more accusatory than he meant, because Jaehyun’s eyes narrow slightly. Kevin curses internally, about to backtrack, but Jaehyun has already opened his mouth to speak again. “To some,” he says, pose deceivingly relaxed. “Why? What do you think matters more?”

Kevin’s heart is ready to pound out of his chest with anxiety. Sweat beads on his forehead and under his ivory dust mask as his mind races for a neutral answer. Jaehyun just waits, face impassive.

“Care,” he finally replies. “If I had someone under my care, I would put them before anything else, even glory.”

It’s true. He doesn’t need to lie about how he feels about Jacob. About Juyeon.

About Sunwoo.

Pain stabs his chest, pain that he does his best not to show as Jaehyun nods appraisingly. “I agree,” he says, surprisingly. “We are lucky to have a king who cares for us in the way you describe.”

Kevin tries not to raise his eyebrows too high at Jaehyun’s choice of words. King. Not queen.

Does this mean Jaehyun doesn’t care for the queen, either?

It could be. Jaehyun never exactly wanted to play with Somin when they were kids, even though he regularly got into shenanigans with the former queen. Even though she’s ascended the throne, it’s possible that the feelings remained.

With that, it crosses Kevin’s mind to reveal himself and enlist Jaehyun as an ally. But there’s too much to risk with that. They’re so close to completing the crown, so close – they can’t afford a single mistake. Besides, Kevin only has guesses to go by. He doesn’t know anything concrete about Jaehyun that’s recent enough to mean anything.

And also, Juyeon’s just exited the building, two new blades in hand. There’s no time.

“There seems to be a line forming,” Kevin remarks idly. “You should probably take your place before you’re here all morning.”

Jaehyun glances back, almost uninterested, before nodding. “Probably.” He sighs. “Well, it was nice meeting you…”

Queens. Kevin needs to think of a name. “Jihoon,” he spits out, wincing internally at how similar it is to Juyeon’s fake name (seriously, Jiyoon and Jihoon? Come on, Kevin), but it’s too late to retract it because Jaehyun’s already nodding.

“Jihoon.” Jaehyun smiles. “I’m Jaehyun.”

I know.

Kevin doesn’t say that, though, just returns the nod. “Good luck, Jaehyun.”

He means it. Because though Jaehyun might be good, Juyeon has skill, too. And he has something else that Jaehyun doesn’t.

Desperation.

And as horrible a feeling it is to have, Kevin knows with a grim certainty that Juyeon’s going to need to channel as much of it as he can.

. . . . .

When Juyeon learns the Lee Jaehyun is going to be competing in this tournament, he almost wants to give up right then and there. He may be good, but Jaehyun is a prodigy. There’s a reason why he was knighted so early and rose through the army ranks so quickly. His participation basically cuts Juyeon’s chances of winning in half.

Never mind that his chances already weren’t very high.

And then there’s the fact that Jaehyun spoke with Kevin, singled him out of an entire town square as someone to talk to. Though Kevin says he’s pretty sure Jaehyun didn’t recognize him or he probably would’ve said something, Juyeon can’t shake it off that easily. Jaehyun’s smart. He isn’t a general for nothing. If he talked to Kevin, he suspected something. Why else would he give up his position in line for a chat?

A cursory scan of the day’s duels brings Juyeon slight relief. He isn’t fighting against Jaehyun – in fact, he’s in a completely different bracket – which means that he might just make it to the last day if no one catches him. Might.

And then he’ll have to fight Jaehyun, or whoever managed to beat Jaehyun. Though to be honest, if there’s someone else at the top, Juyeon might back out right then and there. Jaehyun is that good.

But if it’s Jaehyun he ends up fighting, there’s a much higher chance of recognition. Which is also not good.

Taking a shaky breath, Juyeon readjusts the dust mask covering his face, trying to drown out the noises of the growing crowd as he steps into the arena. Kevin’s talented fingers have come into play again for the simple piece of cloth, sewing it tight enough around his mouth and nose that it won’t come loose while giving him enough air to breathe. If no one looks too closely, they won’t root him out.

Hopefully.

Juyeon breathes in. Breathes out. Dust swirls around his feet as he walks forward to meet his opponent. Already he’s forgotten the name – it wasn’t anybody he recognized, he remembers that much – and from the stuttering gaze on the boy’s face, he gathers that it won’t be too difficult to beat him this round.

He’s right. The boy – whatever his name is – has some skill but not enough, not the type that Juyeon’s honed over years of training in multiple forms of swordplay. Within minutes, he disarms his opponent, two blades thudding to the dusty ground, and his sword rises to rest against his throat.

Cheers rise as Juyeon lowers his arm, accepting the boy’s hand in a firm shake. Vaguely, he hears his fake name being announced as the winner, but already he’s slipping into one of the tents, exiting as fast as he can, then disappearing into the crowd, unnoticed.

He doesn’t find Kevin or Jacob. They said they’d be here but didn’t tell Juyeon where for fear of accidentally giving them away with a stray glance. Instead, he finds a relatively empty space at the junction between two streets, sits down, and closes his eyes to rest.

The afternoon passes in the same manner, then the next day. Juyeon almost loses his fourth set – he doesn’t recognize the move his opponent uses and it throws him off-kilter when he loses his dagger – but in the end, he manages to flip both blades out of the other’s hand with a wild sweep of his sword that sends the audience into a frenzy. Stonily, he ignores his opponent’s glare and the way she tries to crush his hand with her grip, though his heart pounds for hours after.

Two days gone. One day left.

The third afternoon, Kevin sends him off with a face whiter than usual, fingers trembling at his sides. Jacob doesn’t look much better, huddled into his red cloak as he wishes Juyeon luck. Both put on a brave face, trying to smile as Juyeon slides the blades into his belt, but their worry is obvious.

He can’t blame them. His heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest. Because today, Juyeon’s going to be in the most danger he’s been throughout his two short weeks in the capital.

The crowds will be bigger than ever. There’s a far smaller chance of Kevin and Jacob being able to whisk him out of a tight situation. Somin herself will preside over the final duel as he fights beneath her throne. Well, not her throne because that’s a huge piece of white marble and ivory that can’t easily be carried out of the palace, but she’ll be there.

And to top things off…

A familiar figure stands in the center of the arena, blades already drawn. Even from this distance, confidence radiates from his body, from the slight smile on his face and the easy way he holds his weapons.

Juyeon swallows.

He’s fighting Lee Jaehyun.

. . . . .

Anxiety can’t even begin to cover how Jacob feels as he watches Juyeon enter the arena. Shouts, alternate cheers and boos, follow his footsteps forward into the center of the large, dusty plain.

Jacob doesn’t join in. Neither does Kevin. They only watch silently from a far edge of the crowds, fists clenched so tightly that his nails start biting crescents into his palms.

Pawns and kings. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. If he feels this anxious, how must Juyeon feel, standing under watch of his biggest enemy, facing one of the best (or possibly the best) swordsmen in the two kingdoms, knowing there’s a very sizable chance that someone will either root him out or he’ll simply lose?

Juyeon doesn’t seem to show any worry or anxiety as he tosses his sheaths away, but maybe that’s just because Jacob is so far away. He wishes he was closer, but in the event of things gone awry, he and Kevin need to be able to escape as fast as possible.

If he was alone, standing closer might be an option. He doesn’t need a door just to shift on his own. But with Kevin here, he does.

And he can’t exactly create a door in the middle of a crowd.

A horn sounds. Jacob’s head jerks up.

Kevin’s hand finds his as the first crash of metal rings through the air.

They fight fast. All Jacob can see are flashes of silver, the afternoon sun glinting off the blades and nearly blinding him several times. Two blurred figures weave in and out of each other, barely distinguishable from this far away, and try as Jacob might to pay attention, sometimes he loses sight of Juyeon’s dark hair in the clouds of dust that whirl up from their feet.

Blades clash. Cheers sound. Jacob can barely hear anything over the roar of blood in his ears, can barely feel a thing besides Kevin’s hand clenching his in a death grip. Vaguely, as Jaehyun nearly lands a hit on Juyeon, who just manages to spin away, Jacob wonders if his blood will still be circulating in his fingers by the time this match is over.

One strike blocked, a feint parried, another slash dodged. The duel drags on and on – Kevin mutters something about sundown coming before it’s over and Jacob almost laughs, hysterical and wild with all the adrenaline coursing through his veins – and then –

Juyeon knocks the sword out of Jaehyun’s hand, sending it flying high into the air.

A scream builds in Jacob’s throat as Kevin lets out a pained wheeze. Maybe, just maybe, Jacob thinks, Juyeon has a chance to win this. Castling queens, he needs to –

But Jaehyun catches the blade.

He catches it.

Jacob nearly falls over entirely as the general resumes the fight, barely looking like he’s broken a sweat. Juyeon stumbles and Jacob almost releases his previous scream. He manages to regain his balance, though Jacob can tell even from here that Juyeon’s shaken.

Who wouldn’t be, after all? No one could blame Juyeon after that sort of stunt.

But he can’t afford to be shaken. He needs to move, to fight, to win this for the stupid onyx stone that’s probably a fake anyway because they need all the information they can get, even if it means putting the Onyx prince himself in a direct line of danger –

The dagger falls out of Juyeon’s hand. Jaehyun kicks it, sending the blade skittering across the arena.

Kevin’s nails begin cutting into Jacob’s skin.

Juyeon continues the fight. He’s already fought and won against another girl who managed to disarm his dagger hand, Jacob knows, so there’s a chance, a tiny chance that he could still make this. As sweat stings his open eyes, he prays, he prays to every higher order of the two kingdoms, pawns and kings, please let Juyeon win this –

But Jaehyun isn’t the girl from before. And with the first trip, the first tiny stumble over a stone or a rut in the ground, the general flips the sword out of Juyeon’s hand. It falls to the ground in a cloud of dust.

The tip of a blade inserts itself under Juyeon’s chin.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for juyeon he needs it)

[cilliansgirl]

his lioness pt. 1 ✹ peter pevensie x reader

Pairing: Aslan x female!reader (platonic), Peter Pevensie x female!reader

Characters: Aslan, Lucy Pevensive, Susan Pevensie, Edmund Pevensie, Peter Pevensie, Caspian, & characters of my own. 

Warnings: mention of weapons and war, sexual tension, like one cuss word

Era: Caspian (just believe that they stayed after)

Summary: Princess Y/N of Archenland assumed the throne overnight, as her parents and older brother were mysteriously killed in a shipwreck off the Eastern Sea. She knows that the death of her parents and brother was not a coincidence, yet the traumatic event begins her prophecy. The prophecy of Aslan’s lioness, the noblest warrior of Narnia. To obey the prophecy, she leaves Archenland to her two younger brothers, who are barely old enough to rule the kingdom logically. All tension with the High King aside, she will become High Queen Y/N, Aslan’s Lioness. Six years after leaving Archenland and becoming High King Peter’s wife, there are threats stirring in foreign lands. There is a war approaching all of Narnia, and Aslan has trained her from birth for this moment. There is a war coming, and she is going to be the one to stop it, with help of course.

Status: Unedited, Posted on Sat. December 26, 2020 (10:25 pm)

She walked out of the hidden castle towards her mother’s extraordinary flower garden. That’s where she always went to get fresh air. Her white and gold dress ruffled gently in the cold wind as she pulled her red dress robe closer to her body. The cold air nipped at her nose, causing her to look flushed. Rarely did it snow in her part of Narnia, but when it did, she relished in the feeling of the chilled air. She approached the stone bench and tucked her dress in before sitting herself appropriately on the bench. 

“You shouldn’t be out here, you know?” She ridiculed.

“You’re out here,” the little voice squeaked out.

“I’m getting some fresh air, I couldn’t sleep,” she responded.

The head of a young blonde boy, roughly 10 years old, poked around the tree. He reluctantly walked towards her in his bundled up form. 

“Perhaps I could keep you company?” he asked her pleadingly.

“I think it would be better if you headed up to bed, Finn.” 

He nodded and stood up, kissing his sister on the cheek before heading off for the night. After a few more moments, a chill ran down her spine as a white wolf peaked its head out of the edge of the forest. The wolf and she sat in comfortable silence as if they could read one’s mind. She knew what it meant. She knew that it was a sign; a sign that tomorrow was going to be a greater day and she had to fulfill her prophecy. 

After the wolf had broken eye contact and sulked back into the forest, she brushed off her dress with her cold, delicate hands, heading back into the castle. 

She woke up early morning before the sunrise and packed all of her valuable belongings in a drawstring leather bag. She dressed in her training clothing: blue trousers, a white blouse, and a waist belt with a black riding coat over it all. With the leather bag thrown over her shoulder, she quietly made her way to the armory, careful not to wake anyone in the echoing walls of the castle. Opening her designated cupboard in the corner of the armory, she quickly fastened the hilt of her sword to her belt. She was courteous with making sure her daggers were also fit snugly in her boots. Looking back up, her eyes caught sight of the bow and arrows once belonging to her mother. Giving in, she hastily grabbed the bow and arrows, throwing the quiver over her shoulders, as a firm grip remained on the bow. She gently closed the cupboard, making her way to the adjacent stables.

Without starling any of the other horses, her petite but bold figure made her way over to her horse. They looked relevantly similar if one pondered on the topic. A fine horse he was, a strong one. She was the same: strong and determined to always do the right thing. She named him Borin, from where she had found him astray. She discovered him in the forest when she was a little girl; he was attempting his best to hide behind a pine tree. Hints the name, ‘bor’ the Slovenian word for “pine tree.” 

“Borin,” she whispered, delicately stroking his mane, “it is time to go.”

As if the stallion had known his duty, he leaned his head into her touch before she saddled on. Immediately, they rode out of the stables and into the courtyard of the kingdom. The kingdom was quiet but the sun was starting to rise, meaning she had little time. Before she reached the entrance gate to the kingdom, she pulled Borin’s reins causing him to halt. She turned her head to look at the castle she called home. She sighed, knowing that she’s leaving her two younger brothers to become the kings without a queen. With one last goodbye, she whispered, “Farewell, Archenland.” Whipping the reigns, Borin set off towards the Dancing Lawn, where he would be waiting for her. After resting at about midday, she and Borin had gotten past the Bulgy Bears, which meant that the Dancing Lawn should be only one or two more terms. 

Finally, she had arrived. There was a small pond that was on the far edge of the field, so she allowed Borin to trot over there before she had dismantled. After she had dismantled, she unhooked a satchel from the stallion’s saddle, opening it and spilling out the contents, which happened to be food for Borin. 

“Eat up while we wait for him,” she said, petting his crest before she made her own way to sit next to the large horse. Not long after waiting a large shadow cast over her sitting form. Eventually, the heavy steps ceased as the large figure relaxed next to her.

“Hello, Princess Y/N, or should I say, High Queen,” the gruff but soothing voice spoke.

“I cannot be considered a High Queen if I was never crowned,” Y/N responded back.

“And for that, my dear, I apologize, but there are much bigger things to worry about.”

Y/N huffed, “Like my prophecy?”

The golden lion’s head turned towards her, immediately noticing the confliction upon her features blankly staring at her surroundings.

“You’re not happy,” he stated, a matter of factly.

“No, I’m not happy Aslan! My parents, the King and Queen of Archenland, and my brother are dead from a shipwreck, kickstarting my stupid prophecy. I had to leave my two younger brothers alone with the kingdom staff last night and I will probably not see them for however many years! Who knows? Then, I have to marry Peter, for Aslan’s sake!” 

He chuckled, “I would appreciate you not using my name in vain while I am in your presence. I thought you were happy about marrying Peter?”

She sniffled, “Sorry. I am. Aslan, I am thrilled to marry Peter because he is the man I love; it just sounds impossible. How am I, a princess from a foreign land, your lioness? How am I supposed to be the noblest Narnian warrior and wife of the High King if I haven’t even become ruler of Archenland?”

“Nothing is impossible, dear one. In this world or in another.”

“So what’s the next step in all of this?”

“I would like you to come with me to Cair Paravel. That way we can start the arrangements for the wedding. ” 

She nodded, but with hesitation, “What happens when Archenland finds out that I went to Cair Paravel to marry Peter?”

“You will be fine. There will not be a war. Archenland diplomats will see it as a permanent alliance. I promise.”

She signed heavily, bringing herself to lay on Aslan’s back. 

 “Will you be there with me?”

“I will be there to guide you and visit you all in good time. As for now, I am very busy teaching the others how to run a kingdom,” he spoke calmly.

Y/N smiled at the thought, “How’s Lucy?”

Aslan responded, “She is doing very well; growing into a very fine queen, indeed. She reminds me of a young you.”

Y/N pondered, “In what way?” 

Aslan chuckled, “Well, she is very adventurous. Lucy has the urge to explore everything, much as you did. Her aspect of curiosity, moral stability, and social relations makes her one of the most courageous women in Cair Paravel. If she were any braver, she would be a lioness.”

Both she and Aslan laughed whole-heartedly. After all had settled down, she had fallen asleep on Aslan and Borin was asleep as well. 

“Rest well, little lion. There is a war coming and you’re going to stop it,” he whispered as his own head rested snugly against hers, making her instinctively move close to Aslan, seeking warmth. 

As the sun rose and the kingdom of Cair Paravel busied, Peter was patiently waiting for Y/N’s arrival.

“Peter,” Susan pestered, placing her book down on the library table.

 The room fell silent, the bustling of the rest of the castle could be faintly heard outside of the grand wooden doors. Before Susan could speak, there was a rapid set of heavy footsteps approaching the door before it swung open, revealing an out-of-breath Caspian. “She’s here,” he breathed out before Peter could rush past him, Susan following close behind. 

Y/N rode into the kingdom, her head held high. Orieus was on her right and an unnamed Minotaur on her left, guiding her into the castle’s courtyard, so that she could be greeted properly by the king and so Borin could be taken care of properly. Once reaching the middle of the courtyard, Caspian greeted her with an outstretched hand, to which she accepted with a smile. He helped her dismantle Borin as one of the stable boys insisted on leading Borin to his own stable. Another knight, clearly one of high authority asked if he could take the weaponry out of the way, to which she responded that they are very special to her and should be handled with the utmost care.

 After everyone somewhat settled down she turned back to Caspian and practically jumped in his arms, engulfing him in a hug. He accepted, wrapping his own arms around her waist but being courteous because he knew Peter was carefully watching the scene play out.

 “Oh Aslan, I missed you all so much,” Y/N sighed.“Come,” Capsian spoke as they pulled away, “The others are waiting for you inside.”

Y/N was guided inside the castle, Caspian leading her to the Great Hall, where everyone was waiting. Once the extraordinary engraved doors opened, Y/N was bombarded suddenly with a big hug from a small girl. “Hello, Lucy,” she smiled, tightening the hug.

After Lucy unwrapped her arms from around Y/N’s neck, Y/N was finally able to observe her surroundings. Edmund and Susan stood behind Lucy, small smiles on their faces. Peter was farther back in the room, but nonetheless beaming at Y/N. There were a few royal guards and few maidens scattered throughout the room. After Lucy had moved out the way, Y/N tightly hugged Susan and Edmund, greeting and making small talk with each one. 

Once Susan was finished talking about the books Y/N has suggested to her, Y/N made her way over to Peter. Susan ushered Lucy, Edmund, and Caspian out of the Great Hall as well as the guards and maidens. 

“Hello, my King,” Y/N curtsied.

Peter rolled his eyes, “Please, it is just us. No need for formalities.”

Once Y/N stood back up, Peter pulled a large ring out of his pocket, “I suppose this is for you.” 

“Aren’t you going to make it seem like you want to marry me?” Y/N jokingly back. 

Peter chuckled, looking down at the ring for a moment before meeting her ethereal features, “I mean, I had tried to formally propose but then you screamed at me because I was doing it before the fight with Miraz.”

She stepped forward, taking his hands in hers, slipping the ring on the ring finger of her left hand, “Yes, well. Your mind should have been completely focused on not dying in the fight, not me becoming your wife.”

Before Peter could say anything, Edmund had cracked open the double doors of the Hall, “I really do hate to intrude but the entirety of the kingdom is waiting for you both to make the formal declaration.” 

“Yes, I had almost forgotten,” Peter smiled, gently wrapping his left arm around Y/N’s waist as they both proceeded to walk out of the Great Hall towards the balcony that displayed over all the kingdom. 

As Peter and Y/N made their appearance, the crowd erupted in excitement. Y/N took this time to observe her surroundings. Peter and she stood dead center, Susan and Lucy standing off to the right behind the pair, yet Caspian and Edmund standing to the left. She took the time to watch the faces of those in the crowd, for she was always yearned to be intimate with the commoners of her kingdom. There were middle-aged commoners, kids, too; scattered in the crowds were skippers, royal guards, and creatures of the Great Forest. It brought joy to Y/N’s heart to see that all of them gathered just for the announcement of Peter and her’s wedding.

The kingdom’s trumpets sounded, signaling the crowd to cease their cheering. After the crowd had settled, the colonel of the royal guards stepped forward. 

He spoke loudly, “May I present, High King Peter the Magnificent and his wife, High Queen Y/N the Lioness.”

As soon as the declaration finished, the cheering roared louder than it did before. The cheering brought smiles to everyone’s faces. Peter tightened his hold on Y/N’s waist, causing her attention to focus on him. As soon as she looked up at him, he captured her lips in a delicate but passionate kiss, causing the crowd to ignite in happiness. Y/N gladly excepted, kissing him back before pulling away. Peter and she both waved to the crowd before heading back inside the castle. 

Once back inside, there was a maiden waiting for the King and Queen. Peter’s hand left Y/N’s waist as he allowed his hand to linger on the woman’s waist. He smiled, gesturing towards the maiden.

“My Queen,” he started, “this is your maiden, Emma. She will help you with anything that you will need. I have to go to some meetings, but I will be back by the time you are preparing for bed. Emma said she would be happy to show you the in’s and out’s of the castle while I am away.” 

Y/N nodded at Peter, smiling at the maiden as she returned the gesture. Before leaving the corridor, Peter leaned down to give a quick farewell peck on Y/N’s lips. 

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” he questioned as Y/N nodded in response.

The blonde-haired boy turned to Emma, “Thank you again for showing her around while I am gone.”

She curtsied, “Of course, your highness, I wish you the best of luck on your political duties.”

And with that, he was gone out the door, leaving Emma with Y/N. As the night went along, Emma and Y/N became quite the pair. As a matter of fact, they were the best of friends. 

Later that night, after Emma had helped Y/N prepare to bathe, Y/N had sent Emma back to her quarters for the night. When Peter had come through the large engraved door, Y/N was in her night slip, brushing her hair in her mirror. 

“Hello, darling,” he gently stated.

“Hey, Pete.”

He strode over to give her a kiss on the crown of her head, his hands rubbing gently atop her shoulders. 

“How did the meeting go?”

Peter breathed in deeply, “Oh, you know, Edmund is a lot more persuasive than I could have wondered.”

“Please Peter, I figured that out a long time ago,” Y/N scolded.

Peter shrugged, “I guess I never thought about it. Now, if you don’t mind, I am going to freshen up before bed.”

“Mhmm, sounds good,” Y/N replied.

The two were in their shared bed. Y/N sinking into Peter’s strong embrace. Y/N had cracked open the balcony doors so that the cool air could circulate throughout the room. She hadn’t been able to close her eyes without drowning her mind with doubtful thoughts. She rolled over so that she was now facing Peter. She looked up and saw him peacefully sleeping, but she wouldn’t go to sleep without his lulling. 

“Peter,” she whispered, placing one of her hands on the upper chest. 

“Hmm?” he responded tiredly.

“I’m scared of this.”

He peeked through one of his eyes to look down at her mesmerizing features, “You are one of the strongest women I know. You are willing to do anything for the good of others. And I know how hard it was to be pulled from Archenland, but I am completely faithful that you are going to fit in perfectly in the Narnian kingdom and treat the kingdom and the people in it as your own. As far as I know, we are doing every step together. Every step of the way, no matter how long it takes.”

Y/N sighed, wrapping her arms around Peter’s torso, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Princess,” Peter groggily spoke, kissing her forehead sloppily. 

After a few more moments, Peter easily resumed sleep as Y/N fell asleep with the comfort of Peter’s words flowing through her mind.