#even though i did love tress of the emerald sea

[rosetintedkaleidoscope]

best books i read in 2023:

- comfort me with apples by catherynne valente. fantasy/horror. this is a creepy, dystopian, fairy tale kind of story. some biblical references. the creepiness builds up slowly through strange little details.

- quest for a maid by frances mary hendry. children's historical fiction / fantasy. 13th century scotland & norway. read as a child, completely forgot, then found in a used bookstore this year. it absolutely lives up to my memories: rich with details, from the foods to the clothes to the activities to all the little things you don't really notice that create a sense of another time & place. the loving attention to detail is a big part of why i like this book so much. also excellent characterization.

- nisa: the life and words of a !kung woman by marjorie shostak. nonfiction. okay, if you're following me you've probably heard of this because of @etirabys, whose posts inspired me to read it, but i had to include it anyway. based on interviews with a hunter-gatherer woman, it tells about her life and worldview. moving and immensely fascinating

- making babies: the science of pregnancy by david bainbridge. nonfiction. also immensely fascinating. my ideal kind of science book: readable yet detailed and in-depth, and full of strange facts. strong contender for the coolest nonfiction book i've ever read

- the ladies of grace adieu and other stories by susanna clarke. fantasy. wonderful eerie fairy stories

- we have always lived in the castle by shirley jackson. classic, horror. sinister and evocative. one thing i really like is that the characters are likeable and often happy despite the weirdness and the horror. it's optimistic and tragic at the same time, and gives you things to think about even after you're done reading

- murderbot series by martha wells. science fiction. it has an interesting plot and setting and all that, but the main appeal is the character and charm of the protagonist, a robot who hacks itself to gain freedom. all it wants to do with that freedom is watch tv, but dangerous stuff keeps getting in the way

[tryingtimi]

Books of 2024 (2023 or close to it)

Thank you for the tag @barbex it sounds like a fun one hehe. 9 books should be listed that were read in the last 12 months (or alternatively liked when you read it) if I'm right. And when I read the rules I had the same reaction: mind went blank on if I ever read a single book lol. Luckily I keep track of my reading because I like watching them back.

No pressure tagging: @aninkwellofnectar, @bloodlessheirbyjacques, @the-void-writes, @circa-specturgia, @aalinaaaaaa, @dyrewrites, @italiangothicwriteblr, @cherrybombfangirlwrites, @blind-the-winds and anyone who wants to join.

All of the listed were read last year and which I liked especially.

When The Stars Alight by Camilla Andrew (@aninkwellofnectar). Bi MC, gaslamp fantasy, gothic, court intrigue, delicious spice

You've already seen this many times on my page, because I really enjoyed this book and it was a window to many things I didn't know I'd enjoy in a story. So many beautiful description, beautifully emotional and sexy sex, rarely seen complex character dynamics and so much mouth watering food.

Éjféli Iskolák (Midnight Schools) by Attila Veres. lovecraftian horror set in Budapest

It's a horror short story collection by a hungarian author who I got recommended by a collegue. Attila Veres has a talent to capture that melancholic, sometimes surrelistic feeling living in Budapest which makes his work so authentic. But also very Big Ew for all the horroristic shit he created (in the best way.) My favourite one was the 'Porn After Midnight'.

Yumi and The Nightmare Painter by Brandon Sanders. M/F romance focus, sci-fi/fantasy, anime-esque

You all know I'm a Sanderson trash. And the fact I, the slowest reader on the earth, read this book in two days, proved that very much lol. It felt like watching an anime, I swear to god. There's magic, time travel kinda thing, pretty innocent humour, loads of painting in it.

A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickenes. christmas nostalgia, historical fiction?

We all know this, but I'm very behind on classics book-wise so I began to catch up last year. Espceially because I love the animated movie so much. It was a lovely and educative read.

Y/N by Esther Yi. litfic, kpop fandom and industry satire basically, comteporary

It was one of my favourites from last year tbh, because I couldn't put down the damn e-reader. A very strange little read, 100% unhinged, but made me realise I might enjoy litfic, so I'll read more this year. Also, the story is not "summarizable" but the fact that this is the first two review on GoodReads tells a lot I think: reading this feels like that one night when i accidentally smoked weed for the first time I sort of feel like I just hallucinated this entire thing Yeah.

Even Though I Knew The End by C. L. Polk. F/F romance, fantasy, novella

Lesbian magical detective. Done, sold. I wanted to read this a while now, and it did not disappoint. It gave exactly what it promised. Fast paced little adventure with some humour and a lovely couple. Not a life-chaning read but as I mentioned, it gave what it promised. I enjoyed it anyway.

Interview With The Vampire by Anne Rice. M/M romance kinda, supernatural, philosophical

Finally started to read the books my all time favourite movies are made of. Loved every bits of this, though sometimes it got way too wordy or I don't even know what. Overall though, it got me. Full of contemplation about human nature, God (though I could do a bit less without that) and death, plus the iconic vampire husbands and their arguments. It's just a real long broody monologue of Louis tbh. I'm fine with that it seems, though.

Legend & Lattes by Travis Baldree. F/F romance (not focus), cosy fantasy

Read pretty fast too. It's very much what it promises also. Cosy, and relaxing, and endearing. Love the concept of how a stoic warrior woman can settle finally and do something other than fighting. It was cute.

Tress of The Emerald Sea by Brandon Sanderson. M/F romance (not that important i think), cosy fantasy, Princess Bride-vibes

Yes, I got all the secret project, because of course I would. This one was also something like Legends & Lattes imo. In Sanderson style tho. I'm also loving when the narrator is a third person telling the story. Those are always fun. Oh and the story had many cuteness, humour and Our Flag Means Death kinda pirates.

[mihrsuri]

some getting-to-know-me questions

thank you to my friend @nocompromise-noregrets for the tag <3.

three ships I like: Faramir/Eowyn, Anne/Henry/Thomas (Tudors OT3) and Rey/Finn/Poe.

last song I heard: ‘Darling’ by Halsey as a rec by my saati @shes-a-voodoo-child and then the one below which is beautiful.

favourite childhood book: Tolkien (I read The Hobbit I want to say between the ages of 6-8 and then LOTR when I was eleven), A Little Princess, The Wolves Of Willboughy Chase, The Ordinary Princess (I just got my own copy of this book recently and the illustrations are so lovely as well), Swallows and Amazons, The Drina Series, White Boots (a book by Noel Streatfield about ice skating), Obernewtyn and Narnia are the main ones.

currently reading: I actually just finished Cassiel’s Servant which is a prequel to the Kushiel’s Legacy series by Jacqueline Carey and it was really good/well done - the character POV is great (even though I am still like the only person who is not into one of the pairings) but also I am side eye about the Jewish Fantasy Analogue which did kind of, it was a shadow over. I’m trying to decide what to read next - I have a book about Holbein, the first Murderbot book and I got a couple of Brandon Sanderson from the library to try again because I liked Tress of the Emerald Sea and thought I’d give his other work another go.

currently watching: I am so so bad at convincing myself that I deserve/have earned the right to watch TV shows but - I would like to finish Shadow and Bone S2 even though I curse Netflix for not renewing. Then probably Lockwood and Co and then I have no idea - maybe Percy Jackson?

currently craving: I have been really wanting corned beef with mashed potatoes and cauliflower cheese so I’m going to work hard on making myself that (I actually kind of want my dads cauliflower cheese honestly).

first ship ever: The first one I ever wrote published fic for was actually the Kushiel Books (at least going by fanfiction.net it was in 2003 - this fic does not exist online anymore). I think the first ships I ever imagined out content for was probably Scarlet Pimpernel related - i wrote a lot of gen fic in my head as a kid though.

Tagging (entirely optional): @unseenacademic @sherwoodknights @six-of-snakes @quillington @jesidres @miabicicletta @emilykaldwen

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Explore my bookshelf!

Thanks for the tag, @theghostinthemargins, this is fun!

An estimate of how many physical books I own: By my count, 396. Split between fiction, nonfiction, and travel guides.

Favourite author: I would say Tolkien! My three favourite books, all tied for first place are The Silmarillion/LOTR (I refuse to separate them), Les Misérables, and Jane Eyre. They’re the ones I can reread an uncountable number of times and never get tired of, and they all speak things that I find true and meaningful. But Victor Hugo and Charlotte Brontë have written other things I don’t care for as much, so Tolkien would be my overall favourite author.

A popular book I've never read and never intend to read: I’m sure there are a lot, I don’t tend to really get into a lot of contemporary non-speculative-fiction novels.

A popular book I thought was just meh: The Queen’s Thief series didn’t really catch me after the first two books, so I stopped. Though I didn’t catch all the twists in the first one, I felt a lot of it was telegraphed too heavily and I’d read another book that did the same thing but better. And the writing style didn’t pull me in; at times in the second one it felt like I was reading a Cliff Notes summary of the book rather than the book itself, or a brief history textbook from the book’s world. It’s a shame because I liked the relationship twist, I wanted to be into the book, but I wasn’t.

Longest book I own: Probably Complete Shakespeare (1164 pages in small font) in word count. Les Mis has more pages (1222) but larger font. My World Book Encyclopedia for the letter ‘A’ is probably also a contender in total word count (980 pages, small font, larger pages than the others).

Longest series I own all the books to: Either The Stormlight Archive or A Song of Ice and Fire depending on whether we’re going by word count or number of books.

Prettiest book I own: I’m very fond of The World of Ice and Fire, it’s a real visual treat. Fandom is making me want to invest in an illustrated Silm or LOTR. I’d have bought the nice version of Sanderson’s Tress of the Emerald Sea if shipping costs weren’t so ridiculous, it’s gorgeous and I love it, but I really can’t justify a hundred-dollar price tag when I already own the ebook.

A book or series I wish more people knew about: Several recommendations, including Piranesi (gorgeous, fantastical writing, some of the most beautiful and creative fantasy I’ve read in a while), The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova (excellent vampire story, the only one I’ve seen that is as good as or better than the original Dracula, and plays off the original’s use of documents (diaries, letters, etc.) by having three histories nested within each other: the main character, her father in the ‘70s, and his thesis advisor in the ‘30s). If you enjoy the way The Historian is written even apart from the vampires, you will probably also love People of the Book by Geraldine Brooks, which tells the story of an old and precious book and the Jewish families who owned it through history, via the modern plot of a woman carrying out document analysis of it the book the context of the 1990s Yugoslavian wars. It is very, very good.

For non-fiction, some recs are:

The Civilizations of Africa: A History to 1800 by Christopher Ehret, the best textbook on pre-colonial African history I’ve found, extremely interesting

The Silk Roads by Peter Frankopan, a history through the lens of Eurasian connections (the parts between the fall of the Roman Empire and the later Middle Ages were especially interesting and novel - did you know Ethiopia invaded the Arabian peninsula? or that there was a Jewish (converted) state in Central Asia? or all kinds of stuff about the Zoroastrians?)

Paris 1919: Margaret MacMillan’s breakdown of the personalities involved in the Treaty of Versailles, and how their decisions set the stage for the rest of the 20th century; still a classic.

If you’re at all interested in Canadian history or in the Great Depression, and want to see how bad it can get in a country that didn’t have an FDR, Pierre Berton’s The Great Depression is a brilliant, passionate, and scathing text on that period in Canada, with a lot of idiots and brutes in power and some truly inspirational figures outside of power.

If you’re interested in US Reconstruction history, Capitol Men is a great book on the first Black members of Congress post-civil-war.

Book I'm reading now: Jurassic Park, Agrarian Socialism (about the rise of the Cooperative Commonwealth Federation, a socialist party that gave rise to the present-day social democratic NDP; I’ve gotten stalled, I need to finish this), Ovid’s Metamorphoses, History of Middle-earth vol 9 Sauron Defeated (I got it out of the library for the epilogue and I’ve read that, but I want to check out The Notion Club Papers before I return it), and just finished a reread of Mansfield Park.

Book that's been on my TBR list for a while but I still haven't got around to it: Shantaram; it’s a novel based on the author’s very eventful life.

Do you have any books in a language other than English: Have yes, have read, no. 😔 In various fits of ambition I’ve bought Les Miserables, The Hunchback of Notre-Dame and Journey to the Centre of the Earth in the original French, as well as a couple French-language histories, with the intent of using them to practice, and then my French is too weak and I just don’t stick to it. I’m only a few chapters i to any of them. Les Mis is too much for me to do more than try to enjoy a handful of passages in the original, but I really would like to finish Journey to the Centre of the Earth and one of the histories that interests me.

Paperback, hardcover, or ebook?

Mainly paperbook or ebook. I prefer reading paperbacks, it’s easier to focus and better for my eyes than ebooks (screentime is…most of my waking hours, it’s not good) and I find it more enjoyable, but ebooks have the benefit of convenience and being very fast to acquire; if I want to read a new release right away and the ebook is cheap, I’ll take it over the hardcover. I’ve only purchased 23 ebooks but have a huge stash of free ones from Project Gutenberg.

[seirclys]

Pearly Tears and Dragon Silk AU

I was reading this article on Chinese mermaids and got super inspired(I also rushed to Youtube for Onmyoji's cutscenes for ideas. Never played but the VISUALS)

So. In addition to all of the mythology that is associated with their global cousins, Chinese mermaids are said to have been excellent weavers, with their tears becoming pearls. The fabric they weave(called Dragon's silk) is as pale as frost and extremely silky and sheer, never becoming wet.

In the novel, Callisto mentioned how the jewel of Penelope's ring was called "Mermaid's Tears" and was the exact shade of Penelope's eyes, from legends in the West Gaspar Sea.

Perhaps Penelope's father lived near the ocean and sheltered her mother, who took on a human form briefly. From their whirlwind love came Penelope. Years later, Penelope and her mother escaped ashore, being hunted(perhaps by a rival pod?). Her mother brought her to the capital and sold the pearls that came from her tears, but soon grew very sick. She died far away from the sea.

This is where Penelope gets adopted. No one can understand her preference for pearls and emeralds the color of her eyes, and only those two(also coming from how SUOL-nim draws Penelope with so many pearl accessories) precious materials.

No one can understand her preference for clothes that exposed more skin than was appropriate for her age, but that did not matter. No one could understand her love for rain, and picnics by bodies of water.

No one, until one high-society event. Laila cultists attack, sealing the room as water floods the ballroom. The panicked nobles feel their air running out until they are suddenly deposited on wet floors, taking deep gulps of needed oxygen. Confused, they stare as a blur whips between the remaining nobles in the wall of water, no longer filling the room, kept behind by magic as the palace magicians arrive. More and more nobles are pulled to safety, though the blur doesn't slow down enough for anyone to make out who it is.

Callisto, on the far side of the room when the attack commences, sees a blurry shape appear in his peripheral vision. He feels slender, delicate arms wrap around him, deceptively strong as water rushes past his ears, and he is pulled to safety. He takes a deep breath, staring alongside the rest of the nobles.

The Mad Dog of Eckhart floats in the water, a pearlescent tail with hints of purple in place of her legs. Her magenta hair is half-twisted in an elaborate updo, decorated with pearls ranging from white to a deep crimson, as well as delicate gold filigree. Where her ears would be are delicate fins, decorated the same way as her hair. Delicate, gauzy white fabric covers her body, floating in the water as magenta tresses flow around her.

Her hands press through the water and swim through. Callisto instinctively moves to catch her, though that in itself is unnecessary. She lands with human legs and accepts his hand gracefully. Her pink nails, like her tail, gleam with a pearly sheen.

Callisto, of course, is nothing but a kind Prince for his subjects, and so sweeps her up in a bridal carry as they move over the shattered glass. There was no need to mar her soft, pretty pale legs with blood when she was decorated already in his colors.

Princess Eckhart's magenta hair falls against his shoulder and his eyes widen briefly in realization. The blurry memory of a campaign near the sea when he was 16, as skillful hands offer a bolt of pale fabric, unable to ever become wet and ridiculously strong. Those same hands reach up to his hair in wonder, pressing against his face. Callisto's injured hands shaky as he pulls a white ribbon from one shoulder and twists it in her magenta hair. The young mermaid's hands are gentle as she guides him in doing so.

Crimson eyes flick towards her hair to confirm his suspicions.

Even down to the place he had woven it in, the ends carefully mended. There was even that stupid button he had lost, twisted in amongst the rest of the gold filigree, stamped with the Regulus crest.

Callisto stifles a chuckle and leans down to press his lips against her ear, watching amusedly as the Eckhart men look pissed off. What a sight they must be to the nobles.

"We have a lot to catch up on, little nymph."

Deceptively innocent turquoise eyes stare up at lowered crimson.

[danthatartman]

Books I read in 2023

Heeeeeeeeey Tumblr, I'm alive! Warning for very long post.

Given how little I ended up drawing during the back half of the year, I want to do a different kind of summary to close out 2023. And, since I already posted my thoughts on almost every movie I watched on Letterboxd (https://letterboxd.com/NotThatCrypto in case you're interested), I wanted to share the books I read during the last 365 days.

For 2023, I wanted to read at least a book per month, with a secondary goal of reading two per month. I ended up with 16 total reads. Not quite two per month, but probably the most I've ever read in terms of different books in a year (If we don't count that time I got obsessed with fanfics and read what must have been the equivalent of 20 novels in like five months a few years ago.)

Anyways, let's get started.

1: Tress of The Emerald Sea by Brandon Sanderson

Sanderson is my favorite writer, and this year he and his team delivered the Year of Sanderson kickstarter, which ended up including 4 novels he wrote in secret during the pandemic. Tress is the first of these novels.

I found this to be a delightful story. Sanderson really flexed his style muscles for this book. It's probably his most beautiful in terms of prose and rhetorical figure usage. You can really tell he wanted to make a novel *for* his wife.

It gave me the vibes of older fantasy tales, while still retaining much of what I love about the Cosmere and Brandon's books in general. I do wish some things were a little more unpredictable, as the twists were a bit too clear right from the very early chapters, and would have liked to be more surprised. I'd probably rank it among my top 5 fave books by him, specific spot undecided.

4.75 stars out of 5

2: I'm Not Mr. Monster by Dan Wells

I started reading the John Cleaver trilogy last year, this is book 2. On the one hand, I think I preferred the atmosphere and pacing from the first one. On the other hand, Wells managed to dive so much deeper into John's psyche here, and that really carries the whole book. There's also some concepts that I felt could have been expanded more upon, but guessed that would be done in the last book (We'll get to it later) Overall, some improvements over the first, and some things that felt weaker to me.

3.75 stars out of 5

3: Queer: A Graphic History by Meg John Barker and Julia Scheele

Read this because I was dealing with some personal stuff earlier in the year. It's a graphic novel that details some of the more theorical and philosophical aspects to queerness and sexuality throughout the years. Found it to be really well explained but at the same time, brief. It serves as a really good jumping-off point to get into the subject, which I want to do in the future. Scheele's illustrations are awesome and really help to highlight and simplify the most important information.

4 stars out of 5

4, 5 & 6: Percy Jackson and The Titan's Curse, Percy Jackson and The Battle of the Labyrinth, and Percy Jackson and The Last Olympian by Rick Riordan

Like with the John Cleaver series, I started reading Percy Jackson last year, after a friend of mine really recommended it, and wanted to read them before the show premiered. I read these in succession, so I'll list them together.

Titan's Curse was really good, probably the most emotionally complex Percy Jackson book, and I'd probably rank it second or third amongst the five.

Battle of The Labyrinth is probably my least favorite from the whole series, as it felt repetitive and at times like it dragged on for too long.

Last Olympian however, was super enjoyable for me, even though it did also repeat some actions sequences in terms of structure. Would rank it highly as well.

As a whole, I found the Percy Jackson series to be a blast, and it scratched my greek fascination itch. Percy is a really well realized character, and I adored reading from his perspective.

I do wish I had read these books a bit younger though, as I obviously encountered some stuff that left me wanting more as a result of the target audience. Not at all faults of the books, but good to point out.

Titan's Curse: 4.5 stars out of 5

BotL: 3.5 stars out of 5

The Last Olympian: 4.25 stars out of 5

7: The Binding by Bridget Collins

One of my most dissapointing reads. Its characters never clicked for me, and I found the book to be too tropey and like it didn't do enough with the premise or its magic system. It left me feeling frustrated, especially after I'd heard some really fantastic things about it.

I will award some points for the writing style though. It was very beautiful, and was what made me power through, other than my curiosity.

2 stars out of 5

8: The Midnight Library by Matt Haig

While I think it is quite easy to see where the story is going right from the start, I think the journey to get there is super compelling. I like Haig's style, and only wish this one had been slightly longer so it could dive more deeply into each of the protagonist's possible lives. Some really cool imagery too.

Enjoyed it, and want something similar that explores the things that this one didn't.

3.5 stars out of 5

9: The Alpha's Son by Penny Jessup

Cool queer love story that also happens to involve werewolves. I honestly think the shapeshifter aspect of the story is undercooked. The relationship between the two main characters is interesting but I also think sometimes it develops too quickly.

Action is definitely not this book's strong suit, and given how much the third act focuses on it, it feels a little underwhelming. However, the style and characters are good enough that I am interested in reading the sequel, which came out a few weeks ago.

3 stars out of 5

10: The Frugal Wizard's Guide to Surviving Medieval England by Brandon Sanderson

Back to Sanderson. Book two of The Year of Sanderson was an incredibly dissapointing one for me. I think this is the book of Sanderson's that I've liked the least. The humor never clicked, and I found the protagonist to be quite unlikeable. The illustrations for this one felt very disconnected from what I was reading too. Sefawynn was really cool though, best part of the book. The writing felt too dry, and while the tech seemed interesting at first, at the end I felt there was a more compelling story to be told with it.

2 stars out of 5

11: The Werewolf's Guide to Life by Bob Powers & Ritch Duncan

Funny that I read two books with "Guide" in the title right after the other. Read this as research for some personal stuff. Really cool book, written as if werewolves were real, basically functioning as lore and instructions if you were to turn into one. No real story here, other than the few examples of "real life cases" they share. Fun writing style, with interesting ideas about the genre.

4 stars out of 5

12: Yumi and The Nightmare Painter by Brandon Sanderson

Third year of Sanderson book, and back to the Cosmere. I adored this one. I think Sanderson wears his influences on his sleeve a bit too much here, but that also made me love the book all the more.

Both Yumi and Painter are extremely interesting as characters. I also think Sanderson really captured the feeling of mystery with the worldbuilding and plot that his best works do. The imagery it sprung to my head was really beatiful, and the gorgeous illustrations by Aliya Chen are breathtaking.

Uses a bunch of really evocative and interesting concepts, and in superb ways. I do wish some of the secondary characters were more fleshed out, and I feel like the ending is a bit too tidy.

This is a story I really wish there was more of, but Sanderson has said he has no plans to revisit these specific characters. I hope at least the world is explored further, cause that was such a great setting. Had a blast with Yumi. So glad Brandon got so much better at writing romance with this and Tress.

4.5 stars out of 5

13: This is How You Lose The Time War by Amal El-Mohtar & Max Gladstone

Okay, this one was very interesting. I'd heard about it before it blew up on socials, but I have to admit that that was what made me dip into it.

While I liked a lot of the concepts and the general structure of the book, I was not a fan of the authors' writing styles. They just moved too quick, and I felt they spent too much time describing certain aspects when others drew my attention more.

Red and Blue's relationship doesn't feel organic to me, and given that it is the main driving force of the story, I found it disappointing. I also found some descriptions to be more confusing than poetic.

While in concept this is a mighty interesting read, I think some things fall apart when put in practice.

3.5 stars out of 5

14: I Don't Want to Kill You by Dan Wells

Finale of the John Cleaver trilogy.

I feel like it starts off a lot stronger than how it ends, but still really liked it. I think I prefer it to the second one as well, but can't help but feel that it didn't manage to recapture a lot of the powerful ambiance of the first installment.

Well's prose also read much sharper and refined here, and John is a fully realized character. It's very uncomfortable to be in his mind, and yet I couldn't help but keep going.

Glad there is more after this, as I do think that these characters and world can be explored further. Excited to see where it goes. Also very curious to read more of Dan's work, as his way of thinking interests me a lot as it is so different from mine.

4 stars out of 5

15: Fantastic Mr. Fox by Roald Dahl

Quick read that my students (a whole different story for another day) chose for their reading assignments so that they could practice their English. I adore the movie and was excited to read the source material along with them.

Really liked it! We read a lovely illustrated edition. The story's scope feels just the right size, and Dahl's writing style is a real blast. I do think the last two or three chapters are too quick, and would have liked to see a stronger conclusion to the story.

4 stars out of 5

16: The Sunlit Man by Brandon Sanderson

Final year of Sanderson book, and also final book I finished this year. Appropriate that it's number 16.

This book has me a bit conflicted. Sanderson jumping so far into the future of the timeline, but doing so with a character we are very familiar with feels risky to me. I think it reveals a lot of things that changed my expectations for Stormlight.

As for the story itself, the book takes a bit to get started. It's first act felt a little frustrating to me. That really seemed to change once the second act started. It's a lot more engaging and exciting. Sunlit is the most standard Sanderson novel out of all the secret projects. That's not a bad thing necesarilly, but I do think the other two Cosmere focused ones felt a lot more exciting and innovative as a result.

Nomad as a character felt a bit muddy. It almost felt like reading three people at once, something that sometimes happens to Sanderson when characters are viewed through other POV's, except this time it happened within Nomad's own. Auxiliary rules though.

Worldbuilding is probably the best and most enticing part of Sunlit. I also think the ending was very cool and I really wanted to continue even after the end.

3.75 stars out of 5

And that's it!

I read a lot of Sanderson this year, but I also managed to read a bunch of books that had been on my TBR for a long time. I was excited to delve into some genres I'd not read much of before. I'm also glad to have read books that might have not been my cup of tea, that always helps to make better sense of my tastes and to train my skills too.

As for next year, I *might* continue reading more of Riordan's work, as well as checking out what's next for John Cleaver, BUT I want to go back to The Wheel of Time first, I'll probably dedicate January and February to that.

I want to get into some more epic fantasy series, so First Law, Farseer, and Malazan are all on my radar, but I will probably choose only two of those. Discworld has also been popping into my head recently, doubt I'll dive too deep into it for now though. Might keep going with Gentleman Bastards too, I love Lies of Locke Lamora.

I want to read more sci-fi as well, been thinking of going for The Expanse or Murderbot.

Wind and Truth comes out in December, so I want to read as much non-Sanderson before then, we'll see how it goes.

I'm going to try to reach the 2 books a month mark, but won't make any promises, as a lot of things are in flux in life right now.

I am open to suggestions for books if anyone has any! Would love to hear ya'll's thoughts on that and the post in general. xoxo!

[asexualbookbird]

3, 12, 16, 18, and 25, plz 👀

3. What were your top five books of the year?

NETTLE & BONE ACROSS THE BOARD!!!!

honorary mentions go to A Spindle Splintered, The Untethered Sky, Provenance, and Where the Drowned Girls Go

(this does not include rereads)

12. Any books that disappointed you?

lol. lmao, even. Priory, Throne of Jade, In the Lives of Puppets, I don't think it's fair to include Fourth Wing or Tress because I didn't go into those expecting to love them. I knew Fourth Wing would be hit or miss (and honestly. It's Fine™️. It's whatever. It just could've been so much better.) and I was not ready to read Brando Sandwich again so that's on me! I should have skipped that book club! But I ADORED the first Temeraire book, so Throne of Jade being what it was was a huge let down.

16. What is the most over-hyped book you read this year?

Fourth Wing lol Also Tress of the Emerald Sea but that's cheating because I think Mr Sandwich is just overhyped in general :x But UGH I had so many irl friends saying OMG READ FOURTH WING IT'S SO GOOD and it just. Wasn't. It could've been so much better, we could have had it all, and instead we got World Destroying Sex and Not Enough Dragons.

18. How many books did you buy?

You're just asking this because you're on your way to buying 100 books this year aren't you. I don't actually know, I wasn't keeping track. At least ten though! I might keep track next year lol

25. What reading goals do you have for next year?

Answered here! But I'm adding Keeping Track of Acquisitions as well lol

Ask game!

[inkofamethyst]

December 23, 2023

November/December is kind of screwing me up a little because money anxiety (which I feel like I'm definitely exhibiting signs of) makes me want to maintain consistently high saving levels each month, including my "bonus savings" at the end of every month. By most/all accounts, I'm literally doing fine when you consider my age and the fact that I'm in graduate school. I need to write this out to remind myself that not having "bonus savings" at the end of this month does not mean I did not save anything for this month. This should be obvious, but alas. I do all of my monthly saving (for all goals) at the beginning of the month and have consistently (even this month !!!) allocated a relatively big chunk toward my brand new Roth to get it off the ground. So it's okay that gifting has limited the amount leftover for "bonus savings" because I'm still very much on track to reach my goals before the mostly arbitrary deadlines I set for myself.

God, sometimes the overachiever energy is just too much. It feels like.. like a cavity. Like how too much sugar without proper cleaning will lead to a cavity and potential infection, maintaining overachiverness without regular reminders of how I'm doing in reality will lead to that awful "never good enough" feeling because I keep raising an arbitrary bar to keep it ever out of reach to maintain the sense of a "challenge".

So, to reiterate, it is fine and okay to not have much in the manner of bonus savings, as long as I 1. saved at the beginning of the month and 2. did not actually spend more than I earned that month (emergencies and planned purchases excluded).

[edit: I'm also ever thankful for familial help financially actually because it's only due to their assistance that I've been able to save so aggressively these past few months without ever worrying whether I was going to be able to buy food or something (campus events with free food are also helpful). I mean I still clip coupons and watch for sales but if I want to be a little frivolous and buy frozen dumplings or something I still can, you know? I mean yes, sure, I could probably still get by without their help on my stipend, but the fact that I have help means that it may not be a totally financially ruinous decision (in a year or so, I'm sure, I will have settled into a comfortable routine and will not be as nervously obsessive over all of this, but what am I if not a bundle of obsessive nerves).]

Today I'm thankful that the discord chat gathering I hosted yesterday went really well!!! I haven't hosted anything big at my house in eight years and of those who came (all seven of us in the same place for the first time since 2019--four years!!) only my dnd-friend had actually been in my house before lol. I was lowkey anxious about hosting but my parents helped me set up a lot so I'm thankful for that too. We had a potluck which was lovely and we chatted and played games and it was just nice to see everyone again without having to work around a time zone spread of eight hours (though that's going to last for at least a couple more years). (Also thankful that the two dishes I tried for the first time went really well! Love adding new foods to the arsenal.)

Working on mini twists, should all be done tonight or tomorrow. It'll be nice to have them back in but the shrinkage is still crazyyyyy. Like my hair is def mid back length (though in need of a trim) but if I let it be after washing then it looks like it's three inches, and even with twists in it barely reaches my neck. I want a silk press so baddd. May have to add another savings goal for a $200 silk press at a salon somewhere near my school :/ UGH but I haven't been to a salon in like ten years and I'm so dreadfully tenderheaded. But I need to find someone to trim my ends.

Last thing: started reading Tress of the Emerald Sea by Brandon Sanderson and it's very.. quaint, so far, I'd say. The narration is very storybook-y which can be fun to read though wasn't quite what I was expecting (but some lines are just so silly and out of the box that they put a smile on my face, and I love somatic reactions to media so much). I'm about a third of the way through after three days, so going steadily. Getting faster lol.

Actual last thing: Superman TAS is fun and interesting, but the music doesn't feel quite as special as BTAS. Like it's fine, it's heroic in the ways that it should be. I do like the animation a lot though, and maybe that's just the nostalgia haha it can be a lil visibly jerky sometimes :P

[hello-jumping-in-puddles]

mid-year book freak out tag

tagged by @bloody-wonder, thank you!

1. Best Book You’ve Read So Far in 2023? 

Deathless by Catherynne M. Valente. i dont even know what to say. i want to sit raptly while someone smarter than me explains all the history and symbolism in this book that i missed. haunting.

2. Best Sequel You’ve Read So Far in 2023? 

partially just because i've read few sequels this year, The Golden Enclaves by Naomi Novik wins. I maintain that Orion is boring as hell after book 1 and I don't care about him but the rest of the book? Delicious. El is so snarky and dark. Ooooh im an evil witch princess im so scary my friends have to hold me back from committing evil (devotes her life to protecting other people) (refuses to live in an enclave because it feels like cheating) (shows up whenever people ask for help even if they suck). also the reveal with the mawmouths was just. such fucking 10/10 writing. the punch of understanding. the way the text gives the reader space to figure it out themself and just go HOLY SHIT.

3. New Release You Haven’t Read Yet, But Want To?

Camp Damascus by Chuck Tingle. I have it downloaded. I am ready.

4. Most Anticipated Release For Second Half of 2023? 

I have no idea. I just find books when I find them, y'know?

5. Biggest Disappointment?

ironically, the sequel to question 6, The Return of Fitzroy Angursell by Victoria Goddard. after a book which is about a guy whose whole thing is "really good civil servant" this book was just...not what i wanted. it was about a classic singing robin hood style hero who is charming and cool and magical and does adventures and maybe otherwise i would have enjoyed it but how can i read a book set in the world of my favourite bureaucrat Kip and not read about bureaucracy??? only book so far this year i just straight up didnt finish. also, you can only tell the same vague story about how kip made a joke that one time without actually telling the joke before it stops being "backstory" and starts being "the author never actually figured out what the joke was".

6. Biggest Surprise?

The Hands of the Emperor by Victoria Goddard. absolutely bizarre book. there is no real plot other than the emperor preparing for retirement. the first three hundred pages the emperor just. goes on vacation?? i was expecting political intrigue but the political intrigue is 90% just "the rich guys dont like it but our guy, Kip the bureaucrat, is the emperors specialist guy and also extremely stubborn so everyone has to go alone with UBI". the biggest conflict is literally just interpersonal miscommunication but good. i was so hooked it was ridiculous. where did the heterosexuality come from i am perplexed

7. Favorite New Author?

i was about to say catherynne m valente but i actually cant claim that because now i looked her up and ive read other work by her! she did The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making and sequels which were extremely delightful also. so this one goes to Victoria Goddard on the basis of i have apparently read a lot of authors i already know this year

8. Newest Favorite Character?

Cliopher (Kip) Mdang my beloved

9. Newest Fictional Crush?

¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

💕Best Ship💕

¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

okay i guess maybe kip + the emperor? or maybe el + liesel because i was surprisingly a big fan of liesel by the end. though maybe thats just me wanted el to be with someone more interesting than orion.

10. Book That Made You Cry?

i can't actually remember if i cried but Driftwood by Marie Brennan was quite haunting and beautiful and bittersweet

11. Book That Made You Happy? 

Tress of the Emerald Sea by Brandon Sanderson. now, all brandon sandersons are at least 30% power of friendship by weight but i really do appreciate that this one was like "yeah no we're saying that part out loud. people are heros because they love their friends anything else is just set dressing"

12. Favorite Book Adaptation You Saw This Year?

i...dont think ive watched any book adaptations this year

13. Favorite Review You’ve Written This Year?

don't write 'em, so n/a

14. Most Beautiful Cover?

im going to say Deathless tho i think i am biased because the book hypnotised me

15. What Books Do You Need To Read By The End of The Year?

so many. Ancillary Justice. I also really should read Nona the Ninth but book 2 was so...eugh. i ravenously devoured a bunch of Pratchett's last month and i am waiting on several more from the library. apparently theres a new murderbot out soon? i should check that out.

tagging @a-fish-bee, @foxsoulcourt if you want to do this one :)

[thebestestbat]

what's your favorite book you've read recently? i need something new and you always seem to find interesting stuff :)

the last book i read was Let The Right One In by John Ajvide Lindqvist and i really, really liked it. the child characters acted their age, the writing was good, and it told a heartwarming story about abused and bullied kids finding friendship and love in each other. and spoiler but theyre gay you have to wait but it's very clear after its revealed. Additionally though, there are really graphic scenes of child sexual abuse, bullying, child death, general body horror, etc. it is a horror book

for another vibe, i also read Tress in the Emerald Sea by Brandon Sanderson and look. the first like 90% of the book i was like "yeah yeah ok. whatever. this is boring high fantasy but fine but whatever." the last 10% did make me cry. its just kinda cute and nice, light stuff. would be rated PG as a movie. the main character is morally conflicted about lying.

going back even further to books ive read this year, my favorite book so far this year is Serious Weakness by Porpentine Charity Heartscape. in my notes i called it "sexy school shooter noncon yaoi with gore". i feel like that is a great endorsement for the people who will enjoy the book most, but also it sells short all of the things i really really enjoyed about it. it's written so well. the characters are so good. the bonus stories are amazing.

[magicalforcesau]

Dancing With Ghosts in Your Garden~ Chapter 22 - Year 2: June

(ao3 link)

Qui-Gon Jinn’s funeral had been a somber affair populated by an extraordinary assortment of people that hastily filled the simple wooden seats that decorated the field just beside Hogwarts. Most of whom, Obi-Wan Kenobi found he did not know, but each seemed set on honoring the man who lay peacefully at the hearth of the pyre that had yet to burn. It had been his wish to be buried at Hogwarts, where he dedicated himself entirely and touched so many lives in the process. Obi-Wan wasn’t surprised to realize this, but it made it harder to forgive himself as his other professors insisted he must. He couldn’t help but feel that he had failed all of these strangers, who did nothing to warrant losing such a renowned wizard before his time.

Of course, he was also surrounded by those he knew. His parents weren’t in attendance, but most affluent families of the pureblood community weren’t. He hadn’t even bothered to tell them he was going, though surely they’d learn soon enough since mortality was not enough to ward off the influence of the press. He found he did not care either way.

Anakin sat to his left and Satine to his right with Cody and his whole line of brothers on her other side. Her hand had never left his, serving the necessary purpose of grounding him during the ceremony. Otherwise, he wasn’t positive he’d stay lucid during the various speeches commemorating Qui-Gon and that only would have been another stab of guilt for him to resurrect later.

There was not a dry eye in sight for each professor’s traditional tribute to their fallen colleague and friend, save for Obi-Wan and the daze he found himself trapped in. Professor Ti went on about his caring and inquisitive nature through his rants about muggle objects, while Professor Sifo Dyas rambled about a time Qui-Gon had saved him from the Whomping Willow. Professor Plo reminisced about their shared love of tea and Professor Palpatine on his determination and wit to finish crossword puzzles. Professor Windu’s had been surprisingly warm and heartfelt despite his typical tendency to disagree with Qui-Gon on a daily basis. It seemed, in the end, that's why they got along so well. They accepted their misgivings and their differences.

It was a tranquil first day of June- neither too hot nor chilly with its wide display of clear sky that met somewhere in the middle with the black lake to create one expanse of blue in the center of the horizon. The emerald grass that stretched over the hills like a snug blanket coupled with the soft chirping of birds in the distance made for it to all be picturesque at face value. It all felt balanced.

Headmaster Yoda, who was welcomed back almost immediately by demand of the entire staff and student body, stood with a lit torch at hand that even from his row, Obi-Wan could see the deep sadness that reflected in his eyes as he stared at the flickering flames.

“Student, colleague, friend of mine… Qui-Gon Jinn was.” Yoda’s deep brogue seemed to rumble in his little green chest more than usual as his words seemed caught in his throat. His long ears dipped down as he cast his eyes across the sea of people who sat with bated breath over what the Headmaster would say in tribute of the man that still lay untouched by anything except the sun. “Miss him, I will.”

Everyone could resonate with that.

“But gone, he is not.” He said finally, “Lives, his spirit and message do. In all of us, we must find him. In class, at home, in our hearts. Never far do the dead go, not when they leave so many of us behind. Sad, we will be, for a space there is left.”

Everyone’s attention was directed to the ceremonial empty golden chair that was positioned at the front of the field next to Mace Windu, Shaak Ti, and Sheev Palpatine.

“Fight til the end, he did, and do the same we must, every day. In class, at home, in our hearts. Fight to maintain and sustain the light he cast, we must.” He raised the tip of the torch to the wood at the edge of the pyre and quickly, it was engulfed in flames, “Burn, the fire and spirit of his life will for all of eternity. Keep us warm, it will, as well as guide us in times of darkness that lie ahead.”

Without any choreography indicating otherwise, Mace Windu stood to his feet and raised his wand, casting a small white glow at the tip. As if sensing the need to highlight such a gesture, a singular cloud hovered over the bright sun that would otherwise drown out any other light. The other two Heads of House followed suit as well as Yoda in tow. The audience, with a domino effect, each individually raised their wands triumphantly.

Obi-Wan felt a tug on the sleeve of his other arm and looked down to meet the glassy eyes of Anakin Skywalker.

“What happens to me now?” He asked quietly, hardly above the wisp of wind that fluttered across the grassland.

“You will still become a wizard, I swear.” Obi-Wan said with more sincerity than he likely had any right giving, “I’ll look out for you.”

While it wasn’t an answer on where he would be at the official close of the school year, it seemed to placate him enough to silence any further questions for the time being. This was just as well to Obi-Wan, who was content with the agonizing silence that had come over the crowd and allowed him not to face anymore people that he’d failed.

He did his best to beat the crowd back to the castle, even slipping from Satine and Cody, who were talking to Cody’s older brothers. While he liked the presence of the Fett’s, Obi-Wan was not in the mood to entertain.

In his aimless grief, he’d wound up at Qui-Gon’s office, which was poignant to say the least. As he ran a hand across his desk and glanced up at the array of books that filled the shelf across from him, he absently wondered how often he’d come here when he felt he was drowning too deeply in his own thoughts. How often had the man, who now had his own commemorative portrait near the Great Hall, saved him from himself? And what would he say now?

No answer from Obi-Wan would be sufficient, so he left the internal thought untouched and opted to sift through the book that still sat open on his desk. He promised himself he’d leave it just as he found it in some convoluted attempt at preserving his final quiet moments, but was curious what he’d been reading.

It was a yearbook from while Qui-Gon was at school. The page had been opened to a bunch of class pictures, which true to form with anything in their community, the pictures were moving. Most concerning, was that Maul was on this page, bearing all of his teeth during his photograph in a way that a canine might exert dominance. It probably should have been jarring to see a picture of the man he’d murdered in defense of Obi-Wan’s de facto father figure, but all Obi-Wan could feel was an unsteady sadness.

Qui-Gon would not want him to feel hate or hold a grudge. Maul was gone and wouldn’t hurt anyone ever again and that was the point Qui-Gon would fixate on.

If everything was supposed to be balanced, why did Obi-Wan feel so unsteady?

“I should have known I’d find you here.” Satine’s voice instantly interrupted his thoughts.

He tried to manage a shrug, “Just catching up on some light reading.”

As she practically glided across the floor towards him, Obi-Wan admired her, even in his dismal state, and how put together she always managed to look. She, like him and most others, wore all black. In her case, a long sleeve black skater-dress with matching floral stockings and shiny flat shoes. Her hair was half-up and half-down in long blonde tresses that curled in sweet waves down the length of her back. He wasn’t sure if it was the contrast from the darkness of her outfit or the fact that she’d been crying earlier, but her eyes had never looked so piercingly blue before this moment.

She rested a hand on the back of the chair at which he sat and peered over his shoulder. He could feel her tense beside him, but could do nothing to offer any real condolence other than a shared look of sympathy.

“It was sitting open on his desk.” He answered her silent question, “Do you think they knew each other? Beyond what he’s said in the past, that is.”

“If he was searching for answers in a yearbook, I find it doubtful that it was a close bond.” She said and lifted the book to catch the year, “Qui-Gon was only a second year when Maul was in sixth.”

That was the same age gap between Obi-Wan and Anakin. Unsure why that thought floored him so, Obi-Wan forced himself to remain focused on the facts at hand.

“This is the year Maul killed that girl.”

“The only minor to ever be convicted of first-degree murder in the history of the Wizengamot.” She said quietly and while he first thought he was just hearing things, he couldn’t help but notice how her voice caught on convicted as if there were others gone untouched by the trenches of history. Maybe there had been, but the sullen look on her face as she stared down at the young picture of Qui-Gon distracted him once again. He certainly didn’t see it fit to remind her that Maul hadn’t actually been caught and tossed away until years after he was convicted.

“We always used to come here for answers.” She said and she leaned on the edge of the desk, taking in the entirety of the classroom as though for the last time, “And often left with more questions. I suppose it’s only right this mystery not be completely put to bed.”

“And you’re alright with that?” He asked, unsure if he was asking for himself or for her.

She breathed out a sigh, “What choice do we have on the matter?”

She had a point. It wouldn’t change anything. The heaviness in Obi-Wan’s chest felt nearly unbearable for that moment, but he sucked in a breath and walked around the desk to join her. They sat so close they were nearly touching, but not quite. In a way, he never felt farther from her.

“Qui-Gon always said that a curious mind was a happy one.” He pointed out.

“But we must be careful which avenue we point our questions,” She countered without a trace of bite to her tone, “And decide when it’s wisest to ask them. Or if it’s wise at all.”

“If we do everything with the intent of being wise, then that negates all wisdom.” He debated and similar to her, lacked any momentum.

“But at some point,” Satine turned to look at him, “You need to ask yourself if you’re searching or deflecting.”

“That’s not something Qui-Gon ever said.” He whispered, simultaneously afraid to continue staring at her and to look away.

“No, but perhaps he needed to.” She said just as quietly and considered him under a scrutiny that instinctively made him shift, “You haven’t even cried since it happened.”

“I’m not much for crying.” And even as he said it, he knew he sounded like a cardboard cutout of a person rather than his true self.

“Well nobody likes crying, Ben.” She shook her head, “But mourning loss is a necessary part of life. It’s not healthy to bottle everything up inside.”

Obi-Wan could think of a floor-length list of emotions that have been welled up inside him for quite some time- some good and some bad, but all gone unexplored beyond what crept into his dreams at night.

“I know.” He said stiffly and diverted his attention to the floor, “But I’ve got bigger things to worry about than my feelings right now, Satine. Anakin is essentially homeless now since they’ve still yet to find his mother.”

“I heard the promise you made him.” She said.

“And I intend to keep it!” He asserted harshly, standing to his feet and putting some distance between them, “I promised Qui-Gon.”

“What?” She asked, sliding off the desk, but staying in place.

“After the Maul fight,” He breathed in, trying to ground himself from trembling at the thought of the memory, “His dying words were that I promise to look after Anakin. That he will save us all!”

Though his vision was becoming slightly blurry as he regarded Satine, the overwhelming sadness in her eyes as she stared at him openly without barring any of her feelings was what made him feel suddenly as though he’d been shoved underwater.

“I’m not sure who that puts more pressure on.” She said hoarsely, “You or Anakin.”

“You can’t tell Anakin this.” He said, “He’s got enough on his plate.”

“Yeah, he’s not the only one.” She admonished and stepped across the room to stand before him. Even if he wanted to back away from her, he knew he couldn’t.

“I’m fine.” He said softly, if only to appease the worry that worked its way between her brow.

“No you’re not.” She insisted as she drew closer, “And nobody expects you to be.”

“I have to.” He croaked, “Anakin-”

“-Needs you, I know.” She said, but although she admitted what he had previously insisted, he knew it never came without a caveat, “But you need people too, because you lost someone very dear to you.”

He opened his mouth and closed it, but found he didn’t really want to reject what she was saying, not when her tentative hands reached up and pulled him into a hug that felt like coming home. Or at least, what he imagined that was supposed to feel like.

He rested his chin on her shoulder as the embrace continued and released a sigh as he finally put to words what troubled him most, “I feel like I failed him.”

“I know.” It wasn’t dismissive in the slightest either, but as though she truly had known all along that this was what raked his mind at the late hours of the night since the moment his former mentor fell before him. It was because of how resolute she sounded that he started to believe her when she said, “You didn’t.”

After a long beat of just floating like that, he finally pulled back to look at her. Her arms were still hung over his shoulders and the gaze she fixed him with was still of concern, but it no longer felt like an intrusion. It just felt natural.

“Thank you.” He said a bit awkwardly, because what else did one say in this instance?

She smoothed out his suit whether he needed it or not and loosened his tie a bit, “That’s what friends are for.”

For a brief second, he remembered what he wanted to tell her before and the slight escape of emotional vulnerability was almost enough to send it soaring out of him. However, the remorse that still clung to them in this room felt like the wrong place and the wrong time for such a confession. Nothing like that should be tinged with sadness.

One way or another, they silently ended up sitting next to each other on Qui-Gon’s desk again, this time with legs touching. His remained still while hers swung forwards and backwards.

He took her hand gently, stirring her from her own heavy thoughts, “Headmaster Yoda asked that I help sort through some of Qui-Gon’s stuff. Closure and all that.”

She sniffed, but didn’t quite give way to any tears, “That’s a lot just for one person.”

“I’d be open to a little help.” He said, hoping she would take the bait.

She did, “Someone has to keep you from breaking everything.”

He scoffed, “That was one time.”

“And he never knew.” She said.

“Oh, he definitely knew.” He snorted, “Knowing him, he always knew.”

Qui-Gon Jinn knew a lot about many things and had passed on as much knowledge as time allotted to the very fortunate Obi-Wan Kenobi. Every silly and simple trinket seemed to evoke some piece of wisdom from the deceased wizard, but one that seemed louder than the rest came when Obi-Wan’s eyes drifted to a sprig of mistletoe that was held under a glass display- enchanted to never wither.

“You need to live your life.”

Satine leaned her head on his shoulder, “I’m going to miss quarreling with you in this office.”

He chuckled, “Something tells me the next professor in here won’t be quite as accepting of our constant intrusions.”

“We’ll have to find another space to rip each other apart,” She sighed wistfully, “The next professor has big shoes to fill.”

“Yeah,” He snorted, “Literally and metaphorically.”

“I’ll miss him.”

He nodded against her head, “Me too.”

“There you lot are!” Cody’s voice echoed abruptly through the corridor, startling both Obi-Wan and Satine away from each other in earnest. Off of this reaction, their friend grinned wryly. “I just came to tell you the food is out! I’ve never seen such a spread before in my life.”

“Thank you, Cody.” Obi-Wan chuckled and it actually felt legitimate for the first time in days, “What ever would we do without you?”

“Get into more trouble, I’m guessing.” He said, but his features softened a bit as he looked at the two of them, “Everything alright?”

Satine smiled lightly and tugged Obi-Wan by the hand out the door, which was for the best, seeing as he would never leave without her gentle prodding, and linked her other hand with Cody’s. “We will be.”

And that was an answer Obi-Wan could deal with. He only looked back once at Qui-Gon’s now vacant office, but settled his stare straight ahead and allowed himself to sink into the idle and comforting chatter that his friends naturally engaged in. He felt Satine squeeze his hand as they approached the Great Hall, as though silently asking if he was ready to face the masses and he returned the gesture in kind.

The rest of his life started today.

***

Anakin was told on numerous occasions by countless individuals that it would do him some good- being outside and enjoying the fresh air. Objectively, it was a gorgeous and quiet day, but any of its beauty was lost on Anakin as he pondered the growing uncertainty of his future. First, it had been his mom and his entire world had been shaken. The only pieces that had been slid into place was that he was to continue attending school at Hogwarts thanks to Qui-Gon. However, with no one to care for him and a strict policy against allowing students to stay for the summer, even that was laid to dust as well as someone who became important to Anakin in a short period of time.

He kicked a stray pebble as he walked the courtyard. It felt strange to linger around the grounds of the school without fear or risk. In a sense, it felt like the entire year was lost to Maul. And worst of all, he never did get the closure he desired on the whereabouts of his mother.

He tightened a fist and stared at the horizon. Repairs for the exterior to Hogwarts were still ongoing after Qui-Gon’s funeral. The bridge at which Maul fell was still sectioned off as it was deemed unstable and still being used for the purpose of investigations. No one tried to walk it anyway. The canyon beneath was already developing rumors of being haunted since a body had yet to be recovered.

Anakin was beginning to understand that no scary story could be worse than what he was living. Obi-Wan was, of course, hovering like he feared Anakin would go throw himself off the tip of the castle and dance around the topic that lingered above them. He’d made a promise to ensure Anakin would be a wizard and continue going to Hogwarts- a promise that Anakin knew he had no business making, but still held onto. What other hope did he have, after?

The kids who he believed were once his friends and then turned on him- Ferus Olin and Jax Pavan to name a couple- now looked at him with such pity that they didn’t even warrant him safe for teasing. Even Sebulba was laying off of him!

And it was more infuriating than anything else. He just wanted something to be mad at, to lash this growing fury that was rising in his throat like bile. He wanted someone to blame and he didn’t even have a clear answer to that. He’d seen Maul enter his house, but his mother had already been gone. Whatever disaster he caused had been after she left.

He shivered.

No, that wasn’t right. Taken. She would never leave Anakin willingly, even if someone wanted him to believe that.  Maul had no reason to lie about taking his mother, not when he so freely killed two of Anakin’s professors and wanted to do the same to him. That left Dooku, essentially, as people who wanted Anakin to suffer. The slimy former professor operated almost purely in deceit and would surely love for Maul to take a fall for his crimes. He’d been training Ventress on how to sneak attack Anakin all year and thankfully, she was terrible at her job or else it might have worked.

He’d let it get into his head that as the Chosen One, he was unstoppable and maybe that was true to a degree, but all it seemed to do was mow down the people he loved. But then, when he tried to go at it alone, people still suffered. Was this not escapable?

He toyed with the necklace still in the pockets of his robes. Did anything he did make a difference? Or was Qui-Gon right about being at will of the fates? It was an awful lot for a 12 year old to take, though he realized with disarming clarity that he was to be 13 in only two weeks’ time. It would be the first year he’d have no one to celebrate with.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting,” A pacifying voice disturbed his increasingly dark line of thoughts and he was relieved to turn and see Professor Palpatine’s kind eyes looking down at him.

“No, I was just thinking,” He shrugged, “I don’t mind a break.”

He knew under more pleasant circumstances, one of his friends would make a joke about how he usually was on vacation from thinking, but the unspoken jest fell flat. Palpatine gathered the front of his robes as he took a seat on the nearby ledge and patted the spot next to him for Anakin to follow suit.

“I wanted to apologize if it’s felt like I’ve distanced myself from you during such a difficult time. I wanted to offer you the time to properly mourn,” He said and then fixed him with a look that Anakin had grown familiar with over the past semester, “I understand you and Qui-Gon were quite close.”

“Yeah,” Anakin said.

“And it is to my understanding that you haven’t been very vocal with the mind healers that Headmaster Yoda has set you up with.”

No, he hadn’t been. He didn’t even know those people! How was he supposed to bear his heart and soul over losing two very important people in his life? How was he supposed to reconcile that with strangers? Moreover, they would surely judge him for the creeping eeriness that lingered at the perimeter of his heart.

“They wouldn’t understand.” He said, not caring for a moment how helpless that made him sound, “Obi-Wan can talk to them. He’s the one who got to do something about Qui-Gon’s death while I was locked inside the Room of Requirement.”

Palpatine’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, “I did hear that you managed to discover it…”

“Everyone’s been asking me where, but I don’t even know! It just popped up in front of me one moment.”

“You have every right to be quite angry,” Palpatine said, “I’m sure it hasn’t been easy around here for you. Losing not one, but two people in the span of a year would cause anyone, let alone someone as young as yourself, immeasurable grief.”

That wasn’t even factoring in Professor Fisto’s death, which felt a little callous to Anakin.

“And I could understand why you might be upset with everyone, including Qui-Gon Jinn, himself.”

Anakin’s head snapped to Palpatine at his words, mostly because of the gnawing clarity at which they resonated with Anakin’s deepest and darkest thoughts, “Why would I be mad at him?”

“Search your feelings, Anakin,” Palpatine said gently, “You know what I say is true. It’s not something many, even the healers, would understand, because while Qui-Gon did die fighting to protect this school and you, he still left a vacancy at his own misstep.”

Being mad at someone for dying also felt incredibly callous, but Anakin didn’t grow rash or angry at this explanation but somehow… Validated. He loved and cared for Qui-Gon and appreciated everything he did, but in the end, a promise was still broken and Anakin was alone.

“I’m not here to sugarcoat anything,” Palpatine continued, “I don’t believe friends should do that.”

Anakin didn’t think so either, which was part of what was so infuriating about these past couple of weeks. Everyone was trying to be nice, but he was only feeling the lack of authenticity at their smiles that didn’t reach their eyes and their empty promises of support. He’d heard it all before at this point. Now, honesty, regardless of if it hurt, sounded appealing.

“Obi-Wan hasn’t told me exactly how it happened.” Anakin revealed with a heavy sigh.

His professor quirked a white eyebrow, “Understandably, he might never tell anyone, but we can draw the conclusion that Maul got the best of Qui-Gon somehow.”

“I just don’t get it.” Anakin sighed heavily, “Qui-Gon was so invested in the future and the knowledge around it. It seemed like he knew everything.”

“Sometimes adults allow students to perceive their strengths in an amplified matter to give them hope,” He said, “I’ve never believed in doing such a thing.”

Anakin nodded, “It’s felt like everyone’s been doing that all year. At the end of it all, it was a kid who took out Maul.”

“Yes, but not on accident, Anakin,” Palpatine shrugged, “You of all people should understand that a person’s age and stature should have no bearing on how they’re estimated. In the end, young Obi-Wan had something that Qui-Gon did not.”

“What’s that?”

“Obi-Wan was willing to do it.” Palpatine said, “To take that step across the line of light and dark. It’s a careful one to walk, but he acted out of revenge and surely channeled some of his hate and anguish to do so.”

“And that makes you more powerful?”

“When properly used, yes.” Palpatine said, “Qui-Gon never believed in utilizing emotion in magic. He felt it deluded oneself. Dooku taught him that though…”

“And you taught Maul, who was only emotion, so which is right?” Anakin ran a hand through his hair. It was impossible to deny that the anger that Obi-Wan felt and the heartbreak of watching Qui-Gon die surely gave him a boost in power. What was described sounded like something he could never picture regular old Obi-Wan doing on his own.

“Maybe we can discover that together?” Palpatine asked tentatively, “You lost a guardian and I lost a student, regardless of the polarized intentions they had.”

Anakin nodded, “Just as long as I don’t turn out like Maul.”

“No, I don’t think you will, my boy,” Palpatine chuckled, “I don’t think you will be anything remotely like Maul.”

Anakin smiled as he looked up and over at Palpatine. It was a beautiful day and maybe, just maybe, he’d make something of it.

***

Although Obi-Wan couldn’t discount the somber atmosphere that still hovered over the school, it felt a little whiplashing how quickly everyone was to move past the attack on the school and the death of Qui-Gon Jinn. He supposed no one else had, had a front row seat to watch their favorite professor be stabbed right in front of them. Today however, it was almost like the whole thing hadn’t happened at all. It was the final Quidditch match of the year, the previous game, while incomplete, had been handed over to Slytherin per Hufflepuff’s surrender. The Great Hall was filled with excited chattering and enthusiastic yelling. The attention was off of him at least, many hadn’t stopped bothering him for all the gruesome details since the attack, but the excitement in the room made him feel like he was suffocating.

“Perhaps, I’ve ought to go get ready,” He bounced his fork between his fingers as he spared a glance at the doors, “It’s almost time to leave anyways.”

“Ben...” Satine frowned at him. He knew she was concerned, but she was polite enough not to bring it up.

“Right on, mate,” Cody came up behind them, a hand landing on each of their shoulders, “Early bird catches the worm and all that,” The Gryffindor captain wasn’t as eager as he normally would be. Between the attack and how far Gryffindor was down for the Quidditch cup, it was only his love of the sport that kept him optimistic at all.

“I’m not playing today,” Obi-Wan said as he straightened his silverware. Satine seemed to relax at the news while Cody's eyes widened.

“What? You sure?” He asked and Satine shot him a warning look, “Nothing gets my mind off things like being up in the air,” He shrugged, defending his point.

“I’m sure,” Obi-Wan just nodded, “I’d prefer my feet on the ground at the moment,” The last time they hadn’t been was when he’d been dangling off the side of the bridge.

“Well, alright,” Cody relented easily and offered instead, “Wanna walk down with us?”

His eyes caught sight of Anakin lingering in the doorway waiting for Cody, or maybe himself. So he rose from his spot at the table easily.

“You could always sit with me if you want too,” Satine let him know as she blew softly on her tea to cool it down.

“I’ll be expected to be on the benches,” Even if the thought was tempting, “I’ll see you afterwards? Studying?”

Satine nodded at the same time Cody mumbled, “When on earth are you doing anything else?”

He felt Satine’s eyes followed him all the way out the door.

Cody filled the silence with Quidditch tips as the three of them trailed after the Gryffindor team down to the pitches. Anakin had been a little quiet lately, so Obi-Wan was grateful that he had plenty of people surrounding him from his own house. He was sure that the Fett’s and even Padmé likely didn’t let Anakin wallow.

“I’ll try not to knock you out Obi-Wan,” Anakin announced after Cody had finished a rather long spiel of Quidditch related injuries from the past 10 years, “I’ve been told I hit pretty hard.”

He certainly wasn’t lying and as he continued to grow, Obi-Wan was quite sure he would only be stronger, “I think hitting a benched player is considered a foul.”

“It is,” Cody confirmed, but Anakin stopped walking just as they got to the edge of the pitch.

“They benched you?”

“I asked not to play,” Obi-Wan only paused in his stride when Cody did. Anakin’s gaze flicked between the two of them rapidly. Although Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what was going on in his head, he was clearly thinking through a few things.

“Should I- Maybe I shouldn’t play either,” Anakin said slowly, “I mean...” He trailed off, clearly thinking. Cody crossed his arms tightly, clearly not liking the idea of his star player being benched, but not willing to deny the request if he was asked.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighed grandly. It was so obvious to him that Anakin would enjoy the distraction. Much like Cody, Anakin clearly revered flying as it would likely allow him to clear his head and to work towards a simple goal, “You should play.”

“But I-” Anakin turned, just enough to look off towards where Qui-Gon’s funeral had been held and Obi-Wan tried not to flinch at the thought.

“I’ve never liked Quidditch,” He reminded his mentee, “And although I take pride in my position on the team, they do not need me today,” Nahdar Vebb would do fine just as he always did, “Your team, however, does need you if they have a chance of winning,” Anakin stood a little taller at the thought, looking towards Cody for confirmation.

“Well, it’s always going to be easier with you-” Obi-Wan cut his friend off before he could continue.

“If you really don’t feel like playing I’m sure Cody will find a substitute for you...”

Anakin hesitated, “It’s not that I don’t want to play-”

“If you want to then you should,” He stepped forward, putting his hands on Anakin’s shoulders. Qui-Gon’s final request seemed to echo around in his head, but he ignored it as best as he could, “You’re a fantastic Beater, Anakin. One of the best Hogwarts has seen in my time here,” Anakin’s eyes were watching him, wide, impressionable. Obi-Wan was reminded once again just how young he was, “Ravenclaw will be playing a clean game today. I’m not going to let you in on our strategy, obviously,” He shot a short, pointed look to Cody, “But Gryffindor is going to need all the help they can get.”

“Oh yeah? You’re going down! A lion would eat your bloody bird for breakfast!” Cody caught on to the energy and Anakin shook off Obi-Wan’s hands to go join him.

“Yeah your team has no chance against us!” He had perked up significantly.

“I’d think a raven could outsmart a lion,” Obi-Wan shrugged playfully, “Guess you’ll just have to prove it.”

“Oh we will!” Anakin called as he resumed a swift walk towards Gryffindor’s locker room, “You’ll see.”

“See ya after the game mate,” Cody threw one last wave at Obi-Wan before heading swiftly after the second year.

Obi-Wan shook his head. For now, Anakin was easy to motivate. He could only hope the boy would keep some of that enthusiasm in his later years. He moved to walk towards his team’s locker room when a shadow fell over him.

“How interesting,” Obi-Wan turned slowly to meet the narrowed eyes of his parents, “Lying to your friends in Gryffindor house,” She smiled down at him, but it never reached her eyes, “Unless you were planning on breaking your promises to us.”

“No, of course not,” He answered automatically, “I only thought...”

“You think too much,” His father took a step forward, blocking even more of the light from streaming into the space, “I don’t believe we came all the way down here just to watch you sit pathetically on the sidelines.”

“Of course not,” Obi-Wan swallowed the spark of frustration, “Had I known you were coming I-”

“-You should have anticipated it,” His mother told him.

‘You’ve never come before,’ Obi-Wan held his tongue and instead just dipped his head in apology, “I’ll play.”

His mother scoffed as if he’d said something so obvious. She turned to leave and his father gave him one more steely look.

“You’d do well to remember your place,” As if he could see straight through him he added, “Kenobi’s don’t show any weakness.”

He finally turned and followed her out, making their way to the stands. The Ravenclaw team who had arrived just at the tail end of the dispute moved out of their way.

“Alright Kenobi?” Eeth clapped a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, spinning him towards the direction of the locker room.

“Of course,” He responded easily enough, “Say Eeth, could I ask a favor of you?”

He would play, it was the simplest solution. His father was wrong about his reasonings though. Obi-Wan wouldn’t view having loved and lost as a weakness.

***

The atmosphere in the stands was charged with anticipation. Quidditch was always popular with the student body, but now it seemed they were latching onto the sense of normality with an iron fist. Many Ravenclaws had done up face paint and enchanted signs that flashed silver and blue letters cheering on the team. Gryffindor was leading chants from their end of the field and Hufflepuff and Slytherin houses split as the students picked a side. There still weren’t as many students as there should be, practically all those sent home had determined it would be a waste to come back to school for only a few weeks. Ravenclaw was down a few players because of it, and Gryffindor truly should count themselves lucky that their entire starting team was willing to play.

Even so, it seemed as if the stands were full just from the energy pouring out of them. Satine’s eyes were on Ben the moment he had been visible on the field. As if that was particularly out of the ordinary. She would deny such accusations if there were anyone brave enough to suggest anything. The familiarity of the whole thing was enough for her to not notice something was amiss until she realized that Ben was standing alongside his fellow starting players on the field rather than standing at the sidelines with the backups.

She sat up straighter, eyes darting around the field, looking to see if there was anything else out of place or perhaps for the reasoning behind the action. Satine had sat through her fair share of Quidditch matches in the past, but she knew she still didn’t know everything about the sport. Cody and Eeth Koth were sharing a word in the middle of the field. That was the only thing she could say was unusual, but not unheard of.

It wasn’t enough to make her suspicious of anything until Cody turned looking up at the Ravenclaw stands. She frowned, moving to turn around and get a clue as to what he could be so interested in.

“Nothing like the World Cup, is it,” A chilly voice that was unfortunately enough for Satine to recognize caused her to freeze in place and certainly not turn around any further. Obi-Wan’s parents were sitting only a few seats behind her.

“Box seating would be preferable,” Mr. Kenobi mused, “Hogwarts doesn’t show parents the respect they deserve.”

“Do you remember Beauxbaton?” Mrs. Kenobi asked, “They certainly had class.”

“We were there on ministry business,” He scoffed, “They hardly would have shown as much effort otherwise.”

“A pity.”

Satine hadn’t spent much time around the Kenobi’s when they weren’t berating her and her lack of status. Sitting nearly frozen and unnoticed just a few feet away, she could say for sure that they weren’t any more pleasant when left to their own devices. Blessedly, the players took to the air and both of the Kenobi’s lapsed into silence as the game began.

Of course that silence couldn’t have lasted longer than Satine’s patience. Ben hadn’t even done anything and they were quick to open their mouths and spew endless criticism from everything from his form to his choice of broom.

“None of your precision rubbed off on him,” Mrs. Kenobi muttered to her husband as Ben nearly dropped the Quaffle before chucking it hard and fast at the first free chaser, “He should be practicing more.”

Satine grit her teeth, sitting on her hands as they went on and on. Their voices were so abrasive to her own internal thoughts about Ben while he was playing. Where they saw a clumsy hit, she saw the way he considered each move carefully. Where they saw awkward form, she saw the way he was careful to stay on the damned broom. However, even with her own opinions about Ben’s performance, he certainly wasn’t at his best today. He’d let several quaffles through, enough that Eeth was hovering around the hoops nervously. Gryffindor wasn’t easy to beat on a good day and little slip ups weren’t helping.

“It’s like the boy’s never played a day in his life. How embarrassing,” His father scoffed and Satine bit back a stream of choice words and grimaced as Ben missed catching the Quaffle practically right in front of him and instead caught a bludger to the chest. He rolled a few times on his broom. It was enough for Eeth to finally call a timeout and Ravenclaw rushed towards their bench.

Satine, while grateful he was safe and firmly planted on the ground, didn’t like the way his parents made a disapproving noise.

“Ravenclaw’s a soft house,” Mrs. Kenobi spat, “I suppose it always has been.”

“6 years in the sport and he can’t take a hit,” Mr. Kenobi added, “Slytherin would have taught him better.”

“Oh look there,” His mother growled, “He’s got himself benched.”

Mr. Kenobi made an odd sound that Satine had to assume was some sort of laugh, “I can’t blame the captain. What a pitiful performance.”

Satine stewed quietly, unable to take her eyes off Ben or her ears off the Kenobi’s. She tried to reason with herself. Making such a fuss about it wouldn’t do anything to help Ben or her. No matter what she said they wouldn’t listen anyways. Still she found herself slowly turning around eyebrows twitching, mouth opening to give them a piece of her mind.

She only caught the tail end of Mrs. Kenobi’s long robe as she disappeared down the rickety stairs.

So they didn’t even deem the game worth watching if they didn’t have the opportunity to bad mouth their own son at every twist and turn. Satine growled, startling a few first years behind her before she turned back toward the match. Very well. She wouldn’t be able to prove anything to them in words so she would instead prove to them in her continued support.

***

Cody easily dodged a bludger as it rocketed its way back to Anakin. Despite Anakin’s earlier enthusiasm, he was fading ever faster. Cody was tempted to bench him just as Ravenclaw had done with Obi-Wan. Unfortunately Gryffindor needed the edge that Anakin could give them. Not to mention, Cody knew Anakin needed the distraction. He was only 12 and had faced death this year, not to mention he wasn’t yet sure what was going to happen to him when the year ended. It was an awful lot to put on a young boy’s shoulders.

Anakin managed to hit the bludger, but Eeth was able to dodge it just in time. Rush Clovis ended up being at the receiving end of the blow and he looked around wildly for where the thing had come from in the first place.

“Shake it off Rush,” Cody called with a wince. It was bad enough dealing with the other team’s beaters, without also worrying about your own.

“Sorry!” Anakin called, but Cody just waved him off as he moved to intercept the Quaffle. Taking it down the field and sinking it easily past Kenobi’s replacement. Vebb was a good Keeper, but he knew a lot less about Cody than Obi-Wan did.

Cody was nearly knocked off his broom as a flash of blue and silver streaked past him followed nearly immediately by his own team’s seeker, Moteé. They were both moving with speed and precision, trying to knock each other off their brooms in order to claim victory. He saw the glint in Moteé’s eye as she moved to put even more pressure on her broom when he also saw Skywalker raise his bat. Before he could call for Anakin to stop, the bludger was hit, rocketing towards them just as Moteé had pulled ahead.

There was a sickening smack as Moteé spun out, crashing towards the field below. The bludger still managed to clip Ropal sending him pitching forwards into the snitch. He flipped over, but managed to stay in the air with one hand. The other went to his snout where he coughed out the snitch.

“Damn it,” Cody cursed as he dropped to the ground while cheers and blue and silver sparks flooded the air.

“Moteé!” Anakin too had hit the ground, heels practically tearing up the grass as he screeched to a halt, “I’m so sorry! I-” Whether it was from Moteé’s glare or Cody’s warning look, he quickly cut himself off.

“Nasty hit,” Cody knelt down next to her, “I saw what you were doing, definitely a smart move.”

“Would have won us the game-” He hastily cut her off.

“I know,” She was swept away quickly by Madam Nema and a few other professors as Anakin approached Cody nervously.

“Is she okay? I didn’t mean to hit her...”

“She’ll be fine, probably just a concussion,” He clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulders, “We’re going to have to work on your intuition some, but everyone makes mistakes,” And when Anakin looked upset he sighed and added, “There’s always next year, kid.”

***

Satine didn’t waste any time rushing down to the field upon Ravenclaw’s win. She wanted to find Ben as soon as possible. He hadn’t wanted to play in the first place and having such a rough game, despite their overall win, wouldn’t do much to improve his mood. She was nearly to the field when she nearly got run over by Cody and the other Gryffindor’s filing noisily back to their locker room.

“Satine?” Cody moved aside, letting his team continue to file past. They were a little more subdued considering their loss, but the game had still been a much needed break, “If you’re looking for Kenobi, he’s not on the field.”

“How do you know I’m looking for him? Maybe I was looking for you,” She crossed her arms, but she glanced out towards the field giving herself away if she hadn’t already been so obvious.

“Oh please,” He grimaced, “I saw them in the stand you know. You aren’t here to sympathize with Gryffindor’s defeat.”

Satine frowned, “I am sorry you didn’t get your win this year-” But Cody waved her off.

“You know what they say, Satine, third time’s the charm. We’ll get you next year!”

“So,” Satine shifted on her feet, “If he’s not on the field...”

“I’m not sure where he went. One minute I’m giving my team a once over the next he’s nowhere to be seen.”

“Ravenclaw Locker room?” Satine suggested and Cody just turned easily in that direction, leading the two of them there.

“I figured he’d run towards the school, library maybe?”

“Well, his parents are hardly willing to enter Ravenclaw spaces, but I wouldn’t put it past them to enter the library if they’re looking for him,” Satine reasoned and Cody hummed in thought.

When they reached their destination, they peeked inside and her suspicions were found to be correct.

The room was empty besides Ben, sitting alone on a bench polishing his broom handle meticulously. Satine figured it was already well done enough to see your reflection in it, but he was always particular.

“Hey,” Cody called, entering first, before Satine could find the best way to break the silence herself, “Congrats on the win.”

“Oh, Cody,” He looked startled by the intrusion, looking past Cody to catch her eye, “Satine,” He smiled at her and she mirrored it with one of her own. He looked back towards Cody, “Thanks, I think I may have hindered us more than helped us. Sorry about the loss,” He offered his sympathy and Cody sat down across from him leaving Satine to drop down right next to Ben.

“Next year for sure,” Cody repeated with conviction.

“I don’t think you did bad at all,” Satine leaned towards Ben, the heat of anger that had been stoked by his parents nearly the whole game resurfaced. He leaned away surprised, “You did really well, you’re a great Keeper!”

“Thank you?” He answered. She was glad he had no idea what she was really getting at, that meant his parents hadn’t found him to complain yet, “I messed up quite a bit today, I definitely wasn’t on my game.”

“Well, you didn’t want to play in the first place,” Cody shrugged and the air between them grew cold as each member struggled to find a foothold in the conversation.

“We still won,” Satine reminded him firmly and he blinked at her before parroting.

“We still won.”

***

Anakin kicked a stone as hard as he could into the lake. He didn’t really want to go back to the common room and face a whole bunch of people he’d just let down. His team didn’t even seem that disappointed, but Anakin felt that maybe they should be. If it wasn’t for him, they may have won the game! Plus if it wasn’t for him a mass murderer wouldn’t have been disrupted the entire school year. He kicked another rock.

“Careful mate,” Rex appeared at the corner of his vision, picking up a smooth stone and flicking it so it skipped across the lake, leaving ripples in its wake, “There’s said to be creatures living in there. I don’t think they’d like to land a rock to the head.”

Anakin sighed deeply, dropping down to the ground, his shoes just brushing the edge of the water, “I can’t believe I lost us the game!”

“Yeah if you were going to take out our seeker, you should have done it earlier. Could’ve given me a chance to play,” Rex joked sitting next to him.

“I could have killed Moteé!” Anakin looked at Rex, guilt swirling around at the thought.

“You didn’t though,” Rex shrugged, “Moteé knew what she signed up for, so did Ropal, so did Cody, so do I. It’s Quidditch mate! It’s dangerous.”

“Yeah, but I never expected to be the one causing the danger,” Anakin grumbled and Rex laughed.

“Sorry to say, but I think danger might be in your bones,” When Anakin didn’t respond, Rex punched him in the arm, “Come on, you wouldn’t hurt a fly, unless it was a fly actively trying to hurt your friends. Sure, Moteé’s a little mad, but you would be too if you’d been knocked around twice in one year. She’ll get over it.”

“I should make her an apology card,” Anakin decided as he flicked a rock into the water, “I’ll leave it on her bedside table while she’s sleeping so she doesn’t try to strangle me.”

“That’s the spirit!”

***

Obi-Wan had been under the misguided impression that once the drama with Maul settled down that he and his fellow prefects would finally earn themselves a decent night’s sleep. Of course, once he’d drawn up those conclusions in his head, he hadn’t factored in the possibility of losing his favorite professor in the process. He never would have thought, even when things were at their worst, that the earth would allow itself to turn without the brilliance that was Qui-Gon Jinn. Even weeks later and for likely longer than he could imagine, he still struggled to sleep at the horrible visions that filled his eyes when he closed them. He wondered how long such a reaction would last and hoped it wouldn’t be for as long as he missed the man, because he would always miss Qui-Gon Jinn.

Satine tried to insist that it was okay to mourn and grieve and he knew she was right. He’d never judge someone else for feeling depressed over losing someone important, but it was harder for Obi-Wan to reconcile this about himself.

If there was one thing that helped take his mind off of the persistent ache that gnawed at his chest, it was the influx of schoolwork. If they were going to be remotely ready for finals, they needed to play a massive game of catch-up. Satine, in particular, still had work to catch up on from the month she’d been frozen in carbonite.

It’s what brought them to tirelessly working on outlines, notecards, study guides, and mock quizzes just about every night in the common room.

He nearly scowled just thinking about how easily Ventress had gotten off for her involvement in that fiasco. She could have permanently disfigured students or worse! She could have killed them and according to Satine, she didn’t seem to care all that much about if she did or not.

She should have been arrested or at the very least expelled, but no, it was simply a year of detention and her losing her prefect status to atone for her crimes. She hadn’t even lost any house points for Slytherin, though that might have been in fairness to the other students of Slytherin house. He had no doubts that her affluent family, or adopted family to be more correct now, had a say in striking up the plea deal.

Since his only source to any real information was gone, he didn’t know what she told them about Dooku. All he knew was that it was apparently enough to be useful.

“I think Yoda believes her more dangerous out there with a vendetta than in school,” Satine’s tired voice interrupted his thoughts and startled as he was, he really shouldn’t have been. He was practically staring a hole in the newly added section about countering carbonite curses. It was taught by Yoda himself and learned during his time away.

“Or he’s afraid what Dooku will do to her if he expels her,” He grumbled and held his quill a little tighter. If he was being honest, the words were starting to blur from the way his eyes glazed over in exhaustion. Maybe, he’d actually get to sleep tonight.

“I mean it’s reasonable,” Satine shrugged, “I don’t want Dooku to hurt anyone, even her.”

That was the admirable thing about Satine. Her consistency with her noble values was something to be revered. Ventress could truly benefit from taking notes. For instance, having morals at all would be a vast improvement.

“I don’t either,” He sighed, “That doesn’t mean I have to like what she did to you… And the others.”

He might have added that a bit too late. He’d been horrified when discovering Rabé in Hogsmeade, but he did guiltily admit that Satine’s freezing was different. So much so, that he wondered if he’d look at the place the same next time he ventured there. So much had been taken away from them this year. Experiences, laughs, people. He was sure this would be a year too heavy to bear had he lost Satine too.

She sighed, “It was truly abhorrent, but it was a bit like waking up when I came out of it. I’d expect the worst part was for all of you who had to sit around and stare at my stony face.”

His tongue grew a bit fat when he thought to comment that looking at her face had never been a problem for him and at his own reluctance to admit: anyone else. Still, all he could think to do was peer over to her forearm, which lay turned facing up on the couch. He could still see the faint little scars of nails that had dug into her arm.

Catching his eyes, she carefully unraveled her sleeve to cover them and he looked at her sheepishly, to which she only shrugged. She might have said it was like waking up, but he had a feeling that getting frozen hadn’t been like falling asleep.

“She still deserved far more than detention.” He said.

“Of course,” She scoffed, “Seems like she’s got quite the chip on her shoulder now, though. She’s been laying pretty low.”

“Even during the match.” He admitted and rubbed his eyes, “I can’t help but wonder if she’s planning anything.”

“Considering how she was dumped by Dooku and left to burn, I’d say it involves turning some of those witchy powers onto him if she can get within arm’s reach.”

“I’ve had enough talk on Sith lords this year,” He yawned, “Maybe next year.”

She snorted dryly, “Yes, I’m sure Dooku will take that into deep consideration.”

“We’ve only got a couple weeks left,” He reminded her and even as awful as this year had turned out being, he couldn’t help but be surprised that it was nearly over. “One more year left.”

“Don’t start,” She warned, “I’d like to at least pass my finals first.”

Now, it was his turn to snort, “Satine, I know we’re tired, but we’re not completely delusional.”

She closed her book and faced him. Her bright blue eyes were bloodshot and struggling with effort to stay awake, “That implies we’re delusional at all.”

“Maybe we are,” He said, “I know you aren’t ever one to hold back when you disagree with one of my less conventional plans. Not to mention your obvious opinions on my possible color blindness.”

“To be color blind, you’ve actually got to mix up or not see certain colors, Ben.” She groaned, leaning her head back at the armrest. “You’ve just got batty taste.”

“I don’t know about that.” He said, pulse quickening. Nothing about this moment quite seemed right, but he’d been delaying in telling her how he felt for far too long. Recently, he’d been shown numerous signs of realizing how short life was. And yes, Cody had been right, delivering the sentiment of telling her how he cared in the form of a card was cowardly and short-sighted.

Telling her at the funeral would have just been plain depressing and any time before that had been consumed with the very real fear that their lives were about to be taken away. He still kicked himself for how he’d parted with her before seeking out Anakin. A kiss on the hand? What was this? A Victorian period piece?

In his defense, that was where he’d gotten most of his exposure to the romance genre.

In between the deftly heady spaces of remorse that clouded his thoughts, he regretted not spewing exactly how he felt or at least properly kissing her to make it clear. Though the prospect of being so forward like that now reddened him to a palpable flame. Now, it felt like a moment had passed between them and though he suspected she had some level of understanding, it seemed she wouldn’t be bringing it up either.

Unless she’d gotten over it- nope! He was not talking himself out of it. They were alone, which was a triumph in and of itself. He’d never want something of this nature to be spoken in front of an audience. They were also considerably peaceful, so much so that he felt like he might actually fall asleep by the comfort of warmth that radiated off her profile. He looked at their hands and how they were only a quick movement from touching. What would she do if he just held her hand?

Maybe, just maybe, this year didn’t have to be so dreadful after all. Qui-Gon’s words about learning to live flowed through him and seemed to finally make sense as he looked over at Satine through lowered eyes. The very least he could do was honor his mentor’s wishes.

“Hear me when I say that you need to live your life.”

“I don’t think I have batty taste at all,” He reiterated after a long pause.

“Is that so?” Satine responded slowly, “I beg to differ.”

“If I had batty taste I wouldn’t be friends with Cody.” He reasoned, “Nor would I have chosen Anakin as my protege.”

“Mmm, perhaps,” She said quietly.

“I wouldn’t have such a preference in dessert or soft animals if my taste was foul and I wouldn’t like all the books you recommend.”

“Unless your tendency to appreciate ugliness is contagious,” She chuckled.

He kept his eyes fixated on the fire ahead, really struggling to look at her as he figured out his way around the sentence that swirled around his brain. It shouldn’t be hard and he knew the stress was him overthinking it. He didn’t dare to dream of the consequences, because he wasn’t sure dreaming was in the cards for him now. Really, all that mattered to him was that it was said and that she knew.

His first step in attempting to truly live was gently taking Satine’s hand in his, interweaving their fingers and admiring at how perfect of a fit it seemed and how soft her hands were. He took the way they immediately curled around his as a good sign as any to continue with what plagued his broken heart.

“Well, I should hope you don’t feel that way,” He winced, “Because… the truly defining reason that I couldn’t possibly have that much of a predilection towards the unseemly is you.”

She didn’t answer right away, but his nerves prevented her from really doing so, “That is to say, I think you’re quite lovely, or more accurately, I think you’re the loveliest person I’ve ever seen or met. Inside and out.”

Because he really didn’t need her thinking he was sitting around drooling over her looks all day, no matter how impressive he found them.

“Because you’re everything I or anyone could ever want. You’re beautiful, brilliant, compassionate, witty, creative… Really, I could go on for so long that I’d need a dictionary of proper words to articulate how in awe I am of you, even without romantic connotation.”

Ugh.

“But there are plenty of romantic connotations, of course,” He coughed, “I wanted to tell you sooner. And the reason that it’s been so hard for me to say that is not because I don’t feel strongly in this regard, but the opposite. It’s intimidating for someone like me, who’d been taught otherwise about passion, but my feelings for you go beyond and within logic, forming what I can only assume is… Love.”

Silence.

Oh, no, had he said something wrong?

He turned his head to brave the consequences of his words, hoping that she would at least be the good sort of speechless. She had kissed him at Christmas. It wasn’t like these conclusions weren’t coming from somewhere. That didn’t stop his head from racing at a mile a minute with other possibilities.

They stilled when he received the sight of Satine Kryze, passed out against over the side of the couch, leaning on the armrest with her full body weight, her hair tumbling over the edge in a blonde waterfall. She was captivating, even in slumber, of course, so he was left in the debilitating and confusing predicament of his heart inflating and deflating.

She hadn’t heard any of it?

He blew out a breath like a balloon releasing air and leaned back. It wasn’t exactly how he’d wanted this moment to go at all. His head was pounding with a headache and he massaged his temples. Okay, he was officially and regretfully scratching out “firelit study session” as a possible setting to express his romantic intentions towards her. He was beginning to feel like some higher power might genuinely have it out for him.

He looked back down at their still joined hands. Any residual disappointment fell away at the sight and he gently and tenderly raised her hand to his lips for a careful kiss. It was nothing like the firm and desperate one he’d parted her with before, but a true promise of hope.

“Another time.” He whispered and without releasing her hand, nestled into the comfortable couch, finding a blanket out of the parchments and books across their laps, and for the first time all month, Obi-Wan slept a fearless sleep.

***

With Quidditch having ended for the year and nothing else to look forward to beyond finals (a truly bleak thought for Anakin), he realized with sharp clarity that this might be the last week he spends at Hogwarts should he never be able to return. While he had previously been depressed, he was filled with a new sense of purpose. He wanted to make it count.

Starting with how he was finally going to get a few things off his chest.

He didn’t walk lightly or quietly past those who pitied him, instead pushing past them with a heavy force of nature propelled by his inner desires finally coming to fruition. Regardless of consequence, he was a Gryffindor fearless and true, and he would be owning up to that title one way or another this year.

He found her sitting surprisingly alone on the front lawn and nearly toppled over a loose root on his way. It was a beautiful day, because apparently Anakin was allowed some small favors by the universe, and would be a lovely setting to deliver the impression he’d truly wanted to.

“Oh, hi, Anakin!” Padmé was one of the few people in this school whose empathy and kindness seemed genuine. It was a tenderness he was unsure he deserved to be on the receiving end of, but welcomed it nonetheless.

“I know you’re studying, so I won’t keep you long,” He sat down on the picnic blanket without waiting for an invitation to join her. If he stopped or paused, he might lose his nerve and if there was anything this fleeting year taught him, it was that there was no glory without guts.

“Okay, what’s up?” She asked him warily, setting aside her History of Magic textbook and crossing her hands on her lap to give him her full attention.

With her staring so openly at him, he nearly got lost in the way the sun made her eyes look golden in their warmth depth. However, the very last thing he wanted was for her to think he was a creep, so he continued onwards with the last remaining gumption he had left.

“I made something for you,” He blurted out, hating that it didn’t sound as impressive out loud as it had in his head when he internally rehearsed this speech. Even without decorum, he dug in the pocket of his robe and pulled out the trinket he’d made from the mockups that Hondo sold as merchandise. It had a completely different paint job. It was tan and carved with a little square and squiggly lines at the center.

“Oh!” She clearly didn’t know what it was meant to signify, so Anakin had no problem filling her in.

“I saw it in a book when studying ancient runes with Obi-Wan, from a japor snippet,” Off her curious look, he shrugged, “It’s meant to give good fortune to the beloved of the maker.”

“To the beloved of- oh.” Her eyes bugged when she hastily met his gaze and dropped the little necklace in her lap. “You mean you… Like me?”

“Well… Yeah.” He said awkwardly, realizing this was not as romantic as he’d drawn it up to be in his head. Embarrassment was quickly coloring his features and he hoped it would play as sunburn.

Anakin felt like his breath stopped somewhere in his chest. She definitely didn’t look like she was about to go running into his arms and dance with him in the sunlight. He shied his gaze away, trying to figure out a way to play this off as a joke when she suddenly took his hand.

“Anakin, this is very sweet,” She said, “I just- I don’t, I’m not really in that kind of place right now.”

His blond fringe hung in his eyes, which was fortunate for him as he didn’t want to appear too depressed or forlorn. It was another blow to take, but a risk he understood. At least he knew.

“And honestly, I don’t feel like I really know you,” She admitted.

He looked up at her and frowned, “What do you mean? I feel like I know you.”

“I think…” She paused, gnawing on her bottom lip to find the words she wanted to say, “I think you might have conjured an idea of me in your head.”

“And that’s different?” He asked.

“Yeah, I mean, we don’t really talk that often.”

“That’s because I’m always too nervous to talk to you.” He answered.

“Why do I find it hard to believe that you get nervous?” She tilted her head to the side, flashing a smile that still warmed him up from the inside, “In any case, you’ve nothing to be nervous of.”

“Yeah, I guess the worst case scenario already just happened,” He leaned back on his legs, kneeling now in front of her with remnants of disappointment still tainting this day. He didn’t know why he would believe that someone as magnificent as Padmé Amidala would ever be interested in a scrub like him. The crushing weight of this rejection felt a bit like a wound being reopened before she squeezed his hand.

“I’d really like it if we could be friends.” She offered lightly, “I’m always in the market for more true friends.”

“If you’re just saying that because you feel sorry for me…” He trailed off, because he really didn’t want to be anyone’s charity case.

“Why would I lie?” She asked, “Anakin, you seem like an incredibly caring person and like a lot of fun, frankly. It would be my pleasure to get to know you and to be your friend… Just as long as you understand that that’s all I want to be.”

He thought about that and considered, not for the first time, that having more good people in his life to some capacity was better than less. He could trust Padmé and while she believed he didn’t really know her, he intended on getting to know the real her.

Then, he briefly thought back to something said to them earlier this year. “I just hope Miraj wasn’t right when she said misfortune will follow you for befriending me.”

She squeezed his hand again and his heart felt a little lighter, “I don’t let anyone tell me who I can and can’t be friends with. Friendship doesn’t come with terms and conditions.”

Anakin smiled at her, “Well, in that case, I ask that you still keep the necklace. We’ll call it… a friendship necklace.”

“Are you sure?” She asked, “There might be another lucky girl out there that you could give it to.”

“Nah,” He waved her off, “There isn’t. I’d rather it go… To a friend.”

***

“Poisonous plant that kills animal cells?” Satine was blocking her notes quite strategically from both Obi-Wan and Cody even if Cody was not participating in their little game. In his opinion, studying should not be done at the dinner table or really at any sort of event outside of maybe an hour or two in the library.

“Bloodroot,” Obi-Wan answered quickly, not even a moment's hesitation. He then looked down to his own notes without even waiting for confirmation, “What do the four golden statues in the MACUSA represent?”

“The victims of the Salem witch trials,” Satine frowned, “And may I just add how absolutely horrific that was,” She turned back to her notes, “How would one go about resisting the imperius curse-” She looked unsettled as she looked up at Obi-Wan, “What have you all been doing in DADA?”

“Utilizing strong mental fortitude,” He answered the first question before shrugging, “I may need it someday. Professor Fisto said those that can make the best aurors.”

The expression on Satine’s face was enough for Cody to cut in before they could start arguing, “Do you really need to be studying right now? It pays to take breaks you know,” The two looked at each other.

“I’m not tired, are you?” Obi-Wan asked and Satine shook her head, “Alright, how many known wand core components are there?”

“Three,” Cody answered dully, poking at his mashed potatoes.

“Nineteen!” Satine answered.

“Really?” Cody grimaced, “Glad I’m not in that class.”

“We could switch to something else if you’d like,” Satine offered and Obi-Wan nodded, “Charms?”

“Please no!” Cody shook his head quickly, “You might not be tired, but I’m tired just watching you go back and forth.”

“Suit yourself,” Obi-Wan shrugged, “We’re almost out for the summer anyways, you won’t have to think about classes for a whole two months.”

“Yeah, except every time I get an owl from you lot,” He rolled his eyes, “Last year, you sent me more book summaries than you did events from your real life, Kenobi.”

“The books were the interesting part!”

“Anyways,” Satine finally took a bite of her, surely cold, chips, “We’ve had a rather chaotic year. It serves to be prepared.”

“They should just cancel the lot of them if you ask me,” Cody said with a shrug, “We hardly had any real classes for half the year.”

“Oh stop! It hasn’t been that bad-”

Headmaster Yoda tapped the side of his glass, and a hush rolled across the Great Hall. He was slow to rise, but stood on his chair as to best see across the room at all the students.

“An announcement, I have to make,” He nodded, “Uncertain, our year has been. Unprecedented. The remaining professors and I, come to a conclusion, we have. NEWT exams and OWLs will be pushed back until the end of July.”

There was an audible sigh of relief from those students who had certainly been stressing it. Cody had to admit, had he been taking his NEWTs this year, he was almost sure he’d be in a full-fledged panic over it. Chatter rose in the Great Hall again and Yoda tapped on his glass once more. He wasn’t done yet.

“For the rest of you,” Anticipation hung in the air like electricity as they all turned as one to face the Headmaster, “Decided we have, to cancel your finals.” He barely got the words out before the whole hall broke into loud cheering.

Cogs in his brain turned quickly as he realized the universe had heard his pleas for once. He quickly shouted, “And I want onto a professional Quidditch team!” He turned to express his delight to his two best friends before glancing over to looks of utter horror and despair.

“But- I-” Satine was at a loss for words and Obi-Wan looked like he was still processing the information.

“Oh, cheer up!” Cody grinned, “This is a good thing.”

“I hardly think so,” Obi-Wan sounded quite like he’d been informed of his own expulsion, “How will we test our knowledge now?”

“You were doing pretty well on your own,” Cody rolled his eyes.

“Yes… We could just make our own tests,” Satine turned to him excitedly. Obi-Wan perked up at the thought.

“It’s certainly not against the rules,” He immediately scrambled for a quill, “We’d have to grade them together though-”

“Of course, I don’t want you doing it wrong!” Satine pulled out her own quill, pulling his parchment closer to her.

“You two are absolutely insufferable, you know that?” Cody crossed his arms, stewing, “Something good finally comes our way and you want to make it harder for yourselves.”

“Cody, would you like us to make you one too?” Obi-Wan asked, clearly not having heard him.

Cody stared at him long and hard, “Hell no! Leave me out of your insanity!”

***

Much to Ventress’ disdain, Headmaster Yoda’s list of announcements didn’t stop at the cancellation of finals, no matter how welcome that was. Once the outburst of mass celebration simmered down, the smiling little green Headmaster patiently began yet again.

“Finished, I am not. Announce the winner of the house cup, I will.” He said and Ventress felt her stomach turn inside out. All eyes at Slytherin’s table turned to her in immediate appraisal. They’d already won the Quidditch cup, but it was obvious they were concerned that her transgressions this year could result in slating them. She didn’t care about the competition, as there was no true value to winning. However, some under Slytherin’s banner took beating Gryffindor very seriously.

A pregnant pause filled the entire Great Hall as everyone held their breaths for the reveal. Ventress kept her eyes focused hard on Yoda and it seemed he caught her gaze. He remained tepid and relaxed, but never breaking contact as he spoke,

“Won, Slytherin house has,” He said and backed away as the entire Great Hall flew into even greater hysterics than before. The other three houses were understandably outraged while Slytherin was practically crawling on the table to celebrate their win. Ventress, a bit dumbfounded, did not join them in their hurrah.

“What, so they try to kill us all semester and they get rewarded for it?” Shouted one student that Ventress couldn’t see through the chaos.

“They’re monsters! Maul was one of them!” Yelled another.

“We lost how many points for Krell last year?” A Gryffindor, obviously, jumped in.

Her Slytherin counterparts didn’t resist chiming in, of course, since they were not the sort to be made victims of, “Hey! Maybe if you kept your head focused on your books instead of every little trollup’s arse, you might get somewhere!”

“That is enough! Take a seat, all of you!” Professor Windu boomed over the rest of the crowd. If he was good for something, it was projecting his voice even without an amplification charm. “First of all, Gryffindor House, you lost zero points for Krell’s actions last year, because as with this situation, it was agreed that his abhorrent actions were an anomaly and completely unfair to take the rest of you down.”

“Second,” Yoda continued for him, “Hard work, Slytherin has shown. The actions of one, they will not be crucified for.”

Once again, Ventress felt the burning stares of her peers. She was shunned by Dooku, who promised to reunite her with the Nightsisters of Dathomir, who would understand her, embrace her skills and her flaws as they were. They would be a true family, not the imposters that supposedly raised her under the affluent guise of success. Even these wannabes were rejecting her, save for those whose parents likely threatened them.

She clutched her fist. They didn’t deserve to win the house cup. None of them did. There should have been no rewards for any of their actions. Two professors were dead and a stack of aurors before them and here they were deliberating over a trivial contest. It was foolish and exactly why the Sith would easily be able to dominate them all. They could cast their disappointment at her all they wanted, but it was all just a distraction. It would be easy, in the end, and the commoners would clutch their pearls and act like it hadn’t been in front of their faces all along.

She’d told them what she knew not only to hopefully scorn Dooku, even if that would be an added bonus, but because it seemed they needed it spoon fed to them in order to begin tracking him down. She didn’t want to give Dooku or his master the satisfaction of seeing their future through. She never had any real loyalties to it, just what it could do for her.

Instead, she’d need to play the role of the dutiful pureblood witch and utilize whatever funds and resources to bring about real change: to bring back the sinister sisters of her bloodline, to take back everything and destroy the muggles that stood in their way. It would be better than the dogmatic Sith.

It would be revolution.

“So, if I hear any of you claiming that it was unjust, I’d like you to ask yourself, what more could you have done to better advance your house?” Windu said.

Quiet murmurs spread across the room and she still knew they were all indirectly about her. Someone pointed out that Obi-Wan Kenobi took out an entire Sith lord on his own, but another mentioned something about how he rejected any rewards for it.

Faro scowled from across the table at that, “Such a fool. Does he believe he’ll get anywhere in life with that sacrificing attitude?”

“I’d expect he doesn’t need to, with mommy and daddy’s money just waiting for him,” Miraj Scintel said coolly, “He’s not too bad on the eyes, too, which helps.”

She cast her eyes towards Obi-Wan Kenobi, who was chatting amongst some of his quidditch friends. She grimaced at his natural charisma that everyone seemed to fall for. It was sickening, really, that he could blend so well amongst everyone, even the muggle borns. That he wanted to. She didn’t get the appeal to his relentlessly charitable way of being. It was like he asked to be magnificently cursed.

It would be like swallowing a thick and heavy dose of the foulest medicines, but Ventress knew what she needed to do in order to accomplish her greatest desires. Next year was their final year at this putrid school, and she would do what she must to climb the ranks. He wouldn’t break easy from his band of misfits, but he would break. And really, Ventress would have very little to do with it. The way of the pureblood culture would be more than enough. Time was ticking and Ventress knew she had much to do.

She began scrawling in her notebook the terms of an unbreakable vow.

***

Now that finals had been cancelled the library was practically vacant, most students were spending their precious few hours left at school in the courtyard, on brooms or chatting by the lake. Obi-Wan could never think of anywhere else he’d rather be in his spare time than in the library and it was clear that Satine thought the same, taking up her usual spot beside him.

She was engrossed in her book, something on hidden secret wizarding communities across the globe. He hadn’t gotten around to reading that one yet, although he was sure he’d been to plenty of the places listed. He was sure she’d quite like Appleby if she ever got the chance to go. She turned a page and it seemed like enough to jar her from her focus and instead place her eyes on him.

“What?” Obi-Wan winced, he hadn’t realized he’d been staring, how rude.

“Oh nothing I was just-” He floundered for something to say, “Appreciating that we had time off.”

“It’s pretty nice,” She smiled, letting her book flutter closed and almost seemed to lean a little closer to him as she rested her arm on the table, “I do still have that evening patrol tonight.”

“You could trade for mine tomorrow morning,” He chuckled at the way her lips curled back into a snarl.

“Not on your life,” She huffed, “Perhaps, I’ll have fewer next year. Considering we’ll have the most seniority.”

“I’m sure as Head Girl you’ll have your pick of the litter,” Obi-Wan said without thinking and she looked at him a little surprised.

“I don’t think anything has been decided yet,” She answered coolly.

“They’d be a fool not to pick you,” Obi-Wan waved a hand at her, “Certainly there’s no competition, you’re the brightest witch of your age.”

“Well, I’d hardly say there’s no competition,” She smothered a smile, “But it would be a high honor to receive.”

“I was expected to get prefect,” Obi-Wan mused, “I didn’t realize how much I’d enjoy the position. I’m already honored just to have been considered for the role of Head Boy.”

Satine gazed at him for a beat, “Why do you talk like you’ve already lost out?”

“Well we don’t know-”

“-Don’t we?” Satine scoffed, drumming her fingers on the table in irritation, “If you think I have no competition, you’ve already won.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, “There’s always Bail-”

“-Ben please,” Satine rolled her eyes, “Bail’s incredibly smart and a good prefect, but even he, himself, knows that he’s not getting the position,” Satine continued before he could open his mouth, “Ben you’re the top student at the school-”

“Second,” He corrected automatically, “You beat me by half a point-”

“I haven’t forgotten!” She jabbed a finger at him, “I wasn’t counting me.”

“Well you should,” He grumbled, “You’re the brightest witch here.”

They looked at each other for a second, neither knowing how to break away, “That means I’m always right,” Satine pointed out, turning towards her book, face a little red. Obi-Wan looked away and found interest in reading the titles on the shelf across from him, “You’ll be Head Boy for sure.”

“Then you’ll be Head Girl,” He shot back without glancing over. They hung in an almost oppressive silence for another minute or two before Obi-Wan hesitantly glanced over. Unfortunately for him, she’d been looking his way and they were once again stuck, eyes locked together.

It was almost as if words were traveling unspoken, questions, maybe answers. It was enough for Obi-Wan to take a shaky breath and try to ask one of his own out loud. The one he’d been trying to get out for a while now.

“Satine-”

“There you are!” Anakin’s voice was quick to shatter whatever spell had come between them and Obi-Wan felt his face heat up and his heart race as he turned towards Anakin with a hint of irritation.

“What?” He groused and Anakin looked between him and Satine with a tilt to his head.

“I was just going to ask you to check over my essay...” Anakin faltered, “I can come back-”

“No, no. It’s fine,” Obi-Wan let out a long breath, “You only startled me. This is a library you know.”

“I know! You never spend any time outside of it...” Anakin complained under his breath, handing over his essay.

Obi-Wan took it and used it to hide his face as he glanced towards Satine. She’d gone back to her reading, but looked unfazed. She flipped a page and brushed a strand of hair out of her face.

“Whatcha looking at?” Anakin whispered in his ear and he glared at Anakin.

“Your poorly written essay,” He answered, rolling up said parchment to bap him in the head with it.

“Aw come on I tried extra hard this time!” Anakin sighed, draping himself across the table.

“You really need to reel in your tangents,” Obi-Wan pulled the red pen Anakin had given to him the previous year and scratched through a whole paragraph before handing it back, “Professor Yaddle doesn’t want to know how this relates to your favorite shows.”

Anakin spent a moment looking over his essay before pulling out a blank sheet of parchment and began to revise. Obi-Wan looked between Anakin and Satine and frowned. So much for a quiet moment or any sort of real talk.

“Perhaps, I’ll see you back in the common room then?” Satine placed a bookmark in her book and he gave her a sheepish smile.

“I suppose so-”

“Padmé?” Satine was looking over his head and so he turned to indeed see Padmé Amidala edge her way out from behind a bookshelf.

“Ah hello,” She greeted, “I was hoping you could look over my potions essay, Satine? If it’s not too much trouble.”

Satine sat back down and gestured to the seat across from her, “Alright, hand it over,” She leaned closer to Ben and whispered quietly, “Never a dull moment.”

“Never,” He grinned over at her.

***

“You summoned me, Headmaster?” Obi-Wan creaked open the door to Yoda’s office and was immediately comforted by the reminder that it was Yoda’s office yet again, no matter what qualms certain sectors of the Ministry of Magic had. It had been a unanimous vote, one even cast by Palpatine, to reinstate him and he was glad he had. It was nothing personal to Professor Palpatine, but his parties catering towards his favorite students didn’t exactly speak for a strong lack of bias.

“Indeed, in you come!” Yoda gestured for Obi-Wan to take a seat and he followed suit. “Important things, we have to discuss.”

Obi-Wan winced. He really didn’t want to relay what happened on the viaduct with Maul yet again to another person. He really didn’t understand why Windu couldn’t have just passed on what he received first hand immediately afterwards. There had been a lot of heavy sobbing and sniffling to get around, but he knew he told him everything in a flush of emotions uncharacteristic to him. That moment was foggy, likely at his mind’s own choice to further spare him from sadness, but he remembered being grateful that no one else was around.

Alternatively, the debate over who was to be the next Head Boy and Head Girl was buzzing louder than ever with just a few days left in the term. Traditionally, this announcement was made over the summer in the form of a personal letter that students usually hung over their mantles in pride. However, maybe they wanted to deliver some more good news in light of recent events.

Then again, Satine would probably be here too if that’s what they were discussing. Or at least, he really hoped she would.

“What is it, Headmaster?” He felt compelled to ask, because they sat in silence for a long time, neither looking relaxed that this troubling year was coming to a close. With Dooku still running free, it was very likely that a precedent was starting.

“Worried, for young Skywalker, you are,” He said calmly. It was not a question, but Yoda was never known for dancing around his point for very long. No, the lengthy and often riddled speeches were a trait of a professor who would no longer be bursting into this office without announcement nor would they live to relay another prophetic theory ever again. The weight of that absence sat between Obi-Wan and Yoda, though neither acknowledged it formally.

“Very much so,” He confirmed and tapped his fingers aimlessly on his knees, “I- Well, I made a promise to look after him.”

“To whom?” Yoda raised a brow on his wrinkly face, “Skywalker or your former mentor, did you promise?”

Qui-Gon always said that Anakin was the top priority and though he’d always known it, that really sunk in now that the boy had no one left but Obi-Wan.

“Both.” He said after a deep breath, “So, if you’ve brought me here to tell me that you’re just going to throw Anakin in some orphanage when Dooku is surely out there waiting for him to be vulnerable, I cannot allow that.”

“Sound like Qui-Gon, you do,” Yoda said, amused, but Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if he knew how much that meant to him just then, “Cast Skywalker aside, we cannot.”

Obi-Wan relaxed his shoulders immediately. He hadn’t been sure what his course of action was going to be to follow up his assertion, but he was glad he didn’t have to come up with anything just then. He was just glad that Anakin wasn’t going to be left with strangers. It was incredibly cruel considering everything he’d been through.

He didn’t breathe completely easily yet, “But you’re also not going to lock him up in the castle all summer either, right? He needs normalcy.”

And a break from this place. They all did, as much as he preferred his years at Hogwarts to his summers at home. Obi-Wan knew he would be eager to return back in the fall, yearning for the bright memories this special place held for him. However, as it was at the moment, he could only feel the lingering sense of loss.

“Agree, I do, but find new normal for him, we must.”

“Until his mother is found.” Obi-Wan agreed.

“That might-” Yoda caught himself off as he regarded Obi-Wan with sad eyes and without the desire to complete the thought he started. Obi-Wan knew what he’d been thinking. It had been on his mind too whenever Anakin brought it up, even since it first happened. He also never said what came to mind.

Yoda shook his head and started again, “Yes, and find an alternative, we have. Or more accurately, found us, the alternative has.”

“That’s great.” Obi-Wan said, “A family is taking him in then.”

“Appear so, it would.”

“Well, that’s fantastic! And Anakin is on board?” There was something still odd about this meeting, a wariness to Yoda’s gaze that wasn’t quite meeting Obi-Wan’s eyes anymore. His body language was turned away, like he knew he was delivering bad news.

He nodded, long pointed ears wiggling a bit as he did, “Inform you first, I thought I should. Object to the arrangement, you can, but very few options, we have.”

“Inform me?” Obi-Wan repeated, “Headmaster, I’m not sure I have the faintest idea what you could be talking about. Who are they?”

***

“Anakin, darling, there you are!” Mrs. Kenobi came shuffling over hurriedly, or as much as she could with the trail of midnight green satin slithering behind her in long tresses. Mr. Kenobi took long strides behind her, leading with his infamous walking stick that always captured Anakin’s attention.

Anakin was indeed surprised when he was given the information that the Kenobi’s wanted to take him in for the summers and holidays and relieved that he would at least get to stick with Obi-Wan, but he certainly hadn’t expected they’d show up at the castle’s doorsteps.

Obi-Wan, it appeared, was also absolutely flabbergasted as he dropped whatever bags he’d been helping Satine with clean on the cobblestone walkway, much to his friend’s initial chagrin and gradual understanding as she rounded the bend.

“What the hell, Be- Oh.” Satine snapped her mouth shut and just focused on picking up her scattered things with Padmé and Breha at either side of her. None of the three girls dared to lift their heads.

“Mother, Father, you’re here… At Hogwarts.” His voice was tight and clipped while his eyes didn’t blink.

“We do need to work on your hosting mannerisms.” His mother didn’t look once at him and kept her eyes on Anakin, “Ah well, I suppose there will be plenty of room for practice this summer with our brand new house guest.”

“Thank you for taking me in.” Anakin said earnestly, because even while belonging on another plane of elitist culture, they still volunteered to take Anakin in the moment they’d heard he was without a place to stay.

“It is no trouble at all, my boy,” Mr. Kenobi ruffled his hair, “The servants have already taken the liberty of clearing out Obi-Wan’s room for you.”

“My room?” Obi-Wan questioned.

“Oh, no I can’t do that. I can just sleep on the couch or something-” But Anakin was instantly cut off by Mrs. Kenobi’s thin, but noticeably strong arms crushing him into a hug against her bony sternum.

“Nonsense!” She hissed, “His room is much warmer than the spares and only the best for growing heroes.”

Anakin wanted to turn around and shrug at Obi-Wan. He hoped he didn’t mind giving up his room for him. He knew he would be pretty upset if some little kid came into his childhood room and took over all of his stuff and space.

“And since we have raised Obi-Wan correctly, he will do the just and honorable thing and give his room for you in your time of need,” Mr. Kenobi’s voice was lethal, but Anakin still only had a view of Mrs. Kenobi’s laced neckline, so he didn’t see the look that matched it over Mrs. Kenobi’s shoulder.

After a pause, Obi-Wan cleared his throat, “Yes, well, I have been eyeing up the west wing.”

“Mmm, I think not.” Mr. Kenobi waved a large hand at him dismissively, “I’m refurbishing it as a second office.”

“The east wing, then.” Obi-Wan tried.

“The basement will do, you’ll have much more space down there to practice Quidditch.”

After a long pause, Obi-Wan only nodded and was giving Anakin a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes, “Sounds good.”

“Clearly, it’s needed,” Mrs. Kenobi added and gently pet Anakin’s hair to the side. It would have reminded him of his own mother, if her fingers weren’t so long and cold, “Unlike you, my little star. Gryffindor’s team truly does not deserve your efforts.”

He didn’t have the heart to remind her that it was technically Anakin’s fault that they threw the game and Ravenclaw won. Neither team had their hearts in it that day, though, and it had definitely been a shock to all of them when the Kenobi’s showed up to watch. At least they’d been impressed enough with him to still give him a place to stay. That had to count for something.

“The new broom must have helped.” He smiled.

“You know, I think it did. That’s what happens when you have the best of what money can buy, Anakin.” Mr. Kenobi sighed at Obi-Wan, “Usually.”

“Now, now, I believe our new guest warrants a special welcoming feast of his favorite foods!” Mrs. Kenobi said, “Why don’t we get your things and you can just simply come straight home with us?”

“Is that allowed?” He looked around at Obi-Wan as well as Satine for approval. He was pretty hungry and was starting to feel a bit cautiously optimistic at the promise of any foods he wanted. After all, they were filthy rich and if they were willing to share that money with Anakin, well, he might as well make something good of this whole mess. He bet Obi-Wan’s head would explode if afforded the opportunity to try a hot pocket.

“As long as you’ve got approval from a professor or prefect-” Satine started, but was promptly cut off as though she never spoke.

“Which Obi-Wan most certainly is that.” Mrs. Kenobi tutted.

“As am I.” Satine reminded them, but once again, they simply did not hear her. Obi-Wan’s mother’s lips twitched a bit, but she retained her bright glow as she reached out for Anakin’s hand. He accepted it, deciding he would get used to how cold they were.

“Well, I suppose I’ll see you in September.” Obi-Wan began to say to Satine.

“Right,” Satine nodded a lot, like she was flustered and Anakin squinted as he looked between the two of them. He wondered for a second if they were going to hug or something, but their arms remained at their side. It was weird, he knew for a fact that Cody had wrapped Obi-Wan in a headlock earlier and called it a hug, but it was still a hug. Anakin hugged Rex earlier. He didn’t see what the big deal was.

She cleared her throat after a moment of words unsaid, “Be sure to write when you can.”

“Of course, especially if you get- well, you know.” Obi-Wan shrugged and Anakin didn’t know and the Kenobi’s both stuck their noses up in suspicion. Mr. Kenobi’s long nose was flared as he looked down at his son that began to follow them. Had Obi-Wan’s eyes not been glued to Satine’s he might have noticed when his father’s large hand stuck out to catch him in the chest, preventing him from going on.

“-Uh uh uh, you’re not dodging your responsibilities, young man!” Mr. Kenobi wagged a long white finger at him. “You can apparate now and will do so from the station when you are finished assisting with loading and unloading. We’ve recommended you for bag duty again.”

Obi-Wan was clearly trying to stop himself from groaning at the thought.

“Get some muscles on those bones.” He poked his son with his stick.

“And don’t let us hear you were caught frolicking or lollygagging in any way.” Mrs. Kenobi added coolly, flicking her blue-grey eyes to Satine for the first time, “You’re practically an adult now that you’re 17. It’s time you acted like it.”

“Yes ma’am.” Obi-Wan said and nodded at Anakin, “I’ll see you later.”

“See you.” Anakin said with a sympathetic shrug. He did wish he could come with them, but Anakin supposed it was important that Obi-Wan keep things in order on the train. He knew from someone who usually caused chaos that the prefects were necessary to have on hand and that Obi-Wan was one of the best.

Mrs. Kenobi patted his hand as they walked down the hill with Anakin’s trunk and bags floating aimlessly behind them, “Oh, Anakin, I believe this is going to be a splendid arrangement. Someone of your caliber deserves the finer things in life. It’s about time you got to experience them.”

“Do you have a pool?” He blurted out, knowing it could sound rude, but was pleased when they only laughed.

“Try several.” Mr. Kenobi grinned beneath his beard, but it looked foreign on his lips, even if Anakin didn’t know much about the man, “It will indeed be refreshing to have someone around who can appreciate our way of life.”

With several pools, Anakin would at least try.

Maybe it was selfish, when his mother was missing and lost somewhere. However, he still vowed to find her and to see that she was safe and to unite their family. He knew in his bones that she would want him to be happy. She would always be his real home.

No matter how far she was.

***

Sometimes, a plan needed to be executed to the number in order to come out successful. It all depended on who the puppeteer was, of course. A true strategist knew when to bend the wills and patterns of the fates to adhere to the plan, of course, because not every variable could be accounted for with a third eye. No, it required flexibility at its finest. Even towards the end, he truly believed he might have been over. His position as Headmaster had been one he was ready to give up… For now.

No, there was much more he could do as a teacher.

And now, he accomplished two birds with one stone in a beautiful array of damage that Sidious couldn’t have planned more perfectly himself. Maul did as he did best and caused a chaos that disbanded trust between the Ministry and the school board as well as its students. While they would always try to slap a bandage on a gutted wound, they would find their results required much more than that when Sidious was hiding in the corner, putting poison to the casualties.

Letting them fester and bleed until the only thing that remained was an infected and unrecognizable gash that spread through the body, consuming and ultimately defeating its host from the inside out. That was the only way to get to someone, after all, but Maul was a physical being and would never understand the true power of the dark side.

Sidious had to see to that for a reason.

And all he wanted to do was destroy Sidious and his hard work and the work that had yet to come. It was brilliant, he had to admit, to turn the dementors against them. It was something he’d taught him long ago, of course, with the help of the night witch. But it had been executed brilliantly.

Instead, he proved himself the worthy apprentice for one last time where Tyranus had not, in destroying the very person that Sidious had his eyes on all year. Many knew now that the battle between Qui-Gon Jinn and Maul was a battle for Anakin’s very soul, but few understood just how terribly it had been lost. It was tragic, really. If Obi-Wan had died, they all would know. So for once, Sidious was glad for the boy’s survival.

There was still the matter of the girl, who would likely be a problem for Tyranus down the line, but that was something his apprentice reaped that he would need to sow. They could only delay the inevitable for so long. As it were, the girl could still provide some use in accomplishing Palpatine’s next feat.

He honed his sights on Obi-Wan Kenobi, who stood not quite touching but very close next to that muggle-born Satine Kryze. Like a damn vision, the sunlight cast a specific ray just to glow around him, symbolically highlighting why Sidious needed to get rid of him. Next to the holocron, he ran his finger around the rim of a chalice, a cup if you will, divine and extravagant though muddled with dust and a disguising charm to hide its true origin of where it had been won.

As it were, there was a fairly believable way of elimination arriving in his lap. Yes, Obi-Wan Kenobi would need to be removed from the story as he was in many ways, the final obstacle in his way.

“But first…” He drifted his yellow eyes across the room until he landed on the chest near the desk. He ran ghostly white fingers over the wooden finish.

He unlocked the latch and lifted the lid, drifting his eyes all the way down the hole that it hid until landing on its sole item: Shmi Skywalker, frozen in carbonite.

“What to do with you?”

[herald-divine-hell]

3. smiling while kissing for Alex and Leli

Thank you for the ask.

3. smiling while kissing

Alexandra drummed her fingers upon the top of her black-brown desk, brows furrowing as her other hand lifted the spectacles further up the bridge of her nose. Golden-flecked green eyes flowed across the parchment in an ease and unbreakable speed, and as Leliana crossed her arms over her chest, tipping her hip against the stone railing of the staircase, a tremor of affection rolled through her. A smile grew on her face before she could stop it, the mask of the Spymaster lifted off for a moment or two. She did not need it - not here. Not with Alexandra.

"If you find the sight so fascinating," said the Inquisitor, with a hint of a chuckle mingling with her words, "I suggest you find one of the Imperial Artists Celene sent us."

Smiling, Leliana began a slow walk to the Inquisitor's desk. Sunlight flitted through in long, sweeping spears, gray stone flushing and scarlet carpet glimmering faint amber. The hearth burned low, spitting flakes of embers into the air and splintering gorges into the blacken wood. A soft crackle came from the dying hearthfire, as the wind rattled gently taps against the panes, cut in shapes of triangles and rectangles and in colors of gold and orange and sapphire. Most depicted the fires of Andraste cut by the Sword of Hessarian, gleaming across like waves in the seas by the straying light.

She begun to unstrap the leather ties of her armor, sighing a little as she lifted the sheet of chainmail off, tugging off the leather gloves, and slipping out of the steel boots. The chilled air of the mountains slipped easily through her thin tunic, goosebumps beginning to prickle her skin. But warmth suddenly flooded the chambers, a soft subtle burst of heat that came from a floating flame of gold and red, streaming with thin plums of smoke. Slowly it spun, casting amber light in spinning threads across the stone walls and over the stone floor. Ribbons of ruby and gold and orange splatted the floor, drawing away the shadows who fled into the deep corners of the bedroom and beneath the Inquisitor's bed. The former looked...quite inciting...

Clearing her throat, and trying to rid herself of a growing warmth that most certainly came from the magical bobbing fire, Leliana glided behind Alexandra's chair, wrapping her arms around her neck, and resting her chin upon her shoulder. "They wouldn't be able to capture your beauty," mumbled Leliana, in a voice she dared allowed to hold a twinge of tiredness. When had it last been since she slept? Perhaps over three days? Maybe four. It was not her fault, at all. Work had to be done.

Alexandra caught onto it like a lioness with her prey, a hand drawing up to gently caress Leliana's arm, finger trailing over a white-faded scar. "You're tired, so I doubt you could be able to capture my so-called 'beauty.'" Despite the words, Leliana heard a smile upon Alexandra's lips - a true one, not marred by charm for political motivations or an assuring, benign one she wore to those who need it. The latter was often the most sincere, Leliana found, though she often gave too much that it tired her in the end, even if she argued that she was not.

"Even if I was blinded, your beauty would lift the darkness from it," whispered Leliana, laying a kiss to her cheek, before nuzzling deeper into the crock of her neck.

A sweet and light chuckle, almost airy. "That was terrible."

"Oh," mocked Leliana, trying to keep her own giggles down with a strong effort, "hush."

Suddenly Alexandra was facing her, arms wrapped snug around Leliana's waist, drawing her close that she laid a kiss to her stomach, a place where Alexandra knew a scar would be. "Oh, I shall, for I rather hear your singing than any pealing bell or spring wind." The golden-tipped emerald fire within her eyes flickered with open amusement, semingly pleased with that one.

Scoffing, Leliana rolled her eyes, though her smile was fond. Her fingers began to stroke through Alexandra's thick mane of dark curls, raveling in the softness of the textures; how her fingers seemingly got lost in those waves, before resurfacing with some in a light hold. Leliana adored her hair, enjoyed playing with it while Alexandra slept in peace. One of the few times either one of them could find peace, and Leliana wanted to savor the sight before the world took her away again.

Alexandra's smile reached her eyes, so bright and lovely that it paled the basking sun in dawn with clouds of shadow. One of Leliana's hands came to cup a soft cheek, caressing a high and sharp cheekbones. Swimming into those golden-foamed emerald waves, lazily carrying her soul in a light hold, Leliana felt a peace lift the burden of duty from her shoulders. How easily it had become, when staring into Alexandra's eyes, when that tasked felt as if she had to lift the Frostback Mountains themselves. How sweeter and calming life had become when Alexandra stumbled into her life, despite the headaches.

Without care, Leliana bent down and laid a kiss upon Alexandra's smiling lips, one mirroring upon her own. Gently her hand slipped through the dark tresses into the small nape of her neck. There too she began to draw faint circles that she knew would send a pleasurable shiver down Alexandra's back.

Time bled away, the worries of the world unraveling like threads on a tugged tapestry. For eons it felt as she kissed Alexandra, but it felt too soon when they pulled away to catch breath. Alexandra took a moment or two, but not more when she asked, "Can you kiss me again?" And there in that breathless whisper, a hint of shyness lingered, one only she seemed ever to draw out; and Leliana would be lying if she did not say that pleasure stroke the fires of her heart at it.

And how could I possible deny Andraste's Herald of a request?

Giggling, Leliana's lips met Alexandra's once more in their familiar, foriegn dance. Slipping into Alexandra's lap, hands now holding her face, she knew that the world did not bleed away to nothingness. When Leliana held Alexandra, she held her world in her hands.

-

Ask more Kisses Prompts here

[empressofmankind]

The Lion in Winter - Part I: Departure - 01. Kevan I

Fandom: A Song of Ice & Fire Character/s: Kevan Lannister, Petyr Baelish, Lysa Arryn, Gnaeus Farwynd Location/s: King’s Landing Premises: Little Kevan gets up to no good in the early hours before he becomes a squire Mood: Cute kid gets into serious trouble fast Warnings: N/A NOTE: Part I is set shortly before King Robert Baratheon, Queen Cersei Lannister and their family set out for Winterfell. It therefore takes place a little bit before the start of the first book, ‘A Game of Thrones’.

O   O   O

It was the midsts of winter when a kinslaying broke her heart. The Maiden-Made-of-Light turned her back on them, and the world slid into the Long Night. Kevan put the pastel down and looked at his creation with a critical eye. He’d drawn a slender woman in a dress as red as blood. Her golden hair fell in braided tresses, and her fair brow was crowned with rays of light. She smiled at him from across her pale shoulder with soft, emerald eyes. She walked into the paper, from which emerged the tall, dark-clad shape of a man. She was betrayed, and the Lion of Night came forth in all his wroth to punish the wickedness of Man. Kevan picked up an ochre pastel and added flecks to her cheeks and his eyes. Better.

“Are they Mama and Papa?”

Kevan flinched. The pastel slipped from his grasp and broke on the red sandstone. Helaina stood beside him, her velveret horse under her arm. A gift from Father. Lady Whinny, she called it.

“No.” That was stupid. He hadn’t drawn Mother and Father, he wasn’t a baby. Kevan put his pastels in their tin. It was a small but well-loved set, crumbling and priceless, imported from far away Essos. 

The morning had come hot and humid, the moist of the night’s rain still in the air. The adults said winter was coming, but in King’s Landing, it felt far off. Kevan had woken early. The hearth in their shared bedroom had gone out, the servants still abed. He had come out onto the small balcony to watch the sun rise and finish his drawing. He had made it on the last of the palimpsests Father had given him before leaving. 

“Who are they?” his little sister asked as she sat down on the ground, beside him.

“No one. Ancient rulers, maybe.” Kevan shrugged. Definitely not Pa and Ma. “Their legend is from far away and long ago. They are very old.”

“Older than uncle Lann?” Helaina pulled her knees up under her chin, Lady Whinny squeezed against her. The toy horse had been loved to death, its patterned velveret threadbare.

Kevan frowned. Tyrion hadn’t told him when the Long Night had occurred. Was it before Lann the Lion had come West? The mythical founder of their House had lived long ago, too. He would ask their older brother when he saw him. “I think so? Bad people made her sad.”

Helaina’s gaze flicked down to the drawing. “That’s not nice.”

“No,” Kevan agreed. “But the Lion of Night made them pay their debt.”

“Papa would do that for Mama too.” Helaina’s nose wrinkled as she pointed a small finger at the masculine figure. Black, lion-like shapes had been coloured onto the grey fabric of his gambeson. “Papa’s lion is golden, not sable.”

“It’s not Pa.”

Helaina looked at her brother, the wrinkle in her nose creasing deeper. After a moment, she turned her attention back to the drawing. “She’s very pretty, like the Lion Queen.”

‘Lion Queen’ was the name Helaina had given to a life-size painting of a seated Lady, that hung in the solar at home, because it was surrounded by limestone lions. Helaina liked to pretend she was the Lion Queen’s lady-in-waiting. Kevan looked at the woman he’d drawn. She did look a bit like her. Lots of women have blond hair, Kevan thought. Aunt Genna and auntie Tailynn. Princess Myrcella and my sisters, too, and cousin Joy. Kevan didn’t like the painting of the Lion Queen because it made Pa sad. Tyrion had told him she was his Ma. She had died. All of a sudden tears pricked Kevan’s eyes. He wanted to hug his mother, but he didn’t get up. He wasn’t a baby.

Helaina leaned her head against his shoulder, yearning in her sea-green eyes as she looked at the drawing. “Why is Papa angry?”

“It’s not Father!” Kevan rolled his shoulder, forcing her to sit up. He blinked his tears away, confused and angry. Lions do not show weakness.

Helaina stared at him, her eyes large and sad and rapidly becoming moist. Her bottom lip trembled. Kevan’s shoulders slumped. This was the longest and farthest they’d been away from Father, ever.

“You can see the Golden Tooth from here.” Kevan pointed at a jagged peak among the distant western mountains. “We can watch the sun paint it gold and Father will be on the other side watching too.”

A hopeful smile appeared on her small face.

Kevan reached his arms out to her. Helaina climbed onto his lap and snuggled against him, Lady Whinny between them. They gazed through the thick sandstone balusters together and watched the dawn creep across the Crownlands. It snuck towards the distant peaks, like a mountain lion stalking unsuspecting prey. When the warm morning light caught up to the jagged peak, it painted it in bright yellows amid its white peers: a gold tooth in the Westerlands’ pearly smile. Kevan leaned his head against the red sandstone and wondered if their Father was watching, too. He always rose early, long before dawn.

“I miss Papa.” A little sob followed Helaina’s words.

Kevan hugged his sister’s small shoulders against him and stroke her forehead, like Father would. She was only five, a baby. It was the ninth year of summer and the tenth of Kevan's life. He'd been born on the tail of winter. His father said it was what made him strong. His mother would respond with a sad smile that Kevan didn’t understand. “Pa will be here soon,” he promised. “I will become a squire today, and he’ll be here for that, you’ll see.”

Kevan had been Ser Kevan’s page for two years now. Today, he would become a squire: his first real step on the road to knighthood. Maybe I will become Ser Barristan’s squire, he thought. He was everything a knight should be - strong, smart, kind. Kevan knew it was more likely that he would become his uncle’s squire as it was unusual for a page to squire to a different knight. This made him a little jealous of his cousin Tyrek, who was squire to King Robert. He wondered why his big brother Ser Jaime didn’t have a squire.

Helaina made a little noise. She had fallen asleep, her thumb in her mouth behind Lady Whinny’s tattered snout. With effort, Kevan lifted her up and brought her back to her bed. She curled up in the warm bedding without waking, mushing the threadbare horse against her face.

Kevan returned to the balcony to pick up his drawing and pastel box. His gaze lingered on the Golden Tooth. He wanted to explore even though he knew he wasn’t supposed to.  Yet Father was not here, and it made him bolder. 

He went back inside, dumped the items on the desk and tugged on pants. He forsook boots because he was quieter on his bare tiptoes. Opening their bedroom door on a crack, he spied down the twilit hallway — no one in sight, not even Ser Gnaeus. A mischievous glint made the ochre flecks in his pale green eyes sparkle.

It was quiet yet in Maegor's Holdfast, the massive square fortress at the heart of the Red Keep. Kevan roamed the corridors to his heart’s content and found a passage he didn't think he'd been before. It was a tight affair with rough, unplastered walls. A servant’s passage, surely. They had them at home too, tucked between bedchambers and solars to allow staff to go swift and unseen where needed. Kevan was positively thrilled to have found a new one, so much so that he temporarily forgot about today’s impending event. 

The passage was dark, and he felt his way up the rickety wooden stairs. It opened up behind a bust in a modest, old cabinet blanketed in silence and filtered morning light. It was little-used, judging by the dust that covered the Targaryen King’s broad, scowling countenance. As Kevan entered, his attention was drawn to an antique display case near the rear window where the first, weak rays of dawn fell onto something glistening within. 

He crossed the cabinet, his toes sinking into the plush rug. The glass of the display case was grimy, caked with dirt and dust. He rubbed the sleeve of his nightshirt past it to better see what laid within. It cleaned the glass but little and dirtied his sleeve a great deal. On a cushion as threadbare as his sister’s velveret horse, lay a beautiful dagger. Despite its neglected, dust-blanketed state, the light danced along its keen edge towards its smooth dragonbone hilt. 

Kevan regarded it, face all but pressed against the glass as he studied the dagger with the fascination of a boy keen to carry his own. It must be ancient, he thought, mesmerised by the steel’s ripples winking in the morning light. It was Valyrian steel, he was sure of it. Why would anyone leave it here, forgotten? A frown wrinkled his nose. I will tell Mother. He had overheard his parents talking about Brightroar, their forefather’s Valyrian blade. Father had been looking for a replacement.

“This way, quickly.”

Kevan’s gaze shot to the door. Its handle moved down. The hinges creaked. He dashed behind a venerable chiffonier as it swung open. Panic and guilt vied for control of his thoughts.  Pa will ground me for life.

A man with a small, pointed beard and dressed in fine silks entered. He was lean of frame but small of stature. Two heads shorter than Pa, at least, Kevan thought. He didn’t know the man. A portly woman followed close behind, her many-layered brocade dress rustling in her wake. She had thick, auburn hair that fell to her waist. He knew Lady Lysa, she was the wife of the Hand of the King, Lord Jon Arryn. His parents had introduced him to them when they first arrived at King’s Landing, prior to Prince Joffrey’s name day. Lady Lysa would undoubtedly inform his Ma, and so he made himself as small and quiet as could be.

“I can’t take it any more, Petyr.” Lysa clasped her hands together. She sounded fearful. Surely Lord Jon will keep Lady Lysa safe? Pa would never let anything happen to Ma, Kevan was confident.

“Just a little longer, now.” Petyr’s tone was soft, reassuring, encouraging, maybe. He had an accent, subtle but particular in the way he rolled his r’s. Kevan wondered which House he belonged to and peeked around the lacquered wood to see. Lady Lysa stood with her back towards him, her large behind dominating the view. Her ample silhouette hid the man from Kevan's sight, no matter which way he leaned to try and better see.

Petyr put his hand on her upper arm and tried to catch her gaze. Lysa flinched at his touch but then leaned into it. He smiled when her eyes crossed his. “Your boy will be safe soon.”

Lysa wrung her hands. “Everyone is trying to take him from me.”

“I know,” Petyr said as he rubbed her arm, his smile never faltering. “He belongs with his mother.”

“Even the Rock has started to meddle, Petyr,” Lysa continued, an edge of worry creeping into her tone. “They want to foster my little Rob! Can you imagine? My sweet, gentle robin, amid that nest of vipers.”

“Indeed? I did see their boy play with him, yester morn.”

“A wicked child. I’ve seen him skulking about, spying for them, no doubt.” Lysa moved abruptly, taking in her surroundings. 

Kevan dodged back behind the chiffonier, his heart hammering in his throat. Are they talking about me? He had played with Robert Arryn yesterday. They all had? He didn’t understand. Robert had wanted to play!

Kevan heard her move about the room, the click of her shoes disappearing as she stepped unto the carpet near the chiffonier.

“Vain and harebrained, like his mother,” Lysa added.

Kevan flattened himself against the floor, peering under the antique furniture. Lady Lysa’s dainty, green silk shoes halted near the display. They turned as Petyr’s lacquered boots approached.

“I doubt she caught the old lion’s attention idly.” Petyr’s tone was thoughtful. “It takes a particular flower to flourish on that rock.”

Lysa made a derisive noise. “She is half his age, and he’s been anxious for another son ever since mad Aerys schemed him out of his heir.”

They were very close now. Kevan waited, staring at their footwear. When Petyr’s boots turned their heels towards him too, he ran. Low. Fast. Bare feet whispering across the carpet and then tiles. He ducked behind the bust and through the crack he had come. 

“They were quick to produce one,” Petyr said, amusement lilting his voice.

In the shaded safety of the servants' corridor, Kevan’s fear bled away. He crept back to the door and peered out through the crack. They were standing at the chiffonier, the man with his back towards him. He held Lady Lysa’s hand, enclosing her fingers within his. 

“You rebuffed them?” 

“Yes. I would sooner die than let them weaponise my sweet robin.”

“Their interest has no doubt been noticed by others. That might work to our advantage.” Petyr turned, and Kevan could see him now. His gaze hunted around the man’s garments for a pattern or emblem, but when he found it, he did not recognise the black mockingbird on a field of ochre. A small lord, then? Kevan had thoroughly studied the charter of lords that Ser Kevan had given him. He was sure he had not seen it's like among them.

Lysa nodded, her fingertips brushing against Petyr’s hand before he let go and reached for something from the finely embroidered coin satchel at his hip. He produced a trinket that caught the morning light, drawing Kevan’s attention. It was a small droplet of glass, no larger than a thumb-tip, suspended from a silver chain. The clear liquid trapped inside moved hypnotically within. What a pretty necklace, Kevan thought, and it reminded him of the gifts Pa would  bring for Ma when he came home.

“Your boy will be safe, soon,” Petyr promised once more.

Lysa stared at it with apprehension. Petyr moved his hand as if to give it to her, urging her to take it. She straightened and accepted it with a determined nod. Lysa held the pendant gingerly, mesmerised by the liquid; then swiftly tucked it into her ample bosom. Petyr smiled and leaned towards her. Kevan’s gaze jumped away to the rough stone wall when they kissed. It was only then that he realised what trouble he was truly in because that man was not Lord Jon. 

Kevan turned and fled. In his hurry, he missed one of the steps and tumbled down. His shoulder struck the uneven floor hard, and he bit back a cry of pain. He squeezed his eyes closed and tried to regulate his breathing, the way Ser Kevan had taught him, to calm down and control the pain. Lions do not show weakness.

After a moment, he pushed himself up. All he had to do was return to his bed chambers and crawl back into bed. Ma and Pa need never know. A mewl wormed past his lips at the sharp pain that shot through his shoulder as he rose.

In the distance, a royal guard trumpeted the day’s start. He had to hurry, or the servants would find him missing when they came to light the hearth. He peered out. The corridor beyond was as quiet as it had been when he had come this way. He raced down the passages, back to the wing reserved for royal guests. Leaning around the final corner, he scouted the hallway. The door to his parents’ sleeping quarters was still closed. The door to his own bed chambers stood slightly ajar. Almost there.

“You are up early, younger Lord Kevan.”

Kevan froze when he heard Ser Gnaeus’ stern voice right behind him. The knight was of an age with his brother Tyrion but not remotely as fun. Kevan turned and opened his mouth, an excuse on his lips, but yelped when the knight grabbed him by the ear. 

“Spare me,” Ser Gnaeus said.

 “Ouch! Let go! I am almost ten!”

“For all I care, you were the crown prince himself and of an age with him too.” Ser Gnaeus deflected the boy’s milling arms as he dragged the lordling with. 

“Your Lady Mother forbade you and you will listen to her.”

 O   O   O

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[plague-doctor-jules]

Sleepless nights: A Julian x Neville fanfiction

((Disclaimer: I only own my interpretation of The Arcana’s Julian. Neville, Vicky, Diantho and the interpretation of The Arcana’s Valdemar belong to @gdrawsthings​ and Omaira to @halfblooddragonghost​))

The witching hours in the city of Vesuvia was usually the quitest part of the day. The absolute quietness was only disturbed by the occasional owl cries, the howls of some lonely dog or erotic sighs of some couples in love that had forgotten to close their bedroom windows. Otherwise, the starlit hour of the poets and hopeless romantics was crowned by silence and the white noise of crickets and waves brushing against the docs. Yet, despite the heavenly peace, for the fourth time this week, Neville woke up in the middle of the night at the sound of pacing onto the wooden floor and shallow breathing. And for the fourth time, he was met by a cold bed and ruffled sheets where his lover should be lying. The opera singer sighed and shifted his weight on the matress, tiredly rubbing his eyes.

Why does he insist on suffering alone and pretending all is well afterwards?

Granted, Neville was one to appreciate discreetness more than most people. His whole upbringing was based on the idea of building one’s image like wearing a mask: be good, polite and efficient, and whatever happens behind the facade is noone’s business. Yes, his people really valued the privacy of their emotions and weaknesses. That was why they all ended up miserable and died at the mental asylum. That was why he was the family’s scapegoat.

And after all... he wasn’t just “noone” to the other man... was he?

He still remembered the night he met him. How could he forget that performance of La Boheme; the tenacity of Rodolfo’s affection being completely overshadowed by that ethereal vision of a man sitting at the last rows of the amphitheatre; auburn curls, voluptuous lips, skin so white that it was almost transluscent, and these silver, watery eyes that looked as if moonlight was pooling into them and gazed right into his emerald ones, like they were peering into his very soul... If anyone asked him how he found himself off the stage and kneeling in front of him singing the “O soave fanciulla” aria as if he was singing it for him and him alone, having abandoned his co-star, he would be unable to answer. Everything else had blurred into nothingness; what mattered was only the here and now, him and himself captured in a moment of poetry. “Oh, sweetest vision with moonlight bathing your pretty face! The dream that I see in you is the dream I'll always dream!” Neville sang with all his soul, and the spirit of the night sang with him.

But as all beautiful things do, the magic of the song ended too soon to his liking, and the brittle awkward silence of the audience was soon shattered by a roar of applause. With the corner of his eye he spotted the soprano widen her eyes in disbelief and storming off the stage with an angry huff. Yet, in the glory of the moment, the opera singer could only take the other’s gloved hand into his and press a gentle kiss onto it, never taking his eyes off the burgundy color that had spread on the redhead’s cheeks. His gaze lowered to the slightly parted lips for a tempting moment before it met the silver eyes once more, only to see a tempest of emotions one overpowering the other: bewilderment, shock, longing and finally terror.

Immediately, the pale man withdrew his hand from his as if it scorched him and sprang out of his seat, running towards the exit, as if he was being chased by all the demons of hell.

“Wait!” the singer called out and ran after him, leaving the now murmuring in confusion audience behind. Even if he were aware of the massive scandal that would result from that eventful night, Neville couldn’t care less. Instead he kept running, yet the other was too fast and agile. Soon, he was out of sight.

Neville huffed, cursing himself under his breath. Now that he thought of it, how foolishly spontaneous his behavior was! He knew nothing of the other man, he might have offended him for all he knew. Perhaps he was already with someone, or was just freaked out that he was courted in that fashion in front of so many people. Perhaps-

A familiar white linen shirt caught Neville’s attention effectively stopping his inner monologue, and his heart skipped a beat when he turned to see no other than the man from earlier having leaned over the railing of the docs, peering down at the dark waters. The sea breeze brushed through his hair and made his dark coat -wait, was that a military doctor coat?- flutter along with the hem of his shirt, spreading the smell of musk, leather and coffee; though the tremors of his shoulders were not because of it. As Neville slowly approached, he could make out the small sobs that escaped him and the tears that were running down his face, to drip into the angry waters below. He hadn’t noticed him. Hesitantly, Neville touched his shoulder. The red haired man did not look surprized to see who was there, and finding no resistance, Neville passed his arm around the slender shoulders and held him close. He shuddered, but did not go away, and after a while he relaxed a little, leaning his head onto the small of Neville’s neck. “Why are you doing this?” he whispered, with his eyes closed.

“Nothing in this world happens in vain, and the soul holds secrets the logic would never understand. There are lost lives lingering between the pages of the world and when a soul finds its kindred one it  cries as it remembers its past happiness. Whatever they are made of, yours and mine are one.” Neville whispered back, carefully caressing the auburn tresses.

The teary silver eyes raised to meet his in awe and melancholy. “ That’s Emily Bronte... but...I... don’t understand...” he muttered.

“Neither do I. Nor we should.” Neville replied softly. “What is your name?”

“Julian.”

The weak light of a solitary candle was casting long shadows onto the walls of the small kitchen. Although it was not visible from where Neville was currenty standing, he knew that Julian had stopped his pacing and was now sitting at the table, head in his arms. Without looking, he reached out to his newly filled mug of coffee, but another hand reached out to it too, covering it like a lid and stopping him.

“’Tis too late to be having this sort of beverage, darling.” Neville muttered lovingly before wrapping his arms around Julian’s waist an planting a soft kiss on his neck. Julian smiled at that, instinctively leaning into his lover’s embrace. “My angel of music... What time is it?” he purred back.

“Too late to be about. Come back to bed. It feels empty without you in it...” Neville replied, punctuating his statement with a small nibble on Julian’s neck to ensure he wouldn’t protest. “Bad dream?”

Julian’s expression became crestfallen without bothering to word his answer. “I woke you up.” It wasn’t a question. “I have been waking you up in the middle of the night for days now. Haven’t I?”

“That doesn’t answer the question, Ilya.” Neville pointed out and drew a chair to sit next to him. “I know that something has been troubling your sleep as of late; you jump out of bed panicked and start pacing around for hours. I want to know who or what to blame for it. Is it the war? Your time with the pirates? Or is it Valdemar, that creepy boss of yours?”

Julian nodded, defeated. “About a week ago they... they put someone’s arm into a blender just to take a cool x-ray... I just... cannot unsee what I saw. I can still hear the screams in my head.”

Neville’s eyes went wide with disbelief, horror and annoyance. “They did whAt now?! Are you bloody kidding me?! A blender?!” He grabbed Julian by his shoulders and pulled him into his arms, wrapping them protectively around him. “Julian, love... You can quit, you know. That person is clearly a sick sadist and a sociopath. I don’t want you to go mad because of him. I wonder how that sweet girl Vicky can handle them... and don’t even get me started on how baby Diantho will turn out to be...”

“Not if I am the one babysitting her... But I understand what you mean. At times like this I think about it too.” Julian’s voice was muffled by the material of Neville’s velvety robe. “But still... I do not want to resign. Even though I find myself hating Valdemar’s guts at times... they are the best doctor I have ever met. If it weren’t for them I wouldn’t be half the doctor I am now; they’ve taught me so many things. Then... I have no issues getting along with my colleagues; Vicky, Omaira and the others... And in this failing economy it wouldn’t be wise to find myself unemployed or working at the legal grey zones. Not when for the first time in my life I want stability and happiness...” Julian cupped Neville’s cheek tenderly and leaned in to kiss his lips softly. “Not when I have found you...”

Neville couldn’t help but blush and pulled the doctor in, crushing their lips together in a needy kiss. “You are the best thing that happened to me, in all these years of misfortune and misery...” Julian managed, when they parted for air, earning him a chuckle and a series of soft neck kisses.

“At least let me tell him off for making your life unbearable... Someone has to... They can’t keep terrorize you like that.” Neville purred, lifting his lover’s thin frame into his arms and carrying him to bed.

“Oh, my prince with his shiny armor...” julian chuckled between kisses. “Well, you can try, I suppose, but don’t expect that there will be much difference. It’s not their fault, really. That’s simply who they are.”

“Well, we don’t know that unless I try. Don’t underestimate my powers of persuasion, my darling angel of death...” Neville snickered mischieviously before pinning Julian’s arms above his head and seductively pull the half-opened shirt down his shoulders using his teeth. Julian bit down his lip to suppress a moan and his eyes fluttered closed. “I would never~”

((I am sorry if this fic seems too hastily written; i am obsessed since I found out about Neville’s character and I had to get all this inspiration out of my system. Dedicated to @gdrawsthings​, @halfblooddragonghost​ and @plaguehostwiththemost​.

P.S: Here is the x-ray Julian is talking about. It isn’t a blender; it is a meat grinder that did this. Close enough, I say. If gore triggers you, please do not open the “keep reading” link

[sogton]

Generic Poetry

Original: Darkest moon had soon forgot The utter danger of the Plot To answer call of Banshee Queen A heightened and a highly mien Servant of Shadows, Isabel Black Dark Grimalkin call the attack! As shadows whirl around thy head Fear me, I am Sogton Kottr, and I fly as one dead Her beauty dark as Winter's lace She touched you once and left no trace But still anon her footsteps fall In hidden valleys, mountains tall 'Tis the ice queen, you said That shatters souls and heals the dead The ice queen sitting on her frozen throne In halls of frost, no sun shone Yet still one man dared to challenge the queen Though his life, until now, was but a dream His ambitions even less Yet he saw the moonlight reflected in her pale tress Did you stop to judge the time With what reason or rhyme Did you come to these far flung shores Under a blood rime, with sea foam Disguising the treacherous rocks below This the ice queen said To the englishman Better to fly than die In icy roam Though the allure of the beauty and the beast was strong, lo Yet how could this adventurer resist the guile And slight smile, disguising the fury of the queen Such was his doom underneath the throne and light sheen. The ice queen imprisoned him, yet herself was bound With ring though nonphysical, still struck her round And love melted her accursed heart Yet could not entirely bind the art Of shadow, devilish magic Pagan shadows in the sick And eldritch dark She acquiesced to him Could she be grim? Under this amourous adventure The lure of green shores, and grass under hill Broke her out of her spell, And though uncertain, tarrying under the snow She came to knell And the thatched cottage of his home Shadowy still She bargained with goodness, helped the peasant and uplifted the half breed Yet the honeyed mead of her bargain seemed false And allayed by grief, she stole his life And became his wife Now Ragna Kottr For this was the ice queen's name Unhuman daughter Of sin, not flesh Rebelled against God And was caught in the mesh Of those who transgressed the Divine White hair, white raiment To cause the unbeautiful to lament She married John Westley, sailor Parlor magician, sometimes purveyor Of childish dream The glowing rainbow orbs of fairy tale Unfeasible, ephemeral, unsubstantial How such a man would have tamed the proverbial lion And gone From the comfort of England's green and pleasant land Sunny under fertile river band To the cold shores of island dreary No one knows, yet he was not weary And maintained the hand of the seductress in marriage Yet God had a plan Grim tidings yet nevertheless melt under the ban Of Heaven Such is what happened In England, the lovers made their home Yet from the early rebellion, the bone and flesh of humanities' transgression Was relieved by Jesus, and through fission Like that which the stars undergo, The force of goodness in Ragna's soul Formed humanistic nature The fool yet dreams of empirical power Domination of men in dark hour Yet Sogton Kottr cast aside such aspirations Living in Nippon, a frugal life Castle undecorated, free of imperial strife A simple black robe to match the sadness of her home Attended she was by lantern carrying mountain Gnomes The dark haired lady Sogton challenged the ice queen Out of jealousy, but not vanity, like the demon She cast down the London squallor, But was deposed by the englishman and his dread wife's palour. Now our tale comes to a close, as the Nymph rests imprisoned in the teapot. Yet not forgot. The Samurai wandering from the lands of feudal dominion Does not become the minion of his desires Yet stokes the fires Of nobility Strange certainty A generous mien, a wanderlust so deadly To those without the greed And desperate failure of lust But in God we trust At least, at the beginning Not all was evil then Some may say that none in the beginning was evil But when the Creator transpired that each being should give their all to art and music One great song before the fall, the Demon conspired To bring the Sephirot down A clown Yet still noble, would end up redeeming humanity. Come and see If anyone dares to pursue the rhyme to it's just end Lend aid And give the thirst land it's due sacrifice in newborn seed laid To growth If a moat bridge Was built on sand, it would fail And so the witch Ragna Kottr, Though could control hail and cold Yet had no idea of good's power for defeating the old And sending the rot to rack and ruin Still imprisoned in a teapot, the Light Sprite made a ploy To destroy the bind with eldrich abomination Manipulated for good For even the ugly shall avoid damnation, though bound in dark Away from the light, but not evil She suffered the blight, to make the ill witch pay. The day broke. John thought Sogton saved them, when really a cunning ploy Sending the assassin to a vain threat, inconsequential Met with trivial acting A emotionless play So putting forth a small fraction of the powers The flower Of youth and holy vengeance Sogton Kottr, Divine Fooled the fearful englishman into adding her to his party Not smart For Ragna, Yet hearty in the eyes of the wise The trio was amended Some ragged band of adventurers, lended To grand pursuits, a man who wanted the best for his country And two sisters at each other's throats Knife in knife, parry for parry, without heraldry or pomp But John was oblivious to this Not envious, he could not comprehend evil Until it was at his doorstep And it was not Not yet. The last chapter of our adventure unfolds at a manor In the woods Shadowy, of ancient built When the Romans still roamed Britain's isles Ragna had her fill of shadow She would strike soon Yet the doom of Sogton was not vanquished just yet. Ragna struck, claws outstretched Yet with luck John turned around and stabbed the witch And she died, in spirit, if her physical body could not be vanquished. Yet spiritually she was still present. Until Sogton manipulated time. The past was restored. And our rhyme ends on the western ocean. Like the legendary tale The pair set sail To greener pastures Under a sun that was glowing. Sakura Blossom falleth oh Cruel Woe, Cruel Woe As soul of weary Wanderer to the Otherworld doth go The Golden Tether breaketh and the chain shatters like glass As soul of weary Wanderer to the Otherworld doth pass His soul alights on Fuji san and knows not where to go With aching heart he hears the call of those trapped down below Of Barrow Gnome, and Lonesome Elf, with lanterns bright up the mountain In pitch black night they walk, while below, the Sun shines on the plain Past Tori shrine and uttering rhyme he leaves an offering And finally at Mass he came to grass where Nightingale doth sing With aching heart he passion asks the Spirits gathered there If any Kami ever saw a Girl with Snow White Hair? Then Kitsune comes, to perilously lead the chase And pursue Ragna through the wrack and the waste With regal mien the White Sorceress dwells by Willow Tree And fast meandering River brings the Naiads free The Raven, Amaterasu's Eye, watches the fields with red gleam And as he spies, utters a cry, to below the Moon Sheen The Wanderer Comes to this Sacred Site And with Sign and signet and sapphire performs the Sacred Rite And at last the Mist parts And Kitsune leads him up a Hill to vanish with a pure heart And John meets his Goddess Not the less, does Ragna Blush, and twist her hands, with courteous White bands Her heart pines, and not like the cruel rime Was the place, yet blessed in Strands Of Divinity. Now with surety, John approaches her,  And with Mist, she could not resist, the leaves parted, They kissed. Folk: Excalibur, The blade was forged in water sweet And hot in realms where flagons flowed with mead And dreaming damsels had some Faerie Magic While tempestuous seeking psychic Roamed over the forest emerald and tourmaline The fresh clean white tabbard, the ringing sound of the tambourine The drum beat rapt a military tune In pleasing dells, the horn and flute brayed till noon And the evening fell with hot caress on the pastures quaint And night yet beautiful the stars illuminate The realm of Arthur's home, free from Taint The Quest For The Grail was set! Excalibur, Oh Excalibur! Shall I fain discard this haliberd? And have I failed the bet? The drumbeats of war no longer soothe my heart And peace calls to me in the song of Bard Yet I cannot subside and rest Vengeance calls me hence! Shall I ever see the white walls of Camelot In ravenous glee? Or with jovial Mordred, forget the plot? Gram, Arondight Half light Such Arthur's bane was The blade of the King Saint sanctum Laundsalin With tempered steel and moon silver it was forged A blade to rival Elementium's cursed lores And dark to subdue the murmuring of Elves And fairy Hobgoblins in desolate shelves The ice forms around the huddled leaves in glade Shading around like frightened maidens in pallourous afraid The design of Shadowy Ghouls and intelligent princes The Blade Was forged by witches, And succinct Demons, kind of Lich And All Soul's Night is saved We pray to you, King Lancelot And Mordred too, with Dark Sheen Thy noble Arms is not forgot We pray thee, Grace Our Halloween Viking Sunset In burdened perfection Our burning inflection of regal splendor Waves crash against the shore of our ferric and fearsome dragon ships As we reach the siege of seas Tell me wise man once you left the farmland meadows Was God and Glory hiding in the shadows? was there anything waiting in treasure or compensation as you stared at the stareless and blank oppression at subjugation of the vast encircling dark? Hark At the end of the world The Jormungand Jaws turn around our screaming vessels The elves wait with vipers engulfed with the rapture of boiling magma, black ambrosia Sundown has come on the wailing and lashes of mortals that fend and impartially perish in the cold dark Loki alighted on Svartalfheim Brash, black, busy buildings Cutting through the air like a frosty magic spire Challenging the grace of God A dismal prospect in the rime ocean Such was the grace in those times A hard life, given only to those worthy, and with good will Yet much was holy and soothing about then, and those that lived through evil conquered the weakness The Vikings knew the sadistic style of Sigurd Now Loki had travelled through the mists of Niflheim to get there Musing not, more morose was his bane in the frost fire of the arcane Void, Where not much lived, and he would be hard pressed Living through the rapid transformations and tests of the Primal Realm thusly Destroyed in body and mind, though not in spirit. Loki endured this. And as a damsel in distress, a dastardly graceful dame, dressed in elegance, with decorum abound, virtuous if wicked, and containing an evil heart yet smiling countenance, thus Loki orange corseted attained the corsairs of Svartalfheim The Dark Elves there were brash, but eager to serve the Tyrant, and with cherries and wrath she was fed, and attained in her throne, and nursed back to something resembling health. But her face, recovering illsomely from the serpent's Venom, distorted and became disfixed in the eternal stream of time. It was a monstrous array of color and rainbow light, and mercuriously shifted like some pouring poison to the confine. Ragna, as we shall call her now, for she took a name of revenge and damned resolution, pridefully angry stood, and slapped the hame of the Doctor. "Grant me alms!" she screamed, and her Banshee shriek was soon obeyed. Now Linsom Lauflett, the slave and bellows master, told the thralls to brutally heat the magma, having necessary cauterizing properties even for God Venom. Loki was placed on a bench, stone carved the table was, and the heat steamed from the fire of the lake which coldly rested above the vulcanous mountain that led to the cavern of the Elves. Ragna screamed as the fire magma dropped on her and redressed her face in a symphony of pain, and she convulsed like one half mad with visions of grandeur. Phantoms came to her, and she began to walk like one half incensed in a fantasy. The spirits were darkly conquered, however, and the magma solidified into a mask, forged into a clown smile by her indomitable spirit. The danger was through. She rose triumphant, a dawn of man and Beast, this Godtrivested part responding to her eternal domination of the mortal races. Artemis Star Bow Vanquisher of the dark below Thy eyes contain sweetness The dew of the earth, is a cascade of river on thy illustrious halo The triumph of man The conquiesence of a conception of dignity The Trinity Reflected in thy light The return of Gods and Giants and Demons full bright A sad array of abandonment for the parched fallen Earth Too many failures lay in that dark dirt Thy hair, is a band that circles around the entire plane A uniting of ends, the Jormungand serpent eating its tail A sign of stability in Midgard And Beyond To the greater Stars that sit on the gate of the Elder Dark A sad and stark reminder OF RESTITUTION The dissolution of mortal binds A rhyme, to pierce even the chaos within the river of Andromeda And the song of Philomela, echos to the Divine In this clime, not much sits, but ever flows, In increasing heat, as Dante knew Until how tempered and beat like gold he returned to the eternal New Dawn. A triumph of humanity. With clarity, to analyze events. He saw Diana bathing in the vents and hot geysers of the Greek Arcadian peek And with a sleek look, was caught in her wiles, and devoured by dogs Necessary of penetrating the fog of human indecency Such a pennant monk thou hast never seen in the penitentiary Or Rosary, of Indus monk, who nurses on Ram's knee and Sita's breast Far removed, but still containing the glory of the West So Kipling mused while in field of guns, amid a sulfur cloud And even the darkest evil always passes by when Angel shroud Illuminates the plain. Be with me, Queen, and I shall tolerate pain. Now in that bright City Where knows know sadness, nor gloomy pity Related the call of Giants and the Horn of Sylphs With deep births, their dominance over the mortal races was unchallenged With Queenly garland, their Kingdom uncommon Rose to compete with the heights of Heaven Their bronze City competed with even Olympus And the Thunderer was brashly impressed Not such a glory Has occurred since the Heathen Kings Of Atlantis in the West Who worshiped Christ though they knew not his face And were the only ones in Limbo saved Praise be to the Glory The resounding Allfather, that Pity, and Judgement Of sin, not a gentle hand, but resounding fire that refines and burns away impurity Devoutly to be wished Sister, can though comprehendest the tale? So with Sail. Earendil, desperate Mariner Beseeched the Valar for Salvation But few was given, for they were wrought by Melkor And the evil that well deep poisoned the dawn of Creation in the Gigantomachy That slaying of kith and kin that poisoned the world Enoch speaks of it, When he allayed in Mesopotamia Of the fallen Angels, and those deceitful kind Who poisoned the minds of Genius Gloria, was far gone Yet not forgotten Enoch still had wisdom enough to measure the circumference of the world When fools talk of conspiracy deep, and decry the Ice Wall, that division of Heavenly Rule and earthly desire, they hit close to the fact Yet with tact they have not, they would do well to remember the words of Milton, as he describes Mic'hael, talking to Adamas as he searches in the tree Reading the books, the sacred note, that scroll winding through the Garden of Eden Free he was, though far fallen And in time he would come to repent of his transgression, become good again. That was not now. "Turn away from misdeed, Adam, what reason do thy have to examine the Stars? Turn away from needless speculation, the Heavens are not thy to understand, and instead work on improving the race of mortals on earth. The planets are not yours to will, the movement of them is Eternal." so those lost, and ephemeral Flat Earthers, would do well to remember the will of God. We shall go back to Enoch. The King, knew of the demise of the Earth And how the Giants were rebelling So with thought spelling He turned to Jesus He was on the world in those days A king with Sapphirical stone A halo shrouded his appearance, his limbs were wan And gave the appearance of one not human The earthly races would do well to remember that he is not on of their kind Although Man Made in his image Have some terror before a superior mind Fear of God is the beginning of Wisdom Jesus said thus "Behold, Enoch, the extent of my rule." And he showed him the far Earth, The Angels, with their multiple eyes and fast wings and cutting angles, amid a substance translucent, a mineral neither gem nor firmament, but one containing transmorphic powers: the wheel span, fire was below. Now in the face of these mind crushing Abominable, the parasites that fed on human will, Enoch may have quavered, but he was strong. He saw the sky beyond, and realized that it was dark, yet stone and life still grew near the mark, minerals silver and red and adamantite, a bright and fell green fire was on the white. He moved on to the Ice Wall, where death was, not even Fingolfin could come to the end of the World, without suffering great terror, this was why the Eldritch Abominants dominated the world, and the Crossing was so perilous. In Denigrous, and pale transition, the realm of Hell crossed into mortal splendor. Mark now, Reader, how the world was not separate, nor a hallow sphere, but a deeper dark expanse, ranging on Parallel Planes, this eternal Interdimensional dance, was transcribed in legend, but most ignored it. The bleed was evident, Spectres sat on the realm of human, and fed on their Souls, the alchemists seemed not to care. The stare of death was upon them. Now with desperate prayer, Enoch turned to Jesus. The Lord, in infinite mercy sent an army to help him. The Giants were rebelling, and the Angels descended and curtailed the revolt. With much blood was the field won and spilled red. Ragna bound and at that time serving Jesus rejoiced at the slaughter, although the seeds of this envy would copulate throughout the Ages, and Lucifer would revolt. Female insight and necessary expansion was always thus. Now, the plight solved, yet many ill humans still relented. For the Giants were sealed, but the teachings of bad Angels remained, and Augury was high, Science turned to sin. With the within caverns, ancient information was sealed, with gold walls, although the information would be later ignored, yet God would still give men the chance to save themselves, thus was his Mercy wont. Now a great flood was set upon the world, and we shall return to No'a, or Gilgamesh, as he was known. This mortal, would save humanity. Jesus grace the masses, Thus we relate the tale of the Garden of Eden. Eve transgressed, and ate the forbidden fruit, And for that much good was done But she also suffered And evil was allowed to creep into the world So mortals would do well to veer away from Telperion's boughs And Laurelin's cursed sap, will make Humans venomously bleed, and transform, though with heavy regret and much convulsion Let not the repulsion allay you from following the path of Good. Eve was cursed and then became known as Lilith, and thou knowst the tale How she was eternal animous to Sogton Kottr, as well as her darker more resonant and familiar personality, Astarte That sacrificer of innocent, murderer of children, in Hedonistic Uruk She was a breeder of Orcs and Hobgoblins in heated depths The breadth of her transgression was not Known to Her Long would she suffer And in the End, justly so. Let us return to the harrowing of Good in Anatolia John Westley, a King in those days Built the gates of Uruk Before it was turned to evil Wise was he wrought, and crafted the bars out of True Silver Not yet Oricalc, For Atlantis had died. Ragna had alloyed with Aztec sacrificial mask And killed everyone inside Then burned the bodies on the pyre of Satanism Though she was not as evil as Astarte, she did not kill children They drowned, and came to the Kingdom, and Jesus saved them. Thus is related in the Atlantiad. John Westley, calling himself Gilgamesh Built the walls sturdy, beyond mere bricks But polymers of steel, and technological innovation Was high, though the lying scholars of false study want you to believe not learned And unintellectual cretins built the gates with chisels and dust How could Egyptians move the Obelisks? Perpetual fools. The ramparts were laden with iron, Of garlands were the houses decorated A stone was on the welcome step Vast clean streets held a variety of commerce The bazaar was always laden with silk And fruits juicy with melons that dripped water Although perfectly ripe Such a glorious paradise Has never been on Earth since the Telemacy And Arcadia Now the King ruled supreme But Astarte had plans for him, And turned him to corruption It started with prostitutes, And before long he was Hedonistically crumbled and fell to Rejection And renounced the religion of Innana Ragna for her part turned to vengeance And made the clay man Enkidu to subdue him Breathing her own breath into the Wild man, like Odin of old Greater than any gold were his manly primitive treasures Leather and waste, a strong rope, his hands instead of a bare sword The idealism of the country was on Enkidu And like Charles went to comfort John in his trip to Svalbard Years later The bards, weakened the pride of the king and turned him to gentle dreams once more Enkidu then taught him the ways of war, and for the first time drew blade Though despising violence There was nothing ill in slaying savages The glade Of Lebanon was their target The pines were the rarest in the world And they slayn the Etin Ubaba That large hybrid Which inspired the speculation of Bigfoot [No Nephilim was he, cursed be to America] in later Lays. The Days drawn on in bliss. But the flood was coming. And Astarte cruelly slain Enkidu. As the water raged through the city Through Gilgamesh's knees He saw that a part of it was slight stained with Wild man's blood And coldly cried to the wind. He then took his beloved's body, and buried it in Sky Palace, and his grave remained above the waters, like the Lone Island of Beleriand. Gilgamesh journeyed to the shore of Israel, and saw the stars spin They wheeled unnaturally in phosphorescent agony There was deep trauma, illness in the Universe He sought the Old Man how to rectify it But was told "Look within thyself" Then Gilgamesh learned from Inanna, And saw her hut And saw that humility was the best respite from the burdens of Demoniacal destruction With locomotion he built a Boat, and took the fruit of the Gods To Elvenhome, and withsustained the legacy And the immortal blood was not shed And he was in bliss, until the Slave of Sogton, that Snake Mephistopheles', sadistically stole the Fruit, and brought about the Race of Dagon So two beings, Dragon and Elves, divided Domination of the Earth As Sogton and Ragna divided the Heavens. Yet dark came upon the deep. The race of Man was doomed, for they were rude, and died alone, and no one cared about their death Thus saith the Lord. Tolkien: Part I: The Death Of Lailath Oh Muse, sing not of pleasant times Field with tended grass, soup under a fire, handmaid red dressed, gold shiefs of barley waving in the wind This is not my intent. Instead, sing of violent war, the tempestuous rage within man, the conflict unceasing, yieldless pride and incessant chattering, which leads to blades. This is what happened in Beleriand long ago, as the house of Gil Galad, long suffering and held in bright weariness, attested. In Western Lands beneath the Sun, Where clear the Nor'land waters run In mingled light of silver gold Where Valar slept in days of old Until Morgoth, relenting Destroyed the Twin Trees, and caused all woe to plague this earth Yet a slight venting For Redemption was possible, through Christ, and Men alone for Elves eternal beyond death and rebirth. In Mandos suffering lies, But the Race of Men can redeem themselves, in due time. Thus was the subject of our epic poem. Turambar dwelt in a glade, a simple ranger No stranger to toil or danger Yet a kind heart, he did not let his grief overcome his part In the Glorious Honorable play Which forged the world. Morgoth turned an eye evil towards this light, dark gathered And battered, Turambar was tested Still, in the West. Now Delu Morgoth doth attest To wicked deeds, though was once blessed But never baser crime he done, than slain the daughter of the Sun, and Moon Too soon, was this taken from our noble isles The wiles of Morgoth were intense Though past tense, thankfully he is banished beyond eternal Night Still strife, and pestilence extreme, plagued the lands In Hithlum, by Godly hand, was fire started Mist boiled, water turned to steam But the elves resisted. The strength of Fingolfin was on these lands, though he is long since dead A legend to fade in the light of the moon What a Godhead His fairness knew no bounds, and compassion abundant Blonde curles allayed his head But his descendants were fraught with redundants, and dunces, mostly because of strife with the sons of Feanor Who was a brute, although abhorred evil Such is the scene for Morgoth's second greatest crime, The unleashing of poison And fell smoke, black as death in Northern Clime He unleashed this on the Noldor, and struck Humans For he despised the Race of Man even though they were weak And harmless to him, they feared him, but he feared the power of their speak To this end he intended to obliterate the bands And brigands of roving adventurers. Turambar's sister, Lailath, was consumed She sickened, and in hot fever was doomed Cursed be Morgoth for this transgression. So, with hands cursed from the sickbed, Illness breeding, and not much hope in light and farmstead Turambar undertakes a journey East and South To mouth of Ossiriand, and wonder forest in Doriath But first he stops by the grave of his sister With aching heart he missed her, but knew he could not bring her back Men were fated to suffer for Mandos cold was grim and cruel The Reaper does not suffer fools. He forges the sign of the cross Made a cross of ash to stand above the grave and the grass And never be inviolate, though in death For Morgoth was a failure And Turambar cursed Shadow with his last breath. Part II: Turambar's Stay In Doriath Now Turambar travelled through the forest, many rocky climes, rivers fast which almost undertook him, the way was grim But thankfully the blessing of Ulmo allayed him, Who had not abandoned Middle Earth Although Manwe tried to convince him of the dangers of death, and disease to be found in the dim That possessed Mortals and Immortals alike with Demon in the Scattered Lands It was a strange time, those immense shattered deserts And forests, they were mixed light and dark, to dwell in the sorrow of Damnation from God Such a bleak future was almost unable to be mentioned. So Turambar was guided to Doriath, and safely came under the watchful gaze of King Thingol, and Mel'ian spied on him from her crystal ball. It must be paused here reader to display the politics of the Kingdom. Although egalitarian, an Eden on Earth, there was much Tyranny and distrust from the Elves. King Thingol was a Tyrant Kindly, but not all displayed this will to rule benevolently, and many fell to violence. Saeros was one of these vile folk. Under yoke of Melkor he was not But forgot the beauty of the realm. He hated men. So began Turambar to approach the palace. So we must describe the forest's splendor, although wickedness hung above it like a pall And Mel'ian's leaves, although glorious, were dark and droll. Like a sickly sweet Christmas cake. The baker was an unstable man. Saeros' malice followed Turambar, although he was not permitted to be killed And no blood would spill Doriath, until the Dwarves in their realm were culled But this was by Beren and Luthien A noble massacre, a slaughter of thieves and dirt and assassins. Thankfully we do not have to get into this sin yet. Turambar was accepted by the King, and under Angel's wing, was nourished and nurtured by glorious Mel'ian. He flourished, under her hand. A compassionate and emotional young man, he learned from great scholars, but could not stay for long. Dread doom was upon him. So with aching heart he turned to the King's feast. Thingol raised a glass, but Saeros with an ass, compared it to Turambar. The beast was distraught, for Saeros' cruel whip had made it wrought, but Turambar was quite righteous about this animal cruelty. Taking up a goblet, he smashed Saeros' gullet, and killed him, sending him below the sea into the Halls of Mandos. Such was well deserved on his part. The Heavens glorioused, but such an ill of spilling blood in Doriath, although it was immortal blood and not evil, was not to be forgiven easily. Thingol banished Turambar with a heavy heart, but repented half way though the march, and sent a letter to him. It was too late. Turambar knew the King's intent, but was going to kill con men. Part III: The Outlaws Turambar ranged onthrough the thicket, with brambles the whole thing was a shambles, outside the Range of Mel'ian's Girdle and resembling the forest in it's original primal despondency. The liturgy of literature and wealth of stories on the savagery of the forest is well known, handling Dinosaurs in ancient days, while lays of minstrels and dragons were sung. It is not a fairy tale of modern hippie, although many will say that Mel'ian's magic was the responsible force for this damn distillation, and thus is true, although is not as nurturing as thou might hope and Elves are fey and Death Dealing, a Doom for Pagan Rites. With blades they cut the shadows, so Turambar, waddling in the part pitch of the shallows, of a stream, was assailed by the Elves' artistry in their primitive habitat. With mat of fur he spent the night, and in the morning was assailed by bright and cold. Such was the wild. Turambar came to a mountain, not one to give up, hardy as his foes and twice as noble and rough. But even he could not assail the glade, it resisted him with thorn and flax. As Shadowfax, in Gandalf's times, was a messenger of Heaven, so Turambar's salvation was from a rhyme. He heard song in the dark. It was Beleg's voice, penetrating the mark. "Elbereth we sing of thee Those who wander under trees And shadowy in lost and gloom But still we remember the tune Though Abandoned by God, we are not lost We trust in Holy Crusade and the Cross" So Turambar agreed with. But he had to continue. With dark trees, he made for shelter. It was not long until outlaws and brigands in the trees he saw. They killed one another, rough, base. It was not enough to coexist in peace and comradery, the race of nature would not allow such weakness. With blessed eyes, Turambar exhumed the scene. It was some teens, paltry but emotional things, setting up camp against some invaders. So mean Turambar sliced the foes, and sent them hurrying, many he sent to Mandos, where they would be saved by God but kept outside his nourishing rays. In elder days, mercy was given, but Turambar pulled a blade on the children. The teens were Outlaws, wicked and immoral, but contained some noble virtue and were beautiful. They were of the lesser class, whom Scientists deemed inferior and Racists perverted into a subworth nature, although this was false, it was based on observation. So Eastern man has often done strife. Although justified, he came under ire of luxurious whites, and moralists basking in hypocrisy chastised. We must ignore politics for now. Turambar was ready to kill them, fearing his life, but seeing their happiness repented in emotion. Sentimentality came over him, but he was not entirely overcome with fool, he maintained a warning against those who would betray him, friends and Outlaws too. But he fed them stew. Outlaws embraced him as brother, and Turambar with joy acquiesced, returning their compassion, and he joined the crew. Part V: Turin In Nargothrond Now Turin was overcome by grief, by grief Turambar besieged, and spent many hours mourning the Death Of Beleg. This is when he abandoned his friends and turned to the mountains, returning to his home in Hithlum. The road was long, and many evils besieged him there, like the ill ghoul that dwells in the wells of the ravine stream, and the mountain trolls which were large like the size of pines. Our adventurer was greeted by his old home in Hithlum, covered in snow. Many winds flurried, his eyes were blinded by frost. But for naught, was his visit, for he could not find his mother Morwen, and again was lost to the ice. Yet another vengeance spurned his mind. He met several Easterlings, Asian Kings, Oriental Lords of the Realm. They had sold his family into slavery, and he killed the underling of Morgoth, a tan Lao Feng, who died with a tobacco wand staining his yellow teeth. The eyes bulged, and a pool of blood, overcame the slaves, who fled to the mud. Turambar mowed them down. No mercy was given to the Outlaw defilers of his treasure and kin, and with no sin was this evil committed. Yet Turambar still repented, for he had lost valuable time. He almost died in the rime, and at length came to Nargothrond, where he was rescued. The Elves of this Stone City, guarded by moat and taking boat on the river, were the Greatest warriors in Beleriand. Not since Fingolfin have we seen a ruler as genius as Felagund, who with rod, instructed the noble force of the Valar's army. He was Fingolfin's cousin, and quite the charming man. Alas, this could not last. Turambar's visitation spelt Doom for the Elves of Nargothrond, for Gurthang plotted to bring the City to the ground, such was the evil within the blade that passed on to Turambar's mind. Turambar became a mighty King, and had a black mask made from obsidian and molten lava, with emerald gems in its sockets, and was a horror to behold. The Dwarves called him Death Knight, and he slayed friend and foe alike, and was rumored to be unkillable saved for an arrow. Within the City, Turin fell in love with Finduilas, an Elf. He was not to be content with her self, though, for his eyes turned to other methods than peace, and in the east, he was going to sin with his sister, a King overturned like Oedipus to incest and strange danger. The story came to an abrupt war, for Glaurung the Red Dragon Emerged from the burrows. In fire he came, a Wyrm, quite wingless and large, with eyes that burned with alchemy that could petrify his foes, or trap them in a dark illusion. Such was his talent. Chapter VI: Glaurung The Dragon Now Turin had some intelligence with him, and sealed the blade with iron, but the irony of his fate could not escape him despite how self aware he was. Finduilas became his love, and noble love it was, yet love is often self destructive. We should aim above paltry emotions and wit, and save the Divine Grace of Spirit for viewing who we admire, not petty Altruism. Now, the battle began. An army of Orcs came from the North, and the City was besieged, fire coming to the thatched bazaars. It was bizarre, but no Dragon yet came from the burrow, for Glaurung was biding his time. Such a rhyme he had and rhythm that he could confuse mortals merely by talking to them. Turin was no fool, and had Countenance Divine, but even he could not resist the Dragon's wiles. Fafnir plotted. The blade, Gurthang, allotted sentience, a noble Demon, although corrupting and cruel, shifted in its sheath, hungry for Dragon's blood. The Mephistopheles would not escape with ease, however, for Turin had bound the sheath in runes, and the struggle was futile, although did empower the Iron Of Death with breath of corruption. Turambar went to war. With a swing of his blade, Mormegil decapitated twelve Orcs, for the Gurthang's energy was long, and could spit lightning as easily as it spit emotional distress. The battle bridge became a vortex of wind and storm, and Turin became the first to utter the command to lower the gate. Foolhardy was this, and too late. Fafnir emerged from his burrow, and immolated several of his own crew, being hungry. The Dragon emerged into the dawn, and unlike other Wyrms of his genes, was not harmed by the light, or burned in his pale skin. Therin was a shadow curse of Morgoth, having bred immortals into the Dragon's flesh, and created a creature that was neither Beast nor Intellectual, but something greater than either. Terrifying was he. Glauring, Master of Fire and ruler of land and sea, immolated the town, steaming the water and leaving the parched grass brown. He then dislimbed several fighters, and with claw and spike tail he mightily dispatched the protective bulwark. Turin went out to fight him. "Hail, Turin son of Hurin Thalion" he uttered. "Well met, although thy father will curse the day your face comes to him in dark dream from the dregs he is imprisoned in. Repent!" The words, although Turin saw through them, hit their mark, and Turambar relented. The hesitation was enough for Glauring to make his move. "Thy mother goes in rags. Tarry for her, and thou shall not be able to save Finduilas, whom thou lovest. I am Fafnir. Marvel at my cruelty." Fafnir took a claw and snared Finduilas, who was flung from a window by an Orc. Thus Turambar was ensnared, either choice having an element of failure. He cried, and upon seeing Finduilas brutally treated he swung his blade widely, enough for Fafnir to easily dodge. The scales were hard enough to break iron, and even Gurthang had a hard time for it. In a moment of selflessness, Gurthang whispered harsh to Turambar. "Do not look at his eyes." Too late. Turambar was lost, and gazing in the emeralds wished himself dead. Even worse was the shame from his father. He collapsed. Glaurung retreated. The battle was won, Nargothrond burned. Part VII: Turambar And Niniel Turambar emerged from his stupor, his memory gone, his thoughts a blurr, but gradually remembered the events that took place as he foolishly lay in misery and some half noble idea of valour. "Thy idiot," Gurthang said, "You are a weak Lord and she is gone. I would be much better off with some type of indignant simpleton hero, rather than a betrayer of kin, Sigurd the Volsung." So the sin hit Turin. Like a pall, he realized that he had to rescue Finduilas, but fate was not so kind. For Sigurd, Turambar, Mormegil, Turin, Beowulf, was a weak King, with the moral certainty of a mortal that wavered like a feather in the breeze. He would easily leave Finduilas his lover to death if it meant saving his mother, whom selfishness dictated saving, although they were quite unlike in temperment and Turin never got along with her. And his sister, that was who would truly confound him off the Godly path, but not due to ties of family, but a perverse love which matched his own cruelty and desire for dominance. He was fated for Niniel, and the last front came to be which would put Man against Deity and the virtues of morality against the sin of Hedonistic God. So Turin crashed through the plain, and eventually came to a small town. He met a man, Brandir, who took him in, but also saw Niniel. He fell in love with her instantly, and not all was evil, for it was the greatest love of mortal Men. God allayed that man should love and all love be good, but incest he did not allow to be, and even normal sexual relations were sinful because they distracted from the mind. Therefore, though Turin was pure of heart and Niniel willing, they committed the greatest sin of humanity, but it was not all his deceit, Morgoth was responsible for this. Ever since he killed the Two Trees, evil came into the world, and all wicked ill was his responsible for through his intentional malice and wrongdoing. Therefore Niniel and Turambar would be forgiven of transgression, and celebrate in Heaven. First, the conflict therein. Brandir was jealous, and with distrust he viewed Turambar as an usurper, for he loved Niniel. Not without reason, for Turambar was a fraud, and with vainly regarded word Brandir tried to convince the council that Turambar was evil and implored them to serve God. Turambar was ready to smite Brandir there, but restrained himself. In dark of the night he and Niniel kissed, and became some of the most hated individuals in history. But also the most loved. Glauring gleamed in a cavern. He had expected this. With impassionate heart he impaled Finduilas on a spike on a tree and gave the signal to lead a path for Turambar to follow her. The Wyrm smiled. Everything was going exactly as it should. Part VIII: Dragonsbane Turin came to the clearing, having followed Orc tracks and drearily packed the tools necessary for high hunting, following the clear signs of Orc attack. Gurthang warned him it was a trap, but Turambar did not listen, disliking the Iron of Death, but also pride confused him and far under the ills of Glaurung's spell, he ached for Finduilas. To make sure she was safe, although he did not value her much, but some love still remained in his heart. This part was the hardest. He cut his foot on a thorn plant, and the blood, which was spelled  to deter any form of danger, was touched by a single leaf, making that spot on the foot weak. The shadows gathered around tall pine trees. Glaurung saw this, and gloated. With ease he came to the burial sight of Finduilas, where she was Crucified like the Christ, arms spread wide like an eternal Angel gone to peace in God's beauty with a spike shoved into her chest. The roots were binding her hands and feet, showing she had been mind attacked, and the blood attested to her torture. Cruel lure was Glaurung, a master of psychology. He wounded Turambar so much that it would be easy to capitalize him. The Volsung screamed and in the forest, owls flew, to green pastures and hard mountains that were better than this forest, which was cursed. Forever that place would become known as Finduilas' Haunt. None dwell there but gaunt Imps and Banshees. Now Turin returned home, but Brandir was waiting for him, warning that Turambar had fallen in love with his sister, for he found news from the North, and Elves of Gondolin friends with Hurin, who told Brandir of the son's lineage. Turambar did not believe him, but in his heart he knew it was so, and with aching heart filled with woe, he went insane, and slew Brandir, the Black Blade feasting on the blood of innocent as kindness died and compassionate bliss was ruined by Lust. Volsung delighted in his murder and became smiling as a Demon. Glaurung ambushed Turin, but the son of Odin had other plans, and was aware of treachery, the fell murder pushing him to unlock his Divine lineage and ascend to the ranks of the Godhead. He stabbed Gurthang into the Dragon's fleshy belly, past the hard scales, and Gurthang extracted lightning, killing Glaurung in a torrential downpour of blood. The blood was strong enough to make a rain. Finally, Turambar was immortal, but the leaf still stuck to his flesh. He tripped on a rock, limping on his injured foot and impaled himself with Gurthang. Entirely  surprised and angry looking at the Heavens, Turambar collapsed from the unintentional blow and died looking at a single Star. The Star that had Abandoned him. Niniel, having been told of her incest by Brandir and that she was with child by Sigurd, came to his corpse and cried, caressing his face, natural sisterly love finally breaking the curse of sex that had haunted the pair ever since Glaurung's emerald eyes shone on them. "Master of Doom By Doom Mastered. Oh happy to be dead, beloved brother, I shall join you, wait for me in Valinor." She flung herself into a waterfall, and the Elves of Gondolin made a monument, a memorial to evil and good intention, and it still stands strong amid a phantom doomed forest while the Heros that fought and fell there rejoice in God's Eternal Mercy and compassionate redemption.

[lowdenfordays]

Request from anon: Hi. Can I plse ask for a prompt? You and Jack are staying in a log cabin in the Scottish countryside where you and Jack take walks holding hands and you're cuddling into him when he wears fleeces. As fluffy and/or smutty as you like. Thanks 💛

As you pulled up to the little log cabin in the highlands of Glencoe, you couldn’t help the awed gasp that escaped your mouth. The whole drive from Jack’s hometown of Oxton to the West-coast village had been stunning, passing through historic towns and magnificent landscapes, but the little wooden cabin situated on the top of a hill, surrounded by a grove of trees, simply took your breath away.

“Oh Jack, it’s gorgeous,” you marvelled.

A satisfied grin spread across his face as he agreed, “Aye, it’s quite the view”. The monticule looked out over the valley, paved in tress of emerald, orange and gold. It was the height of autumn, and the natural word was in the process of metamorphosis, and your little spot of paradise was situated right at the centre, in the eye of the storm, and the whirlwind of autumn blazed around you. The river raced over stones and pebbles, foaming in its haste, and laced the grey-blue water with white eyelashes. It was spectacular.

“No’ a bad way to spend yer anniversary, eh?”

“No,” you smiled, leaning onto your tiptoes to kiss his cheek, “Not bad at all.”

You unloaded your bags and carried them to the cabin. You knocked on the door and almost instantly a plump and greying woman opened the door: the landlady. She wore a broad smile and greeted you heartily in a thick Scottish accent,

“Walcome, walcome, gee yerself ensyde. Ma name’s Morag. Gled tae meet ye.”

Having been to multiple Lowden family events, you thought yourself fairly adept at understanding Scottish jargon, but she spoke so fast and with such a thick accent it went entirely over your head.

You looked helplessly at Jack who just laughed and offered the lady, Morag, his hand to shake.

“Glad to meet ye Morag. A’m Jack, this here lassie is Y/N”

“Aren’ ye a bonnie wee biddie?”

Jack chuckled again as you smiled blankly, before whispering to you, “She’s sayin’ yer a beautiful lady.”

You offered your thanks to Morag, who wheezed as she laughed, looking knowingly between you and Jack. She showed you around the cabin, explaining where everything was, though Jack had to translate and eventually you left him to figure it out. You were mesmerised by the place.

 It was a small, cosy cabin, and entirely open-plan. The downstairs consisted of a kitchen with rustic cream cupboards, an aga cooker and an island in the middle. Mugs and utensils hung off shelves and on them lay bountiful cookery books and mason jars containing a plethora of non-perishable foods. A window and warm lamps created pools on light in the room which bathed it in a golden atmosphere.  Separating the kitchen and living room was a large wood burner. The spherical chimney piece was already lit to keep the Scottish chill at bay. A sofa and two generous armchairs huddled around a coffee table with lanterns and candles scattered all over it. Tartan quilts lay over every seat and fluffy cushions were in abundance. The walls were lined with bookshelves, containing a library of classic literature. You pulled out a copy of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice as you inspected the room with glee. One wall, however, was constructed entirely of panelled windows, showing the dazzling view across the valley. Wooden beams, shrouded in fairy lights, hung overhead. An impressive wooden staircase lead upstairs to the bedroom and bathrooms, entirely devoid of walls. A balcony separated the upstairs from the down. A king-sized, four-poster bed lay at the centre, drowned in rustic grey cushions. A fur blanket lay atop the duvet. A light, lace canopy hung over the posts and more fairy lights danced down them. A fireplace sat quietly burning in the corner, bathing the room in light and heat, and a pair of small armchairs rested either side, similarly adorned in blankets. The bed faced a full, wall-to-ceiling window that gave a panoramic view out, even more immersive than the one from downstairs. The remaining walls were decorated in paintings and sketches of the landscape, each as beautiful as the last. Around the corner was the bathroom, still connected but there was a mesh screen folded up against the wall. First was a stone counter with the sink inlaid, looking into an ovular mirror in a black, renaissance style frame. Candles, towels, lotions and potions lay neatly arranged either side. The main feature, however, was the enormous bath which looked more like an engorged, white marble acorn cup. It was almost the size of a hot tub, and could easily fit at least three people in it. Potted plants – orchids, begonias, lilies – enshrouded the tub, and a large wooden ladder-shelf held fresh towels and dressing gowns. Like in the other rooms before it, floor-to-ceiling windows exposed the view of the valley. This time, however, two walls were entirely transparent, meeting in a corner where the bath was situated. The French doors led out onto a small balcony.

 You took your time wandering around the property; it was small, with only four rooms, but spacious and completely spectacular. You eventually met Jack downstairs where he was finalising the details of your stay with Morag. You largely ignored their conversation until you heard them exchange a, “Guid efternuin,” and “Hae a guid day”. The door closed behind Morag and you were alone with your darling Jack.

“This place is amazing Jack! How did you find it?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, grinning from ear to ear, his dimples spreading to valleys in his cheeks.

“Well, I may have no idea what that Scottish lady was on about but she definitely knows a thing or two about interior design. Have you seen the bath?”

Jack hummed in assent as he threaded his arms around you and rested his chin on your head.

“Figured we could share a bath a tad later on, save water an’ all.”

You smiled, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, “We have got to look after the planet.”

 You’d set a stew to slow cook in the oven for dinner while you and Jack went out for a walk in the highlands. The chilly autumn sun shone down on you as you ambled across the hills. The rich colours, the sweet, heavy scent of dead leaves, the remote rumble of the river far below, surrounded you. Arm in arm with Jack, you chatted about everything and nothing. An icy wind rolled in from the not so distant sea, and you huddled into Jack’s fleece as it whipped around you. Once it had subsided you continued to clamber over rocks and along the hillside. You reached a grove of pine trees with a particularly convenient boulder beside it. You scrambled onto the cold rock with some difficulty, sending yourself and Jack into fits of laughter as you each tried to climb and pull the other up without begin pulled down yourself. You were sweating and panting by the time you were both safely sat atop it. When the laugher was subdued and you caught your breath, you nestled into Jack’s shoulder, feeling the soft material of his fleece on your face. He put his arm around your waist and tugged you in closer, hooking his leg around to the other side of your body so you were sat between them. You rested your back against his chest, both gently rising and falling with the rhythm of his breathing. He had his arms entwined around your waist, your folded across his, and he propped his chin on your shoulder. He occasionally turned to place a chaste kiss on your neck or ear or cheek.

“How did we get so lucky?” you mused, suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling that you had been so blessed, and you couldn’t deserve it.

“Who knows,” he sighed. “But I’m no’ gonna question it. Best no’ tempt fate,” he chuckled.

You smiled softly, pulling his embrace a little tighter around you.

 You walked back to the cabin when you started to get cold. You kicked your boots off at the door, and settled down to eat your stew. The beef was perfectly tender and the rich gravy tasted delicious soaked into some chunky slices of sourdough. Jack did the clearing away, allowing you to sit by the wood burner and warm your toes as you dipped in and out of various books from the shelves.

You were perusing Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights when Jack crouched before you. He gently closed the book and put it down on the sofa beside you. His eyes were a deep cobalt blue, brimming with longing, as he took you by the hands and gently pulled you towards him.

“Come take a bath with me.”

“Happily,” you blushed, letting him lead you upstairs.

 Jack set the water running as it would take a while for the tub to fill, and sprinkled in some bath salts. In the meantime you stood at the mirror, brushing your hair before tying it up into a bun. With your arms lifted to your hair you saw Jack’s reflection as he came up behind you and wrapped loving arms around your hips. He pressed light kisses to the back of your neck while caressing his fingers over the exposed skin of your midriff. He tugged at your shirt, then lifted it off when you raised your arms in consent. He undid the clasp of your bra and let it slip to the floor. You turned, draping your arms around his neck, pressing your naked chest to the fabric that still covered his. Running your fingers through his hair, you lifted your jaw to let him nip hungrily at the soft flesh of your neck.

 After a few minutes you were both fully undressed, letting the clothing fall lazily on the floor. The water was just shy of scalding when you dipped your toe in, exactly how you liked it. You stepped in, Jack holding onto your hips, perhaps to steady you but mostly because he couldn’t bear to detach himself from you. You submerged yourself in the water, refreshing your skin instantly. Jack dropped in behind you and you nestled in between his legs. He pulled you in close, brushing his hands down your stomach to your thighs. He gripped them gently, but with an undeniable urgency. You hummed into him and let your head fall back onto his shoulder.

“I adore you,” he whispered.

 You woke the next morning to see light streaming into the room. You hadn’t closed the curtains so the full-length windows exposed you to the rising sun. The sky was painted with gold and pink and orange, dying the clouds with colour, so beautiful it took your breath away. The blush sky and autumn leaves painted a picture of bliss. You looked over to Jack who lay still sleeping. You traced your fingers down his cheek before kissing him there.

“Wake up Jacky,” you said softly.

His eyes fluttered, but didn’t open, before he moaned something intangible, presumably about him not wanting to wake up. You pecked his lips.

“Sweetheart, look. The sunrise.”

He lifted his head and took in the sight before him. His eyes widened as he did before smirking, “Tha’s Scotland for ye.”

You shook your head with a smile as you shuffled in closer to him. He took you in his arms and you settled to watch the sun come up over your little place in heaven.