#fortnight battles royal

[haganez]

taye chaeya hc go

YAYYYYYY

childe kinda started pursing kaeya not for anything romantic but nothing can prepare any human for how hard it actually is to court kaeya he’s as fucking skittish as a baby deer. by the time he actually got to that point childe was already in too deep and liked him fr

childe confesses pretty early on into the situationship, he doesn’t actually expect anything tho. kaeya realizes he has a crush and gets a violent fever and pukes. takes him forever to be able to say i love you bc he breaks out into hives

kaeya avoids telling anyone that they’re together and it’s barely even bc of the harbinger thing. kaeya is just really embarrassed. he’d rather die than let others know he feels it was hard enough letting Childe know. the only people who know for like a long ass time is just albedo and rosaria

[yheartz]

Meu menino emo 💙

To começando a preencher meu sketchbook novo com meus personagens favoritos de fortnite e ele foi a primeira página (●´ω｀●)ゞ♪

[taumun-blog]

Go check out my new YouTube video!! It's a banger!! ☺️☺️☺️

[ackyaxolotl]

fortnite is always fun to play 💚💚💚,thank you for joining me 💚💚💚

[edutoni]

vc gosta de fornite

YEEEEEES

[lineffability]

style, flair, and a head of red hair – she’s the nanny?!

oneshot. 5k. human au. the story of how crowley becomes a nanny. no, not that one. the other one. the fine type. this fic was inspired by @densewentz and this stunning piece of The Nanny/Crowley art that blew my socks clean off. i had to write it.

She is entirely perfect and utterly boring.

Aziraphale Edenson, ever the picture of perfect pleasantry, has recited three consecutive poems in his mind while she's been speaking, and he could almost swear one of them had been the entirety of Ginsburg's Howl. He can't be certain, as he's drifted. In front of him, the Mary Poppins palimpsest is finishing her impassioned speech that had begun somewhere in her childhood only to end, in a satisfying narrative conclusion, he is sure, in the childhood of Warlock, his unexpected teenage protegé, and somehow between those two childhoods she had also wedged in his, Aziraphale's, childhood too, though he isn't sure quite how that is possible. It seems she has done her research rather thoroughly. 

It is not polite to interrupt people, so Aziraphale does not. He smiles, he nods at the right moments, and he offers more tea, and then he ushers her to the front door with perfect manners only to say, in one last moment of mental impasse, "Well, thank you so very much, Mrs Poppins, I will be sure to contact you by the end of the week. It has been so very lovely to meet you."

It only occurs to him half an hour later why her smile had faltered, and he smacks his hand to his forehead, producing a noise that sounds very much like oh, bugger. 

A string of interviews follow this initial one, and after a fortnight, Aziraphale gives up. It’s not that the applicants are unsuited: rather the opposite, their credentials battle each other for excellence: if one has twenty years of experience in royal nanny service, the next will present a doctoral degree in Nannyology straight from Harvard. After all, Villa Eden is not only a beautiful and prestigious estate in the nicest part of London, but he offers a pay check that the best paid nanny in the world might have envied, promptly losing her her title. An honest wage for honest work, he thinks, and he certainly does not know what to do with a twelve year old boy. So if someone does, money shall not be the issue. 

The thing is: hiring a nanny is… it’s like selling books. Aziraphale is selfish. Aziraphale does not want to hire a nanny. He does not want to share his space, his routines, his library, his home. He can do it for Warlock, for a few months, because it is the right thing to do. He does not love it. But he likes the kid enough. Especially because his parents… well, they don’t. Not properly, not like they should, and that is enough for Aziraphale to feel a bristling sense of injustice, and a burning desire to bestow the boy with a love that might not live up to the parental ideal, but make him feel safe and liked and cared for, at least. 

So maybe he has to hire the Mary Poppins nanny, after all, to help him realize his wish, to support him in his quest, to breach the friendly but unbreachable rift between the old, reclusive neighbor and the bright, young boy that has been parked here by his parents, like a pet, while they are away for travel for half a year. Aziraphale huffs. 

He stares out the window of his conservatory, but can’t make out the expanse of his glorious estate. That’s because it is cloudy and gray and rainy and grim, and also winter, which might have something to do with it. Darkness has settled over the hill and his mansion like a heavy blanket. His clock chimed five not a minute ago, and yet it is already pitch-dark. Aziraphale likes winter. It grants you more alone time that needs not be justified as much as during other seasons. The weather today suits his mood. With a grim face, he makes up his mind to hire the nanny. 

In a dramatic last minute coincidence not at all necessitated by the narrative, the doorbell rings precisely in the moment Aziraphale starts to dial the number on the resumé.  

Aziraphale puts the receiver back down. He walks to the main entrance. 

(He does not believe in servants: for the same reason that he does not believe in nannies.)

When he opens the door, it takes him a moment to make sense of the picture of personified misery he is presented with. 

“Cosmetics,” the picture of misery says. 

“Excuse me?”

[continue reading]

[ltwilliammowett]

The Battle of Trafalgar - a brief timeline

At 6am on 21 October 1805, the two fleets sighted each other and at 6.40am Nelson gave the order to ‘prepare for battle’. The French were sailing in line off Cape Trafalgar, while the British came in from the west, gradually forming two lines. The British fleet was outnumbered, the enemy totalling nearly 30,000 men and 2632 guns to Nelson’s 18,000 men and 2148 guns.

Plan of Lord Horatio Nelson's attack strategy (1758-1805), on the combined fleet (France and Spain), October 21, 1805 (Battle of Trafalgar). Lithograph (27 x 36.7 cm), published by Robert Dodd, 1805, England

At 11.45am Nelson ordered a special signal to be flown from his flagship Victory. It read: ‘England expects that every man will do his duty’. The signal was greeted with delight by the fleet.

Finally, at 11.50am, French commander Pierre-Charles-Jean-Baptiste-Silvestre de Villeneuve sent the signal ‘engage the enemy’. The French vessel Fougueux fired the first shots at Vice-Admiral Cuthbert Collingwood’s flagship, Royal Sovereign. The battle had begun. Collingwood was the first to reach the enemy line, firing a broadside into one of the Spanish flagships, Santa Anna. The ships in his division followed him, approaching in a slanting line, spreading the force of the impact and enveloping the allied rear as Nelson had intended.

HMS Victory, by Patrick O'Brien (1960-)

Nelson meanwhile headed towards the great Spanish ship, Santissima Trinidad, but spotting that Villeneuve was flying his flag on the Bucentaure, the next ship astern, he ordered Flag Captain Thomas Hardy to attack her first. The Victory passed under the stern, firing a broadside as she went, giving the Bucentaure a knockout blow.

As the Victory moved on she became entangled in the Redoutable, and the two ships drifted away. This created a large gap in the Franco-Spanish line through which Nelson’s division then poured, splitting the enemy fleet in two – again, exactly as Nelson intended.

Breaking the Line, by Patrick O'Brien (1960-)

The battle developed into a ferocious pounding match but the British had the advantage thanks to Nelson’s strategic pre-planning and the fact his men were better trained in delivering rapid, accurate gunnery. When firing finally ceased at 5.30pm, 17 enemy ships had been captured and another was a blazing wreck. Four managed to escape but were captured a few weeks later, and 11 managed to struggle back to Cadiz.

A total of 449 British sailors were killed and 1217 wounded. French and Spanish losses were heavier: 4408 were dead, 2545 wounded and some 20,000 taken prisoner.

Britain’s decisive victory was overshadowed by news of the death of Nelson, who was shot onboard Victory at 1.15pm and died at 4.30pm. The triumph was further eclipsed by a fierce storm that raged after the battle, forcing the British to abandon most of their captured enemy ships.

The Battle of Trafalgar, 21 Ocotober 1805, by unknown

News of Trafalgar reached London a fortnight later in the early hours of 6 November 1805. Public rejoicing for the victory was muted by widespread sorrow for the death of Nelson. As a reward for Trafalgar, Collingwood was made a baron, all the captains received the official Naval Gold Medal and a special grant of money was made by the government to all those who had taken part. This was to compensate them for the prize money they lost when their captured vessels sank in the storm.

The Battle of Trafalgar cemented Britain’s reputation as ruler of the seas and demonstrated that the Royal Navy had superiority in training, professionalism and expertise in naval tactics that set it apart from its rivals. By 1809 there were over 140,000 men serving on 732 ships, more than ever before.

However, the victory at Trafalgar had little overall impact on the course of the war. Napoleon needed more to be stopped.

[starfxkr]

JJ cant even afford the sims!! He’s always playing it on YOUR PC! You change the settings without him knowing so that his sim is the one that gets pregnant and the next time he’s making your sims fuck for hours, his is the one that ends up pregnant and he’s like “???!?”

THE WAY HE WILL STAY UP ALL NIGHT ON YOUR PC IF YOU LET HIM. and he fucks everything up completely on purpose because he finds it funny so when you make his sim pregnant hes like "😟 why would you do this to me" as if he didn't create a battle royale (the movie not fortnight) scenario with all of the kids in your town

[nolan-chance]

WHY you should play Fortnight with me:

I play Battle Royale although I don't know how to build

I don't like to fight, I usually flee

I'm not changing my beautiful Nolan Chance skin no matter what

No mic

I always forget I can mark things so I crouch around to draw your attention

I spend uncomfortably long periods of time in the same POI with no purpose

I spent way TOO much time running with no direction

I almost always land in Grand Glacier unless my daily quests tell me otherwise

Also spend very long time in cars trying to catch Buddy Holly on the radio

When I catch Dangerous by Design I drift the car no matter what. I don't get out of until the end of the song, no matter what

If I find a dirt bike I spend the rest of the game jumping around and doing some sick tricks

Enemies could hear us because I'm always using the Shout! emote when things go silent

I can't aim

TL:DL: Don't play Fortnight with me please(?

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

JON SNOW FORTNIGHT EVENT 2023

Day 1 - Alternate Prompt: House Stark

“You're Ned Stark's bastard, aren't you?”

Jon felt a coldness pass right through him. He pressed his lips together and said nothing.


“Did I offend you?“ Lannister said. “Sorry. Dwarfs don't have to be tactful. Generations of capering fools in motley have won me the right to dress badly and say any damn thing that comes into my head.“ He grinned. “You are the bastard, though.”

“Lord Eddard Stark is my father,“ Jon admitted stiffly.


Lannister studied his face. “Yes,“ he said. “I can see it. You have more of the north in you than your brothers.“

- Jon I, AGOT

One of Jon Snow’s most defining and recognizable traits is his identity as a Stark. Though he may not bear the name, he is the only one of Ned’s sons to actually have the stark look. And most readers would (understandably) say that he is the one most embodying what it means to “be a Stark”.

But while his connections to his mother’s house are widely recognized, there’s one important ancestral link that is rarely (if ever) remarked upon in fandom - and that is the connection that Jon shares with House Stark’s founding father, Brandon the Builder.

Bran (Jon’s younger brother) may be the most obvious candidate for someone who carries this legendary hero’s legacy, but I would like to argue that Jon’s connection to this royal ancestor is just as important to the story. More specifically, it’s important to highlight how Jon’s role as member and Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch may be the one unique thing he inherited from his ancestor.

According to legend, the Wall was established by Bran the Builder, the founder of House Stark and the first King of Winter, during the Long Night.

Thousands and thousands of years ago, Brandon the Builder had raised Winterfell, and some said the Wall.

- Bran IV, AGOT

For thousands of years after the building of the Wall the Night’s Watch, which was also founded during the age of heroes, was tasked with its defense - and thus the defense of the realm from the threat of Winter. In fact, the Watch is credited with the defeat of the Others within the text.

Much later, after all the sweets had been served and washed down with gallons of summerwine, the food was cleared and the tables shoved back against the walls to make room for the dancing. The music grew wilder, the drummers joined in, and Hother Umber brought forth a huge curved warhorn banded in silver. When the singer reached the part in “The Night That Ended” where the Night’s Watch rode forth to meet the Others in the Battle for the Dawn, he blew a blast that set all the dogs to barking.

- Bran III, ACOK

It was founded over eight thousand years ago, at the end of the Long Night. Under cover of an endless night that lasted for a generation, the Others invaded from the Lands of Always Winter, laying waste to much of Westeros. The Others were finally defeated by the Night's Watch at the Battle for the Dawn, which is recalled in "The Night That Ended".

Source

Because he was instrumental in raising the Wall, it is safe to assume that Bran the Builder was also instrumental to the establishment of the Night’s Watch. And given that he is also credited with the building of Winterfell (the place where “Winter” “fell”), Bran the Builder has thus far been identified as a key figure in the fight against the Others. He is also one of the few (and perhaps the only) named figures associated with acts that led to the defeat of the Others and the ending of the first Long Night. Therefore, Bran the Builder’s legacy, and by extension House Stark’s legacy, is deeply intwined with that of the Long Night. And Bran the Builder’s eventual title King of Winter denotes a special connection to the legacy of the Long Night - as the man who conquered Winter and thus presided as the king.

While all the Stark kids have important roles to play as bearers of the Stark legacy, Jon is a rather unique case because he is linked to the very founding of his house. Because if we trace it all back, House Stark started with the establishment of the Night’s Watch and the building of the Wall, the defeat of the Others, and the building of Winterfell.

Since his first chapter in A Game of Thrones, Jon has been the main character in the Wall storyline - which has established him as the the main POV in the fight against the Others. With the threat of a new Long Night looming over all of Westeros, he has become the most important figure in the defense against the oncoming Winter. Something he fittingly inherited from his ancestor who built two magical structures that are key in the defeat of the Others. And more fitting is the fact that Jon claims lordship over both of these structures.

First, Jon is legal claimant to Winterfell given Robb’s will:

Jon is the only brother that remains to me. Should I die without issue, I want him to succeed me as King in the North.

- Catelyn V, ASOS

Which makes him an inheritor to the lordship started by his ancestor.

But I want to focus on the Wall because there’s a certain level of possessiveness or ownership that is prescribed to Jon (that is a bit similar to the sense of personal ownership young Bran has with Winterfell).

The text tells us that the Wall is Jon’s. Not only is he its commander, but it belongs to him.

They had chosen him to rule. The Wall was his, and their lives were his as well.

- Jon III, ADWD

The Wall loomed on his right as he crossed the yard. Its high ice glimmered palely, but down below all was shadow. At the gate a dim orange glow shone through the bars where the guards had taken refuge from the wind. Jon could hear the creak of chains as the winch cage swung and scraped against the ice. Up top, the sentries would be huddling in the warming shed around a brazier, shouting to be heard above the wind. Or else they would have given up the effort, and each man would be sunk in his own pool of silence. I should be walking the ice. The Wall is mine.

- Jon III, ADWD

Jon stepped out into the night. The sky was full of stars, and the wind was gusting along the Wall. Even the moon looked cold; there were goosebumps all across its face. Then the first gust caught him, slicing through his layers of wool and leather to set his teeth to chattering. He stalked across the yard, into the teeth of that wind. His cloak flapped loudly from his shoulders. Ghost came after. Where am I going? What am I doing? Castle Black was still and silent, its halls and towers dark. My seat, Jon Snow reflected. My hall, my home, my command. A ruin.

- Jon VI, ADWD

When Jon had been a boy at Winterfell, his hero had been the Young Dragon, the boy king who had conquered Dorne at the age of fourteen. Despite his bastard birth, or perhaps because of it, Jon Snow had dreamed of leading men to glory just as King Daeron had, of growing up to be a conqueror. Now he was a man grown and the Wall was his, yet all he had were doubts. He could not even seem to conquer those.

- Jon VII, ADWD

Even more curiously is that Jon can see his reflection within the Wall. Why is this worthy of note? Well, ice isn’t the most reflective substance out there, is it? There are off hand mentions of reflections bouncing off the surface, but none of reflections within the Wall itself.

Jon Snow could see his own reflection dimly inside the icy walls.

- Jon X, ADWD

Even Melisandre recognizes that there is magic within the Wall, and this magic calls to Jon.

“Every man who walks the earth casts a shadow on the world. Some are thin and weak, others long and dark. You should look behind you, Lord Snow. The moon has kissed you and etched your shadow upon the ice twenty feet tall.”

Jon glanced over his shoulder. The shadow was there, just as she had said, etched in moonlight against the Wall.

- Jon VI, ADWD

After all, we are told that power is but a shadow on a wall…

Varys smiled. “Here, then. Power resides where men believe it resides. No more and no less.”

“So power is a mummer’s trick?”

“A shadow on the wall,” Varys murmured, “yet shadows can kill. And ofttimes a very small man can cast a very large shadow.”

- Tyrion II, ACOK

We know that there is magic woven into the Wall, and it has been there since the Wall was built. So it seems that this magic has a personal, special connection to Jon. It calls to Jon and belongs to him. This roams into some free form speculation but is it possible that Bran the Builder may have etched some magic into the Wall that recognizes him and/or his descendants? Ygritte tells us that the Wall was built with blood (which seems to suggest some form of sacrifice). What if part of that blood belonged to its architect, and this blood is recognizing a descendant in Jon Snow? Just conjecture…

Well baseless assumptions aside, Bran the Builder’s Wall has been inherited by his descendant thousands of years later - how apt that this comes just as a new Long Night is about to begin? And this inheritance is not merely that of commanding the Wall. Jon draws power from the Wall, which we can see in his prophetic dream toward the tail end of ADWD.

That night he dreamt of wildlings howling from the woods, advancing to the moan of warhorns and the roll of drums.

“Stand fast,” Jon Snow called. “Throw them back.” He stood atop the Wall, alone. “Flame,” he cried, “feed them flame,” but there was no one to pay heed.

[…]

Jon was armored in black ice, but his blade burned red in his fist. As the dead men reached the top of the Wall he sent them down to die again.

The world dissolved into a red mist. “I am the Lord of Winterfell,” Jon screamed.

[…]

… and woke with a raven pecking at his chest. “Snow,” the bird cried. Jon swatted at it. The raven shrieked its displeasure and flapped up to a bedpost to glare down balefully at him through the predawn gloom.

[…]

He rose and dressed in darkness, as Mormont’s raven muttered across the room. “Corn,” the bird said, and, “King,” and, “Snow, Jon Snow, Jon Snow.” That was queer. The bird had never said his full name before, as best Jon could recall.

- Jon XII, ADWD

Jon is armored in black ice. While many readers have tried to tease out what this means, I think it’s worth noting that Jon is standing atop the Wall in his dream. He commands the Wall and possesses it; he alone remains atop the Wall defending it. And so we see this relationship reciprocated with the Wall giving him armor made of ice. Black ice to be exact - which matches his identity as a black brother of the Night’s Watch.

Here, we see a blending of different identities. Jon is the Lord Commander of the Wall, the Lord of Winterfell (as Robb’s chosen heir), and is being marked as Azor Ahai who wields the flaming sword Lightbringer. More importantly, he is KING as heralded by Jeon Mormont’s strangely all-knowing raven. All these identities are linked to the defeat of the Others. And all these identities could have been inherited from his ancestor - that is if you believe that 1) Bran the Builder may have been the last hero - or had some sort of relationship with him - and 2) Azor Ahai and the last hero are different versions of the same tale.

Based on legends of the Long Night, we have the tale of Azor Ahai, who is said to have driven back the darkness with his magical sword, Lightbringer. There is plenty of indication within the text that Jon may take up the mantle of this prophesied hero, but there’s also the connection between the Night’s Watch vows and the description of Azor Ahai’s Lightbringer.

I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men.

- Jon VI, AGOT

This Lightbringer imagery goes back to tales of the last hero who is said to have wielded a dragonsteel blade (though not one that was on fire as far as we know). Which makes for an interesting connection between the last hero, Azor Ahai, and the Night’s Watch. And there’s Jon Snow and Bran the Builder in the midst of it all. Bran, who built the wall and (maybe) established the Watch into what it is today, built the machine that is Winterfell and established the office of the King of Winter, and kickstarted the Stark’s legacy with the end of the Long Night, is succeeded by his descendant Jon Snow who has now taken up the mantle of leading the Watch, inheriting Winterfell, and blending the different aspects of the last hero (who Bran the builder may have some connection to). The writing has been finished and the ink is set. Just as it was before, thousands of years ago, Jon Snow will continue the legacy that Bran the Builder left behind of defeating the Winter.

[mydarllinglover]

Stars Collided || Seventeen

Previous

Lovisa paced the corridors of the "Base" as she desperately waited for signs of anyone.

"Please, Princess, let me aid you." A Medic with blonde hair, that was wrapped up into a tight and neat bun, asked, for what seemed like the sixth time, since she had been here. "I'll patch you up, and it won't take much of your time."

"No, I'm fine." She refused, staring at the doors, once more, willing them to open.

"Princess, I'm afraid you'll catch an sickness, if you do not let me clean and dress it. It's my job, and I can not let the royal highness die, on my watch."

"Later." She rolled her eyes. "It's not bad, I promise."

"M'lady, your back is soaked in blood, and the makeshift wrap, you have made out of your skirt, has been seeped through.”

She looked behind her, at where she had ripped her skirt, allowing it to fall to her mid thigh, using the excess material to tie around her waist, had in fact absorbed the blood from her wound.

"Rex!" She called to the man, who walked through the corridor. "Any news?"

"No, your highness, but I assure you, as soon as Young Tano and Skywalker show up, you'll be the first to know."

"Very well." She sighed, dropping her head.

"Princess, please allow me to fix you up, and you can come back to tearing a hole through the floor.”

"Fine." She groaned. "Be quick."

"I will." She led the girl through the other double doors, and into a room.

Lovisa untied the fabric, dropping it to the floor, as she laid on her stomach, on the medical bed, that was in the room.

"I must say, Princess, with a wound like this, you've been holding a brave face." The medic said, sounding almost proud.

"It's nothing." She shrugged, her arms crossed under her, as she rested her chin, on them. "I watched people die, today, because I was stupid enough to get caught."

"There was nothing you could have done, to prevent it, Princess." The woman told her, as she cleaned her back.

"No, there was." She sighed. "What is this place?"

"The GAR barracks, in Coruscant, your highness. We were located here, for the upcoming war."

"War? What war?" Lovisa furrowed her brows.

"THE war, M'lady. It's been looming over our heads, for a while, but I guess it's been officially kicked off at the battle that just took place, in Geonosis, The King had been trying to prevent it, but I guess the Separatists weren't having it, considering they finally got their hands on one of you."

"Wait, what?"

"Are you not aware of what's been happening?"

"No, uhm, I- I haven't really been around, in a fortnight."

"Oh. Well, maybe this is something you could ask the King, once you're back at the Palace, I'm sorry for oversharing, your highness."

"No, no, thank you..."

"Sola, your highness."

"Well, thank you, Sola, I'm not sure if you've noticed, yet, but I am not my sister, so no one ever thinks I'm worthy of knowing anything."

"I apologise If I've overstepped."

"You haven't, I assure you, it seems as though I've just threw the first stone in a war I didn't even know existed." Lovisa promised, as she sat up, once Sola had finished bandaging her up.

"Help! Help! We need a medic!" A voice shouted, it was Ahsoka's.

"Snips!" Lovisa gasped, almost throwing herself off the bed, as she went to run out the room, Sola hot on her trail.

They rushed through the double doors, to spot Obi-Wan and Ahsoka holding up a barely conscience Anakin, who seemed to be bleeding, from his arm.

"Oh gods!" Lovisa screamed, as she ran to his side, taking Ahsoka's place. "Ani, oh, Ani, what happened."

"It seems as though two people have now bested me, in a duel." Anakin's cheek fell onto her own hair, as he mumbled to her.

"What's the damage?" Sola asked Obi-Wan, as she wheeled over a gurney, and they helped lay the boy down.

"His right arm has... been cut clean off, just above the elbow." Obi-Wan struggled to say. "We tried to stop the bleeding as best we could."

"Good." Sola told him. "I will need to cauterise it, though I'm going to need you to stay awake, can you do that for me..."

"Anakin, his name's Anakin Skywalker." Obi-Wan rambled.

"Anakin, I really need you to try and keep your eyes open."

"Vis." He paid no attention to the medic, as he raised his only hand, twirling a curl of the Princess's hair, in between his thumb and index finger.

"Ani, I'm right here, okay, I'm not going anywhere, but you gotta keep talking, alright, tell me, what happened?"

Sola nodded at the girl, as she took off the makeshift bandages on his "stump" That was still spurting blood, as they rushed back into the room Lovisa and Sola were just in.

"We- we were duelling Count Dooku, I wanted to make him pay, for what he put you through, but- he- my hands gone, he took my hand, my duelling hands gone!" He whined.

"My poor Ani." She soothed, as she took his left hand, in hers, running her other through his hair, as she tried to calm him down.

"I'm sorry, Mr Skywalker, but I'm afraid this is going to be very painful." Sola told him, as the metal tool was heating up.

"What- what are you doing! No, stop!" He fought, trying to get up, but Obi-Wan helped push him down, as Lovisa attempted to calm him.

"No, stop, she's helping, she's going to make it better, okay, just breathe, copy me, look, breathe." Lovisa took in deep breathes, in through her nose, holding it for three seconds, before exhaling through her mouth, urging him to copy, as panic shone through his eyes. "Good, good, just keep watching me, keep your eyes on me."

"You're so... beautiful." He whispered, clearly distracted as he continued to stare at her.

"Thank you." She chuckled, awkwardly, not knowing how to react, in the presence of his master and the medic.

"I'm so inlo-"

"Here, bite down on this." Ahsoka told him, shoving a leather belt, into his mouth, that Sola had grabbed out of a draw, only a few moments ago.

Lovisa glanced at Ahsoka, a look of gratitude on her face, as she swiped at Anakin's cheeks.

"Okay... I'm going to count to three, Okay, Anakin?" Sola asked him, and he nodded, looking between her and the others around him, squeezing Lovisa's hand, tightly, as he clamped down on the belt. "One... Two..."

Anakin screamed in pain, thrashing on the gurney, trying his hardest to get away from the woman who was pressing a white hot blade against the remaining part of his arm.

Obi-Wan looked away, as he kept a strong grip, on the boy, not being able to stand the sight of him in such pain, and neither could the two girls, at his side.

"Anakin, you still with us?" Sola asked, once she took it off, and his body had gone limp.

"Ani, it's over, okay, the hard parts over, you did so well." Lovisa encouraged, as she wiped away his tears. "You did so, so well, I'm so proud of you."

He shook his head, his eyes closed, tightly.

"It's okay to rest, now." Sola told him, and if waiting for her permission was the thing keeping him awake, he fell unconscious.

"Is he going to be okay?" Ahsoka asked.

"I should hope so, I can't say how long he'll be out, for, but his body is going to need lots of rest, after what he has gone through. I'll be in to check up on him regularly, but his pulse is coming to a steady pace, that's a good sign, the boy's a fighter."

"That he is." Obi-Wan agreed.

"I'll be back soon, I get the sense that he'll be watched carefully under you all?" Sola asked.

"Yes." They all answered.

"Very well." She nodded, before leaving the room, to check on the other injured, that had been brought in, after the Jedi.

"I see that you both have changed your opinions, on one another." Obi-Wan broke the silence, that had fell around the room.

Lovisa lifted her gaze, from the sleeping Anakin, meeting the man's eyes.

"I guess you could say that." She muttered. "We came to an mutual understanding, I suppose."

Next

[alectoperdita]

I have the misfortune of being dragged into things but imma send an ask anyway uwu

Are there any AUs you wanna make but haven't yet or don't think you will? I personally feel something similar to Monster Musume would be fun. I like the idea of Kaiba maybe housing a monster or two, either dragon people or something that'd be less popular/be seen poorly by society like a spider person. A spider hybrid Joey would be so cute 😭

He could do the spider dance when he's happy or trying to court Kaiba or something 🤣

This time of the year, I swear, everyone probably needs a mental break/support whether they're doing something or not.

Yooooo I'm always an absolute sucker for dragon-boy!Jou. But you make a spider-hybrid Jou sound so cute with that. (And when Kaiba's being a jerk/not cooperative, Jou's got his web silk to use against him LOL).

Hmmm as for AUs I wanna do but haven't/can't, I think the big "I'm not sure I could do it even if I tried" is an AU where Jou and Kaiba are on an esports team together. But I'm old and not with it anymore and a lot of the original team comp ideas were for a MOBA game like League of Legends. But I'm pretty sure that genre is now old and busted and people only care about battle royale shooters like Fortnight? It feels as if I lack the vernacular/subcultural knowledge to pull that off and I'm not particularly interested in doing the research either.

But for an AU I haven't done and I still wanna do, there are several:

AU where Jou is a tokusatsu actor (think like Kamen Rider and other sentai shows) and Kaiba is still mostly himself, but mainly leaning into his ownership of theme parks here because then Jou's show can do a collab play at KaibaLand hehe. Mostly sweet and fluff, from before I descended into full smut mode

AU with escort!Jou where he becomes Kaiba's sugar baby, this one I still really really really wanna do

[honey-minded-hivemind]

The 🛖MudWing🐊 Monarch Backstory Post:

(Small note: Reader is the MudWing Monarch, named Platypus, there is mention of a plague, and descriptions of violently ill dragons and death, as well as themes of loneliness)

They never thought it would be this way. The crown rests upon their head, a small weight that grounds them. The room is cast in shadows, the gauzy curtains waving faintly in front of the window. It seems even the palace itself is in mourning. It was never supposed to be this way. It was never supposed to be them on the throne, the sole ruler of an entire tribe, all counting on them after the worst disaster since the Battle of the Delta thirty years prior. This might have been even worse...

A plague had swept through the MudWing tribe. It was fast, too fast. It went from dragon to dragon, spreading throughout their blood and poisoning them until it was too late to reverse it. Their doctors tried every trick, every remedy, anything to try to save who they could. But nothing worked. No one seemed to be spared. Entire troops of siblings killed within a week, clutches of eggs never to hatch, dragonets sick and weak in their huts, unable to move another inch. Not even the royal family was safe.

It was their unborn sibs who went first. The last clutch of eggs the queen ever laid, gone within a night, turned a shade of sickly gray... The next to go were their cousins, choking on the fluids that filled their lungs, drowning them within the week. And it kept spreading, even to their aunts and uncles, leaving them hacking up blood and shivering with fever. Not even their own sibs were spared. Platypus only had two, both tended to by them until they passed in the nights to come, wrapped in their wings and held until their final moments...

It left Platypus, and their mother, the queen, as the last two members of the MudWing Royal Family...

Yet even that wouldn't last...

Soon, the illness that had left their tribe to only a few thousand settled within their queen, reducing the once mighty MudWing queen to a frail, shivering dragon, barely holding on. She and Platypus were all that remained of the royal MudWing family; everyone else was gone, taken by the illness that had overrun their tribe. Platypus bonded with their mother over the last two weeks of her life, listening to stories of her younger days with her sibs, the victory they had at the Battle of the Delta against the SeaWings, the nights spent reading to her own sibs and their dragonets, even how she watched over Platypus and their sibs while they were only eggs, excited how they would turn out... But by the end of the fortnight, she too was gone... Leaving Platypus as the sole survivor of the royal family, and the only option for the tribe's monarch...

And here they were now, a month and a half later, sitting in their and their sibs' old room, reminiscing on what was now only a shadow of the past. The plague was finally gone, leaving the tribe to recover from the epidemic. The first month was spent having their tribe's doctors making vaccines and studying the plague, and Platypus trying to help the grieving MudWing families, offering extra food and supplies to those who needed it. The last few weeks, they've been appointing new advisors and guards for themself and the palace, hoping to give the struggling dragons jobs and provide a sense of purpose to those who might have lost theirs...

But, now... there was a small problem...

"Your Majesty," says an older dragon, who had entered the room. They looked around, puzzled for a minute, then realized which room it was. They dipped their head slightly, in a small bow. "Monarch Platypus, I am deeply sorry for your loss... The whole tribe is, and we thank you for taking care of us... But... we think we need to take care of you, too..."

Platypus raises their head to look at the dragon. They are bigger than them, an older dragon, possibly as old as their mother had been. Their eyes are kind, if not a little sad.

"What... what do you mean?" they ask, ruffling their wings. It soothes their anxiety, at least letting them pretend that their sibs, their cousins, any of their old family was there too, with a kind word or funny joke... They were truly lonely...

"Your Highness, we... your advisors, guards, and palace staff, believe it is best that you are not alone. Our doctors have proven that it is not healthy for us MudWings to be alone; that it's natural for us to live with sibs, to all act as though we are siblings, united by our ancestors and the Great MudWing of the Delta... You shouldn't be alone, especially so young..." They pause for a minute, letting out a small sigh. "Your Majesty, we think... we think perhaps we should find you a group of sibs, to be your new ones... Please don't take offense! What we mean, is... they also have lost some of their sibs, if not all of them, and we believe it would be healthy for you, and for them, to have another sibling to care for, another dragon to sleep with, to break bread with, to protect and be protected by... Please, Your Majesty, think it over... I'm sure this would be of great help to you..."

Platypus thinks it over for a moment. They don't want to replace their sibs, never! But... they could help other sibs, those who are just as alone as they are... Who need warm wings and blanket forts and a bounty of food... They... they don't want to forget their family, to push them aside... But... They need to be cared for, too. They're so lonely, overwhelmed by the weight of an entire kingdom relying on them threatening to drown them... They had hardly any friends, and those were all gone now...

It was not an easy choice, or one that left them dry-eyed, but... in the end...

"I... will do it..." Platypus responds. Their voice is soft, filled with a deep, solemn sadness. They stand, stretching their large wings out slowly, and walking over to their mother's old advisor. "Please bring me to the candidates." And in a whirl of brown and amber, they leave, the once warm room empty once more...

[ackyaxolotl]

fortnite custom maps are wild 💚💚💚thank you for joining me 💚💚💚

[thesinglesjukebox]

OLIVIA RODRIGO - "OBSESSED"

She's the press conference, we're the conversation...

[7.09]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: As previously noted, all of Olivia Rodrigo's art-punk moments are perfectly calibrated toward critics who wish that 1993 never ended, but it's a schtick that works. If Rodrigo was not a tremendously skilled performer, both as vocalist and actor, this would feel tedious. The way she sneers and whispers and whines functions incredibly in her system; the music is slightly too pristine (Dan Nigro, for all of his skills as a producer, has still not figured out how to make distorted guitars sound not-Mutt Langeian), but Rodrigo's calculated derangement elevates her surroundings into something glorious. It helps that the lyrics -- co-written by Annie Clark, who tried and mostly failed to access this kind of heat the last three albums -- are actually caustic and not just fake-mean. The spite is self-directed, the call coming from inside the house. [9]

Alfred Soto: Annie Clark's responsible for the intentional melodic cul-de-sacs in the verses, I assume, while the star and Dan Nigro took care of the chorus' expected clatter. I wouldn't mind "Obsessed" on the radio played between "Like That" and "Fortnight," but she's done better than its metaphoric flatness. [6]

Oliver Maier: Didn't realise there were other bonus tracks, I've been too busy rinsing "so american" [8]. This one is another showcase of Rodrigo's efficient songwriting style: funny, expository verses line up the pins for a bowling ball hook to come screaming down the lane and annihilate them. [7]

Andrew Karpan: "Obsessed" is her sharpest rawk record yet, containing the best application of this guitar riff I’ve heard in a decade. In elevating her conceit to a literal ex-lover battle royale, perhaps something of a gender-twist on Scott Pilgrim, she turns it into something that provokes, like all good Olivia records do. A torch song for nostalgia culture, trapped by the soft, easy comfort of foreclosing on the dreams of yesterday’s future, trapped inside a past whose sounds it will never escape. “I remember every detail you have ever told me, so be careful, baby,” she says. Don’t say we weren’t warned.  [7]

Leah Isobel: I usually enjoy Olivia's intellectual approach, but "Obsessed" feels so precisely, studiously engineered to be the kind of song that teenagers call "sapphic" that it ends up losing me. [5]

Taylor Alatorre: "I like [Olivia] with the melodies, I don't like [Olivia] when she acts tough." [3]

Nortey Dowuona: Somehow this is not the most unflattering portrait of a theater kid whose talent and charm won't win them the undivided loyalty of their partner, and by extension their audience, that we're covering this week. But at least in four years/four months/yesterday we won't be regretfully disavowing it, so full points! [10]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: Teenage romance at its most entertaining: unhinged, mean-spirited, and untethered from reality. Olivia, ride those "la-da-da-da, da-da-da"s all the way to the bank. [8]

Mark Sinker: My favourite bassline, my favourite MBV callback, my favourite mood… [10]

Isabel Cole: For me, Rodrigo’s defining moment as an artist remains the opening of SOUR: not “brutal,” which is a bop, but the little intro, where she cuts off some dramatic strings to announce before the guitars kick in: “I want it to be, like, messy.” I find that moment endearing because it feels like she’s trying to convey that she’s aiming for a certain artistic rawness, but doing so in a way that undermines her goal by calling attention to the effort involved in striking the pose. It's a sweetly teenaged thing to do, the musical equivalent of cutting up your jeans just so. Unfortunately, the reason I think about it whenever I hear one of her songs is that I can never quite shake the sense that she’s playacting at all these big emotions. Her vocal affectations -- bananies-and-avocadies whisper-singing, a deliberately tuneless wail -- are common enough in the pop girl universe, and I have nothing a priori against them, but on her they always feel like affectations, lacking pathos or bite. She sings like she’s doing an imitation of someone else, even though she writes her own songs. Sometimes she serves up a jam regardless, but on “obsessed” the hooks are not landing. The track is too muted for tension or darkness, too polished for its own rock-star fantasies. [4]

Katherine St. Asaph: I hate that I don't hate being pandered to this hard. [9]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]